Tag: lovely

Sterek, 14: things you said after you kissed me

dude-its-stars-hollow:

so um. i kinda wrote angst? but i gave it a happy ending bc those are important

“Thank you.”

Derek blinks, confused. “You’re welcome?”

Stiles nods and then turns away, practically running out of the loft. Derek is frozen to the spot, staring at Stiles running away from him after Derek finally got the nerve to kiss him.

Obviously it was a mistake. Obviously, even though Stiles kissed back, Derek shouldn’t have kissed him. Stiles didn’t want it. The kissing back was probably just a reflex. The scent of desire was probably just a fluke. Derek forced himself on Stiles, and he’s not better than Kate.

That hits Derek so hard he falls on the couch. He is just like Kate, going after someone younger than him, someone who didn’t have the chance or proper mentality to say no.

Derek is an awful human being, and he doesn’t deserve someone as good and thoughtful as Stiles is. Because Derek isn’t good. He isn’t thoughtful. He doesn’t bring Stiles chocolate because he knows Stiles loves chocolate. He doesn’t casually brush crumbs off Stiles’ beard (if he had one).

It’s a long night of thinking through everything Stiles has done for him that Derek hasn’t returned. Stiles has bought Derek books because he knows Derek loves reading. Stiles bought him more hair gel because he saw Derek was running low one day when he was in the bathroom. Stiles has helped Derek breathe through panic attacks and held his hand during scary movies. 

Derek doesn’t deserve Stiles.

Keep reading

An Error as to Meaning or Intent

lacrimadraconis:

Stiles/Derek, Explicit, ~ 3.4k words

„What
the fuck was that, Derek?“

Stiles
slammed the front door behind him angrily, stomping through his living room and
over to Derek, getting right into his face. Backing him against the kitchen
counter Stiles absently realized his apartment is thankfully void of his
roommate.

Derek
rolled his eyes dismissively while quickly stepping out of Stiles’ personal
space. “It was nothing Stiles, leave it alone.”

“You
call that nothing? A girl flirts with me and you go all territorial alpha wolf?
I’m not your fucking territory, Derek.”

“I
know. It wasn’t about you being territory,” Derek replied through gritted
teeth. It was astounding he could even get the words out with how hard he was
clenching his jaw. If Stiles didn’t know any better, didn’t know that Derek had
impeccable control over his shift, he’d be thinking he was about to wolf out.
He couldn’t help feeling a little smug over the effect he seemed to have on
Derek though, because the guy had frankly been an asshole.

“What
was it then, big guy? Please, enlighten me.”

Stiles
turned around to face Derek again, crossing his arms over his chest. He was not
planning on letting Derek off the hook easily this time. “Care to tell me why
you were suddenly hell-bent on cockblocking me? That was a nice girl back at
the club, and she was actually talking to
me. So you better have a good explanation for basically hauling me out of
there by the scruff of my neck.”

“Oh
come on, Stiles. I wasn’t hauling you–“ Derek let the rest of his sentence
hang in the air as Stiles just kept glaring at him.

“Not
the point, Derek.”

“Fine.” Derek dragged the word out like
it pained him. “You sure you want to know?”

“Oh
goodness, don’t be an idiot wolf. YES,” Stiles shouted, “Should I write it down
for you?”

Derek
exhaled heavily, and, rubbing a hand over his face, he suddenly looked tired.
“Fine. I was jealous. There you have your fucking explanation.”

Continue reading on the AO3

depressedleonardmccoy:

Leonard leaves a flower on jim’s chair for valentines day. Something Jim almost misses when he goes to sit down, but catches just before he takes his usual seat

Its simple and sweet, but he’s confussed. He would expect a red rose since they were dating, but instead he found himself looking at a bright pink rose that made his whole body shiver.

He has to look up the meaning of the flower (cuz he knows his boyfriend. This has to be on purpose.) and is only more confussed when he reads about appreciation and thank yous.

He’s not sure what his boyfriend is so appreciative about, but he’ll gladly accept the thought.

He puts it out of his mind for the rest of his shift, giving the flower occassional glances and smiling to himself.

When he gets to his quarters that night he finds leonard sitting at his dinner table with a home cooked meal set up in front of him and another rose.

This one is the proper red rose, but jim can’t be bothered to thank leonard for it. Instead, he lifts up the bright pink rose so leonard can see it and just says “why pink? You finally starting to appreciate all the trouble i get into to give your life a little spice?”

Jim expects leonard to glare at him, but instead he’s met with a soft chuckle and the sight of his boyfriend standing up and walking over to him

“Thank you.” Jim rolled his eyes. He already knew what the flower meant and he didn’t leonard to mess with him “seriously jim, its a thank you”

“For what though?” Jim frowned “im constantly messing up and upsetting you and getting hurt or in trouble”

“Thank you” leonard says once more, a but more firmly as he reaches out to place a hand against Jim’s cheek “for making every day worth living”

kedreeva:

Taking Askbox prompts until midnight tonight if you’d like to send one!

———

            She drives him home, when the bleeding stops and the dizziness passes. She stays long enough to make sure he gets in the door, but she doesn’t press to stay. A part of him is glad for it. A part of him feels bad she was dragged into it at all. So she drives him home and he says goodnight to her, and he waits until he hears the purr of her little car’s engine before he locks the door and lets himself think about the pervasive scent clinging to every surface of his loft.

            His side still aches if he breathes wrong and he thinks it will probably be a few days before the throbbing in his head subsides. He’s already spent too much time wondering why no one came down to fetch him, so he leaves the worry resting at the back of his mind and picks up the newer problem: how Stiles got a key to his apartment.

            Because Stiles must have gotten a key. Derek knows he locked the door behind him when they left, and he knows that the door was unlocked when he arrived. The scent of the other guy is everywhere and Derek doesn’t have to ask to know that Stiles touched everything. Derek can’t even guess why; this wasn’t the first time Stiles had been in the loft. It wasn’t even the fifth or sixth or fifteenth time. Stiles had been in an out all summer, and he had never touched more than necessary.

            After a brief search – because it’s impossible to pin down the most recent scent trail, not with it smelling the same everywhere – he finds Stiles curled up, fast asleep in Derek’s bed. He hasn’t managed to insinuate himself beneath the covers, but he has made a nest on top of them and he is very pointedly on Derek’s side of the bed. Technically both sides are Derek’s side of the bed, but Derek only ever sleeps on the right side, the side where Stiles has his face smushed into Derek’s pillow, breathing gently.

            When he opens his mouth to wake Stiles, he finds that he has no words. It is a soft realization, the thought that he doesn’t want to wake Stiles. So for once he indulges himself. He doesn’t say a word, merely listening to the heavy, steady beat of Stiles’ heart, tracing his eyes over the lines of Stiles’ body, over the spikes of his hair. He can smell the salt of dried tears on Stiles’ skin, and a small, warm flutter buzzes in his chest.

            He knows why Stiles is here, now.

            Moving forward, he bends enough to take a seat on the edge of the bed. It dips beneath him, the motion barely disturbing the other side of the bed. It’s a nice mattress, but not quite nice enough to keep from waking the other occupant.

            Stiles blinks at him, fuzzy and red-eyed. Derek can hear his breath catch in his throat, and he offers a small smile because he has no words that will make anything better. After a moment, Stiles’ brow scrunches and he pulls one hand from beneath the pillow, stretching it out until his fingertips brush Derek’s arm. His eyes shoot up from the point of contact to meet Derek’s gaze.

            “You’re alive,” he murmurs, and it is so broken, so relieved, that Derek cannot help the small, choked laugh that bubbles up.

            “I’m alive,” he agrees. He lays a hand on Stiles’ chest when he makes as though to sit up. “Just… don’t. It’s been a long day.”

            “But-”

            “Stiles.” Derek says it with such finality that Stiles just lays back down and watches as Derek climbs into bed.

            Derek can feel Stiles’ eyes on him as he stretches out beside him and he tries not to wince at the pain of extending skin riddled with injuries. They are healing, though slowly. When he finally closes his eyes, the throbbing in his skull diminishes. He doesn’t open them, even when Stiles’ fingers tentatively curl over his own.

            “I thought you were dead,” Stiles breathes.

            Derek sighs. “Just go to sleep, Stiles.”

            Though he doesn’t wake, he knows that Stiles disobeys. He knows that Stiles stays up until the first rays of morning light seep into the room, just keeping watch over him. He doesn’t need a guardian, of course, but just this once he is glad for it.