“You… want me to come to your family reunion?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll come to my best friend’s wedding as…my… date?” Stiles thinks the whole proposition bears repeating.

“Yes,” Derek says again, brows furrowing like he’s starting to regret asking.

This Halloween, Stiles is being a “Hapless Partygoer Entangled In a Hellish Time Vortex with Derek.” Unfortunately, it’s not a costume. And they’re trapped. And it’s getting worse.

Derek’s relationship with Stiles begins to feel almost normal, at least for Beacon Hills—the kind of normal with grisly murders and terrifying adversaries.

Six weeks after Aftershocked, Derek is still convinced that the sky is falling.

The good news: it’s not. The bad news: he is.

When Derek is killed by a rival alpha, the pack will stop at nothing to get him back. Even if that means blackmailing the most dangerous hunter duo this side of hell. Whatever. That whole devil thing was probably totally exaggerated, anyway.

A unicorn stalks Derek Hale.

Derek is sent on Mission: Lick Stiles for totally legit supernatural reasons.

Stiles and Erica go on a totally fake date. For reasons.

The only real thought that Stiles has is that he can’t let his father see her, this woman who somehow is and isn’t his mother. (Welcome to Night Vale crossover)

Derek gets cursed with sex telepathy.

They stare at each other, half-grinning, and Derek knows it’s definitely the absolute wrong time for this, but he wants. He wants to grin at Stiles over dinner every day for the rest of his life, baffled over yams and Moon Pie Day, and, god, crap, goddamn, when the fuck did he have time to fall in love?

Or

The life and times of Deputy Stiles and Supernatural Foster Dad Derek Hale

If there’s one thing Stiles Stilinski knows, it’s that Deputy Derek Hale absolutely Does Not Like him. The only reason Derek even tolerates him is because their kids are worryingly codependent.

So Stiles is understandably confused when a very feral Derek shows up in his backyard after a call gone wrong and proceeds to move in with him.

Derek has never been with a guy before, thankfully Stiles has a lot of theoretical knowledge and a thirst for experimentation, he’s a veritable Gay Yoda, Gayda if you will, except probably don’t use that word actually.

“We weren’t going to get out of the car,” Stiles says again, and big fucking help that is now, with Scott’s side shredded by a fucking sabre-tooth tiger or whatever.

“Just tell me what happened,” his Dad says.

When Stiles crosses paths with a sexy, brooding drifter, his hunter instincts peg him as a potential threat to his town. Surveilling Derek Hale leads Stiles to seedy bars and sketchy motels, where despite his better judgement, Stiles finds himself drawn irresistibly closer to the werewolf.

Stiles goes to a Halloween party on campus to blow off some steam after a stressful week of midterms. He doesn’t expect the party to be crashed by both a supernatural predator and Derek Hale.

Sheriff Stilinski wanted it stated for the record that he wasn’t an idiot. He knew Stiles was up to his ears in something. There were too many nights sneaking out or in, too many coincidences, too many fumbled silences for him not to realize something was up, and it was escalating.

It wasn’t any of the usual things, but when whatever it was landed his son in the hospital with a bullet in his leg, it was the last straw.

Stiles groans and drops his face into his hands. “I’m seventeen, I can kind of use mountain ash and I can explode houses when I’m mad enough. How am I gonna win any kind of magic fight?”

“We’ll work on it,” Deaton says, as infuriatingly calm as ever. “The important thing to remember, Stiles, is that when everything else is chaos, you’re the port in the storm.”

Or-

Laura Hale never died, and Stiles is magic.

Derek doesn’t usually start conversations, but today he feels like making an exception. “Are you okay? This is a lot more baking than usual, even for you.”

“What? What do you mean?” Stiles says, dropping his hands to his sides. His face cycles through about five or six different expressions before settling on something that’s probably trying to say “innocent and oblivious,” but… well. Derek might not know Stiles that well, but he knows Stiles is definitely not either of those things, ever.

“The cookies,” Derek says slowly. “That you leave on my doorstep a few times a week while I’m out on my morning run.”

Stiles glares down at the cookies Derek’s holding like they’ve betrayed him.

“We don’t talk about it,” Derek says slowly, unsure, “but I thought you knew that I knew it was you.

It’s only later, when Stiles is lying in bed and staring at his ceiling, that he thinks: of course. Of course Derek Hale is pure of heart.

or-

A unicorn thinks Derek deserves nice things.