Bailey ~ 25 ~ il & ny, usa~ the ghosts of all the women you used to be are all so proud of who you have become, storm child made of wild and flame ~nikita gill
[this was a lot longer and harder than it needed to be, and I also wanted it out of my drafts -- not completely happy with it but oh well]
Night walks…
Stiles is unsure when this became a somewhat routinely thing between him and Derek.
After pack meetings, fights in the reserve, random weeknights where him and Derek share a quiet walk late out. There’s no set destination, no specific goal, no rush, just the two of them aimlessly strolling when the streets are empty and the moon is high.
Stiles’ favorite walks are probably the ones after it rains. He loves when the concrete they’re tramping on is damp, when the pavement is glistening and reflecting off the lights, cold breezes rushing through that gives him some form of relief or comfort, or the smell of wet grass and leaves that just grounds him.
Most times Stiles babbles at Derek about whatever topic comes to mind with Derek content on just listening, occasionally humming in response to assure Stiles that he is, in fact, listening. Sometimes they simply walk in comfortable silence, taking in the sounds of crickets and critters, the buzz of streetlights, and the soles of their shoes crunching against wet gravel. There’s just something calming about it that allows Stiles to just breathe for once.
&
Stiles finds the loft to be a little too loud and rowdy. There’s a movie blaring from the TV, simultaneously someone is showing another a TikTok they thought was hilarious, Jackson and Isaac are arguing over god knows what, and Erica’s trying to wrestle Boyd on the couch over the last wonton.
Overstimulated, Stiles steps away from it all, desperately needing a break. He wanders to the kitchen, finding Derek hiding away and perched against the counter, munching away at a small can of peanuts. “Walkies?” Stiles jokes, to which Derek rolls his eyes but nonetheless, closes the tin can and reaches for his jacket on the hooks near the exit. Stiles grabs his own hoodie as Derek gestures ‘after you’ at the large and heavy door, allowing Stiles to walk through first.
As they take the loft elevator down, it’s quiet; maybe a few short glances and soft smiles until they reach the main floor. Ever the gentleman, Derek holds open the door and Stiles is surprised by the brisk air when he takes the first step onto the cobbled pavement. There’s a light drizzle that has Stiles pulling his hood over and hiding his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Derek doesn’t seem to mind the drizzle as he follows suit, mimicking the motion of stuffing his fists into his leather jacket.
They make it a few blocks before Stiles finally breaks the silence, “y’know, I really wouldn’t mind it if pack nights were more of a once a month thing instead of every other Friday,” he half jokes. There’s a smirk at Derek’s lips as he nods his head from side to side and gives a half-hearted shrug, “I don’t know, that might cause a few hissy fits.. we barely see each other enough as it is,” he reminds Stiles.
Stiles can’t help but to agree — there’s constant reminders that things are different these days; the pack isn’t the same lost bunch they were a few years ago as teens. Everyone’s older now, all with full time careers, their own lives, and their own personal accomplishments that they’re not always each apart of.
It’d be too embarrassing for Stiles to admit that he rarely even sees his dad these days, only occasionally checking in to make sure John is taking care of himself in his absence.
What’s more is that although Stiles sees his dad or his pack a little less often, somehow he sees Derek more than most. It’s not always on these walks. It's stakeouts, random study sessions for Stiles’ class or even just supernatural books, meetups at the diner, or Stiles simply barging into the loft with his copied key that Derek reprimanded him for once but now doesn’t seem to mind at all.
&
The brush of their elbows as they walk along the narrow sidewalk brings Stiles back to the present moment. “I can tell when you get lost in your head,” Derek mentions, “you get fidgety and make this constipated kind of face.” “I do not make a face,” Stiles scoffs back, already feeling the corner of his lip upturn as Derek stares back at him deadpanned.
Stiles bumps his shoulder into Derek’s, letting out a light chuckle. They stop at a corner, their short walk ending up a little longer than they realized. There’s a few buzzes from Stiles’ phone, texts from the group chat asking where they’ve gone, “are you guys making out somewhere,’ Erica’s text reads. Stiles quickly clicks his phone off, pocketing it back into his hoodie as he stares up at the streetlight hoping Derek can’t tell that his face is a little flushed.
“Should we get back?” Derek asks him, already turning on his heel in the direction from which they came. Stiles nods silently, trailing slightly behind Derek as they start to make their way back. But then Stiles stops for a beat, Derek stopping a few seconds after as soon as he notices. “What’s wrong?” Derek asks.
Stiles feels his cheeks begin to flush again, his hands fidgeting on the insides of his pockets, unable to look Derek directly in the eye just yet, unsure of what words he wants to use. “I like doing this with you,” Stiles utters, “I like doing a lot of things with you— I just, I like being around you, like a lot.” It's the best he can come up with, which makes him cringe just a bit.
Derek’s eyebrow quirks as he smiles back, staring in a slightly stunned but also somehow knowing look. Stiles can’t place it, and his hands start to feel clammy the longer Derek just stands there. “That’s a lot of ‘likes’,” he finally quips. Stiles huffs, dropping his hands to his sides, rolling his eyes and thinking it was stupid to blurt out his feelings in the first place.
Before Stiles can even get in his own head, running a million thoughts a minute, Derek is in his space, hovering only a mere few inches over Stiles as he quietly replies, “I like being around you a lot too, if it wasn’t already obvious."
Stiles’ eyes find Derek’s before flitting down to his lips, a gentle smile making them curve upwards and oh, so inviting. Stiles grabs at the opening of Derek’s jacket, pulling him in to land his lips onto Derek’s. Despite the chilled air, Derek’s lips are warm, soft, addictive even. And when Derek doesn’t pull away, it encourages Stiles to go in for more, shifting his head to deepen the kiss, falling into Derek with his whole body.
Stiles whines when Derek does finally pull away from the kiss, a smirk on his face before placing a peck at Stiles’ forehead. “We really should get back— I don’t know if my building is still standing or not,” Derek jokes. Stiles unintentionally pouts as they turn back in the direction of the loft once again, saying ‘okay’ only to get a giddy feeling when Derek laces his fingers between Stiles’.
“You can spend the night if you want to, also,” Derek adds, smiling when Stiles eyes beam up at him. Stiles clears his throat, trying to pull off calm and cool as he murmurs back, “sure, I’m down with that..”
“You’re cute,” Derek snickers.
“Yeah, whatever..” Stiles giggles back, stumbling to kiss Derek on the cheek as they continue on their stroll.
i love accidentally stubmling onto horny blogs on tumblr that persist despite the porn ban, cause it feels like lifting a rock and seeing a bunch of ants scurrying around. like oh shit! i didnt know you were down there. sorry for interrupting carry on my dude good luck with the puppygirl stuff. thumbs up.
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