Sterek One-Shots

Tattoos and Apple Pie

"Can you do this?" the drunk teenager slurred as he held up a crumbled piece of paper with a mix of two weird looking animals on it. The usual customer on any Saturday night, sometimes even during the week. The kid looked young, maybe just turned eighteen. Derek didn't care for the age limits of tattoos, considering he'd gotten his first at fifteen, but if he didn't check IDs then he'd be out of a job. 

"Dude," the drunk teenagers less drunk friend mumbled, grabbing the kid's shoulder. "Don't get that shit. You will never get laid, I swear." Derek noticed this guy was a lot skinnier than his friend, a lot smarter maybe, but also probably more annoying. Derek found him. . . attractive, just a little. 

"Stiles, shut your face," the other kid said to the skinny one, rolling his eyes. He turned back to Derek and sighed, shoving the paper back into his pocket. "Fuck, I guess he's right. Just give me something else, like this." He pointed to the tattoo of two bands around a guys arm in the tattoo book next to him, his eyes lighting up. 

"Ew," Stiles mumbled, shaking his head. He looked up then, meeting Derek's eyes. He smiled softly and held Derek's gaze for a few seconds before coughing and looking at the ground. "Just get this done so we can go home."

"Yeah, alright. ID?" Derek demanded, sighing as he leaned forward on the counter. He didn't particularly enjoy his job, especially on Saturday nights when the stupid, young kids came pouring in the door to get stupid tattoos they would regret for the rest of their lives. 

The kid fumbled around looking for his wallet, eventually pulling it out of his jacket pocket and throwing his licence on the counter, confirming that he was exactly eighteen. Derek nodded and pushed it back to the kid, who picked it up and shoved his wallet back into his pocket. "So how long is this gonna take?" he wondered, the smell of alcohol reaching Derek's nose. 

Derek crinkled his nose and turned around to grab his supplies. "About an hour," Derek replied quickly, coming out from behind the counter. He nodded his head towards the chair to tell the kid to sit down, which he did. Stiles awkwardly stayed back a few feet, kicking at the ground with his  hands in his pockets. 

"I'm Scott, by the way," he mumbled as he scooted back into the chair and laid down. "And that guy over there is Stiles. I was gonna bring my boy- my, uh, friend. I was gonna bring my friend Isaac, but he got sick and had to go home. What a loser, huh? Good thing Stiles doesn't drink a lot." 

"Yeah, sure," Derek replied lamely, sighing as he plugged in his tattoo gun. He got everything ready and cleaned Scott's arm before starting the tattoo. 

"So, what's your name?" Scott asked a few minutes later. He was staring up at the ceiling, his free hand resting on his chest. "You know, you and my friend Stiles would really like each other. Well, I think. I mean, I don't know your type, but Stiles really loves tattooed guys, like you. And well, he also likes-"

"Scott, what the fuck?" Stiles muttered angrily from behind Derek. "God, I wish you were a quiet drunk."

Derek laughed without really thinking about it. He didn't laugh a lot, not around his customers. He was well known for being grumpy and non-talkative. He stopped tattooing the drunk kid just long enough to turn around and say, "You know, Stiles, you don't have to stand back there all alone. You can come and sit over here." He turned back around, but not before he saw the clear blush on the guy's face.