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hey what the hell let's document my fic-writing career in a more stable format than tumblr
crossposted from tumblr
Stiles woke up at--he had to look away from the looming Derek to stare blearily at the clock for a minute--seven in the morning. Which was way too early. "Hi?" he said. Maybe he'd found the couch uncomfortable. Or forgotten where the bathroom was. Or maybe, despite all prior evidence, Derek was a morning person. "You need something?"
"The bed smells like more than you," Derek said unhappily.
"Uh," Stiles said. It was way too early for this, and what the hell was that even. "Out of curiosity, when you told me I was too young and needed to go experience life, what kind of life experiences did you think I was going to have?"
"I know," Derek said. He sounded glum, and the weird part was that this was discernable from his normal broodiness. "But. More than just him."
Stiles let himself fall back against the bed and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. "Okay, no. No, you don't get to judge my life choices. You opted out of any right to judge my life choices years ago. I am not having this conversation with you, and definitely not at seven in morning when I could be sleeping in. But not ever. Also not ever."
Derek didn't answer him. After a moment Stiles dropped his arm and opened his eyes. Derek was staring at him, moody surprise evident in the angle of his eyebrows.
"Fine, what?" Stiles asked.
"You," Derek said. "You uh, I thought. I thought it was him. And you might not... have known."
Stiles couldn't help it, he started laughing. "Seriously, you were trying to politely tell me you were afraid you'd sniffed out my boyfriend's infidelity? I, wow. No. I mean, yeah it's sometimes him, but yes, I know, and it's cool."
"Cool," Derek repeated.
"Oh my god, would it make you feel better to mark the bed or something," Stiles asked, because really he just wanted to go back to sleep, not explain primaries and poly to someone whose hangup on loyalty really should not be quite so pinned on traditional monogamy, given what Stiles knew of werewolf pack dynamics.
Derek was making another face. "What, like spray it?" he asked.
Ah, the 'I don't know what you've read about wolves on the internet but no, Stiles' face. Best to put him out of his misery. "No, like, sleep in it," Stiles said.
Derek stood there looking uncomfortable for a minute. Stiles decided not to break and prompt him for a response. Watching Derek attempt to work through emotions was a joy he hadn't had in years, and the last time he'd gotten to do it, it hadn't even really been a joy, because he'd been too invested himself in the outcome. Eventually, Derek said, "He won't mind?"
"One, he's not here, so his opinion is a little moot," Stiles said, "and two, have you been paying attention, no."
Derek walked around to the other side of the bed, which, since it was a king, was a million miles away. He took off his jeans and sat down and, finally, stretched out beside Stiles.
"Okay," Stiles said. "Do not wake me up again before noon. It is Saturday."
He waited for a while for Derek's answer, but he fell asleep before he heard any reply.
---
It was not yet noon when Stiles was rudely awakened yet again. It was eight. This time it was Drew standing over him. "Is the not-thing more of a thing?" he asked.
"Not... really?" Stiles took inventory. Derek had flung his arm across the bed so he could pet Stiles's hair. "He's a cuddler. It's a werewolf thing."
Derek made a pained sound. It was hard to tell if he was awake enough to be personally insulted or just enough to protest the use of the W word.
"Your definition of cuddling remains ridiculous," Drew noted.
"I like being able to breathe," Stiles protested, as he had many times before.
"Shove over," Drew said to Derek, "I've been up since Thursday and I'd like to fall down now."
"Moot," Derek mumbled, withdrawing his hand from Stiles's hair.
"Well, it's not moot now, obviously," Stiles said. He curled up on his side and Drew threw himself down the middle of the bed between them. He passed out nearly immediately, which was pretty normal when he'd been on programming benders for work. From the other side of him Stiles could feel Derek bristling. He couldn't tell if it was just awkwardness or there was some other level to his tension, but on reflection, Stiles decided that he didn't care. He would have his Saturday morning lie-in no matter who tried to interrupt it.
---
So of course Stiles ended up waking up on his own about ten, too wired to go back to sleep. He wandered out to the kitchen, found Drew had brought home pastries (he'd probably hit the coffee shop at five when they opened, and he was still working), and ate a couple while channel surfing through cartoons. That got boring pretty fast, so he took his laptop back to bed and climbed in beside Drew and Derek, who had managed to merge into some squid-shaped pile of limbs.
Around noon, Drew woke up--hunger, probably, he wasn't known for eating on programming benders--and blinked pitifully a few times. Stiles had seated himself so he could watch their faces just past the edge of the laptop screen, in anticipation of just this moment.
"Who--what?" Drew asked. "Home, right?"
"Home," Stiles agreed, waiting as Drew tried to work out who his bedmate was.
"I don't... remember having a threesome?" Drew asked.
"Nope," Stiles said. He dropped a hint. "Told you he was a cuddler."
Derek made that noise again. So, perhaps not in response to the W word.
Drew said, baffled, "But he wasn't actually cuddling you."
"That's because Derek knows about, dare I even say, is responsible for, my inability to cuddle like a normal human being," Stiles told him seriously. "I have werewolf-induced cuddle-trauma. I was cuddled nearly to death. I can never enjoy true cuddles again."
"Very not-thing," Drew said, having apparently decided Stiles was exaggerating this tale of woe.
"Very," Stiles said. "You're lucky you've got him in human form. He's heavier as a wolf. I had bruised ribs by the time the ordeal was over."
"I said," Derek grumbled, "I was sorry. I was only trying to save your life."
"Wait, is this an actual thing," Drew said. He sounded marginally more awake. And confused.
"I thought it was a not-thing," Derek said to the pillow. His head was not on the pillow, it was on Drew, but it was near the pillow.
"No, we're a not-thing. My werewolf-induced cuddle trauma is a very definite and real thing," Stiles explained cheerfully. "Keep up."
"And people say I'm bad at communicating," said Derek, still to the nearby pillow, so it wasn't as if he had any room to talk.
"Why is this a thing," Drew demanded with clear enunciation in lieu of coherence.
"One of the unfortunate realities of the supernatural world," Stiles told him, "is hunters. I think I'm not only speaking as a friend to the monsters when I say we've only ever met one hunter who wasn't a complete assface."
"He has his moments," Derek said, because contrary to popular opinion, Derek actually had a sense of humor. Hopefully the pillow could withstand it.
"The particular hunters featured in this story were, indeed, complete assfaces," Stiles went on. "Hunters aren't really supposed to go after humans but people will judge you for your associates and they decided that to judge me, they would use a curse to trap the entire pack in furry form and then, literally, toss me to the wolves. So bear in mind that at the point where Derek--unable to engage in even the limited form of human speech he occasionally employs--pinned me to the ground and started smothering me, I had been told repeatedly that these were wild animals who were going to gobble me up."
"I was worried," Derek complained.
"Oh yes," Stiles said. "After the whole thing was over and he was able to explain to me why he'd been attempting death by cuddle, it really did not get less horrifying. You see, he was concerned that these assfaces were going to use their curse on me and was attempting to bodily get in the way. Do you have any idea what happens if someone who doesn't normally transform gets forced to?"
"Bad things?" Drew guessed.
"Bad things," Stiles confirmed. "What was the exact phrase, Derek?"
Derek sighed heavily. "I was worried," he said, "that your insides wee going to end up decorating the walls."
Still a mild shudder after all these years. "And for all the Hale house badly needed redecoration at that point, intestines would not have been an improvement."
Drew said, "Wow, and I just thought you were weird."
"I am weird," Stiles said. "There are just reasons for my weirdness. The high-school-slash-werewolf years of my life explain so much of my weirdness."
Derek snorted.
Fine, so Stiles had been weird in the first place. "And you," Stiles said. "Not that I mind, clearly I have been depriving my beloved boyfriend of the cuddles he so richly deserves, but since this--" Stiles waved his hand over the squid pile. "--is not a thing, I was just wondering, have you yet scent-marked him to your satisfaction?"
There was a resounding silence.
"What?" Drew asked.
"You might be pack now," Stiles started.
"No," Derek said immediately.
"Or just comfortable. I dunno," Stiles conceded.
"I what," said Drew.
"We should have pity and let him go back to sleep," Stiles said to Derek.
"I'm not sleepy now," Drew complained.
"But you have cuddles," Stiles said.
"'s your pack," Derek muttered. At the pillow. He was going to be good friends with that pillow, Stiles could tell.
"Did not catch that," Drew said.
"Yes," Stiles said, "he was being sweet. It's easy to miss."
fic I wrote for niqaeli in the WTFJH universe (future fic, Stiles went away and went to college and has a boyfriend and is happy and Derek drops by for a visit and is confused).
Stiles woke up at--he had to look away from the looming Derek to stare blearily at the clock for a minute--seven in the morning. Which was way too early. "Hi?" he said. Maybe he'd found the couch uncomfortable. Or forgotten where the bathroom was. Or maybe, despite all prior evidence, Derek was a morning person. "You need something?"
"The bed smells like more than you," Derek said unhappily.
"Uh," Stiles said. It was way too early for this, and what the hell was that even. "Out of curiosity, when you told me I was too young and needed to go experience life, what kind of life experiences did you think I was going to have?"
"I know," Derek said. He sounded glum, and the weird part was that this was discernable from his normal broodiness. "But. More than just him."
Stiles let himself fall back against the bed and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. "Okay, no. No, you don't get to judge my life choices. You opted out of any right to judge my life choices years ago. I am not having this conversation with you, and definitely not at seven in morning when I could be sleeping in. But not ever. Also not ever."
Derek didn't answer him. After a moment Stiles dropped his arm and opened his eyes. Derek was staring at him, moody surprise evident in the angle of his eyebrows.
"Fine, what?" Stiles asked.
"You," Derek said. "You uh, I thought. I thought it was him. And you might not... have known."
Stiles couldn't help it, he started laughing. "Seriously, you were trying to politely tell me you were afraid you'd sniffed out my boyfriend's infidelity? I, wow. No. I mean, yeah it's sometimes him, but yes, I know, and it's cool."
"Cool," Derek repeated.
"Oh my god, would it make you feel better to mark the bed or something," Stiles asked, because really he just wanted to go back to sleep, not explain primaries and poly to someone whose hangup on loyalty really should not be quite so pinned on traditional monogamy, given what Stiles knew of werewolf pack dynamics.
Derek was making another face. "What, like spray it?" he asked.
Ah, the 'I don't know what you've read about wolves on the internet but no, Stiles' face. Best to put him out of his misery. "No, like, sleep in it," Stiles said.
Derek stood there looking uncomfortable for a minute. Stiles decided not to break and prompt him for a response. Watching Derek attempt to work through emotions was a joy he hadn't had in years, and the last time he'd gotten to do it, it hadn't even really been a joy, because he'd been too invested himself in the outcome. Eventually, Derek said, "He won't mind?"
"One, he's not here, so his opinion is a little moot," Stiles said, "and two, have you been paying attention, no."
Derek walked around to the other side of the bed, which, since it was a king, was a million miles away. He took off his jeans and sat down and, finally, stretched out beside Stiles.
"Okay," Stiles said. "Do not wake me up again before noon. It is Saturday."
He waited for a while for Derek's answer, but he fell asleep before he heard any reply.
---
It was not yet noon when Stiles was rudely awakened yet again. It was eight. This time it was Drew standing over him. "Is the not-thing more of a thing?" he asked.
"Not... really?" Stiles took inventory. Derek had flung his arm across the bed so he could pet Stiles's hair. "He's a cuddler. It's a werewolf thing."
Derek made a pained sound. It was hard to tell if he was awake enough to be personally insulted or just enough to protest the use of the W word.
"Your definition of cuddling remains ridiculous," Drew noted.
"I like being able to breathe," Stiles protested, as he had many times before.
"Shove over," Drew said to Derek, "I've been up since Thursday and I'd like to fall down now."
"Moot," Derek mumbled, withdrawing his hand from Stiles's hair.
"Well, it's not moot now, obviously," Stiles said. He curled up on his side and Drew threw himself down the middle of the bed between them. He passed out nearly immediately, which was pretty normal when he'd been on programming benders for work. From the other side of him Stiles could feel Derek bristling. He couldn't tell if it was just awkwardness or there was some other level to his tension, but on reflection, Stiles decided that he didn't care. He would have his Saturday morning lie-in no matter who tried to interrupt it.
---
So of course Stiles ended up waking up on his own about ten, too wired to go back to sleep. He wandered out to the kitchen, found Drew had brought home pastries (he'd probably hit the coffee shop at five when they opened, and he was still working), and ate a couple while channel surfing through cartoons. That got boring pretty fast, so he took his laptop back to bed and climbed in beside Drew and Derek, who had managed to merge into some squid-shaped pile of limbs.
Around noon, Drew woke up--hunger, probably, he wasn't known for eating on programming benders--and blinked pitifully a few times. Stiles had seated himself so he could watch their faces just past the edge of the laptop screen, in anticipation of just this moment.
"Who--what?" Drew asked. "Home, right?"
"Home," Stiles agreed, waiting as Drew tried to work out who his bedmate was.
"I don't... remember having a threesome?" Drew asked.
"Nope," Stiles said. He dropped a hint. "Told you he was a cuddler."
Derek made that noise again. So, perhaps not in response to the W word.
Drew said, baffled, "But he wasn't actually cuddling you."
"That's because Derek knows about, dare I even say, is responsible for, my inability to cuddle like a normal human being," Stiles told him seriously. "I have werewolf-induced cuddle-trauma. I was cuddled nearly to death. I can never enjoy true cuddles again."
"Very not-thing," Drew said, having apparently decided Stiles was exaggerating this tale of woe.
"Very," Stiles said. "You're lucky you've got him in human form. He's heavier as a wolf. I had bruised ribs by the time the ordeal was over."
"I said," Derek grumbled, "I was sorry. I was only trying to save your life."
"Wait, is this an actual thing," Drew said. He sounded marginally more awake. And confused.
"I thought it was a not-thing," Derek said to the pillow. His head was not on the pillow, it was on Drew, but it was near the pillow.
"No, we're a not-thing. My werewolf-induced cuddle trauma is a very definite and real thing," Stiles explained cheerfully. "Keep up."
"And people say I'm bad at communicating," said Derek, still to the nearby pillow, so it wasn't as if he had any room to talk.
"Why is this a thing," Drew demanded with clear enunciation in lieu of coherence.
"One of the unfortunate realities of the supernatural world," Stiles told him, "is hunters. I think I'm not only speaking as a friend to the monsters when I say we've only ever met one hunter who wasn't a complete assface."
"He has his moments," Derek said, because contrary to popular opinion, Derek actually had a sense of humor. Hopefully the pillow could withstand it.
"The particular hunters featured in this story were, indeed, complete assfaces," Stiles went on. "Hunters aren't really supposed to go after humans but people will judge you for your associates and they decided that to judge me, they would use a curse to trap the entire pack in furry form and then, literally, toss me to the wolves. So bear in mind that at the point where Derek--unable to engage in even the limited form of human speech he occasionally employs--pinned me to the ground and started smothering me, I had been told repeatedly that these were wild animals who were going to gobble me up."
"I was worried," Derek complained.
"Oh yes," Stiles said. "After the whole thing was over and he was able to explain to me why he'd been attempting death by cuddle, it really did not get less horrifying. You see, he was concerned that these assfaces were going to use their curse on me and was attempting to bodily get in the way. Do you have any idea what happens if someone who doesn't normally transform gets forced to?"
"Bad things?" Drew guessed.
"Bad things," Stiles confirmed. "What was the exact phrase, Derek?"
Derek sighed heavily. "I was worried," he said, "that your insides wee going to end up decorating the walls."
Still a mild shudder after all these years. "And for all the Hale house badly needed redecoration at that point, intestines would not have been an improvement."
Drew said, "Wow, and I just thought you were weird."
"I am weird," Stiles said. "There are just reasons for my weirdness. The high-school-slash-werewolf years of my life explain so much of my weirdness."
Derek snorted.
Fine, so Stiles had been weird in the first place. "And you," Stiles said. "Not that I mind, clearly I have been depriving my beloved boyfriend of the cuddles he so richly deserves, but since this--" Stiles waved his hand over the squid pile. "--is not a thing, I was just wondering, have you yet scent-marked him to your satisfaction?"
There was a resounding silence.
"What?" Drew asked.
"You might be pack now," Stiles started.
"No," Derek said immediately.
"Or just comfortable. I dunno," Stiles conceded.
"I what," said Drew.
"We should have pity and let him go back to sleep," Stiles said to Derek.
"I'm not sleepy now," Drew complained.
"But you have cuddles," Stiles said.
"'s your pack," Derek muttered. At the pillow. He was going to be good friends with that pillow, Stiles could tell.
"Did not catch that," Drew said.
"Yes," Stiles said, "he was being sweet. It's easy to miss."