“Boys,” John says as Derek Hale walks into the bullpen, tugging Stiles by the hand. Stiles is only three, but he’s no pushover. If Derek Hale is dragging him around, it’s only because Stiles demanded it.
Stiles grins at him. “Daddy! Hi, Daddy!”
“Hi, kiddo,” John says. He leans back on the edge of his desk and folds his arms across his chest. “What’s going on? Aren’t you two supposed to be in the park?”
John’s stuck at work, sure, but Claudia and Stiles were going to meet the Hale pack in the park for a picnic. Claudia is the Hale pack emissary, after all.
Derek’s eyebrows tug together. He’s a serious looking kid. Eight years old, and he can worry like a world champion. “Deputy Stilinski,” he says, and since when has he been this formal? He edges closer, still holding Stiles’s hand. He juts his chin out stubbornly, and the rest of his words come out in a breathy rush: “In ‘cordance with pack law I am stating my intentions to marry your son. Will you negotiate?”
Well then.
John looks around the bullpen. Derek’s little speech (and he almost got the words right) has gotten the attention of his colleagues. Madison looks like he’s about to drop his armful of paperwork and coo at Derek, and John narrows his eyes in warning. No. One does not coo at a werewolf, even if he is only eight years old and totally fucking adorable right now. Derek is clearly trying to be a Grown Up.
“I will,” John says, because what? He’s not going to break the kid’s heart in front of an audience. “What do you offer in exchange for my consent?”
Derek unpeels Stiles’s sticky hand from his own and digs around in his pockets. He shuffles up to John’s desk and sets down all his worldly possessions: three slightly soggy cheetos and a dented Matchbox car. Then he pushes his shoulders back and stares up at John, stubborn and hopeful all at once.
“Oh my god,” Madison whispers under his breath.
“Oooh!” Stiles says, and reaches out for the car.
Drek grabs his chubby wrist. “No! That’s for your dad. So we can play together all the time, even when we’re big.”
“Oh.” Stiles turns his big brown eyes toward John beseechingly.
“Beta Hale,” John says solemnly. “I accept. You have my consent to marry Stiles.”
Derek sags with relief.
Stiles tries to grab one of the cheetos.
“No!” Derek says again.
Stiles scowls at him. “I want cheetos!”
“Don’t eat your bride price, son,” John says. “Why don’t you two head back to the park? I’ll bet the picnic is set up by now. Mom packed you peanut butter cups, Stiles.”
“Oooh! Yummy!” Stiles is already heading for the door. “Bye, Daddy!”
Derek Hale rushes after him.
Madison comes over to inspect the Matchbox car. “You know you just promised your three year old son in marriage, right, John?”
“Huh.” John shrugs. “They’re kids. They’ll forget about it by tomorrow.”
Twenty years later the Matchbox car is in the pocket of John’s suit as he gives Stiles away at the altar.
(Super-fast idea, because I found this
picture and, after laughing at the Sheriff’s face for two minutes straight, the
idea hit me straight in the face)
Several years in the future, Derek and the
Sheriff are kind of buddies.
Derek is now a consultant for the Beacon Hills
police for any kind of supernatural crime or when they need his super
sniffer in critical emergencies (Derek found the lost little girl almost
immediately, while the K9 unit from the next town was still lost in the woods.
The Sheriff was so proud. They never talk about the fact that they had to circle
the town in John’s police car, Derek’s head hanging out of the window like
a poodle on a roadtrip).
So John and Derek sometimes hang out,
watch football match together, they have a beer, talk about Stiles’ news
from college. They enjoy each other’s company in a very quiet, simple way.
Then, Stiles comes back to Beacon Hills for
Christmas, and immediately comes out as bisexual to his dad.
The Sheriff blinks, then hugs him.
And that
should be the end of it. John is genuinely glad that Stiles told him, and happy
that he seems to grow up happy in his own skin.
John honestly doesn’t mean to search stuffs
online, but he’s bored, and one innocent question about LGBT rights in California turn into a quick google search and quickly devolve into a spiral of links. John falls deep. Too
deep.
He manages to keeps his anxiety at bay all
the way to Derek’s home, and his knocks on the door are barely frantic. But Derek
opens the door as if he is expecting the Sheriff to be on fire, so John guesses
that he didn’t control his panic-stricken heartbeat as well as he thought.
After a few minutes of assuring Derek that
no, Stiles is fine, John is fine, everyone is fine, no Stiles isn’t hurt,
nobody’s kid got missing again, Melissa is fine, there is no monster eating
anyone, Stiles is totally ok, and
getting a glass of perfectly good whisky from Derek (who apparently keeps it
around just for John), John finally explains.
Because Derek? Derek is bisexual.
They have talked about it in passing
several times. Talked about Derek’s ex, Jeff, who used to be a cop in New Jersey until he got
shot on duty and became a teacher. Talked of the creep Derek had to call the police on one night while he was drinking at the Jungle
and despairing over the shitty techno music. Talked about the association for LGBT kids Derek gives money to, and that he goes help from times to times.
To the Sheriff, it never seemed like a
detail more important than knowing that Derek hates cheap beer or that he is a
sore loser when his sport team gets slaughtered.
But now, now it is important. Because the
Sheriff needs someone with answers,
precise answers, about things that he can’t ask directly to his kid.
About giant sex toys and trips to the ER and
drugs use and STDs and biphobia and bullying.
He kind of blurt it all. Derek’s eyes look
gigantic and his eyebrows almost fly off his forehead.
So that’s how Derek becomes the Sheriff’s mentor
in everything LGBT.
It’s not as weird as it could be.
Derek answers all the questions as best as
he can, tries to reassure him. When he doesn’t know (and he wonders where the Sheriff got these informations), they look for answers
together online, while staying far away from certain websites.
(All the while, Derek tries to ignore really, really hard, that Stiles is bisexual
and apparently single. He fails).
Then maybe the Sheriff brings Derek back home in
the hope that Derek will talk to Stiles about all these stuffs (because he’s
not sure he has mastered the details enough to give the bisexual version of the
Talk. Also, the image of the humongous dildo is still haunting him).
So they end up all around the kitchen table,
Stiles looking bewildered and a little bit lost, Derek resigned and awkward and the Sheriff looking
at them with crazy eyes (again, gigantic dildo. And ER trips. Melissa works there, this can never
happen to them) until they start talking.
Stiles knows all those things. Derek knows
that Stiles knows. They talk about it anyway because, well, the Sheriff is starting to turn grey in worry.
After a little while, Stiles finally understands that Derek
is talking from experience. That Derek is bisexual. And single.
And Derek knows that Stiles is bisexual. And single.
The awkwardness quickly turns to vague innuendos, then obvious flirting, then
eyefucking over mugs of coffee.
The Sheriff gets his colors back progressively.
He wonders for a second if he should protest this development (the whole, 7
years older and a werewolf thing could be a problem), but really, Derek is a
great man.
And he apparently knows how to use lube,
condoms, and would never be stupid enough to use a gigantic dildo then lose it
somewhere in his son.
All in all, he’s ok with the direction this whole thing is taking.
(You can find my other headcanons/not fic here and my fics on AO3. Please come say hi on tumblr when you want people :D)
John knows he promised Stiles never to dive
into the deep end again (he had trouble looking at eggs and different
vegetables when going shopping for weeks).
But this time, he really didn’t mean it.
He is exhausted after an entire day looking
for clue for an unsolvable case, but his body refuses to let him sleep. So it’s
5 AM, there is nothing on the TV, and his brain is wandering. He doesn’t even open
consciously the search engine he just has questions floating in his brains that
need answer.
Like how pack dynamic works, how do you
know you are an official pack member, and can he calls the alpha “son” if he’s
almost his son-in-law, and are there werewolves wedding traditions? His brain
wants answer, and Derek is asleep, and he’s tired.
It starts innocently, with gamers forums and
weird occult blogs and then. Then, he starts following links.
Knotting in these new ages involves way
less craftsmanship and way more bodily fluids than he thought, and oh god it’s the whole possible trip to the ER again.
He tries to reassure himself by looking at
other links, but it keeps getting worse, and now there is biting, and blood,
and ass pregnancy and OH GOD HE DIDN’T HAVE THAT VERSION OF THE TALK WITH HIS SON.
Cue the sheriff opening Stiles’ door in a
panic at 6AM, computer under his arm and muttering things about supernatural
pregnancy and people getting stuck in his son in times of emergencies.
Stiles opens one eye, sighs, and buries his
head under his pillow. He kicks Derek in the flank.
“Before 8AM, he’s yourdad, go take care of
it.”
Derek, all mussed up, wants to retort
something witty but he’s half asleep and in the light from the hallway, John
looks like a hangovered raccoon and is mumbling something about heat
and rut.
Derek jumps out of bed.
(Then there is herbal soothing tea, and
Derek explaining things with minimum cringing, and one or two sketches drawn on a
napkin.
Stiles finally gets up and drapes himself
over Derek’s back, and just listens, appalled but loving them both so much it
hurts)
Literally heard a convo at the library where a guy was telling a girl that he’s an omega and the girl telling him that she’s a beta, and my mind just did not automatically connect the context to fraternity pledge classes at all and I just whispered to myself “what the fuck?? What the fuck??”
This happened like a week ago and the more notes this gets the more I am haunted by the past like im fucking jay gatsby staring across the ocean at the green light of pornographic tropes
my entire activities page is just this post. i fear that i will wake up one morning in my 90s and I can only remember how on this one night in the library, the first and only logical thing my brain could think of that explained this overheard conversation was that I have clearly been transported to an alternate dimension where self-lubricating asses exist, and that this frat boy, a mere three feet away from me, probably has a self-lubricating ass.
I really want a science fiction story where aliens come to invade earth and effortlessly wipe out humanity, only to be fought off by the wildlife.
They were expecting military resistance. They weren’t counting on bears.
Imagine coming to a hostile alien world and being attacked by a horde of creatures that can weigh up to 3 tons, run at 30 km/h (19 mph), and bite with a force of 8,100 newtons (1,800 lbf).
By the time you realise that they can traverse water, it’s too late. The surviving members of your unit manage to make it back by shedding their excess gear and running for their lives; the slower ones were crushed to death within minutes.
You later describe the creature to one of the humans you captured, wanting to know the name of the monstrosity that will haunt your nightmares for cycles to come.
The human smiles as it speaks a single word, slowly and distinctly, in its barbaric tongue.
“Hippopotamus.”
This is giving me the biggest, creepiest grin I might have ever grinned
Imagine being the next crew to go down to earth and thinking “it’s fine, we got this. We have the weapons and equipment necessary to deal with bears and *shudders* hippopotamuses. We’ll be fine.”
And at first you are, you’ve learned how to dodge. You’ve learned where their territories are. You know how to defend yourself.
But then one night you are sleeping in your shelter. You’re in a tree covered temperate part of earth. It seems benign. There are been no sightings of the dreaded “hippos” around. Not even any bears. But there is a slight rustle of the undergrowth. You try and ignore it telling yourself it is just the wind.
Then you hear the rustle again. closer this time.
You peer out into the darkness but see nothing amongst the trees.
The rustle again and now you realise you can smell something. It’s musky and slightly foul. It’s the smell of an omen, a warning. But what of? Where is this smell coming from.
You sit up, but it’s too late. The foul smelling creature is on you. You are hit with 17kg of coarse fur and vicious bites. Long dark claws tear in to you and you are pinned down white the striped creature tries to bite your throat.
It takes some doing but you manage to wrestle free. Blood drips from your wounds and already they itch with the sign of infection. The creature has a bloodied snout, rust rad, mingling with the black and white hairs. It lets out a terrifying growl from the back of its throat and looks to attack again. It’s between you and your knife, so your only choice is to back away.
Eventually the creature gives up and snuffles off in to the undergrowth, down a hole near your shelter you hadn’t noticed before.
When you make it back to your base you once again consult the captive human.
“Badger.” they say, with a solemn nod.
One word: Moose
“Our vehicles are far superior to the local human models, in range, speed, armament, and any other metric you care to name! Nothing could possibly-”
BAMrumblerumblethumpcrash!!!
“That’s called a moose.”
Wolverines.
Also.. dolphins.
The invasion is going slowly. The humans have caught on and are actively destroying information on the planet’s flora and fauna before Intelligence can capture and process it. All that they have are survivors’ accounts. Bears. Hippos. Badgers. Moose. It is becoming obvious this mudball planet is a full-on Death World to the unprepared, and you are so very unprepared.
You lost Jaxurn to a plant. Not even a mobile or carnivorous plant, just one that caused a vicious allergic reaction on contact that killed him in less than a rai’kor. Commander Vura’ko died to an insect bite, a tiny local pest that sucked a tiny bit of her blood and apparently replaced it with a bit of its last meal, which was full of disease. Backwash. She died to bug backwash. And yet you honestly envy them after that… thing you encountered…
When you got back to base the quarantine officer refused to let you inside. They had to roll a containment tank outside to put you in, because you all knew there would be no chance of eliminating the smell if it got into the ship’s air ducts. Smell. You wonder if your nasal slit will ever recover from this stench.
And the smell would. Not. Leave. After incinerating your gear the Q.O. had you use every cleansing agent they could think of, including a few janitorial ones, and still everyone fled the stench if they were downwind of your tank. Desperate to protect everyone’s nasal slits from the smell the quarantine officer interrogated the humans. From them, a glimmer of hope: there was a cure. Somehow the juice of a certain fruit on this mudball was the only thing that could break up the chemicals in the little horror’s spray. Immediately the Q.O. sent a team to recover buckets of the stuff and made you bathe in it. That was hours ago and it didn’t seem to be working, though. All it was doing was turning your blue skin an interesting shade of purple.
Sighing in frustration you wave the med-assist on duty over, who only approaches after checking the wind direction. Annoyed, you flip on the tank`s vox speaker.
“The humans did say it was “grape” juice that removed “skunk” stench, right?“
Every night.
It came for someone almost every night.
Any soldier alone was a viable target for this native monster that moved unseen by any but the security viewers, usually only spotted in hindsight. They were taken as silently as this earth-monster moved. Sometimes they’d find the remains in the morning taken up a tree and hung there, mostly eaten, as if it were a grisly reminder that the monster was still there, waiting unseen, to strike again.
What little they saw of the monster on the vidfeed showed true horror. Yellow eyes that shone with all the light it could gather. It had fangs as long as his grasping digits. Claws half that size formed curved hooks that allowed it to climb up their fortifications with impunity. And in the underbrush, its spots made it almost impossible to see clearly in the undergrowth, if it could be seen at all.
Even the native sentients, the humans, had a healthy respect and fear for it.
The earth natives called the monster a leopard.
It was a constant fear that muddied the senses, and let the monster hunt even more effectively as the soldiers were always on edge. Sleep deprived with fear, it made them even better targets for the monster.
But rumor was that there was worse on this planet. Rumors of a monster like a leopard but larger, and bigger in every imaginable sense. Stripped instead of spotted, which leaped from the underbrush with a sound.
A sound that burst eardrums, paralyzed entire units, and let the monster kill with impunity. While the Leopard wrestled soldiers down and ripped their throats out. This other monster, the Tiger, killed with its pounce alone.
“We’ve been through this,” Group Leader 455 snapped. “The dissection of an Earth life form will help the scientists make weapons to combat the rest of this planet’s hellbeasts. And these are domesticated. Harmless.”
The troops were not-quite-looking at her in the way troops do when they don’t want to be seen to contradict a ranking officer, but can’t quite muster a correct Expression of Enthusiastic Assent. “The name of this species,” she pointed out, “is synonymous with dullness and slowness in the language of the Earth barbarians.” Well, one language out of several thousand—these creatures needed Imperial guidance more than any other world on record—but there was no point in confusing the rank and file.
More not-quite-looking. 455 bubbled a sigh and consulted her scanner. “That one,” she decided. “Alone in the separate pasture. Scans suggest that it’s a male, which means it’s probably weaker. Possibly it’s kept isolated so that the females don’t eat it before mating season. And yes, I know some of you are here on punishment detail, but you’re still soldiers of the Imperium. This squad is perfectly capable of handling a lone, helpless, pathetic male cow.”
I’m enjoying this immensely. Wait until the aliens try Australia for size…
It was a strange creature Tar’van glimpsed at on the vast island known to the humans as ‘Australia’.
“I would warn you not to fuck with us, mate.” Their forced guide, a prisioner, had warned with a chilling grin upon capture. “If you think a moose is bad, wait until you tango with a red back.” To this day Tar’van fears the creature known as the red back, and what horrors it would bring.
The prisioner turned out to be of little help,the stubboness of his people causing them to refuse the danger that the captured human warned of. Tar’van recalls a moment when one of his squad members approached a creature know as a dingo, insistent they had seen these creatures before and they were tame. They barely escaped with 5 of the original 7 members of his squad.
Another moment Tar’van recalls was the brutal mauling they witnessed by the hands of a creature called an ‘Emu’
“Don’t feel too bad,” the prisioner mocked. “We lost a war to the Emu’s as well.”
Now with only 4 members of their squad left, including themself, Tar’van had learned to listen to the prisoner, to be wary of the simplest of creatures. This human was of the sub-species of ‘Zookeeper’ after all.
The ‘Zookeeper’ looks off to the distance, where the creature is.
“It’s a kangaroo, leave it be and you’ll be fine.” Tar’van nods, a human signal of acknowledgement if they are correct. The human smiles a bit.
“That creature cannot possibly harm us.” Tar’van’s squadleader protests. “It is so docile. I will aproach it and bring back it’s head to show this human is a fearmongering liar.”
The human reels back, a look of disgust crosses their face and anger passes through their eyes.
“Fucking do it mate, I dare ya.” The human hisses. The squad leader puffs up their hoinn gland, a sign of pride to their species, and aproached the so called ‘Kangaroo’.
“This will be unpleasant.” A squadmate mutters as they watch their leader raise their fist and bring it down on the creature. The ‘Kangaroo’ looks a little stunned by the impact, before it raises itself upon its strong tail and uses its powerful heind legs to launch their squadleader backwards through the air.
Their squadleader lands upon the ground, unmoving with black blooded oozeing from them. It appears Tar’van is the squads leader now.
“I don’t know what they expected.” the human says, smugness filling their tone. “Kangaroos are fucking shreaded. 8-pack and all.”
Tar’van steps forward to the human, whom inches back in a sign of fear as Tar’van pulls their blade from its holster, and in their first act as leader, frees the human of the bonds around their hands.
“Please,” Tar’van bags. “Get us back safely.”
@kryallaorchid, you guys really lost a war to emus? Why was it necessary?
oh, mate, you never mess with the emus.
(Jesus christ. Dont get us started on kangaroos)
They had faced Emu’s. They had lost one in the battle but had experienced them. But this was no emu.
Looking to their guide, they all stare in horror as his face changes from calculating to fear. Pure, heart consuming horror as he stares at the large bird. “Cassowary…” They mimic him in fear. Squawking the horrific name as another joins the first in the mad run towards them.
The only ones to survive was the native guide and Tar’van. The guide was carrying the soldier over his shoulder as they made their way back to the settlement. Tar’van was a wreck. Periodically alternating between rocking in complete silence and whispering broken words in horror. When they consulted the native all he said was “Its spring…. Magpie season…”
“Listen up, troops. This armour upgrade has been tested both in the laboratories of the best Imperial military scientists and in the field. We are impervious to the stings of any insect on this hellhole of a planet, striped or not! We can brave the perils of its wildlife, and conquer it at long last! Revenge for our fallen companions! Glory to the Emperor!”
“Excuse me,” the native Terran guide speaks up in a tired tone, and the squad’s cheers die on their lips. “This is Japan. You haven’t seen what–”
“Silence, worm! No sting can penetrate this plating!”
The guide tries to warn them once again, merely earning a blow that throws them to their knees. The troops set out, morale high, certain in their ability to brave the wildlife now and thirsting for vengeance against the non-sentient native species. One soldier thumps his fist against a tree. A hollow sound follows.
In an instant, the soldier is the centre of a storm of the striped insects. At first, no one pays it any mind. Their little stings cannot penetrate the new plating, after all.
But then the soldier falls to his knees, and the squad stares in horror as the insects enclose him in layer upon layer of their own bodies, all moving. The squad’s medic yells a warning at everyone to stay back, watching the readouts of the unfortunate soldier’s armour on their diagnostic screen with undisguised horror. The insects aren’t even stinging. They simply keep moving, one atop the other, and the soldier’s body temperature is slowly rising until he drops to the ground, quite literally cooked alive. The insect swarm takes off, unharmed save for the ones that were crushed when the trooper fell.
Finally asked about what happened, the human sighs. “Japanese honeybees. They do this to wasps, too.”
An app that shows you where there’s a young man in possession of a good fortune who must be in want of a wife
On the radar:
Gentleman with 5,000 pounds a year Handsome tragic veteran Dashing officer of good breeding Gentleman with 10,000 pounds a year Liberal-minded heir to a large estate
AU where stiles does something stupid and ends up with an ankle monitor and a police issue babysitter. Derek is probably being punished for something, too, which is how he ends up with this particular detail.
slow burn with them hating each other and then eventually painfully awaiting when Derek will no longer get fired for boning Stiles.
think of it
Bonus points if it’s Sheriff Stilinski that put Stiles in the monitor and assigned Derek because he knows his son has a crush on him. Little does he know Derek returns the favor and he’s slowly driving both of them insane.
But like, what did Stiles do to deserve this? Has he been struggling with sleep walking and this particular time he walked into the middle of a six lane highway? Was the option of an ankle monitor the better option over sending him to a hospital? Will their not only be slow burn but great angst and resentful hurt/comfort with Derek helping him deal with the sleep walking and the anxiety causing it? The possibilities to make this the most painful fic ever are endless.
Okay, so, that whole babysitter Derek Hale thing that got a hundred times bigger than I expected made me think of something else today.
Derek Hale choosing his career: Stay At Home Dad. Like, sure, he works for a while in various child-care jobs, but once his own start arriving? Yeah, no, he has enough money to not work, so there’s literally no force on earth that could keep him from spending every waking moment with his kids.
But the funny thing is, as his kids grow up, slightly spoiled and privileged, but pretty decent people all around, most of them really just think their dad is the most uncool person alive. He wears tennis socks with his sandals, for fuck’s sake, and he thinks charades is literally the best time you can have. What a loser, omg. Like, other kids’ dads have cool jobs or cool hobbies. But not the Hale kids, nooo, they get stuck with this doofus who has hippie man-bun and kind of a hobo beard these days, and doesn’t seem to be really great at anything much outside of being a dad.
Like, sure, he’s a fiend at every kids’ game/song/activity known to man, and he’s totally loving and supporting. But cool? Error, not found.
And then one day they stumble on some old stuff and what the hell is this?! First of all, Dad was a babe, how did it go from that to this weird, hairy yeti?! And he was super smart, went to college, graduated with insanely high scores and could have had his pick of any number of awesome and cool jobs. But he chose to just… have kids.
It takes quite some time for them to understand. Because they’re kids, and all kids are assholes from time to time, because they’re works in progress. But eventually they realize that their dad went and did exactly what he keeps saying they should do.
Whatever makes them happy. ❤
*slams fists on desk* y E S.
(and yeah, lets be real, he’s totally married to Stiles)(and there’s lots of kids)(who take care of Stiles’ health)(I blame Minna and Rita)
but you know what I need? This, and then Stiles beating sense into their kids, because their Dad? Derek Hale? Best you could ever imagine
Stiles will probably sit them all down on a rug and pull out a whiteboard and just start firing off points, waving his arms and giving them pointed looks the entire time, and;
“Derek could’ve just gotten a job as a modeler,” *insert pointed look directed at kids* “and I’d have to raise you all myself.”
*cue collective cringing*
“He could’ve decided to take any job, seriously, and I’d have my job, then who’d raise you? My dad? Hah. No.”
“Steph, remember when you were four and nearly drowned? Derek ran – ran – from his job at the time, do you have any idea how far away he worked at that time? It took him as long as it takes us to get to Grandpa’s house.”
*collective gasps of awe and guilt*
“Tell me, who cooks?”
*mumbles of ‘Dad does’*
“Right. We all know what happens when I cook-” *collective shuddering* “-so can you imagine what would happen if Derek decided to not stay at home? NONE OF US WOULD EAT ANYTHING HEALTHY AND THEN I’D DIE BECAUSE I’M HUMAN.”
*terrified looks all around*
“And when Mike – Michael sit down – broke Tammy’s hand-”
“It was an accident!”
“-I wasn’t at home, was I? Derek was. What would happen if he hadn’t been? If he’d been ‘cooler’-”
“Papa, I did not use that word-”
“-or if he’s shaved and looking presentable and was off making millions- what would’ve happened then? TAMMY’S HAND WOULD’VE BEEN DOOMED. FOR ETERNITY.”
“And he wears those socks because Gabe freaking knitted them for him.”
“He wears those ugly-ass sweaters because Grandpa sends them and Dad’s the best son-in-law.”
*whining* “But there’s no harm in looking human!”
“But then someone might fall for him and try to spell him away for themselves, is that what you want?”
*mutterings of ‘no’*
@ladydrace yes, Stiles defending Derek against everyone, even their kids, who quick as hell learn to appreciate Derek for who he is, yes, good, more.
I want writer!Derek and grad student!Stiles living in a tiny one bedroom apartment in New York City where Stiles is getting his masters from Columbia and Derek teaches a few classes at community college, but mostly he writes. He writes about the adventures he had, he writes about loss, and now he writes about love.
I want Stiles coming home, smelling like the subway and library, his back sore from hunching over his laptop all day and Derek comes behind him and not only takes some of the pain, but he also just rubs his back for a little while as Stiles tells him about his newest development for his thesis.
I want Derek, blinking at the screen of his computer, the last chapter of his most recent book finally finished only to realize that it’s 2 in the morning. There’s a plate of Chinese takeout in the microwave for him and when he makes it to bed after a quick dinner Stiles sleepily snuggled into his chest while muttering something about his heater finally coming to bed.
I want afternoon walks in Central Park and late night carryout pizza before cuddling up on their second hand couch to watch a movie. I want Derek running his fingers through Stiles’ hair while Stiles’ sleepily reads over his notes before his finals.
I want Stiles in a fitted suit, standing a little bit in the shadows at Derek’s book release party, not really sure if he should even be there, until Derek, his tie loosened and shirt untucked, coming over and introducing Stiles to all of his writer friends as the love of his life.
I want Derek and the sheriff at Stiles’ graduation from grad school, both so proud of him. I want the sheriff, blushing slightly, to smile fondly at his son and future son-in-law as they hug and kiss, Stiles’ graduation gown flying out behind him.
I want happy, domestic Sterek, far, far away from the drama of Beacon Hills. Can’t I just have this. PLEASE.
Hey @crossroadswrite anything cute you can add to this? You’re sterek feels always get me.
@sterekpotter100 idk if i’m the best to add to this ‘cause i have no fucking idea what NYC is like or what the heck is a grad student but i know all about sterek being happy so consider this:
derek has a good amount of money so he actually buys them a house with a view not completely covered by other buildings. his little writing desk is pushed up against a window and he has a fairly large windowsill with those cute little potted plants that he likes to spritz with water and because it brings the scent of nature into his house in the middle of the city
stiles starts wearing glasses for tired eyesight and he feels a little self-conscious about it, until derek blushily confesses to his glasses kink
the fifth month they’re together living there they find a stray kitten that doesn’t look too hot and they bring it home and care for it. the kitten is a pissy little diva and they call it glitter and love it a lot
when stiles is cramming with too much work in his university’s library derek likes to visit him and smuggle him coffee and a kiss to give stiles strenght to carry on
stiles peers think stiles made derek up because he gushes about his boyfriend so much they don’t think someone like derek could be real until they see him
when derek has writer’s block he likes taking the tour around town and watching the tourists. he’s friends with all the tour guides and gets them to tell him all the crazy stories they witnessed
there’s one day of the week that’s date day where they don’t work and dedicate exclusively to each other. they sleep in late, maybe have sleepy morning sex, have brunch at their favorite bakery and then go somewhere fun. sometimes it’s the mall, sometimes it’s a laser tag thingy stiles found, sometimes its a fun thing happening at central park, sometimes its attending a broadway show, sometimes its visiting the art museum
(derek knows everyone that works at the museum by name. he likes to wander around there. stiles also knows them, he likes gushing over his dork boyfriend)
when stiles proposes he does the horse carriage at night around central park thing. derek probably cries
they have this huge blanket that they bought. like honestly. H U G E. and when it’s cold they wrap it around both of them and watch crime shows on tv.
they watch a lot of castle. derek takes to calling stiles his muse. stiles calls him a ruggedly handsome dork.
derek actually likes birdwatching in central park
two years after they move in stiles finds this stray dog who looks hella roughed up and brings it home cause he had to. they call it robin and he’s the only being glitter seems to unconditionally love
their appartment is a cluttered mess. and they mean mess. six months in and they ran out of bookshelf space so now there’s books crammed anywhere they fit, the fridge is cluttered with fun and quirky magnets and a bunch of pictures of their family and friends are in there as well as a shitton of postcards. there’s potted plants in weird ass places because derek’s dad was a landscapist and derek never lost his love for planting stuff, there’s little knicknacks crammed all over the place, ezspecially fox and wolf themed ones because they found themselves trying to one up the other to see who can find more stuff
sometimes stiles smiles at derek or says something random adn suddenly derek storms towards his laptop and starts writing like he’s running out of time
sometimes derek has to come into the living room where stiles is sitting on the floor with his laptop on the coffee table and his materials spread around him, and he has to kiss him on the forehead and coach him away from his work and into eating something, showering and getting some sleep
derek’s a gritty mystery writer with supernatural elements and his writing buddies are charmed with stiles and keep jokingly saying they’re goig to steal him away. it always ends with stiles laughing and derek swearing he’ll never take stiles to one of those things again.
derek doesn’t really like parties but he goes to all the parties stiles goes to because stiles enjoys getting hammered and derek worries too much about letting a drunk stiles run wild in the streets of nyc
derek hale wears tacky sweaters around christmas and blushes every time he’s recognized for his books. sometimes when ppl get pushy he actively hides behind stiles
they love each other and are happy and nothing bad happens
@crossroadswrite Bro. B R O. I was thinking today about accidental/surprise knotting (as one does) and I suddenly thought…
Why isn’t there more knotting in pants fic?! People come in their pants all the time in this fandom, and why, oh why, doesn’t it apply to knotting?!
Just imagine it. Stiles and Derek will be making out like teenagers, probably because they are teenagers, let’s just go with some kind of AU here. And Derek is just drowning in Stiles’ scent, his arousal and adoration and excitement, and their hands haven’t even really moved below the belt yet, cause they’re taking it slow. YES THEY ARE, SHHH.
And they’re just kinda sitting there facing each other on the couch or something, hands groping around, lips making wet noises, and sometimes Stiles makes these small sighs when Derek finds a really good spot. And that’s as far as they’re gotten, and it’s okay, no rush. But on this particular day Stiles is a little more frantic than usual, and clings to Derek’s shoulders, and before they know it they’re tilting down onto the couch, Derek covering Stiles with his body, and oh jeez, those are their dicks rubbing together now, oh boy.
So there’s rutting and panting and things are getting really close really fast, because teenagers, and Derek starts feeling like he can barely breathe, shaking hard and moaning into Stiles’ mouth, and it’s so fucking good. But Stiles can never just focus on one thing, so even though his brain is kinda leaking out of his ears he notices that Derek is getting a little intense, and decides that maybe they need to slow down again, even though he would love nothing better than come his brains out right now. Derek is more important, okay? He’s been so skittish for so long, even though Stiles knows he’s had sex before. There was that older woman thing that was apparently pretty bad before she was tossed in jail, and while he doesn’t know the particulars, he knows it’s the reason why Derek is so cautious now. And Stiles is determined not to hurt him. Determined.
So Stiles dials things back a little, shushes Derek when he whines, and gently rearranges them on the couch so they can spoon and cuddle instead, and get their heart rates down.
Bad move.
Because the minute he gets Derek behind him to be big spoon there’s a really loud and shaky moan and a steely hard-on mashed up against his ass, and then… then Derek goes rigid, jerks like he’s convulsing and… then he hisses and curses and literally claws his pants open, because ow, too tight, and Stiles just lays there in mild shock as Derek helplessly ruts his knot against him, still fully clothed, jizz literally soaking into the couch.
And Derek wants to die from the shame, oh god, it’s not even the first time he’s knotted without realizing it, but this is Stiles, who’s been so careful about taking it slow, so insistent on not getting ahead of themselves, and now Derek practically raped him and totally destroyed his couch, too, he’s just gonna go drink a wolfsbane cocktail now, okay, good.
Meanwhile, Stiles is debating whether it would be uncool to ask to borrow Derek’s hand or if he should just use his own and get off right now, because he’s literally about to blow here, but eventually it doesn’t even matter, because Derek is still spasming through the final spurts, and lets out a long, whimpering moan right into in Stiles’ ear, and that’s it, folks, game over, and Stiles just comes in his pants.
They are gonna need to talk SO MUCH after that, but at least the sudden smell of jizz that isn’t Derek’s ensures that he doesn’t run off in horror, and there are many more happy knots in their future. The end.
@ladydrace i would have to seriously arrest you if you hadn’ tagged me (and emma this is, like, her jam) in this becaus ohMYGOD
OHMYGOD THE FACE I MADE WHEN YOU WENT BOTH TEENAGERS AU you know this is my weakness YOU KNOW THIS MINNA WHY MUST YOU MINNA????
i love it, i cherish it. i want to carry it around in my pocket forever
and look you know what else i love about this? i love that STILES is going to be the one to hold derek’s hand through knotting
you know he’ll be so curious and think it’s amazing and be perpetually in awe of derek and that derek does this for him because let’s say maybe he secretely knows derek is secretely a werewolf and did HELLA RESEARCH
furthermore this inspires my fave knotting subtrope
*pause for drumroll*
“can i touch it? does it hurt?”
“doesn’t hurt, you c-can touch it.”
*touches it*
*whimpering dying noises*
THIS IS LIKE MY JAM, KAY. SO MUCH MY JAM I COULD JAR THIS SHIT AND SELL IT IN THE FARMER’S MARKET
and look because LOOK after the floodgates are open (the jizz floodgates that is *soft badum tss*) this starts happening ALL THE TIME
derek is honestly dying over here, he doesn’t know what to do in relation to his dick and how every little thing stiles does makes it proudly raise like the american flag. a particularly bulbous flag pole
i’m talking like stiles bending over? BOOM KNOT
stiles eating a popsicle? BOOM KNOT (tho who can blame him for that one seriously)
stiles getting anywhere near his neck? BOOM KNOT
stiles making little appreciative noises while he eats? BOOM KNOT
stiles touching his butt even accidentally? BOOM KNOT
like everywhere and stiles is so stunned?? and it’s such an ego boost because he doesn’t think in A MILLION YEARS he’s even slightly good enough for derek but apparently a certain part of derek is because with the slightest coaching derek is knotting in his pants which is terrible and why he started wearing cargo shorts everytime he’s with stiles
that and sweatpants (CAN I GET A HELL YEAH FOR SWEATPANTS NO UNDERWEAR HELL YEAH)
which is kind of a problem because stiles might have a thing for derek in sweatpants. a thing called “i can easily shove both my hands down your pants and have room to do whatever the hell i want”
and look i am all for them taking it sweet and slow, i am all for them to explore it nice and easy like it was foretold in the dick prophecies, but i am also very much for a couple years when they know their way around it and when it’s time for stiles to tease derek
try to make him knot his pants without even touching anywhere bellow the waste
(he’s successful about 89% of the time too)
and then well if they’re at chipotles (or whatever the fuck) and derek just knotted his cargo shorts because stiles was making pornographic noises while sucking on a straw then it’s a good thing the parking lot his dark and the backseats in stiles’ jeeps come down because they are gonna have the sex. and okay just listen to me a minute because-
BECAUSE, there’s a lot of cum. it’s a mess and all of it can’t just be jizzed on stiles’ jeep
the solution you ask?
BLOWJOBS, blowjobs are the solution and i have a very special place in my little heart for stiles to worship the hell out of derek’s knotted dick with his mouth
shealwaysreads 