thebigoblin

[thebigoblin]

Send this to some of your favourite people and pass the pumpkin round! KEEP THE PUMPKIN TRAIN GOING! 🎃🖤🎃🖤🎃

Hey Boo!! (see what i did there lol)

🧡🧡🧡

[thebigoblin]

Secret Life of Stiles & Derek

IT IS FINALLY HERE! Inspired from this post of mine (of which i posted a sneak peak here)... now i bring to you, the FULL FIC ON A03.

Thank y'all for showing interest in it <3

Here is a little bit of sneak peak:

*

He settles beside Cora, stretches there so his legs open to create space for Stiles. Stiles, who doesn’t even glance at Scott calling his name, too busy in arranging the snacks, and then finding the remote. Derek waves it once, and Stiles beelines for it.

“I want it! I get to choose the film, ok Sourwolf, because I called this pack night!” As he says it, he’s moving forward, and it makes Derek’s heart soar that there’s no second thought before he plops himself down between the V of his legs. Derek hands over the remote.

And of course Stiles puts on Star Wars, Episode III.

“Why.”

“Inflection, Der, use them. They’re the souls—”

“—Souls of language. Yes, I know, Stiles. But I love to—”

“—love to fight against period, commas and question marks because I love to see you squirm.” Stiles recites perfectly, thanks to the number of times they’ve had this argument, and then corrects himself, “I mean, you love to see me squirm, you asshole!”

Somewhere distantly, he hears Scott mutter, “Yeah he is. Come here Stiles.”

Derek puts his free hand around Stiles’ waist and pulls him backwards into his chest, and Stiles lets him do it. He settles firmly in Derek’s lap, like this is the easiest thing to do. It makes Derek happy.

“Now shush, let me watch the credits in peace!”

Derek takes the remote and fast-forwards it.

“Nephew…”

“You’re an idiot,” Cora tacks on to their uncle's reprimand, and then, “Why do you never learn?”

Stiles simply takes the popcorn bowl from his hand and puts it in Cora’s hands. She swats away Boyd’s hands from taking any of it, and then sighs loudly as Derek and Stiles devolve into a wrestling, writhing mass of degenerates beside her.

Stiles emerges victorious and wins the remote, so Derek pulls him in by his hips and wraps his arms around his chest. Puts his head on Stiles’ right shoulder and groans when he rewinds the film back to the starting point.

“Idiot,” Cora mutters, and hands back the bowl of popcorn to Derek. He isn’t really sorry about it, though. And both Cora and Peter know it, so they send him knowing looks which he steadfastly ignores.

The movie begins again. Stiles cuddles closer to him, Derek’s hands on his chest, his hips. Enclosing him in. He turns his head, and their faces are so, so close. Their noses touch. Their eyes are cross-eyed they’re so infuriatingly, blessingly close. Stiles says, “Der.”

He pulls back and picks up a handful of the popcorn, more salty ones than tomato flavored ones — they’re more his favorite, not Stiles’ — from where he’d kept the bowl between him and Cora, and feeds Stiles one by one.

Once the handful of popcorn has been eaten, Stiles turns back, and Derek picks up his own handful. A couple minutes pass by, the world on the screen the only noise, but then Stiles turns around again. He doesn’t say anything, but Derek understands anyways and feeds Stiles. It makes him satisfied in a way he’s both thrilled and concerned about, which basically sums up his life. But in this moment he focuses on Stiles, and the intimacy of their trust, the way Stiles allows him to provide for him. The way Stiles trusts him with these small things, and when it matters, with the big things. Like Stiles’ life.

This time, a murmur kick starts between the betas. Mainly Isaac and Erica, who are trying to tamp down their curiosity but are unable to do so. Boyd isn’t into the gossip, but Derek sees him watching them a couple of times.

On the other hand, he can smell Scott silently fuming, and Allison’s gentle scraping along his scalp, his arms. Trying to control him. Anchoring him. Derek smirks, unable to help the way his chest expands with possessive pride.

“What’s up?” Stiles asks, without turning. His eyes are locked onto the screen.

“Nothing. Just the popcorn’s almost over.” It is. They’re down to two handfuls each.

Stiles pauses the film, never one to miss even a second of it, and scans the coffee table. It’s still full with food. He frowns. “Nobody is eating?”

Nobody is replying, either. Stiles stands up and hovers beside the table, looks at Derek helplessly. He’d brought everyone’s favorite and some extra — he’d planned this down to every last detail. Except, of course, realizing that they don’t know about his and Derek’s history, or their current friendship.

*

You can continue reading it here on AO3.

Tagging the people who wanted me to tag 'em once i posted this fic:

@demonicfaery @lovehahajk @emilyinhouston @jadezdominion @sterekloverforever @hogwarts-starship @deliahale @princecharmingwinks

[thebigoblin]

Okay, so. I'm working on something inspired from this post of mine. I'm almost done, I think, so I'll post by Saturday evening IST on ao3!!! If you're interested and want me to tag on the corresponding post here (because ofco i'll post about the fic here as well) lmk in the comments!! <3

here is a sneakpeak pic (yes i write on tumblr drafts):

[thebigoblin]

ok so i kind of want a canon divergent fic where Stiles & Derek know each other from their childhood (Derek is like 3-4 years older than him and used to pick up Cora from the same daycare maybe?)

the plot doesn't change till s3's finale, minus some of the character's deaths. Boyd, Erica, Allison — they all live. except, see, except stiles knows derek.

and derek knows stiles.

so post nogitsune arc where everyone can finally breathe, there is no other danger that is incoming, stiles pesters derek to call a "pack night" and derek begrudgingly texts so in the group named "awooo plus others." everyone's first thought is that derek has been possessed, or something, but then stiles records a video of derek saying it too and sends it via derek's phone. nobody questions who took the video, and they all come together for the pack night.

on the day of, everyone trickles in slowly, except stiles who was literally the first to arrive. he had derek go with him to buy snacks and groceries, and then they both come back to the loft to make food for everyone else. they have a mini food fight, and stiles' white shirt is littered with all sorts of condiments and food, so derek lends him one of his henley's.

"Dude, doesn't this hurt your werewolf sensibility?" Stiles asks, the henley in his hands. Derek rolls his eyes.

"Shut up, Stiles."

(he'll not admit it for a long while, but derek loves stiles' scent clinging to his own).

and then once everyone is there, derek and stiles realize simultaneously that there's not enough room for everyone to sit around, even if some people sit down on the floor. there's only one big couch, one armchair, and the rest is carpet around the sitting area, which isn't too big. which means that lydia, allison, scott, and jackson have taken the couch; peter has taken the armchair; isaac, boyd, erica, kira, and cora have taken the space on the floor in a way that there is literally only one person's space left, and that too is a squeeze. it's clear that scott was gonna ask stiles to squeeze on the couch with them, and that the floor space, beside cora, is meant for derek.

what happens is derek picks up the tv remote and stiles hands everyone their snacks and puts the rest on the coffee table, and then derek sits down on the floor, and stiles, without a single thought and without a single glance at scott, who is trying to motion for stiles to come sit on the couch, sits in the v of derek's legs. derek, of course, puts his arm around stiles' waist and pulls him closer, so that stiles is sitting on his lap, and they have one (1) bowl of popcorn between them that is half salt, half tomato. derek gives the remote to stiles and takes the bowl.

stiles is muttering about choosing a film. he insists, "since i called this pack meeting, i'll choose the film," to which erica says:

"batman, you called the meeting?"

derek scoffs when stiles puts on star wars. neither of them is paying any attention to the others, and cora and peter are enjoying the not-so-silent freak out from the others.

derek says, "not again, stiles."

"inflection, derbear, inflection! it is the soul—"

"—soul of language. yes, i know, stiles. but i fight—"

"—against the periods and commas because it's entertaining to see you squirm. i mean me. it's funny to you to see me squirm, you asshole!"

derek just smirks, and snatches the remote to fast-forward the beginning credits, to which stiles sings holy murder and snatches it back and rewinds to the beginning.

"great, now we have to watch it again. why do you never learn, derek?" cora gripes, and peter is just watching in amazement as lydia's eyes go big with the new information. she's getting it.

the movie starts, but nobody but derek and stiles are actually watching it. cora is sort of into it, but she's not into rewatching, so she's on her phone. peter is into watching and betting who will break first. the others are entirely focused on how derek and stiles are interacting, like stiles isn't fucking afraid of derek (at this point derek is still the angry, will break your hand in training if you piss me off alpha; at least to them), and that derek isn't fucking annoyed by stiles.

stiles and derek are just. chilling. throughout the movie, stiles settles into derek, and derek wraps his arms around stiles, and they're cuddling.

derek feeds stiles once every five minutes, because stiles just turns his head and says softly, "der." after the first 2 times, stiles doesn't even have to turn. once their popcorn is over, stiles reaches over and takes the hot dogs — nobody says anything about him taking four of it (one by one, not all at once) because duh — and eats one bite, then leans back to feed it to derek, and then just stays there while alternating the bites.

stiles is super engrossed in watching so he's 1000% oblivious to his surroundings, but derek isn't, and he's just fucking proud of providing for stiles and having him in his arms, showing stiles off as his.

he just doesn't give a shit to answer the other's questions.

so just. yeah. this. where derek and stiles are childhood friends, true mates, and nobody knows how close they are until they do, and they're like "wtf???" while derek is just super duper possessive and proud and stiles is oblivious until comments from the pack members makes him rethink things and he like stops doing the things he normal does with derek (scenting, cuddling, touching derek every chance he gets, spending all of his free time with derek... yeah). day 1 has stiles antsy. day 2 has derek angry at his pack because of course they're behind his stiles-starvation. day 3 has stiles having an epiphany and derek whining outside stiles' window until stiles lets him in and says, "how long have i been stupid?"

"this is the 3rd day."

"not — no. i mean like... how long have we been dating without dating?"

derek's eyes widen. heartbeat is going crazy. "you don't mind?"

"you have literally been treating out interactions as if we are mated, dude. i don't think that question has any merit now."

"don't call me dude."

"can i call you mine, then?"

and he goes to kiss derek when derek just smiles, this bashful little small smile, but derek backs off.

stiles sighs. "we are engaged to be mated, huh?"

"engaged to be engaged to be mated, actually."

"you mean to say you've basically pre-ordered me?!"

derek is horrified. "no! what the hell, stiles?"

"NOW you use inflection? wow."

they go back to cuddling like crazy, except now derek kisses stiles on the head, forehead, and knuckles, and stiles combusts every time because that is so sweet.

the pack never do get over this development. they get over stiles having magic in a week, tops, but derek and stiles? as alpha and future alpha mate? yeah no. impossible. still unbelievable. every pack night they watch these two instead of the movies, because it is one of the few times derek actually lets his guard down and acts non-asshole-ish to them.

[thebigoblin]

Hello friends!

I am Lina from Gaza🇵🇸

I have two children, one of them was born in the genocide. Please, I need a donation of 20 or 25 euros. I know that my request for help is unusual for me, but I really need you. The donation link is in my bio. Every small donation makes a difference. Help my children and my family. We lost everything and we need this money urgently

https://gofund.me/4f077ab2

had to confirm first if this is a scam or what. thankfully it doesn't seem to be.

unfortunately, i do not have the monetary freedom to donate at the moment, but i'm going to post this here and on my other blog as well to boost this! ❤️

[thebigoblin]

<- Part 1 | Untitled

"Everything is fine," is what Stiles says when he wakes up, six hours later. He's not bleeding, he doesn't have any wounds on him, but Derek can't shake the feeling that the statement is false. By all logical means, Stiles is fine.

But when has his life ever been logical? There was no rhyme nor reason for Stiles to have come to the Loft in the first place, and then for him to fall asleep.

Derek nods. "Water?" His question is met with a solemn nod, and this, too, feels wrong. Stiles' eyes are different, somehow. He is different, when he wasn't, before. Before that demon put its slimy hands on Stiles, its twisted lips onto Stiles'.

When Stiles willingly gave up his most precious thing to it.

Derek brings back a glass of water from the kitchen, and finds Stiles on the couch instead of Derek's bed. He pivots when he realizes this, and it irks him, this change of places. Not just because Stiles should be resting, they don't know what's gonna happen after a deal is made with a demon like this, but because not once has Stiles ever relocated himself from Derek's bed. Not after something like this happens, which happens quite often.

It irks him, he realizes with a sudden clarity, not because Stiles shouldn't be exerting himself — but because this feels like he's removing himself from Derek's space.

It's stupid, maybe, but it is how he is feeling.

Stiles drinks the whole glass in one gulp, and Derek tries not to stare at his neck, soft and bare, where he could —

"Are you okay?" He asks again, and again Stiles replies that he is. Frustrated, he growls out, "You just made a fucking deal with a demon, Stiles, you're not okay! You gave that thing your most precious thing."

Stiles' smirk doesn't carry its usual nuance of playfulness and... something else, that's always there, when it is directed at him. This time, it's a cruel tilt of his plush lips, pink tainted with venom. "What the fuck do you care? It's not like you have to deal with the consequences."

Stiles puts down the glass on the coffee table, and the force of it rattles the papers — Stiles' assignment papers — off of it and onto the floor. Stiles bends down to pick them up, and Derek stares, because he has no clue what the fuck has changed.

Except, he's not the beast everyone thinks him to be. Sure, he's a caveman when it comes to technology, sometimes, but he isn't stupid.

He licks his lips, and this is it, he thinks. Stiles' eyes are downcast, searching for the one paper that Derek saw move under the couch, so it's easy to say it now. He doesn't want to see Stiles' face when his worst fears are confirmed.

"Stiles... what did I mean to you, before you took the deal?"

He has wondered, a million times over the billion seconds he's been alive, if the universe hates him. If he's patient zero for all of universe's cruel plans, the unlucky chap saddled with Lady Fortuna's fury. And right now, when Stiles' eyes snap up to his, he's sure that he was right.

Stiles' smirk turns, somehow, more cruel. He confesses, "Everything," and then with a laughter that sounds nothing like the warmth of the sun but everything like the absence of moonlight on his skin, he says, "And now you mean nothing to me. This is the happiest fucking day of my life, you know? I was so... burdened before."

Derek can't breathe. With the last of the air he can manage, he stutters out, "Get- Get out!"

Stiles still hasn't found that last page, and now, concern flashes across his face. But it's gone quickly, like it was never there.

He leaves that last bit of paper under the couch, unaware of its predicament, when he slides open the door to the Loft and heeds Derek's words. And Derek, well, he falls onto the couch, falling like a crumpled piece of paper, and like that fucking paper below the couch.

How does the saying go? It's better to have loved and lost rather than never having loved at all? What does this qualify as then, when apparently Stiles' most precious things had been... something about Derek, that's now gone, and he's acting like this?

Derek has loved Stiles for an amount of time he cannot quantify, and now he's lost Stiles, too. And it hurts like all of his limbs are tearing apart, all at once, and like his lungs are burning, and he's choking.

It would have been better if he'd never loved Stiles at all. Because this, whatever Stiles has become after that deal, is something Derek can't survive. He's lost too much already, and he's losing Stiles, too.

His anchor.

The one person whom he actually fucking trusts.

Of course this is happening to him. It's what he deserves, doesn't he? There's no debate about it. He's a sinner, a killer; he's made of pain and he's meant for pain. He is alive only because death would be the most peaceful option for him, and it's ironic that the person who had started to make him feel like maybe his life is worth something is making him feel like this.

Patient Zero, Derek Fucking Hale.

[thebigoblin]

the perfect star that hid

written for @sterekbingo square "soulmate au." kind of a new take on soulmate au? at least i haven't seen this particular type (if you have, please link them to me!! <3) also, my card is under the cut! at the very end. the full fic is here, but you can also read it on ao3 (where i'll post it when i get back home) if that's more your style.

The name unfurls on his wrist at the mall, filled with people, a scratch to his bone that goes unnoticed; he always wears full sleeves, a habit borne of shame and fury, fury at himself and his life and at the one who is writing it. He's 27 — older than the average population of those without someone by their side, someone who are made with dust and ashes that together make the perfect star.

He's celebrating his 27th birthday, actually, in this very mall. Friends that appreciate his appreciation for Star Wars, that don't mind him or pity him, who actually care about him — they booked an entire cinema hall for him, pulled certain strings to make it happen, and none of them had to pleaded or begged for it. They just love him.

He doesn't have his soulmate, yet, perhaps never will, but there is this truth as well: he has friends that love him like family, like their own. It might just have to be enough.

That's what he's thinking, the epiphany dredging up his past agony and mulling it over, layering it over with itself, a sort of aftercare that he's giving a try. And he's tired, too, of the heartache and the negativity — his own most of all. And he is tired of the day, muscles aching, and hey. It's a good time for a relaxing shower, now that he's home.

So he smiles at no one in the apartment but at himself in the mirror he's hung in the living room, a sort of statement piece that Lydia insisted on after taking one look at his at the time barely furnished abode, and shrugs.

"You don't need anyone, Stiles."

The words don't sound quite right as he hears them, the meaning of it turned desolate instead of triumphant as his thoughts become intangibly tangible, an epiphany to something he might just have to get used to. Still, he's said it, it's out there, and it's gonna have to do.

He picks the clothes off of himself, hopes the shower will help him pick himself up. Decides a bath would be better — but he's not got that now, has he? Perhaps he should start saving for a house, now. But it's just so much harder with one income only; he could move back to Beacon Hills? San Francisco isn't bad, but the prices of real estate are no joke.

The pros and cons of that potential scenario run through his head, his legs out of the jeans now, his hoodie off of his body next. Huh, he's almost out of toothpaste; he should go to the grocery store tomorrow. He should also see what's in his fridge and what's not but — later.

He's getting ahead of himself.

The t-shirt he's wearing comes off, too, a full-sleeved one, white, that looks rather good on him. Accentuates the lean muscle thing he's going from his years at the Track Team in high school and college. There's this scar he has on his left palm from falling once in the middle of a tournament. He turns his hand—

It's not bare, anymore. His wrist — it has a name.

His soulmate's name.

He stares. And stares and stares because what the hell. This has to be a joke, right?

It just has to be.

He has been within 100 metres of this person before multiple times. Has been to his childhood home, to the fucking police station he works at because hello — Derek Hale is one of Sheriff's Deputies, and Stiles is the Sheriff's son.

They've been within 100 metres of each other before.

But this has never happened.

But...

He rushes to his bedroom, naked, panicked, ecstatic. Picks up the phone from where he'd chucked it on the bed, opens the contact of a person he hasn't contacted since the last project they did together in high school.

Cora Hale picks up on fifth ring, when he's about to hang up and try again.

"Stilinski?" She sounds confused. "It's been a while. What's up?" A muffled voice, a male. Cora says, "Are you fucking kidding me? It can't be him — you've known each other for — it's impossible —" She's clearly not speaking to Stiles.

"Is Derek there?"

Cora stops talking.

"Cora, is he — did he get it too?"

Sounds of footsteps, labored breathing. Phone changes hands and then: "Are you Mieczysław Stilinski?"

Stiles stops breathing. It's real.

Derek is asking him the name nobody but his father and the people at the DVU know.

"I don't any other Stilinski’s. Just your father and you," Derek is saying. He sounds confused, happy, breathless. "And I know your name starts with an M. I saw some papers on the Sheriff's desk once, by mistake but — how is it you?" A pause. "Not — I didn't — I mean like —"

"How is it me when we have been around each other for so long. I have been at your house, you've been working at the BHPD for... fuck, 3 years now?"

"Since I came back from NY, yeah."

"I don't know, Derek, I don't but I... you were at the mall today, right?" He just wants to be sure.

"Yes. Yeah. I was, I was buying a gift for my parent's anniversary."

"And today's my birthday, I was —"

"With your friends watching Star Wars. I know. I saw you and the Sheriff let the whole station know about it."

Stiles can't fucking believe this. And also... "I'm so fucking cold. I really should wear some clothes."

"What?"

"Long story short — Shower, saw the name, called the one Hale's number I had."

Derek's chuckle is sexy and seriously, how has he never heard it before? It's a crime. And Stiles should be in jail. At least then he would have met his soulmate earlier... but wait, that's a paradox. Isn't it?

"I thought you were short story long kind of person," Derek says, and follows up with, "And if you're free right now... I know it's late but, would you forsake your shower and meet me to figure out why he haven't met before?"

Stiles cuts the call.

Then calls Cora's cell again. Derek picks it up with an exhale that seems very anxious, so Stiles closes his eyes at his stupidity and admits, "That was a yes. My brain just jumped ahead a few steps. Please text me your number so we can let Cora have her phone back," Cora cheers in the background, "And I can end the call so that I can wear my clothes and you can text me whatever address and we can finally meet and I'm sorry for ending the call so abruptly and seriously why haven't we met before? It's so —"

Derek chuckles again, and really, it's such a nice sound. "Stiles, breathe. I don't want you to die just yet."

"I can absolutely do that, yep."

Silence.

"Stiles? Wear your clothes. I promise I'll help you out of them when —"

There's a sudden struggle at the other end, and then it's Cora's voice coming down the line, "Ew! No! Do it on your own phone. Stiles, I'm texing you my brother's number, so go! Now!"

She ends the call.

Stiles lets his own phone fall onto the bed, processes what happened for just a minute, and then smiles goofily when Cora makes good on her statement.

Somehow, even though they haven't interacted in all these years despite all the things connecting them to the same peg on the board, Derek texts Stiles: "Stop dawdling and come meet me at the diner on 5th. Remember to wear your clothes. For now."

It's all one block of text too, the dork.

Guess that's his dork now.

Greatest. Birthday. Ever.

[thebigoblin]

announcement? sorta?

Okay so I'm thinking of making a *new* blog because i'm unhappy with how disorganized this one is. I know I also have @whenwordsmakesense but that has the same problem.... this will still be the "primary" blog i suppose but i won't be using this really?? i just kinda wanna refresh. makes my brain happier.

i'll update here when i've made a new blog so if the moots wanna follow me again they can 🫶🏼

that update is here!! spent a whole lotta hours making @ghostieblr especially the customizing!! why the hell can't i just use themes without having to contact support? it's ridiculous, but oh well, i did the best i could before crying out of frustration 😂😭

just gonna tag a few people who might be interested in this change? @thebigoblin would remain the primary blog so my likes would come from this only but i'll be posting on, and reblogging to, @ghostieblr from now onwards. just a lil fyi.

@greyhavenisback @raisesomehale @teencopandthesourwolf @princecharmingwinks @deepestbelieverstranger @ash-mcj @novemberhush

these are the only people whose blog names i remember 😭 sorry if yours isn't here even if we are moots!! it's my memory trust me. you can send me a few choice colorful words of yours on the new blog though as a punishment <3

[thebigoblin]

The Realities We Make

Sterek Fic | 4.9K | (Sterek) Time-Travel, POV Laura, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot | Read on AO3

Summary:

“And they just kept coming, and we were losing. But then he came. Derek. Fangs bared. Eyes red.”

Laura stops breathing. “Red?”

“Alpha, my Alpha,” Stiles chants, reverence in his tone, and like he’s been called by it, Derek emerges from the forest, his white t-shirt riddled with bullet holes and arrow-tip grazes, the rest of him drenched in blood that makes Laura’s run cold.

Her baby brother looks straight at her when he says, “It’s not mine. Mostly. I’ll heal.” He says it off-handedly, like it’s no matter. Like him fighting, and winning, and burning a human being alive is just a Thing he does.

[thebigoblin]

announcement? sorta?

Okay so I'm thinking of making a *new* blog because i'm unhappy with how disorganized this one is. I know I also have @whenwordsmakesense but that has the same problem.... this will still be the "primary" blog i suppose but i won't be using this really?? i just kinda wanna refresh. makes my brain happier.

i'll update here when i've made a new blog so if the moots wanna follow me again they can 🫶🏼

that update is here!! spent a whole lotta hours making @ghostieblr especially the customizing!! why the hell can't i just use themes without having to contact support? it's ridiculous, but oh well, i did the best i could before crying out of frustration 😂😭

just gonna tag a few people who might be interested in this change? @thebigoblin would remain the primary blog so my likes would come from this only but i'll be posting on, and reblogging to, @ghostieblr from now onwards. just a lil fyi.

@greyhavenisback @raisesomehale @teencopandthesourwolf @princecharmingwinks @deepestbelieverstranger @ash-mcj @novemberhush

these are the only people whose blog names i remember 😭 sorry if yours isn't here even if we are moots!! it's my memory trust me. you can send me a few choice colorful words of yours on the new blog though as a punishment <3

[thebigoblin]

announcement? sorta?

Okay so I'm thinking of making a *new* blog because i'm unhappy with how disorganized this one is. I know I also have @whenwordsmakesense but that has the same problem.... this will still be the "primary" blog i suppose but i won't be using this really?? i just kinda wanna refresh. makes my brain happier.

i'll update here when i've made a new blog so if the moots wanna follow me again they can 🫶🏼

that update is here!! spent a whole lotta hours making @ghostieblr especially the customizing!! why the hell can't i just use themes without having to contact support? it's ridiculous, but oh well, i did the best i could before crying out of frustration 😂😭

just gonna tag a few people who might be interested in this change? @thebigoblin would remain the primary blog so my likes would come from this only but i'll be posting on, and reblogging to, @ghostieblr from now onwards. just a lil fyi.

@greyhavenisback @raisesomehale @teencopandthesourwolf @princecharmingwinks @deepestbelieverstranger @ash-mcj @novemberhush

these are the only people whose blog names i remember 😭 sorry if yours isn't here even if we are moots!! it's my memory trust me. you can send me a few choice colorful words of yours on the new blog though as a punishment <3

[thebigoblin]

It's out! It's out! You can buy the Kindle version, or the paperback version on Amazon here. You can leave reviews on Amazon, on Goodreads and on Storygraph. If you don't want to buy through Amazon because they're evil, it will be available elsewhere, via Ingram Spark who supply all the major retailers, but there are some technical issues so I'll update as soon as I have more info. There are also free copies available to institutions (schools, outreach groups etc).

The Not/Coming Out Team are running a merch giveaway (there are stickers!) over on their Instagram and Twitter accounts (details are copied below the cut, you don't need a social media account to enter, just an email address), and you can check out their accounts for details about the online launch party!

Whew, that was a long post! I'm so privileged to be in such good company with an amazing group of authors and artists. I can't wait for you to meet Ruth in A Life Lived in Secret, and all the other wonderful characters throughout the book.

I know some of you have already ordered your copy so I hope you all enjoy it. And don't forget that all profits go to Akt, who do such great work supporting homeless queer youth here in the UK. So if you're hesitating about whether or not to buy it, it'll count as your good deed for the day! ;)

Giveaway details -

To celebrate publication day, anyone who buys a copy of Not/Coming Out today (May 16th) can enter to win some of our exclusive merch. Preorders are also valid!

All you have to do is take a screenshot of your receipt and email it to not.comingout23@gmail.com

T&Cs:

1. Prize is to win a selection of merch for the Not/Coming Out Anthology

2. Entry is via emailing a screenshot of your receipt to not.comingout23@gmail.com

3. Entries only valid if purchase was made on 16th May 2024 or you preordered a copy

4. Open worldwide

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7. Winner will have 7 days to reply with their postal address before a new winner is chosen.

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And some attention seeking tags - with apologies for making you scroll all the way down -

@ohhalefire @all-or-nothing-baby @blue-eyedbeta @halinski @fairytales-and-folklore @kikiroo @rosieposiepuddingnpie @exlibrisfangirl @nocticola @onlymorelove @serendipityxxi @queenbookwench @fiore-della-valle @yumearashi @greygullhaven @ganthritorchic @batwynn

[thebigoblin]

as the sun rises

i've been working on this on & off for a couple weeks, and it's now complete! posting this here first, and will post it on ao3 this week!

He's just about to kiss Derek when he's pulled out of his sleep, his traitorous phone vibrating on his nightstand with a text message.

Who could be texting him? It's too early for socializing, and his brain is tired! But since he's not just a college student but also a human who runs with a wolf pack and is liable to delay rescue missions if he's not on his feet all the time — he's literally one-half of a two people operation in this pack who hold strategic braincells — he groans and opens his eyes.

His room is dark, but the curtains are blowing against a soft breeze, and slants of sunlight fall into place across his room. It's morning, then. Too early to really call it morning, but morning nonetheless.

Who would even text him right now? His pack cannot get in trouble this early in the day, can they?

Actually, they can, and they have in the past — he grabs his phone and opens it up to the text messages.

It's a message from Derek.

That says just one thing: Morning.

Stiles blinks at it. Tries to figure out if it is a secret code message or something. Scrolls back up further in their text thread, realizes Derek had an early night yesterday so of course he'd be awake early today, at 6 in the morning, and like all the mornings this past week he's sent Stiles a message.

Morning.

Normally, he does it at reasonable hours, like 8. Which is Derek's usual wake-up time, given his usually scheduled afternoon shifts at the BHPD. Like it's the very first thing he does, eyes still blurry from sleep.

It's a sweet, delusional thought borne of Stiles' own desperate greed for Derek's attention, and it chokes him as much as it pleases him.

And there goes his sleep, running away like a headless chicken, at his predicament of being in love with someone he can not have.

Derek Hale is a legend from the myths, a werewolf amongst humans; he's honor and pride intertwined with a gut of trust he's sharpened over the years, the mistakes of his youth lending him a jaded perspective on his once easily-given faith. He is a man turned ashen with tragedy, turned once again into technicolor as years have climbed up.

Stiles was there, at the intolerable stage of it. When Derek was barely a man, a kid alone in the world, hurting and grieving, persistently angry, and with no vision. And he's been there since, once a spectator turned into pages in Derek's book. He's seen him become the man he is now, their relationship blooming under the throes of violence, of almost-dead-but-not-yet celebrations, of the pack letting Derek down and Derek learning to be better for it, instead of sulking and lashing out.

He has watched Derek become who he is now, and he has fallen in love with a man who is one of the strongest people he knows, and it's devastating because why would someone like that love Stiles? There's so much that Derek deserves, so much of which Stiles can not give. He deserves all the good things, and Stiles isn't something like that, is he?

The morning goes on like this: him in the bed, under the covers, the wind blowing inside his room a gentle contrast to his harsh thoughts. He is a year into college now, he's dated a few guys and girls, felt attraction but no connection to them before he realized what's wrong with him — he couldn't connect with anyone because he's already given his heart away, and he knows this is it for him. He's gone and done for, the kind of once-in-a-lifetime love they try to sell in movies and shows and books his claim now, except for the part where he gets the guy and the life of his dreams.

Maybe, just maybe, in a couple of years, he would have moved on. But today, all he can hear in his room is the sound of his heart breaking, his breath hitching, all because of a simple text and his sadist brain.

He hurts in a way he never has. He knows grief — he's lost his mom and that hurt, too, and still does. There's a piece missing in him, a part of him forever buried with his mom, and he's learned to live without it. And this hurts too, the clarity of never having Derek, in a way that is different but somehow similar. He's grieving for something he never had, a future he dreams of but knows can never be his reality.

He allows himself to fall apart today.

*

It's the Christmas break, the weather outside slowly getting more chilly than it was when he woke up. He burrows under the covers, the wind pecking his skin, his limbs too heavy from exhaustion of having cried his hours away to get up and close the window.

He should have closed the window, really.

He's fully under the covers, tear-streaks dried on his cheeks, sticky and a tangible reminder of his woes. Still, he hears it when there's a sudden thump, of a familiar pair of boots landing on his floorboards, and a decisive click of his window being shut close.

"You'll catch a cold."

Of course he's here. Stiles doesn't want him here, not right now, not when —

"Stiles... are you okay? The room smells like you just cried."

If it was any other day, any other reason, he would have appreciated it. They have a no-bullshit relationship. It's honest and grueling, but ultimately, it works for them. Stiles knows Derek trusts him, and that is more than he ever expected to receive from him, of all people.

But he has Derek's trust, and he knows he can not have more. So, he can not lose this, too.

"G'way," he mumbles, "Please."

Time stretches, his request hanging in the air. Then, the bed near his legs dips down, Derek's warm hand finding Stiles' hand, the one outside the covers, and holding it gently. Derek's fingers wrap around his wrist, and the chill melts away.

"I was worried about you," Derek confesses, voice soft. "It's nearly nine, and you hadn't texted me back, and now you're like this. What's wrong?"

Not even a year ago, Derek would have left long ago, too raw for conversations like this, too naive to navigate a healthy dialogue between friends.

That's what they are, right?

Stiles pulls his covers down until his face is visible to Derek, something which prompts Derek's hand to move to his face, give a soft caress. He truly is worried, eyebrows furrowed and everything.

"Just a bad morning, I guess," he says, and it's almost the truth.

Except. Except, Derek knows Stiles' truth and lies, and not just by his heartbeat.

"If I can help, whatever it is, I will. Just tell me." He's so earnest too, for fuck's sake.

He's a great friend, truly.

Stiles smiles, small and ironic. "You can, and you can't." Derek gives him a confused look. Stiles shrugs, the best he can while lying down on the bed. "Trust me."

"I do, Stiles. Don't you?"

Stiles is angry now. It comes as a surprise to him — a hot, white flash of anger, zipping through him like lightning.

He sits up on the bed so abruptly everything falls — the covers, his phone, him. Derek stops him from falling on his ass, though, arms around his waist.

Even before he's in no danger of hurting himself he's saying heatedly, "Don't fucking pull that card on me. You know I trust you, so much it's impossible to put into words. If you asked me to drive a dagger in my heart I would, I would trust you to keep me safe. So don't even, Derek Hale!"

"I'd rather take the dagger in my heart, Stiles." Derek's eyes are hard, alpha red creeping into them. "Tell me what's wrong." His jaw works, as if he's finding the right words, and Stiles' anger goes away as fast as it came — he slumps in Derek's arm, his weight on the man beside him. Finally, Derek says, "Is this... If Andrew did something, I'll slash his tires."

He isn't expecting this.

Andrew was the last person he went on a date with, almost two months ago. It didn't work out between them, it never does between Stiles and people, and this was more of the same. But the thing is, he didn't tell Derek about Andrew. It was their first and last date, and the only one he had told about it was...

Lydia.

Derek continues, oblivious to Stiles' confusion. "Ever since you came back to town you've been distant, and if it's because of something your boyfriend did —"

"Woah, what the fuck?" Stiles' voice rises, this time the heat replaced with a level of perplexed he hasn't felt since ages. "He's not my boyfriend, he's not my anything. We went on one date, like weeks ago. What's Lydia been telling you?"

A warmth blooms inside his chest at Derek being so protective of and vindictive for him, but he forces himself to not be affect by it right now. He can loathe Derek's instincts as an alpha when he's alone again.

Derek, for his part, parts his mouth in surpise. "Have I been stupid this entire time?" he says, more to himself than Stiles. "Then what's wrong with you?"

And now they're back at the problem asking for the problem.

Stiles sighs. "Listen. I'm happy you're such a good friend, but some things just aren't meant to be shared, okay?"

"You tell me everything." Stiles scoffs. "Stiles."

They both look out the window, where birds are flying, free from the complex human emotions. The sun is high in the sky, real morning now beginning.

"Why do you keep texting me anyways?"

Derek's eyebrows are raised when Stiles turns to look at him. They're seated with barely an inch between their bodies, and the turn of his neck has them almost sharing the same breath.

Stiles licks his lips, and he must imagine Derek's eyes tracking the movement.

"I can't ask you what's bothering you, and now I can't text you either?"

"Not what I— the morning texts, I meant. Of course you can text me, but the morning texts are new and I'm just... asking. And why can't you text me good morning? Why is it just a morning?"

Derek stares at him. Stiles knows he's thinking something, debating a thought to share or not.

"You don't have a boyfriend?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "No, Derek. I do not."

Derek takes a deep breath, as if he's bracing himself for something huge, something he has high hopes for, something he can not bear to lose but he has no idea if he gets to keep it.

Stiles suddenly has a feeling, and if that is true, he's going to murder himself just to relive the pain one last time, because if what he's thinking is true, then he's stupid as fuck and he deserves it.

"I text you morning and not a good morning because the mornings aren't good."

"Okay... why aren't they? Good, I mean."

Derek is looking into his eyes, a vulnerability in them that Stiles has seen before, but still it feels like he's seeing it for the first time. Like this is a part of Derek he hasn't seen previously, a part that has been kept hidden purposefully finally brought to light.

Derek moves, and the miniscule distance between them is gone, eaten up by the anticipation building in the room.

Derek's hands come up to caress Stiles' face, thumb rubbing circles at the dried tear-tracks, the motion comforting. He says, "Every morning, I wake up in my bed, alone, and it's such a shitty way to start my day. Every morning is just another day, and all I can think is, the mornings would be good, really good, if you were in my bed with me, too."

Stiles swallows hard against the lump forming in his throat. "You're joking."

"Never, not with us. Not about this."

Stiles' breath hitches. Derek comes closer, rests their forehead together. Stiles closes his eyes against the closeness, the dread that this is a dream.

"You're too important to me for me to make a joke out of this, Stiles."

He's crying again. "But I don't deserve you."

Suddenly, the warmth of Derek is gone.

When Stiles opens his eyes, Derek is pacing, a glower on his face.

"Isaac can't be right, can he?" Stiles makes a confused noise. Derek rounds on him, then decides sitting down on his knees is a better option. Stiles' morning is so confusing, he starts counting Derek's fingers as well as his own when Derek holds both his hands, rests their limbs on Stiles' thighs.

There's twenty fingers. Ten his, ten of Derek's.

"Stiles. Why don't you deserve me?"

He does his best to not cry. "You're... amazing, Derek. I. I'm just me, you know?"

It seems silly to say it. It's one thing to believe it, another to put it into words.

Derek squeezss his hands. "I've loved you for a long time, longer than I have realized it."

"What?"

"And I felt the same. You're you, and I'm just me. You deserve better."

"You are the best thing that can happen to anyone!"

Derek chuckles at Stiles' vehemence, squeezes his hands once again. "Pot's calling the kettle black. I felt the same, you know," he repeats. "That you deserve better. So I never told you. And you started dating others. But then..."

"Isaac. What has he told you?" He doesn't know what he could have told Derek. It's not like Stiles and Isaac are close, but there are things their pack does, like meddle in each other's affairs, that has him realizing how troublesome their pack is.

It's not like Stiles has even a single subtle bone in his body.

Derek smiles. "He told me that he's got a bet going for us to get together before the New Year." Stiles isn't surprised, not really. He smiles back. "Yeah, the pups have a bet going, and Lydia and Isaac seem to be on the same page."

"Jesus. Her too? What did you say?"

"The whole pack is in on it. I was surprised they would do such a thing. They can't force two people together when one of them isn't into the other one." He moves forward, until their foreheads are touching once again, and this time, Stiles takes one of his hands and presses it to Derek's head, cards his fingers through the soft hair.

"Then what happened?" He prompts.

"Isaac laughed in my face when I told him I was disappointed because I didn't think he and others would stoop so low. And then he told me I might be an alpha but that I'm stupid if I haven't been able to figure out that you like me back."

Stiles laughs, rather nervously. "I always worried you'd figure it out and we'd not be close anymore."

"I did figure it out, actually."

"WHAT?" He shouts it in Derek's ear, who winces and pulls back. "Sorry, but why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

Derek stays on his knees, but he inches a bit backwards, creating a safe distance between Stiles' mouth and his ears. "I didn't want to lose you."

"How could you lose me when you liked me and realized that I liked you back? That doesn't even make sense." Derek gives him a look. Stiles rolls his eyes. "See, I didn't say anything because I've always believed you deserve nice things, and I've mutually never believed I'm a nice thing. But if you told me you liked me... I would have been selfish."

Derek's expression turns soft. "You're the best thing to happen to me, even as just friends." Stiles' cheeks heat at the proclamation, and he ducks his head. When he looks back up, Derek is smiling back at him. "I've wanted you to be mine for a long time. And when I say mine, I mean it. For life. Building a future together and all the good and bad that follows. But all I could figure out... at least what I thought I figured out... was that you liked me casually."

Stiles gets up from the end of the bed and pulls Derek up by offering him a hand, which he takes with a full-tilt smile, bunny teeth and all. "No part of me is casual for you. I never believed I could feel like this, but if anything, everything I feel for you is cosmic."

Derek's smile grows until it's a full-on grin, and Stiles feels the width of it, the rush of Derek's blood, the pure joy of their stupidity taking second place to communication in the kiss Derek pulls him into — Derek's arms wrap around his waist, his own around Derek's shoulders, sliding up and down, on his stubble, his cheeks, his hair. The kiss itself is sweet and hot, their mutual joy imprinting itself in the endless journey of time with their noises of appreciation.

They kiss and kiss, tongues touching and lips bitten raw, until the necessity of oxygen forces them apart. As soon as they break apart Derek moves on to his neck, the press of his lips electric, and Stiles is the happiest man on Earth.

Well. Except for Derek, of course.

"Good morning, Derek."

Derek growls and bites down, intent on marking. "The best morning," he agrees, and Stiles can only moan, feel the pain of being claimed, and revel in the moment.

He still has thoughts of being unworthy in the back of his mind, but what he told Derek was true: if Derek wants him, he'll be his. He'll be selfish.

He'll love Derek Hale as long as he breathes.

Once the hickey is painted on Stiles' neck, Derek tips his jaw, their eyes locking onto each other. He says, "I love you so fucking much, baby."

Stiles smiles. Derek seems to be on the same page as him, and it's starting to feel like Stiles will be a part of Derek's book for a long, long time.

Maybe, just maybe, till even the last page of the book.

It truly is a good morning.

[thebigoblin]

play stupid games

tags: Established Relationship, Alpha Derek Hale, Attempt at Humor, Cheesy, Fluff, Derek Hale is a Softie, Implied Sexual Content

a/n: inspired by a reel on instagram. and the title is from Taylor's song "Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince."

read on ao3

The tabs opened on his chrome browser make no sense. Not one bit. But he supposes that's just a representation of his own mind, and his morbid curiosity, and whose fault is that, really? No one's. Perhaps his mom's — but no more than it's his dad's to have given him his obsession with everything non-sensical. His dad just has to find patterns, and really, maybe his entire problem is that he is the combination of two very weirdly specific people.

What was he working on, again?

He squints at the tabs. There's too many of them, the edges stuck together so close it's like one long continuous tab instead, but he can see the lines between them, even if deciphering which tab is what is proving difficult. He could have used separate windows, but oh no, all sane ideas come to him after things are said and done.

Seriously, what was he working on?

"What are you working on?"

"What the fuck!"

The sound of another person in the room, so close to his ear, hot breath on the left side of his neck, has him jumping and flailing on his desk chair.

Rough and familiar hands grab him so that he doesn't brain himself against the floor by falling right off the chair, and he curses, because this is his life.

Once he's sitting straight, he glares up at the smirking asshole beside him. "Fuck you," he says, with feeling. "I'm giving you a bell for Christmas!"

Derek's lips tick upwards, like ha ha, that's funny. Funny that Stiles thinks he could get away with that. "My birthday gift has to be something good, then."

"I'll show a good gift!"

"That's what I am saying, Stiles."

"Ugh, you're fucking annoying." He's still glaring up at Derek, the angle not kind to his neck, so he looks back down at the screen. Derek just moves closer, a line of heat against his side that has Stiles' anger nearly melting off, but no! He'll persist.

Distraction. Yes. That is what he needs, so he clicks his mouse rather aggressively and moves the arrow to one of the tabs randomly. The title of it hovers over the tab as he does so, and Stiles wonders what could have prompted him to look at a YouTube video of making a DIY skirt from old clothes.

"You would look good in a short red skirt." Derek says this right into his left ear, his lips moving along his skin, from the top of his ear to the bottom of it, and because he's obnoxious, Derek bites his earlobe, too.

"Go away!" He slaps at Derek's chest, but his boyfriend only laughs at his half-hearted attempts. "Nuh uh, you're distracting me and I- I have work!"

"What work?"

Stiles doesn't really remember.

"You forgot, didn't you?" Derek just laughs some more, his hands wrapping around Stiles' shoulders, and Stiles pouts. "Search something for me."

"You have your own smartphone and internet, Distractingwolf!"

"But I also have you," Derek states this, a smile in his voice, and hey, it's true.

Stiles rolls his eyes and mutters, "Sap," before asking, "What?"

"I want to check something, but there's a condition."

Stiles cocks his eyebrow, just like Derek does. He's been spending too much time with Derek, and it's because of shit like this: Derek likes to climb the side of the Sheriff's house, get inside the Sheriff's barely-legal son's bedroom, and spend time either glaring at Stiles, pushing him onto surfaces like the door and walls and the bed and kissing him, or making him do random internet searches that 99% of the time happens to be information of a new supernatural creature they have to deal with.

Point is, Stiles has been spending too much time with Derek, and he loves it a fucking lot.

"Condition, huh? You getting kinky on me, Sourwolf?"

Derek moves around his chair so that his bulging biceps and sexy, veiny arms — that he knows are there below the leather jacket and the henley because he's seen his boyfriend shirtless, even if unfortunately they haven't wandered down to pantless situations — brackets him between the desk and the chair. The movement also pushes his chair further towards the desk, just a little, and Derek's chin rests on top of Stiles' hair.

"Maybe." Stiles' whole body shivers at the thought of it. They haven't had sex, but Stiles yaps about it, thinks about it often. Wants to take Derek in his mouth, wants Derek to have his way with him. He wants, and wishes, for Derek to be inside him — pound him so hard he forgets what life is, just for a moment or two or more. He's seen the alpha strength, and it's too much. Perfect. "Stiles."

"You can't blame a guy for wanting to have sex with his hot werewolf boyfriend," he retorts, huffing at the reprimand. "I can wait until you are ready, and I will, but I can think about it, can't I?"

Derek doesn't answer him, just puts his hand over Stiles' on the mouse and moves it the way he likes it. Stiles wants to be that, a ragdoll under Derek's ministrations, and nope, he can't pop a boner right now. He wants sex, but he respects Derek. But he's also a healthy ninetenn-year-old young man, and there goes his dick in his sweatpants, chubbing up like a balloon being filled with air.

Derek opens up a new window and goes to Google, his free hand coming to rest on Stiles' thigh. Stiles' breath hitches.

"Stiles," Derek's voice is low, his sex-voice. They've never done handjobs, or blowjobs, or any real dick-on-dick or hand-on-dick or mouth-on-dick action, but they have done phone sex, and about 50% of Stiles' brain, at this point, is filled with how Derek sounds when he's turned on, commanding. Close to coming, post-pleasure. Stiles knows this voice, too.

"You don't have to do anything you're not ready to," Stiles says, and he means it. Derek's head dips down and he kisses Stiles on the neck, a silent acknowledgement — Derek knows Stiles won't force him. It's okay.

"You always say 'hot werewolf boyfriend.' Not just 'hot boyfriend.' Why."

"Inflection, alpha, that's a thing." Derek pinches his thigh, and Stiles lets out a small sound at the sudden action, then grins. "You are a hot werewolf." He turns his head, pulls with his own free hand, his left hand, the one not trapped beneath Derek's on the mouse, and has Derek's head turn towards him. He kisses him, sure once, sure twice, and third time just because. Derek's eyes are intense on him as he pulls back. "I like all of you. I'd shout it out of the rooftops of all the buildings in the town if I was allowed to, Derek."

Derek smiles, and Stiles' heart beats triple time in his chest, which suddenly feels too small for everything Derek makes him feel.

They stare at one another for one more moment, and then they turn towards the screen, the cursor having moved on the screen, evidently because of their absent grip on the mouse. Derek takes his hand back and Stiles misses the warmth, but he dutifully leans forward to type in Derek's enquiry of the evening.

"Stiles, kiss me if I'm wrong, but Dinosaurs still exist, right?"

Stiles' hand spams on top of the keyboard.

He waits for the punchline to come.

When it doesn't, he gets up, turns, flails at his dork of a boyfriend, who is grinning at him, cocky and full of shit, and punches him in the chest.

"I take it back. I don't want anybody to know you belong to me. Fuck you, Derek Hale."

"Actually, I asked for a kiss, and only on the condition that I'm wrong."

"Oh, you're so, so wrong, you jerk, and you're gonna pay for it."

Stiles has now pulled the uno reverse card and boxed in Derek against his bed. Derek cocks his eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah, oh. You're gonna kiss me, like, a 1000 times! That was the worst pick up line ever, what the fuck, who is teaching you these things?!"

Stiles pushes Derek onto his bed and starts peppering kisses on Derek's forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, and of course, his lips. After a while, Derek flips them over, and they cuddle, and then they lazily make-out until their lips are swollen and red.

Derek is asleep after that, and thank god for his dad's out of town police conference, and Stiles falls asleep, too.

And that's how Stiles completely forgets about his presentation due on Monday, which is a day after.

(Derek helps him with it, and they spend the whole of Sunday making out, cuddling, and trying to out-do each other with worse and worse pick-up lines. Derek wins, because apparently he is the king of those, and Stiles just falls in deeper, his chest feels even smaller, and his feelings for Derek just seem like something he can't possibly have, too precious and important and so, so much).

[thebigoblin]

The Saturday Routine

@febuwhump Day 7: Made To Watch + @badthingshappenbingo Square Filled: Hiding An Injury (card attached at the end). Also, will post on ao3 later. EDIT: POSTED!

Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski & Eli Stilinski-Hale

Tags: Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt Eli Stilinski-Hale, Blood, BAMF!Stiles, POV Eli Stilinski-Hale, Sheriff Stilinski Makes An Appearance, Attempt at Humor, Spark Stiles Stilinski, True Alpha Derek Hale, Fluff & Angst, Happy Ending

The last thing he clearly remembers is watching his dad laugh.

They were in the locker room of the high school, after-hours, joking around as they normally do on Saturdays. His dad is a trusted man, the Sheriff's consultant, and an overall loved Beacon Hills citizen. Which means that the Principal of the school — Ms. Natalie Martin — has allowed them to use the school grounds for practicing, even if he isn't good at playing lacrosse (yet, says dad's voice in his head).

This is all routine. Waking up early on Saturdays, getting ready and having breakfast, going to the school, practicing lacrosse there for hours, and only leaving when it's time for lunch. What isn't is this huge gap of memory, his head pounding, and his ears ringing.

And, most importantly, these ropes.

"Wha-?"

He can't even speak. His throat is dry, he needs to drink, he needs to remove these ropes from his wrists and most importantly, he needs to know his dad is okay.

He coughs to clear his throat. Once, twice. "Dad-"

"Shh," he hears through the ringing in his ears, and thank fuck, that's his dad. He is fine.

"You are-"

"Eli, please shut up."

He shuts his mouth with a clack of teeth. He tastes blood, but it's okay. At least he knows now, his dad is here, and he sounds fine. Right? Right.

But where is he? Where are they?

This certainly isn't the diner they frequent for Saturday lunches.

He would just open his eyes and check, but as it turns out, he has blindfolds on, too.

He's 99% this is the work of hunters.

Wait... he hears chanting.

"Is that fucking chanting?!"

"Eli!" His dad hisses, somewhere from his front, but it's too late. A door opens with a loud creak, and it's creepy enough, but then the one who opened it has to speak, too.

"Aha! You wolves are awake. Good. Very good."

Cliché witch dialogues. His tata was right — these villains are very predictable.

As he's wondering about his tata and what he would do to escape — WWTD (what would tata do) — he's suddenly moved from his position. It's good, because he was starting to cramp.

"Eli!" His dad is shouting behind him, and he wants to tell him something, anything, just to reassure him, but then the witch slams over a duct tape on his face.

He knows the taste of it because of his many, many spent evenings working on his tata's jeep.

"Mmmph!"

"Quiet, baby wolf. You are required for your purity, not for your tongue. I will not hesitate to cut it."

"Mmmphh!" They really are after virgins! He really should invest some time in his love life at this point. Hell, it won't even be hard to convince his parents to let him date — he just needs to find someone who matches his energy.

He's shaken out of his thoughts when he realizes the chanting is growing louder.

There are more of them?

His dad must have realized this earlier, because he's cursing them and growling, his loud, Alpha roar not too far away. He knows because he's heard it loads of times, and it's always as mesmerizing as it is terrifying (his tata always smells disgustingly horny when it happens).

"Get the Alpha now. He's angry enough to fuel the spell."

Oh.

Oh.

He was just the bait.

*

His blindfolds are taken off the moment he's put into the cage, large and glinting silver under the sunlight coming from the open roof of the cave.

There are six witches, standing in a circle, wearing grey and blue robes. Their faces are hidden, but all have the same tattoo on their necks: pigs. Who the hell tattoos that?

His focus only stays on them for a minute, though, because just then his dad's being dragged through the only entrance by the seventh member. His dad is in chains and tattered clothes, and he's huffing in pain, growling at everyone until he sees him.

"Dad! What the hell did you do to him?!" He directs his question to the circle, who ignore him until his dad is in the centre of it, eyes locked on him.

It's like he doesn't even care about himself, as long as his kid is safe. Eli hates it.

He wants his dad to be okay!

"A wolf will fight tooth and nail for its cub," one of the witches says, and Eli snaps his eyes to her. She is smiling at him, a crooked, cruel smile. "And your father? He fought well. Like an Alpha should."

"He is poweful," another witch adds.

"And he will be useful to us." A third one intones, voice heavy with expectation.

"You will not hurt my dad—!"

His dad says at the same time, "I will help you, but on one condition."

The attention is shifted to his dad.

Eli knows exactly what his dad is going to say — he starts protesting, but no ears heed his words.

"Release Eli, and I will do as you ask. His safety, for whatever it is you want me to do."

The witches tsk, admire, appraise.

Eli waits for their answer.

"No."

He sighs in relief.

His dad tries to move, to attack, maybe, but he can't. He's on the ground before he can, and Eli has to crane his neck to see — it's a fucking taser. To the back.

"You said you wanted a virgin!" He shouts. And the attention is on him now, even his dad's, who is writhing with pain on the stone ground. "My dad is not one. Obviously. He's a gross adult who does those gross things with my tata, they always keep kissing, it's all very teenage horror. Don't ask." He waves his hands around as he keeps talking. "Me, on the other hand? I haven't been kissed." He's not proud of it, but he's only fifteen.

Sure, his tata met the love of his life at sixteen, but on the other hand? His dad met his one true love at the age of twenty-two, and even then it took them years to figure their shit out.

Eli has hope.

The witches cackle as one.

"Oh," one of them says, "how precious. Are they not, sisters?"

"They are." They all echo. Fucking creepy.

"They think we need only one of them. How optimistic of you."

No.

He is not just the bait.

He locks his gaze on his dad's. They're both panicking.

Eli can do nothing but watch as his dad is made to stand on shaky legs, their eyes still locked with each other's. The witches have once again formed a circle, and his dad is in the middle of it, and Eli can't take his eyes away.

Not even when they slice his dad's shirt, remove it completely. Not even when they put a knife on his chest and stomach, carve three lines vertically downwards. Not even when his dad cries out in pain, mouthing "Leave! Escape!" every second of it, his eyes as scarlet as the blood coming out of him.

All he can do is watch and cry, his wrists still tied, his wolf still sheltered.

*

His dad is unconscious, now, and he's too far for Eli to check up on. The only sign he's alive is his weak heartbeat — Eli can hear it, even if faintly. He wishes he was a better wolf, but unfortunately he is not.

That is what happens when you're a magical tree baby, half of both your parents, somehow. He's hardly a wolf and not at all a spark.

He's 100% useless.

He's crying, because that's the only thing he can do.

He doesn't even kick up a fuss when they come for him, next.

They don't tear off his t-shirt; they pull it up, just start cutting into him. One single slash across his abdomen, like they did his dad's: First in the middle; from the middle of his pecs to his belly button. Then the left side, below his pec till the belly button, and same on the right side.

The knife is on his left side, just about to slash into him, when the witches' robes suddenly starts flying like there's a huge gust of wind.

Eli's t-shirt falls into place right as the witches fall on the ground.

"Tata!"

It's him. Weilding his gun and anger.

"Nobody takes my boys," his tata growls, a very good impression of his dad's, and every single witch is done for now.

They go down like nasty flies his tata hates.

Eli doesn’t focus on the whole fight, though. He knee-walks towards his dad, checks his breathing just to be sure, and cringes when he sees the blood and injury on his stomach. Its healing, but slowly — they must have used wolfsbane on the knife.

"Take him out to the jeep!"

He does as his tata asked, puts his whole strength on saving his dad. He almost doesn't make it; his dad is too heavy, he can't, he can't pick him up, but his dad can die—

He's a fucking Stilinski-Hale and he can do this. He's the son of two of the strongest people and he believes he can save his dad.

On the fourth try, he's able to carry his dad bridal style. His tata is still fighting, three witches on him at once, the other four thrown against the cave's walls, but he knows he can handle himself.

He can.

Eli puts his dad on the backseat of the jeep, and he's just secured him when his tata comes out, quickly taking the driver's seat and telling him to sit as well so they can run to Lydia. There's no space left in the backseat, so he sits on the passenger seat.

"Are you hurt?"

"No." He lies. Dad is the priority, not him. "Tata, he's not healing,"

"Shh, baby, shh. Your daddy will be okay," his tata brings a hand to his face, the other on the steering wheel, and it comes away wet. He didn't even realize he was crying. "He'll be okay. Your dad is strong, and you know him, he never misses a game."

"Granpops and him have a watch party tomorrow," he reminds himself. They have never missed one. Ever.

"Yes. He'll never miss it. Okay, baby?"

He's hated being called baby ever since he was four. He loves it now.

"Okay." And then because he thinks this is the last he'll every say: "I love you both. Sooooo much."

*

When he wakes up, his head is pounding, and he hears screaming.

It's his tata. And he's not yelling as so much as... venting.

About him.

"That dumbass kid didn't even tell me he had an injury! And not just any injury, a frockin' slash! Through his abdomen!"

His granpop's laugh. The belly laugh.

"It's not frockin' funny! Dad!"

"You did it again!" What did tata do again?

"I— your grandchild could have died and you are focused on your son saying made-up bad words? Seriously?" Eli imagines his tata throwing his hands up, and the fond smile that graces his dad's face when he does. He and grandpops generally just leave them alone at that point, because after that it's just a toin coss away from a make-out session or full-on sex.

"Kid, I had you as a teen. This doesn't even phase me anymore. He'll be fine, he's a strong kid."

Pause. Then: "He is. He is totally Derek's kid."

"And yours, Stiles."

"Nope," it sounds like he's aggressively cleaning dishes, a plate grating under his harsh hands, "today he's just Derek's kid. How the fuck — yes, dad, be proud of me for using actual cuss words, why not — they got kidnapped off of the school grounds when he's an Alpha, a True Alpha, and now they're both pretending to not be awake to postpone my wrath." Oh, so his dad's fine now. "And they're both wondering if the other is okay or not. Der, your kid is alive, and Eli, your dad is fine."

"That tone means trouble," his grandpops says, unnecessarily.

"Thanks for stating the obvious!" Eli shouts, and he hears his dad saying the same, and then they're both groaning, probably due to the stitches being pulled. Though his dad groans louder.

"Wow. You really know them."

"I just know your favorite son-in-law. His kid's literally just the same."

"Hey, now, you know Eli is your carbon copy."

Eli lets the conversation wash over him, the familiar sounds lulling him into sleep, right until he hears his name and being a Spark in the same sentence.

"...saw his eyes, they were purple."

"This was when he picked up Derek?"

Oh.

Oh.

He believed.

"Yeah. It was so cool. His eyes then turned beta yellow."

His tata hums, and then it's silent.

Eli wants to know more.

He gets up from his bed, careful with his injury, and realizes with a start — this is his bedroom, on the second floor, and his tata and grandpops are clearly on the first floor, in the kitchen.

He's running at full speed right until he hits the landing of the stairs and bumps shoulders with his dad, who was doing the same.

They both groan as their stitches once again complain.

"Told you!" His tata shouts over them groaning in pain.

"How?" Eli mouths to his dad. He didn't hear anything.

"Notepad," his dad mouths back.

"Notepad!" His tata shouts from below at the same time.

"Okay, wow, you really do know us well."

"Kid, don't be so surprised," Grandpops says, and then, "Your tata is a Stilinski. And you are half Stilinski too. We do amazing things."

"Yeah," his dad says softly. Louder, "You three are amazing. Though, I have to say Stiles is something else entirely."

"No buttering me up will work! And no bribes either, house chores or... other means!"

Eli shudders. "Ew."

His dad gives him a look.

Grandpop calls out a greeting. "And that's my cue to leave. Stiles, leave Derek alive for tomorrow's game. We have never missed one and we won't be starting now. And don't be too hard on Eli, remember he's my favorite grandchild."

"I'm your only- okay, when will me shouting and groaning combo will end?"

"No promises, dad. And you two, don't you dare think of hiding out in your rooms."

The two of them walk downstairs, and even though he and his dad share a look of solidarity, they know they're no match against one Stiles Stilinski-Hale.

At least they're given smiley-pancakes after they have been thoroughly reamed (and hugged a million times).

* END *

my bad things happen bingo card —

[thebigoblin]

as the sun rises

i've been working on this on & off for a couple weeks, and it's now complete! posting this here first, and will post it on ao3 this week!

He's just about to kiss Derek when he's pulled out of his sleep, his traitorous phone vibrating on his nightstand with a text message.

Who could be texting him? It's too early for socializing, and his brain is tired! But since he's not just a college student but also a human who runs with a wolf pack and is liable to delay rescue missions if he's not on his feet all the time — he's literally one-half of a two people operation in this pack who hold strategic braincells — he groans and opens his eyes.

His room is dark, but the curtains are blowing against a soft breeze, and slants of sunlight fall into place across his room. It's morning, then. Too early to really call it morning, but morning nonetheless.

Who would even text him right now? His pack cannot get in trouble this early in the day, can they?

Actually, they can, and they have in the past — he grabs his phone and opens it up to the text messages.

It's a message from Derek.

That says just one thing: Morning.

Stiles blinks at it. Tries to figure out if it is a secret code message or something. Scrolls back up further in their text thread, realizes Derek had an early night yesterday so of course he'd be awake early today, at 6 in the morning, and like all the mornings this past week he's sent Stiles a message.

Morning.

Normally, he does it at reasonable hours, like 8. Which is Derek's usual wake-up time, given his usually scheduled afternoon shifts at the BHPD. Like it's the very first thing he does, eyes still blurry from sleep.

It's a sweet, delusional thought borne of Stiles' own desperate greed for Derek's attention, and it chokes him as much as it pleases him.

And there goes his sleep, running away like a headless chicken, at his predicament of being in love with someone he can not have.

Derek Hale is a legend from the myths, a werewolf amongst humans; he's honor and pride intertwined with a gut of trust he's sharpened over the years, the mistakes of his youth lending him a jaded perspective on his once easily-given faith. He is a man turned ashen with tragedy, turned once again into technicolor as years have climbed up.

Stiles was there, at the intolerable stage of it. When Derek was barely a man, a kid alone in the world, hurting and grieving, persistently angry, and with no vision. And he's been there since, once a spectator turned into pages in Derek's book. He's seen him become the man he is now, their relationship blooming under the throes of violence, of almost-dead-but-not-yet celebrations, of the pack letting Derek down and Derek learning to be better for it, instead of sulking and lashing out.

He has watched Derek become who he is now, and he has fallen in love with a man who is one of the strongest people he knows, and it's devastating because why would someone like that love Stiles? There's so much that Derek deserves, so much of which Stiles can not give. He deserves all the good things, and Stiles isn't something like that, is he?

The morning goes on like this: him in the bed, under the covers, the wind blowing inside his room a gentle contrast to his harsh thoughts. He is a year into college now, he's dated a few guys and girls, felt attraction but no connection to them before he realized what's wrong with him — he couldn't connect with anyone because he's already given his heart away, and he knows this is it for him. He's gone and done for, the kind of once-in-a-lifetime love they try to sell in movies and shows and books his claim now, except for the part where he gets the guy and the life of his dreams.

Maybe, just maybe, in a couple of years, he would have moved on. But today, all he can hear in his room is the sound of his heart breaking, his breath hitching, all because of a simple text and his sadist brain.

He hurts in a way he never has. He knows grief — he's lost his mom and that hurt, too, and still does. There's a piece missing in him, a part of him forever buried with his mom, and he's learned to live without it. And this hurts too, the clarity of never having Derek, in a way that is different but somehow similar. He's grieving for something he never had, a future he dreams of but knows can never be his reality.

He allows himself to fall apart today.

*

It's the Christmas break, the weather outside slowly getting more chilly than it was when he woke up. He burrows under the covers, the wind pecking his skin, his limbs too heavy from exhaustion of having cried his hours away to get up and close the window.

He should have closed the window, really.

He's fully under the covers, tear-streaks dried on his cheeks, sticky and a tangible reminder of his woes. Still, he hears it when there's a sudden thump, of a familiar pair of boots landing on his floorboards, and a decisive click of his window being shut close.

"You'll catch a cold."

Of course he's here. Stiles doesn't want him here, not right now, not when —

"Stiles... are you okay? The room smells like you just cried."

If it was any other day, any other reason, he would have appreciated it. They have a no-bullshit relationship. It's honest and grueling, but ultimately, it works for them. Stiles knows Derek trusts him, and that is more than he ever expected to receive from him, of all people.

But he has Derek's trust, and he knows he can not have more. So, he can not lose this, too.

"G'way," he mumbles, "Please."

Time stretches, his request hanging in the air. Then, the bed near his legs dips down, Derek's warm hand finding Stiles' hand, the one outside the covers, and holding it gently. Derek's fingers wrap around his wrist, and the chill melts away.

"I was worried about you," Derek confesses, voice soft. "It's nearly nine, and you hadn't texted me back, and now you're like this. What's wrong?"

Not even a year ago, Derek would have left long as soon as something like this happened, too raw for conversations like this, too naive to navigate a healthy dialogue between friends.

That's what they are, right?

Stiles pulls his covers down until his face is visible to Derek, something which prompts Derek's hand to move to his face, give a soft caress. He truly is worried, eyebrows furrowed and everything.

"Just a bad morning, I guess," he says, and it's almost the truth.

Except. Except, Derek knows Stiles' truth and lies, and not just by his heartbeat.

"If I can help, whatever it is, I will. Just tell me." He's so earnest too, for fuck's sake.

He's a great friend, truly.

Stiles smiles, small and ironic. "You can, and you can't." Derek gives him a confused look. Stiles shrugs, the best he can while lying down on the bed. "Trust me."

"I do, Stiles. Don't you?"

Stiles is angry now. It comes as a surprise to him — a hot, white flash of anger, zipping through him like lightning.

He sits up on the bed so abruptly everything falls — the covers, his phone, him. Derek stops him from falling on his ass, though, arms around his waist.

Even before he's in no danger of hurting himself he's saying heatedly, "Don't fucking pull that card on me. You know I trust you, so much it's impossible to put into words. If you asked me to drive a dagger in my heart I would, I would trust you to keep me safe. So don't even, Derek Hale!"

"I'd rather take the dagger in my heart, Stiles." Derek's eyes are hard, alpha red creeping into them. "Tell me what's wrong." His jaw works, as if he's finding the right words, and Stiles' anger goes away as fast as it came — he slumps in Derek's arm, his weight on the man beside him. Finally, Derek says, "Is this... If Andrew did something, I'll slash his tires."

He isn't expecting this. The hell?

Andrew was the last person he went on a date with, almost two months ago. It didn't work out between them, it never does between Stiles and people, and this was more of the same. But the thing is, he didn't tell Derek about Andrew. It was their first and last date, and the only one he had told about it was...

Lydia.

Derek continues, oblivious to Stiles' confusion. "Ever since you came back to town you've been distant, and if it's because of something your boyfriend did —"

"Woah, what the fuck?" Stiles' voice rises, this time the heat replaced with a level of perplexed he hasn't felt since ages. "He's not my boyfriend, he's not my anything. We went on one date, like weeks ago. What's Lydia been telling you?"

A warmth blooms inside his chest at Derek being so protective of and vindictive for him, but he forces himself to not be affected by it right now. He can loathe Derek's instincts as an alpha when he's alone again.

Derek, for his part, parts his mouth in surpise. "Have I been stupid this entire time?" he says, more to himself than Stiles. "Then what's wrong with you?"

And now they're back at the problem asking for the problem.

Stiles sighs. "Listen. I'm happy you're such a good friend, but some things just aren't meant to be shared, okay?"

"You tell me everything." Stiles scoffs. "Stiles."

They both look out the window, where birds are flying, free from the complex human emotions. The sun is high in the sky, real morning now beginning.

"Why do you keep texting me anyways?"

Derek's eyebrows are raised when Stiles turns to look at him. They're seated with barely an inch between their bodies, and the turn of his neck has them almost sharing the same breath.

Stiles licks his lips, and he must imagine Derek's eyes tracking the movement.

"I can't ask you what's bothering you, and now I can't text you either?"

"Not what I— the morning texts, I meant. Of course you can text me, but the morning texts are new and I'm just... asking. And why can't you text me good morning? Why is it just a morning?"

Derek stares at him. Stiles knows he's thinking something, debating whether to share whatever is going through his head, or not.

"You don't have a boyfriend?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "No, Derek. I do not."

Derek takes a deep breath, as if he's bracing himself for something huge, something he has high hopes for, something he can not bear to lose but he has no idea if he gets to keep it.

Stiles suddenly has a feeling, and if that is true, he's going to murder himself just to relive the pain one last time, because if what he's thinking is true, then he's stupid as fuck and he deserves it.

"I text you morning and not a good morning because the mornings aren't good."

"Okay... why aren't they? Good, I mean."

Derek is looking into his eyes, a vulnerability in them that Stiles has seen before, but still it feels like he's seeing it for the first time. Like this is a part of Derek he hasn't seen previously, a part that has been kept hidden purposefully finally brought to light.

Derek moves, and the miniscule distance between them is gone, eaten up by the anticipation building in the room.

Derek's hands come up to caress Stiles' face, thumb rubbing circles at the dried tear-tracks, the motion comforting. He says, "Every morning, I wake up in my bed, alone, and it's such a shitty way to start my day. Every morning is just another day, and all I can think is, the mornings would be good, really good, if you were in my bed with me, too."

Stiles swallows hard against the lump forming in his throat. "You're joking."

"Never, not with us. Not about this."

Stiles' breath hitches. Derek comes closer, rests their forehead together. Stiles closes his eyes against the closeness, the dread that this is a dream.

"You're too important to me for me to make a joke out of this, Stiles."

He's crying again. "But I don't deserve you."

Suddenly, the warmth of Derek is gone.

When Stiles opens his eyes, Derek is pacing, a glower on his face.

"Isaac can't be right, can he?" Stiles makes a confused noise. Derek rounds on him, then decides sitting down on his knees is a better option. Stiles' morning is so confusing, he starts counting Derek's fingers as well as his own when Derek holds both his hands, rests their limbs on Stiles' thighs.

There's twenty fingers. Ten his, ten of Derek's.

"Stiles. Why don't you deserve me?"

He does his best to not cry. "You're... amazing, Derek. I. I'm just me, you know?"

It seems silly to say it. It's one thing to believe it, another to put it into words.

Derek squeezss his hands. "I've loved you for a long time, longer than I have realized it."

"What?"

"And I felt the same. You're you, and I'm just me. You deserve better."

"You are the best thing that can happen to anyone!"

Derek chuckles at Stiles' vehemence, squeezes his hands once again. "Pot's calling the kettle black. I felt the same, you know," he repeats. "That you deserve better. So I never told you. And you started dating others. But then..."

"Isaac. What has he told you?" He doesn't know what he could have told Derek. It's not like Stiles and Isaac are close, but there are things their pack does, like meddle in each other's affairs, that has him realizing how troublesome their pack is.

It's not like Stiles has even a single subtle bone in his body.

Derek smiles. "He told me that he's got a bet going for us to get together before the New Year." Stiles isn't surprised, not really. He smiles back. "Yeah, the pups have a bet going, and Lydia and Isaac seem to be on the same page."

"Jesus. Her too? What did you say?"

"The whole pack is in on it. I was surprised they would do such a thing. They can't force two people together when one of them isn't into the other one." He moves forward, until their foreheads are touching once again, and this time, Stiles takes one of his hands and presses it to Derek's head, cards his fingers through the soft hair.

"Then what happened?" He prompts.

"Isaac laughed in my face when I told him I was disappointed because I didn't think he and others would stoop so low. And then he told me I might be an alpha but that I'm stupid if I haven't been able to figure out that you like me back."

Stiles laughs, rather nervously. "I always worried you'd figure it out and we'd not be close anymore."

"I did figure it out, actually."

"WHAT?" He shouts it in Derek's ear, who winces and pulls back. "Sorry, but why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

Derek stays on his knees, but he inches a bit backwards, creating a safe distance between Stiles' mouth and his ears. "I didn't want to lose you."

"How could you lose me when you liked me and realized that I liked you back? That doesn't even make sense." Derek gives him a look. Stiles rolls his eyes. "See, I didn't say anything because I've always believed you deserve nice things, and I've mutually never believed I'm a nice thing. But if you told me you liked me... I would have been selfish."

Derek's expression turns soft. "You're the best thing to happen to me, even as just friends." Stiles' cheeks heat at the proclamation, and he ducks his head. When he looks back up, Derek is smiling back at him. "I've wanted you to be mine for a long time. And when I say mine, I mean it. For life. Building a future together and all the good and bad that follows. But all I could figure out... at least what I thought I figured out... was that you liked me casually."

Stiles gets up from the end of the bed and pulls Derek up by offering him a hand, which he takes with a full-tilt smile, bunny teeth and all. "No part of me is casual for you. I never believed I could feel like this, but if anything, everything I feel for you is cosmic."

Derek's smile grows until it's a full-on grin, and Stiles feels the width of it, the rush of Derek's blood, the pure joy of their stupidity taking second place to communication in the kiss Derek pulls him into — Derek's arms wrap around his waist, his own around Derek's shoulders, sliding up and down, on his stubble, his cheeks, his hair. The kiss itself is sweet and hot, their mutual joy imprinting itself in the endless journey of time with their noises of appreciation.

They kiss and kiss, tongues touching and lips bitten raw, until the necessity of oxygen forces them apart. As soon as they break apart Derek moves on to his neck, the press of his lips electric, and Stiles is the happiest man on Earth.

Well. Except for Derek, of course.

"Good morning, Derek."

Derek growls and bites down, intent on marking. "The best morning," he agrees, and Stiles can only moan, feel the pain of being claimed, and revel in the moment.

He still has thoughts of being unworthy in the back of his mind, but what he told Derek was true: if Derek wants him, he'll be his. He'll be selfish.

He'll love Derek Hale as long as he breathes.

Once the hickey is painted on Stiles' neck, Derek tips his jaw, their eyes locking onto each other. He says, "I love you so fucking much, baby."

Stiles smiles. Derek seems to be on the same page as him, and it's starting to feel like Stiles will be a part of Derek's book for a long, long time.

Maybe, just maybe, till even the last page of the book.

It truly is a good morning.

[thebigoblin]

“You love him, don’t you?” - Debbie Novotny, Queer as Folk

For @sterekweek-2022​ - Day 6 // Sing Me A Song ♥