i would die a fiery death for a sterek AU where derek is the grumpiest ‘sandwich artist’ in all of subway, and stiles thinks it’s hilarious to order a footlong sub and be the little shit he is and wink and flirt and just generally make derek a flustered mess.
“Heads up, Hale,” Boyd says while Derek is bent over restocking the Italian Herb ‘n’ Cheese. “It’s your favorite customer.”
“I don’t have a favorite customer,” Derek protests without looking up. “I dislike all of our customers equally.”
“That really hurts, Derek,” says Stiles, and Derek sighs heavily and straightens up. “Oh, no, you don’t have to stand up on my account. By all means, finish what you were doing.”
“Stiles,” Derek warns.
“Bent over is a really good look for you,” Stiles continues, winking, and somewhere over by the register Boyd chokes on a laugh. “Are those jeans regulation Subway attire? Jared-approved?”
“Grilled chicken?” Derek asks, sneaking a glance at Stiles from under his green viser. It’s a hot day, and he’s wearing a worn, soft-looking Green Lantern t-shirt. It’s hitched up a bit on one side, from the way he’s carrying his backpack over one shoulder, and Derek can see the smooth curve of his hip.
He’s got a tiny line of freckles on that side, too. Derek’s counted three, but he thinks there might be more, higher up.
“Meatball, today,” Stiles says, leaning forward and grinning at Derek over the sneeze guard. “How do you feel about balls, Derek?”
“Oh lord,” Boyd says, stomping over. “Stiles, I will give you free cookies for life if you ask him out right now and never force me to listen to you make sandwich-related double entendres ever again. This job is already hellish enough, damn.”
Derek flushes and fumbles the meatball ladle. “Boyd. Shut up.”
“Hale, come on, you can’t tell me you don’t want to—”
“I’d love to go out with you. Wanna go to Quiznos? Ha, I’m kidding. Except not really, I actually really love Quiznos. I’m so sorry.”
“Then why…” Derek pulls off the visor and tries to get his hair to do something vaguely sexy, feeling nervous under Stiles’ warm, intent gaze. “But you come in here every other day.”
“Yup.”
“There’s a Quiznos right across the street,” Derek tells him.
“Hale I swear to god,” Boyd mutters, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.
“Wanna meet me there on your dinner break?” Stiles asks, bouncing excitedly. “On a date. A romantic date. I don’t know how to be clearer about this. I’ve actually never been accused of being subtle before.”
“Derek’s just an idiot,” Boyd explains, while Derek keeps his cool by focusing all his attention on laying the cheese triangles in a perfect tessellated layer over the meatballs. “When good things happen to him, he assumes they’re a lie.”
“I’m a good thing?” Stiles smiles at his shoes, and his face is all soft and pleased and going blotchy as he blushes, and Derek’s chest aches.
“I’m off in three hours,” Derek says, sliding the sandwich into the toaster and trying not to do anything embarrassing, like a victory dance.
Stiles, of course, has no such compunctions, and shimmies in a happy little circle right there in front of the counter. “Awesome. See you then, bright-eyes. Oh, and ring me up for two bags of chips, all right? I’m carbo-loading so I can keep my energy up tonight.”
“Why, what are you doing tonight?” Derek asks, and in the back room he can hear Boyd banging his head repeatedly against the freezer door.
Alright so I saw this pink Jeep the other day (really meaning like February at this point) and I just couldn’t resist thinking about Stiles being in it, even though it’s the wrong color so being me, I had to come up with an answer.
The Jeep gave out one final time after a golum attacked Beacon Hills during winter break of their senior year. As BH catastrophes go it wasn’t terrible, especially after the Dread Doctors, and Lydia eventually won the things loyalty with her knowledge of Hebrew. Apparently she started Latin after realizing Hebrew was too easy. Anyway, the town was saved and no sentient beings were killed, but poor Roscoe just couldn’t survive her pipes being filled with magical clay.
Stiles somehow managed to get through he beginning of Spring semester without her (biking is good for heart health, right?) and no more supernatural beings came stomping in to town that demanded he have transportation. While nothing came stomping, that doesn’t mean nothing supernatural came at all, however, and that something was Derek.
He showed up at the high school parking lot one day in his ridiculous SUV and when Stiles got out of class and headed to unlock his bike he caught sight of the werewolf and simply stopped and stared. Derek smiled timidly and lifted a hand in greeting but Stiles couldn’t get his brain to work and merely continued to gawk until Lydia brushed past him and uncharacteristically crashed into Derek in as big a bear hug as her tiny body could manage.
Her abrupt arrival shook Stiles from his stupor and he walked forward until he was standing directly in front of Derek. Lydia had moved on to much more awkwardly greet Cora who had gotten out of the passenger seat when she saw the banshee. Stiles would have teased them about the UST if he weren’t currently experiencing some tension of another kind.
“Where’ve you been?” He tried keeping his voice neutral, but it cracked a bit and Derek frowned, clearly smelling the anxiety laced with resentment.
“Go easy, Stiles.” Cora spoke up when her brother clearly wasn’t going to do so. “He came down to Argentina to find me, but got captured by some mountain trolls. It took me a while to hear about it and even longer to convince them he wasn’t their cute, furry pet. We got out of there as soon as we could.”
“So you’re back?” Stiles vaguely heard Lydia ask Cora, as he looked Derek up and down for signs of injury he logically knew wouldn’t be there.
guys this has been an amazing challenge, and I loved every bit of it! will definitely do it next year too!
Working with @alex925 was so nice! ❤ such a wonderful person! anyway!! please go read her story and give her all the kudos! ❤
A Flash of Purple Summary
When Derek suddenly becomes an Alpha with a pack his whole life is turned upside down. In need of an emissary to have his pack settled in the eyes of the community Derek starts his search. Only to find out most or more interested in his last name then him or his pack. Luckily, Laura has just the answer. The West Coast Supernatural Gathering.
what if the sheriff and derek start investigating more and more, and they become friends that go to coffee together. and stiles has no idea, like he doesn’t notice at all because he’s so caught up in his own life. but then one day the doorbell rings really early in the morning and stiles answers the door half asleep and finds derek, and he’s like “what? what supernatural crisis is so important that you had to wake me up at this ungodly hour?” and derek looks confused. and then the sheriff walks past stiles and is like “he’s here for me, son. we’re going to get breakfast” and they leave together in the sheriff’s cruiser and stiles just stands there like ‘what the hell just happened?’
In my head this is pre-Sterek, so the whole time John and Derek are out at breakfast, Stiles is just sitting on the couch having an existential crisis over the fact that he has feelings for… his dad’s boyfriend?!?!?!?!?!???? He’s sitting there thinking about how every interaction that he thought was mutual flirting over the last few months was actually Derek trying to be a good boyfriend to his dad by showing interest in his son and keeping him safe… When Stiles can breathe again he starts preparing a “I love you no matter what/Oh, hey, we’re both bi/Sorry I’ve been hitting on your boyfriend” speech for when his dad gets home.
Meanwhile, John is sitting in the booth across from Derek helping him practice how he’s going to ask Stiles out.
John was just going to drop Derek off at the house and head to the station, but when they get there Derek tells him that he thinks something is wrong with Stiles (Oh god, not again. He’s just starting to seem himself again after the Nogitsune).
Stiles jumps off of the couch as soon as the front door opens and just blurts out “I’m sorry, I’m in love with Derek!” and promptly freezes when he realizes that the person standing in front of him is actually Derek and not his dad.
John just laughs and says, “Well, I guess it’s a good thing that he’s here to ask you out then,” before turning around and heading back to the cruiser.
Oh, I am 100% for it awakening something else. It’s one of my favorite things.
“Anything yet?”
“Still no,” Stiles said, again, and Derek resumed his pacing up and down the aisle. Kind of dickishly, though, like he was the one being inconvenienced here. As if his uncle hadn’t been the one to bite Stiles in the first place.
Peter was dead, so at least that problem was out of the way, but now Stiles was stuck with Derek as the only alpha north of San Francisco, spending the full moon in an abandoned train depot he didn’t know existed before tonight, and a bandage on his wrist that made the kids at school whisper and give him pitying looks. And yes, he’d already pointed out the lack of healing and been very ignored.
He got it, he’d witnessed firsthand with Scott that a new wolf’s judgment was a little skewed around the moon, but a very much un-supernaturally-healed wound was a pretty objective, non-skewed fact.
Stiles was not a wolf, and no one would listen to him.
“I feel like it didn’t take this long with Scott,” Stiles continued after some uncomfortable silence. “He was a total dick the entire day. It was pretty obvious.”
Derek sighed, annoyed. “You’re always a dick, it’s hard to tell.”
“Wh—me? Look who’s talking!” Stiles sputtered indignantly, and Derek raised his eyebrows in a challenge. “You slammed my head into my own steering wheel!”
“You made me strip for your friend.”
“You threatened me into
harboring your fugitive ass
from my dad.”
“You accused me of mass murder.”
“You kidnapped Scott’s boss.”
“I was trying to find the alpha!”
“Well, great job there, buddy!” Stiles snapped angrily, and Derek’s eyebrows shot right back out of their angry furrow. “That wasn’t the moon, that was because your psycho uncle bit me and I’m still pissed about it.”
“Come on, Stiles.” Derek shook his shoulder. At least, he was pretty sure it was Stiles’s shoulder; he was buried so deep under the blankets it was difficult to tell. “It’s time to get up.”
“No,” came Stiles’s voice from under the blanket and pillow. “’S my day off.”
Derek sighed. “Yes, and you told me you wanted to get up and go running with me in the morning, remember?”
“I lied.”
Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles hadn’t lied; the exact conversation had involved the words don’t let me weasel out of it in the morning. He debated actually clawing the blankets to shreds to get Stiles out of them, but he didn’t want to replace them. They were good blankets.
“You know,” Derek bent over the pillow, “if you get up and go running with me, I could be persuaded to exercise in other ways when we get back.”
Stiles’s hand darted out from under the covers with his middle finger raised. “Do not tempt me, you…you tempter. We can still have it when you get back from your hell run.”
Ah well, sex promises only had a fifty percent chance of working when Stiles was determined to sleep in. Derek straightened back up. “Fine, then if you go running with me, we’ll stop by Julio’s for breakfast tacos.”
The blankets shifted, and one amber eye peeked out at him from under the pillow. “Julio’s breakfast tacos?”
Derek nodded solemnly. “And if you don’t go running with me…I’ll stop there by myself and I won’t bring any back for you.”
Stiles gasped in outrage. “You wouldn’t.”
Derek turned away to grab his shoes. “Oh, yes, I would. I’d even text you pictures while I ate them.”
“I could just get them myself,” Stiles said. “Without you.”
“Your Jeep’s in the shop,” Derek reminded him. “I’ll have the car. And if you walk all the way to Julio’s, you’ll get your exercise anyway.”
Stiles was silent in the way that meant he was trying to find the loophole in what Derek had just said.
Derek shrugged and headed out the door. “Well, guess I’m going to get breakfast tacos by myself. See you later.”
He was halfway down the stairs when he heard the muffled thump of Stiles falling out of bed. “Wait, you asshole, I’m coming!”
“Did you say something?” Derek called back. “Sorry, I’m heading out!”
“Fuck you, Hale!”
Derek smothered a laugh. “We can do that later!”
His answer was another series of thumps and muffled cursing.
Well, it was good to know if nothing else, at least breakfast tacos could get Stiles out of bed in the morning.
Thank you. But here’s over 4000 words for that prompt because. Uh. It happened. I apologize for any mistakes. I just…kept writing. Featuring Malia knowing what’s up, scenting, and some mild blink-and-you’ll-miss-it jealous Derek.
Derek’s wardrobe has expanded, but it’s still a shock to see him wearing actual colors.
They’re in the Beacon Hills Preserve, Derek and Malia are scenting whatever it is they’re after while Stiles, Scott, Kira, and Isaac try to formulate what it is they might be able to do once they find the…witches? That’s their current guess, at least. It sounds a little far-fetched, but the way three students from the high school had just wandered out in the middle of Yukimura’s class had felt more magical than anything else they could come up with.
Unless all three of them were banshees or kanimas, it didn’t seem likely that they were supernatural creatures being drawn out against their will. It was more like something or someone was doing it.
That’s the theory Stiles and Lydia come up with, at least, and Scott should know better than to question their logic, even if Isaac doesn’t.
Isaac and Stiles are in the middle of a useless argument when Stiles stops short, his gaze focused on Derek as something clicks in his head. “Is that my shirt?”
Even Isaac stops short and everyone looks at Stiles, although Stiles doesn’t look away from Derek.
Derek who is… Who is definitely wearing his shirt. What the fuck?
“Me? Why would I be wearing your shirt?” Derek asks, incredulous, lip curled in that way that makes him look like a douche. A hot douche, but a douche. Stiles hates it.
And Stiles isn’t one to back down. He strides up to Derek, causing Malia to glance between the two like she’s not sure if she should back away or continue the literal witch hunt. “I don’t hear actual denial in there, pal. Yeah, I know your tricks.” He points his finger to Derek’s chest which is, again, clad in his shirt.
Dara Hale has one epic grievance with her current life, and it is her inability to get off like the hot-blooded American female she is. There’s also her epic crush on Stiles Stilinski, who is probably straight and too attractive for her own good, and that’s not really helping matters.
Stiles is the kind of girl who rolls out of bed and throws on a pair of dirty jeans. She has never owned a hair brush, and only shaves her legs during field hockey season. She owns exactly one tube of lip gloss, a gift from her grandmother, and it’s only been opened twice.
Stiles knows she’s not a Lydia, hell, she’s not even an Allison, with their effortless looking curls and lip-glossed smiles. No, Stiles hair doesn’t have a curl to it at all, falls limply to her shoulders when it’s actually long enough to reach, and her lip gloss smears off her lips ten minutes after she puts it on. She wears dorky t-shirts that she can’t make look cool, and she can never find the right sort of jeans to make her legs look good.
This is for the @sterekdrabbles ‘ discord challenge by @allourheroes. The challenge was to {Fill in the blank}’s perspective on Sterek in 200 words! Hope you all enjoy some John POV!
—
John Stilinski was a patient man. He was a busy man. He absolutely was not a stupid man.
He knew the signs. He was young once, despite what Stiles may wish to believe. He knew what sneaking out through the window after midnight meant. He knew what the hushed laughter and muffled whispers meant right before dawn when Stiles would sneak back inside.
No, John thought as he stirred his coffee. He was not stupid at all.
Stiles kept rubbing at his neck, which was conveniently hidden beneath the collar of a shirt that he knew for a fact had never been worn since he got it as a Christmas gift two years ago from his grandmother. In fact, John would be willing to bet his one steak a month that the tag was still attached.
The rumble of the Camaro pulled up outside, and Stiles was clearly trying to hide his grin by pretending to tie his shoes.
“Derek’s here. Gotta go to his place, do some research for the bestiary.” And with that, he was gone.
John stirred his coffee some more as he heard them drive off. It was about time he invited Derek over for dinner.
theproblemwithstardust 