There should be fic where someone texts and there’s a hilarious typo confusing knitting/knotting that leads to Shenanigans. Because once Stiles starts thinking about it, hehas to know.
Does DerekHale knit or knot?
Seriously. Knitting fic with knotting. Best of both worlds.
THIS IS WHAT I AM SAYING. WHY NOT?! SOMEONE WRITE ME THIS
…WHY ARE YOU TEMPTING ME?
“Because it’s kind of a big fucking deal is why,” Stiles snaps, the one time Derek gets up the nerve to ask.
“Okay,” Derek says.
“I just—I need some time,” Stiles says.
“Fine,” Derek says, even though Stiles already made Scott a scarf, he’d seen it, and last summer he’d made Erica a halter top out of some black shimmery yarn he produced from somewhere.
“It’s not that I don’t—want to, someday, maybe,” Stiles says. “I just need a little warm-up, I just—”
“I said it’s fine,” Derek says. “Let’s—” he jerks his head at the backseat of the car, where he’s starting to get tired of screwing around with Stiles. It’s cramped and it was more exciting when Derek thought it was just the first of all the places they’d be making out, instead of the only place Stiles will let him put his hands on him.
“Okay,” Stiles says softly, and has the nerve to look kind of disappointed when Derek blows him and then drops him off home early. It’s late fall, it’ll frost tonight; Derek has been cold since September, waiting for Stiles to finish the sweater he’d mentioned once, when they were making out, early on. He’d seemed pretty hot on it, that one time, muttering incoherently while Derek kissed his neck, so Derek had waited, patiently, and then not so patiently, and now Stiles is angry at him.
“It was your idea in the first place,” Derek says, but he mutters it to himself after Stiles slams the door shut. He drives to Macy’s and buys a sweater. He waits for Stiles to dump him.
*reaches for handkerchiefs*
Derek stares at the display forlornly. The multitude of yarn spanning the store front’s window. A lump forming in his throat as his eyes shutter before exhaling.
“You look like someone dumped you,” says a girl in a brightly knitted scarf and dark glasses, her face pink from the chilly October air.
Derek just scowls at the glass harder and hopes the girl will walk away like the rest of the pedestrians who are now giving both of them a wide berth on the sidewalk.
“Or going to,” she amends.
“He doesn’t want to knit me a sweater,” Derek says and the girl perks up at the opening of conversation, leaning in.
“Then you could knit him one,” she says. “And I am not just saying that because I work here,” she says, jutting her shoulder to the shop, Knitting Hills, and to the glaring 50 year old woman looking at them and making not so subtle gestures at her watch. “Oh my God, Auntie Margret! You can leave for yoga, stop Carebear staring me from the window! You’re scaring away customers!” she yells and the old lady scowls before going to the back of the store.
Derek looks down at the petite girl with a frown. “So about this sweater,” she continues and takes his elbow and herds him to the shop entrance.
“I don’t think-” Derek starts but he sees Stiles exiting the coffee shop with Scott down the street and ducks into the store quickly. He can’t face Stiles with knowing that it could be the last time he can be with him. He’s not ready. And if anything, Derek knows he’s good at avoiding the issue.
“Any color in mind?” asks the girl, pulling off her jacket and tossing it behind the counter. “Hey, hello? Oh my God, are you hiding?”
Derek’s crouched behind a pattern display as Stiles walks past the store. He only gets up with a scowl when Stiles and Scott are out of sight and smell.
“So is it the cutie with the uneven jaw or the one hit with the cutie mark stick?” asks the girl. “You might as well tell me, you’re self-respect hit rock bottom as soon as you hid behind the dress patterns.”
Derek glares but the shop girl merely crosses her arms. She could give Erica a run for her money.
“The one in the red hoodie,” he answers.
“Well, how about a blue scarf-“
“I can’t knit.”
“Yet, you can’t knit yet,” she says with a grin. “Don’t worry, if all else fails, my aunt makes cupcakes that have sealed the deal on five different engagements.”
She waggles her eyebrows. Derek picks up a ball of black yarn.
“He likes Batman,” he says gruffly.
The shop girl’s eye light up. “Then what are we waiting for! Let’s get your man!”
Beka, or Knitting Hills’ employee of the month but really it’s just a picture she took of herself next to a note stating she’s far from being a stellar employee, is helping him knit.
Or well, she helped him figure out that he’s more of a loom person.
“Because you loom,” Beka says laughing. Derek has already established that she should never meet Stiles. Ever. Just to prevent the puns.
It takes less that a week to finish the black with yellow trim scarf. And Derek can feel his chest constricting that whole week as Stiles pulls back and frowns more offend during pack meetings and even when Derek picks him up from school and turning down offers to grab dinner or just hang out.
“It’s going to be fine, Derek,” says Beka. “Auntie made cupcakes for you. She never makes them for me.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re always late,” says Derek.
“Hey, I’m employee of the month,” says Beka, gesturing to the wall and the bedazzled picture. The tape on the right side gives way and the picture hangs precariously crooked on the wall. “Gotta remember to bring duct tape,” she mumbles before perking up at Derek. “Now, get going! And woo your man. And remember to come by with details after. Or all key your Camaro with my good knitting needles,” she threatens before shooing him out of the store with the box of cupcakes and finished scarf.
She’s still waving encouragements as he pulls away from the curb in his car.
“I can do this,” he mumbles to himself, looking at the scarf.
“Look, Derek, I said I need time-” begins Stiles before Derek thrusts the scarf into his hands. “What?”
He grips in loosely in his hands. “Is this some kind of joke?” he scowls.
Derek stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks back at the Camaro. He knew he should have brought the cupcakes too.
“Well?” Stiles asks, holding out the scarf.
“You said you wouldn’t knit me one so I-“
“A sweater,” Derek says in an almost mumble.
Stiles’ mouth gapes open. “I never said that.”
Derek scowls openly, feeling anger course through him. “You did. Last week. In the car. After practice.”
Stiles squints at him. “No-,” he starts to say before thrusting the scarf back at Derek and groping his pant’s right pocket for his phone. Derek feels his heart constrict. His eyes tunneling at the inky blackness of the scarf. “See! You never asked me about knitting-oh my God! Knitting?!” he nearly yells, jerking Derek from his morose thoughts.
“Yes,” Derek says curtly, before craddling the scarf closer to his body. “I get that you want to break up-“
“Whoa! Hold it, give me the scarf,” says Stiles grabbing for it but Derek draws back. “You made that? For me?”
“You don’t want it,” Derek says, his mouth tastes like ash.
“Of course I do!” says Stiles, moving closer.
“You just said-“
“Because I thought you wanted to knot me,” says Stiles, holding up his phone. Derek’s eyes widen in shock which let’s Stiles grab the scarf back.
“You made me a Batman scarf? That is so cool,” he says, looping the scarf around his neck.
“Knot?” Derek says his eyes wide. “I can’t do that-“
“Let’s agree that autocorrect is no one’s friend, ‘kay?” Stiles says, his eyes lightening up with that warm glow that Derek missed so much this week.
“That’s why you-“
“Yeah,” says Stiles with a blush.
(I need to stop writing…)