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Derek slammed the snarling alien beta werewolf hard onto the ground, its growls cutting off abruptly as it hit the dirt. He took a deep, shaky breath, gulping in the cool night air, but he didn’t even pause to process what he’d just done. The kill barely registered in his mind—it was just another obstacle, another thing standing in his way. His thoughts were already racing ahead, consumed by one thing: Stiles.
Without wasting another second, Derek spun around, his boots crunching against the forest floor as he took off at full speed. His heart pounded in his chest, not just from the adrenaline but from the sheer panic clawing at the edges of his mind. He sprinted through the dense woods, branches whipping past him, his focus razor-sharp on the spot where he’d last seen Stiles. Stiles, who had been stupidly—or maybe bravely—holding his own against the Alpha. The Alpha they’d been tracking for weeks, the one that had been leaving a trail of chaos and blood in its wake.
Derek’s mind raced as he ran, his thoughts a chaotic mix of fear and determination. Stiles wasn’t supposed to be out here alone, not against something like that. He wasn’t a werewolf, didn’t have the strength or the speed, but he had a knack for getting himself into situations he couldn’t get out of. And Derek couldn’t shake the image of Stiles, standing there, armed with nothing but his usual sarcasm and a bat, facing down the Alpha like he had a death wish.
The closer Derek got, the louder the sounds of the fight became—snarls, growls, the sickening crunch of bone. His stomach churned, but he pushed himself harder, his legs burning as he tore through the underbrush. He couldn’t be too late. He wouldn’t let himself be too late. Stiles was reckless, stubborn, and infuriating, but he was also pack. And Derek wasn’t about to lose him. Not like this. Not tonight.
And then, suddenly, everything went dead quiet—way too quiet. The kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of Derek’s neck stand straight up. It wasn’t natural, not after the chaos of the fight. That eerie stillness only made him push harder, his legs pumping faster as he tore through the woods, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Every second felt like an eternity, and the silence was screaming at him that something was wrong.
“Stiles!” Derek shouted, his voice cracking as it ripped through the night. The name felt raw in his throat, desperate and pleading. He didn’t care if it made him sound weak—he just needed to hear Stiles’s voice, needed to know he was okay.
But when Derek finally burst into the clearing, his heart damn near stopped. Stiles was sprawled on the ground, completely still, buried under the massive, lifeless body of the Alpha werewolf. The beast wasn’t moving, but Derek didn’t give a damn about it. All he saw was Stiles, pale and motionless, and for a split second, the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
Derek dropped to his knees so hard it sent a jolt of pain shooting up his legs, but he barely felt it. His hands were already moving, grabbing the Alpha’s heavy, lifeless body and shoving it off Stiles with a strength fueled by pure panic. The corpse rolled away with a sickening thud, but Derek’s focus was entirely on Stiles.
His hands were shaking—actually shaking—as he pressed two fingers to the side of Stiles’s neck, searching for a pulse. For a horrifying moment, there was nothing. Just silence. Derek’s breath hitched, his chest tightening like a vice, but then—there it was. A faint, thready pulse, weak but steady, beating against his fingertips. Stiles’s heart was still going, still fighting.
Derek let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, his shoulders sagging with relief. Stiles was alive. Barely, but alive. His pulse was stronger now, kicking against Derek’s fingers like a stubborn reminder that Stiles wasn’t done yet. Derek’s hand lingered for a moment, just to be sure, before he finally pulled back, his own heart still racing.
“You idiot,” Derek muttered under his breath, his voice rough but laced with something softer, something he wouldn’t admit to out loud. “You better not die on me.”
Suddenly, Stiles’s eyes snapped open, and Derek froze like a deer in headlights. It wasn’t the normal, slightly annoying, wide-eyed look Stiles usually had—no, this was something else entirely. Stiles’s pupils were blown wide, almost swallowing the usual warm brown of his irises, and his eyes… they were glowing. Alpha red. Bright, intense, and completely unnatural. And the look on his face? Manic. Wild. Like he wasn’t fully in control of himself.
Before Derek could even process what the hell was happening, Stiles moved. Fast. Way too fast, One second, Derek was crouched over him, and the next, he was flat on his back, the air knocked clean out of his lungs as Stiles flipped their positions with terrifying strength. Derek’s head hit the ground hard, and for a split second, stars exploded across his vision, his brain scrambling to catch up with what just happened.
Stiles was on top of him, pinning him down with a force that shouldn’t have been possible. Derek could feel the weight of him, the heat radiating off his body, and those red eyes boring into him like they were seeing straight through him. It was Stiles, but it wasn’t. Something was off—something was very, very wrong because the transformation was taking over and Derek knew that he wouldn’t stand a chance against a Feral Alpha at the moment .
But just when Derek braced himself for the worst—expecting Stiles’s claws to rip into him, to tear him apart—what happened next completely threw him off. Instead of violence, Stiles was all over him, but not in a way that made any sense. His hands were everywhere, moving frantically but not with the intent to hurt. They roamed over Derek’s chest, his ribs, his stomach, pressing and rubbing like he was checking for something, like he was… worried? Affectionate? Derek couldn’t even process it. His brain short-circuited, his body frozen in place as Stiles’s touch burned through his shirt, leaving him breathless and confused.
“Stiles, I’m okay, I’m okay,” Derek managed to choke out, his voice tight and strained. He tried to keep it calm, steady, but his heart was pounding so hard he was sure Stiles could hear it. “Listen, you’ve got to—you’ve got to snap out of it, okay? Something’s wrong with you—”
But Derek didn’t get to finish. A loud, wet snuffling noise cut him off, and before he could react, Stiles shoved his face into Derek’s neck, inhaling deeply like he was trying to breathe him in. Derek stiffened, his whole body going rigid as Stiles did it again, this time on the other side of his neck. And then again. And again. It wasn’t just a quick sniff—it was intense, almost obsessive, like Stiles was trying to memorize his scent or something.
Stiles’s nose was cold against Derek’s skin, his breath hot and uneven as he nuzzled into him, rubbing his face against Derek’s neck like some kind of overgrown, feral puppy. Derek’s mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what the hell was happening.
Derek’s hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to push Stiles away or… what? Let him keep doing whatever this was? His chest tightened, a mix of confusion and something else he didn’t want to name bubbling up inside him. “Stiles,” he tried again, his voice softer this time, almost a whisper. “You’ve got to stop, okay? You’re not yourself right now. Just—just calm down.”
But Stiles didn’t stop. If anything, he seemed to lean into it more, his hands still roaming over Derek’s body like he was trying to reassure himself that Derek was real, that he was there. And Derek? He was just trying to keep his breathing steady, trying not to let the sheer weirdness of the situation overwhelm him. Because this was Stiles.
“It’s—it’s me, Derek,” Derek said, his voice tight and confused as he tried to make sense of the situation. He shoved against Stiles, trying to push the newly turned alpha werewolf off him, but Stiles didn’t budge. Instead, Stiles let out a deep, rumbling growl that vibrated through Derek’s chest, sending a sharp jolt of unease down his spine. Before Derek could react further, Stiles shifted his weight effortlessly, shoving Derek’s wrists above his head and pinning them there with one hand. Derek’s muscles strained against the hold, but Stiles’s grip was unyielding, leaving him trapped and completely at his mercy.
Derek dug his heels into the dirt, desperately trying to find some kind of leverage to break free or even transform into his werewolf form, but nothing worked. All he managed to do was kick up clouds of dirt, his boots scraping uselessly against the ground. Frustration and panic surged through him as he realized how vulnerable he was—something he rarely, if ever, felt around Stiles. Stiles was supposed to be the human, the one who needed protecting, not the one holding Derek down like a feral alpha. It was a complete role reversal, and Derek hated it.
But Stiles didn’t seem to care about Derek’s struggle. He leaned in closer, his movements almost predatory, and resumed sniffing at Derek’s neck, his breath hot and uneven against Derek’s skin. Then, without warning, Stiles grabbed the collar of Derek’s shirt and yanked, the fabric tearing easily under his newfound strength. Derek’s chest was exposed now, and Stiles let out a low, contented sigh, like he’d finally found what he was looking for. The sound was unsettling, and Derek’s heart pounded even harder, his mind racing to figure out how to handle this.
Derek’s heart hammered in his chest as he gasped at Stiles’s brashness. Stiles never got this close, never touched him like this. It was too much, too intense, and Derek’s instincts were screaming at him to fight back. His blue eyes flashed, his werewolf teeth bared as he growled, his voice sharp and commanding. “Stiles,” he snapped, trying to inject as much authority as he could into his tone, “I’m your packmate, okay? It’s Derek! Snap out of it, damn it!”
He wriggled under Stiles’s grip, trying to buck him off, but it was no use. Stiles had him held down hard, his strength overwhelming.
“Fuck, Derek, you smell so good,” Stiles finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly, the words coming out between clenched teeth. It didn’t sound like his usual human voice—it was deeper, rougher, almost feral—and it made Derek tense up even more, his face heating up despite the cool evening air. He could feel the warmth spreading across his cheeks, and he hated how exposed he felt, both physically and emotionally.
“Get off me, Stiles! We’re in serious trouble here!” Derek snapped, his voice sharp but laced with panic. He was trying to think, to process what the hell was happening. Werewolf instincts were one thing, but this? This was something else entirely. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, and Stiles’s damn hand wasn’t helping. It was sneaking up under the torn remains of Derek’s shirt, rough fingers brushing against his skin, and Derek’s stomach twisted in a way that was equal parts sweet and unsettling. He was getting way too flushed, way too warm, for how cool the evening was. “Stiles, what the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to keep control of the situation.
But Stiles didn’t answer. Instead, Derek felt Stiles’s tongue—hot and wet—lick a long, deliberate stripe up the side of his neck. Derek’s gut lurched, a low, hot sensation pooling in his stomach that he didn’t want to acknowledge. His breath hitched, and he clenched his jaw, trying to fight off the wave of… whatever the hell that was. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Not like this. Not with a feral Stiles.
“I dunno, I just feel… weird… and I need…” Stiles muttered, his voice slurred and distant, like he wasn’t fully in control of his own thoughts. Before Derek could respond, Stiles swiveled his hips, grinding their groins together in a way that made Derek’s eyes widen with shock. His whole body froze for a split second, his mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening. This was too much, too fast, and way too wrong.
“Stiles, stop! You’re—you’re not yourself!” Derek barked, his voice louder now, more desperate. He started squirming harder, trying to break free, but Stiles’s grip was unrelenting. Derek could feel something else churning deep within him, something he didn’t want to name—something that made his stomach twist with a mix of shame and… something else. He hated it. He hated how his body was reacting, how part of him didn’t want to fight this as much as he knew he should.
Stiles growled low in the back of his throat again, the sound vibrating through Derek’s chest. It was a warning, a sign that Stiles wasn’t happy with Derek’s resistance. But Derek couldn’t stop. He couldn’t let this happen. Not like this. Not when Stiles wasn’t in his right mind. “Stiles, you’re not thinking straight,” Derek said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “You’ve got to snap out of it. This isn’t you.”
But Stiles didn’t seem to care. He just kept grinding against Derek, his movements rough and desperate, like he was driven by some primal instinct he couldn’t control. And Derek? He was stuck, torn between pushing Stiles away and the unsettling realization that part of him didn’t want to.
“I can’t, Derek,” Stiles growled, his voice rough and strained, like he was fighting against himself but losing the battle. He rolled his hips again, this time more deliberately, more sensually, and Derek felt the unmistakable pressure of Stiles’s huge erection pressing against him. The sensation made Derek practically jump out of his skin, his body tensing as a mix of shock and something else—something he didn’t want to name—flooded through him. “I can’t stop,” Stiles continued, his voice almost pleading, like he was begging Derek to understand. “You just… you smell like… fuck, I don’t know, but I can’t help it.”
Before Derek could respond, Stiles moved to free both hands, pinning Derek down with the sheer strength of his hips and thighs. Derek’s breath hitched as Stiles’s claws—sharp and dangerous—ripped his shirt all the way open, the fabric tearing like paper. The claws scratched lightly against Derek’s skin, leaving faint red marks that stung just enough to remind him how dangerous this situation was. But then Stiles leaned down, his hot tongue dragging across Derek’s sweaty, hairy chest, and Derek’s mind went blank for a second.
Derek pushed and shoved at Stiles, trying to get him off, but at this point, it was a half-hearted attempt. His hands landed on Stiles’s shoulders, his chest, anywhere he could reach, but the truth was, Stiles’s mouth felt fucking good. And Derek hadn’t felt good—really good—in longer than he’d like to admit. The warmth of Stiles’s tongue, the way his breath hit Derek’s skin, it was all too much, and Derek hated how his body was betraying him.
“Stiles, please,” Derek said, his voice weak and shaky, barely above a whisper. “This—this isn’t you.” But even as he said it, he could feel his own body responding, his dick starting to thicken despite the chaos in his mind. He hated it. He hated how part of him didn’t want this to stop.
“I’m me, Derek,” Stiles muttered, his voice low and gravelly, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Derek. Then his tongue and sharp teeth grazed Derek’s nipple, and the slight pain sent a jolt through Derek’s body, snapping him back to reality for a moment.
“Stiles, you need to stop,” Derek said, his voice firmer now, though it still wavered. “You—you got bit. We need to get back to town so we can figure this out! This isn’t—” But before he could finish, Stiles swirled his tongue across his other nipple, sucking on it like a lollipop, and Derek’s words turned into a strangled groan. “God!” he gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily. “Don’t do this!”
But Stiles didn’t listen. He was too far gone, driven by whatever primal instincts were coursing through him. Derek’s mind was a mess, torn between the logical part of him that knew this was wrong and the part of him that was desperate for the pleasure Stiles was giving him. It was a battle he wasn’t sure he could win, and the longer it went on, the harder it became to fight.
Without warning, Stiles lunged upward, and an unimaginable, searing pain erupted in the meat of Derek’s shoulder as the young Alpha’s teeth sank deep into his flesh. Derek roared, the sound tearing through the night air, his body arching off the ground as the sharp, burning sensation shot through him like wildfire. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before—raw, primal, and overwhelming. But just as quickly as the pain came, it began to shift, morphing into something else entirely.
As Stiles lapped at the wound, his tongue hot and rough against Derek’s torn skin, Derek’s breathing began to steady. His heart rate, which had been racing in panic, eased into a powerful, rhythmic thud that echoed in his chest. The worry and fear that had gripped him moments ago melted away, replaced by a strange, almost euphoric calm. The pain in his bones from being pressed into the cold, hard ground dissipated, and suddenly, everything around him felt sharper, more vivid.
Derek could smell the forest in a way he never had before—the rich, loamy earth beneath him, the dampness of the trees, the faint sweetness of wildflowers in the distance. He could hear the far-off croak of frogs, their songs carrying through the night air with a clarity that shouldn’t have been possible, even for a werewolf with heightened senses. It was as if his already sharp senses had been dialed up to an entirely new level.
Stiles lifted his head, his lips smeared with Derek’s blood, and grinned down at him, licking the crimson streaks from his teeth. Derek could see every detail of Stiles’s face as if they were sitting in full sunlight—the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his eyes glowed a deep, unnatural red, the curve of his lips as they twisted into a smirk.
“You’ll see now, Derek,” Stiles said, his voice low and guttural, like it was coming from somewhere deep within him. He rutted against Derek, his hips grinding down hard, and Derek couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped his lips as he felt the thick, hard throb of Stiles’s cock pressing against his own. The friction was electric, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through his body, and Derek hated how good it felt.
“Christ!” Derek whimpered, his voice breaking as he felt something wet and warm leaking from his ass, soaking through his boxers and jeans. His body was betraying him in the worst way—Stiles had triggered his heat, and Derek’s body was responding with a humiliating eagerness. He thrust his hips up instinctively, trying to clench his ass to stop the slick, self-lubricating fluid from escaping, but it was no use. The more he tried to fight it, the more his body seemed to give in.
Stiles just smirked, his red eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Shhh,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “You want it as much as I do. I can smell it on you.” His words sent a shiver down Derek’s spine, and he hated how true they were. He could deny it all he wanted, but his body was telling a different story.
With a growl, Stiles tore at Derek’s jeans and boxers, yanking them down until Derek’s thick, muscular thighs and his fat, hairy ass were exposed to the cool night air. Derek’s cock sprang free, rock hard and leaking, and Stiles didn’t waste a second. He roughly spread Derek’s massive ass cheeks, his hands gripping the firm globes tightly, and then he dove in, nuzzling against Derek’s cock before dragging his tongue over Derek’s perineum and then digging into his balls.
Derek yelped, his hand instinctively flying down to cover his hole, trying to stop the slick fluid from squirting out, but Stiles yanked his hand away with a growl. Before Derek could protest, Stiles’s broad, rough tongue was lapping at his hole, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through him that made his toes curl.
“Fuck!” Derek panted, his body trembling as more slick gushed out, which Stiles swallowed greedily, like he was starving for it. Stiles was relentless, his tongue fucking into Derek with rough, jagged thrusts, his grunts low and animalistic. He lifted and squeezed Derek’s ass, forcing his shoulder blades to dig into the soft earth as Stiles devoured him.
“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” Derek moaned, tipping his head back as pleasure overwhelmed him. He hated how good it felt, how much his body was responding, but he couldn’t fight it anymore. Stiles was in control, and Derek was along for the ride, whether he liked it or not.
“So sweet and perfect,” Stiles slurred against Derek’s hole, his voice low and rough, almost drunk with desire. He growled in delight, the sound vibrating through Derek’s body as he marveled at how Derek’s hole looked—hot, wet, and open, the dark hair matted with Derek’s slick and Stiles’s spit. It was a mess, raw and primal, and Stiles couldn’t get enough. “Need you so fucking bad,” he muttered, his words slurred but dripping with hunger, like he was barely holding himself back.
Before Derek could even process what was happening, he was flipped over without warning, the world spinning dizzyingly around him. Stiles’s hands gripped his hips tightly, yanking them up until Derek’s huge, muscular ass was in the air, on full display. Derek’s knees dug into the soft earth, his hands bracing against the ground as he found himself on all fours. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in this position—vulnerable, exposed, and completely at someone else’s mercy. It was humiliating, but at the same time, his body and mind was betraying him, responding with a humiliating eagerness.
Derek felt the wet, fat tip of Stiles’s cock press against his hole, the sensation making his breath hitch. It was just a brief kiss, a teasing touch, before Stiles was pushing inside, bullying his way past the tight ring of muscle. Derek clenched his teeth, bracing himself for the pain he expected to come, but it never did. His body was soft, wet, and open, as if he’d prepped himself for this, as if he’d known exactly how massive Stiles’s cock was and had been ready for it all along. The slickness made the stretch easier, but it was still overwhelming—Stiles was thick, and Derek could feel every inch as he was filled.
Stiles didn’t stop, didn’t give Derek time to adjust. He just kept pushing, his hips slamming forward until he was fully sheathed inside Derek, their bodies pressed tightly together. Derek’s breath came in short, ragged gasps, his hands clawing at the ground as he tried to steady himself. It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn’t enough. His body was betraying him, responding to Stiles’s rough thrusts with a humiliating eagerness, and Derek hated how good it felt.
“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles growled, his voice rough and strained as he started to move, his hips pulling back before slamming forward again. “You feel so fucking good. Knew you would.” His hands gripped Derek’s hips tightly, holding him in place as he fucked into him with rough, desperate thrusts, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through Derek’s body that made his toes curl.
Derek couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped his lips, his head dropping as he tried to steady himself. It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn’t enough. His body was betraying him, responding to Stiles’s rough thrusts with a humiliating eagerness, and Derek hated how good it felt. He hated how much he wanted it, how much he needed it, but he couldn’t fight it anymore.
Derek could feel himself getting even harder, his body responding intensely to the raw, primal energy between them. The thick, heady scent of Stiles surrounded him, overwhelming his senses as Stiles drove into him with relentless force, pushing Derek forward with each thrust. Derek was already on edge, his entire body hyper-focused on the sensations radiating from his slick, throbbing ass. He didn’t even think about touching himself—his pleasure was entirely consumed by the way Stiles was taking him.
Stiles, clearly frustrated by the lack of leverage, suddenly shoved Derek’s shoulders down, pressing his face into the dirt. Derek let out a sharp, desperate sound, arching his back to give Stiles even more control. He didn’t resist; he wanted Stiles to take whatever he needed, to use him however he pleased. Stiles felt enormous inside him, his movements deep and powerful, and the rough fabric of his jeans scraped against the back of Derek’s thighs, leaving them raw. Derek groaned at the thought of Stiles still being mostly clothed, realizing just how desperate Stiles had been to claim him.
Derek could feel his own wetness leaking around Stiles’s cock as Stiles spread his ass cheeks wider with his big hands. “Look at you,” Stiles growled, his voice rough and possessive. “Taking me so fucking well. Gonna fill you up so good, Derek.”
“God, yeah, fuck me, Stiles,” Derek moaned, his voice breaking as he clenched his eyes shut. The pleasure was building rapidly, each thrust hitting his prostate with precision, sending shockwaves through his body. It shouldn’t have felt this good, but it did, and Derek was completely lost in it.
“Come for me,” Stiles demanded, his voice low and commanding as he grabbed a fistful of Derek’s hair, yanking his head back. “I know you’re close.”
Derek couldn’t hold back. He came hard, his body convulsing as he cried out, his face still pressed into the dirt. His ass clenched tightly around Stiles’s cock, and just as he thought it was over, he felt something strange—something thick and swollen pressing against him, stretching him even further.
“W-what’s—” Derek stammered, his voice shaky.
“Yeah, Derek,” Stiles rasped, his tone dark and possessive. “Take my fucking knot.”
It hit Derek then—the werewolf lore, the bonding, the knot. This was his first time being knotted, and the realization sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through him. “Fuck!” Derek shouted as Stiles thrust harder, forcing the swollen base of his cock in and out until it finally locked into place. Derek came again, his body trembling as Stiles began to pump him full of come, claiming him completely.
“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles panted, his voice filled with awe. “You’re so good for me, so fucking perfect.” He released Derek’s hair, his hand sliding down to pat Derek’s ass before gently maneuvering him onto his side. Stiles wrapped himself around Derek, his cock still buried deep, pulsing as he continued to fill him. He nuzzled into Derek’s neck, scenting and licking him, marking him in every way possible. Derek just lay there, panting, feeling a mix of euphoria and exhaustion, his body covered in dirt and sweat.
“This is so fucked up,” Derek groaned, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. “You should’ve asked me first, you know that, right?”
Stiles chuckled softly, his hips shifting slightly, making Derek’s ass clench around him. “We’re better this way,” Stiles murmured, his voice calm but firm. “Stronger. More bonded. And don’t act like you didn’t want this. I could smell how much you wanted me. We’ve been tiptoeing around this for too long. Once I knew how you felt, I couldn’t pass up the chance to make you mine.”
Derek didn’t argue. As messed up as it was, Stiles wasn’t wrong. There had always been something between them, something unspoken but undeniable. And now, with Stiles’s knot still buried inside him and filling with his seed, Derek couldn’t deny that this—whatever it was—felt right.