Stiles Stilinski + Derek Hale

he's hot, sue me.

A/N: SHE'S A LONG ONE
@KrisineJohnson3 and @Tsunadeo I've seen your DMs and I'm trying to write your requests lmao. I can't write.

Stiles didn't even bother looking at the paper originally titled, "syllabus". The class was being taught by a grad student, nothing he couldn't handle. Not that grad students couldn't teach, the last class Stiles took that was taught by a grad gave him the absolute worst anxiety. When Stiles got to the lecture hall, he sat near the front and opened his laptop.

It wasn't until fifteen minutes had passed and the professor still hadn't arrived, that Stiles grew worried that he was in the wrong lecture hall. Him and about thirteen other people. He started fidgeting in his seat, and playing a very boring game of solitaire on his open computer.

When the professor finally did enter the hall, Stiles's mouth dropped open.

At first, Stiles thought he must have been another student, but the man was definitely in his mid-twenties. He wasn't dressed like a normal professor, which is probably why Stiles was so thrown off. He shrugged off his leather jacket and laid it across the podium.

Stiles was in the middle of gawking at Professor Hottie's stubble and pronounced jawline (his brain wasn't functioning enough to come up with a better name, shut up) when he casually introduced himself as Derek Hale, clearly recognizing many of the students from the previous semester.

He jumped straight into the lecture, forcing Stiles to snap back into reality and start typing away at his laptop. His hand was starting to cramp as he aggressively typed everything Hale said. Finally, Hale's lecture on the definition of romanticism began to slow and the final slide in his presentation popped up the screen.

Stiles sighed and shook out his wrists to alleviate some of the pressure, when Prof Hale announced an assignment that would be due the following week. Stiles groaned, his fingers numb from the typing, "Next week?!"

Hale raised an eyebrow, giving Stiles a onceover, recognizing him as a new student rather than a returning one. "If you'd read the syllabus, which, by the look on your face, I'm assuming you haven't, I assign an essay at the beginning of each week."

Stiles huffed. This class wasn't going to be as much of a bullshit class as he'd assumed. He took a look at the powerpoint with the essay prompt in the middle of the screen, before snorting. The prompt requested, essentially, a reiteration of the topic of the lecture he'd just sat through.

Hale's eyebrow seemed to raise even higher.

Stiles did do the essay, no matter how stupid he thought it was, and turned it in the following week. Though, Stiles couldn't exactly say he turned in an essay following the exact guidelines of the assignment, as the essay he wrote was on the debate revolving around the best dining hall on campus and how it pertains to communism.

~

When Hale finally returned the essays, Stiles nonchalantly flipped through the pages for any notable comments. There were none.

Stiles squinted at his paper, trying to find the grade, only to find a message written in red pen at the bottom of the first page.

Office hours are from noon to 3:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Ah, Stiles sighed, Professor speak for, "see me after class." He grumbled, unhappily, and waited until the end of the lecture before going to Hale's office. The notes he typed that day seemed more passive aggressive than usual.

The brunette woman at the front desk pointed out which door was Hale's with a long fingernail and Stiles dragged himself down the hall. He knocked on the open door frame, causing Derek to look up from his work.