#ethan writes

word count: 2854 fandom: heated rivalry rating: EXPLICIT. minors dni. summary: Shane can't get off and calls Ilya for help, ft. the dildo

read on ao3

The hotel bar is fine. Not as bad as it could be, given that Montreal just lost game six of their latest playoff series, and with it their chance at the Cup. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault—in fact, Shane thinks this is the strongest Montreal has been since he was drafted.

Sometimes, the other team is just better.

Still, the loss stings. A shot glass appears in his hand, magically refilling each time he knocks it back—and he’s knocking it back far more than he should. Shane likes playoffs, likes going against the best of the league, likes testing his skills. But now, knowing it’s all over, he just wants to go home.

Two hours and four shots later, he stumbles back to his hotel room. He peels off his suit jacket and shirt, the same from when he left the arena. He tries his best to fold them, but the world spins too much, so he settles for laying them over the back of the desk chair. He withdraws his phone from his pants pocket, setting it on the nightstand. Then, he flops onto the mattress.

He has the single room tonight, due to his hat trick on the ice earlier. He relishes in it as his hand drifts down his chest to the waistband of his pants, then his crotch. He exhales languidly as he just squeezes, letting the feeling wash over him. He feels only slightly guilty, knowing thin drywall is all that separates him from Hayden and J. J. in the next room.

He’s just pent up. That’s all.

I guess Lando likes frogs in this one??? idk where this came from lol also its an au where his bday doesn't fall on a race bc it worked better 😅

smile,

the world will spin around.

smile,

the sun will rise again.

laugh.

it doesn't hurt,

that in your eyes I see another.

laugh.

one day I'll move on

and your voice will give me butterflies no more.

cry,

I see your face

when I close my eyes.

cry.

I'll never be

the one to hold your hand.

smile.

one day

i wrote a little one shot based on the idea that tommy has been self-aware from the beginning because that’s a concept i really like! i don’t think i’ve seen much of it though, so i decided to make something mostly for myself

To this day.

You hurt me horribly

And I did not deserve it.

I never did a thing to you

But you would always be upset.

I had to learn the worst way

How to hide away my feelings

To be cold

Emotionless

Robotic.

This is what you wanted from me

Isn't it?

You knew what you were doing

When you hurt me for smiling

For having a passion

For being myself.

Now I am cold

Emotionless

Robotic.

You hurt me.

You made me this way.

It's your fault that

I despise you

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to be more gentle”

The Host was sitting on a bed in Dr. Iplier’s clinic, his legs dangling off the edge as the doctor swabbed around his eye sockets with a damp cloth. He had just hissed in pain as the doctor rubbed at a particularly sensitive spot, causing the doc to quickly apologize and let off some of the pressure.

It had taken weeks upon weeks of gentle nudging from the doctor to get the Host in his clinic for a checkup. He just couldn’t stand the constantly sloppy state of his bandages, and he knew that the blind man wasn’t cleaning his wounds properly, if he was at all.  

He was eventually able to get the Host to come in every other week, then once a week, then twice a week, and now he comes in daily every morning to replace his bandages and possibly chat a little.

“Alright, I’m done cleaning.” Dr. Iplier said, throwing away the bloodied cloth and picking up a fresh roll of bandages. “I’m going to start the bandaging now.”

Dr. Iplier wound the gauze strip over the Host’s eyes three times before making sure it was secure in the back.

“That’s not too tight, is it?” “The bandages are perfect,” the Host replied as he hopped off his perch. “The Host thanks Edward for his help.”

“You don’t have to thank me every time.” Dr. Iplier shuffled his feet nervously. “It makes it feel...impersonal.”

“The Host apologizes.”

The doctor groaned. “That’s just as bad!”

Edward would ever admit it aloud, but the way the Host spoke annoyed him to death sometimes. His mumbled narrations never bothered him, in fact they were almost soothing in a way. But trying to hold an actual conversation was just frustrating.

Edward was so caught up in his own thoughts he didn’t realize that they weren’t staying inside of his head. The Host was narrating the doctor’s internal monologue quietly to himself, a guilty expression crossing his face for perhaps the first time in his life. He paused his narrations for a moment, swallowing down a lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry” the Host said, quiet enough that Edward almost missed it. He blinked in shock, looking at the Host as if he had grown a second head.

“You can talk?!”

It hadn't even been a month since Stiles had been freed from the Nogitsune, but the scars had yet to heal, especially the emotional ones. Stiles felt responsible for everything, despite Scott's constant urging to the contrary, especially for Allison's death.

His dad had taken off as much time as he could from the station to help care for Stiles, who was just starting to recover from being a total wreck. Tonight, however, the sheriff couldn't take off, Melissa was at work, and Stiles needed a hug, God did he need a hug. Stiles was hugging his pillow, crying silently into it. He needed Scott. Now. He reached over to his nightstand and tapped out a message through the blur of his tears. "Hey dude tonight is bad. I need a hug. Get here ASAP pls" he sent, barely able to hold on to the phone, his hands were shaking so bad. He dropped his phone onto the bed and sobbed into his pillow.

He had nearly cried himself to sleep when he heard his window open, and he jumped up, scrambling for the bat next to his bed. "Stiles, what are you doing?" came Derek's voice from the open window. Stiles blinked and then lowered the bat. "Derek, why are you in my room?" Stiles demanded croakily. "Because you sent me a text demanding that I ‘come hug you asap’.” Derek said exasperatedly. Stiles set the bat down and snatched up his phone. "No, I definitely asked Scott to give me a hug because Scott is my best friend and- oh.” Stiles stopped abruptly. The text had been sent to Derek, not Scott.

Derek cleared his throat pointedly after a couple of seconds, "Something wrong?" Stiles shook his head gently and hung it. He dropped the phone back on his bed and sobbed. Derek took a few steps toward him and stopped right in front of Stiles. "I'm sorry I dragged you out-" Stiles began to apologize. Derek awkwardly lurched forward, paused, and then gently wrapped his arms around Stiles, who was too shocked to protest. Derek stood there and held Stiles, and his breath. He exhaled jerkily when Stiles dropped his head onto his shoulder, sobbing, and slid his arms around Derek's back.

Stiles was shocked, but not just by Derek giving him a hug. They had been through a ton together, and after Boyd's death, they had shared something that he didn't quite understand. What really shocked Stiles was how tender Derek was in hugging him. He contrasted sharply with Scott, who was all about the bear hug, and Stiles liked the difference. Stiles had always, well recently at least, felt safe when he was with Derek, but this was different. He felt more than safe, he felt... content, despite the pain he was feeling. Derek hugging him helped wash it all away, which he hadn't experienced much since he lost his mom.

Derek gently ran his hands up and down Stiles' back slowly, comfortingly, while he waited for Stiles sobs to subside. He had no idea how long they had stood there, but Stiles had definitely been quiet for at least a couple minutes. Derek kept slowly running his hands across Stiles' back, letting him melt into his shoulder. After a couple deep, steadying breaths, Stiles let go of Derek and stepped back. He looked away from Derek awkwardly, rubbing the back of his arm. "Stiles...?" Derek asked softly when Stiles remained silent. "Is this what it felt like after-" Stiles murmured quietly without looking at Derek. Derek stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed visibly. "Yes." Derek whispered. As impossible as it seemed, Stiles' head managed to drop even lower. Derek reached up and lifted Stiles' chin gently, looking him in the eyes, "Stiles. You're not alone. You were there for me, and- and I'm here for you." Tears burst forth from Stiles as he collapsed forward into Derek's arms. Derek shushed him quietly and lowered both of them to the edge of the bed. Stiles bawled into Derek's shoulder and Derek held him, just as he had wished someone had done for him after Boyd.

Stiles was letting out all the pain and anger, suffering and helplessness, agony and heartbreak, and Derek knew all too well how torturous that process was. He held on to Stiles’ for the better part of an hour, until eventually he ran out of steam and fell asleep. After gently lowering Stiles’ peaceful form and tucking him in, Derek looked down and wiped away the tears that were left on his cheeks, chin, and nose. Derek inhaled deeply, but shakily, as he bit back his own tears. Seeing Stiles go through this awful ordeal cut Derek, straight to the core. Derek decided right then and there that he would do everything in his power to lessen Stiles’ pain. He laid down next to Stiles and held him again, noting the shift in Stiles’ scent to contentment. Stiles’ scent shift was very pleasant, and Derek soon drifted off.

Stiles woke up the next morning, overheating as the sunlight streamed into his bedroom. The only problem was that the heat was coming from behind him, and he was facing the sun. He stiffened as he realized there was an arm draped over his chest, and the memory of what happened the previous night came flooding back. Usually he has to spend several minutes distracting himself from the nightmares he wakes up from because “remembering them is often worse than having them”, Stiles tells Scott. He realized it wasn’t a nightmare, and he confirmed this when he craned his head around and saw a leather jacket-clad, dark haired, scruffy werewolf in his bed, nuzzling the back of his neck. Stiles head snapped back to facing forward as he squinted his eyes hard and searched his memory, trying hard to recall every detail. He wanted to make sure he hadn’t said or done anything stupid with Derek. He let out a sigh of relief as he realized there hadn’t been anything done or said which could have revealed how he felt for Derek. Derek stirred and pulled Stiles closer to him. A few seconds later, Stiles heard, and felt, a small huff come from behind him. It tickled the hair on the back of his neck and he quickly stifled a giggle. This time when Derek stirred, he retracted his arm and yawned widely, his eyes still tightly shut. Stiles gently peeled back the covers and tried to climb out. “Stiles?” He heard Derek mumble before he could get even one leg out. “Uh, hey, Derek.” Stiles replied awkwardly. “Sorry if you didn’t want me to stay. You kind of passed out before I could ask.” Derek apologized as he sat up. “Why’d you stay?” Stiles asked as he climbed out of his bed. Derek didn’t immediately answer, a shadow crossed his face, and, for a moment, he once again looked like he did when Stiles first met him: hollow, dead. “Nightmares.” Derek said quietly, looking at the window. Stiles froze where he had been fiddling with papers at his desk, he turned to Derek. “You too?” He asked softly, setting the papers down and sitting on the edge of the bed. The bed shifted as Derek slid himself to the edge and sat next to Stiles. “Still to this day.” Derek admitted. Stiles reached over and put an arm around Derek, then dropped his head to his shoulder. “Maybe- maybe I could text you next time I have a bad night?” Stiles stammered quietly from Derek’s shoulder. “I told you I’m here for you. I meant it.” Derek said. “But then why didn’t you ever come to me about Boyd? You said I was there for you, but you never talked to me.” Stiles asked. “Things were complicated, and now they are even more so.” Derek replied cryptically. “No clue what that means, but it’s ok.” Stiles told Derek as he sat up. Derek glanced over at Stiles, then stood up and headed for the window. With one foot out the window, Derek turned to Stiles, “You know how to get a hold of me, just leave the window unlocked like normal.” Stiles nodded and smiled softly. Derek’s brows softened, and a corner of his mouth may have twitched slightly upwards.

~~~ One Year Later ~~~

A cold draft creeped through the window in Stiles’ room, like it had for nearly a year now. Stiles shivered and put on an oversized sweater. Stiles remembered it as clearly as though it were yesterday, he had texted Derek during a bad night, but forgot to unlock the window. He had tried to grow stronger and not rely on Derek’s comforting embrace at night, but it was slow work. That particular night, Stiles waited as long as he possibly could to text Derek before he started to black out from the panic attack. Derek had to force the window open to get to Stiles, and it had never sealed shut since then. Stiles smiled fondly at the memory, the smile accompanied by the usual pang of heartbreak every time he thought about Derek, saw a black Camaro, saw the red of Scott’s eyes, or the blue of Malia’s. Derek had left with Braeden without a word to any of them. Stiles had felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest. For a while, he thought that he might have preferred a Berserker actually doing that over having to live with the constant agony.

He was finishing a diagram for biology homework when he heard that window slide open. Stiles spun around and raised the pencil like a knife. “Really Stiles, I’m not a vampire, staking me with a pencil won’t do anything other than irritate me.” Derek’s voice came from outside the window as he lowered his legs to the floor. Stiles dropped the pencil. “Derek?” Stiles voice broke as Derek smiled, actually, genuinely smiled at him. “Get the fuck out.” Stiles demanded coldly, picking his pencil up and sitting back down at his desk. “Whoa, did I miss something?” Derek asked in shock. “Only a whole year!” Stiles spun in his chair and shouted, “Only saying goodbye, only giving a reason for leaving, only saying you’re sorry, only almost an entire year of the life of the one person that I know of who is in love with you!” “Stiles, I-“ Derek began to apologize. “No, I’m not done yet. I’ve waited a year to say all this, and I’m going to say all of it, right now.” Stiles cut him off, standing up and brandishing an accusatory finger. Derek nodded his head silently. “You know what I realized when I saw you bleeding to death? You know why I hesitated to go help Scott? Because I realized I never told you that I loved you. I thought you were going to die without me getting the chance to tell you.” Tears were streaming down Stiles’ face, and his breath was coming in ragged sobs. “Why did you leave? You have any idea how hard it was to see you die and then ‘poof’ not-dead Derek plus full wolf shift? And then you ran off without a word!? You flipped my world upside down twice in the space of a couple minutes. That’s what you do to me Derek.” Stiles’ breath was now dangerously sharp, and he leaned against his chair precariously. A split second after they locked eyes, Derek lurched forward and, just like the first time, hugged Stiles. Stiles didn’t resist, but he didn’t hug Derek back either.

“I had already grown to like you Stiles, and that month when I spent almost every other night with you, that just compounded it. But you had just broken up with Malia, so I didn’t know what to do or say about my feelings. But in the van, when you talked about the triskelion, and about Satomi’s control chant, I just knew. It hit me like a ton of bricks.” Derek explained quietly over Stiles’ shoulder. Derek sighed and continued, “I knew for sure in that moment that I had fallen in love with you Stiles Stilinski. But then I witnessed what watching me suffer on the brink of death did to you. I couldn’t bear to put you through that ever again. At the same time, it hurt so much to leave, I couldn’t even look at you or say anything. The best I could do was nod at Scott and then try to distract myself from thinking about you by leaving with Braeden.” Stiles huffed shakily at him, “You broke my heart to keep my heart from getting broken. Sound logic right there.” “I’m here to mend it Stiles. If you’ll let me.” Derek said hopefully, pulling back, holding Stiles’ shoulders and looking into his eyes. “I only regret that you actually have to fix it Derek, we could’ve had a whole extra year to ourselves.” Stiles lamented as he looked up at Derek. At those words, Derek’s hands dropped and he looked away, pain flashing across his face. “Hey, I forgive you, if you’ll just… promise not to leave again.” Stiles said softly, putting a hand on Derek’s chest. “I promise I won’t leave you again.” Derek whispered, his brows furrowing in pain as his eyes watered. Stiles stepped forward and grinned widely up at Derek. The pain vanished from his face and was replaced with a gentle smile and a warm glow. “God I almost forgot how beautiful you are.” Derek whispered as his eyes roamed Stiles’ face, drinking in every last mole. “I had that picture that Liam took of all of us one night just after wrapping up a meeting.” Stiles admitted. “The picture where you decided to lay across me?” Derek asked flatly. “Hey! Scott pushed me off the arm of the couch, I fell across you Sourwolf.” Stiles shot back with a laugh. Derek beamed at the sound of his old nickname coming from Stiles.

Time froze. Silence fell. Derek could feel his heart pounding against Stiles’ hand and he could hear the machine gun fire of Stiles’ own heart. They weren’t even a foot apart, and Derek was becoming intoxicated by the scent he had missed for so long. Stiles’ tongue poked nervously out to wet his lips, and Derek’s eyes flicked down momentarily. When he looked back up, he and Stiles stared into each others’ eyes. The whiskey brown of Stiles’ eyes looked so deep and lonely to Derek, and the green-gold of Derek’s looked so longingly into Stiles’. Derek didn’t have the chance to lean down before Stiles’ dragged him down by the shirt, pressing their lips firmly together. The swiftness that Stiles displayed shocked Derek, but he didn’t miss a beat, sliding his hands around Stiles’ lower back to bend him backwards. He deepened the kiss as he leaned Stiles backwards slightly, and Stiles’ spare hand found its way into the hair on the back of Derek’s head. Stiles scraped his fingernails against Derek’s scalp as Derek sucked on his tongue. Derek pulled back, but only for a moment before diving back in, breathlessly exclaiming, “Fuck.” He leaned back in, kissing more gently this time. Derek was tender, loving, in the way he kissed Stiles now. Stiles relaxed his grip on Derek’s shirt and ran his hand over the area, smoothing the wrinkles before gently gliding his hand up to Derek’s cheek. Each kiss became smaller and smaller, each more chaste than the last. Eventually they stepped apart, and Derek took Stiles’ hands. “Only one year late, still, better late than never.” Stiles admitted with a smirk.

“So where does this leave us?” Derek asked as he ran his thumb across the back of Stiles’ hand. “Together, it seems. Finally.” Stiles quipped with a smirk. With a quick step forward, Stiles hugged Derek, leaning his face against Derek’s wide chest. “Finally.” Derek said softly. “Derek… are you hard?” Stiles asked mischievously.