You know what I want? I want a fic where Derek and Stiles actively try to out-woo each other. There has always been this thing between them and to the great rejoicing of all who know them, they decide to pull their heads out of their asses and actually be together. And somewhere in the first make out session, Stiles mumbles, “I”m going to woo the fuck out of you Derek Hale. I’m going to woo you better than anyone”.
Derek, obviously, preens a bit under that declaration but given that he is a competitive fucker who likes showing off for Stiles only slightly less than he likes breathing pretty much responds that nope, HE is going to woo STILES better than anyone has ever been wooed.
It becomes A Thing. Mostly because they are clearly having so much fun doing it and they each believe the other deserves All Of The Good Things. They are SUPER competitive about it though because being in love didn’t make them any LESS ridiculous when it comes to each other.
It starts with normal things like flowers and dinners but before you know it escalates. Stiles gives Derek the second edition of Poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning because that is the one that contains Sonnets From the Portuguese and Stiles does his research and knows that. Derek retaliates by somehow arranging a phone call from Mark Hamill. It only gets worse from there.
Occasionally, someone, usually the Sheriff but sometimes Scott or Lydia, will point out that they are both very obviously wooed and could they maybe tone it down now? They don’t though. They never do. The proposals are still talked about around town.
The grandkids actually hesitate to bring new people by sometimes because new people don’t know better and will mention how lovely the house is (Derek built it with his own two hands) or how amazing the garden is (Stiles has filled it with Derek’s favorite flowers and tends it still) and it starts off another round. Honestly, Grandad and Papa are ridiculous. They hope they are as lucky one day.
“No, it’s not, Scott,” Stiles says. His skin is buzzing with adrenaline, his hands are trembling, and his left knee is throbbing from where the fucking wendigo had knocked him into the side of the building, pinning him there until the cavalry had come.
Except the cavalry—aka Scott and Kira—didn’t come. Derek did. Derek had been missing for weeks, each passing day making Stiles angrier and angrier for some reason, and suddenly shows up tonight, surprising both Stiles and the wendigo. In fact, he’s standing on the walkway leading up to the building breathing hard, the wounds on his chest and arms slowly healing and it makes Stiles so fucking angry.
“Stiles,” Scott says, reaching out to hold Stiles’ arm, but Stiles knocks it away.
“He doesn’t get to do that, okay?” He points at Derek as he says it and realizes his hand is shaking.
“Stiles,” Scott says quietly, hands up like Stiles might fight him. “He got to you in time, right? You’re not hurt?”
“No, Scotty, I’m—” He exhales harshly and scrubs his hands over his head. He can’t deal with the worried look Derek sends him just then, before standing still while Kira looks over his torn shoulder. “That’s not it. I’m not hurt.”
“You smell hurt,” Scott says, looking worried.
Kira looks up at the two of them with understanding in her eyes, and she nods at Stiles. “Babe, it’s a different kind of hurt. Scott, maybe we should…”
theproblemwithstardust 