I’m the slowest fucking writer in the universe okay i’m sorry
For my bae hobrienwolf based on this prompt.
There’s not really a specific point in time when Stiles thinks hey, maybe I should definitely stop drinking now, but at some point or another the awkwardness and slight sadness just sort of melts away and he finds himself in the middle of the crowd of strangely dressed people, Scott throwing him a thumbs up and a goofy smile from his and Kira’s little corner of the loft. Stiles grins back despite the fact Scott can’t see his face through the Spider-Man mask.
He ends up dancing with a girl that looks a lot like Lydia, except she’s about two inches too tall and her hair’s just slightly too short, but she smells good and she’s whispering something in Stiles’s ear, and he laughs even though he has no idea what she said.
Eventually she pulls him to the edge of the crowd and leans in close to him, tells him to meet her outside before brushing her lips across his cheek. Stiles thanks God that the mask hides his blush.
Stiles doesn’t move for minute, the only still body in a room full of people moving to a thrumming bass, but finally shakes himself out of it and grins widely, deciding that one more drink would be incredibly beneficial to his dignity before he meets-
He makes his way back over to the counter anyway and picks up a Solo cup, incredibly grateful for the insane selection of booze (Derek was good for something besides insulting him). He picks up the first bottle he sees and pours a generous amount, taking a sip and turning back towards the loft door.
Or else, that was the plan, until he ran straight into a brick wall of a human and tripped on his cape.
“Whoa, man, sorry,” Stiles says as the stranger turns around and he tries to stop his drink from sloshing. “I didn’t mean to- wait, a second, no, I don’t think I am sorry.” Stiles laughs as he takes in the stranger’s costume.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” The guy’s voice is impossibly deep and Stiles tries to hold back a groan because oh my god how is that even fair.
“Nothing, dude,” Stiles says, taking an unsteady step back. “Except that you had the guts to show up to this joint as a DC hero, when Marvel is obviously way better.” Stiles gestures down his body, as if this was the best argument anyone could make.
The guy scoffs, and Stiles tenses a bit at the sound. “You realize that Batman is the #2 greatest hero of all time, right? Second only to Superman, who, oh, yeah, is a DC hero.” The guys smirks down at Stiles, who downs a bit of liquor before continuing.
“Aww, did IGN tell you that?” Stiles pats Batman’s cheek condescendingly. “Look, bro, when it comes down to it, all Batman is is a detective in tights. Congrats, he saves Gotham City on a regular basis. Guess what, bro? We saved the fucking world.”
“At least DC heroes aren’t genetically engineered super freaks.” It’s Stiles’s turn to scoff.
“Excuse you! We have a god.” He takes another sip. “And a Hulk.”
“Yeah, a Hulk, aka, a scientist caught in a blast of gamma radiation, aka genetically engineered super freak.”
“To be fair, I don’t think you can call him ‘engineered’ when it wasn’t a thing that was supposed to happen in the first place. I feel like ‘engineered’ implies some amount of premeditation.” Batman crosses his arms, looking way less menacing than he would if Stiles wasn’t on his way to being drunk out of his mind.
“Fine. But you guys still injected Steve Rodgers with the super solider serum.”
“And that’s one hero out of like, what? Seven? And that’s just the main characters.” Stiles sets his drink down, the urge to talk with his hands becoming overwhelming. “You have genius billionaire Tony Stark who crafted his own super suit from scratch; Thor, the Viking god of thunder; Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, The World’s Greatest Marksman-”
“Human in tights, but go on,” Batman interjects.
“Leather pants, you asshole. Let’s see, who else? The Hulk, obviously. Captain America, the embodiment of the stars and stripes-”
“Back to genetically engineered super freaks-”
“Are you really that bitter, Batman?” Stiles scoffs and picks his drink back up. “Tell you what, I’m going to prove that Marvel is way better than DC.” Stiles gulps the rest of his drink and takes Batman’s hand, leading him towards the spiral staircase, hoping very hard that Derek will not kill him for taking this guy to his room.
“And just how do you plan to do that?” Batman asks, voice slightly amused. Stiles laughs and pushes the guy back onto the couch sitting in front of Derek’s bed (God bless Lydia’s interior design skills).
“Movie marathon,” Stiles says simply, hooking up the TV Boyd had moved up to Derek’s room before the party. “You’re going to actively engage yourself in every MCU movie released on Blue Ray and DVD to date, and you’re gonna fall the fuck in love, and in the end, you’re gonna admit that I am definitely right.” Batman smirks and sits back as Stiles pops in the first Iron Man, legs splayed out in front of him in a way that Stiles actually has to remind himself to don’t freaking look Jesus Christ don’t be obvious.
Stiles settles a little too close to his Batman, and they get through the first Iron Man movie and most of The Incredible Hulk, but around the time Mr. Blue is telling Banner about the suppress-but-not-cure procedure, Stiles is a bit too preoccupied with the hands on his ass and the stubble scraping down his neck to care much anymore.
“Erng.” Stiles groans and tries to sit up, but finds himself anchored down to the bed by an impossibly warm and strong arm. His eyes trail up the bare back settled next to him, right up to the-
The noise Stiles makes is enough to rouse Derek from what was obviously a very good sleep. The werewolf peeks at him through sleepy eyes, only slightly annoyed. They stare at each other for a moment before Stiles finally breaks the silence.
“My spidey senses are tingling,” he says stupidly. Derek barely contains an eye roll.
“And what are your spidey senses telling you, Stiles?” Derek shifts up a bit so he can bury his face in Stiles’s hair. Stiles reflexively melts into the embrace.
“They’re telling me you knew it was me the whole time.” Derek kisses the shell of Stiles’s ear, and the teenager shivers a bit.
“Hmmm… Obviously.” Stiles fidgets awkwardly for a moment.
“Oh.” Derek pulls back a bit to look into Stiles’s eyes.
“You were… okay, with this… Weren’t you?” Stiles looks away and blushes.
“Well, I mean… Of course.” Stiles can barely hear his own voice, but he knows Derek heard him. They sit in comfortable silence for a minute before Stiles breaks it again.
“Why are we covered in silly string?” Derek glances down to the blanket covering their legs and grunts.
“My guess is Scott,” Stiles groans at the thought of his best friend seeing him with Derek like this, but Derek pulls him closer against his chest and peppers kisses along his jawline, and Stiles slowly becomes okay with it.
“Yeah, Derek?” The werewolf pulls back a bit so he can properly see Stiles’s face, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“I still think DC is better.”
The frustrated noise Stiles makes turns into a slight whimper as Derek presses their lips together.
