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Honey and Spaghetti

theproblemwithstardust Leave a comment

pale-silver-comb:

It’s @iddayidnight‘s birthday today and so I thought I would write her a little something. Happy Birthday, sweetheart! I hope you like first kisses and pining because that’s what you are about to get!

“What did you just
say?” Derek tries to keep his breathing steady, looking at the plate of food he’s
dropped on the floor. The plate of spaghetti.
His mom is going to kill him.

Stiles doesn’t even
hesitate as he asks again, bounding towards Derek to help him pick the pasta up,
scooping it back onto the plate carelessly, before shrugging and eating a few
strands. Derek grimaces.

Stiles’ motto in
life is dirty food deserves a home too. Well,
Derek’s never actually heard him say that, but he’s seen Stiles eat food off the cafeteria floor, okay? He’s pretty sure his gravestone will read ‘Stiles
Stilinski: loving son and friend, died of unnecessary food poisoning due to his
unsanitary habits’. Okay, so it probably won’t say that, but even so, the point
still-

“I want you to kiss me.”

-stands.

Keep reading

syllirium:

sourirwolf:

syllirium:

The next time Derek comes back to Beacon Hills it’s because Cora is missing. He can’t process where he’s heading until he finds himself on the Stilinski’s poarch, his hand lifted ready to knock at the door…

Brushes used for the b/g 

“Derek?” He hears. It’s faint. Shaky.

Scared.

He swallows, opens his mouth to say anything. I’m sorry. I missed you.

Where is she.

He chokes and his knees, pathetic, crumbling, drop to the floor.

A hand on his shoulder. Tentative.

Tingling.

“Derek.”

He looks up, for a spilt second.

A sob ripples through his body and is dragged from his lips.

“I can’t- I-” His vision blurs. Hands shake. He’s scared. He’s so fucking scared.

He doesn’t think, can’t. His clutches on to the fabric of Stiles’ waist and lets his head fall on his shoulder. Like he has any right.

He needs it. Needs him.

Fumbling fingers run through his hair and he almost cries out with relief, with desperation.

“It’s okay,” Stiles whispers.

It’s not. Stiles knows that. 

He shudders and he can’t breathe. 

Every exhale is a sob. Every inhale a whimper.

“I can’t find another body.” His voice, hoarse, trembling.

Broken.

Stiles grips him tight and runs his hands up and down his back.

He doesn’t deserve this.

Doesn’t deserve Stiles.

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t.”

It’s all he can do to obey him. To stay in his arms. Shaking, tearing apart. Vulnerable.

“We will find her.” Stiles whispers with firm tug on his hair.

Derek just slumps.

#IM REALLY SORRY #YOU GAVE ME SO MUCH FEELS #AND I RUINED YOUR ART

What? Your p-.. fingers must have slipped on the keyboard. You wanted to write “I made your art more heart-wrecking aka improved it”, didn’t you? B/c you totally did *-*;

theproblemwithstardust Leave a comment