#sterek cuddles

[imagine-sterek]

Uh hi! I just started watching teen wolf and I wanted to share the Sterek art that I made in my art class. Hope you like it! :)

(submitted by Non)

This is so cute! Thank you so much for sharing!

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

I Have My Ways

It’s Stiles’ first full moon since he was bitten and he’s struggling.

For @staffofoppression

(You can read it here on AO3)

He ran through the shadows and the darkness that surrounded him. He wove his way through the undergrowth. His bare feet pounded the damp earth as he ran through the dense woods, splashing the cool mud against his pale skin.

There was a dull pain as the jagged twigs and outstretched branches scratched and clawed at his bare skin, but the pain didn’t seem to register in his mind; all he could think about was running.

Around him, the usual autumn tones of brown, gold and red were darkened by the night, now a dreary mix of greys and heavy black shadows. Dense foliage hung overhead, filtered streams of silver light surrounded him seeping through the canopy and dancing across the ground.

The glow of the full moon lit his world, filling him with energy and spurring him on. The burning power filled his veins, igniting his soul as he ran.

Among the darkness of the woods, he could make out the fluorescent bleached skeletons of the birch trees, their slender trunks lining the shadows as eye-like rings watched him from all angles.

The cool air filled his lungs, the bitterly cold chill biting at his pale cheeks.

He bounded over fallen trees and large logs, leaping over tree stumps and felled branches.

He didn’t stop running, not until he saw the wolf.

The large black wolf stood in front of him, blocking his path. Their fur was as dark as the night and their eyes glowed with a bright crimson glow.

Stiles slowed to a halt, his broken, panting breaths turning to a misty cloud in the cool night air. He felt his eyes burn with power as they glowed in response to his alpha.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, dropping his head into his hands as he slowly regained control of himself.

The wolf slowly rose, morphing back into their human form and walking over to Stiles’ side.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, gently prying Stiles’ arms away from his head and craning his neck to look him in the eye.

Stiles nodded, looking up as he let out a measured sigh.

“I lost control for a moment,” Stiles told him.

“It’s alright,” Derek said soothingly. “These things happen.”

“I thought the bite was meant to cure things,” Stiles mused. “Why does it not work for ADHD?”

“Because ADHD isn’t like other disorders,” Derek said. “It’s not like epilepsy or pneumonia; your brain is just wired differently.”

“So I’m a werewolf with ADD?”

“Don’t all dogs have ADD?” Derek said light-heartedly, hoping his joke would cheer Stiles up somewhat.

Stiles dropped his head, muttering something that Derek didn’t hear.

Derek took another step forward. He gently slid a finger beneath Stiles’ chin and coaxed him to look up and meet Derek’s soft gaze. His eyes flickered red and a small smile toyed with the corners of his lips as Stiles’ lit up with a golden glow in return.

He cupped Stiles’ cheek and leant forward, pressing a tender, loving kiss to Stiles’ forehead

“You should probably chain me up,” Stiles said, dejected.

Derek shook his head, chuckling slightly as he said, “You would only find a way to escape.”

“I can’t trust myself,” Stiles said, grimacing as he felt the hypnotic call of the full moon burn at the back of his mind. “I don’t want to end up hurting someone.”

“You’re not going to hurt anyone,” Derek promised. “The worst you’ve done is run through the woods. You’re not snapping or snarling. You haven’t hurt me and you’re not going to hurt anyone else.”

Stiles dropped his gaze, staring down at his feet.

“It’ll take time to get used to all of this; to learn how to control it,” Derek said softly. “This is only your first full moon and you’re already doing better than the others.”

“It doesn’t feel like I am,” Stiles admitted.

“You are,” Derek reassured him, his voice soft but firm.

Derek pulled Stiles into a tight hug, holding him close for a moment. As he stepped back, he wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, guiding him back through the woods in the direction he’d come from.

“Let’s get you home.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek had done a good job at restoring the Hale house. The walls were covered in crisp white paint. A few of the support beams that framed the room had been replaced—the large beams weathered, scarred and stained in an effort to match the surviving beans that had been burnt and distorted by the fire; bent and twisted like body of Atlas bowing beneath an unimaginable weight.

The house smelt of sweet dew and crisp pine trees, but there was a lingering bitter smell of ash that never seemed to fade.

There were scattered signs of history and new life mingling among the ruins. There were pieces of furniture that had been restored or salvaged, wooden tables with charred legs and warped paint like scars. The walls of the hallways were lined with photos of the Hale family—pictures that Stiles and the pack had helped Derek track down—and new photos; photos of the pack.

Two large windows framed the front door, silver moonlight streaming through them and illuminating the angelic swirl of the sparkling particles of dust.

Stiles stepped into the hallway, his head bowed in shame as Derek shut the front door behind them and locked it.

Stiles made his way into the living room.

There were two large sofas and two arm chairs, arranged in a circle that faced the fireplace in the centre of the room.

The fire was lit, the warm glow filling the room and the sound of crackling soothing Stiles as he watched the wavering flames dance about.

A row of old hard cover books with fragile withered and frayed spines sat atop the mantle, held upright by two bookends that Derek had made himself. Beside the books were more photographs and an arrangement of little trinkets that Derek had collected over the years or that the pack had given him as gifts.

Derek stepped up behind Stiles, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him back against his chest.

Stiles let out a deep sigh, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment as he relaxed, falling back into Derek’s arms and melting into his warmth.

“I still think you should chain me up,” Stiles said after a while.

“I have another idea,” Derek said.

He scooped Stiles off his feet – delighted by the sound of his playful laughter – and carried him over to the couch.

He carefully laid Stiles down on the cushions, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his lips before straightening up.

“You’re just going to make me lie here?” Stiles asked, somewhat sceptical. “How are you going to stop me from getting up?”

“I have my ways,” Derek said with a coy smirk.

Derek shifted into his wolf form, gracefully climbing up onto the couch and laying on top of Stiles.

Stiles burst into a fit of laughter, shaking Derek as his chest rose and fell with his chuckling.

Derek stretched out, pinning Stiles down. He laid his head down on Stiles’ chest, looking up at the man lovingly.

“You’re really going to just lie there?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded.

“This is your brilliant plan to make sure I don’t move?”

Derek nodded again.

“Is this because I said that there was an unspoken law that says you are not allowed to move when a pet lies on you?”

There was a glint of mischief in Derek’s eyes that seemed to say ‘yes’.

Stiles chuckled.

“You know what?” he started, but his argument died away in his throat. He shook his head, smiling as he said, “You’re right. I’m not moving.”

Derek lifted his head slightly, licking Stiles’ chin.

Stiles screwed up his face. “That’s gross.”

Derek shifted slightly, resting his chin on Stiles’ chest and settling. HIs eyes slowly drifted shut as he fell asleep.

Yeah, I’m definitely not moving, Stiles thought.

He carefully lifted his hand and gently patted Derek, running his fingers through Derek’s soft fur.

Exhaustion began to take its toll on him. Stiles’ eyes grew heavy. He wrapped an arm around Derek as his eyes drifted shut and sleep pulled him under.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Stiles woke the next morning, the golden light of morning bled through the large bay window of the living room. The fire had long gone out, the embers cold and the grey ash piled at the bottom of the fireplace.

Beyond the window he could hear the sweet twittering of singing birds.

But what was most noticeable was that Derek wasn’t there.

Stiles let out a weak groan as he pushed himself upright and looked around.

Derek had laid a soft blanket over him, the soft fabric pooling around his waist as he straightened up.

He slowly rolled his shoulder, feeling he tense muscles ache. He’d been bitten nearly a month ago, and although the wound had long healed, there were times when Stiles could swear he could still feel it.

He carefully pushed aside the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the couch. He screwed up his face when he looked down at his feet. His pale skin was covered in dried mud and scratches that were darkened by dried blood.

Stiles carefully set his feet down on the floor, wincing as he put weight on his tender feet. He rose from the couch, slowly hobbling out of the living room and into the kitchen.

Derek stood by the kitchen bench, a cup of coffee in one hand as he flipped through the newspaper with the other.

Stiles dragged his feet across the hardwood floors as he crossed over to Derek, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and burying his face in the curve of Derek’s neck.

“Good morning,” Derek said softly. “How do you feel?”

Stiles let out a weak moan.

“Maybe this will make you feel better,” Derek said. He set down his mug and picked up another cup on the counter, holding it out to Stiles.

Stiles pouted as he took the mug of coffee from Derek. He cupped it in his hands, letting the warmth seep into the palms of his hands. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the rich smell of the bitter coffee before sipping at it.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked.

“Nothing,” Stiles replied.

“Stiles,” Derek said, craning his neck to look Stiles in the eye.

“I was hoping you’d still be there when I woke up,” Stiles admitted.

A small smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips. He grabbed the front of Stiles’ shirt and pulled him close. He turned slightly, leaning back against the bench and wrapping his arms around Stiles.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He reached up and gently brushed aside a stray strand of hair that fell forward in Stiles’ face. He leant forward and pressed a tender kiss to Stiles’ cheek.

“So that’s your plan for every full moon now, you’re going to shift and lie on me so I can’t move?” Stiles asked.

Derek pretended to think about it. “Yeah, pretty much.”

A mischievous smile played across Derek’s lips.

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Derek said, a touch of offence in his voice. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, it did,” Stiles submitted. He sipped at his coffee.

“How do you feel?”

“Exhausted and full of energy at the same time,” Stiles replied.

“The energy is because of the moon. For a few days before and after a full moon, you’ll feel more energetic than usual,” Derek explained. “And feeling exhausted is normal after a full moon, especially if you spent most of the night running through a forest.”

Stiles looked down at his dirty feet covered in scratches and sneered.

“I need a shower,” Stiles said, stepping back from Derek and setting the empty coffee mug down in the sink.

“Yeah, you do,” Derek teased. “You stink.”

“You stink,” Stiles replied out of habit.

Derek smirked. “I guess I need a shower too then. Mind if I join you?”

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

To Lie Next to You

The four times Stiles accidentally fell asleep cuddling Derek and the one time it wasn’t an accident.

 For @kirjastorotta

 (Read it on AO3 here)

The first time it happened was the night Derek’s world fell apart.

The hospital’s long hallways seemed to stretch into oblivion, a never-ending, winding labyrinth. The glare of the LED lights that hung overhead stung his eyes, the hum of electricity filling in his ears.

Distant voices, the tapping of computer keys, and the beeping of machines did nothing to drown out the voices that ran in his ears—the broken cries, the screams of pain, the desperate pleas.

Every time his eyes shut, the haunting memories filled his mind.

His feet hit the ground with a thundering beat that drummed in his ears, the muddy sludge dragging at his shoes, slowing him down as if he were running in a nightmare.

Smoke and ash filled his lungs as he ran, making him cough and gasp breathlessly. His nose was filled with the bitter scent of ash and the rich scent of burning pine.

A roaring orange glow consumed the building. Tendril-like flames flickered as they devoured the wooden planks and the frail lace curtains.

The heat of the blaze radiated against his skin. Beads of sweat glistened in the glow of the fire, his tears burning as they welled in his eyes.

His heart sank into his stomach. He blinked heavily, the tears falling past his lashes and streaking down his cheeks as he watched on helplessly as the fire destroyed the house—his house, his home, and the memories of his childhood along with it. He felt cold, watching the dancing flames devour and destroy everything.

Seared and blistered hands reached out from the windows of the basement, clawing at the earth.

He remembered Laura scream his name, her voice far behind him as he ran into the inferno, sprinting down the hall to where the door to the basement was.

He’d open his eyes and find himself back in the hallway. The smell of charred wood and burnt flesh still haunted him; clinging to his clothes, filing his nose, and following him no matter how far away from the burning house he got.

He sat in one of the chairs pushed back against the wall of the hallway, his face stained with soot and smeared with ash. His hands had been wrapped in bandages, covering the seared flesh of the palms of his hands and his burnt knuckles, evidence of his attempts to save his family—his failed attempts.

He glanced down the hall at one of the doors that had been left slightly ajar. If he strained his hearing, he could hear Laura talking quietly to the nurses, her voice raspy and broken.

She was still being treated for her burns, leaving him alone in the hall.

They’d both heal quickly enough, but for the time being, they had to keep up the illusion that they were human.

Peter would take longer though. He was the only one they’d managed to pull him out of the fire before the house collapsed; his flesh seared, charred and covered in raw sores.

He was comatose; the pain too much for his mind to deal with. Laura had tried talking to him, but he’d been unresponsive.

“He’s healing,” Laura had told him. “It’ll take time, but he’ll heal too.”

Nurses and doctors passed him, talking quietly and casting looks his way—their eyes filled with sorry and pity.

Derek hung his head, unable to look at them. He didn’t want their judgement or their pity, and the last thing he wanted was to look into their eyes and get confirmation that he was alone; his family was dead. It was just the three of them now.

His body was weak and aching.

There was a quiet shuffle of footsteps, slowing in front of him as a pair of scuffed red sneakers came into his field of vision.

He slowly looked up, meeting a pair of fawn-brown eyes that looked at him with a mix of curiosity, confusion and concern.

“You’re Derek, right?” the boy asked.

Derek nodded.

“I’m Stiles,” he introduced himself before quickly adding, “The Sheriff’s son.”

A moment of quiet settled between them.

Stiles shifted, uneasy. “Can I sit with you?”

Derek nodded.

“Are you hurt?” Stiles asked.

“What?” Derek asked, confused.

Stiles nodded towards Derek’s bandaged hands.

“Oh,” Derek said, looking down at his hands. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“What happened?” Stiles asked hesitantly.

“My house was on fire and my family was trapped inside. My sister and I tried to get them out,” Derek answered, his voice weak and breaking. “We were able to get my uncle out, but….”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered, predicting how the story ended. “Are you okay?”

“Just a couple of burns,” Derek said dismissively. “They’ll heal.”

“No, are you okay?” Stiles repeated, emphasising his words slightly.

Derek felt tears well in his eyes, his lips quivering as he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. A glistening tear trailed down his cheek as he shook his head.

“They’re all dead,” Derek said, struggling to get his words out. “My mum, my dad, my whole family…”

Stiles didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to; his being there was enough.

He shuffled closer to Derek and leant over the arm rest, leaning against Derek’s side and letting his head rest against his shoulder.

They sat in silence, but their silence spoke volumes more than words ever could.

When Derek’s tears finally dried up and exhaustion took its toll, he let his head fall atop Stiles’, his cheek resting atop the boy’s tousled brown hair.

The two of them drifted off to sleep where they sat.

That’s where Laura found her brother a few hours later.

She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the two of them—Derek, who had never had friends aside from his sisters and his uncle, curled up and fast asleep with someone he’d only just met. The harsh lines of his face were softened by sleep, the smears of soot and ash on his cheeks cleared away by his tears.

He seemed calm—comfortable—and the last thing Laura wanted was to wake her brother now and throw him back into the harsh reality of everything they’d lost. She’d let him sleep for now; let him have that moment of peace.

She shrugged off her jacket and did her best to lay it across the two boys before making her way down the hallway to the intensive care unit where they were keeping Peter.

...

The second time he remembers was one of the nights the pack spent together—movie night.

“I’m pressing play whether you’re ready or not,” Derek called out.

Stiles let out a cry of protest from the kitchen across the hallway, but his voice was muffled.

Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion, turning to look at Stiles.

Stiles clambered over the back of the couch, juggling a bowl of fresh popcorn in one hand and a bowl of chips in the other, and a packet of Oreos balanced on top of that. He was holding packets of jelly beans, marshmallows, gummy bears, and sour worms in his mouth.

Derek rolled his eyes.

Stiles sank down into the cushions beside Derek, passing him the bowl of popcorn before dropping the packets he held in his mouth into his lap and distributing the snacks amongst the pack.

“Oreos for Erica, jelly beans for Boyd—” Stiles said, passing them to Erica who was stretched out across the other couch, her feet resting in Isaac’s lap and her head lying in Boyd’s. “—and chips for Isaac.”

Isaac muttered a quiet ‘Thank you’ but it was drowned out by Erica’s squeal of joy as she clutched the packet of Oreos to her chest.

He held out the packet of marshmallows to Cora who sat on the floor, leaning back against the couch that the other betas sat on.

“Marshmallows for Cora because she’s soft and sweet,” he teased.

Cora scoffed at the remark but took the packet from him.

“And sour worms for Jackson because he’s a sour bitch,” Stiles said.

The rest of the pack snickered.

Jackson levelled him with a glare, snatching the packet from Stiles’ grasp.

“And gummy bears for Der-bear,” Stiles said jokingly, swapping the last packet of sweets for the bowl of popcorn Derek held.

Derek looked at him, unamused, rolling his eyes as he turned away from Stiles and pressed play.

Isaac reached over to the far wall and switched off the lights, letting the room settle into quiet dimness as the movie started.

At some point during the evening, Stiles shuffled over to Derek’s end of the couch and leant against his side—probably reaching over to steal some gummy bears, too entranced in the movie to ask or to realise how close they were to each other.

Derek didn’t notice either, not until the movie started to wind down, when he realised that Stiles hadn’t moved.

Derek craned his neck, looking down at Stiles.

He leant against Derek’s arm, his head resting against Derek’s shoulder, his cheek smooshed against Derek’s bicep and his lips parted slightly as he drew in steady, slow breaths. His eyes were shut, his dark eyelashes fluttering as he dreamt. The now-half-empty bowl of popcorn was balanced dangerously on the edge of the couch cushion.

Derek let out a breathless chuckle, carefully setting the bowl of popcorn aside on the end table. He slid one arm around Stiles’ shoulders and the other under his legs, lifting him up off the couch and carrying him out of the room. He carried him upstairs, pushing back the blankets of the bed in one of the spare rooms and laying him down, trying his best not to wake him.

...

The next time he remembers was the night of the meteor shower.

Derek had laid blankets out across the ground in the front yard. They knew the lookout would be busy with watchers waiting for the meteor shower, but the views from the clearing out the front of the Hale house would be just as good.

It was early autumn; the nights still held their summer warmth and the ground was covered in a sheet of lush green grass that cushioned them as the pack lay down together on the blankets. A cool breeze rolled through the trees, making the humid air more bearable. The damp earth left the sweet scent of petrichor hanging in the air and the clouds had drifted away to reveal the starry sky above.

Stiles brought out the pizza they had ordered, sitting on the blanket to have a picnic under the dying light of the vibrant sunset. Once they were finished and their dinner was cleared away, they all laid back on the blankets, looking up at the dark sky as the stars began to sparkle.

In the shuffle of bodies, Stiles ended up lying next to Derek, his head resting on one of the cushions Erica had grabbed off the couch and brought out to them.

The meteor shower wasn’t predicted for another hour, so they filled in the time spotting the constellations that were charted across the night sky.

Derek turned his head to the side, looking at Stiles as he stared up at the sky in wonder. The dark depths of his dark eyes sparkled, reflecting the stars.

The first meteor came with a burst of blue light, streaking across the sky; followed by another, and another.

The shower lasted for hours, the sky lit up with magnificent shades of blue, yellow, pink and white as the phosphorous tails reacted with the atmosphere. Some broke apart in the mesosphere, exploding like fireworks as small fragments rained down to earth.

It was a mesmerising sight, Derek was almost sad when it was over.

The lights faded, letting the world settle into darkness once again.

Derek stared up at the twinkling starts that filled the inky abyss of the night sky. He heard Stiles let out a quiet sigh beside him as he rolled over, curling up against Derek’s side.

He turned his head to look at the young man.

His eyes were shut and his face was relaxed as his cheek rested against Derek’s bicep. A strand of his tousled hair had fallen forward across his forehead.

Derek reached his free arm across to the young man, careful not to wake him as he gently brushed the strand of hair back from Stiles’ face.

He laid there a little while longer, looking up at the stars and stealing glances at Stiles, feeling a strange warmth settle in his chest and a smile lift the corners of his lips.

...

The next time he remembers was after a fight. There had been so many, he didn’t know who they had fought, only that the pack had come home covered in cuts and bruises, but alive.

Stiles’ knuckles were torn and covered in blood, his hand still grasping the grip of his metal baseball bat. The front of his shirt was shredded, exposing the bloody slashes where their opponent had scratched his chest. The rest of his clothes were splattered with blood—not all of it his.

His pale cheek was bruised, turning all shades of black, blue and purple. The skin had been grazed, flecks of blood covering his cheek. His eyes were heavy as the rush of adrenaline subsided and exhaustion took its toll on him.

Derek watched his movements, his eyes full of worry as they tracked Stiles’ steps as the young man paced back and forth across the room.

Derek was sporting a few injuries: a nasty gash across his stomach, claw marks tearing open his arms, and a cut across his cheek.

His shirt was coloured red, stained with blood. His injured weren’t too severe; he could already feel his tissue stitching itself back together.

He and the others would heal quickly enough—but Stiles wouldn’t; he was human.

Derek sat down on the edge of his bed for a second. He felt fatigue drag at him.

“I just need a second then I’m taking you to the hospital,” Derek told him.

He pulled his torn, bloodied shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

“I don’t need a hospital,” Stiles objected.

“Stiles, you can’t heal like we do,” Derek said firmly.

“I know,” Stiles said dismissively, setting his baseball bat down. “But I don’t need a hospital, I just need a couple of Band-Aids and some sleep and I’ll be fine.”

“Stiles—” Derek started.

“Derek, I’m fine,” Stiles said insistently, stepping over to Derek’s side.

“I’m still taking you to the hospital,” Derek told him.

Stiles threw himself over Derek, knocking him back against the bed and laying on top of him to pin him to the mattress.

“You can’t take me anywhere if you can’t move,” Stiles argued weakly, his face buried in Derek’s chest.

“Stiles,” Derek started, struggling to smother his laughter. “Get off me.”

Stiles didn’t reply.

“Stiles?” Derek said, craning his neck to look at the young man’s face.

Exhaustion had got the better of him; his eyes were shut and his breathing slowed as sleep dragged him under.

Derek let out a soft sigh. He wrapped an arm around Stiles’ back and carefully shifted further onto the bed, resting his head back against the pillows. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, holding him close.

Stiles stirred slightly, shifting until he got in a more comfortable spot and nuzzling his face into the curve of Derek’s neck.

He listened to Stiles’ breathing, letting the slow rhythm put him at ease, soothing him until fatigue wore him down. His heavy eyes fluttered shut as sleep pulled him under.

...

“Are you are about this?” Stiles asked, somewhat hesitant.

“Yes,” Derek said softly, pulling back the blankets and sitting down on the edge of the bed. He looked up at Stiles. “Are you?”

Stiles shifted nervously.

“Yes… No... I don’t know,” Stiles replied. “I’ve never slept with anyone before.”

“Stiles, you’ve been sleeping with me since the day we met,” Derek told him.

“But I’ve never intentionally slept with someone,” Stiles admitted. “I… I don’t know what to do?”

Derek’s brows knitted together as he frowned in confusion. “You lie in bed and go to sleep like you would any other night.”

“But like, how do I lie?” Stiles asked. “Do we snuggle? Do we spoon?”

“You’re over thinking it,” Derek said softly. He reached out and tugged at the front of Stiles’ shirt, pulling him close. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and looked up into his dark eyes. “If you’re not ready, then you can sleep here and I’ll sleep in the spare room.”

“No, I want to sleep with you,” Stiles said. “I’m just…”

“Nervous?” Derek ventured.

Stiles nodded.

“Are you afraid you’re going to kick me in your sleep,” Derek said teasingly.

“I wasn’t but now I am,” Stiles panicked, squirming in Derek’s hold.

Derek held him tighter, pulling him close enough that Stiles had to kneel on the edge of the bed, straddling Derek’s lap, in order to stop them toppling over.

“If you kick me, I’ll kick you back,” Derek said as if it were a promise.

Stiles smiled softly letting out a quiet chuckle.

Derek craned his neck, bringing his lips to Stiles’ in a tender, loving kiss.

He felt the tension in Stiles’ body subside, his anxiety washing away as his hands ran up Derek’s biceps, looping around the man’s neck as he laced his fingers through Derek’s raven hair.

Derek weakened his hold around Stiles’ waist, running his hands up Stiles’ side and urging him to arch to his touch.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

His hands trailed back down to Stiles’ hips.

He steadied his grip on Stiles, holding him close as he lay back against the mattress, pulling Stiles down with him.

Stiles broke away from the kiss long enough to let out a breathless chuckle.

“Is this how we’re sleeping tonight?” he said, laughing quietly.

“Uh-huh,” Derek said.

He tilted his chin up, chasing Stiles’ lips. He felt Stiles smile against his lips as he brought them back together again.

Stiles drew back slowly, clambering off Derek and laying next to him. He looked up at Derek lovingly.

Derek rolled onto his side, his pale hazel eyes shimmering in the dim light as he looked at Stiles.

“Okay, I’m not nervous anymore,” Stiles said quietly. “Well, maybe still a little.”

“Do I have to kiss you again?” Derek asked.

Stiles flashed a mischievous smile. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

The corners of Derek’s lips turned up in a smile.

Stiles glanced down.

“Can we…?” His voice trailed off.

“What?” Derek asked softly, coaxing an answer from him.

“Can we cuddle?” Stiles asked.

Derek let out a breathless chuckle.

“Always,” Derek whispered.

He shifted slightly, resting his head against the pillow and holding one arm out, inviting Stiles closer.

Stiles shuffled across the bed and lay down against Derek’s side, his head resting in the crook of the man’s shoulder and one hand laying on Derek’s chest—rising and falling with his steady breaths.

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, holding him close. He brushed the ball of his thumb against Stiles’ arm, tracing lazy circles across his pale skin.

It wasn’t long before Stiles’ eyes drifted shut, his breathing evening out as he slowly drift off to sleep.

Derek watched him for a while, a soft smile working its way onto his face.

He let his head roll forward, resting his cheek atop the tousled mess of Stiles’ chestnut-brown hair. His eyes fluttered shut as he settled into sleep.

He remembered the boy who had sat with him the night his world fell apart. Never did he think that they’d end up here, but he was glad they did.

[imagine-sterek]

Imagine Derek being really starved for affection, but since he's a big scary werewolf he doesn't want to or know how to tell Stiles. So instead he just turns into a wolf and plops on Stiles's lap. Stiles is a bit confused at first, but soon he understands and starts petting Derek. This becomes their little habit and Stiles starts petting Derek even when he's not wolfed out. And Derek loves it.

[imagine-sterek]

*SHAMELESSLY SENDS OWN ART*

(x)

(submitted by @loveyprophet​ - mobile submissions break on desktop, but we can make this work!)

Stiles had made a throne of cushions and pillows, his body sinking into the soft embrace of the pillows. Strings of lights were hung above them, criss-crossing across the ceiling and lighting the room in a warm, golden glow.

He was snuggled under a soft blue-grey velvet blanket, his legs curled up under it. He pulled the soft blanket up around his waist, holding the other side up as he watched Derek move about the kitchen.

A moment later, Derek stepped through the doorway, holding onto two mugs.

“Here you go,” he said, holding one out for Stiles to take.

Stiles smiled up at him thankfully, taking the mug in both hands and sipping at the hot liquid.

Derek set his aside on the coffee table before sitting down, sinking back into the cushions with Stiles and pulling the other half of the blanket up over his lap. His toes poked out from under the blanket, kept warm by his socks.

He wrapped one arm around Stiles’ shoulder, letting him snuggle into Derek’s warmth.

Derek grabbed the remote and pressed play, setting it aside and picking up his mug as the movie started.

They settled into a comfortable silence, Stiles’ head resting against Derek’s shoulder.

It was a little while later that Derek heard Stiles’ breathing slow slightly.

He craned his neck to look at the young man’s face.

His chocolate-brown eyes were shut, his eyelashes fluttering slightly. HIs soft pink lips were parted as he drew in slow, steady breaths.

Derek couldn’t help but smile.

He lifted his mug to his lips and took another sip of his drink.

A second later he heard a quiet splash.

He looked back t see Stiles’ hand go limp, the mug tilting in his grasp and the rest of his drink spilling onto the carpet.

Derek set his own mug aside on the table before carefully reaching for Stiles, lifting it back up and uncoiling it from Stiles’ grasp.

He pushed the wet blanket off Stiles and adjusted his grip on Stiles—sliding an arm under his knees and holding onto his shoulders as he lifted Stiles off the floor. He carried him out of the lounge room and up to their bedroom, shoving aside the covers and laying him down. He pulled the wet socks off Stiles’ feet, grabbing a towel from their en suit and drying Stiles’ feet.

The young man let out a weak groan, pulling away from Derek slightly and rolling onto his stomach.

Derek chuckled breathlessly.

He pulled the blanket over Stiles, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before making his way back downstairs to clean up the mess.

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Silence is Not Golden

Stiles is sick. He’s lost his voice and Derek thinks it’d be a relief to not listen to Stiles ramble on for hours on end, but he’s wrong.

 Commission for @kirjastorotta 

Stiles hated being sick.

He was curled up in bed, wrapped in a cacoon of blankets, and laid still as he drifted in and out of sleep, only to be woken by a fit of coughing or a congested nose that made it impossible to breathe.

His bedside table was covered in bottles of cough syrup, throat lozenges, antihistamines, aspirin, bottles of water, and boxes of tissues. Derek had set a waste bin beside the bed for Stiles to toss his used tissues into.

Stiles phone lay on the mattress by his pillow, the screen lit up with colour and light as a video played. The volume was down low, and the quiet murmur of sound helped lull him to sleep.

He stirred at the sound of his bedroom door opening. He craned his neck and looked over the edge of his blanket, his eyes heavy and lethargic as he tried to blink to clear his vision.

His eyes slowly focused on the man in the doorway.

He was dressed in a blue-grey Henley and a pair of jeans. His pale aventurine eyes were full of empathy—not pity—as he looked at the young man. A kind smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he met Stiles’ gaze.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked quietly.

Stiles let out a pathetic groan, his head falling back against his pillow.

“Can I get you anything?”

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a wheezy rasp. No words.

His eyes flew open wide as he bolted upright, his head spinning.

Derek rushed over to his side, catching him before he fell out of bed.

Stiles blinked heavily, his head spinning. He swallowed against the bile that rose into his throat, waiting for the world to stop moving before looking up at Derek.

The man looked back at him, his composure broken as worry filled his face.

Stiles opened his mouth again and tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head, trying one more time to say something.

Derek raised his eyebrow. “You’ve lost your voice?”

Stiles nodded, his stomach twisting in knots and his chest growing tighter.

“Stiles Stilinski has lost his voice,” Derek said, a hint of humour in his voice. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Stiles pulled away from Derek, feeling hot tears well in his eyes, blurring his vision. He pulled the blanket up over his shoulder and rolled onto his side, turning his back to Derek.

“Hey,” Derek said softly. “I’m just teasing.”

Stiles kept his back to Derek, sniffing as his tears seeped into his pillows.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles didn’t turn to face him. He reached behind himself and grabbed his phone, shutting the app playing the video and opening another one. He began to type something before tossing his phone over his shoulder at Derek.

Derek picked up Stiles’ phone, turning it over.

It was a website.

Stiles had scrolled down to the bottom of a table and highlighted one of the rows.

Late-Stage Dementia (Stage 7)—Severe Cognitive Decline. No ability to speak or communicate.

Derek felt his heart drop, his stomach twisting as a wave of guilt and regret washed over him.

“Stiles,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t… I didn’t realise…”

Stiles’ shoulders were shaking as he sniffed back his sobs.

In that moment, he realised how much he missed Stiles’ voice—missed his endless rambling and the nicknames. The thought of never hearing that voice again made his heart ache.

He set the phone down on the bedside table and climbed over Stiles’ huddled body. He laid down next to him, pulling the young man close against his chest. He felt Stiles’ warm tears soak through his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. “I know nothing I can say will take away the pain or the memories, and it doesn’t change what happened to your mum, but I promise, you’re going to be okay. Your voice will come back and until it does you can use your phone or a notepad and write what you want to say. I’ll make some tea that’ll help too.”

Stiles didn’t make a sound, he just nuzzled his face into Derek’s chest, his hands trembling as he Derek’s shirt into his fist and held it tight.

Derek pull Stiles closer, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of his head. He listened as Stiles’ breathing slowed after a while and he drifted off to sleep in Derek’s arms.

Derek craned his neck, looking down at Stiles’ face.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

Stiles shifted slightly in his sleep, curling up closer against Derek’s side. He made a quiet noise before drifting back asleep.

“I know,” Derek whispered, a small smile playing across Derek’s lips as he rested his head atop the tousled mess of Stiles’ hair.

[AO3]

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

The One Time Derek Should’ve Had His Phone On Silent

The moment the Sheriff finds out Stiles is dating one of his deputies.

 Commission for @missmaladicta

Stiles slowly blinked his eyes open to the golden light of morning that crept into his room through the gap in his curtains. He let out a soft sigh as he let his body melt into the warm arms that were wrapped around him.

Derek nuzzled his face into the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the patch of bare skin exposed by his oversized shirt.

Stiles shifted in Derek’s arms, turning to look up at him.

Derek lifted his hand, gently brushing the backs of his fingers across Stiles’ mole-speckled cheek as he leant forward and pressed his lips to Stiles’ in a tender kiss.

A sweet smile lifted the corners of Stiles’ lips as he stared up at Derek lovingly.

“Stiles?”

Stiles bolted upright at the sound of his dad’s voice ringing through the house. He heard the man’s heavy steps coming upstairs.

“Shit,” he hissed, kicking his feet free of his bedsheets and leaping upright. He sprinted over to his door, pulling it open just enough to look at his dad on the landing while blocking his room with the rest of his body.

Stiles forced a smile, trying to ignore his hammering heartbeat. “Yeah, Dad?”

His dad paused for a moment, his weary brow furrowed as he looked at his son with a mix of confusion and suspicion. His eyes rolled over him, taking in the sight of his dishevelled so dressed in one of his old BHPD tee-shirt and a pair of boxers. His hair was a tousled mess, his cheeks flushed pink, and his dark eyes were wide; alert.

A moment later his shook his head, letting his questions drop as he thought back to why he was there.

“I’ve been called in to work and I won’t be home until later,” he said.

“Everything okay?” Stiles asked.

The Sheriff shook his head, his eyes darkening. He rubbed at the back of his neck the way he did when he was stressed.

“Something’s happened,” he said, not looking at Stiles. “Parrish called us in.”

“Us?”

“He tried calling Hale, but he can’t reach him and neither can I,” his dad explained, looking down at the phone in his hand as he began to tap at the screen again. “I’m going to try and call him again and just brief him on my way there. I just wanted to let you know I won’t be home until later—”

His voice faltered as a familiar ringtone came from inside Stiles’ room.

Stiles’ eyes flew open wide, his heart skipping a beat as his mind began to scramble for excuses.

Sheriff Stilinski crossed his arms over his chest, levelling his gaze with Stiles. When his son didn’t say anything, he raised his brow.

Stiles bit into his lip, opening his mouth to make an excuse only to shut it again. He dropped his gaze, unable to look his father in the eye.

“Derek,” Sheriff Stilinski called out. “Come out here, please.”

Stiles relinquished his hold on the door, letting Derek open it and step out into the hall.

“Sir,” he started slowly. “I can explain—”

Sheriff Stilinski held up his hand, silencing him. He drew in a measured breath and focused his glare on Derek. “I don’t want to know. We can deal with this later, right now you and I have to get to work. I’ll explain the details of the case on the way, let’s go.”

Derek nodded and stepped past Stiles, making his way towards the stairs.

Sheriff Stilinski turned back to Stiles, pointing a warning finger at him as he said, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

“Bye, Dad,” Stiles called after him. “Stay safe.”

Derek paused on the landing, looking from Stiles to the Sheriff.

Stiles offered him a smile and Derek smiled in return, straightening his uniform as he made his way downstairs and followed his boss out to the car.

[AO3]

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Imagine Derek likes to lay across Stiles’ lap when they’re cuddling on the couch or in a pillow fort, and curls up into this warmth as he drifts off to sleep.