bakerstreet | The Seed of an Idea Smut Meme

Naughty Nurse: Stiles has to get a shot of some sort and someone needs to distract him from it.

Detention: Stiles gets detention (again), only it's from a new teacher and he seems to be the only one being punished.

Handcuffs?: Someone found a spare set of Sheriff Stilinski's handcuffs and decides to 'test them' on Stiles.

"Who just leaves this shit laying around?" Roman called out from the other room, and strode back into view spinning a pair of handcuffs around one finger. The smirk on his face was an amused one, and he was eyeing Stiles in a way that was a bit beyond friendly. As friendly as Roman Godfrey could be, anyway.

He was dressed well as always, even if it was just to hang out, black dress shoes paired with close-fitting black trousers and a black v-necked shirt. All custom made to fit his 6'4 frame, of course.

"Are these your dad's, or are you a little freaky, Stiles?" No more freaky than Roman would ever be, and however poorly he hid his kinks he was almost positive his friend had no hint of just how strange the Upir could be.

"Not that I'm judging you." His voice was practically dripping with sarcasm, but that was the only way he knew how to joke around. Sharp features gave him a constant aura of coldness, and it worked to his advantage, except for when he wanted to be approachable. Like, right now, for example.

He scowled when he looked up and saw Roman twirling the handcuffs around, coming over and snatching them away. "They're my dad's and you're not supposed to go through his things."

That was Stiles' job, one that he did only when he needed to. Or when he was bored and stuck at home sick.

"Ooh, touchy subject?" Roman teased as the handcuffs were taken away from him.

"Maybe...you wish they were yours?" He'd always thought of Stiles as something of a prude, so it was fun to push his buttons every so often. He was cute when he blushed, anyway.

"No, thanks. Incarceration isn't really a kink of mine. Neither is getting my ass kicked by my dad when he finds out someone's been rooting around in his stuff." There was a system that had to be done in snooping. One that made sure his dad wasn't aware of it happening.

"Oh, fine. Tell him I did it, what's he gonna do, tell my parents?" A rather morbid joke, he no longer had parents to tell. Roman was now the sole face of the Godfrey Institute, and he really couldn't have cared less.

"What is a kink of yours?" He asked nosily.

"And I'll still get in trouble for not keeping an eye on you." Duh, Roman.

The question had him looking over at Roman as he tucked the cuffs in his back pocket, brows up. "What's with the weird fascination with sex stuff today? Did someone forget that I don't have experience with that?"

"I guess I should've remembered, considering how oblivious you are." He had to laugh at Stiles' inexperience, but he found it equally endearing as he did funny.

"You want it though, right? Experience. I have that." Maybe a little more obvious would get the point across a little better.

"If I have to get a megaphone and scream from the rooftop that I want to fuck you, I'll do that, too."

He fumbled with the handcuffs, almost dropping them before he managed to get them in his pocket. "Um... ah. Wow. I'd rather you didn't?" He gave Roman a weird look. Maye he was just pulling his leg, but Stiles couldn't tell with him.

"That's, um, nice and all, but I don't think you're my type."

"Stiles!" He snapped, gripping the younger man's shoulders tight. "Stop. Squirming. You're bleeding from the abdomen and you need stitches."

Really, why it had fallen to Derek to do this, Derek had no idea. He wasn't a doctor, wasn't even a nurse, had only the basic idea of how to sew someone up. But everyone else had gone, off after the thing that had attacked them or to find Melissa or Deaton, presumably so they could sew Stiles back together.

It couldn't wait that long.

Derek reached down for the med kit, grabbing the suture and needle from it. "I'll try to take as much pain away as I can, but you have to stop moving."

"Shouldn't a nurse be doing this? Or a doctor? Or someone who has a license? Preferably while I'm unconscious?" He was looking everywhere but down, down where he could feel the burning sting that throbbed over his stomach. God, what if his guts were spilling out? What if he died? Right here. With Derek.

Oh god, this sucked. His eyes widened when he saw the needle and he instinctively moved to try to get away.

A firm hand on his shoulder prevented his moving, and Derek scowled at him hard. "Don't make me sit on you," he growled, eyes flashing red. "I know what I'm doing."

Even the flashing red couldn't keep him completely still. "Yeah? Well, maybe you do, but I'm not going to magically fur-heal from you screwing up. Oh god, what's that? What's touching me? Is it my intestine? Oh god, they're falling out, aren't they? I'm dying. I'm dying and you're just doing this to rub salt in the wound. Oh god, do you have salt?"

"They're not falling out, but if you don't stop moving, you will bleed to death," Derek snapped, shoving Stiles down onto the bed, rising up onto one knee to straddle his thighs. "Hold. Still."

He was shaking. He couldn't help it. Adrenaline and anxiety and fear were all battling for control in him and he felt a nauseous slip-slide in his stomach as Derek loomed over him. "God, I'm dying. I'm going to die a virgin just like in those shitty horror movies."

Derek slid a hand up Stiles' shirt to lift it away from the wound, and peered at it a little closer. "Stop squirming and let me give you the stitches you need and you won't die a virgin," he said with a scowl, glancing up to Stiles' face. "Besides, virgins don't die in horror movies, they're the ones that live."

"Yes they do. They die as sacrificial lambs. The boy ones, anyway. Because we don't count. Oh god.. I'm a lamb. Ba-a-a..." He was talking nonsense now and he knew it, but he hurt and he was freaked out and he could feel the tacky feeling of the blood making his shirt stick to him. Oh god...

There was, probably, a better way to get Stiles to shut up, but Derek couldn't think of it and didn't really have the time to bother.

He leaned forward and down and kissed Stiles hard, one hand firmly placed on his chest just above the one, the other finding it by feel. He pulled away and before Stiles can react, he shoved the needle in and out, creating one stitch, black veins making their way up his other arm.

He was going to protest again as Derek leaned over him, ramping up for another rant about dying young and oh, the horror of it all, but there was a mouth suddenly on his and he couldn't speak.

Congratulations, Derek. You shut him up. At least, he did until he drew away and Stiles felt the plunge of the needle. "OW!"

Derek grunted, palm pressing down on him harder. "I'm taking as much of the pain as I can, Stiles. I can't distract you and sew you up at the same time."

He paused, then, looking a little apologetic. "I'm sorry."

Distract him? Distract him? That had done far more than distract him. It had convinced Stiles that he was well and truly dead. Derek Hale. Had put his mouth on his. Willingly.

He was so dead. "I'm dead."

"You're not dead," he said, scowling, drawing the needle through again and again. "And since you stopped squirming, you're not even dying anymore. I'm almost done."

But it huuuuuuuuuuurt. He was trying to look down but he knew he shouldn't. Nope. Shouldn't look down and see the nee--

He passed out.

Well. That was another way to get him to shut up. Sighing, Derek finished up, clamping the field kit shut, wrapping the needle up in gauze and tossing it into the trash can. It'd do, for now, until they could get him to a hospital or somewhere that wouldn't ask questions.

Grabbing Stiles' hand, Derek frowned, still drawing that pain out of him, despite his unconscious state. Who knew how long he'd be out, and he'd be hurting once he did come to.

Stiles had nightmares. Clips and snippets of things chasing him and teeth tearing him open. He groaned and tried to move, running way too slowly in dreamworld.

He frowned, placing a hand on Stiles' chest to keep him still. "Don't move," and it was probably pointless to talk to him since Stiles was out cold, but he did it anyway. "You'll pop those and it'll hurt more."

He'll pop you when he wakes up, Derek. You stabbed him. With a needle. Repeatedly. You suck.

The hand holding him down wasn't helping, only making him squirm worse.

He was going to die without it, and Derek will not feel guilty over that.

Much.

Sighing, Derek swung his legs over Stiles' thighs to straddle him proper, tapping at his cheek lightly. "Stiles. Stiles!"

"Eeeeeeenh." He moved his head, turning away from the tapping. Why was there tapping? Was it trying to eat his brain? He was under attack by zombies.

"Stiles!" Derek huffed, tapping his face a little harder. He didn't want to hit him, despite the fact Stiles would probably have no qualms about it if they were reversed. He was beaten up enough, he didn't need anymore bruises.

"Whaaaaaat?" The word was pulled reluctantly from him, his body wanting to go back to sleep so he could heal.

Settling back a little more on Stiles' thighs, Derek raised an eyebrow. "Get up. You're stitched up."

Well, that would explain the pain coming from his stomach. "Don't want to. Hurts. Five more minutes."

A sigh. Derek pushed his hand up under Stiles' shirt again, fingers curling gently around his waist, drawing his pain away again. "Is that better?"

"First a kiss and now you're copping a feel. Derek, is there something you want to tell me?" He tried to laugh, but it came out a pained wheeze, eyes closing tight before he felt some of the pain start to taper off.

"Maybe," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Can I get you anything?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but really, what the hell do you say to something like that? Thanks? Okay? Why'd you pick when I'm dying? He just blinked at Derek, then tried to sit up.

Oh, that was dumb. "A new body. Get me a new body. Make it a good one."

"What if I like this one?" He said dryly, reaching out a hand for Stiles to take. "Be more careful."

"What if you--? Did you get hit on the head? No, wait. It's me. I'm dead, aren't I?" He accepted the hand and let himself be slowly pulled up.

Derek settled him, scooting off his thighs with a sardonic look and a raised eyebrow. "I just told you you're not dead," he replied, one hand still carefully perched on Stiles' waist, leeching the pain from him.

"But you could have been."

He looked down when he felt Derek's hand still on him even after he moved, watching the black veins creep up his arm. "Don't do that. You're going to hurt yourself."

And why did he care again?

"It doesn't hurt me," he said, following Stiles' gaze. "You nearly died," he repeats, giving him a significant look. "Stop changing the subject."

He's trying to tell you that, Stiles, if you'd listen.

"What subject?" He tried to bat at Derek's hand, but he was pretty weak at the moment and it was kind of a pathetic attempt.

Derek's hand didn't move. He sighed, and shifted his weight a little bit, leaning in to crowd into Stiles' personal space. The pad of his thumb starts drawing small circles on Stiles' skin. He's soft, and he smells like blood and fear, but under all that is the unmistakable scent of Stiles, the thing any of the werewolves he knows could use to pick him out of a crowd, and he focuses on that, breathing deep against the pulse point in his neck.

"You nearly died," he said softly, pressing his face against Stiles' neck. "I nearly lost you."

His heart actually stops beating for a moment, his mind focusing on the two pinpoints of Derek's hand touching him like that, all lazy and soft, and the nose suddenly buried in against his neck. The next time it started beating, it was almost painful and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

First he kissed him, then he was getting touchy with him. Now...

A hand came up, moving to rest in Derek's hair as he tried to look down at him. "Not nearly enough. I'm still alive, right?" Jesus. Did Derek actually care? That had his head swimming more than the blood loss.

Yes. Granted, it had been slow learning on Derek's part, come to a head when he'd seen Stiles get rent by the monster of the week, and he'd freely admit later that it hadn't been selfless motives for taking Stiles from the scene of the attack to stitch him up while waiting for someone more capable. He wanted to touch Stiles himself, make sure he was still alive, keep an ear on his heart, hold him while he recovered.

"Right," he agreed, not moving.

"Derek... Is there something you want to tell me?" Not that he wasn't slowly figuring it out by himself. The snuggling was sort of giving it away. But hey, making him say it could be good payback for him jabbing him in the stomach with a needle.

Repeatedly.

Derek grew quiet and still, eyes closing. "You still don't get it?"

"Um..." Maybe? He just didn't want to guess something that was wrong and get that look that Derek had mastered.

"I. Care." It's succinct and to the point, and Derek sat up, looking at Stiles. "About you."

"Okay. I'm getting that. I guess you just, um, haven't before? So, yeah. Feeling a little confused here."

"Because all those times I saved you life were indication that I hate you so much." Dryly.

"Life saving isn't exactly a declaration of feelings, Derek. It just means you're not going to actively rip my throat out. Even if you used to threaten it."

"Isn't this?" He settled back, pulling away from Stiles to sit on the bed, still keeping one hand on his hip, still drawing his pain.

He looked down at the hand still on his waist, reaching for the wrist to pull it off. "Well, this, yeah. And I told you to stop. You're going to hurt yourself." His voice was soft, his eyes tired but intent as they looked at him.

"I already told you," he said a little crossly, batting Stiles' hand away. "It doesn't hurt me. It's fine."

"It looks like it hurts you." He grabbed at Derek, hand sliding up his arm. "Why does it look like that?"

Derek shook his head. "I don't know. I never really asked about it, it's just how it's always been. But it doesn't hurt. I promise."

He glanced down at Stiles' hand on his arm, Stiles' palm warm against his skin. "It's helping, right?"

Stiles was watching the black leak up Derek's arms, hand moving to follow the path up. It was fascinating to watch and he wanted to know more about it. But he looked up when Derek asked him the question, nodding slowly. "Yeah, it's helping."

He was quiet for a moment, then he squeezed Derek's arm. "Thanks. For saving me." Then, to try to lighten the mood, he grinned. "About time you started carting your own weight."

Derek huffed a little, looking up to meet Stiles' eyes. "You're welcome. And for all the other times I've saved your ass. You're welcome for those, too."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I've saved yours more than you've saved mine. I mean, I'm just saying." He grinned, thumb mimicking Derek's, circling slowly along the inside of his elbow.

The touch is soft, and Derek glanced down to it and then back up to Stiles, an unspoken question in his look. May I? Is this okay?

Stiles nods in reply, feeling his pulse pick up for an entirely different reason.

Derek leaned down, and the kiss this time is softer, a little more gentle, because it's not meant as a distraction. He wanted Stiles to enjoy it, this time, and Derek parts his lips, licking at Stiles' mouth.

Now that he's not squirming in pain and dying, he can actually appreciate the feel of lips on his. It wasn't quite like kissing a girl, like kissing Heather or Lydia had been, but that didn't make it bad. It was good in a very different way and he lifted his head up a bit, trying to urge it onward.

Derek deepens it, bracing himself over Stiles just enough so that they're close, but he's not laying on his wound. He presses kisses to Stiles' mouth, to his jaw, to his neck, still keeping his hand on Stiles' waist, still drawing away his pain.

Stiles' hand lifts up to lose itself in the darkness of Derek's hair, pulling his head around so he can go back to kissing him. He liked the kissing. He wanted more of it. When he tried to push himself up, even with Derek helping, pain flared through him and made him wince.

"You know, you picked a really shitty time to make this little declaration."

Derek pulls away the second he can feel Stiles wince, alarmed and slightly apologetic.

"I thought you were going to die," he all but mumbles, placing both hands on Stiles' waist, using both hands to leech at his pain.

"Oh my god, would you stop that? You're going to suck something vital up through there. If I lose my sex drive..." Well, masturbatory drive, but still...

"It's just your pain, Stiles," Derek huffs, leaning down to nose at his pulse, at the vein in his neck. He nips at it, kisses it, and then licks a slow stripe up. "See?"

The nip shouldn't have been something that sent a tingle through him, but it did. The idea of an alpha biting him had been both his worst nightmare and a dream of his since Scott's incident. He was still too wary to go through with it, though. Especially after Jackson and Gerard.

But Derek's teeth on his neck made his pulse jump. The lick had his eyes fluttering closed. "Um... no. Not exactly. Maybe you should, um, show me again?"

Derek chuckles at that, breathing against Stiles' skin. "Yeah?" He asks, but doesn't wait for an answer as he nips again at Stiles' neck with his blunt human teeth, sucking just a little bit. "What about now?"

"Maybe just one more time." His voice was soft, breathy, his hand sliding up Derek's arm as he tipped his head to the side for him.

His grip tightens on Stiles' waist, he grins, and Derek licks over the bruise blossoming on Stiles' neck slowly, carefully, savoring the salty taste of skin and sweat. He's going to have one hell of a hickey, tomorrow, and Derek can't really bring himself to care. He draws his lips up to Stiles' mouth and kisses him deep, licking into his mouth hotly, pressing his own forming erection against Stiles' hipbone.

The pretense was gone as soon as Derek's mouth touched his, Stiles leaning into the kiss and making a noise of outright need when he felt that hardened length of Derek pressing against him. "Okay, okay. I think I got it now. But I still say your timing sucks. Couldn't have done this before I got eviscerated?"

Derek kisses him again to shut him up.

But it's a question he has to answer, eventually, and even he knows that. So, really, it's both to shut Stiles up and to stall for time while he thinks of how to phrase it. Words have never been his strong suit, not since the fire, not since he had to start hiding things from the walking lie detector that was his sister.

"I thought you'd always be there. And I thought I'd be okay with just that."

He's okay with the kissing. The kissing can keep happening. But then there's an answer and Stiles doesn't mind that. He moves his head back so he can look at Derek. "You're kidding me, right? You've had a... a thing for me? Why? How? When?"

And why was he just hearing about this? Rude, Derek.

Does he really have to answer that?

"You really didn't know?" He's kind of surprised about that, honestly. Surely Stiles had picked up on it by now, right? He was observant and smart. He had to have known.

"Um, no? I kind of figured after you smashed my face in my steering wheel that I was on your shit list."

He sighed at that, leaning down to rest his forehead on Stiles' collarbone, thumbs drawing small circles on his waist. "You were, for a while. And then you just kept coming back. You kept helping me."

"You kept getting into trouble." Along with Scott, who had some inherent need to be the hero. Stiles, for his part, just tagged along.

"That doesn't mean you had to come back."

"Yeah it does." Because like it or not, Derek was a friend. Apparently more with this new revelation, and that meant he was going to do dumb things for hm.

"It doesn't," Derek repeats a little more firmly, pressing his nose to Stiles' neck, rolling his hips up a little. "But you did anyway. I guess I felt like that meant something."

His breath catches at both of those moves, eyes closing a little as he grips Derek a little harder. "It- Oh boy, it did."

"Stiles," he sighs out into his skin, a small little whine punctuating his name. "When you're healed--I want--"

The whine surprised him, but it also had him realizing that Derek wasn't the only one with something a little uncomfortable in their pants. Jesus... "If you don't say sex, I'm going to punch you."

Derek nips at his skin a little. "I was actually going to ask if we could start a knitting circle," he huffs. "But sex is fine, too."

He laughs a little, moving to lie back down so he wasn't straining his stitches. "I will stab you with the goddamn needle."

Derek looks at him hotly through his eyelashes as he lays down, moving to settle beside him, hands still on his waist. "Is that a promise or a threat?"

"Are you getting all hot and bothered over it? Seriously? Wow. We're going to need some safe words."

"I'm getting all hot and bothered over you."

That had him trying to hide a smile, arm draping over his eyes as he tried to just take all this in. "That is going to take a little getting used to."

Derek sits up a little. "Why?"

Stiles peeked under his arm. "You're kidding me, right? You having a thing for me? That's... come on, Derek. Who'd believe it?"

He blinks a couple of times. "You don't?"

He turned and looked up at Derek, grinning slowly as he reached for him, tugging him a little closer. "Kind of hard not to when you were... uh, with that..." He looked down for a minute, cheeks pink.

"Then it doesn't matter if other people believe it or not." Derek moved easily under Stiles' touch, scooting closer, pressing his nose into Stiles' hair.

"You know... waiting to heal is going to suck so hard." But he turned to brush his nose against Derek's cheek. Because he could.

Derek pauses, because he has an idea. "...I could do that."

"Do what?" Color him curious, Derek.

"Suck hard." And he slides his body down, keeping one hand on Stiles' stomach, still taking his pain, the other fiddling with the fly on his jeans.

He actually froze all over when he finally clicked in to what Derek was saying. What he was doing. Then there was a full body shudder. "Oh my god, Derek. I didn't mean... I mean... I-- You... Oh my god."

His cock was painfully hard behind his jeans and he was trying really hard not to think about Derek with his mouth on-- Jesus.

He stops just as he gets the zipper open, hovering over Stiles' hips, hand teasing at the waist of his boxers. "You don't want me to?"

The noise he makes is one of pure exasperation. "Do you have eyes? Clearly I do." His erection wasn't making any attempts to hide itself. "Just... you don't have to do anything."

Derek pretends to think for a moment, idly teasing at the skin above Stiles' boxers. And then he moves, yanking his jeans down. "No, I don't have to do anything."

He leans down, and takes Stiles into his mouth.

He tried to move, to writhe or arch or squirm or anything, but the pain from the wound kept him still, stealing his breath as much as Derek's mouth was. All he could do was scrabble for something to hold as he made a strained sound, eyes rolling back and head falling to thump against the table.

* Pregnancy/trying to conceive smut.
* Plain ol' fluffy smut.
* Feeding/vampirism.

Given that canon-wise the only people Saya can have children by are Diva's Chevaliers, I'm glad to either have someone considered one of Diva's Chevaliers or bend the rules a bit.

Or you could use one of these instead.

And for some regular prompts or ideas:
1. A photoshoot turns risque, and ultimately leads to sex.
2. Getting lost (accidentally or on purpose) in a corn maze or haunted house.
3. Rise and another person end up together on a very crowded train. Accidental stimulation (or not so accidental, depending) ensues.

Mixing things is fine, too! Kinks can be found in journal.

[Really Ezreal probably should have known better than to tease Rise so much. It was just too easy, though, to find those little things to get her riled up about and her reactions were always worth it.

But this time, Rise was armed for a counterattack. Flopped over on his back, his arms are up in the air to keep her from smacking him in the face with one of those pillows, soft as they are.]

Ah! Rise, stop! I surrender!

[Before she can, though, Ezreal finds an opening while both her arms are raised and just sort of gently tackle-pushes her over onto her back, pinning her arms down to keep her there. He's breathing just a little heavily, over her on all fours as he is. Mostly it's because he's recovering from assault, but still. He's grinning his stupid grin as usual, anyway.]

I think you have a violence problem.

Blah blah, info and so on.

[28]

a) A genuine, loving marriage... that requires a very strong willed wife that constantly keeps Feda from running off, looking at other women and other scumbag things that he's made a habit of.

b) A contract of ownership with a mystical entity that requires Feda to sex them up regularly.

c) Following some sort of tragedy in his life, Feda miserably stumbles back into the life of a past lover for some comforting.

[18]

a) Feda, with his new, nicer outlook pays a visit to a girl he hurt in the past. His truly heartfelt apology for being a raging dickbag wins them over and so on.

b) After doing some public heroism, a fangirl pays him a visit and so on.

one: Picture options! A, B, C, D.

two: Paizuri/tit-fucking. Would likely involve her partner guiding her along the way, since it's really not something Dizzy would think up on her own.

three: Hurt/Comfort-ish, with Dizzy taking care of, tending to, and/or simply pampering her partner. They could be sick, injured, or just in need of some TLC.

No non-con or anything violent, please.

[[ooc: How about a combination of 2 and 3? Sick/Miserable Alph talking her through giving paizuri when she wants to give him a treat as part of her pampering?]]

The Seed of an Idea Smut Meme

RULES

Stiles Stilinski | Teen Wolf | OTA

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