Via we're brothers now
Some days you just wake up and think ‘I kinda want to draw a bathtub’ .. then things get out of hand.
A soak in a tub is probably called for after getting roughed up saving idiot werewolves. Ducks are not optional.
Betp, you should write fic for this. Please? *makes shiny eyes*
“Mrs. Duck,” Stiles addresses his rubber duck matter-of-factly. “If I die of internal bleeding tonight—”
“You’re not dying,” Derek says flatly.
Stiles ignores him. He goes on, “I’ve updated my will. I leave everything to you and Scott. Don’t let Derek have anything, because—”
“Not even your Star Wars figurines?”
“Because he’s an assclown who doesn’t deserve my mint-condition collectables!”
Derek turns, then, raises a pointed eyebrow at Stiles, who stares back acidly. He’s got a Spider-Man band-aid on his cheek and a Hello Kitty one on his forehead. “I’m an assclown?” Derek says. Stiles smirks, shrugs one soapy shoulder, all if the shoe fits. “An assclown.”
“Pop quiz,” Stiles says innocently to Mrs. Duck. “Who had all his ribs broken and needed to be dragged—literally dragged—into the Jeep?” Derek opens his mouth to respond, but Stiles adds loudly, “Spoiler alert: It wasn’t a beta or an omega.”
Derek huffs, turns away again.
“I bet you can guess it, Mrs. Duck. Tall, handsome, stupid, dumb, douchebag. Green eyes, shut up hair. It’s on the tip of your beak.”
“Shut up hair,” Derek says to the towel rack. “Shut up hair.”
“That’s an accurate descriptor for everything on you,” says Stiles.