The sound of Danny’s heartbeat reaches Ethan’s ears the moment he enters the library. He listens to the steady rhythm as it moves through the shelves, still facing Aidan and pretends to be browsing the bookshelf. Ethan hears his footsteps approaching, catching the boy’s warm scent and turns around just as he rounds the corner. Perfect timing.
Danny meets his gaze almost immediately, and the way his heart skips a beat as soon as their eyes lock is loud and clear. Then Danny’s face lights up in a smile, all white teeth and dimples, and Ethan feels himself returning it without much effort at all. This was going to be easy. He can smell the embarrassment when Danny walks right into another guy and shyly tears his eyes away before he sinks down on the closest chair.
Aidan scoffs and Ethan turns back to him. He’s met with an amused smirk.
“You’re keeping track of his heartbeat already?”
He is. He’d learnt to recognize the sound of it the very first day, and now he had no trouble finding it even in the middle of any crowd.
“Why waste time?” He simply counters with a shrug, putting the book in his hand back on the shelf and turns to Danny’s table. He can feel a supportive nudge of emotion from his brother in the back before he returns to his own mission: Lydia.
Danny has barely opened his books before Ethan leans over the table.
The guy lets out a startled chuckle, quickly glancing at him before looking back down. “Um, nothing. I mean– It’s for school.”
Ethan calmly slides his gaze over the open book in Danny’s hands, well aware Danny is watching him in the corner of his eye. He can hear the quickening pace of his pulse, almost close enough to even feel the warmth of him blushing.
“You’re a freshman?”
He turns his head to cock his eyebrow at him. “Do I look like a freshman?”
Nervous chuckle again. It’s kind of adorable. “No.”
Ethan is pretty sure he’s going to enjoy this.
i want derek hale to have like the cutest tattoo ever. like on his hip. and it’s a secret. and it shows how much of a marshmallow he is
The form asks Do you have any distinguishing marks? and Derek chews the pen cap and thinks about it for a second and writes: Yes. Two tattoos.
He figures that will be it.
“You know you sign your name under a little box that says the information you have provided is truthful to the best of your knowledge,” Stiles says, flopping down next to Derek and tossing a sheaf of papers into his lap.
“What?” Derek asks. Dog the Bounty Hunter has just apprehended someone on TV and Derek is still getting used to surround sound. It continues to freak out his hearing.
“Your application,” Stiles says.
“I’m not actually a felon,” Derek says. “It asks if you were ever convicted. I wasn’t.”
“Not that part,” Stiles says. “The thing about your tattoos.”
“What about them?”
“Them? Them? What do you mean them?”
Derek sighs. “I have two tattoos. Which one?”
Stiles sputters. “You do not have two tattoos. You have the mystical werewolf back tattoo and that’s it.”
Derek raises an eyebrow. “You’d be the expert on my body then?”
Stiles’ face flushes dully. “Obviously not. But I have seen you half-naked and dying often enough to be pretty certain.”
“There you go,” Derek replies, turning back to the TV.
“What does that mean?” Stiles demands.
“It means you’ve only seen me half-naked. The tattoo is on the other half.”
Stiles’ eyes take on a glazed expression. “Which part of the other half? Are we talking embarrassing butt tattoo? Left cheek? Right cheek—? No, it’s not the right cheek, that harpy shredded your pants last fall.”
Derek lets out a low grumble. He still doesn’t like talking about that.
“Stiles, leave it alone.”
“I am insulted. You have known me long enough to know that I am constitutionally incapable of following that directive. I am wounded, wounded to my very—”
“It’s on my left hip,” Derek snarls. “Now drop it.”
“Oh, I’ll drop it, buddy,” Stiles mutters, subsiding. “I’ll drop it like it’s hot.”
Derek has no idea what that means, but he figures it’s nothing good.
“Really, Stiles?” Derek says, sighing heavily. He stops unbuttoning his jeans and turns to his bedroom window in time to hear, “Oh, shit!” then a series of crashes and yelps.
When he leans out the window, Stiles is sitting in the bushes, rubbing his lower back and scowling.
“I’m calling the cops,” Derek says. “There’s a man outside my house. I feel unsafe.”
“You’re such a dickhead,” Stiles says. “I think I broke my spine.”
“It matches your broken brain,” Derek replies, shutting the window.
He makes his way downstairs and heads outside. Stiles is still sitting in the dirt, and he does look a little banged up.
“What are you doing!” Stiles says when he sees him. “You’re giving the neighborhood a show!”
Derek glances down at his bare torso and half-unbuttoned jeans, shrugging. “So? C’mon, you’ve got a cut on your face.”
He tugs Stiles to his feet and tries to usher him inside. Stiles is moaning the whole time.
“Oh my God, this is not good for my rep,” Stiles says. “You’re leading me into your den of iniquity and the neighbors will talk. You look like you got interrupted, okay, interrupted doing carnal things.”
“Stiles, shut up,” Derek says, almost fondly, and pushes Stiles inside. Then he leans back out his front door and raises his voice. “That’s right, boy, take off your clothes.”
Sure enough, Mrs. Pritchard closes her curtains with a gasp and Derek can make out the electronic sounds of a phone being dialed.
“You suck,” Stiles says. “Emotional distress. You should tell me what your tattoo is to make me feel better.”
“Go get the bandaids,” Derek replies, shutting the door.
“Derek,” says Sheriff Stilinski.
“Sir,” Derek replies.
“Your first shift is next Monday. You can come in for your uniform fitting this Wednesday.” The Sheriff twitches a little when he says it.
Derek sighs. “Is Stiles going to try to sneak into the fitting?”
“He’s driving me crazy,” the Sheriff says all in a rush. “Put him out of his misery, why don’t you? He walks around the house talking out loud about what it could be. I don’t need those kinds of images about my new deputy.”
Derek massages his temples. “If we keep giving into him, he’s always going to be this annoying.”
The Sheriff sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Derek, believe me when I say that there’s no win for either of us here.”
Derek believes him.
“You really seem to want to see me naked,” Derek says mildly, pulling off his sweaty tank top and tossing it on the bench.
“Eep,” the locker behind him squeaks.
Derek towels his neck dry. “Should I read something into that, Stiles?”
The locker is suspiciously silent.
“I’m going to head home now,” Derek says, pulling out a clean shirt from his gym bag. “The Zumba class lets out in five minutes. You should probably be gone by then. They can break your neck with their thighs.”
Stiles is pretty creative, and Derek can only take about two months of that creativity before he heaves a deeply irritated sigh, hangs up his gun holster, and pulls Stiles out of his hall closet.
“How do you keep getting in,” Derek asks no one in particular, tossing a struggling Stiles over his shoulder and trudging up the stairs.
“Your security is really lax for a newly minted deputy,” Stiles says, the words punched out of him as Derek’s shoulder digs into his gut. “I’m just—oof—alerting you to its flaws.”
“I wish someone would have alerted me to your flaws,” Derek says, pushing his bedroom door open with his foot.
“Please,” Stiles scoffs, “You love my—Derek, why are we in your bedroom?”
“Yes,” Derek says patiently.
“Yes, I love your flaws.”
Stiles is wide-eyed. “It’s finally happened. I’ve crossed into a parallel dimension.”
Derek groans out a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll make you a deal: You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
“I don’t have a tattoo,” Stiles says. “That’s totally not fair! Fine, I’ll go out and get a tattoo, you asshole, and when I get back—”
“Stiles, get in the fucking bed and get naked,” Derek growls.
Stiles mouth snaps shut. For about three blissful seconds.
“I never want to leave this dimension, holy God.”
“You are such a pain in my ass,” Derek says. “I’m gonna get some stuff from the bathroom. Be in that bed and ready when I get back.”
“Nnngh,” Stiles replies.
That’s pretty satisfying.
Derek takes a deep breath and steps into the room. He gives Stiles a second to take it in.
Stiles makes a garbled noise.
“Is that… is that a Care Bear?”
“It was a dare from Laura,” Derek says, folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe. He’s a little insulted that he’s naked and Stiles is too busy staring at his tattoo to appreciate the rest of him.
“It’s… Derek, it’s Grumpy Bear.”
“Yeah,” Derek says.
Stiles launches himself out of the bed and wraps his arms around Derek, kissing him full on the mouth. “I love you so much,” he says.
“That’s nice,” Derek replies, his hands going to Stiles’ hips. “If you tell anyone, I’m going to rip your throat out.”
“Are you kidding?” Stiles says. “This knowledge is mine, all mine. Now get in that bed, I need to lick you in a lot of places, including that tattoo.”
“Fair enough,” Derek says, and tumbles them down to the bed.
Of course, because it’s Stiles, things are never that easy.
“Care Bear Alpha Stare!” Stiles shouts, and dissolves into honking laughter.
Derek is in love with an idiot.
“You think I don’t want you?”
Stiles’ heart is still beating painfully inside his chest; still panicking over how he just blurted out things he’d promised himself to never say out loud, and it only gets worse when hearing Derek’s words. They sends chills down his spine because he didn’t expect them to come in that order. Or that tone. Or with that look on Derek’s face.
“Why would you?” He asks in return, and it’s just a shaky whisper.
Because honestly – why would someone like Derek want someone like him? He may be enough to keep the Alpha grounded on nights like these; enough to put his hands on Derek’s shoulders and remind him to keep the wolf raging inside in control. He was enough for being Derek’s anchor, but aside from that: what would anyone want him for?
Derek stares at him; eyes widened and lips parted. The round moon above them casts a shadow around his eyes, but for a second his pupils seems to dilate. Stiles frowns lightly, craning his neck and tips his head back a little. He doesn’t mean it to put more space between them, but then Derek takes one step forward, and Stiles forgets how to breathe.
In contrary to Stiles, Derek tilts his chin downwards; eyes still blown and flickering between Stiles’. He’s never seen someone look at him like that before, which is why he can’t tell exactly what that look means. If things had been differently he probably would’ve made a joke about how it looked as if the big bad wolf wanted to eat him.
They’re close enough for Stiles to feel Derek’s hot breath ghost over his lips as he exhales. It feels as if his heart is about to burst out of his chest, and then he sees Derek’s nostrils flare and realize the werewolf can both hear and smell exactly what his body is doing.
“Stiles,” Derek says, and his voice is so firm but at the same time softer than Stiles ever thought it could be. He seems to hesitate next, as if he’s struggling inside his mind, before letting out a shaky scoff. “Damn it, Stiles. If you could sense things the way I do– You would know. You would know how much I want you.”
Scout made demands; I wrote her a thing. I couldn’t quite manage a novel on short notice, but y’know, it’s all in the spirit.
It’s a hot summer, in Beacon Hills, in California. It’s unseasonable. You don’t remember this, when you were a kid, but maybe that’s just you reading backwards: maybe that’s just all those lazy fucked-up summers you spent in New York, the heat close, humidity and smog thick and heavy on your skin in those apartments without air conditioners, fans blowing noisily from every corner of the room. You could have gotten a nicer place; you had the money. You moved from shitty Brooklyn apartment to shitty Brooklyn apartment instead. At least the mice stayed away: they were afraid of you.
oh my god someone wrote it
someone wrote iT
SOMEONE WROTE IT
My thoughts exactly.
I have made you so many things. All I ask in return is that someone write me a novel-length fic about Stiles and Derek’s white hot summer fling, how Stiles grew his hair out so Derek would have something to pull, how the rule was that they would stop after Labor Day but that just means they’ve gotten more frantic about it— no more leisurely afternoons in Stiles’ bed, just furtive hand jobs in their cars when they can’t fucking stand it anymore, they just have to— just, once— sweaty palms, sticky nights, Stiles drinking cheap beer and doing body shots from the dip of Derek’s navel, the hollow of his throat. They manage a whole week apart, just before school starts, and then this happens and they’re alone, sunlight slanting through the broken upper floors, where trees have started to grow up towards the sky, the world finally reclaiming all of the mess and misery of the Hale family legacy, and it’s Derek who caves first, pulls Stiles to him, kisses him up against the wall until Scott starts to stir.
I AM WAITING.
fandom you better fucking do this.
i’m not asking, i demand it
Cas full on rebelled against heaven. Like if you think about it Cas is kind of a little shit.
So why are there not more AU’s where he is a rebellious teenager whose parents blame Dean Winchester for “corrupting him”
like I want Cas sneaking out while Dean waits up the street for him in the impala. I want Cas to get drunk and have lots of sex with Dean only to have to straighten up early sunday morning and go to church with his family.
Sterek AU: After getting involved in a car accident, Stiles loses his memory and doesn’t recognize his friends or his family anymore. Neither does he remember his relationship with Derek.
It’s one thing to have a hot guy sleeping on your legs you upon waking up in the hospital; it’s a completely different thing for said hot guy to light up like you gave him the fucking sun when he awakens to see you looking at him.
He is already pretty confused. Actually, come to think of it, he has no idea who HE is. He himself; not he the hot guy, who is choking on his own relief and clutching at his face, peppering it with fast, frantic kisses.
“You’re awake—thank God. I thought I’d lost you,” hot guy croaks, all stubble and frown lines that don’t seem to fit the joy in his smile.
“Uh,” he says, because he’s not sure what’s being lost, exactly.
The smile on hot guy’s face starts to fall, one hand coming up and brushing at his cheekbone. It hurts—like there’s some sort of injury there. “Stiles?”
“Am I?” he blurts, because maybe that’s a name?
A scowl. “What?”
“Is that my name? Am I Stiles?”
Hot guy snaps his hands back like he’s been physically burned, and there’s a coldness on Stiles’ face where hot guy’s palms used to be.
Stiles thinks he shouldn’t have broken the ‘news’ so quickly, because hot guy goes from delighted, to fumbling for the call button. Stiles looks down at his hands and he wonders why his head hurts so much. He sees a cast, big and cumbersome, covering his entire right foot and ankle. Maybe something happened.
“Stiles,” hot guy says, swallowing thickly, “do you know who I am?”
Stiles looks at him, and thinks maybe he’s seen those eyes before—but then again maybe not. He actually doesn’t remember seeing any eyes, so it could have all been a dream.
Tilting his head a little, Stiles scowls, “someone who kisses me?” he offers—because that’s what he knows. That distressed look is back, only this time hot guy looks like he’s torn between telling Stiles that he’s wrong, and telling Stiles that he’s right. Stiles thinks he’s going to get an answer, but all he gets is a hurt look before hot guy leaves the room entirely.
Stiles, belatedly, thinks he should feel bad—but why feel bad upsetting a person he didn’t even know? Why should Stiles be at fault when he didn’t remember his own name, let alone some random guy’s?
There’s a lot of questions that come with the doctors, and a man that says he’s Stiles’ father, as well as people who say they’re his friends and things like that. Stiles isn’t really sure what’s going on because everyone is getting upset with him over something he can’t control. Days pass with nothing coming to mind so they let him go ‘home.’
The only problem is that ‘home’ is just as familiar as the cold and sterile room of the hospital. Stiles feels out of place and awkward, like a visitor in a stranger’s room. He can’t even bring himself to go through the drawers or to do much more than wipe off the layer of dust that seems to have started to coat things. He either was a very unclean person, or it had been a while since the room had been used.
Stiles was barely getting over the disorientation of waking up in a strange place when there was a knock at the door one afternoon. ‘Dad’ answered it (because Stiles still felt like it wasn’t right of him to answer the door, even though it was supposed to be his home too) and Stiles was surprised to see hot guy from his first memory in the hospital.
“Derek,” dad said, “surprised to see you here.”
“I never meant to be gone this long, you know that,” Derek said quietly, looking over dad’s shoulder and locking eyes with Stiles. Stiles didn’t like the way his chest clenched, or the way he felt breathless as this man named Derek asked, “can I talk to him?”
Stiles took a step back, because he suddenly felt uneasy; afraid. There was a reason this man was here, there was a reason everyone had avoided really explaining who ‘hot guy’ was. Stiles was scared of finding out.
“You know he’s not ready for that,” dad reprimanded softly, “he’s having a hard enough time with just the house and me.”
Derek frowned, looking at Stiles and saying, “please.”
“It’s okay d-dad,” Stiles found himself saying, one hand gripping the rail of the stairs tightly, “let him in.”
The tightness in Derek’s shoulders sagged a little as he passed the threshold, approaching Stiles like he’s greeting an old friend or loved one and then stopping short of hugging him. Stiles stood there passively, waiting for Derek to do something other than remain an awkward few feet away. When nothing happened, Stiles gestured for Derek to follow.
“Well, come on then,” he said, heading for his bedroom so they could at least get some privacy. Derek’s presence behind him was almost like an invisible pressure, and though this man was a complete stranger to him, Stiles still felt the urge to turn and hug the man, to bury his face into Derek’s throat and never let go.
Stiles sat at his desk when they reached his room, his leg still weak despite how much he tried to exercise it in the walking cast. He put his arms up next to the laptop that had seen better days and said, “so, who are you, again?”
“My name is Derek,” Derek began, fingertips playing with the edge of the desk as he lifted his eyes to look at Stiles. “I’m your fiance.”
The Christmas Howl: a Sterek Christmas calendar
Summary: It’s Christmas Day morning…
The Christmas Howl: a Sterek Christmas calendar
Summary: Sometimes darkness can be a good thing.
but can we discuss how arthur is just like - in the tavern in that clip. like a frat boy or something! it’s like, bro, you’re the king! king’s don’t just hang out in taverns in the lower town! imagine drinking with the king! like, don’t you have a banquet to attend or something?
unless arthur wanted to know what the hype was. why merlin spent so much time there - time thatwasn’t spent with arthur. and arthur wanted to be a part of every aspect of merlin’s life, dammit! so one day he just told merlin he wanted to go to the tavern with him. imagine how that conversation went down…
NOW I WANT A FIC.
#Arthur drummed his fingers against the tabletop. He could hear the laughter of the maidens and the shouts of the young men #- who were no doubt headed to the tavern - in the courtyard below. He envied them. Sometimes he wished being a king wasn’t so boring. #He looked across the room at Merlin - who was putting away Arthur’s freshly laundered clothes before being dismissed for the night #- undoubtably to go to the tavern too. And then Arthur got an idea - one that would make his night less boring. #’Merlin?’ he said at once and Merlin looked over at him with an expression of dread - #obviously not wanting to be asked to preform another chore so late in the day #’Why don’t you ever invite me to the tavern with you?’ Arthur asked. #The look on Merlin’s face changed from dread to utter confusion. ‘I’m sorry?’ he asked and his voice sounded bemused. #’Do you - do you want to go to the tavern?’ #’Well I’m just certain you go with Gwaine all the time’ said Arthur with a hint of jealousy in his tone. ‘Who else would you go with?’ #Merlin shrugged and crossed the room towards Arthur. ‘I just never thought the tavern would be a fitting place for a king’ he said cooly. #’It’s full of-’ Merlin racked his brain. In truth he hadn’t step foot in a tavern for years. ‘Drinking and games and - and gambling.’#Arthur stood up to be level with him. ‘You don’t think I could compete?’ he said - looking affronted. #Merlin’s eyebrows darted up to his hairline and he let out a laugh. ‘It’s not that sire. I just-‘ #’Because I CAN compete.’ Arthur cut in. ‘And in fact I will. Tonight.’ #’Tonight?’ Merlin looked at Arthur as though he were the silliest thing in the world. ‘Sire-‘ #Arthur raised a hand to silence him. ‘No sire tonight. Tonight I am simply Arthur #- and I bet you two whole days off that I can beat you in any game of your choosing.’ #Merlin was starting to like the idea of this. ‘Well. If you’re just another patron then you can’t bet days off. You’ll have to bet money.’ #Arthur’s face fell slightly but he recovered with a stern nod. ‘Money it is then’ he said. ‘Go tell the knights #- tonight - we’re going drinking.’
Um okay but where’s the rest? This needs to be like 20k.