“Oh, Jesus. Did… did someone shoot you? God, people are the worst.” Stiles would swear on a stack of Bibles that the wolf nodded at that, even though that was ridiculous. And yet. Stack of Bible-swearing.

“Okay, I cannot leave you here. I just can’t. But I also don’t want you to eat my face? I just got my first vacation in I don’t know how long, and I haven’t seen my dad in ages, and we’re supposed to have dinner tonight, and you don’t want to eat me, right? Nothing tasty over here.” He inched closer, hands outstretched to show he was a good guy. “I’m just gonna get closer, see what I can do, maybe save your life? Sound good?”

“If you’re watching this, you’re probably some kind of sentient life form responding to my distress call – well, it’s not really an official distress call because, well, the hardware for that is kind of crushed, but I’m definitely in distress, so that should probably count for something.”

The young man on the screen sighs and rubs his face, jerking his hand away with a hiss. He’s bleeding, Derek realises: there’s a gash across his brow and the knuckles of both hands are bruised and bloody, and that’s only what he can make out between the cracks in the glass and the frame of the camera.

“Huh.” Derek looks less concerned that Stiles thinks this situation warrants, but his hands wander up to cup his face and his mouth opens up over his again and all the bones in Stiles’s legs melt, so he has to, like, prop himself up against Derek’s entire front.

Derek says, "Okay?" when he pulls back slightly and Stiles manages an eloquent, "Buh."

Or –

A spell made them do it. Sure, Stiles. That works.

“So…” The man was at the door to a shed now. “The previous owners left everything, so I think there should be everything you need. But let me know if you need me to pick up anything, or if you prefer, you can buy it and I’ll reimburse you…”

“Everything I need?” Stiles repeated. He had obviously missed something.

“You know.” The man smiled again, a little more cautiously. He was looking at Stiles as if he were a bit mentally-challenged. “To clean the pool.”

“To clean the pool,” Stiles repeated. He looked around. Then he looked down at himself, taking in his stained shirt, cargo shorts, and raggedy Converse.

“Oh!” he said. “Because I’m the pool guy.” And that’s not what he meant to say at all. He meant to say, “You think I’m the pool guy.”

Stiles stumbles back when Derek takes a step toward him, but still says, “Tell me, did you offer Isaac, Erica and Boyd ‘the bite,’ too?” He’s not proud of the air quotes he uses, but it’s too late to rethink them now—Derek lunges at him with a growl and Stiles trips over his own feet and falls on his ass on the rocky ground. “What the fuck, Derek?”

"You don't know what you're talking about," Derek says. He crouches over Stiles, insanely thick thighs bracketing Stiles's raised knees. His eyes flash red.

Stiles sucks in a breath, heart beating high and terrified in his throat. He barely has enough breath to rasp, "What the fuck?" again.

There's a growl low in Derek's chest. He says, "You can tell Scott that if he shows up with you, the deal's off."

or -

An AU where Scott was never bit by Peter Hale, Derek actually manages to be a good alpha, and Stiles gets kidnapped a lot.

Stiles isn’t trying to take away from Rapp’s pain here, but before he beamed down from the Daedalus, Derek was down to only yelling at Stiles sixty percent of the time, and twenty percent of their remaining lab shifts were spent giving Stiles looks that he’s almost certain were fond. He gets him coffee on their morning shifts together. Sometimes he waits for him for lunch. Any smiles Derek is throwing around should be for Stiles, not a dude who’s probably carrying at least ten hidden knives on his person.

“You’re the one who wanted normalcy,” says Derek. He hands Stiles a dish.

“Right.” Stiles accepts the dish. “And normal people have dishwashers.”

Derek looks flatly at him. He valiantly does not get distracted by the self-satisfied crinkle in the corners of Stiles’ eyes. Even having just been fed—romantically fed, Derek would like to emphasize—there’s always something sullen in Stiles. Some low-level entitlement. Derek wants to fuck it right out of him.

Stiles has urgent, zodiacal, star-crossed news for Derek.

When the Wild Hunt erases Stiles on a dark and stormy night, it’s up to the rest of Scott and Derek’s packs to pick through the holes in their memories in search of someone they can’t even remember.

In which Derek Hale doesn’t realize the way he’s built his life around Stiles until Stiles is no longer a part of it. A Season 6 AU that examines how things might have gone had Derek, Cora, Kira, Jackson, Allison, Erica, Boyd and Isaac been around to help Lydia take down the Wild Hunt and save the day.

The months following Allison’s death have passed Stiles by in a haze of monotony. He sleepwalks through days that seem to lose their color, an unwilling passenger in a body he no longer trusts. Eventually, he thinks, he’ll just fade away. He isn’t sure anyone would notice. Then, during a spur of the moment grocery run, he stumbles upon Derek Hale attempting to console a lost child, and for the first time in recent memory the world doesn’t seem so awful. He’s not sure what he’d been expecting when he eventually convinces Derek to move into the Stilinski’s spare bedroom, but a newfound passion for weeding and topsoil certainly isn’t it.

When a group of sinister men attempt to kidnap Stiles Stilinski from the Brooklyn apartment he shares with his stepsister, Lydia, Stiles is forced to activate a spell that translocates him to where he’ll be safest. Derek Hale isn’t sure what to do about the soaking wet young man he finds wandering down a Beacon County roadside during the middle of a thunderstorm, but he feels compelled to help him. There’s something about Stiles that Derek finds fascinating, and before long the two become embroiled in each other’s lives. Despite the threat to his life and the sudden upheaval of everything he’s ever known, Stiles is having a hard time feeling too upset about that.

Derek has said two fucking words to him after almost eight years, and Stiles can’t stop obsessing about it.

or -

Stiles is trying to cope with the surprise arrival of a daughter he never knew about, and Derek Hale insinuating himself into his life again isn’t helping. Honestly.

“If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game,” the ad had said.

Derek didn’t want to be a part of anything. He lived a deliberately nomadic life, avoiding personal connections and never staying more than a few years in the same place. As hard as it was to be a ‘wolf without a pack, he was getting by. Shep was enough of a pack to stabilize him, and he never stayed long enough in a place to get territorial about it. Yet, the thought of leaving Beacon Hills in his rearview mirror, as he had left so many other places…

It’s not that Stiles hates his neighbor. Sure, he’s a huge jerkface who wears leather jackets, douchy sunglasses and routinely tries to murder Stiles with his eyes.

But Stiles doesn’t hate him. He’s not sure he’s capable of hating someone that smoking hot.

Or -

Stiles and Derek get snowed in on Christmas Eve.

“Hello. This is Alpha Vernon Boyd, calling from Camp Remus about—“

“Derek?” Talia asks, confused. “You’re calling about Derek? Is he okay? What happened?”

“Oh, boy.” Melissa blows out a breath. “All right. Is he hurt?”

“He’s been there for two hours, what could he possibly have—“ John pauses. “Hang on, Camp Remus? Like the werewolf camp?”

Stiles starts out with three jack-o-lanterns in front of their modest little pack house, but when he sees Derek staple-gunning orange lights around the entire front of their porch, he comes home with a six foot dinosaur skeleton with glowing red eyes.

No one actually hangs Halloween lights unless they’re going to war.

Or-

Stiles and Derek have some kind of unspoken Halloween decorating competition that also involves baked goods and flirting.

Stiles taps on the icon to open up the chat. He needs to write something. Anything. But what?

What are you wearing? Eh, no.

So, when the fuck were you going to tell me you’re back in BH? A bit too aggressive.

Does this mean that my attraction to you in high school was mutual, but you held back on account of me basically being a child and you are now open to exploring the intense, overwhelming feelings I held for you, which I only realized I had the moment I thought I watched you die? Maybe too honest.

Stiles hasn’t seen or heard from Derek in ten years. It’s a bit of a surprise to find out about Derek’s return to Beacon Hills through Tinder.

Stiles thinks about Scott when it happens, tries to get some, y’know, perspective. He thinks about Scott, that there are worse things that can happen when you get hit with an unexpected dose of something. When the device that had been left behind as a last little screw you by the fae they’d been dealing with blew up in his hands he could’ve been reduced to tomato paste on the walls.

Instead, he has a tail and little pointy striped tabby ears on the top of his head.

Stiles is a Private Investigator, only not really. He’s also magical, but only close up. One thing he’s really good at is lusting over people from afar, which is why it’s a problem when Laura Hale hires him to help her brother.