Also known as “kinkajou went through the “feral” tag on AO3 8 times”
Any likeness to fic is extremely possible, recs are very welcome my bookmarks are useless because I’m a mess and I never find anything again later
ETA: this is a fic that like 99% accurately goes with the art so prob where my brain got it from 🙂
Lock All The Doors Behind You (25960 words) by entanglednow Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Erica Reyes, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore Additional Tags: Feral Behavior, Violence, Aftermath of Torture, Protectiveness, Hurt/Comfort Summary:
He has no idea what you’re supposed to say when you find one of your…werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they’re about to see what your insides taste like. There’s no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.
p.s.
Happy Birthday, @ashtray-thief Well, happy not-your-birthday-anymore, here, have this thing that I don’t know if you’ll like…? *hides*
The Sun to Rise (7.5k) Alternate Universe; Sleep Deprivation; Emissary Stiles; Alpha Derek; Imaginary Friends that aren’t so Imaginary
Stiles has an imaginary friend. He’s kind of a dick.
“Are you stalking me?” he asked, lying in bed one Saturday morning and staring at the ceiling before he had to get to the office. The sun was barely up.
Lying beside him, Derek snorted, and said, “No, I’m not stalking you.”
“Are you lying?” Stiles asked, because there was a stranger lying in his bed.
“No.”
Stiles turned his head to look at him, and Derek did the same. “Are you sure? Because this feels like stalking.”
Derek raised an eyebrow that clearly thought Stiles was an idiot. “I’m not stalking you.”
For the record, Stiles didn’t believe him, but he didn’t want to start his morning on a fight.
A basaltic lava flow has invaded a house, flowing in through the window to form a stony sofa. We’re not 100% sure whether the house was constructed around this or not, but it’s hard to believe the house would have survived it, and you can see that this flow has been there long enough for some plants to colonize it.
I don’t know why you feel I’ve spoiled you, but here you go! Bodyswap AU with plenty of feels (BECAUSE WHY NOT, AM I RIGHT?) 😀
When Stiles wakes up that morning, he isn’t in his own room. It takes him a while to realize it, but before he’s opened his eyes he knows something isn’t right. It’s too quiet for one thing, he can’t hear his dad puttering around getting ready for work, or the noise of Mrs. Gutiérrez loading her three screaming kids in the car. Instead there’s a preternatural stillness. The sheets smell different too and the mattress is harder than he’s used to, not the soft, slightly sunken-in-the-middle familiarity of his own bed. Stiles opens his eyes. Blinks.
He’s in Derek’s loft.
He’s in Derek’s bed.
Shit.
He sits up in bed blearily trying to focus, blinking as he looks about himself, brain still working it’s way online. Because this is— weird. His sheets are navy and dark gray, because of course they are. There’s a chrome lamp on the bedside table, a glass of water, and a book with a garish cover that provides the only spot of bright color in the room.
Genuinely, he has no idea how he got here, not one clue, the last thing he remembers he was in his own room revising calculus for his midterm tomorrow, and freaking out because, well—- Math, man. Lydia Martin he ain’t.
He’s pretty sure he stumbled into his own bed at 2AM, praying to any god that cared to listen that his math midterm would be suddenly and inexplicably cancelled. Which doesn’t explain how he ended up here in Derek freakin’ Hale’s bed. There’s no sign of the resident sourwolf. No hint of anyone at all actually—
Stiles scrubs a hand over his face and stills, eyes going wide.
“What the hell?” Stiles jolts as he hears his voice. Clutches at his throat. That isn’t the way he’s supposed to sound, but then— oh god. He stares down at hands that are definitely, definitely not his own, the palms are broader, the fingers shorter but thicker. With a yelp he scrambles out of the bed, still tangled in the sheets, falls to the floor with a thud, picks himself up and races to the bathroom, where he knows there’s a mirror. “Shit.”
Derek Hale stares back at him.
“Shit!” Stiles hisses clutching wildly at Derek’s face. “Motherfucker. What the fucking fuck is going on?”
He hesitates eyes catching on the way Derek’s mouth forms the word fuck. The way it sounds. Mama Hale must have been strict about language because in two years they’ve known each other, he’s never heard Derek swear. “Fuck,” he says again experimentally, peering at himself under the harsh light of the bathroom. Then just because he can— “Shitballs. Dickface. Spunkbagel. I’m the sourwolf.” He poses a little hands on his hips, gives it the ol’ Blue Steel. “I AM the sourwolf alpha,” he intones, as dramatically possible. “Lick my balls.” He grins at himself. Derek’s face smiles back at him and Stiles flinches back a little.
God. Smiling Derek. That’s— a little too weird, even for him. And he shouldn’t get distracted. If he’s in Derek’s body then that probably means that Derek is—
A cell phone starts to ring. Stiles winces. It sounds shrill, and soooo loud. In the quiet and stillness of Derek’s apartment it almost hurts his ears. Werewolf senses, Stiles thinks to himself, shit.
He hurries out of the bathroom and locates Derek’s cell quick enough, swipes to answer the call.
“Hello?” he says.
“Stiles?” His own voice answers, but he knows immediately who it must be.
“Derek?”
“What did you do?” Stiles almost drops the phone at the injustice of the assumption.
“Me,” he squawks, gesturing imploringly at an imaginary audience. “Why is this my fault?”
“Well it isn’t mine,” Derek grits out.
“Hey, don’t grind my teeth, man,” Stiles says immediately. “It isn’t good for them.”
“I’m not grind–ugh—” Derek sighs. “Fix this.”
“I’m pretty sure I would have to know what happened in order to do that,” Stiles points out. “And I don’t.”
“Well I don’t either,” Derek points out. “And your dad just came in to ‘remind’ me that he’s giving you a lift to school this morning because your Jeep is still in the garage.”
“You need to get my body there on time, dude. I have a math midterm today. I can’t miss it.”
“Stiles—”
“You didn’t try and explain things to him?”
“What try and explain that his teenage son just swapped bodies with the guy he once arrested on suspicion of attempted murder?”
“Hey dude, you were exonerated.”
“Not the point! How are you not freaking out more about this?” Derek groans.
“I don’t know. Last night I was just worried about my math midterm. Now I don’t have to take it. I think Zeus answered my prayers, dude. Or maybe Thor. It’s a toss up. Anyway, it’s kind of a load off, not gonna lie.”
“Stiles!”
“You go to school, Der-Bear. I’ll look into this and have us swapped back lickety split.”
“Der-Bear?” Derek growls. “Lickety split?”
“I like listening to your voice say stuff it wouldn’t normally say. It amuses me.” He can hear Derek grinding his teeth again. “Dude, seriously, my teeth.”
“I am going to rip your teeth out and jam them up your—”
“Catch you later, bud,” Stiles says cheerfully, and ends the call.
Then after a moment’s thought, he texts Derek:
Send me a list of every place you went yesterday
I told you. This isn’t on me
Maybe but we need to cover all our bases
You won’t find anything
You want this fixed??? send me the goddamn list
Derek doesn’t reply immediately, and after about ten minutes Stiles texts again:
Derek. I’m the alpha now. Send me the list!!!!!!!!!
Five minutes later Derek texts back:
I was eating breakfast with your dad jackass
But he sends the goddamn list.
Stiles spends fifteen minutes trying, and failing, to master his beta shift in the bathroom mirror. Then gives it up as a lost cause and gets to work.
theproblemwithstardust 