breenwolf:

derek having that one silly moment with those kids literally just blew my entire ship wide open and all of my feelings just came gushing out i mean

talk to me about derek being a hammy shit, saying sarcastic things under his breath that he thinks are funny and looking up, catching stiles’s eyes, and seeing stiles pursing his lips to keep the laughter at bay

talk to me about stiles’s recognition that his and derek’s senses of humor align, that derek’s the dude who wolfed out to make some kids’ halloween the halloween they’ll be talking about for YEARS while stiles is the dude who, year after year, looks forward to fucking coach finstock’s world up just for his birthday

talk to me about stiles and derek pranking each other, just a little bit, being silly around each other, learning to pass the time while they’re in dire circumstances together with jokes and smiles that they try not to let one another see

talk to me about derek being a total cliche on purpose and pushing everything off of a messy desk before he lays stiles out on top of it, bright-eyed and breathless, and stiles saying “oh my god, you did not just do that” and laughing, laughing, laughing

talk to me about derek and stiles, yeah, okay

but talk to me about derek and stiles making each other laugh and i’m yours

itslookinggrimm:

Blame for this lies solely on Renqa, literaryoblivion, that anon who gave me the prompt of Derek in red underwear, and this gif set

“No,” Stiles says. “No, no, c’mon, guys, it’s demeaning—”

“It’s your birthday, dude,” Scott says with a grin, at the same time Isaac says, “It’s just a job for them. Lighten up.” 

“Ha ha,” Stiles says forcefully, carefully keeping his head down so he doesn’t make eye contact with anyone here, employees and clients alike. The music is loud and the place is dark, but he really doesn’t want anyone’s attention. “Now, there, you see—”

“Here’s Lydia,” Scott cuts through him cheerfully, and there is Lydia, slipping her way through the crowded floor with a firm smile on her face and a drink in each hand. 

“Drink,” she says upon arrival at their table, shoving one of the glasses into Stiles’ face. He takes it reluctantly. “Drink,” Lydia insists. “It’ll loosen you up.”

“I don’t wanna be loosened up,” Stiles mutters rebelliously, but takes a sip of the drink. It tastes like cheap rum and coke. At least the sharp smell of it somewhat covers the slightly sweet, cloying smell that’s hanging in the air. He takes another sip and asks, “Where did Boyd and Erica go?”

Lydia jerks a thumb toward the open floor, where Erica’s grinding between Boyd and one of the dancers and they look like they’re about two minutes away from having a threesome right there on the floor. Stiles makes a face and takes a longer sip. He’s pretty sure Lydia made this a double, because he tastes a lot more rum than he does coke. 

“Okay,” Lydia says, when he’s nearly finished with the drink. “We bought you a dance.”

“What?” Stiles groans. “No, I don’t—”

“Birthday,” Isaac says and Allison, sandwiched between Isaac and Scott, giggles. 

“You are sexually repressed,” Lydia tells Stiles sternly, and he half expects her to start shaking a finger in his face, “and you need to lighten up. I found you a really nice guy.”

“Really?” Stiles protests. “C’mon, guys. I’m not – I know people—”

“Not cutting it,” Lydia says, and grabs him by the wrist. 

“Happy birthday!” Scott calls after them. 

Stiles could resist. Stiles should resist, but he doesn’t because one: if he tries, Lydia will probably stab him through the foot with her stilettos; two: he might fall over if he pulls too hard, because he already had three drinks at the bar before they came here; and three: he kind of is sexually repressed, as shitty as it is to admit it, and it’s kind of sweet that they bought him a private dance, because this is one of the nicer strip clubs in the city, and it was probably expensive. 

“Here’s the birthday boy,” Lydia says cheerfully, announcing their arrival to a bouncer standing in front of a doorway. The man nods, takes the nearly empty drink from Stiles’ hands, and shows him down a hallway. Stiles is suddenly nervous again because even though there’s music booming down the hallway, he can hear muffled sounds coming from behind the closed doors that sound like a lot more than dancing and he – that’s not legal, is it? He’s fine with coming in his pants if it comes to it, but did his friends really think he’d have sex with a stranger?

His palms are sweating by the time the bouncer points him into an open room and shuts the door behind him. It’s empty except for a chair in the middle of the dimly lit floor and that’s kind of a relief – no gross couch or bed. He sits in the chair tentatively, and waits. 

The room is somewhat warm and he’s sweating faintly, partially from the heat, partially from nerves. It’s loud – there’s a speaker in the ceiling that’s blasting a terrible remix of an equally terrible pop song. He stares at the door, waiting anxiously, and nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand slides over his shoulder and curls under his chin, forcing him to tilt his head back. 

Apparently there’s a second door he didn’t see, because there’s a man standing over Stiles now and god bless Lydia because she knows exactly what he liked in guys and this dude is everything – cutting cheekbones and dark stubble and pale eyes and unf. He draws his thumb along Stiles’ bottom lip and says, just loud enough to be heard over the music, “What’s your name?”

“Stiles,” he replies weakly and holy shit he’s as bad as a fucking teenager because he’s already getting hard.

“Stiles,” the man repeats and he smiles very faintly. He steps around to the front of the chair, not taking his hand off Stiles’ face. Stiles’ eyes rake up and down him and it’s even better now that he can see all of him, because he’s broad and muscular and apparently there’s no wasting time here because all he’s wearing is a pair of red silk boxer-briefs that cling so tight they look like they’ve been painted on. They don’t leave anything to the imagination and Stiles can’t help licking his lips. 

“Like what you see?” the man murmurs, taking a step back and spreading his hands slightly, like this is what you paid for. He turns slowly, keeping his pale eyes fixed on Stiles’ until the last moment and now Stiles gets to stare at his unfairly muscular back and tight, perfectly formed ass. 

“Fuck,” Stiles says, very quietly, and if he wasn’t hard before, he is now, as the man starts to dance. It’s slow and sinuous and doesn’t match the beat of the music at all, like the man’s got his own band playing in his head. It’s graceful and hot and when he turns again, his eyes immediately fix back onto Stiles’ and Stiles can’t look away, can’t even blink. The dancer takes a step forward, and then again, until he’s straddling Stiles’ thighs and still his hips wind and writhe and the dance of that red underwear is hypnotic. He puts a hand under Stiles’ chin again, and Stiles can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, pulsing much faster than the speed of his dance.

“W-what’s your name?” Stiles manages, and the man pauses for just a moment. 

“Derek,” he replies, and Stiles thinks he’s telling the truth. It’s not much of a stage name, unless he calls himself Derek Danger, or – or something like that. 

“Derek,” Stiles repeats, like he repeated Stiles’ name, and his hands fist at his sides. Derek’s body is just centimeters from his and he can feel the heat of it. He wants to touch – and not just touch, but mouth, bite, tongue, taste – but he doesn’t dare. Derek solves his dilemma by sliding a hand down his arm and wrapping his fingers around Stiles’ wrist. He brings Stiles’ hand to his face and, very deliberately, run his tongue down Stiles’ pointer finger. Stiles makes a choked noise that Derek seems to take as encouragement, because he slides his lips around Stiles’ finger, his tongue sliding across his fingertip. 

“Fuck,” Stiles says again and tentatively puts his free hand on Derek’s thigh. Derek looks down at him, the corners of his mouth curling up encouragingly, and Stiles bites his lip. Derek releases his finger with an obscene noise and settles onto Stiles’ lap, slipping one hand around to cup the back of his head. His hips never stop moving, grinding against Stiles with a fervor and rhythm that leaves him gasping. Derek’s hard too, which is weirdly gratifying, the front of his underwear turning maroon from precome. Stiles wishes he could taste it.

“So I hear it’s your birthday,” Derek says smoothly and the intensity of his pale gaze should be intimidating but it’s not – it just makes the blood boil below the surface of Stiles’ skin. He feels trapped in the best way possible. Derek smiles his faint smile and trails a finger along the line of his jaw. “What do you want?”

Stiles swallows. “I don’t, uh. World peace? I don’t know.”

Derek smiles again. “Nothing else?”

“I, um—” Stiles loses his words when Derek reaches between them, easily unbuttoning his pants. “Oh,” he adds, as Derek slips a hand into his boxers and curl around his dick. His hands move without thinking, fingernails digging into Derek’s firm ass and Derek loses his careful control. He hisses and smashes his mouth again Stiles’ and they kiss sloppily while Derek pushes Stiles’ pants down around his thighs and jerks him roughly. Stiles groans into Derek’s mouth and does his damnedest to fight back, running his fingers over the tented from of Derek’s underwear, feeling the dampness of the silk beneath his fingertips. Derek arches into his touch, swearing furiously. When he gets Derek’s cock in his hand, it’s a no holds barred race to the finish, full of hot, furious touches, sharp bites, unconstrained moans. 

When Stiles comes, it’s with Derek sucking a bruise into the side of his neck, one hand fisted in his hair, the other milking every drop of cum from his body. Stiles bucks against him but doesn’t stop his hand pumping and soon Derek’s jerking against him, his forehead pressed to Stiles’ chest. 

They come down from the high of orgasm slowly. Stiles touches the back of Derek’s neck with his unsoiled hand and Derek lifts his head. “Happy birthday,” he says. 

“I didn’t even want to be here,” Stiles admits, and Derek grins. 

“I know,” he says. “Saw you come in. Asked your friend if you’d want a dance.”

Stiles looks down at their stomachs, slick with cum. “Oh. Do I – do I owe you a tip?”

Derek gets to his feet and slips his underwear back up around his hips. “Consider this one a present,” he says, smiling faintly. “Though if you really want to tip, I’m done at midnight.”

“Oh?” Stiles looks up at him and sees the look on his face. “Oh.”

Fuck. Me. This is perfect

twerkbrien:

can someone maybe please write me an au where stiles is a bartender at some really swanky bar in nyc and is like a fucking cocktail connoisseur and derek comes in one night and then just keeps coming back and he’s pretty much always the last to leave at night because it’s weird…

soupstain:

swingsetindecember:

so where are all the fics where the sheriff tries to match make his son? like he’s talking to someone, my son is hot. i don’t know why he can’t get a boyfriend. AND HE SETS HIM UP ON A DATE WITH DEREK HALE because he was talking him up with talia or laura 

yeah, but derek hates being a charity case and he refuses to listen to reason.

laura all, “come on, he needs a date to prom, all the lacrosse players are supposed to have dates—” and his mother all “the sheriff says he’s been lonely since his best friend was elected class president—” and cora all “dude, it’s stilinski. i know him, he’s been in half my classes since the first grade, and he’s got terminal single disease. he’s so easy you don’t even need to enter negotiations to seal the deal, just—” and his dad all “(clears throat) your, uh, your mother is friendly with the sheriff and it would make her happy if you just took his son out, showed him a nice time—” and peter all “it’s not like you have any better prospects right now, is it, derek—” and derek staunchly “i don’t need your input on my love life, thanks.”

(peter, dully, “you’re right, you have such a good track record.” nearby, cora snorts, unabashed.)

derek refuses.

instead of calling the number the sheriff wrote on a post-it note and stuck to his windshield, derek grumps into his room and gets online to talk to the dude he met playing cod, “my mom wants me to date her friend’s kid,” and his friend is all “god, been there, i found out today that my dad’s been trying to pimp me out, he handed my phone number to a stranger, and you wanna know the best part? still no one is calling me. is there any possible way to come off as more pathetic than that” and derek goes “nope. you win” and friend is all “ha. ha. you are so comforting”

and the punchline is the sheriff lets cora off with a warning instead of ticketing her for driving without a seatbelt, so to pay him back derek agrees to take his son to prom and he recognizes his date’s voice immediately it is derek’s shitty gamer friend and he’s really hot and he smells like bread and he says derek is “way hotter than you sound” and derek says he’s “just as obnoxious as you sound” and it’s awesome and they skip out on prom like an hour and a half early, fuck like crazy in the back seat of derek’s car, and then go to afterprom and hit each other with inflatable bats.

#romance

Because they’re idiots.

bleep0bleep:

captain-snark:

yea yo i’m gonna be needing all the fic though where Stiles and Derek are doing their usual run around each other, pulling pigtails and throwing bugs on each other or whatever kids do these days to show their gross undying affection for the other while ignoring it completely and deliberately.

And it’s gotten pretty bad by now, but everything sort of comes down a bit after Stiles goes to college and they’re not around one another nearly as much but then that means when they are around each other it’s palpable. Like neighbors for miles suddenly go into spontaneous heat from the level of pheromone they’re throwing at each other.

And it’s pretty gross how desperate they are for each other it’s like they both decided to take vows of celibacy for the greater suffering or something. But maybe they keep thinking about their friendship, cos that’s what they are now, they’ve talked about it and everything. They labelled it.

And things between them have always been volatile and it’s good now and it’d be complicated otherwise and they totally don’t want to bone, it’s just a crush or something.

So they ignore it. But then one night they’re both at the gallery opening for Danny’s new show. He’s a photographer and he focuses a lot on undermining gender stereotypes. 

And his new show features both Stiles and Derek, unbeknownst to the other, because Danny is a bastard and still pretty pissed about the whole werewolf thing in high school. 

All the photos are of men and women in state of undress. And the ones of Stiles he’s, i dunno, wearing pieces of formal wear and dripping wet in most of them. The way Stiles gets where he doesn’t know he’s attractive so he’s trying to act goofy but he mostly just looks lewd. LEWD. And then there’s one with him in a bathtub wearing very very little, very very little and thin and white and he might as well not be wearing anything. 

And Stiles knows everyone is going to see this shit but he’s really proud of them because Danny is REALLY good and the show itself is important but he knows Derek is going to see them and he nearly works himself into a panic two or eight times thinking about being there with Derek.

And then they are and Derek is just staring at them in SHOCK and Stiles is hiding because no way.

But then Stiles finds DEREK’S photos and he’s wearing women’s clothing. Or well, he’s wearing women’s lingerie. Which is so much worse. or better. 

because Derek Hale in fishnet stockings and a pink lace garter. Derek Hale in beta blue lace panties and nothing else. DEREK IN A CORSET. And pictures of him in heavy make up and looking like the best drag queen Stiles has ever met. And he’s met a LOT.

And Derek didn’t know how he managed to get talked into doing it in the first place. But Derek owed Danny a favor and he was coming to collect and he was oddly persuasive and okay he probably casually mentioned how much Stiles was stoked about this photo project.

And like then eventually they meet up in the middle of the gallery and just sort of stare at each other and then Derek grabs Stiles hand and starts dragging him off and Stiles slams into his back in his haste to comply. 

ANd then they fuck. 

image

Serendipity

imaythrowuponya:

Never again, Derek vows as he marches up the street towards Laura’s apartment block. The next time Laura offers to “help” with anything he’s going to run in the opposite direction. Or maybe just lock himself in his appartment until she forgets about it. Point is, if she was trying to convince him that his choice to be firmly single for the last couple years and probably a few into the future is a bad one then she never should have sent him on that blind date.

Ignoring the look of horror he gets from the woman holding the door open for him, he stomps into the building and bypasses the elevator to head for the stairs. When he reaches Laura’s door he doesn’t bother to knock.

“This time I swear to God I will actually follow through with your murder.” Derek says, barging into the apartment and coming to an abrupt stop half way in the door.

There is an obscenely attractive man in Laura’s apartment, Derek’s brain supplies unhelpfully.

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saucefactory:

GUYS I REALLY NEED TO WRITE THIS EVEN THOUGH IT’S BADWRONG AND DEPRAVED:

I WANT AN AU IN WHICH STILES IS THE SON OF THE KING/CHIEFTAIN AND IT IS CONSIDERED TRADITION FOR EVERY MEMBER OF THE ROYAL FAMILY TO HAVE THEIR VERY OWN TAME WEREWOLVES FROM BIRTH, LIKE, THEIR VERY OWN LIFELONG FURRY BODYGUARDS

THE WEREWOLVES ARE TRAPPED IN THEIR WOLF BODIES BY MAGICAL COLLARS THAT ALSO FORCE THEM TO BE OBEDIENT TO AND PROTECTIVE OF THE PERSON THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO GUARD

ANYWAY, PRINCE STILES IS BORN AND IS DEREK IS IMMEDIATELY “ASSIGNED” TO HIM

AND WATCHES OVER HIM AND WATCHES HIM GROW, RIGHT FROM THE CRADLE ONWARDS; DEREK LETS A BABY STILES PULL ON HIS FUR AND GIGGLE AND FALL ASLEEP AGAINST HIM; DEREK FOLLOWS A TODDLER STILES AROUND TO MAKE SURE HE DOESN’T FALL AND HURT HIMSELF OR PICK UP THE WRONG SORTS OF THINGS AND EAT THEM; DEREK SITS NEXT TO A YOUNG STUDENT STILES AS STILES IS SUBJECTED TO HOURS OF BORING LESSONS FROM PRIVATE TUTORS AND AMUSES HIMSELF BY PLAYING CATCH WITH DEREK’S WAVING TAIL; DEREK SETTLES AT STILES’S FEET DURING DINNERTIME AND GENTLY TAKES FOOD FROM STILES’S FINGERS WHEN STILES REACHES DOWN TO FEED HIM

IT DOESN’T TAKE LONG FOR DEREK TO REALIZE THAT HE’S STARTED TO CARE ABOUT THE STILINSKI HEIR MORE THAN HE SHOULD, THAT IT’S GONE BEYOND MAGIC AND RIGHT INTO HIS HEART, BECAUSE ALL HE WANTS IS FOR STILES TO BE SAFE, FOR STILES TO BE HAPPY, AND IT’S -

IT’S HORRIFYING BECAUSE DEREK IS BEING FORCED INTO THIS SERVITUDE, AND HE FEELS BETRAYED BY HIS OWN MIND BECAUSE HE’S STARTING TO LIKE IT, TO WANT IT, TO NEED IT BECAUSE IT ALLOWS HIM TO CURL AROUND STILES AT NIGHT AND KEEP STILES WARM

DEREK HATES BEING TRAPPED IN HIS WOLF’S BODY, HATES TRYING SO HARD TO MAINTAIN HIS HUMANITY IN AN ANIMAL’S BODY, BUT HE LOVES STILES, LOVES STILES LIKE HE WOULD LOVE HIS OWN CUB, LIKE HE WOULD LOVE HIS OWN…

MATE

AND THAT’S - THAT’S HORRIFIC, BECAUSE DEREK HAS ALL BUT RAISED STILES, AND YES, STILES IS SIXTEEN, NOW, BUT HE’S STILL YOUNG AND DEREK IS A BEAST UNSUITED TO HIM, NOT EVEN HUMAN, A WOLF WITH SLAVERING JAWS AND TALONED PAWS, MADE TO REND AND KILL, AND LOVE SHOULD BE BEYOND HIM, BUT IT ISN’T, EVEN THOUGH IT’S SO WRONG

MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE DEREK HASN’T SPENT TIME WITH ANYONE OTHER THAN STILES FOR YEARS AND YEARS; MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE STILES’S SCENT IS THE ONLY SCENT HE RECOGNIZES AS PACK ANYMORE

OR MAYBE IT’S JUST SOME ROOT OF EVIL WITHIN DEREK, TO DESIRE A GROWING STILES LIKE THIS, AND MAYBE THAT EVIL IS WHY DEREK HAS BEEN SPELLED INTO SERVITUDE IN THE FIRST PLACE, MAYBE THIS IS WHY HE’S BEING PUNISHED

AND IT DOESN’T HELP THAT STILES LOVES HIM BACK, ALBEIT FAR MORE INNOCENTLY; IT DOESN’T HELP THAT STILES IS AS PROTECTIVE OF HIM AS HE IS OF STILES; IT DOESN’T HELP THAT STILES SEEMS LESS CLOSE TO OTHER HUMAN BEINGS THAN HE DOES TO DEREK, THAT STILES PREFERS SPENDING TIME WITH DEREK RATHER THAN THE GIRLS AND BOYS HE’S INTRODUCED TO AS POTENTIAL SPOUSES, THE GIRLS AND BOYS THAT MAKE DEREK WANT TO DESTROY THEM FOR SO MUCH AS HOPING FOR STILES’S TOUCH, FOR STILES’S FAVOR, FOR STILES’S BODY

BECAUSE IT’S A BODY THAT DEREK WANTS TO CLAIM AS HIS OWN, BESTIAL AS HE IS, AND HE FEELS MORE AND MORE LIKE HE’S A DANGER TO STILES, BUT HE STILL CAN’T LEAVE, STILL CAN’T PULL AWAY, BECAUSE HE IS AS BOUND TO STILES BY DESIRE AS HE IS BY MAGIC

AND THEN ONE NIGHT, WARM AND NAKED IN BED AND WITH HIS ARMS WRAPPED AROUND DEREK, STILES WHISPERS: “I SWEAR IT SEEMS LIKE YOU KNOW ME, SOMETIMES, THAT YOU GET ME, AND - AND I KNOW THEY TOLD ME NEVER TO TAKE YOUR COLLAR OFF, THAT YOU’D GO BERSERK AND KILL ME, BUT I DON’T… I DON’T BELIEVE THEM. I JUST DON’T. YOU’RE MINE, AND I’M YOURS, RIGHT? YOU COULDN’T HURT ME ANY MORE THAN YOU COULD HURT YOURSELF. SO I’M… I’M TAKING IT OFF, AND I’M - I WANT YOU TO BE WITH ME ‘CAUSE YOU’RE FREE, YOU KNOW? NOT BECAUSE YOU’RE BOUND. YOU’RE NOT MY PET; YOU’VE NEVER BEEN MY PET. YOU’RE MY FRIEND.”

AND DEREK’S SOUL BURNS AT THAT, BURNS WITH VICTORY AT BEING LOVED SO TRULY, AND BURNS WITH DEFEAT AT BEING LABELED A FRIEND, BUT HOW ELSE WOULD STILES VIEW AN ANIMAL? STILES DOESN’T KNOW THAT WEREWOLVES ARE PART-HUMAN; IT’S BEEN KEPT FROM HIM, LIKE IT’S BEEN KEPT FROM EVERY ROYAL HEIR UNTIL IT’S THEIR TIME TO INHERIT

DEREK HOLDS HIS BREATH AS STILES TAKES OFF THE COLLAR, AS STILES HOLDS HIS BREATH AS WELL - AND THEN, IN A SURGE OF MAGIC, DEREK IS FREE

AND HE TRANSFORMS, UNSTOPPABLY, SNARLING AS HIS BONES LENGTHEN AND HIS FORM CHANGES, AND HE HEARS STILES GASP BENEATH HIM, SUDDENLY SKIN-TO-SKIN AGAINST DEREK AS DEREK LOOMS OVER HIM AND TRAPS STILES’S WRISTS IN ONE HAND AND PLACES THE OTHER OVER STILES’S MOUTH

"DON’T SCREAM," DEREK SAYS, HIS HUMAN VOICE DISUSED AND HOARSE, AS STILES STARES UP AT HIM WITH WIDE, FRIGHTENED EYES

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Derek/Stiles Cooking Ficlet

idyllspace:

(This has been on my desktop, and was supposed to be a Big Serious Fic, but well. Whatevs. Here’s an abbreviated version of it.)

***

Derek finds out about the blog because Cora is a little shit and likes to mock him at every turn.

She emails him a link and the words: tumblr cooking fandom wants you to step on all the legos, lol.

Derek doesn’t know what any word in that sentence means, but he follows the link anyway out of sheer curiosity. What he finds is…a lot of people hating him. He’s not really sure what Tumblr is or how it works, but about fifteen people have added commentary on a link to an article about Derek. None of it is nice and, yes, there’s many a mention of Legos, which Derek still doesn’t understand.

He clicks to the article and is met with a giant headline: Chef Derek Hale Sends a Cease and Desist to a Popular Cooking Blog. Whoever wrote the article is also not a fan of Derek’s, though there’s no mention of Legos, just about a dozen variations on snobby and pretentious.

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yomikoda asked: Stiles gets hurt while having sex with Derek.

attoliancrown:

"Stop, stop," Stiles said, wincing as he panted for breath. He was covered in sweat as Derek’s body covered his. Worried, Derek pulled out of him, making Stiles groan louder, his hand covering his face as he started laughing. 

"What happened? Are you okay?" Derek asked, his hands searching Stiles’ body in order to zap the pain away. Only, Stiles was laughing with tears in his eyes as he stretched his leg out.

"Charlie horse," Stiles complained as he flexed his ankle up and down. "It fucking hurts. You gave me a muscle cramp!" Derek leaned over, kissing Stiles on the lips as he palmed at Stiles’ strained calf. Stiles moaned against Derek’s open mouth as his veins blacked, taking the pain away as Stiles rut against his body. 

"Better?’ Derek asked. Stiles nodded his head as he cupped Derek’s face with his hands, kissing him once more. 

five times detective stilinski and fire captain hale had sex in public, and one time they did it in a bed

bleep0bleep:

Just posted chapter four! Read now at a03

The mayor raises an eyebrow, flipping through the stack of paper in the folder. “Let’s see, I’ve got property damage, noise disturbances, reports of a fight between 87th Precinct officers and Station 14 firefighters, public indecency, lewd behavior— this is unacceptable behavior for two professional men in the civil service.” Lydia Martin leans back in the chair, flicking her impeccable nails against the desk. “I’ve already recommended to both the Police Commissioner and the Fire Chief that you both enter into couple’s therapy with a licensed therapist before you are approved to resume service.”

"Did you say—" Stiles starts.

"What?" Derek growls.

"We’re not a couple!" they both retort in unison.

"We’re not together," Stiles insists.

Lydia coughs pointedly. “An incident report filed by 87th Precinct Captain Erica Reyes. March twenty-fifth, eight p.m. Came back to the precinct to grab my coat, only to hear Stilinski banging his new boyfriend in the holding cell.”

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Public Sex, Hate Sex, Enemies to Lovers

stilinskisparkles:

Author: stilinskisparkles

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Other characters:  Scott McCall. Allison Argent. Lydia Martin. Isaac Lahey. Danny Mahealani. Sheriff Stilinski. Melissa McCall.

Words: 24, 166

Additional info: Seasonal Christmas fic, fluff, established relationship. 

Summary: 

“Eight people are going to be descending on our home in a mere matter of days, Derek.” Stiles grabs the pizza box, uses it to gesture at the pile of books and papers under the table, away and towards Derek’s sneaker collection. “You want them to think we live like this all the time?”

“We do live like this all the time,” Derek huffs, stretching lazily.

onelastwaltz:

Hobrien AU Based/inspired by this interview with Jason Dohring

wc: 630

"I think I was in love with him the whole time we shot the show together."

He runs faster, feet hitting concrete painfully hard as he pushes himself, Tyler’s words echoing in his mind. Dylan races through the crowd, too revved up to stop and think rationally. No. The time for rational thinking is far gone. Now it’s finally time to let his heart override his brain.

"Some days it felt like I couldn’t be complete without him."

His lungs are burning. Hurting with every inhale. Dylan feels like he’s breathing in fire instead of cool air. His head is spinning, voice rough as he breathes an apology out without really pausing because he can’t wait. He’s waiting long enough. They’ve waited long enough. No more waiting.

"I was actually excited about Sterek because it was so easy to show how much I loved him."

The mental image of Tyler’s pale eyes lowering shyly as he talks to the interview gives him a renewed burst of strength, helps him push himself a little harder when he realizes he’s close. So close. After so many yearss

"It might sound cheesy but he’s like my happy place, you know?"

Dylan curses Tyler a million times over in his head as he races down busy streets, through the crowd, to Tyler. He’ll repeat them all straight to that stupidly handsome face of his, Dylan thinks to himself (which will no doubt stare at Dylan with unbridled shock). It will feel sweeter than honey to tell Tyler he’s an idiot for confessing his feelings in a damned interview. He’s certain of this. All the way down to his bones. 

The certainty grows into an almost tangible feeling in his gut, which settles in the pit of his stomach by the time he’s standing outside Tyler’s door, fist pounding against the heavy door. It’s not unlike a lead ball rolling around his tense, empty stomach as he shifts from foot to foot, so damned eager and nervous.

Dylan is extremely aware of his dishevelled state when he hears the door unlock, one hand self consciously raking through his messy hair. For the first time, Dylan thinks maybe he should have waited. Should have taken the time out to make sure he arrives here looking good instead of a sweating, panting mess.

"Dylan?" Tyler asks warily, standing in the doorway in all his rumpled, perfect glory. "What are you doing here?"

Dylan stares at the man he’s been in love with for the good part of half a decade and thinks, ‘So many things actually.’

He’s here to punch Tyler, call him a fool, ask him why he waited, punch him again for waiting 3 years after they parted ways. But all Dylan can actually think of, is how Tyler loves him.

And he thinks.

Fuck it.

He dives forward, hands grabbing Tyler’s face (oh what joy that he’s finally got two inches on the man), steadying him for the hard kiss Dylan plants. Tyler stumbles back and Dylan follows, determined to pour every ounce of his repressed feelings into this one kiss. It’s putting all his eggs into this one basket, Dylan knows how stupid this risk is.

But Tyler is worth it.

Always has been.

Always will be.

Despite knowing about Tyler’s feelings, when Dylan feels a pair of gentle hands cupping his face in return, he can’t help but sag and let Tyler gentle the kiss until they’re exchanging sweet little kisses which make Dylan want to cry.

"Hi there." Tyler greets quietly, eyes hooded but pleased as they watch Dylan carefully. His thumbs sweep slow arcs over Dylan’s hot cheeks, making him shiver and close his eyes. "I guess you saw the interview."

Dylan nods, steals another kiss and murmurs, “Good guess.”

Haven

stilinskisparkles:

~*~

It’s utter chaos when Derek slams open the doors to the hospital and pushes past several harassed looking nurses. 

Read More

acklesobrien:


written for Bree and also for myself tbH bECAUSE I NEED DEREK TO HAVE AN ACTUAL /HOME/

He’s not sure what possessed him to text Stiles for help in the first place. Maybe it’s the cold, barren feel of the loft, or the moment Isaac asks him to help tape up old posters and comic covers in his room. Isaac is finally settled in, clothes on the floor and curtains hanging threadbare over his windows. And Derek is… Derek is not. He’d never expected Beacon Hills to be permanent again, to see the sun rise among familiar treetops and have somewhere to call home. It makes him antsy, being in the loft. Like he’ll run out of his skin. Like this is just one big mistake. He wants to be settled, needs to be.
So he texts Stiles for help. Stiles was the one to sneak in a few plates and silverware that the Stilnskis’ never used anymore. He was the one whose scent lingered most on the couch he barely used. Stiles has a key to the loft, one Derek never authorized, but it’s helped during times when he was bleeding too heavily, leaning on Stiles’ human strength to carry him up the stairs to the big metal door. He doesn’t know what it means, and he doesn’t want to.
Stiles pulls up wearing sunglasses. He’s gingerly sipping at his gas station coffee when Derek walks up. 
“Are you sure this piece of junk is gonna make it though SF?”
Stiles gives him a half-hearted glare, clearly too early for him to be at 100 percent levels of snark. “Only I’m allowed to call her a piece of junk,” he says, arm dangling out the window.
Dere hops in and something immediately crunches under his foot. There, bags and bags of gas station sacks lay.
“What is all this?” Derek says, wrinkling his nose.
“Snacks. Most importantly, roadtrip snacks.” Stiles reaches over him to rummage through one. “You’ve got your beef jerky, Little Debbie’s, mini M&M’s because everyone knows that they taste better than the regular M&M’s. Other chocolate, sour gummies, chips.”
Derek notices there are several other bags in the back. Stiles shrugs when Derek shoots him a look and grins. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I pretty much grabbed one of everything.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “Do you have twizzlers?” Stiles breaks into a grin. 
“Of course I do!”
When he’s not chasing after supernatural creatures, Stiles is a surprisingly cautious driver. He drives with both hands on the wheel, double checks his mirrors when he switches lanes and doesn’t fumble with his phone. Derek guesses it must be a cop’s kid side effect.
“Hey,” Stiles says, handing Derek his phone. “Plug this in and hit the first playlist.” Derek complies, and browses through the list, impressed that they have similar tastes. He doesn’t comment on the fact that Stiles had made the list the night before according to the timestamp. 
They don’t talk much, and for that Derek is grateful they don’t have to spend two awkward hours trying to talk to each other. Derek’s restlessness from the previous night make his eyes droop heavy with sleep and somehow, in that beat up jeep with Stiles humming along, he falls asleep.
Derek wakes up to the smell of the ocean and gasoline. He still feels groggy and out of sorts when he tries to figure out where he is. Glancing down at the clock, he notices almost 2 and a half hours have gone by. Stiles gives him furtive side glances, a light smile playing his lips, but doesn’t say anything. Derek digs the heel of his hand into his eye to try and rub away sleep. He’s not even sure how he didn’t wake up at some point.
“Do you want me to drive?” Derek says, throat still scratchy from sleep. He notices that Stiles has turned the music off. 
Stiles doesn’t try very hard to keep his amusement unknown and breaks into a grin. “Nah, we’re almost there. Give it like 15 minutes till we hit the bridge,” Stiles says and Derek just nods, straightening up. 
—-
They hit up Ikea first, for the cheaper furnishings and ‘knick knacks’, because “Dude, eveyone’s got to have knick knacks. You know, useless shit that you buy to put on shelves and forget to dust.” It’s a lot more fun than Derek would have thought. Stiles makes him try the Swedish meatball meal, and he has to admit is pretty good. 
He likes the plates and some chairs. He surprisingly finds a lot of knick knacks. Stiles spends a lot of time taking pictures and texting them to Lydia for approval, because apparently the loft is going to be the new hang out and must be Lydia approved. It makes him feel useful somehow, being able to provide a space for a pack that isn’t quite his anymore. It makes him pretend like he belongs.
They head into an antique shop next and Derek is immediately drawn to almost everything in there. The wood smells old and the entire place hums with history. It makes him ache for the old house, everything hand picked by his mom and dad. It was their dream home, built from the ground up by dad himself.
He notices Stiles doesn’t send any more pictures to Lydia here. He shoots him a look and Stiles just shrugs. “You seem to like everything here and I’m pretty sure Lydia would hate it, but… it’s your place, dude. Pick whatever you want. This is for you.”
Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. He wants to thank Stiles for, for what? For making it feel like it’s a possibility that he’ll have a home again. For making it possible to feel like he’ll have anything that is his. That belongs to him. He can only let out an exhale and give Stiles a curt nod.
Stiles smiles at him anyway, encouraging him to touch the dining table that’s partially broken. It looks so much like the one from his childhood, he can imagine the scratches running over the top are from Laura and him fighting over the last bread roll. The legs are uneven, but nothing Derek can’t fix up, sand down and repaint. 
Derek buys the entire store, practically. Including an ugly painting that Stiles makes a face at. Stiles’ jaw drops when the cashier rings him up and he gives Derek a look. 
"I know who I’m calling when my jeep finally breaks down," Stiles says, huffing out a laugh and smirking. Derek playfully shoves Stiles, apparently a little too hard, because Stiles crashes into an old shelf that falls apart upon impact. The store owner comes rushing over, ready to throw them out till Derek hands her his credit card again. "I’ll take that too." The wood’s still good and usable. He’ll find a place for it eventually.
—-
They fill up Stiles’ jeep with whatever will fit. A few stools, a few bowls and the broken shelf, even the ugly painting. The rest will be shipped down later, but it’s enough. For now.
It’s the first thing he hangs up when he gets into the loft. Scott helps him drill into the brick walls and when they’re done, all three of them stand there to admire the work. 
"It’s growing on me a little bit," Stiles says, grinning. 
"Still pretty ugly," Scott says, 
—-
When Derek finishes the table last, wood sealant still drying on the underside, Stiles sets down a bowl of apples. It doesn’t tilt. It doesn’t wobble. Stiles whoops. Derek pulls him in to kiss him on his ridiculous mouth.
Stiles stutters out a whimpering sound from the back of his throat and Derek deepens the kiss, pushing Stiles until the back of his thighs smack into the edge of the table. He doesn’t even mind that Stiles is smearing mint green paint into his hair from the shelving they were painting earlier.
Scott and Isaac yell from the livingroom about how gross they are. He doesn’t care, because he’s settled. 
He’s home. 

acklesobrien:

written for Bree and also for myself tbH bECAUSE I NEED DEREK TO HAVE AN ACTUAL /HOME/

He’s not sure what possessed him to text Stiles for help in the first place. Maybe it’s the cold, barren feel of the loft, or the moment Isaac asks him to help tape up old posters and comic covers in his room. Isaac is finally settled in, clothes on the floor and curtains hanging threadbare over his windows. And Derek is… Derek is not. He’d never expected Beacon Hills to be permanent again, to see the sun rise among familiar treetops and have somewhere to call home. It makes him antsy, being in the loft. Like he’ll run out of his skin. Like this is just one big mistake. He wants to be settled, needs to be.

So he texts Stiles for help. Stiles was the one to sneak in a few plates and silverware that the Stilnskis’ never used anymore. He was the one whose scent lingered most on the couch he barely used. Stiles has a key to the loft, one Derek never authorized, but it’s helped during times when he was bleeding too heavily, leaning on Stiles’ human strength to carry him up the stairs to the big metal door. He doesn’t know what it means, and he doesn’t want to.

Stiles pulls up wearing sunglasses. He’s gingerly sipping at his gas station coffee when Derek walks up. 

“Are you sure this piece of junk is gonna make it though SF?”

Stiles gives him a half-hearted glare, clearly too early for him to be at 100 percent levels of snark. “Only I’m allowed to call her a piece of junk,” he says, arm dangling out the window.

Dere hops in and something immediately crunches under his foot. There, bags and bags of gas station sacks lay.

“What is all this?” Derek says, wrinkling his nose.

“Snacks. Most importantly, roadtrip snacks.” Stiles reaches over him to rummage through one. “You’ve got your beef jerky, Little Debbie’s, mini M&M’s because everyone knows that they taste better than the regular M&M’s. Other chocolate, sour gummies, chips.”


Derek notices there are several other bags in the back. Stiles shrugs when Derek shoots him a look and grins. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I pretty much grabbed one of everything.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Do you have twizzlers?” Stiles breaks into a grin.

“Of course I do!”

When he’s not chasing after supernatural creatures, Stiles is a surprisingly cautious driver. He drives with both hands on the wheel, double checks his mirrors when he switches lanes and doesn’t fumble with his phone. Derek guesses it must be a cop’s kid side effect.

“Hey,” Stiles says, handing Derek his phone. “Plug this in and hit the first playlist.” Derek complies, and browses through the list, impressed that they have similar tastes. He doesn’t comment on the fact that Stiles had made the list the night before according to the timestamp.

They don’t talk much, and for that Derek is grateful they don’t have to spend two awkward hours trying to talk to each other. Derek’s restlessness from the previous night make his eyes droop heavy with sleep and somehow, in that beat up jeep with Stiles humming along, he falls asleep.

Derek wakes up to the smell of the ocean and gasoline. He still feels groggy and out of sorts when he tries to figure out where he is. Glancing down at the clock, he notices almost 2 and a half hours have gone by. Stiles gives him furtive side glances, a light smile playing his lips, but doesn’t say anything. Derek digs the heel of his hand into his eye to try and rub away sleep. He’s not even sure how he didn’t wake up at some point.

“Do you want me to drive?” Derek says, throat still scratchy from sleep. He notices that Stiles has turned the music off.

Stiles doesn’t try very hard to keep his amusement unknown and breaks into a grin. “Nah, we’re almost there. Give it like 15 minutes till we hit the bridge,” Stiles says and Derek just nods, straightening up.

—-

They hit up Ikea first, for the cheaper furnishings and ‘knick knacks’, because “Dude, eveyone’s got to have knick knacks. You know, useless shit that you buy to put on shelves and forget to dust.” It’s a lot more fun than Derek would have thought. Stiles makes him try the Swedish meatball meal, and he has to admit is pretty good. 

He likes the plates and some chairs. He surprisingly finds a lot of knick knacks. Stiles spends a lot of time taking pictures and texting them to Lydia for approval, because apparently the loft is going to be the new hang out and must be Lydia approved. It makes him feel useful somehow, being able to provide a space for a pack that isn’t quite his anymore. It makes him pretend like he belongs.

They head into an antique shop next and Derek is immediately drawn to almost everything in there. The wood smells old and the entire place hums with history. It makes him ache for the old house, everything hand picked by his mom and dad. It was their dream home, built from the ground up by dad himself.

He notices Stiles doesn’t send any more pictures to Lydia here. He shoots him a look and Stiles just shrugs. “You seem to like everything here and I’m pretty sure Lydia would hate it, but… it’s your place, dude. Pick whatever you want. This is for you.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. He wants to thank Stiles for, for what? For making it feel like it’s a possibility that he’ll have a home again. For making it possible to feel like he’ll have anything that is his. That belongs to him. He can only let out an exhale and give Stiles a curt nod.

Stiles smiles at him anyway, encouraging him to touch the dining table that’s partially broken. It looks so much like the one from his childhood, he can imagine the scratches running over the top are from Laura and him fighting over the last bread roll. The legs are uneven, but nothing Derek can’t fix up, sand down and repaint. 

Derek buys the entire store, practically. Including an ugly painting that Stiles makes a face at. Stiles’ jaw drops when the cashier rings him up and he gives Derek a look. 

"I know who I’m calling when my jeep finally breaks down," Stiles says, huffing out a laugh and smirking. Derek playfully shoves Stiles, apparently a little too hard, because Stiles crashes into an old shelf that falls apart upon impact. The store owner comes rushing over, ready to throw them out till Derek hands her his credit card again. 

"I’ll take that too." The wood’s still good and usable. He’ll find a place for it eventually.

—-

They fill up Stiles’ jeep with whatever will fit. A few stools, a few bowls and the broken shelf, even the ugly painting. The rest will be shipped down later, but it’s enough. For now.

It’s the first thing he hangs up when he gets into the loft. Scott helps him drill into the brick walls and when they’re done, all three of them stand there to admire the work. 

"It’s growing on me a little bit," Stiles says, grinning. 

"Still pretty ugly," Scott says, 

—-

When Derek finishes the table last, wood sealant still drying on the underside, Stiles sets down a bowl of apples. It doesn’t tilt. It doesn’t wobble. Stiles whoops. Derek pulls him in to kiss him on his ridiculous mouth.

Stiles stutters out a whimpering sound from the back of his throat and Derek deepens the kiss, pushing Stiles until the back of his thighs smack into the edge of the table. He doesn’t even mind that Stiles is smearing mint green paint into his hair from the shelving they were painting earlier.

Scott and Isaac yell from the livingroom about how gross they are. He doesn’t care, because he’s settled. 

He’s home.