it's four in the morning why not

A Sleep Study

Its five in the fucking morning, but why not write a fic about a much better version of my awake perdicament.

I just wanna let Y'all know that I read all of your tags, every single one, and I really like them, so please tag as much as you want.

Anyway, this one’s pretty short but here you go.

Its four in the morning when Derek wakes up to soft contented huffs of warm air against his neck. He doesn’t remember letting Stiles sleep in his bed, probably because what he does remember includes sticking the little shit on the couch where he belongs.

More than likely, the boy wriggled himself into Derek’s space long after the wolf had fallen asleep, entered REM, and begun to dream. It surprised Derek endlessly that he could sleep so comatose with Stiles wandering around his personal space, sometimes even loudly. Anyone else could crack at the joints around him when they walked and stir him awake. He supposed that’s what trust felt like.

Really, he should kick the teen out of his damn bed. Push him away, tell him to fuck off, and stop letting him frequent his loft so often if this is what he was going to do. But, as he lay on his side and stare down at the sleeping form of the offender, he just can’t bring himself to do it.

Stiles is curled sweetly into his chest, nose pressed into his collar bones, sending furls of his breath in every which direction. His hands grip loosely at the nearest fabric they can find, the left taking hold of the sheets, and his right fingers tangled in Derek’s own sweats. He’s be sleep warm, but as usual, his hands are cold.

Derek thinks the boy’s hair is getting a little long, if the way it sticks up in every direction is any indication. He can’t help but run his fingers through it carefully, wondering for what must be the dozenth time how its always so soft. The sent of the sweet chamomile shampoo he uses assaults his nose when he does, and he inhales it deeply. He’s sure he hated it before, his sensitive nose almost always preferring a person’s natural scent, but now it’s comforting in a way he can’t quite put his finger on.

Stiles makes a little sound if contentment in his sleep, so Derek repeats the motion a few times, until he snuggles up closer, jamming his face right into the crook of Derek’s neck.

He resigns himself to counting the moles he can see peaking out from under Stiles shirt, which has ridden up to his waist, since he’s not tired enough to sleep, but too sleepy to get up. He realizes, only after he’s pressed his palm into the soft skin of Stiles’ back and started to rub, that it’s actually his shirt. Not even a clean one, but the one he’d taken off and tossed on the floor before he went to sleep.

He grins toothily to himself at the image of Stiles finding it and tugging it on unabashedly. Likes its not just about the strangest thing in the world to pick up someone’s dirty laundry and just put it on. He supposes if they were lovers it would be normal, but as they are now it makes him itch to tease. Stiles has obviously picked up the need to scent mark himself from the rest of the pack, probably unknowingly, and it’s stupidly cute that this is how he chooses to do it.

He wonders idly when the things Stiles stopped being ridiculously aggravating, and started being cute. He fondly remembers a time when something like this would have him slamming the kid’s head into his steering wheel.

Now though, his violent urges have been replaced with the urge to pet, and rub, and maybe even kiss. He sternly tells his intrusive thoughts to knock it off and let him sleep, but all he gets in return for his efforts is Stiles’ wriggling around and somehow ending up pressed even close to him in his new position.

He pushes himself back and away, not to escape, but because he wants to continue watching the boy sleep. He keeps an arm around Stiles waist, and uses the thumb of his free hand to trace over his face. Thickly lashed Eyelids, turned up nose, soft pink lips, each feature perfect in its own right.

He’s only a little surprised when Stiles chooses to flutter awake just then, all the moving and touching having been pushing it after all.

He blinks sleepily up at Derek, and Derek, undeterred, continues to have his fill of the boy’s pretty face. This should the part where he pushes Stiles onto the floor and goes back to sleep, but instead he leans forward and presses his lips against the pair he’d just been thumbing.

If Stiles is surprised, he’s too half asleep to show it, and after a few more gentle kisses, he scootches closer with a soft smile and returns the treatment enthusiastically, as if they’ve done this a thousand times. Though they haven’t , Derek decides a discussion about this new development can wait until the late morning.

It’s five in the morning when Derek drifts back to sleep, Stiles held tightly to his chest, blissfully warm and sated.

I’m currently working on chapter three and it’s going to be posted tomorrow.

Until then, I’ve decided chapter three is my favourite because of these wonderful moments. (they’re all sakumiyo moments (ノ*゜▽゜*)  )

I love, love, love this. Miyoshi’s too adorable when he laughs.

Take this out of it context, it seriously seems as if Miyoshi turned Sakuma down and Sakuma’s disappointed by it.

Sakuma looks too smug; I love it. And look at Miyoshi’s expression. Poor Miyoshi, now it’s his turn to get turned down.

…Anyway, like I said before chapter three is coming tomorrow!

Also, I’ve been working on chapter four and since I’m nearly done with it, do let me know if you would prefer it that I post chapter four a day after chapter three or if I should post it next week.

Mechanics of Poetry - Epilogue

This is actually the bitter end. on AO3

Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten

It’s a morning in July that Derek wakes up in their sunlit bedroom and realises he’s deliriously happy. He knows why it’s this day – it’s July 5th. The windows are open and there’s a breeze blowing through their curtains. The smells of coffee and bacon are wafting from downstairs, and Will’s hair is tickling Derek’s chest. One of the cats is lying on his leg, the other on the small of Will’s back.

It’s July, so Will doesn’t have to teach classes at the college. He wouldn’t let Derek pay off his student loans, but he had let him pay for grad school, which made Derek happy. Derek’s publisher tends to get mad at him in the summers because Derek can’t be assed to work very hard since summers are the time he really gets to spend with Will. They’re also the times Will spends planning out his lectures and syllabi, particularly for his class “physics for English majors” which Derek has been reliably informed usually start with a comment that yes, he knows how to explain complicated science to humanities people since his husband is Derek Nurse – yes that Derek Nurse.

But getting Will up in the summers is next to impossible, so Derek has to play on the fact there are the smells of cooking coming from downstairs.

“Babe, you’ve gotta get up,” Derek says, kissing the crown of Will’s head. Will shakes his head, tightening his hand on Derek’s hip, effectively digging the metal of his wedding ring into Derek’s flesh. “No, come on, the kitchen’s on fire.”

“Good, I wanted to remodel it anyway,” Will mumbles.

“No, come on,” Derek says, sliding out from under his arm and standing. Either the cats or Will hiss at him. He can’t be sure.

Derek pulls on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants and throws another at Will.

“I’m serious about remodelling the kitchen,” Will says, finally deigning to sit up and put on something more than boxers.

“I know,” Derek says.

“No, don’t say ‘I know’ in that tone of voice,” Will protests. “That’s the ‘I know, Will, you’re going to start a project and then never actually finish it’ voice. That’s the tone of voice you used before you gave me complete control of the garage.”

“Who me?” Derek asks, grinning at him.

Will narrows his eyes at him and slumps down the stairs to the kitchen. Derek actually kind of likes their kitchen, especially when it’s full of food like it is right then. There’s a plate of bacon, a stack of waffles, and a fresh pot of coffee.

“Waffles?” Derek asks, raising his eyebrow.

“Pancakes require too much finesse,” Ainsley replies, hopping up onto the counter and drenching her own stack of waffles in syrup.

Derek nods and doesn’t laugh, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He also has issues with pancakes (Will despairs at both of them for it) but he had hoped Ainsley would get Will’s cooking skills.

He’s pretty sure the day she turned up on their doorstep will be forever burned into his brain. It was just a normal day, Will had just got home from the college, he was working on his latest novel – a spy novel because why the fuck not (“Because you’re a romantic slice of life writer!” his publisher had exclaimed in despair before actually reading the rough draft and quietly rescinding his statements) – and they had just sat down to dinner when there was a knock on the door.

It had taken a moment for him to recognise Ainsley, since it had been eight years at the time. She’d also shaved half her head, tortured the rest of her hair to stick straight, ringed her eyes in heavy black liner, was wearing chipped black nail polish, and all black clothing. All she had with her was a backpack and a pair of hockey skates slung over her shoulder. Derek wouldn’t have been overly concerned with her fashion choices – he’d seen pictures of both Assumpta and Snowy when they were teenagers – except that Ainsley was thirteen at the time.

“Hey babe?” Derek had called back into the house while he and Ainsley simply stared at each other.

Will had joined them in the doorway, before gaping at Ainsley in shock.

“So you guys are gay or something, right?” Ainsley had asked.

“We’ve been made, grab the go bags,” Derek had said, taking a sip of his wine. Will had smacked him in the arm and brought Ainsley into the house.

Ainsley hadn’t explained her presence, just sat on the living room floor and let the cats crawl over her. Derek had been the one to call Granny. She’d been relieved that they knew where Ainsley was, since apparently Colin had kicked her out after he caught her kissing a girl. Since Jamie lived across an international border and Assumpta had kids of her own, Ainsley had come to them. She’d later confided in Derek that they were actually her first choice, and she’d just told Assumpta and Jamie that to spare their feelings. Shitty was the one who dealt with the adoption paperwork, and then Derek just kept him on retainer for the sake of the fact he happens to be a fairly successful novelist. That was four years ago, now.

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I know nobody will read this, but I need to vent real quick. It’s four thirty in the morning and I just finished episode two of Life is Strange and kATE OKAY WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM WHY HAVE YOU JUST DECIDED THAT MAX IS THE ONE THAT NEEDS TO BE YOUR FREAKING GUARDIAN ANGEL LIKE OKAY BUT NOW YOUR STANDING ON A ROOF LIKE ‘I WILL JUMP’ LIKE CHILL PLEASE THIS CAME OUT OF NOWHERE JESUS