#writer derek

Stiles span around on his chair, turning from his desk to the lightbox he had set up nearby, he grabbed a pencil and began to sketch out an illustration.

His desk was a mess of paper—sketches, pieces of paper, drafted stories he had to draw illustrations for. Scattered among the mess were coloured pens, pencils and markers, and a tablet that was connected to his computer.

He had stacks of sketchbooks full of illustrations, doodles and drafts—he liked to sketch things out on paper before transferring them to digital copies and refining the illustrations before putting them into the manuscript drafts or emailing them to Derek.

The rest of his office was full of cardboard boxes—packed full of sketchbooks, reference books, and folders of old projects. Their office was being renovated, which meant they had to move all their filing cabinets and storage boxes.

Pages of drafted stories and notes lay around him or pinned up on the wall, covered in Derek’s neat cursive writing—the writing that always gave him butterflies in his stomach and made him smile whenever he saw it.

His computer screen lit up, catching his attention. An email notification showed up in the bottom corner of his screen. He clicked on it and opened the email.

Hi Stiles,

Congratulations—your story, ‘What’s Mine is Yours’, is on the bestsellers list for the second month running.

Because of this, the company has set up a deal with a few local bookstores and libraries for you and Derek to do meet-and-greets, reading sessions, and book signings.

I’ve attached a schedule of the dates and places as well as airline tickets for the few signings that are out-of-state.

Dress code is casual.

Best wishes,

Laura Hale.

Stiles smiled slightly, a feeling of triumph settling in his chest.

What’s Mine is Yours was one of the first books he worked on with Derek—the story about two dragons – Plush and Snug – and their hoards, one of pillows and the other of blankets, learning to share.

It was also one of his favourite stories.

Derek had a way with words, a way of making everything seem so magical. He could take a story—a world of magic and adventure—and refine it into a couple-hundred words for children to read.

He opened the attachments, printing them and pinning them to his wall before pulling out his planner and writing down the dates and times—flagging them with colourful tabs.

He sent back a reply and sat back in his chair.

His delight gave way to panic as reality set in and he realised he was finally going to meet Derek.

The first meet-and-greet came around faster than Derek thought.

He’d spent the morning pacing back and forth in his apartment, fussing with his clothes and changing several times. He eventually settled on a faded grey Henley and dark jeans.

The event was at a local library—not too far from his apartment—so he decided to walk there to try and calm his nerves.

When he arrived, he stepped over to the front desk. He offered the young librarian a friendly smile when she looked up at him and opened his mouth to introduce himself when a familiar voice rang out across the library.

“There you are.”

Derek looked at the librarian apologetically before turning to look at his sister. “Hi, Laura. Nice to see you too.”

“Come on, we’re setting you up in the children’s corner,” Laura said, making her way through the rows of bookshelves and over to the corner of the library where the children’s section was.

There were two rows of low shelves with children’s book lined up on them and another shelf running along the wall. The space was open—a few plush benches were pushed up against the walls for the adults or the children to sit on while they read.

The clear floorspace by the window had been filled with a bunch of blankets, pillows and cushions for the children to sit on. There were beanbags and stools for the parents and two stools in the corner for Stiles and Derek.

They’d set it up with a table for when they signed the books, copies of the book stacked up on the table with a few on display while boxes of stock were hidden beneath the table.

A young man stood by the window, dressed in a blue-and-grey hooded sweatshirt and jeans. His dark brown eye caught the golden sunlight that streamed through the wall of windows, swirling like pools of golden liquor. His chestnut-brown hair was a tousled mess and he was covered in moles that charted constellations across his skin, a sweet smile lighting up his face as he met Derek’s gaze.

Stiles.

Derek was starstruck as he stared at the young man. He was more beautiful than Derek could have ever imagined.

“Hi,” Stiles said, smiling sweetly at Derek.

“Hi,” Derek replied, breathless. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

A soft, rosy-pink blush coloured Stiles’ cheeks. “You too.”

“The reading circle starts in about half an hour,” Laura told them. “Lydia’s going to be here in a minute to help with book sales. You just have to read the story, say hi to the kids, and sign the books. I’ve got to run, but I’ll be back in an hour or two. If you’re good, I’ll even bring you coffee.”

She took a step to leave before turning back.

“And, Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t scare the little kids.”

Derek screwed up his face at her.

Laura laughed before turning to walk away.

The reading went well.

Stiles sat nearby as Derek read the story, listening to his deep, soothing voice.

He watched as the crowd of children—who were sitting on the cushions or with blankets draped around the shoulders—watched on, mesmerised.

Once they were done, they made their way over to the table where Lydia was selling copies of the book.

There was two seats behind the table, but Derek took one glance at a little girl who was too small to look over the table and shook his head. He sat down on the floor in front of the table, greeting the kids, signing the books, getting hugs and taking photos.

Stiles joined him, sitting down beside him.

The kids lined up, looking shy or smiling broadly as they handed over their copies of the book to be signed.

Stiles and Derek opened each of the books to the first page and wrote messages inside for the children before signing them. Stiles left the occasional doodle at the bottom of a page, watching as the kids’ faces lit up with joy when they saw them.

After a while, things started to quiet down. A lot of the children had left, but one boy—who looked to be barely five years old—lingered in the corner of the room with his big sister, clutching a toy to his chest.

His sister talked quietly to him before taking his hand and walking him over to Stiles and Derek.

“Hi there,” Derek said softly. “What’s your name?”

“Corey,” the boy muttered quietly.

“Hi, Corey. I’m Derek.”

The boy bowed his head bashfully, tightening his hold around his toy.

“What have you got there?” Derek asked.

“Plush,” Corey answered, loosening his hold slightly to show Stiles and Derek his toy dragon—the same dragon from their book, the one who hoarded pillows.

“Wow,” Derek whispered, a bright smile lighting up his face.

Stiles watched in amazement as the quiet boy slowly opened up to the man.

“It’s my favourite book,” Corey said quietly. “My brother reads it to me before bed every night. And for my birthday, my sister made me Plush.”

Derek looked up at Corey’s sister.

“You made him?” he asked.

The girl nodded.

He watched as Derek’s pale aventurine eyes glimmered in the daylight, full of surprise and amazement.

“That’s incredible,” Derek said.

A sad look settled on Corey’s face as he bowed his head.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, craning his neck to look the boy in the eye.

“I left my book at home,” Corey admitted.

Derek looked around—there was no one else there, only them.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Derek whispered as he reached under the table and pulled a copy of the book out from one of the boxes.

“We don’t have any money on us,” Corey’s sister object.

“This one’s for free, but you can’t tell anyone that,” Derek said, winking at the boy. He opened the book to the first page and signed it before offering it to Stiles.

Stiles smiled as he took it from Derek, looking down at the familiar cursive of Derek’s writing as he read over the message Derek had written.

Down the bottom of the page, he wrote his own message and drew a quick sketch of Plush before offering the book to Corey.

The boy’s eye flew open wide.

“Really?” he whispered.

A soft smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips. “Really.”

“Thank you so much,” Corey said, trying to juggle Plush and the book. He paused for a moment. “Can I… Can I have a hug?”

“Of course,” Derek said.

Corey passed the book to his sister before rushing into Derek’s arms and hugging him tight. He muttered quietly as tears welled in his eyes. He pulled back from Derek and hugged Stiles, his tears falling down his pale cheeks.

“Come on, Corey,” his sister said softly. “We’ve got to get going.”

Corey pulled back, steadying himself on his feet before taking his sister’s hand.

She began to lead him away but he stopped, turning back.

“Thank you,” he said one last time.

“You’re very welcome,” Stiles and Derek said in unison.

Stiles waited until Corey and his sister were gone before turning to Derek. “Isn’t your sister going to notice there’s a lack of profit?”

“What lack of profit?” Derek asked, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and handing the money over to Lydia.

She put the cash in the small box they were using as a till, a sweet smile turning up the corners of her lips as she looked at Stiles and Derek.

Stiles felt a rush of warmth settle in his chest, a soft smile playing across his lips. If he wasn’t in love with Derek before, he sure was now.

He’d fallen—hard—and there was no going back.

Stiles sat on the hotel bed, resting his sketchbook against his knees as he leant back against the headboard. He had a pencil in his hand, the tip scratching at the paper.

They were days into the book tour and had flown across the country to continue the readings. They had been put up in a hotel room with double beds.

It was a large room with light grey walls. A table and two chairs sat in the far corner of the room by the large glass door that led out onto a small balcony and there was a small bathroom by the door. The beds had small tables beside them and a plush grey headboard that ran the length of the wall the beds were pushed against. Behind the plush headboard was a small shelf with a strip of lighting that lit the room.

Across from the beds was a large television, the screen lit up with light and colour. The volume was turned down and neither of them were watching—it was just background noise to break the silence between them.

Derek sat on the other bed, reading over a manuscript and making small notations and edits. Usually other sounds in the room would drive him mad, but there was something about Stiles’ presence—something about the rhythmic scratching of the pencil against his sketchpad—that seemed to calm him.

Eventually his curiosity won him over.

Derek set down his pen, looking over at Stiles.

“Do you draw every night?” he asked.

Stiles looked up, slightly alarmed. “If I’m annoying you, I can stop.”

“No, you’re not annoying me,” Derek said softly. “Quite the opposite actually.”

Stiles looked down at his sketchbook. “Kind of. I try to draw every day. A lot of the time I don’t, but I figured we’ve got a lot of downtime right now so I should probably get some practice in.”

“What are you drawing?”

Stiles’ face flushed bright red.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Derek said reassuringly. “I was just curious.”

“It’s a little embarrassing,” Stiles admitted.

“I’m not one to judge.”

“It’s you,” Stiles admitted.

“Me?”

“I need more practice drawing people and you have a really nice face—and I can’t believe I just said that out loud,” Stiles rambled.

Derek let out a low chuckle.

“Can I see it?” he asked.

Stiles let out a measured breath and turned his sketchbook around to show Derek.

Derek’s face fell, his amused expression giving way to shock and awe as he looked at the sketched portrait.

It was like looking in a mirror—although slightly distorted by Stiles’ sketchy art style, the art style that Derek loved. It was a perfect likeness—thick dark hair, a soft beard that cast a shadow across his jaw, and wide-set eyes were pale—shaded a little with his green pencil and so lifelike. It was as if they caught the light, the shade of his eyes shifting from hazel to green – clear, bright and focused. The hint of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth, softening his stern featured.

“That’s amazing,” Derek muttered, shocked.

A rosy-pink blush coloured Stiles’ cheeks as he turned the sketchbook back around, looking down at the drawing.

He paused for a moment, then with one quick movement, he tore the page out of the book.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, alarmed.

Stiles quickly signed the bottom of the page before holding it out for Derek to take. “Here.”

Derek blinked in surprise, taking the page and looking down at the sketch. He felt a strange warmth settle in his chest, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

He looked up at Stiles.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really,” Stiles said.

“Thank you.”

Derek looked down at it one more time before carefully sliding the drawing into a folder where it wouldn’t get damaged.

“You seem distracted today,” Stiles said as the two of them returned to their hotel room. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s nothing,” Derek said quietly.

Two weeks of meet-and-greets and book signings passed faster than Derek would have liked.

Tomorrow was their last reading. After that they’d fly back home and return to their jobs, only ever talking through emails or the notes in the margins of their drafts.

The thought made Derek’s chest ache.

He’d gotten so used to being with Stiles the past two weeks that he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not see his face—he didn’t want to imagine it.

“It’s clearly something,” Stiles argued, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “You said you didn’t judge me, and I’m not going to judge you. So if you want someone to talk to, I’m all ears.”

"When you're in the room, I find it so hard to focus on anything else," Derek blurted out.

Stiles was taken aback. His lips quivered as they moved around unspoken words. After a moment, he sheepishly said. "I’m sorry. I don't mean to be a bother."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." Derek paused for a moment, letting out a measured breath before saying, "I like you."

Stiles blinked in surprise.

"I know it sounds stupid since. I mean, we never even met before this book tour, but it..." His voice faltered and his words trailed off, shaky as he lost confidence. He dropped his gaze, looking down at his feet. "Never mind. Just forget I ever said anything."

"But it feels like we've known each other forever," Stiles finished.

Derek looked up, meeting Stiles’ dark eyes.

“I feel the same way,” Stiles continued, his voice quiet, shy. He fell silent for a second, swallowing hard as he looked from Derek to his hands in his lap. “I like you too… I really like you—and I… I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell you how I feel. But if you want to just go back home tomorrow and just go back to work and pretend like this never happened, then I can do that… I can try…”

“And what if I don’t want to?” Derek asked.

Stiles looked up at him. His shock gave way to a soft smile.

Derek took a step forward, stepping over to Stiles’ side. He gently cupped Stiles’ face in one hand, his tender touch sending shivers down Stiles’ spine. He leant forward, closing the space between them and bringing their mouths together.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs. His eyes fluttered shut as he leant into the kiss.

Derek’s lips were soft and warm, the kiss tender, slow and sweet.

Derek drew back, licking his lips as he savoured the kiss. He grinned at Stiles’ euphoric expression.

Stiles tilted his chin upwards, chasing his Derek’s lips. He felt Derek chuckle against his mouth as he brought them back together again. He looped his arms around Derek’s neck as he brought his lips back to Derek’s.

He fell back against the mattress, pulling Derek down on top of him.

Derek smiled against his lips, his body pressed against Stiles’ as they lay on the bed. He kissed him lightly—lovingly—slowly drawing back and resting his forehead against Stiles’.

A soft smile played across his lips.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” Stiles started slowly, slightly out of breath. “Do you want to go out for coffee sometime?”

Derek burst out in laughter, his eyes sparkling as he met Stiles’ gaze.

“I’d love to,” Derek whispered, leaning forward to kiss Stiles again.

He’d only joined Lit-erotica a few months ago, so he hadn’t really had the chance to read any of Derek’s catalog. The fact that they’d seemed like the typical heterosexual romances that pervaded the genre hadn’t exactly encouraged him. But this time, Derek appeared to be trying something new. Something that was definitely not a hetero romance.

Derek was a popular enough author that the publisher, which put out numerous genres of erotica anyway, was fully behind it. And from what Stiles had seen so far, they were fully justified. Derek was a great writer, and quite fast one, too.

Which was a bit odd, because when he’d been assigned to Derek on his first day of work, Allison, one of the other editors, had winced and said, “Good luck, I think he’s blocked.”

That had, of course, been a concern to Stiles. But not even a week after their initial face-to-face meeting, Derek had already sent him a first chapter.

Stiles had set some loose deadlines for when he wanted the next sections, and Derek had kept apace, sometimes even sending Stiles his work well ahead of schedule.

Until now.

“I think so,” Derek says slowly, interrupting Stiles’ thoughts. “I just wanted to give it another once-over before I sent it.”

“You know that’s my job,” Stiles jokes. “Let me take a crack at it.”

“I just need to make sure it’s not—” Derek abruptly cuts himself off. “You’ll get it by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

Derek sounds gruff, which means he’s feeling edgy about something, so Stiles lets it go. He likes Derek too much to rile him up, especially when it’s really not that big of a deal. If he’s maybe feeling a little insecure about his work, then Stiles perfectly fine with giving him a little more time.

He’d found Derek a little hard to read, at first, but after working with him for a few months, Stiles feels like he’s getting the hang of it. And he’d also gotten Derek to really, actually smile the last few times they’d met in person, so he knows he’s making progress.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he says cheerfully, then hangs up.

He finishes printing out the stack of pages he wants to proof, then pops into his boss’s office to let him know he’ll be working from home tomorrow. (He likes having peace and quiet for reading Derek’s new chapters—and they sometimes make him laugh or blush, so doing it at home saves on embarrassment.)

“Sure,” his boss says, eyeing the sheaf of papers in Stiles’ arms. “You’ve gotten twice the amount of writing out of him as the last two editors combined, and in half the time.” He shrugs. “So whatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it.”

Stiles blinks in surprise at that, but just says thanks and makes his exit.

 *

 Stiles checks his email after breakfast, and finds that Derek has kept his promise. The next chapter is waiting, and Stiles eagerly carries his laptop into the living room, sprawling out on the couch so he can read it comfortably.

He’s been enjoying the development of Derek’s new book, which features a bisexual guy struggling with his sexuality. He’s only ever dated girls before, so when he meets a cute guy at work, he’s not really sure what to do. Stiles had followed raptly as the guy, Darren, had gradually worked up the nerve to talk to, flirt with, and then eventually ask out, his co-worker Stewart.

The story has been so compelling to Stiles, who relates to a lot of it, that he sometimes he had to remind himself to actually edit, rather than just read through it again.

He’s enjoyed the cute (and sometimes awkward) dates they’ve been on, the shy kisses that become more and more bold. And this, Stiles realizes about half a page in, is the chapter where they finally have sex for the first time.

Stiles has read a lot of erotica in his life, both for work and for fun, but none of it has ever affected him like this.

By the third page, he realizes that he’s achingly hard.  The way they’re touching and licking and kissing each other has Stiles biting his lip, riveted as he reads on. The slow climb through arousal and foreplay, followed by the smooth, intense transition into both of them seeking and eventually finding their orgasms, leaves Stiles almost desperate to come.

He’s never known anyone to be able to write a sex scene with such detail, without it feeling clunky or overly meticulous. Instead it’s free and flowing, and really, really hot.

He scrolls back up to the beginning, and begins to reread it as he shoves his hand down into his sweats, slowly stroking his cock. Feeling his own pleasure as he reads about theirs only heightens Stiles’ connection to the characters, and there are times he has to lift his hand away, because he’s gotten too close.

He manages to hold off until Darren’s orgasm, and then he comes so hard he nearly bucks the laptop off of his thighs. He works himself through the aftershocks as his eyes flutter shut, letting the images of Stewart and Darren play out in his head.

And only feels a little guilty when they end up looking a lot like himself and Derek.

He eventually drags himself off the couch and cleans up, then has to wait another thirty minutes before he feels composed enough to talk to Derek. If he didn’t, he knows his traitorous mouth would say something like, “Hey, just jerked off to your smut, it was great!”

And that would just be painfully awkward.

(Though, in Stiles’ opinion, it would also be a compliment.)

So when Derek answers the phone, in an attempt to avoid disaster, Stiles quickly says, “Just read that chapter you sent me, it was amazing! I don’t know why you were so worried.” Then he clamps his mouth shut before he can start rambling.

“I—really?” Derek says, sounding uncertain. “You didn’t think it was too—” He cuts off then, with abrupt finality.

Stiles waits for a second, just in case, but Derek doesn’t say anything more. “I thought it was great, Derek. Seriously, some of the best work I’ve ever read,” he says reassuringly.

“Thanks,” Derek says gruffly. Stiles knows he’s not good at taking compliments. “I’m going to, um, get back to work.”

“Sure,” Stiles says easily. “I don’t think this chapter will need much editing, but I’m going to look over it a couple of times, just to be sure. And remember that I want the next chapter by the fifteenth, okay?”

Derek grunts in affirmation, then hangs up.

Stiles puts his phone down, and cheerfully decides he better eat lunch before he goes back to editing.

Sometimes his job can be really fun.

 *

 Derek calls Stiles a few days later.

“Hey, what’s up?” Stiles asks, clicking though his emails. “Everything going okay?”

“I’m not—can you come over?” Derek asks, sounding tired.

“Sure,” Stiles says. Sometimes, when Derek’s stuck on a plot point, or getting too hung up on details, Stiles will go to his house and talk things through with him. Stiles enjoys it a lot, though admittedly in a less than professional capacity. He just likes spending time with Derek. “Right now?”

“Um, if you want,” Derek mumbles. “It’s not an emergency or anything.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, already logging off of his computer. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Thanks,” Derek says.

He doesn’t exactly sound relieved, though, not like he usually does when Stiles offers to come over.

He mulls that over through the whole drive, wondering what’s going on. He hopes Derek isn’t having second thoughts and planning to scrap the story.

Derek lets him inside, and immediately shoves a few printer pages into his hands. Stiles has a moment of fear, thinking it might be a competitor contract, or maybe a scathing review of one of Derek’s other books, but after he gets through the first sentence he realizes it’s part of the next chapter.

He absentmindedly sits down on Derek’s couch to read through it, barely noticing when Derek sits in the armchair across from him.

He looks up when he’s done, smiling. “Derek, this is really good.” And it is, though it did end a bit abruptly. “Are you stuck here?” he asks, holding up the last page.

“No, I just couldn’t write anymore, because I felt—I need to apologize to you,” Derek gets out, stumbling over his words.

Stiles sets the pages down on the cushion next to him, giving Derek his full attention. “Apologize for what?” he asks curiously.

“I—before you were assigned to be my editor, I was blocked. I couldn’t write anything decent. But then we met up, and we talked, and I—I went home and I wrote a little scene where I asked you out, because I was too afraid to do that in real life. And the story just sort of spiraled out from there, and so I changed the names and kept writing. When I sent you that first chapter, I was so afraid you were going to call me and demand to know why you were in my book,” Derek says in a rush.

Stiles stares at him, disbelieving. “I’m your inspiration for writing this? Me, your dorky editor?” Judging by the way Derek’s cheeks are flushing, it’s really true. “Then, if you’re Darren, are you…struggling with being bi?”

“You make it sound like it’s a burden,” Derek says, cracking a smile. “It’s just that I’ve never dated a guy, and I didn’t really know what to do when I realized how much I liked you. So I thought it might help to write about it,” he says, shrugging. “But I was afraid it would make you uncomfortable when you found out, so.”

“I had noticed some similarities between myself and Stewart, but I mostly thought that was wishful thinking,” Stiles says, laughing. “I’m honestly really flattered that you found me that inspiring. And I’ve had a crush on you since, like, day one,” he adds, catching Derek’s surprised look. “I definitely wouldn’t mind if you asked me out.”

Derek smiles a little. “Even if I’m really bad at it?”

“You could ask me on the most random date ever, and I still wouldn’t hesitate,” he says, grinning back.

“Okay,” Derek says. “Do you want to go sketch trees in the park?”

Stiles snorts out a laugh. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll go for it,” he says cheerfully. “And maybe afterward, you can tell me about how you wrote an epic sex scene with me in mind.”

To his surprise, it doesn’t fluster Derek at all.

“Yeah,” he says, smirking. “And maybe you can help me plan out the next one.”