"I secretly write fanfic and you're secretly a fan of the fanfic you don't know I write" who do you think would be who in a Sterek situation? I can honestly see it going either way. Or they both secretly write fanfic and love the other person's work ahahahahaha
“This is- this is wrong.” Derek hisses, closing his laptop with a disgruntled noise.
Stiles looks up from his homework. “What’s up?”
Derek marches to the kitchen, shaking his head. He worked so hard on that book. “People are the worst.”
Stiles snorts, following him into the kitchen and accepting the beer with a smile. “Have you been on Twitter again?”
“No.” Derek closes his eyes. “Just -” he looks at Stiles, takes a deep breath. His smell always helps him feel better, calmer, safer.
Not that Stiles knows that.
“Do you know what fanfic is?”
Stiles blinks. “Yes?” He answers, leaning against the wall. “Why? Did you - Oh my god!” He starts laughing. “What did you read? Was it porn?” He laughs again. “What kind?”
“No!” Derek says, again, trying not to stare at Stiles’ lips for too long. They are in a good place now, Derek doesn’t need to ruin it with feelings. “Just -” he closes his fists, “it was so wrong! And nothing like the book! I -” he stops himself and turns around.
There’s a reason he’s using a pseudonym, even if that means lying to his closest friends.
“Dude, that’s called Alternate Universe.” Stiles explains, still laughing.
“But it doesn’t make sense!” Derek insists. “Philip is an asshole, but he’d never betray his friends!”
“Oh!” Stiles immediately brightens up, reaching for his own laptop. Derek never understands why he comes to his apartment to do homework when he’s home from college, but he’s not about to kick him out. He enjoys having his scent around even when Stiles himself isn’t. “You’re reading about Witch Hunter? Yeah, there’s some shitty fanfics out there, but I can show you some really good ones!”
Derek blinks, taken back by Stiles enthusiasm. “You read it?”
“Duh!” Stiles says, motioning for Derek to sit next to him on the couch. “I think Philip is awesome, he’s like so selfless and even after everything he’s been through he’s still fighting for his love.” He rambles, fingers flying over the keyboard as he types.
Derek swallows, looking away. His first book sold less than a thousand copies, and Derek never thought about writing again, but one night after Stiles had just left to go to college, Derek found himself restless. He had to do something, he had to let his feelings out in some way. So he wrote and he wrote and he only stopped six months later, when Witch Hunter was complete.
Philip is not Stiles, but - in some ways he also is.
“Here,” Stiles says, suddenly, “read this one.”
“No.” Derek says, pulling back. He wrote Philip as an ode to the man he loves, this man who’s not flawless, but is the love of his life. “Fanfic is stupid.”
“Hey, come on.” Stiles arches an eyebrow. “People put a lot of effort into writing this. I mean -”
“No.” Derek insists as Stiles gives him a confused look. “Philip is not a cheater or - or a cowboy, or a barista. He’s just - Philip!”
Stiles blinks. “Oh my god!” He stands up, points a finger at Derek. “H. Jones!”
Derek collapses back on the couch, doesn’t even try to deny it. Stiles is way to smart for his own good, just like Philip. “It was my dad’s name.”
“Oh my god!” Stiles repeats. “Dude! Why didn’t you tell us?”
Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. I just - this book is too personal. I felt like if you knew it’s me, you would also know about -”
He startles when Stiles touches his shoulder. “It’s me, isn’t it?” Derek’s eyes widen as he looks up. “I’m Philip.”
“No.” Derek tries to pull back, but Stiles follows.
“Sorry, I wrote some fanfics too.” He says, climbing on Derek’s lap. His smile is blinding and Derek can’t look away, even if every muscle of his body is telling him to run. “I’ll delete them later, if you want.”
“Stiles -”
“You’re not Jack, are you?” Stiles touches his cheek. “You wrote an entire story about me being this perfect hero, and I end up with some guy named Jack, who’s pretty much the opposite of you?” Derek’s hands are shaking and he closes them, tries to breathe.
“What are you -”
“No.” Stiles says and kisses him. Derek fucking melts into the kiss, circles Stiles’ waist with his arms and brings him closer, moans when Stiles licks his lips and presses down. “I love you.” He says, kisses Derek’s cheek, his neck.
“You’re not Philip.” He ends up saying, because he wants Stiles to know. Stiles is Stiles, not perfect, but still real.
“I know.” Stiles nods, pulls back to look him in the eye. “I end up with you.”
