[A fluffy Sterek story written in snapshots of time.] "Derek, think about it. It's Stiles. What does Stiles like?" Derek thought it over for a second. "His Jeep. World of Warcraft. Campy suspense novels. Sarcasm. Thinking he's right.-" "You, Derek." Lydia interrupted. "God, you're both so incredibly dense. You're perfect for each other."

Red Riding Style: cuz he's a douchenozzle! He treats me like crap and he's pushy and rude and older than me and he's like an 11 on a scale of 1-10 while I'm a 7 at most. bigbadwulff13: is this the same dude from earlier that you told me you hate?

He wasn't even sure how it started or escalated this time. But of course, he had done something to piss Stiles right the fuck off, so now they were avoiding each other like middle school children, and honestly, haven't they outgrown this stage?

"Dad, can we invite Derek to Christmas dinner?" The swig of beer the Sheriff had taken spurts out of his mouth and sprays forward. "What!" He swings his head around to stare at his son. "Derek? HALE?"

Derek meets Erica at a bar while the band she works for is on tour, and she offers him a job after firing Greenburg that morning. He becomes a roadie, helping set up the stage every day in a new city. He can't help but watch the vocalist, Stiles, onstage with interest.

Kissing Derek was like finding his own personal ambrosia, a warm silky sensation coating every fiber of his being and wrapping him in paradise. He never wanted it to stop.