@sourwolfsam asked for magic!stiles trying to fix derek’s life one spell at a time so here it is
“Is there something wrong with your blanket?” Stiles asks, staring at the comforter that is crumbled up on the floor with just a top sheet covering Derek’s bed. They’re having pizza after their pack meeting and everyone is dispersed around the loft, but Stiles, for some reason, has his attention on Derek’s bed. For completely innocent purposes. Nothing nefarious. It’s not like he was imagining anything. He wasn’t. Shut up.
Derek’s answer is to shrug and when Stiles raises his eyebrows, asking for more information, he elaborates, “It’s not soft enough.”
“The big bad wolf’s blanket isn’t soft enough?” Stiles has to reiterate this for emphasis because this is the most ridiculously adorable thing he’s ever heard. Somewhere Scott is laughing, but this isn’t a laughing matter.
All Derek does is shrug again. Of course.
Stiles looks over at the blanket and decides he’s going to fix this, so he marches right over and picks it up. Derek’s right; it’s not very soft, but Stiles can fix that. He focuses for a moment, channeling the energy into his hands and then zap! the blanket falls out of his hands.
“What dd you do?” Derek growls, stomping over. “I can smell magic.”
Stiles looks up at him innocently. “You said it wasn’t soft enough. Try it now.”
“You could’ve just tried fabric softener,” Erica comments from the couch. “Magic seems a little drastic here.”
“It’s softer,” Derek announces, surprised. “You made it softer.”
Stiles smiles brightly at him. “Now you don’t have to buy a new one! I just saved you like a good $100 because good blankets are really expensive and you’re welcome.”
I’M BACK! :’D and what better way to announce I’m back than to have Stiles in Derek’s leather jacket? (cuz that’s totally how Stiles would welcome Derek home, don’t lie to me). Okay, now I’m off to fill the 11 art prompts I neglected bc school *slinks away into shadows*
I just have this image in my head of my otp walking around a book store. Person A is in their element, knowing exactly where to go for what kind of book, running back and forth between person b and different displays. Showing person b interesting books they want. Person B keeps dropping things and bumping into displays, but they can’t help it because person a looks so amazing when they’re excited about something.
OMG!! Another daddy Sterek moment. I love this!! Credit to whoever did this. You totally made my day. Sterek all the way people. And yes Liam is their love child. Don’t let anyone say anything different.
It just slips out one night. Isaac’s back is arched, head thrown back,
exposing the veins in his neck to Scott’s hungry gaze. His eyes are
wide, lips full and red, as he moans, “Tell me I’m a good boy.”
When Derek said no masturbating without permission, he meant it. Stiles
gets caught misbehaving during his morning shower. Cue Derek’s special
kind of discipline to reinforce for Stiles how spectacular following
orders can be.
Before they ever decided what they were to each other, Derek would
lie on his bed with one of Stiles’ sweaty shirts over his face and jerk
off; his brain racing as he inhaled Stiles’ scent, imagining how much
stronger it would be if he had his face right up against Stiles’ ass.
“What do you want me to do, pat you on the head and
call you a good boy?” Derek growls at Stiles, his arms folded across his
Stiles swallows and his cheeks turn red. He shakes his head and
fumbles with the papers. All at once, Derek can barely breathe,
pheromones are rolling off Stiles. He almost always smells like low
grade arousal, because he’s a twenty year old boy, but it’s suddenly
spiked out of nowhere and Derek feels dizzy with it.
Stiles is sprawled out naked on Scott’s bed, the long line of his body
on display—his back, the muscles of his shoulders, the curve of his
spine, the swell of his ass, the contours of his legs—and he’s looking
over his shoulder at Scott with hooded eyes, a smirk playing over his
kissable lips. In that moment, Scott wants nothing more than to wipe
that look off of his face—to make Stiles feel so overwhelmed with
pleasure that he forgets everything else but Scott’s name and the way
he’s making him feel.
“You’re going to ride me, baby boy,” Derek says, breathing against his
mouth. “Going to squirm all over my dick. Feel my cock grow thick and
hard inside of you. Going to soak your pretty thighs with your own come,
and when your all fucked out I’m going to carry you up to my place and
take you apart.”
Stiles doesn’t know how he missed the way Peter’s dick is straining
against the tight jeans he wears. He stares, transfixed by the way his
pale fingers look against the dark-washed denim as he fondles the
erection inside. The erection he caused.
When he meets Peter’s gaze again, the werewolf’s eyes are electric.
“You might like being manhandled, but I doubt you understand how much I
enjoy a partner who’ll let me toss them around.”
The first time they had used the coffee table, but it hadn’t been good
on Derek’s knees for that long. The next session had been on the kitchen
table, but it had been too wide. Derek went out and bought a sturdy end
table, one used for pictures behind couches, that was wide enough for
Stiles’ broad shoulders, long enough for his torso. It was perfect for
Derek was the one who’d asked for it, telling Stiles
they needed to talk in person with a text message. At first, Stiles had
been worried Derek was regretting That Night, but Derek had assured him
that wasn’t the case.
Still, being a scrawny teenager whose first year at college hadn’t
been the orgy of sexual experimentation that he’d hoped for, Stiles had
just a skoosh of anxiety about it.
(Or: Stiles meets Derek to talk about That Night. Derek offers to help him get rid of that pesky anal virginity. Smut ensues.)
He’s so tired, in every way it’s possible to be
tired. He tried going for a walk tonight to prevent a panic attack, and
ended up being rescued, dazed and bleeding, by Peter Hale. There are so
many things wrong with that sentence he doesn’t even know where to
start. Panic attacks. Being stuck inside his brain sucking so hard he
needed to be alone and moving. The sense of relief that came with
crashing into Peter.
He shouldn’t be okay with this. He
didn’t give Peter permission to sleep in his bed. His dad will be home
soon. Peter’s more than a decade older than him. Peter can’t be trusted.
When Stiles meets Parker online he can’t believe his luck. They have
amazing conversations and he fulfills a need Stiles hadn’t realized he
needed. He has no clue who Parker really is but for Stiles that’s a good
thing. The line separating them, that distant connection, can be
severed whenever he wants. This illusion of control lets Stiles feel
free to explore this new side of his sexuality. However little does he
know that a poorly angled camera shot is going to give him away, and
Peter isn’t quite as happy with the distance between him and his baby
Five Dickings in Five Days was the (hopefully interim) title he’d
seen on the contract. More like five days of dickings. Whatever,
Stiles was into it. The money is great; the fucking is also great. It’s a
win-win way to pay for college.
My friend sent this to me on Tumblr: “I officially
challenge sunshinexlollipops to write me a fluffy Sterek fic. No angst
except for one small paragraph and it can not be major. High school AU.
Stiles is a nerd, Derek is a jock. Tutor!Stiles. They fall in love.”
Challenge accepted, Krista… Sort of?
Derek clears his throat quietly, resuming his plan on retrieving the boy’s mythology book, “Y-You dropped this…”
“I know, but- thanks.”
boy snatches the book out of Derek’s hand with his mortification
filling the air in a sharp, heady scent that has Derek’s wolf mentally
salivating, “You’re welcome… Uh, do you know where the tutor session
thing is supposed to be?”
“T-That’s me,” with another addition of
pink to his cheeks, the boy rushes to correct himself a little, “I mean,
I’m the tutor here and this is supposed to be- oh god, I’m really
butchering this, aren’t I?”
Stiles is too curious
for his own good, and he can’t help himself, so he joins a website
advertising to be a good place for “kinksters.” He just wants to be nosy
and see what total strangers are up to. Then he meets Peter, who wants
to be called Daddy.
Could Stiles be his baby boy?
The shiny new Praise Kink tag can be found on the tag page in the “Feeling Kinky” section
Hi there!! I just wanted to say I've read all of your sterek fics and I am absolutely in love, you are such a good writer and I hope you continue! ^u^ if it's okay, I saw you've taken prompts in the past—could I maybe ask for a bit of expansion on an idea I /think/ you've talked about before? Derek took a lot of pride in his body, does he ever get self conscious or down when he looks in the mirror and sees the chub and the big belly when he was once totally ripped? Does stiles help him through?
Derek had always sort of, in the back of his mind, thought of himself as someone who was above vanity. What the fuck did he care about looks, when he had so many more pressing concerns, so many other legitimate problems? His body was a tool. A weapon. A manifestation of his strength and power. Not something “pretty.”
It turns out, though, that it’s really easy to say looks don’t matter when you have them.
When he first started putting on weight, he was able to ignore it. He put on a solid twenty pounds before he really even had to consider it–and even then, he could still see his abs–at least the top ones, at least when he flexed. And his shoulders, his arms? Still looked fucking great. He just went up a size in jeans and tried not to think about it.
Another twenty, though–all of which seems to have landed directly on his gut–and he can’t pretend it’s not happening, or that it’s not a big deal. It is a big deal. His abs are long gone, buried completely under a ball of pudge that sticks out even when he sucks in, which is increasingly hard to do.
And his face. His fucking face. Look, Derek knows he’s good looking. The Hales are all blessed with a genetic disposition toward incredibly bad luck and incredibly good bone structure. But now that bone structure is blurred under soft cheeks, his dimples are deeper than they’ve ever been, and he has–insult of insults–something perilously close to a double chin. Especially when he looks down.
When he outgrows the new jeans, when he gets dressed one morning and just absolutely cannot get them to button, even when he lies down flat on his back, he has to admit it to himself that he’s getting–fuck. Fat, he’s getting fat.
Of course, Stiles walks into the bedroom at exactly the moment when Derek has given up trying to button his jeans and is sitting on the edge of the bed, round ball of his tummy sitting shamelessly over the never-going-to-meet-again tabs of his jeans.
“Hey,” he says, grinning like a kid on Christmas.
Derek just glares at him.
“Aw, don’t look so pissed,” Stiles says, keeping his eyes wide and innocent even when they’re darting down to Derek’s belly shamelessly.
“My jeans don’t fit.”
“I see that,” Stiles says, mouth tugging up at both corners.
“Goddamn it, Stiles.”
“What, baby?” Stiles plops down next to him, expression shifting to something more serious. “So they don’t fit? So fucking what? We’ll go buy you new jeans.”
“I don’t want new jeans. I want to fit in the jeans I have.”
“Why?” Stiles reaches out, carefully laying a hand over the roundest, most embarrassing part of Derek’s tummy. He looks up at Derek, big brown eyes intense. “I don’t want that. At all.”
Derek frowns. He knows Stiles has been weirdly on board with his weight gain, taking a sudden interest in baking, shoving cookies and brownies and cakes and shit on him at every available opportunity, but they’ve never really talked about it. He runs a hand over the side of his gut, jostling it a little. It jiggles under Stiles’ hand, and Stiles inhales sharply. “You don’t miss the six pack?”
“God no.” He rolls his eyes, his cheeks a little pink. “I–uh–this is better. So much better.”
“I’m fat,” Derek says, partially because it’s true but also because he, perversely, wants to try the word out, roll it around in his mouth and see how it feels to say it.
“Just chunky,” Stiles says promptly, squeezing a little on Derek’s tummy. He grins. “You could get fat, though. I would–ah, I would be so okay with it. I would make you cookies every goddamn day.”
“You made me cookies every day this week, Stiles.”
“You ate ‘em.”
“That’s the problem.”
“If I wanna make ‘em and you wanna eat ‘em, then what’s the problem?”
Derek rolls his eyes. “I guess just the jeans.”
“See?” Stiles grins up at him, obnoxious and sweet. “I told you so.”
Thank you so much for the kind words, anon! I’m sorry this prompt took so long for me to write–especially since it was such a good one!
Stiles turned his head to look at Derek’s hands, his arms still holding him close. “How … how could it break?” He questioned as he leaned forward some. And sure enough, the wrapper and condom were torn in half.
Derek released a sad, dejected sigh, sinking further into the seat. A soft blush heated his cheeks as he stared down at the broken condom. “I bought it in the seventh grade,” he finally stated in embarrassment.
The man cuts himself off suddenly and Derek is really curious, but he doesn’t turn around. “Dude, I don’t even know where I was going with that, but I just wanted to say that you have really nice Genes. And also your jeans are really nice, where’d you get them? My bro Scott has a similar pair, and oh my God you have a nice face.”