For the Vday fic prompt! Maybe like Derek being tricked into a valentines date auction and Stiles bidding like WAY too much money (that he probably doesn't have) for him.
This ended up longer than I anticipated, so I hope you like it! Also on ao3!
Derek was going to kill Peter. Again.
And yes, he knew he said that a lot but this time he really, really meant it. Because somehow his mangy cur of an uncle had tricked him into volunteering for a Valentineâs Day date auction.
Looking back, he realized that he should have known something was amiss when Peter came to him a few months ago on behalf of the Beacon County Sheriffâs Department, asking for donations to help rebuild the station. It was desperately in need of reconstruction after half of the station was demolished by a crazed, rampaging wendigo with an insatiable taste for human flesh.
Fortunately, the pack had managed to take care of the wendigo, killing it before it could actually hurt anyone, the station completely empty when it had come crashing in. But the damage was already done and the station was absolutely wrecked.
It wasnât due to the fact that Peter had taken it upon himself to help collect donations, Derek having known his entire life that regardless of his uncleâs more reprehensible actions, he had always been a philanthropist. Over the years he had donated so much money to various causes and charities that he had over a dozen hospital wings named after him in the Northwest Pacific area.
His uncle might be a complete and utter piece of shit, but he wasnât totally evil.
But what should have tipped Derek off to his uncleâs much more devious intentions was the fact that he had done so without any acerbic comments or crude innuendos. He hadnât even smirked once when he asked if Derek would like to donate some money, maintaining a staid, somber expression as he rattled off the estimated cost of repairs. It was a sure sign that he was up to something.
Admittedly, Derek had naturally been a bit suspicious of Peterâs sudden fervent support of the sheriffâs department, especially since his uncle had never been shy concerning his very strong opinions about the local police presence doing more harm than good when it came to the supernatural. But, with nothing else to go on except a hunch, Derek had just narrowed his eyes at his uncle while pulled out his wallet.
He had tossed a few hundred dollars in the plastic jar Peter had brandished at him, a sloppy sheriffâs badge painted on the side above the words sheriffâs department repair fund, shrugging while coming to the conclusion that it really was just a hunch. He was more than happy to help the sheriffâs department, willing to put aside any suspicions he had about his uncle having ulterior motives and shell out some money for the repairs.
Peter hadnât made any mention whatsoever of the donations again, reverting right back to his old smarmy ways, creepy smirks and lewd sexual innuendos and all. And while the shift back to his usual demeanor was both a relief and a major pain in the ass, it was another indication that something nefarious was in the works.
Which is how Derek found himself standing up on stage at the local town hall in an unbearably itchy, size-too-tight tuxedo as people bid on him. Yeah, he really fucking hated his uncle.
Peter had come to him earlier that evening, letting himself into the loft and rudely interrupting Derekâs solo Lord of the Rings marathon, to toss a garment bag into Derekâs lap. At Derekâs raised eyebrow and annoyed scowl, Peter had rolled his eyes and explained that as a thanks to those who had donated money for the stationâs repairs, the sheriffâs department was hosting a dinner in honor of all of the donors.
Derek had initially tried to shrug it off, too engrossed in the Two Towers to bother getting all dressed up for some fancy dinner and awkward small talk, just wanting to hand out in his ratty old sweatpants and eat three pints of Ben and Jerryâs by himself. He had never really been one for pointless socializing anyway, not when he could isolate himself from the rest of the world and indulge in one of his more nerdy interests.
But Peter had been having none of it, snatching the remote off the coffee table to flick off the TV before crossing his arms over his chest and pinning Derek with a thoroughly judgemental glare, arching an unimpressed. Derek had met his uncleâs glower with a withering glare of his own, the two werewolves staring each other down until Peter decided to play dirty.
Throwing up his hands in an excessively dramatic gesture, he mumbled a snide remark under his breath, claiming that if Derek wanted to disappoint Stiles then that was his choice and there was nothing he could do about it. Turning around as though he was going to leave, he began muttering about how hard Stiles had worked to set up the dinner, mentioning him staying up all night planning meals and mailing invitations.
Derek didnât think he had ever stood up as fast as he did in his entire life at the mere mention of Stilesâ name. He grabbed the garment and stalked down the hall to the bathroom to get changed, bitterly mumbling about meddling uncles who couldnât keep their noses to themselves.
Because of course once Peter found out about Derekâs pathetic little infatuation with Stiles, he would use it against Derek as possible just to get his own way. He had only mumbled Stilesâ name in the middle of the night while dreaming about him one single time and Peter had refused to let him live it down ever since.
Though Derek couldnât really blame him. His little crush was nothing if not laughable, a pitiful bout of enamoredness that had been going on for nearly three years now.
He knew it was stupid and hopeless and, more than anything, downright pathetic with a capital p but he couldnât help it. Stiles was just so amazing.
He was hands down the most loyal person that Derek had ever met, his unwavering dedication to his friends and family rivaling even that of a werewolf as he proved time and time again that he was more than willing to lay down his life for the people he cared about. And as much as Derek admired him for his selflessness, it was also infuriating as hell, his heart getting caught in his throat every time Stiles voluntarily put himself in harmâs way.
He was unimaginably smart, constantly blowing Derek away with his sharp wit and practically endless knowledge about anything and everything that came to mind, whether it was relevant at the moment or not. Derek was a hundred percent certain that if he really wanted to, Stiles could take over the entire world in one night, not that he would ever want to.
Because while Stiles could most definitely be a bit of an asshole, a lovable asshole but an asshole nonetheless, he wasnât cruel or power-hungry. He was kind, in his own subtle understated, almost modest way, as though embarrassed by his own gentleness. But it was still always there.
It was there in the way that he always made absolutely sure that his dad had healthy food to eat. In the way that he did all of the grocery shopping so that the Sheriff wouldnât be tempted to pick up chips or cookies or any kinds of other junk food. In the way that he enlisted the rest of both the pack and the sheriffâs department in his crusade to ensure that his father didnât cheat on the restrictive diet his doctors had put him on for his high cholesterol and through-the-roof blood pressure.
It was there in the way that he was always the first to volunteer to help Isaac with his homework whenever he struggled with the required readings for English or the more complex equations for algebra. In the way that he would spend however long was necessary to help him finish all of his work, despite the fact that he and the curly haired beta still pretended to hate each otherâs guts.
And Derek loved him for it. For everything about himself. So much so that he was willing to strip out of his sinfully comfy sweats to pull on a stiff, uncomfortable tuxedo just to avoid possibly disappointing him. And now he was up on stage with a sea of people he didnât know bidding on him like he was a slab of meat.
Apparently, the sheriffâs department was still in need of money for repairs, only a few thousand dollars away from their goal, everything save for water damage cleanup already paid for. In order to raise the last bit of money necessary to complete the reconstruction, someone, probably Peter, had come up with the brilliant idea of holding a date auction with all of the proceeds from the auction going to the repair fund.
After quite literally being shoved out onto the stage by his uncle, Derek realized that he wasnât the only one who had somehow gotten roped into participating in the auction, a whole line of other people up on stage dressed to the nines in tuxedos and cocktail dresses. He noticed Isaac and Erica in the lineup, the former fumbling with his dark blue bowtie that refused to cooperate while the latter confidently beamed at the crowd in her little black dress that left very little to the imagination.
Derek seriously considered just turning on his heel and running off the stage, especially since it wasnât as though anyone could really catch him. He was an alpha after all. But it was the fact that it was Stilesâ dad who really needed the money that kept him rooted to the spot, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes.
He didnât want to look at the people in the audience, the people who would be bidding on him.
Coach Finstock had been appointed as the auctioneer, most likely due to his uncanny ability to talk almost as fast as Stiles could, rattling off numbers and starting bids so quick that Derek could only just barely hear him. He started at the other end of the line, leaving Derek for last, not that the small mercy did much to calm his nerves if anything only making him more anxious.
Boyd won the auction for Erica, beating out some other guy who looked around the betasâ ages with a bid of one thousand dollars, the highest bid of the night at that point. Allison and Kira became embroiled in a lighthearted auction war over Isaac, giggling together until Jackson outbid the both of them, a wide smirk stretching across his face at their shocked expressions.
Derek waited for Coach Finstock to start the bidding for him, watching as the line leading up to him dwindled down to nothing, those already accounted for stepping back a few feet. He nervously fidgeted with a crumpled up gum wrapper in his pocket as Finstock drew closer, biting the inside of his cheek.
He was shocked out of his anxious thoughts, his mind immediately jumping to the worst possible ways the night could end, when Finstock curled an arm around his shoulders and loudly announced into his microphone, right by Derekâs ear, âAnd our last lot of the night: Derek Hale!â
Derek winced, physically cringing as his preternaturally sensitive ears began ringing incessantly, Finstockâs grating voice echoing in his head, along with his choice of words. Lot. Like Derek was an abandoned storage locker on one of those insufferable storage war shows that Isaac was so fond of, like he was a foreclosed upon house waiting for someone to flip it, like he was a sheep waiting to be slaughtered.
But Finstock wasnât done. He squeezed Derekâs shoulder much too tight, even for a werewolf, with a crowing laughing, urging him, âCâmon, Derek! Wave to the nice people! This is for sheriffâs department, after all!â
Derek reluctantly pulled his left hand out of his pocket and awkwardly waved at the room full of people, feeling his cheeks flush bright red with heat at the unwanted attention, the tips of his ears burning as he shyly ducked his head. He wasnât usually so easily spooked by large crowds. While he was more solitary and introverted than most, specifically most werewolves, he had never been one to suffer from stage fright though he had certainly fallen victim to it in that moment.
âDerek likes classic literature, morning runs, and howling at the moon!â Finstock announced, reading off of a white cue card he had seemingly pulled out of thin air, the exact words he had used making Derek want to smack himself upside the head. He should have known that something was fishy when Erica interviewed for her journalism class a few days prior, the questions she had asked him clearly having nothing to do with the curriculum.
So, at least one of his betas had been in on it. Training sessions would be much more strenuous and punishing in the weeks to come, he would be sure of that.
But for the time being, he just hoped that the last little tidbit about the moon didnât make anyone do much more than raise their brows, Derek only including it in his list of three things he enjoyed just to annoy Erica after she had interrupted his quiet time just as he was getting to the good part of his book. But, alas, Finstock called attention to it, unwinding his arm from around Derekâs shoulders to scratch his head, muttering into the microphone, âNot really sure what the hell that last partâs aboutââ he paused before brightening again, face breaking into a wide grin as he continued on ââBut who cares? Letâs start the bidding at a hundred dollars!â
Out of the corner of his eyes, dipping his chin again, Derek noticed people raising their bright red, heart-shaped auction placards, silently placing bids on him. He couldnât bear to watch, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the toes of his dress shoes, discreetly hunching his shoulders and trying to block out the sound of Coach Finstock rapidly raising the price.
However, despite the fact that he was doing his best to ignore the sounds in the large room, he couldnât help but notice when a curiously familiar voice broke the tense silence of the auction, calling out, âFive thousand!â
No one else raised their placard to challenge whoever had made the outrageous bid. The room fell deathly quiet again save for Finstock who sputtered incredulously into the microphone before squawking, âSold! To the man in the red hoodie! Bilinski, is that you?!â
Derekâs head snapped up so fast he was surprised that it didnât fly off. Because there was no way. No way that Stiles had just bid five thousand dollars for a date with him.
Aside from the fact that Stiles clearly could not afford to throw five thousand dollars away on something that was actually important â like buying a new car to replace that hunk of junk Jeep, even though Derek knew that Stiles would sooner die than do such a thing â let alone on something as ridiculous as a date auction; there was no way Stiles would ever want to voluntarily go on a date with him.
And yet, the person who stood up from their table to jog over to the side of the stage where the winners of the auction were lining up to greet their dates for the evening, was none other than Stiles himself. There was a brilliant smile on his face as he followed after Boyd and Jackson, the hood of his red sweatshirt bobbing up and down as he hurried to the stage as the rest of the attendees stood and shuffled out of the room.
Glancing over at the table Stiles had stood from, Derek caught the Sheriff in the middle of an exaggerated eye-roll as he too stood, his expression more fond than frustrated or upset which would have been the natural, expected reaction when oneâs son willingly agreed to spend five thousand dollars on a whim. He watched as the Sheriff stood, shrugging on his jacket before politely pulling Melissaâs chair out for her as she too rolled her eyes at Stilesâ irrefutably ridiculous bid, sending John a sympathetic before she began her walk to the door.
Derek lingered on stage for a bit longer, letting the other participants pass by him and greet their dates, needing a few moments to rehearse what he was going to say to Stiles in his head. He couldnât very well just ad-lib it, that had gotten him into enough trouble in the past to be well aware of the risks of not thoroughly planning ahead.
Erica smirked widely at him as she strolled passed him, her insanely tall high heels clicking rhythmically on the stage floor as she added a bit more sway than usual to her hips, clearly showing off for her boyfriend who had already paid a pretty penny for their date. She winked at him before glancing over at Stiles who was waiting patiently at the side of the stage, making conversation with another bidder, with a mischievous self-satisfied grin on her blood red lips.
Derek shook his head, not having to think very hard to know what she was thinking about, well accustomed to her dirty mind thanks to weekly pack meetings and full moons spent hanging out at the loft watching movies. She probably thought that he and Stiles were actually going to go on a real date, out to dinner or the movies. Anything else she thought might happen between them was surely x-rated.
Shaking himself, he took a deep steeling breath and turned to head off the stage, greeting Stiles with a tight, forced smile that didnât quite reach his eyes. But Stiles didnât seem to notice, beaming right back at him as he bounced on the balls of his feet, excitedly waiting for Derek to make it down the steps.
âHey,â Stiles greeted, one hand buried in the pocket of his hoodie while he scratched the back of his head with the other, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Derek acknowledged him with a curt bob of his head, keeping his own hands in his pockets, still going over his self-appointed lines in his head. Tilting his head to the side to indicate the side door beside the stage, Stiles suggested, âCâmon, man.â
Derek followed him into the hallway, away from the prying eyes of the other who were still standing by the stage, making sure the door was closed behind them. Stiles didnât seem to care either way, too preoccupied with babbling on about something, Derek only blinking and jumping to attention when he heard Stiles ask, âSo, what do you wanna do? I figure we could go out to dinner or maybe see a movie, I think that art film you were talking about seeing is still in theaters and we could probably catch the next showing, I mean it is only eight thirty.â
Derek sat through Stiles rambling on about how early in the evening the auction, verbally debating the pros and cons of the timing with himself. However, he finally cut him off when he began to apologize profusely, mumbling, âAnd sorry about the whole bidding on you thing. I have a feeling you didnât exactly volunteer for the auction. You just looked so uncomfortable and I figured itâd be better if I won the auction instead of some weirdo you donât knowââ
âJust forget about it, Stiles,â Derek sighed after forcibly clearing his throat, now assured that his next words wouldnât be breaking Stilesâ heart. He was right. Stiles didnât want to go out with him. He was just being nice.
âHuh?â Stiles hummed, looking over his shoulder at Derek with a few deep creases in his forehead, his soft pink lips open in a perfect little o.
âThe date,â Derek clarified, running a hand through his hair. With a shrug, he continued, tacking on, âJust forget about it. Iâll pay the five thousand dollars you bid and we can both just go home and forget about this whole thing.â
âOh,â Stiles murmured, visibly deflating as he mumbled the monosyllabic word, his shoulders slumping as he ducked his head, resolutely refusing to meet Derekâs eyes again. Wrapping his arms around himself, he nodded, letting out a deep sigh as he leaned back against the nearest, looking uncannily like a little puppy who had just been kicked.
It didnât make any sense. Stiles should be elated that he didnât have to pay five thousand of his own hard-earned dollars, that he didnât have to actually go out on some half-hearted pity date with Derek. And yet there he was with his head down, looking like Derek had just ruined his entire night. It really didnât make any sense. UnlessâŠ
âStiles?â Did youâŠwant to go on a date with me?â
Stiles snorted a scoff and shook his head in disbelief, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he straightened up and pinned Derek with an incredulous glare. Shifting to cross his arms over his chest, thoroughly unamused, Stiles announced, âYeah, I did. Of course, I did. But you clearly donât wanna go on a date with me so letâs just freaking drop it, okay?â
âWhy didnât you say anything?â Derek blurted, wincing at the audible whine he heard in his own voice, feeling like a petulant whelp. But he didnât really care. He needed answers. Now.
âDude, I just bid five thousand dollars for a date with you,â Stiles pointed out with a blank expression, gesturing at the door leading back to the large meeting room they had just left. With a roll of his eyes, he muttered under his breath, âThought thatâd make it pretty obvious.â
âIt didnât,â Derek answered with a huff, his tone a bit too hostile as Stiles arched an inquisitive brow at him as a dark scowl turned the corners of his lips down. Hurrying to clarify what he meant before he ended up ruining things even more than he already had, Derek quickly elaborated, âYou said I looked uncomfortable. I thought that was the only reason you bid. I thought it was pity.â
âWell, it wasnât,â Stiles asserted with a huff of his own, glancing away to stare at the tiled floor, his eyes absently scanning over the monochrome squares, tracing over imaginary patterns. He looked so dejected, so crestfallen that Derek couldnât just stand idly by, instead throwing caution and any potential consequences to the wind and striding right over to Stiles who squeaked, âDude, what the heââ
Derek cut him off by crashing their lips together, curling one arm around Stilesâ waist, fisting his hand in the back of his red hoodie, inadvertently rucking it up a bit to reveal a precious sliver of skin below Stilesâ navel. He cupped the back of Stilesâ neck with his other hand to guide him into the kiss, running the pad of his thumb over the thin ticklish skin behind Stilesâ left ear, tracing a collection of tiny moles.
Derek happily obliged, tightening his grip on Stiles as he gingerly slipped his tongue into Stilesâ mouth, worried that he might be coming on a bit too strong, worried that he might scare Stiles off. But all Stiles did was sigh against Derekâs lips and relax even more, lightly running his nails over Derekâs scalp with a delightful amount of pressure.
Pulling back from Stilesâ lips with an amused smile stretched across his face, his own bottom lip wet from Stilesâ ardent response, Derek took a step forward, holding Stiles tighter against his chest. Sparing a moment to peck Stiles on the lips, startling a breathless little laugh out of him, Derek quietly murmured, âSo⊠Do you still want to go on that date?â
Stiles rolled his eyes as dramatically as possible, tugging Derek a few inches closer in order to bump their noses together, a soft smile playing on his lips as he whispered back, âOf course, I do.â
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happilyapathetic replied to your post: unpopular opinion: i hate the idea of sheriff...
Completely respect your opinion. Iâm just curious to why you donât like them together?
Stiles said that his mom and Melissa were best friends before Claudia died. So, if he got together with Melissa, the Sheriff would be starting a relationship with his dead wifeâs best friend which to me is really weird and kinda disrespectful, yâknow?
I've been looking through your blog and trying to find this because I know you've mentioned it before but I can't seem to find it. What kind of white make up do you use for Harley? I'm currently using cheap halloween store stuff that my skin doesn't agree with
Ben Nye clown paint and super white setting powder!
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happilyapathetic said: I will literally go punch the movie makers in the face. While dressed as Jason.
 Can we both go Iâll dress as Damian . I just saw this one picture thatâs been circulating in the joker tags now and I refuse to reblog it because it honestly looks like they might be going that route in the movies and I hate everything if it ends up that Jason Todd is the Joker. I hate everything .
