affectingly:

Then I can tease a little with the fic that’s supposed to go with this beautiful piece of smut:

Derek/Stiles NSFW, mildly dubious consent (they both want it but neither of them ever SAY they want it and Stiles wants to pretend he doesn’t at all).
—

Derek’s mouth is hot, slick suction that will probably leave a bruise. His stubble drags against Stiles’ skin, burning it, and Stiles should be annoyed, he shouldn’t be getting hard. Because he’s not — he doesn’t belong to Derek. He’s not Derek’s to mark.

“Cut it out! I’m not wearing a scarf in June,” shouts Stiles. He shoves against him, and Stiles may be his own kind of unstoppable force but Derek is definitely an immovable fucking object. 

Derek just growls and — and then he’s tipping his head and dragging his forehead against Stiles’ neck, nudging Stiles’ chin up so he can rub the sweat gathering on his brow against Stiles’ throat.

And Stiles has never been more pissed off and turned on at the same time. “You possessive goddamn jerk! I do not need all your little beta brats thinking I’m claimed territory.”

“You think they’re going to notice a little sweat, Stiles?” Derek’s mouth is back up near his ear, his hands closing around Stiles’ wrists and pinning them to Stiles’ sides. “When I’m done with you, you’re going to smell like you’re mine from the inside out. You won’t be able to get rid of my scent for a month.”

Stiles’ breath stutters out of his lungs, tripping over itself to leave him dizzy and gasping for air. His cock throbs in his pants and he rides Derek’s leg shamelessly, needing to relieve the awful wave of lust Derek’s words send over him. He’s drowning in it.

He twists his wrists against Derek’s grip but eagerly meets his mouth when Derek finally kisses him. He wishes he could tell himself this isn’t what he wanted from the moment he let himself stay behind tonight.

But he can’t even tell Derek that because when Derek releases one of his wrists and slides his fingers into Stiles’ pocket, they both know he’s going to find the little packet of lube Stiles stashed there. Derek smirks down at him, smug and full of himself while Stiles’ whole face feels too hot. 

“You want to tell me again how you’re not mine, Stiles?”

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “Just because I like getting fucked doesn’t mean I like you. Maybe I’ll go, see if Jackson wants to do the honors instead.”

It’s a horrible bluff and it’s not fooling either of them, but it still results in Derek’s eyes flashing and his claws lengthening, scraping against Stiles as he abruptly pulls back and yanks Stiles around. He shoves him down hard, Stiles’ shirt bunching up and one of Derek’s hands vice-like on his neck, holding him in place. The other is fumbling at his zipper and Stiles can’t hold back the shiver that skates up his spine.

HAPPY DEREK/STILES WEEK, EVERYONE! And Happy Monday! <3

/on the floor

/dead

Oh my god. Jaysus woman, if this is what I get for drawing this….Then I guess I need to draw more of that…