I Will Run You Like A Thread (Fem!Stiles x Derek)

Tied up and twisted the way I'd like to be (for you)

There were a lot of things about being with Derek that resulted in something along the lines of what a therapist might call cognitive dissonance. For one thing, he was an alpha werewolf -- a supposedly blood-thirsty predator, and Stiles has certainly seen him act like one (you know, he who has sliced a not small amount of throats. Necessary throats, obviously, but still, throats) . Which, for her, was strangely not exactly a turn-off. Only one of the many, many things that, on paper, probably made her a prime candidate for shock therapy. The mere fact that a few days ago she'd literally crawled on her hands and knees for him, and all she can think about lately is how long it'll be until she gets to do it again sort of proved that.

So there was the growly, wild, primal stuff. And the fact that hardly a minute goes by where she doesn't think about climbing him like Mount Everest. But there was also the part where Derek Hale was possibly the best person she's ever met in her entire life. Even if he wasn't, you know, technically a person. Because Derek would do anything for her, literally anything. Loved her in a way she didn't know it was even possible to be loved. He was everything to her, for her. Point blank. Everything.

But still, Stiles had to admit there was something fundamentally wacky watching the Big Bad Alpha shopping for groceries and holding out two boxes of pasta for her to choose from with this intense expression on his face. Like the poor guy was Solomon trying not to split the baby instead of deciding what they should make for dinner.

Granted, a not unimportant dinner, considering her father was the guest of honor and all.

"What do you think?" Derek asks.

Stiles smirks. "Between bowties or corkscrews, you mean?"

"Technically," Derek says, baring his teeth, "I mean fusilli or farfalle. It's Italian for spindle," he adds, shaking the boxes, "and butterfly."

Stiles rolls her eyes, because of course Derek would know that. "First of all, nobody likes a know-it-all," she says loftily, peering into the cart by his side to see what else they had left to grab. "And second, my dad's not going to care what shape the pasta is as long as it can be used as a vehicle to shovel meat and copious amounts of cheese into his body."

"First of all, I like you," Derek says, smiling in that devilishly handsome way he did that always somehow made her mad as much as it completely enchanted her, "so I think your theory is wrong. And if you're not going to choose, I will." The bowties get tossed into the cart with a definitive thunk.

Stiles wiggles her eyebrows. "Huh. Would have figured corkscrews."

Derek sighs. "What does that even mean?"

She shrugs, lip caught between her teeth.

As far as innuendo goes, it's not her best work, but it doesn't take much from her to get a blush out of Derek these days.

Really, it's almost too easy.

"This kind has extra protein," Derek continues with a pointed glare, "so it'll help keep his blood sugar regulated."

And god, the fact that he's concerned about that because she's always concerned about shit like that with her dad is possibly the sweetest thing on top of every other ridiculously sweet thing he normally does for her. Only right now, unfortunately, she's far too anxious to be as appreciative as she absolutely knows she should be. "And normally, I would kiss you right now for that," she says, "but we're not going for healthy, Sourwolf! We're buttering him up, remember?"

"Are you planning on actually covering him with butter?" Derek asks, eyebrow raised again as he appraises the admittedly slightly-ridiculous number of boxes in her arms. "Because that's the only reason you would ever need that much butter."