It's just a Sterek thing

Stiles wasn’t even sure why he took it.

It’s not like he could even see Derek’s face in it, nor would he want to. It was a terrible mugshot and he had been exonerated, anyway. And yet, none of these things stopped Stiles’ wandering hands from slipping the picture into his pocket from his dad’s case files. He smoothed it out with his fingers, keeping it between his thumb and his forefinger as he pretended as though he hadn’t just stolen a picture, of all things, from the sheriff’s office.

Still, the greater mystery was why Stiles had kept it. He tried not to think too much about it. He hadn’t seen Derek in years and it wasn’t as though they used to be on the best terms.

Perhaps it was because it reminded Stiles of a different time in his life. Yeah, that was it. Back when all he had to worry about was Derek Hale potentially pinning him against a wall. Back when he could get a good night’s sleep without waking up and having to count his fingers over and over again. Back when he could close his eyes without seeing his own hands killing innocent people.

Back when Stiles was still whole.

He told himself that was it. Every time he opened his desk drawer to look at it, to feel the curling edges of the picture, he told himself that it was simple nostalgia.

But, nostalgia couldn’t explain the way that Stiles felt the wind being knocked out of his lungs when he came home to Derek Hale standing in his room, his fingers tracing over Stiles’ bookshelf.

Derek turned towards Stiles as soon as he heard him come in the room. Damn that werewolf superhearing.

“What are you doing here?” Was what came out of Stiles’ mouth, before he could think better of it. He hadn’t seen the man in over five years, and that was his first question?

Derek snorted lightly. “Nice to see you, too, Stiles.”

Derek kept tracing his fingers over Stiles’ room - first starting with his bookshelf, then making his way around the walls, all the way to his desk. And that was not good. That was very much really not good.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” Stiles asked, hoping his heartbeat wasn’t giving away the fact that Derek should not be so close to his desk. “Actually, have you ever heard of a door? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use one.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth twitched up slightly as his fingers made their way to the handle of the top drawer on Stiles’ desk.

“Dude, boundaries?” Stiles practically squeaked, aiming for casual, but most definitely achieving panicked.

Derek’s eyebrows knitted together, his eyes dancing with amusement and, great, now he’s even more interested in what Stiles is hiding in his desk.

No, Stiles told himself. He’s not hiding anything. There was nothing to be ashamed of. It was just a picture. He tried to convince himself of this fact, but he could hear his heartbeat hammering in his ears as Derek opened the drawer and asked, “Why do you have a picture of me in your desk?”

Stiles swallowed. Some sort of sick sentimental value, his brain helpfully supplied, but his mouth started moving without his brain’s permission. “Oh, I don’t know, Derek. Maybe because nobody’s seen you in five years and for all we know you could’ve been dead? Y’know, I should be grateful, really, that the last time you took off, you at least had the courtesy to mention it to Scott. Not like you owed any of us a ‘goodbye’.”

A heavy silence filled the room that reminded Stiles just how important it was to think before he speaks. Because that… Well, that sounded as though he were hurt by Derek’s swift departure from Beacon Hills. And he wasn’t. He really, really wasn’t.

“You’re anxious.” Derek said finally, as though Stiles had never said anything at all.

“No fucking shit, I’m always anxious.” He rolled his eyes. “Listen, as much as I’m enjoying this little reunion special where you look through all my stuff and use your werewolf-y senses to smell my emotions and listen to my heart rate or whatever you’re doing right now, why don’t you just tell me who died and why that brought you to my bedroom?”

Derek shook his head and closed Stiles’ desk drawer gently.

“No one died.”

“So, why are you here?” Stiles’ voice came out more high pitched than he was expecting and he cleared his throat.

Derek shrugged and didn’t answer for a long time. Just when Stiles was about to attempt physically throwing him out of the house, he spoke, his voice low.

“Because, maybe I should have said goodbye.”

Stiles frowned. That was… Wow, that was unexpected.

He should’ve asked ‘why now?’. He should’ve told Derek that it didn’t matter, because who cares if he didn’t say goodbye? But, what came out was, “Why didn’t you? Say goodbye?” And he silently cringed at the way his voice came out so damn soft.

Derek sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, looking down at the ground. “Because, if I did… Maybe I would have never left.”

Stiles swallowed hard. There was something in the air that he couldn’t quite name, and he wondered if, after all this time, he was hearing what he had never allowed himself to want. The words that could explain exactly why he kept Derek’s picture in his desk. Why he held on so tightly to the only piece of the man that he had left.

“And why did you leave?” He asked quietly, his voice practically a whisper.

Derek’s eyes shot up to Stiles’ and, god, blue was such a pretty colour.

“I couldn’t stay.” He said, as though it were simple. And maybe it was.

“And now?”

Derek stared at Stiles for a few moments, before shaking his head and letting out a small laugh that sounded light and airy, but felt as though it could knock Stiles to the ground with the weight of it.

“And now, I’m not sure I can stay away.”

Stiles saw the recognition on Derek’s face as his heart skipped a beat. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was finally figuring out the answer to a math problem that had been bothering him since the seventh grade.

Stiles swallowed before speaking, his voice low and more breathless than he had intended it to be. “So, don’t.”

That seemed to be everything that Derek needed to hear, because all of a sudden he was lunging towards Stiles and grabbing him, pressing his lips against Stiles’ and making a sound of relief as though he had been waiting for this his whole fucking life.

Rating: General

Word Count: 2551

“Where was Scott?”

This time, when Stiles winced, it was for a different reason. “I dunno. Out?”

“How did this happen?”

“I got jumped leaving the station a couple of hours ago,” Stiles said quietly. “But really, dude, it’s fine. I couldn’t get an answer from his phone so I figured I’d come here instead—”

“Not the hospital?”

Cause the thing is, Stiles had expected Derek to leave. Not that he wanted him to leave, of course. It was just one of those ‘seems too good to be true’ moments that in his experience, usually were too good to be true.

So sure it was nice to wake up to a warm weight pressed flush against his back, and an arm draped loosely across his waist. But he had had no delusions, it was still dark, and there was still enough time for his bed fellow to sneak out. He was honestly okay with that, he was prepared for it, he’s 100% emotionally capable of handling that quiet rejection that comes with the morning after good sex (and nothing else). He would just. He would pretend to be asleep, to spare both of them the awkward conversation that would surely occur if he didn’t. Derek could get on with his life, and Stiles could go on with his. That had been the idea, at least.

But as pre-dawn turned to dawn Derek slept on, obvilious to the way he was mangling whatever plans Stiles had come up with to salvage the precarious friendship that had formed between them over the years. The guy didn’t even stir when he got out of bed; only scrunched his face in a way that Stiles would forever deny thinking of as adorable, and shifted onto his front to the warm spot Stiles had just vacated. Wasn’t Derek suppose to be ever vigilant? Big bad alpha, mister I-can’t-trust-anyone, always on the lookout for threats?

(and Stiles, he can’t think about what that means, about the possibility of trust implied there, because he’ll freak out and ruin it. Whatever it is, he has no fucking clue.)

Stiles then went to the 24/7 convenience store down the block, because he didn’t have any milk, because if Derek stayed the night. There’s a protocol for that, right? If they don’t sneak off at 3am with your wallet?

Right, so he gets milk for coffee. Though he doesn’t know how Derek likes his coffee. Does he drink it black? He deffinately has the aspects of a black coffee drinker, with the stubble and all. But you’d think his dad would drink his coffee black too, but he likes that French vanilla stuff that costs six dollars a bottle and however many spoons of Splenda he can get away with that morning.

In the end he gets four different percentages of milk, not counting the carton of cream and the one of half-and-half. He also got a little bottle of French vanilla because Derek doesn’t seem like the type of guy who likes fancy coffee, but he also doesn’t seem like the type of guy to stay the night and look so comfortable between the sheets in the morning light.

And the more he lets his mind cogitate the more he realizes it’s horrible, because he feels like he’s preparing himself for the worse. Because he’s hoping that Derek left and that they don’t have to have the conversation (that ugly what are we now, that fucking let’s pretend it never happened). He was hoping that Derek-freaking-Hale would decide to be a sensible adult for once and take the little window of opportunity Stiles gave him to leave by the actual window.

(like he’s in high school again and Derek’s staring at his lips and his dad is just downstairs and everything is a unsettling mix of emotion and ammunition.)

He’s still there.

Stiles hasn’t gotten around to unpacking all the boxes so instead of blinds there’s a sheet tacked over the window; the sun shines through it and onto Derek, and he has his head half buried in Stiles’ pillow like the light can’t exist if he can’t see it. The contrast between the werewolf and his mustard colored bedding is insane. He shouldn’t look so natural lying there, but in a weird sort of way, he does.

(He looks like he belongs.)

Before he knows it he’s across the room, shoes still on and caked in dried mud from last weeks rain storm, and he’s dropped the bag full of thirty dollars worth of milk at his feet. Derek’s eyes are opening and he’s taking in Stiles with his usual faux annoyed look.

“Hey,” he says and lips lift into this small half-smirk, because Dereks face is still pressed into the pillow and it makes his gut flutter. “Where’d y'go?”

The way his voice is craggy with sleep, and his smirk. (His smile.) It isn’t fair. Stiles wants to kiss it off his lips, he wants to push him until Derek has no choice but to push back. He doesn’t want his fingertips to brush the mattress by Dereks arm, and his face to go butter-soft as he replies, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Hmm…” He doesn’t have to say come back to bed because it’s obvious in the way he reaches out an arm and brushes against Stiles’ hand for second before catching onto his jacket sleeve, giving it a slight tug.

Stiles really could have saved himself a lot of trouble by cutting off that arm when he had the chance. He would have never had to deal with that rough-soft palm smoothing down his side, or the thumb that seems to absentmindedly stroke his cheek, or those fucking fingers with their slack grip on his rib cage. He could pry them off if he wanted, tell Derek to take his underwear and his bed rumbled hair and leave; he could get away, before Derek has a chance to pull him apart at the seams, but.

(why would he want to?)

So he slips off his jeans and the dirty sneakers with them. He lets his jacket fall away and he loses track of his shirt, and the breaths he had been counting. Because Derek is still here and as he shifts to let him in under the covers the sun catches his eyes right then, illuminating the pale hazel in a way that lets Stiles know that he’s not leaving anytime soon.

“Oh my god, Derek, don’t stop— ‘m’close.”

"Yeah?”

“Yeah, please.”

Derek stills above Stiles, leans down to kiss behind his ear, “Tell me.”

Stiles scrunches up his face, confused as to why Derek has stopped sex to have a conversation.

Hey!

Yes! This fic is so lovely. <3

Derek Hale’s Possible Heart by MellytheHun | 4.3K

The thick journal is leather bound and on the first page, in tiny cursive writing it says,

Deaton had been adamant about having a representative at the Symposium, especially since they’d confirmed ahead of time; backing out would mean weakness, especially since Beacon Hills hasn’t been represented here in a long, long time.

Which is why Stiles is here.

At least he’s not alone.

Across the room, Stiles can see the energy shift as Derek walks in. He’s all broad shoulders and soft, gentle smile, looking at ease in a blue v-necked sweater over a crisp collared shirt and dress slacks. He looks a bit nervous, but seems to relax after saying hello to a few people.

An elderly lady is pinching his cheeks. Heh. He’s adorable. Stiles loves little moments like these, when he gets to see Derek unguarded, he loves—

Stiles immediately pushes the thought to the back of his mind. He can’t afford to wallow in his feelings, not this weekend.

i’m so excited to contribute this bit of fluff to the sterekzine, which is currently raising money for wolf haven international and the wildlife conservation society! check them out here!

FUCKBUDDIES AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS 

Snatches of Sound by bleep0bleep & rosepetals42

Derek looks up to meet Stiles’ eyes, expecting to see a challenging smirk, some sort of derisive mocking expression, but Stiles just blinks at him, quirks his lips a little in a small smile, and Derek smiles back, just a little, and maybe this collaboration isn’t going to be so bad, after all.

In which Stiles and Derek are rival musicians who, somehow, through no fault of their own, are forced to work together.

Into You by reillyblack

“You know that girl I met at the pack mixer Derek dragged us to last week? Cindy? Yeah, she says that in her pack, and in a lot of packs, they have… like…”

“I don’t think it’s true. I think she was pulling your leg, man,” Scott interrupts, looking a little guilty.

“Have a what?” Stiles presses with exasperation. “Should we have it too?”

“Oh, dude,” Isaac dissolves into laughter again. Stiles flicks him on the nose this time and is met with a growl and a flash of yellow. “Ok, ok… the alphas have, like, one pack member that they… you know.”

“Can we all be big boys about this?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “That they… what?”

Derek stares flatly at the huge bin of condoms in the health center they had set up in the Olympic Village. Their shiny foil packets glisten, as if they’re mocking him.

“Go on, take some, we’ve got plenty,” the aide says, not even looking up from her clipboard.

Just a lil’ Stereky sweetness for y’all….[pic source]. Title from Heart’s  “Sleep Alone.”

To Derek, there’s something extraordinary about Stiles sleeping. 

There’s his beauty, of course, his perfect features neutralized in petulance and amplified by the peaceful glow of repose. There are the lithe curves and muscled lines of his body that Derek knows better than his own, but that nevertheless take his breath away at moments like this. There’s his hand curled toward his face, a now-familiar gesture so sweet it makes Derek’s heart ache.

It’s all that and more that makes Derek stop and stare in awed wonder when he catches Stiles napping, even now, after more than ten years together. But what really stuns him and takes his breath away in moments like this is the world-changing simplicity of it all: Stiles, sleeping, at peace. 

He remembers it like it was yesterday, the first time Stiles slept in his presence. A late night of research in his old loft, surrounded by empty cans of the disgusting energy drinks Stiles swore by and that finally proved no match for his exhaustion, he fell asleep and began to snore into a couch cushion, a dust-ridden leather-bound book still clutched in one hand. Derek knew that Stiles battled insomnia long before the Nogitsune, and that ever since his possession by the demon he had struggled futilely to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. So he had simply pulled the book from his hand and covered him with a blanket and gone to bed, where he didn’t sleep at all, instead staying awake to listen intently to his breathing and the reassuringly strong and steady beat of his heart, his own body tense and ready to jump to action if he should need him. 

Just before dawn, Derek had heard Stiles wake with a confused start, wrestle with the blanket and couch cushions, swear softly, and then leave. 

Author: trilliath

Status: Completed - 16/16

Summary: Where Stiles is a librarian who is in charge of the kids’ reading hour and such. And Derek is 6-year-old Scott’s adoptive dad. And Stiles has his own take on Stories and Scott loves wolves and Derek tries not to admit that he likes the way Stiles’s face looks in those glasses. Or something like that.

He starts having that dream again, the one he expected.

He’s running to Stiles from across the warehouse; he’s watching the sword cut through Stiles like he’s made of paper. Derek feels it stick between his ribs, coughs feebly as his lungs fill up with his own blood. Stiles’ eyes go so wide he can see where they curve back into the sockets.

The witch twists and then starts lifting him.

A 90 pound woman who, by all appearances, probably remembers the start of the Boer Wars manages to lift the sword high enough that Stiles’ feet dangle. And Scott is screaming and Derek is bleeding and he can’t feel the floor and Stiles is reaching down the length of the sword, cutting his palms on the edge of the the blade.

Derek feels his own palms split, hears the echoes of Lydia just shrieking, just shrieking -

He wakes up with his mouth open in a silent scream, his throat too dry to make anything louder than a mournful squeak. Derek’s hands are flat against his ribs, as if he’s holding his guts in. Wouldn’t be a first.

Derek doesn’t have a scar, but Stiles does. He’s had peeks of it since Stiles got out of the hospital; when his bandages were changed, when Scott helped him put on a t-shirt for the first time since he was skewered.

It’s been a grey three months of breathing tubes and wilting flowers, aching wrists from taking the pain and a lot of bathroom crying on the part of everyone. No one’s had it easy. No one.

But….

Well, Derek doesn’t want to say it’s been the hardest on him, but living your life normally isn’t exactly possible when you’re nerve endings are preternaturally connected with a nineteen-year-old in an induced coma.

Every ache, every twinge, every fever dream and laboured breath has driven its way through Derek’s body. He’s exhausted even when he’s asleep and now that Stiles is out of the hospital it isn’t getting any better.

Derek shuffles his way to the bathroom and prays to God that he actually has to pee this time. Stiles has a habit of holding it in until he’s about to burst and Derek never knows for sure if he actually has to go or if Stiles is just being lazy.

It’s weird. He’s standing alone in his bathroom, scrunching his toes against the cold tile and rubbing sleep from his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, but there’s this awareness. Stiles is out there, awake and alive. Derek’s eyes won’t adjust and he knows that Stiles is looking at his computer screen. It’s almost three in the morning. Derek sighs, washes his hands with extra hot water and hopes that tells Stiles he’s awake too. They never talk about the connection, ignore all the mirroring they do when they’re near each other.

No one talks about Derek saving Stiles’ life. If it wasn’t for his werewolf healing worming its way over the physical connection the witch created, Stiles would be sleeping at Beacon Hills Crematorium and Cemetery right now. Derek doesn’t like thinking about it.

He’s looking through the medicine cabinet for those sleeping pills Deaton gave him when he feels it. This sudden, erratic drop in his stomach and his breath goes out of him. He panics for half a second, trying to remember where his phone is so he can call Scott when -

Oh.

It’s like phantom hands running over his chest, down and down and down and when the feeling reaches his dick he keels forward because the hand isn’t so phantom anymore. “Oh shit,” he whimpers. Derek tries to will himself to not feel this, to not get hard but it’s so real.

And it’s Stiles.

Derek turns the faucet onto hot and watches the steam rise, but he hesitates before he dips his fingers into the stream.

This hasn’t happened before. Derek feels everything Stiles feels, and this is the first time Stiles has jerked off since he almost died. Derek could burn his own hands, could make Stiles stop - but that wouldn’t be fair. Stiles needs this.

Yeah, he needs this. He needs it so bad. It isn’t about Derek. No…. It’s…. He’s helping.

It’s when he senses the lightest brush against his ass that he loses it. Derek tries to catch himself on the edge of the sink, but he gives up and drops hard to his knees. The sensation stops and there’s a couple heartbeats where Derek is hard and alone and holding his breath before the hand starts again, slower this time.

Derek can’t handle slow. He needs this faster.

He pops the button on the jeans he fell asleep in and tugs them down below his hips before giving up on getting them any further. His hand hovers over his cock for a breath before he goes for it, massages the head the way he likes it. There’s a sudden dull throb at the back of his head and Derek laughs at the image of Stiles knocking his head against the wall, pausing to make sure his Dad didn’t hear.

Derek bites his own lip like a warning and Stiles gets back to it, the same languid strokes. Derek imagines his hands, those fingers - that mouth. He moans a little and wonders if Stiles feels it in his chest, if it takes up the space that fucking sword left.

He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about anything that isn’t this, right here and now.

He wishes Stiles were with him, but he wouldn’t know what to do if he was. Where to start?

Derek feels the fingers ghost over his ass again and the thought of Stiles sprawled out on his bed, touching himself, feeling Derek right along with him - it’s too much. Derek gets the distinct mental image of eyelids, the inside of them. Lips forming the words, “Oh holy shit, Derek.”

And that’s it. He’s coming on his bathroom floor with his face pressed against the cabinets.

Oh holy shit, Derek is right.

Afterwards…. Well, he feels kind of silly. He’s all alone in his big loft, kneeling with his dick out and he’s made a huge mess on his jeans. His whole body is shaky in a way he’s never felt before and he forces himself to get off the floor and take off his pants. He thinks of taking a shower, but it’s late and he’s so tired now… Derek never gets sleepy after sex. He usually gets so nervous that he basically vibrates.

But now he just wants to get a snack and lay down on the couch, which is exactly what he does. Derek puts on a re-run of a basketball game he’s already watched and starts to doze off, doing his best not to feel ashamed of himself.

His phone vibrates in between the cushions and he fishes it out, half-asleep. It’s from Stiles, and it takes Derek a minute to actually realize it’s the second of three messages.

‘next time be here for cuddles’ Stiles said right after the incident in the bathroom. And then, ‘i mean unless that was uncool’ with ‘im sorry’ at the end.

Here’s accidental relationships! - Anastasia

i thought it make believe by leah k (blinkiesays)

(1/1 I 2,641 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles scrolls up on his text message history and sure enough finds “I’m OK, don’t worry, I’m going back to the hotel room” with a timestamp of 1:30AM and “I think I’m in love I think he’s a werewolf” at 3:00AM.

Stiles stares at his phone for a while in horror.

Scott: HEY LYDIA WANTS TO KNOW WHY YOU CHANGED YR FACEBOOK STATUS TO MARRIED

Well, so would Stiles.

five times Derek and Stiles weren’t actually boyfriends (and one time they were) by HalfFizzbin

(1/1 I 2,862 I Teen I Sterek)

In which Derek and Stiles are essentially a married couple. Except they’re not actually dating.

Turn a Little Faster by skoosiepants

(1/1 I 3,207 I Teen I Sterek)

He shifts back and forth on his feet and tries to psych himself up. He can do this. He’s a badass werewolf, he can totally tell Stiles that they accidentally got werewolf married because—because Stiles was thinking about him, and happened to give him a token of his, uh, affection under the silvery light of the last full moon. Platonic affection, Derek thinks sourly, so he doesn’t get why his wolf feels all warm and fuzzy and bonded all of a sudden.

Honestly, it’s like—why aren’t people accidentally getting werewolf married all the time, if it happens this easily?

anything, anything by drunktuesdays

(1/1 I 5,242 I Explicit I Sterek)

set about 5 years in the future, for a prompt from kalpurna: Stiles wakes up in Derek’s bed in a world where they’re married now, and Derek keeps leaving the room every time he tries to have a conversation about how this happened, since they weren’t even dating

And Also, I Love You by alisvolatpropiis

(1/1 I 7,155 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek didn’t look at all like Stiles expected. After all, he deliberately chose a school where being a nerd was cool, so he certainly wasn’t expecting his hotter-than-a-thousand-stars roomie to be an actual cool person. Derek has muscles, like everywhere, which he has a tendency to display in skin-tight, sleeveless t-shirts for bands Stiles has never heard of; his jeans are always tight and ripped too, and he has an impressive five-o’clock shadow, the tips of his jet-black hair dyed purple. And his eyes. Stiles is pretty sure he’s only seen eyes like that in comics, or on a movie screen, or in his freakin dreams. They’re somehow simultaneously all of the colors and none of them, transcending something so pedestrian and insignificant as words to encapsulate their beauty. Stiles would come to learn that he’s also wickedly smart, and he plays the guitar and speaks multiple languages, and his sunshine smile is even more alarming that his resting murder face.

The Unexpected Marriage of Peter Hale by moonstalker24

(5/5 I 9,383 I General I Steter)

This is the story of how Peter gets married without technically dating anyone.

“You can bring your boyfriend with you,” Talia says.Peter stops giving Henry more bits of dried fruit to stare at his sister “Boyfriend?”“Of course!” Talia gestures at Stiles who looks around behind him with wide eyes. “I’m sure the whole family would be interested in meeting your young man.”

Inevitability (About Damn Time) by accordingtomel

(1/1 I 9,707 I Explicit I Sterek)

“So?” Scott says.

“So?” Stiles sputters, kicking his shoes into the corner and locking the front door behind him. He’d whipped out his phone the second he’d pulled up to the house, and miracle among miracles, Scott actually answered. Of course, he’s not so pleased about that now. “My dad thinks Derek and I are dating, Scott. Did you miss that part?”

The asshole actually has the audacity to laugh. As if this is somehow hilarious to him. Worst best friend ever. “No, I didn’t.”

“This is not funny, Scott.”

“Yeah, it actually kind of is, though.”

Brilliant & Ridiculous by maderr

(1/1 I 10,745 I Mature I Sterek)

All Derek wanted was for the woman to leave him alone and ring up his groceries. How that led to her thinking Stiles is his boyfriend is something he blames on Stiles and his inability to stay out of trouble for five minutes.

My Moon My Man by orphan_account

(14/14 I 15,168 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek starts paying Stiles visits during full moon nights. They sort of become a couple, but neither of them realizes it. Deaton ends up being the one to enlighten them. And then stuff also happens.

A Strong Heart and a Nerve of Steel by lupinus, uraneia

(1/1 I 21,285 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles and Derek wake up married in Vegas. Well, they would have if it was legal.

In which Stiles is the president’s son, Derek is his bodyguard, and Papa President orders them to pretend to be in love for the sake of gay rights.

Or in which uraniea and lupinus combine meeting the Hales, President Papa, waking up married, fake/pretend relationship, First Boy Stiles, and bodyguard Derek into one fic.

UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes) by ureshiiichigo

(20/20 I 54,259 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.

Wait, what?

SCOTT AND DEREK FIGHT FOR STILES’ ATTENTION

just pretending that we’re cool by magneticwave

In retrospect, using sex to trick Derek out of stalking Scott had maybe not been the greatest idea ever? Whatever, Stiles’ plans always manage to work themselves out.

Marked for Later by hazelNuts

The Hale and the McCall pack have an uneasy truce. Now, when a witch has been killing people in both their territories, Derek and Stiles have to go undercover and actually work together to stop her.

‘We’ll go as a couple, of course. Then we either ask her if she wants a threesome, or I complain to her about my dick of a boyfriend. That role shouldn’t be too hard for you,’ Stiles grins, delighted at Derek’s horrified expression. ‘Now all we need are costumes.’‘No.’

See Right Through You by marguerite_26

With the Alpha pack constantly circling, Derek enlists Scott’s help to ensure everyone is ready for the worst. Scott and Stiles have other plans, though, and Derek is not impressed when he finds out they are plotting behind his back.

In The Upper Story by toraten

Stiles accompanies Scott to a werewolf tattoo parlor where Stiles finds an old friend.

Well.

SHED YOUR SKIN AND LET’S GET STARTED

Author: readtolive

Summary: “No. You’re so smart, and funny, and good, but you walk around with the comforting thought that you’re second-rate and there’s nothing you can do. And I never believed it until right now. This minute, Derek. This is the first time in a year that I really don’t like you.”

“Well. I haven’t liked me for longer than that. And I’m not crazy about you right now.”

“What?! Derek…”

“You know what, Stiles? Where do you come off? Where do you come off?! You make Gandhi look like a used car salesman; you’re too perfect, you’re too wonderful, none of us can keep up with you. You’re intolerable!! No one wants to be preached to. No one wants to live with a saint. Saints are boring!”

Info: 17k | Explicit | Enemies to Lovers, Rich Derek, Lawyer Stiles, Human AU, Papa Stilinski Feels, Mutual Pining

Notes: This is a very funny, pretty fluffy, and wee little bit of angst Sterek AU of a film called “Two Weeks Notice”. I wasn’t familiar with the film but that didn’t diminish my enjoyment of the fic AT ALL. Derek is really amusing in this fic, written in a way I rarely read - so rich he’s pushed all his feelings to the bottom, but instead of angry, he’s pretty much always blasé. Stiles is a super energetic, super invested lawyer who wants to save the world - and blocks every gentrification project with which Derek’s company threatens to destroy his beloved Beacon Hills. Cue feels, pining and falling in love. -S

Sneak Peek:

Not only did Stiles not end Derek Hale, but he started working for him instead.

When he thought about how it all went down, he still couldn’t exactly retrace all the steps that had led to him getting a job as an attorney in Hale Corporation. He remembered waiting in front of the Hale building all morning just to ambush Derek Hale with his protests against tearing down the community center, he remembered trying to make his point, chattering to his back while Hale strutted towards his limo in a three-piece bespoke suit and he distinctly remembered that the guy, once Stiles had his attention, smiled and checked him out instead of getting angry which Stiles had definitely expected.