mermaid-reyes:

mermaid-reyes:

a thought:

Derek loses a bet with Erica, and so the next time he goes to Starbucks he has to order “one coffee, as black as my soul” with a completely straight face. 3 minutes later the barista hands him a giant latte with extra whipped cream and a marshmallow on top, with a completely straight face.

(Obviously Stiles is the barista, what were you expecting?)

yeah so i ended up writing it here you go

A small bell tinkles above the door when Derek walks into the coffee shop, its sweet ring followed closely by a poorly muffled snort. Derek looks to his left and finds his friends congregated on an overstuffed sofa, because of course they’re here for this. He doesn’t even know how they knew he was doing this now but he strongly suspects Cora’s involvement. She was acting smug this morning. More smug than usual.

Isaac is trying to act nonchalant, like he has no idea Derek is even there, but with half his face stuffed into his scarf and his eyes watering with mirth it’s not exactly an Oscar-winning performance. Boyd… actually looks legitimately disinterested by the whole ordeal, flipping slowly through a textbook with a pen behind his ear. Erica is clutching an iced drink in both hands and staring blatantly at Derek, wiggling her eyebrows. Typical.

Derek huffs a breath through his nose and approaches the counter.

“Hi, how can I help you?” the redhead manning the cash register asks, her nails tapping a sharp beat against the touchscreen.

Derek scowls and replies, “One coffee, as black as my soul.”

Giggles erupt behind him.

The redhead raises an eyebrow. Judges him. So hard.

There’s an amused sounding ‘what the hell’ and then a boy with messy hair and big, brown eyes sticks his head out from behind the coffee machine. He looks Derek up and down, slowly, the grin on his face getting wider and wider, then glances at the redhead, says “you heard the man, Lyds”, and ducks back behind the coffee machine.

Derek feels his ears burning as ‘Lyds’ rings him up, accepts his cash, and directs him towards the far end of the counter with a lazy flick of her fingers. 

Derek mouths ‘I hate you so much’ at Erica as he walks over. She blows him kisses. 

It’s mid-morning, time sandwiched between the breakfast and lunch rushes, so it doesn’t take long for Derek’s order to be up. To his complete mortification, the boy from before calls out “one coffee, as black as your soul!” He’s really good at projecting his voice. He’s evil. 

Derek pulls his eyebrows so far down he can barely see through them and glares daggers at him. The guy calmly hands over his order, face straight and smile pleasant. 

Derek looks down and his black coffee is huge. And decidedly not black. And there’s a mound of whipped cream roughly as big as his own face squeezed on top, all fluffy and white. And nestled among this small nation of cream is a single marshmallow. A pink one.

“Um,” Derek says.

“A coffee, just a black as your soul is,” the barista replies.

Derek looks back up at him and sees his mask of polite professionalism cracking, his mouth twitching at the corners. His really lush, soft-looking mouth. Pink as the marshmallow. Pink as Derek’s ears, probably, at this point. 

“Dude, I’m friends with Scott McCall,” he says.

This means absolutely nothing to Derek.

“Scott?” the guy continues. “Who works at Dr. Deaton’s clinic?”

Derek’s eyes go wide without his permission and he can feel the heat spreading from his ears all the way down the back of his neck. 

“Yeah,” the guy says with a smirk. “I know who you are. I know you brought in that litter of abandoned kittens last week.” He leans his upper body all the way over the counter and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I know you named them after the Golden Girls.”

“They, uh, they were very vocal,” Derek mumbles. “They had attitudes.”

The guy laughs delightedly, his head leaned backed, gazing at Derek through feathery eyelashes. “My point exactly. I know just how dark your soul is.”

Then he scoops up some of Derek’s whipped cream on his pinkie finger and sticks it into his mouth. He pulls it out slowly, shoots Derek a wink, and then saunters back toward the register, his ass swaying underneath his apron. 

When Derek manages to regain control of his body and turn around he finds his friends staring at him. Even Boyd. 

“I am going to rip you throat out. With my teeth,” he hisses at Erica. 

“You’re going to buy me a fucking Cake Pop bouquet, is what you’re going to do,” she replies, stirring her slushy drink with her straw. 

He probably will.