Anon, I know this probably isn’t what you had in mind, but this is what came out. And I’m dedicating it to the lovely @artemis69. Happy birthday, you gorgeous thing!
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Stiles’ life is ruined. Truthfully, it was ruined the day he met Derek Hale, and it somehow never got UN-ruined.
You’d think his life was ruined when Scott was bitten, but no. Changed? Yes. Amped up to near-unbearable levels of stress? Definitely. But ruined? No, only Derek Hale can do that, apparently.
Because before Derek, Stiles had options. He had his crush on Lydia, he had teenage hormones happily informing him that the world was full of beautiful people, none of whom would probably ever give him even a second look, but still. Options.
But one snappish warning about private property, swaddled in grief and hostility, and there was no way back. Stiles’ life was ruined at that moment, because thanks to his stupid obsessive personality there was never anyone new for Stiles after that.
He’d go out on dates, and spend the entire time comparing his date to Derek. He’d sleep with strangers, only to feel vaguely like he’d cheated, despite barely being friends with Derek. He’d struggle with himself, spending years to try and talk himself out of his obsession, only to spiral right back into it every time he came back to Beacon Hills, and cast a single look at Derek.
It’s official. Derek Hale is a life ruiner.
Tag: fic rec
For @bleedinginkandsugar based on your fic Suing for Custody.
In which Stiles agrees to watch Scott’s friend’s dog while he’s on deployment and then proceeds to fall in love with the dog. And he maybe kinda sorta falls in love Derek with, too. (x) (x) (x) (x)
Late Night Wanderings
@d-athanasi | AO3 – I hope you enjoy this. I thought doing a diner AU would be a fun change; I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it!
by @nightlight9
Stiles doesn’t know how started spending all of his nights hanging out in a forgotten diner instead of getting a good night’s rest. Okay, so maybe he does actually know how he got here, and it might have everything to do with one surly worker with a quiet disposition and a big heart.
Stiles doesn’t know how he got here. One minute he had been staring aimlessly at his computer screen, going crazy trying to figure out a good argument for his essay, and the next he was in his car, driving around town at 12:34 in the morning. All he wanted was to find something to do that would take his mind off of all the work he was avoiding. Ending up at Pop’s, a 24-hour diner Stiles didn’t even know existed, was a complete accident. But it turned out that it was exactly what he was looking for, even though when he first stumbled inside, all he could hope was that it wasn’t the start of a b-rated horror film featuring his death.
Now, most of his nights are spent at the small diner.
“I’m cutting you off.”
Stiles blinks up at the man towering over him, a pout pulling at his lips. Okay, so maybe he does actually know how he got here, and it might have everything to do with one surly worker.
The first time that Stiles saw Derek, he thought that the older man might be a tragically beautiful serial killer, because even though he was the most attractive man Stiles had ever seen, the frown pulling his lips down suggested violence. Instead he turned out to be the tragically beautiful owner of Pop’s, whose resting face naturally looks violent. And, after that fateful night, he also happens to be Stiles’ favorite unobtainable companion.
Except when he decides it’s his ‘duty to the public’ to cut off Stiles’ caffeine supply.
“That’s not fair,” Stiles whines, tightening his hands around the coffee mug and glaring up at Derek. “I’m a paying customer. You’re supposed to take my money without complaining or questioning my life choices.”
“If you expect that kind of service you should go somewhere else.”
“Derek.” His voice is all whine. “You have to give me more coffee. How else am I going to finish all of this?” He gestures to the counter where several textbooks have been left open.
Derek snorts. “Stiles, you’ve been staring at your books without doing anything for ten minutes.” He grabs Stiles’ discarded pencil (which rolled across the counter and was forgotten) as evidence of his lack of work. “It’s almost 2 o’clock, you haven’t done any work, and you’re cut off. “ Derek reaches over the counter and presses the pencil’s eraser against Stiles’ forehead. “You know, normal people would be thinking about going to bed.”
Stiles bats the pencil away and snorts. “Yeah, well I think we can safely deduce that I am in no way normal. Why else would I be hanging out with you practically every night?”
Surprisingly, Derek doesn’t take the bait. It makes Stiles pout again; he loves the way that they banter and tease each other. But Derek just calmly pries the mug from his fingers and replaces it with a tall glass of water, a smirk teasing his lips. Obediently, though with an eye-roll, Stiles sips at the new drink. In all honesty, he’s not even feeling jittery from all of the coffee. He’s long suspected that Derek swaps his caffeinated coffee with decaf, but he hasn’t been able to prove it. Either way, he’s definitely more than ready to head back to his dorm and sleep for a few hours.
But at the same time, Stiles doesn’t want to leave Derek alone. He knows that he must be used to it; obviously he was alone before Stiles wandered in and kept coming back. But Stiles hates picturing Derek wasting time by himself. The first night they met, Derek had been behind the counter waiting for orders even though no one was there. And he’s never mentioned having anyone to go home to.
Stiles The Pirate
@eternalsterek-broughttolife | AO3 – A back-up gift specifically requested by me, and seeing how everyone was able to get their gifts in, I’m going to gift it to myself haha (especially since this is the sweetest little fic).
by @poetry-protest-pornography
Stiles works at a water park, one day he finds a little girl with dark hair and intense eyes crying and has to help her find her family.
The familiar chlorine-sunscreen-warm pavement smell of Riverwood Water Park is a strange comfort as Stiles walks toward the staff locker room; nostalgia and fond memories always rushed through Stiles when he was at the park. The fact that this would–hopefully–be his last summer working there was both sad and exciting.
It wouldn’t be easy saying goodbye to the place he’d visited so often with his mom and dad as a kid, the place where he had worked every summer since he was sixteen. Manning Pirate Cove, a scale model of a pirate ship designed for younger children, with slides where canons would be found and a swirling sprayer that moved with the ship’s wheel, had become his favorite summertime distraction. The enthusiasm and joy that little kids unabashedly threw into splashing each other and climbing and fun made Stiles feel joyous by proxy.
Closing his locker in the staff showers, he allowed himself to feel a little melancholy. Graduating and moving on to grad school that was no closer to his dad or his friends was hard. He’d always half planned on coming back to California, but he’d had to wave adios to that plan when a full scholarship offer came in for a program in Colorado.
It was going to be hard to have say goodbye to his coworkers, too. Some of them had been working with him since he started, and they’d grown up together, one summer at a time. They’d shared cookouts and after work meals, then after work drinks and dancing as they became old enough for it. End of season parties, bonfire hookups, summer flings.
The thought of leaving Erica and Boyd especially filled him with disappointment; they’d been spending their summers together for the last five seasons, and they’d had more than a handful of those s’mores and summer heat-flavored nights. Now, they were the best of friends, speaking often even when Stiles was on the other side of the country and longing for summer and open-skied nights in his adequate but lonely student apartment.
That he would not miss. Even with the personal touches he’d managed to add, a half-sized kitchen, a shower with the water pressure of a jammed squirt gun, and barely enough room for a two-seater couch and a desk with a rolling chair never felt much like home.
Summers at Riverwood, though, that was definitely part of home for him. Permanent chlorine scent, shrieking kids, and all.
What wasn’t normal though, was a crying child. Yet, just inside the gate where he entered Pirate Cove, there was a young girl–around five if Stiles had to guess–rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes, fruitlessly trying to stop the tears spilling from her green and gold eyes. Her long dark hair was escaping from the tight braid she wore, and she clutched at her brightly striped towel like a lifeline.
Stiles pasted on his friendliest, most reassuring smile and stooped down so he was at her eye level. “Hi, sweetheart, my name is Stiles. Is there something that I can help you with? I work here, so if you’re lost, or if something happened that upset you, I can help.”
When she looked up at him, her lip was wobbling and she was taking big, shuddering breaths, but she was obviously trying to get herself to calm down; Stiles was impressed with her control.
“I was pl-playing in the wave pool, an’ then I thought I saw a bunny by the fe-fence, so I went t’ see it, but it was go-one!” she sobbed, getting more upset as she went on. “Then I got lost, and now I can’t find my-my-m-” she started crying again, too much now to finish her sentence, so Stiles put a cautious hand on her shoulder.
“Hey, that is something I can definitely fix,” he said, letting a little enthusiasm into his voice in the hopes that his confidence would reassure her. “Can you tell me your name?”
She sniffed, but gave him a wobbly smile and answered “Tali.”
“Well, Tali,” he said, returning her smile, “Do you think you could hold my hand so we can stick together on the way back to the wave pool?” At her nod, he stood up, and offered his hand. Hers felt so small in his that he had a moment of panic at being responsible for someone so little. Then reality settled over him and his years of experience with kids kicked in as he rolled his eyes at himself.
Hello! I need your help! Can someone help me find this fic where Stiles trips while babysitting Derek’s baby who then transforms into a wolf since she’s worried about Stiles getting hurt?
This sounds like First Impressions Are Overrated by Leslie_Knope!
In Stiles’ defense, he didn’t deliberately ram his grocery cart into the (evidently precarious) pyramid of oranges.
Favourite Fanfics Aesthetics: Wild Horses by @thepsychicclam
Derek’s a drifter with no home, no destination, and no will to live. Stiles works on his family’s failing cattle and horse ranch while all his friends are going off to college. When Derek falls asleep in a random barn, exhausted and half-starved, he doesn’t expect to wake up on the other end of the sheriff’s shotgun. And Stiles sure as hell doesn’t expect his dad to invite the drifter in for breakfast.
One of my first ever sterek fanfics! Beautifully written and a constant reread, this fic feels like you’re watching a movie! Amazing slow burn and characterisation, keeps you on the edge of your seat no matter how many times you read it.
Bet On It – IDreamOnlyOfYou (lauren3210) – Teen Wolf (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
Stiles is an RN and Derek the attending trauma surgeon at Beacon Hills Hospital. They’re constantly arguing, much to the amusement of their colleagues, who ultimately decide to take bets on when the sexual tension will finally explode. The only question is, who will win the jackpot?
Or
5 times one of the guys try to push Derek and Stiles together, and the time they worked it out all on their own.
No new recs to reblog right now, so here’s a rec from the past from fineststerekcs (February 2015).
Bet On It – IDreamOnlyOfYou (lauren3210) – Teen Wolf (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
“What I find interesting, deputy, is that you have all this to say about magic, and yet you still leave your daughter with me every afternoon without fail.” Stiles drummed his fingers on the counter. “My only conclusion is that even if you hate magic, you must trust me on some level.”
Derek cleared his throat and looked away. “Amy likes Jack. And my boss gave you a good recommendation, for some unfathomable reason.”
“Your boss is my father. Of course he’s going to give me a good recommendation.” Stiles pulled out little pouches of powder and poured them into a set of a dozen vials sitting out on the counter. “So come on, Hale. What is it? Is it the magic you hate, or me?”
Both. I hate magic, and I hate what you’re doing to me. Derek realized his fists were clenched, and he shoved them into the pockets of his uniform. He couldn’t admit any of that to Stiles, though, not without admitting to…other things. Things he wasn’t acknowledging now or ever.
i trust you
happy birthday to my beautiful and wonderful friend, savannah (@halesstiles)!! i’m sorry i’m a little late babe. hope you like this
synopsis; 5 times Stiles tells Derek he trusts him + 1 time Derek tells Stiles.
ONE
Derek grunted, pulling the succubus off of Stiles in a quick, precise motion, his claws sinking into the flesh. He flung his arm to the side, panting slightly at the surprising amount of effort that he required before swiftly pulling Stiles to his feet.
“Alright?” His breath came out unevenly. He tried not to stare as he took in Stiles’ form. His shirt was tattered, showing bruises where the succubus had gripped him harder than he thought. The bruises followed the curve up Stiles’ neck, new ones beginning to show up slowly but surely. Derek sucked in a sharp breath when he saw a bite at the edge of Stiles’ jaw.
Stiles furrowed his brow, glancing over Derek’s shoulder towards the rest of his packmates, taking care of the succubus. His body stiffened as Stiles moved to wrap his hands around himself, pushing his shoulder back, and breathing in deeply. His eyes flitted over to meet Derek’s as he muttered, “Barely.”
Derek nodded, “That was a close one.” He moved to put his hand behind Stiles, ready to lead him towards the Camaro, before stopping. Noticing Stiles’ shivering form, he removed his own shirt. He offered it to Stiles. His eyes flushed as their fingers brushed, Stiles’ face already forming a smirk at his response. He glared without any heat.
Once again, his hand found itself lingering behind Stiles’ back, ready to lead him to the Camaro, but faltering when he realized that Stiles might not want to be touched after something so violating like that. He swallowed a lump in his throat; he wanted to comfort Stiles—if only he knew how.
There was a small pressure against his hand until all that he could feel was the soft cotton of his own shirt. His fingers sunk into the material, only the soft cloth forming the barrier between them. Derek’s eyes snapped to meet Stiles’ brown ones, a confused whine sneaking out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
Stiles shook his head. He moved his hands up, one resting on Derek’s shoulder as the other caressed his cheek. “It’s alright.”
“I don’t—I mean—I don’t understand …” Derek stumbled over his words, distracted as Stiles rubbed his thumb on his shoulder.
Stiles smiled. “I trust you.”
What if Stiles and Derek’s first kiss is post-nogitsune? Would he feel like a thief? Would he mourn the body that Derek never held? Would each brush of fingertips or kiss to his temple be a betrayal? They’d probably talk about the scars too. Derek would understand– to an extent. But he grew up not without his history on his skin so he’ll never understand how it feels to have that ripped away.
Their lips brush and Stiles turns away a second later, breaths shallow, hands twitching against the folds of Derek’s shirt. There’s warm breath on his cheek, the ghost of beard still so close and all Stiles can think is that he wants this. He wants this. And…
It’s wrong.
Those fingers, twitching against Derek’s shirt, smooth and uncalloused. The scar that used to live above his third knuckle just a burn-hot memory in his mind.
Everything still feels off in his body, out of balance, and he remembers the way Derek used to look at him. All tension and frustration in ways he couldn’t start to make sense of. And now Derek’s lips are in reach, a short turn away, and he’s murmuring out “Stiles…?” and all Stiles can think is…
“Do you want me?”
He can feel the stall in Derek’s thoughts like a physical reaction, and he wonders if there was a subtle tell or if… if he’d just felt it, inside, the confusion a flicker of chaos in Derek’s chest. Can he do that? Feel chaos? The Nogitsune drank it in and Stiles…
“Stiles,” Derek breathes again, a quirk of amusement in his tone. Thumbs smooth down his hips and Stiles fights the urge to rise into the contact. “Thought I’d just answered that question.”
And Stiles could leave it at that, asked and answered. Except…
There should be a scar on his hip, long and thin, from a fence he’d scaled once and dropped down five times faster. Derek should be feeling that right now, that piece of Stiles’ history, that stupid ten year old adventure laid out across his skin. But the skin’s smooth. Blank slate.
He shivers, gripping tighter into Derek’s shirt.
“No, I––” He can’t think of how to explain it. The thoughts are a choked feeling in his throat, a twist in his gut. Something like guilt and fear and he doesn’t even know what answer he wants when he leans back enough to find Derek’s eyes and say: “Since when? Did you… I mean, before…”
He’s not sure Derek knows what he means, but there’s a hint of flush under that dark beard suddenly, and Stiles gets a little bit lost in the contrast.
“Last summer.”
“Last––?” It pulls Stiles back, his eyes startling up. That was… most of a year, that was before…
A sick lurch sets him falling back out of Derek’s grip. Too-smooth fingers (uncalloused) slip too easy from Derek’s chest. His sneaker-covered feet might as well be walking over glass and he’s being dramatic except that he’s really not. Because if Derek wanted him last summer…
“That wasn’t me.” It sounds wrong as he says it, stupid, because… he was there that summer. He remembers every moment spent with Derek, researching the Alphas, searching for hints of Boyd and Erica. Charged smirks and snark and quiet moments that felt more comfortable than they should. He remembers the moments before summer too, when the thought of Derek made his heart pound and his body thrum in a way that could have only meant fear, except it hadn’t only been fear. He’d been scared of the Alpha too, and the hunters, and that coil of electric heat only sparked through his gut for Derek. He remembers that, like he remembers the scars that aren’t there anymore, and he can’t help running his too-soft fingertips over the smooth flesh of his knuckle as he breathes out, faint and lost, “…Was that me?”
There’s a too long pause while the question burns back into his throat, buzzing through his limbs like a current until he realizes he’s shaking from them. Was that him? Helping Derek track the Alpha pack? Helping Scott learn to control his wolf? Sitting by his mom’s hospital bed, watching her lose the long war to her illness, pieces of her flaking away like old scars, like a whole identity, like––
A warm hand closes over his, large and gentle, grounding.
“It was you,” Derek says, simply. Like there’s no question, like nothing’s changed. Like Stiles hasn’t changed.
But that’s wrong. He’s not the same person he was before the Nogitsune, and he’s not talking in the experiences change you, huh kind of way. He’d had scars before. He’d had… a whole life written on his skin. And then he’d crawled out from inside his possessed body’s throat, spawned out like some alien parasite or… clone and––
“My body died, back there.” Four months past, and he still can’t wrap his head around it. That he’d watched himself bitten and impaled, spasm and cracking and shatter to dust.
The scarred body. His real body.
And he was left in… this.
Long fingers uncurl, stretching out slow. Thin, pale digits fitting strangely perfect between Derek’s, and Stiles can only wonder what it would have looked like before.
“…What if I’m not real?” He watches Derek’s fingers twitch, barely perceptible, tightening like they’re fighting to hold onto him. And Derek’s lost enough in his life, too much. It’s a dick move to say this, to take anything else away from him, but… “What if the guy you wanted last summer… what if he died inside the Nogitsune, and I’m just––”
“No.”
The sureness of it has Stiles’ throat clenching. He tilts his head, challenging. Finds Derek’s eyes again.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
Which is just… it’s stupid how that makes Stiles’ heart jump. Flutter around like it’s fighting to leap the distance between them and plaster itself all up against Derek’s stupid, muscled, secretly sweet as hell chest.
Which… yeah, that’s nearly a gross enough visual to stomp his fondness boner in the bud. He sets his jaw.
“Did you know I used to have a scar on––”
“Your right hand? Just above the third knuckle, a burn.”
Stiles’ argument stalls out. He blinks, finger shifting to rub over the space, but Derek’s is already there, soothing the phantom mark over his skin.
“I… was eleven.” Because silence has never been safe for him. Because noise distracts from the too-easy pleasure rippling up his arm. “First time I tried cooking dinner for me and dad. Mac and cheese, it… didn’t go great.” He wets his lips. Looks away “Or… the other me did, I don’t––”
“You did.” And Derek still sounds so damn sure. Stiles wants to believe him. He parts his lips, can’t. Because––
“Stiles, I’ve never had scars on my skin. I… can’t relate to what it’s like to lose them. But the things that have happened to me… they’re not any less real because I can’t see them. Every bullet, cut, punch I’ve taken…” He might sense the wince forming on Stiles’ face, and shakes his head, shrugging that off like it’s not important. But that’s an argument for another day. “Every scar life gave you… they’re still there. You’re still carrying them, inside you.” He flits his eyes down Stiles’ frame, then away, finger soothing over the ghost burn. “There are plenty no one would have ever seen anyway. But they made you. Who you are, and who you are…” He shakes his head, looks back to meet Stiles’ eyes squarely. “You recognized me when I was a teenager. That’s the same person who recognized me in the preserve.” Stiles feels his face heat because… even knowing Derek’s a werewolf now, he’d never put together that Derek would have heard his fangirl moment to Scott after Derek had walked away.
Before he can speak up, though, Derek’s going on. “You tracked me to Mexico. Faced down the Calaveras to save me. That’s the same person who stared down the Argents, drove a Jeep into a kanima, who hit an Alpha with a wooden baseball bat––”
“Two Alphas,” Stiles cuts in, because props, ok? “Two, that were…” His free hand mimes squishing, and Derek’s lips twitch.
“Two,” he agrees, and Stiles can’t not smile back. Just for a second –– fond, helpless –– then he’s ducking his head. Derek sighs, catches his chin. Guides it up until their gazes lock again.
“That was you,” he says, so firmly Stiles can’t help believing this time. “Was the man who clawed his way out of his own possession. Followed Scott’s howl back to the real world. And whatever happened to your body, whatever… magic gave you a new one, Stiles came out with it. Your scars are still there, just…” His fingers trail to Stiles’ chest, and something thumps out eagerly to meet them.
“Inside,” Stiles breathes, and the way Derek’s eyes warm makes him shiver with a proud ripple of pleasure.
“Inside,” Derek echoes. Runs a thumb light along Stiles’ lip. “You could have come out of the Nogitsune looking like anything. Wouldn’t change who you are.”
And damn, Stiles has fallen for a goddamn poet in a grumpy wolf’s body. …But then, Stiles is pretty sure he’d known that already.
His fingers go up, curl gently into Derek’s shirt.
“But… you like this body,” he prompts, and Derek gives an exasperated huff, pulling him in.
“I like this body,” he confirms, and it doesn’t feel wrong to hear that.
When Derek kisses him this time, Stiles doesn’t pull away.
shealwaysreads 