#sterek haven

okay i don’t really know how reserved seating on trains works, so let’s change that to seat-i-always-sit-in

excuse stiles being a jerk; he’s having a bad day

“Excuse me,” a man says, looking down at Derek. “That’s myseat.”

Derek’s been taking a train to work for the past four years,and there are several things he knows about them; you don’t talk to strangers,if there are no seats then you shut up and stand, and only the luxury sectionshave reserved seating. Now, while Derek normally takes a different train, todayhe’s visiting Laura and this is his train,and this is his seat, and he is most certainlynot getting out of it. Especially because he may not have noticed that therewas gum on it till he sat down, and there’s no way he’s standing on a trainfull of people with pink bubblegum stuck to his ass.

Rather than explaining all that to this random jerk, he says,“I was here first,” and goes back to reading his newspaper.

“Um, no,” the guys says, and his voice conveys that he’sstruggling to keep his cool. Which, really, is ridiculous. “I was here first.”

“Really?” Derek asks, setting the paper in his lap and raisingan eyebrow in mock surprise. “Because I could’ve sworn I sat here three stopsago, and haven’t moved since.”

Looking at him now, Derek is annoyed to see how cute the guyis. His hair is dark, his eyes are a bright whiskey color, and parts of hisface and neck are covered in little moles. It would be a lot easier to arguewith someone who isn’t exactly his type. The universe is really out to get himtoday.

“Listen,” the man says. “I am having a shitty, shitty day,and you’re sitting in my seat, and I need you to get up.”

Normally Derek might comply just to make the guy go away,but again, he’s sitting in gum, so,no. He’s just going to have to deal with it.

“There are no other seats,” Derek points out, glancingaround the train.

“Which is why I want that one.”

“Which is why Iwant this one.”

“Okay, well, it’s mine. I ride this train at this exact timeevery single day, and this is my seat.” He grabs the shoulder of a blonde womanwearing a gold necklace that reads Erica,sitting two rows down, who’s watching them not-so-surreptitiously. “You ride thistrain a lot. Is that not always my seat?”

“It is,” she says, smirking a little. “But he was therefirst.”

“Ugh,” he groans, turning back to Derek. “That doesn’t meananything. It’s mine.”

“I don’t see your name on it,” Derek says, which might be abit childish, but so is this guy. Maybe it’s the way to get through to him.

“Fine,” he says, pulling off his backpack and diggingthrough it till he produces a black Sharpie. He leans down, and when Derekmoves the tiniest bit to the right to avoid the marker, he scrawls his name ontothe back of Derek’s chair. “Now you do.”

“Well, Stiles,” Derek says, craning his neck to read thename. “I believe that’s called vandalism.”

“Call a cop,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Preferably from apayphone, as far away from this seat as possible.”

“Maybe I will,” Derek says, picking his paper up again in avain attempt to get back into the sports section.

“Good luck,” Stiles says, actually snatching the paper andtossing it over his shoulder. Derek is too surprised to be angry. “My dad’s thesheriff.”

Derek’s about to point out that that really doesn’t legalizehis behavior, when the man suddenly turns around and plops himself down on Derek’s lap.

Derek’s eyes shoot wide open, and the blonde woman laughs.

“Are you insane?” Derek manages to get out, trying to decideif this is actually happening.

“Nope, just stubborn. I told you, I’m having a terrible day, andI’m sitting in my seat one way or another.”

“You are insane,” Derek decides. “This is- I’m callingthe police.”

“Go. Ahead.”

Stiles, apparently, really does think his dad can get himout of anything, or he has some serious nerve.

Derek really might call the cops, except A) his phoneis in his back pocket, and he doesn’t want to get up, or to wriggle around with this guy on his lap,B) he cannot imagine a more awkward conversation to have on a train full ofpeople than, hello, yes, your boss’ fullgrown son is sitting on my lap and I don’t like it, please come remove him, eventhough we’re on a moving train, and C) maybe, maybe Derek doesn’t 100% dislike it. Which, okay, he’ll admitsounds really creepy, but the guy is sort of cute in an asshole kind of way,and it’s definitely creepier that Stiles sat on him in the first place.

Stiles pulls out his own phone and actually starts textingsomebody, and for whatever reason, that’swhat offends Derek.

“What’re you doing?” he demands.

“Texting.”  

“On my lap?”

“What do you want me to do? Hold a conversation with you?Tell you what I want for Christmas?”

Instead of being a normal person and saying, ‘I want you toget the hell off my lap,’ Derek’s mouth decides, completely of its own accord,to say, “Well it would be polite.”

Stiles laughs loudly, his mouth forming an obnoxious O ashis body rocks on Derek’s lap, which- oh. Oh.Derek needs that to stop right this second, and he grabs Stiles' shoulders tostill him, then quickly drops his hands.

“I think we’re about ten miles past polite,” Stiles says,smirking wickedly. “Ten miles, at least.But fine, jerk, what’s your name?”

“Jerk? You’resitting on my lap,” Derek sayspointedly.

“So, fine, I’m also a jerk. But I asked your name.” 

“Derek,” Derek finds himself saying.

“Nice to meet you, Derek,” Stiles says, sticking out a hand.

Derek doesn’t shake it.

“Am I being Punk’d?” he asks seriously, making Stiles laughagain. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“Rocking,” Derek says, cheeks heating up alittle. “Stop it.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide, as though he’d only just realized theimplications of him sitting in another man’s lap, and actually has the grace tolook embarrassed for a second.

“Whoops, sorry dude,” he says, edging closer to Derek’sknees. “That was actually not me being an ass; that was an accident.”

“No, still an ass,” Derek grumbles.

“Yeah, whatever. You try getting shut down at a jobinterview for the fourth time this month, and having some random guy on thetrain steal your seat, and then being all happy about it.”

“You try getting dragged to a family reunion, and having some random guy on the train steal your lap,” Dereksays, and Stiles smirks again, which is way cuter than it should be. “And maybethey turned you down because you have no concept of personal space. Did you trysitting on the interviewer when he said no? Maybe that would’ve helped.”

Stiles looks like he’s trying really hard to scowl, butDerek can tell he wants to smile. It’s a little funny, that he’s trying tobrighten this guy’s day. And by funny, of course, he means really freaking weird. 

“You’re kind of cute, when you’re mean,” Stiles says,winking.

That really shouldn’t embarrass Derek, because the guy is already—andhas he mentioned this yet?—sitting on top of him, but it does.

Before he has a chance to respond, maybe say that Stiles iskind of cute himself, the PA crackles to life and announces the next stop.

“That’s me,” Stiles says, looking almost disappointed as thetrain slows. “Hey,” he says, fishing the marker back out of his bag’s sidepocket. “Can I give you my number?”

“Oh, that you need permission for?”

Stiles bites his lip, and Derek relents. “Joking. Go forit, I guess,” he says, letting Stiles grab his hand and scrawl a number acrosshis palm.

“Call me, maybe?” Stiles says, finally standing and headingtoward the door.

Derek nods, and Stiles grins.

“See you around, Derek!” he calls, stepping outside. Rightbefore the doors close, he adds, “Just not in my seat!”

Derek, with bubblegum stuck to his ass, managed to pick up aninvasive, unemployed, adorable stranger on the train.

WHO DID THE THING

evergreen for darthkrytie (T+, 6.9k words)

*Peter Hale hosts a Christmas Eve party every year at his home in D.C. Derek attends every year. It's where he meets Stiles.*

Christmas Eve, 2014.

 “I guess it does run in the family.”

Derek turns to face Peter, raising an eyebrow at his uncle. “What are you talking about?”

Peter raises his wine glass toward the young man standing with Derek’s obviously drunk cousin, Malia. “Omegas have always been a weakness for the Hale men.” He smirks. “And the Hale women apparently.”

“Who said anything about the omega?” he asks as he turns to face his uncle head on in an attempt to avoid glancing back in the omega’s direction. It’s not like he was really looking at him, anyway.

“Well,” Peter begins, “if it’s not the omega that has your pheromones wafting through the air, then it’s Malia.” He takes a sip of his drink and looks over Derek’s shoulder. “And I would have a problem with that.” His eyes dart over to Derek quickly. “You are on your suppressants, aren’t you? Don’t want a repeat of the Paige debacle.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Derek assures his uncle.

“What won’t be a problem?” 

Derek nearly jumps at the sound Malia’s voice in his ear, loud and slurred. Turning slightly to look where his cousin has appeared over his shoulder, he’s about to come up with some kind of distracting comment, but he catches sight of the omega standing right behind her, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

The omega looks up at Derek as if he knows that Derek’s been watching him. And then he smirks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter says airily, taking a step closer to the omega while smiling his wolfish politician grin. “Who’s your friend?”

“Stiles,” Malia says quickly, drawing Derek’s attention away from where the omega stands with an amused look in his eye. She drains her glass before leaning against Derek and whispering into his ear loudly, “He’s an omega.”