Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles Stilinski is known for a lot of things—a slightly chaotic energy, a lack of filter, and his uncanny ability to land himself in awkward situations.

But above all, his attention to detail is what sets him apart from everybody else. And today, as he walked beside Laura Hale, the older of the two explaining and showing him all of the different rooms and offices, something felt different.

There was a pull, a scent, so primal and intoxicating that it set all of his senses on edge.

His nose twitched as the rich, earthy and woody scent flooded him, like nature itself was trying to suffocate him in a hug. A part of him wanted to follow the scent, to be enveloped by it, as if the universe was finally calling him home.

He’d never experienced anything like it. Stiles paused for a moment, furrowing his brow as the scent seemed to intensify. Without realising it, his feet were already moving, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. His mind raced, his brain working overtime to try and pin down what the fuck was happening here. He was an omega, after all, but he’d never felt this—this magnetic pull, this undeniable connection.

He distantly heard someone snort in amusement and call out his name, but as he followed the scent down the hallways, he realised he was no longer paying attention to where he was going. He turned down a corner, zigzagging through the offices of random people. What was he doing?

And then, before he could process it, he slammed into someone’s back.

“Oof!” Stiles grunted, stumbling backward, his heart pounding in his chest. “Sorry, sorry! Didn’t mean to—”

He looked up, blinking in surprise.

Standing before him was the last person he’d expected to run into. Derek Hale.

Alpha Derek Hale.

His new boss.

“Derek!” Laura grinned mischievously from where she had been following Stiles. “Say hello to your new assistant!”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was deep, calming, hard.

Stiles gulped, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten. Derek was... well, Derek was Derek. Every photo he had seen did not do the man justice. Tall, imposing, with those dark, brooding eyes that seemed to be calculating his every move. He had this natural authority that Stiles was sure made omegas, betas and alphas do as he said.

Stiles now understood why he was pulled in by the smell in such an aggressive way. This guy was full on.

Stiles was distracted by the scent again. It was stronger now that he was standing so close to Derek, the scent so overwhelming that he could hardly focus on anything else. His heart raced, and he could feel the irrational urge to lean into it, to bury his face in Derek's chest and breathe it all in. Focus, Stilinski. He’s had this urge before, but my god, not on this level.

Derek's gaze seemed to sharpen as he studied Stiles, his lips pressed into a thin line. His scent had changed slightly too — darker, more intense.

A scowl twisted Derek’s face as he glanced at Laura, who, judging by the smirk still playing on her lips, seemed to find this all very amusing. His glare shifted to Stiles, and Stiles had to fight the instinct to shrink away from the heat of it.

Derek’s nostrils flared and he huffed, fists clenching at his sides.

"I don’t need an assistant." Derek’s growl was low, his eyes flickering dangerously between their natural shade and something darker, obviously struggling to maintain control for some reason.

"Yes, you do." Laura's voice was firm, though her smile was sharp. Stiles had come to realise Laura was a beta — one with the undeniable presence of an alpha, which made their dynamic a tad confusing. “Peter needs one too. Should I assign Stiles to him instead, Derek?”

"No." Derek’s voice was tight, his nostrils still flaring, the red flicker in his eyes stubbornly lingering.

"I didn’t think so." Laura’s tone was smug as she placed a hand on Stiles' shoulder. The growl that rumbled from Derek was immediate, low and threatening. His eyes widened for a brief moment before he forced his teeth to clamp shut, cutting it off.

Stiles instantly recognised the cause—an alpha’s reaction to an omega close to their heat. Laura knew it too. Was she going to tell Derek, or was that his responsibility?

"Why are you starting today? Your first day should be after your heat," Derek demanded, his arms crossing over his chest, his gaze still intense.

Stiles blushed, suddenly wanting to curl in on himself. Heats were, of course, a very natural thing. However, Stiles wasn’t used to an alpha asking him outright about it. It was socially acceptable for an omega to bring up their heat to an alpha, but very rarely the other way round.

“My heat doesn’t start for another two days.” Stiles told Derek, trying (and somewhat failing) to tilt his chin up so that he doesn’t look like he’s about to turn over and present for the alpha at the slightest snarl.

Derek’s frown deepened as he took an exaggerated sniff of the air between them. His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Stiles shot back, suddenly defensive. "I’ve been regular since my first heat." He wasn’t the type to sleep around or rely on heavy suppressants—both things that could throw off his cycle. Derek’s eyes flashed red again, staying there for a moment longer than before, before he blinked them away with a forceful effort.

“But—”

"Derek." Laura’s voice was sharp, interrupting him. Both of them turned toward her, her expression unreadable. “This is hardly an appropriate topic for the workplace, wouldn’t you agree?”

Derek exhaled sharply, arms still crossed where they had fallen when he’d scented the air.

“Did you hear a lie when Stiles spoke?” Laura asked, and Stiles felt a small wave of relief wash over him. Werewolves could tell when someone was lying. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his omega instincts urging him to submit twice as much now —  alpha and werewolf.

“No,” Derek muttered, his gaze flicking back and forth between them. “But my sense of smell is better than yours, Laura.”

Laura’s smirk only widened. “Hmm, especially with this, I’m sure." She turned to Stiles. “If you need to leave today, let Derek know, and I’m sure he’ll happily oblige.”

The glare Derek shot Laura could have melted steel.

“I’ll be fine.” Stiles mumbled, earning back Derek’s attention with those words. Stiles ignored him, he had never been even a day early or late for his heat, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.

Famous last words, right?

Derek stalked off, with Laura giving Stiles a dismissive wave to follow. Stiles nearly jogged to keep up with Derek's long strides, his steps quickening to match the alpha's pace.

By the time they reached Derek's office, Stiles could tell Derek's alpha instincts had kicked in. Instead of walking in and slamming the door shut on him like Stiles had expected, Derek held it open, stepping slightly back to let him pass.

Stiles kept his head down, squeezing through the narrow gap Derek left. His front brushed against the alpha's as he passed, making Derek's breath catch, a deep inhale following him. Stiles barely noticed it as he took in the office before him.

It was massive.

Stiles couldn't help but gape at it, momentarily distracted until he heard the door close behind him.

"You like it?" Derek's deep voice rumbled from behind him, a clear note of satisfaction in his tone.

"It's okay... Would be better with a couch, though." The words slipped out before Stiles could stop them, and his eyes widened in horror. He clamped his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, mentally cursing himself.

He had just told an alpha — one he'd just met — that their office wasn't good enough. Last time he'd done something like that, it had earned him a swift punch to the face. So, when Derek merely snorted behind him and physically moved him aside to walk past him (the space was more than big enough for Derek to walk around him, Stiles thought absentmindedly), Stiles blinked in surprise.

"I'll take that under consideration." Derek's voice was dry as he sank into his chair, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. He gestured to one of the empty chairs opposite him.

Stiles didn't waste any time sitting down, quickly realising he'd already pushed a few buttons. An alpha's patience only stretched so far before snapping, and he wasn't eager to test Derek’s limits.

Stiles waited for Derek to tell him what to do, but Derek simply ordered him to stay put and be quiet.

Stiles was a good boy for about ten minutes.

But then he got bored. In Stiles’ defence, that’s like nine minutes longer than he usually lasts. He deserves a medal. Or a cookie.

His mind wandered, fixating on the fact that Derek was an alpha, and that meant a pack. And an older sister, which made no sense to him.

“So, your parents—”Stiles started, Derek turning to glare at him, “are none of my business.”

Derek huffed, and Stiles could almost, almost, class that as a laugh, if it weren’t for the eyebrows of doom looking across at him, of course.

“There was a house fire.” Derek said after a few minutes of silence, attention firmly fixed on the computer screen in front of him. “They didn’t make it out.”

“I’m sorry.” Stiles lowered his eyes in gentle submission, which is aimed at placating an alpha. But he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut for too long, and about five minutes later, had more burning questions. “So why didn’t Laura become the alpha? She is older, isn’t she?”

Derek's frown deepened. "That's not how it works."

"How does it work, then?" Stiles pressed, genuinely curious.

Derek sighed, turning toward him, an amused glint flickering in his eyes. "You ask a lot of questions, you know that?"

Stiles shrugged his shoulders. “Usually, people don’t answer them. You do. I’m taking advantage of that.”

“People don’t usually answer your questions?” Derek frowned.

“Not when it comes to packs and hierarchy, no.”

"Good." Derek's smirk suggested he was pleased with that fact. Stiles wanted to ask more, but then the familiar, uncomfortable cramp in his lower stomach returned. He moaned, shifting in his chair, hoping it would pass.

"Stiles," Derek growled, his tone low and warning. When Stiles glanced up, his heart skipped—Derek's eyes were glowing bright red, and the tension radiating off him was palpable. Derek's hands gripped the desk, knuckles white as he struggled to maintain control. Stiles inwardly cursed, realising that Derek was right, he was going into early heat. He hadn’t even had his pre heat symptoms!

"I should go," Stiles muttered, his body tensing as slick began to trickle out.

"Stiles." Derek's voice was strained as he repeated his name, breathing heavy and uneven as if fighting something inside. “Stay.” He managed to get out. “I’ll call Laura.”

Turns out calling Laura meant slowly dragging one hand over to his phone, pressing a button, and then straight back to gripping the desk like it was life or death.

“Hey little bro, how’s it going? Stiles working out well?” Laura’s happy voice echoed through the speaker. “Derek? Derek? Shit, Derek. Okay, don’t move. I’ll be right there. Keep your control, Derek.”

The phone clicked off, and Stiles and Derek were left in a heavy silence, their eyes locked. A low growl rumbled in Derek's throat, and Stiles whimpered as more slick ran down his inner thighs. Derek stood abruptly, but Laura stormed into the room before he could make it far, eyes wide as she looked at her brother.

"Derek," Laura said, calm and controlled, her eyes sweeping over her brother and Stiles. "Sit back down. I'll take Stiles home. I’ll make sure no one touches him, okay?"

Derek hesitated, his eyes flicking back and forth between his sister and Stiles, before finally giving a sharp nod, though his frustration was clear.

“Okay. I will need to touch Stiles though.” The growl that escaped Derek's chest was instant, claws extending from his fingers, sinking into the desk.

"Derek, it's only to make sure he's protected," Laura said, her voice steady but firm. "I'm not going to hurt him, or do anything to him. Do you understand?"

Stiles didn’t think that Derek understood, but he must have done something that Laura took as a positive sign, because the next thing he knew, Laura had her arm round him, leading him out into the corridor.

Thankfully, Derek’s office was near the elevator, so no one was around to witness his utterly humiliating first day at work.

"I'm so sorry, Laura," Stiles muttered as she ushered him into her car once they had made it to the underground garage. "I'm usually home by the time my heat starts, and l've never been around an alpha on the first day. I didn't realise how badly Derek would react."

“Derek has almost impeccable control, Stiles.” Laura told him lightly. “And you almost broke that. Be proud of yourself.”

Stiles didn't feel particularly proud in that moment. What he did feel was deep gratitude toward Derek, for handling it as well as he had. Stiles didn't want to imagine what would've happened if it had been an alpha with even slightly less control.

"I just feel bad," Stiles confessed, his voice tinged with guilt. "It's my first day, and now I'm going to have to leave Derek to handle everything alone for the next few days."

"I wouldn't worry about that." Laura smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I have a feeling Derek won't be at work for the next few days, either."

“Oh, is his… er…” Stiles stammered.

“Rut?” Laura helpfully supplied, small smile on her face.

“Yeah, that.” Stiles blushed. “It’s his time as well then?”

“Nope.” Laura said with finality, making it clear there would be no more questions.

Stiles kept thanking Laura profusely, to the point where she told him she’d fire him if she heard one more word of gratitude. Stiles kept his mouth shut, only nodding in thanks instead as she left him in the house, telling him to lock up after she left. 

Stiles did as she said, and either Laura had trust issues, or she just thought that Stiles was a bit of an idiot, because he heard her testing the door before deeming it good enough, getting into her car to go back to what Stiles assumed would be the office.

The next few days passed in a bit of a blur, but the main thing Stiles remembered was that it was by far the worst heat he had ever had, and the only thing he could think about during that whole period was Derek Hale.

On Stiles’ first day back, thankfully, he was in earlier than Derek. Because what he saw, while he was standing in their office, was the last thing he expected — a brand new, plush couch. And it was huge, practically taking up an entire wall of the office. It was as if Derek had listened about the missing furniture, and now here it was, a silent offering of... comfort? It was strange. Derek didn’t seem like the type to make gestures like this — at least not the kind that were so... personal.

Stiles blinked at the couch, his heart thumping in his chest for reasons he couldn’t explain. He had spent a good amount of time mentally preparing for another awkward encounter with Derek. But this? This completely threw him off.

He stood there for a long moment, still processing, before the door to Derek’s office opened, and Derek stepped in. He froze when he saw Stiles standing there, his gaze immediately locking onto him, those dark eyes scanning him as if taking inventory of every detail.

Stiles gulped, his throat suddenly dry, and awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets. “Uh, so... new couch, huh?” he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray the sudden fluttering in his stomach.

Derek didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flicking from the couch back to Stiles, and then he let out a low, almost amused sound “Yeah. Thought you might like it, what with all the complaining about the lack of seating.”

Stiles couldn’t help the way his lips twitched into a smile at Derek’s gruff words. "I didn’t complain! I just... suggested it might be better if there was a place to sit besides the chairs." He gave Derek a sheepish look “And, you know, I’m just saying... it’s a nice couch.”

“Mm.” Derek nodded, his lips twitching upward slightly before he straightened. “Glad you approve.” There was something unspoken in the way Derek’s eyes flickered between Stiles’ face and the couch. He stepped into the office fully, his presence suddenly all there.

Stiles had to consciously remind himself to breathe as Derek moved past him, close enough that his shoulder brushed Stiles’. It was an innocent enough gesture, but Stiles couldn’t shake the shiver that ran down his spine. His senses were on high alert, every nerve tingling as he tried not to let the earthy, woody scent overwhelm him. Derek was too close. The alpha was too close.

Chapter Text

Since the Couch Incident—affectionately dubbed Couch Gate by everyone except the sourwolf— Derek seemed more relaxed around him, more tolerant of Stiles' endless babbling and terrible impulse control. But Stiles had a sneaking suspicion that part of that newfound calm might have something to do with the fact that he wasn’t currently spiraling into an early heat.

Yeah. That probably helped.

About a week after Couch Gate, Stiles had started complaining—dramatically, with hand gestures and flops worthy of an Oscar, of course—about how the couch was great but clearly lacking in appropriate cushion support. A few days after that, soft, fluffy cushions mysteriously appeared. Ten of them. All different textures and colors.

Stiles, naturally, had tried them all. He threw the ones he didn’t want at Derek, who, by the fourth pillow that had hit his head as he was trying to be engrossed in his work, finally snapped.

The older man let out a low growl, eyes flashing red in warning. Stiles froze mid-throw, the next cushion still in hand, suddenly remembering that he was baiting a literal alpha werewolf.

Which, to be fair, was easy to forget with Derek. The guy was usually so composed, so laid-back with him, that sometimes it was difficult to remember that the man in front of him could rip him apart in two seconds (and unfortunately, not in the good, sexy way).

Tyler had never let him forget. Of course, Tyler had also punched walls when he was angry.

Before Stiles could blink, Derek was on him—pinning him down into the very cushions he’d been abusing, his large frame caging Stiles in. One hand gripped Stiles’ wrists above his head, the other splayed across his chest like a brand. Derek’s knees bracketed his thighs, trapping him thoroughly.

“Shit,” Stiles squeaked, a little breathless and a lot confused, squirming underneath the larger man and trying not to get too freaked out. Derek growled as Stiles moved, instantly stilling him.

“Erm,” Stiles stuttered, not sure where to go from here.

Derek just smirked down at him, biceps bulging where they held Stiles. “And what have we learnt from this?”

Stiles, whose mouth didn’t believe in self-preservation, grinned. “Throw something heavier next time?”

But, instead of tightening his hold, Derek let out a surprised laugh, loosening his hands and sitting back on his heels, still trapping Stiles’ legs between his.

Derek’s laugh was still ringing softly in Stiles’ ears when the office door opened with a soft click. Both men froze, and Stiles suddenly became hyper-aware of the fact that he was still pinned beneath Derek—legs trapped, chest rising a little too fast under Derek’s hand.

“Well, this is cozy,” a familiar voice drawled.

Peter.

Stiles groaned internally. Of course it had to be Peter. He had only met the man a handful of times, but he always left the conversation confused and slightly repulsed.

Behind Peter came a strawberry blonde, all sharp heels and sharper eyes. Her gaze swept over the scene, Derek’s position, Stiles’ red face, and her brows arched with practiced ease, and then—God help him—she smirked.

Peter let out a dramatic sigh as he leaned against the doorframe. “Tell me, nephew, is this part of a new team-building strategy? Should I be expecting a turn next? Because I assure you, I don't bend like I used to.”

Derek was off Stiles in a flash, face blank except for the subtle flush blooming across his cheeks. Peter managed to shamelessly flirt with family too, apparently.

“Get out, Peter,” Derek grumbled, brushing non-existent lint from his shirt and very much not looking at Stiles.

Peter, of course, didn’t budge, but the woman breezed past him, tossing her long red hair over one shoulder as she approached the couch.

Stiles sat up, red in the face, but she was already crouching next to the couch, eyeing the cushions. “Are these new? God, I love this one,” she said, hugging one of the fluffier ones to her chest before looking back at him. “You’ve got good taste, Stilinski.”

“You can call me Stiles,” he said automatically, still dazed.

She smiled. It wasn’t sharp like her earlier one; it was softer, more genuine. “Only if you call me Lydia.”

From that day on, Stiles and Lydia somehow just… clicked. She started dropping by more often, at first for short visits and office gossip, then gradually slipping into a rhythm of coffee runs and lunch breaks spent lounging on his couch. She was terrifying, sure, but she was also wickedly funny and, as it turned out, excellent at matching his snark and sarcasm.

One afternoon, she showed up with someone new in tow.

“This is Isaac,” Lydia announced, sweeping into the office like she owned it. Isaac, trailing behind her with a soft, quiet energy and a killer jawline, gave a little nod and a half-smile in Stiles' direction after receiving a ‘go ahead’ gesture from Derek, who excused himself, something he seemed to do every time Lydia came in to chat with Stiles.

Stiles figured it was because Derek was too important for their little gossip sessions. Lydia told him that it was because she knew something that Derek didn’t want to talk about. Lydia had mime zipped her mouth after that, turning the conversation to something else.

Isaac was polite, good-looking, and apparently part of the Hale pack. He also looked like he hadn’t been told much about what was going on, because he stood awkwardly to the side while Lydia dropped herself onto the couch like it belonged to her.

“Isaac has no friends outside of his pack,” she said, waving off Isaac’s spluttering. “Be nice to him.”

“I’m always nice,” Stiles replied, offering Isaac a hand. “Ignore anything Derek might’ve said about me.”

Isaac grinned. “Derek hasn’t said anything bad. Which is suspicious, given how much he usually grunts and complains about everything.”

Behind her, the office door creaked open again, and Laura Hale walked in. She took one look at Lydia perched comfortably on Stiles’ couch and nearly tripped over her own feet.

To her credit, Laura recovered fast. Or… mostly fast. She straightened up, cleared her throat with a little too much force, and said, “Lydia. You’re… here.”

Lydia tilted her head, lips curving. “You’re Laura, right? Derek’s sister?”

“Yep,” Laura said, popping the 'p' and then looking like she immediately regretted it. She crossed the room with what she clearly hoped was casual swagger but came off more like someone trying to remember how their legs worked. “You’ve got… nice shoes.”

There was a pause.

Lydia raised a perfectly arched brow. “Thanks?” she said, like she wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or somehow an insult.

Laura nodded too enthusiastically. “I mean, not that I was looking. Just—shoes. Nice.”

Stiles blinked. Lydia blinked. Laura looked like she wanted to implode.

“So,” Laura continued, voice a little too high. “You, uh… hang out here a lot?”

Lydia leaned back against the cushions. “Are you asking if I come here often?”

Stiles choked on air.

Laura opened her mouth. Closed it. Made a small, strangled noise that might’ve been the beginning of a sentence before turning abruptly toward Stiles.

“I’m stealing your soda,” she muttered, grabbing the can off his desk and fleeing like the room was on fire.

Lydia looked after her, amused. “She’s cute.”

Stiles could only nod, still trying to process what just happened. Isaac, on the other hand, looked somewhere between horrified and completely entertained.

Later that week, Stiles took Isaac along to grab some tacos before heading home, and Scott happened to swing by to meet him there. Introductions were made easily; Isaac and Scott hit it off fast, talking about lacrosse and weird high school injuries like they'd been friends for years.

But just as they were walking out, Isaac elbowed Stiles and muttered with a grin, “You better hope Derek doesn’t find out you smell like me now.”

Stiles nearly choked on his drink.

Scott noticed, of course. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said quickly, voice cracking. “He says weird things. Werewolf things. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Scott gave him a long look.

Later, when it was just the two of them—back at Scott’s place, playing video games in the half-dark—Stiles finally broke.

“I have a huge crush on my boss.”

Scott paused the game to give him a patented Scott look. “You think?”

“No, like… huge, man. It’s becoming a problem. He brought me coffee the other day and I almost got down on my knees.”

Scott made a face. “To… propose?”

“I wish Scotty. I wish.”

“You have no chill.”

“I never had chill!” Stiles threw his hands in the air. “But now I have negative chill. He touches my back and I forget how to English.”

Scott winced. “And he’s… like, your alpha at work?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said miserably, falling back onto the couch. “I’m doomed.”

Scott was quiet for a second, then said, “You should talk to him.”

Stiles gave him a look like he’d grown two heads. “Yeah, sure, I’ll just waltz up and say, ‘Hey, Hale, I want you to bite me and ruin my life. Interested?’”

Scott shook his head, laughing. “You’re such a disaster.”

“Thank you for your support in these difficult times.”

Back at the office later that week, things had mostly returned to normal.

And by normal, Stiles meant that he was sitting on the couch surrounded by color-coded folders and Derek was at his desk typing like the keyboard had personally offended him.

Stiles twirled a pen between his fingers, glancing up. “So, just out of curiosity, do you color-code your murder board files too, or is that a privilege reserved for your admin omega?”

Derek didn’t even look up. “I don’t have murder boards. And you’re not my omega.”

Stiles’ heart gave a little lurch. Not the fun kind.

Right. Of course not.

He wasn’t Derek’s omega. He wasn’t even Derek’s. He never would be.

“Yeah. No. Obviously not.” He laughed—too quick, too light—but it barely made it out before the silence swallowed it whole.

Derek finally glanced up, brows furrowed like he’d only just realized how that might have sounded. He shrugged slightly, like it was obvious. “You’re Scott’s.”

Stiles blinked. “I’m… what?”

Derek tilted his head, slow and deliberate. “You smell like him. Strongly. I just assumed you were in his pack.”

“I’m not,” Stiles said, before he could think too hard about it. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids. But we’re not pack.”

Something flickered across Derek’s face—surprise, maybe. Or relief. It was hard to tell with him sometimes.

“Scott doesn’t even have a pack.”

“Huh.” Derek’s eyebrows shot up, obviously very surprised by this statement. He didn’t say anything else. Just nodded once, like it had all been cleared up, but his eyes lingered—just for a moment—on Stiles’ face, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His fingers flexed once against the desk. When he finally looked away, he turned his attention back to his screen, posture a little too straight.

Chapter Text

The weeks rolled on, and Stiles kept showing up to work.

By now, he and Derek had settled into a comfortable routine. Derek was always at work before Stiles, bringing them both some type of nutritious breakfast.

Stiles was convinced it was some deep-seated werewolf thing, like his alpha instincts were personally offended that an unmated omega might starve under his roof.

Every time Derek handed him something chia-based, Stiles' heart did a little pathetic flop. Because he was sure that Derek had a real mate out there, probably one who ate kale voluntarily.

Stiles would catch up on emails, organise Derek’s diary, and just generally try and annoy Derek as much as possible, which Derek would just snort at, shaking his head before pushing Stiles back in the direction of his couch.

Unfortunately for Stiles, he hadn’t been straddled on that couch since The Incident.

The couch had become Stiles' workstation. Derek had frowned at first, worried that Stiles would end up with a bad back. He insisted on buying him an ergonomic chair, but Stiles refused time and time again.

Finally, Stiles had sprawled himself across the couch in defiance—one foot on the floor, the other flung across the back, making it clear that if Derek wanted to move him, he’d have to do it himself.

Derek’s eyes had flashed red. Stiles might’ve whimpered a little. But Derek backed down. Victory.

That brought them to now, Stiles throwing paper balls at Derek, who, despite them hitting his head every now and then, seemed much more interested in the computer in front of him.

Stiles huffed in frustration, boredom gnawing at him. It was a slow day for both of them, with no meetings scheduled for Derek. The alpha, however, had plenty he could be doing. Stiles, on the other hand, had been told to take a break and relax.

Stiles wasn't very good at relaxing.

“Derek.” Stiles whined; a tactic he’d learned to get his attention. Derek could ignore a lot of things, but apparently not a needy omega making sad puppy noises.

Derek tensed, but his focus remained on the paperwork in front of him, his posture rigid. Stiles could feel the familiar heat of irritation rising in his chest. He wasn’t having any of this. No, he wasn’t going to let Derek ignore him. Not when he was so clearly bored out of his mind that he might actually die from it. So, Stiles whined again, throwing in a disgruntled moan for good measure.

Finally, Derek's patience snapped. A low, frustrated growl slipped from his lips before he turned to face Stiles, irritation clear in his eyes.

“What?” he snapped, his voice rough with barely contained annoyance. That’s what Stiles assumed it was anyway.

Stiles groaned, dragging out the sound, pushing his lips into a perfect pout and batting his eyelashes. “I’m bored,” he said, the words thick with childish drama.

Derek sighed deeply, his frustration evident as he ran a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Before Stiles could respond, Derek stood up suddenly, grabbing his phone and wallet off the desk with a quick motion. “Get up,” he ordered, his voice clipped but still carrying an underlying tone of authority. “We’re going for coffee.”

Stiles' eyes lit up, a grin spreading across his face in an instant. He shot up from the couch with a speed that made Derek blink in surprise. Derek couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Stiles' eagerness. But even though he was clearly annoyed, Stiles knew that Derek secretly found it endearing. Maybe. Potentially.

“You don’t need to tell me twice!” Stiles exclaimed, practically bouncing on his feet.

Stiles led the way, skipping the elevator in favour of the stairs that led to the front of the office block.

As they passed the open-plan offices, Stiles was abruptly tugged to the other side of Derek, who seemed to be trying to block Stiles from view with his body. A large hand wrapped around his bicep, the other lingering just slightly on his waist as he was manoeuvred.

“Stiles!” A voice rang out from across the room, sharp and insistent. Both Stiles and Derek froze at the sound, tension instantly creeping through the air.

Ah. Now Stiles understood what Derek was trying to do.

“Greenberg.” Stiles muttered under his breath. “Great.”

Ever since Stiles’ last heat, Greenberg had developed a sixth sense for appearing at the worst times. Break room? Greenberg. Elevator? Greenberg. Corner of Stiles' nightmares? Probably Greenberg.

On more than one occasion, Stiles’ heart had skyrocketed, and Derek, having the added benefit of both alpha and werewolf senses, had barged into the room, creating a much more hostile work environment in a matter of seconds. It truly was a skill.

Unfortunately, Derek couldn't open a moving elevator—Stiles was pretty sure that was outside his capabilities—but more often than not, Derek would be waiting by the doors as they opened, growling at Stiles to hurry up and get to work, effectively cutting Greenberg off.

Derek could be grumpy like that, but Stiles definitely had no complaints when it came to Derek interrupting Greenberg’s advances.

Today, though, Derek seemed particularly tense, almost possessive in the way he shielded Stiles with his body. It wasn’t lost on Stiles, who glanced up at Derek’s stiff posture.

He wasn’t sure if it was the ongoing irritation with Greenberg or something else, but Derek’s protective instinct was on full display. As Stiles walked past Greenberg with an exaggerated smile, he noticed the way Derek’s jaw tightened and his gaze narrowed.

Greenberg, however, didn’t seem to notice or care, approaching Stiles with that overconfident smirk that made Stiles’ skin crawl, completely bypassing Derek.

“Hey, Stiles. Busy day?” Greenberg stepped in a little too close, just inside Stiles’ personal space, and rested a hand casually on the edge of the doorframe—effectively blocking his path. His voice was casual, but there was that usual, leering current beneath the surface.

Stiles took half a step back, but there wasn’t much room to move—not unless he wanted to crash into Derek’s chest, which, honestly, didn’t sound so bad right now.

Stiles opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, “Let’s go, Stiles,” Derek’s voice was low and commanding, firm with a quiet finality that made it clear there was no room for argument. Stiles only shrugged, offering Greenberg a glance that he hoped conveyed not today.

“Later, Greenbean.”

As he turned to leave, Stiles felt Derek’s hand resting firmly on his back, guiding him away. Usually, Stiles would say something, but he had a feeling that the alpha in Derek needed to protect the omega right now, so he allowed it. While ignoring the heat that the large palm was radiating through his shirt, of course.

They walked in silence to the coffee shop. The bell above the door jingled as Stiles and Derek stepped inside, the warm air hitting Stiles like a wave after the cold outside. The aroma of coffee beans, vanilla, and cinnamon wrapped around them, making Stiles’ stomach rumble slightly.

Derek seemed to relax just a little, but only for a moment. His eyes scanned the room quickly, as if keeping alert.

Stiles, blissfully unaware, bee-lined for the counter. “Should I get a muffin? Am I a muffin person today?”

Derek didn’t respon, his eyes flicking toward a group of people standing near the seating area. A couple of them glanced at Stiles, chatting too loudly, and one or two smiles were exchanged between them. Stiles felt the tension ripple through Derek's body without even understanding why.

Derek’s voice was low as he muttered, “I’ll get the drinks.”

He moved swiftly, still keeping a careful distance from Stiles, but when a few people in line stepped too close to Stiles, it was as if a switch flipped. Derek stepped right up beside him, his presence enough to make the people behind him step back.

Stiles didn’t even notice at first, still looking at the menu options. He was just about to open his mouth to ask Derek what he wanted when he felt a subtle pressure on his shoulder, and then Derek’s arm was at his back, a firm but not unkind touch.

“Derek,” Stiles started, giving him a curious look, but Derek didn’t take his eyes off the people around them. Stiles looked around and finally noticed the room - people were giving Derek a wider berth now, stepping back from him and, by extension, from Stiles.

“I’ll get it,” Derek said again, his tone almost sharp, though quieter than usual. “You stay here.”

It was that protective edge again, the same one that had taken Stiles by surprise earlier.

Stiles wanted to argue, but something in Derek’s stance told him that any resistance wouldn’t work. The alpha wasn’t letting him go anywhere.

“Okay, okay. I get it,” Stiles muttered, crossing his arms. He leaned against the counter, his eyes following Derek as he moved along the counter to where the cashier was waiting.

But even then, Derek wasn’t letting up. He kept his eyes on Stiles the entire time, eyes darting when a man in the far corner lingered too long, staring at Stiles a little too intensely. Derek’s shifted, a hint of red flashing in his gaze, and Stiles saw the way the guy quickly looked away, embarrassed by the silent warning.

While Derek ordered, Stiles leaned on the counter and did his best not to notice the way that Derek hadn’t stopped glancing over his shoulder like he expected someone to throw a net over Stiles and run off.

“What are you, my bodyguard now?” Stiles teased quietly, knowing Derek would be able to hear.

Derek didn’t answer. Didn’t even acknowledge that Stiles had spoken.

Rude.

He finally placed their order, his movements quick, efficient. The barista gave him a polite smile, but even she seemed to try and keep their interaction to a minimum.

When Derek returned with their drinks, he was standing at Stiles’ side again, their arms brushing very slightly. It was almost like Derek couldn’t stand to let anyone else get too close to Stiles.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, taking the coffee from Derek’s hand, though his mind was still swirling with a dozen questions about why Derek was acting this way today.

Derek just nodded. He seemed distracted, though not by anything outside the coffee shop. He was still calculating the room, his gaze constantly moving between the people in line, the tables, Stiles.

It was only when Stiles noticed a group of women sitting near the window who exchanged a few glances that Derek’s focus snapped to them, and Stiles actually felt the air shift. Derek moved even closer, just enough that it was hard to ignore how he was positioning himself between Stiles and the rest of the room, a clear barrier to anyone who might think to cross it.

“Derek, seriously,” Stiles said, his voice quieter now, though there was still a hint of amusement in his tone. “What’s with the bodyguard routine?”

Derek finally looked at him, his jaw set, eyes sharp, before he spoke in that low, growling voice that always seemed to make Stiles' heartbeat spike “Just stay close, Stiles. Don’t wander off.”

Stiles felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I wasn’t planning on wandering anywhere.”

Derek didn’t answer, but his hand brushed against Stiles’ back again as if to guide him (Stiles was going to commit the feel of his palm to his memory).

He wasn’t sure why Derek was acting like this, but he didn’t really mind it either. Not when it was keeping people away from him when he was only days from his next heat.

It was then that Stiles realised that he was probably giving off pre-heat pheromones, and Derek’s alpha wolf was probably reacting to them, wanting to protect the omega that, in terms of work, technically belonged to him.

It was a bit of a blow to Stiles’ ego, as he had thought that maybe, just maybe, some feelings were reciprocated there, but alas.

It wasn’t affection. Just biology. Nothing personal. That sucked more than he wanted to admit.

Stiles exhaled slowly, like the air had been knocked out of him without warning. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to swallow the bitter taste of disappointment.

As they stepped out of the coffee shop, the cold hit Stiles like a slap in the face. He shivered, pulling his collar up against the chill. The air was crisp, but it wasn’t until they were halfway down the block that the first few flakes of snow began to drift lazily from the sky, settling on the sidewalk with a soft crunch.

Stiles grumbled under his breath, trying to zip his jacket up higher, but it was no use—he hadn’t been expecting the snow, and the cold was seeping right through.

"Great," he muttered, glancing up at the sky. The snowflakes were starting to fall faster now, swirling around them as the wind picked up. "Of course it starts snowing now."

He glanced at Derek, who had his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, looking annoyingly unaffected by the temperature. The alpha barely seemed to notice the snow, his shoulders stiff and his gaze forward as they walked. Stiles could never understand how Derek managed to always look so composed.

But then, without warning, Derek’s arm shot out, pulling Stiles in close against his side, wrapping around him with a suddenness that made Stiles blink in surprise.

“Derek?” Stiles started, but Derek didn’t let him go, just tugged him closer, pressing him into the warmth of his chest.

"You're not dressed for this," Derek muttered, his voice low and firm, almost gruff, like he’d made up his mind that Stiles wasn’t going to freeze to death on his watch.

How sweet.

Stiles tried to wriggle a little, but it was more out of instinct than anything else. He was definitely not used to being pulled in like this. Especially not in front of people, though thankfully the street was almost empty now, the snow starting to thin the crowds.

“Derek,” he said again, feeling his face flush despite the cold. "I’m fine. I—”

The alpha cut him off with a low, dismissive grunt, tightening his hold around Stiles. "You're not."

The heat radiating off Derek's body was like a furnace compared to the biting cold. Stiles felt a strange sense of comfort, though he was still slightly bewildered by the whole thing.

The snow began to fall heavier now, and Stiles felt Derek's arm around him shift just slightly, making sure Stiles was tucked more firmly under his body.

"Seriously, Derek," Stiles said, his voice quieter now, a little less defensive. The snowflakes caught in his hair, and he finally gave in, leaning into Derek’s warmth instead of resisting it. “You don’t have to do this.”

Derek didn’t say anything for a moment, his grip tightening again as they continued down the street. The snow settled on his dark hair, his shoulders, but Stiles barely noticed the cold anymore.

“You’re not walking back to the office frozen,” Derek said finally, his tone brooking no argument.

Stiles looked up at him, still processing, but then something in Derek’s expression softened just slightly—just enough for Stiles to catch it before it was gone again. There was no gruffness now, no impatience. Just a quiet determination, like Derek wasn’t going to let anything happen to him.

Stiles blinked, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, thanks, I guess."

Derek didn’t respond, just kept walking, the weight of his arm steady around Stiles’ shoulders, guiding him through the snowfall.

As soon as they got back to the office, Stiles made a beeline for his couch, throwing himself down onto it. His jacket hit the armrest and promptly slid to the floor, but he made no move to pick it up.

Derek followed more slowly, giving Stiles a long look before setting his coffee cup down on the table and retreating to his desk like he needed the extra distance.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You gonna sulk all afternoon, or should I start humming the ‘Bodyguard’ and make this weird for both of us?”

Derek didn’t dignify that with an answer. He sat behind his desk, flipping open a file folder with more force than necessary.

Stiles took a sip of his drink. “So… just a wild guess here, but is this recent uptick in possessiveness because I’m a few days out from my heat?”

Derek stilled. Completely. Like Stiles had just said the forbidden word. Then, after a beat: “You are?”

Stiles blinked. “You didn’t know?”

Derek shrugged, all too casual. “I had a feeling.”

“Wow, you mean your supernatural sniffer didn’t pick up the three dozen pheromone bombs I’ve apparently been dropping all over the office? Incredible.”

Derek gave him a flat look. “You have been more annoying than usual.”

“Rude,” Stiles shot back, putting a hand to his chest in mock offence. “I’ll have you know this is my normal level of annoying. Hormonal me sings Britney Spears and cries at Christmas commercials.”

“Just admit it Lassie,” Stiles smirked. “You can totally smell it.”

That got a reaction—a muscle in Derek’s jaw ticked, his eyes flashing something just shy of warning.

Stiles leaned forward, voice lowering with a hint of challenge. “Relax. I’m not gonna go into heat under your desk. Pretty sure HR would have some issues with that.”

Derek’s fingers curled into fists where they rested on his thighs. “You shouldn’t joke about that.”

Stiles blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden sharp edge in his tone. “Whoa, okay. I thought we were in banter territory, my bad.”

Derek looked away, jaw tight. “It’s not funny.”

Stiles sat back again, a bit of the teasing gone. “Okay… noted.” He paused, letting the silence breathe between them before adding, more softly, “Seriously though, this whole protective thing? You don’t have to do it. I’m not some fragile omega. I can handle Greenberg, and, shocker, I’ve been to a coffee shop before while nearing my heat.”

Derek didn’t look at him. “It’s not about that.”

Stiles tilted his head. “Then what is it about?”

No answer. Just the clack of Derek’s keyboard and the slow rise and fall of his shoulders.

Stiles let out a sigh, trying for lightness again. “Look, I promise I’ll survive the next few days. And if I don’t, well... whoever I end up mating with better bring snacks and lube, right?”

That did it.

Derek went completely still.

Like—pre-storm, dead-air, heart-skipping still.

Then, slowly, he stood up, pushing his chair back with enough force that it scraped harshly against the floor. His expression had gone blank, wiped clean like a mask had been slammed down behind his eyes.

Stiles froze.

“Don’t talk about that,” Derek said, voice flat. Not low and growly like before—just cold. Controlled. Dangerous in a way Stiles hadn’t expected.

“What? Mating?” Stiles said, trying to joke, though his voice was more cautious now. “It’s not a big deal—”

“It is,” Derek snapped, cutting him off. His eyes burned into Stiles’ for a second longer than necessary before he looked away, grabbing a folder off the desk and flipping it open like he could pretend nothing had happened. “It is a big deal.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Stiles swallowed. “I was joking.”

“Maybe don’t.”

The words landed like a door slamming shut.

Stiles sat there, quiet now, staring at the side of Derek’s face as the alpha stubbornly focused on the paperwork that clearly meant absolutely nothing.

So much for harmless flirting, Stiles thought, as he silently tried to make himself invisible.

Chapter Text

The next day, when Stiles showed up to work, thankfully not meeting Greenberg on the way in, he was instantly manhandled back into the elevator. Derek’s hand was suddenly there, on his chest, guiding him back toward the buttons.

"Go home," Derek’s voice came, low and demanding, his fingers already pressing the button to take them back down to the car park.

Stiles, forever one to challenge, and also caught off guard, barely managed to sputter, “What? No!”

Derek’s expression didn’t waver. “Stiles.”

That single word, uttered with such quiet finality, left no room for argument. It was a command, not a suggestion. The elevator doors pinged open, and, once again, it was Derek’s unwavering presence behind him, a hand on his back, that propelled Stiles foward.

“I’m fine,” Stiles mumbled under his breath, trying to convince himself as much as Derek, but even as the words left his lips, he could feel his body betraying him - his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.

“No, you’re not,” Derek growled, his voice rough “You’re going home. Right now.”

Stiles blinked, his mind racing for an excuse. But there was nothing. He couldn’t think straight, and the words tangled in his throat. He tried to focus, but the proximity between them—Derek towering over him, his scent wrapping around Stiles—made his throat tighten.

“I can’t just leave,” Stiles stammered, forcing the words out through a dry throat. “I’ve got… work to do.” The excuse was weak, even to his own ears, and he could tell Derek wasn’t having any of it.

Derek’s expression was set in stone. “You’re not going anywhere near that damn office in this state. You’re gonna get in the car, and I’m taking you home.”

Before Stiles could argue again, Derek was already turning, making his way to his black Camaro, the sleek vehicle glinting under the garage lights.

“I don’t need a ride, Derek,” Stiles muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I can just get the bus—”

“No.” Derek’s voice was sharp, cutting through Stiles’ protest without a second thought. “I’m driving you.”

 He opened the passenger side door, and Stiles felt an odd mixture of relief and annoyance.

It wasn’t like he needed to be babied.

But damn if Derek’s protectiveness didn’t make him feel safe.

Stiles slid into the seat with a sigh, the cool leather of the Camaro against his burning skin. He could feel Derek’s presence beside him, strong and comforting, even if he was still a little pissed.

The engine of the Camaro roared to life, a deep purr vibrating through the car, and Stiles let his head fall back against the seat, his eyes fluttering closed in spite of himself.

“I’m fine, y’know,” he mumbled weakly as his eyes opened, a small protest that barely made it past his lips.

Derek’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, the muscles in his forearm flexing, and Stiles could almost feel the tension in his jaw.

“I don’t care if you think that you’re fine,” Derek replied. “I’m not taking any chances when it comes to you. Now, close your eyes, and let me get you home.”

The drive felt endless, each second stretching on like an eternity. The hum of the engine was a constant backdrop, but it barely registered over the thrum of Stiles' pulse in his ears.

He could feel the weight of the silence between them, thick and suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides. His body seemed to respond to it all too intensely—his skin tingling with the awareness of Derek so close.

Stiles hated how much he could feel, hated how his body was betraying him at every turn, but he couldn’t push it down. Every shift of Derek’s posture, every subtle movement as he navigated the road, sent a jolt of electricity through Stiles, making his pulse spike erratically. His breath caught, shallow and uneven, and he had to force himself not to lean closer to the air vent, to breathe in the scent that was filling the car, enveloping him like a heavy, intoxicating blanket.

He tried to push it away, tried to ignore the way his body was already reacting, but it was impossible.   The heat was crawling under his skin, spreading through him like wildfire, making his thoughts scatter and his focus blur. His stomach flipped and fluttered with an ache he didn’t know how to name, something raw, desperate. It felt like the edges of his control were fraying with every breath.

At first, it was manageable. The low buzz in his chest, the way his heartbeat picked up speed with every turn, every glance Derek cast his way. But then, the car made a sharp turn. Stiles couldn't help it—he inhaled sharply, pulling in a deep breath, letting Derek’s scent fill his lungs. It was overwhelming. Drowning.

His head spun, his vision briefly clouding as everything inside him went wild—his heart thundering in his chest, his body betraying him in the worst possible way.

His chest tightened. His stomach clenched, and then... then it fluttered with an intensity that left him breathless. His cheeks flushed hot, and he could almost feel the burn of his face, radiating heat, as if the whole world was suddenly too small.

God, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit here and pretend this wasn’t happening, that he wasn’t feeling this overwhelming pull towards Derek, this maddening, frustrating need to be closer to him, to feel more of him.

And then, as if the universe was mocking him, Derek glanced at him, just for a second. Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, time stopped. It was like Derek saw everything. The weight of Stiles' desperation, his struggle to hold it together. He saw it all, laid bare. Stiles saw something shift in Derek’s gaze, something flickering—dark, dangerous, hungry.

Stiles’ face went beet red, and he immediately turned his head toward the window, hoping the cool air from the vent would cool the sudden heat flooding his face, his chest, his entire body.

“Derek—” Stiles stammered, breathless, already regretting how much too much his voice gave away.

“Stiles.”

The way Derek said his name sent a shiver down his spine—low, soft, but it was anything but gentle. But there was something there that made Stiles’ heart race even faster, something that made his skin tingle.

“You’re smelling me,” Derek said, and the words - said so casually, so effortlessly - were like a punch to the gut. Stiles didn’t know whether to cower or… or something else. He stared at Derek, wide-eyed, unsure of what to say, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, but nothing came out.

Derek didn’t look angry. He didn’t look disgusted, but his jaw was a little tighter, his grip on the steering wheel more firm than before.

“I - I didn’t mean to,” Stiles muttered, his voice shaky, his hands suddenly cold and clammy as he fumbled with his seatbelt, needing something to do, anything to distract him from the mess he’d just made of everything. "I didn’t - I mean, it’s not like I wanted to - “

Derek growled under his breath, low and almost inaudible, and Stiles could feel the shift in the air, the subtle change in the atmosphere as Derek’s words came out strained, rougher than before. “Relax, Stiles. It’s fine.” But even as he said it, Stiles could tell it wasn’t fine. Derek’s words were too carefully measured, too controlled.

The car felt smaller now. Derek’s scent was everywhere, and it was messing with Stiles’ brain. His stomach did another flip, his face burning with embarrassment. He shifted uncomfortably in the seat, unable to escape the fact that he’d been caught inhaling Derek’s scent.

But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop himself from breathing it in, from leaning just a little bit closer to the air vent.

Derek, for his part, was trying very hard not to let his reaction show. He gripped the steering wheel even tighter, and Stiles could see the faint, almost imperceptible tension in his posture. He couldn’t understand it — he didn’t understand any of it.

"You’re not… just… you’re not doing this on purpose, are you?” Derek asked, his voice betraying the tight control he was maintaining. His words were slow, careful.

Stiles looked at him, completely flustered now. He opened his mouth to reply, but then realised that whatever he said would only make it worse. He didn’t know why Derek’s scent had suddenly become so intoxicating, or why it was making him feel this out of control. He had been around other alphas before when he was in heat. It was nothing like this.

“I - I didn’t mean to,” Stiles whispered, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he believed himself anymore. “I don’t - “ He swallowed hard, his pulse racing in a way that made him feel utterly ridiculous.

Derek’s eyes flicked to him again, his jaw working overtime. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then paused. His lips pressed together as if he were trying to bite back whatever response was bubbling up inside of him.

Stiles couldn’t help himself - he sniffed again, just once, before glancing over at Derek, eyes wide, as if to apologise. But when he did, Derek was already looking at him, his gaze now so intense, so personal, it made Stiles’ entire body heat up. His stomach did a strange flip.

“Stop,” Derek muttered, his voice low, that made Stiles’ chest tighten in a way he couldn’t ignore. “Stop before you make this worse.”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat, realising with a cold, sinking feeling that he had already gone too far. He couldn’t help it. His heat was only a day away, and he was desperate. He wanted an alpha. He wanted to nest, and God, there was only one alpha he wanted right now.

But before he could get another word out, Derek was turning into a familiar street, his grip still tight on the wheel, his expression unreadable. And all Stiles could do was sit there, heart pounding in his chest, trying to make sense of the storm of emotions swirling between them.

As soon as Derek parked in front of Stiles' house, Stiles wasted no time in throwing the door open and stumbling out. His heat wasn’t here yet, not fully, but Stiles could feel it - creeping beneath his skin, crawling through his veins, making his whole body hum with a desperate energy that was almost unbearable.

He couldn’t think straight. He didn’t know how to process what had happened in the car - the way his body had reacted to Derek, the scent, the tension in the air between them. Stiles just needed to get inside. Get to his garage.

Derek didn’t follow immediately. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted Derek to follow. Or maybe he did. Maybe it was easier to have Derek there, to have that presence anchoring him when everything inside him was in chaos. But no. He couldn’t think about that right now.

He shoved open the door to his garage, the dim light flickering overhead as he stepped inside. His chest was tight, and the closer he got to the pile of old crates in the corner, the more his body seemed to protest. But he pushed through it, pushing himself forward as if it would make the feeling go away.

Stiles had to make a nest. His instincts were screaming at him to build it, to create something that would make him feel safe. 

He grabbed at the nearest crate, determined to drag it out, but his legs were shaking, and his head was spinning. He could feel his knees wobbling as the weight of the crate hit him.

“What are you doing.”

The voice was low, hard, no question behind it, and it froze him in place.

He turned his head slightly, but his vision swam for a moment. He could hear Derek moving closer, feel the tension in the air.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” Stiles muttered, trying to sound convincing even though his body was screaming at him to stop.

But the moment he tried to lift the crate again, everything went wrong. The room tilted, his legs gave out beneath him, and before he could even react, he was crumbling toward the floor.

“Shit,” Stiles gasped, his breath caught in his throat.

In an instant, Derek was there, his arm wrapping around Stiles’ waist to catch him, pulling him back up before he could hit the floor. Stiles’ chest heaved as he tried to regain control, but his legs wouldn’t hold him. His knees buckled again, and he leaned heavily against Derek’s chest, the man’s solid presence holding him up.

“Stop,” Derek’s voice was a low command, his grip firm as he held Stiles in place. “You’re not fine, Stiles.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles managed to repeat, though the words felt wrong as soon as they left his mouth. He could feel Derek’s body beneath him - strong, steady, warm - and it was making everything worse. Every breath he took only seemed to make his chest feel tighter, more suffocating.

Derek didn’t buy it for a second. His hand slid up to Stiles’ shoulder, giving him a gentle but insistent push to get him standing upright. “No. You’re not. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“I need to—” Stiles started, but the words caught in his throat as another wave of dizziness hit him. His head swam again, and he felt like he was going to fall. He didn’t want to lean on Derek. He didn’t want to be this weak. But his body betrayed him, and the next thing he knew, he was falling into Derek’s chest again, his heart pounding as if it was trying to escape.

Derek caught him without hesitation, his arms around Stiles with a fierceness that almost made Stiles shiver. “You’re not doing this alone, Stiles,” Derek growled, and his voice was firm. “Let me help.”

Stiles wanted to argue, to tell Derek to back off, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was breathe, in and out, desperately trying to stay upright, trying to force the rising panic back down. Derek’s scent was overwhelming now - too much - and Stiles could feel his body reacting.

“I—” Stiles gasped, his breath shallow. His skin burned, his pulse hammered in his ears, and the weight of everything pressing down on him made it hard to think. “I don’t need… I don’t need you to take care of me, okay?”  His words came out ragged, but he was trying so hard to hold onto some sense of control. "I just need to do this. I need to be alone."

But Derek’s grip on him didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened. “You’re not doing anything alone,” Derek said, the words firm and final. “I’m not letting you hurt yourself.”

Before Stiles could protest again, Derek was already stepping in, carefully pulling him away from the pile of crates and leading him toward the back corner of the garage. He moved Stiles toward the stack of blankets and pillows that were already there, as if Derek had known exactly what he was doing the moment they’d arrived.

Stiles hadn’t even realised Derek had been watching him, observing, but there was no judgment in Derek’s gaze - just a calm, steady patience that made Stiles want to crumble.

“Sit,” Derek commanded softly as he guided Stiles to to the blankets. “Rest. You’re not building a damn nest in this condition.”

“I—” Stiles’ legs were shaky, and his vision blurred again, but Derek’s hand on his shoulder kept him grounded. He sank down into the blankets reluctantly, trying to ignore how Derek’s proximity felt like it was both suffocating and comforting at the same time.

Derek crouched in front of him, his eyes scanning Stiles’ face with an intensity that made Stiles feel exposed. “You don’t have to do this alone, Stiles,” he said again, quieter this time. “You don’t have to be the tough guy. Not with me.”

“

Stiles opened his mouth to argue again, but his chest felt tight, the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t argue anymore. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the vulnerability of the moment. Whatever it was, it made Stiles finally let out a shuddering breath and lean back against the blankets.

“I just…” Stiles whispered, unsure of what to say. “I just wanted to do this on my own.”

Derek didn’t reply immediately. He just stayed there, watching Stiles with those eyes that seemed to see right through him. 

“I know,” he finally said, his voice softer. “But sometimes, Stiles, you don’t have to.”

Derek dropped to his knees in front of Stiles and began pulling blankets from the pile. Stiles could only watch as Derek moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had done this before.

His hands were strong as he arranged the blankets, creating a soft, welcoming space around Stiles. The sight of Derek - strong, focused, unhurried - made something in Stiles’ chest twist. It was as if Derek wasn’t just building the nest for him, but for them, and the thought sent another wave of heat surging through him.

Stiles suddenly needed to be closer to the alpha, and he tried to push himself upright, but his limbs felt like they were made of lead, his body betraying him more with each passing second. His legs wobbled again, and this time, Derek was there to steady him before he could fall. Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to argue. The heat was too much now, his skin flushed, his breath erratic.

“Stay still,” Derek’s voice was firm, but gentle. “I’ve got this.”

Stiles felt like he was on fire. His body hummed with an electric desperation, the scent of Derek’s presence making his head spin, and his pulse - God, his pulse was frantic

His hands curled into the blankets beneath him, his fingers trembling as he tried to hold onto something solid. The heat was overwhelming, more than just the physical sensation - it was the way his senses were clouded, the way his thoughts scattered every time he breathed in too deeply. The way his body screamed for more.

Derek’s hands were moving with precision, folding the blankets, stacking pillows, and positioning them in just the right way. He was a pillar of calm, steady and strong as he built the nest Stiles had been desperate to create, but couldn’t on his own. The realisation hit Stiles hard, and his breath caught again.

It wasn’t just the nest. It was Derek - Derek’s closeness, the way he cared for Stiles in this moment, in a way that went beyond just physical need. Stiles had never been good at asking for help, but right now, he didn’t have a choice.

Derek’s hands paused as he looked up at Stiles, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a subtle shift in his gaze, Derek continued, pulling more blankets around Stiles’ legs to tuck them in, wrapping him in warmth. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His actions spoke volumes.

His heat surged again, sharper this time, and Stiles’ body couldn’t take it. His skin burned, and his chest tightened as the familiar pull of his instincts took over. He gasped, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts, and he grabbed at the blankets beneath him, trying to ground himself.

Derek was still there, his hands now hovering over Stiles’ shoulders as if he was ready to catch him if he fell apart completely. The tension in the air was thick, but Derek’s presence was solid. Stiles wanted to pull away, to retreat to some corner of his mind where he could control this. But the truth was, he couldn’t.

He couldn’t hide from the heat, and he couldn’t hide from Derek. Not now. Not when everything felt so raw and out of control.

“I need…” Stiles started, his voice breaking, but the words weren’t enough. He couldn’t even explain what he needed. He wasn’t sure himself. His body burned, and the heat was beginning to feel suffocating.

Derek’s hand rested gently on Stiles’ shoulder, grounding him, and Stiles leaned into it without thinking. It was a reassurance, an anchor to something that felt solud and real in a world that was spinning too fast for him to keep up with.

“I know,” Derek murmured softly, his thumb brushing over Stiles’ skin in slow, deliberate strokes. “I know, Stiles. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Stiles’ chest hitched again, and his eyes fluttered closed. The scent of Derek was everywhere, curling around him like smoke, wrapping him up, making his head swim even more. The need inside him only intensified, a desperate craving he couldn’t ignore, couldn’t escape.

He reached for Derek, fingers trembling as they brushed against the fabric of Derek's shirt. Stiles’ pulse was erratic, the wild thumping in his chest matched only by the racing heat coursing through his blood.

"Stay," Stiles murmured, the words barely making it past his lips, sounding weak and small even to him. “Stay with me.”

He felt more than saw Derek tense up. The quiet shift in Derek’s posture, the way his shoulders locked, told Stiles everything he needed to know. Derek’s hands, which had been so gentle moments ago, stilled, and there was an almost imperceptible tightening in his jaw. Stiles could feel the change, the sudden distance that slid between them like an invisible wall.

Derek’s voice was low, strained, like it hurt him to speak. “I can’t.” He said it with a force that left no room for argument. “That’s your heat talking. You don’t actually want me here.”

Stiles’ heart twisted at the words, something cold washed over him, pushing against the burning heat inside. He froze, his hand still resting on Derek's chest, the warmth of it doing nothing to soothe the sudden, painful sting.

"No," Stiles whispered, the words escaping his mouth like a plea. "I do want you here."

His voice was shaky, his mind a blur of emotions. The heat was still there, consuming him, but there was something more now. Desperation. Loneliness. The way Derek’s rejection stung worse than any feverish sensation in his body. He was fighting against the need and the words that kept tumbling from his lips, trying to convince Derek to stay, to not leave him alone in this.

Derek didn’t pull away. He didn’t move. But there was a distinct distance between them now, a sharp edge in the air where there used to be warmth. Stiles could feel it - felt the tug of Derek’s presence slipping just out of reach. His heartbeat quickened, and for a second, it was hard to breathe. The quiet was suffocating.

“I know what you need,” Derek continued, voice gruff. “And this isn’t it. You’re not thinking clearly.” His tone was firm, but there was an undeniable tension underneath it, a pain Stiles could almost taste in the air. "You’re in heat. You’re not in your right mind."

Stiles’ breath hitched, and his chest clenched painfully at the words. He wanted to argue, wanted to tell Derek that this - this connection, this pull he felt, this desperate need - wasn’t just the heat talking. But Stiles couldn’t form the words, couldn’t make them sound like they meant anything beyond the sharp, burning ache in his chest.

“I just - God, Derek, I just need you to stay.”

Derek’s face twisted, his expression a mixture of pain and something else that Stiles couldn’t quite place. His hands clenched at his sides, and for a long moment, it seemed like Derek wasn’t sure what to do.

Finally, Derek exhaled sharply and stepped back, his movements swift and final. “I can’t, Stiles.” His voice was rough as he choked out, “It’s not fair.”

Stiles didn’t hear the unspoken ‘On me. It’s not fair on me.’

Derek started to move, away from Stiles, and Stiles didn’t like that. He scrambled up, out of the nest, making Derek turn to face him. But Stiles was too weak right now

Before Stiles could fall to the ground, Derek was there, catching him again, his arms strong as they wrapped around Stiles’ waist, lifting him up and keeping him steady. Stiles’ breath hitched, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words to say what he needed.

“Derek.” Stiles whined, praying that this would work. Derek shook his head, apology evident on his face, before gently placing Stiles back down on the blankets.

“I’ll call your emergency contact.”

Stiles could have cried when Derek walked out the door. Stiles did cry when he heard the Camaro start up and shoot out of the driveway. Stiles cried for god knows how long. He cried until he felt a familiar presence next to him, shushing him and helping him up, guiding him to his bed before his heat actually started.

“Stiles.” Scott sighed, looking down at his best friend. “What happened buddy?”

Chapter Text

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was expecting when his heat ended and he was able to return to work. Awkwardness? Definitely. Judgement? Oh, absolutely. Being fired? Yeah, possibly. 

What he hadn’t expected —what hadn’t even crossed his exhausted, post-heat brain — was Derek looking up from his desk and smiling. And not just any smile, but one that said vacation well spent, not I know you spent the last week feral and half-naked. It threw him.

“Thank god you’re back,” Derek muttered, his voice tired but warm. He furrowed his brows, looking slightly confused, like he was trying to make sense of something that didn’t quite add up. “I’ve had six overlapping meetings this last week. I don’t understand how I’ve done it.”

Before Stiles could even respond, a tablet was shoved into his hands. It was as though Derek had been waiting for him to walk in, already knowing what needed to be done. Stiles couldn’t help but let out a snort, shaking his head as he glanced at Derek’s calendar for the upcoming week.

“I’m not entirely sure how you’ve done this either, Derek,” Stiles said, his voice dripping with disbelief. “How have you even managed to book three meetings at once? The system shouldn’t even let you do that. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

Derek groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Stiles,” he said, his tone tinged with desperation. “Fix it.”

Stiles gave a sharp nod, hopping onto his couch with the tablet in hand. He immediately started untangling the mess that was Derek’s calendar, fingers flying over the screen as he worked. But as he focused on the task at hand, something else was on his mind - another mess that needed fixing.

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles ventured, his voice quieter than usual as he glanced up from the tablet. The older man frowned, his gaze locking onto Stiles as he waited for him to continue. “I… I’m sorry about… last week.”

Derek’s gaze hardened. “You have nothing to apologise for, Stiles. I should have asked someone else - another beta - to escort you home. I know how… difficult… an alphas presence can be in a time like that

Stiles blinked. That… was not the response he’d expected.

Derek was chalking it all up to biology, like his presence had short-circuited Stiles’ brain and that was the end of the story. As if heat delirium was the only reason Stiles had said what he said, done what he did.

And it wasn’t. Not even close.

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Thanks.”

Derek gave a tight, almost imperceptible nod. “Don’t mention it.” But the way he said it - clipped and final - sounded a lot more like don’t bring it up again.

Once the tension between them had been addressed - though not fully unpacked, Stiles was leaving that for another day - it felt like the air in the room lightened, the heaviness dissolving into something more comfortable. The office, which had felt thick with unspoken words and uncomfortable silences just an hour before, now seemed brighter.

Stiles went back to work, tablet in hand, scrolling through Derek’s disaster of a calendar. Derek hovered near his desk, pacing slightly as if he couldn’t quite get comfortable.

“Dude,” Stiles said, shaking his head as he fixed Derek’s third meeting conflict. “This is a mess. You’re going to burn out if you keep double-booking yourself like this. You know that, right?”

Derek gave him a playful, mocking look, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the desk. “Yeah? And what do you suggest I do about it?”

Stiles smirked, glancing at Derek with a wicked grin. “Well, I am pretty damn good at sorting out chaos, you know.”

Derek snorted, clearly not impressed but still amused. “I’m sure you are. You get yourself into enough of it.”

Stiles flopped back on the couch with a groan, stretching like a cat in the sun. “God, I’m starving. Always am the day after a heat. It’s like my body thinks I ran a marathon and forgot to eat for three days.”

He didn’t expect much of a response - but Derek was suddenly on his feet, chair scraping as he stood with purpose.

“Food,” he said, voice clipped, already reaching for his jacket.

Stiles blinked. “Food?”

“Lunch. Now.” Derek was halfway to the door before Stiles could sit up properly.

“It’s barely eleven,” Stiles called after him, confused.

“I know a place that’s open,” Derek tossed back, holding the door and glancing over his shoulder. “Come on.”

Stiles hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. He hadn’t expected Derek to be so... insistent. Then he followed. Quickly.

“So, where exactly are we going?” Stiles asked as they stepped out into the hallway, trying to keep his voice casual as they made their way to the elevator.

Derek didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pressed the button for the elevator, his expression unreadable. “It’s a place I know. Not far. Good food,” he added, as if that was explanation enough.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, mocking. “Good food? You’ve really got me intrigued now.”

The elevator ride was quiet, with the only sound being the soft ding as they reached the ground floor. Derek led the way outside, and the cool air hit Stiles’s face.

They walked in comfortable silence, the city buzzing around them, but it felt like they were in their own little world. Stiles found himself stealing glances at Derek as they walked, his thoughts still racing, trying to process everything that had happened.

“So, is this like a secret lunch spot?” Stiles asked after a few moments, trying to lighten the mood. “Like, are we going to some underground restaurant I don’t know about?”

Derek smirked slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Nothing that dramatic. It’s just a diner a couple of blocks away. But trust me, their sandwiches are to die for.”

“Sandwiches, huh? Glowing review.” Stiles grinned, feeling a little lighter. “I’m sold.”

As they reached the diner, Stiles couldn’t help but be a little surprised. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside - just a small, unassuming building with a faded sign that probably hadn’t been changed in years. But the moment they stepped inside, the warm smell of fresh bread, sizzling bacon, and coffee hit Stiles’s senses, making his stomach growl in approval.

The waitress behind the counter recognized Derek immediately, flashing him a quick smile before nodding towards a booth in the back. “Your usual seat?” she asked, and Derek gave a simple nod in response.

They sat down in the booth, and Stiles immediately slid across the worn seat, feeling more at ease than he had all day. As the waitress handed them menus, Derek looked at Stiles, his expression soft but still carrying that hint of curiosity.

“So, you still hungry, or should we just order a drink?” Derek asked with a smirk, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles chuckled, finally relaxing into the moment. “I’m starving.”

“So,” Stiles started after a few moments, glancing up from the menu with a grin. “Are we just pretending last week never happened?”

Derek didn’t seem surprised by the question. Instead, he leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms as he looked at Stiles. “I think it’s better if we just move on. No point in dwelling.”

Stiles studied him for a moment, wondering what exactly Derek meant by that. It was clear that Derek wasn’t the type to overanalyze or talk about his feelings, and Stiles wasn’t sure if that was a relief or frustrating.

“Fair enough,” Stiles said, giving a small shrug as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, and they placed their orders. The food came quickly, as if it were just waiting for them to sit down and dig in.

As Stiles took his first bite of a perfectly toasted sandwich, he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a slow, deliberate second bite, savoring the moment a little longer than necessary. 

Derek’s eyes were on him, heavy and lingering, and Stiles couldn’t shake the feeling that Derek was watching him a little too closely.

“Okay,” Stiles said, his voice a little rougher than he intended, swallowing hard. “You were right. This place knows what they’re doing.”

Derek’s gaze flicked to his mouth for a brief, heated second before meeting his eyes. There was a flicker there - something dark, something that made Stiles’ chest tighten.

“Told you,” Derek replied, his voice low, almost teasing, his lips quirking upward as though he knew exactly what had just passed between them.

For a while, the conversation drifted to other things - work, random observations, a couple of harmless jabs at each other.

After they’d finished their meal, Derek leaned back in the booth, his gaze thoughtful. “You feeling better?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Better?”

“Yeah. You know,” Derek said, avoiding Stiles’s eyes for a moment, “from everything. Your heat. All that.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m good. Better than I was.”

And it was true. Even though the world wasn’t exactly perfect, being here with Derek - being able to sit across from him, eat lunch, and just exist without the weight of the last few days hanging over them - made things feel a little easier.

Maybe it was the food. Maybe it was the way Derek looked at him, like he wasn’t judging, like he wasn’t expecting anything. But whatever it was, Stiles couldn’t deny that he was glad for the quiet understanding that seemed to pass between them.

“So,” Stiles said after a while, feeling a bit bolder now. “You wanna do this again sometime?”

Derek didn’t answer right away, his gaze steady. But then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I think I’d like that.”

Derek settled the bill, giving Stiles a look that could kill when he offered to pay, grabbing a ‘to go’ sandwich on his way out. The walk back to the office was too quick for Stiles’ liking. But at least his omega instincts were satiated, stomach now full.

None of this stopped Stiles from eyeing up the sandwich currently in Derek’s hand. From the smirk on the older man’s face, Stiles was doing a terrible job at hiding his glances.

Stiles huffed, still slightly on edge from his heat, but no where near enough to want to snatch the food out of the alphas hand.

Turns out, he didn’t have to snatch, or even ask. The food was suddenly being thrust into his arms, and Stiles looked up to see a tinge of red adorning Derek’s ears. How cute.

Stiles mumbled out a thank you as he put the sandwich in his bag, repeating the thanks as Derek held the office door open for him. They both made their way to the stairs without talking, both on the same wavelength of needing a bit more exercise after their early lunch.

They made their way back through the office, the normal buzz of chatter and clacking keyboards surrounding them. Stiles felt oddly more grounded, more… at ease. The awkwardness he’d been bracing for after his heat had been almost nonexistent.

Derek walked beside him, and Stiles couldn’t help but notice how much taller and broader the older man was, especially when they navigated through the maze of desks. Derek’s presence felt reassuring in the hectic mess of the office, like he was some kind of calm in the storm.

“So,” Stiles said, keeping his voice casual but with a little more confidence than before, “next time, I pick the lunch spot.”

“Why?” Derek raised an eyebrow, his voice dry but amused.

“Because I know a place with even better burgers,” Stiles said with a grin. “Trust me.”

“Hmm. We’ll see,” Derek muttered, though there was a hint of something in his tone that made Stiles think maybe he wasn’t so opposed to that idea after all.

“Thirsty?” Derek asked as they were coming up to the kitchen. Stiles smiled and nodded, walking on to catch up with Isaac as Derek went to make them both a drink.

As he reached the open office space, Stiles caught sight of a familiar face - Greenberg. The guy was leaning against a desk, chatting up one of the interns in a way that was far too casual for Stiles’ liking. He could already feel his skin crawl.

As if on cue, Greenberg’s eyes flicked up from the intern and landed on Stiles. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face as he straightened, already walking toward Stiles with that same unnerving swagger.

“Hey, Stiles,” Greenberg greeted, his voice smooth, too smooth, like honey dripping off every word.

Stiles was pretty sure that he was allergic to honey.

Greenberg took a step forward, closing the gap between them before Stiles could even think about retreating. “I was just telling the guys how you’re looking extra good today. You know, now that you’re back from your… little break.”

Stiles’ skin prickled. He forced a polite smile, trying to back away subtly, but Greenberg wasn’t having it.

“Really,” Greenberg continued, his voice low, eyes scanning Stiles with a kind of intensity that made Stiles’ skin crawl. “I’ve been thinking about that last conversation we had. You know, the one where you told me you weren’t interested? I think you might just be playing hard to get.”

Stiles’ throat tightened, his hand instinctively gripping the strap of his bag. He opened his mouth to cut him off - just tell him to back off like he had done time and time before - but Greenberg wasn’t done.

“No need to be shy,” Greenberg said, his tone now dipping into something more lecherous. “I mean, I get it. You’re hot, Stiles. A little rough around the edges, but that's what makes you so interesting.” He took another step closer, his eyes glinting with that same disturbing intensity. “You know, I’m sure you’d feel a whole lot better if you just let go. I could show you a good time - show you what you’ve been missing. Show you how an alpha does things.”

Stiles recoiled, heart thudding in his chest. His mind raced for something to say, something to make him stop, but the words felt stuck in his throat. Greenberg was crossing lines, and Stiles could feel the creeping dread in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the polite facade.

“Dude, back off.” Isaac tried, but as a fellow omega, Greenberg just ignored him.

“Seriously, Stiles,” Greenberg added, taking another step closer until they were almost nose-to-nose. His hand brushed against Stiles’ arm like he was entitled to be that close. “I could rock your entire world. You just have to let me in.”

That was the tipping point. Stiles could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, but he couldn’t even bring himself to speak, too disgusted by the man’s proximity and too furious at how brazenly Greenberg was acting.

It was then that he felt it - Derek’s presence, suddenly looming behind him.

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat as he turned slightly, catching the look in Derek’s eyes. It was a flash of something dark and dangerous, a storm building.

Before Stiles could even process it, Derek stepped forward, his voice low and sharp like a whip cracking through the air.

“Back. Off.”

The force of Derek’s words made Greenberg freeze, a slow, confused blink flickering in his eyes. He looked from Derek to Stiles, still too close, too smug. “What’s your problem?” Greenberg scoffed, but there was no real bravado in his tone, just a thin veneer trying to cover his discomfort, talking back to the boss.

Derek was on him in an instant, stepping between them with a speed that left Stiles momentarily stunned. Derek’s stance was solid, unyielding, his body a wall between Stiles and Greenberg. Stiles could practically feel the tension radiating off of Derek - his jaw clenched tight, muscles coiled, like a predator ready to pounce.

“I said, back off,” Derek repeated, this time the words laced with a quiet fury that made the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck stand up. His voice was sharp, biting.

Greenberg blinked, his expression flickering between confusion and irritation. He looked like he might say something back, but Derek’s next move was so decisive, so full of authority, that the words caught in Greenberg’s throat.

“Don’t touch him,” Derek growled under his breath, his voice so low, warning.

Greenberg swallowed, clearly thrown off by Derek’s intensity. He hesitated for a moment longer, his eyes flicking between Derek and Stiles, but something in Derek’s gaze made him step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright,” Greenberg muttered, though his tone was laced with annoyance. “Didn’t realize I was stepping on any toes. Chill out, man.”

Derek didn’t answer. He simply turned his back on Greenberg, his broad shoulders stiff with unspoken anger, and stepped closer to Stiles, a subtle but clear gesture of comfort and safe. His gaze flicked down to where Greenberg had touched him, fists clenched as though trying to control himself. Without looking back, Derek started walking towards the stairs, not waiting for Stiles to follow, his pace slow but unyielding.

Stiles stood frozen for a moment, his mind whirling. He was still processing what had just happened. Did he just feel obligated to step in because Stiles was an omega? Or was there something more to it?

As Stiles caught up with him, Derek didn’t say a word. He just kept walking, his steps steady and determined, as if he had a right to dictate the pace. Stiles watched him for a second, his heart still racing from the exchange, before finally speaking.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Stiles muttered, though it was more of an automatic reaction than anything else. “I could’ve handled it.”

Derek didn’t look at him, his eyes focused ahead. “You shouldn’t have had to.” His voice was quiet, almost gruff.

Stiles felt his stomach flip. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I… I appreciate it.”

Derek finally glanced at him, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Just stay away from people like him. And stop thanking me, Stiles.”

Stiles snorted, quickly sobering up when Derek’s tight expression didn’t falter. “Okay, big guy. Let’s get back to work. I need to find an opening in your calendar for another lunch da - outing.”

Derek’s smirk told him that he hadn’t missed the faux pas.

The following day, Stiles walked into the office with his usual sense of cautious optimism, hoping for a relatively peaceful day. But as he made his way through the hall, he overheard a conversation between two of the employees in the break room. Their voices were lowered, but he could still catch a few words as he passed by.

“Greenberg’s gone,” one of them said, their tone almost too pleased. “Didn’t even see it coming. Fired overnight.”

“Seriously? What happened?” the second person asked.

“I heard it was bad. He was warned more than once, but this time he really messed up - crossed too many lines. HR had enough. Derek must've signed off on it.”

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of Derek's name. The conversation continued, but he barely registered the rest of it. His mind was racing.

Derek… had to be involved. He had to be. Stiles wasn’t exactly oblivious to how things worked around here. He knew Derek had to be the one to pull the trigger on situations like this, and he knew how much Derek hated anyone who crossed the line when it came to respecting boundaries, especially with someone like Stiles.

He chewed over the possibility as he walked past the break room, trying not to let his thoughts show on his face. But there was a strange warmth that spread through him. If Derek had been the one to get rid of Greenberg, it was more than just a show of authority. It was… protective. Right?

Stiles found himself walking toward their office, his thoughts swirling. Derek had handled it swiftly, and that felt like a relief, but something about it made Stiles feel like the lines between what was professional and personal were getting dangerously blurred.

 Stiles didn’t think he actually cared about that, though.

"Greenberg's gone," Stiles said as he closed the door behind him, trying to sound casual, even though his stomach was turning with the unasked question. "I heard HR gave him the boot."

Derek didn't flinch. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes - something that gave Stiles a gut feeling he wasn’t prepared for.

"That's what happens when someone can't respect boundaries," Derek said, his tone sharp but not accusatory, just matter-of-fact.

Stiles stared at him, his chest tightening. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like Derek was saying more with those words than he intended. The fact that Derek wasn’t denying involvement made it clear to Stiles. He was as good as sure now.

"You had something to do with it, didn't you?" Stiles asked quietly, his voice careful, but curiosity and gratitude creeping in.

Derek met his gaze with a steady look, no defensiveness, no hesitance. "I made sure it was handled."

Stiles swallowed, suddenly feeling a rush of emotions. “Thanks,” Stiles muttered, not sure what else to say, his voice a little quieter than he intended.

Derek simply nodded, his expression unreadable as always. He returned his gaze to his computer, Stiles making his way over to his sofa, picking up Derek’s tablet on the way.

Stiles tried to ignore the way that Derek was brushing this off like it was nothing.

At least he wouldn’t have to deal with Greenberg anymore, right?

Chapter Text

Stiles sat at the bar, fidgeting with the rim of his glass, his eyes scanning the room. He didn’t belong here. At least, that’s how it felt.

The mating mixer had been Isaac’s idea, of course.

“Come on, Stiles, it’ll be fun,” he’d said with a grin, like Stiles needed an excuse to get out of the office. Away from Derek. Isaac had practically dragged him here, promising it would be “low-key” and “not as weird as it sounds.”

So here he was, in the middle of a room full of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas all mingling, chatting, eyeing each other like it was some weird meat market, and Stiles was just… standing in the corner, like the awkward human he was.

The music was loud, the lights low, and the air thick with pheromones that made him feel dizzy. He tried not to breathe too deep, but it was hard not to. His head was starting to spin a little. He hadn’t even meant to drink much, but Isaac had insisted, handing him drink after drink, like it would help him “loosen up.” And now… well, now he was regretting it.

“Stiles, you okay?” Isaac’s voice cut through the haze, his hand gently resting on Stiles’ shoulder. “You’re looking a little pale, man.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles mumbled, offering a lopsided smile. But it wasn’t convincing. His thoughts were foggy, his heart rate a little too fast, and there was a gnawing feeling in his stomach from the alcohol.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Isaac suggested, leading him over to a table. “You’ve had a few too many. Want me to grab some water?”

Before he could answer, Isaac had started his journey to the bar, and the unmistakable scent of cologne and pheromones flooded his senses. It was a little overpowering, and he turned to see who it was. A tall, broad-shouldered alpha was sliding into the seat beside him, a grin spreading across his face when his eyes landed on Stiles. Attractive. But creepy. He kind of reminded Stiles of Peter in that sense.

“You’re looking a little lonely over here, human,” the alpha said, his voice smooth, but a little too smooth. He leaned in a little closer, and Stiles could feel his body language shift, the alpha making it clear he wasn’t just making small talk.

Stiles stiffened, trying to smile politely. “Uh, no, just - just taking a break from the crowd. You know. Too much… wolf energy in the room.”

The alpha chuckled low, clearly unbothered by the uncomfortable distance Stiles was trying to maintain. “You know, a guy like you, human or not, is a real rare thing in a room like this,” the alpha said, his eyes sliding appreciatively down Stiles’ body in a way that made his skin crawl. “You’d be surprised how many of us would love to… take advantage of that.”

Stiles blinked, unsure how to respond. This was exactly the reason he didn’t want to be here. He had no idea how to navigate this kind of situation, and the more this guy leaned into his personal space, the more Stiles’ discomfort grew.

The alpha moved even closer, his arm brushing Stiles’ shoulder as he leaned in with a smirk. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on. I could show you a thing or two. I’m sure you’ve got some interest in the way an alpha can make you feel…”

The hair on the back of Stiles’ neck stood up. The alpha’s words didn’t sit right with him - he didn’t like the way the guy was looking at him, like he was some prize to be won.

He tried to back away, but the alpha just seemed to take it as a challenge. His hand slid over the back of Stiles’ chair, the pressure of it making Stiles’ pulse spike. It wasn’t like Derek - it wasn’t the easy, confident dominance that made Stiles feel safe. It felt wrong. It felt too much.

“I think I’m good, man,” Stiles said quickly, but the alpha didn’t back off. He was too close, too persistent, too much.

“Come on baby, don’t be shy.” The alpha’s breath was warm on Stiles’ ear, and that was when it hit him—this wasn’t just casual flirting.

This guy was trying to claim him. The way the alpha was leaning into him, it wasn’t about getting to know Stiles. It was about marking his territory.

Stiles felt his heart start to pound faster, his instincts screaming at him to get away. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Dude, I said I’m good,” Stiles repeated, more firmly this time, trying to push the guy away. “I’m not really looking for—”

Before he could finish, the sound of the door opening interrupted them. The air shifted with a sudden, undeniable Alpha with a capital A presence. 

A familiar scent flooded Stiles’ senses, pulling him from the situation. Derek.

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t have time to process what it meant because Derek was already walking towards them, his eyes locked on the alpha.

Derek’s body language shifted. The casual, confident Alpha that he saw in their office was now all tension, his posture rigid as he stared down the other man. The temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees.

“I think you’re done here,” Derek said, his voice low, almost like a growl. His eyes were dark, not with anger. Possession. And a sharp, unmistakable edge of protectiveness. It was like a warning, and the alpha heard it loud and clear.

The other alpha backed off instantly, apologising for something that Stiles couldn’t hear, before turning and retreating into the crowd.

Stiles blinked, still processing. What the hell just happened?

Derek’s gaze never left the retreating alpha, but when he turned his attention back to Stiles, his expression softened just slightly - enough for Stiles to notice, though it didn’t entirely erase the tension in Derek’s features.

“You okay?” Derek asked, voice surprisingly gentle.

Stiles opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come. His pulse was still racing, his chest tight. The adrenaline from the encounter hadn’t worn off. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said finally, trying to act nonchalant. “Just, uh… wasn’t really expecting that.”

Isaac appeared again at that moment, dragging Stiles back to reality. “Alright, man. You ready to head out? It’s getting pretty late.”

Derek’s gaze never left Stiles, his eyes dark with something Stiles couldn’t quite place. 

“I’ll get him out of here,” Derek said, his voice thick with that protective edge. “Isaac, go home. Text me when you’re there.”

Isaac hesitated, but only for a second, before bowing his head, nodding and walking off. Stiles was left standing there, still processing everything. He wasn’t sure why Derek’s words affected him so much, but he didn’t know how to ask. Not yet.

“Let’s go,” Derek said quietly, his hand brushing against Stiles’ shoulder as he turned to lead him out of the room.

Now that the danger of an unwanted, unknown alpha had disappeared, and instead stood the safe presence that Stiles had come to known, the alcohol really started to get to him.

"Derek?" Stiles slurred, blinking up at the man towering over him, his vision blurring slightly. He tried to focus, but everything was spinning. Why did Derek look so... intense?

The next thing he knew, Derek was right there - close. His hands were firm on Stiles’ shoulders, guiding him, steadying him as he swayed, trying to fight the urge to just let himself lean into Derek’s warmth.

Stiles had no idea why Derek was suddenly there. He was at a mating mixer, wasn’t he? Derek didn’t even need to be here. He was his boss, not some... alpha interested in him like the others.

But Derek didn’t seem to care about any of that. His eyes were fixed on him, watching him like he was something delicate, something precious. Stiles tried to ignore the flutter in his chest, the strange urge to just let Derek take over and do whatever he wanted.

“We’re leaving,” Derek’s voice was low, but it left no room for argument. He was already guiding Stiles out of the crowd, moving with confidence, like he had every right to pull him away from everyone else.

Stiles was so confused. His mind was sluggish, swimming through layers of hazy thoughts, but the one thing he couldn’t seem to shake was how. right it felt when Derek touched him. How it felt like everything else in the room didn’t matter - just Derek, just the strength of his presence pulling him forward.

“Wait…” Stiles mumbled, trying to stop his legs from wobbling as Derek kept him on his feet. “Where… where are we going?” His words were a jumbled mess.

Derek didn’t seem to hear him, or maybe he just didn’t care. Instead, he just kept guiding Stiles, his hand a firm but gentle anchor around Stiles’ waist, preventing him from collapsing.

“I’m taking you home,” Derek muttered eventually, his voice rough, like it was taking everything in him to keep control.

Stiles was about to ask more, to question why Derek was so... protective. But before he could, his legs gave out from under him. His body swayed, and his mind couldn’t keep up with his movements.

“Whoa!” Stiles gasped, his body tipping, and then he was caught in Derek’s arms, lifted easily off the ground like he weighed nothing. He blinked, confused, not really understanding what was happening, but Derek’s arms were strong around him, holding him so effortlessly. His scent - earthy, warm - surrounded him in a way that was comforting.

He let his head fall onto Derek’s shoulder, not even realizing what he was doing. “Where am I?”

Derek didn’t answer him, but his grip tightened just a little, holding him closer as they reached the exit. Stiles barely registered the outside world, the cool air brushing over his skin, the sound of the crowd’s laughter still echoing in his ears as Derek ushered him into a car.

The drive to wherever Derek was taking him passed in a blur. Stiles was too out of it to focus, too drunk to really piece together what was happening. All he could think about was how good it felt to be in Derek’s arms, how safe and secure he felt despite the confusion gnawing at him. There was something comforting about the way Derek moved, how he was always so steady, so sure. Stiles, on the other hand, felt completely lost.

When they finally arrived at Derek’s place - his penthouse, apparently - Stiles was still too out of it to ask any more questions. He let Derek pull him out of the car, his legs uncooperative as they wobbled beneath him.

“I got you,” Derek muttered.

The apartment was modern and sleek, with soft lighting casting long shadows across the minimalist space. Stiles’ head was spinning, but he couldn’t help but feel this strange pull toward the place - toward Derek. As Derek helped him inside, his body stiffened slightly, but there was no fear, just a weird sense of belonging.

He wasn’t sure why, but there was something about Derek’s presence that was reassuring. Something safe.

“Where are we…?” Stiles asked again, but his voice was barely more than a whisper now, fatigue creeping in as his eyes fluttered shut.

“My place,” Derek’s voice was a low murmur, firm, but still strangely gentle.

Stiles nodded, not really processing the words. It felt right. And in his drunken stupor, that was enough.

Derek’s hands were gentle, but firm, as he guided Stiles through the apartment. He didn’t give Stiles a chance to protest or ask any more questions; he just supported him, steadying him as his legs wobbled beneath him. The whole world felt unsteady to Stiles, a fog of confusion and dizziness swirling around him.

Without a word, Derek led him into the bedroom. There was a warmth to the space - just like Derek. He could feel it in the way Derek handled him, so careful, so deliberate.

“Lie down,” Derek said softly, his voice commanding but not unkind. His hand rested on Stiles’ back, guiding him gently toward the bed. Stiles’ head was too heavy, his body too uncooperative. He didn’t question it as Derek eased him down onto the soft mattress.

Stiles' eyes fluttered closed, his body sinking into the cool sheets as Derek adjusted the blanket around him. The fabric felt comforting against his skin, but the real comfort came from Derek’s presence - the closeness, the heat, the weight of it all settling like a shield around him.

“Sleep,” Derek murmured, his tone low and soothing. His fingers brushed along the edge of Stiles’ shoulder, a subtle touch, but it sent a shiver down his spine. There was something possessive in Derek’s voice, something that made Stiles’ heart race. He should have been confused, but all he felt was the deep, inexplicable pull toward Derek.

Stiles’ head lolled to the side as his eyelids fluttered, his vision blurry and dimming. 

“Derek…” he whispered, the name slipping from his lips without thinking. His voice was soft, weak - like the last thread of consciousness hanging by a thread. “Stay with me?”

Derek’s face broke in Stiles’ hazy gaze. “When you ask me to do that, with no alcohol or heat symptoms, then the answer will be yes, Stiles.”

The last thing Stiles remembered before he let sleep take over him, was a gentle kiss on his forehead, and the warmth leaving him, a door closing softly behind a retreating figure.

Chapter Text

Stiles blinked groggily as his eyes fluttered open to the harsh morning light streaming through the blinds. The unfamiliar softness of the bed beneath him had him frowning, his head aching with the telltale signs of a night spent drinking far more than he should have. The events of the night before came back to him in bits and pieces - awkward conversations, too much alcohol, and that damn mating mixer. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

The smell of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, and his stomach grumbled in protest. Maybe he wasn’t quite dead yet after all.

Slowly, Stiles pushed himself up and glanced around. The room was sparse, but tidy - Derek's place. The werewolf’s scent was strong in the air, along with the scent of fresh coffee. Derek's scent, a warm and comforting, seemed to be everywhere, and Stiles swallowed hard, trying to shake the dizziness that wasn’t entirely from the hangover.

He heard movement coming from the kitchen, and before he could think too much about it, Derek appeared in the doorway, wearing a dark t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His hair was a little messy, like he hadn’t quite gotten around to dealing with it yet, but it somehow only made him seem more human. Stiles blinked at him, still unsure how he got himself into this mess.

"Derek," Stiles croaked, his voice thick from the alcohol. "I’m... uh, I’m sorry about last night."

Derek raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. He looked both tired and annoyed, though the slight warmth in his eyes betrayed his annoyance. "Yeah, I figured. The whole ‘drunken werewolf mating mixer disaster’, maybe not your scene.”

Stiles winced. "Ugh, don’t remind me. That was a bad idea. I don’t even know why I thought it would be a good time." His head was starting to throb in time with his heart, and he rubbed his temples.

Derek’s lips twitched into something like a half-smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "It was a terrible idea."

Stiles sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. "I’m really sorry. If it helps, I don’t really remember a lot of it."

Derek grunted, but it wasn’t in the usual annoyed way. It was more like a reluctant acknowledgment that Stiles’ idiocy had caused more of a headache for Derek than it had for him. "You don’t remember most of it? Lucky you," Derek muttered.

"So… uh, what happened after the whole. uh - mating mixer thing?" Stiles asked, cautiously. "Did I - did I say something weird? Did I pass out or something?"

Derek’s lips curled slightly, but he shook his head. "You didn’t pass out, no. But you were more... drunk than I thought you'd be. I had to get you out of there.”

They locked eyes for a moment, both reluctant to speak, until Derek huffed, turning to head back through the door.

“Made you breakfast," Derek said over his shoulder, as if that was the normal next step after rescuing someone from their own disastrous behavior. "It’s probably crap, but you need to eat something."

Stiles blinked, surprised, before scrambling out of bed and following the werewolf. “You made me breakfast?" His eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

Derek gave him a pointed look, though the edges of his mouth curled into a smile, something close to fond exasperation. "Because I’m not a monster, Stiles.”

He gestured at the table, where a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and a steaming pot of coffee waited.

Stiles hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he was deserving of such kindness, but the aroma of the coffee alone made it hard to resist. He stumbled over to the table, sitting down with a groan of relief when the chair creaked beneath him.

Derek poured the coffee into a mug, handing it to Stiles with a quiet nod. "Drink this. It'll help with the hangover."

Stiles took the mug, already feeling a little bit better already. It was hot, comforting, and he breathed in the steam like it was life itself. 

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Derek just nodded, picking up his own mug and sitting down across from Stiles. There was a silence between them for a moment, only broken by the sound of Stiles taking a sip of the coffee.

Finally, Derek cleared his throat, his expression serious now. "I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea last night. I’m not your savior or whatever. You’re lucky I was there, but don't make a habit of this." His voice was low and even, but Stiles could hear the unspoken concern under the edge. The unspoken ‘I’ll be there even if you do end up making a habit out of this’.

Stiles nodded, not daring to argue. "I’m not planning on getting drunk and making a fool of myself at a mating mixer again, I promise." His lips quirked. "But if you do want to make sure I don’t die, maybe, I don’t know, that would be fine?"

Derek's lips curled slightly. "Sure, no more mixers for you," he said with a smirk. "But since you're here... I thought you might want to meet the pack."

Stiles looked up at him, surprised. "Wait, your pack?"

Derek nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. I didn’t want to just leave you alone after... well, after last night, and they live in the building. Besides, you should probably meet them sooner or later. They’ve been… asking about you.”

Stiles swallowed hard. He wasn’t exactly sure what the deal was, but the thought of meeting Derek’s pack made his stomach flip with nerves and anticipation. But there was something else there too - something in Derek’s eyes that made him feel important.

"Alright," Stiles said, setting the coffee cup down, trying to push aside the anxiety churning in his chest. "Lead the way."

Derek stood and gave him a knowing look, as if he could read Stiles like an open book. 

"Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s a pack or wolves or anything.” Derek said sarcastically.

Apparently, this wasn’t just Derek’s apartment, it was his entire complex.

He explained, as he waited for Stiles to change clothes - into something Derek had thrown at him - that each person or couple in the pack had their own apartment, but they usually all spent time in the social area that Derek had made on the floor below.

This complex was made up of a lot of apartments.

Thankfully, he wasn’t meeting all of the pack today, just the ones that were currently home. A small handful, Derek helpfully supplied.

Stiles nodded slowly, trying to calm his nerves as Derek led him through the apartment and down the stairs. His mind raced as he thought about the pack. He hadn’t expected to be meeting them so soon, or at all,  but Derek didn’t seem necessarily worried. Stiles thought that meeting a pack was a big deal, but apparently he was wrong.

As they reached the bottom floor, Derek stopped in front of a door, turning to face Stiles. He gave him a silent question. Ready? Stiles took a deep breath and nodded.

Derek opened the door, revealing total chaos.

Isaac, who he had already had the pleasure of meeting (and the not so pleasure of attending the damn mating mixer with) was currently on the floor, with a blonde bombshell perched on top of him.

The woman tilted her head, noticing Stiles. "You must be Stiles," she said with a grin. "Derek can’t stop talking about you."

Derek’s face flushed slightly, though he quickly masked it with a nonchalant shrug. "I mentioned you a few times. Don’t worry about it."

Another woman, smaller, but no less intimidating, who had been listening intently, leaned forward with a teasing grin. "You sure about that, Derek? You’ve definitely said more than a ‘few things.’ How helpful he’s been at work.”

Derek’s eyes flicked to her, his expression hardening briefly. "That’s enough, Cora," he growled, his tone low and dangerous.

Cora, apparently,  raised her hands in mock surrender, a mischievous glint still dancing in her eyes. "Alright, alright. No need to go all alpha on me."

Derek let out a low growl, but his posture softened slightly as he leaned back into a chair. "You guys are lucky I’m in a good mood today." His eyes flicked to Stiles, who had followed suit and sat next to him, and the tension in the room seemed to ease just a little, though the teasing didn’t stop.

The woman still perched on Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Derek’s a bit sensitive about you, Stiles. A little territorial, maybe."

Derek’s gaze hardened briefly, but he said nothing, just took a deep breath and leaned back, his eyes fixed on Stiles. "That’s Erica, on Isaac. And this is Cora - my little sister."

Stiles, still feeling a bit overwhelmed, nodded slowly, not entirely sure how to respond. The pack was teasing Derek, but there was something in the way they did it - something affectionate. Stiles couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of warmth creeping up his spine.

A large man, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally grunted. "It’s not just the work stuff," he said, his voice deeper than usual. "Derek talks about you like you’re… important. I’m Boyd, by the way.”

Derek shot Boyd a sharp look, but the big man only shrugged. "What? It’s true."

Stiles’ heart skipped in his chest at the implication, but before he could react, Erica spoke again, her tone light and teasing. "So, Stiles, just so you know, you’re officially on Derek’s radar now. And Derek doesn't unsee things." She grinned, a wicked gleam in her eye. "You're stuck with us."

Derek cleared his throat, standing up abruptly, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "Alright, enough teasing. Let’s just focus on the fact that Stiles is meeting the pack today."

Coras smile remained, though she toned it down. "Right. Welcome to the family, Stiles."

Erica, sensing that Derek had had enough, gave Stiles a friendly smile. "Don’t worry, Stiles. Derek’s a little bit more territorial than he likes to admit. We’ve been giving him a hard time, but we all like you. Welcome to the pack."

Stiles looked around, feeling more out of place than ever but also oddly comforted by the warmth of the pack. Derek’s pack. And Derek, in his quiet way, had already made it clear that this was more than just an introduction.

“You coming to the party on Friday?” A new voice cut through Stiles’ thoughts, grabbing his attention. Beside him, Derek made the rounds with introductions – Stiles, Mason, Mason, Stiles.

“Party?” Stiles blinked, a little lost.

“Office party,” Derek replied smoothly, his tone casual. “Laura should’ve sent you an invite by now.”

Stiles frowned, checking his inbox. Sure enough, an unread invitation sat there. “Guess I spend so much time reading your endless emails, I forget to check my own,” he muttered with a sheepish grin.

Derek snorted, shaking his head. “You coming or not?”

“Absolutely dude – “

“Don’t call me dude.”

“ – I love a good party!” Stiles finished, grinning as he met the dangerous glint in Erica’s eyes.

“As long as it goes better than the mating mixer, huh, Stiles?” Isaac joked, quickly silenced by the almost sub vocal growl from Derek, still clearly not over what had happened the night before.

Cora raised an eyebrow. “Mating mixer? That sounds like an interesting story. One I’d like to hear, Stiles.” Her voice was smooth, with a hint of mischief.

Before Stiles could respond, Boyd, who had been standing off to the side, chimed in. “It’s better if you don’t know,” he said with a grin that made it clear he was fully aware of the chaos from the night before. “Let’s just say, things got… heated. Derek wasn’t very quiet with his choice of words when they came in last night.”

Derek shot him a glare, but kept quiet, his eyes now focused on Stiles. “Just don’t do anything too wild this time, alright?”

Stiles chuckled, putting on his most innocent expression. “Who, me? I'm a model of restraint.”

“Right,” Cora said, arching a brow. “A model of restraint. Sure.”

The rest of the group chuckled, but then Mason cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “So, the office party. It’s gonna be casual, right? Not some suit-and-tie thing?”

“I hope not,” Stiles replied. “I don’t think I own a tuxedo.”

“Oh, no tuxes this time,” Boyd said, “But you might want to bring your best small talk. There are a lot of people who show up just for the networking.” He shot a playful glance at Derek. “But I’m sure Derek will be too busy keeping everyone in line to network.”

Derek simply grunted, clearly uninterested in discussing office politics.

Cora leaned in closer to Stiles, her tone turning conspiratorial. “So, who’s your favorite person at the office? You must have someone you’re secretly plotting with to take over the company, right?”

Stiles’ grin widened. “Well, if I’m being honest, I’m still figuring out who’s who. But if I had to pick, I’d say Lydia’s got the best chance at world domination.”

Everyone laughed, but it was clear Derek didn’t mind the jabs. He was used to it, probably even a little proud.

Isaac leaned forward, clearly amused. “If you’re looking to make an impression at the party, just watch out for Laura. She’s got a way of getting people to spill their secrets.”

“Spill their secrets?” Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll see,” Isaac said, grinning. “Just don’t drink too much, or you might end up on the receiving end of one of her interrogation sessions. That’s if she can tear herself away from Lydia, of course.

Derek’s gaze flicked sharply to Isaac, a silent warning in his eyes. Isaac raised his hands in mock surrender, but the mischief didn’t leave his eyes.

Stiles chuckled nervously. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep the drinking to a minimum.”

Derek gave him a long, hard look. “That’s probably for the best,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “Just be careful. Like I said, I wont always be around to help if something goes wrong.”

Stiles nodded, the grin slipping from his face just slightly. “Yeah of course.”

Erica, who had just freed Isaac from her playful grip, snorted from across the room. “Remember, Stiles. We can hear when someone lies.”

“I didn’t lie,” Stiles said, frowning in confusion.

“Oh, I know,” Erica replied, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she glanced at Derek.

Cora clapped her hands together, breaking the tension. “Well, looks like we’ve got a plan then. Party on Friday, Lydia’s world domination, and no secrets spilled. Sounds like a good time.” She winked at Stiles, who returned a more genuine smile, feeling the group’s camaraderie settle into something more comfortable.

Chapter Text

Work changed for Stiles after meeting the pack. Derek was suddenly a lot more physical with him, brushing his hand down his arm when they passed, sitting next to him on the couch as they worked. More of the pack wanted to met him, some of them making a point of strolling into Derek’s office and distracting Stiles for a good hour before Derek would growl, telling them that they all had work to do, and that just because they’re pack, doesn’t mean that he wont fire them.

Stiles suddenly had at least one person around him nearly all the time in the office. Coming from such a small family, he figured that this would freak him out. It didn’t. Like, at all. It was as if he was finally home.

The next week passed in a blur, and before Stiles knew it, he was back home, getting ready for the office party. Derek had to take care of some things in the office before the party started, so Lydia had offered to pick him up.

Thankfully for Stiles, Lydia decided to come round a bit earlier than planned, because he was currently stood in front of his mirror in nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms, freaking out about what to wear.

It was stupid, he knew it, and he knew it even more after Lydia had told him outright that it was. But, Derek would be there, and Stiles wanted to impress him. God knows that Derek always looks like a model casually walking around their office. Sometimes, Stiles wanted Derek to be the one to stop in his tracks, rather than the other way around.

Lydia knocked on the doorframe, a smirk on her face as she leaned against the wall. "You’ve been staring at that mirror for the past twenty minutes, Stiles. You need help or are you just planning on coming like that?"

Stiles jumped, startled, and then let out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, just... I don’t know what to wear. I want to look good for the party. You know.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, stepping into the room with a confident air that always made Stiles feel both nervous and reassured. "Oh yes, the party. I know. It’s obvious. You’ve been giving off those vibes all week, my friend. Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered."

She opened his wardrobe and started pulling out clothes with swift precision, tossing a few options onto the bed. Stiles was almost too afraid to voice his concerns about any of them, but he couldn’t help it. "I just... I don't know if I can pull this off. I’m not... like Derek. I mean, he’s just—he's so... you know."

Lydia looked at him, sizing him up for a moment before sighing dramatically. "You don’t need to be like Derek. You just need to be you. Besides, Derek likes you for you. This is more about what makes you feel good."

Stiles nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. He trusted Lydia, though. She knew how to make even the most awkward person look like they belonged. After a few more minutes of Lydia shuffling through options, they settled on a sleek black shirt that hugged his frame just right, paired with a pair of dark jeans and a jacket that was casual but had an undeniable edge to it. It was simple, but sharp.

"There," Lydia said, giving him a once-over. "You look like you belong in the pack now. Trust me, Derek will notice."

Stiles adjusted his collar nervously. "You think so?" He still didn’t understand why Lydia wasn’t in the pack.

"You bet your ass. Now go." Lydia gave him a shove toward the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Once Stiles arrived at the party with Lydia, they entered the large room where the office party was already underway. Lydia gave him a brief thumbs-up as she wandered off to mingle, leaving him standing at the entrance. He felt a little out of place at first, but he wasn’t about to back out now.

Just then, Derek walked in. His usual commanding presence filled the room, his head turning slightly as he scanned the crowd. His eyes locked onto Stiles, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Stiles held his breath, suddenly self-conscious.

Derek’s gaze softened, his eyes flicking over Stiles’ outfit - stopping for just a second longer on his face before his lips curled into a small, but pleased, smile. He walked towards Stiles with that confident, almost predatory grace he had.

"You clean up nice," Derek’s voice was low, almost hushed, as he stopped right in front of Stiles. There was an unspoken understanding in his gaze, the kind of look that made Stiles’ heart beat just a little faster.

Stiles smiled shyly, shifting from foot to foot. "Thanks. Uh, you look... amazing as always."

Derek chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on Stiles for just a beat longer than necessary before he gave a small nod. "I see the pack’s influence is working on you."

Stiles almost didn’t know how to respond. Part of him wanted to melt under Derek’s gaze, but he managed to keep it together. "I’m trying to... fit in."

Derek’s smile deepened, and for a brief moment, there was something else in his expression. Something that felt like more than just the usual teasing banter. "You do," he said softly, before giving Stiles a meaningful look and walking off to greet some other colleagues. But the way his eyes lingered on Stiles for just a fraction of a second more was enough to leave Stiles’ heart racing and his mind spinning.

Lydia, who had been watching the whole thing from across the room, walked up to him and winked. “Told you.”

Stiles just grinned, a quiet thrill running through him. Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Stiles hasn’t expected to enjoy the party as much as he did, but as the night wore on, he found himself loosening up, laughing with colleagues, and even joining a few groups on the dance floor. He hadn’t danced in a while, but with the music pulsing through the air and the atmosphere charged with energy, he found it hard to resist.

The crowd around him was lively, laughing, chatting, and losing themselves in the rhythm. At first, Stiles was a little self-conscious, unsure of his moves, but a few of the pack pulled him in, encouraging him to just go with it. He started moving more confidently, letting the beat take over his body. He’d never been a natural dancer, but with the carefree energy of the party, he was starting to have fun. His coworkers cheered him on, making him laugh even harder, and before long, he was just another part of the boisterous group.

Lydia was right next to him, her moves smooth and effortless, and Stiles found himself smiling as they danced together for a bit. He didn’t think he’d ever be this comfortable in this environment, but here he was, laughing and joking with people he barely knew. For a moment, he forgot about everything else.

That was until Derek appeared on the edge of the crowd, watching from the shadows.

Stiles noticed him instantly - he couldn’t not. Derek stood by the bar, casually leaning against it, his eyes scanning the dance floor. His intense gaze flicked across the crowd, but when it landed on Stiles, the sharp edge of his focus softened just slightly. Stiles could feel the heat of his stare, like it was pulling him in, even from across the room.

Stiles felt the sudden urge to make him notice - really notice - him. He stopped dancing for a second, pretending to be a little out of breath, and locked eyes with Derek. There was a brief pause, just long enough for the air to feel thick with unspoken words. Then, with a small, teasing grin, Stiles moved toward the edge of the floor, closer to Derek, his steps slow but purposeful.

As Stiles approached, Derek straightened slightly, as if expecting something, but he didn’t move, his gaze never leaving Stiles. The music was louder here, but it didn’t matter. Stiles slowed down, his hand brushing lightly against Dereks shoulder as he got close enough to speak.

"Not going to dance with me, Derek?" Stiles asked, his voice light, with just a hint of playful challenge. He wasn’t sure what made him say it, but there was something in the way Derek was looking at him, something that made him feel bold.

Derek tilted his head, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "I’m not really much of a dancer," he said, his tone smooth and low, but there was something in the way his eyes tracked Stiles’ every movement that told a different story. "Though, I could make an exception."

Stiles raised an eyebrow, his pulse quickening as he took a half step closer. "Oh? I think the pack would love to see that. Wouldn’t you? I mean, you’re always so serious. Maybe you just need the right company."

Derek’s smirk grew a little wider, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You’re a bad influence," he murmured, the words just for Stiles, as though there was a secret between them. He reached out, almost instinctively, and ran his fingers down the back of Stiles’ arm in a way that made Stiles’ breath hitch. "But I think I can handle it."

Stiles’ heart raced, but he didn't back down. Instead, he leaned in slightly, close enough to speak just loud enough over the music. "I bet you can." He gave Derek a playful wink, his own confidence rising with the teasing words. "Besides, I think you’d look pretty good dancing."

There was an intense moment, just the two of them standing there, the crowd fading around them for a second. Stiles could feel the heat of Derek’s gaze, the magnetic pull of his presence.

Derek held his gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, as if deciding something, he gave a short, almost amused chuckle, before taking a step back. "Maybe next time, Stiles. I have a reputation to uphold."

Stiles shrugged, grinning widely, as if he hadn't just had his heart do a backflip. "Fair enough," he said, his voice teasing.

Derek didn’t say anything else, just returned to his previous position at the bar, but not without casting one last glance at Stiles, a look that seemed to promise this playful tension between them was far from over.

Stiles stood there for a moment, his heart still racing, before he let out a quiet breath. Maybe Derek hadn’t danced with him tonight, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t eventually.

Stiles spun back toward the dance floor, still buzzing from the exchange with Derek. He caught Lydia’s eye across the room, offering a playful grin. But as he turned to meet her gaze, something else caught his attention.

Lydia was standing near the punch table, looking mildly entertained but also confused. And in front of her, there was Laura.

Laura was usually the definition of confidence: a woman who could command any room with ease, always poised and self-assured. But right now, she seemed... off. That was literally the only way to word it.

Laura was standing just a little too close to Lydia, her usual unshakable air replaced by a nervous energy that was practically vibrating off her. She was fidgeting, toying with the end of her hair in a way that looked almost uncomfortable. Her smile was a little too wide, like she was trying a bit too hard to appear relaxed. It was a side of Laura that Stiles had never seen, and it was oddly out of place.

Stiles paused, a little taken aback. Laura nervous? That was practically unheard of. Usually, she had a way of walking into any situation, no matter how tense, and turning it into something fun. But right now, she seemed almost flustered? Her voice was light, but there was an edge of uncertainty to it as she tried to engage Lydia in conversation.

"So," Laura was saying, laughing a little too loudly, "You, uh... you like dancing, right? I mean, it’s not that hard, you just... let go and let the music do its thing, right?" She adjusted her stance awkwardly, her eyes darting to the dance floor as if trying to figure out her next move.

Lydia raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Laura’s off-kilter behavior, but still maintaining her usual confidence. "I mean, I enjoy it, but I'm more about having fun than worrying about moves," she said with a small grin. "Are you sure you’re okay? You seem... off tonight."

Exactly, Stiles though. Off.

Laura’s lips tightened for a brief second before she forced another smile. "I’m fine! Just, uh..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes flickered around, clearly trying to find something to latch onto, some bit of conversation to make the moment feel more natural. "Just enjoying the party. I mean, who wouldn’t, right? It’s a good crowd."

Stiles couldn’t help but watch, both curious and slightly amused. He'd never seen Laura like this before. She was clearly putting in a lot of effort to this conversation. Lydia, who was usually unbothered by pretty much anything, seemed to notice it too, but her usual playful demeanor was tempered with a softening of her expression, as though she was sensing the discomfort behind Laura’s act.

He knew Laura had always been tough as nails - together with Derek, she ran the business with an iron fist. But watching her flounder in a social situation like this, especially with Lydia, felt almost surreal.

Stiles’ mind whirled as he considered the awkward interaction before a smirk pulled at his lips. Was Laura trying to flirt with Lydia? That had to be it. And the way she was going about it - stumbling over her words, fidgeting with her hair - was something he never would have expected. It was almost adorable, in a way.

Lydia seemed to notice his gaze and caught his eye, sending him a subtle look that clearly asked, What’s up with her?

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh under his breath, then shrugged, giving a lighthearted shake of his head in response. He wasn’t going to interfere - he knew better than to get in the middle of that - but it was definitely something he wanted to watch.

For a second, Laura seemed to regain a bit of composure. She cleared her throat, then threw out an attempt at what could only be described as awkward. "So," she said, her voice dropping into a lower tone, her posture straightening just slightly. "You and me... we should definitely dance sometime, huh? You’d be a great partner."

But the words came out too fast, too forced. Her eyes lingered just a moment too long on Lydia, a flash of something fleeting - uncertainty, maybe? - before she quickly glanced away. There it was again - Laura’s confidence crackling for a moment before it fizzled out.

Lydia seemed to catch on too, giving a slight but knowing smirk as she leaned in. "I think you’ve got the right idea. But you might want to work on that ‘smooth’ factor a little, Laura," she teased, her tone playful but with an edge of genuine curiosity behind her eyes.

Laura’s face flushed just slightly. "Right. Uh, smooth, yeah..." She forced out a chuckle, though it sounded a little too sharp, like she was trying to cover up her nerves with humor. "I’ll... I’ll take that into consideration."

As Laura stepped away, giving Lydia a half-apologetic smile before walking off to rejoin the crowd, Stiles raised an eyebrow, still trying to process the scene he’d just witnessed.

Lydia, clearly amused but also a bit confused by Laura’s behavior, shook her head, making her way over to Stiles. "Well, that was unexpected. Usually, she’s got way more game than that."

Stiles chuckled, his eyes flicking back toward Laura, who was now chatting with a few colleagues at the bar, still looking a bit uncomfortable. "Guess everyone has their off moments," he said, though there was a teasing edge to his tone. "It was kind of cute, though. She was a little flustered."

Lydia snorted in agreement, then gave him a knowing look. "You’re not wrong. But hey, you wanna dance more? You’ve got some serious moves now."

Stiles glanced back at Lydia, who was still watching Laura from across the room.

"You know," Stiles said with a mischievous grin, "I think you should go ask Laura to dance."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "What? Seriously?"

"Yeah," Stiles continued, his grin widening, "Put her out of her misery. You saw how awkward she was - just go ask her. She’s practically begging for it."

Lydia’s eyes twinkled, her lips curling into a playful smirk. "You want to play matchmaker now, huh?"

"Why not?" Stiles laughed. "It’d be fun, and honestly, it’d probably make her night. She's trying way too hard, and it’s cute in a very un-Laura like  way."

Lydia looked over at Laura once more, her expression softening a little at the sight of her standing near the bar, still fidgeting nervously. After a beat, she sighed dramatically. "Alright, fine. But you owe me big time for this. You’re not getting out of that one."

"Deal." Stiles chuckled.

Lydia shot him a wink before she confidently made her way toward the bar, leaving Stiles standing there with his mind buzzing. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. Maybe things would get interesting after all. He turned back toward the dance floor for a moment, trying to shake off the grin that threatened to take over his face, but before he could get too lost in his thoughts, he felt a presence behind him.

A warm, familiar one.

Stiles’ breath caught slightly when he felt the weight of a body so close to his, and a voice, low and steady, reached his ear. "I see you’re busy playing matchmaker tonight."

Stiles froze for a second, before turning slightly to see Derek standing behind him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. His scent - the one that always made Stiles’ pulse race - was intoxicating, mixing with the faint scent of cologne and the sharper undertones of his werewolf nature.

"I wasn’t playing matchmaker," Stiles said with a teasing smile, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fact that just Derek’s presence made it hard to concentrate. "I was just helping Lydia out. She looked like she needed a nudge."

Derek chuckled, a low, amused sound that sent a little shiver down Stiles’ spine. "Well, I’m sure she’ll appreciate that," Derek said, leaning in slightly, his breath warm against Stiles’ ear.

For a moment, he let his attention drift toward the noise of the party again, the music still thumping through the walls, the buzz of conversations filling the air. But the noise, the press of bodies around him, started to feel overwhelming.

He forced a smile, but it felt weak even to himself. He hadn’t realized how quickly the atmosphere had shifted around him. The lights were too bright, the music too loud, the laughter too much. His senses were overwhelmed by the press of too many bodies - too much noise, too many people. It was suffocating, and all of a sudden, the weight of everything hit him.

As an omega, he'd never really gotten used to the way crowds could do this to him in a split second. The scent of dozens of people, the heat of so many bodies in one place, it was too much to process. It made his skin crawl, made his chest feel tight.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was the first time it had happened in front of Derek. All of his instincts, his senses, were in overdrive. He turned his head slightly, trying to focus on the feeling of Derek’s presence, grounding himself with the steady warmth of his body.

His hand trembled slightly, and he realized he was clutching the edge of Derek’s jacket, using it as a lifeline. Stiles took a shaky breath, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, but when he spoke, his voice came out quieter than he intended. "Derek… can you take me home?"

It was barely above a whisper. His head swam, and he could feel his pulse echoing in his ears. His omega instincts were screaming at him to get out, away from all the people. He didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to admit how bad it was, but he was finding it hard to hide the panic creeping in.

Derek didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at Stiles, his gaze intense and searching, the warmth of his presence seeming to sharpen as he processed the request. There was a quiet understanding in his eyes, and without a word, he reached out, one hand gently but firmly resting on Stiles’ shoulder, the touch grounding, anchoring him.

"Yeah," Derek said softly, his voice low and comforting in the chaos of the party. "Let’s get you out of here."

The reassurance in Dereks voice eased some of the tension in Stiles’ chest, but the relief didn’t come until Derek took a small step back, signaling for Stiles to follow. Derek’s posture shifted, protective and steady, as he led Stiles through the crowd, creating a path that seemed to open up with every step.

Stiles leaned into him more than he probably should have, but he couldn’t help it. He focused on the sound of Derek’s footsteps, the feeling of his hand brushing against his arm, and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

As they neared the door, the cool night air hit them, and Stiles took a deep breath, feeling the pressure start to ease just a little. He didn't feel fully okay yet, but the outside world was quieter, less overwhelming. Derek opened the door for him, guiding him out into the calm night. Stiles stepped outside and immediately felt the cool breeze against his skin, the fresh air helping to clear the fog in his mind.

Stiles didn’t say anything more as Derek led him to the car, but he felt a deep sense of gratitude.

"Thanks," Stiles muttered, still a little shaky, but grateful nonetheless. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to freak out."

Derek gave him a small smile as he opened the passenger door, and there was a softness in his eyes that made Stiles’ heart race. "You don’t have to apologize, Stiles," Derek said, his voice low and reassuring. "You’re okay?”

Stiles nodded quietly as he climbed into the car, feeling the last remnants of tension leave his body with each breath he took. Stiles let his head rest back against the seat, trying to calm his mind.

There was something comforting about being alone with Derek now - his steady presence beside him, the way Derek’s eyes kept flicking to him every now and then, making sure he was okay. Stiles felt a sense of safety he hadn’t realized he needed.

After a few minutes of silence, Stiles finally spoke up, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of his next words. "Hey, Derek, just a reminder that my heat starts Monday. So I’ll be off. I won’t be around for the week."

Derek’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Stiles to notice. He didn’t think anything of it at first, but the silence in the car seemed to stretch just a bit longer, heavier.

Stiles glanced over at Derek, his brow furrowing slightly, but the alpha's face was neutral, almost unreadable. It made Stiles hesitate.

"You okay?" Stiles asked, his voice softer now. "I know it’s a hassle, but I thought I’d remind you. Just in case you needed anything from me before then."

Derek didn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening as he focused on the road. Stiles could see the muscles in Derek’s neck working, like he was holding something back, but Stiles wasn’t sure what.

When Derek finally spoke, his voice was steady, though there was a slight edge to it. "You don’t need to worry about anything, Stiles," he said, his gaze flicking toward Stiles for a brief moment before returning to the road. "Just focus on getting through it."

Stiles nodded, not fully understanding the shift in Derek’s mood, but sensing that there was something unsaid. Something that Derek wasn’t quite ready to share with him.

After a long pause, Derek spoke again, his voice quieter this time, almost like he was trying to keep his tone casual, but Stiles could hear the subtle tension in it. "When your heat hits, I want you to be safe. Rest. Don’t push yourself."

Stiles gave him a small smile, grateful for the concern, even if it felt a little heavier than usual. "I will, don’t worry. I’ve got it handled."

Dereks hand flexed on the steering wheel again, and he glanced at Stiles for just a moment, the weight of his gaze catching Stiles off guard. It was intense, like he was trying to control something inside himself.

"Good," Derek said softly. "But if you need anything, if you feel like you’re struggling, you don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of."

Stiles’ heart fluttered at the offer, his mind racing just a little. It was like maybe Derek wanted to do more than just look out for him - like he wanted to be there in a way that went beyond the casual.

But Stiles didn’t push it.

"Thanks, Derek," he replied, his voice quiet but genuine. "I’ll keep that in mind."

The rest of the drive passed in silence, but Stiles could feel the weight of what had just been said between them. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on with Derek, but he could tell that the mention of his heat had affected him more than he’d expected.

Chapter Text

By the time Stiles’ heat had ended, Laura and Lydia still hadn’t sorted their shit out. Derek was telling Stiles all about it after his first day back, the younger man sprawled out on the couch while the older man was perched on the office chair, elbows on his knees as he relayed the stories.

“She won’t shut up about her.” Derek groaned, “do you know what it’s like to constantly hear about someone, day in, day out?”

Stiles snorted, thinking back to pretty much any conversation he has with his best friend, Scott. It did remind him though, that he hadn’t really seen him in a while. He should probably do something about that. “Trust me dude, I’m well versed in that.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek and Stiles said simultaneous, Derek’s with a slight grunt, Stiles very clearly mocking.

“Come on,” Derek rolled his eyes, “I promised you dinner.”

“And a movie?” Stiles teased, blushing when Derek smirked at him, telling him yeah, if he wants.

They both grabbed their jackets, making their way out into the slowly darkening evening. Stiles had wanted to choose the restaurant, but Derek had been very insistent on him doing all the work. Stiles assumed this was the whole ‘omegas first day back from the heat, Alpha needs to alpha’ thing.

That was fine with Stiles, so he allowed to Derek to take the lead as they made their way down through the blocks.

Stiles wasn’t going to lie, he secretly loved the fact that Derek was taking control. He felt protected. Especially after a heat when he always felt much more timid than usual.

He felt even more grateful when he saw a figure in the distance. Stiles could feel his pulse quickening with every step. He was trying to ignore the gnawing sensation in his stomach, the unease crawling through his veins, but it was impossible. Tyler was here. On the same street. Stiles ex-boyfriend was not a nice man. He was the one who had hit Stiles, making the boy more careful about what he said around other werewolves.

Stiles tried to keep his focus on the path ahead, his jaw clenched, but his mind kept drifting back to the past - Tyler’s smug smile, the way he always thought he had control over everything, including Stiles. He hated the memories, hated the way they made him feel small, weak.

And now, Tyler was too close.

Derek knew something was up, of course he did, he was also a werewolf, he could hear Stiles’ heart going double time. “Stiles.” Dereks calm voice brought him back to reality.

Stiles turned to Derek, the one man who made him feel safe, even though he wasn’t sure why. Derek had always been protective of him, why would tonight be any different? Maybe because of how vulnerable he still felt when it came to Tyler, but he could already smell him, faintly - a mix of cheap cologne and something stale, like old cigarettes. It made Stiles want to gag.

“I can feel him,” Stiles muttered, his voice tense. Derek frowned, confusion clouding his face. “Tyler’s here, my ex. I don’t know how much longer I can handle this.” His gaze flickered over to Derek, unable to mask the vulnerability in his voice.

Derek’s sharp eyes flicked to him immediately, his expression unreadable but serious. “You don’t have to handle it alone.” His voice was low, dark, the way it always was when he was on alert, his alpha instincts kicking in. He wasn’t even sure why Stiles was so update, but it was obvious that he didn’t care about the reason, just that he was.

Stiles felt the air shift around them as Derek stopped walking. A brief moment of silence passed before Derek was beside him, stepping into his personal space with the ease of someone who was far too used to being close. The shift in energy was immediate, a quiet but powerful force settling between them.

Stiles’ breath caught when Derek’s hand, large and calloused, landed gently on the back of his neck. The touch was not invasive, but commanding. “Let me do something about it,” Derek said, his voice barely above a growl.

Stiles didn’t say anything at first, unsure of what Derek was offering. And then it clicked. He knew what Derek meant. His werewolf senses. His ability to scent.

Stiles swallowed thickly. “Please,” he whispered, his voice low, almost ashamed. “I don’t want him to think I’m still… open to him.”

Derek’s eyes softened for just a moment, the flicker of something protective flashing in his gaze. Without another word, Derek pulled him a little closer, his nose brushing the side of Stiles’ neck. Stiles’ heart stuttered, both at the proximity and the sudden wave of heat that rushed through his veins.

And then Derek inhaled.

The air between them thickened instantly, saturated with Derek’s rich, intoxicating scent, something primal. It was enough to send a wave of heat crawling under Stiles’ skin, a flush spreading across his cheeks as Derek’s scent filled every breath he took.

Derek’s lips hovered close to Stiles’ ear, his voice turning darker. “I’m going to mark you, Stiles. Not physically, but in a way that he will not mistake what you are to me.”

Stiles’ body tensed at the words, the implication clear. Derek’s presence, his power, was already marking him in ways no one else could ever replicate. Stiles was beginning to feel that claim in every fiber of his being.

Derek’s breath was hot against his skin as he pressed his nose deeper into the crook of Stiles’ neck, his scent invading Stiles’ senses completely. Derek was slow, deliberate. He didn’t rush it. The sensation was overwhelming, intoxicating in a way that left Stiles dizzy. He could feel his heart racing, blood rushing to his face, his entire body reacting to the heat Derek’s scent was generating. It was like an invisible pull, magnetic and impossible to ignore.

As Derek’s nose trailed just below his ear, he inhaled again, this time with more force, and Stiles felt the air shift - felt the sharp possessiveness in the way Derek was claiming him through scent alone. He could almost feel the marks being made on his skin, though there were no visible changes.

Stiles’ breath hitched, his hands gripping the edge of Derek’s jacket as if he might collapse under the weight of the emotions swirling inside him. His stomach was tight with an unfamiliar blend of desire and awe. The raw power in Dereks’s scent, the heat of his breath - it was overwhelming, and for a moment, Stiles was unsure where his body ended and Derek’s began.

Derek’s voice was low and steady, sending another shiver down Stiles’ spine. “Stay with me.”

Stiles wanted to protest, wanted to convince himself that he could stand on his own, that he didn’t need Derek’s protection. But in that moment, surrounded by the scent of Derek’s dominance, his strength, he couldn’t bring himself to argue. Tyler wasn’t a threat anymore. Not with Dereks scent wrapped around him, not with Derek so close. He was safe. He was claimed.

When Derek leaned in again, it was slower. Intentional. His lips brushed Stiles’ pulse point, like he was writing his name into Stiles’ skin.

Stiles’ knees buckled slightly when Derek nosed along his jaw, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. His omega instincts purred under his skin, soothed and thrilled in equal measure by the thick haze of Derek’s claim.

“I…” Stiles started, but his voice faltered as the weight of everything settled in.

Derek pulled back just slightly, enough to let Stiles breathe, but his gaze was intense, sharp.

Suddenly, the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching. Stiles tensed, the muscles in his back going rigid, but Derek didn’t move. His scent, thick and warm, swirled around them, a force of nature as if daring anyone to challenge him.

From the shadows, Tyler appeared. His tall frame and smug grin made Stiles’ stomach twist in familiar discomfort. He hadn’t expected Tyler to show up like this, but of course, Tyler never knew how to stay away. The man’s eyes immediately locked onto Stiles, a spark of recognition flashing in them.

“Well, well,” Tyler said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “Look who still needs a little wolf protector.” He took a step closer, his eyes scanning Stiles from head to toe, an unreadable expression in his gaze.

Stiles didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a second. He was acutely aware of Derek beside him, standing firm, an immovable force. His heart pounded in his chest, but the anxiety that had gripped him earlier was gone, replaced with a sharp, quiet confidence.

Derek’s growl rumbled low in his chest, unmistakable. "Stay where you are," he said, the warning in his voice making it clear there was no room for negotiation.

Tyler smirked but didn’t approach any closer. His eyes flickered briefly to Derek, a moment of hesitation creeping in. Stiles could see the internal battle in Tyler’s gaze - the mix of arrogance and confusion. He could smell it now. Tyler’s scent was faint, tainted with a hint of fear. Tyler was a predator, but he wasn’t used to being faced with something stronger. Derek would win. And Tyler knew it.

“You’ve let him mark you, haven’t you?” Tyler sneered, his eyes narrowing as he finally put it together. He could smell Derek’s influence, strong and undeniable, like a thick, powerful presence suffocating the air between them.

Derek’s eyes never left Tyler. “You’re not welcome here.”

Stiles stood a little taller, finally meeting Tyler’s gaze. "I'm not yours anymore, Tyler. And I won’t ever be again."

Tyler’s smile faltered for a split second, but he quickly masked it with a shrug. "Fine," he said, voice edged with frustration. "But remember, you can’t outrun the past forever. One day, he’ll treat you the same way."

Without waiting for a response, Tyler turned and walked away, his retreating figure swallowed up by the night.

Stiles exhaled slowly, his breath shaky, the tension in his chest easing but not fully gone. His pulse was still racing, and the weight of Tyler’s words lingered in the cool night air. He didn’t know if he could ever fully escape that part of his past.

Dereks hand landed on Stiles’ shoulder, gentle yet firm, grounding him. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, tinged with concern. The edges of his usual commanding tone had softened, just for him.

Stiles looked up at Derek, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. He nodded slowly, his voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Derek’s gaze softened, but it was intense. “What happened between you two?”

Stiles hesitated. He hadn’t realized how much weight he’d been carrying until Derek’s simple question cracked something open inside him. His fingers curled into his palms, the cold sinking into his skin. “Tyler… he hurt me before. Used to make me feel like I was nothing, like I was just something for him to control.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the ground, unwilling to meet Derek’s eyes. "I didn't know how to get out."

Derek’s expression darkened, his jaw tight with barely contained anger. Without a word, he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, his hand landing on Stiles’ shoulder with a steadying force. “No one should ever make you feel that way, Stiles. No one. And he has no right to walk around thinking he can intimidate you.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There was a fire there, a burning protectiveness that almost made Stiles’ knees weak. “I don’t know what to do,” Stiles muttered, his voice strained. “He just... he always makes me feel small, like I’m not enough.”

“You are enough,” Derek growled, his words sharp, raw. “More than enough.” He paused, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his expression once more before he spoke again. “I should go after him. Chase him down, make him regret even thinking he could come near you again.”

Stiles’ breath hitched. The idea of Derek confronting Tyler sent a strange thrill through him - part fear, part relief. He knew Derek could tear Tyler apart with ease. But a part of him didn’t want Derek to do that. Didn’t want this to escalate into something that would drag them both into more conflict. Yet, the thought of Tyler leaving him alone for good? That was tempting.

Stiles shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “No. I don’t want that. I don’t need you to fight him for me.”

Derek’s gaze softened, his fingers tightening on Stiles’ shoulder in reassurance. “Then what do you need?”

Stiles swallowed thickly, meeting Dereks eyes with a mix of uncertainty and raw emotion. “I just... I need you to be here. I need you to tell me that he was wrong, that you’d never hurt me.”

A storm of protective fury flared behind Derek’s eyes. His grip on Stiles’ shoulder tightened, and his voice, when he spoke, was low and fierce. “I will never hurt you, Stiles,” he growled, the words vibrating through the air. “Not in a million years. And no one - no one - will ever hurt you the way Tyler did. Not while I’m here. I’ll make sure of that.”

Stiles felt his chest tighten at the raw sincerity in Derek’s voice, the unyielding promise that wrapped itself around his heart like a shield. A warmth spread through him, something he hadn’t realized he was craving until now. The weight of past hurts began to lift, even if only a little.

Derek’s eyes softened then, but there was still that protective edge. “I won’t let anyone hurt you like that, Stiles. Not ever again.”

Stiles nodded, his throat tight as he took in the weight of Derek’s words. For the first time in a long while, he felt safe. Truly safe.

Chapter Text

The night air was cool as Derek walked through the city streets. His senses were always on alert, heightened by his instincts. As he took a deep breath, a familiar scent reached his nose - a mixture of cinnamon and vanilla, with an undercurrent of something different tonight.

Fear.

Dereks heart skipped a beat. His gaze sharpened, and he turned toward the source of the scent. He knew that smell – Stiles, his omega, the human who unknowingly held a special place in Derek’s heart. Nothing else mattered to Derek in that moment. Not the car horns as he ran across the road, not the people shouting at him.

What mattered was the fear.

Stiles was scared. Stiles was in danger.

Derek’s jaw clenched as he followed the trail, his senses guiding him through the dark streets. He passed through alleys and winding roads until he came to a small, dimly lit corner of the city, where the scent of fear intensified.

And there, in the shadows, he saw it.

Scott, Stiles’ friend, lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious, his face bruised and bloodied. Dereks eyes narrowed in concern but didn’t linger. His focus shifted to the scene unfolding in front of him.

Five figures. Alphas. They had Stiles cornered in the alley, their postures predatory, surrounding him like wolves with their prey. Stiles was backed against a brick wall, his eyes wide with panic. His chest was rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths as he frantically scanned for a way out.

Dereks body went rigid as he recognised one of the alphas – Greenberg. Fucking Greenberg.

Derek’s anger flared. Greenberg. The same alpha he had fired not long ago for harassing Stiles. The same one who had never quite let go of his grudge. Now, it seemed, Greenberg had brought other alphas into the mix.

Dereks protective instincts kicked in. He was done watching from the shadows as his mate cowered. His steps were silent, but purposeful, as he moved closer to the group. His presence alone was enough to make the alphas pause, their heads turning toward him.

He could feel Stiles’ fear as if it were his own, and his wolf growled low in his chest, eager to tear through these alphas who dared to threaten what was his.

Greenberg spoke first, his tone dripping with arrogance. "What do we have here? Derek, the big, bad alpha." He grinned, revealing a set of sharp teeth. "You think you can scare us off? You’re not in charge out here, Hale.”

Dereks eyes never left Stiles as he stepped forward, his voice dark and commanding. “Get away from him, Greenberg. This is your last warning.”

The air crackled with tension. Greenberg and his friends stood firm, but Derek could see the doubt flickering in their eyes. They didn’t think that anybody would be foolish enough to challenge five alphas directly.

Call Derek a fool, then.

Greenberg sneered. “He’s just an omega, Derek. Nothing more than a servant, a tool for you to use. You can’t protect him forever.”

Dereks fangs flashed in the dim light as he took another step forward, his muscles coiled and ready to strike. “Stiles is mine. You’ll never lay a hand on him again.”

Stiles’ eyes widened as he looked at Derek, his expression a mix of confusion and something else - relief, maybe? Or fear?

Derek didn’t care. Not when Stiles was in danger. Not when Greenberg had already crossed a line.

Stiles could hate him later, when he was safe.

“You’re making a mistake,” Derek growled. “Leave now, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Greenberg scoffed, motioning for his pals to stay put. “You can’t intimidate us, Derek. You’re alone.”

Derek’s gaze darkened. He was alone, yes. But alone didn’t mean weak. Not for him.

And then, before Greenberg or any of the others could react, Derek lunged.

Derek moved like a blur, his wolf instincts taking over. Greenberg barely had time to react before Derek was on him, slamming his into the back wall with a bone-rattling thud.

The other alphas paused, obviously in surprise by the swiftness and strength of Derek’s actions. But they didn’t stay still for long, lunging forward at Derek. But Derek was fast, his movements a deadly dance of precision and power, for one specific reason.

This was his mates life on the line.

One of the alphas tried to throw a punch, but Derek caught his wrist and twisted, sending the alpha sprawling to the ground with a snarl.

The next two alphas came at once, one landing a punch to Dereks face, the others claws digging into his torso. Derek grunted, doubling over as the pain set in. Falling to the ground, the hits kept coming, and Derek was starting to forget the reason he was here in this alley.

“Derek!” Stiles’ voice desperately cut through his thoughts

Stiles. Derek growled, a new fire burning inside him as he thought about what would happen if he let them win. What would happen to his Stiles. Springing up and spinning, his knee connecting with the abdomen of the one whom clawed him, forcing the air from the others lungs and leaving him gasping for breath.

Stiles was his. No one touched what belonged to him.

As he turned to the remaining two alphas left standing, one of them had very clearly seen enough, raising his hands in defeat as he slowly edged away, eyes wide and searching around him to make sure he was safe. The one who had been landing punches wasn’t as smart, coming back for seconds. Derek braced himself, grabbing the weaker man and slamming him down on the floor, watching as a groan was elicited before he started crawling away.

Dereks heart raced his body ached with every breath, but his mind was focused on one thing: keeping Stiles safe. His wolf surged within him, pushing his instincts to the forefront, demanding action.

The fight wasn’t over yet.

Greenberg, having recovered from the earlier blow, let out a viscous snark. “You really think you can take us all on Derek? You’re outnumbered.”

Derek’s muscles were tense, his body bleeding from multiple cuts and bruises, but he didn’t flinch. He was a force of nature, and he knew it, and though five alphas should have been an impossible challenge, none of them had the strength that he had in this very moment.

He stood his ground.

As he turned towards Greenberg, Derek’s eyes locked onto the alphas with a fierce, predatory glare. Greenberg’s grin faltered, and for the briefest moments, doubt flickered in his eyes. Derek could smell the fear now, mixed with the sweat and adrenaline. His wolf howled, hungry for dominance.

“Give it up, Greenberg.” Derek growled, his voice laced with authority. “You never stood a chance.”

With a primal roar, Greenberg surged forward, desperate to regain the upper hand. Derek dodged, using Greenbergs momentum against him, and with a swift, controlled movement, he flipped the alpha onto his back. He pinned Greenbergs arms to the ground, his claws digging into the concrete below him as he leaned in close, fangs brushing against the other alphas throat.

“You’re done.” Derek whispered, his breath hot against Greenbergs skin. “Leave now, or I’ll end this. Properly.”

Greenbergs eyes, wide with terror, darted towards the remaining alphas. Two had already retreated, following the earlier alphas footsteps. Only one remained, whose eyes flicked between the two men, shaking his head, joining his friends on their flight.

“Fine,” Greenberg spat, his voice trembling as he pushed himself up with Derek’s forceful shove.

As Greenberg and the others ran off, Derek took a step back, his vision momentarily blurring. He shook his head, blinking away the dizziness, his body refusing to acknowledge weakness in front of Stiles.

Dereks body burned with the aftermath of the fight, his muscles aching from the onslaught. Five alphas, and despite his strength, the odds had still been against him. His side throbbed where one of the alphas managed to get a solid hit, claws raking against his ribcage. The blood had started to seep through the torn fabric of his shirt, and he could feel the sting with every breath, but he refused to let it stop him, turning to meet Stiles’ gaze.

Stiles, who was still pressed against the wall, watching him with wide eyes. Derek felt a pang in his chest. He’d been so consumed with protecting him, he hadn’t fully considered the cost of what he had made Stiles witness.

“Derek…” Stiles’ voice was soft, hesitant, but with an edge of concern that sliced through he haze of adrenaline clouding Derek’s mind. “You’re – “

Derek straight ended, brushing off the burn in his side, forcing himself to stand tall as he interrupted Stiles. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the sharpness of the wound was becoming more noticeable with every passing second.

Stiles took a step forward, his gaze flicking from Derek’s bloodied side to his face, then back down to the torn fabric. His eyes were wide, full of disbelief and something else – something that looked a lot like worry. For Derek.

“No, you’re not,” Stiles muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he closed the gap between them. His hand hovered uncertainly at Derek’s side. “You’re bleeding.”

Derek winced as Stiles gently touched the torn flesh, his fingers brushing against the raw wound. He couldn’t suppress the low growl of discomfort that escaped his throat, the pain sharp as Stiles’ touch stirred it.

“I told you, I’m fine.” Derek gritted out, though his breath hitched from the sting. He felt the coolness of the night air as it brushed against the open wound, the pain slowly intensifying.

Stiles didn’t seem convinced, his brows furrowing. “You’re not fine, Derek. That’s a pretty deep cut, and you’re – “ his voice faltered, the shock of the situation catching up to him as his fingers hovered over the wound.

Derek felt the weight of Stiles’ concern like a physical pressure, and for a moment, he almost let himself relax, let the exhaustion sink in. But he couldn’t. Not when Stiles was still so shaken.

“I’ll be okay,” Derek said, his voice hoarse, but this time, there was no hiding the strain in his tone. He had pushed him limits, and now his body was demanding payment. He took a half step back, attempting to regain control, though it was clear Stiles had already seen through the façade.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered, his voice quiet but laced with a new edge of determination. “Let me help.”

Derek shook his head, though his breath was shallow, his pulse quickening from both the lingering fight and Stiles’ proximity. “I don’t need – “

Before he could finish, Stiles moved closer, his hand gently guiding Derek’s towards the wall. “Shut up, Derek,” Stiles snapped, but it wasn’t unkind. There was an urgency to his touch, an undeniable need to make sure Derek wasn’t just a wreck of muscle and fury. He had seen enough of Dereks raw power tonight – now he needed to see the vulnerability, too. “You’re not invincible.”

Somehow, Stiles managed to get them both into a cab, Scott having woken up, telling Stiles he would walk the block back to his house, apparently feeling a whole lot better now. Dereks body at the moment only moved on Stiles’ command. The driver gave them both a look but ultimately deciding to not say anything further.

The drive probably took about five minutes maximum, but it felt like hours to Derek, who had taken to closing his eyes, focusing his breathing on the scent that was huddled next to him. The next thing Derek knew, he was being gently manoeuvred out of the car, up to the front door that he has come to know as Stiles’.

Once inside, safely in the tiled bathroom, Stiles’ fingers hovered over the edge of the tear in Dereks shirt, and Derek felt a shiver run through him at the soft press of his fingertips against his skin.

Stiles didn’t wait for permission. His hands moved to help him strip off the torn shirt, revealing the deep hash on Derek’s side, not yet healed. Blood trickled slowly, but Derek felt strangely numb to it.

“You should’ve called for backup,” Stiles murmured, his voice soft as he ran his fingers over the wound, gently prodding it. Dereks breaths were getting heavier now, but for a completely different reason. “What if they’d had weapons? What if – “

“I couldn’t leave you,” Derek interrupted, his voice gruff with the weight of everything that had happened tonight. “I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

Stiles looked up at him, his brown eyes dark with a mix of emotions Derek couldn’t fully place – fear, concern, anger. “Because I belong to you? Whatever that means.” Stiles whispered.

Derek tensed at his words, realising that he had let the secret out. “You don’t have to do this,” Derek muttered as he saw Stiles grab a pack of medical supplies, words now giving two different meanings.

Stiles met his face head on, determination flooding his features. “Shut up, Derek. I wasn’t going to let you bleed out in an alley. Now hold still.”

Derek didn’t argue. Instead, he let Stiles press against his side to steady him as he worked, the sting of antiseptic on the gash feeling almost like a small mercy compared to the thrum of pain in his ribs. Derek didn’t have the heart to tell Stiles that werewolves had no need for antiseptic, as Stiles’ hands were on him, gentle, focused.

Stiles finished up, and Derek couldn’t keep himself upright anymore. He tried, he really did, but Stiles was just so warm, so safe.

Stiles tried to catch up, but with over 200 pounds of werewolf slumped on him, he really didn’t have much of a chance. “Derek, come on. Stay with me, just so that I can get you to the bed.”

Derek understood that as his mate needing something from him, so he dug for the last shred of energy inside of him, still leaning on Stiles slightly as they walked over to the bedroom, Stiles depositing him gently under the covers.

Derek knew they had a lot of talking to do. Derek knew that Stiles might not forgive him when he found out just how long Derek had known. From that first day, the first time that Stiles bumped into him, Lauras smirk as she realised what was unfolding in front of her.

Derek didn’t know if he could handle the rejection that was more than likely coming his way.

“Stay, okay?” Stiles murmured as sleep started to take over.

Derek, in his sleep induced mind, recognised this as Stiles finally asking, no heat or alcohol clouding his inhibitions. Derek knew what he should do. But no one ever claimed that Derek was good with feelings.