indelicateink:

The S3 of Teen Wolf that plays in my head. I’m guessing it’s going to be violently jossed.

It hits Derek like a sack of bricks, the exact instant he realizes how fucking in love he is with Stiles. Maybe he’ll look back on this at the end of his life—whenever that happens to be—and remember the moment perfectly, and maybe he won’t; waking up slowly in bed to the soft postdawn light of his bedroom, seeing Stiles so gorgeously silhouetted by the curtained window, dressed in nothing but his underwear and cradling a mug of hot coffee, one leg casually bent, posture so painfully relaxed and innocent of Derek’s gaze. The sight overwhelms Derek in a heartbeat, drowns him in its weight, but if his love is an ocean he’ll never wish for a breath of air again.

All Derek can see is the dark, fuzzy impression of the back of Stiles’s head as he looks quietly out the window at something Derek can only guess at. A private mystery that, like a lot of things, like Derek, now, belongs to Stiles and Stiles alone, that might put a lingering hint of a smile on his lips when he finally—a minute from now, an hour maybe—turns and catches Derek staring. Knowing Stiles, the smile won’t be long for a teasing smirk and some offhand remark about Derek’s creeper tendencies, and then the moment’ll be gone, replaced by flirtatiously traded barbs and maybe a lazy round of wakeup sex. But until then, this Stiles is all his, the long, brushstroke-graceful curve of his broad shoulders down to the sensual dip of his back, the tender handspan of his impossibly narrow waist, the gentle swell of his ass and long lines of his legs, the unspeakably sexy way his skintight briefs cling to his cock and balls. Even the sight of his exaggerated puppy-paw hands and feet, for once motionless and calm, catches Derek’s breath in his chest, details of the body Derek knows so intimately just barely visible against the backdrop of morning sunlight.

He must make a noise of some kind, a gentle releasing of all the things suddenly building behind his breastbone in an unbearable swell of feeling, because Stiles suddenly turns, a minute pivot of hip and shoulder, and he’s looking at Derek with the same serenity he’d reserved for whatever he was watching outside. The smile isthere, but stays quiet and knowing for a drawn-out second as they do nothing but gaze at each other from across the room, Stiles’s expression open and warm and heartbreaking as the steam from his coffee teases tendrils up his jaw that Derek wishes very badly were his fingers, his lips.

It’s almost too subtle for Derek to catch, and would be if he didn’t know Stiles’s face so very, very well, enough to notice the way his mouth and eyes soften just so, a tiny quirk of the lips Derek hopes no other living soul will ever get to see, just him. And he knows, then, that Stiles understands just what he’s thinking, can read all the same things off Derek’s expression as Derek reads in his.

For a second Stiles opens his mouth like he wants to tell him, uncaring as ever that speech isn’t always necessary as long as it makes him happy. And from the gleam of his eyes, it’s clear saying it would bring him no small joy. But then he shuts it again and shakes his head a bit with a smile and a rueful chuckle, takes a step closer and says instead, “Hey,”  low and private, something for Derek and no one else.

And that’s all it takes, that right there, that one word. It’s enough; it’s all he’ll ever need to know. 

queerly-it-is:

bottledminx:

therealfoxxcub:

angelgazing:

HEY! I was just asking for this fic the other day on twitter!

NIC THOSE TAGS ERMAGERD

#Derek Hale as the bottomiest bottom is a thing my heart pines for #okay#because he’d want it #would need to be fucked #would feel cheated by any orgasm that happened without something to clench down on and drag it out #but he’s still Derek #still grumpy #still has no idea how to ask for what he needs #just frowns and hopes Stiles figures it out #and luckily #Derek’s ass is one thing that always has Stiles’ attention

THANK YOU FOXXCUB BECAUSE I WANTED TO DO THAT BUT COULDN’T FIGURE OUT HOW

“You could’ve told me,” Stiles says in a whisper that wraps around the choked moan Derek feels as it stumbles and staggers out of his throat. “Could’ve told me how much you—god, how much you needed it.”

Derek’s fingers shove under the pillow he’s slumped against, feeling like his face is on fire and his body’s being drawn into thin, taut strings that Stiles is tugging on the way he’s tugging on Derek’s hips, pulling him back again and again.

He can’t make himself answer, doesn’t think he could even if he tried. He’s never known how to say it, at least not in any way he thought someone would want to hear.

“Please,” is what he finally does say, without meaning to or even knowing what he’s asking for. Stiles is already giving him this, the perfect hot-full shove of his cock that splits Derek deeper every time he lets his back drop into an almost-painful arch. “Stiles, please.”

Stiles makes a desperate, hungry-sounding noise, like he was punched in the chest mid-moan, and his long fucking perfect fingers, still slick and a little sticky with the lube he’d used to work Derek open he was nearly sobbing, clench tighter and spread wider on his hips.

Derek sucks a breath through the fabric of the pillow that smells of Stiles and now of him, and wishes for bruises with every thought that’s rattling inside his skull.

He shoves back into the motion of Stiles’ body, trying to get more and more of Stiles heat and weight inside him, covering him, as if there’s anything Stiles is holding back. As if Derek had ever had to say it’s okay, I can take this, because Stiles knows he can push and Derek will bear it perfectly. That he’ll take it like he was made for it. Made for Stiles.

“You’re so good,” Stiles tells him, one long, hot breath on a shudder of his ribs that Derek feels against his back. “You’re fucking perfect, Derek.”

Stiles rocks into him harder, pulls back until Derek can feel the head of his dick tugging at the already stretched redness of his hole, slams back again and drives the air out of Derek’s lungs.

“I thought about this,” he hears Stiles say, just barely registering the words over his pulse pounding in his head. “About fucking you. Came all over myself so many times just thinking about seeing you like this.”

His hips snap against Derek’s ass, hands slipping over the jutting bones of his hips, and Derek’s so full, so high on the feeling and smell and sound of all of it, losing his mind and leaving his body. And he still wants more. Still needs.

It’s a fumbling grasp of Stiles’ fingers over his cock that jolts him back into himself, the stretch and slick slide of Stiles still fucking him, taking him, giving him something he still doesn’t know how to ask for. He groans high and broken when Stiles tugs and more fire spreads from his hips, heaviness in his belly and sweat dripping off him onto the sheets.

“Stiles,” he says, because it’s all he can say, all he knows and thinks and wants. “Stiles.”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, leaning over until his lips meet the shape of Derek’s tattoo. More bruises Derek wishes for. “You’re gonna come like this,” more hard-sharp jabs of Stiles’ hips, “just for me,” fingers sloppily tugging at Derek’s dick, playing with the slit where he’s so wet, “with my cock still inside you.”

Derek comes like he’s dying, a long-low groan that’s wrung from him with the pulses of slick white he streaks onto the sheets, over Stiles’ fingers and up onto his chest. He feels Stiles twitch and pulse into him, tries to grip down and feel it more, keep Stiles there as long as he can.

Stiles’ breath is wet and warm on his back, his hand still on Derek’s dick, one of Derek’s awkwardly raised to thread his fingers into Stiles’ hair, touching wherever he can reach.

He didn’t – doesn’t – know how to ask for this.

But he has it now.

And he’s not letting it go.

(Source: michellicopter)

sungreal:

The Belle Brigade – Sweet Louise

Ok, I think It’s better to write it not only in tag.

This is fem!Stiles | Derek