thepsychicclam:

sterek au: fireman!derek and waiter!stiles

happy birthday to my dear friend, attoliancrown. just some fluff to make you smile on your birthday! <3 love you!!!

*

Stiles watches the diner boredly from behind the counter while Lydia reties her apron for the four hundredth time in an attempt to achieve the perfect bow and Allison refills sugar containers. He’s waiting for table 12’s order from Scott and Isaac, and from their laughs floating in from the kitchen, that’s not going to happen soon.

His eyes cut over to the door when the bell jingles, and two ridiculously attractive men walk in. “Mine!” Stiles nearly yells, rushing around the counter before Lydia even has time to look up from her crooked bow.

“Hey, no fair! It’s my turn!” she hisses, and Stiles feels no remorse at all when he stops in front of the table, out of breath and red-faced. The two guys look up at him, and even with the one look of confused amusement and the other of pure disdain, it is so worth it. God, Grumpy Beard is the hottest thing to ever enter this diner. Or maybe enter planet Earth. And, oh god, he’s wearing a fitted black button up uniform shirt like his companion. A fireman. Stiles tries not to pop a boner right there.

“Hey, welcome to Wolf Road Diner. I’m Stiles, I’ll be taking care of all of your needs, well, food wise, I mean, um…would you like anything to drink?” Stiles flicks his pen nervously against his pad, his face burning with embarrassment. Grumpy Beard’s friend, who is only slightly less attractive, gives him a creepy closed-lipped smile. Grumpy Beard looks like he wants to murder Stiles in his sleep.

“Two waters, and two burger plates,” he says, and wow, that voice is not what Stiles expected. It’s almost…soft. As Stiles nods and takes the scribbled order to the window, he briefly imagines what it’d sound like in his ear, with the fireman’s long hot

“You ass!” Lydia slaps his arm, hard. “That was my table, and you know it!”

“Lydia, I…I had to. Did you see the dark-haired one? He’s like every wet dream I’ve ever had come to life. After this, I’ll have spank bank material for at least two months.”

Lydia wrinkles her nose. “Ew, Stiles, really? You’re disgusting. I don’t know why I talk to you.”

“You love me, shut up.”

Stiles manages to not embarrass himself in front of Grumpy Beard and Hot Friend, and he learns that Vernon Milton Boyd IV is the friend, and Grumpy Beard is a caveman who is afraid of debit cards. But he leaves Stiles a four dollar tip on an eight dollar meal, so Grumpy can stay in the stone age for all Stiles cares. Plus, stone age means no shirt, score.

*

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hatteress:

maichan808:

teenwuffs:



Dean hisses as the ropes pull tight. Professional tight. Chick knows what she’s doing. “You mind?” Miss Bondage thins her lips. “Not at all.” One final yank and Dean’s tied to the chair so damn well he might as well have grown there. Sam grunts, secured just as tightly beside him. “This is not generally how you ask someone for help.” “Yeah, well,” Stilinski says, snapping his phone shut as he rejoins the group. “We don’t have time for niceties.” 

- Hold the Door (Teen Wolf/SPN, Sterek fic) by Hatteress &amp; Maichan

After reading this excellent Teen Wolf/Supernatural crossover fic, I was dying to draw the Beacon Hills pack getting the jump on the Winchesters, so I did! Upon re-reading the scene, my drawing really looks nothing like the way the it’s written, but hey! What I would pay for an actual Teen Wolf/Supernatural episode (that everyone survives, of course)..! ;)

OMG, I LOVE IT! I totally wanted to draw this scene but ran out of time, so I’m absolutely thrilled you did it.

OH MY GOD

hatteress:

maichan808:

teenwuffs:

Dean hisses as the ropes pull tight. Professional tight. Chick knows what she’s doing. “You mind?”

Miss Bondage thins her lips. “Not at all.”

One final yank and Dean’s tied to the chair so damn well he might as well have grown there.

Sam grunts, secured just as tightly beside him. “This is not generally how you ask someone for help.”

“Yeah, well,” Stilinski says, snapping his phone shut as he rejoins the group. “We don’t have time for niceties.”

- Hold the Door (Teen Wolf/SPN, Sterek fic) by Hatteress & Maichan

After reading this excellent Teen Wolf/Supernatural crossover fic, I was dying to draw the Beacon Hills pack getting the jump on the Winchesters, so I did! Upon re-reading the scene, my drawing really looks nothing like the way the it’s written, but hey! What I would pay for an actual Teen Wolf/Supernatural episode (that everyone survives, of course)..! ;)

OMG, I LOVE IT! I totally wanted to draw this scene but ran out of time, so I’m absolutely thrilled you did it.

OH MY GOD

image

HEY here's something to distract you: there's a post going around, a gifset of do'b kissing (which maDE ME DIE OUT OF PURE RAGE HOW DARE HE) and helenish started something where Derek is pretty experienced with /sex/ but not /kissing/ whereas Stiles hasn't had a dick up his butt (yet) but makes out with everyone aaaand guess what you need to finish it ok i need detAILED MAKEOUT SCENES ASAP PLS COFFEE I NEED IT.

frostyaussie

coffeeinallcaps:

inspired by: (x), (x)

NEXT WEEK ON TEEN WOLF:

“I’m gonna make out with every single person at this damn party,” Stiles says, and that’s— that’s pretty much what happens, actually, much to his own bewilderment, because until Heather and that vaguely confusing moment with Lydia a while ago he’d been pure as the driven snow. Also because he’d been joking, more or less, three beers in and determined to make this a night to remember, preferably one lacking in the nightmare and/or werecoyote and/or mass murderer department. He hadn’t actually expected anyone to—

Never mind, though, ’cause it turns out he’s actually pretty good at this. Might even have somewhat of a gift, if he’s to believe the girl who sits behind him in math class. “You really grew into your looks, Stilinski,” someone else, might’ve been Greenberg, slurs into his ear, and even Danny straightens up to squint at Stiles incredulously before moving back in for seconds.

(Allison simply lifts an eyebrow and says, “No.”)

Stiles is about to look for Scott to inform him of this newfound talent when a hand wraps around his upper arm and tugs, dragging him all the way across the crowded room and into the hallway. When Stiles twists around he comes face to face with Derek Hale, who looks tired and unshaven and supremely pissed-off.

“What the hell,” Derek says, voice low and tight, “is going on here.”

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new fic: what you got, boy, is hard to find

ladyofthelog:

what you got, boy, is hard to find (2611 words) by lazulisong, verity
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Melissa McCall
Additional Tags: Asexuality, ace people in lurv, nothing happens and then they have tea, Napping, Cuddling & Snuggling
Summary:

Everything was so much simpler in his head. U + ME = NAP, CUDDLE-YOU-LUST, something like that.

LAZULISONG AND I WROTE YOU A THING

GUYS Verity and Lazulisong WROTE ME A STORY.  sakdfljlkfj This is so humbling. ;~;

And it is FULL of warm snuggles and cuddles and beautifulness. ;~;  Also it’s a really amazing fic about asexuality and there are not enough fics that explore it!  It’s wonderful so please go read it!

scoutsxhonor:

febricant:

drunktuesdaze:


TTwice at Days of The Wolf

Anyone can feel free to write me a story where everyone has to go to the Pacific Northwest Werewolf Symposium and Derek explains it would be BAD FORM for an Alpha to turn up without a mate, especially the ONLY TRUE ALPHA IN A HUNDRED YEARS, and its not like Scott can bring KIRA because duhhhh foxes and wolves don’t get along.  Stiles sucks in a breath because he loves this shit, he’s gonna get his FAKE BOYFRIEND on when Derek says, quiet, “I can—you know, stand in.”
"That’s fantastic," Kira beams happily, hugs Derek tightly.  Scott claps him on the back, thanks him until the back of Derek’s neck turns red. Fine, Stiles thinks, whatever.  He’s still gonna be Scott’s best man someday, he verifies this at least once a week.  Best bros forever.  
But then the whole experience fucks with him.  Derek is a great fake boyfriend.  He’s solicitous, brings Scott drinks when he gets his own, guides Scott with light fingers when they’re walking.  Stiles watches, infuriated, when Scott points out the photobooth, drags a laughing Derek over to pose.  
He’s gonna kill him.  Both of them.  This is terrible.  Who is he even jealous of?

Clearly, he figures out after a tearful drunken night at a bar with Lydia, once they get back, and he can’t stop THINKING about how they didn’t seem forced, how Derek let himself get dragged into the photobooth with good grace and Scott looked so happy, because everyone was getting along, they weren’t supposed to be- 
"Stiles," Lydia cuts in, bored enough to be twirling her straw in her fingers, staring at him in that way she does sometimes which he’s come to realise means she thinks he’s being deliberately obtuse. "It’s the twenty-first century, you know."
Stiles pays the tab, because that it the only polite thing to do when your friend tells you to go in for a threesome. “But- but they’re terrible, it’s terrible, they’re just- what if it’s not- what if I’m not-“
Lydia rolls her eyes and confiscates his keys, shaking them theatrically. “Whoops, looks like you need a ride.”
He does, Stiles thinks mournfully to himself. He does need a ride. 

When he gets home, though, Derek is there. With Scott. And they’re dancing.
Scott is leading, twirling Derek in wide, useless circles around their apartment’s living room floor to something twangy playing over the speakers. They’re both pink-cheeked from laughing, flushed and happy and easy with one another, and something rises tight and high in the back of Stiles’ throat. 
"Hey man!" Scott calls when he stumbles through the door. "Seemed like a waste to do all that practicing for just a weekend, you know?" He spins Derek out dramatically. "And you know this one just loves a good twirl." Derek smiles at Stiles, something sweet and almost curious in it, before Scott spins him back in. "C’mon," Scott says. "You want to take a turn?"
Stiles doesn’t know what he wants, exactly, but it seems easy, just then, to wriggle his way in between their bodies, hooking his chin over Scott’s shoulder and leaning into the warmth of Derek, broad and solid at his back. Their arms come up around him automatically: it’s been a long time since he was the nogitsune, since they all had to learn their way back to one another with careful hands. 
Scott slips a palm up to Stiles’ waist, sneaking under the hem of his shirt. “Yeah,” Stiles mumbles. “G’head.” Scott can’t leach drunkenness as effectively as pain, but it’s almost as good as a quesadilla and a glass of cold water: clears his head, lessens the severity of tomorrow’s hangover. Boozy warmth is replaced by something hot and wanting, all the sharp parts of himself that Stiles has been smoothing over for years.
He’s known Scott forever, and they’re— good, they’re fine, they learned how to do this together, it’s not no homo so much as that Stiles loves Scott so much one way that there isn’t room for anything else, anything all that complicated. He feels mischievous and light, darting his tongue out to lick the sharp corner of Scott’s jaw, the unevenness of him that Stiles has always loved best.
Scott gets it because he always does: he kisses Stiles without hesitation, playful and earnest. Behind him Derek’s grasp on Stiles’ hip flashes tight before withdrawing, and Stiles is deeply, eternally grateful that he and Scott have been in a mind-meld since they were five because Scott reaches out past him to stay Derek and pull him in close again.
"I mean," Scott says, when he pulls away long enough to talk. His mouth is red and spit-slick and he looks well-loved, which is how he should always look. "Only if you want to." Stiles can’t see Derek’s face but he can feel him, indecisive at his back, tense in a way that means he wants or doesn’t want— badly.
"This is about you guys," he says. "You don’t have to."
Scott laughs. “Not really.” Stiles can feel his arm moving as he strokes the hand on Derek’s shoulder down his arm, gentle, careful. “We don’t usually. Um. This isn’t like a normal thing for us.”
"Stiles?" Derek is so close that Stiles can feel his breath across the back of his neck, and that’s— kissing Derek is crossing about a hundred lines and breaking more rules, it’s setting himself up for catastrophe, come morning, but it’s worse if Derek thinks he doesn’t want— because he does, of course he— Stiles turns around before he can think about it any harder and loops his arms around Derek’s neck. 
He can’t remember the last time he was this careful about kissing someone. Usually it’s all adrenaline, having waited until he can’t wait a minute more. Now it’s all slow and quiet and certain, Derek tilting his head and letting his eyes fall closed. That’s what hooks Stiles and tugs him the rest of the way in, the trust in it, the way Derek stands there, a stupidly handsome prince, just three-day stubble and the darkness of his lashes, waiting for it, patient and unafraid. 
(Scott’s perfectly happy to take them both to bed, to watch Derek’s hands trembling on Stiles’ hips, the sloppy desperate kissing as they rut against one another like there isn’t anything else to need, happy to pull Derek back against him and hold him still while Stiles touches himself, dark-eyed and almost too far gone. “He’s gorgeous like this, isn’t he,” he murmurs in Derek’s ear, and Derek nods frantically, and Scott kisses him and kisses Stiles until all three of them are boneless together, sated, a sleepy pack curled up together for the night.)

scoutsxhonor:

febricant:

drunktuesdaze:

TTwice at Days of The Wolf

Anyone can feel free to write me a story where everyone has to go to the Pacific Northwest Werewolf Symposium and Derek explains it would be BAD FORM for an Alpha to turn up without a mate, especially the ONLY TRUE ALPHA IN A HUNDRED YEARS, and its not like Scott can bring KIRA because duhhhh foxes and wolves don’t get along.  Stiles sucks in a breath because he loves this shit, he’s gonna get his FAKE BOYFRIEND on when Derek says, quiet, “I can—you know, stand in.”

"That’s fantastic," Kira beams happily, hugs Derek tightly.  Scott claps him on the back, thanks him until the back of Derek’s neck turns red. Fine, Stiles thinks, whatever.  He’s still gonna be Scott’s best man someday, he verifies this at least once a week.  Best bros forever.  

But then the whole experience fucks with him.  Derek is a great fake boyfriend.  He’s solicitous, brings Scott drinks when he gets his own, guides Scott with light fingers when they’re walking.  Stiles watches, infuriated, when Scott points out the photobooth, drags a laughing Derek over to pose.  

He’s gonna kill him.  Both of them.  This is terrible.  Who is he even jealous of?

Clearly, he figures out after a tearful drunken night at a bar with Lydia, once they get back, and he can’t stop THINKING about how they didn’t seem forced, how Derek let himself get dragged into the photobooth with good grace and Scott looked so happy, because everyone was getting along, they weren’t supposed to be- 

"Stiles," Lydia cuts in, bored enough to be twirling her straw in her fingers, staring at him in that way she does sometimes which he’s come to realise means she thinks he’s being deliberately obtuse. "It’s the twenty-first century, you know."

Stiles pays the tab, because that it the only polite thing to do when your friend tells you to go in for a threesome. “But- but they’re terrible, it’s terrible, they’re just- what if it’s not- what if I’m not-“

Lydia rolls her eyes and confiscates his keys, shaking them theatrically. “Whoops, looks like you need a ride.”

He does, Stiles thinks mournfully to himself. He does need a ride. 

When he gets home, though, Derek is there. With Scott. And they’re dancing.

Scott is leading, twirling Derek in wide, useless circles around their apartment’s living room floor to something twangy playing over the speakers. They’re both pink-cheeked from laughing, flushed and happy and easy with one another, and something rises tight and high in the back of Stiles’ throat. 

"Hey man!" Scott calls when he stumbles through the door. "Seemed like a waste to do all that practicing for just a weekend, you know?" He spins Derek out dramatically. "And you know this one just loves a good twirl." Derek smiles at Stiles, something sweet and almost curious in it, before Scott spins him back in. "C’mon," Scott says. "You want to take a turn?"

Stiles doesn’t know what he wants, exactly, but it seems easy, just then, to wriggle his way in between their bodies, hooking his chin over Scott’s shoulder and leaning into the warmth of Derek, broad and solid at his back. Their arms come up around him automatically: it’s been a long time since he was the nogitsune, since they all had to learn their way back to one another with careful hands. 

Scott slips a palm up to Stiles’ waist, sneaking under the hem of his shirt. “Yeah,” Stiles mumbles. “G’head.” Scott can’t leach drunkenness as effectively as pain, but it’s almost as good as a quesadilla and a glass of cold water: clears his head, lessens the severity of tomorrow’s hangover. Boozy warmth is replaced by something hot and wanting, all the sharp parts of himself that Stiles has been smoothing over for years.

He’s known Scott forever, and they’re— good, they’re fine, they learned how to do this together, it’s not no homo so much as that Stiles loves Scott so much one way that there isn’t room for anything else, anything all that complicated. He feels mischievous and light, darting his tongue out to lick the sharp corner of Scott’s jaw, the unevenness of him that Stiles has always loved best.

Scott gets it because he always does: he kisses Stiles without hesitation, playful and earnest. Behind him Derek’s grasp on Stiles’ hip flashes tight before withdrawing, and Stiles is deeply, eternally grateful that he and Scott have been in a mind-meld since they were five because Scott reaches out past him to stay Derek and pull him in close again.

"I mean," Scott says, when he pulls away long enough to talk. His mouth is red and spit-slick and he looks well-loved, which is how he should always look. "Only if you want to." Stiles can’t see Derek’s face but he can feel him, indecisive at his back, tense in a way that means he wants or doesn’t want— badly.

"This is about you guys," he says. "You don’t have to."

Scott laughs. “Not really.” Stiles can feel his arm moving as he strokes the hand on Derek’s shoulder down his arm, gentle, careful. “We don’t usually. Um. This isn’t like a normal thing for us.”

"Stiles?" Derek is so close that Stiles can feel his breath across the back of his neck, and that’s— kissing Derek is crossing about a hundred lines and breaking more rules, it’s setting himself up for catastrophe, come morning, but it’s worse if Derek thinks he doesn’t want— because he does, of course he— Stiles turns around before he can think about it any harder and loops his arms around Derek’s neck. 

He can’t remember the last time he was this careful about kissing someone. Usually it’s all adrenaline, having waited until he can’t wait a minute more. Now it’s all slow and quiet and certain, Derek tilting his head and letting his eyes fall closed. That’s what hooks Stiles and tugs him the rest of the way in, the trust in it, the way Derek stands there, a stupidly handsome prince, just three-day stubble and the darkness of his lashes, waiting for it, patient and unafraid. 

(Scott’s perfectly happy to take them both to bed, to watch Derek’s hands trembling on Stiles’ hips, the sloppy desperate kissing as they rut against one another like there isn’t anything else to need, happy to pull Derek back against him and hold him still while Stiles touches himself, dark-eyed and almost too far gone. “He’s gorgeous like this, isn’t he,” he murmurs in Derek’s ear, and Derek nods frantically, and Scott kisses him and kisses Stiles until all three of them are boneless together, sated, a sleepy pack curled up together for the night.)