A Bit of a Situation

dragon-temeraire:

Summary: Derek is getting more and more comfortable around
Stiles. Maybe a little too comfortable.

Notes: Written for @shealwaysreads for her
birthday! ❤ (I tried to get as much of what you requested into this as I could. I
hope you like it!) Inspired by this adorable art. (On AO3)

Derek’s a lot more comfortable with himself these days. And
Stiles definitely considers that a good thing, because Derek’s been guilty and
angry for far too long. It’s nice to see him smile, nice to see him laugh.

Derek being comfortable with himself also means he’s more
comfortable with his pack, spending a lot of time with all of them. And really,
Stiles is all for that, too. Derek’s been yearning to belong, to be a part of
something, to matter, and he finally
has that.

So Stiles totally doesn’t mind.

Except for right now.

Keep reading

OH MY GOD! OH MY GOOOOOOOOD! THIS IS FANTASTIC!!! This has everything I wanted and it just reads so well and so naturally and oh man oh man Derek feeling so comfortable with Stiles that he slips from wolf into man is MY JAM LIKE I CANT EVEN TELL YOU!

Thank you SO MUCH! This is a wonderful gift – I am genuinely so so happy you even thought of writing this for me!

if it’s fate

bibliosexxual:

Sooo I started writing this Sterek fic ~5 months ago as a drabble on my phone, and then it unexpectedly became like 4000 words long?! Anyway, then college happened (again) and things stalled… until now. My first act upon graduating has been to finish this, so here it is at last!

Sterek, 4k, Rated T

(DISCLAIMER: I may have taken a few liberties with the mythology in this fic because I didn’t feel like doing much research beyond Wikipedia. Just go with it. Creative license, whoo!)

Of course the one time Stiles needs a werewolf, Scott is stuck Christmas shopping with his grandma, Boyd and Erica are touring colleges in New York, and Isaac is housebound with some kind of werewolf flu.

And that just leaves Derek. Of course. Because Stiles’ luck is shitty like that.

He’s pretty sure asking his ex-whatever to help him find Lydia’s cat would be breaking some kind of unstated rule, and he’s definitely sure Derek doesn’t want to see him or talk to him or in any other way be reminded of his existence. But on the other hand, Buttercup’s safety—and more importantly, Stiles’ safety, because if Stiles loses Lydia’s cat then he’s probably going to die a very painful death—definitely trumps Derek’s delicate feelings, so.

It’s not even like Stiles did anything that terrible. He thought Derek was dying, okay. Derek had just fought off six hunters by himself, because he still refused to acknowledge that he didn’t have to do everything by himself all the time like some kind of Batman. By the time Stiles got there, Derek was bleeding out on the concrete, doing a stellar impression of a wolfsbane-arrow pincushion, and what the hell else was Stiles supposed to think? So yeah, Stiles kissed him. Once.

And for the record, Derek totally kissed him back—for several long, heart-stopping seconds, his hand coming up to brush Stiles’ jaw—before he fainted and the pack showed up and Stiles got shoved unceremoniously out of the way and Derek didn’t end up dead after all.

Also, for the record, Stiles had apologized. It was one kiss, and he’s said sorry, and it was three fucking weeks ago, and he doesn’t know what the fuck else he’s supposed to do to get Derek to stop avoiding him.

So basically, Derek is overreacting, and he should answer his damn door.

When he finally does, he looks wary, standing back like he has to keep the door between them or else Stiles is going to jump him.

Stiles sighs. “Look, I’m not even here about that, so you don’t have to worry, okay? Also, you look like shit,” he adds, because Derek does. Well, it’s Derek, so he still looks gorgeous enough to be on a magazine cover, but he also doesn’t look like he’s shaved in a while, and he’s got deep shadows under his eyes like he hasn’t been sleeping that well, either.

Derek crosses his arms. “Why are you here, Stiles?”

“So I kind of told Lydia I’d cat-sit Buttercup? Except her cat is literally evil and some kind of mastermind—”

“You lost her,” Derek summarizes flatly.

“No,” Stiles corrects, “she escaped. There were claws involved, Derek. And fangs. It was very traumatic.”

“I’m sure,” Derek says.

Keep reading

deleted-scenes:

a lil sterek ficlet for the enchanting @darkandstormynight. many thanks to @mad-madam-m for the beta! (pic from men menandcoffee on instagram).

“Coffee?” Derek asks, holding the French press mid-pour.

The dude has a fucking French press, Stiles thinks distantly, still trying to shake himself from his extremely-well-fucked stupor. Just when he was sure that going home with the hotter-than-a-thousand-suns writer/semi-professional rock climber he met at the bar last night was the best decision he’s ever made, the guy has to go and have an amazing penthouse loft with a huge, spotless kitchen and two cuddly cats and a truly impressive comic book collection and a motherfucking French press.

He’s known him for all of twelve hours, during only a fraction of which they’ve actually exchanged words that weren’t lust-drenched ramblings mumbled into hickied, sweat-slicked skin, but Stiles is completely spun on the guy.

“I’d love coffee,” he says, breathing in the rich, fragrant steam as Derek starts to pour, wincing a bit as he slides onto a sleek wooden bar stool across the counter from Derek. Stiles is thrust from his bleary-eyed daze when his eyes – hungrily eating up the delicious sight of Derek’s bare, chiseled chest – drop to see that he’s wearing flannel Superman pants. “Sugar and cre – wait, are you a fucking Superman fan?”

Derek pauses mid-pour, unruly eyebrows jumping up above the rim of his square black glasses. “Yeah, he’s my favorite character.”

“I knew you were too good to be true!” Stiles nearly shouts, indignant but he can’t really be blamed – he just learned that the man of his dreams and hottest fantasies is actually real – only to find out that he loves Superman. Ugh.

Derek, much to his credit, seems nonplussed. “Is that really a dealbreaker for you?” he asks, those goddamn eyebrows crinkling in what can only be described as utterly-fucking-adorable, his glasses sliding down his nose a bit.

“I’m guessing you didn’t notice last night,” Stiles says, hopping up from the stool. “Which, I totally get, seeing as how you were preoccupied with all this hotness…” he explains, awkwardly waving a hand towards his torso before he yanks open the button on his jeans, the ones that he just pulled on after finding them under the couch. He pulls down the zipper and slides the jeans down his hips a bit, enough to fully reveal the bright yellow Batman logo adorning the front of his black boxers.

Derek watches with raised brows, one corner of his mouth crooking up in beusement. “Batman? Really? I had you pegged for a SpiderMan fan.”

Stiles scoffs. “Spidey’s cool, but Batman is the best superhero, nay, character, in modern history. And Superman is the most boring, goody-two-shoe-ist. I can’t believe you like him.”

“I can’t believe you just used the word ‘nay’ in an actual conversation,” Derek quips, his smile mischievous amidst the wilds of his beard. He passes Stiles a sugar cup and cream pitcher that matches the plain white coffee mug, dipping his chin down a bit, his smile turning sweet when he looks up at him from under his long lashes.

“Well,” Stiles says, voice faltering a bit as he loses track of what was surely a blisteringly witty retort, distracted by Derek’s lethal charm and the way that damn lock of hair kinda curls across his forehead, so adorable and endearing yet still smoking hot, making him look a lot like…

“You’re Clark fucking Kent, aren’t you‽”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play innocent and dumb with me. What with the hair and the glasses and your stupid face. And you’re a writer, too! You’re totally Clark Kent.”

Derek laughs, a truly delightful sound. “Stiles, I told you last night, I’m a freelance sports writer. I’m not a reporter for The Daily Planet.”

“That’s exactly what someone who doesn’t want me to think he’s Superman would say!”

“What about you? You said you’re a businessman. Maybe you’re really Bruce Wayne.”

“I said I own my own business, a bookstore. It’s hardly Wayne Enterprises. And don’t try to change the subject, Kent.”

“You’re absurd.” Derek grins affectionately at him, and Stiles feels like his heart is going to flip and flutter right out of his chest.

“You’re one to talk,” he mutters, rebuttoning his jeans and sitting back on the stool. He sips at his coffee, which is fucking delicious, of course, and he hasn’t even put his usual three spoonfuls of sugar in it.

Derek pours a cup of coffee for himself. “So, how do you feel about French toast?”

“How are you real?”

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” Derek says, taking a sip of his coffee and turning away to begin making breakfast. “By the way,” he says over his shoulder, “I was definitely distracted by all that hotness last night, but” – he winks – “I still noticed your Batman boxers.”

keeping up with the stilinskis

hales-republic:

my submission for 12 days of sterek – enjoy!

Stiles can say with the utmost confidence that having a kid hasn’t changed much in his life. Y’know, aside from the whole changing diapers and questioning his ability to be a good father on the reg. But that was when Luke was just a baby.

After those few tricky years, Stiles quickly figured it out.

(His dad may beg to differ but whatever.)

He understood the meaning of balance; how to prioritize his kid, his career, and spend time with his friends. He learnt how to not lose his mind every time he caught Luke trying to sneak out of the house (during these times, he also learnt how to ignore his dad laughing uproariously muttering something about apples and trees).

What he hasn’t learnt is how to react when his kid–his fifteen-year old kid–comes home with a deputy. He still doesn’t know how to react and more importantly, what to react to first. The fact that Luke potentially fucked up so hard he had to get escorted home by a cop or that the cop looked downright murderous and Stiles still found that attractive.

Stiles ignores the ridiculously unnecessary judgemental expression the deputy is sporting on his face. Instead Stiles’s eyes rake him up and down, lingering at the truly impressive set of biceps, folded neatly across what seems like an even more impressive chest. There’s the tiniest tuft of dark hair peeking out from under his shirt and dear lord, Stiles just wants to unbutton the rest of his shirt and–

As though Luke knows exactly what Stiles is thinking, he smirks.

“This your kid?” Deputy Hottie McJudgey asks gruffly, scratching his salt-and-pepper stubble-covered jaw. Stiles gulps and clears his throat. The name on his uniform says Hale, and the name sparks a memory because he could have sworn hearing his dad and Jordan talk about a new addition to the department just a few weeks ago.

Okay, he’s lying. The second they mentioned a new deputy, Stiles had started planning how to inconspicuously spy on (read: stalk) the new deputy so he can check out the new guy. He’s ashamed to admit that as soon as he saw the deputy chatting with Valesquez in the bullpen, Stiles had squeaked (maybe even shrieked) and fled to the bathroom to jerk off.

Because seriously, Hale looked more like a stripper than an officer of the law. And not even those shitty strippers, more like one of those ridiculously expensive $500/hour stripper because hot damn.

Keep reading

Sterek, 3? I love all the fics you’ve done so far (from the beginning of the blog, not just this meme), you’re an absolutely fantastic writer. I always read your fics when I want to be cheered up because they’re so positive. :)

stileshale:

cuddling, and thank you! i kinda got carried away but this is sort of cuddling.

~*~

Before they got together, Stiles didn’t touch Derek much. It was mostly because he figured if he started touching, he’d never be able to stop. He longed for a time when he could throw his arms around Derek’s shoulders and tug him in close. He wanted Derek’s solid form up against his. He was super warm for Derek’s form.

Keep reading

thepsychicclam:

i just needed dispatcher!derek and stiles calling into the sheriff’s dept to talk to the dispatcher bc he was lonely, and subsequently, falling for derek’s voice.

*

“Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department,” an unfamiliar male voice answers. Stiles pulls the cell phone away from his ear and stares at it like he accidentally dialed the wrong number. “Hello?” The man’s voice is annoyed, and then the line goes dead.

Stiles hits redial immediately. “Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department,” the same voice says, more annoyed than before.

“You’re not Edna,” Stiles says. “Edna’s the evening dispatcher, where’s Edna?”

“Who’s this?”

“Stiles Stilinski. The better question is, who are you?”

“Derek Hale.”

“My dad doesn’t work with a Derek Hale. I know everyone who works in that department, and I’d remember a Derek Hale.”

“You’re the sheriff’s son?” Derek asks.

Stiles grins, despite the fact that he’s on the phone. “So, you’ve heard of me?”

“I wouldn’t be proud of that fact.”

Stiles huffs and hangs up.

*

The next night, he calls again. The same Derek Hale answers the phone.

“Where is Edna?”

“She’s out of town for awhile.”

“So, you’re a temp?”

“I’m a deputy.”

Stiles frowns. “I don’t remember seeing you around.”

“I’m new. Is there anything I can actually help you with?” Derek’s irritation is evident through the line.

“No.”

This time, Derek hangs up.

*

Stiles calls two nights later, and ignores the way his stomach flips when Derek’s voice comes over the line. “What are you doing?”

Derek sighs. “What do you want, Stiles?”

“Edna used to read me the word from her word of the day calendar.” Derek remains silent. “Well? What’s the word? Unless you rearranged her desk.”

There’s some shuffling on the other line. “Suidefenestration. It means – “

“To kill yourself by throwing yourself out of a window.”

Derek grunts. “How did you know that?”

“Uh, duh? I took Latin as an undergrad, four years. I learned a word or two. Did you not know what it meant?”

“I thought you were in high school.”

“Grad school, dude.” Stiles laughs, and hangs up.

*

The next time Stiles calls, he opens with, “Has my dad been eating donuts? Because either it’s that, he somehow got freaky with a chalkboard, or he’s becoming a coke addict. I’m not sure which is more disturbing.”

“I don’t spend my time monitoring the Sheriff’s diet.” Derek doesn’t bother to sound polite or nice. Stiles thinks that maybe he should complain and that the BHSD should hire a better dispatcher. But Stiles is too selfish for that.

“Go look in his office.”

“I’m not going to snoop in my superior’s office!”

“Please,” Stiles begs. “Derek, pleasepleaseplease.”

“How old are you again? Grad school, really?”

“You’re just sad that you’re not this awesome.”

“Goodbye, Stiles.”

*

Keep reading

Congrats on your follower milestone, and I’m proud to count myself as one of them! For a prompt, how about “You can’t eat solids, only liquids until Thursday.”

acountrygirlsfun:

It was difficult to stop internally screaming that one of my favorite blogs is proud to follow me back long enough to write this and then it almost got like, to legit fic planning ideas but i reigned it in because i’d rather not make you wait months instead of weeks to get something for this ♥

Derek settles further into the
horrifically uncomfortable hospital chair.

“I want curly fries,” Stiles
says, rapidly flicking through channels on the tv from the bed.

“No,” Derek replies placidly.

Derek looks at the notifications
on his phone which has been studiously ignored up until this point. Mainly
because up until the last half an hour Stiles has been, in surgery, followed by
recovery and then slowly waking up and working through the last of the anesthesia
in his system.

And up until about 10 minutes
ago Derek was a panicked, anxious mess.

“Pizza?”

“No.”

Derek knew what he was signing
up for when he starting going out with Stiles. He knew that life as a police
detective isn’t the safest. Hell, he’s a firefighter he isn’t one to judge a
person’s career choice. He’d just rather Stiles was behind a desk more than he
is. Probably just as badly as Stiles wishes Derek only rescued kittens from
trees.

“Hmmm how about some ice cream?”
Stiles asks.

“No.”

“Pudding?”

“Nope.”

Stiles is pouting now but Derek
doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone as beautiful. Stiles is pale under his
summer tan, there are circles under his eyes and he can’t hold his head up off the pillows keeping him propped up. But Derek has never loved someone as much
as he does the idiot in the hospital bed that got himself stabbed on their
anniversary.

Apparently mixing an
angry drug dealer, a teenager, and a Stiles together on a dark street equals an arrest, a
runaway found and a profusely bleeding Stiles.

Derek had been woken from some
of his precious few hours of sleep while on shift to his buddy Isaac calling from
the ambulance as they drove Stiles into the hospital. That was at 2 am and it’s
just pushing 1 in the afternoon now; Derek’s body is used to running on adrenaline for that
long but the crash after has never gotten easier.

“Please, Derek?” Stiles whines
and Derek sighs.

“Stiles you can’t eat solids. You’re
on only liquids until Thursday, at least,” Derek replies as patiently as he can
and Stiles sinks back into his pillows a little more with a sigh.

“There is such an offensive joke that
should be made following that sentence, especially given the momentous occasion
this evening was supposed to hold. But alas, I am,” he pauses as his side
twitches and Stiles’ face scrunches reflexively in pain. “unable to follow
through with the proposition I was thinking of making so.”

Derek heaves himself up out of
the chair and stumbles the few steps back towards the bed, grateful for the
side rails he can lean on to keep himself upright. He is really, really in need
of a nap.

“Stiles, how bad does it hurt
right now?” he asks, completely prepared for Stiles to ignore him until he’s
finished.

“I guess it’ll be what, juice
for me and hospital food for you tonight, huh?” his tone says ‘lighthearted’
but his eyes are sad. Stiles has been looking forward to taking Derek out to
the fancy new restaurant in the next town over to try their steak and extra
fancy potatoes.

Derek was honestly just looking
forward to having the evening off from work and being on call to spend with
Stiles.

“Scale of one to ten, Stiles,”
Derek insists and Stiles closes his eyes and winces again.

“About an eight ‘n a half?” he
admits quietly, coming out like a question. Like he’d say nine if it wouldn’t invoke
shouty Derek.

They both try really hard to
keep shouty Derek in his place.

Instead calm Derek takes the
morphine drip button the kind nurse had put in his boyfriend’s hand and pushes
it. Then pushes it again.

“Noo,” Stiles enthuses but Derek
knows it’s a token protest, “now I’m going to get all loopy again.”

“I’d rather have you loopy and
not know who I am for a few hours if it means you’re not in agony Stiles,”
Derek says, leaning down to press his forehead to Stiles’ as he does.

“I love you, you know?” he
whispers and sees the side of Stiles’ mouth quirk up.

“Love you too, babe. See you
when the morphine wears off,” he responds and Derek presses a quick kiss to his
lips.

“I’ll be here, glass of juice at
the ready.”

♥

Keep reading

Okay I desperately need 7. from the christmas prompts list. Stiles having a full out powerpoint presentation “THIS IS WHAT I WANT” or Stiles subtle hints that are too subtle or Stiles’ definition of subtle that has everyone convinced he’s losing his mind but he really really really just wants that super awesome flannel over there. Or whatever version/variety of this you want, just give me Stiles and Christmas and Derek being awesome

acountrygirlsfun:

Here you go dearest 🎄☺️🎄

It’s supposed to be a quick
shopping trip. They need garbage bags, batteries and another giant box of
k-cups. But they stopped at Target and there is something about Target that
makes people shop and wander aimlessly for hours. So it’s unsurprising that
they’re in the clothes section 30 minutes in to what was supposed to be a 10-minute
trip.

“Look at this, Derek,” Stiles
says, voice tinged with awe.

His long fingers are running
over the sleeve of a plaid shirt, which honestly, looks incredibly comfortable.

“It looks like it will fit right
in with the other 20 plaid shirts in our closet,” Derek answers deadpan and
walks away towards the home goods section.

*

“Derek, please just. I’ll buy it
and you can wrap it up and give it to me for Christmas,” Stiles pleads.

They’re back at Target, two
weeks later and Derek has refused to let Stiles buy the shirt he wants.

“Please, please please?”

Derek’s standing there with his
arms crossed, face blank.

“The holidays are coming Stiles,
we agreed we’d stop buying ourselves things to keep our options open on gifts.
So, no,” Derek replies gently but Stiles sticks his lower lip out in a pout.

“I hate when you make sense.”

*

Derek’s at the stove stirring
the fresh pot of marinara sauce when Stiles sighs deeply. Derek peers over his
shoulder at where Stiles is sitting at the island counter on his computer. He’s
still pining over the plaid flannel shirt from Target.

It’s adorable.

“Hey, come taste this?” Derek
asks quietly and Stiles blinks up at him over the top of his computer. Derek
smiles softly, so happy he’s living with such an adorable man.

“Come try this,” Derek repeats
gently, “I don’t want it to get too salty for your dad,” he explains when
Stiles shuffles over.

He dips a spoon into the pot and
tastes Derek’s sauce with a small smile teasing his lips.

“It’s not too salty, babe,”
Stiles murmurs and leans into Derek’s chest. His face is tucked into Derek’s
neck so his breath puffs across Derek’s collarbones. Derek puts his arms around
Stiles and breathes him in.

“I really want that shirt.”

Derek groans.

*

Stiles is sitting in a sea of
wrapping paper and gifts from the pack’s gift exchange and he’s trying to hide
his disappointment. He’s doing a terrible job, but so far Stiles has gotten a car
charger for his phone (which he desperately needed but come on Scott) and a
scarf from Isaac. The pack has cleared out and Stiles is sorting through the
paper to make sure no one lost anything in the mess.

Derek was going to wait until
the morning, but his boyfriend’s face is doing that thing where he looks all
forlorn and Stiles shouldn’t look that unhappy on Christmas Eve.

“Stiles,” Derek says gently and
Stiles looks up at him, eyes big and sad. “Want to open one of your gifts from
me tonight? I promise it’s not a car accessory from the gas station.”

Stiles’ eyes light up and that
smirk returns to his plush pink lips.

“Yeah, but just one,” he answers
seriously, “We need to leave some for the morning.”

Derek nods and walks over to the
tree, he knows exactly which package he wants to have Stiles open. It’s a
decent sized box with a singular tag and bow adorning it but Stiles’ eyes
sparkle again when Derek places it in his lap as he sits down on the couch next
to him.

Stiles carefully pops the tape
from the ends of the box and then the piece on the bottom, keeping the paper
neat and the tag intact. The box is meant to be deceiving and Stiles just
snorts at the re-used hand mixer box and gets it open, pulling out the tissue
wrapped present.

With the box now discarded on
the floor, Stiles pulls the tissue paper back and gasps.

“That’s not the shirt from
Target,” he says hesitantly, like he’s not trying to sound ungrateful or
disappointed just, stating a fact.

“It’s not,” Derek says clearly,
a cautious smile playing on his lips, “Can I explain why before you get
disappointed?”

Stiles nods and Derek internally
breathes a sigh of relief.

“Well see, whenever I borrow
your flannel shirts you got from Target they always end up stretched out and
wonky afterwards. Even if Scott borrows one it gets all weird after. So I found
this one that’s just as soft and still can be washed with all your other ones
but it’s a little bigger in the arms and won’t get loose and baggy on you.”

Stiles is looking at him with
wide eyes and Derek finds himself continuing to ramble.

“And I didn’t want to like, test
that theory but I know you like how my shirts smell so I maybe slept with it a
few nights before I wrapped it up and-“

Stiles finally has mercy on him
and cuts off his nervous speech with a kiss. It’s only a moment before Stiles
is pulling back, his hands which had found their way to Derek’s face are
continuing to cup his cheeks gently.

“It’s perfect, Der,” Stiles says
quietly in the space between them. “I love it. Almost as much as I love you
boo.”

Derek groans and sits back but
Stiles just climbs into his lap.

“You promised Stiles. You
promised to stop with the nicknames until after the holidays.”

“Well you promised me a shirt
from Target,” Stiles shoots back playfully, clearly enjoying Derek’s
frustration. Even though boo is pretty tame for Stiles it’s the principle of
the matter.

Derek can feel his ears start to burn and
Stiles’ fingers trace one of them as he smiles brightly down at Derek.

“You bought me another shirt
from Target just so you wouldn’t break your promise, didn’t you?” he asks
amusedly.

“Yeah,” Derek sighs and then
Stiles is tossing his head back and laughing and Derek can’t help but stare.

“I don’t deserve you,” he tells
Derek when he finally sobers and looks back down at Derek’s blushing face.

“I think we deserve each other,”
Derek says, pulling Stiles back into him for another kiss.

Holidays are hard for them both,
but with the family they’ve built with each other, this year isn’t going to be
quite as bad.

As long as they stay away from
Target.

♥

if you’re still looking for tropes– how about taking care of a fake baby for a high school project? ^_^

ladydrace:

I’m so sorry to the eight people who prompted before this, but when one of my actual fanfic heroes drops a prompt in my inbox how do you expect me to not fucking forget everything else??

Hello, hi, I love and admire you a heck of a lot. ❤

I also have zero experience with this fake baby thing, so I just googled it.

* * *

”You look adorable,” Stiles ways
with a grin, for the third time that night, and Derek is just done.
If he has to do this while fake-feeding their goddamn fake baby
they’re fake-parenting for the weekend, then so be it.

”Okay, you need to stop,” Derek
says, and he kinda hates himself for how softly he speaks. The robot
baby can’t register noise or anything, but something very basic in
Derek is keeping him from letting his voice sound angry around a
baby. Fake or not.

Stiles frowns. ”Huh? Stop what?”

”Look, I get that this whole
assignment is a joke to you, but I really want to pass this class, so
if you could please just dial down your usual level of asshole for
this last day I’d really appreciate it.”

”My level of- excuse me?”

Keep reading

If You Liked It Then You Should’ve Put A Ring On It

tumblweedblr:

Dedicated to that moment when you see someone cute… and then see that they’re wearing a wedding ring.

Derek might hate his job. He hates making coffees, hates how the coffee shop smell lingers in his clothes for days afterwards, and hates how early he has to wake up to open the shop every single morning. But what he hates the most is the way the moms who come into the shop are constantly flirting with him, keeping him from the one perk of his job: Talking to Stiles.

Stiles comes in every weekday, during his lunch break, at 1pm. Most people come by for coffee in the morning, but Stiles has always said that he’s too tired to have coffee before noon (a logic that has always baffled Derek), so he ambles in at 1pm with bleary, sleep-deprived eyes. Somehow the sight of them always makes Derek’s stomach lurch.

The problem is that the Moms Club comes in at 12:30. Yes, an actual Moms Club. They even have the t-shirts to prove it. They crowd around the counter ordering complicated drink after complicated drink, all while complimenting Derek’s outfit (despite the fact that he wears the same damn uniform every day), and asking him prying questions about his personal life. Derek doesn’t know what it is about him that makes mom’s so interested, but whatever it is, he doesn’t like it.

It’s Friday, and Derek has barely gotten to talk to Stiles all week, thanks to the Moms. When Derek sees him come in, he instantly excuses him and moves away from the Moms (currently asking him about his workout routine), and over to the cash register so he can take Stiles’ order.

“Hey,” Stiles says easily, blinding Derek with a huge smile.

Derek tries very hard not to get caught up in Stiles’ eyes. “Hi,” he responds, “The usual?”

Stiles grins even broader. “You know me,” he says simply.

Derek’s heart beats a little bit faster. The thing is, he does know Stiles. They’ve exchanged many words over the last few months; he knows Stiles works at the local police station, knows that he loves asparagus but hates bacon, knows that he wants two kids. They’ve talked about a lot. But every time they start to really get into a conversation, they’re interrupted.

Which is exactly what happens now.

“So, any plans for the weekend?” Stiles asks as Derek adds a heaping of whipped cream to his drink.

Derek fumbles. All he wants to say is something dumb like, “No, do you want to make some together?” or “Actually I was hoping that maybe we could have plans,” or anything that will somehow take his and Stiles’ rushed coffee shop conversations out into the real world. But that’s just not his luck.

“Derek, dear, can I have a refill of my latte please?” one of the mom’s asks as she approaches the counter. “And while you’re at it, I was wondering if you could tell me about the pros and cons of soy milk. Because my friend Jenny says that soy is bad for you, but she’s one of those health nuts, so…”

Derek tries very hard not to roll his eyes as he hands Stiles his drink and shrugs in apology.

“Another time,” Stiles says, giving him a small smile.

Derek watches Stiles’ back as he walks away from him and out of the shop.

Sighing, he turns back to the mom, plastering a fake grin to his face. “You were saying?”

When he gets home that night, Derek decides that he’s had enough. He’s sick of having mom’s hit on him all the time, sick of the way they are always taking his time away from valuable customers-okay, from Stiles-and he’s going to do something about it.

It’s not until he’s watching TV later that night and a Zales commercial comes on that he gets at idea.

On Monday, Derek goes to work sporting a brand new wedding band. Well, a fake wedding band. It was $15 at Target. He walks into the shop hoping it will keep all of the moms at bay, and by the time the morning is over he feels like he’s succeeded.

He flashes it around a lot, casually bringing up a hand to scratch his face when one of the moms talks to him, watching their faces falter slightly before they back away while looking a little bit confused.

By the time lunchtime rolls around, Derek is on cloud nine. He’s had more alone time today that he’s had in months and no one has asked him whether he waxes or shaves all day. He’s in such a good mood when he sees Stiles come in that he jumps up and immediately smiles at him.

“Hey Stiles,” he grins excitedly.

“Woah,” Stiles responds as he walks over. “You’re enthusiastic. Are you feeling okay?”

“Never better,” Derek says. “You want the same as always?”

Stiles nods, “You bet.”

Derek sets about making his drink, taking a deep breath before attempting to have a real, more than 30-seconds long conversation with Stiles.

“So,” he begins, “How was your weekend? Do anything fun?” he asks as he stirs up the liquid.

Stiles brightens. “Yeah! I actually went to this really cool art show downtown. It was called Lunar Art and it’s just all these shots taken in the moonlight. I don’t know if you’re into art or anything, but-“

Derek hands him his drink and Stiles suddenly trails off, staring down at where Derek is holding it in his left hand. “Uh,” Stiles says. “What was I saying?”

“You were asking if I’m into art,” Derek says slowly.

Stiles looks a little bit pale all of a sudden as he takes the drink from Derek. “Right. Well, actually, I’ve just realized that I-I have somewhere to be. So I have to go. But. Yeah. Bye,” he says, fumbling his drink in his hands before turning and walking quickly out the door.

Derek stares after him. The one time he actually gets a chance to talk to him, and Stiles flees out the door. It seems totally weird to Derek, but maybe his excuse was legitimate. He inhales deeply, calming himself. He can talk to Stiles about it tomorrow.

Except, it turns out that he can’t. Because Stiles doesn’t show up.

Derek tries to brush it off but Stiles’ absence feels like gaping a hole in his chest. He walks around the rest of the day only half-alert, replaying the previous day over and over in his head.

Stiles had been asking him if he’d been into art, suggesting something, even. Maybe he’d thought he was coming too close to flirting, and had decided to shut it down. Derek was sure they’d been flirting in the past, but maybe they’d just been flirting casually –maybe Stiles was okay with flirting in 30 second increments, but a real conversation was too far. Maybe he wasn’t interested in Derek at all.

Derek spends the rest of the week sulking. A week in which Stiles does not show up again. On Thursday, Derek removes the wedding ring, flinging it across his apartment angrily. The Moms seem to have gotten over the fact that he’s taken and have begun flocking around him again, so it’s really doing him no good now.

He wakes up on Friday to a cloudy sky. By the time he gets to the coffee shop, a light rain has started, and by the time the shop opens, it’s pouring outside.

Derek watches the weather get worse and worse outside, until it turns into a full-blown lightning storm. The shop is mostly empty save for a few Moms; customers kept away by the weather, so Derek takes the lull as an opportunity to clean the place.

He’s cleaning the window display case when he sees a figure huddled outside under the awning. He peers a little closer-it looks a lot like Stiles. The figure shivers and Derek can see it in his movements-it is Stiles.

Derek puts his rag down on the counter and opens the front door.

“Stiles?” he calls. Stiles turns around, shivering and dripping wet.

“Come inside, you’re getting soaked,” Derek says, trying not to sound as angry and hurt as he feels.

“I’m fine out here,” Stiles responds.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Derek says. “There are flash flood warnings all over the radio, and the news has been playing nonstop footage of downed trees and power lines. Come in.”

Stiles hesitates for a moment before walking inside, past where Derek is holding the door open for him. He stands there, wet and dripping, as Derek follows him.

“Stay there,” Derek says, gesturing to the welcome mat in front of the door.

He walks into the back room to get some dish towels and bring them back out for Stiles to use to dry off.

Derek’s mouth goes a little dry at the sight of Stiles, standing at the front door, soaked through, wet clothes clinging to his lithe body.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the towels at Stiles with his left hand.

Stiles doesn’t take them.

“For dying off,” Derek explains, shaking the towels a bit. Stiles is staring down at the towels, but still not taking them.

Suddenly, his gaze snaps up to Derek.

“What is your deal?” he seethes.

Derek takes a step back. “My what?”

Stiles shakes his head, pointing at the towels before snapping angrily. “You can’t just wear your ring whenever you please, it’s not fair.”

Derek looks down at the towels. And to where his hand is, ringless.

Derek goes over a thousand different scenarios in his head and comes up with no explanation other than the fact that Stiles is mad at him, and it has something to do with the fact that he’s not wearing his fake wedding ring.

Now Derek is mad, too. “What do you mean it’s not fair? Who is it not fair to?” he asks gruffly.

“To unsuspecting strangers, to me, to your husband or your wife,” Stiles seethes.

Derek pauses. “My-Stiles, are you kidding?”

“NO!” Stiles seems even madder now. “You can’t just take your ring off whenever you want, leaving people-people like me- to think you’re available when you’re clearly not. That’s false advertising.”

Derek suddenly has the urge to fight back a laugh, but he’s also still very confused.

“Wait, Stiles, you think I’m married? You’ve known me for how many months and you think that that wouldn’t have come up in conversation?”

Stiles is starting to look sheepish, but he’s still yelling. “I-wait-so you’re not married?”

“NO.” Derek huffs out a laugh. “I only bought this ring to keep those ridiculous Moms away so I could talk to you more, but then you disappeared.”

Stiles rolls his eyes as well as his entire body. “Well I wasn’t gonna flirt with a guy that’s married.”

Derek sighs heavily, pinning Stiles with a look. “Well, I’m not married. So flirt with me.”

Stiles blinks at him, suddenly pulled out from his angry reverie.

“What?” he says.

Derek hesitates. “Unless you don’t want-“

Stiles jumps forward immediately, placing a hand on Derek’s arm. “No, I want. I want I want to flirt with you so hard dude, you have no idea.”

At that moment, a Mom comes sauntering over from her table. “Derek, I have a question about-“

Stiles puts up a hand, looking Derek straight in the eyes. “He’s busy now. You’ll have to come back later.”

“But-“

Stiles quiets her again. “He’ll get back to you later,” he repeats.

The woman stares at them for a moment, before huffing and walking away.

“You’re going to scare off my customers,” Derek says.

Stiles smiles at him, sliding a hand into one of Derek’s. “Good.”

Stiles makes Derek a button to wear on his uniform. It says in large, capital letters, “TAKEN. DO NOT FLIRT WITH ME.” He lets Derek take it off when Derek finally gets a new ring, a real ring, which Stiles gave to him when he asked if he’d like to flirt with him forever.