I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good.

Really nice recipes. Every hour.

Sure.

Bleeding Out For You (even if it's the last thing i'll ever do) by whenwordsmakesense

(1/1 I 1,203 I Teen)

"You're bleeding because of me."

And there it is. Derek's guilt at hurting him plain to see, making Stiles want to scream because Kate is fucking dead but she still won't stop ruining them—ruining Derek.

All the progress Derek makes, all the genuine smiles he lets others see, all of it vanishes after one nightmare with her in it. Stiles knows healing isn't linear, knows it like the back of his hand, knows it personally, but he still hates this.

OR

Derek has a nightmare. This is the aftermath.

#24 He's Our Man! by stilinskihalefamily

(1/1 I 1,438 I General)

Stiles on the lacrosse field practicing for the first big game of the season. With all the good players, i.e. Jackson and Isaac, gone he has somehow made it to first line. And to say he’s nervous is understatement. So he’s practicing his ass off.

He’s been out on the field for an hour when he sees Derek trying to sneaky and hide behind a tree. Stiles lets him hide behind that tree for a few minutes but it’s unnerving feeling eyes on you but not seeing the person the eyes belong too. So he ends up saying, “Stop being such a creeper, Derek. Come help me practice.”

“I’m not a creeper.” Derek says, walking across the field to where Stiles is standing a few feet away from the goal.

Hesitant to Love by lettered_aurora

(1/1 I 1,497 I Mature)

Derek's hesitant to say no to Stiles. All Stiles wants is Derek to know he has the right to.

Blood Pounding in Our Veins by minusoneday

(10/10 I 41,305 I Mature)

Stiles figured that Mrs. McCall finding out Scott’s secret would change things, but he’s completely unprepared for the very first thing she does, which is to invite Isaac to move in with her and Scott.

 ***

In which Stiles is angry. For some very good reasons.

will to follow through by owlpostagain

(2/2 I 42,411 I Teen)

“It depends entirely on how you look at it, I guess,” Stiles shrugs. “On the one hand, instant healing and the apparently inherited ability to pull off leather at all times. On the other, serious attitude problems and a suspicious disappearance of eyebrows.”

“Even Derek’s?” Danny snorts, “that’s a lot of eyebrow to lose.”

“I know,” Stiles agrees. “You should see, it’s so weird. Every time I want to ask him where they go, except he’d totally eat my face off.”

“There are worse ways to die.”

Running Up That Hill by maypoison

(32/32 I 139,488 I Explicit)

“Even before the pack joined together, Scott was trying to protect you. And he still is trying to protect you, even if it means leaving you out of all this.”

Stiles does roll his eyes at that. “Yeah, but it didn’t work did it. I was still involved, and so was my Dad. We were nearly killed by Matt, and then Gerard.”

“My point is, people change. Relationships aren’t always perfect. Scott's tried to kill me before."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "So, you’re saying that someone trying to kill you is just a small flaw in a relationship?"

“We’re werewolves.” Derek answers with a shrug, as if that was a perfectly good explanation.

Fast Car; or: Maybe Together We Can Get Somewhere by snowqueenlou

(30/32 I 175,499 I Mature)

The final battle against Monroe goes horribly wrong. In the aftermath, the pack fractures, and for some of them things will never be the same.

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.

I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.

The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.

The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.