EasySarcasm

Derek: 'I'm fine' Stiles: 🚨🚨🚨 (honestly this goes both ways for these two)

Birthday gift art for @sparassiss who requested Stiles holding Derek after a crappy day, and you know what - a good ol' Stilinski Hug would probably fix him a lil' bit ♡

The first time Draco saw Harry Potter again, it was across a ballroom.

Candlelight spilled gold over everything—silk, jewels, polished floors—and the orchestra carried the soft rise and fall of a waltz through the air. Draco stood at his father’s side, posture perfect, expression carefully neutral, as befitted the heir to a Duke.

He was not expecting to forget how to breathe.

“Commander Potter,” someone whispered nearby.

Draco’s attention snapped toward the entrance.

And there he was.

Harry Potter—no longer the scrawny, sharp-faced boy Draco remembered from childhood summers and stiff, distant visits between their families. War had carved him into something else entirely.

Broader. Steadier.

Dangerous, in a way that had nothing to do with violence and everything to do with presence.

His dress uniform was dark, severe, cut to fit him perfectly, medals catching the light at his chest. But it wasn’t the uniform that held the room.

It was him.

Draco’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around his glass.

“Well,” Lucius Malfoy said beside him, voice cool, “it seems the hero returns.”

Draco didn’t answer.

Because Harry was looking at him.

Not glancing.

Looking.

And then—

Harry started walking toward him.

Draco’s pulse stuttered.

“This should be interesting,” Lucius murmured.

⸻

“Malfoy.”

Draco inclined his head just enough to be polite. “Potter.”

Up close, it was worse.

Harry had always had green eyes—but now they were sharper, steadier, like they had seen too much and come back anyway.

“You’ve—” Harry paused, like he was recalibrating. “—changed.”

Draco arched a brow. “So have you.”

A flicker of something—amusement, maybe—crossed Harry’s face.

“Yes,” he said simply.

An awkward silence threatened.

Draco hated awkward silence.

“So,” he said, “I hear you’ve been playing soldier.”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “Something like that.”

“Commander, isn’t it?”

“For now.”

Draco tilted his head. “Modest.”

“Realistic.”

Another pause.

Then Harry did something entirely unexpected.

“Dance with me.”

Draco blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dance,” Harry repeated, gesturing toward the floor. “Unless you’ve forgotten how.”

Draco stared at him.

Around them, the room seemed to sharpen, attention quietly shifting.

Lucius’s presence at his side felt suddenly… very pointed.

“You’re serious,” Draco said.

“Yes.”

Draco exhaled slowly.

This was a terrible idea.

This was a very terrible idea.

“…fine,” he said.

⸻

Harry’s hand was warm.

Steady.

Entirely too sure of itself where it settled at Draco’s waist.

Draco forced himself not to react as they stepped into the rhythm of the music.

“You’re staring,” Draco said under his breath.

“So are you,” Harry replied.

Draco looked away first.

“This is highly inappropriate,” he muttered.

“Probably.”

“And yet here we are.”

Harry’s grip shifted slightly—subtle, guiding.

“Yes,” he said. “Here we are.”

Draco risked another glance.

Harry was watching him like the rest of the room didn’t exist.

It was… disconcerting.

“You’ve made quite an entrance,” Draco said, grasping for something safer.

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“No, I imagine it just happens naturally.”

Harry smiled—small, but real.

“Something like that.”

They turned.

The music swelled.

And for one brief, ridiculous moment—

Draco forgot that this was Harry Potter.

Forgot the war. The distance. The years.

There was just—

This.

Then the music ended.

Reality rushed back in.

Draco stepped away immediately.

“Thank you,” he said, cool and composed once more.

Harry inclined his head.

“My pleasure.”

Lucius’s gaze was waiting when Draco returned.

Sharp. Displeased.

“Explain,” he said quietly.

Draco lifted his chin. “He asked.”

“And you accepted.”

“Yes.”

Lucius’s expression darkened.

“Be careful,” he said.

Draco didn’t answer.

Because he already knew.

⸻

Harry did not leave him alone after that.

Not in the intrusive sense.

In the… persistent one.

Walks in the gardens.

Conversations that started polite and ended somewhere sharper, more interesting.

A letter.

Then another.

“He’s courting you,” Hermione said bluntly.

Draco frowned. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Am I?”

Draco hesitated.

Because—

“Yes,” he said finally.

Hermione just looked at him.

⸻

Ron Weasley was less subtle.

“This is a terrible idea,” he said, arms crossed.

Harry didn’t look up from where he was writing.

“Noted.”

“He’s a Malfoy.”

“I’m aware.”

“He’s trouble.”

Harry paused.

Then, calmly:

“So am I.”

Ron groaned. “That’s not reassuring!”

⸻

Lucius was worse.

“He is not suitable,” he said coldly.

Draco met his gaze. “According to whom?”

“According to sense.”

“He’s a decorated commander.”

“He’s new money,” Lucius snapped. “New power. Unstable.”

Draco’s lips twitched faintly.

“Sounds familiar.”

Lucius’s expression hardened.

“This is not a game.”

“I know.”

“Then act like it.”

Draco didn’t respond.

Because for once—

He didn’t want to.

⸻

The summons to court came unexpectedly.

Harry stood before the Queen, posture straight, expression unreadable as the chamber watched in hushed anticipation.

“For your service,” she said, voice clear and carrying, “and for your loyalty to crown and country, we bestow upon you lands and title.”

A pause.

“Rise, Duke.”

The word rippled through the room.

Harry inclined his head.

“Your Majesty.”

Draco, watching from the side, felt something shift.

Not surprise.

Not exactly.

Just—

Recognition.

Harry had always been meant for something like this.

⸻

“You didn’t tell me,” Draco said later.

Harry shrugged lightly. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters now.”

“Does it?”

Draco stepped closer.

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then, quieter:

“You outrank me.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “Is that what this is about?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Silence stretched.

Then Harry said:

“Marry me.”

Draco stared at him.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It could be.”

Draco’s pulse quickened.

“This is—this is reckless.”

“Yes.”

“Inadvisable.”

“Probably.”

“A terrible idea.”

Harry stepped closer.

“Almost certainly.”

Draco swallowed.

“Then why?”

Harry met his gaze.

“Because I don’t want to stop.”

Silence.

Long.

Heavy.

Then Draco exhaled slowly.

“…you’re impossible.”

Harry smiled.

“I’ve been told.”

Another pause.

Then, softer:

“And you’re still here.”

Draco looked at him.

At the boy he’d known.

At the man he’d become.

At the future standing right in front of him, asking—not demanding, not taking—

Asking.

“…yes,” Draco said.

⸻

The wedding was not quiet.

It could never have been.

But it was theirs.

Ron looked resigned. Hermione looked pleased. Lucius looked like he was reconsidering several life choices.

Harry looked—

Happy.

Draco adjusted his gloves, glancing sideways.

“This is still a terrible idea,” he murmured.

Harry squeezed his hand.

“Definitely.”

A pause.

Then Draco allowed himself the smallest smile.

“Good,” he said.

Not Lydia or Malia……DEREK! :)

Better hope those groceries are all non-perishables because they are forgotten also Stiles saw a nappertunity and he took it

How many different ways can I draw the same two characters napping? Let's spend 2026 finding out 😌✨

Found this on tiktok, courtesy of ai and I can't stop playing it 🥹🥹

The pack starts teasing Derek and play fighting with him because whenever they hit Derek, Stiles starts screeching and yelling at them to NO!!! NO HURT DEWEK NO!!! NO!!! and it’s the cutest, funniest thing ever.

after, Stiles pouts and folds his tiny arms across his chest with tears in his eyes and refuses to talk to the betas or even his own dad while Derek rubs a comforting hand up and down his little back awkwardly. Stiles is being ridiculous but well he IS a child at the moment. Derek is also stupidly terrified of him.

it’s a whole Thing when the sheriff lifts Stiles up into his arms and tries to leave the loft with him. Stiles assumes his Dewek is coming with them but then the sheriff says goodbye to Derek and falls back on his old daddy habits and says like “okay Stiles say bye bye to Derek.” and Stiles is like :O and immediately throws an giant tantrum.

There’s the stop breathing until he’s blue in the face and Derek panics but the sheriff is like “please son let me handle this okay” and the sheriff blows into Stiles’ open mouth and Stiles takes a big breath and starts wailing like someone is torturing him. he stretches his little arms to Derek while big fat tears fall from his eyes. Derek thinks he might be dying because nothing has ever hurt this much.

the sheriff is cool as a cucumber while Derek is like 😭😭😭 but at least the sheriff is nice enough to pass Stiles to Derek again who pulls him close and Stiles hugs his neck and hiccups dramatically like the world is ending.

it takes Derek walking him down the cruiser and saying bye bye 5 times and accepting 2 cheek kisses and making 3 pinky promises that he will be coming to see Stiles in the morning. but even then Stiles is teary eyed when his dad pulls out of the parking lot and Stiles waves a tiny hand to Derek all sad and forlorn and Derek thinks he might have to revise his plan of having several kids with Stiles because there’s no way he can handle it if they’re going to torment him like this.

the next morning Derek is at the Stilinski residence bright and early as he promised and when he knocks he hears the pitter patter of feet sprinting to the door and Derek frowns because thats not…

An again fully grown Stiles opens the door and beams at him.

“we are SO having kids!!!!!” Stiles exclaims while simultaneously giggling with exhilaration.

He practically jumps into Derek’s arms and holds him tight and Derek does the same, relief and fondness warming Derek’s chest.

“You’re gonna be a great dad. I can’t wait.” Stiles says into Derek’s ear as he plays with Derek’s hair at the back of his neck.

At the bar top, Stiles is chatting animatedly with a girl that Derek thinks he recognizes.

She’s likely a close enough friend that Derek has seen her in passing, but not so close that he’s ever been properly introduced to her.

Or maybe he has, and he just hadn’t cared to remember her.

Stiles is dressed like he always is. Jeans, a flannel over a plain shirt, some vans. In a college bar like this, just off Berkeley’s campus, Stiles fits right in.

Stiles’ friend notices Derek’s approach, but Stiles doesn’t, his back turned to him and still talking rapidly. She opens her mouth to say something, but Derek puts a finger to his lips.

She deflates, but she looks hesitant. Stiles doesn’t even seem to notice, too wrapped up in whatever he’s talking about.

“—Sean even fucking blocked me on Instagram! Who the hell goes that far?! So color me surprised when the douchebag shows up to our meeting two days ago, which, I don’t even know how he knew we were meeting that day. I think Morgan told him. Have you noticed she has a thing for him? She always—”

Derek stops just short of touching Stiles’ back, bare inches between them.

He leans down, murmuring low near Stiles’ ear.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

The Stilinski family;

Ok but what if the reason why Stiles never takes off his many layers of clothes isn’t low self-esteem?

What if there’s another reason?

What if he has a huge scar crossing his back?

What if he has marks he doesn’t want anyone to see?

What if he can’t bear the idea of people staring?

What if he’s afraid of people asking?

What if they’re the most permanent memory his mother’s illness left for him?

What if they are the result of him ignoring his dad's words about “keeping distance from her” because he missed his mom’s hugs?

What if the huge scar was made during a hug between a mother and her son?

What if it happened during their last hug?

What if that was the last time Claudia Stilinski recognized her child?

It’s during breakfast.

There’s sunlight spilling across the kitchen table in thin ribbons, and Stiles is sitting cross legged on the counter, eating cereal straight from the box. His hair is sticking up like he wrestled a hurricane and lost, and there’s a line of milk on his upper lip that he hasn’t noticed yet. Derek, standing in front of the stove with a spatula in hand, should look away. He doesn’t.

The wolf won't let him.

Something about this moment, the domestic quiet, the way Stiles hums under his breath to a song playing from his phone, the smell of sugar and skin and home, hits Derek in the chest. His wolf presses forward, curling in Derek’s ribs like it’s trying to get closer.

Ours, it whispers, possessive and reverent.

And Derek can’t argue.

He doesn’t want to.

••••••

It’s not easy, loving Stiles.

It’s never been.

“wake up,” she urged the dummy, pressing her hands to the pulse points on its wrists. “come on. what the fuck.”

“yeah, i don’t think that asking nicely is going to do the trick,” hank said, his eyebrows raised. his helmet, the special one they’d decorated for him with craft supplies from michael’s when he’d gotten promoted to firestation chief, sat askew on his head. “i can see now why they didn’t pass you.”

annabelle rolled her eyes. “it’s a psychological thing,” she said. “it’s like, you give the brain an instruction and it follows naturally. and the pulse-point thing always works. i don’t know why it’s not, like, in any of the books, but i swear to god it’s worked for me every time.”

it was true that annabelle had the best record on low body counts, which was good because she was the smallest person on the team not counting Georgie, who was a corgi. jake and lillian were always making fun of her for having been the shortest of their whole rookie class. but it hadn’t ever been a problem before; annabelle rarely had to carry anybody out, because she was good enough at getting them on their feet.

but none of that would matter if she couldn’t pass her stupid recertification exam, because they’d take her badge and she’d have to go be, like, a doctor or something.

hank blew out a long breath and sunk down to where she was kneeling on the station floor in full fire gear, giving CPR to the practice dummy, whom they called dierdre. there was a little light that went on when you’d saved its life. it had been a dull gray for an hour now.

“look, AB. i know you’re a good firefighter, and i know you know how to deliver CPR. just do it like you do it during an emergency. you’re overthinking it.”

“but this is what i do during an emergency!” annabelle cried, throwing her hands up. “i put my hands on their pulse points and i use psychological mumbo-jumbo and they just get up and walk!” 

hank blinked. “…really,” he said, voice flat. “people who’ve been inhaling smoke for half an hour just … get up and walk.”

“the brain is an incredibly powerful organ,” said annabelle, shrugging. “look man, i don’t know, okay? but it works. i haven’t had to actually do CPR in like a year and a half.”

he gave her a long, quiet look and said, “well….huh,” before pushing himself back up onto his feet and frowning off into the distance. “keep practicing,” he said after a minute, and left her there.

-

hank switched her team.

“what the fuck, man,” she said, sliding into the truck next to him as the sirens went on. “i can’t get CPR on one fucking dummy and suddenly you don’t trust me to do my job without supervision?”

carl and bethany very carefully did not meet her eyes in the rearview from the backseat. bethany pulled a magazine from beneath the seat and said loudly, “look, carl, jennifer aniston and brad pitt are getting back together.”

“thank christ,” said carl. “i’ve been really worried about jen.”

hank gave annabelle the flat look that had gotten him promoted to firestation chief in the first place, the one that said i’m your dad and you don’t want to disappoint me. as always, annabelle wilted underneath it, sliding down in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. it was a difficult feat in full gear but she wanted him to know she was feeling sullen.

“i trust you completely,” hank told her, his voice a light scold. “i want to see you in action so i can help you figure out what’s going wrong with the dummies. sometimes it’s hard for the brain to accurately remember everything that happens during a crisis.”

annabelle rolled her eyes. “i told you,” she said. “it’s just – it’s the same thing every time, I’m not like, blacking out.”

“great, then i’m about to learn a cool new trick,” hank said serenely, and pulled the truck out of the lot. annabelle kept her gaze focused out of the window, watching the city pass as carl and bethany talked loudly about which celebrities were dating which other celebrities and who wore what better. she tried to swallow down the nerves that tightened her throat. maybe the dummy was right. maybe she was doing something else and didn’t remember it. maybe the last two years had been a fluke and she had no business being a firefighter. maybe she was about to get fired.

there wasn’t a fire, though the alarm was going off. instead they found a bag of smoking popcorn and the collapsed heap of a forty-five year old bachelor type, down to just his boxers and a pair of slippers with llamas on them. he had no pulse. 

hank held carl and bethany back, directing them to deal with the smoke from the popcorn; annabelle he pointed toward the resident with a jerk of his chin. 

she sighed, kneeling by his side. she pressed her hands flat to his heart and then dragged them across his chest and down each arm, to his wrists. with her thumbs on his pulse point, she hissed, “let’s go, man. up and at ’em. you’re not meant to die in your underwear while cooking popcorn, come on.”

she held her breath for a few moments, conscious of hank’s eyes on her, and let out a long sigh of relief when she felt his pulse jump beneath her, watched his eyes flicker. “what the fuck?” he asked, voice a croak. “what happened?”

“you gotta eat more vegetables, bud,” annabelle told him, and looped his arm over her shoulders to help him get to his feet. she was so relieved she could have wept, but instead met hank’s eyes with a challenging glare. see? she thought. i told you. “let’s get you to the ambulance.”

-

“the bad news is that you have a lot of practicing to do if you want to pass your recert,” hank said without preamble, showing up at her apartment. she didn’t think she’d ever seen him in jeans before. it was weird. “the good news is i understand your problem now.”

annabelle stepped aside, beckoning him in. “what problem?” she demanded. “it worked! you saw it work. that’s the opposite of a problem.”

hank shrugged. he handed her a trifold that he’d clearly printed off at home. it said so you think you’re a necromancer. annabelle blinked down at it, and then up at hank, and then down at the trifold again. “i … don’t understand what’s happening here,” she told him honestly. 

“i’m not in the community and they’re kind of cagey, so i can’t really tell you a lot,” hank told her, stilted and visibly uncomfortable. “but i have a cousin who is, and um, i just want you to know that this doesn’t change anything. you’re still who you’ve always been and you have my complete support. we’ll figure out how to get around the recert. maybe i’ll – i can put you on admin duty to give you time to study. we’ll say it’s because of an injury.”

“hank,” annabelle said, with some urgency. “hank, this flier says the word necromancer.”

“yes,” agreed hank, looking relieved. “oh, good, you’ve heard of it already. i thought i was going to have to have the whole your body is changing talk.”

annabelle shook her head. “no, i – hank. you know that … um, you know that necromancy isn’t real, right? people can’t bring other people back from the dead. that’s crazy.”

“annabelle, not four hours ago you instructed a dead man to stand up and he did.”

“okay, he wasn’t dead, obviously. he was almost dead, at best.”

“no. he was dead.”

“i felt his pulse! it was very faint!”

“you called his pulse. no one else would have felt it, because it wasn’t there except in response to you.”

“hank, what the fuck.”

he shrugged. “read the flier,” he instructed. “and bring dierdre home with you. you’re going to have to practice a lot if you want to get recertified, considering you haven’t one time had to use any of the skills you learned the first go around.”

he bussed her temple as he went by, letting himself out of her apartment with a friendly wave. annabelle looked down at the flier in her hand with a frown. when she unfolded it, the first page said, everyone’s necromancy journey is different, but most people discover their gift by accident. have you ever brought a pet back to life? touched an elderly relatives hand and seen some of the color flood back into their face? or perhaps, more subtly, been able to keep cut flowers alive long past their purchase date?

annabelle looked at her kitchen table. she’d had the same vase of tulips on it since she moved in, three years ago. it was true they periodically started to wilt, but she usually just changed their water and they were fine, popping back up one after the other as she slid them into the fresh vase. 

He's rougher and tougher than everyone remembers, but despite the new exterior he's still that same clever, loud-mouth he always has been.

Everyone's a little older and wiser (no one's dead au), Scott and Allison have just had their first baby- a little boy the whole pack fawns over- Malia and Kira are.. sort of dating, Lydia and Danny run a fucking law firm together or something, Boyd and Erica are married, Isaac is training to become a doctor and everyone else is doing their own thing.

Even Derek's changed. His age shows a little in the longer salt and pepper hair on his head and in his beard, the reading glasses- which should definitely make him look more stupid and not more attractive- perch on his nose at all times and warm his face. He looks softer, his shoulders are lowered like maybe the weight of the world has slipped off them a bit, even if his body is still obnoxiously hard and toned and massive.

Anyway yap yap yap, everyone's a little too busy with their own shit to notice Stiles and Derek sizing each other up with new eyes. Still bickering like an old married couple, pushing and shoving with a little more strength than before, new fears and scars they're yet to tell each other about.

When sleep-deprived new mom Allison is absolutely terrified to fall asleep and not wake up fast enough to keep the baby safe, Stiles volunteers to sleep on their couch and help out. Laughs about a sniper position he once sat at with no sleep for three days, how it hardly bothered him, probably something to do with remnants of the Void. How it earned him a handshake from his boss and a bullet to the stomach from an angry adversary.

Everyone looks at him kind of funny when he brings stories like those up so calmly. Almost disbelieving at who their friend has become while he was away. The soldier he might've always been, without them noticing.

The next attack on the pack faces some very overprotective betas, an almost completely balanced alpha and his... new emissary, who is fucking deadly with any weapon in his hand- when they tie him up he talks himself out of it, when they tape his mouth shut his magic sparks and they know they're screwed.

it's been *looks at bare wrist* hours since i last drew the boys napping so clearly we're long overdue

I imagine Stiles getting into bed with someone is a whole Thing, wedging his limbs everywhere and jostling the other person around until he's comfortable and then immediately passing out lol