the ninety nine percent

msdistress said: I saw that civilized werewolves being super competitive when it comes to other packs, and now I can only imagine an AU where (adult) Stiles and Scott are renting a house together, and Derek moves in the same area. And while the McCall pack and the entire Hale pack (Talia, Laura, etc.) are on civilized terms, Scott and Derek just can’t help themselves. And maybe a part of the showing off is actually a way to impress (court) Stiles, as in “My lawn ornaments are much nicer than his!”

So this is kind of that, but kind of not? This is pretty silly :) Happy Halloween!


“You’re not dead,” Stiles says as Scott bangs open the door and shucks off his shoes in the next movement. They hit the wall and then bounce into an ungainly pile in the middle of the hallway that Liam will no doubt trip over when he gets home.

“Nope,” Scott says. He looks confused by that part.

“So… That’s good?” Stiles has pumpkin guts all over his hands, but offers Scott a fist bump anyway.

Scott follows Stiles back into the kitchen and then plops down across from Stiles’s half-finished jack-o-lanterns at the counter. He’s a couple weeks early, but Halloween has to be taken seriously. These are practice pumpkins.

Scott says, “It was weird. I think they’re all models. They force-fed me pie.”

Stiles arches a skeptical eyebrow.

“I mean, the pie was great,” Scott says, face screwed up. “I think they were happy I ate the whole thing?”

Werewolf metabolism, Stiles thinks sourly. He’s getting to that age where he has to watch his beer and pizza intake. It sucks. He says, “I’ll make them brownies,” and then apparently it becomes a thing.

*

Stiles doesn’t know if the Hale pack are actually all models, but they’re definitely taking the supernaturally hot thing to a whole other level.

Scott’s betas are reasonably attractive, sure, but Liam’s the size of a cave troll and Mason’s on this whole hippie-chic kick that makes him look like a train hobo.

Stiles holds out the plate of brownies and tries not to stare at Erica’s boobs. Boyd has the bulging chest of a roman gladiator and Stiles could cut his hands on Isaac’s cheekbones, it’s insane.

Stiles says, “Nice to meet you guys,” and Erica’s lip curls up and her hands hover around the plastic-wrapped plate like it’s made of poison and-or possibly oatmeal. He waggles the plate back and forth. “Promise they’re wolfsbane free.”

And then Jackson fucking Whittmore comes swanning down the staircase and Stiles says, “You’ve got to be shitting me. Jackson?”

“Stilinski,” Jackson says with a scowl.

“Lydia told us you got eaten by a giant lizard.”

Jackson scowls harder. “Fuck off.”

Stiles would like to say that the addition of Jackson makes the pack less appealing, but despite having the personality of a canned ham, Jackson still looks like he was carved out of marble. Balls.

And then someone says, “Do I smell chocolate?” from behind Stiles and he definitely does not jump three feet into the air, but it’s a close call.

He flinches and spins around and says, “Fuck my life.”

The hottest mountain man Stiles has ever seen is frowning at him and Stiles wants to bury his entire body in his beard. He wants to weasel his way under that soft-looking Henley and lick his collarbones. Stiles is ninety-nine percent sure this is Alpha Derek Hale, even though Scott had failed to prepare him for the way Derek’s eyes are eating Stiles’s soul.

Stiles wordlessly holds out the plate of brownies.

Derek takes them with a resigned silence. No one else is saying anything either, and the back of Stiles’s neck is starting to prickle with unease. Are they going to eat him now? They’d moved into town so Liam and Mason could go to the local college, expecting some kind of resistance, territorial posturing, possible brawl for dominance, but Scott had been tirelessly optimistic—even more so since the pie eating thing.

Stiles slinks around Derek, hands up. He says, “I’ll just, uh… leave now,” and backs down the sidewalk so he can see any kind of attack coming. He’s got a taser in his back pocket and he’s not afraid to use it.

The Hale pack all watch him with narrow, calculating eyes and Jackson gives him the finger.

Stiles thinks that if this is the way they react to brownies, he’s going to bake them a motherfucking cake.

*

Originally, Stiles thought it was a giant mistake on Scott’s part to rent a place nearby the Hale pack house, but now Stiles thinks it’s good to be able to keep an eye on them. They’ve never had to deal with another pack so close before. It’s both nerve-wracking and exhilarating, and Stiles tries not to think too hard about why and focuses on the important stuff: decorating for Halloween.

Stiles starts out with three jack-o-lanterns in front of their modest little pack house, but when he sees Derek staple-gunning orange lights around the entire front of their porch, he comes home with a six foot dinosaur skeleton with glowing red eyes.

“You spent actual money on this,” Scott says, hands on his hips. He doesn’t seem mad, just sort of baffled.

Stiles very carefully doesn’t tell him that it cost almost two hundred dollars. They don’t have ‘pack money’ and Stiles has a very good job, but there’s spending money on a video game and then there’s buying a giant skeleton that’s probably going to break the minute Liam tries to ride it.

Stiles can’t exactly explain it, the way Derek was aggressively hanging lights and glaring at him. It could have had something to do with the way Stiles was openly gaping at Derek’s butt when he was at the top of the ladder, but Stiles is going to up his game anyway: no one actually hangs Halloween lights unless they’re going to war.

Scott would probably not appreciate Stiles telling him this, though.

Instead, he pats the dinosaur’s back fondly and says, “He was on sale.”

*

Five days into October, Stiles blearily makes his way into the kitchen at seven AM to find Liam, Mason and Kira halfway through a giant dish of lasagna. They have full forks and zero table manners.

“Seven AM?” Stiles says, pouring himself an enormous mug of lukewarm coffee because he lives with heathens. “Where did that even come from?”

Mason mumbles something about a handsome roman gladiator while shoveling pasta into his mouth.

Kira says, “I want to marry this. I want to have this lasagna’s babies.” She stabs Liam with her fork and flashes orange eyes when he goes for the corner of the dish she’s staked out.

Liam says, “Did you just hiss at me?”

“If you marry this, I’m gonna eat your babies,” Mason says, and Stiles moves forward curiously, taking a deep sniff but careful not to get too close—he’s pretty sure Kira will take out his eyes.

Steam is still rising off of what’s left. Someone got up super early in the morning to make this fresh. Huh.

So they’re resorting to full meals now. Stiles can deal with that.

*

Stiles bakes a cake. Three layers of chocolate with vanilla pudding in between, and he covers the whole thing with an entire can of orange icing, using Oreo cookies to make bats. He also makes a cheesy chicken casserole in Boyd’s lasagna dish and has Mason take them both over in a wagon.

Stiles peeks through the window shades and gleefully watches Isaac open the door.

“What are you doing?” Scott asks, coming up behind him to peek too.

Stiles rubs his hands together and says, “Winning.”

“Winning what?” Scott says. He’s adorably befuddled, and Stiles pats his tummy and says, “I’m not sure, but whatever this is, I’m really good at it.”

“Is whatever this is why we have an entire ceramic haunted town on the front bow windowsill now?” He waves his hand to where Stiles is carefully kneeling in between a giant light-up Gothic mansion and a half-ruined churchyard.

“Exactly,” Stiles says.

Derek’s yard is now riddled with headstones that have each of his betas’ names on them. Cool, but not cool enough. Stiles is going to go with an undead army, he just has to convince Scott to sign up for Amazon Prime.

When Mason finally turns around he’s got a dazed look in his eyes and what looks like a homemade scarf wrapped around his neck. Damn it. He’s underestimated Isaac.

“Scott, buddy, you’re gonna have to learn how to knit.”

“What? No,” Scott says.

“Crochet?” Stiles says hopefully. “Cross-stitch?”

“No,” Scott says, but he scruffs a hand through Stiles’s hair. “I think Liam knows how to latch hook?”

“Everyone knows how to latch hook,” Stiles says, but he places a curled finger over his bottom lip and hmmmms.  Liam is very impressionable. “Would you call Liam artistic?”

“Uh, no,” Scott says, “but his enthusiasm will probably make up for it.”

“Right,” Stiles says. He’s gonna need some red paint and a lot of old clothes.

*

“What is supposed to be happening here?” Derek says, standing on the sidewalk with his hands on his hips. He’s wearing some kind of fleece lined flannel jacket that is fucking with Stiles’s head. He wants to slip his hands inside and around and have Derek try and button it around Stiles’s back like some sort of comfy two-man cocoon.

Stiles rolls his shoulders and resolutely turns away and really takes in his masterpiece. “It’s the undead rising to defeat the skeleton army.”

“Is that one riding a dinosaur?”

“Yes,” Stiles says proudly. “If you walk past it, it cackles.”

It’s only October 10th. Mrs. Carbunkle to the left of them has stopped speaking to them completely. Scott’s the only one who complained about it, though.

Derek has an enormous blow-up spider that he’s somehow managed to attach to his roof, and someone rigged up his lights to a sound system that plays This is Halloween.

Stiles finished a carved pumpkin that is, quite clearly, Derek’s face. It’s prominently placed at the top of the front steps.

“I’m finding this incredibly satisfying,” Stiles says, grinning over at Derek.

Derek has the flat mouth of a man who’s trying very hard not to smile. There’s pink on the tips of his ears.

Derek says, “Last year we put out a bowl of candy and a sign that said ‘Go Away.’”

“Classy,” Stiles says, grinning even wider.

“I hand painted those tombstones,” Derek says, tilting his head toward his yard.

“I’d make fun of you, but that dog skeleton over there is made up of squeaky bones that I glued together.”

Derek chuffs. Not even his beard can hide the way his cheeks bunch up when he smiles. “It’s a very good dog.”

“Is there any other kind?” Stiles says.

Stiles becomes acutely aware that Derek and him are just staring stupidly at each other when Kira clears her throat from the top of the driveway and says, “Uh, Stiles? Your boss is on the house phone.”

“Shit.” Stiles is, technically, supposed to be working. He should probably take that. He waves at a still adorably amused Derek and then runs for the door.

*

Kira says, “These are the cutest cookies I have ever eaten in my life.” There are crumbs all over her sweater and icing smeared over one of her cheeks. She’s halfway through a plate of ghostly sugar cookies. When Mason comes near her she throws one of them at him and then mourns the loss with a, “Oh, darn it.”

Liam says, “I think those were for all of us,” but backs off when Kira bares her teeth at him. Stiles is unsure whether a wolf or fox is more vicious, but Kira’s the only one of them that also owns a deadly sharp weapon, so.

Mason holds up a little card and says, “This says they’re for Stiles, Yukimura.”

Stiles grabs for the note and smiles down at the little, “for Stiles,” and “-D” and then shoves it into the top pocket of his flannel. He says, “That’s okay, she can keep them,” and thinks about how hard it would be to make cinnamon rolls from scratch.

*

“Aren’t gingerbread houses a Christmas thing?” Scott asks, leaning his elbows onto the counter and resting his chin in his hands.

“Not gingerbread murder houses,” Stiles says. He’s putting the finishing touches on the little Jackson werewolf, sprawled out on the ground with his guts spilling everywhere. He’s using spun sugar.

“Huh. Why don’t you and Derek just do this together?”

“What?” Stiles straightens up, blinking at him.

“I mean. He likes you, you like him.” Scott knocks their shoulders together, grinning.

“He doesn’t like me, Scott,” Stiles says, cheeks heating. “We’re in a competition!”

“Right,” Scott says skeptically. “That’s what this is.”

“Yeah!” Stiles hunches his shoulders up around his ears and ignores the fact that his entire face is probably red by now.

Scott wrinkles his nose. “A competition.”

“That’s what I said.” Little Jackson keeps trying to fall apart, so Stiles lets it crumble—he can just add more blood.

“Right,” Scott says again.

The lengthy silence after that is damning, but Stiles is totally not going to talk about how Derek might like him. He’s not twelve. He’s gonna paint a sugar glaze on this thing, put it on Derek’s front stoop, ring the doorbell, and then run away.

*

Derek tops off his cemetery by adding stone-like walls and an archway that is, somehow, twined with real night blooming flowers. It’s impressive.

“I’m impressed,” Stiles says to Jackson.

Jackson sneers at him and says, “Who cares?”

There’s also a witch on a broom hanging from a big oak tree, and some kind of animatronic black cat that—

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, backpedaling away from where the cat jumped up and lunged at him. Stiles clutches at his wildly beating heart while Jackson nearly busts a nut laughing.

“I almost fucking peed myself,” Stiles says indignantly, while the black cat winds himself around his legs in greeting.

The front door of the house flies open and Derek appears like an avenging angel, chest heaving, wolfed-out. He says, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Jackson has his face covered, hysterical.

Stiles says, hands flailing, “Did you buy a cat for this?”

“Did I…?” He trails off, staring at Stiles with crazy eyes. The beta change melts off until he’s normal, stern-looking, hot Derek. He looks from the cat to Stiles to the cat and then back again before saying, “We’ve had Jinky for five years, Stiles.”

Jinky? Stiles thinks. “You named your cat Jinky?”

“Erica named the cat Jinky,” Derek says, stomping down the steps to pick him up. Jinky goes boneless in his arms, instantly purring, and Stiles stares at the big hand Derek splays over Jinky’s belly. It’s a good hand. It would fit nicely all over Stiles’s body. Yep.

“Um.” Stiles is having trouble concentrating.

Derek says, “Are you here for a reason?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean…” Stiles looks down at his shoes and tries to remember why he came over here in the first place.

It’s the middle of October. He’s three days behind on his latest work project. There’s a huge pumpkin that cost him fifty bucks waiting to be carved in his kitchen. What was he doing here?

He says, “Um,” again and presses his palms to his cheeks, mind completely blank. Then he takes a deep, bracing breath. “Right, yes, this is,” he waves an arm around, “really good, Derek! Like, super good, I’m gonna go—”

“Jesus Christ, Stilinski,” Jackson says, now done with laughing and just staring at him like he can’t believe Stiles is upright, walking and talking.

“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles says, and then marches back across the street to his own much better decorated yard.

*

Stiles comes home from the supermarket on October 21st to the entire pack lying in wait for him in the den. Allison and Lydia’s faces are even on separate laptops propped up on couch cushions in between Scott and Liam.

Stiles freezes in the doorway and says, “Is this some kind of intervention?”

“I don’t know,” Scott says carefully. “Do you think you need an intervention?”

“No!” Stiles has this thing with Derek perfectly under control. Obviously. He did not just buy ingredients to make even more fake blood.

Scott nods his head. “Okay. Then this is about the Halloween party next Saturday. Allison and Lydia are driving down!”

“Are we sure that’s wise? What with,” Stiles makes fangs with his fingers, “you-know-who and L-Y-D-I-A?”

“I know about werewolves, Stiles,” Lydia says dryly. “And also how to spell my own name.”

“Did you also know that Jackson Whittmore is in the Hale pack?”

Allison says, “I thought Jackson was eaten by a giant lizard,” but her eyes are sparkling.

Lydia purses her lips and says, “I am a grown woman, Stiles.”

“I know you.” Stiles points a finger at her. “There will be bloodshed.” Jackson broke up with her via text in high school before his family moved away. He’s a spineless asshole.

“He’s a werewolf. He’ll heal.” She’s got a dangerous but pleased look in her eyes. She nods at him and he winks back, because she knows he’ll help hide the body.

“All right, so, Halloween party.” Stiles drops down into a chair. “Are we adulting or slumming it with Liam and Mason’s friends?”

“Everyone’s invited!” Kira says with jazz hands. “I’m making jello shots.”

“Not everyone is twenty-one,” Stiles points out. They’ve never had to really worry about that with pack, since none of the werewolves can get drunk anyway.

“The neighbors are invited,” Scott says, straightening up into Pack Dad mode. “And Liam and Mason can each have one friend.”

“Balls,” Liam says, scowling.

“Adulting, cool,” Stiles says. He rubs his fingers together, already thinking about candy, and bobbing for apples, and scaring the shit out of Jackson. He’s gonna need lots of sheets. And fake eyeballs. And spaghetti.

*

“Sexy or scary?” Stiles says, holding up a Little Red Riding Hood costume in one hand and a distressed mummy one in the other.

Mason makes a face. “Overdone,” he says, pointing first to Little Red Riding Hood and then to the mummy, “not scary.”

“Overdone can still be sexy,” Stiles says, frowning down at the skimpy little dress. “I can wear heels!”

“You do not want to wear heels,” Mason says. He’s wearing a Tina Turner wig and Hulk hands, but he’s got his serious business face on. “Nobody wants to wear heels. Heels disintegrate your toes over time and ruin your arches.”

“While I have no idea if that’s bullshit or not,” Stiles says, “I’d only be wearing them for a couple hours.” Stiles had been leaning toward the mummy outfit, but now it’s a matter of principle.

Behind them, Stiles can see Liam pretending to make out with a Freddy Krueger mask. There are several hovering employees with mixed reactions.

Mason says, “It’s a cliché.”

“It’s only a cliché because it works!”

“That would only make sense if werewolves were openly known,” Mason says.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “The same could be said about your argument, dumbass.”

Why is this a thing that’s happening? Why did he bring Mason and Liam with him? Why did he bother to ask Mason anything at all? Liam’s going to get them thrown out of the store, and Mason is a terrible judge of costumes.

Liam runs up, flushed and bright-eyed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He says, “Stiles, please, please,” and holds up a ridiculous red, black and white costume. “I will give you fifteen dollars if you wear this.”

“Twenty, and you can’t get the money from Scott.”

“Deal.”

*

Despite anything that Scott says, Stiles thinks the fog machine was money well spent.

“You can’t even see the yard anymore!” Scott says. “The entire Quince family fell into a horde of zombies!”

“So maybe I need to turn it down a little.” Stiles kind of tossed the instructions somewhere and forgot about them, but it’s probably pretty easy to figure out, right?

It’s 8:15 on a Saturday night, the neighborhood kids are all in the backyard getting an impromptu archery lesson from Hawkeye, Stiles has already soaked himself trying to get three apples out of a barrel with his mouth, and none of the Hale pack have shown up yet. Stiles is in no way anxious about that at all.

Instead, he crouches down by the totally awesome fog machine and starts poking at it indiscriminately. It sort of beeps at him, like an angry robot.

“What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m a ladybug,” Stiles says absently, fiddling with the side knob—is it getting even more foggy?—before registering the looming leathered presence of Derek Hale. He sees his black sneaks and cuffed jeans first. And then the belt, tucked in white t-shirt, beardless face.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, head tilted all the way back. He’s sort of struck by the dimple in Derek’s chin, the cut of his cheeks and the awkward jut of his ears under slicked hair. Stiles is in awe, he wants to press his hands over his jaw and see if it’s as baby smooth as it looks. “Are you Danny Zuko?  Please, please, please tell me Isaac is Sandy.”

Derek rolls his eyes, grabs Stiles’s arms and hauls him up to his feet. “Isaac isn’t Sandy.”

“You’re lying,” Stiles says, curling his hands around Derek’s wrists to steady himself. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life, does he have on a crop top?”

“Stiles,” Derek says, glancing around the yard. “Is it supposed to be this smoky?”

“It’s fog, Derek, atmospheric fog,” he steps back out of Derek’s hold and waves his hands around, “to really set the mood on this spooky All Hallows’ Eve.”

“It’s the 28th.” Derek has this look on his face, like he’s amused but trying not to be. He eyes Stiles up and down. “You’re not even a zombie ladybug.”

“Yeah, no, why would I want to dull down this sexy little number?” Stiles pats his stuffed hips.

“You look like a donut with antenna.”

Stiles frowns. He looks adorable, thanks very much. He says, “And you look like a…” Sexy greaser werewolf, basically, but Stiles isn’t sure he wants to give Derek that kind of ammunition.

After an only slightly uncomfortable silence, Derek says, “Boyd made profiteroles.” A curl of gelled hair falls over his forehead. Goddamnit.

“Boyd can suck my dick,” Stiles says, awkwardly creasing his ladybug costume as he crosses his arms.

“Don’t tell him,” Derek says, grinning a little now, moving closer so his chest brushes Stiles’s forearms, “but I like your brownies better.”

“Are you saying I win, Hale?” Stiles says. It’s dark, and the Halloween lights are muted around them, but Stiles is pretty sure Derek’s newly shaven cheeks are pink. It’s a novelty.

Derek sighs heavily. “I’m saying this fog’s as thick as peanut butter, and I want to kiss you where the Quince family can’t see.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ve been conscripted into the undead army,” Stiles says faintly. Kiss him. Huh.

“Good to know,” Derek says, and then cups his hands around Stiles’s face.

Stiles holds his breath.

From the front of the house, Scott yells, “Stiles, just turn it off before we lose even more children!”

“Even more,” Derek says, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s…concerning.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says. He can feel his heart beating in his throat. “Do you want to kiss me or not?”

Derek’s expression goes strangely serious; the strategically placed spotlights make his eyebrows look like bat wings, and his mouth parts slightly to reveal the cutest bunny teeth known to mankind. It’s incongruous, especially when you factor in the level of hotness Derek exudes on a daily basis.

Stiles says, voice nearly a whisper, “I bet your chest is super hairy.”

“What?”

“Never mind, crap,” Stiles says, and then fists Derek’s tight white t-shirt and kisses him instead.

Vaguely, Stiles registers Liam yelling, “Onward, mighty steed!” a howling crash, and Scott’s pained, “Oh no,” but Derek has his hands wormed inside his giant foam shell, so he really can’t be assed about it.

Derek says, “Should we turn off the fog machine?” in between sucking bruises along Stiles’s throat.

Scott’s voice rises over the engulfing fog, “Stiles! Off!”

“Are you kidding me? That’s the only way we’re going to get out of here alive.” He tugs at the short hairs of Derek’s nape. “Let’s go make out in your graveyard.”

“We have leftover lasagna,” Derek says, threading his fingers through Stiles’s and then dragging him through the yard, deftly dodging skeletons and tiny screaming kids.

“I know what you’re trying to do here.” Stiles hooks his free hand into the back of Derek’s extremely tight pants as they sneak onto the open sidewalk. “You already admitted I won, big guy. You can’t beat me with reheated heaven.”

Stiles takes a deep bracing breath of clean air, fog clinging to their legs as they start to stagger across the street. In front of the Hale house, he grabs onto Derek’s wrists and walks backward to hitch his butt up against the fake cemetery wall surrounding the yard. He wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, forcing him to lean down into him, caged between his knees.

“Uh, Stiles?” Derek says, arms braced on either side of them.

The wall creaks ominously underneath him.

“This is styrofoam, isn’t it?” Stiles says, and then the wall rips in half and Stiles goes sprawling back on his ass, pulling Derek down with him.

*

Stiles wakes up to off-key warbling and the intoxicating smell of bacon and coffee. He stretches and groans. There’s a warm arm thrown over his middle, he can feel Derek smiling into his nape, scraping his skin with a truly astounding amount of stubble for having shaved the day before.

“Are you a yeti?” Stiles says, and Derek’s soft laughter rumbles all along his spine.

He says, “Erica’s making pancakes. Do you want bananas or chocolate chips?”

“The clear answer is both,” Stiles says. He flops around onto his back, struggling his way out of the blankets tangled over his legs, and then jabs a finger into Derek’s nose. “You’re still not winning.”

“Of course not,” Derek says, expression soft and fond. Stiles doesn’t trust the misty-eyed bastard for a second.

“I’ll have Scott make empanadas for you, don’t think I won’t!”

Derek nods solemnly and says, “We’d be honored.”

“This is some sort of fucked up werewolf crap, isn’t it?” Stiles asks, suspicious.

“Isaac says breakfast’s almost ready,” Derek says, tilting his head in an I’m listening to the cosmos way. “We should get dressed.”

“You didn’t answer.” Stiles sits up, watches Derek slip from the bed with a healthy appreciation for his bare ass. “Am I gonna have to start saving up for Christmas lights?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says with a grin, “depends on whether you think I found someone willing to rent me a reindeer.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, clambering out of the bed. “All right, Hale,” he says, just as Derek slips into the hall, laughing. “You’re going down.”

Masterlist of Sterek Exchange 2017 Fics

AO3 collection

Thank you for every author, pinch hitter, beta and cheerleader for working so hard to make this exchange so much fun and such a huge success!

Please, show some love to the authors in forms of kudos and comments on their fics!

#librarynerd by yodasyoyo | 7k | T

“I’ll likely get far more done in  the group if I’m not distracted watching you with your pen–”

“My–My pen?”

“Pens. Drinking straws. Don’t act like you don’t know,” Derek says darkly.  “You know.”

____________

In which Stiles follows Scott into his Spanish study group, takes one look  at the hot nerd who runs it and then decides to stay… even though he doesn’t  actually speak Spanish.

(Don’t) Work Your Magic by Saori | 6k | T

Stiles is the Hale pack’s emissary in training. He’s good at what he does, and ninety-nine percent of the time he knows what he’s doing. He does. Too bad that one percent is when he permanently links his soul to Derek’s.

Or, not quite a soulmate AU, but it kind of is, which is totally Stiles’ fault.

A Family Portrait In Soft Lightning by Fearful_Little_Thing | 4k | G

Everything was so much easier when  the kids were small. When the kids were small their problems had been small  too. Easily fixed by hugs or hot chocolates, with kisses to boo-boos and ten  minute time outs when they misbehaved.

Now things aren’t so simple and  the problems aren’t so small.

Derek and Stiles love their kids.  It’s just that raising two delinquent teenagers is a lot harder than it  looked.

Adderall and All by IronRoseWriter | 4k | T

From the prompt: Derek can smell amphetemines on Stiles thanks to his  Adderall, but because no one ever thought to sit him down and say “Hey so  Stiles has pretty severe ADHD” he just thinks Stiles does drugs. Cue a super  judgemental misunderstanding.

For Sterek Exchange 2017

And After All by red_crate | 5k | T

The world fucking ended while Stiles was clear across the country from his  dad. He trekked that distance on his own, surviving the elements, fighting  monsters and scavengers. Stiles rescued a goddamn werewolf who ended up  saving him in return.

Blue Eyes by KFlynn | 4k | T

It had all begun with Stiles slowly driving his Jeep along the road, in  the direction of his home…..

or the story where Stiles finds a wolf Derek, takes him back home and  cuddles with him, only to wake up with naked human Derek the next morning;  then they have breakfast and an important talk where they both realise that  they’re in love with each other.

Can’t Start a Fire Without a Spark by Nerdy_fangirl_57 | 9k | T

After the whole ordeal with the nogitsune Stiles struggles with proving to  himself that he can be good again. He starts learning to control his spark in  hopes that he could be helpful to the pack once he manages to channel it’s  power. Everyone thinks it’s a great idea and are willing to help him anyway  they can, but Scott, Scott doesn’t see the point in it.

It’s not like Stiles’ tiny spark could ever be powerful enough to be an  actual asset to the pack.

Stiles just wants a chance to prove himself.

Charm Misdirect by froggydarren | 4k | T

There are only so many times that Derek will go along with Peter’s plans.  He swears there is a last one, and it’s pretty likely that this is it. Really,  it should have been the time when he almost got arrested, or some of the  times before.
 So when Peter asks Derek to be his wingman in Jungle, Derek says no. And  thinks that that’s the end of it.

He’s wrong.

Collision Course by grimmypuff | 5k | T

Roller Derby and Stiles Stilinski: a pairing that should not exist in nature. Add Derek Hale and somehow it works.

Come To My… by Gonardo | 8k | M

It starts out with Derek meeting a new group of people. One standing out:  Stiles Stilinski. So he may seen a little strange at first, but that’s  alright.

Then they are put together for a project. Derek catches feelings. Cue the  pining.

While Stiles looked at other guys objectively, he pretty much thought he  was straight. Boy he was wrong. Maybe he’s just dereksexual.

Can they figure out their feelings in time.

Defenses by inatshej | 10k | T

“Do you know the Molotov Cocktail  café near the station? I think their pastries are the best. We could go there  this weekend.”

Oh wait.

Oh shit.

Oh fuck. He’s proposed a date.

“Sure,” Stiles agrees easily with a shrug.

Immediate friendzoning.

But did he really get friendzoned just now? Can he get friendzoned when  they aren’t even friends?

Does that make them friends? It would be nice, actually-

god, he just feels so lonely at times.

Derek Hale’s Undercover Summer: How to Attract Your FBI-Partner in These 10 Short  Steps (While Also Killing Bad Guys) by the_problem_with_stardust | 4k | T

Written for jennysparkles’ awesome prompt: Derek wasn’t sure why, but if  his time busting the biggest smuggling- and drug-ring in Northern California  had the chance to become a book or a movie, it would be named ‘Derek Hale’s  Undercover Summer: How to Attract Your FBI-Partner in These 10 Short Steps  (While Also Killing Bad Guys)’. It was ridiculous, how killing people  bare-handed turned into a romantic comedy whenever he looked into Stiles’  eyes.

events  may be different than they appear by icarusinflight | 4k | T

The first time Stiles sees the couple, the hot dude is giving the gorgeous  girl a ride on his back through the main walkway of campus.
 It’s pretty dumb

it doesn’t stop him from feeling jealous of them

Feelings He Didn’t Know He Had by StaciNadia | 5k | T

Derek is absolutely not in love with Stiles.

Finding warmth in your arms (I’m not even cold) by Saori | 10k | T

When Stiles and his father move to Beacon Hills, they have to get familiar with new rules. Being a werefox, Stiles sticks out as a thumb in the small town, but thanks for his luck, he’s not the only one. He doesn’t expect that Kira and him will get close to the pack of ‘wolves whose territory they live in, so when they both fall in love with one, it takes him by surprise.

Or, Stiles and Kira are both werefoxes, recently moved into Beacon Hills. They quickly steal their way into the heart of the local werewolf pack.

For  If Dreams Die by veritas_st | 23k | M

“I had a dream about a boy last  night,” Mischief says through a mouthful of pancakes.  His dad points  the spatula at him and he swallows before he says anything else.  “His  name was Derek.  He called me Stiles.  I want to be called that  from now on.”

Forever Young by thegirlnamedcove | 12k | T

“What do you want Laura?” he  groaned, “Why am I up?”

“Because you’re going to pack a bag with whatever’s clean and come with me  back to California,” she fished a folded page out of her back pocket and  handed it over, “Someone is on our territory with a vendetta in mind.”

He accepted the paper and opened it up, smoothing it against the side of  the mattress. It was a picture, printed out from an email, of a deer with a  spiral carved in its side.

Fuel  a Fantasy by Delightful_I_Am | 19k | T

Let it never be said that Stiles wasn’t able to keep his cool when faced  with awkward situations. It’d be right maybe, but it should never be said.

 Stiles gasped and spun around,  eyes finding Derek immediately. The poor guy looked a bit shell-shocked.

 “Oh my god! Dude!” Stiles  flailed his arms and lunged forward, tripping a bit and catching himself on  Derek’s arms. “You have to fake date me!”

 “What?”

Hold the Cheese by sheerpoetry | 3k | T

Derek wasn’t sure how he’d gotten himself into this particular  situation. Sure, he’d gotten used to the pack in his space. But Stiles? He  hadn’t gotten used to Stiles.

Prompt:
 Fluff. Adorable Derek, maybe some pining, Stiles being his flailing, sassy  self. Lydia and Laura would totally be a power couple. Laura is an awesome  big sister. Stiles as a potential Emissary.

I got the first half, at least? ;) Hope you enjoy it!

How Long Will I Love You? by vaguelyobscene | 6k | T

Stiles is finally marrying his boyfriend of 8 years and Lydia makes a surprisingly  sweet offer on his wedding day, but she’s not the only one who seems  determined to make him cry today.

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anonymous asked:

I wish tumblr could do the whole "Separate the bad parts of someone's legacy or work from the good parts." Yes, Kinsey did creepy stuff, X poet or writer was homophobic, and unicorns are racist, that doesn't mean we should just totally ignore them.

you basically have to write off the ninety nine point something percent of all humans who ever lived that did not grow up with your very specific set of values

that seems limiting

mattieereyyy  asked:

Haiiiii!!! Fan of yours... Could you pleeaasseee recommend some sterek fics where stiles has magic? And possibly very bamf!?

Sure thing. And the tag for more. - Anastasia

Originally posted by bitter-hell

(K)Not the Way Things Usually Go (Or Bad Explanations and Lots of Touchin’, Feelin’, Squeezin’) by redkislington

(1/1 I 4,051 I Explicit)

“W-well, let’s see, where to start. How about… I’m in the stupid forest being chased by a werewolf that seems like it would really like to have me for breakfast? Oh, and I’m pretty sure, like, ninety-nine point nine-nine percent sure it’s an alpha. If that… ups the urgency any.”

(Don’t) Work Your Magic by Saori

(1/1 I 5,887 I Teen)

Stiles is the Hale pack’s emissary in training. He’s good at what he does, and ninety-nine percent of the time he knows what he’s doing. He does. Too bad that one percent is when he permanently links his soul to Derek’s.

Or, not quite a soulmate AU, but it kind of is, which is totally Stiles’ fault.

little boy lost by smartalli

(1/1 I 14,862 I Teen)

If someone asked Stiles to write a parenting book, Stiles would say the best and most important rule is to love your kid. Just love the hell out of them, and make sure they know it.

The second most important rule would be don’t turn your back on a curious three year old with supernatural speed.

Stiles is currently failing at the second rule. Badly.

(In My Hand) The Golden Bough by Chandri

(8/8 I 44,450 I Teen)

There are a lot of things Stiles has forgotten. Some of them by choice, because some memories are too painful and that’s what you do to survive; some of them because they were taken from him.

Strut on a Line, its Discord and Rhyme by xiaq

(21/21 I 61,818 I Teen)

“Carry me,” Stiles says.

“No.”

“But I’m injured.”

“You have a rash,” Derek says. “On your arm. Your feet work just fine.”

“Please?”

“No. You weigh almost as much as I do. And you ate a pound of chicken at lunch.”

“Well, yeah, but I pooped like an hour ago, so.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t play, you love me.”

I do, Derek thinks, relatively horrified. I really do.

(Don’t) Work Your Magic by Saori for @mysticmerc-awesome

Word count: 6k

Summary:

Stiles is the Hale pack’s emissary in training. He’s good at what he does, and ninety-nine percent of the time he knows what he’s doing. He does. Too bad that one percent is when he permanently links his soul to Derek’s.

Or, not quite a soulmate AU, but it kind of is, which is totally Stiles’ fault.

Via @sterekexchange (2017)

anonymous asked:

I NEED a BLURB ABOUT HOLDING HARRY BC HE is sad about his performance and you comfort him pleaseeee

Here you go, have some fluff :)


Saturday Night

He was nervous.

He didn’t want me or anyone else to know he was, but I could tell. And who wouldn’t be? It was his first performance in over a year, and his first ever as a solo artist. I would have been nothing but a ball of nerves if it were me. He’d paced back and forth in the green room, spreading his fingers out as far as they would go, bringing them back into a fist over and over again, repeating the cycle each time he’d make it to the other end of the room and turn around on his heels.

I’d sat quietly on the sofa, nibbling on the display of fruit and crackers that sat in the middle of the coffee table. I was nervous too, but I said nothing unless it was to reply to a question, giving him the most space I possibly could. I’d asked him earlier if he would rather I took a seat in the audience, but he assured me he wanted me backstage, waiting for his return. Though he never expressed why exactly, I took it to mean he wanted me to be there for him, for him to see my face and perhaps share an embrace after he’d walked off stage, and I took comfort in that.

I’d watched his first performance on the monitor in the green room, sitting on the edge of my seat, my hands tucked underneath my thighs as I bit my bottom lip. By the end of the song, I’d felt my eyes well up, quickly wiping them away with the back of my hand before he saw. I could tell as soon as he walked in that he was less than pleased with himself. He’d missed a couple of notes, his voice raspier than usual from all the practicing, and once he’d even had to drop a word at the end of the phrase due to lack of air. I knew he had to be mentally scolding himself. But I’d thought it was flawless. He’d done it. He was Harry Styles, rockstar.

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Vodka Shots

Originally posted by garisanee

Wonho (Monsta X), for anon

Type: Smut, College!AU

Words: 1,777

Summary: There’s something about vodka and frat parties that bring out a side of your boyfriend you’ve never seen…

“Yo! Y/N, take another shot! You’re not drunk enough yet!” Minhyuk yelled over the blaring party music, slinging his arm around your neck. He was sloppy drunk at this point, his whole body and the air surrounding him reeking incredibly of vodka. He leaned against your frame a little too much, sloshing a bit of his beer over the sides of his solo cup as he did so.

You were in a huddle mass of over incredibly drunk people, most of which were fraternity boys. Dating a fraternity boy yourself, you seemingly found yourself in this situation more often than not: the stench of alcohol coating the hair, sweaty bodies of Greek kids milling about and constantly brushing against you. The Pi Kappa Alpha, PIKE for short, house was really quite spacious, more so than most of the other fraternity houses you’d been to, but that space just left room for more party-goers.

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Hot Contents

Bucky Barnes x reader One Shot

He is the handsome stranger that buys coffee at your work place almost every day. A bet is made and somehow, a cup of plain coffee can be full of surprises.

warnings: slight angst, fluff

A/N: I know this has taken a while and I had to force myself to write something just so that I could find out whether I’m still able to. This is the result of that. Inspired by 1.I and 1.IV from this post

Originally posted by closer-to-the-edge-of-glory

“Weren’t you here this morning?”, you say, punching the order into the slightly dysfunctional register even though he hasn’t fully approached the counter yet.
“You can’t know that,” is his answer, “you weren’t here this morning.”

“Ha!” You turn back around to face him, a drop of milk from the opening of the bottle in your hand flies through the air just to hit you co-worker, Amy, on the cheek. Her ‘hey!’ you skilfully ignore and instead glare at your customer in a playful manner. “So you were here!”

His head falls back as he rolls his eyes, loving this little game you always play. He knows that, deep down - or not actually that deep, as you call him out every time you hand him his coffee - you’re at least a little bit concerned. “I don’t understand why you’re complaining. I always leave the change as a tip.”

“Yes.” You turn back around. “But you know what I mean. The amount of coffee you drink in a day is very disturbing. Have you ever heard of water?”
“I have, it’s one of coffee’s ingredients.”

You hate him. But you love him. Well, actually, you have a bit of a crush on him. You can’t change the fact that people you are able to easily banter with are people you are easily attracted to. It doesn’t help that he’s just gorgeous and charming on top of it. “Sometimes, I want to poison your coffee, just so that I can get away from you.”

“You’re overreacting.”

The ten dollar bill is already on the counter when you turn back towards the register. It’s a bit crumbled like you’re used to and, before you put it in it’s assigned compartment, you rub it against your thigh to smooth it out. You pretend not to notice his eyes following your movement, scared that you’re imagining it.

“You could at least order something that has some flavour in it. You cannot tell me that the black stuff you chose to call ‘coffee’ tastes anything more than disgusting.”

“You speak very nicely about your establishment’s cuisine. I might have to talk to your manager, Y/N.” He takes a sip of his beverage. Once, he told you that he likes it almost boiling hot. Sometimes, you like to think that he’s not actually human but an alien that once wanted to seem normal and buy coffee like everyone else and accidentally ordered this bullshit and, for the sake of keeping his cover, just went with it.

“I will never serve you a cup of coffee ever again if you do.”

“Oh, no! What would I ever do without this exquisitely crafted liquid? No one in this whole world is able to do it like you are.”

You roll your eyes. “Leave before I have to pour the rest of it over your head. I’m begging you.”

Both of you chuckle as he really does leave the café. But not before he has actually stepped outside, you hear your name called by your manager. His voice doesn’t sound too promising.


After your boss advises you that ‘being nice to customers and not insulting them not only encourages them to come back but also ensures that you still have a job tomorrow’, you pay more attention to smiling at the people you hand over countless to-go cups of whatever they order to. He is a jerk. Always has, always will be but you need this job to pay your bills. And it gives you the opportunity to talk to the handsome charmer you still don’t know the name of.
You explain to your manager that the banter is exclusively between you hand him and that you would never talk like that to other customers but, of course, he doesn’t believe you. Now, whenever he is around, you take extra care in being polite, more to prove your point rather than to actually be nicer but it earns you almost double the tips you usually get which obviously is a plus.


The nameless hottie doesn’t return for a couple of days. It almost worries you, afraid that he has died of a caffeine overdose and you will never get to know his name. Whenever the café is busy, you have to ask for his name so that no one confuses his order. At first, he always used ordinary fake names, like John, Marc, Dan, but the moment he noticed that you had caught on, the names grew more ridiculous every time. Now, it’s Batman, Queen Elizabeth II, Benedict Cumberbatch.

When he does turn up, though, you’re lucky you have a shift because he looks like just came in from a run. His hair is pulled back into a little bun at the base of his neck and he’s wearing athletic clothes you instantly want to rip off him. The long-sleeved shirt sits so tight you’re sure it’s at least two sizes too small and whilst the shorts leave little to the imagination, there is a glistening layer of sweat all over his skin.

That being said, you really are grateful that you changed shifts with Jenny. Your day just wouldn’t have gotten this exiting.

“Hey, stranger,” you say as he reaches the counter.

It wasn’t supposed to be an upbraiding but nonetheless says, “I know, I know. I haven’t been here lately.” He raises his hands slightly as he talks as if he was actually apologising.

“I hope you haven’t been cheating on me with another barista. Have you?”

He smirks. “No, I laid it low with the caffeine for a couple of days.”

“What?”, you gasp, “no coffee for the man that’s been addicted to the stuff for, like, months? Who are you and what have you done to my best customer?”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles. It has something that, to you, feels like a secret. It’s probably the fact that you don’t know his name.

You break the silence by asking, “so, the usual?”

“You know me so well, Y/N.” And just like that, you’re back to normal.

“Do I?”

“Sort of.”

“Then let me guess your name.”

He crosses his arms. “Alright, what do you propose?”

“From now on, I write what I think it is on your cup.”

“Do I have to tell you when you’re right?”

You scoff. “Obviously.”

He contemplates it. After a minute, he says, “Fine. But if you’re ever right, my order is free.”

This time, you consider it. Your boss would have your head but you decide that it’s definitely worth it. You extend your hand for him to shake as the formation of a pact.

“Great,” he says, “can I have my coffee now?”


Turns out his name is neither Frank, nor Johnathan, Jason, Kevin, nor David, nor Ralph. Although to be fair, you just write ‘Ralph’ out of lack of creativity and because the café already practically bursts at the seems when he walks in. He does not look like a Ralph. More like a, uh, Sebastian or something. You write that one day and that’s not his name either.

At some point, you begin to think that he’s lying to you but then you realise that the prospect of free coffee should be enough, to be honest.

You also realise that he is never with someone. It puzzles you, as a café is usually a great place to bring friends to.

When he leaves one day, you have the sudden urge to google him and your hand honestly slips into the back pocket of your jeans before you realise that you don’t know what to type into the search bar. ‘Handsome stranger that buys coffee in the café I work at’? Doesn’t seem promising.


After a couple of weeks since you’ve made the bet, he doesn’t come back for a bit again. He does that sometimes but you don’t ask because the one time you did, he got really quiet all of a sudden and you didn’t want to make him sad.

You finish your shift on day five of his absence and head home. Your room mate has the TV already on and you flop down onto the couch right next to her before you can even take your shoes off. Silently, she pulls your feet onto her lap before doing it for you.

“We ran out of milk.”

“Did you put it on the list?”, you ask.

“Uhh…”

“Thanks.” You sigh, almost laughing, and drop your head to the side. “I’ll try to steal some from work tomorrow.” It is no surprise to you that Gemma would forget it. She’s always been a little out of it but you love her nonetheless.

“So what’s on?” You’re referring to the TV that is still running in the background but now on silent.

Gemma grabs two cookies from the jar on the table, handing you one. “Oh, just the news,” she says, “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

You nod before turning up the volume a couple of digits. “How was your day?”
Gemma sighs. “Amazing. I didn’t do anything, only sat here and stared at the wall.”

“Wasn’t John supposed to come over?”

You roommate grabs another cookie. “Yeah, no. Cancelled last minute.”

“That sucks-“, you begin to say but something on TV catches your attention. “Holy shit.”

You can’t hear his voice but you are one ninety-nine percent sure that the person right there next to Captain America at a press conference table is your nameless hottie. He seems different, somehow. Probably because of the suit he’s wearing or his sort of sleeked back hair. Overall, he looks polished, not as casually dressed and with the barely combed hair he’s usually sporting. You like both versions of him, though. He would be handsome dressed as a hot dog handing out pamphlets.

“Y/N!” Gemma is waving her hand in front of your face and finally succeeds in catching your attention.

“That’s him.” You believe neither your eyes nor your ears. The man, apparently not as familiar to you as you had thought, answers a question and even if you hadn’t seen him sit there, you would have known it was him by the deep rumble of his voice.

“What do you mean?” Gemma stares at you with eyes as big as dinner plates. Later, you will realise that your reaction might have been a bit exaggerated but for now, it’s what you’re doing.

“That brunette next to Captain America.” You animatedly point at the TV screen. “That’s my hot coffee dude.”

“What?” Finally, Gemma is catching on to your excitement. “Holy shit!”
“I know!”

“I can’t believe you have a crush on the Winter Soldier.” She sits back on the sofa whilst you stop short.

“Who?”

“Your hottie. Bucky Barnes. Also known as the Winter Soldier?”

That does ring a bell but not really a good one. “Oh,” you say, slumping in your seat. You are very much aware of a lot of really bad thing he has done. Momentarily, you don’t know how to react.

Gemma lays a hand on your shoulder. “You know, he’s been cleared of his charges. He wasn’t himself back then.”

You nod. “I think I’ll get some sleep. It was a long day.”

“Y/N-“ Your room mate gets up to go after you but you brush her off.
“Goodnight.”


Turns out, you don’t sleep at all. You’re too busy researching Bucky Barnes and then not being able to fall asleep because your mind is racing and doesn’t stop until your alarm goes off.

This, you regret terribly as you stand behind the counter waiting for sweet release of your obligation to attend work. Just as you are ready to kill the next person walking in that disturbs your slipping in and out of consciousness, someone does walk in but, even if you tried, you wouldn’t have a chance against them.

“Hi, Y/N.” His smile is contagious although you really do try not to let it get to you.

“Hey,” is all you respond before you turn around to prepare his order. This time, when you get to the part where you have to write a name on his cup, you don’t have to come up with one. You ignore his money he put on the counter and hand him his cup.

“Okay, let’s see who I am today.” He has to spin the cup in his hand but when he sees what you have written, his expression freezes and it is only noticeable for a second and because you stare at him. Then, a mask of barely any emotion covers up what he is thinking and that’s how you see for yourself that the man before you is a trained assassin and you know that he is good at what he does instantly.

“You don’t have to explain,” you say because you can’t take the suspense of getting to know what he is going to say and because you can imagine that the situation can’t be comfortable for him.

Bucky hesitates. He closes his eyes for a second and the finally speaks, “how did you find out?”

You’re lucky that no one is at the café to disturb you. Early Saturday mornings are always rather quiet. “I saw you on the news yesterday.”
He nods slowly. “Makes sense.”

“Why didn’t you want me to find out?” You walk around the counter to stand directly in front of him.

He shrugs and it makes him look vulnerable. You didn’t think he was going to let any of his real feelings show, to let his guard down like this but then again, he was full of surprises.

“I don’t hate you if that’s what you’re scared of.”

Bucky is still staring at the plastic cup in his hands when he whispers, “I’m not scared.”

In a moment of bravery, you lay a comforting hand on his bicep. “I don’t mind if you are. Everyone is afraid of something.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m fear that, when you leave today, I will never see you again.” It seems only fair that you share something deeply personal which is why you add, “I fear that you don’t like me back.”

With your words, the conversation takes a sharp turn. Bucky puts his coffee on the counter behind you, the liquid undoubtedly cold by now, and steps into your personal space. Where his sudden confidence comes from, neither of you knows but no one is really complaining. But then again, this has been brewing for almost two years.

“I would ask if you want to get a cup of coffee with me but I think that maybe you’ve grown tired of it by now?”

He tips his head back when he laughs. “How did you know?”

“Wait.” You frown. “You don’t like coffee?”

“No, I do. It’s just that I’ve kind of only come here to see you and without buying anything it would have been suspicious.”

You shake your head fondly. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. My shift ends in about two hours. What do you say we grab some lunch.”

“I’ll keep you company.”


‘EVERYTHING’ TAG LIST: @alphaabucky* @avc212 @barnesandnoble13 @barnes-heaven * @buchananbarnestrash * @buckysmusculararm @buckyywiththegoodhair * @captnbarnesrogers * @courtneychicken @hellomissmabel * @hollycornish @iamwarrenspeace @justanotherbuckydevotee * @katie27hp @kimcarcrashin @lovely-garbage @mellifluous-melodramas* @mellsstark @minervaem * @namelessdecoy  
@palaiasaurus64 @pfingstrosenherz @silverwolf7850 @smile-about-little-things @stovehairington @teacher-crushed @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi @whyugottabsorude @your-queen-your-daddy

‘BUCKY ONLY’ TAG LIST: @cassandras-musings @i-cant-believe-its-not-a-writer @ladyjthewriter

* Angst Royalty Network Members

anonymous asked:

Sterek Prompt Number 47 Please!

AHHH I LOVE THIS!!!! Here is #47: “I thought it was a one-night stand…but now we’re married…”


Stiles woke up with a headache and a small groan, eyes adjusting to the sunlight coming from the wall of windows he was facing. It was weird…his and Scotty’s motel room didn’t have a wall of windows let alone a killer view of the Vegas strip.

Oh God this wasn’t the motel.

Stiles suddenly was hyper aware of the body pressed against his back and the arm hooked around his bare chest. He swallowed so hard it hurt as he glanced down to see the sheet barely covering their undoubtedly bare lower halves. Then his eyes caught sight of the body behind him and holy shit he was ninety nine point two percent sure he was sleeping with a GQ model.

He turned his head back to the windows trying to think of a way out of this, except then there was movement and stubble ran across the nape of his neck and there was a hard cock pressed against his ass–

With that he slithered ungracefully out of the man’s grip until he rolled off the bed and took half the sheets with him. There was a groan from the bed when he fell to the floor with a thud, and somehow he managed to hit his funny bone.

“Ow, fuck,” Stiles whined, sitting up to see the GQ model awake and naked in all his very sexy glory. Man for a one night stand he really got lucky, but terribly so he can’t remember a fucking thing.

No more alcohol. Ever.

“Um, hi,” the guy said, face pinched up.

Stiles felt like drooling because man those eyebrows could murder someone, but those green-blue eyes were to die for. Jesus those cheekbones couldn’t be real either, they looked so sharp and angular. This guy is photoshopped for sure.

“Well I’m pretty sad I can’t remember what I would assume to be awesome sex, but this was nice, gotta go,” Stiles blurted out and stood up, wrapping the sheet around his lower half just now noticing the marks all across his torso.

Oh the sex must’ve been amazing.

“Hey–”

“No seriously man I gotta go, my best friend is probably worried sick,” Stiles pressed, grabbing his boxers.

“Wait–”

“Look dude I don’t know–”

“We have rings on our fingers!” The model blurted out and Stiles paused looking at his hands only to see his ring finger with a gold band on it. His vision spiraled a bit as he stood up on shaky legs. He twisted the band on his finger, slipping it off to look at the rather expensive piece of jewelry. On the inside of the band he read a tiny engraving “drunk married is the best married”.

Holy hell.

“I thought it was a one-night stand…but now we’re married…,” he trailed off looking to the other man, stark naked and honestly still looking hotter than the sun. From his toned body to his bunny like teeth that poked from his slightly parted lips.

“I’m Derek,” the guy -Derek- said suddenly.

“Stiles–and yes, it’s a nickname,” he answered, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in the sheet. The silence lingered, sitting between them and festering until Derek pulled off his own ring and looked inside it.

“It’s says “his name his Mieczyslaw”…I think I remember you told me last night when we bought the rings,” Derek said and Stiles paled with a low groan, shoving his face in his hands. He doesn’t know where Scott is, he’s slept with the world’s hottest man alive, and he’s married to said man who knows his atrocity of a first name.

Great. Fucking great.

“I don’t think this is how a honeymoon is supposed to go.”

“Seriously, Stiles?”

“What? I heard they were much better than this– I mean most people know their husbands.”

Derek was quiet for a long time after that before finally saying, “…my favorite color is green.”

Stiles couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face.

So two years later at their real wedding the color theme was white and green, both of them wearing the same rings that started this beautiful perfect mess.


ASK ME A PROMPT FOR THE DRABBLE CHALLENGE!

My Best Friend’s Sister (Part 3)

Originally posted by the-winchester-cult

Summary: The reader and Jared attempt to resolve their issues when a new one pops up…

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x reader (with sibling!Jared)

Word Count: 2,800ish

Warnings: language, sibling angst

A/N: Everyone is going to be perfectly happy, right?…


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anonymous asked:

winteriron neighbours au bucky is 28 or 29 and tony is 24 or 25, where bucky and tony live next to each other and tony is scared of him. bucky is always grumpy, angry, glaring at everyone. tony thinks bucky is a serial killer. one day he just blurts it out and bucky is very offended. that's how they start talking. later when they start dating steve still can't get over the fact that tony had thought that bucky was an assassin. he still laughs at them because of that. happy ending.

Resting Bitch Face/Bucky will always be one of my top pairings lmao. (Man I had plans for this and then I threw in angst lol I’m a failure.) Look out for under the cut!

You can also find this on Ao3 here.


Tony was pretty sure his neighbor was a serial killer.

Like, he’d done the proper thing his mother had said to do, introduce himself to his new neighbors (he had a standing offer to have coffee with Bruce anytime), but when he’d knocked on the door of 4D, a man had answered looking ready to commit murder. There had been bags under his eyes and his eyes were red and his hair was a mess. He’d grunted out a terse ‘the fuck do you want’ and Tony had been able to do nothing but squeak. And then the door had been slammed shut in his face.

Which, you know, might have been a little rude; no one looked good first thing in the morning and Tony had clearly blind-sided him. But the guy hadn’t had to slam the door in his face. He had planned on just nicknaming him ‘Rudy McTrudy’ and moving on with his life.

Except sometimes Rudy McTrudy came home late at night clutching his left hand with a towel that was stained with blood.

Tony nicknamed him ‘Murder Guy’ instead.

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Manhattan.

Authors Note: Au where Harry is a Frat Boy. I don’t know where this is going. It was hard to write though.

Harry Masterlist found HERE
Other Chapters found HERE


I was never the character to continuously go to parties, get drunk, or even go out every Friday night.

I regularly prefer to stay in on Friday nights, revising for the tests or doing the homework that I’m drowning in.

I perpetually overhear the stories that go around every Monday morning, after some sort of party that sparked everyone’s interests.

I continually hear the late night giggles and drunken stumbles in the hallways’ of my dorm. Every Saturday morning, around two, I hear the laughs of tipsy and intoxicated classmates’ that never seizes to disturbs me from my sleep or my studying.

I overhear the front door to the suit open, an indication one of my three suit mates are subsequently back from class, or shagging up with their boyfriends’ or their boyfriends’ friends.

To say the least, my suitemates are of some character, character that is different to my own. I always listen in on some of the scandalous stories that go on within the suit— they can be great friends’, but they don’t always make the best of decisions.

I narrow my eyes back to the book in my hand that is required to be read for English class, despite its terrible storyline and the fact it is borderline monotonous. For a moment, I am distracted when my suitemate enters the bedroom, a smile painted across her face. “What are you doing tonight?” She beams over to me, directing my attention away from the torturous book in my hand.

“I have a date with Bio, why?” I glance over at her, noticing how she is already rummaging through her clothes, perhaps trying to find something to wear for the evening.

“Come out with me, there is a party.”

“I need to do Bio, I’ll pass.” I shake my head, just as she flings a glittery black dress into my lap. I lift it off my lap and drop it to the bed.

“Bio will be there in the morning, get up. you need to have some fun.”

“I need good grades, actually.” I correct her, her posture straightening as she turns to glance at me.

“Get your ass up, put on a dress and heels, do something with your hair, and put the damn book down.” She narrows her eyes on the book still in my hand, “One night, that is it. I promise you won’t regret it.” She presses, determined to not allow me to pass on the opportunity to go out with her and probably get drunk and have guys hit on the two of us.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself off the bed, my fingers clasping the glittery dress, “Fine, but I want your psych notes, and I want those heels.” I gesture towards a pair of crimson red heels. She raises a brow, seeming surprised by my choice of colour.

“I said get dressed, not to look hot. I am surprised.” She gasps teasingly, my eyes rolling at her,

“I do know how to dress, surprisingly. Now, hand over the psych notes.” I smile, already beginning to undress and pull the dress over my body, adjusting it to fall perfectly.

“Damn, you brush up nicely without a book in your hand.” She chuckles, handing me her heels that I have requested for the night. I grin, giving her a shrug as I run my hands through my hair, debating whether I need to do anything to it.

I mutter under my breath my regret as I step into the rowdy house, parties are not really my thing—neither are Frat parties. I sigh, allowing my roommate to drag me into the house of swaying bodies and raucous noise, music echoing against the walls, laughter and chatter boisterously buzzing.

It takes me a while to settle into the atmosphere of overly enthusiastic and somewhat intoxicated figures, my hand already clasping a red solo cup with some sort of fruity drink poured into it. I hurried away from the vodka shots and settled on whatever it is that was poured into my cup. I assume it is a mix of fruits and vodka, but there is really no telling, the bartender seemed half intoxicated himself.

I glance over as a loud eruption of laughter takes my attention, a group of boys’ gathered around a pingpong table, shouting at each other, pushing and shoving as two of them go head to head in the battle of beer pong. I can’t help but chuckle at the pathetic attempt of the blonde in a pair of light dawn-tinted shorts and a white polo hung around his figure. There is no doubt in my mind that he is already at his limits end with alcohol, and his friends’ are just savouring his embarrassment with beer pong.

I wander closer to the table, considerately amused by the whole group; they appear to be having a lot more fun than the sweaty, dancing bodies in the other room, and they’re the only group of boys that aren’t trying to mount their dick onto anything that breathes and resembles the slightest bit of a female.

“Ah, we have a new spectator.” A guy gestures towards me, forcing all the attention to be focused on me, I shrug and take a sip of my beverage, “Guess you didn’t see the sign?” He comments,

“Which one?” I raise a brow, unsure of what he is referring to.

His mates grow quiet and his mouth begins to move, “This is not a game for chicks.” His sexist comment automatically causes me to roll my eyes.

Entitled, sexist fratboy— clearly a non-intelligent twat.

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CS JJ Day 4: Sharp Corners and Crisp Folds

It’s going to take hours. Days. The rest of her goddamn life. Probably not. That last one is a bit dramatic. 

But, honestly, it’s going to take a ton of time to refold all those shirts and this guy just keeps wandering around the store with, seemingly, no purpose and Emma has no customer service skills at all. Mary Margaret would know what to do. Mary Margaret is not there. 

It’s just Emma and the t-shirt destroyer. And his goddamn, stupid leather jacket. 


Rating: Teen’ish? I mean they make out so…spoiler, I guess.
Word Count: Way too many. But really like 9K and change
AN: Because @distant-rose​ is a horrible peer pressure’er I signed up to do @csjanuaryjoy​ this year and this is my story! It has lots of adjectives and makeouts. The prompt I picked was “I work at a department store and if you take out and unfold a shirt and then leave it one more time I’m going to stuff it down your throat” AU” and this is not quite that, but it’s pretty close. A huge THANK YOU to @katie-dub​ and @lenfaz​ for organizing the event this year and being just fantastic humans in general. 
Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 


She’s staring.

She knows she’s staring.

She knows he knows she’s staring.

It’s just that she can’t seem to stop. And if he unfolds another one of the shirts on that one table in the corner of the store, she’s absolutely going to kill him.

That is probably not the best way to start the year, but Emma is, well, she’s Emma and she’s frustrated because she’s by herself in the store three days after New Year’s and this guy has been wandering around for, at least, forty-five minutes with what only appears to be the very annoying goal of unfolding every single shirt in the store.

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Late Nights (Chris Beck X Reader College! AU)

Okay, so here is that requested Chris Beck oneshot! you know who you are, so, I hope you enjoy!

Originally posted by thesafesthands

You sighed, brushing a lock of hair out of your face, and huffing in annoyance.  Your Linguistics professor had given you an ungodly amount of homework a couple of days ago, and you opted to procrastinate by watching The Breakfast Club, and promptly falling asleep afterwards. Now, all of the homework was due tomorrow, and there was no possible way you were going to get it all done. 

Luckily enough for you, Linguistics was one of your best classes, so you should be able to breeze through the first bit.  You made your way into the university’s library, seeing the sun begin to set out of the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows. This only made you internally panic more, as it showed just how little time you actually had to accomplish your task. You found an empty table, in the secluded, back part of the library, and spread out all of your papers and textbooks. Then, you opened your laptop, preparing for a night of torturous work. 

-one hour later- 

An hour had passed, with you yielding little progress. Why on Earth did your professor think you could learn so much about the roots of the Russian Language in just two nights? Especially when he definitely had the knowledge that two thirds of his class procrastinated everything, you included. You were just about to scream out of frustration, when you heard someone plop down in the chair across from you. You looked up, to see none other than Chris Beck sitting across from you. You and Chris had become friends at the beginning of Freshman year,a couple of months ago. You’ve been practically inseparable ever since.  

“Rough night?” He asked, a cheeky grin forming on his face, causing you to roll your eyes.  

“Ya think? My Linguistics professor is trying to kill me, is what I think,” you muttered, earning a chuckle from the man across from you, which made your cheeks heat up slightly. One thing you try to suppress, is your ever-growing crush on Beck.  

“Oh, I’m sure he’s not. I’m also ninety-nine percent sure you procrastinated this work at least one night,” Chris replied, amusement dancing in his eyes.  

“You may possibly be right, but still, who cares about the roots of the Russian language? No one, that’s who!” You screeched exasperatedly.  

“Hey, you’re the one who signed up for a Linguistics class. Which, I don’t understand. I do understand why you signed up for that Astrophysics course, though,” Chris rambled. The boy was crazy about everything space, same as you. Though, you needed just a couple more credits for the year, resulting in you taking this stupid Linguistics class.  

“Are you here to help, or just to be annoying?” You questioned, arching a brow in his direction.  

“I suppose I’m here to help,” he stated, moving to sit next to you. You two spent the better part of the next four hours completing your assignment. By the time you were done, it was nearly eleven, and you were practically falling asleep at the table.  

“Wow, we finished,”you noted, an impressed yawn escaping your mouth, making Chris chuckle.  

“A little tired, there?” He asked, making you roll your eyes. Though, you rolled your eyes a little two hard, and just settled on closing them, just about ready to spend the rest of the night right there, at the library table.  

“Oh, no you don’t (y/n/n),” Chris sighed, as your head hit the table, and you were seemingly asleep. He picked you up bridal style, walking away from the table.  

“Chris…my stuff,” you muttered, in your semi-asleep state.  

“Don’t worry, you packed it all in your backpack, remember? I have it,” he whispered, a hint of amusement in his voice. You nodded slightly, snuggling into his chest, and falling asleep. A couple of minutes later, Chris had made it to your dorm, and was struggling to open the door with you in his arms. Finally, he succeeded, and walked straight to your bed, putting you down gently, and covering you with the blankets. He was just about to leave, when you started mumbling.  

“No… stay Chris, I’m cold,” you muttered, making grabby hands at the boy. He chuckled quietly, look at you. Your bun was messy, loose hair sprawling over the pillow. You had on a grey NASA sweatshirt, given to you by your father, who had worked at Nasa, and a pair of neon green shorts. It certainly was a look.  

“Okay, I’ll stay,” Chris responded, awkwardly sitting on the edge of your bed. You sighed, shaking your head.  

“No, come here,” you muttered, grabbing his shirt and pulling him forward, until he was laying next to you. He put an arm around you, thinking about how it was the most natural feeling in the world. And, the two of you fell asleep like that; two exhausted college students who may or may not have awkward schoolkid crushes on each other, snuggled soundly together.