Sterek, 2.5K words, Teen
AU, Firefighter Derek
In which Derek is the grumpy neighborhood firefighter, and Stiles is a bit of a lovestruck idiot.
Stiles winces as he turns the corner, unbearably nervous like he always is whenever he drives Lydia’s car, and pulls into the fire station. He offered this morning to help her with any errands she needed, and she asked him to take her car to the fire station and have them install the car seat. Stiles had no idea this was even a thing—seriously, how hard is it to put in a car seat?—but unsurprisingly, Lydia is as fastidious about her unborn child’s safety as she is about everything else.
He parks just outside the front door, careful not to block the big bays with the two fire trucks, and wanders inside. “Hello?” he calls out. There’s a noise coming from the other side of the fire truck, so Stiles keeps walking in that direction, then nearly trips over his own two feet.
There’s a guy, crouched down as he washes the wheel well of the fire truck, and Stiles is 101 percent sure that he’s the most attractive person he’s ever seen. He’s frowning, as if he’s pissed at the task in front of him, but it only serves to show off the sharp cut of his jaw under a very nicely-shaped short beard. He’s wearing a tight short-sleeved SFFD t-shirt, which is wet in patches and very clearly showing off the muscled physique underneath.
“Holy shit.”
The guy’s head jerks up at that, his eyes wide, and his gaze locks with Stiles’ for a long second before slowly drifting down the rest of his body. Stiles damn near forgets how to breathe because yep, this impossibly hot dude is most definitely checking him out.
Stiles has never believed in love at first sight, and he still doesn’t, but as of this moment he most certainly does believe in…familiarity at first sight? Cosmic connection? Just plain lust? He has no fucking clue.
But he yelps a little in surprise, then actually manages to trip over nothing, only catching himself by clutching the pillar next to him, which oh fuck, is actually the fire pole. He finally rights himself, grimacing with both arms spread for balance, and then slaps a hand over his eyes with a plaintive groan.
“Oh my god. Hi, hello, my name is Stiles. Uh, any chance we can start over and pretend that this excruciatingly embarrassing encounter didn’t happen?”
Tag: fluff
14. “Come here, I want to cuddle” and Stoyd please?
Stoy – 14. “Come here, I want to cuddle"
Boyd is always the strong one. Not because he has to be but because he wants to, has a need for it. It comes naturally to him and with Stiles as his partner, someone reckless and in need of being taken care of, it just works for them.
But there are days when being the strong one is more than can be asked of him and he just wants to do nothing.
Of course, Stiles picks up on this because he is intelligent but also because he can read Boyd better than anyone has ever been able to – Boyd has let him get closer than anyone ever has before.
Stiles doesn’t point out anything, just offers in that way of his that makes it seem like Boyd is the one doing him the favour instead of the other way around. The werewolf really loves his partner for it.
They are just taking a day off from socializing, taking time to just enjoy each other’s company when the demand comes out.
“Come here, I want to cuddle.” Stiles demands, eyes large in his face as he wriggles to lie himself down on the couch. It’s such an easy demand to adhere to so Boyd makes his way over.
Boyd goes to lie behind Stiles but Stiles shakes his head and pats the space before him. “You’re the little spoon today.”
And that makes Boyd take a deep breath in a mixture of relief and happiness because his partner always knows what Boyd needs. He gratefully snuggles down in front of Stiles and leans back into the strong arms that embrace him.
Stiles grabs up one of Boyd’s hands and starts gently rubbing. Boyd didn’t think it was possible to carry tension in ones hand, but apparently it is because he can feel it easing and he sighs.
Boyd grabs up the hand rubbing his and places a kiss on the knuckles before allowing Stiles to continue his massage.
So eighth year and McGonagalls put everyone that came back to finish up their last year in the third floor corridor or in the tower under the owlery.
But that part of the castle’s been abandoned for years so the heating charms are completely naff and it’s always too cold.
One night both Draco and Harry are in the common room after insomnia, for Draco, and nightmares, for Harry, kept them from their beds. They’ve pushed a couch up next to the main fireplace but it’s still fucking freezing.
Draco cannot stop shivering and is sitting right on the edge of the couch and holding his hands out to the fire. Harry’s leaning back, just wearing an old jumper and jeans he threw on, looking completely at ease.
Harry sat up with a start, the last swirling vestiges of his nightmare dissipating into the darkness. The loudest sound in the room was his breathing, coming out in heaving gasps. He no longer woke up screaming. He had trained himself out of it somehow, hating the worried expressions Molly would give him when he stayed the summer there, hating the awkward, helpless ‘you alright, mate?’ from Ron, hating the hugs and talks from Hermione. He screamed in his dreams and awoke with only silent gasps and the faint taste of blood from biting the inside of his cheek.
Harry pushed his blankets back and slipped out of the dorm he shared with Ron and Neville. He made his way to the common room, enjoying the feeling of the cold air on his overheated skin, cooling the sweat on his back and making him feel like he could breathe again. Ever since he had died in the last battle, he constantly felt he was overheating, like coming back from the dead had put his body into overdrive. Harry sometimes had dreams of being a phoenix and bursting into flames, heat and fire prickling under his skin, making him something new and yet old as well.
There was someone sitting by the fire in the common room, which had been stoked up high, flickering with red and orange light that didn’t seem able to pierce the cold room. He thought it was Ron or Ginny for a second but once his eyes focused Harry realized it was just the reflection of the fire off his white blond hair.
Draco had pushed one end of the sofa right in front of the fireplace and sat on the edge of the plush violet cushion with his hands so close the fire had to hurt. Yet he was still shivering. Draco stared at the fire blankly, looking through the flames without seeing them. Deep shadows of exhaustion ringed his eyes, just as they had every day since this ‘eighth’ year had started.
Harry sat down on the other side of the couch.
Draco startled, jumping visibly, his hand twitching to his wand until he saw it was Harry and hesitated.
“Sorry,” Harry said softly.
Draco relaxed slightly, dropping his hand and glaring half-heartedly at Harry, “Merlin Potter, can’t you just go to sleep like a normal person?”
“I sleep,” Harry said pushing his glasses up to rub his eyes.
Draco snorted. “When?” he said acidly.
“Between nightmares,” Harry said, irritably pulling off his glasses and trying to clean the smudges that he had just made, “When do you sleep, Draco?”
Draco frowned, still put off by Harry’s use of his first name but Harry refused to go back to Malfoy or anything that had to do with their stupid childhood feud.
“Around three or four, if I’m lucky,” Draco said with surprising honesty.
Harry nodded and sighed, “Yeah.” He glanced at the fire but felt his gaze torn away by Draco staring at him. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
Heartbreaker (Danny/Stiles)
Anonymous
said: Danny/Stiles
– “you kissed me on the playground the day before you moved away in the 4th
grade and now your dorm is right across from mine” [x2]I had two anonymous prompts for this ship & pairing, so I hope both of you Nonnies enjoy this! This is fic #23 in the 2017 Prompt Challenge!
Heartbreaker. Danny/Stiles. Teen. Also on AO3.
Stiles isn’t very impressed with college, but then he runs into someone that he hasn’t seen since fourth grade, and things start to look up.
College is supposed to be this great, awesome thing.
According to the movies and mainstream pop culture, high school is the worst
years of your life, and college is the best. It’s all a bunch of shit because
college isn’t that much different from high school at all. There are still
stuck up snotty people who are pretty, popular, and rich. There are still
groups of social outcasts that don’t really fit anywhere. There are nerds and
creative artist types and jocks and all the traditional stereotypes that litter
high schools around the world.Stiles isn’t at all impressed.
Yeah but like, give me Stiles growin up a bit and coming home his first summer back from college all hot and confident.
Then give me him finding this swimming hole one day in the preserve, because he likes to be on his own sometimes. He’s gotten used to a normal, rigid structure.
Beacon Hills is the antithesis of what Stiles really needs in life.
ALSO Derek is back in town. Maybe he never left, who cares canon is a joke. As it happens, guys, it’s the SAME swimming hole that Derek used to frequent with his sisters but hasn’t been back to since the fire.
Obviously by some twist of fate, which seems to happen quite a lot around Stiles and Derek, he decides to visit the swimming hole one hot afternoon in July and lo behold who does he discover.
Derek probably doesn’t immediately recognize him by sight, but he knows the rhythm of Stiles heartbeat like his own by now. It kept him going for eight hours trying not to drown.
But Stiles is grown up, and Derek is so used to him beneath layers of clothing it takes a moment to register the Stiles he knew to the nineteen year old in front of him, thigh deep skinny dipping.
Because also, Stiles is naked. When he turns he startles but doesn’t seem otherwise phased by Derek’s presence. Instead he moves closer to the pebbled shore, and Derek.
“Wasn’t really expecting…company,” Stiles half apologizes.
“Yeah, I’ll just-”
“I said wasn’t expecting, not didn’t want it,” Stiles says. Before Derek can respond Stiles turns and dives back into the water, disappearing beneath the surface.
So, naturally, Derek strips and they swim and it probably should be weird but it isn’t. Then it happens a few more times and it’s all very PG until Derek asks one day, “what are we doing? Here, exactly,” sort of vaguely but not.
Stiles looks at him for a short pause, treading water, “some kind of gay chicken, I think,” he says before bursting into laughter. It’s the sort of confirmation Derek needs to slide his hands around Stiles’ thighs, and pull him in. Derek kisses Stiles while he’s distracted and unsuspecting but he kisses back, still smiling.
Then of course, later, on the sun soaked rocks around the ravine Derek stretches out, and Stiles sucks him off.
Parrish is dizzy standing completely still and then Isaac starts trying to climb him like a tree. “If I put my claws in your face, let me know,” he slurs out in Parrish’s ear, as though he needs to be told to do that.
16 for the prompts, please? I love your writing!
16. “I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.”
Derek didn’t hate being a bartender, he made good tips, the hours were flexible so he had time to rehearse with his band, and he was pretty good at it. What he did hate, was getting hit on by drunk people all night, and the drunker they got, the bolder they got.
Tonight was no exception. It was Saturday which meant the bar was packed and Derek was busy enough that he could ignore the tall blonde guy that had been leering at him since he walked in with his friends a few hours prior.
Around 1:30 the bar started to clear out, which made Derek breathe a sigh of relief, he was exhausted and they had been so busy that neither he, nor Erica could slip out from behind the bar to do any of the restocking that they needed to before they could leave tonight.
Derek slipped out from behind the bar and made his way through the thinned out crowd to the back room where the beer cooler was.
He changed three of the tapped kegs, grabbed a box and filled it with the liquors they needed, and then grabbed a case of beer before he slipped out the door and started back toward the bar.
He had barely made it three feet before the blonde guy was approaching him. He walked faster, darting out of the man’s pack and got behind the bar before the guy could talk to him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t stand there and talk while Derek tried to do his job.
“You’re too sexy to be a bartender,” The guy slurred out, leaning hard on the bar in a way that told Derek he had been over served. He shot Erica a look and she just shrugged and went back to wiping down the counter.
“I think you could use some water,” Derek said instead of acknowledging the comment. He found the best way to deal with unwanted advances was to ignore them.
“You’re a tall drink of,” the guy hiccuped, “Water.”
Derek set a plastic cup in front of the man and found his hand being grabbed, “Please let go.”
“I’ll never let go,” The guy said and then he giggled. Derek tugged his hand away and the guy said, “Don’t be like that baby, let me take you home.”
“No,” Derek said, voice firm. He was saved from any more comments by one of his regulars, Stiles, stepping up to the bar and leaning over so he and Derek could half hug. Stiles hadn’t been around much this week and Derek had missed him, “The usual?”
The guy looked between Stiles and Derek for a moment before muttering, “Has a fucking boyfriend,” and walking away.
“I’ll kick his ass if you want me to,” Stiles said with a grin that made Derek’s stomach flip.
“Nah, he’s just a drunk ass, I deal with them all the time,” Derek said with a smile. “You’re in here late.”
“I just got back from a business trip out west,” Stiles said, “And I couldn’t miss seeing your sunshiny face, not after not seeing you at all this week.”
“We’ve texted,” Derek said, “And Snapchatted.”
“It’s not as good as the real thing,” Stiles said with a wink.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were hitting on me,” Derek said, the smile still on his face.
“If I was?”
“I’d be okay with it.”
“Then I am,” Stiles said, “Brunch tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Derek said, he could feel his ears burning and was grateful that it was dark in the bar. “I’ll text you my address, you can pick me up.”
“See you then,” Stiles said, leaning over the bar and kissing Derek on the cheek before he turned and left. The blonde guy glared at him as he walked away, but Derek barely saw him, he was too transfixed by Stiles.
Drabble Challenge: 1-150
“You need some help there?” Stiles/Danny
Stiles knows how to restring his lacrosse stick, he really does. He’s done it at least once a month for almost 4 years, but how is he suppose to focus on the strings when Danny just walked into the locker room and strips his shirt off right in his line of site.
And look, he’s not staring, he isn’t creepy like Greenberg. It’s just that Danny is literally standing in front of him and he has really nice abs. Danny might be one of the biggest reason Stiles discovered his bisexuality, not that he would ever tell him that. Danny’d get a smug smile on his face and say something a little snarky about him before walking away leaving Stiles feeling a little bad and a little horny.
He looks back down at his stick and starts restringing it again, because he messed it up when the abs had shown up.
“You need some help there?” Danny asks, sounding genuine. He still doesn’t have a shirt on, in fact now he’s missing his pants too, his practice shorts are in his hand.
“Is this the kind of help you offered last year when I thought I was going to get virgin sacrificed?”
Danny laughs, his whole face lighting up, “Holding onto that grudge I see. It’s not like you would have slept with me anyway.”
“I would have!” Stiles all but yells, then lowers his voice and looks around the locker room before looking back at Danny, “I totally would have.”
“Huh,” Danny says, looking at Stiles like he’s seeing him for the first time. He takes Stiles stick from his hands and quickly restrings it before handing it back, “Well maybe next time we can do something about my old offer to help you out.”
Stiles stares at him, eyes wide, but Danny doesn’t say anything else. He just pulls on his shorts and a tee shirt before winking at Stiles and jogging out of the locker room toward the field, leaving Stiles with his lacrosse stick and some seriously dirty thoughts.
Send me little prompts.
For @sterektrashbag because she’s been feeling a little down lately and Sterek cuddles always make me feel better when I hit a low. Based on the Taylor Swift lyric one night he wakes, strange look on his face, pauses, then says “you’re my best friend” and you knew what it was, he is in love.
Thank you to @hoechlindylan for being a beautiful beta.
Stiles kicks back, startling awake.
He’s certain the dream is real; Derek is gone, he knows it. This time, he’s really dead.
Bracing himself for the worst, Stiles prepares to turn around; he can’t breathe, the sweat dripping down his face stinging his eyes. His head swims as he imagines Derek covered in blood, cold and lifeless – exactly as he was in his dream – but when he finally turns, he’s met with nothing but a sleeping face.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, touching Derek’s cheek.
“I’m okay,” Derek whispers back, smiling reassuringly instead of opening his eyes, bringing his hand up to cover Stiles’ shaking fingers.
Stiles tries to swallow the lump still in his throat, burying himself a little closer to Derek’s warmth, breathing him in. He doesn’t know if dating a werewolf has changed him much but lately, breathing Derek in, scenting him as hungrily as Derek scents him, has become the only comfort Stiles knows he can rely on when his head becomes too much. “They took you. I couldn’t get to you.”
“You would have,” Derek says, no hesitation.
Stiles shakes his head, clenching his fists. You were in so much pain. I couldn’t do anything. “I wasn’t enough.”
“You tried. That’s what matters.”
Stiles snorts because it’s expected of him, because Derek is teasing; laughs, even though it’s not funny. You died. Died because Stiles failed to get to him; because that’s what happens when someone loves him, they end up paying for it, regretting it.
“Stop thinking,” Derek chastises, pulling him closer. “You’re perfect. Maybe not to everyone else. Maybe you’ve done some shit. But you’re perfect to me and – wherever she is, I know she’s proud of you.”
He doesn’t realise he’s crying, doesn’t even notice his eyes are wet, until Derek rolls them both, cradling Stiles under him, shushing him. Stiles hates it when Derek tries to quiet him like this, like a child, but right now he welcomes it, shamelessly pushing his face further into Derek’s neck, filling his lungs with as much of him as he can, silently pleading for him not to disappear.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep. When he opens his eyes again, Derek has pulled back but he’s still there, close, real; staring at him, a funny look on his face.
“What?” Stiles asks, touching his pillow. “Was I drooling again?”
Derek shakes his head, even though Stiles can plainly feel he was drooling.
“Then why are you looking at me like that? Oh god,” he groans, “please tell me I wasn’t snoring. I am already the world’s most unattractive sleeper, I don’t need this too.”
“No, not snoring,” Derek leans in, surprising him with a kiss, “and for what it’s worth, I think Sleeping Beauty needs to hold onto her nightcap. You’re a beautiful sleeper.”
Stiles narrows his eyes. There is no amusement in Derek’s voice – he doesn’t even roll his eyes – and Stiles knows something is up. Derek always rolls his eyes; whether he’s teasing, playing or arguing. It’s their thing. They roll at one another. It’s how they say-
“You’re my best friend.”
Stiles blinks. “What?”
Derek shrugs, ducking his head, his tell-tale sign he’s blushing. “You’re my best friend. You don’t have to say it back or anything. I…just wanted to tell you.”
Stiles’ breath hitches. Derek has never used the L word before and Stiles has never asked him to; he doesn’t need him to. It’s in everything Derek does, from the way he gives Stiles his jacket when it’s cold out to the way he holds his hand for no reason at all; in every jar of peanut butter Derek makes him because he knows Stiles hates the store bought ones; in every blanket he covers him up with when he falls asleep researching. Stiles understands why Derek is afraid to say it; every time he has, something bad has happened, someone has died.
He exhales shakily. “Yeah?” he asks, even though he knows; he knows what Derek is trying to tell him.
Leaning in again, Derek kisses him for a second time and Stiles kisses back, heart pounding. “You’re my best friend,” he repeats, louder this time, beginning to shake a little.
Stiles slides his hands up Derek’s sides, uncertain which one of them he is trying to reassure. “You’ll always be my first call, Der,” he whispers back, cupping the side of his face. “You’re my favourite. You know that, right?”
Derek smiles, nods. “I do now.”
Rolling his eyes, Stiles laughs, the last bit of tension leaving his body. “You’re a dork, you know. You fool no-one, Hale.”
“Your dork,” Derek noses at him, nipping at his jaw playfully. “Do you want to know a fact about dorks?”
Stiles nods.
“They never leave you.”
You don’t know that, Stiles wants to say. Instead, he nips Derek back, eyes fluttering shut at the rough texture under his lips.
“Go to sleep, Stiles.”
“You first.”
“This isn’t a competition.”
“Like hell it isn’t.”
Derek rolls his eyes, sighing long and suffering, before manhandling Stiles onto his side, tucking himself in behind him. “Last one to fall asleep is a rotten egg.”
Stiles grins, lacing his fingers with Derek’s, squeezing them. “Original,” he says. Derek kisses his neck in return, snuffling at it, knowing it makes Stiles squirm, ticklish.
Derek puts a hand on his leg, stilling him. “Sleep.”
Stiles’ grin widens and he pulls Derek’s arms tighter around him. Love you too, Der.
Prompt: Getting undressed!
Growing up with werewolves, Derek was never taught to be ashamed of his body or to really care when others were in various stages of undress. They were constantly shifting in and out of wolf forms and ripping clothes that Derek got to the point of being uncomfortable in clothes, which is why the second he enters his apartment, he strips his shirt off.
The second he does, he can smell something and then he realizes someone is in his apartment. He actually looks up and sees Stiles sitting on his couch with a laptop on his lap.
“Um,” is all Derek can say.
“Um,” is all Stiles can say as he stares at Derek’s chest with a red face. “You’re not wearing a shirt anymore.”
“No,” Derek answers.
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