Stiles sounded so petulant Derek couldn’t hold back the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He huffed a laugh under his breath and spared a glance at him in the rearview mirror.
Stiles was bundled up in the backseat, cheek smushed against the glass of the window, using his hoodie as a makeshift pillow, eyes closed, brow furrowed. His hair was plastered to his head, still wet from being knocked into the river when Isaac had accidentally bumped into him too hard.
He wasn’t shivering anymore, which was good, the blanket Derek kept in the trunk wrapped securely around him. Occasionally Boyd, sitting beside Stiles in the backseat, would gently rub his back to make sure he was warm enough.
“You okay there, Batman?” Erica teased from Boyd’s other side, leaning forward to peer over her boyfriend’s shoulder. Stiles only groaned in response and flipped her the bird.
“Erica…” Derek warned, shooting her a reprimanding look in the rearview mirror. She rolled her eyes and raised her palms in surrender before crossing her arms over her chest. Focusing his eyes back on the road, Derek claimed, “I’ll drop you guys off at the loft and then take Stiles home.”
As much as he’d prefer to get Stiles home and into a warm bed as soon as possible, he was well aware that Stiles wouldn’t stand for any coddling and would insist the betas be taken care of first. Even close to hypothermia Stiles was dangerously self-sacrificing.
Turning into the scarcely populated district of town, Derek accelerated, driving well over the speed limit in his haste. The thundering purr of the Camaro’s engine must have been comforting somehow as Stiles sighed contentedly when he heard it and nestled his face deeper into his hoodie pillow.
Jolting to a screeching halt, and immediately regretting it when Stiles moaned loudly in protest at the abrupt lurch forward as Boyd pressed a hand to his side to keep from sliding out of his seat, Derek parked outside his building. He bounced his idle leg impatiently as the betas climbed out of the car, Boyd patting Stiles on the shoulder and nodding at Derek on his way.
Derek cranked up the heat again as he resumed driving, eyes flashing up to check the rearview mirror, making sure Stiles was still alright. He slowed down as he turned onto the main and residential roads, not wanting to have to explain to a sheriff’s deputy why had the Sheriff’s curled up in his backseat, soaking wet and groaning as though in pain. He couldn’t imagine that going very well.
Stiles grumbled something indiscernible then groaned again. The sound was a stab of guilt to the gut. Derek tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tightly bit out, “Don’t worry, Stiles. You’re almost home.”
Stiles mumbled something too low even for Derek to hear in response.
Pulling onto Stiles’ street, Derek checked for the Sheriff’s cruiser in the driveway. Finding only Stiles’ Jeep parked on the street in front of his house, Derek parked into the driveway. He practically leapt out of the Camaro and carefully lifted Stiles out of the backseat.
He effortlessly carried him inside, grabbing the spare key from under the doormat to unlock the front door, kicking it shut behind them. Derek climbed the stairs, Stiles’ cheek resting on his shoulder. He gently laid him in bed once he got to Stiles’ bedroom, layering his plaid duvet over the other blanket wrapped around him, plucking Stiles’ cellphone from the pocket of his leather jacket and placing it on his nightstand.
“Night, Stiles,” Derek whispered, turning to leave the room. He paused when Stiles reached out a cold hand to wrap around Derek’s wrist, tugging gently. “Stiles?”
Derek smiled to himself, of course Stiles would feel guilty about asking for something for himself. Shaking his head fondly, Derek shrugged off his leather jacket, draping it over Stiles’ shoulders. “That better?”
“Mmm,” Stiles murmured with a small smile, sounding genuinely content. “G’night, Derek.”
“Night, Stiles,” Derek returned.
Feeling a gentle warmth taking root in his chest, Derek smiled to himself and left.
With Sterek please, if you have the time of course. Thank you!
Stiles wasn’t there when Derek woke up. He waited in the dark, listening, and then identified the telltale hum of the TV in the living room on low.
He shrugged on a shirt and went downstairs. Sure enough, Stiles was on the couch with the TV on, the volume low enough that Derek could barely hear what was playing.
Deliberately, Derek stepped on the squeaky step.
Stiles jerked around. “Oh, shit. Sorry. Did I wake you?”
Derek shook his head. “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.” He walked over to sit down on the couch next to Stiles. “What are you watching?”
Stiles shrugged. “No idea. One of the Anthony Bourdain series, I think. There’s a lot of drinking going on.”
Derek laughed quietly and rested his arm along the back of the couch. He couldn’t quite reach Stiles, but that was okay. He just wanted Stiles to know he was here. “The man definitely knows his food. And his beer.”
“Yeah. It almost makes me want to sign up for culinary school or some shit,” Stiles said. “Just…get out there and go some place else, you know? See something I’ve never seen. Road trip around the US and find the best cheeseburgers and curly fries. Fly to Japan and try sushi. Go deep sea fishing off the coast of Florida.”
“Take a tour of all the pubs in Ireland and Scotland?” Derek asked.
“Exactly.” Stiles nodded firmly. “Now you’ve got it. Just…remember what it’s like to be a normal fucking person for one damn day.”
Derek understood that feeling better than he wanted to admit. “Let’s do it, then.”
Stiles frowned. “Do what?”
“Road trip across the US. Go deep sea fishing off the coast of Florida. Fly to Dublin and take a tour of all the pubs. Go to Japan and try sushi.” Derek shrugged. “Let’s go do all of it.”
Stiles gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. Are you serious?”
“A hundred percent,” Derek said. “You’ve just graduated, you don’t have a job yet–”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Stiles muttered.
“–and I have more money than I know what to do with,” Derek finished, as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “Why not take a couple of months and get out?”
Stiles’s breath hitched, and it confirmed what Derek had suspected: that he needed out of Beacon Hills, needed to be away from everything for just a little while.
“You’re really serious,” Stiles said, still boggling at him.
Derek nodded. “I really am.”
Stiles slid across the couch until he rested against Derek’s side, and Derek dropped his arm around him. It settled something in him to have Stiles close, tucked up next to him where Derek could keep him safe.
“My dad would never go for it,” Stiles mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
“Your dad loves me,” Derek said. “I think he might surprise you.”
“Mm.” Stiles nuzzled into Derek’s side. “Wanna swim with dolphins with you.”
“We can do that too,” Derek murmured into Stiles’s hair. “We can do whatever you want.”
“‘Kay,” Stiles said sleepily.
Derek kissed the top of his head. “Get some sleep. I’ve got you.”
Stiles undoes the clasp at his chest,
and drops the backpack to the ground with a sigh of relief. Rubbing his
shoulders, he enjoys the view. He and Derek have been hiking their way up here
all day, to get this view. Through a break in the trees Stiles can see a valley
of green, glimpses of a river winding its way down a mountain, the lake in the
valley reflecting the clouds and the sky. The sky is almost a clear blue, aside
from a couple clouds drifting by. The sun is just starting to disappear behind
the mountains. The moon and stars will soon be visible.
He’s glad Derek convinced him to go
camping instead of going to a hotel or a resort, because he’s never felt this
free before.
‘You gonna stand there the rest of the
night or help me with this,’ Derek grumbles from behind him.
Stiles turns to see Derek pulling the
tent out of the bag. The little clearing where they’re making their camp for
the night, isn’t very big. It’s like a couple square feet where no trees or
bushes happen to be growing, but it’s big enough for their tent and their little
camping stove. No wood fires allowed, the ranger had been very clear on that
when they started their hike this morning.
‘Coming,’ Stiles says, quickly dragging
his own backpack next to Derek’s.
The tent is set up in a matter of
minutes, thanks to Stiles’ insistence on practicing in his dad’s backyard.
‘Hey, Der?’ Stiles asks, hammering the
last of the pegs into the ground. ‘How do you feel about outdoor sex?’
Derek shrugs. ‘Never had it.’
‘Really? But you said you’ve been
camping tons of times.’
‘Yeah, with my family,’ Derek points out. With a flick of his wrists he rolls his sleeping
bag out in the tent.
Stiles can’t deny he finds that a little
sexy.
‘And it’s not like I’ve had a lot of
opportunities to go camping the last couple years. At least, not like this.’
Derek grabs Stiles’ sleeping bag and
rolls it out just as quickly and neatly as he’d done with his own.
‘I guess so,’ Stiles has to admit. ‘Would
you be up for it? I kind of want to cross it off my list.’
Derek turns to him, a look of fond
disbelief on his face.
‘I don’t know why I’m surprised you have
a list of places you want to have sex,’ he says, shaking his head.
‘Not just places,’ Stiles says. He
clears a place so they can safely set up the camping stove. ‘Also positions,
toys, scenario’s for roleplaying.’
‘Were you ever going to show me that
list?’ Derek asks, raising his eyebrows.
‘Maybe.’ Stiles hands Derek their two
little pans. ‘It’s on my laptop.’
‘In a neatly organized Excel
spreadsheet?’
‘Alphabetically, of course.’
Derek laughs and shakes his head again.
He sets the pans down, grabs the lighter out of Stiles’ hand, then pulls Stiles
closer, into a kiss. It’s firm and a little dirty, with Derek sucking Stiles’
bottom lip between his own and tugging at Stiles’ hair just hard enough to
elicit a soft moan. When Derek pulls back he rests their foreheads together.
‘Any more things you wanna cross off
that list this week, aside from outdoor sex?’ Derek asks.
‘Quite a few actually,’ Stiles grins. He’s really glad Derek convinced him to go
camping.
“Why can’t you just ask Laura?” Derek asked the phone pressed to his ear while his eyes scanned over the back of the pack of meat in his hand. “She’s much better at public speaking than I am.”
“Because your sister is busy,” came his mother’s reply a second later.
Derek tossed the pack of meat into his cart and rolled his eyes as he turned to continue down the aisle. “Busy meaning she’s got a date. At night.”
“Your sister is busy,” his mother repeated, more firmly this time. “Besides, you can control your full shift. The kids will love that.”
Derek inhaled slowly and let the air back out in a sigh sounding close to a grunt. “Fine,” he bit out a moment later. “I’ll do it.”
(Hey dear Anon! I don’t do mpreg, so please have a very angst-free royalty AU.)
Stiles fidgeted on the throne. Today was the day he would meet his intended groom, Prince Derek of Triskele. He was the only one of his numerous friends and retainers who hadn’t ever been to Triskele to meet the prince, and their stories both impressed and terrified him.
Sir Scott, Stiles’s best friend and personal bodyguard, had said Prince Derek fought like a demon and had killed a dozen ferocious Berserkers alone after they had ambushed his men.
Lady Allison, Scott’s betrothed and Stiles’s other personal bodyguard, said the prince was fiercely intelligent and stubborn, and could make even the hardest assassin cower with the intensity of his glare.
Lady Lydia, whose noble family had made numerous trips to Triskele over the past several years, assured Stiles that Prince Derek was most handsome and loyal, if a bit reticent.
All of it built a very intimidating picture, and Stiles was so nervous that he couldn’t keep still.
The two large doors at the opposite end of the throne room swung open.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Derek Hale of Triskele!” a courtier announced.
Stiles sat up at the introduction, his heart thundering like a herd of horses. A man strode through the throne room, his hair and beard black as ink, his face pale as the moon, his handsome countenance stern and foreboding. In his arms he held something Stiles couldn’t quite make out.
His heart beat even faster. Lady Lydia certainly hadn’t lied about Prince Derek’s attractiveness, but Lady Allison had not lied about his glare.
Prince Derek stopped in front of Stiles’s throne and bowed. “I am at your service, my king.”
Stiles clenched his hands so as not to show how they trembled. “It is good to finally meet you, Your Highness.”
Prince Derek straightened and held out his arms. “If it pleases Your Majesty, I have brought a gift.”
Stiles frowned. A gift?
Right then, the bundle that Prince Derek held poked its head up and yipped.
It was the smallest, blackest, fluffiest puppy that Stiles had ever seen.
“He is the smallest of the litter,” Prince Derek said. “I worried that he would not be suitable, but Lady Lydia said his spirit would matter more than his size, and I assure you he is the most spirited puppy I have seen in all my years of raising dogs.”
Stiles stood and walked down the dais for a closer look. The puppy blinked at him with huge, intelligent eyes, and Stiles melted.
“It is Triskelian custom to bring our betrothed a gift that suits them,” Prince Derek continued. “I know we have not met before today, but I hope–”
“He’s perfect,” Stiles cut in, and reached out to scratch behind the puppy’s ears. His fur was so soft, it felt like touching air. “He’s absolutely perfect.”
Prince Derek’s stern face slid into a small, genuine smile, and oh. Oh. Lydia truly had not exaggerated his handsomeness.
“I am glad you are pleased, Your Majesty,” Prince Derek said.
“Stiles,” Stiles corrected. “If we are to be married and if you are to be giving me puppies, then you ought to call me by the name that my friends and family do.”
“Stiles,” Prince Derek said quietly, so that only they and the puppy could hear. “I will do my best to be worthy of this gift.”
Stiles smiled the first truly happy smile he’d felt in weeks. “And I will do my best to be worthy of this one, my prince.”
Prince Derek frowned. “Do you mean me or the puppy?”
Stiles leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on Prince Derek’s lips. “Both.”
Written for the Ice Cream square on my Sterek Summer Bingo card.
No-Hanky-Panky-Rule. Stiles/Derek. Teen.
Stiles and Derek have never broken the pack’s No-Hanky-Panky-Rule during summers at the rented beachhouse, and they aren’t going to this year, either.
“Why can’t I get a cone?” Stiles looks at Derek curiously,
unable to figure out why he’s been prohibited from ordering one. Derek knows
him well enough to be aware that telling him not to get a cone is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
Now, Stiles is going to have to get one just to be difficult.
“It’s hot outside; a cone will melt before you can eat the
ice cream.” Derek’s response is logical, but Stiles knows there’s something
more to this because the tips of Derek’s ears are turning red.
From @littlecofiegirl, who asked on Twitter if I would write Stiles jumping out of a cake for Derek’s birthday.
There were a lot of things Derek had expected for his birthday. A somewhat-rowdy party, for one, because even though he didn’t particularly care for parties, the rest of the pack did and they had been thrilled to have a reason to celebrate. He’d also been expecting a cake, though admittedly the six-foot-tall monstrosity Scott rolled in just barely fit that description.
He had most definitely not been expecting a mostly naked Stiles Stilinski to jump out of the cake, shouting “Happy birthday, Derek!” and flinging icing everywhere.
Everybody cheered. Derek blinked and wiped a dollop of white icing off his face. He rubbed his eyes, because maybe he was seeing things.
Nope. That was still Stiles. Standing in the middle of the cake. Wearing nothing but a “Happy Birthday” banner and a gold Speedo.
Why was this his life?
Derek shook himself out of his stupor long enough to walk over and help Stiles get out of the cake. “What the hell are you doing?”
Stiles grinned and patted his cheek. “We wanted to surprise you, big guy. Were you surprised?”
“Very,” Derek said dryly.
“Look, we thought it would be funny to have someone burst out of your cake. But we figured a stranger wouldn’t go over well and, honestly, it would be funnier if it were one of the pack. So!” Stiles waved an arm over himself. “Here I am.”
He smelled like sugar and vanilla. Derek had to hold himself back to keep from licking. “I was very surprised,” Derek said again, and then nodded back toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get a beer and some air.”
He retreated before Stiles could say anything else. He had definitely not anticipated dealing with a mostly naked Stiles tonight. Derek needed to breathe somewhere without people for three minutes, maybe get rid of the images now emblazoned on his mind.
He stepped out onto the much cooler balcony, where the air smelled crisp, and took a long drink of beer. He could handle this. He’d been handling his feelings for Stiles for months; he could handle this.
The balcony door slid open, and Stiles stepped out. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. “Holy shit, it’s way colder out here than I thought.”
Derek cursed and took off his jacket. “You idiot, why don’t you have any clothes?”
“Because it’s actually really fucking hot in a cake,” Stiles said. “What are you–”
Derek settled his jacket around Stiles’s shoulders. “Should have had someone bring you some clothes,” he muttered.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think ahead.” Stiles shuddered. “Besides, your jacket’s warm enough.”
Derek should’ve let go of the jacket, should probably have stepped away from Stiles. He didn’t.
Stiles’s eyes flicked from Derek’s mouth to his eyes and back again. “So, uh, did you like your surprise?” Stiles asked.
“I did,” Derek said hoarsely.
“Good, because, um. I kind of volunteered.”
Derek kissed him. He knew as soon as he did it that it was a bad idea, he should pull back and ask and–
But Stiles made a delicious noise in the back of his throat and threw his arms around Derek’s neck, burying his fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Derek kept kissing him, letting himself get lost in the smell of sugar and vanilla and the feel of Stiles’s lips against his.
“Holy shit, if I’d known this is what it would take to get you to kiss me, I’d have jumped out of a cake years ago,” Stiles murmured.
“You weren’t legal years ago,” Derek pointed out.
Stiles grinned and scratched the back of his head. “I was legal three years ago, so there. You should tell me what you really want for your birthday.”
Derek felt heat race up his neck and cheeks. “I, um…”
Stiles winked. “Want me to stay after the party?”
“Yes, please.”
(He stayed after the party, and the rest of the night, and by the next morning, Derek was hoping Stiles would just stay forever.)
“I love your hugs,” Stiles murmured into Derek’s shoulder.
Derek squeezed Stiles a little tighter. “I’m not sure if this counts as hugging. We’re laying down.”
“Your arms are around me. It counts.” Stiles nuzzled into his shoulder, breath hot on Derek’s skin. “I love your hugs. I love your cuddles. I love napping with you, and sleeping with you, and I love that I get to wake up every morning to you swearing at the coffee maker.”
Derek grinned like a fool and scratched his nails up and down Stiles’s back.
Stiles moaned. “Oh, God, I love your back scratches. Oh, just a little to the–right there, right there, oh yeah.”
“Anybody else would think we were having sex,” Derek said dryly.
“First off, your back scratches are almost as good as sex,” Stiles said. “And second off, anybody else would know that I curse a lot more during sex.”
“Fair,” Derek said. “You do swear a lot during sex.”
Stiles pinched his side. “I am absolutely stupid over you and I have no idea why.”
“Hugs, cuddles, naps, back scratches, swearing at the coffee maker,” Derek recited.
Stiles propped his chin up on Derek’s chest and blinked sleepy eyes at him. “Smartass.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Oh, are we in elementary school again? Is that how this is going to go? I’m rubber and you’re glue?”
“No.” In one smooth move, Derek flipped them so that Stiles was the one pinned to the couch. “Because there are much better ways to shut you up now than there were in elementary school.”
Stiles wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? What did you have in mind, big guy?”
“A few things,” Derek said. “But I’m going to start with my favorite.”
“And what’s that?”
Derek kissed him deeply, losing himself in the taste and scent of Stiles, in the feeling that the world had slowed to a stop just for the two of them.
“Okay,” Stiles whispered into the space between them. “That might be my favorite, too.”
Because we could all use some happiness right now, here’s a fluffy Sterek meet-cute inspired by this post. (Shout out to High Fidelity for inspiring the book convo, and to @mad-madam-m for her invaluable assistance).
Derek goes to the market almost every day because he lives in a small loft and doesn’t like to store food. He also prefers cooking with fresh food anyway. He probably has a little herb and vegetable garden outside on his balcony. So, amateur chef Derek wandering the aisles of the local grocery store and he sees this kid every time he’s there. Derek who shops at night after he gets out of work (or home from the studio artist derek kay) And Derek realizes after careful observation that this kid, who’s not actually a kid, but in the college in town, buys himself ready made dinners at the hot station every damn night. He tries to let it go. But he thinks about it. A lot. And after several weeks of witnessing this catastrophe, Derek makes a move. A culinary move.
“That’s it,” a stern voice calls out from behind him, a broad hand reaching to take the empty to-go box from Stiles’ hands. “I can’t stand this anymore.”
“What the hell, man?” Stiles snaps, spinning around to confront the asshole who’s trying to keep him from his chimichangas.
Upon seeing the culprit, however, he stumbles and stutters to a shocked silence, because the hand belongs to none other than Beardy McHotStuff, who’s glowering at him with his absurdly gorgeous green eyes. “Oh,” Stiles breathes, swallowing hard, heart beginning to race, thrilled and terrified all at once to finally be face-to-face with the hottest man he’s ever seen, the fellow-late night grocery shopper he’s been fantasizing about for weeks now.
“This is unacceptable,” McHotStuff continues after a moment of strange silence, those damn eyes of his darting over Stiles’ face, likely taking in just how exhausted he looks after his fifteen-hour dissertation-writing session, the heavy circles under his eyes probably almost as dark as Beardy’s inky hair. “You can’t eat this garbage for dinner every night,” he says finally.
Stiles somehow manages to find the ability to speak, even though Beardy is staring at his mouth. “Excuse me, but I’m fairly certain it’s none of your damn business what I eat.”
“Well I’m making it my business,” McHotStuff says, resolute and determined, possibly even intimidating. “I’ve been watching you buy this processed, all-salt-and-high-fructose-corn-syrup crap for dinner nearly every night for a month now, and I cannot in good conscience allow it to continue.”
Stiles is pretty sure his eyebrows are in his hair and that his heart thumping so loud he’s sure Beardy can hear it. All this time he’s been secretly lusting over the insanely hot guy he sees during his late-night market trips to buy hot food from the deli section – not having the motivation or skill to cook for himself – and it turns out that Beardy McHotStuff has actually noticed him. And hates the way he eats, apparently.
Wishing he had at least put on a shirt that doesn’t smell like bongwater before he came to the store, Stiles tries to regain his composure; he smiles and looks at Beardy’s basket, which is full of vegetables and stuff from the organic section, which makes him feel even more embarrassed about his terrible eating habits. He can’t remember the last time he ate something green that wasn’t a gummy of some kind.
He looks Beardy up and down, noting his ripped-at-the-knees canvas work pants and tattered t-shirt under a red-and-blue checked flannel, a typical variation of his usual outfit. The t-shirt is snug across his chest and the flannel is gripping his biceps something fierce, and up close the dude’s rippling muscles seem even bigger, more ripply, and good goddamn, Stiles wants to eat this guy up.
“So what are you gonna do about my dinner, big guy?” He smirks, coming across much more cocky and confident than he feels.
Beardy McHotStuff smiles back and switches his basket of ridiculously healthy food to his left hand so he can offer his right to Stiles. “I’m Derek,” he says. “And I’m cooking you dinner.”
shealwaysreads 