you read stuff on wattpad for shit and giggles where most of the fics there are reader-inserted ones written in 1st person pov where y/n is a barely legal white girl with blonde hair and blue âorbsâ whoâs so smol and fragile that sheâs dependent entirely on this morally questionable guy whoâs killing people for a living but for some reason happens to have a soft spot for her.
you read real actual literature on archive of our own where itâs two middle aged men, who are each otherâs sworn enemies, with tragic past, trauma and strong homoerotic tension. and while theyâve made each other bleed, killed each otherâs friends and loved ones out of jealousy / possessiveness, lied and betrayed and manipulated, the rawness, depth, complexity and slow burn will keep you up all night, haunt you during your day and possibly change your life forever. and also the sex isnât just smut. the sex is poetry that puts Shakespeare to shame
If you clicked on and read a fanfiction that had tags or a description that upset you and you were upset by it, that's your responsibility, not the author's responsibility.
If you were reading a fanfiction and you got to an unexpected part that disturbed you and you kept reading after you were disturbed, that was your choice and your responsibility, not the author's.
No one is forcing you to read fanfiction that upsets you. The back button is your friend.
If you are reading a piece of fanfiction it's because it interests you. Horrified fascination counts as interest. No fanfiction is holding you hostage and forcing you to read it.
Smut fic on AO3 always seems to have a way lower kudos to hits ratio than non-smut fic; because a larger percentage of people reading feel ashamed to attach their screen name to a kudos on an adult fic.
Which is a shame, really.
If you're posting smut, never let yourself be disappointed in the number of kudos.
Hi! Do you have any fanfics about Stiles turning into a fox?
Hi anon! @kevaaronday made this list for you.
Mating Run by Starless_Void
(9/9 | 47,631 | Explicit | Steter)
Newly presented werefox omega, Stiles Stilinski, signs up for the annual Mating Run, a supernatural event designed to pair eligible were-folk of the candid variety.
Alpha Peter Hale returns to his hometown after being away for ten years, traveling the world and making his fortune, or, well, adding to it, at least.
You can guess what happens next...;)
Exceeding Expectations by Dagger_Stiletto
(2/2 | 20,497 | Teen | Steter)
This is the last time the Hale Pack will ever entrust Stiles to Scott fucking McCall's care. The absolute last time. He couldn't keep his dick inside his pants for a single night, and now Stiles is a Were-creature, Bitten against his will and drugged and abandoned by the friend that should have been there to protect him. But now Peter is an Alpha again, and all the better for it. Peter will be sure to keep his favorite Beta safe where Scott wouldn't.
The Der-Bear-Est of Them All by sapphireginger
(16/16 | 18,976 | Teen | Sterek)
True Mates Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale are as close as close can be. Derek is very protective of his little mate who is only three while he himself is only seven.
This is their story.
At Home Under the Moon by wanderingeye
(1/1 | 18,425 | Explicit | Sterek)
There is no doubt in Derekâs mind that this fox is alone, in trouble, and needs to come home with them, with him. Derek takes a risk and lets his wolf go, calling his human side forward as he shifts. The fox barks in alarm and scrambles back to the bushes. Derek kneels and holds his hands out palm up.
Derek pushes power into the next words and lets his eyes go red. âI promise. Youâre safe. No one will hurt you.â
Caged by DearDaisy, Giveemhale
(1/1 | 16,274 | Teen | Sterek)
Werefox Stiles instantly knows there are hunters in his town, he can smell them. But with them has come that enticing scent that he used to smell in Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills, the place where he grew up and where his mother died. And the place him and his father left.
Stiles isnât going to let hunters come into his town, only when he investigates, he finds a captive wolf.
Stiles is My Safe Place by Star_crossed02
(5/5 | 10,106 | Mature | Sterek)
Stiles gets bitten by Kali, and after a brief adjustment period, proceeds to co-lead the Hale Pack to defeat the Alpha Pack once and for all.Â
OR
What happens when a sassy spark-werefox starts courting an alpha sourwolf?
Stiles Stilinski Animal Whisperer by StaciNadia
(1/1 | 5,558 | Teen | Sterek)
When Stiles gets bitten and becomes a werefox, he discovers that he can understand what animals are saying.
Only You Can Calm Me Down by AMatchInWater
(1/1 | 3,228 | Teen | Sterek)
Stiles turns into a fox after the Nogitsune leaves him and he thinks that Derek is his Alpha and not Scott. With Derek having left for South America with Cora, Stiles feels separated from not only his pack but his mate and goes feral.
Of course Derek immediately comes back when the sheriff calls him and demands he come fix Stiles. It isn't until he's back in Beacon Hills that he sees just what he needs to fix.
Dear Derek⊠Iâm dating your uncle? By Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache
(1/1 | 2,483 | Teen | Steter)
Peter and Stiles have been dating for a while, and they haven't exactly been subtle... it's not their fault their family is oblivious.Â
orÂ
The Pack find out about Peter and Stiles.
AND
@seaweed-water suggested this one.
Do Not Go Gentle by MojoFlower
(51/51 I 191,878 I Explicit I Sterek)
Derek Hale, Beacon Hills Alpha and Dom, wakes up in a dark cell already housing another captive â a mute, traumatized sub with a cruel collar around his neck. His only goal is to get them both free of their brutal circumstances; but even as he tries to get his young companion home, a bond between them grows. Nothing comes easily: danger and harrowing echoes of their ordeal shadow every step they take.
AND AND
@library-fiend suggested this one.
Hanging On (You're All That's Left To Hold On To) by vMures
(19/19 I 92,823 I Teen I Steter)
The Stilinskis find themselves struggling in the aftermath of the Nogitsune; sometimes help comes from the most unlikeliest of places.
Helloooo your recs give me life. Youâve probably done this before, but any recommendations for fics that include a brutally pining Derek and oblivious Stiles? Ideally canon-verse but aus are also loved. Thanks in advance!!
I'm sure I have, but I love pining in all fics. So I'm happy to make a million lists of it.
Fun by Halevetica
(1/1 I 3,889 I Teen)
Stiles convinces Derek to go to the annual Beacon Hills bonfire with him, with the promise of fun. What he gets instead are a lot of assumptions that he and Stiles are dating, and Stiles' too-eager dismissals, which are decidedly NOT fun for Derek.
Game On by stilinskisparkles
(1/1 I 6,391 I Teen)
Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. Heâs sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.
Written in the Stars by Quixoticity
(6/6 I 26,586 I Mature)
Derek Hale is a lucky guy. He's got a great family, good friends, and a fulfilling job as a tattoo artist.
He's also one of the twenty-five per cent of the population born with a soul mark.
He likes his life, but he's waiting for his soul-match. The odds of meeting them aren't great but hey, Derek's a lucky guy. He has faith.
He can't believe how good his luck really is when one day his soul-match wanders right into his studio, all long limbs and copper eyes. There's just one problem: Stiles is there to get his soul mark covered up. Permanently.
Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf by lielabell
(5/5 I 35,458 I Mature)
Derek doesnât do pining. He doesnât. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.
too busy being yours to fall for somebody new by whiry
(12/12 I 64,278 I Teen)
Stiles, worried that Scott may actually leave him behind because of his newfound popularity, is desperate to cling to something away from the drama of Lydia Martin's amazing parties and the woes of high school lacrosse. What he finds is Derek Hale, a guy who seemingly hates Stiles at first, but slowly, and insistently, becomes friends with him. As their friendship grows, Stiles starts to wonder if they could ever become something more or if pushing what they have will lead him to being alone for good.
All the Weird Kids (Know How to Take it Slow) by Ionaonie
(26/26 I 112,477 I General)
Stiles never thought being part of a werewolf Pack would end up being so normal. Even being around Derek had a degree of normality about it. Even if he was still an overbearing jerk most of the time.
When it all comes crumbling down by Littleredridinghunter
(18/18 I 216,191 I Not Rated)
Stiles is recovering from the Nogitsune. Erica is the only one that is really there for him, Scott's too busy rekindling his relationship with Allison and Stiles feels like he's falling apart.
When a near-miss with a kelpie results in an encounter that he could never have predicted, Stiles begins to think his life might be getting back on track.
He's wrong.
Stiles' life is so messed up he can't even begin to explain it, maybe it's time for him to finally do something for himself and get out of Beacon Hills. But where will that path lead?
With Stiles involved, no doubt danger and death won't be far behind.
Mariner's Rinds
3.6k words | Wriothesley/Neuvillette
tags: sexual content, dubious consent, dom/sub undertones
Happy birthday to my dearest @denimecho, my sweet cheese. My good time boy. This is fic based on his beautiful Wriollette artwork.
.
The Fortress of Meriopode: the imposing stronghold in abyssal drink, a long-standing and lone custodian. The principle of such a being meant protection for those of the outside world or a cautionary tale. Thus, the wonders of the institution were unknown to the general public and untouched by the hand of the judicial court. Insofar as it involved the affairs of the underground, it was Wriothesleyâs domain. Except the Iudex stood at the threshold of his office, looking as discrepant in all his glory as he always did.
âWell,â Wriothesley said with raised brow, âthis is a surprise.â
"Hello," Neuvillette stepped forward like a haze, slow and uninterrupted.Â
âHello?" Wriothesley smiled, "I welcome you with open arms, make no mistake, but there was no prior notice of your arrival.â He set his teacup down, âcall it a hunch, but arenât you usually very proper with such things?â
He slots his fingers in the space between Neuvilletteâs neck and jaw, cold like ice, smooth like leather, and watches the way his head tilts back against Wriothesleyâs shoulder in consequence. Silence. It makes the roaring in his ears sound like discomforted static and his own breathing, laboured, rolls out in sharp intervals.Â
He feels Neuvilletteâs heartbeat, slow, stilted, irregular, through the membrane of his own. Â
âI must apologise. My arrival was sudden, even to me." Neuvillette said, his voice at once cutting and balming, âI do recognise the disruption my presence here may entail, and I assure you, my stay won't be long.â Not a single hair out of place. Noble, and immaculate.
âNonsense. My doors are always open to you. As a matter of fact, I feel as though Iâm always the one asking you to stay, only to meet with your insistent departures. Please,â he gestured to the seat by his desk. âBut really, this is quite peculiar. Have you come to chide me?â
âI cannot imagine what for.â
The quiet stretched and Wriothesley replied with a mild, âneither can I.â
Neuvillette said, âIn truth, my duties required me nearby, though matters were resolved quite⊠efficiently, to say the least. I daresay my presence was not needed.â
âAh, the reconstitution meetings, is it? You had to oversee that?â
Neuvillette nodded.Â
âThe council is ruthless.â Wriothesley chuckled despite himself. By natural inclination, Neuvillette remained the highest authority of Fontaine but the nobility would always be the first to bow down to it, and simultaneously undermine it.
âIf I had known the gravity of their cases, I would have scheduled our times accordingly. Iâm not suggesting their concerns should be disregarded, however for the time being, I believe Imena to be capable on her lonesome.â He paused, as though reliving the brunt of insipid chatter, but whatever bitterness Wriothesley was searching for showed no trace. âNevertheless, I had a great deal of time on my hands, and since my visit to Qiaoying Village, I confess Iâve made a habit of, as one would say, âloitering.â As of late.â
Wriothesley looked up. âOh?â So the observer has abdicated.
âBefore I knew it,â Neuvillette said, âI found myself here.â
Neuvilletteâs eyes are hidden behind grey tresses but Wriothesley imagines the slits dilating, darkening. Then he imagines hardly anything. The column of Neuvilletteâs neck is submerged by a faint red, giving the appearance of having drunk too much liquor. Its contrast is slight, but drastic on Neuvillette's flesh; he finds it brings him down to physicality and in Wriothesley's handling.
He grabs Neuvilletteâs wrists, holds them up and the colour travels to his ears, which Wriothesley traces with fervour.Â
âAha, how quaint. I imagine it is nothing short of a spectacle for the folk to see you out and about.â
Neuvillette looked hesitant, but Wriothesley was patient. âRegardless, I wished to ask: does your invitation for tea have an expiration date?â
âCourse not, Monsieur Neuvillette.â The smile on Wriothesleyâs face was unreserved, stretching easy on his face. âIâm way ahead of you.â
The room is warm, warm - his steel ice office has never been so humid. Neuvilletteâs skin is jumping under his touch, pulling him in: teasing him out.
The tea he poured was a hearty homage to Neuvilletteâs new ventures. Liyueâs specialty was herbal and demure, best suited for night, just as one was on his last ream of paperwork. Wriothesley watched with no obstacle as the mug pressed red into Neuvilletteâs white palms.Â
âI am not disrupting your duties, am I?â
âNo, no, you came at the perfect time. â Wriothesley waved, âwhat is this Iâm hearing about loitering?â
âWell, it is still quite rare that I do. My duties still occupy me for the majority of the day, and I have a sense that my workload will double in the near future. However,â Neuvillette said, a frown twisting the corner of his lips, âit has come to my attention that it may prove worthwhile.â
âAnd what are your findings?â
âThat remains to be seen, Iâm afraid.â Neuvillette lowered his gaze. The corners of his eyes and lips rounded, becoming softer, more malleable. Those features were best blessed under the night sky, and Wriothesleyâs office was kept dim for a reason. Regardless, the light from the outside was not inclined to penetrate through to the ocean floor.
He is clinically, accurately precise when he wants to be, but finds that its never what he wants, with Neuvillette. He canât help but shove him into book cases, bend him over desks, pin him against limestone. Now, to the thrum of frenzy, his palm splayed on the small of Neuvilletteâs back forces an arch too bowed to be painless.
For a brief moment, the intensity of his own stare was not known to him and when he came to, he almost startled. He considered winding up the gramophone but stopped himself; Neuvillette at his most serene was in the quiet.Â
âItâs a good look on you.â He said, voice ahead of mind.
âDo you think so?â
Wriothesley cast his eyes away and to the far corner of his office, on a cabinet closest to the doors. It was crowned by a legal codex. He jerked his thumb in the direction of it.
âHow else would this trophy of mine get to me?â
Neuvillette took a long sip of his tea, staring at the structure with bemusement. âIs it wise to have it on display like this?â
âAbsolutely,â Wriothesley said, ânot.â He flashed the Iudex a smile. âItâs home is in the storage room, as promised. I just like taking it out sometimes.â
âThat is peculiar. For what reason?â
âOf course, it reminds meâŠ
His hunger feels like it will never be quelled. Itâs been there since his creation, merely dormant. Suppressed. Deactivated. A sigh escapes Neuvillette, quiet and like a song, and Wriothesley reconsiders.
ââŠof my appreciation of you. Our connection if you will,â
Some part of him knows his touch is audacious, that he's treating Neuvillette too lightly, as if he were an object. As if he were a thing Wriothesley owns. But his hands are made to be on Neuvilletteâs body, and he grips his shoulder, his hip, and Neuvillette stills under it. Neuvillette stays where Wriothesley puts him.
â-and the code that I must dutifully live by.â
Wriothesley clenches his jaw, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he reminds himself: be gentle, be gentle. He shapes his consciousness back into its automated material and concentrates, until he doesnât, and then he does what he likes. He grips Neuvilletteâs hardened thigh, the tips of his fingers tracing the thin skin of the inside.
Neuvillette stared.
âAnd, of course, I had to have Clorinde bear witness to my earnings.â
Neuvillette gave a slow nod. âI hope it satisfied her expectations.âÂ
âOh, she was very impressed by the craftsmanship.â Wriothesley rose from his seat, and moved towards the slab of stone. He picked it up with tenderness, stroked a thumb over the engraving with a fond eye. âIn fact, I, myself, have started to segue into a great fondness for the arts. Finally, a fitting citizen of this country, no?â
Neuvillette disagreed, âI highly doubt it deserves this calibre of praise. Please remember, it was conceived merely in jest.â
âEven your jokes are pristine, then.â
âI do not know what to say to that.â
Wriothesley let out an amused breath.Â
Once more, he used the moment to reassess the situation; Neuvillette, Chief Justice of Fontaine, sitting in his office, having tea. He would appreciate the absurdity of it all if the man himself werenât such a distracting contrast amongst his belongings. Timeless and stoic, unbound by teacups and velvet settees.
âNow, Monsieur Neuvillette,â Wriothesley crossed his arms, lax against his chair. âI must say, I do not hate engaging in pleasantries with you. However, it also stands that I have not yet known you to involve yourself.â
âYou are right; I was, and am, unfamiliar to the need. This a first attempt of sorts.â
âYouâve been doing a lot of those recently⊠oh, let me refill that. âScuse me.âÂ
Neuvillette reached out for the pot but Wriothesley, steeled by reflex, grabbed his wrist before he could intervene. Not unkindly. A beat, and Neuvilletteâs arm went lax in Wriothesley's hold, and he grabbed the pot himself. The kettle on his worktable was the only household appliance in his office, filling the office with a muted hum.
Neuvillette is sturdy, solid and damp, and letting out a breath as a strong grip kneads the meat of his breast. The curve of Neuvilletteâs neck lies bare as his hair slips before his shoulders, and his steady exhales becomes the symphony of the evening.
Neuvillette holds himself up where Wriothesley places him, always. Idle where Wriothesley mouths at the mound of his neck and shoulder, going easily when shoved. Wriothesley pushes in and thereâs a solid thump of a fist, green veins protruding from Neuvillette's pale forearms.Â
He pulls him closer, pushes him back. He guides the ancient entity forward so his forearms presses into book spines as Wriothesley violates him again and again.
Wriothesley places a grip on the back of Neuvilletteâs neck, perhaps to tame if he thrashes, but he is still, so still. A monument that stands solid through the passage of time, purely and painfully ornamental.
Neuvillette eventually said, âit seems to have become a curiosity of mine.â
âOh? Very well, then.â Wriothesley switched the kettle on and gave him a nod, âtake the reins.â
Neuvilletteâs lips worked around words that were silent, and then stopped moving altogether.
The articulation of those lips had been embedded in Wriothesleyâs wiring the moment they delivered his verdict. When he spoke, motion was minimum, the cadence of his voice a soft imprint against ego: at once, nullifying and devastating. But if Neuvillette was careless, then call Wriothesley naive. The entityâs biggest crimes were his scarcity and fortitude.
âThe process of reconstruction has posed significant challenges.â Neuvillette said after pause. The same low timbre from twenty years ago. âAs you know, the termination of the Oratrice means the ease of this transition is my priority. I would like to know where you stand in all of this.â
Wriothesley laughed, âAh, it has become work-related again. But thatâs okay. I wonât be surprised when the shock dissipates and we find ourselves swamped down here too. People have already started to notice the state weâre in. Youâve read my reports, havenât you? We are at the cusp of an interim.â
âI indeed have. It provided great clarification.â
Neuvillette's warmth all around him, a suffocation and a vice that promises to sever but Wriothesley yanks the tail of his coat out of the way and kicks his legs apart. And then takes him again. Raises him higher, higher, until Neuvillette is searching for better purchase. A grunt leaves his throat, thrust out with how hard Wriothesleyâs muscles flex and then strain, and further ripples through his skin.
âAnd Iâve read your proposal. I stand by it.â
âI am grateful to hear that,â Neuvillette said, though the corner of his lips creased. âFontaine has never been without an Archon. It seems Iâve misunderstood the effects of such a phenomenon.â
âThis is not really a commonplace thingâŠâ
âThat much is irrefutable. As it stands, I have been faced with a series of novelties I may not be equipped to deal with.â
âYouâre worried?â
âI would only like to enact what is best for Fontaine,â Neuvillette explained, and Wriothesley was once again reminded of a sorrowful form of a man barred of its features, staring down at him from a high throne. âIt is not my capability per se, but my status that may destabilise the prospect of moderation. I am not asking for reassurance, rather, it is in that line of thinking that calls for perspectives outside of my own.â
Wriothesley hummed, pouring the tea with mechanical tenderness. âSo thatâs what this is about. Youâve seen the movements, havenât you?â I thought I took care of that.
âIt would be arrogant to assume there would not be any to resent my state of being.â
âSure,â Wriothesley said, âIf you ask me, itâll be some time before it becomes an issue. Any semblance of visibility or violence right now is scoured by the loss of Focalors, and those who carry these sentiments lack the manpower and the influence. Trust me on this.â
Neuvillette spent a long time digging into his irises. Then he placed his tea back on the table. âI see now that it was reckless of me to have left.â
âYou, reckless? Why, thatâs not in your dictionary,â Wriothesleyâs grim smile was concealed by his teacup, but Neuvillette caught onto details far faster than formalities anyway. âThough I actually think it best to lay low just as you are. No one is better suited for this than you.â
His other hand plants over Neuvilletteâs stomach as he forces the man back against him, the muscles tensing hard under his palm, and a shaky inhale wanes as soon as it starts. Neuvilletteâs hands find Wriothesleyâs wrists; all else is insufficient in holding him up. Neuvillette is â cold and tight and addictive.Â
He peels back layer by layer, smoothing hands over skin, until he finds him raw and pink and ripened.
âWhy do you say that?â
âThe people here have grown accustomed to its idols. They are used to performance and machinations. Iâm assuming you donât intend to pick up where Miss Furina left off?â
Neuvillette blinked. âOf course not.â
âI hope I'm not overstepping my bounds with my opinion. You, as a public figure, are not defined by archaic concepts such as âjustice,ââ Wriothesley jerked his chin, âbut duty. In you, people see the vision already, and they will see that things will not be returning to the status quo. In fact, your transparency is what the nation needs right now, so give them that.â He paused, and shrugged, âor donât. Theyâve already had their sweethearts.â
âI see your point, Your Grace.â Neuvillette murmured, chin in hand. âI⊠will not pretend to comprehend the dynamics of human relationships. Despite my efforts to understand, each time I feel Iâve gained insight, a new facet eludes me." He looked troubled. "Iâd initially hoped to salvage this with contributions. Gifts. Though it appears that those around me have emphasized the significance of my departure, instead. Needless to say, your advice has been highly valuable."
His palms drag heavy over Neuvilletteâs hips to the back of a firm, thick thigh. He can feel Neuvillette brace himself when he forces his leg up in a firm hold, and the closeness presses him deeper inside. Heâs a machine running on the fumes of Neuvilletteâs wreckage. Heâs a nexus of unstable energy contained by the wet clasp of Neuvillette, who remains untainted by mortal devices.Â
The thick expanse of a shoulder so regal, so close to him, and Wriothesley sinks his teeth into it as his vision spots.Â
âYou do better than you think.â Wriothesley said with a small smirk, âand youâll have to tell me more about Liyue some time.â
âVery well.â Neuvillette said. âIâll have a detailed review for you at a later date. Perhaps Iâll squeeze in another visit before we next meet.â
"You do that." Wriothesley hummed, scratching the side of his head, âstill, though. To think a day would come where the overworld and the underworld would find a middle ground.âÂ
The tendency to believe punishment started in Meriopode will never stop being a point of focus for him. It was as deeply amusing as Neuvillette's antics. There was a short pause where Neuvillette studied his face.
âOh, donât mind me,â Wriothesley smiled. He grabbed Neuvilletteâs cup, refilling it. âUp there resembles down here with each passing day, is all Iâm saying.â
The wrinkles that appeared when Neuvillette furrowed his brow were also decorative, an adaptation of warm blood. His scrutiny never failed to thrill Wriothesley because it reduced the entity into somewhat of a reflection, laying the groundwork to be scrutinised in the same manner. Here, it wouldnât surprise him had Neuvillette taken his leave, appeased with their exchange. Instead, Neuvillette followed him.Â
âNo more performances, I believe, is what you mean?â
âEverything is a performance,â Wriothesley said, offering Neuvilletteâs teacup when the man leaned in close. He let the cold air stagnate around him, hindered only by Neuvilletteâs breath. Except you. He let go of the cup. Neuvillette lingered, fingers secured around it.Â
He watched Neuvillette indulge himself in another sip, exhaling, and the sound sliced the silence into thick slivers. It encased the room like fog, like condensation, and Wriothesleyâs palms tingled and his throat went dry.
Wriothesley forces parts of himself deep inside him. They shudder in unison, Wriothesley gasping, chasing for breath. He folds Neuvillette over, draping over him like second skin with his forehead pressed against the damp back of a strong, noble shoulder.
âItâs good,â Neuvillette murmured, and the world started spinning again.
It rushes into a geyser of a memory; nails against skin, the pulse of his throat, the feeling like hurtling liberation and abandonment, before Neuvillette can button himself back up and wash it away. A phantom of the fragment of solidity Wriothesley can mould him into, when he was under his hands.
âNow thatâs a compliment indeed, coming from you.â
âPlease. Your discernment in matters of tea surpasses mine. When you brew itâŠâ Neuvillette trailed off, perhaps scanning Wriothesley in his entirety. It was always a breathless thing to have the Iudexâs full attention. âWhen you are the one brewing it, I have complete confidence in its quality.â
âIs that a fact?â Wriothesley said, pleased as day.
"Do you know me as one to lie?â
âPoint taken. Have you lied once in the past millennium?â
âI must have, statistically, but put on the spot like that, it is a challenge to recall.â
âDoesnât count. Omission doesnât count, either. Oh, and that was a rhetorical question, by the way.â
âI⊠see.â Neuvillette cast him an unreadable look. âIf youâll allow me to say, the amount of lies youâve told is sufficient for both our lifetimes.â
Wriothesley grasped his own chest. âWhy, Iudex Neuvillette! Youâre really getting the hang of things, arenât you?â
The gentle clink of fine china, the notes of Neuvilletteâs quiet tones, the submergence of a glass bottle under the sea. The tea was starting to grow cold. The better part of an hour he had kept the Chief Justice locked in his hollow underwater. A free spirit made tangible, like picking up water with the sole equipment of oneâs hands. The sentiment settled into his palms and fingers like a desperate ache.
âThis was pleasant, Duke Wriothesley. You have my thanks in accommodating me tonight.â Neuvillette folded his hands atop his knee. âAs a token of my appreciation, please allow for our next meeting to be in my office. Though I do not hold a candle to your tea-making, it would be my honour to prepare the refreshments."
âWell, if you insist. Perhaps I shall.â
He waits for Neuvillette to say something. Anything.
The doors were too loud when they screeched open. Wriothesley had half a mind to fix that later. âOur next tea party aside, might one hope for your presence more often down here, considering the circumstances?â
Neuvillette fixed his eyes on him, considering. âThat may be a likelier thing. Nevertheless, this was an unusual deviation that I do not foresee becoming a regular occurrence. Unfortunately my responsibilities remain unchanged.â
âUnchanged,â Wriothesley echoed, pausing. âThatâs an interesting word to use in this climate of events. To think you may inspire unrest among the people here; would you not consider my own appearances to yield the same result? This place is my foundation, but this does not mean anything to new faces.â
He said quietly, "Wriothesley."
And there were a lot of new faces, though the number was not privy to Neuvillette. Wriothesleyâs eyes were intent, and he took care not to slip a bit of himself outside, âit is the next chapter, dear Iudex. I am but an authority, just like you.â
Neuvilletteâs face remained unchanged, though a long sigh escaped silently through the nose. His fingers twitched, imperceptible if Wriothesley was not so attuned to his movements. âYes, I⊠you are not wrong. I will take it into consideration." And then short and swift, "I bid you goodnight.â
Nothing. Everything.
The door swung closed with an echo that resonated deep within his chambers. Wriothesley settled back in his seat, his fingers coiling together as he rested his chin.
Neuvillette leaves in silence, his pristine coat flowing behind him.
Love's Violent Delights by @dexterous-sinistrous (wc10685, explicit)
Summary:
Derek caught the way the manâs eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted.
Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerkâs head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek.
Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stilesâ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. âEver look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and Iâll slice your eyes out with my claws.â He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.
This fic has so many layers and I'm so obsessed with it. The Omegaverse worldbuild is heartwrenching.
"Mistletoe was often considered a pest that kills trees and devalues natural habitats, but was recently recognized as an ecological keystone species, an organism that has a disproportionately pervasive influence over its community. In Norse myth, an arrow made of mistletoe was the only thing that was able to kill the god Balder. The goddess Frigg had asked all other things to vow not to hurt Balder, but she had ignored the mistletoe because it seemed too small to be dangerous."
The Spark had been cool. It had been small, manageable. He could do some funky stuff with Mountain Ash, all with the power of belief.
And now here he is, his Spark blown wide open, apparently coming down with a fatal case of magical overload, and all that stands between him and bleeding out is a grumpy owl that looks suspiciously like a feathered version of Derek Hale.
(In which Stiles learns he's a witch, but instead of a wand and a trip to Diagon Alley, he gets blood magic, a grumpy and reluctant owl as his companion, and an accidental blood bond with Derek Hale.)
Scott and Derek are brothers, and they just hate each other. At first. When Derek enters into an all too illegal sexual relationship with Scotts long time best friend however, things get turned upside down.
This story is about Stiles and Derek falling in love despite all the odds and spending the rest of their lives putting each other first. There is relationship reveals. Both on purpose and by accident. There are obstacles, scorned Brothers and past lovers. There is even a criminal scandal that shockingly has nothing to do with Stiles being underage and everything to do with Derek being falsely accused⊠but thatâs still to come!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/53198554
by iam93percentstardust
truth: (obsolete) A pledge of loyalty or faith
When Scott McCall is bitten by a werewolf during his sophomore year, his life veers off in a completely different direction than the one it was supposed to take. Surrounded by werewolves and banshees and hunters, Scott must figure out who to trust - if he can trust anyone at all.
Or: canon but one step to the left and if it was written by someone who had a plan from the start
Words: 9471, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: Multi
Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Allison Argent, Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Lydia Martin, Alan Deaton, Teen Wolf (TV) Ensemble
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Additional Tags: Canon Rewrite, Fix-It, Canon-Typical Violence, Fixing the Timeline on top of everything else I'm fixing, It's a rewrite so I mean it when I say Ensemble Fic, Pretty much every canon character appears here, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Tagged M for violence, Good Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/53198554
Thunderstorms & Polish Lullabies by Whispering_Sumire
Teen | 10k | 1/1
Boyd is there, hovering over his claws, Isaac looks devastated, Jennifer looks bewildered and concerned and horrified, Kali looks smug, the twins are carefully keeping their faces blank but theyâre playing along, and- Gods, heâs really going to be forced to do this, isnât he? Pack, his Pack, the make-shift family heâd all but accidentally gathered is going to die by his hand, and even if itâs forced, itâll still be his fault, for wanting them, for needing them, for biting them.
Loving them.
He wants to close his eyes but he owes Boyd more than that.
And then, abruptly, in this saturated technicolor still-picture moment of chaos and violence- the eye of the storm- the door to the loft crashes open. With the water and the metal and the force of it, the sound is almost guttural, and far too loud- even Kali seems startled.
[Or, the one where Stiles time-travels just in time to save Boyd and Derek from the Alphas, and manages to heal everyone, including himself, just a little in the process.]
Maybe he was in some kind of alternate reality, maybe he wasnât just back in time from almost two years ago, maybe ⊠maybe this was an entirely new WORLDâŠ
Only way to find out was to get a second opinion, his dad wasnât home and probably wouldnât begin to believe him if he was, Scott would still be deeply mourning Allison if he HAD somehow gone back in time and so would Lydia, there was only one person he could talk to, one person who he had even a SLIGHT chance of believing himâŠ.
And that person was Derek
Stabroek Alley @masterstabroek13 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
