Boys Are Dumb

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  • Rec 53

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    The last thing Stiles expected from life was a pretend engagement with his pushy boss. The last thing Derek expected from life was pretending to be in love with his obnoxious assistant. The last thing either of them expected was to not mind the arrangement.

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    29 Jun 2020

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    “Now, the good news is that I already know everything about you. The bad news is you have, like, four days to learn all this about me.”
    “You know all the answers to these questions about me?” Derek asked a bit unsettled by the idea. He considered himself a highly private man even if Stiles had been working as his personal assistant for the last three years.
    Stiles snorted. “Scary, isn’t it? Don’t worry. I didn’t stalk you. I’m just highly observant.”
    Derek didn’t reply, just kept thumbing through the pages. After a few minutes of silence he asked, “What am I allergic to?”
    “Strawberries,” Stiles answered pausing a moment before adding, “And the full spectrum of human emotion.”

    There are two different kinds of homesickness. One for the people and another for the place. You can be surrounded by people you love and still fiercely miss your home and you can be comfortably squirreled away in your childhood room and still feel all alone in every sense of the word.
    Either way, it sucks.

    “It’s been…oh, about five years or so. Almost six. He came home once a few years back. I suppose he don’t like being here. Too much heartache. Too much sorrow. Stiles doesn’t handle heartache well. It eats him up inside. He’s not like you.”
    Derek blinked, startled. “Like me?”
    “You have the look of someone used to heartache,” Edith said. “You can see it in your eyes. But you’ve learned to live with it.”

    “Oh my god!” Stiles cried, words drawn out and audible even over the music still blaring in his ears. “Why are you wet!”
    Derek’s eyes widened even further, shocked out of his stupor by Stiles’ words. “Why are you naked!” he shouted rolling off Stiles.

    “Let me see you get low. Who scared, you scared. Drop your ass to the floor. Who scared, you scared,” he sang crouching and rolling his hips. All the while Edith just smiled. “Let me see you get low, you scared, you scared. See you get low, you scared, you scared—”
    “Whatcha doing?” someone called and Derek promptly fell on his ass.

    “What’s HaShem?”
    “It’s God, with a capital g,” he said. “As in the Big Guy.”
    “I was chanting to God?”
    “Yes,” Stiles said. “About your balls.”

    “Whoa,” Stiles said as the boat lurched forward at an alarming speed bouncing across the waves. “Derek, mind telling me what the hell’s wrong!”
    Derek shook his head, hands clenched around the wheel. “I needed to get away from everyone.”
    “What’s wrong?” Stiles pressed.
    “Nothing!” Derek replied sounding just shy of hysterical. “Just stop talking!”
    “Would you please tell me what’s happening now, please?” Stiles asked anxiety pooling in his gut at the uncertainty of the situation. “Derek. Derek!”
    “I forgot, okay?” Derek snapped.
    Stiles grabbed the railing as the boat lurched particularly hard. “Forgot what?”
    “I forgot what it was like to have a family,” Derek said. “I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen and I forgot what it felt like to have people love you and make you breakfast and say, Hey, we’d love to come down for the holidays. And I say, Well, why don’t we come up instead. And give you cufflinks. And you have all that here. And I’m just…destroying everything!”
    “You’re not destroying it!” he shouted matching Derek’s volume. “I agreed to this! Remember?”

    “So I blackmailed him to come up here and to lie to you. All of you. And I thought that it would be easy to watch him do it. I was wrong. Turns out it’s hard to ruin someone’s life once you finally figure out how wonderful they are,” he said voice going softer than he intended on the last words.

    “What side of the bed does he sleep on?”
    Stiles scowled. “What side of the bed do you sleep on?”
    “I sleep in the middle,” Bobby answered, “sprawled out on my back like a starfish completely naked.”
    “So does he,” Derek said straight-faced and ignoring Stiles’ indignant squawk. Bobby admired the boy’s gumption. “I sleep under him.”

    “What’s Derek’s favorite color?”
    “Black. Like his soul.”

    “What’s your favorite color?”
    “Green.”
    “Do you think that’s what Stiles said when I asked him?”
    “No. He probably said it was black.”

    “Are you surprised Stiles is marrying Derek?”
    Scott shrugged. “I was, at first. Like back when they weren’t really engaged but just pretending.”
    “Why were you surprised?”
    “Because Stiles hated Derek’s guts. He’d rant for hours if we let him.”
    “But you’re not surprised now?”
    “For Stiles the line between love and hate has always been very thin. After seeing them together, I’m not surprised he tripped over it.”

    There comes a time in your life where you can look at a situation in front of you and admit that, “Yes, it is a total disaster.” And there comes a time, eventually, where you can take it one step further and say, “That’s okay, I’ll make it work.”

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    It was times like these when Felix almost preferred Dimitri to accompany him to the baths. At least Dimitri knew better than to annoy him when he was at his most vulnerable. Felix’s silence would have gone unnoticed, accepted even, but Sylvain was unfortunately well-versed in Felix’s non-verbal language.

    “You’ve jerked off, haven’t you?” Sylvain asked a few moments later, curious.

    “I’m not talking about this with you,” Felix replied tersely, dumping a basin of water over his head.

    -

    Sylvain teaches Felix about sex.

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    20 Jun 2020

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    sylvain teaches felix how to sex

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    Post-Star Trek Beyond. The crew of the Enterprise gets a breather while they are waiting for their new ship. Jim uses the time to do something he had sworn he would never do.

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  • Public Bookmark 35

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    “So… Derek. You and Derek.”

    “No.”

    “No?”

    “No.”

    --

    A gratuitous exploration into ADHD, magic, trauma recovery, and whether or not popping a boner around leather clad werewolves is considered an 'emotion'.

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    30 May 2020

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    “I thought you said my son already had some magical abilities.”
    “That was in the process of being determined.” The statement is as crushing as when Deaton said it before, and Stiles grips his hands together to hold his tongue. He ignores Scott side eyeing him.

    What the hell is he supposed to do? It’s all been easy now, but what if Lydia feels some of the reactions he has to Derek and his stupid leather jacket? Stiles doesn’t know if popping a boner is an emotion, but knowing his luck, it probably is.
    “Why would you pop a—?”
    “Scott, for all that is holy, shut your goddamn mouth.”

    “Stop feeling my emotions.”
    Lydia lets out a put-upon sigh. “Derek needs to become your new buddy for all conversations. I can’t keep up with you like this.”
    “What does Derek have to do with it?”
    “What, you didn’t notice? Every time you got overwhelmed earlier I could just feel the wash of calm that came over you, even from this side of the connection. Derek was basically emotion dosing you.”

    “Deaton has this idea that my magic did this for a reason. So, if I were to connect the dots, then that means I wanted you to feel my emotions. Feel what I feel.”
    “What is it that you feel, Stiles?” She sounds borderline terrified, like he’s about to ruin everything, and holy crap does he know why. Of course he knows. And it’s so painfully clear what he wants her to understand.
    “Getting to the place we were was one of the biggest accomplishments of my life. You are such a great friend, and of course I still think you’re smart and you’re beautiful and you’re everything a dream girl should be, but I need you to know that our friendship is so ridiculously important to me.”
    “I know I’ve been weird lately, and I’m sorry. But with Aiden and Allison and...I want you to know that I’m so sorry, about all of it, and I just really, really don’t want to lose us being friends.”
    “Stiles, I know that wasn’t you okay? I haven’t held any of this against you. When I look at you, I only see you. My friend.”

    “Alright. Listen, there are just a couple things that I feel like I should say to you both, and if I say them, then I’m hoping that maybe this connection thing will end.”
    “Coming out cancelled your connection to Lydia?”
    “What!?” Stiles whips his head around fast enough to hurt, and then he’s throwing the closest thing to him (a salt shaker) at Scott’s head. “I’m not coming out, you dillweed.”
    Why does Scott think my son is gay? Is my son gay?
    “Oh, sorry. You just seem so nervous, I assumed…”
    “That’s not what this conversation is! Don’t start! I can only handle one big thing at a time right now.”
    “Is that a big kind of conversation we’re going to have in the future?”
    “That’s not what I meant, Jesus! I just want to know if either of you hate me!”
    What?! “What?!”

    “Which leaves you. You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” Stiles throws his hands out and gives up. “Fine! I have a huge, horny, school boy crush on you! Sex dreams and doodles in a little pink notebook, the whole nine yards. Mr. Stilinski-Hale, at your service.”
    “Really? A hyphen?”
    “Okay, so maybe I don’t want to get married. But there you go, I said it and now you know.”
    “Yes. You’ve said it. And I already know.”
    “Yeah, and I figured that out all on my own too. But don’t worry, just because my magic seems to desperately be grabbing at it, I’m not actually betting on anything happening, and I don’t need you to explain your own feelings.”
    Derek’s nodding along. “Good. Because you’re seventeen.”
    “Right. Plus everything else.” Nothing else is said, as if Derek doesn’t know what else is supposed to be inserted into the pause, and Stiles panic juggles his own thoughts for a second. “I mean, that’s not the only reason.”
    “Yeah. There’s another one - I’m twenty three.”
    “Okay, I get that, but I turn eighteen in two months. So, that’s a non-issue.”
    Derek rolls his eyes. “How is that a non-issue? It still makes me five and a half years older than you.”
    “Wait, are you seriously saying that there is no reason why you and I couldn’t get freaky deaky other than the fact that I’m not eighteen yet?”
    “Well, the fact that you’re almost six years younger than me and the fact that you just used the term ‘freaky deaky.”

    “And that means I’m going to go.” Derek nods theatrically, as if Stiles was slow on the pick up. “I’m going to go, before you change your mind about those reasons, and you and I… we’re going to revisit this conversation in two months.”
    “Joy.”

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    Stiles has seen Scott at his craziest, and while this doesn’t look like that brand of crazy, Scott is still in the middle of taking his clothes off.

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    29 May 2020

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    "I figure we should start with the basics," he says, slapping the spacebar a couple times to wake up his laptop.
    "Right," Scott agrees, and strips off his shirt. "I think a couple handjobs'll do it, but just in case, do you wanna, uh, well." He pauses to tug at his belt. "I guess there's no such thing as a bad blowjob, but--” He stops with his fly half-open. Stiles has seen Scott at his craziest, and while this doesn’t look like that brand of crazy, Scott is still in the middle of taking his clothes off. “Stiles?"
    "You," Stiles says, slowly, "you-- What?"
    Scott's eyebrows scrunch together. "Are you sure you wanna do it in the chair?"
    "Do what in the chair?"
    "You know," says Scott, and does something dirty and impressive with his fist.

    "But you're a virgin!" Scott shouts, loud enough to make Stiles wince. All things considered, the neighbours probably already suspected, but they didn't need to know. "You're a virgin, Stiles, and it could get you killed."
    "Probably," Stiles agrees. He's certainly felt so on a number of occasions.
    "And you said--"
    Stiles leans forward, head cocked to the side. "I said?"
    "You said that we weren't gonna, you know, sleep," Scott says, waving a hand in the air, "and it was gonna take all night to figure it out, and, and..." He trails off and drops his hand. "You weren’t propositioning me?"
    Stiles stares. Scott has got to lay off the word-a-day calendar. "Like a hooker?"
    "Well, I don't know!"
    "Obviously you did know, because you had a plan! A plan, Scott. That you didn't tell me about!" Stiles clambers out of his chair and paces around it, muttering, "The one time, the one time you have a plan, you don't tell me, and it's about freaking blowjobs."
    "Handjobs," Scott corrects weakly.

    "Look," Scott says, in exactly the same tone of voice that he uses when he says, yet again, that no, they're not killing anybody, so stop suggesting it, "are you going to let me blow you or not?"
    "That," says Stiles, finger stuck in mid-air, "is not what I expected you to say."

    "It is cool, right?" Scott asks, peering up at him.
    Stiles nods tightly and tries out a squeaky, "Sure." When Scott just keeps looking at him, intent and way too earnest, Stiles lets out an explosive breath. "I mean, your gung-ho attitude towards cocksucking is a little surprising and frankly something I think you should've told me about before now, but oh, oh, okay, that's your tongue, oh my god."

    "Who knew impending doom was all it would take for you to finally agree to fool around with me."
    Scott's easy strokes falter as he jerks back. "I would've," he stammers out, "you never asked!"
    "My twelfth birthday?" Stiles prompts. "After Emily wouldn't kiss me at Spin the Bottle?"
    "We were kids," Scott says, scowling. "How was I supposed to know?"
    "That time we caught Danny and his boyfriend making out behind the school and I asked if you wanted to find out what that kind of kissing was like?" Warming up to the topic, Stiles licks the tip of an imaginary pen and starts down the list of Opportunities Missed Because Scott's Dumb. "After you scored your first ever lacrosse goal and I asked if you wanted to score again? When we got drunk at one of Lydia's parties and ended up locked in the closet and you were freaking out and I offered to help take your mind off it? At the--"
    "I thought you were kidding!"
    "I WAS kidding, but only after you blew me off!"

    "Definitely not a virgin anymore."
    Scooting a little closer, Scott rests his cheek on Stiles's chest, watching as Stiles tries to wipe the mess off his fingers onto his t-shirt. Sex alone is just not this messy. "Well, if there's any doubt, we could always. You know."
    Stiles chomps down on the tender inside of his cheek to keep from blurting that he was absolutely ready to go there. That's an ego boost the giant dopey grin on Scott's face doesn't need.

    "That's me," Scott says, and drops an arm around Stiles's waist like he's settling in for a good, long cuddle, "always ready to take one for the team." Stiles gapes. "Or two, or three, a couple dozen, whatever," Scott adds, with a casual shrug.
    "You're lucky my legs are jelly right now, that's all I'm saying," Stiles mutters.
    Scott lifts his head, his grin huge and delighted. "Really?"
    "Oh god," Stiles groans, and drops his arm over his face.

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    Eric is totally going to figure out how hard Stiles is crushing on his brother and never want to speak to him again.

    Stiles’s boner is going to ruin their friendship.

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    28 May 2020

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    "You should come visit me at my garage sometime," Derek says, voice neutral.
    Stiles nods taking a long gulp of lemonade. “Uh, yeah, I could—I could totally—uh—”
    "Why would he want to go to your garage?" Eric interrupts suddenly. His voice is confused, and more effective than a spray of cold water. "Your garage is boring."

    "You coming to the lacrosse game tomorrow?" Eric asks his brother, oblivious to Stiles’s inner turmoil.
    "Was thinking about it. Stiles, are you playing?"
    "Wha—huh? Yeah, yeah, actually I am."
    "Well then I’m definitely coming," Derek says, eyes glancing up to catch on Stiles’s—and is he imagining it or are Derek’s eyes darker than normal? "Wouldn’t want to miss a chance to see you in your uniform."
    Stiles laughs a little too loudly to be casual, face warm under the force of his blush, but he doesn’t quite manage to mask the conspicuousness of Eric’s silence.
    God, he’s so screwed.

    "You’re not dating?"
    "No," Derek says.
    "But you want to be," Eric says suddenly and what the fuck, why he torturing Stiles like this, can’t he see how painful this is??
    "Maybe," Derek answers after a moment of hesitation.
    Stiles’s head snaps up. "Wha—really?”
    "I understand if you don’t—If I’m too…old.”

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    He should have expected this. He knew it, knew Stiles was always in this temporarily. Derek knew it wasn't forever. The only thing that's surprising is that Stiles is lying about it.

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    28 May 2020

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    They've been together three years when it happens. "All right then," Stiles says, tinny and far away. There's a click, and Derek's left standing in the produce department, a zucchini in his basket, holding his phone.
    The night before the fire, Kate had hung up before saying "I love you." Derek tries not to compare them, ever, but he can’t help it sometimes, can’t avoid holding them up side by side. Stiles doesn’t really deserve that, not with the way he tells Derek he loves him, like it’s still something important, something to marvel at. He just didn’t this time, is all.
    His stomach knots up a little. Stiles just isn't coming home til late. That's what he'd been calling about, letting Derek know not to expect him for dinner.

    Everything's waiting on the counter, and Derek hangs out, waiting for the familiar tornado of Stiles's entrance. He waits another three hours before Stiles texts him, and all it says is "too drunk, staying at scotts."
    Sure, Derek thinks. As if he hadn't spent so much time watching the Sheriff get fed that same damn excuse when Stiles had really been at his place. He calls Stiles, hands shaking a little. Voicemail. He calls Scott, and Scott doesn't pick up. That in itself is not a sign, he's suspected before that Scott has him blocked, sends him automatically to voicemail.
    Still though. Stiles is probably leaving him.

    He broods about it the rest of the week, snaps at Isaac, goes for a run one day and accidentally ends up in Oregon.

    "You had to know that answer would be yes," Stiles says, and Derek cannot believe he's laughing.
    "So that's it? You're just leaving, then?" Derek says, awful and resigned at the same time. "You can't even give me a reason?"
    "Leaving?" Stiles says, choking on his sip of wine. "Why would I—but you—" and his eyes narrow, focused like laser beams on Derek. "You were asking me to marry you, weren't you?"

    "You didn't say I love you." The words are out there, just hanging between them. It makes Stiles stop short.
    "What?" he says blankly. "When?"
    "Last week, before you hung up," Derek says tightly. "And the next morning, you didn't kiss me back. You laughed at that stupid breakup show you were watching, you wouldn't let me touch you, and," he says, gearing up for the most damning piece of evidence, "you 'slept at Scott's'."
    Stiles stares at him. "You're a total fucking lunatic," he says eventually and Derek scowls because that wasn't on his list of imagined responses to this conversation.
    Derek forges ahead anyway, because he can't stop now. "I brought you here because I wanted to find out, " and he swallows and looks away, "find out what I did. Whether I could stop doing it. See if I could knock it off. Sometimes you're really fucking annoying but I don't mind," and Stiles makes an indignant noise, "but if I'm too much, if you mind, and you need me to do something, I will, because," and Derek wills himself to finish, "I don't want this to be over."

    "I'm sorry," he says immediately, because it seems like a good place to start. "I'm sorry I fucked this all up, and I'm sorry this wasn't the night you expected and I’m even sorrier I can't even promise to be less of a fucking mess any time soon. But I love you Stiles, I love you so fucking much and if you meant it, if you still want to, I'd marry you tomorrow."
    "What if I want an Elvis wedding, " Stiles says and he still sounds kind of pissed off.
    "Okay," Derek says immediately.
    "What if I want to do it at the police station?"
    "I'd marry you on Mars," Derek says, and Stiles cackles.
    "Can Scott be Elvis?"
    "Let's not go crazy," Derek says, scowling, and Stiles grins.

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    Nice things begin to happen to Derek Hale and it kind of freaks him out.

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    26 May 2020

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    “Wait! Was that call to cancel the Hale order? Don’t cancel it. I’ll pay for it.” She shrugs and rings it up. It comes in around fifty bucks and Stiles glares at the register pulling out his card. “Don’t tell him I did this. Say it was paid by a masked vigilante who used cash. Actually, don’t tell him that either, he’ll know that was me.

    “Everything’s going to be fine,” says Stiles, and to Derek’s surprise he isn’t lying. He pulls his hand away before Derek can ask him to and just stands there with him and waits. The steady pumping of his heart is a more convincing argument for patience than anything anyone has said so far.

    He spends the evening putting together a resume. Under ‘Experience’ it says things like, Best Friend to Scott McCall (2004-Present), and Forced Acquaintance to Jackson Whittmore (2007-Present) with duties listed underneath. Under ‘Skills’ he’s written Bullshitting and nothing else.

    "I know I'm not really a great person, and I realize that I'm not always easy to be around, but what exactly am I doing that keeps giving you the impression that I'm a colossal asshole? You keep pulling this crap, and I figured maybe when you did it in the pool it was because we didn't know each other very well but I thought - despite the fact that you haven't said anything about the application - that we were friends now. Or something like it."
    "Okay.”
    "Okay," repeats Stiles, his voice flat and furious, and Derek feels like something is slipping away from him.
    "Yes, we're -" Derek doesn’t think agreeing with him will be enough. He tries again, this time using what he's begun to refer to in his head as Stiles-Speak, "- as I understand it there's supposed to be some sort of interview process but I expect it'll go well."
    "Really? You expect it to go well? Well in that case you should fire your HR person, because if they're hiring people that you expect are going to give you up at the drop of a hat, they're not doing a very good job."
    "You're mad because I don't know why you didn't tell them where to find me?"
    "I'm mad because you still don't trust me.”

    Derek just sits there and glares at nothing.
    "What's up?"
    "I don't want to talk about it.”
    "Okay.” Isaac goes back to reading. 
    About twenty minutes later Derek says, "Stiles is angry."
    Isaac's eyebrows rise. He's already received several texts from Stiles on the subject so he says, "I think that's a bit of an understatement."

    The first page starts off with the predictable but depressing, Relative to Hale Family (1989-2004), but the next line makes Stiles’ breath catch. Patsy to Kate Argent (2004). The list of duties beneath it are more or less a long list of slurs against Derek’s character and intelligence, and after that it says Brother to Laura Hale (1989-2010) and ??? to Scott McCall (2010-Present). The skills section is even more sparse than Stiles’ had been and the ‘letter of recommendation’ is a quote from Peter that says, “He’s my favorite person who’s ever ripped my throat out.”
    Stiles digs up some white-out and paints over the Kate Argent section. When it dries, he writes Confidential, redacted on top and stows the application away in his desk.

    Stiles nods. “Well, Scott and I brought movies if you want to-”
    Derek looks back down at his book and says, “Can you just stay here and talk about something?”
    Stiles opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out.
    “It was really quiet when you were missing. Like it was when I first came back and I’d just like it to not be quiet for a while without having to be around anyone.”
    “I don’t count as someone?”
    “You’re safe,” grunts Derek, and it sounds like an insult or an accusation.
    Stiles is fine with that.

    Stiles leans down in a fit of insanity and kisses Derek’s cheek.
    “That’s harassment, Stilinski.”
    Stiles laughs. “You going to report me, Hale?”
    “No.”
    Stiles tries to do a quick calculation of exactly how grounded he’ll be if his dad catches him making out with Derek Hale, and then he hears Scott say, “So, Sheriff, how’s it going at the station? Are you fully restaffed yet?”
    Stiles thanks god for best friends. “On a scale of growling to evisceration, how-” he begins, but before he can finish the question Derek kisses him. He tastes like diet cola and his stubble scratches Stiles’ chin. Derek’s hand slides up, fingers curling around the back of Stiles’ neck and Stiles reaches over to slide his hands up to cup Derek’s jaw and he’s pretty sure it’s the greatest kiss of all time until he over-balances and falls off the stump into Derek’s lap with a yelp.

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    Stiles knows a pity gift when he sees one. Mostly because that’s all he’s ever gotten from anyone since the moment he hit puberty.

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    25 May 2020

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    “I really wish you’d let them down a little easier, son.”
    Stiles rolls his eyes. He knows why people in this town act like he’s the most desirable omega in four counties, and it’s not, as his dad likes to try to tell him, because they’re all (“though god knows why”) charmed and fascinated by him. It’s because they feel sorry for him.
    The first ever recorded omega born to two alphas? It’s unheard of. It’s… freakish. Stiles is a freak. And this fucking town has never let him forget that.
    The worst of them is Derek Hale.
    Derek doesn’t even like Stiles, alright? He’s made that abundantly clear on more than one occasion. Which means that Derek’s offerings? Aren’t even out of pity. He’s making fun of Stiles. Giving him token trinkets, baked goods, gift cards, the same as all the others, but as if to rub it in. As if to say, “Here’s a glimpse into what I’d be doing if you were in anyway a desirable choice as a mate.”

    “I was in New York with my sister,” Derek grits out around fangs, eyes burning red.
    Stiles blinks. “What.”
    “Last year. That’s where I was. My uncle decided he’d rather fuck off to Fiji than let me stay with him in the family house anymore, so I went to stay with my sister in New York. As soon as I was of age to get my inheritance, I came back here. I came back, because…” Derek grits his teeth and growls again, as though fighting the words.
    Derek turns to face Stiles fully and draws in a deep breath. “Because you’re beautiful and brilliant and a pain in the ass, and I’ve been in love with you since you were thirteen and I watched you shove Isaac Lahey’s god awful oatmeal cookies back in his face and tell him you were allergic to scarves.”
    Stiles gapes . “But– I– But– You hate me! This whole town thinks I’m some sort of sideshow!”
    Derek stares at him. “Literally every person in the county, hell even the betas, have been competing for your attention practically since the day you were born. You’re the one who never gives any of us the time of day.”

    Stiles is mid-epiphany when there’s a clatter behind him, and when he turns around to see Derek stepping through his window he’s somehow not surprised. He didn’t know it until right this second, but he’s pretty sure the last few years of his life have been building up to this.
    “I don’t want to reject you,” Stiles blurts.
    Derek studies him for a moment, like he’s trying to find the lie.
    “I’ve only really been in love with you for about five minutes now,” he continues, watching Derek frown and take half a step backwards towards the window. “But,” he rushes to add, “if I had bothered to pay attention I would’ve fallen for you even before you fell for me. So.” Stiles shuffles his feet awkwardly.

    Derek’s eyes take on a sudden, predatory glint, and he stalks forward. For a split second Stiles feels the flash of nerves associated with being prey, but then Derek’s got him pinned on the bed and he didn’t feel a thing in the landing because Derek absorbed all the impact himself. Because Derek loves him. Because Derek wants to take care of him.
    Stiles smirks. “You’ve got it bad, dude.”
    Derek scowls at him, and responds by burying his nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck and rolling his hips down roughly into Stiles’ rapidly growing erection.
    Stiles’ breath stutters. “Touché,” he manages.

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    “Young Master Wèi,” the healer tells him, “I’m afraid to say that you’ve been cursed.”

    He laughs, it’s not exactly the first time that has happened, “Is that it? What kind of curse is it?”

    “It’s a lover’s curse.”

    “A lover’s curse? That’s ridiculous! It’s not like I’ve ever...” He falters a bit, “I mean, I don’t see how that could apply to me.”

    The look she gives him is pitying, “It’s not that kind of lover’s curse, Young Master Wèi. This curse… It only affects people who suffer from one-sided love.”

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    29 Apr 2020

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    Stiles goes to a Halloween party on campus to blow off some steam after a stressful week of midterms. He doesn't expect the party to be crashed by both a supernatural predator and Derek Hale.

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    21 Mar 2020

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    "It smells like death. It left two bodies in Claremont Canyon last week, ripped to pieces, but this is where it killed them. It's somewhere in this house, and I have to find it before it kills anyone else." He gives Stiles a patronizing look, and Stiles could literally say the next words right along with him. "I need you to get out of here, go somewhere safe."
    Like. Hell. "I can handle whatever this town throws at me; you want my help. You don't even know what you're up against."
    "Neither do you, so I can't see what help you'd be."
    Stiles forces his lips into a smirk. "Well you wouldn't know, would you? In fact, you don't know anything about me. Not anymore."
    "I know you're in danger here, and it'll be easier if I don't have to worry about you getting hurt again," Derek snaps.
    Arguing always did come easier than anything else for them. Stiles doesn't even try to fight the habit. "Concern for my well-being? That's funny coming from the guy who cut and ran three years ago.”

    I think I've been poisoned. He has no control left; it took it all. Stiles has nothing. Stiles closes his eyes and lets Derek take the lead. The only clear thought in his head is that Derek will get him to safety. So he's more than a little surprised when Derek walks him face-first into a wall.
    Stiles's eyes snap open as he jerks free of Derek's grip, only to see Derek halfway across the front porch, his empty hand lit by moonlight. He looks back over his shoulder at Stiles, eyes wide. Stiles moves to follow him, or tries to, but Stiles can't pass through. He presses his palms against the barrier in front of him, a solid, invisible wall across the threshold, keeping Stiles in.
    Derek reaches inside, grabs Stiles's shirt and tries to pull him through, but he just slams Stiles's chest against the barrier, once, twice. Derek's fangs gnash with fury. He looks toward the windows, the walls of the house, the roof, and Stiles has the crazy notion Derek might try to huff and puff and blow—
    And then Derek is there, back inside the house and crowding Stiles against the doorway. Placing himself between Stiles and the motley crowd.
    "What the hell's going on?" Derek yells, his back heaving where it's pressed against Stiles's chest.
    "Magic," Stiles gasps, and sags against Derek's shoulder blades. Derek came back. Derek came back.

    "They're almost here. We should split up," Derek says. "You head back to campus."
    "Split up? No, that's not what we should do. That's the last thing we should do."
    Derek glances over his shoulder at him, and Stiles can already feel him withdrawing. His own feet seem rooted to the porch, even though there's no spell to break. "Stiles," he says, regret in his voice.
    "Don't you fucking dare. Don't you run away on me again. Not again!"
    Derek lowers his head, hands balled into fists, and he runs.

    "Open the fuck up, asshole. I know you're in there."
    "How did you find me?" Derek asks, anger giving way to surprise.
    A suitcase lies open on the made-up bed, more lived-out-of than packing-to-leave, thank god. Stiles sits next to it and prods at the contents, making himself at home as obnoxiously as possible. Until he recognizes an old Beacon Hills lacrosse shirt and jerks his hand back.

    “You said he's the reason you left Beacon Hills. I want to know why."
    Derek looks around the room like he'd love nothing more than another bear to fight.

    "Would it've killed you to visit me?"
    "It might've," Derek says, his teeth clenched like it's painful to admit.
    "So it wasn't just Scott you were running from," Stiles says, feeling gutted. Yeah, that's pretty much exactly what he'd imagined. And it serves him right for pushing, always pushing, until he's left with yet another scar to hide. It's time to leave now, before he makes Derek hurt him even worse.

    He stands, but Derek moves fast to block his path, a hand on Stiles's chest. "Wait, just listen," he says, voice ragged. "We were so new, but it felt like…everything. The wolf wanted you, just you, with no expiration date and no doubts. And it was too quick to fall that hard; it couldn't be real, not after two weeks. I knew better than—"
    Stiles's heart jumps painfully, and he grabs Derek and kisses him almost savagely, cutting off whatever bull Derek's told himself to justify running for so long. When he finally comes up for air, Derek is gasping and clutching at his hips, trembling. "This wasn't real?" Stiles pants, tracing Derek's face with his fingers. "You were the best thing I ever felt in my life. How could that not be real?"

    "I thought it would fade, but it never did. I still need you, burn for you." He looks up, holds Stiles's gaze, says, "You, and nobody else," like he means it. Like he means forever.

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    A collection of ficlets originally posted on Tumblr, for multiple pairings. Ratings range from G to E. All fics have specific ships, rating, and any warnings in the initial chapter notes.

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    19 Mar 2020

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    Stiles just has to be straight with Derek. He has to tell him that this — this fuckbuddy-whatever-it-is-bullshit — is off. He works up his courage and heads over to the Hale house, full of righteous fury.
    Which means he has almost no idea how he’s ended up here, in Derek’s bed, with three of Derek’s long, blunt fingers slowly working him open. Except to say that Derek had been working out, and shirtless, when Stiles arrived, and well — maybe the explanation isn’t so mysterious after all.

    This time it’s Stiles who jumps up, pulling on his jeans, ignoring the come and lube dripping out of his ass, shoving sockless feet into his sneakers in his desperation to get away.
    But Derek’s blocking the door, concern written all over his stupid handsome face.
    “Stiles?” Stiles feels the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes again.
    “Yeah. So, I kinda — came over to tell you that…this isn’t working out for me. I mean, I’m…I’m just gonna stop this.”
    He darts a glance at Derek and sees his lips start to form a question before he seems to stop himself, his expression growing shuttered. “Is this…did I hurt you?” he finally gets out.
    “Nah. This — this was fine,” Stiles mumbles.
    “Fine.” Derek repeats, his voice flat.
    “I just — I didn’t really want this.”
    “You — “ Derek’s voice has an edge of anger now. “You always want it. I can smell it all over you, all the time. You drive me crazy with it.”
    “Fuck you! Don’t you dare throw that in my face. I never bothered you with it, I was never going to do anything about it —”
    “So you’re saying I pushed you into this?”
    “That’s not what I’m saying, asshole! I’m just saying —”
    “That you didn’t want any of this. Like I can’t hear your heartbeat speed up, like I can’t smell your cock fucking leaking in your jeans when you’re around me —”
    It’s washing over Stiles like a wave, now, fury and shame and sick humiliation so strong that he’s shaking with it, his face burning, his mouth dry.
    “You want to know if you’re hurting me? Yeah, you’re hurting me. You’re breaking my fucking heart.”
    Silence drops, sudden and smothering. The anger has drained from Derek’s face and he just looks shocked. He thinks he might throw up for a minute but he swallows thickly, pushing past Derek, who makes no move to stop him as he yanks the bedroom door open and hurries down the steps.
    And fuck Derek for a goddamn cheater because he’s bypassing the steps entirely, leaping from the landing to the floor below, placing himself solidly in front of the front door.
    “Just let me go.”
    “Your heart?” Derek is asking, his face still blank with shock. “Your heart?”

    The man is only visible from hips to shoulders, his head buried in an upper cabinet as he digs for something. Still, Bucky would recognize him anywhere by biceps alone.
    Bucky feels like his brain has stalled out.
    Where Clint’s short-cropped towhead usually is there’s a lush fall of hair, in shades from russet brown to pale gold, sweeping down past his ear on one side and tumbling in waves across his forehead on the other.
    It. It looks good.
    It looks real good.

    “Just lookin’ for the first aid kit —”
    “You’re hurt? Lemme see —”
    “It’s just a scratch,” Clint says, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Just a scratch” from Clint could mean anything from a paper cut to a perforated intestine.

    He’s as gentle as he can be as he applies the gauze and adhesive tape in patches, working his way up. The very tail of the cut disappears under the tumble of hair at the nape of Clint’s neck, and Bucky finds himself just staring at it.
    “Uh. There’s a little bit more, it’s just —”
    “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Clint’s fingers are suddenly there, tangling in Bucky’s, callused fingers snagging the soft strands of hair to help hold it up. “Forgot how this mop gets in the way these days. I’ll probably buzz it off tomorrow.”
    “Don’t,” he says, voice harsh and urgent in the quiet kitchen, and Clint freezes as well.
    “Yeah?” Clint’s voice is a little tentative but there’s a smile lurking around the corners of it, enough to make Bucky’s tense shoulders relax a little. “You...uh, you like it long?”
    “I like it long. Liked it short, too.” He pulls in a shuddering breath. “Guess that means it’s just you I like.”

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    Stiles is just a fuck toy for Derek. It's all he's ever been and all he'll ever be, right?

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    16 Mar 2020

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    Stiles lifted the hem of his shirt, placing a hand over the flat of his abdomen, “It’s a baby.”
    “Cub.” Derek corrected. “My cub.”
    “Yes, well it can be your cub. It’s my baby. And…. I kind of like the idea of having someone that needs me. You know, needs me and more than just once a month.” The insult isn’t lost on Derek.
    Derek just looks away. “There are people that will come after you. Because it’s just not Derek-y. “Because cubs make packs stronger. A mate alone is a good bargaining chip for territory. But a pregnant mate is just…people will take you and keep you until the birth and then they’ll take the cub and kill you.”
    “Do you think…you impregnating me has anything to do with the other packs paying more attention to us?”
    “I think by the next full moon, every female werewolf within a hundred miles will be able to smell the pregnancy. And will be envious.” Derek stared at Stiles’s abdomen. “An alpha’s cub is always in danger.”

    Telling Stiles’ father was an experience and a half. He’s somewhat okay with the whole werewolf thing. It takes two shots of whiskey and Derek shifting twice for him to get over that part. Then a third shot for him to get over the Derek part and a fourth before he’s fully accepted the fact that his son is carrying a baby. Make that five shots.
    The one thing that Derek and the Sheriff can agree on is that Stiles needs to be kept safe. They agree that Stiles shouldn’t go anywhere alone.
    Stiles doesn’t have the energy to argue. His bed is calling to him but he’s kind of afraid to leave Derek and his father alone. He’s not quite sure that his father has really gotten the fact that in order for Stiles to be pregnant they had to have had sex. He’s not sure when that thought will occur to his father and quite frankly he’s afraid for Derek’s life. Well. He’s afraid for Derek’s wellbeing.

    “As my ridiculously attentive stud seems to have already pointed out, it’s been kind of a crazy ass day.”
    “Stud?” Derek asks, eyes dark.
    “Isn’t that what you did? Bred me?”
    “I didn’t breed you.” Derek says, “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Until Lydia showed me the Bestiary, I didn’t even think it could happen.”

    “You don’t want me to be your mate, Derek. You don’t really want the baby, so what does it really matter? I’m the bitch who rolled over for you. I’m pregnant, and stuck with a sourwolf for god knows how long.” He shook his head, “I’m tired, okay? I just want to sleep and pretend like today isn’t the worst day on record.”
    Derek didn’t say anything, he just cocked his head towards the bed and walked over to pull the covers down for Stiles. When that was done, and Stiles was tucked in tightly, Derek whispered, “You’re not stuck with me.” Softly, against Stiles’ hair, “I’m stuck with you. You’re free to be with whoever you want to be with. I just…can only be with you. This is my mistake, not yours. If you want out, then you can take your out whenever you’d like it. I have no right to hold onto you. You’re not a wolf. You’re pack, but you’re not a wolf.”

    “What’s wrong?” Derek asks quietly.
    “You don’t want me. I’m second choice. I’m always going to be the one you got stuck with, not the one you wanted…”
    “The wolf want—“
    “Yeah well you’re only the wolf once a month. You’re only the wolf one day a month. And the human part of you either doesn’t want me, or is just too afraid to admit to it.” Stiles stepped back. “Leave, Derek.”
    “But they might come for—“
    “Then send someone else. But leave.” There were tears falling again, “Because I was falling in love with you. I was falling in love with you and I was okay with being used. But I’m not a whore. I’m not your whore anymore. This baby, this baby is as much mine as it is yours. But it’s your fault. I get to make choices, you don’t. But do you want to know the worst fucking part, Derek? You would have been my choice.”

    When Stiles does see Derek, it’s under less than enjoyable circumstances. Namely because he’s been kidnapped, for what seems like the umpteenth time. Most times, before they get far, the pack, sans Derek, descends upon them, and the lone wolf, or the low ranking beta, is killed trying.
    Stiles knows something is different this time.

    “Stiles.” It is Derek’s voice, and Stiles refuses to turn over or open his eyes. “Stiles look at me. Stiles I need to know that you are alright!” There is a sound of hysteria in Derek’s voice and that’s when he opens his eyes to see the wrecked Alpha.
    Derek is covered in blood, his face has blood on it, his clothing, his hands, but he’s close to Stiles, gripping him like his life depends on the fact that Stiles is alright. Stiles stares for a long time, and then licks his lips, “Isaac is dead. Because of me. Because of me and this FUCKING baby.”
    Then he’s in Derek’s arms, and he cries and sobs and hits Derek and Derek doesn’t say anything, he just holds Stiles.

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    Where Lydia and Erica plot, Scott turns eighteen and gets awesome cake, and Stiles and Derek totally don't want to kiss each other. At all.

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    01 Mar 2020

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    He knows Derek can hear him. He came out half an hour ago and threw Stiles over his shoulder to carry him to the jeep. Told him to leave his property and that he wasn’t allowed to ever come back. Even Stiles with his lack of werewolf powers had known that was a big fat lie.

    “I don’t avoid people. I came to that damn movie night at Lydia’s last week.”
    “Under duress, I’d still like to know what she threatened you with to be honest.”
    Derek visibly pales and then grabs his arm. “We’ll go, ten minutes, you don’t leave me alone with anybody that isn’t pack.”

    Derek had stalked about the kitchen without actually helping, taking things like cheese into the living room only to return five minutes later and get juice. Then remark on icing in Stiles’ hair and fluffing at it with his hands.
    He was generally a nuisance and is so not helping the next time Isaac and Stiles bake.

    “You guys are seriously playing spin the bottle? Don’t you have enough excuses to touch each other already?”
    “I already said that and they ignored me,” Derek mutters crossly from where he’s sitting in the corner.
    Stiles joins him and pats him on the leg. “Don’t worry, they still listen to you about the important things Mr Special Alpha.”
    Derek stares down at his hand and then looks up at him. Stiles slowly removes his hand. Derek nods and passes Stiles a drink. It’s orange juice. Stiles shoves said glass back at him and goes to pick up a half-finished Corona. Derek nudges it from reach and holds the glass of juice in front of his face until he takes it with a huff.
    “Wow, you guys are hitting new depths with the silent conversation,” Danny says with a grin.

    Derek continues to shake his head and Jackson clambers off the sofa looking at Derek intently. Derek’s up like a shot, yanking Stiles with him.
    “Woah, hey, you can’t use me as a shield!”
    “He’s not kissing me,” Derek says fiercely, hands tightening in Stiles’ shirt.
    “Come on, I’ll prove it. I'm everyone's type."
    “I’m not kissing you, Jackson!” Derek sounds a little bit panicked as Jackson advances on them and Stiles would laugh if he weren’t in the way. “No kissing, I’m not playing. I’m not kissing you, or Scott, or any of my betas.”
    Stiles twists to look at him incredulously over his shoulder. “Have we transferred to some alternative universe where you’re a chicken shit and Jackson would have no problem—”
    “Stilinski, shut up,” Jackson groans before grabbing his shoulders, lurching forward, eyes closed and before Stiles can pray for death, Derek’s pushing Jackson right back into the couch and depositing Stiles on the second couch.
    “No.” Derek sits back down beside him and waits until Jackson rolls his eyes in concession, taking a sip from his drink and looking mutinous.

    “That was the sweetest thing I’ve seen all day, and I watched Derek sulk in the car earlier because I was mean to him,” Stiles says grinning. “I mean really, it was precious.”
    Derek snaps the drink stirrer he’s been chewing on and scrunches it up with one hand, then smiles at Stiles, all teeth.
    Stiles does not shiver.

    “No, the first time I kiss someone isn’t going to be with an audience and it’s certainly not gonna be under the pretence of a stupid game!”
    Derek grabs the back of his jacket suddenly and drags him from the room without a backwards glance.
    “You can thank me later!” Lydia calls.
    Then they’re in his room and Derek’s slamming him back against the door. “What the hell?!”
    “Now we don’t have an audience,” Derek states.
    Stiles stares at him, wide eyed. “What.”
    “There’s no one watching, you don’t want anyone watching? No one’s watching. You said you weren’t kissing anyone with an audience, you didn’t say you didn’t want to kiss me.”

    “Was that really your first kiss?” Derek asks suddenly, straightening up, hands gripping his hips.
    Stiles shrugs, squeezes his eyes shut and then cracks one open to look at Derek hesitantly. “Technically?”
    Derek’s brow furrows. “I don’t get the people at your school.”

    Lydia smiles brightly when she seems them and Stiles freezes, leans back against Derek.
    He wishes he’d put a shirt on, Erica’s staring at the array of hickies on his chest with total abandon. Derek scowls and steps in front of him.

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    “Detective Stiles Stilinski,” Derek says through gritted teeth, glaring at Stiles the whole time, “Is the best detective I’ve ever know.”

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    21 Feb 2020

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    Derek’s eyes narrow and suddenly, Stiles feels very much like he’s waving a red cloak in front of an angry bull. Or, pissing off his partner, who has—at Stiles’ last count— threatened to shoot him eleven times. They’ve had so many moments of sparked confrontation where Stiles was convinced they were going to fuck right up against the wall of the precinct that he actually gets excited when he sees Derek stalking up to him looking furious.

    Derek’s like some sort of magic mix of could kill you with his eyes closed and keeps baby animals in his pocket that he feeds and protects until they’re old enough to fend for themselves.

    “Shut up, don’t you need a favor?”
    “Stiles,” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, “Come on, help me out here. I’ve asked nicely.”
    “You call kicking my chair and demanding I help you nice?”
    Derek smirks, “You wanna see what happens when I don’t ask nicely?”
    Stiles…Stiles does. Very much. But, he can’t say so.

    Stiles now has to deal with Derek’s insane driving (the guy looks like he’s all zen and chill, but get him stuck in a traffic jam and it’s like watching water boil over— it’s both terrifying and hilarious—especially when Derek catches Stiles filming him).

    who can be at work earlier— though this one was an unspoken thing that started when Stiles accidentally appeared pained about Derek going on a date with some woman from the morgue unit— and Derek was at their desk the next morning before Stiles came in. He’d even made a point of saying he had gone to bed early, alone and that he’d had an interesting meeting with Sandy. Stiles had sniffed and pretended not to care, whilst internally gloating and wishing he hadn’t eaten quite so much ice cream the night before.
    They’re not exactly subtle about it. They might even be kind of…pathetic in their attempts to prove that they’re not interested in anyone else, but that they’re not into one another, either.
    Neither of them will make a move. It’s a painful, sexually charged Catch 22.

    There’s a beat, and then Derek straightens up, shrugs casually—in a way that so totally doesn’t hurt Stiles’ stupid feelings—and turns away.
    “Nope, you go on your date, thanks for having me bend over backwards for you and then giving me shit,” he twists to give Stiles a sardonic thumbs up, “You’re the best partner, detective.”
    “Oh, come on, that’s mean!” Stiles yells after him, “Walking away before I can make a joke about you bending over backwards? Derek! Are you still there?”

    “You and Reyes?”
    “Yeah, for like five years. Some of us know how to admit to feelings, rather than spending all of our time pulling pigtails, or in your case, sharing sodas and mocking ties.”
    “Alright, I get it, we’re losers.”

    Finstock’s voice booms across the parking lot, “Tell Hale he’s got a lot of explaining to do going in by himself.”
    “That’s my fault,” Stiles confesses into his mic.
    “Stilinski? How is it—”
    “I wouldn’t give him my help; I made him do it alone,” Stiles turns and gives Derek his cheesiest, most roguish smile, “Never again, Captain.”
    Derek sighs up at the roof of the dumpster, “I can’t believe I’m in love with you.”
    “I know! Isn’t it great?”

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    Stiles has always felt pretty lucky about his soul mark. After all, how many conversations tend to start with “This is private property”?

    (Apparently more than you'd think.)

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    20 Feb 2020

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    Cora Hale is my soulmate. Cora Hale, whose life and interests have never overlapped once with Stiles in eleven years of attending school together. She’s undeniably cool and smart and (once the initial soulmate panic dies down) a lot of fun to hang out with. He’d always just kind of thought being with your soulmate would be something…more.

    Derek’s around the next few times Stiles drops by the Hale house – home from his senior year of college for Christmas break. He doesn’t seem to have much to do with his time, hangs around the living room with Stiles and Cora, which Stiles weirdly doesn’t mind. Their arguments are…fun. Derek gets so indignant when Stiles twists his words, trapping him, gets this heat in his eyes that has Stiles actually looking for more things to argue about.

    “I missed you,” Derek says, head ducking awkwardly, and Stiles grins because yes, they are definitely friends. That’s kind of really awesome.
    “Yeah?”
    Derek laughs. “I felt like an idiot… should’ve gotten your number before I left, but then I felt too stupid to ask Cora for it and…”
    “I thought about asking Cora too. But then I thought that would be dumb, I mean, why would you want a high school kid bugging you?”
    “You don’t bug me.” That has Derek looking up, seeming almost offended. “Did you…you thought I wouldn’t want to talk to you?”

    “Dude, I want Cora.” Derek flinches, visibly recoiling, and Stiles doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get how this all went so ridiculously wrong so fast. “It was always about Cora, don’t you get that?”
    “But we…I thought…” He’s never heard Derek sound so lost, didn't know that he could. It’s breaking something inside him, and he needs to get out of here.
    “You thought wrong, ok?” He’s pushing toward the doorway. He can’t deal with this. He has a prom to go to. Prom with his soulmate. “Tell Cora I’m waiting in the car.”
    Derek spits out, faint and bitter, “She’s never going to want you back.”
    It digs in deep, the same doubt he’s had a hundred times this past year forged into words. Of being such a failure, being so goddamn unlovable that his own soulmate would never want him.

    That’s an invitation if he’s ever heard one. He leans forward, fast and impulsive. Barely brushes his lips against hers before he’s being pushed back.
    “What the hell, Stiles?” He stumbles back, frowning. Cora looks livid.
    “I don’t…you…you said you wanted to go for it.”
    “Go for my soulmate,” she growls. “Lydia. I told you. I told you that first day that I was seeing someone.”
    “Lydia dates Jackson.”

    His Camaro’s still parked in the driveway, which means that Derek must be home. Home and hurting, and there’s just one wooden door and an ocean of misunderstandings between them, and there’s no way for Stiles to fix it.
    In a fit of desperation, he texts Cora. I need to break into your house please advise

    “So now you want me because you’ve realized we’re soulmates.” He makes it sound so awful. So...shallow. Stiles wants to grip Derek’s hand, press it to Stiles’ chest, get him to somehow feel how deep this goes.
    “I wanted you since I met you. I just didn’t let myself think about it.” Derek laughs again, bitter. Incredulous. “Hey, I thought I was supposed to want her, ok? What kind of a dick would I be to make a move on her brother? I wouldn’t do that to her, or you. I wouldn’t want to mess with you guys that way.”

    “This is private property!” an unfamiliar voice calls out. There’s a woman standing in the doorway, slight and strong looking with brown hair and a rounding belly, a teasing glint in her eyes.
    “Laura Hale,” he says, and she purses her lips disapprovingly.
    “Really, that’s it? What if we were soulmates? You would have just saddled me with a very egotistical mark on my skin.”
    He squints, mock-thoughtful, and tries: “Laura Hale, I’m sorry but I’m in love with your brother?”
    “Ooh, I like that. Nothing better than an element of drama to spice up a soul mark. But alas,” She touches a hand to her belly, “I’m taken.”
    “Damn, guess I’ll have to settle then.”
    “What are you settling for?” Derek’s in the doorway. Stiles reaches his hand out, wiggling his fingers expectantly until Derek holds out his own and lets Stiles grab his wrist and trace along the lines of the covered mark.
    “You,” Stiles answers brightly. “Your big sister just rejected me, awful. Broke my heart. Will you comfort me?”
    Derek rolls his eyes, long suffering. “If I must.” And then he’s shifting, boxing Stiles against the counter and leaning in slow in a way that leaves Stiles shivery with anticipation and want.
    “Alright,” Laura says. “Guess I’ll meet the new soulmate later.”
    “Shh,” Stiles waves her off, lost in the pleased hungry-want of Derek’s eyes. “Talk later, comfort now.”
    “Now that would be a hell of a soul mark,” Laura murmurs.

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    Summer is really boring. Like, mind-numbingly boring. Except for the part where Stiles can’t figure out if Derek’s his boyfriend, or why every werewolf in town keeps approaching him in the bathroom.

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    20 Feb 2020

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    “You make a mean Red Raider.”
    “I pour sugar on water.”
    He shrugs, sucking on his straw, and Stiles pretends the straw-flirting isn’t as obvious as it is because ew. Is that what he looks like when he straw-flirts?
    “Are you doing anything after you get off work?” the other one asks, and the fact that they’re both flirting makes them even creepier.

    Stiles can see the contents of the bowl. It’s the Deep Blue Sea ‘snow cone’. “I didn’t have a straw.”
    “You have a problem.”
    “It still tastes good,” Scott shrugs, ladling some of the blue juice to his mouth like he’s eating soup. “So are you going over to his place?”
    Stiles sighs. “Yes, but I’m not happy about it.”
    “Yes you are.”
    “Shut up.” Stiles socks him in the shoulder and it’s surprising enough to jar Scott, and the contents of his bowl splash out onto his lap.
    “My snow cone!” he cries.

    It wasn't a date—even though it looked like a date and talked like a date and bought his meal like a date, Derek made it clear it wasn't because they weren't dating. They weren't anything, except shamelessly flirting and lusting after each other.

    met some werewolves at the store today
    WHAT, Derek sends back instantly.
    my house. asap.
    He’s halfway to the door when he hears the car peeling down the road and turns to see Derek’s Camaro flying into his driveway, jerking to a stop.

    “Dude, stop. Just leave me alone for a minute.”
    Derek has stopped though, and he’s looking over Stiles shoulder, wide-eyed and pale.
    “Is there a problem here?”
    Stiles freezes, a cold sense of dread washing over him.
    “Sheriff,” Derek says, voice cracking.
    His dad is staring at Derek, eyes narrowed, and looking ready to reach for his handgun. “Hey, Dad.”
    “Is he bothering you?” John asks, nodding toward Derek.
    “Everything’s fine,” Stiles says quickly.
    “I believe my son told you to leave him alone,” John says. “Is there a reason you’re still standing here?”
    Stiles prays to any god that will listen that Derek doesn’t choose now to be his usual stubborn self. Self-preservation and mortification apparently win out, though, because he says, “No, Sir,” and even though he can’t see him, Stiles can hear the sound of his footsteps walking away.

    Stiles finally meets his eyes and as terrible as Stiles feels, Derek looks wrecked enough that Stiles can’t even find the anger to be mad at him for breaking his heart.

    “Um,” Stiles starts, shrugging and then wincing, because right, that hurts. He feels woozy from climbing the stairs. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t really want to be around me right now, but I didn’t know where else to go and...”
    Derek stares at him, pained and horrified, and Stiles thinks it’s because he must look like hell but then Derek’s pulling him inside with a gentle hand.

    “Maybe he said that he was going to make me join his pack, and he’d make you watch.”
    Stiles can feel Derek’s blood boiling with barely checked rage.
    “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

    He can tell that Derek’s not buying this. Stiles quickly tries to change tactics, distract Derek into an argument—it’s the only way to make this believable. Derek’s easier to manipulate when he’s angry.

    “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About me leading you on, and treating you like I didn’t care.”
    “Look, they told me I had to convince you or they were going to kill my dad, it wasn’t real—”
    “It was, though. You meant some of it at least, Stiles. You know you did.”
    “Okay, maybe there was a little truth in it, but I’m okay with the way things are, Derek.”
    “I think we both know you’re not.”
    “I am, though,” he says, eventually. “I can’t say I’m not frustrated sometimes, but not enough that I don’t want to see you anymore. I’m good with just this, if that’s what you want.”
    “And what if I want more?”

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    prompt from jen: where derek never had to work to get a date, he always had someone pursue him or ask him out. but when derek sees stiles, he waits and thinks stiles will stroll up and ask him out. everyone of his past relationships started that way, until stiles doesn’t. and derek is left with the horrifying possibility that he will have to make the first move and dare he think of it, flirt? and attempt small talk. and it turns out, he’s really bad at it. maybe he even tries cosmo tips and calls his sisters, both of whom are like 100% trolling him

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    19 Feb 2020

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    He needs to make himself clear, put himself out there. He needs to be smooth. He can do this. He can ask somebody out.
    He needs to form words.
    “Yes?”
    “Date,” Derek blurts out.
    “Uh,” Stiles glances at his watch, “The 23rd, dude.”
    “No,” Derek glares at him. “I mean–”
    Will you go out with me. He couldn’t manage six words. God, he’s the worst.

    Stiles is irritating. He’s brilliant, and sharp, smart and inquisitive, he insists on talking to Derek all the time, asking what his weekend plans are, what he’s up to over winter break, is he going to take some lucky person out for Valentine’s Day, and yet… he never seems to actually want to be that person! It’s infuriating. Derek must have given him a hundred chances, “well, if I’m tempted”; “I guess I could be persuaded”; “I don’t have any plans, why?” But, Stiles took every answer in his stride, proceeded to tell Derek about his own trip to Wisconsin with his best friend to woo Scott’s ex girlfriend back, or about the hunting trip with his dad where he accidentally shot himself in the foot, did Derek wanna see his scar? And yes! Derek, strangely, does.

    “You not dancing?”
    “I don’t dance,” Derek snaps.
    “Now, that’s just a waist of those hips, man,” Stiles wets his lips as his gaze flicks from Derek’s hips to his face. “You should try it some time.”
    “I would,” Derek turns to lean against the bar, smiles in what he hopes is a charming fashion, “If I had the right dance partner.”
    Stiles’ face falls, and then he nods quickly, claps his hands together, “Well, did you have anyone in mind? I’m pretty sure half our class’d be more than willing.”

    “I’m just saying, I don’t care that he’s hotter now than he was three years ago, I care that he’s smart and he argues with me and it drives me up the wall and I–”
    “Really wanna get on that?”
    “Yes, except… in a nice way.”
    “You’re so vanilla.”
    “Why don’t you just ask him out?” Laura pipes up. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
    “He could say no? Laugh in my face?”
    “So, then punch him and run away?”
    “Laura,” Cora chides, “Violence is my answer, Derek’s has always been to avoid the problem in the first place.”

    “I just don’t want my sisters embarrassing me,” Derek blurts out.
    “Aw, it’s so cute you think you don’t do it enough for yourself already.”
    Derek opens his mouth to defend himself angrily, and then realises Stiles is teasing him.
    They stare openly at one another for a moment too long, and then Derek says weakly, “Shut up.”
    Stiles laughs all the way to the cashier.

    “I hate you and your dumb advice. I look ridiculous.”
    “I actually think the green brings out your eyes,” she says easily, yanking at the collar and calling for Stiles. “Don’t you agree, Stiles?”
    Stiles hums absently, eyes on the table as he lays out plates, “What’s that?”
    “Derek’s shirt brings out his eyes, right?”
    “Oh yeah,” Stiles nods, still not looking at Derek, “You got someone you’re trying to impress later, or something?”
    “No,” Derek says flatly. “Not later.”

    Somehow, accidentally on purpose, Derek always arrives in the parking lot of the supermarket seconds after Stiles, and they push their carts around together. He’s sure at one point he spots his sisters eating snacks and watching them from the candy aisle, but he chooses to pretend they were a horrible mirage.

    “Need him desperately,” Cora simpers.
    Derek snaps a picture of her halfway through pulling a dumb face, sends it to Stiles with a caption reading “can’t believe she wasn’t prom queen.”

    “This is very you,” Stiles teases, holding up a red lacy camisole against Derek’s chest.
    “I have that one in black, already,” he sniffs dismissively.
    Stiles’ face goes bright red, and he tosses the camisole back on the pile, “Didn’t picture you as the lace type.”
    “Oh? How did you picture me then?”
    “The nothing type,” Stiles smirks.
    Derek hums thoughtfully,“Maybe you’re right.”
    “Only one way to find out,” Stiles says cheerfully. Derek tries not to look too surprised, but Stiles grins wickedly and continues, “Have to watch you sleep.”
    Derek rolls his eyes.

    "That bonfire sure is pretty,” Stiles murmurs.
    “Yeah, I read once that the three things people most like to stare at in life is a fire crackling, a running stream and a zamboni.”
    “Huh,” Stiles nudges him, amused, “I saw that on CSI, once.”

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    Broken down and humiliated after her crushing defeat in the Sports Festival, Uraraka just wants to sleep off her injuries in the infirmary. She didn't expect to get a very loud and very angry roommate for the night.

    (A Kacchako one shot that turned into a love story.)

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    03 Feb 2020

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    Eddie turns away, but Richie can still see the blush rise to his cheeks, the color deepening when Richie brushes a finger over his knee. Huh. “You’re thinking about me, aren’t you?” Richie grins, the big, toothy one that he knows makes Eddie snort and loosen up. “You want my dick. I knew it.”

    Eddie makes one of those special Richie shut the fuck up noises, and mumbles, “Yeah, I guess.”

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    02 Jan 2020

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