sterek writing

Day 4: Cookies

From this prompt list

Stiles is lying on his back on a blanket in front of the fireplace. He’s happy and content after some great sex with his boyfriend. Derek is on his front with his head on Stiles’ chest. He raises his head and smiles up at Stiles.

”I want gingerbread cookies,” he tells Stiles who smiles at him.
”Then go and get the cookies,” he says. ”You know where they are.”

”I’ll be right back,” Derek says and gets up to fetch the cookies. He comes back with the whole jar and picks out one of the cookies to feed to Stiles before taking a heart for himself.

”I can’t believe you like coookies more than I do,” Stiles says and Derek watches him through his eyeslashes.

”Yeah, but I like you more,” he says and Stiles smiles.

”I like you more than cookies too.”

anonymous asked:

I absolutely love your fics, you're one of my favorite writer! I was wondering; who are your favorite writer (for sterek and steter)? And what are your favorite tropes? Do they wary depending on the pairing, or do you like... like Coffee shop AUs for any pairing?

Sorry it took me so long to answer! 

First of all, I LOVE coffee shop AUs. There’s just something so cozy about them. And coffee shops combined with book shops are my favourite! 

I’m on a Steter binge at the moment, and seriously, ready anything by @cywscross. Anything. You cannot go wrong. 

I’m also re-reading Call My Name by KouriArashi aka @gingersnapwolves. It is incredibly good. She also write fantastic Sterek. 

And one day I will do up a master post of all my favourites to share, which is what I intended to do here, but you sent this ask in weeks ago and if I don’t reply to it now I just know it won’t happen before New Year! 

Person A is the smol and Person B is the tol. But person a is all “you think you can be a dick to people! Hell no, fight me I can take you, ya to afraid” but really the person won’t fight them because person b is lurking behind them like “you lay one hand on them and I will shove an entire food truck up your ass do you understand me”

6

Derek Hale is a wandering Omega looking for a pack to call his own. When he comes into Beacon Hills, he’s intercepted by the local pack. They take him to their Alpha who Derek is expecting to be an older werewolf. What he’s not expecting is for this kid that can’t be more than 20, with the smirk playing about his kissable looking lips, to be the Alpha. Needless to say, they don’t exactly get off on the right foot. But, Derek thinks later that night, he could easily find his home in Beacon Hills with Stiles Stilinski and his pack.

5

“No, I think that’s exactly what you meant,” Stiles says, voice hoarse.

“Stiles,” Derek murmurs, hating how the small space between them smells of betrayal and sadness. It’s a horrible stench overall, but knowing he’s the one who caused it is even worse. He doesn’t know how to fix it—still not used to dealing with situations like this—but he wants to. He wants to be able to kiss it better instead of walking away from open wounds.

He leans over the table, wanting to be closer but not sure if Stiles would appreciate him walking around it to where he’s standing his ground. They’re not looking at each other anymore, both their gazes on the table separating them. Derek purses his lips and slowly moves his hand across the surface to where one of Stiles is curled up to a fist, listening to the sound of their heartbeats quickening in sync.

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(618): We had a One Night Stand 6 months ago but he just invited me to his wedding. Who the fuck does that.

Derek stares intently at the invitation in his hand. 

After a few minutes of contemplation, he pulls out his phone and texts Cora.

“Do you remember that Stiles guy?”

Cora responds immediately. “The one who left you alone in bed and had you crying into a tub of ice cream for the next 3 days? Yes.”

Derek huffs as he types, “It wasn’t 3 days.”

“You’re right. It was four.”

“Nevermind,” Derek sends exasperatedly.

Cora seems undeterred. “What about him?”

Derek glances back at the invitation before responding.

“We had a one night stand six months ago and he just invited me to his wedding. Who the fuck does that?”

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Stiles could understand why he wasn’t the most likeable person on the planet, or even in his high school. 

He was abrasive, loud, analytical, and gave about zero fucks on people’s comfort level. Which, honestly, was fine. He only cared about a handful of people in this God-forsaken world, so other people’s opinion of him could really not be bothered. 

Enter Jackson Whittemore. 

Ever since Stiles professed his love to one Lydia Martin in the fourth grade with a ring pop (which she ardently did not accept), Jackson has wanted, and sometimes succeeded, in making Stiles’ life hell. 

In elementary, it used to infuriate Stiles. How Jackson would always steal his dessert at lunch, or push him too hard on the four-square court, and would always never cease to let Stiles know that he would never get to be friends with Lydia Martin.

And, yeah, sure, eleven-year-old Stiles would ball his fists and try to fight back, but that quickly changed in high school. And he started learning some, interesting, things about himself. Soon enough, Lydia Martin was the last thing on his mind, and so was Jackson and his taunting. In fact, with both of their academic success, he and Lydia found themselves in similar upper-class and AP classes throughout high school. Some would even call them, dare he say it, friends. 

But, Jackson, not so much. Even now, at their senior year, Jackson still makes it his mission to give Stiles hell, even though he’s been dating Lydia Martin practically since he tossed the ring pop out of his hand. And it doesn’t help that now, with Stiles and Lydia being friends, and Allison and Lydia being inseparable, and Allison dating Scott, that Jackson has somehow integrated himself into their group of friends. 

Which is exactly how Stiles finds himself rolling his eyes at Jackson as they pack up their equipment on the field after practice, Jackson whapping him with this lacrosse stick. 

“You’re literally an infant, Jackson.”

“At least I don’t throw like one, Stilinski.” Jackson scoffs. 

Scott snickers next to him, and immediately looks regretful when Stiles glares at him. 

“I bet an infant would be better to deal with than you.” he snarls, stripping off his practice jersey to throw in his bag. 

Lydia and Allison walk over from the bleachers, smiling faces, per usual. 

“Good practice,” Allison says to them all, but leans into Scott for a kiss. Lydia’s moved to Jackson’s side, too, and when Stiles glances at them, Jackson has a snarly grin on his face. 

“Jealous, Stilinski?” A common phrase from the asswipe since they were kids.

Stiles barks out a laugh. “Not in the slightest.” He ignores the small grin Lydia gives him.

Shouldering his bag, he lets out a long sigh. “Can we go? I’m starving.”

Everyone nods in agreement, starting to move towards the parking lot.  Jackson throws an arm around Lydia. 

“Yeah, must have worked up an appetite from all that standing around and doing nothing.”

This time, Stiles whacks him with his stick.


“Okay, but to be fair, my jeep has gotten us to Mexico and back.”

“It broke down half way, Stiles.” Lydia deadpans.

“We fixed it! Since when did you guys get all mean about getting into my car.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised it’s been alive this long.” Jackson scoffs.

“Walk your happy ass to the diner, then, Jackson. See if I care!”

And yet, all his friends still make their way to his jeep, because they know damn well Roscoe will get them anywhere. 

But, when they get to the car, there’s one Derek Hale leaning against the hood, looking as ominous and broody as always.

“What do I owe this pleasure, Sourwolf?” Stiles preens, walking up to him, but Derek doesn’t move. 

“You left your wallet at my place.” 

Before Stiles could even reach in his back pocket to check, Derek straightens and tosses it to Stiles, causing him to, of course, flounder and very much not catch it at all. 

“Aww, always looking out for me, huh Derek?” Stiles coos, shoving his wallet into his pocket. 

“You’re pathetic, Stiles.” Jackson spits. 

Stiles whisks around, and God does he want to smack that silly little smug look off Jackson’s face as he walks over. 

“I swear to holy Hell, you can walk h-”

“You know he has a crush on you, right?”

Everyone stops cold, and suddenly all eyes are on Jackson, who is looking straight at Derek likes he’s fucking Sherlock who solved the case. 

Derek scoffs.

“He does,” Jackson continues. “He likes you, and it’s embarrassingly obvious to everyone.”

“Oh, my God,” Stiles groans, putting his face in his hands. Scott, on the other hand, is bright-eyed and excited, like a puppy who just saw a bone.

Derek quirks an eyebrow. “Do explain.”

And Jackson, oh Jackson looks like he’s just been given a whole litter of bones. “He talks about you constantly, he invites himself over to your place all the time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he jerks off alone in his room to a picture of you.”

Derek’s head whips to look at Stiles, but he already has his hands up in protest. 

“I do not do that, okay?”

Jackson steps up to Stiles, face inches from his. “Just admit it, Stilinski. You have a crush on Derek.”

It’s quiet for a second, and Stiles is really considering what level of Hell would even want to welcome someone like Jackson Whittemore, when Derek speaks up.

“God, I hope so, or this would be really awkward.”

Jackson’s face drops, and he spins to look at Derek. In the background, the snickers of Allison and Lydia or ever so sweet to Stiles’ ears.

“What?”

“I said,” Derek lifts himself off the car hood, and makes his way to Stiles, who practically beams up at him when Derek takes his hand in his, entwining their fingers. “I hope he has a crush on me, or this would be really awkward.”

Stiles watches as Jackson does a double take from him, to Derek, to their hands, and oh does it feel so, so good.

Scott’s outright barking with laughter now, and Jackson looks as pale as a ghost. 

“Great job, dickweed. You just told my boyfriend that I liked him.”

“You… and Hale? Since when?” he spits out. 

“Almost a year, sweetie.” Lydia pipes up, probably more smug than anyone since she was the first to know about Stiles’ flagrant homosexuality. And his impeding crush on Derek.

“Aww, babe? Almost a year! Did you hear that? We should celebrate.” Stiles preens, and even leans up to nudge his nose at Derek’s cheek, just to rub the salt in the wound a bit more for Jackson. 

“I just found out you have a crush on me. I think we should take things a little slower, don’t you think?” But Stiles catches a hint of a smile on Derek’s face.

Stiles doesn’t stop himself when he feels Derek gravitate towards him, and happily leans into the kiss. It’s sweet and quick, but enough to get Jackson to pretend to vomit. 

“Matter of a fact, I think I’ll walk.”


Later that night, when Derek is driving Stiles back home, Stiles reaches out to hold Derek’s hand over the console. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, and Derek acknowledges him with a slight nod. 

“Do you have a crush on me?”

Derek’s quiet for a moment, and suddenly Stiles feels a squeeze on his hand that makes his smile spread wider than his face. 

“Every day.”

Pet Names

Derek is ignoring Stiles’ texts.  Well, technically he’s reading them-he’s just not responding to them.  Even though he’s upset, Derek still can’t quite resist seeing what Stiles has to say.

His phone beeps again for the fifth time in the past minute.  “What’s wrong,” the text says.

“Tell me,” the next message reads, less than 3 seconds later.

Then, “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”

Derek continues to not respond, and his phone finally goes quiet for a few blessed minutes (for the first time in an hour). He puts it on the coffee table as he sinks back against the couch and closes his eyes, trying to shut out the sadness that’s been creeping in since earlier that day.

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6

‘cause once you’re mine there’s no going back

AUStiles is one of the most talented witches of his coven, so he has the honor of being sent to kill the alpha of the nearby Beacon Hills werewolf pack and claim the territory for his coven. What begins as a mission of “seduce and destroy” becomes more complicated when Stiles realizes the alpha is not the brute the coven made him out to be. 

Move A Mountain add-ons  →  #eternalmam
 ↳ first drive

Finley Quaye, Beth Orton - Dice

Stiles gets his license at the end of the summer, only a few weeks short from the anniversary of his move to New York.

There’s a mountain outside the city with the perfect view to watch the sunset. They’ve been there several times before on Derek’s Harley and it quickly became Stiles’ favorite spot. Back when they first started the driving lessons they had made a promise: that once he got his license, Stiles would come pick Derek up at the shop and they’d drive up there.

It’s late afternoon by the time Derek picks up the sound of Stiles’ engine: lighter and faster than his own. He looks over his shoulder from where he’s kneeling next to the Yamaha he’s working on, gazing out towards the street until the bike rolls into view when Stiles parks it on the drive in. He leaves the engine running as he jumps off, practically tearing off the helmet before rushing inside the garage with a blinding smile.

“I did it!” He exclaims, as if anything about his arrival hints otherwise.

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4

“But I didn’t,” he shrugs, reaching the bottom of the stairs and continues to slowly cross the floor to where Stiles is pacing. “Besides, it’s not the first time.”

Stiles scoffs. “And it won’t be the last, right?”

Derek frowns, steps slowing down as he approaches. Stiles steps backwards in sync, maintaining a certain distance between them. Derek stops, confused, watching Stiles move around the loft with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. First then does Derek catch the stench of distress and anger filling the air.

“What—” He begins, but is cut off.

"You're unbelievable, you know that? Do you possess some level of self-worth at all?” Stiles stares at him from across the room, chest heaving, eyes glazed with emotion but his voice spits venom. “How many times will you run head first into danger, like you’re the pack’s human shield or some shit?”

“Not human,” is Derek’s automatic reply, which apparently is the wrong thing to say because the next second Stiles is stalking towards him with fire in his eyes.

“I’m sick of your furry excuses!” He exclaims. “I’m sick of hearing you and Scott talk as if you got every reason to sacrifice yourselves because of your damn healing.” Derek doesn’t realizes he’s taken a step back until his back hits the pillar behind him. Stiles walks right up to his face, close enough to feel the heat of his breath as he keeps yelling. “Like it’s a reason for you to take bullets that were meant for me.”

His breath is ragged once he stops, his chest heaving. Derek’s gaze darts between Stiles’ eyes, wide and so close. Stiles ducks his head down, swallowing as if he’s trying to calm himself. Derek doesn’t move, too overwhelmed by Stiles’ outburst. Because it means something; it means so much, and his chest tightens when trying to figure out what.

When Stiles lifts his head back up, the anger has been replaced by pure concern, and it hits all of Derek’s senses so hard his breath hitches, nostrils flaring.

“You’re not monsters,” Stiles says lowly. “You’re people. The claws don’t change that.”

2

“Oh, no,” Stiles says, bent double and nearly breathless with laughter. “No, no, no.”

“You asked for this,” Derek reminds him, awkwardly shuffling to the beat of ‘1999’ with his elbows pulled in tight at the waist. He throws in a dorky spin, pointing finger-guns at Stiles on the downbeat, and Stiles can't breathe.

“I thought you had secret dancing skills,” Stiles admits, watching fondly as Derek does a series of dumb disco-adjacent gestures. “I didn’t bring you to this wedding with me so you could shame me and all of your ancestors on the dance floor.”

“Watch this,” Derek says, and is about to ineptly moonwalk right over the hem of Allison’s wedding dress until Stiles yanks him back into place by his suspenders.

“Oh my god. You’re a tragedy, Hale. All that body and no clue what to do with it.”

Hey,” Derek protests, eyebrows furrowing.

“I can’t believe your hips would just lie to me like that.”

“By the way, I was already invited to this wedding, asshole,” Derek reminds him. “I’m an usher.”

“And you didn’t fall down!” Stiles pats his cheek condescendingly. “Which I now realize is a beautiful miracle.”

“All right, that’s it,” Derek says ominously, and stops mid-shuffle to make a beeline for the DJ booth.

Stiles knows he’s in some kind of danger when Prince cuts off abruptly, replaced by a smoky, pulsing tango.

“Did you threaten the DJ,” he asks weakly, backing away a little as Derek stalks toward him, “because he’s actually Allison’s cousin and there could be repercussions to—”

“Stop talking,” Derek says, and draws Stiles flush against him in one fluid, violent movement.

“Buh,” Stiles says, and then feels every inch of his skin start to tingle when Derek starts leading him. With his hips

“I only like some kinds of dancing,” Derek says, disgustingly smug. “No. Don’t. Chin up, look at me. That’s it. Dip,” he warns, casually draping Stiles over his arm.

I deserve this, Stiles thinks, staring mournfully backwards at the floor while the heat of Derek’s palm burns through his cummerbund. 

Derek pulls him back up, slots their cheeks together, and takes a gliding step, encouraging Stiles along with a confident press of his thigh. “I requested a rumba after this,” he says in Stiles’ ear.

Fine," Stiles groans, heart racing. "But after, we’re doing the motherfucking Macarena.”

3

“I never thought we’d get here.”
“To your room? From the coffee shop?”
“No, dumbass, here, you, me, in my bedroom… No threats of violence on the horizon.”
"There’s always tomorrow.”
“Ever the optimist.”
“I try.”
“I know you do, at everything. It’s terribly endearing.”
"Gee, thanks.”
“God— You make me nuts, man. I’m trying to have a moment and you’re ruining it with your stupid attempts at being funny.”
“I’m funny to someone with a sense of humour.”
“You’re really not, but you make me laugh any way. I’m— I’m glad you’re here, that we’re here.”
"Me too.”
“You should put that book down.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m gonna kiss you, I think.”
“You think?”
“Shut up! You’re so aggravating, I don’t know why I love you.”
“You…I’m gonna put the book down.”
“And vault out the window?”
“No, I’m gonna kiss you back. If you ever get around to doing it.”
“Bossy, bossy, sheesh.”
“Stiles, I… I love you, too.”
“Duh.”

(Fic written by Amy Rose)