#tcats wips

[teencopandthesourwolf]

WIP WEDNESDAY

i was tagged by the ridiculously talented @dear-massacre—thanks alex! you can check out their delicious offering HERE.

my snippet is (yet another) random wip i started earlier today after seeing a brilliant gifset that i've queued; it's a collection of stiles scenes where he says "yes, thank you, i'm aware” to various characters. working title is 'Lickyface' lmao.

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“And that, my furry friend, is a true fact. Pretty crazy, huh? Like, who the hell thought, let's create all these different species of creatures but make humans the only ones to have chins?” 

Derek glares, unblinking. Then flatly says, “You are so fucking weird.”

Stiles grits his teeth before glancing back up at said furry friend, praying that he reeks of the ennui and despair he feels towards that particularly familiar statement. Just in case, he schools his features into his best Insert Bored Spongebob Gif Here face, looking just to the left of the werewolves' unfairly pretty eyes for the optimum effect. 

“Yes, sourwolf, I am well aware of what the popular opinion is on yours truly, fuck you very much. Believe me, my derogatory oddball status really isn't any sort of revelation to me.” 

Whatever, he needs to focus. He hasn't picked a lock in a while but he's almost got it. It's like riding a bike, right? Just a liiiiiittle while longer and they should be inside the high school's indoor basketball court.

Illegal activity, yay! Must be a Tuesday. 

“Didn't say it was a bad thing,” Derek then answers, quietly, and Stiles thinks sorry what now?  He almost spits it out loud because seriously, is that really Derek McCunty Hale being nice to Spazboi Stilinski?

God, he really fucking hopes it's not witches.

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tagging, play or nay: @shealynn88 @greyhavenisback @dontcallpanic @raisesomehale @hedwig221b @violetfairydust @seaweed-water @superfluffycam-blog @heavensenthale @renmackree @rosieposiepuddingnpie @evanesdust and anyone else who wants to join in and do the thing, feel free to say i tagged you xp

[owl-by-night]

I've just finished watching series 12, so I'd like to hear about your Post series 12 WIP!

So this is the sequel for To Catch a Thief that shifts the events of series 12 into 1956 (because damn you timeloop *shakes fist*). That means starting with Monty, Felicia and Flambeau in a relationship with each other and trying to reconcile it with canon, particularly the Flambeau and Felicia episodes and the final episode. 

I’ll put the rest under a cut for spoilers and angst!

The shift in timeline means that after TCAT ends, Hercule’s mental health is going to take a hit round about the anniversary of his father’s death. He’s got a fair few complicated feelings about it all and, I think, is now safe enough to actually process some of them. Here’s a tiny snippet from the beginning where he’s starting to fall apart but still pretending to be fine:

It started with nothing. Nothing. 

Just a man who looked like his father on the streets of Paris. The split second double take, the jolt in his stomach like missing a step on the stairs. A moment gone in a flash. 

The man was nothing like his father really. 

He cut himself shaving and when he looked down at the smear of red on his hand he felt his heart beating faster and faster for no good reason at all. 

Did I mention this was going to be angstier than the original? I promise there’s still a happy ending to all this, but in the meantime I’m sliding fic into the gap between the church and the hospital scenes in Cup of Calabria, acknowledging that there’s a lot happening between being supposedly fatally stabbed and being well enough to sit up and entertain visitors in your pjs. All of which puts Monty and Felicia through the wringer, but may go some way to explaining what’s going on with Felicia later on. 

Another little snippet from the hospital where Hercule is still in a very bad way. Very angsty. 

“Just a little, mind, until the doctor has seen you,” said the nurse. “And don’t try to sit up: let one of your friends help you.”

“Thank you,” said Hercule, his voice rasping in his dry throat. 

“Thank you, nurse.” Monty held the door for her as she left. 

“Would you like to drink some now,” Felicia asked, “if I hold it for you?” She felt awkward offering: she’d never tried to do such a thing for someone before. Too like the sort of nursing she had always said she was incapable of. 

“Let me help,” said Monty and he lifted Hercule’s head a little so she could hold the glass against his lips. 

Hercule sipped. She felt clumsy with the glass, unsure of when she should take it away. Utterly out of her depth. The effort of drinking seemed to tire him and he flopped against the pillows. A little of the water had spilt, running down his chin and he didn’t even try to wipe it away. The helplessness of it terrified her. 

“Do you want to sleep?” She perched on the side of his bed, in defiance of hospital rules, and wiped the water away with her handkerchief. 

“Not yet.” He groped for her hand. “I wanted to tell you. To explain…”

“It’s alright. Really darling. It’s all perfectly alright.”

“I didn’t… I promise I wasn’t running away.” His eyes flicked anxiously between them and Monty made reassuring noises, his hand squeezing Hercule’s shoulder. 

Felicia could have wept, but that hardly mattered. “We know. I promise you, we know.” 

It feels particularly evil to leave it there but I promise there will be a happy ending to this! I refuse to let canon sink my ship even by implication :D

[teencopandthesourwolf]

ahh, thanks @princecharmingwinks! i actually got tagged in this a few weeks ago, so here's THE LINK to the post (on my main) bc there are just waaaay too many, lol.

imma tag, play or nay: anyone who wants play :)

WIP Tag Game

Rules: I will post all the names of all the files in my WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as I have WIPs to do the same. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it.

Thanks for the tag @pray-for-sound ! A lot of these WIPs are actually because I’ve started making moodboards for current and upcoming events.

WIPs

File 427746377: Derek Hale

Remember me

Sterek bookstore AU

Flying (high) Fox

Bean Expecting You

Triskelion Dynasty

Fighter pilot

Promise that all you say is true

Stay stay stay

Feel free to ask any questions you like! <3 (If you want to!). 

Tagging (I’m not sure who has already played so feel free to ignore if so / if you don’t want to!): @novemberhush @teencopandthesourwolf @radio-chatter @elisela @softranswolves @eusuntgratie @wolfflock @amatchinwater

[lovebugism]

I check your acc every day to see if there's new The Customer's Always Right 👀🤭 (this isn't to pressure you, just love the series and love you!!)

ahh omg i'm so sorry anon! i know the feeling, it can be kinda insufferable sometimes! i haven't been updating super regularly because 1.) writer's block is a bitch and 2.) i don't think people will care too much abt the series to want regular updates

but everyone's been showing the series a lot of love lately and i plan on turning all my attention to tcat when i'm done with the wip i'm working on right now!

there should be a part five out by next week, since this week i'm gonna post my steve harrington fic bc i did a poll and people wanted that first <3

thanks for checking in anon! ily!

tldr; sorry for taking so long to update tcat, part 5 is coming next week, stay tuned for my steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader in the meantime!

[imsfire2]

Hi! I feel guilty about not yet starting to read The city and the sea. I have this thing of "not wanting to be spoiled", since I sort of wanted to read it like a novel, like how i read By stardust and moonlight. Right now, TCATS is in it's 11th chapter, do you have an idea how long this fic will be? And I sort of wanted to also let you know that I am subscribed to TCATS and that I'm reading BSAM again in preparation for TCATS. Just dropping by to show my love and support

Hello!  I don’t known when you wrote this, I just got a bunch of notifications this afternoon out of the blue.  It must have been a couple of weeks ago as the story is now on chapter 13.  So I’m really sorry not to have replied sooner!

The plot development aspect is slower-paced in this one; we;ve just had our first moment of real drama.  I reckon it’s probably going to run to a similar length overall as “By stardust and moonlight”, i.e. approx 40 chapters.  So it should keep me going for most of the year.  Sorry for the wait.

Kudos to you for holding on and reading only completed works!  I used to do that but then I slipped up, and got addicted to the peculiar pleasure of waiting for cliffhangers to be resolved in assorted WiPs.

Love and support much appreciated, thank you very much!!  And all love and support back to you! xx

Thank you for writing!

[botherkupo]

Dunno if you’re still looking but I’ve been enjoying these WIPs at the moment

More than words by @zimtlein . This one is adrinette fake dating snd has a nice balance of humor and angst. Is so wonderfully in character snd I’m super excited whenever it updates (also highly recommend Spark, which is complete)

Citrus and lavender by @heartfulselkie this one is an enemies au but Adrien and Marinette still feel in character, which makes me really happy. It’s definitely angsty but I’m enjoying it

Home base by @gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights fun shenanigans with the super hero team. Good platonic stuff all around and nice ladynoir and djwifi

Tell me something I don’t know by @carpisuns probably the only soulmate au I enjoy that isn’t a crack parody jfhvh. It’s really good and well worth reading

A breath of fresh air by @trashcatontherooftop this has some of the best Marichat for me. Tcat just gets that balance of platonic buddies with potential romantic vibes. I love every chapter, and now it has some angstier plot coming in which I’m very 👀 at

Lace or leather by @ominousunflower I think this one might be on hiatus right now but it’s still a good read. It’s the sequel to another story but you don’t have to have read that one (though I still recommend it)

@rosekasa is also always posting new oneshots (which I really need to catch up on, but I highly recommend her writing). @emsylcatac also has a lot of good stuff

Hope this helps 😊

any fic recs? 👀

[teencopandthesourwolf]

writing a derek “i am so full of shame” hale self-loving smut fic featuring stiles stilinski's red hoodie is just sooooo fucking delicious istg he's like a catholic nun getting off with a statue of the virgin mary lol

[teencopandthesourwolf]

LAST LINE TAG GAME

POST THE LAST LINE YOU WROTE AND TAG A BLOG FOR EACH WORD

thanks for my tag @violetfairydust! here's mine...

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His eyes flush a neon blood-red, the glare from them illuminating Stiles' elfin features in the creeping gloom.

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i am not tagging 300 blogs just bc í sometimes enjoy a run-on sentence lmao but i will tag (play or nay): @shealynn88 @raisesomehale @dontcallpanic @dear-massacre @hedwig221b @seaweed-water @isthatbloodonhisshirt @blue-eyedbeta @fuji09 @superfluffycam-blog @rosieposiepuddingnpie @outtoshatter @renmackree @endwersed and anybody else who wants to do the thing!

[teencopandthesourwolf]

SNIPPET SUNDAY

tagged by the lovely @outtoshatter to take part. but it's monday! i hear you cry... yeah, sue me. this is a stiles's-perpetually-open-bedroom-window sterek wip fic that is growing incredibly s l o w l y but growing none the less.

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"I'm gonna buy you a bell to wear around that thick neck of yours, 'wolf," Stiles threatens, and thinks he might actually mean it.

"You'd have to buy me a collar, first."

And—what?

Maybe Stiles isn't actually awake yet.

He thought he heard the sourwolf making a dog joke. Actually, forget the canine inclusion, that part doesn't even matter...

Derek Hale just made a joke.

Stiles must look incredulous as fuck because Derek's face softens a little. Hell, the big guy almost smiles, his smooth lips twitching adorably.

Stiles's frazzled brain needle scratches dramatically.

Then, it backtracks a little.

"Wait, how did you know I was having a nightmare?" he asks, momentarily puzzled. He wipes a clammy arm across his clammy face, waiting for his mind to whirr into action.

Derek must've—

Oh.

"Dude, were you hanging around outside my window?"

Derek looks shifty.

Well, shiftier than usual.

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tagging, play or nay: @shealynn88 @sharkfish @novemberhush @greyhavenisback @ohhalefire @jmeelee @wolfspurr @nerdherderette and any others i can't think of rn that i should be tagging plus anybody else at all who wants to do the thing; just feel free to say i tagged you xp

[teencopandthesourwolf]

LAST LINE TAG GAME

POST THE LAST LINE YOU WROTE AND TAG FOR EACH WORD!

i was tagged by the ever lovely @hedwig221b—fanks, love! you can see their last line post here.

mine's from a stiles POV sister piece to my recent fic which is an odd little beast called 'event horizon' that you can read here if you're interested...

He suddenly really wants Derek and The Wolf to sink their fangs into him, like a hot knife through cannabis bud—and Jesus Christus, he is fucked.

lol i'm not tagging 26 ppl or whatever i just counted, so here are a few tags for a few people—play or nay, as always—some old faves and some i've only just learned are writing for teen wolf #deep excitement:

@shealynn88 @greyhavenisback @raisesomehale @dear-massacre @dontcallpanic @isthatbloodonhisshirt @seaweed-water @superfluffycam-blog @heavensenthale @rosieposiepuddingnpie @jmeelee @violetfairydust

[teencopandthesourwolf]

FUCK IT FRIDAY

i was tagged by the lovely @demonicfaerie (thanks, fae!) to share a current WIP so here's some of a mild blood kink slash beta shift derek slash frotting in the forest PWP kind of fic. it has the terribly imaginative working title of 'BLOODY MONSTER FUCKER STILES FULL MOON FIC' lmao.

this excerpt is SFW.

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It's a balmy Tuesday evening in April when Derek realises he wants to taste Stiles's blood.

The notion comes to him not as some strange intrusive thought, or a guilty dream, or Anne Rice-induced moment of madness, but at the first scent and sight of it trickling down pale wrist bone and two large knuckles, to then drip from the tips of the boy's spider leg fingers.

Having neutralised the threat of what they thought might be a Vigilantes Oscuros but actually turned out to be a rogue Nagual, and once Derek satisfies himself by checking over and scenting the rest of the pack who are thankfully all mostly unscathed, he stalks over to where Stiles is standing, his chest heaving with the aftermath of their victory.

“Hey, big guy, d'you wanna—”

He trails off when Derek takes the bleeding arm in both of his hands. He lifts Stiles's shirt sleeve and—sighing with relief at the injury being merely a flesh wound—begins to syphon off most of Stiles's pain.

Stiles answers by sighing his own breath of relief.

Derek hesitates, for one thrilling moment, before he's opening his mouth—only to quickly close it again as he clamps it around the sticky mess of Stiles's skin, Alpha-gaze never leaving big, brown Bambi eyes shining with the godly reflection of a full moon.

Stiles's mouth forms an ‘O’ shape and, surprisingly, the only other thing he has to offer Derek is an uncharacteristically quiet and breathy “Oh.” Derek boldly takes it as permission to start sucking at Stiles's skin with wild abandon, delighting at the gooey texture and unique flavour of the blood overwhelming his tongue and taste buds and feelings.

It's all at once that he hears Isaac’s wolf-whistle and Scott's, “Ew!” and Allison's, “Um?” and Lydia's, “Told you,” that she aims at Jackson, who just scoffs, and Derek doesn't need to be looking at Boyd to know that Boyd is looking at Erica to try and convince her not to say, “You owe me twenty dollars, babe,” smug as all fuck, which she obviously says anyway.

Derek growls, loud enough to feel Stiles's trembling in his teeth and for the rest of the gossipy pack to shuffle off through the trees before Derek can threaten to make them shuffle off this mortal coil if they don't.

Stiles's ever-sharp eyes—which had been darting faster than the dragonflies buzzing down by the lake, his gaze landing on one wolf, and then the next, as Derek's irritating pack let their irritating thoughts on the situation be irritatingly known—now find their way back to Derek's.

Derek is watching Stiles carefully. He's transfixed, actually, has been for the entirety of the exchange. Honestly, he doesn't think he could look away if he tried.

Bronze eyes blown wide, Stiles now licks at unbearably pink lips, slowly, his cheeks doing their best to match the hue.

Taking the action for what he hopes it is, Derek starts to suckle at the boy's skin some more, sampling his prize. After a moment he pauses, to swallow down the pool of tangy red gathered underneath his tongue.

Then he knows, deliciously knows, that Stiles's treacly blood tastes of sodium and iron, yes, but also like fresh earth and morning dew drops and mine.

Noticing that the kid's heart has picked up the pace to a speed even more Springbok than usual, Derek releases the vacuum of his claret-tinged lips with a resonating pop. The sound echoes defiantly around the small glade in the northern part of the preserve they're standing in, and Derek's wants to prance and preen.

The moon sings to him as he waits, impatiently, preparing to be challenged on what the human likely thinks of as shockingly beastly behaviour.

Only Stiles doesn't challenge it.

He doesn't say anything at all, weirdly, opting instead to brutally gnaw some more on that unbearably plump bottom lip, shiny eyes misting over as his chemo-signals spike and morph into something smoky-sweet, something that reminds Derek of incense and trailing mandevilla and sex.

Derek's vision shudders for a beat as his synapses fire ten to the dozen, causing his eyes to flash impossibly redder than red, the glare from them illuminating Stiles's elfin features in the gloom.

He looks, and feels, like magick.

With mouth watering and gums tingling, Derek perceives Stiles's inaction to mean he's maybe allowed to do the thing he really fucking wants to. Thinking fuck it, he decides to try his luck.

He hesitantly starts to lick, cleaning up the scarlet streaks staining Stiles's milky skin.

The boy's mouth falls open for a breathy sound to punch its way out of what Derek is now considering an incredibly biteable throat, and he smells only of pure desire.

Emboldened by these things, Derek starts lapping away in earnest at the trails of spilt blood, in long and deliberate strokes, flattened tongue running up and down, up and down, washing clean lean muscle and dark hair and those pretty peppered moles, and warming the cold pebbles of Stiles's gooseflesh as he goes.

Stiles keeps trying to swallow down the saliva Derek can hear flooding his mouth, his breath hitching and hiccuping with each lick.

Derek's mouth doesn't form an ‘O’ shape. Instead, his mind flickers with alluring and morish images as his animal instinct wills him to flop bonelessly into the scrub and roll around in the dirt and howl, howl, howl, all wild and feral and fierce. His nature is urging him for more; pleading with him to try; begging him to cry out his wants and desires to lead Stiles into the deep, dark indigo of the creeping night where Derek is most at home.

He's really not sure why, but for once in his woefully shitty life Derek just allows himself to agree with the voice saying fuck it in his head, and do exactly that.

So he howls, howls as he breaks the bones of dusk and selfishly and gleefully drags the sheriff's son down onto the damp, ash-laden ground of his dead family's land.

And Stiles—for all of his usual brashness and caustic pride—lets him.

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(tags beneath the cut, play or nay. anybody else who wants to do the thing, pls just consider yourself tagged and have at it!)

@shealynn88 @novemberhush @greyhavenisback @raisesomehale @princecharmingwinks @ohhalefire @blue-eyedbeta @angela-feelstoomuch @evanesdust @jmeelee @thebigoblin @hedwig221b @isthatbloodonhisshirt

[teencopandthesourwolf]

If he were to be true to himself, which he generally isn't when it comes to this shit, Derek knew he was fucked the very first time he met Stiles Stilinski—no, actually, that's not entirely accurate. It was before that. He was fucked the second he smelled the kid's unique scent hitching a ride on the damp breeze that cut through Beacon Hills preserve on that fateful day, just over two years ago, when Derek stood on his family's land and tapped a claw against the plastic casing of the inhaler he'd found. The inhaler he'd sniffed out from the undergrowth in the middle of the night. The inhaler sitting inside the pocket of his dead Dad's leather jacket that he'd recovered from the ruins of his childhood home. The inhaler he'd returned the day after he played pretend with himself that it had been him who had bitten Scott McCall.

Derek has been playing pretend ever since.

But how is he supposed to pretend now, with the rogue piece of Stiles's clothing screwed up in his fist and him finally home alone in his own apartment? Worse (or better) is the fact that it's the kid's favourite beloved hoodie, the one he wears all the goddamn time which Derek can tell hasn't seen the inside of a washing machine in a while because of the way it reeks of nothing but pure, unadulterated Stiles.

Stiles's red, red hoodie.

Derek's eyes flash blue to remind him of who he is, at the same time as his fangs drop and his short nails extend into yellowed claws. Absently, he thinks of Little Red and The Big Bad Wolf when his form shifts, his resolve shattering like mirror glass as he accepts his seven years of bad luck with grace the moment he shoves his face into the fabric, now releasing that throaty groan that turns to a low growl then into a sex-hungry, shuddering snarl.

He inhales.

Deep; deeply; deeper.

And Derek is lost to Stiles, forever.

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(from my current sterek WIP fic—let me know in the comments if you'd like to be tagged when it's up!)

[teencopandthesourwolf]

WIP WEDNESDAY

from my sterek blood kink fic pink moon that i've been chipping away at for somewhere around the four hundred years mark lol.

i've not been around here, or written/arted owt in what feels like forever, due to life being a colossal bitch... but i am back, and goddamnit, i am trying!

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Other than the Preserve's nocturnal animals, he and Stiles are now completely alone in the woods.

Hale woods.

The boy's bronze eyes are blown wider with each tongue-full of his blood that Derek swallows. Stiles licks at unbearably pink lips, slowly, purposefully, cheeks doing their damned best to match the rosy hue as Derek licks away at his arm.

Their shallow breaths are like firesmoke rising in the moonlight.

“You like it,” Stiles whispers. Knows.

Derek says nothing, just laps at the human's skin some more, sampling his prize good and proper. He only pauses to gulp down the pool of tangy red gathered underneath his tongue.

Now he has the heady knowledge, finally, deliciously, of precisely what it is Stiles's blood tastes of: sodium and iron and treacle, but also fresh earth and morning dew drops and mine.

Derek wants. Even worse than that, though, is the way he is just taking, taking, taking.

When Stiles's heart picks up the pace to a speed more Springbok than usual, Derek releases the vacuum of his blood-tinged lips with a resonating pop. The sound whips around the trees, defiantly, satisfyingly, echoing through the small glade in the northern part of the Preserve they're standing in, and Derek stupidly but unabashedly preens.

He's been obsessing over Stiles for some time now. Ever since way back when with the Kanima at the pool, truth be told. But he's always had so many reasons to hold back. Even after scenting Stiles's chemo-signals that suggested Stiles wants him too, Derek hasn't allowed himself to give into the pull of lust and fascination.

Stiles is seventeen, just a kid. With everything he's been through and seen, both before and after Derek—so much more than your average teen—and even if Derek was that age himself a mere three and a half years ago, he knows he shouldn't.

Stiles deserves a chance at something a damn sight better than Derek has to offer.

Unfortunately for Derek's resolve—and more than unfortunately for Stiles—once Derek got a whiff of this strangely new, more refined version of the boy, the primal urge to have this base component of Stiles's biology inside of him is just far too strong for him to ignore.

Stiles's blood is in his mouth, sliding like warm syrup down his throat, and Derek is starting to lose his shit.

He'll get fucked-up on wolfsbane-laced drink and drugs whenever he wants to forget, and he'll fuck his way around both straight and queer bars alike whenever the particular desire to have somebody under him strikes. But he's denied himself true pleasure for so very fucking long; how can he go back to saying no now he's had a taste?

The moon sings to him as he waits for the human to say or do something, anything, preparing himself to be challenged on what Stiles is likely thinking of as beastly behaviour.

Only Stiles doesn't challenge it.

He doesn't do or say anything at all, actually, which is kind of unprecedented. He opts only to watch Derek, carefully, as Derek continues to lap away at his blood, choosing to brutally gnaw on that unbearably plump bottom lip of his, bright eyes darkening and misting over as his chemo-signals spike and morph into something smoky-sweet that reminds Derek of incense, trailing mandevilla, and the feverish heat of sex.

In this moment, under a sky of wispy grey clouds and a full pink moon, Stiles looks, smells, and tastes like everything Derek could ever want or need.

Fuck.

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tagging, play or nay: @shealynn88 @sharkfish @novemberhush @greyhavenisback @inell @rosieposiepuddingnpie @raisesomehale @dontcallpanic @heavensenthale @violetfairydust @renmackree @outtoshatter @superfluffycam-blog @seaweed-water @dear-massacre @princecharmingwinks @fuji09 @oldefashioned and anybody else who wants to do the thing!

[teencopandthesourwolf]

WIP TAG GAME

share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that begins with each letter of your given word.

i wasn't tagged by anybody but saw a post that said join in if you wanna and i'm trying to get out of a slump, so here goes!

my word is: WEIRD

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W — Well, no, actually, it's not the closest they've been, it's just the closest so far. Although that's not really true either, now he thinks about it, because Stiles has been up close and personal with Derek Hale on many, many occasions by this point in their batshit lives. Hell, the two of them have practically snuggled before now—like Koala bears who hate each other's guts but just cannot deny their clingy nature—in what is such a dizzying number of wildly uncomfortable situations slash terrifying near-death experiences, that Stiles has given up trying to keep count.

(from my SINGULARITY wip)

E — Evidently, Stiles Stilinski is an honest to Crowley fuck boi, and Derek hates, hates, hates him. Unlucky for Derek, he also happens to be down so bad for the slutty little asshole that he's practically rotting in the ground like his dead uncle was up until very recently.

Maybe he and Peter can combine their magical know-how to curse the fucker... Yeah, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he's lying to himself now. He can't stay away from the irritating sex-pot for long enough to burn some fucking sage, let alone find a suitable ritual.

Oh well, he thinks, now resigned to his likely doomed fate, here we fucking go.

(from my MAGIC!DEREK/FUCKBOI!STILES wip)

I — It is a balmy Tuesday evening at the start of April when Derek realises he wants to taste Stiles's blood.

(from my DEREK BLOOD KINK wip)

R — Regardless of the sharp pain shooting up his spine, Stiles tries his level best to tussle with the crushing weight now pinning him to the damp scrub that is the floor of the Preserve. But as a pale moonbeam claws its way through a gap in the ghostly clouds, Stiles's struggle reaches an abrupt end when he clocks a familer arrow-shaped nose and looks up to see two glowing red eyes that burn into him like fucking Laser Tag beams. Predictably scared and weirdly turned on, he comes to the choking realisation that it is a wolfed-out Derek Hale who is currently laying on top of him in the middle of the woods at almost midnight. Also, such is his beyond fucked-up life, the powerful Alpha is shockingly as naked as the day he was born—and oh so obviously aroused.

(from my THE WITCHING HOUR wip)

D — Derek has to tamper the growl threatening to crawl up his larynx, a poisonous spider trying to squeeze its way through the gaps in his clenched teeth that are itching to drop down into fangs.

Stiles biting into that rosebud lip is always a bit much for him to take.

(from my ASSORTATIVE MATING ON THE NEURODIVERSE WEREWOLF SPECTRUM wip)

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if you're joining in YOUR WORD IS: CRUSH

my tags, play or nay, are beneath the cut:

@shealynn88 @greyhavenisback @dontcallpanic @raisesomehale @hedwig221b @violetfairydust @seaweed-water @dear-massacre @superfluffycam-blog @heavensenthale @renmackree @rosieposiepuddingnpie @evanesdust @isthatbloodonhisshirt and anybody else who wants to play!

[teencopandthesourwolf]

WEEKEND WIP

from my current derek pov sterek wip with the working title of 'RED RAG TO A WOLF'

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He knew it was there the moment the sliding door to his apartment clicked shut; the moment everybody left. The pack hadn't even made it down the old service elevator when Derek sensed it, scenting the spicy-sweetness that clung to the cool air, stubborn as a fever—and far too strong considering the loft's now-empty status.

Granted, he didn't know exactly what ‘it’ was yet, only that something of the kid's had been left behind.

He spotted it as soon as he turned around.

Derek breathed in, deeply, and anger flared brightly in his gut. He was fuming at just how damn happy that warming scent made him, and how it seemed like he now had his very own aromatic keepsake just to fucking prove it.

This was bad.

Dangerous.

Rooted to the spot, Derek cautiously eyed the innocuous folds of red spilling over the top of those stupid pillows Stiles had talked him into buying, his teeth and fists clenching (along with his heart).

They'd bumped into each other a while back—quite literally—in Bed Bath & Beyond when Stiles had turned a corner wearing those stupid lime-green headphones, and slammed right into Derek.

There'd been an excessively loud exclamation of, “What the shit?” and then, “Derek?!” as Stiles removed the headphones and nestled them snugly around the base of his long, pale neck, Bigmouth Strikes Again by The Smiths still appropriately blasting through them.

Stilinski had then cracked up and whooped like a hyena for almost a full minute straight, apparently at the mere notion of Derek's presence in the store.

“You? In a place like this? But Der, you're like, a werewolf, dude! A creature of the night!” he's said, and had punctuated the assessment by curling his bendy body into a ridiculous monster-esque mime, crossing his wide eyes and letting his tongue loll out of the side of his mouth as he’d gargled his own spit in some sort of supposed gnarly roar.

Just as Derek had been considering how Stiles sounded a bit like a traumatised washing machine, the kid had burst into yet more fits of mocking laughter, doubling over this time while wiping his mouth with the back of one hand and clutching at his side with the other.

What was so hilarious about someone needing to buy a toilet roll holder was honestly still a complete fucking mystery to Derek, but whatever.

At the time, he'd wanted to howl and snap his jaws at the kid for his sass. But Derek's general rule of thumb these days was to try his level best to not get so uptight about the more inane concepts that weaved in and out of Stiles Stilinski's baffling brain on a millisecond-to-millisecond basis, nor to give him any fuel for his ever-burning Sourwolf fire. So he'd nonchalantly raised an eyebrow and given back as good as he got by saying, “Which means what, exactly? That I'm only supposed to shop at PetSmart at three AM for my monthly supply of rabbit flavoured kibble?” and told himself not to dwell on it.

Then instead of doing the decent thing and leaving Derek the hell alone to get on with his Saturday afternoon, Stiles had proceeded to follow him around the store because the Beacon Hills Friendly-Yet-Hyperactive Neighbourhood Sheriff's Kid was just kind of excessively infuriating like that.

Stiles had disappeared for a moment, then reappeared and proceeded to thrust a shopping cart towards Derek, insisting Derek needed it for the random shit he’d started selecting from the various displays and unceremoniously dumping into the wire basket on wheels; random shit he was also insisting Derek needed. Derek proceeded to remove all unnecessary items right after Stiles dropped each of them in, the kid either not caring enough to challenge him on it or simply none the wiser amid his animated spiel about someone named, “Marie frickin Kondo, man!”

Apart from the pillows.

Apparently, Derek didn't hate the super-soft (if stupidly named) ‘Wolf-Skin’ material covering the particular pillows Stiles had picked out for him when the puzzling human had gasped and crowed, “Oh my God, Derek, can you believe they're named Wolf-Skin? They are totally perfect for you! And even more importantly: They spark joy, dude!”

Whatever the fuck that meant.

.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

so i'm supposed to be working on my sterek wip—and i am! i wrote about 1k today—but bc of all you lovely mutual's and folk i follow now also into buddie (main culprits being @inell @rosieposiepuddingnpie @sortasirius and @angela-feelstoomuch) and ofc bc of bi!buck confirmed, i've started ploughing through 911 over the last few weeks like a bloodhound chasing a rabbit through the woods and have consequently, inevitably, started a buddie wip. fml. anyways, it's all your lot's fault so here, have just under 1k of my first buck pov buddie quarantine wip and everyone pls forgive my adhd writing brain lol.

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Eddie was so fucking drunk. And it wasn't really either of their faults.

Because daytimes? When they weren't on shift? They were easy.

In the daytime there was just so much stuff to do with Christopher. So many games to play and so many cool things Buck was finding he could teach the little guy. And there were things that Christopher was teaching Buck, too, like, did you know that a crocodile can't stick out its tongue? Because Buck didn't, not until Christopher told him. And how cool is that?

The three of them—Buck, Christopher and Eddie—had started a Strip Jack Naked tournament and they now played it every night that he and Eddie were home, just before bath and bedtime stories. Turns out Christopher loved card games, and loved the rude name given to Buck and Maddie's childhood favourite even more, because what ten year old wouldn't? There was obviously zero stripping involved; Buck didn't even know why it was called what it was called, only that it was super fun, and just about easy enough for Christopher to learn but not so easy he'd get bored too fast, y’know? And what was funny was that the little dude hadn't even won a single round yet, and that somehow hadn't seemed to deter the slugger in his efforts one bit. Quite the opposite, actually. He'd warned, “Just you two wait,” and had this look on his face that said he was determined to become a grandmaster and beat Buck at his own game—or, even better, beat his Dad and win the prize of Eddie having to tidy Christopher's room for a week (a suggestion of Buck's that Eddie had not been overjoyed about).

In turn, Buck and Eddie had now lost countless games of Mario Kart to the kid; been repeatedly humiliated at Pictionary (the kiddie version); and each had the least amount of kudos points for Misfits, a game that Eddie apparently used to play with his sisters. It was another drawing-type one, where each player took a body section on their turn—head, torso and arms, or legs and feet—and then folded the paper over to hide the result until everyone was done and Christopher would unfold the paper and they'd all cry with laughter at the results. Misfits didn't even technically have any winners or losers, but hey, try telling Christopher that.

Evenings, though? The few hours left between Christopher's bedtime and Eddie and Buck turning in for the night? They were tougher.

Tough on Buck, at least.

See, he'd had this dream, a few weeks back. A dream about—well.

About Eddie.

In the dream, Buck had been washing the dishes in Eddie and Chris's apartment after Eddie had made another attempt at cooking his abuela's delicious Barbacoa recipe (Buck had tasted the real deal once when Isabel had come to stay and Eddie had invited Buck over to dinner), and Eddie had suddenly crowded into him from behind, crushing the length of his body up against Buck's back and reaching around to circle soft but firm hands around Buck's wet wrists. Startled and confused, Buck had open opened his mouth to say something when Eddie had placed his hot mouth onto the sensitive spot on Buck's neck, just below his right ear and—

Buck had woken abruptly, writhing and twitching and groaning, jizz spilling all over his freshly changed bed sheets.

After that, evenings were a challenge.

They were now made up of all the usual fun and dumb stuff that Buck and Eddie got up to, plus the occasionally deeper topics in their lives that they both seemed to struggle with but tried their best to share with each other, but there was also Don't look too long at Eddie's hands, and Don't look at Eddie's mouth while he speaks, and Don't check out Eddie's ass in those jeans I'd told him he should definitely buy when the shops were still open and the world hadn't yet gone to shit and I wasn't losing my damn mind.

Buck had moved into Eddie and Chris's place when Quarantine hit because it had just made sense, and over the course of the last six months he had somehow managed to fall in lust with his best friend.

So, times when they both had tomorrow off work, and when the confinement got to be a little too much, they would drink. Sometimes a little too much. One of them always stayed relatively sober though, just in case Chris needed something in the night, and tonight, Buck had been allowing Eddie to enjoy himself because the guy hardly ever really let his hair down, and he deserved to.

Eddie got giggly when he drank Tequila, Buck noticed.

They'd already sunk a few beers prior to cracking open the bottle of Cazadores Reposado, and after Buck had stopped at two shots but Eddie had continued, Eddie had become progressively loose and was now starting to giggle like a frickin schoolgirl. Which, embarrassingly, seemed to be doing things to Buck—not that Buck had a thing for school girls, jesus no, it was just that Eddie sounding so soft and vulnerable and happy was something that apparently really did it for Buck.

Fuck his life.

The guy also got very touchy-feely on tequila, too.

They'd migrated from the kitchen table to sitting so close to each other on the sofa that they were permanently touching, as well as all the times Eddie kept nudging his shoulder further into Buck's and squeezing his hand on Buck's knee. Then his thigh.

Seriously, fuck Buck's life.

The way Eddie had gotten so comfortable with touching Buck was becoming a majorly uncomfortable situation for Buck to have to deal with. Not because Buck didn't want the attention, but because he really fucking did.

And that was a problem, for a few reasons.

Reason one was that Buck wasn't gay, and didn't really understand these feelings he was having.

Reason two was, as far as Buck knew, Eddie wasn't gay either.

Reason three (and Buck's biggest fear) was Buck being terrified of losing what he had with Eddie. He loved Eddie, and Christopher, and he was pretty sure they loved him back—and he certainly wasn't about to let his rabid and confusing libido ruin any of that.

Drunk Eddie, though? It seemed Drunk Eddie really had it in for Buck tonight.

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fingers crossed i can finish it before buck goes insane! xp