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.
The Christmas Howl: a Sterek Christmas calendar
Summary: Stiles and Derek take a trip in the woods to find the perfect Christmas tree.
NOM NOM NOM
All I can see is Derek Hale - older than we see in canon, but still broken - going back to Beacon Hills to finally sell his family land. He’s wearing his suit like armor, but he hasn’t shaved since he left New York because he tells himself he doesn’t care that much. He doesn’t care because the Derek Hale he is now has nothing to do with the stupid teenager he was back then; the kid whose heart was burned out of him at sixteen.
This Derek Hale doesn’t care about anything at all. Ask anyone.
He hasn’t slept in three days, and when he first spots the kid outside some coffee shop he thinks he’s hallucinating. A slender column of red and orange and blue, like a single flame against the gray sky. The kid’s arms pinwheel widely as he tells a story, his teeth bright and shining as he smiles. When he throws back his head and laughs, Derek can hear it clearly through the insulated doors, and the sound hooks into him: he can’t tear his eyes away.
A car honks behind him and the kid turns at the sound, sunstone eyes glinting in the light. Derek can feel his throat tighten, the howl building up inside of him, but he clenches his jaw and keeps driving, his eyes flicking to the rear view mirror until the kid disappears from sight.
Seeing the house makes bile rise in his throat. Makes his heart beat painfully in his chest, but when he steps out of the car, he hears the rush of the wind and smells the heady scent of pine and wood and realizes he’s missed it.
“Mr. Hale,” the agent says, stepping forward, his shiny shoes incongrous against the forest floor. “Thank you for meeting me out here. I’ve got to say-“
“I’ve changed my mind,” Derek says, eyes moving away from the man dismissively. “We’re no longer selling.”
“I beg your pardon,” the man stutters.
Derek gives him a look that shuts him up, and then adds, “You can go now.”
The man harruphs and mutters, but he scurries quickly back to his own car as Derek turns away from the crumbling house to survey the land.
He’s been to the forests in New York, run wild in the country when the city closed in and the stench and press of bodies made it too hard to breath. But the scent is different here: headier, richer.
He pulls out his phone, presses speed dial, and listens to his sister asking him to leave a message. “I’m staying for a while,” he says, walking deeper into the woods, the trees crowding around him like sentries. “I didn’t sell.”
He doesn’t explain any more than that. Maybe doesn’t need to, because Laura had insisted he come out here in person to sign away their family land. She’d always been the clever one.
The leaves shiver on their branches, and over the wind the sound of his call rises and falls, tapering out in a long slide at the end: the call of the lone wolf. The mating call.
There haven’t been wolves in California in over ten years, but now Derek Hale has come home.
I don’t think Dean would go straight for the kiss when he first sees Cas okay.
Dean’s in the bathroom, splashing water in his face and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t insane.
Sam had confided in him once, when they’d both gotten falling-down-drunk, that he sometimes thought he saw Jess, even months after her death. It only made sense that-
Dean feels his stomach twist and he groans, burying his face in his damp hands. He doesn’t cry because he can’t, because Castiel /s not dead. He’s merely trapped in Purgatory with no way out and Leviathans coming closer and closer—
But Cas can’t be dead. Dean can’t let himself believe that, and crying would mean accepting it.
Cas will come back. He always has before.
Dean wipes his face with the towel and looks up, breath catching when he looks in the mirror. It’s another hallucination, it has to be, but Dean’s chest aches at the sight anyway.
Castiel’s reflection smiles.
That sounded real. Dean turns, eyes wide and thoughts grinding to a halt.
“Cas?” he asks quietly, like speaking too loudly will cause the vision to shatter. He waits, half-expecting Cas to vanish.
Cas doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t even move. He just stares at Dean, gaze soft and eyes the same glorious color Dean remembers. Cas is covered in filth and dirt and blood and he reeks to high heaven, like sweat and copper and musk, but Dean doesn’t care. There’s no way he’s hallucinating all this.
Cas is back.
Dean’s body moves before his mind has fully come to terms with the realization. He steps forward, seizes the front of Cas’s trenchcoat, and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Castiel’s stubble is rough against Dean’s cheek, but it feels so damn good.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again, you stupid son of a bitch,” Dean grinds out, not releasing his hold on Cas for an instant.
Slowly, tentatively, Cas’s arms come up and wrap lightly around Dean. For the second time in as many minutes, Dean’s thoughts just stop. He can’t think; at least, not about anything other than the way Cas fits against him, how warm Cas is.
This close, Dean can feel Castiel’s heart racing in his chest. It’s Castiel’s body now, not Jimmy’s. Jimmy had left a long time ago.
“I won’t,” Cas promises, and it takes Dean a moment to remember what Cas was replying to. He reluctantly drops his arms, aware that their embrace had gone on for longer than was strictly normal. Cas hesitates, but follows suit and allows Dean to take half a step back. Dean’s gaze is caught by Castiel’s eyes and he stills, staring.
Dean is usually very good at suppressing his desires, especially with regards to Cas, but he’d lost the angel too many times. He licks his lips, gaze briefly dropping to Castiel’s mouth, but unsure of his welcome, he doesn’t move.
He wants to kiss Cas so badly he aches with it, a selfish kind of hopeless longing, but he stops himself. He can’t, he shouldn’t, he—
“Dean?” Cas asks, voice soft. Dean realizes that their faces are mere inches apart. He can feel a puff of warm air every time Cas exhales.
“Yeah?” he asks, wishing he had the strength of will to pull away. Cas’s mouth is like a magnet though, drawing him dangerously closer and closer.
Cas’s eyes flick down to Dean’s lips. Cas hesitantly leans in, tilting his head at just the right angle to press his mouth to Dean’s. Dean’s brain short circuits. Cas almost immediately pulls away, opening his mouth to speak, but Dean chases him. He buries a hand in the hair on the nape of Castiel’s neck and pulls him back in, claiming his mouth and drawing a surprised ‘mmph!’ from Cas at the same time. Within the space of a heartbeat, Cas is kissing back just as desperately.
Dean’s got a ton of questions, from ‘how did you get out?’ to ‘are you really here?’ and ‘is this really happening?’, but he doesn’t ask. There’ll be time for all that later and right now, he’s far more interested in learning how Cas tastes.