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the one with the accidental dick pic

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The day Derek gets a snapchat marks the beginning of the end of Stiles' sanity.

Or, more accurately, the day Stiles stopped believing in reality.

He's fucking around on Candy Crush, grumbling because it's being a dick, when his phone tells him he has a text with a helpful chime.

"Thank fuck." His voice is fervent, switching out of that damned game to the text and blinking down at his screen in shock.

Derek: do you have a snapchat

Stiles: you know about snapchat but not about punctuation?

He switches back to his game, and the surprise he feels from Derek knowing about freaking snapchat, of all things, quickly disappears with a scowl when he wastes his stupid disco ball candy by accident.


"Never again," he tells the game firmly, and closes the app with a sick sense of satisfaction.

Derek: do. you. have. snapchat.

Stiles scoffs and told himself that wasn't funny.

s3xm3n0w69, he types out, snickering. If anything, he was the funny one in the relationship.

Derek: real mature

Stiles: you asked!

He doesn't get a reply, but it doesn't really bug him, because then he sees one of those notification things blinking at him from his snapchat. He taps at it, curious, and his suspicions are confirmed when he's told he has a request from one derekshale.


He didn't know Derek's middle initial was an S.

He hits the accept button, and is pleasantly surprised by the snap that's waiting for him. The joy disappears quickly, however, when he sees what Derek's sent him.

It's a photo of some book titled "IM UGLY" (and there should be an apostrophe somewhere in there, assholes), and the author's name had been scribbled out. Underneath, Derek had written "i didn't know u wrote books".

Stiles first reaction is to burst out laughing, before he realizes that it's kind of an insult.

"HEY," he replies, incensed. The word is coupled with a selfie of himself frowning aggressively at the camera. He takes a moment to worry about his face, because it's Derek, and he wants to impress him, but at the same time Derek has seen him drooling through one of the holes on his steering wheel onto his own kneecap, so the point is kind of moot.

Derek sends back a blank screen, with nothing but "ha ha ha" there, taunting him.

Stiles scowls. While Derek doesn't seem like the type to take selfies, it's still kind of a shame that Stiles can't appreciate the glory that is Derek's facial features up close.

Instead, Stiles turns to his textbook, where he had been "studying", in the loosest sense of the word, before he got distracted by the soul-sucking vortex that is Candy Crush. He sighs at it, because Chemistry, but then he's struck by a sudden stroke of genius.

He takes a quick snap of the graph on the page, an action potential that spikes up high at the beginning, before dropping back to zero just as quickly. Snickering to himself, he types out, "a graph of rebecca black's career". He's still laughing quietly when his phone buzzes with Derek's reply.

He's more than delighted with the appearance of Derek's stubble-covered face, complete with a single raised eyebrow, though he's less pleased with the text that came with the photo.

"who is rebecca black"

"Who is Rebecca Black, honestly," Stiles mutters to himself, reaching for his laptop. He opens YouTube, and quickly finds the link to Friday. He lets it play for barely a second before skipping ahead to the chorus and recording a few seconds of it to send to Derek.

He pauses for a few moments, his fingers hovering over the letters before deciding, fuck it, and typing out, "welcome to the 21st century, nerd ;)"


They don't talk about it, and Stiles is more than okay with that, considering how many embarrassing photos of his face Derek must've received by now. He does, however, get a request from corahalexx three days after Stiles asks about her. Cora sends a series of snaps, one of a sunset on a beach in Brazil, another one of her directing a beaming grin at the camera, and a video someone had taken of her, where she's waving and laughing and saying that she misses him.

It sends a pang through his chest, because violent tendencies aside, she was funny, and he had really liked her.

He sends back a snap of himself making an exaggerated crying face, coloring little fat teardrops rolling down his face to add effect. He knows she laughs, even as she sends back an action shot of her eye rolling, because he genuinely is hilarious, and he tells her so.

After he taps the send button, he pulls up his conversation with Derek, and he takes a selfie, and there's a genuine smile curving across his mouth. It's actually a decent photo, and he hits send without adding anything more. He figures Derek will get it.

He's more than surprised when snapchat blinks with a notification that tell him Derek's taken a screenshot of the photo and his cheeks burn bright red. Derek probably doesn't even realize that Stiles would know about it.

The phone vibrates again, and he taps at Derek's reply, which is another blank screen with a smiley face on it.

He sends back a shot of his messy work desk, with a bunch of emojis, ranging from crying ones to the angry ones.

Tossing his phone onto the table, he swivels around on his computer chair a few times before he figures he should probably get some work done. He had only just opened his bookbag when his phone rings, "Hungry Like The Wolf" playing obnoxiously from the speakers. He laughs anyway, picturing Derek's offended expression when he had first found out, and picks up.

"Where did you get those things," Derek demands, as soon as Stiles puts the thing to his ear.

He sighs. "Hi, Derek. Nice to hear from you. You doing well? Because I'm actually feeling pretty good today."

He swears he can hear Derek's eyes rolling from here.

"Hi," Derek bites out, as if it's painful.

Stiles coos. "There we go, that wasn't so bad, was it, buddy?" Derek actually growls this time, and Stiles has to hold back a snort. "So, what is it this time?"

"Where did you get those things?" Derek repeats, and Stiles is confused for a moment, before he realizes Derek means his emojis.

He can't help it this time, he starts laughing, and he knows Derek's scowling. "They're emojis," he tells Derek, once he's able to catch his breath. "I'm assuming you have an iPhone." Derek's only reply is a serious-sounding, "Yes." and Stiles will never know how he manages to hold back his laughter. "Well they're in your keyboard. You just gotta go to your settings and enable them."

There's a telling silence, and Stiles' stomach is hurting from how hard he's trying not to laugh.

"I'm coming over," Derek says shortly, and hangs up. Stiles loses it, tears actually streaming from his eyes from the force of his guffaws. Apparently, finally having peace in Beacon Hills means Derek starts to catch up with the rest of society in terms of pop culture knowledge.

He's gotten himself under control by the time Derek arrives, but Derek still shoots him a suspicious look when he finally tumbles gracefully through the window, like the creeper he is.

Derek stands awkwardly for a moment before pulling out his phone and thrusting it at Stiles. "Can you show me?"

"Yeah, dude," Stiles said, nodding seriously, because he figures if Derek's going to treat this like a battle, he might as well play the part. He gets Derek to unlock it and tries not to say anything about the mess that is Derek's home screen. He's squinting at it, trying to find the settings, when he sees Candy Crush sitting right there, taunting him. "You have Candy Crush? Awesome! What level are you on?" The words are out before he can help it, and he shrinks under Derek's look. "Never mind," he mutters petulantly, and turns back to the phone.

"Level 63," Derek says after a moment, and if Stiles hadn't turned to direct a disbelieving gaze at him, he would've missed the amused twitch of Derek's mouth.

Stiles allows himself to gape for a moment longer. "You're joking," he declares, then narrows his eyes at Derek. "Right? You better be joking, because I don't know if I can take this." Derek just shrugs, and Stiles jabs at the settings button with slightly more force than necessary. "Probably cheating, or something. C'mere," he gestures for Derek to come closer, and realizes what a monumentally bad decision that is when Derek's suddenly all up in his space, his body a long line of warmth along Stiles' side. "Basically you can add a bunch of keyboards so when you type, you can do it in a bunch of languages, hold on lemme show you." He shifts a little, reaching for his phone and pulls it out, ignoring the way his ears have begun to heat.

"Why do you have so few applications?" Derek interrupts, just as Stiles unlocks his phone.

Stiles looks at him for a moment. "Apps, Derek," he corrects, and taps at one of the folders. "It's a folder, and you can keep a bunch of apps in it, so your home screen isn't a mess. You do know how to move and arrange the apps, right?" Derek stares blankly. "Yeah, this is going to take a while," Stiles sighs, and nods at the spare seat at the corner of his room. "Pull that up here, it's time for you to get an education."

Derek rolls his eyes.


By the time Derek goes home, his home screen is a lot less cluttered, and he's even changed his background to what looks like a blurry action shot of Isaac and Cora pointing and laughing at Erica and Boyd making silly faces at each other. It's an adorable photograph, and Stiles tells himself that it doesn't matter that he isn't on there, because he knows he's not technically part of their pack.

Instead, he remembers that Derek has a photo of Stiles' face saved onto his camera roll, andDerek had gone white as a sheet when Stiles tried to go through it to choose his wallpaper.

It was an incredibly awkward moment, and Derek had blushed before telling Stiles he already knew which one he wanted.

Still, it was a pretty good day; Derek was marginally less grumpy than he was in front of the others, and Stiles even managed to get Derek to give him a thesis statement for his paper on Nietzsche. Derek had double majored in English Lit and History, who knew?

He's startled out of his thoughts by his buzzing phone, and swipes open the snapchat Cora sent him. It's a photo of her with a raised eyebrow, the famous Hale expression, and the words, "you taught derek about emojis?!"

Stiles laughs and laughs, before sending her the thumbs up emoji. She doesn't reply, and he snorts, turning back to his homework.

He gets a solid hour of work done, staring mournfully at his phone for betraying him and not providing any distractions, before he notices the stuffed turtle his mom had bought him before she died has toppled into its side, resting on one of its arms while the other is flopped over its belly. It's more than adorable, and Stiles takes a quick snap of it before typing out, "Paint me like one of your French girls" and sending it over to Derek. Derek retaliates with a photo of a violin (!!), with a bill tucked in between the strings. "there's a dollar in my g-string," it says, and Stiles snorts. There's an inner struggle where his sensible half simply refuses to let him send a photo of himself waggling his eyebrows ("I'll put a dollar in your g-string.") and he had just pressed the send button exclaiming he hadn't known Derek played the violin when he sees he's received another snap.

It's from Derek, and it's a question asking him whether the turtle was Crush, from Finding Nemo. He shoots back a simple yes, and hesitates briefly before adding another snap of Crush, this time sitting up all nice and proper, and tells Derek his mom used to love turtles.

"Sorry," Derek replies, and Stiles waits to see if anything else is coming. He gives up after a couple more minutes, and tosses his phone onto the bed behind him, before turning back to his work desk, flipping his laptop open and staring at the blank document. Before he can start thinking of ways to kill his English teacher or himself, his phone buzzes again, and he nearly dislocates his shoulder diving towards it. He fumbles with the lock screen for a moment, before finally opening up Derek's latest snap. It's a fairly artsy photograph of the violin, sans dollar bill, and Derek had written, "I was told I should learn to play an instrument."

"Paige?" Stiles sends back, almost immediately, before mentally berating himself. He figures Cora told Derek about the story Peter told them, but he isn't sure.

If Derek's surprised, however, he doesn't show it, and all he gets back is a simple affirmation. The mood goes somber then, and Stiles turns back to his work, figuring he should leave Derek alone to his thoughts for a while.

The thought had only just crossed his mind when his phone buzzes again, and he swipes at his screen to see Derek has sent him another snapchat.

He opens it carefully, not sure what to expect, but a slow smile crosses his face when he sees the words "I can play for you sometime, if you want."

Stiles sends back a beaming smile. "I'd like that."

Stiles blushes as Derek takes another screenshot, and feels his heart thump in his chest when Derek sends him the smiling emoji.


They should've known the lull in supernatural opposition wouldn't last. They've gone soft, is what Stiles realizes, when he wakes up with his head pounding and his mouth dry.

"Oh, good, you're awake," says a vaguely familiar voice. Stiles pushes himself up into a sitting position, and bites his lip on a groan when his whole body protests the movement. He thinks he has a couple of bruised ribs, if they aren't broken. "By all means," the voice continues, though it's more amused now, "Take your time."

Stiles shifts in place and heaves out a long breath when he feels the soreness in his side. "Thanks, I will," he wheezes, and looks up at his captor. Either, he doesn't recognize her, or completely forgot who she was, because the face smiling toothily at him is new. "Okay, I think I'm good," he bites out, and she smirks.

"You sure?" Before he can reply, she reaches out with a foot, and nudges him just under his ribs, and he nearly whites out from the pain. His throat feels hoarse by the time he stops screaming, and he blinks the tears out of his eyes. Her smile is bright and innocent, and she sighs happily. "Music to my ears," she tells him. "My brother did tell me I'd enjoy you screaming. You know, that was the last thing he told me?" she still looks freakishly happy, but her eyes are darkening with rage. "He said, 'get the human, and listen to him scream'. I asked him why, of course, but he didn't get to answer me before he died in my arms!" she shrieks out the last words, and Stiles winces more at the clichéd theatrics than at the volume. Do bad guys (and the girls too!) really have to be so stereotypical? Was there a handbook or something?

"Your brother?" He can't help himself, he's kind of confused.

She glares at him, and he doesn't think he's getting an answer anytime soon. "You can't even remember someone you murdered in cold blood?" Her voice is deadly, and he raises his hands in supplication, even though it makes his sides burn.

"To be fair, he was probably murdering innocent people, before we, uh, you know," he mimes slicing a hand across his own throat as he makes a schlick! noise, and braces himself for an attack.

It never comes.

Just as she lunges at him, a blurry shape knocks her off course, and Stiles is so relieved he might cry. He warbles something unintelligible, and grins when he hears a familiar warning growl. "Got it, no talking," is what he means to say, but he's not sure it comes out right. There's a lot of slashing, at least from where he's sitting, and lots of blood flying every which way.

He opens his mouth to politely ask them to keep the blood to a minimum, seeing as he's currently being drenched in it (which, gross) and his dad would probably have a heart attack, when the fight suddenly, abruptly, ends. There are two bodies on the floor, and Stiles is appropriately worried for a few seconds when no one moves.

Just as he's about to fall into a full-fledged panic, Derek wobbles onto his feet, and Stiles raises his arms in victory, belatedly remembering his ribs. "Ow," he mutters, dropping his arms in defeat. Derek is at his side almost instantly, and Stiles graciously doesn't mention the fact that he nearly tripped over his own feet to get to Stiles.

"Is it bad?" Derek asks. He's covered in a light sheen of sweat, it's kind of hot.

Derek snaps his fingers in Stiles' face.

"Wha-" Stiles blinks a few times. Shakes his head. "No, I'm fine, help me up," he demands. Derek doesn't move, and Stiles glares at him. "Seriously, I'm okay!" he insists, and when Derek stubbornly refuses to help him stand, he anchors his hands on Derek's body and pushes himself up, only to make a horrible grimace and fall back down, which makes everything hurt five hundred times more. Derek looks smug. "I may not be able to walk," Stiles corrects, before letting out a pained hiss because seriously, everything hurts.

Derek looks like he's struggling with something, and he reaches for Stiles hesitantly.

"Do you want me to help?" he asks finally, and his gaze is earnest.

"God, yes please," Stiles nearly weeps with relief, and he doesn't miss the fact that this is probably the first time Derek's asked him for, well, anything. But if it gets him high on werewolf anti-pain mojo, he's really not complaining. Derek's warm (and bloody, Stiles notices) hands should be gross on his skin, but they're actually fairly comforting, even before the pain starts to ebb away. "Yer th'best," Stiles slurs as his eyes begin to droop. He barely catches the smile that Derek directs at him, and he can feel himself begin to grin.

"Scott's on his way," Derek tells him, and Stiles hums. "You can go to sleep if you don't have a concussion."

"No concussion," Stiles confirms, before letting out a yawn. "Sleep time," he adds, mumbling out a string of nonsensical words. He's asleep before he finishes the sentence, the Derek's palms a comforting weight on his side.


When he wakes up, he's ecstatic to find the series of increasingly annoyed snapchats Derek had sent him while he was unconscious.


Stiles would say his snapchat relationship with Derek is pretty much perfect.

That is, until he finds out that while Derek is by far Stiles' best snapchat friend, s3xm3n0w69 is number 2 on Derek's list. Above Cora, but below someone called nhermosa.86, and for some reason, that makes him feel a bit... Betrayed, is the wrong word, because he knows that he and Derek were never anything to begin with, but he just feels kind of, sad. He and Derek have been trading snaps back and forth pretty much everyday, and he thought even that was bordering on excessive. Apparently not, according to whoever nhermosa.86 was.

Stiles only asked about her once, subtly, because no matter what people thought, he could be subtle.

He had sent Derek a sad emoji and complained about how he wasn't Derek's number one. Derek had sent back a photo of him pouting (actually pouting!! Stiles would've screenshotted it if it wouldn't have alerted Derek that Stiles knew of his creeper ways) and the accusation that Stiles probably didn't enjoy his company. Not one to back down from a challenge, Stiles had taken a photo of his face, emphasized his furrowed eyebrows thanks to the pencil tool and declared that he would be Derek's best snapchat friend by the end of the week. Derek had merely laughed and said, "good luck, nicky's the snapchat queen".

It's the end of the sixth day, and Stiles is thisclose to admitting defeat. Growling in frustration, he jabs at his phone and dials Derek.

"How bloody often do you talk to this girl, oh my god," he exclaims as soon as Derek picks up, and is wholly unprepared for the sound of Derek's laugh filtering through the speakers. He completely misses what Derek says. "Say what?"

"I said," Derek repeats, his tone amused. "She keeps me updated on Cora, so we talk pretty often, especially when Cora and I are in a snit."

Oh. A Brazilian girl then, not that Stiles hadn't already made the assumption.

He hates himself for even caring, but, "She pretty?" Derek hesitates, and Stiles immediately backtracks. "I mean, never mind."

"No, she is, I suppose," Derek tells him, and his voice is off somehow. Stiles can't really read it, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's guarded, as if they were back to when they first met, and Stiles is just a dumb kid wandering around in the woods looking for his best friend's inhaler. It makes him suddenly angry.

"Okay, well, whatever," he says shortly. "I have to go, so talk to you whenever."

"Did I say something wrong?" Derek cuts in before he can hang up, and Stiles sighs.

"Nah, it's nothing, don't worry."

He's debating on whether the conversation is over or not when Derek speaks again. "I can show you a photo? I'm sure Cora'll introduce you two when she comes visit."

"It's fine, Derek. I don't care," he sighs, and Derek makes a noncommittal noise. "When's Cora coming back?" he asks, partly because he really is curious, and partly because he wants to change the subject.

"In about a month and a half," Derek tells him. "Cora wants to surprise Nicky for their sixth month anniversary, or something."

Stiles' jaw drops. "What?"

"Yeah, I told Cora it might be too much, but I'm sure Nicky'll love it. She loves to travel but she's never been to the States, so..." Derek trails off awkwardly.

"Your sister's dating her?" Stiles asks incredulously, because Derek clearly missed the point.

Derek sounds confused, now. "Uh, yes?"

Suddenly, Stiles is much less upset.

It's his competitive streak, he tells himself later, but when Derek sends him a snap of his empty dinner plate because "taking a photo of food is too mainstream", he can't help but fall just that little bit harder.


If you asked him, Stiles wouldn't really be able to pinpoint where the platonic snaps ended and the flirty ones began.

He's pretty sure Derek started it, though.

He thinks it began with a snap of Derek's sheets, with a tag that said, "top or bottom". Derek had then added the words, "i think my sheets are flirting with me..." and Stiles was speechless for a while, his cheeks flushing as his imagination took the image Derek offered and ran away with it.

It took a while for Stiles to get back to reality, which was completely understandable, and he sent back an unimpressed face, "if that's your idea of flirting, idk how to help you".

There was a few agonizing minutes where Derek had seen the snap but didn't reply and Stiles wondered if that was going too far.

It was not, apparently, because Derek's next message had been a blank screen, which in itself was not unusual, but he had added, "you could show me how it's done?", and that was probably where it started. Probably.

Of course, the flirting had to progress somewhere, so Stiles really shouldn't have been surprised when he opened what seemed to be an innocent message and turned out to be a close-up of Derek's beautiful, sweaty torso a few weeks later after the initial flirting conversation.

"too much exercise?" the message asks, and Stiles has to take a breather to give himself time to stop blushing. He makes a face at the camera, and types out, "yep. way too much."

He sends another one immediately afterwards, this time of himself smirking.

"it's not natural."

He gets two messages in return, and he fumbles with his phone in his haste to open them. The first one is Derek's face, his dry expression making Stiles crack up, because clearly Derek was not impressed by his werewolf joke. The second is another stupid blank screen, and Derek has added, "bc clearly under all your layers is the epitome of physical fitness".

"It so is!" Stiles replies (the blank screens are becoming an indicator of when they're talking about srz bznz), and before chickening out, adds, "I know you've seen me shirtless before."

"I know. I wasn't disagreeing."

Stiles doesn't know what to do with that, and goes to his default reaction; he makes a dumb face, and says, "you're making me blush, asshole."

"Good," is Derek's only reply, and Stiles isn't sure what to do now.

It's not like he can send a snap that says, "do you like me y/n?" because that's not classy, even for him, and so he just leaves it, turns to his computer and opens it, where Professor Snape is glaring at Harry, Ron and Hermione, probably. He takes a quick photo of Snape's face, types out, "SNAPECHAT" and sends it to Derek.

"come over?" he adds, after taking another photo, this time of his bed, where he flung a bunch of junk food and chocolate earlier, in the hopes of a movie marathon. However much he loves his alone time (and that's not what he meant), he can't deny that watching the HP series is always more fun with a friend.

Derek's reply is instantaneous. "sold. be there in five".

Stiles just barely resists the urge to flail happily.


Derek rolls through the window just as Stiles is wriggling into his sweatpants, and they both flush. "Sorry, I should've..." Derek trails off, his eyes trailing down Stiles' still-shirtless body and pausing somewhere around his hipbones, and Stiles has to fight to keep his hands at his side.

He can't stop himself from fidgeting. "What?" he asks self-consciously, and Derek finally pulls his gaze away.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Oh, okay then," Stiles manages, turning around and bending down to retrieve his shirt. Derek makes a choked sound, and Stiles can feel himself blush even harder when he realizes why. "Shit, sorry," he apologizes, straightening up quickly and wobbling when all the blood rushes back to his body. Derek's there immediately, warm hands keeping him steady, and Stiles is making bad decision after bad decision tonight. "Uh, make yourself comfortable," he says, far too loudly, and Derek nods once, before stepping back away from Stiles. He pulls his shirt on as quickly and painlessly as possible, before eyeing Derek, who's perched at the edge of the bed, looking supremely uncomfortable. He hasn't even taken his shoes off. Stiles laughs a little. "C'mon, get your shoes and your jacket and stuff off man, my casa is your casa, or something."

That gets Derek to crack a smile, and he kicks his shoes off, even leans down to tug at his socks, draping them neatly over his boots, before shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. "Mi casa es su casa," he says, the words flowing off his tongue easily, and Stiles feels a shiver go down to his toes. Derek looks really good in his bed, he realizes, speaking Spanish and a soft purple Henley hanging off his body in a way that's reminiscent to those GQ models that exude hotness and raw sex appeal effortlessly. Stiles makes a mental note to check if Derek's ever posed for GQ, before climbing onto the bed himself, pulling a pillow to lean on before tugging the Reese's towards him.

"Have at it," he tells Derek graciously, and eyes Derek's jeans critically. They don't look very forgiving, but he figures it's too soon in their... whatever it is to offer Derek some pants. He taps at his computer, bringing the movie to the beginning, and shoves two Reese's cups into his mouth just as he leans over to click the light off to the sound of the opening credits. Once the room goes dark, he can hear Derek shuffling so that he's actually on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he shifts closer to Stiles, though that could just be wishful thinking. He remains hyperaware of the proximity between their bodies throughout the first movie, and through to the middle of the second, when Derek mumbles that he has to pee.

It's incredibly endearing, and Stiles feels his body relax as soon as Derek gets up off his bed. He pauses the movie, and Derek eyes him.

"You don't have to," he says finally, and Stiles waves the comment away.

"I've watched this literally a thousand times, I'm sure Mrs. Norris will enjoy her extra few minutes of life before getting Petrified."

Derek cracks a smile, the corner of his mouth lifting and Stiles wills his heart to stop being so goddamn obvious.

He busies himself with opening up another bunch of Reese's, for easy access, when Derek comes back and slides back onto the bed, and it's hard not to notice how much closer he is this time, their shoulders brushing whenever one of them shifts to reach the snacks.

His heart beginning to pound, Stiles forces himself to relax, pressing his side more firmly against Derek's body, ready to move away at the smallest sign of resistance.

Instead, Derek turns towards him, so Stiles' back is resting against Derek's arm and chest, instead of awkwardly leaning against his shoulder. Neither of them say anything, and Stiles is literally one awkward movement away from a heart attack.

"Calm down," Derek finally murmurs, sliding his hand around and tangling their fingers together. Stiles does not calm down. His heart rate goes up, and Derek snorts.

"This isn't funny," he hisses, though he can kind of see the humor. "How do you expect me to calm down?"

Derek is quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing idle circles around the back of Stiles' hand. "Would it help if I told you that I'm probably as nervous as you are?"

Stiles thinks about it.

"No," he says, and Derek's thumb pauses its movement. "But thanks for telling me."

Derek's other hand comes up to cup Stiles' jaw, and he tilts his head to face him. His expression is fond, softer than Stiles has ever seen and Stiles' heart does a betraying flip in his chest. "Is this okay?" his voice is quiet, and Stiles nods. He doesn't think he can speak, because it feels like the words would get stuck in his throat otherwise. "Okay," Derek's smile brings crinkles to the corners of his eyes, and Stiles is so distracted by how different Derek looks with them that he startles at the first press of Derek's mouth against his.

Derek pulls back, and the words tumble past his lips before he can stop it. "No, wait!" Derek's mouth twitches and Stiles flushes. "I... sorry," he says, turning away, because literally only he could be that lame in a situation like this.

Derek moves, and Stiles genuinely thinks he blew it when Derek's face comes into view mere seconds later, his body settling down in front of Stiles. "Nothing you should be apologizing for," Derek tells him, his eyes earnest, before his gaze turns bashful, "I just wanted to get a better angle." His cheeks are tinged pink, and Stiles is reminded that no matter how old Derek might be now, he probably didn't get to spend a lot of time doing dumb teenage stuff either, not since the fire. He hesitates again, and Stiles curls his fingers into the bottom of Derek's shirt. "Can I?" Derek asks, biting his bottom lip, and Stiles nods, way too enthusiastically. He couldn't really care less about it though, not when he has Derek in front of him, Derek's eyes dipping as he leans in to kiss him.

It's marginally better than the previous attempt; Derek's hands settle on Stiles' waist, and when he licks across Stiles' bottom lip, it drops open with a gasp that Derek swallows easily. Derek doesn't take the kiss farther, keeping it gentle and open-mouthed, which Stiles himself is grateful for, despite what little Stiles might have to say about the situation. Which is a lot, apparently, seeing as he's hard and leaking already, and that was before Derek bit his lip and tugged. Stiles moans, and Derek seems to like that, because his hands dig into the meat on Stiles' waist and the kiss suddenly turns sloppy and desperate.

When Derek pulls away, they're both panting, and Derek's eyes are dark as he looks at Stiles. He probably looks thoroughly debauched. He knows for a fact that his hair was already a mess to begin with, but he can feel the soreness of his mouth, and if it's anything like the state of Derek's, he must look a mess.

"I... we should take it slow," Derek struggles to get out, his eyes dropping to Stiles' mouth as his tongue darts out to lick it. He reaches out with his finger to thumb at Stiles' lips, squeezing his eyes shut when it parts easily. Derek swears under his breath, and Stiles feels almost hysterically giddy that he can make someone like Derek lose control.

"Slow," he agrees, before reeling Derek in to kiss him again, because he can do that now.

They finish the movie, but if you asked Stiles, he probably wouldn't be able to tell you who Harry Potter even was.


Derek has just disappeared out the window when Stiles pulls out his phone, takes a photo of the bottle of lotion on his bedside drawer and sends it to Derek, with the words, "may or may not be thinking about you right now".

He hears a thud just across the tree line outside his house and snickers.


According to Stiles, the worst part about being in a relationship with someone nearly six years your senior, especially if you happened to be underaged, was that by "slow", Derek had apparently meant glacial.

It got so sexually frustrating that whatever hangups Stiles used to have about his body and appeal disappeared almost overnight.

He got more and more showy, taking enough shirtless selfies he could probably put actual models to shame, and on one memorable occasion, sent Derek a drunk and thus slightly-blurry shot of his boner. He wouldn't have even remembered it if Derek hadn't appeared out of the blue the next day, yelled at him and then proceeded to make him come in his pants while they made out against Stiles' bedroom wall. It was awesome.

Things got really awkward when Stiles figured out just how much he affected Derek. It was a glorious realization, and Stiles put it to the test almost immediately.

He's blushing, because it's probably the first time he's even thought about doing something like this, but it doesn't matter, because Derek won't be able to see his face anyway.

He stands underneath the spray of the shower for a long while, letting the water calm him down, before stepping out and drying his hands. His hands are trembling as he picks up his phone, but he takes a deep breath, aims the phone a lot lower than he usually would and snaps a photo.

Oh wow, that's a lot more revealing than he expected. Stiles giggles semi-hysterically, droplets of water dropping onto his phone as he goes to delete it. Suddenly, however, his phone blinks back to the snapchat home screen and Stiles' heart jumps up to his throat.

Flicking carefully back to the conversation screen, he blinks at the delivered notification dumbly.

Oh, shit.

He's still staring at the screen in shock as it tells him Derek opens the snap, and doesn't reply.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

The feeling of rejection stinging behind his eyes, Stiles drops the phone back onto the counter and steps back into the spray of his shower, trying to ignore the regret gnawing at his consciousness. Of all the stupid, accidental, clumsy things to do, Derek had to be a witness for when Stiles sent him a dick pic. It wasn't even classy, it was literally just... well, hanging there.

Logically, Stiles knew it wasn't like, deformed, or anything, but it's still a big (heh) surprise to spring onto someone, especially someone like Derek, who was probably expecting it to be some sort of lame pun. To be fair, Stiles had sent Derek about six puns in the last two hours, none of which Derek appreciated, for the sole purpose that he wouldn't expect it when Stiles sent a tasteful but also seductive snap. Unfortunately, this snap was... neither seductive nor was it even slightly tasteful.

Stiles makes an anguished noise and slams his head against the bathroom wall. What a terrible mess.

He stays under the now-lukewarm spray for a few minutes longer, wondering if it would be worth it to just drown himself before the rational part of his brain, surprising him with its existence, tells him that his soul wouldn't want to suffer the indignity of his father finding his dead, naked body on the bathroom floor.

Grumbling to himself, he wraps a towel loosely around his waist and storms out of the bathroom and into his room, slamming the door because his dad isn't home and he can get away with it.

What he isn't expecting, is Derek to be looming at him in the dark like a supernatural creature of the night.

Oh, wait. Ha ha ha.

Everything happens all at once.

Stiles flails, which is expected. Derek's expression is comical in his surprise, and he reaches out to snag Stiles' arm. The towel doesn't survive, and flutters to the ground gracefully. Derek's eyes drops down to Stiles' crotch, before he blushes furiously, averts his gaze and accidentally lets go of Stiles.

Stiles thumps to the ground, not as gracefully, and lands on his butt. "Ow," he mutters balefully, because clearly he's clearly going to die of mortification tonight. He squints up at Derek, who looks like he might cry, actually.

Stiles' eyebrows furrow. "You okay dude?"

"Sorry," Derek says immediately, spinning around on his heel and turning his back to Stiles. "I should've let you know I was coming over. And sorry for dropping you, I got, uh, distracted," his voice has dropped to a whisper, but Stiles can still clearly see how the tips of Derek's ears are tinged pink, and he counts that as his first win of the night.

"S'okay," Stiles sighs, shrugging. He's still sitting naked on the floor, but what's the point anymore? Derek clearly knows he's a doofus. "Nothing you haven't seen before, right?" Derek makes a pitiful noise, and Stiles thinks he even chokes on his own spit, because he's coughing now. Stiles winces. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"No, it's fine," Derek waves the comment away, and he looks like he's dying to turn around, so Stiles blindly reaches for his towel to tug it across his lap.

"You can turn around now, if you want to," Stiles informs him, not missing the way Derek's eyes drop to the towel before looking at him again, his expression earnest. He's still blushing faintly, and he's the cutest thing in the world. Stiles never would've even thought about the word cute in a Derek-related context before, but now it's the perfect adjective.

"I wasn't expecting it, is all," Derek says, blinking at Stiles when all he does is shrug. "It's not that I didn't like it," he adds quickly, and Stiles' head snaps up. His eyes go wide. "Or that I didn't appreciate it," Derek continues. Stiles' eyes go wider. "You're very young," Derek recites seriously. It's like he's reading from a manual. Or from a pre-prepared speech.

"Did you rehearse this?" Stiles interrupts, shrinking when Derek's cute face disappears into his menacing one, furrowed eyebrows and all. But Stiles knows Derek's secret, now, and he stands his ground.

True enough, Derek deflates, and his bunny teeth peek out from between his lips when he bites at his bottom lip. "Maybe," he admits, and Stiles cackles. "I have it written down here, too, in case I forgot some of my points."

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes, wiping a tear from his face. He thinks he might've just busted his ribs back open. "Did you make up a list full of reasons not to have sex with me?" He takes Derek's silence as the admission it is and snickers to himself. "How many points are there?" he asks. He's teasing, but when the words tumble out of his mouth, he thinks he doesn't really want to know the answer.

Derek must sense this, because he folds himself down next to Stiles and pulls the crumpled piece of paper out. "Three," he says quietly, offering it to Stiles. "I wrote underaged twice." Stiles smiles at him for that, and smooths out the sheet. The only other reason Derek had jotted down was 'Sheriff's ONLY son', and Stiles isn't really surprised by that one. "If you must know, there's a pros list at the back."

Stiles flips the paper over, and is more than gratified by how reason number one is 'hot like burning'. He knows Derek stole that expression from him, but it doesn't stop his cheeks from reddening. The list goes on, but Stiles is way too embarrassed to read them, though he's flushed in pleasure.

"The pros clearly outweigh the cons," he begins, and Derek cracks a small smile.

"I'm aware," he says, reaching forward to curl a hand around Stiles' jaw and tug him close. "I can count," he whispers, and covers Stiles' mouth with his own before Stiles can come up with a witty retort.

Stiles lets out a pleased hum, because this? This is a good sign. It's still awkward, because Derek's dressed in a maroon fuzzy sweater, even though it's about 70 degrees tonight, the weirdo, and Stiles is still kind of damp, sitting cross-legged on his floor with a towel that will hide absolutely nothing when one of them will eventually pull away. Despite that, Derek's skin is soft and warm where Stiles' dips his fingers just underneath the waistband of Derek's jeans, and kissing Derek feels right. It's comfortable, and even though he's already feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen, he doesn't want to stop. Possibly ever.

He has to pull away eventually, because it's too soon for them to start experimenting with erotic asphyxiation (occasionally, Stiles is too thorough in his research), plus he feels it would hit too close to home for the both of them. Derek just keeps kissing him, however, dropping little stinging bites along Stiles' jaw and nipping at the tender skin just under his ear, all the while Stiles' fingers are squeezing at Derek's hips and his breath is coming out in pants, ruffling the soft hairs at Derek's nape.

Derek's kisses turn gentle, then, dragging his lips across the fine stubble on Stiles' face before pressing their mouths together once, twice, three times before sitting back on his haunches, and directing a serious look at Stiles.

"You're a menace," he says finally, though his voice is fond, and Stiles quirks a smile.

"Me, or my boner?"

Derek shakes his head, but he's smiling, so Stiles counts that as another win. "C'mon, up. Get dressed," he tugs Stiles to his feet, careful to keep his eyes on Stiles' face even as the towel slides to the ground. Stiles blushes anyway, because he's 100% naked and Derek looks like he should be posing in an issue of Homes & Gardens.

Stiles makes a mental note to check if any old issues feature Derek.

"Do you wanna stay and hang out?" Stiles asks, his voice muffled through the shirt he's currently pulling over his head. "We could watch Pacific Rim? I found a good copy online the other day, you've not watched it yet have you?" he asked, turning to Derek once he was finished throwing his limbs out every which way to wriggle into his clothes. Derek shakes his head, before nodding at Stiles' dresser. "Can I borrow some sweats?" Stiles gets lost in his imagination for a moment, until Derek reaches out to touch his arm.

Stiles nods quickly then, waving at the cabinet carelessly. "Have at it. Second drawer."

Stiles grabs his laptop and flops down on his bed, his heartbeat tripling when Derek drops his jeans, and of course he's going commando. He has a nice ass, which isn't surprising, and Stiles mourns the loss of his view when Derek pulls the sweats up. Although, despite the obstruction of the clothes, it clings to Derek's butt like a second skin, so Stiles doesn't really have a reason to complain. Derek pulls off the sweater afterwards, and he directs a smirk at Stiles over his shoulder because he can tell that Stiles feels his stomach tighten at the pull of muscles on Derek's back, which is totally unfair.

Grumbling quietly, Stiles reapplies himself to the task on hand, clicking around a few times and letting the stream start loading, just so it doesn't awkwardly stop playing in the middle.

Derek climbs onto the mattress, having pulled on one of his spare shirts Stiles had filched for mostly innocent purposes (but also to bury his nose in Derek's scent that one time he drunkenly jerked off) and headed straight for Stiles, no qualms about personal space at all. He settles back against the headboard, and arranges Stiles until he's seated comfortably between the v of his legs, and it's so easy for Stiles to tilt his head up and ask for a kiss.

So what, it's still a novelty, sue him.

Derek obliges, because it's not like he can say no to Stiles, and holds his hand throughout the whole of the movie.


Derek snaps Stiles to tell him that he had a good time when he leaves.

Stiles crosses his eyes, sticks out his tongue, and calls Derek a gigantic dork.

Derek takes a screenshot and sends Stiles a heart emoji.

Stiles thinks they'll be okay.


Derek proposes over snapchat three years later, complete with that fake ass diamond ring emoji. Stiles complains about it constantly, but Derek knows he thought it was romantic. Stiles has the screenshot printed out and taped to the bottom of his sock drawer, and he laughs for a whole five minutes when Derek asks him if he also got notifications for screenshots all those years ago.

They're okay.