I think I love you but I make no sound (Derek/Stiles, PG for swearing, ~5000 words)

Summary: "Operation Get-Stiles-Into-Derek's-Pants is a go." Because apparently there's nothing I love more than Lydia + plan = Derek & Stiles 5ever.

It's just an ordinary day, right: wake up, go to school, save Scott from his inexplicable stupidity and wolfiness. There were no signs that anything out of the ordinary (or anything out of Stiles's new idea of "ordinary") was going to happen. Stiles feels like there should be signs. This is the supernatural we're talking about, after all; aren't signs or omens or what-the-fucking-ever supposed to come with this shit? He's not trying to complain or anything, but a little warning would be nice. Just a text from Derek, maybe, saying like, "You may want to be on the alert today." That would be something, at least. Still rather oblique, but one comes to expect that from Derek. Stiles can work with that.

But no. Instead, Stiles is now facing his imminent demise because nobody ever tells him anything. To be fair, he doesn't think Derek was aware of this threat. However, it's clear from Scott's shifty eyes that he knew, and Jackson's even looking a little guilty. If he weren't gagged, Stiles would definitely be in prime rage form. Luckily for them, he is gagged. And bound. (While he's maybe, possibly – ok, definitely – thought about this before, in reality it kind of sucks.) And facing his imminent demise, back to that major issue.

Ok, so maybe he's exaggerating a little. His captors have explained their plan to him, and there's no direct Stiles-demise in the works (Derek's reaction, on the other hand, may end him). But hey, he's gagged and bound and he has every right to be melodramatic about it if he wants to be. And of course he does, he's Stiles – as long as his friends aren't facing impending doom (which happens way too frequently), he enjoys being melodramatic about everything, including his own impending doom. He glares at everybody in the room.

"Oh, lighten up, Stiles," Lydia says. "And for God's sake, finish chewing already. That brownie was supposed to shut you up while we talked, not forever."

Ok, so maybe he exaggerated a lot. He swallows noisily, just to piss Lydia off.

"Lighten up? Lighten up! You guys basically kidnapped me, bound me with your super-werewolf strength, force-fed me some… admittedly delicious… brownies, and regaled me with crazy, crazy theories about my love life… Lighten up, my ass." Stiles glares again, for emphasis.

Lydia just rolls her eyes, Allison giggles, and Scott and Jackson just keep looking more and more uncomfortable as the minutes pass.

"Do we need to go over all the evidence again?" Lydia takes her position as President of the Remove-Stiles's-Head-From-His-Ass Committee (her words, not his) seriously.

"Because this was only supposed to take 30 minutes, and I made a hair appointment."

Very seriously.

She's tapping her feet, and Stiles knows he should answer. Making Lydia miss a hair appointment is not a good life choice. Plus, for all his blustering, he's actually quite pleased by the fact that his friends, the rest of the pack, are on board with this (crazy) theory.

"I guess I have no choice then, huh?" (Stiles has to retain a little bit of his dignity; he can't just roll over and agree straight-out. Also, he enjoys being difficult; it's an art form.)

"Good, so we're all agreed then. Operation Get-Stiles-Into-Derek's-Pants is a go."

(Honestly, did Lydia create these titles just to embarrass him? …It's highly probable.)


Derek's one of those people who refuses to text-speak in any form whatsoever. So when Stiles initiates Phase 1: Engage Outside of Pack Matters, he tries.

Do you want to watch a movie tonight? Stiles worries that maybe this sounds too desperate, so he adds:

Scott's busy. …Great, now he sounds like a douche.

He fiddles nervously with his phone and nearly falls off his bed once it does finally start vibrating with a reply.

Sure. Eloquent as always.

Stiles sends the details for a horror flick he's been meaning to see but hasn't because Scott won't go because Allison won't. It's not that he's trying to replace Scott with Derek, but he's not averse to filling some of the holes Scott has left behind... and maybe some other holes... Plus, he gets the added bonus of Derek's hot, hot body and the thrilling Growly Voice of Doom. Dear God, please never let him say that out loud. His rambling is embarrassing enough without any of this slipping out.

A couple hours later, and Stiles is not worried when Derek is late, he's not. He's totally casual about it.

ur l8 were abt 2 miss it

He reverts back to his usual texting because he's lazy, too wired to focus on typing, and kind of a dick about Derek's standards anyway.

We're almost there. And we're not about to miss it; you're just early.

Well, there goes any attempt to play it cool.

…Wait, "we"?

Derek shows up a few minutes later with a constipated-looking Jackson. When Derek goes to buy their tickets ("I'm the pack leader," like that makes any kind of sense at all, not that Stiles is against free stuff), Stiles and Jackson share a conversation full of mad whispering and aborted flailing that Stiles is pretty sure makes them look like they belong in an insane asylum, or possibly the monkey exhibit in the zoo. That one was always his favorite; his mom used to say that he would have fun in there.

"What the fuck man? Aren't you part of that stupid committee or whatever? It's bad enough that all of you are so into my pitifully non-existent love life in the first place – now you have to awkwardly third wheel it, too?"

"How do you think I feel about this, Stilinski? Happy? Not in the least, dipshit."

It's true; Jackson looks like he would rather be swallowed by a giant crack in the earth than be here. Probably because he knows that as soon as Lydia finds out about this, his life as he knows and loves it will be over.

"Then why don't you leave, oh my god, I knew this was going to be a disaster, do I have pit stains?" Stiles helpfully lifts up his arm so Jackson can check (re: monkey exhibit); Jackson just sighs long-sufferingly.

"I don't even have to look man, you're sending out your feelings like you're trying to broadcast to the entire world. I mean, Lydia figured you out because of your not-so-covert ogling and assorted excuses to touch Derek, but I've known since that time Derek played lacrosse with us."

Oh yeah, that was a good time. Derek had gotten all sweaty and taken off his shirt and Stiles could write rhapsodies about his abs –

Jackson makes a pained noise. "Ugh, like now, I'm going to hurl. Frankly, I'm surprised Derek hasn't jumped you already, you're practically begging for it."

Stiles decides not to respond directly to that last comment because his brain has unhinged and if he says anything it will either be incomprehensible nonsense or embarrassing to such a degree that his and Jackson's relationship would never recover. So instead he goes for stupid questions.

"Wait, you've known for that long? That was weeks ago! Why didn't you say anything before?"

Jackson just looks at him.

"Right, right, why would you ever do that? Only Lydia makes manipulation her life mission because she's convinced she's always right. Of course Lydia would form a committee."

"What committee?"

The noise that Stiles makes when he hears Derek's voice over his shoulder is incredibly manly. Jackson's laughter says otherwise, but Derek's growl shuts his Beta up and saves Stiles's honor.

Sometimes he wishes he could just turn his brain off. He tries to cover with this usual tactic: an excessive volcano of words.

"It's a school thing. Like, because we go to high school. You know. So. A committee for… Planning the dance. Spring Formal. That dance. So she has all of these ideas of how it should go, because she's Lydia, right, and sometimes not everybody agrees with her methods. But uh, anyone who stands in her way is cut down quickly and without mercy." Stiles waggles his eyebrows meaningfully at Jackson, who pouts and looks away. Derek glowers. Stiles isn't sure what's up with that, so he just forges on. "We should go into the theatre before we do actually miss the movie, let's go, ok."

They proceed with varying levels of energy: Stiles nearly skips ahead because he's a tangle of nerves, Derek moves with his usual fluid grace that makes Stiles want to just eat him, what, and Jackson sort of shuffles along like he would literally rather be anywhere else in the world. Derek notices, and they share some sort of weird Alpha-Beta communication that Stiles is not jealous of via heartbeats or who the fuck knows. Jackson tries to walk like a normal person.

"I invited Jackson because I would like my pack to bond. And the others were busy."

Stiles is glad that Derek doesn't look at them when he says this because it means he can indulge in a smile a mile wide, and Jackson even looks grudgingly pleased. Stiles knows that he's important to the pack, but he'll never not want to hear that he's a part of it.

It doesn't even matter that Jackson somehow didn't weasel out of the movie like the others managed to do; they share popcorn and yell at the characters (what, it's a horror movie, it was made for being yelled at), and Derek just looks on in quiet satisfaction.

All in all, not a terrible first effort. Time for Phase 2: Get Derek's Scent All Over Him. Scott swears by it, and that was just more than Stiles ever wanted to know. But it'll be fine. This will be great and not at all hazardous to Stiles's health.


Stiles has many ideas for Phase 2, but he has to reject them all. For example, he doesn't think they're at the stage yet where he can just rub himself on Derek. Or where he can blatantly steal Derek's clothing, which probably wouldn't fit him all that well anyway. Stiles will have to be crafty mixed with a whole lot of stupid to pull this off. Good thing that's how he rolls.

The final plan, upon consultation with Lydia, is to make it seem as if it were an accident yet show that Stiles likes the end result. They decide that "Werewolf Training" (aka "tag" to the teenagers) makes a prime opportunity. Lydia makes everybody's roles very clear to the rest of them, with extra glaring at Jackson, who whimpers. For all that Jackson's a Beta, and Derek's Beta at that, Lydia is… something, and that something trumps whatever traditional pack hierarchies may exist. Stiles is still trying to determine whether she defers to Derek because he's the Alpha or because it somehow figures into her larger plan for world domination. Lydia is a woman of many plans, after all.

It's a beautiful spring day out, perfect for angsty teen wolves to chase each other. Even Derek looks vaguely happy, in an I'm-smiling-on-the-inside-but-I-won't-show-it sort of way. He's also shirtless.

Since his revelatory talk with Jackson about his smell, Stiles has tried to control his feelings, at a least a little bit. But how on earth is he supposed to control them when Derek is shirtless and his muscles are all glistening and oh god, is this how Bella feels when Edward sparkles –

Stiles cuts off this crazy thought-train before he can permanently injure himself or poor baby Jackson.

So they're playing tag, Derek is glistening, and Stiles is pretty sure he must smell like a brothel given the pained looks Jackson keeps shooting him. It's fine. After an hour or so, Lydia does her part, and Derek immediately calls time for a water break. She's right – wolfing out, just a little, near Stiles works like a charm. If anyone else had been assigned to this role, Stiles might have been a little worried, but somehow Lydia has managed to reach Derek-levels of control (to the never-ending amazement of the boys).

The others scamper off back to the house, trying not to send too many curious glances back to Stiles and Derek. Stiles is playing his "I'm a weak human" card and walking slowly, and Derek stays with him, on the alert for any more threats to Stiles's wellbeing. Stiles is maybe a little giddy. Obviously, he trusts Lydia's observations about Derek, since she was so right about his own feelings, but seeing it for himself makes his stomach flutter like that one time he ate too much cotton candy at a carnival and he was high on sugar for the rest of the day.

Stiles is concentrating so hard on the plan that he almost forgets to speak until he remembers that he's supposed to be acting naturally.

"So, Derek. How's it going, dude? I saw the renovations you're doing on the house, good job man. Now it's less like that creepy place that kids dare each other to enter because they're all scared of the crazy old man inside. Not that you're old, or anything." Stiles smiles awkwardly.

Lydia says the best way to get Derek over his hang-up on the whole age-difference thing (it's only a few years! Stiles thinks it's an entirely illegitimate hang-up) is just not to mention it and thereby highlight Stiles's maturity.

Stiles personally thinks that him trying to prove his maturity will only crash and burn. "Mature" just isn't how Stiles acts. If Derek can't appreciate that Stiles is a goof – albeit a secretly mature goof who is perfectly capable of handling situations way beyond his age –then this would probably never work out anyway.

Caught up in smiling awkwardly at an increasingly blank-faced Derek, Stiles starts the next step of the plan without even meaning to. He trips over a root and bowls into Derek, sending them rolling down a hill conveniently tangled together. The beauty of this plan is that Derek won't even be suspicious because this shit always happens to humans romping around the woods. It's practically to be expected.

Ow, fuck, ow, ow, ow, oh my god what nice muscles, oh god, ow, wait now it hurts less, what's happening –

Derek has somehow curled himself around Stiles's body and is taking the brunt of the pain. Sure, it's a logical move because he'll heal faster and Stiles is a whole lot more breakable, but that doesn't stop Stiles from thinking, oh my god this werewolf fucking loves me.

When they finally reach the bottom, Stiles can't move because of the overwhelming dizziness and definitely not because he is still comfortably cradled in Derek's arms and he's never going to voluntarily leave this happy place ever again.

Sadly for him, Derek does not seem to be of the same opinion. In between one blink and the next, Stiles is deposited on his feet and Derek is checking him over. Derek is very clinical about it, but Stiles is sure he's not imagining the way that Derek is standing maybe a bit closer than is strictly necessary (not that Derek has ever had a proper idea of personal space, especially when it comes to Stiles). Before Stiles can test his theory by thoughtfully bringing his body even closer to Derek's nose for scent perusal, Derek abruptly turns and stalks off with a gruff (but surely affectionate), "Idiot."

Stiles scrambles to follow, chattering all the way back to the house. And if he walks too close to Derek and keeps bumping into him accidentally-on-purpose, then, well, Derek can think he's a spaz all he wants. It's all a part of the plan.


Lydia isn't as pleased with Stiles's progress as he is. She is, in fact, pretty sure that if Stiles is left to his own devices, her carefully thought-out and well-named plan will take months to work (because obviously it will work). This is unacceptable. Jackson may have been the first to scent the feelings (Lydia maintains that this was because he was turned before her, and that it is not in any way indicative of their relative skill levels), but everyone's getting them now. If they keep projecting the way that they are, they're probably going to send the whole pack into a wild orgy. Not that she's complaining, but she's pretty sure Scott would never recover. Scott's kind of a prude when it concerns anything other than him and Allison.

Operation Get-Stiles-Into-Derek's-Pants (and she enjoys how everybody just accepted her ridiculous titles; the taste of power is sweet) originally had many phases, but Lydia thinks that they're going to have to fast-forward. It's taken weeks for even two phases to be completed, and Derek is still looking like someone's denying him kittens every time Stiles waltzes by. She's not sure if Derek just doesn't get that Stiles is ready and willing (oh god, so willing, how can Derek not be picking this up?), or if he's manfully resisting because of whatever convoluted reason he's cooked up, but either way this needs to stop.

Even though Stiles is about as subtle as a bull in a china shop, she's going to have to make it so painfully obvious to Derek that he's going to have to accept Stiles's feelings for him and his for Stiles, where he's prepared or not. Given that he's about as emotionally constipated as they come (and there's a puzzle for another time), he's probably not prepared, which really is the root of this whole issue. If he were prepared for the total love and adoration of a teenage boy – who may be ignorant but is in no way naïve – then they'd already be fucking like bunnies.

So. Lydia has a plan, and even though it's not her usual M.O., it's going to have to do. Instead of trying to get Derek to act on his attraction to Stiles as they have been, she's going to have to make it romantic. Sure, Derek can pigeonhole Stiles's constant arousal around him as hormones, but she's going to make it so that he won't be able to see Stiles's feelings as anything but The Real Deal.

Spring Formal sounds perfect.


Stiles knows he got Lydia as a date for Winter Formal mostly out of luck. He's surprised, then, when Lydia sidles up to him and says, "No need for you to find a date to Spring Formal. I've got you covered."

Not the most romantic of proposals, but he'll take what he can get. Even though his epic crush on Lydia has mostly faded, it's hard not to be at least somewhat excited about being asked to Winter Formal by the up-until-recently girl of his dreams. One does not simply get over Lydia Martin (Sean Bean would sympathize, Stiles is sure). And it's not like his new crush would go with him.

Except – and Stiles isn't going to admit this to anyone, his friends already meddle too much for his own good – he's pretty sure Derek's not a crush. Stiles had spent almost a decade pining after Lydia, so it's not like he isn't able to differentiate his feelings. He knows epic crushes, and what he feels for Derek is so far beyond that sometimes Stiles is worried he's been bewitched by some sort of werewolf spell. His research into that area results mostly in horrific porn that he wishes he could purge from his memory forever, and his sneaky questions to his friends result only in blank looks. He's sure Derek would've mentioned it to a bunch of hormonal teenagers new to their wolfy powers that they might be able to enchant people, so given their incomprehension, Stiles is going to have to rule that one out.

Which leaves… love.

And just, what. Stiles was prepared to pine for the rest of high school, ok, he had accepted that. He is attuned to his feelings and shit. But he was not prepared for this; he's a teenage boy and no matter what Scott says, Stiles doesn't think it's normal to be falling in love this early. Especially not with Derek Hale at the center of his crazy emotional hurricane. But oh well, Stiles has never been one for following the rules.

So he's going to Spring Formal with Lydia, and it's going to be better than Winter Formal, because even the most clichéd, boring dance would be better than Winter Formal. At the very least there aren't any threats looming around; Derek's the Alpha and in control, the hunters are honoring their code, and Scott's even allowed to come to this one.

Stiles is feeling quite optimistic about everything. So what if Derek hasn't reacted to Lydia's plan as predicted yet, Stiles is sure Lydia also has that under control. He'll just continue as normal, talking too much and generally butting in as much as he can into Derek's life.

He's only a little bit worried about the whispered huddles that break up as soon as he approaches. Since he's in the know now about the committees, what would they still be hiding from him? He'd worry about it more, too, except Derek is taking up all his attention.

"What do you mean, you don't plan on seeing The Avengers? Are you even a part of this world? Who are you!"

Derek can practically hear the excessive punctuation in Stiles's outburst.

"And the Hulk, man, I'm sure you can sympathize. Enormous green rage monster, am I right, or am I right? Just replace 'green' with 'furry,' and oh jeez, that's a wall. I thought we were over this, dude! Not that I'm complaining. I mean, I am complaining. But in a happy way. Because this is… a thing." It's difficult to react normally when all Stiles wants to do is hump Derek's leg.

It's going great.


So they get dressed up, Scott manages to find a suit that actually holds itself together, and Stiles is not at all nervous, not at all.

FYI I'm not your date for tonight.

Fuck that, he's mess of nerves. Not his date? Is Lydia trying to kill him? This is too much teenage angst for him; he has way more than enough of that on his own, thank you very much. Plus, sometimes there's also the my-life-might-end-soon sort of stress. They're pack, right? That should mean something, like Lydia shouldn't add to his stress. He's going to get an ulcer. Before he can do anything he'll regret later, like have a meltdown over Spring Formal, he gets another text.

Stop panicking, you'll send Derek into a tizzy.

Oh god, this is so embarrassing. Can she sense his emotions from a distance now? Can Derek? Probably it's just her being all-knowing and him being a little predictable. So he's safe from Derek experiencing his minor freak-out about Spring Formal.

"Stiles, calm down."

Or not.

"Derek! Hey, buddy. What – what are you doing here?" Stiles spins around and scrubs his head awkwardly.

Derek glowers and makes an aborted movement as if to push Stiles up against something. There's no vertical surface around though, so Stiles isn't really sure what he was going for. Then Derek growls and, quite frankly, manhandles Stiles into standing beside him so that their arms are linked.


Wow, Lydia really is the Master of All. How does she even manage these things? He'll be sure to bow in honor of her greatness the next time he sees her, but for now all of his brain function is being redirected to ogling Derek's ass in a tuxedo. It's the 8th wonder of the world. It's also really difficult to ogle when its owner is practically dragging him along by his arm. Stiles feels no shame, however, and Derek hasn't voiced a complaint, so he continues in his efforts. Maybe Derek will let him touch it –

"Stiles! It is already bad enough that I have to come to this stupid dance and wear this stupid outfit without you groping me in public."

Ok, so Derek is complaining. But he doesn't look angry, just… awkward, like he isn't sure what to do with all of this attention – because Stiles isn't the only one admiring his miracle of a body – and isn't that a revelation. Stiles feels a surge of affection (on top of his preexisting… feelings… and near-constant arousal) for this grumpy, prickly onion of a man. Stiles thinks he's like an onion because even his layers have layers, and as you peel them back all you want to do is cry. Also, onions are delicious when put in oil and fried, and Stiles has a feeling that Derek would be the same, minus the frying and also all of his clothes.

Derek is making choking noises and looking flustered, probably because all Stiles can think about is how he wants to climb him like a tree. Whoops. At least he knows that Derek is catching his feelings just as much as everybody else – now all he has to do is make him accept them. He focuses on trying to make it to the door without any further brain adventures. While they get some curious looks, after Finstock's outburst at Winter Formal (not his fault really, but still) nobody dares say anything. Also, one look at Derek shuts any snide remarks up, because of any combination of: a) he is just so fucking hot, b) he looks like he bench-presses cars for fun, and c) he still has his weird murder-y vibe going on, even though all charges have been dropped – his glower really doesn't help matters.

They make it into the gym without further incident. Stiles wonders how much he can push his luck and whether Derek will embrace or oppose grinding. Normally Stiles is very against it, but he doesn't know when he'll get this opportunity again. Nothing like a poorly lit high school gym for dancing like a wild thang. Derek snorts.

"… Did I just say that out loud?"

Derek's smirk is answer enough. He looks more comfortable though, as if Stiles's awkwardness makes him feel better about his own. Stiles can work with that.

So they're in the gym and it should be terrible and clichéd, but now they're holding hands and even though hand-holding hadn't really featured in any of Stiles's fantasies, it really should have. Derek's hand is big and rough around his, and Stiles is a man, ok, a very manly man, but he's also a puddle of goo.

"Would you like to dance."

Dear lord, Derek just asked him if he wanted to dance. Well, it was more of a statement. Regardless, the answer is the same.

"Obviously, yes, wasn't I just talking about this?"

"Dancing, Stiles, and not like… wild… thangs." Derek looks as if even saying the words pain him.

"Ok, I can do that, graceful Stiles activated, just you wai – ow, wow, that chair came out of nowhere, not my fault at all." He can tell without even looking that Derek is rolling his eyes.

"Yes, ok, fine, graceful Stiles cannot be activated at this moment in time, please try again later, except he probably won't show up then, either, and what is that face. You think you can hide your emotions, well not from me, buddy. I see those twitching lips. Stop being such an emotionally repressed asshole, and if you're going to laugh at me, just do it already!"

Stiles didn't really think that one through, because then – miracle of all miracles – Derek does laugh out loud, and Stiles can feel the incredulous looks from the pack from various parts of the gym, but what he can also overwhelmingly feel is:

Oh god, boner in the gym, alert, alert, Jesus Christ his smile, maybe this is why he doesn't smile more often because forget his ass (not really), but this is the 8th wonder of the world, the wonder to trump all wonders, dear lord in heaven –

And then they're dancing (or some sort of swaying that counts as dancing at these events) even though Stiles isn't really sure how he's still standing, but Derek's arms are supporting him and he's so warm and kind of just like a giant teddy bear.

Stiles never wants this night to end.


"Did you know there's a committee devoted entirely to my ass? You don't get one, but that's ok. I think I'm more than capable enough of worshipping it on my own."

Derek just gives a long-suffering sigh as his boyfriend prattles on. The thing is, though, it's not really long-suffering. It's mostly affectionate, and… loving? This boy has somehow wormed his way into Derek's heart, and he can't bring himself to be anything other than overwhelmingly happy about it. Not that he'd ever tell Stiles, at least not yet. One day, maybe, once Stiles's never-ending flow of words and hugs soothes over the wounds Kate left behind.

He thinks Stiles can tell what he's feeling, though, without him ever needing to say it outright. Sometimes he says, "Don't be such an idiot" when Stiles does something particularly outrageous, but what he really means is, "I think I love you," and Stiles will get this look on his face. He'll say back, "Well, you shouldn't be such a sour wolf all the time. Who do you think I'm doing this for, anyway?" Derek's pretty sure he means, "I love you, too, dumbass."

So they're not that good at expressing their feelings like normal human beings. That's ok. There's probably a committee specifically devoted to helping them out.

A/N: lol I'm just loving these 1D titles (this one's from "Stole My Heart"). Reviews are loved! Also, unbeta'd (so if anybody's interested…)