#derek tw

He always made sure to watch out for you, knew how you acted and could tell how you felt just by your body language and your posture. He kept an eye out for you always.

You were always shy and soft spoken, but once you moved to Beacon Hills a few years ago, it was like your social skills plummeted into the dirt. You got anxious whenever you had to talk to someone, specifically Stiles. He was actually the most intimidating to try and talk to — the constant chatter, questions, pestering. Derek fully saw why you preferred to keep to yourself, he understood you.

Currently, the both of you were at a pack meeting, discussing the latest news about the Kanima, and the suspects. Stiles was yabbering on about the stupid bestiary, and potential suspects from their school who have been acting weird. Lydia looked done with the talking, like she would rather be any other place than here — which was true. Scott was next to Allison, holding the hunters hand as they listened with focused faces. Jackson wasn’t there, some lacrosse injury excuse. And Derek was standing in the doorway of the lounge, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His Henley shirt partially unbuttoned as usual, with his leather jacket on too.

He had a furrowed brow — when does he not? And a scowl which he said was his ‘focused expression’ yet it was just an excuse to scowl at the people he found annoying in the meetings.

And you were sat on the couch by yourself, since Stiles was originally next to you but was currently in the middle standing up, waving his hands wildly with random gestures as he spoke about suspects.

You sat there, fidgeting with the sleeve of your hand-me-down zip up hoodie, watching as Stiles whirled around. You felt a sudden glooming presence next to you — and you were met with the scent of leather.

Derek.

You glanced over at him to find his sharp green eyes already glaring right back at you. It wasn’t his usual aggressive glare, no. It was one filled with understanding and maybe even a little bit of empathy? If Derek even knew what that emotion was..

“Hi Derek.” You mumbled towards the male werewolf, his posture stiff and tense as if he hadn’t expected your soft tone. Nobody spoke to him like that — it was always sarcastic remarks or something other that.. soft.

“Hey.” He replied back in a gruff tone, his thick brows furrowed as he scuttled slightly closer, almost protecting you from the looks of the pack.

You gave a small smile, not noticing Stiles’s cheeky grin. You rested your head against his broad, leather bound shoulder. Leaning on him. You felt safe with Derek — You didn’t have to talk to fill the silence, he didn’t either. You two were just in your own little world.

LATER

Derek had offered to drive you home in his flashy, black Camaro after the pack meeting. The meeting had ended with nobody coming to a conclusion about who the suspected Kanima was, as the entire time was spent by Stiles just yabbering and waffling about new leads he had heard from snooping in on his fathers work calls.

“You live around the next block?” Dereks gruff voice broke the comfortable silence. He already knew where you lived but just wanted to double check. You gave a quiet, almost timid nod as per usual.

His Camaro screeched around the sharp turn of the curb before coming to a stop in front of your house. He turned to you with his usual scowl-y, overprotective look. “Sure you’ll get inside okay?” You opened your mouth to give a one word answer but he butted in. “I’ll walk you in.” He insisted broodingly as he got out, slamming the door unintentionally as he strides over to your side, waiting for you to get out of the car.

You quickly scrambled out of the car and he led you to your own door. He paused suddenly as you two reached the door, his body tensing as he turned to look down at you.

“You sure you’ll be alright by yourself?”

He was clearly worried when you just nodded, no words. Only a singular nod — but that’s probably what Derek would’ve done if someone asked him that same question. “Right. I need to go.” He muttered abruptly, with a conflicted look before attempting to give you a side hug — a very awkward side hug.

His muscular arm slinging over your anything but straight shoulders in an unnatural way, the leather of his jacket creaking as he attempted to physically bond. He pulled away, ears red. So were yours, your whole face actually.

He quickly turned around on his heels and basically stormed back to his car, grumbling something about a ‘stupid connection’ and ‘his wolf.’ — Whatever that meant.

You smiled softly to yourself as you let yourself into the house, watching him drive off through the window. You texted him a thank you and plopped down onto your bed, staring at the plain white ceiling.

Maybe someone does actually understand you, the thought brought a smile to your usually timid facial expression.

You finally felt seen, or understood — by ironically the most emotionally stunned person in Beacon Hills.

The Derek Hale.