Derek and Teen Wolf AU – Office! Verse: In which Stiles and Derek work
Tag: office!au
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.”
WHERE IS THE FIC WHERE STILES CALLS TECH SUPPORT ON HIS FIRST DAY BUT GETS THE MAINLINE FOR JUNIOR VP DEREK HALE AND DEREK JUST IS HELPFUL
AND STILES JUST CALLS BACK
WHENEVER
HE CAN’T PRINT OR WHATEVS. SO DEREK IS LOADING PAPER DOWN ON THE 28TH FLOOR WHEN HE SHOULD BE ON 49TH IN A MEETING WITH HIS SISTERS
“Anyway, you can just tell this company is being grossly mismanaged,” Stiles tells Derek around the Twizzler he just shoved into his mouth.
“I agree,” Derek says, head buried in the side panel of the malfunctioning copier.
“Resources are clearly available,” Stiles continues, sounding like he’s pacing back and forth near Derek’s feet; “but they aren’t being utilized fully!”
“Mmhmm.” Derek smiles to himself. “I hear the Vice President never even went to business school. He even skips out on the budget meetings, most days.”
“What a hack,” Stiles sighs. “Hey, do you want some candy? What am I saying, look at you. Of course you don’t eat candy.”
Derek is grateful that there’s a plastic panel hiding his overheating face. “I prefer the grape ones, actually, but sure.”
"Eugh, gross.” Stiles has to crouch down next to him to give him the candy, pressing right into his side. “Like, for example: okay, you’re clearly really smart, I can tell. Despite your seriously gross taste in Twizzlers. They’re wasting you in this position.”
Derek coughs, trying to focus on locating the paper jam. It’s been so long since someone said anything like that to him that he can’t actually tell if Stiles is being sarcastic or not.
"Thank you?” he tries, after a too-long pause.
“Anytime,” Stiles says, palm warm between Derek’s shoulder blades. “Although, in a strictly literal sense, I have to admit that this position really works for you.”
Derek hits his head on the paper tray.
Derek isn’t sure why he let this charade go on for over three weeks, it’s just that whenever Stiles ends up calling his line he can’t help but talk to him; it isn’t actually too difficult to Google whatever problem Stiles is having with his computer or whatever, and it actually usually is something really lame, like "how do I take a screenshot” and “I got disconnected to the main server again,” which honestly happens to everyone, you just have to kick your router a little bit. And it’s more entertaining than budget meetings, that’s for sure.
It’s just that he really likes his conversations with Stiles. A lot. Okay, maybe he just likes Stiles.
So Derek is surprised one morning when he’s finally decided he should just go ahead and ask Stiles out one of these days when he doesn’t get a call. Stiles usually calls in once or twice by noon at least, even if it’s just to complain about the coffee in the breakroom.
When Derek walks by Stiles’ desk and finds it empty, not just of Stiles, but in fact all his personal belongings have been swept into a cardboard box. Horrified, Derek raps on the cubicle next to him. “Hey, do you know where Stiles is?"
The guy, A. Greenberg by his nameplate, just shrugs. "Stiles came into work as usual and then he was flipping through the company phonelist, started freaking out about something and just packed everything up. He said he was going to HR."
Derek dashes towards the elevator, making it to the ninth floor where Human Resources is just in time. He barges in office after office, making quick apologies, and finally finds Stiles with an exasperated and bored looking Erica Reyes.
"You can’t file a sexual harassment claim against yourself, Mr. Stilinski,” she’s saying. “Ah, hello, Mr. Hale,” she says when she sees Derek at the door.
Stiles turns, face flushing red. “Ah– I am so sorry Der– I mean, Mr. Hale, I really didn’t know, I mean, this morning all my phone presets were gone so I had to reprogram everything, and then when I called IT and asked for Derek’s line, they said they didn’t have a Derek, and then when I looked through the phonelist, I realized the only Derek was–"
"It’s fine,” Derek says. “Erica, can you just forget this–"
"Sure,” she says, grinning at him.
“Stiles–” Derek pulls him into the hallway. “Were you seriously trying to fire yourself for flirting with me?"
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