LGBT Oneshots ✅

First Date (Teen Wolf)

Stiles is late.

He's supposed to be on his first date with the hot guy he's been angsting over for the past month but he's somewhere in London instead, staring at the underground map. Because, no matter how much his friends try to teach him how to read them, he doesn't think he's ever going to get that skill. He like to reassure himself that he has time since he's only two months into his year abroad and Christmas break is coming up, giving him all the time in the world to explore.

He doesn't have that time now, though, not when it's ten minutes past seven so he calls the smartest girl he knows.

"Hey, Lydia, I think I'm lost."

"Oh, Stiles," she says but there's a fondness he can hear in her voice, "aren't you supposed to be on your date right now?"

"Yeah," he said, grimacing, "I'm currently in Marble Arch, trying to find my way to St Paul's."

She sighs, "Did you not think to look up directions to the Paternoster Chop House anytime over the past month?"

Apparently, 'I did but London is confusing' isn't a suitable answer.

"Okay," Lydia says, after a few seconds of quiet mocking, "you want to take the Central line to St Paul's station and then it's a two minute walk from there. If you're lucky, you won't miss him."

"Have I told you that you're amazing recently?"

"Sweetie, I know."

Someone must be looking out for Stiles that night because he just manages to catch the train and they're actually early to his stop which is lucky because he's quarter of an hour late by then. He runs most of the way before he sees the sign for the first date restaurant and slows his pace in an effort to look fashionably late rather than mortifyingly unprepared for adult life. He probably doesn't succeed, all flushed cheeks and panting breaths, but it's the thought that counts. It's something Stiles firmly believes in because, otherwise, he wouldn't be able to get out of bed most days.

"Hi," he says to the doorman at the front of the restaurant, "my name's Stiles, I'm supposed to be meeting someone?"

The guy, to his credit, doesn't even blink when Stiles all but throws his coat at him, "Yes, your date has already arrived."

He's led to the bar, which is empty except for a leather jacket draped across a stool, and orders whiskey straight up, no ice.

"That kind of day?" the bartender asks.

"With me, that's every kind of day."

She winces in sympathy but assures him, "I wouldn't worry, I can promise you your day is going to turn right around when you see your date."

"I saw his picture online," Stiles admits, "he was kind of dreamy."

"All the dreamy," she agrees.

She's not kidding, either, and Stiles swears he can feel it in the room when the guy comes back because he has that kind of presence. And, being best friends with Scott, it doesn't take him more than a second to figure out he's a werewolf which means he's not only ridiculously attractive but also blessed with fast reflexes and advanced healing. The guy is a steal.

"Hi," Stiles says, smiling at him, "I'm Stiles."

He doesn't miss the way his eyes run over him before he smiles back, completely transforming his face into something more beautiful, breathtaking, "I'm Derek, pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine."

 "Have you been waiting long?"

"I literally got here a minute ago, what about you?"