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art by melioristicbeast <3
It’s a quiet Sunday night, and Stiles is cuddled up to Derek’s chest in bed, watching TV. Buffy is on, and Derek’s arm is around him, and he feels warm and cozy and at peace.
“Next episode?” Stiles murmurs into Derek’s skin, and the wolf nods easily, eyes heavy lidded and lazy. He presses a kiss to Stiles’ temple and tugs him closer.
The episode starts playing, and Buffy is wearing a red top, and Stiles is reminded of Derek’s alpha eyes. Everything reminds me of him, he laughs to himself.
But the TV is eerily silent as Buffy creeps closer and closer to the couch, to her mother that’s laying there, and suddenly Stiles realizes what episode they’re on, how he always has to skip this one, and oh no, fuck.
He can’t get to the remote fast enough, hands suddenly too shaky to turn it off, and he fumbles a bit in his rapidly rising alarm. The episode keeps playing, distress and misery on the screen, reflected in Stiles’ quickly filling eyes.
“Nononono, shit, stop, make it stop,” he mutters in a desperate panic, before Derek wraps his own warm hand around Stiles’ on the remote and neatly turns the screen off.
Written clear as day on Stiles’ face are his own memories of his mother, sitting with her in the hospital room and watching the light leave her eyes. Realizing she won’t be coming back, he won’t ever get to talk to her again, he couldn’t save her—
“Stiles, Stiles, look at me, it’s okay,” Derek tries to soothe, hands cupping Stiles’ face and forcing his gaze towards his own. Stiles’ eyes are faraway and scared, his eyebrows drawn tensely in, moving rapidly across Derek’s features unseeingly.
“I — I can’t breathe,” Stiles chokes out, gripping onto Derek’s wrists now. His breathing is indeed raspy and muted, and he seems lost in memories, going deeper and deeper into them like it’s out of his control.
“Stiles,” Derek presses, thumbs moving in circles on Stiles’ face, bringing their foreheads together, trying to soothe his mate.
It doesn’t work.
“Mom,” Stiles sobs, where his mind is stuck back in the hospital room. Smelling the chemical scents, as well as the scent of death and decay and pain. All alone while he grips his mother’s hand, waiting for a nurse to come in, waiting for his father to come hug him and tell him everything is going to be alright.
“You’re okay, Stiles, you’re here now, it’s over,” Derek nearly begs, but it’s no use. He can’t tell Stiles to count, because he’s not awakening from a nightmare — his past was a nightmare all of its own, that can’t be diminished.
They’re half sitting up, half lying down on Derek’s bed, but now Derek gently lowers Stiles onto his back so he’s laying down completely on the pillows. Stiles goes easily, too easily, and clutches onto Derek wherever he can reach.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Derek whispers, and does the only thing he can think of that he knows could help. He slowly slides on top of Stiles completely, covering him with his entire two hundred pounds of werewolf and muscle, laying himself over every bit of Stiles that he can.
The effect is instantaneous. He feels Stiles relax onto the bed beneath him, little by little tension melting away from his limbs, like a sigh being released at last. With his very own werewolf weighted blanket on top of him, he’s brought back to the present, pressed into the mattress as if given permission to finally let go.
Derek continues to murmur sweet nothings and reassuring words into his ear, petting his hair and kissing his face, brushing away his tears as best he can in this position. Slowly, Stiles blinks, looking around like he suddenly realizes where he is, that he’s no longer stuck in the hospital room with his dying mother, that his boyfriend is here instead, and he’s staying.
Tears spring to Stiles’ eyes again, hot and burning in his maple orbs, and he brings his legs up to wrap around Derek’s waist, squeezing tight. His arms loop around Derek’s neck and he clutches him close like a lifesaver bobbing through the water. He buries his head in the wolf’s warm neck, and cries.
“I’ve got you, baby, it’s alright,” Derek breathes, stroking the boy’s skin wherever he can reach. The touch is helping, especially the skin to skin contact, and Stiles grips the wolf like he never wants to let go, like Derek is all he has left.
Soft kisses land on Stiles’ cheeks and mouth, and Stiles kisses back instantly, deeply, desperately, gasping. Don’t leave, he says without words, I need you. Hold me. Stay with me.
Always, Derek’s kisses say back, I’m right here.
The pair stay intertwined on the bed for many long minutes, kissing and gripping each other and sharing heavy breaths. With each touch, with each kiss, Derek promises to never leave, not like Stiles’ mother did.
He swears to stay, no matter what, and makes Stiles feel every place they’re touching to know that this is real, that he’s right here, that they’re together in this moment, alive and breathing.
Derek’s weight seems to help Stiles tremendously, and even after they stop kissing, their faces stay close to each other, touching, reassuring.
They’re both tired, even more so after the panic attack, but neither sleep for a long while. Stiles can’t, and Derek refuses to while Stiles is still awake, still needs him.
Eventually, after what feels like hours of holding each other and sinking into the mattress, but what really comes down to merely an hour, Stiles’ puffy eyes close from exhaustion.
Derek watches over him for several more minutes, petting his hair and pressing his lips to his temple, until finally, he follows into unconsciousness.
✴︎
Stiles is restless. He’s been running all over the loft, doing this and that, shuffling his work papers and scribbling notes and typing madly on his laptop.
Derek has tried to bring him drinks, hot tea and decaf coffee, and Stiles had pressed distracted kisses onto Derek’s cheek in return, but the drinks are cold now where they sit forgotten on the table.
“Come on, it’s almost midnight, Stiles. Don’t you think you should head to bed soon?” Derek asks, hovering with his arms crossed.
“Mm,” Stiles hums, not looking up.
Derek huffs a laugh at classic Stiles, not to be deterred from his work for anything.
“Stiles,” he presses gently, resting a large palm on Stiles’ messy hair.
“Hm?” Stiles hums again. He’s chewing on the cap of the pen, and Derek makes a mental note never to go near it.
“Bedtime,” Derek repeats with a small smile, squeezing the back of Stiles’ neck.
“Not tired,” Stiles says around a sudden huge yawn, his body betraying him. At least he has the decency to look guilty.
Derek is already in his pajamas, a fitted white tank top and soft, worn plaid pants. Stiles is still shocked that Derek even owns plaid, and he can’t help but fall a little more in love with him every time he sees him in them, looking all cozy and soft himself.
“Mhmm,” Derek smirks, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ forehead with a loud smack. “You sure about that?”
“So sure,” Stiles mumbles sleepily, blinking slowly. Derek just smiles at him and shuts his laptop slowly, giving him plenty of time to save his work, but it seems Stiles has done so already, for he lets Derek do what he pleases and close the laptop completely.
“You wanna watch something before bed?” Derek offers, knowing Stiles needs a way to wind down before he sleeps. Somehow Derek can tell he’s too tired for sex, but maybe a boring movie would cover it.
Stiles only nods, and it seems that once he’s made the decision to stop work for the time being, his sleepiness catches up to him all at once. Turning away from his papers now, he looks up at Derek with a pout and his beautiful long lashes, holding his arms out.
At Derek’s raised eyebrow, he makes grabby hands, reaching closer to Derek. A smile breaks out on the wolf’s face, because they both know he can’t resist Stiles in any way, and Stiles will win no matter what.
“Come here, baby,” Derek sighs, picking Stiles up off his chair and carrying him to bed easily with his hands under his butt. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and leans his head on his shoulder for the short walk it takes to their bed.
“Are you calling me a baby or are you calling me your baby?” Stiles teases, and Derek just shuts him up with a kiss, dropping him onto the bed. Stiles bounces a little, his own grin matching Derek’s as he tugs him down on top of him.
They make out sleepily for several minutes, before the kisses slow down and taper off. They’re grinning again when they break apart, and Derek rolls gently off the man beneath him, turning over on his back and tugging Stiles close.
Stiles rests against his chest, facing the TV expectantly as Derek grabs the remote off the nightstand and turns it on, stroking Stiles’ hair absentmindedly. They murmur to each other, settling on some old cowboy movie, and Stiles blinks slowly as he gazes at the screen and objectifies the cowboys.
“You’d make a hot cowboy,” he mumbles into Derek’s skin, his breath tickling and sending shivers down Derek’s spine all at once.
“Thanks,” Derek laughs, “So would you.”
Stiles grins up at him and kisses his chin.
He shifts around a little, getting comfier, nestled into Derek’s neck with a leg thrown over him now. Then, in the next moment, he shifts again. Derek just holds him, but it’s like trying to hold a wriggling puppy, because Stiles just keeps squirming every few minutes, unable to settle down the longer he’s forced to lay there.
“Stiles,” Derek hisses at last, “will you settle down?”
“I’m trying,” Stiles huffs back.
“Did Scott put itching powder in your underwear again?”
“That was one time, and I already got him back for that!”
“So I’ve heard,” Derek mumbles, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah? You wanna be next, buddy?”
“No, I’d like you to take my underwear off instead.” Derek raises his eyebrows pointedly.
“Well, we’d both like that,” Stiles mutters under his breath, side-eying him.
“Stiles. What’s wrong,” Derek demands finally, unable to sit comfortably alongside such a restless body. It seems Stiles’ tiredness had worn off too quickly, almost as soon as he’d laid down.
“I just— don’t you feel like you should be doing something else right now? Like, there’s work to be done, I have to figure out this case, I don’t have time to watch a stupid cowboy movie!” Stiles explodes, fidgeting again, tapping his fingers incessantly on the blanket.
“I thought you were having fun objectifying the cowboys,” Derek says flatly, looking over at him.
“Well— I mean, I’m not not having fun, I just—” he sighs, “I have to figure this out. For work.”
“Stiles, haven’t you worked enough today? Isn’t this considered overtime by now?”
“Yeah, and I could use the overtime,” Stiles admits, averting his gaze.
“What? Why? You know we have plenty of savings.” Derek turns towards him fully now, laying a heavy hand on Stiles’ thigh over the blanket.
“You have plenty of savings. I’m still — well, saving.” Stiles picks at a loose thread.
“What are you talking about,” Derek says, not understanding. “My money is your money. I thought you knew that.”
“I — I dunno, I feel bad. I don’t want you to think I’m — I’m mooching off you or something,” Stiles mumbles to the blanket. He shifts positions again.
“I would never think that,” Derek says, turning off the TV now and trying to meet Stiles’ eyes, with no success. He sighs, getting nowhere, and finally places a warm palm over Stiles’ chest, pushing him gently back towards the pillows. Stiles goes with little resistance, collapsing back and gazing up at Derek with a question in his eyes.
“Stiles,” Derek says, climbing over his boyfriend now, pressing him back into the mattress carefully. Their chests meet, and their legs intertwine, and Derek rests his arms across the pillow above Stiles’ head. Stiles brings his hands up to fiddle with the front of Derek’s shirt and chest hair.
“Do you know that you’re everything to me?” Derek asks seriously.
“I — yeah, I guess,” Stiles murmurs, eyes trained on Derek’s chest now.
“And you know that all I want is for you to be happy?”
“Sure, but you too.”
Derek smiles a little and kisses Stiles’ nose. “Then providing for you makes me happy. Giving you everything you could ever want makes me happy. Making sure you never have to worry about money again, that you always feel secure. You never have to work for the rest of your life if you don’t want to. I’ll always share everything with you, everything I have.”
It’s a lot of words for the wolf, and Stiles just stares up at him with slightly gleaming eyes. “But — but why?” is all he can muster, hands stilling at last.
“Because I love you,” comes Derek’s easy answer. “Because I want to take care of you. Because you deserve that, you deserve the ease, you deserve a life of happiness.”
Stiles gives a small, unsure smile, blushing a little. They don’t talk about money that often, or their future.
“You make me happy,” Stiles says, “but so does work. I like it, I like having a purpose and solving things and helping people.”
“I know you do, love,” Derek presses a kiss to his jaw, “and you can do that as long as you want to. But I’m just saying that you don’t have to. You can stop anytime and we’ll still be comfortable. I just want to take care of you. Okay?”
The weight of the wolf on top of Stiles is comforting and grounding, making him feel extra secure along with his words. He tries to believe them, and it’s nice to feel such safety and reassurance for once in his life.
“Okay,” Stiles agrees, playing with the hair on Derek’s nape now. “I just want to take care of you too,” he says back, cupping Derek’s cheek, his eyes earnest.
“And you do, every day. I love you for it,” Derek repeats softly, kissing Stiles’ warm mouth. Stiles kisses back immediately, pressing Derek closer with palms on the back of his head. He puts all his love and gratitude into the kiss, melting into the mattress under the man on top of him, who covers him completely, their tongues meeting in the middle.
To have this security, after a lifetime of worrying about money while living with his dad, with all the medical bills and college and car trouble and groceries and mortgage. It’s been a lot, and he’s still set on working for many years, for as long as he wants to before he gets burnt out, but it’s nice to have this reassurance, like a trust fall knowing Derek will always be there to catch him no matter what.
He still feels a little bad, since it’s Derek’s money, from his parents’ insurance, no less. But the fact that Derek wants to spend it on him, to provide for Stiles over anything else, over new fancy cars or expensive clothes or watches — not that Derek even really cares about those things — is something that’s still a little overwhelming to Stiles.
What Derek’s really saying, in his own way right now, is I’m in this for life. I’ll never leave you. I’ve got you, I’ll be there for you, I’ll support you no matter what. Until we grow old, because I want to be with you for that long. For forever.
Stiles is an expert in Derek’s subtext by now, and he kisses back his thanks and understanding fervently, sliding his lips over and over against Derek’s alongside his love and gratitude.
Derek kisses back easily, taking Stiles’ hands away from his face and interlacing his fingers with his own above Stiles’ head on the pillows. Stiles revels in the feeling of Derek pressing him down, covering him with his body, making him feel as safe and secure as his words, his promises do.
Who needs a cowboy when you have a Derek? Stiles smirks to himself, grin breaking their kiss at last.
“What,” Derek grins back, nudging Stiles’ nose with his own.
“Nothin’,” Stiles smiles as he thumbs over Derek’s bottom lip with a hand he’s wriggled free. “But how ever can I thank you?” he asks faux-innocently, eyes going wide and pretty. A slight blush still colors his cheeks as he continues to mull over Derek’s words in the back of his mind.
He really lucked out with Derek, and not a day goes by that he forgets it, that Derek doesn’t prove it to him over and over without even trying.
“I thought you were tired,” Derek gives back with a quirked brow, reading the subtext. He doesn’t want Stiles to feel like he owes him anything for this, like he needs to give him sex in order for him to feel secure in life, to earn Derek’s money. Even if they were broken up, Derek would still want to provide for him.
“Mm, maybe, but part of me isn’t,” Stiles says pointedly, eyes shifting down to where their crotches are pressed together on the bed. “And it looks like a part of you isn’t, either,” Stiles sing-songs.
Derek growls playfully and nips his mate’s neck, before Stiles gives a short moan and wraps his legs around Derek’s waist, arching up against him.
They don’t end up going to sleep for a long, long while.
✴︎
“Fuckin’ trolls,” Stiles swears grumpily, stomping in through the door of the loft with muddy, slimy sneakers and an annoyed look on his face. He’s covered in goo and sludge, and makes a beeline for the bathroom to clean up, Derek trudging after him.
The wolf yanks off his shirt partway to the bathroom, and when Stiles looks back to see if Derek is following, he halts in place for a second, mouth falling open dumbly. As if he hasn’t seen his boyfriend naked a thousand times by now. But still, it never fails to woo him.
“Just — come here,” Stiles mumbles, backtracking and tugging Derek closer by his wrist, pulling him into the bathroom behind him. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. Not after what just happened.”
Derek nods and strips the rest of the way once they’re on the tiled floor, Stiles following suit, and soon they’re in the hot shower together, scrubbing and scrubbing at their slimy, dirtied skin till it’s raw. Hardly a word is spoken, and both their shoulders remain tense despite the warm, steamy water.
They’d both almost died, again, Stiles pulling Derek to safety just before a troll clubbed him. Then they helpfully fell into a muddy pond, with mucky algae dripping onto them and viscous mud nearly sinking them under. It was reminiscent of the pool, and they held each other up again this time, not even able to laugh about it in all the chaos.
Stiles looks up at Derek now with honey eyes filled with emotion, willing himself not to think of the worst, of what could have happened, but it’s not that easy. He can’t help but glance back at the wolf every few seconds, as though reaffirming that he’s there, that he’s safe and whole.
Derek gazes back rather unblinkingly, movements slow and sluggish due to the exhaustion creeping up. He scrubs himself thoroughly, helping Stiles wash his back with calm, soothing motions, and it’s so tender it brings tears to Stiles’ eyes.
After he’s done, he doesn’t move away. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist from behind and tugs him close so the hot spray is hitting them both. His face finds the crook of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles’ hands interlace with Derek’s as he nestles back into him.
“Quit almost dying on me,” Stiles demands croakily. “I can’t fuckin’ take it anymore,” he adds in a whisper, like he’s scared to admit just how much it’s been affecting him all these years. He’s tired of being on edge all the time, getting adrenaline rushes and a pounding heart and feeling utter fear overtake him over and over. He just needs to know Derek will be safe, now and forever.
“You too,” Derek whispers back, right in his ear, before kissing it gently. He follows the path down to Stiles’ jaw, pressing a few more kisses there, and finally finds his mouth. Stiles kisses back eagerly, hot and wet and desperate.
He turns around in Derek’s arms and tugs him even closer, hands gripping the wolf’s hips firmly. If Derek were human, he’d have bruises to show for it.
Derek’s own hands come up to cup Stiles’ face much more gently than Stiles’ grip, and they kiss passionately under the warm spray for far too long, tongues battling as if convincing each other they’re really here together, safe.
After a while, Derek slows down the kiss until it turns slightly drugged, slow and lazier and languorous, like they’re savoring each other now. Stiles’ heartbeat slows as well, the last of the adrenaline finally leaving him as he continues holding onto Derek like an anchor.
When they break apart, they’re both left panting, and Derek can’t help but press a few more kisses to Stiles’ neck and under his jaw.
“I won’t leave you,” he breathes against Stiles’ wet skin. He can’t tell which part is from tears or the shower, but maybe it doesn’t matter.
“Me either,” Stiles nearly sobs, hands cupping Derek’s head now like he’s precious, like he needs to keep him close, forever.
“Come here,” Derek whispers, pulling Stiles completely against him in a firm hug. His arms are strong and secure against Stiles’ body, and Stiles needs more, needs for him to press him down on some kind of surface and cover him completely, make him feel like he’s really here and heavy over his own body, that still feels too much like it’s going to float away.
“Come lie down with me,” Stiles begs, palms open over Derek’s chest, looking at him pleadingly, desperately.
Derek nods and turns off the tap, reaching for the towel immediately to wrap around Stiles before he even has a chance to get cold. He dries the boy off like he’s made of glass, so utterly careful and gentle that Stiles gets emotional all over again. He clutches onto Derek’s shoulders for balance, but even though Derek’s already dried his face, it’s damp again from tears.
Derek dries himself like an afterthought, and takes Stiles’ hand to lead him into the main room. They dress quickly in soft, cozy clothes, and Derek’s green henley is comforting on Stiles’ bruised, aching form.
They’re both still too wound up to go to bed, but too exhausted to eat, and Stiles stands in the middle of the room like he’s lost, suddenly paralyzed with decisions, unknowing what to do or how to deal with what they’ve just been through, again. There’s more to what happened with the troll, something worse, but Stiles refuses to think about it.
Wordlessly, Derek takes his mate’s hand again and pulls him to the couch, gently pushing him down onto it. Stiles goes easily, glad for the direction. Derek kisses his forehead and leaves to grab water from the kitchen.
He comes back after a moment, and Stiles is on his side on the sofa, curled up with his legs pressed against his chest. There’s a faraway look in his eyes, and his face still isn’t entirely dry, yet.
Derek tries to hand him the water, but Stiles ignores him, pressing his face into the cushion instead.
The wolf sighs, setting the water down on the coffee table. He knows what will help, what Stiles needs more than the boy does himself.
Climbing onto the couch over Stiles, Derek gently rearranges him so he’s on his back instead, uncurling his legs and stretching them out. He slowly lowers himself over Stiles completely, their limbs and torsos touching everywhere they can, his arms wrapping around Stiles tightly.
Stiles heaves a huge, shaky sigh at the sudden relief. This is all he’s wanted. Derek’s weight over him feels so secure, so safe and everything he needed, like it’s proof that Derek is right here and okay.
At the next breath, the dam seems to break, and he dissolves into sudden silent sobs, his arms tight around Derek’s neck and clutching him close.
Derek scents his mate, running his nose along his long neck, licking and kissing at random. He’s utterly relieved to have Stiles in his arms, too, safe underneath him where nothing else can hurt him.
More kisses are pressed to Stiles’ cheeks and mouth, but no words are needed as they continue to cling to each other in reassurance. Stiles’ body is shaking underneath the wolf’s, and Derek grabs a blanket off the back of the couch to throw over them both in extra comfort.
He presses his forehead to Stiles’ temple, breathing him in, letting him know he’s here for good, that they’re together, that they’re out of danger at last now.
“We’re okay,” Derek finally whispers, breaking the silence, and Stiles can only nod in acceptance. Although Derek’s heart tugs for him painfully, Stiles is so pretty when he cries, and Derek can’t look away despite the heartbreak.
“I love you, you know that?” Derek breathes against Stiles’ skin. It’s ironic that he’s the one filling the space with words for once, but it’s all he knows how to give to Stiles in this moment.
His weight on top of him is helping, his close proximity and his arms around the boy, but he knows Stiles needs words, too, needs to hear from Derek himself that everything’s okay, needs it spoken aloud like that will make it true.
“Love you too,” Stiles chokes out, burying his face in Derek’s neck now. It’s warm here, and safe, and his legs wrap high around Derek’s waist like a monkey.
“It’s over now,” Derek soothes. Another kiss against Stiles’ hair. He nuzzles into it, and it smells like soap and salt.
Stiles can only nod once more and continue to grip on like Derek is all he has in the world.
Derek grips back just as tightly, for the very same reason.
They don’t calm down for a long hour. They touch and soothe and kiss each other every few minutes, making sure they’re both really there, really okay. They can't stop looking into each other’s eyes, the quickest way to see each other, verify that everything is truly alright.
At last, Stiles falls asleep, Derek following a while after, making sure his mate is finally okay and at peace. Nightmares rack them both throughout the night, and Derek moves them to the bed at some point, and they nestle under the warm blankets and make sure they’re touching and wrapped around each other at all times.
Sometime during the night, Stiles tugs Derek on top of him again as his weighted blanket, and falls asleep again shortly after. He always sleeps the best when he can feel Derek everywhere.
They can’t give up the battles; they have to protect Beacon Hills from the constant monsters of the week. It’s their duty, and a few scrapes and bruises are worth it to save so many people in the town. But they wish it didn’t take so much out of them, cause so much fear and angst, feel so harrowing every damn time.
There’s not much they can do from this point onward, committing themselves to not only keeping each other safe but the town as well, but it means that they must hold each other a little bit tighter each time, keep each other a little closer whenever they can.
Their hands find each other every time they’re near enough, and their gazes linger, and their lips are slow to part. They’re drawn to each other in every crowd, like magnets, like mates, and in their own ways, they vow to never, ever leave each other, no matter what.
So they keep fighting, and keep clinging to each other, knowing the other will never let go.