these motherfuckers are stuck in my brain

Sterek, DOB, and Tyler Hoechlin centric sideblog. I write fic, make art and gif sometimes! Feel free to send me requests! You can find me on ao3 as mee4ever

[secretzofdarkness]

Sterek is the type of weird creepy couple in which Stiles would say he wants a werewolf fang necklace and Derek would easily say "choose one" and open his mouth for his human to pick.

[kaciart]

-

Patreon | Ko-Fi

[homemadesterekpie]

Stiles is the type of person who texts Derek at like 2am about craving a milkshake and that he even got hard thinking about it lmfao

Derek is always like “what a freak” but then he gets out of bed to make Stiles a god damn milkshake and drive all the way to Stiles’ house to bring it to him.

he doesn’t mind because Stiles usually lets him hit after finishing his milkshake.

[sterek-ao3feed]

substantial subjection

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/88469266

by mee4ever

Stiles watched his movements in the reflection of the window, and he was already frowning when Derek said, “Stiles,” in a tone of voice he reserved for serious business.  Stiles turned, and he’d been right, but the sight was still strange because in the middle of their still chaotic living room, Derek knelt. 

Or the one where Stiles is roped into an undernegotiated free use relationship because Derek doesn’t tell him about it.

Words: 1453, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale

Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Additional Tags: Sub Derek Hale, Dom Stiles Stilinski, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, BDSM, Blow Jobs, No Negotiation, Alternate Universe - No Powers, More tags to be applied, Sexual Free Use, Lack of Communication

https://archiveofourown.org/works/88469266

[howdoyoudefinelying]

read such a good bdsm fic that now im planning a fic where sterek gets into a free use relationship "accidently" (read: sub Derek decides and conveniently forgets to tell unbeknown-to-himself-dom Stiles about it)

[squishyowlbear]

Inspired by and may death find you alive by @renmackree 🍔🪦

[lavendorpie]

Stiles: “if I fits I sits”

Ref

[queer-stilinski]

i just need a moment pre-dating sterek where Derek holds or reaches out for Stiles’ hand for comfort

where they’re at the movies and there’s a particular scene that’s a little too close to home. where Derek’s maybe struggling to watch but cannot pull his eyes away from it either. his hand searching out for Stiles’, finding it on Stiles’ knee and just interlocking their fingers without warning. it catches Stiles off guard but he sees the discomfort in Derek’s face even as the lights from the movie dance around. Stiles doesn’t say anything, just squeezes Derek’s hand in his.

where they’re sitting in the camaro, keeping a lookout for whatever it is that’s terrorizing the town for the week. Stiles, of course, is stuffing his face with curly fries and an XL slushie, rambling in between breaths about his studies, pack drama, his dad’s health, whatever comes to mind. Derek’s happy to just sit and listen as he stares out the windshield. he’s not exactly uncomfortable, nothing is wrong, and yet, he can’t help but grab Stiles’ hand as they continue to wait. it probably takes him more than a few minutes to realize he’d been rubbing his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles ( which may have inadvertently caused Stiles to slow down when talking.. and eating )

maybe even at pack meeting/night. there’s too many voices overlapping, too many different opinions, everyone thinking they’re right and somehow no one is wrong. Derek tries closing his eyes, rubbing at his temples, trying his damndest to tune everyone out until he can find a way to get a word in. he finds himself grabbing Stiles’ free hand, already running his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles, counting quietly to himself in his head just for a moment. that seems to shut the pack up, all of their eyes locking in on Derek’s hand in Stiles’. when Derek lets go, staring back at the curious expressions, Stiles just grabs Derek’s hand again, breaking the silence by saying, “now that everyone’s quiet, can we finally let Derek speak?” Derek looks to Stiles slightly stunned, to which Stiles only nods with a smile, giving Derek’s hand a light, reassuring squeeze.

Derek ( and Stiles ) would become so used to it. Derek would be so spoiled by it. Stiles offering up his hand whenever he was in the presence of Derek. didn’t matter if Derek was in distress or not, Stiles would splay out his hand waiting for Derek to take it. and Derek would find so much comfort in how warm, firm but soft Stiles’ hands were. how Stiles’ grip was never too tight or loose. that occasionally Stiles would rub circles into Derek’s knuckles, or fidget with Derek’s fingers, or clasp both hands over Derek’s one, creating a cocoon of warmth.

one day, Stiles would walk into the loft finding Derek at his worst, emotionally. immediately, Stiles grabbed Derek by the hand, pulling him towards the couch and making him sit awfully close. he’d press his forehead against Derek’s temple, his hand still intertwined with Derek’s as he whispered reassurance and comforting words that soothed Derek. they’d share a few deep breaths, that heavy feeling on Derek’s shoulders lifting.

Derek freezes when he feels lips pressed against the back of his hand. words catch in his throat, unable to form a single thought as he stares back into Stiles’ eyes, completely lost in them ( which tends to happen more times than Derek thinks ). the only coherent thought Derek has is to kiss him back, so he does, finally getting to feel and taste Stiles’ lips against his own. Derek basks in how sweet and soft Stiles feels; how it brings him just as much comfort as their hands clasped together, as if this is how they’ve meant to be this entire time.

when their lips finally part, Derek reciprocates leaving kisses against Stiles’ knuckles. eventually he finds words to muster up, expressing to Stiles how surprised he is by how much comfort Stiles brings him, the security he feels just from being around him.

“i don’t feel this calm with anyone else,” Derek admits.

Stiles smiled softly, kissing the corner of Derek’s mouth. his fingers wrapped around Derek’s hands again, eyelashes fluttering as he looked up at Derek, “i don’t mind being your security human if you need me to.”

[stilinski-ortiz-dolan]

[stilesonthehunt]

Derek: That’s why we needed to get an expert.

Stiles: Oh, really? Who did you get?

Derek: *stares*

Stiles: Oh! Right, that’s me… Yes.

[melioristicbeast]

Entry 1 (out of 3 because i do not know how to exercise restraint lol) for the @makehimsubmit event 🩷

Tagging as mature just to be safe but nothing explicit here, just Derek in his happy space 😌❤️

[daisybeats]

The first thing Stiles notices is that Derek has stopped slamming doors.

It shouldn’t feel like a loss.

But it does.

Because slammed doors mean anger - sharp, loud, undeniable. Slammed doors mean something is wrong and Derek is willing to show it. This… this quiet? This careful, measured way Derek moves around the loft like he’s afraid of breaking something that’s already shattered?

This is worse.

This is how things rot.

They don’t fight anymore.

Not really.

They used to…God, they used to.

Explosive, messy arguments that left them both breathless, Derek’s eyes burning red, Stiles pacing like a caged animal, words flying too fast, too sharp, too honest. It had been ugly, yeah, but it had also been real. They said things. They meant things. They felt things.

Now? Now it’s all swallowed. Pressed down. Ignored.

••••••

Stiles leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed tight over his chest, watching Derek from across the loft.

Derek is at the far window, back turned, staring out into the night like there’s something out there worth looking at.

There isn’t. There never is.

“You’re late,” Stiles says, because it’s something. Because silence feels like drowning.

Derek doesn’t turn. “Pack business.”

Two words. Flat. Final.

The conversation dies before it even starts.

Stiles swallows, something bitter crawling up his throat. “Right. Cool. Yeah. Pack stuff. Obviously more important than-”

He cuts himself off.

Because Derek doesn’t ask, “More important than what?”

He doesn’t turn around.

He doesn’t engage.

And Stiles hates that he doesn’t push it anymore.

“Whatever,” Stiles mutters instead, looking away. “Doesn’t matter.”

It always matters. That’s the problem.

Everything matters, and neither of them will say it.

••••••

They eat dinner in silence.

Not even sitting together. Derek at the table, Stiles on the couch, the TV on low just to fill the space with something other than the weight pressing in on them.

At one point, Derek glances over.

Just for a second.

Stiles feels it like a touch.

He almost looks back.

Almost says something.

Stay. Talk to me. Please.

Instead, he pretends he didn’t notice.

And Derek looks away.

They go to bed like strangers who know each other too well.

Derek lies on his side, back to the room.

Stiles stares at the ceiling.

There’s space between them, just a few inches, but it feels like miles.

It wasn’t always like this.

There was a time Derek couldn’t keep his hands off him. A time when Stiles would curl into Derek’s side and feel something solid, something steady, something safe.

Now, even breathing feels too loud.

Too risky.

Because if one of them reaches out and the other doesn’t respond…

That would break it.

And neither of them can survive that.

So they don’t try.

It builds like that.

Days turning into weeks of almosts and not-quites.

Almost conversations.

Not-quite arguments.

Almost touches.

Not-quite affection.

They orbit each other carefully, like they’re both aware that one wrong move will send everything crashing down.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part…They’re trying so hard not to hurt each other that they’re bleeding out slowly anyway.

••••••

Peter notices.

Of course he does.

Peter always notices.

“You look awful,” Peter says casually one day, leaning against the loft railing.

Stiles doesn’t even look up from where he’s hunched over the counter. “Wow, thank you, Peter, that’s so helpful. Really constructive feedback. I feel healed already.”

Peter hums. “That’s funny, considering you’re very clearly not.”

Stiles stills.

Just for a second.

Then he shrugs, too fast, too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Peter smiles, slow and knowing. “Ah. The famous last words of emotionally repressed idiots everywhere.”

“Okay, wow, fuck you.”

“You and Derek,” Peter cuts in smoothly, “are exhausting to watch.”

That gets Stiles’ attention.

He looks up, glaring. “No one asked you to watch.”

“And yet here I am,” Peter says lightly. “Watching the two of you slowly destroy yourselves because neither of you can manage a basic conversation.”

“We talk,” Stiles snaps.

Peter raises an eyebrow.

Stiles opens his mouth. Closes it.

Because…No.

They don’t. Not really.

“You think love is supposed to look like this?” Peter asks, voice quieter now, sharper in a different way.

Stiles scoffs, defensive. “You don’t know anything about-”

“I know exactly what it looks like when two people love each other so much they’d rather suffer than risk losing it,” Peter interrupts.

That hits. Hard.

Stiles’ chest tightens. “We’re not-”

“You are,” Peter says simply. “And it’s pathetic.”

Anger flares, quick and bright. “You don’t get to-”

“You’re afraid,” Peter continues, like Stiles didn’t speak. “Both of you. Terrified that if you actually say what you’re feeling, it’ll be the thing that breaks you.”

Stiles’ hands curl into fists.

Because that’s not wrong.

Peter steps closer, voice dropping.

“But here’s the part you’re too stupid to realize,” he says. “You’re already breaking.”

Silence crashes down. Heavy. Unavoidable.

“You don’t heal by pretending nothing’s wrong,” Peter adds, softer now. “You heal by tearing the wound open and dealing with it.”

Stiles’ throat burns.

“That’s easy for you to say,” he mutters.

Peter tilts his head. “Is it?”

For a moment - just a moment - there’s something real in his expression. Something tired. Something that looks a little too much like experience.

Then it’s gone.

“You love him,” Peter says.

It’s not a question.

Stiles exhales shakily. “Yeah.”

“Then act like it,” Peter replies.

••••••

Derek comes back later.

He pauses when he sees Peter.

Tension immediately coils in his shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

Peter smiles faintly. “Fixing your relationship.”

Derek’s expression darkens. “Leave.”

Peter just shrugs, pushing off the railing. “Or don’t. Continue as you are. I’m sure this ends well.”

He moves past Derek, then stops, just long enough to murmur “You can’t heal something you refuse to touch.”

And then he’s gone.

The silence he leaves behind is unbearable.

Derek stands near the door.

Stiles stands by the counter.

Neither of them moves.

Neither of them speaks for a while

“Are we… okay?”

It slips out of Stiles before he can stop it.

Derek freezes.

Slowly, he turns.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, he looks at Stiles like he actually sees him.

“No,” Derek says.

Honest. Raw. Immediate

It fucking hurts.

God, it hurts.

But it’s also a relief.

“Okay,” Stiles breathes, voice shaking. “Okay, good. Not good - bad - but like, good that we’re acknowledging that we’re not good because…yeah, no, we’re definitely not good.”

Derek takes a step closer.

Then another.

“I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admits quietly.

Stiles laughs, a broken sound. “Yeah, well, same. Turns out ignoring it? Not the move.”

Derek huffs, almost a laugh.

“I thought… if I pushed too hard…” Derek starts, then stops.

Stiles shakes his head. “I thought if I said the wrong thing, you’d leave.”

There it is.

The truth.

Ugly and exposed and terrifying.

Derek’s eyes soften, something aching breaking through. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that,” Stiles says immediately.

“I do,” Derek insists.

“You can’t-”

“I choose you,” Derek cuts in, voice rough. “Even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts. I choose you.”

Stiles’ chest cracks open.

That’s all he needed.

That’s all he’s been waiting to hear.

“I’m scared,” Stiles admits, quieter now.

Derek nods. “I know.”

“I don’t want us to keep… doing this,” Stiles says, gesturing weakly between them. “This…whatever this is. It feels like we’re dying in slow motion.”

Derek steps closer until there’s no space left.

“We stop,” he says simply.

Stiles swallows. “Just like that?”

“No,” Derek says. “Not just like that. It’ll be hard. We’ll mess it up.” He hesitates. “But we talk. Even when it’s ugly. Even when it hurts.”

Stiles lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I can do ugly.”

Derek’s mouth twitches then he moves. Carefully, like approaching something fragile.

He reaches out.

His hand brushes Stiles’ wrist.

Waits.

Stiles doesn’t pull away.

It’s not fixed.

Not even close.

But it’s a start.

Later, when they lie in bed, the space between them is gone.

Stiles is tucked against Derek’s side, Derek’s arm wrapped around him like he’s afraid to let go.

“Hey,” Stiles murmurs into the quiet.

“Hmm?”

“If we start doing the silent suffering thing again,” Stiles says, “I’m gonna fight you.”

Derek hums. “Good.”

Stiles smiles, small but real.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Good.”

[inkandgasoline]

And he's judging YOU right back--

Finally got this one finished--after a thumb injury and Procreate deciding to yeet my entire brush library (which was definitely worse).

He's got such a baby face here, but I dig it

(Don't repost, don't feed to any AI, and ask first if you'd like to share off site. Thxxx)

[brwlvs-tw]

[timetosuitup]

Stiles has a really bad first time with some guy in college. It's a Friday night. He's just been kicked out of the guy's room, and in his drunk, overwhelmed state, calling Derek is the only thing that makes sense.

Derek, who is strong and steady and makes him feel safe.

Derek, who got in the car the second he heard Stiles’ disheveled voice, trying to calm him, reassure him that it’s going to be okay.

He talks to Stiles all the way there. Stiles tries to explain what happened, voice shaking. This random guy at the party had really wanted to fuck him, but Stiles had never done that before and everything happened too fast, and it was too much, and it just sucked. Derek can tell by his sniffles and the thickness in his voice that he’s crying, and he grips the steering wheel so hard he dents it.

It’s a two hour drive, and he definitely speeds a little. He asks if Stiles is hungry and picks up something to eat.

When Derek knocks on his door, Stiles' hair is damp from showering, and he's dressed in soft pajamas. He's clear-headed enough now to feel it all properly—sore and exposed and raw.

He blinks slowly, eyes still glassy and red-rimmed, and Derek wraps his arms around him, solid and warm. Stiles unravels and starts crying again—dimly horrified he’s getting snot all over Derek’s shirt, but Derek just rubs over his back and tells him not to worry about it.

They eat burgers and curly fries on Stiles’ bed. He keeps wincing and shifting around the fucking pain in his ass. Derek's jaw tightens but he doesn't say anything.

Stiles asks him to stay and he does. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jacket, and lays down next to Stiles. Hesitantly, Stiles moves closer until their shoulders are touching.

“I know it’s dumb,” he says quietly. “But could you maybe, um...just hold me for a little while?”

Derek turns onto his side and pulls Stiles flush against him. Stiles lets out a sigh when Derek's hand settles on a patch of exposed skin on his back, the touch warm and steady. Derek doesn't comment, just makes the discomfort bleed out of him.

“Thanks,” Stiles whispers. A moment later, he's asleep, head tucked under Derek’s chin.

Derek listens to his breaths evening out before pressing his lips to Stiles’ hair. There’s a lot he wishes he could say.

But for now he just holds him.

[fruitgravies]

running thru my head

prints • insta • twt

[0hheytherebigbadwolf]

A funny thing that Teen Wolf missed out on.

Play.

Wolves play. Not just as cubs, though they do that too, but also as adults. They tug-of-war with bones and hides, they chase and wrestle, they play "fetch," even if they're by themselves. They get the zoomies and annoy each other for fun sometimes. They play with bones from kills and chew on them for enjoyment. They play chase with crows and ravens.

I think Scott gets most of his "play" through lacrosse, and he's not always so in touch with his wolf side, so maybe not.

But it would be funny as fuck if the Wonder Betas started acting up because of new urges. They see a flock of birds just chilling and feel the Absolute Urge to run at them. Not to catch them or anything, just for funsies. Derek, a former basketball player, will sometimes Kobe something at the garbage can, and the Betas immediately come halfway out of their seats because Alpha!! Threw a thing!! Wants to play!!!!

Derek, firmly: No. Leave it.

Betas: *frozen in place, half-standing*

Derek: It's trash. We've talked about this.

Betas: *slowly sit back down with sad eyes*

Also they start chewing on shit. Constantly. Growing new teeth is Weird, and it is so inexplicably Satisfying to do. They destroy at least an entire pack of pencils each and burst no fewer than four pens apiece before they learn how to resist the urge. Anytime they eat anything bone-in, they are cracking them bitches right open. Crab legs are also enjoyable, even if they can't eat the shells. Crunchy-crunch time.

Derek will never admit it, but the furniture in the Hale house had plenty of gnaw marks from the cubs, including himself.

It's a werewolf thing.