kyrene_writes: (TW: sterek)
[personal profile] kyrene_writes
Title: Someone's Gonna Get It
Author: [personal profile] kyrenekyorl
Pairings/Characters: Derek/Stiles, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,010
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: M/F pegging
Summary: Jackson makes a bold but stupid move, Lydia finds out... and Lydia retaliates.
Author's Note: Posted on AO3 under the name someone-who-isn't-me

"Someone's Gonna Get It"
by kyrene

Lydia was suspicious. And not just because everyone around her seemed to know more about what was going in around her than she did. Most of that had ended once she found out about the existence of werewolves, and if everyone valued their skins, it wasn't going to happen again.

However, there was something else going on. Something making her very suspicious. She would, in fact, need to be a lot less intelligent than she actually was - even more stupid than she chose to appear - in order to not be suspicious.

It wasn't the usual culprits; neither Scott nor Stiles. Or even Derek Hale, who she had a peripheral awareness of. No, it was her own personal problem poster boy, Jackson.

Scott was his usual idiot self, as far as she could tell. Stiles was looking like a battered housewife and sulking around, clearly feeling ill used. Lydia actually felt a little sorry for him and assumed that it had been Derek Hale failing to use his words that had resulted in this damage, but it wasn't any of her business nor did she want it to be.

It was true that she, Stiles, and Allison were the only humans in school who seemed to know about the existence of werewolves, and Stiles had been crushing on Lydia for pretty much as long as they had know one another, but neither of those facts seemed to Lydia to be a reason for any sort of solidarity. Not when she had her own lunar-powered, hormonal, occasionally furry boyfriend to wrangle.

And she had thought that Jackson had been a handful before. Maybe she should ask Allison for some tips.... Only her pride wouldn't allow her to do anything so demeaning as requesting advice. Even if Allison had been dealing with having a werewolf boyfriend longer than she had....

Anyway. While Stiles seemed to be having werewolf boyfriend problems too, he could deal with that on his own. Lydia was more concerned with the way Jackson was being so squirrely.

Lydia Martin wasn't used to being ignored, even when Jackson was at his worst. But that was just what was going on now. In fact, she'd say that Jackson was even going out of his way to avoid her. That was completely unacceptable.

And then suddenly Jackson was seeking her out and asking her all kinds of questions.... About chloroform of all things.

And Lydia answered them. Because she was wildly curious about just what exactly the hell her boyfriend was up to, and the best way to find out was to give him what he wanted and then watch what he did with that knowledge.

Becoming a werewolf hadn't made Jackson any smarter, and Lydia had always been able to run circles around him, intellectually. She was going to find out what he was up to.

And once she knew that, she would know how to deal with it.


Jackson tried to stay away from Stilinski. He really did. He wasn't stupid; he knew all the reasons it was a bad idea. A downright horrible idea. But the memory of that scent consumed him. It was like an addiction. A really stupid addiction, emphasis on stupid.

And by stupid, he meant Stilinski, not himself. Of course.

If he'd been able to just forget about Stiles' scent, that would be one thing. But he went to school with the asshole. He'd be innocently walking down the hall and suddenly there would be a whiff. Catching at his nose and consuming his senses. He was freaking lucky he hadn't popped a boner in the middle of school, god dammit.

It was probably only a matter of time, now that he had an awareness of Stilinski's scent. It hadn't been an issue before, but then Derek had gone and screwed everything up.

Speaking of Hale, he hadn't seemed to have noticed Jackson's smell all over Stiles. Or if he had, he hadn't reacted... but all things considered, Jackson kind of figured Hale hadn't been around Stiles since the night he'd knocked him unconscious.

Well, Derek had only hit Stiles hard enough to leave him bruised days later. No reason to avoid his victim there.

Jackson wasn't sure how often Derek and Stiles interacted normally, but he was pretty sure that it was even less now. And he could totally work that to his advantage. Already had, actually. But he needed another chance.

To hell with waiting for another chance; Jackson would make another chance. All that was required was some ingenuity and a complete disregard for Stilinski's personal safety.

The second actually came to him more easily than the first. But when it came to getting what he wanted, Jackson was perfectly capable of being underhanded. Sneaky, even. Even if he did sort of have to use Lydia's knowledge of chemistry for his own purposes.

The plan, however, was all his own, and he was damned proud of it. He didn't even need to wait to implement it; since the whole point of the plan was so that he didn't have to wait.

He wasn't going to wait, and he was going to get exactly what he wanted. It was perfect.

But of course it was perfect. It was Jackson's plan, after all.

And, yes, he was going to have to wait one more day for the opportune moment. But he only had to wait the one day, and he was making his moment.

And he was going to make Stiles Stilinski and his in-heat smell his, yet again. Stilinski was going to be his bitch. Because that scent was just too strong for him to leave alone.

No matter how stupid it was... and maybe he didn't just mean Stilinski.


When Derek ran into Stiles for the first time after he had sort of accidentally knocked him unconscious, he was virtually smacked in the face with the overwhelming scent of Jackson that the boy was carrying on his skin.

Not just Jackson's scent, but the reek of Jackson's spunk.

It was enough to have Derek's hackles rising - literally as well as figuratively - even though he was in a public place, in a grocery store.

Even though the dark and vivid bruising that marred the right side of Stiles' face should have had Derek shrinking into himself with overwhelming guilt.

Thankfully, Stiles was unaware of Derek's presence, busy browsing in the produce section, and so he was unaware of the Alpha's instinctive reaction. Not that Derek wasn't ashamed of it anyway, considering the violence he'd already inflicted on Stiles. But Derek wasn't the one who reeked of Jackson.

It was instinct that had Derek reacting in so feral a manner, his heart shouting at him that Stiles was his, not anyone else's, but his rational side kicked in almost as quickly and while it wasn't any more pleased it did remind him that Stiles wasn't actually his to claim.

Still, this wasn't right. Maybe Derek hadn't made Stiles his yet, but Jackson was supposed to belong to Lydia. Not only that, but Stiles professed to be in love with Lydia himself. So even if he wasn't inclined to help Jackson cheat on the girl in question, surely he wouldn't cheat on his own feelings for her...?

And yet Derek couldn't disbelieve his nose. Stiles smelled so strongly of Jackson's spunk that they might as well have copulated in front of him, there in the store. Not that Derek wouldn't have torn them apart if he'd caught them at it. Or, well, Jackson. Despite the unfortunate incident where he'd hit Stiles hard enough to knock him out - or maybe because of it - Derek had no desire to do anything to hurt the boy. Ever.

He had to say he was disappointed. Disappointed and distressed and disgusted. Because Jackson's scent in no way mingled well with Stiles' normally tempting odor. Not the way Derek's would have done, if he'd been the one to jizz on Stiles' pale skin.

Derek was upset that Stiles was no longer untouched. It was his own fault for taking so long, for assuming - however subconsciously - that Stiles would remain separate and pure for him. Not that Derek really had any intention of claiming Stiles. But the possibility had always been there, in the back of his head, lurking the way Derek sometimes lurked around the school.

It wasn't as though he'd lost all interest now that Stiles was sexually active with someone else. Derek wasn't that big an asshole. But Stiles smelled a lot as though Jackson had claimed him. And that meant he was now off limits to anyone else; off limits to Derek.

Derek felt that instinctively, but he knew intellectually that this idea was total bullshit. For one thing, Stiles and Jackson hated each other. For another, Jackson felt strongly enough about Lydia that he had come back from death for her. Derek had stabbed Jackson himself. He knew he'd killed him. He'd felt his heart stop beating. And yet for Lydia, for her love, Jackson had returned.

Which was why it was so mindboggling now that Stiles smelled of Jackson and sex.

Derek might not have thought better of Jackson, but he'd thought better of Stiles. He really had.

Ducking quickly out of sight, Derek headed down another aisle, and made rapidly for the exit. No matter what Stiles was doing with Jackson, Derek still owed him an apology for striking him.

But there was no way he could talk to Stiles right now. Not without pouncing him and doing his best to replace Jackson's scent with his own.

And that would not only piss Stiles off even more, and possibly traumatize him, but it could very well get Derek arrested for public indecency. Then he'd probably get shot by the Sheriff for molesting the man's only child.

Honestly, the best thing he could do now was make a strategic retreat. He was just fortunate that Stiles hadn't seen him.


Derek was a freaking coward and Stiles hated his guts, Stiles thought wrathfully, watching the familiar broad, leather-clad back disappear through the sliding glass doors at the front of the grocery store.

A coward and an asshole.

It wasn't as though Stiles was expecting an apology or anything. He knew Derek too well for that. Honestly, he kind of thought he would drop dead of a heart attack if the words "I'm sorry" crossed Derek Hale's lips; especially aimed at Stiles.

On the other hand, Derek had hit Stiles so hard he'd knocked him unconscious, and Stiles' face was still tight and bruised. Stiles was in the doghouse with his Dad, and while that wasn't specifically Derek's fault, it wouldn't have happened if the Alpha had just taken a moment to use his words.

It wasn't like Stiles would have just gone running into a building full of hunters. Maybe if it had been Scott they'd captured, but it had been Isaac. Stiles was still a little afraid that Isaac might kill him someday, maybe deciding he didn't need the competition for Scott's attention, or maybe just because Stiles annoyed him.

Stiles had probably definitely been about to offer to act as scout, or maybe even the get-away driver!


Anyway, Derek hadn't needed to hit him to get his point across.

Yeah, Derek talked a big game, like threatening to tear out Stiles' throat with his teeth. And at the time he'd been shot with the wolfsbane bullet, maybe Derek might have done it. He and Stiles hadn't liked each other even a little bit at the time. Although... they didn't like each other now... did they?

Well, Stiles definitely didn't like Derek now. Not after what the asshole had done to him!

It wasn't so much that Derek hadn't come over and apologized to Stiles that got him so angry. It was that he'd slunk away without even acknowledging Stiles' existence. Which, true, might indicate a certain amount of guilt Derek might be feeling. But that wasn't good enough.

It might be asking too much, but Stiles was starting to think that this time he deserved an actual real apology, from Derek's own lips. He wasn't going to think about forgiving Derek until he got this apology....

And even if by some miracle Derek did apologize, Stiles was still going to enact his revenge. He hadn't given up on that, even though he had yet to decide what it was going to be.

Hey, Derek needed to learn a lesson. He couldn't just go around smacking Stiles because it was easier than talking. Derek needed to be taught, and Stiles had no qualms about delivering this lesson.

Just as soon as he figured out what form it was going to take.


Keeping an eye on Jackson without him realizing wasn't exactly easy, but Lydia was determined. It helped that she knew when he was completely focused on something Jackson pretty much stopped paying attention to his surroundings.

That tendency worked to her benefit, and it helped that whatever it was he was planning he intended to do it at school. It was after hours, when lacrosse practice was long over. Jackson's Porsche and Stilinski's poor old Jeep were still in the parking lot, and Lydia was pretty sure that the two of them - as well as herself - were the only people left in the building.

There was a backpack sitting on the passenger seat of the Porsche, and it was definitely far too beat-up and ugly to belong to Jackson. Lydia frowned, surmising that it must be Stiles' and that it was more than likely to be the reason he was still here.

But why would Jackson want to keep Stiles here after lacrosse practice, looking for his "lost" backpack?

Why would Jackson want to have anything to do with Stiles, Lydia wondered as she made her way stealthily through the empty, quiet corridors. If he wanted to confront him about his obvious crush on Lydia, well, he was a little late. And Lydia highly doubted Jackson would have felt the need for machinations or scheming when he could have just cornered Stiles during the school day.

Giving Stiles a hard time wasn't anything that required actual stratagems or seclusion; though Lydia was a little impressed by the trouble Jackson had gone to.

It made her nervous, though. The only time Jackson put this much effort into something was when it was something that really mattered to him. And what about Stiles Stilinski could matter that much to Jackson?

Lydia deeply regretted asking this question, even in the privacy of her own mind, when she finally stumbled across the boys in the locker room and had her curiosity very decisively and very horribly answered.

"Jackson Allen Whittemore!"

Lydia Martin might only be a few inches over five feet with the perfectly distributed weight to match, but she was easily the most intimidating girl in school and she damned well knew it. Right now, with her hands on her hips and her eyes blazing, she felt intimidating. She felt as though her long, strawberry-blonde hair was standing on end. She felt as though she could set Jackson on fire with her mind and she felt as though she should!

Maybe she should have suspected, when Jackson had started asking her about chloroform, but how could she have anticipated this?

To his credit, Jackson did look as though he'd been caught out doing something awful. Which he had, considering his hand was down Stiles Stilinski's jeans, where the other teen was sprawled unconscious at the base of the lockers.

The questions he'd been asking about chloroform suddenly made a lot more sense, and Lydia was so mad she literally could not see straight. As much because Jackson had ignored her warnings about how dangerous it was to use chloroform to knock someone out as because he was cheating on her... with Stilinski of all people!

"What are you doing?" she snapped, even though she could already see the answer to that. Stiles was definitely unconscious, and Lydia hoped he'd be all right, but she was slightly more concerned with the fact that her boyfriend had been groping him.

"Nothing," Jackson said immediately and completely ridiculously, retrieving his hand and standing quickly. Lydia thought he was a little flushed, and she was just going to chalk that up to shame, rather than any residual lust.

She kind of had to, for the sake of her sanity. Which she was already questioning hard enough as it was.

Jackson had her, so why should he waste his time lusting after someone else? Granted, Stilinski might be somewhat attractive if someone took the time to give him a complete overhaul, but as it was he was kind of a disaster, and what had Jackson been doing with his hand down Stiles' pants?!

"Care to explain?" Lydia asked tersely, maintain control outwardly even though she was kind of screaming inside. She folded her arms and glared at Jackson with all the rage and ferocity at her disposal. And that was a lot. She was strong-willed and she was the one who'd been wronged here.

Well, and Stiles, she supposed.... But he wasn't aware of it yet, having been knocked out by the chloroform.

"There's nothing going on," Jackson told her, shrugging and stepping away from Stiles. It was so blatantly an untruth, and yet it had been spoken so boldly.... Well, Lydia couldn't say she was surprised by this. She just hoped that Jackson wouldn't think she was so stupid as to buy it.

"Here's what we're going to do," she said, continuing to speak calmly when all she really wanted to do was reach forward and tear Jackson's liver out of his belly with her bare hands. "You're going to go to your car and get Stilinski's backpack, then bring it back in here while I make sure he hasn't stopped breathing. Then I will make an anonymous call to the police about the Sheriff's son being unconscious in the school locker room, and you will take me home. After that, you will go to your home and you will wait there for me to decide what we're going to do about this."

Jackson's face was carefully blank, and he was looking anywhere but at Lydia... or Stiles.

"Are we clear?" Lydia asked, so coldly she almost scared herself.

Jackson just shrugged again, but he strode out of the locker room without a second glance for Stilinski, presumably headed for his Porsche, so Lydia counted it as something of a win.

As much of a win as it could be when Lydia had walked in on her boyfriend molesting an unconscious male classmate, that was. One neither of them really knew or respected, no less.

Lydia checked Stiles' pulse while Jackson retrieved the other boy's pilfered backpack. It was strong enough that she felt safe leaving him until the police could get there, but she did tip him on his side in case he vomited.

Once that was accomplished she used Stiles' own phone to call the Police Station, disguising her voice as best she could and wiping her prints off once she was done.

"Come on," she said, giving Stiles one last, slightly concerned glance as she shoved Jackson out of the locker room. She'd taken the time to zip up Stiles' jeans, and Jackson was going to pay for her having had to do that as much as he was going to pay for cheating on her.

"It's not cheating," Jackson said sullenly after she had informed him of this last fact while they drove away from the school and toward Lydia's house.

Lydia had actually been considering inviting Jackson in once they reached her place, because they really ought to discuss what had happened, but then he'd opened his mouth and those incredibly stupid words had fallen out of it.

"Enlighten me, Jackson," she demanded tartly, "On how exactly touching someone else's genitalia somehow magically isn't cheating."

Jackson wrinkled his nose in disgust. "That wasn't what I was doing," he protested, even though that had one-hundred percent been what he had been doing. "Don't make it sound so...."

"Sordid?" Lydia offered when he hesitated, though that was only one of the words on her long list of awful descriptors for what Jackson had been caught doing. Sordid, unscrupulous, immoral, debased, rapey, even though that last wasn't a real word. It was what she had seen, though, even if she didn't like to think of her boyfriend that way.

"Gross!" Jackson completed indignantly.

Lydia snorted. "You had your hand down Stiles' pants, Jackson. That is gross."

Jackson spent the rest of the drive sulking silently, while Lydia spent it trying to make sense of this whole situation. She could barely wrap her head around it, but she knew she hadn't been imagining what she had seen, what had happened. Jackson had asked her about chloroform, and then he had used it to knock Stiles out... and then he had, for some reason, had his hand down Stiles' jeans.

What. The. Hell.

Once the Porsche came to a stop in front of Lydia's house, she just sat there a moment, trying to get a handle on her emotions. They were all over the place, and she needed to calm down. She needed to handle this correctly. But first she needed to figure out the correct way to handle it, which meant remaining calm.

"Don't tell Stilinski," Jackson entreated, hands flexing on his steering wheel, knuckles white. He spoke it like a demand but it sounded more as though he was begging.

Lydia glared at him, even though he was staring out the windshield, very pointedly avoiding her eyes.

"I will do whatever I want, Jackson," she informed him sharply. "Just like you, apparently."

"It wasn't cheating," he repeated, and he actually sounded like he believed it. "Jesus, Lydia. Stilinski isn't a girl. And I don't like him!"

Lydia lifted her brows. So that was his criteria? While she could sort of see his point, she didn't agree with it, not one bit. They'd been through a lot, the two of them. She'd kissed Scott McCall, way back when. Jackson had broken up with her, blaming her for his own failings. There had been many times when Jackson had been a complete asshole to her. But he'd also come back from death for her, and she'd thought that meant something.

"If you're touching someone else, it's cheating," she informed him crisply. He should have already known that, but if he didn't, she was more than prepared to educate him. "You were cheating and I'm not forgiving you until you pay for it somehow."

Jackson looked at her now, and he actually seemed a little concerned. His brow was wrinkled and his lips were turned down, and she wanted to think it was as much guilt as it was anxiety, but she knew him too well to delude herself like that. Still, she had to take what she could get when it came to Jackson.

"What are you going to...?"

She shook her head. "I don't know yet. I'm going to think about it. But I'll figure something out. And when I decide what I'm going to do, don't you dare try and tell me I'm not justified."

Jackson scowled.

"And don't you take it out on Stiles, either," Lydia added, because she knew how Jackson's brain worked. "He's the victim and you're the asshole here. You drugged him, even though I told you how unsafe it was! You'll be lucky if he doesn't suffer some sort of permanent damage because of this. And you were touching him."

To his credit, Jackson flushed faintly at this last sally. Lydia had to tell herself if wasn't cute, the way his freckles melted into the pink, because she was still furious at him. As much for ignoring her warning about the use of chloroform as because he'd been bad-touching the classmate he'd knocked out.

"Don't tell Stilinski what happened," Jackson repeated, ever more desperately. "Please."

Lydia got out of the car and leaned over to speak to Jackson.

"Go home and wait for my phone call. You can do that. You owe me that."

Jackson's stunning jawline flexed and his normally plush lips were thin, his nostrils flaring, but he nodded jerkily.

"Don't worry," Lydia said sweetly. "I won't keep you waiting long."

Then she slammed the car door shut the way she knew he hated, before waving and flouncing into her house.

She already had some ideas and she thought they were going to be fun - at least for her - but she had some preparations to make.

Also, she wanted to find out whether or not Stiles was alive. Being dosed with chloroform was no light matter, and while she wasn't overly fond of him, she hoped he'd be okay. Damn it, she had warned Jackson not to actually use it on anyone!

And as soon as she found out how Stiles was, she was going to dig up that stash of powdered wolfsbane she had left over from when Peter Hale had used her body and mind for his own nefarious purposes. She shivered, shoving away the memories, but they did make her that much more determined make Jackson suffer for what he had done, to Stiles as well as herself.

Just because Stiles hadn't been aware of what Jackson had been doing to him, that didn't make it any less awful. Lydia tried not to think about Peter Hale, but she suddenly had a lot more empathy for Stiles. He deserved his revenge as much as Lydia deserved hers. Peter would have to wait, but Lydia could at least do something about the troubling scene she had stumbled across in the boys' locker room.

Jackson was going to pay for what he had done; she was going to make sure of that.


Nothing was more scary than Lydia Martin when she had her mind set on something, as Jackson well knew by this point in their relationship.

Now he was on the wrong side of this determination, and whatever "punishment" she dreamed up was sure to be unpleasant and humiliating in equal parts. And the worst thing of all was that he was just going to have to take it, whatever "it" ended up being.

Even though Jackson still maintained he hadn't been cheating, he really did sort of have to submit to whatever she decided on. If he tried to protest or get out of his "punishment" that would only make things worse.

He still couldn't quite believe that Lydia had come across him in the locker room with Stiles. What a waste of a perfectly good plan. He'd managed to get Stiles insensate without giving himself away, Stiles had been his, and then there was Lydia.

To be painfully honest, it might have been just as well. Every other time he'd touched Stiles Jackson had held himself in check, had been gentle and easy on the other teen because he could be. This time - maybe because he'd been the one to render Stiles insensate rather than merely coming across him that way - Jackson had been feeling more violent, more possessive. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Lydia hadn't caught him, but he suspected he might have taken more from Stiles and left him with more of a mark than the three other times before.

But it wasn't just as well, was it? Because now Lydia had caught him and was going to be punishing him!

Dammit. She'd just better not tell Stiles about what had happened. It was bad enough that Jackson hadn't been able to resist Stiles' scent; he didn't want Stiles knowing about it.

Jackson had no idea what Lydia was planning, and he didn't hear from her for almost twenty-four hours after the incident in the locker room. He'd expected to receive a call the very night it had happened, and it preyed on his nerves terribly to have to wait longer.

Maybe that was part of the punishment, he thought angrily once she had finally called him and told him to come to her place late Saturday afternoon, while he was driving over just as directed. If so, it hardly seemed fair... that she was messing with him even before he got to her house!

As much as he hated to admit it, Jackson really had no idea what to expect from Lydia. So he wasn't really surprised when she led him silently into her bedroom and, after she sat him down on her bed, blew some sort of purple powder in his face that had his senses reeling. He wasn't really not surprised either, though....

And then he was unconscious, and there was nothing that was surprising about that.


Lydia had thought long and hard about how to punish Jackson. The powdered wolfsbane was only a start, meant to render him weak and unconscious. The same way he'd done to Stiles, in fact, and she thought that there was a kind of poetic justice to this, even if Stiles didn't know about what she was doing... or even what Jackson had done.

As far as she could ascertain, Stiles had been unharmed by his encounter with chloroform. There were no clues as to who had dosed him or why, even though the Sheriff was looking into it with all the righteous wrath of a protective father as well as a lawman. Lydia understood this, but she was still grateful that no one was pointing fingers at either Jackson or herself.

Mainly because she wanted to handle this her way. She'd spent the last twenty-four hours preparing for this moment, and she didn't want it ruined by any outside forces, no matter how justified they might be in acting.

Once she had her wolfy boyfriend knocked out, Lydia lifted his legs up onto the mattress with a little grunt of effort. Jackson was all muscle and she swore he was more dense now that he was a werewolf. Literally, that was, not figuratively.

Although, the fact that he had actually shown up when she'd summoned him....

Sighing, she stood a moment, staring down at his slack features, and shook her head. She loved him, but he really could be a selfish asshole sometimes. That was why she was doing what she was doing right now; to train into him the fact that there were consequences to only thinking of himself and not her.

Lydia got a damp washcloth and cleared the stray wolfsbane off Jackson's face, then she went to the effort of undressing him. It was actually more difficult because of his limp limbs. Lydia was no weakling, but Jackson's arms and legs seemed to weight fifty pounds apiece. And never mind the difficulty involved in tugging his jeans out from under his ass where he was sunk into her mattress.

It was definitely an effort, but eventually Lydia got Jackson where she wanted him on her bed; naked and sprawled on his back.

The powdered wolfsbane wouldn't keep him unconscious for long, but he ought to remain weakened for a while afterward. Lydia had measured the dose very carefully, and she was in complete control here.

She already felt a little kinky as she cuffed his wrists to the headboard, even as he began to moan and move his head a little. What she was doing wasn't about fulfilling a kink, though. It was about showing Jackson his place.

Jackson might be a werewolf, but he was Lydia's bitch, and she was going to make sure that he knew that.

Vibrating more with determination than arousal, Lydia stripped down to her black lace bra and panties, set her recent purchases next to Jackson on the mattress, and then climbed up to straddle his belly.

"Jackson," she cooed with false sweetness as he began to stir. "Wake up."

She dug her nails into his pectorals and with a startled yelp he did as directed.


"Don't you dare break those cuffs," Jackson heard Lydia say in clear warning as he swam sluggishly back to awareness. "They were expensive!"

He stopped tugging at the unexpected restriction around his wrists, though his arm muscles continued to flex, as he pried his eyes open and blinked rapidly to clear out the fuzz in his vision, trying to focus and make sense of the situation he found himself in.

He was on his back on Lydia's bed, and from the stretch of his bare chest before him and the breeze around his junk he was evidently naked. He couldn't remember undressing, and his eyes and nose stung a little, his breathing feeling a little tight.

"What happened?" he slurred. He wasn't sure he could break the bonds holding his arms up above his head, even if Lydia hadn't forbidden it. His muscles all felt weak and rubbery. He didn't feel bad, per se, but he didn't feel quite right. "What did you do to me?"

"What did you do to Stiles, Jackson?" Lydia asked, still with the saccharine sweetness that was as fake as the color of her lips. Her eyes were hard, and her pink-painted mouth were pulled in a tight line.

She still looked beautiful, of course perched over Jackson with black lace and flawless pale flesh on display, her fiery hair pulled back into a loose tail that frothed over one shoulder and swirled around her perfectly curved torso in gleaming curls. Like an Amazon princess or something.

She was a little intimidating, but there was no way Jackson was going to tell her so.

"Nothing," Jackson replied sullenly, because that was his story and he was sticking to it. Lydia might have walked in on them in the locker room, but she didn't need to know about that night in Stilinski's Jeep, or the two nights in Stiles' bedroom... and he hadn't really gotten anywhere before Lydia had interrupted him this most recent encounter.

"You drugged him, Jackson," Lydia said, tone sharpening, her eyes going narrow. "You knocked him out with chloroform even though I warned you how dangerous it could be."

Jackson shrugged, discovering that this was an awkward move with his arms pulled over his head, his shoulders knocking into his ears. "He's fine."

"That's not the point," Lydia said, settling back on his stomach and giving him a speculative look. Her crotch was a heated point over his navel, and while this position was new and disconcerting, her scent was familiar and Jackson could feel himself beginning to get hard.

"What is that point?" he asked peevishly. "Because this seems a lot like the set-up to a porno, and I highly doubt you're planning on fucking me as punishment." He rattled his chains in emphasis, but still restrained himself from trying to break free.

He hated to admit it, even in the privacy of his own mind, but the sudden smirk that curved Lydia's lips, the brightness that flared in her eyes, kind of frightened him.

"But that's exactly what I have planned," she informed him, reaching down beside his chest, out of his line of sight. Jackson wasn't sure what he expected - he didn't really have any expectations - and he was completely taken aback when she hefted a large bottle of sexual lubricant.

He opened his mouth, not sure quite what he was going to say... or what question he was going to ask... but before any words could emerge, Lydia shifted the lube to her left hand, and then lifted something that looked an awful lot like a black dildo wrapped in purple straps with her right.


Lydia sighed and rolled her eyes, which Jackson thought was supremely unfair, because he had absolutely no idea what she was doing with lube and a black dildo.

"That," she said, wiggling it, and Jackson felt his face heat up even though he was so far from a blushing virgin that it was laughable, "Is a strap-on."

Jackson blinked. He had a cock, so what did he need with a-


"You are not sticking that in me," he snapped, trying to sound forceful, but unfortunately aware that he probably sounded more panicked than anything else.

"Yes. I am." Lydia was staring down at him with an unfamiliar fixedness, and for some bizarre reason Jackson could feel his cock getting fatter. Surely it was in response to the scent of Lydia's growing arousal... because there was no way Jackson wanted anything in his ass.


"No," he repeated stubbornly.

Lydia sighed, her lips skewing to the side but her eyes fixed on Jackson. He wanted to look away, only he couldn't expose that much weakness.


He stared mutinously up at his girlfriend, who was straddling him with a strap-on in her hand and every intention of using it on his ass.

Lydia sighed, as though she was so put upon, and then she leaned forward, setting down the items in her hands and bracing herself on the mattress to either side of his chest.

"You could break those cuffs any second if you wanted," Lydia whispered, holding his gaze steadily. "You're recovering your strength quickly enough. But you're not going to. You're going to lay here and take what I give you. And do you know why?"

Jackson shook his head, though he suspected he had a hint of an inkling.

Lydia leaned closer. He could feel the heat of her breasts just above his bare chest. Her breath was hot and moist on his chin, and smelled of mint and green tea.

"You're going to take what I give you because of what you tried to take from Stilinski, and because that action took something away from me, as well," she informed him earnestly. "I'm willing to forgive you, Jackson. But only after I exact my punishment."

"Whatever," Jackson grumbled, turning his face aside, breaking their eye contact. He could feel himself blushing hotly, and his erection hadn't abated. He was indeed going to lay here and take what Lydia gave him, mostly because he kind of owed her that much, but that didn't mean he was going to seem eager for it.

And there was no way he was going to enjoy having his ass fucked.

He could feel his toes curling at that thought, a coldness settling in the pit of his stomach. But... it was Lydia. She might be punishing him. She might be humiliating him because she considered that he had cheated on her. But she wouldn't hurt him. Not in any way that he wouldn't recover from.

Even though being here, right now, handcuffed to the bed, with his girlfriend waving around a black dildo she was gonna fuck him with, was more than a little scary.

Jackson would never, ever admit to any fear, though. He was a werewolf, and he could break the cuffs, even if he'd been instructed not to. He'd be able to break away and escape if he had to; his body was already shedding the last ill effects of the wolfsbane, as Lydia had said.

"As long as we're in agreement," Lydia was saying, scooting back and sliding into the space between Jackson's open thighs.

"I didn't agree to this," Jackson pointed out harshly.

"But you're not going to fight it," Lydia said, sweet as anything now that she was getting her way. "And you owe me this."

Jackson didn't answer, but she didn't seem to need him to. Jackson started slightly when Lydia pressed a warm kiss to the inside of his drawn-up knee. He wanted to look down and keep an eye on her... but he really couldn't stand the thought of watching her do what he was sure she was going to do next.

He knew the sound of her squirting lube into her palm, even though they'd never needed it while having sex before. Lydia was always plenty wet. In fact, Jackson could smell her right now, heady and ripe with arousal. But that wasn't going to help Jackson's ass any, and since this was clearly going to happen, he hoped she was generous with the slick.

Oh, God, this was really happening. The thought rang loud and sharp in his mind at the first touch of Lydia's lube-wet fingers at his virgin asshole.

Jackson stiffened up, hands clenching, but he managed not to break the cuffs. He wasn't scared - he wasn't! - but he didn't like new experiences that he couldn't control. And while he technically could have broken free and gained control, he wasn't going to because he needed Lydia to forgive him.

So he lay there and tried to relax as Lydia got on with things. Even though it was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

Lydia had tiny hands and so it didn't really hurt when she shoved two fingers in his asshole. They were well-lubricated, because Lydia did everything perfectly, and it was the weirdest thing Jackson had ever felt, but it didn't hurt.

It was probably the realization that it didn't hurt, that it actually felt kind of... good... that kept him laying quiet and still as Lydia began to efficiently, methodically, but also carefully prepare him.

His thigh muscles kept flexing, and Jackson tried to concentrate on physical sensations other than what was going on with his ass in an effort to ignore what Lydia was doing, even though that tended to be what his brain wanted to fixate on.

Lydia's scent engulfed him. Not just the musk of her arousal; he was on her bed and the sheets were saturated in the smell of her. Skin, hair, perfume.... It comforted him a little. It was a familiar smell, and one he liked.

The sheets were soft under his back, even if the cuffs were hard around his wrists. It made Jackson feel a tiny bit of amusement that Lydia had gotten padded cuffs clearly meant for sex, probably from the same place she'd gotten the strap-on and maybe the lube. He was a werewolf, so there was absolutely no need for the cuffs to be padded, but he supposed he appreciated the intention.

Probably what freaked Jackson out more than the feeling of his girlfriend's fingers in his ass was the fact that he was still hard and his erection had shown zero sign of abating, even when Lydia got up to four fingers and that stretch did sort of sting a little.

He couldn't possibly be getting turned on by this... could he?

Jackson had always had control issues and trust issues. He knew that, even though he didn't let them stop him from living his life the way he wanted.

So, since when had he come to trust Lydia enough that he relinquished control of this sexual encounter to her?

It really wasn't anything that bore thinking on, so Jackson just stared at the ceiling and carefully breathed in and out.

It was almost worth panicking over, how far from panicked he felt. He wasn't... he wasn't looking forward to this, was he? Oh, hell, no!

"Last chance to tap out," Lydia said, the sports euphemism sounding wrong coming from her. "Of course, if you do, I'll be expecting you to give Stiles a heartfelt apology for knocking him unconscious and groping him in the boys' locker room."

Jackson snorted, even though he really wasn't in a position to be scornful. Not with his hands cuffed over his head, a pink sheet under his prone body, and his girlfriend currently affixing a black dildo to her crotch with some incredibly complicated looking purple straps.

The big black dildo that was about to go in his ass, no less.

"Not wimping out," he said, and was surprised at how the words came out kind of slurred. It wasn't any lingering wolfsbane, it was all arousal, and how did that work?


Lydia was suddenly over him again, leaning down to kiss him on the mouth. "You're being a good boy for me, Jackson. When I forgive you after this is done, I might actually forgive you."

Jackson snorted again, but he appreciated the sweetness of her kiss. He'd never let her know, of course; especially not when she was about to shove a rod of hard silicone into him. At least the strap-on she'd chosen wasn't even as big as his own cock. It was intimidatingly long, but not terrifyingly thick.

Although, really, anything was too thick was when it was going in his ass.

Lydia quickly returned to her spot between his legs. She still looked beautiful, even with that stupid black cock bobbing in front of her pale white thighs. Jackson wasn't going to watch her while she put it in him, but it was a little hard to look away. She was flushed and he could smell that this was turning her on... which was better than if it wasn't, but Jackson didn't really know what to do with that information.

"Lift your behind," Lydia instructed, which Jackson thought was kind of unfair, because she was the one sort of making him do it.... But he recalled her threat to make him apologize to Stilinski, and so he did as she said.

Lydia handily slid a pillow under his ass, and it just figured that it was purple with pink ruffled edges, God.

"Dammit," Jackson hissed, even though he suspected the angle she'd just put his ass at would make this easier for her and less painful for him.

"Hush," Lydia cooed, giving him one of her best smirks. She squirted more lube into her palm and began running both hands up and down the shaft of her strap-on, as though she was jerking it off. That should not have looked as hot as it did, and Jackson was mesmerized.


"I'm warming it up," Lydia informed him evenly, though her cheeks were pink and her breathing was getting a little heavier, and he could smell that she was very aroused now. "I really ought to use a condom, but I figure this is a one-time use thing."

Jackson blushed and rolled his eyes, embarrassment and horniness fighting it out in his brain. If anyone ever found out about this....

Well, then Lydia would look almost as bad as him. So she'd probably keep it to herself. Right?

"Hold on, sweetheart," Lydia crooned, wiping her hands on a towel before grabbing Jackson's thighs and shoving them up toward his stomach. Well, she wouldn't have been able to shift them if he hadn't moved them himself, but he recognized a nonverbal directive when he felt one.

"Hold onto what?" Jackson asked snottily, thought he kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, suddenly embarrassed again, at being so exposed. It was true that Lydia was about this spread open whenever he ate her out, but this was different. This was his ass. "My hands are cuffed over my head."

Lydia sighed. "Grab he headboard if you feel the need," she said, and Jackson stiffened as he felt the blunt, hard head of the strap-on prodding at his tingling asshole.

"Fuck," Jackson hissed.

"If I can take you, you can take this," Lydia informed him ruthlessly, and more than a little meanly.

"I've never fucked you in the ass," Jackson felt the need to point out, and he was actually so distracted that he loosened up at the same moment Lydia popped the tip of the dildo in. "Oh, fuck!"

"You big baby," Lydia groused, rising a little higher on her knees so that she had the optimal angle for entry. From that point it was a slick slide in, and the seemingly impossible was evidently very possible.

"Oh, fuuuuuuuuck...." It wasn't Jackson's most eloquent moment, but it was the first time he'd had anything in his ass like this.

He wanted it out, this felt too bizarre, he couldn't deal with it, Lydia had certainly picked a punishment that would stick with him even after it was over because this was a feeling so new he would never forget it, and it was going to ache even after she was done, and oh, God, she was beginning to move in and out.

Jackson tried to remind himself that this was no different than the first time he'd had sex with Lydia.... Well, no different than it had been for her. Even though, as he'd pointed out, he hadn't been fucking her in the ass. But if she could take it and even get pleasure from it, then so could he.


Not that he.... Not that he wanted to get pleasure from it. He definitely didn't.

It seemed as though his ass hadn't gotten the memo on that, though, or else Lydia really knew what she was doing. Because the stretching sensation and slight burn that he'd felt when she'd first slid the strap-on in had faded into a warmth and a rising feeling of both pressure and pleasure that he wanted to deny but couldn't.

It didn't help - or maybe he should say it helped too much - that Lydia's sweet scent of arousal was growing stronger the longer she fucked into him with the strap-on. He wondered vaguely if it had something that was pressing up against her clit, or if she was just that turn-on by the reality of screwing him.

It didn't really matter in the end. What mattered was that Lydia was pushing him closer and closer to climax, and all she was doing was sawing a black dildo in and out of his ass. She wasn't even touching his cock, was holding onto his hips, and he was still cuffed so he couldn't jerk himself off.

Lydia's headboard was creaking in Jackson's grip but he hadn't busted the handcuffs yet. Jackson thought that this in itself was something of a miracle.

Then the head of the strap-on jabbing him in the ass punched up against a very interesting spot and there was no more room in Jackson's brain for thought.

"Shit!" he yelped, his pelvis twisting convulsively, his fingers clenching tightly enough to leave grooves in the headboard, and his throbbing erection had jumped, shooting a gout of precome onto his tight stomach muscles.

"Right there," Lydia crooned, sounding breathless and gleeful at once.

And, damn her, she settled the strap-on in that one spot, grinding her hips in tight little circles so that its head was pushing right up against that spot, stimulating it past what Jackson could stand.

Literally, as he shouted and came all over himself in thick streamers of semen, one hitting him in the chin, the rest marking his torso with heat and salty-wet.

"Wow," Lydia gasped, as though she hadn't ever given him a handjob and seen him come before, but Jackson was too busy shuddering through the aftershocks and wallowing in the brainless afterglow to pay her much attention.

He didn't even know how she got herself off, though she obviously did, because by the time he pulled himself together she was letting off the scent of her own orgasm, as well as reeking of fresh sweat, and her breath was coming hard and fast while she unlocked the cuffs and curled up on his chest.

The strap-on seemed to be gone, and Jackson tried to tell himself that his ass did not feel empty without it. It did feel tingly and a little bruised. Not at the hole, but deep inside, where Lydia had found that spot that had made him come as though she'd punched a button.

Jackson was torn between feeling really smug and good, the way only a strong orgasm could leave him, and both disconcerted and humiliated by the fact that Lydia had fucked him to this point and that he'd just taken it like a bitch.

"That was a lot of work," Lydia muttered, shifting restlessly to dig her chin into his pectoral in a way that she knew annoyed him. "Ugh. Maybe I'll leave the fucking to you from now on."

"You said that was a one-time thing," Jackson croaked, not feeling as panicked as he thought he should, but he was probably still riding the post-coital high.

"That was before I made you come without touching your cock," Lydia smirked, looking up at him with glowing eyes.

"Whatever," Jackson grumped. He wasn't going to say whether or not he'd want that again; especially when he had no idea himself. "Are we even now?"

Lydia let out a little humming sound. "That wasn't about getting even," she informed him, sounding more sleepy than sharp, but completely lucid. "This was you earning my forgiveness."

Jackson waited, even though it wasn't in his nature to be patient. He was well-fucked, though, and the answer to his question was important.

Lydia yawned delicately, then shifted enough to retrieve the bedcovers and pull them over top of both of them.

"Which you've done," she continued, giving him a fond smile. "You were such a good boy for me."

Jackson flushed warmly, telling himself he found her words demeaning and degrading, not at all gratifying.

"I forgive you, Jackson," Lydia said, and he allowed himself to relax. Until she continued. "But you haven't even begun to pay for what you've done yet."

Then Lydia fell asleep, because she could be a complete bitch like that, while Jackson lay there with his ass feeling empty and well used and wondered just what she had meant by this declaration.

Whatever she'd meant, he knew it didn't bode well for him. He was pretty sure he was fucked, and not just literally.

Though, yeah, that had just happened too.



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February 2015

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