my good friend @lena221b recently reminded me of a series of drabbles i wrote in response to anon asks aaaaages ago. i couldn’t find the original posts (we’re talking years ago, that’s too much scrolling for one mortal girl) so i decided to lump them all together here. the following are a few short snippets of derek and stiles’ life together. in my head they’re all part of the same universe. enjoy!
“I dream about riding you sometimes.”
Derek drops Stiles flat on his face.
Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, just tries to roll himself back over. ‘Tries’ being the operative word, because he somehow manages to get himself tangled in his hoodie and then he’s just struggling on the ground with his head trapped in the sleeve.
Ordinarily Derek would help him, would feel guilty about dropping him in the first place, but right now he’s too preoccupied with choking on his own spit.
Stiles fights his way out of his clothing and gazes up at Derek.
“You’re so big though, I’m not even sure I could get my legs around you.”
Can werewolves go into cardiac arrest? Because it’s happening, Derek’s pretty sure it’s happening.
“And you’re so strong, too. I bet I could just climb up on there and you could keep going for hours.”
Stiles smacks his lips and wiggles on the forest floor and seems completely unconcerned with the way Derek’s world is rearranging itself around him.
“Such a scary wolfy,” Stiles mumbles, eyelashes fluttering. “You’re also really fluffy though.” He reaches out and starts patting Derek’s boot. “Preeeetty.”
Derek steps carefully away from Stiles and smashes his head into the nearest tree. A cut appears on his eyebrow and then heals before he’s even wiped the blood away. Because Stiles is talking about riding Derek in his wolf form. Like he’s some kind of glorified pony. And Derek is so pathetically gone on this boy that he’d let him. He’d growl and snarl and snap his jaws and then he’d get down on his haunches and carry Stiles wherever he wanted to go.
He’s absolutely, definitively not disappointed that Stiles isn’t talking about riding him in his human form because that would be gross and creepy and taking advantage of Stiles’ intoxicated state.
Right, Stiles, who is drunk, and burrowing into a pile of leaves.
Derek sighs at his life and stomps over to pick Stiles up again.
“Whoa, spinny!” Stiles shrieks and clutches at Derek’s collar. When he’s got his feet back under himself he looks around and frowns. “Nooo, no standing, it’s nap time.”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning,” Derek grumbles.
“Which is why it’s nap time,” Stiles insists, like it wasn’t his idea to get smashed in the woods in the middle of the night like an utter moron.
“You can sleep back at the loft, okay?” Derek bargains, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and hauling him forward.
“Mmm your bed,” Stiles groans, stuffing his face into Derek’s neck. “Been trying to get into your bed for months.”
Derek drops Stiles flat on his face.
*****
The first time Stiles walks into Derek’s loft and finds him cooking he’s so stunned that he forgets to actually stop walking and crashes into a table.
Derek raises an eyebrow without looking away from where he’s blanching (blanching) vegetables. Once Stiles has stopped rolling around on the floor he uses two bar stools to pull himself right-side-up and brushes himself off as nonchalantly as he can manage.
“You cook?” he asks, trying his hardest not to appear incredulous, but Derek is wearing oven mitts so it’s not really going too well.
Derek levels him with his patented ‘why am I dating an idiot?’ look. It’s very, very flat.
“Yes, Stiles, I can cook,” he says, and pokes at something sizzling in a pan. Stiles boggles. Derek raises his other eyebrow this time. “Why is this shocking? You know I eat.”
“Well, yeah, objectively,” Stiles agrees. “I just always assumed you lived off a diet of Hot Pockets, squirrels, and the tears of your enemies.”
So very flat.
“Well, I’d hate to disappoint. I’ll throw this in the bin and then head out to rustle up some woodland creatures.” He goes to turn off the burner and Stiles dives across the kitchen.
“No, no, no. This is good. This is — What is this?” Stiles takes a whiff and just about hits the floor again. “Oh god, feed me.”
(Stiles can cook too, but his speciality is sweet things. Derek couldn’t bake a cake to save his life. They’re a match made in culinary heaven.)
*****
“No,” Derek says sternly, giving Stiles everything his eyebrows have to offer. “Absolutely not.”
“What! Derek, come on, you know you want one,” Stiles wheedles, waggling his own eyebrows at Derek. He looks ridiculous and definitely not appealing.
“I have my hands full enough just trying to look after you.”
"Hey!” Stiles squawks. “I resent that! I am a fully functioning adult, thank you very much,” he says, puffing himself up.
All Derek has to do is glance pointedly at the thing curled up in Stiles’ arms and he puffs right back down again.
“I’ll keep her at my place! You won’t even know she’s there. I’ll take such good care of her, I swear.” Derek remains unmoved. Stiles pulls out the big guns. “Babe, please.” Damn him. “Just look at that face. You can’t say no to that face.”
The thing is, Derek is dangerously close to letting slip just how true that is. He’ll never be able to say no to Stiles. He might put up a token protest, but Derek knows that the second Stiles asks him for anything he’s already screwed.
And right now Stiles isn’t pulling his punches either. He’s got the big eyes and the pouty lips and his neck stretched out at the most perfect angle and Derek’s ready to fall to his knees and offer Stiles everything.
Except, what, no, not this time, Stiles is starting to make him legitimately insane.
“Who are you?! Hagrid?!” he exclaims. “Put the dragon down, Stiles.”
Stiles pulls this heartbroken face, and Derek is almost swayed except dragon.
“But she’s just a baby!” Stiles wails. “She doesn’t know how to look after herself.”
“She just singed off Scott’s eyebrows,” Derek says flatly. “I think she’ll be fine.”
(On the walk back to the Jeep Derek offers to buy Stiles a cat in place of the dragon, because they’re basically the same thing anyway and Derek is a sucker.)
*****
“I told you not to do it,” Derek sing-songs, condescendingly, not even looking up from his book. The ass.
“No you didn’t,” Stiles moans from his place on the couch. He removes his arm from his face to glare weakly at said ass. “You said, ‘As if you’d ever get your nipple pierced’. Which was basically a direct challenge. Which means of course I did it.”
Derek doesn’t even stop reading to roll his eyes at Stiles. He just kind of widens them slightly with a long-suffering look on his face. The ass.
"This is entirely your fault,” Stiles whines. Derek doesn’t respond at all.
Stiles wriggles around making pitiful noises until Derek snaps his book shut with a growl. “What.”
“It hurts,” Stiles sniffles.
“Well that’s because you poked a piece of metal through your flesh,” Derek bitches, but he gets up and walks over to the couch anyway. He lifts Stiles’ legs and settles himself down, Stiles’ thighs splayed across his lap. Then he curls his hand around Stiles’ knee and begins leeching his pain.
“Better?” he asks, and Stiles hums in the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut.
He’s just about to drop off the edge of consciousness when something hot and wet envelops his nipple. Stiles jerks violently and finds Derek staring up at him from his chest, eyes dancing. He grins wickedly and flicks his tongue against the bar and Stiles melts.
(Derek ends up loving Stiles’ nipple piercing. Stiles lords it over him for months until Derek comes home with a piercing in a much more sensitive place. Stiles’ mouth is busy doing other things after that.)
*****
Derek went into this relationship with Stiles with his eyes wide open. Which basically meant he was expecting a lot of sex, because every second word out of the kid’s mouth was innuendo and he smelled constantly turned-on. And Stiles did not disappoint. There was a lot of sex. A lot.
Derek was not expecting the cuddling. But five months in Derek’s beginning to wonder if Stiles is actually a were-octopus and just hasn’t told him yet.
No matter how aggressively he spoons Stiles when they’re drifting off to sleep, he’ll always wake up buried under warm, clingy boy.
When Derek joined the Stilinski’s in visiting the Sheriff’s mother over Thanksgiving, he passed out alone on the couch and woke to Stiles wrapped around him, his face shoved under a throw pillow.
Stiles holds him in the shower, tucks Derek under his arm at pack movie nights, plasters himself to Derek’s back in the kitchen when he’s soft and tired-eyed.
The first time Stiles grabbed Derek’s hip and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder while they were both brushing their teeth Derek spent two whole minutes staring at him in the mirror. The first time. Now it feels weird whenever he’s not lopsided during his entire morning routine.
For years after Kate, Derek was uncomfortable being touched. Other people’s hands made his blood pump harder and his breathing turn shallower and his muscles coil up. Now, the safest he ever feels is when Stiles’ arms are snug around his heart.
Tag: ficlet
Sterek Week: Wednesday: Sterek Manips
Derek finds Stiles sitting on the couch, face covered with his hands, groaning. He can’t help a little smile. Seeing Stiles after all day at work is everything he needs for stress to leave his body, and he really doesn’t care how pathetic it makes him.
“What’s the matter?” Derek asks as he drops his as next to his ‘better’ half.
Stiles doesn’t uncover his face, just nudges something on the coffee table with his knee. Derek lifts it and his smile gets wider. “Wedding pictures came.”
There is another groan from Stiles. It sounds almost pained.
Derek lifts his eyebrows and starts to list through the photos with growing curiosity. Why is Stiles so upset?
“It’s the first one.” Stiles finally speaks.
“Well, hello to you, too,” Derek snickers and Stiles peaks through his fingers.
“Hi,” he peeps little ashamed and then lets his hands fall and leans forward to give Derek proper welcome kiss.
“Hi,” Derek smiles at him watching Stiles’ eyes flutter open. “Wanna tell me what’s all this about?”
Stiles groans again, and nods towards the pictures. “Look at it and tell me you don’t see it.”
Derek looks down at the picture on the top of the others. It’s them in wedding suits, standing in the park where the photograph, Lydia insisted on, took their pictures.
“It’s very nice,” Derek says after a moment. Posing like this was all kinds of unnatural for them, but it turned out nicely. Derek is holding in his hands proof that one of the happiest days in his life really happened. He loves it, if only for that.
Stiles huffs and takes it from his hands. “Are you kidding me? I look like I want to murder you! Viciously! This supposed to be happy adorable wedding photo and I look like on a mugshot!”
Derek knows laughing is the worst possible reaction so he bites himself in the tongue and looks at the photo again. The thing is… Stiles does look kind of pissed. Adorably pissed and Derek doesn’t really cares because he loves Stiles’ stupid face in all variations, but yeah, definitely pissed.
If Derek recalls their wedding correctly, Stiles had all rights for this expression. If there was something that could go wrong that day, it did. There was a car accident, spilled wine, lost rings, baby crying in the middle of the Stiles’ vow, allergic reaction during the banquet, and the worst fucking DJ ever. Stiles worked hard on their wedding. Or more like, he was forced to work hard by Lydia.
In the end, Derek had to take him away early and put Stiles’ mind of with all his abilities and determination, because his beautiful amazing husband was on the brink of tears.
“You don’t,” Derek shakes his head with a small privet smile. Stiles gives him his best bullshit look, but Derek only smiles a little more. “You look hot.”
Stiles snorts.
“Very,” Derek adds, eyeing said photography. It’s true. Stiles was always looking good in a suit, but the one he had on their wedding made him look… well, hot.
“You think?” Stiles asks and takes another look on that, for him, infuriating picture. Derek can see his expression changing. Stiles is thinking about it. And he likes it. Derek can tell.
Derek leans forward and presses his lips right under Stiles’ ear, where is pale skin soft and warm. Tempting. “Yes,” he breaths out softly. Stiles shudders and Derek bites down satisfied smile. He can smell Stiles’ rising arousal, feel his skin getting warmer, heart beating faster. “You look perfect,” Derek whispers and kisses Stiles low on his throat.
“Derek,” Stiles whines quietly and werewolf can hear photographs falling on the floor like a heavy snowflakes. Next second he’s lying on top of Stiles, smiling in sight of his husband’s shining amber eyes. Stiles’ cheeks are flushed, pupils blown, lips slightly parted. Along with his flailing, babbling and stubborn loyalty, he is the most perfect thing Derek ever saw.
And he has a lifetime for proving it to him.
Stiles wakes up to Derek pulling him into his lap; arms protectively wrapping around him while softly hushing him. His throat is sore, he’s sucking for air, but he’s not screaming anymore. His heart is racing, the terror still aching heavily in his chest, and he’s clutching the arms holding him on pure instinct.
“You’re awake,” Derek tells him, his hot breath curling over the back of Stiles’ neck. “You’re okay. You’re awake.”
It takes a moment of further reassuring before Stiles remembers how to breathe again. He goes limp in Derek’s arms and probably would’ve fallen to the floor if it hadn’t been for Derek firmly keeping him in place. Stiles whimpers, wondering if his dad will come running, but figures he would’ve done it already if not thinking Derek could handle it.
“This was a bad idea,” Derek sighs into his hair. “I’m not helping.”
“You are,” Stiles pants out, chest still heaving and fingers still digging into Derek’s arm. He hadn’t been screaming as much this time, and despite the nightmare he has a feeling it’d be twice as horrible if Derek hadn’t been there. “Please, just— Don’t leave.”
His plea is barely a whisper, but he knows Derek heard it when he nuzzles his neck and tightens his arms around him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.
Stiles has always been an inquisitive sort of guy. Sometimes it’s an asset, but, well, more often than not it leads to trouble. Curiosity killed the cat, and all that.
Then again, Stiles is all too eager to add that the saying ends, “And satisfaction brought it back.”
Which is probably why he’s doing what he’s currently doing – filming himself, that is. It’s not that he’s actually planning on sending it to anyone – after all, who would he send it to? – but he wants to know what he looks like. Needs to know, really, what he looks like when he comes, how red his cheeks flush the closer he gets to the edge.
He starts simple. It takes him a few minutes of fiddling to get his iPhone set up to record. For a moment, he contemplates setting it on the bed, but instead decides to prop it up at his desk, for convenience’s sake.
Once it starts recording, he pauses for a moment, trying to figure out where to start. In the end, he goes for simple, gripping himself through his sweatpants and stroking languidly. He lets his mouth fall open, a little fascinated with the way his cock tents his pants, the outline a sort of tease. As he thumbs the head, his eyes fix on the small damp spot forming as the material of his sweatpants becomes saturated with pre-come.
Slutty for it.
Stiles feels his cheeks flush with heat as the words dart through his mind, unconscious and automatic. In his hand, his dick twitches and more pre-come soaks his pants.
so okay, just picture this for a second real quick
derek shifting into wolf!derek on the back porch of the rebuilt hale house with stiles by his side, and their daughter giggling next to them, clapping her small hands together because “daddy went doggy!”
derek can’t even feel any form of irritation about the fucking dog joke because it came from his daughter, who is happier than ever, making grabby hands at stiles, squealing “up, up, up!”
and derek, just, he’s fucking wagging his tail for fuck’s sake because how could he not when he has everything in the world right there next to him: his daughter wrapping her arms around his furry neck, giggling in his ear, stiles absolutely beaming at the both of them, looking dazed and awed, eyes full of absolute love
derek can’t help but whine, overwhelmed with all the fucking emotions, and just butts his big head against stiles’ stomach, trembling when he feels hands so familiar slide over the top of his head, scratching and rubbing just behind his right ear
a huff of air leaves derek as if he’s trying to explain everything in that one breath, and stiles, stiles just knows, understands the meaning, and whispers back with a knowing smile on his face, “i know, big guy. we love you, too.”
Two of my favorite tropes are confident!Stiles and musician!Stiles, which kind of go hand-in-hand. :)
I hope you like it. Every time I finish something, I automatically think it’s trash, but I’ve learned to ignore that instinct. Confident/musician Stiles is something I did not know I needed in my life until I was writing it haha. Thanks for the prompt!
Derek is lost in thought as a hand appears in his line of sight, pushing a beer his way and effectively pulling him from his thoughts.
“I didn’t order…”
The bartender jerks his head towards somewhere off to Derek’s right, esplaining, “It’s from the the guy at the end of the bar,” before heading off to take someone else’s order.
Derek peers down the bar, his eyebrows drawn in confusion. They quickly jerk up to his hairline when he catches sight of who must be his admirer. Amber eyes find his and he follows it down to a stupidly adorable nose and the most dangerous pair of lips he’d ever laid his eyes on, currently turned up into a knowing smirk.
He quickly jerks his eyes back up only to find mystery man has disappeared into the growing crowd. Which is just as well.
This wasn’t exactly Derek’s scene. It was more Cora’s, who’d been the one to drag him here to begin with. And of course she disappeared somewhere into the crowd with her girlfriend the second they’d stepped into the place, even though she’d promised she wouldn’t. Fucking Cora.
Speaking of whom…
Derek twists from the bar, trying to catch sight of her in the ever-growing crowd. And that’s when he almost slams into hot–….mystery guy.
“Hey,” the guys says, still sporting the smirk that totally doesn’t melt Derek’s knees. No, that would be ridiculous.
Derek stares at him with wide eyes, saying nothing. Which of course prompts the hot stranger to grin even bigger. If Derek didn’t know better, he’d say this guy was part wolf or something.
Hot guy steps in closer and Derek has to keep himself from backing up into the bar. “I’m Stiles,” he says, slightly shouting over the music and chatter.
Derek swallows. “Derek.”
He wants to ram his head into the wall. When the hell did he become a tongue-tied schoolboy?
Hot…Stiles does something with his tongue that should be considered illegal and it isn’t until that knowing smirk is back that Derek realizes he’s been staring at his mouth, nearly fucking panting.
Stiles is about to lean in and say something else when another man comes up behind him and rests his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. He whispers something into Stiles’ ear and for a second his entire persona changes and he looks like a petulant child. Which does nothing to quell Derek’s interest in him, much to his displeasure.
“Don’t run off, okay?” Stiles says, staring him straight in the eye as if he know Derek would do just that the moment he left. Which…well, he isn’t off by far. “I have to go do something real quick. But I’ll be right back, okay?”
He staring at Derek like he’s waiting for confirmation, which Derek gives with a terse nod of the head, before he takes off into the crowd, following his friend. Derek doesn’t know if he should thank the stars or beg Stiles to stay. God, what is wrong with him?
Moments later, the MC is introducing the band Cora has dragged Derek here to see. Apparently some of her high school classmates had started it, and they were finally getting noticed. This is their first public performance outside their hometown, and the amount of people here supporting them is actually impressive.
The lead singer starts riling the crowd up and introduces their first song, and Derek starts scanning the crowd for Cora, knowing she’s probably closer to the stage. And that’s when he catches sight of some whiskey eyes and dangerous lips.
Stiles seems to feel his stare because a second later, he’s meeting Derek’s eyes before laying in to the drum. And god is he good. Those hands look dangerously dextrous as they fly over his drum set with crazy speed.
God. Derek is fucked.
Send Me A Prompt
So hey I know I was just talking about professor!Stiles, but this photo totally says professor!Derek to me. This is him in one of his lectures, talking passionately about 13th century trebuchets, or electron dot structures, or secondary bilateral symmetry in echidnodermata, or whatever, it honestly doesn’t matter, it’s just really important to me that Derek gets all intense about some incredibly dry or arcane field of study. And he has no clue that the reason people show up to his lectures is entirely unrelated to the subject matter, no, he’s just pleased that they’re so consistently well-attended. He doesn’t have a lot of friends among the faculty, which is partly because he hasn’t tried that hard, and partly because he doesn’t know how to talk to people if he’s not discussing the one-dimensional manifestation of quasi-particle fractionalization.
And maybe office space at Beacon Hills University is pretty tight, so Derek has to share with some asshole who’s not even in the same department – Professor Stilinski is a biologist, for crying out loud – and they drive each other nuts, because Stiles likes to listen to music while he grades papers, whereas Derek needs complete silence, and Stiles makes fun of Derek’s glasses for no apparent reason, and Derek covertly switches out Stiles’s coffee for decaf because he’s sick of the way Stiles twitches when he’s had more than two cups. Especially because it always draws his attention to Stiles’s hands and his endlessly fidgeting fingers, which are long, delicate, nimble, and which force Derek into uncomfortable fantasies about how he’d like those fingers tangled in his hair or wrapped around his – except of course Professor Stilinski is an asshole, and Derek hates him.
(Stiles doesn’t understand why Derek hates him – except maybe they got off on the wrong foot, because the first time Derek saw him he thought Stiles was a student who got lost, and that made things kind of weird. Stiles thinks maybe it’s a good thing that Derek hates him, because if Derek didn’t hate him, then Stiles would have to deal with them being friendly to each other, and Stiles isn’t sure he can be friendly to Derek without jumping his bones. It’s hard enough just sharing an office with him – this gorgeous and oblivious nerd, this sultry Greek god, this human personification of tantric sex – because Stiles has to sit there and watch as Professor Hale holds his office hours, painstakingly explaining the difference between static and dynamic molecular recognition to a gaggle of freshmen who couldn’t care less, or while he grades papers and wears his glasses, his stupid fucking glasses that Stiles wants to rip off his stupid goddamn face because he cannot take another minute of sharing space with this man and not pressing their mouths together.)
It’s a very strained working relationship.
I love it.
But I also love that this says to me: Hoechlin talking about his Bae, DOB, and his pert little ass. How it’s just the perfect amount of handfuls and has the cutest moles. Back me up, @stickylovessterek
sterek american assassin au, semi-inspired by @tl-hoechlin
Stiles and Derek weren’t meant to be. That much was clear the first time they met; it was hate at first sight. Stiles is abrasive, snarky, and kind of an asshole. Derek–well, he’s kind of an asshole too but he’s kind too. Cocky, sure, but kind and generous with the biggest heart Stiles had ever seen in a person. Other than Scott, maybe.
Stiles is fairly certain he’s the first person Derek ever hated. Probably.
He doesn’t know how Derek and Stiles became DerekandStiles, but one thing was certain: Stiles didn’t deserve him. Derek was undoubtedly too good for him. And yet, however it happened, once it did, Derek refused to let go of Stiles.
“You’re better off without me,” Stiles would say.
In response, Derek would roll his eyes and quip, “And you’re better off without your plaid shirts so I guess we’re at a stalemate, aren’t we?”
So yeah, somehow, they made it work. And it was kind of beautiful.
Until–
“Mr. Stilinski?” The woman in charge, Elena, asks. She sits in front of Stiles, calm and collected, unmoved by his lapses of attention on the interrogation.
“Sorry,” he mutters, but they both know he doesn’t mean it.
“What do you expect to do, Mr. Stilinski?”
He looks up at her and with a calm voice, says, “I thought that was obvious. Kill them.”
“And you think that’ll bring back your boyfriend?”
“Of course not. But I’ll sleep better at night.”
“Killing can be hard. Are you sure you’re ready for what it can do to you?”
Stiles shrugs. “Nothing worse than what I’m going through right now.”
Elena stands up, nodding, and walks out, without saying much else. Stiles sinks back in his chair, glancing slowly around the room. It’s slightly cold and devoid of any item or presence that can give anything away, but it’s nothing less than what Stiles had expected from an organization like this.
He fidgets with his fingernails, tries to remember the feel of Derek’s warmth when his fingers would intertwine with Stiles’s, and takes a shuddering breath. He’ll avenge Derek, even if it’s the last thing he’ll do.
–
Training is hard. He lands in the infirmary more days than he can count in the beginning. At first, it’s because he couldn’t keep up with the rest of the recruits in their training exercises. After that comes hand-to-hand combat. And then the real fun starts–weapons training.
He eats, sleeps, and breathes the training. He knows it’s supposed to break him before he can be built back up. So he lets himself be broken; bruises, broken bones, torn muscles, whatever it takes. He kills for the organization too, follows orders when he’s asked to, even if it means torturing the person to get the necessary information before disposing the body.
He absorbs it all and eight months later, he’s ready along with only quarter of the original recruits for the final test.
48 hours in the forest. It sounds easier than it is, Stiles is well aware, and it’ll force them to face dangers they may never even encounter. But it’s about preparing for the worst so he takes the make-shift weapon given to him, along with a small flashlight, and takes off in a different direction than the rest to find the final trail that’ll lead him to the safe house.
Slowly, the day fades away into darkness and the only sounds surrounding him are the faint rustling of leaves because of the wind and small critters buzzing about. He walks further into the forest, trying to find the trail, until–
Stiles goes still, hands already reaching for the weapon. He takes a slow, silent breath.
“Who’s there?”
There’s no response but the rustling gets louder and he hears twigs snapping to his right so he whirls around, eyes trying to focus on whatever might be in front of him but it’s no use. It’s too dark, and the flashlight can only help so much. It’s the sound of someone walking, Stiles is sure of it, and he thinks it might be one of the other recruits, but his fingers tighten around the weapon regardless.
“Hey! I can hear you. Who’s there? Show yourself!”
He keeps the flashlight pointed in the same direction. There’s no movement at first, but then slowly, a figure comes to light. An all-too familiar figure.
Stiles takes a step back, dropping the weapon in shock. He wonders if there’s an aerosol drug the organization’s spreading, or if he’s just too sleep-deprived to think straight because there’s no way that figure walking standing right there in front of him is–
“Derek?” Stiles whispers. Stupidly abandoning the weapon on the ground, he stumbles forward until he can see Derek without needing the flaslight. Derek stands still, looking down at the forest floor, shoulders heaving. “Derek? You’re–you’re alive?”
Derek looks up, terrified and guilty and ashamed, and as he does, his eyes begin to glow bright yellow. Stiles is almost certain something might be in the air, but then Derek moves closer until they’re only millimeters apart.
“Hi, Stiles.”
Enough
I’d briefly posted this as an addition to a fanartist’s post, as this little scene was inspired by that art. Being anxiety-prone, I panicked and deleted it.
The picture was of Stiles getting up in Derek’s face, obviously angry. I think I remember the words “self-sacrificial bullshit” being involved. I can’t find it at the moment.
Derek is still bleeding when Stiles stomps across the clearing to stand over him, one foot landing with a squelch in monster entrails, not that his other sneaker fared much better.
“Of all the reckless-”
“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, holding his hands up as he stands up to show he’s not hurt, everything’s fine.
Raising his voice, Stiles continues, “–moronic, needlessly fucking heroic things I have ever seen you do–” Derek can tell he’s just warming up, but he’s a little caught on the h-word; he doesn’t think Stiles has used it before, not for him. “That was-”
“Stiles, it’s okay,” he tries to head him off, but Stiles won’t be deterred.
“Derek, if you ever–”
“I’m okay,” Derek says.
Stiles twists his fist in Derek’s Henley, heedless of the way it rips under his fingertips, which, right, there was already a hole there from when the creature got him in the chest.
“Stiles, I’m-”
“No!” He points, practically touching Derek’s lips, hunches up further in Derek’s space. “You don’t get to interrupt me. Do you know how terrified I was? Do you have any idea how scared I was that this was it? He slit your throat, Derek! That was a lot of blood! Oh my god, so much blood.” Stiles’s voice cracks. He’s shaking violently, his knuckles knocking against Derek’s chest. “I’ve seen you come back from a lot, but I’m pretty sure even you can’t come back from decapitation.”
He isn’t wrong, but. Derek wraps his hand around Stiles’s fist, trying to steady him. “He was going to hurt you. I have a better chance of survival, Stiles, I-”
“You know what? I’ve had more than enough of your self-sacrificial bullshit, buddy!” Stiles interrupts, free hand waving around. “Enough for lifetimes. I don’t want you to throw yourself on a grenade for me, okay? In fact, I’m explicitly telling you not to.”
“Grenade?” Derek repeats, momentarily thrown.
“Grenade, giant slime monster, rodents of unusual size–”
“I don’t think those exist,” Derek says. There it is; a hint of a smile.
“It still freaks me out when you throw out pop culture references,” Stiles says, but he sags a little, loosens his fingers. There’s red marks from how tight he’d wound them in Derek’s shirt. “I don’t want you to die for me. I don’t want you to die at all. I mean, I know eventually, logically, even werewolves aren’t immortal, but.”
Derek feels warm. “Stiles.”
“Stop trying to distract me by saying my name.” Stiles shoves Derek back. He turns too fast and trips over the monster’s corpse. “Gah! Gross.”
“You should head home,” Derek says. He nudges the creature with his foot. Still dead; that’s a plus.
“You mean we,” Stiles says.
“I’ve got to cover this up,” Derek says.
Stiles wrinkles his nose. “I have a shovel in the Jeep. Come on, I’ll help you and we’ll go back to yours. My landlord put in security cameras and I can’t go back there covered in blood again. He’s going to report me.”
Derek nods. “Sounds good. Want to order a pizza when we get back?”
“Do I,” Stiles says, starting off toward the Jeep. “I’m starving.”
How To Improve Your Werewolf’s Mood
So, @pale-silver-comb wanted a continuation of this post from @soldieronbarnes wherein Stiles suggests that Derek needs to get laid because his moodiness is making all his betas antsy. It’s not!fic style in the interest of being able to post this now and not next month…
*****
So, Derek knows that there is more going on than the fact that he’s sexually frustrated. He knows there’s something deeper that’s making his wolf feel on edge; there’s a connection he’s longing for, but he knows that he can’t have it. He can’t ask Sti- someone to give up a chance at a normal life, a life not tied to an Alpha who is still learning, who can’t guarantee a safe, happy life.
And he knows he should say no. That he shouldn’t allow them to fall into each other. He even knows that whatever having sex with Stiles will give him, whatever glimpse of his dreams he may find by getting lost in Stiles’ arms and his kisses and the feel of all that lithe muscle and pale skin under his fingertips, it won’t be enough for his wolf. Could never be enough.
But he also can’t say no. He can’t pretend that it’s not what he wants.
Sex with Stiles is everything he always imagined it would be: passionate and intense and perfect. It’s heartbeats pounding in counterpoint, the sweet slick glide of lips dragging over warm skin, teeth and tongues and smiles pressed into one another. It’s quiet moments after, breathing into the scant space between them, wrapped up in each other as sweat cools on their bodies and the kisses slow, hands absently petting and soothing. It’s magic.
It even works for a while.
Derek’s wolf is calmer for the first weeks, and his betas are happier than they’ve been in ages. They work together better than ever, and they feel more like a pack-a family– than they ever have.
Except the thing that was really wrong before, the thing that was radiating through the pack bonds and driving them all crazy, wasn’t Derek’s need for sexual release. It was his need for his mate.
And having tasted Stiles’ skin, and felt him all around him, he is more certain than ever that his mate is Stiles (not that he had doubted it in the first place). Unfortunately, having had the time to bask in Stiles, his wolf is increasingly frustrated with the lack of consummation of the mate bond. And so is Derek, honestly. So soon, the magic of their physical connection starts to not be enough, and they all start falling apart. Again.
Stiles dives into a research spiral, hating that he’s failing Derek, failing his pack. And terrified that he’s going to lose Derek. Lose their intimacy, lose the soft moments after they come, the way that they gravitate toward each other even outside the bedroom, the casual touches that are increasingly frequent and feel like they’re building something. He finds the answer, because of course he does. That’s what Stiles does, he finds the answers.
Derek needs his mate. Being with Stiles isn’t working. So obviously, that means Derek needs someone who isn’t Stiles. He pretends he isn’t devastated, but no one is fooled.
Derek is ready to let Stiles go, he knows he’ll figure it out, knows he’ll find that he’s Derek’s mate, and he knows that Stiles wants more than being tied to him, to the disaster that is Beacon Hills. He’s ready to let him go. To let all of them go, to save them from his wolf’s restlessness and misery.
Self sacrificing morons that they are, they dance around the issue as long as they can. They probably agree to one last farewell fuck, but they can’t keep their feelings out of it, can’t keep the desperation from their movements or their kisses, can’t keep the tears from brimming in their eyes, or their fingers from griping a little to tight, clinging and unwilling to let go.
Obviously, it all spills out, and the acknowledgement that there’s more between them, that their connection is soul deep and eternal, fated, it’s enough to make Derek’s wolf howl in contentment, make it settle beneath the surface and leak calm and control and satisfaction through the pack bonds. Enough to strengthen them all.
*****
This got more fic-like than intended? Thanks to @rhysiana for bringing this lovely inspiration to my attention!
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