Derek has grown to enjoy volunteering at the animal shelter. He didn’t like how he came to be volunteering there, a volun-told situation involving his sister, but a few months later, and it becomes something he looks forward to every Saturday. He’d like to claim its the love of the animals, which is partially true.
“My cute neighbour from down the hall keeps coming to my apartment, claiming there are Pokemon they need to capture in here. What they don’t know is I too have the Pokemon go app, and know for a fact there are no Pokemon in my apartment. But I allow them to keep using the excuse, because I get to see them more AU”
Derek gets the text whilst three thousand miles away helping Cora move into her new house with her new boyfriend-slash-fiancé. He almost drops his phone twice on his rush to get it, making Cora snort and then bend her fingers into a heart shape and wink at him. “I have good news and bad news.”
He was sitting in front of a fan for fucks sake, in nothing but his boxers and a cold cloth on his head. This wasn’t helping even a little bit; between the hot air and the cloth not staying cold he was ready to go swim in the arctic, meanwhile Derek was working out like the fucking weirdo he is.
Stiles knows he shouldn’t do this, but Stiles also isn’t famous for having any kind of survival instincts or keeping his mouth shut in high stress situations, so. “What did you say about my alpha?” he spits, getting up so fast that his chair topples back with and smacks loudly on the floor in the suddenly quiet room.
Stiles has had a very bad day and all he wants is ice cream. Stiles stares disconsolately at the empty spot in the giant supermarket freezer where his chocolate-coconut ice cream should be. He presses his forehead to the cool glass and groans. Today is the worst day.
“You’re such an asshole.” Stiles said between trying to catch his breath.“And yet I’m still the one fucking you open instead of that fucker boyfriend of yours. I’m the one using your hole for the night.”
Stiles having night shifts at the station had spelled the end of their sex-life.It had been okay, for the most part, because Derek loved Stiles for a lot more than just the (incredible) sex. Still, neither of them would ever turn down the opportunity to do-the-diddly-do when they could.
Stiles is just trying to get through senior year in one piece while juggling AP classes, college applications, and jerks on the lacrosse team calling him “four eyes”. But a certain lacrosse captain has other plans for Stiles.
Stiles and Derek just got married and are a little too lovey-dovey for other people at the airport. So they decide to find a utility closet to have some private time. At least, as private as they can get in an airport, anyway.
Derek owns a bakery and Stiles comes in wanting something for a broken heart (very over-dramatic about it) but he gets so distracted by the cake (muscles) that he totally forgets alllll about it. OR: Stiles eats a lot of cake. Derek’s communication skills are lacking. And they bitch and snark their way to a happy ending.
“My name’s Stiles, and I just ruined your shirt, and your coffee, and probably your morning. “Well, Derek can agree with the first two, but his morning is definitely not ruined, because it was worth it to be pushed over if he was pushed by someone so beautiful. He would let the guy knock him on over a hundred times. As long as it doesn’t involve burning coffee every time.
Stiles meets Derek at a motel after talking to each other for months on the phone. Stiles is ready to be with Derek, in every way. And in this instance, that way is the intimate way. Needless to say, having sex with Derek is an amazing experience.
"You’re falling for him,” she says, and it’s not a question. Stiles looks up, blinks, and shakes his head. “No,” he lies. “We work out, have really intense sex, and then eat cereal marketed for children. We have a system, okay? Why upset the arrangement?”
“Not that lubed-up Q-tips aren’t the sexiest thing in the world, but I kinda want to know what it’s like, you know. To be impaled on your huge dick without actually being impaled.” “It was about to get sexy there, but you shot the mood right in the face.” In which Stiles is a faerie and Derek is sick and tired of not being able to fuck him. Bonus
The thought is, the soul mark is ambiguous so people feel like they have a choice in who they fall in love with. Stiles thinks it’s to torture him. Derek thinks it means nothing. Then they meet each other, and realize they’re both wrong.
STEREK CABARET AU: Ive been listening to the song “Devil in disguise” and just couldn’t stop thinking of a cabaret dancer\singer Stiles and a traveler Derek who comes into the club every night even tho he needs to keep going on the road but watching Stiles dance just lures him to stay longer~
For @kylerinvention because best friend needed a sick!Derek story and seriously has read EVERY SINGLE ONE of them. So you fucking bean you, for all the beautiful art you do for people (including me) here is a fic just for you! :)
Summary: Stiles was such a mother hen when he wanted to be, if he wanted to be. Like honestly he was taking liberties people! “Operation Coddle The Shit Out of Sick Derek” was in full effect.
It was a Monday.
Stiles fucking hated Mondays, they are always so slow. It didn’t matter if he woke up at the same time as normal, it didn’t matter if he took an extra minute in the shower, it didn’t matter if he ate a PopTart for breakfast (which he totally did this morning). The day always seemed to go slower than the six other days of the week. He always caught himself looking at the clock and watching the hands move at a snail’s pace. He could probably learn to knit and finish three sweaters by the time it changed hours.
What made it the worst Monday though, was the fact actually nobody has talked to him all day.
It’s how he found himself just driving to the loft because someone was bound to be there and Stiles would probably find something to do with them. Well accept Peter…he’d turn tail and run as fast as possible away from that man. Even thinking about him gave Stiles the creeps. Like up and down the spine creeps someone gets from watching a horror movie.
The thought of Scott watching The Blair Witch Project is a very good example of how much Peter creeped him out. Also recalling how Scott actually cried into a blanket amused him.
A giggle left his lips at the memory, walking up to the loft door and sliding it open casually as his free hand had his keys spinning aimlessly on his fingers.
“Knock knock? Any wolves in the–?” Stiles called out, stopping short at the scene in front of him.
Tissues. There were fucking tissues everywhere, it looked like the Kleenex factory had a literal explosion in the middle of the loft. All crumpled up and strewn about without a care in the world. On top of that there was an abandoned blanket on the floor by the couch, and upon further inspection it had arm holes…it was a Snuggie. It was a goddamn Snuggie in the middle of Derek Hale’s loft.
Bottles of water, half empty (wait…or half full?) or barely touched were littering the coffee table and desk. A bowl full of something mushy looking sat on the floor between the Snuggie and the couch, looking like it’s been cold for quite a while. Much to Stiles’ surprise the TV was on for once (although muted), and to further his surprise Buffy The Vampire Slayer was playing.
His jaw hung open, slack, his chin practically kissing the ground at this point.
It took him a moment to comprehend the shuffling of feet to his left followed by a few sniffles. Stiles felt his neck nearly snap as he turned to the source of the noise finding it to be Derek.
Although it was Derek it wasn’t his Derek.
No no no; this Derek was wearing joggers, a sweater with fucking thumb holes, and to put the icing on the cake he was wearing mismatched socks. This Derek had a red nose that could put Rudolf to shame and raspy breathing that made his Jeep sound like an angel.
“Holy–what the fuck? Derek?” Stiles gasped, barely remembering to close the door before rushing to check him over. “Is it wolfsbane? Mistletoe? Something you don’t know? Should we be calling Deaton right now? Are you okay?” He babbled, running his hands over Derek to feel up any bullet, arrow, or freakin’ missile wound he may have.
Totally not copping a feel at the guy’s Adonis like physique.
Not at all.
Derek growled at him, eyes flashing blue for a second before weakly flickering back to their green…no blue…no kinda brown…whatever color they naturally were, the growl morphing into a wheezing cough that hurt Stiles’ chest just by it’s sound.
“N-No,” the older man huffed, looking at Stiles with his classic furrowed caterpillar brows, “just sick.”
“Sick? Like…me sick? Like human sick? You’re a freakin’ werewolf how are you sick!?” Stiles asked, placing his hands on his hips while simultaneously jutting his head forward to hear the impending answer.
Derek still looked unimpressed, “some strains of flu take longer for us to heal. I caught one.”
And…and that was a surprisingly simple answer. It made sense.
He took a moment, looking over Derek again before throwing himself into action. Grabbing the man’s shoulders he lead him to the couch, shoving him down until he was sitting. Of course he fluffed the pillows until they were what he would call “optimal fluffiness” before settling them in such a way which would keep Derek’s head elevated. Of course he proceeded to made it so the werewolf was laying down before grabbing the Snuggie and tucking in the guy like a little burrito, of course using the arm holes (because Stiles needed the mental image of Derek wearing it, it was necessary!).
By the time he was done Derek looked broody as usual but less green at the gills.
“I’m gonna get you water, then I’m gonna make you soup. Do you have stuff in your kitchen?” Stiles asked, pushing the sleeves on his hoodie up to his elbows. Though Derek kept glaring he sniffled and nodded, reaching out for a box of tissues. Of course being a gentleman Stiles pulled the coffee table within reach before unmuting the TV and handing Derek the remote as well.
He wasn’t out of the living space when he heard Derek say, “I like rice in soup, not noodles.”
“That’s just freakin’ adorable dude,” Stiles whined, a grin splitting his face as he entered the kitchen. It didn’t take long at all for him to gather up everything he would need, hell the man even had fancy spices to work with. Honestly up until this point he pegged Derek for a frozen meal kind of guy but then again this kitchen didn’t even have a microwave.
He chopped up onions, garlic (because honestly that was the best for sicknesses, his mother swore by it), herbs, and of course the leftover chicken he’d found in the fridge. Sure…it might’ve had a post-it on it with Isaac’s name scribbled out in chicken scratch handwriting, but hey Derek was sick. There were bigger priorities for this leftover chicken than to be shoved down that scarf wearing douche’s maw okay?
Stiles felt no remorse when he put the cubed up meat into the soup.
The longest part was the rice, but hey by the time it was done Derek finished his water and got through an episode. Carefully he ladled some into a bowl, grabbing a spoon from a drawer as well as a straw from the junk drawer before returning to the ill wolf.
“Alright,” he sighed and batted at Derek’s legs to make space for him to sit, once doing so he used the spoon and got some of the soup onto it, holding it up for Derek to eat.
“You’re not feeding me soup.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, “dude just open your mouth and eat the soup. You should rest.”
“I’m not a baby I can–,” Derek snapped, pausing as his eyes got puffy and watery. Stiles was about to get Deaton on speed dial when the werewolf let out a gnarly sneeze, face scrunching up and his snot spray literally going everywhere.
“Don’t die…I can’t have that, not after I made you really good soup,” he pleaded while grabbing a tissue and wiping at Derek’s nose where snot had almost begun to drip. The man groaned, his head falling back onto the pillows. “Yeah I know this isn’t fun, but hey…here comes the Stiles soup train!”
He held up the soup spoon again making a “choo-choo” noise to go with it.
Derek growled, “shut the fuck up Stiles.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes and shoved the spoon to Derek’s lips harshly.
Thankfully Derek took the bite, humming as he ate the soup. After that it was a fairly painless process of silent “Stiles feeding Derek soup” time, Netflix filling the void of silence, and his fingers being burnt off by the heated ceramic bowl the soup was in. Eventually Derek ate all the soup, drinking most of the broth before saying he was full.
The bowl was abandoned on the coffee table and though he wasn’t asked he moved back on the couch so he was opposite of Derek, those cute ass mismatched socks on his lap. Stiles was taking liberties here people! He took the liberty of giving Derek a foot rub which was definitely something he didn’t get when he got sick.
Although…it was kind of hard not to think about the little moans Derek would make when Stiles dug his thumbs into a certain spot, kneading the tense part of his feet. He was a big boy though and he could do his best to ignore those noises and definitely not rock a semi right now.
“Why Buffy? I kinda figured you weren’t much of a TV guy, this was more of a thing for Isaac,” he asked when the credits for an episode rolled.
Derek froze, coughing a little before answering with, “Laura used to put it on when one of us got sick.”
Stiles nodded, focusing his wide eyes on finishing his foot rub. That…that wasn’t what he expected to come out of Derek’s mouth. The guy never talked about his family, like never ever never. He understood though, he hated talking about his mom. Hated when he had to use past tense when he did…
“Well,” he said with pep in his voice to get rid of this cloud that suddenly hung over them. He searched for something else he could do because he’s basically done everything. “Operation Coddle The Shit Out of Sick Derek” was pretty much done.
Step one: snuggle him up.
Step two: feed him soup.
Step three: pamper him a lil’.
He could make a step four, he was nifty like that. So when he remembered how touchy feely Scott got after Allison broke up with him the idea of cuddling Derek was too much to resist. Gnawing his lower lip he took a chance and kicked his shoes off, one of his chucks flipping under the couch in the process. Stiles flailed a bit (obviously, duh) as he wedged himself between the couch cushions and Derek’s side, wrapping his arms and legs around the guy like an octopus.
“Stiles,” Derek said, “what the hell are you doing?”
“Cuddling you, what do you think I’m doing?” Stiles barked, arching a brow as he craned his neck up to meet with the guy eye to eye.
“Why are you cuddling me?”
He rolled his eyes, “dude I know werewolves. They get all touch hungry when they’re sad or worried…and I assume sick too. Plus if you’re worried I’m gonna get sick from you, I won’t. Stilinski’s have pretty strong immune systems.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Derek deadpanned.
“Gee thanks Der-Bear–”
“Seriously shut up and cuddle me,” Derek said, his head falling back onto the pillows once again, leaving Stiles a bit taken back.
It took a moment but his brain went from highly malfunctioning to giddy and loopy in seconds, his head resting comfortably on the rock solid chest muscle Derek possessed. They probably stayed like that forever, like honestly Stiles had no way of telling time since this loft seemed to have no clocks. Hell his phone was in his butt pocket but his hands were feeling up Derek’s side so like…checking time wasn’t a priority for him.
Of course Derek relaxed after a while, eventually leaning into the touch Stiles was giving and man was that a good feeling. A really good feeling he wouldn’t mind exploring when Derek wasn’t an ill puppy and he wasn’t hyperalert for any medical issues at hand. At one point Derek sneezed into his hair and Stiles let out a very high pitched “oh what the fuck man?”.
Derek had flicked his ear in retaliation.
Now though, the sun was almost set, giving the loft a purplish glow as they finished season 5 of Buffy. Stiles was about to reach for the remote and press accept on the next season’s episode button when a yawn vibrated from Derek’s chest, a high noise coming from his mouth.
“‘leepy,” Derek groaned, rubbing his half lidded eyes.
Stiles wanted to kiss his eyelids….he’s also never had a weirder impulse in his life.
“Okay big guy, bedtime,” Stiles nodded as he peeled himself off Derek.
He stood up, turning off the TV before helping Derek up. Stiles had to support a lot of the guy’s two hundred pound dead weight muscle, sleep obviously was much needed here. The whole situation reminded him of the pool and how he had to support the guy then too. However this time they weren’t in eight feet of water and the possibility of drowning couldn’t happen. Crossing the room he settled the werewolf into his bed, pulling the covers …shit what is this egyptian silk?… back so he could once again tuck Derek in.
God the guy looked almost as pale as him when sick, eyes rimmed with dark circles, and his nose tinted the cutest red. Stiles was totally taken back but focused on making sure Derek was soft and warm and all tucked in.
“‘Nnghh,” Derek grunted with another yawn, burrowing into the blankets until his eyes barely poked out from under them.
“I’ll be right back,” Stiles said, wiping the matted hair off Derek’s forehead before making his way to the bathroom.
Upon looking through the drawers and cabinets he found what could be the smallest basket of medical supplies he’s ever seen. Honestly he had maybe one gauze pad but there was for some reason NyQuil was there. He didn’t question it as he pulled it out and looked at the back side for the measurements.
Wait…was it different with a werewolf? How much would he have to up the dosage? Stiles pulled out his phone, scrolling through before finding the right contact to call. After a few monotone rings the other line picked up and he sighed.
“Hey Melissssssa,” Stiles said in a sing-song voice, “how much NyQuil should you give a fully grown werewolf with the flu?”
Greg Berlanti, who helped develop and write Supergirl where Hoechlin is now playing Superman. As he’s a Sterek fan, it wouldn’t surprise us if it comes up or if he has a bit of influence in potentially getting Hoechlin to come back as Derek.
__ went to Derek’s hide out and he filled her
in. Scott was there, which made __’s face blow up bright right,
growling at him. How could he be here and not even visit Stiles once?
Running as fast as she could, __ lunged at him like she was in the
football team. Scott yelped like a little girl. Everyone else was just
as shocked to see her doing that. The only one enjoying it, like always,
was Peter. Isaac cracked up a small grin, his usual signature move.
could you not visit him after I left you a message?” __ growled, spit
flying everywhere. She was having a hard time controlling herself now.
can wait. Plus, mom told me he’s okay. We’ve got bigger problems to
worry about,” Scott said, trying to get __ off of his belly. She was
resting on it, legs blocking each side.
problems?” __ laughed bitterly. “If it were your little girlfriend
Allison, you would’ve run like a dog to her Scott. In fact, you have.”
__’s eyes were bloody red by the moment she uttered the last sentence.
Scott knew she was right about that, but he remained silent. He couldn’t
find anything else to say.
It felt like they were alone there. There wasn’t anyone with them
always your damn second choice. It’s Stiles we’re talking about here!”
she punched the ground besides his head, cracking it. “He’s never once!”
__ lowered her voice a bit. “Once not showed up when you were in
danger. But you never repaid the favors, did you?
can’t believe how love sick you are.” __ punched, with both hands, the
sides of his head fiercely, then dropped her head on his shoulder,
strands of hair falling shamelessly everywhere. When she spoke, her
voice was a bit muffled, yet clear as day, as her tone was firm, even,
planned to get to a point. “Why can’t you just protect him when I can’t?
He needs us and we need him back. If he were dead, we’d be dead, too.
Don’t you realize that? He’s my anchor.” Silent tears escaped __’s
eyelids. She tried blinking them away, but to no avail.
the one to cheer us up when we’re sad, the one to help when we’re in
trouble, the one to crack a smile first, the one who can be so annoying
but so adorable and funny at the same time. He’s our Stiles.” __ was
talking about them, however, deep down, that’s what Stiles meant for
her. He meant the world. It was one of those moments, where nothing
seemed to matter if you thought about it, but once it’s out there,
transmitted in the air, it made it real, made it matter.
pure frustration, __ started punching the ground as hard as she could.
This time Derek and Peter both ran towards hard, pinning her arms to her
back, and pulling her off Scott.
“Chanel your anger towards our real enemy, __,” Derek whispered in her ear, but it was more of a hiss than anything.
said __ with a tongue click, an eye flicker. They let go of her.“I’m
not sorry, though. He knows I’m right.” Isaac approached __ and high-5’d
Scott got up, dusted himself, then sheepishly rubbed his neck. “She is right, Derek.”
__ wanted to crack up a smile so badly. Finally he admitted she was right. __ huffed.
“So, is anyone going to tell me the plan?” she asked, looking at everyone.
“Yeah. We go and fight,” Derek stated simply.
“Good plan!” __ mocked, making a face that said ‘not bad’. “And I say we call the avengers.”
“Nerd,” Scott snorted.
thank you!” __ said in a fake British accent, followed by a bow. “Now,
seriously, what’s the plan?” she finished, looking at Derek for an
“We go in and we fight,” he replied.
“Against a pack of Alphas?” Isaac asked, disbelief and fear itching his face.
“I’m usually up for all crazy but this is suicide,” __ confronted. “I’m not suicidal.” She shrugged and held up her arms up, palms wide open, somehow in a giving gesture.
Alphas smelled their ambush like they were some rotten fish in the net
from miles. They were all waiting for them. Everyone of them took
someone to fight. __ picked the girl whoever her name was. She had a
tanned complexion, sly, evil, but very pretty and athletic. She moved
quickly, which made __ dizzy sometimes.
was exhausting to say the least. __’s pack was losing fast. __ didn’t
think it was necessary to use her abilities at first; she knew martial
arts. The woman with long nails, bate feet proved her wrong.
Deucalion was after Alphas, and if he found out she was one, too, he’d never let her go. He’d hurt her friends.
swung her fists professionally, each got dodged by her opponent, then
she smirked and did a roundhouse kick. Nails- was she decided to call
that woman- dodged it a second top late. It hit her square in the face,
making a few cracking noises, followed by spitting vermilion blood that
realized Nails had a pattern. She repeated every kick at least twice.
One would expect her not to in a fight this serious. She was
poor, little mouth of yours,” __ raised her hand towards her mouth like
you do when you do something bad and say oops. __’s, though, was full
of mockery. “Did that hurt? I bet it did,” she taunted. The easy way to
win a fight is get make your opponent angry by taunting. They just start
throwing everything they have recklessly, aimlessly. Nails did just
quickly glanced to see how everyone was doing. The new werewolves were
having a hard time against the Alphas. They had gashes everywhere.
“Why,” started Nails. “Don’t you use your werewolf abilities?”
“Honestly?” __ asked to no one in particular. “You’re not worth it.” __ shrugged.
“Aaaaaaagh!” growled Nails. How much if an easy target was she?
“Come at me, bro!” ushered __, pressing her palms open then made a gesture that told Nails come on.
that happened, Allison appeared, shooting arrows that produced a
blinding light to werewolves. __ closed her eyes. When it was over,
Derek and that big guy Nails was into were on the edge fighting each
other. Panicked, Scott and __ rushed towards them and slashed at the
big, for he was gaining dominance. It helped Derek flip the table. He
struggled pushing off the big guy off the ledge, yet he had a strong
grip on Derek and brought each other down the edge. Slow motion was the
word perfect for describing that fall. Scott was screaming.
was struck by a lightening of silence. Her eyes stared at him, her hand
reaching for his. The tips of their fingers touched slightly before
Derek was lost to kingdom come.
agape, hands shaking, balled into fists, __ finally screamed in agony.
She turned around her enemies, growled like a wolf, her eyes turning
“This is much, much more interesting,” whispered to himself, Deucalion. They all retreated then. No one was a winner.