Since you posted that prompts list 🙃🙃🙃🙃 85. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” “I’m not jealous.” I neeeeeeed some jelly Derek, luv ya
The first time Stiles went to The Jungle, he’d been a scrawny, pale, sexually-confused teenager. Stiles was pretty sure he’d blundered in and made a complete fool of himself, but that had seemed to be his MO when he was younger.
When he was younger, Stiles was an idiot. He wouldn’t even attempt to deny that.
But Stiles was a solid nineteen-years-old now and although he never would have seen himself staying in Beacon Hills after high school, he could always follow Scott’s example and claim it to be ‘werewolf stuff.’ Even if he wasn’t a werewolf. Even though he probably could have turned his back on it all whenever he wanted without anyone ever giving him too hard of a time.
But then Stiles could also say Derek had made him stay. Derek Hale and his red eyes. Derek Hale and his grumpy growls that Stiles was totally not head of heels for, thank you very much.
He could even say it was his father, even though Stiles was pretty sure his dad would love to see him a couple thousand miles from this Hellmouth. The point is, Stiles could make up a lot of excuses. But where had he been again?
Oh yeah. His newly understood sexuality and the local Beacon Hills gay club.
Stiles hadn’t planned on going out, he really hadn’t. But then Scott was busy with Allison, Lydia was busy being a genius in another state, and Stiles was pretty sure Derek was kicking his betas asses during their Friday night training.
Which, uh, no thanks. He didn’t care that Derek offered out the loft to whoever wanted to crash there, Stiles had better things to do than watch shirtless werewolves run around and get beaten up by a man twice their size and much more dangerous to Stiles’s certain… lower regions.
So, when a smirking Jackson had offered an invitation out, did Stiles really have anything better to do? Other than chill in his dorm room that is, wondering when Scott would end up coming back before the night ended. But part of him knew that probably wouldn’t happen until tomorrow. Or, if Stiles was really unlucky, he’d be alone all the way until the weekend ended.
But still, some part of his brain said; it was Jackson. And a couple of years ago, Stiles would have very impolitely said ‘fuck you’, thank you very much.
But this wasn’t a few years ago. And Stiles could agree now that yeah, Jackson wasn’t the complete douchebag that he used to be. And when he was actually tolerating Stiles’s presence, they sometimes got along.
Sometimes. Stiles was hoping tonight would be one of those nights.
Because he was bored, dammit.
The last time he’d been clubbing was— when was the last time he’d been clubbing? It seemed like the pack was sidetracked every other day with the new monster of the week and Stiles never had any time to himself anymore. He sorely regretted telling Derek his dorm number because the Alpha showed up multiple times each week now, scaring the shit out of Stiles’s floor every time.
His RA wouldn’t even talk to him anymore. But could Stiles really blame the guy? Joe had come by the dorm room once and Derek had nearly gone feral Alpha werewolf on the poor guy.
If Stiles thought about it, Derek tended to nearly go feral Alpha werewolf on anyone that dared get too close to him. But yeah, Stiles didn’t really spend too much thinking about it. Mostly because somehow, Derek had managed to keep the exciting parts of Stiles’s life dry both inside and outside of pack life.
It was like he was werewolf married or something. Just without the perks.
Married to the pack, maybe?
“Hey, Stilinski, where the hell is your head at tonight?”
Stiles snapped out of his thoughts and gave Jackson a startled look. The beta was sitting in his desk chair and scowling, all decked out to be hitting the club. Stiles didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, but his Chemistry book was still open in his lap and he was pretty sure he didn’t remember letting Jackson into his room.
Stiles stared at him for another long moment. Jackson scowled and waved a hand through the air.
“Uh, Stilinski? Earth to the idiot?
“Shut up,” Stiles grumbled, slapping his book shut. He tossed it off of his bed and Jackson caught it with a curse, but there was a definite smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. Stiles all but fell off his bunk bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, grabbing the closest pile of clothes that he was pretty sure didn’t smell too terrible.
But then Jackson was there, eyes flashing blue as he yanked them away. Stiles rolled his eyes.
“Are you serious, dude? Those are like, my cleanest clothes.”
“I know. That’s why I brought an outfit.”
Stiles scowled at the beta and considered denying him just to see how snarly Jackson could get before he gave him. But then, deciding to take the path of least resistance, Stiles took the clothes pushed into his arms and turned back toward the bathroom, stumbling inside.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d showered. But it was exams week with the end of the semester finally coming up and Stiles had been living off of Red Bull and ramen, dammit. He couldn’t be expected to be put together.
He really needed this night out.
By the time he came out all showered and dressed, Jackson gave him a sweeping look and then actually look satisfied. Stiles just flipped him the bird, grabbing his keys and wallet off his desk before heading out of his dorm room without waiting for the beta.
He wasn’t doing this for Jackson. But it might mess with Scott a little if he came back early and maybe Stiles was kind of hoping for that.
Or at least he could get so wasted that he’d forget the fact that he’d probably failed his Anthropology final two days ago. But the exam had been hard, okay? Stiles had studied; he had.
Jackson smacked him upside the head when they reached the jeep and told him to stop thinking so hard. Stiles just glared at the beta again.
The last time he’d been clubbing— the last time he’d been clubbing? Stiles was pretty sure it had been with Danny when he was newly eighteen, a few months before the teenager had hightailed it out of Beacon Hills and all the horrors that the town held.
If Stiles had been smart, he probably would’ve followed.
But Stiles wasn’t smart. Not in certain areas at certain times, at least. Which might have been how he was ducking into the local gay club at twelve o’clock on a Friday night, counting down the minutes until Jackson inevitably ditched him.
Tonight took a little longer than usual. But by the time Stiles had been hanging around the bar counter for going on ten minutes, Jackson just gave him a disappointed look and ducked away.
Stiles shrugged and turned back to his rum and coke.
He didn’t say alone for long, though.
“Your friend told me to introduce myself,” a new voice said, not long after Stiles had worked his way through his second drink. And Stiles really should have expected this.
The guy dropped onto the stool at Stiles’s side and he raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways to take in the dark brown hair that came with a Jackson-approved chiseled face. Still, Stiles shot a glance across the dance floor to see Jackson give him a blue-eyed look, arms thrown around the neck of some other stranger.
Forcing himself not to sigh, Stiles turned back toward the guy.
He could look at him without envisioning dark stubble or grey-green eyes, which Stiles always considered a win. He’d never admit that out loud, but Derek had totally ruined standards for him. Except, Stiles wasn’t pining. Totally not.
He was not pining.
“My name’s Vic,” the guy said, offering out a hand. And of course, it was. Stiles could have survived this night with just a bit of drinking and maybe some wallowing in the bar nuts. But then again, Jackson might never invite him out again.
“I’m Stiles.”
“Your friend already told me.”
“Oh?” Stiles said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that all you’ve heard about me so far?”
“He said you like to dance.”
Sometimes, Stiles really hated Jackson. Had he been a stupid seventeen-year-old again, he totally would have thought this was a prank. But he didn’t need to glance over to see Jackson’s threatening looks, slowly letting himself get pulled up.
The bartender’s look was all too knowing. Stiles slapped a ten onto the counter and let himself get tugged out onto the dance floor.
Stiles wasn’t sure if he had the appropriate buzz for this yet. But then he was surrounded by sweaty bodies and the lights overhead were a little more than blinding. If Stiles concentrated hard enough, the music could be dulled to a thrumming in the background and Vic’s eyes almost seemed to reflect a little bit of green in the overhead lights. Stiles was pretty sure that was all in his own head though, because he was pretty sure the guy’s eyes had been dark brown earlier. But he was allowed to imagine a little, wasn’t he?
Then there were fingertips brushing over the back of his neck and Stiles glanced back to see Jackson. Sweat shone on his forehead and a wicked smirk played along his lips. The beta jerked his chin toward Vic and at some point between song one and song two, Stiles had gone from Jackson pressing up against his back to Vic grinding down against his front.
Now, this was a much easier way of getting his brain to shut up, Stiles had to admit. With fingers tracing over the back of his neck, Vic dragged a hand through his hair and pulled Stiles toward the crook of his neck with his free hand. Stiles could completely forget about his possible failed exam or complete lack of a roommate right now.
Or Derek. Freaking Derek Hale.
Screw Derek Hale.
Like he could read his spinning thoughts, Vic’s hand tightened in his hair and guided Stiles’s lips up his neck and toward his own. And yeah, Stiles was no stranger to kissing. He’d gone a solid four months with Lydia before her college enrollment took her elsewhere. And he’d tried his hand at hook-ups once upon a time. Though, he’d never really made it past imagining what could be something else.
Something more.
But Stiles wasn’t a lovestruck girl, dammit.
Except then there were warm lips against his own, a tongue prodding into his mouth, and Stiles yanked sharply back. Vic gave him a slightly wounded look and Stiles would have mumbled a series of apologies if he remembered how to string words together. Instead, he just raised a hand and stumbled back, before turning around and fleeing the dance floor altogether.
And what had he been saying earlier? This was the night that he needed out. To get wasted, to forget about everything else.
But Stiles was just wanted to go back to his dark, empty dorm right now.
He thumbed out his phone and went scrawling for Jackson’s name, but then there was a sudden hand on the neckline of his t-shirt. Stiles squeaked as he was yanked sideways and shoved against the nearest wall. For a moment, panic crashed over him and Stiles jabbed his elbow out as hard as he could; but then the returned grunt of pain made him freeze.
“D- Derek?”
The Alpha was bent over a little, growling underneath his breath. Then red eyes snapped up and Stiles’s heart skipped a beat as he went to retreat back even more. Except there was nowhere else to go. The cement of the wall was at his back and Derek slowly straightened, red eyes searching Stiles up and down.
Then the man leaned forward, inhaling deep, and his fangs promptly slid down. Stiles yelped, clapping both hands over Derek’s face, and the man growled from behind them.
“Derek, dude, put those away! We’re in public!”
But Derek was sounding a bit like an actual wolf now, so Stiles just guided him toward the nearest exit, hands still covering Derek’s face. He shoved the door and the moment they were out in the night, Stiles yanked back like he’d been burned. Derek’s eyes were still bright red.
Stiles’s breaths hitched. He batted at Derek’s face, earning another growl. “Derek, you damn asshole. Put those away!”
“What the hell happened in there?”
For a moment, all Stiles could do was stare in confusion. But Derek looked a little bit peeved, a little bit frustrated, and a little bit… hurt? And slowly, the pieces slipped together.
Stiles huffed, despite the way his stomach flipped. “Dude, that’s so creepy, oh my god. Could you try not sniffing out all my recent activities for once? What the hell are you doing here anyway? I thought you trained the betas on Fridays?”
“I do,” Derek said gruffly. “That ended two hours ago. I went by your dorm but it was empty.”
“So you… came here?”
“I was worried.”
Stiles stared at him for a long moment. Then he chuckled and tried to flick at the man’s nose, but Derek just ducked away. Stiles blinked at him then, tilting his head.
“Dude, what’s up?”
“You smell bad,” Derek said, eyes flickering. “You smell wrong.”
Okay, first of all, Stiles had taken a shower before he’d come here. And second of all— “That’s none your business, Sourwolf.”
Derek drew back, the red fading from his eyes. But instead of looking peeved, angry, or even a little unhappy, he just looked stricken. Like the very fact that Stiles was walking around smelling like someone else was physically painful to him.
And okay, but it wasn’t like Stiles always smelled like himself, alright? He was surrounded by strangers every day.
“Derek, dude, I really don’t know what you wan—”
“Stiles, please.”
Stiles froze, his stomach flipping again. But that seemed to be enough of an answer for Derek because he moved forward again. The man’s nose traced along his collarbone, scenting fingers danced along the back of his neck, and Derek pressed his entire face into the crook of Stiles’s neck as if it was a life or death situation.
Stiles just… well, he just froze. His brain was moving slowly and he knew for a fact that he hadn’t drunk enough to blame this all on the alcohol.
But then slowly, like puzzle pieces, one thing clicked with another. And then Stiles yanked back so hard, he smacked his head against the wall and bit his tongue in the process. Derek whined at the loss of contact, Stiles tasted blood, and then the man was giving him a hurt look. But Stiles’s brain was lingering on one thing right now.
“Oh my god. You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
In a second, Derek’s stance was guarded. He started to draw back a few inches and the action looked physically painful. The man looked like he wanted to attack Stiles’s neck all over again, but instead, he just folded his arms over his chest and lowered his gaze.
“I’m not jealous.”
“You are so totally jealous!”
Once more, the red eyes were snapping up and Stiles’s breaths stalled in his throat. Carefully, he stepped forward, uncrossing Derek’s arms, and the man whined again.
“Derek, what do I smell like?”
“Wrong.”
“Yes, but what do I smell like?”
“Not… mine.”
Derek was glaring at the ground again as he said those words. Stiles’s heartbeat stuttered and then Derek was growling. Stiles risked once more step closer. Derek searched his face, almost looking vulnerable.
“Stiles, don’t do this if it's not re—”
“Dude.”
Grey-green eyes flickered in and out of red as Derek clamped his mouth shut. Stiles could still hear the steady thrum of music from the club and the sound of voices from a little way down the alleyway. But he kept his gaze on Derek’s face, nodding carefully.
"You can change that."
Then he was being crowded against the wall once more.
Stiles couldn’t help but squeak as sharp fangs moved up his neck. They nipped gently underneath his jaw and then traveled back down. But when Derek bit the spot between his shoulder and neck, it was all human teeth. Fingers traced over the back of Stiles’s neck again and Derek growled lightly, sucking marks all the way back up to the underside of Stiles’s chin.
He was so going to be swearing scarves for the rest of the week.
Or… maybe not.
Scott was probably going to flip out. Stiles might have grinned a little bit at that realization.
Then Stiles had lost all contact of the man and he totally didn’t whine at that. Derek moved back a few inches, studying his face, and then his eyes dropped to Stiles’s lips.
“Stiles, can I—”
“Oh my god, kiss me you furry asshole.”
And Jackson was never getting credit for this, ever. Stiles would like to say that he hadn’t come to the Jungle tonight expecting for Derek Hale of all people to show up. But if he’d know this is what would finally do it, he might have had come a long time again.
Derek kissed him softer than he had before. The hand cupping Stiles’s neck moved up to card through his hair and every time Stiles hummed in agreement at a movement, the man growled at the back of his throat. He tasted like mint, smelled like leather and pine, and Stiles totally hadn't imagined this before. He wasn’t a pining school girl, dammit.
But… but Derek kissed exactly like he’d always thought. Though that wasn’t a thing.
Except maybe it was now.
Stiles probably could have stayed there making out with Derek literal Hale all night except suddenly, the doors they ducked out of were banging open. Stiles yelped and pinwheeled back into the wall as Jackson came charging out, snarling and blue-eyed.
But one flash of Derek’s red eyes had the beta curling back into himself. His startled expression snapped from Derek, to Stiles, and back. Then Jackson drew himself up, a wicked smirk curling across his lips, and Stiles knew he was never living this down.
“Oh my god, Stilinski. You so totally owe me.”
“Jackson, get your furry little ass out of here or I swear to god—”
The beta didn’t need to be told twice, apparently. Whether it was from Stiles’s threats, Derek’s growling, or just his sense of self-preservation (did he have one?), because he only smirked one more time before backing away. And then Stiles’s heart skipped a beat as Derek glanced at him again.
And suddenly, he felt nervous. But why did he feel nervous?
“So, Sourwolf…”
“Is all of this okay, Stiles?”
Stiles stared at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head, moving forward and catching the man’s lips again. Because of course, he had to be in love with this idiot. Except... he kind of liked the way Derek growled at the sharp kiss. He kind of loved the way the man shivered against him and Stiles had caused that.
Stiles nipped at his lower lip and then drew back with a grin. “I dunno, dude. Care to tell me what I smell like right now?”
Once more, sharp fangs skated down his neck and Derek Hale had totally ruined standards for Stiles. Now and forever. They paused against the bottom of his neck, warm breaths against his skin, and then Derek’s lips curved into a smile as Stiles whined.
“You smell like mine .”
And hell yeah, Stiles could totally be okay with that.
- -
I hope I did this prompt justice! I don't write jealous Derek very often so this was kind of new, but I had fun with it! Thank you so much for the prompt, Khale ma’am <3
(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer
