#so I'm very new to that and good lord the ALGAE

[felixitous]

let my aquarium plant maintenance go too long and now I am So Tired after finishing

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

damn it, here I'm again: how about sterek + (those are all so perfect dear lord someone send help) "I picked up what I thought was a stray on the side of the road last night and it turns out you’re a werewolf. Um. Can I offer you some pancakes?"

This was such a fun prompt to work with! (also on ao3)

Stiles had a history with strays.

Ever since he could walk, toddling around the Stilinski home as fast as his tiny little legs could carry him, he had an affinity for animals. More specifically, taking in any animal in need.

Living in a residential neighborhood adjacent to the local woods meant that he had never been lacking in that department. He couldn't throw a stone around their neighborhood without finding a baby bird that had fallen from its nest or a dog that had wandered out of its yard.

In the creek behind their house, buried in the woods by a groove of black willows and white alders, he used to catch redwood salamanders and Cascades frogs. He would wade knee deep into the water in search of the sneaky amphibians, never caring that his pants got soaked.

He would keep them in an old fish tank, arranging algae covered rocks in the water of the terrarium so his new pets could spend time on land. He used to spend hours digging up worms in the backyard so he could feed his amphibians.

Of course, they eventually died — wild animals weren't meant to be in captivity, after all — and Stiles had been devastated. He had cried for hours, until his eyes were red and puffy and his throat was sore.

A few months later, he found an abandoned squirrel pup in their front yard. There had been no nest in sight, nor any mother squirrel searching for her lost baby.

The pup was cold to the touch and Stiles refused to risk letting the pup freeze to death while waiting for its mother. John had reluctantly agreed and allowed Stiles to adopt the squirrel.

For the next several weeks, he dutifully nursed the squirrel pup with an eyedropper full of puppy milk. He set up a nest for it inside, composed of old t-shirts and ripped socks that made a perfect bed for the tiny pup.

It had been a bittersweet day when Claudia had informed Stiles that it was time for the squirrel to leave. They had released it in the backyard where it ran right up a nearby sycamore tree, chattering away as though saying goodbye.

After the squirrel came a blind kitten they found wandering through the neighborhood, mewling pitifully. Stiles had snuck the kitten into his room and cared for it under his parents' noses for weeks until his mom went looking for something in his room and stumbled onto his little secret.

Unfortunately, with Stiles in elementary school while both of his parents worked full-time, they just didn't have the time or resources to care for a special needs cat. But luckily there was an older woman who ran a cat sanctuary a few towns over.

After taking the cat in, she had assured Stiles that he could visit anytime he wanted. And he did, his mom driving him over every other weekend.

Next came an entire litter of puppies that he begged to keep, only for his dad to painstakingly explain why adopting six Tibetan mastiffs was not a very good idea. And after that was the mountain lion cub that he somehow found on one of his exploration through the woods.

John nearly had a heart attack when he came home from a double shift to find his son cuddling the baby of a two hundred pound killing machine.

He then had to inform Stiles that a mountain lion was not a pet. Park rangers had been called in and the cub was safely returned to its den for its mother find.

But Stiles' affinity for taking in strays never wavered. Even as he got older.

In high school, he worked at the vet clinic with his friend Scott, just so he could help out any animals in need. It was better than working some crappy retail job like many of his classmates.

And it was a great reprieve from the everyday stress of high school. If he was ever feeling particularly stressed, he would just call up Deaton and volunteer for an additional shift.

Basically, his job consisted of bottle feeding kittens and doing trial introductions for potential pet adopters. It was a pretty sweet gig apart from the occasional bittersweet moments when animals were adopted.

Even after he moved out of Beacon Hills to attend Stanford he made a point of dedicating his time to animals, getting a job at the local pet store just outside of town. So it was no surprise to anyone that while on break in Beacon Hills, he didn't hesitate to pull over to check on what looked like a stray dog standing on the side of the road.

He had been driving in from Stanford, having enough days off for Thanksgiving break to warrant the drive back to Beacon Hills. Drumming his fingers against Roscoe's steering wheel while imagining the amazing meal his dad would be making in a few days, Stiles had been absorbed in his own thoughts.

Until he noticed a dark shape in the shoulder of the forest road leading into town. His interest immediately piqued, he had pulled over to get a better look at whatever the dark shape was.

Lo and behold, it was a dog. A stray by the looks of it.

The dog was huge, probably some sort of wolf dog hybrid that someone had purchased on a whim then realized the complications of the hybrid. Its coat was jet black with a few grizzled spots around its muzzle.

Fortunately, the dog didn't seem undernourished or injured in any way. And it wasn't wearing a collar let alone a tag bearing an address or phone number.

But what really caught Stiles' attention was the dog's eyes. He hadn't thought dogs could have hazel eyes with that much green in them, captivated by the specks of gold and rivers of bluish silver in the canine's irises.

His heart instantly captured, Stiles had coaxed the dog closer with a few soft words and careful touches. He had been glad to find that the dog was a gentle giant, docile and sweet as Stiles scratched it behind its ears.

With plans to take the dog to the vet clinic first thing in the morning to check for an implanted ID chip, Stiles had corralled the dog into his Jeep and continued his drive home. His dad hadn't even bothered to act surprised when Stiles showed up on the front doorstep with a stray in tow.

But, of course, because Stiles' life could never be normal for more than a few months at a time, it turned out that the stray he had picked up was much more than meets the eye. He found that out the hard way the next morning.

After a wondrous night curled up in bed where he actually got the recommended eight hours of sleep, Stiles woke early in the morning craving pancakes. But not just any pancakes; his mother's famous pancakes.

They were fluffier than a cloud and had just a hint of vanilla, making them perfect for any kind of syrup under the sun from traditional maple to boysenberry. His mom had always made them on special occasions, especially holidays, which made them perfect for Thanksgiving break.

Once he brushed his teeth and took care of some other hygienic needs, he tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, careful not to wake his dad. He hurried past the living room couch where the stray dog he had picked up had spent the night, too preoccupied with his thoughts to pause and greet the dog.

He was in the middle of flipping pancakes, adding an extra bit of flair the way his mom had taught him, when he heard the telltale pad of bare feet on the kitchen tiles. Beaming, he looked over his shoulder, cheerfully greeting, "Mornin', pops— Uh... You're not my dad..."

He was pretty much stating the obvious since the tall, bearded, naked man standing in the kitchen was clearly not his father. The aforementioned bearded, naked man said as much, simply stating, "Uh, no."

"Are-Are we being robbed?" Stiles asked, turning the heat on the stove down and tightening his grip on the metal spatula in his hand in case they really were being robbed. "Because, I gotta say, this is fucking weird, man. You're not even wearing pants."

The mystery man's eyes widened almost comically as he tensed and rushed to cup his hands over his crotch. His cheeks flushed, drawing Stiles' attention back to his eyes. His eyes that were oddly familiar.

Hazel-green with gold and silver. Holy shit.

"Shit, you're a werewolf, aren't you?" Stiles groaned, feeling his own face flush. He had practically kidnapped someone! Because he thought they were a stray!

The yet to be introduced man just nodded, still looking embarrassed as all hell. Stiles let out a sigh, "Keep an eye on the pancakes. I'll be right back."

He waited for the werewolf to nod before he slipped out of the kitchen and back upstairs to the laundry room where he rifled around for a clean pair of pajama pants. After finding his baggiest pair, he hurried back downstairs where he was met with an eyeful of the werewolf's firm ass and the tattoo between his shoulder blades.

"Uh, here. These should fit ya," Stiles announced after clearing his throat, holding out the red pajama pants that just so happened to be patterned with white dog bones. Turning his head to give Mr. No Name some privacy, he wandered back over to the stovetop where his pancakes were still cooking. "I'm Stiles, by the way."

"Derek," the Sheriff's voice returned, managing to make Stiles' cheeks flush even deeper. He craned his neck to take a peek at his dad who was embracing the now only half naked werewolf, a friendly smile on his face. "Son, this is Derek Hale, my new deputy."

"Of course it is," Stiles mumbled, hanging his head as he poked at one of the pancakes with the spatula. Sparing another glance over his shoulder, he watched Derek and his dad plop down at the kitchen table.

"So... Can I offer you some pancakes?" Stiles asked, meeting Derek's mesmerizing eyes.

"Yeah, why not," Derek answered smoothly, sending Stiles a sly wink when the Sheriff wasn't looking.

It may have been one of the most embarrassing moments of his life but it made one hell of a 'how I met your father' story.