Be that person en We Heart It. http://weheartit.com/entry/72102964/via/paola_vanialopez
Very cool seeing his early work. He’s lost a lot of weight…
derekhaie asked: prompt: the worst drunk voicemail a person could recieve when they wake up hungover. have fun with that, drunkie.
Stiles blinks wearily. “Turn off the sun,” he says blindly, trying to cover himself with the blanket, but it does little to block out the brightness. It doesn’t make sense, Stiles’ own bedroom does not face the east, thank God, and he tries to just flop wearily back under the covers, his brain trying to catch up with why he’s sleeping somewhere not in his own bedroom.
"Gah," Stiles splutters, his mouth feeling dry and he blinks when his eyes adjust for the first time and he tries to make sense of where he is.
He’s in Derek’s loft. Derek’s loft, with its wall of windows facing the rising sun, Derek’s loft, as in belonging to Derek, resident grumpiest former Alpha of them all, just, what.
Stiles also realizes he’s not wearing anything besides a faded gray henley that obviously doesn’t belong to him. What. He twitches, bare ass rubbing against the soft sheets of the bed— Derek’s bed, his mind provides helpfully, but it’s really not that helpful., considering Stiles has no idea what happened yesterday or why he’s next-to-naked in Derek’s bed.
He finds his jeans sprawled weirdly on the floor across the loft when he gets up to use the bathroom; along with it, his phone, which has the worst possible voicemail in the history of voicemails:
Stiles. Don’t leave the loft no matter what. I’m sorry. We’re tracking down the incubus right now. Don’t leave. Please. Just. I’m sorry it had to be you. Just. Stiles, don’t leave, okay?
It’s Derek’s voice, broken and wretched, pleading in a way Stiles has never heard before. He doesn’t know what has happened, or what the incubus has done, but something in that tone of voice cuts him deep inside— makes him wonder— what happened?
A summary of my OTP’s: fifty shades of gay