Please watch this I’m in tears
THIS IS A COMMERCIAL I’M LAUGHING
I don’t know if someone has already done this but I just put the actual Creedence Bad Moon Rising song in the Teen Wolf scene instead of the Mourning Ritual cover and I can’t stop laughing I’m so sorry
This is suddenly a very different scene.
need fic where derek gets drunk/stoned for the first time and has an existential crisis to scott about how torn he is between wanting to bone stiles and wanting to help him with his homework and tuck him in.
"No you don’t understand, Scott…" he’d say with the most deranged look in his eyes "I just want to pet his hair and watch him sleep.”
And scott would be a little bit alarmed like, “okay, Derek.”
"No no…but also I want him to pet my hair. While I suck his dick. I want to suck his dick.”
"Have you ever…" Derek trails off, fingering the edge of his sweater idly. His face is quiet and Scott smiles at him, encouraging him to go on. Derek barely catches it, his gaze flickering from the younger wolf’s face back to the hem of his sweater. He tries again, rushing the words out as if it’ll be less momentous to say them quickly and the severity of his situation won’t seem quite as daunting.
"Have you ever imagined Stiles giving you a blow job?"
It takes Scott a moment to wrap his head around what had mostly sounded like crowded syllables and anguish and when he does he can’t do much about the disbelieving scoff of a laugh that echoes in the back of his throat.
"Wow." The word sounds underwhelming on the tip of his tongue. Of all the things he had ever imagined him and Derek talking about, well this certainly hadn’t been one of them.
Scott looks at Derek a little apologetically, smiles soft and earnest while he says, “I, uh, no. I haven’t. But there’s nothing wrong with it, you know, if you have. I’m sure Stiles would be kind of flattered actually-“
"It’s his stupid mouth" Derek moans, cutting Scott short before he can allow his vote of understanding and support to over compensate too heavily. "He’s always sucking on things, licking his lips. Bloody oral fixation, he’s like a softcore porn film come to life. And his hands.”
Before Scott can even think of something to offer the conversation (or a subject change) Derek’s despair comes full circle. He breathes out a heavy sigh, conceding, “but after everything with the nogitsune I just,” he pauses, shifts in his seat to turn his body towards Scott’s though he doesn’t look him in the eye. “I just wanna look after him, you know? Tuck him in, make sure he sleeps for more than a couple hours for once, maybe brush my fingers through his hair.”
Scott nods, “Sure. Pack mentality, we look after one another.” He quells the part of him that feels the instinct to flee, not wanting to discuss his best friend’s pseudo sex life with Derek, with anyone, though the line of conversation is veering into safer, more comfortable territory.
Derek folds in on himself once more, slouching down in his seat as he comments, “and then in the morning I could suck his dick and he could comb his fingers through my hair. Maybe tug a little, yeah, yeah, that’d be good. He deserves that,” and veers right on out again.
He bites his lip and Scott lays his hands over his face, wishing he could unsee the expression on Derek’s face. The expression that clearly speaks of the many filthy things he’s imagining between himself and Stiles.
He’s never getting Derek stoned again.
"I bet he has a really nice dick, too." Derek smiles to himself and nods his head. "I could look after him, and his dick."
I made myself sad imagining Stiles becoming a werewolf, and when he sees his eyes flash blue for the first time, he locks himself in the bathroom and curls up on the floor.
They’re just so blue. Painfully blue. Blindingly blue if you want to be ironic.
Scott and the girls all try to coax him out. The Sheriff and Isaac elect to leave him be.
And Derek waits.
He waits until the four teens have given up. Waits until they’ve fallen asleep in pallets on the living room floor. Lydia and Allison are still facing one another as though they’d drifted off mid conversation. Isaac is sprawled out haphazardly between his girlfriend and his alpha, body splayed like a starfish. Scott’s on the floor by the couch, one hand relaxed and half curled in front of him. Kira, who won the coin toss for sofa, has an arm hanging off the edge, knuckles brushing against Scott’s just so.
It’s quiet. Still.
Derek sneaks into to the kitchen, and he has to check a couple drawers to find the one with all the kitchen utensils. Derek’s the only one besides Isaac who grew up with siblings. He’s the only one who remembers three year old Cora becoming fond of locking people out of rooms when the Hale house smelled of warmth and supper instead of fire and ash. He’s the only one that remembers unfair advantages in hide-and-seek and "Laura it’s not fair if you lock me out!" and the answering laughter echoing down real, whole hallways.
He finds himself back at the bathroom doorway with an ice pick in hand. He can hear Stiles breathing inside, slow and steady like maybe he’s fallen asleep. Derek jiggles the pick a bit until the lock clicks open.
Stiles is sitting on floor, back against the tub and knees drawn up so he can rest his head atop them. Derek thinks he was probably asleep before, but he isn’t now. His wide, brown gaze stares unwavering into Derek’s. Bambi eyes peaking out of wolf skin.
The older man slides to sit next to him. Stiles doesn’t turn his head but keeps his gaze on him out of the corner of his eye like an animal that’s only very hesitantly letting you near.
Derek pushes at his own cuticles, picks at his nails. But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t say anything. Just waits, like he’s been waiting all day. His back protests the angle, but the solidarity is comfortable, even if the position isn’t.
Stiles opens his mouth a few times, like he wants to say something. He can’t at first, just shuts his jaw as his heart rate picks up at a steady pace.
Finally, he clicks his tongue against his teeth and says, “They’re blue,” with a little crack around the end.
Derek eyes his profile warily. None of the pack knew why Stiles had chose to sequester himself in this room, but he’d had his suspicions. The teen doesn’t meet his gaze now. Just gives a little look up at the mirror then goes back to plucking at the denim of his jeans.
"Can I see?"
Stiles head snaps toward him, and Derek raises his eyebrows in silent response. He tries not to let his eyes flick down to the boy’s mouth out of habit. Fails.
He’s surprised when Stiles complies effortlessly. He always knew Stiles would make a good werewolf. He’s almost too good, picking up control like it’s a skill he’s had hiding beneath his bed.
Derek thinks of himself. Thinks of Paige. Thinks of being alone and heartbroken with blue burning behind his eyelids. Think of his mother crouched down in front him with her hard jawline and soft smile.
With his heart lodged behind his adam’s apple, he reaches out and rests his hand on the side of Stiles’ neck, his thumb brushing the turn of his jaw beneath the ear. Stiles’ eyes (still brilliant, glowing blue) scan his face. Right eye, left eye, mouth, and back.
"Still beautiful," Derek says finally, "just like the rest of you."
ok but what if like. werewolves transform under the full moon but theres just this one and by day hes a big tough guy and then when he transforms hes a tiny dog. just fucking. just fucking turns into the tiniest, fluffiest dog
imagine that howling at the moon
Truly a ferocious predator.
thermaldestruction said: Paint me.
THIS TURNED OUT WAY LONGER THAN EXPECTED
Stiles finds out about Derek’s secret untold skills while on a case. They just get back from a narrow escape with one of Beacon Hills’ many migratory supernatural creatures. Derek has a fresh wound on his shoulder healing rapidly but Stiles didn’t even see the thing.
Heard it, yes, loud, birdlike squawking but not all that useful for the actual research portion of the evening.
“Well, what’d it look like?” Stiles asks, and Derek shrugs.
“Need a little more to go on, Der-Bear,” Stiles grates, and Derek shoots him a look of irritation.
“It had wings, and feathers, the underside was scaly though, and like…it was like this…burnt umber color.”
Stiles looks up from the notepad he’s bent over and gives Derek a look of disbelief. “burnt umber?”
“It’s a brownish gold color—“
“I know what color it is.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“Because how do you know what color it is?” Stiles says. Derek scowls at him and grabs the notebook from Stiles’ hands.
“So like that?” Stiles asks.
Derek looks up at him, eyebrows rising, look of almost pity in his eyes. “Yeah, Stiles, exactly like this, you’ve captured its likeness beautifully.” He deadpans. Stiles scowls and snatches the notepad back, staring down at the winged stick figure scrawled lopsidedly across the page.
#derek wonders when his baby grew up so fast #seems like just yesterday he was going to raves and finding his anchor #now he’s all tall and fashionable with his scarves #and his unresolved polyamorous sexual tension #soon he’ll be going off to college…. #oh god derek is going to have the worst empty nest syndrome #like i thought my mom was bad but derek is going to be ten billion times worse (via sir-yessir)
♫ SUNRIIIIIIIISE SUNSET
so I might actually be writing a fic about Derek and his empty nest problems…
And them saying “Yes”.
When I think about what Derek would give for a chance to see his house unburnt and unbroken, even if it was a hallucination, for just one second…
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