#Kate Argent Warning

[buckybarnesss]

on fire: a teen wolf novel chapters 10-13 chapters 7-9 here chapters 4-6 here chapters 1-3 here

after a little break i am back with a new installment i'm doing 4 chapters today because this book only has 19 chapters.

once again: kate argent is her own warning.. there's an entire flashback chapter of her and derek when he was a teenager. she explicitly grooms him.

Our intrepid heroes are still in the goddamn woods. We shall never leave. Allison is cold and so Scott snuggles with her to share body heat. Classic trope but I have read many missing persons cases. Hypothermia can happen even when you don’t think it can. 

And we have yet another example of Derek being characterized as kind of a dick. He and Stiles find a campfire as Derek tries to track the scent of the Alpha and/or locate Scott. Stiles is just having a bad time as he’s winded from trying to keep up with Derek. Derek leaves him there. I reject this. No. Derek never left Stiles anywhere like this. Especially not with danger afoot. It very much stands in contrast to Wolf’s Bane when Derek crawls over broken glass and fights Peter, distracting him from Stiles.

The Queen has finally arrived. We finally get some Lydia narration. She also comes with Danny and some random dude Damon. 

It had been kind of annoying Danny hasn’t been involved that much considering he is Jackson’s best friend.

Have I mentioned that I don’t particularly care for how Danny is handled in this book? First you have Stiles assuming they should send Danny to the pay-by-the-hour motel because he’s gay and now Lydia’s narration is stereotyping the poor guy. “Dark-haired, with that cool Hawaiian vibe he had.” Danny was right to leave y'all.

Danny says he doesn’t have Lydia’s phone number which I sincerely doubt. 

I want to throw hands with this line “He gave her a completely non-sexual once over.” It’s giving gay-best friend trope vibes which to be fair was at its height in the 2010s and let’s face it this is how Lydia was often written pre-character development (and even after). Especially in the Sterek fandom. Don’t y’all try to tell me otherwise. I was there, Gandalf. 

There is this little section of Lydia’s I think deserves some commentary. The way this book has a subplot for Allison and Scott revolving around how they want to sleep together and the way Jackson and Lydia think of their relationship, especially their sexual relationship is interesting. Now, I’m no pearl clutching Puritan on this subject but the way that sex is handled in this narrative strikes me as too adult for their age. But this passage makes me change my perspective a little. These are kids acting too adult because they feel pressured in other areas of their lives to be adults without the experience and emotional capacity to do so. That fits in with Teen Wolf’s narrative. 

“Are you going through his stuff?” Danny queried, and she have him her best patronizing look, “Please,” She said, “You must know that I have a drawer here.” Damon looked even more impressed. Very few teenagers could claim the very adult perk of having a drawer containing their belongings at their boy -- or girlfriend’s house. Not that many teenagers had the need. It spoke of changing clothes, spending the night. Adult stuff.  Sex.”

Jackson’s computer wallpaper is Lydia which is sweet but then she says she picked it out herself which is less sweet. 

Jackson’s computer password is fucking Captain. You deserve to be hacked, Jackson.

Now Lydia brought Danny and his hanger on Damon from her house to Jackson’s because they’re looking for a CD Jackson apparently burned for Damon to use to DJ for a party. The 2010s of it all came out and kneed me in the solar plexus. Even Lydia was wondering why Jackson didn’t just make a shared playlist. But she searches through Jackson’s stuff stalling a little so she can snoop. This is all important because we finally get to the actual plot of why Jackson was lured away and missing in the first place. People want to rob the Whittermore’s while they’re out of town. Jackson at this point is still being held at gunpoint over in the preserve. 

The would be robbers -- henceforth referred to as Thing One and Thing Two -- assault Lydia and threaten her demanding to know if there are other people in the house. Lydia truly gets a raw deal no matter what.

Meanwhile, Derek’s left Stiles and is trying to follow the scene of the Alpha. He uses the word “shedding” to refer to how he left Stiles. I cannot impress enough how he would not fucking say that.

Derek’s out of luck though because the scent he comes across is old. He is at the place he found Laura’s body where he has a Moment of Anger before he moves on he picks up on Jackson’s scent. He recalls how he dug his claws into Jackson back in Magic Bullet and feels a tiny bit bad. He finds a half burned article about Jackson and does what I deem a Derek thing to do and that’s pocket it because he’s “keeping tabs on Jackson”. It’s stalking, Derek.

Narration switches back to Stiles and of course he gets weird quickly and Stiles what the fuck? Stiles doing something like this during the later seasons wouldn’t be out of the norm. He’s paranoid, hyper vigilant and suspicious at that point but here? Season 1? Stalker.

“He had tried calling Scott a couple more times, then Allison, then Lydia. He’d had her phone in his possession when he deleted the picture she’d accidentally taken of the Alpha. Of course he’d also inputted her number into his own phone; how stalkerish was that?”

Derek reappears and scares Stiles. Stiles observes “He was kind of sweaty, and he looked glummer than usual.” Stiles refuses to be normal about Derek. 

They have a little tiff except it’s them being worried about the same thing but in opposite directions. 

“Stiles crossed his arms and hunched over, shivering and trying to make himself inconspicuous, in cast the Alpha spotted Derek and decided to attack him. But Derek was a Beta werewolf too, like Scott. Why wasn’t he part of the Alpha’s pack? Maybe he is. Maybe he just hasn’t told us, he thought. “Or maybe it’s some kind of trap,” Derek said, “Something the Argents cooked up.” “You mean that Allison’s in on it?” Stiles asked, sounding incredulous.  Derek slid a glance at him. “Why do you sound so surprised? You know what the Argents are. What they do.``

And so we have arrived. The part of this book I remember the most. The Derek Hale Flashbacks. We go six years into the past. 

This is definitely where the idea of Kate Argent working at Beacon Hills High comes from and it makes a lot of sense. It even works even better given the context of season 2 where the Argents actually infiltrate the school as a tactic. 

Holder puts Derek on the swim team which is funny in retrospect because of how the swim team is important to the story of season 2 but Derek is established in season 3 as having been on the basketball team like Peter.

Holder also does a little world building on werewolf customs and pack dynamics here which the show lacks in detail. The way Holder does it is far more patriarchal than what the Hales actually are in the show. There’s a focus on Derek’s father (unnamed even here), the contest/rivalry between him and his cousin Josh, entrance into manhood and Uncle Peter. 

I am still deeply amused by Holder making the Beast of Gevaudan an ancestor of the Hales when the show took the route of making it far more deeply connected to the Argents.

The deepest of sighs at this : “Unlike Laura, who was popular, he didn’t have any human friends, and he didn’t want any.” I just have the hardest time with isolationist, anti-human Derek. Season 3 Derek called and told Book Derek to fuck himself. Derek had a posse of generic human friends.

Kate preys on Derek while she fills in for the main coach as he’s on paternity leave. Also Kate’s up here just brassily using her actual name.

Like Derek’s about 16 here so I can easily buy him noticing a pretty young woman in close proximity to him but Holder does a good job in making it clear that while Derek’s attracted to Kate superficially her interest in him makes him uncomfortable. Derek’s narration says things like “Flustered, even a little frightened.” and “He practically ran out of the school, looking over his shoulder.”

Holder then parallels Scott and Allison once more which is a, um, choice by describing Kate’s hair in the moonlight and Derek almost wolfing out. 

Apparently Laura and Derek shared a Subaru Forester. Which Hale lesbian bought this?

Now up until this point I’ve mostly avoided talking about Laura and her presence in this book because I was saving it for this scene. Laura Hale is a ghost in the narrative in the show. She’s seen maybe three different times outside of being a corpse. She’s never actually named in any of those short appearances and no one talks about her. Here she’s mentioned several times by Scott, Stiles and Derek. Plus now she’s shown in Derek’s flashbacks. I don’t like her all that much here and I think this might be where some of Laura’s fanon characterization comes from. 

Anyway, Derek and Laura are at a diner together eating hamburgers. Derek drinks Diet Coke. Look, I don’t see him as a Diet Coke drinker but that’s not the point here. Derek mentions Kate and how he thinks she’s so beautiful. Laura has this moment where she seems concerned:

“Is this...woman a student?” Laura asked. “No. She’s the new lifeguard. Ms. Argent.” Mr. Braswell’s replacement.” “School lifeguard?” she said, looking mildly shocked. “A teacher?”

After this though Laura’s characterization takes a nosedive. She refers to Kate as a slut when at this point in time Kate hasn’t really done anything necessarily wrong. Derek only really tells Laura of thinking she’s pretty. Laura’s never even met her.

She goes on to tease Derek about his crush -- the word mateable is used 🤮 -- and Derek shuts down. “Suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking to her about it anymore.”

I hate it here.

The next scene is another flashback I recall vividly. Melissa and baby Scott being abused by Mr. McCall. This fuckface trying to convince Scott that his asthma attack isn’t real and it’s all in his head. I want this man to die. Interesting that later when Rafael McCall is introduced he’s still The Worst.

Catch these hands. “Scott didn’t want him to yell at his mom because Scott had asthma. It wasn’t her fault. It was his, Scott’s.” 

If Melissa McCall had killed him no would have charged her. 

Back in the present we return to Scott and Allison. They’re still cuddling but realize they’re supposed to be looking for Allison’s keys. Her phone rings and they have a mishap which sends Allison down the incline. She takes him with her.

They recover but Allison has now lost her keys and phone. Bad day all around for Ally A.

Scott finds Allison’s phone using his wolf powers but he can’t let her know that so they use his phone to call hers. 

Her ringtone for him is apparently a band called Kids of 88. I had never heard of them so after a quick search their biggest hit was in 2009 My House. Which again -- sex.

Scott went to get her phone but he’s prevented by an invisible barrier. Wolfsbane. He makes up a lie about his leg being hurt because like how else do you explain not being able to touch a bush?

They sit down and Scott’s having thoughts like “Oh I wish Derek were here” so you know it’s not great. Allison talks a little about how she’s close to her parents.

They are fucking kissing again. Stop it. It’s not the time. 

Scott decides to text Stiles and says Stiles knows his username and password. We all know. It’s the ever iconic Allison. Jackson and Scott truly deserve each other.

I forgot Jackson was still being held at gunpoint while all this has been going on.

Jackson makes an attempt to escape but yet another guy is waiting at the Porsche. How many people are there? Two here, Cassie probably and then the two at the house. So 5 people in total it appears. Geez. 

His escape fails and he’s taken hostage. Jackson never has a good time. 

All of Chapter 13 is Kate and Derek. Shall we brace ourselves?

“One by one the other swimmers left, and he’d remained behind, torn between disappointment that she hadn’t done it again, and complete and utter relief that she was staying away from him.” Holder writes young Derek having the instinct to know Kate’s attention isn’t good.

Now Holder does do some interesting bits of worldbuilding but like I said earlier it seems so patriarchal. Surrounding challenges and fighting. His view of humans in the book is one of paternalism. 

Kate is going in for the kill now and I’m crawling up my own spine. She makes herself come across as demure. She’s playing meek and turning the whole thing back on Derek giving him the illusion of choice as she grooms him. She purposefully is coming across as more of a peer than an adult figure with authority. 

“She swirled her fingers in the water. “And this isn’t really my style, you know?” I don’t come onto men like this.” Men. She thought of him as a man. He licked his lips, completely tongue-tied. “I wish you’d say something,” she murmured. “I’m kind of dying about it now. I’m sorry if I misread your intentions. I won’t bother you again.” “I know we’d have to be careful. Outsiders might not understand.”

Excuse me. Earlier Derek mentioned his rival -- his cousin Josh -- apparently Peter’s sister-in-law’s kid. Here he mentions Laura had made out with Josh the previous Wolf Moon. Did Laura make out with their cousin?!?!?!?!?!? There’s no other Josh in this book. Like I get they’re not blood related if Josh is Peter’s sister-in-law’s kid (which lol okay bro) but what is happening here on this day?

Kate wants Derek to come home with her for privacy -- ew. So Derek calls Laura to negotiate. Hence the whole conversation about Laura making out with cousin Josh. Laura says “This is so you can do something slutty.” I deeply dislike this characterization of Laura.

And now we’re in Kate’s narration for the flashbacks. I need a shower after reading her thoughts. God, I hate Kate.

Holder goes into detail about her ideas on werewolves. It’s interesting. There’s competition for rank within the pack, challenges and rituals. I want to do a post specifically about it maybe, but I am offended on Talia Hale’s behalf here. It’s very focused on males. The automatic assumption that the Alpha is Derek’s father.

 I cannot say fuck Kate enough. “Some kids in high school are babies and others are all grown up, ready for the real world. Like you.” The classic manipulation tactic of oh but you’re so mature for your age or oh they’re such an old soul. 

Wishing Kate Argent a go ahead and die.

[scribeoffate]

"Cry all you want. I'm starting to think you're enjoying this." With Kate/Kira/Lydia

Thank you for the prompt! All of these will be behind a cut. CW: noncon, Kate, nsfw Request a fic!

Kate traces her fingers along Lydia's flushed cheek. Her skin is warm and sticky with tears. She tightens the gag. The clever girl had started to get it loose with her tongue. "Now, now," Kate says, shivering at the idea of putting that tongue to better use later, "we can't have you screaming quite yet, can we?" She pushes on Kira's head, helping her to find the best spots to keep Lydia occupied with the sensations of her leaking cunt. Kira shakes and sobs and Kate sighs.

"Girls, cry all you want. But I have a suspicion you're starting to like this." She runs a finger through Kira's soaking pussy delighting in how the other girl shivers when she touches her. She licks her finger and grins at Lydia. Tears slide down her cheeks as her body starts to tremble.

"That's it," Kate purrs, "come for me like a good girl."

[willowfae82]

i love when a fandom has a tag that's just 'warning: character name'.

because you know that that character is absolute trash.

[buckybarnesss]

half this fandom calls teen wolf a bad show and it's because even the most , anvilicious of subtext sails right past you.

what does this even mean anon? you say kate doesn't respect derek's consent and uses him but than says it's not mentioned she tricked him???? what do you think those concepts entail???

but let's review some things shall we?

kate argent in the tell when she's taunting and tormenting derek in the hale house:

"this one grew up in all the right places. I don't know whether to kill it or lick it."

kate argent in wolf's bane about 16 year old jackson:

"holy hotness. oh, if i was in high school again... or maybe just a substitute teacher.."

derek to scott in code breaker when he is absolutely projecting quite a lot on scott and has been the entire goddamn season:

"you want me to risk my life for your girlfriend? for your stupid little teenage crush that means absolutely nothing? you're not in love, scott! you're sixteen years old! you're a child!

in season 4 they explicitly bring back ian nelson to play young derek. a derek we last saw as a teenage high school student in visionary. the audience is meant to draw that connection.

peter even outright says this in 117:

"kate didn't just take him back to being a teenager. she took him back to the age where he still knew her-- when he still trusted her."

and the scene that this is referring to with peter? it's also from 117 but let's back it up a few lines:

scott: do you have any idea why kate would turn derek into a teenager again? peter: what color were his eyes? scott: blue. peter: after paige. which could mean around the time he first met Kate... scott: derek and kate knew each other??? peter: biblically. that's right, scott-- you weren't the first wolf to climb into a hunter's bed.

biblically knowing someone is a turn of phrase that means you know each other intimately and usually in a sexual manner.

and if that wasn't enough she does say it in formality when she has derek captured:

kate: oh, sweetie, i don't-I don't wanna torture you. i just wanna catch up! remember all the fun we had together? derek: like the time you burned my family alive? kate: no, i was thinking more about the hot, crazy sex we had... but, the fire thing? Tthat was fun, too. i love how much you hate me. remember how this felt?

we know derek was aged up from being 19 in the presentation pilot because they realized if the fire was 6 years previous he would've been 13 years old when involved with kate and that was a bit far for them. this is why there's so much contention and confusion surrounding derek's age in the show.

kate is a predator. kate groomed and raped derek when he was 16 to get close to the hales so she could murder them i don't know how the show could've made this clearer without doing an after school special for the audience. even if age of consent is 16 where you live she deceived him and tricked him so she could murder his family. i don't know why some parts of fandom cannot grasp this.

also the entire backstory from the novel on fire was created by nancy holder. i have personally asked her about this and discuss it on my last post for my deep dive into the novel here.

[sterekeverlasting]

love and snowflakes

fic by @sterekbros, featuring art by multiE for the Sterek Everlasting Winter 2024 Edition.

You can read the magazine online here.

Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Good Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Omegaverse Alpha Derek Hale, Omegaverse Omega Stiles Stilinski, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is a Softie, Mpreg, Pregnant Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), No Kate Argent, No Kate Argent/Derek Hale

Summary:

Stiles squinted as he looked into the sky, snowflakes falling around him. It was the chillest night of the year, but not quite yet Christmas in Beacon Hills. He stuck his tongue out and tried to catch snowflakes, even though he logically knew that they were likely full of pollution. He could never really shut down that part of his brain, so it nagged him in the back of his mind as he failed to catch snowflakes anyway. He heard a chuckle behind him and it sent warmth radiating through his body, from head to toe.

[sterekcollabang]

The Den

Writer: @sinnabon-cosplay

Artist: @jojorice

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Allison Argent, Lydia Martin, Jordan Parrish, Cora Hale, Peter Hale, Talia Hale Additional Tags: Mafia AU, Werewolves exist, Stiles Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Detective Stiles Stilinski, Argents are bad news, Warning: Kate Argent, Violence, Guns, Blood, Alpha Peter Hale, Talia Hale is alive, Kissing, Making Out, First Time Together, Blow Jobs, Fingering, Anal Sex, Peter Hale Gives Stiles Stilinski The Bite, Matter of Life and Death Series: Part 1 of Stilinski's Speakeasy Summary:

1920s prohibition “mafia” AU where Stiles is a detective who is also moonlighting as the owner of the biggest speakeasy in Los Angeles, connected to the underground tunnels bootleggers use. The speakeasy is a neutral zone, smack dab in the middle of two large mob family territories; the Argents and the Hales. One day when one of the Argents makes a move, Stiles starts to discover that they might not just be simple mobsters; they’re hunters. And the Hales, and the supernatural city inhabitants they have vowed to protect, are their main target.

[Read More]

[companionjones]

Get Off Of Him

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader

Fandom: Teen Wolf (MTV)

Warnings: Dead bodies?

You didn't know what caused it. You didn't know what within you had been ignited. All you knew was that that Alpha woman licking up Derek's abs reminded you too much of Kate Argent doing the same thing.

"Get off of him!" Your scream hurt your throat. It reminded you of Lydia's with the way it reverberated off the walls.

You'd been chained to the wall as well, across the room from Derek. Until everyone in the room was on the ground, including you and him. You and Derek were the only ones still moving, though.

Derek made it to you before you could get to your feet. "We need to go."

"What did I do?" Your eyes were glancing to each of the bodies. Were they alive? You couldn't ask that out loud. "What did I do?" you repeated, and looked up at Derek.

His eyes were pleading. "I don't know. But we need to get out of here. Please."

You and Derek had no idea how far you were from Beacon Hills, but you were able to find a motel.

When you got to your room, you both all but collapsed into bed. You were exhausted from whatever had erupted from you, and Derek was still injured from the Alphas.

Despite your tiredness, you woke up a while later to gently lay a hand on a part of Derek's chest that wasn't harmed.

That woke Derek up. "What are you doing?" he wondered grogily.

"Checking that you're still alive," you answered.

Derek smiled. "I'm still here." He placed a hand on top of yours. "And I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

Not having the energy to respond verbally, you just nodded, and drifted off back to sleep.

*******

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlists. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[sterekminibang]

Take a Glorious Bite Out of the Whole World (34271 words) by ArtaxLivs Art by @angeleyz4ever For @sterekminibang 2024 Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Jackson Whittemore, Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, The Hale Family (Teen Wolf), Jordan Parrish, Allison Argent, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Alive Hale Family, Mention of Kate Argent - Freeform, Mentions of Jennifer Blake - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Let me repeat that - HAPPY ENDING, Don't forget that part, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Sassy Erica, Full Shift Werewolves, Pining, Sappy Love Songs, Oh there's sex in this fic too - I almost forgot, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Language of Flowers, Background Relationships, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Digital Art

Summary: Derek’s heart trips over itself in his chest. It aches. His hands yearn to reach out and touch Stiles but he just can’t make his limbs move. His voice is rough and shattered when he insists, “I didn’t hate you…I didn’t even know you existed.” Stiles snorts, flopping his weight on his back so he can bounce the ball of light in an arc from hand to hand, “Surprisingly, not helpful." OR Stiles has known that Derek was his soulmate since he was ten years old. He's been waiting twelve years for Derek to know it, too. It might be too late, though.

[tin-wufborf]

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 3)

Hello lovelies! I'm back with a third installment of my favorite Sterek fic recommendations!

Let me just say again, I am absolutely blown away by how many of you have liked these posts, but I am still so glad you're enjoying them! Thank you all, and without further ado, let's get into it.

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20

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On a Chilly Night, Prayed for the Moon by violentcrumbles (E | 1/1 | 1,299)

Derek's hands are bloody, but Stiles' are clean.

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Freckle by starbolin (E | 1/1 | 1,645)

Nobody dies in this story.

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Turn Me On by risacooper (E | 1/1 | 3,021)

The air feels like it’s carrying the music with it, like a girl’s sweet voice is touching him along with the carefully encroaching press of someone’s fingertips at his back.

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I Just Can't Help Myself by breakaway71 (E | 1/1 | 3,187)

"Stiles," the demon says. In his head, her voice sounds soft and sleepy, like she's just woken from a long nap. "I'm bored."

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David Hale, Matchmaker by Menacherie (NR | 1/1 | 3,222)

Chris doesn’t know about the baby. In fact, Laura doesn’t even know until they’re safe in New York with their normal and safe aunt and uncle. Laura doesn’t tell him either. (It’s not until years later, when Derek sees David’s blue eyes staring back at him through Chris Argent, that he has an inkling of who the father is.)

Derek doesn’t say anything, but it’s ironic that Kate Argent burns down the house of her own unborn nephew.

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Legacy by scarletjedi (G | 1/1 | 3,339)

For Campbell men, family was everything.

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all you're giving me is friction by drunktuesdays (M | 1/1 | 4,707)

Stiles is Alpha bait.

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The Pretty Things (are going to hell) by FaeryQueen07 (E | 1/1 | 4,951)

“You have something of mine,” Stiles says, and he reaches for his hood, pushing it back to reveal the rest of his face. Lips curled up in a smile promising pain and eyes like death, he says, “And now I’m going to take it back.”

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nerves more by 1001cranes (E | 1/1 | 5,084)

Stiles only knows the boys are home from college when he sees the Camaro. It's a beautiful car, unusual - Laurent's car, but what's Laurent's is Derek's is Laurent's, rarely ever any distinctions - and Stiles is certain he sees it, idling in the corner of his vision when he talks to Scott, but when he turns around there isn't anything there. [Birthday gift for Saucery]

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the wing wherewith we fly to heaven by vlieger (T | 1/1 | 5,567)

based on this prompt at the kinkmeme: AU in which Stiles' mother had died because of Huntington's Disease.

When Stiles goes to get tested if the disease had been passed down to him, he asks Derek to go with him.

Up to you if the news are good or bad. And I'd love it if Derek and Stiles were pre-relationship.

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Tenfold by PunkPinkPower (G | 1/1 | 5,943)

In the end, it was Allison who made the final push to come home. They had all dropped hints when the war had ended. It was time to settle down and rest, Scott had said offhandedly. They needed a place to raise their pups, Jackson had argued. There weren’t any more great battles to fight, Stiles had insisted. They should honor at least some of their traditions, Lydia had reasoned.

But it was Allison who, one cool night in the Nevada desert, had said, “I think it’s time to go home.”

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More Wolf Than Boy by herlovewasajoke (E | 1/1 | 8,018)

Stiles always tries to protect the ones he loves, but sometimes he's the one who needs protection. (Or, in which Stiles is a werewolf and Derek didn't make him that way.)

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Do You Wanna Date My Avatar? by ChristyCorr (T | 1/1 | 8,904)

In hindsight, maybe introducing the local werewolf contingent to the wonderful world of online gaming hadn't exactly been Stiles' best idea.

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Break the Lock If It Don't Fit by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (E | 1/1 | 12,738)

"Do you know what just happened?" Peter asked, frowning. "Do you know what Derek did?"

"He dislocated my shoulder," Stiles snapped, but Peter just arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by that answer.

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Red Riding Hood series by purplecatsweater (2 works | E | 14,760)

1. Little Red Riding Hood (you sure are looking good) (E | 1/1 | 10,216) Stiles hangs out with werewolves. Stiles dresses up as Little Red Riding Hood for Halloween. It's supposed to be ironic. 2. Claiming Red (E | 1/1 | 4,544) Derek takes Stiles home.

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inside these arms series by rufflefeather (2 works | T | 17,917)

1. About Today (T | 1/1 | 8,901) Stiles is having the worst day of his life and it keeps happening. 2. Until Tomorrow (T | 1/1 | 9,016) Derek's worst nightmares didn't prepare him for this.

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And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi (E | 1/1 | 30,314)

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

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(Sacred) In the Ordinary by idyll (E | 9/9 | 78,759)

The Pack, after college, graduate school and the starting of careers, comes back to Beacon Hills. Nothing's gotten less complicated after all this time.

Based on a kink meme prompt that grew legs and got serious.

Note: This is a whole lot of pack!fic with a very slow build Derek/Stiles.

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Cornerstone by Vendelin (E | 6/6 | 83,738)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

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Home by TheTypewriterGirl (T | 18/18 | 167,178)

January seventh. Seven days since the start of 2015, and seven days since his father’s death.

The bastard, he thinks bitterly. The past year Derek Hale had made it blatantly obvious that he hated his scrawny guts, taking every given opportunity to shove him up against a wall, growl threats in his ears and roll his eyes whenever he stepped into the room, muttering some snide comment about how spastic or idiotic he was.

So why did he fucking volunteer to take him in?

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[fairytales-and-folklore]

Meet Me At My Window

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: Meet Me At My Window

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Mature (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Stiles accidentally falls in love with Derek. Derek begrudgingly falls in love with Stiles. Derek has trust issues and an aversion to romantic entanglements. Stiles lacks tact and would very much like to avoid a painful, embarrassing, werewolf-related death. Stiles and Derek end up spending the better part of a year in each other's company, pretending to despise every minute of it. In short: Stiles and Derek are awkward, stubborn, angst-ridden, life-ruining idiots who can't seem to work up the nerve to admit that they're in love.

Derek sighs, rolling his eyes and nudging Stiles's cheek with the tip of his nose. "Stiles, you annoying little shit, I love you. Against my will and better judgment, I do. And I was stupid and wrong and all sorts of fucked up for having pushed you away like that, and I hope you can forgive me, because I'm really, really sorry. Okay?"

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The first time Stiles Stilinski meets Derek Hale, he's rendered with a peculiar combination of all-consuming fear, respect, and sympathy (and, admittedly, arousal…but hey, let's just shove that embarrassing fact to the side and stick a pin in it, shall we?) And of course, because Stiles wants absolutely nothing to do with the sociopathic sourwolf with the burned and broken past, and because his life is just a big pile of nonsensical bullshit, that's the exact opposite of what he gets.

After a while, Stiles starts to lose track of the number of times he ends up saving Derek's life, whether it's reluctantly agreeing (under the threat of a brutal mauling involving the removal of his head from the rest of his body) to cut off Derek's arm so that the poison from a Wolfsbane laced bullet won't spread to his heart…or harboring Derek in his bedroom to keep him hidden from the authorities while on the run for false murder charges…or holding onto a temporarily paralyzed two-hundred-and-something-pound werewolf in the middle of the Beacon Hills swimming pool for hours on end to keep him from drowning while, oh yeah, fighting off a homicidal were-lizard…

He isn't exactly sure which one of those times had officially sealed the deal, but somewhere along the line, Stiles actually starts to give a damn about whether Derek Hale lives or dies.

• • •

After his brief romantic entanglement with Kate Argent (read: the horrific incident that had lead to the death of his entire family and the destruction of his home in an inferno) Derek Hale is, understandably, a little reserved, a little distrusting, and generally, all-around unpleasant company. 

For years following the incident, Derek had mostly just kept to himself, locked away from the rest of the world, skulking in the shadows in the ruins of his old home, fraught with all-consuming guilt and regret, only poking his head out when his older sister had all but dragged him into the Camaro to take them on destination-less road trips across the countryside, whenever the memories of their old life became too much for them to bear. 

They were all each had anymore; all throughout those long and lonely years, Laura had been Derek's alpha, his anchor, the only thing that kept him tethered to his sanity, the one and only person that Derek swore he would ever trust…that is, until she'd been taken from him, too. 

Nearly six years after the fire, mere hours after he'd buried the last remaining member of his family (not counting, of course, the power-hungry uncle responsible for her death) a boy called Stiles Stilinski had come along and utterly demolished that carefully crafted facade that Derek had worked so hard to build. 

Mind you, not all at once. After all, Derek's first impression of Stiles hadn't exactly been all that positive. Even now, after everything they've been through together, how in the fuck a loudmouthed, loquacious, opinionated, irritating whirlwind of a person could have possibly woven his way so deeply under Derek's skin is still beyond him. 

Although, admittedly, the fact that Stiles had saved Derek's life more times than he can count could possibly have something to do with it.

No matter how hard he tries, Derek can't seem to escape the memory of one of those nights in particular, his mind reeling on repeat, piecing together every infinitesimal detail with perfect clarity.

Blood red satin and dark blue denim hugging saturated skin. Beads of water rippling down his pale, freckled face, neck, and shoulders, caught on the edge of his reddened lips. The rhythm of Stiles's heartbeat thrumming against Derek's back, reverberating through the hollow of his chest as he'd held him close, head tipping forward to rest against Derek's shoulder, warm breath ghosting over the shell of his ear, sending shivers down the length of his spine. 

The sound of their ragged breathing echoing across the hall of the swimming pool as they fought to stay afloat. As Stiles fought with every last ounce of his strength to keep them both alive. Stiles clinging to Derek for dear life, arms coiled tight around his torso, like he's afraid to let him go. And then—

Paralysis. Submersion. That all-consuming fear of abandonment he'd come to know so well, at war with the blissful desire to welcome the darkness that threatened to envelop him as he'd sunk to the depths of the pool. And how poetic, really, that he should die in a way that's almost polar opposite of the fiery death he'd so narrowly escaped last time. 

And then, just moments before he'd lost consciousness — the terrifying realization that someone actually cares enough about him to keep him from drowning. 

Because Stiles had come back for him. 

Because Stiles had plunged to the bottom of the pool and pulled Derek back to the surface. 

Because Stiles had saved Derek's life. 

Again. 

He could have run, could've heeded Derek's warning and gotten himself to safety, could've just let go and left Derek to die, could've saved himself instead of exhausting all of his strength just to make sure that Derek didn't drown. But he hadn't. Unlike everyone else in Derek's life, Stiles had stayed.

Initially, Derek writes it off as the intrinsic, primal, entirely human need for self-preservation, because Stiles is smart enough to know that Derek is integral to his survival. After all, a werewolf with supernatural strength and agility stands a far better chance of protecting itself against a murderous reptilian hybrid of a monster with the ability to incite full-body paralysis with a single swipe of its claws than a skinny, defenseless human does. For Stiles, keeping Derek alive means keeping himself alive. 

It's survival instinct, plain and simple. 

At least, that's how Derek keeps choosing to rationalize it.

Can't you just trust me, just this once?

No!

Hey, I'm the one keeping you alive, okay? Have you noticed that?

And when the paralysis wears off, who's going to be able to fight that thing? You or me?

What, so that's the only reason I've been holding you up for the past two hours?

You don't trust me, and I don't trust you. You need me to survive, which is why you aren't letting me go.

But then, Derek can't help but wonder why Stiles had saved his life countless other times before that night, well before the kanima had ever become a threat. In spite of a seemingly endless running commentary of sarcasm and unconvincing threats to leave him for dead, Stiles had looked after Derek when he'd been shot with a Wolfsbane bullet, had given Derek sanctuary when he'd been on the run for a false murder conviction (thanks, Scott.) He didn't have to do any of that, but he still did it.

And the strangest thing of all is that it keeps happening. Stiles keeps saving Derek's life, over and over again in a multitude of different ways, often risking his own life in the process, and never expects anything but Derek's trust in return. 

Stranger still is the fact that Derek keeps inexplicably seeking out Stiles, of all people, whenever he's in trouble, despite his insistence that he doesn't trust him. He'll talk a big game with intimidation tactics and threats of bodily harm, yet his first instinct is always to protect Stiles, to make sure he's safe, to push him out of harm's way at the first sign of danger, even from his own pack, his own family.

It's only after that night that Derek begrudgingly comes to accept the fact that he not only doesn't mind having Stiles around, but might actually even like him, his stupid, traitorous brain keeping tallies of every positive quality Stiles possesses.

Like the fact that he's brave, and loyal, and compassionate, and clever, mind racing at lightning speed, a hundred different ideas, plans, and theories bouncing around inside his head at any given moment.

Stiles is a challenge, a constant battle of wit and fury to rival his own. Unlike everyone else, Stiles doesn't give Derek the chance to intimidate him, always at the ready to prove that he isn't afraid of him, seeing right through Derek's bullshit tough guy facade to the fragile ego underneath, throwing his own weak threats right back in his face, and giving just as good as he gets.

Stiles is comfort in the form of foolishly optimistic reassurance, shaky laughter, and self-deprecating humor, staving off the never-ending waves of fear and desperation that threaten to consume them both in every seemingly hopeless predicament they find themselves in.

After a while, scenario after mad, perilous, life-or-death scenario, time spent in each other's company becomes almost addictive, exhilarating, rather than vexing and obligatory. Melodramatic death threats carelessly thrown without cause start to lack conviction. Playful banter and lighthearted shoving all but replace heated bickering and power moves. After a while, thrusting Stiles up against hard surfaces becomes so much more than a necessity for garnering respect and gaining favor; it becomes a game.

• • •

They're outside of a club one night, tracking down the kanima's latest potential target, and Derek has got Stiles pressed up against the jagged brick wall of the building, black leather jacket and tight-fitted jeans crushed against worn plaid flannel and dark blue denim. His hands are fisted in the front of Stiles's shirt, canines grazing his ear as he growls out weak threats detailing all the things he's going to do to Stiles if tonight's plan goes awry. 

It's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing Derek hasn't already done before, (most effectively, he muses, against Stiles's own bedroom wall) except that, this time, something feels different. Something about Stiles smells different. Without thinking, Derek presses in closer, buries his nose into the curve of Stiles's neck, and breathes him in, catching notes of cinnamon, woodsmoke, and black currant wine, twisting into an intoxicating helix and radiating throughout his entire body, swimming in his veins, inexplicably evident with every pulse of Stiles's heartbeat as it thunders against his ribcage.

Derek would be lying if he said that he hadn't caught a hint of that scent before; a subtle, lingering aroma, hidden just beneath the surface of Stiles's skin, every time Derek had gotten too close for comfort. Before now, he had never quite been able to place it, had never concentrated hard enough to bother with riddling it out, always too preoccupied dealing with the monster of the week. 

Never before had it been this potent, this intense, this…

Oh. 

With a sharp twist, the cogs inside Derek's head finally start to turn, and he realizes that he is a complete fucking moron, because in that moment, Stiles smells like pure arousal, like all-encompassing desire, and really, how had it taken him this long to figure it out? After all, it's not like Stiles has ever responded to any of Derek's threats like a normal person.

"If you say one word," Derek warns as he shoves Stiles against his bedroom door, hands fisting into the front of Stiles's shirt.

"Oh what, you mean like, 'Hey dad, Derek Hale is in my room, bring your gun'?" Stiles says cooly, and just like that, the threat dies in the back of Derek's throat, fear and vulnerability slipping through the cracks just long enough for Stiles to take notice; invisible to anyone else, but glaringly obvious to the detail-oriented observer standing right in front of him.

"Yeah, that's right," Stiles asserts, a cocky smirk tugging at the corners of his lips like Derek's the one pinned to the wall, caught in a compromising position. "If I'm harboring your fugitive ass, it's my house, my rules, buddy."

He swats Derek's shoulder with the back of his hand, and Derek just stares down at it, dumbfounded. When he looks back up, Stiles's eyes are trained on his lips, and Derek finds himself momentarily frozen by the sight of Stiles's tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, struck speechless by the way his pupils scatter to the edge of his irises as he locks eyes with Derek, the faint uptick of Stiles's heartbeat threatening to jumpstart his own. He swallows thickly, unable to give anything more than a curt nod, before releasing his grip on Stiles's shirt.

But he can't just concede, can't just let Stiles win. He gets one last petty jab in, straightening Stiles's jacket with a harder tug than he knows is strictly necessary. But Stiles, it seems, is just as determined to not let Derek have the upper hand, reaching forward to grasp the collar of his leather jacket, and tugging down just as hard. Derek has to fight the foreign burst of laughter bubbling up inside his chest at the soft "oh my god" that escapes Stiles's mouth as he dodges Derek's glare and nearly topples over his desk chair.

Or—

"Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out…with my teeth," Derek growls, emphasizing the threat with a flash of his teeth that he hopes come across as intimidating, rather than the wincing grimace it actually is.

Stiles stares at him for a few moments, fixing him with narrowed eyes and a glare that nearly calls his bluff, silently screaming 'do it, I dare you,' before heaving a long-suffering sigh and swiftly turning away to expose the long, pale canvas of his neck as he gives in to Derek's demands. 

And even though he is literally dying, and should probably be more concerned about the fact that he's bleeding out all over Stiles's passenger seat, Derek spends far more time than he cares to admit wondering if that wasn't an invitation.

It hits him with all the force of a tidal wave, sweeping him under the current. In that moment, Derek finds himself inexplicably drawn toward Stiles, like he's sunlight dancing across the surface of the water, a fresh breath of salty sea air in the lungs of a drowning man. As the seconds tick past, Derek finds it increasingly more difficult to let Stiles go, driven wild by the desire to press himself further into Stiles's personal space and drink in that warm, inviting scent, to nuzzle against the curves of his neck and collarbones and mark Stiles with his own scent. And it's that fact that sends a jolt of absolute terror spiking through Derek's chest, because he's never wanted to do that with anyone before.

He reigns himself in just long enough to shove Stiles away from him, tearing his gaze away from Stiles's retreating form as he makes his way back into the nightclub in a flustered huff. Once he's certain that Stiles is safely tucked away inside, Derek makes a run for it, bolting back to his hideaway and locking himself in his makeshift bedroom. He slides down the doorframe to the cold concrete floor and buries his face in the palms of his hands, shoulders shaking with the stirrings of a breakdown.

• • •

The next morning, Derek wakes with a cold, calculating satisfaction, convinced that feelings are stupid, that opening yourself up to that kind of vulnerability only leads to self-destruction, and that his interest in Stiles Stilinski is merely that; an interest, an infatuation, a distraction; hoping like hell that these foreign feelings will falter and disappear on their own. 

Because Derek simply refuses to allow himself to even entertain the idea of ever falling in love again, far too broken and haunted by the ever-present guilt of losing his family, of loving and trusting someone so much and so blindly that it had cost him everything and everyone he had ever loved. After Kate, after…the incident, Derek had written off romance for the rest of his foreseeable future, promising himself that he would never again make the mistake of falling for someone as hard as he had fallen for her.

It's in shameless illogicality and childish avoidance that Derek places the blame (at least, partially) on Stiles. Convinces himself that he hates Stiles for making him feel this way. Hates himself for having fallen victim to Stiles's maddeningly adorable charm, for having foolishly let him weave his way under Derek's skin in a way that even Kate never could. Finds his fear of the thought of what inevitable heartbreak Stiles could cause him if he were to give in to his feelings as perfectly justifiable grounds for taking out all of his aggression and unresolved tension on Stiles.

Repeatedly shoving him up against walls at random. 

Shouting at him for no apparent reason other than because he can. 

Using any excuse he can think of to get closer to Stiles, to pull him deeper into pointless, repetitive arguments, just so he can spend more time in his company. 

Delighting in the way Stiles's heartbeat thunders against his ribcage, the way the rush of emotion paints his pulse points and the hollows of his cheekbones. 

Relishing the fact that he is the cause, that he has the power to elicit such an impassioned response in this infuriating, silver-tongued little shit. 

Reveling in the way Stiles's clever, zealous words rip through Derek's skin, latching onto every fiber of his being and lighting up his nerves like a live wire.

It's easier this way, pretending that this innate connection between them, this weird brand of accidental flirting that straddles the line between intimidation and sexual tension, doesn't exist. That it's merely a figment of his imagination gone rogue, a looming nightmare hell-bent on capturing him and swallowing him whole, just as viciously as it had the last time. Only this time, he's not going to give in. He won't allow himself to fall victim to his own vulnerability. He's determined not to.

Besides, even if Derek could entertain the idea that he's even capable of having romantic feelings for someone else, let alone Stiles, of all people, there's still the complication of it being—

Unrequited.

Because Derek knows full well that Stiles is, and always has been, madly in love with Lydia Martin. And how does Derek know that? Because Stiles never shuts up about it. So even if he wanted to, there's no way in hell that Derek could ever convince Stiles to change his mind, to choose him instead, because, as Derek finally comes to realize one quiet afternoon spent in the company of his pack, loving someone isn't a choice. It's not something you can just will away through sheer spite, either, burying it deep down and pretending it doesn't exist. Love takes a hold of you whether you want it to or not, and Stiles, Derek realizes with a resigned sigh, has dug his claws in deep.

Not that it matters.

Although, sometimes—

Sometimes, he'll get foolishly hopeful. He'll catch a hint of that familiar, intoxicating scent, paired with the quickening pace of Stiles's heartbeat every time they accidentally touch, a simple brush of skin against skin that sends an electric spark through Derek's chest…but, because Derek is stubbornly self-deprecating, he simply writes those moments off as coincidence, as Stiles's inherent nervousness and awkwardness, chalking it up to sheer curiosity and raging teenage hormones. 

And even if, by some miracle, the near-constant aroma of Stiles's arousal is because of Derek, well…that alone isn't enough. There's no affection or deeper meaning to be found in lust, after all. And one night with Stiles isn't what Derek is after. If Stiles ever chooses to be with him, what Derek wants is a long-term connection…life-long, if he's being honest…if he should ever be so lucky. 

Still, the nagging notion that he'll never be good enough, that he isn't whole enough, that he hasn't healed enough, to be the kind of companion that someone like Stiles truly needs, eats away at him, stops him from wishing and wanting, from trying. Despite Stiles's infectious optimism that could change the hearts and minds of even the most stubborn, foolish, and broken of people, Derek isn't certain if he'll ever be capable. So he resolves to keep his affections hidden, waiting in vain for someone who will likely never want him as he is.

• • •

Time wears on, and in the summer that follows Scott and Stiles's sophomore year, after the events surrounding Gerard Argent's death and Jackson's transformation from kanima to werewolf, permanently binding Lydia and Jackson as soulmates, Stiles finds himself rapidly losing interest in his pursuit of Lydia Martin, convinced that he never had a chance with her to begin with, and is honestly just content with the fact that she finally seems happy, even if it isn't with him. 

The imposing threat of the alpha pack ends up being much less dramatic than they had originally anticipated. Apparently, the alpha pack is comprised of a makeshift council, containing alphas from each pack in the surrounding area. According to Peter Hale, there have been several werewolf packs living in secrecy across the west coast for quite some time now. 

They'd primarily kept to themselves…that is, until the kanima threatened to expose the existence of their kind. The council traveled to Beacon Hills with the sole intent of putting an end to the problem in the only way that they saw fit: by putting down the abomination, ending the reign of the alpha responsible, acquiring the remaining members of their pack, and dividing them amongst the alphas of the council and their respective packs.

In a rare moment of bravery (or perhaps stupidity) Peter takes it upon himself to negotiate a compromise, and travels to the hidden location of the council. Consequently, the alpha pack is never heard from again, nor is Peter Hale. It can only be assumed that one of three things happened: either the council mistook Peter for the alpha of the Beacon Hills werewolf pack and killed him on the spot, living up to their legend; Peter somehow escaped their conviction and is currently on the run; or, more likely, sassy, silver-tongued Peter Hale talked his way into joining a new pack, and he now runs with an entirely different class of werewolves. Whatever the case, Derek is relieved to finally have his creepy, murderous, meddlesome uncle gone.

In the beginning of the summer, Derek forges a peace treaty with Chris Argent, agreeing to work together in the event of future catastrophes, and the group of reckless, misfit adolescent werewolves and humans becomes a hybrid pack. Derek, Stiles, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd spend the summer lounging around in the ruins of the old Hale house, regarding Derek's rules, regulations, and attempts at training them with reluctance and rebellion. 

On the edge of summer's end, Derek finally gives in to Stiles's relentless insistence that Derek might actually require Stiles's help reigning in his newly formed pack. And so, much to Derek's indignation, Stiles becomes the official designated researcher of all things supernatural, and, annoyingly enough, Derek's go-to guide for advice and assistance.

• • •

Over the course of his junior year, Stiles and Derek are wrought even closer, collaborating over ideas for pack activities and training exercises. And, staying true to his new role in the group, in nearly no time at all, Stiles becomes incredibly well-versed in pack dynamics and werewolf lore, presenting Derek with detailed sketches of his plans for strengthening their senses to full peak, exercises in anchor grounding and emotional control, agility and strength training, physical defensive and combative strategies, and, most importantly, pack bonding activities. 

Slowly, gradually, the tension between the two of them shifts, builds, ever so subtly with each passing day, and before Stiles can even register what's happening, his attention veers, rather aggressively, toward Derek Hale. 

And, okay, just so we're clear, it's not like Stiles has never noticed how attractive the guy is. He's not one to dismiss physical beauty worthy of a statuesque god so willingly, even if its owner happens to be a snarky, sassy, surly sourwolf with a penchant (or perhaps a kink? no, shut up) for shoving him up against hard surfaces like his own goddamn bedroom wall as a means of intimidation. 

(And seriously, his traitorous body needs to stop reacting to that kind of shit in all the wrong ways, because one of these days, Derek is going to notice and then he'll die of embarrassment before Derek even has the chance to rip his throat out.)

So yeah. Obviously, it's not lost on Stiles that Derek Hale is hot. He gets it. He's well fucking aware of the fact that Derek is…ugh, really fucking gorgeous, actually, in an almost sinful how the hell are you not Photoshopped kind of way, with his perfectly sculpted body, his dark tousled hair, devil-may-care five o'clock shadow skating across his chiseled jawline, not to mention the fact that his eyes are this indescribable combination of blue, green, and hazel that Stiles can't even put a proper name to, but sometimes he kind of wants to paint it…

So.

Yeah.

He's always known Derek was attractive. It's just…it's getting a little harder to ignore lately, that's all.

Okay, so maybe it goes a little beyond simply finding Derek attractive. Maybe he'd imagined that night at the club more than a few times while he was in the shower, and maybe he'd called out Derek's name in a low, throaty moan as he'd climaxed. But it's totally not his fault, okay? It's just, you know, hormones and shit. Just because Stiles sometimes thinks about Derek in a non-platonic way doesn't mean that he's like, in love with him, or anything.

And even if, hypothetically speaking, he was starting to develop actual real feelings for Derek during all the time he'd been spending with him lately…it's not like it matters. It's not like he could actually do anything about it. It's not like he has a shot in hell of ever making that fantasy a reality.

First of all, there's the obvious attraction factor. Stiles, in comparison to Derek, with his short brown hair that's slowly growing out at awkward angles, his gangly physique, and his constant flailing, fidgeting, and anxiety-induced word vomit, isn't exactly the most alluring romantic prospect. (Or so he keeps telling himself.)

Second, there's the somewhat complicated matter of their age difference. Derek is basically a whole college and master's degree older than Stiles, and though he would argue that Derek is every bit the immature, sarcastic little shit that Stiles prides himself in being, Stiles knows for a fact that his dad would never approve. In fact, Stiles is fairly certain his father would rather shit in his own hands and clap than let his son date an older man. A convicted felon, no less. (Granted, it was a false accusation and the charges were dropped, but still.)

Third of all, Derek is…complicated. Mercurial. Cynical. Reclusive. Reticent. And Stiles gets it, completely. Because he knows what Derek has been through. He'd snuck into his dad's office and read the Hale house fire case so many times he's practically got every detail memorized. He knows full well why Derek is this broken shell of a man, drowning in undeserved survivor's guilt, haunted by his past mistakes and regrets. He's skeptical and distrusting for good reason, and probably only tolerates Stiles's company because Stiles is useful to him. 

Which brings him to fourth of all: Stiles isn't entirely certain of the exact nature of their relationship. Derek doesn't really do feelings…or even friendship, probably, for that matter. At least, not with a guy like Stiles. And certainly not willingly. They aren't enemies, exactly (never were, really, more like reluctant partners in crime) nor are they anywhere near the same level of friendship and trust that Stiles shares with Scott. 

So he's not about to test their constant-state-of-flux boundaries and budding friendship by confessing that he is possibly sort of completely in love with him. It would be awkward and embarrassing to the point of torture, and Derek would probably definitely rip his throat out…with his teeth (and ugh, Stiles really wishes that he could stop finding that particular interaction so goddamned hot, because he really shouldn't, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him.) 

Worst of all, it would mean no more Stiles and Derek bonding time, which Stiles has grown rather fond of. So, despite the fact that Derek has become a near-constant presence in his life and Stiles really, really wants to act on his stupid, dumb feelings every time Derek so much as looks in his direction, Stiles promises himself that he won't breathe a word to Derek, that he'll keep his mouth shut and keep his feelings a secret, even if it kills him. 

Stiles can manage to not talk about something, right? 

It's fine. It'll be fine.

• • •

Over time, as hard as he tries to pretend otherwise, Derek begrudgingly comes to terms with the fact that Stiles has become something of a permanent fixture in his life, and, terrifyingly enough, the one person he's come to trust most in this world. Which would explain why, over the course of the year that follows, Stiles also becomes the one person Derek comes to whenever he's wounded. 

Unfortunately, that tends to happen quite a lot, given the number of times Derek crosses paths with rogue werewolf hunters, or accidentally strays into another pack's territory. The majority of Derek's injuries are the direct result of involvement in foreign pack drama, which is difficult to avoid, given how reckless and impulsive Erica and Jackson can sometimes act.

But, despite the constant string of curses and complaints, Stiles always takes care of him. In fact, Stiles becomes so accustomed to playing werewolf doctor that he starts keeping a makeshift first aid kit hidden under his bed for just such occasions, courtesy of Dr. Deaton, local veterinarian and supernatural specialist. The kit is filled with all manner of cure-alls, from Spiderman Band-Aids, to gauze, to dissolvable stitches, as well as twenty-seven different poison antidotes, a dozen lighters, and spare Wolfsbane bullets. Sometimes, if Derek is on his best behavior, Stiles will even share a pint of Ben and Jerry's with him as he tucks Derek into his bed, because, obviously, ice cream is the cure to everything.

After a while, Stiles stops freaking out about Derek's Black Widow level skills of agility and finesse, stops flailing and whisper-screaming holy shit, wear a fucking bell every time he turns a corner in his house and Derek is suddenly just there, slinking out from the shadows with a self-satisfied smirk on his stupid handsome face, and stops reprimanding Derek for his inability to use the front door like a normal person, as opposed to climbing through Stiles's bedroom window at all hours of the goddamn night. 

Sometimes, Derek will drop by with special research projects for Stiles, deciphering strange symbols or concocting antidotes. Sometimes, it's to ask for his help in planning sessions for pack training activities and exercises. But then sometimes, more often than not, Derek will just show up on the ledge of Stiles's bedroom window without rhyme or reason, claiming that he's bored and would rather spend time in Stiles's company than stay at home by himself. 

The first time it happens, Stiles just stares at him for a few seconds before choking out a disbelieving Really? And Derek just rolls his eyes like it's not a huge fucking deal that a hot alpha werewolf doesn't have anything better to do on a Saturday night, shrugs his perfectly sculpted shoulders, and asks if Stiles is any good at making grilled cheese. 

He is. Stiles makes a mean grilled cheese, he'll have you know, despite what a certain sourwolf might claim otherwise. And no, they totally don't spend an entire hour making a huge stack of them, bickering over the merits of cheddar vs. mozzarella. Which definitely doesn't lead to an argument about which is better: cookies vs. brownies. How Stiles ends up with a kitchen countertop filled with all manner of baking supplies, insisting that they bake a batch of each from scratch (and one batch of cookie-brownie hybrids, you know, for science) so they can settle the debate once and for all, remains the greatest goddamned mystery of our time.

Derek's patience lasts all of five minutes as he watches Stiles struggle to open a bag of flour, before he's reaching for the bag so he can just do it himself. But Stiles won't let him have it, insisting that he's got it handled, that he'd just be loosening the pickle jar for Derek at this point, even though it's a flimsy paper bag, Stiles, not a pickle jar, but Stiles stubbornly refuses, playing keep-away with the bag of flour. They end up in a sort of vertical wrestling match over it, literally slapping each other's hands out of the way. 

And then the bag of flour bursts open and explodes in both of their faces, scattering the kitchen countertops, the sink, the fridge, the floor, in a blanket of white powder. Stiles blinks it out of his eyes and chances a glance over at Derek, who looks utterly ridiculous with a thick layer of flour coating his facial hair and embedded in his big surly eyebrows, and Stiles presses his lips together in an effort not to laugh, but ends up inhaling a mouthful of flour and a cloud of it puffs out of his mouth as he exhales. And Derek is just staring at him, not saying a word, and uh oh, he thinks, there I go pissing off the alpha again, never thought I'd die covered in baking ingredients, but here we are. 

But then something incredible happens. Without warning, Derek doubles over and bursts out laughing, just full belly laughing, eyes crinkling around the corners, and it's the most surreal experience because Stiles is not used to seeing this side of Derek, this lighter, happier, unencumbered version, and the sight of it sends a pang through his heart, making him ache for the person Derek probably was before the fire, for the person he probably could have been if his life hadn't been turned upside down. In that moment, Stiles vows to make it his personal mission to try to make Derek smile and laugh like that as much as he possibly can.

By the time they take the last batch out of the oven, the kitchen is an absolute war zone, mostly because, after the flour incident, they'd basically devolved into a low-key food fight, flinging chocolate chips at each other and swiping icing across each other's faces. And then Stiles realizes that it's nearly four in the morning and his dad will be home within the hour and will totally kill him if he sees the mess they've made, so he starts begrudgingly taking out the cleaning supplies and setting to work mopping the floor, while Derek tends to the giant tower of mixing bowls stacked in the sink. The kitchen gleams when they're finished, the Sheriff is none the wiser.

Stiles keeps expecting it to just be a one time thing, some weird twilight zone alternate universe where Derek is nice and they actually get along and like each other. But for some reason, it keeps happening. Derek keeps showing up outside his bedroom window, asking to come in. And no matter the time of night, or how much it kind of freaks Stiles out (because, really, Derek Hale wants to come over to his house and just…what, hang out? Like two normal people? Like they're friends? Or— no, oh my god, calm down, it's not a date) Stiles always obliges, immediately dropping whatever he'd been doing and leading Derek down to the kitchen for another round of experimental baking.

Or sometimes, they'll set up camp in the living room, and spend the evening curled around opposite ends of the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them. Hesitantly, like he's afraid one wrong move will send Derek running, Stiles turns toward him, manages a shaky, so, have you ever watched Doctor Who? and gets this impish little gleam in his eyes when Derek shakes his head. (Derek can't help but laugh and roll his eyes whenever Stiles insists on singing along, very loudly and off key, to the lyric-less theme song.)

Derek never really cared too much for television, but he likes watching Stiles binge his way through his favorite shows and movies, likes the way Stiles will look over at him every few minutes with a bright smile on his face to see if Derek's enjoying the content just as much as he is, the way Stiles gets so worked up over seemingly insignificant details, his entire body flailing as he delves into twenty-minute monologues about all the plot twists and character growth in BBC Sherlock, Supernatural, and the MCU.

And then there are those rare, magnificent moments in between. Nights when they don't watch anything at all. Instead, Stiles talks about his mother, about the illness that took her life, about all of the different destructive and detrimental ways in which his father had dealt with his grief, about how Scott had been there for him, every step of the way…and sometimes, Derek shares tiny little fragments about his family, too; brief glimpses into the life he'd led before the fire, before Kate Argent had stolen it all away from him. 

It's those moments that are the most difficult for Derek to admit he covets, and maybe that's what makes them so precious. Because Stiles is the only one who seems to understand the constant, all-consuming pain and self-inflicted guilt that Derek has been going through for over seven years now. 

Because Stiles is incredibly easy to talk to, and even easier to listen to. Because Stiles doesn't force Derek to open up about his past, doesn't expect him to continue, even if he'd stopped speaking mid-sentence, eyes glazing over as he disassociates. 

Because Stiles fills the silence where Derek had trailed off with his own words and memories, gently tugging Derek back to the present. Because Stiles is the first and only person with whom Derek feels comfortable enough to talk to about his family. 

On more than one occasion, Derek has to stop himself from wandering into the dangerous territory of time rewritten, imagining what life would have been like if Stiles could have met them, if Derek could have met Stiles's mother, if neither of them had been dragged, kicking and screaming, into the hollow heartbreak that death often brings.

Because, it's like Stiles always says, "Death doesn't just happen to you. It happens to everyone around you. To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives without you in it." 

And he's right, because it does. The loss of a loved one latches onto you, eats at you until you're just an empty shell. And Stiles is the first person he's come across who truly understands what that feels like.

In those moments, Derek can't help but admire how brilliant Stiles is, how well he keeps his own brokenness hidden from the rest of the world. Can't help but find solace in the fact that maybe, he doesn't have to anymore, that neither of them do, now that they've got each other to confide in. And that's…Derek doesn't want to call it hope, exactly…but it's definitely something.

• • •

As the months stack up and fall semester bleeds into spring, Stiles grows accustomed to finding himself in Derek's company more often than he spends the night alone, slipping into a cozy routine, night-owl movie marathons and kitchen adventures a tradition in the making. It should feel weird, shouldn't make sense, but somehow, it does. It feels…oddly natural, comfortable. 

So comfortable, in fact, that sometimes, Derek will fall asleep on Stiles's shoulder mid-marathon, his heavy, sprawled-out form sinking into the couch cushions as he coils his arms around Stiles's waist, his grip like a vice, all but pinning Stiles to his seat. And then Stiles is left with the impossible task of trying to coax a sleepy, surly werewolf upstairs before his dad comes home, threatening Derek with the task of having to explain to the Sheriff why Derek is practically lying on top of his son at such an ungodly hour of the morning. (Because, let's face it, there's no way they're going to be able to talk themselves out of that one.)

It's to no avail, though, because once Stiles finally does manage to drag Derek back up to his bedroom, Derek proceeds to fall asleep in Stiles's bed, leaving Stiles to curl up along the very edge of the mattress, because Derek apparently likes to sprawl. And the worst part about it is that, after Derek leaves in the morning, Stiles's bed always smells like sourwolf, his blankets, pillows, and sheets embedded with Derek's scent. Never mind the fact that it's actually an oddly comforting, earthy fragrance…like petrichor, like rain-soaked grass and autumn leaves, like an early morning run through the woods…not that Stiles would ever admit to that. Instead, he just pretends that it annoys him, especially when his best friend starts to take notice.

One afternoon, Scott comes over after school to study for an upcoming history exam. Scott is doing slightly better this semester than he had been all last year, but he still needs Stiles's help, or he is definitely going to fail the majority of his classes. Scott barrels into Stiles's bedroom and stretches out on his bed, burying his face into the comforter and pretending to cry over the mountain of notes and textbooks that Stiles has laid out in front of him. 

And then, mid-groan, Scott suddenly freezes, all traces of playful banter traded for alarm as he bounds up and glares at Stiles's comforter, head cocked to the side.

"Dude," he says, wrinkling his nose. "Why does your bed smell like Derek Hale? Has he…has he been sleeping here…with you?"

Of course, Stiles's initial reaction is to lie through his goddamn teeth, because how the hell is he supposed to explain their little domestic routine to Scott? But then he remembers that Scott is his best friend, and that, oh yeah, he also happens to possess supernatural werewolf senses, and could catch him in a lie just by listening for the subtle shift in his blood pressure. Plus, there's no way that he can deny the fact that his bed smells like their alpha. Scott would recognize Derek's scent anywhere. So Stiles puts on his best scowling face and starts rambling, hoping his racing heart and flushed skin are mistaken for irritation rather than nerves.

"Ugh, I know, dude, it's totally weird. So, you know how Derek is like, always getting himself into trouble, right? Well, the bastard always ends up coming to me, with like, no regard to the time of night. And I always fix him up, because, you know, the whole not wanting to get mauled to death by a werewolf thing. And, because he's always out all night playing werewolf Batman, the guy never gets any sleep, so he decides my bed is the perfect fucking place to crash, I guess, so that's why it always smells like him…no, don't look at me like that, it's not like he sleeps with me, okay, I just…I mean, it's my own fault, really, because I should probably just lock my window. Of course, Derek would probably just break it and come in anyway…"

No, hang on. That makes it sound like Derek would resort to vandalism just to get close to Stiles, and that's…no, that's not how Derek works. (Probably. He doesn't actually know. It's not like he's had ample opportunity to test that theory. He's just always left his window open for Derek to climb through without a second thought.) 

But then…come to think of it, Stiles isn't entirely certain why Derek always chooses to come to him, of all people, anyway. It's not like Stiles is the only person who's capable of fixing Derek up after a fight…there's Deaton, and Isaac, and Erica, and Boyd…people who've studied werewolves for far longer than Stiles has even been alive…people who actually are werewolves…

Stiles interrupts his own internal word vomit and glances over at Scott, hoping like hell that his short attention span has already moved on to other, more distracting topics (Allison…Lacrosse…Allison) and has already forgotten the fact that Derek's scent is not only all over Stiles's bedroom, but also all over Stiles himself, which, yeah, okay, he knows what that probably looks like to Scott, but Scott's got nothing to worry about, because that is so not ever going to happen because, well…Stiles just isn't that lucky. 

But Scott's got this look on his face like he's genuinely concerned and a little bit uncomfortable and definitely grossed out to the point where he might actually start crying for real, and he's fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and averting his eyes and then, horror of all horrors, he asks, "Are you and Derek dating, or something?"

Stiles splutters, issuing a series of choking noises that have got Scott legitimately worried now.

"I…what? No, of course not! That's…gross, Scott. Why would you even say that?" Stiles chokes out, the discordant crack in his voice completely giving him away. And now he's screaming internally, all-consuming mortification and relief at having finally been caught in the biggest lie of his life (because, hey, pretending not to have feelings for someone is exhausting) waging war for control inside his head. 

Scott raises his hands in surrender, offering Stiles his most convincing innocent puppy dog eyes (there's a joke in there somewhere, but Stiles doesn't have the patience to make it right now.)

"Okay, fine. So you're not dating Derek. I get it. But then…" Scott trails off, reaching underneath his ass to pull out a slightly lopsided stuffed wolf that he apparently hadn't realized he'd been sitting on.

"Why do you have this?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow. Without thinking, Stiles launches onto his bed and rips the little plush toy out of Scott's hands, stroking the top of its head and pressing its little black nose into his cheek.

"Dude, don't sit on Sourwolf," he scolds, and seriously, he's going to murder Scott for the ridiculous grin that spreads across his face at the mention of the wolf's name.

"…isn't that what you call Derek?" he asks, biting back laughter.

"No…maybe…whatever, fuck you," Stiles says, shoving Sourwolf under his pillow and pacing the length of his bedroom, striped socks slipping across the hardwood floor. And then he pauses, realization dawning on him as he catches the wide, shit-eating grin unfurling across Scott's face.

"Oh my god," Stiles gasps. "You're fucking with me, aren't you? You know."

"What do I know, Stiles?" Scott asks, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

"Okay," Stiles sighs in defeat, dropping down onto the bed to sit beside Scott. "So, exactly how long have you known that I've got a crush on Derek?"

Scott merely chuckles and tilts his head to the side, studying his best friend with a look of pure amusement.

"Probably a lot longer than you have, buddy," Scott laughs, fixing Stiles with one of his signature heart-melting crooked smiles.

Stiles lets out a little sigh of relief, anxiety uncoiling ever so slightly in the pit of his stomach at the notion that his best friend not only knows, but approves.

It's a nice moment.

And then Scott opens his mouth and ruins it.

"I mean, it's kind of obvious, you know? You just get really stupid around him. Like your whole brain just stops functioning whenever Derek's around. It's like someone took your brain, threw it into a jar, and shook it really hard."

Stiles maintains that Scott more than deserved getting punched in the arm.

• • •

One evening in late April, during a thunderstorm dredged up from the deepest depths of hell, Derek catches Stiles walking home in the pouring rain…or rather, Derek rescues Stiles from the potential threat of pneumonia. 

Stiles's Jeep is in the shop again, his dad is working late at the station, and he's just missed the last bus, so he's resorted to walking home from lacrosse practice, in the middle of what can only be described as a soft-core hurricane…without an umbrella, or a raincoat, or even proper footwear…just a pair of muddied-up sneakers and a bright red, rain-soaked hoodie.

Derek heaves a dramatic sigh as he pulls up along the sidewalk, rolls down the windows of his Camaro, and shouts, "Get the fuck in the car, Stiles." 

Stiles jerks up at the sudden noise, his eyes lingering on Derek's darkened features through the sliver of the window, before a huge, ridiculous grin spreads across his face and he immediately jumps into the passenger seat of Derek's car, shrugging out of his sweatshirt and splashing water all over the pristine leather. Derek winces, on the verge of telling Stiles off, but stops dead at the sight of him—

Rainwater dripping down the length of his neck, connecting the smattering of freckles and moles between pale patches of skin like constellations in the night sky.

White shirt clinging to every curve of his torso, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination (but that doesn't stop Derek's from running wild.) 

His tongue darts out from the corner of his mouth to lick a stray drop of water from his lips, and Derek nearly whimpers. 

And then he's arching his back into the heated leather seats, moaning his appreciation in a way that sends a jolt like a shot of whiskey through Derek's chest, and Derek grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white and he thinks, this is it, this is how I die. 

Somehow, miraculously, Derek doesn't crash the car, keeping his eyes averted as he drives Stiles home, berating and lecturing him the entire time about how stupid he is, and how he'll probably catch a fever, and when he does, he can drag his own sorry ass out of bed to get himself hot tea and a bowl of soup, because Derek sure as hell isn't going to be the one to do it. Stiles bites back a laugh, taking it for the bullshit lie it so clearly is. 

Finally, they pull up in front of his house, and while Stiles's eyes are averted, Derek allows himself a moment to really take him in…rain-soaked clothes clinging to his lightly toned muscles, trickles of water streaming down the surface of his skin, lips stained red, blushing from the tangled mix of hot and cold air, steam clouding up the windshield as Stiles breathes out spirals of heat against it. It's intensely beautiful. Stiles is intensely beautiful, and it makes Derek want to lean in and smother him in kisses until the day he dies, to cover every inch of his pale, gorgeous skin with his tongue and his teeth. 

Stiles turns back around, fixing Derek with a curious expression as his fingertips toy with the handle of the door.

"Derek, I—" he begins, sounding just as breathless as Derek feels.

"Don't—" Derek interrupts him, clearing his throat and cursing his voice for having gone so weak. "Don't ever let me catch you doing that again, got it?"

"Oh my god," Stiles says slowly, a brilliant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You actually do care about me, don't you?"

Derek freezes, breaking his transfixion and rapidly readjusting the hinges of his mask…he can't lose control…can't let it show…not after he'd worked so hard to keep his feelings hidden. He's got to stay calm. Nonchalant. Casual.

"Of course I do," he says, with as much composure as he can manage. "You're pack."

Stiles bites his lower lip to keep his smug little smile in check, and it's so fucking adorable that Derek just can't help himself. Before Stiles can open the door, Derek fists one of his hands into the front of Stiles's shirt and pulls him close.

"If you die from pneumonia, or whatever the fuck you might've caught out there walking around in the freezing rain like a dumbass, I will kill you, and that's a promise," Derek growls, the ghost of a smile skating across his lips.

Stiles merely rolls his eyes, fighting back the urge to laugh, and climbs out of the car, stumbling onto the pavement like his limbs are at war with gravity. He reaches the front door and turns his key in the lock, looking back with a hopeful grin, and gives Derek a little wave before he steps into his house. Derek drives off in a make-believe huff, while Stiles sinks down the length of the door once he gets inside, slumping to the floor with a ridiculous smile on his face, hardly caring that he's freezing and soaked to the bone. Nope, none of that matters, because Derek had just admitted out loud that he cares about Stiles. And that's definitely something.

• • •

One thing that Derek absolutely hates about Stiles is his taste in music. Stiles blasts the shit out of his Jeep's speakers, singing along with a truly horrible excuse for music at the top of his lungs. After one too many dubstep remixes, Derek has no choice but to insist that they take the Camaro out on their pack training sessions instead. The alternative is smashing Stiles's iPod to bits, which Derek would normally have no qualms about doing, it's just…well…Stiles had worked really hard to be able to afford that iPod, and Derek would feel terrible if he broke it. He did try hiding it once, but Stiles found it almost immediately, nearly tearing off the pockets of Derek's leather jacket in the process.

The summer before senior year, Derek decides he wants to take the pack on a road trip up to the mountains for a couple of weeks of private, intensive training sessions. The entire trip had been planned several months in advance, a collaborative effort developed by Stiles and Derek to make the pack stronger, more alert, and more tightly-knit via training exercises that Stiles had charmingly christened packtivities (Derek has developed a bad habit of smacking Stiles across the back of the head every time he uses that word. And he's definitely going to detach a retina if Stiles makes the Camping! It's gonna be in-tents! joke one more fucking time.)

Unfortunately for Derek, since Stiles's Jeep is far roomier than Derek's Camaro, Derek, Stiles, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd all pile into the powder blue death-mobile for one agonizingly long drive up the mountainside, with far too much exposure to Stiles's terrible taste in music. (Erica is an evil little instigator; she sings just as loudly and off-key as Stiles does.)

Meanwhile, in the disgustingly adorable couples' carpool, sits Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson. When all of them finally arrive, they set up camp at the edge of the mountain, in a secluded little clearing surrounded by pine trees and berry bushes. The tent-sharing set up goes as follows: Scott and Allison to the first tent, Lydia and Jackson to the second, Erica and Boyd to the third…leaving Derek, Stiles, and Isaac to share the last tent (at least they'd all thought to bring their own sleeping bags.)

Once everyone has unpacked and settled in, Lydia and Allison light up a campfire, while Stiles and Derek drive five blindfolded betas to the very top of the mountain for their first trial in tracking scent. Stiles gives Scott, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson two items of clothing: one with Stiles's scent, and one with Derek's. Their instructions are to wait at the top of the mountain for a full hour, taking time to get acclimated to their surroundings, and giving Stiles and Derek plenty of time to trek their way back to the campsite. Then, after their sixty-minute period is up, they can take off their blindfolds, and find their way back to the campsite, using only their sense of smell to track Stiles and Derek down.

As they turn to leave, Stiles puts on his best Capitol accent, and says, "May the odds be ever in your favor," earning a sarcastic eye roll from Derek.

"This isn't the Hunger Games, Stiles. It's not like they're fighting to the death."

"Dude," Stiles says, shamelessly gaping at Derek. "You actually got that reference? I don't even remember watching that with you."

Derek responds with a simple shrug, sliding into the passenger's seat of the Jeep.

"So," Stiles muses as he climbs into the driver's side. "How come you didn't tell me you were a closet fanboy? I'd always thought you were just humoring me, you know? Watching all that sci-fi and action hero stuff with me. But it would appear that I have converted you."

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek sighs, a small smile creeping its way across his lips.

"You know, I've got the trilogy in hardcover, if you ever want to borrow—"

"Shut up and drive, Stiles."

Stiles does as he's told, but his smile is as smug as ever.

As they drive back down the mountains through verdant woods, golden rays of the sun bleeding into the citrine skyline as the rolling hills of the mountainside swallow it whole, the two of them sink into a comfortable silence, neither of them feeling the need to fill the void with idle chatter. Stiles has, thankfully, turned the volume of his iPod down to a soft lull, and is no longer trying to balance driving with conducting the score to The Avengers. 

Stiles stares straight ahead, his fingertips drumming along the edge of the steering wheel in a steady rhythm, a small, contented smile on his lips. Derek focuses his attention on the patches of dirt embedded in the carpet of the passenger's seat, most likely his own doing over the past two years, and absentmindedly scrapes his black leather boots over the tears in the fabric, somehow managing to make them even worse. He keeps his head down, resting his chin against his palm, and slowly, ever so slightly, lifts his eyes to peer over at Stiles from underneath his lashes. If Stiles takes notice, he never lets on.

When they park the Jeep in the clearing at the edge of the mountain, they notice that the campfire has recently been put out, its remaining embers a dull orange, melting into the charcoaled ash of the burning tree bark. Lydia and Allison have, by the looks of it, retreated to one of their tents for the night, waiting for their boys to come back to the campsite. 

Stiles gets an inkling that Derek has no desire to go anywhere near the campfire until it's died out completely, so he perches atop the hood of his Jeep, lies back against the windshield, and pats the spot right next to him, arching his eyebrows suggestively. Derek gives him an exasperated glare, rolling his eyes and shuffling over to the car, before vaulting onto the hood in one smooth, graceful motion, and easing into the space beside Stiles.

Neither of them say a word as they lay there, staring up at the star-strewn sky through a tangled web of tree branches, shoulders and thighs pressed against one another's. By the time the betas return to the campsite, Derek and Stiles have already fallen asleep, and the image of Stiles's head draped over Derek's chest, Derek's arm wrapped tight around Stiles's waist, both of them softly snoring on the hood of Stiles's Jeep, is enough to send the five of them into hysterics, Erica hissing loudly at them all to shut up so she can get to her phone and snap a photo before they wake up.

Even Derek's signature death glares aren't enough to quell all the giggling he has to endure for the entirety of their two-week trip.

• • •

One morning in mid-summer, a few days after they'd returned from their camping trip, Stiles arrives at Derek's house with a determined look in his eyes, arms overflowing with home makeover catalogues, DIY brochures, and stacks of paint samples. As expected, Derek slams the door in Stiles's face. 

It takes all of two days and an endless barrage of okay but what ifs for Stiles to convince Derek to reconsider, pointing out that renovating the Hale house will serve as a fantastic pack bonding activity, that fixing the broken remnants of his home won't chase away the memories that Derek has of his family and of his old life…instead, it'll make way for new memories, for Derek's second family, his new pack, to weave their way into his life. It would become a place for all of them to assemble, to come and go as they please, and maybe then, Derek wouldn't feel so lonely. (The detailed visual of Jackson scowling and covered in paint might have been the determining factor that tipped Derek over the edge.)

The moment Derek finally agrees, Stiles sets the plan into motion, and the pack spends the rest of the summer tirelessly working together to rebuild the Hale house, sanding hardwood flooring and plastering scuffs and scrapes and holes, reinstalling plumbing and electric, choosing furniture and carpeting and repainting the walls. Each week, they devote their mornings and afternoons to working on a different section of the house, celebrating their hard day's work with pizza and takeaway, and piling onto Derek's recently purchased leather couches for movie marathons and Mario Kart tournaments in the evenings.

When it's all finally finished, Derek and the rest of the pack decide to throw a surprise party to celebrate Stiles's 18th birthday, complete with flameless candles stacked onto a massive three-tiered chocolate hazelnut cake. As a sort of thank you, Derek decides to bake Stiles's birthday cake entirely from scratch, whipping up the ingredients from muscle memory. 

It's a recipe they'd found together on Pinterest ages ago, always joking that if they ever ended up on a tag-team baking competition together, that would be their finale-winning show-stopper. It takes him hours, and he's fairly certain that if he didn't have werewolf healing, he'd have developed carpal tunnel just from the piping alone, but the look on Stiles's face when Derek carries it out, the way his eyes flutter closed when he takes his first bite, the way Stiles leans against him and whispers, dude, this is amazing, thank you so much, is totally worth it.

• • •

It's the last day of summer, the last day of freedom before classes kick back up and the majority of the pack is pulled back into the dismal routine of high school, homework, and after-school activities, and of course, Stiles can't sleep. Sure, the dangerous mix of Adderall and Red Bull he'd had the night before were probably the culprits, but mostly, Stiles reasons, it's nerves. Because, here's the thing: once classes resume and everyone's lives go back to being ridiculously busy, now with the added worry of college applications to potentially stir up pack drama, the lot of them won't be able to spend nearly as much time together as they had been all summer. Worst of all, Derek will be left all alone again, and Stiles can't help but worry what that's going to do to him.

Dragging his fingers through his ruffled mess of hair and deciding that there's far too much daylight pouring through his bedroom window for him to even consider trying to go back to sleep, Stiles springs up from his mattress and makes his way downstairs, hoping for something, anything to distract him from stressing out about Derek Hale's hypothetical emotional state. What Stiles gets instead is an eyeful of his father kissing Scott's mom. From the looks of it, she'd stayed the night…and from the casual comfortability of their embrace, it would appear that this has been going on for quite some time.

Stiles should be shocked, really, but given the Sheriff's odd behavior as of late, the way he drifts off mid-conversation with a goofy smile on his face, the hint of really familiar perfume clinging to his clothes, and the occasional smudge of a lipstick stain on his cheek, Stiles is honestly just relieved to have finally figured out his dad's secret.

After a few seconds, Stiles composes himself and quietly clears his throat, and the two of them immediately break apart, Melissa wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, the Sheriff attacking a phantom itch on the back of his head. Stiles presses his lips together, biting back a nervous laugh.

"So…this is new," he says, shoving his fists into the pockets of his pajama pants and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"I'll just…get your coat, then," the Sheriff mumbles, averting his eyes from Stiles's expectant gaze.

"It's summer. I didn't bring a coat," Melissa reminds him, lips curving into a small smile. "Morning, Stiles."

She waves an awkward goodbye in Stiles's general direction and quickly slips out the door, Sheriff Stilinski close on her heels.

"We're gonna have a nice, long chat about all of this after I've dropped Melissa off at work, alright? Promise," he says, closing the door behind him with an audible click.

Stiles sighs and retreats to the couch with a big bowl of fruit loops balanced in his lap, lounging around the living room while he waits, lazily flipping through the channels until he lands on BBC America, which only serves to remind him of his all-nighter sci-fi movie marathons with Derek. 

Since the beginning of summer, they'd been spending all of their free time with the rest of the pack, which had left little time nor reason for Derek to come by Stiles's house…a fact that shouldn't bother Stiles as much as it does. Sure, Derek still came over from time to time to get Stiles's pre-approval of certain video games and movies for pack bonding nights, still crashed on his bed whenever he'd stayed too late and didn't feel like venturing back home…but not nearly as much as he used to.

Fifteen minutes later, Sheriff Stilinski strolls through the door, setting down his keys and flopping down onto the opposite end of the couch, sighing and rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"So, when's the wedding?" Stiles asks, smirking.

"Stiles, that's not—" he starts, but Stiles cuts him off.

"I mean, it's not like it would make much of a difference, really. Scott and I are basically already brothers, anyway. You marrying Melissa would just make it, you know…official."

"Stiles," he sighs, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Look, I'm sorry you had to find out about it like this. It's not like we were trying to keep it a secret from you and Scott, it's just…we didn't know if we could actually make this work, you know? We've been friends for so long, we've both got our baggage. We wanted to test the waters a little bit, keep it under wraps until we knew for sure that what we have is a good thing, for the both of us, and, most especially, for the both of you. And I didn't want to upset you, Stiles, because ever since your moth—"

"Dad, it's fine, really," Stiles sighs, cutting him off before he can make any more absurd apologies simply for having found love with someone other than Stiles's mom.

"Look, I know what you're going to say, and yeah, it's still a little weird because of…because of mom, okay, but no matter how long you wait and no matter who you end up with, it's always going to be weird, because I know that you'll never love anyone else the same way you love mom…but if I had to choose someone for you, not that I ever would because that would just be, like, super awkward and weird, but if I had to…I'd choose Melissa, because honestly, it kind of makes sense, you know? And, what it comes down to is…well…I haven't seen you this happy in years, and…and you deserve to be happy, dad."

Sheriff Stilinski stares at his son in astonishment, studying his expression intently, searching for the fault line…but in all honesty, there isn't one. Because there is nothing that Stiles wants more than to see his father happy.

"Thanks, kid," he says, pulling Stiles into a bone-crushing bear hug.

"Suffocating me, dad," Stiles laughs, squeezing his dad back even harder. When they finally pull away, Stiles mock-punches his dad in the arm and says, "Hey, you didn't have to keep it a secret from me and Scott, you know. We would've been fine with it."

Sheriff Stilinski rolls his eyes and shoves Stiles right back.

"Right," he says. "Like you've never kept any secrets from me."

"I know, I know," Stiles sighs dramatically. "I shouldn't have kept the whole werewolves are real and my best friend is one of them thing a secret from you for as long as I did, but hey, it's all out in the open now, right? You know about werewolves, I know about you and Melissa. So, we're good now. No more secrets."

"Huh," Sheriff Stilinski huffs thoughtfully. And then—

"You left out the part where your boyfriend's a werewolf, too."

Stiles gags on his cereal.

"Ew, Scott's not my boyfriend."

"Not Scott," his dad dismisses with a grimace. "I'm talking about Derek Hale."

Wait.

What.

"Look, son, I'm not mad," he says, pretending not to notice the fact that Stiles is literally sinking into the couch cushions in a vain attempt to disappear. "Granted, I'm not too thrilled about the age difference, but he seems like a nice enough guy, and you're an adult now. You're perfectly capable of making your own decisions. I'd just like to know that you're happy with him, that he treats you right, that you're using protect—"

This isn't happening. Thisisnthappening. This conversation is so not happening.

Stiles's entire body is on fire.

"Oh my fucking god," he splutters before he can stop himself. "Derek is not my boyfriend. Why does everyone keep saying that about us?"

"Probably because that's exactly what it looks like," the Sheriff says, barking out a laugh.

"Okay, fine, whatever. If me helping Derek plan pack training exercises is the equivalent of me dating Derek, then, yeah, I guess we're dating. But don't tell him that, unless you want your only son to die a very painful, embarrassing, werewolf-related death."

"Uh-huh. Yeah, I'll believe that when the werewolf in question stops climbing through your bedroom window at all hours of the night, or staring at you like a lovesick puppy-dog when he thinks I'm not watching. And don't give me that look, Stiles. I know perfectly well what goes on when you boys think I'm not home. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've caught you two asleep on this couch together…god only knows what you've been up to."

At that last line, Sheriff Stilinski crinkles his nose, shifting uncomfortably on the couch cushions like he's worried he'll find something unseemly hiding underneath them. Stiles, now properly shocked and more than a little paranoid, mouths wordlessly at his father, arms at the ready for another bout of flailing. 

Sheriff Stilinski shakes his head, sighing heavily as he hoists himself up off the couch and reaches for his keys. He's nearly out the door and on his way to work when he doubles back suddenly, fixing Stiles with an affectionate smile, and says, "You know, Stiles…you deserve to be happy, too."

• • •

Later that evening, after Stiles has calmed down from his incredibly awkward (and emotionally scarring) conversation with his father, the pack meets over at Derek's house to celebrate their last night of freedom with a cheesy, romantic comedy movie marathon. 

Scott takes the news of their parents dating just as Stiles had thought he would, with a surprised, "Really? That's awesome!" and gives Stiles a high-five, musing over their potential speeches as groomsmen (the more embarrassing, the better, obviously) and getting far too worked up over a wedding that hasn't even been announced, let alone discussed between the couple in question.

At around 11PM, everyone starts to clear out and head home, complaining in low, grumbling voices about their inevitable workload for the upcoming semester, comparing each other's schedules with excited squees and exhaustive groans. Stiles stays behind to help clean up, just like he always does, collecting plates covered in pizza sauce and glasses half-filled with soda and bringing them into the kitchen, where he does the washing up and leaves the clean dishes in the rack beside the sink to dry, while Derek lurks in the living room, pretending that he doesn't know how to work the dishwasher. 

As Stiles makes his way to the front door, he finds that his path has been blocked by the alpha. He tries to skate around him, but Derek just darts in front of him like the weirdest game of keep-away Stiles has ever had to play.

"Dude, come on, I don't have time for this right now. I have to get home," Stiles says, arching his eyebrows for emphasis, but Derek just continues to stand there, blocking Stiles's only exit like a giant, stupidly handsome wall of muscle. 

Several seconds pass before either of them say anything, and then finally, Derek speaks, shuffling his feet and wringing his hands like he's…like he's nervous. How is that even possible?

"I just," Derek starts, clearing his throat with a brusque sigh. "I never got the chance to thank you for convincing me to fix up the house," he says, his eyes darting around the finished walkway, from the polished, cherry oak hardwood floors to the scarlet runner carpet dancing up the stairwell, to the freshly-plastered walls concealing old scuffs, scrapes, and holes, covered in coats of warm, comforting, sunset hues. 

In reality, it isn't the finished house itself that Derek appreciates, or even the effort that Stiles had put into making the house a more livable place. It was because Stiles had helped give Derek a family again, a home.

"So…thank you," he says softly, locking his eyes onto Stiles's and fixing him with an intense stare, hoping that it's enough to convey everything he hadn't said aloud. They're only a few inches apart now, and Stiles can almost taste the warm, inviting scent of Derek's breath against his lips, urging him closer. 

Stiles worries his lower lip, drags a hand to the back of his head to attack a phantom itch, and says, "Yeah, of course, man…I mean, it's no big deal, really…I just…I care about you, too, you know? You deserve to be happy."

It happens in a matter of seconds, in a whirlwind of nerves and tension that had been plaguing the two of them for the better part of the last year, in a rush of adrenaline grounded in misguided confidence and the optimistic possibility that maybe, just this once, something could actually work in his favor. 

The sight of Derek's lips curving into a hopeful, heart-clenching smile is what draws Stiles in, pushing him over the breaking point until he's lost all semblance of common sense, giving in to his villainous hormones and clandestine desires as he presses his lips against Derek's, fisting his hands into the neckline of Derek's shirt and pulling him closer, pouring every last drop of affection, passion, and frustration into that kiss, delighting in the delicate moan that he conjures out of Derek's mouth as his teeth graze the alpha's lower lip. 

In an instant, the mood shifts from euphoric to tempestuous, and Stiles can feel the muscles of Derek's body tense against his own, the realization of how vulnerable and submissive Derek had just made himself sound rapidly sinking in. Derek pulls back abruptly and pushes at Stiles's shoulders, nearly knocking him to the ground as he fights his way to the bottom of the stairwell.

"We can't do this," he says, almost too quiet for Stiles to catch. "I'm sorry, but I think you should go."

Without so much as a backward glance, Derek races up the stairs and rounds the corner, disappearing down a distant corridor. There's the telltale slam of his bedroom door, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. 

Stiles shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at the empty stairwell, lost for words. A small, disbelieving sob rips its way through his chest and crawls up the length of his throat, and Stiles scrunches up his face as the searing pain of having to hold it all back winds its way through the bridge of his nose. The muscles of his legs start to tremble, giving out as he stumbles to the hardwood floor. 

With a grimace, he grasps the brass doorknob and indelicately wrenches it open, practically throwing himself out onto the front porch and into his Jeep. He turns the radio dial to full blast, drowning out the rest of the world in mottled beats and bass lines, and runs three red lights on his way home, traffic laws be damned. The moment he's safely concealed inside his room, Stiles collapses face-first onto his bed, which, seriously, fuck his life, because his sheets and pillows and blankets all smell exactly like Derek, and right now, that scent is pure torture.

In a fit of frustration, Stiles grabs Sourwolf and throws him across the room, where he collides into the wall with a pathetic little thump. And, of course, because Stiles is a fucking bleeding heart, he actually feels bad about having hurt the little plush toy, and quickly rushes over pick it back up and gently place it on his bedside table. Because really, it's not the inanimate bag of fluff's fault that Derek is a gorgeous, convoluted, life-ruining asshole.

Stiles glances at his phone, his brain churning out a thousand different clever one-liners that he could send to Derek, but instead, he simply lets it fall to the floor, into a rumpled pile of clothing that he's pretty damn sure contains one or more of Derek's shirts. There's nothing he could say that could possibly fix this. Because Stiles has fucked up. He's fucked up big time. And there's no coming back from this.

Stiles doesn't sleep well that night. He gets maybe a good twenty minutes in before his alarm clock starts screaming at him to wake up. He's about as surly and sour as Derek himself that first day back at school, biting back bitter comments when people tell him how exhausted he looks (which, quite frankly, is just rude, because telling someone they look tired is just a polite way of saying they look like shit.)

So instead, he plasters on a fake smile, trudges through the hallways, comes home, and collapses onto his bed, falling into an uneasy sleep and trying his damnedest to ignore the way his phone distinctly doesn't light up with one of Derek's texts, or the way Derek's scent still clings to his bedsheets. The rest of his week follows in a similar pattern, and dust collects on the ledge of Stiles's bedroom window.

• • •

It's Friday, less than a week after Stiles's humiliating encounter with Derek, which, miraculously, no one else in the pack seems to have found out about. He's parked his tray at a table in the corner of the school cafeteria, waiting for the rest of the group to show up. 

At the moment, his only company is Danny Mahealani, which is a little awkward, because Stiles has never actually had a proper conversation with the guy before. But Stiles suspects that that's all going to change soon…after all, Danny is well-versed in werewolf lore by now, due to the fact that Jackson had clued him in the night he'd turned…which makes it so much easier, honestly, not having to hide a secret that isn't even his from yet another person. 

But at the moment, Stiles is too damned exhausted and irritable to scrounge up good conversation material, so he just sits there in uncharacteristic silence…which apparently bothers the shit out of Danny, enough that he's actually willing to talk to Stiles for once.

"So, about the alpha," Danny prompts, because of fucking course Danny would want to talk to Stiles about werewolves right now. After all, being the only two humans in a human-werewolf hybrid clique that aren't romantically linked with any of said werewolves finally gives them something to talk about, something that they have in common.

"It's um…it's Miguel, right?" Danny asks, but his cheeky smile would suggest that he already knows otherwise.

"Oh, right. Um…yeah, sorry about that," Stiles says, sighing heavily. "I lied. He's not my cousin…and, um…his name is Derek."

"Derek Hale? Lone survivor of the Hale house fire? Tall, brooding…gorgeous. Yeah, I kind of figured the alpha wasn't actually your cousin…but then…he did spend an awful lot of time in your bedroom…" Danny trails off, and oh my god, is he really going to go there after what had happened between him and Derek last week? Does Stiles really have to deal with this shit right now?

Yes, as it happens, he does.

"So, humor me, Stilinski. Are you and him…you know…" Danny asks, arching his eyebrows suggestively. Stiles groans, burying his face in his hands.

"No, Danny. Derek and I are not dating," he sighs in a dejected deadpan voice.

"So, he's available, then?"

Stiles full on spasms, his head snapping back up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, and fixes Danny with a wide-eyed glare.

"Oh my god, Danny, no, you can't have him," Stiles blurts without even thinking. Because, unfortunately, Scott is absolutely right. Derek does make him stupid.

"That's what I thought," Danny says, a smug little smile edging its way onto his lips, like he's the fucking all-knowing love guru of Beacon Hills…which, admittedly, he might as well be. 

Luckily, to save Stiles from further embarrassment, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson finally show up, followed closely by Boyd, Isaac, and Erica. The eight of them immediately launch into a discussion about their classes and the mountain of homework they all have to do, which serves as a nice distraction…for a little while, at least, until they all start raving about some house party that's apparently going on this weekend. 

Scott, all smiles and sunshine and fucking rainbows, throws an arm around Stiles's shoulders and says, "You're coming, too, right?"

Stiles scrunches up his nose in disinterest, earning a disapproving look from the rest of the group.

"Aww, come on, dude," Scott whines. "You've been acting miserable all week. Might be good for you to get out for a little bit."

"Yeah, come out with us tonight, Batman," Erica jests, flashing him her best smile. "Maybe a drink or two will wipe that sad little frown off your face."

"We've all been pretty worried about you," Allison chimes in, and Stiles nearly dies at the look of absolute pity she gives him, well-intentioned though it may be.

"Everything okay, man? You smell like…I don't even know. It's kind of hard to make out," Isaac says.

"A little bit like hopelessness. Yeah, I've been getting that, too," Boyd agrees.

"Me? No, I'm fine. I am completely one hundred and three percent fine…it's not like anything happened to make me, you know, not fine. So…yeah. Everything's…great," Stiles says, placing special emphasis on the t, like he's mocking it just for existing. The pack falls silent, glancing around at each other awkwardly.

"O…kay. Well, good. So…everything's fine, and you're definitely coming with us tonight, right?" Scott asks. 

Stiles groans and buries his face in his palms, scrubbing his fingers through his hair and reluctantly nodding his assent. Scott whoops and punches the air in triumph. Oh joy, Scott managed to talk Stiles into being dragged to yet another horrible social event. Another affair of couple-focused bullshit, serving as a cruel reminder of the fact that Stiles is still painfully single, and that less than a week ago, all because of his stupid, rash decision-making, he'd been rejected and had lost a really great sort-of friend all in one go. 

But Scott thinks he's done right by Stiles, thinks that, somehow, a lame high school party will solve all of his problems, and he absolutely hates making Scott sad, so Stiles will just have to suck it up and pretend like he's having a good time, no matter how much he knows he'll end up despising this evening.

• • •

Derek Hale is freaking the fuck out. 

Okay, so maybe storming off in a terrified huff wasn't exactly the best way he could've handled that situation…but then again, he hadn't ever expected Stiles to kiss him like that, much less…well, ever. No matter how many times he'd imagined that exact scene playing out in his head, over and over in a multitude of different ways until he'd all but perfected the fantasy, he had never expected that Stiles would be the one to make the first move. 

He'd been so caught off guard by Stiles's bold, forward, fervent willingness, that for a moment, he actually thought he'd been dreaming. Stiles had taken complete control of the situation, of Derek himself, to the point where, if he truly wanted to, Stiles could irrevocably destroy him, could tear down the walls he'd worked so hard to build, brick by brick, before Derek could so much as blink. And he couldn't…no, he wouldn't…let that happen. Not again.

Because Derek had spent the past year convincing himself that he could never have this, that nothing could ever happen between the two of them. Because Derek knows that he would never be good enough for a guy like Stiles. Because Derek is reckless and stupid, especially when it comes to his emotions, and he's bound to fuck this up, and he can't risk wrecking the first real, deep connection he's had with someone aside from his own family since the fire.

And the worst part of all of this is that that exact commentary had been running through his head as he'd kissed Stiles back that night, seeking solace in the comfort of Stiles's embrace, weaving his fingers up the length of Stiles's neck, lightly tugging on the strands of his tousled dark brown hair, longer now than the buzzcut he'd worn when they'd first met, swallowing back Stiles's groans of pleasure like he was starved for them. And like the selfish, needy bastard that he is, he hadn't even tried to stop it. 

And then Stiles had done something amazing with his tongue and his teeth that had fractured all logic and reason, unraveling Derek in a way he'd never experienced simply from kissing someone. In that moment, Derek had felt himself surrendering everything to Stiles, reveling in the stomach-flipping euphoria of feeling wanted by someone he loves, and the very notion of sinking to that level of vulnerability all over again had scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

Over the course of the week that follows, Derek vows to stay away from Stiles, to give him the space he tells himself they both need, allowing himself plenty of time to recover, to think everything through. After five days of critical self-analysis, involving heavy bouts of conscience-bashing and repeatedly slamming his fists into his suspended punching bag, Derek arrives at the first sensible realization he's had about himself in nearly seven years: he's being fucking stupid. 

Because Stiles isn't some ticking time-bomb with a secret ruse rooted in vengeance and bloodlust. Stiles isn't going to use him and his vulnerability to destroy him and everything he holds dear. By now, Stiles has more than proven his worth, more than earned Derek's trust and respect and affection, and Derek is a fucking idiot for turning him down, for denying both of them the one thing he's spent years desperately craving. 

Confirming that Stiles's slightly dented, powder blue Jeep is still parked in the driveway, Derek scales the side of the Stilinski house in one swift, fluid movement, just as he'd done hundreds of times before, and perches atop the little ledge outside of Stiles's bedroom window. He holds back laughter at the thought of what Stiles would say about his super sleuth secret agent sneak attack skills, at the image of Stiles's startled expression when he opens the window and casually climbs into his bedroom, just like old times. 

But, much to Derek's disappointment, Stiles's room is empty, door closed, all lights extinguished, crescent moon casting eerie shadows on the walls as it slips in and out of the view of the curtains, bathing the room in darker shades of its usual grays and blues. The only light in the room is the soft glow of the little white apple adorning Stiles's laptop, the only sound the gentle whirring of the motor as it sleeps, waiting for its owner to return from…well, wherever he is. Derek quietly slips into the room and paces the hardwood floor, searching for signs that might clue him in as to where Stiles has gone tonight.

He runs his fingertips along the battle scarred edges of the wooden desk and dressers, across the soft fabric of Stiles's blankets and sheets that have long since lost Derek's scent. He frowns, realizing just how long it's been since he'd last stopped by, and makes a mental note to scent-mark the hell out of Stiles's bed, reclaiming it, and consequently, Stiles, as his. Derek strolls to the edge of the bed and takes up his usual spot, sinking into the mattress like his shape belongs there. He collapses backward onto the soft, plush pillows, inhaling the lingering remnants of Stiles's scent. 

He catches hints of worry, restlessness, and anxiety, and he can't help but grimace, hoping he'll soon be able to fix that. To fix Stiles. Derek had been purposely avoiding him all this past week, and it's going to take a hell of a lot to convince Stiles to forgive him, but he's willing to wait. After all, in a way, he'd been waiting for Stiles all this past year, waiting for something that he thought would likely never happen. He would wait all night if he had to.

• • •

At around three o'clock in the morning, Stiles bursts through his bedroom door, staggers toward the nearest piece of furniture, and clings to it for dear life. Derek startles awake, watching as Stiles kicks off one shoe, and then the other, laughing like an idiot as they collide with his bedside table. He stumbles in the semi-darkness, collapsing onto his bed and snuggling into the comforter, accidentally smacking Derek across the face in the process. Derek swears loudly, rousing a muffled scream from Stiles as he leaps off of the bed and crashes to the floor.

"Holy fucking shitballs," Stiles shouts, scrambling backward on his hands and knees. Derek rushes to his side, grips him by the collar of his shirt, and snakes an arm around his waist, hoisting him upright so his head doesn't hit the floor. Stiles's eyes grow wide as he takes in the sight of Derek's scowl, a mixture of frustration and concern contorting his features in the muted moonlight. 

Derek can hear the erratic thrum of Stiles's heart pounding in his chest, can practically feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Having lost all control of his limbs, Stiles just lies there on his bedroom floor, staring up at Derek with an odd combination of adoration, embarrassment, and shock. He clears his throat once, twice, three times, shifting his weight so that the back of his head is pressed right up against Derek's chest.

"Heeeey, Derek," Stiles says in what he probably imagines is a casual tone, raising his hands in a vain attempt to tame his tousled mess of hair. In his current state, however, his hands miss his head by several inches, and he ends up flailing and high-fiving the air instead. Derek rolls his eyes and tries not to smirk. Then he catches another scent, a sharp, sickly sweet scent that's so strong it makes him wince, rolling off of Stiles's breath in waves.

"You smell like a fucking brewery," Derek growls. "How much have you had to drink?"

Stiles starts counting on his fingers, holds seven of them up to Derek's face, and says, "Couple of shots of vodka, I think…I lost count after the fourth. Oh, and then I had sex…on the beach…which was awesome…oh, wait, no, not like that, I didn't mean…the drink, obviously…I meant the drink," he slurs, hiccoughing and giggling to himself.

"Where were you?" Derek asks, eyebrows knit in confusion, trying to ignore the prickle of a blush that had burst across his face at the sound of Stiles's voice wrapped around the word sex, or the swell of relief that Stiles hadn't spent the night with someone else.

"Party. Biiiiig party. Laaaaaame party. Everyone was paired off by the end of the night, making out in various corners of the room…everyone but me," Stiles sighs dramatically.

"Right.Okay. You need sleep, like, right now," Derek decides, dragging Stiles up by his underarms and carrying him back toward the bed. He lays Stiles down gently, cradling the back of his head in the palms of his hands.

"Wait, what are you even doing here?" Stiles asks around a stifled yawn. "I thought you hated me."

Derek winces, a suffocating ball of guilt manifesting in the back of his throat.

"Don't be stupid, Stiles. Of course I don't hate you," he says, fixing Stiles with a wounded glare.

"Oh," Stiles says softly, like he doesn't quite believe it. "Well, how come you're here, then? Pack meeting's not 'til tomorrow."

"I'm not here because of pack stuff. I'm here to talk about us, Stiles. But that doesn't matter right now. We can talk about it when you're sober," Derek says, pulling back several layers of blankets and sheets and coaxing them around Stiles's stubborn legs.

"Hah…nope, I don't buy it…because I'm here to talk about us is totally not something the real Derek would ever say to me. See, Derek doesn't do feelings…he's about as emotionally constipated as Dean Winchester…which I guess makes me Cas…but anyway, yeah, I'm just going to assume that none of this is actually happening and that my brain is just playing another cruel trick on me…okay, Dream Derek?"

Derek sighs audibly, rolling his eyes and shrugging off the blatant insult.

"Whatever gets you into bed," he says, and then instantly regrets it.

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, Dream Derek?" Stiles growls, shrugging out of his t-shirt and throwing it across the room, where it lands in a heap with the rest of his laundry. Stiles is now drunk and shirtless, and he's being incredibly cheeky and flirty, and Derek is hovering just mere inches above him…this can't end well. Stiles's fingertips move to unbutton his jeans, but Derek stops him before he manages to slide them all the way down, hands ghosting over his hips. Stiles closes his eyes and groans miserably, quickly covering his mouth with the palm of his hand as another wave of nausea hits him full-force.

"Yeah, that's so not going to happen right now. Even if you weren't seconds away from throwing up, you're still drunk. Come on, Stiles, get up. You need to put pajamas on. I know you how much you hate sleeping in jeans," he urges, but Stiles doesn't budge, lying flat on his back with his hands fisted into the sheets, his eyes squeezed shut. 

"Fuck no," Stiles groans. "Seriously, dude, I'm so goddamn dizzy right now, if I open my eyes for even a second, I'm gonna hurl. Feels like I'm on a ship, and not in the fun way."

"Alright, fine," Derek grumbles. "Just lay still and let me tuck you in before you flail out of control and give yourself a concussion."

"That's mean," Stiles whines, rubbing his fingertips against his aching temples.

"Where's the lie though?" Derek quips back, pulling the comforter up to Stiles's neck and tucking in the sides.

"Touché," Stiles mumbles. "But still…rude."  

Stiles rolls over, an appreciative groan escaping his lips as he snuggles in and curls an arm around a little black and gray stuffed wolf that Derek hadn't ever noticed before. With a heavy sigh, Derek lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, appointing himself as Stiles's official nighttime guardian, and studies the steady rise and fall of his chest as he drifts off to sleep, arms wrapped tightly around the little wolf as he nuzzles into its fur.

"Stiles, you ridiculous, adorable little moron…what am I going to do with you?" Derek says, a bit louder than he'd meant to, causing Stiles to startle awake, snorting and mumbling something unintelligible.

"Didn't catch that, sorry," Derek says, at which point Stiles huffs and sighs theatrically.

"I said, you sound just like Derek…all rugged, and sexy, and Alpha Sourwolf," Stiles mumbles, baring his teeth and biting at the corner of his pillow for dramatic effect.

"What did you just say?" Derek barks out a laugh, a furious blush creeping across his cheekbones.

Stiles wrinkles his nose and shakes his head back and forth against the pillow.

"Nothing. I said nothing. I am definitely not talking about Derek Hale anymore. Oh, and, before you ask, for the last time, no, we are definitely not dating."

His eyes are closed, so Derek can only assume that he's still half drunk and half asleep, completely unaware of where he is and who he's speaking to.

"Who thinks we're dating?" Derek asks, making sure to speak a little quieter this time, lest he wake the entire household.

"Well…everyone, really," Stiles replies. "Even my dad."

Derek blinks a couple of times, struck speechless.

"And your dad, he's…okay with that?" Derek asks, hopeful. He takes it as a good sign that the Sheriff hasn't rolled up to his house and cuffed him yet, anyway.

"Yeah, I mean, I guess. He said he just wants me to be happy, and if that's with Derek, then, you know…cool."

"Huh," is all Derek can manage, until another nagging question pops into his head. "So, why does everyone think we're dating, exactly?"

"Ha…well…if you mean why as in why would Derek ever be interested in an awkward, gangly, ridiculously-unattractive-in-every-definition-of-the-word guy like me, then the answer is pretty obvious, my friend…he wouldn't."

Derek simply stares at Stiles, flummoxed and a little bit crestfallen. His words come out strangled, a muddled mess of hope and doubt.

"That's ridiculous, Stiles. Why do you think Derek wouldn't be interested in you?" he asks, swallowing thickly. "Seems like you're placing this guy on a pedestal, and…well, he doesn't sound all that appealing."

Stiles barks out a laugh and slowly shakes his head.

"No, dude, seriously, you don't understand. Derek is…" Stiles sighs, licking his lips and letting out a positively sinful moan in lieu of a response. Derek's heart beats wildly beneath his chest, clinging to Stiles's every word.

"Wait, what? What's Derek? What were you going to say?" Derek demands, shifting closer to Stiles.

"Nope, nonononono, I can't. Real Derek might find out, and there's no way in hell that he can ever know that I'm…nope. Not gonna say it."

Stiles covers his face with his hands.

"Stiles…Stiles, you can tell me, it's fine," Derek urges. "What about Derek?"

"Okaaaaaay, fine, but you have to promise me you won't tell Derek. Cause he'll totally freak out if he ever finds out that I'm kind of sort of completely in love with him."

Derek's eyes grow wide as he falls into a contemplative silence, biting back a ridiculous smile that threatens to fracture his evenly tempered veneer.

"Okay? Promise?" Stiles asks, snapping Derek out of his reverie.

"I…" he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "I promise, Stiles."

"Good," he says, playfully poking Derek through the blanket with his toes.

"Now cuddle me."

"I…what?" Derek laughs.

"Pleaaaaaase? I'm coooooold," Stiles whines.

"O…okay," Derek concedes, quickly kicking off his boots and crawling up the length of the bed. He slides under the covers right behind Stiles, curving an arm around his waist and pulling him flush against his torso, that same old feeling of euphoria blossoming across his chest.

"So, I'm going to tell you another secret," Stiles says after a few minutes of comfortable silence, his voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah?" Derek prompts.

"Last week, I sort of totally kissed Derek," Stiles confesses with a self-satisfied little smile.

"Oh really? How was it?" Derek asks, playing along, his smile so wide he thinks it might actually split his face in two.

"It was amazing. Seriously. I even got him to moan a little bit, which, oh my god, was so fucking hot, but…um…it didn't exactly end very well. Guess he finally realized what he was doing and who he was kissing and decided to book it the hell out of there. Can't blame him, really," Stiles says sadly.

"Stiles," Derek whispers, nuzzling into the back of Stiles's neck and pressing his lips to the soft little patch of skin behind his ear. "I'm so sorry."

"S'okay, dude. Totally my fault," Stiles yawns.

"No it wasn't," Derek mumbles, barely audible. 

The two of them lay like that for a few more minutes, Derek's guilt consuming him whole, until Stiles breaks the silence.

"Hey, so, I know this is going to sound weird and all, but…mind if I pretend you're Derek? Like, actual, in-real-life Derek? I know you're just a terrifyingly real-feeling hallucinatory figment of my imagination, but I thought, hey, might as well be polite and ask. I mean, I don't know if you've got some other place to be, or…" Stiles trails off, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Not at all," Derek chuckles, curling his arms tighter around Stiles's waist.

"Mmmm….you smell really nice…and you're really warm…fuck, you're so comfortable. How are you even doing that? You know what, don't answer that. I'm just gonna chalk it up to the fact that my mind is awesome. Totally loving this lucid dream sequence upgrade."

"Shut up and go to sleep, Stiles," Derek whispers affectionately, rolling his eyes and pressing soft little kisses against the back of Stiles's neck as the two of them drift off to sleep, perfectly content for the first time in years.

• • •

Derek wakes in a tangled mess of bedsheets, torso curled into the arch of Stiles's back. He's careful not to stir, lest he wake Stiles up, arms wrapped around the slumbering man's lanky figure, fingertips absentmindedly tracing a constellation of freckles and moles from the curvature of his collarbones to the dip of his hipbones. He buries his nose into the nape of Stiles's neck and places a soft, sweet kiss along the edge of his hairline. Startled by the sudden sensation of rough stubble brushing against his bare skin, Stiles opens his eyes, blinking rapidly and wincing like the sun has lit his retinas on fire, before rolling over and turning to face Derek.

"Fuck, oh my god," Stiles nearly shouts, flailing uncontrollably as Derek struggles to keep a hold of him. Eventually, Stiles's breathing stills, eyes tracing Derek's shadowed features, lingering for just a moment longer than is truly necessary on the curve of Derek's pouted, pink lips. He swallows thickly, vaguely aware of the relentless drumming inside his head.

"So, um…care to explain why we're half-naked and cuddling in my bed?"

Derek actually has the audacity to look down, lower lip jutted out and eyebrows arching up in confusion, like he's genuinely surprised to find himself shirtless.

"You were really drunk last night," Derek sighs sleepily, nuzzling into the crook of Stiles's shoulder.

"Um…did we…we didn't, did we? I mean, for your sake, because dude, that's some bad judgment right there," Stiles blurts out, his brain having apparently severed its ties to his mouth.

"Of course not," Derek snaps, wounded. "Do you really think I'd take advantage of you like that?"

"No! No, of course I don't. I didn't mean it like that," Stiles amends, rubbing at his temples with his fingertips. "So if we didn't…you know…what did happen last night?"

"Oh, the usual…you got wasted at some party and I ended up having to take care of you. I didn't think it was possible for you to be any more mouthy and annoying than you normally are, but apparently, drunk Stiles is quite the talker. I've got to say, though, I learned some pretty interesting things last night," Derek laughs, a smug little smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Stiles's eyes grow wide in horror.

"Oh dear god. Please tell me I didn't—"

"Yup," Derek quips, popping the p.

"How much of—"

"Everything, I'm afraid."

Stiles shoves his face into his pillow and groans, loudly and miserably. Up until now, he genuinely thought (or perhaps, hoped) that he'd dreamt most of their conversation from the night before.

"So all of that…really happened," Stiles swallows thickly. "Including the part where I confessed that I'm kind of sort of completely in love with you?"

"Yup."

"Any chance you'd be willing to forget everything I said last night?"

"None at all."

"Fuck."

There's a small little pocket of silence, during which Stiles prepares for the onslaught of rejection. Again.

"Stiles."

"Yeah, Derek?" Stiles asks, wincing.

"You do realize that you're an idiot, don't you?"

Well, that's nothing new, but still…ouch.

"Excuse me?" Stiles scoffs indignantly.

"What part of me constantly coming over just to spend time with you, and me spending the night cuddling you and taking care of your stupid drunken ass, and telling you how sorry I am for stopping one of the best goddamn kisses of my life because I was too afraid to admit my own stupid feelings, do you not understand?"

"Well, that's not…oh. Oh. Oh my god."

"Yeah."

"You…do you?"

"I think you already know the answer to that."

"Yeah, but I still want to hear you say it."

Derek sighs, rolling his eyes and nudging Stiles's cheek with the tip of his nose.

"Stiles, you annoying little shit, I love you. Against my will and better judgment, I do. And I was stupid and wrong and all sorts of fucked up for having pushed you away like that, and I hope you can forgive me, because I'm really, really sorry. Okay?"

"Okay," Stiles says softly, a brilliant smile spreading across his lips. Derek kisses the corner of Stiles's mouth, drawing him closer as Stiles snuggles into his chest. The two of them slowly drift back to sleep, content to spend the rest of their Saturday morning wrapped in each other's arms.

[buckybarnesss]

on fire: a teen wolf novel chapters 4-6 chapters 1-3 here

cox communications doesn't respect 3rd shift workers so last night i had to go into my brick and mortar office. i was able to get a lot of reading done but due to rules and regulations i was unable to write down my thoughts as i went. instead i used those little sticky note tabs to mark passages of interest so that's why this post took a little bit longer as i had to review what i had marked.

anyway.

our national nightmare continues.

ngl this book is weird. it's bizarro season 1.

it's non-canon compliant post-episode 5 the tell. i genuinely do not understand why they just didn't tap nancy holder to write a novelization of season 1.

warning: kate argent's existence and general grossness.

so buckle up buttercups here's a preview of what's to come:

we start this chapter from kate's point of view and it makes me feel dirty already. cast it into the fire, isildur. she’s just vile. just look at these nauseating quotes that she has all within the first page: 

“nothing beat the feel of cold, hard steel -- unless it was the rippling muscles of a well-built man.”

this bitch.

”god, all those muscles. the last time she’d seen him, he’d still been in high school. still a kid. a stupid, gullible kid, who should have died in the hale house fire along with the rest of his family.”

tell me again how the intention wasn't for derek to have been a minor when kate was grooming him? tell me fucking again.

“maybe she should’ve taken advantage of derek while he’d been down on the floor, writhing from the nine hundred thousand volts she’d sent skittering though his kick-ass body. for old time’s sake.”

chris and victoria are there too, being way more normal about things. they brought egg salad and cold cuts which feels like it’s hitting the beat where victoria comes in with cookies in the show. 

despite having grounded allison for her skipping school with scott on her birthday they are perfectly fine with her having not only a study date with lydia but allowing her to sleep over. it’s apparently to cover the arrival of a shipment of weapons. kate isn’t impressed that they’re still hiding everything from allison and disappointed there isn’t some super-special weapon in the shipment. 

this entire time she’s being weird and kind of sexual about an uzi. like, fuck off kate. 

now we’re back to scott and allison at the seedy motel plot where they are trying to locate jackson. “scott’s first instinct was to throw his arms around allison and duck, but she yanked the door open and barreled inside the motel like a superhero.”  uou are goddamn right, scott. that is ally a. 

the motel is basically an off the books brothel. one of the patrons supposedly saw something in one of the windows when he went open it for a smoke but saw something that scared him causing a heart attack. allison and scott ask a few people if they’ve seen jackson then have to book it when sheriff stilinski shows up.  these two idiots duck down in her car. i think we see stiles and scott do this a few times in the show.

lydia calls allison freaked out that she hadn’t called her back yet and harkens back to the tell by saying “a....window?” when they tell her about the man having a heart attack and scott describes her as sounding odd. i appreciate that lydia's trauma isn't being ignored because that just happened to her in the tell.

all this use of the generic where’s my phone app and using conference calls to sneak around feels like an adaptation of the plot beat in wolf’s bane.

the sterek agenda continues. derek and stiles spend a significant portion of the coming chapters together much like they do in the back half of season 1. it starts with the possible origin of the derek being in stiles’s room trope. stiles muses over the text he’d received from scott about the incident at the motel and as if being summoned derek is just suddenly there in his room. look at this bullshit:

he texted back, muttering, “so, scott, saw what? saw derek?” “yes?” derek said from behind him. “yeaoww!” stiles shouted. he turned around to find derek leaning against the wall. he did that on an irritatingly frequent basis, both at scott’s house and casa stilinski. he was wearing his black leather jacket and he looked especially pouty and broody. “could you not do that anymore? it is so not cool.”

irritatingly frequent basis? how many times has derek randomly appeared in your room stiles? and i’m sorry “especially pouty and broody”? what a totally super casual observation that is.

it gets even better. derek questions what scott is doing and stiles deadass answers “doin’ stuff.” which naturally irritates derek and derek requests stiles tell scott he wants to meet him. they’re interrupted by the sheriff calling for stiles to which we get:

“gotta go get that.” Stiles pointedly shut down his desktop -- Derek actually growled -- and slid his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “don’t touch anything.”

derek why are you growling? weirdo.

stiles talks to his dad and probes for information about the motel guy and they discuss his homework. it's actually a pretty great conversation between the two and pretty much the only time it occurs in the book.

there’s a mention of stiles’s mother and the sheriff asks stiles if he’s taken his adderall that day. so again, clearly whatever notes holder received very much indicated stiles's ADHD.

back in stiles’s room we get derek pointedly having ignored stiles’s directive to not touch anything: “he zoomed back into his room to find derek clacking away on his computer keyboard.” and “hey,” he said. “keep your paws off.” derek gave him one of his trademark sour glares.” this just continues to confirm for me that holder received some kind of outline of character and plot beats. casa stilinski? sour glares? derek and stiles doing investigative work and going to a hospital? stiles having a low key bisexual crisis over derek? it’s all there. i mean bro look at this:

“look,” derek leaned toward him and the hairs on the back of stiles’s neck stood straight up.”

and the banter:

“but don’t do anything wolfy in my jeep,” he said, opening his door and peering into the hallway. the coast was clear. “like stick our head out the window to let your tongue hang out --” “shut up,” derek said. 

here's another werewolf moment i find rather intriguing. scott and allison have made it to the preserve by this point still hot on the trail of jackson who lydia had told them was somewhere in the preserve. scott has a moment where in his mind he hears the how of a wolf. it says “an echo inside an echo” and “one wolf calling to another. seeking the pack.” that's pretty cool and it's not something shows up in the show.

jackson has finally arrived. i miss this asshole. he's in the woods being pissy about meeting the private investigator that had left him a note and a picture of his supposed biological father.

jackson’s perspective on what happened in magic bullet is just [chef’s kiss]. he refers to derek as scott’s drug dealer.

“mccall’s creepy drug dealer had shown up at school. when jackson had stood up to him, he’d grabbed him by the neck, and, like, gouged him with his fingernails.”

in jackson’s narration something caught my eye. “things had been fine before the start of the school year. Then it was almost as if McCall had concocted some kind of scheme over the summer to ruin his life.” so not only is this book an AU of season 1, the time frame seems off. the show starts the first day after their winter break in january. wolf moon takes place during the episode. the book places this before wolf moon has occurred which comes up later in derek’s narration. 

 this is such a good line and is a window into jackson’s mentality: “everyone wanted something jackson had. it was usually money or popularity. the secret? they were exactly the same thing.”

allison and scott are still in the woods. they’ve been kissing for a while but then they run into a wolf. they are really so soppy in this book and it's both accurate and annoying. allison is awed and scott is quietly panicking. allison goes on about how she thought it was beautiful and scott’s mind wonders if he’ll ever turn into a wolf like how Laura did. which, lol, no baby because you never make peace fully with being a werewolf. 

annnnd we’re back to the stiles and derek plot line. they’re playing dress up. i kid you not. these two are pulling a dean and sam. 

“my new best friend and i are at the hospital.” stiles said, twirling the listening end of a stethoscope in a little circle. so far he’d been unable to hypnotize derek with it.

there’s another small dig about derek not being a real person in stiles’s narration. this book hates derek, okay but i have a lo more on that later. for now these two idiots infiltrated the hospital by pulling the old stand by of Looking Important. stiles has a conversation with scott which is invoking wolf’s bane so hard:

“and you’ll never guess what. you can get past hospital security if you steal a white coat out of the storage room and parade around with it and a clipboard.” derek grunted. he was the one holding the clipboard, but he had passed on wearing a lab coat.”

stiles continues his observations of derek like the freak4freak he is:

“stiles covered the phone, “he can’t talk about wolfie matters,” he reported back to derek.  “because he’s with her,” derek said, looking even more dour than usual. stiles had never realized there were so many degrees of the brood until derek hale came into their lives.”

there’s a bit of back and forth regarding scott reporting that he and allison saw an actual wolf. derek’s disbelieving and cranky to which stiles ponders this totally normal thought:

“maybe if he gave derek a sugar cube -- or threw him a piece of raw meat -- derek might cheer up. stiles would have to try that someday. but today wasn’t looking good for that.”

derek then snatches stiles’s phone to question scott’s whereabouts. he is still cranky. meanwhile stiles is reading derek’s body language and it’s way too detailed for a normal person. like, stiles no one cares derek’s hand is in his jacket pocket while he grumps at scott and emphasizes “like always”. stiles how hard have you been watching derek? he may have complained about derek showing up in his room unnaounced but he's like

before we get into derek’s narration which ooh boy guys you aren’t ready. stiles and derek have their classic bickering-bantering some more. 

derek’s insisting stiles take him to the preserve so he can scent scott out. stiles is appalled and is like “oh my god derek you weirdo there’s an app for that.” and gets a little red riding hood dig in.

derek refuses to admit stiles has a point but orders stiles to give him his phone. stiles all but says Fuck You No and derek brings out his oldie but goodie:

“tell me or i’ll rip your throat out.” 

stiles probably thinks “don’t threaten me with a good time” but instead he says that he knows derek’s not telling him everything and insists he’s going with derek to find scott. 

it ends on this exchange:

“all right,” he said, “but we’ll take your jeep.” stiles huffed. “why can’t we ever take your car?” 

alas the camero. we barely knew her.

now we switch to derek’s point of view to narrate and so begins a piece of characterization that i don’t like, isn’t actually accurate to the character at any point in the series and frankly chaps my ass. i’m just going to give you all the paragraph as a whole.

“hey, you have to take me with you.,” scott’s annoying little sidekick insisted as derek stalked out of the hospital. derek took a tiny bit of satisfaction in the way the human had to trot along to stay abreast. he was sick to death of taking the weakness of humans into account while formulating his plans. de respected power, and few humans had any.”

besties, this book may very well be the origin of Derek Thinks Humans Are Weak trope. now, i’m sure some of you are like heather aren’t you perhaps being a tad dramatic? 

no. no i’m not. at first i considered this might be because of derek’s experience with kate. it would make sense that perhaps based off the information holder had that derek might be wary but than this fucker drops this line:

“werewolves didn’t share information with humans, ever.”

but he follows this thought with this:

“except for him, derek hale. he had shared information with a human. he hadn’t meant to. and the results had been disastrous.”

i will definitely get into more detail about this attitude he has because it really comes out in some later chapters because ooooh boy y’all ain’t prepared for the nonsense ahead. in actual canon derek never behaves this way or express this kind of opinion about humans. it stands out starkly in contrast to the episode this moment is paralleling in wolf’s bane. derek thinks stiles is annoying but not because he’s human. 

we end this chapter on jackson’s point of view. de had met with the so-called private investigator and they tit-for-tatted and jackson bolted when he sensed danger in the woods. now he’s lost in the woods. he’s scared, doesn’t want to admit it and sends a text to lydia.

it's here in these chapters where i realized that the character of deaton is missing entirely. since all of season 1's plot past the tell is omitted deaton's significance went with it.

also the mystery of the alpha is present but she's unable to really do anything with it so peter's presence is still regulated to comatose burn victim.

[myulalie]

Both Scott and Stiles get bitten on that fateful night in the preserve, and their choices differ from then on (read on AO3).

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Chapters: 1/11

Words: 48k

Rating: Teen

Archive Warning: None

Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski ; Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski ; Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski ; Jackson Whittemore & Stiles Stilinski ; Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski ; Background Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes

Characters: Stiles Stilinski ; Derek Hale ; Peter Hale ; Jackson Whittemore ; Scott McCall ; Erica Reyes ; Vernon Boyd ; Isaac Lahey ; Allison Argent ; Chris Argent ; Kate Argent ; Gerard Argent ; Sheriff Stilinski

Additional tags: AU - Canon Divergence ; Season 1 Rewrite ; Alpha Peter ; Werewolf Stiles ; Beta Derek ; Pack Bonds/Dynamic ; Pack Building ; Found Family ; Canon Typical Violence ; Minor Character Deaths ; Morally Grey Stiles ; Dubious Morality ; Bad Friend Scott McCall

Notes: This work is part of Fandom Trumps Hate 2024 and specifically a gift to panicbutton in thanks for your donation to a nonprofit: Coral Restoration Foundation.

Complimentary: playlist & moodboard.

[andreafmn]

I'm Not Afraid | Chapter 22

Word Count: 3.1K Warnings: depictions of violence, mentions of blood

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack, as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

A/N: falling back in love with this story 🤭 just need the same motivation for my Criminal Minds fic 🫣

<- Previous | Next ->

That was it.

That moment was either kill or be killed.

Realization dawned upon everyone at the same time, the air in the room shifting as everyone understood what needed to be done. Even the Kanima had his own rules to carry out. Whether they wanted to or not, they had to fight Jackson, and someone had to come out of it alive.

Isaac’s grip tightened around (Y/N) as the creature unhanded Allison, its sight set on the other Argent girl. Meanwhile, her father stood between her and the creature in a protective stance. Even without a loaded weapon, he would not let more harm come to his daughter.  It was clear Gerard had given Jackson a quiet command and he couldn’t ignore it.

But once free, Allison reared back and elbowed the Kanima in the face, breaking his gaze before he pushed her to the ground and out of the way. His eyes fell back on (Y/N), a murderous glint in his irises. He was tasked to kill the girl, and he wouldn’t stop until he completed his goal.

Suddenly, Stiles’ powder blue Jeep crashed through the wall, colliding straight with the Kanima. “Did I get him?” he asked, his eyes tightly shut.

His question was answered as Jackson jumped onto the car, scaring him and Lydia out of the vehicle. Stiles ran to Scott while Lydia faced the lizard version of her ex-boyfriend. As scared as she was, she knew what she had to do, obviously aware since before she came upon the creature. She dug into her pocket for a key, her head facing away from the Kanima, too afraid of his form to stare and bracing for his potential strike.

“Jackson,” she muttered as she showed him the key, stopping him dead in his tracks.

The creature’s eyes focused on the item. Suddenly, it was the most important thing on his mind. He no longer felt the uncontrollable need to kill; there was only him and his memories. It wasn’t the key, of course not, but what that little gold thing meant.

Right before everyone’s eyes, the scales started to disappear from Jackson’s body, revealing the boy under the murderous lizard. Lydia had always been the answer to their Kanima problem; they just didn’t know.

The boy stumbled back as his body continued to revert, and in the blink of an eye, Derek sprung from the ground toward him, and Peter appeared from his back, and they both dug their claws into Jackson’s stomach and back, respectively. They raised him off the ground, sinking deeper before setting him back down. Blood pooled in his mouth, and his stance faltered as weakness took over him.

Lydia was quick to help him stand, her teary eyes focused only on him. “Do you…,” he tried to speak. “Do you still…?”

“I do,” she whimpered as she nodded. “I do still love you.”

The redhead kept repeating the words as a mantra as Jackson closed his eyes and his body grew limp. They both fell to the ground as the weight took over the girl, but she never let him go. Instead, she cradled his body close to hers, whispering her goodbyes to the boy who had been her first love.

All their friends could do was stand and stare as they watched her lay him gently on the ground, witnessing the last traces of the Kanima disappear from Jackson’s face. They had gone so far and done so much, only for Derek to get what he wanted in the end.

But they were in Beacon Hills. There, sometimes, the dead didn’t stay dead for long.

As they worried about Gerard’s sudden disappearance and Lydia turned her back to Jackson, the sound of nails scraping the concrete echoed through the room. He raised from the ground and revealed the most unexpected of turns. The bite had taken, and Jackson had finally gotten what he wanted. He was finally a werewolf. And, most of all, he was alive.

“Don’t mean to break this beautiful moment here,” (Y/N) muttered. Lydia and Jackson had shared in an intimate embrace as they celebrated his reanimation and her confessions. “Still sort of bleeding out here.”

“Oh my god, (Y/N),” Allison said as realization dawned upon her. “I-I…”

“You can save your guilt for a later time,” the girl groaned. “Right now, I need to stop the bleeding.”

“Here, munchkin.” Henry ripped two strips from the bottom of his t-shirt, using them as a tourniquet for her leg and shoulder. “That should keep you stable until we get home and get you stitched up.”

“(Y/N), I’m…”

“It’s fine, Allison,” (Y/N) said through gritted teeth. “We can talk later. I just… I need to get out of here.”

“Take my car,” Chris interjected. “I’ll go back home with Allison.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, shame eating away at her mind. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

(Y/N) started to limp away with the help of her father and Isaac, ignoring the burning gaze of Derek. She could tell he wanted to reach out, to be the one helping her to the van. But he had burned that bridge with a torch and gasoline. If he ever planned on rebuilding it, he’d have to do it from the ground up.

The girl groaned with every step she took, her limbs aching and pulsing. Isaac helped her into the SUV, clicking her seatbelt for her, careful to avoid her injuries. “I can go with you,” he whispered. “Meet you at the house?”

“You should stay with Derek for now,” she said. “My mom’s gonna probably be at the house and Erica and Boyd have to be there already. I’ll send them over as soon as I can—given they actually went there.”

“But…”

“I’ll be okay, Isaac,” she assured with a weak smile. “I’ll see you later today, okay?”

“She’s in good hands, kid,” Henry said as he sat on the driver’s side of the car. “We’ll let you know when you can sneak back into the house.” 

“You, uh, you know about that, sir?” 

“Not much happens in my house that I don’t know about,” he chuckled. “And I know Brody is not the one eating the food in my kitchen.” 

“Oh, uh, um...” 

“It’s okay, Isaac,” Henry smiled. “I don’t mind. There’s always space for anyone that needs it at my house. You can stay over any time—except when my wife is at home. She’s not as generous.” 

“Uh, thank you, sir,” Isaac mumbled. “I appreciate it.” 

“Guys, this is a beautiful moment,” (Y/N) interrupted, “but still bleeding here.”

“Right,” her father chuckled. “We’ll let you know when you can come over.” 

The car ride back home was quiet at first. Henry sped through the streets, rushing to get to his house and take care of his daughter. He knew her condition wasn’t worrisome, but it didn’t stop the concern that flooded his mind as (Y/N) grimaced and groaned from the pain. But he knew all she needed was a bit of conversation to distract her mind.

“So, you and Isaac seem close,” Henry teased. “Is he the boy that had you questioning our family’s beliefs?”

“What? No,” she quickly replied. “Isaac and I are just friends, dad.”

“Does he know that?”

“Dad…”

“I’m just saying, kid,” he chuckled. “He seems to really care about you.”

“And I care about him, but we’re just friends,” (Y/N) assured. “It didn’t really work out with the person I was talking about that day. He, uh, wasn’t who I thought he was.”

Henry turned to look at his daughter. She no longer was the little girl who could barely see above the dashboard when in the front seat, or the preteen who would live with headphones on her ears. (Y/N) was closer to adulthood than she was to her younger years, even if he couldn’t think of her as anything other than his baby girl. She was growing, and with that came many challenges they would have to face together.

“Is it Derek?” the man continued to inquire. “Gerard mentioned something about it tonight.”

(Y/N)’s gaze fell to her leg, fiddling with the soaked fabric. “Yeah,” she sighed defeatedly. “I mean, nothing really happened between us, but it still ended.”

“Derek Hale, huh? He’s been quite the character in our family’s story.”

“Yeah, sure know how to pick ‘em,” the girl chuckled awkwardly. “Didn’t even get to become a problem for the Argents. Over before we even began.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Henry asked. “You don’t have to, of course. But it can help you make sense of everything.”

“I don’t… he just said something that he can’t take back,” she shrugged, sinking into the seat. (Y/N) considered telling her father the entire story. From the dreams to the agreement she had made with Derek, she wanted him to know everything. But if he could keep his secrets, so could she. At least until they all erupted to the surface. “We just don’t work, I guess. No point in really delving into the whole thing.”

“Well, I’m here if you wanna talk about it, kid,” he said as he killed the car’s engine. “Let me help you out.”

Henry rounded the car and took his daughter in his arms, carrying her inside.

The house was quiet and dark, save for a light in the kitchen. There, Rebecca was serving a wine glass for herself. As (Y/N) came into view, the glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the ground, spilling liquid as red as the blood that stained her daughter’s skin.

“What happened?!” she exclaimed as she ran to her daughter. “I thought you were supposed to stay away from this.”

“She wasn’t gonna work with the hunters,” Henry said as he set (Y/N) on a stool by the kitchen island. “Doesn’t mean she wasn’t gonna help her friends.” 

“Did they do this to you, (Y/N)?” Rebecca worried. “Did those things hurt you?”

“No, mom,” (Y/N) scoffed. “This is the work of Allison. You know, your niece who was hellbent on getting the local pack to avenge her mother. Yeah, she did this.”

“No… Allison wouldn’t.”

 “She did,” Henry confirmed. “Gerard was real proud.”

“Come on, she’s family,” the woman continued to argue. “Allison wouldn’t do that to you.”

“We can stay here and argue about what happened to me,” (Y/N) sighed, “or you can help me with these wounds. Just stop. Please, mom.”

Rebecca hurried to the cupboard under the kitchen sink. She pulled out the first aid kit and quickly set to work on her daughter. First, she cut the leg of her pants, sliding it softly down her leg, careful not to disturb the wound. The girl’s thigh was covered in dried blood, fresh droplets still coming out of the cut. Thankfully, the knife hadn’t gone deep enough to nick any veins, but it had caused enough damage to drench her jeans and her skin with blood.

The woman cleaned the skin surrounding the wound, mindful of her daughter’s jerks and winces as she worked. Once the area was clear she glued the skin back together with a liquid bandage before doing the same with the girl’s shoulder. Finally, she covered both wounds with a waterproof bandage and gave her daughter two ibuprofen pills.

“Why don’t you head up to the shower and go to bed, honey?” Rebecca said as she put the items away. “We can all talk calmly tomorrow. It’s been a long night already.”

“Yeah, are you asking me or telling me?” 

“Okay, kid, let’s get you upstairs,” Henry said, stifling a laugh. “There’s gonna be a lot to unpack tomorrow.”

“Alright, I get the hint,” (Y/N) said as she got off the stool, careful to keep her weight mostly off her hurt leg. “Good night, guys.”

“Do you need any help?”

“I think I can manage.” She tested her steps, making sure she could at least make it to her room without help. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Alright,” Henry said before kissing the top of his daughter’s head. “Let me know if anything changes during the night, munchkin. I don’t care how late it is.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” (Y/N) limped toward the staircase, pressing her nails into her palms as pain shot up her leg and through her arm. She knew she should have asked for help, even if it was just to her room. But she had felt useless enough. “Night, guys.”

“Good night, honey,” her parents called out.

The girl mustered all the strength she could to make it all the way to her room. Part of her hoped Erica and Boyd had made it to her house. But as soon as her doorknob turned without any fight, she knew they were not there. All she could do was hope they at least were somewhere safe. Maybe they had gone through their plan of skipping town. Maybe.

Instead of two teen werewolves inside her room, she was met with an expectant Brody. In the blink of an eye, he had jumped off her bed and was by her side, whimpering as he noted the star of her body. He nudged her healthy leg softly, his eyes focused on hers.

“Hey, buddy,” she chuckled painfully. “I’m alright, boy. Just gotta get all this dirt off.”

Brody merely whined in response, clearly worried for his owner.

“I’m okay, bud,” (Y/N) smiled weakly. “We won tonight. Yeah. We won.”

She wasn’t sure if those last words had been to calm her dog or if she had to convince herself. They’d merely won a fight, but she could feel a war coming in. Something no one was ready for.

But she couldn’t worry about the future just yet. Not when the present was still so fresh.

After sending Brody to her bed, (Y/N) hurried to the bathroom. She set her change of clothes on the bathroom sink before ripping the dirty clothes off her body. The fabric had darkened with her blood, making it cling to her as it dried. Both items were unsalvageable, already cut and sulked by her wounds. They were evidence of a fight well fought but they reminded her of all she had done wrong.

(Y/N) set the shower to run hot before she allowed the stream to over her aching body. As the water came close to singe her skin, she allowed the tears to fall from her eyes, one of her hands flying to her mouth to muffle the sobs that escaped her.

Her mind kept replaying the night. She had started off strong with her fight back at the school. Hell, she had felt invincible then. When she had helped Erica and Boyd escape, she was sure the night would be filled with nothing but wins. But all it took was one wrong move and she’d allowed Allison to incapacitate her for the rest of the fight. If Stiles and Lydia had not burst in, she would have just become a burden to her friends. All the training and records she had broken had meant nothing. Not when a simple knife to her leg was enough to take her out of the running.

Then there had been Derek. She couldn’t get the gut-wrenching look of betrayal he sent her out of her mind. As much as he had hurt her, she didn’t want to hurt him. Yet, she knew Scott’s plan inevitably would. Derek was too married to the notion that the only way they could defeat Jackson was by killing him, but in doing so, he’d unravel too many knots that had already been tied.

When she had gone to see Scott after the fight in the sheriff’s station, (Y/N) had been sure she’d be leaving his house on Derek’s side. But there she learned just how much was at stake, and to beat Gerard they had to start playing his game. He had begged her not to tell Derek, knowing the alpha would find a way to get the Argent man exactly what he wanted. Knowing how much they could lose in the process, she had agreed. She didn’t tell anyone.

Much like she had done for her pain since she was a little girl, she kept it all inside. The girl shielded everyone around her from her fears and her sadness, too afraid to let them be consumed by the darkness that hid within her—in her mind and her heart. It was that very darkness that she was afraid would eat away at her when she least expected it. The void that lived in the chest of every Argent, waiting dormant until it was its time to wake.

(Y/N) had seen that darkness in Allison that night, but it had started its consumption many nights before. It had chiseled away at the barriers of her mind, clouding her thoughts with ire and vengeance. That night, it was the darkness that had sunk its knife into (Y/N)’s body for standing in the way. She couldn’t blame her cousin because she knew it all too well. It had visited her in her dreams, and it had been biding its time until it could have a taste of her too.

The water had grown cold by the time it had finally run clear. Ache returned to her muscles as the temperature dropped, and she knew her laments had to stop, too. No good would come from being alone with her thoughts, spiraling down an endless tunnel of dread.

At that moment, there was only one person that her mind drifted to for consolation. Regardless of what he had done and what he had said, she had grown to find comfort in him—his arms, his touch, his lips. And at that moment she needed that solace.

But he had made things clear, and no phone call or message could change his mind.

At least that’s what she thought.

(Y/N) left her bathroom, ready to sink into her cold bed and fall asleep to Brody’s gentle snores. She left the mess of dirty clothes on the floor—a problem for the morning. All she wanted was rest. Just rest.

She hadn’t expected to find Derek in the middle of her room, welcomed by an excited Brody. He was petting the dog and singing him praises when he noticed (Y/N) coming into the room, making him stop dead in his tracks. “(Y/N), I…” he started, unsure of what to say. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but after tonight I just had to see you, make sure you were okay. I can go if that’s what you want. I just…”

(Y/N) didn’t let him finish. She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, letting herself come undone in his arms. Words be damned, hurt be damned. All she wanted was that moment. She allowed herself to sob into his chest, melting into his embrace like she had done before, and she cried. She cried until she didn’t remember if she had stopped.

Next ->

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[freakfilms]

Page 289

Isaac Lahey x fem!reader (she/her)

Summary: Allison's cousin doesn't trust easily, but maybe if she lets herself be vulnerable just this once, she could find that some things are worth the risk.

Notes: she/her pronouns, 1 use of y/n, no description of reader. reader is kate argent's daughter, but she doesn't have to resemble kate since she could be adopted, take more after her (unnamed) father, etc. please let me know if you want a part 2!!! Trigger Warnings: slightly traumatic backstory lol (about the same as allison's tbh), reader gets hurt, cuts/blood mentioned

being taught how to wield chinese dagger knives was never really on your to-do list. but when you moved in with your cousin allison, you picked up a few things... to say the least.

it's been two years since your mother died. two years since the pyromaniac, werewolf-killer kate argent was killed in an act of revenge from burning a house to the ground. one filled with innocent lives, supernatural or otherwise.

you always knew your mother was a psycho. it didn't come as a surprise when you heard she passed at the hands of a werewolf she burned nearly to ashes. it was about time for her past to bite her in the ass. she taught you how to use a bow just like your cousin, allison. how to hunt the lives of werewolves, innocent or not. she taught you how to be an argent. and you hated it.

the teachings came with a price. one that, if you were being honest, you weren't really sure she cared about. that price was losing you. as new information came to light, the more you caught on. the more you saw her for who she really was. the more you saw your family for who they really are. and you wanted no part in it. she always knew you were smarter than most.

so kate decided that the risk was worth it, if it meant living on the family name. when she died, you were almost happy to be rid of someone as psychopathic as she. but when you were forced to move in with other family, your uncle chris and aunt victoria, you weren't sure which to be more afraid of. or, at least you would be afraid if you weren't already used to living with a killer.

your aunt victoria and your grandpa gerard both made your life a living hell for the next while, up until victoria died and gerard was put away. they knew you were smart enough not to play their little games. if it wasn't for allison and chris, you'd have been chained to the wall and fed like an animal every day for the rest of your life.

needless to say, you weren't too trusting when it came to your family, and damn sure not when it came to anybody else. allison was the first to gain your trust. it took almost a year for you to finally open up to allison, and she was excited to finally introduced you to all of her friends. or should i say, all of your friends. because it didn't take long for them to take you in as family right alongside allison.

sooner or later, you finally caved and gave your uncle chris a chance. the more you began to open up to him, you realized quickly that he wasn't like your mother or even your aunt victoria. in fact, you've come to like your life in beacon hills, even if it meant battling a giant lizard or a demonic history teacher.

currently, you stood in the woods alongside allison, scott, and isaac – the latter two who were off talking werewolf or some other thing. allison circled the ring of the chinese dagger knife on her finger before grasping the edge with her palm, blade out and ready to cut.

you watched her movements as she performed various tricks with the knife, and tried your best to mimic them.

"you're pretty good at this. you catch on fast," she smiled, nodding in approval.

she tilted her head towards the two boys, "think you're ready to fight one of those two losers?"

you smiled in return. "my pick on isaac," you laughed as she called the boys over.

"is she ready?" scott smiled excitedly, purely just from how proud he was of you. he was almost like a brother, and you were grateful for a friend so supportive.

you and allison both nod. "she wants isaac," allison grinned, looking between the two boys.

isaac, wide-eyed and mouth hung open, nodded slowly. "uh huh... well, c'mon then," he said before backing up, taking off his jacket and tossing it to the side.

you followed suit, positioning yourself in front of isaac with your knifes out and ready to fight. you circled the two ringed knives around each pointer finger before grasping them with fists just loose enough to allow you to swing.

"bring the heat, argent" isaac whispered with a grin.

allison raised her hand in the air, "aaaand... go!" she called out.

isaac wasn't going to fight back, and he'd be careful not to hurt you... but he was going to use his supernatural reflexes to dodge any hit possible.

you swung your first knife at him, faster than you expected. miss. he dodged it quickly, effortlessly.

you swung the other knife, circling the ring around your fingertip as you swiped. the feeling of warm blood splattering across your hand told you that you struck him.

"i let you have that one."

"yeah right," you giggled.

as you stared at the blood on your hand, you cringed. isaac picked up on it quickly, "don't worry. you wont hurt me."

as you practiced your sparring with isaac, scott and allison found their way to the side, watching the two of you. allison called out any time you needed to improve a position or a swipe, and scott crossed his arms with a smile.

"how long before these two just admit it?" scott said.

"oh, i wouldn't count on y/n confessing anytime soon. she swore off love forever when she found out her mom lied about her dad dying. then again when he actually died."

"yeesh," scott didn't know how to reply.

allison looked back to you and isaac. she smiled. "i haven't seen her this happy since that metallica concert dad and i took her to back in middle school."

back on the other side of the field, you stood your ground, ready to continue the practice despite the multiple slashes across isaac's abdomen. the sliced-up shirt was definitely not salvageable.

"hey, do you... maybe wanna go to danny's party with me tonight?" isaac stopped, asking you sheepishly as he tried to hide that he'd overheard allison's words with his keen, heightened senses.

you stopped, looking up, into his eyes. after the initial shock, you smiled. "really?" you asked as if you expected him to be playing some sort of prank. not that he ever would.

"really." isaac replied, a slight smirk across his face as he locked eyes with you.

your smile faded, purely from the trance you found yourself in when looking into his eyes. his icy blue stare swirling around in your mind like a lake.

isaac used the opportunity to blindside you, snatching the blade from your hand and holding your wrist in place. he tossed the knife to the side and smirked at you.

you scoffed through a sarcastic smile. "isaac lahey... i never saw you as a cheater," you teased. your breath caught in your throat when you realized how close he now stood in front of you.

"there's a lot of things you don't know about me," he said with a sly smile.

your guard went up quickly as you took in the small distance between the two fo you. "uh, yeah," were the next words to leave your mouth hesitantly. you pulled your wrists away from isaac's grip, taking a step back to give yourself some space to calm yourself as you tugged at the sleeves of your leather jacket.

at the sudden awkward tension, "we should get going, then," isaac cleared his throat.

ignoring the mildly uncomfortable vibes that rose from isaac's invitation, you walked beside him as the four of you started the hike back out of the woods.

"i didn't hurt you too bad today, did i?" you asked with a small smile, knowing the answer already.

isaac looked over at you, amused. "why, were you trying to?" he smirked.

rolling your eyes, you lightly hit his shoulder in a playful manner. "and why would i ever do that?" you ask, feigning offense.

"oh, i'm just making sure you're not trying to break my little werewolf heart," his palm lands against his chest right where his heart sits underneath, pouting.

you smiled at him, but when your eyes focused back on the trail ahead, you found yourself holding back a frown.

you closed yourself off the minute your father broke your heart by faking his death to go and have another daughter in replacement of you. you closed yourself off the year you started to realize that your mother was a killer.

it took too long for you to let your new friends in. allison isn't even sure if you really have let any of them in at this point. maybe this was your chance. dip your toes in the water, try something new. what's the worst that could happen?

as you arrived back at the apartment with allison, your mind was reeling with anxious thoughts. typically, your emotions didn't show. you were raised to hide them. but allison was raised the same way, and she knows you better than even your own mother ever did.

her hand wraps around your shoulder, gently holding you back. "hey, wait a sec... what's going on with you?"

you turn around to face her. you scoff, "can you just pretend to not see it? for once?"

your words came out harsher than you meant them, but an attempt to push away your feelings all the same.

"hey, i get it. i know what kate did to your head," allison started, but was quickly cut off.

"kate didn't get into my head, she destroyed it before i even had a chance." you snapped, firmly and with an angry frown.

allison threw her hands up in defense, "yeah, you're right. i'm sorry for pushing..." she muttered before brushing past you.

you take a second, sucking in a breath before turning around. "hey, allison, wait."

she stops, reluctantly turning back to face you, visibly frustrated with your stubbornness, but obviously sympathetic.

you sigh, "look, i'm sorry. i know i've been here a few years but i'm still new to all of this, okay? i don't do... feelings. or, at least i didn't used to. but i'm trying my best... i promise i am."

allison nods in understanding. "then what's wrong?"

you frown, shoulders slumping just a little. "isaac asked me to go to danny's party with him tonight..."

allison gasped, trying to hide the smile that crept onto her face. "oh, that's sweet! ...why is that upsetting?" she mumbles, confused.

"because, allison! i don't do this... i don't let people in. i've barely let you in, al. what if he just hurts me like everyone else i've let myself care about? what if... what if i fuck it all up...?"

she gives you a knowing look, one that tells you there's something you're forgetting.

"need i remind you, isaac's got his own set of issues. you two are equally as screwed up as each other." she tries teasing you a bit. it makes you smile.

"you couldn't ruin things with isaac if you tried," she continues. "he's totally into you... and honestly, i think isaac is the last boy in beacon hills that would break your heart... baby, there'll always be something that hurts. if you don't let yourself hurt, make mistakes, feel... you'll never get to experience the really good things that make all that hurt worth it. live a little. let yourself feel."

her words resonate, she always knew the right words to say. you give yourself a second to process them. you smile back, nodding, "thanks, allison."

"so what do you say?" allison grins, "can i help you pick out your outfit?"

you walk through the doors of derek's loft alongside isaac, who picked you up and everything — like a proper date. the party is in full swing, and you can already spot danny making out with ethan in the corner, scott and allison talking to the new girl whom you haven't gotten a name of yet, and aiden attempting to talk to lydia.

"looks like we're late," isaac said, looking over the crowd.

"fashionably late," you replied with a smug grin on your face, walking further into the loft and disappearing into the crowd of people. a smirk spread across isaac's face in return as he watched you walk by, and quickly found himself following close behind you as you sardined yourself in between dancing bodies painted with bioluminescent art.

when you stop amidst the crowd, isaac stops right behind you, leaning down so that his lips are right next to your ear. "should we get painted first?"

you turn around, your eyes fluttering over his face, his lips and up to his own eyes. you nod, "uh, yeah. probably... lead the way?"

isaac gladly takes your hand in his, pulling you through the crowd and over to the painting station. it was a bit outside the sea of people, and only moderately quieter.

"hey, uh..." isaac starts, getting your attention as you spin to look at him. "i'm glad you came with me." he smiles at you, that lopsided grin that he makes when he's being sassy... or when he's flirting. he's made that face to other girls in the halls. you've seen it. the smile makes your heart flutter a little.

you smile in return, only slightly before looking down at his lips, lingering for a moment before stepping away. you take off your shirt, leaving you in a bright purple bralette that illuminated underneath the black lights.

"you wanna keep talking or do you wanna paint my body?"

isaac looks over you, wide-eyed as he takes in the view. "uhh, i wanna paint your body..." he says, almost dumbfounded.

you grin, amused by his reaction. you hand him a paint brush and he gets to paining bright colors across your exposed skin. he paints flowers, adding dotted lines and waves all throughout the art. you used a fingertip to paint your lips a bright pink, and he finished up by adding another flower to your cheek.

"you're a pretty good artist, lahey," you complimented, looking into his eyes fondly.

he smiled in response, "thanks. picked up a few things in art class."

you chuckled, "you actually pay attention in class?" you teased lightly, and he laughed along.

the next few minutes were spent with you tracing a paint brush across isaac's skin. you painted a skeleton along his abs, colored bright blue. you accented his cheekbones with lines of a skull.

when you stepped back to admire your work, isaac took the time to admire you. as your eyes roamed over his body and back up to meet his gaze, he stepped forward, closing the distance between the two of you. his hand met your waist.

"you're beautiful," he said just loud enough that you could hear him over the music. thank god it was dark, or he might have noticed how your cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. he would have loved to see it.

soon enough, he pulled you back on to the dance floor and the two of you danced for what felt like hours, hands roaming across each other's bodies and only an inch of room between you. things were moving so quick, yet it was as if time had stopped, being here with him.

your fingertips traced along the back of his neck, up and through his curls. as his forhead came to rest against yours, he couldn't help but let out a soft groan when you tugged at his hair. it made you smile.

"everybody out!" suddenly, you were covering your ears as derek roared over the crowd. people scattered quickly, almost knocking others over to get out of the loft. you sighed, pulling away from isaac and already missing his touch as you wondered what derek was doing home. didn't ethan say he was on a trip or something?

after the party was gone, it was just you, allison, isaac, scott, stiles, — the new girl, kira — derek, and aiden standing around. derek started to talk, but you noticed the lack of two faces.

"where's ethan and lydia?"

as the question left your tongue, a group of oni materialized in the loft amidst your group. the werewolves turned, whereas you, allison, kira, and stiles stood back.

as a fight between the werewolves and the oni broke out, you pulled the two chinese ring daggers from each of your boots. allison and stiles both looked at you, almost surprised.

stiles and allison both called your name, neither thought that fighting supernatural creatures such as the oni with purely just daggers was a great idea.

you swiped the blades in the air as you aimed to hit the oni in front of you. you dodged every swing of it's katana, and realized that all you were doing is stalling them. you had no chance of winning this battle. not that you didn't realize it before, but in this moment, it felt a lot more real.

before you could swipe again, the oni wielded it's katana and swung it through the air, the tip of the blade slicing across your shoulder. you let out a scream of pain, and started to fall to the ground.

before you could get very far, the oni put it's hand on the side of your head, it's glowing yellow eyes bore into your soul and you were frozen. (literally and metaphorically i guess)

after a second, it's fingertip swiped along your skin, right behind your ear before the group of oni faded away in front of you. you fell to the ground, your body seizing. you had never felt so cold, and the wound across your shoulder blade singed.

it took seconds for the group to disperse, allison and isaac moving to you while stiles and derek went to find lydia, aiden and scott off to find ethan.

isaac knelt on the ground, wrapping his arms around you tightly. "she's freezing!"

allison grabbed her jacket from her bag and tossed it to isaac, who instantly wrapped the fabric around you.

your breaths came out ragged, and you looked up at isaac, trying to talk. "i-isaac-" you stumbled, but isaac shushed you.

"shh, it's alright," he whispered. that's when he noticed the slash across your shoulder. "shit! allison, she's hurt!"

allison knelt beside you, looking at the wound. "it's not too deep, but we need to get her to the hospital," she responded with a frown. she hid her feelings well, but her teary eyes said all they needed to say. isaac understood. the wound wasn't too deep, but it was deep enough to worry.

as the rest of the group returned to the main area of the loft, lydia and ethan visibly shaken but okay, isaac stood up and wrapped his arms around you, picking you up bridal style. you leaned your head against his chest, still shaking from the cold, or maybe the pain.

"take her to my mom," scott said urgently as he looked over at stiles.

"i'll drive," stiles flipped his keys in his hand, "allison, you coming?"

of course she was. the four of you rushed out to stiles' jeep, isaac setting you in before taking his own seat.

somewhere amidst the chaos, you passed out, and all isaac could do was hold onto your hand and take away some of the pain. he had only just learned how, and he was glad for it.

you woke up to melissa mccall's face as she held pressure on your shoulder, the cut still bleeding. you screamed in pain, but isaac's hand never let go of yours. his touch gave you some bit of relief. tears pricked the corner of your eyes.

"someone get her an IV, we need morphine!" melissa called out, holding you down carefully. you tried your best to stay still as she worked at your wound, holding tightly onto isaac's hand. so tight, you thought you might actually break it. but you knew isaac wouldn't mind anyways. that thought helped ease you a little bit.

as another nurse pricked your skin, inserting an IV into your arm and filling you up with pain meds, it was easier for you to calm down as time went on and the pain began to subside.

melissa cleaned your wound, which was now bleeding at a significantly slower pace. "you're gonna need stitches, it's a pretty deep cut. but it's not too bad." she smiled at you as she grabbed the materials she needed to stitch you up.

"so she'll be alright?" allison stood up, asking melissa.

melissa nodded, "she'll be just fine."

allison felt as if she could finally let out a breath, one she didn't even realize she was holding in. isaac felt the same, as he actually letting out a deep sigh of relief.

as melissa stitched up your shoulder, isaac smiled at you, sitting next to your hospital bed. you smiled back, the morphine clearly working.

"how you feelin'?" isaac asked.

"gooood," you drew out the word, a dope-y smile on your face.

"i bet you do," he chuckled with his words as he watched you, and if you weren't knocked with pain killers, you'd see how much he adored you. with the way his eyes were taking in the sight of you, one might think he was in love.

allison watched between the two of you, and as melissa finished up the stitching, allison stood and excused herself with a small smile. suddenly, it was just you and him.

silence fell between the two of you for a moment before isaac dared to speak. "you know, that was really stupid."

you looked at him, almost shocked by his words. "okay now pipe down, superman," you quipped back with a smile.

"what, you didn't want me to carry you out of there?" isaac teased, "would you rather it have been stiles? scott? maybe even derek himself-" isaac continued, but you cut him off.

"isaac." you said his name, and he immediately stopped to look into your eyes. you gripped his hand as it was still wrapped around yours. "i'm glad that it was you."

isaac looked at you, a silly grin creeping onto his face. "i, uh..." he cleared his throat, "i'm glad it was me, too."

divider credits: @cafekitsune @k1ssyoursister tags: @fclsebnnyodair

[sterekcollabang]

Forever Fated

Writer: @darquedeath4444

Artist: @timeless329

Rating: T Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Laura Hale, Cora Hale, Malia Tate, Talia Hale, Talia Hale's Pack Members, Derek Hale's Pack Members, The Argent Family (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: Nemeton (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), No Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Pack Alpha Derek Hale, kind of, At one point, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing, +Click through for more Summary:

Derek is a young werewolf of the Hale pack. He does not like his sisters (okay, most of the time anyway) and spends his days wandering further and further out into the preserve to avoid the noise of his house and find the peace and quiet he enjoys. One day, he comes across a young, scared boy, who absolutely has to be a fairy, at the foot of a massive cut-down tree and brings him home. The fairy is pretty and can be his pet. Derek will take very good care of him, and feed him, and play with him, and since the fairy is lost, and Derek found him first, clearly he was now Derek's.

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Diego: /𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙨/ Well dang- maybe you don't need teachin' after all.

The agent gave no response. In fact- she slowly began to walk away from him. If she could even hear him at all she gave no indication.

Diego: Uh- Miss Kate? You alright there? Kate?

His words echoed off walls of darkness a thousand miles away. A call to someone else, at a very different point of time. She stumbled blindly, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. A loud, rapid heartbeat the only contender against the deafening ringing in her ears.

𝗞𝗮𝘁𝗲?

( 𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 ) - 𝙆𝙖𝙩𝙚?

Kate: Hey 009. I forgot to check the weather report. Do you think it's going to rain in Britechester this weekend? Chad: [𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙝] Good to see you again too 008.

Argent: 𝗪𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗔𝗴𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗠𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿. After the incident last weekend at the Museum Gala, UNIT is very glad to have you back safe and sound at Headquarters. Kate: Happy to be back Director.

Argent: Exemplary work. Without your intel, I doubt we would have had half as much success with a good number of our operations these past few years. Kate: Thank you Direc- Argent: 𝗜'𝗺 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝟬𝟬𝟴.

Kate: Sorry- is there something wrong with my reports Director?

Argent: 𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗮𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝗹. Your reports are all well in order. Finest in the Agency as I've come to expect from you. That is, aside from Agent Chinsley, but I suspect he's been bribing the receptionist to write his up.

Director: No 008, there's a different reason I wanted to have this meeting today.

Besides the cursory welcome back, I wanted to discuss the results from the Post-Op Psychological Exam you completed with M this morning.

Argent: Looking at the data, I'm afraid I can no longer recommend you return to the field for extended undercover operations. We're going to have to pull you out for a while. Kate: There must be a mistake. Let me take the test again. I'll do better this time, I promise.

Argent: I'm sorry 008. That's not how it works.

This kind of psychological response is very normal for Agents that have been in as deep as you have- and seen only half as much. Believe me my dear, you are doing just fine.

Argent: Don't think of it as a failure. (🔈 tinnitus sfx warning)

Argent: Think of it as a well deserved break.

𝗞𝗮𝘁𝗲?

( 𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 ) - 𝙆𝙖𝙩𝙚?