#29dls

[braedens]

lifegaurds au

“what is 29DLS?”   <<PREV NEXT>>

“Who the hell is that?”

Lydia’s usually not so persistent (on the job, okay?), but she thinks she has a right when she finds a girl in the red Beacon Hills Lifegaurd one-piece at the next station over, setting up camp. 

Kira tiptoes to get a better look from their stand and mumbles and ‘Oh,’ when she realizes. 

Erica doesn’t even look up from where she’s filing her nails. “That’s the new girl. Scott hired her this morning.”

Which, how dare he? They have close-knit group of lifeguards on this beach, all of which have been friends since they were in diapers. They haven’t hired a new staff since Kira, and that was four years ago and when she had started dating Scott.

“We don’t need new lifeguards.” Lydia huffs, glaring at the girl. She has long, dark hair from what she can see, but nothing else. 

“It’s the beginning of May, though.” Kira offers. “We’re going to get pretty busy soon. It’s going to be nice having more help around the beach.”

Lydia scoffs. They’ve been managing just fine, thank you very much. And if Scott thinks he can just hire new help without letting her know, well, he has another thing coming.  She marches to her chair, and grabs her walkie, pressing in to connect to all the radio units. 

“Lifegaurd at Station Two, can you please come over to Station Three for a second.” she speaks, and takes her finger off the button.  She watches the girl scramble for her walkie attached to her suit and calls in. “Be right there!” she says cheerfully, and Lydia groans. 

They have a good system for their beach. It’s home. And call Lydia protective, but she doesn’t want anything to fuck that up. Especially random brunettes. She contemplates if it’s Stiles’ doing, but she’s sure he has a crush on Malia, the lifeguard from Beacon Grove. 

“Scott just text me telling you to stop.” Kira holds up her phone, smirking a bit. 

“Stop what? I just want to get to know our new friend.”

Erica barks a laugh. 

The new lifeguard jogs up the walk to the station, and Lydia’s body stills. 

She does has brunette hair; long and wavy from the seawater, and still somehow shiny as it bounces behind her. She’s tall, fit, and her legs in the suit look extremely perfect. 

Lydia doesn’t even noticed her mouth is open until Kira’s hand comes up to shut it. 

“Hi!” she smiles, places her hand on her hips when she steps on the deck. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner, Scott has me training all day. I’m Allison Argent.”

She sticks her hand out, and Erica is the first to reach for it. “Erica Reyes. I usually watch Station Five with Vernon Boyd.” she addresses, shaking her hand. 

Kira takes it next. “I’m Kira!” she says, bubbly and sweet as usual. “I’m on Station Four, and I’m on the Dive Rescue team.”

Alison shakes her hand, and then she moves to stand in front of Lydia, who’s still speechless and staring. 

“And you are?” she draws out, catching Erica and Kira’s smirks.

“Smitten, apparently.” Erica snickers. 

[braedens]

we’re at a bachelor/bachelorette charity auction and I bid almost all my money on a date with you and won + skittles

“what is 29DLS?”   <<PREV NEXT>>

Listen, Stiles is not a suit guy. 

They are itchy and tight, and the only reason he felt compelled to put it on was because of Lydia’s rambling of a random designer’s name that sounded just enough important. 

And to add to that, he has to be social. Like the Beacon Hills Charity Ball is where he wants to spend his Saturday night. Right. 

But when you’re friends with Lydia Martin, you have to understand that your number of free nights that you can spend in your apartment, alone, watching one-star movies on Netflix are mandated. 

At least there’s an open bar.

So, span to Stiles, who’s sitting at the bar by himself, one hand holding a whiskey on ice, the other pulling at the collar of his off-grey Armani suit. He’s made sparse conversation with the bartender, and honestly he thinks this is enough. This is fine. Maybe he can slip away in the next few minutes and lie to Lydia that he’s went home with some handsome man. 

“Welcome, everyone, to the Beacon Hills Charity Ball, dedicated to the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital and the Beacon Hills Veterinary Clinic.”

Lydia’s on stage, per usual as the event planner for the shindig, in a floor-length emerald gown that goes out at her hips. She’s bubbly and all smiles, and Stiles can’t help but grin. “All proceeds tonight will go towards the rebuilding of the children’s ward in the Memorial Hospital and to new supplies and equipment for the clinic.” she speaks into the microphone, causing a round of applause. “So, there’s no better time then now to start the Charity Auction for Beacon Hills most eligible Bachelors!”

The crowd erupts even more, clinking of glasses around, and Stiles groans. Because the last thing he wants to do is watch people throwing their money at the decency of men. 

Lydia moves off-stage for the host of the auction to start the show, Cora Hale. But he drowns her out when he sees Lydia make his way to him at the bar, leaning against it next to him. 

“Can I go now?” he pleads.

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’ as she does, and flashes him a wicked grin. “You could at least try to have fun.” Stiles scoffs. “I’d be having fun at home, you know.”

“But then you’d be missing me in this beautiful ensemble. And that, my friend, would be tragic.”

He can’t help the grin that spreads, and turns back to the bar. “Let me buy you a drink, Mrs. Martin.” “Stiles, the drinks are free.” “Shhhh.”

They sit through the men that parade the stage, all kinds of people from the town that Stiles is surprised he’s never bumped into. They all get short bios about them read by Cora, and Stiles is really offended he’s never met the cute librarian. Though, the six females who bid on him crush his dreams, the demons.

Lydia and him snicker when Derek gets bid on, looking extremely uncomfortable, yet incredibly attractive. Stiles and the other deputies were able to talk him into it, knowing full well that his stupidly childish crush, Braeden, would bet all her money on him. Stiles almost considers throwing in a fake bid, but the glare he sees Braeden give the other bidders is enough to subdue them.

When Braeden wins the date, he sees Derek walk off with rosy cheeks.

They watch a few more guys, and Stiles is ready to head out, but Lydia harshly mentions he needs to at least stay for the final man, apparently the most eligible saved for last. 

“Alright, everyone,” Cora coos. “It’s the final bachelor. This sweetheart is the man of your dreams, trust me.” Stiles is about to scoff, but he can’t even manage as his breath hitches, because he’s been killed and brought to heaven.

The man walks on stage, golden, sun-kissed skin and all. His hair is gelled a bit messy, but his suit is fitted and clean cut, hugging his body in the perfect way. And his smile, fuck his smile, it’s bright and warm and happy and Stiles really want to be kissing that smile right about now. 

“Meet Scott McCall, the brains behind this entire ball. He’s the main veterinarian at the clinic, so he literally saves puppies, people.” There’s a round of applause, and no, no one is allowed to gawk at him, nope, not if Stiles can help it. “He also volunteers at the hospital, helping his mother, nurse Melissa McCall, on her rounds, and is head of the rebuilding project.” The man, Scott, is now at the front of the stage, smiling his precious, adorable smile at Cora as she plays him up, obviously bashful, and fuck, Stiles has made up his mind.

He’s taking Scott McCall on a date. 

“He’s sweet, kind, generous, and pretty adventurous if you need a ride on the wild side. Literally. The man owns a motorcycle.”

Fucking fuck. 

“So, if you guys are ready, we’ll start the bidding!” Cora beckons. “Do I have $100?” Stiles almost faceplants as he scrambles for his number card on the bar counter, causing a smirk from Lydia. “One hundred!” he yells, breathless, and Scott’s eyes move to him with a huge smile, and fuck fuck, he’s ready to give up everything he owns. 

“We have one hundred! Can I get a one-fifty?” “One-fifty!” a girl holds up her card from closer to the stage, dark hair and ivory skin. And no.

“One fifty, can we get to two hundred? Just look at his face.” “Two hundred!” Stiles yells, and this time Cora grins, too, and he has a strange feeling she knows. 

Before Cora can call for another number, an older woman lifts her card. “Two-fifty!” Scott laughs on stage, and Stiles thinks Holy shit, how is someone that cute?

Cora laughs, too, and before Stiles can think about ways to knock t his lady out for betting on his man, “Two-Fifty from Scott’s mother, Melissa McCall. Anyone willing to wager three?” And Stiles has to think for a second. Essentially, he’s giving money to just get a date with the guy. A date that could go terribly wrong, knowing Stiles. Awkward, gangly, spastic Stiles. What if they hate each other? Scott is obviously way out of his league, what with the saving puppies and children. But then, at that moment, When Cora calls ‘Going once,’ Scott’s eyes trail to him, and he gives him this smile. The kind of smile that sends all of Stiles bones to mush, and makes his blood boil. The smile he knew was just for him. 

It also makes him think fuck Melissa, and raises his card in the air. 

“Five hundred dollars!” 

The entire audience is staring at him, he can feel it, and he can feel Lydia’s eyes grow wide as she glares at him, but his eyes are only on Scott, whose grin has gotten impossibly bigger.

“Sold, to bidder 429, the wonderful gentleman in the back! You’ve definitely made a lot of people in the audience jealous.”

Roscoe is going to have to do without that tune-up for a while. But Stiles really couldn’t care. 

Scott walks backstage, and Cora ends the auction, and Stiles is terrified when he turns to look at Lydia. 

She just glares, arms crossed. “You are hopeless.”

“Hopeless with a $500 date.”

He spends the next twenty minutes as Lydia runs away to deal with another issue to find Braeden, congratulating her on initiating things with Derek. 

“We’ve all been tired of his ridiculous pining in the office for month. We thought he was going to like, leave a note on your desk one day like a toddler.”

Braeden chuckles, and it’s strange to see her outside of the Sherrif’s office, wearing something other than her uniform, a dress nonetheless. 

“If I didn’t do it, he probably would have ignored me for another two years.”

Enter Derek, who walks up beside them with his arms crossed. “I would not.”

He’s frowning, but it dissipates when Braeden smiles at him. What a sap. 

“We’ll give you both some privacy,” Braeden says, tilting her head to gesture behind Stiles, and his brows furrow before he spins around. 

And Scott McCall stands behind him like an angel. Stiles can see the white light behind him, he swears.

“Hey!” Scott says cheerfully, and Stiles does not whimper, he doesn’t.

“Um, yo-. hey, hi. Hi.” Stiles sputters, and yeah, he can predict himself fucking everything up. “I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. I, uh, I won you.” he tries to joke, but immediately regrets how creepy and invasive it sounds. Smooth.

Scott just chuckles, and did Stiles see a sparkle in his eye?

“Nice to meet you, Stiles. I like that name.” And, huh. Usually people hear it, and they speculate the outrageous name that it is. Scott likes it. “And seriously, thank you for the donation. You’re going to make a lot of people, and animals, very happy.”

“Yeah, of course. My dad is the sheriff, so I’ve become pretty attached to this town. It’s nice that people are willing to do something good for it.”

“Says the deputy officer,” Scott teases, and Stiles’ ears suddenly feel warm. Should they be warm? Honestly, he’ll light himself on fire if it means Scott will smile at him like he is now. 

“You’re one to talk.” he snickers. “But, listen man, if you are uncomfortable with going out with me, I totally get it. Like there is no pressure. Wow, I honestly didn’t even consider if you might be straight or not. I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward position. So, yeah, you can just, yup, do not have to go out with me. I’m happy just donating.” Stiles realizing he’s rambling, but it has yet to lessen the brightness that is Scott McCall. 

“Stiles, it’s okay!” he assures, and woah, is that his hand on Stiles’ arm? It totally is. And Stiles really just wants to scream right now. He just nods when he meets his eyes again. “I’d love to go out with you, don’t worry.” Stiles swallows. “Really?” He might be imagining things, but he feels Scott move slightly closer to him, and he has yet to take his hand off his arm. 

“Honestly? I probably would have asked you out if you hadn’t bid on me, anyway.”

This is not his life. No it is not. Because in normal worlds, Stiles pines for ridiculously gorgeous men from afar as they live overly high standards. In a perfect (yet fictional) worlds, beautiful, sweet, kind guys like Scott McCall ask lanky, nervous, chatter-mouthed guys like Stiles out. 

He obviously has yet to live the latter.

Well, until now. 

“How about we go get a drink somewhere,” Scott speaks, getting Stiles out of his thoughts. “At a bar downtown?”

And Stiles has to smile, he’s gotta, because he’s only know Scot McCall for a good hour and he’s ready to follow him around the world if he asked. He’s also not shy to admit he’d climb him like a tree if he’d get a chance.

“That sounds nice, actually. I’m honestly over the suit and tie thing.” Scott chuckles, and it sounds like velvet, smooth and light. But he quickly smirks, and Stiles suddenly feels like he’s been trapped. “Maybe after, we could go back to your place, you can change into something comfortable?” Stiles’ mouth goes slack. 

Scott’s grin is wicked, and fuck, Stiles really wants that mouth on him. Like, yesterday.  He’s too busy nodding his head with a gaping mouth to notice when Scott takes his hand in his and leads him out of the ballroom.

Later that night, they’re fumbling in Stiles’ apartment to remove shoes, clothes, sense of mind. Their kisses have become more frantic, and Stiles moans so obscenely when Scott mouths against his jaw, and he slaps his shoulder when he can feel the man’s laugh against his neck.  And Suddenly Scott’s palming at his dick, and fuck, they need to get to his bed, now. 

They stumble down the hallway, pausing briefly for Stiles to card his fingers in his hair, pulling Scott’s already plump, slick lips to his. He’s just about to start sucking a hickey on his neck to match the one Scott left him when he feels the doorknob to his room press into his back. 

He fumbles it open without looking, obviously preoccupied, and Scott pulls away to push Stiles onto the bed, still looming over him. 

Stiles takes the godly sight in before him; Scott’s hair is tousled and messy, and he’s shirtless, but Stiles really can’t speculate on his perfect abs without combusting. His lips are swollen and glossy, and he sees the smallest of marks forming on his collarbone. And he’s smiling, all precious and sweet, which makes Stiles’ smile, too.

“Is this okay? I mean, are you okay with this?” Scott asks quietly, and literally Stiles wants to smother him in kisses. Because he’s asking for consent, because he’s a perfect specimen and he’s sweet, and Stiles is wasting time thinking about this rather than getting the man’s dick in his mouth. 

Stiles makes grabby hands, and Scott leans onto the bed, his body hovering over Stiles and his lips close enough for Stiles to reach up and press a soft kiss to them. He wraps his arms around Scott’s neck. 

“I mean, it’s for the children.” Stiles smirks, and he watches as Scott does too. 

“Don’t forget the puppies.” and he swoops in to cover Stiles face in kisses, earning a parade of laughter from Stiles.

[braedens]

will you marry me? also, surprise, i’m actually foreign royalty +sterek

“what is 29DLS?”   <<PREV NEXT>>

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

Derek almost fucking falls out of bed at that, and you know what? He deserves it. He deserves every goddamn painful way of getting upb because he’s not going to be particularly happy when Stiles socks him in the face. 

Like, twice.

On the contrary, he listens as his fiance (though, the title is teetering right about now) frantically recovers from his tumble and runs to the living room, stopping in his tracks when he sees Stiles sitting cross-legged on the sofa, bared with boxers and his glasses and nothing else, laptop resting on his lap. And very much not hurt. 

“What, Stiles, what is it?” he asks urgently, eyes roaming around their apartment. And Stiles could bark with laughter wasn’t fuming. And Derek must finally notice it on his face, because he starts to cautiously makes his way over. 

“Stiles, wh-” but he’s cut off, of course, because Stiles doesn’t even warrant him words. Instead, he turns his computer towards Derek, browser open to what seems to be a news website article. 

Derek hears Stiles huff, and if Stiles wasn’t actually fuming, he may have smirked at how Derek’s eyes widened when he read the headline from the link that Lydia had sent him over Facebook message with just the comment ‘You should read this.’:

Prince of Denmark Derek Hale, Son of Queen Talia II of Denmark, Rumored to be Wed!

Stiles wasn’t sure why, but he was buzzing. It’s pretty rare that him and his boyfriend could get time together, but that was primarily his own fault. Derek didn’t have a job because his family had owned large plots of land when he was a kid. But Stiles doesn’t take hand-outs, nope, so he works full-time. Mostly, it’s for his sanity. Working in advertising forced him to travel to clients more than he would like, and his companies largest account had him flying back and forth between Toronto and California. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves traveling. Stiles comes from a small family, no distant relatives, so it was just his mom, dad, and him. And then when his mom passed, there was no time or money, or reason for that matter, to travel at all. Now, his passport is filled with stamps from all over the world, and he collects all of his tickets and stubs. 

The only (yet biggest) downside is Derek. More importantly, the lack there of. Stiles usually has to leave on whim, and Derek, the wonderful boyfriend he is, will smile and give him an understanding nod, kiss him senseless until he has to leave, and promises to call him every night he’s gone. 

So, fuck you, they deserve this. They deserve these nice reservations at the most famous Thai place in Los Angeles that Stiles had to make at least three months prior. They deserve a night out, even if it’s on a Thursday night. And Derek deserves to know that Stiles still loves him, whole-heartedly and forever, even if he’s crap at showing it. 

They are sitting across from each other, the twinkled lights around the patio making the feeling of tonight just something special, causing Stiles to buzz all over. They order their drinks (white wine for Derek, champagne for Stiles) and Stiles reaches over to take Derek’s hand in his, causing a soft smile from the man. 

“You know,” he starts, his thumb swiping over the back of his hand. “I’m sorry. That I’ve been a terrible boyfriend these past few weeks.” He’s apologetic, and he really feels the sinking feels. But Derek squeezes his hand, and he can’t help but smile. I mean, have you seen that face? It’s impossible not to smile at it!

Derek shakes his head. “Why would that make you a bad boyfriend? You’re doing what you love, and I love that about you. As long as you come home to me.”

And Stiles gawks, really, because what’s the luck he gets to be with someone like Derek Hale? And, of course, he decides that’s a good time to tell him.

“No, but, seriously? You are so perfect. Like, maybe too perfect? Though, in this context, I would never be against that. And I honestly can’t figure out how someone like you ended up with someone like me?” he rambles, arm flailing as he does. But his expression softens when he meets Derek’s eyes, and he lifts his boyfriend’s hand to press his lips to.  “There’s no one else I’d rather come home to.”

Stiles likes to recall the next five minutes of his lie as the Worst Moments of His Life, because his it’s pretty much when his body shuts down. Because Derek fucking Hale stands from the table, and a wave of panic rushes over Stiles. Is he leaving, did I say something stupid?  But, no, fuck, he’s kneeling, and Stiles really cannot handle this, not today, not ever. 

Stiles is almost sure he blacked out for what, the rest of the night? Because how could his brain even process Derek Hale, on one knee, in front of his chair. The chatter around them dies as the focus is now so clearly on the two of them, but Stiles doesn’t even bother. 

“I was going to wait until after dinner, but it feels right.” Derek smiles, and he reaches to take Stiles’ shaking hand in his, only stilling his nerves slightly. “You are everything to me, Stiles. When I first met you five years ago, I never expected that the high-strung guy who spilled his ice tea on my suit would be the same guy who I’d want to wake up next to every day.” And Stiles blushes, because he remembers that day. He was late for his last final to finish college, and was pushing it by getting a caffeine dose, and as he was leaving, bumped into a very angry-looking, jacked man with dark hair and eyes to get lost in. He had even offered to pay for his suit, but almost cried when the man told him it had cost over $2,000

“This is a once in a lifetime love, and I don’t want to miss out on it. I don’t care if you have to be gone every day for 364 days. As long as you’re with me on the last day, it’s worth it.”

And fuck, Stiles is pretty sure he’s crying right now, and he does not cry. Like, ever. He’s pretty sure the last time he cried was when his mom passed away, and ever since then he’d been desensitized. But now, here he is, and there is some strange liquid coming out of his eyes and his nose is runny and his breathing is getting heavy, and he’s pretty sure his smile is disgusting. 

Then Derek reaches behind him with his free hand, and there’s a black box in his hand, and Stiles’ breath hitches. Because this really can’t be his life. Who would want to marry him, really?

Apparently this asshole. 

“Adam Stiles Stilinski, will you do me the honor of being my husband?”

And Stiles forgets about the ring, because he couldn’t give a fuck when he has a gorgeous as fuck man to kiss the crap out of in front of him. He leaps out of his chair with a yelp and wraps his arms around Derek, kissing him senseless, mumbling ‘yes, yes, a hundred times yes’ into his lips.

The restaurant around them erupts in applause and cheers. 

“You want to explain this, or you just going to stand there like a fish out of fucking water with your mouth open?” Stiles hisses, turning the laptop back around into his lap. The only reason he’s not more shocked is because he currently has six other tabs up with the google search ‘derek hale denmark’ to confirm the news article.

Derek falls into the couch next to him, and Stiles glares at him incredulously. The man has the nerve to sit next to him, amazing. “This is not how I wanted you to find out,” he groans, rubbing his hand over his face. 

And, woah, no. “So, this is true?” his voice rises in shock, whipping his head, eyes sharp. “When were you going to tell me? When we would have to have a royal wedding in Denmark?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” he sighs. “They would perform it here.” 

Stiles is pretty sure his eyes fall out of his head. 

“So this is a real thing? This is true? You, my fiance, who’ve I’ve known for five years, is somehow been living a secret life as a prince?” he practically yells, a mess of huffiness and arms, abandoning his laptop beside him.

He finds it appropriate to storm into their bedroom. He even justifies how hard he slams the door. 

It doesn’t take Derek long to follow in suit, it never does, and when he jiggles at the door handle, Stiles is face-planted into their abundance of pillows, body taking up most of the bed. 

“Get the hell out,” he muffles into the bed, grimaces when he feels the bed dip.

“Can I explain myself? And then you can be mad at me.” 

And seriously? Actually, it’s a good idea. Yeah, explanation, because he really needs one at this fucked up situation. But Stiles, of course, takes longer than he needs to mull it over before he groans and moves to sit up. He sees now that Derek is already facing him, eyes concerned and distraught.  

“Yes, I’m royalty,” he starts, and when Stiles open his mouth for a rebuttal, he puts his hands up. “But, but! I’m not in line to rule, nor will I ever be. My mother is the Queen of Denmark, and yes, a lot of people believe that because I am her only son, I am the prince that will take her place. But I decided long ago to give that power over to Talia.” 

“Your mom. Talia..” Stiles recites, and he cannot actually believe his life. “Your mom, whom I’ve met multiple times, and has visited us constantly for brunch dates, is a goddamn queen? Oh my god.” he says incredulously, eyes going to the wall beside them. “I’ve met your entire family.” 

He slaps Derek’s shoulder, earning a yelp from the man. “You told me your family’s wealth came from the land they owned!” 

Derek tries to smile, but it’s shot down by Stiles’ glare. “They do own land... Denmark.”

Fuck this fucking fuck, honestly. 

“Stiles, please. When we first met, I didn’t want to tell you about it because I didn’t want you to like me because of it. I wanted it to be real. And when time went on, well. I knew I wasn’t going to take the throne, so it wouldn’t really be an impact on us.” 

Derek has his Puppy Dog Eyes on, and wow, what a low blow, because he knows it’s Stiles’ weakness. “No,” Stiles warns. “You do not get to give me that look. You lied to me, Derek!” 

“I know, I’m sorry. But, everything I’ve told you, about my life, my memories, my feelings, they were real. Everything about us, is real. I just never explained that one detail.” 

When Stiles meets his eyes, he immediately wishes he didn’t. Because he has hunched shoulders and a defeated expression, and Stiles maybe thinks he reacted wrong to this.  

Derek is always the rational one of them. Even when Stiles had the worst temper, the craziest schedule, and the most maniac life, Derek was calm and grounding. He accepted everything Stiles gave him with genuine appreciation, and he didn’t get upset. And Stiles is lashing out at him about something that’s actually pretty fucking cool. 

“I understand if you’re upset with me. I’ll just, I’ll go.” He stands to leave and Stiles has to scramble to grab his arm and use all of his force (because Derek is seven bulls) to bring the man back down on the bed. And he can’t help it; he wraps his arms around Derek, burying his face in side of his chest, causing his glasses to actually hurt a lot on his face, but he really doesn’t care.  

Derek must think it’s some kind of trap, because he’s still and quiet for a few minutes. “Don’t go,” Stiles mumbles. “Please don’t ever fucking go.” He must have done something right, because he’s rewarded with Derek’s arm around his waist, his broad hand lightly brushing over the skin of his bare back.  

“Aren’t you mad at me?” 

Stiles scoffs. “Well, yeah. Because what the actual fuck?” His hold on Derek tightens. “But that doesn’t mean I’d ever want you to leave, okay?”

 “I’d never want to leave you.” 

Stiles allows himself another quiet minute of nuzzling and just sitting there, holding each other, before he breaks away.  “Okay. Now I want you to explain everything to me. And don’t you dare leave anything out.” 

They spend the rest of the afternoon until nightfall sitting side by side in their bed, Derek going through the timeline that is Prince Derek Hale of Denmark. He tells Stiles about his banished uncle who tried to form a coupe to overthrow his own sister. He talks about his sisters, who were the only friends he was allowed to have growing up, and why they are so close. He talks about his mother, a wonderful ruler loved by the country, who understood when Derek realized he was interested in men, and wouldn’t be able to be in an arranged marriage, hence why he gave his crown to Laura, who was more than willing to accept.  

He explains every last detail until they realize it’s dark out, Stiles barely saying anything other to ask certain questions. By the time he decides it’s getting late, and they should go to bed, Derek’s voice is raw, and the man still seems standoff-ish with how to approach Stiles. 

While Stiles brushes his teeth, he can’t help but mull all the new information is his mind. It makes sense; why Derek wouldn’t tell them when they were first dating. Stiles isn’t sure what he would do if he had found out. Knowing him, he’d probably have avoided Derek like a plague.  

He patters back into their room, and Derek is already in bed, room dark aside from the glow of streetlights out of their window. He’s on his back, staring at the ceiling, face blank. Stiles crawls into bed, on his side, and Derek doesn’t do what he usually does when they go to bed, which is to pull Stiles closer to him, hooking his leg over and resting his chin on his head. Which, really, makes Stiles huff at that, because he really hates how much Derek blames himself for things that really are no one’s fault.  

“Oh my god,” Stiles grumbles, scooting over in the bed to throw his arm over Derek’s waist, resting his head on his chest. “I’m not mad at you, okay?” he whispers when he feels Derek’s arm come around him.  

“You’re not?” he asks, and fuck, he sounds scared, and he doesn’t know if he should pepper him with kisses or slap him across the face.  

He, instead, places a light kiss to Derek’s collarbone. “Granted, you’re an idiot. But, no, I’m not. You’re right, this doesn’t change our relationship or how much I trust you. I reckon there is very little in the world that could decrease my love for you. I’m crazy about you, what a trap.” he mutters, almost sounding annoyed, but he’s sure Derek gets his sarcasm. 

“I’m really sorry.” he mumbles, and Stiles lifts his head to meet eyes, giving him a soft smile. 

“I know you are. And it’s why I love you.” he leans in to press a kiss to his jaw. “It’s also why I’m going to marry you.” 

Derek takes the initiative to lean down so that their lips meet. It’s light, just enough to show compassion and love, and Stiles can’t help but bring his hand up to cup Derek’s jaw when he does.  

“I love you, too.” Derek says when they pull apart, and Stiles cuddles closer to him, letting the wave of exhaustion drift him to sleep.  

The next day, when Stiles is at work and Derek has just gotten back from a run, he gets a message from his phone from Stiles. All that’s in it is a screenshot of a Wikipedia page of the search ‘denmark royal wedding’ and a text from Stiles saying:  

there is no way in hell i’m wearing gold tasseled shoulder pads at our wedding you asshole

[braedens]

i was proofreading my manuscript in this cafe but i was so stupid and left it there, but when i came back to get it i saw you reading it + allydia

“what is 29DLS?”   <<PREV NEXT>>

Really, Allison isn’t the best writer.  Which is what she’s been telling herself the past four hours that she’s been sitting in her favorite black armchair of The Bean -a coffee shop downtown-, eyes glazing over a 372 page, hole punched, manuscript. She’s on her third latte, and the caffeine making her body buzz isn’t giving her the energy to care anymore. 

Quite frankly, being a writer was probably one of the stupidest and smartest professions she could go into. Sure, she gets to technically stay at home and write most days of the year, and then for a month she’ll go into the transition of editing, publishing, and book tours. But, there’s the first part that stresses her out. The writing. And the hours and hours and hours of it she has to do. 

She’s always wanted to write, ever since she was a kid. She dreamt of writing her own princess stories when she was four, making up her own tales and plots to recite to anyone that would listen, really. Her dad was usually the victim, forced to sit with her before she fell asleep, listening to her ridiculous narratives, chuckling when she just had to do the hand gestures. 

Now, she’s twenty-four, living in Portland, and is the bestselling author of a heroic fiction series Huntress, the story of seventeen year old Crystal who’s dream is to be a huntress of Artemis, and follows her journey of realizing she doesn’t need a prince, or anyone, to save her. 

And Allison is proud of it, alright? She gets to tell the kinds of fairy tales she wished were told to her, and the hundreds of email, tweets, fanmail, and fans prove to her that she’s changing the way girls see themselves. And it’s usually enough to keep her morale going as she writes seven out of the twelve months. 

But her pen is rapidly hitting the opened page of her manuscript, and her leg nervously bounces as she reads over the page again, suddenly judging how many pronouns she’s included and how she has really needs to just stop using commas all the goddamn time. The chapter she’s spent much of the day mulling over in the corner of the shop is one she was almost too scared to add, and is still, now, unsure. Crystal reunites with an old friend from the second book, Holly, whom she rescued from turmoil.  Allison had hinted Holly as a potential love interest for Crystal, adding subtle hints of admiration and flirtation, and it’ll be the first time she’s ever portrayed Crystal other than the assumption of heterosexual, or ace based on some fan theories (though, she very much knows in her heart that Crystal is 100% gay). But, adding queer characters, main characters, has always been a stressful experience with her publisher, getting quite the lip for introducing a transgender side character back in the third book, followed by numerous LGBTQA representation. 

So, as excited as it does make her to have written this, the voice of her publisher looms over her.  Right at that moment, where she’s started to chew at her red pen cap, eyes skimming over the page, she jumps at the sight of a hand on her table, and is hit with the overwhelming smell of cinnamon and vanilla.  “Are you all done with this?” Allison looks up quickly, blinking fast as she moves a hand to push her glasses up on her face. And, geez, she starts to feel her mouth go dry, preventing her from saying anything. Which, how ironic, a writer with nothing to say. 

She nods. 

The redhead, Lydia, smiles and takes the ceramic mug from the table. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, but strands of curly locks have fallen from it, framing her face. Her cheeks are especially rosy to match her lips, and she has on a floral apron over her dress. She looks angelic, Allison thinks, and she quickly buries her face back in the manuscript to keep from the blush spreading to her cheeks.   “I’ll get this out of your way then. Let me know if you need another,” she says sweetly, her voice upbeat and sounding like sugar. She starts to walk away, but calls over her shoulder. “Don’t work yourself too hard.”

And, okay, Allison has to confess. She may have based Crystal and Holly’s relationship in the book on her feelings towards Lydia. Which, really shouldn’t even be relevant. When Allison was only halfway through her first draft of the book, she frequently made trips to write in The Bean to escape the constant that was her dreary apartment, hoping a change of scenery would help her. And, technically, it did. Because on that rainy day in Portland, Allison stumbling in with her flimsy umbrella and half of her body slick and wet from rain, is when she met Lydia for the first time.  “You’re a little wet, hun.” she had called over the counter, smirking at Allison. And man, that was it. Allison was hooked. She was hooked on the strawberry blonde hair and the heels she always wore despite being on her feet all day, unphased. After that, it had just been fun, quirky banter between the two, usually resulting in Allison being too shy and nervous to initiate anything more.  Hence, Crystal and Holly.  So, she really has Lydia to thank for the inspiration, but it’s not like she’s about to go up and start with “Hey, I have a semi-huge crush on you and I may have used it to influence the characters and their relationship in my book series.” Not exactly a conversation starter.  She’s pulled from her thoughts when the table vibrates, and her phones flashes to read the name Stiles, a ridiculous photo of the two of them at Scott’s twenty-first birthday when they were slightly drunk and decided to hold sparklers, a great candid shot of them freaking the fuck out when the spark was getting too close to their fingers. 

“What do I owe the pleasure,” she answers, a small smile on her face.  “What are you doing in this exact moment in time and space, Ally?” Stiles asks exasperated.  “I’m proofreading? Why?” “Because I need you immediately. As in right now,”

Her brows furrow, because Stiles’ emergencies usually range from needing to vent to needing something outrageous like a kidney transplant. Thankfully, she has yet to hear the latter. She really hopes it’s not the nature of his call now, her fragile heart wouldn’t be able to handle it. “Listen,” he sighs, “Mel gets out of preschool early today for some reason. I think we forgot what days were early release. Me and Scott are both stuck at work for the time being. Think you could pick up the princess in half an hour? Hold her until we get off?” he pleads, sounding desperate. And Allison laughs.

“And miss an opportunity to see my favorite goddaughter? Of course I’ll get her.”

She hears Stiles holler into the phone, and then his muffled voice relaying the news to someone near him, presumably Scott. “Thank you so so much, Ally. We owe you! Scott says thanks, too.” “Anything for you,” she coos.  “Love you, seriously. If I wasn’t gay and madly in love with a certain tanned, muscular man, I’d kiss you.” “Gross,” she scrunches her nose, but laughs anyway. “Save those kisses for Scott.” “Oh, you better believe it.” The phone clicks, and the call ends. So, she starts packing her things to leave, buzzing with the excitement of seeing Melissa. She’s probably the sweetest girls Allison has ever come across, which is why she always sneaks behind the boys’ backs and buys her ice cream before dinner. 

Allison is already in her car, keys in the ignition, when her eyes go wide, and she starts frantically searching through her bag in the passenger seat. Her manuscript is gone, lost from the car, and, shit, she must have left it on the table as she had rushed out. 

She stumbles back in, expecting to find it still on the table seeing as it’s only been a couple of minutes, when she stops cold in her tracks.

Because Lydia is sitting in her chair.

And she’s reading the manuscript. 

For a second, she doesn’t move. She just stands there, because a part of her wants to watch Lydia’s expression as she skims through it, which, damn writer’s curse, she seeks out validation anytime she can with her writing. 

And then Lydia smiles as she reads a line, and it’s sweet and wholesome, and Allison wants to live in this strange, warm feeling. 

And then Lydia looks up, and the feeling is gone. 

“Hey,” she says, offering a small smile. She moves to stand from the table, taking the manuscript in her hand as she walks up to Allison, and wow, why does she look like her hair was brushed by a comb made from golden bristles? “You left this on the table. I was going to keep it in the back, but turns out you came back for it.” Lydia smirks, and Allison opens her mouth, and then closes it. And then opens it again. “Uh. Thanks.” she takes it, gripping it tight in her hands. “Just out of curiosity, what part were you reading?” Lydia holds her smirk, and God, Allison is in no position to be prepared for this. “Just a random paragraph that was open.” she dismays with a wave of her hand. “Something about arrows and dirt paths,” She almost looks bored. “Tavern waitresses with flowing red locks and kissable lips.” Fuck.

Allison is sure she just nervously laughs, hoping that maybe she will seem unapproachable enough for this conversation to end and she can walk away with her dignity thrown against the wall. “It’s not about you,” she explains, but she doesn’t think she’s all that convincing what with how Lydia arches a brow.  “Really?” It’s quiet, and Allison really doesn’t trust herself to answer. 

So, Lydia just shrugs, and takes a step backward. “I wish it was,” she whispers, and her smile grows wide and bright, and Allison is sure she’s full on blushing.

She still standing there in the almost empty coffee shop when Lydia calls from behind the counter. 

“Oh, and one more thing?” Lydia perks over the pastry counter.  Allison just stares at her with hopeful eyes. 

“I think Holly has just much of a crush on Crystal,” she coos, and disappears through the back door into the kitchen, arm full of baking trays. 

Allison just about faints. 

When the seventh and final book of Huntress is sent to print, ending the story with Crystal finally meeting Artemis and deciding to continue her life as a mortal, protecting those around her, and Artemis blessing her and Holly with an eternal bond, Allison decided for the first time to add a dedication:

For Lydia, My constant red-head reminder that you don’t need a prince to live happily ever after.

[braedens]

president’s child + secret service + sciles

“what is 29DLS?”   <<PREV  NEXT>>

“How many times are you going to nag me about leaving my shoes in the strategy room?” Stiles argues, hands thrown in the air. 

His dad rubs a hand over his face. “Maybe until you stop leaving them there,” he deadpans.

Which, wow, way to turn it around, pops. To be fair, neither he or his dad ever take their petty arguments seriously. At this point, it’s their way of spending time with each other.  “Well, have you ever thought if maybe you let me out once in a while, I wouldn’t need to be leaving them around. You know, because I’d be wearing them,” Stiles glares, unamused. “Out. And about.” His dad smirks, and he kind of wants to punch him. Not really, of course, or else he’d be in security detail in a hot minute.  “Funny you mention that.”

Okay, so, Stiles knows he doesn’t have much room to complain in the matter. He hears the same speech every time: ‘It’s unsafe, you’re too young, people see you as a threat’ and his personal favorite ‘Is the Treaty Room not entertaining enough for you?’.

It’s pretty much his life as the son of the President of the United States.  Don’t get him wrong, he’s fucking proud of his dad. He’s one of the first presidents to be elected into office as a single parent, his beloved and well-raised son one of the reasons he was thought so highly of in the elections. 

Now, he’s in his second term, and Stiles has just turned twenty-one. And really, he can’t complain about his life. He may as well be the poster child for white privilege, but he tries really hard to be a genuinely good person and to try and live normally. He did get to study at Brown University (with the wonderful company of his Secret Service guards everywhere. He. Went.) (Though, Derek wasn’t so bad. Aside from his gruff exterior, he was actually kind of a sweetheart.) Now that he’s graduated and back at the White House in hopes to start on the path to the Senate, his dad has been especially careful. Because apparently when you became a legal adult in retrospect to being the President’s son, you are a potential target for, well, anything. 

Stiles is roaming the yard of the White House, tossing a ball back and forth with Clementine, their adorable husky, when Derek walks over to him. 

“Stiles,” he nods. 

Stiles tosses the tennis ball, causing Clementine to race for it. “Hey, Derek.” he greets, a wide smile. 

He likes Derek, really. Derek has been his dad’s personal and favorite guard since he was elected, which was why he came with him to college. He likes to think he and Derek share a close bond; what with Derek probably knowing almost every detail of his personal (and sex) life.  Derek, thankfully, agreed to keep some things from under his dad’s nose.

Mostly because Stiles found out about Derek’s fling with Braeden, one of the first female Secret Service agents the POTUS staff had hired. Though, not much for brown-nosing anymore on his part, seeing as they are in a monogamous relationship. Stiles is sure Derek asked her to move in with him. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you this,” Derek starts, and Stiles widens his eyes. “But I figured you should know at least a piece before you get thrown off guard.” “Spit it out, dude!” Stiles exclaims, moving his hand to scratch behind Clementine’s ears when she nudges at his leg. 

Derek smirks. “Your dad hired a personal agent for you.” His brows furrow at the mention. Usually, his dad threatens that when he’s being a menace, and he likes to think he’s been almost angelic these last few weeks, okay. “What, why? What did I do?” “You didn’t do anything,” Derek chuckles, and takes the tennis ball from Stiles’ free hand, throwing it over the boy’s back, and Clementine rushes away. “You said you wanted to be able to go out more, be social. So, he hired an agent that’s assigned to follow you wherever you go.” Stiles can’t lie; he’s a bit excited. He missed college, when he could go to parties, get drunk until 4AM, and make-out with random people. Of course, he never went home with anyone because, come on, he has standards. (All of which are protocol as enforced by Derek Hale and approved by the POTUS). Now he’s twenty-one, and he wants to go out, do the typical scene where he goes to bars, plays pool, and feels normal. But, seeing as he left a lot of his friends in Rhode Island, he’s left slumping around his house.

“Who is it? I need to do recon, man.” he asks excitedly, but Derek takes a step back. “No,” Stiles warns, pointing a finger to Derek as the man starts to walk away. “No, no, nononononono Derek! You have to tell me!” But Derek’s already a few feet away. 

“Why wait? They’re already upstairs getting debriefed.”

Stiles waits outside the Oval Office, pacing back and forth. Braeden is currently standing guard, and she’s giving Stiles an annoyed look.  “Stiles, just wait like two seconds, calm down. Your father’s almost done.” “Almost done potentially hiring the worst person that ever had to spend all day, every day with me.” “I’ve already met them, they seem great. I think you two will hit it off.” she assures. 

“You’ve already met them?” he gasped, a hand to his chest in such an exaggerated manner. “At least tell me if they are a boy or a girl?” Braeden just shrugs, that devil.

“I don’t know how Derek can love you. Oh wait, yes I can, you’re both evil monsters.” he deadpans.

He knows Braeden can sense his sarcasm, and she smiles just a tad, because he’s pretty sure all she heard was his comment about Derek loving her. 

His expression softens. “How do you like his place, anyway?” Braeden’s eyes narrow at him, and her lips purse, and Stiles can’t help the mischevious smile that spreads across his face. It’s not necessarily prohibited that staff of POTUS have relations, but it’s strongly persuaded against for chaotic workplace. But, Braeden and Derek are sickeningly perfect for each other. 

“It’s...homey,” she offers, a small smile. Suddenly, her eyes are downcast, and Stiles can tell she’s being spoken to through her earpiece. Then her eyes meet his and, fuck, she looks like she knows something.  “The President of the United States will see you, now.” she says, opening the door to the office. Stiles flips her off on the way in.

He walks in, and the door immediately shuts behind him. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly nervous, but his palms sweat, and his steps are slower. 

On the sofas in front of him, his dad is sitting in the one that faces him, and his head lifts when Stiles walks in. In the opposite sofa, a man with his back to him is sitting, dark hair and tanned skin.

“Son, perfect timing.” He moves to stand, but Stiles eyes stay on the mysterious man. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

At that, the man stands up, and faces Stiles, and Stiles thinks he just got punched in the gut. He must have, because this is some cruel, cruel trick.

His eyes roam the man’s soft eyes, tanned skin, crooked jaw, and Stiles knows he doesn’t need an introduction. Because months ago, at a party that was supposed to celebrate Brown’s winning streak in basketball but really was just an excuse to get flat-out wasted was when Stiles first saw those eyes. Because months ago, he remembers said eyes meeting his at every moment they could that night, followed by that ridiculously adorable smile. 

Because, months ago, Stiles thought to himself ‘fuck it’, and dragged the guy to a spare bedroom in the house the part was in, and proceeded to do things he was glad his dad never had to hear of. 

And man, was it  good. The guy had giggled, actually giggled, when Stiles pushed him onto the bed, and it caused Stiles to reciprocate, muffled by the skin of neck he was nipping at. And it was sweet, and fun, and by the time he had actually kissed the guy, they were both breathless and writhing, Stiles slotting the guy’s legs to fit between them. 

That was the night Stiles realized he might have a hair-pulling kink.

And a biting kink.  But because he was him, Stiles had to forget that night happened. He was graduating in a few short months, and after that he would go back to D.C. and be the second-most important person in the United States. 

So, no, he needs no introduction, because in front of him with dark brown eyes and a sweet smile is Scott McCall, and he’s fucked him. 

Twice. 

Internally, Stiles is pretty much screaming. But, he’s also confused. Actually, no he’s not. The earliest age to become a secret service agent is twenty-one, but it’s extremely rare that happens.  “Stiles, this is Scott McCall, the newest SS agent. He’s going to be your personal bodyguard as well.” Stiles just clenches his jaw.  “You said you wanted to be able to go out and be normal, so now you can. Agent McCall will be with you at all times you leave the house. His age will make it much easier for you two to blend in and avoid altercations. And, don’t worry, he has a fantastic track record. You’ll be in good hands.” And Scott, the bastard, moves around the sofa to face Stiles, his smile disgustingly bright. He sticks out his hand, and Stiles can see a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Mr. Stilinski,” his voice smooth and sweet, just as he remembered, and Stiles really should not be having these thoughts, nope. “It’s a pleasure to be at your service.” 

Stiles tries so, so hard to play off the whine that comes from the back of his throat.

[braedens]

weekend roadtrip, just packing a bag and leaving + stalia

“what is 29DLS?”   <<PREV NEXT>>

Malia admits, it took her by surprise.  She’s been used to Stiles’ spontaneity this far in life, and how 90% of his life is actions thought on a whim. But, it’s one of the many reasons she loves him. Besides, she was never one for dull and ordinary.  So, it wasn’t all too shocking when Stiles had showed up at her house in the middle of the night, a duffle bag over his shoulder and a smug smile on his face.  “What are you doing here, Stiles?” she groaned, moving the hair out of her face.  He seemed energetic, his aura buzzing. “Get your shoes and pack some clothes. We’re leaving.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles looked almost offended.  “You just graduated from an actual high school, Malia-” “Yeah, like, twelve hours ago, might I remind you,” she cuts in. But, she only has fond memories of yesterday. The last experience she’d ever expect to have was getting to walk across the stage with her friends and her boyfriend, getting a diploma that proved her time at Beacon Hills was worth something. That she was worth something, 

“- and today, right now, is the start of the rest of our lives. So, we’re road tripping.” “Ugggh, why now?” she draws out, and Stiles’ expression proves that he’s broke her.  “If not now, then when? If not us, then who?” Stiles beckons, but snickers when he catches Malia’s glare. And then, oh, he’s in her space, stepping close, and he has his free hand on her waist.  “I want to have good memories with you. I want my happiest and clearest moments to have you in them.” His smile is soft, and Malia already knew she lost the moment he knocked on her door. “So, get your stuff. If we leave now, We’ll get to Phoenix by morning.”  Her glare is steady, but Stiles’ goofy grin is enough to break it, a small smile forming on her face.  “Fine,” she admits resolute, walking away from Stiles’ hold and back into her house. Stiles just waits on the porch, duffle in his hand, until Malia steps out moments later, same outfit and hair, but boots pulled on and a backpack slung over her shoulder.  “Let’s get the hell out of Dodge!” Stiles triumphs, holding his hand out for his girlfriend to take.  Malia rolls her eyes and entwines their fingers together. 

The drive to Phoenix is mostly Malia sleeping, up until they entire West Phoenix. From then on, they get to see the mixed hues of orange and pink and blue as the sun rises over the highway, Stiles reaching over the dashboard to take Malia’s hand in his, his eyes never leaving the road.

It’s wholesome, and honestly, Malia can’t believe this moment is hers. Theirs. It’s private and special, and after the year of death, remorse, chaos, and all while dealing with classes, she was starting to think this wouldn’t get to be hers. Something she would get.  She brings Stiles’ hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to each of his fingers. 

They spend Saturday in Phoenix, half of it sleeping in a cheap motel room, the other half walking around downtown, getting dinner, going to the zoo. But, according to Stiles, this isn’t the surprise of the spontaneous trip.  Around two in the morning, Stiles coaxes Malia back into the jeep with the promise she’ll get to sleep on the drive. And, frankly, she wasn’t going to argue with getting to sleep more.  After what she felt was a year and a day, Malia wakes to the feeling of a hand on her side. And when she blinks awake, Stiles is standing with the passenger door open.  “Morning, sleepy wolf.” he chuckles, voice gruff.  Her eyes scan the dashboard, and the clock reads 4:49 AM.  “Where are we?” she mumbles, stretching her arms to somehow unstiffen her body.  Stiles holds his hand out again, and she takes it, hopping out of the jeep. Around her, the sky is a dull blue, the beginning of light just barely seeping. She stands on gravel, and from what she can make out in the darkness, there are rock formations and dirt surrounding them. 

“Walk now, ask questions later,” Stiles shushes, leading her by hand. 

They walk only for a few minutes, Malia only stumbling once (okay, three times, leave her alone) over rocks and cracks.  Soon, Stiles is telling her to watch her step and to walk carefully, and Malia can tell now it’s because they are near a cliff. A very deep cliff, might she add. 

But, around her, she notices people in climbing and hiking gear, water bottles and cameras in hand, and she wonders how out of place they must look, Malia in Stiles’ plaid shirt and a tank top, jean shorts, and boots, and Stiles in a t-shirt and khakis.  She hesitates. “Is this safe?” she deadpans, and Stiles just looks at her with as much excitement and exuberance as a puppy. He moves towards the edge, and goes to sit in the dirt, feet dangling from the ledge. 

“Oh my god, get over here.” She contemplates how idiotic this whole scenario may turn out to be, but she figured if Stiles was going to go through all this trouble, it had to be important. She makes her way beside him, rocks tumbling down the ledge as she moves to sit, and it’s like they have their own gravitational pull, because they immediately move towards each other, Stiles’ arm around her waist, Malia’s head pillowed in his neck, and moving to hold hands. “Okay, so, don’t use your werewolf eyes, alright? Just...watch.” Malia’s nose scrunches, but she complies, waiting and staring into darkness and rocks.  And then the sun starts to rise, and as light peeks over the first set of formations in the distance, Malia’s breath is taken away.  The sun peers through, and she sees it; a ginormous depth of rocks and ground. It’s like a huge hole was taken from the ground, and it stretches for hundreds of miles. Lining the hole, the rocks make beautiful lines and colors, and it’s mesmerizing. And if she focuses, she can make out some buildings and roads at the very bottom of it.  “Where are we,” she breathes out in awe, her mouth open as her eyes try to take in everything, every detail.  “It’s called the Grand Canyon.” Malia feels Stiles’ hand tighten in hers. “It’s basically a gigantic trench. It’s also one of the seven wonders of the natural world.” “Was this your surprise?” she asks, and props her chin on his shoulder so she can look at him, smiling. Stiles turns to look back at her. 

“Uh, yeah,” he laughs lightly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I wanted to watch the sunrise together here. I heard it’s pretty amazing, and it turns out everyone is right.” His nervous smile drops when Malia has the slightest of smiles and wide eyes staring up at him.

“Do you like it?” See, the list of romantic gestures people have done for Malia are pretty slim. Aside from the few chances she’s been with Stiles, and the fact that she’s spent more than half her life as an animal, the number of acts of kindness given to her is close to none.  So, to ask if she likes it is pretty much an understatement. She’d like to think she’s more comfortable and calm when she’s surrounded by nature, but she’s never ventured out of California. So, for Stiles to go out of his way to give her this, this moment, and this experience, one that puts her utterly at ease?

Well, it’s everything.  She looks into his doe eyes, and she can really see how much he wants this to be perfect. And he doesn’t even know that this is already way beyond perfect simply because he’s there with her.  When Malia tips her chin up, Stiles is already meeting her halfway. Their lips brush, and it’s slow, unhurried, and light, the warm sun on their skin and fatigue quickly enveloping them makes this moment seem still, soft, and charming.  They part, and Malia drops her forehead on Stiles’ shoulder, taking the smallest of moments to take in his scent. He smells happy and calm. And she smiles to herself because she knows she’s part of the reason why. 

[braedens]

we’re fbi agents and they placed us on a project together involving lots of alone time together sHIT + sour skittles

“what is 29DLS?”   <<PREV  NEXT>>

“McCall, Stilinski, Hale! Get in here!”

Three heads pop up at the exact same time. Stiles, from where he’s showing Lydia his reports from the last case, proofing it before it gets filed. Scott, from the kitchen, where he’s stopped mid-pour of the coffee going into his cup. And Derek, who’s sitting at his desk, probably being the goody-two-shoes that he is and already finishing up his paperwork from the case he literally just got back from with Scott. 

It’s not rare for the Deputy Director to call in SACs left and right for cases. What is rare, however, to call the three of them together. It’s almost office knowledge that Scott and Derek are partners for every case, seeing as they are the spokespeople for successful monogamous relationships in the workplace. They do everything together, and are rarely every placed on their own, let alone given a third person. 

Especially if said third person has a ridiculously huge crush on the first two. 

And, okay, Stiles gets it. He does. It’s not probable in any way that he’d have a shot with the two of them. As open and accepting he is with polyamory (and has high hopes, evidently), he’s very much positive he’s not even on either of their levels. If anything, Stiles is probably the last person in their department who’d get along with them.  So, yeah, he’s a bit perplexed when they are sitting in the Director’s office together.  “We have a new case,” Deaton says, standing up from his desk to walk around it. “There’s been a trace of abductions with children between the ages of four and nine, all in a nine-mile radius. We think it’s connected to an old case of ours. Similar details, similar victims.” “Like the case in 2009, right?” Scott perks, and yeah, Stiles forgot that Scott is extremely perfect at collecting and remembering intel. He swears he’s caught him looking through old records ‘just for fun’.  “Right,” Deaton nods. “We’ve found common threads and breadcrumbs, and we’re hoping this will be the time we get them.” Stiles can’t help it. “So, why do you need all three of us?”

“Well, we believe it’s a group of people committing these abductions, not just one person. Agent Martin and Agent Mahealani have traced suspicious activity within the radius, and have hopefully traced back to a house in Orange County.” Deaton tosses the case folder towards Derek, who’s sitting between him and Scott.  “We’ve rented out a house across the street. You three are doing recon, and hopefully will have enough information. To keep from the community getting suspicious, someone has to leave every so often, imitating errands and going to work. Two people have to be on information detail at all times, as you know.”

Stiles thinks he’s about to internally scream. Because he can’t do whoever long stuck with the world’s biggest lovebirds without wanting to rip his hair out. Or worse, falling for them.  Speaking of which: “How long?” Scott asks, peering over Derek’s shoulder to read the file. Stiles, well, he’s perfectly fine sinking into the sofa with his arms crossed. He swears he sees the slightest of smirks on Deaton’s face, he swears. 

“Two weeks, minimum.”

Okay, so, Stiles really set this out to be the worst thing ever.  But, the house the bureau comped was in a really nice neighborhood. Two stories, real hardwood floors, high ceilings, and fully furnished. And it was right across the street from the house they had to watch.  They had to fake a moving van to come in, as if they were the new neighbors on the block, which, wow, Derek and Scot were milking it. About every family on the street and come to welcome them, and even the two moms who brought their daughter made plans to have them over for dinner. It was disgusting, honestly, how perfect Scott and Derek were at this. They naturally went into domestic mode, and because Scott was the personality and Derek was the beauty, everyone just migrated towards them.  And no one gave the light of day to Stiles. 

But, he couldn’t complain. He had his own bedroom, cable television, and a stocked fridge and pantry. The only difference from this and his normal life at home was he was mostly upstairs in the den with a headset and two laptops in front of him, mic and camera near the windows facing the street. 

Currently, two days in, Derek was the first to make a leave, deciding he was going to find a gym to work out at, of course. Like his muscles couldn’t bulge any more. Stiles was having a great time watching the house when he caught Scott’s movement in the bottom of his screen.

He’s jogged over to the front of their house, where Derek was tossing a duffle bag in the passenger side, dressed to the nines in workout clothes. Stiles couldn’t hear what they were saying, and he was honestly grateful at the moment, but Derek’s smile had grown wide when Scott stepped into his space. 

He watches as Scott slipped his arms around Derek, saying something to him, and caused Derek to run his hands over Scott’s arms. And seriously, Stiles needs to breathe, he hates himself so much. 

And then Scott leans in, and both of their eyes flutter closed, and Stiles groans. He knows he shouldn’t be looking, he shouldn’t be watching this moment that should be just for the two of them. But he can’t help it: they press their lips together, and it looks wholesome. Sweet. And as an agent, Stiles doesn’t get many chances as that. Honestly, it’s a rare entity that any of the SACs are in successful relationships, especially two together. the job has a toll on your social life, and relationships.  Stiles groans, and he hates that he has to palm his khakis so that will stop, because now is just really not the time. Actually, it’s never the time, really. When is it ever a time to have a raging crush on two of your co-workers, who happen to be dating.  He won’t lie, it’s not like he hasn’t thought about what it would be like. How it would feel to have the three of them, pressed close, kissing them both. He can’t lie that he’s never wondered if Scott’s lips are really as soft as they look, or if Derek’s beard would scratch him in the best way.  Stiles almost trips over cords on his race to the bathroom.

He comes back a few minutes later, Scott is sitting in his chair, looking up from the laptop, and fuck, he has such a cute smile. And Stiles really doesn’t need to deal with his untamable boners these next two weeks. 

“Hey, man,” Stiles nods, taking the chair next to him, hoping he can busy himself in their work.  “Hey, Stiles,” Scott asks, surprisingly. Stiles lifts his head, arching a brow.  “You moved the camera down on the screen, to the front lawn.” Fuck. “I did?” Stiles is sure his voice goes an octave higher, like it does when he knows he’s lying. Which, what the fell, he’s an FBI agent. He’s great at lying. Fuck this. Fuck him. 

Scott’s smirk doesn’t falter, and he scoots his chair slightly closer. “Were you watching me and Derek?” He scoffs, making a big deal of the situation. And, now that he thinks about it, probably just made him look more guilty. “What, pfft- no!” Stiles sounds flabbergasted, turning back to the desk. If he makes eye contact, he might as well tell Scott he was just in the bathroom shooting a load because of it. 

It’s silent for a few seconds, and Stiles thinks he can breathe again because he really needed that conversation to end, like, yesterday.  “Next time, just join us.” Stiles takes the equipment with him when he falls out of his chair. 

[alecmagnuss]

February Challenge - Day 4

Lucaya 1,117 Words

“So tell me Huckleberry.” Maya asked, hanging upside down on Lucas’s bed. She passed the bottle to him and he eyed her suspiciously.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you try out for the softball team this year?” He chuckled and set the bottle between his legs. He sat directly in front of her, leaning against his bedroom wall.

“I didn’t have any free time all year, with football. This is our last year of school and I wanted to spend it hanging out with y- … our friends.” he answered back, playing with the rim of the bottle. “Where the hell did you even get this bottle of wine?”

Maya stared at him then the bottle, “Dave.”

“Dave?”

“Dave.” she repeated, and tried to do a backwards nod, causing her to giggle.

“You doing alright there?” Lucas asked, pushing himself forward and get a good look at her.

“Of course I am!”

Without warning, and with a huff she lifted her legs and fell backwards off the bed landing on Lucas’s upper thighs, the bottle miraculously between them. He eyed it and then looked up at her and laughed. Maya’s head spinned which made her laugh even more. Her hand wrapped around the bottle and she took another gulp of the god awful tasting ‘wine’.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Lucas said cautiously moving his hand towards the bottle. She yanked it out of reach and fell to the side. “Yeah I think for now that’s it.” but as he stood up, so he could pull her up to her feet; his own head started spinning.

“What the hell?” he mutter leaning up against the wall.

“Oh did I not tell you I put some moonshine in here?” Maya said her face pressed against the carpet.

“No, but that would explain why it burned.” he said, finally getting his footing. He reached down, yanking Maya by her top until she lend him her hand. Once they were standing in front of each other, and she had to look all the way back to meet his eyes did Maya, notice her drawing on his wall. He followed her eyes and gave her a small smirk.

“I drew that in eight grade when we…” she stopped talking, and pulled him behind her. He followed and didn’t want to think about their hands intertwined.

“Went to Texas.” he finished the sentence and squeezed her hand. It was the campfire, in full detail. The stars, the logs around, and them. Sitting next to each other by the logs.

“I threw this away. How did you get this?” she asked, turning her head towards him. He was already looking at her.

“Well first off, you threw it away in art class. So I knew it had to be something you drew. So after everyone left, I took it out. I ironed it, laminated it and framed it.” She searched her eyes and couldn’t stop looking. They stood like that for a minute, until Maya thinking it was the alcohol pulled away towards Lucas’s open laptop.

“What are we listening to?” she asked, trying not to think of how much she wished she hadn’t let go of his hand. Lucas stayed back, watching and finally answered.

“I don’t know. You put it on.”

He walked towards the her and the desk and tried to look past her shoulders. The title showed “Everybody’s Changing” starting.

“Dance with me.” Maya half slurred turning around quickly on her heal. She didn’t give him time to answer, just took his left hand and place her’s on his shoulder. She moved side to side, both of them slowly getting in the rhythm of it.

“But everybody's changing and I don't feel the same” the singer belted out, and Maya took a step closer.

“Lucas.” Maya whispered and looked up at Lucas. He met her eyes and grew at ease.

“Yes Maya?” she didn’t speak, but pulled him closer until her head rested on his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and he did too.

“Soon you will disappear | Fading into beautiful light.”

“You’ll keep in touch when you go to college right?” Maya murmured into his chest, and his heart thumped faster in his chest.

He gave her a squeeze and simply said, “Always.”

He felt Maya relax in his arms, and there feet kept moving back in forth. His right hand moved up playing with strands of hair while his chin rested on the crown of her head. They swayed for half an hour, both of them letting themselves enjoy being in each other embrace. Maya was dazed keep her hands grasping his shirt, and Lucas rubbing his thumb on Maya’s back. This time Lucas was the one to speak first.

“Hey Maya.” Lucas whispered into her hair. The room was still filled with slow songs playing from his laptop.

“Hmm?” she said pulling herself backwards, letting go of his shirt. Her eyes were red, but still held clarity.

He didn’t think twice, his hand on her hair moved up and locked on her neck. Her eyes widened for a moment, but then bore into his. Electricity danced between them, Luca’s heart thumped dangerously as Maya shifted restlessly.  He watched a light sea blue darken to ocean deep blue.

He searched her eyes for reluctance, and when he didn’t find it he leaned over, and brushed his tongue across her bottom lip, and finally captured it between his. They both inhaled sharply, making them smile. At first the kisses were reverent, small glimpses of warmth and affection. Her arms snaked up to the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. The kiss grew hungrier, as he pulled her by her waist and by her neck. His hand cupping her cheek. Both their hearts thumped hard in their chest. They were moving towards Lucas’s bed, their hands roaming freely between them, trying to touch anything that was skin on each others body. Lucas’s hand was under Maya’s shirt, on her back. Maya had somehow snaked her hands up his neck and fingers inter winded with his hair.

He had picked her up and sat her on his bed, where she could wrap her legs around him. There kissing was feverishly hungry, and fast. A little sloppy and a little too much tongue.

“Ow!” Maya yelped when in the process of Lucas trying to bite her lip, he had bit her tongue.

“Oh my god!” Lucas screamed, his eyes flying open. Maya’s lips was swollen, and her tongue as well. “I’m so sorry.” he said as Maya reached up, to touch her tongue.

“What were you trying to do?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“I was trying to, oh you fucking know.” she said and glared up at him.

Her eyes shined, her hair was rustled up and her shirt was up to high on her torso. His shirt was crumpled, his hair sticking up at all direction. When they finally looked back at each other, after inspecting; they both laughed in synch.

~~

Prompt: we’re getting slightly too drunk in the middle of the afternoon and slow dancing to dumb cheesy old music +first kiss

-uh i just did random song playing on my own pandora

OMFG i loved writing this so much. Let’s be real I’m probably going to do GMW related prompts , unless I can somehow get back into Lydia’s head or Stiles or Malia’s! I just haven’t been able to so I haven’t been able to write. But Lucas and Maya YEAH

They are older in this prompt, I’m not a weirdo writing about middle schoolers so just a disclaimer. But for fucking real why does Lucaya run every fucking aspect of my life D: