Work Text:
Stiles is a lucky man, he thinks and glances at the women on either side of him. Lydia has her head nuzzled into his shoulder while Erica has practically sprawled out across his lap more like a lazy cat than a wolf. And granted, he has to sit through marathons of Say Yes to the Dress, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has two very lovely ladies on this couch with him.
“We’ve seen this one already,” Lydia points out, with the distinct tone in her voice that suggests that she should get her way and they let her reign over the Netflix queue once again. Stiles isn’t particularly opposed to all of the science documentaries, but Erica is more of a reality TV show kind of girl and you can’t please everyone.
So they compromise with Say Yes to the Dress. Or rather, Lydia and Erica compromise—Stiles just does as told and if that’s being a human pillow, he’s quite alright with that.
“You mean this is similar to every other episode where obnoxious people crush the bride’s hopes and dreams or word for word similar?” Stiles asks, grinning a little when the strawberry blonde snorts into his shoulder.
Erica huffs. “It’s good though, I like this episode. When Boyd and I get married can I take the pack dress shopping?”
Stiles shifts a little because he thinks his leg is falling asleep but Erica is having none of that and just scoots so she can curl around his thigh. He would have probably killed for this a year ago, maybe even less than that, it just happens to be his life that ridiculously attractive women migrate to him now that he’s dating Derek Hale of all people.
Seriously. Not funny, karma.
(Though Stiles isn’t actually mad at karma, he got a pretty good deal with the brooding werewolf with sculpted abs and a secret dry humor that pleases him to no end. Life is good.)
“Hold on there Catwoman, do you really want ‘I own nothing but leather’ Derek and ‘I wear what Allison tells me to’ Scott to be giving you dress advice?” Stiles pokes her shoulder teasingly, “Maybe Isaac though.”
“Isaac is a doll,” Lydia agrees.
Erica giggles, but considering she looks towards the doorway, it isn’t about the conversation at hand. Especially when their Alpha steps through, pausing midstep before raising a brow that says more than he needs to articulate at the scene in front of him.
“Yeah, you know me and ladies. They’re just all over me, it’s some kind of chick magnet, you know? Or wolf magnet,” Stiles shrugs, grinning at Derek from the couch. He has one hand in Erica’s hair, sifting through it idly while Lydia is practically molded into his side.
“I’m sorry,” Derek says, managing to sound far too genuine and he’s directing it straight towards the girls at his side. Stiles makes a face at him because he’s still not funny.
It must be some kind of wolf instinct because Erica finally pries herself off his leg—sweet jesus he has circulation—and Derek fills the empty space and casually throws an arm around Stiles’ shoulder like he doesn’t know he’s just doomed himself to participate in the dress marathon. It’s all tactile and comfortable and Stiles sort of loves it, especially because Derek actually just willingly inserted himself into their huddle.
Derek secretly craves affection, Stiles knows his secret. That or he’s suddenly interested in Say Yes to the Dress, in which case, Stiles really hopes he wants affection.
“Why are we watching this?” Derek finally asks once it’s gone quiet, like it’s pained him to have to.
“Erica wants to get married or something,” Stiles supplies and laughs when she smacks his knee.
“Because no one can appreciate the quest for scientific knowledge,” Lydia mutters and she’s absolutely judging them all right there because she’s Lydia Martin and can do that.
“Why am I here?” Derek asks with a little more emphasis.
“I have no idea,” Stiles admits but presses his face into Derek’s neck happily, “I’m just bonding with my ladies. It’s a thing. And now you’re bonding too. Yay bonding.”
It turns out that Derek’s sense of humor is not only dry but partially awful. Stiles threatens to ban him from the marathon if he compares another dress to a bird—or person to an animal—and the asshole just ducks his head and Stiles knows he’s trying not to laugh.
“Your boyfriend is ruining the dress marathon,” Lydia frowns, “Definitely not coming dress shopping with us. Banned. Forever.”
“What about when Stiles gets married?” Erica asks with a shit eating grin that no amount of fake sweetness can hide.
Stiles promptly chokes.
“I would still hope I’m not there to pick out a dress in that case,” Derek comments, running blunt, human nails over the human’s neck like that will calm him down. He should know all that does is rack a shiver up his spine which Stiles can’t hide at all.
“That’s it, I’m making the executive decision to watch something with more testosterone. Violence. Everyone likes violence—crazy werewolves. Everyone nod your head, we’re watching Shark Week,” Stiles declares.
After that, Derek had a tendency to insert himself in their lazy couch days and no one really complained but Say Yes to the Dress was off limits from then.