#ice-mage

It was all a matter of mindsets he supposed. Stiles was sorely exhausted all the time. And he was doing his best. But then sometimes he fell asleep at Derek’s loft underneath an old blanket and the man always looked a little sad when Stiles woke up again, sitting in the armchair a few feet away just watching him.

Stiles had long grown used to Derek’s stalker tendencies. He wasn’t used to feeling like Derek might actually care.

And maybe it wasn’t always the supernatural messing with his head. No, it was what came with the supernatural. The near-death experiences, the nightmares that followed him in and out of waking hours. But then there were the good things; the movie nights, the ghosting touches along the back of his neck

The occasional pair of red eyes that Stiles could’ve sworn he could see through his window when he least expected it.

But where was he? Oh yeah. To hell with the supernatural.

Or better yet, to hell with Derek Hale.

Stiles brushed a few fingers over his lips and just stared at the reflection in his bathroom mirror, wide amber eyes gazing back out at him. For the first time ever, the marks that went down his neck weren’t because of some stupid supernatural threat and Stiles felt a little woozy as he looked at them.

To hell with Derek Hale. That’s what Stiles was supposed to be thinking, right?

Dammit.

He dragged out his phone and gazed at it for a moment. The first time Derek had shoved it into his hand with a slight growl and the words “only for emergencies” Stiles had nearly had a heart attack. And he’d decided then that yeah, he was only ever using that for emergencies.

He didn’t have a death wish or anything. 

But as Stiles scrolled to Derek’s name now, thumb hovering over the man’s name, he wondered if maybe he did. Maybe they both did. Because Derek had kissed him first, hadn’t he? Goddamit, Derek Hale had kissed him. Lips on his own, rough hands through his hair, and Stiles couldn’t even remember what they’d been fighting about.

Stiles’s thumb lingered over Derek’s name and he debated dropping it into the toilet and calling this entire thing quits. Because Stiles didn’t have the heart for this anymore, alright? He was a senior in high school feeling like he’d turned sixty years old only a couple of days ago.

He wanted to sit back, watch TV all day, and maybe live off of hard candy. Yeah, that’s something he could do.

“Stiles?”

Stiles startled so hard, he nearly did drop his phone into the toilet. He looked at himself in the mirror for a second with wide eyes, before yanking up his hoodie and nervously opening the bathroom door a crack. His dad arched a worried brow.

“You’ve been in there for over an hour, kid.”

“Oh yeah, um. I was shaving.”

“Shaving.”

“Yeah, pops! I’ve got some serious stumbling growing in these days. I think it’s coming with all these grey hairs and supernatural crazies. But you know, I’ve totally got this. Didn’t nick myself once! It’s all about the right angle of the blade.”

His dad looked at him for another long moment. It was a look Stiles was used to; as if he was trying to decide whether Stiles was pulling excuses out of his ass or he was really telling the truth. Eventually, though, the man nodded and Stiles’s nearly slumped to the ground in relief as the man turned away, waving a hand over his shoulder.

“Don’t make a mess of the sink. And I’ll be home for dinner tonight!”

“I’ll make dinner then, don’t you dare eat out!”

He didn’t get an answer but Stiles was pretty sure he was plenty threatening, thank you very much. Which brought him back to the current problem. Pulling his phone back out, Stiles clicked to Derek’s name and punched in a quick ‘We need to talk’ message.

Yeah, he was plenty threatening. Stiles had no doubts Derek would know better than to ignore him.

The entire Saturday morning passed with Derek ignoring him.

Stiles tried not to think about it, he really did. But he couldn’t concentrate for longer than five minutes on his homework, he’d paced the living room a dozen times already, and Stiles was starting to feel like he was going crazy. He was literally losing his mind. And Derek was still ignoring him.

This time, when Stiles dragged out his phone, he didn’t even bother with the texting. He scrolled to Derek’s name and punched the call button, bringing the phone to his ear.

It rang once, twice. Three times. The man didn’t answer and Stiles cursed, dialing his number again.

This time, Derek picked right up. And Stiles’s heart skipped a beat.

“What, Stiles?”

Nevermind, he was still pissed.

“What? What? Dude, did you not get my text, or were you just choosing to ignore it?”

“I’m kind of busy, Stiles.”

“Busy with what, asshole? Reading a book? Trying to pretend like this token human doesn’t exist? Because I’m three seconds away from coming straight over to the loft and wringing your little wolfy neck myself—”

“Stiles,” Derek said cutting him off. And he would have been a little peeved if he’d known exactly where he was going with that sentence. But to be honest, Stiles was just rambling at this point. “Just meet me at the diner in an hour and we can talk then. Okay?”

Stiles blinked dumbly at the opposite wall for a second. Because what?

“Stiles?”

“The diner?”

“The one with the curly fries you like.”

Once more, Stiles was staring at nothing, feeling like an idiot. This was not how he’d imagined this conversation going. And he couldn’t tell if that was a bad thing or a good thing. Eventually, he shook his head and swallowed hard. “Sure.”

“One hour.”

“... One hour, big guy.”

It felt like a lot longer than one hour.

Stiles spent most of the time pacing back and forth again. He ran a hand through his hair until it stuck up in all directions and then wondered if this was Derek’s way of saying ‘the kiss had been wrong’ or ‘it had been an accident’ and Stiles was never allowed to come back to the loft again.

He was so nervous, he nearly fell over his own feet when he looked at the clock and realized it had nearly been an hour. After fighting down a panic attack, Stiles managed to pull on fairly clean clothes, do something with his hair, and then he was stumbling out the door.

He still sat in the parking lot of the diner for longer than was probably necessary.

Derek knew he liked this place. Derek knew this place was his favorite. Of course, that could always be brushed off as the pack always coming here after their late-night ‘nearly dying’ sessions. But it wasn’t like Stiles went around proclaim what he liked best. He’d eat curly fries from anywhere thank you very much.

So was them being here a good or bad thing? Was Derek trying to be nice or was he offering some sort of comfort?

Stiles closed his eyes and just tried to breathe out. Then he pulled himself out of the car and all but stumbled inside, nervously moving to the front counter.

“Uh, I’m here to meet someone?”

The waiter looked up, raising an eyebrow, and Stiles blushed, running a hand through his hair. And probably messing it up all over again.

“Uh, sorry. He’s big and growly. Kinda looks like a serial killer on his off day?”

The waiter pressed his lips together and glanced down at the list in front of him before nodding. “Big and growly? Yeah, your boyfriend came in a few minutes ago. Two tables down and to the right.”

Stiles was pretty sure his heart skip a few beats. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

The waiter gave him a bored look in return. “Sorry.”

“Definitely not my boyfriend.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Stiles swallowed once, twice, and then forced himself away. He was pretty sure this was a huge mistake. He so totally shouldn’t be here. Maybe he could go home and make up some kind of excuse and he and Derek could talk about all of this over the phone.

That would be easier than getting turned down in his favorite diner, that is. Stiles was never going to be able to eat here again.

Sure enough, Derek Hale was sitting two tables down and to the right. Stiles froze for a moment and grey-green eyes snapped up, locking on where he stood. They both stared at each other for a moment too long and then Stiles stumbled forward, right as Derek stood up.

“Uh.”

The man’s face turned bright red. Slowly, he sat back down again, and Stiles slid into the booth opposite of him.

“So.”

Derek made an abortive move to push the second water in front of him across the table and it nearly tipped over. Stiles yelped, Derek caught it at the last moment, and once more, an awkward silence fell over the air. Stiles chuckled nervously, even though he felt like there was a pit gradually growing larger and larger in his stomach. He wasn’t even hungry, which was a first.

“You can just say what you need to say, Derek, and I can be on my way. It’s fine.”

The man’s eyes sparked. “What?”

“Seriously,” Stiles said, smiling even though he didn’t feel it at all. “It’s fine. You can’t be seen in public with the token human, that kiss was never supposed to happen, and what are accidental angry make-out sessions supposed to mean anyway?”

Derek continued to stare like Stiles had grown horns. The man’s eyes traveled down a little lower then, focusing on Stiles’s neck, and he felt his face turn hot as he remembered the marks.

Quietly, Stiles tugged the neckline of his sweatshirt up a little higher, trying to cover them. Derek’s face did something strange.

“Stiles, why you think I asked you here?”

Stiles blinked at the man. Then he frowned, feeling his face turn even warmer. “Do I really have to go into the details, dude?”

Derek raised a brow. Stiles silently cursed everything.

“You know, you could just say it was all a mistake instead of making me say it out loud. That’s kind of a low blow, dude.”

“Stiles, that’s not—”

“I mean, I get it. I’m Stiles Stilinski, the token human of the pack. You’re Derek Hale, the unfairly hot and broody Alpha werewolf. We’re in two totally different leagues! And mine’s not great. I just… Just...” Stiles felt his stomach clenched, dropping his eyes. “Just don’t be too harsh, Derek.”

“Stiles, that’s not what I was trying to say.”

Stiles blinked back up at the man. Because he’d heard wrong, hadn’t he? He must have just heard wrong. “Uh, dude? What?”

“That’s not…” Derek turned red again and the man dropped his gaze. “I was busy before this.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Because I went down to the station.”

Stiles froze. His stomach clenched and he leaned across the table, poking Derek experimentally in the face. When the man growled and batted his hand back, Stiles supposed this had to be Derek Hale. Which left so many other things unexplained. 

“I talked to your father.”

Well, that was something explained. Stiles still felt like maybe he’d died or something. “You what?”

“I talked to your father, Stiles.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “Was the kiss really that bad? Did you tell him everything? Did you get a restraining order? Oh my god, I’m so grounded. For the rest of my life. Derek, you could’ve just said you didn’t want to see me again or something!”

“Stiles, calm down.”

“I will not calm down!” Stiles shouted, shoving himself up. And they were getting quite a few stares now. “Dude, what the hell did you want with my dad? He’s going to kill me, literally kill me. Why am I even here?”

“Stiles, I asked him permission to date you!”

Once more, Stiles froze. He could feel people starting but for the moment, all that mattered was the man in front of him. The very real man in front of him. Slowly, he sat back down, and Derek rubbed a hand over his face. 

“Stiles, I was—”

“Asking permission.”

“Yes.”

“To date me.”

Derek gave him an exasperated look and nodded. Stiles swallowed hard, grabbing his water and chugging half of it before glancing at Derek over the top again. The man just looked tired. 

“Why?”

“Because I kissed you.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and lowered the cup again. “That’s what this is? What, is it some kind of weird werewolf thing? You kiss a human and then you have to marry them? Because I’m totally not ready for marriage, dude.”

“Stiles, I’m not asking you to marry me.”

“Then why the hell would you want permission to date me?”

“Because I like you, idiot.”

Stiles blinked. His jaw snapped closed and he stared at the man. Then, reaching across the table, he tried to poke his face again, but Derek caught his hand before he could. Stiles stared in shock as calloused fingers intertwined with his own and then Derek Hale was holding his hand.

So, that’s not what he had expected.

Stiles still hadn’t quite figured things out when the waiter came over. It was the same man from earlier and he glanced between them before giving Stiles a judgemental look. Stiles felt his face grow hot— Derek growled— and Stiles was pretty sure he’d started dreaming at some point.

Maybe he’d passed out and never made it to the diner. Maybe none of this had ever happened at all. Or maybe Derek had ripped his throat out after accidentally kissing him and Stiles was dead right now.

He was dead. Yeah, he could roll with that.

But then he was so busy staring at the hallucination of a man in front of him, he barely realized that Derek had ordered his favorite meal and the waiter was gone. Derek raised an eyebrow at him and Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times before snapping back to reality. 

“Dude, you want to date me.”

“Yes, Stiles.”

“Like, date-date me?”

“Is there any other kind?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You’re not gonna like, werewolf court me or something, are you?”

The corners of Derek’s mouth twitched. He leaned across the table and moved the collar of Stiles’s jacket down, thumb brushing over the marks. Stiles shivered and Derek leaned back with a grin. A literal grin. “I don’t know, Stiles. Do you want me to?”

“... I haven’t decided yet.”

“You just eat your curly fries,” Derek said. “And we’ll see what happens.”

Screw Derek Hale.

That’s what Stiles would like to say, right? Screw Derek Hale and his smug looks, his perfect face, his unfairly hot everything— Stiles blinked a few times and took another long drink of his water. Screw Derek Hale. Yeah, that’s what he’d like to be doing.

Wait—

- -

Such a good friend that he got dressed that night and went out to wait for Scott at the local college town bar. It was only Thursday so everyone at the bar was either avoiding their responsibilities or had given up on the week, which he thought was accurate. And Stiles sat there for a whole hour before finally digging out his phone and punching in Scott’s number.

He got a voicemail the first time. And the second time. And the next three calls.

Before he could call a sixth, Stiles got the text of ‘Allison came over, can’t do tonight’ and Stiles was pretty sure he needed to start looking for a new best friend. Or at least a moderately good one.

Then some random dude showed up.

Stiles didn’t even catch a name before he tried to get away. He was tired, he was pissed off, and he didn’t want to be here at all. The guy that came over dropped a vodka shot in front of Stiles’s rum and coke and offered his best grin, but Stiles was not in the mood.

He picked up his drink and hurried toward the bar. He was pretty sure vodka-dude was following.

So Stiles did the most logical thing. He made straight for the scariest looking guy at the bar who currently sported murder eyebrows and a biker leather jacket and dropped down next to him, setting his glass down a little harder than necessary. He was pretty sure the guy nearly startled straight off his stool.

“I’m being pursued by a Hard Liquor Extraordinaire,” Stiles said, not daring to look over his shoulder. “So if you could throw your arm around my shoulders or maybe just not kill me, that would be great.”

The guy looked at him for a moment, murder eyebrows raised. Then he glanced over Stiles’s shoulder before offering Stiles a grin— an actual grin— and Stiles might have swooned a little.

He nearly fell off his own stool.

The guy slung his arm over Stiles’s shoulder and pressed a quick kiss against his temple, stubble rubbing against his skin. And Stiles totally didn’t whine at the back of his throat. The guy’s grin widened and he pulled back, waiting a moment before glacing over Stiles’s shoulder again.

Then he removed his arm. “He’s gone.”

“Uh... who?”

“Hard Liquor Extraordinaire.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, blinking a few times. He came back to reality feeling like he had taken that vodka shot, blinking at the guy’s face. Then he grinned. “You’re really pretty.”

The guy’s face turned bright red. Stiles felt his own heat up as he realized his own statement. Those words were not supposed to have come out. He did not mean for those words to come out.

“I mean… thanks for the help. I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“Derek.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, another stupid grin claiming his face. He didn’t have the chance to fight it. Derek was red all the way to the tips of his ears and the man’s hesitant smile really shouldn’t have been that adorable. He had bunny teeth. Bunny teeth.

Derek raised a self-conscious hand to his mouth and Stiles realized in horror that he’d said all of that out loud. Cursing himself internally, he ducked his head and started to push himself up.

“I should go.”

“No,” Derek caught his hand and Stiles froze. The man’s face turned even redder and he slowly let go. “I mean, Hard Liquor Extraordinaire is still over there. I can buy you a drink until he’s gone?”

Stiles studied his face. Then, slowly grinning, he dropped back onto the barstool. Derek waved the bartender over— a curly-haired kid— and gestured to Stiles’s drink.

“A refill, Isaac.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Stiles straightened, giving Derek a wide-eyed look. The man barely met his gaze and blushed a little, waving a hand through the air. “I’m not the boss.”

“You’re so the boss.”

“My sister owns the bar,” Derek said, his eyes turning redder with every word. “She’s the boss. I just help out sometimes.”

“Oh my god, you’re like the second in command.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles laughed, taking the drink that Isaac pushed back across the counter.

“I totally get to drink free, right?”

“Well, I’d never make my boyfriend pay for his drinks.”

Stiles stilled, glass halfway up to his lips. Derek’s eyes rounded and he blinked a few times.

“Which was just a joke.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Stiles said slowly, lowering his glass again. “I mean… if I did. The whole kiss to the temple thing, you know. If you’re definitely as straight as I am not or whether—”

“Not,” Derek said, cutting him off. “I mean—”

“Me too.”

Derek looked at him for a moment. Then he chuckled and Stiles grinned a little, taking a deeper sip of his drink than was probably good for his sober self tomorrow. But morning classes could suck it if he wanted to have any hope of not messing this up.

“So,” Stiles said after a moment. “What other perks would there be for the lucky guy?”

“Free bar nuts,” Derek said. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Aren’t those already free?”

Derek laughed again and Stiles decided he liked that sound. He pressed his lips together, resting his chin on his hands as he studied the man’s face.

“Would they get to boss your employees around too?”

“Some of them might bite.”

“Dude, that’s so bad for customer service.”

Derek only smirked. Stiles raised an eyebrow, suddenly feeling a little bolder. And he was pretty sure he hadn’t had enough alcohol for that. 

“Does the second in command bite too?”

That’s when Derek’s eyes flashed blue. Stiles was on his feet in a second, totally not stumbling back, but that— that—

Fuck his life.

Derek was jumping up in an instant too. Stiles raised his hands, hating everything for a moment. Of course, Derek was a werewolf. Stiles could never get away from the supernatural. He’d left Beacon Hills and come to New York to escape all of that, dammit.

Then Scott had trailed after him too. And Stiles could never get a break.

“Stiles!”

“Look, dude, I’ve got class tomorrow so I’m totally gonna go. Thanks for saving my ass, though, and I appreciate the free drinks. But uh, another time?”

“Stiles, wait!”

He didn’t. Stiles turned around and made for the door, ducking onto the dark street. He so had to get out of here. He had to go straight back to his dorm room and try to pretend as if this night had never happened. Derek had never happened. Stiles’s heart twisted.

He didn’t exactly want Derek to never have happened.

Still, Stiles had left Beacon Hills to get away from that all. And a werewolf with blue eyes… well, he knew what that meant. Stiles couldn’t. He couldn’t.

He didn’t get the choice.

There was a sudden hand on his arm, yanking him off the street and into the nearby alleyway. Stiles stumbled, a shout building up in his throat, but the hand over his mouth quickly cut him off. Panic crashed over him as all the terrible things that could possibly happen entered his mind and then Stiles found himself slammed into the nearest wall.

Blue eyes glowed through the darkness. Stiles’s heart skipped a beat.

“If I take off my hand,” Derek said. “Will you scream?”

Stiles glared. The man sighed.

“I’m going to do it anyway. Please just… don’t do that. Or I’ll have to rip your throat out. With my teeth.”

Fangs gleamed in the darkness. Stiles swallowed hard.

But Derek did remove his hand and Stiles licked his lips, making a face at the taste of salt on his tongue. Derek rolled his eyes before releasing his grip on Stiles’s shirt a little too.

“So,” the man said. “You know.”

“That you’re a werewolf.”

“We all are.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow and Derek sighed. “My sister, the bartenders. It’s a… family-owned business. Or at least, it was. It’s just in my and my sister’s hands now.”

“Your eyes are blue.”

Derek flinched and Stiles instantly felt bad. He wasn’t sure why, but he did. Maybe because the expression of grief that suddenly crossed Derek’s face. Or maybe just because Stiles realized that more than anything, he missed the smile that had been there earlier.

He swallowed hard. Derek’s eyes tracked the movement before he nodded.

“They are.”

“I know what that means.”

The man’s face hardened a little bit. Stiles raised his hands.

“Look, dude, despite the super-murderous eyebrows, you don’t seem like a bad guy. I just didn’t expect werewolves. In fact, it was the fault of one that I was at your bar in the first place.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. Stiles shrugged.

“My best friend was turned when we were in high school. It’s kind of followed us around since.”

“Your best friend didn’t show.”

“Yeah, well, he’s kind of testing my last nerve right now.”

Derek’s lips quirked a little and Stiles could’ve sworn he was about to smile again. But then the expression faded and Derek let him go, stepping back. “I just wanted to make sure… We’ve had problems with hunters in the past. I wanted to make sure you’re not a hunter.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, nodding. He figured he should probably not admit that his best friend was dating one. Or even better, he was going to do everything in his power to make sure Allison never stepped foot in this bar.

Just in case.

“The flashing eyes,” Derek said quietly. “Were an accident.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. Derek ducked his head.

“You caught me off guard.”

Stiles’s bite remark came back, hitting him like a punch to the gut, and he chuckled a little. When Derek met his gaze again, his expression was nothing other than hungry. Stiles felt his heart skip a beat once more but this time, it was for a completely different reason.

“So,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “Biting, huh?”

“Don’t make this into a werewolf joke.”

“We’ve only just met and you know me so well.”

Derek rolled his eyes but he was definitely blushing again. Stiles bit his lip, debated following his earlier plan and going straight back to his dorm, but then surprised himself by stepping forward again.

Morning classes and good decisions be damned, right?

“So if I didn’t make it into a werewolf joke,” Stiles said, tilting his chin upward. “And made it into something else instead, we are in a dark alleyway, right?”

Derek’s eyes darkened. “Stiles.”

“You clearly know me well, Sourwolf,” Stiles grinned. “And the earlier forehead kiss was cute and all. But why don’t you try and put those adorable bunny teeth to some good use?”

The man growled at the back of his throat and in that moment, all of Stiles’s decisions to stay far, far away from all things supernatural flew out the window. He grinned even wider as the man backed him against the wall, raising his chin upward. And when Derek caught his lips hard, with a hint of fang, Stiles didn’t even have a coherent thought to realize this was probably a bad idea.

Because Stiles would like to say that first of all, he had never even wanted to come out tonight. He had early classes and he was totally unprepared for his upcoming exams. An currently, he wasn’t drunk enough to be making such bad decisions.

But uh… murder eyebrows and a biker leather jacket. That was all that really needed to be said on the subject, right?

Morning classes be damned. 

- -

Okay, this was gonna be meet-cute but then it was making out in a dark alley way and I... have no regrets? I have some regrets. I hope I did the prompt justice though! I adore you, Matt <3

Because at the end of the night after Derek had given him a death glare regarding the brownies, they’d proceeded to make out on the back porch and then things had… heated up. Stiles had totally planned on proposing when the moon was full and the dessert was eaten, but he hadn’t accounted for Derek offering to make other uses of the chocolate syrup. And Stiles was more than willing to admit that when it came down to the man and his shirtless body, Stiles had no more room left to think straight.

Literally.

Which might have been how he woke up the next morning after mindblowing sex having completely forgotten he hadn’t proposed. For all that he could remember, things had gone great. No, things had gone spectacularly.

Stiles was a mad genius and he’d hit his peak multiple times to prove it.

He decided to get started on the wedding plans right away the next morning. Derek was in the kitchen wearing only his boxes when Stiles plodded into the room and he felt like that was completely unfair. If he wasn’t still half-dead to the world out of exhaustion, he might have gone for a round seven on the counter right there.

As if the werewolf could read his thoughts, the man turning around with a smug grin. Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed the man’s mug of coffee, chugging half before dropping down on one of the stools in front of the counter.

“I have no brain today and I blame you.”

“Oh?”

“Stop looking so smug, Sexwolf. I still have to go to work and make plans, and now I’m going to be half-awake doing all of it.”

Derek raised a brow at him. Stiles rolled his eyes. “You could help you know.”

“Which plans?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m thinking about starting with flowers first. Lydia will be a giant help through this entire thing but you know, we can’t give her total control. Unless you’re fine with roses, wine, salmon, and possible doves, that is.”

Derek just gave him a flat look. Stiles groaned, burying his face in his arms.

“You’re going to make me do this all myself, aren’t you?”

“Sure, Stiles, whatever you say.”

“Just throw me a bone here, dude. What’s your favorite flower?”

Derek actually thought about that for a second, but not after giving Stiles another strange look. Then he shrugged and rolled back his shoulders, returning to his skillet of scrambled eggs. “Orchids. They used to be Laura’s favorite.”

Stiles felt his resolve soften. He smiled up at the werewolf through his arms and Derek’s ears turned red. He very pointedly didn’t meet Stiles’s eyes, flipping off the stovetop.

“Just don’t let Lydia do… whatever she’s doing. I don’t think I like it.”

“So you’re not a wine person. Noted.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Care to make me, Sexwolf?”

The man gave him a flat look and gestured with the spatula. “Go get ready for work or I’ll never ‘make you’ do anything again.”

“Does that include laundry?”

“Work, Stiles, go.”

Stiles grinned and grabbed his gun and badge, before turning back toward the bedroom. He was pretty sure he could figure how to get orchids. Of course, he knew nothing about making wedding plans, but that’s what Lydia was for, wasn’t it? Stiles was going to adore her these next few months.

The next few months. Because he had proposed. He was getting married.

Stiles grinned brightly to himself.

See, the thing was, they couldn’t afford rings yet. As a result of Derek’s unfortunate life savings being the loft, the rebuilding of the Hale house last summer, and Stiles’s training to become a deputy under his dad’s line, that wasn’t really something they could afford right now.

But Stiles had prepared for last night by going over and over his lines. In fact, he’d said them so many times, it felt like he’d asked Derek to marry him more than once.

Even though last night got a little hazy after they’d taken out the expensive whiskey. And then there was everything that had happened after that, of course. Stiles decided he needed to invest in chocolate sauce more often.

The station was silent as Stiles wandered into it. The deputies were all watching him and his dad stood behind his desk, a cup of coffee in hand and a nervous expression on his face. Stiles kept his own expression neutral as he crossed the room, took the coffee cup from his dad and downed half of it.

The man’s face paled. Stiles lowered it again, wiped the back of his mouth, and then grinned.

“He said yes!”

Cheers rolled through the station. Stiles’s dad grinned and pulled him in close and Stiles made a startled noise before melting into the embrace. He smiled against his dad’s chest, heart warm.

“Thanks, pops.”

“You treat that boy right, okay, kid?”

“I don’t think Derek’s been a boy for a long time.”

The Sheriff pulled back and studied Stiles’s face. Stiles chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. The man’s face softened. 

“I’m just saying. Take care of him.”

“Of course, dad. Always.”

“Good,” the man said, hugging him again. “And don’t worry, I’ll be telling Derek the same thing.”

“Don’t you dare!”

The Sheriff just laughed, grabbing one of the celebration— or possible comfort, if things had gone wrong— donuts off Stiles’s desk before heading toward his office. Stiles yelped and set his coffee down, stumbling after the man, but his dad didn’t even look back.

Things continued to go downhill from there.

See, Stiles had made a list. A Lydia Martin approved list that was sure to make Stiles stressed, Lydia proud, and Derek very tired. But Derek seemed completely at ease. One day turned into two, Stiles kept at it with the wedding plans, and Derek seemed to be the only one of them that wasn’t completely freaking out.

Stiles dropped onto the table across from him one coming weekend and nearly passed out right there. He was so tired. He was never having a wedding again.

Well, he supposed that was the plan.

“Tomorrow,” he said, blinking at Derek blearily. “We’re going cake tasting.”

Derek stopped eating his dinner and glanced up, raising an eyebrow. Stiles groaned, burying his face in his arms.

“Don’t give me that look, Sourwolf, and please don’t argue with me. I’m much too exhausted to come up with any good counterpoints right now.”

“You want to go cake tasting.”

“Yes.”

“Because…”

“Because I said so and I’ve been having cravings ever since this entire thing started. I think it’s the stress. Or maybe I just really want to eat cake.”

“I could make you a cake, Stiles.”

Stiles snorted. “I know. And I love you and your cakes, Sourwolf, but I’m looking for a professional. And don’t you get all offended or anything now. But the day is going to come quicker than you think and we’re both going to be too stressed to make a cake. It’ll be easier to have a professional do it.”

Derek was silent. When Stiles glanced up from his arms, the man was watching him with a completely blank expression. Stiles sighed.

“Please? For me?”

“... Fine.”

“You do love me!”

Derek snorted but Stiles continued to grin. He grabbed his notebook full of checklists and wandered out of the room, texting Lydia that little by little, they were getting things figured out. She seemed to be more stressed than the two of them and when Lydia Martin got stressed, everybody should fear for their lives.

He got a brisk “Good” as an answer and figured that was something, at least. Little by little, they were figuring this all out.

Come next morning, Stiles was more than ready to eat some cake. Derek still seemed to be in a dubious mood, but Stiles figured that was because he just lived off of protein powder and raw meat. The man claimed to hate brownies, dammit. Stiles was so going to make him eat cake for their freaking wedding.

The bakery was small and family-owned. They’d known the Stilinski family from the moment they’d moved into Beacon Hills, as Stiles’s dad was always trying to sneak down there and buy a dozen cookies or so. Stiles had to threaten to put up surveillance cameras of his own, which he was promptly told was illegal.

Whatever. Anything to keep his dad from eating sugar on his lunch breaks.

The woman already had two tables filled with cakes and Stiles honestly thought he could swoon. He jabbed Derek in the side and then pointed toward the cakes, his mouth watering. “Those, Derek. I want all of those.”

“You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“But Derek, look how delicious they look.”

“If you get a stomach ache, I don’t want to hear any complaining tonight.”

“You’re no fun. Margret! Can we eat?”

The woman laughed, pushing a plate into his hands. Stiles didn’t care that this wasn’t ‘fancy’ or ‘expensive’ or whatever. They were on a budget, this bakery had the best cakes Stiles had ever tasted, and he so planned on giving himself a stomach ache tonight.

Stiles worked through the equivalent of two cakes. Derek took modest bites even though Stiles caught his eyes practically roll into the back of his head when he took a bite of the devil’s food one. He grinned to himself.

“So, devil’s food, huh?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“I’m just saying,” Stiles said, grinning. “I’m totally okay with having a chocolate cake.”

“Having a chocolate cake? An entire one?”

“Uh… yeah? And I mean, sure, yeah, what even is white frosting on a chocolate cake but you know what? I’m flexible.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles grinned and leaned closer, tracing his fingers up the man’s chest, much to the burning red of Derek’s ears.

“You know I’m flexible.”

“Okay,” Derek said, shoving himself up. He gave Stiles a dark look and then offered Margret a polite smoke. “Thank you for the… cake. Stiles, I’ll be waiting outside.”

Stiles cackled as the man stalked out of the bakery, pushing himself up too. Margaret shook her head as Stiles turned toward her, a fond look dancing across her lips. 

“You caught yourself a good one, Mischief.”

Stiles smiled warmly, glancing over his shoulder and back out the window. Derek had his hands stuffed into his pockets and Stiles could’ve sworn he could still see the red of the man’s ears. 

“I did, didn’t I?”

“So, did you two decide?”

“Devil’s food,” Stiles said, looking over at the cakes. “He’s got a favorite.”

Margaret smiled and nodded. Giving her a quick hug, Stiles hurried out of the bakery and linked his arm through Derek’s, grinning brightly at the man. Derek just rolled his eyes, reaching over and rubbing a smudge of chocolate from the corner of Stiles’s lip. Stiles grinned brighter as the man dipped his thumb into his mouth and then smirked, pulling Stiles toward the Camaro.

“Come on, then. You can show me how flexible you are.”

A shiver ran down his spine and Stiles just laughed, letting Derek pull him along. Because yeah, he had caught himself a good one. He’d caught himself the best one. And everything was perfect.

Stiles just didn’t realize he hadn’t proposed yet.

-

So Stiles had flowers, a date, and nearly half of his list done. Lydia seemed happy, they had less than two months left, and Stiles had been working extra shifts to make up the money for the wedding rings. He was determined, dammit. And he was on a roll.

Peter, of all people, decided he would be taking care of the suits.

“I don’t trust you.”

Peter sighed, lounging on the couch and lowering his book. He peered across the room at Stiles, raising one eyebrow. “When did I get this reputation?”

“Do you really want me to go into detail?”

“Think of it like this, Stiles,” Peter said, leaning forward. “Would you rather deal with Derek going through hours of trying on suits, something that he hates, or would you rather he takes his frustrations out on his favorite uncle?”

Stiles bit down on his tongue, thinking about it for a second. Then, instead of answering, he slipped out his phone. Lydia had decreed that all decisions go through her and hell if Stiles wasn’t smart enough to know to listen to her before he did anything.

The woman answered in seconds.

“I’m working on getting the catering figured out, Stiles. What’s so important?”

“Peter wants to deal with the suits.”

Peter rolled his eyes from the couch and on the other side of the phone, Lydia was silent for a second. Then she sighed. “Does he have any experience? Is he going to mess this up?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Peter. He shrugged.

“I’m good.”

“He says he’s good.”

“Tell him if he does a single thing wrong, I’ll kill him for a second time.”

“She says—”

“I heard,” Peter said, returning to his book. Stiles frowned at the man for a moment before deciding to be honest, Peter could be the one to deal with Derek and suits. Not that Stiles didn’t appreciate Derek in suits, but the man was worse than a five year old when they went clothes shopping. Last time, Stiles had nearly brained himself on the nearest wall just because Derek had decided to turn his grumpiness level up to one hundred.

Lydia hung up and Stiles returned to the planning. He needed to talk to Derek about who he wanted to invite, he realized. The only thing Stiles was allowing was a plus one, but he was hoping they could keep it a small thing. A pack thing.

He mentioned that to Derek later. The man looked exhausted.

“Derek?”

“... Yes, Stiles.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

Derek gave him a flat look and Stiles smiled nervously. But the man just returned to his dinner, muttering something unintelligible, and Stiles wondered if the panic of it all had finally caught up to him. It’d be about time. Stiles had been running around in circles for four months now while Derek had seemed unfazed.

Not like Stiles wanted him to be freaked out or anything. Freaked out Derek wasn’t good for anyone. Freaked out Derek had been Derek the first couple of weeks he’d finally asked Stiles out, and Stiles had decided then he would be the one proposing to Derek.

He couldn’t handle the man having another breakdown. And he meant that in the best way possible.

“So,” Stiles said, resting his chin on his hands. “Back to the small gathering then. I was thinking like… just the pack and family?”

“Okay, Stiles,” Derek mumbled, poking at his dinner tiredly. Stiles smiled softly and pushed himself up, moving behind the man and tracing gentle fingers over the back of his neck. Derek made a soft whining noise at the back of his throat and leaned into the touch and Stiles grinned, moving his fingers up to trace through Derek’s hair.

“Don’t worry about it right now, big guy,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you to sleep?”

“Stiles?”

“MmmHm?”

“Love you.”

Stiles grinned and pressed a quick kiss to his temple, gently guiding Derek up. The man leaned against him as Stiles led him toward the bedroom, his chest growing warm. Because yeah, Stiles could figure these things out. He liked Derek relaxed. He liked the man at ease.

He loved it when everything around Derek was okay.

The weeks continued to stretch on and Stiles was practically giddy. Everything was going fine. They’d decided on having the ceremony behind the Hale house and Allison had promised to help with the decorations. Even the betas had stopped being pains in the asses in order to help and for once, Stiles could say he didn’t totally hate them.

Erica dragged him out suit shopping while Peter dealt with Derek. When Stiles came home that night, Derek seemed even more fidgety than usual and he offhandedly mentioned his uncle being an idiot and ‘messing in affairs that weren’t his own’ but Stiles just chalked that up to Peter being his usual creeperwolf self.

Then the day came that there was less than two weeks left and Stiles felt like he could’ve buzzed out of his skin. Derek didn’t seem to be around the loft as much, which Stiles was okay with. There was so much going on, the last thing he wanted to do was stress the man out.

He had decided to pick up the rings the day before the wedding. Because Stiles had nearly scraped together enough, despite his dad and Melissa saying they could put some money into the payment. Stiles was determined to earn it himself. This was the start of his new life— his and Derek’s. And he was going to start it out right.

Derek came to him one night with a jar of chocolate sauce, a small smile on his face, and Stiles could have melted. Because this was the man he was marrying, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Derek Hale.

Derek seemed much more laidback after that. Stiles still felt like he was about to buzz out of his skin.

But then one night, with less than a week to go, Derek didn’t come back to the Hale house. He was gone all day, gone late in the night, and by morning, Stiles was still sleeping in a cold bed.

So he’d grabbed Scott, shoved him in the passenger side seat of his jeep, and had the boy sniff Derek out until Scott pointed him toward the cemetery. Then Stiles had kicked Scott right back out of the jeep, parked a few hundred yards away, and approached the man quietly.

To his surprise, Derek wasn’t standing in front of his parent’s graves or his sister’s. He was standing in front of the grave belonging to Stiles’s mom.

Stiles paused for a long moment, just staring. Quietly, Derek shifted from foot to foot.

“I never got to meet her.”

Stiles swallowed hard, stepping toward the man’s side. Derek regarded the grave mournfully, a strange look of vulnerableness on his face. Stiles swallowed hard. “She would’ve liked you.”

“Would she have?”

Stiles tilted his head, studying the man. Derek didn’t meet his gaze.

“Derek, she would’ve loved you.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Derek said softly. “I’ve done a lot of bad things in the past, Stiles.”

Stiles stared at the man in shock. His throat was slowly closing and panic creeped in a shiver up his spine. Because this wasn’t Derek’s way of stopping the wedding, was it? This wasn’t him getting cold feet? Stiles took the man’s hand and Derek still avoided his gaze, brows knitted together.

“Derek, I love you. That’s all that matters.”

“Everyone that’s ever been around me has gotten hurt, Stiles.”

It hit him like a blow to the chest. Stiles nodded and carefully let go of Derek’s hands. The man made a soft whining noise and instead, Stiles reached up, touching his chin. He carefully guided Derek to face him and then leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

“Derek, I love you. You’re mine, remember?”

“Yours.”

“Yeah, big guy,” Stiles said quietly. “And I’m yours.”

“Mine.”

Derek’s eyes were closed when he pulled back. As if he was holding onto each word. Stiles swallowed nervously, tracing gentle fingers over the man’s cheek and brushing the pad of his thumb over his lower lip.

“I love you, Derek.”

Grey-green eyes fluttered open. Derek looked at him for a long moment and then moved forward, catching Stiles’s lips with his own again. A hand tangled through his hair, pulling him closer, and Stiles grinned softly.

They stayed there until the sun had fallen over the tips of the trees. Then slowly, Stiles led Derek back to his jeep and kissed the man one more time before moving around toward the driver's side. He paused for one more moment though, glancing back out at the graveyard.

“You’d love him, mom.”

The long and still silence was his answer. Stiles smiled softly though, climbing into the car.

Derek’s eyes were fixed out the window the entire ride home.

-

Stiles liked to watch Derek when he was sleeping. Not in a creepy way— oh my god— but the man’s face was always softer when he slept. He looked years younger, as if nothing from the past had ever happened. Stiles would trace his fingers over the man’s face and just quietly wonder.

Wonder if he would ever see Derek like that when he was awake. Wonder what Derek would look like if some of the things that had happened, hadn’t.

Stiles would wonder if he’d ever be enough to make those lines go away.

Tonight was no different. Stiles rolled onto his side, looking at Derek’s face half-buried in the pillow. More than anything, he wished he could ease that slight crease between his eyes. Stiles wished he could fix the way Derek’s fists would clench into the sheets, he’d make soft noises underneath his breath, and sometimes wake up with sweat on his neck and chest.

Stiles hoped that one day, he could fix all of that. He could make all the pain go away.

Grey-green eyes slowly flicked open. Stiles instantly closed his own, trying to calm his breaths, and then Derek’s huffing breaths warmed his face.

“You’re doing it again.”

Stiles didn’t move. Barely breathed. Derek sighed.

“Stiles.”

“... I’m not doing anything again.”

“Yes, you are.”

“What?”

“That creepy thing you do when you watch me sleep.”

Stiles’s eyes snapped back open and he glared at the man. Derek grinned, looking smug, and Stiles frowned even harder. “I don’t do creepy things, Sourwolf. That’s all you and your window stalking.”

“I haven’t done that in years.”

“That’s because we’ve been together for years.”

Derek’s face softened. “Yeah,” he said softly, searching Stiles’s face. “I guess we have.”

“It’s not creepy.”

“Sure, Stiles.”

“It’s sweet and you better love me for it.”

“I do love you,” Derek said, a strange note to his voice that Stiles couldn’t catch. The man’s face was suddenly unreadable and Stiles’s breaths caught in his throat. “If I asked you something, Stiles…”

“Yes, I did have onion rings before bed, shut up.”

Derek rolled his eyes and the expression on his face faded. Suddenly, he was the Derek that Stiles knew again. Grinning brightly, Stiles leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the man’s nose.

“Now go to sleep. We have a big day this weekend.”

“We do?”

“Shut up, you’re not funny.”

“For once, I’m not trying to be funny.”

Stiles just rolled his eyes, burying his face in Derek’s neck. The man made a rumbling noise at the back of his throat and didn’t say anything else, arms wrapped around Stiles’s shoulders and pulling him closer. And Stiles… Stiles was okay with all of this. Stiles was content.

Three more days and he could finally call Derek his own. 

His own Sourwolf.

-

“That’s not the right seating, Vernon!”

Stiles watched from the bedroom, peeking around the door every time Lydia yelled. He was pretty sure no one in the pack had ever called Boyd ‘Vernon’ but watching the beta’s expression go through a dozen emotions and Erica double over in laughter was totally worth it.

Normally, Stiles would be doubling over too. But he had a different problem.

Derek had left this morning and not come back.

Now, Stiles didn’t think Derek was the type to skip out on his own wedding. But if something had happened— if the man had freaked out— or Stiles had done something wrong? Maybe he finally had that breakdown. Maybe the last week at the cemetery had been a warning.

Maybe Stiles just wasn’t enough.

Scott had attempted to calm him down and Stiles had been pacing for the last hour. His dad had gone off to attempt and find the werewolf but so far, he didn’t seem to have had any luck. The Camaro was gone. Derek could be in a whole different state by now.

To say Stiles was panicking would be an understatement.

Every single time he thought about the fact that Derek had been missing for hours, he had another mini panic attack. Every single time he heard someone outside his bedroom door, he resisted the urge to crawl underneath the bed and curl up in a ball. To pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist. That this day hadn’t happened. 

Then Stiles’s pocket buzzed.

After a long moment, he fished out his phone and blinked at it. It was a message from Derek— and Stiles’s heart stopped.

It was a simple; Meet at your house. And Stiles was sure then that this was it. Derek had finally come to his senses and was going to turn him down.

Unable to make himself explain things to the rest of the pack, Stiles did the most logical thing. He pulled himself out of the window, all but dove into his jeep, and fled. He was pretty sure he could never come back. He could never face this house again.

Every single moment that he got closer to his house, Stiles felt his heart sinking more and more

By the time he was parked in front of his own house, looking silently at it, Stiles felt like his heart was about to be torn in two. He sat in the driver’s seat for a long moment and just stared. Just stared, feeling a little sick, his head spinning and his chest growing tighter and tighter with each breath.

Stiles had to force himself out of the car and up the driveway. And when the rest of the house was empty, he slowly plodded up the stairs into his own room.

Derek was waiting for him on his bed.

The man’s eyes flicked up the moment Stiles entered the room. His eyes searched Stiles up and down and he slowly stood, looking a little confused.

“You’re wearing a suit.”

“Yeah, dude.”

“It… looks good.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, his heart snapping. “Just get it over with, okay? Get it over with so I can leave. Please.”

The man stilled. His face dropped and the hand in his pocket slowly drew out. He moved closer, searching Stiles’s face, and then his eyes went over his suit again. “Am I missing something?”

“Missing something? Missing something? Dammit, Derek, you’re missing your own wedding!”

Derek froze. The concern melted from his face, replaced by confusion. Then the man’s eyes widened and he stared at Stiles for a long moment, before looking back at his suit. Then he stumbled away, sinking down onto the edge of the bed once more.

“Stiles, what?’

“Dammit, Derek, we’re supposed to get married in three hours! What the hell happened? Are you freaking out? Did you never plan to go through with it in the first place?”

Stiles could feel his eyes filling with tears but he didn’t care. He couldn’t— he couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t lose Derek.

“I love you,” Stiles said. “You’re mine, remember?”

The man just stared at him. Swallowing hard, Stiles nodded and slipped the rings out of his pocket, letting them fall to the floor. 

“Sorry I’m not enough, Sourwolf.”

Stiles turned around to leave. And he would have. It would’ve been a dramatic exit that movies would’ve been proud of for years to come. Except then Derek was catching his arm and spinning him back around.

“Stiles,” Derek said, searching his face. “We’re not getting married.”

“I can see that, asshole.”

“No,” Derek said, slower this time. “You never asked me to get married. You never proposed, Stiles.” 

Stiles stared at him. Then he barked a bitter laugh, trying to shove the man back and squirm loose. But Derek’s hold tightened. He caught Stiles’s other hand, pressing his fingers against the pulse point underneath his neck, and held his gaze.

“Stiles, listen to my heartbeat. You never proposed.”

Stiles faltered. His heart dropped into his shoes and another panicked laugh built up in his throat. “Yes, I did. Dammit, Derek, yes I did! That night with the brownies! The home cooked meal! The lights and the chocolate sauce, dammit!”

“You never proposed, Stiles.”

And suddenly, it hit him like a brick. That night. The food, the drink. Dancing to no music on the back porch and kissing underneath the moonlight. It had been perfect. Everything had been perfect.

Except Stiles had never proposed.

His knees buckled underneath him and he dropped to the floor, Derek barely catching his weight before he hit. The man slowly lowered him down, cupping Stiles’s chin and searching his face, but Stiles was officially gone to the world. His mind was blank.

He had forgotten to propose.

“Oh my god,” he said quietly. “We’re not getting married.”

“Stiles—”

“How the hell did you never figure things out, Derek? Dammit, I’ve been preparing this wedding for months!”

Derek’s face twisted. His ears turned red. Slowly, he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I thought it was a thing. I thought you were making hints.”

“Hints? Hints? Derek, you have a suit! Flowers! We went cake testing!”

“You always go over the top!”

“Because I love you!”

Derek stared at him for a long moment. Then his lips turned into a small smile and he reached into his pocket, digging out a small black box. When he flipped it open, there was a pair of silver rings inside. Stiles’s heart stopped.

“I was going to ask you to marry me, Stiles.”

“... In my bedroom?”

The man’s face turned darker red. “I thought it was romantic.”

“Dude, I used to jerk off in here!”

“That’s not something I ever needed to hear out loud.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, dropping his face against Derek’s shoulder. The man smelled like leather and pine. Clearly, he’d cleaned up for this. “Oh my god, that’s why you were freaking out all week. You had that breakdown.”

“Breakdown?”

“The one I was hoping to save you from.”

Derek pulled back, looking at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head and pushed Stiles up, staying on one knee. Slowly, he flipped the ring box back open, raising a brow. 

“Stiles Stilinski—”

“No,” Stiles said in a whine. “I wanted to be the one to propose.”

“You already had your chance.”

“But dammit, Derek, I’ve been planning this for months!”

The man sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Shoving the ring box back into his pocket, he cupped Stiles’s face and looked down at him. “Stiles, will you marry me?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

“... Oh. Well, then I suppose I will too.”

Derek rolled his eyes and kissed Stiles hard. He tasted like mint, smelled even better, and Stiles all but melted into the man’s embrace. Because yeah, this was no back porch proposal with chocolate sauce or brownies, but… He could survive.

Stiles could be okay with this.

“No one can ever know,” he said, pulling back. Derek rolled his eyes. 

“Of course not.”

“And… you’ll marry me.”

“Yes, Stiles.”

“Today? Like in three hours? Because I was pretty sure you skipped out on the wedding and maybe left town or something—”

Derek grabbed his tie and pulled him into a kiss again, effectively shutting him up. Stiles relaxed once more, feeling the man grin around his lips. “I do have a suit already, don’t I? Might as well put it to some good use.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Asshole.”

“Idiot.”

“Right back at you, Stupidwolf.”

“Fiancé.”

“Okay, that’s not fair.”

Derek just grinned and kissed him harder. And Stiles supposed that maybe— maybe— it was fair.

Just a little bit.

-

I have died everyday, waiting for you

Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more

- -

A visit, a glance, a retreat. Then it was more. A feeling, a movement, a taste. Soon, Derek was lost in the way Stiles traced gentle fingers across his chest, whispered soft things in the night, and then curled up in his arms come morning.

They kept it quiet.

So Derek wasn’t sure what it could be called. He’d go to Stiles or Stiles would come to him. The boy would have a nightmare and Derek would spend the entire night holding him. Derek would wake up to flashes of Boyd’s tear-streaked face, or flames curling into the air, and Stiles would wrap around his shoulders and trace the tattoo on his back until Derek was lulled back into a trembling sleep.

Sometimes, he’d look at Stiles, surrounded by the rest of the pack, and be overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him. To trace his fingers across Stiles’s neck, to bite marks into the pale skin of his neck, to show the others that this boy— this wonder— was his.

Derek never did that. But sometimes he wished he could.

Sometimes though, when Stiles was wrapped up in his arms, Derek felt like he could be satisfied with this. If he had Stiles at night, Derek could go about the rest of his day with the boy ten feet away. He could look at Stiles, laughing with the rest of the pack, and just quietly want.

Other times, Derek would bury his face in the boy’s neck and tried to smother the crushing feeling of not right, not enough, not mine that overwhelmed him.

He didn’t know if Stiles felt the same. Derek didn’t think he had the right to ask.

Because sometimes, he hated himself for this.

Everyone around Derek got hurt. Everyone he dared touch, dared love, dared call his own, ended up facing the punishment for that. Derek used to think he was cursed. Until Stiles had pulled him into his arms at least, gentle fingers putting him back together as Derek broke.

Derek didn’t know what he could call them.

But he wished more than anything he could call Stiles ‘his’.

“Der?”

Derek came back to the real world, blinking a few times. Amber eyes watched him quietly, a small smile dancing across Stiles’s lips as he studied Derek’s in the night. Derek felt his face grow warm and instead of saying anything, he leaned forward and brushed a kiss across the boy’s lips.

Stiles laughed softly. “What was that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, eyes sparkling. “You’re just being extra gooey in bed because I was that great, huh? Lemme guess, I fuc—”

“Okay,” Derek said, cutting him off. “Don’t get a big head.”

“That’s coming from you,” Stiles said with a snort. “Mr. Derek ‘I Preen for Days When I Make Stiles Scream My Name’ Hale.”

“That’s quite the title.”

“It’s your title.”

“And shortened?”

Stiles scrunched up his face for a second, before grinning. “Smugwolf. No! Sexwolf.”

“I don’t understand your brain sometimes.”

“But you love it.”

Derek went quiet. Because despite Stiles’s teasing tone, despite the glimmer in his eyes, Derek did. His heart ached for Stiles and those words to be said aloud with actual meaning. But instead, he just huffed and pulled Stiles into his chest so the boy’s face was pressed into his neck.

Stiles spluttered a few times before shifting around and going still. Derek focused on the dark wall across the room and just tried to breathe. Tried to listen to Stiles’s heartbeats, inhale his scent, and tell himself that this was enough.

Stiles with him here, now, was enough.

Mostly, he was terrified he’d say it, he’d spill his guts out, and Stiles would draw away. Because what even was this? Derek didn’t know what to call them. Comfort when the days turned dark. Stiles seeking him out when he smelled like want and arousal. Derek coming in through his window when he wanted was something— touch— anything.

It was enough. Stiles was enough.

Derek hated himself for wanting more.

There were times he could get out of his own head. Beacon Hills was always attracting a new threat; like flies to honey. When Derek wasn’t seeking Stiles out, they were working side by side to deal with the new Monster of the Week. Derek could throw himself into that. Forget about nearly everything else.

Other times, Derek would go into town. Find a corner in the small coffee shop, the nearly empty bar, or the quiet library. Even though the whispers always seemed to follow. The ‘That’s Derek Hale’, ‘that’s the one from the fire’, ‘that’s the one they almost convicted for murder’.

‘His own sister.’

Derek didn’t go out as often after that.

The first time Stiles pinned him down to the mattress, licking a stripe up his stomach, Derek had nearly tossed the boy out of bed. When Stiles had pulled him close one night and whispered the soft word ‘sweetheart’ Derek had stayed wide awake until the sun peeked over the horizon. Fast forward to the next night and Stiles had held him tight as Derek cried.

Derek had kept Stiles out of a fight once, working the plan around him, and the boy hadn’t talked to him for two weeks. Derek was pretty sure they were the longest of his life.

Stiles’s touch was like phantoms that followed him into waking hours and out of them.

It was this whole fake relationship, secret relationship, no relationship, that messed with Derek’s head. He felt like he was drowning. Or suffocating. Or maybe he was just addicted. If he let go of the source though, Derek didn’t think he would survive.

He didn’t think he could survive losing Stiles.

Which might have been why Derek started pushing him away. Because it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad, but Derek could know he was safe. Everyone around Derek got hurt. Everyone that got close to him, got underneath his skin, snaked their way into his heart, ended up punished for it.

Derek refused to lose Stiles.

But he still lost against himself sometimes.

There was a figure standing in the doorway of the loft that night. Derek knew the rest of the betas were out and honestly, he didn’t expect them back until at least the next morning. So when Stiles stood there, amber eyes pleading, a faint stutter to his heartbeats, Derek didn’t even have the strength to turn away.

“Sexwolf,” was whispered against his skin as Stiles laughed. Derek picked him up, long legs wrapping around his waist, and carried the boy toward the bedroom. 

Sharp teeth skated down his neck and Stiles sucked a mark there, always so frustrated when he couldn’t leave a lasting mark. There was one time he’d completely forgotten they were both naked, dropping out of the scene midway as he glared at Derek’s neck like he was trying to silently will dark red claiming bites there of his own.

Derek had loved him even more for that.

“You,” Stiles said, as Derek dropped him down onto the mattress. “You’re pulling away from me again, Sourwolf.”

Derek looked at him for a long moment. Then he forced a chuckle and stripped off his shirt. Stiles’s eyes dilated and Derek could always tell when all of his thoughts turned to abs.

“What do you want, Stiles?”

A crooked smile tugged at the boy’s lips. He leaned up, wrapping a hand around the back of Derek’s neck and pulled him in close.

“You.”

Derek always thought it would get easier. But he still closed his eyes, swallowing words, and stripped off Stiles’s shirt too. The boy let loose a litany of soft curses as Derek moved to his jeans, pulling down the zipper and stripping those off too.

By the time Derek had come twice, Stiles three times, and the boy was panting underneath him with Derek’s face buried in his neck, he felt nothing except a little woozy. There was a fog in his mind, a daze behind his eyes, and as Stiles combed careful fingers through his hair, Derek let himself go for the first time.

“I love you.”

Stiles froze. The touches paused and it took Derek a moment for his own words to catch up with him. Then he felt horror, nausea, and terror crash over him. In a second, Derek was shoving himself up and stumbling out of bed, feeling like someone had grabbed him by the neck and ripped out his throat.

 Stiles sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around him. And his eyes were wide. His scent loud. Derek thought he could be sick.

A sob threatened to tear from his chest.

“Derek—”

“Don’t,” Derek said, moving a step back. “I’m sorry, Stiles, I’m sorry. I didn’t mea— I’m sorry. I won’t say it again.”

The boy’s eyes cracked.

Slowly, he pushed himself out of bed and Derek froze as Stiles stepped closer. The boy reached out, then stopped, and one brow slowly raising. “Derek, can I touch you?”

Derek barely breathed for a second. Then he nodded and Stiles splayed a hand across his chest. It moved over his shoulders as Stiles stepped closer, cupping the back of his neck. Stiles brought their foreheads together, breaths warm against Derek’s skin. 

“Your heart is beating crazy fast, dude.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, sounding broken. “Please stop apologizing to me.”

Derek felt like he could fall apart. He closed his eyes and nodded, and Stiles drew back a little, searching his face. He never removed his hand, though.

“Can I ask what happened?”

Derek looked at him, shocked. Stiles wet his lips before speaking again.

“You’re terrified.”

“I— I didn’t mean to.”

For a moment, Stiles didn’t answer. Then he nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “You said you loved me. You didn’t mean it?”

“No, I didn’t mean to.”

Something the boy’s scent changed. It went soft, vanished altogether, and then came back in an overwhelming wave. Derek thought there was the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Stiles’s lips but he didn’t know why.

“I won’t say it again.”

“Derek?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you too.”

Derek didn’t think that was right. He hadn’t heard right. Or maybe something else was wrong. He’d fallen asleep, he was having a nightmare. Stiles had never come over in the first place. This was all a dream.

Derek didn’t realize Stiles was leading him down to the floor until he realized his chest was too tight. The boy guided his head into his chest, whispering calm, soothing things, and wrapped careful arms around Derek’s shoulders, tracing fingers over the outline of his tattoo.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m awake.”

“Yeah, big guy.”

Derek turned his face up, nose tracing along Stiles’s collarbone. The boy made a surprised noise before chuckling and a going lax. 

“Yeah, big guy, I’m here. You alright?”

Derek just inhaled, eyes closed. Stiles’s entire body vibrated as he chuckled again.

“Okay, Softiewolf, you’re okay. Big whiff now, yeah? Smell that? That’s this human. This Stiles. Your human, alright? Your Stiles. You’re okay, Derek.”

Derek didn’t say a word. They sat like that for a long moment, the silence overwhelming.

Stiles covered him like a shield, pale neck tilted a little in submission. One hand stayed on Derek’s back, fingers outlining his tattoo. The other petted down the back of his neck. Derek stayed stock-still through it all.

“You said you didn’t mean to.”

Derek didn’t answer. Stiles swallowed.

“I did.”

Derek pulled back and Stiles studied his face. 

“I meant what I said, big guy. I just… I didn’t want to scare you away. And I know there are some things that are better off not said, but…”

“What is this?”

Stiles blinked. His scent turned nervous. “What is it to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh man,” Stiles said, laughing. “So it’s not just me. Listen, Sourwolf, I don’t know if you’re scared of my dad, or the betas, or whatever, but I’m totally fine with keeping it under the wraps until you’re good to go—”

Derek stared. Stiles trailed off.

“Derek?”

“I’m not scared.” 

That was a lie. Derek was completely and totally terrified. But not of what the pack would think, or how the Sheriff might threaten to shoot him. Derek was terrified that the moment he said it out loud, the world would use that as a reason to take Stiles from him. To tear him away just like all of the others.

“Derek,” Stiles said softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Derek, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Stiles said, eyes flashing in the night. “Derek, I swear to god, I will never leave you. I’m Stiles Stilinski, remember? I’m stuck to you like glue now. And I’m never letting go.”

Derek’s chest tightened again. Stiles’s face softened.

“Derek, I love you.”

Derek moved forward and kissed him. Stiles tasted like cinnamon and apple spice and the boy smiled around his lips, hand tangling through his hair. Derek closed his eyes and just let himself want, curled against the boy like Stiles had all the control here.

Because maybe he did. Derek could be taken apart by a simple touch if it came from Stiles.

“I love you,” Derek said, the word whispered around Stiles’s lips. The boy’s scent flooded with happiness and he laughed against Derek’s lips, pulling him closer and kissing him hard.

“I’m yours, big guy.”

“Mine.”

Stiles guided his head down to his neck, fingers softened in his hair. “And I want everyone to know it.”

His.

Derek didn’t think the terror would end tonight. He’d always be afraid of losing Stiles. But there was something about wanting him, about wanting more, and Derek knew he would go to the ends of the earth for Stiles. Feelings of right, of enough, of his.

“I love you.”

Stiles held him closer. And he didn’t need to say a word because Derek knew it was okay. Stiles here. Stiles was his.

And Stiles was always enough.

- -

Apparently, I write sad and happy things now? I promise to offer you guys a bit of both as often as I can <3 Thanks for the prompt, Matt! Sorry, it’s kinda lot of prompts pushed into one XD

Like what they faced after Derek left. So many things. Stiles learned what it was like to be considered untrustworthy. He learned what it was like to be considered a real murder. To have blood on his actual hands.

He did this… thing when no one else was around. He didn’t tell Morrell about it and he didn’t tell his father. He most certainly didn’t tell Scott, but they hadn’t been talking that much lately anyway.

And if Stiles’s dad was to snoop around his bedroom one day, he might find a neat stack of letters. Ones that were never sent out, but always slipped in clean envelopes. Ones that were all addressed to the same initials, but there was never an address. Stiles didn’t think he’d send them even if he got an address; but it was a lot like the instance with Derek Hale’s number currently in his phone. He’d stared at it for hours before, debating making a call. A text. Something.

He never did though. Stiles thought he’d have a lot less control with the texts. So he wrote letters instead.

When Derek Hale first left Beacon Hills, the words; “Tell me a story about how the sun loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe” had circled through Stiles’s mind so often, he thought he was going crazy.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

When Stiles had gone into high school, he’d never expected to come out of it surprised he’d survived. They all made jokes years and years ago, yeah. But Stiles still couldn’t believe sometimes that he’d survived.

When he graduated as a senior, he’d stopped going to the counseling sessions. His dad had tried to bring up actual therapy but Stiles was at the point where he realized how Derek had felt when he first returned to Beacon Hills years ago. Once upon a time, when Stiles had been an idiot sixteen-year-old kid and Derek was nothing but tired and sad. 

For the first time, Stiles kind of wished he could go back in time and apologize.

Because hell, Stiles was tired. He was sad. He was tired like when Derek had buried himself in his childhood house and attempted to ignore the world. He was sad in that sometimes, he felt like he’d lived and died a dozen lives, and maybe he was just going through the motions these days.

He might have looked for Derek in the crowd the day they’d graduated. Because if Derek Hale was ever going to return to Beacon Hills, it would be then. When most of the danger had passed, when most of them had survived.

Most of them. Not all.

Stiles attempted to organize a vigil for those who hadn’t made it to graduation. A little ceremony. Something, anything, to remember that they all weren’t so lucky.

No one except for Lydia, Melissa, and Stiles’s dad had shown up.

They’d lit candles, murmured a few quiet words, looked over the graves, and Stiles wondered how much it had hurt Derek to lose so many of his pack. Peter had called it like losing a limb. Stiles sometimes wondered if the pain he’d felt when Derek had left was similar to that.

He hadn’t just felt like he’d lost a limb though. He’d felt like he’d lost so much more.

Stiles liked to believe Derek would have come to the vigil if he would have known. Maybe he would’ve taken a candle and stood by Stiles’s side as they overlooked Boyd and Erica’s graves. Surrounded by wolfsbane, because Stiles didn’t know if that was an actual thing, but he remembered seeing it around Laura Hale’s grave so many years ago.

He’d nearly gotten caught when he snuck out one night months ago to plant it. But there was over a handful of purple flowers growing now. Dancing across each grave. Crawling up the stones. Not in the perfect circle like it had been for Laura but… maybe it was enough.

Though, Stiles didn’t know how that could be enough if he hadn’t been.

He’d told himself he was going to leave Beacon Hills after high school. For good, maybe. Or at least for a few years. And Stiles had managed to stay gone for a solid semester, but then his dad had been shot in the line of duty.

Nothing fatal; a shoulder wound that put him in the hospital for six days and took him out of duty for another three months after that. But Stiles had driven straight back to Beacon Hills and hadn’t looked over his shoulder since.

Two years had passed and Stiles sometimes still wrote the letters.

He kind of thought it was stupid.

-

Hey, Sourwolf, remember that one time you left Beacon Hills without telling anyone? Yeah, well, I do too. And I’m so fucking pissed at you for it, I would literally kill to say that to your face. Which, funny story, wouldn’t be my first murder. Remember that time you said I’d be alright? That everything would be alright?

Yeah, well, that’s a bunch of bull.

  Stupid question, but would you pick the sun or the moon? That doesn’t make sense right now and I know, I’d be getting the ‘Seriously Stiles?” growly brows right now. But I’d really like to know. For… scientific reasons. Shut up, I’m probably not going to send this anyway.

  By the way, of the sun and the moon, which one of us is dying here?

  You think I would have had enough riddles to last me a lifetime at this point, but Morrell doesn’t seem to think so. Both her and Deaton get under my skin sometimes, you know? Like, is a straight answer really so damn hard?

It sure as hell seems like it.

  I’m supposed to be graduating and living my life pretty soon. I still can’t make a proper boiled egg and sometimes, I forget not everyone wants to hurt my friends or family. Funny, right? I’m fucking hilarious.

  I swear to god, I love you.

-

Stiles took this one class that talked about poetry and all the questions of the universe. He wasn’t sure why he took it exactly, but there was one thing that caught his attention from the beginning. One story about the moon and the sun; and the constant chase, the constant sacrifice that they made for each other. Over and over again.

He hated that class for all he was worth. He didn't think that was much anymore.

Stiles went to college for another year with no official degree in mind, but maybe he could be a history major or something? But then he got the call that his dad was planning to retire soon and Stiles found himself taking a few steps back. Turning away from the morning classes, the late-night parties, and all of those normal things, and applying to the police academy instead.

For some reason, he always thought Derek would’ve made a good deputy.

Stiles still looked for him sometimes.

He looked for grey-green.

-

I think I could track you down if I wanted to. You know, talk some sense into your little werewolf-y brain. I’d probably say something about ‘Having a plan B’. Because there has to be something else. We were always supposed to have a plan B, weren’t we? Maybe yours was leaving. Maybe it was not looking back.

I just wish I could’ve left too.

-

When Derek Hale first returned back to Beacon Hills, Stiles had friends at the local coffee shop, friends at the Sheriff’s station, and even a few friends from his old Uni days. He had them scattered here and there. He hadn’t written a letter in ages.

When Derek Hale first returned to Beacon Hills, Stiles didn’t actually know it until he ran into the man while grocery shopping. Derek had gone stock-still down the aisle, a basket held loosely in his hand, and Stiles’s milk had gone splattering to the floor.

When Derek Hale first returned to Beacon Hills, Stiles was told it was ‘a second chance’. He thought that sounded painfully familiar. He also thought, for a moment, he was going crazy again.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Sometimes, he thought he could leave it all behind. Scott had long since followed the rest of his pack to New York City and Stiles had lost touch long ago. There was still the occasional supernatural baddie in Beacon Hills; but Stiles had a little bit more than a baseball bat now.

There was this… misfit group. Those that had been left behind. Stiles; when he’d become a Deputy. Lydia; when she returned back to start her own online company from the ground up. The few who had never left. Or never stayed gone.

Then there was Derek.

Stiles hadn’t planned on speaking to him ever again, thank you very much. He’d made a beeline from the grocery store and either Derek hadn’t followed, or he’d been too preoccupied with the newly spilled milk to give chase.

Stiles saw him later at the coffee shop. He turned right back around and suffered the station’s coffee for the rest of the week.

He saw him running in the early mornings when he left for work.

He saw the man in his sleep.

It had been so long since Stiles had woken up with the memory of blazing red eyes, or sharp electric blue underneath the moonlight, or the simple green-grey that gave him the saddest look before turning away. 

It had been so long.

Stiles made a bonfire in the preserve one night with a pile of his own kindling; a little stack of papers. But then he never went through with it.

One morning, there was a man in his apartment building.

Stiles had never thought his ‘fight or flight’ instincts would kick in when he was facing Derek Hale. But then the man was standing in front of him in nothing but sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He held a bag of bagels in one hand and his mail in the other and it took Stiles one second too long to realize the bastard was living in his building.

It took Stiles one minute too long to realize he was crying.

See, Stiles had imagined their future meeting over and over again in his mind. When Derek had first left and Stiles was still raw, he imagined he might scream a little bit. Maybe curse the man out.

Or maybe just beg him to stay.

Then as the months had stretched on, Stiles thought maybe he’d just give him a hug. That maybe, maybe if he could prove to Derek Hale that there was something left for him in Beacon Hills, he would consider staying around for a little longer.

Jump to three years later and Stiles was just standing here like an idiot, silent tears spilling down his cheeks. And it took him far too long to realize he was crying.

Derek was only a few feet away by the time Stiles snapped back to reality.

Some part of his mind was tempted to punch the man. Some part was tempted to turn and storm off. Stiles thought he could only be more pathetic if he dropped to his knees along with the tears.

Derek looked utterly torn. Stiles hated how little he hated him for a moment.

“Stiles—”

“Do you remember the day you left?”

Derek’s mouth snapped closed and Stiles’s words were trembling. The man made an abortive move forward as if he was going to reach out, but then he promptly drew back. Stiles’s heart twisted in his chest.

“Huh, Derek? Do you remember the day you left?”

“It was… a long time ago.”

“Yeah, asshole, it was. But I just want to know one thing,” Stiles said, and he hated himself for how pitiful he sounded. Because right now, he was pretty sure he hated himself more than he hated Derek Hale. If he even ever had. “Did you ever look back?”

Derek’s jaw ticked and he didn’t say a word. Stiles felt like his stomach had dropped.

“Did you ever think about returning?”

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

And that wasn’t the answer Stiles had been looking for, but maybe it was the one he should have expected. Silently, he nodded, turning back away. He wasn’t trembling so hard anymore but he still felt like his world was falling apart at the seams.

“Wait, Stiles.”

Despite himself, he froze. Despite everything, despite knowing better. Derek looked shattered when Stiles glanced back and for the first time, he wondered if the man had possibly missed Stiles and much as he’d missed him.

But then Derek just ducked his head again and Stiles knew he was an idiot. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

Though turning away, eyes burning, Stiles sure as hell wished it did.

-

I swear to god, I hate you.

-

Stiles never asked to fall in love, alright? He never asked to look into grey-green eyes and find himself rendered useless. If someone had told his teenage self that one day, he’d been spending his life thinking about a certain leather-jacketed asshole, Stiles would have laughed them off.

If his life was a movie, Stiles thought Derek would have shown up on Stiles’s doorstep. Maybe with flowers, maybe with just an apology.

Stiles would have been careful, cautious. But he would have let Derek in. There would have been soft conversations, possible tears, maybe even a love confession. And then Stiles would have been alright again.

Derek Hale never showed up on his doorstep. Stiles still dreamed of grey-green eyes.

There was this part of him that sometimes still came to the shocking realization that Derek was back in town. When one of the deputies introduced Stiles to his new ‘good friend’ and Stiles had nearly had a panic attack at the sight of Derek’s face. When he went to the farmer’s market for the first time since he was a child and turned the corner to run face-first into a soft henley and firm chest.

Sometimes, Stiles had to stop and take a breath. 

And then like the snap of two fingers, suddenly Stiles nearly stopped breathing altogether.

He’d survived his teenage years. He’d survived psychotic werewolves and bloodthirsty alpha packs. He’d survived demon possession and being forgotten by all those he loved. Stiles had survived one thing after another. All of those dozen lives that he’d lived.

He took a bullet to the chest on a Tuesday morning. And Stiles was pretty sure he was finally going to die.

But when he came-to, it was in a hospital room.

Stiles felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his brain. There was the faint sound of a beeping machine and someone was hunched over where he laid. Stiles managed to blink once, twice, a low groan leaving his lips, and then the person was jerking like they’d been shot.

Derek Hale made an abortive move to stand, looking like he’d been caught red-handed doing something illegal. Stiles focused in on his face slowly, confused for a second, and then he was pretty sure his heart stopped.

Slowly, Derek sank back into the chair at his side. “Stiles?”

“You’re not really here.”

The man’s face did something strange and Stiles was almost tempted to reach out and touch it. But he still felt like he was floating outside of his body, ears ringing, and this wasn’t real. Either he really was dead or they’d put him on enough drugs to make him see what Stiles usually tried to pretend was a bad dream.

Derek looked terrified. Which was funny, because usually their roles were reversed.

“Stiles, how are you feeling?”

“You’re not really here,” Stiles said again. God, why did his brain hate him? The man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and Stiles thought that up close, his face looked a little less hardened than it used to. His eyes were a little less sad.

“Stiles, you’re in the hospital. You were shot.”

“I know that,” Stiles said, huffing despite himself. “But you’re not here.”

“I am.”

“No,” he said softly. “No, because this is all a dream. Or a hallucination. Or a nightmare. You’re not here because that’s not allowed. We’re not allowed. Someone told me and I’ve spent three years thinking so.”

Derek flinched. Stiles managed a weak chuckle.

“We’re not allowed, Sourwolf.”

And then Derek Hale took his hand. 

Stiles’s brain logged offline for a moment. His heart skipped a beat. Because Derek Hale— dream Derek Hale, hallucination Derek Hale, whatever— had his hand. And Stiles could feel the warmth of his skin. The steady beat of his heart. The callouses that lined his palm.

Derek took his hand, squeezing gently, and for a moment, Stiles just stared.

Then he yanked back like he’d been burned.

“No, Derek. No, Derek, no Derek, no! You’re not here! You can’t be here! Get out. Get your furry ass out right now or I swear to god, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

The words were asked gently. Derek raised a brow, glancing down at Stiles’s chest, and his features tightened a little as he looked back up.

“You’ll what, Stiles? Nearly die again?”

“Fuck you.”

“I…” the man's voice wavered. “I’m sorry, Stiles. But I’m not going anywhere.”

And wouldn’t Stiles have loved to have heard that years ago? Derek would have come back or maybe he would have never left. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t supposed to have gone anywhere from the start.

“Why?” Stiles asked. “Why now?”

Derek dropped his gaze, starting to pull his hand back. But Stiles latched on as if it was a lifeline. Grey-green eyes snapped back upward and Derek nodded, gripping his hand tight again. “I… I heard what happened.”

“Yeah, so I nearly died. I’ve nearly died plenty of times before, you know. You never showed up then.”

Stiles was pretty sure he was hitting every single point of pain. Because Derek looked more and more stricken with every word and if Stiles was a better person, he would stop. But suddenly, it was all spilling out of him. Because yeah, he could hate the man silently all he wanted, but that had never done him any good.

“Why did you leave, Derek? Goddammit, why did you leave?”

“I had to.”

“You had to leave Beacon Hills?”

“Stiles—”

“Or what, Derek? You had to leave the pack? You had to leave me? You had to scurry off into the night and never so much as call? I wanted so bad to hate you, dammit! How could you let me try and hate you?”

“Because that’s what you were supposed to do!”

Stiles froze. At some point, Derek had drawn away. He just looked at Stiles now, eyes blurry and jaw clenched. For a moment, Stiles was pretty sure he was going to get up and leave. But then the man just ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“That’s what you were supposed to do, Stiles.”

“Why did you leave me, Derek?”

“Why would you ever want me to stay?”

There was this one letter Stiles had written asking himself the same thing. Why did he want Derek back? Why did he even care whether or not the man decided to suddenly up and leave?

Why Derek Hale? Why would he ever care about Derek Hale?

“Because when you left,” Stiles said shakily. “It felt like losing a limb.”

Derek made a soft noise at the back of his throat, shaking hands clasped together in his lap. His eyes were fixed on the floor and Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen the ex big bad Alpha of Beacon Hills so fragile. But he was pretty sure right now, if he said the wrong thing, Derek would shatter.

“Because you were gone,” Stiles said. “Before you were even mine.”

Some part of him thought Ms. Morrell was wrong. There was no moon or sun. There was no chase, there was no sacrifice. Unless it was on both sides. Because dammit, Derek looked like Stiles had just said everything he’d experienced. The man breathed out shakily and nodded once more glancing up.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

“I know.”

“Are you staying?”

“... Yes.”

“For good?”

For a moment, Derek stared. Then he nodded. Stiles smiled a little and for the first time in a while, felt like he really meant it. He shifted, pulling himself into a sitting position and wincing a little at the stretch of his injury. Derek straightened and Stiles just waved a hand through the air, managing a small laugh.

Slowly, the man relaxed back. 

“Then me too,” Stiles said softly. “I'm sorry for trying so hard to hate you.”

Derek huffed, eyes shining. And it had been so long since Stiles had hoped he’d actually ever get to see that. He reached out and Derek took his hand, squeezing tightly. And it was all so real. The pulse point beneath his fingertips. The long fingers intertwined with his own.

It was all so real.

“I’m not leaving again, Stiles.”

And beneath Stiles’s fingertips, the heartbeat of the man stayed steady.

-

There’s this thing about the sun and the moon, Sourwolf. One can’t survive without the other. And it’s always been about survival between us, right? Sometimes, I’d love for that to all be a lie. I really would. But I need you to survive, remember? I need you to survive, which is why I haven’t let you go.

Which is why I might never let you go.

- -

I should really know better than to write at night bc nothing but angst ever ensues. Thank you so much for the prompt, Matt! I had fun with it <3

He’d like to say that in the past two years they’d spent together, Stiles had totally wormed his way underneath Derek’s skin. He’d like to say that at some point, Derek had totally warmed up to him. But judging by the fact that Derek had slammed him into a wall not three weeks ago after Stiles dared volunteer himself as bait against the hunters that had been causing problems, he really didn’t think that was true.

So when Derek had saved his life tonight, Stiles was… well, not surprised. If he was being fair, he wasn’t surprised. Not exactly. He was just… intrigued.

Yeah, that was a good word for it.

Stiles realized he was staring for far too long and blushed, lowering his gaze. He’d never admit why he was intrigued, or why he kept attempting to get underneath Derek’s skin. Because it wasn’t like he liked the man or anything. Definitely not.

“I know the claws caught you,” Stiles said, still looking at the ground. “And I know an injury like that will take time to heal.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure, you’re fine. You know the last time Scott got nicked by Alpha claws, he nearly died.”

“I’m fine, Stiles.”

Stiles looked up at him for a long moment. Derek held his gaze, expression betraying nothing. And finally, growling, Stiles turned away and stalked toward his jeep. Because fine, if that’s what he got for caring, then he wouldn’t care at all. He deserved more than a flat answer and Derek looking like the very act of having to speak to Stiles pained him.

Sometimes, he was so fed up with werewolves. Or more-so; grumpy Alpha werewolves.

Stiles attempted not to think about Derek for the entire drive home. He really did. But then instead of making the turn to his house, he went in the opposite direction, dragging his phone out of his pocket and sending his dad a quick ‘At Scott’s house tonight’ text the moment he stopped at a red light.

He wasn’t sure his dad would believe that. But hopefully, if he attempted any detective work, Scott would figure things out and back him up.

Though, Stiles was pretty sure that wouldn’t happen; if his dad went poking around, that is. Especially if Scott had been the one to drive Allison home tonight.

In that case, Stiles was just a little screwed.

He ended up parked in front of the loft and didn’t see Erica’s car. Only the Camaro, sitting all alone in the empty parking lot, in front of the massive building that Derek had all but bought in order to avoid interacting with people.

Like a total serial killer or something.

Stiles stumbled out of the car and made sure to disable the alarm system before heading upstairs. He knew he wouldn’t be catching Derek off guard (probably) but he still didn’t want to get slammed into a wall if the man mistook his entry or something.

It might have happened before.

When Stiles slid the door open though, nervously peeking in, he didn’t see anyone for a moment. Stiles crept quietly in, glancing around the room, and nearly wet himself when glowing red eyes suddenly broke through the darkness and Derek stepped into view.

“Stiles, what are you doing here?”

“Jesus, dude, did you wait for me to arrive for that kind of creepy entry or something?”

Derek’s gaze was flat. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“What do you think I’m doing here? I’m making sure you don’t die from a feral Alpha’s claws infection or something.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Can you be sure?”

Derek didn’t answer, but his face tightened even more. Stiles smirked.

“Exactly my point, Sourwolf.”

The man just growled and stalked away, heading across the loft. Stiles raised a brow and gazed after him, watching Derek make straight for the bed shoved against the furthest loft corner. He still couldn’t believe that man lived like that, sometimes. If anything, Peter should be the one sleeping in the corner. Derek should be the one in an actual bedroom upstairs. Or something.

But he just watched as Derek settled down on the edge of his bed. He could’ve sworn in the dim light, he could see the man wincing. But Derek didn’t say a word so Stiles didn’t either, moving over to the couch.

Whatever. He was here because he was a good person.

That’s totally why. Nothing more.

Stiles dropped onto the couch with a sigh. He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, resisting the urge to gaze over the top of the couch at Derek. Maybe he was being stupid. Maybe the man was going to be fine. For all Stiles knew, he’d come over here for nothing other than making a fool of himself.

Suddenly, he heard Derek sigh too.

“Stiles, stop thinking.”

Stiles finally did raise his head, peering over the couch and glaring at the man. “Uh, what dude?”

“Stop thinking.”

“Are you seriously asking me to turn my brain off right now?”

“No, I’m telling you to.”

“Asshole.”

Derek gave him a red-eyed look and Stiles would never admit to the shiver than ran down his spine. He glared right back and Derek sat up with a groan, his face twisting in the moonlight. Stiles’s heart skipped a beat.

“Fine. If neither of us are going to get any sleep, then you can put yourself to good use.”

“Wow, dude, I’m really feeling the love over here.”

“There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen. In the drawer next to the fridge.

“Oh yeah, just let me grab that for you.”

They gave each other death glares for a moment and then Derek started to stand. But the man’s face twisted in pain and Stiles was on his feet in a second, only hating himself a little bit. He rolled his eyes at Derek’s smug looked and ducked into the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers. 

A couple minutes later, he came out with a bag of chips as well as the first aid kit. Derek raised an eyebrow, not looking impressed.

“Seriously, Stiles?”

“Shut up, Sourwolf, I just spent my entire night running around the preserve after a rogue Alpha. I’m a growing boy and I’m hungry.”

Stiles dropped on the bed next to the man and Derek grunted in pain. Stiles automatically winced, guilt striking through him despite himself.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Stiles huffed. “Can I see?”

The man eyed him for a long moment as if he was still questioning his choices. And then he shifted a little bit, turning his back toward Stiles. There was definitely a set of claw marks slicing through his t-shirt and Stiles could see torn flesh through the torn material. He breathed heavily out of his nose, resisting the urge to smack Derek over the back of his head. 

He figured that wouldn’t end very well for himself.

“Dude, were you seriously just going to go to sleep with a bloody and torn back?”

“I was waiting for you to leave.”

“You know me, Sourwolf. Did you really think I was going to go anywhere until I knew you were alright?”

Derek looked over his shoulder at him for a long moment, face softening. Then quietly, he shook his head, and Stiles felt his chest tighten a little bit. He tried to ignore the feeling by dropping his gaze.

“Damn straight, you furry asshole.”

“Why?”

Stiles blinked back up at him for a moment. Then, nervously, he wet his lips. “Because.”

“Because why, Stiles?”

“Because I care about you, asshole,” Stiles said. “I’ve always cared about you.”

The silence reigned for a moment. Stiles swallowed hard and concentrated on the first aid kit, taking out a roll of bandages. When Derek still didn’t say a word, he lifted the man’s shirt back up and winced at the marks going across his back.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Stiles—”

“Don’t, Derek,” Stiles said quietly. “Just… let me help.”

The man went quiet again. And Stiles traced gentle fingers across the tops of his shoulders, watching as Derek shivered. Then he pulled away and rummaged through the first aid kit again, setting aside the gauze and grabbing a bottle of antiseptic.

The silence reigned for the rest of the process. Derek only hissed softly as Stiles cleaned the wounds across his back and Stiles murmured quiet apologies underneath his breath that he wasn’t sure the man caught or not. By the time Derek was no longer actively bleeding and Stiles was satisfied with his attempt at doctor, the silence almost seemed too fragile to break.

Still, Stiles had never had a good hold on his tongue. “You’re looking good, Sourwolf. I’m pretty sure you won’t be dying tonight.”

“Stiles—”

“I mean, I’ll probably still stay just in case, but—”

“Stiles.”

He winced, dread coiling in his gut. Because this was it. This was Derek sending him away or shooting him down. Because Stiles wasn’t allowed to care about the big bad Alpha of Beacon Hills. No one was.

Derek turned his head to face him, Stiles’s one hand still on his shoulder. The man searched his face for a moment; quietly. Carefully. Stiles swallowed hard and resisted the urge to wince away. Just waiting for Derek to send him from the loft.

“You care about me,” the man said quietly. Stiles licked his lips.

“I’m allowed to.”

“No matter what I do.”

Stiles huffed. “Sure, I think I might be better off without you. I mean, yeah, dude, I know it’s stupid. I know all of this could get me killed. But Derek, asshole, I’m allowed to care. And I’m already latched on so you might as well deal with me.”

He figured those were a few risky few words. But Derek stayed silently for a moment, grey-green eyes locked on his. And then suddenly— Stiles was pretty sure he’d blacked out or something— the man had leaned forward, gentle lips brushing against his own.

Derek’s lips. Derek’s mouth. The man tasted like salt and blood, his lips a little cracked. And Stiles— Stiles blanked out for a moment. Froze. And then the moment his brain caught up, he was kissing Derek back too.

He was kissing Derek Hale. In the darkness of the loft, moonlight streaming in through those giant stupid windows. A first aid kit useless at their side and one hand still on Derek’s shoulder.

“I care about you,” Stiles said softly, just because it needed to be said again. And he could’ve sworn Derek smiled softly. “I’m allowed to.”

“And me too?”

Stiles nearly melted as he moved forward and caught the man in another kiss. Derek hummed at the back of his throat and Stiles’s heart might have skipped a beat. Cause yeah, he supposed that was fair. Stiles was allowed to care.

And Derek was too. 

- -

I’m such a sucker for soft hurt/comfort, oh my goodness. I had so much fun with this prompt, Matt! Thank you for sending it, I hope it did it justice <3