When deputy Stiles investigates a series of burglaries, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to a flower shop run by the man of his dreams. Suddenly Stiles isn’t sure whether he’s chasing after a pair of criminals...or something much more important.
Greenhouses and County Fairs by kinky_kneazle | 16.9K
Derek's nickname in college was Miss - short for Misanthrope - so his dislike of other people is well-established. Despite this, his mother forces him to join the organizing committee of the County Fair where he has to deal with flowers in recycled containers, accusations of cheating and Stiles. But maybe dealing with Stiles isn't so bad.
if it’s meant to be, it’ll be by allhalethekings | 1.3K
The last thing Derek wanted in life was a soulmate -- especially one who thinks, What the fuck is that. That’s it. No question mark, no exclamation mark, nothing. Ever since the words -- the soulmark -- appeared on his inner wrist in tiny Times New Roman font, Derek was lost.
Hey lovelies! I'm trying to find this fic I read and it's driving me crazy. From what I remember Stiles is a writer and Derek is a single dad who moves in next door. There's lot of building of cubby houses and stuff like that, popsicles and Derek is fighting Kate for custody. If you could help find it I would be eternally grateful 😘
One of our kind followers found this for you! -Emmy
Garden Variety by Lissadiane
(10,663 / General / Complete) *sterek, parent!derek, author!stiles, gardener!derek, alive!laura
In which Stiles Stilinski attempts to finish his first draft of his new novel while being utterly distracted by the shenanigans happening next door - which generally involve his hot new neighbour engaging in physical labour. Whether it’s a hoe, a trowel, a hammer or a nail gun, watching Derek get dirty and sweaty is a thousand times more interesting than meeting a deadline.
Stiles has a crush and a dog, Derek has baggage and a little girl, and together, they just might make it work.
In which Stiles Stilinski attempts to finish his first draft of his new novel while being utterly distracted by the shenanigans happening next door - which generally involve his hot new neighbour engaging in physical labour. Whether it's a hoe, a trowel, a hammer or a nail gun, watching Derek get dirty and sweaty is a thousand times more interesting than meeting a deadline.
Stiles has a crush and a dog, Derek has baggage and a little girl, and together, they just might make it work.
Summary: In which Stiles Stilinski attempts to finish his first draft of his new novel while being utterly distracted by the shenanigans happening next door - which generally involve his hot new neighbour engaging in physical labour. Whether it's a hoe, a trowel, a hammer or a nail gun, watching Derek get dirty and sweaty is a thousand times more interesting than meeting a deadline.
Stiles has a crush and a dog, Derek has baggage and a little girl, and together, they just might make it work.
Info: 11k | General | Kid Fic, Fluff
Notes: Derek is a gardener with a cute little kid and how is Stiles not supposed to lust over him? It is so fluffy you’ll definitely finish it with a big smile on your face. -C
Sneak Peek:
Derek is hotter than the sun. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, muscly, and prone to doing lawn work in a tight t-shirt that hugs his abs and his pecs and barely manages to contain his biceps.
Not that Stiles has made a habit of staking out his neighbour’s back yard or anything. And he certainly hasn’t relocated his porch swing just to make it easier to watch – no, he just wants a nice, sunshiny place to relax, enjoy an ice cream or two, and work on his newest book.
The excellent view, that’s just a perk.
He’s pretty sure his dad would call purposefully installing a porch swing onto a raised deck to ogle the hot neighbour a form of stalking, anyway.
//This is a fic I wrote for the @stereksummerexchange as a gift for @theydraggedmein, who wrote an incredible prompt. It’s the longest thing I’ve written to date!!! I’d love to hear y’all’s feedback <3//
SUMMARY:
When a group of sinister men attempt to kidnap Stiles Stilinski from the Brooklyn apartment he shares with his stepsister, Lydia, Stiles is forced to activate a spell that translocates him to where he'll be safest.
Derek Hale isn't sure what to do about the soaking wet young man he finds wandering down a Beacon County roadside during the middle of a thunderstorm, but he feels compelled to help him. There's something about Stiles that Derek finds fascinating, and before long the two become embroiled in each other's lives.
Despite the threat to his life and the sudden upheaval of everything he's ever known, Stiles is having a hard time feeling too upset about that.
1.
The void goes on forever. There is no sound, no light, no sense of time or motion. He floats in a nowhere place, defined by the absence of anything but a cold that is so absolute it becomes a weight. It bears down on him, snaking into his bones, his heart, his mind. He can feel the very foundation of his being cracking under that gelid pressure. Thoughts and memories coalesce, become amorphous and vague. He tries to open his mouth to scream, but physicality feels like the dream of a stranger, and with a jolt of horror he realizes that he can't remember where his mouth is.
The agony goes on and on until he knows, without any doubt, that it will destroy him. The void will break him down until there's nothing left but spare parts, and it will truly, finally, be the end of him.
And then, completely without warning, he wakes up.
Consciousness hits Stiles like a sledgehammer. He gasps, the ragged tearing sound of his own inhalation nearly deafening him as he rolls onto his stomach. He swallows down the taste of bile and curls into the fetal position, trying valiantly not to throw up. The cool air stings his throat as he takes in desperate, greedy breaths, struggling to rein in the trembling of his limbs. Every nerve in his body is screaming, hypersensitive to the point of physical pain. He whimpers at the taste of his own tongue, reels at the sensation of his blood pounding through his veins. Never has he been so aware of his own heartbeat.
The smell of rich wet soil fills Stiles’ nose as he attempts to blink the phosphenes out of his eyes, and it takes him a long, terrifying moment to reassure himself that he hasn’t gone blind; the sky overhead is dark. It’s the middle of the night here, wherever here is, and because his entire life has been one example of Murphy’s Law after another, rain is pouring out of the pitch-black sky in unending sheets, plastering his hair to his face and soaking through the layers of his clothes.
Slowly, and with the help of a nearby sapling, Stiles levers himself first onto his knees, and then fully, if awkwardly, upright. He battles back another wave of nausea as he performs a cursory check for bodily damage.
All things considered, he’s managed to come out okay. The knife wound on his forearm is still bleeding sluggishly, so he tears a strip off of the hem of his t-shirt and binds it sloppily around the incision. He tries to ignore the way his fingers fumble and shake. The back of his head is throbbing where one of his would-be kidnappers had walloped him, and he hisses in pain as he tentatively pokes at the lump. In his torso there’s the sharp, persistent burn of a broken rib, probably sustained as the result of the fall from his second story bedroom window, but his legs are miraculously free of any injury other than what feels like a bone-deep bruise. He hopes that the relative easiness of his breathing means that the rib hasn’t punctured anything important.
The rancid cherry on top of the shit cake that has so far been his day reveals itself when, in an attempt to get his bearings, he holds out a hand and murmurs a conjuring of light. Where there should have been a globe of steady warm illumination, only a weak hiccupping glow flickers in and out of the air above his dirty palm. Stiles lets his eyes fall shut in dismay. His reserves must be almost completely dry. He can barely feel his magic, a guttering flame in his mind’s eye– even the booster runes tattooed along the dip of his navel are kicked. A shudder trips up his spine, and he wraps his arms tightly around himself to ward it off, chilled by more than the rain and the coolness of the night air.
Light blossoms in the distance, cascading through the backdrop of trees with the accompanying hiss of tires on pavement. Stiles flinches away instinctively, fear and pain constricting his lungs before he forces himself to take slow, intentional breaths. If all has gone the way he’d planned, logical certainty dictates that wherever he is, he’s far away from the people who had come for him in his crappy little apartment in Greenpoint.
The incantation had been over six months in the making, after a truly disconcerting bit of fortune telling courtesy of an oracle in Astoria. The prediction had been given as part payment for a tidy bit of warding he’d done along the storefront of the seer’s newly opened bakery.
Stiles had sat at one of the rickety tables near the big picture window, surreptitiously brushing flaky crumbs of phyllo dough off his chest. The oracle, a Greek woman of indiscernible age who had introduced herself as Pythia, had sat across from him and stared out into the middle distance, dark eyes turning vacant and distant. Slowly, and to his alarm, her irises had begun to shrink, first to the size of her pupils, and then to the size of pins. Soon, all that had been left was the unblemished white of the sclera.
“You are wanted,” she had said, the words hissing out of her like they were travelling a very far distance. “But it is not you that they want. They know what lies sleeping in your depths. They are the invaders, the desecrators. They will come for you, and you will unravel.”
Until that moment, Stiles had scoffed at most assertions of fortune-telling, finding little to no evidence to substantiate those claims. Despite this, there had been something about the look on the oracle’s face that had shaken him. She had patted his hand, pitying, perhaps, or regretful, but still completely resigned to the outcome of her prediction.
“Sorry,” she had said. “You are a sweet boy, and I knew your mother. If I could, I would have given you a better fortune. A long, happy life. Adventure, family, romance with a dark-haired stranger. At least now you have a bit of time, to prepare.”
And prepare he had. If there is one thing Stiles is good at, it’s having a plan. He’d thrown himself into research, and after six months of wading through magical theory, he’d developed a prototype. A little bit of blood coupled with the right words and his own special brand of intent, and Stiles would be transported instantly to the place where he would be safest. It had been a completely unorthodox marriage of blood magic and highly theoretical teleportation metaphysics, and once Stiles figures out where he is and has a moment to repress the soul-shattering horror of the void he'd traveled through to get here, he’s going to find the time to be very impressed with himself.
The distant car passes without incident, and Stiles lets out a tense breath. Standing in the dark getting soaked is not helping his current situation, no matter how attached he’s gotten to the tree he’s been using as a crutch. He needs to find civilization, needs to try to get word back to Lydia so that she knows he isn’t dead, needs to find a place with a hot shower. With a grunt, he gives the trunk of the sapling an affectionate pat, and then begins the slow and painful trek towards the road.
2.
Derek wonders sourly if there’s anyone out there having a worse night than he is. Rain floods out of the sky in biblical quantities, making it nearly impossible to see– the Camaro’s wipers are doing their best, but it’s a losing battle. The storm had already been in full swing by the time he had beat a hasty retreat from his now very ex-girlfriend’s apartment in Redding, and the deluge seems to have no intention of letting up anytime soon. If the visibility gets any worse, he’ll have to pull over and wait for the storm to pass. Derek squints out into the night and tries not to draw any parallels between the weather and the current state of his love life.
His phone begins to buzz in the passenger seat, and for one tempting moment Derek considers letting himself believe that he can’t hear it over the pounding of the rain. He glances over and sees the smiling face of his beloved older sister on the incoming call screen, and bites back a groan. If he doesn't pick up, Laura will just keep calling, and Derek knows from experience that if she still can't get ahold of him, she'll just show up at his house. Better to answer now and get it out of the way. Derek slides his thumb along the answer bar and transfers the call to the Camaro’s Bluetooth function, letting the phone drop onto his lap as he navigates a tricky curve in the road.
“Laura, I’m driving–,” he begins, and then winces when her voice fills the car’s interior, shrill with righteous indignation.
“Derek Edmund Hale, how could you!”
And this is why you should never date your sister’s friends.
“Look, Laura, I–”
“Jennifer is a wonderful person! You two were perfect together!”
“Lau–”
“She’s smart, beautiful, and very career oriented! What more could you possibly ask for?”
“Maybe you should date her,” Derek mutters, and then before Laura can finish drawing in an outraged breath he adds, “personally, I prefer it when the person I’m seeing isn’t also hooking up with their ex.”
For one blessed moment, silence reigns aside from the pounding of the rain. Then, with a remarkable show of adaptability, Laura snarls,
“That fucking bitch.”
“Language,” Derek says absently. “You have tiny ears in your house.”
“The kids are asleep,” Laura huffs dismissively. “I could parade through the living room with a marching band and they wouldn’t notice. Stop trying distract me.”
“I’m not,” he lies. “But, Laura, it’s fine.”
“I disagree,” Laura growls. “I think I should rip out her spleen and feed it to her. How could she?”
She’s your sister, he reminds himself. She’s your last remaining family member in the world and you love each other, and that means not throttling her when she’s being overbearing and self-righteous.
“Laura,” he says calmly, “I promise you that it isn’t that big of a deal. I’m not even that upset. Ultimately, Jennifer and I didn’t like each other very much. It was going to end either way. I think we only kept up the charade because we were both afraid of disappointing you.”
There’s a stiff pause on the other end of the line, and Derek viciously stomps down on a pang of guilt. Laura has been butting her head into his love life since he’s been old enough to understand why certain people made his face get all red. She means well– Laura is truly incapable of meaning otherwise– but over the years her machinations have led to disastrous and mortifying results for Derek. He’s hoping that this time, she’ll take the hint.
“She still deserves to rot in hell,” Laura mutters finally, but it sounds like the wind has definitely been taken out of her sails.
“Look, can we talk about this tomorrow?” Derek squints, trying to make out a blob of color that his lights have just picked up in the distance. The implacable rain is making it incredibly difficult to discern what the shape could be. A person walking along the side of the road, maybe? He hasn’t passed any broken-down cars, and the last rest stop was about fourteen miles back, so it seems bizarre for there to be someone wandering around out here. He hesitates, and then eases his foot onto the break. “I have to go, there’s someone on the road.”
“What?” Laura’s voice goes Alpha sharp with alarm. “Have they been hit?”
“I don’t think so,” he says slowly. He can see clearer now that he’s slowed down some. It’s a guy, he thinks, walking just off the shoulder of the road, hunched down into himself to keep the rain out of his eyes. “I think he’s lost. I’m going to see if he needs help. Call you in the morning.”
“Derek, wait,” Laura begins, but Derek has already ended the call.
He pulls up alongside the walking person, schooling his features into what he hopes is a friendly expression before rolling down the passenger’s side window.
“Hey, there,” he calls, leaning across the gearshift to get a closer look at the drenched figure. “You okay? Need a ride?”
The guy’s shoulders tense at Derek’s words, and he turns to face the car slowly, like he’s afraid of what he might see. It’s dark as hell out there, but in the reflected glow of his headlights Derek can make out a white angular face under a sopping mop of dark hair. Young, but maybe not as young as he looks– there’s a hint of a tattoo on the sliver of pale throat poking out from the guy’s hoodie.
“You some kind of crazy murderer, or what?” the kid asks. He shuffles closer to the car, mouth twisting into an unimpressed grimace.
“What?”
Derek blinks at him, thrown by the bluntness of the question. The kid huffs and makes an odd gesture with his hands, leaning in to meet Derek’s gaze with a hard stare. His eyes, a tawny brown that might have been warm under different circumstances, are huge in his pale face, rain water dripping from his long lashes and off the upturned slope of his nose. A few drops hit the leather interior of the passenger door with an audible splat. He looks too young to be out in the middle of nowhere by himself, and painfully exhausted, so when he finally speaks, Derek is startled by the intensity in his voice.
“Bear you any ill will unto me?”
Ah. So, the kid is a lunatic. Derek should have known better. What kind of person goes for a walk in the pouring rain at midnight? Still, he’s a little offended. He opens his mouth to tell the kid so, and is therefore completely flummoxed when what he says is,
“I bear you no ill will.”
They stare at each other a little more, rain now fully soaking through the remaining dry patches of the kid’s hoodie. And why are there dry patches? It’s been pouring for hours, and there isn’t anything but woods along this stretch of road. Derek wonders if the kid has been in some kind of accident. The very tip of his pink tongue rests against the bow of his upper lip as he inhales, like he’s tasting the truth of Derek’s words.
“Okay,” he says, finally. “Cool. No hospitals.”
And before Derek can ask him what he means, the kid’s eyes roll back into his head and he crumples like a discarded toy onto the pavement.
Hiii is there any update on Derek as gardener? ❤️❤️
Not really an update, but here are a few more.
Start Small, Like Oak Trees by SmallBirds | 24.2K
The months following Allison's death have passed Stiles by in a haze of monotony. He sleepwalks through days that seem to lose their color, an unwilling passenger in a body he no longer trusts. Eventually, he thinks, he'll just fade away. He isn't sure anyone would notice. Then, during a spur of the moment grocery run, he stumbles upon Derek Hale attempting to console a lost child, and for the first time in recent memory the world doesn't seem so awful.He's not sure what he'd been expecting when he eventually convinces Derek to move into the Stilinski's spare bedroom, but a newfound passion for weeding and topsoil certainly isn't it.
remember my love by bleepobleep | 23.3K
Stiles wakes up and suddenly the war is over, he's no longer a penniless mage, and living in an exquisite manor married to the man he's been in love with for far too long.
“It’ll be fine,” Stiles says gallantly. “I am certain I will just fall in love with my husband all over again, and I will find plenty of joy doing that.” He winks at Derek for good measure.Derek blinks.
Putting the F-U-N in Funeral by apocryphal | 10.8K
In which Derek is a bored secretary, Stiles is a baker who may or may not have ulterior motives, and there are entirely too many macaroons.
Better Fortunes by SmallBirds | 39.6K
When a group of sinister men attempt to kidnap Stiles Stilinski from the Brooklyn apartment he shares with his stepsister, Lydia, Stiles is forced to activate a spell that translocates him to where he'll be safest.Derek Hale isn't sure what to do about the soaking wet young man he finds wandering down a Beacon County roadside during the middle of a thunderstorm, but he feels compelled to help him. There's something about Stiles that Derek finds fascinating, and before long the two become embroiled in each other's lives.Despite the threat to his life and the sudden upheaval of everything he's ever known, Stiles is having a hard time feeling too upset about that.
Happy womens day Chris! Do you know some more fics or could you do a fic rec of all the pack together in the fic or some spring inspired fics of sterek? ☺️ Thank you! ❣️
Aww thank you! I hope you had a beautiful women’s day :)
Oooh springtime! Have all the flower au’s where there is either flowers or derek shirtless digging in the dirt. Both is good :)
violets are blue by HalfFizzbin | 2.7K
“Derek the super cranky florist delivery guy (it’s the family business!) and Stiles the underemployed, overeducated, bored as fuck receptionist. and obviously Stiles works with Allison, whose besotted fiance is always sending her flowers.”
Welcome to the Neighbourhood by allyasavedtheday | 14.4K
Stiles has a deal with his neighbours. He mows their lawns and gets the leaves out of their gutters and does all the manual work they can’t handle any more and in return all the old ladies fatten him up with cookies and cakes and homemade lemonade – or hot chocolate on a winter’s day.
As far as he’s concerned, it’s a pretty sweet deal he’s got going on. That is, at least, until some asshole starts taking all his business.
Diamonds Are Forever (but flowers are cheaper) by tylerfucklin (Deshonanana) | 9.4K
His name was Stiles Stilinski. He was older than 21, but younger than 25. His dad was the sheriff and he was a student at Beacon Hills Community College. He came into the shop every couple days; always after three, but never past five. He always said hello to Laura, always bought one bouquet, and always spent five minutes trying to make Derek smile with as many puns as he could come up with by the time Derek handed him his receipt.
Derek may or may not be in love with him.
Flowerwolf & Beacon Roots by alisvolatpropiis | 5.2K
Derek tries not to show his surprise, curiously hopeful, but still suspicious of Laura’s involvement. “Oh. How do you know my coffee order then?”
He grins. “The cute baristo knows your order, dude. All I had to do was ask for Grumpy Flower Guy’s usual.”
Derek huffs. “I’m not grumpy.”
“He says grumpily,” Stiles smirks, winking.
No Such Things Grow Here by demonicweirdo | 6.3K
The man locked eyes with Derek and grinned, and wow. Derek had to refrain from sprouting daisies all over the fucking counter. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice rough with youth and cockiness. He leaned against the door and gave Derek a once-over. “I heard this place has flowers.”
Flower Theories by exclamation | 1.6K
When Stiles wakes up to an apartment full of flowers, he knows something weird is going on and weird in Beacon Hills usually results in mayhem and death. Derek is acting really strangely and, naturally, Stiles assumes the worst.
A Blossoming Romance by Trelkez | 7.5K
Stiles will just have to try harder next time. No one can ignore him forever.
Garden Variety by Lissadiane | 10.6K
In which Stiles Stilinski attempts to finish his first draft of his new novel while being utterly distracted by the shenanigans happening next door - which generally involve his hot new neighbour engaging in physical labour. Whether it’s a hoe, a trowel, a hammer or a nail gun, watching Derek get dirty and sweaty is a thousand times more interesting than meeting a deadline.
Stiles has a crush and a dog, Derek has baggage and a little girl, and together, they just might make it work.
petals in my pocket by Lion_ness | 36K
Derek is the alpha of a pack of young wolves who are busy finding babysitters, planning holidays, holding jobs and clinging to normalcy. When Peter pitches the idea to plant flowers on the Hale property, Derek doesn’t quite take him seriously. That is until he walks into the little floral shop off 1st and Oakheart and meets the strange young man from out of town, Stiles Stilinski.
Hi! I just read "Baby, You SHould Stick Around" and it got me hankering "horticulturalist!Derek" -- I looked on the tag list under "jobs" for horticulturalist, gardener, or heck even landscape designer, but no go, just the "florist" tag. If there are other fics with Derek working professionally with plants but not as a florist, I'd sure love to know about them. Maybe a tag for them too? <3 You all are awesome, thanks!
Gardener!Derek tag when in doubt, use our search bar please!!
Rose Is A Rose by 50_points_for_ravenclaw (1/1 | 2,677 | G)
“Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard” AU
