they called you a hurricane thunderclap
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ok someone write me a tw au that has the pack go on a ~*~bonding excursion~*~ and it’s the werewolves and their humans and everything is great until they stumble upon a witch/wizard with a vendetta against werewolves or something ANYWAY they turn the werewolves into ACTUAL wolves and the wolves for the most part know who they are in human terms but when they get to really playing they forget they’re not ACTUAL wolves and the humans of the pack have to bring them back before a certain amount of time and it’s stressful and they dodge calls from their parents WHICH MAKES THEM COME OUT TO TRACK THEM DOWN and the parents don’t believe the wolves are actually THEIR KIDS and it’s a whole big thing and scott almost dies protecting the allison and derek’s got a bullet in his haunch from protecting stiles and one of the parents accidentally shoots one of the humans while they’re shielding a wolf I DUNNO OK
MORAL OF THE STORY THE WITCH/WIZARD IS DAZZLED BY THEIR DISPLAY OF LOVE AND RETURNS THE WOLVES TO THEIR HUMAN SHAPES AND IT’S NICE AND EVERYONE IS SUDDENLY IN THE LOOP AND !!!!
waaaah ok so i kind of wrote a ficlet in almost? response to this ficlet madison submitted to me. pretty much the moral of this ficlet right here is that stiles and scott are best friends forever (best friends forever, ding) and stiles/oreos/scott is basically the best friendship ship around \m/
Between the Alpha Pack moving in on their shit and Isaac becoming the friendship equivalent of a cockblock, the fight had been a long time coming. The tension mounted up like sand in an hourglass whenever Scott would ask for a raincheck on their weekly movie night, or timidly ask if Isaac could tag along to whatever thing they were planning on doing.
And it mounted, and it mounted, until they were choking on it. Spitting grains of sand out of their teeth whenever they passed, backs pulled taut and hackles up, missing each other like a severed limb but unable to be the one to buckle first. Unable to be the one who bit the bullet and accepted the change in their routine, the one that had remained untainted, unchanged since they met in the third grade, Stiles the loud Sheriff’s son that everyone tolerated for that fact alone, and Scott the quiet new kid with big brown eyes and a mother that worked too many hours to get them by.
Lycanthropy hadn’t throw a wrench in practically anything, but this? Attempting to make their dynamic duo into a trio? That shit shut down the entire machine.
Stiles had nothing against Isaac. Honestly. Except for, y’know, maybe threatening to kill Lydia and the Lock, Shock and Barrel impersonation he, Erica and Boyd sometimes did, terrorizing Beacon Hills with their claws, leather jackets and after school special issues.
can you just imagine derek and the pack finding teen wolf fan fiction? each of them sitting around in stiles’ bedroom (much to stiles’ chagrin) with their laptops, perusing stilinski internet (and making stiles’ online game run slower than usual, thanks guys!!) and going through different fics online. finding out what sterek is (stiles blushing and hiding behind his laptop, derek glaring as erica and isaac snicker and giggle (“it’s cute though!” “shut up, erica” “no really, it’s adorable”), discussing how scott is much more of a potato in fic than irl (“i’m not that dumb! bestiary isn’t a word you use every day, how was i suppose to know you hadn’t just fucked up the pronunciation of bestiality!” “don’t feel bad, scott, allison thought the same thing”), and, oh god, seeing how fic depicts being a werewolf.
“why do these people keep saying ‘my wolf’ and shit like that? don’t they know this isn’t…50 shades of grey! the wolf is me and i am the wolf! this is not like schizophrenia, ok.” erica throws her hands up in the air, laptop balanced precariously on the tops of her feet.
isaac sighs. “i wish we could fully transform into wolves. that’d be cool. our werewolf forms are weird.”
“yours is kind of ugly,” boyd agrees with a nod, “but jackson’s is so much worse.”
“suck it, vernon,” seethes jackson.
“i like how these people depict me as a genius. they got something right, at least.” jackson rolls his eyes at lydia and grunts as she elbows him in the ribs.
“you think that’s bad? read this shit about mates. totally wrong,” derek huffs, brows furrowed and expression sour. “there is no one and only, destiny bullshit. you choose a mate and keep them. it doesn’t have to be forever but it just…doesn’t work right if you don’t keep the same one.”
“heyyyy, i can eat chocolate! i’m a werewolf not a pomeranian!” scott pouts and allison sighs while rubbing circles into his back.
“you guys think that’s bad,” gulps stiles, eyes wide and saucer like. “go to urban dictionary and look up knotting. just do it. do it now.”
“no.” “oh god.” “WE’RE WEREWOLVES, NOT DOGS.” “i think i’m gonna be sick.” “it actually doesn’t look that bad, but—” “SHUT UP YOU HAVE A VAGINA, I’M NOT TAKING THAT SHIT UP MY ASS.”
They probably should’ve known before they started wrestling around on the Stilinski living room floor that it would happen, ‘cause they’re thirteen and a weak wind can make them pop wood, but they’re excited and don’t have to go to bed at all because it’s Friday and both of Stiles’ parents and Scott’s mother are at work, so they’ve got the house to themselves. They eat ice cream for dinner and watch horror films on the couch with the volume up louder than Stiles’ mom allows. Some of them are old and genuinely good, but the others are new and generally shit but the surplus of topless, screaming chicks will always outweigh plotholes, fake blood that might as well be watered down ketchup, and bad acting.
After a particularly raunchy one, Stiles and Scott are keyed up and both trying to hide their wood. Scott makes a grab for the pillow already situated in Stiles’ lap without thinking, and Stiles promptly smacks away the extended hand.
“Get your own pillow, bitch,” Stiles teases, sticking his tongue out.
“Oh yeah?” Scott counters and blows some of his hair out of his face.
“You’re supposed to say jerk. Jerk.” Jesus, did Scott pay attention during Supernatural at all?
“Christmas is in a week,” Derek said, breaking the silence.
“Yup,” Fred agreed, putting away a stack of plates.
Derek rinsed a sippy cup of Charlie’s and held it out to Fred. “And I’m home for Christmas.”
Fred stalled, fingers closed around the cup but not removing it from Derek’s grip. “Yeah, you are,” Fred quietly returned, and hipchecked Derek again. “I’m glad you’re back. Gonna be the best Christmas since Melissa made elf outfits for the kids and made Stiles and Scott play Mr. and Mrs. Claus and Payal put too much liquor in the eggnog. All of the humans were drunk.”
There was that name again! Derek squeezed the sponge in his hand and turned to face Fred directly, his hip leaned against the counter. “Who?”
For a moment, Fred looked carefully blank, brown eyes blinking slowly several times. Derek could practically hear the crank turn that lifted a smirk to Fred’s face. “You don’t remember Stiles, do you?”
By the time Derek finally made it to the front door, Uncle Peter was leaning against the door frame. He looked amused, tentatively pleased, and that made Derek’s stomach knot with guilt again. Then the older man sighed and threw his arms around Derek, smashing his nephew to his chest and burying his face in Derek’s neck. They smelled each other as they embraced, the knot in Derek’s stomach morphing from guilt to longing. When Peter held him at arms length to get a good look at him, Derek noticed laugh lines around his mouth and delicate strands of gray at his temples. Derek hadn’t seen him get those. Derek hadn’t seen much of anything to do with his family in the last few years. He whined a little.
Peter crushed him to his chest again, and alternated between patting him on the back and rubbing soothing circles into his skin. “Come on in, Pup,” he said softly, and his smile was so contented that Derek felt the tension he didn’t even know he had drop from his shoulders.
WHY DID I JUST WRITE THIS
someone just write me a tw au that had laura as stiles’s babysitter when he was little and derek thought he just some spastic little shit and didn’t pay him much mind, and a few years down the road stiles comes by hale manor during winter break when he’s home from college to bring laura and their mom a present or something and derek is like holy fuck this is STILES and he’s just like gaping in the doorway and laura and their mom smack derek on their respective sides of his head and corral stiles in and peter is laughing from the stairs and derek’s little sister and cousins are rolling their eyes and stiles is all “hey sourwolf, long time no see!” and then derek finds out that stiles has kept in touch with almost the entire hale family since like forever and derek is jealous and peter is in the corner choking he’s laughing so hard and laura is beating the cough out of him and
what if jackson joins the pack and everything is going great and they go out on this little pack trip to promote ~*~bonding~*~.
they visit this little coffee shop and get their drinks, decide to hang around and drink them there because the shop is quaint and comfortable and nice. a guy in his late twenties walks in and ties an apron around his waist, all bright green eyes and full pink lips; freckles dusted over the apples of his cheeks. he has a laugh that lights up the entire shop, birthing smiles left and right.
jackson doesn’t know him, has never met him, but seeing him throw his head back in laughter, glasses slowly slipping down from their post high on the bridge of his nose, makes something in jackson’s stomach clench and his palms sweat because something about him is disturbingly familiar and it hurts. it hurts and jackson doesn’t know why, this is just some random guy in a random coffee shop and whatever’s inside of him screaming family family family needs to shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up RIGHT NOW and jackson doesn’t even know something’s happened until he’s dropped his coffee on the floor and the shop’s fallen silent and the guy looks just as startled as jackson. someone’s touching his shoulder but he can’t tell who because he can’t look away from the older guy, he just physically can’t.
LONG PAINFUL DAYDREAMING SHORT I WANT JACKSON TO FIND OUT THAT HE’S GOT A LONG LOST BROTHER THAT WAS ADOPTED BY A FAMILY FRIEND AFTER THEIR PARENTS’ DEATHS BUT THEY NEVER NEW ABOUT EACH OTHER AND I WANT THIS BROTHER TO BE PLAYED BY JENSEN ACKLES
i need someone to write a sterek fic for me that has stiles struggling with his role as the omega of the pack (because let’s face it, even though stiles would make a great beta he’s the omega; he’s the one doing a lot of the gritty work, he defuses situations and takes the brunt of the pack’s frustrations, the first to instigate leisure time and play, he tends to be undervalued and a lot of his work is thankless), especially since derek’s pack of werewolves haven’t read werewolfing for dummies and are insensitive towards pack rankings expect for the fact that beta is above omega, and stiles just tells them to fuck themselves because shit is rough and he didn’t sign up for this he signed up to be scott’s best friend through thick and thin not some werewolf punching back, and he dips
and oftentimes actual wolf packs FALL APART without their omegas, they mourn and stop working at peak efficiency because even though omega is the lowest rank it’s just as important as having an alpha and it’s like a piece is missing, and they all go around apologizing to stiles and trying to get him to come back, and everyone’s come to sell their bit except for derek and stiles is holding out for derek
then derek comes to him and is like stiles the pack needs you…dammit stiles, i need you, please come back
and
i think i’ve made a post about this before but is there a wincest fic that has sam accidentally say he wishes he was never born to a witch or something, and she smiles this small oh, child smile, that’s not even a smile it’s so sad, and then she shows sam what would’ve happened if he’d never been born, and he’s shown jess alive and happy and graduating from stanford; mary crying and john holding her when she miscarries what would’ve been sam; john and mary and dean looking happy most of the time; dean growing up, graduating high school, looking happy; no apocalypse, no dean going to hell, no lucifer breaking out of his cage
the world safe (dean safe)
but his eyes are dead because something’s missing something he’s never been able to truly put his finger on because it’s missing and he has a feeling it had something to do when the front of mommy’s dress ran red and the baby in mommy’s tummy stopped kicking against his hand one day and never kicked again
can we all take a second to imagine derek reading go the fuck to sleep to the pack
he’d heard about it online and idly mused about derek reading it to his pack of mangy mutts, and that, wow, that mental image had him howling for hours. derek with a pair of thin reading glasses perched on the end of his stupidly attractive nose, with the book angled towards the werewolves on the floor, gathered around him. erica curled around isaac, the girl looking up dreamily at her alpha, the boy lulling to sleep. boyd raptly paying attention to every word. scott looking slightly constipated in the corner.
he never actually thought about buying it, per say, until he was wandering around barnes and noble one evening, a copy of hamlet and one of the assassin’s creed companion novels tucked under his arm. the former was for english class and stiles really looked forward to not reading it and looking at sparknotes at the very last minute, and the latter, well, the latter was bad ass because who didn’t want to read more about ezio being a fucking boss?
devils-trap replied to your post: Intellectual post of the day I would like to be…
mm imagine being the first person to give him a little taste of EVERYTHING. start a little vanilla and then progressively get darker. i think he’d be kinky as fuck. the choke-me-a-little, bite me kind mmI
oh
he doesn’t know how to broach the subject at first, but he knows he wants to try everything at least once. porn doesn’t teach you as much as it shows you the possibilities, and he’s the willing student to your knowledgeable teacher.
you teach him how to go down and use his entire mouth, how to sync up the movements of his tongue and fingers so you’re twitching and screaming. how to swivel his hips just right every time. how to lay back and enjoy the ride while you’re on top, his hands cuffed to the headboard, the skin angry and chaffed from where he’s been fighting it. how to cup your hand correctly when you’re spanking the hell out of someone, then how to rub the red welts afterward, soothe the tender, buzzing skin with his tongue and palm. how to determine whether you want it nice and slow and deep, or if you just want him to pound the fuck out of you, let the entire neighborhood hear what’s going on.
he places his hand on your throat one day right in the middle of it, his thumb tentatively, reverently stroking the hollow between your collarbones. his face is pressed into the crook of your shoulder, alternating between nipping and biting as he thrusts. his thumb moves up slowly and he squeezes experimentally, trying to get you to say it’s ok, squeeze a little harder, c’mon stiles choke me a little, without saying it in so many words. you moan against his thumb and stutter out a yeah, yeah a little harder c’mon stiles harder harder, and his hips don’t so much as thrust into you as they do slam and he squeezes a little more, his breath coming out in ragged pants against your skin.
mr. stilinski hadn’t even heard him come in the house. he had just left his room to fix himself something to eat—god when had it gotten so late—when he passed stiles’s room and was hit with the need to be close to his son again. sit among his things and remember when things weren’t always going so horribly wrong. try his best to pass on the love and affection he had for stiles through osmosis since god knew their attempts to show it weren’t really getting through.
stiles is usually so loud and talkative the moment he enters the house. all loud, smiling face and flailing limbs that he hasn’t quite grown into yet. most of the time, stiles talks to himself when he enters a building just so it won’t be so quiet. he’s been doing that since his mother passed.
