Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/704949.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Female_Stiles_Stilinski, Cunnilingus, Drama, Possessive_Derek, Always-a-
      girl!Stiles, Dubious_Consent
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-02 Words: 4887
****** sleep on the floor, dream about me ******
by blankmaps
Summary
     When she woke up in her room, everything smelled like puke and blood
     and Derek was leaning over her, palm pressed against her forehead.
     “Well,” he said. “That was dramatic.”
     “Yeah,” Stiles coughed and wished to stop breathing if only so she
     didn’t have to taste the inside of her mouth any longer. “Sorry about
     that.”
     “Later on, when you’re able to really appreciate it, I will kill you
     for this.”
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
She had finished the whiskey a while ago, but Stiles kept her grip around the
neck of the bottle secure. She thought if she aimed well enough it would make a
decent weapon. Probably a lot better of a weapon if she wasn’t teetering along
the line between drunk and black-out drunk, but nonetheless, given the right
opportunity, she could probably fuck some alpha wolf shit up. 
The wind picked up behind her and dead leaves along the trail were momentarily
airborne, scraping the exposed skin just above her boots. The breeze doesn’t
bother her but that likely has more to do with the alcohol than with the
tattered jean jacket she is wearing. 
Somewhere between the third and forth swig, curled up in the relative safety of
her own bedroom, the idea seemed flawless.She had practically fallen off the
bed with the impact of her own resounding brilliance. Of course, Scott was
usually around to provide feedback on her Jack Daniel’s inspired projects, but
he had been pretty wrapped up in his own shit lately and was hard to get a hold
of. 
Seems to be the running theme of my lifeshe thought, squeezing the bottle
tighter. She really wished it wasn’t empty.
She couldn’t find it in herself to be pissed at Scott. How much time was he
expected to devote to listening to Stiles cry about her weird feelings for
someone who had technically promised her nothing? It’s not like they
were…dating or anything. Even in her drunken stupor, she shuddered in
embarrassment at the idea of qualifying it like that. Really, she thought, who
the hell is Derek anyway? A guy who occasionally showed up at her window asking
for help, who bled all over her Jeep a couple of times? He wasn’t even that
nice to her. Except for maybe the time she broke her ankle in the woods and he
had carried her the three miles to where her car was parked. He had kept the
eye rolling to a minimum, even though she was desperately fending off tears the
whole time. He even squeezed her shoulder in comfort when he finished wrapping
her ankle in her field hockey jersey, before driving her to the hospital (she
admitted it was possible she hallucinated the last part from agonizing pain,
nonetheless, it wasn’t a memory she wasn’t quite willing to part with yet).
The blurry memory made her smile, and in her distraction she tripped over a
rock along the path and stumbled forward, almost dropping the bottle. “Fuck,”
she announced to the woods, her words echoing out into the distance. If the
alphas didn’t already know she was out there stumbling around like a drunk,
gift-wrapped dinner, her presence was now loud and clear.
She pressed her palm into a tree, trying to steady herself. It was almost too
dark to see more than a few feet down the path and her vision was swimming, a
blur of leaves and branches. Even if something had been charging at her down
that path, it would be hard to discern in the dark, currently spinning forest
around her. Her breath caught in her throat suddenly,  a familiar fear settling
hot and sharp in her chest. 
She really should have called Scott.
She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to quash the impending panic
attack. Funny how those usually happened when she was in line at the grocery
store with her Dad, or in last period Chemistry, not when she was actually in
actual, mortal peril. 
She felt herself buckle forward, knees hitting the earth hard. She closed her
eyes, trying to prepare for the inevitable black out. She pleasantly surprised
herself by puking everything she had consumed in the last three hours up.
It was definitely better than being a unconscious, drunk, gift-wrapped dinner.
When she pulled herself back to her feet, she felt less dizzy, but not exactly
up to fighting strength. She took a few tentative steps forward. Or at least
she thought it was forward. It was hard to remember what direction she had been
walking a few moments ago. 
Yeah, she was definitely fucked.
 Maybe, she thought, she should’ve been angry at Derek. This whole mess, this
confusion, it really was his fault. He had been so weird over the last few
months, climbing into her room at all hours, not even explaining why half the
time. For a long while it had always been to help with Pack stuff – look up
this Stiles, figure this out Stiles (Stiles liked to say there were three
things werewolves were averse to: wolfsbane, mountain ash and Google).  Over
the last few months, for whatever reason, that had changed. Sometimes she would
wake up and he would just be sitting at her desk, starring out the window, or
even worse, at her.
“You are so fucking creepy,” she usually told him once her initial freak-out
had resided.
She often got a glare as a response and not much else.
It was the strangest thing though, Stiles had never been much of a great
sleeper. She was used to waking up every few hours and restlessly fighting her
way back into some sort of half-slumber. It was something about Derek, though,
plunked at her desk and glowering out the window. It gave her a weird sense of
comfort. Or knocked her out cold from fear. Either way, it worked great and she
slept like the dead.
As she got more comfortable with it, stopped complaining about him being weird
so much, he seemed to show up more. Some nights she would faintly be aware of
him snapping her window open, crawling through and sitting down at the end of
her bed. Never anything more than that, just sitting there.
He must be lonely was the only thing she could think. It made sense. The guy
had no one. Just some stupid high school kids who generally gave him a hard
time and complained bitterly if he ever tried to ask for their help. When
Stiles had thought about it, she felt pretty bad for him, actually. She had
almost gone out of her mind when her Mom died. Derek had no one at all and he
was still standing. He never even complained.
So when his visits became regular, almost three or four nights a week, she
didn’t mind. Why would she? It’s not like she had anyone else to hang out with.
It was hard to even get Scott to notice she was alive these days, much less
come over. Her Dad was working a lot of late shifts and Stiles knew she got in
his way enough as it was. So at least she had someone, even if that someone was
a grumpy, loner, werewolf orphan-man who usually didn’t speak more than four
words at a time, if he was bothered to verbally communicate at all. 
Then came the night when she awoke, almost feeling drugged from the deepness of
her sleep, and saw him curled on the floor, hands tucked under the side of his
head. He looked less mean when he was asleep, as everyone did, she supposed.
She could tell what he would’ve looked like as a little kid, pretty, light eyes
and a wide smile. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Derek smile like he meant
it. 
“Hey,” she muttered to him, leaning down to touch his shoulder. “Why you
sleepin’ there?”
Derek grumbled a response, and rolled over, muttering for her to shut up.
“S’dumb,” she yawned. Why would he pick sleeping on the floor of her bedroom
over one of the ten billion bedrooms in his stupid, sprawling mansion? Even
half-asleep the thought had startled her. She supposed it was obvious that
sleeping anywhere was better than sleeping in the home where your family all
burned to death. “Hey,” she said, feeling like possibly the worst person ever
for not letting this occur to her sooner. “Hey!” She shook his shoulder.
“Fuck off!” He muttered, jerking away. 
“You can sleep in my bed,” she said, before she was reminded of his personality
enough to rescind the offer. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”
She watched his body still. For a moment, she thought he was going to simply
get up and leap out the window and disappear into the night (it wouldn’t be the
first time that happened). Then, he rolled over onto his back and looked up at
her, eyes surprisingly alert considering thirty seconds ago he had been making
annoying little snoring sounds. For once, his face wasn’t contorted into a
glare, his jaw was usually clenched so tight all his features became severe. He
looked surprised, maybe even worried, but also sort of….moved. He looked human.
He blinked and stared at her silently for a few moments. Her stomach proceeded
to do a few stupid twisty things and she cursed her hormones for their endless
betrayals. She didn’t even want to think about Derek in that way, why the hell
did he have to look like… that? 
“Are you sure?” He said seriously, like she had just proposed marriage.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s not a big deal. Scott has slept here a million times. No
one cares.” 
He blinked again, and tilted his head slightly. “It doesn’t smell like Scott in
here.”
Her heart sank at the reminder. “Oh. Well. He hasn’t been here in a while. I
mean, he used to. Anyway, whatever, up to you.” She rolled back into the bed,
flipping over so she wouldn’t have to look at him any longer and have any other
embarrassing emotions conjured up.
She closed her eyes tight and willed herself to sleep. Derek hadn’t moved and
the room was so silent, she could no longer hear his breathing. She was
starting to think he had left when she heard a soft scuffle of boots behind her
and a few moments following, the other side of the bed sank with his added
weight. 
He moved precisely, slowly, like he was afraid of actually coming into contact
with her. One of her favourite things about Scott, and what she currently
missed the most, was how liberal with affection he was. Especially when he
slept, everything and everyone was his teddy bear. He tangled his legs up with
hers, got his gross morning breath all over her face (and worse on her legs, on
one horrifying, friendship-altering moment the summer they were 13) and
generally snuggled the shit out of her. Stiles’ Dad, loving as he was, was
tentative with the physical affection. Probably cause she was a girl also just
cause that’s how he was. Her Mom had always been the one doling out the kisses.
Scott wasn’t there though and Stiles was not above using Derek, awkward as he
was, as a surrogate. She ignored his attempts to make his own personal space
bubble on the bed and threw her leg over top of his, feeling the scratch of his
jeans against her skin. She felt his body go taut in response, and for a brief
moment she might have made some truly fatal error, but after a few seconds, he
relaxed. He didn’t even try to shove her away.
 
It had been every night after that. Like clockwork. Maybe, well probably, that
was weird. It was weirder in the sense that they didn’t talk about it, or even
acknowledge it outside of the evening. Stiles thought she should tell Scott,
but she didn’t even know where to start. Hey your lonely Alpha has been hanging
out in my place, sleeping in my bed it’s kinda funny, wanna join the party?
 She had even managed to convince Derek to take off his boots before climbing
into bed so she usually woke to the sound of him kicking them off beside the
window. A few seconds later he would be flopping down beside her, sometimes
aggressively drawing her closer. She began waking with his face pressed into
her neck, listening to the soft snuffling sounds he made against her skin.
She was pretty sure if her Dad walked in there no one would make it out alive.
Luckily, she locked her door and her Dad was pretty good about respecting her
mysterious womanly privacy. 
Maybe, she thought, something in her chest responding with a twinge,I wouldn’t
be out in the woods drunk and likely about to be ripped to shreds by roaming
alphas if he’d interrupted just a little more.
She didn’t let that thought go any further. She couldn’t blame her Dad. He
spent every minute of his life doing what he thought was best, for her, for
him, for anyone. He tried. If Stiles got ripped to shreds in the forest while
crying over her werewolf non-boyfriend, well, those were really her own bad
decisions, weren’t they? She seemed to be full of them lately. 
When she opened her eyes two weeks ago, he was already awake. She didn’t even
need to turn around to check, she just knew. His palm was flush against her
lower back and she tried to keep herself as still as possible, so he wouldn’t
move it.
His voice was low when he spoke. “When I drive by the school I can smell you.”
Stiles choked on the oxygen she was already having trouble inhaling. “Oh?” She
replied dumbly.
He moved his hand to her shoulder and rolled her towards him, so she was flat
on her back. His look was tense, maybe verging on mean, but something else too.
He looked a little predatory and at that realization a warmth bloomed across
her stomach. 
“The guy who sits behind you in Physics wants to fuck you,” Derek said
suddenly. “Don’t fuck him.”
Stiles’ eyes went wide at that information, and before she could respond, his
mouth was on her neck. She let out a startled yelp, her body almost
involuntarily jerked towards him. He gathered her up, swift like an attack, his
fingers twisting into the soft cotton of her shirt.
“Holy fuck,” she gasped. He was doing something to her neck, sucking hard, like
what she supposed the creation of a hickey required, but also licking, letting
his teeth scrape gently down her skin.
Her body flooded with adrenaline and she got wet so fast, so desperately, it
probably should have been embarrassing.  He stopped sucking and pulled back to
look at her, his face twitching, like he was taking in her arousal through
every sensory input he had. “Christ,” he whispered and then leaned down to kiss
her, open mouthed and rough (later her lips would be so swollen she had to lie
and tell her Dad she’d accidentally eaten a kiwi). His fingers edged along the
band of her shorts, pushing them down her hipbones.
“Jesus!” She gasped, suddenly panicked at the full understanding of where this
was going. “I’ve never done this before. I just. I don’t know what I’m-”
The warmth of his body was gone instantly. He had recoiled himself from her and
within a second ended up on the other side of the room, looking like a
frightened wild animal. 
She sat up, dazed, flushing from embarrassment. He already had the window half
open. “Hey, no!” Her legs were tangled in the sheets, and she struggled to move
closer to him. “I don’t want you to leave! I mean, you must know I’m a virgin,
it’s not like you ever see me hanging out with a guy that isn’t you or Scott or
some other werewolf whose life I’m trying to save?”
He wasn’t looking at her, only straight to the ground, eyes still wild from
panic. “I’m sorry Stiles,” he said quietly. Then the window was open and he was
gone.
 
Then, or rather two weeks later after endless hours of attempting to contact
him, and searching around his house, and searching inside his house, and
calling out more favours then were ever owed to her,  she found herself alone
in the woods, holding an empty bottle of whiskey, riding on her last hope that
the threat of her impending death was enough to draw him out.
If he was still even around. It suddenly occurred to her that he probably left
town weeks ago and she was about to be shredded into a million little pieces
for no good reason. She wished she had written her Dad a note. Or even Scott
one. She loved them both a lot and for her to go so suddenly, so horrifically,
over a stupid breakdown because of Derek Hale, well it wasn’t fair to either of
them. They deserved better from her.
She didn’t have time to dwell on the thought any longer because when she looked
up, it was into a pair of glowing red eyes. 
The alpha was close enough to her to puncture her lungs with one well aimed set
of claws. He was huge, probably even bigger than Derek, hunched back rippling
with fur. Stiles clutched her bottle and stood her ground. There was no way she
was going out begging.
“What?” She spat out at it, like she caught it was some dumb kid she caught
staring at her in class. “What the fuck do you want?”
He snarled at her, low. “Smells like Hale,” it growled back. “Hale’s bitch.”
His eyes seemed to pulsate from excitement. "Stupid for being out here so
late." 
“Fuck you,” she said simply and then took a swing, hard and fast as she could.
At least this way her death would probably be over fast. The alpha stopped the
bottle easily, catching it with one huge, haggard paw, crushing it between his
claws, glass exploding all over the ground. Stiles stumbled back a few steps in
surprise. He huffed a laugh at her, his breath hot and putrid, and with what
she thought would be her last seconds on earth, she spat on his face.
The alpha had only a second to react, to lift his claws above her head in
preparation to strike her down, when the guttural wail stopped them both. The
impact that followed was so loud, the crushing sound of flesh on flesh, that
Stiles fell to her knees in shock.
When she looked up, she saw Derek in full-blown wolf form, teeth set in the
jugular of the other alpha. When he turned to face her, it was with half of the
alpha’s neck still in his mouth, it’s dead lolling head gripped firmly in his
claws.
She would swear until the day she died that it was the booze that made her
black out.
 
When she woke up in her room, everything smelled like puke and blood and Derek
was leaning over her, palm pressed against her forehead.
“Well,” he said. “That was dramatic.”
“Yeah,” Stiles coughed and she wished to stop breathing if only so she didn’t
have to taste the inside of her mouth any longer. “Sorry about that.”
“Later on, when you’re able to really appreciate it, I will kill you for this.”
 Stiles nodded. Fair enough.
They sat in silence and Derek continued to stare at her. Stiles was surprised
at how he doesn’t really look that angry, even if he says he is. There’s no
tense jaw line, no furrowed brow. He looked dumbstruck mostly.
 “I couldn’t find you,” she finally said. “I kept trying and I couldn’t.”
Derek nodded. “I did that on purpose.”
Her heart clenched up and she wished she could punch herself in the face.
“Okay. Yeah I figured.” Now she felt like she was dying in a whole new way.
“Stiles,” Derek said. “You are sixteen.”
She looked at the ceiling with more determination than she had looked at
anything. “Right.”
“This is unfair to you.”
Stiles thought that was entirely true, but she wasn’t sure in what sense he
meant it. “I can make my own choices. I’m not stupid, you know.”
 “I know that,” he said, sounding offended. “You’re the smartest human I’ve
ever met.” 
Stiles couldn’t help the shaky sigh she let out. Was this some sort of new
torture tactic he was testing out on her? 
“Okay,” she said. “You can go disappear again. I won’t look for you. Promise.
Sorry to waste your time.”
He seemed to think on her response for a few seconds and then replied, “You
threw up three times while I was bringing you back here. Some of it is in your
hair. Some of it is also in my hair.”
Stiles closed her eyes and prayed for death to come quick.
 
Derek turned on the shower and forced her to sit up. “Can you get there by
yourself?” He asked.
“Yes,” she said, annoyed with all the sudden babying. “I’m fine.” Then she
stood up and realized she was still drunk. Derek, who didn’t look like he
believed her anyway, grabbed onto her arm to steady her.
She tried to shrug him off and stumbled towards the bathroom. She had to
refrain from gasping when she saw her own reflection. Dried vomit rimmed the
outside of her mouth, frayed ends of her dark hair crusted with it. She eyes
were red and watery, and she hadn’t even started considering the random
assortment of twigs and dirt that seemed to cling to most parts of her being. 
In the mirror she could see Derek standing in the doorway. Beneath the
fluorescent light, she could see he had a single line of dried vomit just along
his hairline. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how that got there. 
“Okay, well, thanks,” she said, fumbling with the tap. “I’m good.”
His look was blank. “You’re drunk. You might fall in the shower.”
She looked at him. “Seriously? You are seriously worried about me falling in
the shower?” 
He didn’t reply.
Well fuck you she thought, because she was exhausted and covered in her own
puke and totally out of brain power to understand what Derek’s goal here was.
She dropped her jean jacket to the floor and started wrestling herself out of
her t-shirt, hoping that he would flee, or comment, or at least react to her
stripping in front of him. He was dead silent. Her vision swam in response to
her sudden movements, but she stubbornly got herself out of the shirt and threw
it down, refusing to meet Derek's gaze. Her jeans were even more of a hassle,
and she felt the trace remains of the Jack still in her threatening to rise,
but eventually she freed herself of them off as well. She twisted her arm
behind her back, patting around for her bra clasp when Derek made a low sound.
 When she looked towards him she saw the look, the one from weeks ago, was
back. Predatory. 
“What?” She was shouting in frustration now. He was just staring. “What the
fuck do you want? Tell me!”
Derek shut the door.
 
When she emerged from the bathroom, she had given up on clothing. She was
generally free of vomit and dirt, and that had taken every last ounce of her
effort. She would probably just live in this towel forever.
When she stumbled towards the bed, Derek was back to his old haunt – sitting at
her desk.
“Jesus Christ,” she groaned. “Seriously, you can leave. Don’t do me any more
favours.”
She flopped down onto her bed, damp hair fanning out across her pillow. She
wondered how Derek would tell this story to Scott and the rest of the pack. Any
credibility or respect she had earned would be annihilated in one fell swoop.
“Stiles,” Derek said. “Stop.”  Then he was standing beside her, hand warm on
her shoulder.
“Please leave,” she said softly. She was too tired to be pretend to be angry
anymore. 
“You’re too young,” Derek said. “For a mate.”
Stiles’ eyes flew open. “Wow, what?”
 “It’s asking too much of you.”
 “Then why ask it?”
Derek closed his eyes, briefly, in irritation. “I wouldn’t if I could help it.”
“I mean,” Stiles tried to sit up, her towel shifting in a way that made Derek’s
eyes flash. “Let’s just keep. Let’s just keep doing whatever. It doesn’t have
to be anything. You know?”
“Stiles. I’m not some commitment phobic college freshman. It doesn’t work like
that for me, okay? It’s different.” 
Stiles went quiet. She suddenly understood to the full extent how little she
understood about Derek. “I like different,” she said, sounding deflated. “I
like you. I like it when you’re here. I sleep better. I don’t even mind your
boots getting mud all over my floor. I just…don’t go away again.”
She grabbed for his hand, as if to prevent him from startling and flying out
the window again. His resolve seemed to crumble at her touch and he curled
towards her, nosing her collarbone and the base of her neck.
 “I’m not going to want to give you up,” he said hoarsely. He nuzzled her neck
and started marking her skin. “Ever.”
“So don’t,” she whispered back, arching into his mouth.
She let the hand she was clutching rest on the top of her thigh, edging up
under her towel.
“Wanna taste you,” he muttered into her ear. “Wanted to for so long.”
“You can,” she edged his hand up higher, her voice wavering as his fingers
brushed along her inner thigh. “I trust you.”
As if he had been waiting for that cue, his hand was under the towel, tugging
it apart. He probably would have shredded it into a million little pieces if
he’d had it his way, but Stiles could tell he was attempting to maintain some
level of decorum. 
 He didn’t give Stiles a moment to fret about how he would react to her naked
form, his mouth was already on her left tit, other hand gripping her thigh like
it was his anchor to the earth.
“Jesus!” She gasped, back arching. “Holy fuck.”
“Gonna, eat you out,” he said. “Okay?”
“Fuck,” was the only reply she could conjure.
He kissed his way down her stomach, letting his teeth scrape gently along
fleshier parts, controlling himself long enough to plant kisses along her ribs.
She shuddered at each touch, at the way his hand was already pulling her legs
apart.
 “Relax,” he said. “Don’t tense up.”
He dropped to his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed. He lifted her
thighs up, pulling her closer towards edge, nudging her legs open. “It’ll feel
good,” he said, like she wouldn’t have understood that part. 
His breath was warm against her cunt and she shuddered as he felt him breathe
her scent in deep. It was weird, she was actually starting to wonder if she was
hallucinating, but she was so beyond caring. He was in the room, he was back,
she would take all the weirdness she could get. 
His tongue was on her then, working its way between the lips of her pussy,
eagerly moving against her clit. Pleasure sparked through her spine and she bit
her lip to prevent an embarassing sobbing noise  emerging from her mouth.
Any tentativeness Derek had about touching her body had dissipated. She had
given her permission, and now he seems only interested in investigating every
part of her. He sucked lightly on her clit and watched her reaction with open,
curious eyes, measuring every response he elicited.
“Anyone ever done this to you before?” He asked, gliding his thumb up and down
her clit.
“No! Jesus,” she replied, too strung out to lie.
 He smiled. His eyes crinkled at the side, his lips slightly crooked. Stiles
would realize later that was what a genuine smile looked like on him. “Good,”
he said simply and returned to eating her out.
She was so wet that Derek’s cheeks were glistening with her juices. She felt
almost out of her mind with want, with the desperate urge to get Derek out of
his own clothes and inside of her. “Fuck me,” she choked out. “Please, do it, I
want it.” 
Derek huffed a laugh against her thigh. “Later,” he said simply. “Not tonight.”
She groaned in desperation. With that, Derek seemed to understand that his
investigation was becoming agony for her. With a new focus, he realigned his
mouth with her clit, applying slightly more pressure. He stretched his arms
across her torso, taking a breast in each hand, rolling her nipples between his
fingers.
When she came, it was with so much enthusiasm that she was surprised neighbours
lights didn’t go on and dogs didn’t start barking.
Stiles came down from her orgasm, with insides quaking still, watching Derek
shed his clothing in front of her. When he curled beside her in the bed, arms
gathering her up and pulling her against his chest, she had to choke out her
own bewildered laugh.
“Well,” she said, trying to sound dry. “I guess mission accomplished.”
He shushed her gently, but she could feel his smile against her neck. 
“Hey,” she said suddenly. “What would you do if I did fuck that kid from
Physics?”
“I’d kill him,” Derek said with a yawn.
“Dramatically though, right?”
“Oh yeah.”
Stiles closed her eyes and smiled. 
End Notes
     title from Broken Social Scene's beautiful song "Anthems For A
     Seventeen Year Old Girl"
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