"God, he’s just trying so hard to escape. He wants to save you, but I’m afraid it’s a bit too late."
AU: Derek is possessed by a demon, and it uses his biggest fear against him. The person he loves more than anyone, dying just like his family did.
Extended HD Promo for 3x23
YEAH but probably he’s a total weirdo about it. He probably makes it from scratch on the stove, and feels VERY STRONGLY that there needs to be a good healthy skin on the top, and that it needs to SIT for the full time. Where as Stiles definitely eats the cups that come in a six pack and sublimely does not give a shit. PROBABLY STILES LICKS THE TOP WRAPPER JS.
"Hey! I was eating that!" Stiles says as Derek snatches the pudding cup away from him.
“That,” Derek says as he tosses the offensive plastic cup into the trash can, where the white gelatin flops sadly in its container, “is a crime against all that is good in the world.”
Stiles licks a trace of pudding from the foil lid he’s still holding and Derek tries not to follow the movement of Stiles’ tongue. Stiles smacks his lips obnoxiously and makes an exaggerated pout. “My pudding,” he says sadly.
"That was not pudding. This is pudding.” Derek pushes a bowl of his mother’s classic vanilla recipe in front of Stiles, the bowl still slightly cold from where each individual serving has been chilling since last night when he slaved over his stovetop, grinding fresh vanilla bean pods and then gently stirring them into the pot.
Stiles eyes it warily. “Look, I’m a simple man with simple needs, and I love cheap-ass grocery store brand pudding, and nothing’s gonna cha—”
Derek rolls his eyes and stuffs a spoonful of pudding into Stiles’ open mouth. It takes a second, and then Derek can see Stiles eyes widen, and he groans in pleasure, mouth tightening around the spoon, his cheek’s hollowing out.
"Holy fuck," Stiles says, grabbing the bowl and starts eating with ferocious intensity, and if Derek thought Stiles licking lids was pornographic before, this is downright obscene. There’s a trail of white pudding dripping from Stiles’ lips, and Stiles darts his tongue out to chase it— and fuck, Derek can only take so much.
He grabs Stiles by the waist and picks him up bodily, throwing him over his shoulder and starts walking towards the bedroom.
"But, pudding!" Stiles complains, wiggling slightly, but he still smacks Derek’s ass from where he’s hanging from Derek’s shoulder.
Teen Wolf AU: Derek and Stiles are in High School together, and they’re in love. At first, Stiles was okay with Derek wanting to keep their relationship a secret - he didn’t want to become the subject of the town gossip, what with Derek being the star player of the basketball team and Stiles being the awkward nerd - but the longer they date, the harder it becomes to settle for table scraps.
giveaway prompt fill for laheylovesscarves
#professor hottie (via drunktuesdaze)
UHM i’m going to be needing a comprehensive list of all the sections he teaches in.
I’m gonna say FILM 346: The
Role of Impressionism in Post-war German Cinema
#professor hale goes on mini tangents when he gets excited#then gets embarrassed and apologetic#he knows they have a syllabus to get to#but anyone who wants to stop by office hours can talk further#stiles took this as a blow off class#but professor hottie is the only one gettin blown#HEYO
HEYO but what if stiles took it as a blow off class and then gets super into it and not just because he wants to lick professor hale’s beard, but because he’s genuinely interested in the material. at first he goes to hale’s office hours to pretend he’s struggling with finding sources for his paper, but professor hale is so earnest and helpful and he gives stiles all these books to look into, and it’s not like stiles can just not read them, no, he has to read them because he can picture the quickly-shuttered look of disappointment on professor hale’s face if stiles tells him he didn’t read the books, so he reads the goddamn books and it’s actually. kind of interesting? and pretty soon he’s getting all stiles-y about it, trying to absorb as much information as he possibly can, which means he’s in professor hale’s office nearly ever day for actual legitimate reasons - okay, yeah, he’s got a boner the whole time, especially when professor hale says things like ontological or auteurism or contemporaneous, but that seems to actually work to stiles’s advantage because in an attempt to cover his embarrassed arousal, he acts like a smart ass, calling hale out on everything, and in order to maintain his ability to be smart ass, he has to keep up in class - not just keep up, but get ahead of the class - which means even more time in the library and hale’s office, sometimes using hale’s office as a library because his books are way more relevant to what stiles wants to know, and hale doesn’t seem to mind when stiles just shows up out of the blue to sit on his couch and read in silence. stiles never takes the books out of the office, even though derek offers, until one day stiles realizes that maybe that’s derek’s super non-confrontational way of asking stiles to leave him alone. he feels like an idiot for not taking the hint sooner.
MEANWHILE derek can’t figure out why stiles stops coming around all the time, so he assumes it was just because stiles finally picked up on the creepy lecherous vibe that derek was putting out. it’s not like derek meant to get a crush on a student, that’s never happened before, but stiles is so engaged with the material and smart and clever and insightful and sarcastic and so breath-takingly beautiful and yeah whatever maybe part of the reason derek kept telling stiles to take some books home with him was because he liked the idea of something of his being so close to stiles in such an intimate way, and jesus christ he’s a fucking creep, no wonder stiles doesn’t want to hang out in his office anymore.
Professor Hottie goes out to a bar, somewhere he’s pretty sure there’ll be people over twenty-one, people he won’t feel bad being surrounded by, but he’s not really cut out for bar crawling, staring forlornly into his clear drink when he spots Stiles. He’s just there, hanging back on the edge of a group, sipping slowly at something dark amber, sweating glass held in the tips of his long fingers, lips trying for a smile and not quite managing.Derek pays his tab before Stiles sees him, leaves the rest of the gin he wasn’t really drinking anyway, puts his hands in his pockets and heads for the door. He’s fucked up again, of course someone as clever, as bright as Stiles has a fake ID, wouldn’t want to hang around in college bars where he might run into gross professors-"Hey," Stiles is saying, just a quick tap on the shoulder stopping Derek in his tracks, "I’m- you don’t have to leave, I shouldn’t be here, I’m sorry I made you-""I’m not stalking you," Derek blurts, "I promise I’m not, I won’t bother you again, you- I’ll give you an A, if you don’t want to come to class.""I- what?"Derek is already walking, can’t bear the cliche of chancing a look back at Stiles’ face. He’s nothing if not genre savvy.-Derek wonders how many times he can cancel office hours before anyone notices. He’s not under the illusion that many of his other students would mourn the absence of opportunity to come talk to him in his tiny, cramped little space, but in the end he can’t do it, even if there’s the possibility of a single student in need.He cracks the door open as usual, and stares at his computer screen, watching the same reel of Torgus over again for the third time. His coffee cools in his hand, and he’s hit with the strangely dissonant hope that maybe-Derek turns back to the flickering black and white images, looking for faults in the digital transfer, disgusted with himself.He’s halfway through an email to the department about their preservation quality when there’s a sharp little knock on the door. “It’s- it’s open,” he croaks, somehow knowing exactly who it is.Stiles steps forward like someone’s holding a gun to his head, dropping a stack of books onto Derek’s desk, kicking up a puff of dust and a whiff of something else, must and weed and the strange, sharp scent of Stiles himself that had started to gently suffuse Derek’s office. “Guess I won’t need these. If you don’t want me to- if you’re just going to give me an A.”"I don’t want you to think I- I’m sorry-""No, I’m sorry, forget it." Stiles runs a hand through his hair, shadows beneath his eyes bruise-dark. "I get it. You don’t have to say it, right? You’re always talking about subtext.”"Wait-" Derek says, confused, but Stiles is already going, shoulders hunched up around his ears, braced for a blow.
IT GOT BETTER but also somehow worse? oh god pining why does it hurt so good.
stiles doesn’t stop coming to class, he just stops sitting in the front row and participating in discussions - and derek doesn’t know what to say to him, doesn’t know how to fix this, isn’t even sure if he should try to fix this. he can’t sleep, he can’t write, he can barely drag himself to the gym, he completely misses the ingmar bergman retrospective - he was going to tell stiles about it before everything fell apart, and in his weaker moments he’d even had fantasies of attending together, of watching stiles’s face during the last scene of wild strawberries, of going out for coffee afterwards and listening to stiles talk. derek loves the way stiles talks, gesticulating wildly and raking his fingers through hair - except now stiles doesn’t talk at all, just sits in the back of the lecture hall with his head bent over his notebook, studiously taking notes and avoiding derek’s eyes.
On the day of the final exam, Stiles stumbles into the room ten minutes late. He looks terrible, pale and worn, dark shadows standing out like bruises under his eyes. Derek holds a test booklet out at arms’ length, keeps his eyes fixed on the back row as Stiles’ mumbled apology trails off into silence.
He walks back and forth in the front of the hall, up and down the two aisles, stands at the back left for a while and watches over their shoulders as his students scribble away. He doesn’t go to the back right; that would mean standing too close behind Stiles- Stiles, who’s hunched over his test, left arm curled around the paper as if he’s afraid someone might see, alternating between writing furiously and chewing on the end of his pencil-
He pulls his eyes away, goes back to scanning the room, trying not to let his gaze settle on Stiles. It gets harder when the students begin to turn in their exams and gather their things, trickling out of the hall one by one; he keeps expecting Stiles to get up, but he just sits and frowns at his test booklet as the room empties around him.
Twenty minutes before the end of the exam period, Stiles starts writing again. He doesn’t look up when Krista Barrett sighs and flips her booklet shut, or when Derek gives the ten minute warning, or when Mike Hollister and Brian Graves turn in their tests and push through the doors, leaving the two of them alone in the hall. The scratch of his pencil sounds impossibly loud. Derek straightens the messy pile of exams, stares at his hands, fumbles with his briefcase.
At the two minute mark, Stiles closes his booklet and walks slowly to the front of the room. Derek pretends to be preoccupied with the exams until Stiles stops in front of him, awkwardly clearing his throat. He lays his paper on the pile. “I’m, um,” he says, “I’m sorry. For, you know. I really…” he bites his lip, looks away. “It was a good class,” he says hurriedly. “So, y’know. Thanks. For that. Sorry.”
By the time Derek’s parsed the words, opening his mouth to respond, Stiles is halfway across the room.
The door swings shut behind him.
Derek has to rush through lunch to get to Gilbert Hall in time for the two back-to-back Brit. Lit. exams he agreed to proctor for his friend Jen, who’s gone to Wisconsin for a wedding. By the time he gets back to his office at four thirty, he’s stopped pretending, just sinks down on the sofa, right where Stiles used to sit, and reads through his exam.
In the first section (“define the following terms”) Stiles has illustrated each of his definitions with an example from one of the films covered in class. In the second section (“choose eight of the following twelve questions”) Stiles has circled 1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 12, but answered all of them. In the last section (“write a short essay on one of the following topics, using details from at least two films”) Stiles has sketched an outline for each of the four topics, then filled three pages with a wonderfully detailed analysis of grief and longing in Margarethe von Trotta’s sister films.
On the last page of the test booklet, he’s written a note to Derek.
(it says, after a mess of crosshatching scribbled over the original salutation)
I know you said you’d give me an A, but I wanted to earn it. I wasn’t just pretending to be interested in the material all those times in your office- I really did like learning about this stuff. You’re a good teacher. I don’t want you to think I asked all those questions just to watch you talk- ok, maybe at the very beginning, and I’m sorry. If I’d known I was making you uncomfortable I would have left you alone sooner.
(there are three lines scratched out and scribbled over, then, completely illegible)
This is really awkward, and cowardly, and I’m sorry. I just want you to know- I know it’s selfish, okay, and it’s not fair of me, when I already overstepped, but I don’t want you to think I’m totally shallow.
I admire youI admire you as a scholar and a person and I think you have a gift for inspiring passionthis is so fucking corny, I’m sorry, everything I say sounds like something someone with a stupid inappropriate crush would say anyway. But I’m notI guess what I’m trying to say is I learned a lot, I watch movies differently because of this class. I think I’m going to try and do a grad minor in film next year. So thank you. And I’m sorry I made everything weird. I hope you have a really good break, and finish your book, and get tenure. Sincerely, really,Stiles
Derek’s not used to grandparents, so when Stiles’ Baba comes to visit, he gets nervous, doesn’t know how to act, what to do. It’s been a long time coming — he and Stiles are married, even own a house (together, because apparently Stiles “isn’t a kept man, I don’t care how rich you are”) — and she hasn’t set foot in Beacon Hills since Stiles was a moody teenager singing along to All Time Low. Which he still does, on occasion. Derek’s caught him more than once with Lily McCall on his hip, singing along to Dear Maria, which is so not appropriate for a six year old, but she’s not theirs, so it doesn’t matter. Or so Stiles tells him.
Baba Stilinski is a tough old broad, which is John’s description, not Derek’s. Derek wouldn’t argue with that, though. She stares him down, her eyes as searching as her son and grandson, and Derek wishes he had the powers to sink into the floor. He doesn’t, though, just clutches onto Stiles even tighter and eventually she moves on. Derek feels like he’s passed some kind of unknown test.
Mrs. Stilinski wants to visit places she hasn’t been to in years and Stiles volunteers to escort her around. Most of what she remembers has vanished, become coffee shops or computer stores and Derek sees the sadness in her eyes when she notices the place she used to buy her yarn from is having a closing down sale.
They spend a long time in that store.
Derek is kind of haunted by it.
There’s a dinner with the whole extended family, pack and kids included, on her last night in town. After a few gin & tonics, she leans over and tugs on Derek’s sleeve, says “you’re a good looking one, but my grandson sees past that,” and Derek feels his eyes widen, nods and says, “he does. I’m lucky,” because he is — every day he has with Stiles feels like some kind of luck he doesn’t deserve. She hums approvingly and moves on to questioning why Scott and Allison let Lily play with toy bow & arrows.
Three weeks later, Derek gets a package in the mail from her, and Stiles gets kind of misty when Derek unwraps it to find a comfy, cosy sweater that she obviously knitted with the yarn she bought in Beacon Hills. He writes back, tells her that he loves it, tells her about Lily’s latest adventures, that he and Stiles met up with an adoption agency, and it — it carries on. Stiles tries to tease him about writing, telling him that Baba does know how to use email, but Derek catches him reading over the letters, running his fingers over Baba’s handwriting like it’s something precious.
The sweater becomes his rainy day sweater. Whenever it’s gloomy outside and he and Stiles doesn’t have to be anywhere, he tugs it on and they laze on the couch with cookies & cream popcorn. There’s cuddles and making out, a good bottle or two of wine, and they spend the whole day like that, watching movies, catching up on television and letting themselves enjoy the life they’ve built.