when a ship you can’t stand finally sinks
That scene made me feel weird. I definitely DO NOT ship it. Though I also feel that he was laying it on sort of heavy when he suggested she join them. And then he was all, ‘lol no jk.’. I mean, yeah I reeeally didn’t want it but I wish he had handled her obnoxious advance somehow differently. Somehow.
But yes, agreed with the Do Not Want.
strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree
Holy god this man is beautiful.
Hot and Steamy Kiss
(I take things way more literally than I should I’M AN ASSHOLE)
"In the shower, in the shower, get in the fucking—"
"I’m getting there, Stiles.”
Derek’s movements are precise and jerky, shirt nearly ripping at the seams as he wrenches it off. Fuck, Stiles is going to kill him. A life of constant danger, and it’s one mouthy, fragile human that’s going to be his end.
Stiles turns the hot water knob so hard, there’s a moment of silence as they pray for it not to break off. He slips off his shirt and jeans, briefs going with them, and Derek nearly brains himself on the edge of the bathtub taking off his own pants.
It’s ridiculous, and embarrassing, and Stiles is laughing so hard he’s snorting a little. That isn’t what Derek wants, it means he’s doing this all wrong.
Stiles is supposed to be a string of garbled words and fingers scrabbling against wet tiles. Laughter is for soft mornings, not, not this, this heady sort of too-hot moment, because no one had the right mind to turn on the god damned cold water.
It’s so hot under the spray that steam beats off of Derek’s shoulders, hissing as it hits the cool tiles. Derek sort of kicks at the cold water nozzle, pushing Stiles up against the wall.
They’re slick, and wet, and Stiles isn’t laughing anymore. He’s quiet, watching Derek through eyelashes dripping crystalline droplets, shoulders red from the heat, and Derek’s never seen anymore more beautiful.
His fingers curl around the damp hair at the nape of Stiles’ neck, and the air’s so thick with steam that they’re both taking in heavy breaths, and, fuck, anything that was funny a minute ago feels like ages, hours, days.
"Can you fucking do something, Derek, please, I’m—”
Derek shushes him, curling against Stiles until they’re just one slow arch. Stiles whines when Derek finally dips his head in, lips sliding almost painfully together.
It’s almost too warm, too hot in the shower, and Derek’s fight or flight response is kicking in, and he should get it, he needs to get out, because Derek’s never been able to have beautiful things for more than a little bit at a time.
He thinks he’s almost out of it.
But Stiles is murmuring his name like a prayer, and his fingers aren’t scrabbling at times, but they’re clutching at Derek’s water-hot shoulders, the drag of his scorching mouth almost sinful.
They don’t do anything but kiss for a long time (blow jobs come later, Derek feels it in his knees.) There’s something about kissing Stiles that Derek can never get over, something about the blush bow of his mouth tantalizing.
He’s never been able to be naked with someone, open and vulnerable, and not fuck.
But Stiles looks blissed out at just this, staring at Derek like Derek feels—lucky, blessed, in love.
Stiles doesn’t want to leave, Derek can tell, and that’s good. His kisses are oxygen to Derek’s proverbial drowning man.
(If he ever, ever voiced that, Stiles would actually choke on his laughter and die. Actually.)
So he keeps his dumb words to himself, but presses his thumb against the corner of Stiles’ lower lip before kissing him again, slow and aching.
Derek thinks that’s enough.
*aggressively fans self*
"HEY JEN WHY DO YOU HAVE THE SUBTITLES ON?"
"BC UR IN THE FUKIN ROOM"
"I Ship It" Icona Pop Parody
i’ve been watching vines for like four hours