Full moons are still tricky for them. Stiles has finally gotten Derek to stop completely avoiding her, but he still doesn't want her in the preserve after dark, which Stiles supposes from a purely logical standpoint, she can understand. It's not like her track record for avoiding near-death experiences in those woods on full moon nights is all that great. She's been batting zero for years in that department. So, for now, she's willing to humor him, especially since that means he makes the effort to spend the days leading up to it, that long stretch of daylight before the moon finally rises, paying her extra attention, indulging her. Maybe that makes her greedy, but she's honest enough with herself to recognize that she kind of loves it. Being spoiled, pampered, dare she say, worshipped. Loves the nights they spend in their bed wrapped up in each other. The hours out in the preserve when they run (where Derek chases her, more accurately), and play, and fuck with the sun-warmed ground underneath them, that bright, clear summer sky above their heads.
Doesn't mean she doesn't spend every full moon night counting the minutes until sunrise when she gets to watch him walk through that door and reach for her. Derek always takes such good care of her, sometimes it feels like she doesn't often get to return the favor, not really. Derek would disagree, but it doesn't change the fact that it's true. Hell, if he wasn't around to push food on her, for example, she'd probably waste away, since she almost never remembers to eat (turns out adderall and a near-constant state of anxiety were killer on the appetite). He's the only one that can distract her when that singular, all-consuming focus threatens to overwhelm and drown her.
She loves him. He adores her. Sue her for itching to return the favor.
If this wasn't a sign of true love, what is, she thinks, when her cell phone alarm goes off at five a.m., though to be fair, she never sleeps much when Derek's gone. Strange to think she'd spent roughly seventeen years fairly used to sleeping by herself, until he came along and wrecked that. In the best way, obviously, but it doesn't make it any less harder when she spends all night blinking up at the dark ceiling, twisting restlessly in the tangle of sheets, feeling only the distinct lack of a warm body by her side. The bed is always so much colder without him. Eventually, she drags herself up (certainly not pouting about the fact that Derek's not around to ply her awake with kisses and pancakes), and heads out to the kitchen. She never knows exactly how Derek's going to be when he wanders in, but she knows one thing for sure: he'll be starving, in more ways than one.
She's by no means a morning person, but admittedly there's something sort of comforting about it. The dark, quiet stillness before dawn, going through the motions of cooking breakfast like she's done a hundred thousand times over the years. It's easy for her to space out, get lost in her head. It's hard not to do that anyway, her mind anticipating, fantasizing about what's to come as much as her body is.
Maybe that's why he's able to sneak up on her the way he always does. He teases her about it all the time. It's not fair, because he might not be able to read her thoughts technically, but he can smell her. So it's not exactly hard to know exactly what she's imagining and when (and how) she's doing it. The front door slides open with that familiar grinding metal sound, and she jerks, dropping the spatula onto the floor, hissing when hot oil from the skillet splashes over her thumb. Cursing, she looks down, distracted by the pain enough that by the time she looks up, he's already in front of her, reaching for her hand. By the time she realizes what he's doing, her thumb is already in his mouth. Stiles shivers, feeling the scrape of fangs over the thin skin of her knuckle. Oh, she thinks, exhaling when her eyes flick up to meet his, and she sees they're still glowing that preternatural crimson. That's how it's going to be tonight. Stiles doesn't think he'll ever stop being so overwhelming. Just his presence is somehow staggering, knocks her sideways sometimes just looking at him.
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I Will Run You Like A Thread (Fem!Stiles x Derek)
FanfictionIt had crept up on him, the wanting, mostly since it had been years since he'd felt anything close. Until suddenly it hit him like a fucking car crash, like a switch flipped inside him, because he never thought he could want something so badly that...
