i think my favourite part of JinMao is that he always gets so upset and serious when he hears about her being mistreated or hurt, and she's like "why does he even care?? it's a mystery" and then never examines it
queen of burying her head in the sand
EXACTLYYYY my guy is so obvious and yet maomao is completely unaware of his pining it’s just like:
but that’s the whole show. and they solve mysteries too ig
Alex, babe, I was so swept away by this prompt that I started writing for it immediately and also wrote 2.8k of pure filth. I'm going to post it here first, but can I gift it to you when I post it on ao3???
Prompt 40: “You taste like fucking candy.” (click the link to send me a prompt number and a ship!) - for Sterek
Rating: E (very much so)
Tags: Rimming, marking, spanking (light), knotting, gaping (kinda), come inflation (mentioned but not explicitly depicted), discussion of filming future sex, possessiveness, partial shift (hardly worth mentioning tbh, but just in case). If there is anything else that should be added when I stick it on ao3, please let me know :D
NB: I didn't situate this anywhere in canon, so you get to choose how old Stiles is :)
Entire 2.8k below the cut! I'll reblog with the ao3 link when it exists
I hope everyone enjoys, but you especially, Alex <3
"You taste like fucking candy," Derek growled, pulling his lips away from where they had been devouring Stiles' ass.
"It's flavoured lube," Stiles panted, fingers clenched into the bedspread below him and forehead pressed against his pillow. "It was free with the plug."
Derek groaned a bit at the mention of Stiles' new toy, thinking of how the plastic gem on its base had looked, sparkling and shining against the flushed ring of Stiles' asshole. The sound it had made when Derek pulled it out of Stiles' tight hole with one sure movement. The way Stiles had clenched around nothing, searching for the plug, before Derek had shoved his tongue into the beckoning gap.
"Well, go back to the other stuff, this shit tastes like chemicals."
"You just said it tasted like candy," Stiles complained, shifting his hips to try and get some relief for his aching cock. He wanted to rut against the bed, or hump Derek's face, or jack himself off—anything other than discuss the free lube he got. "Are you going to keep eating me out, or are you finally going to fuck me? I'm getting old here, asshole."
"It does taste like candy," Derek muttered, even as he shifted his hands on Stiles' ass-cheeks, spreading them to reveal his puffy, pink hole, the rim and taint flushed with beard burn from Derek's stubble. "Like that shitty bubblegum you like, the unholy pink one." Derek couldn't take his eyes off the way the muscles in Stiles' back and thighs undulated as he shifted his hips and shoulders, rocking back into Derek's hands.
"Don't disparage—" Stiles lost his words to a moan when Derek pressed his lips against Stiles' hole again, licking at his entrance and trusting his tongue in as deep as possible. It felt fucking incredible and Stiles' legs trembled with the force of his arousal.
Derek was a fucking pro at eating ass, in Stiles' humble opinion. Gold medal material. If they had sex Olympics, Derek could compete for Team USA and bring back all the medals with how good he is at tongue fucking Stiles' asshole. Stiles was dripping, precome leaking onto the bed and making a wet spot on the sheets, and Derek's drool was coating his taint and crack and the inside of his thighs. He rolled his hips, trying to fuck himself on Derek's tongue, only for the large hands gripping his cheeks to tighten their grasp. Derek held him in place, palms hot and fingertips a bruising pressure.
Stiles moaned, trying to shift again, trying to get Derek to leave actual bruises, fingerprints in red and blue along his crack, thumbprints a brand at the top of his thighs, right where it met his ass. "Derek," he pleaded, trembling, face half buried in the pillow, elbows having given out sometime after Derek had begun rimming him even more ferociously.
Derek pulled away slightly, withdrawing his tongue from the clenching heat of Stiles' hole. His lips felt as hot and puffy as Stiles' rim was, and Derek wanted to keep licking into him, cleaning out the sickly sweet slick of the lube and replacing it with his own taste, his spit coating the inside of Stiles and claiming him. He wanted the taste of Stiles' ass to match the taste of Derek's own mouth, both of them so coated with his saliva and Stiles' taste. Stiles bucked towards him as he pressed a chaste kiss to the pink skin of Stiles' rim and Derek lifted a hand from where it had been keeping Stiles spread open, bringing it down sharp and open-handed on Stiles' pale ass-cheek.
The slap was a loud ringing in the quiet of room, and echoed immediately by a wanton moan from Stiles. "Derek," he begged, "please." And Derek couldn't refuse.
He spat in his hand, giving his cock a perfunctory stroke, gathering spit and precome in him palm, before smacking Stiles' ass again, hitting the same spot as before. The added slick on his palm made the sound louder, and the skin on Stiles' pale ass was already pinking up after just two hits. Derek massaged Stiles' ass-cheeks, rubbing his spit and precome deep into the red skin, pushing his fingers harder into the bruises he had started while eating Stiles out. He lifted his hand again, trailing his fingers over the damp crack of Stiles' ass, pausing to tug softly on his balls and slip a thumb into Stiles' hole.
Stiles moaned again, and Derek could smell the slightest hint of salt in the air, the start of tears pooling in Stiles' eyes where they were buried in his pillow. He shoved his thumb in as deep as he could, sudden, and Stiles almost shifted slightly up the mattress. Derek pulled his thumb down, opening Stiles' entrance slightly. It was gorgeous to watch, the way Derek could change the shape of Stiles' body with hardly any effort. The way he could mark and claim the boy in so many ways. His cock ached and he wanted nothing more than to slam into Stiles, shove his dick in alongside his thumb, hold Stiles open and stretch him with his hands and his cock and his knot. Derek moaned, his dick twitching and precome oozing from the head.
He pulled his other hand from Stiles' ass, leaving his thumb in the boy's hole like the plug he had been wearing when Derek arrived. He stroked himself again, spreading his precome along his dick, while testing Stiles' hole with his thumb. He didn't want to use any more of that bubblegum lube if he didn't need to, not when Stiles' insides were coated in Derek's spit and scent and taste.
Stiles moaned at the teasing, at the play of pressure and movement at his rim. "Derek," he tried, voice quiet compared to how loud his panting breaths sounded in his ears. "Derek, please, just—fucking—fuck me already, God," he sobbed, he gasped, he begged. "I don't need more lube, I need you inside me!"
There was a moment of stillness, the only sounds Stiles could hear his own rapid breathing and the thundering of his pulse, before Derek had a damp and sticky hand on Stiles' ass-cheek again, both his thumbs in Stiles' asshole, pulling gently at the rim. Then, Derek's cock was there, sliding along Stiles' crack and against his ass-cheeks, hot and sticky, before the head caught on his opened rim. Derek grunted behind him, the mattress shifting under their knees as his angle changed, then, suddenly, the stretch at Stiles' entrance became more intense.
He fucking loved it.
He moaned, long and loud,as Derek's dick pressed into him, slow but constant. The pressure at his rim, the slight burn of the stretch, as Derek's cock slid in alongside the tips of his thumbs, the shift and clench of Derek's fingers digging into the meat of Stiles' ass… It was so fucking good. And Derek, standing there, watching—fuck, Stiles wanted to see Derek's face, but he couldn't in this position—"Derek," he gasped, "Derek, fuck, next time, next time," a whine, as Derek's hips stilled, as he pulled one thumb out and used that hand to play with Stiles' balls. "Derek, please," Stiles whimpered, "next time we need to film it, I need to see you watching me when you fuck into me. I need—" Derek growled, pulling his other thumb from Stiles' hole and grabbing his hips with both hands, pulling his ass backwards towards Derek's hips, seating himself deeper inside Stiles.
Derek folded himself over Stiles' back, hands still tight on the boy's hips even as he licked up Stiles' spine and nipped at his shoulder-blades. "You want to watch me fuck you," he rumbled against the creamy skin of Stiles' stretched back, rubbing stubble to raise a flush. "You want to see how I look at your ass when I slide inside? How I watch you devour my cock and my fingers and my tongue? How greedy you are?" How I love you for it?
With each of Derek's questions, Stiles clenches tighter around his cock, moaning and crying, breath hitching even as he tried to fuck back onto Derek's dick. Derek wasn't moving, holding himself still, holding Stiles still, but Stiles thought he could come untouched just from this. Just from Derek seated inside him, pinning him in place with his hands and his chest and his fucking words. "Please," he begged. He didn't know if he was asking for the images Derek was describing—the possibility of watching Derek fuck him, being able to watch it and rewatch it, over and over and over again—or for Derek to let him come, to fuck him into oblivion. Probably both.
"Of course," Derek breathed into Stiles' ear before he clamped his teeth, blunt, human, on the back of Stiles' neck and thrust, hard and sudden and deep. Stiles couldn't move, trapped between Derek's lips and his hands, unable to rut into the bed or rock into the pounding of Derek's hips and cock. If Derek weren't holding him down, holding him still, Stiles' would be shifting up and down the mattress every time Derek pulled out and slammed back in.
It was maddening.
It was delightful.
It was hot as fucking hell.
Stiles keened and cried and babbled and moaned. Derek was silent except for a growling rumble in his chest and the harsh breaths Stiles could feel, more than hear, against the base of his skull, as Derek kept his teeth fasted to Stiles' neck. Not breaking the skin, but definitely bruising it, marking it with indentation and, eventually, colours. Too high up to hide completely with the collar of a shirt; hair freshly shorn at the back; the marks would be visible to everyone—everyone would know that Stiles had been pinned and bitten and fucked.
Everyone would know Stiles belonged to Derek.
The volume of Derek's growling increased as his hips sped up. He had to pull his fingertips away from Stiles' skin as his claws began to form. He wouldn't allow his mouth to change, wouldn't let his teeth change to fangs, because he wanted to keep Stiles trapped below him, pinned into this submissive pose, warm and sweet against Derek's tongue. But he could let his fingers change, shift his hold on his boy, let his knot grow… He lathed his tongue against the sweaty skin in his mouth, smelt the arousal and need and desperate tears as Stiles begged to come. He wanted Stiles to come.
Derek shifted his hips, pushed himself somehow closer to Stiles, widened his stance. He pushed Stiles' legs open wider with his own knees and thighs, keeping his boy's hips raised with careful fingers and gentle claws. Then, he pulled out, out, out—almost all the way, until the tip of his cock was barely inside. It was tricky, since he was holding the same position as Stiles, arched over him, face buried at the base of his skull, but he refused to unlatch for even a moment.
When Derek was a far out as he could get, he slammed back into Stiles' ass, letting the heat and tightness engulf him. His next few thrusts were long and slow and deep, as though he were trying to crawl into Stiles' body dick first. But his knot began to swell and his need became too much, and Derek began to shove in and out more erratically—still deep and hard, but not as rhythmic. Not as consistent.
Stiles screamed when the knot began to catch on his rim, ecstasy rushing through him. God, he loved when Derek knotted him, filled him with so much come he could swear he tasted it. Tied them together, top and bottom, with Derek's teeth and his cock, marking him with his scent and his sperm—Stiles was sobbing as his dick leaked, throbbing and neglected between his legs, precome oozing along his shaft too little sensation.
"Need you to touch me, Derek, please, god, please, touch my cock, jerk me off, just let me rub against you, anything, please." Stiles babbled against the damp pillow under his face, unable to even turn his head with Derek's teeth at his throat. His eyes were itchy with his tears, drool was spread across his lips and cheeks, drying sticky where it isn't washed away by the tear tracks. It was fucking excruciating, and so fucking good.
Derek shifted against him, bringing one hand around to the front of Stiles' body. Before Stiles could try to rub into Derek's hand, he planted it on the mattress, right under Stiles' stomach, then shifted it backwards, towards Stiles' spread thighs. Derek's muscled arm was there, right in front of Stiles' cock, Derek's claws digging into the sheets and sinking into the mattress, and all Stiles could do was try to rut against all that naked skin. Derek had given Stiles just enough slack that he could roll his hips down and press his heavy cock against Derek's hairy forearm, even as Derek's knot finished growing. His last few thrusts into Stiles stretched his rim, caused him to cry out and clench harder, frot frantically against Derek.
Then Derek was locked in, still rocking his hips and shifting his thighs, keeping himself on edge and Stiles stimulated. But he could only hold off his orgasm for so long once the knot formed, with Stiles against his lips and rubbing off against his skin, and with his cock surrounded by that warm, welcoming heat. He growled, forcing himself to keep his teeth human and to not break the thin skin of Stiles' throat, and if he had been willing to release that grip, he surely would have roared as he came.
The feel of Derek's knot swelling impossibly more, the way his dick twitched inside Stiles, and the sensation, real or imagined, of the first splash of hot come inside Stiles was all he needed to rut frantically against Derek's arm, barely able to move with the size of the knot at his rim. It felt like only seconds later that he was coming, too, painting Derek's forearm with stripes of come.
Derek didn't even twitch, too focused on his own orgasm as he filled Stiles with come. It felt like hours before he was able to register anything beyond the sensation of Stiles' ass milking his cock, massaging his knot with every clench and spasm. When he registered the end of his orgasm, knot still swollen but dick no longer shooting come, Stiles was practically ragdolled, his upper body sprawled across the mattress and face pressed into the pillow it, Derek's teeth and hand and arm the only things keeping his boy where he is.
Stiles breathing was deep and even, but he wasn't quite asleep—tears still dripped from his eyes, from what Derek could smell. He carefully opened his mouth, licking and kissing the damp skin even as he pulled his teeth away. He dipped the tip of his tongue into each indent he'd left behind before lapping his way up to the delicate space behind Stiles' ear. He pressed light kisses and murmured sweet words to his boy as he carefully gathered him in his arms.
Stiles moaned and grumbled as Derek gently shifted them so that they were on their sides, Derek spooned up behind Stiles. Stiles patted around on the bed with his eyes closed, until his fingers found the sticky silicone of the plug Derek had pulled out of him earlier. He made an affirmative noise before clumsily lifting it over his shoulder, knocking it against Derek's cheek.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" Derek asked, amusement in his tone. "I can't clean it while we're tied together."
"Mn," Stiles moaned, "don't clean it. Put it back," he rolled his hips slightly in demonstration, even as he sounded muzzy and half-asleep. "Wanna keep your come in me til I can think again. I need to check something."
Derek's dick twitched at the idea of Stiles wanting to stayed filled with Derek's come even after the knot went down. "What do you need to check?" he asked, trying to keep his mind focused. If he came again, it would keep them tied together even longer, and it seemed like Stiles had something else in mind.
Stiles moved his hand, cupping his stomach. "I wanna see if my stomach looks weird. I bet you come so much I can see it from the outside." Stiles rolled his hips back again, his voice losing some of the fuzziness. "I feel like I can taste it when you come in me like this, so I want to know if I can see it, too."
Derek growled, his dick hardening more rapidly than it had any right to. Apparently, they'll also be testing how many times Derek can come before his knot finally goes down.
³²⁾ “the cold will kill us before they can if we don’t find shelter.”
The wind had picked up again, flakes of snow whipping against Derek's cheek as he glanced behind him. Allison was struggling through the drifts, barely keeping her knees above the bank; the two had been separated from the rest of the Pack half an hour ago. Even with Derek's sense of smell and Allison's tracking ability, there was no way they'd find them in this din.
Not when they were being chased.
"The cold will kill us before they can if we don’t find shelter." Derek shouted as a strong gust ripped through him again - for once, he shivered.
The huntress agreed and moved closer toward him, though he could see her eyes watched him closer than before. He had promised Scott nothing would happen to her, but Allison hadn't. If she wanted to gut him open and use his corpse as a sleeping bag, she could.
But Derek knew she wouldn't.
They managed to find a little cave on the side of the mountain, barely big enough for Derek to even sit in let alone the two of them - but they needed to ride out the storm.
Allison was reluctant at first, but crawled into Derek's lap without much hesitation. He could tell she was shivering under the tight ski jacket so Derek wrapped himself tight against her. Body heat would keep them both warm, after all.
She smelled nice; coconut and jasmine from her shampoo, cinnamon and espresso from the latte she had at the lodge before they all went on the afternoon hike, pine from the tree she had crashed through when she fell down the mountain.
"You didn't have to come after me." Allison's voice was soft, barely heard over the wind on the cave mouth. "You should have stayed with the group."
Derek grunted a response, knowing he didn't have to, but he felt he needed to. She could handle herself in the wilderness, sure, but alone she would have died. He'd made a promise to Scott to keep her safe right? That was why he jumped down.
Her cold fingers found the warmth of his neck, her breath ghosting over his skin in a way he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Something stirred inside him, but he shoved it down deeper as he reminded himself this was only to keep his promise.
@dear-massacre Ooo ok, the first thing that popped into my mind was something sci-fi so let’s run with it.
Derek’s a human in this au, but the Hale house still burns down not long before he graduates. Once he does, he enlists for the space force the second he’s handed his diploma. He ships out to training by the end of the week and doesn’t look back, his trauma and grief fueling his need to get as far away as possible.
Eventually he’s shipped out to the space station once he’s passed boot camp, where he spends the next fifteen years working to become a captain.
At thirty four, he becomes the youngest captain to receive a post aboard his own ship, and not just any ship, but one of the space force’s brand new, a.i. operated vessels.
And Derek’s rigid military discipline would keep him from ever saying so, but he’s actually disappointed. Controlling and operating the ship was one of the things he looked forward to doing as a captain, to act as the central unit delegating the rest of the crew into one cohesive unit.
Not to mention that artificial intelligence development has been highly classified up until only recently, and only now for individuals in the military.
This will be his first experience with it. He doesn’t know what to expect. He spends all night before his crews first day aboard trying to prepare himself. He imagines a looming, artificial voice that doesn’t come from speakers but just is, like a phantom, present everywhere. He imagines a computer in holographic projection form, having the ability to wave a hand in the air to make the ship change course.
What he isn’t expecting, could have never imagined, is Stiles.
He’s there to greet them when Derek and his crew first board, seemingly flesh and bone and human. He’s smiling, hands held respectfully in front of him, dressed in sheer black fabrics. He introduces himself, “Hello, Captain Hale. I’m Stiles, your personal Starseed Oracle,” and the whole time Derek can’t stop looking at his eyes: an artificial sea foam green.
The only proof of what Stiles is.
Because it becomes easy to forget he’s not really human.
He’s bright and vibrant and captivating. Funny, and surprisingly clumsy.
He doesn’t have the ability to wave his hand in the air to change their course, and is by no means omnipresent, but he communicates with this ship as if it were his body and he were the brain. It’s how they move from point a to point b.
Because the crew aren’t here to steer, Derek had been right about that. Instead made up of soldiers, cooks, janitors, scientists, mathematicians, doctors, astrophysicists, Derek, and Stiles.
It’s Stiles’ purpose is to both navigate and repair the ship.
When he had first told Derek this, Derek had scoffed and called himself a pseudo captain. It had been in a surprising moment of vulnerability between the two of them the first night aboard; Stiles had found him in a state of unprofessional disarray, drunk and loose tongued in his cabin. (Derek hadn’t realized Stiles could access locked rooms. But Stiles never tried to again after that night.)
Stiles had been squatting in front of him, almost fascinated with Derek’s unruliness, watching him with those piercing eyes and Derek had been angry that someone who stole his job, who isn’t even human, could be so stupidly beautiful.
Stiles spoke low, which made his deep voice gravelly. “Do you know what the word Oracle means?”
Derek’s eyebrows had creased. “Don’t they see the future or some shit?”
Stiles had chuckled, teeth on full display, looking entirely too entertained. He was probably delighted to see the stark contrast between the uptight captain he’d initially met and the one he’s seeing now, loose limbed and cursing colorfully.
“That’s one of many definitions,” Stiles had said, “But another deigns them middlemen, delivering instruction from people in power. Gods and deities by traditional terms, but in our case, the space force thought they were being clever with naming.“
Derek had squinted drunkenly, “In our case?”
“Who exactly do you think the person in power is between the two of us?”
Derek’s eyebrows creased, “I don’t need you to deliver instruction to my crew for me.”
“I’m not talking about them.”
“Then who exactly are you delivering my instructions to?”
Stiles gives him a significant look, then lifts his gaze up, hands coming up in an encompassing gesture to the whole ship around them.
After that, they’re more like partners. Stiles speaks to the ship for Derek and to Derek for the ship, and they maybe sorta start to fall in love. Neither of them are in a position to act on it so we’re talking pining of the century here.
I’m thinking there’d also be plot that reveals Stiles isn’t actually artificial intelligence, but a Starseed (an alien human hybrid) his alien half coming from his mom, an incorporeal tech species the space force found, imprisoned, crossbred, and fused with the ship, and that’s why Stiles can communicate with it and why the ship takes such good care of the crew and him.
Maybe at one point they think the ship is going down and the whole crew evacuates except for Derek who won’t leave because Stiles won’t, could never leave his mom.
He tries to get Derek to leave but he refuses.
“The captain always goes down with the ship.”
They kiss
They avert danger
Bang
Free Stiles and his mom and uncover the corruption in the space force
And live happily ever after.
The end <3
Send me a fic title + ship and I’ll tell you what the fic would be about!
I feel like if you have a hand hole and you don’t put a pick through, what is even the point? Lube it up and go to town
EXACTLY like yeah maybe the motion is a little awkward but you'll get the hang of it! Fuck invite your friends over too idc but if you've got a hand hole put it to work
