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The Postman Always Rings Twice

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“You’ve got that ridiculous smile on your face again,” Allison grins as she passes by Stiles, nudging his feet from the coffee table.

Stiles barely even looks up. He tries to straighten his face but it’s no use, and he keeps grinning down at his phone.

“Lets face it, Allison,” Scott says, plopping down on the couch next to Stiles, craning his neck to take a look at Stiles’ screen, “Whenever Stiles is wrapped up in his nerd squad, we’re invisible.”

“Don’t call ‘em that,” Stiles mutters, even though he knows Scott doesn’t mean any harm. He just doesn’t get the whole fandom experience.

“No, no, it’s more than that,” Allison muses as Stiles nudges his elbow in Scott’s ribs to push him away a bit. “Who are you chatting with, Stiles?”

Stiles tries hard not to blush, but he can already feel his cheeks heating up. “No one…,” he mumbles, his fingers moving swiftly over the touch screen before pressing send.

Scott leans in even more now, straining to read Stiles’ phone, so Stiles presses the back button on his phone, quickly going out of the app as Scott calls out, “I saw a heart! There was a bear with a heart!”

“What?” Allison all but squeals as Stiles locks his phone.

“It was a sticker!” Stiles calls out, shoving Scott off of him.

“What?” Scott mutters, almost falling off the couch with the way Stiles is pushing at him.

“It’s just a chat app, alright?” Stiles shrugs, knowing that there’s probably already notifications waiting for him, “It’s called Line, and you can send each other stupid stickers.”

“Like bears with hearts?” Allison raises her eyebrow at him.

Stiles can feel the heat in his cheeks rising again as he mumbles, “Yeah.”

“So who are you sending hearts to, Stiles?” Scott questions him with narrowing eyes.

“Just…” Stiles shrugs again, then sighs, “Derek.”

“Ooooh, who’s Derek?” Allison asks, her voice all bouncy.

“It’s just this guy from fandom, alright,” Stiles says, but he’s already grinning simply at the mention of Derek’s name.

“And it’s this Derek guy that makes you look all goofy at your screen lately?” Allison calls him out, and damn if she isn’t right.

“Yes,” Stiles says firmly, because denying it has no point. “But don’t make a big deal about it, alright. We’re just chatting. I don’t even know what he looks like, or where he lives, or what he does or anything.”

“So what do you guys talk about?” Scott frowns.

“Just… fandom stuff,” Stiles says, his fingers itching to open his phone again and check back for the latest messages from Derek. “We have the same OTP, and he’s this amazing fanartist, and we just… I don’t know. We talk about feelings and stuff.”

“Is he gay?” Scott asks.

“Bi,” Stiles says, and there’s that insuppressible grin again.

“Nice,” Allison smiles, “So, are you like… online dating or something?”

“I don’t… know,” Stiles says, staring at the black screen of his phone. “Not really. We just… talk.”

“All the freaking time,” Scott rolls his eyes.

“Hey!” Stiles says, like he needs to defend himself, “I talk to other people as well! It’s a big fandom, alright?”

“Yeah, okay, but… mostly with this Derek guy, right?” Allison smirks.

Stiles mutters something under his breath, his face flustering as he says it.

“What?” Scott asks, confused.

“The others say they ship us,” Stiles repeats quickly, then taps in his code on his phone to get back to his conversation with Derek while Scott and Allison start hooting. “Now stop bothering me,” Stiles adds, somewhat embarrassed.

He opens Line to find Derek sent him a few hug stickers back, several minutes ago.

Sorry about that,’  Stiles types in quickly, ‘My roommates were pestering me.’

‘That’s okay.’  The reply comes so quickly that Stiles is sure Derek was staring at his screen already. ‘I have to get to bed anyway. I have to get up early for work.’

‘Getting up early sucks. Especially if that means you leaving me already. ;)’

‘If you get up at 4AM like me we can talk some more while i get ready for work. ;)’

‘Get up? More like if I’m STILL up! ;) Who gets up at 4AM anyway? Freak.’ Stiles knows that he’s in the same timezone as Derek, but that’s about it.

‘Some people have an actual job, you know.’

‘I’m looking! You know I am!’ Stiles types quickly, because the last thing he wants is for Derek to think that he’s some kind of lazy slacker.

‘I know, I’m just teasing you. Besides, I know you’re gonna find a publicist for that novel of yours.’

Stiles snorts out loud, and gets amused looks for it from Scott and Allison in return. ‘You have more faith in me than the publicists that have turned me down already.’

‘They were idiots. It only takes one person to recognize your talent.’

‘You’re just saying that because you love me. ;)’ Stiles types, and he hopes that the joking nature of his message is clear, because he doesn’t want to jump the gun with Derek. They’re always flirting, but really, that’s what fandom does. Everyone is calling everyone “bb” and sending hearts and virtually hugging the crap out of each other. Maybe that’s all it is to Derek?

‘And because I recognize a fucking great writer when I see one.’ Derek types back, and Stiles tries not to read too much into the fact that Derek doesn’t deny loving Stiles.

‘You’re clearly sleep-deprived. Go to bed before you talk more nonsense.’

‘You just can’t handle the truth. :P Goodnight, Stiles!’



Stiles nearly falls out of his bed when the doorbell wakes him with a start. He groans as he tries to look out from under the blanket pile he’s under to see his alarm clock.


Who the fuck wakes him up in the middle of the night? Okay, he knows it’s not actually the middle of the night, but it kind of is when you go to bed around 3AM.

The doorbell rings again, longer this time, and Stiles throws the covers off of him as he shouts out, “I’m coming already! Jesus!” Scott is already out for work, and Allison has classes in the morning, so he really has no choice but to get up himself.

By the time he’s thrown on a hoodie over his shirt, the doorbell rings a third time, and Stiles wants to rip it off the wall. He pulls open the front door of the apartment with a swing and is faced with the postman, who is just about to drop one of those ‘Your mailman came by today at...’ notes in his mailbox.

“Oh, so you did hear the doorbell,” the postman says as he crumples up the note while looking down at Stiles’ pajama pants with clear disapproval. They’re Batman. Batman PJ’s are awesome, okay? No matter what the disapproving mailman with the caterpillar eyebrows thinks about it. Even though the look of disdain is probably more because of the fact that he’s still in pajamas at this time of day.

“Yup, kinda hard to miss when you keep insisting,” Stiles sighs, because really? What is this dude’s problem? He’s lucky he’s kind of drop-dead gorgeous, because with that kind of attitude, Stiles has a hard time believing he’d ever get laid. Not that he’s thinking about the rude but kinda hot mailman getting laid or anything… Fuck, he’s clearly still half asleep.

“Most people don’t like having to swing by the post office to pick up their packages when they had the opportunity to just have it at their door,” the mailman says, clearly annoyed. “Stilinski?”

“That’s me,” Stiles says, and he’s kind of glad the mailman at least didn’t even bother with his first name. He would’ve butchered it anyway.

“I’ve got a package for you,” he says as he’s reaching into his bag.

Stiles snorts. “Sure you have,” he jokes, because he’s really not expected to pass up on an obvious ‘package’ joke, right?

But clearly the mailman has no sense of humor because he just gives him the stink-eye before he’s sticking out a box at Stiles.

“Oh, my Society6 order!” Stiles calls out excitedly, before he can rein himself in for the mailman, whose eyebrow shoots up. He probably doesn’t even know what Society6 is, Stiles tells himself.

“You need to sign here,” the mailman all but grunts as he holds out one of those little machines they use nowadays to get your signature.

Stiles rolls his eyes and tries to grab the machine and the stylus while he’s still holding onto the package, which results in him almost dropping the machine. The mailman is quick enough though, and he sighs loudly as he grabs onto the little machine again before sticking it out at Stiles again.

“Sorry,” Stiles mutters apologetic as he scribbles down his signature on the touch screen.

The mailman doesn’t say a thing, not even an “It’s okay” or anything, which just reinforces the idea that Stiles has that he’s clearly a douchebag. He just packs up his things the second he gets his signature, and he’s turning around towards the staircase, giving Stiles a nice view of his ass, which Stiles has to admit actually looks pretty damn spectacular in that uniform. He’s hoisting his bag over his shoulder as he starts heading down the stairs. The bag looks heavy, actually, and Stiles isn’t above admitting that he’s a little bit pleased that the elevator is out of order.

When the mailman’s out of sight, Stiles can’t help but yell out a clearly sarcastic, “Have a nice day!” down the hallway, but he gets no answer.

He closes the door behind him and focuses on his delivery instead. His Society6 order finally arrived! That means new t-shirts and hoodies, most of them with Derek’s fanart on it!

He’s grinning ear to ear, the rude postman already forgotten, as he rips into the package.


Stiles crawls back into bed after having properly squealed internally over his new awesome clothes, and when he wakes up again, he tweets a few pics of the merchandise, tagging Derek and his online store in it for good measure. A little more promo for Derek’s spectacular work never hurts.

It doesn’t take Derek very long to favorite his tweets and reply to him.

‘Are you trying to make me blush?’

‘Is it working?’

‘Idk, maybe you should try a little harder?’

Some Twitter user Stiles recognizes by name butts in with a ‘Get a room, you two!’ which makes Stiles grin.

‘I don’t put out on the first date!’ Stiles tweets in response.

‘First date? I thought we were pretty much going ste          ady by now?’

As he reads Derek’s tweet, he can’t help but feel that warm glow of hope rising in his chest.

‘It is but a word, my dear!’ Stiles replies.

As they continue joking around on Twitter for a bit, a Line notification from Derek pops up as well.

‘How was your day?’

Stiles settles down onto the couch, laptop on his lap. ‘I got my Soc6 order from your store, so even rude-ass people couldn’t bring me down today!’

‘I hear you. Some people, I swear… It’s like they don’t realize you’re actually doing your job, and you might not have time or be in the mood for their childish jokes or chitchat.’

‘Tough day, huh?’ Stiles types out.

‘Nah, it’s okay. Besides, your tweets made my day anyway.’


‘Which reminds me…’ Derek sends, and then there’s a picture loading in the chat window. ‘For your next chapter!’

Stiles is already bouncing in his seat, and then the picture is loaded and Stiles pulls it up and… almost falls off the couch. It’s a beautiful fanart - so clearly Derek’s style - of the two main characters in the current fic that he’s writing. It’s the most gorgeous thing that Stiles has ever seen, and to see his own words come to life like this by Derek’s incredible talent…

‘Holy shit, Derek...’

‘Is that a good holy shit or a bad one?’


‘Now you’re just yelling at me. XD’

Stiles can’t even believe Derek right now. He wants to punch and hug and… kiss him.

‘I would be falling into your arms if I could! Fuck, Derek, that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! Look at all that detail!’

‘I did. You know, while I was drawing it.’

‘Haha, funny-man.’

‘So I take it you like it then?’ Stiles will never understand how someone as talented as Derek never seems to believe in his own skills.

‘I LOVE it! I don’t even know how to start thanking you!’

‘No need. Seeing you happy is all the thanks I need.’

There’s some rumbling by the door as Stiles tries hard not to make the incoherent cooing noises he’d like to make, and Allison walks through the door.

“Hey you!” she calls out as she steps into view, a bag of groceries in her hands.

“Hey,” Stiles says, nodding hello at her, before typing back at Derek. ‘You’re killing me.’

‘See. It pays to share your WIPs with me. ;)’

“Derek again?” Allison asks, a smirk on her face.

“How could you possibly know that?” Stiles asks, bewildered.

“I told you!” Allison smiles, “You get that goofy ‘I’m so in love’ grin on your face!”

“I do not!” Stiles calls out, indignant. “I’m… not.

“You keep telling yourself that…” Allison says breezily as she disappears into the kitchen with the groceries.

Stiles looks back at his screen. ‘Have I ever told you my roommates are insane?’

‘More than once. What are they doing this time?’

Stiles takes a breath, but before he can even finish his sentence, he’s deleting the entire thing already. He can’t tell Derek what Allison just told him. How would he react? There’s no way Derek really feels the same way. How could there be? Or maybe he does, but he’ll turn out to be a 70 year old woman or something. You never know on the internet!

Stiles shakes off the thought because he knows that that’s not true. He realizes that he’s never seen a picture of Derek before, but he knows that what Derek has told him is true. They talk pretty much every day, they share so much… there’s just no way that isn’t real.

‘Just being idiots.’ Stiles types instead.

‘Normal people are overrated.’

Stiles grins at his screen again.


“You’re not supposed to park there!” Stiles calls out as he steps up to the Sheriff station to bring his father lunch.

The guy stepping out of the postal van - that is parked in the Sheriff’s Department reserved parking spots - turns around to look at him and… Great. It’s Postal Worker Grumpy Ass again.

“I have a delivery for the Sheriff,” he simply says, still not an ounce friendlier than when he woke Stiles up a few days ago.

“I’m just saying…” Stiles shrugs, “Those places are cops only.”

The mailman pretty much ignores him as he takes a large package out of the back of his van and closes up, leaving the van parked exactly in the same spot.

“Hope they nail your pretty ass with a ticket,” Stiles mutters under his breath as he holds open the door for the guy.

“What was that?” the guy asks, scowling at Stiles once again.

“Your face is gonna get stuck that way,” Stiles says, resisting a roll of the eyes this time, then adds quickly, “My dad’s the Sheriff, I can bring that to him if you want.”

“He’s gotta sign for it,” the mailman says, curt, and steps up to the front desk, where there’s a small line.

“Come on then,” Stiles sighs, and he doesn’t even know why he’s helping this guy out. He’s been nothing but rude to Stiles, but he guesses staying somewhat civil with the mailman might not be a bad idea, so that he doesn’t get his mail misdelivered or his packages handled carelessly or something. “I’m going to his office, you can just follow me.”

The guy eyes the line at the front desk, like he’s considering wasting his time just so he doesn’t have to spend more time with Stiles, but then he follows Stiles anyway.

Stiles nods hello to Dean, who’s manning the desk, and then leads the mailman towards his father’s office.

“You’re lucky I just got here, huh?” Stiles smirks at the guy.

“Feel blessed, really,” he replies, deadpan, glancing over at Stiles quickly.

Stiles really doesn’t think it’s fair that rude assholes should look like dark-haired gods with chiseled jawlines covered in the perfect amount of stubble. Not to mention his eyes, really! Life is unfair, Stiles thinks as he knocks on the Sheriff’s office door, receiving an immediate “Come in!”

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles smiles as he walks in, holding up the tupperware box in his hands, “I bring you a healthy lunch!” He nudges his head towards the mailman as he goes on, “And this little piece of sunshine over here has a package for you.”

The Sheriff gives him a questionable look as he gets up from behind his desk and addresses the mailman. “Mister Hale, nice to see you.”

“I have a delivery for you, Sheriff,” the mailman - Hale, apparently - says, with a smile and wow… he knows how to smile? And of course his smile is fucking gorgeous!

His father makes a bit of chit-chat with him, and then Hale is on his way again, with a friendly smile for the Sheriff and an annoyed scowl for Stiles.

“What is that guy’s problem?” Stiles asks as the mailman leaves.

“Hale?” his father frowns.

“He’s always so rude,” Stiles says.

“Must be something you bring out in him, son,” his dad smirks at him, and Stiles scoffs.

“You know he parked in the reserved spots?”

“He was just here for a delivery, Stiles…” The Sheriff rolls his eyes, and Stiles just stares at him in disbelief.


Whenever Stiles can see that Derek is reading in his Google Doc, he gets nervous. Especially when he comes to the part where things are heating up… Stiles knows he’s not too bad at writing sex scenes. Various keyboard smashes from his readers have told him so, and Derek has assured him plenty of times that his sex scenes are hot.

Which brings up another issue that gets Stiles all nervous. Just how hot does Derek think Stiles’ written sex scenes are? Hot enough to get aroused himself? And if he does, just how far does Derek let it go? Stiles knows he shouldn’t think about this, but how can he not? The burning question is: Has Derek ever jerked off while reading Stiles’ fics? And if he does, is he conscious of the fact that it’s Stiles’ words? Does that make it even more of a turn on for him? Or less?

Or does Derek not need to read Stiles’ fics to get there? Does he maybe think of Stiles, and not just his words?

‘Stiles?’ Derek types out in their chat, and it makes Stiles even more nervous.

‘Not good? Not sexy enough? Was it too awkward?’

‘Awkward is good. And it’s definitely hot enough.’

Stiles lets out a sigh of relief.

‘Austin is blonde.’

Stiles frowns at the screen. Of course he knows that, it’s his favorite character!

‘Thank you, Captain Obvious.’

‘And he doesn’t have stubble.’

‘What are you talking about...?’

And then Derek copy-pastes a paragraph of Stiles’ own fic in the chat, and… Somehow Stiles has Oliver’s hands running through Austin’s dark hair, and his face rubbing up against the stubble on his immaculate jawline.

Stiles can feel his face heating up. He groans as he buries it in his hands.

‘Fuck. I… don’t know how that happened.’ He types quickly, before going into the Google Doc and highlighting the paragraph to change later.

‘Probably weren’t thinking of Austin and Oliver when you wrote it?’

Stiles lets out a deep breath. Wasn’t he? He usually does, he even pulls up pictures or fanarts sometimes, to help him be inspired. He didn’t this time, but still… It’s true that Stiles’ mind wanders a lot when he’s writing erotic scenes. A lot of the time it wanders to Derek, if he’s completely honest. He never told Derek this, for fear of making things unbearably awkward between them, but when he’s writing about what Oliver does to Austin, he often thinks about what he’d like Derek to do to him. Since he actually has no idea what Derek looks like - and they really need to remedy this at some point - it’s never been an issue for the descriptions of his characters. So who was he picturing when he wrote down Austin with dark hair and stubble…?

Stiles groans again, because he already knows. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he knows.

Hale. The mailman.

The rude, grouchy mailman that clearly holds a grudge against Stiles or something. And yet Stiles can’t help but admit that he’s drop dead gorgeous, and maybe he’s piquing Stiles’ interest just a little bit. In a purely physical, ‘damn he’s hot I wouldn’t mind having that all over me’ kind of way.

‘So are you seeing someone?’ Derek asks, and Stiles realizes he never replied to Derek’s previous statement.

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Why is that so “of course”?’

Stiles closes his eyes and thinks about Derek’s words. Why? Because he’s an awkward, lanky idiot who always gets shot down? The fact that Derek doesn’t seem to think so, that he doesn’t see Stiles this way… It gets to him.

‘You’re too generous when it comes to me.’

Stiles expects some flippant, flirting remark to come straight away, but the chat stays quiet for a few moments. Until Derek writes, ‘I’m just telling you how I feel. Not that it matters.’

‘Why wouldn’t it matter???’ Stiles asks right away, because Derek’s thoughts mean the world to Stiles.

‘Never mind. I gotta go.’

‘Hey, Derek! Don’t go!’

Stiles stares at the screen as if it’ll magically make Derek reply to him, but there’s still no answer.

‘Derek! Come on. What’s going on?’

Stiles is utterly confused, but Derek isn’t coming back, and Stiles’ last message doesn’t get marked as ‘read’.


Derek eventually does reply again, but starts talking about other things. When Stiles tries to get back to the subject, Derek deflects, starts showing a million sketches he did (that he knows Stiles can’t resist!) or simply doesn’t answer Stiles’ questions. From time to time, Derek will make a joke about dark-haired crushes, but Stiles can tell the remarks aren’t as light-hearted as Derek makes them seem.

And Stiles still doesn’t understand what exactly happened. He’s almost starting to think that Derek is… jealous, but surely that can’t be the case.

“Cool hoodie,” Scott mumbles as he packs up his lunch.

Stiles looks down at the design Derek drew.

“It’s Derek’s,” he says, somewhat proudly.

“Your lover-boy?” Scott asks, eyebrows raised.

“Oh please!” Stiles rolls his eyes, “Who even talks like that?”

But Scott just smirks and looks approvingly at the hoodie. “It’s nice. He’s talented.”

Stiles can’t help but grin from ear to ear. Doesn’t he know it? He runs a hand over the design wistfully, as if touching it will bring him a little bit closer to Derek again.

“He’s the best,” Stiles says, and Scott chuckles a bit.

“Right,” he says amused as he swings his backpack over his shoulder, “Gotta go.”

“Take-out tonight?” Stiles calls after him as he’s heading towards the door.

“You know it!” Scott calls back, swinging the door open. “Oh,” Scott then exclaims at someone in the hallway. There’s a voice Stiles can’t quite understand from where he’s standing in the kitchen, but then Scott is calling out for him. “Stiles! It’s for you! I gotta go, bye!”

“What?” Stiles frowns, but makes his way over to the door, where he finds himself immediately annoyed by the presence of the hot mailman again.

“Oh, hi,” Stiles says, with a huff, “It’s you.”

“Stilinski?” Hale asks matter-of-factly, even though Stiles is sure he knows this by now, but then Hale’s eyes fall on the clothes he’s wearing and his mouth drops open just a little bit.

“... That’s me,” Stiles says, with a wave of his hands, when the mailman doesn’t actually say anything else or offer him a package or letter to sign for.

“I…” he stutters as his cheeks start to flush and his eyelids start to flutter.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks, his eyebrows knitted in a frown.

“Yea - I... ,” Hale shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear it, finally ducking his head and hurriedly scrambling in his bag. “Letter. I uh… there’s a letter.”

“Oh wow, a letter from the mailman…” Stiles says dryly, “What a surprise.”

“It’s uh…” Hale stutters, and seriously? What is wrong with this guy today? “Registered. You have to sign for it.”

“Alright…” Stiles says, staring at the mailman, who is still not producing said letter.

“Oh,” Hale says with a start, digging into his bag again and finally taking out a letter, with just a tad too much exuberance. “Here.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Stiles frowns as he takes the letter, then the little machine to sign for it.

Not that he cares about his freaking mailman, alright? He’s just worried the guy’s going to have a seizure right here on his landing and then Stiles will be stuck with all the hassle like calling an ambulance and cleaning up the mess and everything. That’s not something he wants to deal with, is all.

“Fine,” Hale mumbles, sneaking another look at… Stiles’ chest? as he takes back the machine and stuffs it in his carrier bag again.

Stiles narrows his eyes at him before looking down at the envelope in his hands. Oh great, the gas company. Did he forget to pay again?

“Nice hoodie…” Hale mumbles as he’s already turning his back on Stiles again, and Stiles looks up at him, confused.

“Oh,” he says, looking down at Derek’s design again, “Uh, thanks.”

And then the mailman is stomping down the stairs again.

“Dude’s got issues…” Stiles mutters to himself as he retreats back into his apartment, tearing open the envelope.


‘You know that hoodie you bought from my store…?’

‘Oh man, I forgot to tell you! It’s a huge hit. My roommate loves it, and even my crazy ass mailman commented on it!’ Stiles types excitedly.

‘Your mailman?’

Stiles snorts. ‘Yeah, dude’s got serious issues. He’s like the perfect embodiment of the disgruntled civil servant. LOL.’

And ridiculously attractive, but Derek doesn’t need to know that.

‘Fuck. Stiles…?’

‘But he still noticed the hoodie! So he has good taste, at least. ;)’

‘Well, you’re right about one thing… dude’s got issues.’

Stiles frowns at his screen. Sometimes he can’t quite follow when Derek is being all cryptic again.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘I uh… I should’ve said something this morning. I just...’

‘This morning? We didn’t even talk this morning. You were at work.’

Stiles is definitely lost in this conversation now.

‘We did talk. And I got all weird.’

‘Der, did your account get hacked or something?’

Stiles is getting this uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, like something isn’t quite right.

‘No, I just need to tell you something.’

‘Okay...’ Stiles takes a deep breath and braces himself. ‘Well, it’s me. You can tell me anything.’

He’s a woman. He’s married. He’s a psychopath. He’s too old. He’s too young. He’s into animals or children or dead people or something. He’s not into men.

Okay, some of these possibilities are somewhat more scary than others, but still. There isn’t a whole lot that isn’t crossing Stiles’ mind at this point.

‘I’m your mailman.’

Except for that…


‘I’m your crazy ass, disgruntled mailman.’

‘WHAT?’ Stiles is blinking at the screen, before he types, ‘Are you role-playing or something? ‘cause dude, you really should warn a person before you do that. And to pick the mailman, I mean, yeah okay, he’s stupidly hot, but it’s an odd choice.’

‘STILES. Can you stop for a second and read what I’m writing? I. AM. YOUR. MAILMAN.’

Stiles is reading the words but it just doesn’t make any sense. Is this Derek’s weird sense of humor? He loves the guy, but sometimes he has a strange interpretation of what’s funny. And okay, Stiles probably shouldn’t get too deep into the fact that he just admitted to himself that he loves Derek.

‘But my mailman hates me.’ is all he can think of to type. His brain is kind of short-circuiting right now.

‘Yeah, no, he really doesn’t.’

‘I’m still not getting the joke.’

‘STILINSKI!’ Derek types, and holy shit… It’s no joke. Derek doesn’t know his last name. He only knows him by Stiles, he doesn’t even know his official first name. This isn’t Derek playing some joke on him, or role-playing (which really isn’t Derek’s style anyway), this is real. Derek is Hale. Derek is his hot as fuck mailman with the attitude and the judgy eyebrows. The one that parks in the reserved places and disapproves of him sleeping until 11 in the morning and…


‘There it is.’

‘OH MY GOD DEREK.’ Stiles’ brain is going to explode. ‘I told my dad you were in the reserved places! I was wearing your goddamn hoodie when you came to my door this morning! Oh my God… I WROTE AUSTIN WITH DARK HAIR AND FUCKING STUBBLE.’

Stiles kind of wants to disappear right now. He’s not even sure why he’s still typing all of this, he’s only making things worse.

‘Wait, what?’

Where is that fucking sticker of the bear hiding in the corner, ‘cause it’s never been more Stiles than right now.

‘You look like a damn model and you never showed me a picture of yourself before!’ Stiles types accusingly.

‘Look who’s talking! Have you seen yourself?’

‘You hate me!’

‘I really really don’t!’

Stiles takes a deep breath, puts his phone down on the table and gets up to walk around the living room a few times. Derek is his mailman, and he doesn’t hate Stiles, and they clearly live within socializing distance, and… Stiles went to open the door in his hoodie designed by Derek. How did Derek not freak out? How did he not spill the beans right then and there?

He picks up his phone again.

‘You need to come to my house.’

‘What? Now?’

Stiles’ heart is pounding in his chest. ‘Yes! I don’t have your address. You know where I live.’

‘Okay, but… are you sure?’

‘I need to talk to you face to face. See for myself that you are my idiot postal worker with a grudge.’

‘Wow, you sure know how to smooth-talk a guy...’

Stiles can’t help but grin.

‘You love it. Please come over.’

 There’s silence for a few moments, but then Derek sends, ‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’


The doorbell rings. And then it rings again. Stiles almost wants to laugh, but he’s seriously so nervous he’s just standing in front of the locked door.

“You do realize it was you that asked me to come over, right?” Derek calls out from the other side, and it’s the mailman’s voice. Stiles knew it would be, but then it happened and he’s suddenly not sure again if he believes it.

“Give me a minute!” Stiles calls back, wiping his sweaty palms on his sweatpants.

“To find your key?” Derek asks from behind the door, and oh my God, he really is grumpy but somehow it’s endearing all of a sudden.

“To get my shit together!” Stiles answers with a shaky laugh.

“Alright…” Derek says, and for once he doesn’t even sound judgy. “But if your neighbors call the cops, it’s on you.”

“My dad’s the cops, remember?” Stiles says, running his hand through his hair as he takes a deep breath.

“Oh, right,” he hears from the other side, and then he places his hand on the doorknob and pulls open the door, and there he is… Derek. It’s actually him, judgy eyebrows and magnificent eyes and impressive physique and everything.

“Hi,” Stiles says, but it comes out as a relieved sigh.

“Hi,” Derek says, and it’s the first time he’s actually smiling at Stiles, and oh God, the teeth. Stiles hadn’t noticed the teeth yet.

“Don’t have a package for me this time, huh?” Stiles quips, and before he can even make a joke out of it, Derek puts his hand up with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression on his face.

“Don’t,” he says, and then Stiles is stepping to the side to let him in. “You’re still wearing the hoodie,” Derek grins as he nods towards Stiles.

“Oh,” Stiles looks down at himself, “Yeah. See how great it looks? And the material’s really soft too, you wanna fee - ? Uhm…”

Stiles is already standing into Derek’s personal space, tugging the hem of his hoodie towards Derek when he realizes he’s basically asking Derek to feel him up.

“I mean…” Stiles stutters, then closes his eyes as he groans and takes a step back. “I’m not that smooth in person.”

“Didn’t you call me an idiot with a grudge online just now?” Derek asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh God,” Stiles exclaims, slapping his hands over his face. “Why did you even agree to come here! I’m a disaster!”

“Eh,” Derek shrugs, a sly grin tugging at his lips, “I kinda like disastrous you.”

“You do?” Stiles asks, and he knows he’s sounding way too hopeful, but he just can’t help himself.

“You know I do,” Derek says, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “Besides, I’m more worried about you still liking me after all the name-calling you did today.”

Stiles winces as he realizes all the things he’s said about Derek.

“I have no filter,” Stiles says, even though it’s no excuse.

“I kinda noticed that, yeah,” Derek says, accompanied by a small smile.

“I was just… in shock?” Stiles starts, gesturing with his hands, “Because I was so far gone on you, but then I met the fucking mailman who totally got under my skin, but I kinda couldn’t stop thinking about him either, I mean, I even ended up writing about him when I was supposed to write about Austin and oh God, I don’t even know what happened! And then you turn out to be that guy and I just…”

“Breathe, Stiles,” Derek says, his hands coming up to bracket Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles sucks in a deep breath, which might have been a huge mistake because now he’s filled with Derek’s scent, and it’s magical.

 “I can’t believe you were actually thinking about me when you wrote that…” Derek says, and he almost sounds like he’s in awe, but Stiles knows he should be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t believe I did that,” Stiles starts ranting again, “Oh God, now I’ve made things all awkward between us and I don’t want that, I just wan - ”

And then Derek’s lips are crushed against his, and Stiles doesn’t need to breathe anymore. He doesn’t think he’ll ever have to breathe again, he can just live off Derek’s lips forever, he’s sure he can. Derek’s hands are cupping his jawline, thumbs stroking over his cheeks and they’re rough and soft at the same time, and he doesn’t even want them to leave, except maybe to trail over other body parts. Stiles grips his fists into Derek’s sweater, pulling him close as he opens up his mouth underneath Derek’s, savoring every second of the kiss.

By the time Derek pulls away carefully, Stiles is already chasing his lips, leaning into Derek’s touch with his entire body.

“Sorry, I…” Derek breathes, tickling at Stiles’ lips. “I just wanted to do that.”

“That’s… yeah,” Stiles sighs happily, bringing up his arms to wrap around Derek’s neck. “I’ve been wanting to do that since forever.”

“Good,” Derek mutters in the crook of Stiles’ neck, tightening his arms around Stiles’ waist.

And all of a sudden it isn’t awkward anymore.


“Sti-iles! The mailman’s here!” Scott yells as he’s on his way out the door.

“Oh, him!” Stiles calls out, with an exasperated sigh.

“I know, right?” Derek shouts from where he’s standing at the door, “That guy’s a pain in the ass!”

“But with a nice ass,” Stiles smirks as he pulls Derek inside the apartment so he can greet him with a kiss. He smacks his lips against Derek’s before he gives him the once-over. “Especially in that uniform.”

“Believe it or not,” Derek says, rummaging through his carrier bag, “I actually have a registered letter for you.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, surprised, before he winks at Derek, “So you mean this isn’t just a booty delivery?”

“I am more professional than that,” Derek huffs, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Well, I’m not,” Stiles says quickly, pulling Derek close to him for another kiss.

Derek complies, dropping his bag as he holds Stiles close, pressing his lips firmly against Stiles’.

“I have the best mailman ever,” Stiles sighs happily as he pulls away eventually.

“I thought he was rude and disgruntled?” Derek quirks an eyebrow.

“Nah, he just needed to get laid,” Stiles shrugs.

“Riiight,” Derek grins, holding out the letter he has for Stiles. “Here.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says as he snatches the letter out of Derek’s hand. His heart is pounding in his chest. “This is from Martin’s Publishing House! Holy shit, Derek. They never send rejection letters that you have to sign for!”

“Well, open it then!” Derek says excitedly as Stiles rips into the envelope and quickly scans the letter.

“Oh my God!” Stiles shrieks thrilled, all but jumping into Derek’s arms. “They’re gonna publish my novel! I did it!”

He gets engulfed by Derek’s arms then, lifting him off the ground as he whoops enthusiastically, congratulating Stiles. “This is amazing, Stiles! I don’t know anyone that deserves it more!”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Stiles says, locking eyes with Derek.

“I just delivered the letter, Stiles,” Derek brushes him off, nuzzling his nose against Stiles’ cheek.

“Not that, you idiot!” Stiles grins widely, “All the support you gave me! All the feedback and encouragement when I sent you the first draft… I could never have done this without you.”

“I’m just glad I could be there for you,” Derek says, rubbing his hand over Stiles’ back soothingly.

“Oh, you’re gonna do more than that!” Stiles grins, smashing his lips against Derek’s quickly. “Who do you think is going to design the cover?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Derek says, as if it would be some kind of sacrifice for Stiles.

“Have to?” Stiles shakes his head in disbelief, “I’d be so fucking honored! Don’t you know how talented you are?”

“I know you think so,” Derek says, a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Yeah, well, so does my mailman,” Stiles quips, nuzzling his nose against Derek’s neck, “And he’s not one to joke around.”

“Oh well, if the mailman says so…” Derek says, breezily, before he closes his arms around Stiles a little bit more. 


The End