It's T

2nd entry for the @makehimsubmit event - 1st one is here, 3rd one here

Bit more of a sketchy thing and not as aggressively pink as the other two lol

I have all these obscure moments I want to draw but I just keep drawing relieved embraces

Version with blood

sterek 😇

I literally had to create a Tumblr account just to participate in this challenge

Behold my offering!! this sketch laid at your feet in hopes of receiving a fanfic

@isthatbloodonhisshirt

based on this meme

if any of you saw this on monday no you didn't

ANYWAY sterek (wip) wednesday

It shouldn’t feel like a loss.

But it does.

Because slammed doors mean anger - sharp, loud, undeniable. Slammed doors mean something is wrong and Derek is willing to show it. This… this quiet? This careful, measured way Derek moves around the loft like he’s afraid of breaking something that’s already shattered?

This is worse.

This is how things rot.

They don’t fight anymore.

Not really.

They used to…God, they used to.

Explosive, messy arguments that left them both breathless, Derek’s eyes burning red, Stiles pacing like a caged animal, words flying too fast, too sharp, too honest. It had been ugly, yeah, but it had also been real. They said things. They meant things. They felt things.

Now? Now it’s all swallowed. Pressed down. Ignored.

••••••

Stiles leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed tight over his chest, watching Derek from across the loft.

Derek is at the far window, back turned, staring out into the night like there’s something out there worth looking at.

There isn’t. There never is.

“You’re late,” Stiles says, because it’s something. Because silence feels like drowning.

Derek doesn’t turn. “Pack business.”

Two words. Flat. Final.

The conversation dies before it even starts.

Stiles swallows, something bitter crawling up his throat. “Right. Cool. Yeah. Pack stuff. Obviously more important than-”

He cuts himself off.

Because Derek doesn’t ask, “More important than what?”

He doesn’t turn around.

He doesn’t engage.

And Stiles hates that he doesn’t push it anymore.

“Whatever,” Stiles mutters instead, looking away. “Doesn’t matter.”

It always matters. That’s the problem.

Everything matters, and neither of them will say it.

••••••

They eat dinner in silence.

Not even sitting together. Derek at the table, Stiles on the couch, the TV on low just to fill the space with something other than the weight pressing in on them.

At one point, Derek glances over.

Just for a second.

Stiles feels it like a touch.

He almost looks back.

Almost says something.

Stay. Talk to me. Please.

Instead, he pretends he didn’t notice.

And Derek looks away.

They go to bed like strangers who know each other too well.

Derek lies on his side, back to the room.

Stiles stares at the ceiling.

There’s space between them, just a few inches, but it feels like miles.

It wasn’t always like this.

There was a time Derek couldn’t keep his hands off him. A time when Stiles would curl into Derek’s side and feel something solid, something steady, something safe.

Now, even breathing feels too loud.

Too risky.

Because if one of them reaches out and the other doesn’t respond…

That would break it.

And neither of them can survive that.

So they don’t try.

It builds like that.

Days turning into weeks of almosts and not-quites.

Almost conversations.

Not-quite arguments.

Almost touches.

Not-quite affection.

They orbit each other carefully, like they’re both aware that one wrong move will send everything crashing down.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part…They’re trying so hard not to hurt each other that they’re bleeding out slowly anyway.

••••••

Peter notices.

Of course he does.

Peter always notices.

“You look awful,” Peter says casually one day, leaning against the loft railing.

Stiles doesn’t even look up from where he’s hunched over the counter. “Wow, thank you, Peter, that’s so helpful. Really constructive feedback. I feel healed already.”

Peter hums. “That’s funny, considering you’re very clearly not.”

Stiles stills.

Just for a second.

Then he shrugs, too fast, too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Peter smiles, slow and knowing. “Ah. The famous last words of emotionally repressed idiots everywhere.”

“Okay, wow, fuck you.”

“You and Derek,” Peter cuts in smoothly, “are exhausting to watch.”

That gets Stiles’ attention.

He looks up, glaring. “No one asked you to watch.”

“And yet here I am,” Peter says lightly. “Watching the two of you slowly destroy yourselves because neither of you can manage a basic conversation.”

“We talk,” Stiles snaps.

Peter raises an eyebrow.

Stiles opens his mouth. Closes it.

Because…No.

They don’t. Not really.

“You think love is supposed to look like this?” Peter asks, voice quieter now, sharper in a different way.

Stiles scoffs, defensive. “You don’t know anything about-”

“I know exactly what it looks like when two people love each other so much they’d rather suffer than risk losing it,” Peter interrupts.

That hits. Hard.

Stiles’ chest tightens. “We’re not-”

“You are,” Peter says simply. “And it’s pathetic.”

Anger flares, quick and bright. “You don’t get to-”

“You’re afraid,” Peter continues, like Stiles didn’t speak. “Both of you. Terrified that if you actually say what you’re feeling, it’ll be the thing that breaks you.”

Stiles’ hands curl into fists.

Because that’s not wrong.

Peter steps closer, voice dropping.

“But here’s the part you’re too stupid to realize,” he says. “You’re already breaking.”

Silence crashes down. Heavy. Unavoidable.

“You don’t heal by pretending nothing’s wrong,” Peter adds, softer now. “You heal by tearing the wound open and dealing with it.”

Stiles’ throat burns.

“That’s easy for you to say,” he mutters.

Peter tilts his head. “Is it?”

For a moment - just a moment - there’s something real in his expression. Something tired. Something that looks a little too much like experience.

Then it’s gone.

“You love him,” Peter says.

It’s not a question.

Stiles exhales shakily. “Yeah.”

“Then act like it,” Peter replies.

••••••

Derek comes back later.

He pauses when he sees Peter.

Tension immediately coils in his shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

Peter smiles faintly. “Fixing your relationship.”

Derek’s expression darkens. “Leave.”

Peter just shrugs, pushing off the railing. “Or don’t. Continue as you are. I’m sure this ends well.”

He moves past Derek, then stops, just long enough to murmur “You can’t heal something you refuse to touch.”

And then he’s gone.

The silence he leaves behind is unbearable.

Derek stands near the door.

Stiles stands by the counter.

Neither of them moves.

Neither of them speaks for a while

“Are we… okay?”

It slips out of Stiles before he can stop it.

Derek freezes.

Slowly, he turns.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, he looks at Stiles like he actually sees him.

“No,” Derek says.

Honest. Raw. Immediate

It fucking hurts.

God, it hurts.

But it’s also a relief.

“Okay,” Stiles breathes, voice shaking. “Okay, good. Not good - bad - but like, good that we’re acknowledging that we’re not good because…yeah, no, we’re definitely not good.”

Derek takes a step closer.

Then another.

“I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admits quietly.

Stiles laughs, a broken sound. “Yeah, well, same. Turns out ignoring it? Not the move.”

Derek huffs, almost a laugh.

“I thought… if I pushed too hard…” Derek starts, then stops.

Stiles shakes his head. “I thought if I said the wrong thing, you’d leave.”

There it is.

The truth.

Ugly and exposed and terrifying.

Derek’s eyes soften, something aching breaking through. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that,” Stiles says immediately.

“I do,” Derek insists.

“You can’t-”

“I choose you,” Derek cuts in, voice rough. “Even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts. I choose you.”

Stiles’ chest cracks open.

That’s all he needed.

That’s all he’s been waiting to hear.

“I’m scared,” Stiles admits, quieter now.

Derek nods. “I know.”

“I don’t want us to keep… doing this,” Stiles says, gesturing weakly between them. “This…whatever this is. It feels like we’re dying in slow motion.”

Derek steps closer until there’s no space left.

“We stop,” he says simply.

Stiles swallows. “Just like that?”

“No,” Derek says. “Not just like that. It’ll be hard. We’ll mess it up.” He hesitates. “But we talk. Even when it’s ugly. Even when it hurts.”

Stiles lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I can do ugly.”

Derek’s mouth twitches then he moves. Carefully, like approaching something fragile.

He reaches out.

His hand brushes Stiles’ wrist.

Waits.

Stiles doesn’t pull away.

It’s not fixed.

Not even close.

But it’s a start.

Later, when they lie in bed, the space between them is gone.

Stiles is tucked against Derek’s side, Derek’s arm wrapped around him like he’s afraid to let go.

“Hey,” Stiles murmurs into the quiet.

“Hmm?”

“If we start doing the silent suffering thing again,” Stiles says, “I’m gonna fight you.”

Derek hums. “Good.”

Stiles smiles, small but real.

Sterekkiss - gif I made, based on (enter link here, sorry i can`t find the gif right now, i`m gonna update it later once i find it)