rubykatewriting: (Teen Wolf: Dylan & Tyler H Cheeky)
[personal profile] rubykatewriting
Author: [ profile] rubykatewriting
Title: The Strong Scent of Evergreen
Pairing: Derek/Girl!Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Derek and Stiles start something new. "I am, you know," she whispers against his mouth, and he tilts his head in question. "Yours."
Spoilers/Warnings: Can be found here.
Notes: Title comes from the song "Passenger Seat" by Death Cab for Cutie.
Disclaimer: Not mine. So not mine. No harm intended.

When she pulls around the last curve before the Hale house Saturday afternoon, only Derek’s car is parked out front. She knows he’s heard her coming since she left the main road, and he leans in the doorway, waiting, a longneck hanging from his fingers. That says it all right there; it’s not as if the alcohol will have any effect, but his desperation is settled into his features and the way he moves out onto the porch. As she drops down out of the jeep, she doesn’t know what to do so she settles on finding the perfect spot for her keys in her satchel. Anything but having to look at him.

The boys act like it’s so difficult being connected to him as his betas, but she’s claimed as his mate. It’s only now that she can really appreciate the fucking drawbacks because at the moment it is all she can do to keep herself away from him. Her skin feels too tight, all frayed nerves and ache, and it’s knowing how easily it could be resolved that’s killing her. All she has to do is tackle those last few feet, and she can touch him. It’s like the promise of air after too many minutes underwater, the surface within reach. The very idea makes her want to weep. Desire has become her constant companion.

She stops at the bottom of the porch steps and squares her shoulders. Finally, she feels like she can get out what she needs to say. “Derek –”

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”


He pads down the stairs on bare feet and sits down, his knee bumping her thigh. She knows it’s on purpose, and she doesn’t care, leans into the contact. She closes her eyes as instant calm flows over her, settling in her bones. He maneuvers her between his parted knees, fingers hanging onto the belt loops of her jeans, and he meets her eyes.

“Stiles, it will never happen again,” he promises.

“I know it won’t,” she says automatically, and for a second his face sort of crumples before he recovers, his usual stony face falling into place. People as clumsy as her should not be given the responsibility of someone else’s heart. It’s always the gruffest ones – her dad, Derek – who are ultimately the most fragile. She moves the rest of the way, her hand cupping the side of his neck, and he turns, sniffing and kissing the inside of her bruised wrist. “You haven’t lost me, Derek. Forever, remember?”

“Jesus, I am so fucking sorry,” he murmurs again, mouth still pressed to her healing wrist. Then he tugs her into him and she holds his head to her breast, fingers sliding through his dark, silky hair. She listens to him breathe, the hum as her nails scrape against his scalp, and from the outside she may look like all those girls. She isn’t. There are excuses and then there is the truth. Maybe to some forgiving him is a stupid mistake. But she knows that fear eats at Derek, the fear that he won’t be there again for someone he loves, and she put herself into a situation she couldn’t truly control. Going to Dr. Frenris was far from the smartest move, no matter how well she thinks she read him; it’s the alone part that really makes her recoil at her own stupidity. If Scott or Jackson had been with her – hell, even the girls – Derek wouldn’t have flipped, but with everything else, she should have included him in her decision-making process. They are mated now; they are a pack. That’s what she realizes now. There are going to be times they will be separated, and he won’t be able to protect her, a possibility that she feels in his every move. This wasn’t one of those times. She isn’t responsible for just herself now.

“I shouldn’t have hurt you. No matter how freaked out I was, I – Christ, Stiles, the way you looked at me.” His voice is muffled against her left breast, but she can hear the pain in it, feel the erratic thump of his heart against her belly.

“You haven’t scared me for so long,” she whispers. It’s as if saying the words aloud is enough. To let that afternoon go and start over, or maybe just to go back to before – whatever it is, she feels the weight of it go. She kisses his nape; she loves his smell there the best; sweat, soap, and the woods. “I’m sorry too. And I will never be able to say that enough.”

One hand slides up under her hoodie, and it’s the magic of skin touching skin; she sighs into it and his heartbeat immediately starts to slow. “Do you have to get back anytime soon?”

“Dad’s doing a double. He won’t be home until after seven tomorrow.” She turns his head so she can kiss his mouth, slide her tongue inside and taste him. He inhales sharply, his grip on her tightening, dragging her that last inch, and she’s in his lap, straddling his hips. Dizzily, she thinks again: air. He is the air she breathes, and she will always need to be with him, by his side. The thought makes her pull back, take in much needed oxygen, and then she’s looking into his eyes, his happy face.

“I have chili.”

She smiles. “You made chili? On that hotplate?”

His lips hitch up in a smirk. “Jackson’s housekeeper. She thinks I’m too skinny.”

“More like Mrs. Michelakos has a thing for a fantastic pair of cheekbones and some pretty green eyes.” Stiles trails her finger down his nose. “Impressive, Hale.”

“You staying or not?”

“For Mrs. Michelakos’ chili? Hell yes I’m staying.” Off his look, she explains, “She kept us in stock with the stuff for about six months after Mom died. I still have dreams about that chili.”

When he shows her the spread, Stiles doesn’t tell him that Mrs. Michelakos definitely sees Derek as potential grandson-in-law material. She’s not only given him chili, but sour cream, shredded cheese, and a loaf of crusty bread. Stiles almost moans at the first bite. When her father’s cholesterol started going up, beef – illicit burgers and fries aside – was the first thing to go, and she wasn’t lying when she said she had dreams about this stuff.

“You weren’t kidding.”

She smacks his shoulder. “Right? So good.”

He rolls his eyes. “I forget sometimes that your right leg is hollow.”

“Dad says my mom was the same way.” She takes another bite, savoring. “She could eat him under the table.”

He leans over and kisses her, licking away a smear of chili from the corner of her mouth; she follows him, not wanting to stop kissing him. He pulls back, grinning. “Stay with me tonight.”

The idea of sharing a bed with him again, to sleep tucked up with him and his scent, after a week of hell is too good to pass up. More than that, he’s invited her into his bed, and even if this place is still barely standing, it’s his home. The last place he and Laura had real, true happiness. “Okay.”


He curls around her, his hand skimming inside the waist of her jeans to palm her belly; his mouth is at her mark. She imagines a future – far off, after she’s figured out the whole “what I want to be when I grow up” thing – when her belly is round with his child, and holy hell, where did that come from? She tries to throw that train of thought in reverse; that’s the separation and the urge to mate talking. That way lays madness, nowhere a smart sixteen-year-old girl should be, but truthfully, the idea has been niggling at her since that faraway night Derek brought it up. She has spent so long being on the outside with Scott and being mostly okay with it. Now, a big part of her wants to dive headfirst into this belonging thing, just fling herself at it and evaluate later. The pack has been something of a revelation, but it’s really Derek, will always be Derek, who makes her feel a part of something bigger.

“I want them to have your eyes,” she murmurs, clutching his hand as the exhaustion that’s been dogging her for a week seems to catch up with her.

“Who’s going to have my eyes?” Derek mutters, yawning.

“Our babies,” she says out loud, but she thinks duh. Sure, this is a conversation that is taking place mostly in her head, but he needs to keep up. She’s too tired to have two. This is an important conversation, but then she sort of loses the thread herself as she yawns. She rolls over to face him, following his scent with her nose, and buries her face in his chest. “Mm’be your hair too. So silky.”

She can feel him stiffen, but she is so very tired after the last week. She’s said the wrong thing again – she snorts softly, because hello, story of her life – but sleep is too tempting, pulling her under before she can retrace her steps.


It’s still dark when she wakes up sprawled across Derek; it can’t have been more than a couple of hours since they came up to bed. Stars are visible in the block of night sky that she can see above the sheet Derek pinned over the one window. She knows he’s awake, can feel his eyes on her, and when she glances up, he looks like he did in the back of the Sheriff’s cruiser, controlled and knowing, and she thinks she should be commended for not gulping like a damn cartoon character. His hunger is potent, settling around her, and this time it isn’t fear buzzing in the pit of her belly. She pushes up and back into a sitting position, straddling his hips, his erection fitting into the notch of her cunt. She closes her eyes at the contact. Her abdomen tightens as desire shoots through her.

“You were talking about babies,” he says.

She starts, the memory warming her face with embarrassment, but before she can say anything, he’s pulling the string on the sweat pants he gave her to sleep in last night. She watches, silent and bemused.

“Lean forward,” he orders.

She doesn’t even hesitate, she just does as he tells her, and he’s tugging them down with both hands. Even as she shifts to one knee to get them the rest of the way off, he stills her with one hand on her hip, his other between her thighs, making her gasp. She grimaces as first one finger and then a second work their way up inside her. Her body is still just warming up. It’s not the most comfortable feeling; she’s always been wetter when he’s done this before.

“You’ll need to be wetter,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he can read her thoughts, and he thumbs her clit as he fucks her with two fingers.

She flushes, but then he curls both fingers against that spot he never seems to have trouble finding. “Jesus, Derek,” she chokes out, her head falling forward, resting against his chest. “Oh, god. R– right there. Right there.” She moves her hips with him, wanting deeper, and oh, my god – There is nobody to overhear for once, and she cries out, grinding down onto his hand.

Before she’s even stopped shaking, he has her flipped on her back. He’s on his knees and he’s tugging the sweatpants the rest of the way off, tossing them aside. She can see the tip of his dick peeking out of the slit of his boxer briefs, and she’s spent the better part of the last two months trying not to worry she’s a freak because she loves every last thing about his body, but his dick makes her mouth water. From what she’s heard from girls at school, a penis is a means to an end; maybe they’ve just never seen Derek’s. She yanks his underwear down, abandoning them midway down his thighs. She skims a hand along his belly, flirts with his balls, before she palms him, thumbing the tip, and he jerks away.

“Wait,” he says, standing. He kicks off his underwear and then pads over to his discarded jeans. Stiles stares at the lines of his back, the curve of his perfect ass, and sometimes – who is she kidding, ALL THE TIME – it doesn’t bother her how much more beautiful he is compared to her because she gets to enjoy the damn view. He digs in the back pocket for his wallet and she sees the flash of foil as he drops his pants back on the floor. As he walks back towards her, he tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth, and he pauses long enough to roll it on. He points at her thermal undershirt. “Off. I want you naked.”

She tugs it over her head, and he kneels down beside her on the mattress. That’s when she sees the small bottle of lube in his hand. He smears a liberal amount on his dick, and she lays back, unable to take her eyes off his face as he settles between her thighs. The feel of him naked on top of her, as his weight pushes her down into the mattress, makes it real, and her fingers tremble as she trails them across his brow, down the side of his face. He leans into her touch, like always, and then he’s reaching down between their bodies, guiding his dick inside her. The pressure is almost unbearable, her body wanting desperately to push against the intrusion, and she can’t help the whimper of distress.

He groans as he works all the way in. His face is so close to hers, and the intimacy is daunting. It surprises her, considering everything they’ve done, and it momentarily distracts her from the discomfort. She feels her heart flutter as the tangle of emotions unfurl inside her. He finally starts to thrust into her, and she can hear and feel where their bodies meet. She wants to be present in this moment, but it’s hard to catch hold of any one thing, only: I love him I love him I love him. It is the tether that keeps her safe as she finds herself in wholly new territory.

“You feel so fucking good.” It’s like his voice is being wrenched out of him. He shifts onto one elbow and presses against her clit with his knuckle. Hips bucking, her vaginal muscles tighten around his dick as he lengthens his stroke, and he’s hitting the same spot as before. “Fuck, Stiles. Does that feel good to you, me inside of you like this?”

She can’t talk, only nods, because seeing his flushed face, hearing his voice, is almost too much. Her effect on him will never stop being like a drug, the best, fastest way to getting her off. She’s the reason he sounds like that, pulled and taunt and barely controlled, and she latches onto it. She follows it to his lips and kisses him, clings to him. He moans and she licks into his mouth, and this – him, her, them – is why she is here. She takes in the way his belly rubs along hers, the way the hair below his navel tickles, and how their bodies seem to fit just so. The feel of his breath and stutter of his heart. That where he gives, she gives way.

She will never love him more than this, just like how she knows tomorrow will be new and the same and the love she feels for him will make her chest hurt. He will smile at her later when he walks her to her jeep, swinging her hand; she will linger before she climbs in, leaves this moment and him. He will lean in for one last kiss, taking up all of the room in her jeep because that’s how he is in any place. Reality will be that kiss goodbye and the obnoxious jangle of her jeep as it carries her away from him, and the thrum of her heart will threaten to shatter her because it’s all so much and still not enough.

Then he’s up on his knees, his hands hard on her hips, and his pelvis is slamming into hers in the most perfect way. She arches up, using her feet for purchase – so close so close soclose – and when the orgasm hits, she finally understands Shakespeare and all of his death-orgasm metaphors. She barely feels it when he knots, barely registering anything as she is suddenly upright again, his dick moving deeper inside her, and Derek’s teeth are sinking into her mark. It’s like cresting one long, large wave. She simply holds on, cupping his face when he finally pulls back to look at her because he will never stop being the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

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