This one definitely took longer than 5 minutes but I was inspired. Hope you enjoy it!
Hot & Bothered. Stiles/Derek. Teen. During their first photo shoot together for the House of Eros, sparks fly between Stiles and Derek.
The House of Eros campaign is going to be major. The amount of zeros on the offer is proof of that, but Stiles has been hearing buzz about the newest direction Eros is taking for months. It’s probably sad to admit that he actually bruised his arm from how many times he’s pinched himself since receiving the call from Lydia about Eros wanting him under contract for the entire length of their campaign. It not only means international exposure by being one of the faces of the brand, but it also means a chance to work with one of the most respected design houses in the industry today. If he does well here, he’s going to be golden for the next few years.
My second work written for the @sterekzine. Hope you guys enjoy! It was such a pleasure to contribute to the zine, and I’m honored to be among such talented writers and artists. (Also, this is my 50th work posted to AO3! Woo!)
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The days are easier if he begins them as a wolf. Which is convenient, seeing as Derek’s lost all control over his shift while asleep.
It started when he left Beacon Hills for what he hopes is the last time, and hasn’t let up since. Every time he goes to sleep, at some point in the night he shifts, and then wakes covered in fur, overheated from the blankets.
Instead of immediately shifting back, he goes for a run to work off the excess energy that he always feels when he’s on four legs. And it quickly becomes a habit he can’t break, but that leaves him feeling a little less burdened for the rest of the day.
So it isn’t even an issue really, despite his inability to control it.
Or, it wouldn’t be an issue, if it weren’t for Stiles.
“Come here often?” the man in question asks with a smirk when he sits down beside Derek in the small coffee shop.
Derek heard him coming a mile away, smelled him coming from even farther, that particular scent and heartbeat so familiar to him even years later that he’d be able to pick it out of a crowd from just about any distance. But it still feels like a punch in the gut to be right beside it all again.
He doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading. Maybe this will all be easier if he pretends to be unaffected. “If I say yes, it’ll just make it easier for you to find me again.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Stiles tells him, like they’re the only two people in the world who are in on the joke. “We both know how much I enjoy a challenge.”
And just like that they fall back into being Derek and Stiles, as though there were never any years in which they were simply, tragically, just a Stiles and a Derek, separate and unfinished.
it’s finally time to publicly post my contribution to the @sterekzine!!! i had a bitch of a time fitting this into 2.5k, lol, but i managed it in the end and had a lot of fun doing it. it’s silly and ridiculous and i love it XD
Stiles is dating a mobster. Or a gang member. Mafia man? Crime lord?
Whatever. He doesn’t know exactly what terminology to use because Derek has never outright confirmed it, but it’s so obvious. Stiles’ boyfriend is definitely a part of some sketchy underground syndicate of criminal activity and it’s like he isn’t even trying to hide it.
Stiles tabbed out barely an hour after he’d gotten to the club. He’d thought that, being new to the city, going out clubbing at the hottest joint in town would be a good way to meet people in the area, but all he’d gotten were a few appreciative looks and two polite brush-offs. At this rate, he figured he might as well go back to his apartment where the booze was cheaper.
He made it three blocks before someone jumped out of an alley at him. It was a blur of movement, a burst of sound, a jolt of adrenaline and, you know, this was exactly the kind of shit his dad had warned him about when he’d said he wanted to move to the big city. He really should listen to his dad more often.
Stiles had never been mugged before so he wasn’t entirely sure of the protocol, but he thought a little panicking was understandable and even warranted. There was a lot of yelling and some waving around of what might’ve been a weapon—it was too dark to really see—and then, quite unexpectedly, there was a wall of leather in Stiles’ field of vision.
It was a leather-clad back, broad and muscled, and it belonged to the single most intimidating man Stiles had ever laid eyes on. Absolutely gorgeous, Stiles discovered when the man shot a glance back at him, but definitely intimidating with his chiseled jaw and painted-on stubble and thick eyebrows pulled down in a scowl that could make a stone bleed just by looking at it.
He sounded calm, though, when he said: “You should rethink this course of action.”
If Stiles had been slightly less terrified, he might’ve laughed. He sort of wanted to laugh anyway, but that was probably just a bout of hysteria. His attacker didn’t laugh, though. He sneered and said, “Who are you supposed to be?”
Leather Guy shrugged. “I’m a Hale,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard of my mother, Talia.”
The names meant nothing to Stiles, but the mugger hesitated. Weapon of indeterminate lethality still in hand, he bounced on his heels a bit like he was contemplating making a move on them anyway, even if he was risking Talia Hale’s apparent wrath.
Before he could make a decision, there were footsteps from the other end of the alley. Stiles peeked over Leather Guy’s shoulder to see three more people, dramatically silhouetted by the streetlamps’ glow; two men and a woman. All wearing leather jackets. What the hell was this, some kind of fashion statement? A uniform?
Whatever it was, the mugger clearly deemed it too much. He dropped his weapon and held up his hands in surrender. Stiles’ knight in black leather scooped up the weapon—a knife, as it turned out—and flipped it over in his hand, then jerked his head at the mugger dismissively.
The mugger took off running, scraping his back along the wall to avoid the others when they didn’t move out of his way.
Leather Guy watched him go, then turned back to Stiles. Goddamn it, his smile was as intimidating as his muscles and twice as attractive.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles said with a dry mouth. “Thanks for that.”
An arm was suddenly thrown over Stiles’ shoulder, making him jump.
“Don’t worry, kid,” the woman from the alley mouth said, a sharp grin on her red lips. “We got your back.”
Leather Guy nodded solemnly like it was some kind of promise, and as Stiles was led out of the alley by an escort of leather-wearing badasses, he had the very strong feeling that he’d just joined a gang.
So andavs is not quite ready to post her art version yet (we already checked, the mind meld factor is not high…), but I wanted to put this up because it is a special gift for obriensnipples! Primarily as a belated birthday present, because she wanted Derek mowing the lawn shirtless but also because rough times suck and I hope this fic helps with that even if only a little bit!
Stiles’ summer vacation does not start out well. In fact, it
starts out pretty poorly.
Okay, really, it’s a fucking disaster.
Because, Stiles is walking out of Beacon Hills High,
officially a Junior now that the final bell has rung, and he’s talking to Scott
who keeps insisting that Junior year will be the year that he will finally ask
Allison out and Scott has fallen behind to stare at her and Stiles keeps
walking because Scott will catch up eventually, though Stiles is keeping an eye
on him, and-
Well, that’s when he gets hit by a car.
Not just any car, though. No, when Stiles regains
consciousness and manages to blink away the dark spots that take up 90% of his
vision, he finds himself staring at the front of a black Camaro.
And the only black Camaro in Beacon Hills belongs to…
“Oh my god.” Derek Hale.
Derek Hale, the now-senior lacrosse player and subject of
almost all of Stiles’ dirtiest fantasies.
He groans. And it’s only partly from the pain.
“Fuck.”
“Stiles!” Scott sounds frantic. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“I don’t need,” Stiles tries. And then stops. Because he
looks down to see his leg covered in blood and he has never liked blood and-
well, he doesn’t complain when Scott stands up with the phone pressed to his
ear.
“I’m sorry!” Derek Hale is saying and he sounds… angry? This
is not how Stiles wanted his first interaction with Derek Hale to go. “You
just- you just walked right into the road!”
“Dude,” Stiles replies, rubbing at his eye. “Are you really
blaming me for this?”
“Not blaming you,
I just- you walked right in front of me!”
“You hit me with your car!” Stiles winces at the sounds of
his own voice. It’s too loud. Everything is too loud.
When he opens his eyes again, Derek’s eyebrows are draw
together in concern.
“I’m sorry,” Derek repeats. It’s probably just the result of
Derek’s ridiculously attractive face and Stiles’ epic crush on the kid, but
Stiles forgives him instantly. Even though he’s getting colder by the second
and he’s pretty sure that’s not a good thing.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving a hand and
regretting it when the motion hurts his leg somehow. “I’m sure I’m fine.”
“We have to stick together. We’re all we each have left.”
In which all three survive and they take Cora with them to New York. Derek eventually opens up to Laura about the fire and they get through it, things are going well and Cora is in her sophomore year when they hear of casualties in their old home town.
There’s a rogue alpha on the loose in their own territory and as a pack they go to deal with it, though what they find isn’t what they expected. Uncle Peter seems to be looking much better than the last time Laura saw him, at the least. If his glowing red eyes are anything to go by, that is.
Cora’s not happy about returning to town, she was too young to know most of the people who claim they knew her in elementary school. Derek is helping Laura deal with Peter but can’t stop running into these two idiots and great- one of them is bitten.
This is going to make for a weird family reunion with Peter, in the least.
Stiles shimmied a little, obviously trying to be sexy, but almost fell off the bed and eventually just dragged his jocks down over his thighs and.
“Oh,” Derek heard himself say. They’d been kissing a lot over the last few weeks, and there’d been a couple of mutual in-the-pants orgasms that eventuated after said kissing turned into frotting, but. Well. They’d made a promise to each other that they’d only move along the physical side of what they were doing further if they had the time and space to do it properly.
Derek hadn’t yet touched more than Stiles’ face or neck or that tiny bit of skin above the waistband of his jeans. He’d found it easier than he thought it might be to not cross the line. He wanted to do it right, to not pop his claws and slit his way beneath Stiles’ jeans to take a hold of what would bring his mate the most pleasure.
And they were mates, that was no longer a question.
They’d skirted the issue of their mutual attraction until they’d met a seer when Derek was visiting Stiles at school. The man had walked past them in a coffee shop on campus, but not made it more than three steps until he’d come back and said, And it is seen to be real that true mates do stay near each other, even when they try to deny their bond. Waste not the possibility, wolf, you are his best chance for happiness, and he yours, and then continued on his way.
They’d kissed that afternoon, Stiles pushing Derek against the graffiti-covered wall of the old Science block of his university. Derek had marked his neck, and Stiles had bitten his, and.
Now it was weeks later, and having not touched more of Stiles body than the aforementioned face, neck and sliver of belly, Derek could finally, after years of waiting, see all of his mate lain out for the touching and tasting and. He really, really wanted to scent every surface of Stiles, inside and out.
“Oh?” Stiles repeated back. “Is that a good oh? It kind of didn’t sound like a good oh.” His legs had stilled, jocks stuck just under one knee, but free of the other completely.
Derek breathed in everything he could and tried for a soft, but definite answer. “It was, and is, a very good oh.” He leaned forward, hands each side of Stiles head, holding his chest up as he used his foot to flick his own jeans and shorts off. “You’re not cut.”
Stiles cheeks pinked and the warmth in his skin bloomed down his neck and over his clavicles and attempted to reach as close as it could to his nipples. Derek dropped his head an inch and pressed his lips against Stiles’ own, just.
“I. Yeah,” Stiles mumbled, pushing up and deepening the contact for a moment. He pulled back and said, “I asked Dad about it in junior high when I finally realized I was a bit different to most of the other guys. Apparently my mother spoke loudly at hospital about leaving me whole. She was quite adamant that cutting off a perfectly healthy piece of a child was not something she condoned.”
Derek sat back, levering himself up with his arms, and settling his knees either side of Stiles hips. He parked his naked ass on his heels and ran his hands down Stiles’ sides and over his hips and down along the length of his thighs. Stiles sucked in air and the hair on his legs and belly and arms stood up a little higher. His cock twitched and settled a little thicker.
“I get the feeling you’ve heard ohs before and they weren’t good?” Derek shook his head when Stiles nodded, almost imperceptibly, then let himself smile. “It would be really hypocritical of me to do that, of course, but besides that, I want you either way, Stiles. I want you fat or thin. I want you tanned or pale. I want you bald or with your hair a wild mop of terror backed up by that absurdity you called a beard last Christmas.” Derek reached down and took one of Stiles’ hands, sliding fingers into the spaces between fingers, feeling calluses and scars and that hang-nail Stiles had been worrying at all morning with his teeth, then lifted it to kiss away what he could. “I want you.”
Derek wishes, again, that staying in the host pack’s house wasn’t such an important point of etiquette. Never mind that being here means he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone, or something, he’s not. Never mind the fact that no ‘wolf ever really wants to stay in a hotel with the remnant scents of at least the forty previous occupants of the room.
He bites at his lip and pushes those thoughts out of his mind. He’s in the host pack’s house, using the host pack’s thoughtfully provided WiFi so he can talk to Stiles, and every single one of them, from the alpha down, is going to hear him jerking off.
Stiles had ended the public part of their conversation with a sweet, but simple goodbye — the host family was kind but not stupid; the room was at the end of the hall but not soundproofed at all — and then he’d turned off his microphone and stood and turned to reveal that other than one of Derek’s favorite sweaters, the only other thing he he was wearing was a plug in his ass.
Derek’s fangs drop and his dick’s hard and he rolls his hips so his knot rubs against the seam of his jeans as he watches Stiles all but jack himself off with the soft not-green material that he always tells Derek brings out his eyes. He can imagine just what Stiles smells like, the sound, the way he’s moaning…
Fuck.
Stiles starts into long, slow strokes — the up pushes teasing out an ever growing drop of cum at his slit. Then he puts himself a step backwards, shoves over the chair he was on before and puts one foot flat on the seat.
The angle is perfect, all cock and balls and the plug Stiles begins to thrust in and out of himself with the same rhythm he’s using on his dick, and Derek gives a moment’s pause to consider just how long his other-half would have taken to make sure the camera on his laptop could capture everything.
Derek simply can’t resist. With the slight shame of doing it in another pack’s space combined with the knowledge that they’re ‘wolves too and they won’t be shocked at a healthy guy getting himself off, he gives in and undoes his zip and reaches for the single use sachets of lube he’d thought Stiles had put in his bag by mistake.
shealwaysreads 