#derekjordan

[softranswolves]

Top Teen Wolf Ships - Derek

3. Derek/Jordan

[queerebrum]

@theb1te, @newtsnogitsune these two went together exceedingly well for me, so I combined them. Thank you both!! There’s a war in Derek’s mind. It’s a war between the parts of him he can control, and the parts of him he cannot. It’s a war between the man he’s become and the fragile child he once was, standing silent and terrified as he watched flames lick the sky and turn his family to dust. He wasn’t even in the fire. He and Laura only found out once they’d started towards home, heard the sirens, and smelled the smoke. There had been firefighters there already, but the Hale house was secluded enough that by the time they’d arrived it had already been too late. Derek had watched helplessly as the flames burned through the part of his chest reserved for pack bonds and familial love, leaving behind nothing but a charred hole inside of him.  He was no longer a child when the people he now considered his friends, his family threw Molotov cocktails at his uncle. They unknowingly creating a hybrid kind of monster that it took every ounce of Derek’s anger and hatred – holding fast to the image of Laura’s open, haunted eyes – to push past and eliminate. Fire has always cut him deeper than anything else. Deeper, even, then the scent of French perfume and the wicked smile on plump pink lips.

Over the past few hours the ring of fire trapping him where he stands, seems to grow closer even though Derek knows it had been lit in a fixed circle by the hunters to contain him. They could be Kates or Monroe’s or Araya’s, Derek can’t tell the difference at this point. They all want him dead.

There was a time – in the dark months after Scott and Erica and Boyd and Isaac all suffered under his hands, after Cora came back only to find a disappointment and left, after he watched the pack crumble under the heavy loss of Allison, who was everything Kate never was – where Derek would have agreed with them.  But he isn’t that person anymore. Now, he has a pack that loves him, an alpha he trusts with his life. He has friends, a family again. He’s scraped away the festering wound in his heart and taken the risk of revealing new, tender flesh. And he hasn’t been let down yet – they’ve come through for him time, and time again. His vision swims, tears that might have fallen evaporating with the heat of the flames. He desperately – helplessly – searches for an escape that does not exist. He can’t hear anything over the roar of the flames and the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He sinks to his knees, wrapping his arms over his head, trying futilely to protect himself from once more burning – this time literally rather than metaphorically. Suddenly, there’s a voice in his ear. It takes Derek a moment to remember how to breathe, how to hear, how to do anything but hide. “Derek,” the voice says. “Derek, come on, get up, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Arms wrap around him from the back, another person on their knees, holding Derek tightly even as he shakes.  As the flames die, extinguished by some unknown force, the room that had been lit by them grows dark. Derek focuses on trying to breathe, lifting his head and blinking his eyes open slowly, cautiously. He glances down at the hands that hold him. Hands he knows, hands he trusts with his life and with more. His nose is full of the scent of ash and gasoline, but he can hear now, a familiar cadence of a heartbeat and breathing.  Derek doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he turns to face the person holding him. Jordan’s face is pinched with concern, his green eyes narrowed, his hair a mess. He’s mostly naked, Derek notes absently. It’s far from the first time he’s seen Jordan like this, covered in ash and dust and all the things he normally fears, but doesn’t where Jordan is concerned. Jordan burns, but unlike fire, Jordan has never hurt him. Jordan would never hurt him. Derek opens his mouth but still can’t find words and Jordan’s expression softens. He leans forward to press their foreheads together. “You’re safe now, Derek. We got here as soon as we could. I’m sorry.”  Derek isn’t quite sure what Jordan is sorry for, but he just accepts it, allowing his head to slip from resting against Jordan’s to laying against the hellhounds’s too-warm shoulder, face buried in his neck. Jordan rests his chin on Derek’s temple and allows him the quiet moment. There are likely others in the room, but Derek doesn’t care. He’s been through a whirlwind of emotions in the last minutes, fear and helplessness, despair, panic, and then this heavy, exhausting wave of relief.  It’s hour’s later, curled between Jordan’s legs on the couch, freshly showered, that Derek remembers the sequence of events. “You walked through the fire to get to me,” he says quietly.  Jordan’s hand, fingers trailing lightly up and down Derek’s bicep, stills. A chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Fire can’t hurt me,” he reminds Derek quietly. “I had to get to you. I knew you were probably terrified.”

Derek has known, subconsciously, that this was true. Jordan is a hellhound, he lights himself on fire regularly. No man-made flame could hurt him. But, it isn’t until this moment, still reeling from the events of the day, that Derek lets the weight of that fact settle, heavy and comforting in the same way Jordan’s embrace had been earlier.

Fire has taken so much from Derek. It has ravaged his life and his soul, warped him into a person he hated. He’d used the fire, the pain, as an awful excuse for hurting others.

Fire had destroyed Derek, and he built himself back up from the ashes. He’s earned a place int he pack, earned a place here, safe in Jordan’s apartment, in his arms, in his life. 

And Jordan is impervious to fire. Fire has taken everything from Derek, but not this, never the man he loves. He smiles, the first of the day, and presses his lips against Jordan’s softly. 

[queerebrum]

what we've got going is good | Jordan/Derek (Darrish) | 1.1k | Panty Kink | Rated T. Also, I blame @luulapants

If Derek was human, he might actually be concerned about how fast his heart was beating as he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the swath of black silk sitting just feet away from him. They were barely distinguishable from the black bed covers, but he knew it was there, like someone had outlined the pair of silk panties in his mind.

His throat clenched every time he swallowed, tight with fear, with anxiety, with hope.

It had been years since he even thought about doing something like this. The memories had hit him unexpectedly days ago; flashes of himself as a young teenager, dressed in a pair of Laura’s panties that had somehow made it into his laundry. He remembered staring at himself in the mirror with the brightest, widest smile. He felt pretty. His mom had always called Laura and Cora pretty, but there, alone in his bedroom, Derek had felt pretty too. That memory had been lost for years. It had burned to ash with the rest of his family.

He’d told Laura about it once, when they were in New York. He’d told her about wearing her panties and feeling pretty and she’d laughed her bright, warm laugh and told him that she loved him and she thought he was pretty no matter what.

That memory had been cut in half and buried deep in the ground, surrounded by a spiraled wolfbane rope and bathed in blood.

But both of them had come back to him suddenly, seemingly out of the blue. He’d been clicking around on Jordan’s computer ordering pizza when he’d somehow miraculously hit a magical combination of keys that reopened a closed web page. As soon as the noise had started playing Jordan had whipped around, eyes wide and face red, babbling an apology and snatching the computer away from Derek as if he’d done something wrong.

Derek didn’t remember what exactly happened next, too busy lost in the throes of memories triggered by seeing men in panties on a porn site. A site that Jordan had clearly looked at at some point.

Which is how now, with less than a half hour til Jordan was due home from work, Derek is sitting on the hellhound’s bed staring at a pair of black silk panties that he’d ordered off the internet, because contrary to popular belief he did know how the internet worked.

Jordan was into men in panties, or at least, he’d looked at them. And then he’d been embarrassed that Derek had seen it. It didn’t give Derek the most confidence that this was a good idea, but after remembering as viscerally as he had, he felt like he owed it to his thirteen-year-old self to at least try.

Jordan loved him, or at least, that’s what he said. He loved Derek and they didn’t hurt each other. Jordan smiled at Derek and told him he loved him and he’d never pushed past a line that Derek set down. Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as cherished as he did with Jordan.

(If he thought really hard, it probably coincided with the last time he’d even considered wearing panties. Laura. Laura had been the last person who had been thankful for Derek the way Jordan was.)

For Laura, Derek decided, reaching out to snatch the panties off the bed. He’d do it for her.

--

Derek heard the door open and Jordan called out, “Der? Are you here?”

Drawing in a breath and throwing one last glance at the mirror, Derke called back, “In here.”

Dutifully, Derek heard Jordan stop to take his shoes off, and the clicking of the gun safe as he tucked away his service weapon. Anticipation built in Derek’s chest but he couldn't help the tiny quirk in his lips. He tried to draw in a long breath but then, Jordan’s footsteps started back towards the bedroom.

Derek couldn’t bring himself to look, standing in the middle of Jordan’s bedroom in nothing but a piece of black silk that barely contained his dick and showed the bottom of his ass cheeks. He knew his face was burning red, all the way to the tip of his ears. He was glad – not for the first time – that Jordan wasn’t a werewolf. He knew his scent was laced with fear and anxiety and frankly, he was sick of smelling himself.

“Derek…” Jordan spoke softly, stepping into the bedroom.

Derek kept his gaze firmly on the floor. “I just...the other day, your computer. I thought…”

“You look amazing,” Jordan whispered, incredulity and wonder in his voice. “Can I…” Derek finally turned his head to look at him, and let himself take in the bright smile and soft expression on Jordan’s face. The hellhound’s hands were at chest level, extended towards Derek. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah,” Derek replied quietly, air finally rushing into his lungs in relief as arousal spiked in Jordan’s scent. “Yeah, you can touch me.”

Jordan’s hands were always surprisingly soft and he touched Derek like he was fragile, like he was something breakable and not a born werewolf. Nobody had ever touched Derek like that before Jordan. Derek resisted the tears – of contentment, relief, fuck, of Joy – that threatened to spring into his eyes as Jordan rested his hands gently at Derek’s hips, thumbing the waistband of the panties softly.

“Did you...do this just for me?” Jordan asked, leaning close and resting his forehead against Derek’s.

“Not...just,” Derek replied softly. “I...Used to steal my sisters panties. I liked to feel pretty. When I was younger, before… everything.”

“Well, you certainly look pretty.” Jordan’s face cracked into that incredulous smile again and Derek felt his own smile widen. Jordan’s hands moved around, gripping lightly at Derek’s ass through the thin material. It tugged the silk against his dick, which was starting to take notice of the situation and Derek let out a little sigh of pleasure.

“God, pretty isn’t even strong enough.” Jordan whispered, their foreheads and his hands on Derek’s ass still their only points of contact. “Do you feel pretty, Der?”

Derek glanced to the side, at the full length mirror he’d pulled out from behind the door while he was waiting for Jordan to get home. It leaned against the dresser and currently it reflected them from the chest down. Jordan’s beige uniform against Derek’s warm skin, Jordan’s hands contrasting with the dark silk against the curve of Derek’s ass. “I think so.”

“Let me show you.” Jordan whispered. Derek tore his eyes away from the mirror to see hunger in his boyfriends eyes. “Let me show you how pretty you are to me.” Derek’s cock hardened further, pressing against the silk, cursing another quiet moan to slip from his mouth at the sensation of smooth silk against him.

“Please,” he whispered. “Show me.”

[literaryoblivion]

Remembered Identity

Mainly, these pictures (nsfw-ish) are to blame, plus the episode this week, which lead to this tweet and Twitter thread. Also yay for a new pairing I'm writing (Derek/Parrish). So yeah, enjoy! 

Derek always knew that the Sheriff’s new deputy looked familiar, but he could never place him. He knew he’d seen that face before, those eyes, those lips, that smile, but with all the crap he’s been through the last few years, smiles and faces tend to blur together or become bloody and vacant. It doesn’t help that he only knows him as Deputy Parrish and only ever sees him in his uniform.

So when he gets a look at the second list Lydia cracked and sees the first name of Deputy Parrish on the list, it all comes flooding back to him. He knows exactly where he’s seen him before and why he’s on the list. No wonder he could never remember before. It’s because when he had known him, he had significantly less clothing and went by Jailbait Jordan and answered to various other nicknames that make Derek’s ears turn red.

Parrish is on the list not because he’s a supernatural creature, per say, but because he’s well acquainted with the supernatural world and just how tight to squeeze or hard to suck or what to say or smell like or how to move to really get a werewolf going. The more Derek thinks about it and remembers all those times he went to the werewolf-only strip club, the hotter he gets and he feels like he’s going to suffocate.

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