Male. 30. Gay. Bearish. Proud Beta and Enforcer of the McDanno Werewolf Pack. My big four are featured here. Supernatural (Emphasis on Destiel). Teen Wolf (Emphasis on Sterek). Hawaii 5-0 (Emphasis on McDanno). MCU (Emphasis on Stucky). There will also be peeks at other fandoms including House, Brokeback Mountain and Warehouse13. As well as whatever whimsy suits my fancy.
So, as some of you might know, I currently work overnight shifts. 7pm till 7am. I have done so for the better part of a decade. This has, thankfully, afforded me extra free time to write as once the cleaning is done I have several hours of "downtime".
However, starting Monday, (The 20th), that will no longer be the case. Due to health issues with my mother, (whom lives with me), I'll be switching to day shift, 7am until 7pm.
I don't yet know how this will affect my writing/freedom to write. I am hoping that I can make adjustments and still be able to work on both my Fanfiction and my Original Fiction. However there is a reason my original pen-name was NightOwl, I've always done my best work/writing after dark. I dunno why.
I still plan to be active on tumblr, I can use the mobile app and what not, but my already slow writing/post habits are likely to take a further down turn. It is possible that they stop all together.
I suppose that it is equally possible that I'll be able to write more/more frequently. I just don't think history is on my side.
If you have questions feel free to DM me as I don't enjoy airing my personal issues in public lol.
Hi, do you know any fics where Stiles is the brooding werewolf with anger issues?
Sure.
Blood Under Moonlight by Maggot_Bellyyyy
(3/? I 5,656 I Mature I Sterek)
After being kidnapped, tortured, and subjected to inhumane experiments, Stiles emerges as a hybrid—something no longer entirely human. Traumatised and desperate, he flees to New York, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the nightmare he escaped. Struggling to cope with the aftermath, he spirals into substance abuse, seeking refuge in a dangerous addiction. he meets Amber, a Fae - who extends a hand not just to help him heal, but to guide him through the grief of his own death. With her, Stiles begins to face what he’s become.
"I'm a mess," Stiles said, his voice heavy with misery.
"I know... but you're my mess," Derek said softly, pulling Stiles closer into their embrace.
Until I Wrap Myself Inside Your Arms (I Cannot Rest) by EvanesDust, flymeofftoneverland
(1/1 I 16,230 I Explicit I Sterek)
It’s been two years since Derek returned and, so far, he’s kept his promise. He's never left again. But, as far as Stiles is concerned, he might as well have never come back.
The Bite by The_City_Rain
(16/16 I 22,150 I Not Rated I Sciles)
Stiles had always been the angrier of the two. He didn't place his trust in anyone but Scott.
So what would've happened if he had gotten bitten instead of Scott?
What if Scott was the only thing keeping him human?
OR
Au where Stiles gets bitten instead of Scott and suddenly feels extremely protective of his asthmatic friend.
OR
The mates au that no one asked for.
Awaiting the Alpha, sterek, t, 100w | Peter requests an update. (ao3🔒) Companion to: A Dream of the Alpha
For @sterekdrabbles 24 Jul 2026 (difficult, damage, noiseless)
Derek’s having difficulty bringing his and Isaac’s laundry inside—that’s his excuse for why it takes so long to notice Peter.
“I hope you didn’t damage the door breaking in.”
“You think I’d do something so pedestrian as pick your locks? I had duplicates made.”
“Did you get that idea from Stiles?”
“Not everything has to do with your mate.”
So, yes.
“But speaking of—how’s that progressing lately?”
Derek noiselessly turns from folding to stare at his uncle.
So suppose Stiles slept every night with his plush wolf doll, to ward off bad dreams. Only that doll was Derek under a spell, and he came alive in Stiles’ dreams. Specifically, in the type of dreams that involve coming.
Hi! Lost fic here. I'm looking for this fic, it's omegaverse, Stiles is an omega entering a reality show where he has to choose an alpha, Derek is the producer of said show (alongside Erica), they met in stiles' interview. Stiles tended to sleep around and he thought that getting paid for making out with alphas was a good idea, and he says so in the interview, I think. Other participants are Jackson, Isaac and Theo. At the end Sterek relationship goes public and they frame Derek as an abusive controller to save Stiles' reputation and to keep Kate (she was the owner of the network?) from suing Stiles for not dating the alpha who won the show.
Hi @piaylaconchetumare! @hedwig221b found it. It's been deleted but there's a copy on the wayback machine.
Derek is stuck at a dinner party with Stiles, everything is awkward, and he just wants to go home. humor, 3k
@queer-stilinski i did the thing
“...and then I told him, ‘the jerk store called, and they’re running out of you!’ but he didn’t get the Seinfeld reference so I just looked like an idiot,” Stiles chuckles, the whole table erupting into laughter.
He’s been leading the whole conversation for the past hour, talking and joking like it’s second nature, because for Stiles, it is. Little anxiety gets to him about this stuff, and he makes everyone at the table feel included and acknowledged, looking them easily in the eyes with a smile.
It’s Derek who’s stressed about it all, Derek who’s sitting awkwardly in his chair with a too-straight back and guarded expression, clutching Stiles’ hand under the table. Stiles grips back, absentmindedly stroking a thumb across Derek’s skin while he tells another story, and Derek is content to just listen.
He’s barely spoken a word all evening, has no clue what to say or how to start his own conversation with anyone. All his friends are on the other end of the table, and the people sitting right around him are Stiles’ coworkers, or friends of friends. The only one other than Stiles that he’s interested in interacting with is the golden retriever he spots out the window.
“So Derek, how are you enjoying your meal?”
Someone finally speaks to him, and Derek freezes with his fork hovering mid-air.
“It’s good,” he stumbles out, inwardly cringing at himself for his own damn awkwardness. But what else is there to say about a bowl of pasta? “Very… authentic. How’s yours?” Kill me.
The woman across from him proceeds to ramble all about her dinner, something that happens to smell a bit atrocious from where Derek’s sitting, and the lady has spinach between her teeth, but Derek won’t tell her. Her meal review then turns into her talking about her husband and the hunting trip he took recently, how she had the house to herself and hosted her own wine tasting night that was apparently a hit.
“You guys should come next time! You like wine, right?” the yapper asks him, peering at Derek suspiciously as though he appears to only be a beer drinker, based on, you know, the beard and muscles and all.
“Sure,” he says honestly, giving a vague answer that doesn’t accept nor decline her invitation. He doesn’t think he wants to be in the same room with this woman ever again. She’s one of Lydia’s friends, he thinks, and he can smell her perfume far too strongly the longer he’s turned towards her, and it’s all he can do not to find an excuse to stick his nose into Stiles’ neck instead.
“Uh, what does your husband do?” Derek manages, after fighting off an empty lapse in his brain at further conversation topics. He’s too polite to stop talking to her completely, and Stiles is entertaining the others with another story.
But this lady can’t seem to stop looking at Derek, and he can’t tell if it’s in that pervy way that so many women (and men) seem to look at him, or if he has something between his teeth, too. So he rolls his eyes internally at himself and his incredible social awkwardness, and forces a smile. He hopes he doesn’t look too much like he’s wincing in pain instead.
“He’s a dentist!” she says proudly, showing off her gleaming white teeth as she brags, and Derek shudders mentally.
“How — nice,” is all he can think of to say, nodding. He only has a glass of water in front of him, alcohol not worth getting for lack of efficacy on his wolfiness. But he steals a sip of Stiles’ wine, and the burn of the alcohol momentarily helps to distract from all the intrusive smells around him.
There’s a break in Stiles’ story while someone else talks, and Stiles turns to look at his husband, smiling broadly at him before seeing the plainly uncomfortable look on Derek’s face. If it were anyone else, they might just think he looks constipated or bored, but Stiles can read his eyebrows like a book.
“You okay, big guy?” Stiles whispers, leaning in and breathing the words right in Derek’s ear. Derek nods, shivering a bit at Stiles’ closeness, the only person’s breath he wants anywhere near him tonight, or ever.
“Fine,” Derek breathes back, before Stiles presses a quick kiss to his cheek. His expression is sympathetic when he moves away, and he knows how patient Derek is being by staying here tonight.
If it were up to Derek, he’d be home right now, curled up in bed by Stiles’ side with a book and Stiles’ fingers playing with his hair. But Stiles had wanted to get together with friends tonight, and where Stiles goes, Derek goes. So he couldn’t stay home, really.
“There’s a treat in store for you at home when you make it through this,” Stiles says under his breath as he turns back to his plate. Derek’s own breath hitches, and his grip on Stiles’ hand tightens. Stiles smirks into his wine glass.
The promise of later seems to infuse a sudden confidence in Derek, patience where he was quickly running out before. He watches Stiles’ glowing face as he launches into another story, all their friends enraptured and hanging onto his every word, now. No one talks to Derek for a few more minutes, and he feels himself finally relax into his chair.
That is, until a great burly man to Derek’s right clears his throat in Derek’s face.
“So what do you do for work?” the man throws at Derek. And really, Derek should have seen this coming, because that’s what everyone always asks at social events. Hell, that’s what he made the mistake of asking just a few minutes ago. Of course it would come back to bite him. It’s a harmless question, but he happens to hate this question.
“Um, I’m not working right now,” Derek explains vaguely, trying to meet the man’s eyes for as long as he can handle. Which ends up to only be about a second. Derek didn’t time it in his head, or anything. Because that would be weird.
The man nods with a puzzled look, before forcing an air of understanding on his face. “Yeah, that job market’s really tough out there these days,” he says loudly. Everything about the man is loud. His face is pink, his auburn beard is long, his muscles are bulging, and his voice is gruff and, uh, good at projecting.
Derek nods awkwardly, eyes going a bit wide at what he’s supposed to say. I’m actually not looking for work right now, I’m recovering from my many years of trauma and living off the insurance money from my entire family’s deaths? He somehow doesn’t think that will go over well.
“Yep,” is literally all he can think of to say. He cringes inwardly, taking a large gulp of water to kill the time, while the man continues staring at him expectedly, wanting more of an answer. You know, because they’re having an exchange, and Derek’s supposed to be making conversation.
He hates himself for his next question. “What do you do?” He’s expecting the answer to be lumberjack, firefighter, microbrewery owner or something along those lines, but the answer surprises him.
“Lawyer,” the man proudly states, launching into a description of his work and the client he handled today. Derek is forced to nod along, eyes glazed, but needing to listen just hard enough to hm and oh, really? in the right places. It’s hard work.
Get me out of here, Derek thinks, stomach seizing a bit all over again. He really, really hates small talk, and crowds, and people in general.
Where did that dog get to, again? Maybe if he’s lucky (ha, as if), he can escape out the door and catch up with the dog owner, ask if he can pet the dog. He’s almost finished his pasta, anyway, because it’s one of those fancy restaurants that gives tiny portions of food, thinking they’re elite and special. Derek knows he’ll still be starving after this. But seriously, where did that dog get to?
“...and here’s my card if you ever need a divorce,” the man says, like it’s an everyday occurrence. Derek doesn’t even fake a smile, this time, just rearranges his hand in Stiles’, lacing their fingers together, and doesn’t let go.
“Thanks,” the werewolf grunts, turning back to his dish. He’s tried to drag it out as long as possible now to avoid finishing too soon — that’s what he said? — and having to sit there awkwardly while everyone eats and drinks around him. Maybe he should have gotten a beer, after all.
The lawyer goes thankfully back to chatting up the other guests around him, and Derek sits back in his chair, heart beating like a rabbit’s. He might be sweating a little. Did he mention he hates people?
The next few minutes take forever to pass. Derek swears he’s been sitting there for another hour, but when he checks his watch, he almost growls to find that it’s only been a fraction of that time.
No one has talked to him in a while, thank god, but he doesn’t know how awkward and uncomfortable he must look just sitting there by himself, staring down at his now-empty plate and sad glass of water. He almost wants to pull out his phone, read a chapter or two of a book, play a crossword puzzle app, but doesn’t want to look rude. Doesn’t want to make Stiles look bad.
Derek bumps their knees together, out of habit. It’s an accident, really, he didn’t mean to interrupt Stiles, but Stiles just continues talking and turns to grin at Derek all the while. He winks, still looking at ease, and Derek kind of feels like a cheerleader gazing at their football star boyfriend. How does Stiles make this look so easy?
When there’s a break in the conversation at last, Stiles leans in again, whispering right in Derek’s ear, “Hang in there, baby,” and squeezes Derek’s hand. Derek will hang in there, just for Stiles. If Stiles weren’t here with him he knows he’d have left an hour ago.
But he can’t ignore how hot he feels under his dress shirt, how he’s sweating and flushing no matter how much he tries to will himself not to. Derek Hale does not blush, he thinks, but it’s no use.
Maybe it’s the temperature increase from all these people packed into a small room, ugh, or maybe it’s the stress of being perceived, the pressure of coming up with socially acceptable answers for his way of life, his existence. Whatever it is, Derek just knows he hates it.
He feels claustrophobic with anyone other than Stiles pressing in close to him, and everyone is too loud when they’re talking, it makes it hard to actually hear Stiles himself sometimes, even from right next to him. Derek can not only smell the mix of everyone’s meals, but their BO, perfume, cologne, hairspray, and someone’s burp at the end of the table.
When there’s nothing else to focus on, no one forcing him to talk or listen to them, all his other senses catch up, and it’s hell.
I’m not a celebrity, but get me out of here, he thinks dumbly to himself, knowing that Stiles would laugh at his stupid reality TV show reference. He doesn’t even watch the show himself. Is he going crazy from social interaction? Wait, it’s Survivor he’s on. That makes more sense.
It’s getting late, now, for the normal person, all the people here who have to be up early for work tomorrow. So, everyone except Derek, which he refuses to think about. But no one’s gotten up yet, and Derek can’t leave until Stiles leaves, and Stiles always stays till the last person has left so no one feels lonely sitting alone, finishing their meal or drink. Seriously, how does Stiles do this?
“Yeah, I had a pet lizard once,” he hears Stiles saying with a grin. “His name was Jackson. He was kind of a mean little guy, wasn’t he, babe?” Stiles pulls Derek into the conversation, bumping his shoulder with his own.
“Uh, yeah,” Derek says, clearing his throat. How did this conversation come up, again? All their friends at the end of the table are in on the joke, but the newbies they didn’t go to high school with are believing Stiles’ every word. “Kind of slimy. Pretty big for a lizard.”
All eyes are on Derek now, and while he never had a problem with public speaking in high school, he suddenly hates the attention. Alpha powers don’t automatically erase your social anxiety, apparently. Derek’s discovering this the hard way.
Did he say something wrong? Stumble over his words? Did Stiles, please get me the hell out of here slip out instead of his nonsense about Jackson?
“Kind of reminds me of the popular guy from high school,” Stiles laughs, squeezing Derek’s hand, and the table erupts in laughter again, everyone for a different reason. Derek huffs a laugh himself, as well.
Stiles gazes fondly over at Derek, sipping his wine again before offering the glass to Derek. Oh, what the hell, Derek thinks, before chugging a few large sips just to feel the burn of it slide down his throat. He hands it back, wiping his mouth indelicately, but god, he just wants to get out of here already.
Lumberjack-Lawyer claps a hand on his shoulder again, and Derek startles, feeling like a jumpy squirrel all of a sudden. He can’t stand it.
“You know, my sister has a contact in waste management, I can try to hook you up with a job. It’s honest work, man,” the lawyer repeats, with an air about him that Derek can see right through. He doesn’t have anything against any type of job, truly, but with his heightened sense of smell, it doesn’t seem like waste management would be the best fit for him.
“Uh, thanks, man, I’ll consider it,” he hears himself answer, before the lawyer pulls another card out of his pocket with an all-too-eager energy, forgetting he already handed one to Derek.
Derek stuffs the new card into his own pocket with a stiff smile and a nod, downing the rest of his glass of water just to distract from himself for a second.
It’s when the alcoholic— uh, nice lady across from him reaches her arm out to grab Derek’s own, that Derek has the guts to recoil slightly, acting like he didn’t see her approach and dodging her touch completely. She moves onto someone else.
Derek reaches into his other pocket for his phone, taking a few tries to open it with his sweaty hand. He navigates to his notes app, and types out a message with one thumb, the other hand still intertwined tightly with his husband’s.
“Please, please can we leave,” he types slowly, glowering at autocorrect and his own clumsy typing. “Also maybe a Taco Bell run on the way home, they have a new menu,” he adds. Fuck it; if he’s asking to leave early, there’d better be something in it for both of them.
Derek taps the phone on Stiles’ knee gently as he waits for a break in Stiles’ conversation. Stiles looks down, slightly surprised, but glances over at Derek and picks up the phone with the hand that’s not in use.
Derek watches Stiles scan the message quickly, handing the phone back to Derek with an understanding smile, though he also looks like he’s on the brink of laughter.
“My poor baby,” he coos quietly in Derek’s ear, leaning close. “You were so good tonight. I know how hard this was for you,” he says genuinely, and Derek relaxes, knowing he’s not being made fun of. “I’ll buy you the whole Taco Bell menu for how well you did.”
Now Derek’s blushing for a whole other reason. He nods his thanks to Stiles and can feel the tension leaving his own shoulders. Stiles always understands, always makes it up to him, always makes it all better.
He doesn’t hold this against him at all, knows how utterly annoying and frustrating being around this many people is for Derek, answering all their stupid questions and listening to them yap for hours about their boring lives. Derek tries to care, really, but he just doesn’t. Not right now, at least.
“Sorry, guys, I’m getting a headache,” Stiles lies to the table with an apologetic smile. “Too much wine!”
His laughter encourages the others once again, and soon he’s pulling the napkin out of his lap and standing up to half-hug the woman next to him with one hand. His other hand untangles from Derek’s but latches onto his nape immediately, not letting Derek stray far, knowing he needs the comfort of Stiles’ touch, still.
“Good to meet you, man,” Lumberjack-Lawyer booms from behind him, clapping a wide hand on his shoulder. Derek’s expected to shake his hand now, and he sighs inwardly.
“You too,” is all he can manage to say back, meeting the man’s hand. If he wasn’t a werewolf, his hand might break under the lawyer’s strength.
“Good night, guys,” Stiles calls, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and wrapping a warm arm around Derek’s waist. It’s the only touch Derek yearns for right now.
Derek forces himself to give a stiff wave behind him as he turns to the exit and doesn’t look back.
“You survived,” Stiles whispers to him as they walk out the door, hand in hand again now. “You’re so gonna get something good tonight.”
Derek doesn’t remember thinking Taco Bell was that good, but he trusts Stiles. He hasn’t tasted their new menu, after all. Maybe Stiles has heard something Derek hasn’t.
“Or if you can’t wait that long, I’ll do that thing you like if you go wait for me in the backseat. Your choice.”
Oh.
Derek thinks this thing is much, much better than Taco Bell.
stiles the jock calling derek the other jock 'pretty boy' because he's got a huuuge crush on him, but he says it with a bite that derek doesn't recognize as flirting, so he thinks stiles is actually just a jerk.
stiles calls him 'pretty boy' until derek unconsciously internalizes it, blocks him relentlessly on the basketball court even when coach threatens to penalize him, hassles him in the locker room, and generally just says and does things for the sole purpose of getting under derek's skin.
for the most part derek manages to ignore him and vent it out on the court. he always plays best when he pretends stiles' head is the ball.
and then stiles says something that makes it all click.
"you gonna win us this game, pretty boy?" stiles asks as they run across the court, shoes squeaking, sweat dripping. derek catches the corner of his lips curl, his cola eyes bright.
"you're flirting with me," derek breathes out in realization, and stiles sends him a wink along with the ball that's just been passed to him.
derek misses the shot, but he wins them the game.
stiles kisses him in the showers, and derek discovers he likes stilinski's smart mouth a lot more when it's on his own.
"damn, wish you had figured it out after finals. now i have to sweeten the stakes," stiles says with bitten-red lips that derek can't stop starring at. he'd really like to bite them some more.
"how?" derek asks, wondering how they could get any sweeter. he's willing to hear his co-captain out.
"every shot you make is a blow job. which could lead to anything," stiles says with a casual shrug and the same smirk that once existed solely to irritate him.
derek makes eleven shots their next game. he figures he'll parse his earnings out to last through summer break, but they lose count by the time school starts back up again.
"Why can't I have love, Derek?" Erica says before taking a bite out of her apple. "It's not fair. No one ever hits on me. I wanna hook up too!"
Derek wrinkles his forehead and looks around the crammed high school cafeteria. "Can't you just hit on someone?"
Erica looks at him like he's slow or something. "What? No. That might work for you, with your fancy car and perfect skin and cute teeth."
He frowns at that.
"But for me?" she continues. "I'm already weird. I don't need someone to laugh in my face and call me ugly, too."
Derek doesn't think Erica is that weird. And she's definitely not ugly. He knows she's self-conscious about her medical condition—she's had a couple seizures in school and she hates people witnessing them. But Derek thinks she's the coolest friend he's ever had. Not that he's had many. He has received some attention from girls lately, though, and Erica made him swear he wouldn't leave her to hang out with the cheer team. He's not really interested in sitting with them anyway—they're really loud.
"Okay," he says. "I'll ask someone for you."
She protests, but Derek has already turned around to the table where some of the juniors on the lacrosse team are eating their lunches.
He taps the nearest guy on the shoulder, who turns around and looks startled.
"Um. Hi there," the guy says, eyes wide.
"Are you currently involved in a sexual relationship?" Derek asks bluntly. He's not one to beat around the bush, and Erica needs his help.
The guy's eyes grow impossibly wider.
"Me? No. I mean—Wha...Not really, no. Why?"
"Do you want to be?" Derek asks in a serious tone.
Lacrosse kid looks like he thinks Derek is trying to make fun of him, which he really isn't. Why would he? The guy is attractive, and Derek isn't a bully.
"Um, sure?" the guy says slowly, eyes narrowing.
Derek gives him a smile so hopefully the guy will understand that he only has good intentions here. He thinks it's working, because he gets a smile in return.
"Can I have your number?" Derek asks, and the guy beams at him.
"Yes, yep. You most definitely can. Hold on—"
He quickly reaches into his backpack and grabs a pen. Then he takes Derek's hand and scribbles his number on the palm of it.
Derek turns back to Erica and shows her his palm proudly.
"There you go," he says. "You're welcome."
She is looking at him with a funny expression and Derek raises his eyebrows in question.
"Dumbass," she says and flicks him on the forehead.
