#soft!derek

Two weeks later, Stiles dropped into the loft unannounced as he does to discuss training plans, and the kitten was still there.

“Derek?” Stiles called out since there was no sign of him. 

Derek came down the spiral stairs and didn’t seem at all surprised Stiles was there. Probably because he heard Stiles pulling up. Whatever. “Stiles?” he said, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“You never took the kitten to Deaton’s,” Stiles pointed out, literally pointing at the couch where the kitten is curled up in a soft looking blanket Stiles didn’t know Derek had in the first place.

“So?” Derek asked, walking to the couch. “Hey, B.” He petted the kitten, and it fucking nuzzled into Derek’s hand.

“I gotta go,” Stiles immediately said and ran out the door.

That was when Stiles’ world starting going haywire. He remembers pacing his room that night, the reason he went to Derek’s loft in the first place completely forgotten.

But that was only the start.

During one of their training sessions, Cora bested Derek, and the man fucking smiled. Stiles had literally never seen Derek smile before, and he was fucking beaming at Cora with pride. Stiles wondered what it would be like to have that directed at him, but he shut that thought down real quick. 

Stiles quickly excused himself then to go freak out about Derek’s smile in solitude like God himself intended.

Then he heard Derek huff a laugh at a pack night. That was it. A huff of a laugh. It’s like whispering a laugh, it’s barely a laugh, but Stiles heard it and immediately glared at Derek, who almost shrank into himself for a second before Stiles felt awful about it.

“Sorry, I’m just having an off day,” Stiles lied, and Derek most definitely knew Stiles was lying, and that seemed to hurt him more. “I gotta go.” Stiles ran out of the loft again. He just couldn’t handle this shit. Derek was not multi dimensional. Derek did not have a personality and did not smile or look cute.

But today. Today is when it all blew up. It’s cold out, and Stiles is practically shivering on his walk from his car to Derek’s building. The old building is cold, and Stiles wants to yell at whoever owns it and storms into Derek’s loft -- and speaking of, why is his loft never locked? -- ranting about the owner.

“I’m just saying, heat should be a thing the landlord should think about!” Stiles yells and then looks up from toeing off his shoes, and when did he get so comfortable at the loft that he just automatically takes off his shoes at the door?

That’s not a priority, though. The priority is Derek is lying on the couch, which whatever. He rests okay. But that’s not it. B -- short for Beelzebub Stiles found out a week ago -- is curled up on Derek’s chest in a tiny little ball. And that’s not it. Derek is wearing a red sweater that looks so soft Stiles wants to rub his face against it, and it -- bear with Stiles for a second -- has thumbholes.

“I gotta go,” Stiles immediately says and tries to start putting on his sneakers again, but Derek stops him.

“Stiles,” Derek says, his voice hard. “I’d physically stop you, but B.” He gestures at his chest.

Stiles sighs dramatically. “Really, I have to go, Derek. I left something on. The oven, stove, coffeemaker. I don’t know. Something is on, I have to go.”

“Stiles,” his voice somehow got harder? “We need to talk.”

“We most certainly do not,” Stiles is quick to say, and he’s finally got one shoe on.

“Please, stop,” Derek says, and fuck there it is.

Stiles leans against the door and slides to the floor with a loud exhale. “Fine.”

“What is going on with you?”

Stiles shakes his head, leaning it back on the door. “You were in a box.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Shut up.” Stiles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I put you in a box. This box was small, so small. You had no personality, no redeeming qualities. And then you did. You rescued a kitten and kept him. You smile at Cora when she does something right during training. You laugh when I say something you find funny, and now you have thumbholes!”

“What are you going on about?” Derek asks, sounding confused.

“You were in this box!” Stiles exclaims. “I put you in a box because you’re unfairly attractive and I knew I had no chance in hell with you, so in the box you went. It was easier if I pretended you were hard and unapproachable, but then you became soft.” He says the word like it’s dirty.

“What’s wrong with that?” Derek asks defensively.

Stiles opens his eyes and straightens his head to stare at Derek, who is sitting up now, B curled next to his thigh. “What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong is that I don’t know how to stop myself from falling for you now.”

“Why do you need to stop?” His voice is quiet as he looks down at the kitten.

“I’m nineteen, dude,” Stiles says. “My days of crushing on unattainable people is over. I’m done placing people on pedestals and hyping them up in my head, but I under-hyped you, and you are just infuriatingly good.”

The corner of Derek’s lips twitch up like he’s trying not to smile. “I’m not unattainable.”

“Please don’t,” Stiles practically begs. “Don’t give me hope.”

“Is it hope if it’s certain?” Derek asks, looking up finally and staring at Stiles. “Stiles, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I haven’t been falling for you too. You helped me save a kitten when you were already helping me get home safely. You encourage everyone at training and make ridiculous jokes that I just have to laugh at. I didn’t think that I could move on from the fire, but then you showed up and completely changed everything with your honey colored eyes and cocky smirk. You knew what it was like to lose someone, and you kept going anyway. You kept laughing and making jokes and saving me.”

Stiles blinks because he’s so confused. “What is going on?”

Derek sighs and stands up, walking towards Stiles. He holds a hand out, waiting for Stiles to take, and he does. Derek pulls Stiles up so he’s standing, and they’re so, so close.

“Can I kiss you?” Derek asks.

“You want to?” Stiles is so confused.

“Yes. Do you?”

The next one was grey with bright yellow sunflowers and little white daisies embroidered onto it.

Derek had bought that one himself

Derek sat out on the front porch, the warmth of the golden light washing over him as he inhaled the sweet spring air.

Stiles stepped out onto the porch, crossing over to his boyfriend’s side.

“Yes?” Derek said, looking up at him.

Without a word, Stiles clambered into Derek’s lap, straddling his legs. He gently grabbed the flowery hood of Derek’s floral jacket.

Derek’s face flushed bright red. He swallowed hard, his hands instinctively settling on Stiles’ slender hips and his eyes meeting Stiles’ gaze.

Stiles swiftly tugged at the cords, pulling the hooding shut over Derek’s face.

Stiles snorted as he tried to hold back his laughter.

He didn’t have to see Derek’s face to know his was scowling.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Derek muttered, his voice muffled by the hood.

Stiles chuckled.

The next one was a deep purple with violet chrysanthemums sewn into the sleeves and across the top half of the torso—a gift from Cora.

Stiles came home from work to find Derek curled up on the couch, laughing as their puppy – Bear – lay on his chest and played with the cords of his hoodie.

Bear playfully tugged at the cords, pulling the hood of Derek’s sweatshirt shut which made Derek burst into fits of laughter as he gently tugged the hood open again.

Stiles stepped over to the side of the couch.

“Hey,” Derek said softly, looking up at Stiles.

“Hey,” Stiles replied.

Derek opened his mouth to say something but was rudely interrupted when Bear tugged on the cord and pulled the hood shut over Derek’s face.

Stiles snorted as he struggled to smother his laughter.

Derek pulled his hood open again, biting into his lips as he tried to hide his smile. He reached up and gently tugged at the front of Stiles’ shirt, pulling him over the back of the couch.

Stiles clambered onto the couch, laying down beside Derek and curling up against his side.

Bear seemed to notice he was there, abandoning the cord of Derek’s jumper as he shuffled across Derek’s chest and over to Stiles. He gently licked Stiles’ face before curling into the warmth between them.

The next one was black with red roses and white peonies printed on it, the pattern stretching across the arms, on the inside of the hood and across the upper half of the jacket.

That one was a present from Stiles for Derek’s birthday.

Derek put it on the second he unwrapped the present, bundling himself up in the soft sweatshirt and smiling brightly. He wore it all day, refusing to take it off no matter what anyone said.

Stiles stared at him in awe.

Derek was a gorgeous man, who could look good in anything he wore; leather jackets, Henleys and jeans, dress shirts and suits, and floral hoodies.

Derek seemed to notice his lingering gaze, glancing over at Stiles.

“What?” he asked.

“I love you,” Stiles said, his voice soft and quiet.

He was barely twenty but he looked older, probably because of his stern features; his square jaw, strong cheekbones, and resting sourwolf face.

Derek met his gaze, a kind smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile back. But it didn’t last long; his smile fell from his face as Jackson and the others came outside.

“Is that your boyfriend, Stilinski?” Jackson asked, his voice holding a mocking tone.

Stiles let out a measured breath, making his way down the steps and down the small footpath.

“He’s probably his babysitter,” Jackson remarked.

“He’s eighteen,” Scott replied.

“He’s Stilinski,” Jackson countered. “You’re honestly going to tell me that you think his dad wouldn’t hire a babysitter to look after him?”

There was a chorus of laughter behind him, echoing across the parking lot.

Stiles bit his tongue.

Scott didn’t reply.

Stiles swallowed hard, dropping his gaze to his feet as he tried to blink back the tears that welled in his eyes. He shrugged his bag higher onto his shoulder as he made his way over to the car.

“Hey,” Derek said softly as Stiles came closer, pushing himself to his feet and reaching for the car door.

“Hey,” Stiles said quietly, his voice breaking slightly.

“You ready to go?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded. He stepped around the car, setting his duffle bag down in the back before sliding into the passenger’s seat.

Derek watched him, his brow furrowed in thought and his pale eyes darkening with worry.

The echoing laughter drifted across the open space.

He glanced over to where Jackson and the others stood by the door, talking and laughing, their eyes focused on Stiles.

Derek tightened his grip on the door handle, trying to ground himself. He let out a measured sigh and climbed into the car.

...

The apartment building towered high over the others, the brown brick building standing tall over the old industrial buildings of Beacon Hills. The glass windows that overlooked the city were misted with dirt.

It was still half-finished; Derek had been splitting his time between renovating the old Hale House and the apartments, and living in the loft until he finished rebuilding the house.

Derek pulled up before the loft and parked. He looked across to Stiles, watching the way the young man stared absentmindedly out the window.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked as he switched off the engine and turned in his seat to look at Stiles.

Stiles perked up in his seat, turning to look at Derek. He raised his brow questioningly.

“You haven’t said a word since I picked you up,” Derek pointed out.

“Just thinking,” Stiles said, pushing open the door and stepping out of the car. He grabbed his bag from the back seat and headed inside.

“Thinking about what?” Derek asked, following after him up the stairs and into the loft.

Stiles shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He shoved open the heavy iron door, dropping his sport’s bag by the door. He kicked off his shoes and stepped down into the lowered lounge room, making his way into the small kitchenette to get a glass of water.

Derek lingered by the door, his hands in his jacket pockets as he stared out the wall of misted windows. He waited until Stiles came back out of the kitchen.

“Is this about Whittemore and the others? Did they say something?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter,” Stiles insisted.

“What did they say?” Derek asked, taking a step closer.

“It’s not true anyway, so it doesn’t matter,” Stiles said dismissively.

Derek stepped over to his side, catching Stiles’ hand and turning him around. He gently pulled him close, bundling the young man up in his arms.

“Stiles, whatever it is, it’s upsetting you, so it does matter,” Derek said softly. “And if it matters to you then it matters to me.”

Stiles bowed his head, looking down at his feet.

“They said that I was lying when I said I was dating you, that you were my babysitter because I’m such a disaster that my father wouldn’t trust me enough to leave me alone, and there’s no way that anyone would ever love me, let alone someone as good as you.”

Derek took Stiles’ face in his hands, cupping his cheeks and gently encouraging the young man to look up at him. His pale aventurine eyes were soft and full of love as he looked at Stiles.

“They’re wrong,” Derek said softly.

“I know they’re wrong,” Stiles said, his voice catching in his throat slightly. “But I also feel like they’re right; I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek agreed. “You deserve so much better than me.”

Stiles looked up at him, shocked.

“There is no one better than you,” Stiles argued.

“And there is no one better than you,” Derek said, his voice a soft purr as he rested his forehead against Stiles’.

“Really?” Stiles scoffed. “Me? Anxious, clumsy, sarcastic, weak.”

“Smart, kind, beautiful, strong,” Derek countered.

He gently brushed aside a stray strand of hair that fell forward across Stiles’ face. He leant forward, bringing their lips together in a sweet, tender kiss.

Stiles ran his hands up Derek’s chest, cupping his face with one hand.

Derek set his other hand on Stiles’ hip, steadying the two of them.

He drew back slowly, resting his forehead against Stiles’ and looking at him lovingly.

Stiles whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Derek said quietly, a rosy pink blush colouring his cheeks as a sweet smile turned up the corners of his lips.

Stiles felt his heart melt, a smile playing across his lips as he looked up at Derek.

“Stop,” Stiles whined, his voice breaking away into soft laughter as he averted his eyes.

“Stop what?” Derek asked, chuckling quietly.

“Stop being so cute,” Stiles said, burying his face in Derek’s chest as his face flushed red. “You’re too damn precious.”

Derek let out a deep chuckle, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and holding him close.

Stiles nuzzled his face into the soft cotton of Derek’s Henley, muttering quietly as he stumbled over his words.

Derek pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head, resting his cheek atop the tousled mess of his hair.

Stiles shifted his head, looking up at Derek. He smiled sweetly, looking at him lovingly.

Derek leant forward and pressed a tender kiss to Stiles’ forehead, making him smile more.

...

The engine of the Camaro purred as Derek pulled into the parking lot and parked the car.

“Bye,” Stiles said, leaning across the car and pressing a kiss to Derek’s cheek.

“Bye,” Derek replied softly as Stiles grabbed his bag and climbed out of the car. “I’ll pick you up after school.”

“Okay, see you later,” Stiles said, offering Derek a smile before closing the door.

Derek smiled in return, watching as Stiles stepped up onto the footpath and started to make his way towards the double doors that led inside. His eyes drifted across the parking lot to where Jackson and his clique stood, leaning back against one of the brick walls. He watched as Jackson’s eyes tracked Stiles before leaning over to his friends and muttering something that was followed with a wave of hooting laughter.

Derek shoved open the car door and stepped out of the car.

“Stiles,” he called out.

Stiles turned back to face him. “Yeah?”

Derek waved him over.

Stiles’ brow furrowed in confusion as he walked back over to Derek’s side.

Derek reached out and grabbed the hem of Stiles’ shirt, pulling him in close. A devilish smile turned up the corner of his lips as he cupped Stiles’ face with his other hand and closed the space between them, drawing their lips together.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs as his shoulders dropped. His eyes fluttered shut as his fingers brushed against the soft, worn fabric of Derek’s Henley.  

Derek drew back slowly, grinning at Stiles’ euphoric expression.

Stiles tilted his chin, smiling up at Derek.

“I hope that wasn’t to prove a point,” Stiles said quietly enough that only Derek would hear.

“No,” Derek whispered. He pulled Stiles closer, pressing the young man’s body up against his. He leant in closer, his breath rolling across Stiles’ lips as he whispered, “This is to prove a point.”

He brought their lips together again, a little more passionately this time.

Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth.

Stiles gently balled the fabric of Derek’s shirt into his fist, clinging to it as Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth.

He felt Stiles smile against his lips.

Stiles’ breath escaped him as he melted into the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut as he cupped Derek’s face with one hand; his other hand running up Derek’s arm, clinging to the worn leather of his jacket as if he were afraid to fall.

Derek tilted his chin, deepening the kiss.

Stiles wove his fingers into Derek’s hair, balling the soft tufts into his hand.

He drew back slowly, grinning at the expression on Stiles’ face as the young man tilted his chin and chased Derek’s lips.

He let out a low chuckle as he brought their lips back together again in a tender, chaste kiss.

“I’ll see you later,” Derek whispered.

“See you later,” Stiles replied, smiling—awed.

He gave Derek another sweet kiss before turning back towards the school.

A smile lit up his face. He had one last step to do and that was to hide the ugly stitched and knots underneath. He had originally thought to sew another layer into the sweater, but Melissa had found him some iron-on fabric that would seal it all in place.

He turned the sweater inside out and carried it into the laundry, turning on the iron and positioning the pieces of iron-on fabric that he had measured and cut out earlier.

Moments later, it was done. He turned the sweater back the right way and carried it back into the living room.

He cleared away the embroidery thread and needles, turned off the tablet and put the living room back the way it was before.

He glanced up at the clock, his heart skipping a beat as he realised what time it was.

Derek would be home any minute.

He quickly pulled out one of the small boxes they had stored away, lining it with tissue paper before folding up the sweater and putting it in the box. He laid the tissue paper over the top of it and put the lid on the box, tying a silky off white ribbon around it before carrying it upstairs and setting it down on the end of their bed.

He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, switching on the kettle.

Moments later, he heard the front door open.

“Hi,” Stiles called out.

“Hi,” Derek replied.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Stiles asked.

“Yes, please,” Derek said, his voice softened by pleading. “Just give me a moment, though, I need to go change.”

“Okay.”

Derek made his way upstairs.

Stiles tried to slow his racing heart beat – tried to hide his anxiety – as he listened to Derek’s footsteps across the floorboards.

He heard him go into the bedroom, stop and come back out. He marched downstairs and into the kitchen.

“What’s this?” Derek asked, holding up the box.

“A present,” Stiles answered bluntly.

“A present?” Derek repeated.

“For you.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you,” Stiles replied. “Now, open in.”

Derek pouted as he set the box down on the counter and untied the ribbon. He lifted the lid, unfolded the layers of tissue paper, and froze.

His expression softened as he looked down at the sweater.

He set the lid aside and carefully lifted the sweater out of the box, unfolding it and holding it up.

His pale aventurine irises sparkled as tears welled in his eyes. His lips trembled slightly as he took in the sight, completely lost for words.

“I made it for you,” Stiles said, hoping his nervousness didn’t show in his voice.

“You made it?” Derek asked, astounded.

“Well, I didn’t make the sweater, but I sewed the flowers onto it,” Stiles corrected himself.

Derek blinked in shock, adjusting his hold on the sweater and gently brushing his fingertips across the soft thread of the embroidered flowers.

“You made this… for me?” he said quietly, struggling to fight back his tears.

“Yeah,” Stiles answered slowly.

Derek gently set it back in the box, turning to Stiles and pulling him into his arms. He buried his face in the curve of Stiles’ shoulder as the tears began to fall, soaking the fabric of Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, letting out a sigh of relief.

He liked it.

“I love you,” Derek said, his voice muffled by Stiles’ chest.

Stiles let out a breathless chuckle, craning his head to press a soft kiss to Derek’s temple. “I love you too.”

Derek drew back slowly, using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away the tears that dampened his cheeks. He looked at Stiles lovingly.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

A small smile turned up the corners of Stiles’ lips. “I ask myself the same question every day.”

“What, what did you do to deserve me?” Derek teased, laughing quietly.

“Yes,” Stiles joked. He stepped closer, bringing his lips to Derek’s in a tender loving kiss.

The kettle finished boiling as Stiles drew back slowly. He offered Derek a kind smile as he turned to make him a cup of tea and as he turned back Derek was already pulling the sweater on over his head.

He straightened out the hem, looking down at it and gently running his fingers over the stitches. Another wave of tears welled in his eyes.

“Enjoy it while you can; I’m only going to steal it off you in a week,” Stiles said, trying to stop Derek from crying.

Derek let out a small laugh.

“You’re never getting this one,” he said, hugging himself. “I love it too much.”

Stiles felt the sense of achievement and pride fill his chest again.