Rapture, My Sweet Rapture (put your hands on me) | by queerly_it_is
Oh my god, I cannot get over this fic. Stiles’ father adopted Derek after the fire and Stiles and Derek have been close brothers ever since. This story is pushed along by a slow burn that builds between them and it is gorgeous. Quiet and alluring and warm and not angsty as it could be. It is amazing. And there is this beautiful story about Derek’s tattoo that broke my heart in the most beautiful of ways. Must read.
This has made my entire day tbh, thank you so much!
How it starts is this six foot ten, six foot twenty blond motherfucker goes and kidnaps the slicked-back asshole messing around with SHIELD, and when Tony goes to chase them down this same motherfucker sends a five hundred-thousand volt arc of electricity ricocheting down Tony’s spine. Tony’s HUD shrieks alarm in shades of white and red, and his suit’s power supply starts counting up from fifty to one hundred, two hundred, digits whirring, all in all clocking in at a cool four hundred percent. The sensors are screaming out one last Hail Mary before Tony lines up a shot and fires a ‘fuck you’ at this guy.
This guy, this seven foot tall blond surfer boy with a pouty mouth and storm-coloured eyes, this fucking guy gets shot through six spans of trees – chop chop timber – and still he has the nerve to get back on his feet again, beckoning for another round."
“Because,” Bilbo plunged on, “Because I think you have it in you to be a… a great leader, Thorin. You’ve been willing to go home, to face desperate odds just to regain the right to what seems to be an intolerable sort of life of service, for the good of Erebor. I admire that. But I think that you can do better, Thorin. You should do better. The Azan-Ereboreans are your people too. Good governments look after not just their strongest but also the weakest among their citizens. But you can’t presume to rule with the blood of your own people on your hands.”
Thorin stared at him, his expression frozen for a long moment, then he began to laugh, soft and rueful, to Bilbo’s surprise, then he was tugged over into a tight embrace, lips pressed against his forehead, then buried in his hair. Thorin murmured something in Ereborean, and the translation came only a second apart. “And Dís still wonders why I love you.”
Bilbo stiffened, far too shocked to remember that he was still pretending that he had no means of understanding Ereborean. Thorin had said…what? But he had - but only a day ago - and then that argument - and he had… really? But it hadn’t even been that long and… and Thorin was pulling back, frowning at him. “Bilbo?”
“Um,” Bilbo blinked, wildly casting around for a reason, then said, “You mentioned Dís? Is she all right?”
Derek laughs with his head bowed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose; his eyes crinkle at the corners, and his shoulders shake.
When sober, Stiles has a lot of things he wants to say to Laughing Derek – things like “Okay, yeah, no, stop that because it’s messing up my equilibrium in a bad way,” and “Hey, if you want to put your mouth on my mouth, that could totally be a thing that we do, like, regularly.”
When high, in the back seat of the Jeep, Stiles just leans his head back against the window and laughs with him. He’s got his feet in Derek’s lap and a joint in his hand and he’s not even sure what they’re laughing about anymore. But it’s – nice. After everything, it’s nice to laugh.
Derek looks soft and happy, a little sleepy around the edges. It’s four in the afternoon on a Sunday, and when Stiles showed up knocking on his door half an hour ago, he’d interrupted a midday nap. Derek had answered the door artfully rumpled in nothing but a pair of sweats.
“Did you know I’ve never hot boxed in the Jeep?” had been Stiles’s opener. “April 20th, 2014, that is about to change. You, me, what do you say?”
“I say I remember what happened last year,” Derek had groused. Then, with a sigh, “Let me put on a shirt.”
halelaur asked you: shhh i’m just putting barbie girl in here, okay? okay. ლ(́◉◞౪◟◉‵ლ)
I have genuinely sat here for five minutes going …how the fuck do I incorporate Barbie Girl into a fucking fic. Then I got an idea. I would say it veers wildly off course, but that would imply it had a course to begin with.
I just—I literally have no idea.
edit: this ended up 5k, lol whoops.
if you say i’m always yours; a sterek
The ST1-LE5 stands in the corner, lifeless. Derek’s still not sure where it came from; Laura’s taken to picking through scrap yards and bringing home things for him to tinker with, keep his mind occupied. The android’s a little scratched and battered, looking frail. Its power supply and wiring are a mess, but Derek finds himself drawn to it one evening. Laura’s out and Derek’s been browsing forums on the internet for far too long. He hauls himself across the room to inspect the ST1. It’s not a particularly old model, but Stilinski Corp went out of business when recession swept the nation, so only the androids kept by the technologically more-than-savvy were able to retain power because their masters were able to play with the wiring enough to hook them up with an independent power source. Derek’s read all about them, could do it in his sleep if he had to.
He stares at the android consideringly before pulling it around to inspect the panel on its back.
Derek’s sitting in the middle of his room surrounded by bits and pieces of android when Laura gets home; the sun’s just rising and she fixes him with a look through his open door.
based on this beautiful headcanon by betp
contains emotions and love making
fluffy buttsex if you will
After Stiles hits send on the text, he lays the phone down on the table by the front door, toes carefully out of his sneakers and peels his socks off as he pads quietly over to the couch where Derek is sitting. “See, no shoes to drop,” Stiles laughs softly, sitting down on the seat beside Derek. He wiggles his bare toes and Derek stares at them, looks up at Stiles with a caged, frightened expression on his face that clenches at Stiles’ heart.
“Okay,” Stiles sighs, breath catching in his throat, he’s so not good at this. Scott is good at this. Scott is good at Hallmark levels of sap and Stiles just has words that always sound sarcastic even when he means them, and gestures that feel too big even when he tries so hard.
“Okay,” Stiles says again and he shifts himself towards Derek and snakes a hand out, grabs Derek’s in both of his, rubs his thumb across the back of it.
“I love the look on your face when you first wake up in the morning,” Stiles says, voice coming out scratchy and it cracks at the end but he doesn’t stop even as he feels the light flush building on his cheeks. “It’s this…sort of dopey expression, especially when your hair’s all mussed up one side and there are lines from the pillow indented in your face,” Stiles smirks, “like you have no idea where you are or how you got there. This split second of total bleary confusion.”
Go and read this immediately.
the thing i worked on in stream for a little bit
book cover for “Burned to a Cinder” wip
nothing on this is final, of course. I plan on binding it once the fic is finished. I need it on my shelf fdgmfkdm
and if you havent read it go read it now
Loved that evil!00Q you write, do you think you could write serial killers!00Q please? thank you :) – captivatedby-you
Ooh, yes, lovely. Serial killer AU, here we come. Jen.
The moment before the kill was Bond’s domain. The rush of anticipation, the glorious…
“You seem terribly sure that all I am capable of is ruin,” Loki remarks, walking around Thor to peer down into the bed. He reaches out, touches an index finger to the silhouette of the arc reactor. It hums along, oblivious to its hosts’ condition. “You forget who I was, once. I suppose I shouldn’t blame you. I had nearly forgotten myself.”
Marvel Big Bang 2012 is now posting! Here’s a cover piece I did for Traincat’s Clint/Bucky story, leave the gun on the table. Check it out, it is gorgeous. I have such a soft spot for 21st century Bucky, and Traincat delivers so well. ;AAA;
Bucky Barnes wakes up in the future, joins the Avengers, reunites with Steve, makes some new friends and some old enemies, gets called Robocop and tries to figure out the future, himself, and Clint Barton’s middle name — all while being haunted by his past and the things he can’t remember, dreams of snow and a gun in his hand, languages he shouldn’t know and the creeping suspicion that Black Widow knows something he doesn’t.
This is one of two pieces of art I did — see the other one here.
Well. This happened:
And then THIS happened:
So basically, as with all good things, this is all Fizz’s fault. I HOPE YOU’RE SATISFIED WITH YOURSELF! HAPPY LATE FREAKING VALENTINES DAY!
Props to Vangoghstars for the beta.
Where Derek is new to college, eager to spend his time learning, and Stiles is everything he didn’t want in a room mate. He’s loud, he’s into sports, and he keeps trying to make Derek do things.
Or, the one where Derek falls for a jock, Erica will cut you if you disturb her studying, and Jackson is a closeted romantic who pretends to hate everything.
LOSERS | DEREK/STILES | HAYNNES
notes: college au, rec drug use, shotgunning
He hadn’t touched or been touched by anyone in months. It was no different from how he’d been before he met Tony— eighteen years without that kind of contact, so four months of the same was comparatively nothing— but he had to wonder if maybe for all those years his skin had been screaming to be touched by someone, anyone, and he just didn’t know how to recognize the sound of it yet.
Because now he definitely did. He could go hours, days, weeks without thinking about it. And then without really any cause or reason, his whole body would just ache for fingers wrapped around his shoulders, lips on his neck, teeth at his inner thigh.
But he couldn’t, he couldn’t let anyone do that yet. Because the thought of it hurt even more than his need for it."