Stiles walks into a coffee shop in the new city he moves to after college one night because he can’t sleep.
Sitting at the front of the shop with an acoustic guitar in hand is Derek Hale. His voice is calming and a little smokey as he sings. When he finishes the song he looks up and sees Stiles.
Derek’s eyes go a little wide for a millisecond before he smiles. It’s a soft smiles, the kind that Stiles never saw on Derek, the kind that wasn’t burdened.
“This last one is a cover,” Derek says and he proceeds to play Werewolves of London.
Stiles snorts before he can stop himself and then goes to buy a coffee. He finds a seat near the back of the shop and drinks it while Derek cleans his stuff up. When he finishes he comes back to Stiles and sits down, a twinkle in his eyes.
“That last one was for Jackson,” Derek says, voice even and Stiles thinks he’s being serious for a second before he smiles and Stiles laughs, “It’s good to see you Stiles, you in town for a while.”
“I just moved here for work actually,” Stiles says with a smile at the quirk upward in Derek’s lips at that fact, “It’s good to see you too.” And it was true, in fact, if Derek keeps smiling like that and making jokes he might want to see a lot more of him.
Tag: fluff
“You bake when you’re stressed and sometimes you give me cookies, but recently you’re giving me whole baskets each day, now I’m not complaining but are you okay?” au sterek? <3
OK, I wrote you a quick little thing. 🙂
*
When Derek shows up at Stiles’ back door that morning with a basket full of about three dozen cookies, all carefully iced to look like Batman and Spider-Man, Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just gets up from the kitchen table and opens the screen door, and then he looks down at the basket for a long, long moment, and then he rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans.
He looks kind of… unkempt. He’s wearing the same sweatpants and lacrosse hoodie he’d had on two days ago when Derek saw him at his mailbox, and his hair is sticking up everywhere, and it’s obvious he hasn’t shaved in a while because there’s some actual stubble there. Derek didn’t think Stiles was even capable of facial hair. It only adds to his attractiveness, but still, Derek can’t help but be concerned.
Derek doesn’t usually start conversations, but today he feels like making an exception. “Are you okay? This is a lot more baking than usual, even for you.”
“What? What do you mean?” Stiles says, dropping his hands to his sides. His face cycles through about five or six different expressions before settling on something that’s probably trying to say “innocent and oblivious,” but… well. Derek might not know Stiles that well, but he knows Stiles is definitely not either of those things, ever.
“The cookies,” Derek says slowly. “That you leave on my doorstep a few times a week while I’m out on my morning run.”
Stiles glares down at the cookies Derek’s holding like they’ve betrayed him.
“We don’t talk about it,” Derek says slowly, unsure, “but I thought you knew that I knew it was you. I mean, no one else in the neighborhood even talks to me.”
SINCE YOU ASKED: Can you do Semi-Established Relationship Sterek and “You smell like a wet dog” were Derek reveals he’s a werewolf?
I tried… I’m not sure where this went. *Throws some fluff and feels at you and runs away*
Stiles had no idea why he had thought getting caught in the rain would be romantic. In movies if always looked so sweet and it almost always lead to hot sex, but in reality it was cold and by the time he and Derek made it to the beach house they were renting Stiles was pretty miserable.
Derek hadn’t even tried to kiss him. This was their first trip as a, well not as boyfriends, but as whatever they were now, and Derek had been weird the entire time.
Not that it was surprising, Derek always acted a little weird around the full moon. Stiles had is own theories on why, but he wasn’t going to ask him, he knew that Derek would tell him when he was ready.
They both stripped off their wet clothes in the entryway of the house. Stiles grabbed their clothes and made his way to the small laundry room to toss the clothes into the dryer.
“You smell like wet dog,” Stiles said with a smirk in his voice. He turned around to see Derek standing in his still wet boxer briefs in the doorway.
Derek’s eyes went a little wide at the comment and then he shook his head softly, his voice easy as he said, “If you have something to say, just say it.”
“Oh nothing,” Stiles said with a little smile, leaning against the dryer, the sound of their clothes tumbling filled the quiet.
“Stiles,” Derek said, stepping forward, caging him against the dryer, “Ask.”
“Say it,” Stiles said, leaning forward and kissing Derek’s neck, his hands on Derek’s hips, “If I already figured it out and I’m still here, you can just say it.”
“This feels like a scene from Twilight,” Derek said, laughing against Stiles’ temple.
“Wrong powers,” Stiles said, kissing Derek’s jaw, “Wrong genetic makeup. So say it. I’m not running away.”
“Stiles,” Derek said with a sigh, “I’m a werewolf.”
“I know,” Stiles said, leaning back so he could kiss Derek’s lips, “I’ve known since English 101 freshman year.”
“Why didn’t you say anything,” Derek said, resting his forehead against Stiles’.
“Why didn’t you,” Stiles countered with a smile. He saw it reflected on Derek’s face, “I mean Scott’s a werewolf, you know he’s my best friend. You should have figured I knew about werewolves.”
“Scott never mentioned that you knew,” Derek said, “I don’t assume anything.”
“I’m the one who figured out that Scott was a werewolf,” Stiles said with a laugh, “But I’m glad you told me, I wouldn’t be able to date a guy who wasn’t honest with me about who he is.”
“So we’re dating now huh?” Derek asked with a smile.
“It looks like it, yeah,” Stiles said kissing Derek again and again.
“I can live with that,” Derek said after a moment, kissing Stiles back.
“No take backs,” Stiles singsonged, ducking under Derek’s arm and running toward the stairs, “Now come on wolfman, show me what you’re made of.”
Derek’s eyes flashed blue and he chases after Stiles, tackling him onto the bed with a dull thump.
Maybe the rain wasn’t as romantic as the movies made it seem, but Stiles didn’t really mind anymore.
Stiles and Derek date for a few years before Derek turns 27. Derek starts getting baby crazy and thinking about starting a family, settling down, having kids.
He knows Stiles is a 21 year old man, but he still feels like a 21 year old kid sometimes and Derek thinks Stiles probably doesn’t even want that. Isn’t thinking about it yet. They don’t talk about it at all because Derek is too afraid of losing Stiles.
And then one night Stiles shows him a house he saw in the real estate listings. “I can see you in a house like this,” Stiles says, “it has a sun room, too. I’ve always wanted a sun room.”
It’s a large house, on a bigger plot of land set back into the preserve. Stiles isn’t wrong. It’s a nice house. “So, you could see me in a house like this or…you could see us in a house like this?” Derek asks.
“You–do you want us to have a house together?” Stiles asks. Derek shrugs. “We don’t live together now,” Stiles points out. Case in point them currently sitting on the Sheriff’s couch, a sitcom on in the background they aren’t watching.
“Maybe because we don’t have a house,” Derek suggests. Stiles smirks.
“Do you want me to move in with you?” Stiles asks, he slides his hand under Derek’s.
“What if I wanted more than that?” Derek asks. Derek can feel Stiles’ pulse quicken beneath his wrist, hear his heart pound.
“Like…my soul?” Stiles asks. Derek huffs a laugh, Stiles looks pleased. He always looks pleased when he makes Derek smile.
“Yeah,” Derek says, sincerely. “Sort of.”
“Are you asking me to marry you?” Stiles asks.
“I wasn’t planning to, or anything, but, yeah I guess that I am.” Derek looks down at their hands, instead of at Stiles, uncertain. Stiles squeezes his hand.
“If…I say yes will you buy me that house?” Stiles asks, laughing as Derek pulls him against his chest, kisses him.
“Before you say anything,” Derek says, pulling back. He lets go of Stiles’ hand, and Stiles’ pulse spikes again. “Do you want kids?”
Stiles smiles, “I want, like, twelve. A whole pack of them!”
Derek feels his eyes sting, pulls Stiles against him again. He feels Stiles’ nose nuzzling at his shoulder and neck. “I want to be your baby daddy.”
Stiles says yes, obviously. Derek buys the house.
a thought:
Derek loses a bet with Erica, and so the next time he goes to Starbucks he has to order “one coffee, as black as my soul” with a completely straight face. 3 minutes later the barista hands him a giant latte with extra whipped cream and a marshmallow on top, with a completely straight face.
(Obviously Stiles is the barista, what were you expecting?)
yeah so i ended up writing it here you go
A small bell tinkles above the door when Derek walks into the coffee shop, its sweet ring followed closely by a poorly muffled snort. Derek looks to his left and finds his friends congregated on an overstuffed sofa, because of course they’re here for this. He doesn’t even know how they knew he was doing this now but he strongly suspects Cora’s involvement. She was acting smug this morning. More smug than usual.
Isaac is trying to act nonchalant, like he has no idea Derek is even there, but with half his face stuffed into his scarf and his eyes watering with mirth it’s not exactly an Oscar-winning performance. Boyd… actually looks legitimately disinterested by the whole ordeal, flipping slowly through a textbook with a pen behind his ear. Erica is clutching an iced drink in both hands and staring blatantly at Derek, wiggling her eyebrows. Typical.
Derek huffs a breath through his nose and approaches the counter.
“Hi, how can I help you?” the redhead manning the cash register asks, her nails tapping a sharp beat against the touchscreen.
Derek scowls and replies, “One coffee, as black as my soul.”
Giggles erupt behind him.
The redhead raises an eyebrow. Judges him. So hard.
There’s an amused sounding ‘what the hell’ and then a boy with messy hair and big, brown eyes sticks his head out from behind the coffee machine. He looks Derek up and down, slowly, the grin on his face getting wider and wider, then glances at the redhead, says “you heard the man, Lyds”, and ducks back behind the coffee machine.
Derek feels his ears burning as ‘Lyds’ rings him up, accepts his cash, and directs him towards the far end of the counter with a lazy flick of her fingers.
Derek mouths ‘I hate you so much’ at Erica as he walks over. She blows him kisses.
It’s mid-morning, time sandwiched between the breakfast and lunch rushes, so it doesn’t take long for Derek’s order to be up. To his complete mortification, the boy from before calls out “one coffee, as black as your soul!” He’s really good at projecting his voice. He’s evil.
Derek pulls his eyebrows so far down he can barely see through them and glares daggers at him. The guy calmly hands over his order, face straight and smile pleasant.
Derek looks down and his black coffee is huge. And decidedly not black. And there’s a mound of whipped cream roughly as big as his own face squeezed on top, all fluffy and white. And nestled among this small nation of cream is a single marshmallow. A pink one.
“Um,” Derek says.
“A coffee, just a black as your soul is,” the barista replies.
Derek looks back up at him and sees his mask of polite professionalism cracking, his mouth twitching at the corners. His really lush, soft-looking mouth. Pink as the marshmallow. Pink as Derek’s ears, probably, at this point.
“Dude, I’m friends with Scott McCall,” he says.
This means absolutely nothing to Derek.
“Scott?” the guy continues. “Who works at Dr. Deaton’s clinic?”
Derek’s eyes go wide without his permission and he can feel the heat spreading from his ears all the way down the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” the guy says with a smirk. “I know who you are. I know you brought in that litter of abandoned kittens last week.” He leans his upper body all the way over the counter and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I know you named them after the Golden Girls.”
“They, uh, they were very vocal,” Derek mumbles. “They had attitudes.”
The guy laughs delightedly, his head leaned backed, gazing at Derek through feathery eyelashes. “My point exactly. I know just how dark your soul is.”
Then he scoops up some of Derek’s whipped cream on his pinkie finger and sticks it into his mouth. He pulls it out slowly, shoots Derek a wink, and then saunters back toward the register, his ass swaying underneath his apron.
When Derek manages to regain control of his body and turn around he finds his friends staring at him. Even Boyd.
“I am going to rip you throat out. With my teeth,” he hisses at Erica.
“You’re going to buy me a fucking Cake Pop bouquet, is what you’re going to do,” she replies, stirring her slushy drink with her straw.
He probably will.
2, 14 or 28 for the fic prompt thing! Sterek obviously, please and thank you 😚
Thank you for the prompt, dear! I picked 28. It turned out a bit silly, I hope you don’t mind!
Summary: Stiles is trying to find Scott and Allison’s new
house, but he accidentally knocks on the door of their hot neighbor instead. (On AO3)(And shout out to @inell for telling me this didn’t suck!)
It’s dark, and Stiles has poor night vision, okay? Scott had
given him a thorough description of their new place, but none of those features
are really helping him now.And apparently none of the people in this neighborhood
believe in porch lights. So when he knocks on the door that he thinks is red, he’s expecting Scott, or
maybe Allison, to answer it.He’s not expecting
a man with immaculate stubble and brooding eyebrows to answer, ethereally
backlit by his hallway light. He cocks one of those magnificent eyebrows as he
leans on the door that, it turns out, is actually blue. Whoops.
SINCE YOU ASKED: Can you do Semi-Established Relationship Sterek and “You smell like a wet dog” were Derek reveals he’s a werewolf?
I tried… I’m not sure where this went. *Throws some fluff and feels at you and runs away*
Stiles had no idea why he had thought getting caught in the rain would be romantic. In movies if always looked so sweet and it almost always lead to hot sex, but in reality it was cold and by the time he and Derek made it to the beach house they were renting Stiles was pretty miserable.
Derek hadn’t even tried to kiss him. This was their first trip as a, well not as boyfriends, but as whatever they were now, and Derek had been weird the entire time.
Not that it was surprising, Derek always acted a little weird around the full moon. Stiles had is own theories on why, but he wasn’t going to ask him, he knew that Derek would tell him when he was ready.
They both stripped off their wet clothes in the entryway of the house. Stiles grabbed their clothes and made his way to the small laundry room to toss the clothes into the dryer.
“You smell like wet dog,” Stiles said with a smirk in his voice. He turned around to see Derek standing in his still wet boxer briefs in the doorway.
Derek’s eyes went a little wide at the comment and then he shook his head softly, his voice easy as he said, “If you have something to say, just say it.”
“Oh nothing,” Stiles said with a little smile, leaning against the dryer, the sound of their clothes tumbling filled the quiet.
“Stiles,” Derek said, stepping forward, caging him against the dryer, “Ask.”
“Say it,” Stiles said, leaning forward and kissing Derek’s neck, his hands on Derek’s hips, “If I already figured it out and I’m still here, you can just say it.”
“This feels like a scene from Twilight,” Derek said, laughing against Stiles’ temple.
“Wrong powers,” Stiles said, kissing Derek’s jaw, “Wrong genetic makeup. So say it. I’m not running away.”
“Stiles,” Derek said with a sigh, “I’m a werewolf.”
“I know,” Stiles said, leaning back so he could kiss Derek’s lips, “I’ve known since English 101 freshman year.”
“Why didn’t you say anything,” Derek said, resting his forehead against Stiles’.
“Why didn’t you,” Stiles countered with a smile. He saw it reflected on Derek’s face, “I mean Scott’s a werewolf, you know he’s my best friend. You should have figured I knew about werewolves.”
“Scott never mentioned that you knew,” Derek said, “I don’t assume anything.”
“I’m the one who figured out that Scott was a werewolf,” Stiles said with a laugh, “But I’m glad you told me, I wouldn’t be able to date a guy who wasn’t honest with me about who he is.”
“So we’re dating now huh?” Derek asked with a smile.
“It looks like it, yeah,” Stiles said kissing Derek again and again.
“I can live with that,” Derek said after a moment, kissing Stiles back.
“No take backs,” Stiles singsonged, ducking under Derek’s arm and running toward the stairs, “Now come on wolfman, show me what you’re made of.”
Derek’s eyes flashed blue and he chases after Stiles, tackling him onto the bed with a dull thump.
Maybe the rain wasn’t as romantic as the movies made it seem, but Stiles didn’t really mind anymore.
THINK TO ME, LIKE LOVERS DO – 3.4k
“Come on, Derek, just let us in, okay? We can’t help you if you don’t let us in!”
Scott banged on the loft door again, the metallic clank echoing around the spacious room, but Derek did not get up to open it. Instead he stayed pressed against the wall of windows, as far away as he could possibly get.
“How would that possibly help, Scott?” he called back. “The closer you are, the worse it gets!”
Even from this distance he could still hear whispers, brushing up against his mind, thankfully indistinct enough to be ignored for the moment. Earlier, in the sorcerer’s lair, the voices had been loud and persistent and completely inescapable at close range. This was better. Obviously it wasn’t a perfect solution, but at least he was no longer hearing things he didn’t want to hear.
Normally, Derek liked to think of himself as a cautious person. Maybe not in
all
aspects of his life, but on the whole Derek prefered to think before he acted and thereby not act in stupid ways. So what the
hell
he had been thinking toying with unidentified magical artefacts found in the home of the malicious sorcerer they had spent a week tracking down and eliminating, he couldn’t say. Judging by the suddenly-audible thoughts of everyone around him in the moment the pendant had started glowing and whistling, he hadn’t been thinking at all.So now here he was, behind the locked door of his loft, hiding from anyone and everyone whose mind he might involuntarily invade. Because that was his luck.
“We need to figure out what exactly is going on,” Scott argued in that annoyingly reasonable tone of his. “If Deaton can determine what curse it is—if it’s even a curse! It might not be! But if he can do that, then he can work on reversing it. But he can’t do that from all the way out here.”
Derek gritted his teeth against a snarl. He didn’t want to be within a mile of anyone else right now. He didn’t want to hear what other people thought of him; he had long had his suspicions on that matter, and the last thing he needed was confirmation of those depressing facts. But Scott had a point. If he didn’t want to live the rest of his miserable life as an unwilling telepath, Deaton was his best shot.
“Fine,” he bit out. “But for the love of all that is holy, Scott, try to keep your mind
off Allison.
”The mental images Derek had from the ten seconds between the onset of the curse and when everyone else had realized what was happening had scarred him for life.
With every step he took toward the door, the voice in Derek’s ear got that much louder, strangely light and insubstantial in a way that was hard to define but made it obvious even without seeing Scott’s closed mouth that the words weren’t being spoken out loud.
I don’t think about Allison that much, do I? Just because her hair smells good and she was wearing that shirt today with the — like the blue one better, it makes her look like — probably stay over at her place tonight if her dad doesn’t try to shoot me again — need to take milk home to mom, though, don’t forget —
Derek yanked open the door and immediately backed away, hoping that even a few feet would make the thoughts less demanding. He was thoroughly caught off guard to see Deaton standing quietly at Scott’s side; he couldn’t hear a single thought from the man. When Derek turned his attention on him, he just got a very strong impression of a brick wall.
Deaton smiled that cryptic little smile of his, like
he
was the one reading minds now.“A mental block,” he said. “A technique for shielding the mind, perfected through years of practice and meditation.”
“Like Occlumency?” Derek asked.
“Not unlike it,” Deaton said easily. “Sadly, not something that can be picked up by novices in a few hours.”
Well, there went his last hope.
Derek let himself be tugged down onto his own couch by Deaton and sent up a prayer of thanks when Scott took the hint to not crowd him. That didn’t stop him from catching stray thoughts—
really should get some curtains or something, this place is depressing — smells like sad in here, god, I hate chemosignals
—but it was better than a constant deluge of them.There was some poking and prodding, some following the light exercises, and some sort of obscure, extrasensory magical goings-on before Deaton sat back with another almost-reassuring smile.
“It’s not a permanent spell,” he said, “nor a complex one. However, it is one that requires the source to be destroyed.”
“The source?” Derek asked. “The sorcerer is already dead. Why am I still being subjected to this?”
“By source, I mean the artefact in which the curse was contained,” Deaton clarified. “Luckily, we have the artefact on hand. Now it’s only a matter of destroying it.”
“How long should that take?” Scott asked.
“Shouldn’t be long,” Deaton said, standing up and dusting off his lab coat. “A week or two at the most.”
“A week or two?” Derek repeated, horrified.
Don’t know why he’s so upset by that, we go weeks without seeing him anyway — kind of a hermit, honestly — oh god, he can hear me, can’t he, fuck —
“It’ll be fine,” Scott said bracingly, and Derek had a strong urge to punch him in the face. Luckily, Scott seemed to sense it and started hastily backing up toward the door, thumbing over his shoulder. “Deaton will get you fixed up in no time! In the meantime, I’ll just get out of your hair.”
“Please do,” Derek muttered.
The silence, when Scott and Deaton were gone and the door shut firmly behind them, seemed emptier than it usually did, but Derek was grateful for it nonetheless.
I don’t even know. I was taking a walk today and this idea popped into my head. I swear I’m still writing the bookstore AU, too. Also, *pops confetti*, I hit 2k followers today! Who ARE all you guys? Anyway, this fluff/ridiculousness is for you. ~1.6k words, rated G. Sterek, of course.
The whole thing starts with Stiles really, really craving a meatball sub from the place across the street.
“God, someone shut him up,” Erica groans. They’re all kind of at their breaking point by now; they’ve been camped out in this meeting room all day, brainstorming. “He’s been talking about the same goddamn sandwich for seven and a half minutes now, and it’s making me hungry.”
“If only our ad campaign were about sandwiches, Stilinski would have it in the bag and we could all go home,” Isaac sighs.
From across the table, Derek rises abruptly to his feet and storms out. (Or maybe it’s just that Stiles always interprets everything Derek does as stormy. With those eyebrows, it’s hard not to.)
Stiles assumes he’s just gotten so fed up with them all that it’s either storm out or kill someone, and he’s just grateful Derek chose Door Number 1. It’s a good day not to get killed by Derek Hale.
Only, fifteen minutes later he comes back in. With a paper bag from the deli.
As soon as he gets within grabbing distance, Stiles practically collapses across the table in his haste to reach for it. “Oh my god, is that what I think it is?”
Derek holds it up over his head. “Who says this is for you? Maybe all your talk inspired me to go get a meatball sub of my own.”
“Oh, please. Like anyone with your abs eats meatball subs.” Stiles leaps to his feet on his swivel chair—because screw safety, Derek will catch him if he starts to topple over—and snatches the bag out of Derek’s grip. Derek doesn’t fight him for it very hard.
“Why don’t I get a meatball sub?” Erica whines, thumping her head down on her notebook. “Doesn’t anyone love me?”
Derek shrugs and takes his seat again. “You didn’t ask.”
“You just like Stilinski better,” she grumbles, and Derek just shrugs again.
Meanwhile, Stiles rips into the bag and takes a huge bite out of the gloriousness that is this sandwich. He can’t help throwing in a few theatrical moans just to taunt Erica, and she suitably rewards him with a glare of death across the table.
“Mmm,” Stiles says. “Derek, I love you so much, dude. Marry me.”
Instead of the grumpy eyebrows he expects, Derek meets his eye, leans back smugly in his chair, and says, “Okay.”
Stiles hits his growth spurt a little later than most of his high school friends. He came home from his first year of college three inches taller and 25 pounds heavier, mostly in muscle.
He’s standing at a solid 6′3″ when he runs into Derek at the grocery store in Beacon Hills.
Literally runs into him because Stiles still hasn’t figured out how much bigger he is now and didn’t realize how close he was to the other person in the toilet paper section.
Derek manages to catch himself before he knocks over a canned soup display and when he sees who almost knocked him over his eyes go a little wide because Stiles Stilinski grew up fucking hot.
It wasn’t that Stiles wasn’t always attractive, but now that he’s grow into himself Derek can’t take his eyes off of him.
And even if Stiles hasn’t mastered control of his newly long limbs, he’s certainly learned how his body effects people. The smirk that pulls at his mouth only makes him look better and Derek can feel his ears burning.
“Sorry for almost knocking you over,” Stiles says, leaning closer to Derek as he speaks, “I still haven’t mastered my own strength. Can I – can I make it up to you with a coffee or something?”
“Yeah, that would be nice,” Derek says, “You can tell me all about the miracle grow they’re feeding you in college.”
Stiles laughs because yeah, he really did grow like a weed. He’s probably four inches taller now than the last time Derek saw him, “You free now?”
Derek looks into his cart. There’s a frozen pizza and some toilet paper in it, he can always come back later and get that.
“I am.”
“It’s a date then,” Stiles says with a cheeky smile, looking at Derek’s ears in a way that tells Derek Stiles knows his tells.
Derek nods and Stiles grins wider. Both of their stomachs flip when their hands brush as they walk out of the store. It feels like something new, it feels bigger than either of them. It feels like something good.
shealwaysreads 