June 21st-June 26th. i read a lot of fics this week. downright drowned in the ‘derek is a failwolf’ tag. Super embarrassingly stupid omg no bb stop bc s5 is coming up and I can’t imagine a TW without the hot mess that is Derek Hale <333
If you haven’t read this yet, wear diapers so you don’t piss yourself laughing:
Working in a florist on Valentine’s Day was like working in a gun shop during the zombie apocalypse. Very loud, very busy and the very real threat of death especially for anyone who worked at said florist when they were desperately running out of red roses.
AKA the one where Stiles is working Valentines day in a stupidly named florist and may or may not fall for a totally adorable, incredibly gorgeous, emotionally stunted, slightly damaged Alpha Architect named Derek Hale. Also Laura’s a BAMF.
If you like a little failure with a little A/B/O and angst meep meep:
Stiles got training to be an omega, and Derek got training to be an alpha. Hard edges, tough, sneering at the sheer thought of fucking knitting something while he beat people up for fun. That’s how his parents raised him.
And, yeah. That’s all good for protecting Stiles and buying things for him, the stuff he’s supposed to do.
But sometimes he wants to be good at the other stuff. Stiles likes the other stuff – he deserves the other stuff.
or 5+ times that Derek (thinks he) was a shitty alpha.
long drawn out slow-building assemblage of failures i.e total shit show:
Stiles blinks, his throat going dry, and he moves his thumb without thinking - liking the post. He feels a surge of petty satisfaction. At least the fucker will know he knows now. He stands up, his body feeling too heavy, and he blows out the already guttering candles. He lets out a sob of frustration when the last one won’t fucking blow out. But he sucks it back in and bites down on his tongue, using his thumb and forefinger instead.
He throws himself into their empty bed without undressing. He lies there repeating the words ‘Derek blew me off for Isaac’ over and over. He tells himself to shut up while rearranging his pillow violently, but he goes to sleep with the refrain continuing its painful loop.
Caution: Derek is a massive idiot and holy fucking FAIL:
They’ve been together long enough now that they don’t have arguments over the big stuff anymore: there’s a few things they’ve each accepted as fact. Derek hates Olive Garden. Stiles refuses to let Derek work on the Jeep. Derek doesn’t dance. They’re never going to get werewolf-married because Stiles is never going to do the thing where Derek locks his werewolf dick in Stiles’s ass and jizzes all up his colon while they lie on a bed of rose petals and listen to mood music.
It doesn’t sit well with Stiles, the thing at the police station and with Erica. It niggles at him from the back of his mind, screaming PAY ATTENTION TO ME. Because Derek’s apparently familiar enough with flirting to do it successfully, like it’s something that comes naturally to him, but what kind of broody misanthropic guy flirts?
“Stiles wasn’t really sure what was going on, but if he had to guess, he’d say Derek Hale was losing his touch. The amount of times he’d been called out with the guy, presumably to stake out some new supernatural baddie only to have it be a false alarm, was starting to inch into the double digits.”
In which Stiles and Derek are dating and everyone knows it. Except Stiles.
“So,” says Sheriff Stilinski, raising one eyebrow. “You decided not to play video games at Scott’s, after all?”
“Uh,” Stiles says. His eyes are wide and caught-out, and he’s got his arms wrapped around two giant tubs of popcorn. Beside him, Derek Hale—the same Derek Hale that the Sheriff last saw in his interrogation room—is handing a $20 bill to the cashier and clearly trying to appear as casual as possible. He fumbles the change three times before he gets it into his pocket, though, so it’s a lost cause.
Suddenly, Derek is everywhere, and not just in that creepy, Edward Cullen, I’m-gonna-stalk-around-and-lurk-broodingly way. Stiles doesn’t know what’s up with that, but he’s pretty sure there’s only one conclusion to be reached.