Derek Hale is a wandering Omega looking for a pack to call his own. When he comes into Beacon Hills, he’s intercepted by the local pack. They take him to their Alpha who Derek is expecting to be an older werewolf. What he’s not expecting is for this kid that can’t be more than 20, with the smirk playing about his kissable looking lips, to be the Alpha. Needless to say, they don’t exactly get off on the right foot. But, Derek thinks later that night, he could easily find his home in Beacon Hills with Stiles Stilinski and his pack.
Person A is the smol and Person B is the tol. But person a is all “you think you can be a dick to people! Hell no, fight me I can take you, ya to afraid” but really the person won’t fight them because person b is lurking behind them like “you lay one hand on them and I will shove an entire food truck up your ass do you understand me”
It’s done! I quickly touched up the colouring so Stiles’s outfit resembles the one he has in the 3x19 episode. So you also get a close-up with the original red plaid shirt. (=^･ω･^)y＝ You can consider this as a sequel/being in the same universe as this.
“No, I think that’s exactly what you meant,” Stiles says, voice hoarse.
“Stiles,” Derek murmurs, hating how the small space between them smells of betrayal and sadness. It’s a horrible stench overall, but knowing he’s the one who caused it is even worse. He doesn’t know how to fix it—still not used to dealing with situations like this—but he wants to. He wants to be able to kiss it better instead of walking away from open wounds.
He leans over the table, wanting to be closer but not sure if Stiles would appreciate him walking around it to where he’s standing his ground. They’re not looking at each other anymore, both their gazes on the table separating them. Derek purses his lips and slowly moves his hand across the surface to where one of Stiles is curled up to a fist, listening to the sound of their heartbeats quickening in sync.
Derek is ignoring Stiles’ texts. Well, technically he’s reading them-he’s just not responding to them. Even though he’s upset, Derek still can’t quite resist seeing what Stiles has to say.
His phone beeps again for the fifth time in the past minute. “What’s wrong,” the text says.
“Tell me,” the next message reads, less than 3 seconds later.
Then, “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”
Derek continues to not respond, and his phone finally goes quiet for a few blessed minutes (for the first time in an hour). He puts it on the coffee table as he sinks back against the couch and closes his eyes, trying to shut out the sadness that’s been creeping in since earlier that day.
AU - Stiles is one of the most talented witches of his coven, so he has the honor of being sent to kill the alpha of the nearby Beacon Hills werewolf pack and claim the territory for his coven. What begins as a mission of “seduce and destroy” becomes more complicated when Stiles realizes the alpha is not the brute the coven made him out to be.
Stiles gets his license at the end of the summer, only a few weeks short from the anniversary of his move to New York.
There’s a mountain outside the city with the perfect view to watch the sunset. They’ve been there several times before on Derek’s Harley and it quickly became Stiles’ favorite spot. Back when they first started the driving lessons they had made a promise: that once he got his license, Stiles would come pick Derek up at the shop and they’d drive up there.
It’s late afternoon by the time Derek picks up the sound of Stiles’ engine: lighter and faster than his own. He looks over his shoulder from where he’s kneeling next to the Yamaha he’s working on, gazing out towards the street until the bike rolls into view when Stiles parks it on the drive in. He leaves the engine running as he jumps off, practically tearing off the helmet before rushing inside the garage with a blinding smile.
“I did it!” He exclaims, as if anything about his arrival hints otherwise.
“But I didn’t,” he shrugs, reaching the bottom of the stairs and continues to slowly cross the floor to where Stiles is pacing. “Besides, it’s not the first time.”
Stiles scoffs. “And it won’t be the last, right?”
Derek frowns, steps slowing down as he approaches. Stiles steps backwards in sync, maintaining a certain distance between them. Derek stops, confused, watching Stiles move around the loft with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. First then does Derek catch the stench of distress and anger filling the air.
“What—” He begins, but is cut off.
"You're unbelievable, you know that? Do you possess some level of self-worth at all?” Stiles stares at him from across the room, chest heaving, eyes glazed with emotion but his voice spits venom. “How many times will you run head first into danger, like you’re the pack’s human shield or some shit?”
“Not human,” is Derek’s automatic reply, which apparently is the wrong thing to say because the next second Stiles is stalking towards him with fire in his eyes.
“I’m sick of your furry excuses!” He exclaims. “I’m sick of hearing you and Scott talk as if you got every reason to sacrifice yourselves because of your damn healing.” Derek doesn’t realizes he’s taken a step back until his back hits the pillar behind him. Stiles walks right up to his face, close enough to feel the heat of his breath as he keeps yelling. “Like it’s a reason for you to take bullets that were meant for me.”
His breath is ragged once he stops, his chest heaving. Derek’s gaze darts between Stiles’ eyes, wide and so close. Stiles ducks his head down, swallowing as if he’s trying to calm himself. Derek doesn’t move, too overwhelmed by Stiles’ outburst. Because it means something; it means so much, and his chest tightens when trying to figure out what.
When Stiles lifts his head back up, the anger has been replaced by pure concern, and it hits all of Derek’s senses so hard his breath hitches, nostrils flaring.
“You’re not monsters,” Stiles says lowly. “You’re people. The claws don’t change that.”
“Oh, no,” Stiles says, bent double and nearly breathless with laughter. “No, no, no.”
“You asked for this,” Derek reminds him, awkwardly shuffling to the beat of ‘1999’ with his elbows pulled in tight at the waist. He throws in a dorky spin, pointing finger-guns at Stiles on the downbeat, and Stiles can't breathe.
“I thought you had secret dancing skills,” Stiles admits, watching fondly as Derek does a series of dumb disco-adjacent gestures. “I didn’t bring you to this wedding with me so you could shame me and all of your ancestors on the dance floor.”
“Watch this,” Derek says, and is about to ineptly moonwalk right over the hem of Allison’s wedding dress until Stiles yanks him back into place by his suspenders.
“Oh my god. You’re a tragedy, Hale. All that body and no clue what to do with it.”
“Hey,” Derek protests, eyebrows furrowing.
“I can’t believe your hips would just lie to me like that.”
“By the way, I was already invited to this wedding, asshole,” Derek reminds him. “I’m an usher.”
“And you didn’t fall down!” Stiles pats his cheek condescendingly. “Which I now realize is a beautiful miracle.”
“All right, that’s it,” Derek says ominously, and stops mid-shuffle to make a beeline for the DJ booth.
Stiles knows he’s in some kind of danger when Prince cuts off abruptly, replaced by a smoky, pulsing tango.
“Did you threaten the DJ,” he asks weakly, backing away a little as Derek stalks toward him, “because he’s actually Allison’s cousin and there could be repercussions to—”
“Stop talking,” Derek says, and draws Stiles flush against him in one fluid, violent movement.
“Buh,” Stiles says, and then feels every inch of his skin start to tingle when Derek starts leading him. With his hips.
“I only like some kinds of dancing,” Derek says, disgustingly smug. “No. Don’t. Chin up, look at me. That’s it. Dip,” he warns, casually draping Stiles over his arm.
I deserve this, Stiles thinks, staring mournfully backwards at the floor while the heat of Derek’s palm burns through his cummerbund.
Derek pulls him back up, slots their cheeks together, and takes a gliding step, encouraging Stiles along with a confident press of his thigh. “I requested a rumba after this,” he says in Stiles’ ear.
Derek has had the sun in his eyes for hours, lying sprawled out on his stomach in the center of the big bed, swaying right on the edge of awake and asleep. It’s the sound of light feet padding across the floor that finally drifts him back to the surface of consciousness, giving him a few seconds to remember what year it is before the mattress dips down by his ankles.
“Daddy,” comes a smooth voice, which manages to reach him despite the barrier of sleep. Derek likes to think it’d reach him through anything.
“Mmh,” is his response, forcing half an eye open.
He shifts with a heavy sigh, watching his son crawl up the bed towards him. Once he’s at eye-level with Derek, he simply flops down on his side, resting his little head on the big pillow. What little hair he’s got is in total disarray, standing out in all directions, and Derek lazily reaches out to smooth it out the best he can.
Tags; Past Lives | Soul Bond | Soul mates | Temporarily Unrequited Love | Angst | Pining | Nondescript Mention of Character Death | Past Life Death | Explicit Sexual Content | Happy Ending Language: English Words: 15.125
senseless and random things that I have to say about this fic and the process of drawing, here (x) :)