Derek/Stiles, AU where: a) everyone knows about werewolves, b) werewolves do a full-shift, and c) everyone thinks Derek is dead.
Stuff Stiles doesn’t like to deal with first thing: hot, moist dog breath in his face, a cuddly werewolf creepifying his perfectly normal morning wood with shades of bestiality, and his dad holding his service revolver up against the skull of his bedmate, never mind the fact that his bedmate could possibly be a vicious unhinged rogue omega.
A/N: This is completely random, I just like writing Derek as a wolf. Title is from The Hush Sound. I’m pretty sure there’s another fic by that name, but for once I’m not obsessing about it.