For the past hour, Derek’s nerves have been steadily creeping up.
He’s waved to Scott and Allison as they screeched around on the dodgem carts; Allison looking fiercely determined and Scott beaming with pride. He’s sat in horrified silence all the way round the big wheel; Lydia squeezing his arm and pointing out the view every few seconds. He’s amused himself, and Stiles, watching his face change in the hall of mirrors. Stiles was particularly tickled by how long Derek’s eyebrows went.
“You look like a really surprised cartoon!” He’d crowed before cackling at his fingers as he lifted his hands high above his head. Derek was vaguely distracted by the strip of skin showing between Stiles’ jeans and jacket as he stretched his arms up. He’d had to move on to the next mirror where Boyd and Erica were trying to scare some small children by making their eyes flash in the mirrors all around them.
He’s even wearing a cheap, ridiculous bright green bracelet Stiles won him on the shooting game.
Derek has had a nice, normal, fun evening at a carnival, and now he’d like to go home. He’d like to leave immediately, if he’s honest, because in about three minutes he’s going to make a total fool of himself, and wish he’d never agreed to come out in the first place.
Tag: getting together
“…It was raining. Your door was closer.” with Sterek?
It was not Stiles day. Well it hadn’t really been his day, his week, his month, or his year, pardon his FRIENDS reference. Today was the cherry on top of the shittiest semester he’d ever had, and he thought the last semester was suppose to be fun.
First he had slept through his alarm so he was 10 minutes late to one of his finals, then his laptop had crashed and he had lost his last paper of his college career, the Jeep wouldn’t start, and to top it all off when he started walking home the skies had opened.
“Mother fucker,” Stiles muttered to himself, putting his hood up, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good.
His apartment was over a mile away and it was getting cold. Because his day couldn’t get any worse by making a stupid like decision he turned left instead of going straight and jogged toward Derek’s apartment building.
He stopped in doorway and shook his head to get the rain out of his eyes before pressing Derek’s button and waiting for his voice over the intercom. “Who is it?”
“Derek…hey,” Stiles said with a sigh, “…It’s raining. Your door was closer.”
There wasn’t a sound except the buzz of Derek letting him into the building. Stiles let out a breathe that he didn’t know he was holding and stepped into the apartment.
Stiles and Derek hadn’t really talked this semester, they were both busy, but mostly Stiles was trying to get over his crush on Derek. They had gotten really drunk at a party before the semester started and made out, then they hadn’t talked about it. Avoidance had been the easiest road to take because Stiles didn’t want to have his heart ripped out of his chest by a guy he’d been in love with for years.
Non-Traditional (Joseph/Stiles)
Anonymous said: Joseph/Stiles – “I saw that. You just checked
me out.”I hope you enjoy this, Nonnie! This is fic #4 in my 2017 Prompt Challenge.
Non-Traditional Joseph (Papa Hale)/Stiles. Teen. Also on AO3.
Joseph Hale met Stiles Stilinski when he went to college as a forty-six year old freshman. He hadn’t planned on making any friends, but Stiles had been impossible to drive away. Now, Joseph can’t imagine his life without him.
Stiles is working the room like a professional. There’s
nothing smooth or fake about him at all. Instead, he’s charming, energetic, and
passionate in a way that lures people in, possibly against their better
judgment sometimes. Joseph had been in the latter category when he first met the
kid in an anthropology class freshman year of college, which had been over
three years ago.It had been freshman year for both of them, despite the
twenty-eight years separating their ages, and Joseph had felt strangely out of
place surrounded by fresh faced kids the same age as his youngest daughter.
There hadn’t been any concern or anxiety during the entire application and
registration process. He wasn’t really someone who got bothered by much,
rather laid-back and unflappable usually. However, that first day of class, he had
been feeling less confident in a way that honestly surprised him even looking
back at it now.
Grown Up Hot (Stiles/Derek)
loveactually-rps said:
Hi Inell, can you
please write – Sterek – “i used to pick on you in middle school and then we
went to separate high schools but now you’re at my college and your hot as hell
and really popular” au – Thank you!This is #2 for the 2017 Prompt Challenge. I really hope you enjoy it, bb!
Grown Up Hot. Stiles/Derek. Teen. Also on AO3.
Derek’s college Dream Boy just happens to be the nerdy kid he bullied back in middle school. Karma sucks.
“Whatcha staring at?” Erica whispers the question right in
Derek’s ear, and it startles him, which makes her laugh. The tips of his ears
flush with heat as he tries to give her a serious glare.“Don’t do that,” he mutters, thankful that Laura and Cora
are nowhere around to observe him being snuck up on by a pack member. He’d
never hear the end of the teasing if they’d witnessed this.
Concept 4:
Stiles is drunk. The party slides around him in washes of color and sound– everything transient, nothing sticking. Bass thumps in his eardrums, turning his stomach. Derek appears as a blessing, half out the door before he even makes it through the foyer, but still the most solid thing Stiles has seen all night.
“I hate this,” Stiles whispers, his breath hot against Derek’s sensitive ear. “You’re the only person here worth talking to.”
“Okay,” Derek says, his hand settling solid and reassuring on Stiles’ hip. “So let’s go somewhere that isn’t here.”
EDIT:
“What were you even doing there?” Stiles peers at Derek curiously over the rim of his mug. The coffee isn’t quite strong enough to dissolve tooth enamel, but coupled with the brisk walk from the rave to the diner, it’s doing wonders for counteracting his buzz. “A warehouse party isn’t really your scene.”
Derek shrugs, placidly plowing his way through a mountain-high portion of chicken souvlaki. His knees keeps knocking against Stiles’ under the chipped Formica tabletop, and Stiles can’t find it in himself to pretend to mind.
“Didn’t really look like your scene, either,” Derek says, meeting Stiles’ gaze unblinkingly. His wackadoo eyes make Stiles’ head spin, and it’s easy to blame it on the booze. Bourbon, Stiles thinks admonishingly. When will you learn that bourbon is not your friend.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he huffs, darting his hand across the table to snatch a few of Derek’s fries, nearly knocking a glass of water over in the process. Derek rolls his eyes heavenward with a sigh, and then rotates his plate so that the truly impressive mound of deep fried potato is facing Stilinskiwards. Stiles bites down on a victorious whoop, and grabs another handful to cram into his mouth.
Derek watches him chew happily, his ridiculous eyebrows drawn together in the expression Stiles has categorized as “exasperated but fond.” It’s much preferred to the look that Stiles used to get, which was better classified as “imminent manslaughter”.
“So, this is nice,” Stiles begins, at the same time Derek sets down his fork and says, “Scott told me about your fight.”
So, how about Derek – despite being a werewolf – thinks he has caught some kind of flu or infection because he suddenly finds himself in situations where his hands get clammy, his heart won’t stop racing and he gets weak in the knees. Sometimes he feels like he can’t breathe and his pulse, which had always been steady, suddenly trips over itself, heart stumbling in his chest like Stiles and his gangly limbs did back in his earlier teenage years.
These weird kind of symptoms pop up and go away again at seemingly completely random instances. Sometimes it happens when he stops by the grocery store before pack night and remembers to buy enough Reese’s because they’re Stiles’s favorite at the last second.
Then again when he’s researching their latest monster of the week with Isaac and Stiles and suddenly Stiles huffs out this tiny little noise of surprise and bumps his shoulder against Isaac’s and then looks up at Derek with a blinding smile, shouting “I think I got it!”.
One especially memorable time Derek is waiting in the school parking lot to pick up Erica and Boyd and drive them to the movies for their date night. He’s a few minutes early, just staring at the school’s still closed doors when they suddenly open and one of the first students to spill out is Stiles.
Stiles who is animatedly talking to a pretty brunette with curly hair and a bright smile and suddenly Derek can feel his lungs shrinking, his stomach drops and there’s the sour taste of bile threatening to rise up in his throat. He doesn’t even realize he’s clenching his fists around the steering wheel until Erica drops into the passenger seat and asks
“Everything okay, boss? You look like you’re going to vomit.”
Derek decides to just brush it off and pulls out of the parking lot, the Camaro’s tires screeching. He doesn’t dare look into the rearview mirror and therefore doesn’t see the stunned look on Stiles’ face.
It happens a few more times and eventually Derek caves and goes to Deaton. He doesn’t trust the guy in the least, but at least he might tell Derek if he caught some weird kind of virus or got poisoned or whatever. Of course, Deaton finds absolutely nothing.
“And you’re sure it’s all different situations? You might want to consider this some kind of, well, emotional response to certain things. Or a certain person.”
“But there have always been different people around. One time I was alone, then there were Isaac and Stiles and then I was picking up Erica and Boyd.”
Deaton looks doubtful and Derek feels like he is missing something, like he is staring at a pattern and still can’t make it out.
“Is that so?” Deaton asks, vague and un-helpful as always, but his voice is gentle. “No one specific was around all those times?”
Derek thinks again hard and suddenly, there it is. And it certainly isn’t the flu or an infection or a virus. Oh. Oh.
“Oh,” he whispers.
About half an hour later he is standing on the Stilinskis’ porch, hand hovering over the doorbell when the door gets pulled open Stiles is looking at him expectantly.
“I… you…,” Derek stammers, but slowly there’s a beautiful smile spreading over Stiles’s features as he reaches out and pulls Derek in by the lapels of his leather jacket.
“You finally figured it out, huh? Took you long enough.”
“Shut up, Stiles.”
Derek leans in and kisses the smile right off of Stiles’s lips. He doesn’t mind when his stomach swoops and he goes a little weak in the knees. Turns out he wasn’t sick at all, he just was in love.
Day Nine: Vacation
The ski lift comes to a jolting halt, leaving them suspended above the slope.
“Great,” Stiles mutters, trying to pull his beanie down over his ears.
“We’re fine, this happens. It’ll get started up again soon,” Derek says, his ridiculous skis shifting as he shuffles a bit closer.
“It’s gonna be dark soon, and then they’re gonna close this run, and I really really want to do it,” Stiles says impatiently. “That’s why we’re here in the first place. Pack vacation–” he trails off, even though it’s become more like couples vacation. Everyone is paired off and more interested in snuggling up by the fire and drinking hot chocolate with each other than Stiles’ plan– which was to hit all the slopes, go down that black diamond run and maybe try a few jumps off the ramps built on one of the slopes.
But nope, everybody is all cuddles and giggles and no one other than Derek has actually wanted to go into the snow with Stiles. Which is a problem on it’s own, considering how Stiles is desperately, terribly, unfortunately, in love with him. And all this time spent together bonding is bittersweet– yes, Stiles wants to be better friends with Derek, but he also wants more.
“We have all weekend, don’t worry,” Derek says.
A light snowfall starts, dusting them with snow, and the ski lift still is stuck.
There are snowflakes caught on Derek’s eyelashes.
Stiles can’t stop staring– they’re so close, and Derek is right there, looking right back into his eyes.
“Thank you,” Derek says.
“For what?”
“Inviting me. Vacation with everyone.”
“Of course,” Stiles says automatically. “You’re… you’re…” you’re my friend too, is what he should say, and it’s on the tip of his tongue. He wants to say so much, doesn’t know where to start, doesn’t know how he can fit all of what Derek means to him in words, and he just looks up at Derek beseechingly, and Derek gazes back at him with a wordless smile.
Stiles doesn’t remember who moves first; but they’re kissing, soft and slow and sweet and he doesn’t quite feel so cold anymore.
Like What You See?
for Charlie @hoechlbutt happy early birthday! here’s some fluff, bed sharing, fake/pretend relationships, friends to lovers, and derek’s thumbhole sweater all in 1.6k words
ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9227795
“Stiles, please c’mon man do this for us,” Scott pleaded.
“No.”
“Why not?” Lydia asked.
“What do you mean why not? Why would I want to fake date
Derek?” Stiles exclaimed, ignoring his heart thudding in his chest at the thought
of dating Derek.“Please Stiles,” Allison said. “We need a spot at that
convention and sending an Alpha without a partner is seriously frowned up.”“Okay then one of you date him!”
“Stiles just do it okay? For the greater good of the pack,”
Isaac added.Stiles knew he wasn’t getting out of this. He was the only
single member left and there was no way Derek could pass off dating someone
outside of the pack.“Fine. But you guys owe me big time,” Stiles eventually
said.
Now There’s Your Pickup Line
Sterek, 2K, T
AU, First Kiss, New Year’s Eve
Prompted from the screenshot of that cop on Tinder with the bio: “Ever shouted Fuck the Police? Well, here’s your chance.”
Derek shut the door behind him with a sigh and sat down on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him. He hated parties, and he was pissed that Laura had dragged him to the New Year’s Eve one she was hosting at her apartment. She did a really good guilt trip, though, so Derek was there. And now, he was curious how long it would take her to realize that he was hiding in her closet. He was hoping for at least a 20-minute break away from the endless small talk.
He pulled out his phone and swiped idly through the app screens, hovering his thumb over the little flame icon. Laura had created a Tinder account for him a few weeks ago—very much against his wishes—but he’d only been on it a couple times, and he’d never swiped right for anyone. He’d never really done the online dating thing; it just hadn’t really appealed to him. It seemed to encourage quick decisions based just on someone’s looks, and well…Derek had enough of that already.
He was bored, though, so he opened the app and immediately swiped left, wincing at the cheesy shirtless mirror shot of the first guy that popped up. Derek swiped left again, for a girl whose bio just said NO DRAMA, and then couldn’t hold in the little snort at the bio of the next guy. “Ever shouted Fuck the Police? Well, here’s your chance.”
Derek’s gaze drifted up to the photo, and he swallowed hard. This guy, Stiles, what kind of name was that, was seriously attractive. He was really working the cop uniform in the first photo, all broad smile and bright eyes. Probably taken at the pride parade, if the crowd behind him and the rainbow flag were any indication.
Derek swiped through the rest of the pictures—one of him with a dog, one of him shirtless on a beach, one of him playing what looked like a pickup baseball game—and audibly exhaled. He was definitely Derek’s type, tall and lean with broad shoulders. Before he could talk himself out of it, he swiped right. The app notified him of a match, and Derek couldn’t stop the little inward preen at the thought of this guy swiping right on him, too.
He ran with this foreign streak of courage and tapped the message button.
That is the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard.
Derek had no idea what the typical messaging etiquette was on Tinder, but Stiles replied just a minute later.
Tell me Tomorrow
“Alright, here we go,” Derek said softly, maneuvering Stiles’ coltish limbs to get him seated on the bed without toppling both of them over in an inebriated heap. Stiles made an indignant noise at the man-handling, and Derek bit back a smile. Occasionally he regretted not being able to get drunk himself, but it was amusing enough to see his friends in this state. He knelt and started loosening the laces of Stiles’ shoes, murmuring, “let’s take these off.”
Once his charge was in sock feet, Derek got him standing again, manfully ignoring how handsy Stiles he was being. As usual. Was it a lack of inhibitions or lack of balance that made the difference? He could never tell.
“C’mon, let’s get you into some sweats,” he encouraged, hoping Stiles was at least sober enough to change his own pants.
The running commentary was as much for his benefit as Stiles’. It played into that familiar, worn persona: Derek the responsible older friend, bringing Drunky McDrunkface home safe and tucking him in because the kid didn’t know how to hold his liquor. Youths!
That was who he was supposed to be, anyways. God knows they weren’t anything else to each other. The big brother role didn’t quite fit now, if it ever had, but framing things that way still seemed infinitely preferable to coming at this situation – alone with Stiles in his dimly-lit room, helping him out of his stiff jeans and into soft sleep clothes – without any emotional barriers in place.
“Hey, Derek,” Stiles stage whispered, leaning close.
“What?”
Stiles snorted back a giggle, tripping over his own feet a little as he slung an arm around Derek’s shoulder, grabbing at his wrist with the other hand for balance. “Derek.”
“What?” Stiles had moved to clutching his bicep, now, face bobbing close enough that Derek could smell the crisp gin on his breath. It was gross, he reminded himself. He resented Scott for sending him home to deal with Stiles while he and Kira stayed out celebrating their new degrees. He did.
“Derek, I…” Stiles broke off in a laugh again. “I…”
You… what? Derek wondered, but he suppressed his curiosity with gritted teeth. As if Stiles’ teasing wasn’t irritating enough sober. At least then it was usually comprehensible. “If you can’t spit it out now, just tell me tomorrow wen you’re sober.”
Stiles squinted at him, a surprisingly steady and weighing look. “Okay,” he said finally.
“Okay,” Derek echoed, glancing back at the bed. “Well, let’s…”
The kiss took him entirely by surprise, enough that his knees bumped the edge of the bed and buckled.
shealwaysreads 