summer tang
WC: 12,686 Rated: Mature Tags: | Omega Verse | Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known | Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire | Alternate Universe - Neighbors | the boy next door | Teen Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski | Minor Derek Hale/Paige | Omega Stiles Stilinski | Growing Up Together | Years Later | Lack of Communication | Mutual Pining | Mildly Dubious Consent | Teen Angst | First Kiss | Endgame Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski | summer break | Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics | usa public health classes have failed everyone even in the omega verse | Underage Smoking | True Mates | Childhood Rivalry | Scenting | Enemies to Friends to Lovers |
Derek’s vision pulses white. He sucks in a breath, body seizing up, glass pan of brownies crashing to the floor as a scent unlike anything he’s ever encountered unrolls from behind the door to crash over him like an avalanche. His brain crackles with shock. Blood flooding his veins as his vision blurs, swivels, and pulls him mindlessly in the direction of that scent. His feet deliver him forward without him making the conscious decision to move. A far-away and fading-fast part of his brain registers Cora asking him what’s wrong, registers her trying to stop him as he walks into the house past an equally confused Claudia, but nothing short of physically tying him down and restraining him could make him stop now. His heart is racing, his lungs are heaving, the only important thing in his mind being that he keeps moving forward. Closer. He collides with the thing radiating that delicious scent, warm and pliant, and pushes until it’s pinned between him and the wall, fangs dropping, eyes flashing. He feels color blind. Not in the way where he can't see any color, but instead like he's seeing every color at once, even the ones that haven't been discovered, even the ones that don't exist, and they’re all overloading his senses into technicolor static. His self-control is hanging on by a thread. And it’s so shocking, to be so close to actually losing it, that it’s able to restart the reasonable part of his brain; the part that had had werewolf control training all of his life. It takes a Herculean amount of effort, but he’s able to reel himself back just enough to provide a tunnel-vision view of clarity, revealing that the thing he has pressed up between him and the wall is Stiles. Eyes bright and bewitching and wide, mouth parted, dark lashes fluttering with shock. Their bodies are pressed so close he can feel Stiles’ rapidly expanding chest against his own. “You”–Derek blinks rapidly, feeling drunk for the first time in his life. Stiles is an omega. The realization crashes through him, and it's like being struck by lightning. “You smell”– Inebriating.
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