niablackcat:


“Who are you? Why do you smell like Stiles?”“What? You don’t recognize me?” The man didn’t wilt, not even when Derek’s hands twisted the worn leather in his grip. “I’m hurt.” 

Derek’s thought stuttered for a second. There was no chance in hell- “He’s dead,” he spit with a sense of finality that he’d worked so hard on in the past years.
The man in front of him chuckled as if Derek had just told a funny joke. “And yet you can smell it on me, don’t you?” He reclined his head against the wall where Derek had him pinned, baring his throat. But his eyes won’t leave Derek’s. “Come on, get a good whiff.”
The words sounded like a playful dare to Derek’s ears, and that alone made him even angrier, his hold on the man’s jacket tightening as he bared his fangs. “Don’t even fucking try-” he said, ready to tear the man to pieces, rip away from him Stiles’ scent and with it all the lies and the uncertainties that he carried in his pockets.
There wasn’t a damn to be continued engraved on Stiles’ tombstone, no happy end waiting for them around the corner. It was just how things were, and this man was not allowed to pile up all these facts and set them on fire as if they were nothing but origami cranes, as if Stiles’ death hadn’t left an ugly, perpetually open wound inside Derek’s chest, there where his heart kept beating only by sheer inertia-
“Come on, sourwolf,” the man grinned. And Derek’s reality tipped over once again.

aaannnd I’m dead.

niablackcat:

“Who are you? Why do you smell like Stiles?”

“What? You don’t recognize me?” The man didn’t wilt, not even when Derek’s hands twisted the worn leather in his grip. “I’m hurt.” 

Derek’s thought stuttered for a second. There was no chance in hell- “He’s dead,” he spit with a sense of finality that he’d worked so hard on in the past years.

The man in front of him chuckled as if Derek had just told a funny joke. “And yet you can smell it on me, don’t you?” He reclined his head against the wall where Derek had him pinned, baring his throat. But his eyes won’t leave Derek’s. “Come on, get a good whiff.”

The words sounded like a playful dare to Derek’s ears, and that alone made him even angrier, his hold on the man’s jacket tightening as he bared his fangs. “Don’t even fucking try-” he said, ready to tear the man to pieces, rip away from him Stiles’ scent and with it all the lies and the uncertainties that he carried in his pockets.

There wasn’t a damn to be continued engraved on Stiles’ tombstone, no happy end waiting for them around the corner. It was just how things were, and this man was not allowed to pile up all these facts and set them on fire as if they were nothing but origami cranes, as if Stiles’ death hadn’t left an ugly, perpetually open wound inside Derek’s chest, there where his heart kept beating only by sheer inertia-

“Come on, sourwolf,” the man grinned. And Derek’s reality tipped over once again.

aaannnd I’m dead.