ugh his eyes look demonic in the first one :(

if it’s fate

Sooo I started writing this Sterek fic ~5 months ago as a drabble on my phone, and then it unexpectedly became like 4000 words long?! Anyway, then college happened (again) and things stalled… until now. My first act upon graduating has been to finish this, so here it is at last!

Sterek, 4k, Rated T

(DISCLAIMER: I may have taken a few liberties with the mythology in this fic because I didn’t feel like doing much research beyond Wikipedia. Just go with it. Creative license, whoo!)

Of course the one time Stiles needs a werewolf, Scott is stuck Christmas shopping with his grandma, Boyd and Erica are touring colleges in New York, and Isaac is housebound with some kind of werewolf flu. 

And that just leaves Derek. Of course. Because Stiles’ luck is shitty like that.

He’s pretty sure asking his ex-whatever to help him find Lydia’s cat would be breaking some kind of unstated rule, and he’s definitely sure Derek doesn’t want to see him or talk to him or in any other way be reminded of his existence. But on the other hand, Buttercup’s safety—and more importantly, Stiles’ safety, because if Stiles loses Lydia’s cat then he’s probably going to die a very painful death—definitely trumps Derek’s delicate feelings, so.

It’s not even like Stiles did anything that terrible. He thought Derek was dying, okay. Derek had just fought off six hunters by himself, because he still refused to acknowledge that he didn’t have to do everything by himself all the time like some kind of Batman. By the time Stiles got there, Derek was bleeding out on the concrete, doing a stellar impression of a wolfsbane-arrow pincushion, and what the hell else was Stiles supposed to think? So yeah, Stiles kissed him. Once. 

And for the record, Derek totally kissed him back—for several long, heart-stopping seconds, his hand coming up to brush Stiles’ jaw—before he fainted and the pack showed up and Stiles got shoved unceremoniously out of the way and Derek didn’t end up dead after all.

Also, for the record, Stiles had apologized. It was one kiss, and he’s said sorry, and it was three fucking weeks ago, and he doesn’t know what the fuck else he’s supposed to do to get Derek to stop avoiding him.

So basically, Derek is overreacting, and he should answer his damn door.

When he finally does, he looks wary, standing back like he has to keep the door between them or else Stiles is going to jump him. 

Stiles sighs. “Look, I’m not even here about that, so you don’t have to worry, okay? Also, you look like shit,” he adds, because Derek does. Well, it’s Derek, so he still looks gorgeous enough to be on a magazine cover, but he also doesn’t look like he’s shaved in a while, and he’s got deep shadows under his eyes like he hasn’t been sleeping that well, either. 

Derek crosses his arms. “Why are you here, Stiles?”

“So I kind of told Lydia I’d cat-sit Buttercup? Except her cat is literally evil and some kind of mastermind—”

“You lost her,” Derek summarizes flatly.

No,” Stiles corrects, “she escaped. There were claws involved, Derek. And fangs. It was very traumatic.”

“I’m sure,” Derek says.

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