Appreciate him without sounding patronizing. Somehow. Refrain from smacking him. Make him laugh. Don't do this at someone else's expense. Maybe at your own. Be seen with him. Show him you're willing to be seen in public associating with him. Initiate conversation - show you want to talk to him. Do not allow him to think you just want something from him. Even if you do. Feed him. Not junk food. Show you can provide for him? Isaac had added (un)helpful additions, such as 'Don't leave dead animals on his porch!' in response to number five, underlining 'Don't do this at someone else's expense' twice, and 'Why are you writing a list to yourself in second person? The fact you want Stiles is your worst kept secret'.

The trading cards and the costume redesign are Steve's first clues, but he doesn't recognize them at the time; he's too new to the world, too angry at it, too busy fighting a war.

Clint Barton -- subby, ex-carnie white trash, spy -- isn't the kind of guy Captain America goes for. Nobody informed Captain America of this.

On bridges, and the need to build them.

A cohort: bonded co-workers who share a common purpose, siblings, family, lovers, friends. What happens when Autobot sparks decide, for better or worse, that short-lived human beings are part of their cohort?

Tony Stark went to demonstrate a missile. Instead, he found himself in the midst of an intergalactic war between two organic robotic armies, in which humans are merely ants on the battlefield. The other humans, that is. Because he has an Autobot spark in his chest, and wouldn't it have been awfully nice of his father to mention that he hadn't really invented most of the things that Starktech was known for, but actually borrowed them from the Decepticons? So now, Tony is supposed to help save the world, when he'd really rather just crawl into bed with some of the very interesting people he's managed to meet along the way. Well, if he does manage to save the world, maybe he'll finally get laid.

"The first time Derek shoves Stiles against a wall, she pepper sprays him in his face."

As the base's resident expert on human culture, Sam had fumbled his way through some pretty awkward conversations, but even he didn't feel up to tackling the questions Bee would have once he learned that his best friend had somehow developed a fetish for alien robots.

There's no harm in going for a drive to keep each other company while missing Sam, right?

Anonymous asked: Dave/Karkat/Jade urban fantasy. Dave is a vampire, Jade is a werewolf, and Karkat is so done with all this supernatural bullshit. (not super urban hahaha)

anonymous asked: wolfbrothers johnjadekat

Anonymous asked: Dave/Terezi/Karkat, Temeraire-verse, bonus level: Karkat is the dragon, it is him. Merged with this one! Dave/Karkat/Terezi, they are all shipwrecked on an island together.

Anonymous asked: Pern dragons! Dave/Jade/Karkat! Yeah!

Anonymous asked: JohnKat urban fantasy ((that was so vaaaague aaaaaaaa urban fantasy had so many possibilities D: i went with one of the silliest because i could, bwahaha.))

Anonymous asked: John/Jade/Karkat - John and Jade are demon summoners (for reasons) trying to call up an incubus/succubus (for reasons). They get Karkat.

duosthefangirl asked: College AU where Karkat and Equius are dating and Karkat ends up accidentally admitting that he loves Equius' hair to the point of it nearly being a kink. mixed with Anonymous asked: Equikat, everyone’s a dom or sub AU.

Huh, was Tony's first thought when the spell broke and all of a sudden his brain came back online.

Bruce isn't sure he wants to use a credit card Tony gave him. Steve isn't sure he even knows how.

X-Men like AU. Our protagonists are attending Beacon Hills Academy, an institution for 'specials'. They've been detected early on, and some of them are showing spectacular abilities already. The Hales are a genetic mystery all together. Stiles, however, despite having being singled out as a kid, is nothing special. And he knows it. Circumstances and people – read Peter – conspire to put Stiles and Derek together. Changes ensue. Then all hell breaks loose. *** There are two characters guest staring from other fandoms. One from KickAss, one from Flashpoint. You do not need to have seen the movie or tv show to understand this fic, and it does not contain spoilers for either of them. Spoilers for Teen Wolf are very few, since it's an AU. Mostly characters from S2 and relationships.

So Alec had randomly mentioned that he was actually just gonna stay home on Thanksgiving and yes, as Eliot so awesomely put it, "play stupid video games."

Stiles doesn't think it's a problem. After all, what are the odds that it'll come after him? It's not like he's the only virgin left in Beacon Hills! And it's not like people are lining up to help him out, either...

After the massive brawl in the cafeteria is contained they tell him in cold, disappointed tones that the guy whose nose he broke for being an intolerable shitwaffle (which started the whole thing) was the same guy who they summoned him here for, for the way their scores match so strangely well on paper. -- Collection of ficlets and oneshots in the Pacific Rim 'verse, or almost.

The pack assumes, but StilesandDerek break expectations in their own way. It works for them.

Derek goes away to deal with a hostile rival pack, and Stiles calls him up to settle his nerves. “Ah, you feeling a bit stressed out big guy?” “Yes,” he says, voice raspy. “It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you right now."

She hasn’t had a partner-assisted orgasm in over a week and a half, and she is just beyond done. She wants to lie down on the cold bathroom floor and cry. Derek is starting to look like a permanently kicked puppy. “Look,” she tells him after dinner, “I love your inner self and your personality or whatever, but can I just tie you up and use your body until I come a couple times?” Derek fumbles the sudsy glass in his hand. “Awesome!” Stiles says brightly.

Derek sighs, envisioning Stiles pulling a file out of the nightstand and ruining whatever mood they might have managed to capture completely. What Stiles has in his hands when he turns back around is definitely not a file, though. Instead, it’s thick and black, curved into a wicked-looking c-shape with a small bullet vibrator jutting out of one end. “That is not what I was expecting,” Derek admits honestly. “Yeah, I can tell, you’re turning,” Stiles gestures to his own face, “you’re kind of, um, pink.”

Stiles makes a cyber sex buddy who supposedly looks like a dark-haired version of his favorite character on his favorite show. Which, coincidentally enough, is also what Derek looks a hell of a lot like.

Another kinkmeme story.

Derek maintains this wouldn't be an issue if Stiles would just learn to knock.

“Ah, yeah, Desiree, I told you I was meeting someone. Well, that someone is Derek. My boyfriend. We’re totally in love.” His heart was racing and Derek was holding him so tight it was difficult to turn enough to face the young woman. What he did see of her had his breath catching on fishhooks in his throat. She was normally a relatively pretty girl, with cute round cheeks and large dark eyes, but in that moment she looked…terrifying. Her cheeks seemed gaunt, her eyes glowing like they were little windows peeking into a deep pit of raging flame. (Or: Five or so years after the show. Stiles is in college, and finds himself getting stalked by a succubus. Derek's determined that the best way to thwart her is to prove that he and Stiles are madly in love. It's not really as much of an act as either seems to think.)

Patrick sighs and sinks further in his seat. “So I was playing truth or dare with my sisters the other day,” he says, eyeing Johnny challengingly like he’s daring him to make something of it. Johnny’s mouth twitches, but he keeps his smile tamped down for now; if Patrick’s giving Johnny an opening like that to make fun of him, then that means there’s something even better coming. “Uh-huh,” he says, makes a go on motion.

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.