#barista stiles

[sterekbros]

You and I Collide | 13.6k | E | Fluff | Kidfic

Tags: Nanny Stiles Stilinski, True Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Barista Stiles Stilinski, Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Full Shift Werewolves, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, No Kate Argent, Claiming, Bites, Marking, Scent Marking, Mating Bites, Adoption

The one where Barista Stiles propositions Alpha Derek to be the nanny for his kids, especially since Derek went through so many candidates that Stiles thought there weren’t any more for him to interview.

“Hey,” Stiles said carefully, smiling when those eyes he wanted to lose himself in looked up at him.

“I figured you needed a pick me up after that last one.” He handed him the cup and when Mr. Honey-Almondmilk-Flat-White-with-Whipcream took the drink, Stiles sat across from him in the cushy chair he usually took his break in.

The dude sniffed it and then took a sip. “You know my order…”

“Well, yeah. You’ve been ordering it for like, the last week when you’ve been in here.” Stiles smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m Stiles.”

Read on A03.

[fuckyeahfanfictions]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Isaac Lahey Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Lawyer Derek Hale Series: Part 24 of A Series of Tumblr Ficlets Summary:

It’s really Derek’s luck, though, to start developing a crush on someone who apparently hates him.

*

Everyone at the new coffeeshop gets personalized foam art. Derek always gets a dick drawn in his.

[blank-potato]

I Hate Your Stupid Face

Summary:

“That arrogant, smug, scarf-wearing-” "All he did was ask for extra caramel syrup," Scott comments as he sweeps. "It wasn't what he said, it's how he said it. Like I was beneath him. Not to mention the countless other times he's waltzed in here with a superiority complex the size of California." - Stiles is a barista, and Isaac is a vet. They hate each other.

A/N:

The title is from I Hate Your Stupid Face by Kaden MacKay because it felt very Stisaac to me. Also, Stisaac is the main ship with a tiny bit of background Scira because I love them. Enjoy!

☕︎☕︎☕︎

"I hate him."

"You don't even know him."

Stiles sighed. He liked this job and was damn good at it. With his quick wit, infectious energy, and overall "puppy-like" charm (Kira's words, not his), he was a natural.

He balanced the line between lovable scamp and sarcastic asshole very well, and everyone seemed to appreciate it. Well, everyone except him.

“That arrogant, smug, scarf-wearing-”

"All he did was ask for extra caramel syrup," Scott comments as he sweeps.

"It wasn't what he said, it's how he said it. Like I was beneath him. Not to mention the countless other times he's waltzed in here with a superiority complex the size of California."

By other times, Stiles meant the way the guy always had a snide remark or a condescending question. He wondered why the guy kept coming back if he hated the coffee so damn much. There are about 4 coffee joints in this area but this particular idiot keeps walking into his particular shop. It was driving him beyond crazy and no matter how hard he tried to stay focused on work, his mind kept drifting to a blue-eyed brunette with a penchant for being rude to him. Without fail, he'd come in after the morning rush like a bat out of hell, order some sugary monstrosity, and leave but not before picking some sort of fight with Stiles.

Stiles thought back to when he first saw him. Curly brown hair and a scarf, but at that point it was appropriate for the middle of winter so Stiles couldn’t protest. His cheeks were tinted red from the biting cold, and he looked almost endearing with how he tried to warm his hands by rubbing them together. But then he opened his mouth.

“Mocha frappuccino, triple shot, extra whip.”

“Sweet tooth?”

“I didn’t realize I ordered snark with my coffee,” Isaac mutters as he slings his bag over one shoulder, barely sparing Stiles a glance.

Stiles can’t believe it. He wasn’t even being snarky (for once). It’s one thing to insult him, but to do it without even looking at him? Rude.

“On the house for customers as charming as yourself,” Stiles deadpans, punching in the order, “Name?”

“Isaac.”

Isaac replies then goes back to idly tapping on his phone while Stiles gets to work. The café hums with the low murmur of conversation and the whir of the espresso machine as Stiles prepares the drink—triple shot, extra whip, just as ordered. He slides the cup across the counter with a saccharine smile.

Isaac takes one sip and pauses. “Is this nutmeg?”

“That’s what you asked for,” Stiles replies, unbothered. “Our house blend comes with a dash of cinnamon, a hint of nutmeg—”

Isaac sets the cup down with an audible thud. “Yeah, no. Make it again.”

Stiles exhales through his nose. He could argue. He wants to argue. But technically, customer service dictates he keeps his mouth shut. Barely.

Wordlessly, he remakes the drink, his movements precise, deliberate but aggressive. Mixing, pouring, topping it with an exaggerated swirl of whipped cream before sliding it back to Isaac with a pointed grin.

“Your coffee, Isaac.”

Then Isaac’s gaze dropped to the side of the cup, where his name was written in bold black ink.

“You spelt my name wrong.”

“I know,” Stiles said with an evil little smile.

From then on, it was an unspoken war between the two, both worryingly determined to ruin each other’s day. Sometimes Isaac would repeatedly change his order, only to ultimately decide on nothing, while Stiles, in retaliation, stooped so low as to serve him nothing but a cup of boiling water.

Stiles could remember it as if it were yesterday. The sense of satisfaction when he handed over the cup and said, "Have a nice day." Scott had told him he was smiling like the Grinch that day. It was one of his favourite victories over Isaac so far, in what had otherwise been an intense draw for most of their verbal sparring matches. Just as he began to replay it all in his head, his spiral was abruptly interrupted.

"Stiles?"

His head snapped towards Scott who had been calling his name for almost a minute.

"You fell into some sort of trance.”

“I can’t help it…”

Stiles started playing with a straw, furrowing his brows in pure concentration. By this point, the shop was desolate, with just a few patrons lingering over some cake, which left Stiles free to pace about like a restless lunatic.

"It’s just Isaac," he muttered, his name sounding like an evil spell on his tongue. A crackle of thunder rang out as the rain poured onto the streets.

"What the hell is his problem?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Scott replied, glancing up at Stiles’s unimpressed and thoroughly pissed-off face but at least he’d stopped moving.

“Seriously dude. You’ll be having a totally normal day then he shows up and you turn into a…maniac.”

“How sweet.”

Stiles thought maniac was more than a mild exaggeration. He couldn’t possibly be that bad.

“Stiles. I mean this with the best of intentions but you need to sort this out. Whatever this is, it isn’t healthy. You need to put this energy into something productive or at the very least positive.”

Stiles sighs tossing his straw towards the bin but missing. As he goes to throw it away he looks over at Scott and realises he’s already put on his jacket.

“You alright to lock up on your own? Kira and I are going out to dinner.”

“Of course, what are best friends for?” he says with a teasing smile, though the hint of sarcasm in his voice doesn’t escape him. Between work and the endless cycle of binge-watching shows, there was nothing and no one he was rushing home to every night so locking up was no problem at all. Scott stops at the door and looks over with a cheeky smile, “Maybe you should put your energy into finding someone.”

“Haha very funny,” Stiles says deadpan throwing an empty cup at him that Scott skillfully dodges because of course he does.

“Just think about it,” he says as he heads towards the door and Stiles is just happy he didn’t push him on it. Who needed a relationship? He considered himself the type of guy who was prone to hopelessly and recklessly pining over someone or hopelessly and recklessly hating someone and that sort of thing takes up a lot of time.

After Scott leaves in favour of his social life, Stiles starts closing up shop. Not that he minded, he actually liked this job, remember? His sarcasm was liked by the staff, which was a fun change from his previous job where his sense of humour wasn't shared. The customers for the most part were nice or at least too busy to give him any lip. Everything about his job was (almost) perfect so how could he complain?

Snapping out of his thoughts he stepped out into the rain in a dimly lit alleyway as he locked the door behind him. And cursed his brain but he noted that it seemed like the perfect place for a mugging. He felt particularly jumpy after reading about recent crime reports, and knowing that muggings had been on the rise in the neighbourhood only made it worse.

Bark.

Stiles screams, nearly jumping out of his skin and regrets not having his baseball bat.

Bark.

His heart rate began to settle. It must be his imagination, he thought. The late nights and copious amounts of coffee must've messed him up.

Bark!

Now Stiles definitely heard that. He spotted a little bundle of grey fur in a box, shivering and letting out a pitiful whimper. He glanced around the area and saw no note and no sign of anyone nearby. The dog yipped and barked up at him and Stiles felt his heart melt. How could anyone leave such an adorable puppy out in the cold?

"Hey, hey, there ya go," he murmured, gently scooping the puppy into his arms, running his fingers through its soft, wet fur. He hurried to his bicycle, carefully wrapping the little pup in his jacket to keep it warm and placing it in the basket. He takes out his phone wiping away the rain from the screen as he tries to find a vet nearby. The sigh of relief he let out when he saw one just a 2-minute bike ride away was a big one. So making haste, he raced off into the night hoping he’d get there before the place closed.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

He arrives at the door with just a minute to spare. The lights were still on and he could see a figure moving in the background through the windows. He picks up the puppy carefully and places it in his jacket, hoping to keep it warm. The door jingles softly as he opens it, and he steps forward, his eyes on the ground.

Before he can even speak, he hears a familiar voice.

"Sorry, but we're closed. You can come back tomorrow—"

"Are you sure there's nothing you can—?" he begins, but his words get caught in his throat.

It didn't register immediately, but then it hit him.

Time seems to slow as Stiles looks up, and there, standing before him is the face that’s been on his mind all week, all month and if his antics persisted, all year.

"Isaac."

"Oh, coffee shop guy."

Isaac's lips formed a small smirk, and Stiles had to admit he looked fine. Just fine, because any more than that and his pride might take a hit.

“It’s Stiles.”

“Well Stiles as I just said we’re closed so you can take yourself and just—"

A bark interrupted him, coming from inside Stiles’s coat.

"Is there a dog inside your coat?" Isaac says in disbelief.

"...Maybe."

A brief pause hung between them as the puppy yipped for more attention. Stiles was almost grateful for it, the absurdity of the situation would give him something to laugh about later when he was alone.

"Fine. Come to the back, I'm feeling generous," Isaac said, leading him inside.

“I feel honoured.”

"I'm doing this for the dog, not for you," Isaac snaps, his voice sharp, the emphasis on "you" dripping with contempt.

Stiles placed the puppy on the examination table, watching as Isaac carefully looked over the little creature. Isaac's soft hands moved gently, and the puppy leaned into his touch.

Then, Isaac smiled. It was a genuine one and that caught Stiles off guard.

“He’s yours?”

“No. Well… I found him.”

“Found?”

“Outside the coffee shop, left in a box in the rain. I couldn’t just leave him there so…” Stiles says before trailing off.

“I see. Well I'll check him over and see about getting him adopted or—"

And Stiles swears in that moment the puppy looked at him, his pleading eyes, the way his little tail swooshed and wagged back and forth. He was perfect and he knew he had to keep him. It was fate.

"I wanna keep him."

The words flew out of Stiles's mouth before he could stop them, his filter apparently out of commission.

"Keeping a dog is a big responsibility," Isaac cautioned, his tone firm.

"I'm responsible," Stiles shot back, gritting his teeth. He could practically feel Isaac’s judgment from miles away, a weight pressing down on him as his frustration simmered.

"Right..." Isaac replied, his scepticism unmistakable.

Stiles squared his shoulders. "Going home with me would be better than going to the shelter, so I’ll take him."

Isaac shrugged, his expression unreadable. "If you say so… but he’s a malamute, so he’s gonna get pretty big."

"I don’t mind," Stiles replied, his voice more resolute than he felt.

Stiles watched as Isaac carefully examined the dog, his hands moving with a surprising gentleness. Each touch seemed to have a calming effect, the dog visibly relaxing as if Isaac’s hands held some kind of quiet magic, soothing away the fear and uncertainty with every careful motion. For a moment, Stiles wondered if Isaac knew just how good he was at this.

"You’ll have to bring him back to get neutered and for his shots," Isaac added, his tone still all business.

"Of course," Stiles responded quickly, nodding. He hoped his voice sounded more confident than he felt, trying not to focus on the weight of the responsibility he’d just taken on.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

He goes back outside, and somehow the rain has managed to get even worse. The wind picks up, whipping through the streets and lashing against his skin like needles. There was no way he was cycling home.

“Shit,” Stiles mutters under his breath, squinting at his phone in a futile attempt to find an Uber amidst the downpour. Just as he’s about to give up, he hears the door open again behind him. The wind picks up, howling around him and soaking him to the bone and Isaac takes notice.

Isaac hesitated before speaking. "I can give you a ride." Stiles looked back at him incredulously. "I'm not a complete asshole," Isaac added, noticing the look. Stiles was still staring at him as if he were half lizard. Isaac sighed, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “And I’m doing it for the dog. Don’t want the little guy to freeze in that sad excuse of a bike.”

“Asshole.”

“Is that a no?” Isaac says with a quirk of his eyebrow. He had the high ground and they both knew it.

Stiles hesitated, but after a moment, hearing the dog panting and barking, he nodded and accepted the offer. “Fine. Just this once.” A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched Isaac’s expression shift to one of triumph.

He’s about to load up his bike before forgetting the fact that he’s holding a dog.

“Hold him for a second?” he asks, placing the puppy into Isaac’s arms because if it wasn’t clear enough to Isaac, he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He attaches the bike to the back before climbing into the front seat.

As he looks to his side, he sees Isaac being attacked by the dog’s playful licks, a genuine smile breaking across his face. It’s not his usual evil smirk or that annoying shit-eating grin; it’s a soft, warm smile that makes Stiles feel his heart melt for a second time that night. At least until the memories of Isaac and all the feelings associated with him rush back in, solidifying his heart in an instant.

Isaac hands the puppy back to him, clearing his throat as he does so. He had let the mask slip and he didn’t plan on doing that again.

The car ride is mostly silent, punctuated only by the occasional barking of the dog in the back (the only one truly comfortable there) and the sound of the rain lashing against the windows. Then again, that all paled compared to the sound of his heart rattling in his chest.

“So…you do this for everyone that stops by your clinic?”

“Only the pathetic ones,” Isaac retorts almost instantly like he was just waiting for the opportunity to insult him. If he weren’t giving him a ride home, he probably would’ve verbally eviscerated him but he couldn’t afford to be left on the side of the highway in what felt like the rainstorm of the century. They continue down winding roads, Stiles interjecting every once in a while to give directions.

“It’s on the left.”

Looking over at Isaac's face, Stiles found himself memorising every detail, the curve of his nose, the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated. He had never spent this much time with him before. Their interactions typically lasted only five to ten minutes, filled with quick insults and scathing looks. It felt strange just being next to him, devoid of the usual defensive posturing.

Before he could confront these thoughts further, the car pulled up to his apartment building.

“Bring the dog by, and I’ll check to make sure everything’s okay,” Isaac said, turning to him with an earnestness that caught Stiles off guard.

“Yeah, I told you I would. You must really want to see me again,” Stiles replied teasingly, feeling a spark of the old competitive energy rise within him.

“Not on your life,” Isaac shot back, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips, but the glint in his eyes was serious.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

“And now you have a dog,” Kira says, raising her eyebrows. It’s clear she’s confused but supportive.

“A really cute one,” Stiles replies, beaming at her.

“Is this a responsible decision?” she asks, concern etched on her face.

“I’ve had enough of people questioning my responsibility lately,” Stiles replies, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “I’m the most responsible guy I know.”

“Who’s been questioning your responsibility?” Kira presses, crossing her arms.

“Isaac,” he says, seething at the thought of the other guy.

“Isaac?” Kira raises an eyebrow, turning to Scott, who grins.

“Stiles’s archnemesis, the evil scarf guy,” Scott interjects.

“Oh him? Wait, how was he questioning your responsibility? And what does he have to do with the dog?” Kira asks, her curiosity piqued.

Stiles hesitates for a moment, remembering their conversation. “He was the vet that I took Matcha to and he basically said I wouldn’t be able to handle having a dog and that I’m not ready for the commitment. Can you believe it?”

“Now, did he actually say those words, or did you infer that?” Kira asks, raising an eyebrow.

“In my defence, he inferred it very heavily,” Stiles replies, crossing his arms defensively. Just thinking about it had him feeling annoyed again.

“You’re making him sound like a supervillain,” she comments, shaking her head.

“He is!” Stiles insists, frustration bubbling over, “He’s smarmy and smug and he wears scarves in this weather! I’m sweating my ass off, and he’s probably wrapped in one right now like a douche.”

“He’s on your mind then…” Kira observes, a sly smile creeping onto her face. Scott and Kira exchange knowing glances, their amusement evident. “We’re not saying anything…” Kira teases.

“Because I don’t think we have to,” Scott finishes her sentence and Stiles has never felt more betrayed. He knew what they were implying and he didn’t like it one bit.

Just then, the door swings open and the devil himself walks in.

“Evil scarf guy?” Kira whispers, trying to stifle a laugh.

“The evil scarf guy,” Stiles confirms, his eyes narrowing. Isaac strides up to the counter, his hair in an adorable mess, clearly in a rush.

“The usual. I’m in a hurry,” he says, glancing at Stiles, barely paying him any mind.

“What’s the usual?” the barista replies, not looking up from the counter. He refused to dignify him with his full attention if he wouldn’t do the same. Isaac scoffs, crossing his arms. If Stiles wanted to play, Isaac would play too.

“You and I both know you know what I order, so make it for me.”

“I’m sorry but I haven’t a clue what you order.”

“Stiles—”

Stiles? That was new. He wasn’t used to hearing his name on his so-called archnemesis’s lips but it had a nice lilt to it especially when said in his familiar tone.

“Not. A. Clue.”

“I’ve been coming here for about eight months—”

“Congratulations, but I’m afraid I don’t know your usual. Eric? Is that your name?” Stiles shoots back, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“Isaac,” he snaps, biting back a smirk as his expression twists into a deeper frown. He’s only mildly annoyed, but it’s clear Stiles is getting under his skin.

“Right, Isaac. So what would you like to order?” the barista asks with mock politeness.

“I’ll have a mocha frappucino, triple shot, with extra whip and caramel syrup. Make sure you remember it for me. It’s my usual,” Isaac says, leaning on the counter and invading Stiles’s bubble.

“We’ll see,” Stiles mutters, trying to keep his focus as he starts making the order. The air felt lighter as he could feel Isaac’s eyes following his every move. To get one over on him was a beautiful thing, and the way Isaac’s brows furrowed just slightly in playful annoyance made him cherish it all the more.

“Order for Eri—sorry, Isaac?” Stiles calls out, placing the cup on the counter.

Isaac snatches the cup, inspecting it with a critical eye. His brows knit together in confusion. “These are just random consonants.”

“And…? Goodbye,” Stiles replies as he fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“Don’t think I won’t remember this next time,” Isaac counters.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Isaac swallows his insults, stepping away from the counter with a huff.

“I don’t think he’s evil scarf guy; I think you’re evil coffee guy,” Scott quips as he restocks the muffin display next to him.

“The evil coffee guy,” Kira corrects with a cheeky grin, her laughter ringing out as Stiles shoots them an annoyed glance before heading into the back room. The spare coffee cups couldn’t tease them, could they?

☕︎☕︎☕︎

The day Stiles had been dreading had arrived. He had to bring in Matcha to get his shots.

He stood outside the vet clinic, hesitant to go in. Sure he could have gone to a different vet but he didn’t want to give in to his fear.

The bell above the door lets out a cheerful jingle as he enters, and Isaac’s head snaps up, his face lighting with a faint smirk.

“You came.”

“Well, you’re my favourite vet…well, actually the only vet I know, but…” Stiles shrugs, trying to play it cool despite the nervous energy radiating off him.

Isaac chuckles dryly. “It’s the thought that counts, I suppose.”

Without missing a beat, Isaac turns on his heel and gestures for Stiles to follow, leading him down the hall to the familiar room. The walls, painted a calming pale blue, do little to settle Stiles’ nerves as Isaac starts gathering supplies.

The door clicks shut behind them, the soft hum of the overhead light filling the silence as Stiles sets Matcha’s carrier on the metal table. Isaac’s practised movements are calm and efficient, but there’s an unmistakable softness in his eyes as he glances at the wide-eyed dog peeking out nervously from the carrier.

“Cute,” Stiles says, smirking as he watches Isaac scratch behind Matcha’s ears.

“My dog, not you. You’re as cute as a gremlin, so…”

“Right back at you,” Isaac shoots back without missing a beat, his lips curling into a teasing grin.

Stiles huffs out a laugh, folding his arms as he leans against the counter. “Well, at least gremlins have personality. Better than being all broody and mysterious like some people I know.”

Isaac arches a brow, leaning slightly closer. “Broody? Mysterious? You’ve been watching me too much, Stiles. Starting to sound like you’ve got a crush.”

“Not on your life,” he replies, relishing the opportunity to throw Isaac’s own words back at him. The look on Isaac’s face is absolutely delicious as he swallows his words, just like he’s had to do so many times before and gets back to the task at hand.

After the appointment, Stiles had walked away with one and only one thing to say about Isaac: he was good at his job. Annoyingly good. The kind of good that made it hard for Stiles to come up with a decent comeback or find a flaw to poke at.

It wasn’t just the steady way Isaac handled Matcha, or how he talked Stiles through every step of the process like it was no big deal. It was the way he smiled afterwards, soft and smug all at once, that stuck with Stiles as he headed out the door.

“Stupid, stupid, annoyingly perfect vet,” Stiles muttered under his breath, glancing down at Matcha, who looked far too content for someone who had just betrayed his human.

Matcha yawned, oblivious, and Stiles sighed. “You’re not supposed to like him more than me.”

☕︎☕︎☕︎

Stiles was bothered, unbelievably bothered, even more bothered than the time Scott went to stay with his dad and left him on read for an entire weekend. It’s been a whole week. A whole week without his snippy remarks or his stupid face or his kinda perfect smile and Stiles was bothered and annoyed and… worried. In all the 8 months he had known him there was never a time where he went more than 3 days without stopping by. Did Stiles weird him out at the vet appointment or did Isaac find some other barista to argue with? The questions were eating him alive. He sighs heavily curling his toes into his blanket as he mindlessly scrolls from channel to channel.

Amidst his anxiety-induced spiral into self-doubt, he hears a knock at his door. He gets up and walks over with a reluctant grumble, expecting nothing more than a delivery or a wrong address. To his surprise, the face that’s been plaguing his thoughts all week stands in front of him, slightly damp from the rain and looking as exasperated as ever.

Before he could fully register the moment or process what was happening, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that Isaac was okay. It had been a week of silence, and the tension that had built up inside him began to dissipate.

As Isaac starts to ramble, his words spilling out in a rush, Stiles can’t help but focus on how distraught he looks. It was a look he was very unfamiliar with Isaac and he didn’t like it one bit.

“I know you hate me, and I …but I just didn’t have anywhere to go. Fuck, I’m sorry this was a stupid idea-”

“Come in.”

“Really?”

“No, stay outside and freeze to death in your ridiculously thin hoodie,” Stiles quips, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Isaac, clearly too emotionally and physically tired to argue, comes in without another word.

“I’m sorry for just showing up here like this. I never do this kind of stuff I was just…” Isaac paused, struggling to piece together the words in a way that felt comfortable for him. There was just far too much going through his mind, far too much for him to mince his words into coherent sentences. Stiles sees him start to fiddle with the sleeves of his sweater, his demeanour so different from the cocky asshole he had become acquainted with. This Isaac looked tired and scared.

“Um, welcome to Casa Stilinski. Have a seat. We have questionable snacks and mediocre entertainment, but a good time is always guaranteed,” Stiles announces, trying to keep the mood light.

Isaac takes off his jacket shakily, his fingers fumbling with the fabric. “Where can I…?” he starts, glancing around the living room as if unsure where to put it.

“I’ll take that,” Stiles says, stepping forward and reaching for Isaac's hoodie. Their fingers brush against each other, sending an unexpected spark of electricity coursing through him. He quickly pulls back, clearing his throat as he puts the jacket on a hook.

“So, Mario Kart, movie, ice cream, or a one-man play performed by me?” he suggests, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“Don’t you want to know why I showed up here in the middle of the night?” Isaac asks with a half chuckle, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as if the floor had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the room.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Stiles replies gently, his tone softening. “If you do, I’m here to listen. If not, I’m totally down to perform that play.”

Isaac attempts to stifle a smile at the absurdity of the offer, the corners of his mouth twitching up slightly. “You really think you’re that entertaining?”

“Absolutely,” Stiles retorts, a playful glint in his eyes. “But in all seriousness. Whatever you need, we can figure it out together.”

Isaac looks up, meeting Stiles’s gaze for a moment. The warmth in Stiles’s eyes makes him feel a little more at ease. Isaac pauses to take it all in the closest thing he had to an archnemesis and yet here he was basically offering ice cream and hugs. He lets out a sigh, too exhausted to resist something that sounded so good after the past couple of days he’s had.

“Mario Kart then?”

Stiles smirks, a glimmer of confidence in his expression. “You’re on, Isaac.”

☕︎☕︎☕︎

They sit together, huddled close, surprisingly comfortable as they try to best each other in Mario Kart. The room fills with laughter and the occasional playful nudge, each one timed perfectly to throw the other off when they’re ahead. It feels strangely easy, this camaraderie that neither of them expected.

For all their usual banter and one-upmanship, there’s a rhythm to it now, a balance that feels natural. It’s weird to Stiles but a good weird?

“Cheap shot,” Stiles mutters after Isaac bumps his elbow mid-turn, sending him careening off the track.

“Strategic gameplay,” Isaac counters with a grin, his eyes glinting with victory as the finish line approaches.

Stiles can’t help but laugh, the sound breaking the competitive tension. Yeah, this was starting to feel a lot less like hate. Isaac was sad and that called for a strategic retreat on their little feud, a seize fire if you will.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

They spent another hour talking about life, about nothing, about everything. Meaningless stuff that somehow felt important and eventually landed on each other's names.

“Isaac Lahey,” Stiles repeats, letting the name roll off his tongue like he’s testing it out. “Huh. Not bad. Pretty straightforward. Kinda boring, though.”

Isaac raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward. “Boring? Says the guy whose full name is apparently a state secret.”

“Hey,” Stiles shoots back, holding up a finger. “It’s not boring… it’s mysterious. There’s a difference.”

Isaac leans back on the couch, crossing his arms. “Sure there is. But now I’m dying to know. Is it something embarrassing? Like... Stanley? Stephen? Stewart?”

“Not even close,” Stiles says with a smirk, clearly enjoying Isaac’s growing curiosity.

“Guess I’ll just have to figure it out,” Isaac replies, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Stiles snorts. “Good luck with that, Lahey.”

Suddenly barking comes from the other room, and Stiles chuckles. “Oh, we must’ve woken Matcha up.”

The dog yips excitedly and bounds up to Isaac with unrestrained enthusiasm, tail wagging furiously as if it’s just seen his long-lost best friend. Matcha leaps into Isaac’s lap, nudging him with a wet nose and licking at his chin, clearly thrilled to have the attention.

“Hey there, buddy!” Isaac laughs, his earlier tension melting away as he scratches Matcha behind the ears. The pup seems to bask in the affection, wagging his tail even faster, and for a moment, all worries fade into the background.

Stiles watches the scene unfold, feeling a warmth spread in his chest. It’s a simple moment, but seeing Isaac interact with Matcha reminds him just how much he appreciates this guy. “Looks like someone missed you,” he remarks, unable to hide his smile.

“Yeah, well, who wouldn’t miss a face like this?” Isaac replies, grinning as he cradles Matcha in his arms. Stiles scoffs but finds himself thinking about how true that statement was but he catches that egregious thought and pushes it down to a place where he can’t find it.

Matcha eventually falls asleep on Isaac’s lap, his head nestled in the crook of his elbow as he rubbed circles along his fur.

“He looks happy.”

“He sure does, doesn’t he?”

☕︎☕︎☕︎

Isaac is awoken by the sound of clattering dishes and music playing in the distance. Only when he hears humming does he snap back to reality and remember that he’s not in his apartment. The window is facing him, sunlight pouring in from the slightly cracked blinds, painting stripes across the bed. The faint hum of early morning traffic seeps through the glass, mingling with the warm, homey chaos coming from what he assumes is the kitchen.

He blinks a few times, trying to shake off the grogginess, and stumbles into the kitchen. The moment he steps inside, he’s met with the delightful aroma of breakfast cooking. Bacon sizzling in a pan and something sweet baking in the oven. Stiles was cooking up a storm and he looked good doing it much to Isaac’s chagrin.

“I’m making eggs. If you don’t like them scrambled then shit I guess.”

Issac’s hair was messy and ruffled like he fell out of bed during the night and wrestled with a bear. But he looked cute at least Stiles thought so. The thought caught him off guard as his sleep-addled mind continued to fuck with him.

“Bacon?”

“Coming right up.”

Stiles serves him a cup of coffee and slides a plate of deliciousness right in front of him, and Isaac swears he’s never been so hungry. The crispy bacon, eggs, and toast almost seem to glow under the light, and Isaac digs in without hesitation. As he chews, a shift in the air settles between them, and Isaac can feel it. Before the tension can settle too deep, Stiles breaks the silence.

“You can stay here in my spare room if you need to.”

Isaac’s movements still. He pauses mid-bite, the words hanging in the air longer than they should. He looks down at his plate, trying to ignore the heat crawling up his neck. There’s something about the offer, he said it so casually and that makes him feel oddly vulnerable.

“I just mean if you don’t want to be alone tonight, my spare room is open.”

“I know,” Isaac says with a lopsided smile as he stirs his coffee and Stiles feels his heart leap in his chest yet again, betraying him for the umpteenth time.

“I think I’ll be okay but thanks for offering.”

Isaac made his glorious return to the coffee shop the next day, his signature grey scarf wrapped around his neck despite the sweltering heat. The way he wore it looked almost absurd, but something was endearing about how he clung to it like a comfort blanket.

“Back from the dead, I see,” Stiles quipped, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

“Reluctantly,” Isaac replied with a playful eye roll. “Can I have a—?”

“Mocha frappucino, triple shot, with extra whipped cream and caramel syrup,” he says as he passes him the cup.

“Thanks,” he says slowly as if suspicious.

Stiles scoffs, “Don’t look at me like I asked for your firstborn child. You show up at almost the same time every day and order the same thing. Blame yourself for being predictable.”

“Whatever and thanks,” he says as he digs in his pocket looking for a 5-dollar bill.

“Keep it.”

“Stiles, I don’t need your charity,” Isaac grumbles, pity was the last thing he wanted right now.

“It’s not charity, consider it my apology for giving you only boiling water that one time.”

Isaac gasps in horror, “I knew that wasn’t a mistake! You’re pure evil.”

“I’m apologising now, aren’t I?”

“You're lucky this is the closest coffee shop to the vets’ office otherwise I’d be taking my business elsewhere.”

“Oh no, whatever would I do without you?”

They both lean in closer and the closeness felt so natural to the two of them like they had been friends longer than they had been enemies.

“Shut up, Stilinski.”

“You first, Lahey.”

Stiles’s manager clears her throat and he tries to regain some modicum of professionalism.

Isaac nods at him to say goodbye but just before he walks away with it he looks at the cup and stops in his tracks.

“You spelt my name right.”

“Look at that. Miracles do happen.”

Isaac laughed and Stiles had never heard anything so sweet.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

He’s sitting on his couch one night when a knock on his door breaks him away from his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. He opens it to find Isaac standing there, looking more vulnerable than Stiles had ever seen him. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin pale. His lips were dry and bitten, and he had his hands curled tightly into the fabric of his sweater as if he were trying to hold himself together.

Without a word, Stiles ushered him in, feeling a surge of anxiety rush through him. The unspoken weight of the moment hung heavily in the air as Isaac stepped inside, his shoulders slumped and his demeanour withdrawn.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly, closing the door behind them. “What happened?”

Isaac took a moment before answering, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s gone,” his breaths came out fast and panicked like he couldn’t catch his breath even as he spoke.

“Just take your time.”

“My dad’s gone. He uh… he died today. Heart attack.”

“Isaac, I’m so…I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was…he wasn’t the best father.”

Isaac’s words came out disjointed, starting and stopping sentences… unable to organise his thoughts, as if each one was tangled in a web he couldn’t escape.

“He um… and I should miss him, right? But … He wasn’t the same after my mom… and my brother… But he was an abusive asshole but he was still my dad and I don’t know how I’m supposed to just….deal with all of this. Shit, I’m getting overly emotional, aren’t I?”

“There’s nothing you should feel. Grief is weird like that I guess… and you can vent, I’m a barista therefore an exceptionally good listener.”

“I thought people vent to bartenders.”

“Same difference,” Stiles says with a smile, nudging Isaac’s shoulder playfully. They both fell into a comfortable silence, neither looking at the other but content in each other’s presence.

“You lost someone too, I can tell,” Isaac says, breaking the stillness, his tone more serious.

“My mom,” Stiles replies, his voice softening. “She died … I still remember the happy memories. I think about her a lot, especially when I’m cooking. She loved to experiment in the kitchen, and I guess I inherited that from her.”

Isaac smiles softly, the weight of the conversation creating a deeper bond between them. “That’s a nice way to remember her. It sounds like you have some great memories.”

“Yeah, I do,” Stiles replies, warmth flooding his chest at the thought. “It makes me feel like she’s always with me even though she couldn’t be further away.”

Isaac looks at him, his blue eyes sincere. “I get that. It’s like… we carry those people with us in different ways.”

Stiles nods, appreciating Isaac’s insight. “And it’s okay to talk about them, even when it hurts. I get that it might be different for you but… we can talk about it.”

Isaac lets go of a deep breath that was trapped in his lungs and turns to Stiles hoping he doesn’t reject what he’s about to say.

“I’m having him cremated. I know this is weird and borderline insane but would you come with me? I just don’t wanna go alone and there’s no one else.”

“I’ll come with you.”

☕︎☕︎☕︎

Watching his father burn was no easy thing. The sense of relief was overwhelming, almost suffocating, but it wasn’t a simple thing. It was tangled with guilt, with anger, with years of unresolved feelings. The relief felt like it shouldn’t be there like it was wrong, but it was there all the same. He had never thought he’d feel like this, free and trapped at the same time. He had felt like he was carrying a weight for so long, and now it was gone… but it was so complicated, so tricky.

“I’m not sad,” Isaac finally said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. “I’m kind of… happy. Or at least glad to have this behind me. To know that he’s not coming back, that he can never hurt me again. Is that bad of me to say?”

Stiles, standing beside him, squeezed his hand tightly. The warmth of his grip was reassuring, grounding Isaac in a moment that could easily spiral into something overwhelming. “No, it’s not bad,” Stiles replied softly, his eyes fixed on the flames. “It’s normal. You’re allowed to feel relief, especially after everything.”

They stood in silence, hands intertwined, as the fire crackled and popped. It felt cathartic like it was his first step to letting go of the past.

As the flames began to diminish, leaving only embers glowing softly in the night, Isaac couldn’t help but smile, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “Thank you for being here with me,” he murmured, gratitude spilling from his heart.

“Always,” Stiles replied, turning to meet Isaac’s gaze. And for the first time in a long time, Isaac didn’t feel alone.

“Wanna get ice cream?” Stiles asked, his eyes lighting up with a playful gleam.

“Is that your solution to everything?” Isaac shot back, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Basically, yeah,” Stiles replied, his enthusiasm infectious.

They made their way to the seaside, the salty breeze tousling their hair as they walked along the shore. With each step, the weight of the past seemed to lift a little more. After grabbing their ice cream, Stiles opted for a double scoop of mint chocolate chip while Isaac settled for a classic vanilla, they headed to the spot where they had decided to scatter the ashes.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting vibrant hues of orange and pink across the sky, Isaac took a deep breath and knelt, gently letting the ashes slip from his fingers. “Bye, Dad,” he whispered, a mix of sadness and relief washing over him as the wind carried his words away.

Stiles knelt beside him, offering quiet support. He placed a hand on Isaac’s back, a comforting presence as they both took in the moment.

As they stood up, the weight of what they had just done began to settle. Stiles turned to Isaac, feeling a rush of gratitude and a sense of closeness that had blossomed between them. “Here,” Stiles said, tossing him a set of keys.

Isaac caught them with a surprised look. “What are—?”

“Keys to my place,” Stiles explained, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re always over here anyway so take them. I trust you not to rob me.”

“Did you have these cut for me?”

Feeling his ears burning red, “Do you want the keys or should I give them to the other vet down the street?”

“No, no…I want them,” Isaac says softly. So softly, it almost felt like Isaac had just stolen the words right out of Stiles’ mouth, the way his voice held a weight that Stiles wasn’t expecting. Isaac had never really spoken like that before. It was something sweet like candy floss or a freshly baked cookie. It created a whole new feeling between them, one neither of them had anticipated, one neither knew how to navigate.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

If you told Stiles Stilinski he’d be sitting on a couch with Isaac, the biggest menace in his life, and a puppy he decided to adopt, he might just keel over and die.

Sitting on the couch, Matcha nuzzled between the two, his small body a comforting warmth against their sides.

“Why’d you become a vet anyway?”

Isaac paused, glancing down at Matcha before replying. “And one day after school, I saw... the dog was hurt. I brought her to the vet and I stayed because I just had to know she’d be okay. By the end of the visit, she was all better and I wanted to be able to do that too, to be able to take away their pain. It’s beautiful.”

Isaac doesn’t notice it, but Stiles is looking at him in awe, his eyes wide and soft. He hadn’t expected that kind of openness. No sarcasm, no defences up. Just... him. As Isaac rambles on he suddenly feels self-conscious.

“I rambled, didn’t I?”

“Not at all…” Stiles replies, his voice a little breathy, almost dreamy. He knew for sure that he was staring at him like some dope, but he couldn’t help it. Isaac had this way of being completely real without even realising it, and it made Stiles feel like he was seeing him for the first time.

Just then, Matcha lets out a soft yawn and falls asleep in Isaac’s lap. Stiles takes a sneaky photo but is caught by Isaac’s sharp eyes.

“No no no, stay put or you’ll wake him up.”

“Plus… it’s a cute picture.”

Isaac felt his heart thud lightly in his chest, a warmth creeping up his neck. It was a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time. The way Stiles had looked at him, soft and easy, like they weren’t two people constantly at odds like they weren’t walking on a line they hadn’t figured out yet. And Matcha, just there, nestled between them like this was the most natural thing in the world.

It felt warm and exciting but terrifying at the same time. Like any minute now, the pin would finally drop and the magic of the moment would disappear. That twang of anxiety always pulsed when he felt himself get comfortable like he was about to lose something precious.

But for now, he let himself sit there, and maybe just for a second, he could enjoy the feeling.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

It was a quiet, tense day when the pin dropped. Isaac had woken up feeling like the weight of everything was crashing down on him, suffocating him with thoughts he couldn’t escape. The truth was, he was on edge and irritable, battling with a spiral of self-doubt. He hadn't been over to Stiles’ in a couple of days, dodging calls and texts, too afraid to face him. The truth was harder to ignore now. Isaac had been distant, and standoffish for no real reason, and every little thing about the situation felt like it was falling apart.

And now, here he was, standing in front of Stiles, the tension palpable between them.

“Don’t pretend like you know anything about me, okay?” Isaac spat, his voice rising despite his attempt to keep it under control. “I’m not what you think I am.”

Stiles paused for a second, his eyebrows raised in confusion, his lips curling into a sarcastic smirk. “Who are you then? The Easter Bunny? What are you talking about?”

Isaac rolled his eyes, his fists clenching at his sides. “You’re so... naive and... clueless. But really, this is just... it’s not even worth it.”

The words hit Stiles harder than expected. He knew Isaac was acting off, but this? This was different. “Where is this coming from?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm, though the confusion and hurt were creeping through.

Isaac shook his head, the self-loathing rising in him like a wave. “You don’t get it, Stiles. You don’t know me like you think you do. I don’t deserve you. I’m not the guy you think I am, and I’m not good for you. So don’t act like this is some fairy tale.”

Stiles’ face dropped for a second, a sharp pain threading through him. It wasn’t just the words, but the way Isaac said them like he was convinced they were true. The sarcasm faded from Stiles’ voice as he took a step closer.

“Isaac, what the hell are you talking about? We’ve been... we’ve been good, haven’t we?”

Isaac looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “I’ve been holding you back. I’m a mess, Stiles. You deserve someone better than me. Someone who doesn’t... fuck everything up all the time.”

Stiles took another step forward, his expression softening as he placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Isaac, you’re not a mess. You’re you. And I’m not looking for perfection. I just want... I just want you.”

Isaac swallowed hard, the weight of his thoughts pressing on him like a physical force. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I think I do,” Stiles said quietly, his voice steady now. “I know you’re scared, but running from this, from me, isn’t going to help you.”

“Take a hint, Stiles. I’m not interested in being your charity case.”

“I never–”

Stiles started to speak but he was silenced by the look on Isaac’s face. So guarded and weary. He could see him hurting but it was like there was an invisible barrier between them that he couldn’t get past.

“Oh please. Offering me a room, coddling me, giving me a key. I don’t need your pity and I don’t want to owe you anything.”

And with that he stood up and started heading towards the door, clumsily putting on his shoes and snatching his jacket from the coat rack. Stiles didn’t even get a chance to prove him wrong.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

He was marooned after an awful encounter with Storm Isaac, he’s surprised he didn’t drown under the wave of scathing looks he gave him that day. His apartment was his island and he had no plans to make an SOS sign anytime soon. Unfortunately for Stiles, his friends didn’t get the memo. A few raps on the door shatter the silence, and he groans, wiping the frustration from his face, letting out a, “Two seconds!” as he stumbles to the door.

“We brought some treats for Matcha.”

“We’ve noticed you’ve been down lately,” Scott says as he glances at him, taking in his tired and dishevelled appearance.

“That’s an understatement.. has Isaac been by?”

Scott and Kira exchange glances and that tells him all he needs to know. He had been avoiding him and he didn’t even know what he had done wrong. He was so used to having him here, that he had left a hole all over the apartment. Every room, corner just echoed with signs reminding him of what he lost.

“You should reach out to him.”

“He’s not returning my calls or my texts.” Stiles tried to sound indifferent, but a flash of hurt and sadness crossed his face before he could mask it.

“It just wasn’t meant to be, guys. Don’t worry about me, I’ll bounce back. Nobody puts Stiles in the corner.” He forced a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Giving up on pushing him further, Kira sighed. “Fine, but we’re cleaning up this place right now,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I know pigs that live better.”

“You know pigs?”

“There’s the sarcasm we’ve been missing,” Scott says as he ruffles his hair and for the first time in a while Stiles feels some relief.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

Isaac decided to make a return to the coffee shop after being gone for over a week. He was going there at the same time he always does to order the same thing but something was different. A certain doe-eyed brunette who was fluent in wit and had a master’s degree in sarcasm was missing.

“Stiles isn’t here. Sick day,” Scott says dragging him out of his thoughts suddenly. It felt like a bucket of ice water had just been thrown on him.

“Oh.”

Isaac had pulled himself from his hole after his emotional strike from Stiles, only to find that he wasn’t there. He felt embarrassed, like an idiot for pushing him away.

“Not seriously sick, right?” his voice betraying the nonchalance he was trying to portray. He picked at his left sleeve and shifted uncomfortably, wishing he could hide how much it bothered him.

“No, he’s fine just…” Scott pauses, trying to find a way to put it lightly, “He didn’t want to…”

“See me.”

Just great. He had chased Stiles away from his job, a job he actually liked, as he recalled him saying.

“Listen... He cares about you. You guys need to actually talk and communicate about how you’re feeling.”

Sensing his discomfort, Scott decided to say what they had both been too blind to see.

“You know, whenever you come in, he drops whatever he’s doing just to take your order. Even before you guys started hanging out, you brought out a fire in him. He’d talk about you constantly, counting the minutes until you came by for your daily coffee.”

“I didn’t know…” Isaac says as he realised just what a fool he had been. But could it really be that easy? To be vulnerable and to hope.

“My advice: Don’t let your fears or pride stand in the way of how you feel or what you want. If you want to be with him, tell him before it’s too late.”

☕︎☕︎☕︎

Entering his apartment, Stiles barely has time to register the excited yipping of his dog before he notices something… off.

The door was locked, but there was noise inside, a distinct shuffling across the floorboards. Lights flickered on in the kitchen, shadows shifting. Someone was shuffling around.

He was being robbed.

Okay, sure, there wasn’t much to steal unless the intruder had a thing for mismatched socks and half-eaten bags of Doritos, but still, this was a full-fledged home invasion.

Grabbing his trusty baseball bat from behind the door, adrenaline surging through his veins, Stiles readied himself. He knew this moment would come. He had been preparing for it his whole life. From watching crime shows with his dad, perfecting his stance, maybe a little shadow-boxing when no one was watching.

This was it.

With an albeit squeaky battle cry, Stiles charged into the kitchen, swinging the bat in the air like a lunatic. The intruder yelped and crashed to the floor trying to avoid his swings. Stiles raised the bat again before recognition slammed into him like a truck.

“Isaac?!”

Isaac groaned from the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What are you doing breaking into my apartment?!”

Isaac pushed himself up onto his elbows, scowling. “You gave me a key, psycho.”

Stiles blinked. Oh. Right. He did do that.

His grip on the bat loosened. “Well, I almost decapitated you.”

Isaac rolled his eyes and muttered, “Yeah, I noticed.” He pulled himself up, brushing off his jeans, still slightly breathless. “I just… I don’t know. I wanted to do a romantic gesture or something.”

Stiles’ brain stuttered to a stop. “A what?”

Isaac avoided his gaze, shoving his hands into his pockets like he suddenly regretted everything.

Stiles looked around and his expression softened. There was a blanket draped across the table, soft candlelight flickering against the walls, and a plate of what looked like homemade cookies. They were a little burnt around the edges but it just made Stiles want to eat them more.

Isaac cleared his throat, still not looking at him. “I like you, Stiles.” The words were rushed as if he were afraid he’d lose the courage to say them. “When I’m with you, I feel… safe for once. You feel… you feel like home to me.”

Isaac’s eyes finally met his hesitant, vulnerable, pleading with Stiles, with himself to not run away from something good. Stiles felt warmth spread through his chest, replacing the leftover panic. He set the bat down carefully and took a step closer.

“I really did almost take your head off,” he said softly, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

Isaac huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well… I guess I should’ve knocked.”

Taking Stiles’s hand in his he moves forward looming at him, “I know when …I ran. I was scared because being with you felt good and I hadn’t felt like that in such a long time.

“I want to be with you.”

Stiles grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him in and kissing him deeply like he was his oxygen, his lifeline. A soft moan escaped between them, lost in the heat of the moment. Stiles smiles against his lips before pulling back, “You taste like cookies.”

“I had to sample them. Make sure I wasn’t poisoning you.”

“Well I have a feeling they taste really good,” Stiles replies as he pulls him back in by his waist, savouring each sweet kiss with Isaac. Feeling the nuzzling of Matcha against their feet he nearly died from what he saw. Matcha was dressed up as Cupid and it was the cutest thing Stiles had ever seen in all his years of living. He started to kiss all over Isaac’s face, not listening to his protests.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

And Isaac’s heart soars at hearing the word boyfriend come from Stiles’s lips.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

The next morning, they woke up tangled together, warmth and sunlight spilling through the curtains. Stiles trailed slow, lazy kisses down Isaac’s neck, nipping at his skin, rolling them over with a satisfied hum. Isaac chuckled, voice still heavy with sleep. “Are you going to tell me your name now?”

Stiles smirked against his skin. “Mieczyslaw. Mieczyslaw Stilinski.”

“Now I see why you said my name was boring.”

[omgtheywereawooomates]

Barista: Hi. Welcome to Beacon Coffee and Tea. What can I get you?

Stiles: How much is it to fill a 20oz with espresso?

Barista: I.....sorry???

Stiles: Your 20oz XXL redeye cup. How much to fill it with espresso.

Barista: Oh, uh...I guess..? I only have a button for a quad. I don't have a special pricing option for 20 oz of espresso in a...single drink.

Stiles: Price is the furthest thing from my mind right now. How many add shots is that?

Barista: *deep breath of fear*

Barista: That would be a quad with.......si-sixteen additional shots.

[shallicomparetheetolagrenouille]

2023 in books n. 23

Ah, che chicca leggere finalmente una raccolta di gialli della Sellerio - ambisco a comprare anche Una giornata in giallo per avere una completa collezione delle raccolte a tema 'temporale' (una notte, una settimana, un anno e quella che mi manca è appunto 'una giornata').

Tra quelle che ho letto, purtroppo, questa è la più deboluccia, finora. Ci sono dodici racconti, uno per ogni mese dell'anno, e devo dire che non tutti sono riusciti a dare l'idea dell'atmosfera, tranne Camilleri e Piazzese e qualche altro autore. Non me lo sono goduto come avrei potuto, insomma.

Come gialli, nel breve spazio del racconto chiaramente non si possono imbastire trame approfondite, ma una raccolta del genere è ottima per capire di che cosa sono capaci gli scrittori: su cosa si concentrano, come mantengono l'attenzione, che soddisfazione si ha alla fine.

Si sono riconfermati gli autori che anche nelle altre raccolte mi avevano convinto:

Marco Malvaldi

Antonio Manzini

Santo Piazzese

Alessandro Robecchi

Fabio Stassi

Mentre purtroppo devo accettare il fatto che leggere Camilleri è molto difficoltoso per me, il testo non fluisce perché non so predire la parola che seguirà in quasi-dialetto. Peccato, perché il suo è (ovviamente) uno dei migliori.

[nightlark100]

Stiles sets up a betting board rather early on, figuring it'll be something that might help the betas bond a bit. It started off with a few silly things but the main category quickly became 'what is going to try and kill us next'. The name was changed after Derek expressed concerns over how cavalier Stiles was about dying and instead became 'what is going to put us in danger next'. The rules were simple:

Each of them contributed to a pool.

Each beta was given the opportunity to change their pick after something tried to kill them or once a month (if things were quiet)

Winner got the contents of the pool

If there was no clear winner or if there was more than one and they didn't want to split it, pack could make an argument for why their pick was the closest.

Scott put down 'Peter betraying the pack'

Peter in retaliation put down 'Argents being Argents'

Both refused to change it.

Stiles put down 'Dereks love life'

Erica put down 'Stiles losing his mind in a haze of caffeine after too many sleepless nights researching'. Boyd silently added his name against that pick as well.

The problem was Stiles seemed to always get it right. No matter what he wrote down each time, it usually happened in some way.

Derek's love life - a barista he'd been tentatively flirting with at the coffee shop turned out to be a succubus

Extreme cold (mocked by the others for being written down in the middle of a heatwave)- an abominable snowman popped up and set off a cold spell that even werewolf heat and Isaac's scarves couldn't ward off

Scott's cooking - After breaking some of Melissa's kitchenware while trying to make a romantic meal for Allison (the exact details of how remain a mystery, although Isaac was involved) and replacing it with a new set from a cute little shop that seemingly popped up out of nowhere, the pack quickly found out that there was a poltergeist attached.

The only time he didn't put anything down, was when he got possessed. And Peter argued that he technically still got it right since the only thing in his section was his name... Which was accurate in its own way (Stiles was not pleased by this logic and refused to talk to anyone for a long time)

He began to get gradually weirder and weirder with his picks, not even really trying to win after a while. He was a little confused and concerned by his strange predictions and hoped that eventually it would get too absurd to possibly come true.

Musical theatre - a siren showed up and almost lured Isaac into the swimming pool with her voice.

Killer Tomatoes - Lydia ended up nearly choking on her salad

Hummus - Jackson managed to ingest poisoned hummus and became practically feral.

Puppies - Stiles woke up one day to a very stressed Derek with an armful of his now tiny canine betas. Stiles didn't mind that one so much.

[hedwig221b]

Do you have anymore accidental knotting fics like The Moon Gave Me Permission? Like, stiles doesn't even know werewolves exist until oops, I knotted?

I admit, this is a bit too specific, but maybe you'll like these fics

only one thing left by Marishna

"Anyway, you’ve been requested.” Stiles blinked. “Requested? What does that mean? For what?” “A dance,” Erica told him. “Is it baby’s first time?”

Theia Mania by aprettysmalldose

'that one classy-ass fic where stiles gives it up to derek in a grocery store'

Eclipsim by xxjinchuurikixx

A howl far in the distance splits the air, and Stiles’ eyes fly open as he shoots back up into a sitting position. The howl is followed by another, and another, and Stiles is left to wonder how many of the howls are wolves and how many are mythic beasts that he knows by name. The forest is in an uproar in a manner of minutes, and Stiles looks up at the bloody red moon gleaming, almost completely taken over by the fire of the eclipse. Red moons are apparently not a good time for alphas. Derek shows Stiles what a feral, aroused werewolf looks like up close.

That Frothing Knob

Stiles was wiping down the spout of a machine with a cloth, and Derek almost popped a stiffy right there in the café. It was completely embarrassing that after so many years of control over both his human and wolf side Derek would find himself so… enamoured by this random. Regardless, the wolf wants what the wolf wants, and Derek found himself trying his darnedest to get some sort of a rise out of Stiles, “You sure know how to handle that frothing knob.” Needless to say, Derek got to see that beautiful blush colouring the barista’s face once again. -- AKA Derek is a rich CEO and Stiles is a poor barista. They laugh, they love, and they live.

Watching Your Back(side) by echo_inside

Derek shows up everywhere Stiles goes when he's working on something for the pack. He's positive it's because Derek doesn't trust a human to get the job done. Derek is just watching Stiles back to make sure he's not putting himself into too much danger. Getting to watch Stiles is just a perk. Stiles finally confronts Derek about it and feelings get mentioned and there's a slight case of accidental knotting.

Things Accidental and (K)not by LadyDrace

Derek could have maybe warned him or something, but, all in all, Stiles is pretty damn happy.

the real meaning of derek's evolution by allhalethekings

"Derek, why can’t I move?” They both look between them to where Derek’s dick is still snug inside Stiles’s ass, with no intentions of wanting to slide out. Stiles tries to wriggle but stops at the pain that shoots up his spine. Derek’s still blinking at him, trying to figure out what’s happening to his dick and finally, finally, it clicks in Stiles’s head. He may or may not have spent hours reading werewolf erotica – which, who even knew that was an actual thing that happened – after he and Derek became a thing and he knew what this was. Stiles sighs, closing his eyes. “Derek, I’m really happy you managed to evolve but seriously, did your dick have to evolve too?” “Um.”

(K)not A Joke by milkysterek

If there’s one thing you don’t want to hear during sex, it’s ‘Oh no’.

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo

[shieldofiron]

Stiles ordered the creamiest, fluffiest seasonal drink every day. One of those barely taste the coffee drinks. He sat in the same chair, red hoodie pulled up, laptop out, occasionally glancing with dark shadowed eyes up at his favorite barista.

Derek was more of a fine espresso guy. Stiles could just tell, from the way he would curl his lip at Stiles’ orders. But he was a nice guy, quiet. Let Stiles nurse one drink and camp out for hours at the best table, the one closest the plug. One day Stiles had noticed his chair had been swapped with a less wobbly one.

One day he noticed a heart next to his name, in black ink on a white cup.

It’s a gradual thing, like a slow pour into a cup. One day he’s just hanging around and the next day he’s waiting until Derek gets off his shift.

And then once that’s been happening a few weeks, Derek explains a shift of a very different kind.

Stiles still likes the sweet stuff. But he’s starting to appreciate that straight espresso taste on his tongue.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi there, thank y'all for the hard work after all these years still. You're so valuable to the fandom 😩. I was feeling nostalgic for the old fics where the pack are just friends. Anything like that? Maybe sterek but I'd love a Scott and stiles bromance too? Is there anything like that anyone knows about? Thanks in advance ☺️.

Hi @billyboyblue! Let's find out.

hold on ('cause i'm a little unsteady) by zashizawa

(1/1 I 1,046 I Not Rated I No Pairing)

For a long time after, the good days were few and far between, but eventually, Stiles didn't flinch at the word "mischief" being announced. Eventually, he could talk about her without feeling that deep ache that seemed to follow her memory. 

The good days were a lot more common, bad ones rarely making an appearance. But that didn't mean they were never there.

(Or, Stiles misses his mom.)

Beautiful Blue by RenSweets

(1/1 I 1,398 I Mature I Sterek)

There's a boy bleeding out in those woods, nothing but two shaky hands holding him steady.

I Believe You by peterbeale

(1/1 I 1,512 I General I No Pairing)

"Scott, it was an accident!" Stiles finally yells because none of this makes sense. Scott's staring at him like he's a cold-blooded killer, but he's acting like he knows what happened. If that were true, surely he would understand. He has to understand. "It was self-defense!"

That's the Coffee Sis by Delilah2040

(1/1 I 4,505 I General I Sterek)

Stiles and Scott have found a coffee shop that the two of them love, when a new barista comes in, Stiles makes it his goal to make the beautiful man smile.

Sense of Home by siny 

(1/1 I 53,067 I Explicit I Sterek)

Home can be a place, but it can also be a person.

After the events with the Nemeton, Stiles starts suffering the consequences of their sacrifice. A journey he attempts to make on his own, but only becomes worse with every step he takes. In the process he seeks comfort in an unexpected place and it draws him toward an unexpected person.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

LOVE YEW

on ao3 HERE

.

“Here!”

Stiles slams something down on the coffee table to the left of Derek's (Stiles's) laptop.

Derek is searching online, only a little psychotically, in the hope of finding a store that sells these very specific organic coffee beans he tried in a hipster coffee house recently. Derek isn't a hipster—he isn't—he just likes nice coffee, is all. Really, he should have asked the barista to find out not just the brand name but their supplier's address too because this is driving him insane. Maybe he is insane? More likely just incredibly shit at the internet, but he thinks he'd prefer to plead insanity if challenged.

Derek unknits his eyebrows and looks down at… a green thing. It's sort of feather shaped and has many spindles with bronzed edges.

It's a leaf.

His eyebrows knit themselves back together as he blinks down at the thing a couple of times.

“It's a leaf,” he says, because he doesn't know what else he's supposed to say.

Then he looks up—and back and forth at Stiles who is now pacing the apartment and alternating between clicking his fingers and flicking his thumbs and shaking his arms out at the sides of his body; his stimming can get pretty extra when he's anxious.

Derek's frown deepens with immediate concern. He must've really been deep in it with the infuriating Google searching to not have noticed the smell of Stiles's distress when his mate first arrived home.

“Hey, what's—”

“Yes, Derek, it's a leaf. It is a leaf that I brought all the way home. For you. From the cemetery.”

He's still pacing.

“Okay, well do you want to tell me—“

“It's an Apology Leaf. Obviously.”

Obviously.

“And, Derek, do not laugh, because—"

“I won't but could you just—“

“—this isn't funny. I'm ridiculous, I know, and I know that that's funny. But this? This is decidedly deeply unfunny, alright? This is totally not at all funny, Derek. It's like, a thing without one tiny ounce of humour in it, as in not the slightest bit funny in a gazillion sombre years. Do you hear me?” He inhales deeply, holds the breath, then blows it out harshly via puffed-out cheeks as he clicks and flails some more.

Derek hears Stiles and is of course prepared to wait for him to explain whatever this is, because Derek would wait for Stiles until the end of time, if he had to. Although that's not likely a thing to happen in any reality as this is Stiles who can't go for longer than fifteen seconds without talking. But still, Derek thinks it's the sentiment that counts. 

“You, Derek Hale, are good, and someone as good as you deserves somebody far, far better than a ratbag like me. Hence the leaf,” Stiles now tells him in a rush of even more confusing words, his chemo-signals tinged with shame for some worrying reason Derek is yet to discern.

Stiles glances over anxiously from his place of animated, mysterious penance—and then looks away again just as quickly while still trying to wear footprints into the recently painted varnish on the wooden floor of their new apartment.

Derek is clueless as to the cause of Stiles's meltdown, but neither things are a first. Stiles struggles sometimes—just like Derek does, who has plenty of his own outbursts (albeit more moody than vocal) that Stiles has to Private Dick his way through.

Derek is also trying his best not to worry too much about thinking that this is somehow his fault, so now sets his mind on attempting to marry these seemingly unrelated things in his head.

He thinks about the facts he's been presented with:

What is, at an educated guess, a Pacific Yew leaf.

and

Stiles's rather unhinged and self-deprecating dig at himself-slash-compliment for Derek.

...Yeah, no, he's not getting better at this game any time soon. 

“Uh,” he says helpfully, and Stiles rolls his eyes in that Do I really have to do everything myself around here? way of his which, rude.

Good job Derek loves the kook.

“It was just sitting there, on top of my mom's gravestone when I got there,” Stiles says quietly, incredulously, gesturing at the innocuous leaf.

Then he's off again with the pacing.

“And I knew, straight away, I knew,” he says, getting louder again and laughing in this accusatory sort of way, pointing somewhere into the ether, eyes manic.

Derek scratches his nose. He hopes he will soon know, too, because honestly, he's kind of blindfolded in the dark here.

“She was obviously telling me what a dipshit I was! What a douche I am! A massive ass-hat! Total loser!”

“I mean, that's mostly fair, but maybe total loser is a little strong.” Derek will often speak Stiles's language when Stiles is freaking out, using humour to try and ground him. 

Stiles carries on as if Derek hadn’t said anything.

“And I was like, Come on, mom, give me a break, will you? and she was like Seriously, Mischief? You really wouldn't let the special person in your life, your special little guy—”

“You can just say boyfriend, Stiles.”

“—come with you to the cemetery to visit me? Like, as if with that leaf she was reminding me that you are the one person who actually gets this shit, which, I do know. Of fucking course I know. And then—get this—I swear to God, Derek, I felt her literally slapping me upside the head! No fucking word of a lie, man. Like, thousands wouldn't believe me. Millions. They'd say that it must have been the wind or my incredibly vivid imagination. But I know, Der. I know that it was her,” Stiles continues with the confession without stopping for breath.

Derek has thought it before and he'll think it again: the kid's lung capacity is seriously impressive.

“And I also know that I totally should've said yes when you asked me if I wanted you to come with me to the cemetery this morning. Because the thing is, I did want you to. I really, really did. But I just… I just…”

Stiles starts slapping himself on the forehead with both his hands and Derek has had enough of that already. He gets up off the sofa and walks over to Stiles, catching those slim wrists in his grip, gentle yet firm.

“Please don't,” Derek says, imploring Stiles to stop. Derek can understand frustration, but can't stand Stiles hurting himself.

Stiles deflates a little. He then takes a step towards Derek and leans in, resting his forehead against Derek's, their noses lining up like penguins.

“I just—I should have said yes to you when you asked because I honestly, truthfully wanted you there. It's just that I've only ever been there with my Dad. And even then, not as many times as you might think. Not even Scotty has been there with me. It's just a place—it's usually something I do alone. You know?” Stiles' front teeth worry at his pretty lip. 

And yes, Derek does know.

So he says, “Because you feel guilt, right? Even though there isn't a thing in this universe or any other that you should feel guilty about.”

Guilt just for being alive. 

Slightly cross-eyed with the proximity and angle, Stiles looks at Derek in a way that says he knows just how much Derek knows about this stuff.

“Yeah. Yes, exactly. And I guess I didn't know how to be that with somebody else around.”

“But Stiles, that's completely—”

“No, Der. It isn't, actually. Because you're not just somebody else. It's you. And I'm in love with you.” Stiles finally takes a breath while Derek's heart is busy swelling to twice it's size. He will never tire of hearing Stiles Stilinski say those words to him. “And I absolutely should've trusted in that. In us.”

It is, of course, completely fine that Stiles went to the cemetery alone to visit his mother, but Derek also gets where the kid is coming from. He too takes a breath, now, a big one, because this kind of stuff doesn't come as easily for him as it does Stiles.

He swallows his nerves and pushes on.

“I love you, Stiles. And it's alright that we're not perfect. Neither of us are. Us—you and me—we're both just… Finding our way.”

After a moment, Stiles adds, “Together.”

They smile at each other like huge dorks.

“Yeah.” Derek breathes, and his heart might just burst.

Derek scents Stiles, and Stiles breathes deeply too, now. “Thanks,” he says, then Derek kisses him, just as deep and for a long while, because it's his favourite thing to do in the whole damn world.

Eventually Derek pulls back, runs a thumb over Stiles's mouth and says, “You know what?”

Stiles's brow lifts inquisitively.

Derek lets go of Stiles's wrist and takes his hand instead, leading him back to the sofa and sitting them both down squarely by the coffee table where he had been sat fruitlessly Googling not so long ago.

“I believe you,” Derek says.

Stiles frowns. “Huh?” It's his turn to be confused.

“Millions wouldn't, but I believe you, Stiles. About your mom.”

He reaches across and picks up the Apology Leaf, cradling it for a brief moment in his palm before nudging at Stiles's hand and urging him to take it, which he does.

Derek then grabs the laptop, side-eyeing his previous Google search—WHO NEAR ME SELLS PHOENIX ROAST ORGANIC COFFEE BEANS THAT TASTE LIKE HOME—and forcing himself not to get instantly sucked back into that particularly vexing nightmare, while also trying his best to angle the screen away from Stiles who, if he saw, would fall off the sofa laughing at Derek's admittedly pathetic research skills.

Not everybody is a… Technophile? Cyberpunk? Derek has no fucking clue about any of this shit.

With Stiles now passing comment on the aesthetic qualities of the Apology Leaf, Derek uses both index fingers to tap out the words of the thing he wants to look up, taking no notice of Stiles who is trying his annoying not-very-best to smirk at Derek's sorry efforts in Derek's periphery. Clicking through a few different links, this time Derek manages to find what he's after without any trouble, amazingly. He then hands the laptop over to Stiles, who carefully places the leaf down on the arm of the sofa beside him before fully taking the computer from Derek. 

Stiles purses those pretty lips of his as he scans the information on screen, squinting a little.

“Uh, well yeah. It's like you said, Der; It's a leaf. From a Yew, according to this.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Your mother's ghost is infinitely more clever than you.” Stiles's squint deepens further. “Stiles, she is absolutely spot on about this. Just—scroll down the page a bit, dumbass,” and he ducks his head and smiles, seeing as accusing Stiles of Internet-related Dumbassery is really fucking funny because, irony. 

Stiles tuts but does as he's told.

Derek gives him a minute to read the passage on the website he found. It says:

The Yew tree can live for many, many years. It has deep connections with magic and the universe. It was regarded as the protector of the soul by the ancient Greeks. You’ll find this tree planted at many burial sites throughout the world as it’s recognized as a guardian of the dead.

It is believed that Odin (from the Nordic legend) hung himself from the Yew for nine days and nights. It’s symbolic of its everlasting and regenerative properties and is often associated with transformation and change after a difficult time. The Celtic tradition honours the Yew tree for symbolising death and rebirth.

Stiles is smiling this gorgeous, open smile by the time he's finished reading, and Derek makes an unrealistic wish to be able to keep it there forever.

“So, you were right,” Derek says, “when you said that she knew. You were just a little mixed up about what, is all.” Derek takes another deep breath. “What your mom knows is that you got the chance to begin again, Stiles. After all the shit we went through, you actually got to start over. With somebody who will absolutely protect your soul with their life.”

Stiles suddenly blinks furiously, like somebody just threw salt in his eyes.

“And you knew it, that she knew... something,” Derek smiles back, lovingly, before that smile turns a little wry. “It's just that you were kind of—now, how should I put this…?”

“No. Do not do it!” Stiles shouts—instantly catching on because he'd easily be the brightest bulb in any box—and he's pointing again, at Derek this time. “Puns are my stupid thing, you charlatan, and I can and will sue!” he warns, outraged yet smiling again as he wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“—barking up the wrong tree,” Derek finishes, his smile now positively wolfish.

Stiles shakes his head and narrows his eyes, but he's chuckling, too as he says, “You do remember that it's you who's the canine in this relationship, right, 'wolf? If anybody's going to be making barking sounds, it's you.”

“Speciesist,” Derek quips.

Stiles pokes his tongue out. Then he's quiet for a few seconds (but definitely no more than fifteen).

“You know, I really was wrong when I said you deserve better than me. We actually absolutely deserve each other, Hale. Because it turns out we are both humongous assholes.”

After a moment, Derek grins more.

“Well, I would have answered that with I love my asshole, but you had to go and use the word humongous, and there's no way I would say that about my asshole—even though I would have technically been talking about you when I said it, seeing as it's actually you that is my favourite asshole.” And he pulls a rare, goofy face, just for Stiles, who laps it up. “Also, thinking about it, I would also have to say that loving my actual asshole is, in fact," he points at Stiles, “your job.” 

Stiles dramatically slaps a hand over Derek's mouth.

“Oh my God, Derek, stop! My ghostly mother could be listening in to us right now! Jeez, dude, have a little decorum, won't you?!” And if Stiles saying that isn't ironic, Derek really doesn’t know what is.

“Sorry, mom!” 

Grinning even more, Derek pushes Stiles's hand away from his face.

“Hey, wanna know the coolest thing?” he asks.

“Why in the name of anything sacred did you bother posing that as a question, Der? Like, when would I ever say no to that?”

Derek leans over and kisses Stiles again, soft and languid this time. The boy's lips are dry and warm and he tastes just like autumn.

Stiles hums and smiles into Derek's mouth as if he really, truly does love Derek. 

After another glorious moment, Derek pulls back, looks at Stiles and says, “Yew trees aren't even native to this part of California.”

.

for @greyhavenisback my beloved <3 sorry i'm a dipshit, douche, massive ass-hat and a total loser, sometimes xp

(i got the info on tree symbolism HERE btw)

[elisela]

the distance between us derek x stiles, e, alternative universe, complete

“Alright,” Jordan says, stepping up next to him and pushing him forward. Derek follows when he motions him up to the counter, relieved, because he may be the alpha but Jordan’s his captain, and he’s more than willing to let him take the lead. “You’re going to get him some coffee, and when you give it to him, you’re going to ask if you can get his phone number and if he’d be interested in a date when the season’s over. Offer to take him to a Guardians game or something. We’ll let Allison and Kira plan out the rest of your life tonight, but take it shift by shift until then, Chief.”

“I take full responsibility for this,” Allison says, joining them at the counter and giving her drink order to the barista. “I should have taught him how to date back in college.”

“I would have ignored you,” Derek says, sliding his card back in his wallet after they’re all done ordering. He hadn’t dated much in college—he hasn’t dated much at all since either if he’s being truthful, and nothing that could even resemble a relationship. A few dates during the off-season, a hook-up occasionally if he needed it, but Derek’s always been fairly content to be single.

Until he got to know Stiles.

my @sterekcollabang is here! i was so lucky to work with @thotpuppy and to have @missanniewhimsy holding my hand for two literal years while i wrote this. it's been a labor of love and i am overjoyed that i am finally able to share it!

[sterekbros]

You and I Collide | 13.6k | E | Fluff | Kidfic

Written for the Summer 2023 @sterek-exchange Event and gifted to @evanesdust; written for @sterekbingo forever, @sterekweekly pillow, @warmandfluffybingocards pillow fort

Tags: Nanny Stiles Stilinski, True Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Barista Stiles Stilinski, Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Full Shift Werewolves, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, No Kate Argent, Claiming, Bites, Marking, Scent Marking, Mating Bites, Adoption

The one where Barista Stiles propositions Alpha Derek to be the nanny for his kids, especially since Derek went through so many candidates that Stiles thought there weren't any more for him to interview.

“Hey,” Stiles said carefully, smiling when those eyes he wanted to lose himself in looked up at him.

“I figured you needed a pick me up after that last one.” He handed him the cup and when Mr. Honey-Almondmilk-Flat-White-with-Whipcream took the drink, Stiles sat across from him in the cushy chair he usually took his break in.

The dude sniffed it and then took a sip. “You know my order…”

“Well, yeah. You’ve been ordering it for like, the last week when you’ve been in here.” Stiles smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m Stiles.”

Read on A03.

[eevylynn]

Phantom Pack

Sterek || Omegaverse|| G || 1222 wc

Stiles is the town weirdo who can see ghosts (no one believes him), Derek is the new-in-town hottie who's too intrigued by him to let town gossip stop him from knowing him better.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Small towns suck.

Everyone knows everyone, and everyone is in everyone else's business. It doesn’t help that as the sheriff’s son, everyone knows who Stiles is.

Unfortunately, he’s considered a little odd thanks to being a taller than average omega. Usually omega men are short, but here Stiles is, being taller than many beta men. The fact that he constantly talked about seeing ghosts didn’t help. Of course, no one believed him.

Stiles walked down Main Street to the coffee shop that was across from the gazebo downtown, so he could take advantage of the free wifi for school. As he walked, he tried not to make eye contact with the various regular specters that haunted Beacon Hills’ downtown or make it obvious that he could see them. It wasn’t easy, especially since some of the ghosts had started recognizing him, knew he could see them, and nodded as if they were just friendly neighbors.

There was old Mr. Wilson hovering by the flowerbed in the park across the street, muttering about how it’s not being taken care of by the current landscaper. A Victorian couple were casually promenading past him, complaining about the latest fashions, nodding at Stiles as they caught his eye. Walking down the library stairs was Leslie Harper, dressed to the nines in her 1950’s house dress, holding a stack of spectral books.

It had astounded Stiles to find out that there was a whole world alongside their own.

He’d first seen ghosts when he was little, but his mom could see them, too, so he didn’t think much of it then. When she got sick, and they figured out it was terminal, Stiles took solace in the fact that he would still get to see his mom even after her death.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

Stiles still had yet to figure out why some came back as ghosts why others did not.

If Stiles thought he was othered before when he was just the odd kid that saw ghosts, it was nothing compared to when he presented.

He was always on the taller end of average in comparison to his peers, taller than some alphas even, so he figured he’d present as a beta at the very least.

Nope.

The universe obviously hated him.

So, now Stiles was known as the abnormally tall omega who talked to the voices in his head.

The little old omegas in town loved to remind him that this wasn’t exactly the best way to find a nice Alpha to take care of him. “Very helpful, thank you.”

He entered the coffee shop, feeling the relief of being back in the land of the living, where the usual hum of human chatter, the rumble of the espresso machine, and the clinking of cups made it easier to tune out the otherworldly murmurs. Stiles set up at a small table in the corner by the window, opening his laptop to get started on his schoolwork.

That’s when he noticed him enter—Derek Hale, the newest arrival in Beacon Hills. The tall Alpha had caused quite a stir when he first arrived. His family had been integral to the founding of the town, but for some reason, they moved away when Stiles was still a kid. Now Derek was back, and everyone seemed fascinated by him.

Derek walked to the counter and placed his order, then leaned against it, waiting for his drink. Stiles tried hard not to stare and instead focused on his screen, but it was difficult when Derek was everything Stiles could ever want in an Alpha: tall, muscular, absolutely droolworthy. Broad shoulders that filled out his dark shirt, arms thick with muscle that strained against the fabric, and the kind of jawline you could probably cut glass with.

“Double tall, cinnamon roll latte, and a grande black coffee, two sugars!” the bored-looking barista called out.

Derek grabbed both drinks and made his way through the tables until he sat down—across from Stiles. He slid the grande paper cup toward him.

Blinking, Stiles glanced around to see that everyone in the café was staring. Why would such a gorgeous specimen of an Alpha man be sitting with the town weirdo?

[continue on ao3]

[mariswxt]

Day Old Frosties Club

Welcome to the Day Old Frosties Club! Join CJ and his childhood friend through a world of losing love then finding it, immaturity in the right and wrong ways, jealousy, and all human emotions. The centre of it all? A wacky shake shop, a redheaded milkshake barista, CJ’s Uncle Bill, Grams, Jen (we don’t talk about her anymore) and most of all… you. The woman of CJ’s dreams. He just didn’t know it until now.

Chairwoman: You

Loving, Loyal Secretary: CJ Braxton

Possible Members: Bill Braxton and Bella Marie Riley

(P.S - this is in order of when it happens!)

* = 18+ themes

** = smut i like me better* - Just two childhood best friends, going to ESU together after they transferred from Boston Bay. They’re there to have fun, lose sleep and write essays. But there’s a massive small problem. CJ’s struggling with his breakup, she’s struggling with helping him and they’re both grappling with the possibility of them being something more.

tête-à-tete** - Not everyone at ESU got the gift of maturity. So when you hear a couple of comments about your appearance and weight in a conversation between some girls, you can’t help but think that you need to make yourself worthy of CJ. However, your knight in shining armour is always ready to rescue you from that deep end.

dreamy poker faces** - CJ’s trying to keep a big secret from you. And Bella, and Uncle Bill, and CJ’s mom, your mom, your dads are in their own dreamland, and you’re confused. It’s Christmas holidays, spirits are high, and yet everyone’s poker faces seem to be on. While CJ’s keeps slipping. He can’t hide the secret much longer, can he? (COMING UP!)

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

@gleefulleve @sacrosankta

@riteofpassage77 @eevvvaa @thedevilortheangel @thorsballhair @barbienotdoll

@4e1h3r @wolfieblue03 @kianaleani @vicky199625 @sassyslut2003

@impyrz

@didisull @miwp @lastcallatrockysbar @rizlowwritessortof

@zepskies @angelbabyyy99

@autisticgothic

@yourgoldengirls @deansobsessedgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester

@aylacavebear @lailawinchesterr @brightlilith @arcanaa @hobby27

@lyarr24 @ximm19

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

[slut4thebroken]

Assorted characters x stalker!reader hcs

For some reason I’ve been obsessed with stalker!reader ideas. Like for any of my current hyperfixation crushes lol. So here are some unofficial head canons I guess

(Jason Todd, Jonathan Crane, Jackson Rippner, Spencer Reid, Stiles Stilinski, Bucky Barnes)

Jason Todd - You met him one day on the street. Some guy was being a dick and not taking no for an answer. When he started yelling, Jason intervened. And you’ve been in love with him ever since. You know that he obviously loves you too, that’s why he was so kind to you that day— that’s why he leaves his blinds open and let’s you watch him change after taking a shower. That’s why he was “careless” enough to let you find out his alter ego. Why else would he have trusted you so much to share that secret with you if he wasn’t in love with you too?

Jonathan Crane - Along the same lines as Jason. But you’re a student in his class. Everyday you sit in the front, your chin resting on your hand as you stare at him, mesmerized by his smooth voice and pretty face. You like the reaction you get when he makes eye contact and you don’t look away— he stumbles over his words and forces his gaze somewhere else while clearing his throat. His day to day life wasn’t particularly exciting, he spent most of his time on campus or at Arkham. But the one night he deviated from his usual schedule, you got all giddy and followed him eagerly. That’s how you found out your professor was the infamous Scarecrow. After learning that, you wondered if he’d ever want to test his fear toxin on you, leaving you a writhing mess for him.

Jackson Rippner - (I actually started a one shot with this plot lmao) You don’t know how a professional terrorist who stalks people for a living didn’t realize you were following him. It’s not like you’re very good at it. But you watched him watch other people, swooning when he became particularly violent on an assignment. You wondered how he’d react when he found out. Would he be flattered— impressed? Would he try to kill you? Or maybe— and this was your preferred option— he’d fuck you instead, making fun of you for being so desperate that you resorted to stalking him. He seemed like the kind of man who would enjoy degrading and humiliating you and you couldn’t wait for when that would finally happen.

Spencer Reid - Your genius professor with an IQ of 187 and three phds was entirely fascinating to you. You read anything and everything about him, including all of the cases he’s worked and any interviews he’s done. Once that wasn’t enough, you started following him around. He was so intriguing and captivating— the way he just ordered a coffee and handed the barista the money had you swooning. The first time you followed him, he had noticed you— made eye contact with you— so you made sure to be more careful. On days where he wasn’t teaching because he was away helping the BAU, you were incredibly bored and almost depressed. You missed seeing him every single day.

Stiles Stilinski - Stalking him was how you found out literally all of his friends secrets. You liked watching him talk animatedly to Scott from across the library, getting scolded by the librarian several times before being asked to leave. You liked watching him by himself, the way he fidgets with anything he can get his hands on and struggles to focus on whatever task he’s trying to complete, it’s endearing. What you didn’t like, however, was how he looks at Lydia. Every single time, you have to physical restrain yourself from walking over and bashing her head in, telling her to back the fuck off and leave him alone. Especially because she usually ends up making him sad. If he were with you, you’d always make him feel loved and appreciated. You wouldn’t act like some spoiled, airheaded tease (not the internalized misogyny lol).

Bucky Barnes - Stalking Bucky was one of the hardest things you’ve ever done. He’s so in tune with his surroundings, knows when there’s a threat before anyone else does. He also knows when he’s being followed. So you resorted to casual stalking— going to the gym when he’s there, sitting in the living room when he’s there, arguing with Sam about what to watch, etc. You also liked watching him through the security cameras in the tower. It wasn’t as good as the real thing, but you could see the true, genuine Bucky. Not the Bucky he pretends to be around everyone else. This was the Bucky who likes romcoms, listens to music, does his best to cook, walks around in just sweatpants, not worrying about having to hide the gruesome scarring on his shoulder at the base of his metal arm— or any other scars for that matter. He has a lot of them and you ached to kiss every single one and tell him that you still think he’s incredibly handsome and pretty.

Part 2 with their reactions when they find out lol?

[sourmiguel]

You Had Me at Latte Batman by @goddammitstacey (wc2108, teen)

Summary: The one where Derek’s a barista who accidentally woos Stiles with latte art.

These two oblivious idiots. I love them.