“Are you…” Stiles rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting around the living room to avoid his father’s gaze. “Are you disappointed?”
“Stiles, please look at me,” the Sheriff quietly pleads. But it’s not that easy. Stiles is scared. Even though he asked the question, needs the answer, hearing it is one thing. Seeing it written all over his father’s face, the image seared forever onto his brain, is quite another. “If I’m disappointed in anyone, it’s me.”
Stiles’ brow furrows, brown eyes burning a hole in the cushion of the ugly old plaid recliner his father refuses to get rid of, because his mother brought it home on a whim two years before she passed away. “I don’t understand.”
John sighs. “I don’t expect you to, at least, not right now. It’s part of being a parent, I think. You want things for your kids, picture them in your mind, clearer and sharper than anything you’ve ever imagined before. When you were an infant, Claudia and I used to lie in bed and daydream about what your voice would sound like, your laugh. As you got older, the dreams got bigger: what you’d be when you grew up, where you’d live, your wedding. It was so vivid, that future for you I fabricated in my mind, Stiles, but it was mine, not yours.”
From the corner of his eye Stiles can see his father’s shoulders square up, stubborn and determined. “Maybe it doesn’t turn out exactly as I’d envisioned, but that’s on me, not you. Now, will you please look at me?”
Stiles drags his eyes to his father’s face, takes in the deepening grooves around his eyes and mouth. His father is smiling.
“I know it’s… complicated.” Stiles winces. “You and mom probably didn’t account for a child who’d like both men and women. I’m sorry.”
“Never apologize.” The passion in John’s voice booms, reverberating like a gong inside Stiles chest, shaking loose the ragged breath he’s been holding. “No matter what those pictures we painted looked like, they all had one thing in common, the only thing that counts. You were happy.”
Stiles’ eyes get wet at the words and his heart fills with so many emotions it’s impossible to pinpoint just one.
“Are you in love with someone, Stiles?”
“Yeah, Dad, I am.”
His father nods. “And does this person make you happy?”
It may not have always been true, but it is now. Happy and crazy and whole. “Yes. More than anything.”
“Then for me, it’s really not that complicated. I will never be disappointed in your happiness, son. It’s something to celebrate. Now, does this guy have a name?”
“He does.” Stiles wipes the wetness from his cheeks and grins. “Derek Hale.”
Out of nowhere I draw Sterek. This here is an illustration (of sorts) for my fanfic The Taming of the Wolf, and yes, it’s all VERY symbolic. I might have gone overboard with the stained glass window, but at least I had fun! Enjoy!
Okay, the @teenwolfdrabbles word today is “retire” so here’s that along with this week’s word “memory.”
“You’re too young.”
“And maybe that means something now,” Stiles admits. “But maybe it doesn’t. What will it matter when we’re old and we have a couple of kids and start thinking about retirement that I was seventeen when we got together? We’ve both been too close to death already. Too many times. Do you want to look back at this and think we could’ve had more time? Do you really want to waste another second?”
Derek’s heart aches, the idea already hitting him like a blow, making him sick with worry. “No.”
Title: The Pet Of The Year Characters: Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale (including wolf!derek) A/U: Inspired by the fanart you can see above, so I had to write this down. I hope you’ll like it ♥
“H-hold on!” Stiles called out and stared up at the big Alpha in front of him that didn’t show any signs of waiting.
That idiot, why couldn’t he have stayed away?! Derek thought feeling the fury grow inside of him – nobody touched his pack. Nobody hurt his pack. Pack. Danger. As the fury grew through his body the fur grew on his body. And when the fury reached his lungs a large roar was punched out of them. Without thinking he let the change take over his body as he ran towards them, first on two legs but in the end when he jumped in front of Stiles he was on all four.
Derek growled deeply in his throat a warning that if the Alpha took one more step, he would find himself bleeding out on the floor. And when the Alpha sneered and took one more step Derek jumped on him.
When the Alpha was lying on the ground bleeding Derek heard Stiles’ voice behind him.
“W-what… How?”
Derek tensed up. He hadn’t been thinking, he was such an idiot! He had been hiding his wolf shape for so long, and just because his pack, Stiles, had been threatened he lost it. Derek glanced over with a squirming stomach and saw Stiles still sitting in the same stance as when the Alpha had been on his way to kill him.
It chafes at Stiles’ patience, crouching down in the small dark space unable to fidget, but there’s no better spot in a house full of werewolves. The linen closet is just outside the second floor bathroom, upwind from the central air vent, and he hasn’t been found for sixteen straight games. There is only one other person who knows about this spot, and she’d never tell.
The door flings open and Stiles tumbles into the hallway in an ungraceful heap. Their daughter looks up at Derek with a mischievous grin. “Told you he’d be here.” Rude.
theproblemwithstardust 