Stiles’s used to yogurt handprints on his shirts from where he picked her up, and he’s used to snot on his shoulders and neck from where she cried after a bad dream. He’s used to her legendary tantrums when she doesn’t get her way, her eyes glowing ferocious gold. He’s used to being the village it takes to raise her, and the pack she longs for.
Except, he needs the pack’s help, and Derek’s protection when a particularly power-hungry pack wants his cub. And he isn’t used to sharing.
Derek hears Stiles before he sees him. There’s anxious, wheezy breathing coming from the next aisle over in the grocery store, accompanied by a racing heart and the smell of unwashed sneakers and hair gel. He turns the corner and Stiles is standing frozen in the dairy aisle, knuckles clenched around the metal of his shopping basket.
RATING: Teen and Up
WARNINGS: panic attacks, anxiety, depression, post 3b, pre-sterek relationship
The Sheriff gets a call at work - someone’s tried to burn down his home with his son inside.
“I thought of you coming here, and finding me dead, of another burnt out husk of a body, something else fire has stolen from you, of you having nothing left to grasp but ashes,” John can’t even call that a whimper, it’s clearly a whine as Derek’s hands tighten against Stile’s hips, as if his boy will shudder to dust at the mere mention of the possibility unless Derek’s hands can hold him into one piece, “and that thought was worse than dying.”
RATING: Teen And Up
WARNINGS: so much angst, stiles nearly burns to death
He’s never noticed it before; it’s always just been second nature to him these days, does it out of habit, but it’s not until he stops to actually think about it that it becomes abundantly and embarrassingly clear to him that he is in love with Stiles and that they are practically dating without the actual dating part…
The hair, the buttons and the general happy and slightly tired disposition with which Derek came back from his secret exploits were as obvious as a glaring neon sign flashing the words JUST GOT LAID.
A sign that Stiles ignored because he had a seven year plan god damn it.
(OR: in which Stiles assumes things, gets accosted by the sister he never/always wanted, discovers he was horribly wrong, almost dies via Derek Hale with kids, can’t handle all that collarbone action, uses tickling as the ultimate mode of revenge, and gets a boyfriend. In that order.)
WARNINGS: misunderstandings, because stiles is dumb, lots of pining
“Thing is, Stiles,” Derek says, his voice hard and unfaltering. “I didn’t sign up for you. You just hung around until we got used to you being here.”
That stings. He hadn’t realised how Derek feels about him. They’ve been getting on quite well, teaming up on little missions and bantering back and forth without malice. Stiles sometimes lets Derek crash in his room after a big fight, trying not to let on how intriguing he finds the werewolf.
“Well now we can get used to you not being here. You’re a liability, Stilinski. You can’t protect yourself and we always end up having to help you when we’ve got more important things to do. You’re out of the pack.”
The one where Derek is a terrible Alpha and Stiles ends up walking into a big pile of shit.
WARNINGS: stiles gets kicked out of the pack, derek is stupid, like, so stupid, stiles gets hurt, theres so much angst in this like wtf, stiles is sad, the pack sucks
Stiles mentally curses Erica, because in all of her warnings about how brusque this guy could be, she forgot mention that he’s also hotter than the fucking sun. If Stiles had any lingering questions about his sexuality, they’d be completely settled by what this guy is doing to him. In fact, he might not even be gay anymore. He might be in the midst of crossing into some yet-to-be-named sexuality that’s all about a scruffy black beard and alarming green eyes and muscles and tattoos and this guy’s everything ever.
The guy’s name is Derek, his lust-addled brain supplies distantly.
Well that settles it, then. Stiles is Dereksexual.
COMPLETE: it says no but they havent updated in like over 2 years so im guessing its done
WARNINGS: everyone is stoned all the time, also in work 2 stiles is hurt because he thinks derek is getting it on with parrish, they’re dumb, age difference, derek has a beardddd
Derek hadn’t even realized that the words had left his mouth until the whole room went silent, including Stiles, who until about five seconds earlier was busy yelling at him for putting himself in danger yet again.
Derek Hale is a mechanic in the sleepy town of Beacon Hills, where he has lived all of his life. He spends his day in a simple routine: wake up, fix cars, go home, sleep. It’s what he’s good at, and it keeps things simple and uncomplicated. Derek doesn’t let people in and remains emotionally distant from everyone except his sister, Laura, and her daughter. This all changes when Boyd tows in an old blue Jeep that needs a lot of work and Derek meets the owner of said Jeep.
Because once Derek meets Stiles and his kids, he can’t stop himself from caring. And he doesn’t want to stop.
WARNINGS: angst, pining, emotional hurt, stiles has a lot of baggage.
Derek knew the moment he opened the front door of his clean and pristine apartment to Stiles Stilinski holding a small boy, a cluster of bags, and a suitcase, he was screwed. In every way possible. Undone by the big brown eyes of a small child and his annoying, witty, and attractive father.
“So, I’m Stiles.” he smiled warmly once he had put his unannounced patient down on the exam table. “I will poke and prod you a little bit to check for internal injuries, those that I can’t see because they’re inside you, and some of it might hurt but it will pass, I promise. I will tell you everything I’m about to do and why I’m doing it so just stay calm and this will go like a breeze, okay?”
Now, Stiles wasn’t stupid in any way, shape or form, he knew a were when he saw one… although he had obviously never seen a werecat before, and definitely not one as young as this one.
When Stiles left Beacon Hills, he never thought he would be coming back. Eight years later, he is coming home for Christmas, with a small passenger in tow. Old feelings, never forgotten, are rekindled.
“Daddy says that when I’m in trouble I should get the police because they always help us. You’re going to help me, right?” Stiles smiles at her, happy that today he decided to stop by the grocery store to buy milk after his shift instead of going straight home. At least now he’s able to help the little girl, who knows what would have happened to her if he weren’t around.
“Of course I will.” He smiles again. “What’s your name?”
“Rebecca Hale.” She answers proudly. “My daddy is Derek Hale.”
Stiles is at the Hale house, lounging on the front stoop watching Isaac, Erica, and Boyd wrestle, when the baby comes running out of the woods. Derek becomes instant father to a magically appearing baby and falls in love. Stiles can’t take the cute and worries Derek’s heart will break if he loses the kid.
or, a dragon gives derek a baby, stiles is oblivious, steve just loves his bright pink rocking unicorn and his da and ma
All they’ve given him is the guy’s head shot. And it’s terrible because now he is ridding the world of one more ridiculously attractive, instant pants dropping- take me now, if you please- regulation hottie.
Even if he has a scowl to rival Kirsten Stewart.
Or the one when Stiles and Derek work for rival assassin companies and are sent to kill each other. It definitely doesn’t go as planned.
WARNINGS: so much violence, they literally try to kill eachother, enemies to lovers pretty much
“It depends entirely on how you look at it, I guess,” Stiles shrugs. “On the one hand, instant healing and the apparently inherited ability to pull off leather at all times. On the other, serious attitude problems and a suspicious disappearance of eyebrows.”
“Even Derek’s?” Danny snorts, “that’s a lot of eyebrow to lose.”
“I know,” Stiles agrees. “You should see, it’s so weird. Every time I want to ask him where they go, except he’d totally eat my face off.”
I've been thinking about domestic Ryden a lot, so here's a scenario in each room of their house
The front porch: Where Brendon would stand out in the freezing cold after a fight until Ryan forgave him, writing little “I love you’s” in fog on the windows. Ryan finally opens the door, telling Brendon to get his ass inside and to stop smudging the glass.
The living room: Where Ryan and Brendon would spend lazy days lounging around, watching their favorite movies. Playful arguments about which movie is a better musical: Moulin Rouge or Beauty and the Beast? Cuddled up together, Ryan watching Brendon affectionately as he hums along to “Be our guest” until they fall asleep in each other’s arms.
The kitchen: Where Ryan would get up early to surprise Brendon with breakfast, only to wake him up shortly afterwards when the pancakes are black and the fire alarm is beeping loudly. Brendon’s heart melts when he sees Ryan’s failed attempt at a sweet surprise and helps him make a new batch, which may conclude in a cliche flour battle until they’re both giggling hysterically, covered in flour and so ridiculously in love.
The bathroom: Where Ryan would be taking a long shower only to be intruded upon by Brendon. Where they’d kiss hotly, Ryan’s back pressed up against the tiles, wet hair and wet bodies rubbing against each other. This becoming such a common occurrence there’s hardly such a thing as showering alone anymore.
The laundry room: Where Brendon teases Ryan about his inability to wash clothes right, laughing over the sheer amount of white objects he’s managed to turn pink lately. Ryan rolls his eyes and resigns himself to folding duty, and that’s how they spend whole afternoons, each folding warm towels together and chatting about nothing at all, until it’s midnight and they’ve abandoned the folding in favor of sitting curled up on the floor dozing into each other’s necks while the fresh scent of detergent and the low humming of the machine lulls them to sleep.
The bedroom: Where they’d spend entire mornings not leaving the bed, simply entranced by the other’s body and wanting to memorize every part of it. Staying up all night kissing and biting and fucking under the sheets. Nights when they don’t need to even have sex because they have each other’s company, and are content with cuddles and the intimacy of holding each other tightly.
The room is pitch black as your phone alarm blares. Your sleepy body stiffens and you bristle away from the sound, melting further into your boyfriend’s stirring form. He’s cozy around you (his legs tangled in yours, his torso following the curve of your spine), and it makes the action of sitting up that much harder. You shift so your back is resting against the headboard and you rub at your eyes to get them to open.
“S’ too early- stay a little longer,” Shawn slurs as he slings an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
Al BLACK SCREEN Al NICK (V.0.)
When I think of my wife, I always
think of her head. FADE IN: INT. BEDROOM - SOMETIME
We see the back of AMY DUNNE’S HEAD, resting on a pillow. NICK (V.0.)
I picture cracking her lovely
skull, unspooling her brain, Nick runs his fingers into Amy’s hair. NICK (V.0.)
Trying to get answers.
He twirls and twirls a lock, a screw tightening. NICK (V.0.)
The primal questions of a marriage:
What are you thinking? How are you
feeling? What have we done to each
other? AMY wakes, turns, gives a look of alarm. *
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
They lie down side by side on the marital bed. Nick is
staring at the back of ~Iny’s head, just as in the opening. NICK (O.S.)
What are you thinking? How are you
feeling? What have we done to each
other? What will we do? Amy turns, and gives him a haunting SMILE. *
FADE TO BLACK. *
Pairing: Dad!Tony x Daughter!Reader, a lil bit of Steve and Vision on the side
Word count: 980
A/N: I have the worst cold and needed some extra fluffy dad!Tony to cheer me up. This basically the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff and I hope y’all like it! Thanks to @fandommaniacx for being the most wonderful beta in existence!
The room was pitch black except for your alarm clock on the bedside table. You groaned and shut it off, before you slipped out of bed and pulled your fluffy blanket around your shoulders. The scratch in your throat that had appeared yesterday has turned into a full blown cold. Sore throat, headache, pain in the limbs, earaches - you clearly hit the jackpot.
LETHAL | Mafia! Au | Jungkook X Reader | Smut | Part 5
Mature content ahead, sorry for any mistakes, and thanks for reading this!
Illuminated by the moonlight, you and Jungkook move silently through the excessive grounds of the mansion before you. This was one task of hundreds for you, but it was Jungkook’s first, so you had been told to keep an eye on him. You were at the residence of a wealthy conman and drug dealer, who owned an extensive art collection: worth millions. Yoongi had instructed you and Jungkook to steal the most valuable piece of art at this house, which was in a gallery room on the ground floor. Usually, this would be a relatively easy task. But not this time. Normally, Yoongi would send you on a simple mission like this the day after he planned it. But on this occasion, you and Jungkook had set off immediately after briefing. This was because you were not the only people with the intention of stealing this painting - Yoongi had evidence to show that Jimin’s men would also be attempting to steal the painting that evening. You weren’t worried - things like this had happened in the past. You bump into Jimin’s men, things get a little messy, but you tended to prove victorious. Still, you had to force memories of times when things hadn’t gone to plan. When you had been forced to flee empty handed: often with one less partner by your side, and one more face to mourn. But you hadn’t been taken down yet. And the feeling of the gun in your belt, pressed against your hip, reminded you that you would not be going down without a fight. It didn’t take long for you and Jungkook to reach the entrance point: you had decided on the orange menagerie, seeing as it would easy to slip though one of the many glass windows. It pained you to ask for help from your cocky partner, but seeing as you were rather short, you had to push your pride aside and motion for Jungkook to lift you up so you could reach one of the high windows. He obliged: gripping your calf, he hoisted you up and your slight frame slipped through the window with ease. You had to ignore the way your body reacted to the firm grip of Jungkook’s hand on your leg, and the way that your cheeks flushed. So he was attractive. So what? A pretty face alone wouldn’t get the job done, which was what you wanted most. Well, at least that was what you told yourself. Jungkook quickly passed through the window, and landed lightly on the balls of his feet beside you. Before Yoongi has dispatched the two of you, he had shown you a floor plan of the house, and you quickly memorised it - it was a good thing you had photographic memory, because you had heard grizzly tales of what had happened to people who lost their way on the job. Seeing as you were positioned in the orange menagerie, you only needed to pass through one corridor to reach the gallery. Unfortunately for you, there was security in the name corridor - if only things could be simple for you. When you reached the exit of the menagerie, which doubled as the entrance to the corridor, you immediately scanned the pitch black corridor for the alarms. There was one positioned in an overhead light, and one peeking out from behind a potted plant. However, it was clear that the alarms were not turned on, because the small red lights which indicated when they were in use were not on. Which meant somebody had already deactivated it : and it didn’t take a genius to guess who by. Jungkook’s eyes followed your gaze, and he, too recognised that the alarms were not on. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered under his breath. Your palm fell to rest on the gun on your hip, which you pulled out of the holster. The cool metal caressed your calloused fingertips, and the feeling of a gun against your palm was perhaps the sensation you were most familiar with. As you crept down the corridor, Jungkook at your side, no alarms rung out, confirming your suspicions. When you reached the door at the end of the corridor which lead to the gallery, you had to bite your lip to silence the sting of obscenities which threatened to pass your lips. Because the door had already been opened. You looked through the crack of the door, peering into the gallery. Sure enough, there were two individuals stood by the painting, appearing to be in the process of carefully dismounting in from on the wall. It was far smaller than expected - it was perhaps only A4 sized. So much money for a piece of canvas paper and a bit of paint. Honestly. Still, there was no fucking way that you were leaving without that damn painting. Standing on your tiptoes, you placed your hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. You were grateful for the darkness that enveloped the two of you, because it managed to hide the blush which spread across your cheeks. Damn. What was wrong with you? You whispered in his ear that Jimin’s men were in there, and you told him to follow suit when you entered the room. He met your eyes as you pulled away, and he nodded. Turning away from him your fingers wrapped around the brass doorknob, and you inhaled deeply. And then you flung the door open, and strode quickly into the room. Jimin’s men spun round to face you, their eyes wide. God, there was nothing better than the faces of those bastards when they released death was looming closer. They scrambled to pull their guns from their holsters, but you were to quick - with frightening composure, you simply took aim and fired a shot right into the man on the left. You could have blown his brains out - and would have relished it - but instead you fired one, two, three shots into his chest: there’d be hell to pay if you got blood on the painting. Jungkook took down the guy on the left with a shot to his calf, which brought him to his knees, and then a clean shot in the centre of his neck. Not bad at all. 'Nice one,’ he breathed heavily, turning to nod at you. Your cheeks threatened to blush again from the praise, but luckily you kept your composure. 'Not too bad yourself, pretty boy,’ you replied. You strode over to the painting, and raised your arms to dismount it from its position on the wall. But then you froze in your tracks. Moonlight shone down from a window on the ceiling at the back of the room. The moonlight illuminated the painting before you. That wasn’t abnormal. However, the shadow that partially blocked the moonlight was: due to the fact that the shadow bore terrifying resemblance to a human silhouette. You had forgotten to check the back. ’(Y/N)!’ Jungkook shouted, and you spun round. A bullet was fired, and in the same millisecond, Jungkook shoved you to the right. It was as if everything was in slow motion: you saw the metal of the fired bullet glint in to moonlight, you saw tear the sleeve of Jungkook’s arm, you saw the spray of blood, you saw the yell of pain that ripped from his throat. And you certainly saw when you turned and fired at the man by the window. It was an excellent shot: the bullet hit directly in the middle of his forehead, and the window behind him was spattered with his blood and brains. Scarlet against the silver of the moonlight. How poetic. Poetic bullshit that you didn’t have time for. You grabbed the painting from the wall, and ran, Jungkook behind you. And as you fled the mansion, you promised this would be the last mistake you would make. How wrong you were. * You drove the car to a quite road near stretching fields which was not far from the residence. The painting was safe in the trunk of the car, and Jungkook was in the seat beside you, clutching his arm. You parked the car in the deserted area, and stepped out of the car, motioning for Jungkook to do the same. Walking back to the trunk of the car, you pulled out a first aid kit. Jungkook followed you, and leaned against the back of the car. He unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it onto the bonnet of the car. It was useless now - the sleeve was soaked through with his blood. Much to your surprise, you didn’t blush at the sight of Jungkook shirtless, leaning against the sleek black car. You motioned for him to let you see his arm, and he obliged, angling his muscular bicep towards you. Thankfully, the bullet had missed his arm. However, it had grazed, and the slash on his bicep was quite deep. Pulling some disinfectant wiped out of the first aid kit, you wiped his wound, and he winced, so you cleaned a bit more gingerly. 'Oh, come on,’ you teased, trying to lighten the mood, 'You’re acting like your arm’s hanging off.’ Jungkook rolled his eyes and smiled. 'Just patch me up, will you?’ You finished cleaning the wound, and began to bandage his arm up. As you wound the fabric round his bicep, you snorted, 'I don’t have any Hello Kitty plasters, so I’m afraid this will have to suffice.’ 'Shut up,’ Jungkook told you, but a small smile still graced his handsome features. Once he was bandaged up, you put the first aid kit back in the trunk. As Jungkook moved past you to get back in the car, you wrapped your fingers round his arm. He turned round to face you, his eyes filled with intrigue. 'Thank you for pushing me out of the way, back there,’ you told him, releasing his arm and not meeting his gaze, 'but you didn’t have to do that. You could have gotten yourself killed.’ 'Well, if you got yourself killed, I wouldn’t have anybody to squabble with, would I?’ Jungkook asked playfully. You nodded, and moved to climb back in the car. But he wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you against his chest. 'But I also did it because,’ he paused, his fingers cupping your chin and lifting your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze, 'I like you.’ As he looked down at you, the moonlight caressing his features, his eyes gentle, you couldn’t resist. 'Idiot,’ you murmured, before wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling his lips to crash on yours.
Summary: You work at JYP as an analyst and are assigned to help a group of idols with their new collaboration song. Both Junior and JB are assigned to the project – very distracting, as you bias Junior. All of this would be fine though, if only that Im Jaebeom weren’t such a pain in your ass.