Happy Monday! I did a fic based on those rave pics going around. Derek’s return.
Derek could hear the music before he even got out of the car, deep bass beat thrumming in his bones. He scowled up at the huge windows, where he could see lights flashing and the shadows of a lot of bodies moving around. He hadn’t expected to be irritated this soon upon his return to Beacon Hills; he’d hoped for at least a day of peace before plunging back into the thick of things. Cora was going to piss herself laughing when he told her and tell him, mock-seriously, that his perpetual anger was a symptom of living in Beacon Hills, so get used to it, big bro.
Leaving town had been good for Derek. He and Cora traveled all over the southwest before landing in Arizona and it had felt good to be normal, to do stupid tourist shit like visit the Four Corners and take a picture straddling the dividing lines. They’d gone to Vegas and the Grand Canyon and run with a pack outside of Santa Fe during the full moon. He’d finally had time to get to know his sister as the young woman she’d grown into, not the eleven-year-old girl he’d last seen just before the fire, who still thought boys were gross. She’d somehow ended up living with a pack in Flagstaff, so it was there they headed after their road trip wound down, and they’d been welcomed with open arms. It’d been a relief, really, even more than the road trip had been, because he hadn’t lived a normal pack life since before the fire and it felt good to get his head back in that groove.
It took two weeks before he finally felt strong enough, put together enough to head back to Beacon Hills. Cora couldn’t understand why he’d left, but there were still things to do, loose ends to tie. Peter, for one - who knew what hell he might be raising - and Scott might need help. Derek remembered the transition to alpha; it hadn’t been easy coming into all that power. He’d handled it completely wrong, and he didn’t want Scott to make the same mistakes. (And he wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone, but he kind of missed them. Cora was family but still kind of a stranger; at this point, he knew the kids in Beacon Hills better than he knew her. He missed all of them, even the humans, even the Argent girl and the irritating banshee. Even Stiles, and Stiles was - a whole other problem.)
Derek climbed the stairs to the loft, irritation building with every step. He’d given Scott the keys to the place because he’d never intended to leave for good - fuck, he’d only been gone a month and a half. Had the stupid kid moved in?
prompt: Derek is a virgin #MissionVirginDerekAtAGo
The thing is, it isn’t as if Derek couldn’t have done something about the situation before — if he’d wanted to — it just never felt right.
Relationships are messy things, they’re only worth embarking on if you’re really sure the person is worth all the inevitable shit being with them will entail, and Derek has never been one for casual anythings; with him it’s all or nothing, and he’s fine with that.
Which is how he finds himself still very much a virgin.
Derek glances down at Stiles, who grins up at him and runs a thumb over his cheek.
“All aboard the good ship Stilinski,” Stiles catcalls, “hand in your V Card at the door.”
Sure thing, sweetheart. ;) Stiles is canvasing the neighborhood lookin’ for a criminal. Formatting’s weird because I write in Ommwriter and there’s no italics options, so all caps are italics so I don’t forget and I’m too lazy to do it properly right now.
Stiles goes to forty houses, talks to forty people. He gets slobbered on by dogs, doors slammed in his face, holds one baby while the mom puts clothes in the washing machine. He drinks three glasses of water, has four cups of coffee, eats a donut, cookies, and a brownie because he doesn’t like saying no to people. He and Scott stop at a 7-11 for lunch and he pees for two minutes straight. People complain to him about kids driving too fast on the road, dogs barking at night, people running stop signs, people jaywalking. One lady tells him about how her neighbor lounges on the back deck naked and Stiles takes a surreptitious look out her back window; the fence is ten feet high, so unless this lady is pressing her face up against empty knotholes in the wood, there’s no way she’s just casually spotted the dude. No one offers any help at about a potential arsonist.
After lunch, they turn down Spring Street. It’s quiet out there, the further from the center of town they get. The houses are getting bigger and further apart, big front lawns with shady trees. Stiles wishes he could afford a house out here but there’s no way in hell that’s happening, not on a deputy’s salary.
“Any chance you want to take over?” Stiles asks hopefully.
Scott shakes his head. “It’s hard for werewolves to trust others. We’re better off if we stick with you.”
“Because I don’t smell like a threat?” Stiles inquires sourly.
“Well,” Scott says, elbowing him in the side. “At least you’ve got a gun.”
There’s a lot of screaming going on inside the first house Stiles visits. He isn’t really worried, because it sounds like kids, but then the door opens and HI, says his dick, because the dude in front of him is GORGEOUS, built like a god with a face like thunder. Stiles wants to LICK that solid jaw line. HOLD THE FUCK ON, says his cop brain, because the dude’s wearing a white tank with what look like scorch marks and he’s got kids hanging all over him; one’s on his back, skinny legs looped around his waist, and another two hanging off one arm, toes barely brushing the ground. There’s a tubby toddler clinging to his leg like a koala, and he’s got a baby tucked into the crook of the one arm that DOESN’T have kids hanging off it. Stiles’ mouth drops open.
“How many of those kids did you KIDNAP?” he asks before he can wrangle his brain into submission.
The man gives him a look that says WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU and snaps, “You think I’d subject myself to this on purpose?”
“Oooh,” says one of the kids hanging off his arm. “I’m telling Mom.”
“You go right ahead,” the man tells the kid. His eyes - and god, they are GORGEOUS - snap back to Stiles. “Can I help you?”
“Uh,” Stiles says, thrown the intensity of his gaze. “I - I’m Deputy Stilinski. With the Sheriff’s Department.”
“I can see that,” the man says, rolling his eyes so hard his retinas look like they might detach. “You’ve got a name tag.”
“I - right.” Stiles is flushing; he can fucking FEEL it. He’s a cop, dammit. People don’t get to make him blush. “We’re trying to track down an arsonist. Do you have a moment to talk?”