"Excuse me, uh, is this seat taken?"
Derek looks up from over the top of his book, tries not to scowl at the extremely attractive young man blinking at him expectantly. He’d been hoping for a quiet eight hours, not to be dealing with a constant desire to jump somebody all the way home.
"No," he says flatly. "But, I’ve been told I snore when I inevitably fall asleep."
The man laughs, juts his chin at Derek’s book, “I would, too, if I was reading Kafka.”
Derek arches an eyebrow, considers the cover of The Castle, “It’s… It’s a classic.”
"Sure," the guy shoves his bag above Derek’s head. Derek tries and fails not to let his gaze be drawn to where his t-shirt rides up and reveals sharp hipbones and dark trail of hair leading down into his pants. Derek clears his throat, cursing himself and re-opens his book.
"It’s most entertaining," he insists.
"You keep telling yourself that," the guy winks at him as he settles in, tugs out a large pair of headphones. “I tried to read The Metamorphosis once, gave up and now I use it to prop up a photo frame.”
Dylan arriving at the M&G *
okay i’m gonna need president’s son flanked by the secret service fic stat
and the main secret service guy is Derek
And Stiles keeps flirting with Derek, teasing him, trying to provoke him, making Derek’s job about a million times more difficult, because damn, he just wants to give in. He wants all those things Stiles is trying to lure out of him, and it’s so hard to say no, but he has to. This is his job, and it’s important. He has to stay focused. He has to… But Stiles is no fool, and obviously he notices how Derek looks at him, the things Derek does for him, the way Derek’s pupils dilate when Stiles comes just a tad too closely. And Stiles is a bit reckless and young, and he’s used to taking what he wants, so he doesn’t understand Derek’s resistance, per se. He doesn’t understand Derek’s reluctance to give into his feelings, his urges.
Until Stiles calls Derek one night, from his bedroom where he’s supposed to be safe, and tells Derek in a panicked voice that he thinks someone’s in there with him, and can Derek please come over because he doesn’t feel safe? And Derek’s never ran this hard in his entire life, all the way across the White House, barging into Stiles’ room with his gun drawn, ready to kill the first person to hurt Stiles. Only Derek nearly drops his gun because there is no intruder, there is no danger. There’s only Stiles, sitting on the side of his bed, naked, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth while he looks seductively at Derek.
And Derek just snaps, but not in the way Stiles wanted him to (by falling into bed with him). No, Derek snaps by yelling at Stiles, by cursing at him for making his life oh so damn difficult, for making his job almost impossible, for exploiting his fucking feelings for Stiles, because yes, Derek wants him, and yes, Derek loves him, and he would give everything to have Stiles but he can’t. He would get fired, he would compromise Stiles’ safety (and that’s just something that he would never be able to justify) so. he. can’t.
And Stiles just… he tugs the sheet over his lap, ducks his head in shame, because he gets it now. That this isn’t a game to Derek. And he mumbles an apology as he rushes into his bathroom, dragging the sheet along with him. And when he comes back out, Derek is gone.
They avoid each other for a few days, which is harder than it seems when Derek still has to make sure Stiles is safe at all times. But he’s assigned his best men to Stiles’ security detail, and he’s keeping tabs on them all. But Stiles doesn’t know all that, and just… he misses Derek. Not the teasing or the game Stiles turned everything into. He misses the moments he talked with Derek. The moments where Derek was always by his side. The moments where he’s never felt safer. He misses Derek for who he is, not the hot Secret Service guy he could maybe try and lure into bed. And he realizes what an ass he’s been, what a complete and utter idiot, and how he ruined everything.
So he goes and finds Derek, but Derek doesn’t want to talk to him and brushes him off. Stiles starts his apology, but Derek says it’s his night off, and he doesn’t have to deal with Stiles in his free time and it hurts to even say the words, but he can’t handle dealing with Stiles right now. But Stiles wouldn’t be Stiles if he didn’t sneak off when Derek left the White House, following him all by himself, without any security around. And before he can catch up with Derek in the streets, he’s recognized, and people start surrounding him, taking pictures, wanting to talk to him. And they’re a bit pushy, but Stiles can handle it, until it gets a bit too much, and people get too close, too pushy, touching him, grabbing his shoulder to get his attention, and Stiles suddenly realizes that he’s all alone, all by himself, no one around to protect him and he doesn’t know how to handle it and he’s close to getting a panic attack and why won’t these people just go away?
And then there’s another hand on his shoulder, but it’s a familiar one. It’s Derek, who’s pushing aside the crowd, curling his arm around Stiles protectively as he guides him away, into a restaurant where he knows the owner and they get to sneak into the back, near the private entrance.
"Are you completely out of your mind?" Derek yells at him, and Stiles is close to tears, as Derek continues, "What are you even doing here? Do you realize what could have happened?"
"I just… I needed to…" Stiles says, his breathing heavy, as Derek’s hands clutch at Stiles’ upper arms, "I needed to talk to you."
"You… what?" Derek asks, trying to wrap his mind around things.
"Derek, I’m so sorry," Stiles rushes out, "I’ve been such an idiot, and I’ve ruined everything. You… you probably hate me for what I did, but I swear I… I just didn’t think. I was so blinded by how much I wanted you that I just… I never even considered things from your side." He ducks his head, his cheeks flushed, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I’m so sorry."
There’s a silence for a second, before Derek whispers, “I could never hate you. That’s the problem. I could never…”
"Tell me how to make this right, Derek, please?" Stiles pleads, "I’ll do anything. Please, I just need you back in my life, please, I can’t - "
And then his words are cut off by Derek’s lips, pressed against his, Derek’s hands still gripping his arms as Stiles grips his fists into Derek’s shirt, almost desperately. His cheeks are wet, but Stiles can’t bring himself to care as he falls into the kiss, and he’s never felt so scared in Derek’s presence before, but he’s never felt more alive.
AH YES, FIRST SON STILES STILINSKI.
"Stiles," Derek says, "oh God, Stiles."
He’s shirtless, and Stiles would wonder why, except he’s too exhausted, too dehydrated, too terrified to speak. What matters is that Derek is here, he’s here, it’s over, it’s over, Derek is—
"I’m here," Derek says, "Stiles, I’m here, it’s okay, I’m here," and he sinks to his knees, takes Stiles’ cuffed wrists between his warm hands, then reaches for Stiles’ shoulder, the cut on his cheek, the bruise on his forehead, quick investigative touches that are too reassuring, too comforting to bear, and Stiles can’t help it— he presses his face to Derek’s naked chest and sobs.
"Derek?" Stiles whispers, voice rough. "What are you— what is it? What’s going on?"
"Ssh," Derek says. "Go back to sleep." He checks the window again, checks the door, checks his earpiece. His movements are fluid, efficient, and when he finally lowers his gun and says, "Don’t worry, everything’s fine. False alarm," Stiles doesn’t doubt him for a second.
"Come back to bed," he says sleepily, patting the mattress. "It’s lonely in here without you."
(Not sure whether this is a dream or not; if so, Stiles wakes up with a jolt, half-flustered by and half-impressed with the amount of detail his subconscious provided, the dark swirls of the tattoo on Derek’s back, the way he’d almost been able to smell Derek, feel the combined heat of their bodies as they moved together. The next morning when Stiles passes Derek in the hallway, he feels his face heat up. “Morning,” he says, ducking his head, and Derek - straight-backed, immaculately suited up, not a tattoo in sight - says, “Morning.”)
The bar had been dark, smoky and hot, viciously so. Stiles had been that uninhibited drunk that meant he was tipsy, and willing to throw himself all over the place as he danced with Erica, but not stupid. He’d noticed the guy, noticing him. He’d smirked across the dancefloor at him, bitten his lip until it was raw and red and demanding the guy’s attention, draped his arms over the guy’s shoulders when he’d slunk out onto the floor finally, and pulled Stiles up against him.
They hadn’t so much danced as ground into one another until Stiles had needed to pause for breath. There’d been big, hot hands tugging up his shirt, clutching at his bare hips, pressing into him with an intensity Stiles is sure will have left bruises. The guy had been rubbing his cheek along Stiles’, making him shiver and arch into him, beard burn be damned it had felt too good to make him stop.
He’d pulled back, and the guy’s eyes had gone wide, almost panicked, before Stiles had mimed he needed a drink, tugged on his hand and led him through the crowd.
He twists back to lean against the bar, grins when the guy falls into him, their bodies melting into one another.
"What are you drinking?"
"Water," the guy shrugs, "Big day tomorrow."
"Aw, me too!"
"So, you’re out drinking?"
"Is that judgement I detect?"
"No," the guy smirks, drifts forward until his mouth is almost brushing with Stiles’, "I’m happy to be a distraction."
geekdawson and I were talking about Felony last week, and this AU idea came up when we were talking about loving Protective Tony. So I decided to write a thing. I hope you like it :)
There’s a countdown.
The people sitting around you, drunk and high out of their minds, are cheering you on to get in the closet. Cheering you on with numbers. “Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…”
The game is simple, when you’re sober. They spin a bottle, it lands on you. You go into the closet. You wait. Half a minute later, the bottle spins again, and it chooses someone to follow you in. He, she, or they gets in the closet with you. And you make out, or have sex, or awkwardly avoid hooking up. It’s your slight hesitation, the quick glance towards the door, that sparked the countdown.
You’re only a little buzzed standing up. “Ten, nine, eight….”
The voices follow you into the closet and muffle when you shut the door on shouts of “Go get it son!” and “Spin it again, Cosima.”
You lean against the door, tired, and you take it in. The closet’s tiny, but cozy. Pillows cover the floor like snowfall, with their white lace covers. Jackets and sweaters have been taken somewhere else, as the hangers are empty. The bottle is spinning outside, and you breathe in. You’re nervous, terrified actually, but you smile when everyone on the other side of the door goes nuts with the bottle’s selection. It’s probably Sarah, you think. With that kind of a reaction, it can only be your look-alike.
Footsteps, loud and messy, approach the door, and it opens suddenly just as you take a step away from it. The light from the room coats the closet in visibility for a fraction of a second, before the door closes and you find yourself face to face with someone you don’t know. A scrawny kid, probably a freshman.
"Fuckin’…shit, hi there." He says in a warm British accent as he falls on top of you. “Whoops.”
It’s just a regular Tuesday morning for Derek. He posts some letters, picks up a bolt for the bathroom door, and pops into the bank. He’s busy planning dinner in his head when there’s a loud pop, followed by several more, and three men in ski masks jump up onto the tables between the queue Derek’s in.
"Good morning everybody, this is a robbery! Now if nobody loses their head, nobody will lose their head. Simon says everybody lay down on the floor, right away, right away.”
Derek feels his mouth fall open in shock. People are shouting and starting to cry as they fall to their knees. A woman in front of him begins screaming, and the man in the mask that had been talking jogs over, “No, no, ma’am, try to stay calm, you’ll have a story to tell your friends at the end of this. People’ll invite you to dinner for weeks to hear about it.”
"Just get down on the floor, ma’am, there’s nothing to be afraid of."
Despite the mild panic creeping up his spine, Derek snorts, and the guy hears it.
Oh, fuck, he shouldn’t have done that.
"Sir!" He moves to stand in front of Derek, claps a hand on his shoulder and Derek flinches. "Hey, number two, we got ourselves a standing volunteer!" Another man with a mask comes bounding, bounding, over, and half waves his machine gun in the first guy’s face.
"Uh huh, he’s not impressed with our behaviour at all.”
I feel like Stiles judges your intelligence on whether you’ve seen Star Wars or not. He’s so damn disappointed in not only Scott but also Kira who was supposed to fix things and Liam who’s just a little too much like his alpha.
So now I want a fic where Derek somehow slips a Star Wars reference when the whole pack is gathered and everyone else is just like “huh?” and Stiles’ jaw just drops and he blurts out “oh my god, I think I’m in love with you” and Derek is very confused.
”We basically just have to move it up to the mountains and it’ll be happy,” Scott concludes, frowning and making his jaw even more uneven.
“That’s what I said,” Stiles says, because he had said that, but in more words and Derek could tell that both Liam and Malia had lost interest as soon as Stiles opened his mouth. Cubs.
“So how do we do that?” Liam asks. Derek can admit now that he might not have made the best decision in whom to turn when he was an alpha (Jackson) but Scott’s not that much better, honestly. Scott’s luck seems to be better than Derek’s though, so hopefully he’ll have the opportunities to get better.
“Well, he’s too big for anything except a truck and he’d just break out of the truck. You saw how he smashed Derek’s car.”
Derek scowls at the reminder. So his Toyota might not have been that fun to drive (nothing like the Camaro) but it had had its perks.
“Why do you keep calling it ‘him’?” Malia says, because she asks the important questions. Not. Derek rolls his eyes.
“Because I’ve named him Olaf,” Stiles says and rolls his eyes at her. Since they broke up they’re even worse together. Almost worse. Derek is quite happy that he no longer finds them making out on his couch, but he’s not thinking about why that is. Ever. (Maybe when he’s alone in his bed or in the shower.)
“Anyway,” Scott, the true alpha, tries to get them back on track, which is how the get some kind of a yeti up to the mountains.
“Why Olaf?” Malia asks.
“From Frozen.” Stiles rolls his eyes. Everyone else looks as if they have no idea what he’s talking about. Derek does, but he doesn’t really engage in that conversation because they have more important things on their hands – like how to get Olaf- the yeti back to the mountains from where it came.
“Maybe we could freeze him?” Liam suggests.
Stiles snorts, “He breathes ice.”
Mason pats Liam’s shoulder, as if to say that it was as good a suggestion as any. It wasn’t, but Mason is a good friend like that.
“Maybe if we had some carbonite,” Derek suggests as a joke, because no one else seems to have any ideas. No one laughs and yeah, it wasn’t that good of a joke. When he looks up, they just seem confused. Everyone except Stiles who stares at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
“Oh, my god, dude, I think I’m in love with you,” he says and Derek would try to deny the fact that his heart rate picks up, but there’s two werewolves, one kitsune and one werecoyote present so they’d probably picked up on it. Maybe not Liam, though.
“I knew you broke up with me because of someone else,” Malia says, but there’s no resentment behind her words, mostly amusement.
Stiles flushes and his mouth snaps shut.
“What? No, I didn’t mean- it’s just- None of you others have ever even seen Star Wars!”
“Why are we talking about Star Wars?” Liam asks.
“Anyway,” Scott says loudly, ever the true alpha, “we need to figure this out, not talk movies.”
Derek knows Stiles watches him throughout the night and he tries very hard not to look back. He mostly fails.
In the end, it turns out Ola- the yeti likes fluffy things and they send Derek as a wolf out to get him up to the mountains. It’s a long chase and Derek’s exhausted when he gets Ol- the yeti- oh, fuck it, Olaf to the mountains and the snow. Olaf seems happy to be back where the ground is covered in snow and quickly forgets that he tried to catch the fluffy wolf. Derek tracks back down the mountain road and his ears perks up when he hears the familiar sound of a Jeep.
“You didn’t think we’d leave you to walk back, did you?” Stiles calls and leans across the passenger seat to open the door. Derek hops in and then shifts. Stiles hands him a blanket and some clothes.
“There’s was a drive thru just a few miles from here, if you’re hungry,” he says as he turns the car.
Derek nods and gracelessly manages to pull on his clothes and shoes.
“When we get back, do you want to watch Star Wars with me sometime?” Stiles aims for casual, but Derek can hear the fast beating of his heart and smell his sour anxiousness in the air.
“Just because no one else will watch them with you?” Derek asks, because that’s probably the reason Stiles wants to watch it with him.
“Not only,” Stiles says and Derek smiles slightly.
“Okay,” he says and Stiles’ scent turns happy and sweet.
“Okay,” Stiles grins and when he pats Derek’s leg later his hands stay and when Derek moves his own hand, it just happens to fall upon Stiles’. No one of them move their hands away for the entire ride.
The One With Derek’s Inadvertent Kiss
"Derek, c’mon, let me have a pizza roll." Stiles reaches over and tries to grab one from the plate on Derek’s lap, only to be thwarted when Derek moves them out of his reach.
"Mine," Derek says, stuffing one into his mouth. "My house, my food."
"But — you’re an alpha."
Derek eyes Stiles and shrugs. ”So?”
"So you’re meant to — provide for the pack and stuff. Be a giver and a —" Stiles huffs and reaches over again. "Gimme a pizza roll!"
"It’s like you think I won’t climb on you," Stiles says.
"You could try," Derek says dismissively, grabbing the handful of pizza rolls left on the plate and pushing them all in his mouth.
Derek offers a unit on the twentieth floor to Stiles on a Thursday, in the middle of a grocery store.
“What, really?” Stiles asks, brows raised high. He gestures at himself. “Me? Like, me? For real?”
Derek shrugs. “If you want it.”
“Dude, I know you’re kind of the king of not thinking stuff through, but there’s no way I could afford one of those units, they’re like—”
“No charge,” Derek says, annoyed but doing his best not to show it.
Stiles’s mouth hangs open, his jaw slack. Then his surprise gives way to heavy skepticism, his head tilting to the side and his eyes narrowing and his mouth settling into a grim line.
“What’s the catch?” he asks.
Derek rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, and levels a flat stare at him.
Stiles’s hands come up and begin moving wildly, his face expressive as ever. “You can’t just offer me a friggin’ apartment free of charge and not expect me to be suspicious as hell, man! You never offer me anything!”
“So, you don’t want it, then?”
“Whoa, I didn’t say that,” Stiles hurries to say. “I’m just wondering who you are and what you’ve done with my old buddy Derek Hale.”
Derek shakes his head and turns his back, walking away from him, leaving Stiles in front of the frozen foods section.
“I’ll pick up the key on Sunday?” Stiles calls after him.
Derek stops, glances over his shoulder. “I’ll be out of town until Monday.”
Stiles smirks at him. “Okay, Monday. See you then.”
sorry this took forever omg i swear i’m not this trashy irl (ha ha who am i kidding, i totes am)
anyway enjoy, this isn’t as great as i’d like but i feel a bit burnt out so yeah :( sorry!
It all starts when Derek first shows Laura a picture of Stiles.
She chokes on her own spit, and Cora has to thump her on the back until she can breathe because she’s… laughing?
Derek scowls; cradles his phone to himself protectively. Laura’s still cackling, going so far as to claw at her chest because she can’t breathe. He looks over at Cora, who shrugs, but looks unconcerned, because she knows Laura’ll eventually tell her what’s so funny, unlike Derek who’s probably going to spend a lot of sleepless nights trying to figure out what exactly has got Laura cackling like a maniac.
"Okay, I’m done," she wheezes, waving a hand at Derek’s face. "Your eyebrows are reaching record-breaking heights. It’s fine, he’s cute." His eyes narrows as her heart blips minutely, in that Laura-specific way that meant she wasn’t lying exactly, but she was telling a half truth. That, or she’s leaving something out. "He is!” she insists, and her heartbeat is steady this time.
He glances down at his phone again, appeased, and Stiles’ beaming expression is enough to get a smile across his own face.
"Yeah, he is," he agrees, and pretends not to notice Laura and Cora making gagging noises.