The Things Stiles Hates

Stiles hates it.

He hates the way Derek looks while focused on his work.  The way Derek catches him staring, smiling up with his bunny-toothed grin.  The way Derek laughs while asking him to go away because he has papers to grade before tomorrow.  He hates the wink Derek gives him as he backs out of the doorway.

Stiles hates it.

He hates the way Derek hums along to the boring classical music Derek likes to listen to while cooking.  He hates the way Derek twirls knives around while waiting on water to boil - he could seriously hurt himself.  Even though it would heal in a matter of minutes, it makes Stiles worry, and Stiles hates worrying.  He hates the way Derek gets all sweaty while standing over the open flame, lifting his shirt to wipe his brow.

Stiles hates it.

He hates the way Derek looks, standing in the sun, socializing with their neighbors.  He hates the way Derek’s skin gleams with gold in the evening while he’s mowing the lawn.  He hates the way Derek dances around their back yard, tending to the little vegetable gardens that are sprinkled around out there.

Stiles hates these things because these are the moments when he just wants to have Derek, then and there.

But when Stiles actually can have Derek to his self, he hates it the most.

He hates the way Derek looks up at him while he’s deep inside, moaning from pleasure.  He hates the way Derek looks whilst riding him, rolling his neck and baring his teeth, emitting soft, rumbling growls of ecstasy.  He hates the way Derek’s eyes catch the moonlight and sparkle like the sea, a deep, hazy green. 

He hates it so fucking much, because he knows that one day, this will all be gone, and he will no longer have any of it.

SuperWhoLock Roommates: Sherlock and Dean

Dean kicked the skull under the cheap hotel bed and scowled at Sherlock. “We’re gonna be here for a while, the least you could do is keep your side clean.” 

Sherlock slashed his bow across the strings of his violin before throwing it to the bed in disgust. “I have my things exactly where I want them. And I don’t see why it’s bothering you. It is, as you said, my side.”

"It’s just the general freaking aesthetic, okay?" Dean snapped. "I mean, would it kill you to—" A breath of vapor rose from his lips in a white cloud. "Dude." He said. "Tell me your skull isn’t haunted.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and glanced at the skull. “And this whole time I’ve been telling Mrs. Hudson we have drafts.”

Dean pulled a bag of salt out of his duffel bag and reached for his lighter, but Sherlock froze him with a glare. “It’s on my side.”

"So? The freaking ghost isn’t.”

"Damage my skull and you won’t have a side anymore. I’ve been looking for a new place to put my chemistry equipment.”

Dean scowled. Sherlock swept his violin to the floor and flopped carelessly onto his bed.

A chemical in a test tube on Sherlock’s side of the nightstand fizzed over and burned a hole in the wood. Cursing under his breath, Dean spilled the salt in a circle around his bed and tried to fall asleep. 

SuperWhoLock Roommate Tinyfics by SuperWhoLock The Comic

For Angela because I’m really bad at writing and she’s so fricking good at everything, yeezus.


Stiles gagged, choking on air, his throat raw from all the wheezing he’d been doing over the past few days.  He was in bed, doubled over the edge, coughing into a trash can.  Derek watched nervously from the doorway, waiting to sprint and jump and leap to Stiles’ aid if he needed it.

"Derek," Stiles moaned from his precarious position.  "I think I’m going to fall off." 

Derek was there before Stiles could even finish his sentence, pulling Stiles back onto the bed, arms hooked underneath Stiles’ and around his chest.

"Gotcha," Stiles grinned as he started hacking again.

Derek sighed as he stroked his fingers through Stiles’ hair, biting his lip and shaking his leg ever so slightly.

"Derek I’m fine," Stiles wheezed, "don’t worry, it’s just a cold!"  Stiles came under another fit, clutching at his stomach to dull the pain.  "Ugh…"

"Can I get you anything?  Soup?  Want anything from the store?  If you need anything, just please tell me, Stiles, okay?” Derek was pleading, and it only made Stiles laugh and cough harder.

"Stop that!  It’s too cute, you’re going to kill me!  Go away, leave me alone!"

Derek frowned and pulled Stiles closer.  “I’m not leaving your side until you’re better, unless it’s to piss or you need something from the store.”

"Well I guess this is better than not having you at all," Stiles muttered as he curled into Derek’s side, resting his head on Derek’s chest and began to doze off~

I should actually just stick to drawing

I WANTED TO DRAW/WRITE THIS FOR SOME REASON? im sorry im just weak for owain brady bromance

click the read more if you want to see where the hell i was going with this

"You stood no chance against the Scion of Legend, foul scum!" Owain declared as the Risen soldier crumpled to the ground. He made a grand gesture of throwing the tail of his pale yellow garments behind him, sheathing his beloved sword "Shadowdarkness" just as he’d practiced in front of the mirror dozens of times before. Owain was on the verge of announcing the second part to his hero speech before he heard a man’s scream for help. 

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OMG! Happy birthday, Sousuke!

"Haru-chaaaan! Please teach me how to make a cake!"

"Makoto. Why do you need a cake?"

"No reason — er. Well. Okay, there’s a birthday …"

"It wouldn’t be … Yamazaki’s, would it? No way."

"Please, please! You know I can’t do it on my own."

"Makoto… stop looking at me like that."



"I’ll fill up Ran and Ren’s inflatable pool for y —"

"Fine. Put on an apron. What’s his favorite type of cake?"

"Vanilla-straw —"

"We’re making chocolate."

koushi loves tooru’s back and shoulders.

tooru is silly and childish and ridiculous, but he is strong, he is powerful; koushi is forever drawn to the firm and taut muscles under skin. he likes to trace skin with tongue and fingertips, to worship tooru’s beauty.

he sometimes wonders if tooru knows just how sensual and beautiful he is, for all of his bravado and preening.

koushi decides that it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know right now, because koushi will show him.

So we know Sherlock has indexed his own socks, and according to the Casebook has done the same with John’s ties. I was just tickled by the idea of Sherlock hiding out at Molly’s post-Reichenbach, and doing the same with her most personal of laundry items.

 Sherlock steps back, eyeing his work with satisfaction. The brassieres have separated by colour and usage - the frilly, brightly coloured ones in one drawer and the more utilitarian ones Molly seems to favour when she’s ovulating or pre-menstrual in another. The pants have been similarly arranged; date-night knickers in one section, arranged by colour, and the big beige ones with the control tops that she doesn’t need but insists on keeping in another part.

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Tooru jumps when he feels two arms wrap around his waist, and a smaller body press into his back.


"S’too early," Koushi murmurs into his skin, voice hoarse with sleep, "….come back to bed.”

tooru presses his weight down and runs his hand down suga’s thigh, pulling it to wrap around his hip.

smiling, he moves his lips from koushi’s sweet swollen and wet mouth, bringing it to the other’s ear to lightly lick it, hand slipping under shirt and tracing over pale skin and toned muscle.

"koushi," he breathes.