“There are no absolutes, Scott! No hard rights or hard wrongs! The world doesn’t fucking work that way and we can’t afford to think like that, because people are going to die! We signed up for that the moment we got involved with all this!”
“We? We?” Scott hisses. “Don’t you think you? Don’t forget that you’re the one who dragged us into that forest the night it all started, Stiles. So if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.”
Something inside Stiles cracks, so strong and so deep that he practically hears it.
Bookmarked by xscaevola
15 Jan 2019
Wherein an ill-advised floral arrangement leads to a whole new definition of obliviousness, accidental mate-bonds, and far more sex and tropes than one fic really needs.
Five times Derek and Stiles didn’t notice how close they were (literally) and then a whole bunch of times when they did...
"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off—
And suddenly it was done.
Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt."
Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.
Stiles is 26, single, and unencumbered with any responsibilities. Until his past starts catching up to him, anyways.
Derek is standing at Jason’s reception desk, looking the same as he does in Stiles’ dreams except that he’s breathtakingly real, from the two-day stubble to the jewel-bright eyes to the little cow-licks in his hair he always tries to gel into submission. Stiles sees the exact moment he realizes that he can’t get a scent, because his eyebrows flick up in surprise and hurt. In the supernatural community, scent blocking is rude to the point of hostility. It means you’re hiding something.
Stiles has no idea what his own face is doing, but after the slip, Derek schools his into something so tightly composed it seems like an admission in itself. It hardly feels like years can have passed since they saw each other last, except that propped on Derek’s hip, chubby hand curled at her mouth...
Emily. She’s grown into that distinctive Hale coloring; pale skin and dark hair. She has Derek’s hazel green eyes, too. Two tidy pigtails curl above each of her ears, held with red bubble ties.
“Oh,” Stiles says faintly. He’d braced himself for Derek, but only him. “Her hair’s longer.”
Bookmarked by xscaevola
11 Jan 2019