Life with 4 Dogs

Derek drags Stiles out in the woods to perform weird magical moon rituals.

There are rituals that protect the alpha’s mate from sickness and injury. Others for protecting them against curses and dark magic. There are rituals for strengthening the pack bonds and making the betas healthier and stronger. Derek makes offerings on his simple but beautiful moon shrines, whispers incantations, and is answered immediately.

The moon magic is powerful, and eager to help them and their pack. Derek thinks it has something to do with his family. After all their sacrifice and suffering, it’s like something is being given back to him. Like the universe is trying to restore some kind of balance.

Stiles huffs and rolls his eyes a lot, because it all seems a bit excessive. He hasn’t had a cold in two years now because of Derek's protection spells. It’s frankly ridiculous.

It’s also kinda boring to be stuck inside the stone circle Derek built on the forest floor, without being allowed to talk Derek’s ear off because he needs to concentrate on the complicated language of the incantations.

“I’m bored. Are you done soon? Can I use my phone?”

“No. We both need to stay focused for this to work, Stiles.”

Stiles groans and lays down on the soft moss, shirt riding up to expose a patch of pale skin on his stomach. “What are you even doing?”

Derek steps away from the stone circle, hoping he’s done everything correctly for this one. It’s not a protection ritual and he’s not asking for something vital. This is just something he really wants to give Stiles. He found it in an old book in his family’s vault and was really drawn to the wording of it. It’s a fortune moon spell, one that blesses the mate with a year of felicity, of smiles and happiness. Sweet and simple.

He smiles to himself, the love he feels for his mate heating up his insides. Stiles is always beautiful, but he never looks better than out here in the moonlight. “You’ll see.”

When the moon is half against the night sky, it grants blessings of fortune like these. With its rays falling down on the stones surrounding Stiles, Derek begins his incantation, reading the words carefully from the book.

He’s about midway through when Stiles yelps.

“Just a bug! It was in my shirt. Go on!”

Derek continues, and manages to get through the intricate, strange words. He feels a little bit thrown off and when he closes the book, he has a bad feeling.

Suddenly Stiles lets out a pained, punched out noise.

Derek breaches the circle and is at his side in a second.

“Ow,” Stiles says, clutches his abdomen. “The hell did you do?”

“I—”. Nowhere did it say anything about pain. “I’m not sure.”

He places his hand on Stiles’ stomach to take the pain. He can feel the magic buzzing and radiating under the surface.

“Well thanks.” Stiles glares at him, and Derek rubs over his skin in apology, worry cooling his insides.

“We should go to the hospital.”

“And tell them what? That you zapped me with moon magic? We need to go to Deaton.”

Derek reluctantly agrees. He doesn’t really trust Deaton to take care of Stiles, but he probably knows how to reverse whatever the hell Derek just did to him.

Doctor Deaton remains calm when Derek explains what he was doing—or thought he was doing—and looks over at Stiles where he’s still pale and clutching his middle.

“May I see it?”

Derek finds the page in the book and hands the thing over to him.

Deaton’s face remains mostly unreadable, but his eyebrows crawl slightly upward when he looks at Derek. “And what was the exact wording you used?”

Derek recites it, a string of words that sounds like nonsense to humans who don’t have the same connection to the moon as wolves and druids. “It means something like ‘blessings of felicity’,” he explains to Stiles.

“Not so much felicity,” Deaton says, tapping against the page. “As fertility.”

Derek pales.

“What?!” Stiles squawks.

“You said you found this in the Hale vault?” Deaton asks, ignoring Stiles.

Derek nods, speechless.

“Your family was blessed with fertility for generations. Ever wonder why you had so many cousins?”

“Hello?!” Stiles waves his arms to get their attention. “What the fuck? I’m a dude!”

“True. But you’re also Derek’s mate,” Deaton says calmly. “The mating bond is a sacred union, forged under the moon, making it susceptible to its magic.”

Stiles gapes. “So Derek said some magical words and made me pregnant?!”

“We don’t know that,” Derek says through gritted teeth.

“Then why does my stomach hurt, asshole?”

Deaton clears his throat. “Stiles, I'd like to examine you, if you will."

Stiles sighs heavily and hops up on the examination table. Deaton gets him to lay down and places his hand down right above Stiles’ pelvic bone. Instead of pressing around to check for something, though, the vet closes his eyes. His eyelids twitch like he’s having visions. Suddenly he starts speaking, voice coming out strange and inhuman, making both Derek and Stiles startle. It sounds more like a gust of wind than a voice, coming not from him, but from everywhere.

The grove has found its shape.

There’s a surge through the space itself as the not-voice continues. Like the new moon, it remains hollow. Waiting for the one who runs between worlds.

“What the fuck is this shit,” Stiles whisper-shouts and Derek clutches his hand.

When the vet opens his eyes, something in the air settles down.

“Well,” he says, face unchanging. “No pregnancy yet. But it might come.”

“Can you reverse it?” Derek asks weakly, mouth dry. “Can we…fix him?”

Stiles elbows him in the spleen. “I’m not broken.”

“Indeed,” Deaton says. “Although heavily altered. Of course there are medical ways, but I don’t know if the moon will…respect those.”

Derek rubs a hand over his face “So you’re saying that even if we remove the womb—”

“It might grow back,” Deaton says matter-of-factly.

Derek puts his forehead down on the examination table, holding Stiles’ hand in his. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers down to the cold steel table. “This is all my fault.”

Stiles sighs, but squeezes back. “Yeah, but you were trying to do something nice.”

“Just wanted to make you happy,” Derek says quietly, close to tears.

“You know,” Stiles says, running his fingers through Derek’s hair. “Maybe it’s not so bad—”

“No,” Derek says firmly, lifting his head from the table. “There’s gotta be a way to remove it. A counter spell or—”

“Hey,” Stiles interrupts him, arms over his middle almost protectively. “Who says I even want to remove it?”

Derek stares at him. “You…want to keep it?”

“It’s…mine. It’s a part of me now.” Stiles looks a little in awe. It might be the magic altering their minds a little and making them both delusional, but something in Derek shifts. Something in him wants to take him right now on this table and make the hollow grove not hollow anymore. The urge to plunge in and fill is almost strong enough to drown out the voice of reason, the one that says “how the fuck is Stiles even gonna give birth?”

A box of condoms lands on the table in front of them. Deaton’s smile is a little tight.

au, where's Stiles’s a witch and Derek’s wounded wolf

His mother always told him that he would lose his powers when he saw that smile. When he was little, he didn’t pay any attention to her words, but as he grew older, everything changed.

For the past year, he had been tormented by dreams of a person unknown to him. The dreams were always different, but one thing remained unchanged — the smile. Stiles had never seen his face completely, only a bright, rabbit-like smile. Since then, he has been waiting to meet this person in order to prevent his mother’s prophecy.

But when a wounded wolf is brought into his house, he doesn’t even suspect that this meeting will become his end.

soon on ao3

stiles fic where he gets turned into a werewolf by Scott but he’s really upset with scott particularly when Scott tries to help him control his powers cumulating in a big fight in the garage

I was tagged by the amazing @endwersed (˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵)

This is a bit long for a snip but I've been fiddling with this for a while. It's a Sterek fic based on the Ballad of Tam Lin. The working title is Under the Bruised Sky

-

The Jeep's engine sputters as it comes to a stop in front of his childhood home. Stiles takes the keys from the ignition but instead of exiting, he thumps his head against the steering wheel. This is the very last place he wants to be. It's only been two weeks since his father's funeral, and it's been a sickening whirlwind of paperwork and dying flowers and aggravating calls to creditors.

All he wants, more than anything, is to not have to clean out his childhood home. Melissa and Scott offered to help, to make it a family project, but he turned them down. Like an idiot. At the time it made sense. This was going to be his way of coming to terms with his standard-issue shitty childhood, of getting to know Dad as a person and not just a shadowy memory. But now that he's here, actually fucking here, the idea that he could neatly box up his life and trauma and then be healed seems childish.

The house isn't exactly a starter home; with four bedrooms, three bathrooms including an en suite, and a small library, it's way too big, too expensive, for him. The lot itself is over an acre, covered in unkempt forest. Just the thought of the upkeep, the goddamn yardwork, makes his guts churn. If he was smart, he'd sell the place off instead of worrying about trying to keep up with the property tax.

He squints out at the front yard. The grass is overgrown but lush and green, and the crabapple tree is in full bloom. White flower petals paint the ground around the trunk. If that's a good or bad thing, he doesn't know. Plants and gardening have never been his thing. Hell, it wasn't even his dad's thing. Mom was the one with the green thumb, and she's been dead for over ten years. Anything left of her hobby is bound to be running wild and untamed.

There's no sense in delaying it. With a bone-weary sigh, Stiles shoves the door open and steps onto the sun-baked street. The air is thick, eagerly pressing against his skin. Sweat begins to drip down his neck. June bugs sing from the grass, filling the air with their song.

No honking cars. No sirens in the distance. Just a stale wind and the sounds of nature. Stiles hates it immediately.

And it seems the neighbours do, too. It's not a particularly crowded area, but Dad wasn't the only person mad enough to live in the middle of nowhere; other houses are visible from the street, each equally as big and dark as Dad's.

Weird.

Stiles runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Focus. It doesn't matter what the neighbours are up to. He needs to see what he's dealing with.

On the way to the house, he grabs the mail from the overflowing mailbox. The box itself is cared from wood and shaped to look like an animal of some sort. A wolf, or maybe a fox. Did his dad carve it or buy it from some bougie shop in town? For luck, he runs his fingers along the creature's muzzle, its ears.

The front door is a cheery yellow, and it glides open in a welcoming arc. A sunlit hallway stretches before him. Stiles stays rooted to the spot, pile of junk mail in hand. The last time he saw this hallway was when he left, and he never really thought he'd see it again. It had been right after Mom's funeral. Dad had been drinking all day and was determined to keep it up once they got home. Stiles had been young and naive, and he thought that pouring the rest of the booze down the sink would end it, and he would have his dad back.

The memory is blurry from trauma and time, but what has been burned into his mind is running through this hallway, trying to reach the door before it was too late. He didn't make it.

Stiles closes his eyes and inhales deeply. He exhales roughly through his mouth, a big cleansing breath that does nothing to ease the greasy feeling in his stomach. If he opens his eyes, he's going to hurl and so he keeps them squeezed tight. There's no universe where this doesn't happen. He has to clean the place out and make a decision on what to do with it.

He opens his eyes. The hallway is empty of angry fathers and weeping mothers. When he takes a step forward the floorboards creak, announcing his presence to any lingering ghosts. Framed photos hang on the walls, the dead eyes of the subjects staring at him as he creeps down the hall towards the kitchen. Some of the pictures are of him when he was a tiny creature with hollow eyes and a buzzcut but most are of relatives from the old country with stern, craggy faces.

None of them are of Claudia, his mother.

-

Hi! Sure! Also check out this post and this one and this and also this maybe

Hero Management by ThoseSadisticTendencies

Stiles gets abducted by hunters one night and subsequently tortured to draw in the valuable members of the pack. However, matters quickly go south when they discover the connection between him and Derek. Angst and darkness with a semi-happy ending. AU in that Derek doesn’t get kidnapped by Kate Argent and they don’t go to Mexico but other semi-canon stuff may occur

The Truth Always Escapes by stereksterek

Derek sighed tiredly before taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa and opening the book. “It looks at how pack members experience the bond based on what they are. Instincts and connections vary greatly from born werewolves, to bitten werewolves, banshees, hunters, and even humans.” Stiles paused, “That… actually sounds very interesting. I kinda wanna read it now. But my head feels like a warzone, and I definitely don’t have the energy to hold a book that heavy in my hands right now.” He twisted and hoisted his legs up onto the couch when he had an idea. “Maybe you could read it to me, Sourwolf? And who knows? Maybe hearing you say more than two sentences in a row might be enough to actually shock the sickness out of me?” ------------------------------------------------------------------ Or the one where Stiles wakes up sick thinking his day can’t get any worse, but boy was he wrong…

Also this thing he does, the little snap of teeth when he’s growling/posturing aggressively. Another wolf behaviour.

I know for a damn fact that Jeff Dingus didn’t care about these details, which means they’re solidly acting choices made by Hoechlin, and it makes it so much better.

Also, I know it’s a kind of fandom joke, Stiles being able to read Derek’s eyebrows, but in full seriousness, that isn’t all that unlikely. Peter did the same thing when he asked to keep Talia’s claws. Derek doesn’t say a word, but they have an entire conversation just by Peter reading Derek’s expressions/body language. Which is how wolves communicate. It makes a lot more sense to think about born werewolves being more aware of nonverbal cues than bitten ones, and how Peter and Derek (the only two born wolves so far) can so easily understand each other even without speaking.

The problem for the narrative is that he’s only halfway competent at best.

My favorite thing about Stiles is that he’s utterly unhinged and only cares about like 5 people in the world. And those five people he will commit crimes against humanity for. And against Darach and werewolfkind as well.

It’s nice enough that Stiles could probably fall asleep like this.

Derek is holding him piggy-back through the preserve, and Stiles isn’t so much as holding onto Derek as much as he is just lying against his back.

He has his arms crossed against the back of Derek’s neck, resting his head on them and watching the trees go by. Derek holds up the entirety of Stiles’ weight with ease, hands curled under Stiles’ thighs as Stiles swings his feet absentmindedly.

Through the mating bond, he can feel that Derek isn’t at all bothered by Stiles slumping his full body weight against him and putting in zero effort to stay on. In fact, Derek feels a sort of primal, smug satisfaction from carrying his mate. Like he’s succeeding in his sole biological purpose to spoil him senseless.

Stiles snorts.

He can’t see Derek’s face, but he can see that Derek’s ears turn pink. “Don’t,” he growls.

Stiles grins. “Didn’t say anything.”

“Keep it that way.”

Stiles throws his head back with a laugh.

His sneakers kick the brush as he swings his feet, but Derek hasn’t said anything about the noise. Usually Derek does territory patrols in total, unnerving silence that speaks of a sort of stealth only gifted to the supernatural. Stiles knows Derek takes these patrols seriously, he’s seen him snap at his betas to be more silent and stop fucking around.

But Derek never says anything to him.

Even when Stiles is rambling and stumbling through the forest with about as much stealth as a frazzled squirrel, Derek always seems happy to listen to him talk. Maybe Derek trusts his senses and instincts even with Stiles’ noise… or maybe Stiles really does just get away with everything like the pack says he does.

It has Stiles biting back a smile.

“Stop,” Derek snaps.

BOTW playthrough #3

He didn’t feel broken. Never had. Just built differently.

And then he met Derek Hale.

Derek was the grumpy, broad shouldered, leather wearing disaster Stiles absolutely should not have fallen for. But he did, slowly at first, then all at once. Derek’s signing was clumsy when they met, stiff and unsure. Now it was fluent, soft around the edges, tailored specifically to Stiles. Like a language made just for the two of them.

Derek talked with his hands, and Stiles listened with his heart.

They’d been dating for almost a year when Melissa handed Stiles the file.

“Cochlear implant candidate,” she had signed, mouthing the words as she always did so Stiles could follow her rhythm. “Your hearing nerve looks good. Your brain processes all the right signals. If you want this… you can have it.”

Stiles froze, staring at the paperwork. A cochlear implant. A chance, maybe, to hear.

He didn’t say yes for weeks. Not because he didn’t want it, but because he didn’t know how to imagine it. Because silence wasn’t something he hated… it was simply familiar. And what if the world wasn’t better with sound? What if it was worse?

Derek never pushed him. Not once.

He only signed, Whatever you choose. I’m with you.

That was the thing that did it, in the end.

Stiles scheduled the surgery.

The world after the implant wasn’t miraculous the way movies made it seem. It was pain and pressure and overstimulation and long stretches of confusion. The device had to heal before it could be turned on. Stiles had to wait a month with a foreign thing under his skin, waiting for the day the audiologist would flip the switch.

He didn’t tell Derek he was scared. He didn’t have to. Derek always knew.

And then came activation day.

Stiles and Derek sat in a small, bright room with soft chairs and a machine that felt far too clinical for something that promised so much. Derek sat beside him, knee pressed warm against his. He didn’t try to hold Stiles’ hand, not until Stiles reached for him first.

••••••

Stiles didn’t mean to start a frenzy.

Really, he didn’t.

He’d just walked into the loft wearing that hoodie - the one Derek had once growled about being too small, too distracting, too “you smell like trouble when you wear that.” Which, to be fair, might have been the point.

“Stiles,” Derek said, voice low, warning already curling at the edges.

“Derek,” Stiles said back, sweet as sugar and twice as smug, leaning against the counter. “Something wrong?"

Derek didn’t answer. He just crossed the room in three strides, grabbed the hem of Stiles’ hoodie, and tugged him forward until their noses brushed.

“Do you want to start something?” Derek asked, voice rough.

“Start?” Stiles murmured, grinning as his breath hitched. “Oh no, big guy. I’m here to finish it.”

[im so glad i took a break from cleaning to see this 🥹🥹🥹 SO CUTE !]

because, of course, yes, 1000%

Derek not knowing why all of the sudden he wants to bring little gifts to Stiles? the gifts aren’t anything brutal, gross, or gorey, even tho that’s probably the traditional way for a wolf to court? you’re supposed to bring your prospective lover a dead rabbit or deer, right? so why is Derek doing the exact opposite? bringing Stiles a messy bouquet of flowers that he ripped straight from the ground, a rock that reminded him of Stiles he found in a stream, all smooth and speckled. a (LIVE) kitten he gently carried in his mouth and left on Stiles’ doorstep. Stiles loved the kitten but couldn’t keep it; too many responsibilities. harmless berries or plums he climbed trees or jumped through bushes for; Stiles also didn’t keep — there’s wolf slobber all over it. but the little orange leaf Derek found on a random walk, an indication of change in seasons.. and maybe a change in feelings. Derek feels so conflicted about it all, wondering why his wolf is doing it in the first place. Peter somewhere in the loft, lounging against the couch with his eyes close and saying, “you’re courting, dumbass. your wolf recognizes Stiles as ‘Mate’.” Derek’s like, ‘that can’t be true’ and finds himself running to Stiles’ house for some reason to figure it all out. climbing the Stilinski house, knocking on the window (even tho john has begged him multiple times to just use the front door - the neighbors know and see you, Derek). he doesn’t even wait for Stiles to open the window, it’s already unlatched and Stiles knows it’s him so he just climbs through. Stiles is mindlessly playing at his laptop, eyes glued to the screen but still greets Derek anyways. Derek doing his usual look around the room before settling against Stiles’ bed but seeing the leaf framed and leaning against a stack of books on Stiles’ shelf. “you framed.. the leaf?” Derek asks. Stiles only looks up at the shelf for a second before shrugging and going, “yeah, it’s probably the cutest gift you’ve given me in your little courtship attempts. it’s so you.” Derek almost choking on his own tongue because of course Stiles was able to work out what was going on before Derek did. Stiles pauses his game, turning in his seat and smiling back at Derek, “so you’re like, in love with me?” Derek rolls his eyes but can’t fight back his own smile, “i guess.” Stiles scoffs, “pssh! you guess,” turning back to his game but still babbling, “dude brought me cute little gifts for two weeks straight and he guesses he’s in love with me.” Derek stands from the bed to walk across the room, shutting Stiles’ laptop before leaning down to say, “okay, i might be in love with you..” Stiles smirks up at him, “i’ll be expecting dates then,” he tells Derek before closing the gap with a kiss. they only break away briefly for Stiles to say, “i’ll be telling everyone about this by the way: the surly, gruff werewolf is lowkey a romantic shmuck gifting pretty flowers and leaves.”

because Stiles never came from money. they weren’t without, but they had their struggles. john always just barely scraping by; they had medical debts, could barely afford both of their medications, had to take turns with the jeep whenever john had to return the cruiser for maintenance. and Stiles worked little jobs here and there just so he could afford the nice things he wanted; cutting neighbors grass, babysitting, the mailroom of the sheriffs department, bussing tables, maybe even charging classmates to write their papers or give them answers to homework. all so he could afford a new laptop that would take months to save up for, concert tickets for a band that wasn’t even that huge but the price still made Stiles wince, to afford nice-ish clothes that he’d still probably pull from the clearance rack because a $40 hoodie just doesn’t make sense to him. there were probably even times john and Stiles had to agree which was more important, birthdays, christmases, or fixing the heating in the house.

and john was probably pissed when he finally allowed Stiles a credit card, just to end up getting the bank statements that show Stiles spending more than he ought to. Stiles putting them in small credit card debt because he bought Lydia an unnecessarily large and expensive present, or buying specific gear for lacrosse, or comic books and novel series.

john would make him return all of it to pay off the card. “stop buying gifts for your little crushes,” he’d snide. “i know for a fact coach finstock has the gear you need to play. i don’t care if it’s old and smells like multigenerational ass,” “why are you buying more comics and books? you didn’t even finish the last series and you ended up binging the whole show for it anyways!”

and of course, Stiles would feel bad. not meaning to put this much stress on his dad over money. so he goes back to penny pinching, he hands over the credit card, swearing to never use it again unless for emergencies. he doesn’t spend his earned money on new clothes unless the ones he’s wearing begin to thread and tear. doesn’t buy anymore gadgets or gear. starts taking advantage of the local library or harassing deaton about his collection of books, promising that he’ll return them without damage (impossible).

when the pack is arguing over who’s paying for the pizza on pack night, Stiles stays silent because this isn’t his fight. Boyd’s snapping at scott about using coupons or whatever deals the pizza joint has. scott’s spitting back that the coupons and deals don’t cover specialty pizzas. “your order is weird and no one wants to eat it,” Isaac chimes in. Stiles can see Derek in the corner, rubbing at the center of his forehead as if he could get a headache before he just mutters, “just take my card, i’ll pay for it.” that shuts everyone up and there’s small cheers when Derek tells them to just get the pizzas they want.

and it’s not just that? before the fire, the town pretty much knew the Hale’s were loaded. after the fire, Peter even hinted that they may have an exorbitant amount of funds tucked away somewhere. Peter was a bit more braggadocios than Derek was; driving around in a car that cost as much as a small house, strutting in italian leather boots, hiding away in a condo two towns over while Derek seemed more quiet and humble about his spoils. the most Derek showed off was the camaro which was old and probably handed down to him. the pack doesn’t find out until much later that Derek didn’t just own his loft, he owned the whole building.

so then the pack goes to Derek for things they maybe can’t afford on their own or Derek just offers to buy it for them. when Erica’s slouched against the couch, scrolling through her phone, everyone can tell she’s pretty upset by something. Boyd prods it out of her and she sighs saying there’s a dress she wanted for a family event but she couldn’t justify spending over $100 for it. Derek doesn’t say anything, just passes her his card. when Isaac mentions wanting to attend the local community college but said textbooks were expensive, Derek told him not to worry about it, “just pick your classes.” when Boyd stumbles in with Isaac and Erica complaining of how small her car is, Derek rolls his eyes but by next week Boyd has a small truck — it’s not brand spanking new, not exactly shiny and special as Boyd reasonably talked with Derek and his own parents about not wanting anything crazy.

Derek shrugs off everyone’s thanks when he buys them things. understanding that his pack most likely don’t come from money like he did; Lydia, allison, and jackson probably being the only ones who’ve never had to struggle financially.

and Stiles would watch this all go down, feel a little jealous but never working up the courage to ask Derek for anything. john had probably taught Stiles to never ask others for money, to always work for what he wanted.. bootstraps kind of thing. but one night the jeep is acting up as he’s trying to leave the loft. Derek meets him in the parking lot, assessing the situation before saying, “i’ll take it to the garage tomorrow, don’t worry about paying me back.” Stiles gapes, shaking his head saying something about trusty tape, a wrench, and a lot of faith. Derek looks at him unimpressed, shoves Stiles towards the camaro and says, “i’ll take you home and i’ll drop off the jeep tomorrow.” Stiles awkwardly nods and finally agrees. by the next night, roscoe has entirely new engine parts and runs almost like new. john’s there to witness the jeep’s new engine, telling Derek he’ll pay him back over time. “not necessary — you’re pack,” is all he says before he walks off.

Stiles still doesn’t ask Derek for things, Derek simply offers and Stiles hesitantly says yes or doesn’t even get a chance to before Derek’s buying it for him. at a sandwich shop and Stiles is in the middle of counting quarters because he wanted the extra cookie? Derek shoves him aside and taps his card. Stiles ranting about a book he’s been wanting to read, not caring that the pack is not listening, he just needs to talk? Derek tells him to shut up and just buy it, shoving his card against Stiles’ chest. Lydia wants to go out of state for her birthday, and everyone’s already saved up and paid for their own ticket but Stiles was a few dollars behind, already opening his mouth to let Lydia down and say, “i don’t think i can go—“ “i already bought your ticket,” Derek interrupts.

with time, Stiles feels less and less awkward about Derek buying him things. sometimes he still feels at least bad about it, like somewhat of a burden for not pitching in as much. especially when the rest of the pack don’t ask for much anymore but for some reason Derek still won’t let him spend a cent. Derek buys whatever books Stiles brings up in casual conversation, throws open his wallet and passes Stiles a couple hundred dollar bills when Stiles says he’s thinking of lunch, buys Stiles a whole new macbook when he notices a stuck key on the keyboard.

Stiles thinks it all a little insane and finally asks Derek why. Derek shrugs oh so nonchalantly, plainly admitting that he loves Stiles and wants to take care of him. “is this one of those weird wolfy things?” Stiles asks and Derek shrugs again and says, “sort of.”

&

now as a couple, Stiles tries to reign it in, remembering how he gets when he’s got unlimited access to money. he only mentions things to Derek if he really wants it, trying hard not to smile so wide when Derek silently passes him his black card. Derek spoils Stiles on his birthday and christmas; special collectors items, new and expensive gifts, trips to touristy destinations. Stiles gets a little prideful when they’re out shopping, the cashier saying a number that would’ve made Stiles drop everything and walk out, but smirks when Derek purchases it without question

the pack probably gets a little jealous — everyone’s got jobs by now and can mostly afford their own things; Isaac gets himself a nice apartment across town, Erica takes random trips when she has time off, Boyd upgrading the truck Derek got for him to a newer and bigger one. but they all still snicker and stare at Stiles sideways when Derek just hands Stiles his wallet and gives him a peck against the lips. there’s so many jokes about Stiles just being Derek’s sugar baby, that he’s spoiled like crazy, “all Stiles has to do is bat his pretty brown eyes and Derek will bow down and give him a wad of cash.. and honestly? respect!” one of them will say and Stiles scoffs, tries to laugh it off, but maybe it eats at him inside a little.

he maybe once tried asking Derek why and how he keeps spending so much on him. “inheritance,” Derek would simply say and at first Stiles thinks, “okay, i guess that makes sense.” but the spending doesn’t slow down. even when Stiles doesn’t ask for anything, Derek’s bought him something or spent some kind of money on him. and when Stiles asks again, Derek just tells him “don’t worry about it.”

the next time Stiles asks, they get into an argument about it. Stiles reminds Derek that he can pay for his own things from time to time, “i’m a big boy, i’ve got my own job, Der!” he scolds Derek for spending so much on him, that he doesn’t need extravagant things or a gift every few months. Stiles would ask Derek again how, what, when, where, and why over and over until Derek pulls out his phone quietly. he taps at it a few times before turning the screen in Stiles’ direction. Stiles’ eye grow wide, mouth gaped as Derek reveals his banking app and Stiles counts how many commas there are in both his checking and savings. “that’s.. that’s all inheritance?” Stiles asks. Derek sighs, pocketing his phone and saying, “nope.. not all of it. i’m a big boy, i’ve got my own job too.” and there’s a cocky grin across the man’s face that Stiles scowls at.

Derek kisses Stiles’ scowling lips, smiling softer at his mate and saying, “i love you and want to take care of you. you’ll always have whatever you need or want.”

from then on, Stiles stops feeling bad about swiping Derek’s card from his pocket. kissing Derek in quick succession before asking for whatever cool new thing he spotted online. he should feel shame buying Derek gifts with Derek’s money, but the smile Derek gives him is so sweet. don’t get it twisted, Stiles does make his own money and spends it here and there, swatting at Derek’s hand when he goes to pay for whatever it is they’re buying. but for the most part, he loves when Derek tells him to get whatever he wants.

“It’s just me,” said 11-year-old Stiles when his teacher asked if he had someone coming for the parent-child dinner, because his dad had to work a double that day.

“It’s just me,” said 13-year-old Stiles when the JV lacrosse coach asked if he had anyone coming to the game, because his dad couldn’t afford to take off.

“It’s just me,” said 15-year-old Stiles at the DMV, when asked if he had someone picking him up from the test.

“It’s just me,” said 17-year-old Stiles at the college, when they asked him if he had a parent coming to tour the campus with him.

“It’s just me,” said 18-year-old Stiles when he moved into the dorms, when his roommate asked if he had anybody helping him.

“It’s just me,” said 20-year-old Stiles to the clerk at the store, when she asked if he was spending Christmas with family, because his dad got stuck with the Christmas shift.

Derek takes his bed very seriously — it’s probably the only thing he’s ever splurged on or will ever splurge on. he took his time finding the perfect mattress, only buys nice, soft, threaded sheets. is it ridiculous for bedsheets to cost more than $100? yes, but he wants the best. he likes to roll around in them so every inch of fabric smells of himself, so it smells safe and familiar.

he hates when anyone comes over and tries to sit on it. a few would try and Derek would either glare at them to get up or he’d just later rip the sheets off and wash them under hot water and unscented detergents. starting the process all over again of rolling in them until it smelled like him again. he doesn’t ever want to roll over in bed and get a whiff of Isaac’s ass on his blanket or Lydia’s perfume near his pillows.

somehow the exception ends up being Stiles. Derek truly doesn’t know when, how, or why Stiles got a pass. Derek sat at the edge of his bed one night, catching scent of Stiles on the blanket. he leant over and inhaled the scent, eyes shutting, taking in that mix akin to rainwater, honey, bergamot, and cheap detergent. “oh no,” Derek would whisper to himself.

Derek ignored the looks from the pack when Stiles would casually walk to Derek’s bed, mid-ramble with hands flying, sitting at the edge and legs criss-crossed. maybe it happens so many times Scott finally asks, “how come he gets to sit on your bed?” “cause he’s in love with him,” Erica would mumble low enough for only the wolves to hear. Derek would kick them all out, then and there, Stiles giving Derek a confused look on the way out.

he’d later that night roll around in Stiles’ scent, loving how well their aroma melds together.

“Wait a second. You… you can see me?”