â Pairing: Sterek â Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale â Tags: canon divergence, getting together â Words: 2883
ao3
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Stiles narrows his eyes. âSatisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?â
Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. Itâs not particularly comforting â that is, until his gaze drops to Stilesâ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.
Stilesâ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. âDelighted my trauma amuses you,â he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.
âDelighted I donât have to kill you.â
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Click.
Cursing softly under his breath, Stiles flicks the light switch up again. Down. Up. Down. Up. âFucking hell.â Stiles massages the bridge of his nose. His stupid light. Everything else â even exorcising this damned place â worked out beautifully. Which is a miracle. Thanks to the residual demon, who infested this place after the previous owners fucked around â and found out â with a Ouija board in the late 50s, this house has been in a nightmarish state. Every inch of this place was a deathtrap. Rotten wood. Broken stairs. A ceiling, roof and second floor so unstable, a gust of wind could cause everything to collapse in a heartbeat.
Stiles spent more than one night in a tent in front of the house.
A bark cuts through the silence of the house, startling him out of his thoughts. Drawing his brows together, he looks past the stubborn ceiling light to the second-floor landing. The puppy heâs found under the house, white fur crusted with dirt and blood â aptly named Bobak, Bo for short â and who has refused to leave Stilesâ side ever since he fed him for the first time, is staring at him almost expectantly. Although some dog owners most likely wonât be happy about his lifestyle â flipping and clearing out haunted houses and constantly moving around â Stiles refuses to give Bobak away. Bo might not be the cuddliest or most social of dogs, he still makes Stilesâ life less, much less, lonely.
Bo barks again.
Stiles quirks a brow. âWhat? Itâs not dinner time yet.â
Wagging his tail, Bo bounds down the stairs, nearly tumbling down the last two steps. He catches himself, jumps up the front door once before all but flying around Stilesâ legs then, finally, making a mad dash out of the backdoor and into the yard. There, he keeps zooming around, causing colored leaves to fly into the air, and barking his adorable little head off, too big ears fluttering in the wind. Heâs going to miss Boâs floppy ears once heâs grown into them.
Before Stiles can follow him, thereâs a knock on the door. He glances up at the clock, narrowing his eyes once more as it passes the current bane of existence â maybe he should just get an electrician this once â and turns to the front door. Itâs not late, per se, but darkness is setting in, and people are still keeping their distance to this place. So, he isnât usually expecting anyone to swing by, even less since his closest neighbor lives around a mile away, but the person he never imagined to come over is Derek Hale.
Drawing his brows together, Stiles swings the door open.
âHey.â Derekâs smile seems strained. To be honest, he looks like heâd rather be anywhere else â not unlike the first time they met at the only diner in town. Well, met might be stretching it. That day, Derek couldnât finish his lunch fast enough, even Sally was surprised by his precipitate behavior. So much so, she commented on it while serving Stiles his food.
He had chalked it up to Derek sensing something about him the same way Stiles clocked him as a werewolf the second he laid eyes on him â aside from noticing that the guy is a walking and talking Calvin Klein advertisement. Instead of avoiding him, however, Derek kept showing up all over the place. It seemed accidental, but Stiles has dealt with enough supernatural creatures and grew up with a sheriff that he can recognize stalking behavior when he sees it.
Derekâs never been lurking around here, though.
Well, not until today, that is.
And Stilesâ heart is having a field day with it, which is rather unfortunate with Derekâs supernatural hearing and all.
Stiles manages to clear his throat about thirty seconds into the terribly awkward silence. âHey.â He sounds like an idiot. He feels like one too. âCan I- do you-â Bo interrupts him with a slew of excited barks, zooming through the hallway and back out again, sending more leaves flying around; it gives Stiles a few seconds to gather himself. âYou wanna come in?â
âI bought dinner,â Derek says at the same time.
They both stare at each other, and the silence makes Stilesâ neck grow uncomfortably warm.
Luckily, Derek cuts it short. âIâd love to.â
Stiles steps aside and gestures for Derek to come in. This is happening. Heâs not entirely sure how or why, but it is, and Stiles is not about to complain. The last time a hot guy walked into his home was â when? Stiles doesnât really remember. Which is sad, honestly. Sure, heâs been aware that both his social and love life have sailed off a cliff once he started dictating his life to ghost and demon hunting, but now, watching Derek stroll into his kitchen, he realized for the first time how bad itâs really gotten in the past four years.
âLooks good,â Derek remarks, almost curious in the way heâs taking everything in. âYou did an excellent job keeping the old charm alive.â
Crossing his arms, Stiles leans against the large doorway leading to the kitchen. âYouâve been here before?â
Derek shrugs as he puts the bag with the takeout on the dinner table. âTeenagers and haunted houses.â
âWerewolves too?â
If Derek is surprised that Stiles knows, he doesnât show it. Instead, an almost cheeky grin curls around his lips. âWerewolves especially.â
Stiles snorts and crosses the room. âI expected you to be smarter.â He glances at Derek, smirking briefly, and steps in front of the only cupboard he uses. The good thing about moving around so much is that he never collects any clutter. As a teen and college student, things looked very different. Two boxes, a couple of suitcases and his backpack fit into Roscoe anyway. Now that Bo is traveling with him, heâs got to figure out the new logistics.
âHowâd you do it?â Derek asks as he takes the two plates from him.
Their fingers brush, either on purpose or entirely accidental. Stiles doesnât know, but the touch sends a tingle through his whole body. A good tingle, great even, and Stiles hates to realize how touch starved he really is.
Stiles opens the fridge, scowling a little as heâs greeted with emptiness. He really needs to go grocery shopping. âVery carefully,â he replies and grabs two bottles of beer. âAnd lots of research." Once he's figured out where to look, finding pictures of old houses isnât that much of a struggle. Often, he meets the previous owners, who either think heâs suicidal or are very happy to help.
Derek watches him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. âThe demon or the house flipping?â
âAh.â Stiles sets the bottles on the table and leans against the edge. âThatâs why youâre here.â
Derek merely watches him, eyebrows climbing higher as his expression turns more and more expectant. An alpha after all. Heâs probably used to people jumping at his command.
It might be fun to let him stew for a little longer. âYou know, you couldâve just asked.â
âI just did.â
Stiles snorts out a laugh, âI meant ask me about why those werewolf senses are tingling whenever youâre around me.â He cocks his head to the side and decides to put himself out there, for once, âunless, of course, there are other reasons for that.â Heâs got Derek in his house already and considering that he leaves as soon as it is sold, thereâs no harm done, no awkward darting around each other needed in case heâs rejected. Two months tops, and heâs out of this town, where everyone knows everybody, and nothing ever stays secret.
Derekâs lips twitch.
Good. So, Stiles didnât exactly imagine the lingering looks whenever they, clearly not entirely accidentally, ran into each other absolutely everywhere. In a town with less than 100 people, itâs impossible to hide anyway.
âTingling?â Derek echoes, more amused than in disbelief.
Stiles lets his head fall back, watching out of the corner of his eye as Derekâs gaze drops to his neck then back up again. âYouâre a poor conversationalist.â
âAnd youâre dodging the question.â
Stiles clicks his tongue, rolling his head to the left to look at the werewolf again. âGeez, D, you canât just ask people why theyâre making you feel weird.â
A flicker of annoyance dances over his features, either at the nickname or his refusal to give him the desired reply. Still, Derek props his hands on the table and leans closer, one eyebrow raised. âI can if I consider them a danger to my pack and territory.â
Fair point.
However, âI literally exorcised this fucking demon.â Although nobody has died in this house in almost a decade, Stiles considers it future deaths prevented.
Derek taps a finger against the table, allows red to bleed into his eyes.
Rolling his eyes, Stiles pushes away from the table and faces the werewolf, arms crossed firmly in front of his chest. Although Derek didnât outright threaten him, Stiles is fully aware that this evening could easily turn into his last if the big bad alpha considers him too dangerous, which would very much be the exact opposite of how heâd prefer this evening to go. He sighs. âI was possessed by a nogitsune when I was sixteen.â Stiles doesn't miss as Derekâs expression return to stoic, listening, waiting. He sees the way his shoulders tense, the way something in his eyes shift, ever so slightly. The moment of truth, always and forever. "It did some weird shit with my body, cracked my mind like an egg, hence the whole-â he waves his hand around. âThought I could do something good if I can pierce the veil, you know?â It makes him feel less guilty about the shit the nogitsune did while using his body like a meatsuit.
But thatâs something nobody else needs to know about.
Derek straightens.
Stiles narrows his eyes. âSatisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?â
Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. Itâs not particularly comforting â that is, until his gaze drops to Stilesâ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.
Stilesâ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. âDelighted my trauma amuses you,â he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.
âDelighted I donât have to kill you.â
âYou think you can kill me?â Stiles chuckles, playing pretend. Dealing with demons is one thing. Theyâre very capable of murder, more so than ghosts, but depending on their strength and rank, they need time â time to get into your head, time to fuck with you. They have to chip away their targetâs defenses. Knowing and being prepared for a demon makes dealing with them a lot easier. Plus, if heâs learned anything from his own possession, itâs how to keep things out of his mind. Werewolves are a different beast entirely. If they want someone dead, all they have to do is pin them down and rip their throat out.
Derek pushes away from the table and all but stalks closer to him, narrowing the small distance the table offers. âOf course, I could.â He runs his fingers along the edge of the table. Itâs one of the few things Stiles could repair from the old furniture, so, luckily, Derek keeps his claws in check.
Stiles swallows drily and rips his gaze away from Derekâs hand, locking eyes with him again. âAwfully confident there, buddy.â
His words are met with a near predatory glint in the hazel eyes. Beautiful hazel eyes, at that. Easy to get lost in.
Focus.
âYou donât scare me.â
Derek stops directly in front of him. Theyâre nearly chest to chest, and although Derek isnât necessarily taller than him, Stiles feels weirdly small. He canât quite put his finger on it, but the way he is holding himself, the way he is looking at him â as if Stiles is a rabbit cornered by the big bad wolf. Red bleeding into his eyes accentuates the whole predator predicament.
Fucking werewolves, seriously.
âCute,â Stiles comments anyway, uncrossing his arms and straightening his shoulders and spine. âStill not scared, though.â Theyâre probably both aware thatâs not entirely true, but heâs never been someone to back down from a challenge. âYou gotta do more than creeping around in the bushes and stare at me with your alpha eyes.â Especially since the latter is actually pretty damn hot, which isnât exactly helping the situation.
âIâm not trying to scare you,â Derek informs him in a casual yet amused tone.
âReally? Couldâve fooled me, big guy.â
Derek chuckles, letting his head fall forward as he does so â and Stiles canât help but watch his mouth move. Itâs fascinating. Every time heâs seen Derek, the guy has been scowling. Stiles didnât think he could chuckle, much less laugh.
Fuck, heâs pretty.
Beautiful even.
His heartbeat picks up when Derek locks eyes with him again. âYouâre not very attentive.â
âOh, really?â Now, that is just plain rude and so uncalled for. âHow do you think Iâm finding these demons? By paying very close attention to details. So, I am attentive. Iâm actually the most at-â
Derek kisses him. No ifs. No buts. No hesitation. He just does, and his lips are so soft and warm, their touch makes Stilesâ stomach twist with anticipation. Derek moves his hands and cradles his cheeks, thumb tracing a slow, ever so gentle line along his skin. All of Derekâs hard edges are replaced by something tender and raw.
Stilesâ heart stutters in his too tight chest, and his mind blanks, every single thought swept away by the warm lips pressed to his own. He melts against Derek, pressing closer as he curls his fingers around Derekâs bicep and his eyes flutter shut. A soft, almost helpless sound escapes his throat as a warmth floods through him, followed by a kind of ache Stiles doesnât quite have a name for. They both settle deep inside of him, spreading into every part of his body. His entire body lights up with a want he hasnât felt in what feels like forever, a need for closeness more than just desire.
When Derek pulls back, Stiles moves with him, desperate to hold onto the kiss just a little bit longer.
Derek regards it with a soft chuckle, his warm breath ghosting over Stilesâ lips. Â
The sound alone makes Stiles wants to kiss him again, but he doesnât, clears his throat instead. No words come, which in itself is quite the curiosity, and Stiles is almost relieved at the sound of paws hitting the wood. Here to interrupt any possibility of an awkward silence. Stiles glances over his shoulder, watches as Bo enters the room and sniffs the air. Itâs probably best to be upfront.
Once more, he clears his throat. âIâm not staying.â He crouches down and canât help but smile when Bo bumps his head against his leg, demanding attention. âAt least not forever. Until the house is sold, and I found the next⌠target, I guess.â He runs his fingers through Boâs soft fur as he tries to ignore the way his heart aches at the thought of leaving.
For the first time in years.
Which is ridiculous. He doesnât know Derek; not how he is as a person, that is. He only knows superficial stuff. What happened to his family, that heâs a werewolf and that he owns the only garage in town, and that he doesnât need to crawl under cars or get car grime and oil all over himself because heâs loaded. So, heâs either doing it for fun or for the people living in this town⌠or both. Derek seems to be a good person, but so is Stiles, and Stiles wonât lie â heâs not only a handful, heâs also not particularly nice. Many people called him an asshole. Theyâre not entirely wrong.
âIâm not asking you to stay,â Derek says as he slides onto the chair at the head of the table, very clearly indicating that heâs not planning on leaving soon. âBut maybe I can convince you to come back.âÂ
Stiles blinks up at him, scratching Bo behind his ears. âYou donât know me.â
âYet,â Derek adds and looks down at him with a smile.
This fucking guy is going to give him a heart attack before Stiles has figured out his favorite color. Aside from that, it dawns on Stiles that he may have misjudged the guy. âSo, you stalked me because you like me.â
The tips of Derekâs ears turn the slightest shade of pink. Adorable. âI never stalked you.â
Bo barks.
âHe says youâre a liar.â Stiles raises to stand and pulls a chair out. âI think you followed me around, but didnât know how to approach me.â Smirking, he sits down as Bo uses his chance to curl up under his chair.
Instead of replying, Derek opens the bag of takeout and pulls out only the best of Sallyâs diner. His ears turn just a shade darker.
Stiles props his chin on his hand, not even bothering to hide the smile forming on his lips. He totally could get used to this.












