“Wait, seriously? Who is it? C’mon, just tell me.”
“Uh…,” Stiles said, buying for time while he looked around as surreptitiously as possible. “That guy over there,” he whispered finally, jerking his chin toward the dark-haired guy three tables over, a guy so hot that Stiles’ only chance with him would most definitely be in an imaginary scenario.
Scott looked over his shoulder at the guy and got that determined glint in his eye that Stiles recognized, just about three seconds too late. Scott was gonna do something that he thought was heroic but was actually dumb.
“Scott!” he hissed, grabbing for his backpack and nearly knocking over their coffee cups in his haste to follow him. “Oh, holy shit.”
- Part 3 of Tumblr Fics
Bookmarked by olynch
12 May 2017
In Stiles’ defense, he didn’t deliberately ram his grocery cart into the (evidently precarious) pyramid of oranges.
Bookmarked by olynch
11 May 2017
Jamie stares at him for a long moment, blinking slowly. “You…what?”
“Told her I’d bring you to the wedding and tell everyone the story of how we realized we’re in love?” Tyler repeats. “It’s in Florida. This weekend. Uh, I hope you don’t have plans?”
“But we’re not…in love,” Jamie says, like he’s checking to make sure it’s still true.
“No, we’d have to pretend,” Tyler says.
Since Hogwarts had opened its doors to werewolves, many Hale children had apparently come through, wary and angry, refusing to socialize with the other students. And one by one, they’d been sorted into Slytherin, obviously, with the odd Ravenclaw to mix things up.
And then along came little Derek Hale, who’d barely gotten his ass on the stool before the hat was calling out Gryffindor.
Everyone thought it was funny, even now, when Derek was in his seventh year. Stiles, though, found it fascinating.
It helped, of course, that Derek was two years older and hotter than the sun.
- Part 1 of Mother of Dragons
Derek hates people. He hates that they can’t just shut their damned mouths and listen to the music and then quietly depart the festival grounds and get drunk elsewhere. He hates when they block his way to the tour bus and pound on the windows, begging for a wave or a smile like they own part of him, just because they like his music. He hates when they touch him, like they think they get a pound of flesh with every download. They don’t – they get the song, and that should be enough for them.
In which Derek Hale is the drummer of a reasonably successful rock band who survives epically long summer festival tours by sticking to a routine and keeping to himself. Stiles, the charismatic lead singer of an up-and-coming dancecore pop punk band (whatever that means), is not meant to be part of that routine.