askbox ficlets

Masterpost of other authors/artists/gifset makers taking prompts!

Happy Sterek Week!

———–

            There are a million ways to say ‘I love you’ and they have made a silent pact to find every single one of them that is not actually saying those three words.

            Stiles says it by remembering that Derek likes his coffee with two little cups of cream and a spoonful of cane sugar.

            Derek says it by waking Stiles up with a soft nuzzle thirty seconds before his alarm goes off so that Stiles’ day starts with warmth and love instead of harsh tones.

            It is understood that it is what Stiles means when he volunteers to clean the bathroom before it truly needs it, because Derek’s nose is sensitive to the cleaners.

            It is understood that it is what Derek means when he tucks Stiles up against his chest on the couch and lets him pick terrible end-of-the-world flicks to watch for the night.

            Their friends hear it when they are all together and Stiles lets his knuckles rest comfortably next to Derek’s on the table while he listens to someone’s newest idea.

            Their friends hear it when they catch Derek watching Stiles’ every move with a soft smile that doesn’t seem out of place anymore.

            Stiles doesn’t need to say it when he’s got Derek wrapped up in his arms, head tucked under his chin and Derek’s arm flopped over his waist. Derek can feel it in the thrum of his heart under his fingertips.

            Derek doesn’t need to say it when he brings warm french toast with crushed strawberries and whipped cream to Stiles in bed the next morning. Stiles can feel it in the soft kiss Derek presses to his cheek.

            They say it with every warm smile they trade. They say it with every kiss, every brush of fingers, every bump of their shoulders. They say it in the morning by the way they share their spaces, and in the evening by the way they share the stories of their day. They say it when they are together as their eyes gravitate toward one another and they say it when they are apart when their thoughts do the same.

            They say it in a million ways, every day, without ever saying a word.

anonymous asked:

When Dean and Cas finally get together, Balthazar is ROLLING in it from all the bets he made. (Balthazar is definitely not dead. Nope.) On the other hand, when a month goes by and they haven't had sex, he has to pay up, and he is VERY miffed by the degree to which cuddling eclipses carnality in their relationship.

Balthazar thought for certain they’d be going at it like bunnies.

In the bedroom, up against a wall, on the kitchen table, in the shower, in any dark corner… really, the opportunities they had were endless. Surely they should have (repeatedly and blissfully) consummated their relationship dozens of times before the month was out. (Hell, Balthazar had figured on consummation immediately following the declarations of love.)

But after a month goes by… nothing. Balthazar would assume that they were just waiting, that sex was just over the horizon but imminent, but…

Dean and Cas seemed so settled. They’d skipped the newlywed ‘tear-each-other’s-clothes-off’ phase and gone right to 'married-for-thirty-years-cuddles’ phase. There was no build of erotic tension. There were no makeout sessions that got carried away until one of them called a blushing halt to the proceedings.

There was plenty of kissing, at least. The kind two people share just for the joy of being together and being able to lock lips, not the kind that led anywhere.

Balthazar is half-tempted to fly down there and demand an explanation for the lack of sex going on, but the expressions his beloved brother makes stop him.

Cas is, for once, completely and uncomplicatedly happy. He doesn’t seem to be missing anything or longing for something; he certainly doesn’t seem to feel his love life is lacking.

And if Balthazar is being honest… Cas has always been something of an odd duck, and when he really thinks about it, the idea of Cas engaging in carnality is even stranger than the idea of Cas not.

So he pays out the money he owes, grumbling about the wealth lost, but secretly?

He’s happy for Cas.

teaandsunflower  asked:

Sterek 1!!!!!! Pls

1. soulmates au

Everyone gets their mark - or marks - on their eighteenth birthday - everyone, no exceptions. Soul marks themselves aren’t a guarantee of sex, or even of romance - there are thousands of perfectly happy, platonic soulmates out there, so regardless of whether their soulmate themselves is eighteen or not, everyone gets their mark.

  Which is why Stiles is in a rage when he gets his - the mark burning itself into the skin of his leg at exactly four minutes past three in the afternoon. Marks are a personal thing, so when Stiles rushes out of the room to get to the bathroom, nobody follows; Scott simply pauses the videogame and Lydia barely even deigns to glance up from filing her nails.

Keep reading

CHASING. IS THAT YOU, CHASING :| *throws self off cliff*

All right, Lovely. You were first, and you were so sweet… So here you are, my dear!

~~~~~~~~~

            The idea was glacially slow when it began, burrowing under his skin before he knew what it really was. He made a guess, the day that Stiles brought home that little flea-ridden, mangy kitten and Derek had to sit by and watch him care for it day after day. Seeing that soft smile on Stiles’ face, the way his longer fingers waved in the air above the now vibrant, playful kitten, Derek came to recognize the feeling.

            It was love and it was longing and it was pack.

            It was the lazy Sunday morning haze, the stroking of Stiles’ fingers down the line of his spine. It was the love the human practically radiated, warm under Derek’s palm, and how badly Derek wanted to shape something new with him. Create something solid with him, something lasting. Something theirs.

            “Stiles,” he said softly and he could hear the stir of Stiles’ heartbeat beneath his skin as he struggled closer to consciousness. Sleeping in was Stiles’ favorite indulgent luxury.

            “Mm?” Stiles hummed in answer, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair and kissing the crown of his head. “Breakfast?”

            “Do you ever think about kids?” Derek asked, before he lost the nerve.

            “Not for breakfast,” Stiles said seriously, not even missing a beat. Derek slapped his belly, but gently, because Stiles was chuckling at him.

            “I’m serious, Stiles,” he chided, rolling just enough that he could see Stiles’ face.

            Stiles scoffed, because he knew it was a serious question, he just didn’t have an answer. Not one like Derek was asking for anyway. “I do,” he admitted quietly. “I mean, I think about it. What it would be like to have a little… cheeky pup running around. But you know we can’t…” He just let it trail off there, because of course Derek knew. “I mean, unless I really missed something in Werewolf Anatomy 101.”

            “You didn’t,” Derek assured him. “But… we could adopt one.”

            “Baby shopping,” Stiles said, like it was impressive. Derek rolled his eyes. “Okay then, boy or girl?”

            Derek looked at him them, because it sounded like he was serious, like he was asking for real and Derek just hadn’t given it that much thought. “I… I don’t know,” he said honestly.

            Stiles smiled softly, tilted his head in consideration. “I’d like to see you with a little girl,” he said finally. “I bet you’d have the biggest soft spot for a little girl. You’d sit at her table with her tiny little pink tea set and wear a big, pink, old-lady hat and a fluorescent boa. I will take so many pictures…”

            Derek groaned, but the noise caught in his throat because Stiles had said will. “You really… you really think we could do it?” he asked hesitantly.

            “Yeah,” Stiles said, more a conclusion than an answer. “Okay, like, not today, we have plans with my father, but we can look into it. Together.”

           A slow smile spread across Derek’s face until he couldn’t help but lean forward, press his lips to Stiles’ in a quick kiss. Then he tucked himself back against Stiles’ side, resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder. “Together,” he agreed, closing his eyes.

anonymous asked:

Dean's having a nightmare, when suddenly he is interrupted by a sudden comforting warmth (so different from the searing heat of Hell) settling beside him. Cas has crawled in bed next to him, has wrapped him in his arms and wings. Dean's ashamed to cry, but Cas gently strokes away his tears, murmuring soothing words in Enochian until Dean feels better, and can fall into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

It’s the best sleep Dean has had in a very, very long time. That doesn’t stop him from being embarrassed the next morning, or that night when Cas is standing by Dean’s bed in his pajamas come bedtime.

Dean doesn’t even bother to give a token protest, though. He doesn’t want Cas to take him at his word and leave, much as that would soothe his ruffled pride.

It does help that they don’t talk about it that night. Or the next, or the next. Before Dean knows it, a month of bed-sharing has gone by and the nightmares have dropped in frequency, easily soothed by Cas’s gentle touch and soft whispers when they do appear.

Dean can’t help but wonder, though. “Cas, what are we doing here?”

His voice is quiet in deference to the darkness around them and the closeness of their bodies. Cas’s face is inches away from his own.

“We’re sleeping,” Cas replies simply, and Dean wishes that was enough. He wishes that answer calmed the burning need to know.

“No, Cas,” Dean says. He shuffles minutely closer and tentatively rests his hand on Cas’s hip. He runs his thumb over the small band of skin between the waistband of Cas’s sleep pants and the ridden-up hem of his T-shirt. Cas inhales. “What are we doing here?”

“Whatever you want, Dean,” Cas says. The weight of those words hits Dean hard and he breathes out, stunned. He can tell Cas means it, completely means it, and there’s a thread of absolute certainty running through those words. Cas knows what he’s offering.

Dean leans in and kisses him. It’s not carnal, but it is passionate and open-mouthed. It’s a simple statement ‘this is what I want’.

Cas melts into the kiss with a soft, blissful sigh.

Last prompt! This one was:

Jydia AU: nerd!Lydia, Jackson is Captain of the college lacrosse team and meets Lydia when Stiles brings her out to practice one day. He sees her talking with him on the bench and.. FEELS THINGS

————–

It was a perfect, clear day when she first showed up in the bleachers. McCall’s boyfriend brought her along, lead her into the bleachers and spent the practice gesturing around the field, obviously explaining things to her. Game mechanics, team relationships. Jackson wasn’t sure, because he didn’t approach the bleachers the first day.

He told himself that it was because he didn’t have time to be mucking around with friends of McCall’s, or that practice was intense, or that he had other business, but the truth was that his heart was racing, his skin tingling every time he caught sight of her shock of red hair. He could feel her eyes on him and it became even more important not to screw up while she was watching.

He had to be impressive. He had to be the best.

Because she was that sort of girl, she had to be that sort of girl. She was beautiful and her smile was stunning and he had no idea whatsoever what she was doing hanging out with that Stilinski kid. He figured it had to do with Allison, who was McCall’s sometimes, on-again-off-again girlfriend and Jackson wasn’t going to touch any of that with a ten foot pole, except that he had to in order to even find out the girl’s name.

It was Lydia Martin, Scott told him before shoving him with his lacrosse stick and telling him to pay attention.

The second time Stilinski brought her to practice it was a little warmer, and they had books on their laps and Jackson wasn’t sure what he thought about that. He managed to get himself benched for practice, enough that he could wander closer to ask what they were studying, but she steadfastly let Stilinski give him weird looks as she completely ignored him in favor of the physics book cracked open on her lap.

Pride wounded, he’d left the field that day wondering what he’d done wrong.

Allison cornered him at the end of the next practice, walking him until his back hit a wall before she laid into him about leaving her friend alone because she was not a conquest. Jackson didn’t know what to say to that; the idea had never even been a consideration when he went to talk to Lydia. It should have been. It always was before.

But it wasn’t this time and perhaps that, more than anything, was what scared him the most.

Masterpost of other authors/artists/gifset makers taking prompts!

Well this one started to get away from me… but here ya go!

Happy Sterek Week!

————

            Stiles couldn’t kick the door down, which was rather unfortunate given that the alpha werewolf he’d spent the last twenty minutes dragging from the car to the elevator and from the elevator to the door was unlikely to be amicable to him sorting through his pockets. Thankfully said werewolf was unconscious and didn’t have a say in the matter, and so Stiles pawed through Derek’s pockets until he found the front door key. He wasn’t sure why Derek locked the door in the first place- anyone that was coming to see him either had permission to get in or wasn’t going to be stopped by a deadbolt.

            It didn’t matter anyway; he unlocked the door and propped it open and he was about to continue dragging Derek through it when Derek spasmed and snarled and rolled onto his side, spitting up blood and rage.

            “Derek!” Stiles shouted, crab-scrambling backward to keep from being torn to shreds. Clearly Derek didn’t know where he was, maybe thought he was still in the fight with Kali. “Derek you’re fine! Dude, you’re safe! You’re home!”

            At that, Derek hesitated, his bright crimson eyes clearing to the pale color of humanity. “Stiles?” he chokes out.

            “Yeah, buddy,” Stiles agreed, hand grasping his phone tight enough his knuckles have gone white. Why wasn’t Scott answering? They’d gotten separated and no one was calling him back. They should have gotten here way before Stiles did.

            “You’re okay,” Derek rasped, the way he glanced around suggesting he was confused about how he’d gotten there. “Kali-”

            “She’s gone,” Stiles assured him. He chanced getting a little closer. “You saved me, and the pack ran her off. She hurt you really bad, Derek. We have to get you inside.”

            “Inside,” Derek echoed, managing to get to his hands and knees. He groaned and collapsed a little and Stiles was beside him without even thinking about it.

            “Yeah, inside,” Stiles agreed. He wrapped his hands around Derek’s middle, mindful of the injuries, and helped haul him to his feet. The shirt slid sticky-hot with blood under his hands, but he held tight anyway until Derek made it into the middle of the loft. Stiles left him there to lock the door behind them.

            The place was as bare as if no one lived there, still, but it did have first aid supplies. The wolves shouldn’t have any need of it, but fighting alpha werewolves as they’d been doing the last month, Stiles had insisted that they stock appropriately. He was glad for it now as he yanked gauze and stitching kits and iodine from the cabinet in the bathroom and hurried back to Derek’s side.

            “You are so lucky I like you,” Stiles grumbled as he rolled Derek onto his back, a groan of protest rumbling up from the wolf’s chest. He glanced to Derek’s face, but his eyes were screwed shut in pain. “This is gonna hurt.”

            “Just do it,” Derek told him, rushed out on a breath he’d been holding.

            Stiles frowned and began cutting through Derek’s shirt with the very sharp scissors from one of the kits. It was a lost cause anyway, so Stiles just pushed it to the side and tried not to lose it completely at the sight of all the blood. He didn’t even know where to start, so he just picked one of the ugly, ragged claw wounds and began to wipe it clean. He swabbed it with iodine and winced when Derek hissed in pain.

            “Sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles apologized, gingerly poking at the edges of the wound. It seeped blood, but it was red blood, not black. Stiles tried to remember if that was good or not but everything Scott had told him was scattering to the wind as he freaked out.

            “Stiles,” Derek gritted out. “Take a deep breath.”

            In. And out. Stiles realized he was shaking. “Sorry,” he murmured, looking up to meet Derek’s eyes.

            “Is there anything in them?” Derek asked.

            Stiles glanced over all of the injuries, scanning for any dirt or stone or bits of claw or anything that might be keeping the wounds from healing. “Blood,” he said, voice following suit on the trembling issue. He cleared his throat. “Just blood, they’re clear otherwise.”

            Derek let his head fall back against the floor. “Then they’ll heal. Where is everyone else?”

            “I don’t know,” Stiles said miserably, allowing himself to sit rather than kneel. Some of the tension leaked out of him knowing that Derek thought he was going to be okay. “They’re not answering their phones. Scott told me to stay with you, but we couldn’t- you were bleeding-”

            “Stiles,” Derek interrupted, huffed out a breath that sounded like pain. “Just shut up.”

            “Okay,” Stiles agreed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Derek’s prone form or the excess of blood coating his body. There was dirt and sweat and his clothes were rags and- “You really need a shower. You kind of reek and-”

            Derek groaned. “Do you ever stop talking?”

            “I talk when I’m nervous!” Stiles exclaims grouchily. He jumped when his phone rang and he scrambled back toward the doorway where he’d left it. Relief flooded through him when he saw Scott’s number. “Scott?”

            The line crackled like it was losing reception and then Scott’s voice came through, loud and clear. “We’re okay, Stiles. We’re heading over. Is Derek-?”

            “Alive,” Stiles told him, surprised at how much of his relief bled into the word. He looked over to Derek, finally relaxing. “We’re okay.”

tovelinen  asked:

Could you do 11, please?

11. partners in crime au

Derek rolls over with a groan when his phone blares to life, the specifically set tune demanding his attention when he’d usually just shut off the ringer and bury himself back under his pillow.

  “What?” he asks, forcing his voice to lilt at the end so that it sounds like a question rather than an aggressive statement.

  “Derek–shit, oh, fuck–” Stiles’ breathing is heavy and Derek’s eyes snap open.

  “Stiles, it’s three in the morning, I don’t think now’s the best time for–”

  “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Stiles says frantically. “I’m not–that’s not why I’m calling–I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble, because I tripped a silent fucking alarm and I think they have dogs? I’m kind of–shit!” There’s a bark in the background and a sound like Stiles has just full-body collided with something. “Okay, they definitely have dogs.”

Keep reading

2

Another one for the Operation Positivity tag! Again sorry for the lateness… and um, how they didn’t really fight.

———

“This… this is wrong,” Stiles said slowly, peering around wide eyed as camera crews scurried around yards away from them. “Something has gone horribly wrong.”

“You think?” Derek asked dryly, curling his fingers into his palms to hide the claws, instinctual fear driving his shift hard enough that he was having difficult reining it in. “Where the hell are we?”

Stiles gave him a helpless look and motioned behind them to a perfect replica of Stiles’ room. “I’m going to guess not my room,” he spluttered. “It looks like a- a- a movie set or something. Geezus. It’s like an alternate-”

“Dylan!”

“-reality- oh my god,” Stiles said, relaxing as he jumped over the divider that marked the edge of his fake room and began heading for his best friend. “Scott! Thank god.”

Scott gave him a funny look, glancing to Derek as if asking if Stiles was okay. “You okay, bro? Jeff needs Hoechlin and…” He trailed off, staring at Derek for a long moment. “You’re already in costume. Wow, it looks really good today.”

The realization that this was not Scott sunk a coldness into Stiles and he stopped short of hugging the newcomer. He glanced back to Derek, who was still wolfed out and looked ready to snap. “Derek?” he asked softly.

“It all smells wrong,” Derek gritted out. “That’s not Scott.”

“Yeah, I figured…” Stiles looked back to Scott. “This is going to sound super insane, okay, but I’m not whoever you think I am. My name is Stiles, and this is Derek. We were doing a- stop it.”

“Stop what?” the newcomer asked, trying not to look like he was doing anything.

“Stop looking at me like I’ve gone completely insane. God, Scott gives me that look too. Is it really so hard- Look,” he said, waving his hand to dismiss the subject before they could get sidetracked. “We were trying to perform a spell to send a fairy back to her dimension, and it must have… done something else. Gone wrong.”

“Do you, like, need a glass of water or something? Did you hit your head too hard last scene?” Not-Scott asked, looking concerned. “We have a lot to finish today, Dylan.”

“I’m not Dylan,” Stiles said seriously. “I’m Stiles and…” Trailing off again, he looked around him as it dawned on him what exactly was going on. “Oh my god. Are we a television show? Are you playing Scott McCall on a television show.”

Not-Scott laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, and you’re playing Stiles, and he’s playing Derek and we have at least two more scenes to shoot today so cut it out.”

“You are so dead, Stiles,” Derek growled from beside him. Stiles groaned.

“I know. You, what is your name? Humor me,” Stiles ordered when Not-Scott looked exasperated.

“Tyler. Come on Dylan.”

“Tyler,” Stiles repeated. “Okay, Tyler, listen. I’m not joking.” He motioned between him and Derek. “We’re not from here. We’re from- we- just, stop with the look. Watch.”

With that, he turned and faced Derek, who was still fighting the shift, still on high alert, expecting to be attacked in this world that smelled just to the left of right. His attention zeroed in on Stiles when the human approached, and he held perfectly still as Stiles reached up and laid his palms to Derek’s cheeks. He reached up, circling Stiles’ wrists with his fingers and hanging on.

“I need you to calm down, Derek,” Stiles said steadily, staring him in the eyes. “I need you to be in control. I need you to shift back. You’re going to be the only chance we have at convincing anyone here that we aren’t from here, okay, buddy? So please…”

Forcing himself to center, Derek closed his eyes and seized onto his anchor with everything that he was. He listened to the rhythmic beat of Stiles’ heart, focused on the feel of his skin, the flutter of his breath, and slowly, slowly, forced himself to calm down. There was no threat here, despite how weird everything looked and smelled and sounded. He didn’t have to fight. He had to be human. Derek knew how to be human.

“Oh my god…” Tyler breathed from behind them, eyes wide. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, giving a breathy, relieved laugh. “We weren’t lying.”

“No, I mean, yeah, you- but you’re like… are you together? Because that was…” Tyler motioned wordlessly between them, unable to articulate what he was trying to convey.

Stiles’ brows wrinkled at the same time as Derek’s. “Yes… aren’t we on your show?” He had assumed everything would be the same.

“Uh… no. I mean, well, not in the show, exactly,” Tyler hedged. “But man. Everyone is going to freak out. The fans were actually right…”

Stiles and Derek exchanged a look. This was going to be a long day.

anonymous asked:

Dean doesn't understand the significance when Cas presents him with a single, pristine black feather - but he keeps it in a box with his treasured possessions, just because. It's not until years later that Cas informs him that it's one of his own feathers, given to Dean to express the significance of the connection he felt to him.

Dean doesn’t have anything like a feather to give to Cas, nothing to really return the sentiment with, except…

The night Cas explains (in a hushed voice) what the feather means, Dean takes his ring off and slides it on the fourth finger of Cas’s left hand. Cas’s breath catches and Dean holds Cas’s hand in both of his.

It’s not quite the same, but it’s close enough. Dean wants to ask if this is ok, if he’s presuming too much, because Cas gave him that feather years ago and what if-

But he can’t. His throat’s all closed up.

Cas must see the questions, the fear in his eyes. Cas leans in and places a gentle, sweet kiss to Dean’s lips.

Dean melts. His fears flee. All that’s left is the warmth of Cas in front of him and the taste of his angel’s mouth on his lips. Dean wants to laugh at how they’ve done everything backwards - death, marriage, then their first kiss - but somehow it’s so perfectly them.

And they have a lifetime ahead of them to live, together.

seaberusgoing-deactivated201410  asked:

oh my gosh, can I request you write something about detective gumshoe having a good day? it can be anything really. maybe he tries to take care of a kitten. or takes maggey byrde out on the most frugal date of all time. I just have a lot of gumshoe emotions (at first I wrote "wright something" god i'm the worst)

He had grown used to disappointment.

Still, Gumshoe could not help but hang his head as he sat before his supervisor’s desk, trying to glance at the tiny, upside-down writing on his annual evaluation form. He was barely making ends meet as it is; if he took much more of a pay cut, he’d probably have to find an even smaller apartment, or perhaps a second job.

It was disrespectful, but Gumshoe could barely even bring himself to pay attention as his supervisor talked at length of Gumshoe’s goals for the next year and a bunch of other nonsense he’d grown accustomed to in his years with the police force. He’d heard it all. 

“…and so we’ve decided – detective? Detective.”

Gumshoe started, raising his head to meet his supervisor’s eyes, stammering out an apology.

“You’ll be receiving a ten percent pay raise this year,” his supervisor continued.

Gumshoe let his face fall before he finished processing the statement. “A – a raise, sir?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t going to give you one at all, we just don’t have the budget for it, but – well, you’ve got some friends at the prosecutor’s office. Something about an indispensable resource and anything less than a 10% raise would be an injustice. He asked me not to name names, but –”

Edgeworth. Gumshoe felt a smile spread across his face as he rose quickly from his chair, knocking it over in the process. He let out a loud, jubilant yell as he thrust one of his fists into the air above him.

“He’s a hard man to impress,” his supervisor continued, “whatever you did, keep it up. And before you continue destroying my office, I need you to sign this.”

2

For the Operation Positivity tag! I hope you find this, anon!

——–

Eyes closed, he relished the feel of Derek’s thumb brushing over his arm, rhythmic and steady, thoughtful. His skin still buzzed pleasantly, sweat cooling in the breeze from the fan, mind fuzzy and content. Beneath his ear, Derek’s heart beat a comforting pattern, loud and strong.

“Dinner,” he managed to mumble. He’d come here for a reason. His dad had invited Derek over for dinner.

“I can’t,” Derek sighed.

Stiles pinched his side, causing him to squirm. “I know you don’t have plans. Dad’s looking forward to getting to sit down with you. He’s not that scary.”

“It’s not your dad…” Derek trailed off, shifting guiltily. “It’s just… the moon.”

“The moon?” Stiles repeated, lifting his head enough so he could put his chin on Derek’s chest to look up at him. “So what, like, the planets have to be in alignment for you to have dinner with my family?”

The way Derek closed his eyes, drew in a careful breath, Stiles knew it wasn’t that. It was more important. He was scared, and Stiles knew it wasn’t because his father was the sheriff, or because he didn’t want to meet him. They had talked about this before. Something was wrong.

“Whatever it is…” Stiles began.

“If I tell you something,” Derek interrupted, opening pale eyes to look at Stiles. “Will you promise to believe me? No matter how ridiculous it seems?”

“Of course,” Stiles told him, confused now.

Wriggling out from under him, Derek sat and Stiles followed suit without asking why. “And… can you promise me that you will give me a chance to prove what I’m going to say, and maybe… try not to freak out?”

Fear settled low in Stiles’ belly, because Derek was using the sort of tone people used when they told you they had cheated on you or killed someone or any number of horrible things that should send another person running. Stiles didn’t want to run from Derek. He liked Derek.

“I can promise to try,” Stiles assured him slowly.

Derek nodded, as if he’d known that was the best he was going to get, and dropped his gaze to his clasped hands. “Fair enough. I meant… I meant to tell you this sooner, okay? I just- I really like you, and I wanted a little bit of time with you.”

“Derek, just tell me,” Stiles demanded, throat tight.

“I’m a werewolf.” He looked up the moment the words were out of his mouth, looking for all the world like he thought Stiles was going to kick him out of his own loft.

“A werewolf,” Stiles deadpanned. “Like change into a wolf, howling at the full moon, werewolf.”

“Yes,” Derek confirmed, guilty as Stiles had ever seen him, like it was a sin he was about to be punished for.

Stiles reached out with both hands, laid them along Derek’s jaw, and held eye contact, concern lighting his features. “Have you maybe considered a psychologist?”

And that was it, because Derek’s face transformed partway into that of a wolf right in his hands, eyes bright blue, incisors lengthening to fangs, fur sprouting and everything, and Stiles jerked back like he’d been burned. His shout was too loud in the silence of the room, but he didn’t run.

“Oh my god.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek told him, though it was a little garbled around the fangs, like maybe he didn’t talk very much when he was like this. “I should have told you sooner. I just-”

“Can you hear better?” Stiles interrupted, still staring with wide eyes. “Can you smell like a wolf?”

Derek looked up, confused now. “What?”

But Stiles was staring at him with open interest, his initial shock left by the wayside in favor of his boundless curiosity. “Can you turn into a real wolf? Or is this it? It’s a full moon tonight isn’t it!”

“What?” Derek repeated, brain still stalled out over the fact that Stiles had not run away yet. In fact, Stiles was creeping back closer, smoothing his fingers over the extra hair on Derek’s face, studying every new feature, every change that had been made. “Stiles?”

“This is probably the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Stiles breathed. Then he paused, looking thoughtful. “Well, you know, after you agreed to date me, that is.”

Stiles felt Derek’s face crinkle in confusion beneath his fingers. “This isn’t the reaction I was expecting,” he said slowly. “You’re… you’re okay with this?”

At that Stiles sat back a little, giving serious thought to the question. It only took a moment for him to shrug. “I’m gonna freak out about this later. And I’m going to have a lot of questions.”

“You always have a lot of questions.”

Stiles slapped his leg. “I meant about werewolves,” Stiles corrected. “Ass. But, I mean, you haven’t hurt me. You haven’t hurt anyone that I know of.”

“I don’t hurt people,” Derek assured him quickly. “I just- It’s really hard to control on the full moon, especially if I’m stressed and as much as I want to go to dinner with you and your father…”

“It’s stressful,” Stiles guessed. He took a deep breath, nodding. “Okay. Okay, we can reschedule. Hey,” he said when Derek looked back down to his hands. Stiles smiled when their eyes met. “We can figure this out.”

“Okay,” Derek agreed, holding out one hand, palm up.
 Stiles slid his hand onto it and gave a small squeeze. Derek smiled.

lsildur  asked:

destiel suits

He puts on so many disguises that he feels more comfortable in a borrowed name and a cheap suit than in his own worn jeans and faded flannel. Somewhere along the way, he’d learned to be an FBI agent, a cop, a soldier, a brother and forgotten how to be Dean. 

But stripped of his layers and disguises, with Cas whispering his name reverently into his skin, he feels like could someday remember. 

sammyswolf  asked:

Shameless gonna ask for a drabble with Wolf and Toad. 8)

I was totally listening to Three Days Grace I hate Everything About You when I wrote this, can you tell? Also Toad/Wolf is so much fun to write, it should be criminal. 

Wolf was used to feeling angry. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been genuinely happy, or at least completely happy anyway. Feeling pissed off and removed from the world was a daily feeling, so ever present that he didn’t think he was capable of feeling any other way anymore. 

Being around Toad made that anger increase ten fold. He was everything Wolf hated. Loud, opinionated, arrogant beyond belief. A man who thought he was God’s fucking gift. A bloke who seemed to believe that you could coast your way through life without giving a single thought to the consequences of any of your decisions. Spontaneous, brash, often immature, dealings with Chris usually left Wolf balling his fists and biting his lip in irritation. 

And yet, there were still those moments. Brief and rare, when the desire to kill Toad was overpowered by something else. By something stronger. By pure, unadulterated lust. By a desire for dominance, for control, to wipe that smug, shit eating grin from Toad’s mouth and replace it with his cock. It had only happened a handful of times, but fucking Chris was beginning to feel like a drug, like an addiction. A hit that seemed to grow in intensity with each and every orgasm, and yet its potency would always wear off so much quicker too, leaving him feel wanting for it to happen again. Each time he told himself would be the last, but the things Toad did to him, the way it all just made him forget… It was simply intoxicating. 

All this was flying through his brain as he threw Toad up against the closed door of his bedroom, his hands scrunched up in the shorter sniper’s shirt. His kiss was brusing, his mouth possessive, demanding and unrelenting all in one, but Toad seemed to relish the feeling, his lips moving against Wolf’s with compliance but never submission. He got off on their ‘sessions’ just as much as Wolf did, and although he always allowed Wolf to be in control, he never gave away that privilege willingly. That was the one part that Wolf enjoyed the most. The thrill of the chase, the fight for dominance. Somehow that felt like much more familiar territory. After all, he’d been fighting for the majority of his life. 

Feeling angry, Wolf could handle. But the conflicted cocktail of emotions, morality and everything in between that fucking Toad gave him was something else. It left him feeling bitter, confused and ridiculous all at once. And yet no matter how much he told himself otherwise, he’d never really give it up, because with all of that, fucking Toad was the most human he had felt in years. 

I hope I didn’t destroy Wolf too much! I’m still a little new to writing him haha. :D Cheers hunni. <333333333333

Last one! Thank you to everyone who participated in my Pay it Forward project!! Sorry for the late responses on some of these, but I hope everyone enjoyed their holiday season!

———

“I haven’t seen snow since I was eleven,” Stiles said, nose practically pressed to the huge window in Derek’s loft. Far below, the snow was actually starting to accumulate into a thin layer, with more puffy, white crystals drifting down every moment. Even through the window Stiles knew it was quieter than usual, the roads clear of all but the necessary traffic until the storm passed.

“Used to snow in New York,” Derek said from the couch, not looking up from his book.

Stiles glanced over his shoulder, then back outside. “Guess you’re used to it then.”

“It gets less exciting when you have to drive in it,” Derek told him with a little huff of amusement. “Though I’m sure your Jeep will be better than my Camaro was.”

“Did you spin donuts in it?” Stiles asked. “I bet you did.”

“My sister would have had my ass if I did,” Derek said, finally looking over.

Stiles smiled. “You did.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek smiled as well. “Yeah.”

“I remember the last time it snowed like this,” Stiles said quietly, eyes following various flakes on their way to the ground. “When it was over, the ground was just blanketed in white, and the sun was out, and everything sparkled like a bunch of stars had piled up.”

“Hm,” Derek said thoughtfully, closing his book and laying it on the cabinet beside the couch. “Does that make it all falling stars while it’s snowing?”

“That’d be a lot of wishes,” Stiles said, smirking.

“They’re only little wishes,” Derek said. “Snowflake sized wishes.”

“Like what?” Stiles asked, turning around completely to face him.

“Like… I could wish you’d get rid of that awful blue and orange shirt,” Derek said.

Stiles gave a snort of laughter, because that was never going to happen. He loved that shirt. He loved that shirt more after seeing it on Derek, who was never going to live that down. Ever. “I could wish that you’d get curtains, like a real boy.”

Derek’s nose scrunched. Curtains. Sounded like work. “I could wish I had enough covers you couldn’t possibly steal them all in one night,” he said, managing to keep a straight face.

That amount of covers did not exist, and they both knew it. “I could wish you had more pillows, so I could stop having to bring my own if I stay over.”

“I wish you’d stop just staying over,” Derek said quietly.

That gave Stiles pause, his heartbeat stuttering at the implication. He swallowed, throat clicking in the stillness. “That’s not a snowflake sized wish,” he mumbled, meeting Derek’s eyes.

“There’s a lot of snowflakes out there,” Derek replied. “Maybe if I wish on all of them at once…”

“Do you?” Stiles asked as he stepped over to the couch. “Do you wish that?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, looking up to keep eye contact. “I do.”

“Okay,” Stiles replied. “I’m not- I’m not a shooting star, or even a falling snowflake, but I think… I think I can grant that wish.”

2

Prompt for LadyW1nter!

———-

            The fingerprints were everywhere.

            Derek hadn’t though much of it when he found the first few, smattered on the table top. There were newspapers spread like a tablecloth over everything and he wouldn’t have noticed them at all if Isaac hadn’t brought over a new light fixture that sent a skewed reflection across the surface as Derek cleaned. He might even have dismissed them entirely, except that little black prints seemed to sink into the wood and stain it.

            There were more, in the bathroom where Stiles had washed his hands before heading home. These came off easier, but were somehow more annoying; surely Stiles had seen them before he walked out of the room. Was it so difficult to wipe them off while they were fresh?

            If Derek didn’t know better, he would have said Stiles was leaving them on purpose.

            The next night, after almost two hours of listening to Stiles hum off pitch under his breath as he rifled through newspapers, Derek found more of them. More black smudges, more trailing fingerprints, more marks on his home. Half a handprint decorated the mug Stiles had been drinking from, and more trailed out in the kitchen when he’d taken the mug to the sink. There were fingerprints on his cabinet and fingerprints on his counter.

            He spent twenty minutes after Stiles left just scrubbing him from surfaces, getting rid of the inky twang of scent curled so tightly around Stiles’ own.

            “Can you just- stop.” he finally snarled two days later, as he watches Stiles leave a thumb print on the light switch. He’d had enough. “Stop touching things.”

            But Stiles just rolled his eyes. “I have to touch things, Derek, I’m trying to work. What’s the issue? This is for your problem, remember?”

            Derek let out a low, irritated growl because there really wasn’t a reason for him to be this irritated. It was just that they were everywhere and all of them smelled like Stiles and ink and a little bit like old musty paper. It was driving him a little crazy for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp. “I don’t want to clean up after you tonight,” he said instead of giving voice to the actual problem.

            The papers rattled around as Stiles tidied them into a pile and then shoved his chair away from the table. Derek watched him warily as he covered the distance between them and plopped down on the couch. He gave Derek a very calm, measured look that Derek did his best to return. In the end, it was Derek who looked away first and he hated the rush of blood under his skin.

            “Are you angry because I’m touching your stuff or because I’m not touching you?” Stiles asked, the moment Derek dropped his gaze.

            Derek’s eyes slid closed as his stomach swooped at the words. How was he supposed to answer that? “You’re leaving marks.”

            A low hum in the depths of Stiles’ throat was his answer. A moment later, Stiles shifted, and Derek finally looked up at him again. Stiles raised his eyebrows a little. “I could leave some marks you wouldn’t mind.”

            Derek swallowed, blood zinging beneath his skin. “You shouldn’t.”

            “I wasn’t asking about should or shouldn’t,” Stiles told him softly. He leaned a little closer, slowly, with ample time for Derek to escape. He didn’t move a muscle. “It was an offer,” he said, like advice, like a conspiracy.

            A little shiver chased heat down Derek’s spine as he held Stiles’ gaze the moment before their lips met.

            If Derek minded the ink on his skin or the bruises Stiles sucked into his shoulders and neck, just so he could watch them fade, he didn’t mention it just as much as Stiles didn’t mention the smudged black prints on the backs of Derek’s white briefs. Stiles didn’t stop leaving fingerprints after that; Derek, however, stopped washing them away.

theladyandthewolves  asked:

Your Pay it Forward Project is an amazing idea and i'm truly happy to be able to send you a prompt ! so. Sterek/Christmas, long time no see, sparks, first kiss (hmm i hope you'll consider "long time no see" as one word, i don't know how else to word what i mean)

One of the prompt fills for my Pay it Forward project! Sorry this is so overdue!

—————————

theladyandthewolves prompted: Sterek/Christmas, “long time no see”, sparks, first kiss

The knock on the door was early, by almost an hour, catching him off guard. He called for his father to come in, but there was no response. No open door, no it doesn’t smell like burning in here am I in the right place? Exasperated, Stiles rinsed his hands of the dough sticking to them, and grabbed a dish towel to dry them as he walked to the front door.

“I said come-” He froze, drawing up short, eyes widening. He let out a shaky breath. “I thought you were dead.”

A vague, nervous smile twitched at the corner of Derek’s lips. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it’s been a while, and I won’t stay long, I just-”

        “You just what? You’re just going to leave again?” Stiles snapped. The only thing keeping him from slamming the door in Derek’s face was everything they’d been through before he walked out of town. The summer at the loft, the fall spent trying to pretend nothing happened in front of their friends. The alphas and the darach, the Nemeton and the nightmares that chased on the heels of their sacrifice. The darkness that had come for them all afterward.

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Derek repeated.

“You’re sorry?” Stiles echoed incredulously. He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath and letting it out. “It’s been four years,” he said. “You walked away from us. From me. You show up four years later on Christmas and expect sorry is going to be enough? Sorry doesn’t come close to cutting it, not this time.”

He started to close the door, but Derek stopped it with one hand. “You’re right,” Derek said as Stiles started to just walk away, leaving him at the door. “It doesn’t fix anything. I just… wanted you to know I was in town. So you weren’t surprised.”

“Because showing up at my apartment on Christmas unannounced isn’t a surprise at all,” Stiles shot back as he headed for the kitchen. He knew Derek would follow him; that at least wasn’t a surprise. He snatched up the bowl of cookie dough and began angrily doling out dollaps onto the greased cookie sheet.

“I didn’t want you to think I was avoiding you,” Derek said quietly from the doorway, watching his every move.

A bark of laughter escaped Stiles. “Like the last four years didn’t give me that impression? Seeing you randomly wandering the supermarket would surely do the trick. Good thing we avoided that.”

“Stiles,” Derek said patiently. Stiles lopped another glob of dough on the cookie sheet and then growled, rounding on Derek.

“What.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Derek told him.

“Well, it’s too fucking late for that,” Stiles snarled. He stopped, took another deep, slow breath, and shook his head. “What are you doing back?”

As if he’d been expecting Stiles to cave, Derek nodded. “The county called about the preserve property. It’s coming out of the system and I can reclaim it, but I had to come back for paperwork.”

“And then?” Stiles asked.

“And then?” Derek echoed.

“And then what, Derek?” Stiles demanded. “You sign the paperwork, you get your family’s home back… and then what? Are you going to stick around or just take off again?”

Silence fell between them, and Stiles fidgeted, rubbing the sticky cookie dough between his fingers as he tried to determine what was going through Derek’s mind. Finally Derek sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Do you want me to stay?”

Stiles let out a soft huff of surrender and met Derek’s eyes when he looked back up. “I never wanted you to leave in the first place.”

“I was trying to keep everyone safe,” Derek reminded him gently.

“And now?” Stiles asked

“I took care of the problems.” Derek pushed away from the doorway, stepping deliberately toward Stiles, who made no move to get away. Slowly, he raised his hands, laying them on either side of Stiles’ face, and the ghost of a smile flickered onto his features. “I missed you, every minute.”

Stiles’ eyes slid closed and he tipped his head, pressing into the warmth of Derek’s palm for just a heartbeat. “You should stay for dinner.”

“Just dinner?” Derek asked. Stiles’ huffed a warm breath of laughter against his palm.

“Gotta start somewhere,” Stiles told him. He opened his eyes, met Derek’s, and gave a tentative smile. “Christmas dinner seems like as good a starting point as any.”

Derek leaned forward just a little, just enough to rest his forehead against Stiles’. “Can you promise me your father won’t shoot me on sight?”

“No,” Stiles said, smile turning genuine. He had missed Derek, desperately, though he had never admitted it. The feeling flared through him, enough to take his breath away momentarily. “Will you stay anyway?”

“Yes,” Derek murmured the instant before Stiles pressed forward and kissed him.

xdxviousx-deactivated20160122  asked:

Teen Wolf. Sterek. Kittens, Oreos, libraries. Please! :)

For my askbox prompts night.

“She needs a name,” Stiles says as Derek slips the Camaro into a parking space away from the rush of people cramming into spaces side by side at the entrance. He doesn’t miss the eyeroll Stiles gives him because of it, but he does ignore it.

“Cat,” he says dryly as he turns the key and gets out of the car.

He doesn’t miss Stiles’ put-upon sigh, either. “You can’t just call her ‘cat’ forever.”

“I actually can,” he says, beeping the locks and then following Stiles toward the old stone building at the other end of the parking lot. It is low-set, only one story, but what it lacks in height it makes up for in length, sprawling out like a sunbathing cat. He scowls at the reminder.

“What about… Jessica,” Stiles suggests. “Or Ramone. Oo, we could call her Catniss.”

“We are not calling her Catniss,” Derek says, herding Stiles onward toward the front steps. “You can’t give a cat a human name, anyway.”

That, at least, gives Stiles some pause, long enough for them to get in the front door and begin to head toward the information desk. Unfortunately, there is no line, which gives Stiles the ability to walk right up and ask the young woman behind the desk: “Can you name a cat a person name?”

She looks between the two of them, and when Derek doesn’t offer explanation or aid, she just tips her head a little and says: “I think you can name a cat whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said, puffing up a little bit as he shoots a smug smile at Derek. “We’re looking for… “ He trails off and Derek had wondered when it was going to dawn on him that there was not a ‘caring for cats’ section of the library. “Well, I’m not really sure what we’re looking for. Are there books on how to take care of kittens?”

The woman smiles and Derek practically sees her business-mode set in as she turns to her computer. Her fingers deftly tap the keys for a few moments, and then she scribbles some information on a piece of paper and passes it to Stiles. “There you are.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, reading the paper a little more intensely than strictly necessary. Derek peeked over his shoulder at the collection of numbers, and then gently takes his arm and begins to lead him toward the correct section.

He isn’t sure how long they spend perusing the section on the care of various animals, but he does know he objects to boas, canaries, guinea pigs, emus, fennec foxes, and capybaras. He doesn’t even know what a capybara is, but it can’t be a good idea. He begins to wonder if agreeing to housing this first stray is going to act as a gateway and it is as he is envisioning a zoo parked in his backyard that Stiles finally whaps him gently on the shoulder with a books about the care of kittens to get his attention.

“I think this will do,” Stiles says. He has an odd look on his face, so Derek just accepts the book and they head down to the check-out area together. Derek checks the book out, and hands it over to Stiles.

In the car on the way home, a thought occurs to Derek. “Why didn’t you just look it up on the internet?”

Stiles, halfway through the book, glances over and then back down to the pages. “I did,” he says. “And even if I didn’t, it’s not like taking care of a kitten can be that hard.”

“But then… why did we come out here?” Derek asks, confused.

A soft chuckle escapes Stiles, but he shrugs. “It’s just, you know, we took her in and we don’t really have… anything for her. It’s like… it’s like a baby book. Or something. Also my dad is coming over tomorrow, and I don’t think he really trusts the internet, so… we look like responsible adults now.”

Derek sighs. “Oreo,” he says.

It’s Stiles’ turn to be confused, and he looks over at Derek with a furrowed brow.

“Oreo,” Derek repeats. “We’re not very responsible adults if we can’t even name our cat.”

That gets a bark of laughter out of Stiles, one of Derek’s favorite sounds. “Because she’s black and white?”

“And… very sweet,” Derek grudgingly admits.  

Stiles’ soft smile has only a smidgen of smugness to it. “I knew you liked her.”

Masterpost of other authors taking prompts!

———–

            He is there enough that Derek begins to take notice. Granted, he took notice the first day the boy showed up in tacky, bright orange swim trunks with his much more subdued best friend. There was sunscreen smeared on his nose far too thickly and he was talking animatedly about something Derek couldn’t hear. He didn’t have to be in range to see the way his friend groaned with his entire body, though he got to blow his whistle when the friend pushed Orange into the water without even looking at him.

            He listens, when they show up now, though he doesn’t look at them long enough to get caught. He learns Orange’s name - it’s Stiles, and what sort of name is that, anyway - and his friend is Scott. At first they come every week, on Thursdays, and they stay an hour or two, paddling around in the lap pool like maybe they’ve come there to work out. They’d bad at it, never putting their heads underwater so they can talk the whole time. Sometimes they stand in line for the slide, and Stiles always makes Scott go first.

            It’s when Stiles begins to show up by himself that Derek really takes notice, though. Scott still comes with him on Thursdays, and they still goof off in the lap pool, but Stiles shows up on a Monday, and Derek is glad he picked up Erica’s shift. Stiles spends his hour-long visit floating on a blue inner tube, not being nearly discreet enough in his watching Derek. Instead of acknowledging it, Derek just watches the lap pool and keeps his grin to himself.

            Stiles shows up again on Saturday, and he stays for most of the day this time. He’s brought a lunch, which he takes to one of the three picnic tables by the fence on the far side of the pool area. It’s a nice day for it, the sky blue and the clouds thick and puffy and white, casting shadows that drift over the ground in patterns. Stiles eats slowly and doesn’t look at Derek for once, but he licks all of his long fingers clean of the peanut butter and jelly from his sandwich.

            He doesn’t catch Derek watching.

            Derek spends the rest of the afternoon uncomfortable sitting in his chair and thankfully no one has to be rescued.

            Most of the summer is spent in this fashion, with Derek staring at Stiles when he isn’t looking, feeling Stiles’ gaze burning on him when he looks away. He knows why Stiles is there, and he picks up extra shifts to make sure he’s there when Stiles turns up. His co-workers tease him quietly when Stiles shows and Derek is not there; he leaves almost immediately, and they’ve cottoned on to what is happening. Isaac’s smirking is insufferable.

            There is a day when Derek decides he is not going to look away this time. He’s going to stare at Stiles until Stiles looks back, and maybe he’ll motion him over and maybe he’ll even say hello. Maybe he’ll give Stiles his name as well, and maybe they’ll talk for a little bit.

            All of Derek’s maybes wither, however, when he turns to make good on his plan. Stiles is already staring, has already made the same decisions not to look away. For a moment they stare, each feeling caught, and the rush of Derek’s heart gives him the courage to act a little spontaneously.

            He winks.

            Stiles breaks into a pleased smile, and begins to head his way.