Stiles One Shots

Derek Hale & Jordan Parrish

Stiles looked at Derek. "Dinner with Jordan and I on Sunday night. I expect to see you there. No ifs, and, or buts, you're coming, that's final."

Derek rose his head to meet Stiles's gaze. Stiles, who had made it his mission to march down to the station with determination to apparently try to get Derek to join him and his boyfriend for their Christmas dinner.

"I have plans." It was a lie. Derek was about ninety five percent sure that even with his regular human senses, Stiles could still detect that lie.

"You haven't had Christmas plans in a very long time, and it's not like anyone's excluding you, you just don't show up to any gatherings anymore for God knows what reason." Stiles said. "It's been three years since you have spent a holiday with the pack, Derek. I don't understand what's gotten into you but this has to change. We are going to be spending Christmas Eve and Christmas morning together as we usually do, and if you decide to get that stick out of your ass and show up, that would be great. But dinner with Jordan and I isn't optional. You are coming to it whether you like it or not. I'm not letting you spend Christmas alone again."

"You honestly think you are going to be able to force a werewolf into doing anything? Good luck with that one, Stiles."

"I think you are underestimating my ability to get what I want, which you shouldn't do. You would think after almost a decade of knowing me, you would actually know me. Hmm, guess not."

"I know you are annoying and disturbing me from doing my job."

Stiles rolled his eyes but didn't reply to the given comment. "I know that if I don't see you standing outside of my door at 8 pm sharp on Sunday, I'm going to drive down to the loft and drag you back to my place and if you resist, I will pull out the mistletoe."

"Mistletoe? Really Stiles?."

"What can I say? It's the holiday season and I'm feeling cheery, but seriously Derek, come over on Sunday. I know you don't actually enjoy spending Christmas by yourself, and I don't like the thought of you being unhappy... so just... just come over."

Stiles tapped his fingers against Derek's desk before slowly parting away. He turned on his heels without another word or a single glance and walked out, the door closing softly behind him.

The words lingered in Derek's mind even ten minutes after Stiles left.

The sincerity in his tone, the shadow of pleads masked under his fierce eyes, the last few words that Derek knew would probably stick with him longer than he would like them to.

Derek clenched his fists as he tried to calm his erratically beating heart.

No. Stiles didn't mean it the way Derek heard it, the way Derek wished he meant it. Stiles was simply worried, and friends worried.

Those feelings that Derek could faintly feel wavering off of Stiles only belonged to one person, and that person wasn't Derek.

Derek didn't hate Parrish. It was impossible to hate Parrish. Parrish was a great guy, everyone's favorite at the station.

Parrish was kind hearted, he had far more knowledge than his face gave off, and though he was sweet, he had that kind of spice to him that was more arousing than unpleasant.

So no, Derek did not hate Parrish. He tried because it would make everything much easier if he did, but he found that his efforts weren't paying off, especially not when Parrish kept on being so nice to him.

Derek made it clear, early in the beginning of their partnership, that they were nothing more than partners, two deputies who protected the town they were born in. He tried to stamp that message into Parrish's head with constant glares and snarls and hue everlasting silence, but it simply wasn't registering, or if it was, Parrish could care less.