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Summary
In yet another aftermath Derek takes care of Stiles and reminds him that hope is always worth the sacrifice.
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Derek finally sees Stiles... and then promptly melts down about it.
He’s two people away from the counter, though, when it happens. Derek has just finished scanning the board overhead and let his eyes drift back down to the guy just in time to see him bend down to pick up his backpack from the floor when the guy turns. There’s a moment of complete cessation of brain activity when Derek’s libido registers lips! Eyes! Skinnnnn! before his thoughts begin spinning like a Gravitron, turning his brain to paste against the inside of his skull because what the fuck, the guy he’s been quietly lusting over while he waits in line for coffee is fucking Stiles.
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“Tell me your mouth is as sensitive as your neck,” Derek says, repressing a growl at the thought of Stiles strung out and kiss-drunk.
“Yeah,” Stiles replies, voice breathy and broken, mouth hardly separated an inch from Derek’s, “it’s not exactly a sensitivity thing, not really, I just...really like being kissed. Like a lot. It’s kind of a thing for me, which is actually really distressing considering I’ve only kissed two other people in my life and haven’t had the opportunity to thoroughly explore it as a thing.”
Series
- Part 2 of Losin’ All My Innocence
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“I’m serious, Derek. Like really sensitive,” Stiles says, a little muffled by where he’s shoving his face into Derek’s shirt.
Stiles’ neck is sensitive. Derek takes advantage of it.
Series
- Part 1 of Losin’ All My Innocence
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“Don’t let that get on your skin,” Deaton says, and, woops, too late.
Here be sex pollen with a touch o’ pining and feelings.
Recent bookmarks
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When Stiles gets home from school, there's a package on his porch and Derek in his room. Things escalate from there.
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Stiles doesn't smell like pack. Derek fixes it.
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Stiles blinks hard. He can’t argue that he’s not quite all there, a little woozier than he would like, but he’s done more difficult things a lot worse off. The wolf didn’t know shit and Stiles sure as hell didn’t need him. He huffs out a little laugh into his own chest, leaning back against the armrest and chin dropped to his sternum, head lolling slightly. His eyelids are heavier than they were a minute ago. “What makes you think I wouldn’t use the opportunity to gut you? I hunt werewolves for sport, and so does everyone I have left.”
A careful claw tilts his chin up and it takes Stiles’ eyes a second to bring the face in front of him into stark relief. “You can barely keep your eyes open,” the wolf says softly, “I don’t think you have the upper hand now, human.”
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It’s not something Stiles has thought of in well over a year by the time it actually happens. Had stopped wanting it long before that. Around the time he lost his naïveté, gained a fuck-all mentality and moved on from childish belief systems that included platitudes such as ‘everything happens for a reason.’
It doesn’t and fuck the guy who came up with that horseshit in the first place.
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Everyone's apathetic. Except Derek. Derek cares so much.
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Boyd is a pragmatic posthumous reappropriater, Erica spends her free time impersonating Meursault and playing Fruit Ninja, Isaac would like everyone to settle down already, Stiles is bi, Scott’s actually holding it together pretty well for a week-old Alpha with a two pack problem, Jackson’s a lizard, Lydia accessorizes, Allison’s playing on a rival (semi-murderous) team and Derek just keeps showing up.