UGH THIS IS SHIT i’m so sorry, especially because this was sucha fun prompt. i’m having a bad day as far as writing goes, but i promised i’d have one out today, so here it is.
seriously, this did not come out at all as something i’m happy with. if the same goes for you, just let me know and i’ll redo it. ugh, i’m so sorry ahaha.
"It’ll wear off," Deaton says, apparently completely unfazed by their current predicament. He’s not even looking at them, which - it’s insulting, really, Stiles thinks, considering the circumstances. This is a real problem, okay.
"Okay, yes, so we’ve determined already, but you’re not answering the actual question, which is when. When will it wear off, please and thank you, for the love of god.” he spits, and beside him Derek huffs.
Deaton looks up for a moment, only to let Stiles know that he thinks he’s being rude. Which, yes, Stiles is aware. But there’s only so much cryptic bullshit he’s willing to put up with in a day, okay.
And it’s been a long ass day.
This is fucking perfect. Holy shit.
For ljummen. Cause Emy is awesome and having a not-so-awesome day.
Derek doesn’t have many opinions about house hunting. He doesn’t have printed out sheets from HGTV with “wants” and “likes” and “needs.” He doesn’t have a frenetic series of bullet points half written out on fast food napkins and finished on a steno pad, like Stiles, about what the “best house for the best couple on the continent—NAY, WORLD” should have.
At least, not until he walks into the master bath of the fourth house they’re being led around, spots the sunken jacuzzi-sized tub and stops dead.
"Oof," Stiles says. Stiles, behind him, had kept walking, and walked right into Derek’s back. "Erm. What’s goin’ on big guy?"
Stiles shuffles to the side and peers around the bathroom, looking for whatever horror upon household renovations horrors has literally stopped Derek in his tracks. Derek supposes that’s fair—he had spent an awfully long time bitching about the floor tile in the kitchen of the first house.
"Just," Derek says, stilted. "The tub."
Stiles raises his eyes brows and looks from the tub, to Derek, back to the tub, then to Derek. “Oh. You like it, huh?”
Derek feels his ears turning pink and shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I guess.”
Stiles chews on his lip, a smirk spreading across his face. “Okay.”
"Okay. I’ll tell Danny we wanna put in a bid."
"What? No. Stiles. That second house had that fence you wanted in the yard—"
Stiles shrugs and forces one of Derek’s hands out of his pockets and twists their fingers together loosely. “We can put a fence in. And by we I mean you. I can watch. And bring you lemonade.”
"Are you sure?"
"You want the tub," Stiles says. "You don’t…want. Very often. I think that’s something that should be rewarded."
Derek looks down at his feet before he says, “you were the last thing I wanted.”
"And that worked out well," Stiles chirps. He presses a kiss to the apple of Derek’s cheek and bolts past him, calling out Danny’s name, ready to get Derek this house, somehow, just because Derek likes the tub.
And yeah, okay. Maybe Derek can want a little more. It hasn’t turned out so bad. Lately.
When Derek awakes, his face is pressed into the back of Stiles’ neck. His skin is smooth and he smells like safety. Derek closes his eyes again, drinking in the solid warmth of Stiles along his front, his soft, even breathing rising and falling with the beat of his heart.
Stiles doesn’t stir for over an hour. Derek doesn’t leave, though. Stiles needs the sleep, and Derek needs to be near him - to touch him beneath his palms and feel the weight of his existence.
"Hey," Stiles murmurs when he eventually starts to stir awake, and he turns in Derek’s arms so they’re face to face. He’s smiling, and Derek feels his lips stretch helplessly.
"Good morning," Derek whispers into Stiles’ forehead.
They lie in bed together and idly chat for a while, relaxed and peaceful. Derek can’t remember the last time he let his guard down for so long, for someone else. Cora, probably, but even that’s difficult sometimes. They didn’t grow up together after the fire, but most of all, she’s his baby sister; he always feels a perpetual urge to protect her.
"What’s wrong?" Stiles asks, when Derek’s been silent for too long, staring at the ceiling and a thumb gently caressing Stiles’ hip through his top.
Derek considers brushing it to one side, sweep it under the rug and ignore his thoughts, as he tends to do. But yesterday, he’d watch Stiles rip his heart open and let every wall he’d ever built crumble to dust, to save Scott, to save Derek.
Stiles is in love with Derek, and Derek doesn’t understand why.
"Why me?" Derek asks out loud, still refusing to meet Stiles’ eyes.
He can feel Stiles choking on indignation, and suddenly he’s climbing on top of Derek, straddling his lap and glaring down at him to force their eyes together. “You,” he declares heatedly, “do not get to do that. You don’t— Jeez. Derek, you’re…” Stiles runs both of his hands through his wild pillow hair, and any other time it would be distracting, but Derek can only stare at the angry clench of Stiles’ jaw, the constellations of moles. “You’re a survivor,” Stiles says at last, eyes intensely hot and molten in the morning light. “You take shit, you’re always taking shit, for yourself, or for other people, but you always come back. You fight. You don’t give a shit about anything or anyone else, because you do what you need to do, and sometimes that makes me want to punch you in the face, but you have the biggest heart hidden underneath layers of leather and stubble and muscles, and you also have leather and stubble and muscles, which helps, but I don’t care about that.”
Stiles pauses, taking a deep breath. He’s not looking Derek in the eyes anymore, choosing to fixate on the hollow of Derek’s throat instead, where one of Stiles’ hands has come to rest, the pad of his thumb brushing his skin.
"I fell… in love with you,” Stiles says, swallowing hard, “because you’re funny. You’re sarcastic. You get me. You don’t take my crap, you throw it back in my face. You never stop challenging me, and you don’t hold what I do and say against me. You forgive me, even though you can hold one hell of a grudge. You’re crazy violent and a massive douchebag, but you know it; and you’re loyal and caring, but you don’t know it.” He laughs, his nail scraping Derek’s skin. “You drive me insane. But it doesn’t matter, because you know what it’s like to lose everything, you know how hard that is, and you’re there for me. You care about me, and I want you because I care about you too.”
Derek stares at Stiles, eyes wide and vulnerable, but Stiles won’t meet his gaze.
"I thought you were so hard to read," Derek finally says, breaking the silence. It startles Stiles into looking at him, at last, and Derek holds onto that with a fierce, desperate need. "I’ve known you since you were 16, and I realised that… beyond the sarcastic little shithead who went looking for trouble and always stepped into danger without any second thoughts, because you’re brave and a complete moron, I didn’t know you. I couldn’t read you. I didn’t get you, because I’d never tried. I hadn’t tried to look deeper, because to me, you were that clumsy, mouthy kid who always got in my way.” The words are probably hurtful to Stiles, but they’re the truth, and Derek knows Stiles would prefer that to sugarcoated lies. “You were like… this puzzle I couldn’t solve. You’re clever and smart, things I’m not and never will be, and when I realised I wanted you, I thought…” Derek closes his eyes, briefly, remembering the perennial dull ache that lived in his chest for the years he’d wanted to lay his hands on Stiles. “I could never have you,” he says. “I wasn’t good enough for you, because I don’t have what it takes to solve you.”
"Derek," Stiles blurts out, a hysterical laugh caught in the back of his throat, "I’m not a fucking Rubik’s cube, there’s nothing to ‘solve’. You get me. You’ve always got me in a way no one else has.” He leans down and forces Derek’s eyes to flutter open again.
"I love you," Derek whispers, breathing against Stiles’ mouth. His heart is thrumming like a taut wire underneath Stiles’ palm, and Derek’s afraid.
"I’m holding you to that, big guy," Stiles says shakily. He kisses whimpers out of Derek, until Derek can’t tell where he begins and where Stiles ends.
Derek likes sunbathing. Stiles has a telescope.
IN THE NUDE. You forgot to say that he likes sunbathing IN THE NUDE, which Stiles finds out when he is
being a massive creeperusing telescope his babcia sent him for his last birthday to look at different parts of town and continues to invade Derek’s privacyjust happens to keep using said gift every Saturday from 11:15 to 11:45 precisely, except for that one Saturday when Derek fell asleep and was out there, NAKED, in the sun for one hundred twenty six minutes and seventeen seconds.
Did you know that werewolves can sunburn? Because they can. It fascinating, really, the way their skin will pink up a bit before healing over in a effect that is almost like a ripple.
Stiles describes it once to Scott.
Well… bitches about it really, as he’s trying to rub aloe on that hard to reach patch of skin in the middle of his back that he didn’t properly apply sunscreen to on account of the HARD TO REACHNESS of it.
"Stupid perfect werewolves and their stupid perfect skin," he mutters as he contorts his arm in an attempt to spread the aloe evenly. "If I was a stupid prefect werewolf, I could sunbathe for hours and not have anything to show for it except a stupid perfect tan. Even his cock is tanned. How is that possibly fair? Even porn stars with their perfect bodies and their perfect cocks have not perfect tans lines that you can laugh about when you need to feel better about how not perfect your everything is, but stupid perfect werewolves don’t get not perfect tan lines because they are stupid perfect. Assholes. All of ‘em."
And Scott is all “… wait. Whose cock did you see again?”
And Stiles flails and ends up with aloe in his eyes somehow and it’s all Derek’s fault.
RE: STILES AND HIS SEX TOYS, I WOULD LOVE AN AU IN WHICH TATTOOED!PIERCED!DEREK WORKS IN A SEX SHOP AND VIRGIN!STILES WANDERS IN TO BUY HIS VERY FIRST TOYS, AND STILES IS SO UNUSUAL FOR A FIRST-TIMER, BRIGHT-EYED AND EAGER AND NOT SHY AT ALL, FULL OF PLAYFUL CURIOSITY AND TINY, INTRIGUED SMIRKS, GRINNING RIGHT THROUGH HIS BLUSHES, LIKE THEY DON’T EXIST.
HE’S ADORABLE, AND DEREK FALLS HARD. HE TRIES TO BE AS HELPFUL AS HE CAN, EVEN IF HE’S MAYBE A LITTLE TOO DETAILED IN HIS DESCRIPTIONS, BECAUSE HE LIKES IT WHEN STILES’S EYES GO WIDE AND HIS BREATH SPEEDS UP AND HE STARTS GETTING OBVIOUSLY, VISIBLY TURNED ON.
MEANWHILE, DEREK HAS TO OWN UP TO THE FACT THAT HE’S WORRIED ABOUT JUST WHO STILES IS PREPARING HIMSELF FOR, IF THERE’S SOMEONE SPECIFIC STILES HAS IN MIND, AND THE VERY THOUGHT OF SOMEONE ELSE TAKING STILES’S VIRGINITY DRIVES DEREK MAD WITH JEALOUSY. STILES IS EIGHTEEN AND INEXPERIENCED AND HORNY, AND EVEN IF HE DOESN’T HAVE A CRUSH ON SOME GUY, HE PROBABLY WON’T BE ALL THAT DIFFICULT TO SEDUCE, AND DEREK CAN LITERALLY FEEL THE CLOCK TICKING INSIDE HIS HEAD. IF IT HAS TO HAPPEN ANYWAY, WHY SHOULDN’T DEREK BE THE ONE TO SEDUCE STILES? AT LEAST HE CAN TRUST HIMSELF TO TAKE CARE OF STILES, AFTERWARD, TO STICK AROUND, TO MATTER.
SO, DEREK STARTS COURTING STILES, INASMUCH AS A SALESMAN IN A SEX SHOP CAN COURT ANYONE, HIS ‘HELPFUL INSTRUCTIONS’ GETTING FILTHIER AND FILTHIER AND HIS EXPLICIT DESCRIPTIONS GOING BEYOND R-RATED AND INTO NERO-ESQUE TERRITORY. MAYBE DEREK LAYS IT ON A LITTLE THICK, BUT HEY, STILES SEEMS TO LIKE IT, SO WHATEVER.
EVENTUALLY, STILES SEEMS TO COTTON ONTO THE FACT THAT DEREK FANCIES HIM, GIVEN THE WAY DEREK’S EYES FOLLOW HIM AROUND THE SHOP EVEN WHEN THEY AREN’T TALKING, AND GIVEN THE WAY DEREK CALMLY MUSCLES ASIDE ANY MAN OR WOMAN THAT SO MUCH AS GLANCES AT STILES.
WHEN STILES FIGURES IT OUT, HE IMMEDIATELY ASKS DEREK OUT FOR A DRINK, FINALLY SHOWING A BIT OF SHYNESS AS HE CONFESSES THAT HE’S STILL GOT A LOT TO LEARN, AND MAYBE DEREK COULD TEACH HIM.
BOY, DOES DEREK TEACH HIM. HE TEACHES STILES HOW TO SUCK COCK AND HOW TO TAKE IT UP HIS ASS AND HOW TO PLAY WITH DEREK’S PIERCINGS JUST THE WAY DEREK LIKES IT, HOW TO HOOK THE TIP OF HIS TONGUE IN THE RINGS OF DEREK’S JACOB’S LADDER, AND MOST OF ALL, HOW TO LAUGH DURING SEX AND HAVE GOOD OLD-FASHIONED FUN, BECAUSE STILES WAS BUILT FOR FUN, BURSTING WITH MISCHIEF AND LOVE AND AN ENVIABLY DIRTY IMAGINATION.
EVENTUALLY, THE SHERIFF GETS OVER HIS SHOCK THAT HIS SON IS DATING SOMEONE FROM A GODDAMN SEX SHOP, AND DEREK DOES HIS BEST TO BE A RESPECTFUL AND CARING SON-IN-LAW.
AND NO MATTER HOW MANY YEARS PASS, THEIR SEX LIFE STAYS FRESH AND INTERESTING, NOT LEAST BECAUSE OF THEIR ENDLESS SUPPLY OF TOYS.
BASICALLY? STILES AND DEREK ARE PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER. THE END. :D
derek having that one silly moment with those kids literally just blew my entire ship wide open and all of my feelings just came gushing out i mean
talk to me about derek being a hammy shit, saying sarcastic things under his breath that he thinks are funny and looking up, catching stiles’s eyes, and seeing stiles pursing his lips to keep the laughter at bay
talk to me about stiles’s recognition that his and derek’s senses of humor align, that derek’s the dude who wolfed out to make some kids’ halloween the halloween they’ll be talking about for YEARS while stiles is the dude who, year after year, looks forward to fucking coach finstock’s world up just for his birthday
talk to me about stiles and derek pranking each other, just a little bit, being silly around each other, learning to pass the time while they’re in dire circumstances together with jokes and smiles that they try not to let one another see
talk to me about derek being a total cliche on purpose and pushing everything off of a messy desk before he lays stiles out on top of it, bright-eyed and breathless, and stiles saying “oh my god, you did not just do that” and laughing, laughing, laughing
talk to me about derek and stiles, yeah, okay
but talk to me about derek and stiles making each other laugh and i’m yours
“No,” Stiles says. “No, no, c’mon, guys, it’s demeaning—”
“It’s your birthday, dude,” Scott says with a grin, at the same time Isaac says, “It’s just a job for them. Lighten up.”
“Ha ha,” Stiles says forcefully, carefully keeping his head down so he doesn’t make eye contact with anyone here, employees and clients alike. The music is loud and the place is dark, but he really doesn’t want anyone’s attention. “Now, there, you see—”
“Here’s Lydia,” Scott cuts through him cheerfully, and there is Lydia, slipping her way through the crowded floor with a firm smile on her face and a drink in each hand.
“Drink,” she says upon arrival at their table, shoving one of the glasses into Stiles’ face. He takes it reluctantly. “Drink,” Lydia insists. “It’ll loosen you up.”
“I don’t wanna be loosened up,” Stiles mutters rebelliously, but takes a sip of the drink. It tastes like cheap rum and coke. At least the sharp smell of it somewhat covers the slightly sweet, cloying smell that’s hanging in the air. He takes another sip and asks, “Where did Boyd and Erica go?”
Lydia jerks a thumb toward the open floor, where Erica’s grinding between Boyd and one of the dancers and they look like they’re about two minutes away from having a threesome right there on the floor. Stiles makes a face and takes a longer sip. He’s pretty sure Lydia made this a double, because he tastes a lot more rum than he does coke.
“Okay,” Lydia says, when he’s nearly finished with the drink. “We bought you a dance.”
“What?” Stiles groans. “No, I don’t—”
“Birthday,” Isaac says and Allison, sandwiched between Isaac and Scott, giggles.
“You are sexually repressed,” Lydia tells Stiles sternly, and he half expects her to start shaking a finger in his face, “and you need to lighten up. I found you a really nice guy.”
“Really?” Stiles protests. “C’mon, guys. I’m not – I know people—”
“Not cutting it,” Lydia says, and grabs him by the wrist.
“Happy birthday!” Scott calls after them.
Stiles could resist. Stiles should resist, but he doesn’t because one: if he tries, Lydia will probably stab him through the foot with her stilettos; two: he might fall over if he pulls too hard, because he already had three drinks at the bar before they came here; and three: he kind of is sexually repressed, as shitty as it is to admit it, and it’s kind of sweet that they bought him a private dance, because this is one of the nicer strip clubs in the city, and it was probably expensive.
“Here’s the birthday boy,” Lydia says cheerfully, announcing their arrival to a bouncer standing in front of a doorway. The man nods, takes the nearly empty drink from Stiles’ hands, and shows him down a hallway. Stiles is suddenly nervous again because even though there’s music booming down the hallway, he can hear muffled sounds coming from behind the closed doors that sound like a lot more than dancing and he – that’s not legal, is it? He’s fine with coming in his pants if it comes to it, but did his friends really think he’d have sex with a stranger?
His palms are sweating by the time the bouncer points him into an open room and shuts the door behind him. It’s empty except for a chair in the middle of the dimly lit floor and that’s kind of a relief – no gross couch or bed. He sits in the chair tentatively, and waits.
The room is somewhat warm and he’s sweating faintly, partially from the heat, partially from nerves. It’s loud – there’s a speaker in the ceiling that’s blasting a terrible remix of an equally terrible pop song. He stares at the door, waiting anxiously, and nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand slides over his shoulder and curls under his chin, forcing him to tilt his head back.
Apparently there’s a second door he didn’t see, because there’s a man standing over Stiles now and god bless Lydia because she knows exactly what he liked in guys and this dude is everything – cutting cheekbones and dark stubble and pale eyes and unf. He draws his thumb along Stiles’ bottom lip and says, just loud enough to be heard over the music, “What’s your name?”
“Stiles,” he replies weakly and holy shit he’s as bad as a fucking teenager because he’s already getting hard.
“Stiles,” the man repeats and he smiles very faintly. He steps around to the front of the chair, not taking his hand off Stiles’ face. Stiles’ eyes rake up and down him and it’s even better now that he can see all of him, because he’s broad and muscular and apparently there’s no wasting time here because all he’s wearing is a pair of red silk boxer-briefs that cling so tight they look like they’ve been painted on. They don’t leave anything to the imagination and Stiles can’t help licking his lips.
“Like what you see?” the man murmurs, taking a step back and spreading his hands slightly, like this is what you paid for. He turns slowly, keeping his pale eyes fixed on Stiles’ until the last moment and now Stiles gets to stare at his unfairly muscular back and tight, perfectly formed ass.
“Fuck,” Stiles says, very quietly, and if he wasn’t hard before, he is now, as the man starts to dance. It’s slow and sinuous and doesn’t match the beat of the music at all, like the man’s got his own band playing in his head. It’s graceful and hot and when he turns again, his eyes immediately fix back onto Stiles’ and Stiles can’t look away, can’t even blink. The dancer takes a step forward, and then again, until he’s straddling Stiles’ thighs and still his hips wind and writhe and the dance of that red underwear is hypnotic. He puts a hand under Stiles’ chin again, and Stiles can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, pulsing much faster than the speed of his dance.
“W-what’s your name?” Stiles manages, and the man pauses for just a moment.
“Derek,” he replies, and Stiles thinks he’s telling the truth. It’s not much of a stage name, unless he calls himself Derek Danger, or – or something like that.
“Derek,” Stiles repeats, like he repeated Stiles’ name, and his hands fist at his sides. Derek’s body is just centimeters from his and he can feel the heat of it. He wants to touch – and not just touch, but mouth, bite, tongue, taste – but he doesn’t dare. Derek solves his dilemma by sliding a hand down his arm and wrapping his fingers around Stiles’ wrist. He brings Stiles’ hand to his face and, very deliberately, run his tongue down Stiles’ pointer finger. Stiles makes a choked noise that Derek seems to take as encouragement, because he slides his lips around Stiles’ finger, his tongue sliding across his fingertip.
“Fuck,” Stiles says again and tentatively puts his free hand on Derek’s thigh. Derek looks down at him, the corners of his mouth curling up encouragingly, and Stiles bites his lip. Derek releases his finger with an obscene noise and settles onto Stiles’ lap, slipping one hand around to cup the back of his head. His hips never stop moving, grinding against Stiles with a fervor and rhythm that leaves him gasping. Derek’s hard too, which is weirdly gratifying, the front of his underwear turning maroon from precome. Stiles wishes he could taste it.
“So I hear it’s your birthday,” Derek says smoothly and the intensity of his pale gaze should be intimidating but it’s not – it just makes the blood boil below the surface of Stiles’ skin. He feels trapped in the best way possible. Derek smiles his faint smile and trails a finger along the line of his jaw. “What do you want?”
Stiles swallows. “I don’t, uh. World peace? I don’t know.”
Derek smiles again. “Nothing else?”
“I, um—” Stiles loses his words when Derek reaches between them, easily unbuttoning his pants. “Oh,” he adds, as Derek slips a hand into his boxers and curl around his dick. His hands move without thinking, fingernails digging into Derek’s firm ass and Derek loses his careful control. He hisses and smashes his mouth again Stiles’ and they kiss sloppily while Derek pushes Stiles’ pants down around his thighs and jerks him roughly. Stiles groans into Derek’s mouth and does his damnedest to fight back, running his fingers over the tented from of Derek’s underwear, feeling the dampness of the silk beneath his fingertips. Derek arches into his touch, swearing furiously. When he gets Derek’s cock in his hand, it’s a no holds barred race to the finish, full of hot, furious touches, sharp bites, unconstrained moans.
When Stiles comes, it’s with Derek sucking a bruise into the side of his neck, one hand fisted in his hair, the other milking every drop of cum from his body. Stiles bucks against him but doesn’t stop his hand pumping and soon Derek’s jerking against him, his forehead pressed to Stiles’ chest.
They come down from the high of orgasm slowly. Stiles touches the back of Derek’s neck with his unsoiled hand and Derek lifts his head. “Happy birthday,” he says.
“I didn’t even want to be here,” Stiles admits, and Derek grins.
“I know,” he says. “Saw you come in. Asked your friend if you’d want a dance.”
Stiles looks down at their stomachs, slick with cum. “Oh. Do I – do I owe you a tip?”
Derek gets to his feet and slips his underwear back up around his hips. “Consider this one a present,” he says, smiling faintly. “Though if you really want to tip, I’m done at midnight.”
“Oh?” Stiles looks up at him and sees the look on his face. “Oh.”
Fuck. Me. This is perfect
can someone maybe please write me an au where stiles is a bartender at some really swanky bar in nyc and is like a fucking cocktail connoisseur and derek comes in one night and then just keeps coming back and he’s pretty much always the last to leave at night because it’s weird…
so where are all the fics where the sheriff tries to match make his son? like he’s talking to someone, my son is hot. i don’t know why he can’t get a boyfriend. AND HE SETS HIM UP ON A DATE WITH DEREK HALE because he was talking him up with talia or laura
yeah, but derek hates being a charity case and he refuses to listen to reason.
laura all, “come on, he needs a date to prom, all the lacrosse players are supposed to have dates—” and his mother all “the sheriff says he’s been lonely since his best friend was elected class president—” and cora all “dude, it’s stilinski. i know him, he’s been in half my classes since the first grade, and he’s got terminal single disease. he’s so easy you don’t even need to enter negotiations to seal the deal, just—” and his dad all “(clears throat) your, uh, your mother is friendly with the sheriff and it would make her happy if you just took his son out, showed him a nice time—” and peter all “it’s not like you have any better prospects right now, is it, derek—” and derek staunchly “i don’t need your input on my love life, thanks.”
(peter, dully, “you’re right, you have such a good track record.” nearby, cora snorts, unabashed.)
instead of calling the number the sheriff wrote on a post-it note and stuck to his windshield, derek grumps into his room and gets online to talk to the dude he met playing cod, “my mom wants me to date her friend’s kid,” and his friend is all “god, been there, i found out today that my dad’s been trying to pimp me out, he handed my phone number to a stranger, and you wanna know the best part? still no one is calling me. is there any possible way to come off as more pathetic than that” and derek goes “nope. you win” and friend is all “ha. ha. you are so comforting”
and the punchline is the sheriff lets cora off with a warning instead of ticketing her for driving without a seatbelt, so to pay him back derek agrees to take his son to prom and he recognizes his date’s voice immediately it is derek’s shitty gamer friend and he’s really hot and he smells like bread and he says derek is “way hotter than you sound” and derek says he’s “just as obnoxious as you sound” and it’s awesome and they skip out on prom like an hour and a half early, fuck like crazy in the back seat of derek’s car, and then go to afterprom and hit each other with inflatable bats.
Because they’re idiots.
yea yo i’m gonna be needing all the fic though where Stiles and Derek are doing their usual run around each other, pulling pigtails and throwing bugs on each other or whatever kids do these days to show their gross undying affection for the other while ignoring it completely and deliberately.
And it’s gotten pretty bad by now, but everything sort of comes down a bit after Stiles goes to college and they’re not around one another nearly as much but then that means when they are around each other it’s palpable. Like neighbors for miles suddenly go into spontaneous heat from the level of pheromone they’re throwing at each other.
And it’s pretty gross how desperate they are for each other it’s like they both decided to take vows of celibacy for the greater suffering or something. But maybe they keep thinking about their friendship, cos that’s what they are now, they’ve talked about it and everything. They labelled it.
And things between them have always been volatile and it’s good now and it’d be complicated otherwise and they totally don’t want to bone, it’s just a crush or something.
So they ignore it. But then one night they’re both at the gallery opening for Danny’s new show. He’s a photographer and he focuses a lot on undermining gender stereotypes.
And his new show features both Stiles and Derek, unbeknownst to the other, because Danny is a bastard and still pretty pissed about the whole werewolf thing in high school.
All the photos are of men and women in state of undress. And the ones of Stiles he’s, i dunno, wearing pieces of formal wear and dripping wet in most of them. The way Stiles gets where he doesn’t know he’s attractive so he’s trying to act goofy but he mostly just looks lewd. LEWD. And then there’s one with him in a bathtub wearing very very little, very very little and thin and white and he might as well not be wearing anything.
And Stiles knows everyone is going to see this shit but he’s really proud of them because Danny is REALLY good and the show itself is important but he knows Derek is going to see them and he nearly works himself into a panic two or eight times thinking about being there with Derek.
And then they are and Derek is just staring at them in SHOCK and Stiles is hiding because no way.
But then Stiles finds DEREK’S photos and he’s wearing women’s clothing. Or well, he’s wearing women’s lingerie. Which is so much worse. or better.
because Derek Hale in fishnet stockings and a pink lace garter. Derek Hale in beta blue lace panties and nothing else. DEREK IN A CORSET. And pictures of him in heavy make up and looking like the best drag queen Stiles has ever met. And he’s met a LOT.
And Derek didn’t know how he managed to get talked into doing it in the first place. But Derek owed Danny a favor and he was coming to collect and he was oddly persuasive and okay he probably casually mentioned how much Stiles was stoked about this photo project.
And like then eventually they meet up in the middle of the gallery and just sort of stare at each other and then Derek grabs Stiles hand and starts dragging him off and Stiles slams into his back in his haste to comply.
ANd then they fuck.
Never again, Derek vows as he marches up the street towards Laura’s apartment block. The next time Laura offers to “help” with anything he’s going to run in the opposite direction. Or maybe just lock himself in his appartment until she forgets about it. Point is, if she was trying to convince him that his choice to be firmly single for the last couple years and probably a few into the future is a bad one then she never should have sent him on that blind date.
Ignoring the look of horror he gets from the woman holding the door open for him, he stomps into the building and bypasses the elevator to head for the stairs. When he reaches Laura’s door he doesn’t bother to knock.
“This time I swear to God I will actually follow through with your murder.” Derek says, barging into the apartment and coming to an abrupt stop half way in the door.
There is an obscenely attractive man in Laura’s apartment, Derek’s brain supplies unhelpfully.
GUYS I REALLY NEED TO WRITE THIS EVEN THOUGH IT’S BADWRONG AND DEPRAVED:
I WANT AN AU IN WHICH STILES IS THE SON OF THE KING/CHIEFTAIN AND IT IS CONSIDERED TRADITION FOR EVERY MEMBER OF THE ROYAL FAMILY TO HAVE THEIR VERY OWN TAME WEREWOLVES FROM BIRTH, LIKE, THEIR VERY OWN LIFELONG FURRY BODYGUARDS
THE WEREWOLVES ARE TRAPPED IN THEIR WOLF BODIES BY MAGICAL COLLARS THAT ALSO FORCE THEM TO BE OBEDIENT TO AND PROTECTIVE OF THE PERSON THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO GUARD
ANYWAY, PRINCE STILES IS BORN AND IS DEREK IS IMMEDIATELY “ASSIGNED” TO HIM
AND WATCHES OVER HIM AND WATCHES HIM GROW, RIGHT FROM THE CRADLE ONWARDS; DEREK LETS A BABY STILES PULL ON HIS FUR AND GIGGLE AND FALL ASLEEP AGAINST HIM; DEREK FOLLOWS A TODDLER STILES AROUND TO MAKE SURE HE DOESN’T FALL AND HURT HIMSELF OR PICK UP THE WRONG SORTS OF THINGS AND EAT THEM; DEREK SITS NEXT TO A YOUNG STUDENT STILES AS STILES IS SUBJECTED TO HOURS OF BORING LESSONS FROM PRIVATE TUTORS AND AMUSES HIMSELF BY PLAYING CATCH WITH DEREK’S WAVING TAIL; DEREK SETTLES AT STILES’S FEET DURING DINNERTIME AND GENTLY TAKES FOOD FROM STILES’S FINGERS WHEN STILES REACHES DOWN TO FEED HIM
IT DOESN’T TAKE LONG FOR DEREK TO REALIZE THAT HE’S STARTED TO CARE ABOUT THE STILINSKI HEIR MORE THAN HE SHOULD, THAT IT’S GONE BEYOND MAGIC AND RIGHT INTO HIS HEART, BECAUSE ALL HE WANTS IS FOR STILES TO BE SAFE, FOR STILES TO BE HAPPY, AND IT’S -
IT’S HORRIFYING BECAUSE DEREK IS BEING FORCED INTO THIS SERVITUDE, AND HE FEELS BETRAYED BY HIS OWN MIND BECAUSE HE’S STARTING TO LIKE IT, TO WANT IT, TO NEED IT BECAUSE IT ALLOWS HIM TO CURL AROUND STILES AT NIGHT AND KEEP STILES WARM
DEREK HATES BEING TRAPPED IN HIS WOLF’S BODY, HATES TRYING SO HARD TO MAINTAIN HIS HUMANITY IN AN ANIMAL’S BODY, BUT HE LOVES STILES, LOVES STILES LIKE HE WOULD LOVE HIS OWN CUB, LIKE HE WOULD LOVE HIS OWN…
AND THAT’S - THAT’S HORRIFIC, BECAUSE DEREK HAS ALL BUT RAISED STILES, AND YES, STILES IS SIXTEEN, NOW, BUT HE’S STILL YOUNG AND DEREK IS A BEAST UNSUITED TO HIM, NOT EVEN HUMAN, A WOLF WITH SLAVERING JAWS AND TALONED PAWS, MADE TO REND AND KILL, AND LOVE SHOULD BE BEYOND HIM, BUT IT ISN’T, EVEN THOUGH IT’S SO WRONG
MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE DEREK HASN’T SPENT TIME WITH ANYONE OTHER THAN STILES FOR YEARS AND YEARS; MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE STILES’S SCENT IS THE ONLY SCENT HE RECOGNIZES AS PACK ANYMORE
OR MAYBE IT’S JUST SOME ROOT OF EVIL WITHIN DEREK, TO DESIRE A GROWING STILES LIKE THIS, AND MAYBE THAT EVIL IS WHY DEREK HAS BEEN SPELLED INTO SERVITUDE IN THE FIRST PLACE, MAYBE THIS IS WHY HE’S BEING PUNISHED
AND IT DOESN’T HELP THAT STILES LOVES HIM BACK, ALBEIT FAR MORE INNOCENTLY; IT DOESN’T HELP THAT STILES IS AS PROTECTIVE OF HIM AS HE IS OF STILES; IT DOESN’T HELP THAT STILES SEEMS LESS CLOSE TO OTHER HUMAN BEINGS THAN HE DOES TO DEREK, THAT STILES PREFERS SPENDING TIME WITH DEREK RATHER THAN THE GIRLS AND BOYS HE’S INTRODUCED TO AS POTENTIAL SPOUSES, THE GIRLS AND BOYS THAT MAKE DEREK WANT TO DESTROY THEM FOR SO MUCH AS HOPING FOR STILES’S TOUCH, FOR STILES’S FAVOR, FOR STILES’S BODY
BECAUSE IT’S A BODY THAT DEREK WANTS TO CLAIM AS HIS OWN, BESTIAL AS HE IS, AND HE FEELS MORE AND MORE LIKE HE’S A DANGER TO STILES, BUT HE STILL CAN’T LEAVE, STILL CAN’T PULL AWAY, BECAUSE HE IS AS BOUND TO STILES BY DESIRE AS HE IS BY MAGIC
AND THEN ONE NIGHT, WARM AND NAKED IN BED AND WITH HIS ARMS WRAPPED AROUND DEREK, STILES WHISPERS: “I SWEAR IT SEEMS LIKE YOU KNOW ME, SOMETIMES, THAT YOU GET ME, AND - AND I KNOW THEY TOLD ME NEVER TO TAKE YOUR COLLAR OFF, THAT YOU’D GO BERSERK AND KILL ME, BUT I DON’T… I DON’T BELIEVE THEM. I JUST DON’T. YOU’RE MINE, AND I’M YOURS, RIGHT? YOU COULDN’T HURT ME ANY MORE THAN YOU COULD HURT YOURSELF. SO I’M… I’M TAKING IT OFF, AND I’M - I WANT YOU TO BE WITH ME ‘CAUSE YOU’RE FREE, YOU KNOW? NOT BECAUSE YOU’RE BOUND. YOU’RE NOT MY PET; YOU’VE NEVER BEEN MY PET. YOU’RE MY FRIEND.”
AND DEREK’S SOUL BURNS AT THAT, BURNS WITH VICTORY AT BEING LOVED SO TRULY, AND BURNS WITH DEFEAT AT BEING LABELED A FRIEND, BUT HOW ELSE WOULD STILES VIEW AN ANIMAL? STILES DOESN’T KNOW THAT WEREWOLVES ARE PART-HUMAN; IT’S BEEN KEPT FROM HIM, LIKE IT’S BEEN KEPT FROM EVERY ROYAL HEIR UNTIL IT’S THEIR TIME TO INHERIT
DEREK HOLDS HIS BREATH AS STILES TAKES OFF THE COLLAR, AS STILES HOLDS HIS BREATH AS WELL - AND THEN, IN A SURGE OF MAGIC, DEREK IS FREE
AND HE TRANSFORMS, UNSTOPPABLY, SNARLING AS HIS BONES LENGTHEN AND HIS FORM CHANGES, AND HE HEARS STILES GASP BENEATH HIM, SUDDENLY SKIN-TO-SKIN AGAINST DEREK AS DEREK LOOMS OVER HIM AND TRAPS STILES’S WRISTS IN ONE HAND AND PLACES THE OTHER OVER STILES’S MOUTH
"DON’T SCREAM," DEREK SAYS, HIS HUMAN VOICE DISUSED AND HOARSE, AS STILES STARES UP AT HIM WITH WIDE, FRIGHTENED EYES
(This has been on my desktop, and was supposed to be a Big Serious Fic, but well. Whatevs. Here’s an abbreviated version of it.)
Derek finds out about the blog because Cora is a little shit and likes to mock him at every turn.
She emails him a link and the words: tumblr cooking fandom wants you to step on all the legos, lol.
Derek doesn’t know what any word in that sentence means, but he follows the link anyway out of sheer curiosity. What he finds is…a lot of people hating him. He’s not really sure what Tumblr is or how it works, but about fifteen people have added commentary on a link to an article about Derek. None of it is nice and, yes, there’s many a mention of Legos, which Derek still doesn’t understand.
He clicks to the article and is met with a giant headline: Chef Derek Hale Sends a Cease and Desist to a Popular Cooking Blog. Whoever wrote the article is also not a fan of Derek’s, though there’s no mention of Legos, just about a dozen variations on snobby and pretentious.
"Stop, stop," Stiles said, wincing as he panted for breath. He was covered in sweat as Derek’s body covered his. Worried, Derek pulled out of him, making Stiles groan louder, his hand covering his face as he started laughing.
"What happened? Are you okay?" Derek asked, his hands searching Stiles’ body in order to zap the pain away. Only, Stiles was laughing with tears in his eyes as he stretched his leg out.
"Charlie horse," Stiles complained as he flexed his ankle up and down. "It fucking hurts. You gave me a muscle cramp!" Derek leaned over, kissing Stiles on the lips as he palmed at Stiles’ strained calf. Stiles moaned against Derek’s open mouth as his veins blacked, taking the pain away as Stiles rut against his body.
"Better?’ Derek asked. Stiles nodded his head as he cupped Derek’s face with his hands, kissing him once more.