——-
Derek fiddled with the fragile pair of glasses Stiles had unofficially borrowed from Deaton after Allison had borrowed them without permission from her father. They were, according to Allison, a magical artifact that was somehow supposed to help the wearer to see the truth. As this would more than likely reveal werewolves without any guesswork, it was understandable that none of them wanted such an artifact in the hands of hunters, even one that had agreed to a tentative truce.
So now they were here, hiding at a diner Derek normally wouldn’t be caught dead at, looking for answers. Stiles was flipping through pages of a book he had also questionably borrowed, reading about curses and enchantments, so that they could tell if the glasses were even safe to put on at all.
“Wow, it’s like really unhelpful,” Stiles said around his mouthful of curly fries. He laid the book down and spun it so Derek could read, even though he said it aloud anyway. “Enchantments aid the intended user, curses aid the original caster. For example, a truth enchantment would reveal the truth to the user, where as a truth curse would force the user to reveal the truth to the caster.”
“How do you tell the difference, if you didn’t cast the spell?” Derek asked, glancing down at the flowing script.
“Exactly,” Stiles said, like he won an argument, even though for once they were not arguing. “It doesn’t say. I guess someone’s just going to have to, like, put them on.”
“Are you volunteering?” Derek asked, raising a brow.
“To test unknown magic on myself?” Stiles returned, then scoffed. Derek could see him shifting to get ready to make a grab for the glasses, so he moved them enough Stiles had to reconsider. “Oh, come on.”
“And what if they’re cursed?” Derek said, reasonably.
“Then you ask me embarrassing questions until I take them off,” Stiles answered immediately. He had thought about this, clearly. “They can’t be that dangerous if Chris didn’t lock them up.”
Derek relented with a sigh, because he really did not think that the glasses were actually harmful. And they did need to know what exactly they did. Stiles snatched them up greedily, unfolding the delicate arms with a grace he seemed to reserve only for magic, and slipped them onto his face. Derek couldn’t help the stray though zipping through his mind, that Stiles really did look cute in glasses.
“Oh,” Stiles said, small and big, when he looked at Derek. He swallowed, looking like he could see ghosts currently, and Derek figured that meant they’d been right. It would reveal werewolves.
“You’ve seen me wolf out,” Derek told him, holding out a hand to take the glasses.
“You love me,” Stiles said, hushed, and Derek’s blood ran cold as he looked up to meet Stiles’ eyes.
Oh, no. No no no.
“What?” Derek said, mouth dry, mind tailspinning.
“You love me,” Stiles repeated, reverently, not looking away.
“Stiles, I…” Derek shook his head, not sure what he could even say. Of course he did. He had for a while, but he’d never intended to say a word. He’d never intended to ruin what they had going, like he had ruined so many other things.
Stiles snatched the glasses off his nose like they’d burned him, and if they hadn’t been sitting in a booth, he’d have knocked the chair and table over in his scramble to get to his feet. Derek pulled back a little when Stiles came at him with the glasses, but he froze when Stiles did, and then allowed Stiles to place the glasses on him, instead.
With a heavy whump, Stiles sat back down across from him, staring at him with wide, urgent eyes. Derek blinked once, twice, and then he suddenly understood how Stiles knew. He could see it there, plain as day, in the way Stiles looked at him. In the beat of his heart, in the catch of his breath, in the quirk of his smile. Nothing had really changed, Derek couldn’t see anything actually different about Stiles while looking through the glasses, but he knew.
Stiles loved him, too.
Tag: ficlet
The Wolf and the Fox Sterek AU for my dear Becky.
Derek always says that he should have known that Stiles was a fox, of course, how had that not been as glaringly obvious as possible – and Stiles always gives him a crooked grin in return, pokes Derek in the ribs and says smartly, what’s that supposed to mean?
But Stiles loves it, loves the feeling of his skin stretching taut as his muscles bunch and shift and his too-large hands curl into paws almost small and delicate. He’s not nearly close enough in size to Derek’s wolf, not nearly as strong or with the same kind of stamina. But he likes to pretend he is. Likes to tangle himself between Derek’s front and hind legs to trip him up, heart racing at the sound of Derek’s jaws snapping at the back of his neck as Derek falls into pursuit.
Sometimes Stiles will change back mid chase, bare feet pounding against the forest floor and cheeks flushed red with excitement, hair all askew. It never takes long for Derek to catch up, to throw his solid arms around Stiles’ naked shoulders and yank him back to a full stop, their bodies tumbling to the ground as Stiles laughs and laughs and laughs into the warm press of Derek’s mouth against his own.
Stiles doesn’t heal quite as fast as Derek can, and that makes Derek fret and mutter worried curses under his breath as he tends to Stiles’ (minor) scrapes and bruises. It’s all too easy for Derek to gently manhandle Stiles onto the couch, Stiles’ body all soft and pliant, tuckered out from the day’s chase.
“You worry too much,” Stiles says, voice sleep-tinged as he arches his throat and tilts his head back onto the pillows, lets Derek touch and feel and make sure Stiles’ bones are sewing back together as they should.
He hears Derek sigh, feels the couch dip beneath the weight of Derek’s body as he settles in close. Stiles hums, a pleased smile tugging at his mouth, eyes heavy-lidded as he snuffles his face against Derek’s throat and finds the heat trapped there, the mixture of sweat and spice and the richness of earth still clinging to Derek’s skin.
Derek sets his large palm against the back of Stiles’ neck, holds Stiles’ wriggling body still against his own.
“I’mma fox, remember?” Stiles mumbles, words slurring thickly around his tongue.
Derek huffs out a soft laugh, drags his fingernails up the shape of Stiles’ scalp.
“Is that a fact,” he muses, rests his thumb at that tender spot behind Stiles’ ear and Stiles goes predictably boneless against Derek’s side, a blissed out whine stirring in the back of his throat.
Derek smiles, allows himself to sink deeper into the cushions, chin tilting against Stiles’ forehead.
“Go to sleep, silly fox.“
Happy
lateBirthday @acaranna!!!!
Stiles pads into the kitchen, careful not to trip on one of the many dogs that seem to litter the floors. Derek is standing at the stove, the smell of bacon filling the air and sending a growl to Stiles’ stomach. Stiles isn’t the only one who smells the cooking bacon, and it’s no surprise that there is a small group of dogs all of whom are wagging their tales waiting for a piece to “fall” on the floor.
“Smells good,” Stiles says as he closes the space between himself and Derek. He wraps his hands around Derek’s stomach and tucks his nose into Derek’s neck. “But you don’t need to tell me that,” he laughs knowing that there has to be a few more wet noses surrounding them. In true Derek fashion, there is way more bacon being made than can be eaten by the two of them.
“T’s Sunday,” Derek answers, because all the dogs get a piece of bacon in their bowl on Sunday mornings. It’s been tradition for nearly 40 years.
“Don’t forget, the kids are coming over today,” Stiles says as he looks down to the dozen sets of eyes looking at them.
“Yeah, Vivian called while you were still asleep. They’ll be here for lunch,” Derek flips another bunch of bacon onto the plate next to the stove.
“Great, I’ll start doling out medication,” Stiles kisses Derek’s neck again, running his hand through the hair that is still somehow black but thinning at the sides.
“I already took mine,” Derek says.
Stiles pads across the kitchen to the huge amount of medication bottles with lists of names that go along with them. The bowls are brought in from their place in the garage. Stiles makes sure the medications go into the right bowls. Cans of wet dog food get spooned into each bowl and another scoop of dry dog food on top. The bowls are stirred to make sure that the medications get covered so they’ll be eaten.
Derek finishes with the bacon and takes to plate to Stiles’ assembly line. A single piece of bacon is added to each bowl. They both load up on bowls and make their way to the backyard, a pack of old dogs follow them.
One by one they call the dogs by name and they come to where their bowl is set down and dig in. All the dogs have their bowls and Stiles and Derek watch to make sure no one goes in for seconds on someone else’s food.
Stiles’ back is a little achy this morning, he’s expecting it to hurt all day, even if he takes a painkiller. Derek leans over and kisses Stiles’ bald head.
The go back inside once all the bowls are empty and make their own breakfast. Stiles has egg whites and toast, and Derek has a bowl of cereal. They go around and check on all the dogs, Louis, their oldest resident follows Stiles around like a puppy, and jumps on the couch slowly to cuddle when the tv turns on.
All around the tv mantle are pictures of their family over the years. Their wedding so many years ago, both of them so much younger. The day Vivian was born, Stiles and Derek holding her in the hospital right after their surrogate delivered her. A picture of the three of them in front of the courthouse with the addition of Devin holding a sign that said ‘after 1,697 days in foster care, I’m going home!”. Their daughter’s wedding, and the birth of her kids. Their son’s graduation pictures from law school, and his wedding. There’s even a picture of their first family dog, a stray Vivian picked up on one of her walks home from school. They named him Bart, and he’s the one who started Sunday Bacon.
He’s the reason Derek and Stiles’ home somehow became a home for old dogs.
Slowly, over the years people would leave their dogs with them that they couldn’t take care of, usually old. 40 years and somewhere close to 200 dogs later, they have a facebook following that rivals the Old Friends Senior Dog Sanctuary.
They sit and watch tv, waiting for their kids and grandkids to come over. The grandkids get to exercise the dogs, especially some of the younger ones that show up on their doorstep. It’s a happy existence for sure. After so many years of fight monsters of the week and worrying about the greater good, they finally get to relax. Even if their retirement includes 15 dogs and a tortoise.
I am actually crying right now this is perfect 😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️
So was using ‘inspirobot’ and then this hits me in the feels.
I wanna thank Lady Drace’s Sterek Bar, especially @ladydrace for the beta ❤
Read on AO3
Derek Hale left. He left because he didn’t know what else to do. He had nothing left so he just didn’t return there after Mexico. He wandered, or well, drove, around for quite some time. Never staying more than a day here and there until he found himself in yet another small town. Always with the small towns but this one close to mountains. He bought a small cottage just outside of town.
He was just so tired of everything. He would just live out the rest of his life here No one would know where he was and it wasn’t like anyone actually cared – He ignored the voice in his head that sounded very much like someone he never said a proper goodbye to back in Mexico – about what happens to him. So here he would stay.
Days turned into weeks, which turned into months.
‘You might be considering yourself a hermit dear, but you are still invited to come to all the events going on in town,’ Mrs. Jackson pointed out when she yet again found him browsing the event board outside the town’s library. ‘You do not have to share your entire life just because you take some time to spend with other people.’
He gave her a small smile and said a quiet goodbye. Most of the townsfolk he had come across seemed to be decent people, but then again he wasn’t the best judge of character if his past was anything to go by. Several of them had invited him to join them in all kinds of activities, which he had politely declined.
But he was running out of excuses, even to himself. Mrs. Jackson was right, he didn’t have to share his entire life to have some human interaction that was more than the ordering at the restaurant or the hellos in the stores.
That’s what found him almost sneaking into the Town Hall later that week for the monthly town meeting. He wasn’t sure it was the best place to start, but if he wanted to know more about the town and going ons, then town meetings sounded like a good place to start.
So here he was, sitting down in the back, next to one of the Mr. Thompsons – His partner was up on the stage, and if Derek had gotten it right the other Mr. Thompson was on the town council – you pick up a lot of things when just walking around town.
‘Evening.’ Mr. Thompson said with a nod, and turned back to listen to the Mayor. Derek nodded and did the same.
After the meeting there were some coffee and tea being served by Sarah – ‘Just call me Sarah’ – the diner owner just across the street from Town Hall.
‘Glad to see you here, dear.’ Mrs. Jackson said, patting him on the arm.
After that he started doing other things in town. He joined the book circle and the knitting group – Stiles would have a field day if he could see Derek, not that Derek thought about what Stiles thought or didn’t think. And somehow he was tricked – never listen to Jamie and Joe, they have all kinds of ideas – into selling what the things he knitted in the little store in town.
‘Would you mind doing commissions, Derek?’ Joe asked one morning when Derek was helping him carry groceries for the people who had trouble getting to the store when it’s was so icy and snowy outside.
‘Commissions? No? I guess I wouldn’t mind. Why? Want me to do something for you?’
‘Yeah, I told you about the website right? Yeah, and people have been asking about if they could commission you for work since most of the things you’ve done keep getting sold out.’
Derek put most of the money he made from his knitting back into knitting projects, and to help Mrs. Jackson make baked goods for the meetings and such.
‘Would you mind taking a couple commissions? And we’ll figure out time frames and everything for every project and we can set up-’ Joe kept talking about it and Derek kinda enjoyed the idea of things he made making people happy in other places, and told Joe as much and sat down with him and his son later that day to go over estimated times for typical things he made and such. Derek wasn’t inept with laptops – thank you very much, Stiles-voice-in-his-head. Derek is not a complete tech failure – but he trusted Jeramy to handle the actual page. He would just, you know, make the actual projects.
And as spring is around the corner he feels like he hears a sound he shouldn’t be hearing here, not so far away from Beacon Hills.
‘So. Knitting.’ Derek can hear the smile before he sees it as he turns around and sees Stiles, looking the same and yet so different. Derek is fairly sure the hat and the scarf are both things he made a couple months back.
‘That’s what you decided to start with?’ Derek says, and without much thought pulls him into a hug. ‘Haven’t seen you in years-’
‘I missed you.’ Stiles says as he buries his face in Derek’s neck. ‘I missed you so freaking much you have no idea.’
‘I missed you too. Fuck Stiles.’ A throat clearing makes them move away from each other – not by much but still – to look at the one interrupting them.
‘Sorry dear, I just wanted to have the last of my groceries.’ Mrs. Jackson said with a smile, reaching for the last of her bags by their feet. ‘Then feel free go back to this lovely reunion and please, Derek, dear, bring your friend over for dinner on Friday.’
They blush and laugh and Derek doesn’t care, because Stiles is here, holding his hand and smiling at him.
Derek had thought he didn’t have anything or anyone to make his life matter. But a small town in the mountains proved him wrong and he has never been happier about being wrong. Especially when Stiles tells him he wants to stay.
For Cat C, who answered my call for Sterek prompts!
Prompt: Stiles so convinced he’ll screw up a spell that he’s flailing and unable to focus to DO the thing, until Derek kisses him to distract him
———
You can do this, he told himself, hands trembling as he traced off the first rune, light welling under his bloodied fingertips. The rune flared and then fizzled, misformed, and he tried again, willing his body to cooperate. You have to do this.
Without meaning to, his gaze flicked up to Derek, flat on his back and bleeding all over the darkened cement. His breath caught, his heart hammering in his chest as his vision went a little fuzzy with the rush of adrenaline and fear.
“Stiles,” Derek said, and it lacked his usual ire.
“I’m- I’m here,” Stiles replied quickly, scooting closer on his knees. “I’m trying, but I just…” He trailed off, not sure how to explain that he had done this a thousand times with Deaton, but never in the field. Never when it mattered.
Shoving those thoughts aside, Stiles focused again on the runes on his skin, heart still too fast and his mind screaming his fears at him. Too much blood. Too many wounds. Not enough time. You’ve never combined runes before. You can’t.
He didn’t realize he had stopped, shaking too badly to do anything, until Derek laid a hand over his. When he looked up, he caught Derek’s pale gaze and everything seemed to slow down a little. Derek smiled, and tugged Stiles forward as he struggled halfway to a sitting position. Stiles closed his eyes as Derek’s lips pressed against his cheek, and then Derek flopped back to the ground with a pained grunt.
A kiss for luck. How many times had Derek done that while he was learning? This was new, but it was the same- another learning experience. Another challenge.
Stiles opened his eyes. He had stopped shaking.
“You’ve got this,” Derek mumbled. “C’mon.”
Stiles let out his breath and drew in another before slowly tracing over the first rune again. It lit green as he poured his will into it, wanting to heal, wanting to mend. It stayed when he drew it off his skin, shimmering and bright while he traced the second rune, and the third. He twined them together almost blindly.
“Derek,” he said loudly, and Derek’s eyes cracked open again, burning red as his body tried to heal through the effects of the infectious bites. At least he was still alive. At least Stiles still stood a chance at saving him.
Without further hesitation, Stiles pressed the rune set into the worst of the wounds, the light twisting and fragmenting before it began to seep outward, blurring the edges until it was a blanket of light instead. The wound consumed the light, the energy, the power of the rune and Stiles watched as it began to heal, finally. After a moment, the others began to follow suit, slowly but surely knitting back together.
Stiles slumped as soon as the last of the light had faded. Derek had still lost a lot of blood, and he would be weak for a while, but the worst of it was over. They were going to be okay.
(Maybe some remember my post about the toothpaste event.)
“Stiles!”
“Derek.”
“What the hell is that?”
“What is what?” Stiles asks as he walks into the bathroom where Derek stands in front of their bathroom sink. Above it is their mirrored bathroom cabinet with one side open.
In answer Derek just turns his head to glare at Stiles.
Stiles rolls his eyes and walks over to get a look at the open cabinet.
“Ohhhh. You mean our awesome and super cool toothpastes.”
“What.”
“They had this double toothpaste box on sale and had an event where you can order your own personalized stickers. Like honey and sweetheart. I thought just using our names would be good enough.”
Derek looks at his rambling boyfriend and has one of these moments where he asks himself, why he is even dating that idiot. Who even orders name stickers for toothpaste? Why is that even a thing??
He sighs and shakes his head.
“What, you don’t like them?” Stiles asks with a small pout.
“Of course not,” Derek answers with a grin. And before Stiles can start on another rant Derek kisses him on the lips and says, “But I like you enough to keep them. This once.”
Stiles looks smug and Derek stops rolling his eyes after the third time he uses the toothpaste.
celestesloman: Happy Sunday! Portrait of Tyler Hoechlin 📸📸 shot for @observer [color version of this picture]
I saw this and burst out laughing because…
This is Derek Hale, freshly returned to Beacon Hills, or maybe just somewhere in N. VA, falling back on old habits. He’s been lurking and creeping and following Stiles around for WEEKS, and it was cute at first, but finally Stiles started texting him every time.
You’re not subtle, Sourwolf.
Or
I see you. The ice cream truck driver sees you. All the parents? Also see you. You are going to end up on bad-touch posters. Stop it. Come out and talk to me like a normal person.
This? Is him a few days later, still creeping. He’s watching Stiles walk his cat (yes, Stiles has trained his cat to walk on a leash and they are the terror of the dog park). As Stiles starts to turn around, Derek drops down into the overgrown grass, no longer even looking in Stiles’ direction.
He thinks he’s gotten away with it, just for a second. Just until his phone pings again. He’s too busy pulling his phone from his pocket and unlocking it to notice the soft swish of grass against cloth.
“Derek.”
Derek freezes in the tall grass, panicking for no reason, right up until a fluffy Himalayan cat crawls right up into his lap and starts kneading places that should not be kneaded.
“Stiles!” His own voice comes out higher-pitched than normal as he tries to figure out a way to detach Stiles’ cat from his lap.
Stiles drops into a crouch beside him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reaches out one long-fingered hand to scritch the cat under its chin before lifting amused eyes to meet Derek’s. “If you agree to come back to my apartment, I’ll call off the attack-kitty.”
In that moment, looking into Stiles’ so-familiar eyes and feeling weeks of anxiety melt away, Derek can’t actually remember why he’d been lurking for so long.
When he says as much to Stiles, Stiles throws his head back in an unreserved laugh that lasts long minutes before he calms himself enough to wipe his eyes and say, “Old habits die hard, I guess. Come on, big guy. I’ve got a slow drip coffee pot, cheap grounds, and store brand creamer with your name on it. Let’s go.” And then he gives the leash in his hand a gentle tug and the cat crawls off Derek’s lap and a hand is there in his field of vision offering to help him back to his feet.
Yeah, this feels familiar.
Imagine Stiles gets out of bed on a lazy Sunday morning, pulling on one of Derek’s really baggy jumper, then he makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen where he hugs Derek sleepily.
The first coherent thought Stiles was able to make was ‘noooooo’. No because it was Sunday morning and Derek wasn’t beside him, and they had rules! One of those rules was Sunday Mornings are for cuddles! Cuddles!! Derek is not here to cuddle with!
Stiles reached out trying to find some sort of warmth on Derek’s side of the bed. Nothing. Groaning Stiles rolled over, letting himself roll onto the floor while twisting the blankets around himself so he would be properly cocooned. Standing was complicated but he managed, mumbling unhappily the whole walk downstairs.
The kitchen smelt good, which meant Derek was probably cooking, which okay yeah, that was nice (especially after the seven orgasms Stiles had the night before) but cuddles were nicer! Entering the kitchen Stiles had to pause for a minute. Sometimes, sometimes not often, he forgot how gorgeous Derek was. Frankly he was perfect. Even now, four years into their marriage he was beautiful. He was no no longer all hard muscle. He was thicker, his thighs fatter, his ass rounder. He was even forming a bit of a gut. His beard was thick and long, and his hair was shaggy and he was perfect. Stiles was so fucking into it.
Stiles, too, was softer. Marriage.
Continuing to curse out his husband under his breath he made his way to him – angrily! – and plastered himself to Derek’s back.
“You left the fucking bed you asshole.” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s tattoo, breathing open mouthed onto the skin.
Derek just laughed, turning and wrapping his arms around Stiles and nuzzling into his neck, “I’m making breakfast, my love.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes, pressing a kiss to Derek’s forehead despite himself, “We have rules Derek. Our home has rules! We agreed Sunday morning are for cuddles!!”
Derek turned back around, facing the stove to finish whatever he was cooking and Stiles resumed his place plastered against Derek’s back, “You’re right. I’m sorry dear. I made pancakes?”
“Trying to bribe me with food I see.” Stiles mumbled, kissing Derek’s back and shoulders in a more focused way, “Well it’s working.”
“We can cuddle for the rest of the day, how about that?”
“You better fucking believe it.” Stiles grumbled, nipping at the back of Derek’s neck to empathize his point.
Sunday cuddles were a rule, after all.
Why have I never read a fic where Stiles asks “what the Hale Derek?” (Instead of what the hell. Maybe it’s only mt grain that makes that connection) And then he just probably loses it laughing, while Derek looks on unamused but secretly laughing a little on the inside
library-of-miscellaneous-subtext:
😀 omg yes, I love this. But the question is, would Stiles do it intentionally? Would he have thought of it some day while at school or doing homework and just be itching to use it for days, weeks maybe, until Derek gave him the opportunity?
Or would it just come out by accident, during a fight maybe? An explosion of tension, frustration, Derek being too damn self-sacrificing and stubborn, Stiles being too reckless and… yeah, ok, stubborn, both of them totally intractable and Stiles could just reach over and shake Derek if he thought it would actually move that unfair mass of wolfy-strength and hard muscle, but instead he just rolls his eyes, spits out “What the Hale, Derek?”
And the air goes shock-silent for a second as they both process what he’d said, and then Stiles is crumpling over with laughter because what the Hale, what the Hale, Derek? It’s just… so absurd and so ridiculously, perfectly encapsulating this whole situation. Shouting at each other because they care too much, because they’re too damn worried about each other and don’t care enough what happens to themselves and… and he’s got tears in his eyes, holding his gut laughing because when the–– when the Hale had that happened? Caring about Derek? Derek caring about him back? Derek huffing out frustrated breaths, snapping at him to stay behind “so you’ll be–– so you won’t get in the way.”
So he’d be safe. That was the word not quite slipping off Derek’s lips. Somehow, somewhere along the way, Derek had stopped worrying about Stiles being a liability and started worrying about him getting hurt, and that’s so perfectly, beautifully bizarre because what is his life, honestly? That he’s worried about Derek too, needs to be in this fight next to him because he needs to know he did whatever he could to keep Derek alive, to make sure he could get home so they could have this same stupid fight all over again next time, and that’s…
Derek’s staring at Stiles like he’s lost his mind but there’s something just under the edge of that determinedly bored look. A bare hint of soft, exasperated fondness that Stiles just wants to lean in and kiss from those barely upturned lips––
His laughter dies on a sharp, hiccuped breath, his own thoughts hitting like a fast fall into warm water. Shocking but… strangely comfortable. Strangely right. And Derek’s looking at him like he’s felt the shift too, expression losing that forced gruffness, eyes traveling in faintly confused, stunned and longing flutters between Stiles’ eyes and his lips.
And what the Hale, right?
“We’re both idiots,” Stiles murmurs, and leans in.
Adding a little fic, I really want to do a series using all the ridiculous hale puns I can think of.
***
It’s pretty terrible living across the country from Derek. Sure, Stiles misses his Dad, Scott, and their pack, but there’s something almost physically painful about being so far away from his mate. Stiles isn’t sure how he’s survived not having Derek around all the time, he just knows he’s getting damn sick of it.
Of course they Skype and call and text, but its not quite enough to ease the ache in Stiles’s chest. He’s probably not going to come back next semester, he’s already submitted his transfer papers, he’s just waiting on a response. Not that he’s told anyone this yet, he wants it to be a surprise.
But yea… Today is one of those days where he feels the distance the most keenly. Its been dark all day and the rain doesn’t seem to be letting up any time soon. It hadn’t been raining when he’d left his apartment this morning, so he hadn’t bothered with an umbrella. He’s regretting not looking at the weather forecast last time.
“You’re an idiot, Stilinski. You could have gone for coffee, called Derek and had a ridiculously sweet conversation with your boyfriend. But nooooo,” Stiles whines, “You had to be impatient, just because you were in a hurry to have Skype sex with your boyfriend.” Stiles moves faster, tucking his cold fingers beneath his armpits, not that it makes much difference. He’s drenched through, freezing and he’s still only half way to his apartment. He’s probably just lucky he didn’t bring his laptop today. He could have stayed on campus longer but he’d just wanted to go home and curl up in bed.
But he’s an idiot.
The first hail stone bounces of his shoulder just as he’s turning onto his street and it shocks him so much that he manages to flail straight off the path into the grass and slip in some mud.
His feet slid out from under him and his tumbling backwards. He lands ass first in the mud, hands braced out behind him to stop him falling backwards and that’s when it starts hailing for real.
It hurts, each bit of hail is about the size of a ball bearing and they’re coming down hard and fast, he’s going to end up bruised.
Stiles stands and runs, ignores the mud on his clothes and the ice pelting down on him. He can see his apartment building in the distance, he’s can total make it.
Two minutes later he slides to a stop under the eaves of his building and falls back against the wall, breathing hard.
Stiles… Stiles laughs. He’s covered in mud, drenched to the bone, freezing, dirty, but he’s home. He probably looks like a mad man, but he honestly doesn’t care, this day has been a mess.
“Clearly the universe hates me.” Stiles pulls his phone from his pocket, its not to damp and it doesn’t look like its gotten damaged. He wipes it off as best as he can then swipes across the screen to unlock it.
Sourwolf <3: How was class?
Stiles grins, he’s pretty sure Derek has Stiles’s timetable memories before he did. There’s almost always a text or a Snapchat from Derek waiting for him when he leaves class. It’s nice, it reminds Stiles that the distance is just as painful for Derek.
Me: It was fine
Stiles doesn’t think there are enough text messages in the world to summaries how he feels right now. He wants to go upstairs and rant to Derek about how miserable this fucking day has been. He wants to do it in person, not over Skype. He wants to be close enough that he can bury his face in Derek’s neck and then just kiss Derek until the world fades away and everything feels better.
Stiles wants to tell Derek how much he misses him. How much he loves him and how much he can’t wait to be home. His phone buzzes.
Sourwolf <3: Is everything okay?
Because of course Derek knows something is wrong with Stiles from just one text message. Stiles smiles, he can imagine the way Derek would be frowning at his phone right now. It’s kind of adorable.
The hail is starting to build up now, it’s not melting fast enough in the cool air. Stiles knows exactly what he needs to say to Derek.
He opens Snapchat on his phone and grabs a handful of hail off the ground. He holds it up besides his face and snaps a picture.
He captions it with ‘It’s been a hale of a day without you here.’ Stiles sends it with a laugh, throws the hail out onto the lawn and heads inside.
When he checks his phone after his shower Derek has sent him a frowny face emoji in reply, but Stiles knows it’s all lies.
‘Derek has taken a screenshot of your snap.’
Sterek AU: After Stiles graduates from university, he and Derek go on a celebratory camping trip with their dog. They roast marshmallows and go skinny-dipping and camp out in the Jeep one night when the weather is particularly awful, because Derek may be a werewolf but Stiles is still pale skin and fragile bones and he always runs a little bit cold. They tip their canoe and get sprayed by a skunk, and Derek forgets to seal their food properly one night so they wake up to an ant infestation.
Stiles watches Derek catch fish with his bare hands. He picks all of the M&Ms out of their trail mix while they watch the sunrise, and Derek doesn’t complain once, even though he’s left with all of the raisins and he hates raisins.
They have hate-sex against a tree, and then Stiles carves their initials into it. He takes a picture of his masterpiece, even though Derek thinks he’s an idiot. When they get home, Stiles prints out the photo and sticks it on their fridge. Derek prints a copy for himself and puts it in his wallet.
shealwaysreads 