Sterek Stories - A Collection - I

The one where Stiles knits Derek a scarf

He can hear him muttering from the other way of the parking lot, recognises the way he scuffs his heels - right more than left - when he hurries over to him.

"Oh my god," the boy exclaims when he is close to him. "How are you not cold in that!?" His arms flail in his direction, as if to point out everything that is wrong with his clothing.

Derek doesn't look down to follow the disapproving look that lingers on his chest. He knows what he is wearing, was the one that put it on this morning in the first place. It's not that different from what he wears on any other day: dark jeans, one of his henleys and his leather jacket. Just, clothes.

"You know why," he answers, raising one eyebrow at his human packmate. They never talk about it as such; Derek has never acknowledged out loud that Stiles is pack, that he trusts him. He doesn't have to, he figures, as Stiles bustles into his personal space to pull up the zipper of his leather jacket as far as it will go. As if those last two inches will make a difference.

"Just because you're a werewolf doesn't mean you have to walk around defying the weather," he chides, hands busying themselves with pulling the creases in his leather jacket straight before he steps back. "I bet you're using up a lot of energy keeping yourself warm. You could use that energy for other stuff, you know. Wouldn't have to eat as much either. Dressing weather appropriate might as well save you a trip to the grocery store, who knows!"

Derek pointedly rakes his gaze over the other's attire. Stiles is dressed in a puffy jacket, topped with a scarf and a slouchy beanie in mismatching colours. He doesn't have to point out that Stiles is at the supermarket too, despite being dressed as if he's expecting a blizzard.

"We were out of Cheetos," the boy huffs. "I've got a big test tomorrow, I need some brain food!"

"Uh-huh." Derek smirks, knowing it will rile Stiles up.

"Don't make this about me!" Stiles grouses while Derek gets into his car. "This is about you living under the illusion you have to look tough at all times, even when every other sane person wears a scarf when they go out in this weather. Really, Sour Wolf, would it kill you to wear a scarf?"

"Bye, Stiles," Derek says before closing the door and starting his car. "Good luck with your test tomorrow."

***

"What is this?" Derek looks up from the bundle of yarn Stiles pushed into his hands the second before.

"It's called a scarf," Stiles says, already pulling the bundle out of his still hands to wrap it around his neck. The wool is soft and warm and the scarf is wide enough to cover his shoulders, neck and the lower part of his face. Derek gets a nose full of Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, and Cheetos. The whole thing smells so distinctly of Stiles that Derek doesn't know whether to rip it off with his claws or roll around in it. A familiar emotion when it comes to the human.

"I know it's a scarf," Derek mutters, working his chin out of the fabric so he doesn't inhale pure Stiles anymore. The real one is standing no more than two feet away and that's bad enough already. "Why are you giving me your scarf?"

"It's not mine, it's yours!" Stiles beams. "And I got the colour right too, see?" He holds one end of the scarf against Derek's chest, comparing it to his shirt. "It's a perfect match to your favourite henley!"

"I don't have a favourite -"

"Sure you do!"

"I do not -"

"You do wear this one the most," Isaac pipes up from where he's slouched on the sofa. There's a history textbook on his lap, from which he is supposed to be studying. The book is upside down. "I'd say that qualifies for this henley being your favourite."