Derek had not had a clue that this was something that actually existed.
Five times Derek knotted Stiles, and one time, well. You can see what's going to happen here, right?
"Derek!" Stiles yelled across the court, side-step running along the side. "Derek, look at me!"
Derek finally looked up, disappointment in his eyes and shame evident in the way he slouched his shoulders as he jogged down the court. Stiles held up his fingers, pointing them right at his eyes and then back at Derek, "You got this, baby. You understand me? You're doing so good." Derek paused in the middle of the court, putting his hands on his knees and breathing deeply. The rest of the team continued down the court, chasing the ball down as it neared the other team's basket.
After a moment, Derek nodded, making firm eye contact with Stiles and nodding determinedly. Stiles nodded back, resembling that of a bobble head and said, conviction in his voice, "Yeah, baby that's it. Now stand the fuck up! Push those goddamn shoulders back!"
Derek complied, hands clenched by his sides.
"Now, win this fucking game, Derek!"
Fresh out of his student teaching experience, Derek feels drawn back to Beacon Hills for the first time since he and his sisters ran seven years ago. Laura and Cora don’t understand his insistence on returning to the place where they lost nearly everything, and Derek can’t say he really understands it either. Until his first day as a teacher at Beacon Hills High, when a twelve-year-old genius with big brown eyes and a ridiculous name walks into his classroom and turns Derek’s entire world on its head.
Derek looked at the time and sighed. One more hour until he could go pick up Alex and go home. It was Friday, and Fridays were their nights, so they were going to eat Chinese food and watch Beauty and the Beast for the thousand time and probably play a game together, and he couldn’t wait.
Someone knocked on his open door and he startled a little as he was pulled out of his head. Stiles smiled at him from the doorway.
”Hey, professor Hale,” he said.
”Mr Stilinski,” Derek said and tried to keep his smile professionally polite.
Every time he talked to Stiles he had to remind himself that he was his student, that while he was 18, and legal in that aspect, he was still ten years younger than Derek, Sheriff Stilinski’s son, and again, his student.
Bookmarked by Lenna213
03 Apr 2018