So I have this idea for a fanfic, where pot void stiles has FTD. And Scott tells stiles he wants to turn him (since there is no other cure). But stiles says no (since he has a gut feeling the bite won't work and he would rather die from the dementia then Scott have to deal with the guild of killing him, but he won't tell Scott that so Scott has no idea why styles won't let him give him the bite.)
a conversation they could have:
" I don't understand why you won't let me do this for you." " I just don't want it. Just drop it." " no, you're gonna die without this." "so I might die with it" " Stiles, this is is the only way to save your life."
another argument
*scott holding stiles arm*
"so are you just got off force me into this"| don't want to, but you're not giving me much choice."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:Derek is in a self destructive path in his life. Laura is trying to hold him together but nothing is working. As a last resort she transplant them to Beacon Hills California. There he meets Stiles Stilinski. He have no idea why the kid hates him. It's not that he loves the kid the kid is so infuriating with all the joy he spreads to everyone who isn't Derek.
Stiles is fighting a loosing battle but he won't let go without a fight. Then he meets Derek Hale a man who is wasting of trying to throw everything he has away. He hates the man for just throwing it all away.
Stiles is sick and all he wants is to wear one of Derek’s sweaters.
For Z
(You can read it on AO3, here)
Derek slowly pushed open the bedroom door, peering into the room.
The large bed was pushed up against the wall, decorated by a soft foam bed head covered in a dusty blue fabric and embellished with buttons – one that Derek had picked out after Stiles kept hitting his head on the wall. Two small oak tables that Derek had made himself sat either side of the bed, a box of tissues sitting on one of them.
Derek couldn’t help but smile fondly as he looked down at the small figure that lay beneath the mountain of blankets.
He stepped into the room, crossing over to the side of the bed and sitting down on the edge of the mattress.
Stiles had been laid up in bed sick for the past few days and Derek had been doing his best to take care of him.
Stiles was awake, laying in bed with the blankets pulled up to his face. His dark eyes were heavy and unfocused as he stared into oblivion. His nose was red and sniffily and his cheeks were flushed. His tousled chestnut brown hair was a mess.
He looked up at Derek and tried to smile.
Derek smiled back, gently reaching out and brushing aside a strand of hair that clung to Stiles’ forehead.
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.
“Cold,” Stiles whimpered.
“Do you want me to go and get you a sweater?” Derek asked.
Stiles nodded weakly.
“Okay.” Derek leant forward and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
He rose to his feet and left the room, making his way into the laundry. He opened the dryer, prying out a sweater that was drying. He felt the fabric to make sure it was dry, the warmth still clinging to the woven wool.
He brought it back to Stiles, helping the young man sit up.
He chuckled quietly as he watched Stiles struggle to put the sweater on.
“Here,” Derek said softly, taking the sweater from Stiles’ shaky hands and helping him slid his arms into the sleeves and pull the sweater over his head.
Stiles let out a weak smile.
He tugged at the collar pulling it up over this face and drawing in a deep breath.
It smelt of fake lemon, detergent, and fabric softener.
Derek’s brow furrowed as he frowned in confusion. “It’s clean.”
Stiles sated down at the blankets, still pouting but too embarrassed to look up at Derek.
He mumbled something that Derek didn’t hear.
“What?” Derek asked, craning his head as he tried to look Stiles in the eye.
“It doesn’t smell like you,” Stiles repeated, just loud enough that Derek could hear.
A sweet smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips. He grabbed the collar of his sweater and pulled it over his head.
He helped Stiles take the clean sweater off and put Derek’s on.
Stiles pulled the collar up over his face, burying his face in the soft fabric as he inhaled deeply, taking in the scent. It smelt of pine trees, leather, and vanilla, of tea leaves and freshly baked bread.
The smell flooded his senses, filling him with relief and comfort as he smiled.
The warmth of Derek’s body clung to the sweater, comforting him and embracing him like a warm hug.
“Better?” Derek asked.
Stiles nodded.
He lay back down, curling up in a ball. He held the fabric tight, holding it up over his face as his heavy eyes drifted shut again.
Derek let out a quiet, breathless chuckle, pulling on the clean sweater before laying pile the blankets back over Stiles. He gently pulled them up to his shoulders.
He stayed there for a while, watching Stiles, listening as his breathing evened out and he settled into a calm sleep.
Derek let out a soft sigh. He climbed over Stiles, careful not to wake him, and lay down on the bed beside him. He settled down among the sheets.
Stiles shuffled about beneath the blankets, instinctively rolling toward Derek’s warmth and curling up against his side.
A soft smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips.
He craned his neck and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of Stiles’ head, wrapping his arms around the young man’s slender form and holding him close.
Hi! Thank you so much for this blog! I'm looking for a fic in which Stiles is really sick (high fever) so he is taken to the hospital but the doctors don't know what's wrong with him and he keeps getting worse. Finally, they discovered that he was bitten by an insect (I think it was a tick) while he was having sex with Derek in the woods. I checked the tag page but didn't find it, if I missed it somehow, I apologise. Thanks!
Can anyone help with this fic?
everythingcarmen and dawnstar39 knew this one. Thank you both!! 💜
A million miles away by Yesthatsmynaturalcolour | 24.6K
A headache becomes something more when Stiles falls severely ill.
Maybe running through the woods with wolves at night wasn't one of his brightest moment.
How are the boys when they're sick? I think stiles would be the 'i'm fine, but i am going to take 15 ibuprofen and go to bed right tf now' and nobody is supposed to bother him. then derek is like, passed out on the couch/common area and every time anyone mentions anything he just moans something like 'if i were a human it would be the plague you have no idea the amount of suffering i endure on a daily basis look at me i'm in pain pity me i should be cured by now what good are werewolf powers--"
“Derek, no, let’s discuss this!”
“Stiles.” Derek tried not to laugh as Stiles clung to his leg. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”
“I can’t wait that long! My memory is terrible. What if you fade from it while you’re gone? I don’t want to forget you.”
“I have to get your medication. Your fever is still high and Melissa told me to get your prescription.”
Stiles grumbled. “Kiss before you go.”
Derek smiled, leaning down to kiss his sick boyfriend. Then Stiles sneezed in his face and Derek winced. It was a good thing he couldn’t get sick.
*Coughs* I was going to go a different way with this but uh yeah lol. I’m a weirdo and I’m not ashamed. You ever get a really bad cold and sneeze uncontrollably? Yeah, sorry Stiles ha ha. Anyway! The words from @sterekdrabbles today are: Discuss, wait, fade. Thanks!
Noah descended the stairs as fast as he could. He went to the medicine cabinet and grabbed the stuff he needed from the bottom shelf, the 'Stiles Shelf'. The shelf full of pill bottles, old and new. The prescription of Adderal that he had refilled yesterday, the old bottle of antibiotics from when he had gotten blood poisoning from continually pulling the scab from his knee last year, the prescription shampoo for the psoriasis on his hairline. All of this medication made up his nine year old son, his baby boy. He knew that soon there would be more bottles, more tubes, more cures. But he knew that nothing could cure the grief that that boy felt, that he feels, will always feel. He knew he couldn't help his son not miss his mother. Wouldn't want to, to be perfectly honest. Wouldn't want him to forget his mother. He couldn't help him feel better emotionally, but he could let him know that he wasn't alone. That even though his mother isn't here anymore, he still has someone to take care of him.
Stiles has always been terrified he’d inherit his mother’s frontotemporal dementia. When he started showing signs, he prepared for the worst. That’s when he got the news it was a tumour.
The surgery goes fine, but Stiles starts to draw back into himself, worrying what Derek would think when he saw Stiles with a scar down the side of his head.
When Derek does come see him, Stiles tries desperately not to look at him or to let him see the bandaged wound. Derek notices.
The next day, Derek brings Erica and then makes an excuse to leave the room - to go get something for them all to eat - and lets Erica work her magic.
She sits down on the bed and pulls out a can of dry shampoo and a hairbrush. She helps Stiles clean up, careful of the wound on his temple, and while it’s just the two of them, Stiles opens up about how insecure he feels.
Erica tells him he’s still a gorgeous man.
When Derek comes back, Stiles is back to his old self and Derek showers him in love, never letting him think for a second that Derek sees him any differently.
