official petition for teen wolf au: “He’s Just Knot That Into You.”
liz u suck & i hate u
"Barkeep, another round!" Stiles says, waving his hand lazily in the air and refusing to lift his head from the sticky mahogany counter. He likes his cheek here. It feels nice. And he’s afraid of taking a layer of skin off his face if he moves.
"I think you’re at your limit, kid," says a voice above his head.
"Oh, I’m at my limit all right," Stiles says, glaring sideways at the condensation pooled around his empty bottle. He can just make out a pair of tight jeans encasing firm-looking thighs in his peripheral vision. "My absolute limit. I have had it up to here with werewolves and their mind games.”
"Excuse me?" the voice asks. Uh oh, the voice sounds pissed.
Stiles lifts his head with a little wobble, wincing as his cheek peels away from the bar’s surface, and looks up to meet the bartender’s angry eyes.
His angry red eyes. Shit.
"Where’s Erica?" Stiles blurts. She’s usually the one who serves him. Stiles has never seen this guy before because he would definitely remember the strength of this terror boner.
The bartender narrows his eyes. They’re still red. “She’s on break.”
"Well, she’s the only werewolf I currently like," Stiles says mutinously. "Bring her back. She’s mean and I find that soothing."
The bartender’s eyebrows fade from DEFCON 1 to somewhere around DEFCON 4. Maybe 3 1/2. “You do realize that Moonshine is a werewolf bar, right?”
"The fact that the Bloody Marys here contain actual blood tipped me off, yeah. Give me a break, my best friend is a werewolf."
The bartender leans back, studying Stiles. “And you don’t like him either?”
Stiles frowns, crossing his arms and pillowing his head in the crook. “No. He’s the one who introduced me to Luke.”
"Christ, this is relationship stuff," the bartender says. "I’m not going to pretend to care. What do you want to drink?"
"It’s just that I was sure this time. That Luke was into me, y’know?” Stiles says, his voice a plaintive whine. “The signs were all there!”
"Anything," the bartender says, a little desperate around the eyes. "What do you want? A double? A triple?"
"He sniffed my neck,” Stiles drops his head and moans into his arms. “That’s like werewolf marriage!”
"Seriously, kid, just tell me—what? No, it’s not."
Stiles shoots up in his seat. “Yes, it is! Hello, werewolf best friend going on ten years now! I have seen my friend be dopey over his girlfriend who is now his wife, so I think I know a thing or two.”
"That’s doubtful," the bartender says. "Not all werewolf behaviors mean the same thing to different werewolves."
"That makes no sense," Stiles says. "Neck sniffing. It was a thing that happened. He even asked me what cologne I was wearing. He was not trying to hide it.”
The bartender rolls his eyes. “Did you think that maybe he was just trying to figure out what cologne you were wearing?”
Stiles points a slightly unsteady finger at the bartender. “I don’t think you understand the proximity in which the neck sniffing occurred.”
"And despite a werewolf best friend, I don’t think you understand werewolves have different concepts of personal space than humans.”
Stiles opens his mouth, but then he thinks back to Scott’s frequent casual touches and his tendency to sit too close “A triple,” Stiles says. “Give me a triple.”
The bartender hesitates. “Look, kid—”
"Is my money still good here or not," Stiles demands, both hands braced on the bar.
"Your money is always good here, Stiles," Erica says, sauntering up next to the bartender. "Derek may own this place, but he’s bad at customer service. That’s why we usually keep him locked up in the back."
"Erica," the bartender and owner apparently named Derek growls.
"A triple, you said?" Erica says sweetly.
"Yeah," Stiles replies glumly, slumping back down in his seat.
"You got the cash, I got the stash," Erica replies, smirking at him. "On the rocks?"
"I think that accurately describes all my attempts at relationships, so yeah."
"Sure thing, honey," Erica says, reaching over to give him a condescending pat on the arm. "Derek? You’re in my way. And it looks like someone’s waving for a refill at the other end of the bar."
Derek scowls. “Fine. But cut him off after two more drinks,” he says before he stomps away.
"Alphas are assholes," Stiles says. "Luke was an Alpha. Why do I always go for assholes?"
"There’s a gay joke in there," Erica says.
"Ha ha," Stiles says. "Where’s my drink?"