Because we could all use some happiness right now, here’s a fluffy Sterek meet-cute inspired by this post. (Shout out to High Fidelity for inspiring the book convo, and to @mad-madam-m for her invaluable assistance).
Derek goes to the market almost every day because he lives in a small loft and doesn’t like to store food. He also prefers cooking with fresh food anyway. He probably has a little herb and vegetable garden outside on his balcony. So, amateur chef Derek wandering the aisles of the local grocery store and he sees this kid every time he’s there. Derek who shops at night after he gets out of work (or home from the studio artist derek kay) And Derek realizes after careful observation that this kid, who’s not actually a kid, but in the college in town, buys himself ready made dinners at the hot station every damn night. He tries to let it go. But he thinks about it. A lot. And after several weeks of witnessing this catastrophe, Derek makes a move. A culinary move.
“That’s it,” a stern voice calls out from behind him, a broad hand reaching to take the empty to-go box from Stiles’ hands. “I can’t stand this anymore.”
“What the hell, man?” Stiles snaps, spinning around to confront the asshole who’s trying to keep him from his chimichangas.
Upon seeing the culprit, however, he stumbles and stutters to a shocked silence, because the hand belongs to none other than Beardy McHotStuff, who’s glowering at him with his absurdly gorgeous green eyes. “Oh,” Stiles breathes, swallowing hard, heart beginning to race, thrilled and terrified all at once to finally be face-to-face with the hottest man he’s ever seen, the fellow-late night grocery shopper he’s been fantasizing about for weeks now.
“This is unacceptable,” McHotStuff continues after a moment of strange silence, those damn eyes of his darting over Stiles’ face, likely taking in just how exhausted he looks after his fifteen-hour dissertation-writing session, the heavy circles under his eyes probably almost as dark as Beardy’s inky hair. “You can’t eat this garbage for dinner every night,” he says finally.
Stiles somehow manages to find the ability to speak, even though Beardy is staring at his mouth. “Excuse me, but I’m fairly certain it’s none of your damn business what I eat.”
“Well I’m making it my business,” McHotStuff says, resolute and determined, possibly even intimidating. “I’ve been watching you buy this processed, all-salt-and-high-fructose-corn-syrup crap for dinner nearly every night for a month now, and I cannot in good conscience allow it to continue.”
Stiles is pretty sure his eyebrows are in his hair and that his heart thumping so loud he’s sure Beardy can hear it. All this time he’s been secretly lusting over the insanely hot guy he sees during his late-night market trips to buy hot food from the deli section - not having the motivation or skill to cook for himself - and it turns out that Beardy McHotStuff has actually noticed him. And hates the way he eats, apparently.
Wishing he had at least put on a shirt that doesn’t smell like bongwater before he came to the store, Stiles tries to regain his composure; he smiles and looks at Beardy’s basket, which is full of vegetables and stuff from the organic section, which makes him feel even more embarrassed about his terrible eating habits. He can’t remember the last time he ate something green that wasn’t a gummy of some kind.
He looks Beardy up and down, noting his ripped-at-the-knees canvas work pants and tattered t-shirt under a red-and-blue checked flannel, a typical variation of his usual outfit. The t-shirt is snug across his chest and the flannel is gripping his biceps something fierce, and up close the dude’s rippling muscles seem even bigger, more ripply, and good goddamn, Stiles wants to eat this guy up.
“So what are you gonna do about my dinner, big guy?” He smirks, coming across much more cocky and confident than he feels.
Beardy McHotStuff smiles back and switches his basket of ridiculously healthy food to his left hand so he can offer his right to Stiles. “I’m Derek,” he says. “And I’m cooking you dinner.”
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