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When he walks back to the table, Derek’s out of his seat before he can think better of it. He’s going to ask him out. He’s going to go over there, he’s not going to say the man has a mouth he’ll dream about or give any cheesy, half-assed pick-up line, and he’s going to ask him if he would like to get coffee some time. Maybe he’ll skip that and go straight for dinner, or the bookstore. Derek’s heard you can learn a lot about a person by what they read.
He’s cool. He can do this.
“Hi,” he says, eyes flickering down to the glossy pamphlets of houses for sale that litter the table, and when panic overtakes him, what comes out of his mouth isn’t any of those things. “I’m thinking about buying a new place. Are you an agent?”
Ah, crap.
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The clearing is awash with snowglow, glittering in the light of the full moon. Stiles shivers as Derek leads him to the center, snowflakes falling all around, though he’s too cold to register them landing on his exposed skin. Derek mutters something he can’t hear over his chattering teeth when he checks his watch but then Stiles is pulled into him, wrapped in his arms, sinking into the warmth of his body despite the frigid air leeching most of it. He presses his nose into the curve of Derek’s shoulder and grins when Derek jolts, pulling his arms up and trapping them between their bodies to keep warm.
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Stiles should be happy.
He should be happy, he should be fucking delighted—there’s a bottle of champange being uncorked, hands being shaken, a too-hearty clap on his back that jolts him forward and causes him to stumble slightly. But the space in his chest that usually burns with the high of a closed deal is hollow, empty, and the twinkling gold Christmas lights one of the secretaries had hung in the office mock him, a depressing reminder that he’s about to be alone for the holidays.
It feels like I don’t know you anymore, was the last thing Derek had muttered to him, standing in the threshold of what had been their apartment, backpack slung over one shoulder and duffle bag strap clenched in his fist. I can’t do this.
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“You miss me,” he says, grinning, because Derek not bringing it up hasn’t stopped Stiles from flirting relentlessly with him.
“Don’t let it go to your head, I miss Ally and Jordan, too.”
“You should come over,” Stiles says a little impulsively, stretching his legs up in the air before letting them come down against the wall. “There’s a new pizza place down the block that has a chicken coop. We could go, they stay open until 2am. I’ll wake Allison up.”
“Oh, sure,” Derek says. His tone is dry but amused, and in Stiles’ mind he’s leaning back on the navy blue couch that had been in the living room of his old apartment, comfortably slouched, the twitch of the smile gracing his face barely visible. “I was thinking I’d make cookies tonight but I’m almost out of sugar. I can just grab a cup from you.”
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Whatever. Stiles has more important things to worry about than why some dude he met ten seconds ago apparently dislikes him, like scoping out potential places to live after their landlord renovates and pushes them unceremoniously out the door.
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it's beginning to look a lot like a disaster by elisela for florenceandthemachine
Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)
01 Dec 2021
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She casts a pointed look at the shelf she’d just crowded with various tumblers. “Yes. You and Stiles spent two years planning and building this house, I spent a year helping you find furniture—I am not about to let you crowd it with cheap holiday decor that you could find at a Walmart.”
“This is a Home Goods,” Derek says, expression not betraying a single thing when she glares at him.
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If anyone asks Derek how he happened to end up living in the same city that Stiles did after nearly ten years of being out of touch, he tells them it was a coincidence. He’d left Beacon Hills around the same time they all did, lived with Cora on and off for some time, decided on Colorado for the accessible wilderness and was just as surprised as Stiles was to walk into a coffee shop one morning and see him standing there.
Bookmarked by Rainbug
07 Apr 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
Cute premise lol short and sweet and lovely and funny
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Derek’s fallen asleep again.
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The third time Stiles watches some douchebag frat bro approach Kira with a smirk and lets his hand wander a little too far down her back as he wraps his arms around her, he snaps. Alpha Phi Asshole is gone by the time Stiles crosses the aptly-named Red Square but that doesn’t stop him from announcing himself before tugging the blindfold off her eyes and glaring. “We’re done,” he says, resolute in his decision as her best friend and videographer, no matter how pathetically cute the sad look on her face is. “Pick a paper topic that doesn’t end with you getting sexually assaulted and me getting arrested for stabbing someone.”
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“138 requesting police back-up and additional units, multiple victims with GSWs. Shooter fled into the building at Madison & Broad, tall white male, short brown hair, bright blue jacket.”
“5259 responding, ETA three minutes.”
“4873 arriving on scene.”
“138 requesting additional units, we have a medic down, repeat, medic down—he’s shooting from the roof—”
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In the half-second between Scott drawing in a deep breath and opening his mouth to speak, Stiles knows he’s going to break out the alpha voice. The you’re leaving me no choice voice, the I’m trying not to yell at you voice, the can you just get along with someone for once in your life, Stiles voice.
The voice does nothing for Stiles. There’s no compulsion to obey, it doesn’t send a shiver of fear down his spine.
The intent, though, the abject frustration and disappointment etched into every line of Scott’s face?
—that hurts.
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- Words:
- 15,427
- Works:
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Bookmarked by Rainbug
06 Apr 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
Unlikely to be continued but cavity inducingly sweet and very cute premise, soft and funny and lovely
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Stiles floats.
That’s all there is to do; the day is sunny and warm, like every other day he’s been in this pond, though he’s not sure how long that’s been. Sometimes he thinks it hasn’t been long, but whenever he tries to think about it, he … forgets. He told Kate once, when she came out to the garden late one night and let a fox tumble from her hands onto the ground, and she’d patted his cheek and told him that merpeople weren’t known for anything but looking pretty, so she wasn’t surprised to hear he didn’t have many thoughts in his head.
Sometimes it bothers him, that he can remember every day he’s been in the pond but nothing before, but if he thinks about it for too long he forgets that, too.
Bookmarked by Rainbug
05 Apr 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
Very cool premise and rather cute as well, sweet ending, really interesting
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The idea of Stiles making his own cake doesn’t sit well with him, even though he knows Scott was right. Stiles turns his (very cute) nose up at tons of baked goods, declaring them “too dry looking” and “if I wanted to eat garbage I’d go to Greenberg’s bakery.” He is constantly bringing his own cookies or pie or desserts along on dates—the only place Derek’s been able to bring him that he hadn’t complained about was a chocolate shop.
It’s just—birthday cakes aren’t meant to be made by the person having the birthday. It goes against everything Derek’s grown up with; having six brothers and sisters meant everything was always chaotic, but his parents always made sure their birthdays were special—even his, despite falling on Christmas—and Derek wants to do the same thing for Stiles.
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He’s laying on a bench in the afternoon sun, arm thrown over his eyes, dirt streaked across his cheeks. He’s wearing the same ragged clothes that Stiles has seen him in for the past three days—a dingy black t-shirt and jeans that are ripped at the knees, and not the artsy, designer, I paid too much money for these kind of rips. The hems are frayed, the dirt looks caked in at this point, and Stiles stops and stares at him for a little too long.
For someone clearly living on the streets, the dude is gorgeous.
Even with tiny flowers woven in his beard.
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Stiles seems to do a double-take when he sees Derek sitting up in the chair, trips over his own feet, and goes crashing into the water. Derek tenses—he really doesn’t want to have to dive in two minutes into his first shift—but Stiles just comes up spluttering, hauls himself out, and walks over to him.
“Hale,” he says, grinning, “didn’t expect to see you slumming it with the common folk this summer.”
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“I don’t date parents,” Derek says for the fourth time that night. “I haven’t ever dated a parent and I won’t ever date a parent.”
Laura takes a sip of her margarita and makes a face at him. “You don’t date anyone,” she says, and Cora snorts out a laugh.
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do you know how to do take-aways? by elisela for spinningincircles
Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)
20 Apr 2021
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He can't catch himself before he laughs. "What made you decide to call 911?"
"My teacher said if you ever need help you can call," Talia says. "And I really need help. What's seven take away three?"
- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by Rainbug
05 Apr 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
Cavity inducingly sweet and very cute premise lol lovely
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It’s only late September but the weather is turning cold enough that sweaters are becoming a staple in his mid-afternoon classes. Derek runs warm enough to skip outer layers until winter really hits but he carries one with him anyway, unwilling to attract attention. Still, he knows Stiles has a long walk back to the dorms when they leave, so he tosses it the last few feet instead of answering, leaning back in his chair and trying to focus on the article he’s supposed to be reading instead of the way Stiles smells, happiness settling over him just like the warmth from Derek’s sweatshirt.