#sterek drabble

[jade-bright]

Just so yall know,

There's some versions of my same age sterek au in my head, where Stiles' grandmother, Claudia's mother, is a(n) seer/oracle (someone with the ability to see what will happen in the future).

Anyway, in some worlds, at some point, Grandma Gajos sees how Claudia will lose herself and die when Stiles is still fairly young. She doesn't do much about it since she's had to grow up reminded and reminding herself to live in the moment, but it all comes to a head when Stiles loses most of his spark, (as the price for bringing Paige back from the dead) that's when she knows Claudia will soon not be her Claudia anymore.

So she let's her grandson and his friends have some time to recover from their friend's death and resurrection, and let both the Stilinski and Hale families process the fact that the other is part of the supernatural world, before she starts getting herself involved with Stiles' relationship with Derek.

Firstly, this is a born werewolf of a strong pack and a long line of Hale's, she is going to walk up to the Hale house and demand strongly suggest and recommend that Derek officially and correctly court her grandson, (Stiles can whine all he wants but a spark deserves no less than a proper courting, especially her own grandson).

After both of them have proven themselves worthy mates to the each other and their families, with some help from Peter (because he's the only reasonable one hadn't tried to talk her out of this whole thing, and willingly helping with little to no fuss) she starts to plan a mating bond ritual combined with a handfasting ceremony.

Both parents of the boys try to reason with her, in that they shouldn't be tying their sons together so early, when they're both still so young, but she knows her daughter won't be able to be at her son's wedding (doesn't yet see that almost all the Hale's won't be either), and that if there's one good thing about her power is that she knows Derek is it for Stiles, she's seen several versions of her little Mieczysław and there's not one where he doesn't end up with Derek Hale.

She continues on her mission of getting them married through spark and werewolf means, she knows even if it'll only be recognized by those of the supernatural world, it won't matter because this is much more meaningful to both families.

When she's sitting in the front row during the ceremonial ritual and can see right in front of her, the deep true love these two boys have for each other, she's more than happy to have gone through with this. And when she's at the after-party watching as Claudia and Talia get to dance with their new sons, she's truly reassured in that she'll never regret her decision in doing this.

This adventure of Grandma Gajos ends with howls and sparks of light going into the night, and for some, it'll be the last good moment they'll have for a long time...

[mischief-and-the-big-bad-wolf]

"What the fuck did you guys do to him?" Stiles shrieked, staring down the pack as they trudged into the loft, a toddler Derek clutching Isaac's hand.

Derek ran to Stiles as soon as he smelled him, wrapping his arms around Stiles' legs. "Thas a no-no word." He smiled up at Stiles, making him sigh fondly and sink to his knees. Derek wrapped himself around Stiles, burying his head in his neck.

"We didn't do anything! There was a witch -" Scott defended, cut off by Derek's whine.

"Hey, it's okay, Der. You're safe," Stiles soothed, gently rubbing Derek's back while glaring at Scott. "Do you remember who we are, sweetheart?"

Derek pulled back, tilting his head to the side with a confused frown on his face. He pointed at Stiles and asked, "Der's?" Stiles blushed as the pack cackled. Derek pouted grumpily at their reaction, turning back to growl at them, "He mine."

"Oh, god. He's adorable," Erica heaved in between gasps of laughter.

Derek turned to face Stiles again, pout still on his lips. "Makin fun of Der," he complained to Stiles, bottom lip trembling as his big eyes filled with tears.

"Shut up, you guys," Stiles hissed at them, drawing Derek close again. He picked Derek up and carried him to the couch, settling him sideways on his lap. "They're not making fun of you, love. They just think you're cute."

Derek sniffled, rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists. Stiles cooed at the action, making Derek whine and cuddle closer. "I cute?" He whispered, rubbing his cheek on Stiles' neck.

"You are, Der, the cutest. The most adorable little wolf," Stiles whispered back, unable to stop himself from kissing Derek's chubby cheek after.

"Mm, kisses," Derek murmured happily. Stiles chuckled and pressed another kiss to his forehead.

He startled when he felt Derek start to suckle on his neck lightly but relaxed when he remembered Derek telling him how he used to soothe himself as a baby.

He lifted a hand to Derek's hair and gently scratched his scalp, ignoring Lydia taking pictures of them. He would get up soon to call Deaton and Peter and look through his bestiary, but right now, he just held Derek tighter, smiling when Derek fisted a hand in his t-shirt and suckled harder on his neck.

[dykegoesdownwithship]

Finally, he can’t take it any more. Can’t handle Derek leaning close all the time, looking like that. His dark hair looks surprisingly soft up close, his lips are pink and there’s a tiny bit of blood from where he’s bitten one trying to keep his cool. Stiles can see the indents in his skin, feel the warmth of his body radiate out, and he can’t fucking take it anymore. Derek has his T shirt fisted in his hands as he holds stiles flush against the wall, face impossibly close, and stiles loses it— leans forwards and licks a thick stripe up dereks cheek. His facial hair prickly against his tongue and his skin tastes faintly salty, he smells like alpha.

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Little Handprints

There are little handprints on the walls. Eli has little hands. Case solved.

Based on the incorrect quote

Read it on AO3, here

Stiles leant against the kitchen counter, dragging his hand down his face as he let out a heavy sigh. A heavy case load and late nights were starting to wear him thin. And even when he wasn’t working late, his mind ran rampant, making sleep near impossible.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to wake himself more.

The sound of plastic clattering caught his attention. Stiles turned to look where Eli sat in his booster seat at the table. The food tray on his seat was splattered with toast and jam.

“You okay there, Trouble?” Stiles asked.

Eli giggled as he snatched up one of the pieces of jam-covered toast that he had knocked over and took a bite out of it.

“Yeah,” he chirped through a mouthful of mushed toast.

The nickname that had come from Eli’s comedic timing; Stiles’ dad said something about trouble following wherever Stiles and Derek go, and Eli toddled in after them at that moment, prompting the

Sheriff to say, “And here’s trouble!”

The name stuck. And it proved to be fitting on several occasions.

Stiles slid the coffee pot from the percolator and poured the dark liquid into his mug, heaping in spoonfuls of sugar before walking around the corner of the bench and into the dining room.

“Yummy?” Stiles asked as he walked over to the table and sat down next to Eli’s booster seat.

“Yummy,” Eli replied around another mouthful.

Stiles gave him a soft smile before resting his elbows on the table and letting his heady fall, heavy, into his hands.

“You okay?” Eli asked, his sweet voice coiled with worry.

“I’m okay, bud,” Stiles replied, unable to lift his head. “Just tired.”

He felt something tap his cheek. He lifted his head and turned to see what was poking him.

Eli held out a half-eaten piece of toast for him.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks, bud,” he said softly, taking the piece of toast offered to him. He ate the toast, dusting the crumbs off his hand before laying his head back in his hands and watching his son eat his breakfast.

He let his mind drift, the world blurring into swirls of colour and movement. His eyes grew heavy as the seductive embrace of sleep crept into the back of his mind. His heavy eyes drifted shut and he sank into the darkness.

“Stiles?” Derek called from the hallway, starling Stiles.

“Hmm?” Stiles hummed questioningly—the most he could muster up.

“Why are there little handprints on the walls?” Derek asked, peering around the open doorframe of the dining room.

Stiles blinked a few times, his mind rattling through the mess of thoughts for an answer. He lifted his head slightly and turned to look at Eli in his high chair.

“Why are there little handprints on the walls?” he whispered.

“Because I have little hands,” Eli answered, holding up his jam-and-crumb-covered hands to show him.

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek.

“Because he has little hands,” he repeated.

Derek let out a soft chuckle, turning back towards the hallway to hide his smile.

It took a moment for Stiles’ brain to catch up with what he said, realisation stirring him enough for him to sit up and drag his hand down his face.

“What is it this time?”

“Markers,” Derek answered. “Thankfully, it’s the washable ones that Lydia got him.”

“I’ll clean it,” he volunteered, pushing back his chair as he tried to summon what little energy he had left.

“No,” Derek said softly. “Trouble and I will clean it after we finish breakfast.”

“I’m Trouble!” Eli said excitedly, perking up at his nickname.

Stiles and Derek couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, you are,” Stiles said softly, smiling lovingly as he reached out and gently tousled Eli’s hair.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

edited version now ON AO3 HERE

.

“Um, are you—uhhhh, are you, like...” Stiles tries swallowing the boulder sized lump in his throat to no avail. The rest of the sentence then rushes out of him like word vomit. “Der, are you seeing other people?”

“No.” Derek's answer is immediate and definite-sounding, out of his gorgeous mouth before Stiles can even look up at him. “Are you?”

Stiles' eyes shoot up and almost out of his head. He somehow manages not to splutter his reply. “I most definitely am not.”

Oh my God, as if.

“But you... want to?” Derek half presumes because he's quite obviously fucking braindead. “Is that why you brought it up?”

“What? No! Not at all! Why, do you—” Oh shit, he might just vomit for realsies. “Do you want to?”

“No, not at all,” Derek parrots, and Stiles thanks all the Gods he's never believed in.

“Oh, right, well. Good. That's—that's good to know.”

Stiles just really, really, really needed to know. Like, either way, you know? But holy Toledo, Cousin Miguel! Thank baby Jesus and the donkey and those Frankincense dudes and the Brokeback cowboys for humongous gigantor mercies.

Derek takes a breath. “I mean, I'd share you if that's what you wanted, but I... wouldn't exactly relish the thought.”

Okay, Stiles is now thanking the Flying Spaghetti Monster from Pastafarianism.

His lips twitch when the souwolf's grim-set features soften just a touch.

“Fuck it, you know what?” Derek asks before barrelling on without waiting for an answer. “If you were a wolf, you'd know that I'm actually a lying liar who lies,” he admits, seemingly out of nowhere.

Stiles's eyebrows try to match Derek's but fail, obviously. His stomach is trying to relocate in the fiery pits of the underworld via Nilfheim. “Oh yeah? H-how so?”

He very narrowly escapes getting whiplash when he finds himself batting his lashes and sucking on his bottom lip as he realises—after studying Derek for a moment, like, really looking at him—that he knows exactly how so. He doesn't need to hear heartbeats or scent stuff or whatever to perceive the quiet fury simmering away behind those silly-beautiful kaleidoscope eyes.

“Because...” Derek starts, hesitant, but that only lasts till he's looking up and seeing Stiles nodding furiously at him. Stiles knows. “Because you're mine,” he snarls, all wild and possesive and one hundred percent spectacularly correct.

Derek's eyes flash blood-red, and Stiles practically whimpers.

Then Stiles is lunging, slamming his face into Derek's while mumbling a garbled, “You're goddamn right I am,” directly into Derek's hot, wet, wide-open maw; fangs and growls and all.

Derek, ever the Big Bad, gobbles his words, and him, right the fuck up, ripping off Stiles's red hoodie before practically shredding the rest of his clothes with those lengthend black nail-claws.

As he gives himself over completely to getting gloriously mauled, Stiles idly considers how the only religion he'd ever align himself with is printed on the pages of Grimms' Fairy Tales.

Well, minus the grandma, of course. This particular retelling is way too saucy for his babcia.

[shieldofiron]

Stiles ordered the creamiest, fluffiest seasonal drink every day. One of those barely taste the coffee drinks. He sat in the same chair, red hoodie pulled up, laptop out, occasionally glancing with dark shadowed eyes up at his favorite barista.

Derek was more of a fine espresso guy. Stiles could just tell, from the way he would curl his lip at Stiles’ orders. But he was a nice guy, quiet. Let Stiles nurse one drink and camp out for hours at the best table, the one closest the plug. One day Stiles had noticed his chair had been swapped with a less wobbly one.

One day he noticed a heart next to his name, in black ink on a white cup.

It’s a gradual thing, like a slow pour into a cup. One day he’s just hanging around and the next day he’s waiting until Derek gets off his shift.

And then once that’s been happening a few weeks, Derek explains a shift of a very different kind.

Stiles still likes the sweet stuff. But he’s starting to appreciate that straight espresso taste on his tongue.

[wulfnerd]

Shark with a Pretty Face, sterek, m, 100w | Stiles rescues his family. (ao3🔒) For @sterekdrabbles 21 Mar 2025 (fish, history, soak)

Derek’s furious.

Not for being captured and chained—he’s unlucky enough to have a history with that—but that they took Eli too.

It’s why he doesn’t feel any guilt when he hears his mate arrives at the warehouse, and Derek hears how he’s dealing with these hunters.

Fish in the sights of a hungry shark.

In minutes, the door to the room they’re locked slides open with a bang.

Stiles stands there, clothing nearly soaked in blood, dripping katana in hand.

He’s never looked more beautiful to Derek.

“I told you those microchips were worth it.”

“Wait, microchips? Dad?”

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Sterek Drabble: fast, icicle, proud

Hey look, I Sterek-ed for the first time in ages! (I forgot how hard it is to drabble y'all. I am not made for brevity)

@sterekdrabbles thanks for the little push to write!

------

“Hurry!” Derek yelled, pulling Stiles by the hand as he dashed across the yard.

“Why are you running so fast?” Stiles yelled back, narrowly avoiding stumbling over his own feet, then Derek's. “It's just a little rain,” he added as they made it up the front steps and through the door.

Derek pulled Stiles close and started rubbing his hands over Stiles’ arms vigorously. “Because, one of us turns into a whiney icicle the minute it drops below 45°.”

Stiles pouts, but lets Derek pull him closer and remove his damp flannel, ignoring his proud, satisfied smirk at Stiles’ shiver.

[quackquackcey]

Missing in Derek's Bed

Stiles & Derek get found out.~ 🌥 (AO3).

For @sterekdrabbles 1/22/24 prompt: ‘white, listen, upset’. Theme: 'gentleness.' 100 words. Rated T. Tags: secret relationship, implied smut.

Stiles reached out beside him—warm, but empty. He kept his eyes closed, lids heavy, and stretched out under the gentle sunrays, not yet at their afternoon intensity.

Upset voices from the living room.

He strained to listen.

"—missing. Jeep's there—"

"—never went home, not answering—"

"—tracked his scent—wait—"

The door opened.

Stiles sat up, squinting as the white sheets slipped off his naked body, covered with hickeys and bites. "Who's missing?"

"No one," said Derek. "Go back to sleep."

He flopped back down and patted the bed. "Morning round?"

Derek shoved out Scott and Isaac, shocked still, in record time.

[batwynn]

Stiles is on his hands and knees—not praying, but maybe begging for a break. It’s been so much nonstop, and he’s no longer tired. No. He’s something else completely. It’s transformed him so much that the back of his hands look unfamiliar. The dirt under his nails is at least a week old. The blood older. Stained. He’s long since given up trying to wash his hands clean of it. And why should he? There’s always more. It’s always his fault.

That something else twists under his skin and asks, “why?”

Stiles doesn’t know anymore. It’s something Scott said when it all began. That taking responsibility was important, because no one else would or could. But he was also, like, nineteen so maybe that depth Stiles felt in statement was a little naive.

“Why?” It chitters, twisting its way from the pit that is his empty stomach.

He hasn’t eaten in… days? Maybe? He’d been raw dogging his ADHD meds with barely a sip of water between them. Same with the ibuprofen. Stiles knows he has an ulcer, but who the fuck has the time for that? Who has the time to pat them on the back anymore. Responsibly implied appreciation, at some point. Big Damn Heroes. Is that what they did it for? Christ, they were naive.

His left ring finger is a little crooked—nail bed broken. The skin looks inflamed around it like infection is kicking off and Jesus Christ, who has the time?

He hears someone breathing nearby and he knows it’s the only sign of life he’ll get for a while. Derek’s been out for an hour at least. Once again riddled with holes, all silent pain and loud anger. And Stiles is still on his knees, begging.

Begging.

The something else clicks its claws in his ears now. The question remains. Why?

Why is it their responsibility? Because no one else could? That’s not exactly true, though is it? Adults around the world live with supernatural things in their lives. A whole shit ton of them took on the responsibility of shooting the fuck out of them when they got spicy. So why, again, was it them? Why teenagers? Why didn’t Stiles tell his dad right away? Let some of that burden off of his shoulders when Scott got bitten?

Oh, right. Wait. That was his fault Scott got bit. His responsibility. Is that where it started?

And then—and then years later it was his fault all over again. The thing wearing his face, anyway. His face, though.

A sudden, ugly cough bursts out of him. It sounds so bad, but luckily it doesn’t wake up Derek. Stiles sits up properly and looks over at him. They’d both collapsed on the floor of his loft after the battle, already beyond thinking about bed or couch or anything soft. Derek’s blood is smeared across the floor and soaked into the carpet. The brand new carpet. Something about it fills Stiles with unbridled rage. It was one of those rare Derek smiles—something soft and private that he felt so lucky to see. A dusty blue pattern on white. A little fancy, a little foolish, maybe. Who gets a white carpet when their lives are… this?

Still.

Derek deserves a white carpet. He deserves to smile when he gets something for himself. He deserves to decorate, and like things, and have a life, and think about the future. Not whatever this is.

Stiles looks back down at his hands again, resting on his thighs. They’re shaking now that the weight is off of them, like the pressure removed gave them permission to show weakness. He doesn’t bother to stop them. No one’s looking, anyway. He doesn’t need to be strong, and smart, and all together. He can be a little untethered. A little something else.

Derek’s breathing shifts, and Stiles knows he has only a few minutes before the man is awake again. He knows that it will be minutes after that where Derek will shove the weakness down again, and pick himself up off the floor. He’ll check Stiles over. He’ll listen to his heart, his rattling breath. Check the air for the scent of sepsis. And then, satisfied that he’s not in immediate danger, go fetch a bucket and a mop. Stiles will try to save the carpet when Derek doesn’t allow himself to.

Stiles picks at his non-fashionably sliced up jeans.

“Why?”

Because he’s the only one who will and the only one who can.

[envish]

saw @hotgirlstiles post about rancher stiles and cowboy derek, which got me thinking about city boy stiles and cowboy rancher derek.

so like stiles is a journalist and he ends up at the hale ranch for a story. derek, who's usually non-verbal around strangers, sees this pretty city boy slide out of his car and fucking shoulders his sister out of the way to be the one to show him around. stiles sees six feet of cowboy coming towards him in boots and a stetson and loses his mind (same).

they go to the stables and derek asks stiles if he's ever ridden before, and stiles blushes profusely before realizing he means ridden a horse. stiles hasn't, obviously, so derek hoists him up into the saddle and slides in behind him so he can still reach the reins. so stiles now has six feet of cowboy all up in his business while riding a horse and is all hot and bothered. derek is faring no better with this pretty thing sitting practically in his lap.

then derek takes him out to see the plains and the mountains and stiles is awestruck. he's never seen so much open land before, with nary a building in sight. “beautiful, isn’t it?” derek says, but he's looking at the boy beside him, not the distant peaks. stiles keeps looking at everything with big, shining eyes and so much curiosity and derek is smitten.

they have a campfire that evening and there's music and singing and whiskey and derek pulls stiles to his feet and shows him some line dancing. and then he shows him another kind of dancing, which involves him putting his big, work-roughened hands on stiles hips (maybe under his shirt a bit) and pulling him close, until stiles can feel derek's breath on his neck.

on the way back to the cabin where stiles is staying, derek pushes him up against a fence post and they make out feverishly. they sleep together and start to fall in love over the course of the month stiles stays at the ranch (he is writing a long-form story, i have decided).

there's an angsty goodbye when stiles has to go back to the city, but he stops before be gets on the plane and comes back to derek. derek is cautiously hopeful, "you came back to me?" and stiles is apologetic, "i'm sorry for making you doubt that i wouldn't," and they embrace tightly. there's face touching and tender kissing and confessions and they live happily ever after.

[jade-bright]

Star Wars!Sterek pt.3

Derek, after putting his armor and helmet back on, carried Stiles back to the Lycan and checked him for any visible injuries. Assuming the younger man was gonna be out for a while, he went about checking and fixing parts of the ship's vitals/mechanics he deemed necessary until he ultimately went to just watch over Stiles. Some hours later, sat across the cot Derek watched as he finally awoke...

Stiles: (stretching) Ughhh, (turns his head and jumps when he sees Derek) Ahh! Oh my Maker

Derek: (slightly amused but doesn't move or say anything) ...

Stiles: ... (waits a bit to see if he'll say anything) Are you okay? I didn't mess anything up did I?

Derek: ...

Derek: You're a jetii

Stiles: ...

Stiles: No. I'm force sensitive. (looks down at his hands and starts to fidget with them) My mom taught me, just like her dad taught her. He was the one who became a jedi, but he left to be with my grandmother

Derek: (a bit confused) ...How aren't you a jedi?

Stiles: (huffs a little laugh) For one? (gestures to his entire being) I don't have a lightsaber and I don't follow the traditional jedi mantra

Derek: What do you follow?

Stiles: (Shrugs) The same mantra my grandfather decided to follow after he married my grandmother, "Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force."

Derek: What does it mean?

Stiles: For me and my family? Freedom. We get to live and make choices same as any "ordinary" being, practice the ways of both the light and dark side... (squints and purses his lips) well... within reason, and you know (blushes), love and marry whoever we want...

Derek: (blushes under his helmet remembering that they are indeed married now) ...

Stiles: I know our getting together was veryyy... of convenience? Since, you know, you were dying and you've told me how important your Creed is and how much of a disgrace it is for a Mandalorian to break the Creed and I didn't mean to force your hand in this or in-

Derek: (abruptly takes off his helmet and puts it to the side)...

Stiles: -uhhhhh

Derek: (gulps what little saliva he has, takes a deep breath and stands) I willingly gave you my name, and have now willingly shown you my face, because you are clan, and if you'd be willing to continue the riduurok, I wish to at least give you the symbol of my family

Stiles: (a bit surprised and blinking, then smiles his mischief in his eyes) Okay, (stands) I'll follow through in our marriage, (takes a small step closer) on two conditions

Derek: Anything

Stiles: (smile widening) After this bounty, (takes another small step forward) we will return to Naboo and we'll have a small wedding that my dad will be able to attend

Derek: (smiles and laughs a little) Okay, and?

Stiles: (takes one last step towards Derek) I want several kisses from my husband, whenever I want

Derek: (eyes wrinkling from how much he's smiling and walks to finally close the distance between them, and wrap his hands around his waist to pull him flush against himself) Is that all cyar'ika?

Stiles: (pleased, raising his arms to place over his shoulders and rest his hands behind his neck) Mhmm~

*Stiles just taking his time and getting his fill on finally being able to stare into his partners eyes and take note of his other features like his thick brows and seemingly soft hair. Meanwhile, Derek's also enjoying being able to fully explore the depths of brown and gold in his riduur's eyes, but is mostly loving how he gets to finally hold him in such a loving manner.*

Stiles: Derek?

Derek: Hmm

Stiles: I want a kiss

Derek: As you wish cyar'ika

*The End*

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[mischief-and-the-big-bad-wolf]

Stiles slaps a hand over his mouth, a muffled squeal leaking out. He's careful as he brings the photo closer to face, lowering his hand to clutch it with both hands. His hands start to tremble the longer he stares at it, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.

That's how Derek finds him a few hours later. A bunch of storage bins spread open around as he huddles in the corner of the rebuilt Hale house living room, crying as he stares at a picture.

"Wha - Stiles, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Derek panics, navigating through the boxes to get to Stiles. He lifts him up before sitting down, situating Stiles in his lap. "Baby, did something happen?"

"N-no," Stiles whimpers, pressing a kiss to the photo before pressing it to his chest.

Derek frowns as he carefully wipes the tears away from Stiles' face before gently cupping it and tilting his head back. He quietly asks, nodding towards the photo, "Is that your mom?"

"No," Stiles replies, a fresh wave of tears dripping down his face.

"Stiles, love, I'm freaking out," Derek whispers, "I really need you to tell me what's wrong. My wolf is going crazy."

Stiles sobs harder at his words, shoving the photo in Derek's face. Derek leans back a bit to take a look properly, a fond smile pulling at his lips. "You were just so adorable!" Stiles wails, bringing the photo closer to his face and pressing lots of kisses to it.

The photo featured a tiny, chubby, little Derek, no more than a year old, swathed in blankets. He had the cutest wolf onesie on, tiny fuzzy ears on the hood. He was smiling wide at the camera, drooling and chewing on his fist.

"Oh my god, Stiles, stop crying!" Derek chuckles, wiping his face as more tears leaked from Stiles' eyes.

"I can't help it!" Stiles whines. He carefully tucks the photo away in the album and then throws his arms around Derek, kissing him all over the face. "You were such a fat baby!"

"Hey!" Derek half-complains, a content smile on his lips, eyes closing as Stiles kept pecking his face. He holds onto his waist, keeping their bodies pressed together.

"You -kiss- were -kiss- so -kiss- adorable," Stiles murmurs, pressing a kiss on Derek's lips after every word. "I just wanna kidnap you and chew on your chubby little cheeks." Derek raises his brows and Stiles complains, "Don't look at me like that, you were the cutest little baby ever."

Tears start gathering in Stiles' eyes again and Derek rushes, "No, no, don't cry again."

"I wanna keep that little baby all snuggled and safe in arms," Stiles whimpers.

"That baby is me, love, and you do have me snuggled and safe in your arms," Derek soothes, guiding Stiles to lay his head on his shoulder.

Stiles sobs harder at that, gasping, "Oh my god, oh my god, you are, Derek. That is you - oh. I can't -"

"Relax, baby, take a deep breath for me. There we go, love, just like that. Again," Derek coos, slowly claming Stiles down. "All good now, love?"

"Mhmm," Stiles hums as he nuzzles Derek's neck. He pulls back, grabbing Derek's face in between his hands and smushing his cheeks a little, and says, "I am totally gonna figure out how to get knocked up by you. There need to be more little Dereks in this world."

Derek chuckles, his wolf going wild at his mate's proclamation, and gathers Stiles more securely in his arms, unable to keep the smile off his face as Stiles slams their lips together in a desperate, needy kiss.

[sterek-stuffs]

The rescue mission

"Okay, so, we'll surround them—"

"And then shoot them in the face," Stiles interrupted, "as an incentive—"

"NO!"

"But Scott, they've got Derek!" 

"Yes, and we're getting him back, but we gotta be careful!"

Stiles glared venomously.

"Look, they freak out, Derek might end up hurt—" Stiles' glare got colder. "—and we're not gonna let that happen! You're a cop, you know how this works!"

Stiles scowled. "Okay. But one wrong move and I'm shooting them. In the face."

Scott nodded. "Okay, buddy!" 

Stiles walked away and Scott turned to Allison. "I can't believe they let him have a gun."

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

I was going to do a text post of a sterek incorrect quote;

Derek: I have the urge to do something stupid.

Stiles: I’m stupid. Do me.

But a different idea struck me, and I had to write out a little scene.

…

Derek sat in the armchair, the light from the window bleeding over his shoulder and illuminating the pages of the book that lay open in his lap. He let out a deep breath, shutting the book and blurting out, “I have the urge to do something stupid.”

“I’m stupid. Do me,” Stiles replied without thought, not taking his eyes off the screen of his laptop that was balanced precariously on his stomach as he lay upside down on the couch.

Stiles froze, his eyes widening as he realised what he’d said. His cheeks flushed red, but he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or from the blood rushing to his head.

“What?” Derek said, his tone stretched thin and edged with anger.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something but the words died on his lips as he sputtered and shrugged as if trying to brush it off.

“Stiles, you are not stupid,” Derek growled.

Stiles blinked rapidly, stunned by Derek’s words.

Derek continued without hesitation, “You’re one of the smartest people I know. Clumsy and uncoordinated, yes, but not stupid. Don’t say that; don’t even think it! You’re not stupid, Stiles, and I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself stupid again. And I wouldn’t do you; that’s just—”He screwed his face up in disgust. “—ugh. No. No way. You deserve better than do. Dear god, I would make love to you. I would hold you in my arms and Melt as I feel the warmth of your body against mine. I trace the curves of your naked body and utter your name like a prayer. I would kiss you until I had no more breath in my lungs, and even then, I wouldn’t dare stop. I would not do you.”

He huffed out an angry breath as he sat back.

Stiles stared at him, his eyes wide and a dumbfounded expression on his face.

A moment later, Derek’s brain caught up with his mouth. Realisation hit him hard. A rush of heat coloured his cheeks bright red.

“I… I mean… I…” he stammered, unable to find any words.

Stiles stared at him, still looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Okay.”

Derek’s brow furrowed as he looked at Stiles, utterly confused.

“What?”

“Okay,” Stiles repeated.

“Okay?” Derek echoed questioningly.

“Okay,” Stiles said again.

They stared at each other for a moment, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“Okay,” Derek said after a while.

They tore their eyes away from one another, their faces twisted with perplexed expressions as they processed what they had said.

Silence settled over them.

“You still got that urge?” Stiles asked abruptly.

Derek glanced back at him, meeting Stiles’s gaze. “What do you have in mind?”

[teencopandthesourwolf]

SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT

for the @sterekdrabbles 04/04/25 challenge. the prompt words were: RIPE, WIT, and PEST.

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He shoved the kid up against the nearest wall using his body just as much as his barely contained lust.

Bad idea. Stiles smelled ripe.

“You stink,” he snarled at the little pest.

“No shit? Happens when you're human and slaying demogorgons or what-the-fuck-ever you said those Stranger Things were.” His razor-sharp wit gave Derek slashmarks. “God, you are such an asshole.”

Derek hadn't said that he minded.

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Or what?” Stiles challenged without taking a beat.

Fuck it.

“Or this—”

Derek rammed his tongue so far down Stiles's throat the only thing Stiles could say was unmpf.

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