Q:➸ mailman(/woman) and person who receives a lot of mail AU ｡◕ ‿ ◕｡
The youths on Derek’s street have it in for him. It’s the third time this month they’ve taken a baseball bat to his mailbox. He stands with his hands on his hips, gazing down at the smashed up wood, and pondering what sort of revenge he can take on the fourteen year old assholes that won’t land him in prison. Perhaps, he could egg their houses. Laura would like that.
"Man," he looks up sharply to see Stiles grinning and shaking his head, waving Derek’s mail in the air. "Again?"
"Yes," he says shortly. "I don’t know why it’s always me."
"Maybe because you give them the best reaction? Also," Stiles gestures at his chest, "I bet at least one of them has a crush on you."
Derek rolls his eyes, holds his hand out for his mail, “Sure, that’s why.”
"Dude, I’m serious. That first morning when you came out all guns blazing with the towel," Stiles’ eyes glaze over briefly, and then he shakes himself. "I was a little afraid you were gonna strangle me with it.”
Q:Hi! So I absolutely love your fan art and I was wondering if I could make one into a button? Just for my personal use not to sell or anything, I just wanted to ask your permission first. Thank you! (:
Thank you for asking, but none of the fan art posted here are mine! This blog is strictly a reblog archive of all things Sterek. I try and reblog from their sources so please go through them.
"I care. I care to the point where impaling you with my claws would hurt me as well.”
The first thing Stiles says after the nogitsune is banished from his body is, “I’m sorry. Oh my god, I’m so fucking sorry.”
His dad wraps him in a hug, presses a kiss to his temple, and harshly whispers, “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, kid. I got you.”
Gradually, Stiles makes his rounds. He takes a few days to himself, trying to sort through the mess of memories he has. Asks what’s real, tries to forget the hallucinations the nogitsune showed him.
Quells the nausea when he realizes some of those hallucinations weren’t hallucinations at all.
Scott, Melissa, his dad - hell, everyone he talks to says the same thing when he apologizes.
"Wasn’t your fault, Stiles. It wasn’t you."
It’s three months before Stiles is able to look down at his hands without seeing them covered in Coach’s blood, without seeing them curl over an electrical wire to strip away the covering, without seeing them wrapped around a knife that twists deeper into his brother’s body.
(He cries for almost an hour in Scott’s arms, pressing his hand to Scott’s stomach just to make sure that it’s actually healed even though it’s been months.)
It’s three months before Stiles is able to look down at his hands without remembering the phantom feeling of them wrapping around Derek’s shoulders and throwing him into the wall. It’s three months before he goes to see Derek at all.