25 š³ļøāā§ļø Writing is my therapy. Currently negotiating with my brain about how many Sterek fics I can start at once Find me on AO3 @amatorial
Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/88568081
by amatorial
His hand slid from Stilesā hair to his neck, thumb tracing the mark there. It suited Stiles, looked like it had always belonged there. He couldnāt regret it; he loved all of it too much.
āYouāre annoying,ā he sighed, but it came out far gentler than intended.
Stiles hummed softly, lips quirking into a knowing smirk, and the werewolf felt that familiar pull in his chestāthe one that made him want to let go of caution again.
Words: 4300, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 2 of That Mouth of His
Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski
Additional Tags: Morning After, Developing Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Rimming, Anal Sex, Mating Bites, Accidental Knotting, He didnāt know your honor!, Stiles Stilinski Wants Derek Hale, Like itās so obvious it could smack Derek in the face, Derek Hale Feels Guilty, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski in Love, POV Derek Hale
His hand slid from Stilesā hair to his neck, thumb tracing the mark there. It suited Stiles, looked like it had always belonged there. He couldnāt regret it; he loved all of it too much.
āYouāre annoying,ā he sighed, but it came out far gentler than intended.
Stiles hummed softly, lips quirking into a knowing smirk, and the werewolf felt that familiar pull in his chestāthe one that made him want to let go of caution again.
The world moved before Stiles did, his body jostling as the cramped heat of what mightāve been a car gave way to open air. For a few seconds, he had no idea what was happening. His room was gone. The sheets were gone. The blood, the shouting, the flower.
An arm hooked under his knees, another braced across his back, and then his stomach dropped as someone hoisted him up, leaving his arms dangling uselessly toward the pavement.
āOh god,ā he rasped. āMā being kidnapped?ā
āNo,ā Derek said, adjusting his hold as he walked. āYou passed out. Weāre taking you to Deaton.ā
āPlease donāt sell my liver on Facebook Marketplace or something,ā Stiles pleaded. āItās not even good.ā
Derek: 'I'm fine'
Stiles: šØšØšØ
(honestly this goes both ways for these two)
Birthday gift art for @sparassiss who requested Stiles holding Derek after a crappy day, and you know what - a good ol' Stilinski Hug would probably fix him a lil' bit ā”
I swear every time I update on my health, itās something new. Almost three weeks ago, I started having seizures again, and over the past few weeks Iāve been in and out of the hospital. Iām on med now, and not allowed back to work until I see a neurologist again.
Between recovering and adjusting to meds, my brain hasnāt been working at full capacity. I try to write whenever I can bc itās what I love to do, and I do think I can update soon.
Thank you to everyone who reads my stories and sticks around. It means a lot š
Kiss-cam Sterek but theyāre not in a relationship (both pining af) and theyāre both just really into the game.
This has been on my mind for a while š
i donāt watch sports so letās see how this goes. i donāt know how this ended up so long lmao thank you for the prompt!!! sorry i forgot to include the "really into the game" part because i don't know how to write sports anyway lol
send me prompts
Stiles has never been to a hockey game before. He dragged Derek to one a couple hours away because I need to live my Heated Rivalry fantasy, Derek. Derek just rolled his eyes and pretended not to know what Stiles was talking about, despite the boy yapping his ear off about the show every chance he could get. Derekās usually a baseball guy, himself, but despite his own practiced self-control, he just canāt pass up the opportunity for a road trip with Stiles and to be pressed against him in the stadium, smell Stilesā excitement at the game, witness the smile lighting up his face.
Derek suffers through Stilesā road trip playlist, grits his teeth when the Jeep stutters, but they make it there in one piece. The crowd is already too much, deafening and smelly and claustrophobic, but he holds onto Stilesā belt loop to prevent him from getting lost in the crowd. Theyāre nearly separated anyway, so Derek switches to grab Stilesā wrist instead. When that leads to their hands interlocking, Derek knows heās made the right choice in coming here this weekend. Fuck sleeping in and reading on the couch; despite the chaos around them, there isnāt anywhere else Derek wants to be.
They load up with soda and hot dogs and make their way to their seats, their hands too full to hold each otherās anymore. Derek is just glad Stiles is in front of him so he doesnāt have to hide his disappointment. Heās sure it shows on his face anyway, though, his murder brows out in full force and his gaze locked on Stiles to make sure he doesnāt lose him in the crowd. Not that he could, with his super sniffer nose, but crowds just make Derek anxious, okay, and Stiles ā Stiles is his anchor.
Finally they find their seats and Stiles collapses onto his with a triumphant grin. Heās wearing a dumb jersey from the show, and someone taps him on the shoulder to compliment him, and Stilesā grin widens.
Derek annoys himself by brushing his palm over that spot on Stilesā shoulder, to cover up the strangerās scent. There are foreign smells all over Stiles by now, but this is the only one he can control.
Stiles seems to melt into his touch anyway, nudging Derek with his own shoulder as he takes a massive bite of his hot dog and proceeds to talk with his mouth full, going on about the gay hockey show and his own excitement for the game and how hot one of the players is.
Derek scowls around his own hot dog. But his frustration doesnāt last long when the smell of Stilesā happiness floats over to him over the stench of other people. Thatās all Derek wants, really āĀ for Stiles to be happy.
Soon enough Stiles pulls out his phone, a few minutes before the game starts, and begs Derek for a selfie. He knows Derek canāt look straight at the lens, or it will ruin the photo, but he insists on capturing the moment forever. So he pulls Derek close, throwing an arm around his shoulder, nearly clinging to him, and beams at his phone screen like itās the best day of his life.
This close to him, Stiles smells amazing, and Derek plays along by slipping his own arm around Stilesā back, feeling the warm planes of his shoulders through his shirt. Stiles presses their temples together, leans into him, and if Derek isnāt imagining things, he could swear he feels Stiles shiver as their faces brush together, the scruff of Derekās beard meeting the soft skin of Stilesā face.
āSmile,ā Stiles demands, taking a series of photos on his phone, Derek looking away from the camera to avoid the eye flare. He glances down at where their thighs are pressed together, and swallows.
āYou happy now?ā Derek asks him, looking back up now and moving just far enough from Stiles to observe him sideways now, his gaze meeting the side of Stilesā face. Suddenly he canāt break his stare away, and he hopes he doesnāt look as lovesick as he feels, but Stilesā moles are right there, and his eyes are so warm and pretty, and his scentā
āYeah, I am,ā Stiles answers, long after Derek forgot the question. Their arms are still wrapped around each other, but before they can pull them away, thereās a sudden burst of noise from the crowd, cheering and hollering, along with a loud voice over the speaker.
Derekās distracted from a minute, pulled away from Stilesā beauty at last, the perfect time to remove his arm from around Stiles and keep his damn hands to himself but thenā
āKiss, kiss, kiss!ā people start suddenly chanting around him. Derek looks up, startled, already pulling his hand back, only for Stiles to grab his arm and point to the giant screen up above.
The giant screen that is currently broadcasting a live video of the two of them.
The words ākiss camā are shown on screen in bubble letters, paired with a heart shape around their surprised faces. Derek looks stressed, terrified, and annoyed all at the same time, but Stilesā
Stiles is blushing. That damn smile still hasnāt left his face, and his cheeks are pink, his moles dark and standing out on the massive screen, his long eyelashes batting as he looks down at his lap shyly, then up to Derek at last. Derekās frozen for a moment, but the chanting just gets louder around them. It seems the crowd wonāt stop until thereās kissing.
Finally, Derek rolls his eyes, meeting Stilesā at last and huffing, hoping his own cheeks donāt betray his nerves. He canāt kid himself; Stiles has never expressed any interest in him specifically; only to the general population of hot people, of which Derek might sometimes happen to be included. Plus, Stiles always smells horny; thatās just part of his charm, as Stiles himself would say.
So, not wanting to overstep or force anything on Stiles, but wanting the earsplitting crowd around them to shut the hell up already, Derek leans forward. Stilesā eyes widen instead of close, but his cheek is warm when Derekās lips meet his skin, and suddenly the crowd is booing.
Derek tears himself away, brows furrowed, but Stiles is still clinging onto his arm. When Derek meets his gaze, Stiles is biting his lip, trying to tamp down the grin thatās spreading there, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, as the crowd continues hollering around them.
āGimme kiss,ā Stiles is then saying to him in a terrible Russian accent, and suddenly his fingers clench around the front of Derekās green t-shirt, and Derek is being pulled forward, and his lips are meeting Stilesā at last.
The deafening screams and cheers of the people around them are drowned out. All Derek can hear is his and Stilesā own pounding heartbeats; all he can feel is Stilesā soft lips against his.
He stays still for a moment, frozen, shocked, before the smell of Stilesā giddiness drifts into his nose. Itās that smell that tells Derek this is okay, Stiles wants this, maybe just as much as Derek does.
So he lets himself raise his own palm and gently cup Stilesā jaw, and Stiles moves his mouth a little against Derekās, and Derek can hear him moaning, and suddenly theyāre in their own little world, deaf to everyone around them, the smells and sounds and feeling of being observed. All that exists is Stiles. All that matters is Stiles.
Derek kisses back like heās always wanted to, and melts further against Stiles as he feels the boyās long fingers sink into his hair. Their eyes are closed, and everything filling his senses is Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.
Finally, finally, they manage to break apart, panting, and when Derek glances around him, unable to meet Stilesā gaze just yet, the onlookers are focused on some other couple on the kiss cam now, exploiting their intimacy instead.
Derek can feel himself blushing, his face burning, and when he finally glances back up to Stiles, his face looks much the same. His eyes are dazed and his hands are back in his own lap now, but heās still turned towards Derek, and now that theyāve locked eyes again, Derek canāt look away.
āIāve wanted to do that for a while,ā Stiles murmurs, just to him, knowing he can hear, knowing Derek is tuned into him like always, despite the chaos around them.
āMe too,ā Derek admits. His voice is rough, and Stiles just laughs with glee, and then Derek is huffing a little too at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Stiles leans into him again, throwing his arms around Derekās shoulders and burying his face in his neck. Derekās arms go around him automatically, comfortably, like they were always meant to be there. He pulls Stiles in closer, as close as he can despite the armrest between them, sinks his nose into Stilesā hair, revels in their proximity.
Stilesā scent now is like syrup, maple like the color of his eyes, sweeter now than ever before.
āThe power of gay hockey, am I right?ā Stiles says to him when he pulls back at last, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Derek just rolls his own but canāt keep the small smile off his face.
āIāve always wanted a jock boyfriend,ā Derek lies, just to make him happy, happier, leaning close to Stiles so he can be heard over the crowd.
Stiles looks puzzled for a moment, pouting, brows furrowed. āBut Iām notā I donāt playāā
Derek just sighs, swatting the back of Stilesā head with the side of his hand, lightly, but Stiles overreacts as usual like the brat he is, wincing, grabbing Derekās wrist just to pull him closer again in the end and interlace their fingers with a grin like heās just won a prize.
āYou play lacrosse, dumbass,ā Derek reminds him. It takes Stiles a moment to catch up; heās too focused on Derekās lips, trying to read them over the sound of the crowd. Or maybe he just really likes watching Derekās lips. Thatās a possibility, something Derek can let himself think about now. Like the horny smell surrounding Stiles even now, the way Stiles licks his own lips in response.
āā¦Oh yeah,ā Stiles says after way too long. āOh fuck, I play lacrosse. Duh. Hey, Iām a jock!ā he realizes happily.
Derek canāt help but roll his eyes again and pull his dumb jock boyfriend closer with an arm around his shoulder. Stiles weaves both of his arms around Derekās waist and settles in to watch the game at last, sneaking giddy glances at Derek whenever he can, like he canāt believe this is real.
Derek knows the feeling.
Derekās never cared about hockey, but he cares way, way too much about the boy in his arms, so he focuses on him instead, and gazes down idly at him to the soundtrack of Stiles mumbling something about hopefully getting a recording of their kiss on the kiss cam.
āSo I remember it forever,ā Stiles says.
āWhat, you wouldnāt remember it otherwise?ā Derek teases, and gives him another, longer kiss right after.
Just to make sure the memory sticks, and all.
It's the second of their many, many kisses throughout the night, and Derek finds himself with a new appreciation for hockey by the end of it.
It was honestly a miracle Stiles Stilinski showed up to work anymore.
Youād think being part-time savior of Beacon Hills would be enough of a full-time gig. Most of the time, that meant dragging his ass out of bed at three a.m. to break up rogue werewolf fights or handle whatever hellbeast decided to show up.
But unfortunately, that noble calling didnāt come with health insurance or tuition assistance. And his dad couldnāt fund his life forever, especially with Stiles now living hours away at college.
The job didnāt ask much of him. Just show up, smile, make coffee, and try not to burn the place down. In return, he got free caffeine and the ownerās blessing to disappear mid-shift when something clawed its way out of the preserve back home.
Stiles had already run off twice recentlyāonce for a possessed scarecrow situation, and another since Lydia said she felt ācosmically off,ā which usually meant something was about to explode.
Heād been playing an exhausting game of peek-a-boo with his professors, ducking out of lectures mid-slide and pretending everything was totally fine. He honestly didnāt think heād sat still for more than twenty minutes of actual learning since Monday.
So yeah, Stiles wasnāt exactly Employee of the Month. Or Student of the Semester for that matter. But he was trying.
Which was why he was managing the espresso station this morning, hair still damp, apron slightly crooked and eyes half-lidded from barely any sleep.
The bell over the door jingled, and Stiles looked upāready to smile, or fake it at least.
Then he saw who it was, and suddenly his chest felt way too small for all the air it needed.
Derek Hale was standing there, looking like a brooding supernatural mirage, leather jacket draped over his shoulders, clearly unconcerned that it was eighty degrees out.
Stiles did a double take. Because this made zero sense.
Derek was supposed to be in Beacon Hills. Heād said so himself just a few nights ago, grumbling over the phone about how he didnāt know why he kept going back there. How the town was cursed and he was done being Beacon Hillsā personal werewolf version of pest control.
āUh,ā Stiles said, eloquent as ever, āwe donāt serve brooding with a side of glaring before nine a.m., sorry.ā
Derek didnāt smile. Of course he didnāt. āIām not here for coffee,ā he huffed.
āCool, cool, love the ominous vibe,ā Stiles muttered, stepping out from behind the counter. āSo what are you here for?ā
Derek hesitated, then cleared his throat. āHad a feeling something was wrong. Had to check.ā
Stiles blinked at him. Then blinked again. āI literally texted you last night.ā
A beat of silence.
āYou ignored me,ā Stiles added, arms crossing as his foot bounced restlessly against the floor.
Derek shifted like he was trying not to wince. āDidnāt feel right through the phone.ā
Stiles stared, brow raised and lips twitching. āThatās not a thing, Derek.ā
āIt is for me,ā Derekās own eyebrows shot high into his hairline.
Stiles opened his mouth. Closed it. Then sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. āYou drove all this way for a feeling?ā
āYeah.ā
āOkayā¦ fine,ā Stilesā voice came out a little softer. āBut next time, answer your damn texts.ā
Derek nodded, scanning him from head to toe. āAre you okay?ā
And thatāthatāmade his heart start racing and his stomach do little somersaults. Derek didnāt say things like that unless he meant them.
Stiles looked at him for a few long seconds, then shrugged. āIām tired.ā
Derek nodded again, a faint softness in his eyes betraying the stoic mask.
āIāll make you a coffee,ā Stiles was already turning back toward the espresso machine. āYouāre not leaving now. Not until I get a break and you explain the werewolf sixth sense thing, because thatās terrifying.ā
Behind him, he heard Derek laugh for the first time in forever, and it sounded way too good to be real.
WIP? More like āWork In Procrastination,ā because apparently my brain is on a strict oneshot-only diet:
It started as most things in Derek Haleās life had lately, with a simple, irritated thought.
He should really shut the hell up.
Stiles had been talking for nine minutes straight. Derek knew, because heād been counting. Not consciously at first, but somewhere around minute three, something inside him began to twist.
He braced himself against the kitchen counter, fingers gripping the edge, his lips pressing into a hard line as he stared at the way Stilesā mouth moved like it didnāt know how to stop.
Stiles wasnāt making sense anymore; his words tumbled faster and louder, piling into a frantic rush. Half of it was sarcasm, the rest wild theories thrown out just to fill the air. It was like he was building something out of noise aloneālayer after layer of nonsenseāas if talking enough would keep everything else from caving in.
Derek could have made him stop.
He imagined pushing Stiles back, his hand locking at the nape of his neck, feeling the skin warm and tense under his palm. He could almost feel the slight hitch in Stilesā breath as he stumbled, just enough to throw him off balance.
The thought kept repeating, over and over, threading deeper into him every time Stiles threw out another word. Another smartass jab. Another deflection disguised as brilliance.
That mouth. That fucking mouth.
Derekās wolf stirred, restless under his skin. Not out of angerānot really. This was something darker. He wanted to command him. Pin him. He wanted to see that mouth go slack with submission. Wanted the silence that came not from fear, but from surrender.
Something thick coiled in Derekās chest, tension winding tighter with every second. He drew a shallow breath through his nose, though it barely felt like air. Stilesā scent hit him hard, sharp with adrenaline and tinged with nervous energy, always carrying that constant, subtle edge of arousal that never faded.
He spun around, hands gesturing wildly, frustration rising in his voice as his eyes darted around the room. āI mean, itās not like anyone ever listens to me anyway,ā he said, unaware of the weight behind Derekās silence.
āBut this time, I have actual logic on my side. Not that logic matters when you have werewolf instincts and an alpha growly brain or whatever. Which, by the way, is so not helpful when Iām trying to have a conversation like a normal person. But no, itās always: āStiles, shut up,ā or āStiles, stay in the car,ā orāā
Derek cut him off, snapping, āDo you ever shut up?ā His eyes flared bright red, fierce and blazing in the dim light.
Stiles flinched, surprise flickering in his amber eyes. His scent grew stronger, carrying a heat that filled the space between them, impossible to ignore. Derek could hear his heartbeat spike, a frantic rhythm that hammered against his ribs.
āUm, rude. You were clearly one of the people I was talking about.ā Stiles crossed his arms, not backing down in the slightest. His mouth set into a stubborn line, but his eyes were bright with challenge, daring Derek to say something else.
He tipped his chin up, jaw set at that smug angle he wore like armor, as if he knew exactly how unbearable he could be and leaned into it anyway. It made Derek want to bite him. Or kiss him breathless. Maybe tear him apart completely.
āBut hey,ā Stiles continued, mock innocence curling his words, āif you wanted me quiet, you couldāve just kissed me. Worked for some people in high school.ā
Derekās eyes narrowed.
Silence fell instantly. He didnāt move or blink, just stared, unreadable and intense, seeing through the joke, through the bravado, straight into the pulse flickering beneath Stilesā skin.
Stiles shifted, his smirk faltering. He licked his lips, suddenly unsure, and the tilt of his head softened, no longer defiant, just vulnerable. āIāI was joking,ā he stammered, his confidence slipping away. āObviously.ā
Derek didnāt want to joke. He didnāt want to trade snark or keep pretending this was anything less than what it was. He wanted Stiles to shut up. Not to be fully silent. No, he still wanted to hear him.
He wanted the catch of breath that came when words ran dry. The desperate, shaky moans that tore from deep inside Stilesā chest when Derek clenched onto his hips and pulled him close, teeth grazing the curve of his jaw.
But the talking? The endless stream of sarcasm and deflection, the way Stiles built walls out of noise just to keep people from getting too close? Derek wanted that to stop. He wanted to take him apart until there was nothing left to say.
Stilesā tongue darted out, wetting his lips in a quick, anxious gesture. āSay something, dude. Youāre making me nervous.ā
Derekās claws itched beneath his skin, a low burn crawling up his arms as his wolf surged just under the surface.
Wild, hungry, and done waiting.
His pulse drummed heavy in his ears, and when he stepped forward, it was with the slow precision of a predator that already knew it had won, every movement deliberate, meant to press the weight of each inch closed between them.
He knew Stiles felt it tooāsaw it in the hitch of his breath, the quick rise of his chest, the way his pupils went wide with anticipation.
Derekās hand shot out, rough fingers tangling in Stilesā thick brown hair, gripping firmly at the crown and yanking his head back. The sharp motion pulled a gasp from Stilesā lips.
His wolf growled its approval.
He crowded in close, pushing Stilesā body until the cold edge of the kitchen counter dug into his waist. His hips rolled forward with a force that left no room for doubt, no space to breathe. Nothing but pressure, heat, and the fact he wasnāt letting go now.
Stiles shuddered against him, full-body and uncontrollable. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling, and his mouth parted on a soft, broken moan, pulled straight from his throat like he didnāt know how to hold it in.
Derekās hand tightened in Stilesā hair, fingers threading through the strands in a clear claim. His hot breath brushed against Stilesā skin as he whispered, āThatās exactly what I want to hear.ā
touch starved Derek Haleā¦. touch starved Derek Haleā¦. where werewolves literally have to have physical affection or they get sick. he managed to get through the worst of it with hookups but after settling back in Beacon Hills heās starting to feel awful.
the casual touching and scenting with the pack isnāt enough anymore. he spars with his betas just to be able to stave off this hunger. just to be able to touch someone. heās sure that none of them notice but of course Stiles pays attention to the lingering touches. that Derek gives everyone EXCEPT HIM! heās jealous ok sue him. he wants to feel Derekās (big, warm) hand settle on his shoulder or guide him through proper form. so what is he isnāt a werewolf??
so after everyone has gone he approaches the Alpha and makes some flimsy excuse of wanting to hold his own even if he doesnāt have werewolf strength but really he just wants Derekās hands on him.
Derek at hearing this, initial reaction is to shoot him down. he wants to tell him that heās never gonna have to worry about that because Derek would protect him. But then he pauses. this means he would get to touch Stiles. put his scent on him. maybe even pin him down while grapplingā¦. he agrees.
he starts with the basics and guides him through , standing far too close behind him with his front practically plastered to Stiles back as he moves his rolling limbs. something in him settles, his wolf finally calming down. he doesnāt even realize until itās already done that heās wrapped his arms around Stiles waist and tucked his head into his neck, breathing in deep.
Stiles tilts his head to the side, not wanting to startle Derek. heās still half convinced this is a dream. Derek lets out an approving rumble and lets his tongue lick a stripe up his neck.ļæ¼ļæ¼
The world moved before Stiles did, his body jostling as the cramped heat of what mightāve been a car gave way to open air. For a few seconds, he had no idea what was happening. His room was gone. The sheets were gone. The blood, the shouting, the flower.
An arm hooked under his knees, another braced across his back, and then his stomach dropped as someone hoisted him up, leaving his arms dangling uselessly toward the pavement.
āOh god,ā he rasped. āMā being kidnapped?ā
āNo,ā Derek said, adjusting his hold as he walked. āYou passed out. Weāre taking you to Deaton.ā
āPlease donāt sell my liver on Facebook Marketplace or something,ā Stiles pleaded. āItās not even good.ā
Inspired by @renmackree š A truly wonderful friend.
This came about from talking to Ren about her vacation and just speculating what the boys would get up to if they were there and I have been on a "let take care of Derek" kick so here they are getting cozy in a canoe.
Here are some process photos if you want them! (I started using Fresco on the second draft which is why the style changes slighty).
