King and lionheart

Well. This happened:

And then THIS happened:

So basically, as with all good things, this is all Fizz’s fault. I HOPE YOU’RE SATISFIED WITH YOURSELF! HAPPY LATE FREAKING VALENTINES DAY!

Props to Vangoghstars for the beta.

- - -

It starts with chopsticks.

The Pack has descended on the newly-renovated Hale house, armed to the teeth with bad takeout and worse movies and they’ve somehow turned the entire living room into a swamp of blankets, pillows and flailing limbs. As Jackson leans over and snatches the last egg roll out of Stiles’ hand to loud protest, Derek can’t help but wonder why the hell he’d actually missed them all this semester.

“Good to know college hasn’t mellowed your epic douche-baggery, dude,” Stiles says with a sigh. 

“I called dibs,” Jackson says, before swallowing three quarters of the roll in one bite. Derek would be impressed but he’s seen Stiles down two of the things at once.

Derek watches as Stiles rolls his eyes before snapping the flimsy wooden chopsticks apart with a flourish that shouldn’t work as well as it does. Leaning over, Derek grabs up the lemon chicken before Erica can steal it all and is just spooning a generous helping onto his plate when the tapping starts.

Stiles is drumming away at the coffee table, chopsticks loose and comfortably tucked between his long fingers. The rhythm is sure, obviously practiced and Derek’s going to get right on being annoyed by it just as soon as he can focus on anything beyond the way Stiles’ right index finger is curled over the fucking stick.

“Oh hey,” Scott says around a mouthful of cashew chicken. “How’s the band thing going?”

Stiles grins and nods, and Jesus, even that’s in rhythm. “Yeah, really good,” he says. “I’ve got good time apparently - I just have to work on my technique.”

“How is that working on technique?” Jackson says, tapping his own chopstick on the table as Stiles switches rhythm. “You aren’t even speeding up.”

Stiles shrugs and Derek only notices because his wrists twist slightly with it, middle finger slipping down one of the chopsticks and fuck. Derek feels his face heat up when he realises he can’t stop staring. “You need to keep it smooth and controlled,” Stiles explains, and Derek swallows. Hard. “Speed comes from good technique, not the other way round.”

Derek’s brain very helpfully asks what other things might come from Stiles’ technique and he almost drops the takeaway container in his hand.

“Oh hey, lemon chicken!” Stiles says, ceasing his impromptu practice session to snag the food out of Derek’s grip.

Derek’s so thrown that he lets him.

- - -

Stiles starts bringing drumsticks to Pack gatherings, sitting himself on the edge of the group to tap out maddening rhythms on his knees as the werewolves train. The first time he’d pulled them out, spinning one stick in a showy twirl between his fingers, Derek had actually staggered a little, missed a basic move, and ended up on his back blinking up at fucking Jackson, of all people.

It’d taken three hours and a lot of bruises to beat that little victory out of the asshole.

When the drumsticks aren’t rubbing frustratingly between Stiles’ fingers, they’re shoved into the back pocket of his jeans. Something Derek’s developed a love/hate relationship with because they tend to catch Stiles’ shirt as he’s walking, hiking the material up over his belt in a way that's both hilarious and really, really distracting. Seriously, Derek could have lived his whole fucking life without knowing Stiles has three moles dotted across his goddamn hip.

He also could have lived his whole goddamn life without Stiles ever, ever figuring out Derek’s little fixation.

They’re watching a movie. Which is to say, Scott and Lydia are watching a movie; Jackson, Boyd, Isaac and Erica are engaging in a vicious looking game of go-fish; and Stiles is… driving Derek to goddamn distraction.

He’s tapping away at his knees again because Jackson had thrown a pretzel at him when he’d attacked the coffee table earlier. Derek doesn’t know what’s worse, the way his legs are propped open slightly so that creases in his fucking jeans are now on Derek’s hate list, or the way the muscles in his forearms bunch and shift as he drums.

Derek couldn’t even tell you what movie’s on the screen, because for every one second he glances un-seeing at it, he spends another two watching Stiles out of the corner of his eye. It’s probably a miracle that Stiles takes as long as he does to notice.

It happens during one of those mind-melting little flourishes Stiles likes to pepper through his practice routines. Stiles double-taps with one stick before twirling the fucking thing like a baton, which is a lot less band-camp and a lot more sex-act according to Derek’s traitorous libido. Derek shifts slightly, wetting his lips, and Stiles- Stiles drops the stick.

Derek’s eyes snap up and he feels himself freeze, because Stiles is looking back – mouth a shocked O as he glances between Derek’s lips and his eyes. It’s like a train wreck. As one, they both look down at the drumstick on the floor and Derek sees the exact moment Stiles gets it. Because of course he does. Stiles rarely misses anything, which Derek used to think was a good thing because it’s saved all their lives more than once. Screw it so hard now.

Derek wrenches his eyes back to the tv and slouches violently his seat. It’s a fucking sad state of affairs when he realises they’re watching Lady and the Tramp and it’s the second worst thing to happen to his day.

- - -

(x)

AU: Where stiles is the Alpha

It’s the baby’s fault. Stiles was absolutely okay with pretending he had zero, nay, less than zero super,serious, secret feelings about Derek. But, then there was a freaking baby.There was a whole damn situation with Derek and sharing a bed, and strollers and Deaton and—and— and a baby!

Okay, so, to explain.

Stiles is sitting on Derek’skitchen counter tossing MnMs at Derek while he washes the dishes. Derek ispretending to be annoyed by it, and yet, catching every single one. It’sawesome to watch. As are his hands as they plunge into the soapy water, caressthe dishes, scrubbing off dirt because they’re dirty, dirty dishes and theyneed cleaning up and—

They’re in the kitchen, okay. Nobody is being side tracked from normalbrain thoughts by Derek’s sexy hands. Nobodyis wishing they could slide two feet to the right and just… sit in the sinkwith their legs wrapped around Derek’s waist. Nobody is wishing they were madeof fucking china so that Derek would be putting his hands all over their dirtyselves and—

The kitchen! They’re in thekitchen. There’s a point to Stiles’ story, here.

Sterek Romantic Comedy Fic Recs

Disclaimer: My edits only, none of these amazing stories belong to me.

(click for full size)

Easy Alpha by interropunct (4k)

Wherein, Derek Hale is the high school hussy, Jackson and Scott really need to learn to use their inside voices. And, contrary to popular belief, everyone is still a virgin.

He’s Just Not That Into You by aggybird (3k)

Stiles doesn’t have much luck finding Mr. Right, and Derek the bartender hears all about it.

I See Your Face Before Me by jezziejay (9k)

While Stiles was studying in New York, Scott moved to LA and found a new co-bestie. Stiles can’t wait to meet him. The feeling, however, is far from mutual.

tumescent by kellifer_fic (9k)

"I would have to want to date Derek for your plan to work,” Stiles points out, secure in the knowledge that his logic is infallible and yes, he’s had a pointless and soul-destroying crush on Derek for as long as he can remember but nobody knows that.

Seriously, it’s like you’re photoshopped. by nevermetawolf (8k)

"Oh my god," Stiles squeaks out again, "You’re unbelievable." 

Hot Bar Guy bobs his head agreeably. “I’ve been told that before, though usually people are more out of breath and less clothed when they say it.”

We Pick Ourselves Undone by themistymountainsong (24k)

Artwork for Cornerstone by Vendelin (Blind!Stiles/PTSD!Derek, 84K)

“Can I touch your face?” “If you want.”

Stiles nods and turns fully towards him on the couch, pulling one leg up under him. “I just want to get an idea of what you look like. Besides from what people tell me.”

****

Stiles’ eyes widen slightly, as his fingertips make contact.

“What?” Derek asks immediately.

“I just didn’t expect stubble,” Stiles mumbles, mostly to himself it seems. Then, his second hand finds the other side of Derek’s face, and he closes his eyes, like he’s trying to create a picture on the inside of his eyelids. His fingers trail gently down Derek’s jaw, thumbs grazing the underside of his bottom lip. Then they find their way across his face, mapping his eyebrows, sliding down the bridge of his nose, trailing his hairline. Palms rubbing his stubble, fingertips investigating the shells of his ears.

Derek only started getting the dreams a few years ago, and he knows what it means, his soulmate is younger than him. Laura teases him incessantly about it, but Derek doesn’t pay her any mind. The dreams are fuzzy at best, he only has a fleeting glimpse of plaid shirts and laughter and a pink mouth. 

Laura and he start on their roadtrip back to California from New York, the dreams start to get clearer. Every state they cross, Derek can see the outline of his soulmate get more defined, knows that he has brown eyes, a gorgeous smile and fluffy hair that looks soft to touch. 

"He must live on the West Coast," Laura muses when Derek tells her about it over a hasty lunch when they stop for gas in Texas. 

They’re in Arizona crashing in a motel on the last leg of their journey when Derek hears his soulmate’s voice for the first time. It’s a clear timbre, ringing like a bright bell in Derek’s mind, and it fills Derek with ache and longing. He wonders if his soulmate dreams of him too, can feel him getting closer and closer to wherever he is. 

Stiles splutters, spraying his soda everywhere as Scott starts laughing hysterically.

Kira frowns. “C’mon, it’s not funny. Tell me his name so I don’t accidentally call him Mr. Sweatpants Dick to his face. You’re bringing him to dinner, right?” 

"He’s not my boyfriend," Stiles says, blushing. "He’s just a guy who lives in my building." 

"Stiles doesn’t know his name," Scott adds. "He’s been calling him Sweatpants Dick for like a month. I can’t believe you had a three hour conversation in the laundry room and you never asked him what his name was."

Kira’s mouth falls open. “I thought you were dating and you don’t even know his name? You talk about him all the time! You told me that last conversation was eye-opening and it was a magical experience!”

Stiles shakes his head sadly, setting down his soda in embarrassment. “I’m working on it, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

"No, no no," Kira says, voice rising in panic. "I ran into him on my way up here, and I didn’t know what his name was so I just said ‘Hi, Stiles’ boyfriend’ because I didn’t want to call him Mr. Sweatpants Dick!"

"You did what?" Stiles asks, staring in horror. "Oh my god, I’m never gonna be able to show my face in the laundry room again."