#yes i found pink star wars funkos

[ironhoshi]

Apologies on being missing. I was busy with the war.

I believe I am winning...

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @hazelestelle!

Read on AO3

*****

yes

Derek wakes with a start as the loft door slides open so forcefully the walls shake. Although, now that he’s looking at the would-be intruder, he thinks they’re shaking because of another reason.

“Stiles!” he yells, causing Stiles to jump. At least the walls stop quivering. “What’s going on?” he asks, eyebrows scrunched. Anything that makes Stiles lose control of his powers is bound to be no good.

“Derek!” Stiles frantically scans the room. There are red lines on Stiles’s neck where he’s been scratching, a nervous tic he’s never broken, and he’s sporting a severe case of bedhead. Stiles has a bad habit of running his hands through his hair while he’s thinking. Derek sees the line of tension in his shoulders melt away when he finally spots Derek sitting up on the couch. “I need you to date me.”

“Date you?” Derek echoes.

Clearly, Derek’s brain hasn’t woken yet because there’s no way he heard correctly. Though dating Stiles isn’t exactly a new thought, so it could just be wishful thinking.

From the minute Derek met Stiles, he had been fascinated by the way Stiles’s long fingers rubbed along his buzzcut.

He’s got a thing for hands. Sue him.

But Stiles had been young, too young. The parallels between them were too similar to himself and Kate, and he wouldn’t allow himself to go there.

The years passed, and Stiles only grew more attractive and not just physically. Derek also admired his fierce loyalty to the pack, the way he took to his spark, the way he dug under Derek’s skin and carved out a place in the very fiber of Derek’s being.

Needless to say, dating Stiles isn’t exactly a new thought. He just didn’t expect Stiles to ask him, and especially not like this.

Stiles blows out a heavy breath, and the couch dips where he flops down. “Yes. I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Oh . Not real dating, fake dating. Lucky for Derek, he seems to have mastered the art of resting bitch face, so he won’t give away his disappointment.

Instead, Derek turns, listening raptly as Stiles talks about a pack approaching him. They’d heard of Stiles, of the boy who runs with wolves. The one who helped stop a kanima and a darach, who overcame a nogitsune, and escaped the wild hunt. They heard of his spark and wanted him.

So, of course, Derek says yes.

Stiles hadn’t expected Derek to say yes so easily. He figured there’d be whining. Okay, maybe not whining because Derek’s not a whiner. No, Derek glares with that steely gaze and those caterpillar eyebrows that threaten certain death. Admittedly, asking Derek to host a dinner for the pack that wants to take Stiles is probably not a smart idea; however, they need to see that not only is Stiles a packmate, but he’s involved with a werewolf. No one would try to separate a werewolf from their mate, or fake mate in his case.

All day Derek’s been grouchy, even more growly than usual. “They’re not gonna believe we’re together if you look like you wanna kill me, Derek.”

“Maybe it’s foreplay for us.” And Stiles double-takes because did he just—

“Oh! Wolf’s got jokes. That’s nice. Asshole .”

That earns him a feral smile, which really shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. But then again, Stiles is pretty sure that everything about Derek turns him on. He once watched the way Derek’s muscles rippled as he folded a shirt and had to excuse himself because of an awkward boner. That was also a couple of years ago and he’s since gotten better at controlling himself. He quickly distracts himself by tossing more of his things around the loft.

“Okay. I think that’s it,” Stiles tells Derek, falling back on Derek’s bed, curling around the pillow he brought from home. “Pull out the super sniffer. Does it smell enough like me in here to believe we live together?”

It’s only been a few days since Derek agreed to fake dating, and Stiles insisted on staying over every night. “ My scent, Derek. They’re gonna be able to tell if my scent isn’t strong enough! ” was the argument he’d used. Somehow that led to his laptop taking up residence on Derek’s coffee table, his jacket slung on the back of his favorite chair at the dining table (yes, he has a favorite!), and a well-worn spot on the couch that he’s declared his own.

Derek’s face is pulled tight, almost like it hurts, and Stiles feels guilty because this is Derek’s home that he’s forcing his way into. Sure, Derek agreed, but still…

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks him, voice laced with concern.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t really think about— This is your safe space, and I’m over here tossing my shit everywhere.”

“It’s fine, Stiles. Really. If it bothered me, I wouldn’t have agreed.”

Stiles opens his mouth to point out that Derek’s face says otherwise, but he’s interrupted by a knocking at the loft door. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Derek wasn’t ready.

Not for how well Stiles fit against him as they stood together to welcome the alpha, or how intuitive it was to place a hand on the small of Stiles’s back or on his knee when it bounced with nerves.

Still, the dinner went exceptionally well. Not once did the alpha ask about Stiles joining his pack. It didn’t even appear that he was scrutinizing their relationship. Derek wasn’t ready for how easily the alpha believed them, remarking on how in love and in tune with each other they were.

“You’re lucky to have found each other,” the alpha said as they walked him out of the loft. “It’s one thing to find a compatible mate, but another to find your other half. I wish you both a long and happy life together.”

Yeah , Derek thinks. I wish that, too .

It’s a knife to the gut because as soon as the pack leaves, there’s a distinct lack of warmth where Stiles’s body is no longer pressed against his own. He follows Stiles to the kitchen and leans against the sink.

“Whew!” Stiles pulls himself up on the counter and tears off a piece of garlic bread, popping it in his mouth like Derek’s entire world hasn’t changed.

The past few days have been entirely too domestic for Derek. Waking up next to Stiles and watching his face light up at the first sip of coffee, having his scent everywhere , even yelling at him for leaving his towel in the middle of the bathroom. How’s he supposed to live without Stiles singing off-key in the shower or the sound of his socked feet as they pad across the loft?

“Yeah,” he says, voice thick with emotion because now that it’s over, Stiles will leave. Derek will go back to making breakfast for one. He won’t have that moment in the morning where Stiles has one leg and arm thrown over him like Derek is his own personal pillow.

“You alright, big guy?” Derek’s caught off guard by the worry emanating from Stiles.

“I’m good,” he says, needing to play it off. No, he’s not emotionally constipated, like some people think. Stiles’s friendship is too important to him, and he’d hate for things to change because he has feelings . He’s survived this long. “Just wondering how long it’s gonna take to get your stench outta here.”

That earns him a piece of bread to the face, which he should have been able to catch. He suspects Stiles used his magic.

“Seriously. You’re making a face now and you made one earlier. It wasn’t your regular disgruntled face either. What’s going on, Derek? We’re friends. You can talk to me.”

Stiles jumps off the counter, and Derek feels the warmth of his body as Stiles presses against his back, Stiles’s hands are an anchor on his waist. Sighing, he closes his eyes and leans into the embrace.

“Talk to me, Derek. These past few days might not have been real but—“

“What if—“ He swallows the lump in his throat, working up the courage to continue.

There’s a puff of air on the back of his neck as Stiles says, “What if, what?” He’s scared of how hopeful Stiles sounds, scared he’s transferring his own feelings onto Stiles.

Opening his eyes, Derek looks around the loft. There’s a Mets cap sitting on the counter, along with keys to Roscoe. Stiles hung a Star Wars poster on the wall above a bookshelf that now houses a small army of funko pops that don’t look out of place with his books.

Turning in Stiles’s arms, he looks into those wide amber eyes and sees that it’s not transference, Stiles actually looks hopeful. “What if I want it to be real? This? Us?”

“You laughed at my Batman toothbrush.”

“You’re 20, Stiles. Pretty sure the packaging for that said 5 to 7 years old. I didn’t say anything about the Superman boxers, did I?”

“Touché.” Stiles’s tongue darts out from between his full pink lips, and Derek can’t help but be mesmerized.

The air is heavy as they stare at each other. And Derek thinks, just maybe, Stiles’s world has changed too.

Epilogue - One Week Later

Standing in the middle of the loft, Stiles cocks his head to the side as he glares at all the unopened boxes filling every open space.

“They’re not gonna unpack themselves, Stiles.”

He startles at the close proximity of Derek’s voice. Last he saw, Derek was in the bathroom, organizing the medicine cabinet to fit in all of Stiles’s bathroom essentials.

“I swear to God ! I am getting you a bell!” He clutches his chest in over-exaggeration.

“Stop being so dramatic.”

A shudder runs through him at the feel of Derek’s lips on the back of his neck, giving him goosebumps across his skin.

He gets to have this now. Tender touches and gentle kisses.

“You should date me,” he says, looking over his shoulder into the brilliant hazel of Derek’s eyes.

Derek raises a brow, and it’s a small puff of breath on his hairline when Derek chuckles. “I thought I was already?” Stiles follows as Derek surveys the piles of boxes littered throughout the room.  

“I never actually asked though.”

Derek’s arms circle his waist, holding him tightly from behind. Like déjà vu, Derek gives a serious and solemn vow of, “Yes.”