allison argent

“Three weeks,” Derek says. “Still don’t want to,” Stiles says. “I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so… “How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“ “My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.” “A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.” “There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly. Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him --- Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Sometimes all it takes is a single moment of bravery, or stupidity, to change everything. Derek Hale should know. Because Stiles Stilinski - spastic, abrasive, blindingly loyal, asshole Stiles Stilinski - has both of those characteristics in spades. He just wished, for the world's (and maybe his heart's sake), that the stupid kid would try and limit the amount of damage done every once in a while. But then, he wouldn't be Stiles, would he? He wouldn't be the man he loved.