#yes it was a sterek fic

[patolemus]

It’s very humbling when you’re reading a book —part of a trilogy, very acclaimed— and the only thing you can think of is ‘the fanfic I read the other day was better’

[hellmersy]

I need people to understand that I want more scary Stiles Stilinski. I'm feral for this little sopping wet cat of a man whom everyone underestimates until he goes from 0 to 100. One second he's being a little damsel in distress but then one of his friends gets hurt and suddenly he stands in a field of gore cackling at the sky because the bloodlust has driven him nearly insane. Bonus points if Derek is there and matches his freak.

[hedwig221b]

Got tagged by wonderful people @patolemus, @demonicfaerie and @teencopandthesourwolf to share a wip, so here is a piece of my sterek twilight au (I'm going insane)

Stiles opened the door and was about to step out, when Derek called him.

“Stiles?”

He turned his head back, only to realize that Derek was very very close.

Stiles’ breath caught, his heart frozen in the sugar coating of trembling anticipation.

The sharp point of Derek’s nose touched his cheek, lighter than the wind. He inhaled deeply, taking the greedy lungfuls of Stiles’ scent into his body. Stiles fought the shiver at the thought of it seeping into Derek’s lungs, traveling with his blood, making Derek think of him, staying with him even when they were apart. It was a feral thought, new but so strong and lustful that it made his head spin from how pleasant it was.

Derek’s eyes fluttered open. His pupils were huge, with the thinnest thread of red wrapped gently around them.

“Sleep well.” His voice was a murmuring thunder.

Stiles swallowed against a dry throat, nodded, and got out of the car.

He walked in a daze to his house, his heart left in that damn Camaro. He stuttered through a weak explanation about his bruise to his Dad (he had to tell Lydia and Allison that he defended them from bad guys just so they knew), and stumbled upstairs.

The room was dark as he walked in. The soft light of the full moon lit the square on the carpet just below the window.

Stiles took a couple of minutes to glance over his makeshift board. With his lips set and his heart thundering in his ears, he tore it all away, leaving scraps of tape stuck to the wall. He then took a fresh sheet of paper, glued it to the wall, and wrote one word in bold black letters.

Werewolf

Stiles stared at it. The word glared back at him, standing out harshly against the white.

He capped the marker, tossed it onto the table, and took off his clothes. Thoughts swarmed his head the entire time, all at once, different and scary. The life and the death, the moon and the ocean, the secrets and their reveal. The thread of red wrapped lovingly around the black depths.

Derek.

Stiles thought about him the most. Something told him that it wouldn't be the last time, far from it. He thought about Derek's softness and his open desire to kill. Stiles’ hands remembered the heat of his hands. His neck longed to feel the coating warmth of Derek’s breath. His lips burned from the kiss that never happened.

Everything was so fucking complicated.

Except one thing.

It was the only clear thought in his head. The one that made his stomach clench from fear, his heart stutter from hope, and his lips stretch in a smile.

He was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Derek.

[divider link]

[haletostilinski]

Goddamn, the things this Dylan O'Brien would have done to tumblr a few years ago. My brain cant even comprehend at which point of time we have arrived - him wearing something like this and tumblr only mildly amused instead of completly broken down. Time sure is something.

Sorry for this slightly late reply.

And yes, you are SO right! Him in sexy red lingerie would have had my dashboard going wild, for ages, with the image of him in that outfit alone.

Tumblr wasn't what it once was, though. I still completely freaked out over it, though! LIKE SIr? SIR?! How could you DO that to us?! 😭 Brain = broken.

[nerdherderette]

The Inheritance

Derek Hale, the Viscount Hemming and only son of the Third Earl of Beacon, was London's most notorious rake. His disinclination to appear with the same partner at social events was well-known; his discountenance to wed, even more so. Which is why no one was more surprised than Stiles when the dashing viscount—and Stiles' once childhood friend—presented him with a proposal he couldn't refuse.

[excerpt]: "Is Graceview Hall your only responsibility? What about love? Your family?" Derek jerked back in shock. She, of all people, knew what happened when he last fell in love. "You are four and twenty," Lady Belmont continued. "You cannot remain on your current path, carousing and bedding anyone who catches your eye. Why, even Lord Deucalion wed this past summer, and he was a reprobate of the first order." Derek may have owed his great-aunt what little remained of his dignity. This, however, was asking too much. "I will never enter the marriage mart," he swore.

For the amazing (and incredibly patient) @elisela, who challenged me with several things:

1. To write a historical romance

2. Make it a Sterek arranged marriage

3. Sprinkle in a bit of Marrish

4. And make it Friends-to-Lovers

I cut my teeth on Harlequin romances and this is an utterly self-indulgent homage to the genre. While it took me several outlines (and as many discarded drafts) to figure out how to make a friends-to-lovers scenario work, I finally came up with a story I'm excited to share! Thank you, elisela, for generously donating to FTH and for giving me something so amazing to work with!😘

Part of @fandomtrumpshate 2023. Posting on AO3

Please note: The image used to create the book cover is based on an AI generated image that was subsequently manipulated and then edited to make the cover. It's described in the tags but may be missed, and I don't want people to mistakenly reblog who didn't see the tags and who don't want any AI on their blogs

[seaweed-water]

yes chef, 150k, explicit, completed

Derek Hale is an up-and-coming chef emerging in the Chicago food scene, soon to be global, and Stiles Stilinski is Chicago's very own celebrity food critic.

*Inspired* by The Bear, among other chef pop culture references, this is also a love letter to Chicago, and kind of Illinois as a whole. Also, food. This fic is dedicated to food.

tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Food Service, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Chef Derek Hale, Food Critic Stiles Stilinski, POV Derek Hale, Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Recreational Drug Use, Addiction, Masturbation, Powerbottom Stiles Stilinski, Daddy Kink, Service Kink, Stiles and Derek are verse, Derek Hale is a Good Boy, Dom/sub Undertones, Hurt/Comfort, Series, part one is a sad ending, part two is a happy ending, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Chicago (City), Somnophilia, Sickfic

art by @lokicorey

[th3archivisst]

Writing is like watching a mildly interesting Netflix program.

It’s fun, and when you start you spend hours on it, but if you make the mistake of taking a break before you’re done, say goodbye to finishing it that month.

[fruchtfliege]

LAST CHAPTER POSTED!!! 🎉🎉🎉

UNTIL IT CRASHES DOWN (99K)

Synopsis: Derek wasn’t born a wolf. Surrounded by a supernatural family, it’s pretty hard to forget that he’s not special, not powerful like Laura, or wild like Cora. His mom can barely look him in the eyes. But when a series of mountain lion attacks shakes the town, strange things start happening to Derek. Things he can’t explain.

So if he must befriend Stiles (the guy who had a crush on Derek since forever) to figure it out, maybe it's all worth it. To hell with his reputation! Derek can't go on not sleeping, hearing strange noises, and what's this pattern he keeps drawing every day? With only an annoying sister, a nosy kid detective, and his three preppy friends to keep him sane, what could possibly go wrong?

So, yeah, maybe Derek isn’t a wolf, but… he’s something.

Or, Derek is a banshee (but doesn't know it) and Stiles is obsessed with his nerdy personality and rude behavior.

Tags: Banshee!Derek. Sterek. Slow burn. Pining Stiles. Hurt/Comfort. Derek is the same age as the other teenagers. More petopher than I thought there would be. Derek is a preppy kid. No Hale fire (yet?). Domestic abuse (Argents). Peter has ADHD fight me. And if Derek is a bit neurospicy I'm just keeping it in character (but y'all aren't ready for that conversation).

Here are some memes to celebrate!! 🥰 (some light spoilers if you didn't read it)

[wellhalesbells]

for the wip tag game, i have questions and they are all about what Big Damn Neutrals could possibly be

Hahahaha. Okay, well, definitely it is a placeholder title and if you thought that sounds like Zoe's "Big Damn Heroes" quote from Firefly, you are correct.

I didn't come up with that until way, way later in the fic's progression because I had no idea that was going to end up being my answer until I got to it.

This is essentially a murder mystery fic. A complete AU where Derek and Laura never left New York and, instead, Stiles left Beacon Hills (and you can imagine what it would take for Stiles to have no ties to Beacon Hills, yeah?) and became their emissary. Derek is still his season one prickly, closed off self and so it's Stiles and Laura who bond and become friends, become family, and Derek who orbits that relationship. Then Laura is killed and Derek and Stiles have to investigate her death together, despite only really having animosity between them. Stiles because Derek never even tried to get to know him and Derek because Stiles took his sister away from him.

It's very slow going with this one because the atmosphere is so specific and it's not often I can get into the right headspace for it but, when I can, it's one of my absolute favorite things to work on! I love how adversarial and full of tension Stiles and Derek's relationship is in this one - right up my dang alley!

Snippet:

Derek slips off his mattress, lands on the floor with barely a sound.  Would’ve been none if he’d taken off his boots.

Hands are already wrapped around his biceps like a vice grip before he can even straighten up, his space encroached upon faster than should’ve been possible.  Fingers dig in harder and there would be bruises left behind if there could be.

“You don’t get to die,” Stiles hisses.

“I’m not planning to,” Derek snarls back, angry for no other reason than that it’s right there, at the ready.  It always is, has been.

“She wasn’t either,” twists out of Stiles’ mouth, even though they don’t know that.

That could’ve been Laura’s plan for all Derek can guess.  His big sister, always an enigma, smarter than him, faster than him, first to everything.

Even death.

The silence is rent by a sudden sound like stripping wood.  His head jerks, neck cricking, to find the comforter from his bed being tugged through a too-small opening in the slatted railing along the side.  Yanking down, pulling, like an invisible sailor hoisting up a net, tickling the hair on his arm, slithering to wrap around his wrist, bind him there.  He snaps his head back and now all he can see are Stiles’ eyes, bright and glowing like the moon outside the grime-encrusted window.  He fights off a cringe.  “Stop.  Now.”

The comforter goes limp instantly, puddles innocuously at his feet.  Stiles’ eyes are dark and unknowable, his worried face shadowed once again.  He pulls in a shaky breath, loosens his grip on Derek but doesn’t let go.  “You don’t get to do that.  You don’t get to fuck off without telling me anything, wondering if — if — fuck you for thinking I’d let that happen.  Next time I won’t sit here like some patiently waiting fifties’ housewife.  Next time I’ll rip this city apart, find you, and drop you off the first forty-storey I find.  Fuck you,” he reiterates harshly.

“Fine,” Derek says, less because he means it and more because he wants Stiles to shut up about it.

In truth, they barely know each other and clash more than peacefully coexist.  Stiles has been with them — with him, just him now — for five years but he had always been closer to Laura.  An employee to Derek, family to Laura.  He’s younger than Derek, more bullheaded, more alive than Derek’s been in years and maybe that’s why they never really mattered to each other.  For Stiles to pretend that anything else is true now… well.

Derek knows it’s because he’s just lost everything he had.  An orphan, with one friend who had up and disappeared on him years ago, when they found him.  Then Laura became everything he’d been missing.  And it’d seemed the same for Laura.  Stiles didn’t have anything but Derek left now.  That didn’t mean Derek mattered though; it just meant he was the last one standing.

Just like it didn’t mean that Stiles mattered to Derek either and Derek had thought, more than once, since Laura died: Good, now he can leave.

And then had to fight against the ensuing panic that thought inspired.

He understood it, even if he didn’t agree with his own reaction to it.  They were each other’s people by default, by a shared love for the very dead, very gone Laura Hale, and when you had nothing else, that became a thing worth clinging to.

Pack.  Or as close to it as they would ever get.

“Get into bed,” Derek snarls.

Stiles sighs and rubs a hand over his face.  He sidesteps Derek, drags the comforter along the floor without care, and Derek hears the whump of his flattened pillow joining it on the floor.  Stiles tosses both over the stripped bed, says to preempt whatever argument Derek might have, “I don’t do top bunk.”

Derek heaves out his own sigh, stripping off his jacket and knocking off his boots.  He sheds the socks too and gets into bed with Stiles.

They haven’t done this since the night they found her body.  It hadn’t been a decision then.  They’d been too broken to think, too broken to do anything other than shake and blink, tears silently streaming down faces and Derek had sat on her bed for a half-second before tearing it to pieces, shredding it, the bedding mounted up and destroyed and across the room in a fit of destruction and Stiles had flipped the mattress, long gashes rent down the center of it, pulled him down onto it and wrapped his arms around him, holding him as less of a comfort and more of a restriction, to stop him from destroying anything else.

Stiles doesn’t touch him tonight.  He rolls towards the wall, back to Derek while Derek scratches at the ridge of his eyebrow with his ragged thumbnail, flaking blood under what little is left of it, staring up at the dark bottom of the bunk above him, wide awake.

•

He opens his eyes to sharp sunlight, rays that’ve had time to hone themselves, coalesce, and start stabbing at strategic places in the apartment.  Like the backs of Derek’s eyelids.  The comforter around him is rumpled up, bunched in places from a restless sleeper.  Which he isn’t.  He frowns before it comes back to him.

Laura’s bed.

Stiles.

He’d woken up earlier in the pitch black with Stiles’ forehead pressed into the valley between his shoulder blades, breath a warm and reliable puff through his thin t-shirt, his hand clenched on the hill of Derek’s bicep, snagging him, pulling him back against him.

Derek hadn’t brushed him off.  Though it had given him a moment’s pause, strange without the swell of breasts between them, fingers digging and pulling him close to an unmistakably masculine chest.  But only a moment’s; he’d been asleep again minutes later.

Wip list is here!

[patolemus]

The best feeling in the world is when a fic you thought had been abandoned updates again

[siriuslymcfly]

Hey tumblr I need help - if I’m looking for a dramione fic I read a whiiiiiile ago but can only remember a few plot details, how can I find it? Is there a blog who finds lost fics like our beloved sterek ones? Pls send advice ty 💖

[hedwig221b]

WIP Game

So, @salty-fryingpan, @endwersed and @demonicfaerie tagged me in a wip game 💗 thank you!

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Unfortunately, all I have is two wips, so not much to choose from:

🌑 TWILIGHT

🌕 midsommar

Tagging softly @renmackree and @gege-wondering-around

[capriciouswrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Laura Hale, Jackson Whittemore Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Magic, Not Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bugs & Insects, Pre-Relationship Series: Part 22 of shall i compare thee to a may day crashing on a mountain top? Summary:

Stiles rests his chin in his hand and watches the crowd. No one’s stopped to talk to him, and Jackson keeps giving him smug looks from his table, where he’s had a number of interested people stop and leave their cards.

It’s not a shock, but it is still disappointing. 

[lazinesswrites]

I'd like to request Comfortember with Sterek and Flashbacks please!

Hi! I'm a little stuck on how to actually write it, but I do have an idea for this! So I'm just gonna tell you about it instead:

Basically, I'm thinking something vaguely post-show (except probably a bunch of people are still alive) and Derek has a new big house that he mostly lives in alone but everyone else visits whenever and there's rooms for them and so on, and obviously Stiles visits most of all. And then they have some kind of Pack Holiday Potluck where they all gather at Derek's and bring different foods based on their different religions/traditions surrounding Winter Holidays.

And Derek makes some kind of food thing (idk what yet) that his mom used to make for the holidays that he hasn't had since The Fire, and the smell triggers a flashback of sorts to when he used to help his mom make whatever it is. And flashbacks like that, even to happy memories, always leave him sad and angry and all, because it's a time he can't ever go back to and he misses his family and- everything.

But this time, it's Stiles who drags him out of his head (unintentionally or not), and Derek has a whole lot of sappy thoughts about how he still misses his family and always will, but how he also has a new family now and can make new memories and new traditions - and share his old ones so they won't be lost just yet. How most of his old family may be gone, but they can live on through him and his memories of them.

[buckybarnesss]

did i read rearrange, than wood and nails only to follow it up with the moon's gonna follow me home.

yes.

[seaweed-water]

"WIP" whenever

i don't have a current wip that's far enough along to share for anything to make sense, so i'm going to cheat and share the last sex scene in dotp because it's hot and i'm super proud of it. if you haven't read it and don't really want to read a 240k story, just know that derek hale is a good boy.

thank you for tagging me @endwersed <3

“What do you wanna do for your birthday?” Derek asks, stuffing in a bite of his cheeseburger as he looks across the table expectantly.

Stiles sips his soda, his eyes following the passersby on the street behind Derek, swiping a fry before returning his gaze to his fiancé. He can’t say it to anyone, so he says it in his head as much as he can. His lips slant in a smirk, his eyes washing over Derek’s face.

“I think you’d look really good in red,” Stiles starts, leaning back in his chair, legs spreading as he eats another fry.

Derek, oblivious, chews on his food and shrugs before mumbling, “Sure.”

“Lingerie,” Stiles finishes, his smirk lingering as he waits for Derek’s reaction.

He chokes a bit and clears his throat before grabbing their shared drink and sipping through the chewed-up straw, his face coloring beautifully. Stiles can’t help the hearty giggle pulled out of him, his grin widening.

Derek’s eyes shift side to side as he scans the empty food shack and leans in closer. Stiles leans in to meet him, popping another fry in his mouth, chewing with an amused smile. Derek clears his throat again and mutters, “Is that what you want for your birthday?”

“Mhm. The whole get-up. I’d say you’re probably a B-cup.”

Derek colors even darker, and Stiles bites his lip, his grin stretching as he studies Derek’s face in delight.

“Stiles,” he grumbles, and Stiles revels in it—his reaction is just as sweet as the image in his mind. Almost.

“Yes?”

Derek swipes a hand over his beard and swallows thickly. “Fine. But we’re not shopping for that in person.”

Stiles quirks an eyebrow, almost challenging, but no real intention of humiliating Derek to that extent. They’ve got an image to uphold, whatever that is. Stiles actually doesn’t care what people think of his sex life. He’s already known for being a fuckboy, though that label has gone out the window since Derek’s been back in the picture. If anything, he’d prefer to keep what Derek does in the bedroom out of the gossip rags—that’s Stiles’ business only.

When they get home, Stiles grabs the measuring tape before pulling Derek to their bed, hands on his shoulders as he guides him to sit. His fingers weave through his hair as he pecks his lips, standing between his open thighs before his hands drag up the hem of his shirt. Derek raises his arms and lets Stiles undress him, immediately pressing their lips together again as he guides him to stand back up. Derek is quiet as Stiles measures him, kissing each pec as he does so, unable to keep his lips off him as he mumbles out the numbers to better remember them.

“Why do you wanna see me in lingerie?” he asks, his voice low and curious, nonjudging as always.

“Because you’ll look pretty in it,” Stiles answers, his lips stretching into a smirk as he looks up at Derek from under his eyebrows. He wraps the tape measure around his waist, Derek’s muscles quivering where his fingers brush.

After a brief pause, his expression entirely too solemn for this situation, Derek asks, “Can I see you in lingerie?”

Stiles’ smirk widens, reaching between them to unbutton Derek’s pants before pushing them off his hips. “Okay, baby.” He leans in for another quick kiss before kneeling in front of him, wrapping the tape measure around his hips, kissing below his belly button along the trail leading beneath his boxer briefs. Stiles’ fingertips graze through the dense hair over his thighs before measuring around the thick muscle just above his knee, looking up at Derek with a smile.

“What color do you want to see me in?”

“Pink looks good on you.” Derek’s hand reaches out, fingers brushing Stiles’ hair back. “Like a cool pink. Or periwinkle.”

Stiles grins, huffing out a small laugh. “That’s so specific. Have you thought of this before?”

Derek shrugs, his lips curling. “Just the past hour or so. But I liked the colors you were wearing before. They look good against your tattoos.”

Before meaning the bright and baggy clothes Stiles wore when he was high every day. He’s shifted back to his time-tested wardrobe since sobering up, and Derek has taken to wearing the bold colors as his loungewear. They’re not as baggy on him, his godlike form filling them out quite nicely, but Stiles can’t decide how he feels about it—on one hand, they remind him of that time in his life, despite most of it being a blur. On the other, he likes that Derek wears his clothes around the house, and they’re the only rags of Stiles’ that comfortably fit him. It hasn’t bothered Stiles enough to say anything, so the latter feeling seems to outweigh the former.

After placing a kiss to his thigh, Stiles rises again, his arms wrapping around Derek’s waist as their gazes meet. “You like my tattoos?”

“Of course I do. I love everything about you.”

Stiles can’t help the sardonic laugh that bursts out of him, his eyes rolling softly as Derek’s hands settle on his hips. “I thought we were done lying to each other.”

Derek furrows his eyebrows, casting him an incredulous look. “Why would I lie? It’d be boring if you weren’t a little mean. I think it’s hot,” he says, his tone teasing with a hint of a smirk.

Stiles scoffs, a feigned glower in his gaze. “Oh, so now I’m mean?”

Derek rolls his eyes, leaning in to kiss him, and Stiles nips at his bottom lip, his hands slipping to Derek’s ass with a squeeze.

“You want me to be mean to you, baby?”

His breath hitches when Stiles nips him a little too hard, hands squeezing over Stiles’ hips, fingers digging into the pulp of his ass.

“Yeah,” Derek breathes out, pulling Stiles flush against him, pausing as he nips Stiles’ lip right back before mumbling, “I want you to spank me.”

Stiles swallows at that, pulling back to regard him. Derek’s eyes linger on Stiles’ mouth before meeting his gaze, lips curling. “On your birthday.”

“How long have you been thinking of this?” Stiles squeezes his ass again, his eyes searching as his brows knit together.

Derek shrugs again, looking up before returning his gaze with a coy smile. “For a while. But I’m always your good boy, so it never made sense.”

“Yes, you are,” Stiles agrees with a soft huff of laughter, the fabric of Derek’s boxers gathering between his fingers as he massages over his ass. He’s thought of spanking him too, what color the imprint of his hand would be over his lovely hairy cheeks, but it’s true—Derek has never been deserving of a spanking.

“I’ll give you whatever you ask for, chef,” he says, gazing at him from under his lashes as he leans in to seal their lips together again, fingertips skimming over the seam over his ass.

After a quick round, and remeasurements because Stiles forgot them already, he orders the set he wants to see his future husband in, addressing the package to Derek so he can surprise Stiles with it. Even though he’s expecting it, Stiles is no less stunned at how gorgeous he looks in crimson, the black garter belt snug around his waist, his tanned flesh and course hair peeking through the delicate lace.

Stiles snaps the suspender belt over his thigh, admiring the crisp lines of his stockings, the bloom of red under his skin. Derek is already half-hard, his cock bulging against the fabric, a light flush up his neck in his open vulnerability. He looks heavenly sublime, Stiles’ mouth watering as he scans him from head to toe, his hand pressing Derek’s hip as he guides him to turn around. His heart speeds up, dick twitching when Derek reaches back and tugs the thin ribbon of his thong to the side, his legs spreading and ass perking out as he reveals the red jewel covering his hole.

“Jesus, fuck, baby.” He bites his lip as he admires the plug, reaching up to press against the jewel, Derek’s breath hitching as his hole clenches. Stiles tugs him closer by his hips, kissing the dimples at the swell of his ass before turning him around again.

“Kneel for me,” Stiles tells him, snatching a pillow before placing it on the floor in front of him where he sits on the edge of their bed. Derek sinks to his knees, his hands falling to Stiles’ thighs as he settles nicely between them, and Stiles praises him with a soft smile and fingers through his hair.

“You’re so gorgeous, Derek. My beautiful boy,” Stiles purrs, Derek leaning into his touch as his other hand presses over Derek’s pectorals just above his bra. He lets it slide down over his sternum before hooking a finger over the center gore behind the silken bow, tugging him a bit closer.

“Happy birthday, daddy,” Derek murmurs, his eyes searching as he bites his lip, his skin still a stunning shade of red.

Stiles strokes his thumb over Derek’s warm cheek, his smile lingering. “Thank you, baby. It’s been perfect.”

It’s really been the best day. They’ve both been excited and waiting for this part of it, but the meantime has passed by quickly enough. Derek cooked for him, a given, and they took the train to visit the Art Institute, enjoyed coffee from The Café, and stopped by Sweet for the cake Scott baked him. Their outing took it out of him, so they came home and took a nap, and Derek woke him up only moments ago in his new outfit for Stiles’ eyes only.

Derek leans into his touch, gazing up at Stiles beneath his luscious lashes as he waits for his next command.

Derek is inherently a quiet soul, his expressions conveying his emotions easily enough without his words, but in his subspace—soft and pliant under Stiles’ touch, eager to please and happy to oblige—he’s almost completely silent save for the sweet noises Stiles savors. His hands slide up Stiles’ thighs as his eyes wash over Stiles’ face, lips curled in a careful smile.

“Tell me your safeword,” Stiles demands, his gaze soft as he passes his fingers through his hair once again.

“Pequod’s,” he says with a cheeky grin.

“Good boy. Whenever you want, we can stop, okay baby?”

Derek nods and presses closer to him, his lacy breasts brushing against Stiles’ clothed stomach, eyes searching as he waits patiently. Stiles adjusts the strap over his shoulder with an affectionate smile, hand settling at the nape of his neck.

“Kiss me, chef,” Stiles tells him, and Derek’s lips are on his mouth not a second later, big hands firmly pressing around each side of Stiles’ waist as he angles his head and lets Stiles dip his tongue in, cupping Derek’s jaw firmly as he holds him in place. Stiles could kiss him for hours, until both of them have beard burn and their lips are raw, his tongue sweet and sensuous, mouth open and willing, but soon enough he has Derek over his knees, arm firmly wrapped around his torso as he sits on the edge of their bed in a diagonal, fingertips grazing over his plump cheeks. He can hear Derek’s breathing, intentional and steady as Stiles massages him, occasionally slipping his hand down to cup him through his panties where a cool wet spot has already formed. He strokes the raised hair over his cheeks again, admiring the way he shudders, his arms outstretched over the bed as he molds himself to Stiles’ touch.

“You ready?” Stiles asks, his voice low, and Derek nods. “Tell me, baby.”

“Yes,” he breathes out, his ass inclined against Stiles’ hand.

Stiles would kiss him if he could, just to ensure he knows this is done out of the utmost love and reverence, gratified beyond measure from Derek’s simple enough request. He’s entrusted Stiles with the power to spank him, gifting it to him on his birthday like he’s handing himself over on a silver platter. It’s a testament of Derek’s profound understanding of him, of knowing him from the inside out, granting Stiles what he desires most—authority over him. He knows how much Stiles loves to tease him, to cause him pain in the best ways, to make Derek ache like he aches to have total possession and control over him, only for Stiles to yield Derek’s anointed power back to him by breaking him down just to build him up again.  

For Derek, giving Stiles that power allows him the freedom to let go. There is nothing for him to worry about, because Stiles will take care of it.

He gives Derek’s ass a tender squeeze, mumbles I love you, baby, and raises his flat hand before bringing it down over his cheek with a loud smack. Derek gasps, his muscles tensing, ass jiggling in the wake of Stiles’ slap.

“You like that?” Stiles’ tone is curious and careful, patient as he awaits Derek’s response.

“Yes, daddy,” Derek murmurs, his hips rocking a bit over Stiles’ spread thighs, cock leaking.

Stiles’ lips curl into a pleased smile, caressing the spot his hand just assaulted. Derek relaxes instantly to his touch, and a stroke of heat slices through his loins, in awe of Derek’s pliable body and willful predisposition.

“Good boy,” he whispers, his thumb stroking where his hand lay over his torso. His hand rises and meets skin once again, this time on his other cheek, caressing his flesh after each strike. He keeps a steady pace, alternating between each cheek, mesmerized by the way his skin grows pink and hot under Stiles’ palm, how his back dips to feel each smack as fully as possible, skin undulating after each spank. His hips rut into the side of Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles reaches to cup his straining cock, his needy, half-choked moans registering straight to Stiles’ dick.

“How do you feel?” Stiles asks him, letting his stinging fingers trail along the ribbon between Derek’s cheeks. He presses against the stem pushing out of Derek’s hole, earning Stiles a breathy whine and another roll of his hips.

“Uh huh,” Derek responds, dazed as he pants over Stiles’ knees. Stiles laughs, a grin splitting his face as he massages over Derek’s rear. His skin is hot to the touch, red spreading exquisitely over each cheek.

Stiles offers him a final strike, and Derek gasps out an oh as his body melts against Stiles and his hole clenches around the plug. Stiles wants to see his face, the waxy look in his eyes, but first he instructs Derek to lay across the bed, where Stiles presses his legs together and straddles over his calves as he leans down, brushing his lips over Derek’s derriere.

“You did such a good job, baby,” Stiles mumbles, hands squeezing as if molding the flesh of his ass like clay, thumbs spreading his cheeks apart. “I love it when you melt under my touch. You’re so good for daddy.”

Derek keens in response, his body elongating as he presses back against Stiles’ lips. Stiles bites at one cheek, tender and teasing before licking over it with a parting kiss, and then leans back to tug gently at the plug embedded inside his lover, watching Derek shudder beneath him.

“Just relax for me, baby,” Stiles says, waiting for his muscles to visibly slacken, and then, “good boy.” Stiles tugs again, fingers underneath the jeweled base, watching his hole flutter as Derek wills himself to relax and let go of it. Stiles imagines the ache drawing up Derek’s spine as the widest part of the bulb resists against the puckered ring, the part that Stiles craves whenever Derek is inside him, and Derek whimpers, his shoulders tightening as he grips and presses into a pillow.

“Shh, you’re okay, baby,” Stiles coos, his other hand pressed at the small of Derek’s back, thumb stroking over one of the dimples there. He lets the wide part sit just at the precipice, his mouth watering as Derek pants and attempts to widen his legs to accommodate it, only to whimper again when he realizes there’s nowhere for him to go—Stiles’ mercy is his only reprieve. Stiles knows this part hurts, sweat dampening Derek’s skin, his hole wet and pulsing. Stiles releases the plug, letting it sink back into his hot heat as Derek writhes beneath him.

“Daddy,” Derek whines, his cheeks squeezing together as he readjusts around the fat bulb he’d been hoping for Stiles to pull from him. Stiles can’t help the devious chuckle escaping him, biting his lip as he watches in wonder. He savors the powerful feeling it gives him, to tease and deny him, the desperation in his tone, the way his hole convulses in an attempt to push it out and resume a life without the agony creeping up his spine. Inevitably, Stiles takes pity on him, fingers curling around the base once again before tugging gently, only letting the wide part ache inside him for a second longer before finally pulling it free. Derek groans in relief, his hole puffy and red, clenching around nothing now as Stiles pushes his thong string to the side.

“That’s my good boy. It feels good, doesn’t it?” Stiles asks, a hand pressed on each cheek as he spreads them apart.

“Yes,” Derek breathes out, hole fluttering once again, and Stiles doesn’t resist leaning in to kiss him there, the squamous skin hot against his lips before he lets his tongue lap over his pulsating hole. Derek moans, the sound muffled as he presses into the pillow, his ass sticking out further as he pushes against Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles indulges him, sharpening his tongue to fuck his velvety insides, flattening it again to stroke over the wrinkled skin. Derek is a mess beneath him, skin damp with sweat, the wet spot spreading over his pretty panties as his hips rock into the mattress.

Finally, Stiles pulls away after a final kiss, longing to see his blissed-out face, his cock aching to be inside him, and shifts so that he can guide Derek to roll over.

He is stunning, his skin flushed from his chest to his cheeks, eyes half-lidded and glazed over, lips parted in a torpor. A pleased grin stretches Stiles’ lips as he guides Derek’s legs to spread and fall open before settling between his strong thighs.

“God, look at you, baby. You’re so pretty,” Stiles says, stroking along the inside of Derek’s thighs, trailing over his weeping budge before letting his fingers skim under the elastic band. He tugs the underwear down, tucking it beneath his heavy balls, the red tip of him peeking from under the delicate sheath of his foreskin. Stiles pulls the hem of his shirt up to tuck under his arm, shoving his sweatpants just below his hips, his cock bobbing free. He hooks his hands behind Derek’s knees, pressing his hips against the back of Derek’s pushed-up thighs. Their cocks brush together, and Derek presses his head back with a low moan as his eyes fall shut and his breath comes out in short pants. Stiles works his hips, frotting against Derek’s cock, watching his face as his desperate little noises fill the air between them.

“Stiles—” Derek gasps out in warning, and Stiles stills immediately, pulling away and letting Derek’s legs fall to the side again as his hands wrap around Derek’s cock with a tight, unremitting squeeze. His breath hitches in his throat, hips bucking into Stiles’ hand, sweat sprouting over his temple with a cry falling from his lips.

With a grin, his heart beating on adrenaline, Stiles says, “Don’t worry, baby, you won’t be coming for a while.”

Derek whines, his brows knit together in desperate frustration, the vein in his cock pulsing in Stiles’ hands.

“You know how much I love edging you, don’t be upset, my love,” Stiles says, a teasing lilt in his tone as he gently pushes down his foreskin. Derek sucks in a breath, his exposed tip wet and swollen, and Stiles can’t resist swiping his thumb over the slit before wiping the juices over his tongue. Derek watches him through slitted eyes, his chest rising and falling, breath hitching as he swallows.

Stiles reaches for the lube off to the side of their bed, slicking himself up as he watches Derek in return, their gazes locked in.

“I’m gonna warm my cock inside you, and edge you until you cry. You won’t move a muscle. Stay perfectly still for me, okay baby?”

Derek swallows with a soft nod, his gaze fixed, his breathing evening out. He inhales sharply as Stiles shoves the thong to the side and lines himself up, the tip of him sinking into his stretched-out heat. Derek’s hole flutters around him before Stiles’ hips jerk the rest of the way inside.

Stiles chokes out a choppy moan as he grips Derek’s waist, his breath stolen as Derek presses all around him. “Oh, fuck, baby, you feel so good. I love being inside you.”

Derek seems to have lost all his words, his heaving chest the only moving part of him as he relaxes completely under Stiles’ gaze. Stiles shifts so that his folded legs slot beneath Derek’s backside, Derek’s legs falling to each side as Stiles angles to let his cock press right against his prostate. Derek shivers beneath him, his cock twitching, a string of precum connecting his dick to his hallowed stomach.

“Feel good?” Stiles asks, his voice a bit wrecked as he lets Derek adjust around him, and Derek nods, his gaze locked with Stiles’ as he bites his lip and holds himself still.

“Good,” Stiles says, breathless, and Derek clenches around him, his lips curling in a teasing smirk when Stiles sucks in a sharp lungful, hands squeezing Derek’s waist over his garter belt. His eyes narrow, lips pursed with a hint of a smile. “Cheeky boy. No moving. Just float for me, baby.”

In response, Derek does as he’s told, and Stiles proceeds with his promise, slicking Derek’s cock as he pulls up and squeezes just below the tip, dragging his strokes out as he teases him along. Occasionally, Derek’s hole will tighten around him, pulling him back to the surface when he nearly tips over the edge, his eyelids tugging open and brows drawing in as he meets Stiles’ gaze in a silent question he already knows the answer to. Stiles tamps his orgasm back down, tiny whimpers humming in Derek’s chest, his breath quickening before Stiles calms him down again with soft strokes over his exposed skin—along his arms, over his chest, down his stomach and thighs, worshipping every part of him. His hand curls around the base of his cock again, persisting in his righteous endeavor to render the tears and cum out of Derek like Stiles is entitled to them.

“So good for me, Derek, just like this,” Stiles encourages him, his tone soft and low, and on the fourth round of denial is when the sweet tears slip over his temples, his brackish gaze wet and steady as Stiles wriggles the pad of his thumb at his frenulum relentlessly, tiny whimpers slithering from the back of his throat as his eyebrows draw together in a desperate plea. Stiles’ lips stretch into a gentle smile, his gaze softened in adulation as he reaches up to swipe the brine away and lick his thumb clean. “That’s perfect, baby. You’re so stunning when you cry. Come for daddy.”

Derek’s eyes fall shut as they roll back in his head, his body stilling in Stiles’ command as he lets go. His interiors grip Stiles’ cock as he comes in spurts, Stiles duteously milking him through it as he watches in besotted fascination. Stiles praises him the whole time, good boy, good boy, yes, baby, just like that, knowing it only further prolongs his climax, soft groans with each release as fresh tears spill over his cheeks and gather his eyelashes into spiky clumps.

The image is enough to bring Stiles over the edge, balls drawing in as his pulsing cock empties inside him, each wave swelling through him like a surge of hot electricity. His mouth falls open with a choked moan, eyes slipping shut as his head tips back in ecstasy.

It's better than any drug he’s ever consumed—filling him up like this, molding Derek to his will, watching him cry because he gave Stiles the power to make it so.

He sinks over Derek’s chest, hands coming up to hold his face and press their foreheads together as their deep inhales fall in sync. Stiles tilts Derek’s head to trace his tongue over his salty cheeks before sealing their lips together with lingering pecks and praises in between—my good boy, you’re perfect, chef, such a good job, I’m so proud of you, I love you so much baby, and Derek’s arms wrap around his torso, pressing him close as he revels in the praise, a soft smile curving his lips.

“I love you, too. Happy birthday.” His voice is low and sated, fingertips pressing along Stiles’ spine, and Stiles thanks him with another round of kisses, his smile matching as his thumbs stroke over Derek's fuzzy cheeks.

When Stiles eventually pulls out, long after their post-haze, he shucks off his shirt and tugs up his sweatpants before getting to work on undressing Derek. He unclips the suspender belts and swipes down his thighs, peeling off his stockings in the same movement before tapping on Derek’s hip. Derek raises them for Stiles to slip the thong off him, his soft cock sticking against his abdomen as he settles back down with a gratified sigh.

“Turn over, baby,” Stiles instructs, and Derek does as he’s told, his eyes slipping shut as Stiles unhooks his bra and unclasps the garter belt, both falling away to reveal red and imprinted skin. Stiles leans down and kisses him along the stamped band, fingertips massaging gently, letting his lips brush wherever he can reach.

And because he can’t resist, he grabs the plug and presses it back inside him, securing his cum right where it belongs. Derek doesn’t even flinch, his hole stretched out for the evening and all too happy to accommodate as he shivers and lets himself adjust again.

He grabs Derek’s water bottle from the bedside table and has Derek sit up, his hair in disarray, his blinks slow and dreamy. Stiles can’t help the grin, proud he’s made his sub so contented, stealing a kiss before handing him the bottle.

“Drink up. I’m gonna start us a bath,” he says, and Derek hums in acknowledgment as he chugs his water down. Stiles draws them a bubble bath and lights a few candles before pulling Derek along. Derek slips between his legs, and Stiles washes him, tender and unhurried as Derek relaxes against him.

Taking care of Derek feels like an extension of taking care of himself, and Stiles swears he’s so much better for it—the best gift Derek could ever give him. It’s a peace that he can make a home out of.

They end the perfect day with tacos and a blunt, a movie on as heavy raindrops pelt against the window. They snuggle up on the couch, Ravioli between them, and Stiles has a hard time imagining it could get any better than this.

tagging @demonicfaerie! i have the 'ziety and i'm too scared to tag anyone else lmao. if you wanna participate, do it and tag me back so i know it's real <3