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All the Dumb Things – Sterek fic
based on this beautiful headcanon by betp
contains emotions and love making
fluffy buttsex if you will
After Stiles hits send on the text, he lays the phone down on the table by the front door, toes carefully out of his sneakers and peels his socks off as he pads quietly over to the couch where Derek is sitting. “See, no shoes to drop,” Stiles laughs softly, sitting down on the seat beside Derek. He wiggles his bare toes and Derek stares at them, looks up at Stiles with a caged, frightened expression on his face that clenches at Stiles’ heart.
“Okay,” Stiles sighs, breath catching in his throat, he’s so not good at this. Scott is good at this. Scott is good at Hallmark levels of sap and Stiles just has words that always sound sarcastic even when he means them, and gestures that feel too big even when he tries so hard.
“Okay,” Stiles says again and he shifts himself towards Derek and snakes a hand out, grabs Derek’s in both of his, rubs his thumb across the back of it.
“I love the look on your face when you first wake up in the morning,” Stiles says, voice coming out scratchy and it cracks at the end but he doesn’t stop even as he feels the light flush building on his cheeks. “It’s this…sort of dopey expression, especially when your hair’s all mussed up one side and there are lines from the pillow indented in your face,” Stiles smirks, “like you have no idea where you are or how you got there. This split second of total bleary confusion.”
Sterek staring at each other too long/intensely/unnecessarily throughout the series. [Part 2]
i blame this post for this
(they’re not watching the rain but okay xD)Concept: Stiles and Derek sitting on the porch of the rebuilt
Hale house wrapped in a blanket, watching the rain, drinking hot cider,
and completely and utterly happy.
“It says right here,” Stiles says, pointing, “Three days past the waxing moon and under a clear sky–okay, are you even paying attention right now?”
“Yes,” Derek says, but a second too late. Then, “Sorry.”
“Do you think I do this for my health?” Stiles says, swinging around.
“No,” Derek says. “I know you do it for, um. To keep–to help.”
“Right,” Stiles says. “So maybe you could just try to–”
“You have a little–” Derek mumbles, nonsensically. He gestures at his cheek. Stiles shakes his head. “There’s–” Derek says, and then reaches out and smudges a thumb over the edge of Stiles’ cheekbone. “Dirt,” he says.
“Okay,” Stiles says. “I came right from practice. Are you okay? Do you need me to wash my face?”
“No,” Derek says, hunching his shoulders.
theproblemwithstardust 