that he himself does not become a monster.
My name's Jeydon, I'm a fanboy and this blog is completely dedicated to Teen Wolf. I ship everyone with everyone because how can you not. Hoechlin's stupid smile and Dylan's fucking hands are going to be the death of me.
Dylan O’brien poses with his Young Hollywood Award backstage at the 2014 Young Hollywood Awards.
Derek leans forward as Stiles’ eyes flutter open, touches his hand carefully.
Stiles scrunches his face up, squints at him groggily, “Who’re you?”
"I’m Derek," he says hesitantly, reminding himself the doctor did say this could happen. It’s not long term. It’s not a terrible spell gone wrong. Derek will be remembered by the most important person in his life eventually. He swallows hard, tries not to panic. "I’m your husband."
Stiles’ eyes go wide, “You’re what— you’re my— you?”
Derek tamps down on the flash of hurt, “Yeah, I’m sor—”
"Holy bananas, how’d I— how’d I get you to marry me? You’re so beautiful.”
Derek laughs, “So’re you.”
"Yeah, but," Stiles points weakly at Derek’s mouth, "Look at’your teeth, oh my god, how do they even— s’cute. Am I— Are you sure?”
"Pretty sure," Derek promises, squeezes his hand, "There was a ceremony and everything."
"What?" Stiles sits up a little, blinks wildly, "Did we really— I mean— really?"