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melissas_corner) wrote2018-03-24 03:05 pm
melissas_corner) wrote2018-03-24 03:05 pm
Fic: Untitled Sterek fic (Teen Wolf, R, Stiles/Derek)
Title:
Author:logans_girl2001
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: R
Category: Slash
Status: ?
Archive: My website
Feedback: Yes, please.
Disclaimers: I do not own any of the characters.
Author's Notes: I saw a gif set on Tumblr of Stiles being beaten up and this just showed up. This is my first time writing in this fandom. Please forgive me if the characters are OOC. Not sure if this is all there is to this or not (hence the question mark next to status).
Sequel/Series: None
Summary: When Stiles gets kidnapped and beaten up, Derek realizes just how much he cares.
Warnings: Off screen violence, descriptions of someone who has been beaten
Spoilers: None really but all aired episodes are fair game.
Beta: I am choosing to post this without having it edited because it is eating my brain.
Derek's POV:
I've been pacing the front room of the house for hours, now; ever since I was informed that Stiles disappeared after lacrosse practice, in fact. I have a lot of enemies but I'm nearly positive I know who has him. The only thing I don't know, is where they're keeping him. A search of their usual hide-outs has turned up jack shit and I'm going to start destroying things if he isn't found soon.
I want to be out looking for him with the rest of the pack, but Lydia insisted I must stay here. Even though I have learned that when Lydia says that she has a 'hunch' she's usually correct, especially when it's about Stiles, it's almost a physical pain being this utterly useless in the search for my mate. But I trust Scott to find him and bring him home.
"You're going to wear a hole in the floor." Lydia's voice is full of humor, proving that she's overcome her initial fear of me.
"He's still missing, Lydia." Even though I know she's trying to calm me, and remind that she hasn't sensed any deaths recently, I can't stop pacing. I need to do something since I can't be out searching.
"I'm aware of that, Derek. Doesn't make my statement any less true." I can hear her eye roll. "If you don't calm down-" The rest of her sentence is cut off by the perimeter alarm.
I sprint past her to the front door. Throwing it open I cross the porch to the stairs in one stride where I come to a stop and scan the tree line. I can smell Stiles. His scent is covered by other humans, more than if he was just at lacrosse practice, and that coupled with his fear has my lip curling in renewed anger. Someone is going to fucking die for daring to put their fucking hands on my mate.
A growl starts to build low in my throat because I can't see Stiles and his scent is so fucking close. I'm about to head into the woods to look for him when Lydia's small hand lands on my forearm. Just as I begin to shake it off, her small gasp has me noticing movement about half way between the tree line and the house. The figure that is attempting to crawl across the yard is so covered in mud that they are nearly indistinguishable from the ground beneath them.
It takes a couple of seconds for me to realize it's Stiles and as soon as I do his name leaves my lips in a whimper that is as broken and bruised as I'm sure his body is. And then I'm jumping off the porch and crossing the distance between us in just a few steps. My legs refuse to continue to obey my commands once I reach his side and I hit the ground hard on my knees.
"Stiles," I say again in a voice that isn't much stronger than a moment ago. He flinches when I reach for him and I vow that the bastards who did this will suffer before they die.
I do my best to be gentle when I grasp his shoulders to help him sit up, but even so he whimpers softly. I don't want to hurt him, but I need to see the extent of his injuries. I need to know even though I don't want to.
"It's alright, Stiles. You're safe now. I got you." I keep my voice as low and soothing as I can but even so, he still flinches a little.
Once I have him on his knees, I try to duck my head to see his face, but he refuses to lift it. So, I wrap the ring and pinky fingers of my right hand around his neck, my thumb under his jaw and his left cheek cradled in my palm. It's a familiar position because it usually means I'm about to kiss him. But not this time.
No, this time I need to see his face and so I press against the underside of his jaw. He resists at first but I'm insistent and he slowly gives in.
The first thing I see as his head lifts, is the bruise that is beginning to form around his left eye. The second is the scrape that begins at the outer corner of that eye and follows his cheekbone to stop just shy of his mouth; his fucking kissable mouth. A mouth that I love to explore with my tongue. A mouth that has gotten him into just as much trouble as it’s gotten him out of.
Pulling my thoughts back from all the wonderful this that mouth can do, I notice that his lower lip is split. Kissing will be painful for a few days but damned if that'll stop me from kissing him.
I'm so totally focused on his lips, that I am witness to his tongue darting out to push against the cut, testing to see just how much it has healed.
"Stiles." Again, my voice breaks on his name. How has this human teenager come to mean so much to me?
It feels like not that long ago I was fighting my growing attraction to him. Not even him being my mate could get me over the hurdle that was his age and the fact that he's the sheriff's son.
In the two years since I woke from nearly dying after being poisoned, to find him standing over my bed, he has worked his way into my heart and my bed and now I'd be totally lost without him.
And now he's been hurt because of me. I should send him back to his father.
His eyes snap up to meet mine and I realize that I said that last out loud. "Stiles-" I have no idea what to say to stop the tears I can see gathering in his eyes.
"But I didn't tell him." His voice is impossibly small for someone who has as large a personality as he does. "I swear I didn't say anything." He keeps repeating those words. "Please, Derek, believe me. I didn't tell him. I proved I'm not a liability."
Liability? I'm confused for a moment because I've never said that. And then I remember a conversation I had a few weeks ago with Scott. Stiles had said the wrong thing at the wrong time in front of the wrong people. It didn't really cause any harm, but it caused a major inconvenience that I am still trying to untangle. My eyes close at the memory. Despite it being very minor, in the larger scheme of things, I was angry enough to avoid him for several days.
"I didn't mean it, Stiles. I was just angry and-" The rest of what I was going to say becomes unimportant when he loses the battle to keep from crying and collapses into my arms, his slender frame shaking with the force of his sobs.
I gather him to me and gently stroke his back, pressing my face into his hair where his scent is strongest. After a minute or two, I gather him up into my arms to carry him inside because we're too exposed out here in the open. Especially with Lydia as our only backup.
"Derek," Lydia says when I pass her on the porch.
"Not now, Lydia. Secure the house and call the others back."
When I arrive at our room, I don't even pause, just carry him on into the bathroom. He needs a bath and then sleep. And I intend to make sure he gets both.
Setting him down on the edge of the jacuzzi tub I had installed a few months ago after a comment he made about a couple bathing together in a movie we were watching, I turn the water on and adjust it to the correct temperature.
"Derek." His breath catches on a suppressed sob.
"Shut up, Stiles."
Once the water is filling the tub, I kneel at his feet to attack the mud caked laces of his shoes.
"Derek." He tries again.
"I said be quiet, Stiles." My voice is much harsher than I intend due to me choking on my own impotence and anger at letting him get hurt.
"Derek!" The sharpness of his tone makes me aware that my claws are fumbling with his laces.
Curling my hands into fists, I let the pain ground me while I take several deep breathes in an effort to calm down. Once I'm fairly certain I can touch him without telegraphing my emotions, I wrap my hands around his calves and press my forehead against his knees.
"I'm sorry." The words are so soft I'm not sure his human ears can hear them, so I say them again, louder. "I am so fucking sorry."
He fists his hands in my hair, tugging slightly in a silent plea for me to raise my head. When I do, I discover that his cheeks are wet with tears that are flowing freely down them.
"No. I'm sorry."
"What do you have to be sorry about?"
"That you're stuck with me as your mate." He sniffs and scrubs at his cheeks with one fist.
Placing my hands on his knees, I slide them up under the loose legs of his shorts. How could he think that? No one could be more perfect for me.
"Why do you say that?"
"I'm human. I tend to ramble when nervous or scared. Which, let's be honest, is most of the time. One day I'll inadvertently betray you. You should-" He has to stop to choke back a sob. "-send me back to my dad."
I shake my head and lay it in his lap. "Oh, Stiles. I tried that before and you wouldn't stay away."
He gives a bark of laughter at the memory of when he moved himself in on his eighteenth birthday. I promptly packed his shit and carried him back to the sheriff's house, only to have him show back up the next morning. Everyone told me I might as well let him stay. So, I did.
"But that won't stop them from hurting you because of me."
"They don't know about us."
I lift my head to look at him. "Of course, they do. Why else would they abduct a human and-" I touch the scrape on his cheek. "-try to beat information out of him?"
"I didn't break. I swear it."
Nodding my head, I say, "I know you didn't."
"You believe me?"
"Yes. I can see how strong you're getting and eventually you won't babble when nervous or scared."
"That day may have been today. I didn't say anything about anything."
"Good."
He smiles, then winces when the movement of his lips pulls at the cut. His tongue darts out again to lick at the blood that has started to seep from where it reopened.
"Don't." I reach up with my fingers and push his tongue back into his mouth.
"Why? Everyone does it. It'll still heal, might take a day or two longer, but it'll heal."
"It makes me want to kiss you."
He smirks, causing the cut to open further. "So, kiss me."
I shake my head. "You're injured, Stiles."
He rolls his eyes. "So? Kiss me, Derek." His eyes are begging me to show him that I still want him. But I can't take up that challenge. He could have internal injuries.
With a sigh, I push his knees further apart, so I can lean in and press my lips lightly to his.
He makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. "I said: Kiss. Me, Derek."
"I don't want to hurt you."
He snorts. "Couldn't if you tried. Now. Kiss. Me." He grabs my head and seals his mouth to mine, his tongue sweeping in to rub dirty promises against mine. I moan low in my throat and follow his tongue back into his mouth with mine.
Eventually we need to breathe, so I pull back, capturing his lower lip between my teeth and pressing against the cut with my tongue. His breath catches for a very different reason this time and I know that if I wanted, I could fuck him right here on the floor of our bathroom.
Author:
logans_girl2001Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: R
Category: Slash
Status: ?
Archive: My website
Feedback: Yes, please.
Disclaimers: I do not own any of the characters.
Author's Notes: I saw a gif set on Tumblr of Stiles being beaten up and this just showed up. This is my first time writing in this fandom. Please forgive me if the characters are OOC. Not sure if this is all there is to this or not (hence the question mark next to status).
Sequel/Series: None
Summary: When Stiles gets kidnapped and beaten up, Derek realizes just how much he cares.
Warnings: Off screen violence, descriptions of someone who has been beaten
Spoilers: None really but all aired episodes are fair game.
Beta: I am choosing to post this without having it edited because it is eating my brain.
Derek's POV:
I've been pacing the front room of the house for hours, now; ever since I was informed that Stiles disappeared after lacrosse practice, in fact. I have a lot of enemies but I'm nearly positive I know who has him. The only thing I don't know, is where they're keeping him. A search of their usual hide-outs has turned up jack shit and I'm going to start destroying things if he isn't found soon.
I want to be out looking for him with the rest of the pack, but Lydia insisted I must stay here. Even though I have learned that when Lydia says that she has a 'hunch' she's usually correct, especially when it's about Stiles, it's almost a physical pain being this utterly useless in the search for my mate. But I trust Scott to find him and bring him home.
"You're going to wear a hole in the floor." Lydia's voice is full of humor, proving that she's overcome her initial fear of me.
"He's still missing, Lydia." Even though I know she's trying to calm me, and remind that she hasn't sensed any deaths recently, I can't stop pacing. I need to do something since I can't be out searching.
"I'm aware of that, Derek. Doesn't make my statement any less true." I can hear her eye roll. "If you don't calm down-" The rest of her sentence is cut off by the perimeter alarm.
I sprint past her to the front door. Throwing it open I cross the porch to the stairs in one stride where I come to a stop and scan the tree line. I can smell Stiles. His scent is covered by other humans, more than if he was just at lacrosse practice, and that coupled with his fear has my lip curling in renewed anger. Someone is going to fucking die for daring to put their fucking hands on my mate.
A growl starts to build low in my throat because I can't see Stiles and his scent is so fucking close. I'm about to head into the woods to look for him when Lydia's small hand lands on my forearm. Just as I begin to shake it off, her small gasp has me noticing movement about half way between the tree line and the house. The figure that is attempting to crawl across the yard is so covered in mud that they are nearly indistinguishable from the ground beneath them.
It takes a couple of seconds for me to realize it's Stiles and as soon as I do his name leaves my lips in a whimper that is as broken and bruised as I'm sure his body is. And then I'm jumping off the porch and crossing the distance between us in just a few steps. My legs refuse to continue to obey my commands once I reach his side and I hit the ground hard on my knees.
"Stiles," I say again in a voice that isn't much stronger than a moment ago. He flinches when I reach for him and I vow that the bastards who did this will suffer before they die.
I do my best to be gentle when I grasp his shoulders to help him sit up, but even so he whimpers softly. I don't want to hurt him, but I need to see the extent of his injuries. I need to know even though I don't want to.
"It's alright, Stiles. You're safe now. I got you." I keep my voice as low and soothing as I can but even so, he still flinches a little.
Once I have him on his knees, I try to duck my head to see his face, but he refuses to lift it. So, I wrap the ring and pinky fingers of my right hand around his neck, my thumb under his jaw and his left cheek cradled in my palm. It's a familiar position because it usually means I'm about to kiss him. But not this time.
No, this time I need to see his face and so I press against the underside of his jaw. He resists at first but I'm insistent and he slowly gives in.
The first thing I see as his head lifts, is the bruise that is beginning to form around his left eye. The second is the scrape that begins at the outer corner of that eye and follows his cheekbone to stop just shy of his mouth; his fucking kissable mouth. A mouth that I love to explore with my tongue. A mouth that has gotten him into just as much trouble as it’s gotten him out of.
Pulling my thoughts back from all the wonderful this that mouth can do, I notice that his lower lip is split. Kissing will be painful for a few days but damned if that'll stop me from kissing him.
I'm so totally focused on his lips, that I am witness to his tongue darting out to push against the cut, testing to see just how much it has healed.
"Stiles." Again, my voice breaks on his name. How has this human teenager come to mean so much to me?
It feels like not that long ago I was fighting my growing attraction to him. Not even him being my mate could get me over the hurdle that was his age and the fact that he's the sheriff's son.
In the two years since I woke from nearly dying after being poisoned, to find him standing over my bed, he has worked his way into my heart and my bed and now I'd be totally lost without him.
And now he's been hurt because of me. I should send him back to his father.
His eyes snap up to meet mine and I realize that I said that last out loud. "Stiles-" I have no idea what to say to stop the tears I can see gathering in his eyes.
"But I didn't tell him." His voice is impossibly small for someone who has as large a personality as he does. "I swear I didn't say anything." He keeps repeating those words. "Please, Derek, believe me. I didn't tell him. I proved I'm not a liability."
Liability? I'm confused for a moment because I've never said that. And then I remember a conversation I had a few weeks ago with Scott. Stiles had said the wrong thing at the wrong time in front of the wrong people. It didn't really cause any harm, but it caused a major inconvenience that I am still trying to untangle. My eyes close at the memory. Despite it being very minor, in the larger scheme of things, I was angry enough to avoid him for several days.
"I didn't mean it, Stiles. I was just angry and-" The rest of what I was going to say becomes unimportant when he loses the battle to keep from crying and collapses into my arms, his slender frame shaking with the force of his sobs.
I gather him to me and gently stroke his back, pressing my face into his hair where his scent is strongest. After a minute or two, I gather him up into my arms to carry him inside because we're too exposed out here in the open. Especially with Lydia as our only backup.
"Derek," Lydia says when I pass her on the porch.
"Not now, Lydia. Secure the house and call the others back."
When I arrive at our room, I don't even pause, just carry him on into the bathroom. He needs a bath and then sleep. And I intend to make sure he gets both.
Setting him down on the edge of the jacuzzi tub I had installed a few months ago after a comment he made about a couple bathing together in a movie we were watching, I turn the water on and adjust it to the correct temperature.
"Derek." His breath catches on a suppressed sob.
"Shut up, Stiles."
Once the water is filling the tub, I kneel at his feet to attack the mud caked laces of his shoes.
"Derek." He tries again.
"I said be quiet, Stiles." My voice is much harsher than I intend due to me choking on my own impotence and anger at letting him get hurt.
"Derek!" The sharpness of his tone makes me aware that my claws are fumbling with his laces.
Curling my hands into fists, I let the pain ground me while I take several deep breathes in an effort to calm down. Once I'm fairly certain I can touch him without telegraphing my emotions, I wrap my hands around his calves and press my forehead against his knees.
"I'm sorry." The words are so soft I'm not sure his human ears can hear them, so I say them again, louder. "I am so fucking sorry."
He fists his hands in my hair, tugging slightly in a silent plea for me to raise my head. When I do, I discover that his cheeks are wet with tears that are flowing freely down them.
"No. I'm sorry."
"What do you have to be sorry about?"
"That you're stuck with me as your mate." He sniffs and scrubs at his cheeks with one fist.
Placing my hands on his knees, I slide them up under the loose legs of his shorts. How could he think that? No one could be more perfect for me.
"Why do you say that?"
"I'm human. I tend to ramble when nervous or scared. Which, let's be honest, is most of the time. One day I'll inadvertently betray you. You should-" He has to stop to choke back a sob. "-send me back to my dad."
I shake my head and lay it in his lap. "Oh, Stiles. I tried that before and you wouldn't stay away."
He gives a bark of laughter at the memory of when he moved himself in on his eighteenth birthday. I promptly packed his shit and carried him back to the sheriff's house, only to have him show back up the next morning. Everyone told me I might as well let him stay. So, I did.
"But that won't stop them from hurting you because of me."
"They don't know about us."
I lift my head to look at him. "Of course, they do. Why else would they abduct a human and-" I touch the scrape on his cheek. "-try to beat information out of him?"
"I didn't break. I swear it."
Nodding my head, I say, "I know you didn't."
"You believe me?"
"Yes. I can see how strong you're getting and eventually you won't babble when nervous or scared."
"That day may have been today. I didn't say anything about anything."
"Good."
He smiles, then winces when the movement of his lips pulls at the cut. His tongue darts out again to lick at the blood that has started to seep from where it reopened.
"Don't." I reach up with my fingers and push his tongue back into his mouth.
"Why? Everyone does it. It'll still heal, might take a day or two longer, but it'll heal."
"It makes me want to kiss you."
He smirks, causing the cut to open further. "So, kiss me."
I shake my head. "You're injured, Stiles."
He rolls his eyes. "So? Kiss me, Derek." His eyes are begging me to show him that I still want him. But I can't take up that challenge. He could have internal injuries.
With a sigh, I push his knees further apart, so I can lean in and press my lips lightly to his.
He makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. "I said: Kiss. Me, Derek."
"I don't want to hurt you."
He snorts. "Couldn't if you tried. Now. Kiss. Me." He grabs my head and seals his mouth to mine, his tongue sweeping in to rub dirty promises against mine. I moan low in my throat and follow his tongue back into his mouth with mine.
Eventually we need to breathe, so I pull back, capturing his lower lip between my teeth and pressing against the cut with my tongue. His breath catches for a very different reason this time and I know that if I wanted, I could fuck him right here on the floor of our bathroom.
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