1 - 20 of 52 Works by Hathly
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“Normal people don’t pin someone against a chair, whisper in their ear, then go suck face with someone else and offer to drive them home like it’s some kind of civic duty.”
Derek’s jaw flexes.
“You’re mad.”
“No shit, I’m mad!”
They’re at a stoplight now, and Stiles turns to face him fully, chest tight.
“You can’t just keep doing this. Showing up. Leaving. Touching me and then pretending it didn’t happen. I’m not—” He breaks off.
Derek watches him. Silent.
“I’m not like you,” Stiles says quietly.
Derek’s voice, when it comes, is low. “I know"
OR the one where I accidentally posted this -while editing, so HYG
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It’s John’s kid. It’s the boy John trusted him with from the moment he handed over the car keys and said, “Teach him to drive. Just don’t let him crash.”
It’s the boy John let him pick up from school when he was too sick to go in. The one Derek watched grow out of braces and bad skin and into something bright and sharp and undeniable.He closes his eyes for a beat too long.
Just a second. But it slips. The effort of holding still, of pretending he doesn’t feel Stiles leaning in, slowly unraveling.
You don’t get to do this, he tells himself.
You don’t get to want this.
But he does. God, he does. He wants it so badly it makes him sick.
One move. That’s all it would take. Just turn. Just tilt his head. Just meet him.
Stiles Stilinski is twenty-two. Derek Hale is forty-one. They are not supposed to be anything but what they’ve always been. But nothing feels like it used to.
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This Is Not Me Falling for You (Except It Definitely Is) by Hathly
Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)
19 Jun 2025
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“HALE! THIS ISN’T A MODELING GIG, STOP POSING AND THROW THE DAMN BALL!”
And for just a second, Derek falters.Not visibly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But Stiles sees it—the tiny twitch in his shoulder, the flick of his eyes toward the stands. He felt that. He heard him.
Stiles grins, high on adrenaline and something he refuses to name.
This? This is their thing. This is fine.
And any other fluttery, ridiculous thought trying to take root in his chest?He shuts the door on it.
Hard.
Because he doesn’t like Derek.
He can’t.
It would be stupid. And dangerous. And asking for disaster.
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“Come on,” Stiles said, sitting up and leaning in like he could pull Derek into his orbit by sheer gravity. “Teach me.”
Derek shot him a look. “Your dad is gonna kill me.”
“He’s not gonna find out.”
“He’s gonna take one look at you and know.”
“Okay, yes, my face is expressive and honest and—some would say—devastatingly handsome, but he’s not psychic. Just gimme one hit.”
or
Collections of Oneshot, I do not think is good enough to publish.
I'll think of summary someday but for now it's just basically PWP.Series
- Part 13 of Sterek Oneshots
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The man nods once. Doesn’t break stride. Doesn’t smile. Just that stiff, silent acknowledgment like the world’s made of tolerable obstacles and he’s choosing not to bark at them.
Stiles blinks.
Deputy.
Oh. Oh.
Well that makes things easier.
Not that he was struggling. Please. He could find Officer Puppym on a map, in a nightmare, from memory alone with three broken crayons and a prayer. But now he’s got a job title, a department, and the knowledge that someone in that department is walking around Beacon Hills in government-issued pants with three semi-feral emotional support grenades at his heels.
But now he’s got a job title, a department, and the deeply unnerving realization that someone in his dad’s department is walking around Beacon Hills in government-issued pants with three semi-feral emotional support grenades at his heels.
Which is fine. Fine. It’s not like Stiles has a type or anything.
Series
- Part 17 of Sterek Oneshots
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“Wrong number,” he said, the words tight, clipped off before they could waver.
There was a pause, a faint crackle of static in the line, and then the voice came back, softer, edged with something that felt like it had been waiting five years to be heard.
“Right voice.”
Series
- Part 5 of Petopher Oneshots
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“I told you,” Theo murmurs, his mouth near Stiles’s ear now, voice like a vow. “I’m here for you. I wanted you back then, and I want you now. I was ready to wait a long time. But I’m not waiting if the only thing in the way… is you.”
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“Stiles already promised he’d help me out Friday.” His voice is lower. Not deep or threatening, just meant. Like he’s laying something down. Casual, offhand. Too offhand.
The guy falters. Just slightly. “Right, sure. Well, maybe next time.”
“Maybe,” Stiles echoes, voice neutral. Not dismissive, not warm. Just maybe.
When the guy’s gone, Stiles turns to Scott, slow and pointed. “Pack stuff?”
Scott shrugs like he’s not still chewing victory between his teeth. “Yeah. You said you’d help me carry the water coolers. And maybe help me tape up Isaac’s ankle. Remember?”
“I said that last week. In the context of you falling behind on prep because you forgot we had a chem quiz.”
“Still counts,” Scott says brightly, bumping his shoulder against Stiles’s like that’s the end of it. Like he’s the end of it.
Series
- Part 1 of SCILES
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“You always do this,” Tony said, voice too sharp to pass for casual.
Steve blinked, slow. “Do what?”
“This... whole saint of quiet suffering thing. Being soft with me. Like I’m gonna crumble if you raise your voice.” Tony stared back down into the tea like it might answer for him. “I’m not glass, Rogers.”
“No,” Steve said, and this time his voice had weight. “You’re not. You’re iron.”
Tony looked up. Pulse skipped. Not from fear. From recognition.
Steve held his gaze—steady, grounded, real.
“And iron cracks too,” he finished, “if no one cools it down.”
Series
- Part 4 of Superhusbands
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“Yeah, and I’m just saying.” Stiles crossed his arms, cocked a hip, and planted himself in front of the distressed denim display like a final boss made of sarcasm and questionable fashion choices. “It’s seventy-five degrees out, you’re dressed like the lead singer of a post-apocalyptic boy band, and this store doesn’t believe in the phrase ‘too much effort.’ So if you're here, you're getting styled. You’ve officially wandered into my domain.”
He gestured around them with a flourish that nearly knocked over a hanging rack of silk camp shirts. “Welcome to Hale’s. Where style goes to live, and black goes to die.”
The guy blinked. Very slowly. “Do you talk like this to every customer?”
“No,” Stiles said, grinning. “Just the ones who look like they bench press small cars and scare children for fun.”
Or The one where I will spam this tag hehe
Series
- Part 16 of Sterek Oneshots
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He doesn’t look over. Not even a glance. Because if he looks, he’ll see. And if he sees, he’ll have to deal with the way Derek’s still not moving. The way that second stretched too long. The way his hips shifted just slightly up into Stiles’ weight before he froze like a goddamn statue.
So he doesn’t look.
But he thinks. Oh, he thinks.
Because that wasn’t just a moment. That was a reaction. That was heat under his hands and stillness that screamed yes and Derek not throwing him off when Stiles had him pinned. And the part that really messes with his head—the part he can’t stop circling in his brain like a fucking vulture—is that Derek could’ve stopped it. Could’ve ended it with one arm and a snort. And he didn’t.
Which means—
Shut up, Stiles tells himself. Stop. Don’t be that guy.
He scratches the back of his neck, sits up a little straighter, grabs the nearest throw pillow just to do something with his hands. He pretends he’s watching the screen. He pretends he didn’t notice the way Derek was breathing like he’d just run a mile, like Stiles had done something to him without even trying.
But he let me, Stiles thinks.
Series
- Part 15 of Sterek Oneshots
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“You going Friday?” Scott asks, eyes never leaving the guy’s face.
Stiles’s brows pull together. “Friday?”
“The open mic thing.” Scott’s smile is polite. Sharp. “He invited you, right?”
Stiles is quiet for a beat too long. “Maybe. I don’t—”
“He’s busy,” Scott says, still smiling, hand still heavy and possessive where it rests. “We’ve got plans
Series
- Part 2 of SCILES
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So when Derek breaks from the script—says “This one’s new,” into the mic, soft and unhurried like he’s got all the time in the world—Stiles’s stomach knots so fast he nearly doubles over.
No.
No, absolutely fucking not.They don’t go off-script. Not in his show. Not when there’s timing and pyros and light fades scheduled down to the damn second.
And not—not—with a song Stiles doesn’t know. A song Derek didn’t tell him about. A song that has the nerve to exist outside of their shared world, without Stiles’s fingerprints on it.
His feet are moving before he even realizes it, headset half-on, chest buzzing. He’s at the edge of the stage, just inside the wings, heart in his throat and a thousand violent questions forming all at once.When did he write it? Why didn’t he say anything? Who the hell is this for?
Or The one where Derek sings a surprise love song, Stiles almost dies of feelings - and I have still yet to reply to the comments on my fics.
Series
- Part 14 of Sterek Oneshots
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Say that again by Hathly
Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
18 May 2025
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"Steve?”
Steve’s jaw works for a second, the muscle twitching there like he’s furious—except he’s not. He’s staring at Tony with this look that’s way too hot for a conversation involving stir-fried vegetables. Something in him looks like it just snapped.Then, low and helpless, Steve says: “Fuck, Tony.”
And Tony, Tony’s entire brain bluescreens.
Because it’s not a curse of frustration. It’s not an offhand mutter or an accidental slip. It’s want, sharp and stunned and real, like Steve’s finally been cornered into honesty.
Tony sets the fork down with deliberate care. His pulse is pounding. His skin’s gone tight. He looks at Steve like he’s seeing a new layer of him, something feral and just barely restrained under all that soft concern and Captain America virtue.
“Say that again,” Tony says, voice low and maybe a little hoarse. “Say it exactly like that.”
Series
- Part 3 of Superhusbands
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“Don’t,” Chris growled, breath close enough to stir the front of Peter’s shirt.
Peter didn’t lean away. Didn’t challenge.
“Oh,” he said, like a revelation.
Chris’s jaw ticked. “I have never wanted to shoot a sheriff before.”
>> this one excerpt of the story I won't write, as Chris is way out of his usual alignment.
Series
- Part 4 of Petopher Oneshots
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And then—
“…Peter.”
Spoken low. Almost like a breath.
Peter froze.
Not because it was his name. But because of the way it sounded—gritted, quiet, like the shape of it caught on the edge of something that meant.
Not Hale. Not “you bastard.” Not the usual contempt he wielded like a shield. Just Peter.
Intimate.
Heavy.
Peter didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched.
Series
- Part 3 of Petopher Oneshots
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"You know," he says, muffled by the terrycloth, "most people would offer a warm drink. A blanket. Maybe—oh, I don’t know—a dinner date to get the blood flowing again."
Steve doesn’t look up. "Are you trying to flirt while dripping on my floor?"
"I am attempting to survive under hostile conditions," Tony declares. "Which include frostbite and emotional neglect."
Bucky, from the corner of the café, snorts so hard his phone nearly slips out of his hand. He’s definitely filming. Probably captioning it “Live Footage of a Man Getting Rejected in 4K.”
Tony whips around. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all," Bucky replies cheerfully.
Series
- Part 2 of Superhusbands
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He unscrewed the cap, took a long drink, and tried very hard not to notice that his wrist was still tingling.
Still marked.
Still his.
It was a water bottle.
Just a water bottle.
And Stiles was going to need a damn lobotomy at this rate.5 times Theo turned Stiles one and that One time Stiles did it.
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"You are not taking Lydia, as mate Stiles! . " Jackson's words rang out the room as he entered. "You can take Derek Hale instead."
"Not gonna happen Jackson" Lydia Glared and Stiles was as confuse as ever.
"Who's Derek Hale?"
Truth was Stiles didn't even care, Who Derek Hale is As long as he is an alpha, willing to be his mate and go live in Beacon Hills. He doesn't give a fuck, he's willing to do anything just to be with his father, that includes mating an unknown dude.
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He wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore. Subtle was for people who didn’t have two hundred feet of unfulfilled longing coiled in their chest like an emotional slinky. Subtle was for cowards. Stiles had Post-Its and no impulse control.
“Morning, sunshine,” he chirped one Thursday, chin in hand, batting his lashes as Derek signed in. “Have I told you yet today that your arms make my brain go soft?”
Derek didn’t blink.
“Because they do,” Stiles added brightly. “They’re criminal, really. I could press charges. Or maybe just press myself against— okay, wow, you’re already walking away. Rude.”
The thing is: Derek didn’t tell him to stop.
Series
- Part 12 of Sterek Oneshots