badluck: (Sterek!b&w)
[personal profile] badluck
Title: Designs On You
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Stiles/Derek
Rating: Pg-13 ATM mainly cause its impossible for me to write anything without cursing.

This... Is the story of how I died. Of complete and total embarrassment. And not cause I quoted Tangled because everyone's seen that by now. There's no shame in enjoying that movie no matter what Scott thinks.

Anyway, you'd think, after following Lydia Martin like a puppy, or a magnet, or something else equally emasculating for most of my life, that I would have this whole "pining from afar" thing down. Stanford could issue me an honorary Doctorate on the subject. Nobel prizes would be granted and trashy reality tv shows would ask me to advise desperate people from 8 to 9pm eastern standard time. You would think wouldn't you?

Instead, all I got out of this was what felt like a never-ending case of heartburn and the knowledge that "out of my league" was the best way of defining what my "type" was. Because everyone knew that the Universe's Law of Romantic Liaisons was that the gorgeous made with the equally gorgeous and made gorgeous little people to continue the pattern. Lydia and Jackson's ridiculous relationship was practically a thesis statement and Stiles? Was the awkward professor wearing the ugly jacket with those weird things on the elbows. Destined to over analyze and fantasize from the outside looking in.

Jesus. This shit made me whiny. And weirdly obsessed with colleges as metaphors. But all of this was besides the point because at some point between Jackson changing from a winged lizard of doom to sympathetic beta wolf, I had come to the realization that I had stopped dreaming about strawberry-blond locks and perfectly painted lips, unless I had actually started imagining Lydia with five o'clock shadow and glowing red eyes. Which would mean something was seriously wrong with my subconscious.

Fuck my life. No seriously. Fuck it. Cause chasing after the future Prom Queen for close to a decade wasn't bad enough. Oh no. I had to start panting for a broody, emotionally-constipated (though admittedly suuuuuuuuuuuper hot) dude from another species like I'm fucking Tom Hanks chasing after mermaid tail. (What?! It's a classic!) Because my life needed to feel extra specially pathetic, not to mention completely celibate. Me and virginity were going to be life mates forever.

'Cause it wasn't like I had the slightest chance to have Derek even acknowledge me as anything other than the Walking Google Machine. This wasn't going to be like She's All That where Cinderfella gets a make over and then they make out. Oh no. This is much worse.

Because after the Alphas showed up, even the potential for hope was shredded faster than a murderer caught in Kanima claws. Turns out, they weren't here to destroy or maim or take over like everyone had assumed. Oh no.

They were here to make an alliance. Through marriage. Alpha to Alpha.

Fuck. My. Life.


See. It all started after the whole clusterfuck with Crazy Old Grandpa Argent and the Dark Phoenix-esque bullshit that was Jackson. Honest to God, the douche managed to make becoming a supernatural creature of the night way more dramatic than it ever had to be.

Anyway. What had started as ominous warning symbols on the door of the old Hale house turned into gifts of the dead animal variety. It wasn't until the whole dead deers started showing up that Peter gleefully explained what was going on. That we weren't being intimidated with a show of needless violence. We, and by we we totally mean the royal we, or just Derek, were being courted. Which was fucking bullshit if you asked me. Not that anyone does.

The point is that it is completely unfair that some Alpha chick gets to just waltz in with half of the local wildlife slung over her shoulder and be all "wooing" and shit when I've been more concerned about, oh you know, keeping Derek alive for any wooing to even take place. Had I known before that the key to an alpha's bedroom was through his stomach, well I can order a pizza with the best of them. It's just not fair that I can lay a year of groundwork, hell even get over my epic ness of a crush on Lydia (not that I told anyone that. Cause riiiiight, 'Hey guys! Know that totally pathetic crush I nursed for most of my life? Good news! I totally upgraded to even more pathetic! Also, did I mention swinging for both teams now?) only to get totally shoved aside for some werewolf who probably wears a stupid amount of leather and is worse than Erica at her grumpiest.

Not fair.

And the worst part. THE WORST PART is now I can't even say anything cause for fucks sake, how am I supposed to freakin compete with a hot (probably) female Alpha looking to unite the packs under peaceful wedding flowers and herds of equally beautiful puppies skipping off into the sunkissed forest.

My life had literally turned into a Disney fairy tale. But no way is it going to end happy. At least not for me.


At school, it's all the Pack could talk about. When would the Alphas come, what did the Alphas look like? Would they all be grumpy fucks like Derek? It was starting to drive me nuts. I couldn't escape the fucking speculation. I tried my best to not let it get to me, (or change the subject. Surprisingly, the alternative uses for gunpowder failed to attract an audience. You'd think shit like that would be useful considering the lives we all now lead but whatever,) but sometimes my only recourse was to hide from everyone at lunch just to escape the endless circle jerk of the same questions with no new answers. Occasionally, someone noticed I wasn't there. Once or twice, Scott even realized that I wasn't sitting next to him listening to his plots to prove his worth to Allison and come seek me out in whatever room I was hiding in. Personally, I liked to think that he was growing as a person.

"Stiles?" Scott's bushy head popped around the door to the classroom I was currently avoiding the universe in. Someone was obviously due for another haircut.

"Yeah buddy?" There really wasn't any point in hiding from SuperSniffer the Wolfy Bloodhound over there.

"Dude. You weren't in the cafe and it's curly fry day. Are you dying?" It's moments like these I remember why Scott is my bestest of best buds. Patting the area on the floor next to me, I waited for him to circle around three times before settling down next to me. Tail wrapped tightly around his paws. (Dog jokes never get old. Never.)

"Well, we're all dying really when you think about it. I mean, we have whole cells that die like every second we exist, and then there are insects that live their entire lives in 24 hours before old age strikes..."

Trust me, I had a lot more to discuss on the subject that would have been said had Scott not chosen that moment to clap a hand over my mouth ensuring any thing I said came out as an incomprehensible mumble. "Dude. You're way more rambley than normal. You only get this way when you're avoiding something. What's wrong? Is... Is it your Dad?"

Oh god. The fucking sad puppy eyes. Now I had to be all reassuring and shit. "Nope. Nothing's wrong. Dad's his normal sheriffy self. Still sneaking the burgers when he thinks I can't catch him. He's fine. I'm fine. You're fine. The Pack's fine. Can't we just enjoy the fineness? If we start over-analyzing the fine, pretty soon it's not going to be fine anymore and where would we be then?" I ended my rant with my stereotypical arm flailing. It was as reassuring as I could get.

Which was probably super shitty since Scott didn't seem to be buying it. But what was I going to do? Admit that the guy he'd been actively rebelling against for the last few months was getting my rocket going in every imaginable way and a few I was pretty certain only existed on the internet? Yeah, no.

"Dude, if you're so fine, why are you hiding in a classroom? Fine to me means you in the cafeteria stuffing your face with curly fries while trying not to in front of Lydia at the same time." Shit, the puppy eyes were back in full force. "I'm still your best friend you know. If something's up you can totally tell me about it." Scott threw an arm around my shoulders. "C'mon, tell old Uncle Scotty about your issues."

I couldn't help it. I cracked up. "Uncle Scotty?!" I wheezed between breaths. "Seriously?! Dude, just because you're a werewolf doesn't mean we need to live out horror movie tropes. I feel like an axe murderer is about to pop out of a closet for our heads. Good thing I retain my trusty old V-Card of Head Keeping plus 1 or else movie's over now.

I tried really really REALLY hard to not sound bitter about it either. Luckily Scott just seemed to pity the whole, "No one wants to sleep with Stiles" part of my rant (as I'd been banking on, cause seriously. No one wants to sleep with me.)

"Look dude," I pulled away from his arm a bit and leaned back against the wall we were sitting near. "I'm kinda not fit for public consumption right now. It's nothing against you or the surprisingly decent fry content of the school's menu. I'm just in a shit mood today and didn't feel like taking it out on people who can literally rip my head off at the wrong word. Other than that, I'm seriously fine. Just your typical hormonal moody teenager here." I shrugged.

Thankfully, Scott knew me well enough to let shit go for now. Emphasis on the "for now" part. We spent the rest of lunch catching up on things. His time being split between Allison and Isaac and myself, little things tend to get missed in the drive-by conversations. It was nice, just talking like we used to before the invasion of the rabid puppies.


After school, I had a pretty huge internal debate with myself. Avoid the Pack some more and stay at home with my computer and my Level 86 Paladin (I named him Morgan. It sounded like a firm yet concerned with justice and honor name) or go to the Hale house (all soot-y and decrepit as usual) listen to everyone freak out about Alphas some more, and simply all around torture myself because masochism is something that is genetically bred into Stillinskis. Especially this one. Decisions. Decisions. I was this close to allowing the Universe to decide for me by flipping a coin when a knock at my car window caused me to scream and flail like a freaked out parrot.

Awesome. Creeper McCreepyHale was at my car. Any chance of seeming like, well, someone not me was totally blown for the moment, I just leaned over the console to roll down the window. "You know, I'm pretty certain I've seen an afterschool special or two about this type of situation. I can't remember if I'm supposed to yell for help or tell a teacher. Which would you suggest?"

Derek just rolled his eyes and reached into the window to unlock the door. Pulling it open, he sat down like he belonged there before turning to face me, one eyebrow raised.

"Oooh, is it the psychic game again! This is my favorite! Lemme guess, Timmy is stuck in the well again right boy?!" It's a testament to how far gone I was that I even found his glares to be kind of adorable.

"We have a meeting tonight. You've been skipping out. I'm making sure that you don't." Derek turned to face the windshield, a clear indicator that it was driving time now.

"Sir yes sir sir. Anything you command oh Alpha my Alpha."


badluck: (Default)
Life is a test and I get bad marks

November 2012

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