21 8 / 2014

luke x ashton hot tub sex, basically.


21 8 / 2014


When a wizard is born, everything is in black and white. When they make eye contact with their soulmates, the world gets color.

Drarry AU: When he grew up with the Dursley’s, Harry assumed that he was genetically colorblind. It was a pain in the arse, but it was manageable. He had never known any different.

Of course, when Hagrid shows up, his whole world is turned upside down. Magic and owls and broomsticks and soulmates? How did he get into this mess? 

And a month later he is on the way to Hogwarts boarding the train with Ron Weasley, smiling and joking, when Hermione Granger walks into their compartment and walks out as the room train colors before them. Ron was quite understandably offended. “Honestly Harry, I’m not bad looking! I mean the freckles are a bit off-putting but- that was just rude!”

When inside Hogwarts Harry meets Draco Malfoy, who is the most vivid anything Harry’s ever seen. White-blonde hair and smirking features all carved out. It takes him a moment to get over the shock of meeting his soulmate and then Malfoy not mentioning it. And then to add insult to injury, he’s a total arsehole. Harry thinks that there must’ve been a mistake. Malfoy can’t be his soulmate. He’s cruel and insulting. Obviously, he didn’t even recognize Harry!

In his Second Year, when they are masquerading as Crabbe and Goyle, Harry figures out why. Malfoy is actually genetically colorblindHe has no idea that Harry is his soulmate. He never will if Harry doesn’t tell him (which seems to be his best option.)

In Fourth Year, he asks Professor Sprout if his roots are supposed to be purple or dark red. She answers without hesitation, but everyone else in the class turns around to him and stares. Harry realizes his mistake and blushes visibly. He has no idea how to explain how no one knows who his soulmate is.

He hastily explains that they’re trying to keep it quiet until the tournament is over, which leads everyone to believe it’s a girl from one of the two opposing schools. He is off the hook until he lets it slip that his soulmate is a he. Everyone is then wondering which one of the boys it is, and Harry gets teased mercilessly from Malfoy. 

In sixth year, Harry knows something is up with Malfoy. He can feel it. He tries breaking into the Room of Requirement countless times to find out what Malfoy is doing in there with no avail. Malfoy looks tired and stressed constantly, and Harry wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be all right.

Right after Christmas break, Parkinson stands up in the middle of the Great Hall waving her arms wildly and whistling, demanding everyone’s attention. She claims that she has waited six long years to tell everyone, but she is actually Malfoy’s soulmate. She explains his genetic colorblindness, that Goyle told her about yesterday, and says that she never knew the right time to tell him but here we are! Malfoy looks up, entirely shocked. He scans the Great Hall, full of confused onlookers and storms out. Harry knows how it looks, but he follows him straight to the Girls’s Lavatory. Harry can’t believe she’d sink so low as to lie to him. He has to set the record straight.

Harry tells him in a whisper, but the look on his face says that he most definitely heard. Draco stalks over to Harry, asks why are you doing this, please, are you lying to me?

Harry shakes his head and laughs bitterly, “Honestly, why would I make that up?”

Draco laughs back, “God, it seems like the world is playing a sick joke on me this year. I knew I felt different after meeting you, but I just passed it off as hatred.”

They must spend hours, talking in the bathroom, but once Draco leaves, it’s the last he speaks to him. At the end of the year, Draco attempts to kill Dumbledore. Harry knows he won’t go through with it, but it hurts. The boy who he loves trying to kill a sort-of father figure for him. It’s a different kind of pain than Harry has experienced.  A burning flame of betrayal and heartbreak.

Draco doesn’t identify him in the next year, barely puts up a fight for his wand to be taken, looks at Harry guiltily. Harry knows that Draco feels the same way he does. He sees it all over his face.

The Battle of Hogwarts and with their confrontation in the Room of Requirement laying heavy on Harry’s mind, he thinks it’s going to be okay, The way the Malfoys refused to fight for Voldemort, the way Draco couldn’t even manage to say he didn’t love Harry, the look in Draco’s eyes once he realized that Harry was alive, Harry knows it’s going to be okay.

(via pottersir)

20 8 / 2014

aeveenien said: If you could write any kind of sterek lawyers au I would be SO HAPPY! <333 Also congrats on being an amazing human being! :D


You are too sweet. :D Thanks, love. Hope you like it!

When Stiles walks into court and sees the DA his client is up against, he almost lets out a groan.

Of course it’s Derek fucking Hale, the DA who’s got it in his head that everyone is guilty and deserves to be punished as harsh as they can instead of letting them go away with a fine or hours of community service. It’s like it’s his personal mission to ensure that no one dare commit a crime because they’ll have to answer to him (as opposed to you know the police, or their own conscience). The problem is, Derek probably actually believes it. Stiles isn’t sure what kind of guilt Derek feels he’s gotta repent for, but the dude could really use a spa day and a massage. Stiles would gladly offer too because the guy is hot, and those well-tailored suits he always wears have fueled plenty of late-night personal time sessions.

"Hello, Derek," Stiles says because even though he’s dreading facing him he can still be nice and civil.

"Stiles." He nods his head and undoes the button on his blazer before he sits down.

"So… whatdya say you take it easy on my client today? I really don’t think stealing cat food because he couldn’t afford it deserves prison time, do you?" There’s no one there yet, his client nor the judge, so he has a little bit of time. He sits on the desk in front of Derek, just his right butt cheek all casual like he’s just shutting the bull.

Derek looks down at Stiles’s knee propped up in front of him and back up to Stiles, an eyebrow raised. “You don’t, huh?”

"No, I don’t. So, come on, Derek. What do you say? If you let him off, gently, you could go home early, relax, get a massage." He leans in closer, even wiggles his eyebrows a little at Derek.

"You offering?"

Stiles lifts a shoulder, leans forward, his palms resting on the desk in front of him for balance. “Maybe.”

Derek smirks. “Did you just try to bribe me to get your client off?”

Stiles backs up quickly, standing from the desk. “What? No! That’s not—”

He’s still spluttering, cheeks pink, when his client walks in. Derek smirks at him again before he goes back to his notes, and Stiles has to tend to his client.


The case closes with his client getting thirty hours of community service as penalty, and before Derek walks off for his next case, he leaves a note for Stiles that gives a time, an address, and the instructions to bring oil.

20 8 / 2014

Anonymous said: the one with the prom video


"Oh my god, dude, look at your floppy hair!” Stiles swats Scott in the chest as Derek puts down drinks, cranes his head to see what they’re watching. Something heavy drops in his stomach, panic begins to spread through his veins.

"What is this?"

"I’m not sure," Scott scratches his chin, "We found a bunch of home movies when mom and I were clearing some stuff out, earlier. This must be, what? Twenty-thirteen?"

"Shit! This is prom night!" Stiles begins laughing raucously when he sees himself on the screen; hair insanely over-gelled and suit ever so slightly too big.

Derek straightens up, “Turn it off.”

"What?" Scott glances up at him, "No! Dude, you weren’t even there!"

"No, no, look," Stiles nudges his knee, gestures at the screen to where Derek’s sitting on the stairs, aggressively ignoring the camera Melissa’s pointing his way. "You look so scrawny," he teases, "I don’t even remember you being around that night."

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20 8 / 2014


For Charlie, who really wanted a Sterek ficlet based on this post here. Established relationship and time travel, I’m probably 3000% off on the prompt direction, but I at least used some of the texts. Named for a Mariah Carey song also because of Charlie.


Stiles groans with relief when he sees his house, pulling the Jeep into his driveway. “Hello, house,” he says happily, grabbing his backpack and duffel bag and taking a deep breath of the woodsy smell that permeates Beacon Hills. He loves UCLA, but is incredibly happy to be home for the winter break. 

He bustles inside, whistling happily as he makes his way upstairs and drops his things in his bedroom, flopping lazily on his bed. Ah yes, two weeks away from that crowded triple he was sharing with no homework. Also a major perk of Beacon Hills is that the boyfriend lives here. Stiles pulls up his phone, typing just got back, horny for your kisses, and sends it to Derek. 

Stiles stretches, an eager grin spreading across his face in anticipation. His phone buzzes once, then once more, which is funny because he figured Derek would just drive over here. Stiles flicks his screen, the smile dropping off his face in confusion. 

who is this

this is derek

Stiles nearly drops his phone in shock, but then recovers quickly and types this is stiles did you get a new phone or smth?? 

hi stiles, i don’t know. i’m not supposed to be using the phone. 

What the actual fuck is happening. 

Stiles calls Scott, who immediately says brightly, “Hey! You’re back! I thought you weren’t done until Friday!”

"Naw, last two finals were take home essays, I got those done and drove back up here," Stiles says. "Is something up with Derek?" 

"Oh, yeah, I thought it was gonna get fixed before you came back," Scott says guiltily. 

"What do you mean, get fixed? What’s wrong?" 

"Nothing, nothing, Derek is fine. He’s just a little…" 

A little is right. Stiles is at the McCall house, staring dumbfounded at the teenager sitting on Scott’s couch, waving awkwardly at him.  

"Derek?" Stiles asks, his mouth dropping open. Derek looks about fifteen, baby-faced and his teeth look way too big for him. 

"Hi," Derek says, blushing a little and looking up — looking up! — at Stiles.

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20 8 / 2014

never-sleazy said: How about for a prompt an au where stiles soul/personality is switched with Derek's and vice versa. (basically freaky Friday)


"I’m calling Deaton," is the first thing Scott says.

No,” Derek growls. 

If Stiles wasn’t currently trapped in said werewolf’s body, he probably would have laughed, because Derek trying to growl with Stiles’s vocal chords is hilarious. It sounds like a wimpier version of Christian Bale’s Batman.

"Dude," he says, and Scott looks—if possible—even more freaked out.  

"I’m not going," Derek says, crossing his (technically Stiles’) arms. He’s moving slowly, almost gingerly, in Stiles’s body, like he’s afraid he’s going to break a finger just by lifting it. 

Stiles scowls at him and Derek ignores him.

At least some things stay the same. 

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20 8 / 2014

amem0rylikeascattereddream said: 3 or 21 uwu


3. teacher/student au and 21. best friend’s sibling au

Derek’s had the worst first day of work in the history of the world. Which is funny, because he teaches History. Or used to teach History— he may be considering quitting already, after a full day of getting paper airplanes thrown at the back of his head (it’s 2014, how are paper airplanes still a thing? Possibly something the kids do to throw new teachers off balance), his students constantly chattering and giggling, some loudly whispered jokes about his eyebrows, and one remarkable innuendo-laden interaction with a student Derek would rather not recall in too much detail for fear of getting fired before he can hand in his resignation. His head is pounding; he needs a glass of whiskey, stat.

There’s a beat-up Jeep Derek doesn’t recognize in the driveway and Scott’s backpack is lying in the hallway, next to another bag. Derek nudges them out of his way with his foot and calls, “Scott?”

"In the kitchen!" Scott yells back. "How was your first day?" Then, more quietly: "That’s my brother, remember, I told you, he—"

When Derek enters the kitchen, Scott is sitting on the countertop; the fridge door is falling shut, and a slender body emerges from behind it. Dark brown eyes, full mouth, messy hair— wait.

"Well, well, well," the kid (Stiles Stilinski; Derek probably won’t forget that name - or the way Stiles accosted him after class, biting down on his bottom lip, innocently blinking up at Derek as he murmured— as he murmured things Derek should be forgetting, stop thinking about it, stop it - anytime soon) says, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the fridge with maddening self-assured grace, the kind a seventeen-(“and a half,” Stiles had said, actually making his eyelashes flutter)-year-old shouldn’t be allowed to possess. “If it isn’t Mr. Hale.”

Derek thinks, shit.

20 8 / 2014

Derek isn’t jealous of Laura, no matter what Erica says. He’s not, because that would be ridiculous, and it’s not like he wants to go see stupid superhero movies anyway. Clearly the only reason he gets the feeling like something’s eating him up inside is because he’s Laura’s younger brother, and she used to drag him along to all the dumb movies she wanted to see. So really, he’s jealous of Stiles. 

5+1 with Stiles and members of Derek’s family.


20 8 / 2014


This a drabble I wrote because of this picture, a conversation with Brii on twitter, and because we won the poll last night. And I might turn this into a real fic, I don’t know yet. But I just had to write this. 


“All right, I’m on break, Max.” 


Such a short response was normal from the man, so Stiles just stood from the hood of the car he’d been in the middle of fixing and walked off while he wiped his greasy hands off of the rag he pulled out of his back jeans pocket. It was more habit than anything at this point, as the rag was so dirty that all it did was spread the black substance over his hands instead of get rid of it. 

Stiles walked through the door to the office, giving a nod to Isaac who was manning the front desk, who barely gave him a nod in return, too busy playing something or texting someone on his phone, probably, and then went through the front door, squinting as the bright, hot sun beat down on him. 

It was hot, humid as Stiles walked toward the soda machine off to the side, pulling a few dollars out of his pocket as he went, and they were crumpled, withered from being tucked haphazardly into his pocket and left that way for so long. 

The mechanic shop he worked at was in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, and so in front of the shop was a highway that went on an on as far the eye could see for one way, and the other way would only take about fifteen or twenty minutes to get to the closest town, which was where Stiles lived, and beyond that, just desert, dry, dull, hot.

The soda machine didn’t boast the shops image all that much, as it was clanky, old, and the actual soda you could get was in those coca cola type bottles that had been popular in 50’s. 

Stiles bent down, got his change - and it had thankfully given him his change this time - and then his drink, and as he was bending down to get them, he heard the tell tale rumble of a motorbike, loud and obnoxious as it drove down the highway and got closer, closer, closer. 

Stiles sighed as he stood up, put the change in his pocket and turned around, holding the soda limply in his right hand as he slowly leaned back against the soda machine, watching curiously as the bike and the person on it raced down the little stretch of highway before it turned into the lot in front of the mechanics garage. 

Stiles himself was wearing a plain white t-shirt with grease stains all over it, black jeans that Stiles thought looks good on him, but were really fucking uncomfortable in the hot sun, and black boots. It was Stiles’ typical work outfit, which wasn’t much different from his regular outfits he wore when he wasn’t working. 

But the guy on the motorcycle…Stiles didn’t even come close to him.

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20 8 / 2014



Title: Not In a Weird Way

Notes: Future fic where Stiles is in college and idk guys idk.

WC: 1,422

It’s close to 4 in the morning and Stiles’ message doesn’t make a lick of sense to Derek’s sleep addled brain. He looks at the timestamp of the last message received, checks the current time and sighs before calling the teenager up.

Derek rolls over on his back, slapping a hand over his eyes as he sighs tiredly at the ringtone. The minor adrenaline rush he’d gotten upon after waking up thanks to his phone’s vibrating message alert is starting to wear off now. He’d expected to read the usual “there’s trouble, need your help” message, not the weird messages he’s received.

The ring tones drones in his hear, cutting off near the end to be replaced with Stiles’ cheerful greeting. “Heeeeey Derek!”

His eyebrow rises underneath his fingers. “Are you drunk?” Derek rasps.

Stiles giggles, “If I was drunk would I be out shopping?”

Derek lowers his hand to glare confusedly at the shadowy ceiling. “You’re drunk.” He states.

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