like teens

A New Home (Part 2) - Theo Raeken

Summary: Part 2 to A New Home. You help find Theo a place to stay after you found out he had been sleeping in his car, but you start developing feelings. 

Word Count: 2,274

Author’s Note: I’m really happy with the way this one turned out. Theo is a little nicer in this compared to how he’s been in 6B. He’s way less hesitant to stay and help because of the reader. I’m posting a Derek Hale imagine later today!


Originally posted by chimeracuddles

The next night you came to Derek’s Loft with a bag in tow. Theo heard your car door slam when you arrived, so he knew you were on your way up. You slid the loft door open, spotting Theo on the couch. You held up the bag in your hand, “I come baring gifts.”

Theo took a whiff of the air and replied, “Spaghetti and garlic bread.”  

“Darn you werewolves and your super senses.” You sat the bag down on the coffee table and began pulling the food out.

“And what did I do to deserve this meal and your presents,” Theo asked bending down to reach the food on the table.

“I just thought you’d be hungry. You’ve got a place to stay now but nothing to eat.”

You pulled out some plates then handed one to Theo. He filled his plate up with the spaghetti and grabbed some bread. After just one bite, Theo mumbled as he chewed, “this is delicious.”

You laughed watching him stuff his mouth with your food. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t had a real meal in months. It’s not all that.”

“You gotta start giving yourself credit, Y/N,” he spoke in between chews. “This is really good.”

Smiling up at the werewolf you thanked him before you began eating your own food. The rest of the evening was spent laughing and telling stories. It was a little weird for you to be sitting there with Theo. Back when you thought he was trying to join Scott’s pack, you two never really hung out. Just the occasional conversation here and there in the hallways. He was actually pretty nice. It may had something to do with him getting dragged to God knows where. That kind of stuff has an effect on a person. But sitting here, right now with Theo, you could tell a friendship was growing.

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anonymous asked:

Yeah, I adore Robert, too, but I still gotta admit the whole throwing rocks thing seemed kind of childish for someone his age. The dude's like 50. He's an interesting and complex character/person, but probably not someone I'd want to date in real life.

“The dude’s like 50″ - put that on my tombstone.

Tbh though, same. Like, I love him as a character, but as a person I swear every single alarm in my head would go off and I would stay very, very far away from him.


Sterek + Name meanings (as requested by @youfancymemaddearie)

because you’re my     k i n g
          and i’m your     l i o n h e a r t

bashfyl  asked:

*incoherent screaming* You opened prompts! Sterek: Not yet together sterek. The idea is a bath and Stiles how did you get that there?!? Thank you.

Taking Sterek Prompts | Filling Prompts Live


“Are you going to get in?” Stiles asked, peeling out of his last shirt, his words a little slurry around the edges. “In a- a- a-” He paused, trying rather unsuccessfully to shake his hand free of his sleeve. He started laughing uncontrollably and collapsed to the floor to work on his shoes. “The water, are you?”

“No,” Derek groused, pointedly not looking when Stiles flopped onto his back and began to shimmy out of his soaked pants. Black slime coated almost every square inch of the floor. “This is your bath, not mine.”

“Mine,” Stiles echoed, now just lying on the floor in a puddle of black, his pale skin coated head to foot in the gunk. “This is not my house.”

“Yes,” Derek agreed, as patiently as he could, checking the water’s temperature before turning off the tap. It had to be extra hot to affect the stuff. “This is the clinic.”

Deaton had explained that even minimal contact with the ichorous substance gave a contact high. Stiles had been practically drenched in the stuff when they had killed it. Luckily it was not deadly or even toxic- which was the problem. Someone had been keeping the creature as a pet, drawing out the fluid and selling it, and it had escaped three days ago to wreak havoc.

Very, very unfortunately, Derek had drawn the short straw for ensuring Stiles got cleaned up and came down from the high safely. Isaac, Boyd, and Erica were taking care of disposal of the body while Scott and Allison swung by Allison’s house to return weapons and report to her father. Deaton had been kind enough - or perhaps had enough self preservation - to give Derek the key to the clinic so he could get Stiles washed up away from his father’s questions.

“Come on,” Derek said gently, slipping from the edge of the tub to crouch at Stiles’ side. It was, he reflected, a very good thing that werewolves were not susceptible to the substance’s effects. “You gotta get cleaned up.” The effects wouldn’t wear off until every drop of the ichor was gone.

Stiles lifted his head, looking all the way down his lean form. “Oh, no, no that’s too far,” he told Derek, head falling back with an audible clunk he was probably going to feel in a few hours. “Wow, this is the best floor ever. Do you think I could take it home with me?”

“No,” Derek said with a sigh. Looked like this was going to have to be the hard way. He shifted, kneeling beside Stiles, and grabbed at his wrists to haul him up.

Despite that they slipped and slid a bit, Derek managed to get a very naked Stiles upright and across the three feet to the tub. For a second Stiles stood very still, holding tightly onto the edge of it like he was going to resist going in. Then he tipped forward and faceplanted directly into the basin so quickly Derek had to scramble to keep him from drowning.

“Hoooooo!!!!” Stiles shouted the second his mouth was above the surface, water sluicing away the ichor clinging to his skin. “It’s hot, Derek! This is really hot, why is it so hot? Oh my god, I’m melting!” He started grabbing at the black liquid coming off his skin.

Closing his eyes, Derek counted to three. Then five. Then ten, for good measure, and when he opened them again, Stiles had fallen very, very still and was staring wide eyed into the middle distance. It was not exactly an improvement, but at least he’d stopped thrashing, slopping water and ichor all over the floor and flinging it onto the walls and- and was that- on the ceiling?

“Stiles, how did you- you know what, nevermind,” Derek grumbled, reaching for the spray nozzle.

This setup was supposed to be for cleaning dogs, but it would work just as well for ornery, tripping humans. He began to run the spray over Stiles’ hair, watching the black give way to brown. When the tub had filled completely, Derek pulled the plug and let it drain. Diluted like this with water, it wouldn’t hurt the general populace; at worst, they’d all have a really good day soon.

Stiles’ eyes slid closed, and he relaxed into the gentle touches Derek used to turn him this way and that, to get at the last of the ichor still clinging to strange places like inside of his ears and between his fingers and- well, at least Stiles was unlikely to remember any of this very well tomorrow.

By the time he had gotten the last of it, Stiles had turned to putty in his hands, making a soft, pleasant humming noise that might have been purring on a cat. Derek swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. He still needed to get Stiles someplace to wait out the high, and get this place cleaned up so no one else would be affected.

Difficult to think of anything beyond the way Stiles pressed himself into Derek’s touches. “Feels good,” Stiles murmured, unwilling or unable to keep his eyes open. “You should touch me more.”

“Tomorrow,” Derek mumbled back, prodding Stiles to his feet. The floor was still covered in ichor, so Derek just leaned over and scooped a completely unresisting Stiles into his arms. Immediately, Stiles looped his own arms around Derek’s neck and burrowed his nose against Derek’s shoulder. “If you still want me to touch you tomorrow, I will.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed muzzily.

He wouldn’t remember. No one else had. Still…

He allowed himself a small smile, and a measure of hope. Stiles had never been one for following the rules, after all.