[ stiles has spent nearly four months resisting. from the very start, he refused to comply. never once considered forming a contract while he was a dom, which was difficult in that it's in his nature to want to help people, but forming a contract would only be enabling a system he did not and does not agree with, and nothing ever changes if nobody points out that something is wrong.
the closest he came to a contract with a brief burst of panic, close to the end of his first deadline, was when he thought about asking scott to pair up with him, but that was more out of concern that scott could end up contracted to someone else, someone who might not take well to scott being a werewolf, if they ever found out. it was more about protecting scott than it was about protecting his own ass.
and then scott disappeared, taken back home, presumably, which was both a nightmare and a relief, because then stiles was alone, but at least scott wasn't here anymore in a city that had him under its thumb, made a mockery of his strength and his power by marking him as a submissive. so stiles resisted some more, refused to play, and he was punished for it.
the last month or so as a submissive has been... hard. moreso than stiles initially expected, but he's nothing if not resilient. he's managed so far, kept his head under the radar. he's done whatever he's had to to get by, save for chaining himself to someone else and handing over his agency. it's not even an even balance of power - a submissive provides exactly nothing for a dominant, other than the opportunity for control, the potential to be cruel because what choice does one have other than to crawl back to the hand that feeds them? stiles doesn't want that - he doesn't know how anyone could.
and then he found derek - or rather, derek's shoulder found him - angry and freezing in the middle of the sidewalk, and things - shifted. he wasn't alone anymore. out of all of his friends that could have turned up after scott, derek is probably the one stiles trusts the most. and so he suddenly had a different sense of purpose. stiles took derek home home and he gave him clothes and he gave him a place to rest where no one would come looking for him. had his back, like he always has, even if derek hadn't really need his protection.
the same can't really be said for now, here in this bullshit fort, where they've robbed derek of his strength, his stamina. his fangs, his claws, his everything, really. stiles isn't naive enough to think that this makes him stronger than derek now, that they're anywhere close to equals even now, that he can protect derek from the guards if he decides to lash out again, but.
there has to be some give, somewhere. derek is going to get himself killed if he keeps lashing out, if he keeps fighting and pushing the limits that he's not used to having, and stiles doesn't really know what to do, but he has to do something. he has to do something. he has to keep a better eye on derek, make sure he doesn't do something neither one of them will be able to fix. derek spent five hours chained to a fucking table, and stiles didn't know shit about it because he was too busy skipping the lunch hour so he wouldn't have to watch people eat while he refused to kneel.
five hours chained to a table, and stiles let it happen. not intentionally, but maybe he could have done something, maybe he could have convinced derek to calm the fuck down, or at the very least, put himself between him and the guards. it likely would have done nothing other than earn him a black eye to match the bruises under derek's chin, but it would have been something.
stiles' fingers flex anxiously by his side, his middle and ring finger stuttering against his leg. he trusts derek. right now, he trusts derek more than anyone else, and if he's going to do this, if he's going to trust anyone not to take advantage, especially someone he wants to help, it has to be derek.
stiles swallows thickly. he has to force himself not to look away, to hide whatever shame he's feeling for caving after putting up a fight for so long. the words come spilling out, like he's been holding them hostage behind the cage of his teeth. ]
no subject
the closest he came to a contract with a brief burst of panic, close to the end of his first deadline, was when he thought about asking scott to pair up with him, but that was more out of concern that scott could end up contracted to someone else, someone who might not take well to scott being a werewolf, if they ever found out. it was more about protecting scott than it was about protecting his own ass.
and then scott disappeared, taken back home, presumably, which was both a nightmare and a relief, because then stiles was alone, but at least scott wasn't here anymore in a city that had him under its thumb, made a mockery of his strength and his power by marking him as a submissive. so stiles resisted some more, refused to play, and he was punished for it.
the last month or so as a submissive has been... hard. moreso than stiles initially expected, but he's nothing if not resilient. he's managed so far, kept his head under the radar. he's done whatever he's had to to get by, save for chaining himself to someone else and handing over his agency. it's not even an even balance of power - a submissive provides exactly nothing for a dominant, other than the opportunity for control, the potential to be cruel because what choice does one have other than to crawl back to the hand that feeds them? stiles doesn't want that - he doesn't know how anyone could.
and then he found derek - or rather, derek's shoulder found him - angry and freezing in the middle of the sidewalk, and things - shifted. he wasn't alone anymore. out of all of his friends that could have turned up after scott, derek is probably the one stiles trusts the most. and so he suddenly had a different sense of purpose. stiles took derek home home and he gave him clothes and he gave him a place to rest where no one would come looking for him. had his back, like he always has, even if derek hadn't really need his protection.
the same can't really be said for now, here in this bullshit fort, where they've robbed derek of his strength, his stamina. his fangs, his claws, his everything, really. stiles isn't naive enough to think that this makes him stronger than derek now, that they're anywhere close to equals even now, that he can protect derek from the guards if he decides to lash out again, but.
there has to be some give, somewhere. derek is going to get himself killed if he keeps lashing out, if he keeps fighting and pushing the limits that he's not used to having, and stiles doesn't really know what to do, but he has to do something. he has to do something. he has to keep a better eye on derek, make sure he doesn't do something neither one of them will be able to fix. derek spent five hours chained to a fucking table, and stiles didn't know shit about it because he was too busy skipping the lunch hour so he wouldn't have to watch people eat while he refused to kneel.
five hours chained to a table, and stiles let it happen. not intentionally, but maybe he could have done something, maybe he could have convinced derek to calm the fuck down, or at the very least, put himself between him and the guards. it likely would have done nothing other than earn him a black eye to match the bruises under derek's chin, but it would have been something.
stiles' fingers flex anxiously by his side, his middle and ring finger stuttering against his leg. he trusts derek. right now, he trusts derek more than anyone else, and if he's going to do this, if he's going to trust anyone not to take advantage, especially someone he wants to help, it has to be derek.
stiles swallows thickly. he has to force himself not to look away, to hide whatever shame he's feeling for caving after putting up a fight for so long. the words come spilling out, like he's been holding them hostage behind the cage of his teeth. ]
Sign a contract with me.