- Kingdom Hearts (1)
Derek picks up another glass of champagne, and that’s when he sees him. A man stands at the edge of the room, chewing his lip and staring at the dance floor longingly.
Every person walks past him. Derek must have done it a hundred times this evening.
Derek is not one for dancing, but at a ball he meets Stiles, an orphan, and he becomes quickly attached. He does not care what other people think about Stiles' wealth and status, but it's a lot harder for Stiles to ignore the comments that have haunted him his whole life.
It's even harder to convince Stiles that Derek's feelings are genuine.
Bookmarked by WhatsNewPussycat
14 Nov 2018
Derek hires Stiles, a professional alpha sex therapist, to help him through his heat.
- Part 1 of In Treatment 'verse
Stiles hasn’t seen Derek Hale this close up for over a decade. He looks almost exactly the same, except somehow he seems even bigger and broodier—criminally handsome, with soft-looking dark scruff, heavy brows, light hazel eyes. His gaze zeros in on Stiles almost immediately, and his scowl lightens minutely in what looks like surprise.
Stiles is acutely aware that he has melted butter and cinnamon all over his face, and tries to surreptitiously wipe it with the ends of his sweater-sleeve.
The a/b/o bakery au with feelings
“We can’t just leave him here to die.”
“He’s an emissary, Scott.” Derek tried to make his tone empathetic, but Scott’s tendency to fight back on everything always grated on his nerves. “His pack is gone, he won’t survive more than a day or two either way.”
“Then we should stay with him.”
Derek sighed as he studied the man for a moment; he was too pale against the fur rim of his hood, almost grey from lying out in the snow, and his cloak was stained with dark dried blood around a protruding arrow shaft. It was unlikely he would even last the night. They would probably be able to carry on in the morning with little time lost, if any.
It wasn’t a horrible idea, Derek decided reluctantly. They hadn’t been able to set up a real camp for a few weeks in the open foothills, and they were all on edge from sleeping in exposed areas. A defensible place to sleep would be good for them, even if they were surrounded by death. They would be able to give the pack proper burials, at the very least.
“Fine. One night,” Derek relented, already moving away to check on Isaac. “He’s your responsibility.”
The young man is standing with an arm casually thrown up to lean against the door frame, displaying his bare torso to advantage, his powerful swimmer's shoulders and lean body pale with moonlight. His cocky grin, however, is fading quickly into a look of shock and confusion. Other than a pelt shaped into a sloppy kilt, his legs are bare too, despite the chill winds coming in off the ocean.
"You're not a girl," he says in a gently lilting accent that's like an odd blend of all the coastal voices Derek's ever heard, squinting at Derek like his eyes might somehow be deceiving him.
Unlikely, given his dark beard and broad, well-muscled shoulders, let alone what he's got under his kilt.