Another commission, and back to Sterek!
This was commissioned by @memprime, and they requested a cute Stiles and Wolf!Derek! I’m usually pretty bad at backgrounds so but I tried really hard! I think it came out cute though…
Thank you for commissioning me!
my skull is full of sunken ships,
my heart’s a prisoner to my ribs,
we’re flesh & bone when we’re all alone,
but together, forever, we’ll live
Imagine Stiles wearing a super baggy sweater/hoodie and boxers around the house.
The first night Stiles stays the night, Derek feels something small and tight and afraid unclench. Like he can trust this.
That he can have this boy, beautiful and bright and impossibly, his.
Stiles laughs when he rolls them in the sheets and kisses him, hard and hungry, and its a long time before he lazily complains about being hungry.
But the first time he comes home and finds Stiles there–
That’s when he realizes how deep he’s in.
Stiles is standing by the sink, sipping his coffee and glaring at his phone. He’s wearing Derek’s old NYU sweatshirt, the one two sizes too big for Derek that fucking swallows Stiles, and it hangs down almost to Stiles knees. He’s not wearing pants, and he has one foot braced against his knee, his toes curled against the cold ground and he looks perfect.
Derek moves across the room and Stiles smiles up at him, kissing him gently as Derek’s hands slip under the sweatshirt, curling at his hips, gripping the band of his boxers.
“Stay,” Derek murmurs and Stiles sighs against him.
“For how long?”
“Forever,” Derek breathes.
It’s too much. Too soon. Stiles is too young.And he can’t stop himself because he wants this. Wants Stiles.
Stiles smiles at him and presses a kiss and a promise to his lips. “Ok.”
“You do realise I bought this new mattress so you would stop sleeping on me?” Derek’s voice rumbles through his into Stiles’s and Stiles shifts, presses his face into Derek’s neck.
“You’re more comfortable,” he mutters sleepily and Derek runs a hand up his thigh.
“You’re heavy,” Derek replies, his fingers dipping under Stiles’s underwear. Stiles shifts again, presses his hips downwards and drags his lips across Derek’s neck.
“No I’m not,” Stiles sulks and Derek lets out a laugh, winds his other arm around Stiles and pulls him tighter to him.
“No,” he says, and Stiles slides his lips across his cheek, “you’re not,” Derek mutters into Stiles’s mouth.
theproblemwithstardust 