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Inamorata

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 Sometimes, people had a weird fascination with his face.

Stiles didn’t think he was anything special. His hair was too fine, too thick to do anything other than just woke up with it. When he looked at people he got scared that he had shit on his face, like sleep stuck in the corner of his eye or something (Stiles liked sleep. Like really liked sleep) from how intensely they were glaring at him. Of the thirty omegas at Beacon Hills High he knew he wasn’t special. But sometimes people – alphas– stared at him. He’d gotten used to it, since he’d presented all those desperate, mortifying years ago, alphas haven’t stopped staring at him. Licking their lips. Rubbing their hands together and tucking a napkin- Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating just a tiny bit. But it wasn’t as much fun as the media painted – the marginally beta employed media. Seriously, Stiles’ had never met an omega to date who could actually rock a French-maid’s outfit, thigh highs and cook a steamy risotto whilst getting steamily fucked by some indistinguishable tall, handsome alpha from behind, panting and trying so hard not to scream because they weren’t allowed to but needed to so bad.

Maybe Stiles watched that online rather than the TV. With headphones in. But still.

Anyway, it was twenty nine now, twenty nine of them left. What with Erica getting claimed. Kinda threw the town into hysteria. If omegas were rare, alphas were even rarer. And parents were getting scared. If there was anything that could scare a parent into near franticness it was the threat of an unclaimed omega child. It just didn’t- it didn’t work. As much as he despised how some Alpha’s were complete jerks, looking at him like nothing but a piece of meat, he couldn’t deny their power. Being unclaimed was like disease. omegas didn’t survive past forty years unclaimed, despite all the attempts and failed cures. They couldn’t. The need, the raw urge for something other than a platonic bond to ground them starts to overwhelm and slowly their bodies deteriorate. A blot on age-old reputations. Even his dad, his stoic, hard-faced, down to earth Beta father, had plonked a –headband? on the kitchen table one morning, with nothing but a grunt of “Melissa says you’d suit flowers.” before he patted Stiles back gently and went to work. (Stiles spent half an hour staring at the flower crown before putting it on and grinning to himself. He forced Scott to call him Legolas all day). 

He got it. To some extent. Why some omegas would throw themselves at the likes of Jackson Whittemore, Allison Argent. Derek Hale. Why they’d literally spread their legs from across the canteen. But at the same time he couldn’t stand it, how backwards it all seemed. Like a crude form of the heat ceremonies they used to have, way back when alphas used to just grunt and omegas moan. And how sometimes the alphas in question would stand wordlessly and take an omegas hand, their eyes glowing crimson as they escorted the poor souls to their den of defilement, ready to ravage- He was kidding. Mostly. But everyone knew they were going to fuck. Because alphas with too much pent up frustration could bring an entire classroom down and of course alphas were so much more important than omegas. Stiles was pretty certain there wasn't an alpha in Beacon Hills that hadn't had sex yet. It was expected.

It just pissed him off. They’d moved on, omegas were only a fraction lower at minimum wage than betas now, they were allowed to walk out the house in the run up to heat week and alphas just had to hold their breath and deal with it (it had only become a crime to try and mount an Omega without consent in 1997. Small victories).

So when he caught Jackson – Jackass- staring at his lips for the sixth time that lunch break he kind of snapped. Everyone in school knew he was not a traditional omega, he’d mouthed off more than once, escaped so much shit by the skin of his teeth and the charm of his eyes. Being the sheriff’s kid would only get you so far as omega, the lowest of the low. While it was true some alphas absolutely doted on omegas, it was even more true that a whole load of them wanted to go back to the wonderfully genderist life of the nineteen fifties and the oppressive birth of the house-omega. He squeezed his carton of orange juice just a little bit too hard, a squirt landing on Scott's face, making Erica snort and cover her mouth. He lucked out with Scott though, his best friend just dabbing at his face and looking at Stiles with that endearing puppy face of concern.

"I'm going to say something," Stiles said, brushing his hair back and licking his lips. He had to say something. Because this wasn't the first time Jackson had expressed his interest in Stiles, it was just the most frequent time it had happened in a day.

“Dude, what-" Scott followed Stiles line of sight and a small growl bubbled in his chest. It literally sounded like little angry bubbles. Stiles used to cackle when Scott first presented. "Stiles, leave it." Scott was kind of the epitome of an alpha. With his dark sure eyes, kind smile and righteous loyal fury when it came to his loved ones. He was also logical. Extremely logical.

Stiles was not.

He stood up, shoving his phone into the back pocket of his ripped skinny jeans and walked over to the jock’s table, ignoring the way his stupid heart missed a stupid beat at Derek Stupid Hale’s stupid face as he passed his leather-wearing table.

Yeah, and he had a crush. A high school fucking crush. It started from before he had even presented, when his hair was nice and shaved, convict style. When he was still insecure enough about what it meant to be engulfed by his clothes and almost completely hairless. And it had all started because Stiles had been fourteen years old and unable to swallow properly. He was sat with his friends, spooning fruit salad in his mouth and guffawing. (He’d just started his dad on a strict regime and was trying to encourage the man). Then he kind of started choking. On a bit of pineapple. They all thought he was doing an impression of Harris, which would’ve been comedy gold so he still didn’t really blame them. But no. He was choking, tears running down his face and he was sure that this was the end. He was going to die before his first kiss, before he could take over the world, before he could beat his dad’s highest score on his ancient Nintendo, before he could see the pyramids, the Eiffel tower, fall in love, influence world peace- And strong arms wrapped around him, insisting, forcing that piece of fruit out. If it hadn’t been for the blood rushing to his head he would’ve notice how quiet the canteen had gone. As it were, all Stiles could do was heave breath after breath, tasting sweet air like a madman. The arms around him let him go and gently directing him to sit. And then Derek Hale was crouching before him, his glasses askew, softly asking if he was okay and Stiles wanted to slap him because how could one guy and his scent be so god damn appealing.

A week later Stiles presented. A bit earlier than he should have, triggered, Deaton had said, by an alphas presence. He didn’t tell a soul about the images that got him through his first heat, about the phantom feel of calloused fingers, worn from a too hard grip on a baseball bat, gently stroking over his feverish skin. The litany of Derek fell onto soundproof walls and that was that. Stiles became desired and Derek? He got rid of the adorable glasses.

Of course, he ignored Derek, the only alpha in school who didn’t look, who refused to stare at his body (no matter how much Stiles’ wanted him too). He wasn’t interested and Stiles wasn’t going to waste the only education he got chasing men who didn't want him. That didn't mean he had to settle for Jackson though. He crossed his arms in front of Jackson, already hating the leer on his face. Stiles wasn’t dumb, he could appreciate that Jackson had an aesthetically attractive face. But his personality was dog shit. Super stinky, super shitty, dog shit.

“Hey, Stiles,” the alpha said, tossing his baseball from hand to hand lazily. Jackson was not a nice guy. And it kind of pissed him off that Lydia was so hung up on him. He fucked with her head, so much that she had gone to Stiles’ house, accused him of hooking up with Jackson and almost ruined their three year friendship. Almost.

And now he was doing it again.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, ignoring some of the sniggering. Alphas were just children. “Is there a reason you’re trying to undress me with your eyes, Jackson?” he snapped, his tone dripping with disdain. He didn’t let his voice shake. Didn’t dare. He was treading on seriously dangerous ground and Jackson could ruin him.

Jackson smirked, putting down the baseball so he could stand up straight into Stiles' personal space. He was a good few inches taller than Stiles so he was pulling off the whole towering alpha thing pretty well. Behind him Stiles’ heard a chair scrape and somehow knew it was Scott.

“Do I need a reason, Stiles?” Jackson breathed. Flirting. He was trying to flirt. All Stiles could smell was his stinking fucking alpha pheromones, his body odour and that god awful CK after-shave. It was musky. In a bad way. Stiles looked directly into the alphas eyes, when his instincts screamed at him to back away to safety. Jackson raised his eyebrows at the challenge and for a brief moment, the red bled into his eyes, making Stiles’ mind fog a little.

“Stop it,” Stiles hissed, closing his eyes and blinking before opening them. It wasn’t fair, using his alpha influence. “You are not my type, Jackson, there is no way in hell-”

“You’re hot when you’re angry, Stilinski. It’s cute.” Jackson cut him off easily, one hand rising to wrap around Stiles' waist. It was hot and wrong and made him feel trapped, so fucking trapped. There was a growl and then Scott was beside him in an instant, shoving Jackson’s hand off of him and pulling Stiles behind him.

It wasn’t unusual for fights to break out, especially over omegas. But it never got further than the growly match, as he liked to call it. Stiles hoped to god this time it was the same, because he really didn’t want Scott to get expelled. He was starting to realise that maybe he shouldn’t have snarked off. It was a little stupid. Just a teensy bit.

Jackson clenched his fists beside him, a feral noise spilling from his throat. A noise that has Stiles dropping his head without his own awareness. “Scott,” he whispered, tugging on the alpha's shirt, “It’s really not that-“

“He touched you,” Scott grunted, eyes focused entirely on the other alpha. Oh Jesus. “Don’t touch him.” He directed to Jackson.

“You claimed him?” Jackson said, sniffing the air. Sniffing Stiles. He wished he could fart on demand. “He’s unmated. Not yours.” Stiles frowned at that.

“Asshole,” Scott spat, getting closer to Jackson and his hand clenched in that way it always did before he threw a punch. “Ask him next time, yeah-“

“Break it up, boys!” Coach shouted, calmly walking through them like he wasn't stifled by the testosterone and pheromones in the air. He was beta. He probably wasn’t. “Bilinksi, get your ass outta here. McCall, go get Bilinski’s ass outta here. Jackson-“

“Yes, sir,” The boy said, only dropping his gaze when Stiles had successfully pulled Scott – the brick wall – from the scene and back to the table, Boyd giving him his deadpan look.

Stiles slumped back on his chair, his hands shaking slightly with anger and fucking fear which just angered him even more because it was so unfair, so achingly unfair that Jackson could just say things like that and do things like that and- He sighed, closing his eyes and trying to drown out the chatter of the dinner hall, the whispers and rumours going round and the endless pings from his phone, no doubt from Lydia.

He was tired of high school. Tired of being an omega. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like. To be mated. To feel content inside and like he was walking on clouds, not concrete (analogy courtesy of Danny). To meet the one, the one who made it all so much easier.

His heart rate slowed down by the time he opened his eyes, Scott calmer beside him but still holding onto his best friend tightly. It was okay. Scott was protective and he needed the reassurance.

“Stiles, two o'clock,” Erica whispered and Stiles looked up just in time to see Derek Hale look down.

And Stiles desperately wished he was the one. 

Chapter Text

House parties in Beacon Hills were a rite of passage for every teenager. A kid wasn’t a member of society until he was drunk enough to have puked on a cat, fell asleep in the toilet and tried to make out with a lamp. Derek was guilty of all three. He didn’t like them though, not really. The pounding music didn’t appeal to his ears. The strong wolf’s brew didn’t appeal to his taste. The soft exposed skin didn’t appeal to his eyes.

Well. That was a lie.

But he liked to think he was better than his instincts, better than the monster some of his friends had become. He hadn’t been raised to fuck blindly, hadn’t been raised to discard omegas like they were nothing. Omegas, the lifeblood of the entire society. He didn’t understand how his own gender could knowingly harm them. It went against the way they were made, it went against everything he had ever been taught. An omega was your better half. An omega strengthened your pack. An omega was an equal.

And yet, as he looked in the middle of Lydia Martin’s almost wrecked living room, alphas were treating them as less than so. Derek knew he wasn’t perfect. He had thoughts sometimes, dark, vicious things that scared him. Things he could never tell his mother about. But he never acted on them, forced himself to keep them buried inside, beside the pain of- Yeah. 

He usually kept to the sides of these things, there for the alcohol more than anything and Allison liked to keep his sorry ass company. They weren’t a predictable pair, should probably hate each other considering their family history but Allison was close to his best friend. He didn't just tolerate her, he liked her.

Derek was a Hale. Well, he was a descendent of Al-Hayub, one of the oldest werewolf tribes of the world. He was sketchy on the details but around three hundred years ago the chief's son fell in love with a visiting pilgrim, defied all odds and migrated to America with him and alas! The Hales were born. Establishing Beacon Hills along with them. Bit too much romantic of a story for him but it was repeated at every single Mating Ceremony the family had.

Allison was an Argent. Her family had been hunters before werewolves became known. He was named after the man who died at the hands of Katherine Argent in 1874, a fire that demolished their town. The Hales picked themselves up, Beacon Hills becoming their territory after a treaty was signed and decades later his mom and Chris Argent were part of Beacon Hills String Orchestra. He didn't really know what to say about that.

He downed his cup, nodding politely to whatever Allison was saying. Only less than a second his attention was ripped, enraptured as it always was with one boy. One omega that made him feel dizzy- not in control. He hated it, hated how his heart seized in his chest, how completely and inexplicably taken he was.

It was torture.

Derek liked to think he wasn’t in love with Stiles Stilinski, couldn’t be in love with the most untouchable omega in town. He wasn't in love with the messy chestnut hair after he ran his fingers through it when he was stressed. He wasn't love with the way Stiles laughed, his whole body moving with it, it was contagious. He wasn't love with the way Stiles eyes shined, glowed gold so furiously that he sometimes questioned the boys gender. And he was most definitely not in love with his scent, that warm alluring thing.

Stiles was gorgeous. He wasn't a bombshell. Not in the way Erica Reyes or Lydia Martin were. It wasn't a screaming, loud thing. Rather, Stiles had a beauty that crept on you slowly, until you couldn't get him out your mind, until you wondering how it was that one person could appeal to every damn part of you, that left your heart seizing in your chest from just his everyday movements, his long nimble fingers. Derek couldn't help but trace the sweep of his thick eye lashes on his cheeks as he read in class, the way his full lips moulded around his finger when he tapped his mouth. The ridiculous faces he pulled at lunch with his friends, ones that should be weird, out of place, but were every bit as intimidating, unapproachable as the boy himself.

And now, Derek was all but fucked, watching Stilinski beam at something unimportant, someone unimportant said. He glowed. He literally lit the entire room up and Derek sucked in a breath. His cheeks were dusted pink, flushed from the alcohol he was sipping, his eyes sparkled as they always did, animated, breath taking.

“You’re doing it again,” Allison said, more like shouting over the music. There was a smirk on her ruby red lips and Derek looked at her with his eyebrows raised innocently, trying to look the epitome of cool and collected when he could feel his wolf whine to touch the boy. She snorted and Derek found the noise endearing.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Derek replied, going to take a sip from his cup. His empty cup. He forced his gaze to stay away from Stiles as his slim body moved to the music because that was not okay. And it would never be okay. He wasn't one of them.

"You're doing that face. The I'm-making-another-impromptu-poem-about-Stiles'-ear one," Allison wriggled her eyebrows and patted Derek's dumbstruck and morbidly offended face. The bitch. “Or it’s your I-can’t-stand-the-sun face and since we’re indoors-“

“Alright,” Derek huffed, his eyebrows gathering as he tried not to make his face too disgruntled. Allison would have a field day, since apparently he pouted. He pressed back against the wall, closing his eyes as he tried to blink Stiles from his mind.

“Derek,” Allison whispered, punching his arm gently. She may as well have hugged him and kissed his forehead with the amount of affection in that gesture. He didn’t flinch away from it like he used to, “Go talk to him.”

Emotions slammed into him and he knew his face probably went through a whole host of expressions he had no control over. He couldn’t just talk to Stiles. He couldn’t just open his mouth and talk to him because he knew he’d make a fool of himself. And worse, he’d get rejected. Derek Hale would get rejected. He wasn’t big on the fame and pomp that came with being an alpha werewolf in a small town but he was still a teenager. Still liked being popular. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he spoke to Stiles, and witness all his charm and beauty first hand he wouldn’t even be able to function.

But the most aching reason why he couldn’t talk to Stiles was simple. He wasn’t allowed to love him. Stiles was human and Derek was wolf. It was an old tradition but one the family had upheld for years. The demands that came with being a werewolf’s mate were simply too dangerous for a human to cope with. Even one as strong and furiously beautiful as Stiles. Aside from possibly upsetting the entire pack hierarchy, he wouldn’t do that to Stiles, he wouldn’t force him through a life of pain just because he was fascinated by his smile.

And everyone knew Stiles Stilinski was not a traditional omega. He needed a better alpha than Derek could ever be. One of those progressive city men, not backwards Derek who’d need to knot the boy daily, who wouldn’t let him out his sight, who’d smother him ridiculously.

“Oh, there’s my old friend I-need-a-poo,” Allison snickered at him, flicking a lock of her brunette hair back and squeezing his forearm to show him she meant no harm. Derek glared at her. Somehow it was fond.

“You know why I can’t,” He said, his voice quiet and deadly controlled. He wanted to shake the feeling off of him, to get rid of the despair his fucking weak wolf was letting out. He let out a breath not the whimper he wanted to, telling himself to get a grip, grab an omega and have some fun. “I’m gonna dance.” He declared, crushing the cup in his hands and leaning to put it in the bin.

Allison’s eyebrows rose so far up her forehead Derek was sure they’d drop off. He grinned at her and slowly backed into the crowd of sweaty bodies, thick arousal and giggles.

He turned round and knew instantly he’d made a mistake. He had just enough alcohol in his system to give him a buzz but nowhere near enough to make him a good dancer. He was a terrible dancer. Absolutely terrible. He used to make the pack cubs laugh, shimmying his hips and shaking imaginary maracas, as they’re chubby little faces squealed with delight.

That was in the comfort of his home. This? This was a high school house party. A shark’s tank.

It turned out he didn’t have to worry about it. One moment he was stood alone, looking like the epitome of lost and the next his hands were occupied, wrapped around someone’s waist as they grinned up at him. He inhaled the omegas sweet scent. Ignoring how Stiles’ came to the forefront of his mind and tried to focus on the pretty thing swaying her hips with him. Not much was required of him, he just had to pull her closer and follow her movements.

“I’m Heather,” The girl said, keeping her arms locked around his neck. Derek pressed into her space a little bit more, dispelling Stiles Stilinski and mates out of his mind. He was eighteen, god damn it, he shouldn’t be desperately trying to sniff out that intoxicating scent of jasmine and sandalwood.

“Hey, I’m Derek-“

“Hale. I know who you are, Alpha,” she smirked, the scent of her arousal reaching him as she grinded on him. Alpha. God, that word tore through him, shook at his instincts and made him preen. He couldn’t help his own smirk from coming out.

Contrary to extremely popular belief, Derek had never had sex. And the only people that knew that were his mother and his best friend, Allison. People just assumed that an alpha as calm as he was, one as famous, must have had a string of fucks, and must be one of those. But he wasn’t. It was wrong in his eyes. Omegas grew bonds, attachments, from the first kiss. And ignoring them after you’d fucked them was plain cruel, painful. Of course it wasn’t only omegas. He knew he’d be bad at the whole casual sex thing. He got hooked too easily on how a person’s smile made their whole face brighter, how his name would sound spilling from their lips.

He’d done stuff. Everyone had done stuff. He knew what it felt like to have lips wrapped around his dick, his fingers buried in a tight- Yeah. He wasn’t exactly innocent. Just a virgin. Which was close to unheard for an alpha his age.

So he knew exactly what to do when Heather pressed her lips against his, her lip-gloss sticky and sweet. He ran a hand down her back, finger tips trailing over her bare back, running through the light sheen of sweat as he was hit with a burst of her arousal, her slick. He didn’t even give himself time to be embarrassed about how quickly he got turned on in that moment, his dick pressing against his jeans.

“I said no-” The voice he heard was hushed, insistent and above all familiar. Pulling him out of his reverie. He looked up, gently moving Heather’s head from his neck when she tried to mouth at it. Still not comfortable with it. He didn’t stop their bodies moving as he looked for the source of the noise though; wasting time a more excited part of his mind provided.

“Derek,” Heather panted softly, her voice the most appealing whimper. He didn’t look back down. 

“-Don’t touch me-“ Conversation flitted in and out of his mind, taken over by drunken laughter at some points and frantic moaning at others.

-want it. Come on, Stiles, you know you-“

You look gorgeous tonight-

Oh my god, Isaac just winked at me, Isaac Lahey-“

“I fucking said no!” Derek let go of Heather like he’d been burnt, following the voice in a near frantic state. It had gone from firm to panic ridden, distress littering the tone. His eyes bled crimson, could feel the fire as he let out a growl. They weren’t downstairs, Stiles and whoever the fuck was hurting-touching-hurting him.

Derek bounded up the stairs, two at a time, barely keeping his beta-shift in check. He could hear the heartbeat then. That perfect rhythm that grounded him, anchored him. Elevated, pounding. He tried a door and found it locked. And then he started to freak the fuck out. He was growling intensely, his fangs pressing into his bottom lip as he shoved at the door. He could smell the acrid scent of arousal and fear, making his stomach twist and turn.

On his third try the door burst open.

To Stiles pinning a struggling Jackson down on the floor, the omega bending the alphas arm back enough to break with his knee pressing his face down into the carpet. Oh.

Oh.

Derek’s shift slowly receded back, like a petulant and naughty child just as Stiles looked up and their eyes met. A dazzling gold with his burning crimson.

In that moment with Jackson spluttering profanities into the floor, his face smashed with carpet burn, Stiles’ soft capable fingers holding him down, Derek knew. He was head over heels, completely in love with Stiles Stilinski.

Chapter Text

Seeing Derek Hale burst thought the door, all flustered cheeks and messy hair had been.. surprising. Stiles had heard the attempts before, too focused on which move came after the other, smashing his knee in Jackson’s groin, to be aware of what was happening outside his immediate. It felt good to get the Alpha on the floor. It felt good to power all his unhinged and wild attention onto one thing. He was thankful his dad had started teaching him after. After.

 

He knew he probably looked feral as he grinned at Derek, his eyes blazing, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t powerless, he could take care of himself and the proof was the Alpha struggling to get out of his hold. Fuck yeah.

 

“What the fuck is happening here?” Derek said, his face going all closed of and- hard. He always had this impenetrable hard face, harsh angular lines and scowls. It made Stiles shiver sometimes.

 

He raised his eyebrows at the accusation in the Alpha’s tone because fuck no, no way was he going to deal with this when Jackson had tried to spike his drink and slobber in his ear and Stiles had been close to freezing up and actually letting his hands- “What does it look like?” he said, too pumped, too shaken up, to let himself get flustered. It was possibly only the third time they’d spoken. (Derek had asked him once for a pen and then glared at it through out class like Stiles had shoved it up his ass or something.)

 

Derek seemed to catch on to the franticness in his tone because almost instantly his posture deflated from big bad Alpha to relaxed, easy. Stiles felt himself calm in response. He was in control of the jerk wriggling below him and yet he wasn’t in control of his own instincts.

 

“Did he try to touch you?” Derek murmured quietly, coldly, and if it had been anyone else, with any other tone of voice Stiles would’ve snapped, would’ve ran his mouth and swore. But there was no pity in Derek’s words, no sympathy, and that was enough for him to nod, jerkily. Jackson had tried to touch him. Jackson had tried to do a lot more.

 

Stiles stood up, away from Jackson and found himself moving to stand beside Derek. Like somehow that was any safer. He wanted to scoff, but he couldn’t.

 

Derek snapped his gaze to Jackson’s as he sat up, wiping dust of his face. And then the atmosphere changed. Stiles wasn’t really aware of why, he was a little too busy trying to calm himself, trying to deal with the fact that someone had been so close to-to- and he would’ve succeeded if Stiles didn’t know how to protect himself. If he was like the majority of Omega’s who thought they could never fight off an Alpha. He wrapped his arms around himself, cursing the way his body ran cold with fear. The threat was gone but his dumb, scattered mind couldn’t-

 

A vicious growl spread through the room and Stiles barely noticed the way he moved back until he hit the wall. Absently, his fingers played with the edge of a poster as he glanced from Jackson to Derek. Derek, with his perfectly structured features morphed into a face of pure anger. He always used to find it funny when he saw Wolves on TV or in the movies, snorting to himself because seriously? Eyebrows didn't just disappear, okay. Except. There was Derek Hale, hottest resident Wolf in the town, growling and stalking towards Jackson. With no fucking eyebrows.

 

Stiles let out a bubble of laughter that he tried to catch back with a hand before clasping them to his mouth. Shit. He felt the tension like an unrelenting weight on his person, surrounded by pissed off Alpha's and he just laughed in the face of one of them. His heart rate picks up momentarily because even though he doubted Hale would hurt him, he didn't trust Alpha's. Had never trusted an Alpha fully except for Scott. And Stiles wasn't sure he counted since his entire family had been so sure the boy was Omega until the day he popped his first knot. His mom had walked in at the howl in horror. Stiles still sniggered to this day.

 

The growl he expected directed his way never comes, the Alpha tone for him to submit. Rather, dead silence fell on the room, Jackson staring at Derek in fear (he definitely pissed his over-priced pants) and Derek looking- looking at him. He shifted back to his human form and concern rested softly on his features, his eyes a storm of green and hazel. He had never seen those eyes so close without his glasses. Stiles blinked. "Uh-" he said cleverly. Which he didn't like. He prided himself on his manner of speech, on his snark and sass. It gave him an upper hand he could never get through sheer size.

 

"Do you want-" Derek started, and it looked like it hurt him so much, swallowing around his words, that Stiles almost wanted to pat the Alpha on the back. "-to get out of here?" The little tilt on the end of the word made something melt in Stiles, something he didn't really want to think about. And then the recognition set in. Derek was offering him an out, before whatever fight they were about to have commenced. Oh. That would be a good idea. Except- He didn't know Derek. Didn't expect him to fight his battles for him, didn't expect him to feel a thing for him other than contempt.

 

Before he could open his mouth the tell him so, Derek had beaten him to it, subconsciously stepping closer. For some reason Stiles didn't feel trapped. "I don't- I mean, I'll just take you home. If that's what you want. Or you can use my phone? Or if you don't want to go home, we can walk. Whatever. Just-" Derek took a deep breath. Adorable, Stiles thought. "I just don't want you alone right now. Please." His eyes flashed but Stiles could tell it wasn't intentional. The Alpha was almost as shaken up about the whole thing as he was.

 

Part of him, the part that refused to let Scott carry his bag home since he was five, the part that knew how to load and aim a 9mm in less than seven seconds flat, shouted at him from inside.

 

The other part, the part that got a little bit too emotional at the Pursuit of Happiness, the part that curled up next to his father at least once a week, the part that wanted to please and love and be pleased and be loved and- Well. That part had him nodding slowly, cherishing Derek's tiny guarded little smile.

 

Derek nodded, as if to clarify to himself what was happening and then he leaned down, presumably to tell Jackson something. Which was why Stiles' eyebrows flew up when a resounding thump was heard, Jackson's head flying back against the wall from the momentum of Derek's punch. He only had time to hear Jackson's pitiful wail before Derek was placing an light hand on the small of his back, guiding him calmly but firmly out of the room.

 

They walked in silence to Derek's car, a flash ugly looking thing with no backspace whatsoever, and he didn't mind it. It was calm. It gave him time to take stock of how the warmth from Derek's body seem to seep from his fingertips onto Stiles' skin, how his voice was just a little bit higher than he'd expected and sometimes more growl than actual human words. The Wolves Stiles knew went to extreme lengths to control themselves, like Deputy Parrish who worked with his dad. Even if Derek hadn't intended to, it was refreshing to see at least one-person screw with the social system.

 

In the time it took for them to get, buckle their seat belts and start driving, Stiles decided he liked Derek's voice. Liked the gravelly undertone to it, the way it never once tainted with condescension. He also decided that he would not speak about what happened. He could save it for later, when he was alone at home. Derek didn't need his instincts fucking with his mind anymore and Stiles- Stiles didn't trust him. He barely knew the guy and it wasn’t like he’d saved him. Stiles had saved himself. Because he was fucking capable.

 

He glanced over at Derek, following his stubble to his Adams apple. How did a seventeen year old get a beard like that? Maybe Derek wasn’t seventeen. Maybe he was older, way older. That explained his calm demeanour, the fact he was the only Alpha who refused to wear his letterman despite being a star player. That was all that constituted being an adult. And sex. Lots of sex. And now, Stiles was imagining Derek. Doing the sex. His beard would scratch down Stiles’ neck, his hands firmly on his waist, on the back of his neck, delving his tongue into his mouth-

 

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Derek whispered and it took all of Stiles not to yelp. He blushed, his entire face flaming as he had the fleeting thought that if Derek could read minds he was fucked.

 

“That’s because I’m doing it for the both of us.” Stiles snarked, it was an automatic reaction. Nice, familiar territory. Away from any imaginary beds and sweaty skin and hairy chests- Oh fuck.

 

Derek’s eyebrows rose, an amused smile playing on his lips. Stiles hadn’t been expecting that.

 

“You are very clever,” the other boy said. And then – then Stiles was stumped. Because, what even was that. Was it sarcasm? Was it some kind of insult? Was it a joke?

 

It took him longer than it should, as a very clever boy, to realise it was a compliment.

 

They lapsed into silence again and Stiles only just noticed that Derek’s car didn’t light up from the inside. His car did. The light was solar powered and he’d spent four days straight trying to find the switch to turn the damn thing off. He started telling people he liked the light in his eyes as he drove.

 

It was a bit awkward. Not as much as it should’ve been, seeing that Derek and him weren’t exactly friends, and Jackson had tried to- Oh. That reminded him.

 

“I have a question,” He said, turning to face Derek as he parked up in front of Kendall’s Café. Damn, Derek really knew how to wow a guy. And Stiles wasn’t even kidding, he fucking loved greasy diners. He could eat three times his own weight in pancakes. If his dad ever let him.

 

Derek looked at him and then didn’t say anything. Just got out his car like he expected Stiles to follow. The scent of greasy fries hit his nostrils. Stiles followed.

 

“I was talking to you, asshole,” He grumbled under his breath, walking in front of Derek so he didn’t do something painful like open the goddamn door for Stiles.

 

“Sorry, I-“ Derek frowned and Stiles softened his glare a little bit. He always kind of expected people to just be used to him, the way he spoke, the things he demanded in a social situation. And Derek wasn’t exactly the most social. Stiles just raised one eyebrow, lifting one corner of his mouth. He was being more tentative around Derek than he usually would be. It was odd.

 

“Yeah, yeah no worries,” He huffed, picking the booth at the far corner, distant and covered. It had been some kind of wordless agreement between them that they’d just go to a diner, he hadn’t been asked. And he didn’t really mind. He would’ve have to say home, if Derek wanted to know where to take him, and Stiles really couldn’t handle home right now.

 

Derek cleared his throat as he sat down opposite, his long legs stretching out to fill the space and brush across Stiles’ ankle. Stiles kept forgetting how huge the guy was. He looked down at the menu, furiously hiding his blush. Derek cleared his throat and the brilliant plump lady that comes to take their order saved the day.

 

“Welcome to Kendalls, whadd’ya boys want?” She said monotonously, her pen poised on her pad. Derek looked over at him and Stiles shrugged, “Waffles,” he said with a grin, already excited. Food, man. Food.

 

She took her lazy glare and plonked it on Derek next and Stiles swore he saw her soften. He couldn’t blame her, Derek Hale was freaking adorable. “Coffee, please. And can I get a club sandwich?” Of course he’d get the healthiest possible option in the least healthy eatery.

 

A pause passed by them and Stiles, inevitable began to fidget. He brought one foot up onto the booth, tapping his fingers restlessly and avoiding Derek’s gaze at all costs. Derek brought him here, Derek was the only one that saw, that heard. Derek could force Stiles to tell him everything if he wanted and Stiles would have no control.

 

“You had a question?” Derek said softly instead. Giving Stiles control. Throwing the ball in his park. He finally looked up, making eye contact and swallowing. Derek had really nice eyes. Derek had a really nice everything. He tried not to think about Derek since he abolished his crazy idea, because it made him needy for an Alpha he barely knew.

 

“You’re Alpha,” Stiles started, pouring himself some of the water that was on the table and forcing himself to stop fidgeting. He was Stiles Stilinski, god damn it. Derek smirked as if to say yes-I-am-an-Alpha-genuis. Stiles grimaced. “Your Alpha influence. How come it works sometimes and not others?”

 

And if Derek got what he was implying he didn’t make it obvious. Thankfully.

 

“If I’m drunk it won’t work,” He replied, thanking the waitress for his coffee and then putting five sugars and cream in it. He smiled bashfully but carried on. “It takes up quite a lot of energy, emotional energy. You have to single out a bond that you have with someone and then manipulate it. That’s not easy to do if you’re wasted.” That explained why Jackson had to drag Stiles upstairs, as opposed to just ordering him to go. “Did you not take it in Bio?”

 

Stiles shook his head, “I’m a sophomore,” he snorted, “We’re still on scenting and physical contact.” Something crossed Derek’s face, too quick for Stiles to distinguish a particular emotion. Anger? Frustration?

 

Another silence. It had him wondering what the fuck he was doing in some strange café with an Alpha he didn’t know, after what had happened at that party. He should be at home, he should be curled up in bed, crying because he was so weak and so usele-

 

“Would it be alright if I asked you a question?” Derek’s voice cut through his anxiety like a slap in the face. A soft one because his tone was achingly gentle and Stiles knew exactly what was coming next. He nodded sharply. He’d tell Derek what Jackson tried to do, he’d relive that hour, only because the Alpha deserved that much for punching one of his friends in the face. “Where did you learn self-defence like that?”

 

Oh.

 

Stiles blinked at him, shocked being an understatement. Derek even sounded impressed, a smile on his handsome face as he sipped at his probably too sweet coffee. He felt a shiver of something run down his back. Smugness. He was glad to have impressed this Alpha and for once, he didn’t hate himself for it.

 

“My dad,” he said easily, even gracing Derek with one of his own smiles. The boy almost choked on his coffee. “Dude, let it cool, you maniac.”

 

“Your dad, the sheriff?” Derek asked, after Stiles had safely moved his coffee to the side. It wasn’t even that hot, the weakling.

 

“My dad, the sheriff.”

 

Derek’s cheeks flamed, his eyes going wide, looking so guilty. There was a story right there. Stiles grinned.

 

“What did you get arrested for, Hale?” He whispered, a smirk on his face as he leaned a little closer. Derek cleared his throat. He barely noticed when the tension between them disappeared. “Come on, dude, spit it out. I’ll just ask my dad.” Derek looked like he wanted to die and Stiles couldn’t help his grin. He poked his calf with his shoe, nudging at him.

 

The food came so it gave Derek a minute without Stiles haranguing him, but the moment the waitress was out of sight he started again, kicking at Derek’s feet gently. Playing footsie with him. Jesus.

 

“I stole a puppy,” Derek said, his voice so quiet Stiles had to strain to hear it.

 

“You what?”

 

“I stole a puppy. Goddamnit, I stole my neighbours puppy! I was ten and my sister really wanted the labradoodle!” Derek scowled and Stiles burst out laughing. Just seeing Derek say labradoodle in his anger was enough to have him cackling, never mind the image of a surly baby Derek, clutching a fluffy pup to his chest. For his sister!

 

“You are just adorable, Derek. Your tough guy doesn’t work on me, I know your just a ball of fluff with eyebrows and a weirdly developed beard.” Stiles informed him, his smile wide and genuine as he took a hugely unattractive mouthful of his waffles.

 

“Am not.” Derek's tone could only be described as petulant, scowling when Stiles nudged their knees together under the table but never pushing him away.

 

“Are too.”

 

Derek decided he’d had enough of Stiles’ childishness because when he looked back up the older teen was glaring at his club like it had just insulted his mom. His blush was still high on his cheeks and Stiles’ heart skipped a beat.

 

They spent the next hour in the diner talking, chatting endlessly. Stiles did most of it, with a few sentences from Derek here and there. Occasionally Stiles would say something he was sure Derek would disagree with, things like degrees for Omegas, paid maternity leave. But he didn’t. He just nodded his agreement, his face set in the same righteous fury as Stiles.

 

He liked Derek. Even if he didn’t fancy him, even if his very name didn’t make Stiles’ heart beat faster. As he sat there, licking the mayo off his thumb and telling Stiles about the first time he’d ever shifted in school, Stiles felt himself falling deeper and deeper.

 

Chapter Text

Two month later and Derek put down his fifth unreadable textbook in a row, growling when he couldn’t understand why exothermic increased in heat even though it lost it. He couldn’t focus. It was close to the most frustrating thing he’d ever experienced because he had homework to do and exams to pass, goddamn it.

 

It wasn’t for lack of trying, Derek knew his academic profile was just as important as his baseball, he knew he wouldn’t be getting his scholarship without his grades being up to scratch but he always got so restless. Derek tried his hardest through middle school because baseball- He didn’t want to be a cliché but baseball was kind of his life. It was his escape, his little slice of heaven. If he didn’t have baseball he didn’t have much. He’d get a job, of course he would, it just wouldn’t be doing what he loved. And he’d get angry at his work, angry at his life, angry with his family. Just like his dad. And he had vowed never to become that man.

 

He knew he had to study, he knew he had to close his eyes and see the structure of a dative covalent bond. Only every time he did he was ambushed with an onslaught of Stiles. How his eyes sparkled whenever he told a story, when he laughed his eyes lit up, how his hair went from tousled to mad when he was stressed, constantly raking his fingers through it. How Derek’s name sounded falling from his plump lips, angry, happy, joking. Whispering. It was a form of capital punishment, it had to be.

 

They’d spoken a lot since that day, since they exchanged numbers and Derek dropped Stiles off, lingering until the boy had shivered from the cold and Derek forced himself to stop being so selfish. They text too. Which was difficult at first. Extremely so. More than once he had to knock on Laura’s door, sit through her smug face as she sorted out the science of his replies. “You can’t just tell him you’re doing nothing. You have to seem busy, Derek, wanted.” Sometimes he just gave up with all the politics and sent Stiles things he wanted to send. Like how he almost got hit by a bike two days ago or that one time when he picked his little sister up from school and got beat up by pre-schoolers. And when he got a reply, a few dozen emoji’s, laughing and crying at the same time, then he’d sit on his bed and just bask in the knowledge that he’d made Stiles laugh his gorgeous laugh.

 

At school Derek tried. He wasn’t known for his social skills and rightly so. It was hard for him to talk to people he didn’t know or trust. But he knew Stiles. Kind of. They spent a long time in that diner, just talking. He didn’t approach the incident at the party, would never put Stiles through reliving something like that despite how much he needed the permission to beat Jackson up. And Stiles seemed to appreciate that. It was only a hey, a wave and a how are you at school but it was more than enough to have Derek feeling like he was flying.

 

He groaned to himself softly, dropping the pencil in his hand and leaning back on his chair. He was fucked. It was getting harder and harder to speak to Stiles without wanting to hold him, kiss his forehead. Do all those caring things Stiles absolutely hated. And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it. His mind flitted between memories and imageries, if Stiles would laugh like that with Derek’s lips on his stomach, if his long fingers would card the same way through Derek’s hair.

 

Derek swallowed and stood up, his mom was at the mall with Cora but Laura was in. He shut the door. Locked it. And then he went to his bed, slumping on it and closing his eyes. It had happened more than once. His thoughts sometimes got too much for him to handle and the all-encompassing urge to just claim made him see red, made his body run hot. Most of the time he was able to push it away, to ignore the desires. It wasn’t right when he imagined what he’d do to a nameless Omega. It was entirely wrong when it was Stiles.

 

Today. For some reason he couldn’t- It was just hard. Too hard. He let himself fall into the scene slowly, feeling a flare of guilt and shame before he was just too turned on to care. His hand shook as he slid it down his body, under the waistband of his sweats and boxers and to where he was achingly hard.

 

It was too easy to imagine Stiles’ lips, bruised from the way he’d been biting it, stretching around him, how that soft wet heat would feel finally. He made a fist around his dick and pushed away the feeling of dirtiness. He’d take it slow at first, touch Stiles, spanning the length of his body with fingers he hoped wouldn’t shake. He’d touch him and touch him until Stiles begged for something more, his gorgeous eyes wide and pleading with Derek. Stiles would whisper something in his ear, something that would leave Derek panting, and something that would make his pink lips curve in a smirk. And then he’d kiss down his body, hand flexing against his waist and all that creamy soft skin – His hand tightened as he stroked himself, eyes closed in bliss. – Stiles was a loud person, and fuck how he’d moan. He’d tell Derek exactly what he liked and how he liked it, his moans high pitched, demanding. It was almost as if he could smell the boy. Only he- he had no idea what that smelt like. It would be like him then, a concentrated mix of fresh jasmine and undeniable woods. If Stiles would let him, he’d trace the shape of his hole and lean in, licking, tasting him.

 

“Fuck,” he groaned to himself, his breathing scattered and almost painful as he jerked himself off furiously. This was bad. This was beyond bad. It was a violation of Stiles’ trust in him, Stiles achingly hard placed trust him. God, he wanted him so much. He wanted to be his Alpha, wanted to care for him, wanted to protect, wanted to claim, claim, claim- He stifled his cry as he came, hips bucking off his bed as the blood rushed to his head and all he could hear was his heartbeat, so loud it was betraying him.

 

It took him a minute of being laid in bliss to realise, in dawning horror, that he had just cum from imagining emotional intimacy with Stiles. It was almost as horrible a feeling as the rapid cooling of his shame on his chest. Shit.

 

He got up quickly after that, heading in the shower for a quick five minutes of – freaking out- washing. He didn’t want to think about the connotations of what just happened. About how much more serious his fucking emotions had to make things. He dressed in his weekend wear, sweats and a wife beater – he owned multiples of each- and then stood in his room. His room; where he touched himself imagining how Stiles would feel curled up against his chest. He almost sprinted out, desperate to just stop- stop thinking. Baseball. Of course, he’d play some baseball. He got changed in record time, grabbing his car keys and heading out.

 

“Going to the park!” He shouted, thinking at the very last minute of Laura. Oh fuck, what if she’d heard, what if she knew what he did and-

 

“Get me some Reeses!” She shouted back, dispelling the thought. Laura wouldn’t let him live it down. She must not know. Derek felt his heart rate go down only a little bit. Just because his older sister hadn’t heard, didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

 

-

 

The park was surprisingly quiet for three pm on a Sunday afternoon. There were some kids playing around with a football, their hair long and flopping into their eyes. The kind of girl or boy Cora would crush over for a month straight and then declare them not good enough for her. Thinking about Cora made him grin. Which made the whole thing worse. Cora presented Omega a year ago. She was a year ahead of all her friends, only eleven. He was fiercely protective and to think that some guy, some unworthy Alpha, might have had the same thoughts, might imagine her body, his baby sister. Stiles was someone’s (the sheriffs) son and he just-

 

He dumped his shit on the ground beside his bat and started off with a stretch. Slow and methodical. Taking his mind off what a twisted boy he was. He worked through the tension in his body with determination, forcing himself to relax. He adjusted his cap and picked up his bat – a gift, five years old from his mother – rolling his wrist as he let himself sink into the familiar weight of it. When he focused like this, all he could feel was the air on his lips as he breathed, the smooth dryness of the wood against his fingers, his muscles jumping, flexing, ready to-

 

When he was fourteen years old his father threatened to kill his mother right in front of his eyes. He’d spent the day after school on the field, he got picked for the team and Coach had told him that one day he could be a star. That he, dumb little Derek who didn’t speak, who was going to end up a “pathetic little Omega bitch like your mother”, was going to be a star one day. He practically ran home. His dad would finally be proud of him and he’d get to see the man who used to take him to that very park, used to ruffle his hair and tickle him mercilessly. He heard the shouting from down the road and thought nothing of it. The Hales were perfect neighbours; it was honour to have a family like the Hales on the street. But the closer he got to his back door; the less and less he could deny that the shouts and growls weren’t coming from his door. He remembered opening the door. Remembered seeing his fathers hands close around Talia’s neck and then he didn’t remember much of anything. Later he’d be told he presented that very moment, he’d shifted and roared. That his father’s hands had at one point tried to close around his neck and he’d cried so much, so hard.

 

When it was quiet like this, he could let go of the anger, just for a little while. He could lose himself in the memories from when he was too little to even say his own name properly. His father’s pale green eyes – his – bright with his joy as he clapped Derek’s first ever homerun.

 

He wasn’t aware he’d closed his eyes until he’d opened them to a park greener than it used to be, emptier than it ever had been. He’d always thought that one day in the future he’d bring his kids here, teach them everything he knew regardless of their gender, their sex. At family gatherings everyone said they thought he wouldn’t do great as a father, that he’d need an Omega who didn’t mind his monosyllabic tendencies. Only he wasn’t like that. Not one bit. He’d be that dad that hugged for a little bit too long before school because he was scared something might happen to them, the one dad that would let his kid paint all over his face because creativity.

 

Perhaps in hindsight coming to the park had been a bad idea. Because it made him think of kids and inevitably his Omega. Or rather the Omega he wished he could have because the image of Stiles throwing a baby, their baby, up into the air and beaming, took a hold of his heart and squeezed.

 

“Francesca!” Derek spun round and his eyes bugged wide as he witnessed Stiles – god truly hated him – running after a sprinting little girl with wild brown hair and a dirty summer dress on. McCall was casually strolling behind them with his hands in his pocket, looking indifferent and nursing an amused smile on his face. Just like that his calm was shattered, heart slamming against his chest as he battled with the feelings of jealousy, desperate panic and shame.

 

He just stared. At the kid first, at her chubby fingers and wide chocolate eyes. Then he looked at Stiles, sucking in a breath. He was dressed down. Just jeans and a BHPD top. He looked soft and part of Derek wanted to tackle him and roll into him and just breathe him in for hours. Stiles and a kid. Stiles. And a kid.

 

Something, possibly something not very healthy, was happening to him from the inside. And then-

 

“Oh hey, there’s Hale!” Damn you, McCall. Damn you to hell. Scott grinned dopily and waved at him. They weren’t close but they were friends. Ish. Both Alpha’s, same school. They saw each other enough to be a bit more than just acquaintances. Despite how much Derek despised that. Scott was brutally honest and sometimes that was painful.

 

“Derek?” Stiles said, turning his overwhelmingly gorgeous gaze onto Derek. He swallowed and tried to turn his face from his poop face into- or is it his caveman face. Shit it could even be his deer face- “What are you doing here?” And suddenly Stiles was in his personal space, clutching the baby girl to his chest and looking far too beautiful in a worn faded top and barely held together Vans than should be legal.

 

Rather than speaking, because god forbid Derek try and speak, like a normal human being, he just looked at his bat and at the baseballs around his feet. Then he shrugged. Shrugged. Because he was cool. No, he was a fucking prick that’s what he was- Thankfully Stiles seemed to know him enough at this point to just excuse his behaviour with a sweet smile. Thank the gods that he’d lived enough to be on the receiving end of one of Stiles Stilinski’s genuine smiles. He smiled in response. Allison would be having a field day describing his face to him.

 

He opened his mouth to say hello, even ask how he was but the kid reached out and Derek panicked for a moment before she slapped a chubby, sticky, hand against his cheek, her big eyes narrowed. Silence fell on them. Just Derek and the kid. Staring each other out.

 

“Dewick.” The baby said slowly. Challenging him.

 

Derek frowned. “Derek.”

 

“Dedik.”

 

“No, its Der-rek.”

 

“Der.”

 

“No-“

 

“Der.”

 

Fucking-!

 

Stiles burst out laughing and Derek didn’t have it in him to frown at the kid anymore, not when Stiles was laughing like that and glowing as he held the baby- God, that was so backwards. He was so backwards. Stiles would never want him, Jesus.

 

“Cesca,” Stiles admonished. And that was beyond fair. The girl – Francesca- dropped her head to Stiles chest, her hair spilling over his shoulder as she pouted. “This is mine and your uncle Scott’s friend, Derek.” She peeked over at him again.

 

Derek waved. And then he dropped the bat because he had been about to hit himself in the head.

 

“Dude, I sent you like four texts.” Oh. What? Derek blinked at him, his hand instantly going to his back pocket. Empty. He must’ve left it at home.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t see them.” He looked at Stiles and tried to only look at Stiles, not the whole Stiles with child image. “I left my phone at home.” He added because he needed Stiles to know that he wasn’t just ignoring his messages. He’d never do that.

 

Stiles scrunched his face up as Francesca nuzzled his neck. “No worries,” he sighed, “Thought you’d finally gotten sick of me.” No. Never. “Derek, this is Francesca. Scott’s cousin. Little cheeky monster.” And that was almost too affectionate and sweet for Derek to cope with. His hormones must’ve been all over the place.

 

Francesca giggled and then kicked out in Stiles hold until he let her down, then both of them watched her run to Scott, slamming into his leg and trying to climb it. Like fond parents, he dumbly noted. Only they were watching a monkey rather than an actual human being – fuck, she was biting at Scott’s arm-

 

Stiles looked back and it was just the two of them in the middle of the park. Derek found himself smiling, an involuntary reaction to Stiles’ presence, to his face, to his voice, his scent, his personality. “How have you been?” He said, managing actual words now.

 

Stiles sat down on the grass, picking up one of Derek’s baseballs and grinning. Was that- Was that a blush? No, couldn’t be. He followed suit, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve been okay, Der,” he replied, nudging his shoulder and smirking.

 

“Oh, not you too.” Derek huffed, fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to wrap his arms around Stiles waist and pull him the few centimetres that separated them. Stiles laughed, throwing his head back and colouring Derek’s entire world with the noise.

 

“Really though. I’ve been good. Trying to study. I saw your mom at the mall, Cora’s grown so much dude, I can’t deal with all the eye rolls.” He snorted and crossed his legs, looking out to the park as Derek looked at him. He seemed… Nervous? Yeah. All of a sudden Derek was noticing it more and more. The fidgeting as he pulled out grass, eyes darting. He would’ve noticed Derek was watching him by now. Stiles was nervous.

 

He let the silence fall comfortably around them. Didn’t push. He knew Stiles enough to know he had barriers, as huge as Derek’s own, and he had fought his own battles. They got along on the basis that they understood each other’s needs. Sometimes they needed silence, just to collect their thoughts. Sometimes Stiles rang him, ranting and screaming and needing someone to pacify him. Or most of the times agree with him. And sometimes Derek needed to escape from his home life; needed to be the teenage boy he was rather than the Alpha of an entire household dependent on him. Stiles was good at that. Cheering him up. Distracting him.

 

“If I show you something, do you promise not to get angry?” Stiles whispered after a short silence. Which only meant whatever he had to show would get Derek angry. It would most definitely get him angry.

 

“No,” he replied shortly.

 

“Derek!”

 

“I’m not going to guarantee something not in my control, Stiles,” he said, shrugging. And Stiles sighed, angry, petulant. So beyond the stereotype that Derek found himself admiring him even more. As if that were even possible.

 

“Fine, just- Listen to me before you get all huffy and puffy on me, yeah?” Derek raised his eyebrows. It must be pretty big. Stiles could take care of himself. He’d seen it first hand and would never dare think anything else. So whatever it was making him seek Derek’s help – that was what it must be – had to be pretty dangerous. The Omega thrust his phone towards Derek and it took him a minute to figure out how the iPhone worked in comparison to his loyal blackberry. Then he read the conversation it was open on.

 

Oh.

 

Now he knew why Stiles told him not to get angry. And it was inevitable really, seeing Jackson’s name at the top and the things – the filth- he had been sending Stiles. The messages ranged from threats to outright insults, disgusting manipulating words, each one dripping with something twisted and angry. One message even daring to tell Stiles that if he dare ‘tell anyone I’ll fuck you until you ble-‘. Derek felt sick. This was his gender. This was his fucking gender, his disgusting people that thought they had the right to another human’s body just because they trusted them enough to-

 

“Derek, stop growling,” Stiles said softly, placing his hand above Derek’s and rubbing small circles into his skin with his thumb. It really shouldn’t have calmed him down as much as it did. Derek wanted to fucking kill Jackson, he wanted to sink his fangs into him, to stop his breathing. How dare he? How the fuck dare he? After what he’d forced Stiles through before- And now, making it so much worse, scaring, terrorising the boy all because. All because he couldn’t keep it in his fucking pants. “Please.”

 

Derek forced himself to breath properly, forced himself to look at Stiles, his wide worried eyes. What a phenomenally good person, to be worried about Derek when all he did was read a few messages. A good person that didn’t deserve half the shit happening to him. No Omega did. “I- I’m very angry right now,” he managed to choke out, handing Stiles phone back with shaking fingers. “I’m sorry, Stiles, I can’t- I’m really-“

 

“Its okay,” he soothed, not quite holding his hand but not moving away. “I’d be a bit worried if you weren’t” A nervous laugh, “But listen to me?”

 

Once Derek had looked up at Stiles, confirmation that he wasn’t about to run away, or shift or something, he breathed out. “Jackson is an Alpha. And he really wants me.” It was hard work, swallowing the growl threatening to bubble out. “I’ve done my research. He won’t let up. Apparently I’m a challenge and he’s wired to- He’s wired to want to defeat a challenge. Even if I say no.”

 

“What the fuck are you saying, Stiles?” Derek said, his voice barely above a whisper but harsh, biting all the same. “You’re just going to let him treat you this way, let him take you because he-“

 

“I’m saying that I don’t have a lot of options!” Stiles snapped, running his hands through his hair. Distressed. Before he could stop himself Derek turned his palm up and took Stiles’ hand in his own, offering comfort, an apology. God knew he was angry, god knew how he shook with his anger. But Stiles needed him calm. His big sweet amber eyes looked from their joined hands to Derek’s hand and gently, so small it was barely there, he squeezed back. “He’s- I know we haven’t been close that long.” Two months now, since the diner. Exactly 58 days. “But Jackson asked me out years ago. Been asking every month since then. I’m pushing him, I’m provoking him and he thinks it’s a game but I don’t want him, I swear I don’t-“ A shaking breath in. Another squeeze of Derek hand. It wasn’t fair that someone as strong as Stiles should feel so ashamed of himself, of his emotions, because of alphas. It wasn’t fair at all. Stiles composed himself and started up again. Derek could feel his heart aching. “He’s telling me that he wants to claim me and that this time he’ll do it for real and there won’t be anyone to hear me scream and he won’t stop, he won’t stop Derek, and I’m so fucking- I’m scared.”

 

Two words. Two words that made him feel like his world was crashing down.

 

“Don’t be scared,” he said, voice gravelly with barely restrained anger, emotion.

 

He wrapped his arms around Stiles, tightly, drawing him into his embrace. And this time it was pure selfishness. He had to- He had to hold him. He was safe here, in Derek’s arms. It was an insult, he knew it, Stiles could protect himself but he couldn’t help his instincts and they screamed for him to somehow make this okay.

 

Credit to him, Stiles didn’t pull away. He dropped his head to Derek’s shoulder and let him hold him. It would almost feel good if Derek didn’t know that Stiles was letting this happen because he was shaken up, so beyond scared that it wasn’t even funny.

 

“You have to understand,” Stiles was saying, pulling back and blinking back the moisture in his eyes. Derek wanted to reach up and cup his face. He stopped himself. “The only reason I’m asking is because I don’t- I can’t- His family are all lawyers, he’s an alpha, for fuck's sake. My dad wouldn’t be able to defend me and everyone would just tell me to spread my legs and let him- I- I have no other choice. I haven’t even told Scott because he’d start a fight. Get thrown in jail and I can’t have that.” He sucked in a deep breath, wrapping his arms around his legs. Cutting himself away from Derek.

 

It made him feel cold.

 

“Say it,” He whispered, “Whatever you want to say, Stiles, you can say it. I’m listening okay? I will always listen.” And perhaps it was a bit too sentimental, a bit too risky, but his emotions were shot and he couldn't find it in him to care. His omega had been threatened, composure was out the window.

 

“I need you to pretend to be my alpha, Derek,” Stiles rushed out, his face open and vulnerable.

 

Derek just blinked at him.

Chapter Text

Pretending to pretend to be in love with Derek Hale might be the hardest thing Stiles had ever had to do in his entire life. Even harder than that time he had to convince his guidance counsellor he hadn’t been sick because he was pregnant and please, please do not call the sheriff but because Scott had dared him to eat seventeen Reese’s cups in a minute.

Trying not to preen under Derek’s touch but at the same time having to preen because Derek was his ‘boyfriend’ and everyone in school knew and never stopped whispering was so hard that sometimes Stiles skipped class just to stay in the toilets and breathe.

Breathe. Like he really needed to do right now with Derek’s warm hand on the small of his back as if it were the most casual thing ever.

This wasn’t going to end well. He could just tell.

He’d gotten through the last week by the skin of his teeth. Blaming every skip in his heart beat, every blush, each small gasp on the thrill of lying rather than the thrill of Derek’s intimacy.

 Their relationship was unconventional but he was a good actor. He was just a teenager, Derek wasn’t claiming him, he wasn’t about to become a Hale’s mate. They were just dating.

God knew it was painful.

Derek had become such an intrinsic part of his life that it was natural to lean into his embrace, natural to brush his nose along his sharp, stubbled jaw.

It didn’t help that it was getting closer to that time of the year, his father brushing his hand every morning, kissing his forehead. For both their sakes.

This thing with Derek, whatever it was, it was distracting. And that was good. Usually Stiles would be grumpy, even more so than usual. Hateful, Scott had called him once after he called him a vicious name. He tried to keep in the pain from then on.

They hadn’t kissed and they were never going to. They set out some terms and conditions. No kissing unless in emergency’s. The period of the pseudo-relationship would last until the threat had disappeared. And absolutely, most indefinitely, no family. Whatsoever.

Somehow they were doing this. And they were doing it well.

Derek had his arm around Stiles’ waist, a move Stiles used to hate on other people. Derek though.. Derek let Stiles drape his arm across his shoulder, let him put his hand on his thigh. Let him call the shots of their non-existent painfully fake relationship. That was because Derek was a nice guy and Stiles was some kind of masochist. But that didn’t matter, his emotions didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact Jackson had stopped texting him in the week he’d ‘been’ with Derek, that the list of Alphas who’d thought they could squeeze his ass as he walked down the corridor had dwindled to one. And that one was Scott because Stiles’ twisted his nipples in retaliation. What mattered was how relaxed Derek made Stiles’ feel, how he seemed to dissipate all his anger, all his pain-

 Wait. No. That was- Fuck. And that was a fundamental flaw in his plan. Derek had fit every aspect perfectly, he wasn’t too close to Stiles for it to be unbelievable, he was a decent guy, he was up for a laugh and he was more liberal than have the knotters in the town. Only Stiles hadn’t even considered that his undying crush on the Alpha might have influenced his decision. He hadn’t thought how fucking hard it would be to stop his feelings from bleeding, tainting, his fake display of his fake feelings.

“You okay?” Derek whispered, turning his head and brushing his lips against Stiles’ shoulder. The tiniest of shivers ran through his body. Derek was good. He was achingly good. Stiles really shouldn’t have expected anything else from a boy who’d lived half his life in the public eye.

“I’m fine,” he replied quietly, turning and resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. He wasn’t okay. They fit seamlessly and that hurt. That was why it worked so well. They looked good together, everyone of Derek’s movements fitting, moulding, around Stiles’ perfectly. Stiles didn’t have to fake his persona. Derek, or at least the boyfriend Derek was pretending to be so well, wasn’t much different from the usual Derek, his friend. The same guy who agreed that the Omega meant more to a pack than it’s Alpha, the same guy who wanted a mating mark himself in the same place as his Omega, the same guy who sobbed worse than Stiles at the film Up, for gods sake. They’d spent almost every lunch since that Monday like this, sat beside each other on Stiles’ table, touching each other without even thinking.  And now five days in to their little PR stunt Stiles was finally starting to feel the dread, the weird heavy feeling in his stomach.

“Earth to Stilinski!”

Stiles bit his lip on a retort and smiled at one of Derek’s friends, on the team. By Derek’s little squeeze of his thigh he figured the guy wasn’t all too great company. Shit, Stiles didn’t even remember his name.

“Zoned out,” he murmured, leaning into Derek’s touch. Out of habit. Out of terrifying inexcusable habit. “Something about a party?”

“Yeah,” The Alpha said. Ethan. Aiden. Something overtly American that suited his face, his basketball shorts and the cologne he was wearing. Wow, Stiles was not in a good mood. “A camp out. Derek’s in,” Course he was. Stiles didn’t forget how much of a socialite his ‘boyfriend’ was.

He pulled a face and stood up, forcing himself away from the comfort of Derek’s arms. He wasn’t allowed it later, didn’t want to get used to it. When the pain hit he’d be alone and he would have to deal with it. “Sorry – Father son time, maybe next time?” Father son time. Grieving time. Memory time. Sobbing time. Call it what you want. Stiles needed to be at home to keep his father strong during tomorrow.

 Tomorrow would mark the third year since his mother died.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, like he could somehow know the mess of emotions Stiles was battling with behind his slight frame, his too big eyes, his weak, weak gender. He hadn’t been enough to sa- He stopped himself, closing his eyes and breathing out.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, flicking his eyes to Derek’s and reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. Calm his instincts. “I’ll text you later.” He promised, before he turned from those imploringly beautiful eyes and before he could tell Derek everything, break down in his arms like some wretched stereotype.

Stiles didn’t need an alpha.

He didn't need anyone.

 


 

 

The day started off how it would for Stiles every year. The dreams woke him up at around five am, his childish screaming drowning out the sound of her final words, her lips – his – daring to smile at him. Fingers touching his face.

Aniołek.

His father was still sleeping so he got up quietly, took a warm shower and forced a litre of water into his system. He had to stay hydrated.  Then he turned his phone off. He’d be MIA for today.

He spent three hours sat at the kitchen table, fingers soothing over the embroidery of the table cloth. He remembered sitting next to her as she worked, the pink stain in the corner from where he’d dropped his cherry aid. He hadn’t cried but his face had flamed in shame until she kissed his forehead and began to gently braid his too long hair. Forgiving him.

God, he wanted her to forgive him- A sob wracked through his body without his permission, his eyes clenching shut as his mind tortured him with the fleeting memories of his mothers kind smile, sharp eyes and wicked wit.

Vaguely, Stiles felt his fathers arms wrap around him from behind, the feel of his own tears against his shoulder. Vaguely, he remembered turning and hugging the man tightly as they had done for every year since her death.

They spent the rest of the day watching his dad’s favourite games, the Sheriff’s eyes misty as he nursed a beer and told Stiles the things he and his mom used to get up to when they were younger.

Stiles humoured him. For his own benefit too. Grieving was harder for him since he- since he had been there at thirteen years old. Since it was his fault. He stayed strong, his father’s rock, and when they had dinner (heartburn hearty style burgers and fries – Stiles would let his father off for today only) he told his dad he was gonna nap.

“Stiles,” His father said, grabbing his wrist before he could leave the kitchen. Stiles licked his lips and waited, waited for the inevitable disappointment, the sadness and blame to finally manifests. “I love you, kid.” Was all his father said, squeezing his hand and standing to kiss his forehead. 

Stiles closed his eyes, itchy from the tears, tired from the lack of sleep. “I love you too, dad,” he whispered, arms circling around his old man’s waist to squeeze him back briefly. And then he pulled away. Before he could break down in his dad’s arms, before he could add to his guilt.

He crawled into his bed and curled up around a pillow, seeking a solace that was gone from him forever. He reached over to the picture on his bedside table, his mom and him at their favourite diner. If he concentrated enough he could remember the sound of her laughter, like his own but lighter, sweeter. Happier.

He clutched the picture to his chest and sobbed around it, his muscles tense, his body wound tight. He- God, he wanted his mom so badly. Time never dulled the ache. The sound of his sobbing filled the room, drowned out the faint sound of the memories. And as ever, the guilt began to sink deep into his bones, to tear pieces away of his feeble heart.

He heard the door open distantly and thought nothing of it. Maybe his father was getting the trashcans; he knew the man wouldn’t leave the house today. He clutched the pillow closer and clenched his eyes tighter.

 “-are you doing here?”

 “Sorry to disturb you sir, I’ve got some- My mom made some-“

What. Was that Derek? What the fuck? Stiles placed the picture down with gentle, adoring hands and then scrambled to find his phone, turning it on and cursing the apple logo that he was stuck staring at for five minutes.

 “Damn,” he whispered, wiping the tears from his cheeks. Fifty seven missed calls. Eighty four texts.

 Derek's texts

Stiles didn’t even have time to read the rest before there was a small knock on his door. “Hey, kiddo,” His dad said softly, holding a plate of Mrs Hale’s famous peanut butter banana bread. “Derek.. Hale. Here to see you. Something about biology.” His fathers tone was incredulous. Understandably. Derek was a Were. A pretty sought after one at that.

Stiles expected to feel angry. This was his only time to grieve, to punish himself properly. Today was not supposed to involve anyone but him and the aching memory of his mother. His mother would pinch his cheek for the attitude showing on his face as Derek stepped out from behind his father looking.. sheepish. Derek Hale looking sheepish with a faint tinge of pink-

“Are you blushing?” Stiles blurted, sitting up and putting the phone down. His dad choked on a piece of banana bread. Derek’s gorgeous eyes went impossibly wide.

“And that’s my cue to get the hell out of here,” John said with a firm look at his son. Even grieving as he was, his look still managed to make Stiles a little shame faced.  Only a little. “Shout me if you need anything, boys. And Stiles… I’m armed.” Oh dear god, Stiles groaned. He just raised a hand as he walked away, shoving more banana bread in his mouth and Stiles didn’t have the heart to shout at him for it.

His eyes flicked to Derek’s, whose faced had morphed from embarrassment to determination.

“You didn’t reply to me,” Derek said quietly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. Which – hello! – Stiles’ room, Stiles’ rules. Stiles sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“Yeah, I wasn’t really think-“

“Thinking about it. I-“ Derek stepped closer and then scratched the back of his neck in some adorable habit he’d been unable to stop doing recently. It was not endearing. “I asked my mom. You know, 'cos she works at the hospital and I was really worried-“

“You thought I was in the hospital?” Stiles cut in, snorting. The image of Derek trying to ask the formidable Talia Hale if she saw a pale, sickly looking boy, was almost comical. But then he remembered Talia was Derek’s mom. Probably gave him a hug or a kiss or something. His face must’ve fell or something because Derek was trying to take a step closer and Stiles took a step right back. Derek stopped moving.

“She told me. What today is for you. And I’m sorry.” Derek’s voice was so soft Stiles barely heard it. He looked up, finding the alpha’s face earnest in a way that made him want to scream. That was not fair. Stiles had to suffer, he had to. Because had be been a little bit stronger, a little faster, his mom would be here right now. He clenched his jaw and looked away from Derek.

“Get out,” he hissed, ignoring Derek’s hand as it almost reached out to touch him. Because Derek was breaking rule number one. No family whatsoever. Dead or alive. And Stiles didn't know if he could deal with that.

 

Chapter Text

Derek had been going out his mind on Saturday when Stiles hadn’t replied. He was well and truly fucked. At one point he spent two hours just looking at his phone. Let Laura steal his car keys and she was already in the garage by the time he even realised she’d nabbed them straight out his pocket. His face flamed under her scrutinising look. But he couldn’t get annoyed at her, his sisters were his life.

She had his mom’s chocolate eyes, warm and inviting. Derek was the only one in the family with his father’s eyes, the only one who reminded his mom of what he’d done to her. Apparently he was like him. Angry and closed off.

That Friday night, when he should’ve been getting drunk and high off of god only knew what the twins had brought this time, he was in his room, writing what Laura called angsty-doom-poetry. Derek didn’t give a shit, if she wanted to think that his ode to Stiles’ lips and smile was angsty-doom-poetry he wasn’t about to show her to prove her wrong. It wasn’t like Laura was truly wrong. He used to write painful raw things, not poetry as much as a fleeting stream of consciousness, because he had to deal with his emotions somehow and venting on his family was not an option. Only, recently his words had taken an odd turn, like they weren’t even his own.

That was what he told himself anyway. That the words describing the ache in his heart, the conflict with the vicious pull, the way he felt incomplete without a pale hand in his own, that someone’s eyes could be more beautiful than all the good feelings he had ever subject to, those, those weren’t his words. He was eighteen. He wasn’t in love.

Sure he admired Stiles. Found beauty in his grace, in his confidence and independence. But to be in love was unthinkable. Stiles was human. Stiles was so much more than anything Derek could offer.

“Yo, Uncle Peter says he needs you on Sunday for a charity run, you up for it?” His elder sister said as she walked into his room. Without knocking of course. Laura’s face lit up in a smirk as she caught sight of his tattered notebook, his ‘diary’ she sometimes had taken to calling it. Derek ignored the flush on his cheek and shoved it under his pillow, sitting up properly against the headboard. 

“I won’t be able to get the time of work,” He replied, scratching the back of his neck. It was only part of the reason he was shaking his head. Sure, if he tried hard enough Mr Daehler would let him go, especially since it was for charity but he just didn’t want to run with Uncle Peter again. Last time he was sure he almost hacked up a lung. 

Laura’s face fell and she pursed her lips. He knew how she felt about him working, how she always had. “Derek-“

“Laura. I’m not having this conversation again-"

“Mom doesn’t like you working your ass-

“Mom can’t keep this whole family up by herself!”

“She doesn’t have to!” Laura shouted right back, her eyes flashing out golden in her passion. Derek had to close his own. He would never use his power over his sister but sometimes she just- she fucking pissed him off. “We have money, Derek, grandma left us so much. Jesus even dad left us-“

“That guy and his money don’t mean a thing to me,” He growled out. Growled. He worked his part-time job to fund the house, to save up for Laura’s college, for Cora’s clothes, for Christmas presents, for birthday presents. Because though his mother was alpha, Derek had become man of the house. Derek became responsible for an omega sister, a baby sister and his bondbroken mother. Derek became a man at the age of fourteen.

Laura must’ve been able to sense his anger since she deflated slightly. She glanced at him, at his clenched fists and opened her mouth to say something. Then she promptly shut it. Good, Derek thought. He couldn’t- He could talk about a lot of this. But he couldn’t talk about the alpha that sired him. “Der,” Laura murmured, stepping closer. His sister was almost his height, could probably beat him up if she ever wanted to, had his tan skin and the warmest brown eyes. His sister was probably his best friend. It was why he let her pull his hung head into her embrace, let her kiss his forehead like there was any chance of him being younger again.

“Hey! Assholes!“ Came possibly his favourite little voice in the world. He pulled away from Laura, kissing her cheek to lean by his door, catching Cora when she tried to rugby tackle him with a giggle. She elbowed him a couple of times, proving his mother right when she said Cora was getting far too old for him to carry her. Derek ignored her and hefted the eleven year old over his shoulder. “Put me down, you brute! It’s dinner time!”

“Nope.” He replied, beaming. His bad mood eased when Cora beat at his back and promised she’d paint his nails when he was asleep. Laura snorted and poked Cora’s side, grabbing her face in one hand and kissing her cheek despite her groans of protest and flailing arms. That generally hit Derek instead.

“Since you aren’t putting me down, you caveman, I won’t tell you what happened with Kent today.” Cora said, the smugness dripping from her voice. Derek stopped harshly, Cora’s head whacking into his back with the suddenness of it. “Ow!”

“Who’s Kent? Is he alpha or omega? I’ve never heard of Kent before. Have you?” Laura shakes her head and backs away, mouthing to Cora ‘Idiot’. “Who’s Kent, Cora?”

“Everyone wash your hands!” His mom shouted, forcing Derek to give up his interrogation and let Cora down so they could wash their hands. When he asks her again she flicks him with water and the sound of her evil laughter warms his heart, making him feel invincible. Like despite all his anger, all his confusion and fear, he was somehow Cora’s world. He was insanely thankful for his family. Stiles had left him feeling out of control but his family, his rock, they kept him from stumbling.

“Derek,” His mother sighed when she saw the grip he had on Cora’s shirt as he hounded her about Kent, the girl just smirking and feigning innocence. “How many times do I have to tell you?” Letting go of Cora and watching her almost trip made him bark out a laugh, cut off with a perfectly aimed kick to his shin. He shrugged and kissed his moms cheek as he helped her and Laura put the food on the table. “Cora, stop emotionally manipulating your brother-“

Derek stuck his tongue out like he was the kid and not on the cusp of adulthood.

“And Derek, stop letting your /little/ sister manipulate you. It’s embarrassing.” Cora burst out laughing and Laura flicked his head on the way to her seat. His mom flicked Laura’s forehead for him.

They all took their seats, his mom at the head of the table, Cora on her left with Laura next to her and Derek on the other side of her. Talia reached over gently and patted his thigh, giving him one of those caring smiles. He tried to smile back but found it wavering slightly in the face of her scrutinizing eyes. His mother wasn’t dumb; she had sensed something going on with her only alpha son for a while. Derek just hoped she’d drop it.

Dinner past by in relative conformity. Cora tried to steal one of Laura’s meatballs with her fingers. Laura caught her and smeared some sauce on her cheek. Cora launched into attack mode, only getting angrier when Laura just carried on laughing and Derek broke the two up by poking his elder sister hard. The both turned their efforts onto him, Laura grabbing him in a headlock as Cora kicked him and giggled. His mom sighed insufferably and cleared away the table.

 

“Derek,” His mom said, just when he thought he was safe enough to slink back to his room, maybe help Cora with her maths homework or go out the back with his bat, “I need to speak with you. Sit down.” Damn.

His mother was a force to be reckoned with. She was the epitome of a Hale, tall, pale, dark features and tumbling dark hair. His mother was the strongest person he knew and sometimes she was terrifying. Like when he was younger and he blamed his father leaving on himself, he’d never seen her so angry, never been so awed in all his life. His father had married not only into the strongest Were pack in Northern America but the strongest alpha it had ever birthed. Then he took her name and ran-

“I know there’s something going on, Derek,” His mom said, not unkindly but firm still. Showing no mercy for him to latch onto.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replied, itching to maybe look at his phone and text Stiles. But he wasn’t dumb enough to do that in front of her.

Talia sighed and put down her mug. She reached over the table and grasped his hand in both of hers, her skin startlingly pale against his own. “I know things have been hard-“

“Mom, I’m fin-“

“I swear to god, Derek Hale, if you utter the word ‘fine’ I will smack your behind into last week-“

“Mom!”

Talia chuckled and ran her thumb over his knuckles gently, “Sorry, love, I forget you aren’t five anymore.” she hummed, “Now, I know you aren’t fine. And that’s alright. No one is fine all of the time, sweetie, we’re allowed to have rough days. You’re allowed to be angry.” He sucked in a breath and looked away from her. She squeezed his hand. “But you aren’t allowed to forget that you are not alone. You have family that loves you. I love you, my sweet boy.” She cupped his cheek and forced him to look into her eyes, “And I won’t judge you. I’m your mother and I’m the luckiest one in the world.”

Derek swallowed the lump he could feel forming in his throat and breathed out. Finding his anchor in the scent of the house, his family safe and happy. He looked into her softly smiling face and found a courage that prompted him to open his mouth. He’d never be like his friends, throwing their parent’s love away carelessly, Derek had learned what really mattered the hard way and he was never going to take his family for granted. He appreciated everything his mom did for him. “I- I’m struggling to-“ he frowned, looked down to their hands and turned his, holding hers back. “There’s a boy.” He whispered, “When I’m angry he- He makes me breathe. He makes me feel.. worthy.” Talia nodded and kept up her gentle stroking movements. “I’m- When I’m around him things get, not easy, but they get smoother. Like, like not too harsh. And I don’t feel so-“ So overwhelmed. He stopped himself saying it. His mom had so much to think about already. “He’s not been replying to me. All day he’s not even sent me a one word reply and he never-“ A sudden though hit him, “Mom, did you see anyone on A and E, like a teenager, he’s-“ Oh fuck. He was going to have to tell his mom who he was, “Stiles,” he uttered quickly, “Stiles Stilinski. Do you know if he’s- if he’s sick or something?”

Talia didn’t reply for a moment, her eyes – too wise for her tender thirty seven years- staring at him far too intensely for him to be comfortable with. “No, sweetheart, Stiles isn’t in hospital.” She looked at him, eyes softening when she saw his expression of worry and concern (and fear). She stood up and brought out the flour from the cupboard, “But today is the anniversary of Claudia’s death,” she told him, voice quiet and respectful. Oh. Oh fuck. “I was going to get Laura to give a batch of banana bread to John but since she’s busy with finals you can go instead.” And see Stiles. His mother was giving him a reason to head over. To make sure Stiles was okay.

He nodded and kissed her cheek as he got out some things to help her out. She grabbed his wrist suddenly and looked at him with concern, “Derek, you’ve got to be careful. Alright? Promise me.” What she truly meant went unsaid. That he couldn’t fall for Stiles, couldn’t mate him, couldn’t claim him, and couldn’t put his heart on the line like that.

“I’ll try,” he replied, ignoring the disappointment in her eyes. He gently moved from her grip and rolled his sleeves up.

 

-

 

If Derek thought he was nervous that one time he asked Stiles for a pen back in September, it was nothing to how the boys father made him feel.

John Stilinski had a look that could make alphas piss and cry. And Derek still remembered that god damn look from when he was ten, clutching the Henderson’s pup to his chest and crying into its fur when John insisted he give it back.

“Amino acids, biology,” he said for the second time as John furrowed his brows and let him in. Finally.

“And Stiles knows about this anemo acid thing?” John asked, shutting the door and lifting the foil of the plate so he could eat a piece of banana bread.

“Well, he’s kind of the cleverest in the class,” Derek shrugged, stating the honest truth. John’s face softened and Derek could see just a glimpse of the pain the man was no doubt going through.

He led him up to the room as ate piece after piece of the cake, casually asking what was in it, how much butter and whether or not he should tell his boy. And then Derek was looking at Stiles and whatever John was saying went out the window as he took in the dried tear marks, the bitten lips and slight tremors going through the omega’s body.

He resolved to make Stiles better. Not smile, not happy. Just- Just somehow make him better. So when Stiles told him to leave he remained rooted to the spot, when Stiles swore at him he didn’t react. He just gauged the boy’s face, wanting to know whether or not he could touch him, whether or not he could hug him.

“I said get out, Derek!” Stiles screamed at him, his face faltering in his anger and showing frantic panic instead. It clicked; Stiles didn’t want Derek to witness this. Like somehow it made him lesser in Derek’s mind. God, how fucking wrong he was.

“I’m not leaving,” Derek said quietly, his strides no longer hesitant as he moved to the boy, “There’s no way I’m leaving you.” Stiles eyes’ widened as he sniffled, taking a step back that almost threw Derek. Then Derek wrapped his arms around him, holding him to his chest tightly and desperately trying to give him any kind of comfort.

At first Stiles didn’t move. And as the seconds ticked by – each one marked by one of Stiles’ painful whimpers – Derek felt like he’d fucked up. Like this was a step too far, something Stiles could never want, would never accept. Of course not, Derek had done what he’d promised never to do to an omega, he’d taken the choice away, he’d imposed himself on-

And then Stiles was pressing against him, his lithe body desperate to get closer as he wrapped his arms around Derek and buried his face in his neck. His most vulnerable part. The sobs started slowly, each one overwhelming Stiles and shaking him and Derek had no idea how the boy had done this alone but he would never let him be alone again. Not when the sounds of his tears filled his mind and pulled at his heart.

“You’re allowed to be sad,” Derek whispered, running one large hand up and down his back. Stiles made a cut off whine, digging his fingers into Derek’s back, “But you aren’t allowed to ever forget that you aren’t alone.

Stiles clung to him like if he didn’t he’d be lost and Derek held him right back, took the pain of his sobs, took the fleeting harsh deprecating words and twisted them into soft murmurs of hope. Took and gave equally.

Derek manoeuvred them slowly to Stiles’ bed, shuffling together until he could pull Stiles back into his arms and let him curl his fingers into his damp shirt as the sobs wracked through his body.

He’d expected to have this hurt and it did on a certain level, it ached to see Stiles in so much pain. But above that, above the pain and the fear of fucking up, above the hesitation, Derek felt determination. Felt right. He wasn’t letting Stiles go and somehow he knew that it was the right thing to do.

Even later when Stiles had cried himself out, when the exhaustion had finally taken over his body and he fell asleep on Derek’s chest, Derek still didn’t leave. He took Stiles hand in his own, pressed his lips to his fingers and kept his arm around his waist. Feeling the pull in his heart intensify.

And as he laid there, watching Stiles’ eyelashes flutter over his cheeks, pressing his lips to his forehead and brushing a thumb over his waist to soothe his fleeting whines, Derek had never felt so calm in his entire life.

Chapter Text

When Stiles woke in the middle of the night, he couldn’t even remember when it was he’d felt comfortable enough to fall asleep. Never mind on Derek’s chest, with the other boy's arms wrapped tightly around Stiles’ waist as he snored lightly. Stiles’ had been expecting to wake up to a puddle of his own drool and snot, to a nightmare or to a phantom scream. Not because the only discomfort he felt was the urge to piss.

Stiles extracted himself slowly, internally wincing at the damp patch he’d left on Derek’s nice designer t-shirt. He padded off to the toilet, body warm and lazy from sleep, his mind momentarily protected from the dark place he had once been in.. He washed his face, tried to brush his hair and stretched like a cat, stumbling on his way back from the sudden lightweightedness. He really had no idea why alphas wanted him, he was as ungraceful as a newborn gazelle.

Derek was already sat up and rubbing his face adorably when Stiles tried to quietly ease his way into his bedroom,. Stiles’ tracked the muscles twitching in his forearm and breathed out, cursing himself for how dry his mouth got. “Hey,” Derek murmured, his stormy eyes calm with sleep. Stiles looked down and wrapped his arms himself. Uncertain of himself now. It had been simpler when Derek had held him, when he let Stiles just stop thinking for a second and hadn’t made him feel guilty for it. Now though- Now there was no reason for Derek to still be here and yet he was, laying in Stiles bed and taking up most of it, looking vulnerable and soft and like he needed to be kissed.

Derek’s eyes snapped back to concern so quickly it was almost comical. Evidently it wasn’t since it didn’t make Stiles laugh, it made him feel weird inside. “You okay?” Derek asked, body going rigid like he was somehow going to fight off Stiles’ insecurities with sheer physical strength.

“Fine,” Stiles whispered quickly before Derek could rip his shirt off and declare himself Stiles’ own alpha saviour.. “Just weird seeing you in my bed.” Derek could probably sense the lie, even if it wasn’t that much of one. It was an honest observation. When he’d imagined Derek in his bed he’d imagined him without clothes on, eyes glowing crimson and a smirk on his lips as he pounded into Stiles hard and fast and raw. As opposed to looking at him like he’d break. Like he couldn’t do anything.

“Want me to leave?” Derek moved to get up but hesitated, fingers curling in Stiles’ sheets and looking like it was the last thing he was willing to do. Stiles thought about it. Did he want Derek to leave? Not at all. Not almost as much as he wanted Derek to stay, to wrap back around him and tickle his cheek with that ridiculously alluring beard. Was it wise though? Probably not. Derek shouldn’t have come up at all, no one should be here. This was Stiles’ time. It was his time to remind himself, how he hadn’t been enough, how it was his fault, his mother had counted on him and he-

“You can stay,” Stiles said before he was even aware his lips had parted. A moment passed where all the both of them could do was stare each other. If he didn’t know Derek as well as he did, he’d say the alpha was sizing him up, bristling at the challenge to his authority. But since Stiles knew Derek, he knew the way he narrowed his eyes was nothing more than his attempt to sense if Stiles was lying, the tension in his stance was due to him feeling like an intruder and the small frown was his brain hurting as he tried to understand Stiles body language. A typical reaction. Stiles’ was confusing to everyone who wasn’t his father.

It was Stiles’ who looked away in the end, the discomfort he felt from being so intensely scrutinised winning over his pride and desperation to seem stronger than he was. He sat back down on the bed, leaning against the headboard beside Derek and took a few moments just to breathe.Then he looked back up and went for round two of their fucking-weird-staring-match(™) more determined than ever to get Derek to just drop it.

Only this time Derek’s gaze wasn’t filled with concern and tension as it had been before. There was something different in his eyes, something different in the way his eyes travelled down from Stiles’ eyes to his lips. Derek’s pupils dilated and Stiles knew him. He knew that wasn’t anger, that was desire.

Stiles had had his fair share of awkward sexually charged silences, it was never usually on his part. Stiles got too drunk, too high to ever feel awkward about initiating anything. It was the alpha or omega across from him that was normally too struck by intimidation to make the first move to Stiles’ lips. So yeah, he’d had his fair share of sexually charged silences and he was calm and composed throughout them. But this one- This topped them all. Derek’s gaze felt like the harshest heat, melting Stiles’ body where it travelled slowly from his lips to his chest, over the dip of waist and his thighs. Stiles’ watched him, transfixed, as he inhaled a deep lungful of what was undoubtedly Stiles arousal. Since Stiles was nowhere as calm and fucking composed as he should be.

“You sure?” Derek asked, his voice coming out hoarse and Stiles tried to stop the smug feeling from developing into a smirk. He did that. He made this gorgeous alpha struggle with his words and that knowledge made the fact he was getting more and more turned on far easier to deal with. He wasn’t the only one struggling with the air between them.

Somehow Stiles knew that the broken words weren’t only a question of whether or not Derek should stay. Instead of answering, Stiles turned to kneel on the bed facing Derek, he took one sharp intake to gather his courage and then he was straddling Derek’s lap. It was a welcome distraction- No, that wasn’t fair, it was more than just a distraction. When Derek placed his hands on Stiles’ hips, warm and grounding, Stiles couldn’t think of anything except for how right this was.

Stiles decided to stop thinking, leaning in to cup Derek’s face and pulling Derek into a deep and desperate kiss. Stiles wanted to whimper at the feel of Derek against him, his firm thighs under his ass, their stomachs pressing against each other soft and sleep warm. Stiles was lost to the feel of Derek’s hot, chapped lips. And then Derek’s large hand slipped under his shirt to press against the small of his back and Stiles moaned against Derek’s lips, biting down involuntarily on Derek's bottom one.

“Holy fuc-“ Derek hissed, kissing down along Stiles’ jaw. Then he fixated on Stiles’ neck. He licked over Stiles’ pulse point and sucked, not hard enough to leave a mark but hard enough to make Stiles’ hips jerk on his lap, to make his fingers dig into Derek’s shoulders where they’d taken purchase in an attempt to seem on top of things. But Stiles’ had no idea the effect Derek was having on him, he hadn’t expected this tenderness.

Derek was a werewolf. He was a capital A-alpha. He was a strong, strapping young man, and here he was touching Stiles with a gentleness Stiles hadn’t thought a man that large was capable of. Stiles felt the arousal seep through his whole body, making his abdomen clench and twist. He was turned on, so achingly turned from just a kiss.

Stiles carded his fingers through Derek’s hair to pull his head back and claim those lips again. He caught sight of Derek’s eyes, flickering between crimson red and his stormy green. Dazed. “Jesus,” Stiles panted against Derek’s lips. It was the hottest thing and at the same time it wasn’t enough. Stiles moved his lips to Derek’s neck and sucked lightly, pulling back to watch as Derek melted against his touch. He ran his fingertips over Derek’s chest, sliding them under his pretty designer shirt and keeping eye contact as he pushed the alphas shirt up to his shoulders.

Derek looked at him like he was the only thing in the entire world, his nostrils flaring as he drank in Stiles scent and Stiles was growing heady with the power Derek so willingly gave to him. No, not power. It wasn’t like that. It didn’t feel- malicious. It didn’t feel like a battle. It just felt right and that was such novel feeling for Stiles. Nothing had ever felt pure and right before.

He wasn’t intrinsically aware of his arousal like he usually was, the strive towards pleasure wasn’t the thing that dominated his mind and for once in his entire life he was focused. In tune with the way one drop of sweat travelled over Derek’s face, negotiating with his beard until it rested in the jut of collarbone. Stiles was overcome with the need to take Derek’s shirt off. To see him and soak him in. This desperation to get Derek naked under him battled with a part of him he wasn’t used to listening too during make out sessions. The part of him that was content to sit on the alpha’s lap and trace his fingers up and down his arm knew that it was a crime to think of Derek Hale as nothing more than a beautiful face and a built body.

Stiles' fingers, pale and bitten, scrambled against Derek’s chest until they stilled, the internal battle ending with the conclusion that all Stiles really wanted was to be this close to Derek forever. His breath was easier through his lungs, his heart beat fast but regular and his wide curious eyes rested gently on Derek’s face.

The corners of Derek’s mouth curved up into a beautiful smile, his bunny teeth showing and his eyes lighting up like a beacon in a storm.

Stiles was in love.

He felt his own lips move, grinning right back his alpha. He let out a heavy, grounding sigh and stroked Derek’s cheek with his thumb. Happy. So happy.

“Stiles,” Derek said, looking like he just discovered the answer to the world’s hardest riddle. Looking like he would burst if he didn’t let Stiles’ name out. Looking like he held the reason for life in his arms.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered right back at him, not entirely sure what he was portraying, not in control.

It was too cliché, objectively he knew that. They were teenagers, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Derek was supposed to be drunk and Stiles was supposed to be faking it like he usually did. But there was something between them that charged the air, something bigger than the both of them.

Stiles let out a shaking breath and pushed Derek’s shirt up and off slowly, keeping eye contact to make sure every tentative movement was wanted. The first touch of his cold, clammy finger tips to Derek’s skin sent a shiver through the alpha that Stiles’ tracked hungrily. Derek was the beautiful one, fuck the stereotypes. Stiles splayed his hand out against Derek’s chest where his heart was resting, separated with nothing but the softest skin, softer than expected. Derek’s beard was misleading, he expected Derek to rip of his shirt and have a thick pelt of chest hair, curly and like a 70’s porno. It wasn’t like he was completely hairless but Stiles couldn’t say Derek truly had chest hair.

Stiles glanced back up, noting the faintest of flushes underneath Derek’s beard. Derek was embarrassed and shouldn’t be. Stiles evidently wasn’t the only person crushed under the weight of society’s expectations and the lack of a smile of Derek’s face was a crime. “Like a baby’s bum,” he blurted without thinking as he stroked down his abs, subconsciously trying to make Derek smile again. Only Derek didn’t smile; he frowned and the flush got deeper. Stiles stomach dropped and he parted his lips to apologise, to-

“I moisturise daily,” Derek teased right back, a nervous little smirk tugging at his lips.

“You carry wet wipes in your bag, too,” Stiles smirked but his eyes were soft. He liked it, he liked Derek’s idiosyncrasies. “You’ve got the school fooled but you’re a big lovable nerd.”

Derek rolled his eyes, and turned his head to barely brush his lips against Stiles’ wrist. “A big,” Derek kissed Stiles hand, “Lovable,” he leaned forward to kiss Stiles’ cheek, “Sexy,” he sucked Stiles’ bottom lip gently and Stiles just sat there. “Nerd.” He kissed Stiles’ properly and god help him Stiles’ couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“You fucking dork,” He burst out laughing, his entire body shaking. The both of them chuckling against each other like some kind of old wizened couple. Stiles’ loved how comfortable Derek made him feel.

“For real though,” Derek breathed, pressing his lips against Stiles’ neck and licking stripe up to Stiles’ ear. Fuck. “I want to touch you.”

There was no logical reason for the pang of pleasure he suddenly felt at those words, so intense Stiles had to close his eyes, had to shiver so that he wouldn’t moan. There was no logical reason for any of this - whatever this thing between him and Derek even was- but Stiles didn’t give a shit. It felt unbearably good and the desperation that had been building and building in the pit of his stomach roared until every exhale was shaking and every inhale was close to a whimper. He wasn’t just losing control, he’d already lost it somewhere between Derek’s voice sending goosebumps across his skin and the scent of him.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered, barely a formed response but the only one he was capable of getting out. He couldn’t contemplate letting go of Derek to throw off his clothes but he knew he had to. Luckily, Derek took the difficult choice out of his hands and took of Stiles’ t-shirt for him with swift and firm movements, swapping their positions so he could have at the omega's sleep shorts.

Stiles closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t that he hated his body, it was just that- He usually was never sober when this happened, never really had to acknowledge that someone was looking at a body he hated anyone look at him. Save for the wondrous 'fuck' that left some alphas lips when he parted his legs.

Derek didn’t say a thing and the silence stretched on until Stiles opened his eyes with a frustrated huff and glared at him. The alpha was busy looking at Stiles’ body like he was the long lost pirates treasure chest, like he was a cooked lobster- Dereks’ mouth was even open, salivating and ready to fucking take a bite. “Hey!” Stiles snapped, clicking his fingers in front of his face. He hated- hated being put on show for alphas, some bit of meat to just violate with a lingering stare and-

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Derek said, and it was on the tip of Stiles’ tongue to just tell him to fuck off when Derek blushed and smiled softly, “You’re beautiful,” he whispered with such a magnitude that Stiles had to listen.

Oh.

“-and I know I’m not the first alpha to tell you, or omega because I’m not trying to assume your sexuality or anything, but god, Stiles, I don’t know what it is about you that I just- I can’t stop looking at you-” Derek was still babbling on and on, as though he had something to prove to Stiles. He probably did, everyone had something to prove to someone, but Stiles had enough. He rushed up and pulled Derek’s face down so he could kiss those moving lips into silence, so he could quietly reassure Derek in his own way that he wasn’t hated and in fact, Derek was probably the only alpha he really actually liked.

Derek responded in kind, his body melting down over Stiles’ to grind- fuck - and send sharp pangs of arousal through his abdomen. Stiles’ hands moved of their own accord, over Derek’s neck and the jut of his shoulder bones, down to the small of his back, his skin warm and clammy. “Are we going the whole way?” Derek panted into his mouth, all desperation and no finesse. Stiles’ liked it, Derek was genuine and sincere, down to the way he fucking snogged.

“Yeah,” Stiles moaned into his mouth. Derek was the man he’d been dreaming about fucking him. Like having sex with Derek would make up for all those mediocre nights with alphas that rolled off him and asked in a blissed out voice, ‘Did you finish?’. He forced thoughts from his mind and focused enough on Derek to find the alpha had gone stiff in his arms. “Derek?” he whispered, suddenly unsure of himself. Was his eagerness off putting? Fuck- Did it matter? He shouldn’t think that way, he enjoyed sex, he was allowed to enjoy sex, he was allowed to be a slut, he could-

“I’m a virgin,” Derek blurted, scowling as though that would hide his nerves. His fingers were shaking on Stiles’ hip.

“Oh,” Stiles managed, trying to process his emotions about the little factoid and not getting very far. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why that should surprise him. Derek was hot, he was beautiful and the epitome of high school heartthrob. But he was the kind of guy that wanted to kill Jackson for threatening Stiles, the kind of guy that took his little sister to the park, the kind of guy that could have a drunk omega on his lap and willing and would still decline their advances. There weren’t a lot of alphas like Derek in Beacon Hills. “So? I’ll be on top.”

Derek blinked those stormy eyes at him and his eyebrows furrowed together, like he was seriously going through some shit. “Uh-” he started and Stiles ran his hand down Derek’s chest just for something to calm him. “Not that I- I mean, I guess- I don’t exactly get wet, Stiles, I don’t-”

“Ah, shut up! Oh my god!” Stiles burst out laughing, pressing his hand against Derek’s mouth as his body shook with the laughter. God, Derek was just the most adorable, the fucking- God, Stiles just freaking liked him, okay? “I’m not gonna stick my dick in you, Lord Wolfy,” he snorted, letting the ‘unless you want’ that was implied by the glint in his eye just hang there. “I meant, I’ll ride you.” he murmured, before suddenly realising that he took Derek’s little confession and assumed. Like he always did. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Except Stiles knew they’d end up doing the do sooner rather than later. He and Derek had this thing between them, fizzling, spitting, and oh so desperate. Stiles wasn’t a monster but Derek made him feel things that he would just rather he got out of his system. So he could move on with his life.

Derek laughed at him. Or with him. It didn’t really matter because the sound sent shivers through his body and he wanted to make Derek happy like that. “I want to,” he said, hand running across Stiles’ hip bone, and his voice wasn’t something Stiles was likely to forget any time soon. Warm and comforting. Stiles just nodded, and leant in to press their lips together. Warm, so fucking warm, he felt like he was going to burst from it.

He hadn’t been paying attention, he’d been pathetically nibbling on Derek’s bottom lip, and Derek had been responding to every single movement he made. Claiming dominance of Stiles’ lips and in the next instance giving it up freely. His hands slid into Derek’s hair, tugging, making the alpha moan. And then almost in retaliation Derek’s fingers slipped from his hip to his thigh, tugging, Stiles’ leg wrapped around the alpha’s waist. Stiles’ fingers dug into the back of Derek’s neck as he prodded gently at his hole, already wet. His breath hitched and he was too desperate to care about how weak he was seeming in front of Derek.

It was one finger. One finger. Stiles had had more than that in him, Stiles had three from the get go. It was nothing. But it was something, it really was, because this was Derek. Derek’s body above his, Derek’s lips by his jaw. “More,” he begged, the word punched from his lips in a puff that ran over Derek’s hair and made the sweat trickling down his forehead glisten like diamonds. Derek obliged to Stiles’ order and pushed two fingers inside him with barely any resistance, his hole wet enough to be be making obscene noises. Fuck, Derek knew how to finger an omega. Stiles dropped his head back to his pillow when Derek scissored his thick fingers and his eyes fluttered shut without his permission.

“Did you know you’re so beautiful?” Derek asked him, making him open his eyes and gape at him. He didn’t answer. Derek didn’t push.

“I’m ready,” Stiles panted, wiggling his hand between them to grab at Derek’s dick. He hissed at Stiles’ brazen grasp and Stiles jacked him slowly, eyes soft in apology. Derek’s dick was.. Woah. Derek had a really nice dick, not too thick, not too long- Just- Perfect. Kinda like Derek himself. “Oh, hello, buddy, you’re excited, aren’t you?” Stiles cooed, because he was an asshole. Derek groaned, his cheeks bright with his blush and Stiles laughed, kissing him to make up for it.

“You’re a jerk.”

“I know,” Stiles smirked and pawed at Derek’s chest until he laid back. He wasted no time in straddling Derek and in hindsight he really should've wasted a teeny bit of time being a bit more careful because when he sat up with Derek’s hands on his hips and seated himself on the alpha’s cock in one swift movement Derek swore like a sailor and his grip turned bruising.

“Stiles!”

“Shit, my bad. Are you okay?”

“Don’t. Move,” Derek breathed, his voice wrecked. Stiles nodded, obeying though his fingers were restless, running over Derek’s chest to his face. He cupped it and kissed him, slow and sensual. Too slow for meaningless sex. God, Derek felt so good inside him. He couldn’t help the breathy moan he let out, struggling to get in control of his arousal. He just wanted Derek to feel good, to enjoy this half as much as Stiles was. Derek’s grip loosened and he opened his eyes to look at Stiles.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you.” Soft. Caring.

“You feel really good,” Derek told him, voice dark. He looked fucking delirious. Stiles did that.

“So do you, big guy.”

“You can move, if you want.”

“Oh, I can?” Stiles let out a soft laugh, starting to just jerk his hips, “Why, thanks, I-”

Derek let out a gasp and grabbed Stiles’ hips, stilling them and shaking his head. “God, I feel like I’m going to cum in the next second,” he stuttered out, voice strained.

“And it’s okay if you do,” Stiles said, feeling bold by how much his ass was affecting Derek. By how much he was affecting Derek. “But I know you’ll wait for me, Der.”

Derek looked up at him with something akin to adoration and it went straight to his head, making him feel special. The alpha nodded, a curt and tightly wound up movement, then he melted with a groan as Stiles started to rock his hips.

This felt- So good. Fuck. He couldn’t get over how amazing it felt, how Derek’s touch left goosebumps in its wake. A kiss to his shoulder, fingertips on his abdomen and Stiles was shaking with the shocks that ran through him.

He started moving faster, wishing he was more in control as he pressed his hands against Derek’s smooth chest and undulated his hips. The silence between them wasn’t really a silence, not with Derek’s soft little grunts, the slick perfect slide of their bodies and the utterly obscene sound of Stiles fucking himself on Derek’s cock. Stiles could almost hear the shivers that wracked through his body, harmonious with the blood rushing to his head.

“Derek,” Stiles choked out, almost sobbing. His name was like a prayer and a curse. Grounding him whilst simultaneously letting him float away.

Any other alpha would’ve quivered under it, would’ve forced Stiles on his back. But Derek actually respected his wishes. Though that could be because he looked like he was getting his brains fucked out.

“Stiles,” It was a growl, it was a fucking growl and Stiles got so wet from it he could feel his slick pooling around Derek’s crotch. His fingers curled into Derek's chest as he lifted himself on his knees and let himself drop, a fully body jerk running through him. “Don't hurt yourself. Fuck- Stiles, I’m not. I can’t-”

Stiles couldn't even smirk, it felt so good. He should be more careful, he really should ease up on himself like Derek said. But he was desperate, so fucking desperate. “Der, Der,” he whined. Full on whined. He'd be sore tomorrow, he'd be filled with regret tomorrow, he'd remember this every day starting from tomorrow. But for now he just fucked himself hard and fast, Derek’s cock reaching places that made him shudder and whimper until he lost control.

He opened his eyes, so fucking close, to find Derek staring at him with pure desire across his features. “Derek,” Stiles sobbed out, a beg for relief. And Derek's eyes flared a brilliant crimson for just one moment before he started to move, grabbing Stiles’ hips to hold him in place and thrusting into him. Stiles threw his head back as the fire engulfed him, waves crashing into his body until he was shaking so hard and his orgasm sent him reeling. God Stiles hated cliches but there were fireworks inside him, his entire vision just- Fireworks and Derek, Derek, Derek, Derek. Then he slumped.

Derek pulled him down as the alphas rhythm became irregular and frantic, a groan and a bite to Stiles’ neck and then he was cumming inside Stiles, making him twitch through the aftershocks.

Stiles couldn't move. He couldn't even move. He had never, ever had an orgasm that intense. He hadn't even touched his dick.

Derek's hands rested on his lower back and Stiles could feel ever shaking breath the alpha took. He didn't dare look at him. Didn't dare make eye contact. If Derek looked into his eyes right now, what he saw would ruin Stiles.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“That was-”

“Yeah."

Chapter Text

Derek woke up slowly and in utter bliss. His senses slowly came back to him, the smell of Stiles’ laundry detergent, the smell of his shampoo, the weed hidden in his draws. The smell of them together. He didn't open his eyes and relaxed, hyperaware of every strand of Stiles’ beautiful hair against his chest. The rise and fall of his delicate chest, the sticky warmth where their legs were tangled together. He felt like a kid again at the fair. Sensory overload. Instead of running and hiding until his sister found him, this time he revelled in it. Pain from being so surrounded by Stiles wasn't really pain at all. If it was then Derek was a masochist. And that wasn’t news. You didn’t fall in love with an omega like Stiles without being a little unwell.

They had sex last night. They had sex and Derek didn't wolf out. Didn't claw Stiles, didn't mate him, didn't hurt him. Didn't live up to the stereotypes he'd been hearing for years. It was the best night of his life. And he would most definitely be writing about it in his ‘angsty poetry’ book. They had sex and it felt like so much more than just fucking sex.

He didn't think it was possible to love Stiles more than he already did, but that was Stiles. Enigmatic, bright and entirely unpredictable. He wasn't there to control Stiles, to roll his eyes at him. Derek was just- In awe of him. Stiles had a magnitude in everything he did. That included sex. Derek somehow felt more hooked on Stiles, desperate for everything and yet knowing it would never be enough. He looked over Stiles’ sleeping for again. Not willing to waste a second of it. There was a sock hanging off his foot, elongating the pale leg that stuck out from under the duvet. Ungraceful and so beautiful Derek had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke Stiles’ leg. That would be a little too creepy.

Derek let go of the ache clinging to his heart, a panging he couldn’t really explain, and leaned down to risk pressing a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.

“Ugh, of course you’re soppy in the morning,” Stiles grumbled, face still mushed against Derek’s chest, making his words rumble and trip over each other. It couldn’t be comfortable but Stiles didn’t move except for snuffing closer. Derek wasn’t the only soppy one, he noted, when Stiles pressed a kiss to his pec. But he didn’t say anything, letting Stiles have his way one last time.

“Morning, princess,” he teased. Jesus, Derek was in a good mood, he could hear the grin in his own voice, the enthusiasm and joy. Stiles picked himself up and glared at him, his hair flattened on the side he’d slept on and looking like he’d been electrocuted on the other.

“Stop it, stop being chipper,” Stiles huffed, voice broken by a huge yawn that took over his whole body. Derek’s heart faltered. The sheet’s were pooled by Stiles’ waist, his body stretching and inadvertently showing Derek so much skin. He was hit with the memories of the art that hung in his uncle's mansion, the soft feminine bodies painted at angles that heightened their bodies. He would never look at them in awe, never again, not now he saw Stiles and the natural form of his body. It didn’t need any exaggeration like the mediocre omegas painted in uncomfortable positions.

“I’m not usually a morning person,” Derek managed to get out, slightly more breathless than he’d been aiming for. And Stiles scoffed at that before he was leaning down, creases in his pale skin and looking so damn fucking soft.

The kiss was close-mouthed, warm and lazy. Derek would never forget it.

“Gotta shower,” Stiles murmured, his voice all crackly and sleep-hoarse. Derek should not have been so entirely affected by Stiles in the morning. He’d heard from his friends what it was like to wake up with a beta after a one night stand and it was generally awkward and shameful. All Derek felt was longing. Longing to have Stiles back in his arms. Longing to wake up to the same sleep mussed face everyday. It was all he could think about as Stiles slipped off the bed, confident in his nakedness, and padded into his ensuite.

“Fuck,” Derek whispered to himself. Yep. He was fucked.

He glanced at his phone to see his mom had given him a few missed calls. Not surprising since he hadn’t told her he’d be spending the night. He gave himself just a minute to get his smirk under control before calling back, his mother didn’t need to know when her only alpha son lost his virginity.

“Oh, thank god,” Talia sounded, her voice breathless and filled without relief. Instantly alert, Derek frowned. It wasn’t exactly major that he spent the night out, he’d done it before, crashing on Allison’s floor as they vented to each other over the beer they’d sneaked from the fridge.

“You gave me three missed calls, is everything okay?” Derek asked, sitting up in Stiles’ bed and breathing in deeply at his mother's little sigh. Talia’s little sigh was telling.

“When can you get home?” She evaded. It made him feel worse. He got up and tried to find his clothes, swallowing.

“I’m at a.. Friends house,” he said, his heart skipping because he didn’t think of Stiles’ like a friend. Not anymore. “Like ten minutes. What’s going on?”

“I need you here, Derek,” Talia said quietly, “Your sisters are fine. I’m fine.” Derek let out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding at that. “I’ll explain the minute you walk the door, sweetie, just come home.” And with that she hung up. Derek had managed to get his boxers on and was staring at his phone with his heart beating too fast for him to breathe properly when Stiles came out the shower with a towel around his waist.

“Derek?”  Stiles said, voice cautious and breaking the silence that had fallen.

Derek blinked and offered him a weak smile, one that did nothing to take away the worried expression on Stiles’ face. Derek was an abysmal liar, ‘pure’ and ‘good hearted’ his mother said. ‘Stupid’ his uncle Peter said. “My mom rang,” he murmured, pulling on jeans and pocketing his phone.

“You have to go?” Stiles asked and he said it with- nothing. No emotion. Derek’s heart sank just a little. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe that Stiles would turn around to him and say he was in love with Derek. Something. Some sadness, regret, anything. Not just- A blank slate. “I forgot you’re a hotshot.” And with that Stiles sat back down on the ruined bed and stared to the ground.

There was something in Stiles’ voice that made Derek want to stay and ask him just what exactly he thought of Derek. Of the Hale name. It was suffocating to be who he was in a town like Beacon Hills but it was home. Had been Hale home for centuries. Derek couldn’t exactly leave his mom, when his shit bag father had already done that to her. He supposed that Stiles thought what everyone thought. That they got a shit ton of money from the Werewolf Association, that they were stuck up and pretentious, and werewolf supremacists. He didn’t have the time though. He was alpha of the house and his mom needed him. He pulled on his hoodie, too lazy to try finding his shirt, too keyed up to waste time trying to find it.

“I’ll message you,” Derek promised, stomach churning with a feeling of guilt he wasn’t used to as he shoved his things in his pockets and found his keys. His family was in trouble and Derek’s family was the most important thing. Second most- He looked at Stiles, pink blossoming marks on his neck and the mess of his hair. Derek’s eyes softened. Joint first most important thing. He leant in, too worried to think about the tension in Stiles’ shoulders and kissed his forehead, thumb rubbing the back of his nape.

Stiles’ hand snaked out as he was about to turn, the omegas grip harsh and unrelenting on his wrist. He looked down but Stiles wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t grace Derek with the light of his eyes and Derek was stuck trying to understand what Stiles was thinking through the sweep of his lashes on his cheekbones. “Okay,” Stiles said and he let go.

Derek left and forced himself not to look back.

 

-

 

To Stiles :

I already miss you. This is ridiculous.

To Stiles:

I grinned at the car next to me at a red and she gasped. Then I remembered what you did to my neck.

From Stiles:

escandelo! ;)

To Stiles:

Still fairly certain you aren’t human.

To Stiles:

Like fae or something.

From Stiles:

little old me??!!!  #derekhalesbloodtasteslikehoney

From Stiles:

#hisdicktasteslikestrawberries

 

-

Derek grinned and pocketed his phone just before he pushed open the door to the Hale mansion, a few cars in the driveway and the motorbike of his best friend. He was glad Allison was here, he needed to talk to her. To think through his emotions about Stiles like a typical eighteen year old. He could pretend for a day he was fairly normal.

There was a lot of noise coming from the large living room and Derek was hit with the scent of pack almost as soon as he saw the pile. Deaton was stood to the side, a frown on his normally fairly ambivalent face and his mother in her full shift curled around a few soft whimpering little cubs. Cora and Laura were stroking through their mother's fur and Denise, mother of the twins was knelt with tears in her eyes. Derek felt the surge to protect slam into him, hard. “What happened?” he demanded, eyes firm and responsible as they looked around the room. Denise stifled a sob as Allison stood, her arms around herself.

“I found them when I was practicing,” she said quietly, rubbing Denise’ shoulder. Pack. No doubt his mother had called everyone else in Beacon Hills that fell under their protection. Denise’s mate, Rolan, would be on his way. Chris, Morrell, Tabitha and her daughter, Isaac, Erica, Boyd and his father. His mind was working overtime, the cogs clanking to try and figure out the threat. “I don’t know what hurt them.”

“Are they gonna be okay?” Derek asked, dropping to his knees in front of the cubs and stroking with soft movements. He’d shift in a second, after he thought and strategized. He was the Hale pack’s second, after all. He shot up his face to Deaton who gave him a soft nod and Derek swallowed. This wasn’t an accident. Not from how Allison had broached the subject.

“Laura, take Denise to the spare room and let her get settled. Then text Rolan and tell him to bring some things. You’ll be staying with us until they’re healed, okay?” he fired off and Denise nodded, kind blue eyes softening.

“Cora, can you bring out some refreshments for our guests just until the rest of the pack arrives?” His little sister nodded, face adamant and firm. It wasn’t unusual for him to turn like this,especially not when his mother was so preoccupied with healing and comfort. He was her only alpha child, he didn’t have a choice.

“What happened?” he repeated, looking to Allison. She knelt next to him as Laura and Denise left, dropping her head to his shoulder and letting out a deep breath. He felt grave, his wolf whining pathetically in response to the heart-breaking noises coming from the small bundles. How had he let this-

“I don’t know,” Allison said quietly, her heart beat steady. He trusted her, he just- Wasn’t thinking straight. “I was out practising, Lydia was literally about to meet me and I heard the whine. When I found them they had shifted, I didn’t know it was TJ and Eli. They had what looked like claw marks on their underbelly, I don’t know. I just bundled them up and brought them here straight away.”

Derek let out a breath. It wasn’t that Beacon Hills was safe, it was more that- Things had happened before he was aware of himself. Before he had to be responsible. And all he could feel was a crushing disappointment in himself.

“We should send out a patrol and-”

“Talia already did, son,” Chris said, walking in with Boyd by his side. Derek hadn’t even heard them. He got into his head, always distracted and not enough. “Not a wolf.”

“Not fae either. There was something blocking the scent,” Boyd pitched in, slipping out of his clothes and easing into his full shift to give Talia a break from taking the pups pain. Derek should’ve done that. Why was he being so-

“They’re just babies,” he managed. Why was he getting like this? Why was he- An image hit him from nowhere. Children with Stiles’ eyes, beaming toothless smiles and running. God- He-

“Excuse me,” he breathed, leaving his duty as second and going to his room.

-

From Stiles:

sooo wheres my text back hoe

From Stiles:

dont be a cliche, its not cute

From Stiles:

:(

From Stiles:

i miss you

From Stiles: 

derek?









Chapter Text

“It can’t have been that good,” scoffed Scott and Allison with the same assertion in two different bedrooms in different boroughs of the same city.

Stiles knew he must have had the most ridiculous look on his face, laying back on the bed he had actually took the time to change before his best friend came over and staring up at the ceiling. Positively wistful. It was fairly sickening.

“He’s perfect,” he whispered and Scott put down the nintendo he’d been focusing most of his attention on. Uh oh. Scott was giving him sweet, concerned puppy eyes. Was he really that lovestruck? “No, Scotty, you don’t understand, it was seriously-”

“-the best night ever,” Derek paced in his room, running a hand through his wet hair. He’d been practically forced into the shower, but only after the pack were settled for the night. He handed Allison a forgotten packet of Reese’s Pieces when he noticed her settling into his bed a little more, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“What? Did you make him scream or something?” She said, feeding herself chocolate like it was popcorn. Derek glared a.t her. “Ah! Did you scream?”

“No, I didn’t scream-”

“- but I did make some questionable noises. Without even meaning too.” Stiles was blushing. Stiles never blushed. He was a sex expert, okay? He knew what he was doing. He had given blow jobs on one too many grimy floors to sit there blushing like some damsel in front of Scott.

Scott who was looking at him with the most quizzical adorable set of eyes. “It’s like I don’t even know who you are. You are so far gone-”

“-on him.” Allison flicked a Reese’s Piece at him and Derek picked it up from where it had fallen and meticulously placed it in the trash, looking at her with awe in his eyes.

“First of all, how is this news to you?” Derek huffed,  sitting on his desk chair and spinning, “Second of all, I’m eighteen. I shouldn’t feel this way.  It was just sex-“

“-you know,” Stiles looked at Scott and felt his own heart in his throat. Lie. That was such a fucking lie, he didn’t even need Scott’s  deadpan glare to let out a groan and drop his head to the pillow he’d been clutching. “I’m just confused.”

“Didn’t  your mom and Dad fall in love at eighteen?” Scott prompted, standing to sit by Stiles and put an arm around his shoulder. He appreciated the gesture, already knowing that to Scott he probably stank a little too much of Derek.  “There isn’t an age minimum, Stiles, when you know you just know.”

“I just wish I knew if he wanted-“

“-me back,” Derek closed his eyes briefly, remembering what Stiles’ looked like losing himself in the orgasm. Utterly beautiful.

“Ew,””Allison huffed, throwing a pillow at him. He glared at her. “Aha there’s a-birds-Just-shit-in-my-beautiful-hair!” She snorted to herself.

“Shut up,” Derek huffed with minimal heat and she softened.

“Der, he’s totally into you,” She grinned at him, “Like not just, ‘I wanna ride his knot’ into you, but like ‘I want his children’ into you.

“You really think so?”

Yeah, I really do ,” conceded Scott and Allison both in two different bedroom in different boroughs of the same city.

-

Stiles was restless even a day later. He was so fucking restless. Derek had sent him messages since that fateful evening when he fucked Stiles’ brain to mush and preceded to leave him like he was the femme fatale of a terrible eighties movie. It didn’t fucking help that when Derek left Stiles pulled on the t-shirt he’d forgotten, lit a joint and laid back to take stock of the pleasant ache that still lingered warmly in his body.

It wasn’t that he resented Derek, he knew he was busy. It was the talk of the town that some of the pups from the Hale pack had been attacked and even his father was working hard on the investigation. So he knew that Derek was busy. He knew that. But at the same time he couldn’t help but bristle at the lack of attention. And he knew that some of that was because of who he was and how little that actually meant.

Human.

Painfully, pathetically human.

It hit him at some point when Derek was losing himself inside Stiles, when his dark hair had flopped over his face and his beautiful lips had mouthed the words “ oh, god ” that Stiles realised how achingly inferior he was. Stiles Stilinski, pale, skinny and defenseless. He didn’t really have a chance with the only alpha child Talia Hale brought into the world. He would only ever be Derek Hale’s first and he would force himself to treasure that. Because he wasn’t allowed to treasure anything else.

It had been a stupid idea but under the guise of ‘studying’ Stiles had trekked to the library to try and put his crazy thoughts to rest. Beacon Hills was such an old city, one of those typical cities that did nothing but gloat about how old it was, that there was an abundance of papers in the archive and it wasn’t hard to find the relevant papers. It was painful, but the kind of painful that was almost self indulgent. His leg was shaking under the table, eyes skimming frantically over the titles in front of him.

Death of Jennifer Harrison at the hands of her Lycan mate brings count to 42 nationwide, Bureau of Investigation announces in latest report.

The Antagonising Effect of Human Pheromones on Lycan Sensory Receptors and Insight into Interspecies Aggression: A Study.

A Thorough History of Human/Lycan Antagonism

Alpha Derek Tarek Hale has hereby declared a return to the ban on interspecies relationships dated 13th March 1908

The more Stiles read the more anxious he got, case after case of pure werewolf hatred, of human specieism. He resisted the urge to gag, pictures running through his mind of Derek, of pickets and shouting and screaming and hatred. So much hatred. He hadn’t realised he was crying until the tears splattered on the photocopy he was reading and suddenly it was all just a bit too much. Faced with the reality, the harsh reality that he and Derek could never be long term, Stiles’  heart broke a little.

He jerked up and grabbed his bag, barely able to utter out a goodbye to the librarian before he had locked himself in his car and tried to calm himself down from his impending panic attack. His breath sounded harsh and painful, a whooshing he was half certain was wind, and with fumbling fingers he brought out his phone to reread his messages with Derek.

-

(2) new messages

From Derek: Even talking to you is helping. How was your day?

 

To Derek: then i’ll talk until my thumbs drop off

To Derek: hmmmmmm it was weird. did some shopping + went to the libs to see ur fave

 

From Derek: Nooo, Mrs Townsend!

 

To Derek:   oh yh, big guy, and i even got her to blush when i winked ;)

 

From Derek: I’m not surprised. You get me blushing when you wink. It’s your lashes.

 

To Derek: omg ur adorable and so is ur flush xxxxxxxx

 

From Derek: Shut up.

 

To Derek: r u flushing right now? omg!!!!! i wish i was there to kiss it

To Derek: sorry that wasnt appropriate

 

From Derek: I wish you were here too.

From Derek: You calm me.

 

-

Stiles dropped his head back against his car seat, phone slipping onto his lap as he stifled a sob with a tightly clenched fist.

You calm me . God, it sent shivers through him and he wanted it so badly it hurt. It hurt because those headlines were swimming in his mind and they could- They could fuck as much as they wanted. But they could never be together. They would never be allowed to stay together.

And dear god, the longing and loss ripped through him like a quake. He could be Derek’s everything, the boy he loved, the boy he kissed good morning and goodnight to, his inspiration, his drug, his antidote. Everything. Everything but his mate.

 

-

His father was waiting for him when Stiles got back, something stern in his shoulders and determined in the set of his face. Oh no. Stiles slipped out his car, phone buzzing incessantly in his back pocket and his eyebrows raised as he took in his father in the doorway to the kitchen.

“You look just like her when you do that,” John said, voice breathy and more emotional than Stiles could handle. He dumped the bag groceries on the table and in two long strides he was in his father’s arms, face smushed against his chest and breathing in the scent that soothed him since he was a baby.

“I am half of her, unless now’s the time where you tell me I’m a cyborg baby that’s not really human at all,” Stiles said, voice muffled by the cotton of his father's uniform. He didn’t really want to let him go. John was probably the goodest of eggs. “You’re a good egg, sheriff” he told him at the soft little huff, glancing up with a smile on his lips.

“Oh, I am?” John smirked and let Stiles’ go to help him put the groceries away and start on dinner. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Stiles wasn’t stupid enough to think that was it, that John didn’t have something on his mind. It wasn’t often that his father was stood up waiting for his return and the worry niggled at the back of his mind.

“So..” John started and Stiles absently squeezed a celery stick a bit too hard in apprehension. “Derek Hale, huh?”

God dammit.

Stiles made a noncommittal noise and hummed like this was the most casual conversation and his heart hadn’t decided to recreate Deep Purple right there in the kitchen. Of course his father saw right through him and when he turned back round, flush high on his cheeks, John was there with a raised eyebrow and a hand on his hip. Stiles deflated.

“Derek Hale,” he agreed. Then he let out a breath, “It’s not what you think.”

“And what is that?” The sheriff said, not missing a beat. Stiles was clever, a genius really, but he could never pull one over his father.

“We aren’t- we aren’t together,” he said quietly, back pedaling when John raised both brows, “I mean- He was completely respectful and only ever did what I wanted and it was so consensual, like it was insanely consensual and-”

“Stiles, son, please .”

Right of course. He was talking about sex with his father. Not that smart of him. He swallowed and nodded, sitting down and resting his head in his hand. “Nothing’s going on, dad,” he said quietly.

“Stiles,” his name was said with the usual amount of exasperation, “You didn’t see what he looked like when he came round. Like he was going to lose his mind. I’ve seen that before, Stiles, I’ve felt that before. It most definitely isn’t nothing and -”

“- Dad .”

“- I urge you to be careful,” John whispered, eyes growing softer and sadder, “You’re human. And Derek is-”

“You think I don’t know that?” Stiles snapped, eyes flaring a strong gold before he could stop himself. His father looked taken aback, fixated on his eyes like he was seeing something completely new. He shouldn’t be, it wasn’t the first time Stiles had snapped at him. “I know, I know what he is, who he is, and I know that we can’t ever..” He swallowed.

“Przemys ław,” his father breathed and as ever Stiles felt even angrier at the use of his real name, like white hot rage. It wasn’t something he could really explain. Trauma probably, from losing his mother as she screamed that name.

No.”

The word rung out the room, a quiet echo that felt more like a blast, and Stiles felt winded. Anxiety. Probably. He swallowed through the silence, the guilt stopping him from looking at his father's expression. He blinked and the emotions withered, dulled to something he could fold into a box and store away for another time. God he- Was the worst. The worst son. The worst and he was so-

“-sorry,” he choked out, the splash of his tears against the table cloth feeling distant somehow. “I’m sorry, dad, I just- I’m sorry, daddy-”

John’s arms were around him in seconds, pulling him up and reassuring him with that soft yet firm grip. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I know it isn’t ideal and I just want you to be happy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, kid.”

Stiles gripped onto his father's uniform, hands scrabbling as he sobbed. Letting himself face the pain of reality, letting him fall into his father's hold. John didn’t question, he didn’t push anymore. He just let Stiles cry and somehow Stiles knew that his father understood the pain.

“I’ve got you. Always.”

-

Stiles saw Derek briefly at school the following day and he hadn’t been ready for it.

He had kissed his father’s forehead that morning, snorting good naturedly at his teary gaze when Stiles picked up the glistening earrings from his hands and put them on.

Stiles could count the amount of times his father had tried to spruce him up on one hand. A leather bracelet, a flower crown, and now his mother’s amethyst earrings. It was common practice for parent’s with omega children of age, things to make them stand out, things to make them shiny and irresistible. But that wasn’t why his father did it. His father’s gesture was laced in sentiment and though it was hard for them to say the words every day, it meant that Stiles could carry his father’s unconditional love around with him. Never doubting himself.

The earrings were beautiful, silver and amethyst and probably something else since his mother was a free spirit. They fell, dangling in teardrop shapes above his shoulders and framing his face perfectly. They suited him. According to the thousands of unwarranted comments he got on them.

There were whistles from fucktards like Jackson, there were soft exclamations from babes like Allison Argent, there were jealous praises uttered behind clenched teeth - Heather.

And then there was Derek.

Derek, who had been talking to Allison as he passed Stiles in the corridor and stopped mid-sentence just to stare. Derek, who’s eyes gazed over Stiles and somehow it felt like silk caressing his skin. Derek, who took small steps until he was stood in front of Stiles and reached up to touch an earring, impossibly gentle with those large fingers. Derek, who’s lips stretched softly into a smile that Stiles would never forget.

“Hello,” Derek whispered and it took everything that Stiles not to fling himself into the alpha’s arms.

“Hi,” he responded, lips pulling into an intimate smile. Just for Derek Hale.

They looked at each other, the air between them heavy and the people around them fading into nothing. Derek moved his hand from Stiles’ ear to cup his jaw - he did that, before, when he was fucking Stiles into the mattress holy shit - and stroke gently. It was like he was hypnotised and honestly, Stiles felt the same. All he could do was look, look and desperately implore Derek to realise how much Stiles loved him.

Derek leaned in.

Stiles sucked in a breath just before their lips met and then he was moving, surging up with his arms wrapping around Derek’s neck to kiss him harder, faster, to feel those soft lips press insistently against his own and to let himself go. All he could smell was Derek, all he could feel was the alpha’s strong body pressed against his own, his warmth seeping into Stiles’ skin and igniting him. God, he- he adored Derek. Adored him.

There was a soft but determined throat-clearing and Stiles pulled back, blushing like a fucking virgin with his hands coming down to Derek’s chest. He turned his head and smiled weakly at Scott and Allison, Derek paying their audience no attention as he nuzzled the hair just above Stiles’ ear. They were both wearing looks of exasperation but Stiles was pleased to see that Allison looked fond. If Derek’s best friend liked him, maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall.

“I’m about as entertained as I am disgusting right now but I need to get Derek to History before you two start-” Allison was cut off by a squeak from Scott and they looked at each other.

“Der, come on, we have to get to class.” he said, letting his fingers slide into Derek’s thick dark hair and tug slightly. He heard Derek’s chest rumble and then he pulled back, blinking desire from his gorgeous hazel eyes. Stiles smiled softly. “I’ll see you at Lydia’s?” he prompted and Derek nodded, taking a step back from Stiles.

“Wait,” Derek called, as Stiles slung his backpack over his shoulder. Stiles turned back, a curious look on his face. He thought they’d said everything with that kiss, to be fairly honest. “I just wanted to say,” a breath, “You look beautiful.”

It wasn’t anything Stiles hadn’t heard before, it wasn’t even particularly original or complimentary. But it was coming from Derek and frankly that meant so much more than speeches dedicated to his looks from anyone else. He beamed and squeezed Derek’s hand in thanks, just before Scott tugged on his backpack to get him moving.

“Jesus, that guy wants to freaking sell his soul for-” Scott started.

“Don’t.” Stiles snapped, but the smile on his face made the bite in his words all but disappear.

-

Black jeans. T-shirt. Earrings. No.

Black jeans. Crop top. Earrings. No.

Blue jeans? Nope.

God dammit. Stiles huffed at the reflection of himself in the mirror and sighed, forcing himself to take another sip of the vile concoction of vodka and orange juice he’d made for himself. Why couldn’t he just look good in whatever he pulled out? He never had this problem before.

But then, he’d never had someone he wanted to impress so desperately before.

Derek was- Already into him. The evidence was clear today. Stiles didn’t need to lure him in, Derek had been lured by Stiles’ natural, dorkish charm. And yet-

To Scott: i look lyk shit. :(((

To Scott:   :((((((((((((((

 

From Scott: um that’s bullshit Stiles. u could wear a potato costume and look good.

Ugh. Sweet, kind, useless Scott.

He closed the messaging app, flopped back on his bed in the midst of the clothes and tapped on facebook.

So he was feeling indulgent, fuck off.

Derek’s profile picture was the epitome of adorable. He was in his baseball uniform, crouched with the cubs from the Hale pack and grinning at the camera. Cora was clinging to his back, pouting, and the cubs were clinging to Derek’s legs. Good god. Stiles groaned.

Something was happening to him. Down there. Jesus. He wanted Derek’s babies. Like now.

He swiped, his small smile blooming into a grin at the pictures from when Derek was younger, with the awkward hair and large glasses.

Back when Stiles still had the world’s biggest crush on him.

Derek Hale was a beautiful dork and Stiles was pretty sure that he’d fall in love with him every single day all over again. So what if they couldn’t mate. They were both young right? They could have this. Stiles could have this. Just for a little while he could have Derek.

The incoming text from Scott made him stand up and pull a denim jacket over what he was wearing, converse on his feet. He just wanted to see Derek now, to kiss his dorky face and cuddle him.Grabbing his glass, he pulled a face and downed what was left, bounding down the stairs to kiss his father’s cheek and then scramble into Scott’s mom’s hyundai.

It was party time.

 

Chapter Text

The night he had come home to find his pack in disarray Derek retreated to his room. And the guilt he felt for it was almost crippling. He had just left his family, when they needed him the most. Why? There was no valid reason, he could’ve been stronger. Should’ve been strong enough. Which was why he vowed to make it up to them.

Derek ran patrols twice a dare. Around their territory and around the preserve. It was almost as though once just wasn’t enough, he had to do it twice otherwise they wouldn't be safe. It was ridiculous. Laura, Boyd, Erica told him so. All of them. And yet Derek would stop his alarm at 3am every day and run his second patrol.

When he wasn’t running he was in the forest, Laura and Boyd  trailing behind him and every cub under the age of ten. It was basic self-defence, more to disarm and run to safety than to do any real harm. But Derek wasn’t taking any chances. He was pushing himself to the point of exhaustion of the weekend and he- He still didn’t feel like he had redeemed himself.

It was late on saturday night, his phone lighting up with messages from Stiles and the laptop screen in front of him blurring heavily in and out of his vision when his mother snapped. And by snapped Derek meant she sat down across from him on his bed and growled softly until he paid her the attention she deserved.

“Mom,” Derek said softly, blinking the tiredness out of his eyes. Then he straightened instantly. “Is everything okay” he asked, body tensed as though waiting for the next threat.

His mother's eyes softened and she reached out to place a calming hand on his thigh. He tilted his head at her in confusion, a stupid habit he hadn’t been able to shake since he was a cub.

“No, Derek, everything's not okay,” Talia said, her voice sad but.. Not seemingly worried? “My only son is running himself ragged and won’t listen to his packmates.”

Oh.

Oh.

He let out a shaking breath, far more relieved than he could even fathom and sent her a shy and weak smile. Talia evidently wasn’t fooled. She stood up and pulled Derek up with her, strong for her age. He tried to resist - futile really- but Talia just growled at him until he relented and bared his neck for her. “Get into bed,” she ordered and Derek sluggishly followed those demands. Once he was in there she didn’t hesitate to brush back his hair, like she did when he was just a baby. “Talk to me, Derek,” she murmured, voice patient.

Talk to her? Talk to her about what exactly? The unknown threat looming over his pack? The fear he could still smell around Denise though her children were fully healed and energetic now? Or the fear he felt every time he glanced at his family, at Allison, Stiles,  scared they could be taken at any moment? How was he supposed to put something so irrational in words that wouldn’t make him seem crazy and parano- “Baby,” Talia whined and Derek snapped. He let out a whimper, in an instant slipping into his beta shift and letting her nuzzle his neck and scent him, calming him. They stayed like that for sometime, wordless comfort, wordless reassurance, that did wonders for his anxiety. She pulled back and wiped the tears from his face, pulling up his duvet to tuck him in like he was eight and not eighteen and then she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep, Derek,” she said softly, firmly. “I’m relieving you of your duties-”

“But mom, I have to-”

“What did I just say?”

“Yes, alpha.”

Derek slept for five hours that night. At three am his alarm for the second patrol went off and Derek turned it off before quietly getting to his feet and slipping on his running trainers.

-

Derek was busy staring at the messages he’d received when the waitress placed a cherry pie in front of him and Allison’s meal in front of her.

 

(3) New Messages

 

From Alpha Hale:

I know you won’t appreciate this as a surprise so I’ll tell you now. Your father’s back in town.

From Alpha Hale:

I’ve extended minimal hospitality and he will be staying at a hotel outside of pack land.

 

From Laura:

Ugh, his new gf’s actually a bitch.

 

“You look like hell,” Allison snapped at him, clicking her fingers in front of his face before tutting and taking another large bite of her club sandwich. Derek felt a shudder go through him at the sheer determination in her eyes. He really should be used to it by now, Allison had out-eaten him since they were five years old. She also out-drank, out-pulled, out-ran and out-smarted him. It was enough to hurt a lesser man's ego but Derek was just proud of her for being so awesome.

“You look like hell-er,” Derek snapped back, poking at the sad looking pie on his plate. They were at one of their favourite diners. A secret shared only between Allison, Erica, Boyd and Isaac. It had come after Allison presented and the omegas and betas that stalked them had gotten too much. At Lynda’s no one gives a shit who they are or what their gender was. And Derek could eat his pie in peace without a fifteen year old screaming ‘Knot me, alpha!’ as their soundtrack.

Allison raised her eyebrows and frowned at him, wiping mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth and fixing her warm chocolate eyes on him. “You already know your mom begged me to get you out the house,” she started. And that was true. Allison had all but dragged him away from the cubs. “So you already know I won’t rest until we’ve talked through all the problems running through your pretty head, Derek.” Also true. She was a force to be reckoned with. “So...” Derek looked at her, playing dumb. “Talk!”

“Uh..” The sound was stupid and his tongue felt heavy.

“Derek...” Allison kept going and honestly Derek had no fucking choice but to open his mouth and talk-

“I’m in love with Stiles,” he blurted, watching her eyes widen and- That wasn’t exactly what he had intended to say at all. In fact, it was the opposite of what he had intended to say. “That- I didn’t mean that!”

“Freudian slip, huh?” Allison murmured, a smirk on her face and Derek could feel his cheeks flame at that.. Holy fucking shit, he was such a fucking idiot. They only fucked once and yet- “Derek, I know you have it bad. You’ve basically had it bad since you saw him in the canteen choking on a grape ‘cos you’re a goddamn freak and Stiles likes them freaky.”

Derek let out a shaking breath and gave his best friend a weak smile. Probably the weakest she’d seen on him in a while. “It’s just- Now that we’re t- Now we’ve slept together-” He covered his slip up with ease, it wasn’t his secret to tell .If Stiles ever felt comfortable telling their friends how they really got together then he would support him., “-my mind has just gone wild and I want- I want him so bad, Ally. I want to wake up to his smile every morning, I want to hold his hand in Walmart, I want to marry him and kiss him until I feel like bursting, I want- To be with him. Forever.”

A beat passed. And then Allison was grabbing his cheek and squeezing, cooing at him like he was a baby and beaming. Her smile was infectious and despite himself and how red he was getting, he smiled back at her, tight lipped. “My boy is all grown up and in love!” she baby-talked him. Derek slapped her hand away and glared. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist. It’s just some fairy tale stuff, you know. Like soulmates or something.”

Derek snorted, cheeks reddening, and took a large bite of his pie so he wouldn’t blurt out that really he’d been thinking that, thinking that maybe he and Stiles were born for each other and would love eachother until they died and- Yep. Pie. Good pie.

“I’m just excited to see him,” Derek said after a hard swallow, “I feel agitated. Everything that's going on is just- I feel like I need to put my arms around him to calm down.”

“You’re gonna see him Monday night,” Allison said, no room for negotiation in her tone.

“I am?”

“Oh hell yes. You wouldn’t abandon me at Lydia’s bimonthly bash would you? I need you, Derek. You have to stop me from making out with Lydia. Or Scott McCall-”

“What?” Derek gaped at her. “You have got some explaining to do.”

Allison laugh and flush warmed his heart and he let go of some of the tension he’d been holding onto, listening intensely as she explained both wild love stories and being a good friend.

A good best friend.

-

Derek’s father was, kindly put, the world’s biggest jerk.

There weren’t enough words in the english language for Derek to describe accurately how much of an asshole his father was. Even Derek’s limited arabic, mostly his vows and the swear words distant cousins taught him, couldn’t grasp the extent of his father’s dickishness.

He got vicious, violent and unhinged around him. He changed around him. And that night was no exception.

“-I say we just go look at rings now-”

“Allison!” Derek gaped at her as he reached his front door, too embarrassed and too hooked on the idea of proposing to Stiles to really notice the extra heartbeats he could hear. The stench of marlboro’s and old leather. As they walked in it was Allison who noticed first, coming to stop in front of Derek.

“Aunt Kate, what are you doing here?” she asked and Derek looked up to see the only person on earth he wished he could slit the throat of sat opposite his mother and Boyd at the dining table with a smirk on his smarmy fucking face.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” he snapped, going rigid just from being in the same room. Logically, he knew he’d been warned. He knew that. Could picture the messages from his mother in his mindseye. But logic went out the window when Derek was around him and all he truly felt was rage. Blind alpha rage.

“You said he was angry but you didn’t say he was rude,” Said the stranger and Derek’s cold gaze landed on her. She had her arms around his best friend, an eyebrow raised from under her blonde waves.

“And who the fuck are you?”

“Derek!” It was Allison this time, pulling away from Blonde Stranger to grab his hand. She knew, she knew exactly what- what he did. What he- “This is my aunt Kate. I knew she had a new boyfriend but I didn’t know. I had no idea it was him .”

Derek believed her. He did. And it was only the softness in her eyes and the warm hand on his shoulder from Boyd that had him sitting down, hand on Allison’s wrist to keep her from leaving him.

Derek let out a breath and looked into his father’s eyes. His own eyes. They looked so similar, except his father had decided to go clean shaven now. Midlife crisis. He raised his eyebrows, unable to keep the disgust off his face. His father smiled sadly, like he had any right to be fucking sad .

“Hello, son,” George Hale said and Derek almost stabbed a fork through his eyeball.

-

They somehow made it through dinner, unscathed. Mostly because Derek didn’t let himself say more than two words. Allison talked for him, filling her aunt in on everything that was happening in school but also making sure that Talia could talk too. Allison knew how important Talia was after all, even if his father was disrespectful and-

“Stop growling,” his mother murmured, a hand sliding down his neck gently. He let out a breath and nodded, continuing cleaning away the table precisely because his father had made an unsavory comment about how he should leave the cleaning to his sister when she came back from the cinema with Cora

When George and Allison’s aunt ‘Call me Kate, honey’ finally left the entire room just deflated. Wordlessly Derek padded over to his mother and brought her into a crushing hug, her facade of cool and collected only dropping when Boyd and Allison quietly left the Hale house. She brought her arms up around him and Derek distantly remembered what it felt like to hug her leg.

If he could offer her even a fraction of the comfort she gave him, he’d be happy.

“I love you, baby boy,” Talia murmured, ruffling his hair and letting out a soft little sigh.

“I’m eighteen, I’m a man now.” he pointed out lightly. His tone was fond though, knowing his mother liked to reminisce.

“And what an amazing man you’ve become.” She pulled back and stroked the back of his neck. His mother and alpha. God, he wished he could rip George Hale apart for what he did to this family.

“Gossip Girl and that disgusting froyo you like so much?” he ventured, moving to lock the door since it was passed eight in the evening

Talia smiled and patted his cheek, “The moment you vacuum your room.”

“Goddammit, woman-”

Derek Sebastian Hale!

-

 

Every part of him had wanted to call Stiles that night. Even the morning after. At six am, having finished his patrol, his fingers hovered over the buttons. But he stopped himself. Forced himself to breathe out. Even if he did ring Stiles, what exactly was he supposed to say? Oh hey, my abusive father’s back in town and if I’m not in your arms soon I think I may commit murder.

That would go down so well with the sheriff’s son. Not only was it weird, but it was damn clingy. And Stiles had kind of made it clear he wasn’t into clingy alphas.

So Derek had decided to play it cool. Fucking cool. He walked into school, trying to focus on Allison’s voice instead of trying to single out the one heartbeat he’d tried to emulate when he was apart from him.

He tried.

But then he caught sight of Stiles and he was winded.

Were those- Was that- Earrings? Fuck. Fuck. Derek was going to die. Derek was going to faint. He sent a quick prayer to every deity he’d ever heard of for his poor little heart (and dick) and his feet moved by themselves until he was stood in front of Stiles, staring into possibly the most beautiful and captivating eyes he would ever see.

“Hello,” he barely managed, lost again when Stiles gave him his full attention.

“Hi.” God, had his voice always been so smooth?

He took a breath in. Two. And the tension bled out from his body slowly, body slipping forward until he pressed their lips together in the sweetest embrace.

Frankly, Derek was lost. Somebody was saying something, something entirely irrelevant because Stiles was here. In his arms. And Derek finally felt okay. Then Stiles was speaking and Derek let himself come to, so he could give Derek the attention he deserved.

He nodded frantically at the question, he didn’t give a shit about the party. It was an excuse to be around Stiles. Utterly stunning Stiles.

Allison cackled the entire way to the classroom.

Derek punched her shoulder.

 

-

It was just a party. Derek had probably been to close to a hundred of them. It was just a party. So why the fuck was he so nervous? He looked down at himself and found himself utterly bored. What a boring alpha Derek Hale was. He contemplated the shirt Cora got him, still hung up nice and neat with his formal wear. It had poodle’s chasing ice cream cones all over it. That would be cute right? Stiles would laugh and they could make a joke or two about it being on the floor and then they could take it upstairs and Derek would- Wow. Okay. No to the poodle shirt. Grey henley, leather jacket and black jeans it was.

He headed out before his mother could embarrass him, heading round the back to grab the six-pack he’d hidden there courtesy of his uncle Peter, then he started walking to Lydia’s. There was no way he was staying sober enough to drive home tonight, after meeting his father, after the worry the pack had been feeling, he just wanted to let loose and have some fun.

He heard the party before he saw it really, a muffled thumping that seemed to echo through the street and into Derek. Then he turned a corner and there were so many people. Shit. He cracked open a beer as he walked up, steeling the nerves that he’d already decided made no sense and knocking on the door.

It was Lydia who opened the door, rather than the stranger last time who squealed in his face. He was happy to note that Lydia had only invited people they knew on the Facebook invitation. But that was still close to seventy people. She eyed him with- was that disgust?

“Hale,” she said, letting out a sigh and looking up him up and down. When he’d managed to piss off Lydia Martin he honestly had no idea. Before he could open his mouth she’d grabbed his shirt and yanked him inside the house, the sound of music overwhelming for a second as she righted his stumbling. “Hurt him and I’ll rip your balls off, got it?” She hissed in his ear then she released him with a smile that he would never be able to look at again without inadvertently shuddering. It went unsaid that him meant Stiles, and that frankly Lydia would follow through on her threat. Derek had no plans of hurting Stiles, none at all, but fucking hell, Lydia was terrifying.

She patted his chest and sashayed away, heels clanking against her hardwood flooring.

Right.

Derek made his way through the party to the kitchen. There was only one face that he really wanted to see and until then he kept his head down, smiling weakly at the people beaming at him. He shrugged off his jacket and flung over the massive pile by the feet of the one kid dancing with a lamp and as ever, his thoughts turned to Stiles. About how much he felt when Stiles just did things. He opened another beer.

Like, sometimes when Stiles scoffed and let his head roll back and the way his neck curved made Derek speechless for a small while. Or how sometimes when he thought no one was really looking Stiles would mouth the words to his favourite songs, his expression acting out the lyrics in a one man passionate show.

Derek threw an empty can to the side. And another. Whoops.

He had a picture of Stiles on his phone. Stolen from his facebook because Derek was frankly a stalker creep. His head was thrown back slightly, entire face consumed by a grin and his eyes were twinkling. Derek looked at that photo over and over. He considered framing it, hanging it on his wall. Considered submitting it to a museum. It was a masterpiece. Stiles grinning like that was everything he never knew he needed.

“Hey, big guy.”

Stiles.

He turned,almost slipping in his haste to see the face that went with that honey voice. Or maybe that was the alcohol. Had he really drank that much? He didn’t think it had bee- Wait... Was Stiles wearing a crop top? It couldn’t be. It was cold. Almost christmas. Stiles wouldn- Stiles was wearing a crop top.

Derek almost fainted.

“Woah,” Stiles’ hands came up and cupped Derek’s face and somehow Derek was sober enough to realise that whimpering at the touch was not the right social response. He leaned into it though, dropping the can so he could wrap his arms around Stiles waist and touch skin. Soft and warm, the scent of him flooding Derek’s mind and his eyes fluttered shut as he brought Stiles closer and decided that he wanted to die in his arms. “Hey,” Stiles breathed, voice all soft and silky and comforting. “Are you drunk, Der?”

“Hmm,” Derek said before clocking on and pulling back so he could look Stiles in the face and scoff. “No? No.”

Stiles beamed. Derek almost fainted again.

“You lightweight!”

“Am not,” he grumbled, ducking his face again to press warm and messy kisses along Stiles’ neck, running his nose along his shoulder and then up into his hair. He felt Stiles shudder and smirked.

“Stop that,” Stiles said, though his tone was fond. He tugged on Derek’s hair, pulling his head back up and nope- That should not be so damn hot. “I wanna dance if that’s okay with you, Mr Hale?”

Derek smiled and leaned in to kiss Stiles, close-mouthed and precious. “It’s what I’ve been waiting all night for, Mr Hale.”

At first he didn’t realise what he said, staring into Stiles’ dumbstruck face and slowly wondering if he’d farted or something. And then- “Oh my god,” he flushed bright red, his entire body tingling in utter embarrassment. They had barely been dating two months and Derek just-

“Hey, shh, Derek,” Stiles hands on his face. Grounding. Calming. “It’s okay, big guy.” The smirk on his lips was reassurance. Soft reassurance. “But for the record,” he took Derek’s hand and led him to the dancefloor. “It wouldn’t be Mr Hale.” He placed the same very hand on his waist, under the top and started to move his hips in a way that had Derek hypnotised. “We’d be Mr and Mr Stilinski-Hale.” It was a whisper, pressed intimately against Derek’s jaw, sealed by the caress of Stiles’ hand down his chest and this time there was no way Derek could contain his whimper.