#mutederek

Teen | 18k | 7/7

Stiles came with a whiteboard, and blue dry erase marker, flapping it over his head like a white flag on a battlefield.

"Come on," he coaxed. "You must want to say something. You've never gone this long without telling me to shut up." He waggled the marker in Derek's face. Stinging alcohol and pungent polymer singed Derek's nose hairs.

His fingers itched to pick up the board, and not because he wanted to tell Stiles to be quiet. He enjoyed the babble that filled the apartment every few days, the hearty food, Stiles' particular, reassuring smell: maple sugar buzz, spicy-sweet deodorant, milk-sour frustration, floral shampoo, and spring grass at night. It soaked into Derek's couch, his bed, his skull.

General Audience | 7k | 1/1

Derek makes the appointment himself. That in and of itself is a big deal for him.

It’s been ten years since he got his family killed. Six years since he let Laura, his sister, get killed, leaving only himself as the sole survivor of the Hale family.

Teen | 5k | 3/3

Teen | 6k | 1/1

Slowly, but surely, they worked themselves around the circle of chairs until eight sessions after the first they finally found themselves sitting next to each other.

General Audience | 5k | 1/1

Stiles met Derek when he was a sophomore in college and while Derek hadn’t said anything, he’d seemed interested, and Stiles has talked to himself for hours at a time, so talking to Derek, even though he was carrying the conversation, was easy.