Sterek: Stiles protecting an injured Derek from some beastie or other. (I could give you a hint. Well, I don't know how much help "you know me in real life" would be, but, y'know, whatevs)
He’s shaking. He can’t stop shaking. There’s blood on his hands and in his mouth— a knife on the ground next to him, discarded after he’d dug the wolfsbane bullet out of Derek’s chest too close to the heart too close too close. His ears are still ringing, and he can’t quite hear anything. Can’t see anything either, too focused on the body slumped a few yards away.
The gun click-clicks in his hand, clip empty, but Stiles is still pulling the trigger. There’s a sharp pain in his right side and the smell of copper in the air. Stiles can taste his own blood on his tongue.
A hand lands on his shoulder, and Stiles twisted around, primal and raging. The butt of the gun nearly clips Scott’s temple when Stiles swings it, standing on trembling legs with blood slipping down his chin. There’s a shuddering gasp, but Scott catches his wrist and makes eye contact— forces Stiles to hold it until he registers what’s happening, what has happened.
Stiles’ knee buckles.
Scott catches him, lowering him to the ground carefully. The gun slips out of his hand, and Stiles’ eyes flick frantically over to where Derek is sitting up against the trunk of a tree watching him with glowing eyes. Peter is at his side, checking his nephew’s wound and wincing at the sight of inky black veins surrounding it.
“Aconitum luridum,” Stiles hisses and grunts as Scott presses a hand to his side; he wonders briefly why he hurts so much and realizes that Derek isn’t the only one who’s been shot. ”I got— I got the bullet—”
"We know," Scott assures. "He’ll be fine."
"You don’t— You don’t know—"
"I do." Scott assures him, and Stiles feels his pain start to ebb as Scott pulls it from him easily, eyes still locked with Derek’s. "Deaton has just the thing. Trust me."
"Yeah," Stiles breaths, nodding a bit helplessly as he slumps against Scott. "Yeah, okay."
Scott hefts him up easily enough into his arms. Cursing, Stiles reaches out with a soiled hand as Peter helps Derek to his feet. Derek’s fingers brush along his, and there is assurance in the touch, in the way Derek gives him a tight smile that speaks of pain.
"You’re gonna be fine, Stiles." He says.
"Don’t care," Stiles shakes his head, delirious. "I don’t—"
"I’m gonna be okay, too."
"Okay." Stiles nods, head resting against Scott’s shoulder. "Okay."
"We need to get going." Peter bites out; Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so shaken before, but it’s obvious with the way he holds Derek close— Stiles gets it, the need to be with family, to keep them safe. He’s grateful that Derek has someone like that. "Now, Scott."
"Isaac will meet us at the road."
- - -
When Stiles wakes, his head is thumping in time with his pulse. He groans, and then there’s a hand in his hair, petting. Soothing.
"It’s okay. You’re okay." Derek mutters, and there is that leaching sensation as his pain bleeds away again.
Stiles looks up at Derek, and his nose wrinkles. ”Are you fucking kidding me? You nearly get shot in the heart and you’re already up on your goddamn feet?”
Derek huffs out a laugh. ”Super healing.”
"You fucking suck." Stiles spits out, glaring, but it’s halfhearted at best. "I barely got clipped—"
"It bounced off your ribcage. You’re lucky to still be breathing." Derek says darkly, voice low. "A fraction higher and—"
"I know." Derek sighs, petting through his hair again. Stiles leans up into the touch. "You should’ve just left."
"No," Stiles replies firmly. "If I left that bullet in you, the poison would’ve reached your heart faster than you could blink. I did the right thing."
"It was also a very stupid thing.”
"We’re both alive, I count that as a win."
"What?" Stiles breaths out a laugh, then hisses as he chuckles, eyes tearing up a bit— he’s bruised and tender and very happy to be stitched up. "Shut up and kiss me, okay?"
Shaking his head, Derek leans down, their lips just brushing. ”You’re idiotic.”
"You fuckin’ love me." Stiles mutters, leaning up to press more firmly.
Derek inhales deep, nodding again. ”Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
- Illustration from my comici book “END”
- La dernière page de END tome 1…
( Aquarelle, encre verd , crayons colorées, + Photoshop )
© Art by Canepa & Merli
this looks amazing!
It tastes better when you make it.
Lazy Stiles loves getting spoiled. 〜(￣▽￣〜)
When Derek awakes, his face is pressed into the back of Stiles’ neck. His skin is smooth and he smells like safety. Derek closes his eyes again, drinking in the solid warmth of Stiles along his front, his soft, even breathing rising and falling with the beat of his…
I watch out for you.