sterekhotties

[sterekhotties]

I like the idea of Derek being a good guy, kind to the people around him, generally loved by all. Soft.

But maybe, maybe Derek is having a really shitty day when he meets Stiles. Maybe it’s the anniversary of Laura’s death, or his families death, or maybe he had a run in with Kate Argent early that morning and couldn’t get it out’ve his head.

And maybe Stiles isn’t the type to take someone’s shit. Maybe Stiles is sure he knows what kind of guy Derek is. Maybe he misjudges Derek off of the first impression, and maybe Derek is too flustered to apologize right off the bat.

Maybe when they meet for the first time, at a place where they’ll be forced to see each other in a pretty permanent arrangement, (perhaps they’re coworkers at work, or roommates in college, or something) Derek is a little bit of a grade A asshole due to his mood, and maybe Stiles remembers Jackson from highschool, and makes a promise to himself that that will not happen again, so he gives as good as he gets. Derek makes a snarky, rude comment and Stiles immediately makes one back, deciding that if he’s going to have to deal with this jerk, then he’s going to have to do it well. Maybe the next time they see each other, Derek is feeling better but isn’t sure how to start a conversation since he’s sure he’s already ruined any chance at being friendly with Stiles, so instead he just quietly tries to stay out’ve Stiles way, to make things easier and less awkward for the both of them. And maybe Stiles takes this as just more assholery, because of course the super hot guy he’s forced to be in proximity with thinks Stiles is so below him that he doesn’t even speak to him. What a dickhead. Maybe he gets so annoyed at Derek that he needs an outlet to complain to, so he starts up a conversation with one of his friends (who knows Derek as well) by going “you know Derek, right?” And before he can even start complaining they go “Derek? Obviously. Everyone knows Derek. You don’t usually meet people who are so attractive and kind and just forget about them.” And so Stiles stops, mouth agape, before clarifying “Derek Hale? Kind?” And then the other person, seemingly not sensing Stiles disbelief, start’s basically waxing poetry about how kind Derek is. They start bringing up all the good deeds Derek’s done, like how Derek donates to local charities, and volunteers at homeless shelters, and all of the other kind stuff Dereks apparently done. Maybe after awhile the shock wears off, and Stiles asks around a little more, and it seems everyone is apart of the Derek Hale fan club, and Stiles is annoyed. He doesn’t understand how everyone is so unbelievably in love with Derek when he’s such a jerk. He replays the conversation he had with Derek in his head, because maybe he missed something and Derek wasn’t actually being a jackass, but there is no other way to see it. Derek was a jerk, simple as that. He spends his days assuming that maybe everyone was just blindsided by Dereks dashing good looks to even realize what a jerk he was, up until he himself sees how good of a guy Derek is. He sees Derek buy a kid another ice cream after they dropped theirs, and then he sees Derek help an elderly woman cross the street and huffs about how fucking cliche that is. He notices the way that Derek always holds the door open for anybody he’s accompanied by, and even holds the elevator door open for Stiles himself. He still doesn’t say anything to Stiles though, and Stiles starts to wonder what he could’ve done to have the best guy in town hate him. He tries hard to come up with an explanation other than ‘I’m just an unlikable guy, I guess’ because that just seems a little too pathetic. When he draws a blank, he decides to just confront Derek himself. He walks right up to his desk (or maybe his room, if you went with the roommates option and not the coworker option) and just asks “What did I do to make you hate me?” In a tone that was meant to come out angry, but for some odd reason it comes out a little bit desperate. It makes Dereks eyes wide and he stutters out, “I- I don’t hate you.” But he doesn’t sound sure enough for Stiles, so Stiles continues on. “Really? Because it seems like you hate me. You can’t even look at me half the time, and you go to extreme efforts to ignore me. Which, fine, that would be totally fine if everyone wasn’t constantly talking about how kind you are to them. So what is it about me that makes you hate my guts? Do I talk too much? Am I too loud? Is it just my general existence or-“

“Stiles! I don’t, I didn’t..” Derek attempts, struggling to find the words. “I don’t hate you. I was just trying not to bother you.” He mumbles finally, the tips of his ears pink. It sounds silly when he says it out loud, and he realizes how badly Stiles could’ve misinterpreted the situation.

“..bother me?” Stiles said, confused and shocked.

Derek nods, hesitating to continue but pushing through anyways. “Yeah, when we met I was… I was going through something, and obviously I know that’s not an excuse to be an asshole, which is why I was trying to avoid you. I could tell you disliked me, which you have every right to with how I treated you, so I decided to just stay out of your way. Didn’t want to bother you.” Derek says, his face heating up at the admission.

A quiet “oh.” Is all Stiles can manage, and Derek just nods.

[sterekhotties]

Casual

For @twistedamusement

They both agreed they could—wanted to—keep it casual. It became almost a game to see who could stay the most casual, no matter what they did, what they felt. Derek casually sealed their first kiss. Stiles casually pulled him into bed the first time. Breathing hard, staring at the ceiling with stars in his eyes, Derek asked, "Wanna do that again?" Casually, of course. Stiles rolled on top of him and playfully bit at his chest. "You up for it, big guy?" Days and nights and weeks later, Stiles casually cooked dinner for them both, and Derek made breakfast. Spare toothbrushes were added to each bathroom without fanfare. Early one morning, still pleasantly buzzing from the night before, Derek crept to the kitchen, digging in the bag he'd left on the counter. Stiles was still asleep, arm flung across the bed onto Derek's side. Derek set the key casually in his upturned palm, then quietly dressed for work. His phone was silent all day. When he returned home, there were sneakers by the door, three hoodies in the coat closet, and a note on the fridge: Went to get dinner -S He smiled. Stiles moved his things in and a year later, casually sent Derek listing for bigger places, closer to both of their jobs. They found a larger house, one with a yard and a reading nook for Derek and an office space for Stiles. "I love you," Derek said, casually of course. Stiles kissed him, hands at his waist, nearly sweeping him off his feet. "I love you, too." Just as casual. Six months, hundreds of boxed and gallons of paint later, Derek woke to the scent of bacon and waffles wafting into the room from downstairs. A black velvet box sat casually on his chest.

Also on ao3 🔒

[sterekhotties]

Coaches Cupcake Coffee House by ChildOfTheRevolution

Teen | 4k | 1/1

Danny looked at him as if he were crazy, ‘It means he wants to ride the dick Stiles.’ He said slowly, as if talking to the mentally insane.

‘Ride the dick, my dick?’ Stiles asked weakly.

‘Figuratively speaking of course, Derek looks more like a topper to me. And you, my friend, are a twink of the most twinkiest standards, but I’m not one to judge.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Stiles admitted, finding himself in a weird crouch-like stance that he apparently now adopts when he’s overwhelmed about finding out Derek Hotcakes wants to bone him three ways to Sunday.

[sterekhotties]

“Why did you ask me that?”

“Huh? What's that?” Stiles mumbles the query without looking away from Derek's laptop screen. The laptop Derek kind of bought for Stiles for when Stiles is at the loft.

Whatever. 

There's a ballpoint pen shoved in the kid's mouth, God, that mouth, and another slid behind an ear to click to death in the In Between Typing Times.

The others had dispersed a couple of minutes ago. Apart from Derek and Stiles, only Lydia and Deaton now remain, and they're deep in conversation about the preliminary theory of who or what is killing the humans of Beacon Hills this week, and are at the opposite side of the vast top-floor space, making coffee. Scott and Malia left to rally the other ʼwolves for a pack meeting proper about the situation, before it gets dark. Granted, Peter is probably still lurking somewhere, what with lurking being one of his favourite pastimes, and can obviously hear any and all conversations that are, or could be, going on. But Derek has sadly never been able to hide much from his uncle, anyway.

Derek thinks about elaborating on his question, but can't. He tries not to stare at Stiles, and fails.

Stiles is just squinting at the screen and looking like he has forgotten Derek said anything at all, or is even in the room still. Derek is just standing there awkwardly in his own fucking home, looming over Stiles like a creeper as Stiles taps away furiously at the keyboard and violently zig-zags the mousepad like an actual lunatic.

Derek almost laughs.

The Boy Who Runs With Wolves.

“Why wouldn't I?”

Derek is caught off guard. “What?” Always and only by Stiles.

Stiles doesn't skip a beat, unlike Derek's heart. “Why wouldn't I ask?” he adds.

Oh, right.

“I, uh, I don't—” Derek swallows any confidence he'd mustered and trails off pathetically, looking away even though those big brown eyes are still in fact on stalks, zoomed-in and fixed intently at whichever web page is currently the most interesting.

Dusk is beginning to close in and around them and the light filtering through the loft's huge multi-pane window has dimmed somewhat. The glow of the computer screen now fills Stiles's eyes with arrhythmic shapes and bright sparks as they flick like lightning from one tab to another. As mesmerising as it is to watch, the sight becomes a little too much for Derek and he has to force himself to look away.

It doesn't last.

Stiles's long, big-knuckled fingers then still their movement, and Derek just watches the kid more as Stiles takes the pen from those devastating lips, and sneaker-feet toes spin the swivel chair around slowly to face Derek where he stands, arms crossed reactively over his chest. His heart.

“I wanted to know if you were okay, man. Like. I was concerned, y`know?” he says, like that's nothing at all. As if it's something Derek hears often. He tilts his head to catch Derek's eye—which works, of course. It always works, no matter the nature of the moment they're caught up in.

Derek feels guilty just for looking. And not only because he wants to touch, but because he wants to let Stiles care.

“I care, dude,” Stiles says on cue, and Derek tries to self-implode while Stiles waits for Derek to look at him and say don't call me dude, and maybe hopes to not have his head bitten off or his throat ripped out. 

Derek does look again, but not for long. Can't afford himself too much. Just brief glances, because it's safer that way. Self-preservation and all.

“You do know that, right?” Stiles tries again. “That I care.” 

Derek wants to ask Stiles if they can talk. If Derek can tell Stiles things, tell him all of it. Derek wants to ask Stiles if he will stay and if he'll let Derek spill everything, like Derek never does, not anymore, and if he'll hold Derek's hand when Derek cries about it, like Derek won't allow himself these days. Derek wants to ask Stiles if Derek can touch him and hold him and if Stiles would hold him back and if Stiles could ever be his.

“Don't call me dude,” he answers, because he can't not. And then he steals himself, head staticky and heart thumping, and dares himself to say, after what is probably too long a pause, “And yeah. Maybe.” 

Then they look at each other. They just, look. Look and look. And they each keep looking at the other for a very, very long time, definitely too long for two people supposedly not much more than allies or acquaintances. Comrades, at tenuous best.

Then they look for longer. Look for more. Until it seems like they're the only two people in the room, in the building, in the world. Something is happening, and Derek is pretty sure it's not just happening to him. He is equally as stunned as he is completely fucking terrified about it.

Eventually, Stiles says, “Derek, we're friends.” And then he's licking his lips and looking Derek up and down, shameless, and adds with a shrug of one shoulder, “Till we're not.” The latter is spoken like a secret, but without the slightest hint of malice or threat. That's not how he means it.

It sounds more like a promise, if Derek is remembering correctly what genuine affirmations sound like.

The sparks from Stiles's eyes then flash blue in both of Derek's and all of Derek's neurons and mutated cells flare into overdrive as his nail beds tingle and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He has to fight not to whine like a pup and has truly never been more happy of the fact Stiles is unable to scent chemo-signals, because Derek would be so fucked.

Derek has a reply for Stiles but it's caught in his throat, the sentence forming then solidifying fast as a quick-drying glue. He's just. Standing there. Statuesque. Alternating between trying to swallow his words down and attempting to speak them, like a dipshit, and just looking and looking and looking at Stiles.

In an entirely mortifying turn of events, it is actually the sound of Peter's low, mocking chuckle from some tucked away shadowy place in the loft that forces Derek unstuck, and it takes all Derek has to not both roll his eyes to the back of his skull and growl, I'm going to kill you again now, Uncle. 

Instead, he un-clenches his fists and tries for a smile, or at least a hint of one—he doesn't want to freak the kid out—and manages to repeat Stiles's words back at him. “Till we're not,” no more than a whisper.

Stiles is looking and looking and looking at Derek, before he's asking, “Can I stay for the evening? You can talk to me while I research. I always work better with noise. It'll be soothing,” like he's ordering pizza instead of answering all of Derek's prayers, his usually erratic eye-contact as unwavering as his usually erratic heartbeat that is now weirdly steady as a metronome.

Derek fights the urge to bite into his lip with his fangs. He wants to draw blood, and to taste it.

He embarrassingly feels his eye twitch and his breath hitch as he sputters, “What would you want me to talk about?”

Stiles slowly swivels back towards the glow of the laptop, ethereal milky skin and dark moles once more luminous in its white light, at the very same time the evening's first moonshine peeks through clouds and seeps in through the loft's huge skylight. He annoyingly starts clicking away at the Clicking Pen while shoving the other back between his beautiful, beautiful lips, now mumbling his words around it again, speaking them as if they're the most obvious thing in the universe.

“Everything, Der.”

.

for @poebin, for asking <3 (unedited, soz)

[sterekhotties]

When the Sky Fills With Rain by BarlowGirl

Explicit | 5k | 1/1

Derek raised an eyebrow. “You know I can shop for myself, right?”

“I know you can,” Stiles said. “But I don’t think you will. So we’re gonna go to Walmart and get you a couple packs of tank tops ’cause you look really hot in those and some more t-shirts and Henleys and basically whatever you need, and I’m going to stare at you and maybe drool a little while you try them on. And then we can go to wherever you usually buy jeans and I’m going to stare at your ass while you try those on.”

“Good to know,” Derek said dryly.

Stiles grinned. “Yup. And then you can wash them in my washing machine and leave them on my couch until they stop smelling like strangers and smell like us.”

Derek absolutely did not turn red.

Or: 5 Times Stiles Took Care of Derek and One Time Derek Took Care of Stiles.

[sterekhotties]

Come Fly With Me (Or Don’t) by stilinskisparkles

Mature | 15k | 1/1

Stiles is overworked and stressed out when his flight home gets delayed due to copious amounts of snow. He finds entertainment with one Derek Hale, whom he hasn’t seen since high school but really doesn’t mind getting reacquainted with.

Especially when it turns out Derek is surprisingly hilarious and will reluctantly play snap with him. And can walk on his hands.

[sterekhotties]

Little talks by Vendelin 

Mature | 5k | 1/1

“Your favourite is here,” Danny says, smirking. “I tried to steal him away by giving him some extra attention, but he just looked uncomfortable.”

Stiles snorts, though he’s secretly pleased by his regular rejecting Danny. “He always looks a bit uncomfortable. I bet he’s married with a kid and a permanent guilty conscience when he’s here.”

It had been quite the surprise for Stiles to realise that he had a regular. A pretty young, hot regular, on top of that.

In which Stiles is a stripper, and Derek is the always-polite regular at the club where he works.

[sterekhotties]

At least 90% of fic reader tbh

[sterekhotties]

Incorrect sterek quotes (insp.) 

[sterekhotties]

Breakfast Blunder

Request/Prompt:  Sterek-#4. Will you just hold still (Anon)

Warnings: None

Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Word Count: 576

Author: @dylan-obrien-fanblog​

A/N: This is really short and mostly cute fluff. :)

                                                     ~~~~~~~~~

“Goddamn it!” Derek opened his groggy eyes to the sound of clanging and fumbling accompanied by a slur of curses. He rolled over in bed and looked at the clock that informed him it was still too early to be awake. ‘God, what has Stiles done now?’ he thought. He sat up, rubbing his head and groaned, then let out a stretch. His bare feet let out a light thud as they hit the floor and he made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

Keep reading

[sterekhotties]

Sometimes the world’s too much, my mind’s too violent

Sometimes I’m not okay.

————————————————

“Derek?” a voice called, strange and tilted, and the figure ran.

It slowed as Derek lifts his head from his lean on the porch beam, squinting to try and catch any resemblance.

“Derek. What are you doing here?”

Everything was hazy, too unfocused and Derek raised a hand to rub furiously at his eyes, wishing he could manually zoom in to the right distance. But then he didn’t even want to open his eyes at all anymore, because seeing anything was too tiring.

“Where have you-“

Derek leaned back again, the back of his head hitting the wood with a thud. And the sounds came closer – RUSTLE, RUSTLE, RUSRUSRUSRUS – or maybe further. He couldn’t tell.

“Derek.” Suddenly the voice was right in his face, and all around his head and Derek winced. The fog was pushing and shoving and pulling in every which direction, making him feel too numb to even notice the fingers on his chin pulling his head upright until there was considerable pressure.

“Derek, look at me!”

He could feel the panic, shooting at him like a thousand arrows, bolting through his pores and to his chest, just to make the static in him stronger. He just needed it to stop, he needed everything to just stop, wanted to scream and cry.

But he didn’t feel alive enough for it, his body wasn’t his own.

“ ’s fine,” he pushed out through a heavy tongue. “I’m fine.”

When his eyes opened, the world was tinted in grayscale, ashen, burnt like his soul probably.

But it was Stiles in front of him. Derek could tell by the moles, his face close enough for Derek to focus on. Somehow he got his hand to move, to wrap his fingers around the skinny wrist. It took him a few moments, a few sentences of Stiles that flew past him, but he grounded himself enough to nod and breathe and repeat.

“I’m fine.”

Stiles frowned.

Derek shrugged.

Stiles hovered, then slowly let go. Derek’s hand trembled slightly as it drifted back down to his lap. He tried to hold it fast with his second, but even that one was insecure.

“What happened?” Stiles asked, from somewhere beside him now.

All Derek could do was stare helplessly at his lap, staring at his rolled up sweatpants. On one leg they reached just under the knee, on the other to mid shin. It wasn’t right, and yet it was. For this moment. For the mess that Derek was. He’d seen himself in the mirror at some point, whatever time it had been, and whatever time it was now, he was sure he looked just as much in disarray. Hair flat on his head, lifeless, with strands here and there, choosing their own direction awkwardly.

Oh, right. Stiles was there.

“Nothing,” Derek said, his mouth feeling foreign. Like he feature he’d only just grown and never wanted to use again.

“This isn’t nothing,” Stiles stated, probably fidgeting. If there was one thing Derek remembered then that Stiles was the opposite of him. Alive.

But Derek was right. His statement was true. He was nothing.

Derek shook his head, because there was no way to explain. This fog, the static, the… the suffering.

“Is this where you have been for the past 3 days?”

Nod, he could.

And another glance at Stiles to remind himself, Stiles was here. Stiles was here and reason to, at least in this moment, if he’d already survived three days, to keep reminding himself to breathe and breathe in properly, and not run off into the void or sink his claws in a little too deep.

But he was just waiting for the pity, the look of disdain and horror and misunderstanding. The look of …

Something that made Derek not right or not enough.

Stiles stood up and wiggled his fingers in front of his face. “Let’s go inside.”

Derek obliged. He barely felt the grip, but it was the tether that led him forward, step by step, until he saw the couch. Then he slipped away with clear intent, trodding till he could collapse against the cushions. He pulled his feet up and curled, tightening around the wound somewhere deep inside his chest, head pressed into the corner of the armrest.

And Stiles eyed the wrecked, ashen couch, and Derek, with a sadness Derek could do nothing about, nothing but stare, blank faced, with the whisper of sorry sorry sorry, beating against his forehead from the inside.

“It’s okay, big guy.” Stiles’ tone was so tender, it almost drove a whimper from Derek’s sealed throat but it definitely triggered the shaking just as Stiles wrapped him in the blanket, tucking the corners in all around him. Safe.

Then he draped himself on top of him to warm him from the cold hand of life. And finally, finally, Derek could close his eyes again without seeing red, without fangs piercing his lips with an eternal scream, he could close his eyes and breathe.

[sterekhotties]

when u scratch a cat’s chin and they lift their head up reblog if u agree

[sterekhotties]

Lose some, Win some

Today my coworker told me a story about how she lost her wallet, and a guy returned it to her with his business card in it. So of course my brain went, STEREK, and here ya go:

Derek is having a bad day. He hops onto the subway, exhausted after a long day at work. Luckily, he finds one open seat and slides into it appreciatively. Until he sees an elderly woman pull herself onto the train.

With a sigh, he gets up and offers his seat to her. It’s the right thing to do, and despite his bad day, he knows she needs it more than he does. He’s got a half hour ride back to his apartment ahead of him, so he grabs a pole and settles in for the ride.

Thirty minutes later, the previously crowded subway car is empty, other than him. It pulls up to his stop, and he walks over to the doors before they open, ready to get home. As he’s about to step off, he spots something black underneath one of the seats. He leans down to pick it up, and discovers that it’s a wallet. He looks around, but seeing no else in the car, he pockets it as he walks off of the subway car.

He forgets about the wallet entirely until he gets home. When he goes into his room to change out of his heavy work clothes into a t-shirt and sweatpants, he takes off his slacks. They fall to the floor with a louder thunk than usual, reminding him about the wallet inside of them.  He tugs on his sweatpants, extracts the wallet, and sits down on his bed to take a look through it.

He checks the cash pocket first, finding $24 dollars inside. Derek doesn’t even consider taking any of it, he has enough money as it is. He fumbles through the rest of the wallet, pulling out random items as he goes. A few of them are standard items; a credit card, a library card, and a driver’s license.

He starts pulling out items on the other side of the wallet that are a bit more interesting; a frequent customer card at a coffee shop that Derek’s actually been to a few times, a comic strip, and a faded photo of a soft-eyed woman holding a child.

He takes the driver’s license out and looks at it more closely. The name on the license is something he can’t even begin to try to pronounce. Maybe the guy is foreign? He checks the birth date and sees that the guy is only a couple years younger than Derek is.

Derek brings the license closer to his eyes and studies the picture closely. The owner is pretty good looking; he has brown hair, light brown eyes, and a very charming smirk that shows off an angular set of cheekbones.

Derek pulls the faded picture out from the other side of the wallet again and compares it to the license. The wallet owner is definitely the child in the picture. Derek flips the picture over again and sees the word “Mom” scribbled on the back in a messy script. His stomach sinks. He knows what it means to have a photo like that in your wallet; he has one of his own family sitting in his. Suddenly he feels like he’s invaded the guy’s privacy, so he puts everything back into their respective pockets and shuts the wallet.

A few moments later, he reconsiders. He has to get the card back to the guy somehow, right? He pulls out the credit card and flips it over, considering his options. He may not have a way to contact whatever-his-first-name-is Stilinski, but maybe the bank does.

There’s a 1-800 number on the back, and Derek walks back into his living room to get his phone, sitting down on the couch as he dials.

He has to wait an annoying amount of time before someone picks up, and when they do he’s met by an unnervingly cheery voice.

“Wells Fargo customer service, how can I help you?”

“Hi. I, uh, found a wallet on the subway and wanted to get it back to it’s owner? It had his Wells Fargo credit card in it, so I just thought I’d call and see if you could get me in touch with him. That way he doesn’t have to cancel his card or anything…” Derek trails off, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Well that’s good of you!” the cheery voice replies. “Can you read me the name on the card as well as the card number please?”

Derek rattles off the card number and then pauses. “I actually don’t think I can pronounce the first name, but the last name is…Stilinski?” he says.

The woman chuckles a little. “Yes, I can see why that’d be hard to pronounce. Is that even a name?” She mumbles.

Derek rolls his eyes. “So is there any way you can give me his phone number so I can let him know I have it?”

The woman tsks at him, and Derek resists the urge to hang up on her immediately. “Unfortunately not,” she says, “We can’t give customer information out over the phone. However, I will personally give him a call and let him know that it’s been found. Would you be able to bring the wallet to one of our locations so we can get it sent back to him?”

“Uh…” Derek tries to visualize where the closest Wells Fargo is to him. He can picture one near a cafe that he goes to on some of his lunch breaks. “Sure. I can do that. Tomorrow. I guess.”

“Super!” she says. “I’ll let Mr. Stilinski know. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No,” Derek says. Internally he adds, for the love of God, no.

“Alright!” she chirps. “Thanks for choosing Wells Fargo!”

Derek hangs up before he can tell her that he actually didn’t.

The next morning, Derek wakes up 15 minutes early to get to the bank before he goes to work. He feels kind of weird about just sending this wallet back without even letting the guy know that some creep didn’t just take his wallet. So he hesitates for a moment, but ultimately decides to slip one of his own business cards into Mr. Stilinski’s wallet. He quickly jots a note on the back of it. “Found your wallet-Derek.”

He drops the wallet off at the bank, re-explaining the situation to the worker there before he continues on to work.

——

Stiles is having a bad day. He’s been searching his apartment for his wallet for the past hour, but he can’t find it anywhere. He retraces his steps and thinks about all of the horrible places that he could have left it. The coffee shop, the subway, the streets.

He lies down on his couch, throws a hand over his eyes, and wills himself to die. Just then, his phone starts ringing. It’s a 1-800 number he doesn’t recognize, but he answers anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Mr. Stilinski?” an exceptionally cheery voice asks.

“Unfortunately,” Stiles says.

The voice pauses, but continues on with no change in inflection. “Well, Mr. Stilinski, this is Well Fargo-“

“Oh, no,” Stiles says, sitting upright. “Someone stole my card, right? Damn it, I knew I left my wallet somewhere bad,”

“No, no,” the voice chuckles. “Someone actually found it and is returning it to you.”

“Returning it?” Stiles asks, confused.

“Yupp! He’s going to drop it by one of our Wells Fargo locations tomorrow and then we’ll get it sent back to you right away.”

“No way,” Stiles says.

“Yes way! Keep a lookout for it over the next day or so. You are one lucky guy!”

“Thanks,” Stiles says. Then, “Wait, do you know who found it? So I can thank them?”

Wells Fargo lady remains exceedingly positive in her answer. “I’m sorry, but I don’t. I’m sure they know you’re appreciative though!”

“Okay,” Stiles says, “Thanks again.”

“You’re very welcome. And thanks for choosing Wells Fargo!” she responds as Stiles hangs up on her.

—-

The next day, Stiles is sitting on his couch, with his computer in his lap, when Scott comes over.

“Yo, dude, you’ll never guess what happened to me,” Stiles says as soon as Scott walks in the door.

“You decided you’re over your Star Wars obsession?” Scott teases.

“NO,” responds Stiles, throwing a pen at him. “I lost my wallet yesterday and someone returned it to the bank. Straight up returned it. As in, didn’t steal my card and rob me of everything I have.”

Scott lies down on the couch behind him. “That’s awesome, bro. They didn’t even take your cash?”

Stiles frowns. “I actually didn’t check…I probably only had like $20 in there, but $20 is groceries, man.” He pulls the wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open.

“Still there!” he cries, proudly showing the cash to Scott. “Man, there is some good in this world after all.”

He keeps searching through the wallet, checking that everything is still there, when he comes across Derek’s business card.

“Dude,” Stiles says reverently. “I think the guy who found my wallet gave me his information.” He flips it over and reads the short message on the back. “Okay, clearly you are not a man of many words, Derek Hale.” Stiles’ eyes narrow mischievously.

“I don’t like the look on your face,” Scott says.

“What look?” Stiles asks innocently.

Scott sighs. “The look that means you’re about to take something just a little bit too far.”

“I’m not!” Stiles argues. “I’m just gonna Google him a little.”

“Google him?” Why?”

Stiles turns back to his computer and starts typing, his hands flying over the keyboard. “Just want to see what type of person had my wallet.”

A few seconds later, Stiles’ hands pause over the keyboard. “Woah.”

“Woah, what?” Scott deadpans, feigning interest.

Scott slaps him lightly on the chest. “Woah, take a look at this. The guy is hot. Like, really hot.”

Scott sits up from his reclined position to look over Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles isn’t kidding. “Wow,” Scott says appreciatively.

“Wow? Wow is all you have to say about that scruff? Or those biceps?” Stiles keeps scrolling through Google images before returning to the search page. “I can’t look at those pictures anymore or things are going to get inappropriate in here,” he explains.

Scott huffs and lies back down on the couch, shutting his eyes pretending to sleep as Stiles spouts out a list random facts about Derek.

“Dude. He’s the youngest executive to work at this company in over 50 years!”

“Aw, he set up a charity for orphaned children.”

“Look, he has a dog!”

“Scott, he’s only a few years older than we are.”

“His company’s only 2 blocks away from mine!”

After 10 more minutes of spouting out Derek-related information, Stiles promptly declares, “I think I’m in love.”

“Congratulations,” Scott says sarcastically as he opens his eyes. “Figured out whether or not he’s into guys yet?”

“Please. As if I could find that out,” Stiles retorts.

Scott pins him with a look until Stiles gives in. “Okay, I can’t tell, but there is a very promising picture on facebook of him and a guy from spring break during his sophomore year in college.”

“Stiles,” Scott groans.

“Also I see nothing about wives or children, so that’s good too,” Stiles continues with a nod.

“You do realize this is a stranger, right?” Scott asks.

Scott waves his hand at him. “Kind of. But he saved me from financial ruin. So he’s kind of not.”

“No,” Scott says. “He completely is. Google stalking in doesn’t count as knowing him.”

“But it’s close.”

Scott groans again. “Oh my God, Stiles. Just please promise me you won’t do anything weird with that information.”

Stiles turns back around to his computer. “Now, Scott, we both know I can’t promise that.”

—- Around noon the next day, Derek gets a call on his office phone. He glares at it for a moment, like he does most calls from numbers he doesn’t recognize, before answering it. Hopefully it’s not that investment firm down the street that keeps trying to get him to leak private information.

“Derek Hale, Alpha Financial, how can I help you?” he says as he answers the phone.

“Dude,” an excited voice responds, “You are a lifesaver.”

“Um-“

“Oh, sorry, shit. I got excited. I’m Stiles.”

…"Hi?” Derek says slowly.

“Stiles Stilinski. You found my wallet!”

Derek pauses, caught completely off guard. When he’d put his card in the wallet he definitely hadn’t been expecting for the guy to actually call him. Once Derek’s gathered his wits, he responds. “So that’s how you say that first name.”

“Oh, no,” Stiles says. “It’s just my nickname, because, obviously my real name’s horrendous. Sorry you had to even see that written down.”

Derek can’t think of any kind of response to that, so he remains silent. Luckily, Stiles seems to talk enough for both of them.

“So anyway, I was hoping I could thank you for returning the wallet to me. Seriously, I would be screwed without it.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says quickly.

“No, dude. Let me thank you,” Stiles answers.

“Okay,” Derek says.

“Okay? So how about lunch sometime? My treat.”

“Um,” Derek responds dumbly. When he’d said okay he’d thought Stiles was just going to verbally thank him, not try to take him to lunch.

“There’s this great sandwich shop between our workplaces-it’s on 14th street,” Stiles adds.

“How do you know where my workplace is?” Derek asks.

Stiles doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I Googled it. So, are you in?”

Derek pictures the way he usually spends his lunch breaks-eating somewhere by himself, or going out to lunch with the charming guy in the driver’s license photo. “Okay,” he finally says.

“How about now?” Stiles asks.

Derek is caught completely off guard yet again. He considers declining, but it it’s not like he has any other plans.

“Okay,” he says again, cautiously..

“Great! I’ll see you there!” Stiles responds. He rattles off the address before hanging up, leaving Derek staring at his receiver wondering what the heck just happened.

—-

When Derek gets to the sandwich shop, he spots Stiles immediately. What he isn’t expecting is for Stiles to recognize him.

“Derek!” Stiles calls out from a nearby table. “I got us a seat already.” He waves him over and Derek can’t help noticing that he’s even better looking in person than he was in his license photo. He has these appealing moles decorating the side of his face that the camera lens didn’t quite catch.

“How’d you know what I looked like?” Derek questions.

Stiles falters for a moment, but then he just honestly says, “I Googled you.”

“You Googled me,” Derek repeats.

Stiles waves a hand at him. “Yeah! Wanted to make sure the guy who had my wallet wasn’t some thief, or a mob member. You could’ve stolen my identity and sold it or something.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Derek responds.

Stiles laughs. “I know. You’re not that kind of guy. You started a charity.”

Derek feels his ears turning red. “Just how much did you Google, exactly?”

This time it’s Stiles’ turn to blush. “I’m a fact checker. Research is kind of my thing. Sorry.”

Derek snatches on to that piece of information and goes with it. “A fact checker? How’d you get into that?”

Stiles launches into a story about his high school days and papers he wrote that included far too much information, and Derek just sits and listens, finding himself liking the guy more and more as he rambles on.

Stiles asks Derek about his job, teasing him about being so successful at such a young age, and Derek finds himself opening up about his current frustrations in his job. He tells Stiles about how he joined to be successful, but now he wants to feel like he’s contributing more to the world instead of just contributing to his company.

The hour passes quickly as they eat, talk, and banter. Derek finds Stiles to be even more charming in person than he expected, and admires his knack for maintaining conversation, even when Derek doesn’t have much to say. Stiles has got a kind of energy about him that Derek hadn’t realized he was craving in his own life.

Derek’s surprised when it’s time to go back to work, realizing that he’s enjoyed this lunch hour more than he’s enjoyed his whole day at work so far.

“I have to get back to the office,” he eventually announces, looking at his watch regretfully.

Stiles nods. “I’m gonna stay here for a little while. I like to stretch my lunch breaks for as long as possible.”

Derek laughs. “Wish I could do that. But, uh, thanks for lunch.”

“Thanks for returning my wallet. Seriously, that was really good of you. You could have just left it, or taken the cash…I’m really glad you didn’t.”

“Me too,” Derek says. Then he just sits there for a moment, waffling over what he should do next. He knows this is the moment; where he should say something more flirtatious or hint at another time for them to see each other. But he’s never been good at using his words to initiate. So instead he just gives Stiles a smile, shakes his hand in goodbye, and leaves.

—-

When Derek gets back to his office, he stares at his phone for the better part of an hour. When it doesn’t ring, he starts to get worried.

He’d had a plan, a plan that he’d acted on just before leaving the sandwich shop, which is now a plan that he’s starting to think was a very bad idea. Derek glances at his phone again. Maybe his plan hadn’t worked. He starts considering all the ways it could have gone wrong, but then his phone suddenly rings.

“Hello?” he asks, not bothering with his normal formal greeting.

“Hi,” says a familiar voice. “It’s Stiles.”

“Hey,” Derek says, as a smile grows on his face. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Stiles says, and Derek swears he can hear him smiling back through the phone, “I’m calling because…You forgot you wallet.”

“Did I?” Derek replies nonchalantly.

“Yeah. At the sandwich shop. Which is weird, because you didn’t even pay. I did.”

“Weird,” Derek responds. “Wonder how that happened.”

Stiles chuckles. “I’m guessing you want it back?”

“That’d be nice,” Derek replies.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “How about if I bring it by in person? After all, I do know where you work.”

Derek smiles even wider. “I was hoping you would say that.”

[sterekhotties]

~stiles and derek cuddling requested by two-facedjanus. hope you like <3

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» five scenes [4/5]

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i just needed soft!derek and stiles freaking out about it, so here’s a little over 1k of exactly that (psssst @mermaid-reyes i wrote a thing)

*********

Stiles has always believed Derek to be the most hardcore person he has ever met. Derek never smiles, takes everything seriously, and has a habit of needlessly putting himself in danger. Stiles has him all figured out. He’s a tragic mess of a man who is hard as rocks.

But then Stiles is proved wrong, and his entire world turns upside down.

It starts slowly, so slowly that Stiles misses it the first few times. It started with Derek limping to his loft with Stiles’ arm around him begrudgingly. Derek saw a tiny kitten near the dumpster and he demanded Stiles go save it.

“What?” Stiles asked because he was pretty sure he heard Derek wrong.

“Go save the kitten,” Derek repeated with a serious frown.

“Why?” 

Derek’s eye rolls are always impressive, but that one definitely is in the top five of the best eye rolls Derek Hale has given. “Because it’s a helpless creature. We can keep it warm in the loft and then when Deaton opens tomorrow, I’ll take it in.”

“Okay…,” Stiles said, dragging out the word to wait for Derek to reveal his big joke. He didn’t. Stiles ended up grabbing the poor, frightened kitten and curling it into his chest as Derek hobbled into the elevator with no help from Stiles. The ride up was quiet, but there was a very memorable moment when Derek reached over and ran a finger over the kitten’s head softly.

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