#sterektrashbag

Stiles: Oh you saw I got my 10th friend, double digits baby!

Derek: Yeah, it's nice that your grandma finally accpted your friend request.

doesn’t notice immediately how his body has filled out in all the right places when he finally hits the big 18

doesn’t notice derek almost dropping several plates while they do the dishes at a pack meeting and stiles stretching lazily, arms high up in the air, shirt riding up, exposing his happy trail and sharp hipbones

doesn’t notice derek almost having an aneurism when stiles licks ice cream straight off those god damn fingers on a hot summer day

doesn’t notice the wood of the headboard of derek’s bed splintering under his palm when stiles bends over and down to pick up a college book that he dropped off the bed while doing homework at derek’s loft

doesn’t notice the ridiculous pink colour of the tips of derek’s ears when stiles shucks his shirt full of grime and blood in front of him after getting rid of the monster of the week

he does notice derek getting pissier and more irritated with him, avoiding him a little, clipped off answers and avoiding eye contact, bitching at him even more than usual and stiles just yells right back, “what the fuck is your problem lately, dude?!”, slightly hurt; he thought they were past this, and derek can smell doubt and slight fear on him, and that’s the fucking final straw and derek just backs him up against the door of stiles’ room, grabbing stiles’ face in both of his huge palms, snarling “you, you and your god damn-- everything! your stupid forearms -and don’t even get me started on those stupid fingers- and your dumb pretty brown eyes and that god damn mouth of yours and y--”, he doesn’t get much further than that though, too busy being mauled by said mouth. 

Tales of Sparks and Lightning

Author: graveltotempo

Pairing type: M/M

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Chapter one: Beacon Hills

Chapter Summary:  

Life had not been very kind to Stiles Stilinski. 

He lost his mother at an early age, and watched many of his friends die while he was still in high school. He had looked at death in the eye more than once in that year alone.

He had thought about dying. More than once. He had always expected to die mauled by a supernatural creature that wasn’t supposed to exist, or piss off the wrong werewolf, or try Derek one too many times: all of his deaths included a ferocious battle for survival.

But this? This wasn’t him being incredibly stupid. He had lived in Beacon Hills dodging supernatural mauling and killer trees just to die in a stupid airplane crash.

“Stiles, it’s 4am in the god damn morning, what do you want.”