Naked Cas tied up and with wings - what a combination holy! I got really inspired by a photography I saw yesterday and that’s the result.
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.
WELP THERE GOES MY HEART
Something I promised Brittani a while ago!
Trying to finish up promised pics for others today uwu.
I get super lazy when im done with pics and just give up on editing so sorry about the quality /runs in circles
STRANGELY ENOUGH IT’S THAT SLENDER WRIST THAT GETS TO ME THE MOST. GUH.
Hand Around the Heart –a sterek zine because why the fuck not.
So I read this idea on the internet once about Merlin, after Arthur dies and he has all that time to wait, getting a tattoo of the Pendragon crest. (I wish I could credit the source but I just forget where I saw the idea!!) But it’s not just a tattoo, it’s a beautiful piece of artwork spanning down his back in red and gold and it’s absolutely brilliant. The idea wouldn’t leave me so I commissioned my friend to draw this and, (with her permission) I decided to share it with you guys.
I think I’m gonna write a small oneshot to accompany this because the idea of Arthur watching Merlin take off his shirt and seeing the crest on his back and getting choked up about it makes my feelings do things.
I’ll post that when I’m done, along with the photo again. But I needed to share this with you because my friend is a boss. I think it’s pretty good. Hope you guys enjoy. :)
( Thanks to my 2000+ followers! This is for you ♥ Click for full size. )
Some nights Derek has nightmares.
He sees his old house on fire, his favourite toys getting swallowed by flames; hears the miserable howl he and Laura let echo over town the first night all on their own. He can smell Kate’s perfume that used to make his heart race impossibly fast; can see the darkness in her eyes and the smile on her lips the day the Argents left Beacon Hills as he watched her hidden in the shadows. He can hear the way his sister’s pulse quickens with fear whenever he’s too far out of her sight and he can smell the sickness of burnt flesh all over his Uncle Peter when he visits him at the hospital.
He wakes up with a jackhammer heart and a damp forehead; on worse nights, his claws are out, inches from ripping the sheets with his teeth sore and aching in his mouth. He gasps for air and presses his forehead into the back of Stiles’ head, inhaling the familiar scent of safety and listens to his slow and steady heartbeat, forcing his own to match its pace.
Those nights, Stiles make them switch positions.
Once Derek’s got his breathing under wrap and his head isn’t filled with smokey red, Stiles turns in his arms and nudges Derek’s shoulder with his forehead until Derek rolls over onto his other side. He wraps his arms round Derek’s waist, tangling their legs together and burying his face in the nape of Derek’s neck.
He doesn’t say anything; Derek knows it’s because he’s had his own share of nightmares in the past. He doesn’t ask if he wants to talk about or if he’s okay; he simply pulls Derek firmly against his front and doesn’t let go until the next morning. He’ll rub the sleep out of his eyes, smelling of happiness and warmth, as he chuckles and leans over Derek’s shoulder to kiss his cheek like nothing Derek does will ever drive him away. Like Stiles will always be there to comfort him and remind him what home and love is.
Derek can count on the nightmares; but he can also count on Stiles to help him through.