dreams of sterek

There have been whispers around the school that Mr Stilinski and Mr Hale are dating. They decide to set the record straight.

They’ve heard the whispers circulating the school, a buzz of chatter filling the school halls like a swarm of bees.

Mr Hale – the English teacher – and Mr Stilinski – the history teacher and assistant coach for the lacrosse team – are dating.

They weren’t quite sure when it started, but whispers of their alleged relationship had spread throughout the school. Snippets of gossip and rumours would trail back to them.

“Did you see the way Mr Hale looked at Mr Stilinski today?”

“I’ve never seen Mr Hale smile, but Mr Stilinski makes him smile.”

“They’d make such a cute couple.”

“I saw Mr Stilinski in Mr Hale’s office the other day.”

“Mr Hale helped Mr Stilinski put away the sports gear after practice yesterday, and they were in the equipment room for quite some time.”

“Mr Hale and Mr Stilinski always spend their lunch breaks together in their classrooms.”

For the most part, they were amusing, harmless gossip and stories made up by kids who had watched a few too many romance movies, but it was starting to get out of hand. So Stiles and Derek decided to address the rumours.

But what they don’t know is how soft he gets when it’s just the two of them. How, when they’re tangled up in bed, limbs a mess, and Stiles asks something dumb like “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Derek presses his mouth to the warm skin behind Stiles’s ear, and whispers sleepily:

“Baby, if you were a worm, I’d raze the earth to find you. I’d sift through every grain of sand, tunnel through the dark until I reached you. I’d leave no stone unturned, no dirt unsearched. I’d go mad with the need to find you. And when I did, I’d rise from the underworld with you in my hands. You’d be my treasure. My reason for existing. I’d burn the world to ashes just to keep you close.”

"So, in the time I've been gone, you've grown up, gotten married, and had a kid. Is there anything else I should know about?"

"Cora survived the fire and was abducted by Deucalion until we found her a few years ago. Peter found his daughter, Malia. Chris Argent is now a friend of ours. And everyone knows about the supernatural," Derek answers, counting them on his fingers.

"Oh, and we killed Peter," Stiles adds. "Like.... five times."

Talia turns to look at her brother who is still very much alive. She glances between Peter and Derek with a look of confusion.

"He never stays dead," Stiles says, almost disappointed.

Peter flashes a devilishly smug smile.

It’s not like Stiles keeps misbehaving and getting arrested on purpose. Okay, yeah, no, he totally is. Who can blame a guy for having a thing for illegaly hot men in uniforms? No one, that’s who.

Stiles isn’t entirely sure he’ll ever be able to look his Dad in the eye again (not because of his rapidly growing record, but because of the naughty thoughts that enter his mind as soon as he sees someone in a police uniform nowadays, and that’s just traumatising considering his Dad is a Sheriff) but right now Stiles is too preoccupied with his pent up sexual frustration to pay much heed to his guilty conscience.

Because Officer Hale is Hot. Capital letters Hot. Smoking. Drop-dead gorgeous. And worth every minute he spends in a cell.

He swears, it was perfectly innocent when it started. He was perfectly innocent back then, or at least almost; Scott had been the one to drag him to a frat party, ignoring Stiles’ earlier protests that he needed to study, and then….well, they’d gotten drunk. As one does. With fake-IDs. Bad fake IDs, which Hale probably could’ve spotted a mile away. 

That’s why Hale took him to the station the first time. Stiles didn’t mind so much, after he’d been done freaking out about what his Dad would think (the alcohol helped not caring too much).

And then it just…kept happening. Stiles doesn’t misbehave more than any other college student. He gets drunk, he gets high occasionally, he goes skinny dipping. No biggie. Nothing major. It’s just, unlike the others, he keeps getting caught. Maybe because he wants to. 

Or possibly because Hale is keeping a particularly close eye on his shenanigans. It is sort of suspicious, how he’s always there when Stiles gets arrested, how he’s always the one to handcuff him. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Hale got off on it.

Stiles: *Manages to free himself every time*

Agent McCall: *locks Stiles in a holding cell in an attempt to intimidate him*

Sheriff Stilinski: So I'll see you at home in an hour?

Stiles: Ten minutes tops. I usually only take longer so I don't make the deputies feel bad

Cue Stiles- Hyper Fixation, Pack Mom- Stilinski taking it on himself to make her feel beautiful. He studies makeup tutorials and YouTube videos. Takes classes for braiding hair. Learns color theory so he can mix and match outfits.

Derek walks in on him one day as he’s trying out different colors of nail polish on himself and the alpha raises his eyebrows in question. Stiles tells him everything, not really expecting a reaction. Derek has been much better with the betas these last few years, the pack becoming closer ever since they rescued Boyd and Erica from the vault but none of them are very good at the emotional stuff. So Stiles is surprised when Derek digs into his pocket and hands him his credit card. “What’s this for Sourwolf?”

“Once you pick a color, she’ll need a matching dress and shoes.” Derek says with a shrug and Stiles’ heart melts. “Buy her a few. I’ve always liked her in yellow.” The alpha is gone before he can think of a response.

It becomes a thing. Erica starting to wear sundresses. Stiles doing her makeup whenever Boyd takes her out. On pack nights, Erica will sit between his legs on the floor while he sits on the couch and braids her hair while the movie plays on. Peter will give her an approving look every now and again and Isaac will say he has the prettiest sister in a not so mocking tone.

Derek will hand her a little jewelry box on random days. Soft pink flower earrings. Delicate gold and silver necklaces. A string of pearls on her birthday. He never says anything to her but she hugs him tightly, tears in her eyes whenever she pulls away from her alpha.

She does also get her black skinny jeans and leather jacket. She doesn’t fall into pastels but she has the option now. Some days she dresses like Stiles’ Cat Woman and other days she feels comfortable enough to wear her dresses and she’s glowing in all of it.

Chris: So great!

Lydia: The best!

Stiles: But they tend to be a tad judgemental.

Chris: Almost punitive.

Lydia: They are monsters.

Like he’s a teenage guy that wears plaid shirts and converse literally everyday and clearly has zero interest in any sort of fashion. He’s not the cutesy shy type of nerd who’s quiet and small. He’s canonically a Star Wars, MMORPG, comic book, info-dumping-the-most-random-shit-you’ve-ever-heard sort of nerd, who’s loud and takes up space. He’s not wearing flower crowns, he’s cracking jokes with people he met on the internet over Skype and building a Death Star Lego set while drinking Mountain Dew into god awful hours of the morning.

So I don’t really have much interest in stories where Stiles is super feminine and frolics through meadows in white sundresses. That just doesn’t feel like Stiles to me.

But I do think Stiles is the type of guy that’s sort of pretty — sort of really pretty, actually, and has Stilinski always looked like that in the sunlight? Not in a way that’s immediately show-stopping in the halls, but in the way that the longer you look at him, the prettier you think he is.

The type of pretty where someone will be in the stupidest argument of their life with him, and somewhere in the middle their mind just sort of… trails off. Because has Stiles always looked like this? Has he always had such a slim face with nice angles and good proportions and the definition of doe eyes? And then Stiles will say something stupid and the spell will break, but now they just can’t see his face the same way again.

The type of pretty where a person won’t notice it for years, even when they pass by him daily in the halls, but one day they catch him staring out the window in class and their mouth goes a little dry. Not enough to fall head over heels instantly or something, but enough that they always look at him a little differently after that.

The type of pretty where Stiles is begging classmate for their homework, or a teacher for an extension, or a deputy to not tell his dad about something, and it’s stupid and they’re unimpressed and… then they get a good look at those big brown eyes with lashes that are criminally long for a guy, and they find themselves sort of caving without meaning to.

And Stiles has no idea.

He’s not really into girly stuff so it just doesn’t ever occur to associate himself with the word “pretty.” He just knows he’s kind of lanky and average height and there’s nothing particularly striking about him. He knows he’s uncoordinated on a good day and into hobbies that land him square in loser territory. He knows he’s not what most girls (or guys) picture when they think of their ideal type.

So he’s oblivious when he gets a little too close and someone stares a half-beat too long, or someone shoots him a second glance, or someone makes a begrudging show about it but still hands him their notes.

Feminine isn’t a word I’d ever use to describe Stiles, but I do think he’s subtly pretty until it’s suddenly not subtle anymore.

Kind of.

He meant to say something cool, maybe make a dumb joke about werewolf pheromones or the full moon doing something to him - but instead, he just… kissed him.

In the middle of the loft. Mid argument. Mid sentence.

Derek freezes. Stiles panics.

“I - I didn’t mean to do that,” Stiles blurts. “Okay, that’s a lie. I definitely meant to, but not like that. Not mid ‘you're being emotionally unavailable again, Derek,’ because wow, what a mood killer, right? And-”

“Stiles.”

Stiles snaps his mouth shut.

Derek’s looking at him like he’s something wild and untouchable and also the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I’m crazy about you,” Derek says simply.

Stiles blinks. “What.”

“I have been. For a long time.”

“Oh.”

Beat.

“Wait, like…crazy crazy?”

Derek smiles - actually smiles - and takes a step closer. “Like, can’t-think-straight-when-you’re-around, your-voice-is-my-favorite-sound, I’d-follow-you-into-a-burning-building crazy.”

Stiles, for once in his life, has no words.

So he kisses him again.

This time, totally on purpose.

And Derek kisses him back like he’s been waiting forever.