i don’t think this is what you had in mind, sweet nonnie, but i ran with it.
also bonus cookies if you get the references!It’s, well. It’s completely natural. There comes a time in one’s life when biology reigns and hormones take over and deep-seated evolutionary urges make themselves known. It happens to everyone.
The compulsive need to fuck anything with a pulse is not the problem here. The problem is that Derek’s wolf hybrid is evidently some kind of contortionist.
No collar, no fence, no spray bottle can contain him. He may be a perpetually horny dude-bro of a dog but he’s a smart dude-bro of a dog, and when the mood strikes him Cap can open deadbolts with his teeth and scale six feet tall fences.
Which is apparently what happened last night, because Derek wakes to scandalised shrieking and a thoroughly traumatised Pomeranian. He can only hope that Mrs Fischer’s prized show dog is fixed, because co-parenting with an 80-year-old was not part of his future plans. Also, Laura would laugh her ass off, and Derek doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction.
Given that Derek’s dog is the canine Houdini hopped up on aphrodisiacs, Derek can hardly leave him alone at home while he goes to work. Which means that Cap is riding shotgun today. It’s not the first time he’s gone into the station with Derek. The Sheriff’s a really laidback guy, and as long as Cap wears a K9 vest and knows where not to relieve himself, he’s happy to let Cap roam free. If Cap happens to scare any not-so-law-abiding citizens shitless, well that’s just an added bonus.
Thankfully, Cap is on his best behaviour throughout the morning. It seems his late night excursion with Miss Mayflower sated his desires enough so that no inopportune leg-humping occurs, and Derek is feeling far more confident of his dog’s control by lunchtime.
Too confident.
Tag: meet cute
Heat Wave
Sterek Summer Spectacle – Week 1: Summer
Team: Sarcasm & Sourwolves
Your favorite team? Vote Here!
Title: Heat Wave
Rating: T
Words: 2532
Summary: Four times Derek invaded Stiles’ apartment when his A/C broke in the middle of summer during a heat wave and the one time it ended a bit differently.
One of my neighbours slipped this under my door while I was practising, I thought they were going to make a noise complaint but they just had a request. I played it with my windows open and I heard really loud clapping come from a balcony a few stories up which was super lovely. I’m in such a lovely mood now it’s so nice to be appreciated.
Why is this the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen?
IMAGINE YOUR OTP
When Claudia bought Stiles a farting keyboard when he was 3, he never thought it would lead him to Julliard.
It’s well into Stiles second year at the most prestigious art school in the country, and he’s living it up in an apartment a few blocks from campus. Sure his apartment is tiny, and he shares it with three other people, but it works. He’s got his vertical piano set up in the living room, and a mess of electronic keyboards, amps and extra long electrical cords under his bed for the days he goes and plays in the subways or parks.
He practices mostly during the day, when people are more likely to be at work and not annoyed by his piano.He could very well practice on his keyboards with headphones, but there is something about having a real piano, with real sound. It’s a great day so he opens the window and overlooks the courtyard in the middle of the complex, letting his music sail up the walls of the concourse to the sky for his mom to hear.
The music of the city fills in the space between making notes on his sheet music. Dogs barking, sirens, people yelling, even a car accident in the streets below.
Stiles’ hand float over the keys and with practiced movements create the melody that the sheets ask him to. It doesn’t go without a few missed keys, and a couple of restarts, but it’s just practice. It’ll be worth it when he plays it at the school symphony in a month.
There’s a knock at the door, and Stiles wonders which of his roommates forgot their key, and how lucky they were that he didn’t decide to join Erica to the park jam sessions.
Before he even gets to the door, he sees a slip of paper on the floor. He picks it up, confused as to why there would be a note just on the floor.
“a humble request to the pianist:
“ is all it says. It sends butterflies down to his stomach. He’s never gotten a request like this before. He wonders who could have sent it. The handwriting would suggest a man, and Stiles is willing to bet he’s hot, and if he’s into classical music? Stiles lets himself develop a crush on the anonymous patron.
Stiles googles the song, always up for a challenge and ready for a little break from the piece he’s been working. He finds the sheet music with no problem, worried he was going to have to look in one of the university’s databases and sends the sheets to the printer.
Once the pages are set up on the stand of one of his electric keyboards he starts to fiddle through it. It puts his sight reading to practice and soon he gets the first dozen measures down and moves on. He’s using a keyboard so he can control the volume so the audience doesn’t have to hear his fenageling.
He gets the song down in an hour and goes to set up on the vertical piano.
“Umm, hi. I hope you’re listening!” Stiles calls out of the window. “Enjoy!” He sits down and takes a breath in and out before he starts playing the song.
The song floats out of the piano and into the outside air. It’s sweet, and somehow sad at the same time. The deep notes slow while the higher notes fast. It’s a magical piece and Stiles will definitely be playing it more. If not for the enjoyment of his patron, but for himself. It’s different than the pixar scores he got used to playing.
Cars continue to honk, and someone yells “shut up!” from somewhere down below. Stiles has learned to ignore them and he keep playing. He moves with the music, his head looking at the sheet above but also feeling the music through his body.
The song slows at the end, and Stiles lets his eyes fall closed while the music falls to it’s end. The last notes are bittersweet, like it’s the end of the song, but the beginning of a story.
It’s quiet for a few moments. A lone clap comes from outside the window. Stiles quickly gets up and looks over his piano to see who is clapping. There are a set of hands clapping from the window directly above him. Stiles thanks them, and retreats back into his own apartment to finish is work before heading into class.
Stiles isn’t surprised when there is another knock on the door a few days later. He’s expecting another note. When there isn’t one one the floor he is forced to open the door to see who it is (someone painted over the peephole years ago and the landlord is to cheap to replace it). Stiles is surprised to see a man standing with his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Umm, hi?” Stiles says, not sure what to make of it. The dude is hot, but that doesn’t mean Stiles has to make a fool of himself.
“Are you the pianist?” The dude asks looking at Stiles with the most beautiful eyes, his glasses only make them bigger so Stiles can see every color that is in them.
“Yes? Am I being too loud? I’m sorry, it’s just the practice rooms on campus are always full and I forget to sign up for time in them. I’ll keep it down I promise I-”
“It’s okay,” he says.
“I’ll stop leaving the window open too,” Stiles adds. “Our A/C is broken so we have to open it to get cool air in here.” He lies.
“No don’t worry about it. I actually live right above you? I hear you practice all the time, I even uhh-” his cheeks turn red but its hard to see because his beard is covering most of his jaw and cheeks, “I requested
Liebestraum a few days ago?”
“Oh! That was you?” Stiles replies.
“Yeah, I just wanted to say that I really love your work. I think you’re really good. I’m Derek by the way,” the guy-Derek- puts his hand out for Stiles to shake.
“I’m Stiles,” he takes it, “nice to meet you.” Stiles smiles at Derek and watches as a smile makes it’s way onto his face.
The beginning of a story indeed.
Jump me, bro?
Prompted myself with: “I just want a neighborhood AU where Stiles is the bro-iest bro to ever bro and Derek pines after him anyway.”I’m trying to get better about moving my twitterfics over to a more readable format without overthinking them, so we’ll see how that goes. (Also on AO3)
Derek’s house is a couple doors down from what he’s pretty sure is a frat house-wannabe. He’d drop the qualifier—as an undergrad, he’d unfortunately lived close enough to frat row to recognize the distinctive loud parties, music thumping late into the night, a stream of girls constantly flowing in and out the doors, bros drunkenly crooning along to badly-tuned guitars—but as far as he can tell, all of the guys are at least a few years out of college.
Resisting the urge to call the cops with a noise complaint takes some effort. Derek doesn’t particularly want to be that guy, though; he still has to live in this neighborhood. And a part of him, much as he doesn’t want to admit it, simply wishes he’d been invited. It’s not that it sounds like fun, exactly. Derek didn’t enjoy those types of parties when he was in college, and he’s not nearly old enough yet for the nostalgia to kick in. It’s just that…well, it would be nice to be included.
He carefully doesn’t think about the fact that the shift from outright irritation to a sort of wistful longing happened around the time that he saw one particular guy hanging around in front of the house, surrounded by his friends.
Derek does not find frat bros attractive. He never has. He never will. A certain long-limbed guy with an infectious laugh and warm brown eyes won’t change that.
He finds other ways to channel his frustration, some more productive than others. On nights when he takes his trash to the curb, he makes his way down to the overstuffed bins haphazardly jumbled in front of the pseudo-frat house. Under cover of darkness, shielded by the noise pouring through the brightly-lit windows, he sorts through the upper layers of his neighbors’ trash, separating stacks of greasy pizza boxes from sticky piles of beer cans.
It’s primarily to be a good citizen. Every house in the neighborhood has separate recycling bins—they’re even color coded, making it incredibly easy to put the correct materials in the appropriate spot. Derek’s just doing his part for the environment, since his obnoxious neighbors refuse to take a few extra seconds out of their day. At least, that’s what he tells himself when he’s sticking his fingers in strangers’ trash. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t count as trespassing if he’s not actually going into the yard, and he’s not stealing anything. Just…moving things around a little.
The other reason’s one he doesn’t like to dwell on. The rational side of his brain recognizes that the guys in this house don’t even know him, so why would they invite him over? This isn’t like high school, when he was the nerd people intentionally ignored. They’re living their lives, he’s living his, and it’s perfectly natural for them to not intersect.
But one night, as Derek slaps the lid of the recycling bin shut, wishing he’d brought a roll of paper towels or maybe even some wet wipes, he looks up and finds one of the bros standing on the front porch, watching him.
Derek freezes in place. He can’t immediately identify the person; from the street, all he can see is a tall, athletic figure backlit by the open front door. He’s expecting to be chased off the property, probably cussed out in the process, but the guy comes down the steps and lifts the lid of the recycling bin, dropping his empty beer can inside.
“Thanks for doing that, bro,” he says. “The guys don’t spend a lotta time thinking about the environment.”
It’s not just a bro. It’s the bro. The one Derek hasn’t been able to stop thinking about. His first time speaking to Derek, and it’s because he caught Derek rummaging around in his garbage late at night.
“You’re uh, you’re welcome,” Derek says.
Fortunately, the guy doesn’t seem to care about getting an explanation. He introduces himself instead: Stiles. Of course his name would be equally intriguing, Derek thinks, annoyed with himself for even caring about this interaction.
Derek gives his name in turn, wondering if he should point out his house to make his presence here seem less weird, but Stiles doesn’t seem inclined to linger in the cold. He heads back inside, giving Derek a brief, friendly wave before shutting the door again.
A Tender Touch
Stiles is terrified of getting a tattoo, but he
needs this. Luckily for him, the new tattoo artist at the local tattoo shop is
rather gentle and reassuring. But what’s more, there’s something about him–his
hands, his touch–that just sets Stiles at ease.Stiles stood out the front of the
tattoo parlour, staring at the neon OPEN sign.He
let out a heavy breath and reminded himself he had to do this; the FBI wouldn’t
let him carry around his father’s old sheriff’s badge and he couldn’t part with
it. He needed this.He
tightened his fist around the old badge and pushed open the door.A
small bell chimed and a man stepped around the corner.“Can
I help you?” the man asked.“I’m
Stiles, I have an appointment for two
o’clock,” he managed to say around
the lump in his throat.The
man nodded and stepped over to the small counter, his sharp eyes rolling over
the page of a appointment book that sat atop a pile of books; portfolios, each
labeled with the artist’s name.“You’re
in with Derek,” the man announced. “He does fine line-art and realism
better than the rest of us. He should just be finishing his lunch break, follow
me.”The
man nodded towards the small fleet of stairs beside the desk that led up to a
large open space, separated into work stations by dividers. He guided stiles
over to one by the window that overlooked the park on the opposite street.“Derek,”
he called. “Your two
o’clock is here.”There
was a mumbled reply and the man nodded towards the work station.“Thank
you,” Stiles said as the man turned and left.He
stepped into the booth, looking at his tattoo artist.He
was a young man, a few years older than Stiles, with thick black hair and
bright aveturine eyes that lit up brilliantly when he smiled and said,
“Hi, I’m Derek.”“I’m
Stiles,” the teen stammered in response.“Why
don’t you take a seat and we’ll get started?”
Late Night Wanderings
@d-athanasi | AO3 – I hope you enjoy this. I thought doing a diner AU would be a fun change; I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it!
by @nightlight9
Stiles doesn’t know how started spending all of his nights hanging out in a forgotten diner instead of getting a good night’s rest. Okay, so maybe he does actually know how he got here, and it might have everything to do with one surly worker with a quiet disposition and a big heart.
Stiles doesn’t know how he got here. One minute he had been staring aimlessly at his computer screen, going crazy trying to figure out a good argument for his essay, and the next he was in his car, driving around town at 12:34 in the morning. All he wanted was to find something to do that would take his mind off of all the work he was avoiding. Ending up at Pop’s, a 24-hour diner Stiles didn’t even know existed, was a complete accident. But it turned out that it was exactly what he was looking for, even though when he first stumbled inside, all he could hope was that it wasn’t the start of a b-rated horror film featuring his death.
Now, most of his nights are spent at the small diner.
“I’m cutting you off.”
Stiles blinks up at the man towering over him, a pout pulling at his lips. Okay, so maybe he does actually know how he got here, and it might have everything to do with one surly worker.
The first time that Stiles saw Derek, he thought that the older man might be a tragically beautiful serial killer, because even though he was the most attractive man Stiles had ever seen, the frown pulling his lips down suggested violence. Instead he turned out to be the tragically beautiful owner of Pop’s, whose resting face naturally looks violent. And, after that fateful night, he also happens to be Stiles’ favorite unobtainable companion.
Except when he decides it’s his ‘duty to the public’ to cut off Stiles’ caffeine supply.
“That’s not fair,” Stiles whines, tightening his hands around the coffee mug and glaring up at Derek. “I’m a paying customer. You’re supposed to take my money without complaining or questioning my life choices.”
“If you expect that kind of service you should go somewhere else.”
“Derek.” His voice is all whine. “You have to give me more coffee. How else am I going to finish all of this?” He gestures to the counter where several textbooks have been left open.
Derek snorts. “Stiles, you’ve been staring at your books without doing anything for ten minutes.” He grabs Stiles’ discarded pencil (which rolled across the counter and was forgotten) as evidence of his lack of work. “It’s almost 2 o’clock, you haven’t done any work, and you’re cut off. “ Derek reaches over the counter and presses the pencil’s eraser against Stiles’ forehead. “You know, normal people would be thinking about going to bed.”
Stiles bats the pencil away and snorts. “Yeah, well I think we can safely deduce that I am in no way normal. Why else would I be hanging out with you practically every night?”
Surprisingly, Derek doesn’t take the bait. It makes Stiles pout again; he loves the way that they banter and tease each other. But Derek just calmly pries the mug from his fingers and replaces it with a tall glass of water, a smirk teasing his lips. Obediently, though with an eye-roll, Stiles sips at the new drink. In all honesty, he’s not even feeling jittery from all of the coffee. He’s long suspected that Derek swaps his caffeinated coffee with decaf, but he hasn’t been able to prove it. Either way, he’s definitely more than ready to head back to his dorm and sleep for a few hours.
But at the same time, Stiles doesn’t want to leave Derek alone. He knows that he must be used to it; obviously he was alone before Stiles wandered in and kept coming back. But Stiles hates picturing Derek wasting time by himself. The first night they met, Derek had been behind the counter waiting for orders even though no one was there. And he’s never mentioned having anyone to go home to.
Stiles The Pirate
@eternalsterek-broughttolife | AO3 – A back-up gift specifically requested by me, and seeing how everyone was able to get their gifts in, I’m going to gift it to myself haha (especially since this is the sweetest little fic).
by @poetry-protest-pornography
Stiles works at a water park, one day he finds a little girl with dark hair and intense eyes crying and has to help her find her family.
The familiar chlorine-sunscreen-warm pavement smell of Riverwood Water Park is a strange comfort as Stiles walks toward the staff locker room; nostalgia and fond memories always rushed through Stiles when he was at the park. The fact that this would–hopefully–be his last summer working there was both sad and exciting.
It wouldn’t be easy saying goodbye to the place he’d visited so often with his mom and dad as a kid, the place where he had worked every summer since he was sixteen. Manning Pirate Cove, a scale model of a pirate ship designed for younger children, with slides where canons would be found and a swirling sprayer that moved with the ship’s wheel, had become his favorite summertime distraction. The enthusiasm and joy that little kids unabashedly threw into splashing each other and climbing and fun made Stiles feel joyous by proxy.
Closing his locker in the staff showers, he allowed himself to feel a little melancholy. Graduating and moving on to grad school that was no closer to his dad or his friends was hard. He’d always half planned on coming back to California, but he’d had to wave adios to that plan when a full scholarship offer came in for a program in Colorado.
It was going to be hard to have say goodbye to his coworkers, too. Some of them had been working with him since he started, and they’d grown up together, one summer at a time. They’d shared cookouts and after work meals, then after work drinks and dancing as they became old enough for it. End of season parties, bonfire hookups, summer flings.
The thought of leaving Erica and Boyd especially filled him with disappointment; they’d been spending their summers together for the last five seasons, and they’d had more than a handful of those s’mores and summer heat-flavored nights. Now, they were the best of friends, speaking often even when Stiles was on the other side of the country and longing for summer and open-skied nights in his adequate but lonely student apartment.
That he would not miss. Even with the personal touches he’d managed to add, a half-sized kitchen, a shower with the water pressure of a jammed squirt gun, and barely enough room for a two-seater couch and a desk with a rolling chair never felt much like home.
Summers at Riverwood, though, that was definitely part of home for him. Permanent chlorine scent, shrieking kids, and all.
What wasn’t normal though, was a crying child. Yet, just inside the gate where he entered Pirate Cove, there was a young girl–around five if Stiles had to guess–rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes, fruitlessly trying to stop the tears spilling from her green and gold eyes. Her long dark hair was escaping from the tight braid she wore, and she clutched at her brightly striped towel like a lifeline.
Stiles pasted on his friendliest, most reassuring smile and stooped down so he was at her eye level. “Hi, sweetheart, my name is Stiles. Is there something that I can help you with? I work here, so if you’re lost, or if something happened that upset you, I can help.”
When she looked up at him, her lip was wobbling and she was taking big, shuddering breaths, but she was obviously trying to get herself to calm down; Stiles was impressed with her control.
“I was pl-playing in the wave pool, an’ then I thought I saw a bunny by the fe-fence, so I went t’ see it, but it was go-one!” she sobbed, getting more upset as she went on. “Then I got lost, and now I can’t find my-my-m-” she started crying again, too much now to finish her sentence, so Stiles put a cautious hand on her shoulder.
“Hey, that is something I can definitely fix,” he said, letting a little enthusiasm into his voice in the hopes that his confidence would reassure her. “Can you tell me your name?”
She sniffed, but gave him a wobbly smile and answered “Tali.”
“Well, Tali,” he said, returning her smile, “Do you think you could hold my hand so we can stick together on the way back to the wave pool?” At her nod, he stood up, and offered his hand. Hers felt so small in his that he had a moment of panic at being responsible for someone so little. Then reality settled over him and his years of experience with kids kicked in as he rolled his eyes at himself.
Ornithology for Beginners
Summary: Stiles ends up sharing his bench with a handsome
bird-watcher.Notes: For Siriusstuff, who wanted #26 from this list. Thank
you for giving me the chance to talk about birds! (On AO3)
Stiles picks a bench near the pond, leans back and takes a
deep breath. It’s a beautiful day, and he doesn’t have another final exam until
Wednesday, so he’s just thrilled to be out of the library and into the
sunshine.He plans to just enjoy the day and relax, instead of
worrying about the Chemistry test he’d finished a few minutes ago. A soft
breeze ruffles his hair, and he tilts his head, enjoying the fresh air and the
sweet scent of the nearby flowers.He zones out a little, watching some other college kids play
an energetic game of Frisbee, so he startles a little when someone says, “Do
you mind if I sit here?”
STEREK AND #15. And a kiss maybe.
Thank you for the prompt! This probably isn’t exactly what you had in mind, but I hope
you like it! (On AO3)
Stiles has a long history of hanging out in this hospital.
He’d practically lived in the waiting room when Lydia had gotten very sick
sophomore year, with Jackson right beside him, pretending he wasn’t scared. And
he’d been there pretty often junior year, when Danny had his appendix removed,
followed by the time his dad had been stabbed on the job.So being here now is practically routine to Stiles.
Everything is almost comfortingly familiar, from the terrible cafeteria food to
the pervasive antiseptic smell.
Mutually Assured Dating
‘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.
shealwaysreads 