Stiles went still, the straw to his slushie halfway to his
lips. He was in the middle of the store
parking lot and got shoved slightly out of the way by an angry shopper, but he
couldn’t bring his feet to keep moving.
“What?” he finally managed, gripping his phone tightly
against his ear.
“We think he was taken by the harpies.”
Stiles huffed out a breath. “Of course he was.”
“Lydia says they’re going to kill him in some kind of ritual,”
Scott’s voice was tinny over Stiles’ phone, the sound of traffic almost
drowning out his voice.
“Naturally.”
“We’re going to the preserve, need us to pick you up?”
Finally, Stiles kicked into gear, jogging towards his jeep. “Nah,
I’ll meet you there. I’ve got my bat.”
Scott hung up and Stiles shoved his phone back in his pocket,
climbing into his jeep. Trust Derek to
get kidnapped for some supernatural ritual.
And trust Derek to get kidnapped for some supernatural ritual after
their first fight as a couple.
He’d be damned if he let Derek die after getting the last
word in.
The argument had been over something so stupid. They’d been together – officially, both on
the same page, finally, after months
of casual-not-so-casual sex – for a few months and hadn’t had a single falling
out. It was kind of impressive,
considering that before, they couldn’t spend more than ten minutes in the same
room before they started sniping at each other.
But then Stiles had left the dishes instead of doing them
right after dinner and Derek had made some asshole comment, and Stiles had
retaliated, and it had all gone to shit from there until all the stuff they hadn’t spoken about, all the serious
stuff like Derek constantly martyring himself to save others and Stiles
constantly pushing himself headfirst into danger, came to the surface and they
ended up in each other’s faces, yelling and flinging insults backwards and
forwards, until Derek had thrown up his hands, spat, “You’re so fucking impossible” and stormed out.
Because of course he got to have the last word and the dramatic exit.
Asshole.
God, Stiles loved him so much.
*
Scott and the others were already there when Stiles pulled up
and parked.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and twisted around to grab his
baseball bat from the back seat, jumping out of the jeep. Adrenaline was pulsing through him, body and
mind geared for a fight, and he opened his mouth to suggest ways of tracking
the harpies. Except Lydia had beaten him
to it and all in all, it was fairly anticlimactic.
They found the nemeton and, with it, the harpies. Just in time, as well. The fight was over fairly fast, in a chaos of
wings and claws and bats and screeches.
Scott drove them off the territory, out of Beacon Hills, and Stiles
would have high fived his best friend if he wasn’t already dropping to his
knees next to Derek and deftly untying the ropes that bound him to the nemeton.
He was completely unharmed, which was better than Stiles who
had come out of the fight with some wicked looking scratches thanks to talons,
and he let Stiles drag him up into a hard embrace.
“You asshole,” he
muttered against Derek’s shoulder, closing his eyes and just breathing him in, reassuring
himself that Derek was okay.
Derek pulled back, just enough to cup Stiles’ face and press
their foreheads together. “You came,” he said quietly.
Stiles scoffed. “Yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “I’ll always have
your back.”
Derek kisses him then, slow and soft, sliding his hands along
the curve of Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him closer.
“You don’t get to die,” Stiles added when he pulled back. “Not
after an argument and sure as hell not before I get the last word.”
A small grin touched Derek’s face and, just as it always did,
the sight made Stiles melt because Derek was just so beautiful.
It’s my Birthday tomorrow and like last year I’ve decided to celebrate it with Sterek crack
Tags: High school AU,
teen!Derek, human!Stiles (for now), Humor, crack, fluff, getting together,
everyone is some kind of were-creature, dragon!stiles.
Summary: Even though Talia
Hale’s first and foremost plan on moving to Beacon Hills was to “Clean up the
Hale image”, Derek was far too contented with his “Scaring the shit out of
Stiles” plan. Just – he didn’t know Stiles was already of age and maybe
transforming into something pretty bad-ass any day.
Stiles’ ears perked
up on hearing a sudden rustling of dry leaves from somewhere above.
“Hey, anyone out
there?” He quickly shot up from his lying position from where he’d been
sprawled flat on the dirty, comfy bed of the forest floor, stumbling over his
own feet. “I fell in the hole,” he mumbled, weak and disappointed, as the
noises stopped. He wiped away the beads of sweat from his forehead with a quick
drag of his shirt sleeve, feeling the heat striking him hard.
Stiles had turned
sixteen a month before and his body was all set to welcome the restructuring of
his entire biology, the incarnation of his true genes which were buried deep
inside in the core of his bones, flesh and blood. He’d already started feeling
the change as his appetite suddenly became ten times larger than usual, which
was saying something because Stiles loved food. His sleep became more
conscious as his senses developed. At odd hours of a day he felt a quick rise
in his body temperature, like a fever, an internal furnace.
To burn off the
overwhelming energy he’d been running around the forest after school for a few
days now. He knew he was going to transform pretty soon into a were-something.
He just wished that day could be today.
He stretched his
neck, standing on the tips of his toes, hoping to get a better view of the
world outside. He’d started muttering to himself when no one had replied,
enjoying the way his voice reverberated through the quiet surroundings.
“If you can still
hear me, any help would be truly appreci- baah!” he screeched, toppling
over a tree root near his feet, landing on his ass.
A big furry black
head had suddenly peeked over into the hole.
“Jesus Christ! You
just gave me a heart attack,” he huffed out, clutching his thumping heart. He
watched as the stranger’s head tilted a little, staring back at Stiles with its
pale, weird green eyes, cocking one thick, judgemental eyebrow.
“Hey buddy, have ya
came to my rescue,” Stiles cooed at the huge – giant dog, sounding pathetically
hopeful. He wrinkled his nose trying to figure out its earthy, musky, very
non-doglike scent. “Go fetch your owner and get me out of here. Go Tommy
go.”
It’s just past five in the morning and Stiles is barely awake, wearing only sleep pants that hang low below his pregnant belly, and he can’t get the damned brand new jar of decaf coffee open. But he has a neighbor, and he’s too tired to think that waking someone else up at this hour might not be the best (or politest) of ideas.
Derek swallows, watching Stiles mull over the paperwork. “Are you sure about this?”
“Absolutely,” Stiles says, licking his lips. He signs with a flourish and pushes the contract back at Derek.
Derek knows every word of the contract by heart, but his heart stutters anyways when a sentence jumps out at him. The client acknowledges that any bond created during the heat session is temporary.
It isn’t fair that Stiles needs to work Christmas, when his dad is on the other side of the country. Or that his really hot, next door neighbour is around for the holidays as well. Or that there’s a power outage that makes things even worse. Or better.
Derek had started reading the column by accident. Really, reading strangers’ questions about knotting and heat had never really appealed to him. However, at that point in time, he was a little desperate.
And he was right: most of the questions submitted by anonymous readers didn’t appeal to him. The answers, though, did.
(Or: In which Stiles writes an advice column about knotting and Derek is smitten. Also they’re neighbors.)
Stiles and Derek have been close friends since the Hale siblings moved in next door after their parents’ death. But Derek’s in the popular group, he’s a star baseball player, and he dates popular Pep Squad captain Jennifer Blake. Stiles doesn’t have any of that, just his skateboard and a hopeless crush on Derek (oh yeah, and his Vote Lydia Martin Prom Queen button). As prom and the baseball state championship grow closer, Stiles and Derek start rekindling their friendship.
Derek is a sleepwalker who keeps wandering into his downstairs neighbour’s bedroom.
Stiles is pretty sure the hot guy from the park is going to kill him in his sleep. He knows he shouldn’t have been so obvious about objectifying the guy’s really fine ass.
Too bad it turns out Derek is easier to get along with when he’s sleeping.
“I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so…
“How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“
“My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.”
“A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.
Stiles has mixed feelings about his new apartment building. On the one hand, his flatmate’s gone MIA, the amount of junk mail he gets is ridiculous, and his neighbours are maybe-possibly-probably killers.
But on the other hand, there’s Miguel—perfect, beautiful Miguel.
Stiles’ favourite porn star, Derek Hale, moves into his apartment block and there are inappropriate facial jokes, broken bones, and a staggering amount of threats in a tiny elevator.
“Can I buy you breakfast?” Derek blurted, then cringed. Where exactly had that come from? He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d asked somebody out. Not that he was asking Stiles out. Just for breakfast. And – he was pathetic.
Stiles blinked, honey-whiskey-golden eyes huge in the dim light. “What?”
“I woke up you up at two in the morning,” Derek said, more slowly. “I – you know, food?”
“Oh.” Stiles shook his head. “I have to get up at five and I stayed up stupid late as it is. I’m gonna be a mess tomorrow already and–”
“Nobody gives a fuck, Romeo,” somebody shouted from outside and Stiles jerked so hard he cracked his head on Derek’s windowsill.
Or: The one where Stiles is a cop and Derek doesn’t sleep.
The boys watch as Stiles drops his half eaten donut on the ground, flails for a second before glancing all around as if checking to make sure no one’s watching – and then scoops the glazed treat right back up and takes another bite, albeit with a guilty expression on his face.
In which Stiles Stilinski has a little too much to drink, and steals a baby goat.
THIS IS POSSIBLY THE BEST THING TO HAVE EVER HAPPENED ON A THURSDAY. Lissa wrote me a story! About a baby goat! It’s the cutest, most fantastic story about a baby goat ever to be written.
This fic desperately needs to be read by everybody right now immediately
Okay, so he’s woken up in Derek’s bed: not confusing. They’d had sex: again, not confusing. Derek still being there: not that confusing, it is his apartment. Derek holding Stiles tight like he’s something precious: CONFUSING.
It’s not like he expected to be kicked out at first light, but this is – they hadn’t even talked about what they were to each other before this. Stiles doesn’t need a definition, not really; his life is a stitched together tapestry of things that never quite make sense, but he feels like he and Derek need something to help them along. That maybe he and Derek both deserve more than guesswork.
Derek’s not even awake yet, his arms wrapped around Stiles so tightly that Stiles is kind of amazed he can breathe. There’s a tickle at the back of Stiles’ neck where Derek’s breath hits his skin, and Stiles can feel the rise and fall of Derek’s chest as he breathes steadily. It’s comforting in ways Stiles didn’t know it could be.
shealwaysreads 