Sterek makes this life worth living. All those fanfic writers and artists and editors out there created such a beautiful bubble of a universe right here in this universe, right at the time where I have the honor to be alive and experience it and I make this revelation all the fucking time but damn, I am over the moon for you guys. I am so so so grateful, for sterek, for you loving them just as much as I do, for you having that passion, and the time and will to create such beautiful things that make it real and touchable and all the hell more enjoyable. And yeah, I just finished reading a fic that made me happy when I thought I couldn’t be and yeah, I’m emotional. I love you guys. I love Sterek. And this ship will never go down if I have anything to say about it.
It is becoming increasingly obvious that I have no self control when it comes to fanfiction. Do you know how many open tabs I have or stuff that sounds good but I haven’t managed to read yet? Probably 30. And that’s just what’s open. I also have… roughly 600 fics in my ‘marked for later’ list. And I just can’t. stop. adding. What I have (assuming they’re all finished et al) would probably last me three months alone, but I just keep adding to the list.
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
“Nice ride,” the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black '68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
“You like American muscle?” He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.
I found it. I remembered I once wanted to share it but it wasn’t finished so I never did. I realized I forgot the idea, if there had been any to begin with, so I’m sharing this half-unfinished thingy. yay (ΦωΦ)’’’/
“Your highness,” Harris says as he rises. “Your highness, don’t you dare-”
It’s too late to stop him though. Derek is already standing.
“Just for a bit,” he says, batting away Harris’ hands when they reach for him. “I’ll stay within earshot.”
“How many times do I have to tell you,” Harris says, standing in the carriage as well and making a weak attempt at blocking the door. “It is not appropriate for a prince to go riding around the countryside on a horse by himself!”
“But I can ride on royal hunts?” Derek challenges, not bothering to look up from where he’s shucking his fine coat. Underneath he is wearing well-made but plain riding clothes. They are the only set of reasonable clothes he’d managed to sneak in his luggage this entire month-long trip.
“Royal hunts are different,” Harris moans, flicking his hand at Derek’s shirt in disgust. It may be a bit worn after a solid month of hard use. But it’s not Derek’s fault that Harris had threatened to throw them out enough times that Derek only let him clean it when Derek had the time to watch. “There are guards and you’re dressed properly and… guards! You need guards!”
“We have guards,” Derek points out, taking a moment to wrap a strip of cloth that he keeps for just this reason around his sword hilt. He is smart enough to know that riding through the forest with a jeweled hilt is asking for trouble. “Though they will just slow me down. They can stay here with you.”
“Your Highness,” Harris says. “Please, you know there have been reports of thieves in this area!”
“We’re only half a day’s ride from my uncle’s,” Derek scoffs. “And Peter hasn’t officially reported any thief problem to my mother so I’m sure that’s just a rumor.”
they taught the young boy
“watch out for the moon,
it’ll break your fingertips and split your lips, it’ll pour moonlight in your veins if you’re not careful, boy, the wolf can be dangerous if you let your wild heart roam so keep those eyes steady, pup, keep them green”
they told him
“you’re not a killer”
when the black blood ran
all down his arms
“this is the life of the wolf it means fire in your bones and holes in your heart sometimes your eyes go blue but it’s okay, pup, they’re beautiful, too”
he’d heard many things
by the time he stood on his own
you deserve to be alone,”
and so he became
a lone wolf
one with the moon
“I’m the alpha now”
said a wolf, barely but a pup
eyes bleeding red
but no one ever said
a single thing about the stars
the ones that left the sky
to settle on pale skin
and in strong brown eyes
demanding “trust me”
in a voice that sounded like home
a touch that told him
“you’re no abomination, boy,
there’s so much life inside you, so much green”
“There is a world where whenever someone fantasizes about you, you can physically feel it, but you have no idea who is thinking it about you.”
Stiles knows it’s wrong, but he’s been Fantasizing about Derek and he can’t bring himself to stop. Derek doesn’t know who’s taken an interest in him, but he’s enjoying it way more than he probably should.
It’s not that the idea of Stiles talking about him doesn’t make his stomach wrap itself in knots, it’s that it does just that. It makes him unbelievably uncomfortable and he doesn’t quite know why. He’s twenty seven years old, he pays taxes, he takes his mother out for lunch on Sundays; he is a grown up. But he’s getting weird butterflies when he glances over his shoulder to look at Stiles and a heat in his chest that feels something like what he supposes want must feel like.