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serendipitioussurvival · 5 years ago

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The Problem with Reality, Pt 2

<Prev> The Monologue of one Maczysz Stilinski/Hale

“They say that, when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Honestly though? That’s such a load of bullshit. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve almost died? Do you know how many of those incidents I’ve seen a play by play of my life? None, not even when I actually fucking died! I’ve been cheated out of a lot of shit in my life, a lot of good shit too, so I’m going to do the play by play! Ahem.

I was born Maczysz Angelika Stilinski to humans Claudia Stilinski and Jeorek ‘John’ Stilinski. I was an angelic kid no matter what anyone says. The first few years of my life were great, eating, sleeping, pooping and having someone else clean it up. That was nice, I guess, but then I got to be introduced to the wonderful world of education. Let me tell you - hell doesn’t even need to exist when you have fucking ADHD and a hyperactive imagination, okay? Not only that, but you put it in the body of a girl whose father was a Deputy and whose mother was a nurse. I was literally exposed to so much information - as much as I could get my hands on!

Believe me, by the time I was six I knew how to hide keys until my dad made copies or had to use the backup. I had a key for his filing cabinets, for the car, and for the front and back doors. I was never going to use them for evil though, maybe to do things I wasn’t supposed to, but never for evil. Anyway, getting off-topic. So, by six I was bilingual for Portuguese and English, a hell of a combination for a kid with ADHD who could barely form coherent sentences, let alone sentences with words that weren’t English.

BUT - it was because of that multilingual gibberish that I landed my best friend, Scott McCall, who also knew Portuguese from his mother and bam! A friendship that lasts throughout multiple realities thank you very much. Then… then I lost my mom. I won’t go into that, I don’t want to, you already know the full situation in detail and it’s still painful. I - it’s my one regret, that little Mischief will have to go through that again, all because I couldn’t save her…

Uh, where - where was I? Oh, anyway, mom died. Dad started drinking. I hated it, had to learn to cook and do laundry. He never hit me or cursed me or anything, but he would - I dunno just give me these looks. Like he was looking for any trace of my mom in me, or he would look at anything but me. So, in true Max fashion, I shaved all my hair off. Scott thought it was punk as hell and told me we were totally brothers now. Hehe, it never bothered me that he saw me as a guy, made me really happy honestly since all my dad could see was my mom in me. So I started spending the night over at his more, studied with him, ate with him and Mel while she taught me how to cook certain dishes - she even let me help, the few times she was free to actually do that.

Then dickhead Rafe - and no I don’t care that it isn’t his real name, he doesn’t deserve to be called anything but Rafe because he hates it so goddamn much - went and left because he chose to drink instead of fixing things with his family after Scottie got hurt. Suddenly we really were siblings, either staying the night over at his while my dad worked over night, or over at mine when Mel worked overnight. We slept in the same bed until we were thirteen - which other people still find weird. Let me tell you, we didn’t stop until he got his first morning wood at fifteen, and we celebrated it because, for the longest time, my poor Scottie thought his dick was broken.

Can I - can I even cuss here? Like, I’m not going to get smited, smote - whatever. I’m already here, fuck it.

Continuing on! At sixteen Scottie and I went all red riding hood into the woods and met the one, the only, Peter Hale. He was half-crazed and the other half of him was running on wolfy instincts, but it was Peter, and the prick decided that he liked my jacket on Scottie and bit him, turning him into a werewolf.

Fast forward a couple more months of Scott trying to kill me, his first full moon where he made out with my crush and cemented the fact that I was definitely not lesbian, and then we get to the juicy bits where Peter killed Kate Argent - I hope that bitch is being burned to death, repeatedly, in hell. In fact - could I, like if I don’t get into Heaven or whatever comes after this, can I go to hell just to burn her? Like, that’d be my heaven. No..? Okay.

Ahem, anyway, uh, Scott hit Peter with a Molotov, killing him, but Peter is crafty so he came back to life a little more sane but no less sassy, and decided to grace my doorstep every few nights with a letter on my window. They weren’t love notes, in fact, I’m pretty sure the first one was him telling me that he wished he had bitten me even though I said no just so his legacy wouldn’t ride on Scott’s shoulders. Looking back it’s funny, but back then I was furious. How dare this sociopathic nut job think my best friend lacks anything.

Peter though, was different. Maybe death really does change you? I dunno, either way, he became more involved in the pack - or, well, he got more involved whenever I was involved. He gave me the research material he’d put together as his family’s bestiary and helped to figure out how to ��cure’ Jackson’s reptile problem.

Then he helped to deal with the Alpha pack and saved me from being tossed off the roof of the hospital by Ennis. Ah, there was also Scott betraying us, me, for the first time. That was fun, I think - honestly I think that was the first time that I actually touched Peter? Like he was always touching me and brushing against my arm, but I think that had been the first time I had touched him.

It wasn’t anything special, but he stopped my panic attack somehow, and that was great. He was also really firm - ah, nevermind. That’s - that, I was seventeen for crying out loud. Okay? His body was hella nice and his smirk pissed me off and aroused me even when I wanted to kill him again. That night though, it was kind of the turning point. I no longer thought of immediately killing him whenever he annoyed me.

Then the Alpha pack was dealt with, Scott was a ‘True Alpha’, and Deucalion was sent off - which I still don’t agree with, but whatever, I fixed that shit. Deuce gets to see his baby girl grow up now and Gerard is totally burning in hell next to Kate. Hehe, can - like I feel like I’m definitely gonna be sent to hell, so can you like, assign me to them? It’s gotta be their personal hell to see me again. No..? Gosh, I can’t tell what you’re thinking or feeling with that damned mask, whatever. Continuing on with my flashbacks. Ahem!

What was next? Oh yes, the Nogitsune.”

#The Monologue of one Dead(?) Stilinski #Maczysz Stilinski #Female Stiles name is Maczysz #Maczysz Stilinski is Stiles Stilinski #female stiles #Rule 63 Stiles #Steter #Peter Hale #Referenced #Teen Wolf #Time Travel au #au #Character Death #After Death monologue

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kitchenisking · 3 years ago

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Part 5😁

Mirror, Mirror by happyevraftr - (Show Me Your Teeth) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 5013, sterek)

Kink meme fill: Established relationship. After someone flirts with Stiles, Derek needs to show him who he belongs to by fucking him in a room full of mirrors so he can see himself stretched open. Bonus points if Derek forces Stiles to watch as his hole is stretched to accommodate Derek's knot

(p.s. I win the bonus points)

Tax Evasion by standinginanicedress - (Tax Evasion) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 139924, sterek)

Stiles chews on his thumb a bit harder, and for a second he thinks about saying no. He thinks about letting the whole thing go and just going back to his life, the safe and easy way out. He considers just settling for someone who’ll never really get him, some boring guy who touches him the wrong way and buys him flowers sometimes. He’s been doing it for years upon years, now, and really, what’s a little bit longer? And then, what’s the rest of his life?

What’s the worst that could happen, he wonders? Trying something is better than not trying at all.

Things We Lost by Dexterous_Sinistrous - (The Dread Wolf) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 20039, sterek)

“Who … who am I to wed?”

A small flash of guilt covered the king’s features before he was able to recover. “Your union will join the royal families—joining our family to the Hales.”

Dread and sorrow sunk in Stiles’ stomach as he closed his eyes.

There was only one Hale left unharmed by the great fire that nearly wiped out the entire royal family—the Dread Wolf of Triskelia, Crowned King Derek Hale.

This Is Your Life, Derek Hale! by PolarisTheYoungWolf - (This Is Derek Hale's Life!) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 23699, sterek)

I need more de-aged Derek and pregnant mate Stiles! Can you imagine de-aged teen Derek being told he has a family of his own? Like the baby(babies) are born and he's like that for like...a weekend or maybe even a week or longer. And it's just overwhelming and awesome and funny and teendaddy Derek trying to also be a doting husband/mate and maybe they have to go out...because the babies have chickenpox and they need the pink lotion to help with the itching(Do werewolves get chicken pox? Maybe one of the babies is human and got it in case Were's can't?) and Derek is torn from staying with his pups and getting something that will help their recovery? I dunno...just...de-aged daddy Derek that's mates with Stiles is TOO cute an image!!!!

Accept My Claim (As I Hold My Breath) by xcaellachx - ( Accept My Claim) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 47318, sterek)

Shifters outnumber humans and the world has accepted the ancient shifter ritual of Claiming. This includes courting, the verbal claim, the mating bite, and the public claiming. You guessed it, public sex.

Alpha Derek Hale has known Stiles Stilinski was his mate since the human was 15. Being Derek, he has issues, and doesn't make the move to claim him until it is almost too late. Theo Raeken is intent on Stiles becoming his mate and he doesn't intend to wait.

Stiles is feeling lonely since Scott claimed Allison as his mate and is wondering if he'll be alone forever. What is he to think when the psycho Theo starts sniffing around him and then suddenly the smoking hot alpha of Beacon Hills is paying attention to him too?

Sleep Paralysis by BeniMaiko - (Stiles is a Clutz) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6003, sterek)

Stiles accidently paralyzes himself and everyone thinks he is dead. He learns some things that he really should have known sooner. The bits in Italics are Stiles internal monologue.

Wouldn't it be nice? by circa (stealthturtle) - (the one with family) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 19353, sterek)

The five times Stiles ends up spending the night at Derek's, and the one time Derek starts wanting him to stay forever.

Watch as the waves, fall back into place. by DropsOfAddiction - (Emotions like summer) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 32547, sterek)

Derek rakes his eyes over Stiles’ exposed arms and his gaze lingers on the lithe muscle there. The evidence of years of staying in shape, working as an FBI field agent is blatant and was he always that hairy?

Derek’s mesmerised by the dark hair running up his arms and it’s only when Stiles clears his throat and flails his hands at him that Derek manages to bring his eyes to his face.

Stiles’ brown hair is longer and he looks taller somehow, fitting his body in a way Derek’s never quite seen on him. He looks totally comfortable in himself, propped there against the jeep like he does this every day, like he’s not making Derek readjust his entire world view, just by being there.

Derek scents the air blatantly and he steps closer to him, pleased with the way Stiles’ heartbeat spikes a little, despite his cool demeanour.

“Hey Hale. Looking good,” Stiles grins, still not moving an inch, even when Derek’s only about a metre away.

Spook: A Ghostly Love Story in Three Parts by zosofi - (Spook) - (Rating: T, Words: 38154, sterek)

Derek is fifteen when he dies. He's been fifteen for six years when he meets Stiles. And then suddenly... suddenly things start looking up. A ghostly romance, as requested by Varlovian for the Teen Wolf Pack Charity Project.

"Pretend this is our den, kay?" by Survivah - (Raised by Wolves) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 16141, sterek)

In which Stiles is raised by (were)wolves, and he and Derek are childhood sweethearts that never stopped. Also, Kate Argent is a homicidal maniac but a very helpful plot device.

#stiles x derek #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fanfiction #ficrec #fanfic #kitcheniskingficrecs #seriesficrec

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sourwulf · 4 years ago

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nightmares — stiles stilinski x reader

༄ word count — 782

፨ characters — stiles stilinski

☓ tw — none

⊹ cw — mentions of violence, stabbing

✎ masterlist

─

finally. finally everything was over. stiles was stiles again. not the nogitsune, not void. he was him again. he was his dorky, sarcastic, sweet self again. he was still exhausted, but you’d never been more happy to have him as you were now. and you wouldn’t change a single thing.

except one.

since he’d basically died in a tub of ice water and then was taken advantage of by a very old spirit, it’d left him with severe night terrors. severe was an understatement, actually.

it’d gotten to the point where he was afraid to fall asleep. not just at your house, not just at scott’s. anywhere. this, in turn, resulted in him being extra exhausted, the bags and dark circles under his eyes remaining, even weeks after being back to normal.

when it came to nightmares, usually he’d just have a bad dream and occasionally sleep paralysis. he’d wake up sweaty, you’d comfort him, and you convinced him to go back to sleep.

but tonight was different.

he shot up, out of breath, tears streaming down his face and sweat soaking his clothes and the sheets under him. he couldn’t breathe, and he was close to screaming. you woke up immediately to the sound of him wheezing.

so you sat in front of him, had him count your fingers, and read the title on your history textbook. it took him a minute to calm down, but when he did, you pulled him out of the bed and sat him in front of your fan.

you squatted in front of him, gripping his hands and letting him catch his breath.

“what was it this time?” you asked softly.

“we- all of us were... locked in a basement, with it.”

“the nogitsune?” he nodded. “with the bandages wrapped around it?” he nodded again. you reached up and pushed his sweaty hair off his forehead. “guess what? he’s dead. he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“yeah, only in my dreams.”

you sighed in empathy, scanning his anxious expression. “stiles, look at me.” he met your gaze and you gave him a soft smile. “this isn’t permanent. deaton said it’s temporary.”

“it’s been weeks.”

“some things just take time. just because it’s temporary doesn’t mean it’ll automatically go away. it’s like... it’s like a cut. like a deep cut. it stays there for a little while and eventually turns into a scar. but it takes a little bit to do that. but once it’s scarred, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“but this isn’t a cut. this is like a parasite. like it burrowed into my brain and it’s just sitting there.”

“think of it this way. what do parasites need to stay alive?” he just looked at you. “food. they need to eat. and there’s nothing for it to eat anymore. you’re stronger than you were when it took you over. there’s nothing left for it to feed on.”

he smirked at your comment about him being stronger. “i’m really lucky to have you. i think most people would’ve left when their boyfriend got possessed by something that tried to kill you.”

you remembered the night he was referencing. it was the night allison died, and the last time you saw isaac. you were at the hospital, hunting down the very thing controlling the oni, and taking the shape of your boyfriend.

it had cornered you in a room, the only thing between the two of you being a hospital bed. he went on a long monologue about feeling stronger than he had in a long time.

he then walked around the bed, backing you into the corner. he told you to get out of his way, and you informed him that, as long as he was taking the shape of stiles, you wouldn’t be going anywhere.

the next few moments were a blur, but you remembered one of the oni appearing, stabbing his sword into your stomach.

a few seconds later, they left, and you fell to the floor. not even a few minutes later, derek found you and rushed you downstairs to the emergency room. the next few hours were the absolute hell, and the first time you’d ever watched someone die.

“in case you haven’t noticed by now, stiles, i’m not most people.”

he tiredly chuckled, leaning down and kissing you softly.

“trust me, i know.”

“wanna help me change the sheets?”

“did i soak them again?”

“yeah.”

“then yeah.”

he stripped the sheets and took them downstairs to your washer, throwing them in quickly before coming back up to your room to help you put your spare ones on the bed.

and within minutes, he was asleep again, snoring as loudly as always.

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sunnydaleherald · 3 years ago

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The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday, July 23rd

CORDELIA: One of Wesley's wealthy acquaintances got bit by a demon. ANNE: Are they okay? WESLEY: Uh, for the most part. CORDELIA: Except for where she grew another eye in the back of her head. ANNE: Oh, that sounds... handy. What kind of demon does that? WESLEY: That's what we're trying to figure out. Once we know we should be able to deoculate her. I mean, just the one in back.

~~The Thin Dead Line~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Chosen by TheScholarlyStrumpet (equipoise) (Giles, not rated)

Triangulation by calenlily (Buffy/Faith/Angel, E)

Anne by Susan19 (Buffy/Faith, T)

State of my Head by For_the_love_of_fiction (Buffy/Spike, T)

A little bit of loss is all it is by WaideING (Spike & Xander, T)

40 Feet Up by debbthelesbianbountyhunter (Faith, not rated)

Everyone has their Demons by Last Watcher (Tara, not rated)

State of my Head by Love of fiction (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Midnight Flame, Chapter 5 by BlueHawke16 (Spike/OC, M)

For Lack of Choice, Chapter 4 by Protoarchetypical (Spike/Stiles Stilinski, Teen Wolf crossover, E)

Alternating Skies and, of course, the Hellmouth, Chapter 32 by Popsy (Buffy/Spike, E)

Psych-Out Wolves, Chapter 9 by calikocat (Xander/Spike, Psych crossover, E)

Vacation with a vampire (Sequel to The Sphere), Chapter 12 by Coraline_Finn (Buffy/Spike, Marvel crossover, T)

Cradlesong, Chapters 5-6 by froxyn (Buffy/Giles, E)

Anne and Other Girls I Met in a Diner, Chapter 4 by tekomandor (Buffy/Faith, M)

Harris vs. Harris, Chapter 5 by Janis70 (Buffy/Xander, M)

The Mystery Of..., Chapter 3 by LittleTayy (Buffy/Spike, T)

Vampire in Training, Chapters 1-3 (complete!) by Slade (archived by TheArchivist84) (Buffy/Spike, T)

Chosen One, Chapter 29 by all_choseny (Buffy/Spike, R)

What Lies Within, Chapter 15 by cawthraven (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Exquisite Clarity: Part 2, Chapter 5 by yellowb, sandy_s, all_choseny, sweetprincipale, acekoomboom, SzmattyCat, IceBlueRose, Dusty, Cosmic Tuesdays, Yummysushi17 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Cruel Summer Chapter 4 by scratchmeout (Buffy/Spike, R)

Kaddara Hade, Chapter 3 by hostile17 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Psych-Out Wolves, Chapter 9 by calikocat (Xander, Psych crossover, FR21)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Manips: The many stages of Buffy and Giles by kvinnlig (Buffy/Giles, worksafe)

Artwork: “Every Outfit” Harmony Kendall - Harsh Light Of Day by whatshisfaceblogs (worksafe)

Artwork: Buffy commision by Terry Moore, posted by theimmortalclara (worksafe)

Artwork: Spike teaching Buffy to play pool by spuffylesbo (worksafe)

Artwork: Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie -1992 by kryptokats (worksafe)

Artwork: The Harvest WIP by Hastily Drawn Buffy (Giles, worksafe)

Crafts: Spike inspired keychain by sushibananawater

Artwork video: The Mark of Eyghon Artwork The Dark Age by James Christopher

Vidlet: buffy + spike | i'm following the map that leads to you by loveisntbrains

Vidlet: hot girl || buffy summers by cordelia venable

Fanvid: buffy & spike || glitter in the air by ebbstar4

Fanvid: How Not To Drown || A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Tribute by Tsukasloth

Fanvid: Buffy and Angel- I Need My Girl by Movieandtvshows 2

Fanvid: Buffy the Vampire Slayer 30TH Anniversary Tribute Video by Robby Retro (1992 Buffy movie)

Video: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Monologue~ by Tiffany Christine Smith

Artwork: Spike by Shaun Riaz (worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

why is the buffy the vampire slayer musical episode so fucking crazy (pos) by wormanarchist

Buffy "Choose Your Own Adventure" book “Keep Me in Mind” by oveliagirlhaditright

My opinion on the Buffy book "The Wisdom of War" by oveliagirlhaditright

ReWatch: Buffy the Vampire Slayer - season 4 by kimannebb

“Angel,” the Buffy spin-off show by consciousgrappling

Bloody Fool For Love by William Ritter by Priceless

Angel Season 5 Rewatch - #7 Lineage (spoilers) continued by Stoney, BtVS Fan and LWP

Rewatching s5 - got to that episode [The Body] by fill_the_birdfeeder

Podcast: Episode 81: Special Episode 5×5 and Sanctuary by Myth Taken: A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Podcast

[Recs & search]

Art rec: For any Taurus Buffy fans out there 🤗💘 Artist is @thepulpgirls on IG recced by buffythegoat (worksafe)

WANTED: Fan artists who can draw Buffy dressed as the Mighty Thor/Lady Thor, wielding Mjolnir by MattanzaMafiaFedora

Request: What images or photographs does buffy have in her home? by Spritebubblegum

[Community Announcements]

New fanfic discussion - You Learn by bramcrackers starting 6th August 2022 announced by flow

[Fandom Discussions]

Every time I want to rant about Angel I am always sadly reminded of how much he's hated by throughdarkclouds

So is it canon or not to say that in BTVS, vampires have varying levels of soullessness? by westwhorobaptistchurch

t what point do you reckon Angel or Spike realised that they can appear in photographs? by tomandharrisongifs

Darla was the best character in the Buffy/Angel-verse by theevilcleavage

The Immortal as a "love interest for Buffy" and Nina as one for Angel by oveliagirlhaditright

A parallel between Buffy and Angel that I noticed recently by oveliagirlhaditright

Angel and Spike on having a soul by july-19th-club

"Faith isn’t trying to be Buffy’s best friend, she’s trying to be her boyfriend" by jewishsuperfam

Buffy’s Anya Jenkins certainly has very strong opinions about capitalism by coraniaid

Divides in the writers room about the way to go about writing Spike by annyankers

Would ATS be better if it started with Wolfram & Hart Acquisition? continued by AlphaFoxtrot

Was Fred & Wesley Relationship forced? continued by multiple posters

I think Wesley/Faith is the relationship with the most lost potential on the show by SpinTheBottle

Something I don't get about the Jasmine spell in season 4 by shez33

What if Buffy was made in 2022… with Instagram, smartphones and more accepting society? by Hollyvu

I hate the Scoobies in "Afterlife" only Dawn and Spike have some sense in that episode by jdpm1991

How [Empty Places] should have ended by SuperiorLaw

Smile Time! by draconetzah

I think the scoobies get too much hate for bringing Buffy back by kurtney_

Was Spike back to consciousness before Willow canceled the spell in Something Blue? by Sputnik1212

“Oh, God” - Cordelia (but not really Cordelia) by goingwthemotions54

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#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #angel the series #ats

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maxineswritingcenter · 4 years ago

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You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 22

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As I parked in the driveway, I tried to think of a way to talk to Uncle Noah. It really just came down to my approach. And if he pulls a gun on me or not. I don’t believe that he would pull a gun on me just from the texts and voicemails I was getting.

Getting out of the car was the next part of my plan. Alright, getting out of the car... Right now... Getting out... Of the car... Now.

Finally, I willed myself out of the car and walked up the driveway to the front door. Should I knock or ring the doorbell? No, walking in seemed more casual, I need to be formal. Or maybe it would be better to walk in-

The front door opening interrupted my inner monologue. Uncle Noah stood in the doorway. He was in uniform, looking like he was heading into the station. We stared at each other for a while, not sure how to go forward with this. Maybe I should just start speaking? Yeah, because that worked out so well before.

“Hey, uh... I just wanted to say...” My voice cut out before I could say what I wanted. The worst part was that he just kept staring at me, “Um, I wanted to say that I’m sorry for what happened at the station and I’m sorry for... What I am-”

I was cut off by Uncle Noah pulling me into his arms and hugging me tightly. After the shock subsided, I hugged him back, gripping onto his shirt to ground myself. He was hugging me just like he would before he saw me as a werewolf.

“Don’t ever apologize for who you are, sweetheart.” His voice was strained, “Nothing that happened was your fault. I know you would never do anything to hurt anyone of your own volition.” He kissed the top of my head, pulling away and looking me in the eyes.

“You aren’t scared of me?” My voice was trembling.

“What? No, no, no. I’m not scared of you. I’m just worried about you. You’re still (Y/N).” He pushed some hair out of my face, wiping away some tears as well. Uncle Noah was someone who loved no matter what. All he wanted was for his loved ones to be safe and happy and that was what I loved so much about him.

“We’re gonna figure this out. Being a...a”

“A werewolf.”

“Being a werewolf isn’t easy and we’re gonna figure out how it happened.” I smiled at him weakly.

“There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

We went inside, sitting in the living room. I was finally able to reveal everything and it was all from my memory. I could finally tell my story the way I remembered it. Uncle Noah listened to all of it, even if he didn’t understand all of it, he still listened. At the end, he sat back against the couch and blew out air.

“That... That’s a lot, kid.” I nodded, sitting back beside him. He sat back up again when his phone started going off.

“Crap.” He said, looking at the caller ID, “I gotta go to work.” He stood up, looking back at me, “You staying here tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m making dinner.”

“Great, I’ll see you tonight, maybe, hopefully.” He opened his phone and made his way out.

Stiles and I were in the kitchen making dinner. It wasn’t often that the Stilinski’s had a home cooked meal, with Uncle Noah being at the station, it was quick or microwave meals that saved dinner. But tonight it was going to be lasagna, I had noticed that Stiles asked for a lot of pasta dishes. Probably for the carbs since he played lacrosse and had the metabolism of a giant. The kid could eat. As I was pulling the lasagna out of the oven, the doorbell rang.

“That’s Derek.” I smiled, taking off the oven mitts and setting them on the counter, “Could you get the door?” Stiles took a deep breath but walked to the door and opened it. Derek stood there in nicer attire than usual. He had swapped out the leather jacket for a nice burgundy sweater, he had flowers in his hand. So I’m assuming when he saw Stiles, he was very confused.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have.” Stiles fake-gushed. Derek’s jaw clenched and his brow furrowed.

“(Y/N).” He called. Looking out at him, I grinned and wiped my hands on the apron I was wearing.

“Hey!” I said cheerfully, taking the flowers. Roses and baby’s-breath, “How lovely.” I inhaled the sweet scent, ushering Derek inside.

“(Y/N), can I speak with you privately?” Derek said through his teeth. After putting the flowers in a vase, I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yes~?” I fluttered my eyelashes at him.

He titled his head to the side, “When you invited me to dinner at your house, I thought we would be eating. Alone.”

I smiled, “Why would I invite you over to my house when there’s a sixteen year old who actively lives here?” I poked his chest, “You were supposed to make the romantic dinner, remember?”

“That’s a little deceiving, isn’t it?”

“Oh?” I wiggled my eyebrows, “Were you expecting something a little spicier than lasagna?”

Derek gave me a sly smile, “Maybe-”

“Okay, enough of whatever you guys are doing.” Stiles butted in, “I’m hungry so can we eat now?” I was about to answer when the door opened. All of our eyes widened, and so did Uncle Noah’s.

“Hey...” Stiles said casually, “Thought you uh... weren’t gonna be home for dinner.”

“I uh, I asked for the night off so we could have dinner together as a family.” He looked at Derek, then me, then Derek again, “Derek, are you uh... Like her?”

“A werewolf? Yes, sir.”

“Oh, oh, okay.” Uncle Noah smiled a little, “That’s okay. I fully support being werewolves. Just as long as you’re safe.” He said this awkwardly, but very sincerely.

“So food’s done.” I smiled.

The dinner was kind of awkward, just a little tense. An ex con eats dinner with the sheriff? It was like the start a of very bad joke. But everything went over well and now it was just Derek and I in my room - with the door open per Uncle Noah’s request- playing music softly and cuddling on the bed. My head was on his chest playing with his fingers. Derek had one arm around me, his fingertips dipping under my shirt hem.

“I love this.” I hummed, “I never want it to end.” I looked up at him, “I had a question.”

“Yes?” He kissed the top of my head.

“When all of this started... Why were you so distant with me? Why wouldn’t you tell me about us knowing each other when I came to your house.”

“Well,” He shifted so he sat up a little on the pillows, “I was respecting your father’s wishes.”

“As if.” I smirked.

He chuckled, “You’re right.” He looked down at me, “But I thought it would hurt more for you if I expected something from you that you couldn’t give me.” He held my hand that was fiddling with his, bringing it up to his lips, “Those times when you were wanting to get close to me, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to try and break the spell but I didn’t know if I could or even if it would work.”

“Derek...You suffered alone, I’m so sorry.” I ran my fingertips over his cheek. He nuzzled his cheek into my hand.

“I suppose, but it was like I got to meet you for the first time. Fall in love with you.” It was strange seeing this side of him. His heart was open and he was telling me everything.

“You love me, huh?” I said, “Even with how stubborn I am?”

He smiled, “Even with how stubborn you are. You never gave up on me. Ever.”

Leaning forward, I pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, “I love you too.” There was love in his eyes, but there was something else. Something I couldn’t ignore, even though the nagging feeling in my stomach was telling me it was going to ruin the moment.

“What is it?” I sighed, “Just tell me.”

“I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

“After last night? Definitely not.”

“The alpha pack is here.” He paused and breathed out, “And I was hoping you would go to Scotland until this all blows over.” I sat up and stared down at him.

“You want me to go to Scotland. With Michael. To the people who probably agreed to have my memories taken away. While you fight the alphas by yourself?” I scoffed, “Yeah, fat chance.” I got out of bed. Derek sighed, leaning his head back.

“(Y/N), you don’t understand-”

“I understand everything perfectly actually. For the first time in six years, I can see everything. I remember the alpha pack and I remember what they did to Paige.” I stood in front of the bed and looked down at him, “I’m an alpha with two alpha sparks and I can fight just as well as you can...If a little out of practice.”

Derek sat up, “I know, that’s why I want you to go. You’re an easy target to take the alpha sparks from and you know how they will take it.” I crossed my arms over my chest, tapping my foot on the floor. He was right, as much as I hate to admit it.

“I know I’m right.” Derek said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to face me.

“Hey! Get out of my head.”

Derek pried my arms from their crossed position and held my hands, “I know you want to be here to protect your people. I do too. But I would never forgive myself if they took you away from me, away from your uncle, away from Stiles.” He stood up and pulled me into his arms.

“I can’t lose you.”

“And I can’t lose you either.” My breath was shaky.

“You won’t.”

“You can’t promise me that. You have been on death’s door so many times, it’s only a matter of time before he answers.”

Derek pressed a kiss to my forehead, “I’m not alone anymore. I’m stronger than ever.” I knew that he would keep those I loved safe. But he had the hero complex, willing to do what was right no matter the cost.

“Fine. But if I feel something happen, I’m on the next flight back and I’m gonna kick your ass.” I swallowed thickly, “And if you’re dead... I’m bringing you back and kicking your ass.”

“I know you will.” He gave me a small smile.

I had barely been out of Beacon Hills before. Every once in a while there was an away game for lacrosse, but never out of state. I had never even been to the airport. Airports were weird. You get there like four hours early, sit for hours, then you get in a metal tube that flies in the sky.

Stiles and I were sitting at the end of a row of chairs, Uncle Noah and Michael were talking across the room. Michael had dyed his blond hair dark brown and had been wearing brown contacts to disguise himself from getting caught by any cops who were still looking for him.

"What do you think they're talking about?" I leaned over and whispered into Stiles’ ear. This was really just a way of getting him to talk to me. Stiles had been quiet the whole ride to the airport.

“Probably his shitty dye job.” He said, hanging one arm over the back of his seat.

I chuckled, resting my head on his shoulder, looking around. Derek hadn’t come with us to the airport. He thought it would draw attention to me and the alpha pack would follow. But it didn’t hurt any less. I knew that he was right. I would have liked to have seen him before I left though.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No..” He sighed, “Last thing I need is to lose you to a bunch of werewolves with a god complex killing you for your alpha mojo.”

“Alpha sparks. Plural.”

“Yeah yeah. Just...” He looked down at him, “Let me know when you’re coming back.”

“Hey, I’ll Skype you as much as I can.”

NOAH

After feeling more comfortable talking with Michael, Noah had agreed to let Michael escort (Y/N) to Scotland as a part of the Lunar Circle. Michael had been nervous the entire time, hadn’t looked him in the eyes. Michael was rubbing the back of his neck.

Noah narrowed his eyes at him, “What is it, you got somethin’ you’re not telling me?”

“N-No. I’ve told you everything.” His voice was shaking.

"Slow down, breathe." Noah held a hand out.

Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I just want her to trust me and I don’t want to hurt her again. I need to make up for all the crap that I did, I gotta make things right.”

Noah nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. While he would rather throw Michael in a jail and leave him there to rot, he didn’t understand the entire situation with mind control and werewolves, so he figured that (Y/N) could handle herself.

“Listen, kid, she is gonna be a mess for the next few days. Since everything happened and all the responsibility on her shoulders, she hasn’t had time to properly mourn her parents. She won’t process that everyone is practically a world away until later - Derek and Stiles especially.” He looked over at (Y/N) and Stiles. Those were his kids. And he hated that one of them was going to be out of his sight and reach for however long. But at least she would be safe, “Her and Derek have their connection thing. But her and Stiles? They... I’ve never seen two kids love and care about each other so much in my entire life. With her powers, the safest thing for you and her would be to take her to a safe place and lock her up for the night. She might as well be a ticking time bomb.

“Yes, sir.”

(Y/N)

"Now boarding all passengers on flight two-nine-o-six to Edinburgh International." A woman’s voice called over the intercom. Michael and Uncle Noah came back over as I stood up and grabbed my carry on bag.

“Well, that’s us-” I was cut off by a bone crushing hug from Stiles. And here comes the tears. Wrapping my arms tightly around him, I breathed out then pressed my lips tightly together.

“I love you.” He said into my shoulder.

“I love you too.” I sniffled and pulled away, rubbing the top of his head where his hair was starting to grow out from his buzz cut. Uncle Noah almost had to pry Stiles off to get to me then pulling me into his own arms.

“I just want you to know that I’m proud of you.” He kissed the side of my head, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I pulled away, looking around, probably just to make myself even more sad. Derek wasn’t gonna come.

Michael led me onto the plane and to my surprise, the Lunar Circle had paid for first class tickets. I would hope so since this was a thirteen hours flight with two stops. I put my headphones in and looked out the window. We were off to some new and possibly magical place - the ancestral homeland - to meet with a bunch of people that I kind of wanted to give a piece of my mind.

I would rather be taking this trip with Derek where it would be atleast a little romantic but instead I was running from some crazy alphas. I wanted to start my life with him, a life that was significantly less crazy than it was now. I wanted to start a family. I thought Derek did too, he came from a large family.

Maybe that plan was already in motion.

------------

Read part 23 here!

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#derek hale x reader #derek hale fic #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fic

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dylinski · 5 years ago

Text

Wasting Time

Request from Anon: How about #1 I love you, please dont go for sterek

Warnings: language, angst, little make out sesh

Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Word Count: 2079

Author: @dylan-obrien-fanblog

A/N: Sorry this took me so long, I just couldn’t find the inspiration but I found it!!!! this is also what ignited my little sterek rant post I posted yesterday. i hope ya’ll like it.

Listen to THIS. It was my inspiration and is now my new favorite Sterek song.

Derek grunted as he turned in his bed for the hundredth time that night. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get comfortable and fall asleep despite being exhausted. Sleeping in a shitty motel bed didn’t help much either. He had been on the run for almost a year with the FBI chasing after him. Being framed for mass murder sucked, but thankfully Stiles intervened when they were just about to catch him. That was a couple months ago, so Stiles has had time to recover from his ‘injury’. He was still a wanted man, but Stiles was using all the power he had with the FBI to throw them off his tracks or to find evidence that proved Derek’s innocence. There have been a few leads, but none of them ever panned out and only led to dead ends.

In order to stay under the radar, Derek would move around to different motels every couple nights, but never too far from where Stiles was. At first, he only stuck around to make sure he was okay and recovered from the botched field op, which was mostly Stiles fault, but it was for Derek. He knew that it was a risk for him to save his ass, especially with only being an intern. He still couldn’t believe that he somehow convinced them to take an intern with little to no experience on a field op, he was also surprised he didn’t sway them to let him lead the damn thing. That was Stiles though, a relentless little bastard. After Stiles got better though, they had spent so much time together that it reminded Derek of the old days in Beacon Hills, fighting the bad guys and saving the world. Stiles begged him to stay and let him help to clear Hale name, and Derek just couldn’t say no to those whiskey eyes.

That wasn’t how things stayed though, tonight was terrible. Derek replayed the memory in his mind, going back to every word that was said and how each one cut him like a knife.

“Stiles, we haven’t had a new lead in weeks. This is getting ridiculous.”

“I know. I’m checking a few other things out, but it will take a while for my sources to get back to me.” Stiles rummaged through some papers that were laying on the bed, trying to make a connection between something, anything.

Derek sat at the small square table in the corner of the room, scanning his own pile of papers, but gave up on them a while ago. After some tense silence, Derek finally spoke. “I’m leaving in the morning Stiles.”

Stiles froze and slowly looked up from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face laced with anger and confusion. “What the fuck do you mean you’re leaving in the morning?”

“I mean exactly what is sounds like. How is that confusing?” Derek was befuddled as to why Stiles didn't understand him.

“I know what you said asshat! I just don’t believe it!” Stiles was now standing as he shouted at the raven haired man from across the room. He started pacing as Derek leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t leave, we said we were going to figure this out together.” Stiles started biting his thumb as he stared at his feet, continuing to tread back and forth. He suddenly stopped and looked up at Derek with weepy eyes. “You said you would let me help you.”

“You tried helping and we’ve gotten nowhere. It’s time for me to move on and search for other solutions.” Derek spoke calmly with a-matter-of- fact tone, hiding his own despair behind his stolid mug.

Stiles eyes dried quickly and his tears were replaced with rage. He scrunched up his nose in the way he does when he’s trying to stop himself from lashing out, which was evident by his clenched fist at his side. “Move on from Virginia or move on from me?” He couldn’t look Derek in the eyes when he asked his question through gritted teeth and found himself fixed on a point somewhere beyond the careless man.

Derek subtly flinched at Stiles’ last few words and his heart skipped. He kept his forthright features, despite everything he was feeling. His words were caught in his throat, so he spoke as few as possible fearing they would betray his composure. “Both.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as he heard Stiles whine in his throat, like a cry for help, he wouldn’t had heard it if it weren't for his wolf hearing.

“FINE! THEN FUCKING LEAVE!” Stiles grabbed his suit coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. His absence was felt and the room became silent and cold. Derek could feel the sorrow brimming at his eyes. He never wanted to hurt the boy, but that was all he knew how to do. Everyone he ever loved got hurt because of him, he was just better off on his own. There was no point in him dragging Stiles down with him, possibly ruining his career and reputation and even the smallest possibility of getting him killed. It was a stretch for him to even accept his help in the first place, but he had been here too long and it was time to press on, leaving Stiles behind...again.

Derek just laid there, staring at the ceiling repeating Stiles’ words in his head only hours after he spoke them. He hated that he left things that way, but there was no point in bothering the brunette when he was angry and had his mind set on something. He had no intention of seeing him again before he left at dawn, unable to deal with confrontation and emotions. He shifted in his bed, yet again, and closed his eyes trying to push out the sound of pain in his friend’s voice. Lost in thought, a knock at the door drowned out all the noise in his head. He sat up and immediately knew it was Stiles from his scent and the sound of his heartbeat, which was racing. He got up and opened the door, leaning against it wearing only sweatpants.

Stiles was soaked from the rain, still wearing his suit which meant he never went home after their argument. He looked up at Derek, his hair matted to his forehead and eyes full of tears that were indistinguishable from the droplets of rain that rested on his cheeks. Neither of them needed to speak, and Derek let him into the small room as he went to the bathroom to get him a towel. He grabbed an extra pair of sweatpants and a shirt from his already packed bag and handed them to the wet man while he was roughly scrubbing his head. The towel left his hair sticking up in all directions and Derek couldn’t hold back a smile as he remembered the young boy who used to wear his hair spiked up all the time. Stiles didn’t bother with his hair anymore and he wasn’t that young boy anymore either. Stiles peeled off the damp clothes and changed into the dry ones, causing Derek to blush. He had never even seen him shirtless before, but it was different than seeing another man topless...it was Stiles. It was always Stiles. He always did something to him that no one else did, something he couldn’t explain or begin to understand.

Once the spiky haired boy was settled, he sat down at the foot of the bed and let his head fall. He gulped, like he was nervous and preparing to make a speech which was not unforeseen for him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and then looked up to Derek standing in front of him, looming with his arms crossed. Most people had resting bitch face, Derek had resting bitch arms.

“Derek...:” His voice croaked and sounded raw, like he had been crying and screaming for an unreasonable amount of time. Derek could see the pain in his eyes when the dark chestnut orbs took him in. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but the thing I regret the most is that I didn’t ask you to stay after Mexico. I know we’re both different people now and we’ve changed since you left, but I still feel like we haven’t.” He was crying again, avoiding eye contact as he stared at his feet. Derek had let his arms fall to his sides and his face more empathetic. He kneeled down to meet the boys face and squeezed his arm.

Stiles still didn’t look up, but continued on his monologue. “I’ve wasted so much time...spent countless nights trying to push you down, ignoring this hole in my chest that manifested the second you walked away. You said you’d be back, but I knew in my heart you wouldn’t. It was just by chance that the FBI was hunting you and I got on the team. If that hadn’t happened, would I have ever seen you again?” The question was rhetorical, but Derek didn’t have an answer either way. He hooded his eyes in disappointment in himself as Stiles wiped his nose on the sleeve of the borrowed shirt. He held it under his nose for a minute, inhaling the smell of Derek that clung to the fabric.

“I know this a lot, Derek, and I don’t understand much of it myself, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t have these emotions and I can’t go through this again. I can’t watch you leave, not knowing if I’ll ever see you again, not when I feel this way.” Stiles finally looked up, staring into Derek’s eyes with a longing he had never seen in those honey iris’ before. “I’m not going to let you leave again, at least not without trying. So Derek...I love you and I’m begging you, please don’t go.”

Derek couldn’t hold back his tears or his own emotions anymore, he cupped Stiles cheek and searched his eyes for answers or some kind of sign that this wasn’t all just a dream. He could feel everything he was feeling by looking at his face and he wanted to take all the pain away, let him know that he wasn’t crazy, that this wasn’t stupid, that he loved him too. Derek leaned in and pressed his lips to Stiles’, leaving him awestruck as his eyes widened. Once it kicked in what was happening, he screwed his eyes shut and kissed him back passionately, turning the kiss into more than just that, but something fueled with desire and longing that had been begging to escape for years. Derek pressed against Stiles, causing him to crawl backwards up the bed, refusing to break the unrelenting kiss. Derek straddled Stiles as his tongue dug into his mouth, searching it’s depths and creating a dance between their lips.

Hearts were racing and chests were heaving as Derek pulled back for air, placing his forehead against Stiles’. Their breaths mingled as their lips brushed, still processing what was actually happening. Stiles pulled his head back and ran his fingers through the black hair of the man staring back at him, giving him a crooked smile that made Derek blush.

He pulled his leg over so that he could settle down next to the brunette and draped his arm around his shoulders. Stiles turned into his firm body and nuzzled his nose into the crevice of his arm, wrapping his arms in an enclosed circle around his waist. He could hear Derek’s heart through his chest, strong and rapid. Derek rested his head on top of Stiles’ spiky hair and whispered, “I’ll stay.” He could feel Stiles smile against his chest eliciting a smile of his own.

“Good, now I don’t have to resort to plan B.”

“Plan B?” Derek leaned back so he could see Stiles.

Stiles just giggled into his chest, “Yeah, I was going to break in and circle the room in mountain ash.” Stiles looked straight at Derek with a serious expression as if it was the most logical solution.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile again as he thought back to Derek’s words. It meant more than what laid at the surface. In his own way when he said ‘I’ll stay’, he was actually saying ‘I love you too’.

Taglist: @bitch-banshee

#sterek #eternalsterek #sterek fanfiction #stiles stilinski #derek hale #mostly fluff #wasting time #post season 6A #pre season 6B #my writing

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stereksecretsanta · 5 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, @bewarethesmirk!

Words: 5155

Rating: Teen and up

Tags: Sterek Secret Santa 2019, Christmas fic, miscommunications, broody!Derek, college student Stiles, enemies to lovers, yoga instructor Derek, AU – no werewolves, mention of dead family members, minor angst, happy ending, fluff tropes, kissing, cuddling.

I didn’t write a coffee shop AU, but I hope you will enjoy a broody Derek teaching yoga, featuring a feud over a quilt…?

*****

Yoga to take your chances with me

There is a twink formerly known as Mieczyslaw ‘Stiles’ Stilinski standing outside the yoga studio, making Derek’s life miserable. Stiles would argue (if he got the chance to) that he’s technically already inside the studio, and he’s making Derek’s afternoon miserable, ‘because perspective, Derek. That’s your whole shtick, isn’t it?’. He can practically hear Stiles argue in his head. Some days Stiles’s voice drifts in and out of his stream of consciousness like an ocean tide - always there to offer a running commentary on Derek’s goings.

Maybe it’s his brain preparing him for what is bound to happen if he lets Stiles through the door; reminding him sternly that it’s a bad idea. He’s ten minutes into a class, not the best circumstances for removing Stiles from the premises. He hopefully glances over at Boyd, whom he knows from the regular gym and considers a friend. Derek raises his brows asking (30% rhetorically, 70% pleadingly… 0.01% desperately) ‘Should you or shall I?’.

Boyd looks back with a serene smug ’Nah, you’re on your own on this one’.

Derek returns his glare to Stiles, who’s leaning against the glass partition that separates the lobby from the training area. A glass partition which Stiles now presses his obtuse face to, mashing it against the flat surface. Not for the first time post the Stilinski infestation Derek reminds himself that he teaches anti-violence for a living. If his clients ever got access to a running transcript of his inner monologue he’ll be committed, but he doesn’t see that as a legitimate reason as to not vividly fantasize about running Stiles’s head through the glass.

Derek takes in the eighteen students in his beginners’ class, a rag-tag group of Beacon Hills residents ages 18 to 75, varying from seasoned athletes to those who barely made it through gym class in school. They’d surely vote in favor for Derek packaging Stiles up and FedEx him to his home address.

He wisely decides to ignore Stiles for the time being (he knows why he’s banned) and picks up the instructions where he left off:

“When you follow your in-breath, you are able to use the awareness of your current breath to anchor yourself in your body; in this present moment. Notice the pause where the breath turns… and breathe out slowly. Good.”

His voice is low and assuring. He likes to teach the beginners class the most. Prefers it over the intermediate class, because he does a lot of slow-pace guiding and abandons most of the technical talk; not pushing any physical or mental limits the participants aren’t ready to face.

Stiles leans both his palms against the glass – smearing it with his palms – his eyes sweat-blinking with indignation, as if he’s trying to laser-carve the words I’m offended on Derek’s forehead.

“Now, we are going to check in with your posture. The next time you inhale, follow your in-breath up, through your neck, and breath out through the top of the head. As you breathe in, straighten your back to assume a posture of” – Stiles’s hands slips down the glass with a protracted squeal – “dignity.”

“Who’s that?” The complaint comes from Victoria, a middle-aged woman who carries herself like a drill sergeant.

“Remember,” Derek re-directs, “use any potential distractions as opportunities to actively choose where you direct your attention. Back to your breath.”

Victoria’s daughter, who occupies the mat to her left, lets out an amused snort – she’s the most diligent and attentive student in his class. Allison looks to him now as if she’s waiting for him to make the next move, and Derek knows he’s been out-voted. Damn it.

Stiles flinches when Derek reaches the lobby.

”You’re banned,” Derek states calmly. He’s aware that he’s had this exact conversation a thousand times before.

“THAT” – Stiles points accusatory to the note Derek has attached in the center of the partition. The note where he’s scribbled Stiles, you are banned. Go home – “is a particularly shitty way of announcing it.”

“You have repeatedly broken the membership guidelines, for months. You’ve wounded half of my clientele by now,” he hyperboles just to see Stiles’s eyes comically widen. “A truer false statement has never been spoken.”

Stiles splutters. “What, I’ve barely—“

“Isaac; two nosebleeds and a black eye.” Derek counts off his fingers. “Erica; elbowed twice, one busted lip. An average of seven complaints from costumers who you’ve intimately prodded with your foot without noticing. Mrs. Argent gave me five ultimatums about you per month. You need me to continue – or do you need them to tell you?” He indicates the audience they are attracting behind the glass. “If you wanted to be here so badly you shouldn’t have repeatedly disrupted my classes.”

Stiles draws an angry, shuddering breath. “You were supposed to teach me how to yoga, so technically my failure is your failure.“

“I can’t teach you ‘how to yoga’, I don’t think no one can.”

”Oh ha hah, Yoga Mulaney, everybody!” Stiles laughs cruelly. “Too bad insults don’t exclude my right to defend myself in the court of law.”

”There’s not a lawyer in the country that would touch your case.”

There’s a hint of amusement breaking through Stiles’s exaggerated fury. “So you’re really not going to let me in? What if I—“

He makes a half-assed attempt to run past, but Derek is faster – all it takes is a firm hand on Stiles’s chest.

There’s a beat, where Stiles’s just gaping and processing the betrayal, looking between Derek’s face and his hand before boiling over. ”BUT IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

Derek tells himself not to laugh. “That’s not an acceptable defense speech. I have to get back to my class. You should leave.” Or hang back here so I can talk to you.

”I don’t think… you’ve never been mad over that stuff before.” The crease in Stiles’s forehead deepens in suspicion. “Wait. That’s what it is? You’re mad that I stole your pillow, because I… yeah, you know what? I’m keeping that, and I still have beef with you about the quilt.” He fold his arms.

“You have beef about the quilt,” Derek repeats flatly. That’s about the most discouraging thing Stiles can say to him, but he supposes he can force himself to understand Stiles’s motivation.

“Uhm, yeah. If I’m banned for life, I’m not walking out of here empty-handed.” Stiles slides his hands inside his pockets; steps back. It’s a retreat, and they both now his absence will be permanent.

“How about I give you the quilt after you apologize like an actual adult.” Derek looks, really looks at him to convey that he’s still here if Stiles decides he feels the same thing, but Stiles’s gaze is alive with indignation and flickering uncertainly to the rest of the class. And the note stuck to the glass. “You apologize first, asshole. I’m the wounded party here.”

“In that case,” Derek says tersely, and stomps back to take his place in front of the class to teach some goddamn peace of mind.

A few months ago…

The first time Stiles shows up in Hale’s yoga studio he’s nervously hovering on the threshold, looking like he’s about to rob the place with a lacrosse-stick. Derek steps around the reception desk.

“First time?” he asks civilly.

”Huh?”

”Yoga?” Derek’s eyes do a tour around the facilities in case Stiles wasn’t aware of his location. ”Are you here to sign up for the beginners class?”

Stiles squints at a spot on the wall for ten seconds straight, grimacing like it physically hurts to come up with an answer. His face is weirdly hypnotizing, holding Derek’s attention in the meantime. ”I could be? I mean, I never saw myself doing that stuff, y’know. But here we are?”

Okay... Derek decides to go forward with the standard questions. “Do you have any injuries I should be aware off? Do you work out regularly? Any sports?”

“Nah. Lacrosse, in high school, now not so much. My best friend is an assistant teacher so we use the facilities sometimes for old times sake.”

“You’re in college?”

“I come home when I can. Have some peace and quiet.” He flexes his long fingers, joints popping, and grins cheekily when Derek frowns, “I really should dilute my Internet addiction with some physical exercise. A bit of Zen.”

His words make less of a sense but he’s also cute.

“You’ll need a mat and a few other things.” Derek leads his new client to the supply closet and hands them to Stiles, one by one. “First class is free, and starts in five. Can you do that?”

Stiles nod quickly, and grapples his mat-roll. “Totally.”

Turns out Stiles, occasional Lacrosse enthusiast, might have the muscle strength to hold his body in the asanas Derek guides the class through, but doesn’t have the flexibility or range of motion to survive even the beginners class without losing balance and dealing out blows with his flailing limbs.

By the end of it Stiles is left crying into his yoga mat in the child’s pose, cradling his waist, and getting mocked by Erica.

Here’s the kicker though: Stiles comes back a week later, and then on Thursday in Derek’s advanced class. It’s a disaster. Yet another accidental bitch-slap when Stiles loses his balance and domino-tumbles over Isaac Lahey who happens to be innocently reaching Nirvana behind him.

On Friday morning (does he even go to college?) he shows up to inexplicably join Derek’s yoga class for women on maternity leave and their babies.

“Yo, you said it would be much more chill,” Stiles accuses from the floor, where he’s languidly patting a small infant on her back.

Derek halts by his mat, “I meant the Kundalini, which was the class an hour before this one.”

It’s a challenge to sound admonishing when there’s a fuzzy baby head snoozing right under Stiles’s chin. He looks like he’s secretly terrified that the baby will slip down his chest like a slippery bar of soap if he sneezes. Derek wonders if he should offer Stiles a bean-bag to care for once the mother returns from the bathroom. It looks like an effective way to keep Stiles in check. Or, Derek hopefully looks around, is someone else willing to donate their child? Throwing human infants at Stiles unfortunately sounds like an emergency solution, though.

Stiles keeps showing up and he keeps going at it – teeth gritted, relentless, and occasionally guffawing so loud it disrupts Derek’s instructive monologues. Derek finds himself tracking Stiles’s progress. His non-linear progress, but progress nonetheless. Stiles sneaks into an intermediate class and when Derek looks over Stiles is in his sweats, standing in the advanced warrior pose. Stiles is ‘surfing’ his mat, as he likes to refer to it. He has the body of an athlete, long-limbed and by November he’s way more limber than before. His torso stretches gracefully when he cants his hips and reaches for the ceiling. By Derek’s instruction he applies pressure on his heel to further stretch his hip flexor; arches his back instead of staying in the safe position and slips his left hand around his waist to rest on his right inner thigh - a sight which Derek has a quiet aneurysm over – before Stiles promptly falls over like a cardboard cut-out of himself caught in a breeze, socking Isaac in the eye as they both go down. Derek laughs – the one time he failed to laugh internally, like a professional.

He can’t help but look forward to the times when Stiles lingers after class. Mostly recovering on the floor while Derek tidies up.

“Can you chalk like, around me while I lay here?” Stiles circle-motions his hand. “We can play CSI! I’ll be the victim. You’ll be the coroner.” He piano-taps at his sternum with two fingers.

“Tempting,” Derek says, causing Stiles to look up with hope written across his face, “But I would probably just step over you if I found you dead in the street.”

“That’s cold.” Stiles scratches his throat. It’s distracting how he’s always doing something off-beat with his hands, the motions catching Derek’s attention and holding it hostage.

“Hey, do you know this used to be a dance studio?” Stiles asks.

“Speaking of nothing. I think there was one before the building was closed for renovation. How do you know it was a dance studio?”

Stiles leisurely points to the nearest wall. He’s tired. “You haven’t noticed there’s still barres over there? And there, and there, and there.”

Of course Derek has noticed the handrails lining the walls in the loft. “I didn’t think you noticed them. Except for using them as a towel rack.”

Although he suspects Stiles takes notice of a lot of things.

Derek averts his eyes when Stiles yawns and scratches under his shirt. Stiles‘s gaze jumps to the spiral staircase. “So, what’s up there? Your office? Can I have a tour?”

For a moment Derek thoughts screech to a halt. The space up there is where he sleeps; it’s the equivalent of a small studio apartment. To have Stiles up there, walking around and touching his things, no, that would feel too much like a date. And Stiles isn’t flirting – he’s asking questions.

“I live up there,” he admits, unsure if it’s personal information he should share. “No, you’re not ever allowed up there, ever.”

“Not ever, ever? Don’t flatter yourself, Hale. As if I have the energy for stairs,” Stiles mutters glumly.

They keep having these little chats, and Derek actually enjoys them – he’s relieved that there’s at least one person in Beacon Hills he can talk nonsense with without feeling like Derek Hale, the guy who burned down his parents’ house with the parents still in it. That’s the neat summary of what Derek reads in people’s faces every time he’s in a store and notice how he’s being rubbernecked by the residents of Beacon Hills. It’s a small town, and he should’ve known what to expect when he moved back.

One evening Derek find himself re-telling his own first time in a yoga class as an eighteen year old, how he had been dragged inside by the neck by his sister Laura, who hissed at him to relax! He’s secretly proud of her efforts to bring him back to life by dragging him to yoga retreats and encouraging him to take instructor courses. When she left New York for Europe he decided to check out the town where they grew up, and open up a yoga studio of his own.

“So, what are you guys doing for the holidays?” Stiles asks, lounging in the sofa in Derek’s studio.

Derek raises his head, realizing he’s got four stragglers now: Stiles, Boyd, Isaac and Erica, who all refuses to leave at an appropriate hour and leave bags of chips in the corners. The loft is not a YMCA and he will not tolerate Isaac and Erica dragging in chairs from the lobby, or Boyd installing a fridge behind the counter. He doesn’t voice his concerns, instead noticing how unusually subdued they are in the aftermath of the other participants chatting amicably about Christmas plays, family dinners and finding that perfect last minute gift.

Boyd shrugs. “I will do what I always do. Spend Christmas at my parents’ house.” He sounds far from happy about the fact.

Isaac squirms, and it’s unlikely he has plans for Christmas. Derek knows a bit, well, enough to suspect that Isaac doesn’t have family to visit.

“I’ll be here,” Derek answers curtly, with enough finality for the topic to be dropped.

Stiles lets the melancholy prevail for almost thirty seconds.

“We should decorate this place with garlands and stuff.”

“No.”

“Yes!” Stiles grins.

Derek rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I swear I’ll throw a baby at you.”

“Dude,” Stiles says. “That makes no sense.”

Here’s the thing. Stiles can’t help himself, but he notices stuff about Derek and suddenly he’s addicted. Or crushing. Crushing hard.

He notices how Derek care individually for the other stragglers: Boyd, Isaac and Erica. Initially they are fiercely loyal, instinctively on Derek’s side after the chips incident (so he opened a bag of chips in class, big deal, it was boring and he had the munchies) (so he choked on a mouthful when Derek told him off big deal) (so he suffered through a coughing fit for twenty minutes straight which happened to also be the duration of Derek’s guided meditation).

But they dislike Stiles only for like two seconds, and then they fake-dislike him and deep down they love him, he’s sure. They start to bring snacks to the studio, which lead to a lot of grumbling and extra triple compulsive late night-vacuuming of the floor for Derek. Stiles stays late to help, saint that he is.

But, Stiles also notices, Derek never tells them to stop hanging around. Okay, he never stop asking them to leave, but he doesn’t force them to, and he’s getting softer. There lies a important distinction.

Furthermore. Stiles is objectively and subjectively finding Derek attractive. Yes. Have you seen Derek in black compression shorts flexing his hamstrings? Stiles has. Stiles has been guilty of peering through the glass when Derek has private sessions, where he and some other superman or -woman balance on their forearms and head. He has seen Derek’s death-defying acrobatics where he touches the soles of his feet together while in the headstand. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days he caught Derek levitating under the ceiling like a freaking bat.

Stiles also knows Derek always wears baggy basketball shorts over his compression ones to all his regular classes, overly concerned about not flashing his junk when he lifts his legs, and the man hates attention. Stiles knows by the stiff way Derek holds himself when he’s walking around before and after class that he much rather be handing out advice from a Skype call. Derek is secretly an introvert, but alone with Stiles? He’s relaxed, funny, and Stiles is addicted to his cynicism.

There’s a lump in Stiles’s throat when he finally decides to be done with the bullshit and finally tell Derek why he showed up that very first day. Rip off the truth-bandage.

Stiles drives back to Beacon Hills on a Thursday and makes sure he is the last man standing (laying down, star-fishing the floor, lamenting) after the end of the evening class. Derek is hovering over him with a soft expression (accentuated by the warm light from the still burning candles), and Stiles feels warm and buzzing with anticipation and nerves.

“Why are you still here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Stiles sits up, gingerly when his wrung-out muscles protests, panics, and starts to ramble the thing he wasn’t suppose to reveal until he’d said the other thing. “I want… I want to ask you out, on a date. Because I think you are funny, and admirable, and hot when you’re holding babies and vacuuming, but also – your ass is fine, but that’s not... I neglect my studies and go home every opportunity I get just for the chance to see you.”

It’s not at all what he was planning to begin with. More like the last thing, the concluding remark. He stares at Derek, pulse rushing, caught between telling Derek the truth and shut up and just, just—

Derek kneels down in front of him, very, very close, and Stiles freezes in place. Derek nods, “Do you… want to come upstairs so we can talk about this?”

Stiles agrees with a foggy notion that that will give him enough time to explain why that won’t be the first time he’s been up there.

Derek throws caution the wind here and grabs Stiles’s hand. He leads the way up the winding staircase, mentally wondering if Stiles’s impression of him will shift when he sees where Derek lives. He doesn’t require much after five years on the east coast and three years in Beacon Hills. Shitty apartments have been a constant in his life ever since he left the first time, but this one he genuinely likes.

Stiles stares at the handmade quilt he’s got covering the bed, at the grotesque but matching throw pillows on the floor by the window where Derek occasionally reads or meditates, then back to the bed and the photos on the shelf above. Derek’s earthly possessions are scarce since the fire that burned down his home, and the framed photos are donated from friends of the family. There’s the graduation picture of Laura, arm confidently slung across Derek’s shoulder, and a picture of all the kids sitting on the hood of their parents’ car back when they went on a vacation to lake Michigan.

The rest of the stuff in Derek’s place can be sum up by a dead plant, a floor-fan covered in dust, and the mentioned quilt and pillows which Derek found in the cabinet when he moved in.

Stiles draws a shuddering breath and touches the quilt almost reverently. And is he... is he sniffing back tears? Fuck, Derek wouldn’t have brought Stiles up here knowing his apartment was such a downer…

Stiles starts to forcefully pull the quilt from the bed. There’s definitely a piece of vital information Derek’s missing here. “Stiles… What exactly are you doing?”

Stiles’s picks up the pillows from the floor too. He gathers them protectively against his chest, the quilt spilling over in his arms. “Fuck my life. Fuck my life, man. I should go.”

Derek craves a few more words of explanation, but Stiles is already stalking back to the stairs. “Is there a reason you’re stealing my bedspread?”

“I know, I know, I’m a horrible person. I’ll reimburse you,” Stiles yells, half-way down the staircase already. A beat later there’s a loud, metallic resonance from his collision with the railing, and a crash.

Stiles is sitting on the floor when Derek rushes downstairs, legs entangled. Derek gently removes the hand Stiles presses to his left temple, inspecting the damage.

Stiles groans. “Okay, fine, you might as well know before this building kills me. I never planned to come to your classes, alright. You asked what I was doing here and I didn’t know what to say. I want to remember my dead mom? You asked me if I wanted to sign up, so I just went with it.” He picks guiltily at the frays of the quilt. “My mom made these, so people could use them when this was her dance studio. I used to nap under this blanket, up there in her office, when I wasn’t crashing her classes. From what I remember she really loved this place.”

“I had no idea.” Derek wants to gather Stiles in his arms, to wrap him up in the quilt burrito style and get him upstairs and patch the gash in his head – but Stiles retreats. The quilt pools to the floor between them when he rises to his feet.

“I should go. I just…” He waves tiredly at the offending quilt, “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

“Take it. It’s yours, not mine,” Derek states. “Do you want to use my bathroom? I’ve got a first aid kit.”

Stiles shakes his head, bites his lips thoughtfully. “Not, not a good idea. I have to go home. Talk to my dad.”

Derek nods. The weird thing is that Stiles is usually so amicable with the information-oversharing. Yet Stiles kept the fact that this was his mother’s dance studio for three months. His thoughts goes to the image of how Stiles was looking at him that very first day in the lobby. The expression on his face which Derek finally can identify correctly: bafflement. Stiles was here to get a glimpse of his mom’s former practice, nothing else.

Stiles doesn’t come back the day after. Or the day after that. He’s a no show for two weeks straight, and the semester is ending on Friday. Erica kind of hints she has Stiles’s number, but Derek’s convinced Stiles wouldn’t appreciate Derek bothering him. The realization that Stiles up and left the second he got what he wanted (closure?) is tough to swallow. The bitter taste is still there when Stiles shows up to the last class late December, and sees the note Derek has stuck on the wall.

Stiles blowing up and Derek being defensive, all in front of an audience, is not how Derek thought the reunion with Stiles would go.

Derek spends the weekend before Christmas running new tracks in the woods north of town. When the morning of December 25th arrives he brews coffee and drinks it sitting cross legged in his bed in a sliver of pale sunlight, facing the shelf.

“Merry Christmas.” He drinks from his cup.

He calls Laura and they talk for a while, then tries to meditate but the head-space he’s in resumes the quality of empty and alone when he listens to the silence in the loft below. Derek wonders if he should feel angry. He is finally out of fucks to give, except maybe when it comes to his yoga studio. At least he has—

A rattle downstairs brings him abruptly out of his thoughts.

The distinctive sound of patting feet crossing the floor of the studio. Several feet.

When Derek descends the staircase he’s dumb-struck by the sight of Boyd, who should be celebrating Christmas with his parents; Isaac, who Derek should’ve given an extra thought to; Erica, whose family life Derek doesn’t know that much about, and three others whose presence he has no idea how to reconcile with: Allison, a dark-haired boy holding her hand, and Stiles.

Derek descends the last two steps in Stiles direction before he thinks better of it, looking around and feeling caught in the spotlight.

“What are you doing here?”

”Do you honestly think I want to spend the holidays stuck at my parents’ house?” Boyd wonders.

Derek doesn’t know how to answer that, except he does, in his mind: Of course you would.

Boyd gives a short and dismissive head-shake. “Not so much. I doubt they’ve noticed I’m not in my room, and their idea of Christmas is too close to a wake for my liking. We were hoping we could spend it with you. Use the kitchen Stiles tells me you got up there.”

Derek nods an affirmative, and that’s enough for the confident smile to return to Boyd’s features – and okay, now they’re hugging.

It sets of a chain reaction. Isaac hugs him. Erica hugs him. It’s awkward, it’s weird as heck, but he humors them, even Allison’s boyfriend who gives him a bright “Hey” and an energetic shoulder-pat before he’s pulled back by Allison and stumbles over the huge net filled with volleyballs he’s holding (Allison’s boyfriend is an assistant gym teacher and also Stiles’s best buddy).

Allison hugs him and kisses his cheek: “My mom wishes you happy holidays. You know she would never say it in person.”

Derek will process this at a later date because Stiles is in his line of vision, with a sheepish look and a blush that deepens when Derek pulls him in instinctively. Derek lets go of Stiles after the first squeeze and light pressure of Stiles going lax against his chest. Stiles grins wryly and bounces his fist on Derek’s shoulder awkwardly, and it’s stated then: Stiles is back at pretending his feelings confession never happened. Derek thinks he’s conveying understanding – it’s okay, he’s happy they’re friends.

The day transpires a lot more cheerily after that – different than any other Christmases Derek has had, counting the ones in his childhood. Because the Hales never spent Christmas decorating a condemned loft turned yoga studio with garlands and candles, cooked an entire Christmas dinner in a tiny kitchen or by the way, used said Christmas decorated yoga studio to play dodgeball.

The dodgeball tournament turns out to be the bloodbath Derek’s yoga studio has been accustomed to lately. They have revolving team members and re-evolving teams due to small numbers, disloyalty within the ranks and frequent injuries: some sprained wrists, several head traumas, and a groin-hit that requires a long convalesce for Stiles, in fetus position on Derek’s bed upstairs.

They let him rest, but after twenty minutes Derek gets antsy and heads up the stairs.

“Are you cold?” he asks, holding the folded quilt in his hands.

Stiles looks wary and hopeful when Derek drapes it over his body, tugs his feet in and then – by the grip Stiles suddenly has of his shirt-chest – Derek lays down on the mattress so that they are face to face.

“I’m sorry I ran. I’m a coward who’s never asked someone out before.”

“You’re not. You came back. That—” I have no idea what that means, “—means a lot. I’m sorry for banning you.”

Stiles carefully grips his hand.

“The note was the most childish thing I’ve seen you do – I think I’m rubbing off on you. Message received, though.”

Derek looked at their interwoven fingers. “Can you explain to me again why you invade my privacy with Christmas cheer?”

Stiles grinned. “I had no choice. I would’ve come either way, but then I thought why sneak in like a criminal when I can do it in style? Your friends were more or less hanging on the lock already.”

“They’re not my friends,” Derek says, but the jolt he feels in his chest suggests otherwise.

“Then do you still want me to leave?”

Stiles looks at him, hopeful, and eagerly licks his lips. Derek reaches out to wipe sweat-crusted hair from his forehead, carefully minding the bruise he’s sporting. Stiles pulls him closer by the wrist, and they kiss, almost shyly.

“No,” Derek says, “but you’re on probation.”

The kisses last longer and longer, and Stiles arranges Derek’s arms around him before he throws the quilt over them both, along with a cautionary “mind the groin”. Heavy, warm fabric falls over Derek’s head, robbing him of his sight and swaddling them both in their own cave of intimacy. To keep his weight off Stiles’s sore areas proves difficult, so they roll over.

“Ready to make some new memories in this room?” Stiles makes himself comfortable on top of him, hips supported by Derek’s hands, ”I think I feel my junk recovering.”

That’s when Stiles’s head meets a projectile that smacks his forehead into the ridge of Derek’s nose. Stiles throws off the quilt and catches the red volleyball before it rolls down to the floor.

He raises it threateningly.

”Shit.” Erica ducks behind the stairs. “I was aiming for Derek!”

Stiles knees Derek in the stomach in effort to get off the bed. “Oh, it’s on, Reyes. Derek, you’re with me!”

“Coming.” Derek remains still for a moment, gazing up towards the ceiling and trying not to smile. He loses that fight.

#bewarethesmirk #stereksanta19 #*fic19 #*gifts19

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confidentweirdo · 7 years ago

Text

Of Pyramids, Fountains and Near-Death Experiences

Note: You thought you’ve seen the last of me with those Story Cubes? Nope. I’m still determined to continue this game, even though literally no one wants me to.

If you have no idea what’s going on - look here. Another example of my creative outburst - here. This time we have #sterek!

“You are not going!” Derek snapped, demonstrating his teeth.

“Oh, I am so going!” Styles snapped back.

Scott sighed, squeezed in between those two.

“Any help?” he asked the others.

Lydia, Peter and Erica looked at each other, nodded in total agreement and demonstratively opened three bags of popcorn, making themselves comfortable on the couch - experience of the last few days implied that those kinds of fights usually lasted at least for a few hours.

Scott hoped that Kira would be the one to help him out, but she was busy getting her toenails done by extremely concentrated Cora - everyone knew better than to interrupt that process.

Boyd and Isaac were the quiet ones; Scott looked at them, pleading for help, but those two were already making bets with overenthusiastic twins.

Malia was kind of busy with her homework and from the sounds she was making Scott deduced it was definitely math, which meant the only thing she was up to at the moment is separating someone’s head from its body.

Finally, Scott laid his eyes on Jackson, who was just scrolling through his social media. Making huge eyes, he nodded towards Stiles and Derek, who were still shouting at each other senselessly.

Jackson rolled his eyes, sighed theatrically, but said:

“Stilinski, for heaven’s sake, you have a broken leg! For once, just stay at home like a useless human-being and let the big guys… and girls,” he corrected himself quickly, shooting one glance towards Cora, whom for some unknown reason he feared to the point of absurdity, “handle the situation.”

Stiles frowned, “It’s a sprain.”

“I don’t care what it is, you still need either your walking stick or your not-really-boyfriend to move,” Jackson pointed out.

Derek smiled victoriously, glad that someone for once took his side.

“Shut up, Jackson,” only half-convincingly said Stiles, ignoring the certain part of the sentence he did not want to hear.

Scott breathed out. Jackson may be a bastard, but every tenth time he can actually be useful.

“Stiles, we’re going to Mexico,” Isaac pointed out, dealing the cards. “It’s not like you’re missing a trip to Disneyland.”

“Of course, it’s not!” Stiles shouted at his maximum lungs’ capacity and poked Liam with his cane. Stiles wouldn’t be Stiles unless he invented a way to torture people even if he couldn’t technically walk at the moment. “It’s so much cooler! You’re breaking into the center of the ancient pyramid to find an actual, real, one and only Fountain of Life! How can that even be compared to Disneyland?! Besides, we’re still going there on Isaac’s birthday, right?”

Stiles bit his tongue and immediately looked apologetic. Everyone in the room simultaneously groaned. That was supposed to be a surprise.

“Nice one, idiot,” Erica commented with her usual bitchy face.

“The point is,” Derek tried to outvoice the pack, “that you are not coming with us, Stiles. You’re just not and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Stiles only smiled in reply to that. Scott sighed again - unfortunately, he knew what it meant.

“If you drop me, I’m gonna bite your shoulder off,” Stiles warned Derek, while Hale was carrying him to the car, bridal style.

“You’re making me regret I didn’t chain you to the bathroom heater,” Derek smiled at him in reply. Anyone who has ever seen that grin could confirm that it gave them nightmares for months.

“Is that what love looks like?” Lydia asked in a loud whisper.

“I know my brother, he is smitten,” Cora shrugged.

“Well, in that case, I know Stiles,” Lydia insisted. “And yes, he’s into it, big time.”

“You do know that we can hear you, right?” Stiles shouted from the front seat.

(“Of course, he gets the front seat,” Isaac mumbled.

“You will too, sweetie. When you grow up,” Stiles promised him with a sugary smile. There were no further objections to that.)

“Yeah, that’s the whole point! Why would we talk about you when you can’t hear us?” said Lydia. She and Cora high fived each other.

It took them around three days to get to the destination point. They slept in motels twice, only for a few hours, to get to Mexico as soon as possible - most parents thought it was a short school trip and everyone needed it to stay that way.

Stiles was pretty quiet the whole trip - he borrowed at least a dozen books from Diton’s library and was constantly checking and then rechecking something. Derek tried to get a closer look on his notes, but the only thing he understood from a variety of different languages, symbols and ancient runes were the phases of the moon and a few pictures of the werewolves.

On the other hand, what did he expect? That Stiles was writing his English essay on the probably most dangerous road trip in his life? Derek snorted at that thought and let him be.

Stiles and him knew each other long enough to figure out other person’s likes and dislikes. For example, Stiles never put his legs on top of the glove compartment, even though Derek knew that it was his favorite position to ride in the car. He also didn’t seem to mind chatting all night long while Hale was driving, because he knew that otherwise Derek would start falling asleep. Betas often made fun of him for that, but Stiles would just always shush them and continue chattering enthusiastically.

On his part, Hale let him chose the music and fast food, made sure Stiles’ leg was always okay and in case it was obvious that he’s tired, they found a place to stay for the night. None of them spoke about those observations out loud, obviously. Mostly it was just glances, careful non-verbal remarks and silent support.

“We’ll be there in three hours,” Stiles noticed quietly, glancing at the GPS. He spoke very softly, trying not to wake the others up.

“Yeah,” Derek nodded. It’s not like he had a lot to say to that.

“Are you nervous?” Stiles asked, examining his face closely. Hale thought about it a little.

“Not really. Just worried a bit.”

“About what?”

“You, mostly,” he shrugged.

“Me?”

Derek chuckled when he heard a genuine surprise in Stile’s voice.

“Yes, you, Stiles. My pack knows how to protect themselves and each other. You, on the other hand…”

“…are completely useless and helpless,” Stilinski smiled brightly, but there was a hint of hurt in his eyes. “I know, I know, I got it, I’ve been told that only a few billion times.”

Derek smiled.

“I wouldn’t call you helpless, not in a million years. You are a man of many talents, Stiles. For example, you can always talk your opponent to death. I’m sure if I left you with some of our - preferably tied up - enemies, they will be begging for mercy in no time.”

“Shut up!” Stilinski punched Derek in the shoulder, but they both knew it was a pretend anger. In reality, Stiles was touched.

“You’re staying in the car, by the way,” Hale informed him calmly, mentally prepared for another fight.

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles nodded in agreement, examining his fingernails closely. He wasn’t even being sarcastic this time.

‘This is even worse than a wave of indignation,’ Derek thought to himself and sighed.

“Okay, Stilinki, where’s the catch?”

“What catch? There is no catch! I’ll just stay in the car, like you told me to…”

Derek was sniffing furiously.

“…I mean, there are so many of you guys, you don’t need my help! I’m sure you can read Nahuatl* hieroglyphs, because you’ve studied everything about the various kinds of traps Aztec people preferred, and you definitely have a few tricks up your sleeve on how to deal with aconite and mountain ash traps, and, well, what can a few special pentagrams against non-humans do? Blow you to pieces? That’s just funny, you guys are much smarter and stronger than that. You’ll be just fine!”

Stiles delivered this whole monologue, still concentrating on his manicure. Derek miraculously suppressed the desire to strangle that little asshole.

“Oh, one last thing! You do remember everything Diton told us about the ritual of scooping water in the Fountain, right? One wrong move and the whole operation goes down the drain, ‘cos the liquid will lose its properties,” Stiles informed him happily, making himself more comfortable on the passenger seat.

“Fine!” Derek roared, tightening his grasp on the wheel. “You can come with us. But if you die, that’s your problem!”

Stiles performed a victorious dance, and Hale felt like he is going to regret this decision very soon.

“Very soon” came, when Stiles miscounted his analgetic pills. He figured that he’ll have to walk or even run with his cane more than usual in the next twelve hours, so the obvious decision was to increase the dosage. After that, the reality shattered into tiny pieces.

He knew he did not lose his conscience, not even once, which was good, because otherwise someone will have carried him around, like a dead weight. That was definitely the last thing Stiles wanted. But he did remember falling into this weird trance from time to time and emerging from it when he was really needed. Mostly, Stiles thought, the feeling resembled being very very drunk. Well, that, plus dizziness, weakness and ringing in the ears.

He remembered the entrance to the pyramids clearly. Remembered tons of riddles and traps they had to solve and neutralize, remembered warning others about possible snares every few steps of their way. At some point, there was a whole set of traps against the werewolves and Stiles - being the only human of the pack - was beaming with pride.

“I just can’t help wondering: what would you do without me here, huh?” he mumbled, while sweeping aconite from the floor and ruining the prefect circles and pentagrams. “Stay at home, Stiles, all of you said. We’ll manage this without you, Stiles, you said. Ha! I would definitely like to see you try.”

The pack was watching him frowningly, most of them pacing back and forth, waiting for Stilinski to finish.

“Look out!” Scott shouted suddenly. Stiles turned his head to the sound but had no time to duck. He just followed the arrow with his eyes, motionless. It was aiming straight into his right eye and all he could think of was “wow Aztecs were really precise people.” And then, when the arrow-head was only a few centimeters from his face, Stiles had been pushed away and saw all the events in slow motion: Derek pushing him and covering Stiles’ body with his own bare arm; the arrow tearing the flesh of Hale’s said arm apart, damaging veins and arteries, probably reaching the bones and crushing them too; Derek growling, but still standing after that, his blood dripping on his clothes and floor. “The stains would be hard to get out,” Stiles thought melancholically. He wasn’t even really worried, because if the arrow-head had aconite in it, Derek would already be screaming with pain. Which meant it was just a regular arrow, and the werewolf regeneration is already taking care of that slight inconvenience. Stiles was just grateful that there was only one arrow in this trap, not five or ten.

“Stilinski!” Derek snarled at him, ripping the shaft of the arrow out of his arm. “Remind me to kill you later!”

Stiles shook his head, smiling at him with the warmest grin anyone saw that day.

“My hero,” he said with a chuckle, and then suddenly put his hand on Derek’s neck and pulled him into a kiss, being careful about Hale’s wounded arm. The kiss was slow, unhurried, very gentle and long-awaited.

The pack exchanged glances, but nobody said anything. Lydia shrugged when everyone stared at her, demanding an explanation, and Scott just smiled, looking at his best friend proudly.

Stiles broke the kiss and enthusiastically said:

“So, are we going to the Fountain or not?” and was the first one to start moving further into the next room.

The moment Stiles turned away from him, Derek’s face acquired a very smug smile. Cora couldn’t bare it anymore and immediately started laughing; that sound turned out to be very contagious and soon the whole pack followed her example.

“Oh, shut up!” Derek said, still beaming like a maniac. Stiles was way ahead of them now, checking up on some books of his.

After that Stiles didn’t remember much. Only the moment he was touching the Fountain (in his special gloves, because that thing’s magic was powerful as hell) and pouring the water into a few bottles for Diton’s closer examination.

The sun just started rising when they left the pyramids, exhausted. Obviously, they didn’t get much sleep that night, but it was still decided to pack and leave as soon as possible. After all, there is no sleep deprivation a good cup of coffee can’t cure.

Stiles was sitting on the grass near the car, sipping on his Starbucks and thinking that his life was pretty good at the moment. He survived the night in the pyramids, didn’t get lost, saved his friends’ lives a few times and got the magic substance they were looking for. Oh, and he didn’t get shot, thanks to Derek. Moreover, his painkillers were still kicking, just without any special effects now. Life was most definitely good.

“Hey!” said Scott, flopping down near him.

“Hey,” answered Stiles, enjoying the first morning sun rays on his face.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m… okay, dude. Why do you ask?”

“Do you… remember anything from last night?”

“Scottie, I was there, you know.”

McCall looked uncomfortable. Stiles smiled mischievously. “It totally wasn’t your idea to have this conversation, Scottie, was it?” he thought to himself.

“Okay, true, technically you were, but in your case, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“There were moments where I was completely conscious. And then there might have been a few where I… where I wasn’t,” Stiles offered. He also noticed that Derek was now definitely eavesdropping on their conversation. He was packing something in the car fifty feet away from them, but stopped now, listening carefully.

“Let me guess, kissing Hale happened during the unconscious faze?”

Stiles couldn’t really see Derek’s face from behind, but he noticed the strained muscles of his neck and back.

“Nope!” Stilinski said, much louder than it was necessary. “The most conscious decision of my life, Scottie.”

Derek’s posture immediately relaxed and it seemed like he was finally able to breathe. Stiles grinned broadly, watching him. He might not see Derek’s face, but he could practically feel Hale’s radiant smile from afar.

*Nahuatl - known historically as Aztec language (honestly Googled it, sorry if anything’s wrong here)

P.S. If there are some fandoms or pairing you want to be represented in the game - feel absolutely free to let me know.

P.P.S. Yeah, the quality of gif is absolutely shitty, but to my defense - I was really drunk, okay? Next time it’ll be much better.

My usual disclaimer: no, I am not a native speaker. I can only imagine how many mistakes this post has but I swear to Merlin I did my best. If there are any errors that make you feel uncomfortable - I am very, very open to good criticism, so again feel free to message me.

#story cubes #story cubes game #Sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #derek/stiles #teen wolf #OTP #flaff #humor #adventures #no one can stop me #one shot #and my favorite tag #idiots in love #fanfiction #pyramids #cane #fountain

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