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  • Public Bookmark *

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    Stiles sits down opposite him, long fingers wrapping round the vodka bottle’s neck as he drags it towards him. “Huh.” He’s practically caressing the lid as he unscrews it and Derek shifts in his seat, looks determinedly elsewhere.

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    21 Feb 2020

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    Derek glares at him across the table, ignoring the way Stiles’ teasing smile makes his stupid, dumb heart pick up. He’s surprised it doesn’t make his own chest explode. Stiles, it would appear, is Derek’s personal fuck you to Peter claiming he doesn’t have a heart. Because whenever Stiles is around Derek’s heart decides to remind him that hey, it does exist, and it has feelings.

    “I wanna see, dude. Come on, I bet you’re a hilarious drunk.”
    “He is,” Isaac pitches in. “The night you guys left for college, he got so drunk he moonwalked down the street.”
    Stiles’ face lights up and he turns to beam at Derek.
    “Stop picturing it.”

    Derek watches as his throat works, as he scrunches up his face and coughs a little.
    “Didn’t learn how to swallow a shot properly at college?”
    “I was too busy learning to swallow other things,” Stiles shoots back, and Derek feels his claws dig into the table briefly.

    The thing is Derek sucks at saying no to Stiles. There was a time when he could. He could say no to doing things the easy way, make life difficult for Stiles just because he was pissed at the world, and Stiles was pissed at him which made him even more pissed. Derek found saying no so much easier than saying yes. Then it was because it wound him up, made him get in Derek’s face and yell at him, swear at him, it was fun to watch his cheeks spot with color and his eyes spark.
    Derek’s never known how to have fun like normal people he supposes.
    He’s slowly worked his way into every part of Derek that used to say no, and now says ok Stiles, how high. Because Derek is apparently an absolute sucker for stubborn bastards that protect him fiercely, and look out for him, and snark with him, and just generally make Derek fall in love with them when he wasn’t trying to, and desperately fought not to.

    “I never got caught in a lie.”
    “That’s cos you’re a fucking werewolf and I’m me. I can’t lie for shit.”
    Derek crooks a smirk at him, lifts his eyebrows at the shot.
    “Never, have I ever, been handcuffed.”
    “That was entirely your fault,” Derek huffs, and Stiles shrugs, waves a hand at Derek’s shot.
    “Drink up.”
    “I never dropped my phone when trying to make a lifesaving phone call.”
    “I never summersaulted into a situation to show off.”
    “I never lied and said I didn’t trust someone when I did.”
    “Liar! I never ran around town shirtless.”
    Derek huffs out a laugh.
    “I never kissed somebody and felt it in my toes,” Stiles says quietly. Derek spins his glass, doesn’t drink and Stiles huffs, shakes his head. “Well that’s just sad.”
    Derek flicks a glance at him, leans across the table on his elbows. “I never kissed somebody I trusted.”
    Stiles hums, scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but at Derek. “I never did the moonwalk in a drunken stupor,” he mumbles.
    Derek grins, drinks his shot without looking at it. “I never learnt how to swallow at college.”
    “You learn it somewhere else?” Stiles asks through gritted teeth.
    “No,” Derek ducks his head until Stiles meets his gaze. “Did you?”
    “No, dumbass. I never learnt any of that shit. I never did a strip tease for anyone, I never did the whole pop your cherry in your first week at college thing, because I was too busy comparing them all to y—”
    Derek cuts him off, kissing him fiercely, hands bracing themselves on the back of Stiles’ chair as Stiles makes a noise of blatant relief, grabs at his shirt and pulls. Derek sweeps his arms round Stiles’ back, tugs until Stiles shifts off his own chair and half falls into Derek’s lap, knees sliding round his waist as he straddles him. His hands are threading through Derek’s hair, and he yanks on it slightly, pulls away from Derek’s mouth.

    “Tomorrow,” Derek says easily, breath ghosting over said cock and making Stiles shudder. “I’m going to take my time with you. You won’t be allowed to boss me around—” Stiles snorts and Derek nips at his inner thigh in warning. “You won’t be able to speed anything up, or make me rush. I’m going to take you apart, bit by bit. I’ll do every single thing I’ve thought about doing to you, and you’ll take it, because you deserve someone to fucking worship you.”

    “I’ve never fucked somebody I trusted before,” he murmurs into Stiles’ skin. “And I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

    Derek leans over him, kisses him. “You’re ridiculous.”
    “Ha, you love me.”
    “Yeah, so?”
    “So, nothing. I’m just reminding you.”
    “Leave me a post it note somewhere.”
    “Oh, I will.”

    Derek glares at all three of them, hopes Erica can feel it the most, and slides the sheet up over Stiles’ shoulders. “Get out.”
    “No,” Erica huffs.
    “Erica!” Isaac chastens.
    Stiles pulls Derek’s pillow over his head. “Make them leave, and I’ll blow you before I go back to sleep.”
    “I’m out,” Boyd says immediately.

  • Public Bookmark *

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    One night, after a few too many beers, he texts Derek. He doesn’t expect a response, sure that Derek has changed his number many, many times since he left Beacon Hills without so much as a goodbye. Hell, who knows if Derek even has a phone anymore? It’s not like he was good at texting even when he had some semblance of a pack, of people that maybe, sort of cared about him.

    I don’t feel like I’m me anymore. Feels like I’m trying really hard to be the same but it just seems hollow.

    He doesn’t get a response but it doesn’t really bother him. He wasn’t expecting one anyway. He’s stopped expecting things from people. He’s stopped expecting a lot of things. That voice in the back of his head tells him that he stopped expecting things from Derek when he left without saying goodbye, like hours in a pool meant absolutely nothing, like Stiles meant absolutely nothing.

    Post 6A. Stiles starts texting Derek because he thinks that if anyone understands what he's going through, it's Derek.

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    15 Feb 2020

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    He ends his text message like this: sometimes I think I’ll disappear again and no one will come looking.
    And then his phone beeps.
    I would.

    He knows his friends back in Beacon Hills are going to be okay without him; knows that it’s a good thing that he hasn’t heard from them; but it stings a little.
    He doesn’t like feeling so replaceable. He doesn’t want them struggling without him; but it would be nice if they noticed his absence.

    On my first full moon alone, I howled at the moon, hoping that someone would answer. It’s lonely without pack.
    I’m not really pack though.
    It’s okay to miss being needed.
    I don’t know if they ever really needed me.
    Derek texts back a photo of a pool.

    “Bad dream,” he answers. “Sorry for waking you.”
    Derek doesn’t say anything. Years ago, back when they first met, Stiles interpreted the silence as frustration, like Derek was purposely not fulfilling his role in the conversation so that Stiles would get the hint and shut up. After a while, Stiles started to think that Derek was silent because he was socially awkward and just didn’t really know how to participate in a conversation. Derek’s silence seems different now, though, like he’s giving Stiles a chance to process his thoughts and decide where he needs to begin.

    “Why did you leave without saying goodbye?” he asks, acknowledging for the first time that he was bothered by it.
    “I didn’t think anyone would really care,” Derek says, like it’s that simple.
    “I did.” He pauses and the silence stretches between them. “I was the one who realised you were gone. I went to the loft after school and the place was empty. I drove around for hours looking for you. I was fucking terrified that you had been taken by someone or something but then Peter told me that you had gone and that you didn’t want to be found. That fucking stung, by the way. You said goodbye to Peter but not to me. I deserved a fucking goodbye.”
    It’s not until he says the words aloud that he realises how angry he is. He cares about Derek. He trusts Derek in a way that he doesn’t trust anyone else. Quiet, angry, hurting Derek who proved himself time and time again; who proved that despite all his faults, he would show up when it counted; would save and protect Stiles no matter what. He thought that maybe Derek trusted him too, cared just a little bit; but then he left without so much as a goodbye or a forwarding address. Stiles doesn’t know what else to say so he hangs up.
    I should have said goodbye.
    I wanted to but I wasn’t sure you would care.
    Actually, that’s a lie. I think I knew that you, out of all people, would understand why I was leaving. I think I was just trying to avoid an honest conversation that I wasn’t ready for. I’m sorry.

    Did you love Jennifer?
    No. I think I could have in time but we both know how that ended.
    Why did you believe me when I told you she was evil?
    Because it’s you. You’re one of the only people that hasn’t manipulated me.
    Did you love Braeden?
    No. I think I wanted to show the world that I had survived Kate and Jennifer and didn’t have any emotional wounds. I think most people would call that a rebound relationship.
    Do you think you could fall in love again?
    Stiles waits for an excruciating seven minutes before Derek replies.
    Yes.

    I hope you fall in love with someone who loves you as much as I do.
    Derek doesn’t respond.
    I’m really sorry, Derek. I shouldn’t have made things awkward between us. Your friendship is more than enough, I swear. I’m not going to push for something that you don’t want.
    None of his messages elicit a reply and god, it hurts. He thinks he finally knows what it’s like to have a broken heart.

    “If I hadn’t have shown up on your doorstep, what would have happened?”
    Wordlessly, Derek passed Stiles his phone. There’s countless messages, dating back at least two weeks, and they’re all different versions of an apology; of an explanation. Derek was trying. Derek has proven himself time and time again; he has earned Stiles' trust and Stiles knows that he would eventually have sent a message explaining everything.
    “I still love you and I’m all in.”

    He has seven missed calls from Scott and twelve text messages, all urging him to come back to Beacon Hills.
    He wants Derek to come with him but doesn’t want to ask; doesn’t want to be responsible for Derek’s shoulders growing tense as he heads back to the town that took everything from him. “I shouldn’t be gone for more than a week,” he says as he’s packing a duffel bag and throwing it into the back of Derek’s Camaro.  
    “That’s what Laura said.”
    There is no other explanation; nothing else that needs to be said. A second duffel bag is tossed into the back of the Camaro.
    Turns out he didn’t need to ask.

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    In which Stiles adapts to being a werewolf surprisingly well. Like, too well. Derek should probably start explaining.

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    13 Nov 2019

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    "I'm sorry," he says. "I should have warned you better. I didn't consider the change could--"
    "Could what?"
    "You don't know what you are."
    "Umm, yeah," Stiles says. "I'm a werewolf now. I'm all about the self-awareness."
    "You don't know what kind of werewolf."

    "It's a werewolf heirarchy thing," Derek says, standing up and looking like he wants to flee the entire conversation, and that makes even less sense.
    "I'm a beta wolf, like the others," he says, confused, and stands up too, getting ready to follow if Derek does a runner. "I'm your beta."

    "When in your life have you ever been a beta, Stiles? You're nobody's second."
    Stiles is too taken aback not to feel the sting. "Fine, okay, I'm not that great of backup now but I'll get better, Boyd's teaching me how to fight. I'm strong now, and I'll get better at handling myself, it's just--" oh, god, he's rambling.
    "That's not--come here," he pulls Stiles down on the squishy couch and settles him down, hand cautious and calming on his shoulder. "You and Scott were a pack long before I came back to town, but you don't need me to tell you who was the brains of the operation.
    "You've been looking out for the entire pack from day one," Derek goes on, "even when I thought it would be easier to pretend you weren't a part of it. You were the alpha long before I was; there was no way you'd come through the bite as a beta, or an omega."
    There's so many things wrong with that sentence Stiles doesn't know where to begin, but he'll start with you were the alpha.
    "Because I already had a pack?" he says, convinced he's misunderstanding.
    "Because you were already leading a pack. You don't have to earn their respect or trust.”

    "You are strong, Stiles. You always have been, where it counts. You're going to make a great alpha."
    "You're my alpha," Stiles tells Derek, and realises how much he needs that to be true.
    Derek bit him, yeah, but that could have been anyone. Derek's been his alpha long before he was a werewolf, since before they really accepted him into the pack. Been the person he turns to in a crisis, or on a bad day, a good day--all those mediocre days where they've saved no lives but no one's in danger of dying either so they just grab a milkshake and go to the movies instead. Derek's the person he can go to for anything, who makes him feel better just by being around--
    Oh, shit, he thinks distantly.
    "You figure it out yet?" Derek asks, an unlikely smile stretching the corners of his mouth.
    "Not even a little bit," Stiles admits, and kisses him.

    Stiles rolls them off the couch, onto the floor. It puts him over Derek and he likes that, likes it a lot, but Derek must not because he rolls them again, off the plush area rug and onto the cold hardwood, caging him in with his body and catching his lips again. He presses Stiles down onto the rug, brackets his hands above his head. He's growling into the kiss and Stiles feels his hackles rise, his whole body going tense.
    He breaks away. "Wait, wait, hold on, are we--is this a dominance fight happening right now?"
    Derek blinks down at him. "Oh."
    "Is it? Because I'm not sure I'm down for pack dynamics carrying into the bedroom," he says, then realises what he just said. "Um. Not that we're going to your bedroom."
    Derek shakes his head like he's forcefully clearing it, then kind of pushes him to the side and sits up. Before Stiles has time to get offended about being pushed away he pulls him back into his lap, settling arms around him.
    "We're not going to do that," he says, lips close against the shell of Stiles's ear.
    "Right, okay, that makes sense, I probably just misunderstood with all the making out--"

    "You were sixteen, and you had no reason to trust me. Telling you wouldn't have accomplished anything except confusing you. I figured it could wait until you knew what you'd be getting into. I was going to bring it up after your birthday."
    "If--if I hadn't been sixteen when you came back to town, if I were, like, twenty-three or something, would you have--"
    "Yes," Derek says too quickly. "I would have asked, given you a choice--it should always be a choice--but I would have told you all of it, that you would be stronger than a normal werewolf. I would probably have tried to persuade you," he adds, like he's not proud of it but it's the truth so he might as well say it.
    "You didn't tell me, though. When you did it."
    Derek shakes his head, a sheepish look on the wolf. "You were going to die without it. I didn't want to--to introduce any more factors."

  • Public Bookmark *

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    Derek accidentally kisses Stiles goodbye. They aren't dating.

    It becomes... a thing.

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    12 Oct 2019

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    “You shouldn’t get up when I come home,” Stiles told him as he shuffled tiredly into the kitchen.

    “Best part of my day,” Derek said softly, hooking an arm around Stiles’ waist and drawing him close so that he could press his face to the warmth of Stiles’ belly, rubbing back and forth like a tired child. “Having you come home to me.”

    One of Stiles’ hands splayed over the tattoo on Derek’s back, the other gently cupped the back of his head as he sighed. “You have to stop saying things like that,” he finally said. “Derek…”

    “Why?” Derek asked tiredly, pulling Stiles a little closer. “It’s true.”

    “That’s exactly why,” Stiles explained patiently. “Because it’s true, but it means something different to you than it does to me. And I don’t think I can do that anymore.”

    The words finally penetrated the sleep-dazed haze of Derek’s brain and he pulled back a little to rest his chin against Stiles’ side and look up at him. “I don’t think it does,” he said after a beat, the look on Stiles’ face and the desperate want in his eyes finally making Derek brave enough to say what he’d been aching to for years.

    “You don’t get to–” Stiles began, trying to pull away, but Derek held him firmly in place as he got to his feet, remaining squarely in Stiles’ space.

    “I think I do,” Derek told him firmly, bracing him back against the table. “Because,” he swallowed hard, “because I think maybe you’re in love with me. And I’m in love with you too.” The way Stiles had paled and then begun to flush at the confession was fascinating and beautiful, and Derek wanted to taste it.

    “I want to kiss you all the time, for no real reason. I want to kiss you in front of the pack, in front of your colleagues, even in front of your dad, okay? I want you to kiss me when you’re laughing, when you’re angry, when you’re half asleep and can’t be bothered to even open your eyes enough to find my mouth. I want it without either of us thinking about it. I want to take it for granted. I want it to become a habit. I want it for the rest of our lives.”

    Stiles stared at him wordlessly for so long that Derek began to think he’d misread the situation, but then Stiles smiled, wide and unrestrained and joyous, the shadow lifting from his eyes. “You’re not the best with words,” he said, laughter in his voice, “but by god you make them count when it matters most.”

  • Public Bookmark *

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    Originally for a prompt on the kink meme:

    "Since age three, Stiles has been dreaming of Derek. When he was younger, he would always babble about Derek and draw pictures of them together, etc. but everyone just assumed that Derek was his imaginary friend. Stiles himself didn't realize that Derek was a real person until he heard about the Hale fire but by that time, Derek and Laura had moved to New York. "

    But it somehow mutated into a 8400 word behemoth featuring actual psychic Stiles Stilinski, soul bonding and wolfy mates.

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    22 May 2019

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    So, Stiles has never really thought of himself as anything but a regular kid or, more recently, Scott’s human sidekick. And sure, sometimes it sucks, especially after Allison turned out to be some sort of badass werewolf-hunting Katniss type, and because now the only other normal human he knows is Danny, and Danny is a) oblivious to all of the supernatural madness going around him and, b) so attractive Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if he was part veela or something, really,

    The more it happens, the more suspicious glances Derek sends him, and the more sure Stiles is that everything Derek told him in his dreams is true, but Stiles is a big fan of ignoring problems til they go away on their own, and the fact that he’s been having psychic visions about Derek Hale since he was three? Yeah, that’s a major problem. Also a problem is the fact that he has apparently been in love with Derek for just about his whole life, but Stiles can only handle one crisis at a time, and for some reason the possibility of being a fucking magical seer is easier to deal with right now.

    “It’s not even just dreams anymore, though. Do you know how I found you last month? When the witches got you? I don’t, actually. It was just instinct, really, and it’s kind of a miracle I didn’t drive off the road or something on the way. I probably have Scott’s literal side-seat driving to thank, actually, because everything hurt so much I couldn’t really think. It wasn’t like my dreams or visions that time, I more just felt them torture you and drove towards the pain. It sucked, a lot, so please don’t get kidnapped again, because I could really do without having to go through a repeat performance of that, okay?”
    “What.” Derek’s head has snapped up, eyes are trained on Stiles now, the drawings in his hands totally forgotten. And okay, the surprised and slightly furious look Derek’s got going on his face is kind of justified, because Stiles definitely didn’t tell him the truth about that night, and he definitely didn’t mean to. “You felt them torture me. And you got behind the wheel anyway.” They’re not really questions, and Stiles is about to quip about verbal punctuation when Derek growls, running a hand through his hair. “Were you ever going tell me?”
    It’s rhetorical he can tell, and Stiles means to say something snarky and playful, because the tension in the room and the set of Derek’s eyebrows is really starting to freak him out, but whatever flippant response he was planning on gets stuck behind his teeth and something else entirely falls out of his mouth.
    “I don’t know, were you ever going to tell me I’m your mate?” Derek looks like Stiles punched him in the stomach, and Stiles turns around so he doesn’t have to look at Derek’s face. Unfortunately, his mouth is like a runaway train at this point, and he’s like the conductor watching it crash into a mountainside but unable to stop it from happening. “I guess I just thought if you didn’t even want to acknowledge that we’re fucking mates, you wouldn’t want to hear about me getting your referred pain when you’re being tortured.” Stiles shrugs, blatantly failing at being casual, he knows, and waits with his shoulders tensed around his ears, staring down at the cake in front of him. “It’s okay, I understand.” Even though it’s not and he doesn’t. “But don’t get mad at me for not telling you things when you’re keeping secrets too, okay?”

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    “If you can’t say the words, you’re not mature enough to know what they mean,” Scott tells him.

    Stiles throws a french fry at him.

     (In which Derek is secretly pining, Stiles is oblivious to both Derek’s feelings as well as his own, and any personal growth that happens in the mean time is completely reluctant.)

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    11 May 2019

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    Derek looks pained. But, surprisingly, not the morbid kind of pained. More like the embarrassed kind? Which throws Stiles for a loop, until out of nowhere he suddenly gets it, jumping up off the couch and pointing a finger at Derek, “Holy shit, she isn’t dead!”
    Scott and Derek give him equally flat looks.
    “You don’t want to talk about it, okay, but not because your mate’s a serial killing corpse. And by the way, congrats on dodging that one, I didn’t think you had it in you. But no! You don’t want to talk about it because your soulmate’s still kicking and you just haven’t ‘fessed up yet! Oh my god, you’re pining. Scott, Derek is pining. Scott. Scott. Derek is in love with someone and refuses to tell them. He’s a Jane Austen novel. We need to start writing this crap down so we can monetize it later.”
    Scott purses his lips, thinking. He studies Stiles for a long moment, then he turns and studies Derek, who won’t meet anyone’s eyes. “...Oh hell,” he finally mutters, and then a sort of sad look crosses his face, “I am so sorry, dude.”
    Derek visibly tenses. “It’s fine.”

    “I think that’s great, man. Good answer. And, listen, if you really want to know about Derek’s feelings, I think maybe the best place to start is with your own, you know? Like, don’t ask him to admit stuff if you’re not willing to do it yourself.”
    “But why should my feelings have anything to do with anything? Derek doesn’t need to know that I--“ He waves one hand about lamely. “Or whatever.“
    “How about: if you can’t say the words, it’s a little unfair to try to make him say them? No matter who those words are about.”
    Okay fair. Ugh. God damn Scott and his True Alpha Guidance Counselor shtick. Stiles misses the days when they both just got all their life coaching needs fulfilled by reruns of Boy Meets World.

    “I’ve seen worse.”
    “Of course you have. God, of course you have. Leave it to Derek freaking Hale to have seen so much shit in his life that demon hell spawn in Tinkerbell outfits don’t even phase him anymore. No wonder you’re so chill about the soulmate business. So long as they didn’t try to flay you alive you’d probably think you were living the dream.”

    “I appreciate that you care about me, Stiles. But why are you so convinced that the key to my happiness is my soulmate?”
    “I’m just saying that it could be. And how will you know one way or the other if you won’t even let yourself try?”
    “Listen, I... I don’t want to rely on another person for the entirety of my happiness. It wouldn’t be fair to them or to me. And if I gave into the idea of asking my soulmate for anything more than what we already have... I wouldn’t know how to hold myself back. They’d be everything. I need to be better than that, I need to be happy on my own, before I even contemplate dealing with something as huge as just who this person has the potential of being for me.”
    Stiles swallows thickly. His heart feels like a lead weight in his chest. “Wow. So, uh, you-- I mean, it’s not just a ‘destined to be together’ thing for you is it? You actually really, uh, you really love this guy.”
    “...Yeah. I do.”
    “Alright, then. I’ll... I’ll leave it alone. If that’s what you want.”
    “It is.”

    Stiles doesn’t mean to wallow, but he kind of falls into it anyway with his usual gracelessness.
    He understands that this makes him a shitty person, but the fact only causes him to wallow harder.
    Because recently Derek has been.. kind of... almost... happy? Happier, definitely. Derek is happy and Stiles should be happy for him, but instead he’s considering never leaving his current position, prone on the carpet.
    It doesn’t happen right away, Derek’s quiet journey towards sound emotional health, but Stiles notices the moment it does. He’s observant like that. Really. At least half of the sheriff’s department has a perpetual betting pool going about who will solve any given case first: the cop assigned to it, or the nosy kid who likes to break into their evidence room in the middle of the night.
    But it’s good that Stiles has figured it out. It gives him time to come to terms with Derek actually being with the love of his life, his fucking soulmate, while Stiles pretends to carry on as normal. It gives him time to learn how to fake that it doesn’t hurt. With any luck, the realization of Derek’s newfound and tentative happiness will give Stiles just enough time to learn how to be supportive of the whole soulmate endgame it’s all building up to.
    Until then, however, he’s going to lie here and let himself be miserable about it.

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    "The trouble with having the kind of brain that likes to write essays on male circumcision for an Economics class, is that it also likes to turn PowerPoint presentations for Biology into odes on the perfection of notorious bad boy Derek Hale’s backside."

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    09 May 2019

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    Derek knows he has a reputation. Has known it ever since his first week after transferring to Beacon Hills High his Sophomore year. He knows there’s a widely circulated story about him and an unsolved murder investigation that Coach Finstock uses to scare underclassmen. He knows one of the cheerleaders last year created a Facebook group just for people who want to talk about his abs, and that someone else created a twitter account pretending to be his eyebrows and has tweeted nothing but angry emojis every day for months. He knows that people at this school are equal parts terrified of him and in love with him.
    He has no idea why, but yes, Derek is well aware of his image.

    “I-- How do you even know about that?”
    Stiles forces a shrug, cheeks coloring. “I might’ve overheard you talking to Boyd once? I swear I’m not actually stalking you! It just, you know... seems like I am. Dear god, I should never be allowed to be my own defense attorney.”

    “Hale is not paying me enough for this. Either cough up a twenty or learn how to text.”
    “Uh. I don’t have his number?” Stiles tries.
    Isaac is unimpressed, and throws the book at Stiles’ head as he walks away. Stiles narrowly manages to evade the attack, mostly thanks to falling out of his chair in a heap at the mere idea of a concussion. Survival instinct is a funny thing.

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    Stiles has been rejected so many times that it doesn't really surprise him when it happens again. Hurts, yeah, because dammit — he'd thought Derek was the one. Heartbreak sucks, and he's not so sure he's going to get over it this time.

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    It's been months. Months of lonely days and lonelier nights.
    And Stiles can't understand what he did wrong.

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    10 Dec 2018

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    Stiles had come to the conclusion that he was the human equivalent of a plaster cast. The kind you’d get when shit’s gone bad. The one you’d be happy to use while things were broken and wrong and hurting, but that no one would keep on beyond absolute necessity. That you’d like to be rid of earlier than recommended.

    For all Stiles has been through, he hasn’t ever felt so close to dying as he does in that moment. There might not be any obvious cause, no real mortal peril, but he can’t understand how someone can feel so unbearably awful as he does now and not simply cease.

    “Why did you even come here? To yell at me some more, huh? Make sure I understand just how much of an idiot I am?” He says it because… because. Because it feels good to throw out some accusations in anger. But it backfires horribly, and Derek’s eyes fall to the floor and his mouth twitches down and- and-… “You did,” Stiles breathes, staggered by the realization. “You did, you actually-…” He breaks off, has to let out a mirthless laugh. Then again, why not? Why not, since all he ever seems to be to Derek is a liability? Why wouldn’t he come and yell some more at Stiles for risking the lives of those that actually matter?

    He'd assumed that the pack knew. That Derek knew, at the very least. That the sheer number of magical creatures that came and went would at least assure a blip on Derek's radar. But, then, nothing else Stiles did was apparently worthy of note; why would this be any different? “What, did you think the monsters just stopped coming?” Stiles asks, darkly amused, and looks up. He’s glad he did, because he gets to see the guilt and horror twist Derek’s features.

    “I can’t forgive you. Yet. Maybe not ever. Definitely not now. I don’t-…” Stiles can’t find the words to express how he doesn’t know if he can trust that Scott actually wants to be with him, won’t leave him behind again. How he’s not sure how he would survive another time like this. How he’s kind of expecting there to be another time. “Go to the kitchen,” he says instead. “Dad wants to yell at you.” Scott’s eyes grow wide with fear, but nods and does as instructed.

    The pack has clearly realized the same thing he has – that they need to run, but that they’re not going to without him. They’re going to die. They’re all going to die. Despite the blood in his mouth, despite the rawness of his throat, despite his broken lungs barely being able to draw breath… he screams. Digs his fingers deep into the ground and screams and screams.

    “I need to conduct a test of your magic. If you would light this-” “No. You said that he would die.” “It’s fine,” Stiles snaps his fingers. “Look, there, I’m fine.” And it is immediately obvious that something is horrendously wrong. “What?” Stiles hurries to snatch the flame back with a quick flick of his wrist. “What did I do? Did I ruin it?” “I meant to give you the light first.”

    It’s not fair that he gets to stand there and be okay and Stiles is feeling so much that he doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s so angry that his hands are shaking. He’s so fucking miserable that his whole face is hurting. And he just feels so goddamn stupid, because he’s still fucking in love. After all this time, not one fucking bit of it seems to have had the good grace to just fuck off, and Stiles wonders what sort of sadistic piece of shit wired him to be this way. It isn’t fair.

    “I don’t know what you expect me to say.” “You say that you’re sorry! Just fucking acknowledge that-… You haven’t even-… And I get that you can’t just make your feelings disappear, but you fucking threw me away! And not at any fucking point during the past months, have you expressed any regret!” “What do you want me to do, then?” “Apologize! All I ever-” “Of course I’m fucking sorry! I fucked up so badly that I don’t even- I was so fucking scared that I couldn’t think straight.”

    "So…” Derek says, after several long moments. “I love you. And you-… love me." "I guess that sums it up." Derek sits down heavily on the couch beside him. "Did I ruin it?" “I don't know, Derek. I don't know."

    "I know I’ve fucked up. But you said you weren’t sure. If it was ruined. And if there’s any way that we could see if…” He leaves the sentence unfinished. The question unasked. “Yeah. We could do that, I guess."

    Derek keeps asking, though. He keeps asking. And he never stops looking a little bit worried that Stiles is going to say no.

    “It’s y-…an office. For-… if you want to be here, some, I mean.” “I’m not… trying to make you do anything.” “What would this make me do?” “Stay.”

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    When one clawed finger sinks deep into Stiles' skin he does his best not to scream out in agony. He manages to only allow a pained whimper to escape his pale, chapped lips. The pain is hot and raw, but he knows that if he lets himself scream it could tip off whatever is hunting them. So, he grinds his teeth and he lets Derek carve into him like he is a human etch-a-sketch.

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    19 Nov 2018

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    Then a hunter's arrow embeds itself into the meat of Derek’s leg. Derek cries out, the sound harsh against the silence of the woods. Wildlife scatters from the surrounding trees.
    “Wolfsbane,” he grunts. In the next beat of a second, he rips the arrow out with a wet, sickening noise that gives Stiles the urge to gag. “Hunters are part of this. The bullets at the clinic were wolfsbane.”
    “We don’t deserve this, Derek,” says Stiles. His words run together. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He wants to cry. “We deserve our pack. We deserve a second chance.”
    A bullet catches Derek in the side. He falls heavily against Stiles’ chest with a pained groan. Maybe it is the adrenaline coursing through his veins or maybe it is the fact this is it, no matter how this goes, but Stiles doesn’t hurt anymore. He isn’t scared or angry. He is only thankful that he isn’t alone. He wraps an arm around Derek, drawing him nearer.
    Stiles runs a bloody hand through Derek’s hair and takes a ragged breath. God, after all they had survived, this was how they were going down: killed by faceless bullets and arrows. Vaguely, he wonders if this is how Allison felt when she died at the hands of the Oni, if she felt as cheated as Stiles does right now.
    “We’re going to be okay,” Stiles whispers. He wonders if he is trying to convince Derek or himself more.“Everything will be fine.”
    Derek mutters something in return, but Stiles’ thoughts become fuzzy, and he starts to lose his grasp on the world. The last thing of which he is aware is the way Derek’s arm tightens briefly around him before it goes lax.
    Only Stiles’ own heartbeat stutters in the silence of the night.
    Then.
    He lets go, content to follow Derek into the silence of death.

    “Did you ever think that being the only ones left would ever be a possibility?"
    "I always saw losing them as a possibility. Thinking that we would all make it into old age wasn't practical, but I never thought the universe would be kind enough to let me keep someone like Stiles.”

    What were you thinking about before you died?”
    “I was thinking about everybody that was killed because of my stupid decisions. I wanted to be able to see my mother again. To help Erica, Isaac, and Boyd the right way. To protect Scott and Stiles from being killed by whatever the hell was hunting us. That if the rune worked I didn’t want to be alone. How sorry I was that I was dying before Stiles and leaving him there.”
    “And what about you, Stiles?”
    “Our Deaton said that we needed to believe we deserved a second chance. I was thinking about my Dad and how he didn’t deserve to die. I was thinking how shitty it was that Kate had to kill Derek’s family and how different everything would have been if she had been stopped. About how Allison must have felt when she died in Scott’s arms.”
    “And the last thought you remember having?”
    “I wanted to follow Derek.”

    “The way you hold yourselves makes it clear to me that you have been through hell. I've known Talia and the Hales for years, and none of them act like the two of you." Stiles and Derek stare at him, perplexed. "Even sitting here now you are on alert." He nods to Derek. "Your head tilts at every creak of this house like you are expecting something to jump out of the shadows and attack you. You," he gestures to Stiles, "you have this eerie stillness when you talk about the things you have faced. The way you sit at the edge of your seat, even though your leaning against him seeming somewhat calm and relaxed, makes me think you're constantly preparing yourself to fight whatever he is listening for...I've never seen anything like it."

    He smiles happily at her acceptance, giving her his name, too. His hands tremble again. Before he can stop it, his magic swirls around her, seeking to ease her anxiety, to protect her like he would do for Derek or Scott when they're worried. Derek never says it, but the way he closes his eyes the small smile that stretches across his face make words unnecessary.
    "I don't think it is something you do consciously," Scott had said once. "It's like you’re letting me know you’re there for me. That everything is alright and you have my back. It's really comforting, dude."

    “But above all else, the first thing you do is howl for us. We will hear it. I don't care where we are or what we are doing, we will hear your call, and we will find you. You just have to survive until we can get to you."
    "What if you don't get to us?" Erica asks.
    "We will get to you.”

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    "You're gonna burn," Derek says, eyes lingering on the pale skin of Stiles' bicep, trailing down to the sparse hairs of his underarm. He wants to lay his cheek there and close his eyes.

    Stiles smiles, stretches out further on the worn dock, and says, "Good."

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    18 Nov 2018

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    During the walk back down, he doesn't try to stop his own thoughts. He lets them fill his heart with imaginings of hands against hands against bed sheets, with wishes of casual touches and lingering looks, with daydreams of whispered conversations in the quiet of night.

    "So," Stiles says after a moment, "what do you wish was there that's never been there?"
    Hearing his own words turned back on him is worse than being dunked. Derek's heart takes off and his fingers tighten on Stiles' arm across his chest. Stiles rubs where his shoulder meets pec, and it does nothing to calm him.
    "You don't want to know," he warns, voice low, face tipped up toward the moon.
    "I do though. I really do."
    They float there for minutes or hours, Derek doesn't know. His answers swirl through his brain, repeated over and over until they start to overflow, dribbling from his lips. He stares at the moon like he's confessing his sins to it.
    "I want to build you a two story house."
    Stiles' fingers clench, nails scraping the skin on his shoulder. "Two story?"
    "So that there's a staircase where we can hang photos all the way up, family photos."
    He can hear Stiles' throat click as he swallows.
    "I want to build it away from everything, so you can walk around the house naked if you want. I want to take you on runs with me, late night runs where I chase you, and you like it. I want to come back to bed after a full moon and take you. Set my teeth to your nape and claim you. I want to travel with you- New York maybe- see if you like it. I want to build our house with my hands, so you'd know that I could--" He wonders if he should stop, but he can't, it keeps coming, "- so you'd know that I could provide for you. I want, I- I want to mark you. Just a little, enough so everyone would know."
    His chest is heaving and his voice is more air than solid sound. He can feel Stiles' heart against his back, pounding hard.
    "I want to know you, better than I do now, better than Scott does now. I want to know... I want to be there for you. I want to build a family with you. I want... I want. Everything.” He focuses on the twitch of Stiles’ fingers against his chest, but it feels numb.
    "I want too much," he whispers, like the end of a prayer, repentant.

    “Right… well. I was just surprised. I don’t want you to think…” Stiles fumbles for words, rubbing his nose and scratching his jaw as he searches. “I don’t want you to think that I wouldn’t- that I don’t- that just because you caught me off guard doesn’t mean I don’t-”
    A tender hope rises in Derek’s chest.
    “I’m not uninterested, is what I mean to say. In, you know, all that stuff you… said. Um. So, yeah, if you haven’t like, changed your mind in the last eight hours, I’d be okay with seeing, you know, if that’s- like we could maybe try or something-”
    “You wanna go on a date with me?” Derek asks.
    “Jesus Christ, thank you, yes, that’s what I meant. God.” Stiles slumps forward, wiping a hand across his face. “Or not a date, just hanging out. One-on-one situation.”

    Stiles brings his eyes to Derek's. "Can I be honest with you?"
    Derek nods.
    "I feel like... You have this idea of me or something. In your head. You said, about hearing me? And I just wonder- I wonder if you like someone that doesn't really exist. And. I don't want to waste your time, you know?" Stiles rubs a hand over his upper lip. "I'm afraid that I'll get to know you and end up liking you and you'll get to know the real me and change your mind."

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    Stiles isn't the only human in the pack, but, more often than not, he's the most vulnerable.

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    08 Nov 2018

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    “What was it this time?”
    “Wendigo,” Stiles says easily. “I blew it up.”
    “No one died, right? No victims?”
    “No victims, werewolf or otherwise. The two people it nabbed are in the hospital with Scott. I’m assuming Melissa is there, or that Scott will call her with an update.”
    “Proud of you, son. Not too hurt, are you?”
    “I’m good.”
    “You nearly blew yourself up, Stiles,” Derek grouses from beside him.
    “You nearly what?” The sheriff sounds horrified.
    “Traitor!” he snaps, smacking at Derek’s shoulder.
    “Stiles," his dad warns.
    “Okay, so, the thing picked me up, but I had already completed the spell, and I couldn’t really cancel it out or I’d explode, so I did my best.”
    The sheriff signs. “How many times do I have to tell you to be careful?”
    “I was being careful! I was being as careful as I could be!”
    Another aggravated sigh from the other end of the call. “Derek,” he says, knowing full well that how good werewolf hearing is. “We had a deal.”

    “Did you make brownies?” Erica asks excitedly.
    “You know I made brownies, you could smell them when you walked in.”
    She just grins at him sweetly as she stuffs a brownie square in her mouth. “Take a spoon; you weren’t raised in a barn.”
    “Yes, mom,” she sweetly mocks, winking up at him.
    Derek starts coughing on his brownie, and Stiles shoots him a look. “Chew your food.”
    Erica cackles.

    He’s still crying, but he’s quiet by the time Derek sets him down on his bed. He reaches down and pulls Stiles’ shoes off, then pushes him backward and forces him flat on the bed. Stiles raises his hands and wipes away his tears with his fingers, his eyes sore, unable to trust himself to open his mouth. He feels fingers at his waistband, and looks down to see Derek unzipping his pants, but the stern look on Derek’s face drives home the fact that all he’s doing is helping Stiles from falling apart. When his pants are undone, Derek tugs them off, then reaches up and practically man-handles Stiles under the covers.
    It’s a good hiding place. Stiles practically rips the covers out of Derek’s hands, pulling them up and over his head, curling into the smallest shape he can manage.

    The next time he comes to, his head is cradled gently on someone's lap, hands framing his face, and there's a lot of yelling going on, even if it all sounds muffled to Stiles’ senses. His eyes blink open, and Derek's face is just a few inches above his. The poor guy looks worried out of his mind, and if Stiles could muster the strength to reach out and reassure him, he would. As it stands, his every limb feels heavy, like they’re weighted down with concrete, so his best effort is a wiggle of his fingers.
    “He’s breathing, he’s awake!” Derek shouts, this time loud and clear enough Stiles can actually make out the words.
    That's when he sees the black veins winding up Derek's arms, pulling pain from Stiles’ body.
    “Oh, shit,” he says, his tongue thick in his mouth, muffling his words. He'd pushed a little too hard, hadn’t he?
    Derek's lips are moving, and he looks frantic, but Stiles cant make out the words anymore. His sense feel dull, like his whole body is stuffed up with wet cotton. His vision darkens around the edges and the world slowly fades to black. Above him, Derek keeps yelling.

    “Why am I not back home?”
    Derek’s eyebrows do this cute little scrunch-up movement for a moment. Stiles almost laughs. “Your dad’s place?”

    “Do you have any idea how lost we’d be without you?”
    Stiles swallows his words. He knows that the pack relies on him for a lot of things, even if they are mostly small. He’s the one who makes sure everyone has something good to eat the day after a big fight; he’s the one who cares for them, when they are all too tired to care for themselves. He laughs, derisively. “You’d all have to learn to cook so you wouldn’t starve. Lydia’s Google-Fu is just as good as mine, so it’s not like-”
    “How do you not get it?” Derek whispers through clenched teeth, framing Stiles’ face with his hands. They are warm and rough on Stiles’ cheeks, and the gesture makes his heart clench.
    Stiles stills. “What?”
    “Everyone would be devastated, Stiles. Scott, your dad, the rest of the pack. Me. Me.”

    “That doesn’t explain why, though. You kissed me after yelling about how much I mean to the pack.”
    “I kissed you, trying to convey how devastated I would be if we lost you.”
    “I mean, you’d be just as lost without me in the pack as you would anyone else, right?”
    “It’s not the same.”
    “How is it not the same?”
    “You sleep in my bed. You wear my clothes and carry my scent. You take care of the pack in ways I don't, I cant. You take care of me. I want to take care of you. It’s not. The same.” Derek’s voice is hardly a whisper, but it rings out in Stiles’ ears like it’s been shouted it, because-
    Oh.
    Oh.

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    Not wanting to think on it took much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth.

    “Not too close, he bites.”

    Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting.

    “He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton.

    The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.”

    “Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek.

    He looked extremely displeased.

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    21 Aug 2018

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    “Hey Parrish? Is that you?”
    There was silence for a second, and then, “Yeah?”
    “Can you come down with the food? I want him to see you.”
    “I’d rather not,” Parrish said uncomfortably.
    “Don’t be a weeny, get down here.”
    Stiles pointed at Parrish while looking at Derek. “That’s Parrish. He’s good. We like him. No growling at Parrish, okay? He’s a friend.”
    Derek was pouting, clearly unhappy, but Stiles motioned for Parrish to enter the cage. The deputy stared at him wide-eyed and shook his head rather emphatically. Stiles gave him an exasperated look.
    “I need him to trust someone other than just me.”
    “And why are you choosing me with that honour?” Parrish demanded.

    A very stressed voice came over the intercom, speaking so quickly the words ran together.
    “Stiles Stilinski, if you are in the building, please look out a south-facing window immediately!”
    Frowning, Stiles stood and had to leave the classroom to head across the hall. Everyone in the room was at the window, and when Stiles reached it, he cursed and turned to run out of the class. He bolted through the corridor, dodging people who’d spilled out into it to see what was going on, and exploded out the front doors. He raced across the green, and was actually annoyed at how happy Derek looked, loping towards him excitedly.
    “Derek!” Stiles insisted, stopping a few feet from him and letting Derek slam into him. He’d expected him to stop, but he hadn’t, and just plowed right into him, knocking him off his feet. The air rushed out of his lungs, Derek on top of him and nuzzling against his cheek. “Derek, what are you doing here?!”
    Stiles shoved at him to get him off, and he obeyed, crouching in front of him. He was still wearing the sweats, which was awesome, but he’d appeared at school! In the middle of the day!
    He was smiling brightly, green eyes sparkling, and he tackled Stiles again, nuzzling against him while he lay flat on his back.
    Stiles let out an explosive sigh, rubbing at his face with one hand, the other patting Derek’s back. He wondered if Derek thought this was a game. Like hide and seek. He had to find Stiles, and when he found him, he’d won.

    Stiles felt sick when he realized that this Derek was different. Human Derek was back, and he didn’t want to be touched. He didn’t want Stiles near him. Didn’t even want to look at him.

    “Why wouldn’t you talk to anyone?” Stiles finally asked. “Why were you waiting for me?”
    “Because that’s what I’ve always done,” Derek said quietly.
    Stiles frowned again. “What?”
    “That’s all I’ve done the past few months,” Derek insisted, looking up at him. “I’ve waited for you. I would stare at that clock for hours, matching it to the time on the calendar, waiting for you to show up. Waiting for you to come back. And sometimes you took too long. Sometimes it was impossible, and I had to do something, because I couldn’t sit there and wait for you anymore.”

    “I wanted you to be mine.”
    “What?”
    “I was alone for a long time,” Derek forced out, like the words were cutting him when he spoke them. “And when I finally had you, I wanted—more.”
    “More,” Stiles repeated. “Like—like a relationship?”
    “Like mates.”
    “Mates.” Stiles opened his mouth to add something, but no words came out. “Is that–is that what you have? A mate?”
    “Not yet,” Derek said, giving him an intense look.

    “I don’t think it’s a good idea for Derek to stay at our place.”
    “Why not?” Stiles asked. “You let animal Derek stay at our place. This one actually knows how to use the shower on his own, he’s an upgrade.” Stiles thumbed at Derek.
    He saw Derek close his eyes and let out a slow exhale in his peripheral and couldn’t help the small smirk at realizing he’d embarrassed him.

    “You’re it, Stiles. It’s you, or no one.”
    “You are exactly what I want, and I don’t care how long I have to wait for it. Five years, ten, twenty. I’ve waited for you before, and I’ll wait for you again. As long as it takes. Because you’re it for me, Stiles. I’ve never wanted anyone else, and I never will. But this isn’t just my choice, and I understand that. Just know that no matter what, I will always be here waiting for you.”
    Stiles had never felt the weight of those words so much as he did in this moment.
    Derek had spent so long waiting for someone to care about him. When he’d gotten it, he’d waited so long between visits for Stiles to come back. And when he’d come back to himself, he’d waited so long to admit how important Stiles truly was to him. What having him as a mate really meant.
    Derek had spent his entire life just waiting.
    Stiles didn’t want him to have to wait anymore.

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    “Let me do this nice thing for you, Derek, no strings attached,” said nobody ever.

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    15 Jul 2018

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    He’s never heard Derek say fuck before. He kind of wishes he’d been there in person, to see Derek’s lips shape around the word. Stiles has, over the last five years, developed a very good sense of how good somebody is at a blowjob, based on what their mouth does to fuck.

    “Oh my fucking god,” Stiles howls, clearing a foot off of the tile floor and throwing the sponge defensively at Scott. “Christ, warn somebody, will you?”

    He looks a little sad that Derek is dead. Stiles knows that Scott and Derek have gotten close—it’d have been basically impossible to be less close than they’d been eight years ago, Scott ready to let Derek die inasmuch as Scott was ever willing to let somebody be cannon fodder, and Derek being angsty about it in his journal—but he can see the evidence of that relationship now in how badly Scott appears to be taking Derek’s death.

    Feeling melodramatic, Stiles knocks his notebook to the floor with a sweep of his hand. It’s left him holding his pen awkwardly, so he flings that at Derek’s sulky floating body. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he demands, as the pen arches through Derek’s chest and hits the wall behind him. “Your therapist is a witch and it literally didn’t occur to you that maybe she had something to do with your Ghostbusters reenactment?”
    “What about this is evocative of Ghostbusters, exactly?” Derek points out.
    This is so impressively off topic that Stiles has to pause for a minute to appreciate it, which turns out to be enough time for Cora to mutter, “What the fuck does Ghostbusters have to do with anything?” under her breath.
    Derek shoots Stiles a triumphant glare, jabbing a finger in his sister’s direction like he probably wouldn’t if she could see him. “Oh, shut up,” Stiles says.

    “Exclusive,” Stiles says loudly, slamming the car door shut behind him. “Adjective, meaning the point in a monogamous relationship when you are no longer sticking your dick into anything and everything that moves.”
    Like Stiles hadn’t just made the only point that matters, Greg says, “My grandparents are dead. I want to move out here, closer to the family I have left, but Allison says that I’m not allowed to be in the state of California for longer than two days unless you give me permission. Seriously, Stiles? Are you twelve?”
    “As the injured party, I’m allowed reparations,” Stiles says. “Like, for example, the state of California. You can live literally anywhere else.”

    “Can you say it again?” he asks.
    “No,” Stiles says. “Fuck you.”
    “I’m serious,” Derek says, more intense than aggressive. “Say it again.”
    “I’m in love with you,” Stiles spits out, so quickly that the words run together. “You fucking bag of fucking dicks.”

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    It's hard to find your place in life when you're only human and feel completely replaceable. Or, how Stiles finds out that while yes, he is completely human, he is irreplaceable.

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    02 Jun 2018

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    He’s a message to the pack, that’s why they let him go in the woods, bruised and bloody and broken. They think he’ll go to Derek, figure he’s that stupid, that he’ll lead them right to him, or Derek will smell injured pack or something and come save him, but that’s not how it happens. Derek doesn’t come, because Stiles isn’t pack, not really, and Stiles knows where he needs to go.
    He collapses on the Argents’ doorstep after ringing the doorbell. He hears later that when he was in the hospital, Chris and Allison teamed up with the pack again and took down the alphas. Killed a few, that was Derek and Peter, he heard, but the rest were sent scattering, to spread the word that the Hales and Argents had formed some kind of truce for the time being, that as long as the code wasn’t broken, if you tried to fight a Hale, you’d have the fury of Argent upon you. Things are pretty quiet after that.

    “You idiot, of course you’re pack. Humans can be pack too. Lydia’s pack, Danny’s pack, you’re pack.” Derek sounds annoyed, like he’s talking to a child he has no patience for, and Stiles is getting real tired of this shit. He gets why Derek is annoyed, because Derek never has any patience for anyone, he just expects them to get what he means without using any actual words. But Stiles has been breaking for a long time, and it’s like the last straw, he’s going to explode if Derek keeps being such a dick.

    Besides, it’s totally worth it when he sees Derek’s face when he whips out the Dodgers tickets.

    Sure, he’s emotionally inept, but his last girlfriend set his fucking house on fire and killed pretty much his entire family, so Stiles doesn’t exactly count that in his cons list. (That list tends to be read in his dad’s voice and bullet points 1-5 are that he was arrested for murder.)

    “Is that out of your system now?” His voice is rough and god that cuts, Stiles can feel the tears burning at his eyes in seconds. “That’s not happening again.” Derek’s wiping his mouth with his forearm and Stiles feels like he wants to die, like Derek just tore out his heart and chewed on it before stomping all over it.

    He gets it all off his chest until the weight is gone and he just feels hollow inside, like without all of that he’s just a shell of a boy, because everyone he knows has taken bits and pieces of him and almost no one has stopped to fill him back up.

    “I hate you so much and I want to know why. Because it just... it didn’t have to change, you know? We could have stayed the way we were, I just wanted you to know and I thought it was cause I was a kid, but I’m nineteen, Derek, I’m not a kid and you made me feel like I wasn’t alone. And now, I am alone. And I don’t understand, I don’t understand how you’ve made yourself at home inside me and I can’t let anyone else in because I’m just filled up with you.”

    “I thought you’re still a kid, you need to enjoy college and experience all those things and you can’t do that with me back here. I can’t go there with you, because I’ve got the rest of the pack, and they have to come first.” It’s not like Derek knows he’s driving a knife into Stiles’ heart. He realizes that much, that Derek is just an idiot when it comes to talking, but all of this pack comes first bullshit sucks. Stiles didn’t want anything out of him, he didn’t want things to change from what they were, he just wanted to kiss him once in awhile, for Derek to know that he loved him and for Derek to love him back. He didn’t need this you’re secondary to my pack bullshit and it’s making everything hard to breathe, because wow, that sucks.
    “This was such a bad idea.”

    “Jesus, at least give me a good excuse like my ex burned down my house and killed my family and I have trouble trusting people now. That’s a valid excuse where I would be like okay, Derek, you are traumatized but have I not spent three years being trustworthy? I’ve been good to you and the pack and I wouldn’t hurt your stupid ass, because I’m not her and I love you but you’re too stupid to see that. That we could work past, not this, be a kid I’m too old for you and can’t be there bullshit, because you’re not that much older than me, idiot, and I didn’t want things to change anyway. I can’t date other people, Derek, cause you’re all in here. And I can’t get rid of you no matter how hard I try. So tell me again why you’re being a giant bag of dicks to me."
    “It’s because you’re my mate.”
    “That doesn’t explain the bag of dicks.”
    “Traumatized by relationships and don’t know how to use my words?”

    “So, I’m kind of dating Derek Hale.”
    “Is this supposed to be news?”
    “Sheriff.” His dad points to himself, before turning his fork to Stiles. “Delinquent son.” He points to the door, where Stiles half expects Derek to be lurking, but he thinks his dad might just be making a point when no one is there. “Suspected felon hanging around my son.”

  • Public Bookmark 62

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    Drunken shenanigans ensue after Stiles is called to pick up the Hale pack from a bar on the outskirts of town. A bar no one has ever heard of and struggles to remember going to.

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    04 Feb 2018

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    They sit quietly for a bit before Stiles says, “You’re not as much of a shallow douche as I thought.”
    “You either,” Isaac says with a small smile.
    “Did we just become best friends?”
    “Yup.”
    “Do you want to go do karate in the garage?”
    “Yup.”
    A garbled ‘yup’ comes from the back seat and he and Isaac shatter into laughter.

    Getting Derek to the elevator is harder than shoving him into the car. Some motor skills seemed to have cracked through whatever magical faerie drugs are still in his system turning him into a two-year-old with grabby hands. He pushes the wrong buttons on the elevator’s panel and Isaac and Stiles erupt in a volcano of ‘No!’ and try to force his hands to his sides and he starts giggling. This is a fucked up night of firsts.

    Instinct, however, is out to lunch and Derek just sort crumples on the floor gasping with insane laughter. Isaac thuds his forehead on the doorjamb and lets his eyes drift closed in defeat. It’s hard to be annoyed by any of this, at least for Stiles, because it’s so goddamn cute. Derek’s cuteness levels are usually restricted to looking uncomfortable when someone makes a dirty joke, being moody and reading with those stupid-hot glasses on. Why does he even need glasses? Stiles just assumed he wears them as a form of passive-erotic torture. Seeing him on his side dying of hysterical laughter at literally nothing is a whole new ball game and Stiles is totally down to participate even if it takes all night to get him settled.

    “So before you totally shut down about this and we never speak of it again, I’m just gonna ask for like thirty seconds in which I’ll try to be as honest and brave as I possibly can.”
    Derek watches him but says nothing, makes no indication he heard Stiles at all despite sitting three feet away and Stiles takes it as an affirmative because if he doesn’t do this now, he’s never going to. He sucks in a breath, lets it go and draws in one more for courage.
    “You’re pretty fucked up,” Derek winces at that, “but not nearly as fucked up as me. I don’t know anything. Like it’s stupid how much I thought I knew even yesterday compared to what I know now. I’m – I’m immature and naïve and stubborn and I didn’t have the balls to tell you how I felt. I’m not super sure I have the balls now, so this is gonna get a little word vomity. I want to think I understand you and what’s happened to you, how it affects you, but I don’t know as much as I think I do. I want to, though, and I’m not afraid of trying to get to a good place with you even if it means we have to fight a few times along the way. I actually kind of like fighting with you. I mean, not the fighting part, that part after I cool down and realize that you wouldn’t bother arguing with me if it didn’t come from somewhere, you know, fond I guess. I like listening to you. I like watching you read. And as a mild bonus, you’re mind-numbingly hot in jeans. I – fuck – I want to be with you. Maybe there isn’t more than that. I don’t really care what that means. You want to be buds and watch TV every weekend, that’s cool; you want to be werewolf married to me, I’m down for that. We can never touch if that’s what you want, or we can fuck for three days straight. All I ask is that you, just, you keep me around. Even when I’m being a shit, I’ll always make it up to you, I promise.”
    Maybe his eyes are welling up a little, but whatever, this is turning way more emotional than he anticipated, “I just, I, fuck Derek, I’m fucking in love with you. There. Rant complete.”
    Derek’s mouth thins and his hand grazes his chin before swiping up and down over his face.
    “That was more than thirty seconds.”
    “Yes,” Stiles breathes, “Yes it was. I think I’m gonna pass out.”
    “Water?”
    Stiles waves his hand to decline and struggles to catch his breath. A panic attack right now would not be the most romantic thing ever.
    “I can pick you up at seven,” Derek says quietly and Stiles’s eyes rip up at him.
    “Like… for a date?”
    Derek nods.
    “A date because you… want to date me?”
    “No,” Derek says carefully, “I want to….” His eyes flicker around the room while he thinks and Stiles is ready to consider taking up smoking to belay his stress, until he says, a tiny smile creeping on to his mouth, “I want to spoil you.”
    “Yeah?” shakes out of Stiles.
    Nodding Derek says, “Yeah.” He stands from the table and straddles Stiles’s lap and Stiles is petrified. In what fucking universe does this happen? Derek must sense his hesitation because he gets a flash in his eyes like he thinks he’s misinterpreted something or crossed a line and Stiles tucks his hands under Derek’s thighs and pulls him in closer.

  • Rec *

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    Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

    Language:
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    12 Jan 2018

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    “Can you even picture that? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be so totally gone on someone you know is never gonna feel the same way?”
    He shouldn’t say anything. He can’t say anything. But it was not saying anything that had brought this about in the first place. Derek’s voice drags out, raw and broken.
    “…I do now.”

    His eyes open slowly as Derek finally draws back, looking pale and choked and shaken, searching Stiles’ face for something he can’t provide.
    “And where am I supposed to find a witch to take this from me?”

    Stiles made the deal and Derek’s paying the price, and he’s still worried about whether Stiles is ok.
    They could have been so in love.
    It’s an abstract realization: numb, distant, intangible. And for the first time in nearly three months, Stiles wonders if he really is fine after all.

    “I mean… you are serious, right? Because if you say something like that and you’re not serious, it’s gonna—”
    “Kill Derek, I know.” He rolls his eyes. “Remember back when you were my best friend?”
    “I am your best friend.
    And part of that’s looking after the things you care about, especially when you can’t.”

    And his eyes are shooting back open because who knows how long he has, how long the ‘echo’ bouncing around inside of him will last.
    All that comes out, thick and broken, is “Derek.”
    And he’d never said anything, never done anything when it really mattered. When he’d still really felt this. Why the hell had he wasted all that time? Why had they both?
    “I love you. I do… Derek I-I…” That's as far as he gets before he breaks off. He’s a wreck. Sobbing.
    “Shh,” Derek’s breathing against him, hand going to cup his neck, still so tentative, like this is a dream that’ll disappear if he holds it too hard.
    And it will. Fuck, it will. What the hell had Stiles agreed to?
    “This isn’t fair. God, I’m such a dick, I shouldn’t have said yes. I’ll be fine in five minutes and you’ll be—”

    “I love you.”
    They blurt it together, tripping over the words in a rush to get them out. Like it’s the most important thing in the world, like it’s all that matters.
    “I love you. I love you, Derek. My love’s holding a whole fucking town together, you understand that? You do that to me. You have no idea…”
    “I know, I know. Stiles, I—”

    “You deserve better.”
    “I deserve you.”
    “Yeah, you do.” He draws back, grinning dazedly. “You deserve happy. I’d make you so goddamn happy, Derek.”

    Stiles knows he’s terrified of the deadline, possibly more than any second after. That moment when he’s still holding onto Stiles, still open and vulnerable, and Stiles just stops caring.
    And Stiles feels a flutter of panic too. He needs to say his Important Things, and gets as far as “Derek, when this is… don’t let me…” before Derek cuts him off with a firm headshake and a fresh kiss.
    “I’m going to hold onto every second of this. I don’t want to remember you worrying.”
    “Well tough, big guy. I’m gonna worry. That’s what love is.”
    His heart breaks a little when Derek’s lip trembles.

    Derek’s been hurt enough, damn it. Stiles should be here to look out for him, to keep him safe. But since that's not possible, best friend tag team will have to do.
    “Scott, buddy. You listening?”
    “Uh… kinda can’t help it, dude.”
    “Don’t you fucking dare let me mess with Derek anymore, got it?”
    “Yeah, Stiles. I promise.”
    “Hey. Derek, you promise me too, ok? You said you deserve me, right? Well that guy you’ve been with? He’s not me. At least when it comes to you. And you deserve someone who loves you like I do. Don’t insult what we have here by going back to that guy.”
    Derek lets out a small, broken sound and tries to smother it in a new kiss, and Stiles grips his neck and holds his gaze and—
    “Oh, let the town burn, I say.”
    “Peter?”

    He glances back to the witch. “Both of them, will that do?”
    “I think it might.”
    “No,” Derek snaps, falling away from Stiles, taking a sharp step forward. He’s looking at Peter like he’s never seen him before. At the other edge of the room, Lydia moves smoothly to Malia’s side, linking their arms. Malia glances down, then back up quickly, seeming startled.
    “Would you rather lose your boy again, Derek?” Derek’s grasping Stiles’ arm in an instant, tugging him forward until he can feel Derek’s heat against his side. “I thought not.”
    “I want this freedom, Derek. After six years in a hospital, skin peeling, mind lost in a haze of burning and the screams of my dying family… I want to leave this town in the dust and never look back. Do you understand?”
    Derek’s breaths are coming out sharp and fast, nostrils flaring with each one. The witch starts to lift her hand and he spits out sharply, “Peter.”
    The witch pauses, Peter turns. His mouth opens, closes, before:
    “I forgive you.”

  • Rec *

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    "There is a world where whenever someone fantasizes about you, you can physically feel it, but you have no idea who is thinking it about you."

    Stiles knows it's wrong, but he's been Fantasizing about Derek and he can't bring himself to stop. Derek doesn't know who's taken an interest in him, but he's enjoying it way more than he probably should.

    Series
    Language:
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    12 Jan 2018

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    He forces himself to stop, hoping maybe Derek will catch on. One tap the first time, and he'd come back at one o'clock. Two taps now, so that must mean...
    Derek doesn't catch on. Stiles paces his room restlessly, takes a long, cold shower as Derek arches into him impatiently, as Derek growls against his neck, taps a frankly ridiculous number of times against Stiles’ mouth, proving he has absolutely no clue what Stiles is trying to tell him…

    Derek’s cupping his face with one hand, the other gently smoothing over his bare hip. He draws back, then presses his lips to Stiles’ gently, tentatively, like he’s not sure of himself.
    And then the touch of Derek’s hand leaves his skin and his mouth draws back and Derek’s fingers tap deliberately – one, two, three, four – against his lips.
    Four times. Four o'clock. Derek gets it.

    There are the moments of unexpected warmth that flood over him throughout the day – strong arms and a warm body suddenly against him in a way that should feel stifling but somehow manages to leach all the tension right out of him.
    It happens at the most random moments, with no way to prepare for it and Derek realizes quickly that it isn’t a prelude to anything, some new type of foreplay, when he tries to reciprocate with a kiss and finds a pair of fingers brushing his lips, holding him off. So, just a hug then. Just…comfort.

    The question of his Dreamer’s identity is starting to become a serious problem.
    Because it’s been a long time since it was just sex between them, and that’s not just on Derek’s end. Any normal person would have given up after Derek’s breakdown. They would have decided he had too much baggage and moved on to an easier Object. They certainly wouldn’t have started caressing him soothingly after sex, wouldn’t be wasting time sending out unnecessary hugs three times a day.
    There’s no real relationship here. Just Fantasies. He doesn’t have the right to be jealous.
    He squeezes his eyes shut and before he knows it, he finds himself clutching his Dreamer close, arms wrapped bruisingly around his waist, clasping his nape, breathing “where are you? Come find me” pointlessly against his ear.

    Stiles arrives at his loft with out warning, meandering straight past Derek and flopping on his couch.

    It’s been years since Derek’s been close to someone outside the comfortable hierarchy of a pack. A person who isn’t bound to him out of blood or wolf bonds. He's not really sure how to go about it anymore.

    Stiles. He’d imagined Stiles. He’d assaulted Stiles.
    Derek had forced a Fantasy on him, an incredibly vivid, invasive Fantasy. He’d pinned him, bitten him, fucked him without his consent. Imagined his scent and skin and voice, imagined him wanting it, reacting to it, encouraging it.
    A phantom hand brushes, tentative, across his thigh—
    —And Derek smacks it away, pressing a panicked palm against his Dreamer’s mouth.
    He can’t even think about his Dreamer right now.

    “You don’t want me, Stiles. You just wanted someone to want you. Sometimes a Fantasy is just a fantasy, Stiles. You’ll understand when you’ve had more experience.”
    It’s a slap in the face, a reminder that Derek looks at Stiles and just sees a stupid, inexperienced kid. Stiles thinks he probably knows Derek as well as anyone can at this point…and Derek still doesn’t see him at all.

    So maybe it’s inevitable that when Derek falls into bed that night, his mind goes to Stiles instead of the Dreamer.
    Just a second of contact before he’s pulling back, cursing, already fumbling for his phone to send out an apology…
    When a pair of fingers brush his lips. Soft, fond: wait.
    …What.

    “…Do you even actually want me?”
    Derek seems startled by the question, brows drawing together, eyes flitting all along Stiles before he lets out a sharp, bitter huff of air. His hands clench at his sides, shoulders rolling down, tense, and Stiles has seen Derek walk into a battle against a half dozen alphas looking more confident than he does right now.
    “I… Stiles, you’re all I’ve wanted for weeks. All I think about.” Another breath before it drags out, breaking with a force of effort: “I love you.”
    Derek's looking at him now, soft and strangely vulnerable, murmuring, “You had to know that."
    It’s everything Stiles had wanted to hear, and he flinches back, feeling sick.
    “You love the Dreamer. That’s like…loving a mask. It’s not really me.”
    “Everything the Dreamer is, you are. I should’ve known it was you.”

    And then Derek’s sighing against his ear, lifting his hand, brushing a finger across Stiles’ lips.
    Wait.

  • Public Bookmark *

    Words:
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    20 Dec 2017

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    "But, no, I understand if there's an emergency that you have to leave for. You have responsibilities, really a bunch of them, which aren't fun at all, and it's fine."
    "There will be no emergencies," Derek says firmly. In a way that probably isn't supposed to make it sound like his entire pack is currently tied up somewhere, so they can't get into trouble. Even if that is a hilarious mental image.

    "God, I thought it was a whole training thing, so I could be more helpful the next time we end up menaced by something supernatural. I figured you brought me here on my own so the pack wouldn't laugh their asses off when I ended up sucking at everything. Which I was giving you points for by the way."
    "No," Derek says. Oh, and now he's clearly pissed that Stiles is taking away his points.

    "You're allowed to repeat things you know. We can do stuff we've already done. We could see another movie, you could pick, unless you have awful taste and then I will veto all your choices - that was a joke, stop glaring. Seriously, doing things you had fun doing the first time isn't against the rules."
    Derek seems to think Stiles is teasing him, either that or he actually thinks there are rules and is pissed Stiles hasn't shared them. He probably doesn't think there are actual rules...shit, are there actual rules? Stiles isn't exactly sure about that himself.

    This is a completely unexpected, and almost normal, last-minute emergency. A real life emergency - though he understands that considering everything supernatural related 'not real life,' probably won't be healthy in the long run. That's just asking for the next traumatic head injury to end up convincing him that he made it all up, and then where the hell would he be?

    “Seriously I'm not exactly qualified for this, but there was no one else qualified, or volunteering. Or in the general vicinity. It was a small pool of applicants is what I'm saying."

    "There, you're officially a veterinary assistant's, assistant's assistant. Which I suspect means you get paid nothing at all and have to live in the basement. Also, I get to boss you around."

    Derek lets him, even past when Stiles's fingers stop being helpful and just drag indulgently through his wet hair. Because he knows how much he'd miss this, if he didn't have it any more, and he hates how often Derek makes him think about that.

    “I thought I was mad, but figured you get these chances in life, when if you don't take a stab at the really insane things then they definitely won't happen. But if you do - well that's immediately more than zero chance."

    "I just want you to be honest, and I want you to make the big decisions too. I want to know that if I do something crazy and stupid, like fall in love with you -" he swallows the lump in his throat, stiff and aching. Because, yeah, if he does something stupid like that. "That you'll stick around, and we'll work it out, all of it. Even when it's hard and you don't want to talk about it. The parts where we're both a little messed up. Where you have intimacy issues, and I have - I don't know - issues where I don't think I'm good enough, and all sorts of ridiculous crap like that. Because I'm seventeen and you can't leave all this on me. You have to help, you have to want this too. I need you to want this enough to stick around, when it's really fucking hard as well. I need you to want this as much as..." he doesn't know how to finish that, doesn't know how to say what he means without it sounding stupid.

  • Rec *

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    I received this Tumblr prompt: post-Nogitsune, Scott wants the pack to go camping as a team building/group healing thing. Lots of wolfy dynamics. Hurt/Comfort. Stiles hiding a lot of pain. Derek being the only one who notices. Slow burn. Puppy piles. Eventual (outdoor? Tent?) sex. Meeting each other's eyes across the campfire.

    Language:
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    11 Dec 2017

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    “Scott. This is your Pack. It’s time to talk about it.”
    Scott makes a helpless sighing noise, and mutters, “they don’t want to.”
    “No, they wouldn’t,” Derek tells him impatiently, like that’s obvious, “That doesn’t mean they don’t have to.”
    He gestures at Isaac, and starts, “one of your Betas is in mourning, and you haven’t addressed him about it, even though you both obviously feel it. When you allow a Beta to believe their Alpha doesn’t care about what’s going on with them, they feel it, and they keep feeling it until you prove to them otherwise.”
    Then he gestures at Kira, “you haven’t given any boundaries to Kira, no one in your Pack knows where on the totem pole of power she stands, and that is inherently confusing to Pack instincts.”
    His hand moves to Lydia, “Lydia has lost her best friend," then he points to Scott, "and you’ve lost your first love.”
    Then his arm sweeps toward Stiles, making Stiles’ heart thump loudly.
    “And your best friend is teetering on the edge of reality, getting somewhere between five and ten hours of sleep a week, and blaming himself for her death, while you stand around with your dick in your hand, not knowing what to do about it, because ‘they don’t want to talk about it.’ Does that sound about right?”
    Scott’s eyes flash when he looks at Derek, “it’s not your job, or your place to be telling me how to run my Pack.”
    “That’d be true, if you were running your Pack at all,” Derek points out.
    Scott stands, making Isaac glance up worriedly while Lydia stares into the fire, and Stiles shoots up onto his feet.
    He scrambles, and panics to say, “he’s right, Scott.”
    Scott looks to Stiles with betrayal written all over his face.
    “I…” Stiles starts guiltily, “Allison would hate this.”
    It’s like bricks dropping on Scott’s head, making him look heavy, and hurt.
    Stiles swallows loudly, and outstretches his arm toward everyone around the fire, "she wouldn’t want us to sit here, and not talk about the super apparent problems. She’d never let you get away with it.”
    Scott looks down at his feet, and to regain his attention, Stiles gestures at Derek, and tells Scott, “Derek doesn’t even know he’s Pack.”
    Scott’s head twists up, and Derek looks taken aback.
    Derek is busy staring wide-eyed at Stiles while Scott looks to him.
    “Really, Derek?”
    “Oh, Derek,” is the first thing Lydia has managed to say all day.

    “I’m terrified I’ll be alone.”
    Derek doesn’t reply, the want for further explanation plain in the air, so Stiles adds,
    “I mean… who would choose this? Who would choose me? I’m all… fucked up, I’m all damaged and maybe – maybe someone would have some kind of aneurism and choose me, but love isn’t like a one-time deal, you know? When you decide to spend your life with someone, you choose that someone every day of your life, over and over and who would do that? Choose me forever? Choose me once, twice – hell, fifty times, a hundred times maybe… but no one would choose me everyday. Not the way I am, not like this fucked up, miserable – “
    “I would.”
    Stiles snaps his head to Derek and Derek is gazing seriously at him, his thumb between his lips where he’s scraping off some melted marshmallow with his teeth.
    Stiles doesn’t say anything, too shocked to make a noise and Derek repeats,
    “I would choose you everyday.”

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