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After everything, after the deaths, after the alpha pack, after Stiles felt pure magic running through his veins, everything changed. Scott stopped coming around, Isaac followed him instead of Derek, Boyd left town - he couldn’t take pack life after Erica, he closed into himself and left. Allison backed away, Lydia stopped pretending she was dumb, threw herself into school work and gave up her social crown. Derek was without a pack, Stiles was without friends.
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It wasn’t anything at first, it was just one night at Jungle. Stiles had become well acquainted with things happening at Jungle after Danny had hooked him up with a fake ID halfway through junior year. He was on his way to being wasted when Derek had appeared next to him. Stiles hadn’t even known Derek was there, hadn’t known Derek swung that way. They’d ignored each other until Stiles’ hand had brushed against Derek’s bare arm and Derek had let out a noise Stiles was sure he wasn’t meant to hear. So, drunk and reckless, he kissed Derek, his fingers digging into Derek’s shoulders. Derek hadn’t thrown him off like Stiles expected him to.
Derek had pulled him close, slipped his hands in the waistband of Stiles’ pants and bitten down on Stiles’ bottom lip.
Stiles still can’t remember how they went from there to him blowing Derek in the bathroom, music thumping around them as Derek pulled at his hair and came in his mouth.
-
The next time it happened, Stiles had been sober. A walk through the preserve because he was convinced he could still feel magic pounding through his body, despite Deaton having told him it was long gone. He got restless at nights and nothing settled him except long walks. Stiles had spotted Derek in full Alpha form running through the trees, Derek stopped and shifted back when Stiles came into view. Stiles can’t be sure what other people would’ve done when confronted with a naked Derek Hale, but he’d pushed him against the nearest tree and sucked marks down his chest, watched in fascination as they vanished. Derek flipped them round and pushed up against Stiles, rutted against him until he came over Stiles’ jeans.
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Stiles lost count after that.
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He barely even remembers the first time Derek fucked him. It’s flashes - the heat of Derek against him, slick slide of flesh on flesh, bruises that lasted for days. Bruises that Stiles would press his fingers against and gasp.
Stiles remembers the look Scott gave him the next day. The way Scott tried to talk to him and Stiles refused to answer his questions. Scott had looked hurt and Stiles had taken some kind of glee in that, remembering how Scott walked away with Isaac after the last battle. How Stiles had been on the floor, barely conscious after using his body to control powerful magics. How the only person who had even asked him if he was okay had been Derek.
He can’t be sure when his relationship with Scott broke down, doesn’t remember it happening, just knows that it did. That it can’t be repaired.
-
Stiles has been told that there’s talk about them. The alpha so addicted to his human that he doesn’t seek a pack. Stiles hates how they make it sound, if Derek’s addicted to him, then Stiles is drowning in Derek. When he’s with Derek, his blood thrums with the power he has. He has to reach out and touch Derek all the time, it keeps him grounded, keeps him safe.
Derek is the same, a hand on his wrist - occasionally leaving bruises, one on his neck - a gentle pressure Stiles loves. A constant touch, a constant connection.
-
Stiles asks, one day, Do you believe in soulmates?.
I barely believe in souls, Derek says, mouthing at Stiles’ neck.
But if you did? Stiles persists, scratching his nails down Derek’s sides.
It would be you, Stiles. It would be you.
There’s no doubt in Stiles’ mind that for him, it would be Derek.
-
Derek came with him to college. Paid for an off-campus apartment, got a job at a bar. Stiles spent his evenings there when he could, perched on a stool, leaning across the bar to drag Derek into open mouthed, dirty kisses whenever he wanted. Derek’s boss indulged them, said she wouldn’t get in the way of soulmates. Stiles laughed at Derek’s eye roll in response and kissed his cheek. On Derek’s nights off they ate take-out, watched movies and fucked lazily. Stiles knew the security deposit was toast the night they moved in, when Derek clawed the shit out of the living room wall as Stiles rimmed him.
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When Stiles graduates and they move back to Beacon Hills, people come and visit them. Neither of them like it. Strange wolves try and get Derek to make them pack. Stray omegas and betas without alphas turn up, they beg and plead to be part of the Hale pack and Derek always sends them away. He tells them there is no Hale pack, that there never will be again. Sometimes, after he says that, he shifts and shakes for hours. Stiles holds him, cards his fingers through Derek’s fur and tells him over and over again how much he loves him.
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Stiles has never asked for the bite and Derek has never offered.
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Derek tracks down the artist that did his first tattoo and gets an ornate S done on his hip. When Stiles sees it, he mouths at the mark carefully, fucks Derek from behind, his hand pressed against the tattoo when he comes. The next week he gets a D tattooed on his bicep. Derek wraps himself around Stiles on the couch and holds him, tells him he can’t believe how lucky he is, his fingers tracing around the fresh ink.
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Hunters only come after Derek once. New, naive and thinking that because he doesn't have a pack, he’s weak. Stiles makes them think again. They crawl off into the woods, barely alive, blood soaking into their clothes. Word spreads that the human Derek Hale is addicted to will do anything for his mate.
No one comes after them again.
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Sometimes Stiles lies still and Derek traces his skin with his claws until Stiles is achingly hard, his cock leaking all over his stomach, begging to be fucked.
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Stiles still sees his dad, still takes care of him. Derek helps, he won John over when John realised Derek was the reason Stiles was no longer getting drunk all the time. Fully accepted him when Derek said he wouldn’t let Stiles skip out on college.
John still doesn’t know about werewolves. Stiles won’t ever tell him unless he’s in danger.
-
Stiles never regrets his life. Derek asks him, sometimes, if he does. If he’d rather have a life away from Derek, have a family, friends - a life. Stiles ignores him, pulls him into another kiss, gets lost in Derek’s scent, Derek’s skin because there’s nowhere he’d rather be.
How could I regret this? he asks How? This is my life, you are my life he says softly.
Derek’s eyes flash, still alpha red even without a pack and he falls into Stiles, whispering I’m sorry and I love you and Yours.
Stiles strokes a hand through his hair. Mine, you’re mine he says over and over.
It’s not quite true. They belong to each other equally and completely. It’s what people - Scott, Stiles thinks with a pain - failed to understand. He tells Derek later when they’re wrapped in the throw blanket from the couch, I’m yours. I’m yours just as much as you’re mine.
Always Derek says, his hands gripping Stiles tightly. Always.