Laura's not expecting two teenage boys to burst into the bakery, brandishing lacrosse sticks yelling about “Kidnap!” and “Pedobears!” and “Sex slaves are illegal!” She’s flabbergasted. “Cupcake?” Derek offers."

Sidney Crosby gets hit on the head and wakes up with extra memories.

Phil looked at Clint, lowering his weapon, devastation clear on his face for a fraction of a second. Devastation for what Clint had done, or devastation for what he’d suffered Clint wasn’t sure. He squared his shoulders regardless. “People like to say that blood smells like iron, but it doesn’t. Blood smells like blood, and sometimes there’s no way around it and no room to regret it.”

Anyone who wants to drill into Dr. Geiszler's skull must first build him a ziggurat. A study in cognitive dissonance and emotional devotion. Now in podfic form. Getting there, at least.

Derek as a tactile study guide for Stiles. Written for a prompt by descendingspiral on Tumblr, who asked for: Stiles needs to focus on studying for his Anatomy class. Derek volunteers his body.

All Derek wanted was for the woman to leave him alone and ring up his groceries. How that led to her thinking Stiles is his boyfriend is something he blames on Stiles and his inability to stay out of trouble for five minutes.

Stiles starts bringing drumsticks to Pack gatherings, sitting himself on the edge of the group to tap out maddening rhythms on his knees as the werewolves train. The first time he’d pulled them out, spinning one stick in a showy twirl between his fingers, Derek had actually staggered a little, missed a basic move, and ended up on his back blinking up at fucking Jackson, of all people.

Alternate Title: "Dick Failwolf, Private Eye." (Or, Derek's hit with a Film Noir curse, which forces him to narrate his own life in luridly-detailed prose.)

"If the anchor is a person,” Stiles reads from Lydia's neat notes, “a werewolf may be assisted by carrying a token of their flesh near them at all times. The more intimate the offering, the better."

Stiles accidentally finds a trunk full of Derek's professional dom gear from when he lived in New York. They don't talk about it. Then Stiles turns eighteen, and they do.

"When were you going to tell us that you are planning on moving in with a boy?" Mom demands, and Taylor frowns. "I don't know, eventually?" she says. "And I'm not moving in with a boy, I'm moving in with Ebs."

Pornstars Derek and Stiles work for the same company. Derek only shoots with werewolves and Stiles only shoots with humans. That's not going to change after they meet. It's really not. (It might.)

Sidney’s wedding day doesn’t go quite as he’d planned. When he’d bothered to imagine it at all, he’d thought of a nice June wedding in Nova Scotia, outdoors with the sun streaming down. He hadn’t imagined this hurried affair on the tarmac on a rainy and unseasonably cool day in early September, a month after his twenty-fifth birthday.

The five times Derek called the Sheriff "Dad" on accident and the first time he did it on purpose.

So the first time Stiles got Derek on his back, worked him open and pressed inside with the long exhale of a perfect fit, he wasn't expecting the sound. Sure when they exchange handjobs, or blowjobs, or any other kind of orgasm, Derek can get a little vocal – sometimes even demanding in a hesitant sort of way – but the deep moans, the sharp grunts, the cursing and the constant use of Stiles' name was not expected.

Stiles wants to win for America, okay? He wants to bone that constipated expression off of Derek Hale’s face on a bed strewn with American flags while Bruce Springsteen plays in the background and a bald eagle watches through the window with a single tear rolling down its cheek.

Derek always gets stuck between making too much noise or just gasping silently. He knows he’d been making noise earlier; when Stiles walked them both into the bedroom he’d been humming into kisses and mumbling dry responses to Stiles saying he “had plans”; when Stiles tugged at his clothes he remembers he’d said something meant to pass for controlled about patience that had made Stiles roll his eyes. And when Stiles pulled his mouth off Derek’s dick with a slurp so lewd it had to be at least half on purpose and told him to roll over with his voice gone rough, Derek’s sure he’d breathed out, “Yeah. Yeah okay.”

You try to dress nice. How do you dress nice for a sex club? You have no fucking idea. But you've got the greaser cool guy look down pretty good, and you think it works for you. You wear your tightest t-shirt. You spend like fifteen minutes in front of the bedroom mirror trying to decide which pair of jeans is the most flattering for your glutes. This is your chance.

No SGRUB AU, post successful coup, following Eridan Ampora's attempts to make up for being "The Greatest Douchecanoe In The Galaxy" as he finds himself stuck with a bunch of midbloods and fighting to survive such odds as "Oh Shit, It's Drone Season And I Ain't Got Neither A Matesprit Nor A Kismesis". Featuring Karkat "Fix Your Fucking Shit Before I Fix It For You" Vantas reprising his role of the scariest motherfucker this side of the galaxy. Also gills, piercings, and piercings in gills. Also, also sex.

In which Will doesn’t care that his parents don’t trust Warren because of his father’s crimes, Baron Battle escapes, and things get worse before they get better.

How had you never noticed how lovely Karkat looked when he was all good and pissed off? With that intense scowl on his face and bared teeth and irritatingly loud voice.

Homo sapiens domesticus Humans (Homo sapiens domesticus) are short-lived primates of the family Hominidae, and the only existant species of the genus Homo. They originated in Africa, and spread to other continents of planet Earth within a megavorn. While fractious and warlike in their wild state, they are easily trained to a useful function.

Always respect strangers, for they may not be what they seem.

After being tortured by a group of hunters, Derek goes into heat. Stiles helps him through it. Written for the 24-hour porn challenge community, Stop, Drop, and Howl.

After Sam gets kicked out of the dorms, he has to call his parents with the bad news. Fortunately, his car answers the phone instead . . .

Show of hands, who didn’t read it as a porn prompt? anyone? anyone? bueller? Contains sort-of-public sex, oral and penetrative sex, some slurry retention.

Every year I do a post of all the bits of fic I couldn't find a place for. Some stand alone pretty well; most are just starts I don't have the interest or energy to finish.

If Derek’s life were a romantic comedy—which it’s really, really not, what with all the murder, mayhem, and supernatural elements—it would inevitably feature the moment when Erica brings Stiles home and he and sees, for the first time ever, not a gawky, uncoordinated teenager with a penchant for graphic tees and plaid, but a young man, taller than Derek now, with broad shoulders and large, capable hands that finally match the rest of him. Stiles would be walking down a staircase in slow-motion and Derek would feel the world tilt on its axis while his entire perspective on life underwent a paradigm shift. Stiles would be looking at something or someone else, and he’d laugh before his gaze shifted back to Derek and when their eyes met, it would feel like being struck by lightning. Like getting hit by the thunderbolt.

Six months after Derek and Cora leave Beacon Hills, Stiles gets a text from Cora – they’re in trouble and need help. Turns out that Derek is being wooed by a neighboring pack. The Alpha remembers his mother fondly and would love to have a Hale in her pack. Especially if that means she might breed in the ability to change into a full wolf. And she’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer, even when Derek lies and tells her that he already has a mate. Except Derek didn’t lie. When Stiles shows up to help with the emergency, he inadvertently discovers that he is Derek’s mate. Stiles tries not to think about it (he knows that the mate bond isn’t written in stone, just look at Scott and Allison) as he (and Lydia, and Deaton) research mates and the challenges to the mate bond (because, of course there’s a ritual for that) and try to keep the Alpha of the Palmer pack from discovering Stiles’ connection to Derek. Throw in the monkey wrench of Peter showing up, and Stiles starting to have feelings, and Derek sometimes looking at him like . . . Stiles doesn’t know, but he doesn’t hate it, and things begin to get a little bit complicated.

It's all Sam's fault, really. It had just been research. Then it got way out of hand. Or, in which, fanfiction takes over their lives for better and for worse.

Dummy discovers self-expression through sculpture.

Steve Rogers discovers the Grinch, but he already knew Dr. Seuss...

Sex gas, Latveria, and a SHIELD orgy.

In which Tony Stark is training John Sheppard for another mouthy scientist, far in his future.

Othercat’s Prompt: In Which an Alien Wage Slave With Few Prospects for Advancement Becomes Entangled in a Feud With a Heretical Young Legislacerator and the Newly Enthroned Grand Highblood, Featuring Xenosexual Relationships, Flipped Tables, Graphic Caliginous Flirtation, Unsuccessful Auspistizing, Threesomes, Chucklevoodoos and Subversive Humor. Ashen Davec3

Stiles and Derek wake up married in Vegas. Well, they would have if it was legal. In which Stiles is the president's son, Derek is his bodyguard, and Papa President orders them to pretend to be in love for the sake of gay rights. Or in which uraneia and lupinus combine meeting the Hales, President Papa, waking up married, fake/pretend relationship, First Boy Stiles, and bodyguard Derek into one fic.

Well, Wolfies it has been quite a semester. I started this blog to document my triumphs, trials, and of course, all the gossip I encountered as the sole female Radio Broadcasting major at BHU. Between co-hosting the morning show with Danny Mahealani, keeping my relationship with radio tech Vernon Boyd under wraps, and saving the department from crippling budget cuts--me and a group I surreptitiously named “The Wolf Pack”--managed to save the day. Until next time. xxx Erica

Look at me, Skye thought, but the creepy telepathic bio-engineering that had been going on in the basement of tonight's party clearly hadn't rubbed off on her.

Fuyumi can read between the lines of Mako’s file. The justification for having Mako on the base is paper thin -- strings have been pulled and favours have been bartered, and somewhere along the line someone decided Fuyumi was the perfect combination of talent and expendability to be brought into this mess. It’s only slightly closer to a compliment than an insult -- the balance tipped by the child at the centre of this, nine years old and heart-breakingly brave. -- Scenes from the year after Stacker and Mako first meet.

To: PC (loyaltothedream@hushmail.com) From: Buck (bucky1956@yahoo.com) Subject: Report! Date: May 10, 2012 Phil — where the hell are you, man? Let us know if you're all right, or if there's anything we can do to help. HQ's freaking the fuck out.

Even when Phil Coulson was doing something ridiculously, embarrassingly, crushingly human, he was still a flawless, seamless black box of a spook.

After the defeat of Aizen, Ichigo has lost his superpowers but not his skills so he's been hiring himself out to any sports team looking for a strong player. When Nagisa Hazuki approaches Ichigo to join the Iwatobi High School Swimming Club, something piques Ichigo's interest....

waking up to ash and dust: Eliot doesn't like hospitals. There are a few reasons for that. like you know i am better than the worst thing i ever did: “I’m goin’ to die for them,” he says to Sophie, before he ever says it to Nate, and it is not a simple statement of fact but a barebones confession, the helpless bleeding of a wound that he was too smart to not know had been made but he’d been putting pressure of for years, hoping that with spit and a prayer that he could make it heal, but he never could, isn’t sure that the stitches that could close that wound have even been invented. “Yes,” she says, “And how long have you known that?”

When Clint Barton put on the Captain America costume for a mission, he didn't count on Phil Coulson's reaction. Coulson didn't count on Clint crashing his new team to do something about it.

Stiles dates a sex demon. Derek doesn't approve. It all goes about as well as expected.

The prompt was that Bumblebee was the resident pleasure bot for the Autobots.

Dirrck gets sent a link to "Part Eight of Proper Helmsman Maintenance: Genetic Material Collection", an instructional video which may or may not star his ancestor and the legendary Psiioniic. He watches the video.

Stiles Stilinski is five-feet-eight-inches of sarcasm and unbridled nerves, with a mess of uneven curls, and delicate, unusual features, and she’s lanky and clumsy and always has bruised elbows, and she talks too much about too little, and she owns only one pair of battered sneakers for feet too big to really be graceful, and her car is horrific, her driving even worse - she's seventeen and awkward and wild limbed, and she's the complete opposite of everything Lydia wants out of life. These are the moments Lydia falls in love with her.

*Could we have more of the arranged marriage ficlet? Pretty please? *Oh goodness is it too late to ask for a wedding night continuation? Are these prompts still a thing?? *DaveKat: First time ( could be continuation of other prompt or not) Karkat has mad bedroom skills and Dave tries to keep his cool. * Arranged Marriage Ficlet! Tomorrow! Deverginizing Dave

CG: BY THE WAY. CG: I SERIOUSLY HOPE YOU HAVE NOT A) DRAGGED ME INTO SOME VAMPIRES/WEREWOLVES OR VAMPIRES/HUNTERS WAR, AND B) FORGOTTEN I MIGHT CARE TO BE TOLD IF YOU WERE AT WAR WITH ANY ASSHOLES OUT HERE AND *IN DEATHLY DANGER.*