Stiles would say his relationship with Derek is about fifteen percent empty threats, thirty percent sass, ten percent avoiding violence together, and five percent eyebrows. If anyone asked, he would say the remaining forty percent is mutual orgasms. It’s a good thing no one ever asks.

“You know, you’re the one to beat this year,” Jiang Cheng offers helpfully, having seen the glare from right next to him. “Hanguang-jun’s been through juniors with the rest of us, he knows all of our tics. You’re an unknown variable, since he’s never competed against you before.” “Thanks,” says Wei Wuxian drily. “That’s very comforting.” Or: five nighthunting competitions where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were rivals, and one where they weren't.

Eddie yanked at the tentacles stringing him up, his mind and body alight with need, "Venom, please please please do that again, fuck –" I think you might need a little help remembering the terms of our agreement, Venom mused instead.

It was embarrassing, but Tom only realized he was in rut well into the last week of January. It was Thursday, and he was in Starbucks because Mike had mentioned, off-hand, that he was a little bit tired and needed some caffeine. Tom got to the front of the line, made eye contact with the pretty omega boy behind the register, and barely caught his drool with his own hand.

It’s not - it’s not a thing. Really. Not a thing-thing, at the very least. He doesn't think it can be a thing if you only think about it and don't act on it, excepting that one time when Connor was straight up nailing him to the bed. He reasons that it certainly can't be a thing-thing if you've never even talked about it with your not-boyfriend. Dylan resolves to figure his shit out and have less hyphens involved in his life. (or: Connor McDaddy)

Nate looks away, shifting his weight between his feet. “Uh, it’s a contract,” he says. EJ stares at him for a moment. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” he blurts out once he’s done staring because that’s the only reasonable explanation for this. Nate looks up at him, confused and weirded out at the same time. “I’m not,” he says. “It’s for you,” he adds. In which the NHL requires subs over the age of 31 to be collared, and EJ finds himself in a tough spot.

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?" "It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back.