💜💙🩵💚💛🧡❤️🩷

And just as Scott says “mine” Stiles says: “Derek Hale is my alpha.”

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Everyone in Beacon Hills knew two things.

One: Derek Hale was terrifying.

Two: Stiles Stilinski was somehow even worse.

Peter had spent years believing he understood chaos. He had survived hunters, betrayals (of his own making), family drama, and an entire lifetime of people making terrible decisions with confidence. He thought he had seen everything.

Then Derek started dating Stiles.

Peter watched from the kitchen doorway as Stiles sat cross legged on the floor, wearing one of Derek’s oversized hoodies, while Derek stood behind him looking like he was one sarcastic comment away from throwing someone out a window.

“Derek,” Stiles said seriously, “I have a very important question.”

Derek sighed immediately. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“I know you.”

“That’s rude.”

“That’s experience.” Derek snipped back.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “I’m intrigued. What disaster are you planning?”

“I am not planning a disaster,” Stiles said, offended. “I am improving pack morale.”

Peter glanced at the glitter covered decorations scattered across the table.

“By?”

“Decorating Derek’s loft.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “You decorated my loft with glitter.”

“It’s festive.”

“It’s everywhere.”

“It’s called ambiance.”

“It’s called you’re cleaning this up.”

Stiles gasped dramatically. “Wow. So hostile. In front of your own uncle.”

Peter smiled slowly. “I have to admit, Derek, I’m impressed. I didn’t think anyone could annoy you more than I could.”

“I’m reconsidering my life choices,” Derek muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Stiles said cheerfully.

Derek looked at him.

Stiles smiled.

Derek looked away.

Peter caught it immediately.

The tiny softening of Derek’s expression. The way his shoulders relaxed. The way he pretended to be irritated while reaching down to fix the twisted sleeve of Stiles’ hoodie.

Peter had known Derek when he was angry at the world. When he was convinced he was a monster. When he thought caring about someone meant giving them something else to lose.

Now Derek was standing in a glitter covered loft, completely defeated by a hyperactive human with no sense of self preservation.

It was, honestly, beautiful.

“I hate that you’re happy,” Peter announced.

Derek frowned. “What?”

“Not actually. It’s just deeply inconvenient.”

Stiles looked up. “Why?”

“Because I spent years perfecting my role as the family menace.”

Peter gestured toward himself proudly.

“Then he came along.”

Stiles pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Yes. You are a walking catastrophe wrapped in sarcasm and questionable decisions.”

“Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment.”

“I accepted it as one.”

Derek rubbed his face. “This is my life now.”

Peter smiled. “Yes. And somehow, despite everything, you seem happier.”

Derek went quiet.

Stiles noticed.

For once, he didn’t make a joke.

He just reached out and grabbed Derek’s hand.

Peter looked away, pretending not to notice the moment.

He had a reputation to maintain, after all.

“I still think I’m the original menace,” Peter said.

Derek immediately replied, “No.”

Peter looked offended. “Excuse me?”

“You’re just annoying.”

“Exactly.”

“Stiles is absolutely worse than you.”

Stiles looked delighted. “I won.”

Peter narrowed his eyes.

“Derek Hale just admitted his boyfriend is more terrifying than me.”

“Yep,” Stiles said proudly.

Peter sighed. Then he smiled.

Because maybe the Hale family didn’t need less chaos.

Maybe they just needed the right kind.

Sketchbook Smile

Currently 15k words, 60% complete?

Sterek, high school AU, artist Stiles

He knew he shouldn't look. It wasn't his to see. It belonged to Stiles, the sophomore with honey brown eyes one year beneath him. With the way the young man clutched that book everywhere he went, pressed to his chest while running to class, folded under his arm while skateboarding across campus, gripped tightly in his hand while waving his arms around to emphasize whatever ridiculous point he was trying to make---it was clearly important to him. How could he just leave it here, unguarded and vulnerable, in the men's bathroom after school?

Derek's fingers itched to reach out and grab the thick, battered sketchbook covered in little inked doodles, holding what he knew would be a peek into the mind of a man he had barely spoken to despite going to the same school since childhood. Derek watched him sometimes, feeling something pull at his chest whenever he witnessed the ease with which Stiles laughed. He was always smiling with one friend or another, sometimes even smiling to himself while looking down at his open sketchbook under the shade of the big oak bordering the parking lot. Derek couldn't remember the last time he felt like laughing. His own smiles were always forced and tight. The people he surrounded himself with didn't care about happiness---they cared about winning and having money and proving that they were better than everyone else.

He would bet that Stiles’ friends actually liked him. How could they not? How could you not care for someone so warm and bright? Stiles practically glowed with energy. Derek thought of the people in his own circle---Matt, who never missed an opportunity to belittle someone, Jen, who called herself his girlfriend even though they could barely stand each other, or Kate, the worst of them all, a senior who bossed everyone around and saw other people as no more than insects to be stepped on.

Of course Derek wanted a glimpse of someone else's life. Of course he couldn't resist taking one tiny, little look at that damn book.

His heart started beating faster as he opened the first page. Every page he turned after that, it got a little easier. The pages were filled with crisp, inked doodles of little cartoon animals, rough, fluid sketches of bodies in motion, detailed close-ups of complex objects—as if the artist couldn't make up his mind on what or how he actually liked to draw. About half way through the book, the drawings became more…alive. He started including people, beautifully rendered with unmistakable emotions sketched into every line of their face. He captured everyone so well—Scott McCall's dopey-eyed grin, Vernon Boyd's pleased and subtle smile, Erica Reyes’ confident strut, Lydia's haughty regard, and—

There was Derek. Among the dozens of subjects Stiles had chosen, Derek was one of them. It was him and Jen sitting on the bleachers. Jen was looking at him with a calculating squint in her eyes, and Derek was staring off in the distance, looking absolutely miserable. Is that how Stiles saw him? Did he not hide it as well as he thought he did?

Everyone else was drawn so vividly, as if their very essence was captured in the page. Of course this was how Derek looked. He started flipping pages faster now, looking for more evidence that Stiles saw right through him. There was one of him and Matt, where Matt looked disgusted at something and Derek looked disgusted at Matt. There was another of him and Jen, Jen looking triumphant holding his arm and Derek looking defeated while being dragged behind her. There was one of Kate, just her face, contorted into a laugh devoid of any spark of joy. These were the people he called his friends.

He paused at a page that was different—not set in a scene or polished to the level that other portraits were. It was a man with dark hair, cheeks raised and eyes squinted, unmistakable joy in his wide, open smile. Derek didn't recognize him. Maybe he went to another school? Maybe…it was his boyfriend?

He felt an ugly tightness in his chest as he brought the book closer to his face. Who was this man? He wasn't even that handsome. His ears were a little too big and his hair was probably over-gelled and his teeth—

Two front teeth, just large enough to stand out. The teeth he tried to hide as a child, because his older sister's friend said he looked like bugs bunny. The teeth that made Jen tell him, unprompted, “thank god you didn't smile, that would have ruined the picture.” The teeth he no longer worried about hiding, because he never smiled anyway.

Stiles drew him laughing. Stiles drew him happy. How could he possibly know what Derek looked like when he was happy? Why would he—

The bathroom door slammed open, jolting Derek out of hypnosis. Stiles stood at the threshold, panting and flushed. They locked eyes, then Stiles looked down at the sketchbook. His face morphed, wide-eyed and horrified, and his skin went from a heated light pink to a brilliant molten red. They stared at each other for a moment, Derek too scared to move, and Stiles seemingly too embarrassed to speak.

Derek let his guilt break the silence.

“I'm sorry,” he started.

Stiles still didn't respond.

“I saw it on the counter. I shouldn't have looked, but I just wanted to see what you, uh…shit. I shouldn't have looked. I'm sorry.” Derek winced, preparing to be berated or scoffed at.

Stiles hadn't moved a muscle. Derek tried to fill the silence.

“This picture…” He looked down at the image of himself, again getting sucked in by the bizarre feeling of knowing the penciled smile doesn't exist. “It's really, uh…how did you—”

Derek didn't finish his sentence, because Stiles managed to surge forward, snatch the book out of his hand, then exit the bathroom in the span of about 0.5 seconds.

Choose your fighter.

In reality, they charge at each other, flap their wings, and then one of them flies away. Lasts about 2 seconds per encounter. But when you use burst mode, you can freeze a moment within that 2 second battle and get some pretty neat results.

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