#ficcery

[myshanya]

Gonna stretch his holes out and listen as he cries and begs for mercy, and more in the same breath – AKA let's explore some holes pt. 3

"Grace can take more," Rocky declares "Need more space to see,"

Grace nearly sobs at the thought of being opened further by the tool. His body has relaxed into the stretch enough that there's no pain, but Grace feels the ghost of where it should be. His nerves fire off with phantom inputs, and his soft cock blurts out precome onto his belly.

"Nooo, it's too much, buddy, c'mon," Grace whines, his burning eyes finally filling with tears that quickly spill down his face.

"Is Grace in any pain, question," Rocky asks, his voice flat in a way that means Grace has ticked him off. Great idea, Ryland, he yells silently at himself – piss off the the guy holding your asshole open with a homemade speculum.

"N-no," Grace stutters out after a moment, and in answer, Rocky clicks the speculum open another notch.

"Good," Rocky says "Grace trust Rocky?"

"Y-yeah, yeah, always," Grace breathes out, forced his body relax inch by inch as Rocky opens him up to look inside.

Click.

Click.

Click.

"Good good good Grace," Rocky purrs out, and he clicks the speculum to lock it into place. Grace's entire body hums, and he feels like an old TV with mismatched audio cables, fuzzy and indistinct.

The pressure is just on the edge of uncomfortable now, and Grace feels more exposed than he ever has. Rocky's here though, and he allows himself to relax.

[48luckylester]

how to conphess your undying love to your ultimate best friend (according to dan howell)

for @nobodyspoetess ♡

(2,8k, high school au, 5+1, love confession, oblivious dan howell)

Being in love with someone in high school is actually like a humiliation ritual that is too developed for a teenager brain. And it’s actually worst when you are literally in love with your best friend but that you don’t know how to tell him because of the logistics and the fact that if it happens, it could ruin the friendship. Dan Howell is in love with Phil Lester since the day that they met in elementary school. Dan forgot his lunch and Phil generously shared a part of his with him. Ever since, they were inseparable. He doesn’t know how to deal with this because Phil is the most important person in his life (apart from his two younger brothers that he would literally die for). But since he is tired of pretending, Dan is finally ready to take it a step further. He wants to finally to do it and commit to it. Although, it will take a little bit longer than he imagined...

or, five times dan tries to confess his love for phil and it fails (miserably, literally) & that one time when it finally happens

(read it on ao3)

[tripleaxeldiaz]

I haven't had real free time to write in like 10 months, but now i almost do, and i forgot i was writing this in february and idk if i'll ever finish it so here's what i have of it so far secondary title is "eddie pines harder than a douglas fir"

It happens quickly. That’s what scares Eddie the most.

One minute he’s in his truck, Chris in the backseat, all their worldly possessions secured in the bed, whizzing past a “Welcome to California!” sign in search of something better than what they left in the rearview mirror.

He blinks, and he’s in the locker room of Station 118, fresh out of the academy, being greeted by smiling faces and one blonde haired, blue eyed sneer. 

He blinks again, the sneer has softened into an easy grin, and he and Buck work together like they were built for it, like their lives were always going to bring them to a place where they would be running into smoldering, crumbling buildings side by side. Buck drives him and Chris home after the earthquake, and Eddie struggles to remember the last time anything felt this easy.

Blink

Shannon is back. Any ease he found evaporates, and the walls he built around his feelings for her come crumbling down in her wake.

Blink

He’s in the back of an ambulance feeling her pulse stop under his fingertips.

Blink

He’s off probation, surrounded by friends and family applauding his accomplishment. He’s grinning on the outside, but inside he’s still a mess of grief and guilt. He wants to be as proud of himself as his parents claim they are, wants to stop seeing Shannon on the gurney every time he closes his eyes, wants to be happy, wants peace, wants, wants, wants —

Buck’s laugh erupts from across the room, still loud and free flowing despite the month he’s had, and Eddie wants so hard it almost takes him out at the knees. It’s like time stops, the flurry of actions and emotions constantly trying to engulf him comes to a brief standstill, and as the sound of Buck’s joy washes over him, he feels like he can breathe for the first time in months. Everything seems clearer, Buck’s smile is making the room even brighter, and Eddie thinks he might—

No. It’s too soon. Way too soon.

Isn’t it?

It took him over a year to feel it with Shannon, even though he said he did much earlier. Danny Miller was his best friend for five years before he started feeling that swoop in his stomach that was decidedly beyond friendship. And he and Buck are just friends — best friends, he’d argue, but just friends all the same. Buck has a girlfriend, Eddie just became a widower, and there’s so much going on in his head that everything’s getting shuffled and confused and firing off in all the wrong directions.

Because there’s no way. There’s just no way.

And even if there is a way (which there isn’t), Eddie would rather go through basic training in the sticky heat at Fort Benning all over again than ruin his friendship with Buck. That is something they can build to last, that is what the two of them need the most from each other.

That is something that Eddie cannot screw up.

The other thing, which Eddie refuses to name because there’s just no way, has already shattered his and Chris’s world once. He won’t let those pieces break again.

So he does what he does best — he takes every unnerving, premature feeling he has, squashes it into a box in his head labeled Do No Open Ever for Any Reason and shoves it as far away as he possibly can. Just in time, too, because he blinks one last time and Buck is in front of him, backlit by sunshine like a goddamn angel, whole and safe and alive. His smile is even brighter up close, and Eddie feels himself pulled toward him like second nature, like he really is the sun and Eddie’s helpless to do anything but fall into his orbit until they’re both taken out in a supernova. 

He worries that that box may not be sturdy enough to contain all that light and energy.

He lets himself sink a little further into the hug anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Dad?”

Chris is squished against his side, the lights from the TV flashing across his face and reflecting in his glasses. Eddie had been a mess of emotions all day, but he’d just about cracked completely when Chris voluntarily left the pinball machine to join Eddie in an armchair and watch The Year Without a Santa Claus like they do every Christmas. It used to be easy — Chris cocooned in his lap, tucked safely under his chin — but this year feels like the first year Eddie’s really noticed how big Chris is, all lanky limbs and hardly any space to put them in an armchair meant for one, not a grown man and a constantly growing boy.

It’s a tight fit now, and Eddie can feel pins and needles start to creep up his arm, but he couldn’t care less. He’ll let every part of his body go numb if it means his kid will want to keep sitting with him.

He shifts a bit, looking down at Chris “Yeah bud?”

“Can we do Christmas here again next year?”

Eddie wraps his arm around Chris a little tighter. “I think we’ll probably be at home next year, but I’m sure we can pop by and visit.”

“Okay,” Chris says, content for barely a minute before he asks, “Will Buck be at home with us too?”

It’s shocking, really, that Chris doesn’t feel how hard Eddie’s heart lurches where his head is laid on his chest. 

And of course, because the universe loves making his life harder, Buck looks up at them from across the loft at that exact moment, a crooked grin to match his crooked Santa hat, and waves before taking his turn at the pool table. Pair that with the wave of gratitude that hits him as Chris waves back, and he feels like he’s in his own damn Christmas movie, mistletoe and twinkle lights and everything.

He is grateful to Buck, though. So grateful he’s worried he’ll never be able to express it properly no matter how hard he tries. And not just for keeping Chris safe, or for wading through water and blood to find him, but for everything he did after too. Dinners brought over or made in their kitchen. Hours of board games and video games. Movie nights with buttery popcorn and every blanket they owned piled up on the couch. It was hard at first — there were days when Chris didn’t want to talk to either of them, where Buck’s smile wouldn’t quite reach his eyes, where all Eddie could hear when he looked at Buck was the crack in his voice when he swore that he tried. 

Eddie knows he tried. He knows he ran himself into the ground trying to bring Chris back to him, and he knows he would do it again with no hesitation if he needed to. 

It all makes Eddie—

—appreciate—

—Buck, more than he ever thought he could—

—appreciate—

—another person. 

And it’s enough to make staticky fear prickle in his chest when he remembers that one day — potentially any day now — Buck will find someone who appreciates him in every way he deserves, and Eddie will get another harsh reminder from the universe that somethings are just not meant for him.

But it’s Christmas, and as both Chris and the Grinch like to remind him, there are no sad faces on Christmas. So for today, he can let himself watch Buck play pool and…appreciate. Appreciate Buck’s biceps that can hit cue balls dead on and wrap Chris in a hug on a particularly bad day, the lean lines of his back carry the weight of so much more than Eddie wants them to, the blush settled high on his cheekbones that looks good enough to—

“Dad. Are you listening to me?”

Eddie does not jump at Chris’ voice.

At least not very high. 

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Chris rolls his eyes so dramatically it makes Eddie want to laugh and cry all at the same time. “I said will Buck be at home with us on Christmas next year?”

The universe once again laughs in his face as Buck bounds towards them, cutting through the loft to greet Maddie and Chim at the top of the stairs. As he passes behind their chair, he squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, fingers brushing along the back of his neck before ruffling Chris’s hair. It’s small and easy, but it turns Eddie to jelly as he pictures a lifetime of warm touches and warmer smiles and a life full of—

Chris waves his hand in front of his face, still waiting for his answer.

Eddie has got to reel in his…appreciation-struck imagination.

“I hope he is, bud,” he says finally, resting his chin on top of Chris’s head and not staring longingly at Buck’s back. “I really hope he is.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It never gets easier, getting shot. It’s not a sensation your body can get used to that will eventually filter to the back of your mind. It’s a miracle that the human body can come out on the other side — if it comes out on the other side — and forget the excruciating, all-consuming pain that is lead ripping through flesh and muscle and bone at 1,700 miles per hour.

Eddie’s already lived through that pain once — he thought he left the chances of it happening again 7,000 miles and a lifetime away.

But here he is, on a sunny L.A. boulevard, his shoulder burning white hot in a way that is somehow familiar and brand new all at the same time.

He hits the ground, and it’s asphalt instead of sand. He looks ahead of him and sees Buck in his civvies instead of Mills in her fatigues.

Nothing makes sense.

Everything hurts.

(to be continued maybe idk)

[christinesficrecs]

Sterek Ficlets

I’m still working on this one, but here is part one for now. 

College AU, Fake Boyfriends - Aussiebee

Hug Delivery Man - supervillainny

The Morning After - stoney321

Be nice to your seat partner. They might just be your future spouse!’  - pale-silver-comb

Pick-Up Artist: The Subway Shop AU - halffizzbin

Daily reminder that you're one cool cat. - pale-silver-comb

“You can’t possibly be blaming me for this.” - halekingsourwolf

Oh, I will fake relationship the crap out of you - jerakeenc

FBI Agents - missisjoker

Derek gets taken by hunters. - ladykatie

Derek is a fireman and Stiles likes when he comes home in his gear - stileshale

Getting Caught in the Act - mad-madam-m

when peter/sheriff and stiles/derek having a double wedding. - thisdisontentedwinter 

“This is the guy?” - munsonboy

I didn’t know - matildajones

Unrequited - happysterekthoughts

Don’t make it into a big deal - stileshale

Beach Trip - stileshale

Melvin Smarty AU - yodas-yo-yo

Thanksgiving AU - thepsychicclam

Charity Auction - stileshale

[ivanplutino]

PLANEANDO CON BALLENAS

Formato: tapa blanda

Páginas: 292

Categoría: ficción

Idioma: español

ISBN: 9788413632483 🔍

Disponible en:

📦 amazon.com

📦 amazon.es

📦 libros.cc (España y Portugal)

👇👇👇👇

https://www.amazon.com/-/es/Ivan-Guardado/dp/841363248X

Amazon.com: Planeando con ballenas (Spanish Edition) (9788413632483): Guardado, Ivan: Books

👆👆👆👆

[stileshale]

Hey Darling!! I was just wondering if you would ever write something in Stiles's perspective about Derek's death....LOL I'm sorry for the Angsty askXDXD

Derek is dead.

It goes around in his head as he drives from Quantico to Washington.

Derek is dead. Derek is dead. Derekgod damn Hale is god damn dead.

Stiles racks his brains for the last time he saw Derek; for a memory hecan focus on instead of the god damn road leading him to Derek’s body.

It was June. Five months ago. When he first moved in to Quantico, Derekcame down from Washington and they walked along the river, exchanging stories. Derekhad been in New York, finally settling the Hale estate with a lawyer so far removedfrom Beacon Hills he felt that he could trust them. He’d been wearing a lilact-shirt that Stiles couldn’t stop staring at him in, couldn’t stop wanting to pluck atthe sleeve, touch Derek on the arm, brush his fingers against Derek’s. The twoof them had nearly died together a dozen times, and Stiles still hadn’t beenable to bring himself to touch him.

He’d skipped telling Derek about most of his last few weeks at home;hadn’t wanted to make him feel guilty for leaving. Instead, he’d talked abouthis hopes for the future, what he wanted to gain from the FBI training, andDerek had nodded, smiled at Stiles,told him he’d be good at it. Derek Halehad told Stiles he had faith in him. Stiles had asked if he’d become a podperson in the big city and Derek had snorted, told him to shut up. Stiles’heart had stopped racing. Derek had graciously chosen not to comment about it.When he’d asked about the others Stiles had shrugged, turned to lean againstthe fencing along the river and admitted in a quiet voice that he was relievedto be free of it all. Derek had come to stand next to him, their shouldersbrushing together in a way that had made Stiles’ whole arm tingle, and said heunderstood.

He always sort of did.

Then he’d ruined it by asking if Stiles was going to be allowed agun—and if so could he not carry it on his person if they were ever hangingout—and Stiles had punched him on the arm. He’d called Derek an asshole andlaughed. Derek had laughed, told him he needed a haircut. It had been… good,different, a new start and—

And, now he’s gone. Stiles has a hundred speeches made up in his head, athousand rants he’d shout at Derek if he could, and instead, he’s driving toStafford Hospital to claim Derek’s body.

Stiles had taken a picture of Derek staring into the water, saved it toDerek’s contact info and savoured seeing it on the few occasions Derek hadcalled, since. Derek hadn’t really liked talking on the phone—which Stiles hadfound hilarious—teased him about the FBI bugging their calls and suggested codenames; Derek had told him his could be Idiot One and Stiles had pretended toswoon, simpered as long as Derek was Idiot Two. Derek had hung up.

He thinks their last conversation was about thanksgiving, Stiles hadgiven Derek a list of all the food he’d eaten and Derek had fallen asleep.Stiles probably listened to him breathefor a god damn minute and a half before hanging up.

That’s his last fucking memory of Derek. Just breathing.

Jesus, he can’t even see the fucking road.

Why was he even Derek’s god damn emergency contact? This isn’t cool, hethinks crossly. Derek should have knownbetter, should have chosen someone more responsible!

He doesn’t know if Derek would want a funeral. Would he want some sad,emo song playing as Stiles and some unknown priest looked down at his coffin?Would he even want a coffin? Would he prefer cremation?  Would he want Scott there? Would he want to beburied in Beacon Hills? That place was so unkind to him, difficult in waysStiles can only half begin to comprehend. His whole family and now—

He has to pull over to give himself a minute.

It’s just not fucking fair.

The hospital looks completely ordinary, like any other hospital. Hepeers up at the endless windows, and hopes other people are getting better newsthan he did twelve hours ago. Snow drifts over the windscreen and he sighs,lets it blur into white nothing in front of him for a moment.

This is where Derek was when he died, Stiles thinks to himself; and thenslams his hand into the steering wheel.

A pretty nurse takes him down to the morgue. Stiles barely notices her,too focused on his breathing, on the way the corridor is blurring and how henever had the right words for Derek. What’s he supposed to say now? Is there aright way to say goodbye to a person that—he doesn’t even know what Derek wasto him! He hadn’t had time to figure it out. He’s not ready to do this, hewants more time, he wants Derek to be alive and answering his phone with his dryvoice and his sarcastic comments, not—this.

“I’ll give you a minute,” the nurse says softly, opening the door andgesturing for him to go inside.

Stiles nods mutely, steps into the cold morgue. He looks up, and hisheart stops.

Derek’s sitting on a chair in the corner, staring at him intently. Helooks almost alive. He’s wearing hospital scrubs and looking cross about it. Healmost smiles at Stiles. Definitelynot alive, then.

“Stiles—”

“Oh my god, I’ve lost my fucking mind again,” Stiles moans, presses hishands to his eyes. “Jesus, I didn’t want to say goodbye, but this is—”

“Stiles—”

“I can see dead people? Am IBruce Willis, now? Talk about cliché!” Stiles strides across the room to Derek,stops short of touching him. “Are you—shit, am I dead, too? I could have drivenoff a cliff on the way over here, or something, I mean, I wasn’t really payingattention to the road.”

“That wasn’t very sensible of you,” Derek says mildly.

“Shut up, I was upset aboutthe fact you died, Derek!”

Derek actually has the gall to look pleasedabout this, “Oh.”

Stiles points at him, “Don’t—don’t look so damn smug, okay? Of course Iwas upset, you’re dead! Or, are you aghost? Did you come back to Patrick Swayze my ass? Wait,” Stiles feels himselfgo hot all over as Derek arches an eyebrow at him. It’s so not fair that still works even though Derek is dead.

“That came out wrong, okay? Stop—stop judging me!”

“Can’t.”

“Asshole!”

Derek smirks.

Stiles almost laughs, rubs his eyes again, “Is someone going to walk inon me talking to myself, here?”

“You talk to yourself all the time; it’s a natural flaw.”

“People that talk to themselves have a higher intelligence than others,dick.”

“If I really was dead, you’d be sorry about insulting me so much.”

“I can see you, it’s like we’re having a normal conversation.”

“You don’t have to call me a dick.”

“Of all the times I thought I’d hear you say the word dick,” Stilesgroans, and Derek actually blushes.It’s adorable. Dead Derek is super cute.

Stiles wants to cry.

He tries to pull it together, to focus on the serious fact that Derek isdead, and yet, Stiles can still see him. “I wasn’t joking, you know, is someonetrying to kill me and you’ve been waiting here to warn me? Oh god, am I next?Are you the one to guide me through the afterlife?”

“You’d want me to guide youthrough the afterlife?”

“Well, you wouldn’t be my first choice,” Stiles snaps, “But, you wouldn’tbe the worst choice; that’d be Jackson,” he adds in a huff. “I hate that guy.And, I hate you! you—you’re dead, andI have been an emotional fuckingwreck about it, which sucks, okay? I really thought I’d have more time to tellyou stuff and to figure out some stuff and that eventually you know, we’d—we’d besomething—”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot into his hair line.

“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles grouches at him, trying not to be offended andfailing. “You’re dead; I can say whatI want to you and—and—feel what Iwant. And, you know what?  I am pretty pissed, my friend, I mean come on,getting hit by a bus? Don’t you look when you’re crossing the road?”

“There was a kid stepping into the road; l I stopped them.”

“Well, you should have thought about how I would feel if you died before being all heroic and saving somestupid kid’s life!”

“So, this is all about you.”

“Exact—no! Shut up, ghost Derek!”

“Stiles, I’m not a ghost, ordead.”

“You say that, unknown being Derek,but who knows what’s real and what’s not in our universe.” Stiles looks at himsearchingly, feels desperate to hold on to this vision of Derek no matter whattraumatic brain incident he’s having underneath it all. Hell, he’ll take any scenario over not seeing Derek everagain.

He snaps his fingers, “Do you have any unfinished business that could goon for like… eighty years? You can hang out with me until I die and then we can go on to whatever’s next together! Like, thatwould be okay, right? Could you live with that? Well, not live with that, ha! Oh man,” he barks out a hysterical laugh, “Not live with it, but you know—”

“Stiles, for the last time, I’m not dead,” Derek growls, stands from hischair and marches over to him.

Stiles backs into the row of fridges (which, gross) and swallows hard as he looks into Derek’s eyes.

“They called me,” he admits quietly, “They said you died.”

“Technically, I did.”

Stiles roll his eyes, “Oh, okay, so you are dead, but you’re not willing to admit it or something? Jesus,even in death you’re stubborn as hell, dude.”

Derek catches Stiles’ shirt in his fists, clutches him tightly as hepresses him up against the cold metal.

Stiles battles briefly with the idea of kissing someone that’s technically dead, and decides, almostimmediately, he’s okay with it. He’s totallyokay with it as long as Derek keeps looking at him the way he is; like Stilesis the best damn thing he’s ever seen in his life/death and that if this is hislast few seonds on earth he’s going to use them kissing Stiles with everything he hasand—

“I’m not dead, you moron,”Derek says (instead of kissing Stiles at all, which despite kissing a ghost being creepy andweird, Stiles would still have totally been okay with. He’ll take all the Derek he can have in this brief,treacherous, wonderful scenario.)

Stiles deflates, reaches up to cover Derek’s hands with his own. They’rewarm.

Stiles is confused, and sort of… turnedon touching Derek in this intimate, covetous moment.

He’s fucked up; he’s accepted it.

“Then, am I dead?” he croaksout.

“Not unless I’m seeing deadpeople.”

“Like that would be a stretch after what we’ve been through.”

Derek huffs a laugh, and Stiles feels his breath against his face.

“So, purgatory? Did Death need a new body and think hey, that DerekHale’s got a pretty great booty?”

Derek’s smile widens, he catches Stiles’ fingers to squeeze themtightly, “No, but thanks for the compliment.”

“Sure thing,” Stiles swallows hard, “Are you going to explain what’shappening, then? If you’re not dead, or Death, Brad Pitt’s new body or—or—”

“If you make any more pop culture references I’m going to put you in oneof these fridges.”

“Casper would never do anything that mean.”

Derek rolls his eyes, and then takes Stiles’ hand to push it against hischest. Underneath the scratchy scrubs material, Stiles can feel his heartbeating, hard and steady against his palm.

“What—”

“I was legally dead, for aminute and a half.”

“So, now you’re just illegallydead? I mean,” Stiles tries to laugh, “What’s with that definition, anyway,huh? How are you illegally dead?”

“I think you’d have to ask your dad about the differences; but first,could you let me finish a damn sentence?”

“Could you hurry up and explain all this?”

“A please wouldn’t hurt.”

“Derek!”

“The snow meant my healing took longer to kick start. The doctor calledit while I was still…”

“Dead?”

“Yes.”

“So, what, you gave a mortician a hell of a scare?”

Derek’s lips twitch, “Yeah, she fell over a chair.”

“I would have thrown the chair at you.”

“I know you would have.”

Derek looks insanely fond, and Stiles feels himself start to melt withrelief.

“How can I—what if I’m going nuts again and this is all in my head,Derek?”

“That, is where I come in,” a breezyvoice cuts in, and Stiles yells, squeezes Derek’s fingers so hard he’s sure hecrushes bones—Derek winces, although to his credit, doesn’t let go of his handuntil Stiles yanks it away.

A tiny blonde bounces in from the next examination room, beams atStiles, “Hi!”

Stiles points at her, “Who… who are you? Satan? Loki? Brer Rabbit?!”

She laughs, sticks out her hand, “I’m Doctor Morris, and I’m themortician that was treating Derek. Did notfall over a chair, by the way,” she adds to Derek with a glare.

Derek shrugs, eyes not leaving Stiles, as he finds himself beginning topace.

“You’re a mortician? For real.”

“Mhm,” she wiggles her fingers, still waiting for him to shake her hand,and he takes it slowly, waiting for any sudden movements. “I’m sorry you had tocome all the way here without knowing Derek was actually alive,” she pulls aface, gestures for him to sit down at the desk.

Stiles trails over to it carefully, watching her the whole time. Hehesitates before deciding to stay standing, clutches at the back of the chair.

“How am I supposed to trust you?”

“You can’t,” she says simply.

“That’s not helpful, at all.” Stiles puts a finger to his temple, sinks into the chair after all. He feelsDerek move to his side, his thigh pressing against his shoulder in a deeplycomforting way. He sort of wants to go to sleep against it.

He’s having a complete breakdown, he’s sure of it; sleeping on DerekHale’s thigh? He’s had the odd—okay, semi-regular—fantasyabout Derek’s thighs, but going to sleep on them? Surely his first instinctwould be to bite one of them. Just to see if they’re super hard or if his skin is soft stretched across those crazy muscles—

Derek clears his throat and Stiles jumps, “Oh shit, was I broadcasting?”

“You always broadcast,” Derek nudges his wrist against Stiles’ shoulder,“It’s… nice.”

“Nice?”

Dr Morris coughs and they both jump, “I’m sorry,” she pulls anapologetic face. “I have to get back to work soon-ish, and it seems like you’reperhaps starting to accept that Derek isn’t dead.”

“But—”

“I’ve seen weres before. I’m a mortician,”she reminds him. “I’ve seen all sorts. Many mythical creatures have becomeextinct, but the ones that still exist mostly live out ordinary lives,” sheshrugs again, “Where do you think they go when they die?”

“I’d never really thought about it,” Stiles says faintly.

“Well, think about it sometime when you’re back home,” she nods briskly.“The important thing is that Derek is alive, and he needs to stay under theradar until we can make sure none of the paramedics that handled Derek’s callout, or any members of the public that saw the accident are going to panicseeing him up and walking like a normal citizen.”

“But, you know he’s a werewolf!” Stiles protests, “How can you—”

“I haven’t told anyone,” sheshrugs, “Apparently, they don’t like it when you do that without theirpermission.”

“They?” Stiles echoes, glances up at Derek, who doesn’t look half as worried as Stiles is. 

“This has happened before,” Dr Morris gives him another unconcernedshrug, “Although, most people’s other halves were quite a lot more relieved anda lot less mistrusting about their partner—”

“He’s not my other half!” Stiles interrupts shrilly. “You heard all ofthat?! He’s not my—he’s just my—Derek!”

Dr Morris blinks, “O—kay. I just thought,” she points between them, andStiles—who, in his defence, has been through a lot in the last fourteenhours—feels himself go bright red.

“Well, you thought wrong.”

The doctor tuts, “Life is short; that bit should be obvious.”

“I know that,” Stiles argues,“We just hadn’t—look it’s complicated!”

“Okay,” she carries on airily, handing Derek a set of documents, and aclear bag with his belongings in.

Stiles sees a cracked phone, a ragged pair of boots and a ripped hoodie.He’s going to make Derek buy a new phone before he leaves, like literallyimmediately. They’re going to a phone store and he’s going to make Derek texthim every hour to let Stiles know he’s alive.

“You could have called,” he says quietly, still staring at the phone.

“Would you have believed me over the phone?”

“I’m still fifty fifty,” Stiles huffs.

Derek gives him a soft, understanding smile, and Stiles himself dies alittle inside.

“I’ll make sure the ambulance call is corrected,” Dr Morris is saying,leading them both to the door. “Derek, if you don’t mind—”

“I’ll go out the back,” Derek grins, shakes her hand like it’s nothing,like he’s totally chill that he totally died last night.

“Stiles,” Dr Morris addresses him and he jumps, “Call me if you want todiscuss the supernatural further; from what Derek has told me you’re keen toassemble as much knowledge about it as you can.”

Stiles blinks at her dumbly, “I—I don’t really do that stuff, anymore.”

“If you change your mind,” she persists kindly.

“Sure, thank you,” he manages, feels Derek’s hand press gently againsthis lower back. “Uh, for saving Derek.”

“He did it all himself,” she says brightly, before stepping back intothe morgue and closing the door on them.

Like she does it all the time. Like this is normal for her. Stiles supposes it is.

“Stiles,” Derek says softly, takes his hand and tugs him down thecorridor to where there’s a fire exit.

Together they walk into the light, the parking lot cold and crisp andbright to Stiles’ eyes. He sucks in a huge breath, looks down at Derek’s handand has to let go to lean over, clutch his knees. The snow is cold where it’ssinking into his toes, but he welcomes it, lets it ground him to reality.

“You died,” he breathes out.

“Yeah,” Derek rubs a hand on his back.

Stiles straightens up, shoves at Derek, “You fucking died and I wasn’tthere! Hell, I wasn’t even in the same city as you! You have died, twice, now, without me there! I—that’snot cool, Derek. I am not okay withthat.”

“Okay.”

“I want to be present! At all times—well, not all times, like I don’t need to see you go to the bathroom—”

Derek snorts, “That’s a relief.”

“Why?” Stiles stops in his tracks, narrows his eyes, “Do you dosomething weird in the bathroom? Do you always sit?”

“I’m not discussing my bathroom habits with you, Stiles.”

“That,” Stiles snaps his fingers, “Now, that sounds like you.”

“What a relief,” Derek rolls his eyes, “You’re finally coming around tome not being Patrick Swayze.”

“Hey! You could do worse than Swayze, okay? I mean, you’ve both got thesexy, smouldering thing going on, so, it makes a lot of sense.”

“I’m not a ghost!” Derek kicks snow at him and Stiles yelps, bursts intolaughter.

It’s unstoppable, the laughter hysterical and the relief palpable.

Derek is alive. Derek is alive!

“You look ridiculous,” he manages, pointing at Derek’s scrubs and theborrowed crocs on his feet. “You’re wearing crocs!”

“Shut up, this was all they had,” Derek pouts, and Stiles laughs harder.

He sucks in a breath, wipes at his eyes—he’s pretty sure he’s crying—andthen suddenly Derek is right in front of him, hands clumsily brushing his shoulders,his cheeks, thumbs sweeping under his eyes.

“Stiles.”

Stiles sobers, catches Derek’s wrists, “Derek.” They look at one anotherfor a long moment, and then Stiles exhales hard, slides his fingers to feelDerek’s pulse beneath his skin. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just—I was… dude, I was lost.”

“I know. And, I’m sorry, I should never have put you in that position. Ishould have tried harder to find a way to tell you I was okay. I should have—”

“Why was I your emergency contact?” Stiles interrupts, remembering hispanic as he’d driven up. “I don’t even know if you’d want to be buried—or—orwhat song you’d want.”

“Bat Out Of Hell,” Derek says drily, and Stiles laughs again.“And, when I moved to Washington I had to write all that stuff up and… you werethe person I trusted to care enough to come.”

Stiles blinks at him, “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

“I did come.”

“I know.”

“I cared. I… care.”

“I know.”

“I thought you were gone.”

“I’m right here.”

“I think,” Stiles swallows, looks across at him bravely, “I think youshould kiss me before I die, or you die, again. I mean, I think we should knowif, if this is something—”

Derek kisses him.

Stiles melts into it, the warm pressure of Derek’s lips against his, thescrape of stubble that sends tingles down his spine. His heart soars with howgood it feels, how much it feels like coming home and belonging! That he has the chance for this! To kiss Derek Hale.

He pushes in to the kiss, presses his whole body against Derek’s and hisheart jumps again when Derek wraps his arms around his waist, pulls him eventighter as the kiss deepens. It feels as if they stand in the snow together forever,kissing until Stiles’ head is dizzy and his knees are weak.

“Huh,” he pulls away, rests his forehead against Derek’s, “So, youcouldn’t just ask me out? You had to fake death to get to kiss me?”

Derek makes an annoyed noise that comes out far too fond to bebelievable, his smile brushing Stiles’ lips.

“You’re so fucking full of it.”

“You know what else I could be full—”

“I did die, you know, youcould keep this respectful for at least twenty four hours.”

“Fuck you, my puns are worth living for.”

“I dunno about that,” Derek murmurs, “But, I think maybe you are.”

Stiles scrunches up his face, “Ugh, dude, oh my god, that is so fuckingunbelievably sappy, like I legit hope you are Patrick Swayze and I’m justimagining you saying this romantic shit.”

“Stiles,” Derek laughs, kisses him again, “Isn’t that just your way ofadmitting you want me to talk romantic to you?”

“No,” Stiles cups Derek’s face with his hands, looks at him so hard hehopes the image of Derek with lust blown, teasing eyes and a lush mouth, anexpression on his face that Stiles knows means so damn much, never leaves hismemory.

“No, it’s just my way of telling you to never stop talking to me at all.”

Derek widens his eyes, pretends to look worried, “What if it doessometimes get romantic.”

“Eh,” Stiles shrugs, “You can always tell me to get a haircut rightafter, make up for it by being an asshole.”

“Works for me.”

“I’m pretty sure you work for me,” Stiles retorts, wiggling his eyebrows,“See what I did there?”

Derek looks heavenward, “I can’t believe I died for this.”

“Look at you making jokes like a real human!”

“That’s it, I’m going back inside and getting into one of those damn fridges myself and declaring myself dead—”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! And, don’t die again,” Stiles throws both his arms around Derek’s neck,feels so god damn happy he could shout, “Just take me out on a date, kiss me,keep me, whatever, just stay with me.”

“Okay,” Derek leans in to kiss him again.

“Of course,” Stiles pulls back and Derek scowls, looks put out in such asweet way Stiles feels his heart lurch. “If it does go really badly wrong, youcould just fake your death again.”

“Jesus, Stiles, for the last time, I didn’t actually—”

“No, no, you can even tell my dad this is how we got together! Like, youwere so desperate to get with this youdied; he’ll totally love it.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles scoffs, “Sure. Come on, we better get you inside the carbefore you catch your death… again! Ha!”

“I’m doomed,” Derek sighs.

Stiles kisses him. Kisses Derek Hale! Who is alive! And intoStiles!

Stiles kisses him for the rest of his god damn life.

~*~

(i’m sorry if u genuinely wanted angst.) 

[myshanya]

High asf writing Grocky claw deep throating lessee what this looks like in the morning but here is a chunk for those who wanna read! Lots of spit and gagging and Rocky being mean ahead 🥰

Rocky pushes his claw deeper into Grace's mouth, clever fingers petting along his tongue. It's a tender exploration, and Grace groans, low in his chest. It feels good. It all feels good with Rocky.

Rocky's vents click a little in irritation, which is not generally the energy he brings to these kind of encounters.

"Not for Grace pleasure," Rocky says sternly "Rocky is learning human body limits,"

Which, fuck, does not actually help make it less for Grace's pleasure. This is something Rocky knows, the bastard.

Grace would say something else but Rocky is moving further into his mouth with his hand, and Grace is breathing desperately through his nose. His body knows how to do this, and he's never been able to pin down when he picked up the skill from his shattered memories. He just hopes he had fun.

Rocky makes a soft chittering sound, and uses two claws to stroke along his tongue, pressing a claw to the very back of it.

He shudders, his entire body rolling as he gags. His mouth fills with saliva, and with his mouth spread around Rocky's claw it drips easily out of his mouth and down Rocky's arm, pooling on the Xenonite of his suit.

"Leaky," Rocky says, and his voice is matter of fact and yet it feels cold enough that Grace whines around the invasion his mouth in protest "Grace always leaking from somewhere,"

"Hngghhkk," Grace gets out before his body gives in to another gag. More spit drips out of his mouth and he feels a hot flush of humiliation at how he must look right now.

Open. Wet.

Rocky would usually pull back at this point, but instead he pushes forward a little more. Grace shudders, gags. He wonders if Rocky can feel the frantic flex of his throat tissue along the sensitive nerve pads on his claws, and wonders dimly if it feels good.

Rocky nudges in just a touch deeper, pushing Grace's limit. He sucks in air desperately through his nose and tries to get this across.

"Rrooccllnn," Grace says, garbled and he tries to jerk away from the questing claw in his mouth. He finds himself caged in.

"Grace be quiet now, Rocky want to feel throat," Rocky says firmly, and Grace gags harder around the claw, a fresh wave of spit filling his mouth, tears in his eyes.

[myshanya]

Hitting the weed pen back in the Grocky hole exploration fic. Ft. A new hole & look out! He's got a speculum!

"Too tight, will need a tool," Rocky chirps, and Grace jolts partially at that, and partially at Rocky pulling his claw from his hole just a touch quicker than Grace would prefer.

"A tool?!" He yelps, like a little idiot,and then "Also shoot– gentle, bud, gentle,"

"Yes, yes, apology," Rocky says, and Grace thinks he does not sound nearly apologetic enough. "Hold still," Rocky says, although it's closer to an order as he skitters away a few feet to the airlock.

Grace realizes that weird cylinder propped up in there is a tool box. The pervert was prepared.

"I don't think you need a tool, Rocks," Grace says weakly, "Just some patience,"

"Is Grace engineer, question," Rocky demands from where he's plucking through the tool box, picking up, inspecting, and discarding object after object.

"No, but Grace is the one letting you into his holes, so maybe you could be a little polite with me?" Grace says.

Rocky makes a rude noise like marbles running over "Grace trust Rocky! Need tool to get inside better,"

Grace is going to reply, something witty even, but all of his blood has decided to try, once again, to get his dick hard.

"See, Grace want tool inside," Rocky says, with a chuckle that makes Grace shiver a little. "This why cage needed. Grace too excited over tool. Not even inside yet,"

"Ughh," Grace says, before Rocky whistles out triumphant note and brandishes his prize.

Grace gulps.

Rocky has…well, there's no other way to say it. Rocky has a fucking speculum.

The design has been modified for Eridian use. The handle is made for a claw, the locking mechanism further from the springs, but it's absolutely, 100% a speculum.

"Why the hell do you have that?" Grace squawks, and he would consider trying to make a run for it, but he's tied down, there's also nowhere to run in the Mary, and even if he wasn't…

Grace's dick tries desperately to fill up more, despite all the empirical evidence it's received that getting hard is not on the dang table as long as the cage stays on.