(I asked @domesticated-chaos to give me a short Sterek prompt that I could knock out in the midst of my longer fics, and she asked for Derek and Stiles watching Star Wars together because Derek had claimed he’d never seen it. Here it is! You can also read it on AO3.)
Stiles paused the movie and turned to Derek, eyes wide with
betrayal. “What.”
Derek immediately wracked his brain, trying to think of what
he’d said in the past thirty seconds to have Stiles looking at him like that.
“What?”
“You said,” Stiles waved at the
screen, where Yoda and Luke were frozen mid-training, “you said puppet
Yoda was so much better.”
Oh, shit.
Derek schooled his face into what he hoped was mild confusion.
“Did I?”
“You did.” Stiles poked him in the chest. “You
said better, which means you know
there’s a CGI Yoda, which means you’ve seen the prequels!”
Derek tried to think of an argument, but there wasn’t really
one to be had. “I saw the trailers online?”
Stiles rolled his eyes and slapped him on the shoulder.
“You are such a terrible liar! You told me you hadn’t seen any of the Star Wars movies! I
reiterate, any! Which means zero!”
Yes, that was a thing Derek had said, because at the last
pack meeting Stiles had been ranting about how he was going to have a movie night
and make the pack watch the entire Star Wars trilogy because none of them had
seen it and he couldn’t deal with them all being such cultural heathens. In a
moment that Derek could only describe as temporary madness, he’d announced that he
hadn’t seen them, either.
Which is how he’d ended up at Stiles’s house with two
sausage pizzas, being “forced” to watch some of his favorite movies
with Stiles pressed up next to him, eagerly watching Derek’s face for every
reaction.
Stiles has a deep dislike for the cold. He
never seems to be dressed for the weather when the temperature drops, his
multiple layers doing nothing for him, leaving to mooch off the closest
werewolf in sight.
It might have been how Isaac and him got
closer, after Stiles finding himself leaning against Isaac more often than any
other of his wolfy friends.
He’d ignore Scott’s knowing looks, Erica’s and
Peter’s twin smirks, and just enjoy Isaac half-heartedly grumbling about Stiles’
cold nose and freezing fingers though he never really pushed Stiles away.
These days Stiles is absolutely shameless about
cuddling up to Isaac, not even using the cold as an excuse. Isaac always
indulges him, opening his arms or even jacket for Stiles to slip into, letting
Stiles stick his icicle hands into his pockets and sometimes even under his
shirt. He’ll only grumble a bit when Stiles presses his cold nose against his
neck.
Isaac took to carrying a spare set of mittens
with him, though Stiles only ever uses one of them, his other hand either
clasped in Isaac’s or buried in Isaac’s jacket pocket.
But it’s unusually cold today, either because
winter is catching up or because of the sprites they’ve been trying to shoo
back into the deeper parts of the Preserve.
Either way Stiles has spent half of the day
sticking to Isaac, wearing mittens and keeping his hands trapped between him
and Isaac. Peter of all people put a fluffy wolf hat on his head, smirking like
the caring douche he was.
Still, Stiles wished they could be done with
this business and his Emissary powers weren’t needed so he could go home and
get warm again. He’d missed actually feeling his limbs.
He whines when Isaac suddenly leans away from
him and almost shoves his face back into Isaac’s neck, chasing his warmth. He’s
stopped though when something warm wraps around his neck and the lower part of
his face. It smells like Isaac does and Stiles squints down to see it’s Isaac’s
favorite, green-blue scarf.
It’s deliciously warm, still holding some of
Isaac’s own body heat and Stiles nuzzles deeper into it.
“Oh my god, I love you,” he says, quick and
mumbled, probably incomprehensively.
Isaac either hears it anyway or just knows him
that well, because he hugs him again, “Yeah, you too.”
Derek gets a call from an unknown number at 10:27am. It happens sometimes,
telemarketers, and quite often for the nannying agency that’s one digit off his
mobile. Today is a new one.
“Hello, this is Derek.”
“Oh, hi. Okay. Hi, I’m Stiles,” comes a surprised voice from the other end.
“Hi Stiles.”
“So, Derek, this is going to sound strange, but I’m just about to go in for
a job interview in three minutes, and I had to fill out this list of references
and I was short a number so I wrote down a random one, then thought I should
call it to see if it was real. And it is, it’s yours.”
“So you just wrote down a random number as a reference?” Derek asks,
confused and also a little amused.
“Yes, that’s right. And look, I’m going in soon, and getting this job would
be really great, and so would you mind if I keep your number on the list? They
probably won’t call but I–”
“Go for it,” Derek interrupts. What’s the harm in it? He can cross off that
he’s done his one nice thing for the day, and this Stiles is right, he probably
won’t even get a call.
“Seriously? Ah, okay that’s amazing. Thank you.”
“What’s the job?” Derek asks, grabbing a pen and paper to write it down.
He’s warming up to the idea of doing this fake reference thing. It’ll be a
laugh if nothing else.
“So it’s an IT position with Saris and Fehr Legal. System maintenance,
software security, a bunch of stuff really, but don’t worry about it too much,
I just had you down as a personal reference?”
Stiles asks it like a question, showing some nerves, and Derek realises he’s
essentially admitting he doesn’t know enough people who’d give him a positive
reference.
“Oh well that’s easy enough then, I’ll just say that I’ve known you for
years, talk about how you’re organized, trustworthy, etcetera,” Derek’s been a
reference for some of his friends before, he knows the drill.
“Ah, yeah, sounds great. Wow. You sure about this?”
“It’s fine, Stiles. It’ll make my day more interesting at any rate.”
“Wow,” Stiles repeats, clearly surprised by Derek’s immediate cooperation. “So
it’s Stiles Stilinski, not sure I gave you my last name.”
“No, you didn’t,” he says, writing down Stiles’ surname phonetically. “Mine’s
Hale. Derek Hale.”
“Hale,” Stiles repeats, while Derek can hear the sound of a pen moving
across paper through the phone. “Alright, I’ve got to go now but thanks so
much, Derek. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” Derek says, smiling at how relieved Stiles sounds. “Good
luck for the interview.”
here you go! some hardcore sterek fluff by me bc i was a bad sterek fan for the last 2 weeks and for 90% of the time only reblogged malec xD haha (still not sorry about that tho! they are cute >U<!)
We heard there are new people still coming! Poor souls, that’s gonna be a
painful journey, but trust me, I would not change it for anything else!
This list is my personal STEREK STARTER KIT/STEREK MUST READ LIST, so I hope you will enjoy it! (most of the links are to our recs, where you can find more details and notes ;))
The first thing I always recommend new people in fandom is Important Things by suzvoy (which was my first Sterek fic and I love it to bits and pieces) and it works like a charm every time!
This is more like ‘fight for me’ but whatever what you gon do ‘fight me?’ badumtss
Derek get’s the call at about 4:00 in the afternoon; which is the perfect time to get a call to come bail out his emissary from jail.
“You know your dad is the Sheriff, right?” Derek asks, smirking.
“Shut up. Are you gonna come get me or what?” Stiles asks down the line.
“Of course I will, Stiles,” Derek says, “I would never miss the opportunity to see you behind bars.”
“Stop smiling,” Stiles says. Derek doesn’t. “Your face is all ugly when you smile. Hideous. Also go fuck yourself,” he finishes.
“I don’t think I have that kink,” Derek gets out before the line goes dead.
—-
When he gets to the station the Sheriff is talking in his office with an irate man (Alpha werewolf if he’s technical) and Scott. He hears enough of the conversation to gather Stiles was in an…altercation…with their own emissary.
When he’s lead to the familiar cell Stiles has a bruise blooming beneath his left eye across his cheek bone, and his middle and ring finger are bound together in a splint.
“Sup.” Stiles greets, standing.
“How’d that meeting go?” Derek asks. Stiles throws him a sarcastic smirk and nod.
“Peachy keen, jellybean. Drafting up peace treaties now,” Stiles says.
“What happened?” Derek asks, as Stiles is let out of his cell.
“You know my policy, Derek,” Stiles says, as they’re led back to the front of the station. “Talk shit, get hit.”
“And someone got hit?” Derek asks, a facade of surprise.
“Someone talked shit,” Stiles corrects. Derek raises his brows as he signs Stiles to freedom.
“And then yes, someone earned themselves a broken nose. There was blood, loud crunching, it was very satisfying overall and 100% justified,” Stiles says.
“I’m sure,” Derek smirks, and he’s teasing but Stiles stops just outside the station and gives him this look, it’s a frustrated sort of expression he saw on Laura’s face a lot over the years.
“If someone is talking shit about someone I care about, then yeah,” Stiles huffs, stalking up to Derek. “Totally justified.” Derek just watches him make his way to the waiting Toyota, climb into the passenger’s seat and slam the door.
—-
Derek makes the erroneous assumption that Stiles’ intensity, loyalty, and fist were thrown in Scott’s or his maybe his father’s defense. Derek had barely anything to do with the exchange happening between Scott’s pack, to which he feels only a faint tether to, these days, and the incoming pack.
He is there, at Scott’s, however, later that night when Kira says to Stiles, in sympathy, “he definitely had it coming, Stiles, those things he said about Derek were really over the line.
Stiles doesn’t say anything but his face reddens and Derek can hear the uptick in his heartbeat.
—-
Stiles freezes and he feels his face redden and Kira realizes her mistake and it just sort of makes it worse. He waits until Derek gets accosted in a momentary distraction to bid a hasty retreat.
Still, he doesn’t make it to the jeep before he hears Derek say his name from Scott’s porch behind him. Stiles stops but he doesn’t turn around, instead waits for Derek to come to him.
“So, what did he say?” Derek asks. Stiles shakes his head.
“I didn’t tell you when you bailed me out and I’m not planning on telling you now. And I know you wouldn’t ask anyone else,” Stiles says. He’s gratified by the look on Derek’s face.
“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Derek says. “But they also didn’t punch a guy in the face over it.”
Stiles shrugs, “I would have done it for anyone, you’re not special,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. But there’s nothing behind the words but a petty huff. Derek is smirking.
“Stop smiling,” Stiles says. “Your face will get stuck like that, then where will your reputation be?” Stiles warns him.
Derek laughs and Stiles tries not to. His heart is pounding again.
“Thank you,” Derek says, there’s still a trace of the grin in the tilt of his lips but his tone is sincere. “Not so much for recklessly punching someone in the face so much as the sentiment.”
Stiles shrugs again, “we all have our ways of…expressing affection.” He doesn’t look directly at Derek. When he does he finds Derek standing much closer.
He knows Derek is going to kiss him and he turns his head and Derek’s face sort of falls before Stiles takes a breath, “No, wait I panicked. Hold on,” and surges forward cupping Derek’s jaw and pressing their mouths together.
Stiles puts all the little sample boxes into a paper bag, then
staples on the string with a tag at the end. It holds the business information,
and it makes the package look like a giant tea bag. Sort of. If you squint.
The girl smiles and pays him, then waves as she walks away.
“Tea you later!” Stiles calls cheerfully. Then he says,
“Oof!” when Derek smacks him in the side.
“You deserved that,” Derek says mildly. “Didn’t we already
have a discussion about using the word tea
inappropriately?”
Stiles dropped the book onto the table and opened it. The spine of it cracked. Some of the pages fell out and fluttered to the floor.
“Oh come on,” Stiles whined, “I just bought this one.”
The baby made an inquisitive cooing sound and reached for the book.
“No, Jellybean,” he said patiently, as he gently pried her pudgy hands away from it.
A half laugh, half choked sort of noise from across the table made Stiles lift his head. Derek was staring at him, eyebrows raised in question.
“I don’t want to give her a name, we’ll get attached. So that’s my nickname for her.” Stiles said, slowly.
Derek’s eyebrows seemed to crawl higher (which Stiles hadn’t thought possible until just then), “Yes, but, Jellybean?”
“It’s cute.”
Derek just huffed out another laugh and turned his attention back to the laptop.
“Not hard to find stuff about the fae, at least.” Stiles mused, “Although a lot of the lore seems to agree they’re nothing like Tinkerbell.” He held up the book to show Derek an illustration of a rather vicious-looking pixie, and bared his teeth in a poor imitation of it.
This seemed to delight Jellybean, as she let out a high-pitched squeal and waved her hands towards him. Stiles turned his attention to her and tickled her belly, and she dissolved into giggles. When Stiles looked up, Derek looked a little dazed. Stiles grinned at him.
The first time was when he woke up, the sun streaming in through a crack between the curtains, Derek’s breathing soft and even next to him.
This can’t be real, Stiles thought. This life, this happiness, it can’t be real.
He started panicking. Derek woke up and pulled Stiles against his chest. Together they counted, first Stiles’ fingers, then Derek’s. Derek smiled and shook his head when Stiles told him it was because he couldn’t believe how happy he was.
Sometimes he still needs that reassurance, that after all the shit they’ve gone through, after all the shit he’s done, he gets to be happy. And over time, it even becomes a small gesture, for both him and Derek, to show the other how happy they are. So he counts his fingers when he slides under the covers next to Derek, counts them when they’re watching television, counts them any time he realizes he’s truly, ridiculously happy.
He’s sitting at the kitchen counter, willing the coffee machine to go faster, at seven am on a Sunday morning. It would be terrible if not for Derek’s humming drifting through the house as he makes the bed, and the pitter-patter of small feet racing towards the kitchen.
Lily climbs into his lap, and he leans back to accommodate her.
‘Are we counting?’ she asks, pointing at his hands, lying palms down on the kitchen counter.
‘You want to count together?’ he asks.
Lily nods and bends over his left hand. She press her little pointer finger against his pinkie and says, ‘One.’
When they get to ten, she turns to him with a brilliant smile, presses a kiss against his cheek, and slides off his lap.
‘Love you, daddy!’ she yells, disappearing into the hallway. You’d think it was a small elephant and not a five year-old pounding up the stairs.
‘Love you, too!’ he shouts after her.
The coffee is finally done and he pours himself and Derek cup. As he sets out breakfast, he privately counts his fingers again, a smile on his face.
shealwaysreads 