photographer!derek fic where he literally ends up dropping his portfolio and out spills an avalanche of photos of Stiles that Derek plans on submitting to a gallery a few towns over.
Bonus if it’s in the middle of an argument wherein Derek is trying to get rid of Stiles so he can go to his secret art meeting. He’d probably be in the middle of telling him, ‘maybe I don’t want you around all the time.’
And Stiles knocks everything out of Derek’s hands accidentally and there’s papers flying and all of these beautiful photos of Stiles are suddenly everywhere.
And Stiles stops mid stoop to pick everything up when he actually looks at them. 8x10s in black and white and some digital manipulations. There’s likely one in there of Stiles as the queen piece on a chessboard because why the hell not, right. picture it.
The point is they’re not really casual things like ‘hey this is you eating a hot dog whole or this one is decent of you looking mildly attractive.
But the thing is Stiles is also harboring like the biggest thing for Derek so he just stands up all smug and holds up the photo with this shit eating grin on his face. “Am I your queen?” He’d ask but his face would be less like
and more like
And then Derek just knows he is ruined.
So then obviously, Derek is accepted into the show and Stiles goes with him to the opening. As his date and it’s terrible because he wins an award and Derek has to talk about his work and Stiles is right there and he probably makes a reference to Stiles as his inspiration and for the rest of the night Stiles introduces himself as Derek’s muse.
Stiles and Derek discovering together they sort of have an exhibitionist kink. Which means less public sex and more like dozens and dozens of GB worth of pictures (and video). And maybe some of Derek’s newest works are slightly more risque than previously.
(one which features a fairly large capture of Stiles just before they both come, Derek sitting on his dick holding the camera. And after, Stiles’ clavicle and neck stripped with come. Derek debated going black and white but the way Stiles’ flushes so red and the color of his eyes half lidded are too beautiful not to share brag about.
Although Derek probably very much regrets showing Stiles how to use photoshop when he comes home one day to find a half decent rendering of a miniature Derek atop a closeup of Stiles’ erect dick.
It’s hanging on the fridge next to the grocery list.
Pro basketball star Derek Hale of the Hollywood Knights has been hinting for months about finding someone special, and the cat is finally out of the bag. In our exclusive interview Derek spoke only the highest of praise for Stiles Stilinski, and somehow turned all topics back to him. The baseball lover seems rather star-struck for the young met man. Stilinski is an up and coming photographer/ videographer who seems to be at the beginning of a successful career.
The two were spotted together on a yacht in LA earlier this week – the couples first public appearance. If the pictures are anything to go by, these two look beyond happy together.
“I’m fine, son,” his dad assures him. “I got a call from Mrs Hudson next door, though.” Stiles can hear the scratch of his dad’s palm against the skin of his jaw, even over the phone. “Apparently there’s a man standing in our front yard?”
Stiles jerks upwards, forgetting that he’s underneath a pretty solid piece of furniture and smacking his head against a desk leg.
“Kid?”
Stiles ignores his dad, and the large black spots floating through his vision, and scuttles over to the window, keeping low. He stops for a second to catch his breath and brace himself, then pops his head over the sill.
Do you think that Draco Malfoy knows he’s in love with Harry Potter? Because I have this head cannon that he doesn’t actually realise until that day in Malfoy Manor when he’s asked to identify him.
At first he tries not to look but of course he recognises Potter from the tiniest glance. He looks hideous, with all that swelling and the shiny red marks all over his face, so distorted that he’s almost indistinguishable. But not to Draco. Because Draco knows those green eyes. He thought he hated them, just like he thought he hated Potter. But just having Potter here surrounded by his family and fellow Death Eaters who surely want to kill him, or at least present him to Voldemort, Draco starts to sweat. “I can’t – I can’t be sure,” he tells them, avoiding Potter’s eyes as best he can, but as soon as he speaks he can feel them boring into him.
It’s not enough. Draco’s father forces him closer so that he’s face to face with Potter, with no way to avoid eye contact now. And Potter is searching Draco’s face, his eyes pleading for Draco not to give him away, asking him, drawing him in. But Draco’s already made up his mind anyway. Because he realises he doesn’t want Harry Potter to die. No Harry Potter can’t die. Because a part of Draco would die with him. It takes the threat of Potter’s death for Draco to finally realise he’s been in love with him this whole time. And despite all the choices Draco has made, all the punches he’s thrown on the other side of the fight, he wants Potter to win.
Draco can’t communicate all that with his eyes of course, but he sees something hopeful and forgiving in Harry’s when he finally answers his father: “I don’t know.”
The words find their way to Harry’s ears easily, the voice
smooth like honey, so dissimilar to the raspy, choked teenage voice Harry
recalls as if it were yesterday. Even so, he knows it’s the same person.
He turns from where he leans at the bar to come face to face
with Draco Malfoy. They haven’t seen each other in years. And it shows. Malfoy
has aged well. Beside him is obviously Pansy Parkinson, although it doesn’t
appear as if the years have affected her at all.
He looks back to Malfoy and smiles at the bored expression
on his face. “What don’t you know?” Harry asks.
Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Why I continue to let Pansy drag me to these
places.” It could easily be the truth if it weren’t for the twitch of his jaw,
giving him away.
Harry wishes he’d been able to eavesdrop earlier and know
the actual truth. Although he knows there’s a reason why it’s those particular
words that he heard above all the music pounding around them.
“What’s so wrong with these
places?”
Malfoy smiles now, or smirks maybe. It’s hard to tell with
such a flawless pointy face. “I often bump into people I know.”
And yet this is the first time Harry’s seen him. Perhaps he’s
been at all the wrong places. Until tonight.
“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Harry offers,
wondering why he’s so eager to make friendly with his childhood rival. But really,
he knows. He tries to pretend. But he knows.
“And that sounds like my queue to leave,” Pansy speaks for
the first time. Harry had forgotten she was there.
Malfoy whispers something to her that sounds suspiciously like:
“Please don’t leave me,” but if it is, Pansy doesn’t listen. She laughs openly
at Malfoy, extracts herself from his grip on her arm and disappears into the
crowd of dancers behind them.
Harry watches Malfoy frown at her retreating back. He’d like
to see the return of that smirk/smile, or more accurately he’d like to be the
cause of it. He takes a breath. “What do you drink?”
Malfoy’s eyes flicker back to Harry, his jaw twitches again.
He ignores the question and strides past Harry to the bar. “Sailor Jerry’s,” he
says to the bartender. “Dry.”
Harry turns back around to the bar and picks up his own
drink – a vodka raspberry. He can tell Malfoy is eyeing him in judgement as he
takes a sip. It’s the only drink sweet enough for him to mask the flavour of
the spirit. He’s not so good with alcohol.
They stand in a silence until Malfoy’s drink arrives. He
takes a long sip and then shifts himself to face Harry completely, one elbow
leaning on the bar counter. “I’ll start,” he says. “I owe you an apology. I’m
not proud of many things in my past, including my treatment of you, both in the
war and at school. There is, of course, no excuse, but if you will allow me to
indulge, I was misguided and….scared. Petrified. Which brings me to my next
point. I also owe you my gratitude. I can’t thank you enough for saving my life
and also saving us all from the Dark – from Voldemort.” Malfoy takes a breath
and then opens his mouth as if to say more, but instead, closes it and takes
another long sip of his drink.
Harry watches Malfoy closely, waiting for the smirk, the
laughter, the punch line. Waiting for himself to wake up and realise it was all
a dream. But no such thing happens.
Malfoy has genuinely apologised to Harry, and thanked him, all in one breath.
And Harry realises it’s what he’s been waiting for all this time. But he still
has one question. The question that has been gnawing at him ever since that day
in Malfoy Manor.
“Why didn’t you give me away?”
Even though it was years ago, Harry doesn’t need to clarify
what he’s referring to. He can see the recognition in Malfoy’s eyes, just as he
did on that day.
Malfoy downs the rest of his drink and places it back down
on the bar gently. His eyes remain on his glass as he responds: “Because I was
in love with you.”
An involuntary outtake of breath falls from Harry’s mouth.
It’s not what he was expecting. He can feel his face heating up. How can Malfoy’s
remain so pale with an admission like that?
“And are you now?” Harry whispers, his voice coming out in an
uncertain waver, as if it were he who were confessing such secrets, instead of
the other way around. “Still in love with me?”
Malfoy looks up from his glass and finally meets Harry’s
eye. His expression is unreadable, and his words are steady as he responds: “I
don’t know.”
The sharp contrast to the teenage iteration of the same
words all those years ago causes Harry to smile. Malfoy’s matured. He’s no
longer the scared boy making all the wrong choices. He’s just a man. One who is
smiling back at Harry now, the expression fitting his face more comfortably
than any smirk or scowl Harry has witnessed on it before. And Merlin, Harry
hopes he can make this man fall in love with him all over again. Only this
time, he’s ready to fall too.
‘You were singing really loudly in the shower when I broke into your apartment but then i heard you slip and crash and oh god i should probably check on you in case i get done for murder instead of just robbery’ AU
It took all of fourteen seconds for Derek to realize he was in the wrong apartment.
First, he noticed the very large and scuffed up sneakers and boots ditched haphazardly kind of near the door but half into the living room. Cora was meticulous about her shoes and kept them neatly arranged in a shoe rack right next to the door. The only time they touched the floor was when her feet were in them.
Second, the stuff. There was so much stuff everywhere; clothes thrown over the back of the couch, dishes across the coffee table and all over the kitchen counters, books on every surface, a gaming console dragging wires across the floor and surrounded by games, in cases and out of them. Cora was an unintentional minimalist, in that she threw out anything she didn’t need and lacked a single sentimental bone in her body. Derek and Laura regularly made trips to wherever she lived to save family keepsakes and memories from her ruthless cleaning sprees.
Then he noticed the manly warble coming from somewhere deeper in the apartment, and Cora’s favorite topic of rant floated lazily to the forefront of his mind.
—but my neighbor, oh my god this guy! I’m going to kill him if I ever see him in the hall! His bathroom shares a wall with my bedroom and he sings in the shower, every shower, at all hours. Literally all hours, like 4am, and he only sings Christmas carols at 4am. I’ve have Jingle Bells stuck in my head for a week!
shealwaysreads 