sourwolfstories top 10
domestic fluff fics
In which Stiles ships Derek/nice things almost as hard as I do
Stiles definitely starts off thinking it’s fucking hilarious that Derek-sourwolf-Hale does crosswords and cares about scuffs on his furniture.
But at a certain point, and he can’t pinpoint exactly when, “fully functional adult couple” somehow becomes a massive fetish of his. Derek in sweats and bare feet, nudging his glasses up his nose while he does the Sunday crossword? Unff. Derek filling out forms to get some renovations on his property approved? Oh God, yes. Derek putting away groceries and bitching that the corner store was out of the right type of Greek yogurt? Take me now, Stiles thinks, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.
This can’t be normal.
Stiles is the newest deputy in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, and has maybe just been a little in love with Derek Hale since Stiles had made a fool of himself in front of him at the SD summer picnic a few years ago. Being married to him—only for the sake of not getting deported—is going to suck in new and unusual ways.
Stiles works as an IT guy at Hale Enterprises and for the last six months, he’s been called upstairs to fix some kind of computer problem for Derek Hale at least four times a week. And two of those four times, Mr Hale has either hit on him or asked him out. But Stiles knows better than to date his boss and Mr Hale is the absolute worst at flirting.
So learning that Mr Hale is a single father to an adorable four-year-old girl who wants Stiles to attend her dance recital shouldn’t change things at all, right?
And on top of that, a mysterious cup has been lowered down through a hole in the ceiling right above Stiles’ desk, delivering treats directly to him. Stiles declares them to be his Cup Person and they seem to know just what he likes.
What could possibly go wrong?
Based off the prompt: “I understand the whole sleep talking thing but what I don’t understand is the princess dragon dream and why I’m in it.”
When Derek opens his door to see Stiles standing there with four full suitcases, his massagers’ bag thrown over his shoulder, two big cardboard boxes that barely close and his demon cat cradled on the crook of his elbow all he can say is, “Why?”
Not “what” not “what happened stiles” not “get out” not “please let me kiss you this pinning thing is really getting old for me” not “why are you bringing satan into my home”.
Just a simple “why”.
He thinks that is the key question in his life. Just why, in general.
“I’m moving in!” Stiles announces cheerily, dragging a suitcase and little homewrecker inside with him.
“Is this a plastic spoon?” Stiles demands in disgust. “You do realise that there’s actual cutlery in the kitchen, right? I’m surrounded by morons who don’t know how to use a kitchen.”
“I know how to use a kitchen,” Derek protests lazily. “It’s just that all the other spoons were dirty.”
“There’s this revolutionary new invention,” Stiles says, widening his eyes in mock-amazement. “It’s called a sink.”
In which there are tiny pink shorts, a kissing gate, a cat called Pumpkin and a plethora of awkward moments.