Fic: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes) (19/20)
Title: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes)
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 3.5k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Chapter 5: Gone Missing (Or: Scott is the worst)
Chapter 6: Sleep Deprivation (Or: Give my love to Rosebud)
Chapter 7: Bonding Ritual (Or: Zero of ten, would not recommend)
Chapter 8: Accidental Marriage (Or: Why does no one trust me?)
Chapter 9: Road Trip (Or: Screwed, and not in the good way)
Chapter 10: Dubious Consent (Or: Mother fudgesicles)
Chapter 11: Hurt/Comfort (Or: A sign from above, fate, and all that jazz)
Interlude
Chapter 12: Mixed Signals (Or: The light, it burns)
Chapter 13: Magic Spells (Or: Like the oracle, but with fruit)
Chapter 14: Soulbond (Or: Something out of a horror movie)
Chapter 15: Coming Untouched (Or: What did I tell you about being funny)
Chapter 16: Wise Old Woman with Unsolicited Advice (Or: What kind of spell uses red onion?)
Chapter 17: Angry Parental Figures (Or: Scott is a terrible liar)
Chapter 18: Grounded (Or: You’re taking joy in my pain)
Stiles stumbled down to the kitchen two days after his less-than-epic return to Beacon Hills, only to find his dad sitting at the table, waiting for him.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said, and Stiles winced. If he was using that nickname, either Stiles had done something to make his dad think of him fondly, or his dad was going to say something Stiles didn’t want to hear, and was trying to soften the blow.
Suffice it to say that Stiles hadn’t done anything nice for his dad lately.
“Hey, Dad,” he finally said, walking over to the fridge and pawing around for the cranberry juice.
“Do you want to discuss your punishment now, or when you get home from school?”
There it was.
“Ugh.” Stiles let his arms flop to his sides and his head fall forward. “Can we save it for later?”
He heard his dad make a humming sound, before the paper in his hands rustled. “That’s not the only thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
Stiles turned slowly. His dad was looking way too happy, and it was making Stiles twitchy. “What else?” he asked, not able to keep the suspicion out of his voice.
“Oh, nothing important,” his dad said, a smug smile curving up the edges of his mouth. “Just Derek Hale.”
Stiles stared in horror at his father’s expression. “You’re taking joy in my pain,” he accused.
“Like father, like son?” his dad suggested.
Stiles glared before sighing and shutting the fridge door. Well, at least Stiles came by his vindictive side honestly.
He slid into the seat across from his dad. “Okay, spill.”
“What’s to spill?” his dad asked, setting down the paper on the table and leaning back in his chair.
“You’re a horrible person,” Stiles accused, but he felt his face flaming up, much to his horror.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you so flustered, kid,” Dad said. “What happened to the witty retorts I’ve come to know and tolerate?”
“You’re the one who got to interrogate him for fifteen hours on the drive back from Washington, okay? I haven’t-I’m probably not gonna see him again anyway.”
Dad’s eyes softened. “So this isn’t like that Martin girl, then.”
Stiles frowned over at his dad, eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His dad hummed and turned to the next page. His eyes were still glued to the paper when he said, “It’s not just a crush.”
Stiles’ first reaction was to emphatically deny everything, along with some illustrative hand gestures, but he was pretty sure he’d just end up incriminating himself. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest even as he could feel his face grow hot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dad.”
“No?” Dad asked, looking up with a smirk on his face. Jerk.
“Nope.”
“Then you don’t want to date him?”
Date him?
Stiles wanted to fall asleep next to Derek and wake up beside him in the morning. He wanted to buy donuts covered in crushed Oreos, and make fun of Derek for eating them in two bites. He wanted to run around in the woods and eat roast beef sandwiches and get shoved in the mud. He wanted to scratch Derek behind the ears while he was in his wolf form, and he wanted to scratch him behind the ears when he was human, just to see the stupid face he would make. Stiles wanted to crack dumb jokes and see Derek’s stupid half smirk, or his eye roll when he was trying not to laugh. He wanted to go out to the diner and get curly fries and milkshakes, and kick Derek under the table and throw straw wrappers at his stupid face.
Hell yeah, Stiles wanted to date him.
“Not really,” Stiles managed, but even to his own ears it sounded strangled.
“He’s a good kid,” his dad just said, before clearing his throat and getting to his feet.
“I don’t-” Stiles said, but there was something in his throat, because the words split in two on their way up, and the sound didn’t make it all the way out of his mouth.
His dad sighed. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, reaching down to squeeze Stiles’ shoulder. “I just think you could do worse. That’s all.”
Stiles attempted to smile. He couldn’t imagine it was very convincing, but it at least seemed to placate his dad enough to leave Stiles at the table, alone with his thoughts.
***
“So how badly did your dad ground you?” Scott asked the next day at lunch.
“I’m under house arrest,” Stiles said, trying not to look as despondent as he felt. “No visitors except on weekends, I have to come home immediately after lacrosse practice, and I have to have my cell on and charged at all times so that my dad can call me at any given moment. I just know he’s going to call while my pants are down. It’s going to be traumatizing for both of us.”
Scott mused over his mashed potatoes. “Could have been worse.”
Stiles frowned at his best friend. “Worse? Worse how? Scott, I can’t even stop on my way home for curly fries, that’s how draconian this is.”
“You could have lost the jeep,” Scott said.
“Yes, thank you for pointing out the one thing my dad could have done that would also have inconvenienced him. Although, you’re right, getting rides to school in the cruiser would have been even more humiliating.”
“Bummer, man,” Scott said, his face creasing in sympathy.
“Yeah, whatever,” Stiles said, shaking his fork at Scott. “I see right through your best bro act. This just gives you an excuse to hang out with Kira after school, instead of studying with me.”
“I can still come over on Sunday, though, right?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, sighing and shoveling another forkful of potatoes in his mouth. “Oh, but, get this, while you’re over I have to keep my bedroom door open. Does he think we’re going to be smoking weed in there or something?”
“Dude,” Scott said, his eyes narrowing. “He said you had to keep your door open when I was over?”
“Well, yeah,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I think the phrase he used was ‘when guests are over,’ but, who else is actually going to willingly visit me other than you?”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Derek?”
Stiles nearly choked on his mashed potatoes. “What?”
“Open door policy is classic parental cockblock.”
“Derek’s not coming to my house, oh my god.” Stiles set down his fork and crossed his arms over his chest to emphasize how serious he was. “There’s nothing to cockblock.”
“Sure there’s not,” Scott said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Oh my god. You’re a horrible person, you know that?” Stiles asked, hunching his shoulders in frustration. “I’m trying to get over Derek, not…plan sexcapades!”
“If you say so.”
“I do!”
“Okay,” Scott said, his lips twitching at the corners.
“Stop that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Yes, you are,” Stiles said, glaring over at his friend. “I know that look.”
Scott just smirked down at his potatoes.
“Have I mentioned you’re the worst?” Stiles asked, stabbing angrily at his meatloaf.
“You love me,” Scott countered.
***
A week and a half later, Stiles was lying stomach down on his bed, thumbing through his history textbook, when the doorbell rang.
Stiles frowned down at the paragraph on the various horrifying effects of radiation poisoning and pushed himself to his feet.
The doorbell rang a second time as he was clattering down the stairs. “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” he mumbled, before throwing the front door open.
Derek Hale was standing on the other side, his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.
“Hey,” Derek said.
Stiles just stared.
Derek’s eyes flickered down and drifted sideways. Stiles self-consciously slapped a hand over his neck, even though the hickey had faded by now, and Derek’s gaze jerked back up.
“Can I come in?” Derek asked.
Stiles tried, and failed, to come up with something more eloquent than Why are you here?
He decided to just stare some more.
“I can go, if you want,” Derek said, not looking at Stiles directly. His ears were starting to turn pink.
“No, no, that’s.” Stiles stepped back from the doorway. “Come in.” He shut the door behind Derek and slumped against it.
“Why are you here?” Stiles blurted.
So much for that plan.
Derek’s expression turned cagey. “It’s Saturday.”
“You-” Stiles ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a sigh of frustration. “Are you kidding me?”
Derek just shrugged.
“You weren’t here last Saturday,” Stiles pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest.
Derek looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
Stiles was silent for a moment. “Is that why you knocked? Instead of just coming in through the window?”
“I talked to your dad,” Derek said, apropos of nothing, and Stiles glared.
“And?” he prompted.
Derek turned so he was staring out the window, one hand absently plucking at the hem of his jacket.
“He said you were grounded,” Derek said.
Stiles squinted at him. “Yeah, for like a month. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well,” Derek hedged, the flicker of a smile lingering on his lips, “I didn’t think your dad would appreciate strange older men sneaking into your bedroom.”
“Oh my god, I’m not in the mood to engage in witty repartee right now,” Stiles said, arching one eyebrow in Derek’s direction. “So maybe you could cut to the chase, say your piece, whatever? And then you can leave, and I can go back to hating everything, including myself.”
“Look, did you want to…” Derek frowned, lips pressed into a thin line. “Forget it.”
“Did I want to what?” Stiles snapped.
Derek glared at a point past Stiles’ shoulder. “Watch a movie, or something.”
“What?” Stiles could feel his jaw drop.
Derek’s glare intensified even as he shifted to stare straight at Stiles. “Your dad said you had the extended edition of Lord of the Rings.”
“You don’t have to look so angry about it, yeesh,” Stiles said, pushing away from the door and heading for the living room. “I mean, I was just doing a history assignment, but that’s not due until Thursday or something ridiculous so it’s not like I-” He cut himself off and turned to look at Derek, who wasn’t smiling, per se, but he wasn’t frowning either. “Are you hungry? I could order, uh, pizza.”
“Sure,” Derek said.
Stiles wasn’t really sure what was going on. Maybe he was asleep. He looked down at his hands, just to make sure, but he definitely had ten fingers.
“Stiles,” Derek said, and Stiles snapped his gaze back up. Derek was staring at him with furrowed eyebrows.
“We should set up the movie first, since the whole marathon is like twelve hours long, and that’s not even counting bathroom breaks,” Stiles blurted. He jerked his head towards the living room. “You coming?”
He didn’t wait to hear Derek’s response before turning and speed walking towards the DVD shelves.
***
Sam and Frodo hadn’t even left the shire yet, and Stiles was nearly jumping out of his skin.
On the couch next to him, Derek was sprawled out, his elbow propped up on the sofa arm. Every time Stiles looked over, he was watching the screen with a soft expression, genuinely absorbed in the movie.
What the fuck.
“Derek?”
Derek hummed in response, his eyes not leaving the screen.
“Why are you here?” Stiles asked, his fingers drumming against his thigh.
Derek’s gaze finally flicked towards Stiles. “I like this movie.”
“No,” Stiles said, waving his hands around. “Why are you here?”
Derek slumped back against the couch cushions, his mouth thinning and his eyes hardening, and Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad for interrupting the movie.
“I just,” Stiles started, before stopping mid-sentence. “After what happened, you know.” He looked down at his lap, his fingers plucking restlessly at the hem of his t-shirt. “I figured this would be the last place you’d want to be.”
He heard Derek sigh beside him, and when he looked up, Derek had gone back to watching the movie.
“Hey, man, don’t ignore me,” Stiles said, and Derek’s eyes flicked back to meet his.
“I’m not ignoring you, Stiles,” he said, before falling silent again.
“What the hell, Derek? How is that,” he waved his hands in Derek’s general direction, “not ignoring me?”
Derek’s face flickered through a series of emotions that Stiles couldn’t quite parse, before settling on mild irritation. “Shut up and watch the movie, Stiles.”
Stiles glared at Derek, but he was watching the movie again.
“Fine,” Stiles huffed, but the buzzing in his chest still wouldn’t go away, and he couldn’t stop looking at Derek.
Derek was just sitting there, watching the movie, like nothing had happened between them. As though Stiles hadn’t taken advantage of Derek. As though Stiles wasn’t stupidly in love with him and trying to get over it.
Sitting next to Derek, and knowing that he couldn’t have him, was torture.
Stiles shoved himself off the couch and stood, stuffing his trembling hands in his pockets.
“Stiles?” Derek asked. His voice sounded sweetly concerned. It made Stiles want to scream.
“I’ll be right back,” Stiles lied, not caring that Derek could hear his heartbeat. “You don’t have to pause or anything.”
He focused his whole being on walking, not running, to the first floor bathroom, and he managed to close the door behind him before he dropped down on his elbows to lean heavily on the sink. His breathing was starting to come in shallow, erratic bursts.
Don’t panic, he thought, and somehow that made him freak out even more, his chest squeezing tight and his vision going fuzzy at the edges.
A knock sounded on the door, and Derek’s voice filtered through the wood. “Breathe, in and out, okay?”
Stiles sucked in a breath, and focused on the low rumble of Derek’s voice until his lungs no longer felt like they were trapped in a vice.
“Can I come in?” Derek asked, after a minute of silence.
His muscles still feeling weak, Stiles pushed himself away from the sink and opened the bathroom door.
They stared at each other for a long moment, before Stiles said, “I can’t do this.”
Derek just stared at him, those green eyes boring into him.
“Try to be your friend,” Stiles said, his hand tightening involuntarily on the doorknob. “Go back to the way it was.”
“So don’t,” Derek said.
“What?” Stiles stared at Derek, at the tense line of his shoulders and the stiff set to his jaw.
Derek sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets, not saying anything else.
“Derek,” Stiles said, his voice coming out almost in a whine, “you gotta give me more than that. Come on, man.”
“Did you want-” Derek frowned, clamping his mouth shut only to open it again, heaving out an aggravated sigh. “Should I just leave?”
Stiles closed his eyes, trying to hide his disappointment. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Stiles, what do you want?”
He wanted Derek. He wanted to watch scifi next to him on the couch and make fun of him and hold his hand. He wanted to do stupid soppy romance crap. But he couldn’t say any of that out loud.
“Why me?” Stiles asked instead, opening his eyes. “It’s just, after all the crap I put you through…”
“You did put me through a lot of crap,” Derek said, and he was probably trying to lighten up the mood, but the words just made Stiles feel nauseous.
Ever since Stiles had come back, he’d been thinking about Kate, about what she’d done to Derek. She’d burned his family alive, yeah, but it was more than that. He’d loved her, and she’d used him.
Stiles bit his lip. “Seriously, though,” he said.
Derek sighed.
Stiles took a deep breath. “I know you went through a lot of trauma and shit, I mean, your whole family was murdered, I get it. Okay, I don’t actually get it, I try not to think about it mostly, for the sake of my sanity, what little remains-”
Stiles shook his head. “But that’s totally beside the point. Which is, that you’ve already been through a ton of crap in your life, and that it’s not your responsibility to make sure nothing bad happens to you again. I didn’t…I didn’t really get it, at first.
“I mean,” Stiles continued, “I forced you into this, this thing, that meant way more than you wanted it to. No means no and you kept saying it and I didn’t listen. I-I forced myself on you. Not just, like, physically, but, mentally, and I-god, am I still doing it now?” Stiles’ eyes widened as he stared over at Derek. “Are you just spending time with me because you feel like you have to, out of, out of some sort of duty or obligation, or-”
Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words that just kept spilling out of his mouth. “And like, I don’t want to say the word out loud, what I did to you, that word, like, it’s literally a four-letter word, how dumb is that? But I keep thinking it, I can’t stop thinking it-”
“Stiles,” Derek said, and he was frowning and his eyebrows were furrowed like he wanted to say something but he didn’t know how.
“How can you even,” Stiles said, and then closed his eyes. “How can you stand being around me, after what I did to you?”
There was a long moment of silence, the only sound the harsh rasp of Stiles’ breathing and the pounding of his heart.
Finally, Derek cleared his throat.
“You’re right,” he said.
Stiles felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. When he opened his eyes, he looked over at Derek.
He was staring straight ahead, past Stiles’ shoulder, eyes unfocused.
“What you did,” Derek said, “it wasn’t okay.”
Stiles shut his eyes.
“I never want to be out of control of my body, of my mind, like that again.”
Stiles held his breath. He could feel tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes, but as long as he didn’t move, didn’t open them to look at Derek, they wouldn’t fall.
He just needed a minute, that was all.
“But,” Derek added, “I know you won’t let that happen.”
Stiles let out his breath in a rush as he felt a warm weight settle on his shoulder.
“Stiles,” Derek said. “Stiles, look at me.”
Stiles opened his eyes. Derek was looking back at him, his brow furrowed slightly.
“I know you wouldn’t do that to me again.”
Stiles wanted to ask how Derek knew, but he only managed to open and close his mouth.
Derek’s eyes grew soft as he looked over at Stiles. Faintly, so quiet Stiles almost couldn’t make out the words, he said,
“I trust you.”
Stiles felt his jaw drop open. Because that…that was…
Coming from Derek Hale, that was practically a marriage proposal. That was I love you and I like you and let’s grow old together and have lots of little werewolf babies.
Stiles was getting a little teary-eyed just thinking about it, and he was in a fragile emotional state just then, so it was totally understandable that he might have let slip a completely manly sob.
Derek reached over with one hand and brushed the wetness away from Stiles’ cheeks, and then he leaned forward to enfold Stiles in his arms.
“Shh,” Derek murmured into Stiles’ hair, one hand running up and down his back. “It’s okay, we’re okay.”
Stiles drew in shaky breaths, his hands clutching tight to the solid width of Derek’s shoulders, head buried in the crook of his neck, until his muscles stopped trembling.
Derek pulled back just enough to look at Stiles’ face, his eyebrows drawn together.
“I trust you, too,” Stiles blurted, and Derek blinked back at him.
Stiles slid one hand to cup against the back of Derek’s neck, and waited, heart thundering in his chest.
Derek’s kiss was chaste but firm, a solid press of lips against his own, as one thumb reached up to stroke Stiles’ cheek bone.
Stiles finally remembered how to breathe at about the same time that Derek pulled away.
“Wow,” Stiles said as Derek stepped backwards and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Wait, why are you stopping?”
“I don’t want your dad to shoot me.”
Stiles frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as he settled back against the bathroom sink. “He wouldn’t shoot you.”
Derek raised an eyebrow.
“Much,” Stiles qualified. “Well. He wouldn’t shoot you with wolfsbane bullets, at least. Probably.”
Derek huffed a silent laugh before his expression sobered. He cleared his throat. “Can I come over next week?”
Derek looked straight ahead at Stiles, his gaze unwavering, but the tips of his ears were pink.
“I, um,” Stiles said. “Yeah, yes. Of course.”
Derek didn’t say anything, but the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile before he turned and walked out of view.
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 3.5k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Chapter 5: Gone Missing (Or: Scott is the worst)
Chapter 6: Sleep Deprivation (Or: Give my love to Rosebud)
Chapter 7: Bonding Ritual (Or: Zero of ten, would not recommend)
Chapter 8: Accidental Marriage (Or: Why does no one trust me?)
Chapter 9: Road Trip (Or: Screwed, and not in the good way)
Chapter 10: Dubious Consent (Or: Mother fudgesicles)
Chapter 11: Hurt/Comfort (Or: A sign from above, fate, and all that jazz)
Interlude
Chapter 12: Mixed Signals (Or: The light, it burns)
Chapter 13: Magic Spells (Or: Like the oracle, but with fruit)
Chapter 14: Soulbond (Or: Something out of a horror movie)
Chapter 15: Coming Untouched (Or: What did I tell you about being funny)
Chapter 16: Wise Old Woman with Unsolicited Advice (Or: What kind of spell uses red onion?)
Chapter 17: Angry Parental Figures (Or: Scott is a terrible liar)
Chapter 18: Grounded (Or: You’re taking joy in my pain)
Stiles stumbled down to the kitchen two days after his less-than-epic return to Beacon Hills, only to find his dad sitting at the table, waiting for him.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said, and Stiles winced. If he was using that nickname, either Stiles had done something to make his dad think of him fondly, or his dad was going to say something Stiles didn’t want to hear, and was trying to soften the blow.
Suffice it to say that Stiles hadn’t done anything nice for his dad lately.
“Hey, Dad,” he finally said, walking over to the fridge and pawing around for the cranberry juice.
“Do you want to discuss your punishment now, or when you get home from school?”
There it was.
“Ugh.” Stiles let his arms flop to his sides and his head fall forward. “Can we save it for later?”
He heard his dad make a humming sound, before the paper in his hands rustled. “That’s not the only thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
Stiles turned slowly. His dad was looking way too happy, and it was making Stiles twitchy. “What else?” he asked, not able to keep the suspicion out of his voice.
“Oh, nothing important,” his dad said, a smug smile curving up the edges of his mouth. “Just Derek Hale.”
Stiles stared in horror at his father’s expression. “You’re taking joy in my pain,” he accused.
“Like father, like son?” his dad suggested.
Stiles glared before sighing and shutting the fridge door. Well, at least Stiles came by his vindictive side honestly.
He slid into the seat across from his dad. “Okay, spill.”
“What’s to spill?” his dad asked, setting down the paper on the table and leaning back in his chair.
“You’re a horrible person,” Stiles accused, but he felt his face flaming up, much to his horror.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you so flustered, kid,” Dad said. “What happened to the witty retorts I’ve come to know and tolerate?”
“You’re the one who got to interrogate him for fifteen hours on the drive back from Washington, okay? I haven’t-I’m probably not gonna see him again anyway.”
Dad’s eyes softened. “So this isn’t like that Martin girl, then.”
Stiles frowned over at his dad, eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His dad hummed and turned to the next page. His eyes were still glued to the paper when he said, “It’s not just a crush.”
Stiles’ first reaction was to emphatically deny everything, along with some illustrative hand gestures, but he was pretty sure he’d just end up incriminating himself. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest even as he could feel his face grow hot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dad.”
“No?” Dad asked, looking up with a smirk on his face. Jerk.
“Nope.”
“Then you don’t want to date him?”
Date him?
Stiles wanted to fall asleep next to Derek and wake up beside him in the morning. He wanted to buy donuts covered in crushed Oreos, and make fun of Derek for eating them in two bites. He wanted to run around in the woods and eat roast beef sandwiches and get shoved in the mud. He wanted to scratch Derek behind the ears while he was in his wolf form, and he wanted to scratch him behind the ears when he was human, just to see the stupid face he would make. Stiles wanted to crack dumb jokes and see Derek’s stupid half smirk, or his eye roll when he was trying not to laugh. He wanted to go out to the diner and get curly fries and milkshakes, and kick Derek under the table and throw straw wrappers at his stupid face.
Hell yeah, Stiles wanted to date him.
“Not really,” Stiles managed, but even to his own ears it sounded strangled.
“He’s a good kid,” his dad just said, before clearing his throat and getting to his feet.
“I don’t-” Stiles said, but there was something in his throat, because the words split in two on their way up, and the sound didn’t make it all the way out of his mouth.
His dad sighed. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, reaching down to squeeze Stiles’ shoulder. “I just think you could do worse. That’s all.”
Stiles attempted to smile. He couldn’t imagine it was very convincing, but it at least seemed to placate his dad enough to leave Stiles at the table, alone with his thoughts.
***
“So how badly did your dad ground you?” Scott asked the next day at lunch.
“I’m under house arrest,” Stiles said, trying not to look as despondent as he felt. “No visitors except on weekends, I have to come home immediately after lacrosse practice, and I have to have my cell on and charged at all times so that my dad can call me at any given moment. I just know he’s going to call while my pants are down. It’s going to be traumatizing for both of us.”
Scott mused over his mashed potatoes. “Could have been worse.”
Stiles frowned at his best friend. “Worse? Worse how? Scott, I can’t even stop on my way home for curly fries, that’s how draconian this is.”
“You could have lost the jeep,” Scott said.
“Yes, thank you for pointing out the one thing my dad could have done that would also have inconvenienced him. Although, you’re right, getting rides to school in the cruiser would have been even more humiliating.”
“Bummer, man,” Scott said, his face creasing in sympathy.
“Yeah, whatever,” Stiles said, shaking his fork at Scott. “I see right through your best bro act. This just gives you an excuse to hang out with Kira after school, instead of studying with me.”
“I can still come over on Sunday, though, right?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, sighing and shoveling another forkful of potatoes in his mouth. “Oh, but, get this, while you’re over I have to keep my bedroom door open. Does he think we’re going to be smoking weed in there or something?”
“Dude,” Scott said, his eyes narrowing. “He said you had to keep your door open when I was over?”
“Well, yeah,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I think the phrase he used was ‘when guests are over,’ but, who else is actually going to willingly visit me other than you?”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Derek?”
Stiles nearly choked on his mashed potatoes. “What?”
“Open door policy is classic parental cockblock.”
“Derek’s not coming to my house, oh my god.” Stiles set down his fork and crossed his arms over his chest to emphasize how serious he was. “There’s nothing to cockblock.”
“Sure there’s not,” Scott said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Oh my god. You’re a horrible person, you know that?” Stiles asked, hunching his shoulders in frustration. “I’m trying to get over Derek, not…plan sexcapades!”
“If you say so.”
“I do!”
“Okay,” Scott said, his lips twitching at the corners.
“Stop that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Yes, you are,” Stiles said, glaring over at his friend. “I know that look.”
Scott just smirked down at his potatoes.
“Have I mentioned you’re the worst?” Stiles asked, stabbing angrily at his meatloaf.
“You love me,” Scott countered.
***
A week and a half later, Stiles was lying stomach down on his bed, thumbing through his history textbook, when the doorbell rang.
Stiles frowned down at the paragraph on the various horrifying effects of radiation poisoning and pushed himself to his feet.
The doorbell rang a second time as he was clattering down the stairs. “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” he mumbled, before throwing the front door open.
Derek Hale was standing on the other side, his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.
“Hey,” Derek said.
Stiles just stared.
Derek’s eyes flickered down and drifted sideways. Stiles self-consciously slapped a hand over his neck, even though the hickey had faded by now, and Derek’s gaze jerked back up.
“Can I come in?” Derek asked.
Stiles tried, and failed, to come up with something more eloquent than Why are you here?
He decided to just stare some more.
“I can go, if you want,” Derek said, not looking at Stiles directly. His ears were starting to turn pink.
“No, no, that’s.” Stiles stepped back from the doorway. “Come in.” He shut the door behind Derek and slumped against it.
“Why are you here?” Stiles blurted.
So much for that plan.
Derek’s expression turned cagey. “It’s Saturday.”
“You-” Stiles ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a sigh of frustration. “Are you kidding me?”
Derek just shrugged.
“You weren’t here last Saturday,” Stiles pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest.
Derek looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
Stiles was silent for a moment. “Is that why you knocked? Instead of just coming in through the window?”
“I talked to your dad,” Derek said, apropos of nothing, and Stiles glared.
“And?” he prompted.
Derek turned so he was staring out the window, one hand absently plucking at the hem of his jacket.
“He said you were grounded,” Derek said.
Stiles squinted at him. “Yeah, for like a month. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well,” Derek hedged, the flicker of a smile lingering on his lips, “I didn’t think your dad would appreciate strange older men sneaking into your bedroom.”
“Oh my god, I’m not in the mood to engage in witty repartee right now,” Stiles said, arching one eyebrow in Derek’s direction. “So maybe you could cut to the chase, say your piece, whatever? And then you can leave, and I can go back to hating everything, including myself.”
“Look, did you want to…” Derek frowned, lips pressed into a thin line. “Forget it.”
“Did I want to what?” Stiles snapped.
Derek glared at a point past Stiles’ shoulder. “Watch a movie, or something.”
“What?” Stiles could feel his jaw drop.
Derek’s glare intensified even as he shifted to stare straight at Stiles. “Your dad said you had the extended edition of Lord of the Rings.”
“You don’t have to look so angry about it, yeesh,” Stiles said, pushing away from the door and heading for the living room. “I mean, I was just doing a history assignment, but that’s not due until Thursday or something ridiculous so it’s not like I-” He cut himself off and turned to look at Derek, who wasn’t smiling, per se, but he wasn’t frowning either. “Are you hungry? I could order, uh, pizza.”
“Sure,” Derek said.
Stiles wasn’t really sure what was going on. Maybe he was asleep. He looked down at his hands, just to make sure, but he definitely had ten fingers.
“Stiles,” Derek said, and Stiles snapped his gaze back up. Derek was staring at him with furrowed eyebrows.
“We should set up the movie first, since the whole marathon is like twelve hours long, and that’s not even counting bathroom breaks,” Stiles blurted. He jerked his head towards the living room. “You coming?”
He didn’t wait to hear Derek’s response before turning and speed walking towards the DVD shelves.
***
Sam and Frodo hadn’t even left the shire yet, and Stiles was nearly jumping out of his skin.
On the couch next to him, Derek was sprawled out, his elbow propped up on the sofa arm. Every time Stiles looked over, he was watching the screen with a soft expression, genuinely absorbed in the movie.
What the fuck.
“Derek?”
Derek hummed in response, his eyes not leaving the screen.
“Why are you here?” Stiles asked, his fingers drumming against his thigh.
Derek’s gaze finally flicked towards Stiles. “I like this movie.”
“No,” Stiles said, waving his hands around. “Why are you here?”
Derek slumped back against the couch cushions, his mouth thinning and his eyes hardening, and Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad for interrupting the movie.
“I just,” Stiles started, before stopping mid-sentence. “After what happened, you know.” He looked down at his lap, his fingers plucking restlessly at the hem of his t-shirt. “I figured this would be the last place you’d want to be.”
He heard Derek sigh beside him, and when he looked up, Derek had gone back to watching the movie.
“Hey, man, don’t ignore me,” Stiles said, and Derek’s eyes flicked back to meet his.
“I’m not ignoring you, Stiles,” he said, before falling silent again.
“What the hell, Derek? How is that,” he waved his hands in Derek’s general direction, “not ignoring me?”
Derek’s face flickered through a series of emotions that Stiles couldn’t quite parse, before settling on mild irritation. “Shut up and watch the movie, Stiles.”
Stiles glared at Derek, but he was watching the movie again.
“Fine,” Stiles huffed, but the buzzing in his chest still wouldn’t go away, and he couldn’t stop looking at Derek.
Derek was just sitting there, watching the movie, like nothing had happened between them. As though Stiles hadn’t taken advantage of Derek. As though Stiles wasn’t stupidly in love with him and trying to get over it.
Sitting next to Derek, and knowing that he couldn’t have him, was torture.
Stiles shoved himself off the couch and stood, stuffing his trembling hands in his pockets.
“Stiles?” Derek asked. His voice sounded sweetly concerned. It made Stiles want to scream.
“I’ll be right back,” Stiles lied, not caring that Derek could hear his heartbeat. “You don’t have to pause or anything.”
He focused his whole being on walking, not running, to the first floor bathroom, and he managed to close the door behind him before he dropped down on his elbows to lean heavily on the sink. His breathing was starting to come in shallow, erratic bursts.
Don’t panic, he thought, and somehow that made him freak out even more, his chest squeezing tight and his vision going fuzzy at the edges.
A knock sounded on the door, and Derek’s voice filtered through the wood. “Breathe, in and out, okay?”
Stiles sucked in a breath, and focused on the low rumble of Derek’s voice until his lungs no longer felt like they were trapped in a vice.
“Can I come in?” Derek asked, after a minute of silence.
His muscles still feeling weak, Stiles pushed himself away from the sink and opened the bathroom door.
They stared at each other for a long moment, before Stiles said, “I can’t do this.”
Derek just stared at him, those green eyes boring into him.
“Try to be your friend,” Stiles said, his hand tightening involuntarily on the doorknob. “Go back to the way it was.”
“So don’t,” Derek said.
“What?” Stiles stared at Derek, at the tense line of his shoulders and the stiff set to his jaw.
Derek sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets, not saying anything else.
“Derek,” Stiles said, his voice coming out almost in a whine, “you gotta give me more than that. Come on, man.”
“Did you want-” Derek frowned, clamping his mouth shut only to open it again, heaving out an aggravated sigh. “Should I just leave?”
Stiles closed his eyes, trying to hide his disappointment. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Stiles, what do you want?”
He wanted Derek. He wanted to watch scifi next to him on the couch and make fun of him and hold his hand. He wanted to do stupid soppy romance crap. But he couldn’t say any of that out loud.
“Why me?” Stiles asked instead, opening his eyes. “It’s just, after all the crap I put you through…”
“You did put me through a lot of crap,” Derek said, and he was probably trying to lighten up the mood, but the words just made Stiles feel nauseous.
Ever since Stiles had come back, he’d been thinking about Kate, about what she’d done to Derek. She’d burned his family alive, yeah, but it was more than that. He’d loved her, and she’d used him.
Stiles bit his lip. “Seriously, though,” he said.
Derek sighed.
Stiles took a deep breath. “I know you went through a lot of trauma and shit, I mean, your whole family was murdered, I get it. Okay, I don’t actually get it, I try not to think about it mostly, for the sake of my sanity, what little remains-”
Stiles shook his head. “But that’s totally beside the point. Which is, that you’ve already been through a ton of crap in your life, and that it’s not your responsibility to make sure nothing bad happens to you again. I didn’t…I didn’t really get it, at first.
“I mean,” Stiles continued, “I forced you into this, this thing, that meant way more than you wanted it to. No means no and you kept saying it and I didn’t listen. I-I forced myself on you. Not just, like, physically, but, mentally, and I-god, am I still doing it now?” Stiles’ eyes widened as he stared over at Derek. “Are you just spending time with me because you feel like you have to, out of, out of some sort of duty or obligation, or-”
Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words that just kept spilling out of his mouth. “And like, I don’t want to say the word out loud, what I did to you, that word, like, it’s literally a four-letter word, how dumb is that? But I keep thinking it, I can’t stop thinking it-”
“Stiles,” Derek said, and he was frowning and his eyebrows were furrowed like he wanted to say something but he didn’t know how.
“How can you even,” Stiles said, and then closed his eyes. “How can you stand being around me, after what I did to you?”
There was a long moment of silence, the only sound the harsh rasp of Stiles’ breathing and the pounding of his heart.
Finally, Derek cleared his throat.
“You’re right,” he said.
Stiles felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. When he opened his eyes, he looked over at Derek.
He was staring straight ahead, past Stiles’ shoulder, eyes unfocused.
“What you did,” Derek said, “it wasn’t okay.”
Stiles shut his eyes.
“I never want to be out of control of my body, of my mind, like that again.”
Stiles held his breath. He could feel tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes, but as long as he didn’t move, didn’t open them to look at Derek, they wouldn’t fall.
He just needed a minute, that was all.
“But,” Derek added, “I know you won’t let that happen.”
Stiles let out his breath in a rush as he felt a warm weight settle on his shoulder.
“Stiles,” Derek said. “Stiles, look at me.”
Stiles opened his eyes. Derek was looking back at him, his brow furrowed slightly.
“I know you wouldn’t do that to me again.”
Stiles wanted to ask how Derek knew, but he only managed to open and close his mouth.
Derek’s eyes grew soft as he looked over at Stiles. Faintly, so quiet Stiles almost couldn’t make out the words, he said,
“I trust you.”
Stiles felt his jaw drop open. Because that…that was…
Coming from Derek Hale, that was practically a marriage proposal. That was I love you and I like you and let’s grow old together and have lots of little werewolf babies.
Stiles was getting a little teary-eyed just thinking about it, and he was in a fragile emotional state just then, so it was totally understandable that he might have let slip a completely manly sob.
Derek reached over with one hand and brushed the wetness away from Stiles’ cheeks, and then he leaned forward to enfold Stiles in his arms.
“Shh,” Derek murmured into Stiles’ hair, one hand running up and down his back. “It’s okay, we’re okay.”
Stiles drew in shaky breaths, his hands clutching tight to the solid width of Derek’s shoulders, head buried in the crook of his neck, until his muscles stopped trembling.
Derek pulled back just enough to look at Stiles’ face, his eyebrows drawn together.
“I trust you, too,” Stiles blurted, and Derek blinked back at him.
Stiles slid one hand to cup against the back of Derek’s neck, and waited, heart thundering in his chest.
Derek’s kiss was chaste but firm, a solid press of lips against his own, as one thumb reached up to stroke Stiles’ cheek bone.
Stiles finally remembered how to breathe at about the same time that Derek pulled away.
“Wow,” Stiles said as Derek stepped backwards and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Wait, why are you stopping?”
“I don’t want your dad to shoot me.”
Stiles frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as he settled back against the bathroom sink. “He wouldn’t shoot you.”
Derek raised an eyebrow.
“Much,” Stiles qualified. “Well. He wouldn’t shoot you with wolfsbane bullets, at least. Probably.”
Derek huffed a silent laugh before his expression sobered. He cleared his throat. “Can I come over next week?”
Derek looked straight ahead at Stiles, his gaze unwavering, but the tips of his ears were pink.
“I, um,” Stiles said. “Yeah, yes. Of course.”
Derek didn’t say anything, but the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile before he turned and walked out of view.