twentysomething: (idk my bff zach)
Title: I Want Your Lips to Sing

Fandom: Teen Wolf just gotta live with myself at this point

Pairing: Derek Hale/alwaysagirl!Stiles Stilinski

Summary: "But for some reason, when Stiles sees Derek talking to Lydia, the two of them painfully good-looking, all she can think about is that her hair is in a messy ponytail and there's pizza sauce on the hem of her t-shirt. It's not like she wants to go on a montage out of a '90s teen film and come out like Rachel Leigh Cook on a staircase, but Stiles maybe thinks she doesn't want to look like the homeless one in the pack."

Length: 5000 wordsish

Warnings: duh hi haaaaave you met me, it's genderbending time.

Notes: Sooooooo, [profile] moonklutz is an unstoppable bad idea machine. She basically tricked me into Teen Wolf with girl!Stiles anyway, so, this is probably v. apropos. This fic actually has a porn sequel already... which is probably [personal profile] thehoyden's fault. So, yep.



Stiles has never been one of the girls- she's always been one of the guys. She'd punched Scott when they were 4, he'd cried, they'd called her mom and Scott's mom, only to find they were already best friends by the time they arrived at the Principal's office. She'd never managed- or particularly wanted- to hang out with Lydia and her crowd of flawlessly dressed friends who looked like pictures in Teen Vogue. She knows her dad worries that she's a tomboy because her mother had died when she was little, but Stiles hadn't seen the point of being girly, even before Mom had gone.

But for some reason, when Stiles sees Derek talking to Lydia, the two of them painfully good-looking, all she can think about is that her hair is in a messy ponytail and there's pizza sauce on the hem of her t-shirt. It's not like she wants to go on a montage out of a '90s teen film and come out like Rachel Leigh Cook on a staircase, but Stiles maybe thinks she doesn't want to look like the homeless one in the pack.

She watches about fifteen youtube makeup tutorials and almost buys a Cosmo before she decides she's in way over her head and just does what she should have in the first place: she asks Allison for help. Stiles figures that if Allison can break Scott, she can fix Stiles.

"Oh, Stiles," Allison says, reaching over to grab her hands. "You don't have to change-"

Stiles waves her off. "Please, it's not like I don't think I'm awesome. I'm just having a crisis of confidence," Stiles reassures her. "You look good enough to scramble Scott's brains, you must be doing something right."

Allison laughs.

She's not laughing later when she goes through Stiles' closet.

"Okay, do you own anything that's actually your size?" Allison holds up a Beacon Hills Police Department Fun Run t-shirt. "Or that didn't have a previous owner?"

"Um, probably... no?" Stiles shrugs. "I mean, stuff fits?"

Allison just shakes her head. "Okay, we're going to the mall."

Maybe Stiles is going to get her makeover montage after all.

***


"It's not like you can't still wear plaid shirts and jeans." Allison says. "We don't want to change your style. But clothes should flatter your figure."

"Jesus, these jeans are tight," Stiles says, tugging and tugging.

"Well, they're also not ventilated, so give them a shot," Allison suggests gently, which is fair- a lot of Stiles' jeans are more hole than whole.

Stiles sticks her head around the curtain that really doesn't make her feel safe being half naked in public. "You're not just going to make me try on things you think look funny, right? I mean, I'll do it, but tell me they're the ridiculous ones first."

Allison rolls her eyes and shoves another armful of clothing at Stiles. "Just keep trying things on."

"Well, damn," Stiles says, tight jeans done up and t-shirt on, looking in the mirror. "That's not bad."

"What? C'mon, I wanna see, Stiles!" Allison calls.

Stiles looks at herself in the three way mirror that Allison drags her over to. She doesn't look like Lydia, who looks like a covergirl, or even Allison, who looks like the covergirl of a more indie magazine, but she looks good- she has hips, long legs and damn, her boobs look great.

"I bow to your wisdom in all things," she tells Allison, who just laughs and makes her buy all of it. Allison drags her all over the mall, even into the bra store where she's told she's been doing everything wrong and shit, if Stiles thought her boobs looked good before, she's got a rack when they're done. They even stop in the Sephora, where Allison doesn't believe Stiles doesn't know what any of the stuff does.

"I mean, lipstick, powder, they all go on your face, I don't know. I don't wear any makeup." Stiles says.

Allison stares at Stiles before wiping a finger across her cheek. "Are you kidding," Allison mutters to herself, rubbing her fingers together. "Ugh, I hate you. I don't even think you need more than mascara and lip gloss." She makes Stiles look up and purse her lips and using the weird little disposable mascara wands.

"It's like, me- with benefits," Stiles says and she can't stop batting her lashes, because she can sort of see them, dark and long. Her mouth looks fuller and not too shiny- just a little redder, like she's been eating strawberries.

Allison drops Stiles off back at her house, loaded up with bag upon bag of stuff. "Now, can I trust you with your own hotness?" she asks, smiling in that too-nice-to-believe Allison-y way.

"I will try to use it responsibly," Stiles says solemnly. She still can't really imagine anyone will notice- but she feels weirdly powerful. It's probably the new bra. She feels like Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality.

***


People do notice.

She gets surprised double-takes and lingering up and down looks. She's still wearing a plaid shirt and worn jeans, and yet.

Danny gives her the eye in chemistry. "Okay, I don't know who dressed you today, or if you had a shrinking accident in the wash, but either way, Joey Green is still staring at you."

"Is it the boobs?" Stiles demands. Danny might be gay, but he knows from guys. "I left a button off today. Allison took me shopping."

"Well, you're not wearing your dad's clothes anymore. People are going to finally realize that you have T&A." Danny explains.

"Scott didn't say anything," Stiles points out, more to be contrary than anything else.

Danny rolls his eyes. "You could have come to school dressed as an astronaut and it wouldn't make a difference to Scott."

"True," Stiles admits.

"More importantly, what- or should I ask who- brought this on? I mean, you're wearing your hair down," Danny asks. Stiles shrugs.

"All of my friends are embarrassingly good looking. I didn't want to drag down the status quo too badly," Stiles says, and it's mostly the truth.

Danny is opening his mouth to say something probably too insightful, but there is a merciful god, and Mr. Harris demands they start class. Stiles practically runs out of the room afterward, only to bang right into Jackson who is both much better and much worse as a werewolf.

"Jesus, Stiles, where's the fire?" Jackson says, pulling her out of the way of the classroom door. "Also, I heard you got hot overnight. If you're trying to get his attention, you already had it."

Jackson is halfway down the hall before Stiles can tell him she has no idea what- or who- he's talking about. She thinks she's done talking about her "new look" when Lydia corners her in the girls' room.

"I'm a little hurt you didn't ask me for help," Lydia fusses with the collar of Stiles' shirt. "We're pack."

"Well, I mean this in the most complimentary way possible, but you are intimidatingly perfect, I didn't know if you knew that," Stiles tries. "Also, I'm still pretty sure I don't count as pack."

Lydia laughs. "Of course you are. Derek wouldn't stand for anything else." She moves a seemingly arbitrary piece of Stiles' hair.

"I'm also pretty sure that Derek barely tolerates me," Stiles points out, glaring down at her boobs. No one tried to bring this shit up before she got a push up bra.

Lydia laughs again, like she thinks Stiles is hilarious. "If that's what they're calling it these days. But seriously, Stiles, next time, girls' shopping trip. Spring formal is coming up!" Lydia sashays out of the bathroom, already pulling her phone out of her purse.

"Life has been really confusing today," Stiles says to herself. "I blame you, boobs."

***


She gets asked out in increasingly oblique ways three times before the end of the day- the empowerment shine is starting to wear off. Stiles turns them all down as politely as possible, wondering what's wrong with herself. It's probably just depressing to think that she has to dress a certain way to get people's attention, which, Stiles would think she knew enough about the patriarchy by now that it shouldn't be a surprise. By the time she gets to her car, she's in a totally foul mood, which is probably why she doesn't realize Derek's in the car until she glances over at the passenger seat.

"Jesus fucccccck-" Stiles gasps out. "We've had a talk about this- knocking, that kind of thing."

Derek is just staring at her.

"Seriously, I almost peed my pants," Stiles complains. "Not cool."

Derek leans across the front seat, sniffs, and Stiles swears she can hear a faint rumble coming from him.

"Come here," Derek says, low and dark and Stiles' first, instinctive reaction is a lot more, uh... primal than fear.

"Um, why?" Stiles asks stupidly. Derek doesn't answer, he just slides across the bench seat of the jeep and his hand is almost touching her throat as he leans in to sniff more closely.

"You smell all wrong," Derek growls.

"Uh, I put on deodorant, thank you," Stiles protests, but it's barely a whisper as the tip of Derek's nose grazes her collarbones.

"Not that." Derek sounds even more irritated. "I can smell other people all over you."

Stiles frowns. "Well, I didn't ask you to smell me." She wants to cross her arms, but really, Derek is in the way. "I can have other people all up on me."

Derek glares up at her and where that used to make Stiles think about leaving the country, right now it leaves her feeling tense and flushed. "No." he snarls.

"Okay, you are being super fucking crazy right now. It's not even your time of the month for another two weeks, no excuses." Stiles snaps. It's not her best zinging comeback but clearly it does something, because Derek is kissing her like they're going to die.

His hands are on her hips, his thumb slipping between her skintight jeans and the hem of her shirt and it feels like she's been electrified. Stiles can barely catch gasps of breath before Derek is kissing her again and really, her mom's old romance novels she'd found in the attic suddenly make a lot more sense. She might actually whimper at one point, but she's putting that one down to oxygen deprivation.

Stiles is abruptly brought back to reality by a chorus of honking which leads to remembering she's making time in a high school parking lot.

"Oh, god- shit," she says, already distracted again by the way that- if her mouth is occupied- Derek will apparently migrate south, sucking at the base of her neck. "Just wait, okay, fuck, I'm- my dad's not home, we'll go to my place, just hold on, fucking- I can't drive while you do that."

"Don't drive, then," Derek says.

"Okay, you can't just say shit like that, I have extremely poor impulse control," Stiles groans, because Derek is pressed all against her, too-warm and distracting.

"Don't control your impulses, then," Derek says, biting down gently on her collarbone, his teeth just barely scraping along the skin.

"Fuck," Stiles says with feeling. She's about two seconds from giving Derek the intentional walk to second in her car at school, this is unacceptable. "No, get in the back seat."

Derek finally disengages, staring up at her. "What?" he asks thickly.

Stiles steels herself. She is going to put her foot down. Really. "I can't trust me and obviously, I can't trust you. I will let you put your hands all over me, but not here, get in the back seat." she says firmly. Derek is stock-still for an impossibly long moment and Stiles is a microsecond from caving, when he does some kind of yoga-wizard move and is in the back.

"Drive," Derek demands, but Stiles can hear the fraying control in his voice and it hits her like a tons of bricks, low in her stomach, a sharp throb of want.

She starts the car and screeches out of the parking lot.

***


"Stop looking at me," she tells Derek in the rearview mirror, because he's burning a hole in the back of her head and she's trying not to wrap them around a telephone pole. Derek's only response is to give her a look that fairly burns her panties right off her body.

"This is not conducive to me not killing us right now," Stiles tells him, but it's hard to be stern when all she can think about is kissing him again.

"Do not crash this car," Derek says, intent and focused and there's the empowerment again, because Derek Hale wants her- wants her bad.

The drive home has never felt this long before, but god, finally, they pull into Stiles' driveway. No sooner is the car in park and the keys out of the ignition, than Derek is at her door, opening it and pulling her out to crash up against him. He's got this look on his face that she can't even begin to figure out.

"Um, hi," she says, inane and ridiculous, but it doesn't matter, because Derek is leaning down and sniffing again, growling.

"Inside." Derek makes it as far as closing the kitchen door before he's on her again, his hands tangling in her hair, kissing her like they never stopped in the first place. Stiles moans into his mouth, because Derek is kissing her wet and open and it's basically the hottest thing that's ever happened, probably in the world, but definitely at least to her. She doesn't have a lot of experience, other than some ridiculous spin the bottle and 7 minutes in heaven incidents, and none of those prepared her at all for the way that it would feel to have Derek pressing her against the kitchen door, kissing her like he wants to devour her.

"Thank you, Victoria's Secret," Stiles mutters, taking in some huge breaths while Derek gets distracted by her neck again. She wasn't really kidding about second base, and Derek is kissing down past her collarbones and Stiles fumbles with the buttons of her shirt, because she's an enabler.

"What," Derek says flatly, when he realizes her shirt is suddenly open. Stiles can feel herself flushing bright red.

"Um, was that- do you not-" She gets about that far before Derek is practically mauling her, biting kisses that feel filthy and amazing, his hand sliding across her stomach to her side in one smooth glide. His knee slips between hers and Stiles gasps when his thigh presses hot and strong against her through two layers of jeans. She feels like she's going to explode or die, or both, but Derek just keeps kissing her and stroking her, just shy of technically feeling her up.

"Derek," she groans, not really sure where she thinks this is going to go, or even what she expects him to do.

Derek hums an acknowledgement into the hinge of her jaw, sniffing deeply, his mouth open against her neck. Stiles wonders why she's starting to think that's hot, not creepy. She spends way too much time with werewolves.

"Derek," she tries again, but he's fixated, sucking what will probably be an unbelievable hickey into her neck. It hurts a little bit, but that just makes her clutch at his back, slipping forward on his knee, biting her lip against what was definitely a full on porn moan. She feels like maybe she's getting a grip on this whole scorchingly hot making out business, which is of course when Derek springs back like he's been burned.

"What, no," she says reflexively.

Derek leans forward like he can't help himself, either, which is jesuschristfuckinghot, but he shakes his head and stands his ground. "Your father is driving up the street, I can hear the police scanner."

It's like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on her.

"Shit, go go, fuck-" Stiles says, and Derek is already out the back door, which just leaves Stiles to- mother of god- button her shirt back up and she can hear the crunch of gravel now, which means she has about half a minute to not look like she was rounding the bases with Derek Hale in her kitchen.

She's sitting at the table, drinking a hastily poured glass of water and staring at her phone, which she got out at the last second, when her dad walks in.

"Hey, you're home early," she says by way of an extremely suspicious greeting.

Sheriff Stilinski shrugs. "I forgot some files in my office, had to run home to get them." He stares at Stiles. "Did you have gym last period?"

Stiles blinks, but depending on her extensive experience with lying to authority figures, nods. "Yeah, why?"

He waves a hand at her. "The buttons on your shirt are done up wrong," he says. "You in a hurry to get out of the old prison today?"

Stiles laughs, probably too hard. "Yeah, TGI-Wednesday," she tries. He snorts, then shakes his head.

"Well, it looks nice. Is that a new one?" he asks, pouring himself a glass of water, too. "The shirt."

"Oh, yeah, I bought it with Allison yesterday. Whole big shopping trip." Stiles reminds him. He nods ruefully.

"You finally deciding to buy us out of house and home?" he asks, teasing, but a little like he hopes the answer is yes- single dad worries.

"Well, you'll know when you see your credit card bill," Stiles jokes back, trying for normal even though she feels like I WAS KISSING A BOY IN HERE TWO MINUTES AGO is stamped all over her forehead.

"All right, fair enough," he says, putting the glass down, heading for his office down the hall. Stiles claws at her own face and fixes the buttons on the shirt. She has no future as an international spy, obviously. He comes back in, manila folders in hand. "I gotta get back- should be home for dinner, though." He drops a perfunctory kiss on top of her head and is out the door again.

***


Stiles lets out the breath she's been holding when the car pulls out of the driveway and down the street. Derek is probably halfway to the next state by now, but she still opens her bedroom door carefully, in case he's laying in wait for her there. She knew he wouldn't be there; she still feels extraordinarily disappointed when he isn't, anyway. Her phone buzzes in her hand, but it's not Derek- it's Lydia.

WERE YOU MAKING OUT WITH DEREK IN THE PARKING LOT

"Oh, jesus," Stiles says, because of course people noticed.

maybe? she sends back.

WHERE ARE YOU I'M COMING OVER

I'M BRINGING ALLISON

WE ARE NOT BRINGING SCOTT


Stiles is probably signing her own death warrant. I'm at home

10 MIN


Lydia terrifies Stiles.

Her phone buzzes again, but it's not another mortifying all caps burst from Lydia- it's from Derek.

was there a problem

Stiles's stomach plummets. That's not the text message of a guy who can't stop thinking about you and wants to make out with you again.

She finally decides on nope, totally fine and about ten seconds after she sends it she throws her phone at her bed. She feels shitty- not like used or wronged or anything like that- just kind of shitty.

Probably less than ten minutes later, Stiles hears the door slam open.

"Stiles, where are you?" Lydia sounds giddy and manic, bounding up the stairs. She practically bounces into the room, Allison following more calmly. "Okay, he was here, I can smell him all over you and the kitchen, spill."

"Who did you even hear it from?" Stiles counters with.

Lydia waves a hand like the question is beyond irrelevant. "Justin told Kerri, who said something to Becca who called me. So not the point. What happened?"

Allison shakes her head. "If you want to tell us, Stiles," she adds gently.

Stiles fights the urge to just smother herself with a pillow first. "I don't know, he was in my car and he said something about smelling other people, I don't even- yeah, and then he kissed the crap out of me but we were in a parking lot, so we came here, but then my dad came home and he booked it. I don't know. He was all over me. It's not like he likes me or anything though, so I guess that push up bra you made me buy totally worked, Allison."

Lydia and Allison stare at Stiles for a long moment.

"Oh my god, I know he's terrible at expressing feelings and you're apparently as dense as Scott, but really?" Lydia demands.

"I think Lydia's trying to say that he actually likes you... a lot," Allison translates, which is good, because Stiles wasn't getting it, but that's ludicrous, because Derek doesn't like her, despite any french kissing to the contrary.

"No way," Stiles says, and it almost sounds like she doesn't care. "It's fine, whatever."

Lydia actually growls a little, which is absolutely more terrifying than when Derek does it. "Okay, I know he's emotionally stunted, but you have to have seen it, Stiles. He can barely function when you're in room."

"He functions just fine," Stiles says, weirdly defensive. "Just not in a rational human way."

Lydia pats her on the hand. "What's important is that you think that." She narrows her eyes and brushes some of Stiles' hair aside. "Also, you still don't think he likes you?" Lydia marches Stiles over to the mirror where there's a hickey pretty much exactly the size of Derek's teeth.

"Um," Stiles manages, staring at the rapidly purpling outline on the pink skin.

"God, you bruise nicely," Lydia says.

Allison rummages in her bag. "I might have something to cover that up," she offers.

Lydia snorts. "I'm pretty sure he did it on purpose," she says.

"Who did what on purpose?" Derek asks flatly.

Allison and Stiles jump a little, because Derek is sitting on the window sill. Lydia just looks smug.

"Um, hi," Stiles manages.

Lydia has already grabbed Allison's hand and is practically at the door. "We're superfluous to this conversation. Derek, explain yourself." They're gone in a second, but neither of them move until they hear the front door close.

"So, you came back," Stiles starts.

Derek stares at her like she's crazy. "Of course I did," He's walking toward her like he's being magnetically compelled.

"Not like... some kind of weird... thing." Stiles says, which doesn't even make any sense.

Derek frowns. "What are you talking about, Stiles?" He's already within touching distance, which is distracting, to say the least.

"This- you- you aren't being like... hypnotized by my boobs, right?" Stiles blurts out. "Because they're just clothes."

Derek freezes. "You think this is about how you look today?" he asks. Stiles crosses her arms.

"Isn't it? You've never looked twice at me before." Stiles shrugs. "Which... whatever."

Derek has her up against her desk and seriously, he has this thing about trapping her against stuff. "You can't really think that," he says, hand slipping up her neck until it's cradling her jaw. "Even Scott noticed. He said you would be difficult, but I didn't think you wouldn't actually see it."

"See what?" Stiles demands, frustrated and stupidly turned on again.

Derek presses a finger against the hickey and Stiles' breath catches a little. "How badly I want you. Not like this," he says, pulling her tight against him with his other hand on her back. "Well, not just like this. Come on, Stiles, I turn into an idiot around you."

"So, today?" Stiles asks, even as her heart races with the idea that Derek is hung up on her. "Why today?"

"Lydia texted me, said to come down to the school to see you," Derek says, breathing in deeply, probably creepy/hot smelling her. "She said you looked good- you always look good. But I knew people would be touching you, wanting to do this." He kisses her, slow and deep and it makes Stiles feel like she's drunk; body a second ahead of her mind.

"You were jealous?" Stiles asks when her brain catches up.

The same low rumbling from earlier pours out, Derek pulling her even closer. "I'm always jealous with you. When Scott touches you like it's not important, because he's known you forever. When Lydia takes you by the arm. When you get in your car smelling like anyone but you."

Stiles thinks back to the arm David Wells had slung around her while asking if she might want to play video games at his place this weekend. "Oh," she says, because Derek will just show up in her room, make her take his jacket if they're out in the woods. He came to her for help finding the Alpha. He lets her mouth off at him and finds excuses to drive with her whenever the pack goes anywhere.

"Now do you get it?" he asks her, kissing her again. He kisses her like he wouldn't want to be anywhere else, and now Stiles thinks that might be true.

"Oh my god, I'm an idiot," she breathes out. "But you're also an idiot. Why the hell didn't you just say something?"

Derek shrugs.

"Okay, you're not in charge of any more decisions, I'm making all the decisions," Stiles says, and this time, she kisses him. "Decision number one, we are making up for lost time by making out until my dad gets home."

Derek makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, before he kisses her again.

"Also, you're going to be possessive and weird about this aren't you? I'm not complaining," she asks, because Derek is pushing her up to sit on the desk, crumpling a bunch of papers, so he can really cage her in. "I just want some warning."

"Probably," Derek admits, which likely translates to "definitely and in increasingly weird ways."

"Does this mean I'm like... your girlfriend?" Stiles asks, because she does think she's gotten this many straight(ish) answers out of Derek ever, so she might as well take advantage of it.

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Is that what you want?" he asks, and unlike his other neutral tones which are pretty obvious covers for other things like annoyance and murdery rage, this one's a total blank.

What I want is for this to sound less like a scene out of Twilight, she thinks. What she says is: "Is this going to be one of those awkward conversations where nobody admits what they really want because they're worried about freaking the other person out?"

Derek stares at her for a second before he actually huffs out a little laugh. "Okay." He levels her with this look that makes her feel like someone used Pai Mei's five point exploding heart thing on her. "I want you any way I can have you. Whatever that means to you."

"Jesus," Stiles sighs out. It's totally unfair that supernatural romance is this hot outside of The Vampire Diaries. She also feels weirdly like she was just proposed to. Stiles tries to think of anything she could qualify this with- any boyfriend-like behavior she requires- but she realizes there's not a lot Derek doesn't already do. Well, in some insane definition or another.

"You have to be nice to my dad," she finally blurts out. "Or at least normal at him. He's probably not going to like the 23 year old former accused murderer hanging around his 16 year old daughter. So you have to be the mature one or something." Stiles is babbling and in a new, improved turn of events Derek shuts her up with his mouth instead of a glare.

"Okay," he repeats. "Can I-"

"Yes," Stiles says before he can even ask. "Yes to all of it."

Derek looks like he's having to take a deep breath and count to ten, but where she used to think that was so he didn't kill her, she wonders if there was an entirely different reason all along. Well, and also probably at least a little bit wanting to kill her, too.

"It's probably safer for you to not say things like that," Derek tells her. "You don't know what I might ask for."

Stiles pauses for a second. "I don't think you would want anything that would be dangerous. Anything that would change me." she says slowly, thinking through what she wants to say carefully, so much more carefully than she usually does. "Because I matter to you, to the pack?"

Derek nods, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes," He kisses her like she'll break. "You do."

"I'm tougher than I look, you don't have to go all noble weird gentleman on me," Stiles complains. "In fact, you were kind of handsy and rough and that was really okay by me."

"I want to take things slow," Derek counters, letting his hands rest on her hips.

"You're like, self-cockblocking," Stiles sighs, as she fails to get her hands anywhere out of middle school dance appropriate areas.

Derek chuckles and leans close to her ear, his breath hot against her neck. "Some day, Stiles, I'm going to take off every scrap of clothing on your body and just spend hours eating you out," Derek says, totally calm, like he's talking about the weather, not cunnilingus and breaking Stiles forever. "I'm going to touch you, kiss you- fuck you- until I'm done and neither of us can move."

Stiles full up whimpers. Derek takes another deep scenting breath, his mouth pressing once, open and wet, against her neck.

"But not today," he finishes, taking two big steps back.

Stiles aches with how much she wants him back. "That- you- mean," she manages after a long, sexually frustrated moment.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Stiles," Derek says, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. He's out the window before she can get her hands on him.

"I hope you enjoy masturbating alone, asshole," she yells out at his back, disappearing into the tree line.

Derek turns around and blows her a kiss.

Stiles is so screwed.

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