H5-0SuperWolf

hi! I have a feeling it's this fic

Me Without You is Paradise by TheWriterinBeskar

Derek wakes before Stiles, realizing at some point while the pack was partying, he slept on his stomach, and Stiles used his butt as a pillow.

Derek’s sure the drool he can feel on his lower back should disgust him, but he welcomes his mate’s scent on him.

Stiles wakes soon after, and they do the mature thing of not acknowledging anything.

“You feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Maybe. It’s been so eventful lately; I’m sure today’s going to feel vacuous in comparison. I might start some trouble on purpose to relieve my boredom.”

Derek smirks.

"Wish I could keep you in a pocket, always safe," he says, voice muffled as he nuzzles against Cas'chest, "always with me." 

"I would have to look for a tiny vessel then." Castiel replies, amused, as he gently manouvers them both so Dean, who is laughing at the mental image of a tiny Cas, is laying under the covers again, " I will see you later." That's better than a goodbye, Dean had told him once after being the one to tell Castiel he would see him later without even knowing when later would even happen. 

"Later, Cas." 

.

When Dean wakes up again, fully alert now, he does so to the memory of lips pressed against him, sweet and quick, and to what looks like a feather and a note waiting for him on Cas' pillow. 

He picks the note up, 

So you can carry me in your pocket with you.

The feather is small, dark blue, with bright glints whenever the light from the lamp on Dean's nightstand touches it. 

He drops the note and grazes his fingertips over the feather, it glints even more brightly, as if any remaining grace still left in it recognizes his touch. 

He picks the feather up, gingerly, and slowly brings it to his face, closing his eyes as his lips press gently against it. 

p.s. thank you for running this blog!!! i hope you’re doing well and you eat something really yummy soon. you deserve that much and more for helping tw fans everywhere <333

HI anon! @chizzchizz says it's this deleted fic. And @midnightwinterhawk has a copy in their dropbox.

Thor Polishes His Hammer

so i was inspired by @queer-stilinski's post about stiles being obsessed with derek's voice.

Stiles is obsessed with Derek’s voice. It never fails to calm him down and make him feel safe. Derek is his first call, his comfort person, the one he could listen to for hours. So Derek talks, just for Stiles. Or, five times Stiles falls asleep to Derek's voice, and one time he doesn't.

read on ao3

When Stiles is away at college, he wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, counting his fingers after a nightmare. He can't calm down, can't catch his breath. He hobbles to the bathroom clutching his phone with a clammy palm, with his duvet wrapped around his shoulders, and calls Derek.

Derek's groggy but warm voice floats down the phone and he counts with Stiles, helps him take breath after breath, and Stiles begs him to just talk, just say anything, just keep talking. So Derek hesitantly talks about his day, reads off his grocery list, tells Stiles how much he's looking forward to seeing him the next weekend he comes home.

His voice is so soothing and Stiles forgets to focus on his breathing after a while now that it's coming more easily, forgets about his nightmare and why he called Derek in the first place. He wanders back to bed with his phone still pressed against his ear, and falls asleep to Derek telling him about the book he's reading.

Derek doesn't hang up till he can hear Stiles' pulse slow down at last, till he knows he's safe and asleep.

-

A few years in the future, when Stiles and Derek are married, Stiles has to go away on a work trip, and it's torture for both of them to be apart for so long. Stiles is homesick, and tosses and turns in the crappy hotel bed before he gives up and Facetimes Derek. Funnily enough, Derek is still awake, too.

Stiles smiles for the first time in too many hours when he sees Derek's face. They catch up and talk about their days. His heart aches and he misses Derek, but he’s so glad to be able to see him. Derek still looks so beautiful even on the grainy screen.

They talk until Stiles gets sleepy, talk about everything Stiles has missed in the three days he’s been away, but it’s like they haven’t seen each other in a week.

First chapter of a new Sterek fic I’m writing. I’m new to writing actually fics and not just small blurbs or head canons so if you read it and have any advice pls let me know, all constructive criticism is appreciated🫶🏼 I hope you enjoy it!

!same age Sterek AU!

In which while at a party lacrosse teammates Derek Hale and Stiles Stillinski ‘accidentally’ hook up, both wake up hungover with no recollection only the some truth: Stiles is here. Baked. In Derek’s bed. Both avoid each other (mostly by Derek’s request) while trying to come to terms with how they both feel.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_everlark

Lucky Charm

Alternate Universe - College Baseball. Sterek. Medium spicy. Will heat up soon.

Derek Hale stepped into the batter’s box for the first at-bat of his final season of collegiate baseball. The crowd’s roar, normally familiar, felt like distracting static. He tapped the bat against his right cleat twice. More of a habit than a ritual now. He hadn’t done the real ritual in months.

The pitcher, some lanky lefty, wound up. Derek set his stance…feet shoulder-width, knees soft, hands high the way he’d done since little league. Muscle memory. Easy. Except nothing felt easy anymore.

He watched the first pitch sail high and outside. Ball one. The ump’s call was perfunctory, almost bored. Derek exhaled through his nose, reset. His eyes darted toward the dugout steps where the assistant manager usually stood, clipboard in hand, pretending to check inventory while really watching him warm up. Empty tonight. Just the usual staff shuffling clipboards and water bottles. No lanky frame in a faded team hoodie. No crooked grin flashing when their gazes caught. No Stiles.

Months. Three months and twelve days since Stiles had looked at him with those wide amber eyes, voice cracking on “I can’t keep doing this if it’s only this,” and walked out of Derek’s apartment without looking back. Derek had let him walk out. He was annoyed at Stiles for messing up their easy arrangement. They agreed. Derek made his intentions clear from the start. Stiles was the one who—

The second pitch came in tight, brushing the inside corner. Derek swung late. Strike.

He stepped out, rolled his shoulders, tried to shake the memory of soft fingers on his skin. Stiles’s touch had been light, almost reverent, like he was handling something sacred.

“You’ve got this, big guy” he’d murmur against Derek’s neck.

He stepped back up to bat. The pitcher smirked. Fastball, high heat, 94. Derek tracked it, hips turning, wrists snapping. He missed.

Out.

The crowd gave the obligatory polite applause, already turning toward the next batter. Derek jogged back to the dugout, helmet tugged low, jaw locked so tight his teeth ached. He dropped onto the bench, elbows on knees, bat propped between his thighs.

Coach Finstock clapped him once on the shoulder as he passed. “Shake it off, Hale.”

Derek nodded, said nothing.

He could still picture it: Stiles kneeling in the equipment room last spring, lips swollen, eyes glassy, murmuring “You’re gonna kill it tonight” right before Derek fucked him against the shelves. The way Stiles had shuddered when Derek praised him…“So good, always such a good boy.”

Now the stands were full, scouts were watching, and his swing felt like it belonged to someone else.

He dragged a hand over his face, smelling the leather of his batting glove, the faint tang of rosin. No familiar scent of Stiles’s shampoo—something sweet and citrusy—lingering on his skin anymore.

First at-bat of senior year. Strikeout.

And the only thing Derek could think was how badly he wanted his good luck charm back.

Flashback: Junior Year — Pre-Season

The locker room chatter came to an abrupt halt as Coach Finstock blew his whistle, unnecessarily loud, considering they were indoors.

“Alright, dumb jocks, listen up. I’d like to introduce my new assistant, Stiles Stilinski.”

“Actually, assistant manager,” Stiles corrected, stepping out from behind Finstock with a small, proud wave.

“Quiet, Stilinski. He’s my personal assistant. Sophomore. Sports management or whatever. Slightly annoying. Adequately intelligent. And I’d trust him with my life.”

Stiles nodded, beaming brightly.

“Treat him with the same respect you’d give my beloved dog, Skip,” Coach said with complete earnestness. “Or else.”

“Hi, everyone,” Stiles started. “Great to be—”

“That’s enough, Stilinski.”

“Sure. Okay. Yeah.” Stiles nodded so enthusiastically his whole body bobbed.

Derek couldn’t look away.

He didn’t even try to hide the slow smile tugging at his mouth as he watched the newcomer make his way around the room, shaking hands with everyone. Somehow he looked unselfconscious and awkward at once.

When Stiles reached him, the kid froze mid-step.

“…but everyone calls me Stiles. And you?”

“Huh?” Derek blinked hard.

“I was just saying my name is Stiles, sort of. And then I asked for your name, even though I already know your name is Derek Hale because—obviously—but maybe you go by something else, like a cool nickname or whatever. Anyways, my name is-”

“Stiles.” Derek’s chuckle was low, almost private. Stiles bloomed cherry-red. His lashes dropped, dark against flushed skin.

“My name’s Derek,” he said, voice warm. “But you can call me whatever you want.”

Stiles looked up. “Nice to meet you. Officially.”

___

Later, after most of the team had cleared out, they ended up alone in the equipment room. Stiles perched on the edge of a countertop, legs swinging. Derek sat atop the industrial dryer, thighs spread.

“So you’ve known Coach since you were a kid?” Derek asked.

“Yup. He coached my town’s Little League. I was the scorekeeper.”

“Didn’t play?”

Stiles laughed, soft. “Wanted to be a cheerleader. They wouldn’t let me. So I kept score instead.”

Derek’s hand settled on Stiles’s knee. His touch was warm through thin khakis. “I’m sure you were a great scorekeeper.” His palm slid higher. “But you’d make a hell of a cheerleader.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Derek squeezed gently, thumb stroking the inside of Stiles’s thigh. “Peppy. Perky.”

Stiles gulped. His mouth was too dry to reply. Luckily Derek filled the silence.

“How come you didn’t want to play? Not a baseball fan?”

“I love baseball. I just prefer to watch.”

Derek’s lips curved. “You seem like trouble, Stiles.” He leaned in a fraction. “Do you have a boyfriend to keep you out of trouble?”

“Boyfriend?” Stiles’s laugh was shaky. “Why assume boyfriend and not girlfriend?”

Derek gave him a knowing look.

Stiles sighed, smiling despite himself. “No. No boyfriend, yet. I’m on the market.” He paused. “Do you have a…someone?

“Nope. Single. And if you’re wondering, I usually go for girls.”

“Usually?”

“With some notable exceptions.”

Derek’s gaze slid from Stiles’s wide eyes to his parted lips. Stiles swallowed again; the ripple down his throat looked delicious.

In one smooth motion Derek slid off the dryer and stood in front of Stiles, pinning him in without touching. He moved slowly, giving Stiles every chance to pull back.

Stiles didn’t.

Derek cupped the side of Stiles’s face, thumb brushing the sharp line of his cheekbone, then tilted his chin up. Their first kiss was soft. Derek tasting, teasing, letting Stiles adapt to him. Stiles melted instantly, a small moan slipping out as he yielded to Derek’s tongue.

Overcome with lust at the boy’s wanton noises, Derek groaned low in his throat as he deepened the kiss, slow and possessive. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was rough.

“You’re good at this.” Derek rumbled.

Stiles’s eyes fluttered open, dazed. “I’m following your lead.”

Derek’s brows lifted. “You’re good at that too.

Stiles pressed his face into Derek’s chest, trying to hide his proud smile in the big guy’s musky jersey. He murmured something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Smells good. Your jersey.”

“It’s your jersey.”

“Huh?”