Disclaimer: Teen Wolf (sadly) belongs to MTV and Jeff Davis
Warning: this story is rated M for cursing
Emotions are highly inconvenient, to say the least.
That's one of the reasons Derek kept his feelings closed off like a cursed princess locked in a castle with a massive dragon.
The irony of his anchor currently being anger is not lost on him either, but it's a lot easier not to acknowledge the guilt that weights him down every day. That it's his fault his family is dead. To deal with the constant sadness and loneliness he feels, and wallow in it, especially when you have crap you need to do. Crap that metaphorically entails pissing on trees in the woods near his burnt house to mark his territory so crazy bitches who may or may not have slept with him don't kill people in it.
He figures the next time he has sex with someone or some poor unfortunate soul falls in love with his looks, he's probably either going to die or cause a war, and not the Breaking Dawn kind of war (Laura appreciated the irony of sparkly vampires and shirtless buffed werewolves, okay?). He's resigned to his fate.
Which leads him to his current predicament of using his superpowers for good and investigating ('It's not stalking if it saves people from dying, Stiles') what may very well be the town's next Big Bad.
After five minutes of broodily watching the possibly evil woman shopping for lingerie (which whoa. awkward), he's bored out of his mind and cursing his shitty luck.
After fifteen minutes and no sign of the woman having any intent of leaving the store, he's certain she's evil.
Whenever he did stakeouts with Laura, they usually picked a random (and often ridiculous) theme to argue about to avoid tearing each others hair out to keep the boredom and weariness at bay.
Doing it alone couldn't be much different, right?
Right.
So, food.
(He's spending too much time with constantly hungry teenager boys who are constantly raiding his fucking pantry.)
He likes food. He needs food to live. He's pretty sure everyone likes food. In fact, his pack fucking loves food. Stiles included. He's like the cookie monster of curly fries. It's both disgusting and impressive how many curly fries he can fit in his mouth, to the point where he looks like a guilty chipmunk whenever Derek glares at his poor table manners. It's not arousing at all when he licks his fingers, chasing the taste of diabetes. Nope. He also does not appreciate his long, (probably) soft strands of hair, nor his warm and mischievous almond shaped chocolate brown eyes. Also, when did he become such a fucking sap?
So maybe he's slightly attractive. Big fucking deal. He's still a little shit who steals his spot on the couch at pack meetings, insists on watching Disney movies on nights of the full moon and when the pack is hurt or feeling restless, and is insanely afraid of being left alone by the people he loves (he can relate).
That doesn't mean he likes Stiles.
…
Yeah, okay. So he's in love with Stiles Fucking Stilinski but that still doesn't- wait what the fuck?
"So you're basically saying you realized you're in love with Stiles in front of a Victoria's Secret store?"
The carpet in his living room has never been a more fascinating piece of furniture in his life. He admires it for who knows how long while Erica laughs at his misery.
Oh look, that stain of blood from the harpy encounter is still there. Someone needs to clean that up.
"Oh my God, Derek! Your life is like a bad soap opera and a romantic comedy mixed together with a supernatural bonus to keep things spicy."
He musters a scowl and it must be pretty intimidating, since Erica actually looks slightly guilty and ashamed. Good to know he's still capable of brewing a healthy amount of fear and respect in his pack's hearts so- oh that's not good.
Erica's smirking like an evil cartoon character. Her creepy smirking would give Peter a run for his money.
Not good at all.
"Seriously", Derek sighs dejectedly, "how is this even my life?"
"Don't worry, Der-bear, "she winked playfully, "I have a plan."
Notes: this is my first Sterek fanfiction, so if it sucks, my bad...
