Chapter 1: Chapter 1
It was hellish. There was a traffic jam, not that it mattered to him, he wasn’t driving, but when the traffic was this bad, with everyone and their dead dog out of their house, you could bet top dollar the freaking roads were blocked for miles.
All he wanted was to go to the corner store and buy a gallon of milk. That trip took ten minutes if there was a line at the register. He’d been out for over twenty and he wasn’t even halfway to the store yet; the streets were so crowded he had difficulty finding the store let alone getting to it.
It was the most annoying shit he’d ever had the pleasure of having to deal with.
Why the hell was it such a big deal if Derek Hale came back to town? Seriously, who needed a parade-slash-welcome party made of the whole town? Astronauts who went to space and back didn’t get parades anymore, but Derek Hale? Derek Hale sure as hell got one.
Beacon Hills was alive with the gossip of his return—the return of one of the Hales.
The Hales. Just their name gave him a migraine. To be fair, it was just Abigail Hale who gave him a migraine. But she was a Hale so, by default, the rest of the Hale family also got the brunt of his dislike.
His patience was thinning when he felt an arm loop itself around his neck.
“Stiles, dude, there you are. Your dad said you were getting milk, like, 20 minutes ago. What gives?” Scott, his ever-loving best friend with ‘monthly problems’ and possible disuse in the brains department, looked at him expectantly. Stiles gave him a begrudging look.
“What gives? Do you not see this insane monstrosity before you? You’d think the pope was coming.” To make his point he shoved at another loitering resident of Beacon Hills that was in front of him, managing to make a gap that let him get a little closer to the store. Not that the guy noticed because there’s been way too much shoving already.
Scott gave him a sheepish look. “Oh come on, it kinda is a big deal.”
“Really? The guy goes on his three-year wolf run, or what is normally referred to as a road trip across our great nation, and when he comes back the whole town goes out to greet him. Yes, I can see how much a big deal this is. Clear as day.” Stiles finally reached the store’s door and pushed it open.
“Dude, he’s a Hale. They’re like royalty here.” Scott, amazingly still behind him, followed Stiles deeper into the store, into the aisle where refrigerators lined the walls.
“I don’t care. I don’t see the need for the whole freaking town to go and freaking grovel at his feet in awe. I just don’t see it,” he grunts out as he slammed the door shut.
“Seriously? Or is this the whole grudge thing from Abigail carrying over to the rest of the family again?” Scott asked when they reached the counter.
Stiles gave him a scathing look. He hated it when Scott used his brain.
“Maybe. But still, do you honestly think the behavior the whole town is showing is appropriate for the arrival of one man?” Stiles fired back, paying the man at the counter who was giving him a nasty look for what he was saying about the Hales. Stiles really did not give a crap about the man’s opinion.
“Kinda.” Scott shrugged his shoulders and did that side-smile thing he does. “Sometimes, dude, you act like you weren’t raised in a werewolf community. This is a big deal, as big a deal as it’s being made of: Derek went out on his own for three years, in only his wolf form, no pack, no human beings or werewolves to help and with possible hunters out there that don’t follow a code. He finished his rite of passage. And he wasn’t even in the line for Alpha, he just did it.”
The people started to thin out as they walked back to Stiles house, most of them heading opposite to the town square. Stiles let out a sigh. He had to admit Scott had a point, but there was no hell in way he was actually going to tell Scott that.
“Exactly, he was showing off. He didn’t have to do it. It was completely unnecessary, so why do it? I know why. Because all Hales are out to make my life miserable, that’s why.” He knew that was a stupid argument to make and that it made no sense. This was nothing new. All the Hales did the run, regardless of being in line for Alpha or not.
They were a family of old. They kept to the traditions of old that had all but faded with the centuries. They kept to almost all the traditions, the only exception being the one where they kidnap mates. Now they had evolved and instead had people offering their young to them, served right on the silver platter.
Human, beta, omega, boy, girl, orange, purple, toad (maybe he was exaggerating on the last three), it really didn’t matter. It was an honor to be chosen by the family of the Alpha, even a distant one. Prestige came with it and the Hales have held the Alpha title for as long Beacon Hills has been around.
Which was why today sucked so much for him.
Derek coming back signified a horrifying day. Tomorrow would be the Offering, where you either were good enough to be chosen to be a Hale or were just good enough to be sexual release for someone who was pent up for almost three years where you then you got to go home and brag to all your friends and family about how awesome it was to be basically nothing more than a wanton body.
And if you were neither of those, you were the loser. Usually it didn’t really suck as much when you weren’t the only one—after all there were hundreds of sixteen to twenty-four year olds that applied for the position and only one who’d get it.
It wasn’t about the humiliation so much as the self-loathing that you couldn’t even pass for a sexual release partner, let alone a mate. It was brutal, but if Stiles was being honest with himself, he was probably the only one who saw the Offering day like this in the whole community. Everyone else was excited when it happened.
They reached his house in record time. He opened the milk and added it to the bowl of cereal he had poured earlier he realized they ran out of milk.
Next to it his dad had left him a small sticky note.
Gone, had to go in early. More men were needed to keep order and prevent any stampedes. Love you.
Short and to the point. Stiles picked it up and crumpled it.
Derek Hale ruined his first breakfast with his dad in over three months. Yes, Stiles really hated the guy.
Scott kept to himself after Stiles complained, rummaging around the pantry before joining him on the kitchen table with his own bowl of cereal.
“So,” Stiles said, never one to keep quiet for too long. It was his only flaw in his honest opinion. He was human and exceptionally bright. The latter alone made his mind wander too much and the longer it was quiet, the more his mind wandered around in creepy places it had no place being. It helped when he talked, distracting the thoughts from poking their noses into places they didn’t belong in.
“You going to the Offering?” he asked, trying for casual.
Scott choked on his cereal. Not so casual then.
“What?” Scott managed after trying to cough a lung out and failing.
“The Offering tomorrow, are you going? I don’t know how much clearer I can be about it?” Stiles pushed his cheerios around in the milk. He really wasn’t hungry anymore.
Scott thought for a bit and scrunched his face like it hurt him to do so.
“I don’t know to be honest. I mean, yeah, I really, really have the hots for Allison but it’s not like that’s going anywhere fast with her being a hunter in training and all.” And now Scott was matching Stiles’ unhappy disposition. Not cool. His misery doesn’t like company.
“Hey, come on. It’s not like she’s training to kill you personally. She’s going to be more like the werewolf police for when, you know, your kind does that thing with the teeth and the jugular and the ripping of flesh after eating a bad fish or whatever sets you guys off.”
He tried to make his friend feel better. He might have succeeded if he hadn’t mentioned the flesh-eating thing.
“Seriously though, she’s so epically nice and, for some strange odd reason, she finds your habit of not forming thoughts more profound than fourth-grade literature not off-putting. That’s got to say something.”
He reached across the table to punch Scott on the shoulder.
“You really should say something to her. She’s basically training to be a werewolf cop. I mean, do you see any humans avoiding the police like the plague?” Stiles was a badass friend and anyone who said otherwise would have to say it to his face.
Scott has his megawatt smile on again and looks hopeful. Or it could just be his usual dopy self. Either way it makes Stiles feel a little better.
“Well, after the Offering tomorrow, I’ll ask her.”
Scott looks determined and Stiles just raises an eyebrow.
“Why wait until tomorrow? The day is still young!”
Stiles spread his arms out dramatically.
“Dude, do you want to go the Offering alone tomorrow?” Scott looked at him expectantly.
“No, god, no.” Stiles thanked all the deities he knew that Scott was a werewolf and had the whole pack mentality going for him. Maybe Scott using his brain more often wasn’t such a bad thing. “Can you imagine me there all alone? I’d probably give myself a panic attack. Wouldn’t that be pretty? Foaming at the mouth and twitching, the very picture of sexiness if I do say so myself.”
Stiles relaxed and he felt more like himself than he ever today.
“So, what do you think it will be like tomorrow?” Scott asked, because as Stiles’ friend, he naturally shared some qualities with Stiles. One of them being that Scott hated the quiet as much as he did.
“The usual. We’re all lined up for the slaughter, holding our breath, and before us will sit his royal annoying highness that is Derek Hale. Behind him watching full of pride and stuffy-ness, yes that’s a word, would be the rest of the Hale family. Fun. Like someone raking their nails over the chalkboard fun,” he finished lamely.
Scott just chuckled at him. “Who do you think will he choose? I’m thinking for dudes, it will be Brad the mechanic and for girls I’d have to say Lydia.” He winced after saying her name, knowing full well that Stiles was pining after her. Actually the whole town knew.
He still wasn’t with Lydia. He wasn’t sure why since he had asked her directly and professed his love to her face over a dozen times but hey, he’s Stiles. What else is he going to expect?
“I’m with you on the whole Lydia thing, as much as it pains me, but I can totally see it. If he actually does not choose her, I’m going to think there’s something wrong with him. She’s everything and a little bit more wrapped in a nice curvy package with beautiful lips, eyes that could kill, and strawberry-blonde hair. As for guys, I’m hoping Jackson. Really, really hoping it’s Jackson if Derek goes for guys.”
He looked at Scott who was staring at him, confused.
“I can’t think of a more hellish thing to put douche Jackson through than having to bottom. Can you?”
Scott just laughs and Stiles joins him because, honestly, he could just imagine Jackson’s outraged face and yeah, it was that funny.
Somewhere, he heard loud cheers. Even if he hadn’t, Scott suddenly perking his head up would have informed him. Derek Hale had officially entered Beacon Hills territory.
Losing any appetite he might have gotten back, Stiles got up and put his bowl in the sink with Scott following close behind.
The living room sofa called out to him and he collapsed on it. Today would have been a school day but hey, Derek. So free day and they had planned it to be an XBOX 360 day except Stiles couldn’t bring himself to actually attempt to play so he settled for searching Netflix. He quickly lost himself in movies, letting his brain rot.
The next thing he knew, he heard his dad pull up. He looked up and noticed it was already past six in the evening and, aside from going to answer the door to get pizza and the occasional toilet break, he and Scott hadn’t moved an inch.
“Seriously boys, did you actually accomplish anything today?” his dad asked when he entered, removing his hat. He stared at the two.
Scott gave his sheepish little smile. Stiles just raised an eyebrow at his parent with apparently very high expectations.
“Dad, what do you think? If it makes you feel better we actually answered the door instead of making the delivery guy come in? So in a way we did?”
His dad rolled his eyes and walked to the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of water.
“Better than nothing. You two missed Derek coming in.”
Stiles groaned and the sheriff turned to Scott for an explanation, who only shrugged.
“He looked good. Tired, but good,” his dad offered.
“Are you trying to pimp him out to me? ‘Cause just don’t.” Stiles was not going to have any of this.
“What? No, I just meant it as an observation. Why would I pimp him out?”
His dad took a seat on the chair across from him.
“The Offering tomorrow,” Scott said, supplying the answer.
His dad grimaced but chose not to make a comment by taking a swig from the bottle of water instead.
“You think it would go unnoticed if I didn’t go?” Stiles lifted his head up from the sofa pillow to look at the two.
“What do you think?” Scott asked. His dad remained quiet.
“Yes?” he offered.
“No, everyone would notice. You tend to stick out like a sore thumb. And you’re the sheriff’s son, making you something like, the human royalty to theirs.”
Scott helped in his own way, which was not really. The guy couldn’t lie to make Stiles feel better for a whole second? What kind of a friend was he?
“Royalty my ass. Whatever.” He put his head down once more, trying to suffocate himself with the pillow. He heard his dad stand up.
“Well, the both of you seem to be doing alright. My break’s almost over so I’m going. I’ll try not to be late tonight, shouldn’t have too much paper work. You two clean up the mess in the living room before I return,” he heard his dad say before hearing his footsteps and the front door open and close.
They were alone again, that quiet that hung in the air.
“I wonder how good he looks.”
“Shut up, Scott,” Stiles mumbled and turned to face the TV.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Morning came faster than Stiles expected.
The sun was shining bright. It was also shining right in his face.
Stiles scrunched his eyes. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to just crawl back inside the covers and melt into extinction and he did just that.
For a few minutes, he got to enjoy peace, to put his mind at ease as all of his thoughts left him and sleep started to sneak up on him. The edges of his mind began fading in.
He had just found his sweet spot on the bed (on his stomach, face to the side, covered all the way with the exception of his feet for that little breathing room so he wouldn’t get too hot) when the horns sounded.
He shot up, trying to scramble out and managed to just get more twisted in his bedding. Somewhere in the struggle, a pillow got involved and he went off the edge of the bed. For a moment, terror struck him but his descent was short and his butt collided with the floor of his room.
Grumbling, Stiles managed to finally yank the covers off him and cursed the pillow for not falling before him to brace his fall. He kicked it to the side and glared at the window of his room.
The horns had finally stopped only to be replaced by the town’s annoying announcement system.
DJ Randy’s voice filtered past his windows, making the Offering Day announcement.
Stiles’ morning was off to a great start. He could only imagine what the rest of the Offering Day had to offer.
He heard his dad fumble behind his door before the knock came.
“Stiles, son, you awake?” his dad said, sounding like he was in a hurry. He probably had to be at the Ceremony Hall soon and he more than likely was late.
“Dad, the horns could have woken the dead. Honestly, I’m tempted to hit the cemetery to make sure but yeah, I’m up.”
His dad opened the door and poked his head in. Seeing Stiles’ state on the floor, he raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
“The pillow got lippy with the covers and I happened to get in between their little fight.”
His dad just rolled his eyes.
“I’m sure that’s what happened. Anyway, I’m heading out. I have to be at the hall with the rest of the heads of the city. Just wanted to make sure you were up.”
He looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to say anything else, but looked at Stiles one last time and made a decision.
He walked in and stood before Stiles, who just crossed his legs.
“Look, son, about this—this thing. It’s okay if you don’t get picked, and if you do, Derek would be lucky to have you. I’m sure he’s a nice guy and wouldn’t make you do anything you wouldn’t feel comfortable doing.” He winced, looking like this was as painful for him as it was for Stiles but he plowed through. “I know this may be less than ideal but it’s the rules. I don’t know how the whole werewolf thing factors in, but I’m sure it’s the same as it is for humans.”
Stiles made a face of complete horror as it dawned on him where this conversation was going.
“Okay, no. No way. We are not having the sex talk. No.”
Stiles got up and started pushing his dad out the door. “Didn’t you have to be somewhere anyway?”
“Yeah. One last thing.” His dad looked at him. “Dress nice. Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean you can get away with showing up in your pajamas.”
His dad knew him way too well.
“What? I’m hurt. I’d like to think Derek would find my Deadpool PJs drop-dead sexy, enough that he’ll want to have his way with me and, oh my god, I just said that to you. Never mind, go.” Stiles motioned with his hands. “Seriously, go before I shrivel from embrrassment. I promise I’ll try my best to look nice and clean so shoo. Shoo.”
His dad shook his head and walked out, leaving Stiles to take a step back into his room and slam his door shut.
This day was already how he imagined, except somehow worse.
He took a quick shower, making sure to use all the unscented bath products. The stupid Offering required that all participants come with only their scent on as much as possible. It was for the wolf’s convenience, something to do with their whole smelling and scent-marking thing.
As he was getting out of the stall, his foot slipped on the bathroom floor, causing him to land ass-first on the floor for the second time that day. His elbow had hit an edge when he tried to steady himself and pain shot right up to his shoulder and he just knew a beautiful big-ass blue bruise was going to form.
Cursing all the deities he knew, he moved to get up, making sure he didn’t slip again. He got on the small mat by the sink but the all the foggy mirror showed him was a skin-colored blur.
He shook his head at it and opened the door to let out the steam. The stupid ventilation in the bathroom probably wasn’t working, even if it sounded like it was.
Reaching for the towel rack, he grabbed hold of his fluffy green towel.
Unfortunately, the moment the towel got closer the lavender smell of the fabric softener hit his nose and he knew drying was out of the question.
Stupid werewolves with their stupid sensitive noses and their stupid ideologies of not liking nice-smelling things. He was going to catch a cold because of this.
For fuck’s sake, the man spent the past three years as a wolf. You’d think he’d like to smell things that reminded him of his humanity.
Stiles threw the towel on the floor where he had slipped and let it soak up the water spill. He walked back into his bedroom and the bed was as he had left it: the majority of it on the floor.
He walked to the dresser and remembered he had just done a load of laundry so all his clothes smelled of lavender or detergent. Fan-fucking-tastic.
His only options were to go to the Offering nude or smelling like detergent soap. Something told him nude would be the better choice.
Stiles really had shitty luck. He plopped on his bed and tried to think of anything he hadn’t worn in a while, enough for the detergent scent to fade.
The small vrrr of his phone vibrating on the table caught his attention and he reached for it.
Scott’s name was on the screen.
Biting his lip, Stiles was tempted to text him back ‘no’, but he knew better. Scott would show up before Stiles even made it to his dresser for a pair of underpants.
Yeah, having prob, all clths smell. U?
Scott replied instantly.
Ouch, be there soon, try to help find.
Stiles thought that was a great idea. He replied with k and opened up a list on his phone, added today’s date and next to it, he wrote:
Scott had the good idea to use his wolfy nose to find clothes that didn’t smell.
He kept a list of his friend’s shining moments. It started as a joke but after a while it just became another thing Stiles did. When Scott found out, it hadn’t been pretty. Stiles almost stopped doing it but Scott eventually understood and got used to it.
Scott walked through his window and Stiles quickly pulled up the comforter to cover himself.
“Dude, we have a door. Two in fact.”
Scott just rolled his eyes. This was an almost-daily occurrence.
“Yeah, yeah. Why are you naked?”
Stiles just looked at his friend pointedly. “I could’ve sworn I texted that part to you?”
He made a show of waving his phone to Scott.
“Right. I thought you just meant the outfit in general.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t. So let’s put that wolf nose of yours to good use and find me something to wear.”
Scott looked at him and smiled, the one that usually meant trouble for Stiles.
“Well, you could always go naked.”
Stiles looked at his friend straight in the eye.
“I go there nude and I guarantee you will never, ever even get within ten feet of Allison Argent without arrows going up your ass. You understand where I’m going with this?”
Scott nodded solemnly and started sniffing around his bedroom.
Settling in his bed, he looked at his friend and began to compare the two of them.
He threw a nearby pen at Scott, who looked at him questioningly.
“I’m mad at your abs.”
Scott chuckled but continued hunting for something Stiles could wear.
“So, how freaked out are from one to ten? Ten being you wish you were on another planet.”
“I’m going to go with six.”
Stiles waited for an explanation and Scott stopped his searching to elaborate.
“He’s been out as a wolf for three years. Nothing good comes from wolfing out, trust me. I only do it when I need to and only for a short amount of time. Even then, when I get back to being human, sometimes it’s really hard to adjust.”
He picked up his search again but continued to explain.
“It’s the whole instinct thing. It gets disorienting. Besides, he’s a Hale. If Abigail is anything to go by….”
Scott pulled out a pair of boxers Stiles hadn’t seen in years, mostly because they were a little small on him. Scott politely looked away, sniffing through his shirts as Stiles put them on and, boy, did they fit snug.
“You?” Scott asked in return. “Seriously dude, how the hell did you forget to at least prepare the clothes you were going to wear today?”
Stiles shot Scott a scathing look because he knew his friend would have forgotten himself if it weren’t for his mother. “Honestly? I’m somewhere at number fifty-six.”
Scott stopped sniffing his Captain America t-shirt to look at him. “You said one to ten earlier.”
“Yes, well, I don’t think ten is enough to encompass my inability to process the situation I am being forced into.”
Scott continued looking at him weirdly.
“What? Look, I don’t care if the whole town is participating, you asked me the question and I’m telling you how I feel, which is crappy and freaked out, so stop giving me that look.”
Scott just shook his head and continued his quest for clothes.
Silence overtook the room and Stiles lost himself in his thoughts before a pair of dark wash jeans was thrown in his face. He looked at them and winced.
Seriously, today couldn’t get any worse.
“Please tell me that there are more jeans you haven’t checked yet and this isn’t all I have to wear?”
Scott shook his head.
“Fuck my life.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Give me a moment and I’ll show you.”
Stiles pulled on the jeans. Scott made a face.
The stupid jeans were short enough that a good portion of his bottom legs were showing, Stiles felt mystical powers unknown had a personal agenda with him today.
“It could be worse,” Scott tried.
“Exactly how could anything be worse than this?”
“You could be naked.”
Stiles opened his mouth to retort but decided against it.
He walked up to the mirror and looked at himself. He looked like he was wearing a ten-year-old’s clothes. Ridiculous.
“Hey, you think if I folded them up a little they’d look okay as capri-looking pants?”
Stiles didn’t wait for an answer and decided to fold the pants legs up two times. It looked better. Odd, but not completely idiotic.
Then Scott came with his chosen shirt of choice and Stiles wanted to be buried alive.
“Please, I beg of you, tell me you’re trying to be funny. Do you not see how stupid I already look?”
Scott winced and he knew he had no choice. He reached for the shirt and put it on.
It was tight.
It was short, not even reaching the button of his jeans.
It had Sailor Moon on it.
If he’d tried, he couldn’t have come up with the atrocity he was wearing.
“This is my life,” he said dejectedly as Scott patted him on the shoulder.
“Seriously, dude. I told my dad I would try to dress nice.”
Scott opened his mouth and Stiles just looked at him.
“At this point I would rather go naked.”
After a pat on the back, Stiles picked up his phone, put it in his back pocket, and followed Scott downstairs.
A bowl of cereal later, they were out the door and inside Stiles’ jeep.
The closer they got to the Hall, the thicker the traffic got and the more freaked out Stiles became. They found a parking spot by the churchyard a few streets over from the Hall where Scott had to calm him down to get him out of the car.
Walking eased his mind a little, at least until they reached the crowd of people and everyone’s eyes were on him.
The only good thing and also the most awful thing about the stupid Offering was that it went in Alphabetical order. You were alone in the room with the one the Offering was for, the heads of House, the Mayor, and the Sheriff. Stiles was really not looking forward to seeing his dad’s face when he saw what Stiles was wearing.
The whole thing was nerve-wracking. You just stood there in front for five minutes and, depending on who was doing the choosing, you get sniffed at like a dog, get stared down, or get asked questions.
As horrible as a job interview except you couldn’t quit when it got to be unbearable. Mating didn’t work like that. It was permanent.
How the hell was that fair? A sniff or a simple question should not be the deciding factor of who a person ended up with. There was no question big enough to encompass a lifetime with a person.
He was jittery and really wanted to hold Scott’s hand to stop his own from shaking. He would have done so except for the whole smelling like someone else thing.
God, he hated this day.
By the time they reached end of the line, the panel was beginning on the L’s and that meant Scott was going first.
His best friend gave him a reassuring smile, wished him good luck and went to take his place in line by the M’s.
Stiles looked at the S’s and found his place between Anna and Jason.
When he got closer, he could see Anna’s risen eyebrows.
Jason just chuckled.
“Seriously, Stilinski?” Anna asked.
Stiles just glared at her before sitting down in his chair.
She was dressed nicely, unlike him, in a nice summer dress that hugged just the right parts, didn’t have too many flowers, and sported a dangerously low cut. Her hair was in a simple ponytail, make-up done to look more natural, and all in all she looked stunning and in her best, like everyone else except for him.
“Stiles, what statement are you trying to make?”
Jason kept looking him up and down, at the train wreck of his short capri-ish pants, the too-small Sailor Moon shirt that Scott was at fault for buying it for him as a joke, and the out-of-place black converse that topped it all off.
If he was a girl, it might have worked somehow. Seeing as he wasn’t, he looked like a train wreck. Well, at least he was guaranteed not to be picked. Even if passed the smell test or got the questions right, no one could possibly look past his attire. He couldn’t look past his attire, and he was wearing it.
“I’m choosing not to answer your question, not because I’m insulted, but I just honestly don’t have an answer.”
He leaned back, closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face.
It wasn’t long before the line moved and the M’s were herded through.
Stiles heard Scott being called with four others to wait inside a room before they would individually get assessed.
After that, the rest of the wait was pretty much a haze for him until he heard his name being called.
The looks he received when he went inside the hall to wait with four others did not put him at ease.
He really wanted to say something to the organizers as they kept stealing quick glances and shaking their head but he bit his tongue.
The other occupants in the room started to thin out and soon it was just him and Anna. He felt his heart beat faster than he ever remembered it beating, so strong and loud it almost came out of his chest.
Anna kicked his chair leg and smiled at him.
He breathed a little easier.
Just as suddenly, Anna was gone and he was alone. And next.
Getting up, his legs shaking like a leaf, he wrung his hands and nervously rubbed them on his pants.
The door in front of him opened, he licked his lips but made no move to enter. He was frozen in place.
His name came from the inside, loud and clear, and he instinctively answered.
“Hold your horses, it’s not like your decision decides the rest of my life or anything. Oh wait, yes it does.”
He really needs to never speak ever.
Thanks for all the comments, and Kudos.
I'm glad everyone is enjoying the story so much! :)
Also sorry not much Derek in this chapter, but promise the next one is full of him and Stiles and yes insanity.
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
The room was bigger than he remembered, or maybe it was a lot more intimidating when his father was across him along with the mayor and the heads of the Hale house.
All of them staring at him.
With what he was wearing, he understood. As first impressions went, Stiles gave his a three out of ten.
The three was mostly for shock value.
After the quiet got to be too much for him, he shuffled on his feet and cleared his throat, his eyes going every which way, not once landing where they desperately wanted to go.
It would have been easy for his eyes to shift a little to the left and take in Derek Hale. The new Derek Hale, the one that went through trials and tribulations, the one that came back a man or whatever bullshit they got fed so they could feel better about themselves for running away from their problems or families. Worse yet, the family didn’t have to feel bad about not being able to handle their kid.
Stiles didn’t pretend to understand and until it interfered with his life, he didn’t even care about it.
Now though, now it was part of his life. Well, it might be part of his life. The verdict was still out and he hoped it was a no.
No one should feel what he was feeling right now, even if the only person feeling what he was feeling was him.
He closed his eyes real quick and shook his head; sometimes his thought pattern hurt him just as much as it hurt others. Coherency, who knew it was good for something?
An unsure voice broke his thought monologue about coherency and he looked to the voice. Iris Hale was giving his dad a side look, probably not believing that what stood before her was related to the sheriff.
His dad on the other hand still hadn’t stopped staring at him, for good reason.
“You are Stilinski, right?”
This time Stiles jumped when Jack Hale a.k.a Derek’s Dad, a.k.a Very-Freaking-Scary-Shit-In-Your-Pants Alpha asked.
He nodded his head, not trusting his voice, or mouth for that matter. He already screwed up to begin with.
Scary Alpha just made a face and nodded his head.
“Alright, what do you have to offer?”
Stiles looked at the man, his eyes to afraid to go anywhere else.
When the words registered in his brain, he tilted his head to the side.
“Offer? To what?” He licked his lips. “To this? Was I supposed to bring something? I mean, I guess it’s understandable that this is a gathering of sorts. I mean, it’s not like it was written on the invites. Did you guys send invites? Of course you didn’t, this isn’t an invite sort of thing. So offer? Right, well. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that this part was a surprise for but I bet it was easier for the girls.”
He was jumping from one foot to the other, hands flailing everywhere.
“I mean, hey, they can give birth and stuff so that’s like an offering, and some people can do tricks, have money, I don’t know. I mean when you think about it, money? Really, do you guys need that? Is it necessary for your survival? You kinda don’t play by human rules so I guess not, although this part is kinda odd. I mean, hello, messing with people’s nerves, emotions, total insecurities, and—”
He walked to the side and was playing with something he had found on the table when it hit him exactly what the hell he was doing and where he was doing it.
“Um. What was the question again?”
He put down the decoration slowly as to not damage it.
And it figures it would just hit another and send the whole table of random inanimate objects flying and causing a crash that vibrated throughout the hall, making him cringe.
“Offer. Right, um, nothing but awesome research skills that only come in handy for papers that are useless in real life and putting puzzles together, but I do make a mean soufflé.”
At the end of his sentence, he felt like it needed an ending especially with the looks the room’s occupants were giving him.
And with a bow that probably no one did in this day and age, he ran to the first door he saw, not even waiting to be dismissed.
He didn’t look back or at his dad. He didn’t need to look back to know the exact face his dad was making. He had put him in these situations often enough that Stiles had memorized his dad’s disbelief face.
Slamming the door shut behind him, he took in the room he entered. It was dark and it smelled bad.
Figures he would enter a supply closet.
Stiles tried to debate what course of action was safer: staying in the supply closet and slowly but surely suffocate from the awful cleaning smells or going out and facing the stares again. A strong whiff of Clorox had him opening the door faster than he could process what was happening.
And once again he was in the room. The stares were right where he had left them. Right on him. Great.
“Yeah, so wrong door. You should label that.”
He turned around and took in the small label on the door.
“Never mind, it’s labeled. Maybe make it a nicer bigger font.”
He turned until he saw another door and started to march down to it.
“Again, thanks, and honestly I have nothing else to say to you aside from call me or, you know, not.”
Stiles yanked the door open, stepped through, and closed it behind him.
He took in the face of the receptionist waiting for him with the orange wristband that showed the world that he was off-limits and under consideration for being a potential mate and-slash-or fuck buddy until further notice.
Of course the damn receptionist had to be a werewolf and of course she had to hear the whole thing Stiles had spewed in there. Since his luck was that fantastic she probably was going to tweet it if she didn’t already.
He just held out his hand, waited for the shackle to be placed on it and with a curt head nod he took his final steps to freedom.
Scott was sitting on the bench a little off under the tree and perked up when Stiles exited.
“Hey, wasn’t so bad was it?” and he bumped shoulders with him.
Sitles just stared at his buddy for a little while, trying to figure out if his friend was really that dense or just so optimistic that it had to be illegal in some part of the world.
“Depends. Does going off on a tangent about offering things and girls giving babies and then semi-insulting the Offering topping it with running in a supply closet and then giving them advice on how to better make the sign of said supply closet more noticeable and then leaving but not before telling them to call me or not is seen as not so bad. What do you think?”
Stiles had to stop walking since Scott had stopped a few steps back and was staring at him, mouth open and eyes as wide as they could possibly go.
Stiles rubbed his face, pulling his cheeks down with the palms of his hands.
“What the hell?”
“I don’t know, okay.” He let out the breath he had been holding and took a seat on the fountain edge, his posture slumped. “I mean, after the whole insulting-the-Offering thing, it just went downhill. I don’t even know how.”
Scott just shook his head but didn’t say anything.
What could he say anyway? What’s done is done, and, well, Stiles made his bed. Now he has to lay in it.
“What do you think my dad is gonna say?” he asked, fumbling with the orange band around his wrist. “Never mind, don’t answer that. How about you, how do you think you did in there?”
“Well, I wasn’t as memorable as you. I just stood there, Derek looked at me, sized me up, gave a low growl and his eyes started creepily flashing blue. Then they told me to transform and said ‘good’ and to take the door on my left.”
Stiles looked at his friend for a bit and then just slumped even further.
“Seriously? For fuck’s sake, I hate werewolves, nothing personal buddy. Why couldn’t my test have been like that? How come I got the question? They could have just stared, growled, and then waved me off too. Why ask me?”
He dropped his face into his hands, trying to block everything from the outside world.
They sat in silence for what could be described as an eternity, which translated to roughly forty-five minutes. Scott did his supportive friend thing and Stiles just tried to kill himself in his mind over and over again. The usual.
“Stilinski, McCall, what are you two moping about?” Jackson’s voice said. Apparently the Offering had gone through the W’s. “Who ran over his puppy?”
Scott growled and Stiles didn’t even bother to pull his face out of his hands.
“Not now, Jackson, not a good time,” Scott said on his behalf.
“Whatever. I think I did pretty good in there. Still, I probably won’t be picked. I’m too macho and you know they always pick the dandy ones.”
Stiles looked up from his hands.
“You’re macho? I got goldfish, well, had goldfish who were more macho than you so shut the fuck up.”
Jackson’s eyebrows went up and a growl started to form at the back of his throat, his eyes glowing yellow.
Stiles just rolled his eyes.
“Dude, I just told the Alpha to call me or not. In Capri pants and a Sailor Moon shirt. Do you seriously think that you scare me right now?”
Jackson stared at him open-mouthed, blinked a few times then looked like he was going to ask when Danny appeared and his attention was diverted to his best buddy, who Stiles thinks is secretly his fuckbuddy as well.
Had to be. Jackson was a nightmare and Danny was Danny. There had to be a reason that they were so close. God only knew what it was, but Stiles bets it’s sex.
He wasn’t gay or had experimented, unless you call the accidental kiss with Scott while they were wrestling around when they were ten ‘experimenting’, but even he found Danny attractive on all counts. He had personality, brains, and body.
That awesome train of thought came to an abrupt end when a shadow fell over their little group.
Scott and Jackson immediately shrunk down and Danny tilted his head to the side, baring his neck.
“Stilinski, right?” a gruff voice said, washing over him and sending shivers throughout his body.
Stiles turned around and came face-to-pecs with Derek Hale. Derek Hale’s pecs.
He tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. This probably couldn’t get any worse but, with his luck, it’s always better to prepare for more to come.
Derek didn’t say anything for a long time. Then he did the little up-and-down move on him that Stiles himself had perfected on Lydia at a very young and impressionable age.
He rolled his eyes in Stiles’ general direction before looking past him at the other three. His eyes glowed blue for all of a second, and all of that second was enough to send the three packing, leaving Stiles with his currently least favorite person ever.
“Was that really necessary? ‘Cause honestly, I don’t think so? Seriously? What was Scott and Jackson supposed to do to you? Mr. Survived-Three-Years-Out-In-The-World-and-All-I-Got-Was-This-Lousy-T-shirt.”
At Derek’s impressive glare of death, Stiles licked his lips and bit the bottom one to ensure his mouth wouldn’t run off again anytime soon.
“Right, come with me.”
With that, Derek turned and walked off.
Stiles stood there, blinking at the retreating back of the older guy. Was Derek being serious?
“Stilinski. Get. Over. Here.”
Derek stopped after he noticed Stiles hadn’t moved to follow him. His words were curt and promised pain Stiles had only read of in books and seen in movies.
Stiles took off, tripping over his feet when he reached Derek, who stretched his hands out to catch him before his face greeted the pavement.
“Hey there, catch random flailing teens tripping over their own two feet often?”
“Right, not much of a talker, but hey at least you’ve got the looks. If you had a mouth like Abigail, I might have had to resort to poisoning you with wolfsbane somehow.”
“Shutting up, yes-sirie Bob. That’s a strange saying. Yes-sirie Bob? I wonder who made it? Probably some person addressing a Bob, but how did it catch on though?”
Stiles felt himself fall and he barely cushioned his head with a hand before the sidewalk personally said hello to his face.
“You talk too much. I have a week of solitude confinement with you and you’re supposed to make it out alive. If you continue talking, that might just not happen.”
Derek talked above him, somewhere past the pain shooting up his nerves. It registered to Stiles what Derek had said and he nearly gave himself a whiplash to go with the throbbing bump on his forehead.
“A week? Confinement? With you? How high are you?!”
Stiles tried to get a firm hold on something to pull himself up which, lucky him, happened to be Derek’s leg. It was firm, as firm as it looked. Another reason to hate the dude.
“Don’t make me regret this more than I already am. Now stop flailing.” He grabbed Stiles by the back of his shirt and hauled him up, his face completely past Stiles’ personal bubble. “You’re making a scene.”
Derek let go of him and walked off, again. This time Stiles followed even though in shock. He was past nervous and riding the anxious train to the station, first class.
Stiles was trying to stop himself from going into panic attack mode when he walked straight into a door.
Literally, a door. A freaking door. His forehead wasn’t going to be a normal size until he either died or got plastic surgery. He was a unicorn. Oh my god, how crazy was his mind right now.
Shaking his head, he looked at the door and noticed that somewhere along the way Derek had led them back to the Hall and he had just walked into the glass doors.
The receptionist from earlier was there, sitting down and staring at him. Except this time she kept going back and forth from him to Derek, who was on the other side of the door also staring at him.
Seriously, if looks could kill Stiles would have been fish fillet roasted until charcoal black and flaked to nothingness.
He grabbed the handle and opened the door. As soon as he stepped foot inside the Hall, Derek turned and left. Stiles followed except this time he made faces at Derek’s back.
Exactly who did he think he was? He stuck his tongue out when he noticed that they were not alone.
He was back in the horrid room, except Derek wasn’t in the throne judging him. He was standing right in front of Stiles, looking at the same people Stiles had only an hour ago vowed to never, ever, ever cross paths with. Except his dad, but that was totally different.
“Derek.” Iris Hale had gotten up and was looking between Derek and Stiles. With good reason, a great reason that even Stiles felt was justified.
“It’s my decision, and I want him,” Derek spoke firmly, stopping any question his mother might have had for their either week of fucking or his untimely marriage. Stiles felt cheated.
“That’s great. I mean, really flattered here, but how about what I want? Do I get a say in said decision?” Stiles spoke up.
His brain and mouth were trying to kill him. He always suspected that, but now he had proof.
The whole room, which included Derek, turned to stare at him. His dad had a pained look on his face. The same pained look he had when Stiles thought it would be awesome to try his hand in making his mom’s famous four-cheese lasagne. The Please-God-All-Mighty-NO pained face.
Except the answer was yes. Yes, Stiles had really gone there.
The room was quiet and he really wanted to fidget a little but thought it probably was a bad idea considering what he had just blabbed to the basically highest form of authority in their city.
“No.” Derek’s voice penetrated Stiles’ skull and vibrated thoughout the room.
“No, you don’t get a say.”
Then Derek turned around, walked off to the door, and paused.
“I’ll pick you up at six. Get whatever you think you need ready. If you don’t have them, I’ll drag you with me, stuff or not. Understood.”
And the door closed behind him, leaving Stiles in a room with a bunch of people he didn’t really want to be in with in complete silence.
“So he comes in two settings I see. Anger Issues and Douche. This is gonna be fantastic.”
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Hi, hi! Ok I know it's been..hm...longer than I thought I was going to be, but, I'm back, and so is this chapter!
The awesome thing is, it has been BETA READ!!! YAY!!!!!
Everyone with me now, lets thank the great RaccoonLoon !!!! for being bad ass and doing this for me!
So everyone, enjoy the chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
____________________Chapter 4 ____________________
The snappy, nerdy comebacks dripping with sarcasm echoed around him and suddenly Derek felt there was hope in this fiasco.
A way out, a simple way out. It might cost him his hearing and whatever he had left of his patience but maybe, just maybe, he would be out of the metaphorical woods relatively unscathed.
“The kid walked into the supply closet for god’s sake!” he heard his mom whisper to his dad, who most likely wore a lazy smile and a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, dear, I was there, remember?” his dad said to his mom after a moment of silence, where Derek imagined his mother’s pointed look dropping two degrees below zero.
“Then why aren’t you saying anything?” There came a loud thump, the sound of someone slamming the palms of their hands on the dining room table. Derek was just outside, sitting on the porch and pretending he wasn’t hearing their conversation while his parents pretended that he wasn’t there.
“Exactly what do you want me to say?” his dad said. His mom was probably opening and closing her mouth, off-guard by the question before she’d spin around and right on cue Derek hears the scrape of her heel on the tiled floor.
“Anything,” she finally said, refusing to back down.
“Hun, not to overstep my boundary, and also because I really don’t relish the thought of sleeping on the sofa anytime soon, but aren’t you overreacting just a little?” his dad said, and Derek smiles at that. Alpha of the Hale pack, feared throughout the east coast and half of the south, respected by his peers across the lands and completely in fear of his own mate and the threat of a sofa.
For reasons that he never understood and probably never will, he thought that what his parents had was perfect, something everyone should aspire to have. He wanted it so bad, but he already knew that was never going to happen. It made the whole Offering ordeal even more dreadful.
After Kate, Derek wasn’t exactly eager to jump into dating, or even just looking. One night stands were a disaster. He let the whole love, mate, and marriage thing burn in the back of his mind until it simmered into nothing but a reminder that those things were not for him.
He tuned in just in time to hear his mom huff and take a seat at the table.
“I know I’m overstepping my boundary and that it’s not my decision, but…” and Derek didn’t need to see them to know that his mom was shaking her long brown hair in frustration, scratching at her scalp. “But…you saw what he was wearing!” and her voice whined at the end.
He heard his dad chuckle and pick up his tea, followed by barely audible sips. It was a rule that if his mom was frustrated, you let her deal with it until she let it all out. She usually calmed down better that way.
“I mean, there probably was a reason behind it, but then he was all mouth and talking and he walked into a SUPPLY CLOSET for god’s sake and then came out talking about the label…I just don’t understand.” Another thud, lighter this time, letting Derek know his mom finally let her head drop on the table.
“So, is that it or is there more?” his dad asked.
“That wasn’t enough for you?”
“Nope, it was plenty. I just meant we should be leaving. It’s already five.” His mom groaned.
“You think it’s too late to try and force Derek to reconsider?” Derek gave a huff that matched his dad’s at that statement.
He had a one-of-a-kind mom.
“Yes, now let’s go upstairs, you can get all pretty.” A low growl came and his dad quickly fixed his mistake. “Not that you don’t look 150% pretty every day. Let’s just head to your favorite restaurant.” There was the scraping of chairs against the floor and then footsteps as his parents headed out of the room, leaving Derek alone on the porch with the thought of his mom’s disapproval of his week companion/mate.
Derek didn’t really care about what she thought, but she was still his mom. Stiles was going to be living with them for the week and just because for the first night they had the house to themselves, to ease the new member into the house, did not mean that Stiles would be welcomed with open arms if his mother was any indication.
They had to find a way to get along, otherwise stress levels were going to be sky-high and Derek’s lovely romantic whatever-they-called-it week was going to be worse than he first thought.
He had maybe five minutes of quiet after his parents left when he heard angry footsteps come barreling down the stairs.
Abigail. Great. He forgot about her.
“Stilinski?! Really?! How high are you!?” and then she was in his face.
He gave her a glare she pretended wasn’t even there.
“Did you go crazy on your trip? Because that is the only explanation I can accept for why you chose him” and she poked him on the chest to prove her point.
Derek loved his family, but toleration of individual family members was divided. For some strange reason, where Laura was bossy and insane and had no inhibitions, Abigail was all poise, perfect, and miss all-about-appearance. And she had a mouth on her.
It was the look on her face that brought Derek to his senses. She was trying to stand her ground but was trembling and Derek realized he was towering over her and growling.
He still had issues with being human and manners and treating people like they’re people and not wolves. He kept forgetting he wasn’t a wolf anymore. He couldn’t just growl at people and expect them to run. Not his family anyway.
“Look,” he bit out slowly. “This is my decision. You have no say in it, on anything concerning who I choose, so if you have everything ready, leave.” And he walked past her went to his room.
He could still make out her angry mumbled complaints about his chosen companion, but he wisely ignored them. They soon vanished completely with the loud bang of the front door closing.
After a few minutes of calming himself, he grabbed his jacket and barreled through the rest of the house, going outside where his car waited patiently for him.
Well, Laura’s’ old car but now it was his. So, his car.
It was as sleek as he remembered; it had been years since he’d seen the Camaro or driven a car for that matter. A smidge of doubt about getting inside a tin can with wheels blossomed inside his mind before he squashed it and yanked the car’s door open.
The roar of the engine made him feel better, a little of his anger already slowly dissipating as he pulled out of the driveway, passing his uncle who raised an eyebrow at him and smirked.
Derek ignored him. His family was greatly missed during the time he spent away, but now he was trying to figure out why he missed them in the first place.
The black Camaro was parked across the sheriff’s house by 5:15 and it was close to 5:30 now. Derek felt his situation was ridiculous. Everything about his return was.
His knuckles turned white with how hard he was clutching the steering wheel.
Derek left town for a reason, a very big specific reason. He lived the life of a wolf for three years with no family, no contact to the outside world, with only him and his thoughts, alone, just as he had wanted to be.
He wanted to forget, and after the first year he succeeded, almost forgetting he was part-human. In a way it was great, fantastic even. Then the rangers had shown up and suddenly Derek had become aware again and he didn’t like that, didn’t like the memories that it dredged up of the glaring mistakes he had made.
Now he was back. He had wanted it to be quiet. He hadn’t even told his parents what day he was returning. He had wanted to just slink in, tail between his legs, head hung low.
He could sympathize with certain loudmouths when it came to werewolves and the unfair advantage of their heightened senses because he’d only been inside the county for two minutes before the pack was on him, all excited and emanating pride from every single pore of their body, and Derek really had to fight the urge to turn tail and go back to the mountains.
After the great parade they had for his ‘run’, or to be more accurate his freaking trail hike, and after going through the motions of his complete and total refusal, his parents, or better yet his mom who his dad would never offend, said he had to have the Offering. And when the Alpha spoke, it was law, and the Offering happened.
The offering of more people than he ever wanted to see wafted through: human, beta, omega, boy, girl, orange, purple, toad, they all walked in and presented themselves to him. Some were anxious, some sad, some excited, others proud, and then the loudmouth.
The loudmouth, the only good thing that came out of the debacle, the one thing that just might help him keep whatever piece of sanity he had left intact, maybe.
He really did have a loud mouth though.
There was a loud bang, followed by a familiar voice cursing up a storm, and then the window was yanked open and suddenly there were clothes floating towards the ground.
Derek raised an eyebrow but stayed where he was, observing from afar.
Shoes soon followed the clothes and then a big carry-on case.
“There! If you don’t want to fit into the case then I’m sure you’ll enjoy the outdoors,” the kid yelled at his clothes, head poking out of the window.
After a few minutes of Derek staring at the kid as he stared at the mess he made on the front lawn, the kid groaned.
“Seriously! This is unfair. You won’t fit in the case and I really don’t have any patience left to organize you. I mean, there isn’t enough time to even attempt to organize you and I am trying to appease my clothes that are laying on the front lawn, oh my god, my mind has left the building” and he banged his head on the sill over and over again.
He really had a mouth on him. Derek wondered if his mom did have a point, and if maybe there was a way to call it off and change his mind. There probably was someone else in the lineup that had caught his fancy.
Except, aside from the one person that was currently giving himself a concussion and arguing with his clothes, Derek couldn’t remember anyone else. No one else had struck a chord.
It had just been an endless ocean of bodies without faces.
The clock on his dashboard read 5:50 and he turned his car off and opened the door.
He was maybe halfway out when the Stilinski kid’s voice floated to him.
“Oh, HELL NO. You said six. It’s¬…gimmie a sec to look at my phone ‘cause it sure as hell not six, it doesn’t feel like six, and—aha! I’ve got ten minutes left. Suck it.” And Derek watched as he went back inside his bedroom and yanked his window closed.
Maybe he could just ask who his mom had liked. It might be easier on him.
Derek about to knock on the door when it was yanked open and the kid was
there, giving him a look of disdain.
He pushed past Derek, without even an acknowledging nod, and marched straight to his clothes, picking them up one by one and mumbling about liars and how he could not believe that this was his life.
Aside from annoyance and outright hate, there was no fear in him, and Derek thought, that maybe, somehow, this could actually work.
Neither of the two wanted to do what was expected of them, and neither of them looked like they were going to budge.
Finally, since he had gotten back, things were starting to look up a little. It was better than nothing.
“How’s this, since my case is evil and hates me, how about I just dump my crap in your trunk and call it packed?” and suddenly there was a blue shirt in his face and amber eyes staring straight at him.
“Seriously?! Do you not see me having a mental breakdown here?! I still haven’t said bye to my dad and I need to bring down my stuff from the second floor, and I only have four minutes, come on have a tiny Grinch-sized heart, will you!” He was waving his shirt around, pacing, almost tripping over his own feet.
The boy stopped abruptly and stared at him. His mouth opening and closing, making sounds but not words, and finally he walked past Derek, but not without shoving the shirt right into his face and muttering ‘ass’.
He yanked the offending garment off and looked at it; there was a round shield with a star in the middle. Captain America. So he was loud, liked comic books, and had a tendency to trip over his own feet if the resounding noise from inside the house was anything to go by.
There was a small chiming in the house that could have only come from a wall clock and suddenly there was a heartbeat accelerating rapidly and he knew the kid was flailing everywhere, even if Derek couldn’t see him.
“Dad, oh my god, Dad, it’s six, he’s here, oh god, DAD! Where are you, I need to say bye, and I don’t even have underwear—” Derek stopped listening when the kid picked up a cup and kept asking himself if he would need it.
There had to be something else to do until the kid figured out that he should be making his way out of the door and that they should be on their way to the Hale house.
Derek’s foot caught on a white shirt. He looked around, rolled his eyes and focusing his hearing back toward the house and hearing the kid ask if taking his dad would be considered strange, Derek figured that this was the least he could do, and the only thing he would so he might as well.
By the time the kid had made his way out, with his dad shushing him along the way, Derek had picked up all the random clothes and stuffed them into the carry-on, and threw it into the back of the trunk. The case wasn’t closed but at least the clothes wouldn’t go flailing about.
He was back where the kid had left him, waiting by the front door, when the two said their goodbyes, the kid clinging for dear life and his dad trying but failing to push him off. It should irritate Derek, it really should, but he said nothing and waited.
After a minute or so, they finally parted and the Sheriff glanced his way, hand outstretched, and Derek took it.
“Derek.” He nodded.
“Sheriff.” He wanted to say something, but talking was never his strong suit so he settled for tightening his grip a little and then letting go. It would seem that was enough as the Sheriff gave him a tight smile and turned to his son.
“Now Stiles, I know that this is far from ideal,” and Stiles opened his mouth to say so except his dad raised his hand and Stiles shut his mouth and waited. “In fact, the whole town knows it by now, but please, son, just this once for this week, at least try not to go out of your way and make this more difficult. I know it’s strange, and I have no idea what I should even tell you, or how to prepare you, so just be one-third of yourself and reining in the rest because, if not, you’ll be the first person to run the Hale family out from their home.” Stiles just smiled a little, his eyes shining but no tears were shed. Another hug, except this one was brief and Derek nodded to the Sheriff once more, grabbed Stiles by the shoulder and steered him towards his car.
By the time they got inside, Stiles was reeking of anxiety and sadness. It was suffocating.
Derek started the car and the rumble made him a little less aggravated and Stiles was startled enough to ease the amount of unhealthy emotions that permeated from him.
“So…” Stiles said. He felt bad and ignoring him would probably end up with Derek having to listen to him go on a tangent to god knows where so he answered.
“Yes,” Derek said.
“I don’t know. I honestly didn’t expect you to answer. But if you give me a minute, I can probably muster something up.”
Derek wanted to roll his eyes. A whole week with this one person and his own family. He wasn’t human enough to deal with it.
“It’s 6:13, so you technically lied about the whole ‘I will pick you up at six, get whatever you think you’ll need ready. If you don’t, I’ll just drag you with me, stuff or not’ thing. That’s something, right?”
Then restless hands reached out and suddenly the car was flooded with heavy rock, volume high enough to send his hearing into overdrive, disorienting him and giving him only a second to press hard on the pedal before the car met something very solid, very loudly.
As always, feedback, is loved, cherished and always appreciated!
P.S. I do have a tumblr, Inky_d that I usually reserve for my writing suffs, that I haven't updated yet, but will probably be posting snippets on it as soon as RL stops b*tch slapping me allover the place.
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
This Chapter is Dedicated to all my readers, my kudo givers and the lovely comment inspirationists (a word I made up just for you.), I thank you all, for keeping up with this random thought bubble and I will try to keep writing and not disappoint!
Also special Thanks and Hugs to my BETA, who is as silly as I am and Im super glad to have.
The acrid smell of burnt rubber filled his nose and there was growling coming from somewhere close by. He couldn’t really tell. His eyesight was hazy but slowly clearing. There was smoke everywhere and blue sky and then a shadow. He blinked a few times, bringing the shadow into focus and he saw the sharp, clear image of Derek Hale.
His hair stood out in all directions and smudges of grease streaked his scowling face.
Stiles knew he was staring but couldn’t seem to get himself to look away.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” And then four fingers were shoved right in his face.
Stiles tried to decide if this was all a cosmic joke. They hadn’t even made it out of the street when they crashed into—Stiles craned his head to see what they crashed into—a pole. A now-dented telephone pole.
They crashed into an immovable pole that had been there for as long as Stiles has been alive.
He was going to take it as a sign that God was giving up on him and his horrible situation.
There was a yank on his chin and he’s forced to stare into intense eyes and even more intense eyebrows. Then he noticed the werewolf teeth.
The stuff of nightmares really. They could keep a person awake at night: too scared to close their eyes but too tired to keep them open, the whole night wasted with random bursts of five minute naps followed by jerky movements.
Derek was still expecting an answer if the fingers that were now being waved in his face were any indication.
“Four,” he heard himself mumble, still unable to look away. As much as he found his situation unsatisfactory, Derek was HOT. And yeah, that thought was in all caps. In fact, Derek was HOTT, two T’s for extra hotness. Stiles would willingly go to his grave before his time before he’d ever admit to those thoughts.
“Fine.” The sadist with the manners of an animal let go of Stiles’ head. Gravity took over and Stiles was now clearly aware that he’s going to have a golf ball-sized bump on the back of his head to accompany all the pain he’s now registering. His chest area hurt the most, where the seatbelt had kept him restrained.
His fingers felt tingly when he wiggled them, but he could at least feel them so that eased his mind. Getting up on his elbows proved to be a futile attempt considering the growl directed his way when he tried. “Seriously, dude, I’m pretty much dying here. I think I deserve to choose if I go sitting or lying down like piece of plank wood.”
Derek’s eyebrows furrowed deeper and then his hazel eyes started glowing blue and Stiles shimmies down to the ground.
“Fine, you win this round, but only because I think I’m supposed to lie down and wait like a good patient after you nearly killed me in a car crash. By driving into a pole. A pole that, by the way, has been there longer than I’ve been alive.” And now Stiles was swallowing and making faces because there there’s a metallic taste in his mouth, and he knew he bit his tongue sometime when the impact happened, especially since he’s pretty sure he was in the process of making Derek uncomfortable with one of his spiels at the time.
After a while, he noticed the lack of people surrounding them and wondered exactly how long he’d been unconscious.
“Dude, where is everybody? Like ambulances and shit? I think I have internal bleeding. I can taste it.” Annoyance was his method of getting information; it got you a long way. He figured that out at the ripe age of four when the magical question of ‘Why?’ was his favorite thing to say.
If anything, Stiles was pretty sure that every time he says ‘Why?’, his dad still winces. In his defense, he was curious and it’s not like the neighbors shut their damn windows when they were naked-wrestling.
He waited before he became pretty sure he wasn’t going to get an answer and rolled his eyes. Lying still had never been his forte. Keeping quiet wasn’t either, but that was neither here nor there.
“Seriously? You did call someone right? I mean, everyone is probably too scared to come out and say anything and why are you staring at me like that?” Derek had stopped whatever he was doing with his car and was looking at him, blankly mind you, but Stiles was at least 87% sure there was a slight arch at the tip of Derek’s left eyebrow and that, if squinted at in the right angle, could be an incredulous look.
“Oh my god. What’s wrong with me? Am I bleeding out, like, seriously? I am, aren’t I? I can’t feel my legs. I can move them but I can’t feel me moving them.” Stiles wiggled his feet left and right to demonstrate. “You know, when I said dying earlier, I was joking. I’m gonna be ok, right?”
Derek just shook his head and turned back to the car to look at something under its hood. What was his problem?
“Dude, if we’re going to be cohabitating—” and there was a loud clang, Derek’s head meeting the hood of the car when he pulled it out to stare at him, “—yeah, you heard me. Cohabitating. It’s what I’m calling it in order to cope with the reality of the situation. I’m also okay with ‘weeklong booty call’.”
Derek actually pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Look, you obviously like to talk.”
Stiles nodded in agreement.
“Talk enough for three people.”
Again, Stiles nodded.
“I don’t like to talk.”
Stiles shifted his eyes from Derek then to the car and then back again but nodded to show he was still listening when Derek didn’t continue.
“You can talk. Talk to your imaginary friends, your actual friends, I don’t care. But don’t talk to me and don’t expect me to answer or listen to you.”
Stiles looked at him for a long time. He blinked and then looked again. Then blinked and when Derek seemed to lose whatever patience he had, Stiles opened his mouth.
“That’s not going to happen. The rules clearly state that I can only talk to you or your immediate family, and even then you have to be present. So, like it or not, you have the honor of being my brand new diary. Actually, my journal. That sounds manlier.”
This time, Derek rubbed his face in frustration. “You remember that useless rule but not the one where no one is allowed within reach of either of us before we consummate.”
Stiles opened his mouth to retort but unfortunately, he had been bested, and even though he knew this, there was no way he was actually going to acknowledge that out loud. “Does that include parents?”
Derek actually turned his back on him. Ass.
“Fine, you know what? I am going to stand up. You know why? Because you are not the boss of me, and even though I know that sounded like something a preteen girl would say, I will stand by it,” and he pushed against the ground and then he’s vertical, and blood rushed from his head too fast and he’s pretty sure the earth wasn’t supposed to be sideways and now the ground’s started getting closer to his face again.
The hand on his bicep was strong, keeping him from reacquainting himself with the ground. His vision started to clear and the loud huff at the back of his neck was not unwelcome but sure as hell was not appreciated.
Still, he also had manners, unlike the caveman who just let go of him and went back to tinkering under his car’s hood.
“Right…Thanks.” He’s still a bit unsteady on his feet but he managed to get from point A, being where he was, to point B, being where Derek was.
“I know little to nothing of what’s going on inside there, but I’m pretty sure you’re making it worse.” Derek stilled before coming up to stare at him.
“What? I’m just saying, from an outsider’s point of view here,” and he took a step back when Derek’s face began to darken.
“You know what? How about we take my jeep? You can have your car towed. This way, no one else gets near me and I get to drive.” He made a point of staring pointedly at the Camaro as the reason for him being the one to drive.
It was smoking and had a big dent. Stiles was pretty sure he had a good point.
Derek took a deep breath and slammed the crumpled hood down hard. He started walking towards Stiles’ house. After a whole minute, Stiles noticed that the jerk was actually going to keep going and not invite him. For another minute, he debated if he should follow Derek or just keep the wolf hanging for being an inconsiderate ass.
Derek stopped then looked back, eyebrows angry, and that got Stiles moving. He was aware, even with such a short time of knowing the creep, that that was as close to asking him to move it in a nice way that he’ll ever get.
A depressing thought, but not an altogether bad one; after all, if Derek doesn’t ask with words, then Stiles sure as hell won’t do anything he asks.
It’s his foolproof plan of keeping his dignity intact for when Derek wanted to get a little on the freaky side. He knew Scott and he knew about their wolfy kinks, and he sure as hell was not going to have any of that, thank you.
By the time he reached Derek, he’s psyched himself out with all the crap that could possibly happen to him that he’d seen on the Discovery Channel special about wolves, so when Derek let out a small huff and moved a step closer, Stiles moved his hands to his ass and kept them there.
Derek just rolled his eyes and tilted his head, inspecting him. Then he put a hand on Stiles’ forehead and held it there. The small dull throbbing that was plaguing him started to ebb away and, like the bright image of a light bulb turning on, Stiles realized what was going on.
Derek was doing that thing Scott did whenever Stiles was too hurt: taking the pain away. In theory, it was sweet, nice, and so very, very welcome. When it was Scott. When Derek did it, Stiles felt different. A lot different.
He was in a daze for a few seconds and then Derek was gone. Blinking furiously, Stiles shook his head. Seriously, dude was an ASS.
Feeling a bit better than before, he caught up with his soon-to-be-literal ass owner, who was already on his driveway, looking expectantly at him.
His dad was by the windows, looking at him. Of course. No touching until Derek got his first dibs. Stiles mouthed ‘I’m okay’ and gave a thumbs up.
His dad just shook his head and nodded at him.
It wasn’t the first time Stiles has thought that his dad was the greatest parent in the world, no flaws except for being the sheriff and making sure Stiles had zero-to-none secrets.
There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned around to be greeted with Derek’s annoyed face, which he was starting to become very familiar with, and his outstretched hand.
“What? No. I said I’d drive. I even made a point of pointing out your fantastic driving skills!” If he sounded whiny, it’s because he had just nearly died. He had a valid excuse.
“My sight is better and you might not have a migraine at the moment, but you’re not driving.”
Stiles opened his mouth to protest because, really, the heightened-senses-wolf thing crashed them into a pole. Was he the only one who saw the irony in this?
Derek spoke before he could. “The accident was your fault. You turned the radio on with the volume at max. It threw me off balance.” Before Stiles realized what was happening, he was handing his keys to Derek the ASS who proceeded to push him towards the passenger side of his baby and then slammed the door shut.
Stiles was completely sure the paint was chipped from the impact.
“Dude, watch it, just because you totaled your car, doesn’t mean you get to take your frustration out on mine. She is a delicate lady, bruises like a peach.” Derek gave him another incredulous look before starting the ignition.
“Do not touch anything,” was the only warning Stiles got after his hand was smacked away from the radio.
They peeled out of the driveway and with the way Derek was drove, they were more than likely to make it to the Hale manor in record time. Stiles was holding the door, watching the scenery pass by in wonderful blurry goodness when he noticed they were veering away from the manor.
“I know you’ve been away from home for a while, but you missed your turn.”
“We’re going to the hospital first.”
This time Stiles was the one wearing the incredulous look.
“Wha—? Why? I am obviously fine. I can see color, my limbs still work, and I am breathing, see?”
Derek ignored him, as always, and just kept driving to the hospital. It wasn’t long before they’re parked and Derek’s yanking him out of the car and dragging him to the emergency room.
Scott’s mom was there and she arches an eyebrow when she sees them. Well, mostly him but he’s sure she’s taking in Derek’s hotness. She might be older and a mom but Stiles know she’s still kicking and Derek, despite his awful everything, was still something to look at.
“He is not to be touched, we got into an accident, I want to see if he has a concussion.”
She looked at both of them, slowly nodded, and started to walk.
They followed her to a whole different part of the hospital that Stiles doesn’t recognize and promptly freaked out.
“What is this place?” He shifted from place to place, trying to understand where he was, when Derek appeared out of nowhere and manhandled him into an MRI machine.
“It’s a wing, designed for werewolves,” was his answer before he’s pushed down to lie on his back. The hospital had a werewolf wing?
“Seriously? Why? You guys have, like, healing powers of injustice,” he heard himself say just as the machine turned on and he’s being engulfed in a white bright light.
“Because our healing doesn’t always work. Now lie still.”
Stiles wanted to ask when exactly does their healing not work, because from what he’s seen of Jackson and Scott and all the other werewolves on the team, it worked, it always worked, which wasn’t really fair.
He’s still thinking about the unfair advantages that certain teammates of his have when he’s slowly moved outside of the machine and into the room made for werewolves. He still can’t get over that.
Derek’s there and looking at him, even more annoyed than before.
“What, am I ok? Am I going to die before you defile me? Is that why your face looks like you ate a sour lemon?”
“You’re fine. Apparently, your stupidity is all you.” And Derek walked away, expecting Stiles to follow him, who was busy having a small mental breakdown that Derek had just used sarcasm without grunting and using actual words. And it was a good one.
It was mind blowing. He might have to reevaluate everything he’s ever known. Stiles was at a loss for words, not knowing how to proceed, when an order was barked at him.
“Stop zoning out and let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time.”
Stiles would beg to differ; there was no better use of time than trying to figure out where Derek had gotten that bit of sarcasm from. Was he born with it? Did he develop it? Was it a secret? These were important questions that Stiles thought were more important than whatever the hell Derek thought they ought to be doing.
The sudden yank on his shoulder got him moving. He was still staring at Derek and trying to find out where that one ounce of personality that wasn’t all bite-and-anger came from.
He was staring so hard at Derek and wondering if he learnt sarcasm on his wolf run that he hadn’t even registered they entered the car, or that they’d been moving until Derek was suddenly not in his view anymore and the door was yanked open.
“I don’t know what’s going on in that mind of yours, but if you keep doing that in the future, it will probably save your life.”
“Seriously, keep it up. If whatever you’re thinking about keeps you quiet and makes you more bearable to be around, and in my house that’s something you’ll want, then keep it up.”
And Stiles realized he hadn’t talked once on the entire trip and that he’s standing at right in front of the Hale manor, which loomed over him and spelt doom and probable pain in big neon red capital letters. For Stiles anyway.
Sorry it took so long, life caught up with me and my beta and it was a trial trying to get it of our backs, so without further ado here is....
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Stiles wasn’t quite sure what to make of the house he stood in. It was surreal. Just the entryway was breathtaking. Lovely and no doubt very expensive vases adorned it, just tempting fate for him to stumble into them. Stiles hasn’t felt more scared since this whole disaster started.
Only God and the Hales knew how much those decorative pieces cost and he was sure he was going to break one and have to pay for it with his non-existent money, which meant he would have to get a job, but nothing paid well enough or fast enough so he would have to turn to turning tricks, which would lead him down a dangerous path that, with his carelessness, meant ending up getting caught by his dad, who would be disappointed (among other things) but the worst thing that would come out of it was that HE, Stiles, with his low inhibitions, would get addicted to sex and the dangerous life, the one with client lists and money that would pay for just about everything—it would be something out of a TV show.
And come to think of it he broke some decorations during his interview, didn’t he? Was that the reason Derek chose him, so that he could work off what he damaged through sexual favors?
He was going deeper and deeper into the fantasy life that when Derek’s voice finally registered, his first reaction was to argue his position.
“I am a class whore. At least a thousand for just a BJ, got it?” His voice echoed back at him. To say he was embarrassed would be understatement. His ears felt like they were burning but he stared defiantly. He always stood by what he said, even if what he said was crap that was, well, crap.
Derek didn’t say anything, just raised one of his lovely impossible model eyebrows and pushed past him.
Stiles took that as his cue to follow and did so, passing the lounge—because that was the only word to describe it, living room didn’t do it justice, didn’t even touch it—and through the long corridor where family pictures and hand-painted portraits was hung, dating back to times long before Stiles’ dad. And suddenly he found himself leaving a patio and entering the woods surrounding the Hale mansion (because calling it a house was being extremely modest).
“So we aren’t staying in the cool and way-too-expensive-for-words mansion?” Stiles isn’t one for tact most times. If ever, really.
Derek said nothing and Stiles continued on, as always. “Okay, the woods it is. We’ll be like barbarians or wild animals. I feel so much better about this whole thing now.” This wasn’t the first time he had a conversation with himself and if Derek was going to be like this the rest of their time together, then this wasn’t going to be the only time either. “Your silence ignites such passion in me! This union is going to go so well, I can just see it now: me the nagging wife, you the beer-gut husband that turns up the TV volume to drown me out. Sitcom romcom here we come.”
Derek grunts in response.
“Wow, he can grunt, we’re halfway there! Now just phonate your way into actual sounds and we might just make it out of this alive.”
Stiles was about to add something amazingly witty when he tripped on something—probably a root, these trees were huge—and the world flashed by, barely giving him time to try to shield his head when a strong arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him up.
He was held up roughly against Derek, leading Stiles to realize that not only was the werewolf hot, as in metaphorically hot, but literally hot as well. The heat spread from where Derek’s arm was touching his hip, spreading upward and settling in the base of his skull and quite possibly his face because there was no way he was blushing. But just as soon the arm was gone and he was facing a cabin.
“Not complete savagery. Good to know.” His mouth needed to learn to not talk, at all, ever.
“This is our place, just for us,” Derek said, still ignoring Stiles and walking up the steps that led to the front door. “No one else is to enter without my explicit permission until the mating is over.”
After his few words of what can only be surmised as wisdom, Derek yanked the door open. Stiles stared.
When Derek didn’t deign him with a reply, he plowed on, proving yet again that his mouth was trying to kill him.
“Are you aware of how many awesome things you could have said? I know you and civilization aren’t best friends at the moment, but come on.” Stiles continued to complain as he walked up the steps, chasing after his current boyfriend-not-yet-lover who apparently decided that ignoring him was his new pastime. “How about ‘Here is where the ravishing shall commence,’ or ‘Welcome to our love shack’? You know, something cool, and . . . .”
The rest trailed off because he had arrived inside and ‘shack’ didn’t do it justice.
“Are the Hales allergic to ordinary things or what?” Stiles said, looking around. “This is better than my house and I’m pretty sure it's bigger.”
Derek looked at him before dumping his duffel bag on the floor. He went around touching everything, picking up throw pillows, and messing up the nice blankets on the arm of the very soft-looking and no doubt very expensive leather sofas. “We have a kitchen in here.”
No more needed to be said, Stiles pushed past the two tons of muscle going into said kitchen that was decked out in what looked like the latest kitchen appliances and what seemed to be a microwave the size of an oven.
“Dude, you’re like werewolves, the hell you need all this for?” Stiles pointedly looked at the salt and pepper shakers shaped like adorable tiny little chicks. It was a kitchen housewives hoped for and never got, and it was inside what, from the outside, looked like a shack. The architect deserved all the awards for taking the saying ‘bigger on the inside’ and making it a reality.
“This can almost be a TARDIS,” he whispers to the pepper shaker he picked up. Derek had yet to answer his question but that wasn’t going to deter him.
“The refrigerator is stocked in case you want to hole yourself up in here instead of going to the main house,” Derek finally said and Stiles looked up, surprised, nearly dropping the chick in the process.
“I don’t have to go to the main house?” He raised his eyebrows, his eyes likely wider than they’d ever been. “Main house, you hear yourself? Who says that? Rich kids, that’s who,” he answered to himself, as always.
“No, you don’t,” Derek said, answering his first question and ignoring the rest. That was the only reason Stiles thinks that this might just work. Derek didn’t seem like someone to waste his time with things he didn’t like. “I heard you and Abigail weren’t the best of friends.”
“Try other descriptive phrases like enemies of the state, frenemies, people who hate each other’s guts, and the classic she is the joker to my batman.”
Derek, for the most part, did a jerky movement with his head that could be taken as nodding and Stiles stood in the kitchen, pepper shaker chick in hand.
“So, aside from those two lovely house rules, how are we doing this?”
Stiles put down the little shaker and proceeded to go take a seat in the armrest directly in front of Derek, who raised an eyebrow.
“Will you let me get through the explanations or are you going to interrupt me every five seconds?”
It was the most Derek had said to him that weren’t an order. Stiles was too surprised to comment and settled for nodding.
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Seriously? Come on.”
Derek arched his eyebrow again and Stiles grumbled under his breath.
“Look, you might have been gone for however long and you and me, we’ve never actually met, so let me make this clear first and foremost. Me and not interrupting is like earth without oxygen—it’s impossible for survival. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be on the both of us. That’s if I have much of a say in this, seeing as I am completely and utterly against this whole thing to begin with and yet seem to be smack-freaking-dab in the middle. I—” Derek had gone from one eyebrow up to two and crossed his arms, waiting for Stiles to get to the point. “I am willing to try, but will not make any promises because I know myself and I know my mouth will never shut up. So wherever this is going, let’s get to it since if you let me ramble I can go on for days, clearly.”
“I can see that,” Derek said, shaking his head, “but we have to screen the whole place first.”
Stiles shot Derek a confused look.
“I may have been gone from ‘civilization’ for a while, but I know my sisters, and I know my family. They would have had this place bugged so unless you feel like having everything you’ve said or done here brought up at the most inopportune moments, I’d suggest you start—”
Derek didn’t have to finish his sentence, Stiles was already on the move. Couch cushions were flying and blankets were hitting the floor, unraveled and rumpled.
“So you can listen,” was all he got from Derek as the werewolf went into the kitchen. Stiles stuck his tongue out at him. This wasn’t the time for petty fights. After they de-bugged their love shack maybe.
The very thought of Abigail or anyone else being privy to their ‘little adventures’ or in Stiles’ case, his last night as a virgin, was absolute horror. It sent a wave of cold down his body and raised the hair on the back of his neck.
Seriously, was nothing sacred anymore?! Wasn’t it bad enough that he was stuck in this damn situation, but now he had to have the whole Hale house knowing how Stiles did the horizontal tango?
What, exactly, was wrong with these people? Was it that they were partly wolf? Because if Stiles had to guess from their décor, the partly wolf had nothing on it, so maybe they were just all fucked in the brain.
“It’s mostly to make me miserable.” Derek’s voice floated to him from the kitchen and Stiles slowly turned to face it, standing precariously on the small and very wobbly side table as he rummaged through the drapes.
“You were thinking out loud.”
Stiles suddenly felt his face heat up again, but pushed down his embarrassment. “For how long exactly?” he braved, finally deeming the curtains clear of bugs.
“Décor,” Derek answered, coming out of the kitchen with a small device held between his fingers.
“You weren’t kidding.”
Stiles felt his whole stomach drop. He hoped in the back of his mind that Derek was just messing with him but apparently he wasn’t. He walked up to Derek to take a look at the small device.
“So? Are they listening right now?”
“Knowing Laura and Uncle Peter, yes.”
Stiles glared at the infernal thing.
“Oh, you know what? It’s on. Got that, missy? I might not know you, though I probably met you before but I highly doubt it, but just so you know you messed with the wrong scrawny dude!”
Derek crushed it between his fingers before he could say more.
He looked up at Derek. “I went overboard again, didn’t I?”
“At least you’re aware. First step in the recovery process, I hear.”
Derek walked toward a door that Stiles knew was the bedroom, the room he was trying to avoid in hopes of convincing it that it didn’t actually exist.
“Hey! You are so not leaving the whole living area for me to search, are you?!”
Derek didn’t respond, which Stiles took as a yes.
“Well, just so you know, if anything romantic or mushy that comes out of your mouth ends up in dining room conversation, it’s not my fault.”
Stiles tried to ignore the small crunch that answered from the room.
Comments and Kudos (according to my sister) "make me piss myself with joy".
Here is hoping to a sooner update.