Author's Note: My roommate texted me last night and was like "yo gimmie fanart ideas" and I was like "SNAPCHAT PICS OF THE AVENGERS OR STEREK" because, holy shit, snapchat fanart is the BEST. She came through like a boss and I wrote something for it. You can find the pic (and this bit of writing actually) on tumblr (driedupwishes . tumblr post / 90428800962 / karla - vincent - i - made - another - one). It's not exactly the longest piece I've ever written, but I like it. Enjoy!

Dedicated: To anyone who finds as much joy in snapchat fanart as I do. Also to Karla, because she's the fucking bomb.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Stiles had been minding his own business, he really had. The wolves were all supposed to be out at training with Scott and there was a strict No Humans policy on this one, which was fine and dandy. There was an English paper Stiles had to do and he needed to get his laundry sorted out, since he had been told oh so kindly that morning by Lydia that he stank like the wrong end of a horse. So, instead of starting up his English paper (because, come on, schoolwork, ugh) he booted up the MMORPG he hadn't had time for lately and dragged all his clothes down to the washing machine while it was updating.

He was halfway through typing out the explanation to his guild mates about where he'd been for so long ("No man, seriously, my English teacher was worse than the Wicked Witch of the West, it's been rough….") when his window slid open with a rattle. He jumped, stumbling around, hand going for the knife he had taken from his dad's old army gear, but it was just Derek, hunched over, only partially through his window, and completely shirtless.

"Aw, c'mon," he whined, "I'm calling bullshit."

Derek gave him a flat look before gracefully tumbling through the open window and landing on all fours on the floor. The teenager dropped back in his chair and spun around, fingers pecking harshly at the keyboard as he explained to his guild that he had to go, be right back, his dad's calling him (etc. etc.) before he minimized the game window and turned back around.

"Your window needs fixing," Derek said. Stiles shook his head in exasperation before hoisting himself out of his computer chair, heading for his dresser. Conversations with Derek were easier when he wasn't shirtless.

(He had a very distracting chest, okay. Stiles was a healthy teenage boy with a curiosity that ran a little bit rampant. It wasn't his fault. Maybe if Derek channeled more of his manpain into baking and eating his worries away Stiles would be able to focus on something other than the width of his shoulders and the line of his abs. But no, Derek was a big brawny sad man who had to do push-ups to drive the pain away, ugh-)

"Uh, oops," Stiles said, train of thought interrupted. He blinked at the almost completely empty drawer that should have held his shirts in confusion before abruptly remembering that he had literally hauled every single piece of clothing he owned down to the washing machine and (somehow) cramped it all in.

"Oops," Derek echoed. Stiles turned around, the only clean shirt he had in his hand, and the werewolf straightened from the floor in a menacing loom. Once he caught sight of the shirt in Stiles' hand he made a face, looking like he was heavily considering tossing himself back out the window and into the cold.

"Hey, it's not like I told you to come over on laundry day," Stiles said, tossing the blue and orange striped shirt at Derek's face. It occurred to Stiles that there might be something wrong in the town just about the same time the shirt connected with Derek's hand instead of his nose and with a chill racing down his spine and a burst of adrenaline in his veins Stiles dashed across the room to grab at Derek's arm.

"Whoa, dude, what are you even doing here? You're supposed to be at doggie day-care with the other pups! Is something wrong, did something happen, what-"

"Stiles," Derek said calmly. His hands curled, warm and solid, around Stiles' shoulders, giving him a small squeeze of reassurance. "Calm down. Nothing's wrong. Everyone's fine. They're all at…" Derek's face twisted, his eyes glittering with something that might have been annoyance, but also might have been amusement. "Doggie day-care," he finished after a second.

"Oh." Stiles went a little bit limp, leaning into Derek's touch just the faintest bit. "Oh thank god. I have been dying to explore the areas unlocked with the latest patch and if there had been another psycho out there keeping me from level 95 I swear to god I would have run them over with my car."

Derek blinked. "What," he said. He drew back and pulled the shirt over his head and Stiles remembered quite quickly why he had meant to throw that shirt out. Too tight and bright, it wasn't really hiding anything about Derek's chest from view, which therefore kind of defeated the purpose of having Derek wear a shirt at all. Feeling a little flustered Stiles bounced over to his computer chair, plopping in it and spinning around to face his computer.

"Dude, I know you, like, come from the Stone Age, but some of us here in the 21st century like to play video games every now and again."

Stiles couldn't see it with his back turned, but he got the feeling Derek was rolling his eyes at him aggressively. The werewolf stomped up, purposefully making noise, only stopping when he was hovering only a few inches over Stiles, bent to look at the laptop's screen. Stiles opened up the game window with a flourish, peeking over his shoulder to catch Derek's reaction. To his surprise the werewolf's face lit up in recognition and the edge of Derek's mouth curled up in a faint smile.

"Oh," he said, "that game."

Stiles squeaked. "That game," he repeated. "What do you mean, 'oh, that game'? You know it?"

Derek shifted a little uneasily before stepping back a few steps, shoulders rolling uncomfortably. He looked away, shrugging.

"Dad got it when it first game out," he explained, not looking at the baffled teenager. "He thought it would be funny, with all the supernatural creatures in it. It was kind of a hobby of his to go through pop culture things and see how accurate the information in it was."

"Wait, so you haven't seen this game in, like, seven years?"

"Uh. No."

Stiles sputtered. "Dude," he said, blinking up at Derek. "Grab that chair and come here. You have got to see all the expansions that have come out since then."

Derek paused and for a second Stiles thought he might argue, but then, quietly, the dark haired werewolf walked across the room, grabbed the other chair, and hauled it over to sit next to Stiles. Twenty minutes later, partially through the long-winded tale about what they had changed in the mage class over the years, Stiles' phone beeped at him from his pocket. He pulled it out, waving at Derek to take the mouse and click on what he wished, and opened the text with a flick of his thumb.

Hey, have you seen Derek? He's not at training.

Stiles pursed his lips and peeked at Derek, who was clicking through the different spells the mage class now had available with a little frown. On a whim he backed out of the text message and opened a different app, turning so that the screen faced them both. The camera opened up and Stiles tried to snap a picture before Derek noticed, but at the last second he looked up, scowling.

"Stiles," Derek said in warning. Stiles bent over his phone, scribbling on the image for a second before tapping open the text feature above the picture. Derek loomed over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of what he was doing, groaning in faint annoyance before he settled back in front of the computer to glower at the spell options. Stiles sent the Snapchat, snorting a little to himself in amusement, before turning back to Derek.

"Alright, Sourwolf," he said, clapping Derek on the shoulder. "Time to show you what they've done to the world map!" And despite the fact that he could have easily broken Stiles' arm and been out the window before Stiles could even process the fact that he was in pain, Derek stayed, warm and solid at his side, for the rest of the night.