fandom-madnessess said:Can you do #56: poetry reading for Stackson? ♥ Hope you enjoy this, bb! It’s sappy Stackson!
Dark Things. Stiles/Jackson. Teen. Jackson takes Stiles out for a date night surprise.
“If you had me dress up just to have another paintball
rematch, you’re going to be sleeping in the wet spot for the next month.”
Stiles turns his head and gives Jackson his most serious ‘I mean business’
look.
Jackson is totally unaffected, of course, and merely rolls
his eyes as he smoothly changes lanes despite having so little room that Stiles
isn’t sure whether to be envious or pissed off at the risk taking. “You and I
both know that I’d beat your ass in a fair
game.”
”It’s not my fault,” is the first
thing Stiles says as Derek cautiously opens the door. Hearing very
different heartbeats on the other side of the door had already piqued
Derek’s interest, but when Stiles’ is one of them, you never know
what you might be greeted by.
A swaddled baby, however, is one of the
few things not on his list.
”Stiles. Why do you have a baby?”
Without waiting for mundane things like
an invitation, Stiles eases by Derek, cradling the bundle
protectively to his chest as he steps inside. ”I found it. And
before you start, I haven’t exactly checked the plumbing yet, I
thought it was more important to get it inside.”
Derek rolls his eyes and decides he
might as well roll with it. ”At least go with they. Might be
a baby, but they’re still a person.”
”Oh my god, okay. What are you, the
label police?”
Stiles’s hands shake at his side. Four hours. The fate of his country will be decided in four hours.
He clenches his eyes shut and bows his head as he looks down at the campaign office from Lydia’s office. Big blue posters bearing the words Martin/Hale 2020 are plastered all over the office walls. A few posters have her face on them, her signature I’m-Lydia-Martin-come-try-to-fuck-with-me expression clearly evident even from the profile shot.
They’re so close.
He can still remember the day Lydia Martin, current Senator of California, waltzed into his office without so much as a phone call and announced, “I’m going to announce my bid for Presidency and I want you to run my entire campaign.”
He’d been in the process of sending out an email that doesn’t even matter anymore but he remembers taking one look at her and seeing determination as fiery as her hair and getting a chill down his spine. She had looked calm, poised, but there was a storm brewing beneath all that, a storm that would undoubtedly change the face of the United States. In that moment, he had no doubt in his mind that this woman would become the first female President of the United States.
He immediately said yes.
That was nearly three years ago. Six months ago, when Lydia Martin officially became the Democratic candidate against Gerard Argent, the Republican candidate old enough to be her grandfather with the experience to boot, she had taken him to her country house in the Hamptons, where they had set up the meeting with Laura and Derek Hale to discuss Lydia’s campaign.
The Hale family was no stranger to politics, filled with family members who had all made their mark in one way or another. Talia Hale had been the Secretary of State when her husband, Samuel Hale, had been elected as the 42nd President of the United States.
At first, Lydia had merely said it was good to make friends with powerful families who played a large part in the current political stratosphere. By the end of the three-hour meeting, it was clear that Lydia had full intentions of asking Laura Hale to be her running mate.
And sure enough, that’s exactly what happened.
In the present, Stiles takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, repeating the action several times to calm his nerves. He checks the five different TV screens behind him and widens his eyes when he sees the update. They got Florida. Holy shit, they got Florida.
“Oh fucking, thank God,” he breathes to himself, heart going million miles a minute. He’s so lost in the rapidly updating TV screens that he doesn’t notice the presence of someone slipping into the room and placing their hand on his shoulder. He jerks back on instinct and calms when he sees it’s Derek.
There’s a concerned look on his face, and even Stiles can’t deny the warmth that spreads through his body as Derek squeezes his shoulder with reassurance.
“Calm down,” Derek murmurs, the picture perfect vision of calm, cool, and collected. “You’re going to give yourself an anxiety attack at this rate.”
Stiles huffs, crossing his arms across his chest. “How’s Lydia? What’s Laura doing? Is everything okay? Why are you here? I thought you were going to the—mmmpghshsa!”
He glares at Derek, who just smirks in return as he slowly lowers his hand from Stiles’s mouth. “They’re both fine. Just getting ready to leave. I’m here to check on you to make sure you weren’t doing exactly what you were when I walked in.”
Stiles narrows his eyes, and a small flicker on a TV catches his attention. “Holy shit, Michigan’s leaning for Argent.”
“We still have Penn and Wisconsin,” Derek reminds him, pointing to the live map updates. He’s right. Both states are shaded light blue, with Lydia hovering at 49.7% and 54.8% respectively. “We already have New York and most of the eastern states.”
But they’re both well-aware of how quickly fortunes can change. Leading doesn’t mean a surefire win and they need the latter.
Stiles bites his lips, not looking away from the screen until Derek blocks his view. He looks straight at Stiles, all sense of humour gone in favour of total seriousness.
“Listen to me,” he starts quietly, his voice reverberating through Stiles. “What you have done with Lydia and Laura is nothing short of amazing. Lydia may be a force to reckon with but you made her personable. You and I both know her biggest weakness was that she seemed too distant, almost verging on cold, to really connect with her voters. But you took that and you turned it into her strength. You campaigned for her harder than I’ve seen anyone else in this game and I’ve seen my fair share.”
The determination in Derek’s eyes knocks the wind out of Stiles and all he can see is Derek, sharp as ever, as everything else falls into a blurry mess around him. For the past six months, it hasn’t gone unnoticed that there’s something between him and Derek. Ever since the first initial meeting, something about Derek always drew Stiles in and to this day, the feeling hasn’t gone away. He’s never been a guy to use old Disney-like cliches but with Derek, he gets it. He gets why people use those cliches to describe their feelings.
“What you have managed to do with this campaign is remarkable. You’ve united not only our team but you’ve helped unite the people out there who are lining up to vote for Lydia. You’ve had a hand in every speech, every tweet, every picture that we have released, all of which have contributed greatly to success,” Derek continues like he doesn’t notice the effect he’s having on Stiles right now. “No matter what happens tonight, be proud of what you’ve accomplished because I’m so proud of you and I need you to see that too.”
Stiles swallows past the lump in his throat, and takes a deep breath. Gathering all the courage he can muster, he slowly steps closer to Derek until they’re barely a hair’s width apart, like he’s still giving Derek time to back away. He doesn’t and Stiles quietly sighs with relief.
He stares straight into Derek’s eyes and with the same determination that Derek showed him, he says, “When this is all over and we win, I promise that I’m going to kiss the fuck out of you, Derek Hale.”
Derek face breaks out into a soft smile, lighting up to a full-out beam in the matter of seconds. “I’ll be waiting.”
Three hours later, as fireworks light up the night sky and thousands of supports cheer for Lydia and Laura as they wave happily from the stage, Stiles turns to Derek fulfills the first promise he made.
From the way Derek pulls him closer, tightens his grip on Stiles’s hips, and tilts his head just slightly to deepen the kiss, Stiles knows exactly what Derek’s promising in return. Forever.
109.
“Life is a highway, and I’m always drunk. So I’m not driving.”
thank you, baby! this is the last one I got, too 😀 i feel so accomplished.
–
“Life is a highway, and I’m always drunk. So I’m not driving,“ Jackson announces from his place sprawled in Stiles’ lap. Stiles is the only one listening to him either way, the rest of the pack either drunk on dealing with the ones under influence.
“You got the drunk part right, alright,” Stiles laughs and kisses Jackon’s cheek sloppily because Jackson won’t bat him away when he’s like this.
He still tries though, pushing weakly at Stiles chest even as he leans in to burrow closer into Stiles. “Hush your pretty face and take me home,” he demands, all sulky and cute.
“Your wish is my command, babe. Now get up so we can go to the Jeep.”
Stiles laughs again when all Jackson does is cling to him more.
“Don’t want to move.”
“Well, I’m not the werewolf in this relationship. I can’t carry your perfect butt
all the way to the car,” he gives said body part a loving squeeze.
“You’re perfect the way you are,” Jackson tells him out of nowhere, then nestles his head in the crook of Stiles’ neck, snuffling softly. “Just shut up so we can sleep.”
Stiles makes himself as comfortable as he can in the loveseat, leaning back and holding his boyfriend close.
sorry, it’s a little late, anon! thanks for your patience! hope you like it ❤
we got something magic
Stiles is a lot of things, okay? He knows this. Loud, erratic, hyper, paranoid, cynical, hopeless—the list can go on forever.
But he is not “overdramatic” so fuck you, soul mark. Fuck you.
He stares at his arm, deeply unimpressed at the rapidly darkening sentence, That might have been a little overdramatic.
Beside him, Lydia and Allison hide their smiles into their hands as Jackson outright laughs. “Fucking figures, Stilinski.”
Stiles flips him off with his free hand. “I reject this mark,” he announces, pulling the sleeve of his hoodie down and shoving his hand into the front pocket.
“We all know it doesn’t work that way,” Lydia remarks. She wrinkles her nose. “Although I do have to admit, it doesn’t really tell us what your soulmate’s first impression is going to be.”
“Nope, not my soulmate, nuh uh,” Stiles denies, resolutely shaking his head. “My soulmate’s first words are going to be pleasant and nice and romantic. Not whatever this bullshit is.”
Allison nods, ever the considerate friend. “Well, it’s not necessarily what your soulmate will say to you, right? It’s just what you’re going to hear. So maybe your soulmate says that to someone else while you’re in the vicinity?”
Stiles ponders that for a bit before beaming at her. “This is why you’re my favourite.”
“Don’t let Scott hear you say that,” she teases, dimpling at him.
“Scott left me to chase life-threatening animals in Africa,” Stiles answers, rolling his eyes. “He hasn’t been my favourite since last week.”
Stiles vibrates in his seat, barely keeping calm, as Lydia commandeers the conversation to talk about the frat party they were going to later that night. Allison is right though. Soul marks were never guaranteed to be your soulmate’s first words to you; they’re the first words you’d hear from them, but they could be to anyone. It’s a small sense of comfort but it’s enough for Stiles.
His arm feels heavy under the soul mark, his mind becoming overwrought with nervousness. There was no rhyme or reason for when the soul mark appears, only that it will. Many babies are born with their marks, while others manifest much later in life. To make things worse, there’s no marker for when you’re going to meet your soulmate after the mark appears. It could take anywhere from hours (like Scott’s did with Allison) or years (like his dad and mom).
Basically, they were nearly useless.
Stiles yelps when she (not so) gently elbows him in the ribs, turning his attention to her. “What? Stop harming me! You know I bruise like a delicate peach,” he whines, rubbing the spot where she elbowed him. “What if one day you elbow me so hard my ribs collapse on my chest cavity, Lydia? What then?”
Jackson rolls his eyes as he gets up. “Yeah, you’re definitely not overdramatic.”
Stiles huffs. “Fuck you, don’t you have to go meet up with your gym bros or eat like a container of protein powder?”
Jackson flips him off, leaning down to kiss Lydia, before he takes off.
“Asshole,” Stiles mutters, whining when Lydia pinches his side. “Stop hurting me!”
“Pay attention, then,” she says crossly, before launching into their plans for the night.
Retrospectively, Stiles is stupid.
By the time they get to the frat house, Stiles has no idea how he’s even managing to stand upright. It’s a fucking impressive feat and he’s only partly sad Scott’s missing it. Stiles is by no means a lightweight but he’s not hardcore like the girls either, okay? He just has to pace himself and make smart decisions to get to his happy place, neither of which he did on this particular night.
Stiles blinks rapidly, leaning against the back of the couch, head drawn back as he nurses the drink in his hand. The couch dips beside him, a body pressing tad to close to him for his liking, but aside from shifting farther away, he ignores it. He clenches his eyes shut, trying to—to—
“Fuck,” he breathes to himself. “So fucking drunk.”
Stiles rubs his hand down his face and straightens, putting his red cup on the coffee table already littered with identical cups. The music cuts away at his ears, loud and obnoxious, and he can already feel his head feeling like someone’s drilling into it. The couple next to him have graduated from kissing to straight up dry humping each other and yeah, he should probably walk away before he gets a free sex show.
He stumbles off the couch and moves into the direction of what he thinks to be the kitchen, but instead walks into the a room full of people surrounding a big table, alternating between cheering or booing loudly. He thinks he sees Lydia standing on the other side of the room so he tries to hobble over to her but no sooner does he take one step in her direction, something bounces off his head.
Normally it wouldn’t hurt but his head is already killing him so it’s painful as fuck as his head starts ringing. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lydia spot him and start veering through the crowd towards him.
“Ow, damn, what the shit,” he groans loudly, caressing the sensitive spot. The guy next to him turns, frowning imperceptibly, but it only makes Stiles scowl. “What? That hurt, okay? Also, what if I lose my precious brain cells? We only have so many, dude, and sometimes when you get hurt, they stop regene—renege—they just stop growing, okay? And I can’t afford to lose my brain cells. I have a midterm next week! I’ll fail and lose my scholarship and have to move back home with my dad and live in his basement and work in the dinky grocery store around the corner because I’m stupid.”
The guy’s brows rise higher and higher, practically to his hairline, the longer Stiles talks. Stiles takes a deep breath, almost out of air, and squints, only now noticing how beautiful the guy looks. He blinks rapidly, leaning in closer, but the guy doesn’t shift away, just stands still like he’s doing a one-man mannequin challenge. Weirdo.
“Dude, you’re like hella fucking beautiful,” Stiles says, awed. And he is, even if Stiles’s eyes are playing tricks on him. “Your eyes are like kaleidoscope-coloured, didjaknow? Like I think when you were made, someone probably thought you should have brown eyes but then someone else was probably like, ‘Nah, give him green eyes’ and they couldn’t decide so they just gave you like every colour there ever was? Oh my God, you have the colours of the whole galaxy in your eyes! I bet you your eyes hold the secrets to the universe too!”
“That might have been a little overdramatic,” the guy finally murmurs, blushing prettily. Beside Stiles, someone gasps and he whips around.
“Lydia!” he yells, words slurring. “I found you! Can you see his eyes? Are they as pretty as I’m seeing?”
“Um, Stiles—,” she starts but he shakes his head.
“Wait, fuck, never mind. My head just started killing me again.” Stiles turns to the guy and pats him gently on the cheek. “I need to go lie down, Pretty Eyes. But this was fun, I think!” Without waiting for an answer, he stumbles away, waving a hand at Lydia calling his name.
He’s almost at the kitchen (he hopes) before he feels an arm wind around his waist, hoisting him up. Stiles turns to whoever it was, expecting Lydia but instead finding the guy from before. “Pretty Eyes!” he exclaims, lighting up.
The guy smirks, pulling Stiles closer to him and Stiles leans on him readily. “Derek, actually.”
“Derek. De-rek. De-rek. Derek,” Stiles repeats slowly, sounding out the name. “That’s a weird name.”
“That’s ironic considering your name is Stiles,” Derek says easily, leading him past the kitchen and up the stairs. Stiles scoffs, opening his mouth to say something but—
“Okay, fine,” he huffs. “Hey, where are we going?” He looks around with blurry eyes, only just noticing that it’s not as loud and there aren’t many people around them either.
“My room,” Derek says easily, and nope, nuh uh. Stiles stops suddenly, making Derek stop as well, confused. He turns to Derek and glares at him with narrowed eyes.
“I am not that guy,” he says, poking Derek in his chest and okay, that’s impressive as fuck. Derek’s chest, that is. It’s impressive, all firm and strong and mmm, maybe Stiles could be that guy for the night?
“What are you—,” Derek starts but Stiles pokes him again.
“I do not hook up with people. Okay, maybe I have a few times but as of this morning I do not!”
“What happened this morning?”
Stiles yanks the sleeve of his hoodie up and the force of the momentum makes him stagger back but Derek catches him easily. “Hey, no touchy!” He shows his soul mark to Derek, mutinous. “This happened this morning.”
Derek’s lips twitch, threatening to break into a smile. “Interesting.”
“Exactly and my soulmate might be a dick but at least I have one that I’m aware of now so I’m not going to sleep with you, okay?”
This time, Derek does smile. “Why’s your soulmate a dick?”
“They called me overdramatic,” Stiles harrumphs, covering his soul mark again and crossing his arms over his chest. “I am not overdramatic, thank you very much. I’m just dramatic. Or wait—no, that’s not my point. I mean—“
“I was just going to put you to bed,” Derek cuts in easily, holding his hands out, placating Stiles. “Nothing else, promise.”
Stiles looks at him with distrust. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
He huffs, losing the fight in him and winds his arm around Derek’s shoulders again. “Okay,” he mumbles into Derek’s shoulder, content at the warmth he feels. “But if my soulmate sees us, you hafta tell them what really happened, okay? And that’s nothing. Because nothing happened.”
Derek snickers. “Sure, Stiles.”
Stiles wakes up the next morning with one of the worst hangovers he’s ever had. He flails with his entire body when his vision focuses and he realizes he’s not in his own room. For one, the bed is way too comfortable and too big and the walls are all white, except for one that’s painted dark grey. There’s also a distinct lack of comic book littering the floor and movie posters lining the wall for his taste. But there’s nobody else in the bed with him and his body sags with relief.
He gets up, cradling his head for a minute, and gathering all the energy he can muster before leaving the room. He stops by the kitchen to down three full glasses of water but leaves the frat house shortly after double checking he’s still got his keys and phone, which he uses to text Lydia.
< Stiles, 8:22am:thanks for leaving me at the party
Understandably, there’s no reply from her but he rolls his eyes, sliding the phone back in his pocket. She’s probably with Jackson still so he most likely won’t hear from her for a few more hours.
The morning is particularly chilly and he regrets not wearing another ayer under the hoodie he’s wearing but luckily, the walk back to his apartment isn’t all that long so he gets home relatively soon.
“Stiles?” Allison stops short, mouth dropping open, when he enters the apartment. She’s standing by the stove, and Stiles takes a generous sniff of the bacon sizzling on the pan—score!. Allison makes the best bacon in the world.
“Yes?” he asks. “Have you forgotten what I look like?”
“No—but—wait, what are you doing home?” she asks, bacon completely forgotten.
“Um, I live here? Exactly what you said, Ally. It’s home,” he says, frowning. “Did sex with Scott give you amnesia? Like I know he’s always saying he’s going to make sure you don’t remember anything but his—“
“Stiles!” Scott pops out of his room, eyes widening. “What are you doing here?”
Stiles stills, looking between the two of them. “Um, I live here. Am I in another dimension?”
“No! Oh my god, why are you home?” Scott asks, clearly distressed. “Lydia said—“
“Ugh, don’t mention her! She totally left me in some random guy’s bed last night!” Stiles huffs. “When I see her, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind.”
“Give who a piece of your mind?”
Speak of the devil…
“You!” Stiles hisses, whirling at Lydia as she closes the door behind her. “How could you just leave me there?”
Lydia’s mouth drops open. “What are you talking about?”
“You left me at the party!”
“Yes,” she nods. “With Derek!”
Stiles throws his hands up. “Who the fuck is Derek?”
Almost instantaneously, both Allison and Scott face-palm. “Jesus Christ,” Lydia sighs. She’s about to say something else, when there’s a knock on the door. Stiles can’t see who it is but he sees Lydia straightening immediately and she yanks the person inside and—
“This is Derek!” she exclaims, shoving him forward, almost like she’s presenting him to Stiles. The guy stumbles forward before he catches himself and glares at Lydia but she remains unaffected. He turns to Stiles and huh, he kind of looks familiar?
“Pretty eyes!” Stiles exclaims, snapping his fingers, as memories from last night flood his mind.
“Derek, actually,” the guy says, cheeks flushing. Lydia coughs knowingly and Allison and Scott both start edging towards the balcony. “Your friends are really not subtle, are they?”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “It’s almost embarrassing, actually. So what can I do for you? Wait, how did you even know where I lived?”
Derek juts his chin at the balcony. “Your friend, um, Lydia? gave me the address last night. And your phone number,” he mumbles the last part, shuffling his feet. God, he’s so fucking cute that Stiles wants to die.
“Why would she do that?” he asks, looking at her through narrowed eyes before turning back to Derek.
Derek coughs. “Um, how much do you remember from last night?”
“I remember drinking? And you? Kind of? Ugh, I remember that fucking beer pong ball hitting me on the side of the head,” Stiles grouses, rubbing the side of his head absently.
“Right, you yelled ow, damn, what the shit,” Derek says softly, stepping closer. His eyes don’t move from Stiles, looking at him with the intensity of the sun.
“That’s an odd thing to remember,” Stiles gulps the closer Derek moves, doing everything he can to not move. His heart begins to hammer in his chest when he sees Derek smile fondly. And then suddenly, he pulls of his shirt and Stiles yelps, immediately covering his eyes. “Dude, what the fuck! Boundaries, man!”
“Kind of hard to forget the words you’ve been staring at every day for close to five years,” Derek says instead, and—what. Stiles peeks out through his fingers, mouth dropping open when he sees the words marking the middle of Derek’s chest, just over where his heart would be. Ow, damn, what the shit.
Holy—
“You called me overdramatic,” Stiles accuses, poking Derek in the chest. A beat of incredulous silence falls between them before Derek starts laughing. “I mean—fuck.”
“You said you could see all the colours of the universe in my eyes,” Derek remarks, smiling all big and cute.
“Goddamn, you have adorable little bunny teeth,” Stiles breathes. “And what? I mean, of course I did. That’s true! Have you seen your eyes?”
“Yes, they’re brown. Hazel maybe.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Okay, first of all, no. Mine are brown. Your eyes are blue and green and hazel and—they’re like fucking galaxy coloured eyes. Second, I will fight whoever says different,” he says firmly. “Even you.”
Derek’s smile goes all soft and shy and it makes Stiles feel all gooey inside. “Your eyes are more of a whisky brown,” he murmurs.
“And I’m the overdramatic one,” Stiles scoffs. “Okay, one sec though.” He takes Derek’s hand and drags him to the balcony. “I have something to announce.”
Scott, Allison, and Lydia look at them and then at the linked hands between them, beaming.
“This is Derek,” Stiles announces. “I don’t know his last name yet—“
“Hale,” Derek cuts in and Stiles nods.
“Right. Derek Hale. And he’s my soulmate and definitely not a dick. He’s weird and adorable but I’ve decided he’s not a dick even though he called me overdramatic. And even if he is, it’s okay because I’m kind of a dick too. That’s all, okay, bye!”
Stiles drags Derek out of the balcony, sliding the balcony door close before his friends can say anything, but Derek stops in the middle of the living room, pulling Stiles back to him.
“Stiles?”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”
Stiles flushes. “Okay.”
Derek does, and it’s a little awkward, a little shy, but it’s perfect.
Derek nervously asking the sheriff for his blessing before he asks Stiles to marry him.
John laughs for about 5 minutes before he says, “That boy hasn’t needed my blessing for anything since he was about 15, but for what it’s worth, you have it.” He squeezes Derek’s shoulder and gives him a smile before he leaves.
Stiles also laughs when Derek tells him, but he also says yes.
Derek Hale is a dreaded customer at Beacon Hills Bakery, but perhaps he’s not as terrifying as Stiles has been led to believe. 1616w
Stiles has heard horror stories about Derek Hale.
He supposedly comes to Beacon Hills Bakery four times a year for cakes for his parents’ anniversary and the birthdays of his mother, one of his sisters, and his niece. Cakes for other family events get divided between his two siblings and Stiles has already had the pleasure of meeting Laura Hale, a beautiful woman with an easy smile and sharp wit.
It makes the stories about Derek difficult to believe: that he’s made Christine cry — more than once — and he had Greenberg refusing to leave his house for a week. He’s also apparently the one to thank for Stiles getting his job in the first place because the previous employee up and quit after dealing with him the last time he’d made an order.
In his two months working at the bakery, Stiles has only ever seen him once, and that was as the kitchen door was swinging shut, but he’d only had to catch one glimpse of his eyebrows to know all the stories are true.
This is gonna be short, because my baby will arrive home for the weekend in mere minutes! ❤ ❤ ❤
But yes, I have thoughts on this. Shy nerd Derek will probably be aware that he could be hot if he wanted to be. His body packs on muscle with very little effort, he grows an amazing beard, also with no effort, and even with his glasses he could definitely get laid in two seconds flat. But poor Derek is SHY and he gets flustered and awkward and uncomfortable when people hit on him. So he wraps himself up in sweaters and ill-fitting (but comfy) pants, and make it a point to never groom himself outside of hygiene. So he looks like a hobo nerd, and that’s fine, it’s by choice, he likes it that way. He hates parties and noise and drinking and all that college social ruckus.
Derek is in college to study. He understands that you also kinda need to socialize, but he keeps it as minimal as possible. SHY NERD DEREK.
But there is ONE noise and socializing heavy thing he can’t seen to ignore. Stiles goddamn Stilinski.
Stiles, on the other hand, is aware that – comparatively – he’s not exactly get laid at hello levels of hot. So he makes up for it by being social and charismatic and he gets laid plenty, thank you!
I guess the real question here is then: Does Derek decide to break out of his shell on his own accord to have a chance with Stiles, or does Stiles slowly whittle down the defenses of cute nerd Derek Hale, who he can’t help but lust/love after in lecture halls and library spaces. Dreamy as fuck.
TO BE CONTINUED, BECAUSE MY BABY IS HERE! STAY TUNED! 😀
Right, here we go.
Stiles, right. He barely even knows what Derek looks like. Sure, somewhere behind the beard and the barely tamed hair and the pretty frequent hoodies pulled up to shadow most of his face there’s bound to be an actual person, but even without a decent idea of what kind of person is under there, Stiles still crushes hard on him. On the shining eyes he’s seen glimpses of, on the soft voice than none-the-less argues every single point he’s disagreeing with, not cutting even the lecturers any slack. Yeah, Stiles is pretty much beyond caring if the creature from the black lagune is under those sweaters, he wants to argue with Derek on a daily basis, preferably forever, thanks.
So I’m thinking, since Stiles is a go-getter, he goes and gets Derek. Or he tries, anyway. Unearthing this shy creature turns out to be a lesson in patience. But he knows Derek well enough to know how to sneak around those defenses. It’s like coaxing out a scared hedgehog. Go to the burrow, bring food, keep coming back.
It takes a few months of Derek opening the door every few days to Stiles bearing gifts. Usually food or syrupy coffee (the exact order Derek likes, somehow), or sometimes even small gifts. Trinkets Stiles thought he might like, or a book he thought Derek might find interesting to read. And he never asks for anything. Just delivers it, accepts a thank you, and leaves with a smile. Derek has no idea what’s going on. He knows what he’s hoping is going on, but how do you even tell??
It takes the combined power of pretty much all of Derek’s friends to convince him that YES, STILES WANTS YOU TO INVITE HIM IN, OMG!
So he does. Even then it takes another few months to get from occasional study or movie buddies to even sitting close on his bed. All in all it’s almost a full year of cautious wooing before Stiles is granted the blessing of a scratchy kiss, and the fact that the full beard is kinda getting in the way a little for the kissing is what finally makes Derek trim it down to a more managable scruff.
Stiles damn near faints when he sees Derek’s actual face. He’s half sure it’s an evil twin or something, until Derek starts looking uncomfortable, and yeah, no, it’s definitely Derek, and Stiles gets a damn grip on himself. Then he gets a grip on Derek, and by the time they graduate, both their hands are adorned with rings, glinting in the sun.
(i did old yeller. i’m such a sucker for that ilu scene).
*
Even before they started dating, Stiles has loved visiting Derek at the
museum. He likes taking the subway past the buskers with their crazy, beautiful
hair and their bizarrely happy music; he likes coming up the dirty steps into
the fresh, New York air, feeling the buzz of culture around him; and he loves
the way Derek’s face lights up when he sees him.
It took him far too long to realize why, exactly, Derek’s expression
would soften from the frown of concentration as he looked down at papers, into
one of delight when Stiles would appear. He didn’t know what it meant until
Derek had been in China and Stiles had drunk dialled him, missing him one
lonesome night three weeks into Derek’s trip. Derek had let it slip that he’d
had to go away because of Stiles. He’d not been able to watch Stiles mooning
over the string of different dates he’d been going on (that Stiles had been
trying to use to distract himself from Derek,
and his awkward, never ending feelings for him).
He’d had to get over Stiles.
Over Stiles? Stiles had repeated stupidly. But… when had Derek ever been
under him?
It had hit Stiles all at once, with a rush of longing and excitement and
hope, that maybe Derek felt the same. Unfortunately, he’d been too hungover,
dying on the bathroom floor, to do anything for another two days. And, then
Derek had been coming home. Stiles had showered for the longest he’d ever
showered and shown up at the airport with a Toblerone
of all things. Derek had come out of the arrivals gate—holding his own damn
Toblerone—and he’d gotten that expression on his face when he spotted Stiles.
That wonderful, happy to see Stiles because… apparently he felt the way Stiles
did.
shealwaysreads 