#stiles stop saying things like this to her

[liliaeth]

#aidia for sure!!#i dont think any team with scott would win and isaac doesnt have the backbone to look him in the eyes and go “focus!!!!!”#i do understand dethan like i think danny would be good but i just dont think they would care about winning#lydia on the other hand wants to win and would 100% scream and throw orders at aiden or even throw him off her team if hes not good#she would win your honor#teen wolf#lydia martin#me and prev we get each other 🤝🤝

I'd say the opposite. Scott's the strategic thinker, the one who plans things out and sticks to that plan. he's the one who stays focused on a target. And he'd keep Isaac on track.

It's not like Scott is Stiles who'd get distracted by pretty much everything. Nor does Scott have Stiles impulsiveness.

The only thing that might stop Scott and Isaac, would be Scott's tendency to overthink things, and to question himself too much.

Danny and Ethan would distract one another too much.

But yeah, Lydia would probably win; because Lydia won't lose no matter whom she's stuck with.

The Bake-off is, in this instance: 1 cake, 1 batch of muffins or cupcakes, and 1 misc. baked good, e.g. pie, bread, etc. Every allied character not competing are the judges.

Also feel free to share what baked goods you think the couple you chose would make! Or what all of them would make. Or what the judges' opinions would be. Or just vote and do nothing else (It's not that serious of a poll lol, do as thy please as long as it's civil)

[htsdfferent]

❝ i'm sick and tired of being called 'mortal' like, you don't know that. neither do i. i have never died even ONCE. nothing has been proven yet. stop making assumptions. it's rude. ❞ stiles @ lydia fr

eyes blink slowly at the textbook laying open in front of her, as she listens to him. she shouldn't necessarily be surprised by his words. yet, she finds herself at a loss for words for a moment. she drags her gaze towards him, her eyebrows furrowing as she looks up at him. "how are you considered the smart one, again ?"

/ @fatesalign ; a meme i am too lazy to look for.

[star--stilinski]

I would absolutely LOVE to request a buzzcut stiles smut omg😭

If you are comfortable and if this is not too much detail could you write something about Stiles being insecure of his buzzcut thinking it makes him unattractive but when he tells his other bsf/reader she’s like flabbergasted and tells him how hot it makes him and it makes him all cocky. Then he’d probably like ask her is she’s serious and when she says yes finally act on his feelings. Maybe soft smut? If that is okay

HALLELUIAH YES GAWDDDD i love this sm omg

☆

stiles frowns at his reflection. scott is ranting in the school bathroom again, but it's all stuff stiles has already heard before and he's distracted anyway. he runs an absent hand over his short hair before following a still-rambling scott out of the bathroom and down the hall.

it's been getting on his nerves lately, how slow his hair is growing. he thought it was pretty cool at first, until he was slapped in the face with the reality of his best friend getting girls left and right and leaving stiles completely dry. not that it's scott's fault- he's just easy to get jealous of with this kind of thing.

"dude, are you even listening?" scott abruptly stops and whirls on stiles. "you've been dead silent for, like, three minutes."

"yeah, i heard you. but it's a little hard to care about your girlfriend strife when she actively wants to sleep with you. speaking of,"

allison is leaning against a locker, watching scott with a dreamy look. she waves and smiles softly, leaving scott to return the smile-wave combo with a lot less charisma.

"listen," stiles sighs, trying to keep the bite of envy out of his tone, "you probably just need to talk to her. girls love confidence. just, i dunno," he waves wildly with his hands. "do that."

scott squints at him. "i think that might be the worst advice you've ever given me."

"worse than killing derek?"

"possibly. now, i'm gonna go-" scott throws a look towards allison and swallows thickly, "figure that out. i'll see you."

stiles calls after him; "don't be an idiot! remember i'm living vicariously through you right now!"

once scott and allison are far enough down the hall, he rubs a hand over his hair again and huffs. stupid, stupid freshman stiles and his bad hair decisions.

"you're gonna rub right through your skull."

"GAH!" stiles jumps back from you, snapped out of his spiraling thoughts. you laugh at him behind your hand, looking up through your pretty lashes. "jesus, your footsteps are like feathers. i need to put a bell on you."

that makes you frown, shoulder-checking him as you start walking. "you're just not used to anything other than two-left-feet scott mccall. i have perfectly regular footsteps."

he jogs to catch up with you as you make your way to the school parking lot, eyeing your choice of shorts. your legs being out is a big plus for his racing mind today.

"hey, you busy today? scott ditched me to go play loverbirds and i don't want to do my homework." he hums, pushing one of the heavy doors open and letting you through.

"hmm, that depends, do you have food at your house?"

"not even a little," he smirks at the almost-yes as you both trot through the empty lot towards his jeep. "that's why we're getting drive thru."

"who's paying?"

"who do you think?"

you cheer excitedly as he unlocks the jeep.

☆

you're sat criss-cross on stiles' bed as he paces, tracking his movement with your eyes. he's on a tangent about scott, actually, and how his decision-making skills are subpar. you're listening intently with a tilted head, watching his hands flex as he talks, and the way his biceps bulge without his flannel on, and how his jawline is so sharp-

"and girls are confusing, y'know? sorry, no offense, it's just-" this catches your attention, making your eyes flit up to his as they dart around the room. "it's just that you're all so... so... what do you guys even want? can't be money, because scott has a girlfriend. can't be personality, because jackson has a girlfriend. definitely can't be looks, because i'm pretty sure greenburg is going out with abby right now."

he sighs and turns on you, taking a dangerous step closer to the bed. his brow is upturned, eyes pleading, lips parted.

"it's this stupid buzzcut, isn't it?"

you blink, just once, before squinting. "what?"

"my hair, it's so-" he pushes a frustrated hand through it, and his jaw clenches. "so not hot."

and when he says it, with his narrowed eyes all sharp and his pink lips pressed together, you think for a moment he must be joking. "...what?"

he turns his glare onto you. "you know what i mean, okay? it's unattractive, it must be. i mean, i go completely unnoticed-"

"wait, you actually mean to tell me you think your buzzcut is ugly?"

stiles huffs, clearly not liking the bluntness of his feelings being laid out. "that it makes me ugly, yeah."

this makes you pause. maybe you're a minority, but when stiles drives his jeep and starts talking fast about something nerdy, you imagine climbing into his lap and making him crash the car. one time you two were arguing while he was in his lacrosse uniform and you genuinely wanted to offer to suck his dick. and even right now, with his too-tight t-shirt and his frustrated face, you want to ask him to take his frustration out on you... in- in a hot way. you may have gone a little far with that one-

"would you stop looking at me like that?" he snips, eyes darting over your whole face and then your body like he's looking for the off switch. you frown up at where he stands.

"like what? i'm just in disbelief."

he rolls his eyes. "like you're gonna tackle me. it's weird, after what i just told you."

"well, maybe i do want to tackle you." oh shit, that was supposed to stay in your head! quick, make it look like it was on purpose! "the buzzcut doesn't make you ugly."

his face screws up in confusion. "well, then, what does it make me?"

"hot."

you both kinda falter, like there's nowhere to go from here. his mouth gapes open and you watch his cheeks grow pinker, much similar to your own. and since you've already dug the hole and he doesn't seem too bothered, you make it an inch or two deeper.

"you're pretty hot, stiles. i mean, you hang around scott and stay in your room, so it's not like you're around enough girls for them to tell you. and you never ask me, so... that's probably why you're unaware."

he gapes at you, a hand going to his hair like it has a whole new purpose to him. "i didn't know asking you was an option...."

"apparently it is." you shrug. your oversized t-shirt and shorts suddenly seem not pretty enough for where this conversation seems to be going, but it's too late to linger on that thought now. anyway, his eyes are on you like sniper lasers... or something... and he takes another step closer to you.

"okay, um... i'm asking you."

you raise your eyebrows. what, he just wants you to lament on how sexy he is? you're not that easy, he's probably going to use that information to chase the skirts of some long, skinny-legged girl at school. besides, there's not even that much to-

"please." he hums.

you swallow, turning your face away from him. "okay, well, you've got the whole secretly smart guy thing going on. and your nose is really nice. mix that with the way your eyes are...-"

"my eyes are what?"

you glance up to glare at his impatience. he tilts his head at you, and you swear you can see a mischievous glint in those stupid, stupid (aggravatingly sexy) eyes. bastard.

"they're, um, provocative. when you're frustrated. or focused." you turn your eyes awayyyy from his reaction, for your own safety. "and your jaw is nice, so. plus your hands-"

"my hands?"

"are you gonna keep interrupting me? 'cause i'll stop." you gripe up at him, but looking back up was a big mistake. his cheeks are tinted pink but his mouth is quirked up into a knowing little smirk, like your embarrassment is suddenly clay for him to play with. yeah, no. you are not getting stuck in this position with stiles. "okay, yeah, that's enough."

"no, nonononono wait." he crosses the rest of the distance to crouch in front of the bed, looking up at you. "i'm sorry. i'm just not used to this. or you, like this." his hand rests atop your knee. "i won't even react. keep going, just a bit?"

you pout and look at his hand as his thumb rubs back and forth on your bare skin. it's warm and relaxing and makes your whole body burn hot when his hand inches up your thigh just barely. you look back up at him, but his face is earnest, promising. you sigh.

"your buzzcut makes you look good."

his eyebrows inch up his forehead.

"really good."

stiles grins.

☆

you're not really sure if you left stiles' house or escaped it, after that. all you know is that last night did some serious damage to your ego... and some serious maintenance to his. as you leave school, your mind replays the series of events and the blush that has been plaguing your cheeks and making you overheat returns.

dammit! you had to avoid stiles all day because of this stupid embarrassment. which proved difficult, since you guys had plenty of classes together and ate lunch with each other every day since forever. you slap your cheeks as you shoulder your way past the school doors and into the parking lot, glancing over at the field where lacrosse practice is in full swing.

your eyes catch on something odd, and coach's voice fades into the background when the image registers in your mind. stiles is leaning on the fence with his helmet in hand, sweat making his skin glow and a cocky look on his face. he's leaned over the fence, chatting up three soccer girls, who all seem very interested in whatever he's saying.

this, unfortunately, does not make you happy. but alas, what are you going to do? pull him away by the ear and chastise him for... talking to girls? you just wish you hadn't said anything about his stupid buzzcut (which looks unrealistically good with his lacrosse uniform).

all three of the girls throw their heads back laughing. and it's not even, like, pretty girl flirtatious laughter. it's loud, and one of the girls slaps her friend's arm. you want to rip the arm off.

but you keep walking instead, because you decided the bus was too much and walking home was the best option. better than standing in the parking lot, staring like a creep as your best friend (who you want to messy-make-out with) finally gets girls (who you want dead).

this is going to be a pathetic walk home.

you barely get to the end of the parking lot when you hear stiles shout your name as loud as he can.

part of you wants to stomp your feet and cry, or ignore him (as if the echo didn't reverberate off of the school building), or flip him off. like a middle schooler. because right now, you don't want to deal with the humiliation of telling stiles (through mumbles and attitude) how hot he is and how badly you want him to fuck you into his mattress, only for him to use you as matchmaker for hotter, more experienced girls.

but you're not a child, and he's still your best friend. plus, his lacrosse uniform.... yum.

jesus christ, you need a drink. there is no way that thought just consciously happened.

you drag your feet walking back, and the soccer girls skip off with their ponytails swinging. stiles is smiling all big and bright when you finally reach him. you are not smiling at all. "you needed me?"

"yeah, i wanted to know if you were coming over tonight." he stands taller than you, and his buzzcut looks so touchable right now, you want to bend him down to your level and run your fingers through it. you blink up at him as you stare, and the silence stretches. his hand comes up to the back of his neck. "uhh, just 'cause i could help you with the homework we skipped yesterday-" he interrupts himself. "are you okay?"

"i'm fine. for both. the homework and the question." you press your thumb into your palm and turn towards the lacrosse field, away from his searching eyes and worried lips. "see you tomorrow, yeah?"

you start to back away from him when he steps forward, the fence catching him from coming closer to you. "well i just- you should come over. i want you to."

"stiles, i can't wait for lacrosse practice to end-"

"i'll skip. they don't even need me." he clenches his jaw when you look back at him. there's a determination in his eyes you've never seen directed at you, and it makes your stomach flip. you've never fell victim to being his prey before, when he wants something so he gets it. the feeling is unrivaled. his lips part. "please."

you can feel your cheeks flush. why does that always have to work on you?

"okay, alright, no need to beg." you nod your head to his jeep, on the far side of the parking lot. "let's go."

he does a subtle fist pump that he doesn't think you see, and hops the fence to follow you, leaving literally everything in the locker room except his car keys. "how was your day?"

you glance up at him, but only for a second when you see how he's staring. all curious and excited, probably from the attention he was getting from those soccer girls. your lips press together in distaste before you even realize.

"it was fine." you shrug, watching as he gets ahead of you to open the passenger door. "got an A on mrs. martin's project."

stiles hums in approval, which may or may not make your lower stomach fizz with butterflies. then he closes your door and makes the short jog to his side, clambering inside. "good job. you hungry?"

you shake your head as he pulls out of the parking lot, doing your best to ignore the vein in his neck when he looks over his shoulder as he backs out, hand resting on your seat. yeah, you totally don't notice that. "no thanks, i'm okay."

"are you sure? i didn't see you at lunch. or english. or-"

"i wasn't feeling well today."

this shuts him up, but not in a good way. you feel his eyes on you, even as he drives, and it makes you squirm a bit. but he doesn't comment on your icy tone, and you drive the rest of the way in silence.

☆

in fact, you're silent all the way up to his room, where you toss your bag in the corner and toe your shoes off. stiles huffs out a sigh and scrubs over his buzzcut self-consciously, tracking you with his eyes as you trail aimlessly around his room and admire the things on his walls.

he's been dying to ask it. he has to. the girls on the soccer team said... he squeezes his eyes shut while you're turned away, repeating what they said to him in his head for nth time. just be honest, and confident. that's what you'd want.

stiles takes bold strides across the room right up to you. he gives you enough room to turn around and face him, but not much more.

"hey."

you scrunch your face up just a bit in confusion. "...hi?"

he clears his throat, his jaw flexing on it's own accord. "the...- okay, when you said my buzzcut makes me look really good-"

"stiles," you scoff and push past him, walking to the middle of his room as a means of escape. "i'm not doing this with you."

"no, wait, doing what?" he scurries around you to face you again, holding you lightly by the shoulders. "waitwaitwait. you gotta let me-"

"no. stop." you're embarrassed, he can tell now. the way you turn your face away and narrow your brow, he never knew he'd be able to read you so well. but he's doing it now, and he's not happy with what he's seeing.

"no, you stop. let me ask you what i want to ask, alright?" he huffs through his nose, and watches as you seem to come to attention. it gives him an odd thrill to see you react so readily when he corrects you. "are you gonna listen to me?"

you glare up at him for a second too long before nodding slowly. he nods too, and in a impatient, annoyed tone, he grumbles: "good."

and then stiles watches your eyes flicker as you fluster much more than he expected. he didn't think much of the words when he was saying them, but here you both are, weirdly into it. he blinks hard to clear his head.

"when you said my buzzcut makes me look 'really good'," he repeats, "did you mean really good to you or to other people?"

he feels you shift your weight by the movement of your shoulders. looking away, you hum, "i don't understand why this is important to you."

stiles narrows his eyes. "yes you do. you know you're into me and you just wont say it."

you snap your eyes to his and take a challenging step forward. "who said i'm into you? just because i said you're good looking doesn't mean you get to use me as some matchmaking machine. i won't inflate your ego just so you can hook up with popular girls, stiles. you can't-"

"i'm not asking so you can inflate my ego." stiles takes a step towards you, making you step back. "i'm asking because i want to know if you were serious." another step. "because i want you to think that about me." another step, and your back hits the wall.

you watch, doe eyed, as stiles brings a hand up to push some of your hair away from your face. his eyes meet yours, but dip down when your lips part. he swallows.

"so," stiles hums, towering over you. "were you being serious?"

stiles watches in awe as your pretty mouth forms around his new favorite word.

"yes."

he half expects himself to tear both of your clothes off and go wild. but his body moves on its own accord; taking your face gently in his hands, kissing you like you're made of glass. when you reciprocate eagerly, he feels his pants start to strain. fuck. seriously? can you please pretend you've had at least some action before?

he can't believe he has to talk his dick down when he's kissing you.

pressing you back up against his bedroom wall, he feels goosebumps rise as your nails rake lightly over his buzz, and it makes him hum. stiles gently removes one hand from the curve of your jaw and slides it onto your hip instead. he loves your hips. he loves them even more when his hands are on them, apparently, because the feeling of it is otherworldly.

what's even better, though, is when your tongue collides with his and you let out a small noise. it's high-pitched and whiney, and it almost makes him finish prematurely. he licks eagerly into your mouth to try and draw it out of you again, but you seem to silence yourself from embarrassment. this does not fly with stiles. his knee draws forward and splits your thighs apart, resting in between them, and he moves down to kiss at your neck. he'll make you whine again, he's sure of it.

"wait," you breathe out. he almost doesn't catch it, too busy with the way your skin feel on his lips and how he has you up against his wall, breathless and pliant. but he pulls back (albeit reluctantly) and meets your dazed look with one of his own.

"what? is this okay? do you wanna stop?" he might actually die on the spot if you want to stop. but he'd do it, for you. his hand massages your hip where he's got you gently pinned, and he watches as it visibly makes you sway (swoon, but you'd never admit that).

"no, no. but, your dad-"

"he's out."

"he could get home anytime."

"we can be quick. we don't have to do anything more than this right now."

"stiles," you're laughing at him. it's airy, and mostly just a teasing smile, but you're still laughing at him. "are you just saying that to get me in your bed? i mean..."

your thigh, which is in between his because of his being in between yours, slides up and presses lightly against his hard-on. his jaw goes slack as the unexpected pressure washes pleasure all over his nerves, and his shoulders bend over for a moment as his hips react on their own. he stops himself, thoroughly embarrassed, and glares at you. you giggle behind your hand, raising an eyebrow. "how're you gonna say you don't want anything below the collar with that going on?"

he pushes your thigh away, shaking his head. "i never said i didn't want anything more, i said we don't have to do anything more. plus, you're the one making the noises and touching me and... so, if anything, this isn't even my fault." stiles gestures vaguely to his dick.

"i'm flattered." you deadpan, before your hand trails from his chest to his stomach. he watches in awe, still half disbelieving that he got you here. you hook your fingers into his waistband and look up at him. "promise your dad wont walk in on us?"

"can you not talk about my dad while turning me on?" he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "swear on my life, you have nothing to worry about."

you nod and lean back against the wall, tugging him by his pants to meet you there. he follows suit, lining his body against yours as he kisses you, hands on your hips with yours running through his buzz. he captures your lower lip in his teeth and gently as he can, and you make another short, high-pitched noise again. his dick twitches in his pants.

"you wanna, um," you suck in a breath as he kisses your neck, "move to the bed?"

"yes," he sighs, and immediately pulls your hips forward and directs you to his bed. when you drop onto it and scoot back, stiles hesitates. your hair is a bit messy, lips are full, and your eyes have a glint in them he's never seen before. he's assaulted with the thought of you being his wife and having his kids and growing old and dying together, and then he blinks it away. jesus christ, you're a powerful woman.

he wants to do anything to make you look like this all the time. needy, pretty, all your insecurities and doubts kissed right off of your lips, even if it's just for a bit. is this what being horny is going to be like for him now? is he gonna be a sap when you want to fuck?

stiles crawls over you slowly, laying you back against his pillows. you're excited and it shows, and you're both smiling when he kisses you this time.

☆

he's a mess for days after, head full of the faces you make when he touches you just right, the noises coming from your mouth when you finish. the feeling of skin on skin, the picture perfect look of you wearing his shirt after. it takes scott about two and a half seconds to scrunch up his nose and make a disgusted face at stiles when he starts thinking it. your beauty is just seeping out of him, like he soaked you up and now every werewolf in a one hundred mile radius can smell the lovesick puppy on him.

you want to go on dates, too. real ones, all the time, and you think he's hot and cute and sometimes pretty, which is confusing to him but he likes it anyway. and he wants to save up his money so he can take you to a fancy restaurant. and he is so whipped.

which he's fine with. as long as it's for you. honestly, he's fine with almost anything, as long as it's for you.

☆

i didn't write smut and i apologize but my writing process is to blackout while my fingers fly across my keyboard like i'm a hacker spy until i come to and there's a story on the screen. so. smut didn't happen naturally so it ain't gonna happen at all, i guess. i dunno. ask writing star, not editing star. sorry i've been so absent, holidays is super busy with extended family and such. wish me luck. xoxo!!!

☆

BONUS!! stiles asks some poor soccer girls for help before you went to his house after lacrosse practice. the advice is... really somethin'.

"hey, um, lily?" he had to guess the name of the girl jogging past, but he got it right. she stopped and approached him skeptically, glancing at her two friends in front of her.

"yeah?" she threaded her fingers through the fence as he strided the rest of the distance to her. her two friends had begun making their way over as well. she had to squint past the sun as she stared at him. "what's up?"

"hi, hey, we have bio together. fourth period? i've sat behind you all sememster?"

her face showed no recognition.

"...anyway, i have a question. actually, i can ask all three of you. since you're, um, girls."

her two friends had approached at that point, and looked equally as put off by stiles as lily did. he cleared his throat and started on his ramble:

"so, let's say i'm best friends with this girl, and i like her. like, a lot. and she's kinda totally way out of my leauge, but we never talk about it because she doesn't see things like that anyway. and one day i get on a rant about girls and how confusing they are because, y'know," he gestured to his face like it was a tell of itself, "and she says that my biggest insecurity- err, physically- is actually really hot. and she says my hands are sexy. and my eyes are seductive. and she's like, kinda blushing a lot? but she blushes anyway about stuff around me so it doesn't really-"

"she likes you." one of lily's friends piped up behind her. "if that's what you're asking."

"are you sure? i'm not her type, plus-"

"dude," sighed the other one. the three girls shared a look, making stiles gulp. "girls don't call guys' hands sexy unless they're dying to have them in their mouth."

"mazie!" lily whirled around to slap her friend's shoulder, which did absolutely nothing to censor her. when she turned back to stiles, it was apologetically. "sorry, but she's got a point."

he slumped onto the fence in relief. "you think so? i want to put my hands in her mouth, if she's asking for that."

"nice." mazie nodded as the other two girls made noises of disgust. ignoring them, mazie continued. "honestly, she probably likes you but thinks you don't like her. especially if you're chatting up three soccer girls, looking like that."

the only girl stiles hadn't gotten the name of nodded solemly, and lily put her hands on her hips, determined. "okay, skinhead. how're you gonna confess?"

stiles smiles awkwardly. "uh, i'll just tell her when she comes over tonight?"

lily barked out a laugh, and her two friends followed suit. it was loud, like three crows making fun of him while they toss their heads back. it ended abruptly, too, and lily glared daggers at him in the silence. "no, idiot."

stiles whimpered a little "oh."

"girls love confidence." the unnamed girl declared, tilting her head. "when i flirt with girls i always make them like, say how hot i am. always gets them going."

"god," lily scrunched her nose, "are you both ovulating? we do not need to know all of that."

"so... what should i do?" stiles blinked at them, and they refocused their attention on him.

"be confident. be honest. that's always a rare, and hot, trait in a guy." lily said, before her eyes roved over him analytically. "anyway, you're attractive. it'll be fine."

"he's attractive?" the unnamed girl said, making all three of them laugh again. lily slapped her arm, and stiles let himself get distracted as his eye caught on someone walking across the parking lot.

oh, it's you.

his body feels a bit warmer, buzzing with nervous energy, as he shouts your name.

☆

[casually-eat-my-soul]

The absolute sheer brilliance that would have been stiles and Lydia being bitchy best friends is super underrated. It’s diabolical/mad scientist friendship that sends people running in fear.

Like instead of falling in love with Lydia because she says something super smart, stiles just squints his eyes and rebuffs her. Bam Frienemies until they commit a crime together and instant best friends/siblings.

Ignore the whole Lydia being a banshee thing, like Lydia getting bite in season one instead and turning into a werewolf and best friend stiles. The dynamic would be unmatched. Her and stiles would have had that shit packed up in under an episode and maybe a half if they stop for coffee.

The only thing I’m not sure of is if Derek would have remained alpha because Lydia could have easily killed Peter herself. (I’m going to go with yes Derek does, as hale puppy pack has a special place in my hearts)

Derek wouldn’t have had the chance to even remotely fail because 1. Lydia knows that stiles is in love with him and refuses to let her best friend date a loser. 2. That is her alpha and she refuses to have a loser as her alpha.

Overprotective Werewolf Lydia and jealous Derek also would have been the funniest dynamic. Werewolf lydia and magic stiles would have been so so good.

[seasprincess]

Hi Rosie! I love the chemistry post you did with Stiles

I would like to request Stiles sneaking into reader's room through the window because they were sick and didn't come to school. I feel like he may just buy/bring a bunch of medicine regardless if they'll help their sickness in hopes that one of them would work and takes care of reader and gives them his company.

And as always, if something doesn't interest you it's okay not to write it! I hope you have a nice day and a good Thanksgiving if you celebrate it <3

warnings: None just fluff!!

Stiles Stilinski cares more about his girlfriend than anyone else. Even himself. Shown by the way he’s currently climbing through his girlfriend’s window even though he could get sick from even being in the same room with her.

But of course Stiles will not take ‘I don’t want you getting ill’ as a warning and will just do what he wants. Nothing out of character there.

“Now, the lady in the pharmacy was not helpful with what I should get so I just picked up a shit tone.” Stiles finally gets his body through the window. It’s not the first time he’s come through this entrance. As much as your dad likes him, he sometimes doesn’t let him in. And seeing as you’re ill there is a high chance Stiles will be turned away to let you rest. But who’s ever said rest cures illness?

Well everyone. But not the point.

You roll over and slowly start to open your eyes as you see your dorky boy friend stood there. Plastic bag in hand, full of ‘goodies’.

Stiles makes his way over to you before placing a hand on your head. Feeling the heat radiating off it onto his hand.

“Missed you in school today.” His hand slowly starts to stroke your hair as he looks at you. As pretty as you are to him you’re not looking your best right now.

You look like shit to be quite frank, but in his eyes, you’re so gorgeous. Even with your messy hair and puffy eyes.

“I woke up like an hour ago.” You say as he look at him, rubbing your eyes as he places the bag of pills on your bed before placing a soft kiss to your head.

After a couple more strokes or your cheek he removes his hand to rustle through the bag and begin taking out the different pills.

“This one is for headaches. I think. There’s a brain on it so I guessed. Then this one is for stomach-”

Stiles continues to yap on about the different pills and the different effects. And as much as you like hearing him talk, your head is pounding, stomach churning and you feel so ill that him talking about it is very much not helping.

“Stiles baby.” You place your hand on his as he stops talking. Eyes turning to you with a look in his eyes. Love. “As much as I appreciate Doctor Stiles, the best thing that can help me is cuddling you and a movie or something.”

Stiles smiles and rubs the back of his head, realising he was going overboard on the collection of different pain reliefs and other health benefits.

But that’s when he pulls out something else from the bag. A bigger packet.

“Good thing I brought the best medicine.” He says as he holds the bag of chocolate up. A smile forming on your face as he lays down next to you and hands you them.

“Thank you.” You whisper quietly before he wraps his arm around you and kisses your head, ready to watch whatever you want to.

Because he’s a good boyfriend.

a/n: I love this little ask as i was recently ill lol and happy thanksgiving! i’m thankful for dylan obrien

tags- @inlovewithdob @allydiass @mayfieldss

[teencopandthesourwolf]

WOLF BOY

when ao3 goes down, we write tumblr fic... now on ao3 HERE lol

i used the 15/11/24 @sterekdrabbles challenge for this. the prompt words were GREEN, REACH and SCATTER. i'm also tagging @sterekdrabblesgonelong as it's around 1K words and therefore definitely a drabble gone long lol.

it's a spark!stiles slash derek whump sort of affair, just so you know what you're reading xp

.

The dagger is almost within his reach—so very nearly grabbable.

Other than being eight years old in a hospital room with the smell of rotting flowers clinging to the back of his throat, Stiles doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more than this.

Again, Derek hacks out, “Just run, Stiles!”

Again, Stiles answers no—only this time, it's not with his voice but a yellow-green vine of pure light that extends from his fingertips as he pleads with each beat of his heart for the universe to help him, the tendrils stretching, stretching, then victoriously winding themselves around the handle of the blade. 

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, now with his actual voice, and then the vine of his will is pulling the knife flush into his grip. 

He looks up at the hunter, their face a billboard of surprise, before a shriek rips itself from her belly at the very same time Derek roars from where he's tethered and bound, the wolfsbane-laced chains melting further into his flesh as he tries in vain to once again break free.

Then the evil bastard is flinging herself at Stiles—and straight into the dagger aimed at her solar plexus that his light sends sailing across the cave, plunging it deep into her breast.

It might not be bullseye, but it does the trick.

As she drops to the dusty ground like a discarded ragdoll, the other two hunters' heads snap like whiplash to where Stiles is sprawled, a look of pure terror marring their faces.

The cowardly fuckers drop their weapons and scatter, leaving Stiles and Derek alone—other than the dead woman at their feet—in the large cave they'd dragged Derek into a few hours ago.

Derek's wrung out, and beaten down, but alive. 

At once, Stiles scrambles to his feet to get over to where the ʼwolf is chained up, almost falling back down again when his probably sprained ankle gives way beneath him. 

“Stop fucking hurting yourself,” Derek hisses, and for once in Stiles's insane life he wishes he could gnash his teeth and roar in response, and it have an effect that would be anything other than ridiculous. 

“Oh my god,” he protests instead. “I've just saved your offensively pretty ass with my new spark's apparently awesome Gio-Ju-ju, a-hole, so how ʼbout we be a little less sourwolf and a lot more gratefulwolf to ol’Stilesy boy here, hmm?” he sasses, finding the key to the padlock that's bolted to Derek's chains on the flat rock where his flashlight got dropped when confiscated by one of the hunters. 

Stiles feels petulant, and justified in that petulance as he discards the now unlocked padlock. Then he feels a little wrong-footed when Derek quietly mumbles, “Thank you,” because the guy sounds both in a considerable amount of pain and genuinely grateful to Stiles.

Stiles sighs and kneels down to start prizing the chains away from Derek's red-raw, still-smoking skin, the ʼwolf's forever-stoic face giving away nothing of the hurt he's obviously suffering at the cruel hands of the aconite still desperately trying to seep its way into his body.

“You don't have to do that for me, you know,” Stiles says carefully, hinting at Derek's display of endurance.

Derek's eyes flicker from mid-space to Stiles's face, and Stiles suddenly notices that their heads are actually dizzyingly close.

He swallows, and the sound of it echoes around the cave as if mocking him. 

The second he peels away the last link in the chain attached to Derek's skin, and before Derek can push him away, Stiles brings a hand to Derek's throat to feel for his pulse. 

When determined fingers find it, Derek's face does a thing that Stiles hasn't seen it do before; it's this combination of incredulous and vulnerable, and is so unprecedented, and so beautiful, that Stiles sort of wants to cry about it. 

“You can hear mine,” he superfluously reminds Derek, before saying what he really wants to. “It's not fair I don't get to know—that you're alive, I mean. Like, I know I can see it but… The tactile reassurance? That's, uh, you know, kind of nice, too.” 

Man, he spends way too much time with werewolves. 

Then, when he licks at his dry lips and Derek's pulse quickens under his fingertips, Stiles is so much more than simply placated.

Taking a steadying breath, he feels a million trillion miles away from anything even remotely resembling steady.

He studies Derek's face some more for confirmation of his suspicion, and finds something akin to bashful swimming amid the swirls of those gorgeous seafoam eyes.

Derek likes him back?

Stiles sinks his teeth into his bottom lip; Derek's pulse starts to race. 

Amazingly, it seems Stiles isn't alone in the want he feels deep in his gut, and as it grows and spreads to his extremities, his fingers and toes now tingling with it, he reckons he's maybe beaten-up and bleeding out and half-braindead enough to have the balls to actually do something about it. 

It must be biological, he thinks as he licks at his lips again, that his body somehow knows exactly what to do to hopefully get Derek to do exactly what Stiles wants him to—lick Stiles' lips for him, that is—without him making an actual fully-formed decision on the matter.

Although as soon as he's thinking that, the decision to kiss Derek is unequivocally made—even if it's going to get him shoved into the dirt for trying. 

He's about to lean in when one of Derek's already beginning-to-heal hands stops him by bracing his shoulder. 

“I can smell your pain, Stiles,” he says. “Let me help.”

Stiles tries not to smile as he lies through his teeth. “Hurts here, the most,” he murmurs, touching two fingers from the hand not at Derek's pulse to his bruised, bloody lips. He then curls the other hand further around the werewolf's neck, to hold on.

Derek starts to pant, and Stiles has to hold in a whine.

The werewolf sounds absolutely wrecked when he asks, “Do you have any idea what you're doing to me by wrapping your hand around my throat?”

Stiles's smile then brakes free and is wry as his wit as he answers, “I've been working hard to find out how to woo you for months now, big guy. What do you think?”

And when Derek lunges to crush Stiles's mouth with his own, teasing Stiles' lips apart with his hot, hot tongue and nipping at them with blunted canines, Stiles reckons he knows what it must feel like to howl. 

.

on ao3 HERE if you'd like to drop me a comment xp

[writerjayne]

This is a little sterek college AU (are they human are they werewolves who knows) one shot that I wrote on my phone with no beta or editing So apologies for the errors! The premise is a little vauge on purpose in case I want to expand this into a full story later but basically its an "Everyone grew up together" kind of vibe. Made Derek only 3 years older to make him still being in college realistic. Enjoy!

The car slowing to a stop woke Stiles. Blinking around and not fully conscious he asked confused:

"Are we there already?"

Derek glanced over from the driver's seat and chuckled. 

"No we still have like three hours. It's just a traffic jam." 

"Oh," stiles sat up a little straighter and looked around, clearly still half asleep. "We'll still get there early right?" 

"Yeah, gps says we'll arrive at 1, so plenty of time for move in," Derek assured as the traffic began inching forward. 

"Good, I need to talk to the housing department," Stiles pulled out his phone, fingers moving rapidly as he typed. 

Derek smiled indulgently. It was Stiles freshman year of college and Derek had never seen him so excited. 

"To get your key?" Derek prompted when Stiles didn't elaborate. 

"No, I need to see if they have any empty rooms," Stiles tone was almost vague, his attention on his phone. "Or any double rooms with only one occupant. Here look there's an alternative route-" 

"I'm sorry what?" Derek cut Stiles off. "You have to ask about a room? Stiles it's move in day! The day you move in!" 

"Yeah so I have to get a room to move into," Stiles rolled his eyes. "So the earlier the better! Here, take the next exit so we can get around-" 

"Mieczyslaw Genim Stilinski!!" Derek didn't roar, they were in a closed car but it was a close thing. 

"Hey hey hey, why are you middle naming me?" Stiles demanded. "Forget that, why are you first naming me?!"

"Because your father isn't here to do it!" Derek growled. "You don't have a place to live?"

"Well I did! But then Scott decided to room with Allison instead and I told him not to worry about it but when I called the place we were going to rent from they said I couldn't rent a two bedroom as one person so yes I'm going to talk to housing when we get there!" Stiles waved his hands around as he spoke, getting more agitated. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, stiles, ask the adults in your life for help?" Derek pointed out.

"Dad has enough on his plate and I had already told him scott and I were set," Stiles sounded embarrassed. 

"Your father is not the only adult in your life," Derek reminded, though not harshly. "What about my parents, hell Laura would have been happy to help or I don't know me??"

"Your parents were busy getting cora all set up," Stiles pointed out. "And I thought about calling Laura but her semester just started too..."

"And me?" Derek prompted. "I'm not exactly new at this!" 

"Honestly I forget you're an adult too," Stiles admitted sheepishly. 

"Stiles!" Derek groaned almost closing his eyes but the traffic began moving again and he focused back on the road. 

"I know I know!! That's why I want to get there early, so I can get this sorted out with the housing department!" Stiles desperately explained again before holding out his phone again. "So can we take the alternate route?" 

"What if you moved in with me?" 

Stiles jaw dropped and he half lowered the phone. Derek wasn't looking at him, the older man's eyes on the road but he was growing in thought. 

"What?"

"Move in with me," Derek repeated. "It's small but you wouldn't have to worry about rent, you could save the money you make at your job. It's technically off campus but it's not far to walk. There's also a bus stop out front-" 

"But you hate having roommates!" Stiles interrupted. "And isn't it a one bedroom?" 

"Yeah it's a little place but we can make it work. And you're not a stranger so I think I'll be fine," Derek smiled slightly. "What do you say?" 

"Okay," Stiles was almost breathless. "If you're really sure..."

"I'm sure Stiles. Now we've still got like two and a half hours to go so go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when we get there." 

"Okay," Stiles said again, smiling this time. "Thanks Der." 

"You're welcome," Derek responded with a smile. 

*****

"I'm sorry I have so many books," stiles frowned apologetic as they hauled the last two boxes up the stairs to the apartment. 

"It's fine, Stiles, I promise," Derek said for what felt like the hundredth time. 

They dropped the boxes by the half full bookshelves in the small living room before pausing to take a break. 

Heading to the kitchen Derek pulled a couple of bottles of water from the fridge, silently greatful he had come the week before to clean and stock the apartment. It hadn't been used in months and had been dusty. Derek had wanted move in day to have as minimal work as possible so he had come to prepare. 

"Are you sure about me not paying rent?" Stiles worried voice pulled Derek from his thoughts. 

"I told you it's fine. I don't pay rent, why would I make you pay rent?" Derek held out a water bottle to Stiles. "My parents own the building, specifically so family can use it without having to worry about paying for accommodations. There's always a few units empty. This one has been mine since I started school." 

"If you're sure," Stiles relented. "Do we need any groceries? I can make a run!" 

"Sure," Derek started but he was interrupted by a knock on the door and it swinging open. 

"Hey nerd, how's unpacking going?" 

Both men turned to see Erica kicking off her shoes by the door. 

"Hey Erica!" Stiles greeted brightly. "It's going pretty good! We got the sleeping arrangements sorted first then hauled everything in!" 

Erica froze for half a second at the sight of stiles before smiling. 

"What are you doing here?" She asked

"Oh I'm living here," stiles glanced between his two friends "did Derek not tell you?" 

"He did not," Erica gave Derek a pointed look and the older man rolled his eyes. 

"Cut me some slack, I didn't even know until like 3 hours ago!" Derek gave Stiles a face. "Someone thought they could show up on move in day and just find a place to stay!"

"Oh?" Erica grinned and Stiles blushed. 

"I'm going to go get some groceries now," he muttered avoiding Erica's eye and she laughed. 

"Whatever Batman," Erica plopped on the couch, pulling out her phone. "Bring me back some chocolate?" 

"Sure," Stiles agreed easily. "I won't be long!" 

"Ok be safe and call me if you get lost!" Derek said sternly. 

"This isn't the preserve Derek, GPS actually works here so I think I'll be fine!" With that stiles left, waving as he pulled the door closed. 

As soon as she hears the door latch Erica jumped up rouding on Derek. 

"This is a terrible idea!!" She exclaimed. "Why would you even suggest it?" 

"If you're gonna lecture at least help me unpack his books," Derek answered, dodging the question. 

"Seriously Derek, what were you thinking?" Erica grabbed a box and began opening it. 

"Well I wasn't gonna let him be homeless!" Derek hissed. "He's my best friend-"

"Who you've been in love with since you were what 8?" Erica crossed her arms. 

"If we're getting technical since I was 3," Derek admitted. 

Erica did the quick mental math before asking:

"God Derek, was he even born??" 

"Um not yet." 

"Derek!" Erica groaned. "What are you going to do if he brings someone home? You'll be in jail for murder!" 

"I'm not that jealous!" Derek said defensively.

"No but you are that protective!" Erica countered. 

"It won't be a problem anyway, Stiles isn't going to bring anyone home," Derek said dismissively. 

"Are we talking about the same stiles?" Erica raised an eyebrow. "Stiles stilinski? The boy who dated Lydia Martin! Stiles stilinski who dated your sister and your cousin not to mention half the lacrosse team! Say what you want but that boy can pull!" 

"Okay so we cross that bridge when we get there!" Derek continued putting books on the shelves, avoiding Erica's eye for a moment. 

"Yeah okay," Erica crossed her arms. "We'll see how that goes." 

"You want a tour or what?" Derek huffed, changing the subject. 

"Obviously," Erica grinned. "Why else do you think I came over?" 

Derek refrained from rolling his eyes and gestured for the young woman to follow him. He gave a quick tour of the living room and kitchen before opening the door to the bedroom. 

"There's only one bed?!" Erica rounded on Derek, her disbelief written across her face. 

"It's a king, we can share," Derek shrugged. "We have before."

"This is going to end so badly. This is a disaster," Erica stood dumbfounded. "Seriously what were you thinking?" 

*****

"I was thinking 'hey one less thing to stress over' Scott I wasn't thinking about how in each other's space it would be!" Stiles nearly threw his hands up in exasperation. "I didn't exactly have another option!" 

"You should have told me! Allison and I could have got a bigger place or you an I could have done this first semester together and she and I could have moved in together next semester!" Scott's worried voice came over the phone and stiles could almost see Scott nervously pacing. 

"It's Derek Scott, it'll be fine!" Stiles tried to sound confident. 

"Who you've been in love with since you were old enough to walk!" Scott pointed out.

Stiles groaned. 

"I know, I know. But honestly, how bad can this be?" 

[semicolonsspace]

TW: Boyfriend! Void Stiles, High sex drive!Reader, Mention of sex toys, Bondage(use of duct tape/zip ties), Somniphillia(previous consent given), P N V, Blowjob (f to m), Mention of cunnilingus, Dom!Void Stiles, Sub!Reader, Brat!Reader, Degradation/pet names(use of Dove & Pet), Praise kink(Mention of one being proud), Spanking/impact play.

------

Y/n could remember when she first met her boyfriend Void. He was sitting on the sofa at Scott's house. The Duct tape on his mouth and bandages on his stomach. While Mellissa bandaged him, Y/n could not take her eyes off his torso. Her thighs were constantly clenched as she examined him across the room. Eventually, Melissa left due to fear of the evil spirit and returned to the kitchen with the others. Y/n stayed, glaring at the thousand-year-old demon. Her legs were crossed elegantly, her arms on the arms of the chair while her foot bounced to ease her nerves.

Void couldn't help but stare back at the girl, seemingly being interested in why she wasn't showing fear. It looked like she was angry at him if anything, which he was used to... but she was calm and angry, and it intrigued him.

Y/n stands up, stalking toward the tied-up boy slowly. She squats down next to him and rips the tape off. "As much as the others hate when you speak, I'm curious how you are for myself, instead of listening to the stories."

His jaw moves to the side as a result of ripping the tape off, turning into a smirk. "Do you want to make stories for yourself, dove?"

Y/n opens her mouth to speak and it snaps shut as soon as it opens, Why the fuck did he call her that? And why did she feel more aroused? "You're not going to switch this game so you're in control. I can just put the duct tape on again," Y/n raises her shoulders with fake annoyance. She wasn't that annoyed, the only annoyance she had for him was he was the reason why she was so turned on. Ever since she stepped foot into the room she couldn't keep her eyes off him. How he looked like he hadn't slept in months, or how even when he was tied up he had so much confidence... For no reason... except he still looked so attractive.

Void tilts his head toward her, "Are we playing games?"

"Not yet."

Void chuckles at her. "Are you going to ask about Stiles or not?" Void sighed, knowing what was on her little mind of hers.

Y/n shakes her head, but then a question pops up in her head. "Do you know how he feels about things?" Y/n asks curiously. Void nods his head, pointing to it gesturing that Stiles was watching. "Does he hate me?" She asks sitting next to him, her legs at an angle toward his knees. She had a solemn face, her lips being chewed by her teeth.

Stiles and her would always bicker at each other. Anytime the other was near, the other would complain. Y/n always had felt subconsciously hurt about this. She didn't hate him, he just never gave her a chance.

Void blinked at her slowly, he looked at her like he knew. Like he knew what was on her filthy mind of hers. He eyes her clenching thighs, his eyes slowly connecting with hers. His eyes were filled with a predatory gaze. She noticed this, not being able to stop her body from clenching her trembling thighs. She craved him, and she just met him. A demon that was a thousand years old and possessed her sworn enemy.

"He's mean to you because he doesn't know how to treat a lady. He's young... Ignorant..." Void whispers, breaking the silence. The silence was more like sexual tension.

Her head snapped to his from her lap. "What?" Y/n asks before her brain can stop herself. What was he even saying? Of course, Stiles is young.

"You need someone with more experience- Someone like me, dove."

Y/n scoffs. She grabs the tape and slaps it back onto his face. "Can't believe I thought you wouldn't turn this into a game."

-

Now Y/n was lying next to her boyfriend Void. She couldn't help but keep thinking of that interaction. He knew that she was aroused because of him back then. And she knew as well... From the number of times, she squeezed her thighs hard and from her lustful gazes across the room, it was obvious to an old soul. And it was obvious to her now that he knew, like looking through crystal clear glass.

Luckily though, they both had an agreement. Stiles could use her for pain or chaos so he could survive and she could use him for any sexual deed that she wanted. At first, when he gave her the option to do so she declined. She thought he was crazy, that was when she was horny out of her mind again and came begging for him to fuck her so they could seal the deal. After that Void would follow her everywhere, much to the pack's disliking. But Void was compliant; Stiles was too, he tried to not bicker with his look-alike. Like a mutual agreement so everyone could have what they wanted. Sometimes it bothered Stiles how he would randomly smack her ass hard and suck the pain out but at least they tried.

Y/n rolls over off the bed, finally acting on her arousal. She quietly gets a box from under the box, grabbing the roll of black duct tape that lay under all her many of toys.

Now she was under the covers, pulling out his dick and sucking it as he slept. His dick was quickly hardening as she licked him, her mouth occasionally sucking. His thick length dripped precum as she did so, the salty taste that she loved bombarding her tastebuds. She bobbed on him, one hand handling his sensitive balls while the other lay on his stomach. His stomach muscles twitched against her hand, his breathing now becoming loud.

Before anything else could happen, she straddles him, stripping herself from her clothes. Now the zip ties were around his wrists and duct tape on his lips, not before checking if air came out of his nose so he could breathe.

"This has to be one of the nastiest things I've done," Y/n thought. But she didn't care, I mean she woke up with him eating her out numerous times.

Breaking out of her doubted thoughts she hovers over his dick, the red tip spreading her labia folds as it grazed against her. She starts bouncing slowly, her hands on his tied ones that were on his stomach.

Now the pressure and the horniness were going to her head. She gives up on trying not to wake him up. She bounces on him harder, her hands now toying with one of her tits while the other toyed with her clit slowly. Her slick made it easy for her to ride him fast, as well as his dick to rub against her ridges inside.

His eyes open abruptly, groans now filling the room louder. He watched her be in her own world. She hadn't even realized that he was awake yet.

In one quick moment, he rips open the ties, his tape next. Now she was on the bed, tape on her own hands and mouth. She was on her stomach. Her elbows were toward her chest, the tape restricting her movement anywhere else.

He slams his erect dick in her, surprised at how quickly the situation has changed for her, she yelps. "Such a naughty dove, using my body while I sleep... Interrupted my beautiful dream of me fucking you... kind of like this..." Void explains. His hands that were on his hips spread her ass, now massaging the needy flesh as he fucked into her hard.

Y/n licks the tape, wanting to be able to speak and moan for him. "Please Void... Fuck me like you mean it."

"Don't be such a brat, Y/n," Void spat. "You're-" He thrusted hard into her, grazing against her spot that made her eyes roll back. "The one that used my body- just like I told you could- I'm so proud you've finally done so... I've been waiting for months to fuck you like this," Void murmurs. He lands a quick smack on her ass, emitting a loud cry of pain from her. He rubs it, drinking the pain from her ass into his body. The black veins travel up to his face, his head rolling and his eyes rolling back in such beautiful pleasure. He lands another, "Such a good pet," He groans. His voice was so low, growling as he fucked into her as if his life depended on it, which ironically it did, he consumed that exoticness of him fucking her.

Next, he manhandles her, pulling her into his naked chest. His arm holds her under her chest, his other hand still on her hip. Y/n screams at the new angle. Thank the universe for allowing her to have no neighbors... He kisses her neck affectionately. He knows that she dies inside when he does that, moans and profanity flying out of her mouth. "My hands, please... They hurt too bad-" In an instant the tape gets snapped off. He held her hands, rubbing them while taking the pain. All while he does this his thrusts never stop. She turns her head to look at him- Just the domestic look in his eyes easily pushes her over the edge.

"Just because you finished, doesn't mean I'm done with you, Dove," Void Growls. He pushes her down, her face landing on the soft sheets of their bed.

[ephemeraltapes]

burning candle - prologue

chapter: 0/?

pairings: reader x stiles, lydia x stiles, ?

word count: 754

synopsis: a glimpse into the year before, when your biggest concern was stiles finding out about your crush on him.

You tap your pencil against your lip while you listen to your English teacher drone on about the book you were supposed to read for class. You sighed, looking at the clock wondering if this will ever be over.

12:30PM. Only half an hour has passed and it made you groan internally. You glance over at Lydia to see if she was thinking the same thing. When you make eye contact with her it seems you’re both thinking the same thing. You crack a smile at her which she mirrors. She looks down at a paper in her notebook, quickly writing something down before passing it to you.

You open the folded paper. “I haven’t heard a single word she’s said this whole time.” You try to hold back a laugh while writing back a reply before passing it to her. She reads your handwriting and tries to hold back her laughter but she can’t. The teacher stops what she’s saying and turns to Lydia. “Is there anything you want to share with us Ms. Martin?” Lydia raises and eyebrow, “Don’t let my giggling stop you from your boring lecture.” The teacher sighs before turning to her desk and handing both you and Lydia a detention slip. You groan and put your head in your hands.

“Alright, let’s continue.”

As the bell rings signaling the end of your class, you feel a tap on your shoulder as you’re putting your books away in your bag. You turn, expecting to see Lydia behind you, only to come face to face with the boy you’ve been crushing on for ages. Stiles Stilinski.

The brown-eyed boy is saying something to you but you’re finding it hard to listen. You watch the way his lashes flutter against his cheek every time he blinks. He’s so handsome. You’re brought out of your trance as you hear him call your name twice in a row. “Are you even listening to me?”

You blink out of your thoughts, “Can you repeat it for me, maybe?” He shakes his head and does so anyways. “Listen to me,” He puts his hands on your shoulders, “you need to help me with the Lydia situation.” Your chest aches hearing those words come out of his mouth. Not this again. “Last idea didn’t go well?” You ask out of politeness, because you already knew the answer.

“Haha. Very funny.” The sarcastic tone is heavy in his words. “I don’t know why your advice doesn’t work. I mean- you guys have best friends for years and you know her better than anyone!” You frown, although it upsets you that his affection is directed towards your best friend you still sympathize with his situation. I mean, who could understand him better than you? You are literally in his exact situation. Although, you think you might somehow be worst off even though Stiles actually knows your name.

“I’m sorry to hear that Stiles. I think she’s really into Jackson right now. Not a day goes by where that man’s name doesn’t come out of her mouth at some point.” You pat his shoulder to comfort him. “There’s no guy out there better than you...” You inhale before continuing, “I don’t know... how she doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.” Your words make him smile, even if it’s just a little bit. “It must be tiring to hear me mope about Lydia all the time. I know I’ve already tired out Scott.” He tries to laugh off his words but you can tell that he’s actually a bit upset from the situation. “It’s normal to want to talk about your crush, especially if you’ve liked them for a long time.”

Stiles laughs at your words. “Then how come you never talk about your crush?” Your eyes widen but you try to shake off his pointed statement. “Well that’s because I obviously don’t have one.” Stiles narrows his eyes at you, you feel yourself start to sweat almost. Why does this feel like it’s going to turn into an interrogation?

“Fine. I’ll let it go.” You let out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. You never realized the prospect of Stiles finding out about your one-sided affection for him would have such an effect on you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. “But you’ll tell me someday, right? Maybe when you finally go on a date with him?” You let out what could be described as the most unconvincing laugh of all time. “Totally.”

[artyandink]

she

• • • ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ • • •

SUMMARY: YOU STAYED AWAKE MOST NIGHTS. YOU JUST MISSED THE SIMPLE TIMES, YOU’D LOST EVERYTHING AND NOW YOUR ONLY LIFE WAS HUNTING. IT WAS ENDLESS AND YOU COULDN’T BRING YOURSELF TO SLOW DOWN— MAYBE THERE WAS NO LIGHT FOR YOU.

TW: TALK OF DEATH, GRIEF, BOBBY AS A FATHER FIGURE, LONELINESS, DENIAL, ANGER

NOW PLAYING:

• BEFORE YOU GO BY LEWIS CAPALDI

• BLAME’S ON ME BY ALEXANDER STEWART

• GASOLINE BY HALSEY

FULL ALBUM

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YOU COULDN’T STOP hunting, and you couldn’t stop hurting. You’d been responsible for the most monster kills over the state in the past… four years, clearing jobs if you found them before anyone else could. Of course, that’s never the healthiest thing in the world. Never is. And yes, of course, you ignored that too.

“Yes, Bobby, I cleared the pack.” You sighed, taking a sip of coffee— yeah, pretty unhealthy, considering how it’s eleven o’clock at night, but hey, at least Bobby can’t say shit, he’s awake too. “I’m fine.”

“Says the girl who’s most likely on her fifth cup of coffee.” Bobby’s voice was so clearly snappy that you could see the disappointment, and no, you weren’t on your— ok, now checking it, you were on your seventh. Maybe he had a point.

But you gave a scoff, rubbing your eyes— maybe trying to shake off memories, the blood, the screams and your loud sobs, but they just wouldn’t go. They were there every moment you closed your eyes. “No. I’m on my seventh.”

“Ain’t a braggin’ point, girl.” You heard him snap, and your grip on the phone tightened. “Hell, the life you’re livin’ ain’t nobody’s life. As soon as you’re off one hunt, you’re on another, it’s shit.”

“Well, my life’s pretty shit right now.” You retorted, a slight edge to your voice that was delaying the guilt that came with even snapping at a guy who tried his damn hardest. “Think that grants me a pass.”

“It grants no one a pass to kill ‘emself slowly.” Ugh, the cycle never stopped. You’d finish a case, come home (to a motel room) exhausted, cry, have a beer, watch shitty TV, cry some more, make dinner, some coffee, repeat that last step about five to seven times, get told off by Bobby until it was one am and you were still tired after all that. Then you’d have a good cry. “Just think about it. Taking care’a yourself.”

“I will.” You muttered, sighing, then cut the call, letting your hand run down the length of your face. Honestly, you did feel shitty twenty four seven, but your only way of coping was to kill every piece of shit that came your way and self destruct. You just couldn’t face something that was your fault.

You felt empty. And it felt like shit.

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[hedwig221b]

Do you have any suggestions for stories similar to your Don’t Kiss and Tell or Incandescent? It’s hard to find Paige not being a love to Derek

uh, sorta, kinda... let's see if these ones will tickle your fancy

Unprofessional, Ms. Blake. But ARMS. by lalalathisisme

Ms. Blake, Erica's first grade teacher, may have a tiny crush on Mr. Hale, Erica's dad. He's tall, dark, and handsome and she has to remind herself to be professional and try not to climb Mr. Hale like a tree when he comes to pick Erica up after school. It doesn't help that he is completely adorable with his daughter – laughing and smiling and thoroughly impressed by every piece of macaroni-and-glue art that Erica makes. And every day he greets her with a hug, asking her how her day went. And he even says hello to Ms. Blake (“Jennifer” she insists, and yet he still calls her Ms. Blake) when he picks Erica up, looking like he actually cares to hear the random things that happened in class. She doesn't pry. She doesn't even know how to do it without seeming highly suspect. But as it happens, sometimes information is offered up relating to a class project, and she files them away in her brain in the folder titled 'This Is Unprofessional But Jesus, Have You SEEN His Arms?'

Professor D. Hale series by har1ey_quinn

A series of outsider POVs on Professor Hale and his significant other (with some guest appearances from the pack)

His by neil4god

He was always alone, head stuck in a book or glued to his phone. He never seemed to talk to anyone, was too busy running from class to the library and back again. Kent couldn't help but feel bad for him, after all he was his room-mate and he could see just how alone the poor guy was. At least, that's what he assumed, turned out he didn't know the first thing about Stilinski.

The life of the irresistibly oblivious Stiles series by Nosiddam1

Just a series of cute fluffy one shots where Stiles is irresistible or oblivious or both and who only has eyes for Derek.

The Way You Look At Him by neil4god

Their relationship wasn't perfect, no-one's ever was, but she didn't know how broken it was until she met Stiles. Derek never smiled at her like that, he didn't rush home early from work to make her dinner or pick up her favourite snacks like he did for Stiles. Derek didn't look at her the way he looked at Stiles and she was starting to think that maybe Derek wasn't a commitment-phobe like she thought, maybe he just didn't want to commit to her.

Too Little Too Late by SolariaLunar21

Danny's always had a secret crush on Stiles Stilinski but never hopes for more until he over-hears Scott and Stiles talking about the other boy coming out to his Dad as bi.

2, 4, 6, 8, Who's Gunna Get The Date? by rebekahdarian

The five times a cheerleader asked Derek out on a date, and the one time he said yes.

Cursed

It’s just not fair. Stiles loves Derek but Derek never notices him. Why would he notice a Tea Cup? Besides, it’s not like he’s able to break the curse. It’s not like he can make Derek human again. Derek’s stuck in Beta form, Stiles’ a tea cup. They’re cursed.

Incandescent

“You are trying to court our alpha,” sang Lydia. “Surely you realize that he does not reciprocate.” “He doesn’t stop it.” There was no point in lying. Paige was courting Derek. She would be a fool not to. “He doesn’t care to.” Lydia arched her thin eyebrow. “Why do you think he’s still searching for his mate, hmm? Why didn’t he stop once you were here? You think you can annoy him into sleeping with you?” Lydia laughed. “He is a born wolf, darling. He will not fuck you if you are not his.”

Don't Kiss and Tell

Paige has finally got the boyfriend she always wanted. The only thing is, said boyfriend doesn't touch her, doesn't kiss her and spends all his time with Stiles Stilinski. You'd think they were dating, or something…

Untouchable

The day Stiles Stilinski entered the Berkeley campus was the day all the alphas went absolutely fucking nuts. See, omegas were rare, even more than redheads. Got to be extremely fucking lucky to even see one in a lifetime. They were supposed to be these ethereal creatures of beauty and elegance, irresistible and blinding. And Stiles Stilinski was exactly that.

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

So… I already have like 70 Sterek fic tabs open on my phone (there’s so many good authors in this fandom it’s not my fault!) but I was thinking that despite some fantastic tumblr posts about it I don’t think I’ve actually read a necromancer!Stiles fic.

I went through your fabulous tag page but I didn’t see one so hopefully I didn’t miss it. If you or your loverly followers have any recs I sure would appreciate it!

(And no rush, I seriously have so many tabs but I am greedy)

Hi @arora-kayd! @kevaaronday made this list for you.

Murder, Magic and a Masterclass in Denial by Noxnthea (9/9 | 41,940 | Explicit | Sterek) “No, seriously, I need to talk to you really quick,” Stiles interrupts. “Before Peter gets out here.” 

Derek braces himself. “Okay.”

“I need you to make sure I can be alone with the body for a few minutes.” 

Derek stares at him. “You get that that’s like…a really weird request, right?”

In the three months since Derek left the NYPD and joined the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, he’s gotten used to a lot of things: he’s learned to deal with seeing Peter every day, he knows how to hide his enhanced senses on the job, and he doesn’t mind the late nights and early mornings.

One thing he’s still not used to, however, is Stiles Stilinski.

You only Live Once… or Twice by WonderWolf (6/6 | 32,949 | Explicit | Sterek) “Anything,” Derek’s eyes are determined, boring into Stiles’. 

Stiles huffs a laugh, “Careful there, big guy. Don’t want to be promising anything to every necromancer you meet. Some might ask for your soul or someth—”

“I’ll give you my soul to bring her back,” Derek says, his voice steady and strong with resolve, “if that’s what you want.”

Stiles’ mouth gapes open for a moment before his brain kicks into gear and he stutters out, “N-no, I don’t ask for that. I only ask for money.”

(Or the one in which Stiles is a necromancer who needs help stopping a rogue alpha and Derek is the solution, but at what cost?)

I See Dead People by Asteria_Star (13/13 | 15,318 | Teen | Sterek) Stiles has been able to see Ghosts for as long as he could remember. Having a ghost tell you that you are a necromancer and that the supernatural exists was nothing. What isn't nothing is trying to navigate your best friend becoming a werewolf while trying to hide what you are. 

Features Stiles and Talia having a mother-son dynamic that I didn't know I needed.

Sarcasm, Suspicion and Raising the Dead: A Necromancer’s Guide to Getting the Guy (Your Murderer and/or Your Boyfriend) by Aerica_Menai (1/1  |13,917 | Teen | Sterek) Stiles met Derek’s blue, blue eyes - still striking, even bloodshot from crying - as he slid into the other side of the booth. Immediately, the request came tumbling forward: “Could - would you bring her back?”

“I can - I will - but only temporarily,” Stiles warned.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Whatever extra time I get with her will be - “ He took a deep breath as his voice broke. “ - appreciated,” he finally choked out.

And that’s when Stiles knew he was in trouble.

formed in the very poetry of nature by frankie_31 (4/4 | 7,984 | Explicit | Steter) Stiles can raise the dead. Stiles can put them back down. But what happens when one of his undead minions stays up?

Peter Hale is back from the dead. Kind of. And he'd like to stay that way.

Burial Rituals by aurevell (1/1 | 4,989 | Gen | Sterek) The necromancer freezes halfway over the fence, stuttering to a halt the second Derek flashes his red eyes. It’s an awkward pose to hold: leg hiked up over the waist-high bars, hands gripping the rail for balance. The fence’s wrought-iron spears dig into his calf a bit as he settles, clearly caught off guard.

“Uh,” he says lamely, his face pale in the scant moonlight. “Shit.”

Derek guards an abandoned cemetery. Stiles is the necromancer trying to break in.

[awakenedevildays]

「Roscoe」 Stiles Stilinski x F!reader

a/n: small thing I wrote to apologize for my absence, but the winter session is starting and it's stressing me out, hope you'll like it! not proofread.

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"It feels wrong..."

"What do you mean?"

"It just… doesn't feel right doing this without her knowing, I feel like I'm cheating on her."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her, it's okay..."

"It's still cheating… and if she finds out-"

"Stiles it's just a damn car. You can't keep on walking miles because you refuse to cheat on Roscoe!" You interrupt him frustrated.

"I'll have you know that I take offense to that. Roscoe is my car, my baby, my one and only!"

"Yeah… well, you left your one and only in Beacon Hills so either you get it here or buy another car and stop complaining that you have to wake up an hour earlier to go to work." You don't want to sound so annoyed, but you're pretty tired of hearing not only his waaay too loud alarm at 5 AM, but also his loud groans and sighs of annoyance as he slips out of the bed to get ready.

Stiles moves uncomfortably on the passenger's seat of the car he's thinking to buy and you lean down and rest your elbows on the lowered window next to him to see his cutely scrunched face better.

He continues to frown in annoyance, arms crossed over his chest. "This car is inferior to Roscoe, in every single way."

You roll your eyes. "How."

"It's too small, it smells funny, the color is awful, it doesn't have enough cup holders, the interior is wrong, it doesn't look as good, it doesn't even sound right! I bet the turning is all wrong, and don't get me started on the radio!"

"It's not small it's just not a jeep, you don't have to chose this color or this car even because there are many other models in here, the interior is not wrong but new and you didn't even start the car so how can you even say it doesn't sound right?"

"I-"

"And your jeep didn't even have a single cup holder or a radio, like- AT ALL, Stiles."

"That was a feature, not a flaw. It taught me resourcefulness!"

You sigh and stand back up with hands on your hips, you look down at Stiles, at his face molded into an expression of confusion and regret and you take a deep breath before walking around the car to sit beside him on the passengers seat, the door softly slams shut. Your head turn around to look at your boyfriend on the left, eyes down to look at his hands and pursued lips in thoughts. "… It's not about Roscoe… is it?" His shoulders sag at the released tension.

He leans back in the passenger's seat, avoiding your gaze as he speaks. "It's a stupid reason…"

"I'm sure it's not, tell me." You grab his right hand to bring it over your lap and rub it with your thumb.

"It's… It's the last connection I have to her. That was Mom's car, the last thing I have of hers. She wanted me to have it! If I sell it… then I don't have anything of hers anymore…"

"Stiles, why didn't you tell me? I would have never pushed you to buy another car if I knew you felt like this," it sounds like a soft scolding, the one you would use to scold a kid after he did something wrong.

He breathes out heavily, "I don't know. I didn't want to bother you… I know it's stupid. I shouldn't still be… grieving so much…" You feel tears prickling in your eyes "…But just thinking about letting it go makes me feel like I'm leaving her behind, leaving our memories of her behind. Getting a new car feels like I'm saying goodbye to Mom and I don't want to do it… again."

"It's not stupid Stiles, you have every right to grieve, it doesn't matter how many years have passed, she is your mom, there's not enough time in the whole universe to move on from this type of loss.." your voice trembles as you console him: of course it's not the first time he talks to you about Claudia, but your heart clenches painfully every time she's mentioned.

His eyes are clouded with sadness, like a storm is brewing in their depths. "I always feel like I should have had more time with her. More memories. I can't even remember her voice. I can't… remember her face. Not clearly… But thinking of Roscoe makes me feel close to her again" His voice is strained, struggling to hold back the tears.

You bring his hand to your lips as you both stay silent for a few minutes. "We could drive back to Beacon Hills and bring Roscoe here with us, we'll take her to the mechanic and fix her once and for all," you propose but Stiles shakes his head.

Stiles gives you a small, bittersweet smile. "I can't. There's only so much we can do to fix her." A sigh escapes him, looking down at his hands once more. "Besides, Beacon Hills is the Jeep's place, I'm sure my dad likes to have her there."

"'kay… what do you wanna do then?" You ask softly and he turns to look at you.

He considers your question for a moment, the creases on his forehead showing the effort he's putting to not admit he wants to use that car forever. "I guess I'll have to look into other cars. Maybe there's a car that won't feel wrong.

You nod, "...I'm so proud of you," it comes out as a trembling whisper, like it's a secret between you two.

Stiles' expression softens at your words, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His grip on your hand tightens slightly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin while his face leans in to kiss you.

As the kiss gently fades away, Stiles' forehead comes to rest against yours, his eyes closed and breath slow. "Thank you." His voice is quiet, nearly a whisper, heavy with emotion, "Thank you for putting up with me when I'm like this."

You want to tell him that there is no such thing as 'putting up with him' for you, that you wouldn't trade these moments between you two for the world, but you know that if you mutter even one more word you'll start to cry, so you only shake your head... and Stiles senses them, your unspoken words. His free hand moves to rest on the back of your neck, gently rubbing your neck with his thumb. His forehead stays pressed against yours, unwilling to let the connection dissipate just yet.

After a few more minutes of you sitting together in silence, simply leaning against each other, Stiles quietly speaks again, his voice soft and weary. "Can we just go home?"

"Yeah, you don't have to chose it today."

He nods silently, his mind still clouded with thoughts. Finally, he lets out a sigh, sitting up again and looking around. "Let's go, then." As he looks down at your intertwined hands resting on your lap, a small, tired smile graces his lips.

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Do not copy or repost.

[whackk-kermitt]

We Weren't Together

Warning: Pack Mom Stiles(mostly Off screen), Derek is the Alpha, Everyone is Alive, Derek is Jelly, Mild Angst, Misunderstandings, Significant Background Character, Lydia is the best Meddler, Happy Ending Summary: Derek and Stiles are not a couple. Simple as that. Not really sure where I was going with this one. It might be total shit. Womp Womp. NOT PROOFREAD

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

"Cheater!"

"I didn't cheat!"

"You so did! How else would you have all that money when you own two properties!" Erica flung a shoe. All Stiles could do was laugh until his ribs ached.

"Okay," Lydia sighed setting her cards down and backing from the coffee table to lean against the arm of the couch. Allison looked on unimpressed, but only because she knew Stiles cheated.

"Oh come on," Scott groaned. "This is why I never play Monopoly."

"Who's Idea was this?" Isaac threw his cards down and looked around, a scowl due for the culprit.

"Yours." Lydia supplied with an unimpressed expression and a tilt of the head.

Derek sat back with a privet smile. It had been a while since he had gotten to work bringing the old Hale house back to a livable condition. And once the majority of it was done, the pack, without being asked, began coming over every Saturday to spend time all together. He'd see individuals pop in throughout the week, but he loved when they'd all be here together.

"No," Isaac defended. "I said we have, Clue, Uno, Scategories, and Monopoly. I never said I wanted to play this one."

"The way you said 'and Monopoly', made it sound like you did." Stiles offered with a look in his eye Derek couldn't place. "And who could say no to that adorable ridiculous scarf." He teased with kissy lips and a pinch to Isaac's cheek. Isaac swatted his hand away but his cheeks went red.

"If nobody wants to play I'd rather not waste my time." Boyd piped up, the first thing he's said since he reluctantly agreed to play this.

"Okay, we wanna do a different game or a movie?" Stiles offered starting to clean up the pieces into the box.

"Movie!" Erica cheered. "Who's turn is it to pick?"

Derek, who was already up and walking into the kitchen, stopped and checked the calendar on the wall. It was a calendar bought from the vet clinic with different dogs for every month, posing in costumes related to that month's holiday. You can guess who bought it.

Thinking of a name that rhymes with Biles Bilinski.

Who took the commitment to go through the calendar and alternate the pack's names on every Saturday, to mark their turn to choose. Since nobody could ever agree.

"Erica." Derek grinned with his back to the living room while Erica and Lydia cheered, while most of the boys groaned. Whenever it was either of them, they teamed up to find a movie literally only girls would like- according to Jackson. They've been made to watch The Notebook five times, The Princess Bride three times, and 10 Things I Hate About You four times.

Derek leaving the girls behind to settle on what to torture the boys with, he pulled bowls from the cabanit and a pot. Oiling the bottom of the pot, pour in corn kernels to coat the bottom. He covered the pot and let it heat up, turning to get butter from the fridge. But a hand was already on the fridge pulling it open.

Stiles always had a smile on his face when he was at the house, just as happy to be here with everyone as Derek was. Derek watched as Stiles took out the butter opened two sticks into a bowl from the dish rack and plopped it in the microwave. While the corn began popping Stiles and Derek danced around each other in the kitchen, working in perfect synchronicity to stock the large tray with canned drinks, bottles of water, and other various snacks.

Derek eyes all the sugary garbage on the try without making a sound. He had a sweet tooth sure, but he preferred actual baked goods, not the overly processed Debbie cakes and Oreo cookies they kept in the snack cabinet. Just as he was about to settle for just popcorn and water Stiles's hand came into view as he wordlessly put a bag of homemade cookies on the tray. Sharpie scrawled out 'sourwolf' with a smiley face on it.

Derek said nothing, watching Stiles turn and ready the three big bowls for the popcorn to be sorted into. Things like this made Derek feel like a very lucky man. Stiles never even thought about it, just did things like this. Not only for Derek but for the rest of the pack as well. Always taking one extra step to make sure everyone was happy.

Derek knew when Stiles was overthinking things; his nose would scrunch up, sometimes just the slightest bit, and he'd fidget a little more than usual. Derek knew what Stiles had to think before he did something, he never stopped to think about this stuff.

Stiles was a good friend, and Derek was happy he was pack.

After getting the popcorn buttered and evenly distributed they scooped everything up and brought it to the living room. Everyone was finding their seats on the two couches and the armchair, with a movie called Clueless qued up on Netflix.

Derek set the tray down, grabbed a water bottle and his cookies, and found his stop on the end of the couch he always takes. Stiles passed out the bowls of popcorn and settled in. Derek had gotten distracted watching Scott and Isaac fuss over who gets the last can of coke. He snorted dryly and turned to look at Stiles, who always and something to say about their childlike bickering.

Except when he turned to his left, it was the body that sat next to him. Boyd wasn't even paying attention to him. Huh, odd.

Derek looked over to the other couch where Stiles was squished in between Lydia and Erica who were explaining all the reasons Stiles was gonna love this movie. Stiles was smiling at the girls and chuckling, amused at how excited Erica was.

He was confused for a moment about why he assumed it would be Stiles sitting next to him. It didn't matter though, Stiles can sit anywhere, it's not like it matters.

He thought about it while everyone quieted down and the movie started.

Derek thought about all the previous times they settled in for movie night, and from what Derek recalled, Stiles sat by him every time. Derek thought about it for a moment and found himself amused.

If he told Stiles about it he knew what Stiles would say. Something about Pavlov, and Derek subconsciously thinking Stiles would always be next to him when they watched a movie because up until now he was.

But it didn't really matter where anyone sat, Derek convinced himself. He is just as happy sitting next to Boyd as he would be next to Stiles, or anyone else for that matter.

But as the movie went on, and Erica and Lydia both started leaning more onto Stiles, laughing at the funny parts and basically snuggling together, Derek decided he didn't like it.

Something in him became unsettled when by the second half of the movie Stiles started dozing off like he did almost every movie night, his head laying on Lydia's shoulder.

If Stiles were sitting over here, his head would fall onto Derek's shoulder like it always did. Stiles would wake up after the movie was over, everyone going home, and say something along the lines of 'good flick'. To which Derek would tease him for sleeping through most of it and use the drool on his shirt as evidence.

Derek didn't have a word to describe the feeling, didn't have the slightest clue as to what caused it, because it really didn't matter. The pack is pack, he was happy to see Stiles and everyone getting along so well, being so close, but it still bugged him.

After the movie was over, everyone did their share of cleaning up, said goodnight, and was out the door. Erica and Boyd being the last to go, as soon as the door was closed and locked, Derek sighed and his smile fell. This pit in his stomach only twisted more, when Stiles only gave him a one-word goodbye and offered Lydia a ride him.

"So," Isaac awkwardly swayed a little as Derek entered the kitchen. "Are you and Stiles fighting?"

"What?" Derek paused his stride through the room to stare at him.

"Well, tonight you guys," He studdered for a bit, the awkwardness he was feeling just asking very prevalent on his face. "Seemed off tonight. I don't know."

"No," Derek shook his head. "We're fine."

"Okay," Isaac clearly didn't believe him and bound up the stairs to his room.

Derek stood there for a moment and shook it off. He stuffed the feeling down like he did with almost anything unpleasant and went to bed.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

It was 11:43 pm. It was slightly rainy and cold out. Stars and the moon shone over the preserve, eliminating the front yard.

Derek stood in the kitchen leaning against the counter, watching out the window at the driveway. Sparing a glance at the clock every few minutes.

Isaac was late. Super late. Not answering his phone, not sending a single text.

He was about to give up waiting for something, anything when a familiar jeep rolled up the long dirt road and onto the gravel driveway.

"Man," He heard Isaac's faint voice from outside. "He's still up. I'm in deep shit."

Isaac followed with dragging feet as a very amused Stiles him and Scott up the front steps.

When they entered they kicked off their shoes and joined a very disappointed-looking Derek. He stood tall with his arms crossed over his chest. The three gathered in front of him awaiting hell to rain down, except Derek didn't fail to notice the subtle grin on Stile's face.

"You're late."

"Sorry, we lost track of time." Isaac pouted like a picked puppy.

"You have a phone."

"It died." He shrugged.

"Neither of you have phones?" Derek glared at the other two.

The three looked between themselves and gave each other the "why didn't we think of that" look.

Derek sighed pitifully, "If I ask you to be home by a reasonable hour I don't think that's too much to ask. Full moons right around the corner and-" He groaned pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't worry me like this again, " He waved the topic away.

Issac nodded shamefully and muttered an apology. The fear of being reprimanded stayed firm in his eyes and stiff body. It almost made Derek feel guilty for being upset in the first place, but he knew he had every right to worry.

"It's fine." Derek shook his head. "I just need to know where you are or at least be able to get in touch with you if something happens. I was worried Isaac, I'm not mad."

Isaac nodded, taking a breath and relaxing his shoulders.

"How was the party?" Derek didn't care really, he just wanted Isaac to feel comfortable.

"Fun, the whole team was there. We got bored when everyone else was too drunk to even talk to so we bailed and got some food and Mami's Diner." Scott smiles recalling the evening.

"Yeah, parties aren't as fun when you can't get tipsy with everyone else."

"Too bad for you guys." Stiles sighed with a goofy grin. They all took their spots at the breakfast bar.

"You didn't drink a drop tonight though." Isaac pointed out.

"And trust one of you to drive my baby?" Stiles accused as if the two were actively planning a first-degree murder in front of him. They all merely chuckled at his dramatics and moved on from that.

"Derek," Scott started with a grimace. "Can I stay the night? Moms working a double and I don't wanna wake her getting home this late."

Derek shrugged, indifferent. He'd gotten the guestrooms ready from the rest of the back. Hell, any of them could show up wanting to spend the night, with no excuse or reason, and he'd be happy to have them. It's why the rooms are there.

"Me too!" Stiles piped up. "I have no reason, just too lazy to drive I guess."

Derek chuckled a little and welcomed them both to a guest room of their choosing.

Isaac excused himself to the bathroom to shower, as Derek led Scott and Stiles up the stairs. He showed off the finished rooms and let them pick and choose. Stiles picked the one next to his room, claiming dibs because the other room had a draft.

"How much work left is there?" Stiles asked mindlessly looking down the hall at the section of the house still covered in plastic to protect the new wood flooring. Tools, wood varnishes, and cans of paint sat out in the hall.

Derek motioned him down the hall as Scott, uninterested, entered the room on the other end and settled in for bed.

Stiles followed Derek into an unfinished bedroom and took a look around. Derek flicked on the lights he'd just wired and put in the other day. The drywall was fresh and the whole room was covered in plastic, tape guarding the fixings and crown molding. The room was nearly ready to be painted and furnished.

"Just need to fix the wiring to the other room, mount the shelving, and this window," Derek strolled over and giggled the latch. "Needs to be fixed or replaced at some point. It won't open."

Stiles nodded looking around and smiling to himself.

"Other than that, it's just fixing up the back porch and the half-bath downstairs." He turned to look at Stiles. "What?"

"Nothing," Stiles shrugged, smile never fading. "I'm just happy."

"About what?" Derek asked curiously approaching Stiles like he was about to get a pie in the face.

"I don't know. Just in a good mood tonight, I guess."

When Derek was close enough he stopped, twisting his head and pouting at a smell invading his nose. Stiles almost made a kicked puppy joke until he saw that something was defiantly bothering Derek.

"What is it?"

"You smell weird."

"Well, I was just at a party with about sixty or seventy drunk teenagers, so."

"No, it's," Derek stepped closer slowly, leaning in just enough into Stiles's personal space to not make him uncomfortable but close enough to get a good whiff of the insulting aroma. "You smell like-" Derek stopped and his face dropped a little, leaning back and eyeing a very confused Stiles.

"Never mind." He shook his head and turned the lights off as he walked out. "Goodnight, Stiles." He left Stiles standing there completely bewildered.

Derek locked himself up in his room and changed into sweats before climbing into bed. All with a deep frown dragging his features down.

Stiles smelled like arousal. Like sex. But it clearly wasn't Stiles's scent.

Stiles smelled like someone else's arousal.

Derek racked his barian all night who that prick could've been. Why was that prick all riled up and close enough to rub his lasting odor on him? Was Stiles dancing with someone at the party? Did Stiles make out with someone at the party?

At that question, his mind supplied him the images of Stiles bumping and grinding with some random dude, hands on Stiles's hips, moving and swaying with him. The creep Kissing up on Stiles's neck and lips and offering to go somewhere private.

Derek turned onto his side and shoved his head in under the pillow, hiding from the thoughts as he let himself be taken by sleep.

But that night all he dreamed about was chasing some faceless vermin through the woods; hunting him like he was nothing more than a feral wild wolf, despite still being completely human in the dream.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Danger came to Beacon Hills in the shape of Faeries.

Tiny winged spirits with a knack for trickery and mayhem. Derek wasn't sure how they ended up in Beacon Hills if they've just been migrating this way, or if someone let them loose. But people were getting hurt by their 'pranks' so they had to put a stop to it.

Tricking Faries was not an easy job in the slightest. But they managed it after a long night of chasing and fighting, finally trapping the three in silver cages and handing them over to Deaton; who swore he knew how to handle them and remove them from Beacon Hills safely.

The pack headed separate ways and most of them followed Derek back to the house. They arrived home just as the sun began to come up. Derek, still too anxious and worked up to sleep, went straight to work on the downstairs bathroom. He began preparing the grout to lay the tiles in place on the floor.

As he was checking the leveling of the pitch, he heard Stiles, "Need some help."

"Not really," Derek shrugged. It was a small bathroom, only enough room for one person to stand comfortably in between the sink and the toilet. Stiles sighed and started backing away.

Derek frowned and shook his head, not meaning to have come across as cold as he did.

"Actually, you can pass me tiles?" He offered, trying to brighten his tone. Stiles was plopped down just outside the doorway in a second. He smiled v\softly, almost unnoticeable, if it hadn't been for the fact that Derek noticed every detail about Stiles.

"You all grumpy with me for not staying behind like you said?"

"I'm not grumpy." He defended. Stiles gave him a look. "Yes." He sighed as if he was admitting to something as embarrassing as wetting the bed until you're fifteen.

Stiles chuckled, watching him work.

"You're not the only one that worries about everyone you know." Derek spared him a loot while reaching for a tile. "I know I'm human, der. You don't have to remind me that I don't heal, and I'm in more danger than most of you, but I still get this feeling that if I'm not there-"

Derek paused what he was doing to sit back and give Stiles his attention. Stiles started at him for a bit before continuing.

"I want to be there to look after you guys too. We've had close calls before, and nearly lost people. If I cared any less I'd listen to you when you tell me to stay back and out of the way, but I just have thing feeling that I need to be there in case something happens."

Derek gave him a sad smile. "And what if that something happens to you?"

Stiles frowned and lowered his head, shrugging. "If I can help, there's not really anything you can do to stop me from trying."

"Yeah," Derek nodded. "So I've learned."

Stiles chuckled and handed Derek another tile, smiling at him as he took the subtle hint the conversation had ended and turned back to laying the tiles in place. Stiles watched him intently, adoring the alpha.

"You got any plans tonight?" Stiles sighed when he was bored of the quiet.

"Back porch is fixed up, might get someone to help me put together the table, and cheers I ordered. Maybe fire up the grill?"

"That sounds fun." Stiles nodded, a look on his face like he was considering his options.

"You got a better idea?" Derek teased, because Stiles always had something to say about the activities Derek came up with.

"No, I just," He paused and thought to himself a moment. "I met this dude at the party the other night, and he texted me earlier asking if I'd be down to meet up later tonight."

Derek's heart sank a little. Oh, that prick.

"Oh," Derek nodded. He didn't wanna ask questions, he didn't wanna know. So Stiles just nodded.

"If it doesn't take too long I'll swing by after." Stiles delivered the empty promise with a grin. "Save some food for me."

Derek only nodded.

Stiles never showed.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Derek was in a bad mood.

Everyone in the house felt it and kept to their best behavior.

He didn't scowl or glare, he didn't yell or stomp around, he just kept his head down and mouth shut.

It was a Thursday night, and his betas had come over after the Lacross game like they always did. Boyd having joined the team, came along with the other players plus Erica, after every game. Although Jackson never showed, he only made an appearance when Lydia did.

Except tonight was different. Stiles hadn't come.

Apparently, Stiles was invited by the guy he met at the party to hang out after the game. A date.

He got all this from Erica who told him with a look of pity and confusion etched into her feature. Derek said nothing, just nodded, and went on making dinner for those who did show.

After eating they settled into the living room and watched a movie Derek wasn't paying attention to. He'd been on autopilot half the night, stuck in his head wondering about where Stiles was and what he was up to.

He didn't understand why he felt sick in his gut that Stiles was out with someone else.

It just made him feel dizzy with something he didn't have a word for. Every time he pictured Stiles laughing at the guy jokes, playing footsy under the table, holding hands on the walk back to the car, kissing on his front step- his chest tightened painfully.

He knew what this disgusting feeling was now, and he felt pathetic for it.

Derek stood and without a word went up to his room and crawled into bed.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Summer break had officially arrived and Derek was having the boys help him set up the pools in the back yard.

He hadn't seen Stiles in the past few days and it's been both wonderful and absolute agony. He was grateful to have a break from seeing Stiles's smile and shining eyes, hating knowing it was never for him. But he missed it all the same.

Either way, the space between them allowed Derek the room he needed to rebuild his walls. If Stiles was dating this other guy fine, Derek hadn't had a chance anyway. He'd very his heart and settle for just being pack.

The girls sat on the front steps far enough away from the guys on the other side to not hear their conversation. Even with super wolfy hearing.

"So, what happened?" Allison eyed the two who clearly knew more than she did. Both of them are closer to Stiles and Derek, respectively. "I was under the assumption they'd be giving us invitations to the wedding by graduation."

Erica chuckled sadly, "I don't know. But you should've seen Derek when I told him Stiles ditched us to go hang out with Markus."

"I don't know what's gotten into Stiles," Lydia grumbled, she hated being left out of the loop. "Just last month I was giving him advice on how to woo a man. Mind you, Markus was not the man I thought he'd be running off to woo."

"I don't think anyone thought that." Allison sighed.

"It's weird," Erica grumbled. "The past few days honestly feel like my parents are divorced. I only see either or, Stiles gets us on the weekends." Lydia laughed.

"How does that work?" Allison questioned.

"I don't know," The blonde shrugged leaning back on her hands. "I've never really asked. But it's all sort of instinctual. Like Derek is the alpha, he gives orders and dishes out punishments. Stiles is there to comfort our wounds and give Derek a smack upside the head if he's too hard on us."

"Instinctual?" Lydia grimaced. "Wait, like even your wolf thinks Stiles and Derek were on the road to being a thing?"

"Well," Erica sat up and frowned. "Honestly, before Stiles ran off with Merkus after the game and I told Derek about it, I thought they already were. It just made sense. Isaac said something a little while ago when I came over cause 'Mom and Dad are fighting again'. We all just kinda felt it I guess."

"Huh," Allison thought. Lydia smiled, the other two girls eyeing her suspiciously.

"What are you thinking?" Allison asked carefully.

"Oh," She smiled watching a blur jeep pull up the driveway. "Right on queue. Follow my lead ladies."

The two spared a look at each other before watching Stiles climb out of the jeep plastic bag in hand and a box-taped shut- under his arm.

"Hey, where is everyone?" Stiles eyed the house while approaching the girls.

"Outback." Erica supplied with a nod of her head.

"Surprised to see you showed up." Lydia offered, standing and going inside without giving him a chance to respond.

Allison followed without a word and Erica, slightly confused, gave him a quick look before rushing to follow. She didn't understand what Lydia's plan was but he didn't exactly wanna be left alone with him. She was not a fan of awkward situations.

Stiles stood there slightly hurt and very confused.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked following the girls into the kitchen. "What did I do now?" He busied himself unpacking the baked goods into the snack cupboard and the sunscreen he'll be needing later on the counter. He took a second to tuck the box off the side in the corner out of the way.

"It's nothing, Stiles." Lydia sighed, as though she was more hurt than anything else. The other two followed her mellow demeanor and avoided looking at Stiles.

"Okay," Stiles groans, getting a little paranoid. "So either I did something stupid and you're angry with me, or I did something really stupid and hurt your feelings?"

"Stiles," Lydia warned, lifting her hand to stop him from talking. "I don't wanna talk about it here, it's not my place."

"Heh," Stile let out a dry chuckle. "Since when is it not your place to talk about things I did to hurt you?"

"Cause you didn't exactly hurt me." Lydia put up a good front of being frustrated and emotionally exhausted.

The two were so focused on each other, that no one but Allison saw Erica's eyes widen and head start to shake as she motioned to the doorway leading out the back of the house.

"So I did do something stupid and hurt someone's feelings." Stiles nodded like he was finally getting to the bottom of it. "What happened?"

"Stiles," Lydia gave him a firm glare like it was supposed to be obvious what he did. Stiles just freaked out a bit at the knowing accusation in her tone and shrugged exasperated. "You broke things off with Derek!" She said louder than she really needed to.

Stiles blinked, obviously confused. "What?"

Erica cleared her throat, making the two look towards her and Allison who just started at something over their shoulders shifting awkwardly.

Stiles, mouth still slack with complete and utter confusion followed their gaze and looked to see Isaac and Derek standing there looking just as awkward. Well maybe, that was more Isaac.

"Um," Isaac cleared his throat daring a glance at Derek who stood completely still and stoic. "Pools ready."

Stiles looked around at each face in the room, all of them looking at him with uncertainty and then to Derek with sympathy.

"What?" Stiles asked again more exasperated. He gave everyone a look one last time before addressing the room as a whole, "There wasn't ever any breaking things off, me and Derek were never together."

"You weren't?" Issac asked completely unsure, looking to Derek for confirmation.

"Yea-" Stiles rolled his tongue along his lips and put his hands on his hips like an offended mother. "I think I'd remember being all up on that." He motioned to Derek who only raised a brow.

"Oh," Isaac nodded, still unsure. "You hen you and Markus... " He trailed off.

"Huh," Now Stiles looked really offended. "As if."

Lydia laughed at the unintended reference before she quieted herself and motioned the girls to ditch the awkward air with her. They all, as though if they moved too fast someone would be angry, stepped out into the hall and went the long way around back, through the front door.

"What is happening?" Stiles looked to the two completely bewildered as to where any of this was coming from all of a sudden.

"Um," Isaac looked to Derek who hadn't moved an inch. "I'm gonna-"

"Hold it!" Stiles raised his hand and pointed an accusatory finger at him. Isaac stopped in his attempt to back out of the room, frozen in place. "What the hell is all this drama about?"

"Um-"

"Say 'um' one more time, I'm gonna burn your scarf."

"Wh-" Isaac pouted for a moment before awkwardly shuffling between his two feet. "We kinda all thought you and Derek were, um-" He froze and dared a glance at a very unamused Stiles and an increasingly amused Derek. "Together, and you've been spending a lot of time with that Markus guy so we figured you two split-"

"That's enough." Stiles waved him away. Isaac was grateful and ran out back without a second glance.

Stiles sighed, facing Derek with a blank stare. Derek looked even more amused about all of this now that everyone was gone.

"You think this is funny?"

"I didn't realize that's the conclusion the pack came to." Was all he said.

"Well, we should probably make some things clear before the kids side with you in the divorce." Stiles scored playfully trying to hide his nervousness. He really didn't expect this to be the way he ended up addressing his and Derek's relationship.

"You think they'd take my side?" Derek raised a brow. "You're the one that spoils them."

Stiles just laughed, it's all he could do. They were standing ten feet apart, dancing around the subject.

Derek took a whiff of the air and smiled at the scent of stiles that became more and more permanent every time he came over. If it weren't for the past few days, and Isaac living here, Stiles was here the most out of everyone.

"So," Derek tried to think of the jerk's name, "Markus, you guys aren't," He made and gesture with his hands, looking away from Stiles.

"No, god no."

"Right," He nodded, "Cause when you came home from that party, you smelled like. . ."

"What?" Stiles tilted his head. He remembered being left in the dark room wondering what made Derek look so uncomfortable, and actually a little angry. He had a hard time trying to sleep cause his mind kept asking questions.

"A stranger, and sex." Derek put it bluntly. Stiles's eyes bulged out of his head and Derek almost laughed.

"What? No," Stiles recoiled in shock, not expecting him to say that.

"Then you started leaving us behind to go hand out with this guy you met at the party." Drek shrugged.

"The dude I met is not-" He stopped himself from saying the word, it sounded too absurd. "I met Markus, he was DD'ing for his friends, we got to talking. He offered to pay me to help him study. That's it!"

Derek nodded in understanding. He didn't need to hear Stile's heartbeat to tell that was the truth.

"Must have been a good amount of money for you to ditch the pack twice," Derek said, not really making it a question. Stiles chewed on his lip as Derek approached the kitchen island and leaned on it. "What?"

Stiles sighed turning to grab the box and placing it on the island and slinging it over to Derek. "The allowance I get from Dad every now and then wouldn't have been enough."

Derek stared at him for a moment before turning his attention to the box curiously and carefully opening it.

"It's just a housewarming gift," Stiles shuffled in place, looking anywhere but Derek.

Derek looked down in the box at stacks of plates and bowls, cups, all individually wrapped. Derek took a plate and gently tore it free from the plastic wrap, examining the intricate royal blue patterns along the edges, and the vibrant red and yellow flowers painted in the center. The flowers are arranged in the vague shape of a wolf, with leaves surrounding it like a nest. The dish was glossy, polished, and shinny, and smelled of somewhere old but clean. turning it over he saw painted in very neat handwriting, "The family is One of Nature's Masterpieces. Proberty of Hale, made by A. Bartosz."

Derek looked up to Stiles who started at the plat in his hands.

"Um, they're hand-painted, I went to a place out in Allens Town. A polish place. You've been using paper plates and stuff so I figured," Stile trailed briefing a look at Derek before returning his gaze to the plate. "In Poland, there's a belief that the beauty of the dish enriches the flavor of the food. You're always cooking for everyone so I thought-" Stiles cut himself off with a sigh and scratched the back of his neck.

Derek carefully set down the plate and walked around to Stiles who was still looking anywhere but him.

Next thing Stiles knew, he was warm. Really warm. Warm around his waist from Derek's arm, warm in his cheek where Derek held, warm on his lips where Derek kissed.

Stiles melted against him with a relieved sigh. It felt like he was in a dream he never wanted to wake up from. A dream the never thought would come true, no matter how many times Lydia told him to go for it.

He lifted his hands and placed them firmly on Derek's chest, one sliding further up to the base of his neck. He had no idea what he was doing, and he was fairly certain Derek knew it based on the rumble of laughter in his chest. But he followed Derek's lead and soon found a rhythm that made Stiles's knees weak.

When Derek finally pulled away, Stiles straight-up whined in protest, earning a chuckle from the alpha.

"Thank you," He smiled softly stroking Stiles's cheek with his thumb.

Stiles was giddy at the affection, smiling dreamily up at Derek. It made something in Derek stir back to life. The walls he tried to build back up the past few days crumbled down around him as Stiles pushed up into another kiss, hands coming up around his neck and into his hair. Derek hugged and his waist and pulled his impossibly closer, sighing in contentment.

"No," They heard a sudden shout, pulling apart and looking to the back door. Erica was moving away with her back to them heading back into the yard. "They're busy eating each other faces!"

"Oh, my god." Stiles groaned. Derek only chuckled turning back to Stiles and pulling him back in.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[christinesficrecs]

Do you have any fics you can recommend where like, Derek's family member(s) that died in the fire appear as ghosts and Stiles can see/hear them? Or something along those lines.

Thanks ❤️❤️❤️

I do! 🩷

You Only Live Once…or Twice by WonderWolf | 32.9K | Explicit

Or the one in which Stiles is a necromancer who needs help stopping a rogue alpha and Derek is the solution, but at what cost?

From Ashes by andavs | 13.4K 

Stiles really couldn’t say for sure who was more surprised when the formerly very much deceased Laura Hale suddenly appeared behind Gerard Argent, mid-villain monologue, and ripped his head off.

Dream of Life Again by BarlowGirl | 18.3K | Explicit

You better be ready,” Lydia says as she cleans dirt out from under her nails with an antiseptic wipe. Stiles can smell the lemon scent even from where he stands a few feet away. She’s probably going to end up covered in blood in a few moments, but she likes to be in control in any way she can, so he doesn’t tease her about this. “It’s time to start.”

“I’m ready,” Stiles says and he’s pretty sure it’s not even a lie. Hopefully.

Dead Things by standinginanicedress | 89.1K | Explicit

Derek blows some more smoke out. He chooses to look at Stiles’ mouth instead of in his eyes, again. “I need you to bring someone back.”

“Back.”

“From the dead.”

“Absolutely not,” Stiles scoffs, shaking his head. “Not for you, not for all the money in the world.”

Derek looks at him, just looks. He is not going to accept no for an answer, and Stiles knows it, but it doesn’t matter, because Stiles will not do that. He cannot do that, not again. “Why not for me in specific?”

don’t know what i’m supposed to do (haunted by the ghost of you) by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli) | 30.9K

Stiles sees dead people. Yep. Seriously.

(He’s got this. He’s totally got this. So what if one of them is Derek’s mom?)

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of by Lissadiane | 14.9K

In which Stiles Stilinski sees the ghosts of animals with unfinished business, and Derek Hale is unaware that his dearly departed sister left a few things unfinished.

Of Course It’s Fairies by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere | 100.2K

While still suffering from the after effects of the Nogitsune, Stiles and the pack stumble upon and save a trapped fairy. The boy’s parents, not wanting to be in the pack’s debt, offer each member of the pack who assisted in the rescue, the opportunity to bring a loved one back from the dead.

Having been blissfully reunited with several of their once-lost friends and family members, everyone must work together to figure out how to function as a new pack, and how to defeat a new incoming threat.

I See Dead People by Asteria_Star | 15.3K

Stiles has been able to see Ghosts for as long as he could remember. Having a ghost tell you that you are a necromancer and that the supernatural exists was nothing. What isn't nothing is trying to navigate your best friend becoming a werewolf while trying to hide what you are.

AND since I'm here :)

I Was Present While You Were Unconscious by CharWright5 | 19.4K

Stiles had often thought about how he’d meet his soul mate, the literal muscular man of his dreams. He just didn’t ever imagine finding him on Facebook where a friend had shared a news article about a werewolf John Doe in a coma after a car wreck four hours out of town. And he also didn’t expect to bond and fall in love with the guy’s family before ever saying two words to him out loud.

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Reader (You) Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. For years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because you feel like something halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t wash the smell of hospital out of clothes, not really. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After your annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, you meet his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables and incoherent babbling.

A/N: Does this look familiar? It should lmao. I gave into the peer pressure. All the messages and requests were too powerful. Here is a reader version of my ofc season 1 fic. Obviously some things have been removed to get rid of specific names/descriptions, so you want to read the full thing you can read the og version and check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)! For the sake of not clogging tags, I'll probably just do my reader version on tumblr and the full oc lore version on ao3 from now on. xx

Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before your mother’s death, you would have picked fire. Every single time. 

You never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of your argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, your mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, you mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; you connected those dots all on your own. You’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

You flitted your eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Your responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Your yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely your father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to your face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps he stopped being your dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” you smoothed your thumb in small circles over the armrest of your chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of your first interrogation. You’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. You picked at your uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of your mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Your mom had been far too indulgent of your lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at your snarky aside. She let you finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; you could tell. At the time, you saw it as a victory. Now, it kept you up at night, the drooping lines of your mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book you were trying to read.

You bit down on your tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of your thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” You paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Your mother kissed the top of your head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. You woke up in the hospital, and your mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto your top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, you wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though you both knew how the story went from here. You had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

You bit down on your thumbnail and winced when your teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

You shook your head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, you had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, you looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped your knees tightly, digging your fingers into fragile skin until your wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Your eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and your voice went so quiet you could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” Copper flooded your mouth as the soft lining of your cheek split under the brunt of your teeth, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

You were scared to open your eyes as the silence stretched between the two of you. You’d danced around the subject before, hinted and spun around the heart of it, but you’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give you a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, just plain ol’ grief—but whatever caused your temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, you had no explanation at all. When you finally peeked through your lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, you couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” you cut him off. Your eyes went flinty, irises darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of your anger. You never had any trouble reading your father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that you had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing you remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

You nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of your denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

You blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” you stood up quickly, shouldering your bag. You forced the corners of your mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. You had seen it before, on one of your many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, you assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. You must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave you a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping your fingers around the strap of your backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

Outside, the sky was grim, a mocking reflection of the dour expression on your face. The spite in your eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of your cheeks. For a moment, you just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor.

A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled you back into reality. The search for your car keys was, of course, a considerable endeavor. Nothing could be easy. Not here. Not today. Not ever, you thought. A bit melodramatic maybe, but the weather was certainly ripe for a bit of self-pity.

You stacked your textbooks and binders onto the hood of your sedan, haphazardly throwing your jacket on top of the pile to protect your painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of your car keys, your hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when you pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all you could do was rest your forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to your mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of your thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

You jumped, and then flinched again when your keys clattered against the ground. You caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as you felt. You turned around, trepidatiously—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow your rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

You blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for your keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and your heart dropped back into your chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. You hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” you hummed, leaning back against your car. Your fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” your brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above your heads as you stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made you sink your teeth into your bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

You pursed your lips and ran your eyes over the front of your car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” You were slightly horrified when you finally noticed that you were smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto your face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in your cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of your car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by your freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” you sighed and started stuffing your things back into your backpack, shaking it violently until your notebook finally slid past your chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of your face. You tilted your head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. His eyes, you noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, you realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

You pushed his finger away from your face with your own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered. He struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked next to your car, cursing under his breath until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Your lips parted briefly, and then you grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

You bit back the snark poised on the tip of your tongue. When people looked at you, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. You were the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; your mom died, and you were there. It seemed like that was all you would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been your chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so you took it, wholeheartedly. You kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and your mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” you finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting your head, you watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” you said faintly. It was coming back to you in pieces. That was life after twelve for you: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when you surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards you, “Stiles.”

You took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Y/N.”

His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and your eyes widened. You held your breath in your sternum until you registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, you concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills.  

You sighed a little as you listened to the rain patter against the asphalt and the roof of your car, rubbing your palms over your arms until the goosebumps prickling along your biceps receded into your skin. Stiles looked back at you again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards your face. You caught it before it could smack into your nose, and you clutched at the soft material until you realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at you when you looked up from your hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and you felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in your arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. You blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into your closet until your second alarm startled you into snatching the first shirt you came across—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on your lashes dripped into your eyes.

Robotically, you thrust your arms through the sleeves and tugged it over your head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. You smiled slightly, combing your baby hairs behind your ears, “I guess I forgive you for attempting to blind me in the process.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “That was an excellent throw. First-line material, honestly.”

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyebrows crawling towards your hairline, and Stiles sighed loudly, “Okay, so I’m not an ‘athlete’ or whatever—but I’m working on it. You’ll see—you’ll all see.”

You hummed softly, unconvinced but grateful enough to not comment further. Another bout of silence fell between you, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the background as you let out a soft sigh, dropping your head back against your car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock your car and now, but you couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, you realized, without your foul mood casting a shadow over your head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. You could feel his gaze on you again. A tickling sensation trailed down your spine as you fiddled with your keychain. You took a step backwards and bit your bottom lip, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you throw something else at my face.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. A tire iron was next.”

You slid into your car and stared at the steering wheel, forgetting to laugh at his joke. You wrapped your fingers around 10 and 2 and silently called upon every deity you’d ever heard of to end your suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but you seriously doubted your smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, you should revisit your resounding dedication to atheism, you thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. You bit back a smile when he shot you another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from your car’s battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, you were convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against your window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

You snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. You decided that you much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” you drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

You thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” you sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” you agreed, staring at a small chip in your windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that you couldn’t believe it had taken you this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut your door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “Seeya at school. I’ll bring something fun for target practice—maybe grapes. You like grapes? Don’t answer that—I’ll surprise you.”

You put your car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and gave him a dry smile, “The anticipation is killing me.”

What a scary place to be, you thought as you watched Stiles disappear in your rearview mirror. Anticipation. Hope. Life. You were chronically good at surviving; cockroached your way out of every horrible thing life squashed you with. Lately, all you could do was cling to your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin, until you were barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but death would not stop for you, so you stopped looking for him. You kept treading water, took your pills, stopped existing—you were a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. You didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced you to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

Your dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when you finally pulled into your circle driveway. It was a rare sight; your dead battery had disrupted your usual routine. You were supposed to be safely tucked away in your room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if you were feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time your dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way you could function in the same space. 

He used to stare at you from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way you knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, you thought. You loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you now. You wondered, and you desperately didn’t want to find out.  

You shouldered your backpack and made sure your car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. You could hear the buzz of the microwave as you toed off your sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Your dad loved their al pomodoro. 

You tried to make yourself as small as possible as you skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to your ears and grip tight around the strap of your backpack. Your dad’s back was to you; you could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once you reached the island. 

“Did…” your dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?” 

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at you. You stared at the back of his head and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. Look at me. Your brows pinched, and your back molars ground together. Look at me. 

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” you shoved your hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that you forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time. 

“That’s not what I—” your dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.” 

“Oh,” you shifted your weight onto your other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Your dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but you supposed it was the closest you’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud. 

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.” 

You nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. You’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when your dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe you could if he would look at you.