‘You were singing really loudly in the shower when I broke into your apartment but then i heard you slip and crash and oh god i should probably check on you in case i get done for murder instead of just robbery’ AU
It took all of fourteen seconds for Derek to realize he was in the wrong apartment.
First, he noticed the very large and scuffed up sneakers and boots ditched haphazardly kind of near the door but half into the living room. Cora was meticulous about her shoes and kept them neatly arranged in a shoe rack right next to the door. The only time they touched the floor was when her feet were in them.
Second, the stuff. There was so much stuff everywhere; clothes thrown over the back of the couch, dishes across the coffee table and all over the kitchen counters, books on every surface, a gaming console dragging wires across the floor and surrounded by games, in cases and out of them. Cora was an unintentional minimalist, in that she threw out anything she didn’t need and lacked a single sentimental bone in her body. Derek and Laura regularly made trips to wherever she lived to save family keepsakes and memories from her ruthless cleaning sprees.
Then he noticed the manly warble coming from somewhere deeper in the apartment, and Cora’s favorite topic of rant floated lazily to the forefront of his mind.
—but my neighbor, oh my god this guy! I’m going to kill him if I ever see him in the hall! His bathroom shares a wall with my bedroom and he sings in the shower, every shower, at all hours. Literally all hours, like 4am, and he only sings Christmas carols at 4am. I’ve have Jingle Bells stuck in my head for a week!
Shoes, stuff, singing.
This was not Cora’s apartment.
Tag: getting together
Sterek “Are you trying to turn me on?” for the friends or more prompts, thank youu, love ur fics!! :)
Aww, thank you, nonnie! I hope you like it! (also on ao3!)
“Dude, are you trying to turn me on?”
Derek paused mid-sit up, his hands poised behind his head, fingers locked together, buried. in his sweat beaded hair. A tiny grunt of exertion died on his lips as he stopped, holding his position as he furrowed his brows and looked around the room.
It was a Friday afternoon in the middle of spring, rain beating a gentle staccato against the wall of windows, providing a soothing soundtrack for his workout regimen. With the full moon only a few days away, he was feeling a bit restless, an itch under his skin that he couldn’t scratch.
Usually, a run through the preserve would be enough to settle his nerves, the sun on his face and the wind in his hair never failing to soothe him, no matter the issue. Recently, the other members of the pack had taken to doing the same around the full moon, feeling the same restiveness and jittery uneasiness.
But with the rain showing no signs of stopping anytime soon, any hopes for a nice run through the woods were completely dashed. He knew firsthand how muddy the trails in the preserve good get and he would rather not get soaking wet.
So, he had decided to just work out at the loft, endeavoring to burn off his extra energy the only way he knew how. For hours he had been doing as many cardio exercises he could think of, from jumping rope to doing burpees, even jogging up and down the spiral staircase.
The result was a sheen of sweat over his body and a slight lessening of the pull of the approaching full moon, still feeling extremely restless no matter what he did, even when he began feeling the effects of exertion. He had switched to less grueling exercises after awhile, finding a spot on the polished concrete floor to do sit ups on, the floor cool against his back.
He was only twenty sit ups in when Stiles asked his disarming question, freezing Derek in his tracks. Taken aback by the unexpected comment, Derek peered over at the human who was sitting cross-legged on the couch.
Stiles had shown up at the loft about an hour earlier with a backpack full of spiral notebooks and heavy textbooks and the beginnings of bags under his eyes. Derek had been in the middle of doing some squats when Stiles had let himself in with the spare key he had taken the liberty of making himself.
Uncharacteristically taciturn, Stiles had explained that for whatever reason he could not focus at home and really needed to study for his upcoming finals. He had dropped his bag on the couch as he made his way to the kitchen, helping himself to the fridge and grabbing a can of soda and some leftover pepperoni pizza.
Derek had just nodded, mostly to himself as Stiles had been busy raiding his kitchen, and told him to take as much time as he needed, launching right back into his workout. Stiles had sent him a grateful salute as he shuffled back over to the couch, plopping down beside his backpack and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
Now, Derek peered over at Stiles who had his nose buried in his psychology textbook, alternating between nibbling his lower lip and gnawing on the end of a hot pink highlighter. He seemed perfectly nonplussed, occasionally scribbling something in the margins of his textbook, squinting down at the various charts and graphs on the page.
If Derek had not heard the unexpected question himself, he wouldn’t have believed that Stiles had actually said anything at all, the human not showing any signs of having said a single word. But he had heard it and he certainly wasn’t going to let it go unnoticed.
THINK TO ME, LIKE LOVERS DO – 3.4k
“Come on, Derek, just let us in, okay? We can’t help you if you don’t let us in!”
Scott banged on the loft door again, the metallic clank echoing around the spacious room, but Derek did not get up to open it. Instead he stayed pressed against the wall of windows, as far away as he could possibly get.
“How would that possibly help, Scott?” he called back. “The closer you are, the worse it gets!”
Even from this distance he could still hear whispers, brushing up against his mind, thankfully indistinct enough to be ignored for the moment. Earlier, in the sorcerer’s lair, the voices had been loud and persistent and completely inescapable at close range. This was better. Obviously it wasn’t a perfect solution, but at least he was no longer hearing things he didn’t want to hear.
Normally, Derek liked to think of himself as a cautious person. Maybe not in
all
aspects of his life, but on the whole Derek prefered to think before he acted and thereby not act in stupid ways. So what the
hell
he had been thinking toying with unidentified magical artefacts found in the home of the malicious sorcerer they had spent a week tracking down and eliminating, he couldn’t say. Judging by the suddenly-audible thoughts of everyone around him in the moment the pendant had started glowing and whistling, he hadn’t been thinking at all.So now here he was, behind the locked door of his loft, hiding from anyone and everyone whose mind he might involuntarily invade. Because that was his luck.
“We need to figure out what exactly is going on,” Scott argued in that annoyingly reasonable tone of his. “If Deaton can determine what curse it is—if it’s even a curse! It might not be! But if he can do that, then he can work on reversing it. But he can’t do that from all the way out here.”
Derek gritted his teeth against a snarl. He didn’t want to be within a mile of anyone else right now. He didn’t want to hear what other people thought of him; he had long had his suspicions on that matter, and the last thing he needed was confirmation of those depressing facts. But Scott had a point. If he didn’t want to live the rest of his miserable life as an unwilling telepath, Deaton was his best shot.
“Fine,” he bit out. “But for the love of all that is holy, Scott, try to keep your mind
off Allison.
”The mental images Derek had from the ten seconds between the onset of the curse and when everyone else had realized what was happening had scarred him for life.
With every step he took toward the door, the voice in Derek’s ear got that much louder, strangely light and insubstantial in a way that was hard to define but made it obvious even without seeing Scott’s closed mouth that the words weren’t being spoken out loud.
I don’t think about Allison that much, do I? Just because her hair smells good and she was wearing that shirt today with the — like the blue one better, it makes her look like — probably stay over at her place tonight if her dad doesn’t try to shoot me again — need to take milk home to mom, though, don’t forget —
Derek yanked open the door and immediately backed away, hoping that even a few feet would make the thoughts less demanding. He was thoroughly caught off guard to see Deaton standing quietly at Scott’s side; he couldn’t hear a single thought from the man. When Derek turned his attention on him, he just got a very strong impression of a brick wall.
Deaton smiled that cryptic little smile of his, like
he
was the one reading minds now.“A mental block,” he said. “A technique for shielding the mind, perfected through years of practice and meditation.”
“Like Occlumency?” Derek asked.
“Not unlike it,” Deaton said easily. “Sadly, not something that can be picked up by novices in a few hours.”
Well, there went his last hope.
Derek let himself be tugged down onto his own couch by Deaton and sent up a prayer of thanks when Scott took the hint to not crowd him. That didn’t stop him from catching stray thoughts—
really should get some curtains or something, this place is depressing — smells like sad in here, god, I hate chemosignals
—but it was better than a constant deluge of them.There was some poking and prodding, some following the light exercises, and some sort of obscure, extrasensory magical goings-on before Deaton sat back with another almost-reassuring smile.
“It’s not a permanent spell,” he said, “nor a complex one. However, it is one that requires the source to be destroyed.”
“The source?” Derek asked. “The sorcerer is already dead. Why am I still being subjected to this?”
“By source, I mean the artefact in which the curse was contained,” Deaton clarified. “Luckily, we have the artefact on hand. Now it’s only a matter of destroying it.”
“How long should that take?” Scott asked.
“Shouldn’t be long,” Deaton said, standing up and dusting off his lab coat. “A week or two at the most.”
“A week or two?” Derek repeated, horrified.
Don’t know why he’s so upset by that, we go weeks without seeing him anyway — kind of a hermit, honestly — oh god, he can hear me, can’t he, fuck —
“It’ll be fine,” Scott said bracingly, and Derek had a strong urge to punch him in the face. Luckily, Scott seemed to sense it and started hastily backing up toward the door, thumbing over his shoulder. “Deaton will get you fixed up in no time! In the meantime, I’ll just get out of your hair.”
“Please do,” Derek muttered.
The silence, when Scott and Deaton were gone and the door shut firmly behind them, seemed emptier than it usually did, but Derek was grateful for it nonetheless.
I don’t even know. I was taking a walk today and this idea popped into my head. I swear I’m still writing the bookstore AU, too. Also, *pops confetti*, I hit 2k followers today! Who ARE all you guys? Anyway, this fluff/ridiculousness is for you. ~1.6k words, rated G. Sterek, of course.
The whole thing starts with Stiles really, really craving a meatball sub from the place across the street.
“God, someone shut him up,” Erica groans. They’re all kind of at their breaking point by now; they’ve been camped out in this meeting room all day, brainstorming. “He’s been talking about the same goddamn sandwich for seven and a half minutes now, and it’s making me hungry.”
“If only our ad campaign were about sandwiches, Stilinski would have it in the bag and we could all go home,” Isaac sighs.
From across the table, Derek rises abruptly to his feet and storms out. (Or maybe it’s just that Stiles always interprets everything Derek does as stormy. With those eyebrows, it’s hard not to.)
Stiles assumes he’s just gotten so fed up with them all that it’s either storm out or kill someone, and he’s just grateful Derek chose Door Number 1. It’s a good day not to get killed by Derek Hale.
Only, fifteen minutes later he comes back in. With a paper bag from the deli.
As soon as he gets within grabbing distance, Stiles practically collapses across the table in his haste to reach for it. “Oh my god, is that what I think it is?”
Derek holds it up over his head. “Who says this is for you? Maybe all your talk inspired me to go get a meatball sub of my own.”
“Oh, please. Like anyone with your abs eats meatball subs.” Stiles leaps to his feet on his swivel chair—because screw safety, Derek will catch him if he starts to topple over—and snatches the bag out of Derek’s grip. Derek doesn’t fight him for it very hard.
“Why don’t I get a meatball sub?” Erica whines, thumping her head down on her notebook. “Doesn’t anyone love me?”
Derek shrugs and takes his seat again. “You didn’t ask.”
“You just like Stilinski better,” she grumbles, and Derek just shrugs again.
Meanwhile, Stiles rips into the bag and takes a huge bite out of the gloriousness that is this sandwich. He can’t help throwing in a few theatrical moans just to taunt Erica, and she suitably rewards him with a glare of death across the table.
“Mmm,” Stiles says. “Derek, I love you so much, dude. Marry me.”
Instead of the grumpy eyebrows he expects, Derek meets his eye, leans back smugly in his chair, and says, “Okay.”
Some Strings Attached
Ugh so there was a post going around that I’ve now long since misplaced but it was like “I just saw you go upstairs with someone else and I know we’re only fuck buddies but I’m gonna go punch them in the face” and I was HERE FOR IT. If somebody remembers the post, link me. In the meantime, have some Sterek getting together fluff.
“Just tell Derek you want to date him,” Scott says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.
Stiles bugs his eyes and flails his hands in wordless frustration, because the correct response to this patently ludicrous advice eludes him. He had come for sympathy, not pie-in-the-sky delusions. “Scott. Bro,” he finally gasps. “How could you even suggest that in good faith? No way! Bad plan!” He slashes his arms in a demonstrative X. “The only reason we’re even hooking up is that I made it super clear I was down to fuck, no strings attached! I’m not ruining a good thing by announcing to Derek Hale that I’m 85% in love with him.”
“Why?” Scott genuinely seems confused, the sweet summer child. After falling into a happy triad with Allison and Isaac after their first semester at UCLA, he doesn’t really understand the definition of “unrequited.”
Stiles turns his attention to a hanging thread on his t-shirt, sourly tugging it loose. “He’s out of my league. I mean, with the baseball, and the smarts, and the sarcasm, and those eyes…” he breaks off with a sigh. The last thing he needs to do is remind himself of how gone he is on Derek. “Just, he’s popular. Dictionary definition of too cool for school. And the three people he actually deigns to hang out with here are all just as cool and good looking as he is. Do I need to remind you I’m not? I’m a gawky, nerdy Sophomore. I’m lucky to even be his fuck-buddy.”
Scott makes a face, incredulous. “I dunno, he must like you well enough if he’s still sleeping with you after all this time. What’s it been, six months? And you guys hang out, too, you’re always telling me about how easy it is to chat with him after you bone. So it’s not just sex.”
Stiles grimaces. “Yeah, but it’s not…”
“… a real relationship,” Derek says into the phone, hearing full well the heavy dejection in his voice. So sue him; the admission is more than a little depressing. “He just wants to be fuck buddies.”
“How do you know?” Laura asks reasonably. “Maybe this Stiles person would be interested in dating you, too. No offence, but you’re not great at reading people. I mean, he’s interested in chilling with you even after you hook up, and clearly he enjoys the physical aspect. Did he actually ever say he wasn’t looking for more?”
Derek heaves a sigh, rolling his eyes even though she can’t see over the phone. “Yep. About two minutes after the first time we slept together he said, ‘no strings attached, obviously.’ So, you know, pretty safe bet that it’s no strings attached.”
“Oh,” Laura says. For once she doesn’t have a snappy comeback.
“Oh,” Derek agrees. Dejectedly.
She gives him a sympathetic little hum, and then asks, “and he’ll definitely be at the sorority barbecue?”
“Yeah.” Stiles and his broad shoulders and his long fingers are definitely going to be at the party.
“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” his sister says softly. “If you really like him, and he’s just looking to get laid…”
Derek groans. Not go, and give up a chance to hook up with Stiles? Smart, maybe, but not something he’s capable of doing.
The problem is, he’s liked Stiles forever. Or at least since he first saw him, laughing uproariously and running around with his friends with an actually broom between his legs, playing “Quidditch.” Derek would have been way too embarrassed to do something like that on the front lawn, but Stiles made it seem like the most effortlessly awesome thing a person could get up to.
No, compared to Stiles, Derek is practically a social recluse, an awkward jock with only about three people who he gets along with at all. Stiles definitely doesn’t want to get saddled with a boyfriend like him. He’s lucky they’re even hooking up after all this time.
“Derek, I mean it,” Laura says. “Look out for yourself for once.”
“I know, I know,” Derek grumbles. “But it’s not my fault he’s…”
Puppet Yoda Is the Best
(I asked @domesticated-chaos to give me a short Sterek prompt that I could knock out in the midst of my longer fics, and she asked for Derek and Stiles watching Star Wars together because Derek had claimed he’d never seen it. Here it is! You can also read it on AO3.)
Stiles paused the movie and turned to Derek, eyes wide with
betrayal. “What.”Derek immediately wracked his brain, trying to think of what
he’d said in the past thirty seconds to have Stiles looking at him like that.
“What?”“You said,” Stiles waved at the
screen, where Yoda and Luke were frozen mid-training, “you said puppet
Yoda was so much better.”Oh, shit.
Derek schooled his face into what he hoped was mild confusion.
“Did I?”“You did.” Stiles poked him in the chest. “You
said better, which means you know
there’s a CGI Yoda, which means you’ve seen the prequels!”Derek tried to think of an argument, but there wasn’t really
one to be had. “I saw the trailers online?”Stiles rolled his eyes and slapped him on the shoulder.
“You are such a terrible liar! You told me you hadn’t seen any of the Star Wars movies! I
reiterate, any! Which means zero!”Yes, that was a thing Derek had said, because at the last
pack meeting Stiles had been ranting about how he was going to have a movie night
and make the pack watch the entire Star Wars trilogy because none of them had
seen it and he couldn’t deal with them all being such cultural heathens. In a
moment that Derek could only describe as temporary madness, he’d announced that he
hadn’t seen them, either.Which is how he’d ended up at Stiles’s house with two
sausage pizzas, being “forced” to watch some of his favorite movies
with Stiles pressed up next to him, eagerly watching Derek’s face for every
reaction.
hurricane during a beach trip au~?
“Oh god,” Lydia cringes beside Stiles, and he looks up from where he’s arranging their bags in the trunk, glances over her shoulder.
“What? Are Scott and Allison making gross, sappy—” he trails off as his eyes land on Derek, wearing board shorts and flip flops.
Derek has feet.
Nice, perhaps slightly over excessively hairy toes.
Toe nails.
Two years of frat boys at college has still not adequately prepared Stiles for the sight of Derek Hale wearing flip flops. And board shorts. Black ones, of course— heaven forbid he actually deviate too much from the norm— but also a bright red vest that clings to his waist, and shows off his arms and, oh Jesus.
“Christ,” he blurts out.
“I know,” Lydia agrees, for no doubt totally different reasons. “What a mess.”
Of course, she’s worried about his apparel for its style related reasons. Not because Derek looks hot like the burning sun, and Stiles might have a meltdown before lunch.
Derek glowers across at them, “What. What are you looking at?”
“Shins,” Stiles says faintly, and then shakes himself when Derek arches an eyebrow and Lydia turns to stare at him incredulously. “I mean, I just— have never seen your uh, calves before.”
Possibili(tea)
Summary: Stiles might have a crush on his co-worker, who
always brews him amazing tea.Notes: Short and sweet! Inspired by this post. (On AO3)
Stiles puts all the little sample boxes into a paper bag, then
staples on the string with a tag at the end. It holds the business information,
and it makes the package look like a giant tea bag. Sort of. If you squint.The girl smiles and pays him, then waves as she walks away.
“Tea you later!” Stiles calls cheerfully. Then he says,
“Oof!” when Derek smacks him in the side.“You deserved that,” Derek says mildly. “Didn’t we already
have a discussion about using the word tea
inappropriately?”
bills, bills, bills
based on this tumblr prompt || read on AO3
for @myimpaladreams, who is literally a ray of light and makes me smile and motivated/inspired me to write this and be productive. she deserves a million cute sterek fics okay.
thank you to @jadorehale for taking the time to beta this and making it amazing like they do with everything. ❤
“Mr. Stilinski, is it my turn to be the line leader?”
Stiles bent down to eye level with Heather, the dark-haired, wide-eyed little girl in his class. It’s safe to say he spends a lot of time on his knees for these kids.
draw me like one of your french girls
So I was rereading this Captive Prince tumblr fic I love where Damen and Laurent are art majors, and it made me crave something similar for Sterek. Thought I’d write it while AO3 is down for maintenance… I mean, what else am I supposed to do on my day off, haha? So here’s the drabble~
(I’ll probably also write a part 2 at some point.)
Stiles Stilinski has been shooting him increasingly unsubtle looks for weeks now, so it’s not exactly a surprise when he makes his way over at the end of class one day near the end of the semester. He seems to be trying to make it look like he just happened to wander over and end up near Derek’s table by accident, but Derek’s not fooled, or interested in pretending to be. He stops packing up his art supplies and sits back on his stool to hear what he has to say.
This is the fourth time Derek’s been asked out just this semester, and there are only twenty-two people in the class to start with. It still makes him as nervous as the first time it happened, but he thinks (hopes) he’s getting better at hiding it.
People always take one look at him and assume he’s some kind of player, that he’s used to this, and he’s not. He was home-schooled all through high school (it was a werewolf thing). Then, bam, he showed up to college orientation and three cheerleader-looking girls flocked to him within the first fifteen minutes.
He’s been asked out more times than he can count since then, but it’s usually by girls. Not plaid-wearing, messenger-bag-toting, comic-book-quoting hipster guys with warm brown eyes and leanly muscled forearms.
Stiles drifts to a stop in front of him, and Derek thinks, Here we go.
Part 2 is here!! Right off the bat I gotta say major kudos to @merlshmallow for doing this little sketch based on part 1, which inspired some of the details in the fic. I am only sorry I couldn’t also incorporate the awkward grape eating b/c that was gold.
He’s going to tell Stiles never mind about the mutual nudity thing, he is, except… Well.
He shows up almost fifteen minutes early at Stiles’ dorm because he’s nervous, and then he just stands there in the hallway, fretting, because it feels like the moment of no return, and was he supposed to wear anything special? He spent about half an hour this morning digging through his closet to find his best jeans and the black muscle tee he usually only wears if he’s going to the gym.
(Erica laughed at him for it. “Why are you even bothering? It’s not like he asked you over so he could see you in your clothes.”)
She’s probably right, but still. He has no idea what to expect. Did Stiles actually mean nude nude, or just, like, bare-chest-in-a-toga nude? Is Derek going to have to stand there wearing a laurel wreath and holding a bunch of grapes in front of his junk? Or wearing one of those dorky red-mohawk Roman soldier helmets? Is he going to have to pretend to play a lyre while butt naked? Or what if it’s like something straight out of Titanic? Is Derek going to have to lounge seductively on a divan like he’s Kate Winslet?
shealwaysreads 