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blue-hedgehog · 1 hour ago

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#canon #wolfie told me

in the pool scene before the kanima shows up in 'abomination' stiles tells derek and erica about what happened at the garage then says “can i go now? there's someone i really need to talk to...” and derek just glares at him like DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M OKAY WITH YOU LEAVING OR TALKING TO ANYBODY OTHER THAN ME IN THIS GODFORSAKEN TOWN OR YOU KNOW THE STATE OR COUNTRY OR PLANET ESPECIALLY NOT THE GIRL YOU THINK YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH NUH UH NO WAY JOSÉ YOU ARE STAYING RIGHT FUCKING HERE WHERE I CAN KEEP MY BEADY YET SEXY ALPHA EYE ON YOU AND TEASE AND TAUNT YOU RELENTLESSLY AND ENDLESDY BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO ADMIT IT BUT I'M ADDICTED TO THE WAY IT MAKES YOU ALL HUFFY AND SQUIRLY LIKE FUCK I MAKE MYSELF SICK WITH WANT THINKING ABOUT POUNCING ON YOU AND MAKING YOU MINE WITH MY MOUTH AND CLAIMING YOU WITH THE MATING BITE BECAUSE JESUS YOU SMELL BEYOND DELICIOUS AND LOOK SO UNFAIRLY GOOD WITH YOUR PALE CHEEKS PINKING UP AND YOUR LIFE-RUINING MOUTH GETTING ALL POUTY AND REDDER THAN USUAL THEN I START THINKING ABOUT HOW WE'RE BOTH SASSY AND SARCASTIC ENOUGH TO KIND OF CANCEL EACH OTHER OUT AND IF WE HUNG OUT WHO KNOWS WE MIGHT ACTUALLY HAVE SOME FUN IT'S JUST THAT I NEED A MINUTE TO GET MY SHIT TOGETHER BECAUSE I'VE GOT TO PROTECT THIS STUPID LEGACY TOWN OF MINE AND I'VE THESE DAMNED WAYWARD BETAS TO WRANGLE AND DEADLY CREATURES WITH PARALYTIC VENOM TO KILL AND NOW I'M THINKING ABOUT THIS SHIT I HAVEN'T HAD A CHANCE TO GET A NEW THERAPIST SO I CAN DEAL WITH THE TRAUMA OF MY INSANE UNCLE COMING OUT OF A COMA AND MURDERING MY SISTER AND THEN THERE'S THE WHOLE HAVEN'T HAD A DECENT NIGHT'S SLEEP IN SIX MONTHS AND THE STRESS OF ME HAVING HOLES IN LITERALLY ALL OF MY SOCKS BECAUSE WHO HAS THE TIME TO SHOP AND I STILL HAVEN'T WATCHED THE FINAL SEASON OF THE WIRE SEEING AS I DON'T HAVE A HOME ANYMORE LET ALONE A TV SET AND I'M HONESTLY A LITTLE SCARED THAT IF I STOP FOR EVEN A SECOND I'LL CRUMBLE WHEN I REALISE I'M CLINICALLY DEPRESSED SO I HAVE TO SUCK IT UP AND KEEP ACTING LIKE A MANIAC FOR A LITTLE WHILE LONGER TILL THIS CLUSTERFUCK CALMS DOWN A BIT AND THEN MAYBE JUST MAYBE I CAN TAKE A BREATH BEFORE CROWDING INTO YOU AND BACKING YOU UP AGAINST A WALL ONLY SANS THE THREAT OF ME RIPPING YOUR THROAT OUT WITH MY TEETH THIS TIME BECAUSE I KNOW I CAN PUT THEM TO BETTER USE HAVING THEM RIP OFF ALL YOUR CLOTHES INSTEAD WHICH WOULD DEFINITELY BE PRECURSED WITH A SLOPPY MAKE OUT SESSION BECAUSE I'M DYING TO LICK YOUR FACE FROM YOUR CHIN TO YOUR HAIRLINE AND GNAW ON YOUR SINFULLY PRETTY NECK AND I KNOW YOU'D BE INTO IT TOO BECAUSE YOU REEK OF DESIRE LIKE 24/7 WHENEVER I'M AROUND AND AS MUCH AS YOU PUSH ALL OF MY BUTTONS YOU'VE ALSO GOTTEN UNDER MY SKIN AND DAMMIT I LIKE BEING AROUND YOU AND YOU MIGHT EVEN LIKE BEING AROUND ME GIVEN HALF A CHANCE I SWEAR I'M USUALLY A FAIRLY CHILL GUY WHO ENJOYS SUNSETS AND LONG WALKS ON THE BEACH JUST AS MUCH AS DRIVING AT 120MPH JACKED UP ON WOLFSBANE LACED VODKA FOR REAL AND HEY PERHAPS THIS IS A LITTLE FAST BUT FUCK IT I GENUINELY THINK WE'D MAKE REALLY CUTE PUPS TOGETHER—or maybe it's just me who spotted that?

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blue-hedgehog · 1 hour ago

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Dude I’m so excited for Louis to be in India I’m so excited for fans who have never gotten to see him before I hope he sings all of LT3 on stage

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blue-hedgehog · 23 hours ago

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Yall: Derek Hale is a flawed character who made mistakes and it is exactly why it makes him such a good and complex character.

Me, a trash: Derek Hale has done nothing wrong EVER in his life and I love him.

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blue-hedgehog · 2 days ago

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blue-hedgehog · 5 days ago

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blue-hedgehog · 6 days ago

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Error 404: Brain Cell Not Found

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: Error 404: Brain Cell Not Found

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: He means to send the photo to Scott. Really, he does. But it's barely 9AM and he hasn't had coffee yet so his brain isn't exactly firing on all cylinders, single brain cell chanting an endless chorus of Derek Derek Derek. Which is how he ends up accidentally sending the photo he'd just taken to Derek instead, along with the lovely accompanying caption: seriously scotty, just look at him, I think I'm in love.

By the time Stiles realizes his mistake, it's too late to hit cancel. He hears the telltale chime of a successfully sent text, the little grayed-out delivered notification staring back at him with a mocking checkmark. He glances up, watching in abject horror as Derek pulls out his phone. Clocks his exact time of death as the moment Derek's eyebrows arch high enough to meet his hairline.

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Text Message From Stiles At 8:15AM: I think Derek is trying to kill me Text Message From Scott At 8:20AM: what??? Text Message From Scott At 8:20AM: why??? Text Message From Scott At 8:21AM: what did you do this time Text Message From Stiles At 8:22AM: okay, first of all, ouch Text Message From Stiles At 8:23AM: second, because he's wearing this red henley with these adorable little thumbholes and it's so hot I think I might catch fire and die Text Message From Scott At 8:24AM: oh Text Message From Scott At 8:24AM: hahahahaha Text Message From Scott At 8:24AM: damn you've really got it bad for this guy huh Text Message From Stiles At 8:25AM: understatement of the fucking century bro

Stiles leans back in his desk at the far corner of the lecture hall, front legs of his chair swaying dangerously about a foot above the ground as he taps out a slew of replies to his best friend studying to be a vet tech at the opposite end of the country, the monotonous drawl of his biochem professor little more than background noise.

It's fine that he's not paying attention — Mondays are lecture days, and since Stiles had already read the book cover to cover before the term even started, he figures he's allowed to coast. Besides, it's Wednesdays and Fridays — lab days — that really matter. One, because he's all about practical application. Two, because it means he gets to spend time with his lab partner he's been head over heels stupid for since the first day of class. And right now, the fact that Derek is half a lecture hall away looking that fucking fine is an absolute crime.

Which is exactly what he texts Scott. Repeatedly. With enough crying face, heart eyes, and ghost pepper emojis to fill a Lucky Charms essay. (Hey, he'd had to hear Scott wax poetic about Allison all throughout high school, so it's only fair that Stiles finally gets to return the favor.) He's scrolling through Pinterest, trying to find a color palette that matches the exact hues of Derek's eyes, when his phone buzzes with another notification from Scott.

Text Message From Scott At 8:35AM: you've been sweet on this guy all semester and I still have no idea what he even looks like Text Message From Stiles At 8:37AM: you're right, how rude of me Text Message From Stiles At 8:37AM: hold that thought Text Message From Scott At 8:40AM: what do you mean Text Message From Scott At 8:40AM: what are you gonna Text Message From Scott At 8:41AM: wait Text Message From Scott At 8:41AM: Stiles, no Text Message From Scott At 8:42AM: at least remember to turn the flash off!!!

Like every other well-meaning warning and keep out sign, Stiles flicks the little notification banner out of the way and proceeds to whip out his camera app. Pretending he's checking his email for next week's homework assignment, Stiles casually tilts his phone to snap a photo of Derek while his head is turned, too busy jotting down notes from the whiteboard to notice.

It's perfect — clear, in focus, decent lightning — he'd even managed to capture that cute little nose wrinkle Derek does whenever he's concentrating — and it only took him one try. See? He could be subtle. Scott was worried over nothing. With a self-satisfied little smile, Stiles swipes back over to the message thread and begins writing out his reply.

He means to send the photo to Scott. Really, he does. But it's barely 9AM and he hasn't had his morning coffee yet, so his brain isn't exactly firing on all cylinders, single brain cell chanting an endless chorus of Derek Derek Derek. Which is how he ends up accidentally sending the photo he'd just taken to Derek instead, along with the lovely accompanying caption: seriously scotty, just look at him, I think I'm in love.

His heartbeat is a wild, thunderous thing, pulsing through him like a jackhammer. Every inch of his skin feels like it's simultaneously buzzing and on fire. Paralysis creeps over him like a fast-acting venom, hands shaking as he sends a flurry of rapid-fire apology texts.

Text Message From Stiles At 8:45AM: oh my god I am so sorry, that was meant for my friend Scott Text Message From Stiles At 8:46AM: not that that explains why I just creepily took a photo of you and then sent it to you Text Message From Stiles At 8:47AM: and then confessed that I've got an embarrassingly huge crush on you Text Message From Stiles At 8:48AM: Jesus fuck I'm just making this so much worse Text Message From Stiles At 8:49AM: welp, that settles it Text Message From Stiles At 8:50AM: after class I am driving to the coast and walking straight into the ocean

Post-lecture plans sorted, Stiles jams his phone back into his pocket and sits there, staring down at his desk in panic-stricken silence. He's not normally one to wish for natural disasters, but given the fact that he feels like a natural disaster at the moment, he's kind of hoping for a bigger one to come along and cancel him out — a tsunami, a sharknado, a black hole, a meteor, anything — didn't he just read an article the other day about how the sun is supposed to explode and take out the earth? Why couldn't that happen right now? Why couldn't—

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he nearly leaps out of his seat, fishing it out with the same level of trepidation as a march to the gallows.

One New Message From Derek Hale.

Fuck.

This is it, he thinks. This is the moment where everything changes. He'd spent all semester working up a steady flirt, getting the guy to laugh at his lame jokes, casually dropping random bits of trivia about their coursework well before Professor Harris covered it so Derek would think he was smart, getting to know all of his favorite bands and books and movies and tv shows.

Hell, he even knew how the guy took his coffee — black, with a dash of hazelnut creamer — after overhearing his usual order in the school café, delighting in the way Derek's eyes lit up every time he'd show up to class with an "extra" cup he'd ordered "by mistake" and offer it to Derek with a casual, Oh cool, that's your favorite flavor too? What a crazy random happenstance!

All that time spent pretending he actually knew what the fuck he was doing when it comes to romance, and then he goes and ruins it by being…well, himself.

Stiles takes a deep, steadying breath as he slides his thumb over the notification bar and opens up their chat history, dread washing over him at all the possibilities of what he might encounter — a scathing rejection, or— oh god, maybe even a photo of Derek's super hot secret boyfriend, just to rub it in — but no, that's not the kind of person Derek is. If anything, he'll probably be really nice about it and let him down gently, which is honestly worse.

Whatever he's expecting, it definitely isn't—

…his own face?

Or, more accurately, a photo of himself — hair sticking up at gravity-defying angles from rolling straight out of bed and rushing to class earlier this morning, hooded sweatshirt a perfect match for the furious blush blossoming beneath the smattering of moles and freckles scattered across his cheekbones and the column of his throat — followed by a single line of text.

Text Message From Derek At 8:55AM: since we're sharing, here's the guy I've got a crush on

Stiles's gaze snaps up so fast he nearly kinks his neck, heart fluttering inside his chest at the sight of Derek staring back at him from across the crowded lecture hall with a big, goofy grin on his face. By the time Stiles manages to school his features into something other than open-mouthed shock, Derek has already looked away, eyes cast downward as he taps out another text. Seconds later, Stiles's phone lights up.

Text Message From Derek At 8:57AM: so you gonna ask him out, or what?

Stiles stares down at his phone, hardly daring to believe it. He wills his one working brain cell to think of something clever, something charming, something that'll sweep Derek right off his feet — wills his hands to move so that he can write back something, anything at all, instead of just hovering uselessly over the keyboard — when the bell rings, signaling the end of class, and a third text appears in the thread.

Text Message From Derek At 9:00AM: I guess I'll just have to do it myself ;)

Stiles wonders, vaguely, if it's possible to die of heatstroke from the temperature of your own skin. At the very least, he's destined for a heart attack, with the rate his pulse is pounding. Derek — snarky, surly eyebrows, will growl at you like a feral wolf if he hasn't had his morning coffee — just texted him a winking emoji, and Stiles thinks he might genuinely die from sheer lack of oxygen.

He glances up in time to see Derek striding purposefully toward him, worn leather jacket draped over his shoulders, textbook tucked under one arm. He comes to an abrupt halt in front of Stiles's desk, and for a moment, he looks just as nervous as Stiles feels.

"Hey," he says in a would-be casual tone, but the smile that curls across his lips is nothing short of giddy, the tips of his ears a delicate shade of pink.He takes a deep breath, fiddling with a small tear in one of the thumbholes of his henley, and says, "So I'm thinking coffee at that new place that just opened up down the street. You in?"

There's the slightest tremor to his voice as he speaks, and Stiles nearly surges forward and kisses him right then and there, because it's just about the cutest goddamn thing he's ever seen.

"Yes," he answers in a breathless rush, nearly toppling over his desk and bowling over half his classmates as he slings his backpack over his shoulder. "Oh my god, yes. I am so in."

Derek merely chuckles and shakes his head, all fond exasperation as he reaches down to lace his fingers with Stiles's, giving his hand an affectionate, reassuring squeeze, before steering them in the direction of the quaint little coffee shop downtown.

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blue-hedgehog · 8 days ago

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Sugar and Tea and Rum

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: Sugar and Tea and Rum

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Stiles discovers that Derek harbors a secret love of sea shanties and keeps turning every lyric into a sexual innuendo. But soon enough, he's just as into them, the two of them spending a scenic road trip down the coast with the stereo on full blast, singing along with the song Wellerman at the top of their lungs (and making out in the back of Derek's car at every rest stop.)

"Sorry, it's just—" Stiles snickers, catching his breath. "These lyrics, man. They're a veritable goldmine of sexual innuendo. I mean, 'one day when the tonguing is done'? What kind of tonguing are we talking about here? Cause if that's how it is, maybe I should think about becoming a sailor. I've certainly got the mouth for it." Derek's brain short-circuits, sweeping right past the obvious swears like a sailor joke and diving headfirst into a fantasy detailing all the ways Stiles could put that mischievous mouth of his to good use.

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In an effort to get the whole pack together for one last end-of-summer hurrah before they all head back to college, Lydia invites everyone to come stay at her beach house for a weekend getaway. And because everyone else is all coupled up — Scott and Allison with Lydia and Jackson in one car, Erica and Boyd with Isaac and Danny in another — Stiles and Derek get stuck together in the carpool. And since Derek absolutely refuses to subject himself to Stiles's Jeep, convinced the "absolute deathtrap" won't survive the trip, they have no choice but to take the Camaro.

Which is how the two of them end up squished into the cozy confines of the cab, Derek so distracted by the thought of Stiles shirtless, sunkissed, and soaked in saltwater that he nearly crashes every time Stiles so much as looks in his direction, while Stiles runs on a 50/50 blend of too many espresso shots and nervous energy as he fidgets in the passenger seat and drums out a steady beat against the dashboard, lamenting the fact that he'd left all of his mixed CDs in the Jeep, because what he desperately wants right now is some classic 90's summer pop to set the mood.

"Why don't you just play something from your phone?" Derek suggests with an air of mild impatience. "This car's got bluetooth. I'm sure I can stomach your terrible taste in music for—" he glances down at his phone to check the map, and huffs out a groan. "Ugh, we've still got another two and a half hours until we get there."

"Oh, ha-ha," Stiles retorts, rolling his eyes. "Can't believe I'm stuck in a car with a guy who thinks *NSYNC was just okay."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" Derek sighs. "I told you, I just think Backstreet Boys was better, that's all."

"Heathen."

"I mean, come on, you can't top Everybody."

"Oh, but I can try," Stiles smirks, arching his eyebrows suggestively.

"Stiles," Derek says his name like it's a curse.

And really, Derek should have known that Stiles would find a way to make that sound dirty.

"No, you're right. I'm probably more of a bottom," he adds with a mock-thoughtful tap against his chin, delighting in the delicate blush that curls its way across Derek's cheekbones.

He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white and grumbles, "Oh my god, will you just connect your phone and pick a damn song already?"

"I would, but my piece of shit phone deleted all of my playlists, and I have like, no service out here."

Stiles sighs, turning his attention to the rolling landscape framed in the passenger's side window — mountains towering toward cloudy skies whipping past them in a blur of green and blue, summer breeze perfumed with the scent of orange and jasmine blossoms as they wind their way through a sea of citrus groves — and contents himself with the fact that at least the view, both inside and outside of the Camaro, is breathtaking.

A solid weight lands in his lap, and Stiles glances down in time to see Derek offering him his phone. Stiles blinks up at him, confused.

"You can use mine," he says.

"You have playlists?"

"I have youtube."

Stiles nods and gives him an appreciative smile, a warm glow settling in the center of his chest as he cradles Derek's phone in his hands like it's a precious thing. They've known each other for years now, but every subtle gesture of trust still takes him by surprise sometimes.

Stiles opens the app, scrolling through his mental rolodex to figure out which upbeat boy band classic he should start with first (read: which one he thinks he could badger Derek into duetting with him) when he accidentally clicks on something in Derek's browser history, and—

"What is this?" Stiles asks as a deep, rumbling voice with a thick accent hums through the speakers.

"It's a sea shanty," Derek says with a casual shrug.

Stiles gapes at him.

"You. Derek Hale. Listen to sea shanties," he says.

Derek shrugs again. "I like it when they harmonize."

Stiles practically vibrates with glee.

"This is awesome. You just keep getting more and more interesting the more layers I unravel."

Derek pretends to scoff and roll his eyes, but Stiles can tell by the subtle twitch of his lips that he's secretly pleased.

As for Stiles, he's smiling so hard his face hurts. He can't help it. He doesn't even know why this is so amusing to him. Before he knows it, he's concocting a whole Derek The Sailor fantasy in his head, crisp white form-fitting uniform drenched in a crash of ocean waves, the chiseled muscles of his arms flexing as he weighs anchor and hoists the sails, sun glistening off the beads of sweat clinging to his bare chest, and— oh, this slipped into dangerous territory real fast. Oh god, oh fuck, he can't let Derek know he's having secret seafaring fantasies about him while he's literally sitting right next to him, close enough for Derek to hear the sudden spike in his heartbeat. Shit, he's in trouble. Quick, think of something non-sexual—

"I'm sorry, did he just say 'blow me'?" Stiles blurts out around a pearl-clutching gasp.

Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh.

"He says 'blow, comma, me bully boys, blow'," Derek corrects him. "It's a seafaring term."

Stiles stifles a laugh, because he's still a sarcastic asshole with the mentality of a twelve year old. Curiosity piqued, he pulls up google and looks up the rest of the lyrics.

A sharp burst of laughter nearly makes Derek swerve into the minivan in the lane next to them, and there he goes again, barking Stiles's name like it's the king of swear words, his entire face just one big frown.

Derek's brain short-circuits, sweeping right past the obvious swears like a sailor joke and diving headfirst into a fantasy detailing all the ways Stiles could put that mischievous mouth of his to good use.

"Stiles," Derek says warningly, gripping the steering wheel in an effort to not run them off the road.

"I'm not trying to offend, I swear," Stiles insists, holding his hands up in surrender. "I just think it's funny."

Derek levels him with a pointed glare.

"You do know the song's about battling a whale and that 'tonguing' means butchering, right?" Derek asks, arching an eyebrow.

Stiles pales.

"Oh god. Okay, then I definitely do not want to experience that kind of tonguing," Stiles amends with a grimace and a sharp shake of his head.

"Granted," he adds with a melodramatic sigh. "After all the shit we've been through over the years, that's probably the only kind of 'tonguing' I'm ever going to get, so…"

There's silence for a moment, and then Derek hums thoughtfully and says, "I'll see what I can do to remedy that," a roguish smile curling across his lips as he arches his eyebrows suggestively, and Stiles chokes on air.

They make a quick pit stop at the next exit to stock up on snacks, and absolutely do not spend a full twenty minutes making out in the back seat.

(Okay, fine. An hour.)

• • •

Sunset finds the two of them beating a steady rhythm against the dashboard and the steering wheel, twin beatific grins plastered across their ruddy faces, singing at the top of their lungs with the stereo cranked to the max, Stiles taking the melody, Derek the harmony.

"SOON MAY THE WELLERMAN COME

TO BRING US SUGAR AND TEA AND RUM

ONE DAY WHEN THE TONGUIN' IS DONE

WE'LL TAKE OUR LEAVE AND GO"

Over the course of the next couple of days, Lydia comes to regret keeping her liquor cabinets well-stocked with a variety of rum, and asking if anyone wants sugar in their tea gets taboo'd faster than you-know-who in Deathly Hallows, because any time any one of them even so much as hums a single bar, the whole thing starts right back up again with an obnoxiously giddy Stiles and Derek chanting at the top of their lungs with no regard for the time of night, before collapsing against each other in a fit of giggles and stolen kisses, until the rest of the pack is so fed up with their shit, they're threatening to chuck them both into the sea and make it look like a whaling accident.

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blue-hedgehog · 9 days ago

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Champagne Problems

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: Champagne Problems

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Stiles has got champagne problems. No, really. He's had way too many mimosas. A game of tipsy truth or dare at a New Year's Eve pack party ends with Stiles accidentally blurting out that he's in love with Derek…right in front of the sourwolf himself.

"Alright, fine," Erica simpers. "I dare you to tell us who you've got a crush on." "Because we all know there's someone," Lydia insists, giving him a pointed look. "Someone you've clearly been pining after for years now," Danny agrees. "So just come clean, Stilinski. Tell us who it is." Stiles, who is absolutely smashed off his ass at this point in the game, rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars. "Nice try, assholes," he teases with a sing-song lilt and a self-satisfied smile. "But there's no way in hell I'm ever gonna tell you I'm in love with Derek, so you can just—" Somewhere in the distance, a champagne flute shatters, and suddenly, Derek is just there, looming in the distance, eyebrows arched so high they practically straddle his hairline.

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Stiles has got champagne problems.

No, really. He's had way too many mimosas.

He'd like to blame Lydia for supplying the Dom Pérignon for tonight's festivities, but really, it's his own fault for thinking he had the stamina to keep up with the brunch quartet. Allison, at least, has the decency to look sympathetic, but Lydia, Isaac, and Danny haven't stopped laughing for a good ten minutes now, ebbing to a series of breath-catching sighs, only to start right back up again with a hastily stifled snort the second Stiles stumbles over his words, doubled over and clutching each other in an attempt to remain upright.

Which, under any normal circumstances, would be totally fine. It's just that drunk Stiles tends to be a bit of a talker. Okay, fine. More of a talker than usual. Like, the kind that has absolutely no reservations about spilling his deepest, darkest secrets to anyone who will listen; no filter, no shame. And Stiles? Yeah, he's determined to take this secret to the grave.

And if, by some stroke of bad luck, he does manage to run his mouth tonight, well…he's had a good run. Twenty-two is a ripe old age to curl up and die from embarrassment, right? At least he can pride himself on the fact that he's made it six whole years without the pack of human lie detectors he calls his friends and family sniffing him out.

Or so he thinks.

What he doesn't know is that nearly everyone in the pack, including Scott's mom and Stiles's dad, has known for years now that Stiles and Derek have got it bad for each other, and that they're both too stubborn and stupid to do anything about it. Being the meddlesome lovable assholes that they are, they've finally decided that enough is enough, and that it's time to take matters into their own hands.

Which is how Stiles ends up in a crowded corner of the living room, swept up in a game of tipsy Truth Or Dare.

It starts off innocently enough, spilling truths about kindergarten crushes and drunken college escapades, daring each other to take shots of awful combos like watermelon Smirnoff and Bailey's Irish cream. But then it starts to get weirdly specific, and Stiles can't help but feel like maybe the universe is conspiring against him, because—

"Stiles, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Who are you going to kiss at midnight?" Allison asks, giggling when Scott leans in to press a kiss against her dimpled cheek.

"Uhhh, no one," Stiles frowns. "You know, since I'm pretty much the only one here not coupled up in disgustingly adorable romantic bliss."

He gestures between the two of them and mimes vomiting rainbows.

"Everyone except for Derek," Danny helpfully supplies.

Stiles swallows nervously.

"Right, yeah. I, uh…forgot."

Like hell he did.

"Stiles…truth or dare?"

The smile Lydia gives him is downright predatory.

"Uhh…dare, I guess."

Stiles watches Lydia exchange conspiratorial glances with Allison and Danny, and narrows his eyes in suspicion.

"I dare you to kiss the last person you texted at midnight."

Which — of fucking course — just so happens to be Derek, of all people.

Which Lydia knows damn well, having stolen his phone for a group photo just moments before.

Stiles is beginning to sense a theme here…

"Yeah, okay," Stiles chokes out around a nervous chuckle, rolling his eyes. "I think I'll pass. I don't feel like going into the New Year with my throat ripped out, thanks."

He can't be certain, but he thinks he hears Lydia mumble something to the effect of god, you're both such oblivious idiots under her breath. And…yeah, Erica definitely just rolled her eyes. What the hell?

"Fine, I'll choose another one. I dare you to…" she taps one perfectly manicured finger against her chin thoughtfully. "…send a sexy selfie to the last person you texted."

Stiles gives her a pleading look, but Lydia just stares back at him expectantly, one threatening eyebrow arched.

With a resigned sigh, Stiles pulls out his phone, tilts the camera like it's 2003 and he's angling for the perfect myspace profile pic, and gives the camera a cheeky half-smile. He opens his text thread with Derek, smirking to himself as he reads over the last thing they'd written to one another just hours before — a heated debate over who made a better villain, Voldemort or Umbridge — and texts the photo to Derek with a hasty apology.

sorry, we're playing truth or dare, Lydia made me

Heart kicking up speed, he watches Derek glance down at his phone, chest puffing out as he takes in a sudden, sharp breath, before a smile that makes Stiles melt into a puddle spreads across his face.

Ugh. Curse Derek Hale for having a smile like actual fucking sunshine.

A few seconds later, Stiles's phone buzzes.

I don't mind. It's a good photo of you.

The blush that burns across his face could start a bonfire.

He doesn't realize it's his turn again until Erica is threatening to steal his phone and use it to send Derek one of the many unsolicited dick pics she's received over the years, complete with a winking emoji and a cheesy pick-up line. Stiles blanches, gaze snapping up from his phone screen to catch the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Whoah, calm down there, Satan," Stiles teases, slipping his phone back into his pocket, hands held up in surrender.

Erica smiles sweetly at him. He's never felt more terrified.

"Now that I have your attention…truth or dare, Stilinski."

"Truth," he says, which, judging by the positively wolfish grin that spreads across her face, is a mistake.

She asks him if he's ever wanted to kiss anyone in the pack, which devolves into a game of Never Have I Ever, which somehow ends up turning into a round of Fuck, Marry, Kill during which Stiles accidentally chooses to both fuck and marry Derek.

(In his defense, his only other options were Gerard Argent and a Berserker, so…)

"Shit," he says, a fresh wave of heat swimming through his veins from the victory shot he'd just done for winning Never Have I Ever. He's pretty sure whoever manages to put the most fingers down first is supposed to be the one who drinks, but…well, who's counting?

"I just chose Derek twice, didn't I?" he asks sheepishly.

"Yes you did, sweetie," Erica giggles, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Yes you did."

Stiles chances a glance over at Derek, who's standing at the kitchen island with a champagne flute in his hand, deep in conversation with Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson, and breathes a sigh of relief.

"Alright, buddy, I've got one for you," Scott chimes in, slinging an arm around his shoulders and swaying a little on the spot. Looks like someone went a little hard on the wolfsbane-laced whiskey. "But you've gotta pick truth."

"O…kay," Stiles agrees reluctantly.

"Do you have a crush on anyone?" Scott poses with a knowing smile. And like, okay…Stiles is vaguely aware that Scott has probably suspected for quite some time now, but he didn't think his best friend would ever call him out on it.

Stiles brushes it off with a laugh and scoffs, "What are you, five? Who even says 'crush' anymore?"

"Uh…you do," Scott frowns. "Remember? Just last week, when you said you had a crush on that guy who plays Superman in that new show on The CW—"

"Yes, okay, fine," Stiles concedes, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Whatever, I'm switching to dare."

Scott gives him his patented puppy-dog pout.

"Alright, fine," Erica simpers. "I dare you to tell us who you've got a crush on."

"Because we all know there's someone," Lydia insists, giving him a pointed look.

"Someone you've clearly been pining after for years now," Danny agrees, somehow managing to look both fond and exasperated all at once. "So just come clean, Stilinski. Tell us who it is."

Stiles, who is absolutely smashed off his ass at this point in the game, rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars.

"Nice try, assholes," he teases with a sing-song lilt and a self-satisfied smile. "But there's no way in hell I'm ever gonna tell you I'm in love with Derek, so you can just—"

Somewhere in the distance, a champagne flute shatters, and suddenly, Derek is just there, looming in the distance, eyebrows arched so high they practically straddle his hairline.

It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up to his mouth, and then the realization of what he'd just said dawns on him. Stiles claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide in comical horror as he sinks to the floor and covers his face in the palms of his hands. He suddenly feels a lot less warm and fuzzy, and about ten shades more sober.

Moments later, he feels a pair of strong arms lift him into a standing position. Hesitantly, he moves his hands away from his face and finds Derek standing right in front of him, wide eyes warm and bright, a tentative smile curling across his face.

He's so pretty when he smiles, Stiles thinks stupidly. He hopes Derek will let him down gently.

"So uhh…how much of that did you hear?" Stiles asks, sheepish smile coming across as more of a grimace.

"All of it," Derek replies with a hint of amused fondness in his voice.

Stiles is vaguely aware of how quiet the room has gone, music and chatter fading to a gentle hum as his entire world zeroes in on the man standing in front of him.

The rest of the pack looks on like they're watching a soap opera. He's not sure how, but he thinks he even sees Isaac produce a lawn chair and a bowl of popcorn, nudging it toward Scott and Boyd.

"Oh," Stiles says, sounding small, resigned. He winces, preparing for the inevitable rejection.

"Stiles," Derek says softly, and Stiles swears his name has never sounded so sweet. When he looks back up, Derek is staring at him with a positively radiant smile on his face, forest eyes sparkling in the glow of the fairy lights strung around the living room. He reaches a hand up to gently cup Stiles's face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the hollow of Stiles's cheekbones as he leans forward and kisses him.

There's an eruption of cheers and catcalls all around them, Derek's smile a hard line against his lips as a rumble of laughter vibrates through Stiles's chest.

They spend the rest of the evening curled up on the couch, too wrapped up in each other to care that they've missed the New Year countdown.

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blue-hedgehog · 9 days ago

Text

It's A Love Story, Baby, Just Say Yes

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: It's A Love Story, Baby, Just Say Yes

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: For the record, Derek is not stalking Stiles. He's just being protective, standing guard outside his bedroom window every night like the world's okayest watchdog. For the most part, it's relatively uneventful. Until one night, Derek catches Stiles performing a one-man concert to the tune of Taylor Swift's Love Story, with some very interesting lyrical changes.

"I thought I heard—" Derek starts, adrenaline giving way to embarrassment. "Nevermind. Sorry. I'll go." "You thought you heard what?" Stiles prompts, one eyebrow cocked in mocking familiarity. "I…heard you singing," Derek says softly, gaze cast to the ceiling so that he doesn't have to look Stiles in the eye. "So? That's hardly a cause for concern," Stiles snaps defensively. "What, a man can't enjoy a good pop-country love ballad every once in a while?" "No, it's not that. It's just—" Derek falters. "I thought I heard you say my name." "What?! I didn't say your name!" Stiles splutters, voice rising an octave. And that's when he hears it, the telltale skip in his heartbeat as Stiles chokes around the obvious lie.

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For the record, Derek is not stalking Stiles, okay? No matter what Boyd, Erica, and Isaac might say otherwise. It's just…ever since the night he'd gotten kidnapped by that twisted old bastard as a bargaining chip and literal punching bag, Derek has been a little…extra protective over Stiles.

And yeah, maybe it's overkill, showing up every night to stand guard under Stiles's bedroom window like the world's okayest watchdog (which, if he's not careful, he just knows he'll end up drinking coffee out of a gag gift mug with that exact slogan custom-printed across the side, courtesy of the sarcastic little shit himself) but if life has taught him anything, it's how to protect the ones you lo— care ab— don't want to end up dead, or whatever. So he shows up, and he waits, and he watches.

Most of the time, it's relatively uneventful. Which, strictly speaking, is a good thing. There's the occasional burst of laughter as Stiles watches tv with his dad, grumbling and grousing as he fights an uphill battle to get his father to eat healthier, the sharp scent of guilt as the sheriff sneaks down in the middle of the night to steal a handful of thin mints he keeps stashed in the back of the freezer that he thinks his son doesn't know about — the usual. (It resolutely does not make Derek's lips twitch up at the corners with a wistful smile, or yearn to come inside and join them.)

Tonight's watch starts off much the same as any other, with one slight hiccup — Stiles comes home a little later than usual, which means Derek has to duck into the rose bushes to avoid being seen. Luckily (albeit tremendously irresponsibly, Derek notes with a frown) Stiles is too distracted by his phone to take any notice, tapping out a quick response to Scott to let him know he'd made it home safely after they'd parted ways. Grabbing a handful of half-eaten candy from the stash he'd snuck into the movie theatre, Stiles slides out of the driver's seat, hip-checking the Jeep's sticky door to get it to close properly, and heads toward the front door, keychain swinging casually from his index finger as he whistles an off-key rendition of The Avengers theme.

Derek waits until he hears the sound of the shower running to come out of his hiding spot and resume his post, picking a thorn out of the cuff of his leather jacket and scowling down at the rose bushes like they've done him a personal offense. For a while, there's a whole lot of nothing, just the sound of water splashing against tile, the scent of Stiles's Old Spice body wash wafting in the summer air, and—

Wait.

Is that…is Stiles singing Taylor Swift?

Derek tilts his head to the side, catching sight of what is unmistakably Stiles's silhouette framed in the open window, towel wrapped around his waist, using a hairbrush as a makeshift microphone and belting out what Derek is 99% sure is the song Love Story by Taylor Swift.

"We were both young when I first saw you

I close my eyes and the flashback starts

I'm standing there

On private property in winter air"

Now, Derek doesn't exactly listen to a whole lot of Taylor Swift, but he's pretty sure those aren't the right lyrics. Still, it's as good a form of entertainment as any, so Derek settles in and listens for a little while, ducking his head to hide a small smile whenever Stiles struggles to hit the high notes.

There's a brief pause as Stiles stumbles over, presumably, a big pile of laundry he'd neglected to put away, and accidentally whacks himself in the face with the hairbrush, a long dramatic whine followed by a string of muffled cursing, and then he's swinging right back into the chorus with even more gusto than before.

"Romeo taaaaaaake me somewhere we can be alooooone

I'll be waaaaaaiting, all there's left to do is ruuuuun

Youuu'll be the prince and I'll be the priiiiiiiincessssss

It's a love story, baby, just say yessssss"

Derek chuckles to himself, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly as he settles back against the side of the house.

As Stiles charges on into the second verse — something about sneaking out into the forest in the middle of the night, which also doesn't sound like the right lyrics, but whatever — Derek's mind starts to wander, and he finds himself musing over who the object of the song might be, who Stiles thinks about whenever he's belting out love ballads. His thoughts stray to all manner of likely possibilities before settling on the obvious choice — Lydia Martin — and an unfamiliar pang of jealousy, white-hot and acrid, settles into the pit of his stomach like he's just swallowed mountain ash.

Derek shakes his head, frowning.

Where the fuck did that come from?

He takes a deep, steadying breath, wincing as he catches sight of the set of claw marks he'd accidentally slashed across the siding.

He's being ridiculous. Who cares who Stiles thinks about when he's alone, singing love songs at 11 o'clock at night in nothing but a towel?

Definitely not Derek.

And besides, it's not like every time someone sings something, it has to have a focus, or some kind of deeper meaning.

Maybe Stiles doesn't have anyone in mind.

Maybe he just likes the song.

Maybe—

"Sourwolf, taaaaaaake me somewhere we can be alooooone!"

Derek stops dead, heart skyrocketing into his throat. Before he even realizes what he's doing, he's scaled the side of the house and vaulted through the open window, landing with a gentle thud on Stiles's bedroom floor. The rest of the chorus dies on a high-pitched shriek as Stiles screams bloody murder, a whirlwind of flailing limbs and colorful expletives, brandishing the hairbrush like a weapon and accidentally smacking Derek clean across the shoulder.

"What the f— Derek?! What the hell are you doing here?" Stiles shouts, loud enough to wake the whole block.

"I thought I heard—" Derek starts, adrenaline giving way to embarrassment as he remembers the reason why he's here. He swallows nervously, throat going dry. "Nevermind. Sorry. I'll go."

"You thought you heard what?" Stiles prompts, one eyebrow cocked in mocking familiarity.

"I…heard you singing," Derek says softly, gaze cast to the ceiling so that he doesn't have to look Stiles in the eye.

"So? That's hardly a cause for concern," Stiles snaps defensively. "What, a man can't enjoy a good pop-country love ballad every once in a while?"

"No, it's not that. It's just—" Derek falters. "I thought I heard you say my name."

"What?! I didn't say your name!" Stiles splutters, voice rising an octave.

And that's when he hears it, the telltale skip in his heartbeat as Stiles chokes around the obvious lie. Derek's eyes snap up, and he takes a moment to look at him, really look at him, cataloguing all the little details he'd missed before — the slight tremor of his hands as he ducks his head to attack a phantom itch on the back of his neck, Adam's apple straining against the column of his throat each time he swallows, patches of scarlet blossoming in the hollows of his cheekbones — and feels his own apprehension start to melt away, replaced by a sudden burst of confidence, lips curving into a smile at the staggering realization that Stiles is just as nervous as he is.

"Stop looking at me like that," Stiles huffs, eyes narrowing in suspicion at the sudden change in Derek's demeanor. "You're making me nervous."

"Oh?" Derek's eyebrows perk up with the inflection. He takes a tentative step closer, delighting in the way Stiles's body instinctively does the same.

"Do I make you nervous, Stiles?" he asks, his smile positively wolfish.

"I — no — that's not what I—" Stiles flounders, a prickle of heat winding its way down the length of his spine as he breaks out into a full-body blush.

"You're flustered," Derek notes with a teasing smirk.

"Well, of course I'm flustered," Stiles argues indignantly. "This is a flustering situation. A real flusterfuck, if you will."

Derek huffs out a laugh and hums, all fond amusement. It's endearing as hell, and Stiles kind of hates him for it.

"Point is, Sourw—" he starts, eyes growing wide for a fraction of a second before he rights himself, powering through with feigned indifference. "The point, Derek, is that no one said your name. So maybe check your ego before you come barging into someone's room in the middle of the night on the utterly wrong assumption that—"

"So you're telling me you didn't replace 'Romeo' with that stupid nickname you gave me the night we were at the high school?" Derek asks, one sassy eyebrow raised.

Stiles swallows thickly.

"The one you keep calling me, all the time, every chance you get, just to get a rise out of me?" Derek presses.

"I— that's not—" Stiles splutters.

"That's what I thought," Derek confirms with an air of smug satisfaction.

A wicked grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat unfurls across his face, and Stiles drops the charade, sighing in defeat.

"Look, the only way you could possibly know that is if you were, like, lurking under my bedroom window or something, so—"

There's a soft, sudden intake of breath, and the smug smile slips from Derek's face, only to curl across Stiles'.

"Aha!" he shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at Derek.

Derek fixes him with a withering glare, before closing his eyes and heaving a frustrated sigh.

"I was…in the neighborhood," he admits reluctantly.

Stiles can't help the big, goofy grin that spreads across his face.

"Uh huh," he teases with wry amusement. "And you just happened to pass by my house long enough to eavesdrop on my one-man karaoke show?"

"I…might stop by every now and then to check in on you and your dad. You know…make sure you're both safe," Derek says with an attempt at a casual shrug, but Stiles doesn't miss the way his ears burn bright red at the admission.

"Aww, that's so sweet, you big creep," Stiles laughs, sweeping forward and mock-punching Derek in the arm.

Derek rolls his eyes, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket as he sways back and forth on the heels of his boots. A few seconds tick past with the two of them just standing there, smiling stupidly at each other, and then a mischievous smile curves its way across Derek's face.

"So…if I talk to your dad, will you pick out a white dress, or—" Derek teases, mirth dancing in his eyes.

Stiles barks out a laugh.

"Oh my god, shut up," he says, surging forward and gripping Derek by the collar of his jacket, before pulling him into a kiss.

Elements of this story were inspired by art by michellicopter

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