Thank you for everything you do! This page is amazing! I’m looking for #Sterek where One of them is super smart and the other is the best athlete, they don’t run in the same clicks, but outside of school they are close! Anything like that? TYIA!!
I love this trope!
begin again by bleep0bleep
(1/1 I 2,501 I Teen)
Ten years ago Derek turned down Stiles for prom.
Now it's high school reunion time.
seems to me it's chemistry by HalfFizzbin
(1/1 I 4,153 I Teen)
Awkward Nerd Derek has been crushing on Handsome Jock Stiles since forever—so getting paired with him on a Chemistry project is definitely the best/worst thing that's ever happened to him.
Hot Nerd Alert by alisvolatpropiis
(1/1 I 4,537 I Not Rated)
Derek can't believe he's actually doing this: taking a selfie snap of the guy he’s been crushing on for weeks to prove to Danny that one, yes, he really does exist, and two, he really is that hot and thus he is totally justified in being too scared to make a move.
Or you know, even talk to the guy outside of the class they share.
In his defense, this isn’t just any guy. This THE guy. Hot Nerd. The utterly adorable but still somehow insanely sexy freshman in his twentieth century American Lit class who he’s been lusting over since the first day of the semester. If there were ever a time for him to be that person who tries to be subtle while taking snaps of other people, this is it.
Game On by stilinskisparkles
(1/1 I 6,391 I Teen)
Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.
But Then What... by orphan_account
(3/3 I 24,343 I Explicit)
Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.
Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.
The Awkward Love Life Of A Sheltered College Werewolf by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle
(10/10 I 30,134 I Explicit)
Derek had been used to being home schooled. Being used to be surrounded by pack, and nothing but pack. When he decides he's going to attend college, like a normal person, his family has a fit. Derek goes anyway. It's scary and new and exciting. Then he meets Stiles. Then...Things get even more exciting.
A Cunning Plan by yodasyoyo
(17/17 I 32,737 I Teen)
Stiles has a plan to get Lydia Martin to notice him. Derek is not impressed.
If you asked me if I love him, I’d lie by dereksstilinski (greyslittlediaries)
(18/18 I 37,305 I Explicit)
Derek has already typed the entire report out and even got all of the stuff prepared for the poster that Stiles and him will have to present. Derek found that he actually didn’t mind doing all the work when it was Stiles he was doing it for, but he wasn’t going to let Stiles get away completely. He was going to get Stiles to come over and help with the poster, so help him god.
When the Universe Comes Knocking (It’s Polite to Open the Door) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)
(6/6 I 135,402 I Mature)
It was like a door he’d nailed shut in his brain suddenly exploded open, all of his past confusion and anger and hurt and adoration flooding out at once. Stiles? Was it actually Stiles?!
Stiles, the guy he’d had a crush on for fucking years growing up. The guy who’d been an absolute dick to him their whole last year of high school.
The guy who’d told him he loved him in a dirty men’s bathroom on prom night while drunk and upset because he thought Kira was Derek’s girlfriend.
That Stiles? But it couldn’t be!
Burn with hellfire in the blue light of midnight by babisays
(20/20 I 203,189 I Teen)
Stiles met the Hale siblings when he was eleven years old. Now it has been six years since he lost his best friend Cora in the fire, and Derek and Laura left Beacon Hills.
Six years was a long time, so he didn't think he would ever see them again, but now he was wondering what the hell was Derek Hale doing back in Beacon Hills.
It's Always Been You, Dumbass—oh I adore this story. It takes place in high school and Derek is a nerd interested in photography, literature and art. Stiles is a popular jock interested in lacrosse and pursuing Derek. Except Derek seems to be oblivious to Stiles' rather upfront attention and assumes they're just friends. I love how Stiles gets Derek to spend time with him, finds a way to touch him, and is really into their conversations and how anxious Derek feels when he finally realizes what's going on. This is a softer, quieter version of Derek and goes perfectly with Stiles.
Is it too soon for another highschool tag update? Or nerd Derek?
One Nerd!Derek update coming your way! - Jeep
We’re in Alkynes of Trouble by Katch22 (2,217 | 1/1 | T)
Everyone knows Dr. Howell’s Organic Chemistry class is an exercise in torture. But it would be a lot more bearable without Stiles-fucking-Stilinski.
We Lead Very Different Lives by RedRidingStiles (889 | 1/1 | T)
“So, what are you in for?” Stiles questions, his sharp honey eyes turning towards Derek, a lazy smile tugging on his lips. Derek watches the boy’s tongue run over the lip piercing absentmindedly, making Derek shake his head trying to gather his wits, pressing his glasses back into place before answering.
“Oh, I’m just here to see if it’s okay for me to miss classes tomorrow so I can help my Uncle with his drug prevention presentation,” Derek explains, his hands folded in his lap. “What are you in for?” Derek can’t help but ask.
“Beat a homophobe with a baseball bat, broke his kneecaps.” Stiles shrugs, making Derek’s eyes widen comically.
“We lead very different lives.” Derek voices after staring at Stiles for a full minute.
A Scent So Right by EvanesDust, Novkat21 (2,402 | 1/1 | T)
Stiles’ day has been great. He won a game and got his team a for sure spot in State. But then it seems to crumble beneath him when he smells something so intoxicating and distracting and can’t find the source. Little did he know it was right in front of him all along.
Derek has moved back to Beacon Hills after six years, just in time to finish his senior year. As much as he cares about his grades and becoming valedictorian, he can’t wait to see his childhood best friend again. But Stiles only seems interesting in find a certain omega, one that clearly wasn’t him.
Swim Fast, Love Hard by sterekwrecked (chucklesisme) (6,535 | 3/? | E)
Derek has a plan for his last year of high school, and for once it has nothing to do with getting a good grade.
I’ll Be Yours, If You’re Mine by mercury_caduceus (10,365 | 1/1 | E)
Derek has been pining over Stiles Stilinski for three years but he knows nothing will ever happen. Derek is the nerdy kid that nobody really talks to and Stiles is one of the most popular kids in school. Stiles barely even knows he exists. Right?
Hi! Do you guys know of any fics where derek is reallysmart? Or the pack discovers he is a college grad or hes a genius? Anything like that? Please
Yes, we actually have some.
DEREK IS REALLY SMART
Put Down in Words by paintedrecs
“Oh,” Stiles said, his voice coming out low and breathy, “fuck me.”
“I don’t think that’s on the syllabus, but we can check to see if there’s a spot open in any of his classes,” Scott said, grinning.
“This isn’t an actual professor, though,” Stiles insisted, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the sharp line of the man’s bearded jaw. He was laughing at something off-camera, the shot taken in three-quarters view, his coat collar casually rumpled and opened to reveal a sliver of a simple grey t-shirt. The whole thing was deliberately calculated to lend him a more accessible feel, and god help him, Stiles was falling for it.
*
When Stiles signed up for Dr. Hale’s intro to history class, he had two goals: knock out the credits his advisor was bugging him to complete before he graduated, and spend a few hours a week daydreaming about his sexy professor’s salt and pepper beard.
Derek, a few months away from turning forty and not sure when his life had started feeling so damn lonely, had never encountered someone like Stiles before. Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, determined to throw Derek’s carefully cultivated world into disarray…and absolutely the last person Derek should be falling in love with.
Cross a Canyon (with a broken limb) by theroguesgambit
“You never graduated,” Stiles says, just to say it. To test it out in the open air. That's... huh.
--
Stiles spends his senior year battling troll-gremlins, taking on an unexpected tutoring job, and definitely not falling for a certain sourwolf (even though everyone else seems to think he is).
Talk Nerdy To Me by stileskolpath
Stiles' textbooks have been going missing...
... And are coming back with highlights and notes and shit.
He suspects a werewolf is to blame.
The Polish adventures of Derek Hale by Rose235b
Derek finds a Polish baby names book and decides that his new goal in life is finding out Stiles' real name through trial and error.
Hotsky to Trotsky by paintedrecs
Derek had his future mapped out: there'd be graduation, followed by college, followed by (he hoped) a good grad school, then a career as a professor whose students didn't spend their time flicking paper footballs at each other and obsessing over their dating lives. He had good friends, a good family, and no time to focus on distractions like high school gossip or relationships.
He hadn't factored Stiles Stilinski - lacrosse player, class clown, part of the popular crowd, currently spending his entire day staring at Derek and smiling - into his plans.
Prompted myself with: “I just want a neighborhood AU where Stiles is the bro-iest bro to ever bro and Derek pines after him anyway.”
I’m trying to get better about moving my twitterfics over to a more readable format without overthinking them, so we’ll see how that goes. (Also on AO3)
Derek’s house is a couple doors down from what he’s pretty sure is a frat house-wannabe. He’d drop the qualifier—as an undergrad, he’d unfortunately lived close enough to frat row to recognize the distinctive loud parties, music thumping late into the night, a stream of girls constantly flowing in and out the doors, bros drunkenly crooning along to badly-tuned guitars—but as far as he can tell, all of the guys are at least a few years out of college.
Resisting the urge to call the cops with a noise complaint takes some effort. Derek doesn’t particularly want to be that guy, though; he still has to live in this neighborhood. And a part of him, much as he doesn’t want to admit it, simply wishes he’d been invited. It’s not that it sounds like fun, exactly. Derek didn’t enjoy those types of parties when he was in college, and he’s not nearly old enough yet for the nostalgia to kick in. It’s just that...well, it would be nice to be included.
He carefully doesn’t think about the fact that the shift from outright irritation to a sort of wistful longing happened around the time that he saw one particular guy hanging around in front of the house, surrounded by his friends.
Derek does not find frat bros attractive. He never has. He never will. A certain long-limbed guy with an infectious laugh and warm brown eyes won’t change that.
He finds other ways to channel his frustration, some more productive than others. On nights when he takes his trash to the curb, he makes his way down to the overstuffed bins haphazardly jumbled in front of the pseudo-frat house. Under cover of darkness, shielded by the noise pouring through the brightly-lit windows, he sorts through the upper layers of his neighbors’ trash, separating stacks of greasy pizza boxes from sticky piles of beer cans.
It’s primarily to be a good citizen. Every house in the neighborhood has separate recycling bins—they’re even color coded, making it incredibly easy to put the correct materials in the appropriate spot. Derek’s just doing his part for the environment, since his obnoxious neighbors refuse to take a few extra seconds out of their day. At least, that’s what he tells himself when he’s sticking his fingers in strangers’ trash. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t count as trespassing if he’s not actually going into the yard, and he’s not stealing anything. Just...moving things around a little.
The other reason’s one he doesn’t like to dwell on. The rational side of his brain recognizes that the guys in this house don’t even know him, so why would they invite him over? This isn't like high school, when he was the nerd people intentionally ignored. They’re living their lives, he’s living his, and it’s perfectly natural for them to not intersect.
But one night, as Derek slaps the lid of the recycling bin shut, wishing he’d brought a roll of paper towels or maybe even some wet wipes, he looks up and finds one of the bros standing on the front porch, watching him.
Derek freezes in place. He can’t immediately identify the person; from the street, all he can see is a tall, athletic figure backlit by the open front door. He’s expecting to be chased off the property, probably cussed out in the process, but the guy comes down the steps and lifts the lid of the recycling bin, dropping his empty beer can inside.
“Thanks for doing that, bro,” he says. “The guys don’t spend a lotta time thinking about the environment.”
It’s not just a bro. It’s the bro. The one Derek hasn't been able to stop thinking about. His first time speaking to Derek, and it’s because he caught Derek rummaging around in his garbage late at night.
“You’re uh, you’re welcome,” Derek says.
Fortunately, the guy doesn’t seem to care about getting an explanation. He introduces himself instead: Stiles. Of course his name would be equally intriguing, Derek thinks, annoyed with himself for even caring about this interaction.
Derek gives his name in turn, wondering if he should point out his house to make his presence here seem less weird, but Stiles doesn’t seem inclined to linger in the cold. He heads back inside, giving Derek a brief, friendly wave before shutting the door again.
It still wasn’t an invitation. Not that Derek would’ve said yes. Probably. But after that, Stiles always takes a minute to say hi when he sees Derek around, even when he's got pretty girls clustered around him.
Derek will nod back, then tear his gaze away, not wanting to see them disappear from view, not wanting to begin cataloguing Stiles’s type.
One morning, when Derek's heading to work, he sees Stiles standing in the street, the hood of an old Jeep open. He’s alternating between sipping from a travel mug and frowning down at the engine. Derek stops with his car door open, not sure if he should offer help.
Stiles sees him then, and he cups a hand to the side of his mouth to call down the street. “Bro! You mind giving me a jump?”
Derek winces. It’s early still, and Stiles’s voice was unnecessarily loud, his hearing probably still shot from the previous night’s party.
He forgoes yelling a response back; instead, he raises his hand with a silent thumbs up and starts his engine, pulling his car up to the Jeep.
Stiles is jittery with energy, his earnest “Thank you” coffee-scented and still a little loud. He steps back from Derek then—not that Derek was planning to complain about their close proximity—and sets his mug on top of the Jeep so he can pull out a tangle of jumper cables. As he hooks them up, he explains, “Got a new job. It’s my first day with these hours, and I guess Roscoe's not happy with the cold morning air."
"Not a morning Jeep," Derek says. He’s thinking not a morning person about Stiles, but that’s a little too obvious and probably a bit too personal for their level of acquaintance.
To Derek’s surprise, Stiles chuckles. “Never has been,” he says. “Usually it works out pretty well for the two of us, but I had to suck it up and take a 9-to-5 this time. I’m not sure which of us is less happy about it, but at least I managed to wake up.”
“You needed coffee, not a jolt of electricity,” Derek says, and Stiles laughs again.
“Touché, dude.” He nods at Derek to start his engine and retrieves his coffee, his long fingers wrapping around the sleek metal surface, his throat bobbing as he drinks. He sighs, closing his eyes, letting the liquid warm him up and help to rinse away whatever shreds of sleep are still clogging up his tired brain.
From inside his car, Derek takes the opportunity to examine him for a minute. It’s the first time he’s seen Stiles without a backwards baseball cap. He hadn’t even been entirely sure of his hair color before. It’s a nice shade of brown—on the darker side, with some natural highlights that give it a glossy shine.
Stiles has always been handsome. Derek isn’t the only person who thinks so; he's got a magnetic presence that makes it hard to look away from him. He’s generally a center of attention at his house parties, something that’s hard to ignore when the crowd spills out onto the porch and clusters into talkative clumps around the yard.
But seeing Stiles in nicer clothes makes Derek recklessly drop the off-limits label he'd placed on him. He’d been keeping his interest at a theoretical level. Stiles is a good-looking guy Derek speaks to now and again. That’s all. There’s been no reason to actually get attached.
Rationally, he knows it makes more sense to find a guy approachable when he’s wearing jeans and t-shirts. The atmosphere of that house, though, brings back too many memories of people Derek doesn't want to be a part of his life now. So a dress shirt (clearly not ironed), khakis, hair that's had some attempt at styling put into it...something about it makes Derek relax.
He gets out of the car, and Stiles opens his eyes, his lashes parting slowly, as though he’d been falling asleep on his feet.
“Go ahead and try it,” Derek says.
The Jeep’s engine rumbles to life. Success, Derek thinks, frustrated with himself for wishing it’d taken longer to get Stiles on the road.
But Stiles doesn’t seem to want to head to work immediately. He leaves his engine running and finishes off his coffee while chatting with Derek—a friendly, easy conversation that Derek finds himself enjoying more than he probably should.
When they part ways, Stiles is grinning at him, and Derek's heart is fluttering. Just a little.
He makes a point of being out of his house at the same time the next morning, and sure enough, Stiles is at his Jeep, shoulders slumped.
"Bro!" he says, face beaming, when Derek pulls his car up next to him. "You're a lifesaver, I swear."
The same thing happens every weekday for...too long.
"You should really take this to a mechanic," Derek says eventually.
He's pretty sure this isn't a sustainable way to keep a car running. Is Stiles getting the car jumped on the way home from work, too, or is it really just the cold mornings that leave it sluggish?
Stiles shrugs off the advice and slams his hood shut with a bang. "Thanks for the input, bro," he says before hopping inside and pulling away. The Jeep’s engine rumbles loudly down the street, somehow sounding as annoyed as Stiles had.
Derek struggles with whether to feel guilty about that exchange. He was only trying to help. Maybe Stiles doesn't have a lot of money to spare?
He thinks about it over the weekend. That house is packed, probably well past its intended capacity. Derek still isn’t completely sure who lives there and who’s visiting, but there are enough guys hanging around on a regular basis that they must all share rooms. Plus, Stiles only seems to own three nice shirts; he cycles through them, sometimes wearing the same one two days in a row. Derek only notices because he’s an observant kind of guy. Obviously not because he’s paying way too much attention to everything about Stiles.
The guys do drink an awful lot of beer, which at first glance is an expense that doesn’t necessarily go with money-pinched wallets. Not that Derek’s judging; he drinks, too, although it's mostly a glass of wine with dinner, maybe some whiskey on the rocks after a long day. From his time sorting garbage, though, Derek’s aware that his neighbors are generally drinking the cheapest brand you can find. He’s also been starting to suspect that half their parties are a ploy to get people to bring them food.
So on Sunday night, when all the windows in the house have finally gone dark and Derek's fairly certain everyone inside is fast asleep, he sneaks out with a box of tools and a work light and slides under Stiles’s Jeep.
It’s actually not as bad as he’d been expecting. If the battery’s not holding its charge, it most likely needs to be replaced. Before ordering a new one, though, he’d wanted to make sure he wasn’t missing anything else. With a vehicle that old, there are any number of other issues that could be causing problems. Fortunately, it looks to be in decent shape for its age. He'll need to order some parts to fix it up for the longer term, but he's able to do some initial work with what he has on hand.
When he’s done, Derek pats the underside of the Jeep and quietly promises, “We’ll get you feeling like yourself again.” That was a stupid move, because one of the issues he does need to fix is a leak, and now his hand’s smeared with oil.
He sighs, snaps off his work light, and pushes himself out from under the Jeep, grimacing at the grease he’s gotten on his clothes. He’s in the middle of considering whether he should bother putting these in his washing machine—he’d gone with threadbare jeans and a ratty old shirt, so throwing them away is another option—when he sees bare feet and plaid pajama pants.
His gaze trails up to a dark line of hair leading into the pants—where it catches briefly, his breath stuttering—then to a bare chest, with well-muscled arms folded across it. He swallows.
"Bro," Stiles says disapprovingly.
Derek gets to his feet and tries to wipe his oily hands off on his jeans. They're definitely a lost cause now.
"I was—" he starts, trying to figure out how to explain being underneath Stiles's Jeep in the middle of the night. He fell? Saw a loose cat?
Before he can get anywhere with those ideas, Stiles pointedly looks down at the incriminating evidence of Derek’s toolbox.
Well. He definitely didn't drag those along while chasing a stray cat across the street.
"I had some time on my hands," Derek says. "I thought I'd take a quick look. See if there's something that's easy to fix."
"Time on your hands," Stiles says. "At 2 AM. You're in bed by 10:30 most nights, bro."
"That's—” Derek starts to protest, even though it’s true; he’d actually fallen asleep at 9 the night before, only waking up and dragging himself off the couch and into bed when he dropped his book on his face. He stops, Stiles’s words catching up to him, and suspiciously asks, “Wait, how do you know that?"
Stiles suddenly looks a little embarrassed and doesn’t reply.
With Derek’s work light shut off, they're lit only by the soft orange glow of the street lamps. It's enough to see Stiles’s expressions, as well as the sleep-mussed state of his hair and the pebbling of his nipples in the cold.
Stiles pushes his crossed arms higher up his chest, as though he sees Derek looking. It's Derek's turn to flush.
"It's not a permanent fix," Derek says. He bends to pick up his toolbox. Stiles's eyes snap away when he straightens.
"Harping on me about the damn mechanic again," Stiles says, sounding tired and grumpy. "Roscoe's doing fine. So what if he's not like your car."
The comment shouldn't hurt, but it kinda does. Derek knows his beige four-door sedan isn't the flashiest or most personality-filled thing. It's reliable. He shoves the sharp pang down; he's taking things too personally again. Stiles doesn't mean anything by it. He doesn't know that Derek made a point of buying the most practical car he could or that he’d learned everything he knows about cars from his dad, who was a mechanic.
That's how Derek's parents had met, actually; his mom had taken her car in for regular service, which had swiftly turned into a far more expensive and stressful experience than she’d anticipated. She’d demanded to talk to the owner, outraged over the extra charges the mechanics were trying to trick her into paying for.
Derek's dad had come forward to listen to her concerns. She was the most beautiful woman who’d ever yelled at me, he liked to say while retelling the story. He’d taken her back onto the workfloor after handing her a long coat to cover her blouse and pencil skirt and making sure she exchanged her stilettos for an extra pair of his overlarge boots, stuffed with ripped out magazine pages so they’d stay on. He’d then fixed her car while she’d watched, patiently answering every single question she asked and knocking a significant amount off the final total anyway.
Derek's car is reliable because he bought it with that in mind, but also because he takes good care of it, like he was taught from a young age. Some of his earliest memories are of hanging out in their driveway, handing tools to his dad and standing on his tiptoes to see inside the engine as his dad explained what he was doing.
Stiles's Jeep has clearly been well-loved; Derek isn’t an expert like his dad was, but he knows what to look for and how to tell when an owner’s been neglecting maintenance. That doesn’t seem to be the case here.
"Your Jeep needs more work," Derek says. Stiles isn’t wrong about where he was heading with that statement. "But I got enough of a look at it to know what parts to order. As long as things are in stock, I should be able to do the rest next weekend, if you want. It'll run a lot smoother."
Stiles stares at him, then slowly unfolds his arms, letting them drop to his sides. "Why?" he asks.
That's hard for Derek to answer. He clears his throat and shakes the toolbox a bit, letting the metallic jangle settle him. "I'd rather not worry about you," he eventually says. “It’s important for your car to be running well. For your safety.”
Stiles shifts his stance, relaxing his posture, and the streetlamps catch his eyes, almost making them seem to glow. Derek forces himself to not duck his head or be the first to break the slightly intense eye contact.
"The last time I took Roscoe in," Stiles says, "they basically refused to work on him. They kept telling me it'd be less expensive and a lot less of a hassle to junk him and start over."
"People don't always value things the same way," Derek says.
Stiles reaches out and touches the hood of his Jeep with the tips of his fingers. It’s an unexpectedly tender gesture that makes a lump spring to Derek’s throat for some reason. "They don't," he agrees. He looks at Derek, thoughtfully examining him for a long moment, then asks, "You really think you can fix him up?"
"I can," Derek says.
Stiles nods. “Okay,” he says. He pats the Jeep—an affectionate goodnight—and turns to head back to his house. He stops after only a few steps and turns back. "Thanks, Derek," he says.
"No problem, Stiles," Derek says, his heart warm, despite the evening chill. There’s a breeze beginning to pick up, gusting down the street.
Stiles, who must be much colder than Derek, bites his lip and looks at his house. Its windows are still dark and silent, the rest of his roommates slumbering peacefully while he stands outside in the dark. He looks back at Derek. "Maybe you'd let me buy you coffee sometime? Or dinner?"
"Sure," Derek says, too quickly for it to be a casual response. Unthinkingly, he taps his toolbox against the side of his leg.
Stiles's gaze darts down to it. "Not as payment," he clarifies. "I'll pay you for the stuff with Roscoe. I'm not a cheapskate. I'd just...like to have dinner with you, if that's okay." He looks nervous.
"You don't have to pay me," Derek says.
He forges on when Stiles's expression tightens, clearly ready to argue the point. They'll hash that out later. Derek can always quote him a figure with a significant amount knocked off the total.
"Dinner with you would be nice," Derek says. "I'd really like that."
Stiles smiles at him, almost shyly. "Okay," he says. "G’night, Derek."
"Goodnight, bro," Derek says, grinning now, unable to stop the happiness from beaming out of him.
Stiles's laugh echoes down the street. "Oh shut up," he says, rubbing at the back of his neck in embarrassment, but still grinning. It makes his hair stick up even more. Derek’s not sure he’s ever looked more attractive. "You were really hot, okay? I was trying to...distance myself. Make sure you knew I wasn't trying to hit on you or anything."
"It worked," Derek says. Tonight definitely caught him by surprise. A part of him’s still wondering if he'll wake up tomorrow and find out it was all a dream.
But Stiles comes closer. He gets a hand on Derek's jaw and tilts his face until their mouths meet.
It feels real, Derek thinks, then stops thinking.
When Stiles steps back, he looks cocky again, like that guy Derek first saw on the porch. Derek couldn’t be more into it.
"Well, this is me hitting on you," Stiles says. "Just so there's no confusion."
"Got it," Derek says.
***
Derek gets invited to the next party after that. The guys all turn out to be nice; they're friendly and welcoming, and their off-key singing doesn’t sound quite as bad from inside the house. Plus, there’s a lot less frenzied making out and near-orgies than he’d been picturing—usually dejectedly, with Stiles at the heart of them. It actually looks like one of the groups is trying to take over a corner of the living room for some type of board game he doesn’t recognize.
He still kinda hates it.
It doesn’t take long before Stiles grabs him by the hand and tugs him out of the corner he'd tucked himself into. "Wanna grab a pizza box and get outta here?" he asks.
"I've got wine," Derek says, trying not to sound too relieved.
Stiles laughs and takes the time to kiss him before snagging a box on the way out, handing it to Derek to carry. "Then I don't need this," he says, draining the last swallow from his beer can and dropping it carefully into the recycling bin, smirking at Derek the entire time.
"Shut up," Derek says, even though Stiles hadn't actually said anything about their first interaction. He didn't need to.
"You had a weird way of flirting," Stiles says.
"I wasn't flirting," Derek protests. Then, because their first few dates went too well to think otherwise, "It worked, didn't it?"
"Take me home and I'll show you how well it worked," Stiles says.
He's wearing a backwards baseball cap. He's grinning. He's beautiful.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Eight Feet of Water
by redeyedwrath
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski
Summary
In which, BHHS decides their students need to spend an afternoon in a pool and Stiles is braindead because Derek Hale - Stiles' crush and nerd extraordinaire - has abs and biceps out the wazoo
nerdy!jock!stiles trying to woo nerd!derek for valentines day (as a valentine's day prompt, obviously :p)
Alrightly, here it is @demisexualhale! I really hope you like it! (also on ao3!)
Stiles had never really been sure if he could be considered a jock or not.
Because, yeah sure, he was on the lacrosse team and played baseball in his spare time but he was no star athlete. Hell, he spent most of his time during lacrosse games warming the bench and fetching Coach refills of Gatorade.
He had always been into sports, for as long as he could actually remember, really. He had been a devout Mets fan since long before he could even walk, his mom and his dad joking that he had inherited his preference from both of them. He could still remember his dad teasing his mom about it, claiming she had watched too much baseball while pregnant, Stiles born only a few months before the World Series.
Older now, he never missed a game. Not once. Whenever the Mets played, he would dress in his finest blue and orange gear, baseball cap and all, just to firmly plant his butt on the living room couch with a giant bowl of low-fat popcorn in his lap and a bag of Reese’s peanut butter cups in the freezer for later.
Back in elementary school, he and Scott had played Little League together, baseball both a good hobby and a wonderful way to keep them from getting into too much trouble. Stiles took to it like a pig to mud, one of the best pitchers their local division had ever seen, finding his element out on the mound.
Both of his parents would come to every game, his mom taking a break from her work at home and his dad somehow weaseling his way out of doing paperwork just to catch the opening pitch. Without fail, his dad cheered louder than anyone else in the crowd, jumping to his feet and waving his arms around as he proudly proclaimed, “That’s my son!”
When Scott had eventually grown tired of playing in Little League, in part due to his asthma which was being somewhat exacerbated by all of the physical activity and in part because of the fact that baseball was no longer considered cool, Stiles had decided to quit with him. He just hadn’t seen the point of continuing to play if his best friend wasn’t there with him. And besides, it just wasn’t the same without his mom there.
In high school, he still gravitated towards baseball but he had soon developed an affinity for lacrosse after Scott started showing interest in trying out for the team. He had spent hours researching all aspects of the sport, wanting to know exactly what to expect at tryouts.
With his asthma clearing up a bit and all the confidence of no longer being a virgin thanks to Allison, Scott had managed to snag a highly coveted position on the first line. Meanwhile, Stiles only barely made the team, beating out two other guys who had tried out, owing his victory to pure dumb luck though he barely ever made it onto the field.
It wasn’t that he was bad at lacrosse per se, he was actually pretty good. His leanly muscled body was built for speed and agility, making him a wonderful prospect. He just had a tendency to trip over his own feet. And other people’s feet. And grass and rocks and, at times, even thin air.
So, while he could run suicides and drills with the very best of them, giving the team captain, Jackson, a run for his money, he was usually stuck on the bench during games, just watching his teammates play. His dad still came to all of his games, though he didn’t understand why.
But while there was some question about whether or not he was a jock, there was no dispute whatsoever over the fact that he fell victim to some of the most stereotypical jock tropes. Namely, falling for a nerd.
But not just any nerd. No, that would be too easy. He had fallen for the king of nerds. Derek freaking Hale. The epitome of a high school nerd.
He was extremely intelligent, more often than not threatening to beat Stiles out for the highly esteemed title of valedictorian, always maintaining a more than perfect GPA. One of his favorite pastimes was reading, rarely ever seen without his nose buried in a book, very clearly preferring the classics over contemporary novels.
But he wasn’t just book smart, he was geeky smart, too. He could quote nearly every episode of Star Trek, both the original and Next Generation, without breaking a sweat. He could spout off all sorts of fun facts and trivia questions about the Lord of the Rings and the Silmarillion. For god’s sake, he could recite poetry in Wookie!
And he wasn’t at all shy about letting his nerd flag fly, wearing Marvel and DC t-shirts to school almost as often as Stiles did himself, favoring DC over Marvel just like Stiles. He even had an adorable little Superman keychain which was quite possibly the cutest thing Stiles had ever seen.
He was pretty sure he had officially fallen in love when Derek gave a presentation in their AP English class which focused primarily on comparing none other than Batman to Beowulf. Because anyone who cared about Batman as much as he did was most definitely a keeper in Stiles’ book.
So, with Valentine’s Day of their senior year fast approaching, he had finally decided to make a move. Of course, he wasn’t so bold as to be very upfront about it, instead taking a more subtle route, slipping little love notes and nerdy Valentine’s pick-up lines into Derek’s locker.
Every morning, Stiles would get to school early, making sure to beat Derek to their lockers which were fortuitously, and quite conveniently, right next to each other, not wanting to get caught. Starting February first, Stiles would slip a new note into the louvers of Derek’s locker, leaving them for Derek to find once he came in.
The nights before dropping off the notes, he would spend hours hunched over at the desk in his bedroom, drawing little doodles and caricatures to go along with the admittedly lame puns he hand wrote, always gearing them towards Derek’s more nerdy interests. He just hoped that Derek would recognize his handwriting, never in fact actually his name.
Because while he and Derek weren’t exactly what one could consider friends, they were definitely on friendly enough terms, more like acquaintances than anything else. They would talk occasionally in their shared classes or by their adjacent lockers, waving at each other in greeting when they passed one another in the hallway.
And Stiles didn’t want to risk ruining what they already had with his grand illusions of what they could possibly have. Not that he really thought that he had much of a chance with Derek in the first place.
Derek was sweet and kind where Stiles could be abrasive and a bit of an asshole. He was shy and selfless where Stiles could be overconfident and at time selfish. He was like a ray of sunshine in human form while Stiles was more like a human trash can, at least in his own mind.
Besides, Derek was the most gorgeous person Stiles had ever seen. Half of the school was tripping over themselves in an infatuated stupor, completely enamored with him.
He was tall and muscular, for all of his nerdiness a star player on the school basketball team, with a hint of devastatingly handsome stubble on his chiseled jawline, making his high well-defined cheekbones stand out more. Behind his thick glasses were the most amazing pair of nebulous hazel eyes in all of existence, the greens and browns in his irises always shifting and swirling.
Meanwhile, Stiles was just some pale scrawny kid covered in moles. Not the most attractive considering the fact that he went to school with people who could make a living off being models.
So, he kept his little notes anonymous, figuring that he would get to avoid outright rejection if Derek was upset or disgusted when he found the notes. He didn’t want to be too optimistic.
Each morning after leaving a new note for Derek to find, Stiles would linger by his own locker to watch what happened when the object of his affections discovered the little notes. Derek usually just smiled to himself, a light blush coloring his cheeks, and tucked the notes into his bookbag, apparently keeping them much to Stiles’ utter delight.
But that day was different.
That morning Derek had arrived at his locker with his three best friends ― Erica, Isaac, and Boyd ― in tow, all of whom were quick to urge him to check for a new Valentine’s note, actually bouncing on the balls of their feet in anticipation. The mere fact that Derek had actually told his friends about the notes made Stiles’ stomach fill with a frenzy of butterflies.
Derek had opened his locker with a roll of his eyes, Stiles discreetly peeking at him around the door of his own locker, hoping none of Derek’s friends noticed his blatant eavesdropping. That wouldn’t end well. Opening his locker door, Derek plucked the pale pink envelope off of a stack of books, brandishing it proudly for his friends to see, all of them smiling widely up at it.
Derek opened it without any preamble, peeling off the heart shaped sticker that Stiles had used to seal the envelope and carefully tugging the card out to show off. Setting the empty envelope aside, Derek turned his attention to the handwritten card, tracing his thumb over the colorful illustrations Stiles had included on the front. Flipping the card open, he read the little poem aloud, “‘Yoda is green, Max Rebo is blue, I like Star Wars a little less than I like you.’”
“Oh my god, that’s adorable,” Erica announced with a wide beaming grin, moving to peer over Derek’s shoulder at the words Stiles had painstakingly inked in the iconic Star Wars font the night before. His hand still ached from all the times he had messed up and had to start over. With a wave of her hand, glittery gold nails glinting under the hallway lights, Erica beckoned Boyd and Isaac over, insisting, “C’mon, you guys have to see this!”
Isaac was the first to take a few steps closer, scanning his eyes over the carefully constructed card, lips quirking up into a crooked smirk. Cocking his head to the side like a floppy-eared little puppy, he wondered aloud, “So, who do ya think it’s from?”
Stiles held his breath. It was the moment of truth. Derek was going to say his name and either make his whole year or completely shatter his dreams. Tightening his grip on the door his locker, he listened carefully.
“The new girl. Kira.”
What?! Stiles nearly keeled over at Derek’s horrible, horrible guess, coming dangerously close to groaning aloud. He had the sudden urge to bang his head against his locker door, only barely managing to refrain, biting his tongue to keep from blurting out a confession.
But he just couldn’t hold back when Derek shrugged and turned to his friends, inquiring, “Think I should ask her out?”
“Are you kidding me?!” Stiles demanded out of pure frustration, slamming his locker door shut and spinning to face Derek who blinked at him in surprise, mouth hanging open in a perfect o. Behind Derek, his trio of friends gaped at Stiles too, all four of them looking positively shocked as he pointed a finger at Derek’s chest, barking, “Are you serious, right now?! Kira?!”
Shaking himself from his stupor, curls bouncing, Isaac narrowed his blue eyes and folded his arms over his chest, raising his chin defiantly. Pinning Stiles with a disdainful glare, he scoffed and snapped, “The hell’s your problem, Stilinski? Jealous?”
“No, I’m just―” he paused, running both hands through his hair with a deep, defeated sigh “—I put a lot of work into them,” Stiles admitted, deflating a bit, his shoulders slumping as he turned to look down at his shoes. With a lazy shrug, he scratched the back of his wrist and mumbled, “I just… I was hoping you’d realize they were from me.”
Feeling even more like a pathetic loser than he usually did, Stiles hunched in on himself, bracing for Derek’s inevitable rejection. Rather than just wait for Derek to tell him to scram, to leave him alone, to never talk to him again, Stiles murmured, “I’m sorry. Just forget about it. I’ll leave you alone.”
He turned around, just wanting to scamper off to class with his tail tucked between his legs, sure that once he left, Derek and his friends would all laugh about how utterly pathetic he was. But as he twisted, he felt a hand curl around his wrist keeping him in place. He froze in his tracks.
Turning back around, he saw that it was Derek who had gently stopped him in the middle of his flight, a soft smile on his lips. Dimples showing, Derek looked down at their somewhat joined hands, inquiring, “So, you’re the one who’s been leaving me these?”
“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed, nodding to himself as he traced his eyes over Derek’s forearm, feeling all warm and fuzzy just from the innocent touch of Derek’s hand on his skin. After a moment of silence, he belatedly tacked on, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Derek advised, Stiles’ eyes snapping up to meet Derek’s, thoroughly confused. With a crooked, somewhat mischievous grin, Derek clarified, “I love them. Thank you.”
Stiles was shocked by Derek’s confession, but he was even more shocked when Derek leaned in closer and continued on, suggesting, “So… Lord of the Rings marathon at my place this weekend? Around five?—” he waited for Stiles to nod, flabbergasted “—And you might wanna bring a change of clothes. You might have to stay the night. They’re long movies, after all.”
Stiles’ jaw dropped at the innuendo saturating Derek’s words. And then, just like that, Derek turned on his heel and walked away towards his first class, leaving Stiles to process that he had just been asked out by his crush of three years. Forget about being a jock or not, if he had a chance to be Derek’s boyfriend, he could care less.
