@pantstomatch writes these vivid, charming TW fics that mix urban fantasy, a smidge of pining, and electric humor, holy shit are they good. Especially Don’t Be Anything But Okay, in which Stiles’s teenage son has a part time gig at the Hale plant nursery.
This is domestic right? For @scruffysterek hope you like it.
Story time…again. Stiles wins the bread and butter with his FBI job and Derek has gotten a little older, scruffier and a heck of a lot happier. He doesn’t even care about shopping in his PJs. I like them with two boys–not sure why. And how they have them is entirely up to you. Mpreg, or adoption or surrogacy or whatever…but if it’s Mpreg you know who the ‘mother is’ lol.
WAIT I’M NOT DONE! I’M NOT DONE! What’s absolutely destroying me about that picture is the look of delighted disbelief on Hoechlin’s face. Like, holy shit you guys! Are you seeing this? Look at this thing! Look at its little fingers! This can’t be real! What a cosmic joke! CHRIST.
And it makes me want that fic sooooo baaddd. At one point, I was like, vaguely plotting out a story where Derek and Stiles bust up a werewolfbaby selling ring and now I’m like, bored of writing plot or whatever but it’d be worth it just for scenes where like,
Derek is standing there, just holding the kid. Baby. Infant. Whatever. He has no idea how you tell how old a baby is, but the thing is small. ”What?” he says absently, and then registers what Stiles said. ”No, I know, I’m not keeping him. I’ll find—” and then the baby sneezes. His whole body jerks in Derek’s arm, and his fingers curl a little bit, and Derek’s mouth drops open. “What was that?” he says, in a voice he’s never used before. He’s heard other people use it, moms and people with poodles, but it comes out of his mouth without his permission. ”You got something else to add?”
Stiles is staring at him like he’s never seen Derek before, and Derek has no interest in suffering under that gaze, so he turns and grabs a napkin from the table, and wipes away the drool and snot that was collecting. Kiddo shakes his head to avoid Derek, gurgles happily and waves his fists around. His hands are like, the size of Derek’s thumb and Derek’s struck all over again at the improbability of babies, of smallness, of tiny nails and tiny claws and the uncomplicated smellgood of cubs. Someone made this, Derek thinks, and the next thought, of course, is “someone tried to sell this.”
“I’ll bring him to Deaton’s in the morning,” Derek says out loud. "Meet me there at nine, we’ll figure it out.“ He lopes off, tucking Kiddo firmly against his chest, with one hand under a diapered butt and the other holding tight against Kiddo’s soft, delicate head.
excuse you
but Derek discovering that the only thing to calm him down when he’s fussy is singing the wheels on the bus over and over again, and Stiles walking in on it.
(I was listening to the EVA version of Fly me to the Moon while making this )
(insp.) Stiles recommends their daughter give out pancakes to make friends at school. She questions what to do if they don’t like pancakes and Stiles says they don’t deserve her friendship…
Stiles couldn’t chain
up their werepup for a full moon, so he comes up with the ingenious idea to tape
a plush toy to a remote control car and drive it around the lounge room until
the little one tires himself out.
Derek was not prepared for what he saw when he walked
through the front door. His keys jingled as he fitted them into the lock and
unlocked the front door, pushing the door open and dragging his feet inside.
The first thing that struck him was the sound of snarling and yapping – normal sounds
to hear from a werepup on a full moon – but the other sound he heard confused
him: a high-pitched whir of a small engine.
Derek’s brows furrowed in confusion as he dropped his keys
on the hallway table and made his way into the lounge room.
What he saw astounded him. There was a flash of movement as
a remote-controlled car drove around the corner of the couch, circling the armchair
before driving back into the centre of the room.
Their son chased after in. It wasn’t as intimidating or
predatory as it was adorable. Derek watched the two-year-old scramble across
the floor on his hands and knees, his eyes lit up with a golden glow as he
snarled, yapped, growled, and chased after his ‘prey’.
Derek took a step closer, looking at the remote-controlled
car.
He fought a burst of laughter as he noticed his son’s
favourite toy – a plush grey-and-white wolf – duct-taped to the roof of the
car.
Derek bit into his lip to stop himself from laughing,
stepping over to the back of the couch where Stiles sat, legs crossed and the remote
control in his hands.
For @teenwolfdrabbles: September’s maddening, this week’s surprise, and today’s think. Could be a far-off sequel to these.
“Was I an accident?” Laura asks and Stiles nearly spits his water, like years ago seeing her Dad on that screen.
Derek handles it better. He crouches down, scoops her up, chest rumbling with something Stiles calls a purr even though Derek keeps telling him wolves don’t purr. “Why do you ask, Laura?”
“Uncle Scott said—”
“Scott said what?” And Stiles is fuming, even though he knows his dumbass friend just said something Laura misunderstood. It was maddening how often Scott still put his foot in his mouth.
Derek stays focused on Laura, smiling gently. “A surprise isn’t an accident.”
theproblemwithstardust 