Derek stops what he’s doing, dropping his book onto his lap as he glares at Stiles. Stiles just smirks and leans against the doorpost, sipping his coffee. It’s almost like Derek doesn’t know what he does to Stiles, sometimes, with the beard and the blushing and being all cuddly and adorable.
Derek raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Well, y’know, it’s more like a time of the week thing. You always wear that sweater when you’re feeling sad and want me to cuddle with you.”
It’s a bold statement – one Stiles had been afraid might’ve been too bold – but then Derek blushes, the tips of his ears flushing pink as he holds up his arm to look at the soft, red fabric. “I hadn’t even noticed that.”
Stiles snorts and downs the rest of his coffee. He already mentally dubbed it the cuddle sweater, like, months ago. Even Scott noticed at a certain point in time.
“Okay, you choose a movie and grab the blankets and I’ll make some hot chocolate for you, and then I’ll cuddle the shit out of you.”
Derek nods, tips of his ears still pink, and Stiles takes a moment to appreciate the way Derek scrambles to get the emergency blankets they keep behind the couch. This definitely isn’t the first movie/cuddle night they’ve had, and it probably won’t be the least. Not that Stiles minds.
“Stiles?” Derek calls when he’s in the kitchen, grabbing Derek’s favorite mug – the one with the blue flowers – and he hums back a ‘Go on.’ “Can you put marshmallows in mine?”
“Of course,” he says, and tears open a bag of marshmallows – another emergency stack of theirs. When he enters the living room, Derek’s already made a blanket fort, Netflix open on ‘All You Need Is Love’ and the lights turned down. Derek looks so pretty like this, shadows enhancing his cheekbones and making his eyes seem so much brighter. Stiles doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Derek clears his throat and blushes.
“Thanks.” Derek’s voice is soft and hushed. Stiles just wraps an arm around him and pulls him closer, kissing his cheek. Something in his chest bursts when Derek lies his head on Stiles’ shoulder.
Stiles could understand why he wasn’t the most likeable person on the planet, or even in his high school.
He was abrasive, loud, analytical, and gave about zero fucks on people’s comfort level. Which, honestly, was fine. He only cared about a handful of people in this God-forsaken world, so other people’s opinion of him could really not be bothered.
Enter Jackson Whittemore.
Ever since Stiles professed his love to one Lydia Martin in the fourth grade with a ring pop (which she ardently did not accept), Jackson has wanted, and sometimes succeeded, in making Stiles’ life hell.
In elementary, it used to infuriate Stiles. How Jackson would always steal his dessert at lunch, or push him too hard on the four-square court, and would always never cease to let Stiles know that he would never get to be friends with Lydia Martin.
And, yeah, sure, eleven-year-old Stiles would ball his fists and try to fight back, but that quickly changed in high school. And he started learning some, interesting, things about himself. Soon enough, Lydia Martin was the last thing on his mind, and so was Jackson and his taunting. In fact, with both of their academic success, he and Lydia found themselves in similar upper-class and AP classes throughout high school. Some would even call them, dare he say it, friends.
But, Jackson, not so much. Even now, at their senior year, Jackson still makes it his mission to give Stiles hell, even though he’s been dating Lydia Martin practically since he tossed the ring pop out of his hand. And it doesn’t help that now, with Stiles and Lydia being friends, and Allison and Lydia being inseparable, and Allison dating Scott, that Jackson has somehow integrated himself into their group of friends.
Which is exactly how Stiles finds himself rolling his eyes at Jackson as they pack up their equipment on the field after practice, Jackson whapping him with this lacrosse stick.
“You’re literally an infant, Jackson.”
“At least I don’t throw like one, Stilinski.” Jackson scoffs.
Scott snickers next to him, and immediately looks regretful when Stiles glares at him.
“I bet an infant would be better to deal with than you.” he snarls, stripping off his practice jersey to throw in his bag.
Lydia and Allison walk over from the bleachers, smiling faces, per usual.
“Good practice,” Allison says to them all, but leans into Scott for a kiss. Lydia’s moved to Jackson’s side, too, and when Stiles glances at them, Jackson has a snarly grin on his face.
“Jealous, Stilinski?” A common phrase from the asswipe since they were kids.
Stiles barks out a laugh. “Not in the slightest.” He ignores the small grin Lydia gives him.
Shouldering his bag, he lets out a long sigh. “Can we go? I’m starving.”
Everyone nods in agreement, starting to move towards the parking lot. Jackson throws an arm around Lydia.
“Yeah, must have worked up an appetite from all that standing around and doing nothing.”
This time, Stiles whacks him with his stick.
“Okay, but to be fair, my jeep has gotten us to Mexico and back.”
“It broke down half way, Stiles.” Lydia deadpans.
“We fixed it! Since when did you guys get all mean about getting into my car.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised it’s been alive this long.” Jackson scoffs.
“Walk your happy ass to the diner, then, Jackson. See if I care!”
And yet, all his friends still make their way to his jeep, because they know damn well Roscoe will get them anywhere.
But, when they get to the car, there’s one Derek Hale leaning against the hood, looking as ominous and broody as always.
“What do I owe this pleasure, Sourwolf?” Stiles preens, walking up to him, but Derek doesn’t move.
“You left your wallet at my place.”
Before Stiles could even reach in his back pocket to check, Derek straightens and tosses it to Stiles, causing him to, of course, flounder and very much not catch it at all.
“Aww, always looking out for me, huh Derek?” Stiles coos, shoving his wallet into his pocket.
“You’re pathetic, Stiles.” Jackson spits.
Stiles whisks around, and God does he want to smack that silly little smug look off Jackson’s face as he walks over.
“I swear to holy Hell, you can walk h-”
“You know he has a crush on you, right?”
Everyone stops cold, and suddenly all eyes are on Jackson, who is looking straight at Derek likes he’s fucking Sherlock who solved the case.
Derek scoffs.
“He does,” Jackson continues. “He likes you, and it’s embarrassingly obvious to everyone.”
“Oh, my God,” Stiles groans, putting his face in his hands. Scott, on the other hand, is bright-eyed and excited, like a puppy who just saw a bone.
Derek quirks an eyebrow. “Do explain.”
And Jackson, oh Jackson looks like he’s just been given a whole litter of bones. “He talks about you constantly, he invites himself over to your place all the time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he jerks off alone in his room to a picture of you.”
Derek’s head whips to look at Stiles, but he already has his hands up in protest.
“I do not do that, okay?”
Jackson steps up to Stiles, face inches from his. “Just admit it, Stilinski. You have a crush on Derek.”
It’s quiet for a second, and Stiles is really considering what level of Hell would even want to welcome someone like Jackson Whittemore, when Derek speaks up.
“God, I hope so, or this would be really awkward.”
Jackson’s face drops, and he spins to look at Derek. In the background, the snickers of Allison and Lydia or ever so sweet to Stiles’ ears.
“What?”
“I said,” Derek lifts himself off the car hood, and makes his way to Stiles, who practically beams up at him when Derek takes his hand in his, entwining their fingers. “I hope he has a crush on me, or this would be really awkward.”
Stiles watches as Jackson does a double take from him, to Derek, to their hands, and oh does it feel so, so good.
Scott’s outright barking with laughter now, and Jackson looks as pale as a ghost.
“Great job, dickweed. You just told my boyfriend that I liked him.”
“You… and Hale? Since when?” he spits out.
“Almost a year, sweetie.” Lydia pipes up, probably more smug than anyone since she was the first to know about Stiles’ flagrant homosexuality. And his impeding crush on Derek.
“Aww, babe? Almost a year! Did you hear that? We should celebrate.” Stiles preens, and even leans up to nudge his nose at Derek’s cheek, just to rub the salt in the wound a bit more for Jackson.
“I just found out you have a crush on me. I think we should take things a little slower, don’t you think?” But Stiles catches a hint of a smile on Derek’s face.
Stiles doesn’t stop himself when he feels Derek gravitate towards him, and happily leans into the kiss. It’s sweet and quick, but enough to get Jackson to pretend to vomit.
“Matter of a fact, I think I’ll walk.”
Later that night, when Derek is driving Stiles back home, Stiles reaches out to hold Derek’s hand over the console.
“Hey,” he mumbles, and Derek acknowledges him with a slight nod.
“Do you have a crush on me?”
Derek’s quiet for a moment, and suddenly Stiles feels a squeeze on his hand that makes his smile spread wider than his face.
Sterekweek’s prompt for Day Six is “Wolf!Derek” and because that means soulmark AU with me (see of dogs and deer darcy and fully grown, which is at 25k currently, wooh!) I started writing just that. 1k later I had to admit that it just wasn’t working like I wanted it to, so instead have 600 words of complete and utter fluff! Enjoy! (Oh, and it’s also a fill for “being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward” for my kiss meme)
When Stiles comes home from college there’s a wolf in his bed.
Now, normal people would either scream and run away or bite their tongue and back away slowly.
Stiles throws his backpack into the corner, changes into sweats and an old, threadbare shirt with washed-out orange and blue stripes, and climbs into bed with the wolf.
He wraps his arms around the warm body and presses his face into the soft fur. He breathes in and out, and slowly relaxes, the last remaining tension from too many exams and papers draining out of him. He’s almost asleep when his living pillow shifts underneath him.
“Welcome back,” Derek says and Stiles grunts, bites Derek’s tattoo in retaliation.
“You are no longer soft,” he pouts and Derek laughs and turns so that they are face to face.
“That’s true, but if I was soft, I couldn’t do that,” he says and leans forward to kiss Stiles softly. Stiles kisses back for a moment and then breaks the kiss because:
“If I was soft, I couldn’t do that? Really Derek?”
Stiles snorts and Derek rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide his ears turning red and the flush spreading across his cheeks. He’s just so cute that Stiles has to kiss him again. This time the kiss lasts longer, Derek’s nose nudging against Stiles’ as he moves closer. Stiles tilts his head and slides his hand into Derek’s hair. The kiss stays chaste, lips closed and dry, but Stiles still has to keep his eyes closed for a few moments afterwards, just breathing, breathing Derek’s air and Derek breathing his.
“I missed you,” he whispers after a few more deep breaths, eyes still closed. Thus he doesn’t see, but rather feels Derek moving and is surprised when the next two kisses don’t land on his lips, but on each of his eyelids, followed by one pressed to the tip of his nose.
“You saw me last week,” Derek replies and Stiles can tell that he’s smiling even with his eyes closed. He stubbornly keeps them shut even now, happy in this little cocoon of him and Derek, not ready to face the outside world again yet.
“Last week was ages ago, Derek, are you telling me you didn’t miss me then?” he demands, lower lip slipping out in a – mostly fake – pout. Derek takes it for the invitation it is and tugs lightly at it with his teeth, then soothing the sting with his tongue. A nuzzle of nose against nose makes Stiles giggle, followed by a yawn.
“Nap time?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods, demanding:
“Soft again now, Derek!”
Derek laughs and then Stiles feels him shifting again, until he touches warm fur instead of warm skin. Derek moves around a little more until he’s comfortable and then nudges Stiles’ with his cold, wet snout. Stiles yelps and shoves him playfully.
“Bad wolf,” he scolds teasingly, and Derek nips at his fingers in retaliation.
“Nap now,” Stiles insists and Derek lowers his head obligingly, allowing Stiles to snuggle into him and hide his face in the soft and warm fur. Derek runs hot enough that Stiles doesn’t need a blanket, and he hasn’t ever needed his pillow as long as Derek was in bed with him.
“Love you,” he mumbles, sound almost entirely lost in Derek’s thick fur, but a soft rumble that he doesn’t really hear as much as feels it in the vibrations underneath him shows that Derek still heard him. After that it only takes a few more minutes before the only sounds that fill the room are the soft breaths of a boy and his wolf, asleep.
Summary: The day of Sheriff Stilinski’s retirement came sooner than anyone expected, and all plans to give him a proper send-off had to be abandoned. Derek, however, had something in mind.
A/N: Written for Full Moon Ficlet challenge on Livejournal – prompt #196: desperate.
A/N #2: A Gilmore Girls gifset was on my dash and I remembered Babette’s weather prediction and the panic and desperate measures it caused. Thus, Luke/Lorelei-ing of Sterek 😉 This isn’t Betaed and it’s heavily inspired by GG. Please forgive the indulgence.
Everyone in Beacon Hills was rallied in the high school’s parking lot, armed with supplies of all kinds. There was a truck with a collection of mismatched plastic and wooden chairs, another one with tables, and one more with crates of drinks. Several others were carrying bags with dishes and napkins and whatever else that they’d need.
In the middle of it all was Derek, armed with a list he compiled the day before and distributed to everyone else after the small meeting with Melissa, Scott, Natalie, and Lydia. They were all by his side, and Lydia stepped forward when it seemed like everyone was there.
“Okay people, we only have the afternoon to set this all up, so we need to work fast,” she spoke to the rest of the gathering. “We have tables and chairs to put out first, and everyone who has food will come to Derek and Scott to add it to the list so we can plan accordingly. For now, put it all by the stairs there,” she said and pointed to the staircase leading towards the school doors.
Everyone murmured in assent, and when she fell back next to Derek, they started moving to unload the furniture.
So today it’s @demisexualhale‘s birthday! WOOOO! Go love him!
ANYway, because I love him I wrote him a birthday fic with shy, nerdy Derek and sexually confident Stiles Stilinski. So here you go, dude! I hope you enjoy the fic, and that you have an absolutely amazing day with all the nice things you like! 😀
* * *
Derek loves ComicCon. It’s probably the
one place in the world he feels like he’s among his own kind. Forget
the well-intentioned werewolf summer camps of his pre-teens, this
is where he can truly be himself. It feels like even his wolf-side is
panting happily about all the geeking out happening around him,
metaphorical tail wagging at every new booth he passes. There’s so
much to look at, so much to experience, and it seems like none of it
disappoints.
”Oh, wow,” he breathes, as he steps
up to a booth full of beautiful art, mostly of X-Men, but also other
Marvel heroes. Derek’s got his wallet out in under a minute. He’s a
few booths further along when he’s distracted from his indecision
between two graphic hoodies by an excited voice in the neighboring
booth, rhapsodizing about Batman. Which is awkward, because it’s
still mostly Marvel artists in this area, and the voice is met with
some mutterings about maybe taking his enthusiasm to a DC booth
instead. Derek kind of wants to join the arguing, because he can
barely think of a more overdone and tragic hero than Batman, but the
words die on his lips when he leans around the booth and gets a look
at the Batman fan.
He’s absolutely stunning. Long-limbed
with creamy skin and beauty marks, slender neck and expressive face,
gesticulating excitedly with both hands as he argues his point. Derek
hands the hoodie seller a random stack of bills, mutters ”keep the
change” and takes both hoodies with him, needing to get closer. But
because he’s a complete and utter failure at actually approaching
attractive people he ends up just standing there at the corner of the
booth, watching this beautiful guy wave his arms around and
cheerfully explain to everyone around him why Batman is clearly
superior to any other superhero.
Stiles lets himself into Derek’s
apartment, calling out a hello as he dumps Derek’s mail on the side. It’s not
an unusual habit, Stiles spotting Derek’s scant bills and correspondence in his
mailbox and grabbing it for him on the way up. What is unusual
is Derek not rolling his eyes when Stiles comes through the door with his post. He likes to complain that he
might have something private in there and that Stiles is too nosy for his own
good. Stiles always taps his nose, says it’s too cute to be an annoyance, and
Derek rolls his eyes again, turns away with a fond smile.
Stiles likes putting that smile
there, likes seeing Derek happy, revelling in something as easy and light as
gentle bickering. To some people it might seem like nothing, to Stiles and
Derek it’s a damn miracle. After everything they’ve been through, survived, to
come out the other side and still have some sort of lightness inside of them;
Stiles is endlessly grateful. He’s
glad to be alive, glad that Derek is, too. He likes getting into the semantics
of whether or not having a cute nose gets him a free pass when it comes to
rummaging through Derek’s mailbox. Besides, it’s not like he ever reads it; Derek doesn’t get anything
particularly interesting. That’s not the point, it’s just a habit, now. The
same way Derek always reminds Stiles to take a sweater with them if they’re
headed out, or Stiles picks up Hershey’s kisses at the store because he knows
Derek likes them, but won’t buy them himself on pain of death.
Stiles winced at the pitch of the shriek. Ah, the dulcet tones of the fruit of his loins. He debated sprinting for the parking lot, but instead turned toward the pumpkin patch and Mandy’s screech. Better see what terrible fate had befallen his 8-year-old.
He jogged down the row of hay bales and pumpkins, dodging some other parents and kids, and found his own daughter two rows over, her skinny arms locked around a pumpkin three times the size of her head. Unfortunately, Mandy was not the only one with a claim on the pumpkin, the other being a scrawny boy with a shock of black hair and ears that poked straight out from his head.
“I had it first!” the boy said.
Mandy gave fairly impressive wrench backward, but neither the boy nor the pumpkin budged. “No, it’s mine!”
Stiles really didn’t want to step in, but one of them had to be the adult and, legally, that was him. “What’s going on here?”
“Daddy!” Mandy’s eyes lit up with a gleam Stiles had learned to fear. “Daddy, he’s trying to take my pumpkin! Make him stop!”
i want derek hale to have like the cutest tattoo ever. like on his hip. and it’s a secret. and it shows how much of a marshmallow he is
The form asks Do you have any distinguishing marks? and Derek chews the pen cap and thinks about it for a second and writes: Yes. Two tattoos.
He figures that will be it.
——
“You know you sign your name under a little box that says the information you have provided is truthful to the best of your knowledge,” Stiles says, flopping down next to Derek and tossing a sheaf of papers into his lap.
“What?” Derek asks. Dog the Bounty Hunter has just apprehended someone on TV and Derek is still getting used to surround sound. It continues to freak out his hearing.
“Your application,” Stiles says.
“I’m not actually a felon,” Derek says. “It asks if you were ever convicted. I wasn’t.”
“Not that part,” Stiles says. “The thing about your tattoos.”
“What about them?”
“Them? Them? What do you mean them?”
Derek sighs. “I have two tattoos. Which one?”
Stiles sputters. “You do not have two tattoos. You have the mystical werewolf back tattoo and that’s it.”
Derek raises an eyebrow. “You’d be the expert on my body then?”
Stiles’ face flushes dully. “Obviously not. But I have seen you half-naked and dying often enough to be pretty certain.”
“There you go,” Derek replies, turning back to the TV.
“What does that mean?” Stiles demands.
“It means you’ve only seen me half-naked. The tattoo is on the other half.”
Stiles’ eyes take on a glazed expression. “Which part of the other half? Are we talking embarrassing butt tattoo? Left cheek? Right cheek—? No, it’s not the right cheek, that harpy shredded your pants last fall.”
Derek lets out a low grumble. He still doesn’t like talking about that.
“Stiles, leave it alone.”
“I am insulted. You have known me long enough to know that I am constitutionally incapable of following that directive. I am wounded, wounded to my very—”
“It’s on my left hip,” Derek snarls. “Now drop it.”
“Oh, I’ll drop it, buddy,” Stiles mutters, subsiding. “I’ll drop it like it’s hot.”
Derek has no idea what that means, but he figures it’s nothing good.
——
“Really, Stiles?” Derek says, sighing heavily. He stops unbuttoning his jeans and turns to his bedroom window in time to hear, “Oh, shit!” then a series of crashes and yelps.
When he leans out the window, Stiles is sitting in the bushes, rubbing his lower back and scowling.
“I’m calling the cops,” Derek says. “There’s a man outside my house. I feel unsafe.”
“You’re such a dickhead,” Stiles says. “I think I broke my spine.”
“It matches your broken brain,” Derek replies, shutting the window.
He makes his way downstairs and heads outside. Stiles is still sitting in the dirt, and he does look a little banged up.
“What are you doing!” Stiles says when he sees him. “You’re giving the neighborhood a show!”
Derek glances down at his bare torso and half-unbuttoned jeans, shrugging. “So? C’mon, you’ve got a cut on your face.”
He tugs Stiles to his feet and tries to usher him inside. Stiles is moaning the whole time.
“Oh my God, this is not good for my rep,” Stiles says. “You’re leading me into your den of iniquity and the neighbors will talk. You look like you got interrupted, okay, interrupted doing carnal things.”
“Stiles, shut up,” Derek says, almost fondly, and pushes Stiles inside. Then he leans back out his front door and raises his voice. “That’s right, boy, take off your clothes.”
Sure enough, Mrs. Pritchard closes her curtains with a gasp and Derek can make out the electronic sounds of a phone being dialed.
“You suck,” Stiles says. “Emotional distress. You should tell me what your tattoo is to make me feel better.”
“Go get the bandaids,” Derek replies, shutting the door.
——
“Derek,” says Sheriff Stilinski.
“Sir,” Derek replies.
“Your first shift is next Monday. You can come in for your uniform fitting this Wednesday.” The Sheriff twitches a little when he says it.
Derek sighs. “Is Stiles going to try to sneak into the fitting?”
“He’s driving me crazy,” the Sheriff says all in a rush. “Put him out of his misery, why don’t you? He walks around the house talking out loud about what it could be. I don’t need those kinds of images about my new deputy.”
Derek massages his temples. “If we keep giving into him, he’s always going to be this annoying.”
The Sheriff sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Derek, believe me when I say that there’s no win for either of us here.”
Derek believes him.
——
“You really seem to want to see me naked,” Derek says mildly, pulling off his sweaty tank top and tossing it on the bench.
“Eep,” the locker behind him squeaks.
Derek towels his neck dry. “Should I read something into that, Stiles?”
The locker is suspiciously silent.
“I’m going to head home now,” Derek says, pulling out a clean shirt from his gym bag. “The Zumba class lets out in five minutes. You should probably be gone by then. They can break your neck with their thighs.”
——
Stiles is pretty creative, and Derek can only take about two months of that creativity before he heaves a deeply irritated sigh, hangs up his gun holster, and pulls Stiles out of his hall closet.
“How do you keep getting in,” Derek asks no one in particular, tossing a struggling Stiles over his shoulder and trudging up the stairs.
“Your security is really lax for a newly minted deputy,” Stiles says, the words punched out of him as Derek’s shoulder digs into his gut. “I’m just—oof—alerting you to its flaws.”
“I wish someone would have alerted me to your flaws,” Derek says, pushing his bedroom door open with his foot.
“Please,” Stiles scoffs, “You love my—Derek, why are we in your bedroom?”
“Yes,” Derek says patiently.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I love your flaws.”
Stiles is wide-eyed. “It’s finally happened. I’ve crossed into a parallel dimension.”
Derek groans out a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll make you a deal: You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
“I don’t have a tattoo,” Stiles says. “That’s totally not fair! Fine, I’ll go out and get a tattoo, you asshole, and when I get back—”
“Stiles, get in the fucking bed and get naked,” Derek growls.
Stiles mouth snaps shut. For about three blissful seconds.
“I never want to leave this dimension, holy God.”
“You are such a pain in my ass,” Derek says. “I’m gonna get some stuff from the bathroom. Be in that bed and ready when I get back.”
“Nnngh,” Stiles replies.
That’s pretty satisfying.
——
Derek takes a deep breath and steps into the room. He gives Stiles a second to take it in.
Stiles makes a garbled noise.
“Is that… is that a Care Bear?”
“It was a dare from Laura,” Derek says, folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe. He’s a little insulted that he’s naked and Stiles is too busy staring at his tattoo to appreciate the rest of him.
“It’s… Derek, it’s Grumpy Bear.”
“Yeah,” Derek says.
Stiles launches himself out of the bed and wraps his arms around Derek, kissing him full on the mouth. “I love you so much,” he says.
“That’s nice,” Derek replies, his hands going to Stiles’ hips. “If you tell anyone, I’m going to rip your throat out.”
“Are you kidding?” Stiles says. “This knowledge is mine, all mine. Now get in that bed, I need to lick you in a lot of places, including that tattoo.”
“Fair enough,” Derek says, and tumbles them down to the bed.
——
Of course, because it’s Stiles, things are never that easy.
“Care Bear Alpha Stare!” Stiles shouts, and dissolves into honking laughter.
Derek is in love with an idiot.
The noises I made…
I just. I can’t. No can here. Can is on hiatus. Can is never coming back.
I will never be able to read this without laughing until I’m sick. Care Bear Alpha Stare made me snort so loud it physically hurt.
Stiles gets sick on Halloween and is devastated because he had been planning his costume for so long, he practically hand crafted that thing and he was looking forward to winning first prize at the Halloween party Lydia was throwing and beating Jackson for the first time ever.
He wakes up in the middle of the night to see Derek at the foot of his bed, reading. Around him are several carved pumpkins, all made to look like Star Wars characters.
Stiles blinks. “Did you carve those?” One even has a golden bikini painted on.
Derek shrugs, says, “you’re sick, I wanted to cheer you up” and goes back to reading, like that’s any kind of answer.
Stiles stares at Derek for a good, long minute. Several, actually. “Why didn’t you go to the party?”
“You’re here,” Derek replies like, again, it’s obvious, like Stiles being bed bound means Derek’s bed bound.
Stiles’ heart flutters.
“Is this your way of asking me out?” he asks, not sure if it’s the fever talking or the fact Derek carved him several Star Wars pumpkins is just too overwhelming to deal with right now.
Derek blushes. “Go back to sleep, Stiles.”
~
The next morning, Derek insists on spoon feeding him pumpkin soup. He even blows on it, making sure it’s not too hot.
“This is pretty serious boyfriend stuff, wouldn’t you say?” Stiles waggles his eyebrows. He doesn’t expect Derek to say I suppose. He doesn’t expect the little smile that follows it either and Stiles’ palms grow sweaty. (Spoiler: it’s got nothing to do with the fact his temperature is still running too high).
“Best Halloween ever,” he whispers, grinning as Derek holds out another spoonful.
shealwaysreads 