sorry this took forever omg i swear i’m not this trashy irl (ha ha who am i kidding, i totes am)
anyway enjoy, this isn’t as great as i’d like but i feel a bit burnt out so yeah :( sorry!
It all starts when Derek first shows Laura a picture of Stiles.
She chokes on her own spit, and Cora has to thump her on the back until she can breathe because she’s… laughing?
Derek scowls; cradles his phone to himself protectively. Laura’s still cackling, going so far as to claw at her chest because she can’t breathe. He looks over at Cora, who shrugs, but looks unconcerned, because she knows Laura’ll eventually tell her what’s so funny, unlike Derek who’s probably going to spend a lot of sleepless nights trying to figure out what exactly has got Laura cackling like a maniac.
"Okay, I’m done," she wheezes, waving a hand at Derek’s face. "Your eyebrows are reaching record-breaking heights. It’s fine, he’s cute." His eyes narrows as her heart blips minutely, in that Laura-specific way that meant she wasn’t lying exactly, but she was telling a half truth. That, or she’s leaving something out. "He is!” she insists, and her heartbeat is steady this time.
He glances down at his phone again, appeased, and Stiles’ beaming expression is enough to get a smile across his own face.
"Yeah, he is," he agrees, and pretends not to notice Laura and Cora making gagging noises.
sterek modern royalty au: stiles is the crown prince, and derek is basically the royal mechanic
happy (belated) birthday literaryoblivion! i hope you like this <3 you are amazing and wonderful and ilu.
Stiles faces the cameras, waves his hand and smiles like he’s been trained his whole life to do. His back aches from the stiff posture, and he resists the urge to run his hands through his hair. A reporter asks him a question about his father’s upcoming peace summit, and Stiles automatically recites the answers.
Remember to smile. Remember the answers. Remember to be charming like Mom taught me.
The reporter thanks him, and Stiles continues down the line, answering more questions about the summit, but also superficial questions like who he was rooting for in the World Cup and what’s the worst thing about being the son of a king. “Never getting good curly fries,” Stiles answers, which isn’t what the reporter expects. “I never get to just run through a drive thru and get fries, and the one time I did, the workers were so nervous my fries were burnt.”
“Couldn’t they just make them for you at the castle?” the reporter asks.
Stiles grins and winks at her. “Just not the same.”
Be charming. Be funny. “You don’t have to be Prince William,” his mother had told him. “You don’t always have to be serious.”
His bodyguards stand by watchfully as Stiles takes photos with a few people, and then he faces the cameras again. His fingers self-consciously go to the waist of his dress pants, because they feel too tight, too restricting. But Lydia had insisted that his outfit was perfectly tailored. “This is what you pay me for, Stiles,” she’d huffed. “Now let me do my job.”
He trusts Lydia with everything, from his clothes and hair to booking his appointments, but that doesn’t make him feel any less constricted and ridiculous in these tight-fitting pants. He misses the days when he could wear oversized khakis and hoodies, despite the fact that he was heir to the throne. Sometimes, he thinks turning eighteen had been the worst thing to happen to him.
Stiles walks towards the car waiting for him on the curb. He waves for the remaining cameras, shouts out a few one-word answers to reporters’ questions, watches as his bodyguards keep more eager reporters from rushing him. At the car, he turns and gives one final, regal wave before slipping inside.
He takes a deep breath once the door’s closed. Without the adrenaline that comes with being in the public eye, his hands start to shake violently.
His driver, Isaac, turns around to look at him. “Are you okay, your highness?”
Stiles concentrates on his breathing – in out in out in out – the panic ebbing, though the shaking doesn’t stop. “I’m fine, Isaac.” He shoots him a weary smile. “Let’s go home.”
"Beacon County Sheriff’s Department," a gruff voice answers.
Stiles stops and looks at the phone in surprise, still bouncing Hannah on one hip. That…is definitely not his dad. Fuck. He must have accidentally called the station instead of his dad’s personal line. Again.
"Uhm. Hi," he says lamely.
There’s a pregnant pause before the voice on the other end says, “Hello.”
"Can you patch me through to Sheriff Stilinski?" he tries. He doesn’t immediately recognize the voice, but there’s a good chance he’s met whoever it is at least once.
Another pause. “Is this an emergency?”
Yes, Stiles wants to say, but he’s not exactly sure how to justify needing his dad’s patented diaper rash remedy as an emergency. Hannah’s rash isn’t even that bad, but Scott’s been calling him every half hour to ask him to check on it, and drop totally unsubtle hints about how his mom said the sheriff might be able to help.
"Kind of," he settles on. "Uh. What’s your name?"
There’s a huff, like the guy on the other end is losing his patience, which, rude. “My name is Deputy Hale. What’s the problem, sir?”
secret princes! royal weddings and more!
derek is a prince
- Once Upon A Time by Swing Set in December
- Hoards of Gold and Treasure by RiniRhyme
- I Want To Eat You Up by nicodreams
- Look What We’ve Got, It’s A Fairy Tale Plot by Swing Set in December
- Untitled by Swing Set in December
stiles is a prince
derek and stiles are princes
One of mine for derek is a prince: Your Mark on My Skin
Did you see that video of that baby who stopped crying whenever her parents played Beyonce? I’m pmuch falling into spasms of lols picturing this being the case except Derek is every baby’s Beyonce.
Like, please imagine a situation where Scott’s baby is crying, like NORMAL CRYING, not that anything’s wrong, but it’s just kind of harder to deal with than Scott thought because of enhanced hearing. He can’t really tune her out because hello, goes against every instinct, but also she’s not crying because anything’s wrong. She’s just disgruntled about everything, but especially being put down.
Except Derek walks into a room, and her eyes snap to him and immediately calms down. She super doesn’t care about being put down in her little chair as long as she’s facing Derek, and she just quietly stares at him.
CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE THIS. STILL LAUGHING. STILES RECORDS DEREK ONE AFTERNOON FOR LIKE THREE HOURS. DEREK ISN’T EVEN DOING ANYTHING, IS JUST COOKING AND WASHING DISHES AND SHIT BUT ALL SCOTT HAS TO DO IS PUT IT ON TV AND THE KID STOPS FUSSING AND STARES INTENTLY.
DEREK HALE INADVERTENTLY RUNNING AN INFANT DAYCARE DESPITE HAVING NO QUALIFICATIONS WHATSOEVER JUST CAUSE BABIES LIKE HIM. DEREK GETTING A JOB IN THE NICU BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH THOSE BABIES ARE TOO LITTLE AND SICK TO FOCUS ON HIM, THEY’RE QUIETER AND SEEM TO THRIVE JUST A LITTLE BETTER WHEN HE’S IN THE ROOM. HE JUST BRINGS A BOOK AND SITS IN THE ROCKING CHAIR. EVERY SO OFTEN HE GETS UP AND MAKES ROUNDS, SAYING A GRUFF HELLO TO EACH BABY.
DEREK HALE: EXACTLY HOW HE IS IN CANON EXCEPT SOMEHOW SENDING OUT POSITIVE VIBES TO ALL BABIES.
BUT WE DON’T KNOW THAT HE ISN’T LIKE A BABY MESMERIZER. WE JUST DON’T KNOW. UNTIL I AM SHOWN A BABY THAT STILL CRIES WHEN IT SEES DEREK THIS IS CANON. JUST LIKE THE SHERIFF’S FIRST NAME IS SHERIFF, SCOTT’S DAD’S FIRST NAME IS AGENT AND IT’S ALL A GIANT BAG OF NOMINATIVE DETERMINISM.
"HELLO BABY," DEREK SAYS QUIETLY AS STILES BOGGLES. THE BABY JUST STARES UP AT HIM, EVEN THOUGH DEREK HAS, LIKE, NO BABY TALK AT ALL. STILES CAME IN TO DEREK DESCRIBING THE FUCKING WEATHER TO ONE OF THE KIDS, AND YET THEY STILL COO, AND STARE, AND FIND HIS PRESENCE BIZARRELY COMFORTING. DEREK HALE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT BABIES. STILES HAS TURNED INTO HIS FREAKING PA OR SOMETHING, BECAUSE HE’S THE ONE GOOGLING WHETHER IT’S OKAY TO FEED THEM STEAK, AND HOW TO PREVENT DIAPER RASH WHILE DEREK JUST EXISTS AROUND THEM AND OCCASIONALLY TELLS THEM INCREDIBLY OBVIOUS THINGS. “HELLO, YOU’RE SMALL,” DEREK SAYS SOLEMNLY TO ONE BABY, BENDING DOWN TO RUN A FINGER ALONG THE ARCH OF HIS FOOT. THE BABY LOOKS AT HIM LIKE HE’S JUST EXPLAINED STRING THEORY USING BELL PEPPERS.
"YOU’D BE NOTHING WITHOUT ME," STILES HISSES. "AND YEAH, THAT SOFT SPOT ON THEIR HEADS IS MEANT TO BE THERE."
DEREK SITS BACK DOWN AND STARTS WHITTLING AGAIN. THE BABIES LIE IN A CIRCLE SO THEY CAN ALL SEE HIM, AND STARE, TRANSFIXED.
omega werewolf babies.
Derek gets a reputation eventually. He has a youtube channel which is him reading instruction manuals out loud, sat in a rocking chair in front of a fire, which has had over a million hits. He’s pretty bemused by the whole thing. Then the Werewolf social services call him, and he’s a little twitchy at first because he thinks he got Scott to cosign Isaac’s college applications but he’s not completely sure, but it turns out it’s not because he’s gotten tangled up in werewolf bureaucracy again. It’s because there’s a baby born wolf who’s lost its pack, and they don’t know what to do. They’ve tried everything, and they’ve got five of their best case workers on it, but the cub won’t stop crying, and it’s getting closer to the full moon and it’s getting literally painful to be in hearing range of it.
Derek’s saying yes before he’s really thought about it, then sits down and stares at the table for a few minutes. The first few months after the fire, he and Laura were shunned by other werewolves. Their grief, the taboo of being born wolves without a family, Derek’s guilt and confusion— it was something that carried a scent and sound that made everybody edgy. For a cub to be going through that loss without an anchor is unthinkable. He’s still sitting there when Scott and Stiles come in, still having their eternal fire hydrant on ice skates debate (Stiles is for, Scott against). They’re at his side immediately, their hands on each of his shoulders.
"There’s— there’s a cub. In Oregon," he says, and they both immediately go into planning mode, and before he knows it they’re bundled into Stiles’s jeep, Stiles is trying to persuade Scott that the whole of Tusk is good road trip music and he’s not sure how he thought he was going to get to the cub but this is a better way.
They get there crumpled and tired, smelling of Stiles’s jeep and motel beds. Scott’s on edge as soon as they get in hearing range. Stiles picks up on their uneasiness, does all the talking as they get closer and closer to the desolate, exhausted sounding cries. Scott and Stiles wait in the corridor as the caseworker opens the door, shows him in, her eyes glowing yellow in her distress , nails making gouges in the doorframe.
He nods to her, closes the door behind him and looks at the cub. Her name’s Emma, and she doesn’t have a pack any more. She smells like grief and everything that’s wrong with the world, and he tastes ash at the back of his throat. She hasn’t seen him yet, changing forms as she thrashes on the mattress, leaving tears in the fabric, clouds of stuffing and feathers around her. “I, uh, I like your dress,” he says quietly. It used to have sunflowers on it, he thinks. He can see patches of bright, bright yellow. He comes to the edge of the mattress, sits down, taking deep breaths to keep himself under control. It’s unbearable. “I like yellow. It’s a good color. People— happy people wear it.”
She stills a little, the spaces between her form changes getting longer. “And your eyes go yellow too, when you get your little fangs and your claws. Maybe your mom wanted to match your dress to your eyes, huh?” It gets a little easier to breathe as the pitch of her cries becomes less urgent. He keeps talking to her, stretches his legs out on the mattress, his back to the wall. He doesn’t touch her yet, though, just lets her get used to his scent, the sounds he makes. When she’s quietened down to making hiccoughing sounds, eyes flashing as her body spasms, he puts his hand out and puts it on her foot.
"Hey you," he says, and can’t help smiling when she goes limp and stares at him with rapt, trusting eyes. It feels a little like he’s come through a storm. He can breathe again, without the crushing bands around his chest, his head. He brushes her hair back from her sweaty forehead, tickles her gums where her fangs drop, like his mom used to. "Stiles, Scott. She needs feeding and bathing, new clothes. Come in when you have them, but come in quietly, you hear?"
"Sure thing, buddy," Scott says, starts charming the caseworkers. He doesn’t want too many strange people in here yet. He picks her up, supporting her head, rests her on his crooked-up thighs and just looks at her. She’s filthy, a little dehydrated, and has no control yet. He’s not sure what the werewolf family services will do with her. He smiles as she grabs a handful of his sweater in her hand, starts mouthing at the fabric.
"You’ll be okay. Good cub," and yes, his conversation could do with some work, but she’s a baby. All he needs to do, really, is be in the same room. He’s already trying to work out if being terrible at paperwork is going to count against him in the adoption process. He can always nominate Scott and Stiles as responsible co-parents. Or something.
Two days later, they’re in an office. Scott and Stiles are sitting either side of him, and he feels a little bit like he’s walked into a double act. Three out of the five caseworkers are actually pinching the bridges of their noses. The other two have audibly sighed three times. He’s enjoying it, in a horrified sort of way. “Mr Hale, while we understand that the…situation in Beacon Hills has stabilized now, there is the matter of your personal life. There has been a certain pattern in your choice of partner,” and the woman breaks off there, all delicate pauses and inferences. Stiles leans forwards, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Super sneaky national geographic worthy photos of tyler hoechlin who is on my plane right now
I can’t confirm what it was but I can confirm that he was rocking out and dancing in his chair and mouthing along to it
Look at me look at me. Moderately famous actor!Derek Hale—who hates being bombarded by fans—going “incognito” to catch his flight back to California. He wears his favorite, worn out sneakers and glasses and the stupid jacket with the perpetually popped collar that Lydia forced him to buy bc it was in style. He even puts on the baseball cap he hates for Christ’s sake.
And then you have visiting his grandmother who lives out-of-state!Stiles Stilinski doing a double take when he spots Derek-freaking-Hale sitting in the isle across from him. He’s wearing a terrible-terrible disguise. Seriously? Who isn’t seeing through that? But Stiles sort of just grins to himself bc yeah. It’s pretty endearing. As is the way the actor steps on his own feet like he’s a puppy whose paws are too big for his feet and mouths along with whatever music he’s listening to and is really nice when someone does recognize him despite the fissure of annoyance Stiles can see in his posture.
And when they get on the plane, it turns out they’re actually seated next to each other. (Stiles’ grandmother had upgraded him to first class despite his protests.) Derek’s in the window seat, staring resolutely out like maybe Stiles won’t notice him. Stiles considers just pretending, letting Derek believe in his own horrid attempts to go unnoticed. It’s kind of a long flight, though, and the dude is going to get a crick in his neck if he holds it like that for too long.
So Stiles sort of just relaxes his head against the seat and rolls his gaze lazily in Derek’s direction.
"You’re kind of horrible at being incognito, you know that?" he tells him with a grin.
Derek sags a little like he’s accepting his defeat and turns, face filled with a sort of forced pleasantry. “Looks that way, yeah. Did you—did you want a picture or something.”
And Stiles is like, “Nah man. Just figured I’d break the ice so you didn’t have to keep your neck all turned like that. You’d probably strain a muscle or some shit.”
It makes Derek smile a little, tension draining away as if Stiles has pulled the stopper that was keeping it brimming and tepid in its basin.
He really plans on letting it go too, letting Derek take a nap or read a book or watch a movie on his iPad. But then Derek’s actually trying to engage him in conversation, and they end up talking through the entire flight, voices raised to be heard over the sound of the engines.
Derek is different than he expected. He’s sort of sassy and stoic and smart as a fucking whip. And maybe Stiles find out that he’s from an area near Beacon Hills and that his family still live there and, “Maybe we could get coffee while I’m there.”
Romance happens, of course.
Also banging. Definitely banging.
FOR ANYONE WONDER THE TAGS ON THIS POST WERE SUPPOSED TO BE
and not just for a half a day, they’re in that coma for a while, all the flowers die out, people stop visiting, Scott comes around every week but only Stiles is there every day, because no one knows if he’ll wake up again, the hospital doesn’t know why he’s still even alive because he doesn’t need life support but it’s like something just switched off in his head, and stiles is there every afternoon, holds his hand and reads him the news and watches the nurses shave his face, when it’s shaved he looks as young as stiles just found out he actually is, kisses his forehead when he leaves and says ‘i love you, maybe tomorrow…’, but for MONTHS tomorrow never seems to come, and then on the one weekend Stiles is away to look at colleges, the first time he hasn’t visited his boyfriend in almost half a year, Derek wakes up and can’t remember anything except for the voice that read the news and called him honey and said, ‘I love you maybe tomorrow…’
fuck u iphone tumblr app
derek wakes up and his room is nearly dark from the setting sun and he can hear the equipment in other rooms and his mouth is so dry and his head hurts. for a moment he thinks maybe he’s dead or maybe he’s dying and he wants his mom but he can’t remember who his mom is, but he knows she’s gone and this is a hospital and he’s hooked up to a bunch of tubes and he needs to stay still, very still, so he doesnt move any of them because he must be very hurt or very sick and he’s so alone, very alone and confused and probably dying
all his memories are soupy and confusing and half dark, but he thinks he knows a voice and he thinks the voice was real and it told him stories he didnt understand that were too boring and sad to not be real. and it called him petnames and there was a hand always somewhere on him, brushing his hair or touching his face or holding his hand and he was cold for a long time before the voice and the hands put more blankets on him
the nurses try to tell derek where he is and he doesnt do that thing where he thrashes and fights them and runs from the hospital like a loose animal because he’s confused and scared and when he asks for the boy who talks to him, it’s in a very small voice because he’s afraid the boy isnt real but the nice nurse that smells familiar, the one that says he’ll start remembering better, he’s just been asleep for a long time, says “stiles is just away for the weekend. you remember stiles?”
but derek doesnt remember him, doesnt remember his face or what he smells like or where he knows him from. melissa the nurse says that stiles is her son’s friend, and shows him a picture on her phone of two little boys in swimming trunks, but derek doesnt know them, didnt know them when he was a kid. melissa doesnt have a recent picture but she promises him “he’s your boyfriend. he loves you very much”
he sleeps a lot because he’s just so tired, but they have someone watching him, waking him up every half hour just in case he sleeps back into his big sleep. but one of the times when he wakes up it’s to a group of people standing at the foot of his bed and when he blinks at them and waves tiredly with his un-tubed up hand the tall blonde boy comes running over and nearly collapses derek’s bed, and then there’s a bunch of teenagers that smell like pack laying on him or leaning against the bed, all talking at once but derek is mostly asleep again and one of the boys, scott, brings a dirty pillow case from stiles’ room and the smell makes derek curl up and shudder because he knows that smell, can link it to a touch and a voice
he mumbles “stiles” because this is stiles, this is his smell, this is him
and they’re all talking about a phone connection or a dead battery or something and derek is too busy just breathing the sleep smell off the pillowcase but then there’s shoes squeaking on linoleum and everyone goes so quiet and derek looks up from the pillow to see what they’re all staring at and
his hair is cut different and he looks so tired, like he hasnt slept in half a year, and derek doesnt know that shirt but he knows his shirts and his voice and smell and touch and what his lips felt like the first time they kissed and what movie they saw on their first date and how hard his heart was pounding the morning after they had sex for the first time and stiles came back from the bathroom in one of derek’s tshirts
and derek sits up as much as he can and it’s maybe tomorrow and its i love you and its so much that derek cant hear anything over the sound of his own pulse on the heart monitor and stiles just launches himself at the bed and everyone clears out enough that he lands in a heap over derek and derek feels weak but his arms curl over stiles and smooth out his hair and stiles smells like BO and cheap gas and black coffee and he keeps saying “i should have been here” but derek doesnt really care because he’s here now
and it’s i love you
and it’s tomorrow
and he’s awake
and he has stiles
so yea a ,
I don’t know about you guys but I’m here for up and coming head chef!Stiles Stilinski and (in)famous food critic!Derek Hale.
Like Derek’s got all this money after the fire, from the life insurance (and also the bonds apparently), so after college he leaves Laura and Cora in New York and goes traveling, sees the world for a year or probably two.
There are so many impressions everywhere, so much to take in, people, sights, sounds, moments of such beauty and awe that they stun him, like sunrise in the desert in Morocco. There are also moments of frustration and confusion, like rush hour in Mumbai. Derek discovers that he can always find comfort in food, in sitting down for a meal. Whether it’s among a group of locals in San Sebastian who take him under their wing despite that grouchy face and rusty Spanish or on a sidewalk in Hanoi, chomping down on fresh gỏi cuốn.
He takes dinner with a family of twelve in a house on the outskirts of Rome, and sits quietly next to an elderly man at a Yakitori-ya in Kyoto. Everywhere he goes there is a tantalising array of different tastes and textures for him to explore, things that are new but strangely familiar, like the thick chicken stew he’s served by a filipino woman in Hong Kong or the rich hot chocolate he drinks in a small cafe in Vienna. He falls in love with it, and it’s that sense of familiarity that drives him, that sense of connection and belonging in a new, different format that allows him to enjoy it without it hitting too close for comfort. Always chasing that distinct bitter sweet taste of nostalgia, of coming home without getting too close to the fire.
Just putting it out there that
My friend told me today that photos from his Instagram have been posted without his knowledge on gay dating sites (he’s more flattered than anything) and if that doesn’t have mistaken identity sterek fic with Stiles randomly running into the guy he’s been flirting…
Uh, is it kosher if i just…?
“…So then I ate the elephant,” Scott says casually, and takes a sip of his coffee.
“Uh huh,” Stiles says noncommittally and then, startled out of checking his phone, “What?”
Scott rolls his eyes. “You’re chatting with him again, aren’t you?”
Scott raises his eyebrows meaningfully.
“Fine, yes. But we were just setting a time up for later.”
“Stiles, every time you sext with him you come whine to me after about how wrong it is that, and I quote, ‘a body like that belongs to a bro-tastic bore who misspells “coming.”’ There are other fish in the sea! Like, literally a million other fish just on that app.”
“I know,” Stiles whines. “But every time his chat-speak drives me away, those abs bring me back.” He gives Scott a long, baleful look that doesn’t quite get him the sympathetic response he feels he deserves.
“He won’t even meet you in person,” Scott says. “Give up, dude.”
“Well, that’s the point! If he’d just do me already I could get it out of my system. And I mean, he’ll chat with me any time I’m on, so clearly it’s not a lack of inter… what?”
Scott is staring over Stiles’ shoulder. “Hey, check it out, I think that’s him.”
“No way, we’re at a bookstore,” Stiles scoffs, glancing back automatically.
But the man sitting there is unmistakably Rippeddude69. He has the ass, the broad shoulders, and even with the (delightful) scruff he’s grown since he took the photos Stiles has seen, those cheekbones are unmistakable.
“Technically, a bookstore café,” Scott says. “Maybe he really likes the coffee?”
“Oh my god,” says Stiles. He’s tall, too, like taller than Stiles tall. He’d started to think that’s why they hadn’t met yet, that he’d lied about being over six feet. “I’m so turned on I think I’m hyperventilating.”
“No, you’re not. Go talk sexy to him, tap that, and get it out of your system,” Scott says, grinning.
“You’re a bro, Scott,” Stiles says. “The good kind of bro, I mean. The best.”
Scott gives him an encouraging double-thumbs up as he approaches his virtual hook-up who is, against all odds, reading a book that doesn’t have pictures.
“Hey,” Stiles says, slinging himself onto the stool at the other side of the table. “Look at us, meeting cute. Let’s do real names: I’m Stiles.”
The other man looks startled, which is fair considering this is a complete one-in-a-million chance. Okay, maybe more in Beacon Hills, population 20,000, but still.
“Derek?” he replies, with a questioning lilt. His voice is higher, smoother than Stiles expected. It fits him though. Why hadn’t Stiles suggested phone sex?
“Nice to officially meet you,” Stiles says. “I didn’t know you’d have such a hot voice.”
“Wow, uh, thank you,” Derek says, flustered.
He’s actually shy, Stiles realizes. After approximately thousands of words of sex role-play he’s nervous in person. Somehow that’s even hotter than the pushy ‘suck it, slut,’ personality over the phone.
“Oh, that’s not the only thing you’ll be thanking me for,” Stiles purrs with a salacious wink.
Derek is almost entirely red now, but he’s grinning too. “You are incredibly forward,” he says.
“Yeah?” Stiles says in a low voice, aware that they’re in public. “What can I say, after all the talk I just want to get you alone and see how you taste.” Stiles licks his lower lip, chases his tongue with his teeth.
“Okay,” Derek laughs, holding his hands out in the universal ‘slow down,’ gesture, “All this talk?”
Stiles leans in over the small table. “You’re not really working with me, here, Derek,” the name feels good in his mouth. “Tell me something you’d like to do to me.”
“K-kiss you?” Derek asks, like that’s maybe too much.
“You wanna come on my face?” Stiles offers, eyebrows raised.
Derek balks. “What? Why would you think I….”
“Please, that’s how, like, 50% of our sexts end,” Stiles protests, offended. He remembers these things.
“Wait, what? We don’t sext,” Derek protests.
“Uh, yes we do,” Stiles corrects, “We were talking about it literally minutes ago. Dude?” He pulls out his phone, opens the app and thrusts the evidence at Derek.
“Oh my god,” he says, cringing as he scrolls through the account. Stiles is embarrassed too, and angry. Does this guy do so much sexting that he can’t even remember who it’s with? Stiles puts effort into making his dirty texts as great as possible; maybe this is why Derek always seems like a numbskull – he’s multitasking.
“I knew those would come back to haunt me,“ Derek says.
Stiles grabs his phone back. “Well, excuse me for thinking you were actually interested. I’ll stop bothering you.”
“No,” Derek says, grabbing Stiles’ arm. “I mean, that’s not me. Or, it’s me but… those are just some old pictures my sister took a couple years ago for her photography blog, I don’t even have an account on that site.”
“Oh,” Stiles says, and then he feels his face basically go up in flames with embarrassment. “Oh.”
“I would… not choose that user name.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says weakly, “Yeah, probably not.”
“But, I would totally try to chat with someone like you,” Derek adds, with a small, hopeful smile.
Stiles sits back down with a thump. “Even after I offered to let you come on my face five minutes after meeting you?”
“It was sort of endearing,” Derek says, generously. “But for now let’s start with me buying you a drink, okay?”
“Okay,” Stiles says.
Behind them, Scott does a vicarious fist-pump.
Even after I offered to let you come on my face five minutes after meeting you?”
“It was sort of endearing,” Derek says, generously.
Commission for mynuet: the sheriff and Derek hanging out, maybe watching tv, as Stiles flails somewhere in the background. Related to this fic.
Not the best background I’ve ever done, maybe, but clearly the best background I have ever done.