I Will Run You Like A Thread (Fem!Stiles x Derek)

I wanted you but I don't know if I was brave enough to say

A/N -- this takes place chronologically before the first entry in the series c:

It's official. Derek Hale is trying to kill her. And not even in that threatening, jokey, she's-like-ninety-percent-sure-he's-kidding kind of way. It's in a holy shit he's really gonna do it this time kind of way. Because that's the only plausible explanation she has for this level of torture. It has to be intentional, premeditated. He has to know, right? What he's doing to her? Can't he smell it? Fuck, can't he feel it?

It was hard enough before when the only time she really saw him was when they were dealing with all the supernatural werewolf crap. Sure, Derek could probably smell her then too but they were normally too busy running or fighting for their lives for it to mean much. Or so she'd hoped. But now, well, now there didn't seem to be much downtime from the supernatural anymore. Not lately, with the whole 'kanima terrorizing them all' thing. Which, for the record, huge bummer.

But now that it was over, and Jackson was back to his normal level of douchery instead of the psycho killer kind, she kind of figured things would go back to normal. Because now there was no reason for Derek to hang around her anymore. Threat vanquished. No need to lurk in her bedroom at all hours of the night, or -- rather, her bed. Because around the fourth night of his self-appointed protect-the-weak-little-human guard dog routine, lying awake and agonizingly aware of Derek sprawled out on the floor beside her, he'd unceremoniously super speeded his way onto the mattress without a single word. Unless, you know, she counted an annoyed grunt as a word. Which she hadn't.

Although, why he'd thought that would help her calm down and go to sleep, Stiles still has absolutely no idea.

She also has no fucking idea why it worked.

She also has no fucking idea why he's still doing it.

They don't talk about it. Well, Derek doesn't talk about anything ever, so that kind of tracks. And the mere thought of asking Derek any sort of question like that, about feelings, feelings Stiles absolutely doesn't have...a world of no. Because even if she does have them, which she isn't admitting to, no way, nuh-uh, she can certainly be mature enough to just keep them squashed deep down inside where they belong.

Or she might be able to if she could stop waking up with Derek wrapped around her like some kind of cross between a werewolf and an octopus. Seriously, it's like he grows extra arms and legs during the night or something. And he's not even touching her in, like, a sexy way (which wouldn't exactly be unwelcome -- and no she's not going to think about that right now . She's not, fuck, she's not). It's as if he's worried if he doesn't hold on to her, have every inch of her in his grasp at any given moment, she's going to disappear or something.

Where would she even go, Stiles wonders? This is her fucking bed, after all.

But more to the point, why the hell would she want to?

It's not just the fact that he's still crawling through her window every night. It's the fact that she's lying here night after night terrified of the moment he decides to stop. Because the most infuriating thing about all of it is that she's never slept better in her entire life with him around. Insomnia, night terrors, sleep paralysis -- she's had it all and then some. Not like Derek was some magical cure or something, she's not an idiot. But she still remembers the first time she realized what she was feeling with him curled around her back.

Safe.

It's a dream she has more often than not. Always the same. The same drab hospital with its greying walls and harsh fluorescents flickering on and off. As always, she's looking for something (someone, her brain tries to prod at her). But no matter how many endless hallways she walks or doors she opens, she never ever finds what she's looking for.