i wanted to give marta some good sterek to read and then things got a bit out of hand
totally inspired by DILF (x) - wtitten by twentysomething
I treat it like a family photo album ^^
First Five (derek/stiles)
1. It doesn’t mean anything, the first time Derek kisses Stiles.
Well it doesn’t mean anything to Derek, Stiles thinks. It means something to Stiles, as all first kisses must mean something to the people who receive them, even if it’s just to file away as a mistake or underwhelming.
There is nothing underwhelming about being kissed for the very first time by Derek Hale.
it’s like a hug, but waggier
I want a fic where Stiles is getting increasingly bogged down in his own head while Scott’s getting closer to Isaac (which is a good thing, which he should be doing, because all of them need more friends, need more than just each other or a significant other). But right now, Stiles doesn’t have the emotional maturity or self-assurance to deal with any of this. He feels alone, and a little betrayed, and a lot bitter.
Meanwhile Peter’s influence is stifling, Derek’s trying to manage his new pack’s dynamics and Jackson and Lydia, and a motherfucking pack of alphas, and he still doesn’t feel like any less of a failure. There’s a kind of claustrophobia that comes with being the alpha, with being needed, with being relied on.
So once in a while—at first because it makes him feel closer to Laura—he transforms into a wolf. All the way into a wolf, none of that horror-show bullshit Peter used to do because it made him feel powerful. Derek runs, tries to get in touch with what’s in his blood and what Laura would have done. He runs and runs.
And Stiles is alone somewhere—because he’s pretty sure he’s hit the end of the Internet and even masturbation is getting boring, and lately, life has taught him that stuff happens in the woods—and an actualfax wolf approaches him. Part of him knows it’s Derek and all of him knows not to acknowledge that it’s Derek. Because the thing is, it feels good to hold still, crouching in the leaves, one palm extended until the wolf approaches, cold-warm-wet noses his skin, licks his palm in slow strokes until Stiles smiles.
Derek’s fur is thick and soft.
Stiles pets him for hours. Just pets him. His mind wanders, like a defragmenting hard drive, briefly skimming over some buried memory of an article about—or maybe he was there—pets used as therapy in hospitals, for people who are sick or sad or just really tired. He snorts to himself, and Derek lifts his head, and his freaking ears perk up, and Stiles laughs.
Maybe Derek’s tail wags just a little.
Neither of them will ever tell.
dftreaper asked you: Sterek, Stiles has an appreciation for Derek’s ass, photographer!Stiles, boyfriend-turned-resigned-model!Derek. Pretty, pretty please?
i ended up going vague with your prompt, so this ended up being au-canon-futurefic. or something! anyway, ~700 words. :D
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“Are you trying to make a point?” Derek asks, bunching up Stiles’ sheets between his fists and rolling his eyes when deepening his scowl to a near-comical point only makes Stiles give him a brief thumbs up and a ‘that’s it, babe!’ from behind his massive camera lens.
“An artistic one? Sure. I like to let the whole thing come together at the end, though, so who knows,” Stiles says, the click-click-click of the lens as he talks methodically driving Derek insane. “I’m thinking I’ll use these for the final in the gallery, though, and call it something like: See, My Boyfriend Does Exist, So Eat It, Delta Phi Assholes.”
“B minus,” Derek says dryly.
The lens clicks and Stiles briefly pulls back to look at his work, knees bracketing Derek’s foot. “Have you seen your own face recently? Automatic B plus, at least.”
Derek’s seven the first time he flashes his bright blue eyes at strangers. They’re older kids and they’re trespassing and one of them says something rude to Laura and Derek’s vision turns red, just for a second, but they gasp and Laura grabs his arm, fingers digging in painfully.
Before the kids can say anything, Laura starts swearing at them, using insults Derek has never even heard before and several he doesn’t fully understand and by the time she’s done they’re so stunned that they aren’t even thinking about Derek’s eyes anymore. She snaps at them to get lost, and they run.
Laura tries to cover for him when they get home, but their parents find out anyway and he has to spend the night in the tunnels so he can take some time to think about the responsibilities that come with being trusted by the pack - particularly the responsibility to keep himself under control.
dftreaper asked you: Sterek, Stiles has an appreciation for Derek’s ass, photographer!Stiles, boyfriend-turned-resigned-model!Derek. Pretty, pretty please?
i ended up going vague with your prompt, so this ended up being au-canon-futurefic. or something! anyway, ~700 words. :D
-
“Are you trying to make a point?” Derek asks, bunching up Stiles’ sheets between his fists and rolling his eyes when deepening his scowl to a near-comical point only makes Stiles give him a brief thumbs up and a ‘that’s it, babe!’ from behind his massive camera lens.
“An artistic one? Sure. I like to let the whole thing come together at the end, though, so who knows,” Stiles says, the click-click-click of the lens as he talks methodically driving Derek insane. “I’m thinking I’ll use these for the final in the gallery, though, and call it something like: See, My Boyfriend Does Exist, So Eat It, Delta Phi Assholes.”
“B minus,” Derek says dryly.
The lens clicks and Stiles briefly pulls back to look at his work, knees bracketing Derek’s foot. “Have you seen your own face recently? Automatic B plus, at least.”
now you’re standing in a big disaster | derek/stiles
For Marie, who had a bad day and wanted a fic to accompany this stunningly gorgeous piece of artwork. This fic is a) going to go up on Ao3 in the near future and b) canon-compliant. As such, warning for underage romantic entanglements. <3
If someone had told Stiles a year ago that his life was soon going to feature heavily in traipsing through the woods after occult creatures in the dead of night…
…well, he probably would have thought that was pretty cool, actually. There’s the decent chance he would have asked a number of probing questions, and maybe had the time to buy one of those water bottle backpacks he keeps meaning to order. Possibly, if whoever had told him had made a convincing enough argument, Stiles would have had the foresight to invest in some comfortable hiking boots. It would have been a good thing, really, if someone had thought to mention it to him before this all started, because lately Stiles is spending so much time actively trying not to let anybody die that some of his plans are falling through the cracks. Usually they’re the plans that deal with his own comfort; that, Stiles thinks, is Not Right. He’s the human, after all. He’s starting to think he may be the only human in the entire goddamn town—his comfort should be paramount, since it’s not like he can heal away blisters and dehydration and his thousandth freaking mosquito bite of the night.
Grimly, Stiles wonders if he’s going to wake up tomorrow as a weremosquito. It wouldn’t really surprise him.
Color Theory
Lydia has always been orange, fiery, eye-catching, the perfect mix of bold and bright. Even if she doesn’t think orange and blue go together (which they totally do, seriously, has she never played portal?) she always screamed orange to Stiles.
It doesn’t click for Stiles that maybe he isn’t blue until Jackson yanks his hood over his head and shoves him into a locker with a snide “move it, little red”. He can work with red. Energy, passion, determination, all very Stiles.
Somehow that helps, knowing that he and Lydia aren’t complementary, but analogous. Which makes sense because in a freaky way they’re a lot alike, smart, guarded, borderline pathological liars.
Stiles wonders if he hadn’t been so busy trying woo her, if they could have been friends. Maybe they still could be.
The complement to red is green, which Stiles is totally down with, because how awesome is Christmas? Stiles just needs to find his green so they can get with the merry making.
He starts to think of people in colors. Scott is yellow, cheerful, stimulating, and more often than not a sign of approaching danger. Of course Allison is his complement with all the ambition, nobility and passion of purple. Stiles smiles at the thought of them being the colors of the Lakers and wonders if he could get them to name their inevitable firstborn Kobe.
Stiles thinks Derek is black, what with the power, mystery and, you know, death. He’s got a definite “dark lord” vibe going for him, even if he wasn’t forcing the pack to get creepy matching tattoos.
He catches Derek one day, right after a run, bounding from out of the forest, eyes bright and chest heaving. He gives off this infectious aura of calm. It’s like he’s made for the forest, or maybe it was made for him.
Stiles remembers reading somewhere that green is the most restful color for the human eye to look at.
It symbolizes endurance, growth and, hope. Stiles is surprised when he realizes he wants Derek to be green, wants him to have that sense of safety and healing. He wants to complement Derek, Stiles wants to make him feel like Christmas every day.
He does what he can, finds way to peel back all of Derek’s layers until he gets to the heart of him. It’s slow going but Derek starts to blossom for Stiles and the more he reveals about himself the more Stiles wants to know.
They work well together, Stiles’ knowledge and Derek’s instincts filling in gaps the other misses. Derek’s also the only person Stiles has ever met who’s able to go blow for sarcastic blow with him. They fit together like the brightly colored puzzle piece mats Stiles used to love in preschool, like they don’t need anything more to be complete but the could add on a few more pieces if they want to, maybe a purple and a yellow, keep going until they have the whole rainbow.
And when Derek pushes him up against a tree, kissing him slow and sweet and Stiles fists his hands into the hem of Derek’s shirt, holding on for dear life, it feels Christmas morning.
Howling Forever AU: Derek Tries to Help Stiles Get Through His First Full Moon
Got a curse we cannot lift
Shines when the sunset shifts
There’s a cure comes with a kiss
The bite that binds the gift that givesUm, um, um. I sort of wrote porn about this. In case anyone’s interested. :D
c’mon now sugar (pt. 9)
veronica mars au; part i - part ii - part iii - part iv - part v - part vi - part vii - part viii
(or read it at A03)Derek’s looming form took up a great deal of space in the kitchen as Stiles tried to maneuver around him to make dinner. Stiles’s attempts at conversation kept getting pushed off track as he nervously watched the clock and waited for his father to return home, and Derek didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Eventually Stiles figured he might as well make use of the extra hands, even if he wasn’t sure that ordering Derek around would leave him with his own not gnawed off; the guy must have been just as restless as Stiles though, because he didn’t make a single objection when Stiles started assigning duties.
Derek was setting the table as Stiles stirred the pasta when Keith walked in. His eyes flew to Derek, widening, and then hit Stiles full force.
Stiles gave an awkward wave.
“Uh, hey Dad.”
“Can I speak to you for a minute,” his dad gestured towards the stairs, and the question was not a question.
Stiles looked at Derek, who gave a small nod. Go.
Keith followed him up the stairs. Stiles took a seat on his father’s bed as Keith hung his jacket in his closet.
“Do you want to tell me why Derek Hale is in our kitchen?” Keith’s voice was scarily even.
“I invited him for dinner.”
His dad’s mouth tightened when Stiles didn’t continue. Stiles sighed.
“We’ve been… talking. You were right about these murders bringing back unpleasant memories. And you know how you said that I always could talk to you? Well, Derek… Derek doesn’t have that,” Stiles kept his voice hushed, hoping that Derek wouldn’t be listening from the kitchen below. “I know you don’t trust him – “
“Don’t trust him? He was my prime suspect in murder case,” Keith hissed.
“What, you think I don’t remember that? He didn’t kill Laura!” Stiles spat, anger making him forget his quiet momentarily. He and his dad exchanged charged glares, before he continued, soft again, “Maybe you don’t believe that, fine, whatever. But I do. And you might not trust him, but you trust me, and so that’s what I’m asking for now. Don’t be an ex-cop or a private investigator tonight. Don’t treat him like a suspect. Be my dad, and treat him like my friend. Please?”
Keith’s lips tightened stubbornly and Stiles was afraid that this dinner would turn out to be a big mistake. But then his father nodded slowly.
“Alright,” he looked down. “Alright. I’ll be down in a minute. But this conversation isn’t over.”
fic? fic! (let)
i’m taking my sweetass time doing these comment fics but i have all of tomorrow off to look forward to! so here is the first, posted to ao3 for your non-lj comments reading pleasure! i’ll just post them like this as i do them! multifannish toe-dipping all up in here!
makes no difference | teen wolf, derek/stiles, g, ~952 words
“Are you going to lay down, or what?” Derek asks, voice low. / In which Derek is not a rock, there is some unexplained touching, and Stiles has no idea what is going on, but he does know comets are not meteors.
Read on: AO3 or original LJ comment.
your one-time not-ass-o’clock reblog for daytime! and now i’m going to go try and fill those other prompts! \o/
stiles you are just asking to be pounced on right now
lay your weary head to rest
Only the past few months of fearing for his life have instilled Stiles with enough self-control to not let out a loud yelp when he walks in his room and finds a huge slumbering werewolf in his bed. Derek’s body is wrapped in his blue sheets, one arm flung beneath a pillow and his dark head. Stiles stands stock still for a moment, then slowly moves across the room, putting down his backpack, while staying as far back from the bed as possible.
Derek must have really been tired, because he doesn’t so much as stir.
Stiles gently lowers himself into his desk chair. His leg starts bouncing nervously. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees to stop the motion, stapling his fingers together and pressing his mouth to them as he watches the sleeping werewolf.
So. Derek Hale. Alpha. Taking a nap. In Stiles’ bed. O-kay.
Marta. Old as balls. Language nerd. Lazy as fuck. Goofball. Will most likely perv on homoerotic relationships and bromances. You heard it first.
