Tyler Hoechlin swinging… ugh [x]
what the hell is wrong with me?
i’m not supposed to be taking prompts. supposed. i never do what i’m supposed to do, though.
“What the fuck is wrong with him?!”
“A lot,” Derek blurts out before sniggering into Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles sways under his weight.
Deaton looks mildly amused, Stiles glares. This is not the kind of situation he’d call humorous.
“It’s just the pain medication; it will take a few hours to wear off. It may also,” Deaton clears his throat, “Make him a little loose tongued.”
Stiles’ throat goes slightly dry just at the turn of phrase and then he realizes what Deaton’s really implying.
“Is he—does he know what he’s saying at all?”
“Of course I do,” Derek interrupts, looking at him a little glass eyed. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, it’s annoying when you and Scott do that.”
“We don’t do it that often!”
“You made plans for the weekend while I was standing right there,” Derek huffs. “It was rude.”
Stiles gapes at him. “I didn’t—did you want to go see a bunch of crappy horror movies with shitty acting that would make you itch to point out all the inaccuracies this Sunday?”
“If they’re going to reflect our daily lives they should at least be accurate.”
Which isn’t exactly an answer, but it is telling. Stiles bites his lip feeling guilty as fuck. He’d just assumed that even after all this time; Derek generally considered Stiles and Scott’s de-stressing activities to be beneath him.
“I just figured—”
“I don’t care,” Derek insists heatedly, before his head lolls back onto Stiles’ shoulder and his face is suddenly buried in Stiles’ neck. “You smell bad.”
"Robert, I don’t want whatever advice you’re attaching to a photo of yourself and Emma Watson."
"You’re getting it anyway, Chris."
"If this is about younger women — "
"Bite your tongue, pervert. No, my advice is this: never pass up a chance to make a pun. They may hate you, but they can’t forget you."
"…I underestimate you sometimes."
Sorry this took so long and is terribly unedited, but I wanted to write something before I went to class at 5:30, and its 4:45 and I still need to shower. Enjoy!
"What is that?" Stiles asked, gesturing emphatically with the spatula at the faded an touch-worn red hoodie Derek was wearing over nothing.
Well not nothing, he was wearing boxers. Stiles’ boxers.
"What’s what?” Derek asked absentmindedly as he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, looking at Stiles like had three heads as he rounded into the kitchen and leaned back weightily against the counter next to where Stiles was cooking.
“That,” Stiles pointed again, flicking at a heavily-chewed hood-string. “Is that my jacket?” He knew full-well it was.
"Nope," Derek deadpanned, cocking his head to look at Stiles lazily.
"I don’t even want to know if those are my boxers,” the human growled, turning back to the eggs he was frying in the one good iron skillet they owned.
"They’re not," Derek shrugged. “‘My other boyfriend’s."
"Mm, really?" Stiles crooned, scraping the over-easy eggs from the pan and depositing them onto a plate nearby. "And is this ‘other’ boyfriend someone I know?”
"That depends on the circles you frequent," Derek remarked casually with a shrug.
"I have it on pretty good authority that you don’t have any ‘circles’," Stiles leveled, "Aside from the ones I let you into."
"That’s your opinion.” The correct opinion. Aside from Peter, Derek’s social circle was nonexistent before Scott, Stiles, and the veritable cast of ‘Friends’ in Beacon Hills adopted him.
"Well does this other dude make you breakfast after he plows you senseless when he stays over?" Stiles asked, dropping strips of bacon onto the skillet, where they proceeded to crackle and spit.
"Sometimes," Derek answered, going red as he buried his nose into the collar of his co-opted hoodie absentmindedly. "We mostly go out. And nobody ‘plows the brains’ out of anybody." He glared at Stiles, who gave him a shit-eating grin.
"Well there has to be a word for what I did to you last night," he offered, tossing in another strip. "You weren’t terribly coherent afterward." Derek’s ears darkened several shades of maroon, and Stiles’ heart fluttered, because adorable didn’t even begin to describe it. Not being able to resist it anymore, he turned down the heat on the bacon and settled himself against Derek happily. "Is that why you’re wearing my clothes this morning?" he asked, looping his arms around the small of his back. "Did I give it to you good enough to where you couldn’t remember that you had clothes of your own?" He snarled playfully. Derek harumphed.
"No," he growled in response, scowling at Stiles’ stupid grin, even as he gently gripped his shoulders and pulled them closer, so that Stiles was firmly entrenched between his legs. “‘Just needed something comfy to wear when I got up."
"Well that’s disappointing," Stiles mocked, rolling his eyes. Derek grumbled threateningly. "Here I thought you were rendered amnesiac by my sexual prowess."
"Unh-huh," Derek scoffed, returning the eye-roll.
"What? It could happen."
"Yeah, only in that star trek fanfiction that you think I don’t know you have bookmarked on your computer." Stiles squinted at him.
"What?" Stiles shrugged innocently, "I don’t."
"Because ‘other study materials’ was so inconspicuous a cover when you don’t have a regular ‘study materials’ folder already."
"I’m gonna plead the fifth here."
"A wise choice." He leaned in to press a gentle, morning-breath kiss against Stiles’ lips.
"I’m just full of ‘em," he murmured in reply. "Like how he was going to steal no fewer than two of your favorite henley’s when I finally leave later today." Derek nipped at his lower lip, and he groaned.
"Who says you’re leaving at all?" He whispered, before Stiles licked into his lips and smiled.
"Let’s just get through breakfast first, before you aggressively move me in." He pulled away, and awkwardly leaned over to turn off the burners on the stove with Derek still wrapped around him.
"No promises," he shrugged as Stiles settled against him once more.
Dean doesn’t know how to deal with a drunk Cas.
teen wolf: an all new comedy airing 10/9c january 6th on nbc