#Derek hale x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stargrillzz · 1 day ago

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WEAKENING

SUMMARY: Derek, a tough, serious guy, impervious to any kind of emotions, turns out to have a weakness and it's not wolfsbane.

NOTE: My love for Teen Wolf has risen from the ashes. I love that show so much, I need them to make another movie or a spin-off with the same characters. I don't know what you think, but the only good thing about the movie was Eli. Also, reader name's Sage, I'm sorry it was more comfortable for me while writing if reader had a name xoxo

DAY OF ARRIVING LATE EVERYWHERE

mer day in Beacon Hills. You kicked off the sheets with a sigh and swung your legs over the side of the bed.

Throwing on your favorite denim miniskirt and a snug black tank top, you brushed your pitch-black hair quickly, letting it fall naturally over your shoulders. A quick check in the mirror — bright green eyes still sleepy but sharp — and you tugged on your chunky black boots. Comfortable and just rebellious enough for a Thursday.

The smell of coffee and toast hit you the second you stepped into the kitchen. Scott was already seated, fully dressed, motorcycle helmet resting securely on his arm like it was a part of his body. Melissa buzzed around the kitchen in her scrubs, clearly mid-rush.

“You know,” you said, grabbing a banana off the counter and tossing it in the air, “you don’t need to have your helmet on your arm while you eat breakfast.”

Scott didn’t look up, just took another bite of toast. “It’s cool.”

“Mmhm,” you replied, leaning back against the fridge. “If it’s so cool, maybe you could use your cool points to take me to school again.”

He raised a brow, chewing. “I take you every day. Why do you act like it’s some kind of favor?”

“Because one day, you’re gonna be too cool and leave me stranded.”

“Never gonna happen,” he said through a mouthful of eggs.

Melissa passed behind him and leaned down to kiss the top of his head, then gently placed her hand on your shoulder. “Be nice to him,” she said playfully. “He’s your chauffeur and your brother this week.”

“I’m always nice to him,” you called out as she grabbed her keys.

Melissa gave you both a tired smile, already halfway out the door. “Try not to let the school burn down today. Or yourselves.”

“No promises,” you and Scott said in unison.

The motorcycle ride was smooth, the wind whipping through your hair, tugging at your clothes as you held onto Scott’s sides. The morning sun burned low on the horizon, golden and slow, and the streets of Beacon Hills rolled past in a blur of green trees and brick buildings.

When Scott parked in front of the school, it was still early. Students wandered across the lot in small groups, laughing, talking, and clinging to iced coffees. You slipped off the bike, smoothing your skirt and shaking out your hair, already sticking to your neck from the heat.

“Ugh, how is it this hot before third period?” you muttered.

“You wore boots in June,” Scott pointed out.

“Fashion before function,” you replied, brushing past him.

The two of you pushed through the front doors into the cool hallways of Beacon Hills High, the air conditioning a relief against your skin. That’s when Scott slowed beside you.

You noticed his shoulders tense.

“What?” you asked.

He sniffed once, subtly, then again. “Do you smell that?”

“Um. Hormones? Teen spirit? Whatever’s in the cafeteria?”

“No. It’s—” His eyes narrowed. “Wolves.”

You blinked. “Like, new wolves?”

Scott nodded once. “Strong scent. Close. And—” He paused. “Identical.”

You frowned. “Identical? Like… twins?”

He didn’t answer. Just scanned the hall ahead.

And then you saw them.

Two tall figures walked side by side down the opposite hallway — both broad-shouldered, clean-cut, confident. Like they were born to take up space. One of them glanced your way as they passed, his eyes flicking over you with the casual ease of someone used to being looked at. You turned your head fast, cheeks warm.

“Okay,” you muttered, “you were right.”

Scott didn’t reply, but the way his jaw clenched said enough.

By third period, the whole school was buzzing. You, Scott, and Stiles sat at your usual table outside the science lab, sharing theories and leftover chips.

“I’m telling you,” Stiles said, eyes wide, “they’re not just new guys. They’re like... evil Abercrombie clones.”

“Clones?” you laughed.

“Have you seen them? No human has cheekbones that sharp naturally. It’s unholy.”

Scott still looked uneasy. “They’re wolves. I’m sure of it. The way they move… and that scent.”

Stiles leaned in. “Okay, but like… alphas? Betas? Omegas?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just hope they’re normal for once.”

The bell rang, and you split up for class. It wasn’t until later — just before the last period — that things got interesting again.

You stood at your locker, swapping out books for calculus, when you felt someone behind you.

Not just someone walking past. Someone watching you. Standing too still.

You turned slowly.

“Sorry,” the boy said, voice smooth, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m new. I think I got lost — I have calculus next, and this place is a maze.”

He smiled.

It was one of the twins.

“I’m Aiden.”

You blinked, caught off guard, but forced yourself to smile politely. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sage.”

He reached out — not for a handshake, but to take your hand gently and kiss the back of it. His lips were soft. Bold move.

You tried not to react, tried not to laugh, or blush, or punch him. You settled on raising an eyebrow.

“Beautiful name,” he said, his eyes tracing your face. “Almost as pretty as your eyes.”

Okay. Blush.

“Are you from here?”

“Born and raised,” you said, pulling your hand back gently. “Never left.”

“That’s rare. I’ve moved around so much, I barely know where I belong anymore.”

“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” you said with a little shrug.

He tilted his head. “Not now that I’m here. I didn’t know small towns came with girls like you.”

You laughed — half flattered, half unsure how to respond. “Okay. Are you flirting with me, or trying to get to calculus?”

“Can’t it be both?”

You were about to fire back when movement behind him caught your eye. Two familiar idiots — Scott and Stiles — waving at you wildly from across the hall.

“Oh, crap,” you mumbled. “I gotta go. Your class is straight down this hallway, turn right, first door on the left. Bye!”

You hurried past Aiden, heart still thudding a little faster than you liked.

The loft was quiet when you arrived — but it wasn’t calm.

Isaac sat on the couch, shoulders shaking, wrapped in a blanket. His face was pale, eyes wide. Peter lounged nearby, picking at invisible lint on his shirt. Derek stood with his back to you, tense, arms folded, staring out the window.

“You’re late,” Derek said without turning.

“We got caught up,” Scott replied.

“Someone got caught up,” Stiles muttered, side-eyeing you.

You smacked his arm. “You couldn’t start the Jeep.”

You stepped past the boys and moved toward Derek, lowering your voice. “It wasn’t my fault.”

He looked at you then, over his shoulder. His eyes softened and then, for just a second, he smiled at you. “No, you just delayed us twenty minutes flirting with the new guy,” Scott said behind you.

You froze. Derek’s gaze shifted. Sharpened. Smile completely gone as if it was never there.

“Flirting?” he said, voice flat.

You turned fully to face him. “He asked where his class was.”

Scott lifted a hand in mock defense. “‘I didn’t know small towns had such pretty girls.’”

“Oh my god, please shut up,” you groaned, covering your face with both hands.

Peter smirked. “You’re at a disadvantage,” he muttered to Derek, watching the tension like it was a soap opera.

Derek didn’t take the bait. He just looked at you. Not angry. Just... unreadable.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled. “I didn’t know we were supposed to come right away.”

He blinked once, and the moment passed. “Let’s get back to the point.”

NOSY

The loft was warm with late sun pouring through the huge windows, casting golden shadows across the floor. You pushed open the door with your hip, holding a bottle of peach iced tea in one hand and your phone in the other. Derek had told you to stop by earlier in the day, said something vague about “going over some things.” You knew what that meant.

Training. Again.

You liked the loft. It was always a little too quiet, a little too dark, but it smelled like old books, pine, and leather. Derek’s jacket was still draped over the back of the couch. Music played softly from an old stereo in the corner—something moody and instrumental. You walked in like you owned the place, because honestly, by now, you sort of did.

Peter was stretched across the couch like an annoying cat, one leg propped up on the armrest, flipping through some magazine you were almost certain didn’t belong to him.

“Oh, look who’s here,” Peter said without glancing up. “The sugar-powered prodigy herself.”

“Hi, Peter,” you said flatly, walking right past him.

“You’re late,” came Derek’s voice from the spiral staircase.

You looked up. He stood a few steps from the top, dressed in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, hair tousled, gaze intense. Why was he always brooding like he was posing for a Calvin Klein ad?

“I wasn’t aware we had a schedule,” you said, pulling off your jacket and dropping it onto a nearby chair.

“You said ‘around five.’ It’s five-thirty.”

“You’ll survive,” you replied, flashing him a grin.

The next hour was spent doing what you liked least: arguing.

“I’m telling you, I don’t need to learn how to fight,” you huffed, arms crossed as you stood in the open space near the kitchen. “My powers are more than enough.”

Derek paced slowly around you like he was circling prey. “While I’d love to be there every second to protect you,” he said, tone pointed, “there might come a time when I’m not.��

You rolled your eyes. “I could literally fling you through the wall with a single thought, Hale.”

“That’s cute,” Peter chimed in, still from the couch.

Derek ignored him. “You’re just learning how to use your powers. You don’t really know what you’re capable of. And that makes you vulnerable.”

You stepped forward, chin tilted high. “You’re acting like I’m helpless. Like I’m someone who needs to be babysat.”

He didn’t back away. In fact, he stepped closer. “No. I’m acting like someone who doesn’t want to watch you get hurt because you were overconfident.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but—

Bzzz bzzz.

Your phone lit up in your hand. Unknown number.

“One sec,” you muttered, walking a few paces away as Derek’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like being interrupted, and he definitely didn’t like you being interrupted.

You swiped to answer, turning your back to him.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sage?”

Aiden. You straightened instinctively. “Oh. Hi, yeah.”

“I was wondering… would you want to maybe get coffee? Like, now?”

Your pulse skipped. “Now?” you repeated.

“If that’s okay.”

You hesitated. Glanced back toward Derek, who was very clearly not pretending not to listen.

“Sure,” you said, your voice a little too light. “You mean the place downtown?”

“Yeah. Ten minutes?”

“Perfect. See you there.”

You hung up slowly, face warming.

Behind you, the tension in the room had shifted dramatically. You didn’t even need supernatural senses to feel it.

“Sorry, Der,” you said, already moving toward your jacket. “I have to go.”

“Where exactly are you going?” he asked, arms folded tightly across his chest. “I thought you were staying.”

You hesitated by the door, forcing your expression into something innocent. “A friend called. Emergency. Girl stuff. But I can come back tomorrow. I promise I’ll stay the whole day.”

Derek stepped closer. Much closer. He wasn’t angry—not in the usual explosive way. But something about the way he moved made your throat dry up. He stopped just inches from you, so close you could feel the heat off his chest.

“Girls’ emergency,” he said, voice low.

“Yes,” you whispered, suddenly very aware of how small the space between you was. “Incredibly urgent.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. He stared at you like he could see straight through the lie. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, and your fingers curled slightly around the hem of your jacket.

And then—without a word—he stepped away. He didn’t look at you again. Just turned and walked toward the stairs, every muscle in his back tight.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he was already halfway up to his room.

Peter, who had watched the entire exchange like it was a soap opera, let out a delighted sigh.

“Little liar,” he said, raising his glass of water like it was champagne. “I like you even more now.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks on fire, and slammed the loft door a little harder than necessary behind you.

YOU LIAR! YOU NOSY!

The café was dimly lit and mostly empty, save for a couple of college kids in the corner and the bored barista scrolling on her phone behind the counter. Warm fairy lights framed the front windows, their golden glow washing over the small table where you sat across from Aiden.

You stirred your iced coffee absently, watching him as he talked. He was charming in a way that felt rehearsed but effective—effortless smirks, confident eye contact, just enough mystery behind his words to make it feel intentional.

“You know,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “you don’t look like you belong in a place like Beacon Hills.”

You quirked a brow. “And what does someone like me look like?”

“Like you belong somewhere bigger. Flashier. Maybe where the coffee doesn’t taste like regret.”

You laughed softly, sipping from your straw. “It’s not that bad.”

He leaned in even closer now. “Still. You’re definitely too pretty"

You blinked at the word. “So… you’re not pretending anymore?”

He just smirked. “I think we’re past pretending.”

Your heart fluttered in a weird, confused way. You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline of being flirted with by an attractive (and admittedly bold)… or the strange pit of guilt forming in your stomach.

Just as Aiden’s hand brushed against yours on the table, his head tilted slightly, eyes flicking toward your lips—about to kiss you—

The front door swung open so hard it slammed against the wall.

“Really?” came a sharp voice.

Your head snapped up.

Derek.

In full storm mode.

He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the café in seconds, stepped right between you and Aiden without so much as a glance at the table, and shoved Aiden backward with one hand against his chest.

You gasped. “Derek?!”

Aiden stumbled slightly but caught his footing, laughing as he lifted his hands. “Whoa. Easy.”

“Stay away from her,” Derek snapped, voice low and dangerous, and—

His eyes flashed red.

Aiden only smirked wider. “I wasn’t going to bite her…” he said smoothly, then added with a wink at you, “Not unless she asked to.”

You blinked. “Oh my god.”

Derek stepped forward, fists clenched, growl building in his throat.

“You can’t always protect her, Hale,” Aiden added, smug, knowing exactly what buttons he was pressing.

Derek lunged.

But before he could touch him again, you moved—instinctively, grabbing Derek’s arm from behind, pulling him back, your hands tight around his bicep.

“Derek, stop! What the hell is going on?!”

He was shaking with fury under your hands. His jaw locked, chest heaving. You’d seen him angry before—but this? This was different.

Aiden gave you a cocky little salute. “See you around, Sage.”

And with that, he sauntered out of the café, like he hadn’t just almost gotten mauled in front of the espresso machine.

You turned to Derek, still holding his arm. “What the hell was that?”

His jaw clicked. “He’s part of the alpha pack.”

You froze. “What?”

“He and his brother—they’re both part of it. They’re not just new kids. They’re dangerous. Manipulative. They’re hunting us.”

The information hit you hard—but it wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. Your hand dropped from his arm slowly.

“Oh,” you said after a beat, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Well… damn. He was cute.”

Derek tensed like you’d slapped him. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.

“You lied to me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You told me it was a girl emergency.”

Your heart sank. “Okay—yes, I lied. I’m sorry. But you wouldn’t have let me go, and I needed to get out. It wasn’t that big of a deal—”

“Of course I wouldn’t have let you go,” he snapped. “You don’t know them. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

“I’m not some helpless child, Derek.”

“No,” he said, voice quieter now, angrier in a different way. “But you’re also not invincible. And this is exactly why you need to train. You’re not ready.”

You crossed your arms, stepping away from him, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Why does it bother you so much that I missed one day of training? One day, Derek. I train every day with you. Every day. And I already said I was sorry.”

He didn’t answer, not right away.

So you pressed, squinting at him. “Wait… how did you even know where I was?”

He stiffened.

“Derek.”

Still nothing.

Your eyes widened. “You heard my call?!”

He looked vaguely toward the counter, anywhere but your face.

“You were eavesdropping! You’re a nosy wolf!”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, it is the point!”

“You lied to me.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “You know what? I did. I lied. And you know what else? You followed me. Stalked me. So maybe we’re even.”

Derek’s silence was thunderous. His hands flexed at his sides, and you realized he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.

You exhaled loudly, finally letting the tension fall out of your shoulders. You didn’t want to keep fighting him. You were still confused, still trying to sort out why he was so mad.

You stepped toward the door, assuming he was taking you back to Scott’s.

But he wasn’t following.

You turned around. “Aren’t we leaving?”

“We are.”

“…To Scott’s?”

“No.”

You frowned. “Then where?”

He finally looked at you again, voice dark. “The loft.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m not leaving you alone. Not when he’s behind you like that. Not for a second.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the fierce protectiveness in his voice. The heat behind it. It wasn’t just duty. It was personal.

You swallowed hard, nodded once, and followed him out.

And the whole way to the loft, you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d gotten. How tightly he’d clenched his fists. How red his eyes had glowed the second Aiden had looked at you like that.

And somewhere inside your chest, something fluttered and ached at the same time.

PLAY PRETEND

You were at your locker, halfway through switching your calculus book for your lit folder, when it hit you—the prickling weight of someone watching you.

That sensation along the back of your neck.

You glanced over your shoulder.

The hallway was full of movement—students rushing to beat the bell—but no one was looking directly at you.

Still, you felt it.

Then the bell rang.

The crowd thinned.

And before you could even close your locker—

“Hey, stranger,” came a voice.

Aiden.

You tensed immediately. Your hand froze mid-motion on your locker door. Slowly, you turned your head. He was standing right beside you, that infuriatingly charming smile plastered across his face like nothing had ever happened.

“What do you want?” you asked flatly, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped in your chest. Not because you were happy to see him. But because, despite everything, he was still painfully attractive—and dangerously persuasive.

“Oh, come on,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re not really gonna let one little fight ruin the beautiful friendship we were building, are you?”

He leaned against the locker beside yours, his voice dropping. “We had something good, didn’t we? Maybe even more…”

Your back hit the metal behind you as he invaded your space. His presence was bold—too bold—and yet he moved like it was natural, like he already belonged there.

“Stop flirting with me,” you said, voice low and defensive. It sounded more like a plea than a demand.

But he didn’t flinch. “Don’t listen to Derek,” Aiden said, stepping even closer, his tone softening as if it would make his words easier to swallow. “Whatever he told you, whatever story he spun, it’s not the full truth. I’m not the enemy here.”

You narrowed your eyes, heart thudding a little faster. “Derek didn’t tell me anything. But your red glowing eyes and smug attitude kind of gave it away.”

He smiled. “So you know now.”

“I know enough.”

“Then you should know I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, lowering his voice and glancing down at your lips. “I’m here because I want to see you again. Go out with me. Just once. No lies. No Derek. Just you and me.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Why was he making it hard to say no?

You weren’t thinking about accepting—not even for a second. You knew what he was. You knew it was wrong. But still… no one had ever looked at you like this before. Like they wanted you. Like they were dying to be near you.

Your voice slipped out before you could stop it.

“Of course the first hot guy to ever ask me out turns out to be a murderous lunatic.”

His smirk faltered for just a second.

“Sorry,” you added quickly, grabbing your books. “I have to go.”

You turned and bolted down the hallway toward class, heart still pounding. You didn’t even look back.

Not even when you felt him still watching.

Your lit teacher was halfway through analyzing a paragraph from Wuthering Heights when the door slammed open.

BANG.

Every head turned.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Derek.

Standing in the doorway. Handsome. Wild. Intense.

His leather jacket shifted with the rise and fall of his chest. His jaw was locked, brows furrowed, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice low, commanding.

Whispers exploded around you. Someone gasped.

“Is that Derek Hale?”

“Oh my god, why is he here?”

“Are they dating?”

“Holy shit, he’s hot.”

You sank lower into your chair, mortified. “Derek, what are you doing?!”

He didn’t answer. He was already striding toward you, ignoring your teacher’s confused protests.

“Mr. Hale—sir—this is a classroom—”

Derek didn’t even blink. He reached your desk, grabbed your hand, and pulled you out of your seat in one smooth, forceful motion.

“Derek, seriously—!” you yelped, stumbling after him.

The entire class fell silent.

He dragged you into the hallway, closing the door behind you.

“Have you completely lost your mind?!” you hissed, yanking your arm free. “You can’t just kidnap me in the middle of English!”

“Did you talk to Aiden again?” he demanded, ignoring everything.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I felt it,” he said, stepping closer. “Your heartbeat. It spiked.”

“It wasn’t even a full minute. And he came up to me. I didn’t say yes to anything.”

Derek’s jaw clenched. “But you didn’t say no.”

You stared. “Wait… were you spying on me again?!”

“I’m not spying on you, I’m watching out for you.”

You stepped back, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable—”

He cut you off with a kiss.

No warning. No hesitation.

Just fire.

His lips crashed into yours, his hands finding your waist as your back slammed lightly into the lockers. You gasped against his mouth, the noise swallowed by his kiss as your fingers shot up to his neck, tangling in his hair, holding him to you like your body had been waiting for this.

The kiss was everything—hot, possessive, desperate. Like he’d been holding back for weeks and finally snapped. His body pressed against yours, heat blooming between you. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your legs shaking as his fingers gripped your hips like he wasn’t planning to let go.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless.

“What the hell was that?” you whispered, lips swollen, heart pounding like thunder in your ears.

Derek’s eyes were hooded, dark. “Don’t even think about going on that date.”

You stared at him, lips parted, dazed. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”

His mouth curved into a dark smile. “Nope.”

“You’re not going to stop stalking me?”

“Definitely not.”

You laughed—nervous, breathless. “You’re insane.”

“You won’t even have the strength to get out of bed,” he growled in your ear.

Your face flushed a deep red.

You didn’t argue.

The second the door closed behind you, you were in his arms again.

Every step forward was another feverish kiss. He backed you up against the nearest wall, mouth on yours, hands lifting you effortlessly off the floor. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.

You whimpered into his mouth. “You’ve been dying to do this, haven’t you?”

He growled low, biting softly at your lower lip. “You have no idea.”

Your jacket fell to the floor. His shirt joined it.

And just when he reached the bottom of the stairs—

“Oh, come on,” came Peter’s voice from the couch.

You froze.

Derek didn’t.

“Remember I live here too,” Peter muttered, rolling his eyes.

Derek didn’t even glance at him. “Get out.”

“I was here first.”

“Peter.”

You were trying to look anywhere but at Peter.

“Fine. I’ll go find something better to do than listen to you two claw each other to death.”

He vanished out the door.

Derek didn’t waste a second. His hands slid back under your thighs, lifting you again, carrying you straight up the stairs to his room like it was the only place in the world that mattered.

And in that moment… it was.

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plutoswritingplanet · 2 months ago

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am I the only sour cherry on your fruit stand? (Derek Hale x Female!Reader)

a/n: I have no expanation, other than me and my partner are rewatching Teen Wolf together, and I really wanted to write some filth

Warnings: Carpet Munching (ha), Enemies to Lovers except not really enemies to not really lovers, Full Moon Shenanigans, Shotgunning,

Summary: It's a constant dance between you and Derek. You hate him, he's supposed to hate you. He wants you in his pack, you want him to leave your brother the hell alone. Either way, the full moon always brings out the darkest of truths to the surface.

MASTERLIST

Your body is so cold.

An overwhelming feeling of a slow, creeping chill climbs through your veins. Breath coming out in quick, sharp gasps, you lay frozen on the wooden floor, the charred and twisted presence of the Hale house looming over you. The broken roof stares at your form, laughing mockingly at your predicament, as the floorboards greedily soak up your blood. As if they try to eat the very essence, suck the marrow from your bones.

You can feel it leaving your body. A steady, crimson stream, dripping out like a broken faucet, your vision blurring with each drop. And, by God, does it hurt. It hurts like nothing you've ever felt. You've been hurt before, of course. Throughout your life, you've suffered injuries big and small, but this... Nothing could prepare you for the sharp, burning sensation spreading throughout you, frayed nerve endings screaming for help. You'd take a broken bone any day, instead of this.

The bullet went right through the side of your stomach. A last hurrah on Kate Argent's part, as she pulled the trigger blindly, right before her throat was ripped out. She's in here somewhere, as well. Her lifeless body staring at you with unseeing eyes. Some twisted sense of ancient justice, her dying in this house. The Hale family has finally gotten their revenge. You'll join the Hunter soon enough. Perhaps this is your punishment for being unnecessarily rude to Derek.

Just another soul claimed by this cursed place, about to join the tally. Innocent? No, that's for sure not the case. You could be called many things, but innocent wasn't one. Hell, some people wouldn't even call you good. But if there's anything you've got going for you, it's you're loyal. Which, is the sole reason you've landed in this situation, in the first place. You're loyal to your fucking grave.

Someone grabs your hand, the back of your head cradling it softly, you can feel shar points of a clawed hand scratching lightly at your scalp. Through the fog of darkness, you can see your baby brother. Tears gather in his eyes, and despite your sorry state, you can't shake the instinct to make it better. To somehow protect him from the pain of your own imminent passing. Like you've always done, combining your efforts with your mother, and keeping all the monsters away. Shining a proverbial flashlight under the bed.

"It's okay" you manage to choke out, not entirely able to recognize your voice "You'll be okay"

Your hand shakes in his, and Scott screams for help, teeth growing into sharp fangs at the sudden crash of emotions. His eyes shine that blasted shade of yellow, as he begs for something. Anything. Your heart breaks for him. You've managed to save him from a stray bullet, but you can't do anything now. You can't protect him, and it tears you apart more than any Wolfsbane covered casing could.

And then you see another person, looking at you through the fog.

Your heart skips a bit, although whether it's from the blood loss, or the man leaning above you, is anyone's guess.

Red eyes bear down onto you, a calloused hand resting on your cheek, and your eyebrows furrow, as Derek Hale brings his face closer. Perhaps it's the delirium setting in, but for just a split-second, you're almost convinced his expression twists into that of concern.

Which, given your current situation, would be warranted, if not for one simple fact, that's been hanging over the both of you, ever since your first meeting.

You hate each other.

Or at least, you hate him. Deeply despise everything he stands for, especially since he's been acting like a complete and utter dick to your brother, threatening him at least two times a day. And you couldn't let that slide, couldn't see the tremendous amounts of stress, he's been putting your brother through, and not react.

"Please, Derek." your brother begs, his voice breaking, "Save her, please."

It takes you a moment, your brain is slowly, but surely being deprived of oxygen. But once the implications of your brother's words hit, a new sense of purpose floods your bones. It's not panic, not necessarily. You've always been much too calm and collected, to let yourself be drowned by fear.

You suppose it's the curse of being the oldest sibling, this outward tranquility, mixed with boiling rage just beneath the surface.

Derek leans down, red eyes search yours, although, you can see by the determined tick of his jaw, that he's already made his decision. For just a second, you're tempted. You don't want to die, of course you don't. And the idea of being so much stronger, more resilient, being able to protect those you love, without tearing your veins out in the process... You'd be a fool not to consider it.

But then, you look into his red eyes, burning like coals in a dying fire, and something akin to a steel conviction settles itself over you, like a protective blanket.

Your shaking hand rises, fingers trembling, as they slide over Derek's cheekbone. He freezes under your touch, eyes widening slightly, at the unexpected, tender contact. Your eyebrows scrunch in concentration, and he sucks in a sharp breath, as the pads of your fingers press against his mouth.

With the last, fraying remnants of strength, you push, until you can feel his teeth through the soft plush of his lips.

"Don't..." a wheezing intake of breath rattles through your lungs, as you force yourself to focus

"Don't you fucking dare"

Derek's mouth opens, a silent gasp pushing past your fingers, and your hand falls onto the ground.

The sudden, cold steeliness of his burning, red gaze is the last thing you remember, before waking up in Beacon Hills General Hospital, your mother and your brother at your side.

***

From that point onward, Derek's name is like a constant presence, looming over your life, whether you like it or not. And truth be told, you really, really don't like it.

Having now taken the power of the Alpha, he's become even more insufferable, if that's possible. And as such, you've decided the best course of action, was to steer clear of him, to save yourself from any more anger issues.

After recovering from having the right side of your body obliterated by a bullet, you took time to search for a job. You've found one relatively quickly, as a waitress at a small diner right at the edge of Beacon Hills. It was such a typical, American place, filled with the smell of grease and cheap coffee. But it payed well enough, and the owner, an older woman with a warm, round face, was almost too excited by a prospect of 'fresh blood' working for her. You didn't mention, that you're not exactly 'fresh blood'. Nor did you remind her, that during your rebellious teenage phase, you used to draw graffiti over the back of her establishment.

You're not that angry, troubled teen anymore. You've dealt with it. For the most part.

Doesn't change the fact, that every time you slip out the back entrance for your break, your eyes follow the painted over ghosts of your highschool years. Doesn't change the small, almost wistful smile, tugging at the corners of your perpetually frowning lips. You used to smile more back then. You used to be kinder.

Derek never invades your place of work, not once. Small blessings, you suppose.

For the most part, he tries to keep his distance from you, despite the fact, that circumstances keep forcing him to work with your brother, and as such, bringing him into your orbit.

Even the mention of his name, in passing conversation, evokes emotions you're not sure how to deal with. Because yes, you hate him. He's annoying, he's all that. But there's also this strange hint of understanding, of kinship between two born protectors. Two people, who care so deeply, in such an overwhelming manner, they have to hide behind a mask of thorns, just to keep themselves safe.

You can't shake the feeling, that during that small interaction, where he almost made you the first addition to his pack, he saw you. He saw, what you are, every part that makes you, who you are, and understood it without a second thought.

And you can't have that. The idea is so preposterous, so terrifying, you have to actively fight it away, everytime you even catch a whiff of his presence.

Avoiding him goes pretty easily. You tend to stay away from the supernatural aspects of your brother's life anyways, too focused on helping your mom keeping the house afloat. Sometimes it's better not to know, and you consciously make the effort to know as little as possible.

That is, until one evening, you exit your run down car, and see him standing right outside your house, throwing daggers at the closed door. One of his Betas, you're pretty sure his name is Boyd, stands next to him, his overgrown-for-a-teenager statue practically dwarfing Derek. The sight would be comical, if you weren't so god-damned tired, and this wasn't your house they were standing in front of.

Turning the ignition off, you wonder for a moment, if this is worth the trouble. Perhaps a couple laps around the neighborhood would do you good. Avoiding confrontation went so well until now, you're almost mournful to end it. But then again, the gas prices are definitely more annoying, than the werewolf's presence, so you open the creaking door and leave the car.

His eyes snap to you, as the car door slams shut, and for a moment he seems almost surprised you're here. Then, his jaw tightens, as he schools his expression back to a grumpy frown, one you've come to consider synonymous with him.

"Miss McCall" Boyd nods at you, to Derek's general displeasure, and you respond with a wave.

"I don't remember inviting you guys for dinner" you say, stopping to stand a safe distance from the two werewolves "I would've bought kibble"

A low hanging joke, you're aware, but your legs hurt from running around the diner, and your hair smells of grease, so you feel justified.

Something sounding almost like a low grow,l grumbles deep in Derek's throat, as he tears his gaze away from the house, pinning you in place with the sheer intensity of the look he gives you.

Boyd just looks confused.

"We're not here for you" he says, keeping his voice low and measured, although, it doesn't take a genius to gather, there's something else hidden behind his words.

"Well good" you respond, barely keeping your eyes from rolling, your gaze landing on the kitchen window of your house.

A soft 'huh' leaves your mouth, as something moves the curtain behind the glass. You can see quick movement inside, but before you can take a step towards the direction of your place, Derek interjects, almost hurriedly.

"Although since you're here..."

Containing an eye roll around him, should become your personal sport niche. Shooting him an unimpressed look, you cross your arms in front of your chest, and definitely ignore the way his eyes linger on the cleavage of your work uniform, which just so happens to be pushed up by the gesture. Hate is a funny thing, and you're not sure, if you can blame it for the sudden fluttering, stirring in your stomach. You're not about to dwell on it, not at all. And you're absolutely not going to dwell on the way, he wets his lips before speaking.

Nope. Not at all.

"I've been meaning to talk to you" he starts, after taking a deep breath, as if to compose himself.

Now, that must be a lie, because you know good and god-damned well, he hasn't approached you since the Hale House incident.

"About?" the borderline indifferent tone of your voice, cuts through the invisible bubble of tension between the two of you.

A moment of silence stretches in the rapidly approaching evening, shadows growing on his face, accentuating the frown that's settled over his expression. You try to remain unaffected, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Your eyes catch a glimpse of a blue jeep, that most certainly belongs to Stiles, and although his visits at your house aren't unexpected, something akin to suspicion climbs up your back. Stiles and Scott camping at the house, that's nothing new. But the addition of Derek, alongside his teenage bodyguard... That's definitely a reason for being worried.

As if sensing the sudden change in your thoughts, Derek takes a step closer, his boots crunching on the gravel road. Your muscles tense involuntarily, an instinct you can't seem to get rid of, and your eyebrows shoot up, daring him to come even closer. Daring him to do something, you'll both regret.

"Why didn't you let me change you?" he asks, voice so low, you can barely hear him.

Boyd's head snaps in your direction, confusion mounting on his face.

And just like that, all thoughts and suspicions about the werewolf's presence, get thrown out the proverbial window. Sucking in a sharp breath at the question, your lower lip migrates between your teeth, Derek's gaze zeroing on it with laser-sharp focus.

"You could've died, and yet, you refused" he continues, taking another step "I could've saved you."

A sharp scoff leaves you, as if the scenario is beyond preposterous. And to some degree, it is.

"Is it really such a ridiculous idea?" his tone dips even lower, into something almost too seductive, too much like dark persuasion "Imagine the power, the strength I could give you..."

"Strength to do what?" you challenge "Wipe tables faster? Be fucking for real."

A small, almost imperceivable smile splits his lips, and you catch a glimpse of his perpetually sharpened canine teeth. One more step closer, and suddenly he's standing right on the edge of your personal bubble, dancing on what's considered proper between two people, who supposedly despise each other. That small change whispers to you, compels you to let your arms fall from your chest, your defenses lowering without your consent.

"You wouldn't have to wipe any tables, ever. If you'd join my pack" Derek promises, and the way words leave his mouth, makes you want to believe him.

Alas, you're a realist, through and through. Your feet stay planted on the ground, no matter what, and in this moment, you know, you have to end this. Before any more ridiculous promises are made. Before you actually fall for one of them.

"And how would that work, huh?" another challenge, and Derek's eyebrows jerk upwards "Is there a magical, supernatural fund for new werewolves? Do you pay hourly?"

This time, it's Derek's turn to roll his eyes, and the gesture makes heat rise in your bones. He shouldn't look this good while frustrated, the clicking muscles of his jaw almost begging you to go further, to push him.

"I have a family to take care of, you know." you seethe through your teeth, before stopping yourself.

You could say more. You almost want to say more, words already forming on your tongue, and tasting like bitter venom. Scolding words about his family, about his strange determination to remain detached from the real world. But you swallow them, knowing full-well, that despite Derek's many faults, he doesn't deserve that much. And yes, you're confrontational, sometimes even rude. But you're not cruel.

Derek notices your angry restrain, his eyes flitting around the way your lips are pressed tightly together. There's a slight note of appreciation, when he speaks next, as if the previous animosity was lifted, by the evening wind, and carried somewhere far away.

"I know, you're a protector, through and through" he whispers, finally crossing that imaginary line "You'd fit so well, you're just what I need"

Boyd's eyebrows nearly jump off his face, as he looks between Scott McCall's asshole sister, and his Alpha. Derek never mentioned wanting to turn you. Hell, he never mentioned you at all, despite Isaac's efforts at baiting him into a discussion about your tits, and other, less important values.

"My pack needs someone like you" Derek presses, his hand sneaking closer, fingers brushing over your wrist, and it's as if you've been touched by fire itself.

End this. You have to end this now.

A sharp, cutting scoff leaves you, as you rip your hand back, crossing your arms around your chest once again.

"So you came here to baby-trap me with a bunch of teenagers." your voice is like ice, crushing the bubble of tension between your teeth, and Derek reels back.

He's stubborn, of course. Years of constant defeat have made him desperate to get what he wants. But in this moment, looking into your cold, stinging eyes, he understands with utmost clarity, there's no going through to you. Not today, at least. And so, he steps back with a small nod, an acceptance of temporary failure, before his gaze hardens enough, to make a shiver run up your spine.

"No" he says, with a strange sort of finality "I didn't come here for you. I came here to kill Lydia Martin."

Immediately, your mind flies to the metal baseball bat, you keep hidden in your car, and deep down inside you're glad, you haven't lost your cool completely. He soaks in the way your expression twists, into one of unbridled, righteous rage, already imagining, how your eyes would look like, burning with amber flames of werewolf powers. And what a glorious sight it would be. You were already so fierce, such a strong personality, he could only picture, what a wonderful Beta you'd be. Loyal to a fault, protective beyond control. The tough alone makes him shiver.

As if on cue, the door to your house opens, two bodies flying out of the darkness, and you watch, with growing confusion as Erica and Isaac land on the front lawn, grunting in pain, and precariously unable to move.

"What the f-" you murmur under your nose, and Derek seems to echo the sentiment.

Then, much to your relief, your brother steps out onto the porch, Stiles and Allison in tow behind him. Your body reacts faster, than your brain can comprehend, your feet carrying you forward. That is, until Derek's now clawed hand, wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His touch burns you, shoots through your body like an arrow. The way his thumb presses into the underside of your wrist, the ligt scrape of his claws on your skin. You must be going insane. You must be.

For a second you're ready to whip around, and show him, why your right hook was famous throughout the whole Beacon Hills. But before you can, the window to Scott's room opens, and some strange, lizard creature crawls out, it's scales shining in the moonlight. It throws a menacing hiss in the general direction of the group, then jumps off into the darkness, leaving you confused, and maybe, just a little bit terrified. Derek hand tightens around you, tugging you back in a gesture, that would be considered protective, if you weren't struggling with an onslaugh of confusing feelings right now.

By the time Lydia Martin exits the house, your wrist has a perfect imprint of Derek's fingers around it.

***

Nothing fixes supernatural nonsense better, than throwing yourself into work.

At least, that's what you tell yourself, as you swish all over the diner, serving coffee refills, hash browns, and slices of not-exactly-homemade cherry pie. White tennis shoes squeal urgently on the linoleum floor, when you finally get called over for your break. The kitchen welcomes you with the sounds of oil cracking, and the main cook throwing another crappy pick-up line your way. You've grown to appreciate them, knowing full-well he would never step out of line. It's the beauty of working in a diner, you suppose.

Pushing the back door open, you pull out a half-empty pack of cigarettes, another habit you've picked up, while working here. First, it started as a way to relate to other workers, make yourself more social, in a way. Now however, as all addictions, it's a subconscious need, a welcome distraction from the absolute cluster fuck, that is your life.

The air is crisp, and fresh, filled with an ever-present scent of the woods, which surround the diner on three fronts. A perfect horror setting, you think with a small laugh, as you perch yourself on a stack of cardboard boxes, leaning your head against the wall of the diner. The AC unit hums loudly above you, and you soak in the rhythmic sound, so much more calming, than the constant chaos inside.

With a small huff, you set the timer on your phone to fifteen minutes, and finally pull out a cigarette, alongside a well-used lighter, you totally did not steal from one of your coworkers. The bombshell blonde in an American flag bikini stares at you from the plastic, as you light one up, taking a long, glorious drag, the delicate burn in your lungs grounding you.

"These'll kill you" a familiar voice chokes the smoke out of you, and your eyes fall onto none other, but Derek Hale, approaching you with a strange sense of purpose from the tree line.

Standing up, you throw him a glare, that doesn't look half as hostile, as you would've liked.

"I told you not to come around he-"

The rest of the sentence gets cut off, as Derek crosses the remaining space between the two of you, kicking the cardboard boxes away, so he can fully push you into the wall. Coldness of the concrete seeps into your skin, despite the flimsy covering of your work uniform, and before you can shake off the shock, of being so close to him, he leans even further in, taking a deep breath, his nose sticking into your hair. There's a low, almost whining sound coming from him, as he exhales, and despite your general distaste for the man, your body warms up in a way, you haven't felt for a while now.

An involuntary gasp leaves your lips, as the cigarette slips from your hand. Derek catches it in a casual display of his werewolf reflexes, and you will never admit, that it was very fucking cool.

"The fuck are you-"

"No" he interrupts you again, causing your teeth to grind against each other in frustration "Stop this. Just stop talking."

There's an unexplainable tension in his voice, something not entirely human creeping into the surface. Your eyes flicker up, above his shoulder, above the tree line, until it lands on the full face of the moon, staring back at you, almost taunting. Still, shouldn't he be practically immune to those things, he's supposed to be an Alpha, or whatever goofy thing he calls himself these days.

Despite his status, Derek's eyes drop to your neck, where your pulse is picking up more and more, sprung on by the strangeness of this situation.

You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, goosebumps erupting all across your arms, as something not entirely unpleasant twists inside your stomach. Your chest expands in a shaky breath, and suddenly you're surrounded by the smell of pine tar and smoke, mixed with something so distinctly his, it makes your head swim, just a little.

"Derek..." his eyes snap up to your face, when his name leaves your lips, and for the first time, since you've met him, you notice just how blue his eyes are.

They're nearly burning, glossed over with something you don't dare to decipher, as they trace a slow path down, right to your lips.

A resounding chorus of 'What the fuck?' repeats inside your brain, when he sucks on his own bottom lip, wetting it with his tongue, as if noticing something too delicious to resist.

Your hands find purchase on his upper arms, fingers digging into the muscles, stuck in a limbo between pushing him away, and just... Letting him.

"Just..." he starts, then cuts himself off, swallowing thickly "Just stop talking."

Now that'll be the fucking day, you think, but before you can formulate some biting response, Derek's hand travels upwards, the still burning cigarette held firmly between his pointer and middle finger. Eyes zeroing in on your mouth again, he presses the filter between your parted lips.

"In" he says firmly, voice low, bordering on a growl, and the undertone of command tinging that single word, makes your insides melt into a puddle.

Seemingly on their own, your lips close around the filter, as you take a deep inhale, feeling the familiar burn travel through your throat, all the way to your lungs. Nicotine filters through your blood, stealing your breath away, and making your head feel so much lighter. You shouldn't have brought such strong ones, and now you're paying for it.

"Hold it" Derek murmurs, his free hand climbing up your body.

Clawed fingers slide up the apron, teasing the white ties on your lower back. Then, without a warning, he grabs a hold of your breast, squeezing it tightly, before running his thumb over you rapidly hardening nipple. The action forces a gasp out of you, alongside a cloud of smoke, which immediately gets swallowed down by Derek, as he closes the remaining distance. His lips are hot and slightly chapped, the stubble on his chin scratching your face, as he presses even further in, his tongue diving behind your teeth with such determination, it would be a shame not to respond.

So you do.

However confused you are, by this unexpected turn of events, you welcome him into your mouth, a small grunt of content forming at the back of your throat. Because by some strange magic, or fate, or a curse placed upon you both by a witch, it feels right. It feels like this is where you belong, where he belongs. And the realization is both exciting, and deeply terrifying. But fuck, it feels beyond good.

The moment you kiss him back, he moans. Actually moans into your mouth, his hand on your breast squeezing once again, before moving lower. You can feel the scrape of his claws on the cheap fabric of your work uniform, and you almost scold him.

"Wha-" you manage to let out between the kisses, before he dives in again, this time focusing all his attention on your neck.

This shouldn't be happening. You hate him, he's supposed to hate you too. And yet, for the time being you can't seem to find it in yourself to push him away, because god above, he's good. He's devastatingly good.

"Keep smoking" he growls into the pulsing vein on your neck, as he pressed the filter back to your mouth, and despite your very nature, you comply.

Taking the cigarette into your own, trembling hand, you huff in another drag. Derek groans in approval, lips sucking hard on the spot right behind your ear. The smoke pushes past your lips with a loud moan in tow. He turns his head, just for a second, his eyes dragging across the slowly fading imprint of his hand on your wrist. The sight slows him down for just a second, and he lets his sharpened teeth scrape down the column of your neck.

Now, having freed both of his hands, he's back to your skirt, pushing the edge up, and tugging it behind your apron. He acknowledges the small, wet patch at the front of your underwear with a pleased hum, then gets back to work. First, he grabs ahold of your thigh, dangerously close to the curve of your ass, and you can't really stop your body, from angling towards him. His other hand latches itself to your other breast, giving it the same, rough treatment. Tugging, pushing, squeezing like a stress ball, your usually tense body becomes pliant in his grip

"I said, keep smoking" he throws you a warning look, and you immediately take another drag.

Satisfied with your compliance, he dives down, burying his face in between your breasts, his lips descending upon your skin with hard, wet kisses.

The combination of his ministrations, and the nicotine flowing through your system, effectively shuts your brain off. You let your head fall back against the wall, let your legs squeeze around his knee, which had precariously found it's way in-between them. A wave of white hot arousal crashes over you, stronger than you've felt in years, and you don't know what else to do, other than grab his shoulder for balance.

Derek murmurs something inaudible against the cleavage of your uniform, before popping the first two buttons free, and reaching into your now exposed bra, freeing your breast in a way, that is bordering on desperate. He doesn't liger there for long, however, your smoke filled breath catching, as he falls to his knees in front of you, without a warning.

Another heated look exchanged between the two of you, and you nearly yelp, when his tongue runs a long strip across the cotton of your panties. You don't even have the common sense to be embarrassed, by the washed out marihuanna pattern, or by the fact you've been on your legs for hours, because he doesn't let you gather your thoughts.

If anything, the broken, growling sound he makes, when he buries his face between your legs makes you feel like the most powerful person on the planet.

"God..." he groans, his hands grabbing onto the fullness of your ass, pulling you closer to his waiting mouth, all but grinding you into him.

"God..." you echo, letting your thighs fall open, as you try to take another drag of your cigarette from your shaking hand.

Encouraged by the breathless moans from above, Derek tugs your underwear to the side, too impatient to bother with taking it off properly.

Cold air of the rapidly approaching evening hits you, and with it, a sudden sense of clarity washes over you, like a bucket filled with ice water. The realization of what you're doing, what you're letting him do, hits you like a freight train.

The cigarette slips from your fingers, landing on the concrete, as Derek dives in, immediately locating your clit and sucking on it with a groan, that is downright pornographic.

Your entire body shudders, knees almost giving out. Your fingers dig into the leather material of his jacket, your knuckles turning white from the force. The noises he makes, as he begins to devour you, coupled with the obscenely wet sounds, would make Satan himself blush, and you can't contain the gasping moans spilling from your lips. Derek is relentless, shifting and squirming on his knees, hands digging into your flesh in an effort to bring your closer, to drown himself in the sweetest of tastes. Your back flies off the wall, then slams against it, thundering waves of pleasure crashing through you with each movement of his tongue, his mouth.

In your darkest, most shameful of dreams you would've never imagined Derek Hale being this good at eating out. And yet here you are, thighs clenching desperately around his head, as he brings you higher, and higher. You twist in his unrelenting grip, as the coil snaps, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream, your entire body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. His tongue fucks you through it, until you can't take it anymore, until you slam your hands onto his shoulders, ripping him away from between your legs.

Derek makes a growl of discontent, as he lands with his ass on the concrete, and you take just a second to admire his expression. The wild red, burning in his eyes, the blush covering his entire face and the tips of his ears, the obvious traces of your arousal on his chin, which he immediately licks clean. Stars slowly die down in your vision, your breathing leveling, and you notice a growing patch of wetness, staining his jeans. He looks beyond debauched, and you're certain the look is mirrored on your face, if not more so.

"How can someone so tart, taste so sweet?" he asks, his voice rough and breaking.

You don't know. You don't know a lot of things right now, but one is certain. And it's the sound of an alarm coming from your phone, signaling the end of your break. In a daze, you tug your skirt down into place, fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. Derek watches, still seated on the ground, still occasionally licking his lips.

"I gotta..." you whisper, not trusting your voice at all, and Derek's mout splits in a grin, that will haunt you every future night.

He hums in acknowledgement, and you take his lack of protest in stride. The gravel crunches under your white tennis shoe, when you turn on your heel, and stumble back into the diner.

And the moon keeps laughing from above.

#my writing #derek hale x reader #derek hale x you #derek hale fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf x reader #derek hale #teen wolf #show of hands who expected a teen wolf one shot from me in the year of our lord 2025?#cause it sure as shit wasn't me #“i know he's a muncher i just know it” i scream as they drag me to a mental institution

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