Lydia hasn’t seen Derek since high school graduation (which was six years ago by the way), when he’d returned to Beacon Hills to watch them walk across that stage. Those few days had probably been the most time Lydia had ever spent with him, and it surprised her how easily they clicked. But he was still distant, and then he ghosted again.

He barely contributes to the group chat, though sometimes he pops in with a sarcastic comment or carefully constructed encouragement. But Lydia was not expecting him to offer up his home to her. It had snowballed from there, with Scott confirming that Derek’s little beach house down in Mexico was ‘fucking rad’ and Stiles reminding her not to drink the water. It had made sense to agree. She wouldn’t have to pay for a hotel, and she’d have access to a kitchen and a tour guide and a beach. And Derek had been fun for those few days six years ago, so why wouldn’t he be fun now?

But now, as she prepares to get off her plane, she’s suddenly remembering how not fun Derek used to be. Of course, if she was the age she is now and dealing with a bunch of over dramatic, trouble prone teenagers, she probably wouldn’t have been as much fun either. Even so, it’s difficult to reconcile the image she has of Derek Hale in her head with the warm breezes and white beaches of Mexico.

It’s too late to turn back now.

Lydia sighs and slings her carry-on bag over her shoulder, the only thing she brought with her. The purpose of this trip was to take a break, so she’d ditched her laptop and only brought the bare essentials. Its Mexico anyways, it’s not like she’s going to need a ton of clothing. She shuffles off the plane, eyes searching the waiting crowd at arrivals.

Derek stands out without even trying, even in his faded board shorts and ratty t-shirt. It hits her like a freight train, just how beautiful he is. It’s not that she hadn’t noticed, she had, but every time they’ve interacted it’s either been a life or death situation or Lydia’s been fully occupied with something, or someone, else. But she hasn’t been on a real date in three years, and she hasn’t had sex in an embarrassingly long time, and Derek Hale is making her mouth water.

He almost smiles when he sees her, lifting one big hand in an awkward wave. Lydia’s almost positive the woman standing beside her actually gasps at the sight, and she can’t exactly blame her. With a deep breath she marches forward, forcing the surprise off her face when Derek holds his arm out like he wants to hug her. She goes with it, because of course she does, feeling terribly small when the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

“You’re smaller than I remember,” Derek mumbles, his arms warm as they wrap around her. Lydia can’t help but laugh, squeezing him for maybe a second too long before letting go.

“High heels and sand don’t really mix.”

“True.” Derek takes her bag from her and slings it over his shoulder, one big hand pressed against the small of her back as he guides her out into the warm sun. Lydia squints into it, flip flops slapping against the soles of her feet as they walk through the parking lot. She can’t help but smirk at the car they’re walking towards, or truck really, old but pristine with big tires and no doors. It reminds her faintly of Stiles’ old jeep, but it looks to be in better condition.

Derek doesn’t say much as they drive, but Lydia finds she doesn’t mind. He hands her a pair of sunglasses and turns the radio up, singing quietly under his breath in Spanish. Lydia pulls the elastic out of her hair and lets it whip in the wind, tilting her face up and into the sun. She can’t help but sneak sideways glances at Derek, sprawled comfortably behind the wheel with an ease she’s never seen to his shoulders. She hadn’t realized werewolves could get tans, but he is, skin almost glowing and making the paleness of his eyes even more striking. He just seems softer somehow, a bit older maybe, but mostly just soft. She wants to hug him again, wants to rest her cheek against his chest a run her fingers through his hair. She also wants to climb him like a tree, but that’s not the feeling that scares her. Tenderness and affection makes her wary, especially when it appears out of nowhere, directed at someone she barely knows.

But she does know Derek she realizes as she follow him into his house. She knows the important things, the whys and the hows that explain who he is as a person. She’s screamed for him, and maybe that is the most important connection of all.

“So uh, it isn’t much,” Derek says, pulling her out of her thoughts. Lydia pushes the sunglasses up on top of her head, blinking as her eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The house is cute, more of a beach shack than anything else. It’s all one room, the bed tucked in the corner and the kitchens on the opposite side, bright and clean and yellow. There’s books everywhere, stacked on shelves and against the walls and scattered across the kitchen table. There’s one easy chair and a loveseat, but no TV, and it make Lydia smile. It’s so Derek, perfectly matching this softer side she’s beginning to see.

“I love it,” she says honestly, watching as he sets her bag carefully on the bed. Derek’s lips twitch up into the little smile, and she realizes with a start that he has dimples. Fuck.

“The bathroom’s there,” Derek points to the sole door. “But the shower’s outside, sorry… and uh, you can take the bed, I sleep in the hammock most nights anyways.” Lydia follows his gaze out through the sliding glass doors, gasping quietly when she sees the white sand and impossibly blue waves.

“I’m going swimming,” she announces abruptly, digging through her bag to find her swimsuit. Derek huffs out a laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners when she looks up at him. She knows he has to hear her heart skip, but she pretends it’s not happening, slipping into his tiny bathroom and closing the door behind her. Her bikini is brand new, and maybe a bit more modest than she would have gone for as a teenager, but she thinks it looks just fine. Hopefully Derek will think so too. Not that this trip is about that anyways. She’s supposed to be relaxing.

Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, she marches out of the bathroom, determined to not even look at Derek. She doesn’t need to even care about his reaction. This is for her.

She can feel his eyes on her as she walks through the kitchen, but she’s still surprised when his fingers close around her wrist, reeling her back.

“Don’t forget sunscreen,” he murmurs, handing her what looks to be a brand new bottle. Werewolves probably don’t need it after all.

“Thanks Dad.” Lydia swipes the bottle, ducking her head to hide the smirk she knows is pulling at her lips. Calling Derek Dad is such a poor choice, especially when her brain immediately jumps to calling him Daddy and sends little tendrils of want crawling up her spine. He does have a point though, the last thing she needs is to get a sunburn within her first hour of being in Mexico. She squirts the lotion into her hands, wrinkling her nose at the oily coolness and the smell. Derek has the audacity to chuckle at her, but before she can say anything he’s moving to stand behind her and plucking the bottle from her hands. She knows what’s coming next and she tries to prepare for it, but it’s been so long since she’s been touched that she has to fight her body’s urge to arch into his hands as they spread lotion across her back. He’s thorough too, fingers slipping under the tie across her back, curling around her ribs and pushing down to the small of her back. A soft sigh escapes her lips and she glances at him over her shoulder, not missing the way his ears are definitely turning pink.

“Feels good,” she says, grinning when Derek’s hands immediately still and he quickly steps back, like he hadn’t realized what he was doing. The guilt look on his face makes Lydia feel powerful, sending another thrill up her spine. “Thank you,” she adds, holding his gaze until his cheeks start to turn pink beneath his stubble.

She flounces out the door if only to keep herself from saying anything else, not wanting to push this. Lydia’s never been one to hold back when it comes to getting what she wants, but she knows she needs to be delicate with Derek. As much as he dwarves her, he’s fragile, and she wants to be careful with his heart.

The water’s already lapping at her hips by the time Derek emerges from the house. He’s changed into his own swim shorts, faded blue like they’ve been washed too many times. Her mouth goes dry as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the sand. There’s so much tan skin and dark hair and rippling muscles and she just wants to touch.

“Lookin’ good Hale!” She teases, laughing when his cheeks burn briefly red. “Been working out?” She squeezes one of his biceps when he gets close enough, raising her eyebrows when he just grunts and continues to blush. “Don’t act like I’m the-” He scoops her up before she can finish, taking three long steps before tossing her out into the water. Lydia yelps and splashes to the surface, hair plastered to her head and salt water dripping down her nose.

“Don’t even think about it,” Derek warns, his face doing this awful smug thing that makes Lydia’s entire body feel hot. She narrows her eyes as he dives under the water. It’s clear enough that she can see him swimming, and it’s like art, watching his muscles work to propel him through the waves. But then he pops up twenty feet away, lips curling into a smirk and water clinging to his eyelashes. Lydia’s stomach twists and her heart skips.

This is a bad idea.

 Lydia’s been trying to keep herself under control. She’s always found the seduction part easy, but she doesn’t want to seduce Derek. He’s been seduced for nefarious purposes far too many times to make that any fun. No, she just wants Derek to want her, and she knows that acting like anyone other than herself isn’t going to help anything. But her patience is wearing thin.

They’ve been grocery shopping together and gone on moonlight walks on the beach and Derek taught her how to make perfect margaritas (even if he can’t get drunk). They’ve spent hours on his porch, reading books side by side. Derek’s cooked her breakfast and lunch, has taken her out to dinner at the local taco stand.

They played scrabble okay. And he beat her.

It’s really getting out of hand.

On night three she wakes with a start, her heart pounding in her chest and a scream trying to force its way between her lips. She chokes it back, blinking wildly as the moonlit house comes into focus around her, the remainders of her nightmare fading. Usually when the nightmares come she’d call Mason or Kira, and they’d talk her down from it, prattling on about nonsense until her heart rate evened out and her mind was clear. But this time she has someone, and she figures Derek will understand better than anyone, really.

He’s already awake by the time she steps out onto the porch, eyes almost silver in the moonlight.

“You okay?” He asks, voice rough and scratchy with sleep. Lydia nods out of habit, shuffling closer, his t-shirt that she’d commandeered fluttering around her thighs. Her thundering heart probably woke him up, and she’s almost surprised that he hadn’t burst in with his claws out.

“Bad dream,” she murmurs, the understatement of the century. Derek opens his arms just like he did when she got off the plane, inviting her into his space. Lydia practically falls into him, the hammock swaying wildly as he pulls her between his legs, one hand stroking slowly through her hair. It’s natural then to just melt, arms tucking around his waist and cheek pressing against his chest. Derek’s hands are warm, resting at the small of her back and stroking through her hair, all the way down her spine.

Lydia’s drifting off before she knows it, her eyelids growing heavy and her mind wandering. She swears Derek presses a kiss to her hair, but she can’t be sure, not when her mind is blurring the line between dreams and reality. She still smiles against his chest and snuggles closer, finally succumbing to a peaceful sleep.

They spend the next day just driving around, exploring the town and the land stretching out around it. Lydia feels freer, not caring about the knots in her hair from it blowing in the wind or the fact that she hasn’t even taken her make-up case out of her bag. She even convinces Derek to take a selfie with her in front of a bar called La Casa De Delgado to send to Scott.

They look good together, and Derek’s actually smiling, his arm curled around Lydia like it belongs there. She stares at the photo for a second, almost mesmerized by the healthy glow to her cheeks and the way the sun is glinting off her hair. It takes a second to realize that Derek’s smiling at her, this tender, honest little thing. Her heart stutters in her chest but she doesn’t care, not when she can see the way Derek looks at her.

She can’t stop thinking about it, watching the flex of Derek’s bare shoulders, his tattoo swirling between them, as he washes dishes that night. No one’s ever looked at her quite like that before, like she’s the most precious thing on earth. Sure, she knows what lust looks like and she knows what it’s like to be cared for and loved, but this feels… different.

“You’re staring.” Derek smirks at her over his shoulder. Lydia just grins, because she is staring, and she’s not about to deny it.

“Hard not to,” she shrugs, tracing her tongue across her upper lip and letting her gaze flick across Derek’s body. He flushes but doesn’t look away, his eyes turning dark and warm. Lydia pushes herself out of her chair, holding his gaze as she pads across the floor towards him. He ducks away once she touches him, sliding her fingers slowly across his back, pulling on his shoulder until he takes a half step away from the sink. “Derek.” His name feels heavy on her lips, like a declaration, a prayer, something more. Sliding between his body and the sink, she curls her fingers around his jaw, tilting his face until she can see his eyes. There’s brilliant blue sparking around the edges, and it sends warmth coursing through Lydia’s veins, pooling between her thighs. “I want-”

Derek leans down and kisses her before she can even say she wants it, his lips soft against hers like a question. She moans and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling herself up and into him, kissing him back fiercely. He lifts her up onto the sink, pushing between her knees and smiling against her mouth when she wrap her legs around his waist. Lydia just wants him closer, wants to consume him, wants to memorize the feel of his skin beneath her hands and the taste of his lips. But Derek slows her down, tongue stroking slowly against hers, sucking and biting at her lips, pressing tiny kisses to her chin, her jaw, her throat. Lydia bares her neck to him, shivering when he growls low in his chest, want coiling around the base of her spine. She doesn’t even care that he’s leaving marks, she might even like it, might even want it.

He stops all too soon, breathing heavy, his forehead pressed against hers.

“This isn’t…” He pauses, jaw clenching. “I’m not - this is serious for me, and if it’s not for you, I need to know.” His eyes are closed like he’s afraid of what she’ll see there, but Lydia can feel his heart beating too fast beneath her hands.

“I-” She stops herself, thinking about. She can see herself just being with Derek, holding hands and growing old. She can see Derek as a father, with a tiny baby curled against his chest, a baseball glove on his hand. The scary thing is that she wants it, wants to be with him so badly it almost hurts. “Yeah,” she whispers, sliding her hands up into his hair. “I’m serious.”

Derek opens his eyes and full on smiles, with teeth and dimples and crinkly eyes. Her heart skips but she doesn’t care, pulling him back in for another kiss.

Lydia considers they might be rushing things when ten minutes later she’s flat on her back in the bed, hands fisted in Derek’s hair with his head between her thighs. But they’ve been basically going on dates since she got here, so maybe it isn’t so bad. And it’s not like she wants to stop. Her mind goes blissfully blank soon after, chest heaving as Derek presses small kisses to her tummy, her breasts, her collarbone. She can taste herself on his lips and she chases it, licking into his mouth.

“You’re never going to get rid of me now,” she whispers against his lips, falling back into the pillows as his lips drag down her neck. He smiles against her skin, pressing a tiny kiss to the ball of her shoulder.