Derek stared at the card Stiles had given him for their first anniversary and fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“I’d be lost without you. And horny. Lost and horny.”
“You’re dating an actual child,” Derek muttered. Though Stiles had entered legal adulthood two years before, the only indication of that was his steadily increasing workload at college.
Derek sighed, took a look at the clock, and shoved the card into his briefcase before heading out. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t chuckled when he’d first read it, because it was funny, but he would also be lying if he said a card was all he expected. Things were good with Stiles. No, they were amazing.
He loved the goofy messages Stiles sent him: texts, emails, Snapchats, pictures, all of them showing up at random times, all of them making Derek’s pulse skip in the best way. He loved the way Stiles looked when they Skyped, usually scruffy and tired but always smiling, like talking to Derek was the highlight of his day. He loved the way Stiles teased him unmercifully, the way he grinned when Derek snarled and laughed with his whole body when Derek snarked back, the way they were still there for each other, though it had evolved into something more, something beyond just saving each other’s life.
Was it wrong to want a little… more from him for their first anniversary?
Derek would have tipped his head back, but he didn’t want to mess up Stiles’s braid. “You know how to braid?”
Stiles lightly flicked his ear. “Hey now. I’m a man of many gifts. I’m surprised you let your hair get this long. What, like they didn’t have barbers while you were off road-tripping to find yourself?”
Derek closed his eyes at the feeling of Stiles combing through his hair. “Wasn’t really a priority.”
“Yeah, I suppose living off the land and writing bad poetry on the hood of the Camaro doesn’t really lend itself to stopping for haircuts.”
Derek laughed softly. “I thought I had spent two years raising horses in Argentina with Cora. Or was it acting in off-Broadway shows?”
“What can I say, I have an active imagination,” Stiles said.
Derek hesitated for a moment, then asked the question that had been niggling in the back of his mind since he’d returned. “Why haven’t you asked where I was?”
Stiles’s fingers didn’t miss a beat in the braid. “Because you haven’t wanted to talk about it yet. Besides,” he cleared his throat, “where you were really isn’t as important as where you are, you know?”
Derek settled more firmly against Stiles’s legs. He felt calmer and more grounded than he had in years. “Yeah. I know.”
“I didn’t know werewolves could get stomach cramps.”
Derek opened one eye from where he was curled up on the couch and tried to bare his fangs at Stiles, but it was hard to look menacing when his stomach hurt so much. “It happens,” he grumbled.
“Really? Because in my experience you guys never get sick. Any kind of sick. Like ever.”
Derek wrapped his arms around his stomach tighter and winced at the pain. It would pass, he knew, but he would be miserable in the meantime. “We still get sick when we eat too much Chinese food.”
“Aw.” Stiles sat beside him and carded fingers through his hair. “Sorry, big guy. Next time I’ll be sure to tell you to slow down.”
Derek closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of Stiles’s fingers in his hair. “You’re not funny.”
Stiles flicked him gently on the ear. “I’m hilarious and you know you love me.” He sighed. “I wish I could take your pain or something, though. Stomachaches are no fun.”
“It’s okay,” Derek said. “Just…this is good.”
Stiles scratched his head, and Derek wanted to purr. “This is good?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” Stiles said, and kept stroking his fingers through Derek’s hair.
Maybe he’d still be miserable for a couple of hours, but Derek would be considerably less miserable as long as he had Stiles sitting right here beside him.
“It’s not that bad,” a disembodied voice floats to them from the other side of the hastily shut door.
“I don’t think you get to contribute!” Stiles shrills at his dad.
“Stiles, you’re nineteen, this is your apartment and he didn’t knock,” Derek says patiently.
“You’re right. I didn’t knock. Totally my bad,” his father calls.
“I gave him a key. He doesn’t have to knock,” Stiles says.
“Thanks, kiddo!”
“He has to knock if he doesn’t want to see his son giving-”
“Got the visual. Don’t need the commentary!” The Sheriff calls, sounding a little further away from the door, like he’s backing up in horror.
“-his boyfriend a really nice time,” Derek finishes lamely. Stiles puts hands on either side of Derek’s face, squishing his cheeks in delight, embarrassment forgotten.
“I think that’s the first time you’ve used the ‘b’ word. I thought we weren’t allowed to use the ‘b’ word.”
“I’m coming around. Especially since you keep coming up with alternatives.”
“I thought snuggle tooth was a winner,” the Sheriff calls.
“I agree with Stiles. You don’t get to contribute!” Derek yells, cheeks flushing a lovely pink.
Fic based on the last quote from this article. I thought it was super adorable and was inspired to Sterek it. It has dangerous levels of fluff, you have been warned.
Before Derek can even reach the door to their apartment, he can smell Stiles cooking. In fact, the elevator is only halfway to their floor but he begins to strip off his heavy outer layers anyway, knowing that Stiles would prefer if he left most, if not all of the dust and wood shavings on his clothes outside their actual home.
The lift buzzes to let him know they’ve finally reached the correct floor and he tiredly begins to drag himself and all of his stuff out into the hallway, a small trail of detritus falling from him with each step. He can’t help but smile as the smell gets stronger the closer he gets, all herbs, garlic, and tomato sauce which can mean any number of things but he hopes is pizza.
“Stiles?” he calls out, unlocking the door and setting his keys down on the entry table and slipping his boots off one foot at a time. It’s probably futile, he can hear the soft notes of Etta James floating out of the kitchen and Stiles quietly singing along under his breath, but he’s always promised to try anyway. It was Claudia who taught him you can never cook unless you have the proper music and it’s secretly one of Derek’s favorite sights to come home to, Stiles in his element as he candidly dances from one appliance to the next, comfortable enough to not need to hear if anyone’s actually coming in the door.
So, quietly as he can, he sneaks his way into the room, spotting a bowl of what must be the leftover sauce hanging out on the counter and forming a plan. He’s got a finger halfway dipped into the dish before he’s leaping back, as fast as he arrived, the wooden spoon that smacked his hand now being threateningly waved in his face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Stiles asks.
Derek thinks that Stiles must not know what he handed him.
There’s no way that Stiles could actually be suggesting this. Well, maybe, it is Stiles after all.
“You know this voucher only works for couples, right?”
“Oh,” Stiles says softly, “I didn’t.”
He takes it back from Derek.
“I really wanted that massage, but I can just give it to my dad and Melissa or something.”
And, well, there’s no good reason why they couldn’t go. Derek knows how stressed out Stiles has been with his classes; he probably really could use a relaxing spa day.
“We could still go,” Derek suggests.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “In case you somehow forgot, we aren’t a couple.”
“They don’t know that though.”
Stiles stares at him for a long moment. “You want to pretend to be together to use a voucher?” Stiles asks disbelievingly.
(If none of these trigger your imagination, then I look forward to reading whatever else you write.) – @nothingtoseeherejustmovealong
Sorry, you submitted your prompt instead of sending it in an ask, so I sent the prompt to myself in an ask. Also… I used all of them hahaha. 🙂
Stiles begrudgingly trudged into the class, scanning the room for an empty station. He wasn’t sure how big the class was, had just signed up for the first available spot to get this over with. Because his dorm hall advisor is a mean and his RA is a rascal and as punishment for what was very obviously an accident involving the oven and something resembling a hot pocket, they made him sign up for a cooking class. Any cooking class in fact as long as it made him use someone else’s kitchen and he learned something.
He grumbles to himself as he sits at one of the empty cooking stations. “I can’t believe they made me take a cooking class.” He looks around and so far only about half the stations are filled, most of them are couples making googley-eyes at each other over their hot plates. Great, he signed up for a couple’s cooking class.
“Whatever,” he says to himself, eying the empty seat next to him. “I’m going to make it fun my own way!”
He’s not quite sure how he will do that, but he’s sure he’ll be inspired by something before the course is through.
How about PhD candidate!Derek and writer!Stiles who both spend most of their days at the same coffee shop because they offer free refills and their muffins are to die for.
Derek usually takes up two tables with all of his research materials and his laptop. He’s got his usual spot in the back corner where the windows and outside world can’t distract him, but he’s always getting distracted by the guy who, in recent months, has taken up residence at the table next to his. Whose long fingers dance over the keyboard of his old MacBook so quickly it’s like he’s scared the words will leave him if he doesn’t get them out. He can’t tell if he’s a mega hipster or if he just really likes flannels and beanies, but either way he’s just Derek’s type with his full lips and whiskey eyes.
And Stiles, well he’s working on his second novel and he’s behind on his deadline because he couldn’t focus at home with Scott and Kira planning their wedding and now he can’t even focus at the coffee shop because this guy with his soft dark hair, his pale, ever changing eyes, and his fucking glasses that slip down his nose when he’s really focused. At this rate the second book in his time traveling mystery series will never get written, especially not if the sweater clad hottie keeps growing out his mountain man beard out.
They don’t ever really speak except for the occasional hello or good morning, but they notice each other all the time. Derek knows that if hot hipster is struggling with whatever he’s writing that he get’s an iced mocha and gnaws on the straw in a way that really shouldn’t turn Derek on, but it does.
Stiles knows that if Hottie McBeardie is having a bad day of research that he get’s a brownie and eats it bit by bit while scowling at his books. He also knows that when he’s having a good day with whatever he’s doing he gets a small smile on his face while he types.
It all comes to a head when Stiles goes to the university library to get some information on Aztec rituals and the librarian directs him to the Latin American Studies office where he finds Hottie McBeardie sitting in the small office lobby area with a stack of papers in front of him.
There’s an awkward moment when Derek looks at Stiles and asks, “Are you stalking me?’
Stiles turns bright red and then says, “No I’m looking for Derek Hale, he’s suppose to be the guy to ask about Aztec rituals.”
Then it’s Derek’s turn to blush because of course hot hipster is here about that and not stalking him. “I’m Derek Hale.”
“Oh, well in that case I’m looking for you, I’m Stiles Stilinski and I need some help,” Stiles says reaching his hand out to shake Derek’s.
Derek accepts it and feels his stomach flutter when they touch before he asks, “What can I help you with?”
Derek gives Stiles all the information he needs and then some and by the end of the conversation he’s pretty sure he’s in love. They both laugh about the fact that they’ve been working next to each other for months and it took a trip across town to find each other.
“What do you need all this for anyway?”
“It’s for my book,” Stiles says a little sheepishly, cheeks going red.
“Anything I might have heard of?” Derek asks, really wanting to know more about Stiles because he’s 99% sure he’s the one.
“Uh, it’s my second book for a series called Out of Time,” Stiles says, running a hand over the back of his head, he didn’t love talking to people about his books, they always had suggestions about the characters and who should end up with who or how he should move the plot forward.
“I love that book,” Derek says, his eyes soft as he looks at Stiles, “It’s historically accurate and the characters are so well formed. Can you give me a hint at where they go after the Tutor Era? Is it straight to the Aztecs or somewhere else first.”
“I can’t spoil it for you,” Stiles says, then blushes deeply then and gives Derek a smile, “Can I get your number?”
“For more research?” Derek asks, feeling a little hopeful, but at the same time trying to not get his hopes up.
“No, so I can take you out to dinner,” Stiles says with a sly smile and then Derek’s ears turn pink.
“Yeah, sure,” He says, trying to play it cool but he’s sure Stiles can hear his heart pounding.
They end up going to dinner that night at a local 24 hour diner and talk until 2 am and then Derek takes Stiles to his favorite section of the universes library when they leave. It’s the best first date either of them has ever had and when they run into each other at the coffee show that evening, both looking exhausted but happy, they share a table instead of sitting at separate ones.
And when the book comes out 8 months later (on time thank you very much you can stop riding me Lydia) the dedication reads “For Derek: Who taught me a lot about the Aztecs, but a lot more about love.”
Three years, 2 more time travel books, one completed and published dissertation, and a move across the country for a professorship later, Stiles proposes to Derek in the dedication of his most recent novel, the final in the Out of Time series, and uses a hollowed out copy of his second book to give him the ring.
i’m not supposed to be taking prompts. supposed. i never do what i’m supposed to do, though.
~*~
“What the fuck is wrong with him?!”
“A lot,” Derek blurts out before sniggering into Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles sways under his weight.
Deaton looks mildly amused, Stiles glares. This is not the kind of situation he’d call humorous.
“It’s just the pain medication; it will take a few hours to wear off. It may also,” Deaton clears his throat, “Make him a little loose tongued.”
Stiles’ throat goes slightly dry just at the turn of phrase and then he realizes what Deaton’s really implying.
“Is he—does he know what he’s saying at all?”
“Of course I do,” Derek interrupts, looking at him a little glassy eyed. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, it’s annoying when you and Scott do that.”
“We don’t do it that often!”
“You made plans for the weekend while I was standing right there,” Derek huffs. “It was rude.”
Stiles gapes at him. “I didn’t—did you want to go see a bunch of crappy horror movies with shitty acting that would make you itch to point out all the inaccuracies this Sunday?”
“If they’re going to reflect our daily lives they should at least be accurate.”
Which isn’t exactly an answer, but it is telling. Stiles bites his lip feeling guilty as fuck. He’d just assumed that even after all this time; Derek generally considered Stiles and Scott’s de-stressing activities to be beneath him.
“I just figured—”
“I don’t care,” Derek insists heatedly, before his head lolls back onto Stiles’ shoulder and his face is suddenly buried in Stiles’ neck. “You smell bad.”
For @emmmna who asked me for something to cheer them up. I went through my blog looking at fluffy otp
prompts and found this: “‘Be nice to your seat partner.
They might just be your future spouse!’ the teacher says, and you turn to me
and wink. Are you even real??” au. I wrote it rather quickly but I hope it makes you smile, sweetheart! ❤
Derek is a popular kid, and by law (according to
every teen movie ever made) his brand of popular is not supposed to get this dumbstruck
when the guy who once sneezed on his apple the first day of pre-school winks at
him in the middle of Biology.
Derek doesn’t know what it is about Stiles Stilinski
but he drives him insane– standing by
his locker, talking to that McCall kid in class, sitting on the bench, fidgeting at lacrosse games. One moment
Derek is a perfectly normal teenage boy with a perfectly functioning teenage
brain and the next he’s that guy in a romantic comedy; all the lights dim and it’s
just him, Stiles and whatever bizarre thing Stiles is doing. It’s horribly,
wonderfully unsettling and Derek is 95% sure he’s in some kind of love. (He is
still a little disturbed Erica had to physically drag him away last week when his
eyes refused to stop looking as Stiles tried and failed to lick some kind of
sauce – meat, Derek thinks it was – from his elbow.)
“What?” he asks, blinking, trying to look up at
Stiles’ face. Unfortunately, his brain has other plans and he continues to
remain fixated on the way Stiles is holding his pencil, twirling it between his
fingers. He wonders, briefly, what they would feel like laced between his
fingers or running through his hair before immediately stopping because no. Stiles also makes him want to bash
his head against the wall 75% of the time. He’s a lethal combination.
Lethal.
“I said I’d like a fall wedding. They seem to be
quite popular for some reason. Maybe it’s all the pretty leaves.”
Derek blinks again, suddenly struck by the image of
Stiles in a suit surrounded by crisp, golden leaves to match his eyes. It’s a
strangely lovely image and turning away a
little, he scowls at the way his stomach flutters. He’s seventeen for Christ’s sake. He’s only kissed one person: Paige Krasikeva during a
game of truth or dare. “You know Miss
Byrne was kidding when she said we’d all get married, right? We’re not going to
fall in love just because we got seated together in one class together.”
Derek hopes it will be just one class, anyway. He doesn’t
think he’ll survive the year otherwise. At least, his grades won’t.
“That’s what you think.” Derek feels his scowl deepen and Stiles throws his head back,
sighing. “Yes,buzz kill, I do actually know what a joke is, thank
you very much.” He blushes a little, ducking his head, and Derek instantly
feels bad.
“I, uh…”
“Dude, look. It’s fine. Sorry. I didn’t mean to, like, offend you or whatever.”
“You didn’t offend me.”
Stiles snorts. “Uh-huh. You moved your chair the
moment you sat down next to me. I get it, it’s fine. I’ll shut up, I promise.”
He mimes zipping his lips, blush deepening, and his eyes zero in on his
textbook but Derek can tell he’s not taking in a word of it, even as he turns
the page.
Opening his note book, Derek cringes, writing down
the date. He looks to the clock. He’s got another thirty minutes of sitting
here with Stiles.
Twenty-nine, he swallows.
Twenty-eight, sneaking a glance at him.
Twenty-seven: “I’m sure you’d make a beautiful
bridegroom.”
Stiles’ head snaps up and he drops his pencil. They
both watch it roll away. “What?”
Derek wants to slap himself. Of all the things he
could have said, of all the fucking things, who the fuck says…that?
“I, erm-”
“You don’t have to mock me, you know,” Stiles hisses,
defensive, embarrassed. “I get it. You’re basketball captain and I’m on the
bleachers. You don’t belong with me, whatever.”
Derek bites his lip, supressing a smirk. “Did you…did
you just paraphrase Taylor Swift to me?”
Stiles’ cheeks colour again and Derek’s breath
hitches. Fuck, he’s never going to tire of that.
“You knew I
was paraphrasing Taylor Swift?”
They both burst out laughing at the same time,
earning them a scowl from Miss Byrne and a guffaw from the back of the room. Turning, Derek catches Lydia Martin roll her
eyes at them before shooting Stiles a knowing look. When he turns back around,
Stiles is an even brighter shade of red, if that’s even possible, mouthing
something to her. It’s utterly, utterly endearing and Derek kind of wants to do
something stupid, like hold Stiles’ hand or draw hearts all over his notebook.
“You know,” he whispers, after a moment, feeling
brave, “I’ve still never forgiven you for sneezing on my apple. Maybe you could
buy me a new one, after school.”
Stiles’ mouth drops open. “That one is on you, buddy.
Who actually brings an apple to give
to their teacher on the first day of school anyway?”
It’s Derek’s turn to blush. Dammit. “Oh, I don’t
know. People with manners?”
“Are you going to buy me another one or not?” Derek
asks, rolling his eyes, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around himself.
God, what is wrong with him.
Grinning, Stiles reaches into his bag, presenting him
with a –
“I don’t know what kind of apples you eat but that is an orange.”
Stiles curses, scratching the back of his neck, and
Derek just about falls out of his seat with how tingly he feels looking at him.
He desperately hopes he’s not giving him heart eyes.
“Points for trying?” Stiles grins, hopeful.
Derek pretends to consider him before taking the
orange and beginning to peel it. “Depends.”
“On?”
“If marrying me includes a date after school today.”
In the end, it’s Stiles who falls out of his seat,
and Derek can’t stop grinning for the rest of the day thinking about it.
Pick you up at 6? comes a text the moment he sits
down in History. Erica peeks over his shoulder, trying to pry as usual, but
Derek hides his phone, heart pounding as he replies, I help coach the pee wee basketball team until seven. Pick me up then?
So. Darn. Cute, Stiles texts back.
“Derek…are you – are you blushing? Oh my god, you never blush. Who was that? Was that Stilinski?”
“Shut up, Erica.”
~
Stiles ends up taking him to an apple orchard and
buys him exactly one hundred and one apples.
“One hundred apples for forever and a day?” he asks,
winking. Derek’s stomach flips.
“Sure,” Derek says, shaking his head fondly, biting
into one and then, because Stiles bought him several different kinds, another.
~
“Forever and a day?” Stiles asks, fourteen years
later, holding out an apple. It’s cut in half and getting down on one knee he
opens it carefully, like a box. Inside is a ring.
“Sure,” Derek whispers, grinning so hard it hurts,
falling to his knees and burying his face in Stiles’ neck to hide his blush.
shealwaysreads 