Work Text:
From the moment Stiles had been born he’d been a tactile being. His mom had called him a cuddle monster more than she’s ever called him by his legal name.
So when Scott has an unfortunate run in with a werewolf in the perserve--because werewolves are a thing, apparently; a real thing that exists in real life. Excellent--Stiles isn’t ashamed to say he fully takes advantage of his friend’s newly found need for contact. Not that Stiles and Scott haven’t always been the full on bear hug kind of friends that laughed in the face of awkward back slapping nice-to-see-you-bro hugs that most of the other boys in their grade seem to have perfected, but this was a whole new level of snuggling amazingness.
Soon, it wasn’t just Scott that Stiles was hugging.
As Scott’s pack expanded itself, Stiles became the resident hugger. He definitely wasn’t complaining, not even when it was Jackass Douchemore that needed some quality snuggles. Stiles doesn’t really want to think too hard about the fact that Jackson’s level of asshattery has completely changed since he’s had regular human to werewolf--and werewolf to various supernatural creatures since obviously the rest of the pack are getting in on this too--contact. Jackson’s parents have a lot to answer for.
With all that in mind, Stiles doesn’t actually know how it takes him, master of internet research, so incredibly long--he’s in college by the time he stumbles across it in the depths of a wikipedia spiral that started as research on ogres, and somehow managed to end up here--to discover that Professional Cuddler is an actual job that he can be certified in and get paid for.
Needless to say, it takes Stiles approximately 0.4 seconds to decide that’s what he’s going to do.
It takes him a while, and he’s determined to finish at least this year of college just in case his plans fall through, so he’s doing twice the work he was expecting to be doing, but eventually Stiles is out of college and a licensed Cuddler.
He considers joining an already established company, but the more he thinks about it, the more his pack come to mind; how much they all needed the closeness, the comfort of just lying with or sitting tucked up against another person. He thinks about how it’s not only brought them closer but also brought a sense of calm to them all.
It occurs to him then that there must be other supernatural people in Beacon Hills that they don’t know about. To Stiles’ knowledge there are no other packs, or whatever the equivalent may be of the assorted supernatural species, in their territory, but since it is Beacon Hills, Stiles is almost positive it’s more likely there are supernaturals by the dozen, keeping a low profile, than none at all. Maybe there’s one or two other werewolves, a small group of fae even. He’s pretty sure there’s at least one troll living near the bridge at the border of town, but any bigger groups than that and surely Scott would have noticed and had to arrange some kind of pack meeting.
Which begs the question: if there are other supernaturals near, and if some if not all of them are on their own or at the very least in small groups, wouldn’t they benefit from Stiles’ frankly magical hugs?
It’s at this point in his wondering that he brings it up with the pack to make sure he’s not overlooking something massive--Stiles really doesn’t want to die because he didn’t plan ahead for other supernaturals not being overly keen on snuggling up with someone who smells very obviously part of a strong pack.
They check with Deaton, they make a plan, they put emergency protocols in place in case something does happen, and before he knows it, Stiles is the owner of his own supernatural hugging business.
Snuggle a Muggle becomes the best thing Stiles has ever created.
This...was not what Stiles thought his life was going to lead him, honestly. He can’t even pretend to be upset about that though. He’s doing something he loves and getting paid. And not just getting paid, but getting paid ridiculously well, since it turns out there’s no one else in his specialised field in the entire of California. Basically, he’s living the dream.
So of course, this is when the universe decides he needs to be punished.
Truly, Stiles must have been a terrible person in a past life. That’s the only explanation he can think for him to be deserving of his latest client.
Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, is a tragic mess of good intentions, overwhelming and underserved guilt, and intimacy issues a mile wide.
Oh, and also he just happens to be the most adorable, kindhearted, beautiful, sarcastic, beautiful--yes Stiles knows that’s on the list twice, he’s that gorgeous, okay?--person Stiles has ever met.
Seriously, whatever past-life Stiles did to bring this shitshow of imminent unprofessionalism--because Stiles is honest with himself always, even if he’s not always honest to others, and the chances of Stiles managing to keep his growing crush on Derek separate from his job of literally snuggling with the man are...slim--Stiles honestly would invent a time machine to go find past-life him just to punch him in the face if he wasn’t so busy dedicating all his time to reminding himself that this is his job, he has a responsibility here, and that there’s nothing more important to him than making sure his clients are getting whatever tactile comfort they need in a safe environment.
Stiles is a good person, he really is. He doesn’t deserve this amount of sexual frustration and, let’s be call a spade a spade here, straight up pining.
And that’s what it stays as for months, because as much as Stiles would love to ask Derek out and start on step one of the already formed 5 year Derek Hale plan of marriage and babies, Stiles is a professional, and becoming involved with a client isn’t a line he’s willing to cross. Especially when all his clients have to put so much trust in him.
And so it goes. Stiles keeps himself in check, Derek sees him once a week like clockwork and actually starts coming out of his shell of self loathing.
Six months into their sessions, Derek tells Stiles he’s started seeing a therapist, and Stiles has to tuck his face into Derek’s neck to stop himself from crying there and then at the look of tentative hopefulness on Derek’s face, like he’s waiting for Stiles’ approval.
Stiles knows that Derek’s been through hell and back, even if he doesn’t know the specifics. That he’s made the decision himself to talk it out with someone trained to help him through it all makes Stiles heart pound in his chest. He’s so proud.
He tells Derek as much and doesn’t have to be looking at his face to know that his eyes will be crinkling at the corners as he smiles into Stiles’ hair.
A month after that, with Stiles as the big spoon tucked up against Derek’s back, Derek tells Stiles about his family; how they’re all gone, how he spent years believing it was his fault, how he understand now--even if he doesn’t always quite believe it--that it wasn’t his fault at all. Stiles doesn’t let go of Derek’s hand the entire time he talks, not even after in the comfortable silence, He still holds on, grip tightening occasionally at the thought of Derek going through that alone, and at the end of their session, Stiles is pretty sure that being a werewolf is the only reason Derek doesn’t have marks on his hands from Stiles’ fingers. Stiles would feel bad about that if Derek didn’t seem looser than Stiles had ever seen him as he gives him a shy smile and leaves.
They keep their routine of weekly sessions. Stiles learns more about Derek than he knows about some of his closest friends that he’s known for years. He learns serious things like what his sisters were like, and how much he misses them. He learns random tidbits and facts like Derek’s favourite color and inexplicable hatred of lime jello.
Derek learns the same amount of Stiles in return, doesn’t even laugh when Stiles spends an entire hour explaining the importance of curly fries, just nods solemnly against Stiles’ chest. Stiles wonders if this is, in it’s own way, crossing that line of unprofessionalism he was so determined not to. Of course he talks to his other clients--anything from their day at work to problems they’re having of the supernatural nature--but with Derek...it’s different, Stiles knows it is, even if he can’t put his finger on why.
Almost a year after Derek had started coming to see Stiles, Stiles gets a phone call that, while Stiles knows was probably inevitable, still steals the air out of Stiles’ lungs.
It happens on a boring tuesday evening as Stiles is making his dinner. His phone rings, pulling him out of a day dream about a spaghetti-haired Medusa, and he quickly answers, putting his phone on speaker.
“Snuggle a Muggle, Stiles speaking. How can I help you today?” Stiles answers, slightly distracted by the pasta sauce bubbling away on his cooker.
“Hey, Stiles,” Derek’s voice echoes slightly in Stiles’ kitchen. “It’s me. Uh, Derek. Hale.”
Stiles snorts fondly. “I’ve heard your voice and seen your face at least once a week for almost a year, Derek. ‘It’s me’ was enough. I probably should have looked at the caller id but I’m mid pasta disaster. Heh, that rhymed.”
The lack of audible eye roll that usually occurs as a reaction to Stiles’ sense of humor has him turning the burner down and focusing on the phone call more intently.
“You okay, dude?” Stiles asks as he wipes his hands on a dishtowel and takes his phone off speaker.
“Yes,” Derek says, much clearer now Stiles has his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. “Or, no, I don’t know. I don’t want to...I don’t mean to…” Derek paused for a moment before seemingly blurting, “I need to change our contract.”
“Oh,” Stiles says, stomach twisting. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not hoping to add more hours on?”
Derek clears his throat nervously. “No, I need to cancel. Permanently. I’m sorry, Stiles.”
Stiles sighs quietly. “Don’t be silly, you’ve got no reason to apologize. I didn’t expect you to need me forever, especially now you’ve been seeing Dr. Spencer. You’re like a whole new person! It’s amazing, Derek. And if that means that you don’t need our services anymore then that’s a good thing, right?” Stiles asks, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Right.”
“So,” Stiles says weakly, “I’ll cancel the payments tomorrow first thing. Thank you for using our service and all that. Please consider recommending us to your friends. Feedback on our website is greatly apprecia-”
“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, “you’re doing that thing again where you forget I can hear your heartbeat. Are you sure you’re alright with this?”
“I’m fine. Honestly. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again. You’ve got to know by now that us Stilinskis are pretty much impossible to get rid of once we’ve decided we like you. You don’t really get a choice in it, so...you know, sorry if you thought you’d got rid of me. Not happening, buddy.”
“I don’t want to get rid of you, Stiles,” Derek says, honesty clear in his voice.
“Well. That’s...good. Wonderful,” Stiles stutters out, fumbling with his cell phone.
“So when exactly will I officially stop being your client?” Derek asks suddenly.
Stiles raises his eyebrows in confusion. “As soon as I change your details in the system tomorrow, unless the stupid thing decides to crash again. Why? Do you need it done sooner?”
“No, tomorrow’s good, I was just wondering. Thanks for being understanding, Stiles. I’ve got to go. Enjoy your pasta,” Derek says in a rush before hanging up.
“Uh, bye, I guess,” Stiles says to the dial tone.
The next day, Stiles goes about his morning routine the same as always. He doesn’t have anyone booked in for today so he’s thinking about all the sleep and Netflix he can catch up on when he remembers he needs to cancel Derek’s membership.
It takes him longer than it probably should to actually make his fingers cooperate and press the ‘Stop Payment’ button.
He sends Derek a quick text to let him know that he should now have an email letting him know his payments have been stopped and his account cancelled. Stiles leaves his phone on his desk and goes to get dressed. Sure, he was planning on becoming a permanent fixture on his couch today, but it turns out that this situation has now been deemed In Need Of Curly Fries by his brain, and who is Stiles to argue with that?
Half an hour later, he’s showered and dressed and about to leave when he sees his phone flashing at him with a text from Derek.
email received. i filled out the feedback form. anything else i need to do before it’s officially done?
Nope. Stiles texts back, you’re good to go. We are now officially friends only.
Stiles doesn’t expect a text back immediately but he hasn’t even had to time to put his phone in his pocket before Derek replies again.
good. but that whole friends thing isn’t going to work for me I don’t think
Stiles clenches his cell in his hand. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. He thought he and Derek were good. Solid. On the same page.
He’s still staring at his phone, befuddled, when another text from Derek comes through.
since i’m not your client anymore there’s really nothing stopping me from asking you out like i’ve wanted to for months
Ask me out. Like...on a date? Stiles replies, hope curling in his gut.
yes stiles. on a date. with me. preferably today. unless you’re busy
Stiles is genuinely impressed with the speed at which he manages to flail around his hallway in an approximation of a victory dance and calm down enough to not sound too giddy as he calls Derek.
Stiles doesn’t let Derek get a single word in when he answers his phone before he’s babbling happily. “Hell yes I’m busy. Busy taking you on the date of a lifetime, Derek Hale. Prepare to be wooed like you have never been wooed before. We’re getting curly fries and milkshakes and I’m going to hold your hand the entire time. Do you even know how difficult my life has been this past year? WIth you being all…you. Holy shit, dude.”
The sound of Derek laughing fondly as Stiles rambles on is probably going to stick in Stiles’ mind forever. Stiles wouldn’t even call it an exaggeration to say it might just be his new favorite sound.
“Bring it, Stilinski. But be warned, date number two is going to be up to me and it will be unbeatable,” Derek says, mischief in his voice that Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever heard from Derek before.
That’s when it hits him full force; the realization that he’s going to be there for all these new things he can discover about Derek--the good, the bad, the in between--forever, if Stiles has anything to say about it.
“Oh, you are on, Hale. You will rue the day you ever thought you could outdo the Stilinski Date Extravagaza.”
Years later, when date night competition has become tradition that makes their friends and pack smile fondly, and their children pout at them both and ask if it was too much to ask for their dads to be normal for once...please, Stiles will admit that even though his dates are clearly superior, there’s no denying that really they’re both winning.
Every day that Derek comes home and kisses Stiles on the cheek before changing to snuggle with the kids, every time Stiles has to leave early to see a client and leaves Derek notes scattered around their room reminding him he loves him, every day that they get to go to sleep curled around each other, the sound of a house full of family and love...yeah, they’re definitely both winning.