Stiles loves it when he wakes before Derek, tiptoes downstairs in his underwear (because he scared the hell out of Erica one morning by forgetting it). The sun’s just starting to stream in throguh the windows and Stiles flicks the switch on the coffee machine. The house is fixed, the pack as happy as can be expected considering the battering they took from Gerard, Erica still flinches at loud noises and Boyd touches her gently whenever she does. And somehow, don’t ask him how, Stiles got Derek. Derek who looks at Stiles with something other than irritation now, who touches Stiles like big hands that makes Stiles’s skin come alive, who pushes inside his body andf mouths at Stiles’s neck, muttering words and softly growling as Stiles comes between then.
Stiles links his fingers together and stretches his arms upwards as the machine wirrs to life, stands on his tiptoes and stretches as hard as he can. His muscles protest but he smiles to himself. He’s just fixing the elastic on his underpants when two strong arms wind around his waist, hot breath against his neck and Derek mutters something, pressing his chest to Stiles’s back. Stiles grins, lifts his hand and cups the back of Derek’s head.
“Morning,” he says and one arm unwinds from around his waist, snakes out and snags a cup, pours the not quite ready coffee into it.
He doesn’t get a responce other than a low growl and Derek lets go completely, leans back against the counter and takes a sip. Stiles can almost see the exact moment the caffeine works it’s way through Derek’s veins. He thinks it’s amusing, here is a born predator, ready to strike at any minute, reflexes like…well like a werewolf, yet he can’t live without his morning coffee.
“Morning,” Derek mumbles, puts the cup down on the counter and curls a finger into the front of Stiles’s waistband. He tugs and Stiles rolls his eyes but goes willingly, lets Derek rest of head on Stiles’s shoulder.
“Are you smelling me?” Stiles asks as Derek graws in a deep breath and there’s a quiet rumbles from his chest, Derek’s fingers working their way into Stiles’s underpants.
“Maybe…” Derek answers, his voice a little more awake, “you smell like me though.”
“And I wonder why that is,” Stiles mutters and Derek lets out a quiet laugh.
“I like it when you smell like me,” he says, lifting his head and running a thumb across Stiles’s eye.
“I’ve never been on a real date,” Stiles says morosely, his words just on the edge of slurring together.
Stiles is drunk.
Stiles is drunk and lying down on one of the train car benches, his legs stretched across the aisle and his feet propped up on the seats across from him. He’d for some reason chosen the bench with the wonky leg that had taken a beating during Derek’s pack’s ill-fated first full moon together, and Derek is keeping half an eye out, mentally taking bets on how long before the thing collapses under Stiles’ weight. Not that Stiles is heavy, for all that he’s filled out a bit in the past year Derek thinks that no matter how much Stiles eats or works out he’ll never fit a descriptive beyond slender. But he’s drunk and he’s wiggling about and really there’s only so much a rusted out bench can take.
Five times Derek happened to come across Stiles by accident, and one time Derek chose to seek him out.
It all started out as a joke, which really makes him wonder about every other legend and myth he’s read before. Maybe Big Foot was just a bear with a bad hair-do. Maybe vampires were just pale aristocrats with bad dental plans. Maybe every story in the world started out with ordinary people who found themselves in strange circumstances.
Either way, it was all Lydia’s fault. She had been the one to flip her hair and roll her eyes and snap out, “Hey, Little Red,” one day at lunch. The rest of the group had looked up, eyes wide, matching wolfy smirks across their faces. Stiles should have burned that jacket a long time ago, but… he was attached, all right? It wasn’t his fault he was a Winter. And the one time he threw it into the dumpster outside of class, it had reappeared on his dresser the next morning. He couldn’t figure out how Derek was to blame for that one, but he knew, somehow, that it was him… (continued)
because i’m a sucker for domestic!sterek
“God I am so tired,” Stiles says when he comes out of the bathroom, lifting his shirt over his head.
“Why are you still here?” Derek asks as he tugs on his sweats, the good ones that hang off his hips and make Stiles feel grabby.
One Part Trust, Two Parts Fear
Series: Teen Wolf
Summary: Derek’s worried that Stiles doesn’t trust him, and Stiles just wants to go to bed.
I spent like ten combined hours typing up over two hundred Derek/Stiles recs, as one does, and I’m posting it on the 4th of July because what’s more free than sharing werewolf porn with your internet friends?
OH GOD. SO FREAKING GOOD.
Mother’s Day dawned crisp and sunny and found Stiles with the blankets over his head, pretending to be asleep. He wasn’t pretending for anyone’s benefit, he was just sort of hoping, as he always did on Mother’s Day, that if he lay still enough the bed would swallow him whole.
There was a knock at his door and his dad said, “I have to go into work.”
“Seriously?” asked Stiles, pushing the blankets down. His dad looked tired. He looked tired a lot lately.
“Someone covered the Argents’ house in ashes.”
Stiles didn’t need to ask who.