The soulmark appeared on Derek’s skin the day he turned eighteen.
It had been excruciating at first. He’d been in the apartment with Laura grumbling about the store-bought cake she’d picked up, even though he said he didn’t want to celebrate, when he’d felt like his skin was on fire. And Derek wasn’t used to pain. Not like that, at least.
It had taken him back to so many years ago, kneeling in a layer of ash while he watched his childhood home go up in flames. And for the first time, Derek had wondered if this was what it felt like to be burned alive.
But he hadn’t died that day, no matter how much he felt like he deserved it. And when Laura had shaken him awake moments later, a cool cloth pressed against his bare skin, Derek had realized there was a mark left in wake of the pain. One on his back, inked into his skin.
He was lucky, Laura had said after seeing it. Not everyone got a soulmate.
Derek hadn’t felt very lucky.
Kate never had a tattoo. Derek remembered that well enough, from this one night when his skin had been bared to the woman and she’d laughed when he asked. They weren’t meant to be soulmates, Derek knew. But part of him had still hoped.
He and Paige had been too young. And after her death, Derek thought that if it was meant to be, he’d never really know for sure.
So he got his soulmark when he’d turned eighteen. And in the years after that, Derek never came across anyone else with the marking of the Triskelion on their skin. He didn’t really know if he could consider himself lucky for that or not.
But then Stiles Stilinski came along.
Fucking Stiles Stilinski.
-
Stiles used to have this dream.
From the moment he met Lydia Martin, decided she would one day be his wife, and spent every moment after that thinking about her, he’d had this dream. That one day, they’d get matching soul marks. Tattoos, inscriptions, symbols, whatever. He’d seen it all.
His dad still had the inked-mark that he and Stiles’s mother had shared. It was dull grey now, fading with every day, but it was still there. And Stiles knew that one day, he’d have one too. He didn’t know how exactly he knew, but he did.
Or maybe he just hoped. Hoped so hard that at some point, he’d convinced himself it would happen. He had this dream with Lydia Martin. That one day, they’d be soulmates.
It never happened.
Stiles turned fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and realized that maybe Lydia Martin wasn’t for him. It might’ve all started when Stiles stumbled across a certain angry-eyebrowed werewolf, but he’d never admit that out loud. Because some part of him still clung to his childhood dream; one of red hair and sharp green eyes. Something that was safe, sound, and long before werewolves.
Except after a while, Stiles’s dream changed. It turned into one of grey-green eyes that were sometimes red, sometimes blue, and sometimes gold.
Stiles fell head over heels for eyes that never stayed one color. And his dream changed from red hair to that of raven black, a triskelion marked into the skin of Derek’s back. A tattoo that Stiles caught sight of one day, his heart nearly stopping when he saw it.
Because not everyone got a soulmate. But the soulmark meant that Derek had one.
Stiles was seventeen-and-a-half when he realized that once again, the person he loved could never truly love him back. And he thought he could learn to live with that. Eventually.
Derek didn’t make it easy.
The first time Stiles came home after lacrosse practice to find Derek waiting in his bedroom, he’d nearly committed murder. But it wasn’t his fault that werewolves did creepy things like chill in the dark, okay? And it didn’t help that Stiles would have liked to have Derek in his bedroom on literally any other occasion that didn’t involve possible death.
Which at first, he really thought was going to happen. That the man was actually going to rip his throat out or something.
But instead, Derek had proceeded to give him a list of ‘research needs’ before leaving. Needs which Stiles very nearly threw away, except he liked having a throat, thank you very much.
So he didn’t. And in the days, weeks, and months that came after that, Derek kept showing up. Kept showing up, hanging around for a few moments, and then leaving.
Like an asshole.
Stiles thought it would be so much easier if he could hate Derek as much as the man obviously hated him. Anytime they were stuck in the same situation together, Derek seemed to make sure Stiles understood his distaste. From when they’d first met to any time after that.
And okay, maybe Derek didn’t hate- hate him. Not as much as he used to, anyway. But Stiles was still pretty sure the man might one day rip out his throat. Just because.
It was like the Lydia Martin situation all over again. Stiles was there, Derek was there, and Stiles was so hopelessly pathetic.
Derek didn’t make anything easy.
“You know one day,” Stiles said, when the werewolf swung through his window for the third time that week. “I’m going to be off at college and you’re going to have to look for someone else to be your precious little researcher.”
Derek paused at that, looking confused. Stiles raised an eyebrow and Derek grunted after a moment, moving forward.
“You’ll come back.”
“Oh, really?” Stiles said. “And why would you think that?”
Once more, Derek looked disturbed. “Because it’s you.”
“Dude,” Stiles said. “I’ve got one more year left until I graduate. One more year of supernatural threats appearing literally every other day. Do you really think I plan on sticking around for even more after that?”
Derek just stared.
But Stiles had thought this through, he really had. He already knew his dad wanted him as far away as he could get, though Stiles had been dubious at first. Except then he’d nearly died by a witch curse the day after, and that had made up his mind pretty quickly.
And it wasn’t like his hopeless pining for Derek had anything to do with it all either. Totally not.
In the silence, Derek’s brows had drawn together. Stiles stared at him, a little surprised the man actually expected him to stick around. Because it wasn’t like it would matter if Stiles left. Sure, the pack would lose one mighty grand researcher. The betas would have to go somewhere else when Derek got tired of their teenage angst and kicked them out. And sure, there’d no longer be any easy human bait to lure in the Monster of the Week.
But that’s really all that Stiles was good for.
“Alright then,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “What did you bring for me to research tonight?”
Derek gave him a long, silent look, face unreadable. Stiles raised an eyebrow.
“Uh, earth to Sourwolf?”
“Nothing,” Derek said, turning away. Stiles blinked as the man pulled himself right back out the window, sitting still for a moment before shoving himself up and stumbling after him. But by the time he looked out into the darkness, the roof was empty. So was the lawn.
Stiles blinked again. Then frowned. “Okay then, asshole!”
He didn’t get an answer.
Stiles really didn’t understand Derek Hale sometimes.
-
So many things had gone wrong in Derek’s life, he really should have expected this to go wrong too.
This being Stiles Stilinski, of course.
In the month after his impromptu visit to Stiles’s bedroom, Derek had been drastically cutting back on seeing the boy. Only when it was really necessary did he show up at Stiles’s window, reverting back to the old days when he’d drop off a list of ‘research needs’ before leaving again.
So many things in Derek’s life had gone wrong. He really just didn’t understand why this would fall into the list.
Because it was Stiles Stilinski. Stiles-hyperactive-skinny-annoying-Stilinski. Derek didn’t exactly hate him, not anymore, at least. Maybe not at all. Not since that one night, at least, when Derek left the Stilinski house feeling a little bit confused and a little bit empty for reasons he couldn’t quite place.
It took him a month to figure out exactly what part of their last conversation had shaken him so.
Stiles was leaving.
One day, Stiles was going to leave Beacon Hills.
Derek didn’t think that mattered until it sunk in one night as he watched the pack gather around the TV for the Friday night movie. His gaze lingered on Stiles and when Derek finally put two-and-two together, realizing this wasn’t going to last forever, that confused and empty feeling came back.
And Derek realized that at some point, he’d fallen in love with Stiles Stilinski.
Fucking Stiles Stilinski.
Some part of him thought all of that sounded about right. Derek had fallen in love a few times in his life and it never worked out. Well, if ‘not working out’ consisted of having his teenage girlfriend killed and family murdered.
So, of course, it’d be Stiles. Stiles, who Derek couldn’t stand. Stiles, who Derek had never been able to shake.
Stiles, who Derek stared at right now and realized with a pang that he was in love with the idiot.
“Uh, hey, Sourwolf?”
Snapping back to reality, Derek realized Stiles was staring at him. His chest suddenly constricted and he felt like he’d had a mini heart attack, earning a strange glance from Boyd. Clenching his jaw, Derek turned away and glared at the opposite wall, trying to figure out when things had gone wrong and why the hell he was feeling like he was about to claw his way out of his skin.
Lucky, Laura had said once. He was lucky because he had a soulmate somewhere out there.
One that wasn’t Stiles Stilinski.
Before Derek’s heartbeat could betray him any more, Derek turned around and grabbed his keys, starting toward the loft door. Stiles sat straight up as Derek passed him, the boy’s scent flaring with confusion.
“Dude, Derek?”
“I’m going out,” Derek growled, not even turning around. He could feel the others staring at him in confusion.
The door slammed at his back.
And despite it all, Derek barely managed to wait long enough to get outside before he was yanking his shirt over his head and taking off at a run.
-
Stiles turned eighteen a month before he graduated.
That’s when he woke up to it.
The ink curling around his neck, that is. Stiles went through most of his morning completely unaware, hopping into the shower without glancing into the mirror and stumbling around his room looking for clean clothes afterward. He didn’t even bother to mess with his hair, figuring he was already running late enough as it was.
It wasn’t until Stiles stumbled downstairs and noticed how his dad stared at him like he’d grown two heads, that Stiles realized something was wrong.
“Um, son?”
Stiles blinked at him, but his dad’s attention was fixed solely on his neck. Reaching up unconsciously, Stiles rubbed a hand over smooth skin. “Yeah?”
“Is that a...?”
Stiles stared. Then broke away, stumbling into the bathroom and yanking down the collar of his sweatshirt.
And there it was. Patterns of black ink that curled into three different spirals; a soulmark that Stiles had seen before. But more importantly, a soulmark that Stiles had seen before while being so sure it would never be his own.
For a moment, Stiles just gaped.
Then he had a panic attack.
To be fair, there was a difference between pining over Beacon Hill’s grumpy-growly Alpha werewolf and actually thinking that he stood a chance. Stiles could drool over Derek all he wanted. He’d figured long ago that it would never add up to anything.
And Derek was probably going to kill him for this. Gut him. Rip out his throat before anyone could figure out that Derek Hale was the soulmate of Stiles Stilinski.
He was so dead.
By the time Stiles had finally calmed down, his dad was pounding on the door and saying something that Stiles couldn’t catch. All he could do was stare into the mirror, wondering faintly if he was still asleep and all of this was just a dream.
Derek was going to kill him.
Unless Stiles avoided the man as much as Derek had been avoiding him, that is.
The thought struck him like a blow. Stiles blinked at his own reflection and then cursed, yanking his collar up around the mark. Finally unlocking the door, he stumbled out of the bathroom and did his best to brush off his dad’s questions, head spinning. Because until he could figure this all out, Stiles didn’t even want to think about the mark currently on his skin.
It felt like it was burning, but maybe that was just in his head. And oh god, Derek was so going to kill him. Unless— unless— maybe Stiles could skip town. Or the country. Or something.
He didn’t last nearly as long as he’d hoped.
Stiles ditched going to school and avoided the pack’s calls, his mind going in circle after circle. He faintly recalled Scott having said something about him going to the loft that night, but Stiles was too terrified to leave his room.
Instead, he waited until his dad left for work, the man still looking unsatisfied as his eyes stayed glued to Stiles’s neck all the way out the door. Then the moment he was gone, Stiles tore off his shirt and raced back into the bathroom, running his fingers over the triskelion on his neck.
The last spiral stopped just above his collarbone. If Stiles pulled his collar up high enough, it almost hid away the entire tattoo, but standing shirtless in front of the mirror, Stiles could just stare, tracing the soulmark over and over again.
He’d been crushing on Derek Hale for years. Years.
He didn’t think Derek felt the same.
Especially as of late, after the Sourwolf had suddenly stopped showing up at his window. The last straw had been when Derek had stormed out of the Friday movie night three months ago and then proceeded to skip each one after that.
Stiles didn’t know if it was him or just Derek Hale being Derek Hale. But he might as well have been non-existent every time he tried to call or text Derek to find out.
Groaning, Stiles grabbed his shirt and trudged upstairs. This was it. He was going to have to live out of his bedroom until college. He was going to have to wear turtlenecks until graduation. Stiles was never going to be able to go back to the loft ever again.
That was his beginning thought process, at least. But then his window was shoved open.
Stiles yelped and grabbed the nearest blanket, wrapping it around himself tightly. For a moment, he half-expected to see Scott, because he’d been ignoring the boy’s texts all day. But then Derek pulled himself through the window instead.
And Stiles nearly had another panic attack.
As if he could tell, Derek froze. The man still had one leg outside of the window and he pulled himself all the way in carefully, raising his hands in surrender. Stiles just stood there, blanket wrapped around himself, staring in silent alarm.
Derek’s eyes narrowed as they searched his face. And then they went to his neck.
Instantly, Stiles was bunching the blanket up even higher. Derek raised an eyebrow and stepped forward, still staring at that now hidden spot of Stiles’s soulmark.
“Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“What is wro— nothing’s wrong!” Stiles said quickly, retreating a step back. “Absolutely nothing is wrong, big guy. I’m just, um, sick. Very sick.”
Derek stopped, his expression going flat. “You do remember I can hear you lie, right?”
Stiles internally cursed himself. “Of course, I do. But I’m fine.”
“Hm,” Derek said, not looking convinced. “What are you hiding, Stiles?”
And now wasn’t that the million-dollar question? If it weren’t for freaking werewolf hearing, Stiles would have continued lying his ass off. But as it was, meeting grey-green eyes that seemed to look right through him, Stiles just stayed silent. Derek rolled his eyes.
“Scott said he texted you.”
“Yes, Sourwolf, he did. Multiple times.”
“So you know the pack is waiting at the loft, then.”
“For…?”
Derek’s left eye twitched and the man’s ears turned a little red. Stiles blinked, confused for a moment, before nearly choking on his own breath.
“Oh my god,” he said. “I told Scott I was spending my birthday at home!”
“It was the pack’s idea,” Derek defended, folding his arms over his chest. “Not just Scott’s.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Does that include you?”
“Of course not.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said. He didn’t need werewolf hearing to notice how Derek’s face tightened and the man avoided his gaze. “You're lying.”
“I am not.”
“You’re totally lying!” Stiles said again. He stepped forward, but felt a small tug on the blanket. Glancing backward, he spotted where it had gotten caught on the edge of his bed and cursed, trying to maneuver it free.
That’s when Derek yanked on the other side of the blanket.
“Hey, wait— asshole!”
Stiles spun around, clapping both hands over the spot on his neck as if that would do anything. But Derek had already gone stock-still, eyes wide and face pale. The man’s gaze was fixed solely on the spot where the triskelion was.
Stiles’s heart plummeted. For a moment, they both just stood there.
Then Derek stepped forward. Stiles stepped back.
“Okay, okay, I know what you’re going to say…” He said, then paused. “Actually, I don’t. But I have a fair idea and as long as it doesn’t involve ripping this token human’s throat out, I’m pretty sure I can take whatever rejection you’re about to dole out. Just make it quick, big guy, would you?”
Derek stopped too, looking at Stiles like he was crazy. The man’s eyes were still a little wide, but they weren’t red and Stiles didn’t spot any claws, which he supposed was a good thing.
Stiles waited, slowly lowering his hands. Derek stared at the mark for a long moment before looking back at him.
“That’s new?”
Stiles tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Sort of.”
“Today?”
“I mean, I really thought I’d be able to keep it hidden longer—”
“Why?”
Stiles blinked. “Uh, I don’t…”
“You don’t want it,” Derek said, cutting him off. The man looked a little pained. “You didn’t want it.”
And that was the exact opposite of what Stiles expected Derek to say. To be honest, he’d been waiting for something along the lines of ‘why you? Why Stiles Stilinski?’ or whatever else rejection entailed. But Derek actually looked hurt and Stiles had no idea why.
“Um,” Stiles said, once more floundering unsuccessfully for words.
Derek was starting to look like he was about to go for the window, and if Stiles knew he’d probably never see the man again if that happened. So moving forward, Stiles caught Derek by the arm. The werewolf jerked like he’d been burned.
Quickly, Stiles let go. But he didn’t step away, not yet. “Dude, it’s not like that. I’m just so confused.”
“You were going to hide it,” Derek said.
“Because I didn’t want to get my throat ripped out!”
The man’s eyes flashed. “What?”
The conversation was taking so many turns, Stiles didn’t know how to react. So instead of saying anything else for a moment, he just raised his hands. And Derek actually seemed to relax a little.
The silence didn’t last long though, before Derek was clearing his throat. “Did it hurt?”
“Hurt?”
“The tattoo.”
“No,” Stiles said quietly, searching his face. “It was there when I woke up.”
Derek looked uncomfortable for a long moment. Then he dropped his gaze to the bedroom floor, shuffling from foot to foot. “So it’s a bad thing, then?”
Was it a bad thing?
Stiles was so surprised, he actually could have laughed.
Because he used to have this dream, right? This dream of soulmarks and Lydia Martin. Or maybe it was less of a dream and more of an attraction back then. But then he had this fantasy. This fantasy of glowing eyes that never stayed the same color.
That too, he’d abandoned before it could break him down.
Was it a bad thing?
“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “Nothing about this could be bad, Sourwolf, ever. Unless you plan on ripping my throat out, that is.”
Derek stared at him. Then the man actually rolled his eyes. “What is it with you and getting your throat ripped out?”
“Alright, big guy, you were the one that made that threat in the first place.”
“Three years ago.”
“It was a very impactful moment!”
Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles blushed, running a hand through his hair. “Not like that, asshole.”
“Hm.”
For a moment, Stiles entertained the idea he was dreaming again. But then Derek stepped forward and there were calloused fingers tracing over the tattoo on his neck. Stiles froze, a shiver running down his spine, and Derek paused for a second.
“Is this okay?”
Stiles closed his eyes, turning his face into the touch. He could’ve sworn he heard Derek growl at the back of his throat to that.
“Stiles—”
“Yeah, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, opening his eyes to look back at the werewolf. The words stuck in his throat, just a little. “This is okay.”
This time, when Derek’s eyes sparked red, it was anything but threatening. He was closer now, Stiles realized. Close enough that Stiles thought if he wanted to, he could kiss the man.
He wanted to. Oh hell, he wanted to.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Stiles swallowed nervously, Derek’s fingers unmoving where they touched his neck. Where they touched the soulmark that Stiles had never expected to show up. Not on him. Not identical to the one of Derek’s skin.
He used to have this dream—
Stiles didn’t even have a chance to finish that thought before Derek moved forward and kissed him first.
Teen Wolf season 6B? What’s that? I’ve got something better for you: headcanons, AUs, fics, art, and imagines galore!
You’re always welcome to share your brilliant headcanons and AUs with me but you can also share your headcanons and ideas with @sterekiseternal.
They’ve set up both a Tumblr page and a Twitter account to help all of us sterek lovers get through the ten weeks of 6B.
The theme for this week is ‘Past/First Meeting’, so if you have any headcanons, AUs, short fics, edits, or ideas, please don’t hesitate to submit them (to me and I’ll tag them or to them) or to tag sterekiseternal.
I look forward to reading some of the wonderful ideas you all have!
So much new sterek content today! Our fandom is truly the best! Not including just the regular new sterek stuff that comes out daily, here are some new ones that are post-6a or include 6a stuff:
Fanart of Derek waiting for Stiles at his new dorm in DC
Gifset of Stiles admitting he loves Derek and is going to meet him in New York
Stiles and Derek’s last scenes in a gifset
Prettiestcaptain’s awesome new emissary!Stiles sterek gifset that uses the newest Stiles bat scene
More Sterek! >v<
Planning to add in the askbox very soon, as well as some guidelines for things I have planned for the future, such as days where Brianna & I sit down and answer asks, whether in cosplay, or just plain ol’ us!
So, keep an eye out for that!
“First of all,” Stiles said, pointing his fork at the red-haired banshee across from him. “The chances of Derek ever falling in love with me are like, once in a blue moon. Second of all, it’s just a quick college party to convince my college friends that I’m not single and lonely!”
“But you are single and lonely,” Lydia said, slicing delicately into her chicken as she ignored the fork in her face. “And there’s no way Derek is going to say yes.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh, I’m fairly sure,” Lydia said, finally glancing up. “And I’m sorry I can’t go, Stiles. I have a meeting with a professor who decided my paper wasn’t worth an A, and he’s going to regret that decision immensely.”
“On a Friday night?” Stiles frowned. “What, are you using dinner as a cover for an interrogation or something?”
“That’s precisely what it is.”
Stiles blinked, then rolled his eyes. “You can be terrifying sometimes.”
“That is the point.”
“Come on, Lyds,” Stiles said, jabbing his fork into his food, metal screeching against the plate. That earned a few glances from the other people in the relatively-cheap restaurant Stiles had picked out for his and Lydia’s reunion, but he didn’t really care. He was desperate here. “If Derek says no, then I have to go alone. And then my roommate will try to set me up with his douchey best friend and that guy gives me the creeps.”
“Then just say no.”
“And risk pissing my roommate off? Do you realize how dangerous that is?”
Lydia sighed, setting down her utensils and reaching across the table, catching Stiles’s hand and giving a small squeeze. He hated how reassuring that was. “Why don’t you actually ask Derek before you freak out? It’s been a while since he’s visited anyway.”
“I’m not even that far away,” Stiles grumbled. He’d like to say he wasn’t hurt that Derek never came by Stanford to check-in, but that would be a total lie.
Even the betas visited more often, though it was usually just to complain about their lives or steal his clothes. But still, they came. Scott came. Stiles’s dad and Lydia came.
But Derek had only been by like, twice in the last semester. Sometimes, Stiles wondered if he was the man’s least favorite pack member.
Okay, he didn’t have to wonder.
Sighing, he poked at his food again, appetite long since gone. He’d ask Scott to go with him if the boy wasn’t basically his brother and a terrible actor. And Stiles had already decided he’d never ask the betas, because he didn’t need that kind of blackmail.
But Stiles had gone throughout his entire first year of college staying far away from everyone else. At first, it had been a supernatural thing. He had trust issues, okay? But then it was just the hassle of getting out there and yeah, Stiles ended up having one or two hookups along the way, but that’s all they were. Hookups.
And now the friends he had made were starting to get pushy. So, Lydia had been Stiles’s first choice, and Derek was his saving grace.
Dammit if that wasn’t a sentence he’d never thought he’d have to say out loud.
-
On a scale from one to ten about scared for his well being, asking Derek Hale to fake date him for a night was right up there at an eleven.
Stiles had long since come to terms with the fact that his hopeless pining was just that. Hopeless pining. He could totally look at Derek without getting butterflies now, but that’s just because he had accepted his fate.
This was crossing a line that Stiles had told himself he would never cross. And damn, if he wasn’t silently panicking.
Derek, on the other hand, just looked bored. “What did you want, Stiles?”
For a long moment, Stiles stayed silent. He’d practiced this in the mirror at least a dozen times, trying to imagine the different ways that Derek could-- would-- say no. And it really wouldn’t be that bad, would it? It wasn’t like Stiles was baring his soul to the werewolf or anything. He was just asking for a small favor.
A small, totally platonic favor.
“Stiles.”
“O- oh,” Stiles said, snapping back to reality. “Right. I need something from you.”
Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles winced. He was already going off script and this was so not going to end well.
“Not like that,” he said, then winced again. “Actually, it’s exactly like that. See, I might have told a few friends that I was seeing someone to get them off my back about dating. But now I’m expected to have a date for some upcoming party.”
Derek’s face remained completely blank. Stiles hated him a little bit for that.
“Lydia can’t come, though.”
“Okay.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, burying his face in his hands. Why Derek? Why did his saving grace have to be Derek? “Yeah, okay. And I need you to come instead, dude.”
The words were said into his hands and for a long moment, the only sound was the rest of the cafe around them. Stiles kept his face hidden until he felt like it was safe, peering through his fingers at the werewolf to see that Derek’s expression hadn’t really changed much.
A long moment passed before Derek grunted. “No.”
“N-no?”
“No,” Derek said, taking a long, finishing drink of his coffee and setting it back on the table. The man started to stand and Stiles panicked, jumping to his feet so fast, the table nearly toppled over.
“Dude, hold up, you can’t just say no and leave!”
“Don’t call me dude,” Derek said, still looking unbothered. He slipped a ten out of his wallet and set it on the table, covering both of their drinks before turning away, heading toward the door.
Stiles was almost too shocked to chase after the man.
“Derek, Derek, wait!”
He caught the man on the sidewalk and Derek sighed, turning around with a tight expression. Like Stiles was being the annoying stubborn one here. “I’m not pretending to be your date, Stiles.”
“It’s just for one night!”
“Why don’t you get an actual one?”
“Because I—” Stiles blinked, then glared. “Because I don’t want one, asshole. I just want to avoid a terrible situation with my roommate’s best friend.”
Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles did his best not to flush red at that, ducking his head.
“Look, it’s one night. It’s not like you ever to come by Stanford to hang out or anything anyway. No one will even know it’s a lie. Just think of it like a miniature reunion that might involve straight-up lying to my friends one or two times!”
“And these people are really your friends?”
“I mean,” Stiles said, glancing back up. “They’re normal, you know? They’re not pack, of course, but it’s kind of nice sometimes. To be around normal people.”
Derek’s jaw tightened at that and for a moment, Stiles was worried he’d offended the man. But after a long-suffering second of silence, Derek stuffed his hands into his pockets and rolled his eyes. “Fine, one night. But I’m never doing anything like this again.”
Stiles grinned, pumping a fist into the air. “Yes, dude! Thank you!”
Derek just looked completely done with everything. Holding himself back from doing something stupid like hugging the man, Stiles patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.
“I’ll be in touch then, Sourwolf. The party is this weekend, so I’m expecting both the leather jacket and Camaro. I get to arrive in style!”
“You’ll take what you get, Stiles.”
“Right, right,” Stiles said, waving a hand through the air. “See you Friday, dude!”
He didn’t get a response, but he hadn’t really expected one. Turning away before Derek could change his mind, Stiles hurried back down the street. And he could’ve sworn he felt the man’s gaze burning into his back.
Stiles’s heart was still slamming against his chest when he turned the corner. Because he couldn’t believe that had actually gone well. Derek Hale was his fake date in less than three days.
Stiles hated himself a little bit for how excited he was.
-
His roommate left for the party first, still talking up his friend who was ‘excited to see how things went tonight’ to which Stiles put on his best smile and just nodded.
There were a few things about Derek literally being the scariest person Stiles had ever met that might work to his favor. Well, maybe not the scariest person, but Derek could most certainly look terrifying when he wanted to. And Stiles was going to use that to his advantage tonight.
He’d texted Derek a few times over the week, but the man had never texted him back except for one reply that was a simple ‘OK’ to all the messages that Stiles had sent earlier.
And that totally wasn’t infuriating.
Look, Stiles knew this wasn’t an actual date. And he wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking this could ever go somewhere; his life wasn’t a movie. Yeah, Stiles had been crushing on Derek since he was a sixteen-year-old hyperactive teenager, but he also knew Derek would never feel the same.
Because Derek Hale was… well, Derek Hale. And Stiles was Stiles.
A lot of things had changed over the years and a lot of things hadn’t. And the things between them would never be anything different.
Stiles still hesitated a moment too long in his dorm room when Derek texted ‘here’. He totally didn’t almost have a panic attack, but things would have been so much easier if it was Lydia coming with him tonight instead of Derek.
Dammit.
Derek was leaning against the passenger side of the Camaro when Stiles got outside, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. And Stiles hated himself for the way his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the man— because could he never wear jeans that actually fit? And Derek Hale in a v-neck should be a literal crime.
The man did not have any rights to be such a sexy… sex god. Fuck.
Stiles tried to calm himself down as he approached the Camaro. He was aware enough of the other people in the parking lot eyeing where Derek stood, cursing at the pang of jealousy he felt at that. Because he was totally over Derek Hale, remember?
Butterflies weren’t a thing when he looked at the werewolf anymore.
“Okay, dude,” Stiles said, pausing in front of the car. “So you came through. Leather jacket, Camaro, and everything. Should I be pleased or worried?”
“You should be thankful,” Derek said, opening the door. Stiles raised an eyebrow and the man rolled his eyes, leaving it open as he moved back around the car to the driver’s side. “I’m the fake date, right? Might as well have some manners.”
“Okay, who are you and what have you done to Derek Hale?”
“Shut up,” Derek said, eyes turning a little red. Stiles swallowed hard and ducked down into the passenger’s seat.
Fucking Derek Hale.
Stiles had made a plan, though. He wasn’t staying at this party any longer than necessary and he was totally using Derek to scare off anyone that dared try to make a move. Because Stiles was doing this for a reason, okay? He missed his privacy. He also— almost— missed the days when he suspected everyone of being some kind of supernatural threat, sicing the betas on anyone he found suspicious.
He always came up empty-handed.
Maybe you just miss Beacon Hills, Scott had told him at one point. And Stiles had proceeded to laugh his ass off for the rest of the day.
Because missing Beacon Hills? Him? There was a threat nearly every other week back home, and Stiles totally didn’t miss running for his life through the preserve more often than not. No, he didn’t miss any of that at all.
Because there was his dad, yeah. But the Sheriff still came to visit when he could— and so did the pack. So honestly, Stiles absolutely had nothing to miss.
Nothing at all.
“Stiles?”
Stiles blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. He didn’t even realize they’d arrived until the faint sound of music reached his ears and then he silently cursed himself for zoning, meeting Derek's curious gaze.
“Right,” Stiles said, forcing a grin. “We’ll be in and out, I promise.”
“You don’t want to spend time with your friends?”
“Uh, do you?”
He could’ve sworn the man turned a little red at that. But it was probably just his imagination. Derek mumbled something intelligible and climbed out of the car, and Stiles hesitated for only a moment longer before following.
He’d been to enough college parties so far that he wasn’t terribly overwhelmed right away. Granted, this was the first one before the next semester, so there were a lot more people than he was used to, but Stiles didn’t have anything against crowds. Or, anything too much. It wasn’t like he stuck next to Derek’s side as his social anxiety slowly kicked in or whatever.
Except then, as if the man could read his mind, one arm wrapped around Stiles’s waist. Startling, Stiles shot Derek a confused look and the man only smirked a little before turning his gaze back to the rest of the party.
Stiles hated his treacherous heart skipping yet another beat.
“Okay,” Derek said. “Introduce me.”
Once more, Stiles gave him an open-mouthed look. Derek raised an expectant eyebrow, nodding to the rest of the room, and Stiles took a moment to regain his bearings. Then, shaking his head, he started toward the nearest familiar face.
The girl’s eyes snapped when they were less than a few feet away. Or, well, her eyes snapped to Derek, widening for a moment before fixing on Stiles. “Stiles, hey!”
Stiles grinned, fully aware of Derek’s arm still around his waist. He was tempted to glance over and gauge the man’s expression but forced his eyes to stay forward, trying to remain as relaxed as possible.
“Meg, this is Derek. Derek, this is Meg.”
This time, he did glance over. And the smile on Derek’s face was terrifyingly normal. “It’s nice to meet you, Meg.”
Meg’s smile was wide as she stayed focused on Derek’s face for a moment too long. But Stiles supposed he really couldn’t blame her as he continued to stare too, wondering when the hell Derek Hale had such a disarming smile?
Searching his brain, Stiles tried to remember the last time he’d seen Derek smile. And it left him feeling a little empty when he realized he couldn’t.
“Stiles?”
Blinking a few times, Stiles came snapping back to reality. The smile on Derek’s face had faded a little and he looked more intrigued than anything else now.
Stiles was pretty sure he blushed as he forced himself to look away. “Sorry,” he said, looking back at Meg. “Derek is a… friend of mine.”
The girl raised an eyebrow. “Just a friend?”
“Uh—”
“New boyfriend,” Derek said, before Stiles could mess everything up. Though he might still have, jolting a little bit and giving Derek a bewildered stare.
The man returned his look with an easy smirk. Shaking his head, Stiles tore his gaze away. “Yeah,” he said, words sticking a little. “Boyfriend.”
He didn’t even know how to begin approaching any of this. But Meg just nodded, still smiling, and Stiles stayed stuck in his head for a moment longer before they were moving along again, toward yet another voice calling his name.
Derek smiled the entire time. Through every friend, every stranger. The man made polite small talk and only removed his arm from around Stiles’s waist to shake a hand or readjust, always pulling Stiles right back in seconds later.
There were a few times Stiles looked down into his drink and wondered faintly if it was spiked— and all of this was just some kind of massive hallucination.
He didn’t know how to deal with what was happening.
See, when he’d imagined tonight, staying up for hours panicking, he’d imagined it being awkward as hell. Sometimes, he worried Derek might rip his throat out if he said the wrong thing. In front of everyone would be how Stiles Stilinski went.
But it was all so normal. All so painfully normal that Stiles didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Yo, Stiles!”
He startled so hard, Derek glanced over in concern. But Stiles didn’t have a chance to say anything before his roommate was moving across the room, cup in hand with another guy at his side— one with an athletic build and the type of expression that reminded Stiles a little too much of Jackson.
He shuddered at that thought. “Hey, Vincent.”
“This is Brad,” Vincent said, nudging his friend in the ribs. Brad grinned and raised his cup, eyes raking up and down where Stiles stood. His skin crawled a little bit at that and, arm still circled around his waist, he was surprised to feel Derek’s grip tighten.
“Uh, yeah, right. Nice to meet you, Brad.”
“And this is?” Brad said, jerking his head toward Derek. When Stiles glanced over, Derek’s eyes were hard and his lips were pressed tightly together. And there was that type of murderous expression that Stiles had dragged the werewolf here for in the first place.
“This is Derek,” Stiles said, when it was clear Derek wasn’t going to say anything. Which was another first for the night.
Vincent looked a bit uncomfortable, offering a small nod. Brad almost looked nervous too, but he kept his chin up, that cocky smile slowly making its way back onto his face as the seconds ticked past.
“So, Stiles,” he said, turning his shoulder toward Derek. That’s when Stiles heard the first sound of a growl. “What are you doing after this?”
“Uh,” Stiles hesitated for a second. “I think we might just head back to the dorm.”
“We?”
“Derek and I.”
Brad’s smile tightened a fraction. He glanced back at Derek for only a second before scoffing. “Seriously?”
Stiles blinked. But before he could say a word, Vincent stepped in.
“There’s another party going on just down the street that we were going to check out,” he said, glancing sideways at his friend. Brad shrugged. “Then we’re gonna hit the bar on 18th street. You should come.”
Derek’s grip was tight enough that it was starting to hurt now. Stiles shifted, nudging the man in the side with his elbow. He could still swear he could hear the slightest growl coming from Derek’s throat— which wouldn’t prove to be good for anyone.
“I don’t know,” Stiles said. Because that wasn’t the plan. He hadn’t planned on going anywhere after the party except back to his dorm. “I think we might call it a night soon.”
“Lame,” Brad muttered, low enough that Stiles barely caught it. But Derek definitely growled this time and Brad looked at him in surprise. Then the boy’s eyes narrowed. “Dude, what the hell is wrong with your eyes?”
Stiles’s heart stopped and he whipped sideways, meeting Derek’s gaze. And yep, that was a hint of red in Derek’s usually grey-green eyes. Vincent started to follow his friend’s gaze too but before he could, Stiles stepped between them, taking both of Derek’s hands.
“Dude,” he hissed, alarm rising in his throat. “What are you doing?”
Derek just clenched his jaw, lowering his eyes to the floor. Glancing over his shoulder, Stiles chuckled nervously and situated himself so he was still standing as Derek’s only barrier.
“We’re just gonna go now. Bad, uh, dinner earlier.”
“What?”
“See you later, Vinc.”
Before either Stiles’s roommate or his douche of a best friend could say anything, Stiles steered Derek away. The party had worn down some and he was able to make it to the front door without incident, ducking past a few people crowded around it and pulling Derek out into the night.
The moment they were across the lawn and close enough to the Camaro, Stiles spun right back around.
“Derek, what the hell was that about?”
Derek pulled his hands away, folding his arms over his chest and shooting a venomous glance toward the frat house. “I did what you asked of me, didn’t I? Brad won’t be asking you out anywhere if he knows what’s good for him.”
“Dude,” Stiles said, staring. “You nearly went Alpha on his ass.”
“Would that have been a bad thing?”
“Would that have been a— yes, Sourwolf, that would have been a very bad thing!”
Derek just grunted, not looking convinced. And the entire one-eighty was so sudden, Stiles’s head was spinning. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.
“Okay, well that party is over.”
“You didn’t seem to be having much fun anyway,” Derek said. Stiles blinked at him.
“What?”
“You were anxious and bored the entire time,” Derek said. “A combination which I didn’t know was possible until tonight.”
“I was— I was not.”
Derek gave him a flat look. Stiles frowned.
“Whatever. I just wanted to get it over with.”
“Which is why you brought me along,” Derek said. For a moment, the entire ‘Alpha’ bravado actually seemed to drop and he looked a little bothered. “To scare off your supposed friends and make sure they never invited you anywhere ever again, right?”
“Woah, woah, wait. My supposed friends?”
Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles’s frown turned to a glare as anger crashed over him.
“That’s nowhere near true.”
“You said it yourself,” Derek said hotly. “They’re not pack. They’re normal. But that’s not what you want, is it, Stiles?”
“Why the hell isn’t that something I would want?”
“Because you’re not normal!”
Stiles drew back, a pang shooting through him at the sight of Derek’s red eyes and furious expression. For a moment, he just looked at Derek, Derek looked back, and then the man growled, turning his face away until his eyes were back to normal again.
“I did what you asked, Stiles. Should I drive you back to your dorm now?”
Stiles stood there for another second, throat tight. Then, without a word, he turned toward the Camaro. Because he really didn’t trust himself with words at the moment.
Derek took a little while longer to follow. There was no opening of the passenger side door when he stalked over, unlocking the car and climbing into the driver’s seat before slamming it closed.
There was no talking either, when the man slid the keys into the ignition. Stiles clicked his seatbelt in and glared out the window, listening to the faint sound of music where the frat house seemed to glow neon blue from the lights inside.
And damn, if he hadn’t imagined this night going a lot of different ways.
But somehow, it had still gone off the rails.
-
When they pulled up in front of his dorm, the parking lot was empty and the one street light barely cast enough light for Stiles to see ten feet in front of him.
He climbed silently out of the Camaro, surprised to see Derek do the same. The man looked at him over the top of the car and Stiles swallowed hard, holding his gaze for a moment before turning away.
“Stiles.”
He froze, cursing himself silently. Stiles could hear the man’s footsteps on the asphalt as Derek moved around the car, finally lifting his eyes to meet grey-green again.
“Look, Derek, I know tonight went worse than expected, but—”
“Did you like what happened back there?”
Stiles blinked, clamping his mouth shut again. Derek’s face turned a little red and he dropped his gaze.
“I mean, do you like how normal things here usually are?”
Oh.
Stiles stayed quiet, thinking Derek’s words over for a moment. In truth, something about it had been unsettling. Not the party, not the crowd. Derek, maybe. Stiles thought he’d love to see the man smile more and engage in conversation that easily somewhere else. Anywhere else.
But only if it were real. It had to be real.
“Is all of this what you want?” Derek asked, voice barely a whisper. Stiles sighed.
“No,” he said. Derek glanced up, looking startled, and he shrugged. “Or… not like that.”
The man raised an eyebrow. Stiles swallowed hard.
“It’s nice sometimes, you know? I know who these people are, Derek. They’re not supernatural. They’re not going to rip my throat out one day or get killed by a bunch of psycho hunters who think they’d be better as trophies than people.”
Derek winced. Stiles scoffed.
“No,” he said. “They’re not pack. But I’ve spent enough of my life lying about everything that all of this doesn’t seem like much of an issue anymore.”
“So am I a part of the lie now too, then?”
Stiles met the man’s gaze carefully. He wasn’t sure if it was the dim light of the street lamp or the fact that he’d drunk a little too much at the party, but Derek looked downright vulnerable. And this time, it actually seemed real. “I don’t want you to be.”
There was a flicker of red in the werewolf’s eyes. Stiles shook his head.
“I mean, we can totally pretend this whole fake dating thing never happened and go back to our previous arrangement or whatever, but—”
He didn’t get the chance to finish that sentence.
Because suddenly, Derek was kissing him.
Stiles’s brain logged offline for a moment. There was the strangest noise and then he realized it had come from him, Derek’s hand cupping the back of his neck as the man kissed him hard and deep, something about the cool night air and the fact that Stiles was not dreaming making the entire world pause around him for a long moment.
Up close, Derek smelled like leather and pine. There was no alcohol on his breath, though Stiles was pretty sure the taste of college beer had to be on his. Which was a strange thought, he figured, closing his eyes as Derek carded a hand through his hair and then finally, finally, he surged forward to kiss the man back.
Maybe a little more hard and hungry. Maybe a little more wanting and hoping that this was real. That this wasn’t part of another lie.
This couldn’t be part of another lie.
Derek growled at the back of his throat, the sound sending shivers down Stiles’s spine. And it was all wolf and one-hundred percent possessive. Nothing normal, nothing ordinary about it.
And dammit, if Stiles had been dreaming about this since he was an idiot teenager ogling werewolf abs when he thought no one was looking.
What had he told Lydia? The chance of Derek ever falling for him was once in a blue moon. Stiles was pretty sure the moon was not blue-- so did this count as falling? He blinked when Derek broke the kiss, drawing away, and there were sparks of red in the man’s eyes that faded ever so slowly.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Derek watched him almost nervously, chest rising and falling a little faster than usual.
Stiles blinked again. Once, twice. He was pretty sure this wasn’t a dream.
“Stiles?”
“That was real,” Stiles said, finally taking a breath. The man’s eyebrows drew together and he actually looked a little amused.
“It was.”
“Derek Hale just kissed me, even though the moon was not blue.”
Grey-green eyes flicked upward and then Derek gave him a strange look. But Stiles was still trying to process, touching his lips experimentally and then squinting at the werewolf, reaching out to touch the man’s cheek.
And yeah, that was Derek Hale’s beard. Stiles breathed out a quiet ‘fuck’ and Derek rolled his eyes.
“Are you done?”
“One more time,” Stiles said, moving forward. Before Derek could react, he was kissing the man again, one hundred percent online this time as Derek stiffened in surprise, then growled, kissing him hard back. Stiles couldn’t tell which was more hungry this time.
It wasn’t normal. Nothing about this was normal.
But Stiles figured if anything was going to be out of the ordinary, it would be who he was not single and lonely with. There was something about Derek Hale happening once in a blue moon and dammit, if Stiles wasn’t going to latch on and never let go.
Once in a blue moon, he thought. But this moon wasn’t blue.
And yeah, Stiles supposed he really shouldn’t be that surprised. Derek was always acting strange in some way or another, it seemed like. For a man who had basically built his reputation on the idea that he was this big scary werewolf, Derek Hale had shown himself to be a lot more complex than that.
But the point was, Derek Hale was acting strange. And Stiles didn’t know why.
It started with the little things. Things like Derek vanishing out of nowhere and coming back to the loft much later in ruffled clothes and a pleased expression on his face. Stiles had asked the betas on multiple occasions what the hell was happening, but none of them ever seemed to know.
Or really care, for that matter. Erica would shrug and drag Boyd off to her room for some ‘alone’ time and Isaac would proceed to wrap himself in blankets and hog the TV, the volume up much too loud to cover up what Stiles could only assume were sounds he was glad he didn’t have the enhancements to hear.
Sometimes, there were perks to being human.
Derek always came back, of course. The first time he’d vanished, Stiles had been over helping Isaac with his homework— something Scott had roped them into. It had started as a pack study group, except then the young Alpha had gotten back together with Allison and spent more time at her house than at the loft anymore.
It didn’t help that Isaac needed the help, too. And Stiles would like to say that he had a heart of gold, thank you very much, and was kind enough to never abandon the beta.
Also, he got to hang around Derek— er, the other betas. At the loft. Nothing else.
The one downside was Peter.
When Stiles had asked him about Derek’s mysterious getaways, Peter had only smirked over the top of his book. And Stiles knew the asshole knew exactly where Derek kept going, but he was very conveniently keeping that information to himself.
Which made Stiles feel a little less bad when he spent time at the loft pretending Peter didn’t exist.
The first time Derek had vanished out of nowhere, Stiles had waited until the man came back. And Derek had come through the loft door hours later, shirtless and in ripped pants, looking like he’d gotten into a fight with a mountain lion and lost. But when Stiles had bombarded him with questions, refusing to leave until he got some sort of answer, Derek had just shrugged and locked himself in his room, leaving Stiles alone in the silent loft.
He’d tried to get Derek to talk since, he really had. Stiles had even attempted to follow the man once, but he’d only made it to the preserve before he lost Derek among the trees.
It was probably werewolf stuff, Scott had said. He didn’t seem very intrigued that Derek was living a secret second life, but Stiles supposed he hadn’t expected the boy to be. He just wanted someone to be as curious as he was and the betas were a bust, Scott was too obsessed with Allison, and when Stiles had tried to bring it up with Lydia, she’d proceeded to turn around and walk away.
It was Derek’s business, she’d said. Which… yeah. But still. Stiles was confused.
Months ended up passing since that very first day. Derek continued to act strange on certain days and go on mini-vacations, and Stiles continued to be utterly lost. It wasn’t until he’d nearly given up that things finally changed.
It was Halloween night when Stiles finally figured out Derek’s little secret.
He knew the betas planned to go around town in their beta forms, scaring the crap out of little kids, but Stiles had already decided he wasn’t going with them. Because when someone inevitably called the cops and Stiles’s dad showed up, he was not going to be the betas scapegoat.
No, Stiles planned on hanging out at the loft with the others to watch scary movies. Derek had been a little stubborn when Lydia first volunteered his place to meet up, but the man had eventually given in. Even Derek Hale knew better than to argue with Lydia Martin.
And Stiles totally wasn't looking forward to spending time at Derek’s loft. Totally not at all.
He might’ve been a little.
Except Derek wasn’t at the loft when Stiles arrived.
“Okay,” Stiles said, coming back into the main room after doing a thorough search of the loft. “Where the hell is our mighty Alpha?”
“Why does it matter?” Scott asked, looking confused. He was curled up on the couch with Allison, and she didn’t look too worried either. From where she sat in the other chair, Lydia didn’t even glance up from her phone.
“He’s gone,” Stiles said. “Again. Doesn’t that ever strike any of you as strange?”
“Not really,” Scott said. Allison shrugged.
“Maybe he's out doing something.”
“Like?”
She glanced at Scott, who shook his head. “Keeping an eye on the betas?”
“Derek doesn’t babysit the betas,” Stiles said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m pretty sure he’d sooner eat his own hand.”
“Gross, Stiles,” Lydia said, making a face. Stiles rolled his eyes.
“You know it’s true. He’s gone again. On Halloween night. What the hell is more important than scary movies and candy on Halloween night?”
“Why do you care so much?” Lydia said, a familiar glint in her green eyes. It was that knowing look she’d gotten the first time Stiles had complained about Derek’s antics. Glaring at her, Stiles fished out his keys and started toward the loft door, grabbing his hoodie from the back of the nearest chair.
“I don’t,” he said. “But the asshole is being weird and I’m going to go figure out what he’s doing.”
“Oh, come on, Stiles,” Scott called. “You’re going to miss the movie!”
“There’s plenty of time to watch scary movies tonight,” Stiles said, waving a hand over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”
Stiles was pretty sure Scott started to say something else, but he didn’t stick around to listen.
And yeah, maybe Derek’s business was Derek’s business or whatever. But Stiles was pretty damn curious and he’d had enough. The man was hiding something from them and for some reason, nobody else seemed to care.
What if he was in trouble? Secretly dying? Had an embarrassing hobby that Stiles totally wanted to know about?
The possibilities were endless.
He wasn’t exactly sure where to go looking for the man. The preserve was usually Derek’s go-to when Stiles attempted to follow him, but that never ended well. One time, he’d ditched the Camaro on the side of the road and literally disappeared— and Stiles hadn’t even known what to think about that.
Maybe Derek was also part ghost. A werewolf alpha ghost.
Okay, maybe not.
Stiles ended up deciding to do a quick drive of the town. Because if Derek really was being a ‘disproving Alpha’ to the betas, then he might as well find out before wasting his night looking for one grumpy-growly werewolf. And maybe he could get to see Derek chew them out too.
That was always amusing.
There were already tons of people out, even though it wasn’t that dark yet. Stiles wasn’t really sure where the betas would go, but he may or may not have put a tracker into Isaac’s phone the first time Isaac let him borrow it.
It wasn’t like he didn’t trust the boy or anything, but Derek’s betas always seemed to be getting themselves in trouble. And Stiles knew there was no way he was ever getting his hands on the phones of the other two.
He’d put a tracker in Derek’s too, if he could only figure out what the man’s freaking password was. It wasn’t like Derek was good at technology but damn, if the man didn’t know how to keep unwanted visitors out of his phone.
Isaac’s phone placed him all the way across town. In one of Beacon Hills larger neighborhoods, probably scaring the crap out of innocent little kids, if Stiles was right.
He was.
He caught sight of the betas almost immediately— and quickly ducked down. Because Stiles hadn’t gone with them for a reason, remember? And that reason was looking at him right in the face in the form of flashing police lights and Stiles’s dad looking disappointed, giving the betas the chewing-out that Stiles had kind of hoped to see Derek giving.
The grumpy Alpha, on the other hand, was nowhere in sight. Stiles did spot a small group of trick-or-treaters and their parents watching, though.
And a giant black dog, standing a little ways away from the flashing lights.
Stiles tilted his head, watching the dog curiously. He couldn’t make out a collar, but it seemed well-behaved enough, sitting on someone's lawn and watching the betas get lectured. It almost looked… interested. In a scarily human way.
Suddenly, dark amber eyes were locked on his own and then the dog was watching him.
Stiles jerked, hitting his elbow on the steering wheel with a curse. And when he looked back, rubbing at his funny bone, the dog was gone.
As if it had never been there.
Stiles stared for another long moment before shaking his head, wondering faintly if he was going crazy.
He drove off before he could get caught by one of the betas or worse, his dad, determined to have nothing to do with them being idiots. At this point, it was much darker, and Stiles figured he was never going to find Derek unless the man wanted to be found.
Which clearly, he didn’t.
So Stiles headed home, deciding to grab a few of his favorite horror movies before heading back to the loft. He’d probably already missed the first one, but that wasn’t a big loss. Scott had brought it and the boy had terrible taste in movies.
He still hadn’t seen Star Wars yet.
Stiles hadn’t spent Halloween at home since his mom’s death. Before, they used to decorate the house and hand out candy, but things changed when she passed. And Stiles wasn’t a little kid anymore. His dad worked Halloween night anyway, and Stiles hated to be alone in the silence, so he usually ended up going to the McCall’s instead of hanging out alone.
Or, that’s what he’d done before the pack. Before he had other people to spend the holidays with.
Stiles would never admit out loud how much he kind of loved it.
Which brought him back to his sour mood and the fact that Derek wasn’t around tonight. Stiles didn’t think he’d be so offended if the man would just tell one of them what he was doing. It wasn’t like he was worried about the asshole or whatever, but… it’d be nice to know.
That’s all it was.
Stiles grabbed a few movies, a bag of chips (because Derek never had any good snacks around), and headed back out into the night to see a large black dog sitting on his lawn.
The large black dog.
Stiles froze, movies in one hand and the bag of chips in the other. For a moment, he didn’t move and the dog didn’t either, looking at him with those eerily knowing eyes.
The dog growled. And if Stiles was being honest, it looked a lot more like a wolf than a dog, big enough to probably rip out his throat with ease.
Stiles suddenly froze, staring.
A grumpy-growly wolf-dog. Following him and the betas around, all while Derek was on the loose who-knew-where...
“No freaking way,” Stiles breathed. “Sourwolf?”
Either he was losing his mind and talking to stray wolf-dogs, or Derek was sitting right in front of him. Not ripping his throat out, which Stiles supposed he should be grateful for, but was this really the secret the man had been keeping for months?
“Oh my god, dude, you go furry now?”
The dog snarled, stalking forward. Stiles squeaked, dropping both the movie and bag of chips. He stumbled back, ramming against the door, and fumbled blindly for the doorknob. Except, before he could yank it open and maybe spend the rest of the night hiding from an angry wolf-dog-thing, it was getting larger, less furry, and suddenly Derek Hale was standing in front of him.
Stiles yelped, clapping his hands over his eyes and turning his face away.
“Dude, genitals!”
Yeah, that sentence actually left his mouth.
And it wasn’t like Stiles had never imagined seeing Derek naked before, but if he had, it would not be in a situation like this. Stiles was far too shocked to remove his hands for a moment, but he was pretty sure that a grown man standing naked on his front porch was going to get the cops called and— and his dad could not see this.
Oh god, his dad could never see this.
“D-Derek?”
“Stiles.”
Stiles flinched, lowering his hands but keeping his eyes firmly closed. Turning around blindly, he felt around until he found the doorknob and turned it, stumbling back into his house. And after a moment, he heard what sounded like Derek following.
“Shut the door behind you,” Stiles said, finally opening his eyes but keeping them straight ahead. “I swear to god, dude, shut the door and hope for both our sakes that nobody saw you go from furry to nude in like, three seconds.”
Stiles heard what sounded like an unimpressed grunt, but he was really trying to pretend like there wasn’t a naked werewolf behind him, thank you very much. After a second, he heard the door shut, and then footsteps moved forward.
“Nope!” Stiles shouted, squeezing his eyes closed again. “Nope, do not take another step, dude! Not until you have some clothes on!”
“Stiles,” Derek growled, definitely sounding irritated now. Stiles waved a hand over his shoulder, cutting the man off.
“Nuh-uh. I’m going to go get you something to wear and you are going to stay… right where you are. Wherever you are. No moving, no going anywhere. No going furry again!”
“Stiles—”
“I swear to god, Sourwolf, I will murder you if you don’t listen to me right now.”
Derek went silent and Stiles waited for a moment longer before realizing he had the upper hand here. More than relieved, he stumbled toward the stairs, keeping his gaze firmly averted until the living room was out of sight
On the top of the stairs, Stiles could easily freak out in peace. He was pretty sure Derek could still hear his heartbeats but whatever.
There was a naked werewolf one floor below. Derek Hale was naked in his living room.
And the man had just been a damn wolf.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Stiles said, heading for his dad’s room. The last time he’d attempted to make Derek wear his clothes, it had nearly ended in a murder, so he figured he’d go with the safe option this time. And that ended up being a pair of sweatpants and Beacon Hills PD t-shirt that Stiles was going to make sure his dad never wore again.
Derek Hale and the Sheriff sharing clothes might be something Stiles would never recover from.
He paused at the top of the stairs again, debating just throwing them down and telling Derek to fetch. But that probably wouldn’t end well either. Taking a deep breath, Stiles moved back downstairs and turned into the living room again, turning his gaze to the floor the moment he caught sight of a bare chest and Derek’s slightly peeved expression.
The man hadn’t moved, at least.
“Here,” Stiles said, thrusting the stack of clothes forward. He heard Derek grunt and could easily imagine the man rolling his eyes, but Derek took them without a complaint.
Stiles turned a little ways away, eyeing the wall with interest until the rustling of clothes turned into silence once more and he glanced back to see Derek finally clothed.
“Oh, thank god,” Stiles said. Derek rolled his eyes.
“Are you happy now?”
“Am I— no, asshole, I’m not happy! You were just naked. And before that, you were a freaking wolf. A wolf! When the hell did that happen?”
Derek’s face tightened. “It’s new.”
“New as in it started a few months ago? You know, when you started disappearing out of nowhere?”
Derek didn’t answer. Stiles groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I hate you sometimes, you know that?”
“I can just leave,” Derek shot back, folding his arms over his chest. Stiles threw up his hands.
“Yeah, well, why did you come here in the first place?”
“Why were you following me all over town?”
“Following— following? I wasn’t following you, asshole! I didn’t even know where the hell you were! I was looking,” Stiles said, glaring. “There’s a difference.”
Derek’s tight expression didn’t change. “Okay, why were you looking?”
“Because I was worried!”
Derek’s eye twitched. But before he could say another word, the doorbell rang and Stiles startled, glancing at it and cursing.
“Trick-or-treaters. But we don’t have any candy to hand out.”
“So just ignore it.”
Stiles went silent and a few seconds passed before the doorbell rang again. Cursing again, he waved Derek off and hurried into the kitchen, scrounging around before finding a box of granola bars. Figuring that would have to be good enough, he rushed back over to the door and pulled it open.
There were only a handful of kids on the step, thankfully. The air filled with the chorus of “trick or treat!” and Stiles put on his best smile, offering the granola bars forward.
One kid frowned. “Where’s the candy?”
“Not here, dude.”
“Why not?”
Stiles raised an eyebrow at him, but before he could say a word, the kid stiffened with a gasp. Turning around, Stiles realized Derek had come to stand behind him, the man’s eyes glowing bright red and his face half-shifted.
A second passed. Then, a chorus of screams filled the air and all of the kids turned, racing from the doorstep. Stiles blinked after them, then turned back toward Derek, staring at the man incredulously.
“Dude, what the hell?”
Derek looked unbothered, the red fading from his eyes as he turned back around. Stiles gazed after him, then glanced back over his shoulder, swallowing hard at the glares from the parents on the sidewalk. He was pretty sure one of the kids was crying.
Oh, this was just fantastic.
“Oh my fucking god,” Stiles said, slamming the door closed. “Derek, you can’t just do that!”
“You can’t give granola bars out instead of candy.”
“Um, excuse me,” Stiles said, gesturing around. “But do you see any candy lying around? And you probably just scarred all of those kids for life, you know!”
Derek shrugged, dropping down onto the couch. “They’ll be fine.”
“I can’t believe this is happening right now.”
The man raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t just nearly given a bunch of children heart attacks. Stiles stood rooted to the spot for a moment before stalking over, jabbing a threatening finger in the werewolf’s face.
“You’re going to tell me how this started. Now.”
Derek didn’t look fazed. And dammit, if Stiles didn’t hate him sometimes.
“Derek, I swear to god—”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Derek said. “It’s new. My mother could full-shift and now I can too.”
Stiles clenched his jaw. “And you didn’t think to tell the rest of the pack?”
“I was learning how to control it.”
“You know, some of us could have helped.”
Derek gave him a flat look. And Stiles did his best not to flush bright red, crossing his arms as he dropped into the armchair across from the man.
“I could have helped.”
“Hm.”
“You were a dog,” Stiles stated. And to the man’s continued silence, he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god, you can turn into a dog.”
“A wolf, Stiles.”
“Wolf, dog, whatever. You can literally rip throats out now.”
When he glanced through his fingers, Derek almost looked a little pleased. And nope, that wasn’t fair at all. Stiles had a real reason to fear for his life when he pissed the man off a little too much, now. And that was not something to be pleased about.
Not in his book, at least.
“You could have told someone, you know,” Stiles said grumpily. “I mean, other than Peter.”
“Peter?”
“Yeah, Peter,” Stiles said, “Trust me, the Creeperwolf knows.”
Derek actually looked a little surprised at that. Stiles rolled his eyes.
“I wouldn’t have told anyone.”
“What?”
Stiles looked at him in disbelief. Because seriously? He’d been trying to figure out what Derek was doing for months now. And the man still seemed surprised that Stiles had wanted to know? “Dude, do you know how many theories I had?”
Derek looked at him blankly. Stiles huffed.
“I swear to god, I thought you were in trouble or dying or something. That’s stressful, dude!”
“I was fine.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t tell anyone that.”
Derek looked confused for a moment. Then his face did something weird-- Derek actually looked more like a soft teddy bear for a moment, instead of a grumpy werewolf, and Stiles didn’t know what the hell to do with that. “I was fine, Stiles.”
Stiles crossed his arms, glaring down at the floor. Derek sighed.
“Well, now you know, right?”
Stiles looked at the floor for another moment before glancing back up. “Why show me tonight? I wouldn’t have figured it out.”
“You were driving all over town looking for me, Stiles.”
“I was concerned!”
Stiles could’ve sworn the corners of Derek's mouth twitched. And yep, this whole thing was weirding him out. From the wolf, to the nudity, to the fact that Derek Hale looked like he was about to smile.
Stiles leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not going crazy, right?”
“Really, Stiles?”
“I’m just saying, dude,” Stiles said, raising his hands. “This is all kind of weirding me out.”
For a moment, Derek looked uncomfortable. “The shift?”
Stiles blinked. Derek glanced away.
“It’s different. From the others. It's strange.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “No, of course that's not it, dude. You being a literal freaking wolf? That’s the coolest thing ever, man.”
Derek glanced up, face a little red. Stiles huffed.
“I guess I’m just not used to having naked werewolves hanging out in my living room.”
The red went all the way to Derek’s ears this time. He scowled, but Stiles thought he could look grumpier. The glare didn't quite reach his eyes and the red of his face was definitely amusing. “Shut up, Stiles.”
“Hmm, sure. So are you going to tell the rest of the pack at some point?”
“At some point.”
Stiles grinned a little bit. “So I’m the only one who knows, then? Other than Peter the Creeper, at least. God, I feel so special.”
Derek rolled his eyes. “For now.”
“I'll take it,” Stiles said, grinning wider. To Derek’s flat look, he raised his hands. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”
The man's eyes flashed bright red at that and he smirked. “No, you won’t.”
“I-is that a threat, Sourwolf?”
“You said it yourself. I can rip out throats now.”
A shiver ran down Stiles's spine, but he couldn't tell if it was a terrified one or not. He didn't think so. “I didn’t need that imagery.” And the whole smirking-threat thing totally wasn’t a strange turn on. Not at all.
Dammit.
Except before Derek could say a word again, or maybe catch wind of Stiles's teenage hormones betraying him, the doorbell rang once more. Stiles startled and Derek’s eyes flickered red again. Before the man could go scar more innocent children, though, Stiles jumped up and grabbed the box of granola bars. "Don't you dare."
Derek gave him a flat look. Stiles shrugged.
“I didn’t plan on being around tonight,” he said. “I don't have candy to hand out. Everyone is gathered at the loft anyway. Err, minus the betas perhaps.”
“They might be back by now.”
"Or they're in jail."
Derek didn't look fazed. "It'd be a good lesson."
Stiles rolled his eyes at that, glancing toward the door as the bell rang again. Derek raised an eyebrow, waiting, and Stiles glanced down at the box of granola bars again. Then, he sighed. “Okay, fine, big guy, you get one more scare. Then, we’re going to the loft. Understood?”
The man looked surprised. Stiles smirked a little.
“Or you can stay here and explain to my dad why you’re wearing his clothes when he gets off his shift.”
Stiles was more than entertained to see Derek look terrified for a moment. The big bad wolf, literally looking like Stiles had just threatened him with a stick of wolfsbane. And, full shift wolf or not, Stiles was totally remembering that.
“So?” he said, tilting his head toward the door. And was he a terrible person for allowing this? Maybe a little bit? “Are you gonna go?”
There were definite fangs in Derek half-smirk. That really shouldn’t have been such a turn on too.
Stiles was pretty sure someone was going to call the cops on his house too, just like with the betas. And wouldn’t that confuse the hell out of his dad? Stiles supposed he could always throw them under the bus a second time if needed.
Seconds after Derek opened the door, screams filled the air. Stiles glanced down at the box of granola bars in his hands.
Well…
He set them on the front porch with a ‘take one’ sign when they left, just in case. And Derek made sure Stiles knew he thought the entire thing was stupid and 'granola bars should never be a replacement for candy.' Stiles had never realized the man was such a Halloween snob.
When Stiles used to think of the autumn season, he’d think of three things.
Baking, pumpkins, and colored leaves.
Halloween used to be his favorite time of the year. He remembered the days when his mom would handmake his costume and they would spend the day decorating the house or pressing dry leaves into the pages of old notebooks. She’d bake more and more in the days leading up to Halloween and they’d usually end up having too many leftovers for a small family of three.
Stiles remembered trying to bake alongside her and always getting eggshells into the cookie dough. When his dad would come home, they’d carve pumpkins the day before Halloween, and Stiles had always been grossed out by the pumpkin guts. His mom would save the seeds, claiming she was going to plant them in the upcoming year.
She never did.
Stiles still lived for Halloween. Of course, he did.
Though, before werewolves, he had enjoyed it a lot more. Because back then, seeing a ghost or a monster on the streets was something that just happened once a year. Stiles didn’t take in each costume and unconsciously compare it to what he’d seen in real life. He didn’t jump when one was uncannily similar to whatever Monster of the Week they’d been chasing earlier, trying to pretend like he wasn’t internally freaking out.
There were still certain parts that reminded him of before, though. Stiles found himself in the preserve more than once looking at the red and orange trees. He dug through his mom’s old cookbook and did his best not to burn down the house, grinning at his dad’s reaction when the man caught the smell of her favorite cookies.
Sometimes, Stiles remembered that he probably wasn’t the only one with old memories that haunted the current season. And that might’ve been why he showed up at Derek’s front door without a warning one day, grinning brightly with one of those tiny pumpkins in each hand.
The man didn’t look impressed.
Because yeah, Stiles was pretty sure he still got underneath Derek’s skin. He wouldn’t call them enemies exactly, not anymore. Enough years had passed that Derek seemed to have accepted his fate and the teenagers that basically lived in his loft. Though, Stiles wasn’t sure if he could call them friends either.
Maybe. Sometimes, he thought. Like when he crashed on the couch after pack night and Derek would wake him up with a cup of coffee and a strange look on his face as the man pretended Stiles didn’t exist for the rest of the morning.
Right now, though, Derek looked more than confused at Stiles’s sudden appearance. So he didn’t give the man a chance to kick him out, ducking underneath Derek’s arm and moving into the loft.
“Good afternoon, Sourwolf. How are you doing on this lovely fall day?”
“Stiles,” Derek said, sliding the door shut and turning around. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Geez, dude,” Stiles said, plopping down on the couch. “Can’t a guy with tiny pumpkins show up for an unexpected visit once in a while and not get growled at?”
Derek narrowed his eyes. Stiles snorted.
“Fine, whatever, be like that. It doesn’t matter, because we’re gonna carve pumpkins!”
The man looked at him for a long moment, a little bit of red in his eyes. And Stiles figured if he was going to die in any way, this might be the most embarrassing. But instead of ripping his throat out or even growling a little bit, Derek just turned away and moved into the kitchen.
Stiles stared after the werewolf for a moment before shoving himself up and stumbling after him.
“Dude, Derek, where are you going? Hey! You’re a terrible host!”
Derek had his back toward him when Stiles stumbled into the kitchen. Coming to a complete stop, he blinked at him and then sniffed suspiciously, moving over to the man’s side.
“Why does it smell like chocolate in here?”
“Go away, Stiles.”
But Stiles ignored him, peering over Derek’s shoulder. There was a giant pot on the stove and Stiles blinked at it before looking at Derek curiously. “That’s hot chocolate.”
“So?”
“Can werewolves actually have chocolate?”
Derek did give him a red-eyed look this time and Stiles raised his hands in surrender, backing a step away. He figured it still wasn’t too late to get his throat ripped out and the last thing he wanted to do was step over one too many lines. But this… this was domestic. He noticed for the first time that Derek was in nothing but sweats and a red thumbhole sweater, a dishrag thrown over his shoulder. And it was so painfully domestic, Stiles felt like he might have walked into an alternate dimension.
He glanced around the kitchen, noting how quiet the loft was too. Usually, when he came over, there was at least one beta around somewhere. But it was completely silent now.
“So, have the rest of the werewolves abandoned ship then?”
“They’re at a movie.”
“And their Sourwolf alpha didn’t want to go along?”
Once more, Stiles got a red-eyed look. He swallowed nervously and willed his heart not to flip at that. He might have failed though, because Derek’s ears turned a little red too and the man turned away, stirring the stovetop hot chocolate a little more aggressively than before.
Stiles turned away, wandering back into the living. Dropping back onto the couch, he picked up one of the pumpkins and turned it over in his hand, chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully.
A few seconds later, Derek came out with two steaming mugs. Stiles blinked in surprise.
“So I’m not getting kicked out then?”
“Shut up,” Derek said, setting down one of the mugs in front of him. The man glared at the miniature pumpkins. “And how are you planning on carving those?”
“It’s possible,” Stiles said, shrugging. To be honest, he wasn’t actually sure if that was true. But giving it a try wouldn’t do any harm, right? “Do you really think I could have lugged two normal-sized pumpkins all the way up here?”
“I don’t know why you’d attempt in the first place.”
Stiles dropped his gaze, chewing on his lip again. And to his silence, Derek raised a brow.
“Stiles?”
“It used to be a Stilinski family tradition,” Stiles said, shrugging. He really hoped he sounded as nonchalant as he was attempting to be. “Pumpkin carving. But my dad’s working the next few nights and there’s no way I’m touching pumpkin guts alone.”
Derek’s lips twitched. “Pumpkin guts?”
“Yes, dude, that’s exactly what they are. And no, I won’t be taking constructive criticism.”
“I don’t think those pumpkins are big enough to contain pumpkin guts,” Derek said, bringing his mug to his lips. Stiles glanced at the one in his hands and sighed.
“Yeah, probably not.”
He’d debated attempting to carry two pumpkins up all three flights of stairs, he really had. Because in the end, Stiles knew himself best, and there was no way he was taking two trips. But he also knew himself well enough to know that carrying both would end up in nothing but catastrophe.
Stiles set the pumpkin back down and picked up the mug Derek had brought him instead. Studying the man over the top of it, he took a careful sip and then grinned.
“Dude, this is actually really good!”
Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles could have sworn his ears turned a little red again. And once more, Stiles thought it was some kind of miracle that he hadn’t gotten himself kicked out yet. But then again, watching Derek quietly, Stiles wondered if he had been sort of right.
Maybe Derek didn’t want to be alone.
It was the little things, Stiles supposed. Setting his mug back down, he pushed himself up and vanished into the other room for a second before coming back out with two sharpies. To Derek’s raised-eyebrow expression, Stiles grinned again.
“Just because we can’t carve them doesn’t mean we can’t do something. I hope you have one or two artistic skills, Sourwolf, because I have none.”
“You’re an idiot,” Derek said. “You realize that, right?”
“Or an unorthodox genius,” Stiles shot back, grabbing one of the pumpkins and tossing it at the man. Derek caught it with a surprised grunt and then glared. Stiles smirked. “I know I’m not the only one with a Halloween tradition. What did you use to do?”
He half regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but then it was too late. Derek’s face did something strange and the man glanced down at his hands for a long second before answering.
“There were little things,” he said quietly. “Laura and I used to do hot chocolate and scary movies. Back in New York.”
Stiles glanced down at his mug and then looked toward the TV before turning his gaze back to Derek. The man was still avoiding his gaze. “And that’s what you were gonna…”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
If there was any time Stiles was going to get kicked out of the loft, he figured it’d be now. But Derek just shrugged and Stiles couldn’t help the pang that struck through him. Glancing around, he grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped it around himself, nestling the mug against his chest.
“Well, I guess the pumpkins will have to wait until later, then.”
Derek gave him a sharp, almost warning look. As if he expected Stiles to make fun of him or crack another joke or something. But Stiles just offered up his best smile and nodded toward the remote.
“I’m game for a good scary movie.”
For a moment, he was almost nervous that had been the line he wasn’t supposed to cross. Inviting himself into the loft had been one thing, but if this was too much—
“Stiles—”
“Derek,” Stiles said, taking one more step and cutting the man off. “I’m here.”
Derek looked at him for another long moment. And then there it was again. That small smile that seemed to tug at the corners of his lips, even if it never became the full thing. Derek didn’t do anything but grunt and grab the remote, leaning back, but Stiles figured he’d take it as a win. He’d take anything that didn’t involve getting his throat ripped out as a win.
“Just a warning though, big guy,” Stiles said, huddling deeper underneath his blanket. “I don’t do jump scares.”
Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles grinned.
And if there was a large lump pressed up against him less than half an hour later, Stiles wouldn’t say anything. No matter how much he really, really wanted to. Especially because there still hadn’t been any jump scares yet.
(And there were two pumpkins scribbled over in black sharpie by the doorstep when the betas came home.)
If anyone knows of or makes fanart, edits, fanfition or anything else based off of, inspired by or related to the imagines you fine here, please let me know. I want to see all these wonderful creations and share them with everyone.
