Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles has wanted to be a chef since he was a kid, but it never seemed to work out.  Even with insurance, his dad was in way over his head paying for his mother’s medical bills.  Stiles didn’t come from a wealthy family, so it wasn’t like there was a college savings account lying around anywhere.  He goofed around in high school too much to qualify for any scholarships.  So… the likelihood of ever getting into culinary school was pretty slim.  On top of that, he never really had the confidence in himself to actually apply.  Absolutely zero chance, then.

Instead, he works two part time jobs to make ends meet and drowns his sorrows in a pint of ice cream when he can actually afford it.

“Heading to the station?” Stiles asks.  He’s just parked his Jeep in the driveway of his childhood home, but his father’s hurrying out the door.

“Yeah, kiddo,” John says.  He ruffles Stiles’ hair as he passes by.  “We just got a report of a group of hikers being attacked by a mountain lion.”

Stiles slumps.  “So much for dinner.”

John sighs.  “I’m sorry, Stiles.  I really am.  But…”

“You’re the Sheriff.  Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he waves him off.  “I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge.”

John nods.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah… See you tomorrow.”  Stiles watches his father get in the cruiser and drive away.  He shakes his head as he grabs the grocery bag out of the back of his Jeep and walks to the front door.

At times, he wishes he would have just stayed at home- saved his money instead of renting an apartment… but, he needed to get out on his own and start his own life.  He sits the grocery bag on the countertop before the bottom has a chance to split.

He’s not good with the quiet, so he walks into the living room and turns the television to a random cooking show and blasts the volume enough that he can hear it in the kitchen.

Grabbing a knife from the block, he turns around and starts chopping a tomato- the steps to his menu running through his head.

Chop the onion… Halve the potatoes… Trim the green beans…

Peeling and deveining the shrimp has to be the worst part, but he thinks it will be worth it in the end.  He turns to the stove, drizzling oil into a pan.  As it starts to heat, he scoops up his chopped onion and garlic and dumps it into the pan.

He loses track of time- so intently focused on adding the vegetables, stirring, and thinking of his side dish.  He decided on a simple Greek salad since he’s wanting to keep his dad healthy.

At the right time, he turns down the heat and adds the shrimp.  He stirs it every once in a while until the little sea critters are pink and cooked.  He scoops a portion onto a plate, tops it with dill and just a bit of feta, and takes a picture of it.  He moves the pan to a back burner and leaves it until after he’s finished.  Then, he’ll put it into a container for his dad to eat later.

He searches around for wherever he set his messenger bag.  Once he finds it, he reaches in and pulls out a notebook.  Clicking his pen, he writes “Greek Shrimp and Potatoes”.  He doesn’t want to sit at the table all alone, so he just stands at the counter as he eats.  He takes a bite, frowns because there’s not enough salt and pepper, and jots down the note.

The salad is better than the meal only because he goes strictly by the recipe the first time he makes something new.  The next time, he’ll make it his own based on any adjustments he thinks he should make.  He writes down one last note to try making the salad dressing from scratch next time too.

He feels good about the attempt, but as soon as his last note is written, the magic of cooking the meal is broken, and he’s back to reality once again.

Stiles sighs.  He puts the leftovers in the fridge, washes the dishes…  He turns off the tv, locks up the house, and heads back to his Jeep.

• - -

“Hey, hey, hey!” Stiles tries to calm Marsha down.  “It’ll be okay!”

“No, it won’t,” the woman wails.  “The caterers CANCELED!  Canceled, Stiles!  The staff party is in two days.  We’ll never be able to get someone in time.”

‘Like it matters,’ Stiles thinks to himself.  There are literally five people who work at the antique store.  He doesn’t understand why Marsha wanted to cater their holiday dinner to begin with.  “We can all bring something.”

“Potluck?” she gasps, appalled by the suggestion.

Stiles turns so she doesn’t see him roll his eyes.

“You know I don’t trust Marty’s cooking.  I don’t want to be poisoned.”

“He’s your brother…”  Stiles groans.  She’s making a mountain out of a molehill.

“I won’t eat anything he makes.”

“Geeze,” Stiles is just so frustrated.  He thought getting a job at an antique store would be nice… quiet… relaxing.  Well, not with Marsha as the manager.  “I’ll cook the main dish and a side.  Have Marty make the green bean casserole- no one ever eats that crap anyway.  You can bring your famous stew.  Catherine and Holly can make desserts.”

“Really?”  She reaches out to him, and Stiles tenses.  “Thank you!  Thank you!”

“No problem.”

Soon it’s Saturday night.  Stiles carries his creations into the back break room of the store and starts setting up for the dinner party.  Marsha’s scurrying around making sure everything is perfect- like this is dinner at the White House instead of four old people and Stiles in a 10 by 10 break room.

“What’s that?” she gasps when she sees the food.

“Marty’s green bean casserole,” Stiles sighs.  “I understand why you said you didn’t want to eat his food now.”

“No,” she points at the large platter on the table.  “Yours.”

“Oh,” Stiles shrugs.  “Red Wine Braised Short Ribs.”  He points to the smaller serving dishes beside it.  “Citrus Salmon, Herb Stuffing, and Horseradish Mashed Potatoes.”  He jerks his finger over his shoulder, “And the Sweet Potato Creme Brulee Ice Cream is in the freezer.”

He can’t read the look on her face and starts to squirm.

“I got a little carried away.”

When his dad compliments him on his food, it feels like it’s because he has to.  When his friends tell him his food is amazing, he always shrugs it off.  But, tonight is different.  Everyone gives him rave reviews- even Catherine who never has a nice word to say about anyone.

“Here,” Marsha says as Stiles sets the last of his dishes into the back of his Jeep that night.  She pushes something into his hand.

Stiles looks at it- money.  At least fifty dollars.

“What’s this?”

“For the food.  It was amazing, Stiles.  And, we know it cost you a lot.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

He nods.  “Thank you.”

“No.  Thank you.  Tonight was wonderful.”

• - - 8 months later

Derek growls.  He slams the phone down and storms into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” a worker risks asking.

“Another cancellation!” He feels like crushing something… destroying something.  Instead he screams.

The terrified worker backs away.

“Who the heck does this guy think he is?!  He’s stealing all my business!”  He raises his voice an octave, mimicking the voice of his would-be patron. “Yes, I need to cancel our reservation for Friday night.  We finally got in!  Can you believe it?”  He grabs a wooden spoon and throws it across the room.

The Supper Club.

It’s the talk of the town.  It’s rated the best restaurant in town, and it’s not even a freaking restaurant.  The guy isn’t even a chef!  And, it’s costing Derek his business.  His mother insisted that he go to culinary school so he could take over his grandfather’s restaurant, and now he’s going to lose it all because of some guy cooking meals out of his kitchen.

There’s no way it can be legal.

Everyone in town is trying their best to get an invitation to his weekly meals.

Derek has to do something about it.

• - -

“Arugula,” Stiles mumbles as he picks up a bunch of it and places it in his shopping cart.  “Red cabbage…”

He wanders down the aisles of the grocery.  Every once in a while grabbing an ingredient and putting it in with the others he has gathered.  “Pasta…”

He makes his way into the Italian aisle and grabs a box of pasta.  He turns it around, looking at the ingredients- trying to determine if it would be better to make his own.

Pow!

He doesn’t mean to squeeze the box, but the impact of the carts colliding startles him, and suddenly it’s raining bow ties.

“I’m so sorry,” a voice calls out.

Dazed, Stiles looks around.  The man who accidentally rammed into his cart is absolutely gorgeous.  Probably the most handsome guy he’s ever seen.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Stiles finally collects himself.  “I think my cart was sitting a little too far into the middle of the aisle, and…”

The man stoops down and uses his hand to brush up the fallen pasta.  “No, it’s my fault.  I should have been paying more attention.”  He stands back up, glancing at the box of pasta crumpled in Stiles’ hand.  He reaches to the shelf, grabbing a new box and holding it out to Stiles.  “Trade you.”

Stiles smiles.  “Thanks.”  He bites his lip- not usually this brave.  “I’m Stiles.”

The man smiles, and he turns from gorgeous to stunning.

“I’m Derek.”

Chapter Text

“Lydia, would you calm down,” Stiles huffs.  It’s his breaktime from his job at the library, and he’s walked down the street to have lunch with his best friend.

“I will not calm down.  He’s stalking you.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.  “He’s not stalking me.  He literally ran into me once, and now every time he sees me at the store he bumps his cart into mine.  It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute, Stiles.”  She takes a bite of her club sandwich.  “You need to be careful.”

“I’m being careful.  We’ve talked for a total of thirty minutes across five different encounters.  You worry too much.  If I had met him and immediately invited him over for sex, I could see why you would be worried.”  Stiles holds out his hand.  “He’s harmless.  He has cute little bunny teeth.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong.”

• - -

Derek’s plan is working out perfectly.  He butters Stiles up everytime he sees him, and he just knows that soon he’ll get an invitation to the Supper Club.

He’s not exactly sure what he’ll do once he gets there.  Maybe he’ll announce every health code violation he sees.  Maybe he’ll sneak in a roach and hide it in the salad.  There’s so much he could do that would totally ruin Stiles’ reputation and save his own business.  Derek’s not picky- he’ll take any opportunity that presents itself.

• - -

Stiles sees Derek first this time.  He silently maneuvers his shopping cart around the large display of citrus.  Once he’s successfully behind the man, he gently knocks his cart into him.

“Excuse me!” Stiles giggles his apology.

Derek turns around with a smile.  “Stiles.  Fancy meeting you here.”

“I know, right?” he grins.  He can feel himself start to blush.  “I actually had a question for you.”

“Yes.”  Derek clears his throat.  “I mean… Yes?”

“Well,” Stiles reaches up and squeezes at the back of his neck.  “We’ve been running into each other for nearly two months now.  I was wondering if you’d like to come to my place for dinner on Friday.”

If the eager expression on his face is anything to go by, Stiles thinks the answer will definitely be a yes.

“I’d like that,” Derek replies.

Stiles turns over his grocery list and scribbles down his address.  He hands it to Derek with a smile.

“What time should I be there?”

“Is six o’clock good?”

Derek nods.  “That’s fine.  Should I bring anything?”

Stiles shakes his head.  “Nope, I’ll have everything ready.  See ya then.”

• - -

Derek’s sure he got the address right, but this doesn’t look anything like he expected.  It’s a small house on a corner lot- but there’s not another car in sight.  He’s there about fifteen minutes early- maybe everyone shows up right at 6.  So, he waits.

He waits and waits.  Finally the front door opens and Stiles walks out onto the porch.  He shyly waves, and Derek decides to finally get out of his car.

Stiles walks down the sidewalk and meets Derek at the edge of the street.  “Hey,” he says bashfully.

“Hey,” Derek replies.

“I saw you out here, but you never came up, so…  I was hoping you weren’t thinking of backing out.”

“Oh, no.  Definitely not,” Derek shakes his head.

“Good,” Stiles says with relief.  “Come on in.”  He guides him up to the front door.

Derek steps inside, and the house is quiet- no one else there.  “Am I the first one?”

“The first one what?”

“Here… for The Supper Club.”

Stiles freezes.  His eyes bulge slightly.  “You… Um, you know about that?”

“I think everyone knows about it.”

“Oh my gosh!” Stiles squeals.  “I feel so stupid.  I asked you over for a date… I thought…  Geeze, I’m an idiot.  I thought you were flirting…”

“I was flirting.”

Stiles stops.  “Oh.  Good.  But…”

Derek doesn’t know what to say- having his own internal freak out.  If he didn’t hate him so much, Stiles would be cute.  Handsome even.  And for someone who looks like Stiles to be interested in him…  No one is ever interested in him- they say he’s too grumpy and downright scary…  But he hadn’t been grumpy with Stiles.  He had oozed charm with every ounce he had.  And Stiles liked him.  Wow.  But, he had been faking it, and now he’s here…

“Derek?  You okay?”

… with a roach in a Ziploc bag shoved in his pocket…

“Derek?  What’s wrong?”

… He’d worked hard to find that roach…

“Okay,” Stiles holds out his hands.  “You clearly aren’t interested in silly ol’ me, so… I can box up some dinner, and you can take it with you.  Sorry, it’s not the full Supper Club experience…”

Derek shakes himself out of his trance.  “No, Stiles.  It’s not what I expected, but I really would like to have dinner with you… as a date.”  It feels good to say that.  He barely knows the guy, but it would be nice to be able to tell his sisters that he went out on a date for the first time in five years.

• - -

Stiles takes a deep breath.  This is not the way he expected the dinner to go and it hasn’t even started yet.  “Okay, then,” he says.  “Dinner’s ready, so follow me.”

He walks into the kitchen, trying to steady his breathing, and Derek follows him.

It’s just Stiles’ small kitchen table instead of the large table he sets up for his special dinners, but it’s full of food.  “Have a seat,” he directs.

Derek pulls out a chair and places his leather jacket in the seat- makes sure the pocket is facing up.

“Oh,” Stiles says, “I can take your jacket!”  He reaches out for it but Derek quickly slams himself down on top of it.

“Actually, it’s good for me to have a bit of a cushion,” Derek lies. He scoots the chair closer to the table, raising up and slamming his butt down with each scoot. “I have a tailbone problem.”

Stiles tries to hide the shocked look on his face. “I couldn’t imagine why,” he mumbles. Maybe Lydia was right- he shouldn’t get dates from the grocery store. 

“It looks delicious,” Derek says.

Stiles smiles.  “I made an arugula and fennel salad with lemon vinaigrette.  Pork chops with homemade molasses barbecue sauce.  Cheesy fondant potatoes.  And, I made toasted hay ice cream for dessert.”

“Hay ice cream?”

“Yeah,” Stiles blushes. “I was going for a bit of a literal farm to table theme, so I thought it would be a great time to try it out.  I saw it in a recipe book, and I’ve wanted to try it out for forever.”

• - -

Derek has made a huge mistake in ever trying to put Stiles out of business. As they eat and talk, he learns so much about him. The Supper Club idea basically fell into his lap and has been such an answer to his needs.  He doesn’t charge anyone, it’s all a free-will donation. Some give a little and others give a lot. Cooking for the people gives him an outlet for his creativity. Instead of saving the money for cooking school, he’s using it to help pay off old hospital debts so his dad can finally retire.

By dessert, Derek realizes he’s falling for the guy. 

Stiles finishes his last bite of ice cream, makes a note in his notebook. He’s a chef already and doesn’t even realize it. He cares about the food, and that makes him a better chef than Derek could ever hope to be. 

“Wanna go sit in the living room?” Stiles asks.

“Sure,” Derek smiles.  He stands up. This has been amazing. He’s actually enjoying himself. Stiles is so kind and so perfect. He can’t believe he ever had the idea to…

“You forgot your jacket,” Stiles says, already moving towards it. 

Derek freezes. “No…”

But it’s too late. Stiles picks up the jacket, and from the pocket falls the Ziploc bag…

Chapter Text

To Derek’s horror, Stiles bends over and picks up the plastic baggy. He stands back up with a confused and slightly repulsed look on his face. 

Stiles looks from the bag to Derek… from Derek to the bag and back to Derek again.  “Is this a smashed cockroach?  In a Ziploc freezer-safe bag?”

Derek could do one of three things.  He could lie.  He could run away.  Or he could…

“Yes.”

“Um…” Stiles holds back a confused laugh, mentally berating himself for not always carrying pepper spray in his pocket.  “Why do you have a smashed cockroach in a Ziploc freezer-safe bag?”

Derek sighs.  “First of all, it didn’t used to be smashed…”

“Until you sat on it repeatedly…  Right.  So, I was really hoping it was your emotional support insect, but if it was you wouldn’t kill it.  Are you one of those My Strange Addiction people?  Did you get your tailbone problem because you’re obsessed with crushing exoskeletons with your buttocks?”

“What?! No!” Derek isn’t usually one to blush, but he’s so embarrassed right now.

Dissimilarly, Stiles is starting to freak out.  And when Stiles freaks out, he gets angry.  “Then what… were you doing… with a cockroach in a freaking Ziploc bag?!?!”

“I was…”  Derek can’t think up a lie even if he wanted to.  And he feels like it’s too late to run.  “I was going to put it in your food.”

Stiles stares at him in disbelief.  “You were… what?”

“I thought if I ruined your reputation then people would start coming back to my restaurant.”

Stiles gasps and points at him, baggy still in hand.  “You’re that jerk from Hale’s Bistro that’s blaming me for his lack of business!  How dare you!”

Derek holds out his hands in front of him.  “Stiles, I’m sorry.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  I just thought if I ruined The Supper Club…”

“I can’t believe you!  That anyone would stoop so low!  And then,” Stiles flings his arms in the air, “when you found out it was a date, you just- what?  Wanted to add insult to injury?!”  Stiles grabs the bowl of arugula and fennel salad and dumps it on Derek’s head.  “You butthole!”

“I’m sorry, Stiles…”  Derek wipes the lemon vinaigrette out of his eyes and forces himself to keep talking despite the acidic sting.  He squints his eyes as he admits, “You’re the first person in a long time to be interested in me and I…”

“Because you were lying about being a good person!” Stiles screams.  He suddenly realizes he’s still holding the bag of squished roach and flings it toward Derek’s chest.  So many thoughts are running through Stiles’ mind and none of them are good.  “You need to leave.”

Derek fumbles to catch the bag before it falls into the fairly large sized puddle of dressing on the floor.  “Stiles, can you please let me explain?”

Stiles turns absolutely livid.  Fuming, he looks at the table and grabs the bowl of barbecue sauce to dump on Derek too.

Derek holds his hands up in surrender.  “I’m going!

“Oh, you better be!” Stiles hisses.  He sets the sauce back down on the table.  He looks at the remains of their meal.  How stupid could he be?  He thought the evening was going well.  He was enjoying himself!  He sees Derek’s jacket and grabs it.  “Hey!  Don’t forget your jacket!” He turns, intent on marching it to the door.

• - -

Derek reaches the front door.  This turned out completely different than he had hoped.  He looks down at the bag- wants to see that stupid roach that’s ruined everything.  He stares at it… Wait a minute.  His eyes widen in horror.

“Hey!  Don’t forget your jacket!”

Derek hears the squelch of a Converse shoe sliding through lemon vinaigrette followed by a gigantic thud.  He turns around and rushes back to the kitchen table.

• - -

Stiles is seeing stars.  Geeze, how hard did he hit his head?  One moment he was up and the next he’s lying on his back- dressing seeping into his best pair of denims.  His head is spinning, but he finally decides he should open his eyes.

At first, he thinks he’s dreaming- he’s in The Little Mermaid and a seaweed covered Ariel is leaning over him after saving his life from the ocean swells.  He blinks a few times, and his vision finally clears.

It’s not Ariel.  It’s Derek leaning over him, arugula salad plastered to his head and shoulders.  Stiles watches as a piece of it slips down past his ear.  Finally, it falls, smacking Stiles in the face.

• - -

Derek watches in worry as Stiles starts hysterically laughing.  “I think you have a concussion.”

Stiles grimaces as he shakes his head.  “Yeah, I agree.”

“Do you trust me to drive you to the hospital?  Or, should I call an ambulance?”

“Oh,” Stiles slowly sits up, “I definitely don’t trust you.  But, I’m not paying for an ambulance.”

“I’ll pay for it, then,” Derek assures him as he helps him stand up.  “And for an exterminator…”

Stiles frowns.  “Why?”

Derek holds up the Ziploc bag… empty.  “I think it opened when you threw it at me.”

“It was dead.  It couldn’t have gotten far.”

Derek points toward the cabinetry.

Stiles watches as the roach slowly limps under the stove.  He screams.

• - -

Derek gasps.  “Laura!”  He picks the small plastic roach out of his salad and flings it at his sister as she cackles.  “Please stop doing that!”

“I’ll never let it go, Der,” Laura taunts as she moves out of hitting distance.

“Babe,” Stiles reaches out and links their arms together.  “You know the more you react, the more she’s going to do it.”

“But this is our rehearsal dinner,” Derek whines.

Stiles chuckles.  “You know she couldn’t resist doing it now.”  He turns Derek’s head so he’s looking at him.  Pressing a kiss to his lips, he smiles.  “I made her promise not to do it tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

It’s been four years since “The Cockroach Debacle of 2019”, but Derek’s oldest sister still won’t let him live it down.

A lot has happened since then.  Derek did his best to make it up to Stiles, and somewhere along the way realized he was a good person after all.  Maybe it was the head injury, but Stiles decided to give Derek a second chance.  After his concussion cleared up, Stiles was hired at Hale’s Bistro.  Eventually, he took over as head chef and single handedly revitalized the restaurant.  Somewhere along the way, they learned to trust each other and fell in love.  After the wedding, the name of the restaurant will officially change to Hale’s Supper Club.

• - -

“Many people would call us BUGGY for wanting to marry today,” Stiles says halfway through reading his vows.  “So I thought this was the best time to bROACH the topic.  Derek Hale, I love you.  No one could ever encROACH on that love.”

Derek groans.

“As our love grew stronger, I knew you still felt self-repROACH for how you first treated me.  But, I swear, it didn’t BUG me at all.  You and me?  We’re meant to be.  And, now, as the end of our ceremony is appROACHing, I just wanted to say one more thing…”

“Please, don’t.”

Stiles grins.  “Not even a nuclear blast could exterminate my love for you.”

The crowd around them erupts into laughter.

Derek blushes but smiles at the man he loves.

Stiles winks at him.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”