★⁷

A/N: this is not the breeding kink one-shot I was talking about in the poll, but this was already finished and unfortunately yesterday something happened and I’m not in a good place rn mentally. hope you’ll enjoy🥛sorry but it’s not really edited.

Bucky shivers as the usual warm weight pressed against his side is missing. He lethargically extends his arm to bring your plush body back to his, yet his fingers only meet wrinkly, tepid sheets. His eyes fly open, only to find your side empty. 

It’s the middle of the night and your baby boy is sleeping soundly in the crib he assembled months ago, tucked close beside your bed. This allows Bucky to reach him the moment the faintest whimper slips from his lips—one of the many advantages of having enhanced senses. He can see the exhaustion pressing down on you, and still, you try to cram as many chores as possible into your schedule, nowadays reduced to feedings and diaper changes. But Bucky would do anything to make you feel like you’re keeping up.

These days your husband is always repeating the same thing: that he’ll handle the house, that you don’t need to push yourself like this. But you do anyway, unable to shake the guilt of leaving everything to him when he’s already the one waking in the night to take care of your son.

“I’m a super soldier, you pretty mama,” he promptly reminds you, his voice gentle against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Why would I leave this stuff to my beautiful wife when I don’t need that much rest in the first place?”

The ensuite is empty, which means you’re either in the kitchen pumping or the living room wide awake.

Bucky pushes himself up slowly, leaving the bedroom door open behind him—just in case. He could hear his son cry from miles away, but even the former Winter Soldier can’t quite shake the instinct to run to his son in case of potential danger.

The kitchen light catches his attention the moment he steps into the hallway, spilling across the floor in a warm glow. He follows it without thinking, but the sight that greets him makes him freeze on the doorway.

Bucky has always reserved particular attention to your chest since the first time you started fooling around while dating.

But this is different.

He never could have imagined that one day the mere sight of your nipples leaking milk would leave him stiff in his pants and drooling. That something as natural as your body providing for your child could feel so intimate. During your pregnancy, your breasts had grown fuller and heavier, often sore enough to make you whine in pain against his shoulder. More than once, you’d sighed in frustration at the milk that soaked through your bras, inconvenient and relentless.

And each time, Bucky had to suppress the instinct to clean you up. With his tongue.

He might be over a hundred years old, but he knows his way around the internet since the first time he grumpily announced he was going to look up what a creampie was, while you were in stitches on the couch. You still tried to warn him through your amusement, explaining that the internet is a treacherous place, one where everything should be taken with a healthy dose of skepticism.

The shame curling hot in his stomach is inevitable when he looks at your chest with his pants uncomfortably tight, but this fantasy only intensified with time, to the point where he feels like imploding at the slightest mention of you pumping.

Bucky gulps thickly, frowning in animosity at the two devices attached to your tits that peak out from your sports bra. He really wants to suckle on your nipples and feel your sweet milk bless his senses, however, despite all the years of dating and marriage, asking would probably feel like walking straight in front of a freight train running at full speed. 

His tongue unconsciously licks his lips as you pour some of the freshly pumped milk in a baby bottle, before going through the motions of setting the devices back in place. The wearable breast pumps had been his idea, actually, after months spent buried in books, articles, and a concerning amount of online forums for new moms. He read everything he could get his hands on, determined to make things easier for you. Multiple people praised these over traditional ones for their gentler suction and better angles, so one day Bucky’d shown up with his laptop open to the website of a famous online store specialized in hands-free pumps, already halfway through his research and entirely ready to start measuring your breasts.

Your chest aches more often than not nowadays. You hadn’t expected to produce this much milk, or how constant it would feel. Not just during the day, but at night too, when you find yourself half-asleep at the kitchen counter, filling bottle after bottle while your body begs you to lie down.

Bucky knows everything got more sensitive and swollen for you since you got pregnant, so he often finds himself wondering if he could make you come just by stimulating your tits alone. 

Shaking his head to calm himself down before entering the kitchen with a full hard-on, Bucky slowly approaches you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He doesn’t miss the way your body automatically relaxes under his touch.

“Was wondering where my beautiful wife went.” He whispers, resting his chin on your shoulder to eye the battlefield of spilled milk and paper towels. “How are you feeling, lovely?”  

“Tired.” You murmur around a yawn as your head falls back against his chest. “And aching.”

In this new position, his blue eyes can comfortably admire your cleavage. His stare on the plump skin of your chest spilling out from the tight sports bra is intense, though he clears his throat before his cock takes over his common sense and his teeth end up sinking in your tender flesh.

“Mmh… I can help, you know?” You glance back at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“No baby, you already do so much. Besides, these things are amazing! They do everything by themselves, I just have to empty them.” Bucky swallows, before gently turning you to face him.

“No, I meant—I want to help help you.” Your eyebrows raise, still not understanding.

“I want to taste it, doll.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your eyebrows shoot up stunned, before a small grin threatens to take over your lips.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you want to nurse on my breasts?” A pretty blush takes over the apples of his cheeks at your bluntness. Your husband has never looked so boyishly pretty before.

“Don’t say it like that.” His affronted voice wavers, pulling a chuckle out of you that makes your tits jiggle alluringly. His eyes promptly fall on them, before he flushes violently upon noticing you have caught him drooling red-handed.

“But that’s what you want, right Jamie?” You tilt your head teasingly, cradling his cheeks in your soft hands.

He nods expectantly, eyes sparkling despite the scorching embarrassment pooling into his belly.

“Okay, but let me remove these first.” His breath hitches at your nonchalant reaction. 

Your husband’s chest heaves in anticipation as he waits for the electric pumps to finish, unable to stay put behind you like an overhyped puppy waiting for his treat. Bucky knows you are taking your time in storing the milk away on purpose—it’s not your fault he gets so adorable whenever he loses grip on the composure he is so proud of.

When you are done, you barely have time to turn around before his strong arms pick you up to place your butt on the counter, so he can be closer to your chest. He kisses you desperately, kneading your waist and thighs until you are left warm and moaning.

Eventually his lips end up tracing a trail of wet kisses down your throat, finally allowing his nose to gently graze the skin of your breasts. He helps you remove your bra with shaky hands, gasping when your torso is finally bare for him to toy with.

“Look at you.” His large hands encompass the swell of your tits, gently kneading the flesh to not hurt you. Your quiet whimper stops him instantly, looking up at you to catch any sign of discomfort. But he only receives a weak nod, your hands desperately gripping his biceps as his fingers reprise their exploring. 

“They are so full, my love. I bet they hurt, right?” His eyes glass over, spellbound as the pads of his thumbs delicately circle both of your turgid nipples, drawing a few stray drops of milk. Bucky instantly brings the digits to his mouth, eyelids fluttering shut at the flavor blessing his taste buds.

“Fuck, you really are sweet everywhere, doll.” You shudder at his growled praise, your tired body extremely sensitive as his fingers keep stroking your nubs.

Your loud gasp is swallowed in the nick of time in fear of waking your son up, yet you stop yourself from flinching when Bucky’s lips finally engulf your right nipple. His mouth is hot and his tongue eager against the tender surface; you’ve always enjoyed the care and time he puts in worshipping your chest, but this time it feels completely different with the way his palms caress your tits, and his tongue patiently grazes your nipples with serenity written all over his features.

“Bucky—” You interrupt him as he starts sucking. It’s too soft, just like him, you think fondly. And it’s not that you don’t love it, but your milk will barely come out if he doesn’t get a little rougher.

“C’mon, honey, you can suck harder.” You encourage quietly, the only answer you get is him dazedly blinking up at you through his long, dark lashes. 

His hand fondles the breast his lips aren’t occupying, while his vibranium arm wraps around your back to bring you impossibly closer. Fingertips dig into your supple skin as he obeys, his eyes rolling back at milk finally filling his mouth. The gentle licks soon transform into harsher suckles, and one of your hands goes straight to your mouth with a resounding smack to stop a loud whine from potentially reaching your neighbors. 

Yes, it happened before. Too many times.

Bucky can smell your arousal, but his mind is clouded with his own pleasure to understand what’s happening around him.

He’s finally doing it, he’s drinking your milk directly from the source. This might potentially be the hottest thing you’ve ever done.

Well, apart from that time you fucked in one of the empty meeting rooms in his office. 

Now that Bucky thinks about it, you probably conceived your baby boy that time. He remembers too clearly how aroused the both of you were. His body was on fire that day, he felt like a fucking animal in heat trapped in a cage after he was urgently called by his secretary as he was slowly thrusting his cock into your half-asleep body that morning. And you… well, it was actually your idea to have sex there.

You showed up at his workplace, calling him Congressman with that whiny voice of yours, and claimed you needed to have his cock inside you so bad as you both stood in front of his two secretaries hurriedly fixing his schedule around you, since it was a well-known fact that Bucky would abandon anything if his wife needed him.

Then you dragged him in one of the empty rooms by his tie, and God, he still shivers at the memory of how you rode him on that damn chair, only wearing that stupid little sundress he bought you on his last work trip, just because it looked cute. And fuck, now it was hanging loosely from your waist as you moaned loud enough for his whole staff to hear when he finally came inside you, stuffing you with his cum as you cried and trembled around him, his cock refusing to soften so Bucky picked you up and brought you to the conference table to roughly thrust inside you, making you squirt all over his pants—

Yeah... that’s a story for another time. 

One of your hands cups the back of his head, slightly pulling at his hair as you lean forward with a whimper. 

“Jesus Christ.” Your man groans through a mouthful of you.

“Yeah? Is it good?” You tease, giggling at the eager nod he gives you. 

“So good, pretty girl.” He whines, pulling away from your nipple only to move onto the other. 

His tongue plays with the hard peak, moaning when a quiet whine falls from your lips. The lewd, wet sounds of his licking and sucking prompt you to wrap your thighs around his hips and push against him, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders to try and find a crumb of stimulation against his belly for your pussy. It’s so messy your arousal soaks through your thin shorts, now sticking uncomfortably to your damp skin.

Despite Bucky being completely lost into his own bliss, he still finds the mental strength to tighten his hold around your waist to keep you still against the counter and enjoy his midnight snack peacefully. 

Your nipples are tender by now, abused and wet by one very hungry super soldier. Your head falls back unconsciously, a little embarrassed at the fact that you are probably ready to come and your pussy has been touched a total of zero times.

His large palm languidly slides down your thigh, until it cups your pussy, the vibrations of his low moan further stimulating your nub as your slick coats his fingers through the fabric. You urge him on, grinding onto the heel of his hand.

Two fingers finally travel under the waistband, the rough pads working over your clit, firm but not too fast, just how you like it.

Pleasure burns hotter and hotter with each press of his fingers against your nub, until they find your entrance, delicately rubbing over your folds and collecting your wetness before he nudges them in. Your jaw slackens around a silent moan as they stretch you out so deliciously, curling and rubbing that sweet spot that always makes you gush so prettily around him.

Bucky exhales sharply through his nose, still suckling on your nipples as your hole hungrily swallows his fingers. He is borderline dizzy from how good he feels with his fingers in your pussy and your milk down his throat.

“Feels good, doll?” The words are nothing short of a murmur against your skin. “She’s so needy for me, hm? Doesn’t wanna let go.”

Your cheeks are on fire, and he receives only a quick nod as an answer. The touch his lips leave across your chest burn, causing your lips to prettily open around a silent moan.

“Jamie, just like that, fuck—” You sigh blissed out, flinching when his thumb slowly goes back to toying with your puffy clit. Bucky didn’t realize how much he missed the way your core would turn all swollen with arousal.

“Missed this so much, missed you, honey.” A needy whimper claws out of his throat. “Talk to me, tell me what you wanna do to me.”

“Fucking hell,” he takes a deep breath, pressing soft pecks over your breasts. “Wanna fill you up, sweetheart. Can’t stop thinking about it, how gorgeous you looked all full with my baby.” His eyes briefly close in a futile attempt to ward off the painful throbbing of his cock pushing against his sweatpants.

You clamp around him, shivering when his other hand squeezes your hips.

“‘S all I can think about. Day and night.” He rambles brokenly. “So perfect, my perfect wife with her perfect pussy and her perfect tits—” His words dissolve into a low groan, still softly massaging your walls, the stretch so good it makes your legs tremble around his hips.

“Jamie, more.” You mewl, your hips twitching up helplessly. “Wanna feel you inside, need you to come over and over until it takes again. Jamie, pretty please?”

Bucky grits his teeth.

You can’t stay stuff like that, not when it’s only been two months. Not when he’s been desperate to see you round with his baby once more. Not when you are leaking milk from your breasts while begging for his cock.

“Can’t, babygirl.” He pants. You make your displeasure known loudly with a little wail, clinging tightly onto his shoulders.

“Please, Jamie.” Tears form at the corners of your eyes as your orgasm builds steadily in your belly.

“I know doll, I know. ‘M sorry, ‘m so sorry.”

Your body goes rigid for a second before turning pliant under his calloused hand abandoning your hips to properly take care of your swollen clit. Your pussy clenches, little squeaky moans slipping from your lips and muffled into his hair as you hug Bucky closer to your chest, sagging against him.

“Gonna make it up to you, baby, I swear.” He slurs out dizzily. “Wanna keep this pussy full and give my pretty wife all the babies she wants.”

“Jamie! Close—‘m so close, don’ stop.” He desperately focuses on matching the rhythm of his fingers thrusting inside with the ones rubbing your clit, savoring the eager twitches his cock gives at your pussy tightening.

Bucky then parts his lips, blindly mouthing at your skin until they finally latch onto your nipple once more, and start sucking like a wounded man seeing water after days spent under the scorching sun.

At the intense pressure around your sensitive nubs, the knot in your belly gets tighter and tighter. Your toes curl, and your orgasm finally hits you violently. You come with a gasp, the tension in your belly shattering all at once as your head falls back. Your chest pushes against his greedy mouth, flinching and panting as you find yourself stuck in a limbo of maddening pleasure with Bucky’s fingers still relentless on your pussy, even when small tears run down your cheeks.

And then, your husband grunts loudly, harshly exhaling against the fat of your chest. 

“Fucking—shit.” His mouth leaves your nipple with a wet pop, and his head slowly lifts up, leaving your wet nubs exposed to the cold air of the kitchen. You shiver at the change of temperature, slumping against his shoulders as you feel your tits tingle with overstimulation.

He is gentle in removing his fingers from your puffy core, finally embracing you as you mourn the loss. His chin lazily rests on the top of your head for a bit, small kisses swarming your glistening forehead in hopes of easing the trembling of your limbs.

That’s when you see it. Opening your eyes with effort, you are directly met with the sight of a huge stain right on Bucky’s crotch, the grey fabric of his sweatpants darker in that exact place. 

“Did you just come in your pants, baby?” You raise your head to look at him with a little grin.

Bucky’s already flushed cheeks flame up, and his eyes refuse to meet yours. Instead, he buries his face in the valley between your tits, hugging you tight. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Was it good?”

“No need to be sorry.” You hum. “It was so hot, Jamie.” Sighing satisfied, your arms wrap around his neck to caress his hair. 

“I’ll help you from now on.” He adds solemnly, looking straight into your eyes. “After you pump out the milk for Bean, I get the last bits.” You can’t help but burst out laughing before pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Alright, alright. But baby, you are at work until late in the afternoon.”

“Don’t care.” He grunts, nuzzling your neck like a cat in need of cuddles. “I’ll do it at night.” Your eyes widen, immediately protesting.

“Bucky, no. You already take care of Bean when he wakes up throughout the night, then wake up early to go to work… I won’t wake you up just to—to drink my milk.” Your cheeks heat up at the absurdity of your statement.

Bucky huffs, coming out of his hiding place with an offended wrinkle between his brows. 

“Doll,” he whines just like a kid trying to convince his mom to stay up later on a school day. His head falls back tiredly. “I’m a super soldier. The super soldier. I don’t need to rest.”

With a sigh you shake your head at his apparently innocent eyes, vaguely reminding you of Alpine when she’s trying to soften you up after pushing something off the table that probably ended up shattering on the floor. 

“Please, please, please!” He attacks you with kisses, delicately holding your pliant body in his arms as his lips travel from your face to the slope of your neck, and then back up again.

Your attempts at keeping your laugh down are awful, but you can’t help it when your husband is being this adorable. 

“Alright alright! Hey—okay stop, please stop! Stop!” Your lips press together to avoid releasing any loud noise that could potentially interrupt this rare, peaceful night.

Finally, Bucky relents, one hand cradling your cheek while the other massages your lower back with purpose.

“Promise?” His eyebrows raise expectantly and you just have to kiss him. 

“Yeah yeah, promise, you hungry super soldier.” 

“Good.” He mumbles against your mouth, following your lips for another kiss. “Now, let me properly take care of my wife.”

“What—Bucky!” You gasp as he picks you up, making his way towards the couch.

A devious grin blooms on his handsome face when you whimper at the way he deliberately moves your hips so your puffy folds brush against his imposing bulge with every step he takes. 

“Tell me sweet girl, since I can’t fill you up yet, where do you want it? Face or tits?”

— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading! my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist

“We found claw marks on the walls of the clinic,” Derek started, tossing a photo across the table. “And not the usual kind. These went through concrete.”

Scott leaned forward, examining the grainy image. “So we’re not sure if it’s a rogue Omega or something… else?”

“It’s not an Omega,” Peter’s voice cut through the room like a blade dipped in honey—smooth, dangerous, and sharp. He stood against one of the support beams, arms folded over that fitted black Henley, looking deliciously bored. “No one that pathetic has claws like that.”

You were curled in one of the armchairs near the corner, chin resting on your hand, only half-listening.

Correction: You were listening—but not to Derek or Scott or whatever threat was clawing up buildings.

No. Your eyes hadn’t moved off Peter in the last ten minutes.

There was something about how he stood—casual, calculated, like he was in on a joke no one else could hear. The soft stretch of his shirt across his chest. The faint shadows beneath his eyes that made him look a little too wolf, a little too unhinged. God, he looked like the kind of man you could ruin your life with.

And you wanted to. Boldly. Repeatedly.

Peter caught your gaze mid-glance. One brow arched.

And then he smirked.

“I’m just saying,” Peter added dryly, loud enough for everyone to hear, “if the big scary monster lurking around town is stupid enough to leave claw marks like a trail of breadcrumbs, maybe we should give it a helmet instead of a fight.”

Stiles huffed from the couch. “You’re such a dick.”

Peter smiled wider. “Accurate.”

You tilted your head, biting your lip. “Maybe he just wanted to get caught,” you said suddenly, loud enough to make half the room turn to you. You shrugged innocently, meeting Peter’s eyes like you were peeling him open with your stare. “Some creatures like being chased.”

Peter’s smile twitched—amused, intrigued—and laced with that dark, wolfish hunger he tried so hard to hide. You saw it.

Scott side-eyed you, blinking. “Y/N—can we focus?”

“Sorry,” you said sweetly, standing up slowly. “I just… get distracted.”

You circled the edge of the group, careful steps echoing across the floor. The storm cracked again, and the lights flickered. You stopped right behind Peter, leaned close, and spoke into the back of his neck without touching him.

“I like when you’re cruel,” you whispered, voice silk and fire. “Makes me wonder if you bite.”

Peter didn’t move. But you felt his pulse shift. Like something ancient and hungry stirred beneath his skin.

His voice came out low, controlled—too controlled.

“Little girl,” he murmured back, still facing forward. “You really want to go there?”

You smirked and leaned closer, lips brushing the edge of his ear.

“I’ve been there. I live there. I set up a fucking tent.”

Peter’s jaw clenched.

“I’m going to murder her,” Stiles muttered from the couch, half-joking. “Like—just a little bit. Just a smidge.”

“You won’t,” Peter said out loud, cool and calm, but you felt the heat radiating off him now. “She’d haunt you in lingerie.”

You chuckled—soft, filthy.

Scott groaned. “Can you not flirt in the middle of a supernatural crisis?”

“I wasn’t flirting,” you said, rounding Peter and standing beside him now, all close and magnetic. “I was… observing.”

Peter finally turned to look at you fully, blue eyes locked on yours. “And what, exactly, did you observe?”

“That you’re dying to touch me.”

The room went silent.

And then Derek snapped, “Enough.”

Everyone flinched. Except Peter. And you.

Derek’s eyes glowed faintly as he glared. “If you two are done turning this into a goddamn mating ritual, maybe we can get back to planning before another body shows up.”

Peter gave a slow shrug. “Fine by me. I’m only here for the entertainment.”

You leaned against the beam next to him, casual, letting your arm brush his. “Well. I’m very entertaining.”

Peter didn’t respond right away. His eyes dragged down your body like a promise, slow and hot and filthy. Then he turned back toward the group, lips twitching.

You grinned, smug and glowing. Victory.

He was close. So close.

But for now, he turned his attention back to the others. Like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t just tongue-fucked him with a glance.

But his hand stayed pressed lightly to the edge of the beam—fingertips brushing yours, barely there.

Touch-starved. Hungry.

And yours.

Eventually.

-

The meeting had dragged. Thunder rolled low above Beacon Hills like the earth was growling, warning them about whatever new monster was crawling into town.

But the real storm didn’t break until after the pack started heading out.

“Y/N,” Scott called from beside his bike, keys jangling in his hand. “You riding with me or Stiles?”

You didn’t even glance at him. Your eyes were locked on Peter, who stood beside his black SUV with one hand on the door and the other in his pocket, smirking like he knew something no one else did.

Which—he usually did.

You smiled slowly. “Neither.”

Scott blinked. “What?”

“I’ll go with Peter.”

He straightened up slightly. “Why?”

You tilted your head innocently. “Why not?”

Behind Scott, Stiles made a dramatic groaning noise. “Oh my god. Here we go again. Just let her ride with Satan if she wants, man.”

Peter said nothing. He just opened the passenger door and stepped aside like a gentleman—or something that wore the skin of one. His eyes burned into you like a promise.

You walked past Scott without another word and climbed in.

The doors clicked shut. The outside world disappeared.

Inside, it was warm, dark, quiet—except for the low hum of the engine and the slow turn of the wipers dragging rain across the windshield.

Peter didn’t speak. He just drove, hands loose on the wheel, eyes forward. Focused. Dangerous.

You watched his profile—how the shadows carved into his cheekbone, how his hand tensed just slightly every time you shifted in your seat. You loved how he always tried to pretend you didn’t affect him.

But you did.

You always did.

And tonight… tonight you were done pretending you didn’t know it.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and crawled slowly—deliberately—into the back seat.

Peter’s eyes flicked to the mirror. “What are you doing?”

You spread your legs across the leather and leaned back on your elbows, smirking up at him. “Drive,” you said. “Or do something about it.”

Peter’s jaw clenched.

The car skidded a little to the right before he yanked it into a side lot, tires splashing into a puddle as he parked under a broken streetlight. The glow from it flickered once, then died.

Silence.

Then the soft creak of his door opening.

You stayed sprawled out, heart pounding as you listened to his boots hit the wet pavement, circle around the back, and open the rear door.

He got in.

The door slammed behind him.

And then he just looked at you—like a wolf who'd been stalking his prey for miles, and suddenly found her naked and grinning in his den.

“You,” he growled, voice low, fraying, “are a goddamn menace.”

You smirked, shifting slightly so your knee brushed against his thigh. “And you love it.”

His hand shot out, fisting in the front of your shirt and yanking you closer, your faces inches apart now. His breath was hot against your lips, his fingers flexing like he was deciding whether to pull you in or push you away.

He did neither.

“You think I won’t ruin you?” he hissed.

“I want you to.”

That broke him.

Peter grabbed the back of your neck and crushed his mouth to yours, tongue demanding and rough, devouring you with filthy need. You gasped into it, moaning when his teeth scraped your bottom lip, when his fingers tangled in your hair and pulled hard.

You kissed him back like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

Your hands slid up under his shirt—god, he was burning, muscle under your palms, skin twitching when you scratched. He growled again, shoving you back until your shoulders hit the seat, his body following, crawling over you like a predator who had finally, finally taken the bait.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered against your throat, licking a slow line under your jaw. “To make the bad wolf snap?”

You whimpered, grinding up against him. “More.”

“More?” He nipped at your skin. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me,” you breathed, fingers dragging down to the waistband of his jeans. “Be the wolf, Peter. Fucking bite.”

And he did.

Your back hit the leather with a soft thud, legs still parted around him, his hand fisted in your shirt like he might rip it off, like maybe he should. The heat between you two had gone nuclear. Your skin was buzzing, your breath short, your mouth already wrecked from the kiss you barely survived.

And Peter was watching you—his blue eyes dark and glowing, fangs just barely peeking from under his lip. The wolf was there. Right under the surface. And you had called it out.

You brought your hand up, tracing your fingers down the front of his chest. “Come on, Peter,” you whispered, voice syrupy and shameless. “You know you’ve been dying to fuck the attitude out of me.”

He groaned—visceral, like the sound was torn from him. Then his hand was under your thigh, yanking your hips toward him hard enough to make you gasp. His other hand curled around your throat—not choking, just holding, thumb pressing beneath your jaw with filthy reverence.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he muttered against your neck, but his hand was already sliding between your legs.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you moaned, arching into his touch.

His fingers pressed against the heat of your center—your shorts soaked through, no panties. You heard his breath catch.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed.

You smiled lazily. “Told you. I came prepared.”

Peter didn’t answer—he just shoved the fabric aside and slid two fingers through your folds, slow and deep and filthy. Your head tipped back with a broken moan.

“Oh my God—”

“Not God,” he rasped. “Just the wolf.”

He leaned in again, biting softly at your lip as his fingers began to move—rhythmically, slowly at first, then harder, faster. His thumb circled your clit with the kind of precision that made your legs tremble.

“I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, biting at your ear, “so fucking long. Every time you opened that smart mouth, every time you walked into a room like you owned me…”

You whimpered, rocking against his hand, clutching his shoulder. “Then take it. Own me.”

Something in him snapped.

He pulled his hand away for one agonizing second—long enough to yank your shorts down and toss them somewhere in the dark car—then he shoved your thighs up and apart, climbing between them like he belonged there. Like this was a fucking claim.

And maybe it was.

He shoved his jeans down just enough, fangs glinting now as he dragged his tip through your slick folds, teasing, eyes locked to yours.

“You want this?” he rasped, voice barely human.

“Yes,” you breathed, grabbing his jaw. “I want you.”

He slammed into you with one brutal thrust, burying himself fully. You cried out, arching, clawing at his shoulders. He didn’t wait. He didn’t ease up.

He fucked you—hard, deep, filthy—every thrust making the car creak on its suspension, windows fogging instantly. The smell of rain and sex and wolf filled the air. Your moans were ragged, high and loud, but he didn’t tell you to quiet down.

He wanted them.

Peter grunted as you clenched around him, biting into your neck—not enough to break skin, just enough to mark. His hand stayed wrapped tight around your throat, fingers flexing with every snap of his hips.

“You love this,” he growled. “You love knowing how wrong this is.”

You were nearly sobbing with pleasure. “Yes—fuck, Peter, please—”

“You wanted the bad wolf,” he snarled. “Now fucking take him.”

Your orgasm hit like a car crash "Oh my God, fuck yeah" hot and endless, your body convulsing around him as he held you down, fucked you through it, didn’t stop. You screamed his name, scratching down his back. Peter groaned into your throat, and with one final thrust, he spilled inside you, deep and possessive, a growl rattling from his chest like thunder.

You both collapsed, panting, your limbs tangled, hearts pounding like war drums.

His forehead rested against yours. He was still inside you. Still hardening again. Still hungry.

-

The bonfire cracked like it had secrets to tell.

Sparks flew up into the inky sky while laughter echoed from the logs surrounding it—pack members sprawled on blankets, roasting marshmallows and talking over each other. It was one of those rare nights when no one was dead or dying. Just warmth, woodsmoke, and the edge of summer in the air.

You were curled on a blanket next to Scott and Lydia, letting the heat of the fire lick at your bare legs while your eyes, once again, found him.

Peter Hale stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, the flames casting shadows across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones and the glint in his eyes. He wasn’t talking to anyone. Just watching. Guarded. Calm. Until you looked at him.

Then something in him shifted—his mouth twitching into a dangerous little smirk, eyes dipping down your body in one unbothered pass before returning to the fire.

Your thighs clenched.

You had been teasing him all night—lingering touches on your way past him, sitting just a little too close on the log earlier, whispering filthy little jokes under your breath only he could hear.

And now, sitting across from him in that short skirt and that smug grin, one leg swinging lazily as if you weren’t driving him insane, you knew he was at his limit.

Time to push.

You stood up slowly, stretching—arms above your head, shirt lifting just a little too far—and you made sure Peter’s eyes followed.

Then, without a word, you turned and walked toward the woods.

You didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

You heard the crunch of his boots on the forest floor thirty seconds later.

By the time he caught up, your back was already against a tree, breathing fast from the thrill of being chased, of being wanted. Peter stepped out of the shadows like a goddamn wolf, eyes gleaming, mouth a flat line of hunger and restraint.

“I swear to fucking God—” he growled.

You grabbed his collar and yanked him into a kiss that stole the rest of the sentence from his throat.

It was filthy. Immediate. No teasing now—just mouths crashing, teeth clashing, lips parted and desperate as you gasped into each other. His hands were already under your skirt, grabbing the backs of your thighs, lifting you. You wrapped your legs around his waist without thinking, moaning when your back hit the bark behind you.

“Jesus,” Peter rasped against your mouth, grinding his hips against your center. “Do you ever stop?”

“Why would I,” you panted, licking into his mouth, “when this is how you act when I don’t?”

He chuckled darkly, biting your bottom lip. “You think this is me acting?”

You whimpered when he rocked against you again, the heat of his jeans grinding into your panties, soaked and sticking to you already. Your head thumped back against the tree.

“You’re such a little brat,” he growled, sliding one hand between you, cupping you through your underwear. “Getting me hard in front of the whole fucking pack. Whispering shit only I could hear.”

Your hips bucked. “Couldn’t help it,” you gasped. “You look so edible next to fire.”

Peter growled, shoved your panties to the side, and dragged his fingers through your slick, slow and filthy. You gasped.

“Jesus, you’re wet—”

“You did that,” you moaned, clenching around nothing. “Fix it.”

He didn’t need more.

Peter undid his jeans, enough to free himself, the sound of his zipper somehow the dirtiest thing in the woods. He lined up with you, looking at you like he could tear you in half and you’d thank him for it.

“Quiet,” he warned as he pushed in. “Or I’ll make you scream.”

You bit down on his shoulder to muffle your cry as he buried himself inside you in one brutal thrust, your nails clawing at his back.

“Fuck,” you whimpered. “Peter—”

“Shh, baby,” he hissed, thrusting again, slow but deep, each movement shoving you higher up the tree. “Don’t want your little friends coming to check, do you?”

You shook your head, moaning into his neck. The idea of Scott or Derek or Stiles stumbling into this? It made you wetter.

Peter felt it. “Oh, you like that,” he sneered. “You want them to find out how desperate you are for my cock?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, not even thinking. “I don’t care.”

His thrusts got harder. Meaner. The tree bark dug into your spine but you didn’t feel it—just the thick slide of him inside you, your thighs shaking around his waist, your body strung so tight you were seconds from unraveling.

“You wanna cum?” he whispered, filthy, fanged, dangerous.

“Please,” you gasped. “Peter, please—”

He reached between you, rubbing your clit in rough circles until you were gasping, head thrown back, toes curling in your boots. He slammed in one more time, and you broke apart—shaking, clutching him like a lifeline, moaning loud into his mouth as you came.

He groaned as you clenched around him, hips stuttering, and then he was following, burying himself deep with a low, guttural curse.

He held you there for a second, both of you panting in the dark, sweaty and still tangled together.

Then—

A snap.

A branch breaking.

Voices.

“Peter?” That was Scott. Close.

Peter pulled out quickly, helping you stand, yanking your panties back into place and pulling his jeans up with inhuman speed. You adjusted your shirt, shaking from the aftershocks and the adrenaline.

Peter leaned close, lips brushing your ear.

“If they catch us,” he growled, “I’ll make you ride me in front of them.”

You nearly collapsed.

But he straightened, smirked, and stepped out of the trees—calm, smug, like he hadn’t just fucked you against a tree with the entire pack 30 feet away.

You followed, flushed and glowing, hair mussed.

Scott and Derek looked up as you reappeared, both raising eyebrows.

Peter walked past them like nothing happened, but then Derek’s nose twitched.

He frowned. Deeply.

“You smell like her,” Derek muttered.

Peter glanced back with the laziest, dirtiest smirk in history.

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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.

I really, really appreciate comments and reblogs, and I highly appreciate when people trend against the culture of only leaving a like on a fic. I put a lot of hard work into my fics and something as simple as a short comment or a reblog makes my day.

If you want to read more for this character or this fandom, please feel free to check out my Teen Wolf Masterlist, or check out My Main Masterlist, which has everything I have written for all the fandoms I enjoy.

I hope you have a great day, and thanks for reading!

“I don’t understand. Aren’t we going to your house?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“A house you live in with your mother?”

“Also yes.”

“Is she home?”

“Probably!”

“But I can’t meet her?”

“Fuck no!”

You stared back at your boyfriend who looked like he might throw up at any second. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel. A blaring horn behind you made you nearly jump out of your skin, and when you looked in the rearview there was a line of cars held up behind you. Right. Because Adrian had stopped in the middle of a busy road. Adrian, however, suddenly no longer seemed to be in a rush to get home.

You put your hand on his forearm. “Ade, you gotta drive.”

“Okay,” he managed, voice a ragged whisper. He pried his foot off the gas and then proceeded to drive a blazing 25mph the entire rest of the way. You waited until the Seabring was parked on a cute, tree-lined neighborhood street to speak again.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m a little offended you don’t want me to meet your mom,” you said finally. Adrian laughed, doubling over so sharply you were afraid he was going to smack his face on the steering wheel.

“She’s the one who should be offended. She’s a total fucking bitch and I don’t want you to meet her because I don’t want her to, like, get her stupidness all over you.”

“Babe…” you breathed. “Respectfully, what the fuck?”

Adrian raked his hands over his face. “You don’t get it.”

“Okay. You’re right. I don’t think I get it,” you agreed. You laid a hand on his arm. “But, clearly it’s stressing you out. So, decision made, easy peasy!”

Adrian peeked at you from behind his hands. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! Although…” you hesitated to ask because you could only imagine you weren’t going to like the answer. “How are we going to get in without your mom finding out?”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you grumbled, wiggling in his grasp. “Your hand is so far up my ass I’m starting to feel like a puppet.”

“Just let go of the window sill!” Adrian hissed. “I’ve got you, I’m not going to let you fall.”

You groaned and finally relented, knowing for a fact that Adrian did not have you. But the boy was going to have to learn his lesson the hard way, you supposed. The two of you fell into a tangled heap, your elbow landing squarely in his ribs, his knee striking against your hip in a surge of pain, your forehead colliding with his chin.

“Ow fuck – ow, ow, fucking hell, Adrian,” you grumbled, trying to gain any sort of leverage, but your hands were sinking into some sort of fabric over and over again on either side of Adrian while he tried to get his hands in between you, making sure you weren’t injured.

“Sorry! Sorry, are you okay? Are you alright? Speak so I know you’re not concussed!” Adrian said, scrambling. You rolled your eyes and batted his hand away.

“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “That is not how you check for a concussion, by the way.”

“What…what is this?” you asked. Whatever it was groaned under your weight as you struggled to your knees. “Is this a futon? Why do you have a futon in your basement?”

You climbed off of him with a bit of difficulty before you turned your attention towards the rest of the basement. “What the f – ”

Adrian clapped a hand over your mouth from behind. He was blazingly warm against your back, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist like he was afraid you were going to run. You swayed slightly in his arms as you regained steady footing, your balance entirely thrown off by his sudden seizure of you. You nipped at his palm gently and he let you go. You turned to find his wide eyes focused on his slightly wet palm.

“Care to explain the drugs, Adrian?” you asked, this time managing to keep a lid on your volume.

He simply shrugged. “What do you mean? Where else would I put it?”

“Where did this all come from?” you asked, turning to look at it all again – pallets of drugs (was that fucking cocaine?) and what had to be millions of dollars, carefully banded and stacked in various places. You reached out to run your hand across the money but Adrian batted your hand away.

“That’s blood money, don’t touch it!”

“Where did all this come from, Adrian?”

“What, you think I’d just leave drugs and cash at crime scenes where anyone could take it? Like corrupt fucking police? Absolutely not,” he asserted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can’t believe you think I should let the cops have all this.”

“I never said that, Adrian!” you exclaimed. “First and foremost, fuck the police – ”

“Fuck the police,” Adrian agreed with a thoughtful nod. 

“Secondly! I just can’t believe you never told me about this! I thought that we tell each other everything? I mean, you told me you were Vigilante on our first date.”

“Second date.”

“Adrian, we’ve been over this, having sex after a first date does not count as a second date.”

“Agree to disagree.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “And it’s not my fault your pussy is like my personal truth serum.”

“Adrian…”

His face contorted. “What, is that a weird thing to say?”

“It’s not really a normal thing…” 

“Whatever,” he pouted. “You don’t get it.”

“Come on, Ade, you were so excited to show me your basement. So give me the grand tour.”

“Fine,” he huffed. He crossed to a workbench and gestured at it vaguely. “These are my power tools. Over there is my wall of chemicals. Tour concluded.”

“Adrian,” you groaned.

“What?” he snipped. “You wanted the tour – there it is!”

“I cannot believe you made me shimmy through a window for that.”

“Yeah, well, sorry it’s disappointing.” It was said in a way in which you knew he was not sorry at all. He was being petulant. 

“It’s not disappointing, it's just…a lot for me to take in. I’m very interested in it!”

“Uh huh,” Adrian mumbled, mindlessly thumbing through what appeared to be a box full of pocket knives?

Well, you could be petulant too.

“Fine!” you proclaimed, hands on your hips. Adrian rolled his eyes and you bit back a grin before climbing up onto the futon. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going back out the window,” you explained with a nonchalant glance over your shoulder at him. He was looking up at you with those big eyes of his and you almost caved instantly. It would be so easy to climb down, wrap your arms around him, kiss the grumpiness right off of his handsome face. But you liked teasing him so much more. 

So you stretched up, desperately trying to hook your fingers into the windowsill that was just out of reach.

“You’re not going to be able to reach that,” Adrian said matter-of-factly.

“Watch me,” you countered, wedging your tongue between your teeth as you tried to will yourself taller out of pure spite. 

“Do you think you’re magically going to get taller or…?” Adrian asked like he could read your goddamn mind.

“Be quiet, Adrian, I’m concentrating,” you snipped back. You rolled up onto your tiptoes but the physics of standing on a soft surface made that change negligible. You dropped your arms down with a huff and jumped off the futon.

“Okay, I’m using the door!” 

“What?” Adrian gasped, lunging for you as you feinted towards the basement door. You laughed in delight as he grabbed you by the waist and yanked you backwards onto the futon, pinning you beneath him.

“Oh no! You caught me!” you wheezed out, all the air knocked out of your lungs.

Adrian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Were you really going to go out the door?”

“Well, well, look at the situation we find ourselves in,” you commented drily, ignoring the question, batting your eyelashes at Adrian. 

“If you don’t answer my questions just know I know a lot of really effective torture techniques,” Adrian said lowly, a familiar hunger already creeping into his expression. You ran your fingers through his curls, dragging your nails against his scalp. “Are you trying to distract me?” 

“Me? Never,” you murmured. He shivered against you and you gave his hair a testing pull. His mouth dropped open slightly and you took the opportunity to sweep your tongue across his lower lip. He whimpered into your mouth as his hips rolled against yours instinctively. 

“Someone’s eager,” you assessed, grasping at his shirt and trying to untuck it from his jeans. “What did it, the puppet thing? Threatening to torture me? Tackling me onto your weird sex futon?”

“It is not a weird sex futon! Just a regular futon!” Adrian laughed against your neck and then winced. “Stop making me laugh, I can feel it in my dick.”

You hooked a leg over his hip. “Then maybe you ought to do something with that dick of yours.”

“I really want to have sex with you right now,” Adrian began.

“Why do I feel like there’s a but coming – ”

“Butts can’t come,” Adrian snickered. Then he shook his head like a hapless puppy, his curls tossing about. God he was such a dork sometimes. But he was your dork. “Though, I do sometimes feel like I could come just by looking at yours.”

You narrowed your gaze at him despite how adorably stupid he was being. “Just say it, Adrian. Why can’t we have sex right now?”

“The thing is…you’re kind of loud?” Adrian said with a wince. Then his eyebrows lifted. “And I love that about you. I love how loud you are. I love thinking about how if we lived in Metropolis Superman for sure would have heard us having sex and he’d be so fucking jealous. Thinking about it right now actually is making me, uh, a little hard – ”

“Adrian!”

“I’m just being honest!” he huffed. You decided not to comment on exactly who was the loud one in the relationship because you knew he would take it as a challenge and you liked hearing all the little pathetic sounds he’d make. He pushed his glasses up his nose only for them to slide right back down again as he looked down at you. “My mom cannot hear us.”

You nodded slightly. “I understand that that might be embarrassing for you. We don’t have to.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be embarrassed!” he said, eyes wide. “I just don’t want her to know you’re here. Because if she hears us then she’ll ask who you are, and then she’ll want to know how we met and if we want snacks and if you’re staying for dinner and it’s a whole fucking thing.”

“Ade, that sounds very normal.” You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows. You hooked a finger into the collar of his rugby shirt. “What if I promise to be quieter than a church mouse?”

“What does that mean? I don’t really have a reference point for how quiet that is?” he replied, his tone tinged with the beginnings of a classic Adrian spiral. “On a scale of like 1 to 10 where 1 is – ”

You interrupted him with a kiss, your tongue wasting no time dipping into his already open mouth. He came alive, wriggling against you, hands grabbing hold of your biceps, grip tight, muscles taut and somewhere between pushing you away and pulling you even closer.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he murmured against your lips. 

“It’s just an expression, love,” you replied, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. Then you narrowed your gaze slightly, squinting to study the color of his eyes up so close. In the dark basement his pupils threatened to swallow the dark green whole. Well, the darkness and your hand that had slipped below the waist of his jeans probably had something to do with it too. 

“How about if I get too loud then you just put your hand here,” you instructed, bringing his hand over your mouth and pressing it firmly. 

“Okay,” Adrian said, practically drooling. “I think I can do that.”

“Well then, problem solved!”

You were working to shimmy his jeans down slightly when he grabbed you by the wrist. 

“I wanna go down on you,” he breathed.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Okay. We can do both things…unless you’re in a rush for some reason?”

“It’s just that if you keep touching my dick like that I’m going to come in my pants, and I really want to put it in you,” he said, practically a whisper. There was absolutely zero reason for that sentence to be as hot as it was.

“Why is it that you seem like you’re begging every single time even though we’ve had sex a lot, Adrian,” you teased gently, brushing a stray curl out of his face. 

“What if you change your mind, hm?” Adrian asked, dipping his head so you could scratch your fingers across his scalp. “What if one day you wake up and you’re like, oh gosh, I never want to have sex with that weirdo ever again?”

“First of all, being a weirdo is strangely part of your charm,” you replied, pausing to kiss his forehead. “Second of all, I do think you’ve ruined me for life. You dick game is incomprehensibly good and you’ve literally made me go temporarily blind with your head between my legs. I don’t want to have sex with anyone but you.”

“Not even Peacemaker? Because I really couldn’t blame you if you did want to have sex with him. Trust me, I get it, he’s kind of a perfect human man,” Adrian insisted like he was rationalizing in an argument he was having with only himself. His lips pursed. “Although he is kind of all hard edges so having sex with him is kinda sharp which you might not like.”

You were already reaching between the two of you to undo your button-down shirt. 

“Not even Peacemaker,” you affirmed. Adrian seemed to wrestle against his own grin, both pleased as punch that you didn’t want to have sex with anyone but him, and also a bit insulted that you didn’t want to have sex with his favorite person in the world. 

Tugging your shirt open, you guided his hands up to the front clasp of your bra and used his fingers to flick it open. Whatever logic war was raging in his brain was struck silent by the sight of your breasts. Maybe it was an unfair hand to play, but you wanted your boyfriend to stop thinking about his best friend and start thinking a little more about fucking you senseless. 

He wasted no time taking each of your nipples into his mouth in turn, because, as always, he insisted it was only fair for them both to get the same amount of attention. Though you’d never asked, you were fairly certain Adrian had been the type of kid to make sure each toy got the same amount of playtime so that no one toy felt left out.

He swapped his mouth for his hand on your chest and kissed his way down the rest of your body. He deftly yanked your pants and underwear down, kissing the inside of your knees as he peeled them the rest of the way off your body. In his eagerness to get down between your legs he scooted down the futon, his boot kicked one of the metal shelves behind him. The whole unit swayed slightly, the metal ringing out in a resonant sound. 

“Adrian?” A woman’s voice called from upstairs. You froze, but Adrian wasn’t deterred. “Are you down there, sweetie?”

Adrian’s mouth was decidedly preoccupied between your legs so he didn’t answer – it was a good thing, because it probably would have involved some absolutely blatant response about the fact that he was, in fact, down there. You pushed at his head but he only looked up at you with a hungry glint in his eyes as he dragged his tongue through your folds, painfully slowly. You hissed in response and he moved his hips slightly against the futon, settling in for a hearty meal. When Adrian ate you out it was almost always multiple courses, a real fine dining experience. 

He hadn’t even put his fingers in you yet – just used one hand to spread you open wider for him while the other still played with your breasts, alternating between them, pinching and palming and scratching. His face was pressed so firmly between your legs, his tongue so deep into you you wondered if he was trying to eat his way to your heart. 

“Jesus, Adrian!” you whispered, your heel kicking at his hip, trying to get him to ease up a little. But he was hyper focused, like he was speedrunning his way to your orgasm. He moved, wrapping his arms around your thighs, pinning your hips down as they tried to wriggle away from him for just a little reprieve. 

You heard footsteps on the stairs and you dug your heels into the futon, trying to pry yourself loose from his perfect, stupid fucking mouth. Instead, he traced his teeth over your sensitive clit and you came hard suddenly. You clapped your own hand over your mouth and Adrian batted it away. You managed to stay quiet, the only sound your own ragged breath in the quiet of the basement and the wet, obscene noise of Adrian’s mouth against you.

Except Adrian continued his ministrations between your legs, letting up with his mouth only to look up at you and grin while he slowly slid two fingers into you. He had that calculated look in his eye again and you knew he was studying you. He liked knowing exactly how each movement, each touch affected you. He crooked his fingers inside you, watching closely as you bit down hard on your lower lip in a desperate bid to stay quiet.

He was doing it on purpose. He wanted an excuse. 

You hated giving him what he wanted so easily when he was being a menace but you could taste your own blood on your tongue and he used his other hand to rub at your clit while he kissed your hip bone. A noise squeaked out past your lips and Adrian’s grin grew into a full fledged smile, the kind where you could see all his teeth. The kind that was both predatory and full of genuine delight. 

He moved his fingers faster, pushed deeper, bit hard at your hip, bruising the skin. You fumbled for his head but you could barely see straight. You managed to pull a fistfull of hair but it only made him giggle before he lapped at your cunt and made you come undone all over again. 

“Adrian!” you hissed through the rheumy film of your orgasm. Adrian pulled his fingers free and popped them straight into his mouth and pure, wet want flooded your own. 

“Adrian?” There was a knock at the basement door. You clapped your hands over your burning face but Adrian just seemed annoyed.

“Fuck off, mom!” he called, sliding his way up your body to bite at the sensitive spot below your ear. He loosely pressed his hand over your lips and you weren’t sure if you were grateful or pissed. When the friction of his jeans between your legs almost made you sob against his hand, you settled on grateful. 

“Do you have a friend in there with you?” his mom asked. “Should I make some snacks?”

“Jesus fucking – no, mom!” he whined, even as he rolled his hips against you. He grabbed at your breast with his free hand again and you bit his hand in retaliation. 

“Ow!” 

“Are you okay, honey? Please tell me you’re not giving yourself stitches in there again!” his mom continued. She seemed kind of sweet – what the hell was Adrian’s deal?

“Your mom seems nice,” you managed, free of his hand. 

“Stop getting ideas, I can see you getting an idea right now!” Adrian protested, pinning your hands above your head and silencing your mouth with a kiss.

“Adrian, hon, who are you talking to? Is that…is that a girl in there?” His mother’s voice noticeably ascended the scale in pitch and Adrian swallowed your laugh, your shoulders shaking silently. 

“I’m talking to my bros in the Fortnite lobby, Jesus fucking Christ! Can you hop off my dick for like five seconds, please?” Adrian shouted back, pulling away from your mouth, making you unacceptably hungry. When he returned to you, you bit his lip in recompense. He hissed but surged forward anyway, his tongue deep in your mouth. 

“Okay, Addy, you just let me know if you need anything! Just holler! I’ll be upstairs!”

You waited for the sound of footsteps retreating back up the stairs to pull back.

“So, I’m one of the bros now?” you taunted.

“Well, you’re better than one of the bros. You’re like…you’re my best bro. A bro for life. But, like, in a romantic way, a romantic bro,” he explained. You nodded like that made sense. Because, strangely, it did.

“So…Addy?” 

“Please don’t – ”

“It’s kinda cute!”

“No, it makes me sound like a fucking infant. And I’m not an infant. I’m a grown man.”

You giggled. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten, Ade. As a matter of fact…”

Your hand slid in between you, grasping at him through his pants. He was, unsurprisingly, already completely hard. He hissed through his teeth and then wrangled himself out of his rugby shirt, treating you to a spectacular view of his chest. A thin sheen of sweat covered him in a way that made him look unfairly hot – like the centerfold in a magazine of hot nerds. You ran your hand up from the waist of his pants to the small, pale trail of hair just above and let your fingertips press firmly into the skin of his stomach. His gaze narrowed at you.

“Flip over,” he whispered, voice husky.

“Make me,” you whispered back. Adrian blinked back at you for just a moment before he slipped his hands around your waist and tossed you onto your stomach like it was no effort at all. He reached up and stripped you of the button down and the bra that still clung to your shoulders. His fingertips bit into the swell of your ass but then he paused.

“Sorry, was that okay?” he asked, sounding breathless in a nervous way. You looked back at him and offered a calm smile.

“That was perfect,” you assured him. “You’re perfect.”

“Okay, because if you want to fuck some other way that’s totally okay too, I just thought – ”

“Oh no, not you fucking me while I’m laying on my stomach! Whatever will I do!” you drawled sarcastically as you started to twist in his arms, bringing the back of your hand up to your forehead like some scandalized, vaguely transatlantic woman. Then you paused and blinked at him. “That was sarcasm by the way.”

“Uh, duh, I totally knew that because you love when I fuck you like that! It’s like one of your favorite things. Remember that time we prone-boned and you like totally ruined your sheets?”

“Oh my god, Adrian,” you whined, your hands flying up to cover your increasingly red face. 

“What! It’s just a statement of fact. And a statement of hotness.”

You finished flipping onto your stomach if only to bury your burning face in the futon. Adrian’s hand ran along your damp inner thigh for a moment before he nudged your leg up slightly, and pulled your hips up and flush against his. 

“Oh shit,” he mumbled, and not in the good way. You lifted your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I have a condom?”

“You have a fucking arsenal down here but not a single condom?”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve ever had a girl down here before!”

“Aw, is that your roundabout way of saying I’m special?” you asked, batting your eyelashes. But Adrian was too preoccupied scrounging around for a condom. He was so cute doing it you were loathe to tell him all he had to do was open your purse. The man was desperate for it and you were willing to torment him just a little bit – he would be handsomely rewarded for it in the end. 

“Hey Ade?”

“Hold on, I’m sure there’s one here somewhere!” He yanked another drawer open, violently rattling whatever was inside. He slammed a cabinet open to no avail. You started to feel bad, even if you were getting a great view of his impressive physical form in the process. 

“Adrian!” you called, louder this time to get through to him over the small ruckus he was making, but hopefully still quiet enough to not rouse his mother’s suspicions again. Finally, he turned and looked at you dangling a condom from your fingertips. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he said breathlessly. “No, seriously, I wish I could paint you Titanic-style right now exactly like this.”

Adrian was on top of you again in the blink of an eye, teeth tearing at the foil of the condom and spitting it aside. You watched over your shoulder as he realized he still needed to take his pants off and was trying to figure out balancing the opened condom while he did that. You giggled and held out your hand for him to rest the condom on your palm. 

He tripped up off the couch, halfway out of his pants before he was even fully upright. He hopped on one foot as he desperately tried to free his other from the leg of his jeans, and you were treated to an increasingly silly whispered string of curses. 

When he was finally free he paused, putting his hands on his hips, his chest rising and falling quickly. 

You giggled. “Are you winded?”

“No!” Adrian said, full volume. Your eyes flicked to the ceiling of the basement, but Adrian’s mom seemed to have gotten the memo. “This is…I’m doing breathing exercises, actually. Gotta loosen up my diaphragm for optimal airflow so I can have so much sex with you.”

“Get over here, you absolute goober,” you replied with a beckoning crook of your finger. Adrian stooped beside you to retrieve the condom you were still holding and pressed a quick peck to your lips, upturned in an amused smile.

He settled back between your legs, kneeling on the futon as he rolled the condom on and you waited patiently with your chin in your hands. The feeling of his warm fingers back between your legs surprised you, dragging through your folds, gathering slick before sliding his hand over the condom. 

“Are you good? Are you comfy?” Adrian asked as he grabbed hold of your hips and angled them slightly upward. He positioned himself at your entrance, dragging the tip through your folds, but waited for your approval. You quietly hissed at the sensation.

“Please, Adrian,” you managed. That was approval enough for him – he wasn’t in one of his taunting moods, determined to draw it out forever to the point of insufferability. No, Adrian was borderline efficient. It was a mood he sometimes got into – careful, precise, skilled. He pushed in, a long, slow stretch of flesh, the warm weight of Adrian partially against your back, keeping you pressed into the futon. A hand groped at the flesh of your hip and he gently guided you into the position he needed.

And that made your eyes water, the perfect depth, the perfect speed, the perfect amount of pressure – a gasp dragged from your lips at the angle. Adrian knew what made you tick. You’d witnessed the man disassemble and reassemble a gun with alarming speed on more than one occasion, and he knew how to disassemble you just as easily. 

It took no time at all for pressure and warmth to mount between your legs. 

“Put your hand over my mouth,” you panted.

“What?”

“I don’t think that I can keep being quiet,” you said, voice ragged. As if attempting to prove you wrong, Adrian buried himself, deep and slow, and a yelp came from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“Right. Okay,” Adrian said in the kind of voice that sounded like he was processing a direct order. You tilted your head up slightly and Adrian dutifully cupped one hand over your mouth.

“Oh shit,” he managed. His fingers flexed against your skin as he thrust into you again, angling your hips ever so slightly once more, perfecting the position. Your needy hand slid under your body and Adrian groaned as your fingers touched at where your bodies were joined, fingers parting around the slick base of his cock for one taunting drag before retreating to your clit. Adrian’s pace faltered and you grinned into his hand. You nipped at his palm again but he stayed firmly in place and instead responded by draping himself further over your back, his weight pressing you further into the futon and your own eager fingers. 

You were close, close, closer as his fingers bit into your skin and you rubbed desperate circles at the apex of your thighs. You clenched around him and Adrian whined. 

“That’s not fair,” he hummed into your hair. He slowed for a frustrating moment and then his mouth was at your ear. “Can I try something?”

A million things raced through your mind – an electric series of possibilities, some of which perhaps bordered on terrifying. But you trusted Adrian. You loved him. Fucking you was a science at which he was studiously determined to excel. So, you nodded. And Adrian draped the full weight of himself on you, carefully, gently. And then he wrapped his other hand over your eyes, casting you into total darkness. 

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low in his chest against your back, words that sounded equally like reassurance and threat. A loving adage and a declaration of total possession. Your body responded unconsciously, pushing back against his thrusting hips, terribly wanting. “I want you to come, just for me, okay?”

You made a noise, something wrenched from deep within, muffled expertly by Adrian’s capable hands. He dragged his tongue along the side of your neck and then his teeth nipped the skin. A jolt of pleasure ran down your spine. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out when Adrian was dragging himself in and out of you with a studied speed, burying deep every time, hitting that perfect spot. 

“’m close, are you…close,” Adrian slurred before biting at your jaw, his words barely coherent. 

“Mhm,” you spoke into his hand, sure you were probably drooling. You didn’t care. Adrian nudged your knee ever so slightly with his own, spreading you open just a bit more. But it was enough. In the total darkness of Adrian’s embrace, you crashed over the edge, a shout muffled into his hand. You breathed quickly through your nose, finding it significantly harder to catch your breath and Adrian chased you into bliss only a second later, a curse hissed through his clenched teeth, certainly too loud. His hand released your mouth as his forehead fell into the curve of your shoulder. His sweaty hair tickled at your chin and you turned, still blind, to clumsily press a kiss to his temple. 

“Well, that was new,” you remarked, still trying to catch your breath. In the darkness beneath Adrian’s hand, the edges of your vision sparked.

“Was it okay? Did you like it?”

“It was more than okay, babe,” you murmured assurance. That was Adrian – aiming to please, even when it came to dabbling in something like minor sensory deprivation.

After a long moment, his hand fell from your eyes to the futon with an audible thump and he slipped out of you, laying half on top of you and half wedged beside you on the futon.

“I feel like I don’t have any bones anymore,” he muttered. “You stole them. You’re a bone thief.”

“I’ll keep your bones safe in my bone collection. Promise,” you laughed breathlessly. He perked up slightly, lifting his head so he could look at your face. 

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes wide with puppydog-esque devotion.

“Yeah. You’ve got centerpiece level bones. Real main attraction stuff.”

He brushed your hair from your face, and then wiped your cheeks free of tears, thumb grazing across your lower lip, collecting any errant spit. He popped his thumb into his mouth and you recoiled.

“Adrian, gross!”

“Sorry I just want part of you in me,” he replied like you were the one being unreasonable.

You smirked at him and shifted so that you could slip on top of him, straddling his narrow waist. “Maybe it’s time we revisit that conversation about peg – ”

“Adrian?” 

Adrian’s mother’s voice came from directly outside the door. You clamped your mouth shut, looking down at Adrian with wide eyes. 

“What, mom?” he called back, rolling his eyes, his head falling back onto the futon. 

“Do you and your girlfriend want to come upstairs for dinner? I made a baked mac ‘n cheese with the breadcrumb topping you like so much!” 

“Girlfriend?” he scoffed, voice traitorously too high. “What girlfriend? You’re so crazy, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh, sweetie, Mrs. Peterson from across the street called and she said she saw you sneaking in through the basement window with a very pretty young lady!”

You had to laugh. There was simply no other choice. Adrian groaned and draped his arm over his face, treating you to a wonderful (very biteable) view of his bicep. “Fuck, I knew I always hated Mrs. Peterson. No trustworthy person has that many chihuahuas.”

When Adrian didn’t respond one way or the other to the evidence presented, his mother called out again, “Does the pretty young lady like mac ‘n cheese?”

You grinned down at Adrian who appeared to be going through the five stages of grief in quick succession. Luckily for him it was going to take a lot more than an overbearing mother to scare you off. If you could survive the Vigilante of it all, you could survive anything. You leaned down, bit Adrian’s bicep and then kissed his swollen lips before he could protest.

“The pretty young lady loves mac n’ cheese!” you called back.