Description: Y/N is really awkward and clumsy. Her brain works faster than her mouth, leading her to stumble over her words. Derek is really patient with this and is absolutely smitten.
The loft was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional scratching of claws against wood from one of the betas downstairs. Even after all these years of living in Beacon Hills, little reminders like that still caught you sometimes: the way pack life wove itself through ordinary mornings, how the downstairs neighbours always had extra-strength nail polish remover on hand, and how nobody even blinked when someone howled at the bad weather in the group chat. Rain tapped steadily against the tall windows, turning the whole place silver-blue. The rich scent of fresh coffee drifted through the air, mingling with a trace of warmth rising from the radiator, wrapping everything in a gentle cocoon.
You were standing in Derek’s kitchen, holding two mugs of coffee, balancing them carefully in your hands as you tried not to drop either. Not literally. Just emotionally. Because somehow, despite being a fully grown adult, and despite telling yourself you were going to be cool today, you had managed to catch your sock on the edge of the rug and stumble directly into the kitchen counter thirty seconds after waking up. Maybe it was just nerves, or, more likely, the kind of jittery excitement that always showed up whenever Derek was in the room, looking at you, making your brain and your coordination instantly unreliable. Again.
“Oh my God,” you muttered to yourself. “One day gravity’s gonna sue me for harassment.” From the couch, Derek looked up from the book in his hands, eyebrows lifting. “You okay?” “Yes.” Then, since your brain always raced ahead of your mouth, you added, “I mean, not okay, but physically okay. Emotionally, I’m having a public execution. Not public. Private execution. Which is somehow worse.”
You stopped talking abruptly and stared at the coffee mugs like they had betrayed you personally. Derek’s mouth twitched. That tiny, almost-smile that only happened around you. “I understood what you meant,” he said. “See, that’s concerning.”
“You think my understanding of you is concerning?” "No, I think the fact that you can is concerning, because half the time I don’t even know what I’m saying until it’s already escaped. It’s like my words sprint ahead and leave me behind."
You started toward the couch, focusing intently on placing each step as you manoeuvred around the furniture, determined not to lose your balance again. Naturally, your foot caught the edge of the coffee table. “Shit-” The mugs in your hands wobbled precariously. Before the coffee could spill, Derek sprang up from the couch. Fast.
One second, he was sitting down with a mug in each hand; the next, he was on his feet, hands steadying your waist, both mugs somehow still upright. You blinked up at him. He blinked down at you. "…I hate everything," you whispered, mortified as heat flooded your face.
Derek huffed out a laugh. An actual laugh. Low and warm and unfairly attractive. “You’re fine.” “I almost baptised your couch in coffee.” “But you didn’t.” “That doesn’t erase the intent.” “You didn’t intend to spill it.” “I don’t know, Derek. My coordination might secretly be plotting against me.” His hands were still on your waist. Large. Warm. Safe.
And Derek, big and intimidating and terrifying to everyone else, was looking at you like you personally hung the moon. For a second, something unguarded flickered behind his eyes: warmth, wonder, maybe a soft disbelief that he could have this. You caught the tiniest shift in his jaw, a brief shadow of something vulnerable—a silent hope he barely allowed himself to feel. He smothered it quickly, but the trace of awe lingered in the way his gaze held yours, as if he was quietly memorising this moment, afraid it might slip away if he blinked.
It made your brain short-circuit, heart, tripping over itself every single time. You handed him his coffee with exaggerated care before collapsing beside him on the couch. “There,” you said proudly. “No casualties.” “I’m impressed.” “You should be. That was Olympic-level survival.”
He took a sip of coffee, eyes still on you over the rim of the mug. “You’re cute when you ramble.” You choked on absolutely nothing. “I-what?” “You ramble,” he repeated calmly. “It’s cute.” “No, see, now you’re just making things up because you love me.” “I do love you.”
The words were so startlingly casual, like he’d just told you his favourite colour. So certain. Like breathing. Like fact. Your face immediately went hot, heart thrumming wild as you tried to find words. “I-yeah-well-” Your mouth stopped functioning entirely. Derek watched you fondly, a soft smile lingering while you visibly rebooted, scrambling for composure. “You okay?” he asked, clearly enjoying this. “Mmhm.” “You sure?” “No.” That earned another laugh. God, you loved making him laugh; it was like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Most people saw Derek and thought of an intimidating alpha werewolf. Brooding. Dangerous. Difficult to approach. They never saw him the way you did, not with his jacket wrapped around your shoulders during that freezing night in the woods after the disaster with the pack, or the way his hand had found yours, steady and reassuring, the two of you laughing breathlessly after outrunning something that should have swallowed you whole. You still remembered the sting of sleet in your face, the frantic rush through the dark trees, the sound of Derek’s voice calling your name just ahead, sharp and certain. When he finally stopped, chest heaving, you nearly collided in your relief, and his jacket was around your shoulders before you could even shiver, his hands strong on your arms, grounding you both. The terror of the chase faded a little in the glow of that shared survival, the two of you grinning like fools, sparks of adrenaline turning quietly into warmth.
They never heard how awkwardly you’d introduced yourself in the hospital after that first wild night in Beacon Hills, Derek’s arm in a sling and blood drying on both your hands, both of you pretending not to notice how you kept stealing glances at each other in the waiting room. Only you knew about the moments when the world almost came apart, and he was the one holding the pieces together for both of you.
And he was those things sometimes. But with you? He was a patient hand catching dropped mugs. Soft looks from across the room. Quiet amusement every time you accidentally combine three sentences into one unusable disaster. He never rushed you when you stumbled over words. Never made you feel stupid when your thoughts tangled together. He just waited. Listened. Understood anyway.
You leaned your head against his shoulder with a sigh. “You know,” you mumbled, “you’re suspiciously nice to me.” Derek hummed thoughtfully. “Only you?” “Yes. Everyone else gets scary wolf man. I get…” You gestured vaguely at him. “Whatever this is.” His arm slid around your shoulders automatically, pulling you closer. “This,” he said quietly, “is because I’m in love with you.” Your brain promptly blue-screened, the world narrowing to just him and those words. “Oh.” A pause. Then-
“Oh my God.” Derek looked down at you, concerned for half a second. “What?” “You said that so smoothly, and now I’m supposed to respond like a normal person and not like a malfunctioning microwave.” His expression softened so much that it almost hurt to see the shimmer of vulnerability in his eyes. “You don’t have to be normal.” “That’s good because I passed that exit years ago.”
He smiled again. Soft. Smitten. Entirely gone for you. And before you could say anything else disastrously embarrassing, Derek leaned down and kissed your forehead. “I like the way your mind works,” he murmured. You stared at him helplessly. “…You are wildly biased.” “Probably.” “And emotionally compromised.” “Definitely.”
You buried your face into his shoulder to hide your grin. Above you, Derek pressed another kiss into your hair and let out a quiet, triumphant breath, smiling as if your closeness was the prize he’d fought for.
Maybe he had. And maybe, as you sank into the quiet warmth between you, you finally let yourself believe it was real. All the clumsy steps and tangled words somehow led to this: belonging, safe and certain, right where you were supposed to be. For now, hope wrapped around you, gentle and bright, even as some part of you wondered just how long you could hold onto it in a world where everything could change in a heartbeat. Doubt was never entirely absent, even here; in the quiet, old fears pricked at the edges of happiness, reminders of how quickly shadow could fall in Beacon Hills. Something in the air felt restless, as if the storm outside was carrying more than rain; something waiting, patient and unseen, its presence curling at the horizon of your peace. You let your eyes drift closed, heart full and hopeful for all the mornings still ahead, while somewhere distant, thunder rumbled behind the rain.
Description: When Y/N, Stiles' older cousin, comes to Beacon Hills for the summer, Scott and Stiles are determined to keep her far away from the supernatural chaos surrounding their lives. Unfortunately for them, Derek takes one look at her and completely loses his composure, making it suddenly a whole lot harder to hide secrets.
The first thing you noticed about Derek Hale was that he stared. He wasn’t rude about it, or even obvious. But whenever you looked up, you’d find him in the background of the loft, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, watching you like he was figuring something out. And apparently, this was deeply concerning to everyone else.
“Why is Derek here again?” Stiles hissed from the kitchen. “I don’t know!” Scott whispered back. “He said he was ‘checking on something.’” “There is nothing to check on.” Derek’s voice carried effortlessly across the room. Stiles nearly dropped the bowl of chips. “See? Creepy! Creepy wolf hearing!” You blinked from your seat on the couch. “Did you just say wolf hearing?”
Both boys froze. Scott laughed too loudly. “He said-uh-golf hearing.” “Golf?” you repeated. Stiles nodded aggressively. “Yeah. Derek loves golf.” Derek looked personally offended. “You told her I play golf?” “You wear sweaters like you play golf,” Stiles muttered. You tried not to laugh as Derek’s eyes narrowed into a glare sharp enough to kill.
Arriving in Beacon Hills for the summer felt strange right from the beginning. The air always seemed tinged with the sharp, earthy scent of pine needles, and at night, a damp chill crept beneath the window screens. Fog clung to the woods just outside town and sometimes spilt over the cracked sidewalks, muting headlights and swallowing distant sounds so that only the chirring of crickets and the occasional howl from deep in the forest broke the quiet. Once, you caught sight of the Nemeton, half-hidden among tangled roots at the edge of the preserve, a landmark the locals almost never mentioned unless pressed. That eerie sense of mystery only got stronger during your first days in town, especially with Sheriff Stilinski's squad car drifting past your window on more than one late night, as if the town itself was keeping secrets. At first, you felt uneasy, like something in the air pressed quiet questions against your skin, but curiosity tugged at you too. There was a strange thrill beneath the awkwardness, making you wonder what Beacon Hills was hiding and whether you would ever find out.
Stiles, your younger cousin, begged you to visit after your college finals, saying he “needed another sane person in the house.” He left out the part where everyone in town acted like they had something to hide. Scott jumped every time the woods were mentioned. Stiles disappeared constantly at night.
And Derek-
Derek watched you like you’d hung the moon. It made absolutely no sense, but sometimes, when you caught him looking, you felt your heart stumble in your chest anyway. There were moments when your eyes met, and you forced yourself to look away too quickly, afraid he might actually see the flush crawling up your neck. You tried to convince yourself it was just the weirdness of everything here, nothing more, but your mind kept circling back to him. Was this just nerves? Or was it something else you didn’t want to admit? Then you'd wonder if he noticed, if he could hear the stutter in your breathing or sense the way being near him scrambled your thoughts. He always looked away first, but you swore sometimes his ears turned just the tiniest bit pink.
You met him on your second day in town when Stiles dragged you to the preserve for what he claimed was “totally normal cousin bonding.” Then he abandoned you beside the Jeep to investigate a noise. Which left you alone with six feet of intimidating werewolf. At the time, you didn’t know he was a werewolf.
You just knew he was unfairly attractive. It was distracting, honestly, the way your heart stumbled a little every time he glanced your way, heat rising up your neck no matter how hard you tried to look unaffected. Just being this close to him made your thoughts tangle, your skin prickling with awareness, like gravity hummed differently wherever he stood.
Dark hair. Green eyes. Permanently annoyed expression. It was as if someone had made a model using grumpiness and sharp jawlines. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he’d said. You crossed your arms. “Funny, because I’m not alone.” Something in Derek’s expression softened. Not visible enough for most people to catch it. But you did. And after that, he kept showing up. At the Stilinski house. At the diner. Outside the bookstore. Once, horrifyingly, at the grocery store while holding twelve pounds of raw meat.
A few days later, you caught yourself saying, "You run into this guy everywhere," to Stiles one evening. Stiles choked on his soda, sputtering, while Scott stared off into the distance, his eyes unfocused, as if he were reconsidering all his life choices. “Yeah,” Scott said weakly. “Crazy coincidence.”
Upstairs, a loud crash sounded from Stiles’ room. You frowned. “What was that?” “Nothing!” Another crash. Then Derek’s voice: “Your window frame is loose.” You looked between Scott and Stiles. “…Why is Derek in your bedroom?” Neither answered.
The truth was, Derek was halfway through Stiles’ window, climbing in awkwardly like a raccoon, his arms braced against the sill as he pulled himself inside. Derek stepped downstairs a moment later, brushing dust from his clothes, looking completely unbothered by his unconventional entrance.
Your eyes narrowed. “Do you normally break into people’s houses?”
“Only when necessary.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“I wasn’t trying to comfort you.”
But a small twitch at the corner of his mouth ruined the effect. And that was the exact moment you realised something terrifying: you liked him. Unfortunately, Stiles realised it too. “Oh my god,” he whispered dramatically later that night. “You’re into Batman.”
“I am not.”
“You looked at him for like six whole seconds.”
“That means nothing.”
“You smiled.”
“I smile at everyone.”
“You’ve literally never smiled at one of my friends.”
“That’s because your friends are deeply strange.”
Downstairs, the front door opened. Stiles groaned. “And there he is again.” Derek walked in carrying takeout bags. Scott blinked. “You brought food?” “For her.”
Silence. Complete silence. You pointed at yourself. “Me?” Derek nodded once. Stiles looked moments away from cardiac arrest. Scott whispered, “This is insane.” “Why?” you asked. Neither answered. Because Derek Hale never brought food to people. Derek Hale barely brought people basic human kindness.
Even though you’d only been in town for less than two weeks, he started showing up with your favourite coffee, quietly moving closer when crowds got noisy, and watching you like you were the best thing he’d seen in a long time. Sometimes, when you caught his gaze lingering a second too long, there was a strange uncertainty in his eyes, like he was hoping you might look back and see him the way he saw you. Once, while handing you a coffee, his fingers brushed yours, and he hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but changed his mind. "You remind me of..." he started, but then shook his head and looked away, jaw clenched. The boys were losing their minds over it. At one point, you caught Stiles scribbling frantically in a plaid-covered spiral notebook labelled 'Beacon Hills Anomalies and Unsolved Mysteries (Revised),' adding 'Derek Hale: Stage Five Clinger?' right between his 'Lizard People' and 'Secret Government Tunnels' theories. Scott just shook his head and muttered something about lava flows. You were pretty sure Stiles had started a new red string diagram in his room labelled 'Hale-Related Shenanigans,' and you half-expected to find your own photo next to a question mark on his infamous conspiracy wall.
Weeks passed, and Stiles began speculating: “This has to be some kind of supernatural event,” he muttered one afternoon while you sat outside the animal clinic. Scott nodded seriously. “Maybe he’s possessed.” “I can hear you,” Derek called from across the parking lot. “THAT DOESN’T MAKE IT LESS TRUE.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. Derek’s attention snapped immediately toward you. And there it was again. That softness. That tenderness was hidden under all his tough edges. It made your stomach flip. Then…
A howl echoed through the woods. You jumped. Every single person around you went rigid. Scott stood abruptly. Stiles paled. And Derek moved instantly in front of you. Protective. Instinctive. He glanced toward the trees with such intense focus that it made you shiver. “What was that?” you asked quietly. “No idea,” Stiles answered too fast. “Probably a dog,” Scott added.
Another howl rang out. Definitely not a dog. You looked at Derek. For one split second, his eyes flashed gold. Your breath caught. Silence crashed over the group. Stiles looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. Scott looked nauseous. And Derek just watched you carefully. Waiting.
You stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “…You’re a werewolf.” Stiles screamed. Not yelled. Screamed. Scott buried his face in his hands. And Derek looked almost relieved. “I can explain,” Scott said desperately.
“I knew something was wrong with all of you,” you replied. Honestly, it took a lot to rattle you after growing up in a family where chaos was practically a sport. You'd handled stranger emergencies and weirder secrets before; this just felt like Beacon Hills' own brand of bizarre. “Wrong?” Stiles repeated indignantly. “Wow. Offensive.”
“You climbed through a second-story window!”
“It was an emergency!”
“You own a front door!”
“You don’t understand the emotional complexities-”
“Stiles,” Derek interrupted.
Shockingly, Stiles stopped talking. Derek’s gaze stayed on you the entire time. “You’re not afraid.”
You considered it honestly. Maybe you should’ve been. Maybe finding out monsters were real should’ve terrified you. But looking at Derek, the way he positioned himself between you and danger without thinking, you just shrugged lightly. “You haven’t hurt me.” Something vulnerable flickered across his face. Tiny. Quick. But real. Behind you, Scott whispered to Stiles: “Oh my god, he’s in love with her.” “I KNOW.” Stiles looked devastated. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” You snorted. Derek’s mouth twitched again.
For the first time since you arrived in Beacon Hills, everything finally made sense. It was more than just understanding why Derek hovered at the edge of every room, or why your life had started to feel like part of someone else’s wild story. Relief settled into your chest, gentle and steady, knowing that the strangeness around you had a reason, and that maybe, you belonged inside it after all. Hope pressed quietly against your ribs because being seen by Derek felt like a possibility, not just a mystery unravelled. For the first time, you felt excited for what might come next. The uncertainty of Beacon Hills didn't scare you anymore—instead, it made your heart beat a little faster with anticipation. Suddenly, the future seemed wide open and bright, shimmering with unexpected promise. Every secret, every midnight adventure in the woods, every glance from Derek felt like the start of something new and extraordinary. You found yourself looking forward to tomorrow, eager for whatever crazy, wonderful thing might happen, and for the chance to discover who you could become in a world suddenly full of possibility.
Of course, in Beacon Hills, 'what comes next' might mean another midnight howl in the woods, a secret meeting behind the diner, or Derek turning up at your window with another improbable excuse. Honestly, part of you couldn't wait to find out which would happen first.
am I the only sour cherry on your fruit stand? (Derek Hale x Female!Reader)
a/n: I have no expanation, other than me and my partner are rewatching Teen Wolf together, and I really wanted to write some filth
Warnings: Carpet Munching (ha), Enemies to Lovers except not really enemies to not really lovers, Full Moon Shenanigans, Shotgunning,
Summary: It's a constant dance between you and Derek. You hate him, he's supposed to hate you. He wants you in his pack, you want him to leave your brother the hell alone.
Either way, the full moon always brings out the darkest of truths to the surface.
MASTERLIST
Your body is so cold.
An overwhelming feeling of a slow, creeping chill climbs through your veins. Breath coming out in quick, sharp gasps, you lay frozen on the wooden floor, the charred and twisted presence of the Hale house looming over you. The broken roof stares at your form, laughing mockingly at your predicament, as the floorboards greedily soak up your blood. As if they try to eat the very essence, suck the marrow from your bones.
You can feel it leaving your body. A steady, crimson stream, dripping out like a broken faucet, your vision blurring with each drop. And, by God, does it hurt. It hurts like nothing you've ever felt. You've been hurt before, of course. Throughout your life, you've suffered injuries big and small, but this... Nothing could prepare you for the sharp, burning sensation spreading throughout you, frayed nerve endings screaming for help. You'd take a broken bone any day, instead of this.
The bullet went right through the side of your stomach. A last hurrah on Kate Argent's part, as she pulled the trigger blindly, right before her throat was ripped out. She's in here somewhere, as well. Her lifeless body staring at you with unseeing eyes. Some twisted sense of ancient justice, her dying in this house. The Hale family has finally gotten their revenge. You'll join the Hunter soon enough. Perhaps this is your punishment for being unnecessarily rude to Derek.
Just another soul claimed by this cursed place, about to join the tally. Innocent? No, that's for sure not the case. You could be called many things, but innocent wasn't one. Hell, some people wouldn't even call you good. But if there's anything you've got going for you, it's you're loyal. Which, is the sole reason you've landed in this situation, in the first place. You're loyal to your fucking grave.
Someone grabs your hand, the back of your head cradling it softly, you can feel shar points of a clawed hand scratching lightly at your scalp. Through the fog of darkness, you can see your baby brother. Tears gather in his eyes, and despite your sorry state, you can't shake the instinct to make it better. To somehow protect him from the pain of your own imminent passing. Like you've always done, combining your efforts with your mother, and keeping all the monsters away. Shining a proverbial flashlight under the bed.
"It's okay" you manage to choke out, not entirely able to recognize your voice "You'll be okay"
Your hand shakes in his, and Scott screams for help, teeth growing into sharp fangs at the sudden crash of emotions. His eyes shine that blasted shade of yellow, as he begs for something. Anything. Your heart breaks for him. You've managed to save him from a stray bullet, but you can't do anything now. You can't protect him, and it tears you apart more than any Wolfsbane covered casing could.
And then you see another person, looking at you through the fog.
Your heart skips a bit, although whether it's from the blood loss, or the man leaning above you, is anyone's guess.
Red eyes bear down onto you, a calloused hand resting on your cheek, and your eyebrows furrow, as Derek Hale brings his face closer. Perhaps it's the delirium setting in, but for just a split-second, you're almost convinced his expression twists into that of concern.
Which, given your current situation, would be warranted, if not for one simple fact, that's been hanging over the both of you, ever since your first meeting.
You hate each other.
Or at least, you hate him. Deeply despise everything he stands for, especially since he's been acting like a complete and utter dick to your brother, threatening him at least two times a day. And you couldn't let that slide, couldn't see the tremendous amounts of stress, he's been putting your brother through, and not react.
"Please, Derek." your brother begs, his voice breaking, "Save her, please."
It takes you a moment, your brain is slowly, but surely being deprived of oxygen. But once the implications of your brother's words hit, a new sense of purpose floods your bones. It's not panic, not necessarily. You've always been much too calm and collected, to let yourself be drowned by fear.
You suppose it's the curse of being the oldest sibling, this outward tranquility, mixed with boiling rage just beneath the surface.
Derek leans down, red eyes search yours, although, you can see by the determined tick of his jaw, that he's already made his decision. For just a second, you're tempted. You don't want to die, of course you don't. And the idea of being so much stronger, more resilient, being able to protect those you love, without tearing your veins out in the process... You'd be a fool not to consider it.
But then, you look into his red eyes, burning like coals in a dying fire, and something akin to a steel conviction settles itself over you, like a protective blanket.
Your shaking hand rises, fingers trembling, as they slide over Derek's cheekbone. He freezes under your touch, eyes widening slightly, at the unexpected, tender contact. Your eyebrows scrunch in concentration, and he sucks in a sharp breath, as the pads of your fingers press against his mouth.
With the last, fraying remnants of strength, you push, until you can feel his teeth through the soft plush of his lips.
"Don't..." a wheezing intake of breath rattles through your lungs, as you force yourself to focus
"Don't you fucking dare"
Derek's mouth opens, a silent gasp pushing past your fingers, and your hand falls onto the ground.
The sudden, cold steeliness of his burning, red gaze is the last thing you remember, before waking up in Beacon Hills General Hospital, your mother and your brother at your side.
***
From that point onward, Derek's name is like a constant presence, looming over your life, whether you like it or not. And truth be told, you really, really don't like it.
Having now taken the power of the Alpha, he's become even more insufferable, if that's possible. And as such, you've decided the best course of action, was to steer clear of him, to save yourself from any more anger issues.
After recovering from having the right side of your body obliterated by a bullet, you took time to search for a job. You've found one relatively quickly, as a waitress at a small diner right at the edge of Beacon Hills. It was such a typical, American place, filled with the smell of grease and cheap coffee. But it payed well enough, and the owner, an older woman with a warm, round face, was almost too excited by a prospect of 'fresh blood' working for her. You didn't mention, that you're not exactly 'fresh blood'. Nor did you remind her, that during your rebellious teenage phase, you used to draw graffiti over the back of her establishment.
You're not that angry, troubled teen anymore. You've dealt with it. For the most part.
Doesn't change the fact, that every time you slip out the back entrance for your break, your eyes follow the painted over ghosts of your highschool years. Doesn't change the small, almost wistful smile, tugging at the corners of your perpetually frowning lips. You used to smile more back then. You used to be kinder.
Derek never invades your place of work, not once. Small blessings, you suppose.
For the most part, he tries to keep his distance from you, despite the fact, that circumstances keep forcing him to work with your brother, and as such, bringing him into your orbit.
Even the mention of his name, in passing conversation, evokes emotions you're not sure how to deal with. Because yes, you hate him. He's annoying, he's all that. But there's also this strange hint of understanding, of kinship between two born protectors. Two people, who care so deeply, in such an overwhelming manner, they have to hide behind a mask of thorns, just to keep themselves safe.
You can't shake the feeling, that during that small interaction, where he almost made you the first addition to his pack, he saw you. He saw, what you are, every part that makes you, who you are, and understood it without a second thought.
And you can't have that. The idea is so preposterous, so terrifying, you have to actively fight it away, everytime you even catch a whiff of his presence.
Avoiding him goes pretty easily. You tend to stay away from the supernatural aspects of your brother's life anyways, too focused on helping your mom keeping the house afloat. Sometimes it's better not to know, and you consciously make the effort to know as little as possible.
That is, until one evening, you exit your run down car, and see him standing right outside your house, throwing daggers at the closed door. One of his Betas, you're pretty sure his name is Boyd, stands next to him, his overgrown-for-a-teenager statue practically dwarfing Derek. The sight would be comical, if you weren't so god-damned tired, and this wasn't your house they were standing in front of.
Turning the ignition off, you wonder for a moment, if this is worth the trouble. Perhaps a couple laps around the neighborhood would do you good. Avoiding confrontation went so well until now, you're almost mournful to end it. But then again, the gas prices are definitely more annoying, than the werewolf's presence, so you open the creaking door and leave the car.
His eyes snap to you, as the car door slams shut, and for a moment he seems almost surprised you're here. Then, his jaw tightens, as he schools his expression back to a grumpy frown, one you've come to consider synonymous with him.
"Miss McCall" Boyd nods at you, to Derek's general displeasure, and you respond with a wave.
"I don't remember inviting you guys for dinner" you say, stopping to stand a safe distance from the two werewolves "I would've bought kibble"
A low hanging joke, you're aware, but your legs hurt from running around the diner, and your hair smells of grease, so you feel justified.
Something sounding almost like a low grow,l grumbles deep in Derek's throat, as he tears his gaze away from the house, pinning you in place with the sheer intensity of the look he gives you.
Boyd just looks confused.
"We're not here for you" he says, keeping his voice low and measured, although, it doesn't take a genius to gather, there's something else hidden behind his words.
"Well good" you respond, barely keeping your eyes from rolling, your gaze landing on the kitchen window of your house.
A soft 'huh' leaves your mouth, as something moves the curtain behind the glass. You can see quick movement inside, but before you can take a step towards the direction of your place, Derek interjects, almost hurriedly.
"Although since you're here..."
Containing an eye roll around him, should become your personal sport niche. Shooting him an unimpressed look, you cross your arms in front of your chest, and definitely ignore the way his eyes linger on the cleavage of your work uniform, which just so happens to be pushed up by the gesture. Hate is a funny thing, and you're not sure, if you can blame it for the sudden fluttering, stirring in your stomach. You're not about to dwell on it, not at all. And you're absolutely not going to dwell on the way, he wets his lips before speaking.
Nope. Not at all.
"I've been meaning to talk to you" he starts, after taking a deep breath, as if to compose himself.
Now, that must be a lie, because you know good and god-damned well, he hasn't approached you since the Hale House incident.
"About?" the borderline indifferent tone of your voice, cuts through the invisible bubble of tension between the two of you.
A moment of silence stretches in the rapidly approaching evening, shadows growing on his face, accentuating the frown that's settled over his expression. You try to remain unaffected, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Your eyes catch a glimpse of a blue jeep, that most certainly belongs to Stiles, and although his visits at your house aren't unexpected, something akin to suspicion climbs up your back. Stiles and Scott camping at the house, that's nothing new. But the addition of Derek, alongside his teenage bodyguard... That's definitely a reason for being worried.
As if sensing the sudden change in your thoughts, Derek takes a step closer, his boots crunching on the gravel road. Your muscles tense involuntarily, an instinct you can't seem to get rid of, and your eyebrows shoot up, daring him to come even closer. Daring him to do something, you'll both regret.
"Why didn't you let me change you?" he asks, voice so low, you can barely hear him.
Boyd's head snaps in your direction, confusion mounting on his face.
And just like that, all thoughts and suspicions about the werewolf's presence, get thrown out the proverbial window. Sucking in a sharp breath at the question, your lower lip migrates between your teeth, Derek's gaze zeroing on it with laser-sharp focus.
"You could've died, and yet, you refused" he continues, taking another step "I could've saved you."
A sharp scoff leaves you, as if the scenario is beyond preposterous. And to some degree, it is.
"Is it really such a ridiculous idea?" his tone dips even lower, into something almost too seductive, too much like dark persuasion "Imagine the power, the strength I could give you..."
"Strength to do what?" you challenge "Wipe tables faster? Be fucking for real."
A small, almost imperceivable smile splits his lips, and you catch a glimpse of his perpetually sharpened canine teeth. One more step closer, and suddenly he's standing right on the edge of your personal bubble, dancing on what's considered proper between two people, who supposedly despise each other. That small change whispers to you, compels you to let your arms fall from your chest, your defenses lowering without your consent.
"You wouldn't have to wipe any tables, ever. If you'd join my pack" Derek promises, and the way words leave his mouth, makes you want to believe him.
Alas, you're a realist, through and through. Your feet stay planted on the ground, no matter what, and in this moment, you know, you have to end this. Before any more ridiculous promises are made. Before you actually fall for one of them.
"And how would that work, huh?" another challenge, and Derek's eyebrows jerk upwards "Is there a magical, supernatural fund for new werewolves? Do you pay hourly?"
This time, it's Derek's turn to roll his eyes, and the gesture makes heat rise in your bones. He shouldn't look this good while frustrated, the clicking muscles of his jaw almost begging you to go further, to push him.
"I have a family to take care of, you know." you seethe through your teeth, before stopping yourself.
You could say more. You almost want to say more, words already forming on your tongue, and tasting like bitter venom. Scolding words about his family, about his strange determination to remain detached from the real world. But you swallow them, knowing full-well, that despite Derek's many faults, he doesn't deserve that much. And yes, you're confrontational, sometimes even rude. But you're not cruel.
Derek notices your angry restrain, his eyes flitting around the way your lips are pressed tightly together. There's a slight note of appreciation, when he speaks next, as if the previous animosity was lifted, by the evening wind, and carried somewhere far away.
"I know, you're a protector, through and through" he whispers, finally crossing that imaginary line "You'd fit so well, you're just what I need"
Boyd's eyebrows nearly jump off his face, as he looks between Scott McCall's asshole sister, and his Alpha. Derek never mentioned wanting to turn you. Hell, he never mentioned you at all, despite Isaac's efforts at baiting him into a discussion about your tits, and other, less important values.
"My pack needs someone like you" Derek presses, his hand sneaking closer, fingers brushing over your wrist, and it's as if you've been touched by fire itself.
End this. You have to end this now.
A sharp, cutting scoff leaves you, as you rip your hand back, crossing your arms around your chest once again.
"So you came here to baby-trap me with a bunch of teenagers." your voice is like ice, crushing the bubble of tension between your teeth, and Derek reels back.
He's stubborn, of course. Years of constant defeat have made him desperate to get what he wants. But in this moment, looking into your cold, stinging eyes, he understands with utmost clarity, there's no going through to you. Not today, at least. And so, he steps back with a small nod, an acceptance of temporary failure, before his gaze hardens enough, to make a shiver run up your spine.
"No" he says, with a strange sort of finality "I didn't come here for you. I came here to kill Lydia Martin."
Immediately, your mind flies to the metal baseball bat, you keep hidden in your car, and deep down inside you're glad, you haven't lost your cool completely. He soaks in the way your expression twists, into one of unbridled, righteous rage, already imagining, how your eyes would look like, burning with amber flames of werewolf powers. And what a glorious sight it would be. You were already so fierce, such a strong personality, he could only picture, what a wonderful Beta you'd be. Loyal to a fault, protective beyond control. The tough alone makes him shiver.
As if on cue, the door to your house opens, two bodies flying out of the darkness, and you watch, with growing confusion as Erica and Isaac land on the front lawn, grunting in pain, and precariously unable to move.
"What the f-" you murmur under your nose, and Derek seems to echo the sentiment.
Then, much to your relief, your brother steps out onto the porch, Stiles and Allison in tow behind him. Your body reacts faster, than your brain can comprehend, your feet carrying you forward. That is, until Derek's now clawed hand, wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His touch burns you, shoots through your body like an arrow. The way his thumb presses into the underside of your wrist, the ligt scrape of his claws on your skin. You must be going insane. You must be.
For a second you're ready to whip around, and show him, why your right hook was famous throughout the whole Beacon Hills. But before you can, the window to Scott's room opens, and some strange, lizard creature crawls out, it's scales shining in the moonlight. It throws a menacing hiss in the general direction of the group, then jumps off into the darkness, leaving you confused, and maybe, just a little bit terrified. Derek hand tightens around you, tugging you back in a gesture, that would be considered protective, if you weren't struggling with an onslaugh of confusing feelings right now.
By the time Lydia Martin exits the house, your wrist has a perfect imprint of Derek's fingers around it.
***
Nothing fixes supernatural nonsense better, than throwing yourself into work.
At least, that's what you tell yourself, as you swish all over the diner, serving coffee refills, hash browns, and slices of not-exactly-homemade cherry pie. White tennis shoes squeal urgently on the linoleum floor, when you finally get called over for your break. The kitchen welcomes you with the sounds of oil cracking, and the main cook throwing another crappy pick-up line your way. You've grown to appreciate them, knowing full-well he would never step out of line. It's the beauty of working in a diner, you suppose.
Pushing the back door open, you pull out a half-empty pack of cigarettes, another habit you've picked up, while working here. First, it started as a way to relate to other workers, make yourself more social, in a way. Now however, as all addictions, it's a subconscious need, a welcome distraction from the absolute cluster fuck, that is your life.
The air is crisp, and fresh, filled with an ever-present scent of the woods, which surround the diner on three fronts. A perfect horror setting, you think with a small laugh, as you perch yourself on a stack of cardboard boxes, leaning your head against the wall of the diner. The AC unit hums loudly above you, and you soak in the rhythmic sound, so much more calming, than the constant chaos inside.
With a small huff, you set the timer on your phone to fifteen minutes, and finally pull out a cigarette, alongside a well-used lighter, you totally did not steal from one of your coworkers. The bombshell blonde in an American flag bikini stares at you from the plastic, as you light one up, taking a long, glorious drag, the delicate burn in your lungs grounding you.
"These'll kill you" a familiar voice chokes the smoke out of you, and your eyes fall onto none other, but Derek Hale, approaching you with a strange sense of purpose from the tree line.
Standing up, you throw him a glare, that doesn't look half as hostile, as you would've liked.
"I told you not to come around he-"
The rest of the sentence gets cut off, as Derek crosses the remaining space between the two of you, kicking the cardboard boxes away, so he can fully push you into the wall. Coldness of the concrete seeps into your skin, despite the flimsy covering of your work uniform, and before you can shake off the shock, of being so close to him, he leans even further in, taking a deep breath, his nose sticking into your hair. There's a low, almost whining sound coming from him, as he exhales, and despite your general distaste for the man, your body warms up in a way, you haven't felt for a while now.
An involuntary gasp leaves your lips, as the cigarette slips from your hand. Derek catches it in a casual display of his werewolf reflexes, and you will never admit, that it was very fucking cool.
"The fuck are you-"
"No" he interrupts you again, causing your teeth to grind against each other in frustration "Stop this. Just stop talking."
There's an unexplainable tension in his voice, something not entirely human creeping into the surface. Your eyes flicker up, above his shoulder, above the tree line, until it lands on the full face of the moon, staring back at you, almost taunting. Still, shouldn't he be practically immune to those things, he's supposed to be an Alpha, or whatever goofy thing he calls himself these days.
Despite his status, Derek's eyes drop to your neck, where your pulse is picking up more and more, sprung on by the strangeness of this situation.
You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, goosebumps erupting all across your arms, as something not entirely unpleasant twists inside your stomach. Your chest expands in a shaky breath, and suddenly you're surrounded by the smell of pine tar and smoke, mixed with something so distinctly his, it makes your head swim, just a little.
"Derek..." his eyes snap up to your face, when his name leaves your lips, and for the first time, since you've met him, you notice just how blue his eyes are.
They're nearly burning, glossed over with something you don't dare to decipher, as they trace a slow path down, right to your lips.
A resounding chorus of 'What the fuck?' repeats inside your brain, when he sucks on his own bottom lip, wetting it with his tongue, as if noticing something too delicious to resist.
Your hands find purchase on his upper arms, fingers digging into the muscles, stuck in a limbo between pushing him away, and just... Letting him.
"Just..." he starts, then cuts himself off, swallowing thickly "Just stop talking."
Now that'll be the fucking day, you think, but before you can formulate some biting response, Derek's hand travels upwards, the still burning cigarette held firmly between his pointer and middle finger. Eyes zeroing in on your mouth again, he presses the filter between your parted lips.
"In" he says firmly, voice low, bordering on a growl, and the undertone of command tinging that single word, makes your insides melt into a puddle.
Seemingly on their own, your lips close around the filter, as you take a deep inhale, feeling the familiar burn travel through your throat, all the way to your lungs. Nicotine filters through your blood, stealing your breath away, and making your head feel so much lighter. You shouldn't have brought such strong ones, and now you're paying for it.
"Hold it" Derek murmurs, his free hand climbing up your body.
Clawed fingers slide up the apron, teasing the white ties on your lower back. Then, without a warning, he grabs a hold of your breast, squeezing it tightly, before running his thumb over you rapidly hardening nipple. The action forces a gasp out of you, alongside a cloud of smoke, which immediately gets swallowed down by Derek, as he closes the remaining distance. His lips are hot and slightly chapped, the stubble on his chin scratching your face, as he presses even further in, his tongue diving behind your teeth with such determination, it would be a shame not to respond.
So you do.
However confused you are, by this unexpected turn of events, you welcome him into your mouth, a small grunt of content forming at the back of your throat. Because by some strange magic, or fate, or a curse placed upon you both by a witch, it feels right. It feels like this is where you belong, where he belongs. And the realization is both exciting, and deeply terrifying. But fuck, it feels beyond good.
The moment you kiss him back, he moans. Actually moans into your mouth, his hand on your breast squeezing once again, before moving lower. You can feel the scrape of his claws on the cheap fabric of your work uniform, and you almost scold him.
"Wha-" you manage to let out between the kisses, before he dives in again, this time focusing all his attention on your neck.
This shouldn't be happening. You hate him, he's supposed to hate you too. And yet, for the time being you can't seem to find it in yourself to push him away, because god above, he's good. He's devastatingly good.
"Keep smoking" he growls into the pulsing vein on your neck, as he pressed the filter back to your mouth, and despite your very nature, you comply.
Taking the cigarette into your own, trembling hand, you huff in another drag. Derek groans in approval, lips sucking hard on the spot right behind your ear. The smoke pushes past your lips with a loud moan in tow. He turns his head, just for a second, his eyes dragging across the slowly fading imprint of his hand on your wrist. The sight slows him down for just a second, and he lets his sharpened teeth scrape down the column of your neck.
Now, having freed both of his hands, he's back to your skirt, pushing the edge up, and tugging it behind your apron. He acknowledges the small, wet patch at the front of your underwear with a pleased hum, then gets back to work. First, he grabs ahold of your thigh, dangerously close to the curve of your ass, and you can't really stop your body, from angling towards him. His other hand latches itself to your other breast, giving it the same, rough treatment. Tugging, pushing, squeezing like a stress ball, your usually tense body becomes pliant in his grip
"I said, keep smoking" he throws you a warning look, and you immediately take another drag.
Satisfied with your compliance, he dives down, burying his face in between your breasts, his lips descending upon your skin with hard, wet kisses.
The combination of his ministrations, and the nicotine flowing through your system, effectively shuts your brain off. You let your head fall back against the wall, let your legs squeeze around his knee, which had precariously found it's way in-between them. A wave of white hot arousal crashes over you, stronger than you've felt in years, and you don't know what else to do, other than grab his shoulder for balance.
Derek murmurs something inaudible against the cleavage of your uniform, before popping the first two buttons free, and reaching into your now exposed bra, freeing your breast in a way, that is bordering on desperate. He doesn't liger there for long, however, your smoke filled breath catching, as he falls to his knees in front of you, without a warning.
Another heated look exchanged between the two of you, and you nearly yelp, when his tongue runs a long strip across the cotton of your panties. You don't even have the common sense to be embarrassed, by the washed out marihuanna pattern, or by the fact you've been on your legs for hours, because he doesn't let you gather your thoughts.
If anything, the broken, growling sound he makes, when he buries his face between your legs makes you feel like the most powerful person on the planet.
"God..." he groans, his hands grabbing onto the fullness of your ass, pulling you closer to his waiting mouth, all but grinding you into him.
"God..." you echo, letting your thighs fall open, as you try to take another drag of your cigarette from your shaking hand.
Encouraged by the breathless moans from above, Derek tugs your underwear to the side, too impatient to bother with taking it off properly.
Cold air of the rapidly approaching evening hits you, and with it, a sudden sense of clarity washes over you, like a bucket filled with ice water. The realization of what you're doing, what you're letting him do, hits you like a freight train.
The cigarette slips from your fingers, landing on the concrete, as Derek dives in, immediately locating your clit and sucking on it with a groan, that is downright pornographic.
Your entire body shudders, knees almost giving out. Your fingers dig into the leather material of his jacket, your knuckles turning white from the force. The noises he makes, as he begins to devour you, coupled with the obscenely wet sounds, would make Satan himself blush, and you can't contain the gasping moans spilling from your lips. Derek is relentless, shifting and squirming on his knees, hands digging into your flesh in an effort to bring your closer, to drown himself in the sweetest of tastes. Your back flies off the wall, then slams against it, thundering waves of pleasure crashing through you with each movement of his tongue, his mouth.
In your darkest, most shameful of dreams you would've never imagined Derek Hale being this good at eating out. And yet here you are, thighs clenching desperately around his head, as he brings you higher, and higher. You twist in his unrelenting grip, as the coil snaps, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream, your entire body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. His tongue fucks you through it, until you can't take it anymore, until you slam your hands onto his shoulders, ripping him away from between your legs.
Derek makes a growl of discontent, as he lands with his ass on the concrete, and you take just a second to admire his expression. The wild red, burning in his eyes, the blush covering his entire face and the tips of his ears, the obvious traces of your arousal on his chin, which he immediately licks clean. Stars slowly die down in your vision, your breathing leveling, and you notice a growing patch of wetness, staining his jeans. He looks beyond debauched, and you're certain the look is mirrored on your face, if not more so.
"How can someone so tart, taste so sweet?" he asks, his voice rough and breaking.
You don't know. You don't know a lot of things right now, but one is certain. And it's the sound of an alarm coming from your phone, signaling the end of your break. In a daze, you tug your skirt down into place, fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. Derek watches, still seated on the ground, still occasionally licking his lips.
"I gotta..." you whisper, not trusting your voice at all, and Derek's mout splits in a grin, that will haunt you every future night.
He hums in acknowledgement, and you take his lack of protest in stride. The gravel crunches under your white tennis shoe, when you turn on your heel, and stumble back into the diner.
Hi! It’s the Derek hale anon again! If you’re still taking requests can you write some ol’ fluff, like him just being an absolute softie with the reader despite his cold persona. Thank you!
Rainy Days and Cozy Blankets - Derek Hale x Reader 🥰
- Derek can be cold majority of the time. But when it comes to Rainy days and staying inside with Y/n he becomes an absolute softie for them.
The rain drummed a steady and rhythmic beat against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the loft. The rain turning the world outside into a blurred smear of grey and green. Inside, the air was warm, smelling faintly of old wood and the scented candle Y/n had lit earlier.
Derek stood in the kitchen, quietly making coffee, but his gaze kept drifting toward the sofa. Y/n was buried under a mountain of wool blankets, completely absorbed in a thick paperback. Every few minutes, she’d shift, her toes peeking out from the knit throws, or she’d let out a soft, contented sigh that made Derek’s chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with wolf business.
Abandoning his mug, he padded across the room. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t really have to—as he sat down at the end of the couch.
Y/n looked up, a smile breaking across her face. She set her book facedown on her chest. "Hey" she murmured, her voice cozy and thick with sleepiness. "Finished with your brooding for the day?"
Derek let out a soft huff, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. "I wasn't brooding. I was thinking."
"Uh-huh." She reached out a hand, tugging on the hem of his shirt. "Well, stop thinking. Come here. Curl up with me and just... listen to the rain."
Usually, Derek was the pillar of stoicism, all sharp edges and guarded sighs. But in the quiet of the loft, with the storm sealing them away from the rest of Beacon Hills, his defenses didn't stand a chance.
He moved, sliding behind her and pulling her back against his chest. Y/n hummed happily, tucking her head under his chin and pulling the blanket over both of them. Derek wrapped his arms around her waist, his large hands resting over hers.
As the wind whistled against the glass, Derek pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of her head. He breathed in the scent of her hair, his body finally losing its tension. He was supposed to be the Alpha, the protector, the "sour wolf"—but as he listened to the steady thrum of the rain and the even steadier beat of Y/n’s heart, he was just a man who didn't want to be anywhere else.
"You're very warm," Y/n whispered, squeezing his hand.
"You're very quiet," he teased softly, his voice a low rumble she could feel in her spine.
She laughed softly, snuggling closer until there was no space left between them. Derek closed his eyes, leaning his cheek against her temple, a total goner for the girl in his arms and the quiet magic of a rainy afternoon.
A few minutes later they both ended up falling asleep to the warmth of the blankets and them curled up together with the background noise of the rain hitting the windows.
Description: A quiet night in the loft turns into something softer than either of them expected, as Derek lets his walls slip just enough to hold Y/N close - and asks them to stay.
The loft always felt bigger at night.
Maybe it was the shadows stretching across the concrete floor, or the way the city noise dulled into a distant hum. Or maybe it was just that Derek never turned on more than one light, leaving everything wrapped in that quiet, amber glow.
You leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him.
Derek stood by the large windows, arms crossed, staring out at the skyline like it has personally offended him. Typical. Stoic. Broody. Unreachable - at least, that's what everyone thought.
You knew better.
"You've been standing there for ten minutes," you said, breaking the silence.
"I'm thinking."
"You're scowling at buildings."
"They started it."
You couldn't help it - you laughed, soft and warm, and it echoed just enough to make him glance over his shoulder. His expression didn't fully soften, but his eyes did. The quiet shift, barely noticeable to anyone else, felt like a secret meant only for you.
You pushed off the counter and walked toward him.
"Bad day?" you asked gently.
He hesitated. Derek Hale didn't do vulnerability easily. You could practically see the internal debate flicker across his face - say something, say nothing, deflect, retreat.
But then... he sighed.
"...Yeah."
That was all you needed.
You stepped closer, close enough that your shoulder brushed his arm. He didn't move away. Another small victory.
"Want to talk about it?" you asked.
He shook his head, gaze drifting back to the window. "Not really."
"Okay."
You didn't push. You never did. Instead, you stayed -quiet, steady, present. Your hand hovered for a second before resting lightly against his forearm. Warm. Solid. Real.
Derek stilled.
For a moment, you thought he might pull away. That instinct was still there in him, the one that told him closeness was dangerous, temporary, something that could be ripped away without warning.
But he didn't move.
Slowly, almost cautiously, he uncrossed his arms. His hand shifted - just enough for his fingers to brush against yours.
Your heart did something embarrassingly dramatic in your chest.
"You're staying tonight?" he asked, voice low.
You smiled a little. "Wasn't planning on leaving."
"Good."
It came out too quickly, too quietly. Like he hadn't meant to say it out loud.
You turned your head, studying him. "You could've just asked."
Derek huffed softly. "I did."
"Barely."
"...Still counts."
You laughed again, softer this time, and leaned into him just slightly. This time, he didn't hesitate at all. His arm came around you - tentative at first, like he was still learning the shape of this kind of closeness.
Like he was still learning you.
But then he pulled you closer.
Firm. Certain.
Your head rested against his chest, and you could hear his heartbeat - steady, grounding, a rhythm that felt safer than it had any right to.
"Better?" you murmured.
There was a pause. Then you felt his chin rest lightly against the top of your head.
"...Yeah."
The city kept moving outside - cars passing, lights flickering, life continuing in all its chaotic unpredictable ways.
But in the quiet of the lost, wrapped in Derek's arms, everything felt still.
Safe.
Loved.
After a while, you tilted your head up. "You know, for someone who pretends to hate people, you're very clingy."
Derek looked down at you, unimpressed. "You're still here, aren't you?"
"Wow," you said, grinning. "Romantic."
He rolled his eyes - but there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"...Don't go," he added, softer this time. Honest.
You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. "I'm not going anywhere."
And for once, Derek believed it.
He leaned down, pressing a quiet, lingering kiss to your forehead - gentle in a way that felt almost fragile.
You were pacing your bedroom floor while your boyfriend, Derek, sat on your desk listening to your rant.
“Who does he think he is telling me what I can and can’t do,” you exclaimed in frustration.
“You’re father,” Derek answered.
You turned and glared at him saying he was being unhelpful. Derek held his hands up in surrender.
“I don’t need your advice, D. I just want you to listen to me complain,” you said standing in front of him.
“I'm great at that cause you complain a lot,” He joked resting his hands on your waist.
“I hate you,” you laughed as you slapped his chest.
Derek pulled you flush against him and tilted your head to look up at him. “No you don’t” he whispered before forcefully kissing you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs and he lifted you up. Derek carried you to your bed and sat down so you were straddling him.
“This doesn’t seem like you listening,” you joked running your hands through his hair.
“Oh I’m listening,” he smirked as he bucked his hips into you.
“Fuck,” you whined at his movement.
Your hands moved from his hair to his stomach. He let out a growl when your fingers played with the hair on his lower stomach. You let your nails scrape along his skin at you left bite marks on his neck. “Then what do I want,” you asked moving your hands up under his shirt.
Derek quickly took his shirt off and threw it across your room. You let out a soft laugh when he started kissing and leaving love bites on your neck. While he was bitting you, you gently tugged his hair pulling him off you. His eyes met you and you noticed his eyes were glowing blue.
“Good puppy,” you teased grabbing his face and smashing your lips against his.
Derek growled again before ripping your shirt off and dropping the scraps on the ground. He stood up and tossed you on the bed. You looked up at him as he stood there shirtless between your legs. His eye went from blue to his brown eyes and he smirked down at you.
“I told you to stop calling me a pup,” he warned getting on top of you while putting all his weight on his hands by your head.
“Make me,” you said rubbing your hands down his back and then the waistband of his jeans.
You were moving your hands to unbuckle his jeans when your door busted open. “Look just because I’m past the ‘I wanna kill you for dating my sister’ phase doesn’t mean I want to hear you defile her,” your brother said standing in your doorway.
Derek slowly rolled off you and sat up to stare at Scott. You grabbed a pillow off your bed to cover your half-naked self from your brother and let out a sigh of frustration.
“Defile me, really Scott. What century are you from,” you asked sitting up.
“Besides we are way beyond that,” Derek commented earning a slap on the back of the head from you.
Scott’s eyes glowed red and his fangs came out. You quickly got out of your bed and shoved your younger brother out of your room.
“Stop being overprotective, besides I’m older and I had to listen to you ‘defile’ Alison so leave,” you said closing the door in his face.
“Mom's on her way home,” Scott warned before heading to his room.
FUCK.
You quickly grabbed his shirt off the ground and threw it at Derek. He put his shirt back on with confusion. “Why are you kicking me out. I’ve met your mother,” he asked walking over to you and wrapping his arms around you.
“Yeah, but that was before you started sleeping with her only daughter. Do you want her first time meeting you as my boyfriend while we’re naked in my bed,” you asked him removing his arms from you.
“I’d rather be naked in your bed than leave,” he said kissing your neck.
“Derek Samuel Hale,” you scorned pushing him away.
Scott banged on your wall to let you know she was pulling up so you quickly pushed Derek to the window. “I’ll call you promise,” you said giving him one last kiss before he climbed out.
It's been a week since you basically shoved your boyfriend out your window and ever since you would go over to his loft. You were lying in Derek’s bed while he was doing a light workout.
“I could get used to this sight,” you joked putting your book down.
He shook his head at your comment and got up off the floor. Derek sat on the bed and grabbed the towel he left to wipe his sweat off. “Why haven’t you told your mom about us,” he asked lying across your legs.
“What,” you asked running your hands through his damp hair.
He repeated his question and grabbed your hand to stop your movement. You looked into his eyes and saw that he was serious. He looked hurt like you never wanted to tell her about him.
“Oh baby, because every time I try someone or something comes along and we have to literally fight for our lives,” you said pulling his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles.
“No one is currently trying to kill us,” he smirked.
You squint your eyes and tilt your head thinking over everything currently going on in your life and realize he was right. For the first time in a long time, everything was peaceful. “Okay,” you said grabbing your phone off his nightstand.
You called your mom to let her know you wanted to have a family dinner to introduce her to your boyfriend. Derek watched as you laughed when she asked if she was a werewolf. “Yeah Mom but he’s house-trained promise.”
After you hung up the phone Derek pinned you to the bed and let his teeth graze your neck. “What did I say about the dog joke.”
“That they are funnier coming from me than stiles,” you smiled at him.
His hands started roaming your body but your hands stopped his movement. “Nope, you have to take a shower. My mom was freaking out over the late notice so we have to pick up the food,” you said giving him a quick kiss before pushing him off you.
Since Derek carried you over his shoulder to join him in the shower it took longer than it should have to leave his loft. “Do you want to explain to my mother and brother that we are late 'cause you just couldn’t keep your hands off me in the shower,” you asked cockily as he finally got dressed.
“Not right now, but I’m sure I’ll tell Scott when he gets on my nerves later,” he joked as you walked out of the loft.
You smacked the back of his head before going ahead of him to his car. When you got to your house, you were greeted by more than just your mother and brother. Isaac and Stiles were sitting in the living room waiting for the food.
“What are you doing here,” Derek angrily asked Stiles.
“I’m family and I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he smirked at Derek.
You grabbed the food from Derek’s hands and brought it into the kitchen. Mom and Scott were in there grabbing plates and cups chatting. When you placed the bags down you looked back at the living room then back to your mother.
“Ok first, I get why Isaac is here since he lives here but Scott you know Stiles pissed Derek off,” you said glaring at your brother.
“Derek,” your mother questioned. “You're dating Derek Hale.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. You started unpacking and replacing the food while she processed the new information.
“He’s less of an asshole now,” Stiles said walking in and taking an egg roll.
“Ok, but I’ve already met him, why all this? Not that I don’t enjoy eating with my kids,” she said rubbing Scotts back.
“He wanted you to meet him as my boyfriend,” you explained.
Scott and Stiles brought the food to the dining table while you stayed and talked to Mom. You leaned against the counter while she asked you questions about your relationship.
“So we really like him,” she asked looking at him over your shoulders
“We love him, Mom,” you corrected.
A smile grew on your mom's face as she looked over your shoulders. You turned and saw Derek staring at you with a huge smile. Scott and Stiles announced they were done setting the table and started to dig in.
“Boys,” your mom exclaimed heading to them.
Derek stood at the table and pulled a chair out for you. You watched as Stiles sat down in the chair and Derek leaned over to whisper something in his ear. Stile shot up and quickly went to the other side of the table. You walked over and sat down letting out a small laugh. “What did you tell him,” you asked.
“I just asked him politely,” he said in a lying defensive tone.
You just shook your head and started to eat. Your mother tried asking questions about your relationship but Scott kept saying that he didn’t want to know anything about it. Every time Stiles tried to talk you could just feel the aggravation radiating off Derek so you placed you hand on his thigh to calm him down.
It seemed like Derek was finally relaxed and enjoying himself when your father walked through the door. You let out a silent groan and rubbed your hands over your face. This time Derek rested his hand on your thigh to calm you down.
“Why don’t we call Peter to join too,” you whispered causing him to smile.
Your father sat in the empty seat on the other side of Derek and made himself a plate. “Sorry I’m late, there’s a lot of crazy things that happen in this city,” your father said.
Stiles let out a laugh when your father looked at Isaac and asked how long you had been dating. “Dad,” Scott said shaking his head and nodding his head towards Derek.
Your dad looked between Derek and you then slowly placed his utensils on the table,
“Weren’t you under investigation for multiple murders,” he asked going all investigator on him.
“He was also temporarily wanted for the attempted murder of all of us,” Stiles said motioning to himself, you, and Scott.
Scott slapped Stiles's arm and told him to shut up. “But we were mistaken about it being him,” Scott said trying to save the evening.
“You’re okay with this,” He asked your mother as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“Yes, I trust our daughter. And Derek is a good man,” your mother defended.
The rest of the dinner was full of awkward silences and subtle threats from your father. When it was over you walked Derek out to his car and he just held you in his arms.
“That was terrible,” you complained.
“I don’t know, one good thing came out of it,” he said kissing your temple. “I love you too.”
Derek got into his car and rolled down his window. “You wanna go back in or come back to the loft,” he asked leaning over and opening the passenger side door.
You looked back at the house and saw your dad waiting for you at the door with a look on his face saying ‘We are going to have a talk about this’, so you waved to your dad and got into the car with your boyfriend.
“At least my mom likes you,” you joked leaning your head on his shoulder.
“All that matters is that you love me,” he said with a toothy grin.
A/N: Self Indulge fic. I like winter but damn it’s cold this year! The snow and chemicals are leaving me a mess and my floors a mess and I’d rather not deal with it at all. Only thing to make it better would be Nick. Enjoy! Please let me know what you think with likes/comments/reblogs whatever.
It was another blustery and frigid cold day in NYC as you stepped out of your building only to be met with a large puddle of melted snow so deep it got into your ankle boot soaking your socks and growl in frustration.
“Son of a bitch.” You continued to grumble.
You had grown tired of the New York winters long ago after Nick had moved off to California leaving you both in a long distance relationship but you without someone to share the house with, share a romantic stroll in Central Park through the snow with, or a cuddle on the sofa with. Now it’s just dull, grey, and incredibly cold…and currently very wet and annoying.
Looking to your watch you didn’t even have time to go back upstairs to change your sock and shoes or you’d be late for work.
Olivia had called and told you to be at the prescient promptly at eight so there was no time to hesitate.
Heading off you walked on, your boot sloshing and freezing before someone drove too close to the curb in the drain and splashed a mix of chemicals and slushy snow all over you taking your breath away at the blast of cold.
“F-fu-fuck.” You stuttered and gasped before turning and flipping your middle finger at the driver.
Finally arriving at the prescient, soaked, frozen and a sloshing boot, you put your case down at your desk with a huff and yanked off your scarf and jacket before spying Olivia coming over.
“You’re two minutes late.” She teased, not that she cared about two minutes.
“I had some trouble, okay?” You replied sharply, not really meaning to but you were throughly annoyed.
“Woah…alright. I can take a hint. I just thought you’d like to know we caught your perp you’ve been chasing. He’s in two.” Olivia tilted her head towards the room.
“Thanks Liv.” You said with an apologetic tone before rushing off towards the interrogation room not even bothering to take care of your boot or anything yet.
Opening the door you quickly walked in.
“Couldn’t hide forever…” you started before you looked up and straight to Nick’s hazelnut eyes. “N-Nick…”
“You’re right, I couldn’t stay hidden forever.” He flashed his famous smirk before opening his arms and you began to tear up coming to him, flinging yourself into his chest and burying your face into his neck taking a deep shuttering breath.
“I h-hate you.” You mumbled as tears dropped to his shoulder and he chuckled.
“What? Hey…hey what did I do? Hermosa why do you hate me and why are you crying huh?” He pulled you back just enough to cup your face gently in your hands, glancing over your face with concern.
“Because here you are…sun kissed skin, glowing even more than usual and you get to go home to Southern California while I get to stay here in crumby freaking New York City with forty more years of winter.” You took a deep breath and gathered yourself.
Nick laughed before leaning in and capturing your lips in a tender kiss. “I missed you…I actually came here to spend the week with you but I have a better idea.” You furrowed your brows wondering just what your boyfriend could be up to.
“You’re soaked mi amor.” He purred as he got a look at you. “Come on, you’re going home and changing then we’re going to cuddle and get you thawed out.” He flashed his knee weakening smile.
Later after arriving back at your place you had curled up with Nick and some cocoa under a cozy blanket.
“So I wanted to ask you something baby.” Nick asked softly breaking the comfortable silence.
“Yeah? You didn’t come across the country to sit with me under a blanket did you?” You hummed cuddling into his side feeling his lips press a kiss to your head.
“Mm no, not exactly but it’s a nice benefit. I get to warm my baby up.” He hummed wrapping his arm around you bringing you closer if it were possible. “I came to ask if you’d consider moving in with me.” He asked hesitantly, worried he’d be rejected. It wasn’t often something worked out for Nick Amaro and he had hoped after three years together and a year of long distance that this relationship worked out, that you’d live with him, move across the country with him.
You turned sat up a bit, looking to him, eyes searching his for any hint that he could be joking but found none. “Y-you’re….you're serious?”
“I…I mean…well yeah I was hoping so.” He said with a little waver in his voice worried he pressed too fast. “You hate winter. I miss you so much. Like really miss you. I want you to be with me and the kids. They miss you too. There’s nothing like having you in bed beside me every night and waking up with you in the morning. The sun shining on your hair and how cute you look with your mouth open and a little bit of drool.” He chuckled when you shoved him.
“I don’t drool, Amaro!” You shot back.
“You do! I can’t help it. I wipe it off with my thumb and you mumble before snuggling to my chest. It’s the most precious thing.” He laughed but looked over you with the most loving tender smile. “Amor…hermosa, I miss you so fucking much. Please? Will you come to California with me?”
You never thought about leaving NYC for real, but the opportunity never had presented itself, well never a real opportunity. It wasn’t an opportunity for Nick to come back to live here, his family and career had him there now and he loved it but the only piece missing was you. He just needed you.
You hated winter, if you wanted to see snow it wasn’t that far to go and see it to play for a day or two and ski but you wouldn’t have to deal with it daily, endlessly.
“Yes. Yes I’d love to. There’s nothing else I’d love to do more.” You cuddled back to Nick but kissed him deeply as he held your face and kept his forehead close.
“I love you so much. I can’t wait to have you with me daily again. To start our lives together in a whole new chapter.” He smirked against your lips knowing he had an even bigger question in store for you once you had moved in and settled in California with him.
My lovely friend @itsjustmyfantasyroom asked for this:
Hey lovely, if you feel up to it, may I please have a bearded Nick x reader….somehow they end up spooning in bed and things get very handies….can be implied or all the way smut which ever you feel like….thank you
I hope this is what you were looking for! Thank you! I’ve taken it and given it a Halloween twist!
Happy Halloween everyone!
Words: c. 3000
Warnings: Mostly flirty and sweet, no explicit smut until right at the very end, where there is some very heavy making out, beginnings of smut, and some explicit language. So NSFW for that part.
“Knock, knock, knock…” Small hands hammered on the door of your house. “Trick or treat?” came excited voices from outside. You rolled your eyes, watching Nick make his way over to the door, grabbing the bowl of candy, to offer it to the kids outside. You listened to his indulgent chat with them, admiring their costumes and pretending to be frightened of them.
As he closed the door and headed back into the room, you smiled up at him and shook your head. “You realise the neighbourhood kids will expect this from me every year? And unless you’re coming back from California every Halloween, they’re going to be disappointed.”
“I still can’t believe you don’t get excited for Halloween,” he said, smirking, as he wandered towards your kitchen, where you heard him pouring more of the hot apple cider he’d insisted you drink to celebrate the season. You snuggled under the fleece blanket that covered your corner of the couch and waited for him to return.
if you’ve been following me for 4+ years i’m certain you could make a chart of every character i’ve gotten attached to and it would tell you more about me than any therapist’s notes ever could. but we don’t have the time for that. there are other things at hand. do not even worry about it. next exhibit. we’re moving along. we’re walking
The bet was born sticky-floored and loud, right around the second pitcher of cheap beer at the O-Club.
Slider slapped a fifty down on the table like he was daring the universe to argue with him. “I’m tellin’ you, hon,” he said, vowels sharp and fast, New York edges softened only by time and bad decisions. “Those two are either gonna throw punches or clothes. Week one. Easy.”
Across from him, Goose squinted, polite brow furrowed like he was considering scripture. He honked out a laugh—HNK-HNK—and shook his head. “Now see, I don’t know about that. That ain’t a punch-or-pants situation. That’s a slow burn. Graduation minimum.”
Slider snorted. “You kiddin’ me? Did you see how they were lookin’ at each other?”
Goose followed Slider’s gaze to the piano, where Maverick, jacket slung over one shoulder, Kawasaki keys spinning loose and cocky around his finger, was absolutely not flirting with the blond guy in aviators leaning against the edge of the stage.
Maverick sang like he meant it, grin crooked, voice teasing. The blond didn’t smile much, but when he did, it was like he already knew how this ended.
“Courtship,” Goose said calmly. “The kind where both parties pretend they ain’t interested.”
Slider slid his fifty across the table. “They ain’t makin’ it a week.”
Goose matched it, neat and precise. “Winner cleans the loser’s locker room. Uniforms too. Month.”
Slider’s grin went feral. “Deal.”
They shook on it. Fate, drunk and amused, took notes.
+
Maverick didn’t mean to pick a fight.
He just had that kind of face.
By the time he made it to the bar, the blond was already there, cool voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
“You lost, hotshot?”
Maverick turned slowly, grin already locked and loaded. “Funny. I was gonna ask you the same thing.”
Slider leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “There it is.”
Goose clutched his beer like it might intervene. “Lord help us.”
The banter snapped and sparked, sharp enough to draw blood if either of them slipped. Iceman (because of course his call sign was Iceman) didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t have to. Maverick talked enough for both of them, all instinct and swagger, Philly defiance worn like armor.
They stood too close. Stayed too long.
Nobody won that exchange, but nobody walked away untouched.
+
TOPGUN sharpened everything.
Briefings became battlegrounds. Dogfights became intimate. Iceman flew like control was a religion; Maverick flew like rules were a suggestion. They argued constantly, but their eyes followed each other everywhere.
Maverick leaned against Iceman’s sleek, expensive car like he owned it, jacket tucked under his arm.
“You scratch it, you buy it,” Iceman said coolly.
Maverick looked him over, slow and deliberate. “Pretty sure I can’t afford you.”
Slider nearly inhaled his coffee. Goose laughed so hard he honked and had to bend over.
At night, they ended up in the same places without meaning to. Hands brushed. Shoulders bumped. Arguments ended close enough to count freckles.
Slider watched with the growing anxiety of a man whose laundry fate was approaching fast.
By day three, he snapped.
“This is stallin’,” he declared, pacing the barracks. “He don’t stall. He calculates. This is deliberate.”
Goose, polishing his helmet with reverence, didn’t look up. “You’re just upset calculatin’ ain’t workin’ in your favor.”
“I am upset because I ain’t washin’ your clothes.”
He “accidentally” double-booked study slots. Forgot to show up.
“Oh hell,” Maverick said when he realized it was just the two of them. “It’s just you.”
Iceman smiled thinly. “Disappointed?”
“Distracted,” Maverick shot back, but he didn’t move away.
From the hall, Goose whispered, “This feels wrong.”
Slider whispered back, “This feels necessary.”
+
The tension turned feral.
They snapped at each other in briefings like foreplay was an Olympic event.
“You’re dangerous.”
“You’re rigid.”
“You’d get yourself killed.”
“You’d never live.”
Slider fanned himself. Goose clutched his chest. “I have seen rom-coms with less tension.”
+
The volleyball game was the tipping point, by night, they lit up a bonfire.
Beer, firelight, music too loud. Someone dared Maverick to race down the beach.
“I’ll go,” Maverick said instantly.
“Of course you will,” Iceman replied.
“You comin’ or just judging?”
“I don’t run blindly into things.”
Maverick stepped closer. “Liar.”
They stood there, heat and breath and something terrifyingly soft under all that bravado.
“You ever think about not running?” Iceman asked quietly.
Maverick swallowed. “Only when you’re askin’.”
Slider slammed his beer down. “THIS IS IT.”
They didn’t kiss.
But they didn’t step back like they used to, either.
+
Week one ended without punches or promises.
Slider stared at the calendar like it had personally betrayed him.
“I was robbed,” he announced, shoving uniforms into a laundry bag. “Absolutely robbed.”
Goose clapped his shoulder. “Love don’t like deadlines.”
Slider sighed, then glanced across the lot where Maverick and Iceman stood too close, laughing quietly.
“They’re gone,” he admitted. “Done for.”
Goose smiled. “Yeah.”
Graduation came sunburned and proud.
The kiss came later, quick, stolen behind the hanger doors, laughter muffled against mouths, real and undeniable. Iceman holding Maverick against him and Maverick's arms around the blonde's shoulders.
Slider washed uniforms for a month, cursing every sock.
Goose never touched a single one.
And Maverick and Iceman walked out together. leather brushing tailored sleeves. ready for whatever came next.
Goose smiled at his friends. Some bets were worth losing.
Slider shrunk Goose's underwear on purpose.
Maverick and Iceman became wingmen, in more way than one. And everyone saw it coming—except the idiots in love.
