Sterek one shots

Adorkable

Credit: RedEyedWrath

- - - -

It happens on a Friday. Derek almost forgets his glasses, trips over his own feet at least twice and almost falls face-first into his lunch. He's probably sporting five bruises on his shins and his glasses are covered in mashed potatoes, and just when he thinks it can't get any worse, Stiles walks into the cafeteria, a massive grin on his face and Derek gets so distracted he walks right into the door.

He immediately feels himself flush red and he slaps a hand over his cheek, where the inevitable bruise will appear. When he looks over his shoulder, Jackson is snickering with his minions and Derek swallows, humiliation burning in his stomach. He turns around to walk to the toilets to clean his glasses - because it's not like he can see properly without them, fucking Jackson - when someone falls into step next to him.

"You okay? It looked like you smacked into the door pretty hard back there," the person says, and Derek instantly stops walking, pulling the sleeves of his Henley over his hands. Stiles.

"If-" he starts, cheeks flushing when he trips over his own words. He stubbornly keeps his gaze trained on his dirty Converse. "If you're here to make fun of me, could you please leave?"

"Hey!" Stiles says indignantly and Derek flinches. He doesn't know what he did wrong, but he wants to fix it. He doesn't want Stiles to hate him. "Look at me."

He glances up at Stiles from under his eyelashes, and it takes his breath away. There's a crease in between Stiles' eyebrows, and his eyes are tinged with worry and - and something else. Stiles licks his lips and Derek involuntarily tracks the movement, feeling a pulse of warmth shoot through him.

"I'm not here to make fun of you," Stiles says, voice firm and Derek feels pinned down by his eyes. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

Stiles reaches out then, grabbing Derek's sleeve and rubbing his thumb over the skin of Derek's wrist. Derek can't help the little gasp he lets out at that. His flush darkens, but he doesn't pull his hand back, because he's not going to reject any kind of affection Stiles gives him.

"Oh," he mumbles, face growing redder when the corners of Stiles' mouth turn up. "I'm fine."

"Okay," Stiles says, but he doesn't let go, instead choosing to rub his thumb over Derek's palm. Derek's face is burning.

He doesn't want Stiles to stop.

-

"Fucking Finstock," Jackson practically shouts through the halls. Danny gives everyone an apologetic smile, because apart from Stiles and Scott, Danny's probably the nicest person in school. "Giving Stilinski the position of Team Captain. The loser hasn't even scored ten goals this year."

Stiles is leaning against his locker, smiling at Jackson's tirade as he fistbumps Scott, and Derek's heart skips a beat when their eyes lock. Stiles gives him a small wave, nodding imperceptibly to Jackson and Derek blushes, heart pounding in his chest.

"Actually," Derek mumbles, half-hoping Jackson doesn't hear him and just leaves him alone. "He has."

Jackson comes to a stop in front of him, eyebrows raised and mouth drawn down in a sneer as he looks Derek up and down. Derek shifts, hoping Jackson doesn't notice how nervous he is as he clenches his hands on the strap of his messenger bag.

"What," Jackson says, voice icy cold, "did you just say?"

Derek tries to look over Jackson's shoulder, praying Laura or Cora - even Erica - might see what's happening and come save him from Jackson's impending wrath, but everyone's just staring at them, like Jackson isn't about to pummel into him.