Derek who’s fangs keep lengthening when he gets close to Stiles and he’s having full blown panic attacks that he’s losing his control and is going to attack Stiles.
“Does your dick get hard too?” Peter asks when he finally confesses that something about Stiles is making him feral.
“Wha- how dare you even ask that?” Derek sputters, beet red.
“Yeah, I don’t think he’s making you lose control in the way you think.” Peter shrugs.
Which is to say: the coffee tastes burnt, the fridge is making a noise that sounds ominously sentient, and Peter is sitting at the kitchen island wearing Derek’s hoodie like he owns it.
Cora is there too, perched on the counter, swinging her legs and scrolling through her phone.
Stiles is also there.
Which is, Derek realizes belatedly, probably the problem.
Stiles is pacing.
Not the usual Stiles pacing, either. This is aggressive pacing. Arms flailing, words spilling out faster than Derek can track, socked feet slapping against the loft floor like he’s trying to wear a groove into it.
“I’m just saying,” Stiles says, gesturing wildly at absolutely nothing, “if you’re going to ignore your phone for twelve hours, maybe you could consider the fact that I might assume you’re dead? Or kidnapped? Or dead and kidnapped?”
“I was at the shop,” Derek says, evenly. Calmly. Patiently. Like a man who has had this argument before. “My phone died.”
Stiles spins on him. “Phones don’t just die, Derek. They give warnings. They blink. They vibrate. They cry out for help.”
Peter hums into his mug. “That last one might be projection.”
Cora snorts.
Derek shoots Peter a look. “Why are you still here?”
Peter smiles sweetly. “Your hospitality is unmatched.”
“Get your own coffee.”
“I did.” Peter taps the mug. “From your cabinet.”
Stiles throws his hands up. “See? This is what I’m talking about. Zero boundaries. No communication. Absolute emotional negligence.”
Derek frowns. “Why are you this upset?"
Stiles opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Opens it again.
“Well maybe,” Stiles says, voice rising just a little, “because when you disappear without telling me, my brain immediately decides you’ve run off on some reckless alpha martyr mission and I don’t find out until I’m identifying a body and-”
“I left you a note,” Derek says.
“You left me a Post-it that said ‘Back later.’”
“That is a note.”
“That is a threat.”
Cora leans toward Peter. “Is this-”
Peter nods. “Yes.”
Derek rubs his temples. “Stiles. I was gone half a day.”
“Half a day is six hours too long when you have a habit of almost dying,” Stiles snaps. “Sorry that I care about you.”
There it is.
The silence lands like a dropped plate.
Stiles freezes.
Derek freezes.
Peter slowly lowers his mug.
Cora blinks.
Stiles swallows, eyes wide, and then - because this is Stiles Stilinski and there is no off switch - he barrels straight through it.
“I mean obviously I care,” Stiles says quickly. Too quickly. “Because you’re, you know…you. And you’re important. And if something happened to you it would be bad. For me. Emotionally. Like, devastatingly bad. World-ending bad. Can’t-breathe bad. Which is normal. For friends. Best friends. Or…whatever we are.”
Derek’s brain has left the building.
Peter’s eyebrows are somewhere near his hairline.
Cora looks between them. “Wait,” she says slowly. “You’re not together?”
Stiles laughs. A little hysterically. “What? No. Why would we-”
Peter cuts in, delighted. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Derek croaks, “What?”
Cora hops off the counter. “We thought you were dating.”
Stiles stares at her. “I’m sorry, what?”
Peter gestures vaguely between Derek and Stiles. “The domesticity. The way you argue like an old married couple. The fact that Stiles sleeps here more than at his father’s house.”
“I sleep on the couch!” Stiles protests.
“With his hoodie as a pillow,” Peter says. “And his scent soaked into it.”
Derek’s ears are burning.
Cora shrugs. “Also you pack his lunch.”
“I pack everyone’s lunch!”
“You cut the crusts off his sandwiches.”
Stiles’ mouth opens. Closes. “He doesn’t like crusts.”
Derek mutters, “They’re unnecessary.”
Peter beams. “See? Courtship.”
Stiles turns slowly toward Derek. “Did you think that we were dating too?”
Derek finally finds his voice. “I…no. well…I didn’t-”
“You didn’t think to mention that?” Stiles demands.
Derek looks miserable. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?!"
“That I-” Derek stops. Breathes. Tries again. “That I like you.”
The world stops.
Stiles’ face goes completely blank.
“Oh,” he says.
Peter hums. “There it is.”
Cora grins. “Told you.”
Stiles’ laugh this time is soft. Disbelieving. “You - wait - you like me?”
Derek nods once. Then, because apparently today is the day of honesty, adds, “A lot.”
Stiles sways slightly. “Cool. Cool cool cool. Because I-” He gestures vaguely at himself. “I may have just accidentally confessed my undying devotion in front of your entire family.”
Peter raises his mug. “We’re touched.”
Cora claps. “This is better than TV.”
Stiles looks at Derek, eyes bright and a little watery. “I like you too. A lot. Like…ridiculously. I just didn’t think-”
Derek steps closer. Careful. Like Stiles might spook.
“I was going to ask you out,” Derek says. “Eventually.”
“Eventually,” Stiles echoes. “We live together.”
“I wanted to do it right.”
Stiles smiles. Soft and fond and completely undone. “You are doing it right.”
Peter clears his throat loudly. “So. Are we interrupting or-”
“Yes,” Derek and Stiles say in unison.
Cora laughs and heads for the door, grabbing Peter by the arm. “Come on. Let them figure it out.”
Peter allows himself to be dragged, calling over his shoulder, “Use protection! And labels!”
The door closes.
Silence.
Then Stiles exhales a laugh. “Well. That was a thing.”
Derek nods. “We should talk."
“Definitely.”
A beat.
Stiles steps forward and presses a quick, awkward kiss to Derek’s mouth.
Pulls back.
Grins.
“Hi,” he says.
Derek smiles back, slow and warm and absolutely certain. “Hi.”
And somewhere downstairs, Peter Hale smiles smugly, because honestly, it was about time.
Stiles Stilinksi (human) solving the problem of not having supernatural abilities by constantly using his jeep as a weapon will never not be iconic. Season one had him intentionally rear-ending Peter Hale (evil alpha werewolf) and then blaming Peter for the whiplash. The only reason bad guys last as long as they do in Beacon Hills is because Stiles keeps having to take his car into the shop and has homework to do. Incredible.
SUMMARY: Derek, a tough, serious guy, impervious to any kind of emotions, turns out to have a weakness and it's not wolfsbane.
NOTE: My love for Teen Wolf has risen from the ashes. I love that show so much, I need them to make another movie or a spin-off with the same characters. I don't know what you think, but the only good thing about the movie was Eli. Also, reader name's Sage, I'm sorry it was more comfortable for me while writing if reader had a name xoxo
DAY OF ARRIVING LATE EVERYWHERE
mer day in Beacon Hills. You kicked off the sheets with a sigh and swung your legs over the side of the bed.
Throwing on your favorite denim miniskirt and a snug black tank top, you brushed your pitch-black hair quickly, letting it fall naturally over your shoulders. A quick check in the mirror — bright green eyes still sleepy but sharp — and you tugged on your chunky black boots. Comfortable and just rebellious enough for a Thursday.
The smell of coffee and toast hit you the second you stepped into the kitchen. Scott was already seated, fully dressed, motorcycle helmet resting securely on his arm like it was a part of his body. Melissa buzzed around the kitchen in her scrubs, clearly mid-rush.
“You know,” you said, grabbing a banana off the counter and tossing it in the air, “you don’t need to have your helmet on your arm while you eat breakfast.”
Scott didn’t look up, just took another bite of toast. “It’s cool.”
“Mmhm,” you replied, leaning back against the fridge. “If it’s so cool, maybe you could use your cool points to take me to school again.”
He raised a brow, chewing. “I take you every day. Why do you act like it’s some kind of favor?”
“Because one day, you’re gonna be too cool and leave me stranded.”
“Never gonna happen,” he said through a mouthful of eggs.
Melissa passed behind him and leaned down to kiss the top of his head, then gently placed her hand on your shoulder. “Be nice to him,” she said playfully. “He’s your chauffeur and your brother this week.”
“I’m always nice to him,” you called out as she grabbed her keys.
Melissa gave you both a tired smile, already halfway out the door. “Try not to let the school burn down today. Or yourselves.”
“No promises,” you and Scott said in unison.
The motorcycle ride was smooth, the wind whipping through your hair, tugging at your clothes as you held onto Scott’s sides. The morning sun burned low on the horizon, golden and slow, and the streets of Beacon Hills rolled past in a blur of green trees and brick buildings.
When Scott parked in front of the school, it was still early. Students wandered across the lot in small groups, laughing, talking, and clinging to iced coffees. You slipped off the bike, smoothing your skirt and shaking out your hair, already sticking to your neck from the heat.
“Ugh, how is it this hot before third period?” you muttered.
“You wore boots in June,” Scott pointed out.
“Fashion before function,” you replied, brushing past him.
The two of you pushed through the front doors into the cool hallways of Beacon Hills High, the air conditioning a relief against your skin. That’s when Scott slowed beside you.
You noticed his shoulders tense.
“What?” you asked.
He sniffed once, subtly, then again. “Do you smell that?”
“Um. Hormones? Teen spirit? Whatever’s in the cafeteria?”
“No. It’s—” His eyes narrowed. “Wolves.”
You blinked. “Like, new wolves?”
Scott nodded once. “Strong scent. Close. And—” He paused. “Identical.”
You frowned. “Identical? Like… twins?”
He didn’t answer. Just scanned the hall ahead.
And then you saw them.
Two tall figures walked side by side down the opposite hallway — both broad-shouldered, clean-cut, confident. Like they were born to take up space. One of them glanced your way as they passed, his eyes flicking over you with the casual ease of someone used to being looked at. You turned your head fast, cheeks warm.
“Okay,” you muttered, “you were right.”
Scott didn’t reply, but the way his jaw clenched said enough.
-
By third period, the whole school was buzzing. You, Scott, and Stiles sat at your usual table outside the science lab, sharing theories and leftover chips.
“I’m telling you,” Stiles said, eyes wide, “they’re not just new guys. They’re like... evil Abercrombie clones.”
“Clones?” you laughed.
“Have you seen them? No human has cheekbones that sharp naturally. It’s unholy.”
Scott still looked uneasy. “They’re wolves. I’m sure of it. The way they move… and that scent.”
Stiles leaned in. “Okay, but like… alphas? Betas? Omegas?”
You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just hope they’re normal for once.”
The bell rang, and you split up for class. It wasn’t until later — just before the last period — that things got interesting again.
-
You stood at your locker, swapping out books for calculus, when you felt someone behind you.
Not just someone walking past. Someone watching you. Standing too still.
You turned slowly.
“Sorry,” the boy said, voice smooth, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m new. I think I got lost — I have calculus next, and this place is a maze.”
He smiled.
It was one of the twins.
“I’m Aiden.”
You blinked, caught off guard, but forced yourself to smile politely. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sage.”
He reached out — not for a handshake, but to take your hand gently and kiss the back of it. His lips were soft. Bold move.
You tried not to react, tried not to laugh, or blush, or punch him. You settled on raising an eyebrow.
“Beautiful name,” he said, his eyes tracing your face. “Almost as pretty as your eyes.”
Okay. Blush.
“Are you from here?”
“Born and raised,” you said, pulling your hand back gently. “Never left.”
“That’s rare. I’ve moved around so much, I barely know where I belong anymore.”
“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” you said with a little shrug.
He tilted his head. “Not now that I’m here. I didn’t know small towns came with girls like you.”
You laughed — half flattered, half unsure how to respond. “Okay. Are you flirting with me, or trying to get to calculus?”
“Can’t it be both?”
You were about to fire back when movement behind him caught your eye. Two familiar idiots — Scott and Stiles — waving at you wildly from across the hall.
“Oh, crap,” you mumbled. “I gotta go. Your class is straight down this hallway, turn right, first door on the left. Bye!”
You hurried past Aiden, heart still thudding a little faster than you liked.
-
The loft was quiet when you arrived — but it wasn’t calm.
Isaac sat on the couch, shoulders shaking, wrapped in a blanket. His face was pale, eyes wide. Peter lounged nearby, picking at invisible lint on his shirt. Derek stood with his back to you, tense, arms folded, staring out the window.
You smacked his arm. “You couldn’t start the Jeep.”
You stepped past the boys and moved toward Derek, lowering your voice. “It wasn’t my fault.”
He looked at you then, over his shoulder. His eyes softened and then, for just a second, he smiled at you. “No, you just delayed us twenty minutes flirting with the new guy,” Scott said behind you.
You froze. Derek’s gaze shifted. Sharpened. Smile completely gone as if it was never there.
“Flirting?” he said, voice flat.
You turned fully to face him. “He asked where his class was.”
Scott lifted a hand in mock defense. “‘I didn’t know small towns had such pretty girls.’”
“Oh my god, please shut up,” you groaned, covering your face with both hands.
Peter smirked. “You’re at a disadvantage,” he muttered to Derek, watching the tension like it was a soap opera.
Derek didn’t take the bait. He just looked at you. Not angry. Just... unreadable.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled. “I didn’t know we were supposed to come right away.”
He blinked once, and the moment passed. “Let’s get back to the point.”
NOSY
The loft was warm with late sun pouring through the huge windows, casting golden shadows across the floor. You pushed open the door with your hip, holding a bottle of peach iced tea in one hand and your phone in the other. Derek had told you to stop by earlier in the day, said something vague about “going over some things.” You knew what that meant.
Training. Again.
You liked the loft. It was always a little too quiet, a little too dark, but it smelled like old books, pine, and leather. Derek’s jacket was still draped over the back of the couch. Music played softly from an old stereo in the corner—something moody and instrumental. You walked in like you owned the place, because honestly, by now, you sort of did.
Peter was stretched across the couch like an annoying cat, one leg propped up on the armrest, flipping through some magazine you were almost certain didn’t belong to him.
“Oh, look who’s here,” Peter said without glancing up. “The sugar-powered prodigy herself.”
“Hi, Peter,” you said flatly, walking right past him.
“You’re late,” came Derek’s voice from the spiral staircase.
You looked up. He stood a few steps from the top, dressed in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, hair tousled, gaze intense. Why was he always brooding like he was posing for a Calvin Klein ad?
“I wasn’t aware we had a schedule,” you said, pulling off your jacket and dropping it onto a nearby chair.
“You said ‘around five.’ It’s five-thirty.”
“You’ll survive,” you replied, flashing him a grin.
The next hour was spent doing what you liked least: arguing.
“I’m telling you, I don’t need to learn how to fight,” you huffed, arms crossed as you stood in the open space near the kitchen. “My powers are more than enough.”
Derek paced slowly around you like he was circling prey. “While I’d love to be there every second to protect you,” he said, tone pointed, “there might come a time when I’m not.”
You rolled your eyes. “I could literally fling you through the wall with a single thought, Hale.”
“That’s cute,” Peter chimed in, still from the couch.
Derek ignored him. “You’re just learning how to use your powers. You don’t really know what you’re capable of. And that makes you vulnerable.”
You stepped forward, chin tilted high. “You’re acting like I’m helpless. Like I’m someone who needs to be babysat.”
He didn’t back away. In fact, he stepped closer. “No. I’m acting like someone who doesn’t want to watch you get hurt because you were overconfident.”
You opened your mouth to fire back, but—
Bzzz bzzz.
Your phone lit up in your hand. Unknown number.
“One sec,” you muttered, walking a few paces away as Derek’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like being interrupted, and he definitely didn’t like you being interrupted.
You swiped to answer, turning your back to him.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sage?”
Aiden. You straightened instinctively. “Oh. Hi, yeah.”
“I was wondering… would you want to maybe get coffee? Like, now?”
Your pulse skipped. “Now?” you repeated.
“If that’s okay.”
You hesitated. Glanced back toward Derek, who was very clearly not pretending not to listen.
“Sure,” you said, your voice a little too light. “You mean the place downtown?”
“Yeah. Ten minutes?”
“Perfect. See you there.”
You hung up slowly, face warming.
Behind you, the tension in the room had shifted dramatically. You didn’t even need supernatural senses to feel it.
“Sorry, Der,” you said, already moving toward your jacket. “I have to go.”
“Where exactly are you going?” he asked, arms folded tightly across his chest. “I thought you were staying.”
You hesitated by the door, forcing your expression into something innocent. “A friend called. Emergency. Girl stuff. But I can come back tomorrow. I promise I’ll stay the whole day.”
Derek stepped closer. Much closer. He wasn’t angry—not in the usual explosive way. But something about the way he moved made your throat dry up. He stopped just inches from you, so close you could feel the heat off his chest.
“Girls’ emergency,” he said, voice low.
“Yes,” you whispered, suddenly very aware of how small the space between you was. “Incredibly urgent.”
His eyes didn’t leave yours. He stared at you like he could see straight through the lie. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, and your fingers curled slightly around the hem of your jacket.
And then—without a word—he stepped away. He didn’t look at you again. Just turned and walked toward the stairs, every muscle in his back tight.
You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he was already halfway up to his room.
Peter, who had watched the entire exchange like it was a soap opera, let out a delighted sigh.
“Little liar,” he said, raising his glass of water like it was champagne. “I like you even more now.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks on fire, and slammed the loft door a little harder than necessary behind you.
YOU LIAR! YOU NOSY!
The café was dimly lit and mostly empty, save for a couple of college kids in the corner and the bored barista scrolling on her phone behind the counter. Warm fairy lights framed the front windows, their golden glow washing over the small table where you sat across from Aiden.
You stirred your iced coffee absently, watching him as he talked. He was charming in a way that felt rehearsed but effective—effortless smirks, confident eye contact, just enough mystery behind his words to make it feel intentional.
“You know,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “you don’t look like you belong in a place like Beacon Hills.”
You quirked a brow. “And what does someone like me look like?”
“Like you belong somewhere bigger. Flashier. Maybe where the coffee doesn’t taste like regret.”
You laughed softly, sipping from your straw. “It’s not that bad.”
He leaned in even closer now. “Still. You’re definitely too pretty"
You blinked at the word. “So… you’re not pretending anymore?”
He just smirked. “I think we’re past pretending.”
Your heart fluttered in a weird, confused way. You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline of being flirted with by an attractive (and admittedly bold)… or the strange pit of guilt forming in your stomach.
Just as Aiden’s hand brushed against yours on the table, his head tilted slightly, eyes flicking toward your lips—about to kiss you—
The front door swung open so hard it slammed against the wall.
“Really?” came a sharp voice.
Your head snapped up.
Derek.
In full storm mode.
He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the café in seconds, stepped right between you and Aiden without so much as a glance at the table, and shoved Aiden backward with one hand against his chest.
You gasped. “Derek?!”
Aiden stumbled slightly but caught his footing, laughing as he lifted his hands. “Whoa. Easy.”
“Stay away from her,” Derek snapped, voice low and dangerous, and—
His eyes flashed red.
Aiden only smirked wider. “I wasn’t going to bite her…” he said smoothly, then added with a wink at you, “Not unless she asked to.”
You blinked. “Oh my god.”
Derek stepped forward, fists clenched, growl building in his throat.
“You can’t always protect her, Hale,” Aiden added, smug, knowing exactly what buttons he was pressing.
Derek lunged.
But before he could touch him again, you moved—instinctively, grabbing Derek’s arm from behind, pulling him back, your hands tight around his bicep.
“Derek, stop! What the hell is going on?!”
He was shaking with fury under your hands. His jaw locked, chest heaving. You’d seen him angry before—but this? This was different.
Aiden gave you a cocky little salute. “See you around, Sage.”
And with that, he sauntered out of the café, like he hadn’t just almost gotten mauled in front of the espresso machine.
You turned to Derek, still holding his arm. “What the hell was that?”
His jaw clicked. “He’s part of the alpha pack.”
You froze. “What?”
“He and his brother—they’re both part of it. They’re not just new kids. They’re dangerous. Manipulative. They’re hunting us.”
The information hit you hard—but it wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. Your hand dropped from his arm slowly.
“Oh,” you said after a beat, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Well… damn. He was cute.”
Derek tensed like you’d slapped him. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
“You lied to me.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You told me it was a girl emergency.”
Your heart sank. “Okay—yes, I lied. I’m sorry. But you wouldn’t have let me go, and I needed to get out. It wasn’t that big of a deal—”
“Of course I wouldn’t have let you go,” he snapped. “You don’t know them. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“I’m not some helpless child, Derek.”
“No,” he said, voice quieter now, angrier in a different way. “But you’re also not invincible. And this is exactly why you need to train. You’re not ready.”
You crossed your arms, stepping away from him, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Why does it bother you so much that I missed one day of training? One day, Derek. I train every day with you. Every day. And I already said I was sorry.”
He didn’t answer, not right away.
So you pressed, squinting at him. “Wait… how did you even know where I was?”
He stiffened.
“Derek.”
Still nothing.
Your eyes widened. “You heard my call?!”
He looked vaguely toward the counter, anywhere but your face.
“You were eavesdropping! You’re a nosy wolf!”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh, it is the point!”
“You lied to me.”
You groaned, running a hand down your face. “You know what? I did. I lied. And you know what else? You followed me. Stalked me. So maybe we’re even.”
Derek’s silence was thunderous. His hands flexed at his sides, and you realized he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.
You exhaled loudly, finally letting the tension fall out of your shoulders. You didn’t want to keep fighting him. You were still confused, still trying to sort out why he was so mad.
You stepped toward the door, assuming he was taking you back to Scott’s.
But he wasn’t following.
You turned around. “Aren’t we leaving?”
“We are.”
“…To Scott’s?”
“No.”
You frowned. “Then where?”
He finally looked at you again, voice dark. “The loft.”
You blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m not leaving you alone. Not when he’s behind you like that. Not for a second.”
You stared at him, caught off guard by the fierce protectiveness in his voice. The heat behind it. It wasn’t just duty. It was personal.
You swallowed hard, nodded once, and followed him out.
And the whole way to the loft, you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d gotten. How tightly he’d clenched his fists. How red his eyes had glowed the second Aiden had looked at you like that.
And somewhere inside your chest, something fluttered and ached at the same time.
PLAY PRETEND
You were at your locker, halfway through switching your calculus book for your lit folder, when it hit you—the prickling weight of someone watching you.
That sensation along the back of your neck.
You glanced over your shoulder.
The hallway was full of movement—students rushing to beat the bell—but no one was looking directly at you.
Still, you felt it.
Then the bell rang.
The crowd thinned.
And before you could even close your locker—
“Hey, stranger,” came a voice.
Aiden.
You tensed immediately. Your hand froze mid-motion on your locker door. Slowly, you turned your head. He was standing right beside you, that infuriatingly charming smile plastered across his face like nothing had ever happened.
“What do you want?” you asked flatly, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped in your chest. Not because you were happy to see him. But because, despite everything, he was still painfully attractive—and dangerously persuasive.
“Oh, come on,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re not really gonna let one little fight ruin the beautiful friendship we were building, are you?”
He leaned against the locker beside yours, his voice dropping. “We had something good, didn’t we? Maybe even more…”
Your back hit the metal behind you as he invaded your space. His presence was bold—too bold—and yet he moved like it was natural, like he already belonged there.
“Stop flirting with me,” you said, voice low and defensive. It sounded more like a plea than a demand.
But he didn’t flinch. “Don’t listen to Derek,” Aiden said, stepping even closer, his tone softening as if it would make his words easier to swallow. “Whatever he told you, whatever story he spun, it’s not the full truth. I’m not the enemy here.”
You narrowed your eyes, heart thudding a little faster. “Derek didn’t tell me anything. But your red glowing eyes and smug attitude kind of gave it away.”
He smiled. “So you know now.”
“I know enough.”
“Then you should know I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, lowering his voice and glancing down at your lips. “I’m here because I want to see you again. Go out with me. Just once. No lies. No Derek. Just you and me.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Why was he making it hard to say no?
You weren’t thinking about accepting—not even for a second. You knew what he was. You knew it was wrong. But still… no one had ever looked at you like this before. Like they wanted you. Like they were dying to be near you.
Your voice slipped out before you could stop it.
“Of course the first hot guy to ever ask me out turns out to be a murderous lunatic.”
His smirk faltered for just a second.
“Sorry,” you added quickly, grabbing your books. “I have to go.”
You turned and bolted down the hallway toward class, heart still pounding. You didn’t even look back.
Not even when you felt him still watching.
Your lit teacher was halfway through analyzing a paragraph from Wuthering Heights when the door slammed open.
BANG.
Every head turned.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Derek.
Standing in the doorway. Handsome. Wild. Intense.
His leather jacket shifted with the rise and fall of his chest. His jaw was locked, brows furrowed, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.
“Let’s go,” he said, his voice low, commanding.
Whispers exploded around you. Someone gasped.
“Is that Derek Hale?”
“Oh my god, why is he here?”
“Are they dating?”
“Holy shit, he’s hot.”
You sank lower into your chair, mortified. “Derek, what are you doing?!”
He didn’t answer. He was already striding toward you, ignoring your teacher’s confused protests.
“Mr. Hale—sir—this is a classroom—”
Derek didn’t even blink. He reached your desk, grabbed your hand, and pulled you out of your seat in one smooth, forceful motion.
“Derek, seriously—!” you yelped, stumbling after him.
The entire class fell silent.
He dragged you into the hallway, closing the door behind you.
“Have you completely lost your mind?!” you hissed, yanking your arm free. “You can’t just kidnap me in the middle of English!”
“Did you talk to Aiden again?” he demanded, ignoring everything.
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“I felt it,” he said, stepping closer. “Your heartbeat. It spiked.”
“It wasn’t even a full minute. And he came up to me. I didn’t say yes to anything.”
Derek’s jaw clenched. “But you didn’t say no.”
You stared. “Wait… were you spying on me again?!”
“I’m not spying on you, I’m watching out for you.”
You stepped back, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable—”
He cut you off with a kiss.
No warning. No hesitation.
Just fire.
His lips crashed into yours, his hands finding your waist as your back slammed lightly into the lockers. You gasped against his mouth, the noise swallowed by his kiss as your fingers shot up to his neck, tangling in his hair, holding him to you like your body had been waiting for this.
The kiss was everything—hot, possessive, desperate. Like he’d been holding back for weeks and finally snapped. His body pressed against yours, heat blooming between you. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your legs shaking as his fingers gripped your hips like he wasn’t planning to let go.
When he finally pulled back, you were breathless.
“What the hell was that?” you whispered, lips swollen, heart pounding like thunder in your ears.
Derek’s eyes were hooded, dark. “Don’t even think about going on that date.”
You stared at him, lips parted, dazed. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
His mouth curved into a dark smile. “Nope.”
“You’re not going to stop stalking me?”
“Definitely not.”
You laughed—nervous, breathless. “You’re insane.”
“You won’t even have the strength to get out of bed,” he growled in your ear.
Your face flushed a deep red.
You didn’t argue.
The second the door closed behind you, you were in his arms again.
Every step forward was another feverish kiss. He backed you up against the nearest wall, mouth on yours, hands lifting you effortlessly off the floor. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.
You whimpered into his mouth. “You’ve been dying to do this, haven’t you?”
He growled low, biting softly at your lower lip. “You have no idea.”
Your jacket fell to the floor. His shirt joined it.
And just when he reached the bottom of the stairs—
“Oh, come on,” came Peter’s voice from the couch.
You froze.
Derek didn’t.
“Remember I live here too,” Peter muttered, rolling his eyes.
Derek didn’t even glance at him. “Get out.”
“I was here first.”
“Peter.”
You were trying to look anywhere but at Peter.
“Fine. I’ll go find something better to do than listen to you two claw each other to death.”
He vanished out the door.
Derek didn’t waste a second. His hands slid back under your thighs, lifting you again, carrying you straight up the stairs to his room like it was the only place in the world that mattered.
