(So, I already
know this is gonna make me cry tears of blood but…)
People who know me
also know that I’m basically a fanfiction library walking on two legs, and I
have for a long time promised to do a reclist for people in need of reading.
In honor of fanfiction author day, here have a Sterek one. Please note that not every fic I
love are on this, as I have more than a thousand favorite on my computer (yeah,
problem, I have them), so here have some of them!
Also, I would love if you took the time to leave
reviews, even short, to the fics you will read. I do this reclist because all these people have made
my day and will make yours brighter, for free, and they deserve all the love 😀
I’m counting on you people!
Summary: “Do they really, really, really have mermaids?” Katie
gushes, clutching at her dad’s hair from her place on his shoulders and
tugging with excitement.“Merfolk,” Derek corrects distractedly, reading over the little brochure they gave them at the entrance. Don’t feed the wildlife. Don’t tap on the glass. Don’t throw anything in the water. Don’t engage with the merfolk, only do so when a member of the staff is present as to not incite conflict with our guests.Derek wonders what it’ll be like, seeing merfolk for the first time.
They’re such an interesting culture with so little of its history
discovered.He wonders-
Summary:
Derek doesn’t want to call the window repair guy. He
doesn’t want to sweep up the glass. He’ll inevitably miss a few shards
and pull them out of the bottom of his bare feet for weeks.
He doesn’t want to try to make this place feel like home when it isn’t.
Derek
stayed in Beacon Hills and tried to make it work because he wanted
pack, wanted purpose. He gave his best effort and found himself back
where he started: alone, with a few begrudging allies. He’s tired, and
even though his werewolf body heals quickly, he feels the weary ache
down to his center.
He packs his car with the few things he cares
about enough to drag them from place to place. He locks the loft and
calls a realtor about listing the building he’d bought in a misguided
attempt to secure a future.
Summary: In which Derek has been invited to the Greater Pacific Northwest Alpha Symposium (that’s not what it’s called,
Stiles, stop saying that), and showing up unattached would mean an
arranged marriage. When the rest of the pack objects, he agrees to let
Stiles come along to pose as his mate. Derek is reasonably sure that
he’s not going to make it out of this weekend alive.
Summary: Stiles and Parrish are friends. And then Derek and Parrish are friends, and Derek is buying furniture from IKEA and calling the Sheriff John, and that’s even more confusing.
Summary: Derek quietly loves Christmas and is not afraid to wear the sweaters to
show it. He hosts a children’s TV show about science and history, builds
model trains, and is painfully awkward. Stiles works in a Hallmark-type
store that sells Christmas decorations and model train pieces, and
might have an unhealthy appreciation for sweaters. Of course he was
going to fall for Derek. Of course he was.
Summary: Derek thinks that the mating rituals are overly romanticized bullshit,
but claiming a mate and defending them from challengers is something
werewolves do, and his pack can’t afford to appear weak after the fire.
Especially not when Deucalion and his friends are in town for the
rituals. Enter Stiles Stilinski, who offers to let Derek claim him so he
won’t be overrun at the ceremonies. Nothing goes as expected.
Summary: AU – Werewolves are an enslaved underclass, collared and tagged by human
masters. Detective Stilinski’s on duty the night they bring in an
untagged stray.
Summary: “Have you heard of this Alpha?” Stiles asks, shuffling
up his pallet so Scott has room to sit.
Scott does with a grateful
little twist of his mouth. Stefan forces him into the Stilinski
ceremonial armor when they travel and Stiles can see that it’s heavy and
doesn’t sit well on Scott. He can’t shift encased in metal and Stefan
knows it.
“I know of him, mostly stories that seem a little
fantastical. Shifters exaggerate just like common people. They like
their war stories.”“Tell me of him. Tell me a war story.”
Summary: “What? It’s totally an improvement. He’s not
scowling, or dating bad guys, or slinking around in unsanitary places.
Still a bit paranoid, but what can you do. At least he’s a lot easier
to get along with when you can buy his affections with ear rubs.”
“And you always wanted a dog,” Sheriff added wryly.
Summary: The rules. Stiles knows them well. Has them drilled
into his head, repeats them to alphas and betas that conveniently are
too drunk to remember them on their own, hears Peter shout them out
whenever a rule gets broken, reminding the entire bar that they exist
and are (generally) enforced.
Number one – no eye contact. Number two – no fucking eye contact. Number three – keep away from the red line. Number four – no touching. Number five – if we don’t like it, don’t do it.
Summary: “I really -” Stiles rips his hand free of Derek’s and
clears his throat, taking stock of all the other things that were in his
basket, how strewn all over the floor of the grocery store they are.
“…I’m a normal, functioning human being, I swear I am.”
“Right,”
Derek says, and his mouth starts quirking up even more. Like he’s
amused, and like he absolutely positively does not believe for a second
that Stiles is normal.
or the one where Stiles is a literal human disaster that ruins everything, and Derek finds it incredibly attractive
I collected some fics where a misunderstanding causes problems. That was the closest thing I could find…
How Soon Is Now?
Summary:Short one-shot of Stiles overreacting in the most dramatic way possible to a misunderstanding between him and Derek. I mean who hasn’t avoided coming home from college for 10 months because someone they had a crush on rejected them?
Summary:The hair, the buttons and the general happy and slightly tired disposition with which Derek came back from his secret exploits were as obvious as a glaring neon sign flashing the words JUST GOT LAID.
A sign that Stiles ignored because he had a seven year plan god damn it.
(OR: in which Stiles assumes things, gets accosted by the sister he never/always wanted, discovers he was horribly wrong, almost dies via Derek Hale with kids, can’t handle all that collarbone action, uses tickling as the ultimate mode of revenge, and gets a boyfriend. In that order.)
Summary:“You don’t even know the course name?” Derek growls after the guy blushes and stutters out an answer, because, Jesus, he thought the university had standards.
And it sounds like the course the guy is describing is his. Isn’t it just his lucky day?
No breakfast and another student who doesn’t give a shit about the course material.
This class is going to be hell – he’s calling it now.
Summary:Stiles has always felt pretty lucky about his soul mark. After all, how many conversations tend to start with “This is private property”?
(Apparently more than you’d think.)
he is a young man, with a young, pregnant wife. they are
poor, and can’t afford much, so he sneaks into the witch’s garden at night to
steal away the rapunzel lettuce his wife so desperately craves.
when the witch gothel catches, him she demands the child
that her garden is feeding as payment.
he agrees, because there’s nothing else he can do.
he and his wife can have more children, but not if they’re
dead. they can have more children later, when they have the means to provide
for them, when they’re older and more sure of themselves, when the prospect of
being responsible for another mouth to feed isn’t quite so terrifying.
his wife is still slick with blood when he wraps their
daughter in an old pillowcase and brings her to the stone wall separating their
land from the witch’s. “are you going to hurt her?” he asks, clutching his
crying daughter to his chest.
gothel raises an eyebrow and says, “what a foolish
question.” she pulls away from him and is gone in the next instant.
his arms feel empty, but lighter too. he’ll never say this
aloud, but it’s almost a relief to give the child away.
they couldn’t even afford to feed themselves, never mind anyone
else.
he wants to be a father. he doesn’t want to be the father of
a hungry child.
~
this is not the first time gothel has bargained a child away
from its parents. and so she tucks the squalling little girl in bend of her
elbow, and goes where she always goes.
“caroline!” she calls out, “oh mother caroline!”
she stands in front of large house, one that has the general
appearance of being many houses stacked up on top of each other, all different
colors and sizes and styles. also, from the side, it does not look unlike a
rather large shoe.
the door bangs open, and a small wave of children run for
her, small sticky hands grasping at her dress and cloak, and gap toothed grins
everywhere she turns. “have you brought us another brother?” a girl asks,
wrinkling her nose. “i have too many brothers.”
the boys turn to her, glaring, but the girl is unrepentant. she’s
the only girl in among the younger kids, and is quite cross about it.
then the older kids surround gothel, the ones that had had
the patience not to go chasing after her at a sprint. the teenagers like to
pretend like they don’t care, but she has many eager and impatient eyes on her,
lots of twitching fingers eager to take the baby away from her. that’s fine by
gothel – she’s eager to be rid of the blasted thing.
“that’s enough!” a powerful, creaky voice shouts. “that’s
quite enough of that! make room, make room, let me through!”
the crowd of children part for mother caroline. like gothel,
caroline has dark skin and black hair, a strong, wide nose and plump lips. but
while gothel appears to be a woman in the prime of her youth, caroline is an
old woman. her back is straight and strong, and there is strength in the width
of her waist. but her dark hair is streaked with silver, and her skin has
started to bend to the will of time and gravity, causing delicate wrinkles to
frame her face. “little sister,” gothel greets, “you’ve gotten older.”
caroline shoots her an irritated glance, “while you haven’t
changed at all.”
“you could have became a witch like me,” gothel says, not
for the first time, “you were always quite good with physical magic. then
neither of us would age at all!”
“change is inevitable,” caroline says with the type of
finality that makes gothel’s skin crawl. “let me see the child.”
the children crowd impossibly closer as gothel hands the
baby over, red faced and new. caroline cradles the babe against her chest, then
stills, her lips pulling down at the corners. “what’s wrong?” gothel demands,
peering down at the baby anxiously.
she looks like any other baby gothel has seen. her face is
squished oddly and her eyes are a watery blue. she has ten fingers and ten toes
– gothel checked! – and she was crying when her father handed her over, but
she’s quiet now.
You must be careful what you wish for… For there are consequences.
“Derek, I wish to be with Derek. To gaze into those eyes, eyes the devil would be proud to have…”
The words echoed in Stiles’ mind as sleep began to drift over him, the rose of remembrance clutched firmly in his hand as he fought it. He felt the witcher take her leave from his world, the hollowing darkness shifting to press down on him again, the nightmares slowly beginning to wake once more.
But sleep didn’t come. The ache in his chest started slow, like it had the day his rose had crumbled, before turning sharp as it began to spread from his heart into his brain, into his stomach and travelling down his limbs like blades. Th onslaught of the panic was debilitating, gasping for air that wouldn’t come, air that didn’t exist—into lungs that didn’t exist. As the world around him began to warp, Stiles fell to his knees, clutching at the one thing he thought would keep him in his world, as the bright light surrounded him and wrapped around him tightly. He wasn’t supposed to die. The witcher hadn’t taken the rose. He wasn’t supposed to move on. He wasn’t ready, he wasn’t… He hadn’t seen Derek.
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, No one else mentioned to be explicitly dating, but to be fair, there are not even 2000 words in this fic
Rating: 10 out of 10 will absolutely read again
Pros: Short, sweet, to the point, adorable, well written, fluffy, sweet, and oddly completely satisfying
Cons: It ended tbh that’s it
Aesthetic: Domestic partners handing you a coffee made just how you like it as you kiss their cheek and rush out the door, dropping the kids off at school, seeing That Thing that your niece wanted for her birthday and rushing to quickly buy it before anyone else can, Making dinner healthy, and yummy at the same time, midnight kisses goodnight in bed wrapped around a lover, reasons to fall in love #291, soft kisses and hugs
Title: When The Chips Are Down (Try A Different Flavor) Rating: T Word Count: 5,605 Theme: Roadtrip Summary: Derek came home to find his house being steadily swallowed by plants, and because his bad luck couldn’t be satisfied until it got monumentally worse, the only way to get rid of them involved going on an eight-hour drive with a local witch for some spell ingredients
Some say we strayed from the path of virtue, and the gods sent the beast to teach us a lesson.
The guard’s body tumbled down the stairs, lifeless, as Derek panted for breath against the door. The stench of blood lingering in the air was dizzying, but he paid it little attention. Blood never affected him the way it had with Boyd for a time, never something so addicting that it was worth losing himself to it. His claws retracted as he took a moment to collect himself, his features shrinking back to human, but Derek kept his eyes shut for just a few seconds more as he pushed the door open.
And there he stood. After years, they were no longer apart. “Stiles!” Derek rushed forward, taking his face in his hands, scanning him intently for injuries — yet all he could find was the evidence of the years that passed and the reminder of how quickly humans aged. “Are… Are you hurt? If any of them…”
“You know me. I’d never let them hurt me,” Stiles smiled weakly, his voice wavering in disbelief. His accent was music to Derek’s ears as his arms curled around Derek’s waist, clutching onto him. “I just waited for you to come.”
“I… I didn’t know where to look,” Derek pulled Stiles into his arms without a second of hesitation, holding him as tightly as he could without hurting him, “They threatened to kill you… I…” The words caught in his throat and Derek pulled back to look at him, before his own shame took over and he could no longer meet his eye. “Forgive me. I failed you.”
“No, no you—” Stiles cut himself off as the Boyd and that witcher, Allison, ran into the room, a frown forming on his brow as he warily took them in.
“Hi there,” Derek said to the ocicat sitting in the middle of his new living room. “Where did you come from?” The cat’s tail just flicked back and forth, yellow eyes appeared to be judging him but Derek wasn’t sure how. It was odd at least, most small animals didn’t like werewolves. “You lost?” More tail flicking. “Shoo?”
“Derek,” Cora called from the guest room, “Who are you talking to?”
“There’s this weird cat,” Derek said, turning, “Did you leave my door open?”
Cora walked out and looked where he was pointing. “What cat?”
When Derek looked back at the room the cat was gone, “I swear it was there, a grey, spotted cat. Just sitting there, staring at me.”
“Seeing cats…you need some water big brother?” Cora teased.
“I need to get my books out of the moving van,” Derek replied, “Move your butt.”
“The heavy stuff… Such a jerk,” Cora moaned.
“I’m paying you in pizza,” Derek countered, “And you eat a ton of it! I swear there was a cat.” He closed the door and didn’t see the cat sitting on the lower shelf of his TV table, tail flicking in annoyance.
The room is cold. A bitter wind blows through the smashed window, shards of glass littering the harsh blue floor. The desk is upturned on the floor, half-burnt papers strewn everywhere. The red stains are stark in their contrast against the dull, muted colours of the furniture. There’s gunshot damage along the wooden balcony railings, some of the spindles splintered away, and Bond feels his stomach drop.
~
There’s no time to grab anything to defend himself with, because the first hinge on the door snaps open with a bang, and the second follows on the next hit. The door rips backwards, thrown to the floor by the same man Q had been in the ski lift with, who smiles menacingly and draws a knife from his jacket. The Quartermaster wonders how long it will take for James to realise he’s missing. Before the henchman even gets in his first hit, Q knows it’ll be too late.
00Q SPECTRE semi-rewrite, inspired by the draft script ♥ Read on AO3
“Mmmmh pretty.“ Stiles purrs in a way that makes a wild fire torch the planes of his skin. He knows Stiles is drunk and that the boy would probably stroke a pineapple and compliment its attractiveness, but Derek can’t help the way his heart starts to be a huge backstabbing dick, thundering uncontrollably against his chest. It’s painful, because Derek knows it isn’t real.
A story about goody-two-shoes Derek crushing on a Polish Prince Charming with a drinking habit – also the universe keeps on shoving astral poop into his face. It’s utterly spectacular.
When an eligible omega glanced your way, you were supposed to glance back. Derek could hear an echo of his mother’s voice in his head, gently reminding him there were alphas who would kill to find themselves the focus of an omega’s interest.
Derek didn’t have the dominating personality or drive necessary to be classified as alpha, and there was no bright spark of appeal about him to say he was omega. He was tall and in good shape. He had a pretty face, dark hair and light eyes, good bone structure. But he had no need to get in fights or conquer the world. He didn’t even like arguing with his family. He was solidly beta, and wouldn’t have minded, never had minded, except for when Stiles was near.
theproblemwithstardust 