Who knew Derek had such lovely bosoms, Stiles/Derek [1/1]
Title: Who knew Derek had such lovely bosoms
Author: orange_rotted
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1756
Pairings: Stiles/Derek- Teen Wolf
Summary: Stiles and Derek banter... in between somewhere they become women, that ol' chestnut.
“Stiles, you idiot! Only you would choose the most obviously cursed door out of the many, many doors!”
If Derek wasn’t so angry, Stiles would almost be impressed that he could string so many words together. Hell, he’d outdone himself - two, (well, one and a half really) sentences. But now isn’t the time to remark on Derek’s new personal best.
They are standing in a densely wooded forest when just before they’d most definitely been indoors, in a very large warehouse in fact, one that was no longer anywhere in their vicinity.
All that aside though, there is a much larger issue at present.
Derek and, with a quick grope and look down, Stiles it seemed, are missing very vital elements of their masculinity and are instead sporting very obvious signs of femininity.
Stiles had always wondered what it would be like to have his own set of breasts, but goddamn it universe, that was all the hypothetical meanderings of a desperate virginal teenage boy! Besides that, he seemed to have been robbed in that department anyway. He had a B-cup at best, meanwhile Mr Grumpy-Pants had scored big time with a really nice pair.
“I’m a 147 pound 16 year-old,” says Stiles in the most matter-of-fact voice he can muster, “and you’re a 6 foot giant werewolf with muscles growing their very own set of muscles. I couldn’t force you to do anything if I tried!”
He stamps his foot, just in case the message isn’t clear.
You’d think a female version of Derek wouldn’t be able to match the male-counterpart’s usual growly, angry, I’m-going-to-rip-your-throat-out expression, but nope, there it is. All pointy teeth and eyebrows.
“Okay, I concede,” says Stiles with his hands in the air, “Totally my fault. 100% my bad.”
Derek just rolls his eyes as he turns and walks away.
“That’s okay Stiles, I forgive you, we’ll work this out together, like the great team that we are,” mumbles Stiles to himself as he trails behind the now wonderfully curvy shape of Derek as he traipses off through the undergrowth.
He catches a glimpse of Derek’s fists clenching.
Stupid werewolf hearing. He’s probably going to regret that later.
***
By the time they reach the welcome sight of Dr Deaton’s practice, the sun is peeking its dastardly bright and unwelcome face over the horizon. Stiles is quite fed up with having to hold his too baggy jeans up over his much smaller waist and he had already needed to pee - twice. What was an easy one-step zipper maneuver was now a complex squat and aim affair. Not to mention the harrowing realisation of why women go through toilet paper so fast and having to then deal with his lack there-of. All in all an unpleasant experience, and one he hoped could later be disposed of in an inaccessible, cobwebby region of his memory.
While Stiles had struggled with his new alien body, Derek appeared completely unphased by this minor hiccup and had continued on at a merry (read: brisk and accelerated) pace. Derek’d seemingly forgotten that Stiles was in fact not a werewolf and instead a mere mortal with a weak bladder,and forged onwards in his usual stoic fashion.
“Oh my god, how is it already day,” says Stiles to a completely disinterested Derek, “my dad is going to kill me.”
“Don’t you think we have bigger problems than that Stiles,” throws Derek over his shoulder as he knocks, with far more force than is strictly necessary, on the door.
Everything is very quiet for a while and a slow panic begins to rise in Stiles, but after a few moments he hears the clatter of bottles and the smart tap tap of boots on the floor and he finally takes in a breath. He needed to stop doing that when he’s nervous, breathing’s pretty important and all Stiles, he reminds himself.
The door opens and the welcome sight of Dr Deaton’s majestic goatee and beard combo comes into view.
“I’m sorry girls, but we’re not open till 9:00 today,” he says.
Ah yeah, Stiles had forgotten the whole, we’re actually girls now, part.
“Deaton, it’s us,” growls Derek as he pushes his way past and into the reception area of the vet practice.
“You idiot Derek,” says Stiles in an exasperated tone, “if he knew who us was, we wouldn’t be in this mess -- It’s Stiles,” he says as he looks back to the stunned face of Deaton, “and I don’t know how you didn’t recognise that sour wolf over there.”
Oh, there’s that face again. The teeth and everything, you’d think Stiles would be accustomed to it by now.
“Actually now that you say that…” Deaton begins as he inclines his head to take a closer look.
“Deaton,” Derek growls out, “How do we fix this?”
“Ahh, yes, come with me.”
Deaton leads them through the reception area and into his office at the far corner of the building. They can hear the yipping and mewling of cats and dogs through the doors.
“Okay, first of all you guys’ll have to give me a bit more information to go on,” says Deaton as he does that half-sit, half-stand thing on the corner of his desk.
“Alright, so last night Derek and I were chasing up a lead for those disappearances that’ve been happening, did Scott tell you? Anyway, so Boyd found some scraps of voodoo magic while he was working at his night job, but couldn’t get a moment away from the site to check out what was up, so Derek and I snuck in to have a look around, but there was this terrifying, salivary, red-eyed, pig… thing that started to chase us, it was disgusting, truly. If bacon wasn’t so delicious - ”
Ahem.
“Not the point, okay. So we had to run around this huge compound place and I figured if we went into one of the larger warehouses, we could lose it there. And let me just state for the record that I was right,” says Stiles with a triumphant side glance at Derek, “but when we got into this room with lots of doors, clearly we chose a cursed one cause next thing I know, we’re in the middle of nowhere and Derek and I have parts that we definitely didn’t have before.”
He gesticulates wildly at his general torso and crotch region.
“What Stiles isn’t telling you,” says Derek in a voice that rings with pure exasperation, “is that the door Stiles led us through had a frame of some weird light blue wood I’ve never seen before, with some engravings marked around the edges.”
“In my defense, I thought nobody would be so stupid to make it so obvious the door was cursed. Also, in case you don’t remember we were being chased by a demon pig. I figured whoever was doing their bit of hocus pocus rigged one of the other doors instead as a trick! Turns out, people are actually that obvious. Go figure.”
“People so stupid that they walk through it and end up like this!” Bites back Derek as he gestures to his very-womanly person.
“Do either of you - ,” says Deaton as he tries to get back the bickering pairs’ attention. It doesn’t quite work, so he raises his voice and repeats, “Do either of you remember what these runes looked like? I think I have an idea of what’s happened, but seeing the markings would help confirm my theory.”
“I don’t remember all of them,” says Stiles as he walks around the office grabbing a pen from the drawer and a notebook that was sitting on top of a filing cabinet, “but I saw this one repeated a couple times around the door handle.”
He begins to draw what he can remember, a strange combination of lines and symbols and shapes. He can feel as Derek and Deaton lean over his shoulder to look at what he’s drawing, and Hello, those are definitely a pair of boobs pressing into his back. So, so weird.
“Ahhh, yes,” says Deaton once Stiles finishes up and hands him the piece of paper, “Just as I thought. You’ll see these three lines here, joined with that heptagon shape. This tells me it’s an ancient Haitian rune and that makes sense since I would guess the type of wood you saw was Blue Mahoe, it’s only grown in plantations in the Caribbean...”
Derek and Stiles exchange a look that clearly says to the other ‘that’s great and all Deaton, but would ya mind telling us what the hell it all means,’ while Deaton rambles on.
Naturally, Stiles is the first one to get impatient with Deaton’s detailed analysis of the ancient runes and cult of witchcraft from the African colonies. “Deaton, for the love of God, all I wanna know is how I get my own body back. As beautiful and sexy as Derek looks right now, I’m sure he’d also rather his own hairy body back.”
“What, it’s true,” mouths Stiles when he sees the dirty look Derek throws his way.
“Ah yes, of course,” says Deaton apologetically, “Well, the good news is that I think this was probably more of a practical joke than anything malicious.”
“A practical joke, oh yes, so hilarious,” deadpans Stiles, “look at how much I’m laughing.”
“It’s only temporary, I’m not sure exactly how long it’ll last considering Derek’s lycanthropy and your propensity towards magic, but I imagine no more than three or four days.”
“Three or four days!?” cries Stiles. “I’m surprised my dad doesn’t already have half the town out looking for me, how the hell am I supposed to hide this for that long!”
“Shut up, Stiles. You’ll just have to hide out at mine for a few days until we figure out a story to tell your dad,” says Derek with the air of a man suggesting something he’s never wanted to do less in any universe, ever.
“Oh yeah, Derek. Sounds like a blast. I couldn’t think of anything more fun,” replies Stiles.
“Whatever, thanks for that Deaton,” says Derek as he starts walking out. “Are you coming or not, Stiles?”
Stiles just grumbles in response as he starts off in the direction Derek went and Deaton hears little snippets of “fuck you” and “stupid asshole” as the odd pair pass him through the door of his office.
What Deaton wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in the Hale house this week.
Author's Note: This was written as Part 1 of my "Tasting Plate of Sterek" for a university assignment, which is why the next three fics I'm posting will feel a little incomplete. I tried to finish whatever 'scene' or moment I was on once I reached a particular length.
Author: orange_rotted
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1756
Pairings: Stiles/Derek- Teen Wolf
Summary: Stiles and Derek banter... in between somewhere they become women, that ol' chestnut.
“Stiles, you idiot! Only you would choose the most obviously cursed door out of the many, many doors!”
If Derek wasn’t so angry, Stiles would almost be impressed that he could string so many words together. Hell, he’d outdone himself - two, (well, one and a half really) sentences. But now isn’t the time to remark on Derek’s new personal best.
They are standing in a densely wooded forest when just before they’d most definitely been indoors, in a very large warehouse in fact, one that was no longer anywhere in their vicinity.
All that aside though, there is a much larger issue at present.
Derek and, with a quick grope and look down, Stiles it seemed, are missing very vital elements of their masculinity and are instead sporting very obvious signs of femininity.
Stiles had always wondered what it would be like to have his own set of breasts, but goddamn it universe, that was all the hypothetical meanderings of a desperate virginal teenage boy! Besides that, he seemed to have been robbed in that department anyway. He had a B-cup at best, meanwhile Mr Grumpy-Pants had scored big time with a really nice pair.
“I’m a 147 pound 16 year-old,” says Stiles in the most matter-of-fact voice he can muster, “and you’re a 6 foot giant werewolf with muscles growing their very own set of muscles. I couldn’t force you to do anything if I tried!”
He stamps his foot, just in case the message isn’t clear.
You’d think a female version of Derek wouldn’t be able to match the male-counterpart’s usual growly, angry, I’m-going-to-rip-your-throat-out expression, but nope, there it is. All pointy teeth and eyebrows.
“Okay, I concede,” says Stiles with his hands in the air, “Totally my fault. 100% my bad.”
Derek just rolls his eyes as he turns and walks away.
“That’s okay Stiles, I forgive you, we’ll work this out together, like the great team that we are,” mumbles Stiles to himself as he trails behind the now wonderfully curvy shape of Derek as he traipses off through the undergrowth.
He catches a glimpse of Derek’s fists clenching.
Stupid werewolf hearing. He’s probably going to regret that later.
***
By the time they reach the welcome sight of Dr Deaton’s practice, the sun is peeking its dastardly bright and unwelcome face over the horizon. Stiles is quite fed up with having to hold his too baggy jeans up over his much smaller waist and he had already needed to pee - twice. What was an easy one-step zipper maneuver was now a complex squat and aim affair. Not to mention the harrowing realisation of why women go through toilet paper so fast and having to then deal with his lack there-of. All in all an unpleasant experience, and one he hoped could later be disposed of in an inaccessible, cobwebby region of his memory.
While Stiles had struggled with his new alien body, Derek appeared completely unphased by this minor hiccup and had continued on at a merry (read: brisk and accelerated) pace. Derek’d seemingly forgotten that Stiles was in fact not a werewolf and instead a mere mortal with a weak bladder,and forged onwards in his usual stoic fashion.
“Oh my god, how is it already day,” says Stiles to a completely disinterested Derek, “my dad is going to kill me.”
“Don’t you think we have bigger problems than that Stiles,” throws Derek over his shoulder as he knocks, with far more force than is strictly necessary, on the door.
Everything is very quiet for a while and a slow panic begins to rise in Stiles, but after a few moments he hears the clatter of bottles and the smart tap tap of boots on the floor and he finally takes in a breath. He needed to stop doing that when he’s nervous, breathing’s pretty important and all Stiles, he reminds himself.
The door opens and the welcome sight of Dr Deaton’s majestic goatee and beard combo comes into view.
“I’m sorry girls, but we’re not open till 9:00 today,” he says.
Ah yeah, Stiles had forgotten the whole, we’re actually girls now, part.
“Deaton, it’s us,” growls Derek as he pushes his way past and into the reception area of the vet practice.
“You idiot Derek,” says Stiles in an exasperated tone, “if he knew who us was, we wouldn’t be in this mess -- It’s Stiles,” he says as he looks back to the stunned face of Deaton, “and I don’t know how you didn’t recognise that sour wolf over there.”
Oh, there’s that face again. The teeth and everything, you’d think Stiles would be accustomed to it by now.
“Actually now that you say that…” Deaton begins as he inclines his head to take a closer look.
“Deaton,” Derek growls out, “How do we fix this?”
“Ahh, yes, come with me.”
Deaton leads them through the reception area and into his office at the far corner of the building. They can hear the yipping and mewling of cats and dogs through the doors.
“Okay, first of all you guys’ll have to give me a bit more information to go on,” says Deaton as he does that half-sit, half-stand thing on the corner of his desk.
“Alright, so last night Derek and I were chasing up a lead for those disappearances that’ve been happening, did Scott tell you? Anyway, so Boyd found some scraps of voodoo magic while he was working at his night job, but couldn’t get a moment away from the site to check out what was up, so Derek and I snuck in to have a look around, but there was this terrifying, salivary, red-eyed, pig… thing that started to chase us, it was disgusting, truly. If bacon wasn’t so delicious - ”
Ahem.
“Not the point, okay. So we had to run around this huge compound place and I figured if we went into one of the larger warehouses, we could lose it there. And let me just state for the record that I was right,” says Stiles with a triumphant side glance at Derek, “but when we got into this room with lots of doors, clearly we chose a cursed one cause next thing I know, we’re in the middle of nowhere and Derek and I have parts that we definitely didn’t have before.”
He gesticulates wildly at his general torso and crotch region.
“What Stiles isn’t telling you,” says Derek in a voice that rings with pure exasperation, “is that the door Stiles led us through had a frame of some weird light blue wood I’ve never seen before, with some engravings marked around the edges.”
“In my defense, I thought nobody would be so stupid to make it so obvious the door was cursed. Also, in case you don’t remember we were being chased by a demon pig. I figured whoever was doing their bit of hocus pocus rigged one of the other doors instead as a trick! Turns out, people are actually that obvious. Go figure.”
“People so stupid that they walk through it and end up like this!” Bites back Derek as he gestures to his very-womanly person.
“Do either of you - ,” says Deaton as he tries to get back the bickering pairs’ attention. It doesn’t quite work, so he raises his voice and repeats, “Do either of you remember what these runes looked like? I think I have an idea of what’s happened, but seeing the markings would help confirm my theory.”
“I don’t remember all of them,” says Stiles as he walks around the office grabbing a pen from the drawer and a notebook that was sitting on top of a filing cabinet, “but I saw this one repeated a couple times around the door handle.”
He begins to draw what he can remember, a strange combination of lines and symbols and shapes. He can feel as Derek and Deaton lean over his shoulder to look at what he’s drawing, and Hello, those are definitely a pair of boobs pressing into his back. So, so weird.
“Ahhh, yes,” says Deaton once Stiles finishes up and hands him the piece of paper, “Just as I thought. You’ll see these three lines here, joined with that heptagon shape. This tells me it’s an ancient Haitian rune and that makes sense since I would guess the type of wood you saw was Blue Mahoe, it’s only grown in plantations in the Caribbean...”
Derek and Stiles exchange a look that clearly says to the other ‘that’s great and all Deaton, but would ya mind telling us what the hell it all means,’ while Deaton rambles on.
Naturally, Stiles is the first one to get impatient with Deaton’s detailed analysis of the ancient runes and cult of witchcraft from the African colonies. “Deaton, for the love of God, all I wanna know is how I get my own body back. As beautiful and sexy as Derek looks right now, I’m sure he’d also rather his own hairy body back.”
“What, it’s true,” mouths Stiles when he sees the dirty look Derek throws his way.
“Ah yes, of course,” says Deaton apologetically, “Well, the good news is that I think this was probably more of a practical joke than anything malicious.”
“A practical joke, oh yes, so hilarious,” deadpans Stiles, “look at how much I’m laughing.”
“It’s only temporary, I’m not sure exactly how long it’ll last considering Derek’s lycanthropy and your propensity towards magic, but I imagine no more than three or four days.”
“Three or four days!?” cries Stiles. “I’m surprised my dad doesn’t already have half the town out looking for me, how the hell am I supposed to hide this for that long!”
“Shut up, Stiles. You’ll just have to hide out at mine for a few days until we figure out a story to tell your dad,” says Derek with the air of a man suggesting something he’s never wanted to do less in any universe, ever.
“Oh yeah, Derek. Sounds like a blast. I couldn’t think of anything more fun,” replies Stiles.
“Whatever, thanks for that Deaton,” says Derek as he starts walking out. “Are you coming or not, Stiles?”
Stiles just grumbles in response as he starts off in the direction Derek went and Deaton hears little snippets of “fuck you” and “stupid asshole” as the odd pair pass him through the door of his office.
What Deaton wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in the Hale house this week.
Author's Note: This was written as Part 1 of my "Tasting Plate of Sterek" for a university assignment, which is why the next three fics I'm posting will feel a little incomplete. I tried to finish whatever 'scene' or moment I was on once I reached a particular length.