stiles flailing

“You should tell him.”

Stiles looks at his dad in confusion. “Huh?”

“You should tell him.”

“Tell who what dad.”

The Sheriff rolls his eyes. “Tell Derek you’re in love with him?”

Stiles flails in surprise. “What? Why? I don’t know what you’re talking about old man.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles groans, hand raking down his face. “I can’t dad.”

“Why on earth not? You’re into him, he’s into you, just ask him out!”

Stiles snorts. “Yeah right, Derek Hale is into me. Right. Derek is one of the nicest, most humble, and amazing people ever. He’s smart, and he’s caring, and loving. Why would someone like him want someone like me?”

“Stiles, you are also all of those things. Except maybe humble.”

“I’m going to hide your cookie stash.”

John grabs Stiles, and puts him in a head lock. “Just watch Derek, just for a minute, then tell me what you see.”

Stiles wraps an arm around his dad, and watches Derek. He watches while Derek talks to Isaac, glancing every minute or so over at Stiles. When Derek realises he’s being watched, his cheeks burst with colour, ears raging red.

Stiles eyes widen. “OMG dad he’s into me.”

“Told you. What are you going to do about it?”

Stiles looks at his dad, fear in his eyes. “Dad …:

“Stiles, trust your father. Go talk to him.”

“Ok.”

The Stilinski’s unwrap themselves, and Stiles stumbles over to Derek. John sits down in the nearest chair, stretching out his legs. Melissa brings him a beer and sits down in the seat next to him.

“Is he going to tell Derek he’s in love with him?”

John nods. “Yep.”

“Finally.”

They watch as Stiles stops in front of Derek, Derek blushes again, and then blushes even harder when Stiles touches his arm. When Stiles finishes talking, Derek’s head snaps up and he grabs Stiles and kisses him with everything he has. Stiles octopus limbs wrap around Derek as he kisses the man back.

John and Melissa clink their beers together, just as Jackson yells, “About damn time Stilinski!”

roxyblade  asked:

Hi Carrie. I don't know if you're doing prompts or anything but I needed to ask anyway. You're always able to help me when I need it (when my mum was diagnosed with cancer and when I broke my elbow). I had to have my 12 year old German Shepherd put to sleep last night (April 28th) and I feel so empty and lost now. I don't know what to do and I was hoping you could write something to cheer me up/help/distract me?

i’m so sorry to hear about your dog. this is a little late, but i’ve been travelling and stuff and i’ve only seen this message just now. sending you lots of love, and i hope this ficlet cheers you up a bit

Derek loves his family, he really does. But sometimes he wishes they weren’t so… weird. And it’s not that he doesn’t have fun at the annual Hale-Extravaganza, the ridiculous family reunion that they hold every summer at Lake Bellasue. When he was a kid, he looked forward to it every year, how all the Hales from all over the country would gather and he’d get to see his favorite cousin from Texas and see Aunt Jo and Uncle Monty argue over jam and his grandma would make all the best food. It’s two weeks of potato-sack races, scavenger hunts, s’mores, swimming, and more, and the only time Derek sees his cousins and stuff. 

Even if they weren’t werewolves, they’d still be weird. For instance: Derek is wearing a bright pink t-shirt (Cora’s design, this year) that proudly declares HALE PACK WEST COAST BEST COAST because in about an hour he and the other kids (Derek is twenty-two years old, and he can’t believe he still has to play all these games) on his team are gonna face off against the cousins from New York. 

The matching t-shirts, Derek could probably explain. There are a lot of families who do that. There’s at least two other reunions (none quite as large as the Hales) at this lake, which is a popular vacation destination. Derek’s never took much notice of the other people there; just usually kids on spring break from the local college partying and swimming and racing around on jetskis and stuff. 

But this year is different.

“Hey, Derek!” 

Oh, fuck, he’s shirtless again. Derek can see every one of his moles playfully scattered across his chest. There’s a mole right on his hip, and Derek freezes. 

“Hi,” he manages, his throat closing up. Derek is painfully aware that there is glitter on his cheeks, and probably mashed potatoes still in his hair, and he’s wearing mismatched flipflops. 

Theoretically, Derek should be annoyed by Stiles– everything from the backwards hat, the board shorts, the litany of “dudes” that flow from his mouth, the fact that he is one of the obnoxious spring breakers. But the first time they ran into each other, Stiles immediately got into an argument about him about Star Wars (Derek absolutely does not count the extended universe as canon, and Stiles does), and then proceeded to help Derek’s two year old niece tie her shoe and well… Derek is, for the lack of better word, very, very distracted this family reunion.

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sleep

Derek hasn’t slept for more than an hour or two at a time since Laura died. He’s running on anger alone, and he thinks that it’s probably enough. He shifts into his beta form when the weariness gets too bad to function—when he stumbles, when he sways, when he reaches for something and misses—and uses the wolf’s energy to supplement the weaker human’s. It’s not sustainable, probably, but what the hell does Derek care about that? Because the alternative…

The alternative is stopping, and taking a breath, and facing up to the fact that he’s alone, that his entire pack is dead, and everything that happened is his fault.

So, no.

No stopping. No thinking. No resting.

The first time it happens, Derek has gone to Stiles’s house to talk to him about Scott. Scott is a werewolf now, but he’s resisting everything that means including Derek—especially Derek—and Derek knows the only way to get him to see reason is to get Stiles on side. And Stiles seems smart, and practical, even if he is more than a little weird and twitchy.

So Derek goes to his house.

The sheriff’s cruiser is in the drive, so Derek climbs in Stiles’s bedroom window. Which, by the way, is becoming a habit he should probably break sooner rather than later. Stiles’s bedroom door is shut, but the room is empty.

Derek can hear him babbling away to the sheriff downstairs. The sheriff doesn’t sound like he’s contributing too much. Just the occasional affirming noise that encourages Stiles to keep going.

Derek huffs, and glares around Stiles’s bedroom.

He taps the trackpad on Stiles’s laptop, and the screen opens. It’s password protected. Derek types “I TALK TOO MUCH”, but that’s not the password, apparently. Then he types “LYDIA” and isn’t too surprised when it doesn’t work. Stiles might be obsessed with the girl, but everyone knows it, and who’d be stupid enough to pick such an obvious password as the girl he’s crushing on?

There’s a half empty can of Coke on Stiles’s desk. Derek drinks it.

He sits down on Stiles’s bed and stares at the posters on the wall.

The bed is comfortable. The mattress is firm, but not too hard. Derek can’t remember the last time he lay on a mattress, so he lies down and stretches out. Takes a deep breath and fills his lungs with the scent of Stiles—grotty teenage boy, and stale sweat with an undertone of Bengay, but also something clean and earthy like petrichor—and promptly passes out.

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3

Derek should have know better than to joke about it but really, after being teased about his weight for so long, his boyfriend had it coming.

“Stiles,” he tried grabbing the younger man’s arms to calm him, but Stiles was determined to flail about like a slippery fish flopping towards water and Derek was unable to hold him, “Stiles, calm down, it was just a…”

“We should get married!” Stiles blurted, shouting near his ear and making Derek rear back to gape openly at him.

“Stiles…” Derek tried again.

“But I’m so young and…oh my god, do I have to ask Peter for your hand? Oh god, don’t tell me I have to ask Cora, she’ll deball me for sure,” Stiles began to pace, rushing his hands through his hair like a maniac.

“Stiles, calm down, I was just…”

“Do we take your name or mine?” Stiles asked the question more to himself than Derek. “Hyphenate?”

“Jesus, Stiles, it’s…”

“Oh Christ, is it puppies? Oh Derek, are we having puppies?”

And Derek decided he’d had enough. He threw up his hands and tried to leave the room. “Yes, Stiles, it’s puppies. Christ!”

“Oh god, I love puppies!” Two strong arms wrapped around his middle, stopping Derek before he could escape. “Oh Der, we’re having puppies!”

Derek couldn’t stop a smile. Even when he was being a complete moron, he couldn’t love this boy more if he tried, “Yeah, Stiles. Yes, we are.”


Yes, I have lost my mind, thanks for asking, lol. Does this qualify as mpreg? Basically a little eating doodle (because I love drawing Derek eating…for some reason) that got way out of hand.

Imagine a Uncharted AU where Stiles and Derek are a treasure hunting team that travel through historical sights, uncovering legends and treasure. They travel around the world, going on adventures together and bickering the whole time as they travel through abandoned ruins and solve the mysteries of forgotten legends.

Derek is an archaeologist who tries to uncover lost treasures for the better of society and culture. He’s intrigued by the legends his father used to tell him when he was younger, and after his family died in a house fire, he retreated to those stories as a way of holding onto the memory of happier times. Despite people constantly telling him that he’s chasing daydreams and fairy tales, he proves them wrong; discovering lost ruins and uncovering the legends.

Originally posted by hobrien

Stiles however is a “thief”, a commissioned expert with the ability to use any weapon put in his hand and a habit of breaking a lot of things. He has a quick-witted personality that can often get them into more trouble than they had bargained for.

Originally posted by lexisbeauty13

The more adventures they go on, the closer they get to one another; sharing their secrets and starting a relationship together that leads to them being the most badass treasure hunting couple.

buckle up you amazing fucks and just picture this okay

derek sitting in the middle of the living room on the couch with his daughter standing between his legs while she waits patiently for her daddy to finish braiding her hair so she can go play outside and derek is just humming to himself, enjoying the time with his daughter, not even bothering to look up when he smells stiles’ scent walk through the door 

and stiles, stiles just wants to melt at the sight because their daughter has her little hands resting on derek’s knees, playing with the hem of derek’s shorts - yes, shorts - and smiling hugely before starting to sing along with whatever derek was humming and stiles just feels his heart stop for a split second before rapidly going into overdrive 

derek realizes something happened to stiles and looks up at him in question while his hands are still braiding his little girl’s hair, reaching for the pony tail that she’s offering him, and finishes the braid while stiles just flails himself closer to them both, sputtering something about how lucky he is, how he shouldn’t have any of it, that he doesn’t deserve– 

and derek just kisses him to shut him up because he knows what stiles is babbling about, how he can’t handle emotions just like derek can’t, and just caresses his face while stroking his thumb over stiles’ cheekbone, waiting for his husband’s heartbeat to slow, smiling when it does 

‘daddy take care of dad!’ is what breaks their attention from each other, going right their daughter that’s grinning up at them both, arms locked around their legs and stiles and derek can’t help but laugh, knowing how right she is, because that’s how it’s been all along - them taking care of each other

then derek is scooping up his daughter in his arms, blowing a raspberry against her cheek, smiling when he hears stiles’ booming laugh and the giggles their girl chokes out between asking if they can go play outside now, practically demanding that ‘daddy go doggy’ too

and really, how can they say no to that? 

They're Blue - Stiles Stilinski Oneshot

Prompt: Stiles is having a hard time controlling his shift, so he turns to his anchor for help, but it doesn’t work. (Gif not mine)

Warnings: Mentions of dying, sad

Word Count: 1,419

Pairing: Werewolf!Stiles Stilinski x Human!Reader

A/N: Glad I got this out of my drafts. Hope you like it :)

~Masterlist~

You didn’t expect to become the only human in the pack. You see there was two humans in the pack, You and Stiles, but after what happened to Stiles he didn’t have much of a choice. Stiles life was at stake. He was practically on his deathbed. So you had to turn to your only option left; Scott. Scott bit Stiles in order to save his life. It was hard enough as it was, but Stiles becoming a werewolf, now that was even harder. He had a hard time trying to control his shifting. But he had his friends to help him along the way.

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phantomavenger  asked:

Prompt #11 :)

I loved doing this one. Here’s #11: “If I die I’m going to haunt your ass.”


“You’re the worst, like the actual worst!”

Derek huffed beside him, “if you don’t shut up I’ll leave without you.”

Stiles paused, eyes wide and mouth dropped in shock at the threat. He didn’t sense any joke behind it. Instead he went back to his silent freak out as he did his best to ignore the undead groans from the other side of the door.

Zombies. Freaking zombies. As if Beacon Hills couldn’t get any worse. This time if people were bitten they wouldn’t turn into were-somethings. They’d be zombies; rotten, gnarly, undead flesh craving things. Of course Stiles had played his fair share of online games with his friends to fight off creatures, like zombies, but the real thing was much more terrifying. They smelled terrible, their skin looked horrendous especially when it fell off in chunks, and for the love of God the noises were things of nightmares.

Sick pained groans that were hollow and void of any sort of intelligence.

Just hungry.

Very hungry actually since they tried to make him Stilinski a-la-mode about five minutes ago and Derek a Hale sunday.

“This is your plan? Hide in a storage closet?” Stiles asked and flailed just crazily enough to knock over a paint can.

It clattered to the floor with a harsh sound followed by a long silence. Derek’s eyes flashed blue, and gave Stiles level ten of the Hale-Glare-of-Gloom™. From outside the storage room of the old factory the silence gave way to loud hungry moans of the undead, bodies banging against the door. The rusted hinges weren’t going to last if the pileup on the other side grew until the pressure was too much.

“If I die I’m going to haunt your ass,” Stiles muttered as he shuffled backwards until he was flush with the wall, his heart about to beat out of his chest.

“You’re not going to die Stiles,” Derek said.

“I’m so going to die, you’ll probably heal,” he said, his hand ran through his hair but didn’t seem to have its usual calming effect, “oh, God. I’m gonna be a zombie—holy, Derek…you gotta keep my dad away from fast food, alright? His cholesterol is through the roof. Give Scott my comic collection; he’ll keep them safe–”

His panicked ramble was cut off when Derek was suddenly in his space, his hands tight around Stiles’ shoulders. There was this look of…uncertainty in his pale green eyes, and before Stiles knew what happened he was wearing the leather jacket.

“What–?”

“Keep your head down, hang on tight, and whatever happens…run,” Derek said seriously before he hoisted Stiles up onto his back.

Stiles gasped in surprise, his legs automatically locked around Derek’s waist as his arms wrapped around Derek’s shoulders. His mind raced with questions, for example; why the fuck Derek was about to risk his life for him of all people? Seriously there was no rhyme or reason for it, the guy made his dislike for Stiles crystal clear.

The door was kicked open, the hinges flying off and the metal crushed the few zombies right in front of it. There was a split second path and Derek was already running; Stiles let out a small shriek and curled himself tighter against Derek, his head hidden in the crook of Derek’s neck. Hands tried to swipe at him, but the leather and denim he wore made it hard for hands to actually grab and tear into his flesh.

Stiles had no idea how Derek was doing, he had no idea if he was hurt, he had no idea where they were going. At one point Derek jumped, and they free fell for a while before landing. Eventually though they made it to a place where fresh air was all around them and the noises of zombies were gone.

He found it in himself to look up when Derek slowed, they made it out of the old factory, into the back end of the woods.

Victory.

Well almost, because suddenly Derek collapsed to the ground with Stiles still on him. His knees smacked onto the hard ground violently but he had enough sense to roll off Derek, finally taking a second to see if he was okay.

“Oh my God, dude, Derek!” Stiles gasped and scrambled to his knees to shove Derek on his back and off his wounds.

There were angry tears of skin and muscle, blood oozed out in thick globs, and Stiles was so sure he was about to puke. Derek let out a pained sound and tried to curl in on himself only to fail and fall back.

“You so cannot die! We save each other! We don’t freaking die!” Stiles exclaimed, trying to see if the wounds were healing themselves or not.

Hands cupped his face and pulled him away from Derek’s torso. His eyes met pale ones which were riddled with pain. Stiles hated that; he couldn’t even do the cool werewolf pain drain thing, he could only sit there helplessly. He wasn’t just sitting there though, because now he was bent down with lips on his which were surprisingly soft.

So maybe he totally flailed and maybe he accidently bit Derek’s lip, but he was well within his freak out rights. Derek Hale was kissing him and he hasn’t kissed many people, let alone super attractive people that were so out of his league.

Stiles pulled back, lips still semi-puckered with his brows drawn in, “why did that feel like a goodbye kiss?”

Derek had the audacity to roll his eyes, “not…a goodbye kiss, it was a ‘calm down I’m healing slowly’ kiss.”

“So you’re not dying?!”

“No, I can feel myself healing.”

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Stiles wheezed, leaning back down for another kiss which was probably only a little less clumsy than the first one.

“What kind of kiss was that?” Derek asked softly.

“I think it was a ‘thank god you’re not dead don’t do that to me again you dick’ kiss,” Stiles answered.

“I saved your life. I’d do it again if I had to.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Derek did in fact shut him up.


ASK ME A PROMPT FOR THE DRABBLE CHALLENGE!

By The Beautiful Sea

@idoobeg | AO3 - I had so much fun writing this!! fluff and cuteness abound! hope you enjoy it ;)

by @clotpolesonly

Stiles gets the very last scoop of salt water taffy ice cream, much to the chagrin of the gorgeous dude behind him in line. The gigantic stray dog is thrilled though, at least when Stiles gives in to the begging and lets him have half of it. The beautiful woman across the street thinks it’s all hilarious for some reason, and Scott just really needs to try this ice cream.


“Dude, you’re gonna have to come out here. Like, as soon as possible,” Stiles said with all the vehemence he could muster when his phone was slowly slipping further and further from where it was squeezed between his cheek and his shoulder, jostled by every hurried step he took. “I’m telling you, this town may be small and boring as fuck, but it’s got the best ice cream on the goddamn planet and one scoop will totally be worth a day trip out here.”

“A day trip where I’ll spend ten hours of that day driving?” Scott asked, not sounding enthused. “It’s five hours there and five hours back! Do you know how much studying I could get done in that time?”

Stiles started to roll his eyes, but he’d always been an exaggerated eye-roller so he had to abort that mission before his phone took a dive for real. His hands abandoned their quest for the wallet he couldn’t seem to grab hold of in his messenger bag in order to save the aforementioned phone. His eyes finally caught on that blessed candy-striped awning across the street and his feet automatically carried him off the sidewalk and into the path of an oncoming car, which honked at him repeatedly. Stiles didn’t even slow down, but he did offer the driver an apologetic wave as he passed in front of them.

“A weekend trip, then,” he said to Scott. “Seriously, man. Worth it. This ice cream is nirvana in a waffle cone. Your professors will understand if they have any human decency in their hearts.”

“I don’t know, bro,” Scott said with a sigh. “Summer semester is kicking my ass. It’s all the same info as the regular semester, just crammed into even fewer weeks. I really don’t know if I can afford to wast—”

The tinkle of the bell above the door was a choir of angels in Stiles’ ear. The little ice cream parlor smelled of heavenly sugary goodness and he was already drooling. He’d only found this place two days ago when he’d elected to wander the little seaside town alone instead of follow his dad out on the dinky fishing boat owned by one of his dad’s old army buddies, but even just two days had proved more than enough to get him addicted.

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Read Between The Lines - Stiles Stilinski

Originally posted by acrossthehearts

A/N: Oh god. I feel like I haven’t posted anything in forever. I was supposed to be working on something for Isaac and Mitch when this little gem popped up in my head. By the way, how would you guys feel about me adding a coming soon section, kind of like a preview of what I’m going to be coming out with next? Let me know if you’d like that or not. Anyways, enough rambling, I hope you guys enjoy this. Love, J xx

Prompt: You can’t stand Stiles. He can’t stand you. So what happens when you’re forced to be in a car alone in the woods?

Word Count: 3,280 (I’m not sorry)

Warning: Hide your children.

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Ivar: *Murders someone*

Me: AAWWWW! *Heart eyes*

Ubbe: *Confused and irritated Stiles Stilinski flails (You know the one) in Ivar’s direction)

Hvitserk: …

Ivar: *Looks at me and smiles*

Ubbe: ….

Hvitserk: …

Ivar: I have never done anything wrong, ever, in my life.

Me: I know this and I love you.

Sigurd: *Somewhere in Valhalla* SERIOUSLY!!!!!!

pale-silver-comb  asked:

♥ "Don't go", Sterek.

For you, my dear, I had planned to write some bottom Derek smut, but all my ideas for this had feelings all over them. So I wrote them all instead of picking one. I hope you enjoy it!

Four times Stiles and Derek say “Don’t go,” and two times they are exactly where they want to be (for @pale-silver-comb)


Derek’s voice is sleep roughened but edged with a practiced concerned awareness, gained from too many late night emergency phone calls, “Stiles? What’s wro-”

“Derek!” Sites interrupts with his usual exuberance, tinged with the softened slur of unaccustomed drunkenness, and Derek relaxes marginally as Stiles continues. “How are you man? I haven’ seen you in like- wha’ time izzit?” Stiles whips his phone away from his ear to check the time, but he’s too intoxicated to fight his own momentum and ends up twirling after the arc of his arm, stumbling. He barely manages to catch himself before he falls to the ground, but Derek is on his feet and getting dressed as soon as he hears the muttered “Oh, shit.”

Before he can yell for the human, he hears an honest to god giggle through the tiny speaker, and he relaxes ever so slightly. He can hear the indistinct baseline of something irritating and popular distantly playing in the background, the sound of the wind a low whistle through the phone line, and Stiles, laughing.

“Stiles, where are you?” Derek is grabbing his keys and toeing on shoes as he prepares to collect the human before he can get into trouble. Beacon Hills is relatively safe, if you don’t count the supernatural threats, but a good looking and clearly intoxicated seventeen year old shouldn’t be out wanting the streets at one thirty in the morning.

“I wuzzat a party with Scott. But he left with this girl, an’ he said I shouldn’ stay long, but he was ‘sposed to be my ride, and Der’k, I’m drunk,” he finishes seriously. “I’m drunk, an’ I can’t call my dad, and you’re like, my bes’ friend, an’ your car is awesome, an’ i-“

Derek is caught off guard by the sincerity in Stiles’ voice, but he focuses on the rising panic and cuts him off with a gentle, “Hey, just tell me where you are, I’ll be right there.”

Stiles slurs through his location, and Derek is relieved to hear it’s only a few minutes away. He keeps Stiles talking as he speeds to close the distance faster, and the wave of pure relief that washes over him at the sight of Stiles slumped against a lamppost is like an electric shock.

Stiles pours himself into the passenger seat with more grace than he usually possesses and flashes Derek a grateful smile. He’s more tired and regretful drunk than boisterous drunk now, and he lets his head rest heavily against the seat as Derek drives at a much slower speed toward the Stilinski house.

“Thank you for coming to get me, Der,” Stiles’ voice is clearer, but small sounding, his words not quite their usual crispness. “I’m glad it’s you, because I don’t have to worry about not saying how burning hot Derek is, or how I want him to push me up against a wall and kiss me, because you’re not him, and, oh fuck! You’re you!” he says accusingly, as if Derek had forgotten who he was talking to, and not the other way around.

Derek can feel the hot blush color his ears and flash down his neck at the image Stiles paints with his accidental confession.

“Stiles,” he begins, gently, but Stiles doesn’t let him finish.

“Derek, can we please blame the alcohol and forget that pretty much this whole night happened?”

Derek considers it. Stiles is clearly embarrassed, his scent gone sour and his heartbeat unsteady. It would be easy to ignore it, he’s had plenty of practice ignoring his feelings. But if Stiles wants him, and he doesn’t have to pretend he doesn’t want him back- why should he? “What if I don’t want to?”

Stiles gasps, and it sends a shiver down Derek’s spine. “You- what?”

“We’ll talk when you’re-recovered. Alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles doesn’t sound convinced

After a brief internal argument, Derek reaches over and takes hold of Stiles’ hand and gives a reassuring squeeze. He’s immeasurably gratified when Stiles sighs happily and the tension melts out of him, his scent spiking sharply with contentment, fingers wriggling slightly to settle between Derek’s. Derek can hardly suppress the echoing sigh from his own chest.

Stiles careens back to drunken rambling quick enough to make Derek’s head spin, but since Stiles is now using their clasped hands to gesture as he speaks, he lets a fond smile curl his lips as a steady stream of mostly nonsense tumbles from Stiles’ lips.

As they reach the Stilinski house, Stiles speech has slowed and gone heavy with sleep, Derek tries and fails to not find it endearing, especially in combination with the lazy drag of Stiles’ thumb along the back of his hand. Derek opens the passenger door to assist Stiles in exiting the car, both of them making small surprised sounds when Stiles stumbles and crashes into Derek’s chest. Derek steps back reluctantly, draping Stiles’ arm over his shoulders and holding his waist. Stiles leans heavily against him, murmurs things like “You’re so strong,” and “All that scruff and you’re so soft under the grrr,” as he draws a finger along Derek’s jaw and stares through barely opened eyes gone hazy with sleep and liquor.

Derek manages to get Stiles upstairs and into his bedroom, settles him on the bed and kneels to remove his shoes. Stiles groans above him and something that sounds an awful lot like “Not fair you’re on your knees and I’m too wasted…” and Derek can feel the rush of blood through his entire body as he catches the meaning. By the time Derek is done with Stiles’ shoes, Stiles is flailing above him, half trapped in the sleeves of his shirt. Derek is torn between watching him struggle and helping him, but the strained, frustrated sound Stiles makes pushes him to help. He very pointedly does not look when the overshirt catches his t-shirt, lifting it to reveal a tantalizing strip of creamy pale skin and a hint of hair leading into the waistband of Stiles’ jeans.

As Stiles falls back into the bed, Derek helps to guide him onto the pillow, wrestles the covers from under him and tucks them gently around the sprawling form of Stiles’ body. He can’t help but smooth Stiles’ hair away from his forehead, the gesture hopelessly fond, and Derek is fairly certain he’s never done it so easily before.

Derek turns to leave the room, return to his own bed to try to sleep, knowing the clock will mock him and that all he’ll be able to do is hear Stiles’ drunken declarations on repeat in his head. As he makes to step away from the bed, his feet gone heavy and uncooperative with reluctance, he feels the brush of clumsy fingers at his wrist, wrapping around it in a loose grasp and sending a pleasant tingle through Derek’s arm, settling warmly in his belly.

Stiles’ voice is sleep soft, but steady, the words cutting through Derek painfully, “Don’t go. Please? I don’t want to be alone, I’m always- please. Don’t go.”

In the face of Stiles’ plea, Derek finds himself not only powerless, but having absolutely zero desire to turn back toward the door. The relieved whimper that Stiles releases as Derek drops gently onto the edge of the bed and turns his hand so their palms meet, threading their fingers back together, is like a punch and an embrace all at once.

They wake in the morning wrapped around each other, and it’s shockingly easy to smile at each other as they untangle their twined limbs.

********

When Derek is visiting Cora, his phone rings, and he smiles at the ridiculous picture Stiles set as his profile. “Hey, you,” he answers fondly, voice going soft and light like it always did now that he and Stiles were DerekandStiles. It quickly bleeds into panic tinged concern at the hitch in Stiles’ breath; the realization that Stiles has been fighting tears, has a reason to be, is a painful weight in Derek’s chest. “What’s wrong, Stiles. What is it?” His urgency is a palpable thing, an uncomfortable sizzle under his skin.

Stiles releases a shuddering breath, “God, I will never not appreciate how the sound of your voice makes everything feel better.” Derek’s worry is ameliorated slightly by the knowledge that he’s a comfort for the hyperactive human he calls his mate.

“I’m glad to hear that, babe, but what’s going on?”

“You’re going to hate it,” Stiles is hesitant, his voice is tinged with uncertainty, and Derek wishes he were there to wrap his arms around Stiles, to hold him and reassure. He makes an affirmative, encouraging sound, “Try me,” he says with more enthusiasm than he feels.

“So, there’s this… thing. Some kind of monster. We haven’t figured it out yet…” Stiles goes on, details a truly horrible plan, one that relies heavily on Scott’s frankly laughable leadership and Stiles as some kind of glorified bait. It’s a shit plan, and Derek does in fact hate it. Hates it so much he’s growling, actually, and it takes Stiles’ pleading “Der, please,” to break him out of it, to wash the red tinge from his vision.

All Derek can do is choke out a pained “Don’t go!” He knows it’s desperate and can’t bring himself to care, “Stiles, please. Please don’t go. This plan is fucking terrible. You know it is. I will get on a plane, I will be there tomorrow morning, just wait. Don’t go, any of you, but you can’t. Please?” He’s begging, and will continue to beg until Stiles agrees, “I can’t lose you. Don’t go. Remember, the night we started this? You asked me the same thing, please, Stiles.”

“Ok, Der, ok, ok. I won’t go. Please, don’t cry. I won’t go.”

Derek takes a deep breath, it catches in his chest, but he pushes past it, “Thank you. Thank you thank you, thank god.”

Derek is on a plane two hours later. Twelve hours after that, Stiles is in his arms; unruly hair sweet smelling and tickling his nose, wide, smiling lips pressed into his own.

*******

When Derek needs to leave Beacon Hills, Stiles understands, he really, truly does. But it also feels like he’s being slowly pulled apart.

They stand quietly in Derek’s loft, silently embracing, Stiles still in his dressy graduation clothes, intermittent tears running down both their faces, until Stiles grips the front of Derek’s shirt tightly, hauls him impossibly close to devour his mouth in a desperate kiss. Their teeth clack, and their tongues swirl together in practiced rhythm, lips dragging slick and wet together. A great, sob of a moan tears out of Stiles’ throat and he buries his face in Derek’s neck.

“I can’t ask you, I know I can’t, but I want to, Der. I want to ask you to stay with me. I want to beg you. To scream ‘Don’t go!’ But I won’t. You deserve to go, to be ha- to find happiness, even if-”

Derek feels his heart breaking; hurting Stiles is killing him. He can’t bear the ache in Stiles’ voice, the sorrow laced through his scent. “Come with me,” rushes past his lips with force and sincerity, and he can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before.

Stiles looks at him, hopeful but unsure, so he kisses the confusion off his face, cradles his jaw with careful hands. “I mean it, Stiles. It’s summer, you don’t start school for months. Come with me. Please?”

The smile that breaks over Stiles’ face is bright and honest, it’s everything Derek loves about the boy.

“Yeah. Ok, yeah, let’s go,” Stiles replies eagerly, peppering Derek’s face with kisses, hands restlessly petting as thigh assuring himself Derek is still there.

Derek laughs lightly, “I thought maybe we’d have a last go in a real bed, before it’s all motel rooms and truck stops for a while. And you know, pack, first.”

Stiles makes a considering sound, “Both good things. I’m especially interested in the first part,” he grins as he grabs Derek’s hands, walking backwards toward the bed.

********

Two and a half incredible months later, they’re laying naked in a motel bed, tangled together and still catching their breath, trailing gentle fingertips over one another’s faces, cataloging details. Preparing for time apart.

Stiles’ half packed suitcase sits on a luggage stand across the room, taunting them with the short time they have left measured out in clean and dirty socks.

Derek traces the curve of Stiles’ mouth, their eyes searching, but unwilling to leave the others gaze for more than a second or two. “You know-” the words are stuck in his throat, heavy on his tongue, he clears them away with a hard swallow, “I want to ask you. I guess it’s my turn to know better, huh?” He laughs without a traces of humor, and Stiles kisses his furrowed brow, smooths it with a long finger.

“You’re not ready to not be moving, and Berkley is pretty stationary, babe,” Stiles answers easily, his voice tinged with regret. “I understand,”he says, quieter than the rest, but without a stutter in his heartbeat, and Derek would know it’s true even without the added senses. Because Stiles understands Derek probably better than Derek does, and the loss of his constant presence is already aching dully in his chest.

“I’m going to have to say it. Just once. It’s practically tradition, now,” Derek attempts to joke, but the truth is it feels like the words are tearing at his throat.

Stiles kisses him, long and slow, as if to cool the burn of the things he can’t say. It almost works. They part reluctantly, hands and lips both clinging together, and it breaks out of him with a sob, “Don’t go.”

Stiles gathers him close, let’s Derek bury his face in his chest, strokes his back in soothing circles and holds his neck. “I have to,” he says simply, pressing kisses to Derek’s head. “But I promise I’ll always come back to you, wherever you are, until you’re ready.”

When they wake some time later, Stiles has to leave. Derek drives him to the bus station, because Stiles wouldn’t let him set a foot in California until he was ready to. Derek isn’t sure he will be, but he wishes he was now so he could steal those last miles with him.

********

They wake to cool morning light filtered through the curtains, and the muted sound of a cell phone ringing in the other room.

It’s been six months since they last got to wake up together, and it feels indulgent and surreal all at once. Video chats and constant phone calls and texts are an ok way to bridge the distance, but there is nothing so wonderful as waking up like this. Sleep warm skin and muscled limbs tangled together, warm breath on the back of his neck. Stiles is afraid it’s a dream.

Derek wakes, runs his nose along Stiles neck and places a long, hot kiss there. “Morning,” he says sleepily, arms tightening briefly before he shifts in the bed. Stiles panics, grabs Derek’s forearms in suddenly shaking hands, “Don-.”

Before he can finish, Derek is wrapping himself around him again, “Not going anywhere, babe. You’re not either.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, calms his heartbeat. “Sounds perfect, because I have plans for us that don’t involve leaving this bed unless it’s to hydrate or pee.”

Derek laughs into Stiles’ shoulder, the sound rich and deep, the rumble in his chest echoes through Stiles’ chest pleasantly. “I like the sound of that.”

********

A small cry pierces the predawn quiet, and Stiles and Derek startle awake at the same time. They blink tiredly at one another for a moment, taking time to acclimate and assess.

Stiles smiles at Derek, notices the slight greying of his still artful stubble, the lines starting to show around his eyes that he knows are from laughter instead of worry.

Derek smiles back, taking in the defined jawline, and the more beard than stubble that his husband has favored these last few years.

They say in unison “I’ll go,” and then laugh, kiss. Let it linger just a moment until the baby reminds them why they’re awake so early. Stiles places a quick kiss on Derek’s cheek, runs his thumb over his jaw briefly.

“You got her down last time, it’s my turn. Go back t’ sleep.” Derek makes a sound that Stiles takes as agreement, and he heads to the nursery across the hall, scooping up the small, unhappy bundle from the crib and settling her against his chest.

When Derek stumbles in moments later, Stiles is in the rocking chair, cradling their daughter and dozing slightly. Derek crosses the distance with a few long strides and moves to take the baby from her current Daddy shaped pillow and back to her own bed, intending to do the same with Stiles after, when he feels familiar fingertips against his wrist.

He looks down to where Stiles is holding him, turns his palm so their fingers thread together with the ease of years of practice. They smile at one another for long moments, until the sun starts to rise and add a warm glow to the soft lilac walls.

Stiles listens to his dad ask him the same question that comes up way too often, and gets lost counting the dark flecks that scatter across the white expanse of the all-too-familiar hospital ceiling. Here again, and ‘He’ll be fine,’ the doctor says.

His dad wants to hear it from Stiles’ lips, though. Is he okay?

Is he really okay?

His answer doesn’t come as easily as it used to, no quip or snap back like it’s easy come easy go. The feckless lie sticks in the back of his throat, burning away like a hot coal choking the life out of him.

I’m fine.

He’s said it more than a million times, and no super-hearing anybody has heard his heart skip a single beat. Or maybe they did, but that thought doesn’t make it any easier, because that means they’ve ignored it a million times, too. And it should be easy, he’s brilliant at lying straight to his father’s face these days. Stiles knows how to twist a definition to make it true, how to believe in nothing and make it something.

He’s fine.

Molehills out of mountains.
Tip of the iceberg.

Shrink it down until it’s just an ember, a single flicker of pain low in his chest. It burns enough to remind him that it’s there, but cool enough for him to force the words out.

He stops counting the tiny holes in the ceiling, and plasters a bright, brilliant lie across his face.

________________


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halesstiles  asked:

21, please?

“I’m bulletproof … but please don’t shoot me!”

Stiles immediately jumped away from the stove and sprinted towards the living room, knocking his knee against the wall when he miscalculated the window. Rubbing his knee, he hopped in the living room, waving the wooden spoon with his other hand.

“Dad! No! No hurting the boyfri—the Derek!” He squinted, mouth pursing a little.

“Wait, there’s no gun.”

Derek, the traitor, was leaning against the furthest wall while John stood in the middle of the room, still dressed in his work attire, with a fist pressed to his lips. Both wore a look of amusement on their faces.

Stiles scowled, “What’s going on?”

“Well,” John sighed, “it was mostly revenge for the times where you harassed Derek nonstop and took away Melissa’s pie from me. But boyfriend?” He quickly glanced back at Derek, nodding his head in approval. “That’s a new development.”

“Boyfriend? Me and Derek? Dad, that’s insane—I don’t know what you’re referring—boyfriend, really, Dad? I mean that’s quite the conclusion you’ve got there,” Stiles sputtered out, hands flailing in the air causing John to duck when the spoon got too close to his head.

“Stiles, you’re not helping yourself here,” John raised an eyebrow. He raised his hands in a surrender before heading towards the stairs, winking quickly at Stiles. “Looks like you’ve got something to sort out between yourselves.”

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3

Brett x Reader

Requested by Anon


“You said (Y/N) knows you lot?” Brett asked Mason as they watched Scott and Stiles approach you. Both boys stopped as you bolted off.

“Yeah she’s uh… good friends with Malia and Kira but she’s a little iffy with Stiles.” Mason chuckled as Stiles called after you and tried to catch up but you quickened your pace to get to the pair before Stiles could catch you.

“How come she’s avoiding Stiles?” Brett asked, frowning when he couldn’t recall you telling him a reason.

“She says he reminds her of those judgemental trees of The Lord Of The Rings.” Mason said quickly and they both watched Stiles flail around as you reached the bottom of the bleachers.

“I can see it.” Brett muttered as he helped you climb to sit with them.

Sterek A-Z: one word prompts

Week 9: I - Illegal

Traipsing through the woods in Central Park at night during the full moon probably wasn’t the most brilliant idea Stiles has ever had. Not that he felt unsafe. Wandering off the path into the woods with a grumpy, former alpha werewolf added certain level of security. Most of the supernatural in New York avoided Central Park. Too many people. The danger in the park was human.

At least until a t-shirt smacked Stiles in the face. He pulled the light grey Henley off his head and glared at the werewolf stripping in front of him. He’d gotten over his embarrassment of seeing Derek naked long ago.

“This is so many levels of illegal,” Stiles said when Derek kicked off his shoes and shimmied out of his jeans. Yes, shimmied. Derek Hale knew how to work his hips, which never failed to get Stiles a little hot.

Derek glared at Stiles, and balled up his jeans to throw at him. They knocked the wind out of Stiles when they collided with his gut.

“Okay, well. Public indecency for one,” Stiles said. He gestured to Derek, then fumbled to catch the boxer briefs aimed at his head. “Not that I mind, but hey, you know.”

Derek cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, apparently set on ignoring Stiles rambling, and he shifted into his wolf form. If Stiles had blinked, he would have missed it. One second Derek was there, and the next, there was a large black wolf with glowing blue eyes staring at him. Even as a wolf, Derek still managed to look annoyed.

Twigs snapped underfoot. Stiles hurried to gather Derek’s shoes. “Also, a dog off leash, big no-no,” he said. He folded Derek’s shirt and jeans and set them on top of Derek’s sneakers under a tree.

Derek growled.

“Okay, fine,” Stiles said and threw his hands up in the air. “Wolf. Like owning a freaking wolf is any less illegal.”

Derek huffed and tossed his head.

“Yeah, whatever, big guy.” Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s fur when the wolf brushed against his side. Stiles recognized what he was doing; scenting. Derek loved when Stiles reeked of him.

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The Treehouse

(Ao3 Link)

The treehouse has seen and been through a lot in its lifetime. It has been built and repaired and expanded on so many times that the treehouse doesn’t even remember its original form. Its walls have been colored on by crayons, markers, paint and mud. It wears each patch of art with pride.

It has seen friends vowing to always be best friends, and also seen those very same friendships break apart.  It’s watched as tiny feet grew into bigger feet, and then bigger still, until they no longer climbed its ladder to confess all their secrets.

It has a lot of sweet memories, and some not so fond.  But its favorite story, the one it will whisper to the leaves at night when the moon is bright and full, is the story of the wolf who fell in love with the human.

Like most good stories, this one started with a lonely boy longing for a friend. Day after day he would climb its ladder and stare out the window.  His hair, black and disheveled, would flutter in the breeze as he would sigh and watch his siblings romp in the grass below.  

He was quieter than the other kids.  Sure, there were times where he could be seen racing with everyone else, but most of his time was spent up in the quiet of its walls.  Pillows were strategically placed so that he could sit on them and catch the most light as he read his comic books.  Sometimes he read out loud, as if he had an audience, and afterwards he’d sigh and look out the window.

One day, as the boy was reading one of his books, a voice yelled out “Derek!” from the base of the treehouse’s ladder.  The boy, Derek, startled and his face lit up.  He waved the new kid up and fidgeted as he waited for the boy to join him.

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Everyone come marvel at this beautiful fanart based off my URL, created by my friend Reeta’s extremely talented friend over at drowsy-skies!! Thank you so much to both of you, I love it <3

Grumpy King Sourwolf being brought a chess piece offering by his favorite citizen.