And it’s driving me wild You’re driving me wild ..

keep it wet

“Love Is Touching Souls”

Lyrics: A Case Of You - Joni Mitchell (Vol. 3 OST)

THROAM!Ryan, December 2011

P!ATD meme: ”In The Days” as a Ryden film

the heart rate of a mouse | vol. 2

1/? brendon/ryan fics: the heart rate of a mouse (x)

If

If cuts Derek like a knife, not a word but a weapon.

If he had saved Paige. If he had figured out who Kate really was before it was too late. If he had made it back to Beacon Hills in time to save Laura from Peter. If he hadn’t pushed Isaac away because he was so scared, if he had been a better alpha to Erica and Boyd.

If he had been good enough for Stiles. If he had been brave enough to tell him just how much he wanted to let himself love him.

When Derek leaves Beacon Hills and all of its terrible ifs, he makes something like a life for himself, in a distant city where no one knows him, where no one knows his tragic what-could-have beens.

Weeks turn into months and then into years, but if never stops tugging at him. The word, tossed about so casually, so carelessly, haunts him; if makes him flinch like a beaten dog; if aches like an old break that set wrong; if is a wound that just won’t heal.

And so when Stiles shows up at Derek’s door, six years after he put Beacon Hills as far behind him as he could, he can’t help but wonder if he’s finally lost his mind completely; if the beautiful boy with sharp whiskey eyes and an even sharper mouth that smiles shyly and says long time no see, big guy, is actually real.

Stiles, apparently not a hallucination, asks be invited in, and Derek opens the door wider, and then he’s no longer an if anymore. He’s real, and he’s here, invading Derek’s space, his scent, still that peculiar sweet-tinged spice, so familiar, the scent Derek’s craved so badly, crawling under his skin and burning there just like it used to, threatening to undo the fragile peace he’s managed to carve for himself.

Stiles rambles nervously as he strides into Derek’s living room, eyes darting all over, says that he got his address from Deaton’s cell phone, which he stole. He collapses into a heap on to the couch, sighing like he’s exhausted. 

In the years since he’s seen him, Stiles has grown into himself, his features sharpened by age, eyes hardened by maturity, beauty-marked cheeks dusted with a patchy dark beard. Derek has no idea what to do or say, so he simply sits down next to him, sighing too. They stay like that for a long time, side by side in the deafening silence.

Stiles’ voice is steadier, but softer too, when he finally speaks again,. “Do you ever wonder…” he says, but then stops, runs a hand through his hair, bites at his bottom lip. “I mean…it always felt like there was this thing between us.” He pauses again, like the words are hard for him. He stares down at his hands. “I just can’t stop wondering what if, you know?” Stiles finally looks at him, eyes big and worried, if hanging between them in the chasm of years echoing with so many things left unsaid.

“Yes,” Derek says simply, the knot in his chest loosening with the confession, with Stiles’ answering smile and brightening eyes, if ringing between them like hope.

The Call of the Sea

Derek remembered the way the water rushed over him, causing him to panic as his arms and legs thrashed violently against the choppy water in desperation. He could hear the shouts of his family even as the water overpowered his senses. He thought he was going to die. He remembered the panic and fear that gripped him tightly as he only sank deeper and deeper into the dark water.

Derek thought he was hallucinating when he saw the flash of a golden orange fin flutter by him. He was even more certain when he felt a pair of slender arms wrap around his torso, pulling him up to the surface of the water.

Derek was grateful when he caught the rope dropped to him, the ship’s crew and his whole family panicking as they shouted to him. He kept his eyes on the water as he searched for whoever—whatever—had saved him. He caught a glimpse of a young boy, whose head was just breaching the water, eyes looking after the ship. Derek ignored the way his mother and sisters fawned over him, cooing gentling words of relief—words lost on Derek as he focused on looking out at the water, searching for more hints of the boy.

Derek waited by the dock once they reached shore, his eyes scanning the calm waves for another glimpse of the boy. He had caught sight of the boy following after the ship, amazed whenever the boy disappeared under the water before resurfacing, almost as if he was making his presence known to put Derek to ease.

Derek was sitting on the dock, his legs dangling over the side as he waited. He smiled when he saw the boy shyly surface, his nose and mouth still covered by the water. He wasn’t surprised when the boy moved faster than most could swim in order to come by Derek’s side.

“Thank you,” Derek uttered when the boy was close enough.

The boy’s eyes snapped to look at Derek, leaving his previous scanning of the docks in order to take in his form. He finally moved his mouth above the water to speak. “You can’t swim,” was the first thing the boy said.

A shiver ran up Derek’s spine at hearing the boy’s voice for the first time. It was like nothing he ever heard before. His voice was soft, almost angelic with a slight touch of childish nature. Derek suddenly understood what the sailors would jest was the call of the sea.

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