#the field in which i lay my feels for derek hale | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bellakitse · 4 years

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I've got the remedy

“Stiles, go upstairs and take care of your guy,” she tells him as she turns to face him once more, sighing loudly when he starts to stammer.

“My guy?” Stiles squeaks, and he hopes Derek is too loopy to hear this conversation or the way his heart is racing. “I don’t –“

Derek gets sick with werewolf flu, and Stiles is left to watch over him. Their mutual crushes come to a head.

“Werewolf flu?”

Stiles Stilinski looks at his friend Lydia Martin dubiously as she stands in front of the stove, heating up soup. She’d called as he barely crossed back into the town lines – home on break from school, with an SOS text telling him to get his ass out to the Hale house. That wasn’t the surprising part, even being away at Berkeley didn’t stop the wolfy emergency-related texts. However, he could admit that their dear Alpha had a better handle on things these days, and he didn’t get too many ‘the world is coming to an end; we need your google-fu, Stiles’ call these days.

Not that Derek was willing to call his impressive skills ‘google-fu’ in the first place, no matter how much Stiles insists. Just because the big guy had mellowed out over the years doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a sourwolf.

Lydia rolls her eyes at him, probably because she has explained twice, and he’s still not getting it. “Peter didn’t precisely tell us – “

“What?” he drags out sarcastically. “You mean Peter Hale was vague about something?”

Lydia shoots him another look, more annoyed than the last, and Stiles smiles delighted, riling her up is one of his favorite pastimes. “Yes, shocker,” she says, returning his tone. “And he didn’t call it werewolf flu, but that’s essentially what it is, and Derek has it.”

Stiles frowns, looking up at the kitchen ceiling like it’s going to open up and show him their Alpha. “Is he okay?”

Lydia rolls her eyes yet again, and Stiles is starting to worry for her eyesight if she continues this way. “Yes. He’s just more irritating, if that’s even possible. Werewolves barely ever get sick, so he’s handling it oh so gracefully,” she tells him. The aggravation in her voice makes him wince.

“Where is everyone?” he questions. He knows the pack arrived days ago, him being the last one to come back to town due to a late paper he had to hand in.

“Far away,” Lydia answers as she turns off the stove. “I called Deaton. He said that while rare, the werewolf flu is contagious to other werewolves, so I sent them away because I couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with more supernatural whiny babies.”

Stiles snorts loudly at that. “Can’t Derek hear you right now?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. “Like I care about the big bad wolf?” she asks, her mouth quirking upward when a growl vibrates through the house. Stiles shakes his head, amused. It’s times like this when he remembers why he was in love with her for so long.

“Okay, so why did you call me?” he asks, instantly regretting it when she gives him a bright smile. “No.”

“Stiles – “

He shakes his head quickly. “No, you just said he’s moodier than ever – “

“He needs someone to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own snot,” she says patiently, and the house shakes again with another growl.

“His betas – “ he tries over the huff Lydia lets out.

“Will get sick if they come near him,” she reminds him. “You really want to deal with a sick pack?”

Stiles lets out a sigh of his own as he reluctantly shakes his head. Scott alone used to be such a nightmare when he got sick before his wolfy transformation. “What about Allison?” he questions desperately.

Lydia looks at him like he’s stupid, and he knows why. Even years later, Allison and Derek aren’t particularly close. She’s pack because she’s Scott’s mate, but she’d probably just end up putting Derek out of his misery before bringing him tea with honey.

“You?” he questions in a last-ditch effort, knowing it useless by the way she looks at him.

“What exactly do you think I have been doing the last three days when I should have been studying, Stiles?”

“We’re on break,” he argues.

“You don’t win a Fields Medal by slacking off,” she shoots back with a flip of her hair. “Besides, I’m not Florence Nightingale.”

“And I am?” he asks. “What makes you think that leaving me with a sick and, per your words, grumpier Derek Hale is a good idea? I’m just going to annoy him more than usual, which I’m sure is not going to make him feel better faster.”

Lydia gives him a look that Stiles has come to know as her ‘Stiles, you’re such an idiot’ face. He’s used to it, but he’s not sure what he’s said right now to warrant it.

“What?” he questions when she continues to look at him like that.

Lydia rolls her eyes because it seems irritation is her default setting for the day and starts to make her way out of the kitchen into the living room to gather her jacket and purse. “The soup is ready. Make him drink plenty of water, and there are these herbs Deaton gave us. It’s already brewed. He has to drink that too. Word of warning, he says it tastes like death, so he’s going to pout about it. Make sure he drinks it in front of you. The first day the big baby poured it down the toilet.”

“Lydia, please,” he tries again as she puts her jacket on and heads for the door.

“Stiles, go upstairs and take care of your guy,” she tells him as she turns to face him once more, sighing loudly when he starts to stammer.

“My guy?” Stiles squeaks, and he hopes Derek is too loopy to hear this conversation or the way his heart is racing. “I don’t –“

Proving that she can be even more unimpressed with him still, Lydia rolls her eyes in a way that makes it seem it’s with her whole body.

“I don’t have time for your panic, so let me lay it out for you,” she says, not waiting for him to speak. “You two talk over the phone all the time. When you and I talk, you end up talking about him, and you get stupidly excited about making him laugh. He softens around you like no one else. You like each other, Stiles, and while it’s amusing for the rest of us to watch this little mating dance of yours, it’s also tedious as hell. Now, Derek has been a pain in the ass the last few days, and I guarantee you that you being here will put him in a better mood. So, I repeat, go upstairs and take care of your man.”

Stiles opens his mouth, but nothing comes out as he tries to process the truth bomb Lydia just dropped on his head. Seemingly taking his silence as an answer, she smiles, pleased with the havoc she has just wreaked, and walks out of the house, leaving him alone with a sick werewolf.

“Right,” he says to himself after a moment, closing his mouth and the door. He heads back to the kitchen, working on autopilot as he serves the soup Lydia heated up, pouring some of the herb-tea Lydia mentioned that does indeed smell like death and some water, placing it all on a carrying tray. All the while, he thinks about Lydia’s comments and the truth behind them.

He and Derek do talk all the time, sometimes for hours, about nothing and everything. He does get a ridiculous amount of joy when he can make the man laugh, and he’d been looking forward to coming home and seeing him, hoping to see and hear that laugh in person. There’s also the undeniable fact that he’s had a crush on Derek since high school, something he thought he’d manage to hide pretty well, but if Lydia’s words were true, then maybe not so much.

He feels his face go hot at the idea that the pack might be aware of his feelings, or worse, Derek. Because even if by some chance he wasn’t aware of them before, there’s no way he’s lucky enough for Derek not to have heard Lydia now.

Every part of him is screaming at him to get back in his jeep and drive home where he could hide under his bed until it’s time to go back to school. Instead, he grabs the tray and starts to make his way up the renovated Hale house. He’s faced scarier things than his feelings since learning about the supernatural, and it’s not the first time he’s been interested in someone wildly out of his league.

It’s his M.O.

Besides, there’s no way he could actually leave a sick Derek alone to be miserable if he can make him feel better. Lord knows the guy has had enough misery in his life. With that in mind, he pushes the door to Derek’s room with his hip, ready to deal with whatever is inside.

What he isn’t ready for is how good Derek looks. Stiles hasn’t seen him in person in months since his last break, and he looks amazing. Leave it to Derek Hale to get some strange supernatural cold and still look like a GQ model.

Derek is sitting up on the bed, and except for an impressive bedhead and unusually flushed cheeks under his scruff, he looks as gorgeous as ever.

“Life is truly unfair,” he whispers to himself, getting a raised eyebrow in return. “What? Of course you would look this good while sick,” he says with narrowed eyes. Frankly, he’s annoyed by just how beautiful Derek is sometimes. “Can’t be like us lesser mortals who look like death when we have the flu? Do you just have to show us up?”

Derek stares at him for another moment before giving him an impressive eye-roll of his hazel-green eyes. “Why are you the most ridiculous person I know?”

Stiles snorts. “That’s simply not true. You also know Scott,” he answers as he makes his way towards the bed, tray in hand, silently apologizing to his friend for the dig.

Derek’s lips twitch for a second before he schools his features, but Stiles still catches it and celebrates the win with an amused grin of his own. It softens a bit as he sits down on the side of the bed, placing the tray on the bedside table to get a better look at Derek.

He stands by his original opinion that Derek Hale is just way too gorgeous in general, much more for someone sick with a magical flu, but this close, he can see the bit of bruising around his eyes from the lack of sleep. His cheeks are rosy-pink from sickness, and before he can stop himself, he reaches out to press his hand against one.

Derek lets out a surprised sound at his touch that startles Stiles into realizing what he’s done. He goes to take his hand off the werewolf, ready to apologize for overstepping when Derek gives him a surprise of his own by leaning into his touch, his pretty eyes fluttering shut, a peaceful look coming over his face.

Stiles holds his breath as Derek lets out another lovely rumbling sound from deep in his throat.

“Your hand is cool,” Derek murmurs softly, his eyes slowly opening to look at him. “It feels nice.”

Stiles bites down on his lip, feeling his stomach clench when Derek’s eyes drift to them, and he licks his own.

Holy shit, Lydia was right. This whole time he had figured that this was just one-sided. That it was him once again developing feelings for someone who would never return his affections. But looking at Derek now, he sees the same want and longing he sees in the mirror every day.

“Oh, screw you,” he breathes out, tightening his hold on Derek when he tries to pull away. “Nope, you don’t get to retreat now, sourwolf,” he warns him with narrowed eyes, proving his suspicions real by the way he listens to him. “You heard Lydia earlier,” he challenges with a raised eyebrow.

“I have good ears,” Derek grumbles back.

“So you heard her when she said we have feelings for each other,” he says, his heart beating faster than usual with anxiety, and he knows Derek can hear that too. Derek’s almost timid, hopeful expression when he gives him a single nod helps ease that worry as he starts to feel hopeful too. “Only all this time, I thought I was the only one with feelings here.”

“I thought you were the smart one,” Derek murmurs, a small grin playing on his lips when he sputters indignantly.

Stiles huffs loudly, even as he’s unable to stop the silly grin that takes over his face.

“Your heartbeat sounds happy,” Derek tells him softly as he looks down to his chest.

“You like me back,” he answers, letting out an incredulous laugh when Derek smiles at him, not denying it. Instead, he looks at him fondly, causing Stiles’ heart to skip a beat at being the recipient of such a rare and special look. “I’m more than happy right now, Derek,” he shakes his head. Happy doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Derek smiles again, pushing off the mountain of pillows behind him, reaching out for him. Stiles does the same, placing his hands on Derek’s bare shoulders, playing with the edge of his white tank top. His face gets inches away from Stiles’ when he stops.

“Wait – “ he starts as Stiles already shakes his head.

“No, no waiting,” he whines, wrapping his fingers around the material of his shirt, leaning forward. He rubs the tip of his nose against Derek’s even as he tries to close the last inch of distance between their lips. “I have had a crush on you since like junior year, Derek. No waiting, no wasting any more time, kissing now.”

Derek chuckles slightly. This close up he can see Derek’s eyes shining with joy, and Stiles wants to be responsible for that from now on.

“I’m sick, remember?”

“Affects werewolves, not humans,” he mutters as he brushes his lips against Derek’s, sighing at the feel of their softness. His sigh turns into a low moan as Derek gives in, hauling him onto his lap, proving that werewolf flu or not, his strength is still superior.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck as he cradles him between his legs. He kisses him slow and deeply, thoroughly, it being such a long time coming. He sinks his fingers into Derek’s hair gripping it harder than he intended, pulling on it on reflex when Derek gives his bottom lip a bite. The pleased growl Derek lets out against his mouth vibrates down his whole body, making his spine tingle. He breaks the kiss to take a breath, only for it to turn into a gasp when Derek ducks to kiss his way down his neck.

“Totally worth the risk,” he gets out, moaning as Derek traces his moles with his tongue.

Derek laughs against his throat. He pulls back to look at him, smiling widely. “You say that now, but don’t complain later if you do get sick.”

Stiles shrugs his shoulders, not really worried or caring right now when he’s in Derek’s arms. “If it happens, we’ll stay in bed together until we’re both better,” he answers, his eyes lighting up as he speaks. “Actually, that’s a great idea. Let’s stay in bed.”

He waggles his eyebrows, grinning when Derek huffs, rolling his eyes at him.

“The most ridiculous person I know,” he mutters right as he rolls them over, ignoring the yelp Stiles lets out at the sudden movement.

Stiles blinks up at the ceiling while Derek throws an arm and a leg over him, settling around Stiles like he’s his own personal body pillow.

“What about the soup?” he questions even as he starts combing his fingers through Derek’s silky hair, scratching at his scalp with blunt nails.

“Mhmm,” Derek hums out, his face tucked into Stiles’ neck, already sounding half-asleep. “It will keep.”

Stiles laughs softly, but still, he wraps his arms more securely around the sleeping wolf, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead because he can now, closing his eyes too.

The soup can wait.

#teen wolf #sterek #eternalsterek #sterek fic #derek x stiles #my writing #my nostalgia for sterek kicked into gear today and this happened

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teenwolffan-with-nolife · 3 years

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New Life Pt.8

Word Count: 2,146

Characters: Derek Hale, Carol Lockwood (mentioned), Laura Hale (mentioned), Stefan Salvatore (mentioned), Zach Salvatore (mentioned), OC Characters, Reader

Pairings: Eventual Derek Hale x Reader

Warnings: angst, cliffhanger, insecurities, violence but nothing too graphic

A/N: ---

Masterlist Series Masterlist

You wrapped your arms around yourself, laying down on your bed as you buried your head in your lap, taking deep breaths. Derek was back from the hospital, it had been a week. There was still no word from Jay. Your anxiety had come back, worse than before. Your heart was constantly racing, it was harder to control it.

There was a full moon tonight, you could tell Derek was slightly worried as well. Once again, you two were the only ones home, you refrained from telling anyone else that Jay was back in town.

You still had no idea what supernatural creature he was.

Your head shot up, hearing someone arguing in Derek’s room.

You tried to ignore it, before finding yourself leaning against Derek’s door.

“What happened?” you asked.

“I told Emily I couldn’t go out with her tonight and now she’s upset,” Derek sighed.

“Yeah, that’ll happen a lot,” you shrugged.

“I can’t think about that. I have to find some new chains or something. The last ones broke,” you nodded your head as Derek grabbed his wallet.

“Wait,” he frowned slightly.

“I’ll come with you,” you replied.

“Why? You do know Damon’s gone, right?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m still coming with you. I know exactly where to go too,” he sighed, before nodding his head.

You were scared to let him out of your sight again. If he was home, you were home. If he wasn’t, you weren’t.

You grabbed your keys, getting into the car as he followed you.

“Can I drive?” he asked.

“In your dreams, Hale,” you rolled your eyes, before driving off.

---

You retrieved some chains among other things from the Lockwoods, the two of you made your way to the Grill. You sat at a table, looking around through the mirrors.

“Okay, seriously. What’s up?” Derek sat across from you, while you shrugged.

“Nothing,” you replied.

“You’re acting really weird.”

“I’m not acting weird.”

“Yes, you are. You haven’t insulted me for almost a week, you haven’t done anything that doesn’t involve me. You’re barely even paying attention to this conversation!” you turned to him, running your fingers through your hair.

“Look-” you froze, seeing something past your eye as you tensed.

You looked out the window, seeing Jay standing in the park.

“I gotta go,” you heard him yell in protest as you got up, running out of the restaurant.

“What are you planning?” you immediately asked him.

“Really? No hello, or how are you?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it. Tell me what the hell you’re doing,” you spat.

“Walk with me,” he began to walk away, while you stuck your hand in your pocket, reaching for your gun.

“Oh, come on! Don’t you just want to catch up?” you could see the smirk on your face as you shook your head.

“Last time we saw each other, you killed my mom. Sorry if I’m not in a talkative mood.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Who’s the raven-haired kid you’re with? Friend? Boyfriend?”

You stayed silent, clenching your jaw.

“Wonder which way he swings. Would he go out with me if I asked him?” you froze in your steps, shaking your head.

“You go near him, I’ll empty this clip into your brain,” you threatened.

“That almost sounded believable, you know. Do you intimidate people like that?” he asked.

“Jay, what are you doing here?” you asked again.

“Spent the last year trying to figure out what I want to do with life. I got the revenge I wanted my entire life. It’s kind of like I have no purpose now,” he shrugged.

You tensed as he put his arm around your shoulder.

You have a gun, why are you scared?

“I finally figured it out. You see, when the supernatural kill innocent humans, all these hunters kill them. But, when innocent supernaturals die, hunters are praised. How is that fair?”

“I got the locations of some hunters from your phone. Kinda freaked the first time, a group of them against one. I still killed them all. You saw it, right? It was in the paper,” he put his hand on your waist, pulling you in slightly.

“Why are you telling me this? I could kill you now. End it here,” your voice wavered slightly as you mentally scolded yourself.

“You could, but we both know you’re not strong enough to do it. Aim your gun, take your best shot at me,” his eyes flashed grey as he winked.

“What are you?” you asked.

“Why would I tell you? So you can figure out how to kill me? I’d rather not,” he scoffed.

“Look, your parents were not innocent. My mother believed that all innocent supernatural creatures should live their lives freely,” you saw his face fall into a glare as his grip on you tightened.

“Shouldn’t you be on my side? I mean, you’re all for equality, aren’t you?”

“Those hunters you killed last week never killed a supernatural who didn’t deserve it,” you shook your head softly.

“They had it coming. If hunters didn’t exist, everything would be peaceful.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Supernaturals would kill off the entire human race.”

He put his hands on your waist, stopping in front of you.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Humans are the worst. This stupid, degenerate species… they all deserve to die. Not everyone is like you, you know. You always saw the good in everyone and everything. Well, at least you used to,” you could hear him laugh as you dug your nails into your palm.

“I’m assuming you didn’t come back here just to bother me.”

“I want you to come with me. You’re sort of a hunter, you can get around. People knew your mother. It’ll be fun,” you could feel his breath on your face as you looked up, frowning.

“You’re disgusting. You’re a monster. You killed my mother right in front of me and expect me to be okay with you waltzing back into town, and then you ask me to come with you? To murder all these-”

“Not murder. I’d call it evening out the playing field. Why should the supernatural cower and be afraid for their lives while hunters and humans walk freely?”

You opened your mouth to speak, before hearing someone walking up to you two.

“Dean,” you saw a smile on Jay’s face as you turned around, feeling his hand on your waist.

“Jay! I didn’t know you were back. It’s good to see you, man,” your heart was racing, as you looked at Dean.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)? You look-” Dean started.

“I’m fine. Just tired,” you lied. You didn’t need to cause panic.

“So, are you guys back together or something?” Dean asked.

“Looks like it, yeah?” Jay smirked, pressing a small kiss to your cheek as you stiffened.

“Well, I’m happy for you guys. I’m running late for my shift. We should plan a hang or something while you’re in town. I’m sure Derek would love to meet you,” Dean replied.

“Yeah, definitely. We’ll see you,” Dean gave you two a small smile before walking off.

You pulled away from Jay, taking a few steps back. You held your gun out, pointing it at Jay, feeling your heart beating in the back of your head.

“You know what? I’ll see you tonight. Make sure your bags are packed,” you cocked the gun, pointing it at him.

“Incensa,” you winced softly, dropping the gun as it burst into flames.

“How did you-”

“I’m going to be stronger than you, no matter what. You’re coming with me tonight, whether you want to or not. I suggest you say your goodbyes,” he disappeared from in front of you as tears rushed to your eyes, dialing Zach’s number.

It went straight to voicemail as your heart dropped.

“Zach, please call me back,” you sniffled softly, ending the call as you ran your fingers through your hair.

No matter how much you tried to convince yourself, you were weak. You couldn’t stop Jay when you had the chance, you barely stopped Damon.

Stupid and useless

Your hands were shaking as you rushed to your car, driving off. You forgot about Derek, leaving him at the Grill before he ran out, yelling for you.

“(Y/N)!” he groaned, taking his phone out, about to dial your number.

“Hey, you’re Derek, right?” Derek frowned, turning around to see another boy standing behind him.

“Uhm…”

“Oh, I’m an old friend of (Y/N)’s. We used to be close, but then I moved away for some time,” Jay explained.

“I’ve never heard of you,” Derek tensed slightly.

“Yeah, it has been a while. I can give you a ride to the Salvatore House. I was gonna head there anyway to see (Y/N),” Derek softened slightly, nodding his head.

“Great,” the two of them walked to his car, before taking off.

---

“Derek, this isn’t funny. Dean said he saw you driving off with someone. Call me back,” it was nearly sundown, only a few hours until the full moon and Derek was nowhere to be found. Zach hadn’t replied to your call, neither had Stefan or Laura.

You paced around the house anxiously. You made a barrier of wolfsbane and salt around the entire house, keeping your weapons ready.

You dialed Laura’s number once again.

“Laura, please call me back. I-I can’t find Derek. The full moon…” your voice broke slightly as you stopped yourself.

“None of you are answering your fucking phones, what's the point of having them?!” you hung up the call, rubbing the back of your neck.

Fuck this

You walked outside of the house, met with Jay on the doorstep.

“Oh, hey,” he smiled softly, while you aimed your gun at him.

“Where’s Derek?” you yelled.

“Passed out. Don’t worry about him, he’ll sleep through the full moon. Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“I’m not going with you. Where is Derek,” you asked again.

“If you come with me, maybe I’ll let him live,” you felt a chill up your spine as your face dropped.

“What do you mean… Where is he?” you yelled.

“You keep asking me that, like I’m gonna give you an answer,” he crossed his arms.

You cocked your gun, about to fire before he muttered something under his breath. Your gun was knocked out of your hands, before you grabbed your knife from your pocket, aiming for his chest.

He pulled it from you, twisting your arm back before you kicked his stomach, causing him to stumble back.

“You know, you’re getting better at this,” he smirked.

You clenched your fist, aiming for this jaw as he moved slightly, while your fist met with his head.

His eyes glew a light grey, as he looked at you with rage.

“We don’t have time for this,” he used his powers, putting his hand around your neck, pushing you back as you felt your head hit the wall behind you.

He pulled you off your feet, pulling you higher up. Tears filled your eyes as you felt the air leaving your body.

“Let Derek go,” you cried softly.

He dropped you to the floor, as you gasped for air.

“You’re still the same weak girl that I had the displeasure of knowing,” you looked up at him, your vision blurry as he kicked your stomach. You coughed loudly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“You couldn’t beat me if I let you,” he yelled.

“Jay…” your voice drifted as you laid on your back, blood dripping from your lips as you gasped for air.

“Come on. Get in the car,” he pulled you up, you couldn’t escape his grip.

He put handcuffs on you, pulling your arms behind the seat as you winced.

He put your seatbelt on you, before stroking your cheek.

“Was that so hard for you to do?” he smirked slightly.

“Derek…” you cried.

“Oh, he’s fine!” Jay opened up his trunk, while you saw him pull Derek’s unconscious body to the doorstep of the house.

“You can’t leave him like that,” you cried softly.

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” he closed your door, before walking to the driver’s seat, sitting next to you.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

You cried softly, shaking your head.

“Shhh, I can’t have you crying. I’ll patch you up once we’re out of here. Can’t have Zach or Stefan catching up with us,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead as you felt a small tear rush down your face.

You looked back at Derek’s body, as your heart began to ache.

“I hate you,” you cried softly.

Jay wiped away your tear, pulling your head up.

“No, you don’t. Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

Taglist:

@bellabadacadabra

@teen-wolf-obsessed4life

@eunoia-kth

@angelgtzdar

@shortimaginewriter

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obviousflirtations · 3 years

Text

The Angel of Small Deaths Part 3

In case you missed it:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Ok so I watched Red (Taylor's Version) (10 minute) (short film), and let me say, I about cried a little because I saw myself in some parts of it. The acting was so good. The song,,, immaculate. I'm in awe.

----

Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh I

[Y/N]'s eyes fluttered open, her head pounding as she sat in a chair with her arms strapped to the arm rests. She could hear Lydia whimpering next to her, standing between two of the hunters. Her gaze drifted to Scott, he was chained to the chair next to her. His gaze fixed upon the her.

The girl looked up when she saw Kira get pulled by Severo. She watched as the man put Kira's hand on a dial set, she didn't know quite what it was. Her vision was too foggy to get any clear picture together.

"So let me explain," Severo's voice cut through the thick air, "what's about to happen. This one," he pointed to Kira, "the fix, has an immunity to electricity. So she's going to turn the dial on the alpha." He paused, then continued, his gaze fixing upon [Y/N], "if she doesn't, I turn the dial on the druid."

Lay my heart down with the rest at her feet

You wanted to laugh, even in this dangerous situation, you weren't a druid. It was a common mistake, really, but it was a deadly one. Even with the throbbing in your head, she could still make the decision to level this room.

"No." Kira struggled against the man's grip, "I'm not doing this."

Severo guided Kira's hand back to the device, "are you sure? One of your friends has the power to heal, the other one? Not so much."

[Y/N] and Scott looked to each other, a common understanding between the both. Momentary pain to keep her safe is what she could read from his eyes. She could hear Lydia's protests from the side of the room which ended in useless muffled cries.

"What are you doing?" the girl in the chair asked, "is this a game to you?"

"This is a test, mija," Araya answered, "let's see if you pass." She walked in front of the two, "We're going to ask some questions, you answer them, nobody gets hurt." She gave the two a sick smile, one with no remorse. "You don't answer, we turn on the dial."

"Do what they say," Scott told Kira, his eyes sad as he came to terms with the situation. "Okay? Whatever they want. I can take it."

Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile

"So, we don't know where Derek is, we want to find him as well." Araya began, "you know who took him."

"What?" Scott questioned, "how would I know that?"

"Doesn't sound like an answer to me," the woman stated.

[Y/N] looked up from her lap, "we don't know." He voice was flat, nothing was contained inside of it. "Why do you think we came here?"

Araya looked at her, "Kira, turn the dial." When Kira faltered, Araya turned her head slightly, "Should we turn the dial on [Y/N] instead?"

"No. No!" Scott yelled, his chains rattling.

"Scott," she whispered, "I can take it."

"I'm not taking that chance." He looked at her then to Kira, "do it, Kira. Do it."

"Let's start at one," Araya ordered as Kira went to the dial.

[Y/N] watched as the current went through Scott, everything in you wanted to try and rip through the chains to get to him, to make it stop.

Bloody and raw,

"Tell me, who actually has Derek," the woman had the audacity to n to stop the voltage that ran through Scott when she asked. "Who had a reason? A vendetta particular to the Hales!"

[Y/N] could only watch as Scott spoke, "I said, I don't know."

"Oh, you don't know because you haven't figured it out yet," Araya hissed. "So think, who could have taken him."

She couldn't even hear them turn the dial on Scott, she was too in tune with the thoughts going through her head, the possibilities running through them.

"Who had the power? The power of a shapeshifter!"

"We don't know!" the girl yelled, trying to divert her attention from Scott, she couldn't bear seeing him in pain.

"Oh," Araya turned to her gaze to the girl, "someone who could have turned without you knowing." She stopped, looking between the two teens, "turned, without a bite." When there was no answer she turned to Severo and Kira, "Diez!"

but I swear it is sweet

[Y/N] looked to Scott, then to Kira, and shook your head. This would kill the boy, you could do something, something to withstand it. Through the adrenaline, she could only think through so many spells, so many options. Until she settled on one.

"[Y/N]," Scott strained to look at her, "no."

She could only shake her head before looking at Severo, "turn in on me!" The voice that came from her mouth didn't sound like her own, it sounded stronger, more sure. "Turn it on me," she became quieter, accepting what was to happen.

Before Severo could do anything, Araya went and pushed Kira away from the box, turning the dial to ten. Everyone could watch in horror as Scott's roars of pain echoed through the entire room until he broke free from the chains. "Say the name, Scott."

Scott's head was rested on the top of the metal chair, his eyes still glowed red as he spoke, "Kate."

With her sweetened breath,

[Y/N] could barely remember Scott pulling the chains from her wrists. She took his hand to pull herself from the chair, stumbling forward a bit.

"Woah there," he said, a hand going to her back to help steady her, "you sure you're ok?"

She gave the alpha a nod, "I'll be fine," when Scott gave her a skeptical look she straightened herself out, "I promise."

#teen wolf imagine #stiles x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #teen wolf one shot #teen wolf #scott mccall #lydia martin

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stereksecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Merry Christmas, tabbytabbytabby!

For @tabbytabbytabby, who wanted alive Hale pack and anything alternative universe. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!!!! I decided to go with a rock band AU because let's face it, they're all stupid hot and would look so good doing it. My headcanon for alive Laura Hale is the incomparable Katie McGrath if you want a visual. Those eyes, man. They make my little bisexual heart very happy.

Also everyone here is somewhere in the Kinsey Scale :)))) There will be smut and idiocy. Idiots in love has become one of my favourite tags!

The underage occurs when Derek and Stiles are in high school. Derek is a senior and Stiles is a sophomore.

Band line up is as follows:

Laura - lead vocals Derek - lead guitar Boyd - bass Erica - acoustic guitar and backing vocals Isaac - keyboard and backing vocals Cora - drums and backing vocals

Read On AO3

*****

Edge Of Seventeen

Chapter 1 - Say What Now?

‘Do you want to?’

It took Stiles a few moments to focus on the words, electricity buzzing under his skin and his mouth bruised and still wet with Derek’s spit. Two warm broad hands settled either side of his face and gently redirected his attention. In the dark of the Camaro’s back seat, Derek’s pale eyes glittered.

‘We can.’ His voice was low and rough, his breathing out of kilter. ‘If you want to.’

Stiles looked at him, his heart racing a thousand miles a minute.

I want to.’ he said and fell into another kiss.

The alarm woke Stiles with a start. He swore and leaned over to slide a finger across the screen and turn it off. He’d forgotten when he’d arrived the night before, still a little jet lagged and not quite with everything when he’d collapsed into bed and been asleep in what was probably a record time.

He lay still, looking up at the ceiling and getting his breath back. He hadn’t had a dream about Derek Hale in a very long time and he was chalking it up to being back in his childhood bed. Independence Day had been the one holiday he’d won in the field office lottery, and so Stiles had packed up and gone home for the long weekend, four blissful days off. He’d known going into the FBI would be hard, but he’d had no idea just how hard it would be. Noah was delighted. The last time they’d seen each other had been Christmas and Stiles had been morose after yet another break up. He’d spent an afternoon wandering around the preserve, ending up staring at the Hale house, still closed up and looking a little worse for wear, with nary a Hale in sight.

This time it was summer, the heat already making his room uncomfortable. Stiles grimaced and plucked his damp t-shirt away from his skin, sitting up and dragging a hand over his face as he tried to wake up properly, manfully ignoring his dream-induced erection that made him feel like he was a teenager all over again.

‘Stiles?’ Noah yelled from downstairs. ‘You up, kiddo?’

‘I’m twenty-six, Dad,’ Stiles muttered, standing up and stretching. ‘Not a kid anymore.’

He was feeling it too, the crashing realisation that those carefree days were far behind him. He had a job and an apartment in Sacramento, cacti that he had managed not to kill. All the cool stuff. It wasn’t hard to feel like something was missing but Stiles would never admit that the string of failed relationships he had accumulated were anything to do with what Lydia referred to as ‘the one who got away’.

Noah was in the kitchen as he predicted, sleep rumpled and unshaven in sweat pants and an old BHPD t-shirt. He’d been taking it a bit easier, giving Parrish more and more responsibility. Stiles was pleased and Parrish was both smart and sensible, a combination that Lydia had found irresistible. Their senior year fling had evolved into a long term relationship until Lydia had come home to buy them a small clapboard Victorian near the preserve and commute to the research lab every day where she had her associate professorship. Parrish had presented her with a simple solitaire ring at Christmas and she was very happy.

‘Are you going to see Mom?’ he asked and Stiles nodded, grabbing the orange juice from the ridge and pouring himself a glass, sniffing hopefully at the eggs Noah was scrambling. He noticed Stiles’ meaningful look and grinned.

‘I thought I would go after breakfast,’ He beamed at his father when he was presented with a plate full of eggs and bacon.

‘It’s turkey before you get on your high horse,’ Noah told him. ‘Get your own coffee if you want some.’

‘Not yet.’ Stiles made space for him to sit down and they ate in comfortable silence. Once finished, he did get up to make two cups. Noah accepted his gratefully and smiled at his son, grey eyes twinkling.

‘So…,’ he started and Stiles held up a finger.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t care who it is you want to set me up with, it’s not happening.’ His parents had a terrible habit of matchmaking.

Noah held up both hands in supplication.

‘Not setting you up,’ he protested. ‘Just thought I’d mention that when your mother went into the shop yesterday, she saw a ghost from the past. Several, actually.’

Stiles cursed internally. His dad knew he couldn’t resist a good mystery.

‘Okay, I’ll bite,’ he replied, starting to get up.

‘The Hales.’ Noah replied with all the smugness of a man who knew he had the scoop of the year.

‘Oh fuck.’ Stiles blurted and tripped over his chair.

It was the sneezing that woke Derek up.

‘Jesus fuck!’ Laura roared a floor below him. ‘How much fucking shit is in this place?’

‘Oh good, she’s awake.’ Cora muttered and turned over. They were in what had been the twins’ bedroom, each of them crammed into a single that was a little on the small side. The top storey of the house was still a burned out wreck and the furniture had been largely taken away over the years and so the pickings had been slim, with their merry threesome taking the scorched master bedroom and Laura camping out on the sagging couch downstairs. As Alpha, she always preferred to be on watch as it were.

‘This was such a bad idea.’ Derek borrowed deeper into his comforter. ‘We should have brought the bus.’

‘That would have given the game away.’ Laura replied, hearing them both perfectly even though she was now in the kitchen. ‘Which part of low profile are you two having trouble with?’

‘We could have always stayed in a hotel. Sleeping int the burned out remains of our family home is precisely the opposite of low profile. Lo.’ Derek pointed out, sitting up. There was no way he’d be going back to sleep. Not with his alpha on a mission.

‘Discretion is our watchword, Derek.’ Laura hissed and started banging pots and pans around with a maximum of noise. Derek looked over at Cora. Her dark eyes were just visible under the pillow she had over her head.

‘You’re her second.’ She bared her teeth at him. ‘You go deal with her.’

‘I hate you.’ Derek said flatly, rolling out of bed and onto his feet. He stumbled a little on the stairs, still half asleep. Laura had her head buried in a blackened cupboard when he got to the kitchen. It hadn’t been as badly affected as the rest of the house but it was still a health hazard as far as he was concerned.

‘Where the hell is the waffle iron?’ she demanded. ‘Mom said she left it here.’

‘Who the fuck knows?’ Derek yawned and went to the fridge. There was nothing inside except for a gallon of milk and the leftover Chinese take out from the night before. He sniffed a carton of lemon chicken, grabbing some disposable chopsticks from the small pile on the kitchen table, and started eating. Laura eyed him, one fang just visible.

‘We need proper food.’ She glared at the ceiling. ‘Everybody up! We’re going grocery shopping!’

‘Christ.’ Derek grumbled. ‘You think that’s low profile too?’

‘Shut up.’ Laura swept past him, nose in the air. ‘I’m the Alpha now.’

Derek sniggered and let her go, enjoying his leftovers while he listened to her rouse the threesome. There was a lot of complaining, and he couldn’t really blame them. Their schedule had been hectic, even for wolves, and they were all tired and the house wasn’t exactly welcoming. Laura’s plans to come home and reclaim their territory now she was an Alpha in her own right had seen them finish the final leg of their international tour in New York, a quick catch up with their pack and then flying down to Sacramento and driving the three hours to Beacon Hills all in twenty-four hours. They had barely had time to stop in at the small coffee shop near the Sheriff's station before coming out to the house, which had been shut up for the past ten years. Peter had intended to join them, but had been delayed in New York. As their manager, he was the one who took care of all the dealings with their record company. If it was left to him and Laura, they probably would have eaten every executive by now. He was worth every penny they paid him, even if the meeting had probably been manufactured as a way to get out of cleaning up the house.

Stiles pulled up at the cemetery, parking the Jeep behind the old truck that had parked off centre and across two spaces. Grinning, he got out and made his way through the iron gates, remembering Isaac Lahey, who’d been a couple of years above him at school. His father had been the groundskeeper before there had been an incident at their house and Coach Lahey had been found dead. He remembered Isaac being taken in by social services and a whole sordid story of child abuse and alcoholicism coming out. Isaac had stayed off school for a week and then simply vanished off the face of the earth. There had been a lot of theories as to where he’d gone, but the truth was he wasn’t the first person to do that in 2011.

Stiles got lost in thought as he meandered between the headstones, finally coming to a stop in front of one made of white marble and embossed with angels.

‘That’s new.’ he remarked. ‘Not sure about the daffodils.’

‘They’re so gaudy.’ The dark haired woman kneeling at the grave grinned over her shoulder at him, her eyes the same warm whiskey brown as her son’s. ‘I’m glad to see you made it out of bed. I was starting to think you’d spend the whole weekend hibernating.’

‘Funny.’ Stiles helped Claudia up and gave her a long hug. When she let him go, she stepped back and looked him up and down.

‘You look good.’ she said. ‘Dare I say, professional.’

‘Mom.’ Stiles settled his hands on her shoulders. ‘Dad said you saw the Hales yesterday.’

‘Oh.’ Claudia’s look of faux innocence was belied by the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. ‘Is that why you came to see me. No ‘I’ve missed you terribly Mother’, but ‘You saw the fucking Hales’.’

‘Mom.’ Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Did you see him?’

‘Who?’ Claudia crinkled her nose in amusement. ‘The boy you’ve been literally pining for, for almost a decade?’

‘I’m sure he’s not a boy anymore.’ Stiles snorted. ‘And yes. Stop playing dumb.’

‘I might have.’ Claudia tilted her head. ‘What’s it worth?’

‘A double chocolate muffin and all the lattes you can drink.’ Stiles replied and she cackled and linked her arm through his.

‘Done.’ she declared. ‘And you’re right. He’s definitely not a boy anymore.’

Derek leaned heavily on the cart, eyelids at half mast and his senses muted. The store was fairly empty, the early hour on a Saturday meaning that most shoppers were yet to make an appearance. Next to him Boyd yawned and shifted on his feet, hands sunk deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.

They’d been best friends a long time, playing basketball and baseball and getting into shit when they were teenagers and when things had turned bad and they’d had to leave, Boyd had been dogged in his refusal to cut ties and turned up at the pack house in New York a week after graduation with Erica in tow. They had walked right in and asked Talia for the bite and she’d given it gladly. Derek knew she was going to do it for Erica even before they had had to flee their territory and they’d settled in like they’d always been pack. Isaac had, of course, already joined them earlier and his delight at having them back had turned into a deep and abiding love that saw them forming their triad and becoming mates.

Erica was leaning on Isaac, her blond curls dragged into a messy ponytail and Cora was trailing Laura a few feet ahead. It always grated that she had inherited their mother’s early rising nature while the rest of them would have happily slept in and threw her weight around to get them out of bed when they most definitely didn’t want to. Even the fact that Derek was her twin didn’t let him get out of doing what she wanted.

‘Toilet paper.’ Laura turned and they all tried to avoid her eyes. ‘Derek. Take Boyd and grab some.’

‘But I’m minding the cart,’ he whined, clinging to it like a drowning man to a life preserver.

‘Go!’ Laura’s eyes flared red for just a second and Derek had to resist the urge to snarl back at her like he’d always used to. The whole alpha thing was new, the result of an overambitious alpha that had come into their territory planning to challenge Talia and ending up facing her daughter instead when they tried to take Cora with the intention of forcibly mating her and claiming rights. Talia had always taught them to solve their problems with diplomacy but Laura was headstrong and fiercely protective of her siblings, ever since Kate Argent had tried to use her to get close enough to kill them all. She’d almost succeeded too, that night of the party to celebrate the basketball teams’ victory for nationals providing the perfect distraction for them to be off their guard. Kate had struck in the early hours of the morning and she’d had them trapped, the beginnings of an arson that would have killed them all if Derek hadn’t come back and caught her. He’d ripped her throat out with his teeth, calling Deaton in a panic to come and break the circle of mountain ash that kept them trapped and they’d all watched their family home burn until the police and emergency services had arrived.

Talia had decided that it was too dangerous to stay, knowing the Argents would come for Derek, getting them all packed in a matter of twenty-four hours and away from what was left of their home. They’d gone to their father’s pack in New York State, leaving no sign of them behind. It was the way with wolves, always having a back-up in case something went wrong. The Argents were a large and powerful hunting clan and there would be retribution for the death of Gerard’s golden child, but when they came for the Hales they would find the place empty. Deaton stayed, both to protect the territory and report back to Talia about hunters coming in and not a month after it had happened, they had come. Thankfully the wards on the Hale land had kept the territory claim in place and the hunters had left with no satisfaction.

The rest had been a long and bloody fight between their respective Councils. Gerard had wanted Derek’s head for killing Kate and Talia had countered with the evidence that Kate had planned to kill a pack of law-abiding wolves along with their children. The matter had finally been settled when Gerard died of cancer and his granddaughter, by all accounts a level headed and honourable young woman about the same age as Derek, had taken over.

The music had started as a way to keep them all sane while this was happening, Talia more or less forcing them into music therapy as a way to deal with what had happened. It had been a bit of a shock to realise they were actually very good at it and they’d formed the band. Some minor success saw them moving steadily up the indie charts until it became their lives. Laura had named them Hale Pack 2.0 and Talia had laughed so hard when they’d told her that she’d shifted and clawed right through the cushion she was holding, feathers flying around them like a small snowstorm.

Derek hadn’t minded at first. The music was what he loved, the fame and money secondary. The Hales were already rich, but Peter had jumped at the chance to do something different and he drove their commercial success. They were in that comfortable zone of being middle of the road, not so successful enough that they were household names but it became hard in New York to go anywhere without being recognised.

Derek didn’t enjoy that part much. He was solitary and quietly sarcastic by nature, but unfortunately that just seemed to translate into brooding and mysterious in interviews and so he was plagued by a long line of would-be groupies that tagged along after him like a cloud of midges. Laura found it hilarious and basked in her own popularity. As an out lesbian, she had her choice of pretty girls to shack up with. Cora kept her asexuality to herself, just as surly as Derek was. The other three were not exactly open about their polyamorous arrangegment, but they didn’t hide it either. They were lucky, having found each other and being able to keep each other.

He often thought about that night, the one where the reason he’d been able to save his family was because he’d been in the back seat of his father’s illicitly borrowed Camaro with the boy he’d loved pretty much forever and indulging in a bit of mutual deflowering. Then he’d had to pack up and leave said boy without even saying goodbye or telling him where he was going. It had hurt more than he’d thought possible and if part of why Derek was so keen to come back to Beacon Hills was to try and track down that boy, then who was to know. The only people who knew what he’d been up to were Boyd (because Derek told him everything) and Laura (because she’d sat on him and tickled him until he’d confessed and then had to hold her while she cried, guilt and shame coming off her in waves). Derek hadn’t had the heart to complain when their very survival had been at stake because he’d killed Kate Argent, no matter whose fault it had been. Talia had said to make a clean break with the town and while she’d made allowances for their friends who were already in the know, that was as far as she was willing to push her luck.

Derek and Laura had finished out their schooling at home, Cora had gone to boarding school in South America with her Argentinian grandmother’s pack and the twins were still too young to be a problem so that was, as they said, that. Then had come college, followed by the band and the success and the travelling and before Derek knew it, it had been almost ten years and he was twenty-eight and still hung up on Stiles fucking Stilinski.

‘Hey.’ Boyd bumped him with his shoulder. ‘You alive in there?’

‘Not really.’ Derek surveyed the toilet paper and grabbed a couple of twenty-four packs. ‘Just thinking.’

‘Yeah.’ Boyd grinned, lighting up his usually serious face. ‘I can guess what about too.’

‘Not a goddamned word.’ Derek growled and then froze, his nose twitching madly.

It wasn’t exactly the same, a little deeper and a little thicker but he’d recognise that scent anywhere with his nose stuffed up and people throwing peppermint oil in his face. He shoved the toilet paper at Boyd and charged through the aisle, needing to find the source and skidding to a halt in the aisle with the candy and stared at the Sheriff, who looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. In fact, as it was he had cookies in his hands which he quickly put back.

‘Derek?’ He looked pleasantly surprised. ‘Claudia said she’d seen you.’ He came over and Derek couldn’t help taking in a deep breath. The scent of Stiles was all over the Sheriff and it made his heart start thumping like a drum.

‘Sheriff Stilinski.’ He took the offered hand and shook it, gleeful when he could smell a little bit of Stiles on his own skin. ‘Yeah, we’re back. Laura said she was going to stop by and talk to you about the house. She’s actually around here somewhere.’ He couldn’t stop smiling. ‘I’m glad you’re still here.’

‘Where else would we be?’ The Sheriff raised an eyebrow at him. ‘To be honest, we never thought you’d come back. Any of you. The last we heard, you mom and dad had skipped town and taken you all with them after the fire and then five years later, you and your sisters pop up playing gigs in New York with the Lahey kid, Vernon Boyd’s son and Erica Reyes and since you hit the big times, you’ve been entirely responsible for provisioning this town with 90% of its salacious gossip.’

‘How did you know that? I mean, New York.’ Derek was completely bemused. They had started out small, playing tiny venues, still wary of being recognised. It had only been in the last couple of years that they’d made it big enough to be known internationally.

‘I kept track.’ The Sheriff replied. ‘The fact that you all pretty much disappeared overnight hit this town like a slap in the face. I called in a lot of favours.’ There was something in his voice though that had Derek frowning. ‘I had my reasons, son.’

Derek was about to ask him what those were exactly when Laura came barreling down the aisle.

‘There you are.’ She came up short when she saw who he was talking to. ‘Sheriff Stilinski?’

‘The one and only.’ The Sheriff tipped an invisible hat at her. ‘It’s good to see you, Laura. Derek and I were just catching up.’

‘Well, I have to steal him. Excuse us.’ Laura gave him a toothy grin that was not her usual smile and Derek wondered just what was happening. She caught his arm and practically dragged him away.

‘What the hell?’ he protested, trying to wriggle out of her iron grip.

‘Hunters.’ she hissed and Derek’s blood ran cold.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked and she nodded, her face grim.

‘The others are doing the check out.’ she said. ‘We need to go.’

Stiles parked on the kerb and got out. Claudia already had the front door open and was looking down the street.

‘Visitor.’ she announced and went inside, leaving him to stand and wait for the car to stop. He bounced in excitement, barely waiting for the driver to get out before grabbing her and squeezing her hard enough to make her squeak.

‘Lydia, my strawberry blonde goddess.’ He kissed her cheek soundly. ‘I was wondering when you’d show up.’

‘Stiles.’ Lydia had softened since high school, growing into her intellect and losing the hard veneer of extreme fashion that had been her armour in high school. She was still elegant, but the tan leather boots she wore under her long floral skirt were flat and her face was less determinedly made up, her hair a mass of loose fronds that framed her face. She was also as beautiful as she had always been but Stiles loved her for more than that. They had grown close in junior year when Jackson had moved to the UK and she’d been left bereft. Scott had been dating Kira that year and he’d had little time for Stiles so they’d drifted together and never really drifted apart, in spite of their physical distance. Now Scott and Kira were engaged, with Scott working for Deaton full time and Kira teaching martial arts with their first baby on the way and Stiles felt even more like he was lagging behind. Lydia kept him tied to Beacon Hills as much as his parents did.

‘So what are you doing here?’ He escorted her to the house. Lydia went in first, saying hello to Claudia as they went into the kitchen.

‘I have some news you might want to hear.’ she said, her eyes dancing.

‘’If it’s that the Hales are back, I already know.’ Stiles was smug when she pouted. He so seldom got one over on her so it was fun when he did.

‘Sorry.’ Claudia grinned at Lydia. ‘That was my fault.’

‘Dammit.’ Lydia folded her arms. ‘Well that may be, but I bet you don’t know that they’re going to be playing the Jungle tonight.’

‘No, that I did not know.’ Stiles was immediately hooked. He’d always wanted to go watch them, ever since they’d first popped back up on his radar after years of radio silence, courtesy of a discarded music magazine in the field office. He’d fantasised about meeting Derek’s eyes across a crowded venue but he knew that in reality, Derek probably didn’t even remember the boy he fucked in the back of his sister’s car and probably also had his pick of beautiful people to spend his time with. It hadn’t stopped him from following the band’s progress almost obsessively though.

He’d been distraught when Derek had gone, trying to find any trace of him online, but there had been nothing at all in the years just after the fire. Noah had been cagey about what he’d known and Stiles had been at a loose end, trying to fill in the gaps. When he’d rediscovered them, Stiles had followed them on every form of social media he could and tracked down every article about them. Derek still didn’t have any online presence apart from that and the music videos his band put out. Stiles had jealously hoarded every single tiny piece of information and downloaded every picture and video of him, seeing how handsome Derek had become, growing into himself in a way Stiles envied. He’d jerked off many a night, watching the stylised black and white videos that the Hale Pack 2.0 preferred. Derek was always dressed in black jeans and tight white t-shirts, the sleeves of his trademark leather jacket pushed up to his elbows and his broad hands drawing Stiles’ gaze in as he played his guitar, all precision and power that had Stiles breath coming short at the thought of them on him.

‘Danny told me this morning. He’s practically beside himself at getting them on his books at such short notice.’ Lydia smirked, knowing she had his full attention. Danny had made a ton of money in apps and bought his old stomping ground. It had had a makeover and was now a very stylish LGBTQ+ venue that he ruled along with Jackson as his partner in business and life, once he’d had his gay crisis while he was gone. Stiles knew from the Hales’ publicity that Laura was a lesbian and he was pretty sure Isaac, Erica and Boyd were involved in something that looked pretty polyamorous but Derek and Cora were notoriously private and there was never any suggestion as to who they might be seeing. It seemed the kind of place they would be playing.

‘Okay.’ He moved to the coffee maker, preparing for a long sit down. ‘Tell me everything.’

TBC on AO3!

#tabbytabbytabby #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

25 notes · View notes

dylinski · 4 years

Text

Come Back Home

Warnings: angst with happy ending, smut (vanilla), language, vomiting, seizure, lots of kissing, fighting

Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Word Count: 10465

Author: @dylinski

A/N: so, i spent six months on this lol. i also haven't written anything in three months so yay! let’s just hope i can stay in the groove and keep my muse. ☺️ this is also a submission for sterek bingo 2020

Derek walked into the seedy motel room, the sound of panging rain echoing through the small space. He collapsed on the bed exhaustedly, not bothered to remove his soused clothes. He let out a distressing grunt and winced in pain from shifting in bed, forgetting he had been wounded. There wasn’t much concern for it since abnormally rapid healing was expected, so he let sleep take him willingly despite his discomfort.

It had been like this for months now, the endless cycle of wasting his day away chasing his demons and passing out in a shady rented room to do it all again the next. He found comfort in this, or at least a numbness from all the memories he was hopelessly trying to suppress. It kept his thoughts occupied and he was always too engrossed or depleted to allow his mind to wander without his consent. Unfortunately, he had even less control over the slumberous plane versus his conscious one.

Dreams were never a relative concept to Derek since they customarily failed to linger after he opened his eyes. He could always feel the essence of the illusions of sleep, but that would soon dissipate as well. There was always that one nagging feeling in his abdomen that he could faintly feel albeit his attempts to choke it down. Always there, always lingering, to the point that he thought he might feel empty without it.

Typically, when suffering from a nightmare, Derek would wake suddenly and still as if he were petrified. No screaming, no cold sweats, no rapid heartbeat. As if he had been given a dose of kanima venom, his body found no reaction to the terrors that absconded once his lids flew open. So what made tonight different? What suddenly changed in him, allowing everything he had spent months taking apart to force itself back together, pulling like a magnetic field until it was recognizable?

Derek sat up violently in bed, his eyes flashing blue in the stark black of the room as it was riddled with the sounds of panting and a rapid heartbeat. Being a werewolf meant the muscle in his chest was already accelerated, with the rate at which it thumped now could end in sudden cardiac failure for anyone without supernatural aptitudes. He sucked air through his teeth at the sudden jerky motion upwards, instinctively bringing a hand to his stomach. Through the darkness, he could see his fingers laced with blood. Temporarily sidetracked, he jumped from the bed and flicked on the light switch, shielding his eyes at the abrupt flooding of brightness.

Derek lifted his shirt up while standing in front of the rancid sink and mirror to reveal the bullet wound that had befallen him earlier that night. He peeled off his shirt, raising his arms slowly as the pain began to radiate through his body in hopes to examine the spot more easily. Pulling the skin back, it appeared that his injury had not only failed to improve but began to deteriorate. A rush of horror made his stomach jump, nausea overcame him, knocking him to his knees as he emptied his belly into the toilet. Leaning back, he wiped the corner of his mouth and rested his head against the cold linoleum walls of the bathroom.

With his eyes closed, all the images he suffered during his slumber came rushing back, and a sting like being stabbed repeatedly manifested where he was starting to bleed again. Sitting on the floor, distraught and terrified, he let a single tear cascade down his cheek as he clasped at the lesion in his side. What was happening? The inability to recover physically was pushing his body to its barriers mentally, assuming that was what was happening here. He took in a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly, preparing to shut his lids and face what was haunting his mind. There were flashes of memories and voices, but nothing concrete, like a puzzle that was still trying to piece itself back together.

Derek knew exactly what his subconscious was trying to communicate, exactly what recollection he had thoroughly stored away in the recesses of his mind. Regardless, he was able to call upon the record of his life. He drew in deeply as the breath hitched in his lungs, holding back the hot tears that were brimming in his eyes. It probably should have been archived as a happy memory, that moment in someone's life that alters their course and turns their world on its head, which it was, but being Derek wasn’t an exact science.

***

The large metal door flew open with a loud clang, reverberating through the large loft, as Derek swung it open. His arms were full, carrying the lanky boy, hooking his legs over his arm while wrapping his other around his back and under his shoulders. “Derek! I said I’m fine, okay? Just put me down!”

“No.”

The freckle-faced boy slacked his jaw and glinted in distaste while Derek avoided eye contact, focused on the task at hand. The boy grunted in defiance and tried to wiggle out of his arms, but Derek tightened his grip making it almost impossible without supernatural strength of his own. “Jesus, Derek. Why are you acting like a crazy person?”

Derek only responded with a grunt as he approached his bed, laying Stiles down gently. He disappeared into the bathroom as Stiles leaned back on his elbows, rolling his eyes and throwing his head back as he shouted, “Seriously dude, I'm fine!”

Derek started back towards Stiles with a first-aid box in hand and a brooding mug. Stiles scoffed when he thought about the idea of a werewolf keeping a first-aid kit around, but then it occurred to him and his face went flush. Derek scurried to his side and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Do you need me to take the pain?” Derek grabbed Stiles’ limp hand and anchored him back to the moment.

“Huh? What? Oh, no. No, I’m fine.” Stiles was easily distracted.

Derek rolled his eyes as he let Stiles’ hand go reluctantly and turned to get a better view of his ankle.

“You keep saying that.” Derek’s voice was gruff and annoyed. He pulled off Stiles’s shoe and the boy winced as he pulled in air sharply. “And as usual, you are not fine.” Stiles rolled his honey eyes and let his head roll between his shoulders mockingly.

Derek peeled off the brunette’s sock and turned up the hem of his pants the best he could without causing discomfort.

Stiles was trying to hold his breath to hide the pain that radiated from his ankle up to his thigh as Derek worked on him, but the rhythm of his heart betrayed him. His eyes were screwed shut and the pain started to fade, allowing him to relax, but when he realized what was happening, his eyes flew open.

“Hey! I said don’t do that!” He swatted Derek’s hand away, the black veins in his arm paling. Derek grunted and put his hand back on his skin, the charcoal lines pulling the ache from him. There was no point in fighting Derek because Stiles had no doubt that if he kept it up Derek would have him tied down so that he couldn’t push his hand away. If there was anyone to rival the stubbornness of Stiles Stilinski, it was Derek Hale.

The pain dispersed and he could only feel a slight tingly sensation along with the impression of the swelling. Stiles sat up to bring Derek and his foot into view. The ankle was roughly the size of a tennis ball and he had had enough broken bones and injuries in his life to know that wasn’t a good sign. “How bad is it? Is it broken?” Stiles coiled back, preparing for the answer. Derek didn’t respond so he wiggled his leg to get his attention. “Do I need to go see Melissa?”

“No.”

“No, what? I asked three questions.” Stiles squinted and pursed his lips.

“I know.” Derek kept his focus on Stiles’ ankle, continuing to care for the injury.

“Okay, grumpy-pants, that still doesn’t clarify anything,” Stiles said as he waved his hand and rolled his eyes.

Stiles seemed more easy-going since Derek took the pain and the wolf found comfort in that. From the angle he was to the boy, Stiles couldn’t see the small uptick on the corner of his mouth.

“No, it’s not bad. No, it’s not broken. And no, you don’t need to see Melissa.”

Stiles unknowingly let out a long sigh of relief as he let his head fall back. Stikes took a deep inhale before he looked back up and Derek was finishing up wrapping the white compression gauze around his foot. He couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips as he watched the man care for him, a side Derek tried to keep buried down but Stiles had seen break through the surface many times.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Derek hadn’t removed his eyes from Stiles’ injury, so the brunette shook his head in awe, startled that he was able to notice. Damn werewolf senses.

“Looking at you like what?” Stiles didn’t even try to hide the sass in his tone.

Derek sighed and pulled in his lips as he turned his head towards Stiles. He tilted his head and knitted his brows together.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak eyebrows,” Stiles mocked.

Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles and picked up the items he had littered around the foot of the bed while nursing the boy's ankle. He placed them all back into the kit and stood up, walking over to the center of the room. He placed it on the table in front of the couch as he sunk into its cushions. Leaning back, Derek rubbed the place between his eyebrows and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was so exhausted. Letting out a long sigh, he straightened his back by sitting up, knowing he couldn't rest yet.

He looked over to Stiles who was still examining him adamantly. “You need to rest, Stiles.”

“Apparently, so do you.” He threw an arm up at the man as he shifted in the bed, pulling himself up to lean against the headboard.

Derek sighed and let his head fall into his hands, digging his elbows into his thighs as he leaned forward.

Stiles scooted over to the side of the bed as best he could without twisting or moving his ankle then cleared his throat. Derek looked up hazily and saw Stiles pat the spot on the mattress next to him.

Quizzically, Derek looked the scene over and drew lines into his forehead. Stiles tried to offer him assurance with the softest of smiles.

Nervously gulping, Derek let his thoughts run rampant. It’s not that the idea repulsed him, but that fact that it didn’t. He’s known Stiles for a few years now and he has successfully drowned his feelings for him in that time frame. Stiles wasn’t very subtle and he could tell that the brunette felt...something too, whatever that may be.

No matter what he did, Stiles seemed to weave himself into the structure of Derek’s existence and there was no denying it, so he ignored it. Giving in to his weariness, he stood up and walked over to the bed, falling into its embrace. He edged the side, trying to put as much space between him and Stiles as he could.

“Look, I know you bite, but I don’t.” Derek rolled over to face the boy and glared at him with tired eyes.

Shrugging his shoulders, Stiles slid down onto his back and let his fingers tap restlessly on his belly. Derek drowned out the noise by honing in on the boy’s rhythmic breathing. In...out. In...out. In...out.

***

A surging pain woke Derek on the bathroom floor, wrenching his intestines as he leaned over to puke again. He opened his wet eyes and saw that everything in the toilet was black. A cold chill ran down his spine and his body started to tremble as he leaned against the wall again.

With his mind spinning, he couldn’t focus on anything around him let alone a coherent thought. He pressed his palms to the cold floor, pushing up to attempt bringing himself to his feet. Before he could raise himself higher than three inches, his arms gave way and he settled back onto the ground.

If he wanted to live through the night, he was going to need help from someone...anyone. He was desperate and his instinct was taking hold, his need to survive no matter what. His wolf howled as his fragile body was decaying from the inside out.

Derek’s eyes flew open, their brilliant cyan shining in the dimness of the small space as he let out a pained shout. He needed to call for help before he passed out again fearing he wouldn’t wake up next time. He reached into his pocket, pulling his phone out and agonizingly typed in a number. His fingers were weak, along with the rest of him, struggling to enter the digits with one hand. He left black blood on the screen as he tapped, there was black blood everywhere.

His lids grew heavy and his hand went limp just as he managed to send the call. He listened to the shrilling ring on the line as he faded into the absence of reality. The last thing he heard was the familiar voice calling his name with panic. He wanted to say something back, he wanted to comfort them and convince them he was okay, to take the worry from their mind but he couldn’t.

***

Derek awoke to the feeling of fingers tracing the lines of his face. Without opening his eyes, he smiled and grabbed the hand, pulling the person it belonged to into his chest. They shifted and turned, placing the curve of their back into Derek, slotting them together perfectly. His arm was draped over them and placed over their heart, feeling the rapid pumping of blood. He nuzzled his face into the crevice of their neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and feeling tingly at the scent he loved.

The scent.

That Scent.

Fuck.

Startled with reality finally catching up to him, Derek jumped up from the bed, and Stiles fell off the other side in response. Derek ran over to him and kneeled down next to the boy as he groaned. “Oh shit, sorry... I didn’t...I just...sorry.” Stiles was rubbing the back of his head and sitting up while Derek looked him over frantically, terrified he had broken him.

“It’s fine, sourwolf. I’m still relatively in one piece.” Stiles leaned back on his hands, giving him a content smile and Derek let his features wash over him. Like a crashing wave, everything hit him all at once. All the emotions and thoughts he had built a barrier to hold back. The dam had cracked and the pressure became too heavy. For the briefest of seconds, he lost all control and brain function, purely acting out of instinct.

He frantically grabbed Stiles’s face with both hands and pulled him to his lips, kissing him as if his life depended on it. There wasn’t any tongue or sexualization to it, but a hunger and desire to be closer, to be one.

Every movement of their lips clashing together felt like breath was being drawn out of his chest, pulling him in like a mist into the other man’s lungs. He was so enamored by the feeling of Stiles’ mouth that he failed to realize the fingers weaving into his hair, pulling so tight that it stung his scalp. He needed Stiles so fervently that searing tears welled in his eyes and leaked past their closed hoods.

When Stiles felt the warm moisture between their cheeks, he broke the kiss and ran his fingers through the wolf’s hair, then bringing his palm to cup his cheek. He brushed away a stray tear as the raven-haired man leaned into it, eyes still refusing to crack. He inclined forward and kissed Derek’s damp cheek where the tear had been wiped away. They sat there in silence, taking in the presence of the other.

They didn’t need words to communicate, they never did. Words were pointless between them, unable to bring light and understanding to what the other was truly experiencing. If you took a look back in their history, you could catch the longing gazes that failed to hide their affection while the other wasn’t looking. The ability to connect and comprehend one another without even speaking. Conversations of the eyes that allowed them to converse with their souls rather than their words.

Possibly, they weren’t entirely aware of it themselves, but it was there nonetheless. When they did become vocal, it was banter and words of indifference, contrasting everything their bodies spoke truth to. Their subconscious’ blatantly aware of what was happening between them, but their primitive brains just needing to catch up.

“Derek…” Stiles’ voice was barely above a whisper and it made the wolf knead deeper into his hand. The way he said his name, it was dangerous. Dangerous in the sense that it was raw and desperate.

Derek’s eyes finally opened and they were the piercing cobalt that bore into Stiles’s whiskey ones.

Gnawing on his lip, Stiles leaned back in slowly and searched for some kind of rejection in the cerulean orbs, but found none. He kissed Derek so gently that the brush of their lips was almost non-existent. He kissed again, somewhat harder. He repeated the action, each kiss becoming more and more demanding.

They made their way back up to the bed, refusing to break their lips and found themselves with Derek stradling Stiles’s legs. Their pelvis’ clinging together like magnets as they deepened their kisses. Derek licked across Stiles’s bottom lip as he pushed his hips hard against the boy.

Stiles moaned and the wolf took advantage, agonizingly pushing his tongue into the other’s mouth. He searched the open space, exploring its crevices and swirling around against the opposing muscle. Stiles let small keening sounds move past their locked lips and met Derek's crotch with his own small rolls of his hips.

Derek let his hands grip Stiles’ shoulders and brush down his arms until he intertwined their fingers, bringing his arms up and over their heads.

Their bodies rubbing together caused both their shirts to ride up and Stiles whined at the lack of skin. He pulled back and tugged at the hem of Derek's black shirt, prompting him to remove the item.

Derek reached behind the brunette, gripping at the end of Stiles’s shirt and bringing it over his head. He then sat up tall after he tossed the garment on the floor, then stilled, taking the boy in for all of his worth. His fingers brushed his collarbone and made their way down, ghosting his skin. He let the pad of his thumb sweep over his nipple, causing Stiles to shudder at the contact, then down over each bump of his ribs that protruded through his flesh. Over the line that formed half of the infamous “V” on his hip and to the patch of hair below his belly button, leading down past the waistband of his chinos.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Stiles’ cheeks flushed pink at the compliment and he gulped, the bump in his throat shifting slightly as he swallowed. Derek leaned down and kissed it, leaving a trail of wet kisses around his neck, up under his jaw, and around the base of his skull until he reached behind his ear.

Stiles was absolutely blanched, his breaths thready and mouth dry.

“I need you, Stiles.” Derek’s words weren’t desperate or pathetic, but whole-hearted and demanding. A simple statement of truth.

Derek sat up again, causing Stiles’s hand that was resting on his shoulder to drag down his chest. Stiles kept it there, against the defined abs of Derek’s stomach.

Derek was waiting for any sort of response from the brunette, but Stiles was unbelievably silent in all manner of the word. Derek Hale had managed to leave Stiles Stilinski speechless. He searched the younger man’s face and found a hint of awe, making him smile.

In return, Stiles broke his lack of reaction with a toothy grin that was comically large, but utterly pure. Derek’s smile grew even wider and he let out a small chuckle, leaning in for another chaste kiss.

Derek couldn’t wait anymore, he had to have Stiles now. He hovered over him, tugging on his bottom lip with question and the brunette turned his head minimally, mimicking the uncertainty. Derek pulled away a bit more and curled his fingers into the top of the Stiles's pants.

Stiles’s eyes grew wide and he gave a weak nod. The ebony-haired man unbuttoned the pants and pulled them off, leaving behind the plaid boxers. The hardness beneath them was undeniably visible as the head of Stiles’s pink cock peeked out at the top.

Derek swung his leg over Stiles and got off the bed, the boy whining in protest at the absence of his weight on him. He pulled off his own pants and briefs, leaving himself on display for the brunette to ogle.

He was large and thick, his cock not entirely up despite its hardness. The weight of it caused him to hang slightly. Stiles’s breath hitched as he looked at the man before him.

Derek looked to be carved from stone, a masterpiece by Michelangelo himself. His eyes seared into the flesh as he examined him, the bits of his hair sticking up from where his own fingers ran through, thick brows that rested above his kaleidoscope eyes. Lips that were pink and soft as clouds, his tongue running across them with desire.

Stiles followed the line of his jaw, littered with scruff down his neck that was thick and strong, shoulders that too often bore the weight of the world and arms that showed muscle without flexing. He looked at his hands that were deftly underrated, strong rough hands that he didn’t see as weapons the way Derek did, but as gentle tools. He remembered how those very hands had been used to take care of his injury and take away the agony that came with it.

Stiles’s eyes drifted to the surprisingly boney hips next to where his hands were hanging. Lines shot downwards from his hips into his pelvis but were cut off by dark hairs on his crotch. The hair extended up and onto his stomach which was hard and toned. A red blush covered his face as he looked back down to his thick cock, now being pumped by those full hands. Derek’s head was pink and swollen, liquid leaking from the slit at the top. Stiles could feel his own precome pooling on his stomach from the tip that poked above his underwear.

Stiles swore he was close to coming just from the sight of the man alone. His mouth was a contrast of watering with desire and dry from astonishment. It matched the oxymoron of his body, now breaking out into a cold sweat. His jaw was slack and he took in a shaky breath. “Fuck.”

Stiles had imagined Derek before when he let his mind wander, he even had seen him shirtless countless times, leaving little to the imagination, but seeing him fully, and in this way, wanting Stiles, was like gazing upon him in a new light. It felt like he was seeing him for the first time.

“Don’t just fucking stand there,” Stiles threw up a noodle of an arm, and Derek wasted no time to climb back on top of him. He wiggled his way between the brunette’s legs, letting their cocks rest next to each other.

He went in for a kiss, this one more sloppy and heated than the others, different and less sensual. Derek involuntarily began to buck his hips down, rubbing his cock alongside Stiles’s, only the thin fabric of the boxers between them. Stiles let out a moan from the friction against Derek and resented the barrier between them. He wiggled his pelvis up and Derek hissed with the unexpected pleasure.

“Off,” was all Stiles could manage as his heart pounded in his chest, and Derek complied. He sat up, pulling the waistband down and bringing Stiles’ legs in front of him and straight up. He tossed the item and brought his legs back down slowly, but Stiles was impatient and sat up to meet his lips. He made his way onto Derek’s lap, straddling him.

Derek would roll his hips up into Stiles and keening sounds escaped with each brush. Their cocks caught between their stomachs and mixing the precome into their flesh. Stiles wrapped his legs around the wolf’s back as he was lowered back down. “Derek, please. I need you inside me.”

The beta reached over to the table next to the bed and opened the drawer. He pulled out a bottle of lube and spread it across his fingers. Stiles looked on in anticipation and couldn't help but to gnaw on his lips.

Derek traced the ring to Stiles’s entrance and the boy shuddered at the touch. The lube made Derek’s fingers cold at first, contrasted to the heat irradiated off Stiles’s body.

“You gotta talk to me, okay?” Stiles nodded at Derek’s words with his eyes closed, basking in the pleasures he was feeling. “No, talk.” Derek wasn’t demanding, but still adamant.

“Okay.” Stiles breathed out hard, his voice almost nonexistent. He realized Derek was waiting on him. “More.” He could hardly keep his eyes open, his head back and neck exposed as he wiggled beneath his lover.

Derek pushed in a single finger and Stiles let out a harsh breath that turned into a moan. The sensation was strange but felt amazing. When he adjusted, he looked up at Derek and let him know he was okay. The man slowly inserted a second digit, stretching Stiles out. Stiles’s cock twitched, a steady stream of clear liquid leaking from his slit and onto his belly. He bucked his hips, begging for movement, and Derek started to incite his fingers, pulling them out and pushing them back in.

As Stiles relaxed and loosened around him, Derek’s movements were faster and stronger, pulling elicit moans and whines from Stiles.

“Der-” Stiles couldn’t manage to say his whole name between his hitched cries of pleasure.

“What do you need? Talk to me, remember?” Derek kept the rhythm of his fingers, twisting and scissoring inside Stiles.

Stiles let out a grunt of frustration, unable to form words. He wasn’t sure why Derek kept wanting him to speak, but he’d comply as best he could. “You.” He let out another groan of satisfaction. “I need you.”

Derek halted his hand and tilted his head at the boy. He watched as Stiles let out a whine of protest and looked up at him pitifully. Derek offered him a small smile and leaned over the brunette to get more lube, placing a small kiss on his lips. Derek poured some in his hand and then applied it to his enlarged member, flinching at the sudden chill the liquid brought.

Stiles watched over his belly and through his legs in awe as Derek pumped his cock in his hand. Stiles found himself bringing a hand to his own dick and wrapping his fingers around it as he pleasured himself.

Derek looked up and noticed, pushing Stiles’ hand away. He leaned down, still stroking himself with one hand and enveloping Stiles in the other.

Derek made a long stripe from the base of Stiles’s cock to the swollen head with his tongue and took him into his mouth, tasting the salty-sweet precome. Stiles let out a loud gasp and tensed slightly from the surprise as he bucked his hips up into the back of Derek’s throat and wrung his fingers into the man’s black locks. Realizing how close he was to finishing, he stilled Derek’s bobbing head, “Wait. Derek, just wait.” His words were strained.

Derek stopped and let Stiles’s throbbing cock fall from his mouth with a pop and hit his stomach where the patch of hair was thick on his belly. He raised an eyebrow with concern that Stiles wasn’t happy. Sitting up, he separated himself from the mole-speckled man slightly, in fear he was changing his mind.

“No! No, come back. I just…” Stiles looked to the side and bit his lip. Derek couldn’t help but let out a needy noise at the sight. “I was close and didn’t want to finish in your mouth.” Stiles sat up and placed his hand at the back of Derek’s head, locking their eyes. “I want to finish with you inside me. I want to feel you fill me up, coming on your cock.”

A thundering growl escaped Derek’s lips as he crashed them onto Stiles’s, knocking them both back down into the bed. His wolf took hold, no longer buried beneath the surface. His eyes flashed blue as he pushed himself up to look at Stiles and the young man gawked in amazement. Stiles brushed Derek’s cheek with his thumb and worried his bottom lip, gazing deeply into Derek’s sapphire eyes.

They met in another deep kiss, inhaling the moans the other made as their cocks rubbed together between their stomachs, slick from the lube. Derek lifted his hips and reached down, refusing to break their liplock. He positioned himself against Stiles’s hole and felt him flinch at the touch. He looked down to make sure the position was right and looked back to Stiles for affirmation one last time.

Stiles nodded with begging eyes and Derek pressed into him with dragging speed. Stiles let his head fall back and his jaw went slack as he felt Derek’s head slip into him. It was a mix of pain and pleasure, something words couldn’t define. He felt himself fluttering around Derek, adjusting to the protrusion and relaxing as his body became attuned with it. He closed his mouth and looked back to Derek who had stilled and Stiles frowned, whimpering and in need of more than he was given. “Derek…” His voice was hoarse and crackly, barely making a sound.

Derek offered sympathy and responded by slowly sliding in deeper. He was met with some friction as he felt Stiles clench. “Relax,” he whispered as he leaned down and kissed Stiles easily with nothing less than love. That’s what this was. They weren’t fucking or hooking up, they were making love and it scared Derek shitless but that was the last thing on his mind as he looked down at the man lying before him, offering himself wholly and completely.

Stiles felt relief at the reassurance of his lover and relaxed as best he could, his heart beating rapidly against his chest. His mind and pulse were racing at inhuman speeds, relentless, but everything around him stilled. Derek’s lips stuck to his, making a small noise when they separated from one another. God he loved Derek, he loved him with every atom of his being and had for so long, even if he hadn’t known it.

Feeling Derek rolling his hips, his cock moving in and out at an agonizingly slow pace, it forced Stiles to close his eyes despite his desire to stay locked on Derek. The room was filled with his wanton moans and gasps met with Derek’s grunts and shallow whimpers. The sounds rang like music to Stiles’s ears, listening to his lover as he began to thrust at a more unrelenting pace.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles breathed and flew his lids open to see Derek’s wolf eyes beating down at him. They had both acquired a sheen of sweat, causing their chests to glisten in the light.

“Stiles,” Derek grunted, screwing up his features trying to hold back his release. His stamina was higher than this, but with Stiles it was different. He could look at the boy naked and come, his body begging and screaming for liberation.

The way Derek said his name told Stiles he was close. “Touch me,” he demanded frantically and Derek complied, reaching for Stiles throbbing dick, a constant stream of cloudy precome escaping his slit and pooling on his stomach.

Stroking Stiles’s cock was easy with the mix of sweat, precome, and lube that had accumulated between them. He kneaded the slit with the pad of his thumb then started to stroke again, Stiles’ breath hitching in his throat, something blocking his airway.

“God, Stiles. I- I love-” Derek faltered for a split second but managed to recover. “Fuck, you’re amazing.” He placed kisses along the man’s spotted jaw and whispered so softly that even a wolf would have trouble hearing. “Come for me.”

Stiles let out a bellowing cry and for the briefest of seconds, Stiles felt his stomach lurch—the feeling you get when you hover in the air right before you come down on a swing. In that moment, everything made sense and the whole world was crystal clear. He looked at Derek for what felt like hours and saw him shining like a star; his beacon of light that would always guide him home—Derek was home.

Stiles’s whole body shuddered violently as he came over Derek’s hand, his body tensing and tightening just before all his limbs went limp. Derek felt the brunette beneath him and around his cock, straining him and pulling his own orgasm with the pressure, having seen the man he loved come because of him. He could watch Stiles come over and over again.

Stiles’ face contorted in the most beautiful of ways, like an angel that wasn’t worthy of his gaze. He emptied himself into Stiles, coating him with his seed and a roar escaped his chest as he collapsed onto Stiles, panting and huffing in sync with the body under him.

They laid there for an unnamed measure of time, Derek now flaccid inside Stiles, both of them too exhausted to move or clean themselves up. After what felt like an eternity, Derek managed to regain some strength and got up to grab a wet cloth. He cleaned Stiles and then himself and after he proceeded to climb back into bed. He pulled Stiles into his side, holding him close and tight, never wanting to let him go again.

They dozed off effortlessly in each other's arms and under the covers, breathing in each other and living in that moment where the world outside the loft didn’t exist. Just two men deeply and madly in love and they didn’t need another damn thing, this was enough.

***

Derek felt hands on his face, a familiar and longed for touch. His eyes opened but his vision was dark and blurred. “S’iles?” He slurred and felt his head roll as the bathroom swirled around him. “S’you?”

“Derek!? Derek, what happened?” The panic was blatant in Stiles’s voice as he coerced Derek to wake. “DEREK!?” He tapped the man's cheek as Derek’s head started falling.

Derek shook his head and opened his eyes, flashing between their beta color and his natural blues and greens. He groaned and tried to sit up, but had no control over any part of his body.

“Derek...” Stiles searched the man as best he could for the source of the black blood under the fluorescent lights. He pulled up the shirt Derek was wearing and discovered the open and festering wound on his side. “Oh my God. Derek, oh my God. What happened? Shit. Shit shit shit shit.”

Stiles grabbed the hand towel from the wall, which he was certain was less than clean in a place like this, and used it to apply pressure with both hands. A cocktail of curses and prayers escaped Stiles’s lips as his eyes began to well. “Derek, I swear to God…”

Stiles grunted as Derek shifted and contorted his face in pain. That was better than seeing his limp body laying on the floor. “I swear to God if you fucking die I will kill you.”

Derek’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell, laying on the ground. His body went rigid and began convulsing.

“FUCK.” Stiles threw the towel down and turned Derek onto his side as best he could. Stiles sat behind him, Derek’s back leaning against his chest as Stiles used his whole body to keep him in that position.

Tears streaked Stiles’s cheeks and he gritted his teeth, a bottomless terror tearing its way through his chest down into his stomach. He was beyond his depth and felt helpless. He needed to get Derek stable so he could piece together what was happening to him.

Stiles held onto Derek like the man would evaporate if he let go. Screwing his eyes shut he clung so hard his fingers were going numb and his knuckles turning whiter than bone. After finally finding Derek, he wasn’t about to lose him again; he couldn’t. If Derek died, he would die on the floor right next to him.

The seizure lasted less than a minute, but it felt like hours. After Derek finally stilled, Stiles let his head fall onto Derek’s shoulder and he could hear shallow breaths. He relaxed into the unconscious body on the floor and let out a choking sob. He sat there a minute, whimpering and soaked in the black blood that was seeping out of Derek.

Stiles couldn’t move, didn’t want to move, finding peace in Derek’s breathing. In...out. In...out. In...out.

***

“How’s your ankle?” Derek spoke softly as he let his fingers trace the side of Stiles’s arm. He was curled into the older man’s side, a smile on both their faces and eyes closed with contentment. Every once in a while, the brunette’s body would mildly shudder from the sensation of Derek’s touch, it wasn’t his fault he was ticklish.

“It’s fine.” Stiles hummed and nuzzled closer into Derek’s side.

“I don’t like that.”

Stiles sat up and looked down at his wolf with confusion. “Don’t like what?”

Derek pushed himself up onto his elbows and showed a sympathetic smile. “When you say ‘I’m fine’. You say it too often and I can always tell that you’re not.”

“Well, I am now. More than fine actually.” Stiles was starting to feel marginally defensive. “What about you? You say it too.”

“I do not,” Derek grumbled and laid his head back down, dismissing the discussion, but Stiles wasn’t finished.

“You do so! All the time actually.” Stiles sat straight up and picked up an accusatory tone.

Derek opened a single eye and glared at the boy who was now speaking with his hands.

“Hey Derek, how are you?” Stiles comically deepened his voice, “Fine.” Speaking normally again, “Yo, Derbear, how’s it hanging?” In a mocking timbre, “Fine.”

Derek was not appreciating the antics Stiles was executing.

“Oh my God, Derek! You’re bleeding from everywhere!” In his Derek voice, “I’m fine.”

Derek growled and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He got up and pulled on his briefs, then walked over to the couch to get some space.

“Oh! Real mature. So it’s okay for you to have a problem with something that I do, but the second I have an issue with you, you turn into a toddler.”

“I’m not a toddler.” Derek’s words were hard and gruff, spoken through gritted teeth. He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to look in Stiles’s direction.

Obviously, that wasn’t going to work, so Stiles leaned over the edge of the bed to find his boxers, then limped his way to sit on the table across from the grumpy wolf. “Really? Because it sure looks like you are to me.”

Derek looked at Stiles fleetingly and huffed in defiance.

“Seriously, why do you put these walls up around me? We just had the most...mind-blowing sex, and you opened up to me in ways I didn’t think possible, but you’re still doing this shit.” Stiles hesitated for a moment, pondering the idea of mentioning what he heard in the throes of it all, unsure if it was something that just slipped out or intentionally said. Shit, he didn’t even know if Derek knew he said it. “For fuck’s sake Derek, you told me you fucking love me! Why are you still keeping up these walls?”

Derek threw up a horrified stare like someone just told him he could never wear a black t-shirt again. Stiles drew into himself, feeling like he shrunk in size, immediately regretting everything that just came out of his mouth. “You need to leave.” Derek looked straight into Stiles’s eyes, bare of any emotion.

“Excuse me?” Stiles widened his eyes and watched Derek stand up and storm off to the other side of the room, his back facing him.

“I said go!” Derek shouted over his shoulder, standing there like an immovable object.

“No! Derek, no. I’m not go-”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles. Just give me some fucking peace!”

Stiles sat frozen, just blinking here and there, not entirely sure if any of this was real. For what was only a minute, in reality, felt like an eternity, but he refused to move and finally spoke up when he processed what the fuck was going on. He didn’t understand it, but he processed it nonetheless.

“Derek…” He heard a grunt from the man. “Please, just listen to me…” He heard no protests, so he continued. “I...I don’t know if you meant it, but…” Stiles paused when he thought he heard a diminutive whine. “...but I do. I get why you do this, I do, but I wish you didn’t keep building yourself up and breaking it all back down in this repetitive and arduous cycle. You show me things, tell me things, that I’m pretty confident you hide from everyone else, but then whenever I try to talk about them with you, you close off and shut down. What are you afraid of? I know you’re scared, I know you’re always scared. You think I don’t see you, but I do. After everything we’ve been through, all the shit we’ve faced...even after this!!”

Stiles took a deep breath and sighed in an attempt to relax and not shout again. That wasn’t his intention, he doesn’t want to make Derek any more defensive. “Even after this, you still can’t trust me.”

Stiles’s words hurt, and Derek wanted to tell him none of that was true, he did trust him, he trusted him with every atom of his being, but something in him, something deep in his gut made him still as stone. Stiles was right about one thing, he was scared, terrified to the point of petrification.

Everyone in his life has left him, whether it be by choice or circumstance, but they left him behind all the same. It became second nature for him to close off, shut people out. Why should he let someone in when they were just going to leave too? Everyone he ever loved or that meant something to him had gone, leaving him alone in this world, taking a piece of him with them when they walked away.

His father, who left him and his mother when he was too young to remember, just the stench of stale cigarettes and smoke. Paige, the first girl he ever loved. Kate, the first woman he loved. His mother, whose death he blames himself for. Cora, finding another pack in South America. Isaac, leaving him to join Scott’s pack. Peter, choosing power over family. So much pain in his memories, the belief he wasn’t good enough and no one wanted him.

“Fine, if you won’t talk to me, I’ll go, but just know…” Stiles felt moisture in his eyes and couldn't hold back the silent tears, burning. Trying not to whimper, he could only manage a whisper. “Just know that I love you. I don’t care about everything else, okay? I’ll never forget the day we met. It was like something clicked, but I didn’t know, not until the pool.”

Stiles didn’t need to elaborate, because Derek knew the exact moment he was talking about.

“I still hated you, oh yeah, but I loved you too. I hated who you were trying to be, the mask you wore, but I loved the man underneath. That’s all I want Derek, I want you.” Stiles pulled on his pants as best he could with his injury, slipped on his shoes and shirt, and headed for the large metal door. He slid it open and stopped to look at the man he so unashamedly was in love with who hadn’t moved a muscle, then regrettably left.

***

Derek woke to the sensation of a numbing pain throughout his body and loneliness in his stomach. Everything was too sore to move, even the strain of opening his eyes. The early morning light shined through his lids, so he raised an arm over his head and laid it on his face. His mind was slowly catching up and the heavy weight pulled down on his heart when he remembered imaging Stiles amid his delusional state.

Shifting in the bed, Derek became aware that the last time he was conscious, he was on the floor in the bathroom. Derek’s lids flew open and he managed to sit up minimally with his sudden rush of adrenaline. His eyes scanned the bright room, adjusting to the light, and found the familiar speckled face asleep in a chair in the corner. Stiles’s mouth was somewhat open and tiny snores escaped as his chest rose and fell.

Derek attempted to pull himself up in the bed and winced in agony, clutching his side. He leaned back against the headboard, gasping for breaths and closed his eyes to even his breathing. When the pain became manageable again, he opened his eyes to see the boy unmoved.

“Stiles,” Derek spoke softly as to not startle him, but he was unphased. He spoke his name again with more vigor and Stiles almost fell out of the chair with alarm.

“Huh!? What!? Who’s dead!?” Stiles rapidly blinked his eyes, adapting from the darkness to daylight, and pulled himself up in the chair.

“Stiles…” Derek wasn’t impressed with his antics. Maybe he would be if he wasn’t consumed by the torment of his wound, but it was difficult for him to focus on anything else.

Stiles saw the strain on Derek’s face and stood up quickly, racing to the bed and kneeling on the edge. “Derek? Are you okay? Shit. No. I know you’re not okay. What can I do? What happened?”

Stiles continued to spit out question after question until Derek interrupted by repeating his name for a fourth time.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Stiles shied with embarrassment, knowing the last thing Derek wanted to handle was Stiles’s slew of inquiries. “I’m going to check your side, okay?”

Derek only managed a barely audible grunt and small nod before Stiles began to lift up his shirt. Looking down, Derek realized he wasn’t covered in black blood, and clean clothes had been put on him. “Did you…”

Stiles was focused on the injury and looked up slightly dazed, “What?” His voice was soft and distant.

Derek nodded down towards his body.

Stiles shyly responded, “Oh. Uhm, yeah. It’s no big deal.” He shrugged and pulled Derek’s shirt back down, then got up from the bed. He went back to the chair, slumping down into it. “So what happened? It looks like a bullet wound.”

Derek couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that Stiles managed to drag him from the bathroom into the bed, clean him, and change him. Speaking of which, he began to ponder the idea of how he even knew he was here and needed help in the first place.

“It is. How did you find me?” Derek’s throat was raw and dry, along with his lips. He licked them and longed for some water.

Stiles sat forward in his seat, “Doesn’t matter. How did you get shot? Was it laced with wolf’s bane? That could be why you’re not healing. And it explains all the black blood.” Stiles scrunched up his nose at the memory of almost having to cut off Derek’s arm. “I’m not going to have to amputate you from the sternum down, am I?”

Derek growled and rolled his eyes. The sound tore at his throat. “Water.”

“Oh!” Stiles jumped up and found a glass on the table and filled it at the sink. He noticed a bullet laying inside and picked it up. He mindlessly offered the cup to Derek as he inspected the piece of metal in his other hand.

“Stiles…”

“Hmm?” Stiles turned back to Derek and it occurred to him he needed help with the drink. “Oh. Yeah, shit. My bad.” He sat down next to Derek and helped him take some sips. Stiles placed the glass next to the bed on a side table and looked at the bullet again. “It doesn’t look like it’s laced.”

“Because it’s not. Wasn’t hunters.” Derek slouched some, lessening the pressure on his open wound.

Stiles stared at him quizzically, “What were you doing to get shot at by non-hunters? Who even-” Stiles’s eyes widened and he stood up forcefully, “COPS!? Were you being shot at by cops!?”

“No.” Derek was beginning to feel his body worsen and was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Who was it then?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m dying anyway.”

Stiles shot daggers at Derek, “You’re not allowed to.”

Derek glared and shook his head, of course, Stiles would be the one to challenge death. He turned in bed, closing his eyes.

Stiles sat down hard on the bed and shook Derek until he opened his eyes and groaned. “Listen, asswolf, we’re gonna figure this out. You were pretty bad before. I didn’t…” Stiles looked down at his hands on Derek’s arm for a moment then raised his eyes back up. “Thing is, you got better, but you’re starting to get shitty again. If it gets as bad as before, I don’t think you’ll come back from that.”

Fear was evident in Stiles’s eyes and Derek wanted nothing more than to reach out and kiss him, tell him it was all going to be okay, but he couldn’t and it destroyed him. A surge of pain ran through Derek’s body and he tensed, letting out a seething breath through his teeth.

“Derek! Fuck!” Stiles reached out again, touching Derek’s arm, and his body instantly relaxed. “Oh my God…” The boy grabbed Derek’s shirt and pulled it up, almost off him completely.

Derek was confused and his lack of clarity and consciousness wasn’t helpful. “What…”

“Shh.” Stiles shushed him sternly and traced his fingers over the black veins from the wound and up Derek’s chest.

Derek shivered at the contact, warm fingers against his cold skin, fingers he felt before and a touch he had ingrained in his memory. Something in him pulsed--his heart, his mind, his blood--he didn’t know but it pushed him and for a fleeting moment he could breathe. Stiles’s fingers left his skin but the feeling of his touch lingered.

Stiles looked at Derek and his eyes appeared more wet than normal, “They’re almost to your heart.”

Derek pulled down his shirt, “I know.”

Stiles pursed his lips and furrowed his brow deep in thought. Derek examined him, scanning his face, every mole, freckle, and shape. He always loved the way his nose was slightly upturned, making it easier to kiss his soft pink lips. God, he desperately wanted to kiss him one last time before he died.

“Stop that!” Stiles lightly punched Derek’s arm but it was still enough to make him recoil in his vulnerable state. “I know that look and I hate it. You’ve given up. You’ve decided that this is it and you’re dying. I’m not turning my back on you this time!”

Tears begged to leave Derek’s eyes and he managed a sad smile. He had forgotten just how relentless Stiles was and how much he loved him for it, even admired it. He was right though, Derek was content with this ending, Stiles with him. Although it wasn’t how he thought he would die, it would be enough--Stiles was enough.

“I said stop it!” Stiles hit Derek again and served him a hard scowl.

“I’m sorry.” Derek closed his eyes in shame and let out a heavy sigh.

Inhaling deep with frustration, Stiles took Derek’s hand into his own. He knew those two words intimately, the same way Derek did. Derek wasn’t apologizing for what he did, but what he didn’t do, or what he felt was not enough.

Stiles took his free hand and brought it to Derek’s face, cupping his cheek and running his thumb under his eye, wiping away the tear before it had a chance to fall. “You still got me.”

Derek’s eyes opened and he tilted his head, gears turning in his mind.

Silence took over as they embraced one another with their glances until Stiles’s eyes widened and he knitted all the pieces together. “Scott!”

“What?” Derek was beyond confused now, certain he was hallucinating.

Hurdling a leg over Derek, Stiles straddled his calves and pushed the shirt up again. “Scott!” He shouted with excitement like it was the answer to all their problems. Engrossed by his own mind and thoughts, he was oblivious to the fact that Derek had no clue what he was referring to.

Shock took over Derek as he was being topped, “Scott?”

Touching the decaying flesh on Derek’s stomach, Stiles pressed gently and looked up to Derek’s eyes. “Yes, Scott. This happened to Scott. I know what’s wrong and I can fix it. Well...I can’t, but I know how. You have to fix it.”

Understanding Stiles was an art, and Derek had mastered it long ago, but it was doing him no good right now. His eyes searched for answers, yet found nothing but joy and hope in Stiles’s eyes. He didn’t comprehend it or know why he was so filled with optimism, but it was enough. “Tell me.”

Stiles settled onto his knees, wiggling into Derek unintentionally. Had this been any other time, Derek would have growled and flipped them over. “Okay. When the alpha pack attacked you and we thought you died, the second time,” Stiles squinted and realized they thought he died four times and was going to bring it back up later because that was unacceptable, “Scott blamed himself. He had been hurt too but he wasn’t healing and it kept getting worse. His blame and guilt prevented his ability to recover and did the opposite. He believed he deserved it, the pain and suffering.” Stiles tilted his head innocently and sighed.

Knowing Derek carried the weight of the world, there was an endless list of things that Derek felt unnecessary guilt for. He had found himself in a vicious self-deprecating cycle and it needed to end. “Why do you feel guilty?”

Derek shied away, hiding his conviction, but Stiles took his chin and turned him back to face him. Stiles wore a sad smile that begged for Derek to open up, he always wanted him to open up, but Derek had always been so frightened. That’s what fucked everything up in the first place. Looking deep into Stiles’s eyes, Derek replied, “You.”

Sitting up straight, Stiles donned confusion. “You feel guilty because of me?” Stiles seemed broken and distressed, leaning back subtly, “I...did I do something wrong?”

Derek sat up quickly, ignoring the surging pain and cupped Stiles’s face, “No! No, no, no. You didn’t do anything. It was me, it was my fault. I did this.” Derek searched Stiles’s eyes and tried to offer a sense of solace but he had nothing to give; at least nothing but the truth.

He pressed his forehead to Stiles’s and whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this. I was so terrified of you. You tangled yourself into me, I didn’t know how to handle that, so I ran. I wanted to tell you everything that day in the loft, I begged myself to, but I was paralyzed. My greatest regret was hurting you after we...and then letting you walk out that door. I didn’t want you to blame yourself or think you did anything wrong. I pushed you away, I made that choice for us. As soon as you left, I packed a bag and just drove as far as I could. I’ve been numbing myself ever since, searching for Kate and helping Chris, that’s how I got shot, one of Kate’s goons.”

Stiles pushed their foreheads apart and glowered at Derek, but kept quiet as to not interrupt.

Tracing his thumb across Stiles’s cheekbone, he continued, “Stiles, you were right. I was beyond afraid of you, of us. Everyone who has ever meant something to me left me alone and took a piece of me with them, I couldn’t open myself back up to that, I couldn’t lose you, so I left before you even had the chance.”

“I would never leave you.” Stiles waited for Derek to keep going, but he kept quiet. Stiles could see in Derek’s eyes that he wanted to believe his words, but couldn’t because of the ghosts in his past, haunting, and lingering. “Derek, I could never leave you. I looked, you know. I searched for you after you left, every day. You’re not easy to find.” Stiles let out a sad laugh. “When you called me last night, I didn’t know who it was, but I heard you say my name. I called out but you didn’t answer. I knew something was wrong, so I may have committed a few felonies by tracing your number. That’s how I found you. I’ll always find you.”

Derek licked his lips, feeling warmth return to them and the rest of his body. He leaned in and tilted his head until they were sharing the same breath. He wanted to kiss Stiles fervently but hesitated for an unknown reason. Something in the back of his mind still holding him back like an invisible chain. He told Stiles everything and knew what Stiles said was true, but he couldn’t feel it.

Stiles sensed Derek’s tentativeness and waited for him to close the gap. His heart was pounding against his ribs and his blood was boiling. He missed Derek desperately and finally found him, he was in his arms but knew he had to let Derek make the move. He laid everything out on the table and knew the only way Derek would start to heal was if he accepted the past and forgive himself.

Derek inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. The final link in the chain, holding him back had to be broken. He couldn’t hide behind his fear anymore because it was killing him, quite literally. He had no reason to keep it inside, and why would he want to. It was time to open up, so what if things didn’t turn out okay? Living a life paralyzed by all the “what if’s” was no way to live. He needed to let go of the past and look to the future, look to what was sitting right in front of him, who was sitting right in front of him.

Leaning in, Derek whispered against Stiles’s lips like a prayer, “I love you too.” That was the final piece, to say out loud what he felt so profoundly in his bones. Stiles had been his guiding light since the day they met. They always seemed to find their way back to each other, meeting in the middle and being what the other needed or was missing. Derek loved him so deeply and wholeheartedly that it was painful, but the pain that lets you know you’re alive. Stiles set a fire in his bones and sparks in his veins, reminding him that it’s okay to live, okay to feel, and okay to be human.

Derek kissed Stiles hard and deep, neither of them noticing the black lines on his arms receding. He wove his fingers into Stiles’s hair and gripped tight, trying to get closer to him, his breathing heavy and deep. He pulled back Stiles’s head and kissed down his neck and over his Adam’s apple down to his clavicle, sucking small purple marks along the way.

Stiles moaned and his open mouth gasped for a breath he couldn’t catch. Derek made his way back to his lips and pulled them down to the bed. Stiles slid his hands up Derek’s sides and across his stomach. He stopped abruptly and stilled, then sat up. Stiles pulled up Derek’s shirt and ran his hand across the place the wound used to reside. “It’s gone.” He looked up to Derek, beaming like the sun itself, “It worked!”

Derek laughed and Stiles grabbed Derek’s face, crashing into his lips. Derek couldn’t help but smile and chuckle between each kiss. Derek flipped them over and rolled his hips between Stiles’s legs, pulling a soft moan from him.

They fit perfectly together, like two halves of a whole. The way their lips slotted together, forming the perfect seal. Derek trailed his hand up Stiles’s arm above his head and slid his fingers into his, fitting together seamlessly.

Derek could lie here with Stiles forever, just kissing him, his lips, neck, collarbone, shoulders. The taste of him lingered on his tongue and it was a flavour he never wanted to wash out. He exhaled and fell into the crevice of Stiles’s neck, scenting him and nestling in.

Stiles ran his hands over Derek’s back, tracing patterns unknown to him and inhaling the scent of Derek. They laid there holding each other, consumed by their love and passion. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for them.

Derek rolled off of Stiles and curled in next to him, Stiles playing with Derek’s fingers as he put the other behind his head for support.

“Come back home.” It wasn’t a question or a demand, but a request. Stiles missed Derek and couldn’t imagine spending another minute without him.

Letting go of Stiles’s hand, Derek raised it to the boy’s face and pecked his lips, “You are my home.”

Forever Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24

#sterek bingo 2020 #sterek #eternalsterek #eternal sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles stilinski x derek hale #sbreconnection

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ellewritesathing · 4 years

Text

So Close - S.S. XLVI

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 46

Word-count: 6k+

A/N: today on ‘oh shit it’s wednesday’ i bring to you an only-a-little-late update (also the gif doesn’t exactly fit but i can’t find a more appropriate one sorry!!)

You’d heard stories about newly turned werewolves.

Erica had trouble controlling her impulses; she’d do anything that gave her an adrenaline rush. Boyd had trouble controlling his shifts; he’d be out for a run and find himself chasing a deer through the woods. Isaac had trouble controlling his emotions; he would go into fight or flight mode at the slightest noise. It took them months to learn control - Erica died before she could - but eventually, the ones left alive did.

You turned almost a year ago, but your control came in waves. Emotional control was mastered fairly early on, physical control took a while longer, but you thought you’d gotten a hold on them by now.

For the last month or so, your control had slipped almost completely.

At first, it was slow. Your nightmares were worse and you’d started sleepwalking again. Once in a while, you’d wake up in an abandoned room or in the woods. Sometimes, you’d snap at Liam or accidentally hit a little harder than was necessary when you trained.

But now you were waking up almost daily in a dusty abandoned room that was blocked off from the rest of the house. You could only go to sleep if you were tracing the scoring on a Feliscore Arcade token that you’d found in the pocket of a pair of jeans without knowing how it got there. Those accidental hits were becoming more and more intentional.

You’d heard stories about newly turned werewolves and about wolves evolving, but never stories of wolves devolving.

Another fun little bonus of your devolution was that you had trouble concentrating on things anymore. You’d zoned out for most of Scott and Liam’s late-night lacrosse practice - that you’d only gone to because you didn’t want to be alone - and only looked up from your latest Feliscore Arcade google search when they froze on the field.

“What? Are you guys tired of playing catch now or something?” you asked, cringing slightly at the harshness in your voice.

“No. Something’s happening to Mason,” Liam said. His eyes were set on the school, then he dropped his lacrosse stick and bolted. It only took you a second to uncross your legs, get to your feet, and race after him.

The two of you made it to the school milliseconds before Scott, but every millisecond counted towards your little victory over your brother. You tried to squash the ugly, victorious feelings as the three of you broke into the library, and then you tried to smash Mason’s head in when he tried to attack you as you walked in.

Liam pulled you back as Corey and Mason lowered their chair and fire extinguisher. The two of them were out of breath as they recovered from the shock.

“They were here. The Ghost Riders,” Mason said between pants of breath.

You got a funny feeling in your chest at the mention of the Ghost Riders. There was something about them that you should have known; like how you should have known about the Dread Doctors before it was too late.

“Here? Just now?” Scott asked.

You squirmed out of Liam’s grip as he said, “I thought they left when the storm left.”

“I guess not, because two of them were right up there,” Mason said. He pointed up to the railings on the second floor.

You tore your eyes away from the railing after a second. “What were they doing?”

“We didn’t see when they came in.” Mason looked over to Corey for confirmation. “We only saw them when we turned invisible.”

Now it was your turn to hold Liam back as he turned to Corey. “You brought him into this?”

“He was trying to protect me,” Mason said as he stepped between Liam and Corey. He looked over his shoulder at Corey to get him to say something that would make Liam not want to kill him.

“Uh, they didn’t seem to care about us,” Corey said. His heart was beating like crazy. “They- they walked right by us.”

“So, what happened?” you asked, ignoring the agitation caused by Corey's ever beating heart.

Mason and Corey looked at each other for a long time, like they were trying to piece together what happened. “Uh…” Mason blinked a few times and turned back to you. “Then they just jumped down and left.”

“That’s it?” Liam asked. All his muscles were still tense.

“Yeah,” Corey said.

Scott looked away from the railing and let out a breath. “They didn’t take someone? There was nobody else in here?”

Again, Mason and Corey looked at one another. “No. It was just us,” Corey said.

As annoyed as you were at the lack of information, you couldn’t stomach being in the library any longer. It felt like something horrible had happened there, but you couldn’t remember what or to whom. You stormed out of there ahead of the others, but then you paused in one of the hallways.

There was that feeling of deja vu again.

Slowly, you turned to look at the row of lockers. You took some very hesitant steps, letting your muscle memory override the screaming in your brain, and stopped in front of number 1075. Just as you reached out to touch the blue combination lock, a voice snapped you out of it.

“Hey, thinking of getting a new locker?” Mason asked with a smile.

“Uh, yeah. This one’s closer to the parking lot,” you lied. Your fingers reached out for the combination lock but you forced yourself to pull away and turn to Mason. “Did Liam and Scott already leave? I need a ride home.”

“Oh, no, they’re still here. I’ll walk you to the front,” Mason said. He offered an arm to you and you took it with a smile.

A shiver ran up your spine as you cast one last look over your shoulder at locker 1075.

---

After a very confusing conversation with Deaton about phantom limbs, Scott asked you to watch him sleep. You didn’t mind - you barely slept anyway, at least this gave you an excuse to stay up and research the Wild Hunt - even if he did snore.

Things got interesting after the first hour and a half. At first, he just lay there and complained about not being able to sleep when you watched him. You assured him that you couldn’t care less about how much he drooled, and eventually, he fell asleep. Some occasional twitching and mumbling gave way to sleepwalking. Then, sleep-running through the woods.

Scott collapsed into a heap on a pile of decaying leaves. When you were sure he wasn’t going to sleep-attack you, you bent down and woke him up. A brief explanation and change of clothes later, and the two of you had texted Malia and Lydia and started searching the woods for something that mattered.

You stopped when Lydia pulled into the preserve and caught them up on what happened. “Hey, so, I went to bed at home and woke up out in the woods about a mile out,” Scott explained. “I think there’s a reason why this has happened.” He paused, waiting for someone to say something but no one interrupted him. When no one did, he started leading you guys through the woods. “I’ve been out here before. It was the beginning of sophomore year, the night before tryouts for First Line. I remember because it was all that I could think about.”

“What were you doing?” Malia asked. She looked over at you as she stepped over a rock. “And where were you?”

“I was at Willow Creek,” you said quietly, trying to remember why you left Beacon Hills to begin with or why you were so nervous to come back.

“And I was looking for a dead body,�� Scott said simply.

“Well, that’s morbid,” Lydia mumbled.

“Yeah, but what was I doing out here all alone?” Scott asked.

“I wish I could help you, but I didn’t know you back then,” Lydia said.

“I was still a coyote so I might’ve tried to eat the body,” Malia offered.

You shuddered at the thought. Aside from the weird cannibalism-adjacent argument, Derek told you that the body in the woods had been Laura Hale. Malia would have tried to eat her cousin.

“Deaton said that my subconscious is trying to tell me something,” Scott said, clearly not as bothered by the semi-cannibalism as you were. He shook his head. “But I need you guys to help me figure out what it’s saying.”

Lydia let out a breath. “Maybe you were just a curious teenager. You heard there was a body-”

“But how? I never watched the news. And I didn’t have a police scanner,” Scott said.

“Your mom works at the hospital,” Malia said. “Maybe she got called in and you overheard her?”

“My mom wasn’t home that night,” Scott said. “And I live five miles away from here. How did I get here?”

“You drove?” Malia suggested.

“No, we didn’t get another car until I came back,” you said.

“Then he ran,” Malia said.

“I couldn’t have. I had asthma,” Scott said. He sighed and shook his head. “I was hiding, but they knew that I was here.”

“Maybe you just made a ton of noise with your asthmatic breathing,” Malia said, getting more annoyed that all her suggestions were being rebuffed.

“How would they know that it was me?” Scott asked. “Why would the Sheriff even think that I would be out here?”

“Because, like most of the deaths in this town, it was related to the supernatural,” Lydia suggested.

“I wasn’t supernatural. I mean, this was the night I was bitten,” Scott said. He looked away, trying to remember something. “I wasn’t a werewolf yet, and I wasn’t out here alone.”

Now was your time to come clean about all the weird things you were doing and feeling. “Scott, I- I agree with you.”

“You do?" Scott asked. He looked surprised but kept talking when you nodded. “I think I had a best friend. And I think he was out here with me that night, even if you weren't. I know it sounds crazy-”

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” Malia said. “I know that someone chained me up and I think they wanted me to stay human.”

“I came to school this morning and I was sure I was supposed to meet someone … but I couldn’t remember who it was supposed to be,” Lydia said.

It got quiet. They all turned to you.

You took a shaky breath and shrugged. “I feel like I’m missing a part of me,” you said softly, not willing to meet any of their eyes. “Not just a best friend but someone … someone I loved. Someone who loved me.”

Lydia reached out and interlaced her hand with yours. Even without words, she still tried to comfort you.

“What if we’re all missing the same person?” Scott asked after a few uncomfortable seconds. He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it to show you guys the photo Sydney had taken of you all on the first day of the semester. “I think that he was in this picture.”

Lydia pointed at the spot between her and Scott, just in front of you. You must have been holding him. “He was sitting right there,” she said.

“He was so close,” you whispered, reaching out for the photo despite knowing that it wouldn’t change a thing.

Scott let you hold onto the photo as the four of you piled into Lydia’s car. It was so frustrating to know that he had been right there and you couldn’t remember a thing - but he was always there, lurking in the back of your mind but always just out of reach. He was the only thing you could think about the whole way to the animal clinic.

Even as Deaton explained what happened, you couldn’t concentrate. It wasn’t like you’d be doing it anyway - the automatic writing - so there wasn’t any harm in you trying to remember instead.

“I have to warn you,” Deaton said quietly as you, Scott, and Malia huddled around him in the corner. “We may not be able to access these memories.”

“We have to,” you said.

Deaton gave you a heavy-looking smile and took a breath. “The legend has always been that the Wild Hunt takes people, but if what you’re telling me is right, the truth is much worse,” he said. “They erase people from reality.”

Scott looked over at Lydia before asking, “How did we all remember someone who has been completely erased from our minds?”

Before Deaton had the chance to answer, Lydia stole his attention. She was writing so furiously at her desk, alternating between not breathing and then panting. The desk shook with all her force, sending the blue shard of glass flying around in the dark. The light caught on the edges and something familiar ached in your chest.

“Oh … is she- should we stop her?” Scott asked.

Deaton held out an arm to stop him. “Lydia? Lydia, slow down,” he said. When he was close enough, he switched off the lamp and Lydia stopped writing instantly. Instead of furious movement, she looked almost catatonic.

“Is she okay?” you whispered.

“Lydia?” Deaton asked.

Nothing.

Malia reached forward and pulled the piece of paper off the desk. You held onto one corner and looked at it over her shoulder.

The word ‘mischief’ was written all over, but the shapes made out the word ‘Stiles.’ No, it wasn’t a word - it was a name. It was his name.

Stiles.

---

Geography was remarkable mind-numbing the next day. You barely paid any attention to it at the best of times, and it was decidedly not the best of times considering your lack of sleep and constant agitation.

The Wikipedia article for stiles was open for the billionth time, as well the etymology of ‘mischief’ and the link for that stupid arcade. Instead of acting like the useless google searches were less important than geography, you put your hand up and asked to be excused.

You’d just gotten to the parking lot when you heard a coyote howl inside the school. Groaning, you kicked the bike rack and headed back inside.

Malia was in the basement with Scott, Lydia, Natalie, and Noah when you got there. She was snarling and ready to bite whoever came near her, so Lydia suggested giving her some space. You thought the idea was ridiculous, but you didn’t feel like adding ‘being maimed’ to your list of reasons to find new friends.

You'd missed most of Lydia, Scott, Noah, and Natalie's conversation, but you were just in time to hear Malia let out another growl. She stepped out from underneath one of the cupboards before you had the chance to intervene and started shifting, making the process look surprisingly elegant considering how painful it must have been.

“It’s alright. I’m okay,” she said.

Natalie quickly walked over to give Malia some clothes while Noah counted how many tiles were on the floor and Scott counted the tiles on the ceiling.

“Do we have any idea what made her shift?” Noah asked.

“She’s under a lot of pressure,” Scott answered. He took his eyes off the ceiling to look at Lydia for confirmation. “School, her life after graduation-”

“Her mom trying to kill her,” you mumbled.

“But that shouldn’t make her shift,” Scott said. “Do you guys think it could be connected to Stiles?”

“Hard to tell since we don’t know what a ‘Stiles’ is,” Lydia said.

“It’s a he,” Noah said. You couldn't tell if he was frowning or if the annoyance was just a permanent feature of his face.

“Who?”

“Stiles,” Noah said with a nod, trying to cover his frown. “It’s a family nickname. I never used it, but, uh, my father did.”

“Could you tell us some more about him?” you asked, stepping closer and giving him your best smile. You didn’t know why you thought that would sway him. “About Stiles?”

Noah cast a cautionary look at Lydia’s mom. “If Natalie’s okay with it …”

“Could it wait until after school?” she asked.

“No,” you and Lydia said, at the same time Scott and Malia said, “Yes.”

You glared at them. It was their fault that Natalie personally walked each of you back to your classes to make sure none of you ditched, and it was your fault for not slipping away when she wasn’t paying attention.

So, you sat through Geography and two other classes before racing to Lydia’s car as soon as the bell went off. Lydia was already there, explaining how Malia couldn’t come because she had to retake her retake but Scott would be there any minute. She didn’t listen to your suggestion of him meeting you there instead.

But after all your annoyance and agitation, you froze when you saw Noah’s house. It was the house that you were always waking up in, just in the warm glow of the afternoon instead of the dusty haze of midnight. You didn’t mention it to Scott or Lydia - how could you? It wasn’t like you had any reason to know where Noah lived until now - you just took a deep breath and went inside.

It was strangely lived in. Hard to believe they had a boarded-up room somewhere when you were looking at all the throw pillows and decorative balls of yarn. Claudia broke you out of your haze by pushing a glass of lemonade into your hand. She gave you a warm smile and ushered the three of you into the living room.

“He was an army engineer,” Noah explained once you were all settled. He handed Scott a photo from a memory box. “Ended the war one bridge at a time.”

Like a stile, you realized. He helped people move over whatever was blocking their path.

Scott smiled at the photo in his hand. “And he went by ‘Stiles.’”

You looked over his shoulder at the old photo of Elias in his army gear. It felt like you’d seen the photo before; like someone had already shown it to you, except you knew that back then it was a secret. A shiver went down your spine. You weren’t supposed to see this photo.

“So, what’s this got to do with the Wild Hunt?” Noah asked.

“We think that somebody was taken from us,” Scott explained.

“Any idea who?”

Scott shook his head. “Uh, the Ghost Riders would have erased our memories.”

“Well, now, that’s convenient,” Noah said.

“But we found a clue,” Lydia said. “The word ‘stiles.’”

“And that’s why you wanna talk to Elias?” Claudia asked. She didn’t sound very convinced.

“Yeah, maybe he can help us figure it out,” Scott said. “Maybe he knows who we’re looking for.”

“Now this is someone your age?” Noah asked.

“Yes,” you said, sounding more sure than Scott or Lydia had since you’d arrived. “He was our … friend.” There went your certainty. Whatever Stiles had been to the others, he was something else to you.

“Well-” Noah shut the memory box on his lap and stood up. “I can guarantee you, my father can’t help you.” He took the photo back from Scott.

“Couldn’t we try?” Scott asked.

“Scott, he lives in a nursing home three towns over,” Noah said. “Hasn’t had a visitor in years. He couldn’t help even if he w-”

“Could I use your bathroom?” Lydia asked. She had that look like a supernatural Geiger counter was going off in her head.

“Sure,” Claudia said.

Lydia hurried off and you frowned. You set your lemonade down to go follow her, but Claudia started talking to you.

“I love your ring,” she said. She smiled as she looked at it. “I had one just like it when I was younger.”

You looked down at your hand to find an old signet ring on your finger. It was out of place with the rest of your jewelry, but there was something about it that made it more important than the rest even though the design had worn over the years.

“Oh, thanks,” you said, twisting it around your finger so that design was facing inwards. You weren’t sure if you wanted anyone else to look at it. “I got it for my birthday.”

Claudia gave you another smile before excusing herself to the kitchen. At least with her gone, you could focus on the rapidly escalating conversation between Noah and Scott. What had started as a polite rejection had turned into Scott repeatedly asking why you guys couldn’t just talk to Elias and Noah saying that he didn’t need a reason for not wanting to expose his elderly father to three teenagers he’d never met before.

“You’re not hearing me,” Noah argued. They were both standing now and you stood to not feel so out of place. “Trust me, you don’t want to talk to him.”

“We just need a few minutes,” Scott begged.

“Scott, my father can’t help you,” Noah said.

“Just a few questions. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking-”

Something in Noah snapped. His voice was loud and frustrated when he spoke again. “You know what? You don’t just ‘talk’ to this guy, okay?” He took a breath and lowered his voice. “Just find another way.”

Scott started talking again when you touched his arm lightly. “Okay,” you said with a very fake smile. “We’ll find another way. Come on, Lyd, let’s get out of their hair.”

“But-”

“Thank you for your time.” You dragged Scott out before he could start yelling. Once the three of you were in the safety of the car and Scott was whining about you ruining their chances, you sighed and said, “Call Malia. We’re breaking into a nursing home.”

“But you said-”

“Scotty, you’ve known me my whole life. Can you seriously not tell when I’m lying?”

“I can tell when you’re lying,” Scott said defensively.

“I guess you’re right,” you said and scooted forward in your seat. “I love that shirt, by the way. You should wear it more often.”

“Really? Thanks. I-” Scott frowned at the look Lydia gave him. “Oh.”

---

“I can’t believe we’re about to break into a nursing home,” Scott mumbled as you, Lydia, and Malia walked up to the doors of Good Water Assisted Living.

“Scott, you realize we’ve literally broken into the school, a bank vault, a mental facility, and Davenport Prep, right?” you asked.

Malia brought your group to a stop. “Plus, after the orderlies at Eichen House, I’m pretty sure we can handle some nurses.”

“Right, but-”

Scott didn’t manage to get out his argument before Malia blew past you, got to the front desk, and slammed the nurse’s head into the desk. You winced as she went behind the desk and looped her arms under his to drag him somewhere. “Are you guys coming?” she asked.

“Right behind you!” You patted Scott’s arm and gave him a mischievous smile before rushing inside.

The computer was still unlocked so you punched in for Elias’ name and his room number popped up. The four of you found it fairly quickly but he wasn’t there. After a few minutes, you found him alone in one of the common rooms listening to old jazz music.

He looked up from his desk full of papers when you came in. “Yes? Is it time for my medicine?”

“We don’t have your medicine,” Malia said, folding her arms over her chest.

“Oh,” Elias said softly. He turned back to his desk.

“Are you Elias Stilinski?” Lydia asked.

Elias blinked a few times as he looked at Lydia. “I am.”

Lydia’s face broke into a smile and she made her way over to him. “I’m Lydia Martin. Do you know who I am?”

“Should I?” Elias asked.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Stilinski,” Scott said awkwardly as he walked closer to him. “We’re looking for somebody who might be named Stiles. You went by that name in the army, right?”

“Yes,” Elias said with a small nod. He looked away from Scott as he added, “Best years of my life.”

“Do you know any of us?” Malia asked.

“Of course I do,” Elias said. He looked back up at Scott. “How could I forget my own son?”

“Your son?” Scott repeated. He looked over at Lydia for help.

“Mr. Stilinski, what year is it?” she asked gently.

“1976,” Elias answered instantly. “It’s my son’s birthday next week.”

“He has dementia,” Lydia said to the rest of you.

As if to prove her point, Elias looked back up and asked if it was time for his medicine yet. You took a collective deep breath and started explaining things to him as gently as you could. It made you agitated to be in here with him, especially as the sun went down outside, but you needed to find Stiles.

But after repeated attempts to get Elias to stop confusing Scott with Noah, you’d become almost as grouchy as Malia. All she did was pace and steal peas from Elias’ food.

“Scott McCall?” Elias asked. Scott nodded hopefully. “No, no, no, no, no. You’re my son.”

“Keep it down, old guy,” Malia whispered harshly. She stole another few peas. “You’ll wake the other old people.”

“I don’t like her,” Elias said to Lydia.

Lydia slipped into the chair in front of him. “Your son,” she said in an impressively patient voice. “He’s the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.”

“Sheriff?” Elias asked. “No, no, no, no, no, no. No, I- I was in the army.”

“Just use your claws, Scott,” Malia said.

“It could kill him,” Scott said.

“I get that, but we’re running out of time,” Malia said.

“I can’t.”

Malia growled and elongated her claws. She’d just started walking over to Elias when you stepped in front of him and Scott grabbed her wrist. You could let her abuse nurses but you refused to let her do anything to one of the Stilinskis.

“No,” Scott told her. “We’re not hurting him.”

“Young lady, you need to clip those nails,” Elias said behind you. It made you laugh. You cleared your throat and mumbled an apology but he didn’t seem to like that. “You shouldn’t be here. If you don’t leave, I’ll have to report you.”

“Uh…” Scott looked over to Lydia. “What’s wrong with him?”

“The sun went down,” she said.

“So?”

“So, he’s sundowning,” Lydia said. “It’s when dementia patients lose their faculties after the sun goes down.”

“Well, that would’ve been helpful information to have before the sun went down,” you snapped.

Elias took a shaky breath. He started waving his hand around as he spoke, “I don’t want to talk to you anymore!”

“So what do we do?” Malia asked.

“We wait until the sun comes back up,” Lydia said.

“We don’t have that kind of time,” you said. “The night shift will be here soon which means someone will be coming for him.”

“No, no, no!” Elias cried. He started shuffling through his papers.

“There’s gotta be something we could do to keep him quiet,” Scott said.

Elias got more frantic and then Lydia stepped in again. She told him to look at the equations on his papers and asked him to identify different ones to help him concentrate. Miraculously, it worked. He stood and started looking at his handwritten notes.

“Elias,” Lydia said gently to get him to sit.

“That’s Mr. Stilinski,” Elias corrected. He frowned at each of you, almost looking like an older Noah in the low light. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

“So you know Scott isn’t your son?” Lydia asked.

“Of course, I know that,” Elias snapped. “Are brains getting smaller with the skirts?”

“Excuse me-”

“Hey.” Scott put a hand on your wrist. “It’s okay.”

“You’re that McCall kid,” Elias said as he looked at Scott.

“You know me?” Scott asked.

“I know your dad,” Elias said. He started walking around the table. “Couldn’t hold his liquor and he certainly couldn’t keep that wedding ring on his finger. Pretty young thing would walk by and poof! That ring just disappeared like magic.”

Though you were under no impressions of your dad being a saint, you frowned at Elias' words. Malia growled, but Lydia kept her cool. “Do you know all of us?” she asked.

Elias narrowed his eyes and then pointed a finger at Lydia. “You’re Natalie Martin’s girl, am I right? You look like her. She was pretty once, too.”

“Hey, you can’t talk to her like that-” you started chastising him but he stopped you with a look. He looked at you like he knew you.

“I know you from the pictures,” Elias said.

“What pictures?” you asked.

“He only came once, but that was enough. He wouldn’t stop talking and he kept showing me these damn pictures-”

“That’s enough.”

You jumped at the sound of Noa’s voice. He’d walked in with the nurse that Malia assaulted, and, boy, did he look mad.

Scott tried to explain. “Sheriff, we-”

“I explicitly told you not to come here,” Noah said. “And who attacked a staff member?”

The nurse pointed at Malia. “That’s her.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Noah asked.

“Noah, we were just having a nice conversation,” Elias said, back to sounding frail and broken as he made his way around the table to his son.

“The four of you, out,” Noah said. “Now.”

Elias complained but Scott grabbed your hand and started leading you out. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t still eavesdrop.

As guilty as you felt about lying to Noah and invading his privacy, you couldn’t help but feel vindicated when Elias told him to crawl back to his dead wife and loser son. You were right. Stiles was a real person. He was Noah’s son, even if he was a loser. He was your loser.

“Son,” you whispered as Malia slammed the door behind her.

“What?” Scott whispered back.

You flicked your eyes over to where Noah was arguing with the nurse. Leaning in, you whispered, “Stiles is Noah’s son. I’ll explain at home, okay?”

Scott nodded quickly and tightened his grip on your hand before Noah came out and ordered the lot of you into his squad car. He was simmering with rage but he didn’t say a word the entire way to the station.

All he said when he closed you guys in the cell was, “I’ll call your parents to pick you up.”

The four of you were quiet as you waited for someone to show up. Melissa was at work and you’d barely seen Malia’s dad since the beginning of their senior year so your hopes weren’t very high for getting out of there.

When Natalie showed up, she first wanted to yell at you before letting you go.

“It doesn’t look bad, Scott. It is bad,” she said. “You broke into a nursing home, you harassed a dementia patient, and you beat up a nurse! This could affect the rest of your lives. Especially you, Malia. They’re talking felony assault.”

“I didn’t beat him up! I could have, but I chose not to,” Malia said.

“That’s an improvement,” Lydia hummed next to you.

The door opened and Noah sighed. “By some miracle, the nurse decided to drop the charges,” he said. “They’re free to go.”

“Just because you’re not going to jail, doesn’t mean you’re not grounded for eternity,” Natalie said.

“Triple-negative,” you said quietly. “Impressive.”

“Excuse me?” Natalie asked.

“Nothing,” you said with a smile. “We’ll see you at school tomorrow. Thank you for looking out for us.”

Natalie frowned at the sudden change in attitude but said she’d always look out for you guys anyway. She offered to drive you all home but you said you and Scott could walk. After some more confused looks and awkward goodbyes, you and Scott were finally alone and walking through the dark.

“So,” he said with a deep breath. “You gonna tell me what’s been going on with you?”

“I feel like I’m missing the part of me that makes rational decisions,” you said. “Seriously, I’m turning into Malia. I can’t concentrate on anything, I’m always angry, and I keep doing things for someone who’s not here.”

Scott frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I think Stiles was my anchor,” you said. You hadn’t let yourself think about the possibility before, but it made sense. All of your bad habits had started when it felt like you’d lost something.

Scott frowned as he thought about it, but he must have come to the same conclusion you had. “Okay,” he said. “And who do you think Stiles is?”

“I think Noah’s son,” you said. “When we were leaving, Elias yelled at Noah for leaving him in the home and choosing his loser son over him, but Noah … doesn’t have a son. At least, not one any of us remember.”

“Wow,” Scott exhaled. “That’s pretty intense.”

You laughed. “Yeah, but it makes sense,” you said. Scott waited for you to say something so you told him about how you kept waking up in an abandoned room. “But when we went to talk to Noah earlier, I recognized the house. It’s the same one I’ve been sneaking out of every morning.”

“Huh, and I thought waking up in the woods was weird,” Scott said. You hit his arm and he laughed.

The two of you bickered over each other’s bad habits the whole way home, but the lighthearted conversation didn’t erase the feelings of longing buried in your chest. Wherever Stiles was, you missed him, and no amount of teasing Scott could take your mind off it.

But the mess you walked into as soon as you unlocked the front door almost did.

“I’m not dealing with this,” you said instantly. You untangled yourself from Scott. “You told Liam to take care of it. He’s your beta. The two of you can clean.”

“But I-”

“I’m going to shower.”

Instead of using his energy to fight a losing battle, Scott waved you off and you left him downstairs with Liam and the mess which, thankfully, hadn’t reached your locked room. You grabbed some clean pajamas and disappeared to wash off the stress of the day.

When you came back, you reached for the Feliscore Arcade coin on your nightstand. You traced the logo with your thumb as you tried, for the millionth time, to remember. A knock at your door snapped you out of it.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Scott said.

“It’s fine,” you said, closing your hand around the coin. This was one part of the mystery that you wanted to keep for yourself. “What’s up? Did someone throw up on your bed or something?”

“What? No.” Scott frowned. “At least I don’t think so.” Then he shook his head and looked back up at you. “I wanted to tell you that Noah came by while you were showering … talking about his son.”

You scrambled to sit up. “He remembered him? He remembered Stiles?”

“Kind of. He said he could remember a conversation with Claudia when they were young about having kids. He wanted to name their son after father, and she said that it didn’t matter because they’d call him Stiles anyway,” Scott explained. He gave you a smile. “You were right.”

“I was right,” you said quietly. “Thanks for telling me, Scotty.”

Scott knocked on your door twice and smiled at the ground. “No problem. Try not to break into anyone’s house tonight.”

“No promises,” you said with a smile.

For the first time in weeks, it was a real smile. Sure, you still didn’t have much, but you’d done more with less. You’d find Noah’s son. You’d find Stiles.

Part 47

Tagged: @ietss @used-avocado

#so close #teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski #stiles slow burn #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #mccall!reader

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multisuperfandom · 4 years

Text

Omega

Part 2 of The True Omega series

Summary: You’ve known him almost your entire life. You were close enough to call acquaintances, but not nearly close enough to be called friends. Then again, you weren’t close enough with anyone to call them friends. You were an omega. The absolute definition of an omega. Being born out of an affair, your mother, one of the greatest alphas ever seen, Talia Hale, rejected you. Your father, her former emissary, and almost all of your half siblings hated you for it. You ran away from Beacon Hills when you were 13, after the abuse you had gotten from your father became too much. But the news of an alpha in your home town has lured you back. An alpha comes with a pack, and now the boy you were never close enough with, is a freshly bitten beta. Now you are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Between helping the boy you always wanted to be friends with, and finally having a pack. What will you do?

Pairing: Scott McCall x Reader Warnings: angst, language, depressed reader, loneliness, mentions of attempted sexual assault

Character: Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Derek Hale, Alan Deaton

Word count: 2k

Tags: @nostalthicc

A/N: I don’t follow the stories exact story line.

~~~~~~~

“Scott, breathe,” you whisper while holding his shoulder. You two were trying to teach Scott control while on the lacrosse field. The game was tonight and he wasn’t at all ready for it. But he started losing control and you were pretty sure he was going to murder you.“Scott, you need to breathe. Calm down.”

“I don’t know how!” He yells, backing up and breaking your hold on him. His eyes are a bright yellow and the fur on his cheeks are starting to come in.

“Listen to my voice.”

“Ok.” He is breathing heavily.

“Everything is ok. You are gonna be able to completely control yourself one day. Even on a full moon. I just know it.”

“How?”

“We all go through this.” You start walking closer to him. Thankfully he isn’t backing up this time. “We all have to learn and be taught.”

Still breathing heavily, he nods.

“You know, Derek was terrible at control when he was young.”

“He was?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, remembering the times when he would get caught running around town in nothing but tennis shoes on the full moon. “Absolutely terrible at it.”

“Who ways the best?”

“Probably, Laura, Derek’s older sister.”

“The one we found in the woods?” You paused. Somehow in the chaoticness of everything that’s happened in the past couple of days, you forgot that Laura was dead. She’s dead. Of course, for the past two years, you were so mad at her for rejecting you. But she was your sister. She was your blood.

Now she’s dead.

“Yeah, her.” You took a step back like you were trying to step away from any talk of Laura. Before you can back up more, Scott stops you.

“Please, talk some more,” He begs with his hand on your arm.

Nodding you whisper, “You need to keep your heart rate down to stop the shift.”

“How do I do that?”

“You find what we call an anchor or a nice thought that will make you feel safe and calm.” You whisper, getting close to him again. Touching his cheek, you remember all the times you wanted to be held while you were going through a shift. “Or at least make you feel strong enough to control yourself.”

“A thought?!” He yells as he felt himself lose control again. You scramble back, hoping to not ruin one of your only good shirts.

“A thought, a memory, a person. Anything!” You yell back, trying to get to him before he finally loses control.

“What’s yours?”

“My dad,” you whisper softly. “And my mom, and Laura, and an alpha who told me I was too weak for his pack.”

“Why?” He looks at you with his golden eyes and you remember a time when you had golden eyes. A time when you were young and innocent and the weight of your world hadn’t settled itself on your chest. Now your eyes are blue and your soul tainted. The innocence is gone and the weight so heavy some days, you forget how to breathe.

“Everyone who has ever told me I wasn’t good enough for them, everyone who made me feel worthless.”

He screams, gripping his head. “You need to think. What is your anchor?”

It takes a few moments but eventually his breathing becomes lighter and his eyes were a chocolate brown again. You sighed and gave a little laugh making him give you a funny look.

“What?” He asks.

“I thought you were gonna kill me for a second,” you laugh stepping closer to him. You were about to hug him when you saw something from the corner of your eye. Turning, you see a very confused Allison Argent standing by the bleachers. Looking back at Scott, you can see a look of regret on his face. His anchor is Allison. That’s why he calmed down when she came out. Of course it was Allison. She’s pretty and smart and popular. You were nothing compared to her. You were small and quiet and alone. All she’s known is friends and family, and all you’ve know is being pushed away and forgotten. Who can blame him for wanting her and not you?

“I-I was supposed to study with her,” he whispers, scratching his neck. You nod before taking a step back. You give him a small smile to tell him it’s ok. He returns the smile and runs over to her.

Sighing, you watch them leave.

You’re alone again.

~~~~~~~

“What are you doing out here?” A familiar voice asks you as you were studying calculus in the hallway. Tilting your head, you see a very concerned Stiles standing over you.

“I had a free period and nothing better to do, so I’m studying,” You chuckle before continuing to read your textbook and notes. Ignoring the sounds of shuffling, you assume that Stiles left. You were wrong. He sat down next to you and started reading your notes with you.

“I thought you and Scott were on the lacrosse field.”

“He found something better to do.” Stiles nods, letting the silence fill the space again, which was probably the hardest thing for him to do. Unfortunately for you, it only lasts a few moments.

“What’s more important than learning to not kill people on the full moon?” He ponders.

“Allison Argent.”

“oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, stiles.” You say shortly, hoping that you can get back to your silence. But your hopes were gone when you hear the sound of giggles and footsteps from down the hall.

Lydia Martin and her boyfriend, Jackson, come running down the hall. They stop in front of the couch’s office before Lydia pushes Jackson inside. Stiles visibly flinches when the sound of the door slamming shut echoes.

“You still hopelessly and helplessly in love with Lydia Martin?” You ask partly as a joke and partly because you want to know. Stiles gives a little laugh before turning to look at you.

“You still hopelessly and helplessly in love with Scott McCall?” In return you laugh too.

“I guess we are just both a couple of hopeless and helpless idiots,” you whisper with your eyes on the couch’s door. Were Scott and Allison doing the same, somewhere else in the school? “Who needs love when all it does is hurt you?”

Stiles sighs, grabbing your hand and holding it in his, he let you have your quiet again.

But this is Stiles we are talking about, and how long can he go without saying anything?

“Are you coming to the game tonight?”

“I-I don’t know stiles.”

“Please, please, for me? At least, come for me.” You nod, smiling at the spastic boy beside you.

~~~~~~

Scott and Stiles’ team were down by five with two minutes left. You can hear the faint heartbeats of the players, smell the sweat dripping off of them and adrenaline pumping in their veins. You hated lacrosse games. Too much is happening and you don’t know what to do.

“Scott is right there.” You hear someone whispering from across the bleachers. Allison Argent. And she’s brought her entire family with her. Her entire family, who have all tried to kill at least a dozen times. Your heart starts beating frantically. You need to get out of here. If they see you, they will try to kill you again. And you're weaker now than you were the last time you had a run-in with them. Your senses are not nearly as strong as they are supposed to be. You won’t survive if they come after you.

Just as you are about to get up, you make eye contact with Scott. He tilts his head in the way that a puppy does when they are confused. You are certain he can hear your heart beating and can smell your fear. You quickly make the realization that Stiles asked you to come for Scott, he needs you here.

“It’s ok, I’m ok, just keep playing,” you whisper into your hand so that the Argent can’t see that you are talking but Scott can hear you. He mutters back a quick response before darting off down the field. Watching him play, you make a wish that you hope and pray will come true. You wish that when you find the alpha that he will let you into his pack with Scott.

“Maison,” you hear someone else whisper. “I think Scott is losing control.”

Stiles.

Your eyes search for Scott. He should’ve scored two balls but everyone was avoiding him even though he was wide open. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his hands gripping his stick like it was going to take away all his anger. Stiles was right, he’s losing control.

“Scott,” You mutter into your hands again. “You need to find your anchor. Let it ground you and remind you that you are strong enough to maintain control.”

He doesn’t respond for a while, probably trying to control his breathing. Trying and failing.

“Keep talking,” he grunts.

“Scott, you’re not a monster. You’re a werewolf.” You lay your head into your hands. “Not all monsters do monstrous things. But if you lose control, then you will become a monster. You will kill someone.”

“What do your eyes mean?” He asks and from the way that he says it, you can tell that he’s wanted to ask it for a while. “Derek has the same eyes. Is it because you are a different type of werewolf?”

“I am a different type of werewolf,” you sigh. “Derek and I were born as werewolves. But our eyes don’t represent that. Our eyes mean that we did do monstrous things.”

“What did you do?”

“Scott, please.” You don’t want to tell him. He won’t look at you the same anymore.

“Please, your talking is helping.”

“I-I,” you stutter, “My dad used-used to beat the shit out of me. He would hit me, kick me, break my legs or arms, burn me. One day after he beat me so bad I couldn’t move, he brought over some friends. There were nine of them, ten including my dad. They-they tried to-to...”

You couldn’t finish. Most nights you remember what happened in your dreams. Most nights you wake up screaming and crying. It haunts you to this day.

“I was thirteen-years-old, Scott. I was so scared. I just lost control. I blacked out and when I woke up, they were all dead. I had ripped them apart. Every single one of them, including my dad.”

Scott was completely silent.

“I ran away after that. I went to New York to follow Derek and Laura.” You hope silently that he doesn’t hate you now. “But-but Laura rejected me from her pack. I’ve been alone almost my entire life. There were about six months when I lived with my mom but she died in the hale fire, so I had to go back to my dad.”

He doesn’t respond for a while.

“Maison, I don’t think that he’s calming down!” Stiles calls out to you as the timer goes off.

“Get him into the locker room,” You say when you run onto the field to help. Everyone else disbanded so it was safe. “Come one, let’s go.”

~~~~

“Scott, calm down!” You yell while You and Stiles hold Scott under the spray of the shower. Scott roars and starts thrashing around. “Find your anchor!”

“I’m gonna rip them apart,” He yells.

“No, Scott! They are innocent! They didn’t do anything wrong!” You yell back, struggling to hold him.

“Yes, they did! I’m going to kill all of them!”He struggles against your’s and Stiles’ hold.

“Stiles, on three let him go, ok?”

“ok.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

#werewolf #werewolves #scott mccall #scott mccall x reader #scott mccall fanfiction #fanfic #lydia martin #stiles stilinski #teen wolf

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passiveinsane · 4 years

Text

Fic Recs

two weeks of procrastination special!

Teen Wolf

Support by Epibreren | stiles isn’t in the loop au

In which Stiles and Derek are dating, and Stiles is under the impression that Derek is a furry.

Welcome to Rosie's Diner can I interest you in an eye-opener? by crossroadswrite | diner au

An entire diner is shipping sterek because they believe they’re a couple. Stiles and Derek, of course, are not (yet).

i wait for you like a lonely house by bleep0bleep | future au

“Derek isn’t sure why he buys the house.”

The (Figurative) Death of Destructo-Derek by newtypeshadow | Werewolf boyband au

“Derek Hale is a clumsy destruction magnet.

Except that he isn't. Unlike everyone else, Stiles can see the curse obstructing Derek's senses and tangling his limbs and causing increasingly destructive accidents. And now that the curse is turning deadly, Stiles is damn well gonna break it—whether Derek Hale believes it exists or not.”

Foundations by Spooks, thesuninside

“Spooks: Yanno, I can't believe that for a show set in California, they didn't do anything with natural disasters.”

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane | fantasy au(???)

Beauty and the beast au where Stiles is half-fae, Derek is the heir to the Hales, and they’re both in the middle of a political ploy.

Special Order by bleep0bleep | stiles is a food critic au

Stiles, world-renowned food critic, wanders into the restaurant and life of Chef Hale.

dude, it's wednesday by stressingbisexual | series

Stiles is a twitch streamer, and other than that it’s canon-y.

adhd??? i think you mean GAYdhd amirite ladies by weeabooty

If the title isn’t convincing, there’s nothing to say.

Give Me Shelter by WonderWolf

Animal shelter volunteers au, where Derek gives punny names to cats and Stiles picks up more than one stray.

tie your napkin 'round your neck, cherie by magneticwave

“In the low light from Scott’s candles, Lydia is breathtaking. Jackson is still a butt-ugly lizard monster, but he looks like he’s having a religious experience with Stiles’ trifle, so that’s validating in a weird sort of way.” Please read this, it’s so good, cackling will happen.

Once Upon a Time by lady_ragnell

“Five fairy tales Stiles isn't the hero of, and one he might be.”

CSI: Beacon Hills by Jerakeen | restricted work, must have ao3 profile to access

“Back when Stiles was in high school Beacon Hills didn't have a crime lab, because they simply didn't need one. Those were the days.”

Werewolf Daycare by dinolaur

Stiles is forced to take care of the pack: toddler versions. Derek is not useful.

coffee housing by kellifer_fic

Superhero!pack au.

Kiss the Cook by idyll

“Derek's a professional chef, and Stiles is a blogger who butchers his recipes.”

At All Costs by forestofbabel | time-traveling stiles

“Stiles is sent on a mission in time to protect Derek Hale at all costs. He doesn’t know why Derek Hale is so important to the future, but Stiles takes his mission seriously.”

Stiles Stilinski and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (Well Maybe It Wasn’t That Bad…) by thegirlgrey

Stiles has a very bad day, and then a very good one.

This is Ridiculous by zosofi | future au | Explicit

“There's a unicorn in Beacon Hills. A fricken' unicorn. In fricken' Beacon Hills, California. And it turns out that unicorns aren't drawn towards virgins in a happy-go-lucky let-me-lay-my-not-at-all-metaphorical-horn-in-your-lap way. No. They kill them. And guess who's the only virgin idiotic enough to get sucked into the Beacon Hills supernatural scene? Stiles, that's who.”

Hallowed Grounds by damnfancyscotch

“Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college.

Well, except for the fact that he's a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica's epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there's this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him.

Oh, and the murders, of course.

But other than that stuff... totally the same old BH.”

Unofficial Stiles Stilinski by elliot_edison | series

“ "So you're the boy he was complaining about the first week of school." Derek tried to remember what she was talking about. When he did, he decided it was his turn to want the world to swallow him whole.

"What?" Stiles frowned.

"Oh, it's nothing bad, sweetie." His aunt Hazel (who has a weirdly calming affect on everyone, which he was grateful for) assured him. "Peter, dear, remind me, what were his exact words?"

"I believe they were something along the lines of 'he spent a whole hour yelling at me and covering me in hello kitty band-aids. I think I want to marry him.'" Peter gave him a look. "Right?” “

Half-hearted Contestant by LadyDrace | not!fic

Stiles is on Derek Hales’s bachelor TV show, but he’s mostly (mostly) there for the food.

Sparkly Pens by mm_coconut | Explicit

Journal entries by Stiles (and Derek.) NSFW

ATLA

Swear by naggeluide

“Toph grew up in the Earth Rumble, and Zuko went through adolescence at sea. Neither of them are shy about using profanity.”

NDRV3

Liar's Gift by booperbeanv3

Ouma gives a bento box, homemade, to Shuichi. They’re dumb and gay.

The Way to a Man's Heart (is through his stomach) by orphan_account

“Shuichi wishes he had at least an hour to think of a response to that, but he doesn't, so he just stares dumbly back at Kokichi. Then, there's a forkful of pancake and strawberry directly in his face. Does Kokichi really expect him to let himself be fed like that? On the same fork, even? When Shuichi doesn't bite, Kokichi frowns again. “Come on, one bite?” His bottom lip juts out, and Shuichi has to wonder if Kokichi can tell that he is hopelessly infatuated after a handful of interactions. It's so bizarre to him, the way he feels like the biggest idiot on the planet and the luckiest guy in the world to be the subject of Kokichi's attention.

And that is decidedly too much emotion for being offered a bite of pancakes, but Shuichi also hasn't ever been in a situation quite like this one before. Every word out of Kokichi's mouth feels like a test and Shuichi just wants to know the right answer. It's overwhelming.”

kokichi is gay and shit at cooking: the saga by hejustkeptonyoing

Crack, but also incredibly funny crack.

Marvel

Bring Your School to Work Day by notoneforreality

“Or yes. Clint waited all of ten seconds for everyone (tonight: Tony, Bruce, Steve, Bucky, Clint, Natasha, Pepper and Peter) to take their seats at the long dinner table before gleefully announcing that Peter had a field trip to the compound next Wednesday. Peter, sat between Bucky and Nat, opposite Tony, buried his face in his hands.

“Lord lend me patience or a handgun.”

Two separate guns were thrust into his field of vision by two separate hands, and Peter blinked. Bucky and Nat narrowed their eyes at each other and Tony snatched both guns away before Peter could touch either.

“Absolutely not. Creepy Russian sensibilities away please.”

Bucky tried to slip Peter a knife, but Steve caught him at it and confiscated the weapon.”

@pbparker by fromstarttofin | twitterfic

“peter parker @pbparker

what i was expecting when i woke up:

-to study for my finals -to eat some captain crunch -for mr stark to brief me on the press conference

what i was not expecting when i woke up:

-500 ??? thousand ??? followers ??????????”

#marvel fic recs #marvel recs #ndrv3 recs #fic recs #teen wolf recs #atla recs #new fandoms oh my #only they're not new i'm just unwilling to spam only teen wolf and instead am spamming old bms #:D i live a hectic term on this plane of existence

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fuckingthefictional · 5 years

Text

Nice to meet you soulmate PT2

Possible TW: Death, Divorce Cheating.

For: @lovelyy24 , thank you for the comment on ‘nice to meet you soulmate.” I was really flattered that you enjoyed it. By your request here is Part 2 (Let me know if you want it to become a series!)

You didn’t know what to do. All you could do was stutter. Your mind went blank- and without thinking you stumbled back and scarpered.

Your instincts were telling you to go back, to run into his arms and be close to him.

But your mind was in a panic- all you could say in your head was a repeated I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.

Eventually arriving back at the school, You realised that you still had another hour or so left of Phys Ed.

Your pace slowed into a jog as you spotted Stiles and Scott, stretching and chattering animatedly about God knows what.

You ran over to them, breathless.

“Woah Y/N/N, what’s wrong?”

You looked at them in a confused state, “What?”

They looked even more concerned, “Y/N you’re crying?”

You lifted your hands up to your face, and sure enough it was wet with tears.

“I met him- I met my soulmate and I panicked and ran for it.”

Stiles smiled slightly, and patted your shoulder awkwardly- trying to give some comfort in the very least.

“Stilinski! McCall! I told you to do laps! Why aren’t you doing laps?” Coach’s voice shouted across the field, his figure marching over. Ready to do his favourite thing- shout at his students.

“And Y/L/N, I thought you left already!”

Finstock stopped abruptly when he spotted your tear drenched face.

Coach obviously didn’t deal with sobbing girls very often.

“What happen- nope you know what I don’t even want to know.” He looked down at his wrist where his digital watch was sat, “Y/L/N you might as well go home, you quite frankly look like a mess.”

You nodded,not needing to be told twice, grabbing your bags that were left on the stands and headed off back home.

The house was empty when you arrived- no surprise there, since you practically lived alone.

Your parents were divorced. Well, your father cheated on your mother, only to get his “girlfriend” pregnant which caused him to leave and start a new family.

And your mother was, well ‘indisposed’ working for a business trip in Japan.

That was 4 months ago. Both parents had seemed to have forgotten that they had a daughter together and that the said daughter was home alone.

Everything had gone to shit today. And you still found yourself dwelling on the events a few hours earlier.

He was so handsome. Just one look at him made your insides flutter and warmth spread to the tips of her toes.

So why did you panic? Honestly, you had no idea why- and you felt horrible because of it.

It’s okay, I understand please don’t blame yourself.

the same gruff voice called out into her mind and found herself swallowing a lump in her throat.

I’m sorry...

You shouldn’t be.

And yet I am.

“Y/N wake up!” A voice hissed.

“What?” You replied, rolling over onto her side.

Another sigh was heard along with some footsteps.

“Y/N!” Another voice shouted right into your ear.

You shot up, eyes open and gold to see Stiles and Scott at the end of your bed.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm down you looked angrily at the trio, “What the hell?! Why are you in my room creeps?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Shut up we’ve known each other since we were in diapers and you always come into my room unannounced,” he pulled back the covers, “Get up, we’re going somewhere.”

You groaned rolling out of bed, fully clothed. You knew better than to reject Stiles’ plans.

You followed them both to Stiles’ battered jeep, half listening to the discussion that was being held.

“What d’you say Y/N/N?”

“What?”

“The plan?” Stiles questioned, “you weren’t paying attention were you?”

You smiled sheepishly as he made a sarcastic comment about him meant to be the ADHD one, and not you.

“We’re going to the reserve,” Scott interjected, “We’re pretty sure Derek Hale is the one making a new pack out of people at school.”

Stiles just scoffed, “Pretty sure? He picked up Erica and Isaac from school today!”

Shit.

What’s wrong?

I’m being dragged along by friends to question you- that’s what’s wrong!

I didn’t know you were friends with Scott and Stiles?

We don’t really know anything about each other Derek!

We need to talk, stay back after the stupid ones have finished their interrogating. Please.

Okay, we’re just pulling into the reserve.

We’ll meet you there.

Satisfied with the conversation they just had, she brought herself back to her surroundings. They had parked in front of the barrier that stated ‘trespassers would be prosecuted’.

True to his words, Derek and 3 others turned up seemingly out of nowhere.

“Well, Well, Well.” Drawled Derek, “Fancy seeing you here in this neck of the woods.”

Stiles once again rolled his eyes, “Be careful there Derek, if you drawl anymore you’ll turn into your uncle.”

The comment didn’t go unnoticed by Derek’s pack, Erica had a sour look on her face and Isaac looked as if he might claw Stiles to death.

“What do you want Scott? I assume this can’t all be Stilinski’s idea?”

Scott stood his ground, “What the hell is wrong with you?” He took a menacing step forward, “Changing not 1, not 2, but 3 teenagers in werewolves. Are you insane? Do you have a freaking deathwish?”

Stiles lay a hand on his best friends shoulder, “People are noticing, Derek. And it’s not just other kids at school. Police want to know why Mr Lahey turned up dead and suddenly his son turns into a cocky asshole.” Stiles nodded pointedly at Isaac, “And the hospital staff are confused as to how a girl who’s had severe health issues all her life has suddenly become cured by some miraculous twist of fate.”

You hadn’t taken into account the things Stiles had said.

You spoke up from your spot, leant up against the jeep with your arms crossed over your chest, “You’re playing a dangerous game Derek. If your not careful you’re going to get us all caught or killed.”

It was the first time a lot of the others had heard you talk.

“Oh so she has a voice?” Erica taunted, “Y’know, I know what your brother did to me Y/L/N.”

You knew all to well what your brother was like and you were ashamed to be called his sister- or at least you would have been if he wasn’t dead.

“Look I’m sorry about what he did-“

“Sorry doesn’t erase the years of bullying an harassment I endured!”

You could feel your face go red and your chest tighten- you were the only one who could complain about your family.

“You might want to shut up now honey, because I can assure you now that I have been a wolf way longer than you have and I have my powers down to a T.” You started creeping forward, fists clenched angrily.

Erica continued, “Your family is full of lying snakes who are better off-“

“That’s enough!”

Derek’s voice shouted out, his eyes a burning, scarlet red. Erica immediately stepped back, obeying her leader.

You and Derek had a stare off, gold versus red.

Surprisingly the alpha pulled away first, and strode over to embrace your shaking form.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you- It’s okay.”

You found yourself stuffing you face into his neck, desperately trying to catch your breath.

Soft hands weave through your hair, and warmth slipped deep into your bones. You felt at peace.

You could hear Derek’s voice vibrate next to you, “I think this meeting is over.” He looks down at you, “I have more important matters to attend to.”

Stiles began to argue as you felt you body lift off of the ground, being held securely by the strong alpha.

“Stiles I’ll be okay, I’ll text you when I’m back home.”

He tried to persuade you to let him take you back to your home, but you merely looked him in the eyes and he knew, he knew you’d be safe.

“Just call me okay?” With one more dark glance at Derek and his pack- Scott and Stiles retreated into the dark night.

You watched until the yellowy headlights of the jeep became tiny specks in the distance.

“I’ll deal with you three later on, go back to the house.” Derek ordered his Betas. They complied obediently and then they too skulked off into the night.

It took a few minutes of comfortable silence to realise that you were still being held by Derek, legs around his waist and all.

I should probably get down you thought

“What if I like holding you in my arms?” Derek questioned aloud. Even though you weren’t looking at his face you could tell that he was smirking.

“We literally just met?” You reasoned with him.

Derek looked you dead in the eyes once more, “then why does it feel like I’ve known you my whole life?”

You knew what he meant, it sounded ridiculous but you already knew you loved him.

“Look I’m sorry about Erica, she was out of line and if it makes it any better I was really pissed at how she spoke to you.”

You just smiled sadly, “Do they know that we’re mates?”

“Do Stiles and Scott?”

You giggled I just giggled- what the hell Y/N

“Don’t think like that it was cute, it’ll probably become one of my favourite sounds.” Derek slowly tucked a stray strand of hair out of the way, behind your ear.

You smirked this time, “Will? What makes you think that we’ll see each other again?”

“Because,” he whispered into your ear, “have haven’t pulled away from me.”

You were stroking the sides of his face a happy smile planted on his features.

Will you accept me as your soulmate Miss Y/N?

I wouldn’t dream of anything else Mr Hale.

#teen wolf #beaconhills #beacon hills #derek hale #derek hale x reader #teen wolf cast #derek hale imagines #derek hale x you #derekhale #derek hale x y/n

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jjmaybankx · 4 years

Text

WHY DO I STILL » STILES STILINSKI » THREE

MASTERLIST

TRAILER

< ONE

< TWO

✧☾✧

She looked down at the book in her hands, squinting so that she could see the words over the glare of the sun hitting it. She sighed, deciding that it would be more annoying to try to get some reading in during Stiles and Scott's lacrosse practice than it would be to listen to Coach yell at the boys. When she looked up, however, she immediately packed her book into her back and broke down into a sprint.

She ran after Scott and Stiles, somehow missing the commotion. The entire team was swarmed around Jackson as Stiles helped Scott get off the field and towards the locker room.

"Stiles?" she called out, panting, seeing her short-haired friend standing outside the locker room with a fire hydrant, breathing heavily.

"Stay," Stiles said to her, so she stopped abruptly. He peeked into the locker room.

"What happened?" she heard Scott asked, and Stiles ventured into the locker room.

Haven took that as a sign that it was safe, and she followed after him. Stiles put the fire hydrant and his lacrosse stick down, and Haven peered in to see Scott on the floor, sweaty and out of breath. Stiles angrily took off his gloves.

"You tried to kill me," he told his best friend, throwing his glove. "It's like I told you before, it's the anger."

Haven leaned against one of the blue lockers as Stiles sat down in front of Scott, crossing her arms as she looked at them.

"Scott, I love you, but you're getting dangerous," she sighed. "It's your pulse rising."

"Exactly," Stiles said. "It's a trigger."

"But that's lacrosse. It's a pretty violent game—"

"Yanno, Kaeden used to say that lacrosse wasn't a real sport—" Haven pitched in, but she stopped when she noticed the glares on the boys' faces.

She murmured as she bobbed her head side to side mockingly.

"Maybe don't mention your asshole ex while I'm talking about how angry Scott turns him into a murderous Scott?" Stiles quipped. "He played baseball. He has no say in saying what is and isn't a real sport. All he did was stand on the outfield for like seven innings not catching a single ball."

"Who's the angry one? Me or you?" Scott asked.

"Anyways," Stiles ignored that comment, shaking his head. "Things are gonna be more violent if you end up killing someone on the field. You can't play Saturday. You're gonna have to get out of the game."

"I'm first line," Scott complained.

Stiles sighed. "Not anymore."

✧☾✧

Haven sat down on her bed, her mom knocking on the door.

"Hey, sweetie," Mrs. Salazar said, coming inside. "This one is a good one."

Her mom laughed, showing her daughter the picture on her phone. Haven groaned, shaking her head as her mom snickered.

"That boy knows how to take the best embarrassing photos," her mom said, letting out a happy sigh as she sat down next to her daughter.

On her phone was another photo from Stiles, documenting Haven getting out of his car to show he had indeed gotten her home safely. She was in the middle of saying something, and somehow looked a bit constipated with the frame Stiles ended up capturing.

"God, I hate him," Haven said.

She looked down at her mom's outfit and she sighed.

"Heading to work?" she asked her.

"Night shift, sweetie," she said.

She had met Scott McCall when they were younger through a mutual friendship their mothers had. They both worked at the Beacon Hills Hospital, which lead to play dates for their kids on the women's days off. Sometimes, only one of the two mothers were able to race to the school to pick up both of the children. With Scott came Stiles.

"Don't stay up all night on the phone with your idiots, and try to get some sleep," Mrs. Salazar said, mocking what her daughter tended to call Stiles and Scott.

As her mother walked to the door, as if on queue, her laptop starting ringing. Her mom let out a chuckle before closing the door and leaving her daughter to her own devices.

She opened her laptop, accepting the incoming group video call from Stiles to her and Scott.

As they talked, Haven and Stiles's eyes zeroed in on Scott's screen. Haven's heart beat quickened at the silhouette of someone standing behind Scott, and Stiles typed out what he and Haven both saw, before Scott got pulled from his seat and pushed into a wall.

✧☾✧

"What do you mean you don't think Derek is a complete psychopath?" Stiles asked Haven as they sat in his car eating Taco Bell during lunch.

Scott had to talk to Coach, so the two snuck off campus because Haven was craving.

She shrugged, stuffing her mouth with a slice of Mexican Pizza.

"I mean that I don't think he's a psychopath," she said, mouth full.

Stiles rolled his eyes at her.

"And how do you not think that?"

"Okay," she said, moving in her seat so she was facing Stiles better. "Scott becomes a werewolf, almost wolves out in front of people on several occasions, and there's hunters that moved back to Beacon Hills, right? So, logically, of course, if the Argents realize the Scott is a werewolf, they'll also realize another wolf is here since they, as you said before, travel in packs. And who else to be back than one of the original werewolves they tried killing a long time ago? The Hales?"

"So... you're saying that Derek is violent with a reason?"

"Yes," she nodded, smiling as it seemed like she was finally getting to him.

Stiles sat back straight in his seat, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink.

"Yeah, no, he's totally still a psychopath. You just think he's hot."

She nodded at his response, crumpling up a napkin and tossing it at him.

He threw it back, and they went back and forth like that for a few minutes, just laughing like that together.

"This is nice," she stated, earning a concerned look from Stiles. "With everything going on with Scott and being a werewolf, it's nice to feel normal for once. Not like we're living some double lives as the werewolf protection squad."

"Do you ever just wanna leave?" Stiles asked. "Just cut us off and go back to being a normal girl without whatever the hell is going on with Scott?"

"It can't be that bad," she shrugged. "And no. I don't think I'd ever be able to just cut you guys off. You're Stiles, you're my best friend, and Scott, he's—"

"The guy you've had a crush on since the seventh grade?" he finished for her.

She threw the napkin at him again.

"Dork."

"You guys are invited to another outing," Scott said, hopping into Stiles's Jeep with not that much time to scarf down his food.

"I'm sorry, what?" Stiles asked, glancing into the backseat at his best friend while Haven tossed him the bag.

"Tomorrow, after the game. Me, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and Allison told me to invite you two," he said quickly, opening his food and chewing.

Stiles and Haven shared a look, Haven hiding the look of disgust on her face over hanging out with Allison and Scott at the same time. She hated the fact that he disliked being friends with Allison considering the fact that the girl was surprisingly really nice to her. She was just jealous.

"So... you didn't tell Coach you weren't playing tomorrow?" Stiles asked.

When Scott just looked up at them, Haven shook her head. "You're hopeless, and about to die at the hands of Wolfy McHottie."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"She has the hots for Derek," Stiles sighed, shaking his head as Scott looked ready to puke.

✧☾✧

Haven laughed from the Jeep, watching as Stiles sprinted from the driver's seat into the McCall house, not even knocking. She was surprised with how they just left their front door unlocked all the time, but she shook her head, unbuckling her seatbelt and walking inside nonchalantly.

"What did you find? Where did you find it?" Stiles asked, out of breath as he stormed into Scott's room.

Haven walked in a few minutes later, bouncing on Scott's bed, laying down on his pillows as she watched the boys talk, Scott sitting on the edge of the bed.

"And yes, he's had a lot of Adderall," Haven stated.

"I found something of Derek Hale's," responded Scott.

"Are you kidding? What?"

"There's something buried there there, I could smell."

"That's awesome–I mean, that's terrible, who's blood?" Stiles asked.

"I don't know, but when we do, your dad nails Derek for the murder," Scott said, standing up and pointing to Stiles. "And then you guys both help me figure out how to play lacrosse without changing. Because there's no way I'm not playing that game."

Stiles looked at Haven with a proud smile, and she shook her head with a small smirk at the confidence Scott was having.

"Where are we going?" Haven asked, standing up.

"To the hospital," replied Scott, and she groaned. "What?"

"It's gonna get cold," she said.

She had left her jacket in her locker when it got warm, and had assumed she was going home after Scott's house.

"You can borrow one of mine," the boys said in unison, then looking between one another as Haven looked at them all weird.

"I, uh, have one in the car if you wanna borrow that," Stiles said to her.

"Or you can borrow something in my closet," Scott suggested, shrugging. "Up to you."

Scott walked out of the room before the other two, Stiles looking at her expectantly.

"So, you're gonna wear one of his so you can smell like him, right?" Stiles asked her teasingly.

"Shut up," she said, her cheeks going red as she walked towards him. "I'll wear yours if you're gonna tease me like that."

Stiles was shocked as she walked out of the room without one of Scott's hoodies. Before Allison, she would always jump at the chance to put on an article of Scott's clothing, and Stiles would watch her lovesick eyes as she smiled to herself in the backseat of his Jeep. He wondered how the hell Scott never caught on.

When he got to the car, he saw her standing outside of the backseat with the door open, slipping on his gray and red zip-up hoodie. She got inside at the same time as Stiles did, sticking her tongue out at him as she put on her seat belt.

✧☾✧

The three friends arrived at Beacon Hills hospital. Stiles pointed Scott in the direction of the morgue while Stiles and Haven went to the waiting room. Haven, who was looking down at her phone, bumped into Stiles's back. She looked up to see he was looking at Lydia, who was sitting in one of the blue waiting room chairs.

She watched from behind, where she stood against the nurse's desk, which she found herself doing often, as Stiles leaned a hand against the wall, trying to sound cool as he said, "Hey, Lydia. You probably don't remember me. Um, I sit behind you in Biology."

Lydia twirled her hair in her finger.

"Uh, anyways, I always thought that we just had this kind of conne—" he started, but Lydia looked past him.

She smiled, clapping her hands together, cutting Stiles off. "Haven!"

Stiles frowned, looking behind him at his best friend. She shrugged, but walked forward as Lydia beckoned to her. The strawberry blonde took headphones out of her ear, revealing she actually hadn't heard a word that Stiles was saying.

Then, Lydia looked at Stiles and said, "I do remember you. Buzzcut boy with the Jeep."

She grabbed Haven's hands, saying, "Hey! I haven't been at practice since the party, how have you been? Thinking about it, I didn't really see you guys at the party...?"

Haven looked to Stiles for help, but he just shrugged, not knowing what to say either.

"We went for a bit," Haven said to her. "But then there was a problem with Scott, so..."

"Yeah, Allison said he just left her out of nowhere," Lydia said. "Weird."

"...Yeah," Haven faked smiled.

She sat with Lydia for a bit while Stiles sat in a seat on the other corner of the wall. Lydia stood up when Jackson walked towards them.

"Did he do it?" she asked her boyfriend.

"He said not to make a habit of it, but one cortisone shot won't kill me."

"You should get one right before the game, too," Lydia said. "The pros do it all the time. You want to be a little high school amateur... or do you want to go pro?"

She got close to her boyfriend, kissing him while Haven's eyes widened, averting her eyes awkwardly.

"Bye, Haven," Lydia waved at her as she walked away with her boyfriend.

"Since when did we know her?" Jackson asked her.

"Shut up. I like her," Lydia whispered, but Haven was able to hear her.

Haven got up, going to sit down next to Stiles, who was eyeing Jackson like a hawk.

Scott ripped the newspaper from Stiles, scaring him.

"Oh my God!"

"The scent was the same," stated Scott.

"You sure?" Haven and Stiles asked together.

"Yes."

Stiles sighed. "So he did bury the other half of the body on his property?"

"Which means we have proof that he killed the girl," Scott concluded.

"I say we use it," Stiles said, looking at Haven who was frowning. "Don't give us that look. Wolfy McHottie is a killer, okay?"

"How are we gonna use it?" Scott asked as Stiles walked away.

He turned back around and said, "Tell me something first. Are you doing this because you want to stop Derek, or because you want to play in the game, and he said you couldn't?"

"There are bite marks on the legs, guys. Bite marks," Scott said softly.

"Okay," Stiles nodded. "Okay. Then we're gonna need to drop off Haven at home, and then we're gonna need a shovel."

"Drop me off at home?" Haven exclaimed at the same time Scott said, "Drop her off at home?"

"I love you, and we are not dragging you to a murderer's house to dig up the grave of one of his victims," Stiles stated, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her along. "Because if something bad happens to you, your mom will be throwing me into the morgue."

✧☾✧

She rounded the car, standing next to the driver's side. She put her elbows against the open window, looking at Stiles.

"This isn't fair," she said. "I wanna go with you guys."

"No," he shook his head. "I am keeping you safe."

"Stiles, I can keep her safe. If she wants to come, she should be able to come," Scott intervened.

Stiles rolled his eyes, looking at him and asking, "You comfortable with us bringing Allison?"

"No, of course not."

"There you have it," Stiles said to him, turning back to Haven. "Go inside, Hav. We'll be fine."

She groaned, "Fine."

Stiles waited until she was inside of her house to drive off. Scott was looking at him with a proud smile, and Stiles gave him an irritated, "What?" as a response.

"You have a thing for our best friend, don't you?" Scott smirked.

"What?" Stiles asked, swerving before he got the car back in the right lane.

"You just compared you not wanting her to be in danger to me not wanting Allison, the girl I like, to be in danger," Scott reasoned with him.

"No," Stiles said, shaking his head.

"C'mon, I know you and Haven better than anyone," Scott said, earning a scoff from Stiles.

You obviously know nothing, because if you did, you'd know she's been in love with you since the seventh grade, Stiles thought in his head.

"I like Lydia," Stiles said to him. "As I've had since the third grade."

"If you say so," Scott said, but it was evident that he didn't actually believe Stiles. He then smacked Stiles's shoulder in a friendly matter, adding, "She looks cute in your clothes."

"I will purposely crash this Jeep right now."

✧☾✧

Haven broke down laughing, listening to Stiles replay his conversation with his dad.

"You are the most sarcastic little shit I've ever met," she said, still laughing about his "depends on how you define lying" joke.

"Thanks, that's totally the point of the conversation," he replied to her, shaking his head. "I lost Scott!"

"I'm sure he's fine," she shrugged.

"Oh, so you're not worried that I can't find the love of your life?" Stiles asked her.

She threw one of her pillows at him. "I've gotten over that crush."

"Yeah? When?"

"When Allison started existing in our lives."

"Hav—" he started.

"C'mon," she said, getting off of her bed and grabbing Stiles's duffel bag that was on the floor. "We got a game to get you to."

✧☾✧

Haven sat in the stands next to Mrs. McCall and her own mom, her mother sitting in the middle. Haven laughed when Lydia grabbed Scott and pulled him close, whispering something while Stiles looked at them ridiculously.

"What's wrong with Stiles's face?" Mrs. Salazar asked her daughter, earning a stifled laugh.

"It's permanently stuck like that, I suppose," replied Haven.

Stiles was on the bench when Sheriff Stilinski went to stand behind his son, talking to him. Haven told the two mothers that she'd be right back and jogged over in time to hear the conversation.

"So, you think you'll see any action tonight?"

"Action?" Stiles asked nervously. "Maybe."

Sheriff stood up and looked at the girl approaching, smiling down at her.

"Hi, sweetie," he said.

"Hey, Dad," she smiled back. "My mom and Mrs. McCall are over there."

He nodded and made his way towards the parents of his son's friends. In the time the three had been friends, there was one thing that was a common factor for all of them: they were being raised by one parent. Haven and Scott had mothers while Stiles had his dad. Noah Stilinski had gotten used to the girl nonchalantly calling him dad years ago, understanding that he was the closest she had since her dad passed away when she was a baby.

"Hey," Haven said to Stiles, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind, placing her head on his shoulders to look at the game in front of them. She winced when Scott collided with someone. "Ouch."

"H-hey," Stiles breathed out to her.

"Salazar!" Coach Finstock yelled her name out, both herself and Stiles turning their heads in his direction quickly. "Why in the heck are you on my field?"

"Moral support?" she said with a question mark at the end of her statement.

"Get off!" he said, pointing to the bleachers. "You can canoodle with your bench warmer boyfriend later."

"I'm not her—" Stiles stuttered.

"He's not my—"

"Off my field, Salazar!"

On her way back she saw Allison and Lydia hold up a "We love you Jackson" sign. She glanced over her shoulder at Stiles, both of them mumbling, "Brutal."

The jealousy seemed to make Scott play the best game of his lacrosse career. Everyone in the home bleachers ran onto the field to congratulate the win. Haven ran on looking for Scott, ending up just like Allison as they stood on the field watching him take off in the other direction, towards the woods. When Allison went towards Scott, Haven decided it was best for herself not to go after the rising couple. She frowned, letting out a sigh of disappointment and turning around to find Stiles.

She sat on the bench with him as his dad made a call, her mom sitting on the front row of the bleachers waiting patiently.

"Dad, what's wrong?" Stiles asked him.

Noah just put a finger up, telling his son to wait.

"Let's go find Scott," Stiles whispered to her.

"Allison went after him," Haven whispered back.

"What if he's about to wolf out?" he asked her.

"And what if they're making out?"

"I thought you said you weren't into him anymore."

She glared at him, and he put a hand out for her to take. She huffed, placing her hand in his as they stood up.

"We're uh, gonna go look for Scott," Stiles said to his dad and Mrs. Salazar.

The two parents nodded, and Haven let go of Stiles's hand as they ran towards the locker room.

Stiles went in first, but he dipped back behind the locker, grabbing Haven to block her from going.

"I was correct wasn't I?" she whispered in his ear, listening to the sounds of two people making out.

"Sorry, Hav."

"I gotta get back to my dad," Allison whispered.

She walked near them, waving. "Stiles, Haven."

"Hey, yeah," they chorused hellos to the brunette.

When she left, the two friends ventured back towards Scott, who looked like a lovesick puppy.

"I kissed her," he said, dazed.

"I saw."

"She kissed me."

"Saw that, too," Haven said, and she looked up at Stiles with a smile when he intertwined his hands with hers behind their backs.

"That's pretty good, huh?" Stiles asked Scott, rubbing his thumb on Haven's hand comfortingly.

"I-I-I don't know how, but I controlled it," Scott said happily. "I pulled it back. Maybe I can do this. Maybe it's not that bad."

"Yeah," Stiles said, glancing down at Haven. "We'll talk later, then? Hav and I's parents are outside."

As they turned around to walk away, Scott placed a hand on Stiles's shoulder. "What?"

Stiles sighed. "The, uh, medical examiner looked at the other half of the body we found."

"And?" asked Stiles.

"Well, I'll keep it simple. Medical examiner determines killer of girl to be animal, not human. Derek's human, not animal—"

"And hot," Haven piped in.

"Derek's an ugly human, not animal," Stiles said, "Derek not killer. Derek let out of jail."

"I love the lack of grammar," Haven sassed.

"Are you kidding?"

"No, and here's a bigger kick in the ass. My dad I.D's the dead girl. Both halves. Her name was Laura Hale."

"Hale?"

"Wolfy McHottty's sister," Haven said.

FOUR >

#jjmaybanks;why do i still #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski imagine

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johnbunkerart · 4 years

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The Map Paintings: Frank Bowling interview 2013

Written by John Bunker and first published at the since discontinued abstractcritical.com 10 October 2013

FRANK BOWLING, Texas Louise, 1971, acrylic on canvas, 282 x 665 cm, 111 1/8 x 261 3/4 in. Image courtesy of the Artist and Hales Gallery, London. Copyright of the Artist.

John Bunker: Before we focus on the Map Paintings, I’d like to explore with you for a moment the work just prior to them. I think it may help us contextualise the Map works more coherently and shed some light on the complexity of the thinking behind them.

Frank Bowling: That’s an interesting start…

JB: So let’s begin with Mirror (which has rightfully taken a prominent position in the 6os room at Tate Britain); Cover Girl from ‘66; and Mothers House with Beware of the Dog from the same year. After working in an explicitly figurative manner using paint in an expressionistic style there seems to be a very clear ‘cooling down’ period in your work. You seem to be taking a step back from a certain approach to painting. You seem to be intellectually looking at your place, if you like, in painting’s histories and the tumult of competing styles and ideologies behind them…?

FB: That’s one way of putting it…

JB: Mirror seems to contain so cleverly all these influences and ideas that are running through you and others who were also studying art the RCA at that time. Cover Girl takes on the cooler pop aspects of the time. Mothers House with Beware of the Dog maintains an autobiographical slant but in a detached or distanced manner. What do you think about that supposition?

FB: I think you’re on the right track there. After the original burst of work made in college I was in the heat and ferment of society changing – the ideas of a post-colonial society; artists really did think they could change the world. I fell for that! I made work about beggars, the suffering of childbirth, these really emotional things that grabbed me. But by the time I’d graduated from the Royal College I was aware of the people close around me like Dave Hockney, Derek Boshier and Pete Blake. Round about ‘63 I worked alongside Pete Blake. I became enamoured by how he slowly drew and glazed the surfaces of his work – those extraordinary pictures of his early time. I suppose you could say some of that rubbed off on me.

FRANK BOWLING, Travelling with Robert Hughes, 1969-1970, acrylic on canvas, 282 x 211 cm, 111 1/8 x 83 1/8 in. Image courtesy of the Artist and Hales Gallery, London. Copyright of the Artist.

Mirror is very personal to me. I tried to marry up different aspects of my life as I saw it then. It contains all the prevailing dogmas about painting of the day too. We were all working from photographs at the time. Finding funny things, tragic things, ironic things happening in the world. We were trying to catch those things. I think my generation of painters were being very ironic about modern art. They were mixing up Colour Field, Op art and Pop art – trying to marry up styles to make a new body of work.

JB: I’m very interested in what you are saying here. Were there a lot of humorous exchanges in the way American Abstract Expressionism was talked about by your painter friends in college?

FB: Oh yes very much in my generation at the Royal College. There were many jokes about it!

JB: When you started to spend extended periods in the States – particularly in New York – you began to find a new relationship to Colour Field approaches to painting. This brings you into an interesting tension with the prior work and your experience of the RCA. In this respect the ‘Map Paintings’ represent a powerful transitional phase in your development. Is it a sort of bringing together of opposing forces in your work so far?

FB: Yes, although I had no claims on using maps as such. But I could lay claims to my mother’s house so I used this image [silkscreened photograph onto canvas] first. On completing Mirror and Cover Girl I’d developed an interest in staining and drawing.

JB: These processes seem to have formed a lot of really interesting and original creative tensions in these works. Now, you say you could lay no claims on maps but they interested you. How did that discovery come about?

FB: In the beginning when I arrived in the states Iwas living in the Hotel Chelsea, in what turned out to be a more extended stay in New York. I was just laying the canvas on the floor and would then lay on the paint and start staining. I’d use colour to follow the way the light moved across the room as the day went along. At one point the liquid paint started to form a pool in the shape of a head. At first look it seemed like a caricature of General de Gaulle. At that time he was making a lot of claims on the Western Hemisphere - another ironic aside! But as the paint settled it looked less like de Gaulle and more like a map of South America. I also recalled that as a child at school we were taught how to draw the map of Guyana. Larry Rivers suggested I use an overhead projector to get an accurate rendition of the maps of South America and Guyana. When I moved to a bigger studio in downtown New York I began cutting out these big thick brown paper stencils and started making the maps for real. I was working into a kind of field painting where the work formed its own shapes. Cover Girl was a little different because I was deliberately trying to make a work that would establish my own career within the Pop Art movement. But before then, even though we were all painting out of photographs and commenting on society as a whole, my work was never included because my work seemed to have more startling content like child birth and dying swans. It wanted to be deeper – it was more reified.

JB: It wasn’t ironic enough? It was too intense somehow – what you were exploring?

FRANK BOWLING, Pneumbra, 1970, acrylic on canvas, 228 x 702 cm, 89 3/4 x 276 3/8 in. Image courtesy of the Artist and Hales Gallery, London. Copyright of the Artist.

FB: Yes, that’s right. And once I’d moved from the Chelsea into bigger spaces – the Broadway studio was 100 feet by 25 – I had a lot of space to explore Field painting and the map shapes. That is the journey from taking this ironic distanced stance about current dogma like Colour Field painting and Pop art and finding my own special, individual voice. This was my own singular path through the morass of stylistic confusion.

JB: You were not only traversing all these new stylistic possibilities being opened up by the scrutiny of popular culture or your own background….

FB: And the pressure of Abstract Expressionism…

JB. A pressure? Or a connection you felt?

FB: Yes! I felt it as a connection!

FRANK BOWLING, Australia to Africa, 1971, acrylic on canvas, 280 x 712 cm, 110 1/4 x 280 1/4 in Image courtesy of the Artist and Hales Gallery, London. Copyright of the Artist.

JB: I’d like to explore how this connection comes through in your work on the maps. I’m interested in how the ‘Map Paintings’ bring together ideas of geographical displacement and the diaspora experience that you may have felt as an artist of African descent born in South America and a British citizen – though this could apply to many more peoples in our post- colonial world. The paintings seem to suggest somehow a place between places, a liminal realm. I think we tend to associate ‘identity politics’ in art with other media – with the rise of photography and video since the 70s. I think the ‘Map Paintings’ are precursors of many of these ideas but from within painting… And within abstract painting too! They make one very aware of painting’s histories. We talked from the beginning about you finding your place in painting, within its traditions and contemporary innovations – whether one is being a part of it or being excluded from it. These paintings also allude to the intensely personal experience of finding one’s place in the world, so to speak…

Am I jumping the gun here? Am I reading too much into them Frank?

FB: No, no. I would not have been able to articulate it the way you have because you’ve got distance on it and I was in the swim… But if I’d been talking about the ‘Map Paintings’ at that time, my position would have been similar, yes. I wouldn’t have been so clear because I was struggling to know where I stood as an artist, because I was in competition. Now, actually that word ‘competition’ was handed to me on a plate by Clement Greenberg. When I was asked why I delayed becoming an abstract painter I said, like some of the other black artists I’d met in New York, that we didn’t feel like we were allowed to participate. Clem said “no! What you mean is – you were not being allowed to compete!”

JB: But what you wanted, to extend the metaphor, was a level playing field, at least?

FB: That’s right.

JB: On your extended visits to New York you were able to hook up with other black artists who were interested in abstraction….

FB: Yes, that was a great gift to me. Even though I was not an abstract painter at that time I was challenged because there were exhibitions coming up as a result of the ferment created by the woman’s movement and the civil rights movement. There were demands to be allowed in to compete. This was happening on many different levels of society. Black artists were organising themselves as a trade union might. It was a very emotional time. They were forming themselves into political factions you know? But I knew – my instinct told me – especially after mixing with people like Greenberg, that the future of my work lay in abstraction. I had delayed because I wasn’t sure of my ground. But the Map Paintings strengthened my resolve.

Frank Bowling at work. Photo by Spencer Richards. Copyright Spencer Richards

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always-the-little-spoon · 8 years

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Sterek A-Z Challenge: one word prompts

Week 7: G - Gone (AO3 extended)

The moment Noah Stilinski's only son walked across the stage and accepted his high school diploma was the happiest day of his life so far. Not because he had graduated. That was a happy coincidence. No, it was because of what it signified.

Stiles had survived into adulthood. He had graduated high school. He had gotten into Stanford, Columbia, Berkeley, and Brown. But more importantly, he was alive.

After years of chasing down the supernatural, surviving a possession, taking a life, and years of pain, misery, and heartbreak, Stiles had made it out the other side, a little broken, but alive.

Noah couldn’t have been more proud, even when Stiles managed to trip over the hem of his grad gown and flail. Coach smacked him up the back of the head before pulling him into a tight hug. Behind him, the pack cheered and clapped. Someone wolf-whistled. The irony was not lost.

Tears damp on his cheeks, Noah watched as Stiles proudly stood at the edge of the stage, gold Salutatorian stole draped around his shoulders, and switched the tassel hanging from his cap from one side to the other. He flashed a thumbs up. Except, his attention drifted past gathered pack in the audience towards the trees at the edge of the lacrosse field.

Following his son’s line of sight, Noah caught sight of the familiar scruffy face of Derek Hale watching Stiles with and expression that could only be described as fond while he lurked in the shadow of the forest.

Despite the scorching heat of the midday sun, Derek was wearing one of his trademark leather jackets. Noah had found one too many of them in various states of destruction around his son’s room over the years.

Noah wasn’t sure when the older werewolf had arrived in town. Had to have been recent because he hadn’t made an appearance through Stiles’ window yet. They thought he hadn’t been aware of that. Though admittedly, he originally thought the person sneaking into Stiles’ room on a regular basis had been Scott, but as it turned out, Scott tended to use the front door.

Derek ducked his head to hide a shy smile when Stiles grinned at him, but nodded his acknowledgement, and Noah... well, he didn’t quite know what to make of that.

The ceremony came to a close. As the graduating class was presented, the students threw their caps into the air in celebration. By the time Noah glanced back to the woods, Derek had vanished in his typical fashion.

Stiles was a flurry of motion, Salutatorian stole and graduation gown flapping wildly as he sprinted towards Noah. He all but tackled Noah in a hug, and he used the momentum to rock his son up off his feet, even if only for a second. The kid was heavy.

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo,” Noah said quietly, voice drowned out by the excited chatter of parents and grads around them. “You mom would be too.”

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles said. His voice cracked a little, and his eyes were wet.

They stood for a moment, wrapped in the security of each other. The rest of the world fading into the background until they were yanked them back to the present by Scott’s excited whoop of celebration.

“We did it, man! We graduated!”

Stiles was hoisted over the shoulder of an over-excited alpha werewolf and spun in circles. “Oh, god. I’m gonna be sick. Dude, serious!” he laughed. When Scott dropped him back onto his feet, Stiles staggered about for few seconds until Noah steady him.

“Woah. Derek’s here!” Scott exclaimed. “Dude!” He enthusiastically waved at the former alpha, but Derek gave him a curt nod in return.

“Hey. I’ll be back in a sec.” Stiles clapped Scott on the shoulder and jogged over to Derek.

They stood barely two feet apart and stared at each other for a minute without saying a word. Then suddenly, Derek had an armful of Stiles. Noah couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Derek whispered something in Stiles’ ear, and his son grimaced, but nodded.

Stiles eventually pulled away and rubbed the back of his head while he said something in return, to which Derek once again ducked his head to hide a smile.

Noah turned to Scott to ask what they were saying, but Scott was busy fighting off a pile of teenage werewolves trying to smother him. By the time Noah looked back, Stiles was already jogging back towards them, and Derek was nowhere in sight. Typical disappearing act. Hopefully, he came by for the barbecue at Melissa’s later.

“Let me get a picture of you two,” Melissa said. She waved the two boys together.

Grinning, Stiles threw his arm around Scott’s shoulder and obliged her maternal need to document their special day. It was a rite of passage.

Noah tried to snap a few of his own pictures with his phone, but predictably, the turned out terribly. All shaky and out of focus. Claudia had always been handy with a camera than him. He’d have to depend on Melissa and the professionals to capture these moments for him because, at the end of the summer, Stiles would be disappearing across the country to New York.

When Stiles had sat him down, all jittery and nervous, Noah hadn’t really known what to think. He had been expecting a ‘there’s a whatcha-ma-thingy’ on the loose, or ‘It was an accident’ followed by a poor excuse as to why the lawn was suddenly purple, or something equally terrifying or ridiculous. Not silence. Never silence.

When Stiles’ was silent, something was wrong. It was world-ending. Apocalyptic.

Instead, Stiles’ had slid a large white envelope across the table and wrung his hands together without saying anything while Noah had pulled out the contents of the envelope. The first line the letter had read...

Dear Mr. Mieczysław Stilinski,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Columbia University...

“Is... is this what I think it is?” Noah said, voice choked with a mixture of pride and dismay. “Columbia? In New York?”

“I uh, yeah... partial scholarship even.” Stiles gnawed on his lower lip and drummed his fingers against the table. “Not the only one.”

“There’s more?” Noah hadn’t meant to let the disbelief bleed into his voice, but it was incredible. Days ago, he hadn’t even been sure Stiles would make it to graduation.

“Berkeley, UCLA, Stanford, Brown...” Stiles trailed off.

“Stiles...” Noah pushed back from the table and pulled his son up out of his seat and into a tight hug. He was a little stunned when Stiles hugged him back, gripping his shirt like a lifeline, and buried his face in Noah’s shoulder.

“I think I’m gonna go to Columbia.”

Noah’s muscles seized, trapping his son in their embrace. “New York? You’re going to go to New York?”

“Yeah?” Stiles whispered. A question that hung in their air as if he was seeking permission. “I just feel like I need to get out while I can, you know?”

A startled shriek yanked Noah out of his memory and back to the present where Stiles’ had managed to hoist Lydia up like a bride, and the pack posed around them while Lydia continued to scream at Stiles. Thankfully not an eardrum shattering banshee shriek, but lord, that young woman had a set of lungs.

Slowly, their group began to migrate towards the front of the school where they found a familiar black Camaro parked against the curb in the fire lane, and Derek Hale leaning against the side, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ready?” Derek asked.

Everyone turned to Stiles, who after a few moments, finally cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, just give me a sec,” he said. He dug around in his pockets beneath his gown and fished out his keys. “My bag’s in the back.”

Derek silently nodded, and much to everyone’s disbelief, took the willingly offered keys to the beloved Jeep. He barely glanced at the rest of the pack before he jogged off.

“Stiles?” Noah said slowly, to which, Stiles had the courtesy to look sheepish. “Kiddo... is this...”

“Right, so, dad,” Stiles started as he rocked with nervous energy. “There’s a conversation I’ve been meaning to have with you.”

Noah sighed. “You’re leaving.”

In hindsight, Noah should have known. The evidence had been right in front of him through quiet phone calls and lingering hugs, but he just hadn’t wanted to think about what they meant.

“What? No. Stiles?” Scott looked between Noah and Stiles as if he’d somehow find the answer. “You’re not leaving... are you?”

“Sorry, Scotty...” Stiles dropped his gaze to the pavement.

The members of the pack were watching him, each with varying levels of hurt and betrayal. The only one that looked resigned, as if she had expected it from the beginning, was Lydia.

“So this is it? You’re just leaving?” Scott asked, managing to look so much like a hurt puppy that Stiles flinched.

“What about the pack?” This time it was Malia that spoke up. “We’re pack, right Stiles? You wouldn’t leave us behind.”

“I’ll still be pack. I just... can’t be here now.” Stiles folded in on himself, hugging his stomach and hunching his shoulders until Noah stepped up and pulled his wavering son into a hug. “I need to do this.”

Lydia is the first to react by laying a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and giving a light squeeze. Stiles twisted away from Noah and leaned into Lydia as she hugged him tightly.

“Yeah. Okay, man,” Scott finally said. “If this is what you need to do, then do it.”

Noah stepped away as the pack closed in Stiles was buried somewhere in the middle of the massive group hug while Noah watched from the curb with Melissa.

Derek returned with a worn duffel bag, no doubt filled with the clothes Noah had noticed disappearing around the house, and a laptop tucked under his arm. Derek took one glance at the mass of bodies and rolled his eyes, and opened the trunk of the Camaro.

Stepping off the curb, Noah waited until Derek safely stowed Stiles’ belongings. The werewolf didn’t seem at all alarmed by his appearance, but rather that he had been expecting it.

“Sheriff,” Derek greeted him with a curt nod.

“Derek.” Noah crossed his arms over his chest, but his intimidation tactics had never worked on Derek, even when he caught him making out with a young brunette in the back of the Camaro as a teenager. Stiles had told him her name had been Paige. Had been. He’d looked it up. Her death had been ruled an accident, but Noah had his suspicions. He learned long ago the significance of a wolf’s eyes turning blue.

Sighing, Noah waved Derek forward and pulled him into a hug, patting the prodigal werewolf on the back. “It’s good to see you, son.”

At first, Derek didn’t move. He stood stiffly in Noah’s embrace, but eventually, he lifted one arm to hesitantly pat Noah on the back in return, which made Noah snort. Hopefully, his son could open the moody wolf up a little by driving him insane in New York.

Noah pulled back and clasped Derek on the shoulder. “You’ll look after him, right? Make sure he’s safe. I know it’s too much to ask to keep him from doing anything stupid, but try, alright?”

“Of course.”

Noah gave Derek’s shoulder one last squeeze. “Let him take care of you too. He’s good at that.”

“I’ll try.” There was a small lift to the corner of Derek’s mouth.

If there was anyone Noah would entrust the well-being of his only son to, it was Derek Hale. The man would do anything to protect his pack. Something he had proved time and time again.

The final goodbye was emotional. No one was quite ready to let Stiles leave. Tears were shed when Stiles handed Scott the keys to Roscoe with the promise that Scott would look after the Jeep for him.

Stiles was still wiping tears away with the back of his sleeve of his hoodie, graduation gown long since shed, when he opened the passenger door of the Camaro. Scott launched himself at his best friend for one last hug.

Noah tried to tell himself that it was for the best. That Stiles will be back to visit, and they’ll talk every day. But Stiles climbed into the front seat of the Camaro, Derek already behind the wheel, and Noah was left on the curb with the pack, Melissa’s comforting arm curled around his waist, as they watch the taillights of the Camaro disappear into the distance.

And then, Stiles was gone.

#sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek a-z challenge #sterek a-z #little spoon works #eternalsterek #mieczyslaw stilinski #tw #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fanfic #sterek fic

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dylinski · 5 years

Text

Wasting Time

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

Warnings: language, angst, little make out sesh

Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Word Count: 2079

Author: @dylan-obrien-fanblog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taglist: @bitch-banshee

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

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