EverythingRara
Fandoms
- Teen Wolf (TV) (23)
Recent works
-
Tags
Summary
“How many times do you want me to apologize?” he sighed, shoulders slumping as Deaton studied the runes etched into the old shackles.
Derek’s lips curled in a sneer, a growl vibrating low in his chest.
“I thought it would be funny!”
“You thought cuffing us together would be funny?”
And there it was—claws-out Derek in all his irritated glory.
“It was supposed to be you and Scott! You know, like a ‘get-along’ T-shirt. Only… cuffs.”
“And how is it,” Derek asked, yanking their joined wrists up between them, “that I ended up stuck with you?”
Stiles shifted, eyes darting away to the floor. “Scott was too fast—the lock clicked around my hand instead—look, you were there. Why do you keep making me repeat it?”
He cringed under Derek’s stare, shrinking in on himself.
“Because, Stiles,” Derek said, voice low and promising violence, “I want to make sure you’ve learned your idiotic lesson.”
Deaton straightened, expression pinched in that special brand of silent sympathy he reserved for hopeless situations. “Would you like the good news or the bad news?”
“The good news,” Stiles said just as Derek growled, “The bad news.”
-
Tags
Summary
A Sterek rewrite of the show, that stays mostly canon compliant in the beginning, shown exclusively through the eyes of Stiles Stilinski, unknown soul mate of Derek Hale.
Starts slow emotionally, my first attempt at a story of this degree please be gentle.Stiles grunted softly as he heaved himself onto the roof, his sneakers scuffing against the shingles. Scott—his best friend since forever—wasn’t answering his phone, and Stiles couldn’t wait. There was no way Scott was going to believe what Stiles had just overheard.
Keeping low, Stiles crept along the roof toward Scott’s window, his heart racing as the cool night air pressed against his skin. He tried the window, but it wouldn’t budge—it was locked.
“Of course it’s locked,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.
Knocking softly on the glass, he leaned in closer, squinting to peer inside. The curtains were drawn, giving him only a hazy, distorted view of the room beyond. “Scott,” he hissed, rapping on the window again. No answer.
Suddenly, the curtains shifted, and the window flung open. Scott and Stiles screamed, startling each other.
-
Tags
Summary
"'Cmon Derek, just the tip."
Derek's fingers slide almost all the way out—drawing a moan of protest from Stiles' trembling form—before sinking all the way back in.
"Please," Stiles' back arched, fingernails digging into his thighs where he's holding himself open.
"You're not ready for that yet." Derek murmurs, watching the way Stiles' pink puffy rim stretched around his fingers, the way it sucks him in.
"Bullshit," Stiles snapped, head tossing back against the pillow. "You've got four fingers up my ass."
"Just the tip," he continues, babbling, really. Perfect thighs shaking as Derek's fingers push deeper, curling against the boys prostate. "Just the tip—fuck,"
Stiles is very sensitive, as all virgins are their first time. They've been practicing this, Stiles is determined he wants to take all 10.5 inches of Derek's cock.
So Derek has been training him, showed him how to flush himself out, been stretching him open until he's gaping, hole red and puffy from abuse.
"Derek, you promised." Stiles' thighs are really shaking now, his body flushed and perspirating. He looks beautiful.
-
Tags
Summary
It was a short twenty-minute ride, and then Stiles was stepping out onto the driveway of his childhood home.
“You got a new roof,” Stiles said, eyebrows rising as he took in the fresh shingles.
“Yeah,” his father grunted, wrenching Stiles’ luggage out of the trunk. “Tree landed on the house last year. I thought I told you?”
Stiles hurried over, reaching for his bags—only for his hand to get smacked away.
“I got it,” his father said firmly, like the idea of Stiles carrying his own luggage was some kind of insult.
Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Yeah, I think I remember now. Scott helped you fix it, didn’t he?”
Noah’s face brightened. “He did. Boy’s really made a good company for himself. Had to fight him to let me pay.”
Stiles’ smile slipped, memories settling heavy in his stomach.
They walked up the driveway. Stiles’ gaze drifted toward the garage, a thought sparking.
“Hey, Dad,” he said, scanning the driveway. “Where’s my baby Roscoe?”
Noah’s expression pinched. Uncomfortable. Guilty.
“About that…"
-
Tags
Summary
“You know, it’s real creepy to lurk in a teenager’s bedroom in the middle—Jesus Christ,” he whispered, heart stuttering as Derek leaned close, unashamedly sniffing him.
"Do you want the bite?” Derek whispered, his breath ghosting over Stiles’ skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.
Stiles’ breath hitched, his shoulders going rigid. “What?”
“Do you… want the bite?” Derek murmured again, his hands settling firm and heavy on Stiles’ waist as he trailed his nose along the column of Stiles’ throat.
Stiles’ heart hammered against his ribs, his pulse loud in his ears—louder, maybe, to Derek. Every nerve in his body screamed at the proximity of Derek’s mouth.
His mind flashed back to earlier that night, to Peter’s cool touch on his wrist, that same smooth question slipping from his lips. Do you want the bite?
“I…” Stiles’ throat worked, words trembling out of reach. He did. He wanted it. Peter hadn’t been lying when he called him out on it.
But he was also terrified. The bite could kill him. His muscles shook with the weight of that truth.