The first time Leonard sees an email from one Jim Kirk, his eyes nearly pop out of his skull from the horrible—repeat, god awful—use of colors that are not in the Enterprise Style Guide (and in fact, shouldn’t be used AT ALL) and Comic Sans.
Comic Sans. In a professional email. With Papyrus. In. The. Signature.
Good god, is this real life?
Leonard, being ever meticulous, doesn’t even respond to this clown’s question because he’s so distracted by the horrible formatting that he might have an aneurysm! Instead, he attaches a PDF of the company branding and its rules which he and Spock developed and sends it off with a terse, “Minimalism. Try it some time.”
He expects an equally terse, perhaps butt hurt response because people in this company can be pompous douchebags. Leonard lives to shut those folks down; it’s one of his favorite things in the world to tell them how wrong—yes, you’re fucking WRONG—they are.
However, Jim Kirk’s reply kind of throws him for a loop. “Are you one of those designers who enjoy wearing flannel under a sweater in the summer and has a quadrilateral tattoo on their forearm?”
First of all, the tattoo on the inside of his bicep is not a quadrilateral! It’s a geometric peach because he’s from Georgia. Secondly, he absolutely, under no uncertain terms hates flannel.
“I am one of those designers who enjoy following the design guidelines as dictated by the style guide that they developed because it’s the bones of which good design is based on,” he types back before hitting send with his mouse.
Jim’s response comes seconds later. “Live a little,” he says with a winky face. “Bones,” he adds seconds later.
And continues to do so in every single interaction they have on email or through the internal messaging system. Never Leonard, Leo, Len; always Bones.
He asks Gaila about this kid whose emails he does not look forward to receiving because Leonard has work to do, dammit! They’re in line at the deli around the corner from the office, away from office gossip and Spock who has sonar hearing.
“He’s one of the renders under Chris,” she tells him. “I think he joined a few months ago.“
Leonard blinks, confused. “He did?”
“Yeah. Chris introduced him during the staff meeting.”
He vaguely remembers an announcement sent around to the office about a new hire with a candid shot of an unfairly good looking man whose name escapes Leonard’s memory. All he remembers is the guy’s blue eyes and easy grin and absolutely nothing about his identity.
“Darlin’, you know I never go to staff meetings.”
Gaila turns around, her red curls bouncing. “And there’s the rub,” she teases. “If you had gone, you would know who he is and you wouldn’t have to ask me about your little email crush.”
He chokes on his own saliva. “Who told you!”
“Nyota,” Gaila says with a shrug. She looks more interested in today’s special than Leonard’s love life or lack thereof. “Spock mentioned it to her and she is the head of IT.”
“Those are private emails!” In which he and Jim have been flirting and bantering back and forth for weeks. Leonard corrects his terrible grammar and Jim brushes it off with his carefree wit and use of that awful nickname.
“They are also fair game since you two are using the company server,” Gaila reminds him. She turns to him. “Why don’t you just ask him out, get his number, and sext him?”
Leonard shakes his head. “I do not sext!”
“Maybe you should?”
Maybe he should, but he doesn’t.
Leonard doesn’t sext. Leonard is an adult who ends up giving Jim Kirk his number and asking him out for coffee that weekend. An adult who nearly shits himself with glee when Jim agrees to it when he calls Leonard back later that day.
They never make it to coffee because Jim invites him over that night and when Leonard is unbuttoning Jim’s shirt, he thinks that they don’t need coffee. Coffee is bad for them. Coffee has acids and too much sugar and doesn’t make him weak in the knees like when Jim kisses him.
Because damn. DAMN.
When they get married a year later, it’s only fitting that their save-the-date uses an email theme with terrible fonts and colors.
I can’t get over the horrifying fact that Jim used the font, “Comic Sans.” 😀 But he got it right with Papyrus. 😀
Tag: fluff
Sterek Writing Prompt – A Bad Joke
Derek knew, when the only person to laugh was Jackson, that the joke had wildly misfired. He was going for banter, he was going for a gentle ribbing, he was…god he was useless.
Stiles’s virginity wasn’t something he hid, for god’s sake. He joked about it himself all the time! Didn’t he? And witches (mother fucking witches, who knew?) were in town and were sacrificing virgins because as well as being vindictive hags, they just loved a cliché. Ergo, a joke aimed at Stiles, about him needing protection, should have just received a little laugh from everyone and they would have moved on to planning how to take the witches down.
What Derek didn’t plan on was the shame, embarrassment and sadness that spiked Stiles’s in scent as soon as the weight of Derek’s words landed. Jackson barked out a cruel laugh and punched Stiles in the arm and Stiles just. Deflated.
Scott, bless his heart, changed the subject effortlessly and the conversation soon went back to battle strategy. Derek refrained from any further ad hoc attempts at humour and Stiles got involved again, but he was muted somehow. Derek tried to think of a time he’d felt worse but was coming up empty. And that in itself was laughable given his fucking tragedy of a life history.
He’d always just assumed Stiles was human kevlar. He was impossible to embarrass. He couldn’t be laughed at because he was always in control of the comedy. But somehow Derek had managed it. It didn’t make him feel special.
Once the plan was in place, people started drifting off to their respective lives and he could see Stiles heading to the door but the feeling that he had to fix things was itching under Derek’s skin. He needed to…something.
“Stiles, wait a minute”
The boy looked like waiting even a minute was the furthest thing from his mind, but he hung back anyway as Scott pulled the door closed behind him. The soft click of the door seemed to echo around the loft as they were left alone. The silence stretched on and Derek couldn’t remember the last time Stiles had been this quiet without being unconscious.
He cleared his throat, determined to clear the air. “Look. I’m…sorry. I didn’t, I mean, it was just a joke and-”
“You can’t joke about that” Stiles interrupts quietly
“What?”
If possible, Stiles looks even more embarrassed. “You don’t get to joke about…that. Okay Derek?”
“I know, and like I said, I’m sorry – ”
“What were you trying to do anyway?” he asks. “Hell, you never make jokes EVER, so why try now?” Stiles voice was becoming harder, angrier. “Just what were you trying to achieve?”
What was he trying to achieve? What possible answer could he give? The truth? The truth was that he was trying to make Stiles laugh. That his laugh warms parts of him he thought long dead. That when this annoying, bright, stubborn boy throws his head back and laughs, Derek allows himself to believe for a moment that the world isn’t all dark and twisty? No. Hah. Not in a million years.
“I was just, trying, I guess.” He settles on a partial truth. “You guys are always getting at me for being quiet, stoic, you know? I think I was trying to fit in more. Erica makes digs all the time and I just.” He sighs. “I thought I could be like that”
Stiles softens slightly. “I get it, I do. Just.” He looks at his feet. “Just don’t joke about…that. Me. The sex-not-having thing. Erica can joke because I’m not in…I mean she isn’t who I…I mean” he lets out a frustrated sigh and at this point Stiles seems to snap. He’s gone full word-vomit. “God! It’s not like I don’t have offers, okay buddy? Because I do. Lots of offers. Guys, girls, I got my pick. I’m attractive, you know? To people? With eyes? Maybe not glowing blue eyes but eyes and I could have any-”
(Derek has come to think on Stiles’s word vomit fondly, tuning out what he’s saying and becoming captivated by his hand gestures and his perfect cupid’s bow lips moving but this time something Stiles says gives Derek pause)
“What did you say?” Derek interrupts sharply.
“- guy or girl that I want to but -what?”
“The ‘glowing blue eyes’ thing you just said? You…was that about me? You don’t think I think you’re attractive?” Derek stares at Stiles in disbelief.
“Don’t play with me, Derek” Stiles says quietly “It’s not fair. I know you don’t think of me that way, and that’s fine, I’ve learned to live with that but until someone comes along that I want as much as I want you, or until you get your head out of your perfect ass and realise you’re the only person I can even think about sleeping with right now I’m not going to just sex-up anyone in the name of getting rid of the V-card. Virginity is just a social construct anyway so it doesn’t even matter and oh my god I didn’t just say that, forget I said that, it was a lie and what the hell is happening to your face?”
He’s smiling. Derek is smiling big and bright and Stiles is right to question this because he never does that. And he’s smiling because Stiles wants him. There may be witches out there to be stopped, and he’s sure that next week there’ll be something else for them to hunt and kill but for now, Derek can’t think of anything other than the fact that the boy he likes, likes him. He’s going to allow himself this little bit of happiness. He moves closer to Stiles and gently brushes his fingers down his forearm before clasping Stiles’s hand in his.
Stiles just manages to say “Besides, we all know *I’m* the funny one” before Derek stops him talking with a kiss.
Stiles constantly flirting with Derek in that over the top kind of way where it’s not really serious. Derek is aware that Stiles does it to be obnoxious but most of it centers around Derek’s physique and sick abs and his stellar face.
The worst part is he’s heard most of it from strangers who weren’t being at all facetious. Derek sort of hopes that’s the point.
Stiles has winked at Derek at least fifty times the entire time they’ve known each other. It’s excessive.
Derek waffles back and forth between irritated and amused. He’s not sure if he should be genuinely insulted by the remarks. And then Stiles is there when a stranger actually hits on him.
Stiles watches in amusement at first but then the guy says something about how Derek should smile and Derek hates when people say that to him for the very obvious reasons. Derek’s not even sure Stiles knows.
But either way, before Derek can respond Stiles snorts beside him. “One time Derek smiled and his whole face cracked.”
Which is hard to follow up.
“I heard once when he was a kid Derek smiled and his face stuck like that. Medical professionals have cautioned against it.”
“Every time Derek smiles a unicorn is born, it’s a responsibility no one should take lightly.”
Eventually, the guy leaves, without saying another word as Stiles presses just a bit closer until he’s chased the guy off with awkward one liners.
When Stiles turns back around to face him, Derek is smiling.
“Don’t you make a liar out of me,” Stiles says, pointing a finger at him. Derek knocks his hand away.
“A unicorn?” Derek asks. Stiles grins at him.
“I believe it. It’s like a cryptid. You gotta coax it out of hiding. But when you do it’s pretty amazing.”
“Stiles,” Derek sighs. Derek isn’t sure what he’s going to say, but when Stiles winks at him, again, Derek kisses him instead.
If you wanna write a ficlet based on the tags you put about Derek not being good at receiving compliments so stiles compliments him always I can guarantee you that I will 100% read it and reblog it and comment about how much I love it :D
Well how can I resist that??
The first time it happened, Stiles didn’t think anything of it. Standing over the smoldering remains of the creature that just tried to kill them, he said “nice job”, gave Derek a friendly slap on the back, and suggested they go out for celebratory we didn’t die today milkshakes. He was pleasantly surprised when Derek both agreed and paid, and he dipped fries in both to see if they went better with his strawberry or Derek’s chocolate.
(The answer was chocolate, and Derek didn’t even get mad when three of Stiles’ fries were lost in his shake.)
The second time, he was marveling at the obscure text Derek managed to track down and said, “dude, you are literally the best, I’m buying you pizza!” And shockingly, Derek let him, and even told him what toppings he wanted. That might not seem like much in the grand scheme of things, but Stiles had spent years watching in silent judgment as Derek picked off half the toppings from the pizzas he ordered for the pack, as if he couldn’t get another for himself that he actually liked.
Stiles told him he liked the way he rearranged the loft, and Derek sat through the entire extended edition of The Fellowship of the Ring on his new flat screen.
When he mentioned liking the fancy pasta dish Derek made and asked for a lesson to make it, Derek agreed. He showered compliments on Derek’s meticulous overhaul of the bestiary and Derek let him borrow three books.
Derek never let anyone borrow his books, they never left the loft.
These events were all spread out enough that it took a while to click, but when it did, it was both a revelation and incredibly depressing: Derek had no idea what to do with even the most casual of compliments.
Sarcasm was no issue, Stiles knew that much—he’d personally thrown out enough nice martyr complex, jackass and the like to figure that out—but anything that was even remotely sincere?
He started paying attention after that, to the way Derek would stiffen and his eyes would widen a bit before his face closed off again. He would go quiet, maybe nod, and quickly agree to pretty much anything just to get the focus back off himself.
Because Derek was actually embarrassed by compliments.
Proposal, Or Something Like That
Thanks for the anonymous reminder, whoever you are ko-fi nonnie. I totally got swept up in my work and life and getting back into the swing of writing (and hopefully finishing my fic) that I kind of forgot about my wonderful ko-fi donators. You guys really helped me out sooooo much and I’m forever grateful.
This goes out to @ladydrace for your 900-word donation that I extended to
1292, considering I took so long to get to this. It may not be as fluffy as you expected (I tried, I did, but I’m a angst writer haha), but I hope you enjoy it. Thanks so much, again, dear.The first time Stiles says it, Derek nearly chokes on a spoonful of ice cream. Which would be a shitty way to die, especially all they’d had to face in the last few years. Especially as the big bad of the week had slowly evolved into the big bad of the month, and the last few months had been completely quiet.
Derek should’ve known to be prepared at any moment. Except, how could anyone be prepared for this?
“God, why aren’t we married yet?” Stiles groans out after taking a giant bite of his ice cream. A little of it spills down Stiles’ arm and he chases it with his tongue, and Derek nearly chokes on his.
He realizes he’s staring at Stiles, his spoon still stuck in his mouth. He quickly rectifies the situation, removing said spoon and giving Stiles one of his best eye rolls.
“Seriously,” Stiles continues, pretty much shoveling the ice cream into his mouth at this point. “If I knew you could cook like this, I would’ve proposed ages ago.”
“It’s not cooking, Stiles,” Derek says. Because that is the easiest thing to focus on. Instead of the way Stiles is moaning around each spoonful, a little dribbling out of his mouth which should not be doing things to Derek.
“You know what I mean.”
He finally looks up, his bowl licked completely clean. And Derek can see the moment his senses come back to him as he blushes and gently places the bowl on the counter in front of him like he hadn’t just had his face shoved in there. He glances mournfully at the hand crank ice cream machine Derek had just purchased.
Derek sighs, pushing away from the counter to pick up Stiles’ bowl and refill it with the remainder of the ice cream. Apparently it was a worthwhile purchase.
“Seriously, marry me?”
****
The second time it happens, Derek is no more prepared for the words, or the images they bring to mind. Images he could never allow himself to dream of because it’s too painful to know it will never happen.
Derek had just been settling into bed with a book he was keen to finish tonight when his phone went off, a ringtone he’d never heard before but had no doubt Stiles had somehow hacked his phone just to add a ridiculous tone for himself. And a quick glance to the screen only proves his point.
With a sigh, Derek leans over and picks up the phone, half tempted to just send him to voicemail. Instead, he answers.
“What do you want, Stiles?” he says in a voice he hopes sounds firm and put out.
“Heeeeeeeeeeeey, Derek,” Stiles singsongs from the other end of the line, like he is just as surprised Derek answered the phone.
Derek sighs again, already pulling back the bedding and grabbing his jeans. “Where are you?”
“Thas not how yersposed to answer the phooooone,” Stiles slurs out, ending with a giggle like he were sharing a joke with himself.
Derek can hear a pounding bassline over the other end of the line and is already running through all the possible bars Stiles could’ve snuck into. He had two more years. Why couldn’t he just be reasonable and just wait.
“I’m coming to pick you up,” Derek says, already halfway down his spiral staircase. “Tell me where you are.”
“Oooooh. My hero.”
**
It’s easy to pick Stiles out over the crowd as he is currently on top of the bar, attempting to dance against one of the pillars. Two of the bartenders are attempting to get him down while another stands back and laughs like this is a regular occurrence, which all Derek knows, it could be.
Before Derek can even cross the room and somehow get Stiles down from his makeshift strip show, Stiles notices him.
“Derek!!!” He shouts, taking one step off the bar and before anyone can do anything, he lands flat on his face.
Somehow, Derek manages to get Stiles into the passenger seat of his car and before he rounds the car to his own seat, he takes Stiles’ hand in his and drains a bit of the pain that Stiles might not feel at the moment, but will most definitely feel in the morning. He’s almost done when Stiles’ other hand lifts and brushes across Derek’s cheek, making him freeze on the spot.
“Will you marry me yet?” Stiles says, his voice oddly clear. He’s staring at Derek with absolute concentration, as if he could will Derek into saying yes.
Derek swallows, his throat having to work extra hard over the lump that seems to have suddenly formed. There’s something in his chest, attempting to crawl out, but he shuts it down. This isn’t…Stiles doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just….Stiles being Stiles. Stiles being drunk, whatever.
Derek schools his expression before gently rearranging Stiles and placing the seatbelt around him.
“Let’s get you home,” he says before closing the door and rounding the car, too quick to notice the way Stiles’ face pinches in pain.
****
“What do I have to do to get you to say yes?”
Derek nearly brings the hammer down on his hand instead of the nail that was halfway through the fence board he was attempting to repair. He has only a moment to marvel at the fact that Stiles can sneak up on Derek without any of his senses picking up on him, before Stiles is yanking on his shoulder and spinning him around.
His eyebrows are furrowed together, his lips a thin line, and Derek can honestly say he hasn’t seen Stiles this pissed since…he can’t remember when.
“What are…” What was he even talking about? Say yes? To what?
Thankfully Derek doesn’t have to find his words as Stiles is already running over them. “I’ve asked you nicely. Twice now. But you have yet to answer. And maybe I haven’t been the but I haven’t been subtle.”
Derek blinks. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re out here fixing my dad’s fence without even being asked,” Stiles continues as if Derek hadn’t spoken. He’s waving his hands around in a way that makes Derek want to hold them down for everyone’s safety. “You made my absolute most favorite flavor of ice cream without me even asking. You drove twenty minutes out of your way to pick me up from a bar because I was too shitfaced to drive home. How the hell am I supposed to keep my emotions at bay with you doing everything in your power to test them?”
“I don’t…”
“Would you just marry me already?” Stiles says in a huff, full on glaring at Derek by now.
“Okay.”
Stiles looks about ready to go into another rant when the words finally process. He freezes. “O…okay?”
A small smile spreads across Derek’s face. Who knew he could ever actually make Stiles speechless.
“Yes, okay. I’ll marry you.” He takes advantage of Stiles’ stunned silence by pulling him in closer until they’re pressed together from thigh to chest. His smile grows as Stiles’ eyes widen and his breath catches. “But we might want to consider going on at least one date before we do.”
“You…you better not be playing around,” Stiles breathes out. He tries to make it sound teasing, but Derek can see the uncertainty in his eyes.
“I’m not if you’re not,” Derek says, leaning his down ever so slowly, giving Stiles time to pull away.
Stiles’ eyes drop to Derek’s mouth as his tongue unconsciously comes out to wet his lips. God, he’s wanted this for so long.
“It’s a date, then,” Stiles says on a breath, his eyes never leaving Derek’s lips.
Sterek AU – Kittens! (for pafhan)
When Stiles finds a box of kittens – and he can’t take them home because his father is allergic – he drops them off at Derek’s place. Derek is less than pleased however, claiming that he really doesn’t like felines. But Stiles wouldn’t be Stiles if he gave Derek a choice in the matter.
Derek has to admit that having Stiles over all the time – to play with and cuddle the kittens, of course – might not be the worst thing in the world. And if it means Stiles will finally stop whining about it… then yes, Derek will try and show some affection to the little buggers. And damn if he doesn’t start enjoying it…
Then one day Stiles shows up in the loft unannounced, and the sight of Derek having fallen asleep with one of the kittens in his arms is enough to make his heart skip a beat…
my good friend @lena221b recently reminded me of a series of drabbles i wrote in response to anon asks aaaaages ago. i couldn’t find the original posts (we’re talking years ago, that’s too much scrolling for one mortal girl) so i decided to lump them all together here. the following are a few short snippets of derek and stiles’ life together. in my head they’re all part of the same universe. enjoy!
“I dream about riding you sometimes.”
Derek drops Stiles flat on his face.
Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, just tries to roll himself back over. ‘Tries’ being the operative word, because he somehow manages to get himself tangled in his hoodie and then he’s just struggling on the ground with his head trapped in the sleeve.
Ordinarily Derek would help him, would feel guilty about dropping him in the first place, but right now he’s too preoccupied with choking on his own spit.
Stiles fights his way out of his clothing and gazes up at Derek.
“You’re so big though, I’m not even sure I could get my legs around you.”
Can werewolves go into cardiac arrest? Because it’s happening, Derek’s pretty sure it’s happening.
“And you’re so strong, too. I bet I could just climb up on there and you could keep going for hours.”
Stiles smacks his lips and wiggles on the forest floor and seems completely unconcerned with the way Derek’s world is rearranging itself around him.
“Such a scary wolfy,” Stiles mumbles, eyelashes fluttering. “You’re also really fluffy though.” He reaches out and starts patting Derek’s boot. “Preeeetty.”
Derek steps carefully away from Stiles and smashes his head into the nearest tree. A cut appears on his eyebrow and then heals before he’s even wiped the blood away. Because Stiles is talking about riding Derek in his wolf form. Like he’s some kind of glorified pony. And Derek is so pathetically gone on this boy that he’d let him. He’d growl and snarl and snap his jaws and then he’d get down on his haunches and carry Stiles wherever he wanted to go.
He’s absolutely, definitively not disappointed that Stiles isn’t talking about riding him in his human form because that would be gross and creepy and taking advantage of Stiles’ intoxicated state.
Right, Stiles, who is drunk, and burrowing into a pile of leaves.
Derek sighs at his life and stomps over to pick Stiles up again.
“Whoa, spinny!” Stiles shrieks and clutches at Derek’s collar. When he’s got his feet back under himself he looks around and frowns. “Nooo, no standing, it’s nap time.”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning,” Derek grumbles.
“Which is why it’s nap time,” Stiles insists, like it wasn’t his idea to get smashed in the woods in the middle of the night like an utter moron.
“You can sleep back at the loft, okay?” Derek bargains, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and hauling him forward.
“Mmm your bed,” Stiles groans, stuffing his face into Derek’s neck. “Been trying to get into your bed for months.”
Derek drops Stiles flat on his face.
*****
The first time Stiles walks into Derek’s loft and finds him cooking he’s so stunned that he forgets to actually stop walking and crashes into a table.
Derek raises an eyebrow without looking away from where he’s blanching (blanching) vegetables. Once Stiles has stopped rolling around on the floor he uses two bar stools to pull himself right-side-up and brushes himself off as nonchalantly as he can manage.
“You cook?” he asks, trying his hardest not to appear incredulous, but Derek is wearing oven mitts so it’s not really going too well.
Derek levels him with his patented ‘why am I dating an idiot?’ look. It’s very, very flat.
“Yes, Stiles, I can cook,” he says, and pokes at something sizzling in a pan. Stiles boggles. Derek raises his other eyebrow this time. “Why is this shocking? You know I eat.”
“Well, yeah, objectively,” Stiles agrees. “I just always assumed you lived off a diet of Hot Pockets, squirrels, and the tears of your enemies.”
So very flat.
“Well, I’d hate to disappoint. I’ll throw this in the bin and then head out to rustle up some woodland creatures.” He goes to turn off the burner and Stiles dives across the kitchen.
“No, no, no. This is good. This is — What is this?” Stiles takes a whiff and just about hits the floor again. “Oh god, feed me.”
(Stiles can cook too, but his speciality is sweet things. Derek couldn’t bake a cake to save his life. They’re a match made in culinary heaven.)
*****
“No,” Derek says sternly, giving Stiles everything his eyebrows have to offer. “Absolutely not.”
“What! Derek, come on, you know you want one,” Stiles wheedles, waggling his own eyebrows at Derek. He looks ridiculous and definitely not appealing.
“I have my hands full enough just trying to look after you.”
"Hey!” Stiles squawks. “I resent that! I am a fully functioning adult, thank you very much,” he says, puffing himself up.
All Derek has to do is glance pointedly at the thing curled up in Stiles’ arms and he puffs right back down again.
“I’ll keep her at my place! You won’t even know she’s there. I’ll take such good care of her, I swear.” Derek remains unmoved. Stiles pulls out the big guns. “Babe, please.” Damn him. “Just look at that face. You can’t say no to that face.”
The thing is, Derek is dangerously close to letting slip just how true that is. He’ll never be able to say no to Stiles. He might put up a token protest, but Derek knows that the second Stiles asks him for anything he’s already screwed.
And right now Stiles isn’t pulling his punches either. He’s got the big eyes and the pouty lips and his neck stretched out at the most perfect angle and Derek’s ready to fall to his knees and offer Stiles everything.
Except, what, no, not this time, Stiles is starting to make him legitimately insane.
“Who are you?! Hagrid?!” he exclaims. “Put the dragon down, Stiles.”
Stiles pulls this heartbroken face, and Derek is almost swayed except dragon.
“But she’s just a baby!” Stiles wails. “She doesn’t know how to look after herself.”
“She just singed off Scott’s eyebrows,” Derek says flatly. “I think she’ll be fine.”
(On the walk back to the Jeep Derek offers to buy Stiles a cat in place of the dragon, because they’re basically the same thing anyway and Derek is a sucker.)
*****
“I told you not to do it,” Derek sing-songs, condescendingly, not even looking up from his book. The ass.
“No you didn’t,” Stiles moans from his place on the couch. He removes his arm from his face to glare weakly at said ass. “You said, ‘As if you’d ever get your nipple pierced’. Which was basically a direct challenge. Which means of course I did it.”
Derek doesn’t even stop reading to roll his eyes at Stiles. He just kind of widens them slightly with a long-suffering look on his face. The ass.
"This is entirely your fault,” Stiles whines. Derek doesn’t respond at all.
Stiles wriggles around making pitiful noises until Derek snaps his book shut with a growl. “What.”
“It hurts,” Stiles sniffles.
“Well that’s because you poked a piece of metal through your flesh,” Derek bitches, but he gets up and walks over to the couch anyway. He lifts Stiles’ legs and settles himself down, Stiles’ thighs splayed across his lap. Then he curls his hand around Stiles’ knee and begins leeching his pain.
“Better?” he asks, and Stiles hums in the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut.
He’s just about to drop off the edge of consciousness when something hot and wet envelops his nipple. Stiles jerks violently and finds Derek staring up at him from his chest, eyes dancing. He grins wickedly and flicks his tongue against the bar and Stiles melts.
(Derek ends up loving Stiles’ nipple piercing. Stiles lords it over him for months until Derek comes home with a piercing in a much more sensitive place. Stiles’ mouth is busy doing other things after that.)
*****
Derek went into this relationship with Stiles with his eyes wide open. Which basically meant he was expecting a lot of sex, because every second word out of the kid’s mouth was innuendo and he smelled constantly turned-on. And Stiles did not disappoint. There was a lot of sex. A lot.
Derek was not expecting the cuddling. But five months in Derek’s beginning to wonder if Stiles is actually a were-octopus and just hasn’t told him yet.
No matter how aggressively he spoons Stiles when they’re drifting off to sleep, he’ll always wake up buried under warm, clingy boy.
When Derek joined the Stilinski’s in visiting the Sheriff’s mother over Thanksgiving, he passed out alone on the couch and woke to Stiles wrapped around him, his face shoved under a throw pillow.
Stiles holds him in the shower, tucks Derek under his arm at pack movie nights, plasters himself to Derek’s back in the kitchen when he’s soft and tired-eyed.
The first time Stiles grabbed Derek’s hip and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder while they were both brushing their teeth Derek spent two whole minutes staring at him in the mirror. The first time. Now it feels weird whenever he’s not lopsided during his entire morning routine.
For years after Kate, Derek was uncomfortable being touched. Other people’s hands made his blood pump harder and his breathing turn shallower and his muscles coil up. Now, the safest he ever feels is when Stiles’ arms are snug around his heart.
Sterek, Glasses. Magic. Diner.
——-
Derek fiddled with the fragile pair of glasses Stiles had unofficially borrowed from Deaton after Allison had borrowed them without permission from her father. They were, according to Allison, a magical artifact that was somehow supposed to help the wearer to see the truth. As this would more than likely reveal werewolves without any guesswork, it was understandable that none of them wanted such an artifact in the hands of hunters, even one that had agreed to a tentative truce.
So now they were here, hiding at a diner Derek normally wouldn’t be caught dead at, looking for answers. Stiles was flipping through pages of a book he had also questionably borrowed, reading about curses and enchantments, so that they could tell if the glasses were even safe to put on at all.
“Wow, it’s like really unhelpful,” Stiles said around his mouthful of curly fries. He laid the book down and spun it so Derek could read, even though he said it aloud anyway. “Enchantments aid the intended user, curses aid the original caster. For example, a truth enchantment would reveal the truth to the user, where as a truth curse would force the user to reveal the truth to the caster.”
“How do you tell the difference, if you didn’t cast the spell?” Derek asked, glancing down at the flowing script.
“Exactly,” Stiles said, like he won an argument, even though for once they were not arguing. “It doesn’t say. I guess someone’s just going to have to, like, put them on.”
“Are you volunteering?” Derek asked, raising a brow.
“To test unknown magic on myself?” Stiles returned, then scoffed. Derek could see him shifting to get ready to make a grab for the glasses, so he moved them enough Stiles had to reconsider. “Oh, come on.”
“And what if they’re cursed?” Derek said, reasonably.
“Then you ask me embarrassing questions until I take them off,” Stiles answered immediately. He had thought about this, clearly. “They can’t be that dangerous if Chris didn’t lock them up.”
Derek relented with a sigh, because he really did not think that the glasses were actually harmful. And they did need to know what exactly they did. Stiles snatched them up greedily, unfolding the delicate arms with a grace he seemed to reserve only for magic, and slipped them onto his face. Derek couldn’t help the stray though zipping through his mind, that Stiles really did look cute in glasses.
“Oh,” Stiles said, small and big, when he looked at Derek. He swallowed, looking like he could see ghosts currently, and Derek figured that meant they’d been right. It would reveal werewolves.
“You’ve seen me wolf out,” Derek told him, holding out a hand to take the glasses.
“You love me,” Stiles said, hushed, and Derek’s blood ran cold as he looked up to meet Stiles’ eyes.
Oh, no. No no no.
“What?” Derek said, mouth dry, mind tailspinning.
“You love me,” Stiles repeated, reverently, not looking away.
“Stiles, I…” Derek shook his head, not sure what he could even say. Of course he did. He had for a while, but he’d never intended to say a word. He’d never intended to ruin what they had going, like he had ruined so many other things.
Stiles snatched the glasses off his nose like they’d burned him, and if they hadn’t been sitting in a booth, he’d have knocked the chair and table over in his scramble to get to his feet. Derek pulled back a little when Stiles came at him with the glasses, but he froze when Stiles did, and then allowed Stiles to place the glasses on him, instead.
With a heavy whump, Stiles sat back down across from him, staring at him with wide, urgent eyes. Derek blinked once, twice, and then he suddenly understood how Stiles knew. He could see it there, plain as day, in the way Stiles looked at him. In the beat of his heart, in the catch of his breath, in the quirk of his smile. Nothing had really changed, Derek couldn’t see anything actually different about Stiles while looking through the glasses, but he knew.
Stiles loved him, too.
sterek & 66 :D
send me a # for a sterek drabble from here or here!
66. “The only thing I want is you.”
“So what? Are we just not going to talk about it?” Stiles says, pacing
back and forth in front of Derek. He had
stormed into Derek’s house moments before, not bothering to knock. Searching
the main floor for Derek, he had found said man sitting on the sofa in the den
reading; the sight had made Stiles’ blood boil.Derek doesn’t look up from the book in his lap as he replies, “there’s
nothing to talk about.”Stiles looks at Derek in shock, his expression morphing into a glare as
he takes in the older man in front of him. While Derek seemed relaxed, his
posture is stiff and he clutches the book in his hand, causing his knuckles to turn white.“No,” Stiles announces with a shake of his head, “I am not letting you
ignore this!”“What do you want from me, Stiles?”
“I want you to acknowledge what I said last night.”
“I thought I already had.”
shealwaysreads 