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.“
Tag: fluff
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.
(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.
Morning patrols are what Stiles likes best. Statistically, Saturday mornings are the least likely time for Beacon Hills to be under attack by big bads – according to Lydia – so that’s the time the pack elect for Stiles to do his solo patrol. He’s only a little bit offended by the insinuation that any other time would be too dangerous for him to be stumbling around the woods alone. Stiles thinks the pack sharp forget who it is who always has to go rescue their alpha.
Crisp, crunching leaves crumble under his boots as he walks his way down the dirt road. The air is bitterly cold and it stings Stiles’ nose, tuning it as red as his rose, frost pinched cheeks. He sniffs shrugs further into his winter jacket and burrows his aching face into his scarf. It’s warm and cosy, made from some special type of wool that Derek had yet to reveal the origin of and when Stiles breathes in, despite being very much human, he can smell the scent of home.
There’s a rustle in the leaves from Stiles’ right side but he doesn’t whip around to look; he knows who it is. It isn’t unusual for Derek to tag along on this patrol and as far as Stiles is aware, the wolf doesn’t pay any of the other pack members the same time of visit on their patrols. At first, Stiles had thought Derek was keeping an eye on him since he was such a delicate human who couldn’t take care of himself and needed to be guarded and protected but now Stiles isn’t so sure.
Derek had bought Stiles a scarf – no, Derek had made Stiles a scarf. It was red – “Like your hoodie.” – with beautiful tones of russet brown weaved through – “Like your eyes.” – and blue tassels that Derek’s cat likes to bat at whenever Stiles comes over for pack meetings.
“Blue is just pretty.”
Stiles smiles into his scarf as Derek brushed up against his leg, his dark coat comforting against the cool weather. He had never mentioned blue being his favourite colour in front of Derek which means the alpha had had to ask. He’d probably asked Lydia, braving her all knowing side eye just so he could knit Stiles a scarf for Christmas. It was sickeningly sweet and Stiles can’t help but think it means something in the same way he thinks maybe Derek joining him on patrols means something to. He can’t know for sure, but that’s what he thinks.
The pair walks in silence for most of Stiles’ rounds. It’s not like they could talk even if they wanted to what with Derek being in his wolf form and everything. He would have to shift back for proper conversation which would mean full nakedness and there’s a thought.
Stiles holds out his hand and buries it in Derek’s coat, letting his gloved fingers delve deep into the jet black fur, sweeping them along the bumps of Derek’s spine and making the wolf keen. He leans into Stiles for more and the boy smiles, happy to oblige.
There’s no doubt in Stiles’ mind that if they weren’t alone, that if the pack were in even hearing distance, Derek wouldn’t allow these touches, this intimacy. This is a private thing, a thing for just the two of them and that doesn’t bother Stiles one bit.
He doesn’t know if this means anything to Derek, but to Stiles it means everything.
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.
One of my neighbours slipped this under my door while I was practising, I thought they were going to make a noise complaint but they just had a request. I played it with my windows open and I heard really loud clapping come from a balcony a few stories up which was super lovely. I’m in such a lovely mood now it’s so nice to be appreciated.
Why is this the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen?
IMAGINE YOUR OTP
When Claudia bought Stiles a farting keyboard when he was 3, he never thought it would lead him to Julliard.
It’s well into Stiles second year at the most prestigious art school in the country, and he’s living it up in an apartment a few blocks from campus. Sure his apartment is tiny, and he shares it with three other people, but it works. He’s got his vertical piano set up in the living room, and a mess of electronic keyboards, amps and extra long electrical cords under his bed for the days he goes and plays in the subways or parks.
He practices mostly during the day, when people are more likely to be at work and not annoyed by his piano.He could very well practice on his keyboards with headphones, but there is something about having a real piano, with real sound. It’s a great day so he opens the window and overlooks the courtyard in the middle of the complex, letting his music sail up the walls of the concourse to the sky for his mom to hear.
The music of the city fills in the space between making notes on his sheet music. Dogs barking, sirens, people yelling, even a car accident in the streets below.
Stiles’ hand float over the keys and with practiced movements create the melody that the sheets ask him to. It doesn’t go without a few missed keys, and a couple of restarts, but it’s just practice. It’ll be worth it when he plays it at the school symphony in a month.
There’s a knock at the door, and Stiles wonders which of his roommates forgot their key, and how lucky they were that he didn’t decide to join Erica to the park jam sessions.
Before he even gets to the door, he sees a slip of paper on the floor. He picks it up, confused as to why there would be a note just on the floor.
“a humble request to the pianist:
“ is all it says. It sends butterflies down to his stomach. He’s never gotten a request like this before. He wonders who could have sent it. The handwriting would suggest a man, and Stiles is willing to bet he’s hot, and if he’s into classical music? Stiles lets himself develop a crush on the anonymous patron.
Stiles googles the song, always up for a challenge and ready for a little break from the piece he’s been working. He finds the sheet music with no problem, worried he was going to have to look in one of the university’s databases and sends the sheets to the printer.
Once the pages are set up on the stand of one of his electric keyboards he starts to fiddle through it. It puts his sight reading to practice and soon he gets the first dozen measures down and moves on. He’s using a keyboard so he can control the volume so the audience doesn’t have to hear his fenageling.
He gets the song down in an hour and goes to set up on the vertical piano.
“Umm, hi. I hope you’re listening!” Stiles calls out of the window. “Enjoy!” He sits down and takes a breath in and out before he starts playing the song.
The song floats out of the piano and into the outside air. It’s sweet, and somehow sad at the same time. The deep notes slow while the higher notes fast. It’s a magical piece and Stiles will definitely be playing it more. If not for the enjoyment of his patron, but for himself. It’s different than the pixar scores he got used to playing.
Cars continue to honk, and someone yells “shut up!” from somewhere down below. Stiles has learned to ignore them and he keep playing. He moves with the music, his head looking at the sheet above but also feeling the music through his body.
The song slows at the end, and Stiles lets his eyes fall closed while the music falls to it’s end. The last notes are bittersweet, like it’s the end of the song, but the beginning of a story.
It’s quiet for a few moments. A lone clap comes from outside the window. Stiles quickly gets up and looks over his piano to see who is clapping. There are a set of hands clapping from the window directly above him. Stiles thanks them, and retreats back into his own apartment to finish is work before heading into class.
Stiles isn’t surprised when there is another knock on the door a few days later. He’s expecting another note. When there isn’t one one the floor he is forced to open the door to see who it is (someone painted over the peephole years ago and the landlord is to cheap to replace it). Stiles is surprised to see a man standing with his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Umm, hi?” Stiles says, not sure what to make of it. The dude is hot, but that doesn’t mean Stiles has to make a fool of himself.
“Are you the pianist?” The dude asks looking at Stiles with the most beautiful eyes, his glasses only make them bigger so Stiles can see every color that is in them.
“Yes? Am I being too loud? I’m sorry, it’s just the practice rooms on campus are always full and I forget to sign up for time in them. I’ll keep it down I promise I-”
“It’s okay,” he says.
“I’ll stop leaving the window open too,” Stiles adds. “Our A/C is broken so we have to open it to get cool air in here.” He lies.
“No don’t worry about it. I actually live right above you? I hear you practice all the time, I even uhh-” his cheeks turn red but its hard to see because his beard is covering most of his jaw and cheeks, “I requested
Liebestraum a few days ago?”
“Oh! That was you?” Stiles replies.
“Yeah, I just wanted to say that I really love your work. I think you’re really good. I’m Derek by the way,” the guy-Derek- puts his hand out for Stiles to shake.
“I’m Stiles,” he takes it, “nice to meet you.” Stiles smiles at Derek and watches as a smile makes it’s way onto his face.
The beginning of a story indeed.
After receiving such kind words from @michicant123 I really wanted to write something, so please, have this as a thank you ❤
***
Derek opened his eyes slowly, he could feel the small
beam of sun light snaking its way through his window, warming his skin. He
turned over, allowing it to wake him up properly. He felt peaceful, a concept
that used to be very rare for him, but he wasn’t complaining.
He could hear
someone downstairs and the thought didn’t immediately make him jump out of bed,
he felt content knowing it was probably someone in the pack. He didn’t imagine
he would ever get to this place, having a family again, people he trusted with
his life, people who made his life feel complete in a way he hadn’t felt in a
very long time.He heard a laugh that made him smile. Of course Stiles
was here; Derek would never admit it to him, but he missed Stiles when he
stayed at home for a few days, realising how vast the space was in the loft.
Derek enjoyed his own company, sure, but being surrounded by family, by his
pack, was something that brought him a comfort he couldn’t explain.“Hey, you’re up” Stiles said with a smile as Derek
descended the stairs.“’bout time, we were gonna eat without you” Erica
laughed, putting a few extra slices of bacon on the plate before handing it to
Derek, pressing a kiss to his cheek.“How long have you guys been here?” Derek queried, moving
to the kitchen to grab a fork before sitting at the counter.“About an hour” Stiles said muffled, scrambled eggs
taking up the majority of the space in his mouth.Derek just nodded in response as he tucked into his own
breakfast, his eyes drifting to the guy sitting opposite him. Stiles is such a
complicated character that Derek has taken years to know. He forgets sometimes
how far apart they used to be, but when he thinks about it now, he’s glad they
formed the friendship they did.They have all suffered their fair share of bad
experiences, leading them to be the people they are today. They won’t ever be
fully healed, no one can come out of what they all experienced and remain unscathed,
but that was their life. Supernatural beings don’t usually live a life full of
harmony and rainbows, but this, this right here, was pretty damn close.
Omg, I just read your fic: “carmine” and I love it. I love Derek being a famous actor o being rich, buying things for Stiles. Sorry, I maybe have a daddy kink cause I also love older!derek. Can you imagine a famous rich older Derek (with salt and pepper beard 😍) having a secret Crush in college student and barista Stiles, how always Derek his coffee but never know what was Derek’s job? And in Carmine: Horns? Was he a Demon?? Yeah please, Desmon Derek ❤️
Derek’s costume in Carmine I imagine was a mix of this and this. Enjoy those visuals. ❤
As for his crush, yes, it’s bad. He’s not THAT much older, only about nine years, but that’s plenty. Stiles is in college, for fuck’s sake, Derek is basically a cradle robber, here.
He’s also not super rich, and only really famous in the comic-con circuits, since he mostly does fantasy and sci-fi tv shows, and since he’s so good at acting and emoting through pounds and pounds of latex, a lot of people don’t even know what his actual face looks like.
So it makes sense that Stiles doesn’t even know who he is, and it’s kind of a relief, frankly, right up until the moment Stiles mentions Moon Mysteries, ugh. But he treats Derek exactly the same, doesn’t ask for an autograph or anything, and that actually kinda just makes Derek’s crush on him worse.
Stiles scoffs at the age difference, and yes, Derek might not be filthy rich but he’s got a decent enough income and a nice family nest egg, and Stiles point blank refuses every offer Derek makes of paying for things.
How could Derek not fall for him, is probably the bigger question.
He’s beautiful, expressive, smart, opinionated, a little shit sometimes but can also turn around and be the kindest possible human being to those he feels deserves it. He’s a man of his word, stands hard on his principles without being completely deaf to criticism, and may or may not have a slight kink for pointless argueing.
It’s like he was made for Derek, there’s no way he wasn’t gonna ask Stiles out.
That Stiles said yes was less of a surprise than it could have been, because he had in fact spent months outrageously flirting with Derek via his coffee orders, and already told Derek to keep growing that amazing beard, because the silver fox look was super hot. Derek isn’t sure he agrees, but anything Stiles wants, Stiles gets.
It’s actually a little bit pathetic how ass over elbows Derek is for this boy.
The only real regret Derek has is that because of Stiles’ refusal to accept monetary help of any kind, Derek has to suffer through staying at Stiles’ ratty shared apartment a lot. His bed is fine, but the couch is downright disgusting, and living with two other college guys, neither of whom are dedicated to any kind of cleanliness, the place is just a dump. Derek is basically counting down until the day someone gets tetanus.
Eventually, though, he finds his way in. It’s ridiculous that he never thought of it before.
What he needs to do is just pay for shit, and then Stiles will get pissed off and start an arguement, which is kind of a turn on for him, they’ll have angry sex and then Stiles will forgive him and after a while Derek can do it again. So he begins his mission of slowly improving Stiles’ living space.
The first thing to go is the couch. Stiles isn’t even that angry about coming home to find something that smells a lot less like dead cat adorning his living room, so that’s a win. The new laptop takes a few more rounds of sex, during which Stiles rants along about how Derek is going to take it back, so help him- oh, yes, right there, gnh…
Groceries get eaten either way, and if Stiles doesn’t, then his roommates will swoop in. So Stiles will eat them. Angrily, but still.
Then there’s the dining table, which is usually used for homework. After that, a few chairs that don’t wobble. A decent garbage disposal that actually works. Some fixed piping in the bathroom. Cleaning up of the water damage in the corner of the living room. Derek is on a roll.
Weirdly, the lamp is what breaks the camel’s back.
“You know, if you wanted me to move in with you, you could have just asked,” Stiles says, making Derek almost fall off the ladder and take the new ceiling lamp with him. “I mean, you didn’t have to court me via home improvements I probably won’t be around to enjoy six months from now when I can afford better.”
Derek doesn’t even know what to say to that, and fidgets awkwardly with the lamp shade in his hands. “I just… I just wanted to make things better for you,” he murmurs eventually, and Stiles shakes his head.
“You’re kind of an idiot, you know that?”
“My sisters tell me that on a weekly basis, don’t worry.”
“Good. They can help haul my shit when I move in. And that includes my bean bag chair, all this other stuff is fine, but throw away my bean bag and you’re dead.”
“Noted,” Derek says, knees feeling a little weak, because what just happened?
“Cool. I’ll go put in my notice. Already had a key made last month. Finish the lamp and then go home and start making room in your closet.”
“I… already did that. Ages ago,” Derek admits as he climbs off the ladder.
Stiles just raises an eyebrow at him. “So the drawer you offered me?”
“That whole dresser is empty. And the whole closet on that side of the bedroom.”
“Doofus,” Stiles says, and gives him a really nice and slightly filthy kiss. “Seriously, so dumb.”
Derek doesn’t even care he’s being insulted, because Stiles is moving in with him.
His life rocks.
End.
Somewhat dedicated to @melodramaticsalad as a belated birthday present. ❤
Birds Make the Best Wingmen
When Stiles invites Derek over for dinner on their second date, it seems that Stiles’ pet parrot is determined to ruin his life. Then again, maybe birds actually make the best wingmen…
aka: 3-in-the-morning-me read an unrelated text post on parrots and happened to be making sterek icons, and went hey, sterek plus parrots!“Dude,” Scott sighs. “If it makes you this nervous, just don’t
do it.”“Excuse you?” Stiles scoffs. “Don’t go on my date with Derek? Is that what you just said? You’re
not going to make me give you the speech on his eyes again, are you? Because I
have it memorized, man, and-”“No, no, no!” Scott says, waving his PS4 controller wildly.
When his Titan gets shot, he mutters, “Worth it. I just meant that if you don’t
want to have him over here, then don’t. Go out somewhere instead.”“I can’t,” Stiles groans. “You know I can’t. He cooked me
dinner for our first date, so I have to cook him dinner for our second.”It’s only fair, really. The only problem is his and Scott’s
apartment is a mess, his cooking skills are mostly limited to super healthy and not-date-worthy stuff for his dad, and—though Stiles doesn’t view
it as much of a problem, considering the number of nights Allison has spent
here—Scott’s being sexiled for the night. Technically Stiles told him he could stay in his room, if he wanted, considering the worst thing they’ll probably do tonight is kiss, but thankfully Scott was much more into the idea of making out with Allison than listening to Stiles potentially make out with Derek.“Look, it’s pretty clean in here for two college guys,” Scott
reasons, for the tenth time today. Stiles is pretty sure it’s just because he
doesn’t want to stop playing Destiny in favor of vacuuming. “I seriously doubt he’ll
care if you order takeout, anyway. You just gotta chill. Right, Iago?”“Right, Scott!” Iago squawks. “Right, Scott! Right, Scott!”
Scott had taught Stiles’ parrot to respond ‘right, Scott’
anytime he hears ‘right, Iago?’ two years ago, and still takes far too much
pleasure in having a bird agree with
him.Stiles feels very little sympathy when Scott gets gunned
down again as he beams over at the cage.“Scott’s an overly-optimistic knucklehead who doesn’t understand the woes of us normal people who aren’t dating our first love five years later, right,
Iago?” Stiles asks.“Right, Scott!”
Close enough.
“Nice place,” Derek says, hanging his jacket on one
of the hooks by the door. “And dinner smells great.”“Ah, it’s nothing,” Stiles says, despite having slaved over
the stove for three hours. “Lasagna. Here, c’mon, let’s sit down.”Derek follows him to the living room, but when he sits down
on the couch, Derek doesn’t join him. Instead, he walks over to Iago’s cage,
peering in.“You have a parrot?”
“Oh, yeah,” Stiles says, adjusting himself so he’s facing them.
“His name’s Iago.”“Does he talk?”
“Yeah, actually. It’s kinda awesome. He only understands
about as much as a dog, probably, but if you say something enough times he’ll start to repeat it, and he understands a few basic things. Like, um- Iago, hello!”“Hello!” Iago squawks.
Derek smiles–the amazing, warm one that makes his eyes
crinkle—and Stiles never wants it to go away. And if that means playing with
his bird instead of making small talk? Well, he’s not going to complain.“Iago, this is Derek,” Stiles says, even though he won’t really
get that one.Unfortunately, he does seem to remember the word ‘Derek’.
“Derek is the best!”
Stiles’ eyes practically bug out of his head, because that’s
actually something he says all the time, and the last thing he needs is for
Iago to start parroting everything he’s ever heard about Derek, because… no.Derek glances over at Stiles, eyebrow raised.
“Just a trick we taught him,” Stiles explains, with a nervous
laugh. “If you say ‘this is someone’, he’ll say they’re the best.”He stands and rushes over, grabbing the towel they use to
cover Iago’s cage before Derek can get a chance to test that lie.“Say bye, Iago,” Stiles says, draping the cloth over his
cage.“Bye! Bye!”
Crisis averted.
Phew.
“He’s cute,” Derek says, as Stiles ushers him over to the
couch. “He’s named after the bird in Aladdin, right?”“Yeah, he’s great,” Stiles agrees. “And yep. How’d you know?”
Derek’s awesome, but something about his leather jacket and
black Camaro doesn’t give off much of an I-watch-Disney-movies-in-my-spare-time vibe.“I’ve got a lot of nieces and nephews,” Derek says. He
smiles again at the thought, which is far too adorable. “I’ve seen every kids’
movie more times than I can count. Or would even want to count.”“Aw, that’s cool. I’m an only child, but I wouldn’t be
surprised if Scott and his girlfriend start planning-”The ding of the oven cuts him off.
“Um, gimme one sec,” he says, patting Derek’s knee–don’t ask
why, dear God, he has no idea why—and
getting up to check on dinner. “Be right back.”Stiles takes the pan out of the oven, setting it down on the
countertop.“Derek?” he calls.
“It’s ready?” Derek calls back, at the same time Iago repeats,
“Derek!”“Iago, stop it!” Stiles orders, poking his head into the
living room.“Stop it!” he echoes. It’s another of his favorite things to say, unfortunately. “Derek! Stop it!
Derek!”“Sorry, Derek,” Stiles sighs. “He’s a jerk sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” Derek says, standing from the couch. “Not a problem.”
Before he reaches the kitchen, though, Iago interrupts again.
“Derek! Derek! Derek is so hot!”
Derek freezes. Stiles freezes. Iago, unfortunately, does not
freeze.“Derek is so hot!” he repeats, from underneath his towel. “Derek is so hot! Derek is so hot!”
Stiles’ cheeks are probably as red
as Iago’s feathers.“That another trick?” Derek asks,
raising an eyebrow as the bird continues his ode to Derek’s hotness in the
background.“I- uh…”
“Or just one of the things he picked up
by repetition?”“Ummm…”
Stiles is going to die. He is
actually, literally going to fall on the floor and have his heart stop beating
from sheer embarrassment.Or he would do that, except then Derek winks.
He fucking winks, then smirks, then
walks back over to the birdcage, pulling the cover off.“Derek is so hot!” Iago repeats
vehemently upon its removal. “Derek is the best! Derek is so hot!”“Stiles is so hot,” Derek tells him
seriously.Stiles gapes at him, but Derek
doesn’t even look over.“Stiles is so hot,” he says again. “Stiles.”
“Stiles is so hot!” Iago agrees. “Derek
is so hot! Stiles is so hot!”“Smart bird,” Derek says, finally glancing over at Stiles.
He’s smiling again, and Stiles decides he very well may
die, but perhaps not for the reason he thought.
When Scott gets home the next day and asks how the date
with Derek went, only for Iago to squawk ‘Derek is so hot! Stiles is so hot!’, he flops down on the couch, muttering, “I take it back. I don’t even want to guess what that’s about.”
For the prompt thing, one of my favorite tropes is Sterek forced bed sharing. If you feel inclined. ;) Thanks! Love your stuff. <3
thanks to carrie for the mix up earlier this week, which reminded me about this prompt. it’s…not really about beds, whoops. and i went over the word limit again (1246 words)
Stiles has never seen snow this heavy. In fact, before an hour ago, he’d barely seen snow at all; being so close to the coast, a winter wonderland Beacon Hills is not. If he’d been expecting it – if he was inside and warm, watching the snow fall through a window – he might be enjoying it, but an hour ago – was it only an hour? Maybe it’s been longer; he can’t tell, can’t unbend his fingers to find his phone – it was ninety degrees and sunny, and he’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and the snow’s already up to his shins. He’s never been so cold in his life; he’s already lost feeling in his feet and he’s not sure which is worse – not being able to feel his feet, or the wet way his jeans cling to his legs, burning colder and colder with every step.
Derek’s there. They got separated from the rest of the pack when the storm descended, and the only reason he hasn’t lost Derek in the driving snow is because he’s got his fingers curled through the loops of Derek’s belt as they trudge through the woods. He can’t feel his fingers, or his arms in general, and he can barely lift his head against the wind. He can hear Derek breathing heavily over the wail of the wind; it’s a surprise to Stiles how hard it is to walk through the snow, and that’s with Derek in front of him, forging the path. He’s not sure where they’re going, not sure Derek knows either – to find the edge of the storm, or the road, or shelter, whichever comes first. He’s scared they’re lost – that they’re heading away from the road, that this magical storm won’t end. He’s heard you get warm when you die of hypothermia, and that’s the only reason he welcomes the sting of snow against his cheeks, but he’s getting tired, and he’s terrified of what’s going to happen when he’s too exhausted to keep lifting his frozen feet.
Derek stops so abruptly that Stiles, too tired to lift his head, walks into his back. Derek doesn’t even snap at him: not a great sign. Any other time, being so close to Derek might have made him hot all over, and he certainly would have welcomed that heat right now, but all he can think about is the refrain that keeps repeating in his head: I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die.
shealwaysreads 