Derek pulls Parrish aside and asks him if burning alive hurt the entire time or if he went numb so he can know if his family suffered during the fire.
I’ve read so much Sterek fanfiction that Teen Wolf has become like a spinoff in my head
an inferior one
Anonymous said: I keep thinking about Derek adapting to human things and then just hanging out, learning from Stiles and finding out that Stiles is actually pretty strong? Human wise? Like he doesn't work out and he can't do impossible athletic things but Stiles punches him in the shoulder because Derek's snark-o-meter is still off the charts (or flails and accidentally hits him with the bat) and ow that actually leaves a bruise the next day
This could be taken to kinky places SO FAST ANON.
Derek cuts his left hand slicing tomatoes for a sandwich. He bleeds all over the cutting board, the tomatoes, the bread, his own shirt. The cut stings when he gets tomato juice in it. It’s a bright, sour pain. He has to stop and wrap a rag around his hand. The wound doesn’t stop hurting, even after he’s finished eating.
The cut scabs. He picks at the edges of it, because it itches, and gets blood all over another shirt. He has to buy himself bandaids to keep himself from scratching. When he takes them off at night, the skin around the wound is shriveled and pale. In the morning, before he puts a new set of bandaids on, the wound looks tight, redder than it should be.
When it heals, there’s a scar, a pink line in the meat of his thumb. It’s his first scar. He rubs his fingertip across it, feeling how it’s raised above the rest of his skin. It’s weird, having a mark left on him. And it was just slicing a tomato, not even anything worth remembering.
"You really like that scar," Stiles says, pointing. "You keep touching it."
"It’s my first one," Derek says.
Stiles looks up. ”It’s got to be awful, huh?”
Derek shakes his head and says, “It’s interesting,” without thinking.
Stiles snorts. “‘Interesting,’ sure. What, you want bruises next?”
Derek should have thought of that, but he hadn’t. He’s never bruised before, but now he can. If someone hurt him, he’d bruise. He’d have marks around his wrists, on his hips, on his throat. Black and blue and red at first, then green, then yellow. It would hurt all over again when he pressed on them.
"Wow," Stiles says. He’s smiling. He picks up Derek’s hand and presses his thumb against the scar. He presses hard; he’s stronger than he looks.
Derek swallows. Stiles’ smile gets bigger.