The boy’s heartbeat speeds up as he approaches, gaze averting to the floor rather than the werewolf stalking closer. Derek catches the stench of fear in the air, and it surprises him. The two of them don’t always see eye to eye–almost never–but they are on the same team now. They’re allies, and somewhere along the way Derek assumed Stiles stopped fearing him like he once did.
“You think that’s all I want from you?” He asks lowly, coming to a stop.
Stiles tilts his head back and locks gazes with him again, uncertainty in his brown eyes. Not for the first time Derek wonders what they’d look like all golden and wild.
“Well, it’s not like you use to come over to play Diablo,” Stiles points out, his voice doing that strained thing it always does when he’s nervous and yet acts like a smartass; as if he just can’t help himself. Sarcasm really is his only defense.
Derek snorts despite himself, unable to stop the tugging at the corner of his mouth. Stiles’ eyes are wide when watching him from where he’s still crouching on the floor, Derek still standing over him like a predator hovering above its prey.
“I don’t keep you around just because you know how to work Google,” he finds himself saying, “or got a police radio, or can get your hands on things the rest of us can’t.” Derek rolls his neck sligthly, eyes wandering around the room. Anywhere but on Stiles. “You’re pack,” he sighs, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just as much as Scott is.”
Stiles’ heart skips a beat, and suddenly the only emotions Derek picks up are happiness and shock. He doesn’t mean to look back down, but when he does he can’t drag his eyes away from the pleased smile growing on the teenager’s lips.
“Great,” he nods, voice light and smooth this time. “I don’t keep you around just for your good looks either, so I guess we’re on the same page.”
He’s just standing there, near the brick wall of the classroom, brooding his little werewolf brain away, wearing an utterly earnest-to-god heartbroken expression on his smoldering, handsome face. It shouldn’t belong there. Not after all of the times Stiles has seen his smile.
“What are you doing here, Derek?”
It’s not like he has a reason. Falling in love with a girl and moving out of state does not constitute coming back to torment the ‘kid who doesn’t know what he’s feeling’.
“I want this.”
It’s a punch to the gut, breath sucked out of him so quick it’s hard to breathe in anything other than pinederekcinnamonforest. Stiles stares, in total disbelief.
“I want you, Stiles,” Derek says, quietly, ducking his head like he’s sure he’s crazy.
Heart pounding against his chest, Stiles launches forward, one hand clutching the material of Derek’s shirt, the other finding his scratchy stubble, presses his mouth against Derek’s until he kisses back harder, until his lungs are burning.
It was cold. Freezing cold. The temparature was falling constantly every minute and the snowfall was getting stronger and stronger. He couldn’t feel his feet anymore and he was barly able to move anymore. He didn’t know how long he was wandering around since, he got lost.
The forest around him was coverd under a thick layer of snow and so dark, that he started to imagines things. Every now and then he thought he heard a noice. He stood still and listen. He prayed…Maybe they had send someone to find him. Maybe someone would come and rescure him.
But there was nothing. He was alone. And if he wouldn’t find the way back soon, he would die outside here…alone.
He had no energy left and he was so tired that he just wanted to sleep. Maybe he should just give up.
But when he was about to close his eyes, he was…them. Red, glowing eyes were looking at him…
Happy birthday Mandi (dude-its-bcn-hlls)! Here’s a fake relationship fic loosely inspired by this post. Hope you like it! :)
“Hey, you’re late. It’s almost ten.”
“Slept in,” Derek replies, smiling slightly at Stiles-the-super-cute-barista.
“And here I thought you were one of those ‘Sleep makes me weak. I exist off of caffeine’ sort of guys,” Stiles says, already ringing up Derek’s order, even though he hasn’t specified it. Truthfully, though, the day Derek orders anything other than his usual large, black coffee will be the day Laura stops being bossy. So basically never.
“I thought that was more your philosophy,” Derek snorts, handing over a five.
“True,” Stiles laughs, but the smile slips off his face as he focuses his gaze somewhere over Derek’s shoulder. “Hey, do you know those girls?”
Derek glances behind him and has to contain a groan as he sees who Stiles is referring to. Two teenage girls have their smartphones pointed towards him, presumably taking pictures or videos, while whispering to each other and giggling intermittently. Really, he should be used to this by now, but it never gets any less annoying.
“Do you want me to get them to leave?” Stiles asks, breaking Derek from his thoughts.
“No, it’s fine,” Derek sighs, his Stiles-induced good mood dampened. “I’m used to it.”
“They’re heading this way,” Stiles replies, and Derek has to once again resist the urge to let out a noise of frustration. He looks back at the two rapidly approaching girls before turning back to Stiles, indecisive.
“Just go with me for a moment,” he murmurs, Stiles blinking at him in confusion.
“Oka - ” Stiles starts, only to be cut off by Derek leaning forward and brushing their lips together in the barest impression of a kiss.
Hello, Aga from Poland. :D I really love your fics. If you have time I have a prompt: It’s Derek birthday after he leaves town and Stiles drunk dialing. Bonus if Sheriff walks in and take his phone and wishes Derek happy birthday.
Oh, thank you!! <3
Since the fandom’s pretty much agreed that Derek’s birthday is on Christmas, I decided to use that here. Hope you enjoy!!
He’s had entirely too much eggnog to be left alone with his phone. His dad should know that. His friends should definitely know that.
But Scott’s busy, caught up in some kind of mating dance with Allison that involves hanging out awkwardly in doorways under the mistletoe and sending her sad eyes, and Lydia’s keeping Allison company at the other side of the room while she sends covert, longing glances back. His dad’s laughing with Melissa with that love-struck sort of look that’s been building up in his eyes for years long now, and probably hadn’t even noticed Stiles swiping the bottle, adding way too much rum after he’d ducked back into the kitchen with it. It’s a holiday, after all, and he’s allowed to have a drink to celebrate.
His dad just didn’t specify how much drink the drink was allowed to have.
So when Stiles ends up in his bedroom, staring at his phone, it’s everyone’s fault, really, and no one’s. Honestly it feels kind of inevitable. Him lying in his room, on the outskirts of the mating dances, scrolling idly through his contact list until he pauses on a familiar number. He has it memorized even though he probably shouldn’t, but this might not be the first time he’s opened up his contact list to stare at it these past few weeks. To look at the name typed out over the digits, to wonder at the way so few letters can leave his chest writhing with so many unresolved feelings.
He lifts his thumb, brushes across the short word fondly, and jumps as the phone registers an attempt to call and starts dialing.
Stiles seriously shouldn’t be surprised that it happened. He’s a clumsy, melancholy drunk, and it’s about time he accepts it.
The phone continues to ring while he stares, transfixed, at the tiny image of a phone blinking on his screen. Connecting… connecting…
It’s the phone’s fault, he decides. That stupid, sensitive touch screen, stirring up trouble by calling people it has no business in calling, just because Stiles had been maybe brushing his thumb across that name, thinking about hearing that stupid grumpy voice. And so maybe he’d been imagining the smooth screen was a rough, stubble-covered jaw, been half lost in imagining what it might feel like under his fingers… but that’s no reason for his phone to go ahead and call him.
And Derek’s surprised too, it seems like, because while Stiles is busy scowling at the stupid device, he answers, and there’s a startled lilt in his voice when he says Stiles’ name.
Stiles should probably just say he’d dialed the wrong number, or shoot out a quick, cheerful “Merry Christmas” and let that be that.
“You’re not here,” is what slips out instead, his hands clenching a little, his lips twisting into a pout that probably carries into his tone.
There’s a short silence from Derek’s end, and then an amused huff of air.
Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.