The worst thing about Google translate is that it sucked.
If Stiles was the kind of dude to review things, he’d put down a negative nine-thousand out of five stars and would not recommend it to a friend, especially if that friend happened to be interested in translating ancient Norse spells on how to control his or her ridiculous crush on a certain ridiculously sexy and mopey former alpha werewolf.
Because yeah, the morning after he cast that spell, he woke up with a big ol’ wet spot in his boxers and the feel of Derek’s lips on his collarbone.
The fail was epic.
Stiles almost (almost) wanted his hopeless crush on Lydia to return. She, at least, wouldn’t be able to smell his attraction and arousal and wouldn’t be able to snap his neck for it.
And honestly, he wasn’t even sure when the ten-year-plan for Lydia turned into DerekDerekDerek but he estimated it to be somewhere after the trouble with the nogitsune and the return of kiddy rapist Kate Argent. Both experiences had been traumatising for Stiles and Derek and they’d somehow bonded over that trauma and Stiles was six-billion times percent sure that only relationships with those roots would be unhealthy and all he wanted to do was nip it in the bud before he became that guy again, hence the spell.
Stiles was pretty sure Derek wasn’t even into guys, anyway, let alone interested in starting up a relationship given how Paige, Jennifer and Kate ended up (two-thirds evil and sexually manipulative; three out of three dead).