Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

God, I love him. Things have been so incredible these past couple months since we finally became official ‘boyfriends.’ We only officially tied the knot three months ago, but Derek and I have basically been together for years before that. Hell, I have been flirting with him since the day I met him when we all still thought he was a scary convicted felon/murderer, blah blah blah you know the story. It's so funny looking back at that since Derek is such a soft teddy bear that I cannot even imagine thinking he was ever dangerous. But despite Scott and I's fear of the big bad wolf, I took one look at those sculpted abs and perfectly stubbled jaw line and I always found myself guiltily drooling over him in the privacy of my own bedroom (being that I was an incredibly horny sixteen year old boy after all).

But after the whole “Derek is the enemy” debacle, we all became friends and slowly but surely Derek and I just sort of drifted together. By my senior year of high school, Derek and I were spending a majority of our free time together. He knew I focused better on my work when someone else was in the room with me and he just liked having the company of someone else, whether it be at the newly built Hale house or in the familiarity of the Stilinski home. He even won over dad, which is INSANE because dad barely likes having me around! Kidding… but still I was surprised when he extended an open invite to have dinner with the two of us whenever Derek needs the comfort of a family meal.

Dad and Derek get along really well, which makes me happy. It was actually my dad who pushed us to get together. He saw how we laid on each other during movie nights, stared a bit too long at each others lips, and shared personal inside jokes with each other that only we could understand in our own little world. He came into my room one morning and just flat out said “So when are you actually going to ask that boy out? You obviously like each other, anyone would have to be blind to not see that!” So the next day during one of our walks on the preserve when we found a particularly beautiful patch of woods–the sun poking through the trees in just the right way to make it look like Derek was glowing from golden hour–I asked if he would want to be my boyfriend. I'm sure you could figure out his answer, not like it's some super difficult Nogitsune-style riddle or anything.

But that's how we got here: laying together in my bed, both topless and intertwined like tangled Christmas lights. I know we've been dating for three months, but we have been taking things slowly at our own pace. Having a combined amount of trauma that would put any therapist out of business and both being neurodivergent (we are quite the package with my diagnosed ADHD and his self-diagnosed autism), our relationship has an unconventional path that we are both happy to follow together out of respect for our own comfort and boundaries. So it isn't that surprising that we haven't ‘done the deed’ yet.

I mean, we have had a lot of opportunities. We both have condoms handy at either of our places, my dad is usually at work and the Hale house is normally empty, and it isn't like I'm not constantly dreaming of him to wolf out on me and rip me to shreds in the name of all things horny (did I say horny instead of holy? Oops!), but it just hasn't felt like the right time yet. I mean it took us about a month to even have our first kiss, but since then we've had some AWESOME make-out sessions… Just like right now!

I love the way his stubble is scratchy on my face and when he bites at my bottom lip with his front bunny teeth; it gets me SO hot! And he's told me the taste of my strawberry chap-stick makes him want to eat me up, which just makes me EVEN MORE hot! But right now, this particular make-out sesh is getting pretty intense.

His lips, teeth, and tongue drift away from my mouth and make their way up to my ear, nibbling down the side of my neck, tracing both of my pecs individually before ending at the top of my jeans. To give him more access, I undo my belt, throwing it across the room in one swift motion and fumble with the button and zipper of my jeans until he can reach the elastic of my boxers. He carefully lifts the elastic and kisses at my hips before looking up at me with those rich green eyes and giving me a genuine full smile.

“You are the cutest, you know that?” I sigh out, carding a hand through his slightly overgrown hair. He practically purrs before laying back down flat parallel to my body.

Returning the favor, I lean over to begin kissing a trail reminiscent of the one he just left on me. I make it down to his neck when I realize it would be easier (and much more pleasurable) to reach his chest if I straddle him.

I place my hands on his chest to hold my weight as I loop my left leg over his waist. I feel him get hard underneath me and I smile knowingly as his entire chest begins flushing a deep shade of red. Not wanting to waste the moment, I skip kissing his beautiful chest and chiseled torso to begin playing with the elastic of his sweatpants to start kissing at his hips. Looking up to make sure he is okay with me adjusting his pants, I find Derek wincing before shutting his eyes tightly.

“Um babe? You okay? Do you not want me messing down here?” I question gently, moving away from his groin by sitting up and looking down at his increasingly tense body.

“No, no keep going. It's okay. I'm okay. You can keep going,” he forces out, through his closed eyes and shallow breaths coming out quicker. Noticing the subtle but building signs of a panic attack, I un-straddle him and prop myself up on my headboard, looking down at the anxious wolf.

“No, no. There's no way we are going to keep going if you aren't comfortable”

“It's fine, you can do it. Just get it over with, I'll be okay,” he whines out, barely audible as tears begin building up on his eyelids like a waterfall to a beavers dam. He raises his hands up to his face and begins pushing the bottoms of his palms into his eyes. Confused by the situation, I take time to think about how to approach what to say next to support him in the best way possible without overstepping boundaries.

Apparently I think for a bit too long because Derek is quick to suddenly run out of my bed and into my bathroom where I instantly hear retching echoing off my walls. A days worth of food is left in my toilet bowl as Derek lets out a deep sob. I run in after him, finding his limp body leaning on the front edge of the toilet seat. The vomiting has caused him to begin sweating as he sticks to the old linoleum floors that I lower myself down onto so that I am eye level with him once again. He keeps his eyes tightly closed as I watch him.

“Der… honey, I would never force myself onto you. Hey– hey it's okay,” I wipe loose tears from his cheeks with the pads of my thumbs. His breathing has calmed down with the throwing up, but now his breaths are strained rather than shallow from leaving his throat raw. I need to figure out what's wrong so that I can help fix everything.

“Love, can you look at me for a second? I promise you're safe, I just need you to open your eyes,” I guide him through while deeply analyzing his face for any worsening expressions. It takes a second, but he slowly blinks his eyes open, using the backs of his hands to wipe at the burning sensation left by the pooling of tears. When done wiping his eyes and flushing what was left in the toilet, he locks his with mine questioningly.

“Do you want to talk about what happened so we can prevent it for the future? What are you feeling?” I prompt him, giving him the space to take as much time as he needs to form his words.

“I- I don't know. It's silly,” he manages, quickly losing eye contact with me as he looks for the words.

“If it makes you panic like that, then it’s definitely not silly. I won't judge, I promise,” I explain genuinely, sticking my pinky out for him to link with his own. He closes his eyes again to sigh and sniffle, pushing a hand through his sweat soaked hair to keep it from sticking to his forehead.

“I- well- I was having a good time, I hope you know that,” he reassures me, as if I'm the one who needs reassurance right now. “Like the making out was really nice, and I enjoyed exploring our bodies a bit more… but…” he trails off, looking down in shame.

“It's alright, take your time,” I give him a small smirk despite the looming anxiety that has been building in my stomach for the past ten minutes.

“It's just… when you straddled me with your pants undone and started messing with my pants too… that's what-- what Kate did,” his voice cracks at the mention of her name. “And so many other people after her,” he explains as tears begin swelling in my eyes as well. To think I made him think of Kate… God I'm so fucking stupid and selfish knowing he has sexual trauma and still attempting to do something without talking it through with him first. He hasn't told me much of what Kate did, but I know from small comments here and there that she was a fucking monster who has haunted his life for the past decade and a half. He continues his story, sniffling with every other word and continuing to let tears escape.

“With Kate–the first time we did it–I was laying on a picnic blanket with her when she straddled me. Her pants were already undone and she began working on undoing mine. She told me ‘this is going to feel good,’ but then it didn't and I was scared. But she kept bringing up sex every time we were together and I kept trying to convince myself that it's supposed to feel good, so I kept letting it happen in hopes that I would get used to it until it felt good; but it just never did. Then I hit high school and everyone was talking about how awesome sex is so I tried so hard to just be like everyone else and enjoy it… so every time I would go out with someone, I would let them take the reins and do what they want while I’d suck it up and wait for it to end, hoping I'd have an epiphany of understanding that just never came.” He fiddles with his shaking hands while tears continue to stain his cheeks. I reach out every so often to catch the tears before they reach his mouth and stay silent until he is done explaining himself.

“But with you… I never felt like I needed to do that because we were taking things at our own pace and I actually liked being with you so I didn't even really see sex as an incoming possibility until just then. I am just so comfortable with you that when I saw you doing something that has made me feel unsafe and uncomfortable so many times in the past, I just started to panic. I just wanted…” his voice breaks. “I just wanted you to get it over with as fast as possible,” a sob makes its way out of his chest, cutting off any more of the explanation as he leans into my chest for some support.

“Oh love, I am so so sorry. I should have thought to talk you through that before just assuming it would be okay. I wasn't thinking and I truly am so sorry that I triggered you because you know I would never do that on purpose. And I hope you know that there will never ever be a world where I force myself onto you like that. Every romantic or sexual encounter between us must be mutual and on BOTH of our terms, understand?” I remind him softly as I pet his hair with one hand and rub his back with the other. He smells sour from the collection of food he just puked up and a lot of sweat rather than his regular scent of dark leather and wood, but nothing could make me let him go in this moment. He needs me, and fuck… I need him just as much.

He just lightly nods into my chest as a response that he registered what I said. We sit there for a moment while we both cry and sniffle together on the discomfort of the bathroom floor before Derek says something so quiet it barely registers in my human ears.

“There's just something wrong with me, not liking sex like everyone else. And I'm sorry I can't satisfy you like a regular partner. You don't… we don't have to stay together since I can't provide that for you.”

I pull his head away from my chest so that he can look me in the eyes when I make my next statement pretty fucking clear.

“Derek, you really think I would break up with you over this? What the fuck? I would rather get possessed by the Nogitsune again then fucking break up with you, my god. Years of crushing on you doesn't just go away with a lack of sex. Like I fucking LOVE YOU, you know that? I think the only thing that would make me break up with you is if you drove a bus into an orphanage full of puppies, kittens, and the entire cast of ‘Star Wars,’ and even then… i still wouldn't be that convinced,” my lazy joke gets a weak, wet laugh out of him; I'm glad I can at least get him to laugh in this state.

“But there's nothing wrong with you. You aren't broken or anything, I promise,” I once again hold out my pinky for him to shakily link with his own. “How about this… I know after a panic attack and especially one where vomit is involved I always need a shower to feel a bit better. So I can leave you in here to take a shower and I will leave you some loose, comfy clothes right outside the door. And I'll go downstairs to set up a little cozy movie night for you with one of your comfort films. Then after that we can talk a bit more about all this heavy stuff but only when you're ready. How's that sound?” He hesitantly nods as he slowly pulls away from my body to let me stand up to leave.

“I love you so much Der, you're so brave,” I say genuinely as I exit out of the creaky door that always gets stuck in the winter. I watch him stand up from the floor as I close the door behind me.

Chapter Text

I feel so gross and weak sitting on the bathroom floor covered in my own sweat and vomit over something as small as getting straddled by my own boyfriend. I love him so much, so why can't I just be a normal person who can enjoy stuff like that. I'm a werewolf for fucks sake! I've fought monsters from all over the world and demons from different dimensions that you couldn't even comprehend, yet my loving human boyfriend messing with the waistband of my pants sends me over the edge? God, I'm such a joke to the Hale family name. All of these thoughts just make me cry more.

I can't just sit here and cry all day. I have to get up and shower to prove to Stiles that I'm not just some pathetic guy he's been wasting the past eight years with.

I slowly peel my clammy skin off the sticky floor as I raise myself onto shaky legs. Once I'm up, I immediately lock the bathroom door for extra privacy because I cannot deal with anyone else seeing me in this state. I can't even believe STILES saw me like this. We've both had panic attacks and meltdowns in front of each other before, but none that ended with me on the floor of his bathroom, half naked and covered in my own puke so yeah… this does feel like rock bottom.

I close my eyes tight before taking a deep breath; I really do need to get this crawling feeling off my skin. It doesn't feel like the gentle and loving finger prints of stiles, but rather the aggressive, authoritative, and manipulative hands of Kate and everyone who came after. God, I can't even remember most of their names because I've blocked them out so well. Jennifer was one. Lindsey and James and Michelle and Ezra were others. There’s no way I'll be able to remember the handful of other self-sabotage one-night-stands I stumbled into during depressive drunken nights at clubs.

All of their tongues are in my mouth and hands in my pants. I can feel the weight of their body on my core as they straddle me and the hot breath of kate in my ear as she reminds me that “This is supposed to feel good.” Fuck, I need it GONE.

I fiddle with the Stilinski's shower handle until it is turned fully on as hot as it can go. That should fix it. Just burn the fucking memories down the drain with my dignity.

Before I get in the shower, though, I should do something to get these thoughts out of my head. I would grab my phone to play some music, but it's back on Stiles’ night stand and I do not want to go out there. Luckily, Noah's old fashioned tech choices come to the rescue as he still listens to a small radio sitting on the bathroom counter while he showers.

I switch it on to pure static before I turn the tune dial to find whatever the first bit of sound is that I land on. The smooth voice of an older sounding DJ makes his way through the speakers, introducing some jazz song.

“And coming up next on beacon hills one and only jazz station, KBEH 24.2, is the legend John Coltrane with one of his greats, Giant Steps. Take some giant steps today if you haven't yet,” his voice fades out as the music makes itself known. I turn the volume to full blast while grabbing some mouth wash out of the medicine cabinet to garggle the taste of bile out of my mouth before turning back around to face the shower.

After a couple deep breaths, I hesitantly strip off my sweat pants and boxers until I am standing completely vulnerable in the already steamy air from the boiling shower. I step in, and hiss at the heat but drown myself in it despite. It burns, but I know it can't do any real harm with my healing abilities.

I let the water flow over me. My front. My back. Over my head. Out of my natural instinct with pain, I can't help but shift to my human wolf form. Knowing I've gone non-verbal since the moment Stiles left the room and that I'll probably be non-verbal all night, I need a way to get my feelings out; so I let out the deepest, most desperate roar in the pit of my stomach. I know everyone in the neighborhood can hear it, but I can't help myself. The roar leaves me tired as I quickly shift back to human.

Just to feel something before I get out of the shower because I need a bit more time alone, I turn the shower handle all the way to the coldest it goes. My shaking turns into shivers with the piercing water as it refreshingly spills over my face.

I finish in the shower by actually washing my body and hair with soap and shampoo just to get the smell I can't stand off of me until I start to smell like Stiles.

Once i feel and smell clean and my skin is completely raw, I turn the shower off. I stand there while I let the water fall off my body for a second. I don't know if i've been there ten minutes or ten hours, but I am starting to feel like I need Stiles. I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel to dry off as I discover a note that had been slipped under the door while I was in there.

In Stiles’ familiar chicken scratch, it reads, “I left warm clothes outside the door for you. Come downstairs when you're ready love ♡.” I swear, I don't deserve him.

I crack open the bathroom door slightly to find a stack of clothes left for me: an oversized hoodie Stiles had made for me as a joke that resembles his high school lacrosse jersey, a pair of fluffy pajama pants covered in blue and green stars, and a pair of Derek's boxers that he leaves at their house when he sleeps over. All three of them are warm from having been put in the dryer by Stiles since he knows how much I love warm laundry. Finally, on top of the clothes sat his wolf Squishmallow which is a comfort item of his that Stiles bought him after his first time having a panic attack in front of him; holding something familiar and soft to ground himself is a pretty sound technique to avoiding panic attacks or slowing them down when in the midst of one which Stiles definitely is aware of.

I slip the soft, warm clothes on and hold the stuffed animal in my arms while standing there for a moment, taking a couple deep breaths with my eyes closed to calm myself before going back to the real world. I switch off the power button on the radio and flip the light switch before twisting the cold door handle to re-enter Stiles’ now abandoned bedroom.

I creep down the stairs as quietly as possible, listening as the mindless humming of my boyfriend gets louder and louder with every step. As I turn the corner into the living room attached to the kitchen, I see Stiles standing at the counter making some sort of food. To not scare him as I make my way into the kitchen, I knock on the wall to make my presence known before approaching him from the back and wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

“Hey sour-wolf, shower okay?” he says, gently and quietly while kissing the back of one of my hands. I hum and nod in response, still non-verbal from before. “Non-verbal?” he questions. I just nod into his back, closing my eyes and inhaling the familiar comfortable scent of Stiles.

“I made us both some hot chocolate and mac and cheese for dinner because I know they're some of your safe comfort foods; I assumed you'd want something like that after tonight?” I nod again and place a small kiss onto his left shoulder blade, silently thanking him for all of this because seriously, what did I do to deserve such a loving and understanding boyfriend?

“We can eat while we watch a movie if you want. I picked out the DVDs for either An American Werewolf in London or Twilight if that's what you want to watch,” because he knows werewolf movies are some of my comfort media, having watched a ton of them as a kid with my siblings because we would make fun of how inaccurate the werewolf portrayals were; he knows me too well. I just shrug, letting him pick because either are fine with me.

He hands me a mug reading ‘World's Most Okay-est Dad’ that definitely belongs to Noah, a silly gift given to him by a young cheeky Stiles made apparent by the worn out writing showing it's age. A spoon hangs out the side of the warm cup with a tower of melting whipped cream sitting on top. He guides me over to the couch where soft blankets are spread out and two bowls of Mac and cheese are set on the coffee table. I sit, wrapping a blanket over my core and begin sipping at my hot chocolate as Stiles pops Twilight into the DVD player. Once the movie comes to life on the screen, he sits next to me on the other end of the couch, opening his arm to allow me to snuggle into his side. It feels silly sometimes being the little spoon since I am so much bigger than Stiles, but he knows I find comfort in being held.

We eat and drink in silence while watching the first thirty minutes of the movie; Stiles every so often scratching his nails into my scalp. The warmth of the blanket and my full stomach causes me to relax enough to shift into my wolf form, comfortable enough to be my most vulnerable self in front of Stiles.

See when I am in my wolf form, I don't have to worry about the stresses of human life. People don't expect me to talk back and be social in conversations. I don't have to worry if I am standing weird or where to put my hands if they're not doing anything. I don't have to worry about making eye contact or keeping my facial expressions under control. I can just be unconditionally me. I worried at first that it would freak Stiles out, because I mean who wants to date a fucking wolf? But we talked through my insecurities about it and any of his thoughts and we settled on the idea that he doesn't care as long as I am comfortable and happy; plus there is the added bonus of him being fascinated by my shifting, him loving dogs so he never gets tired of giving me pets, and he knows it makes me feel closer to my mother.

So we sit there; my head in his lap as he scratches behind my ears, the movie quietly running in the background as I slowly drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Well fuck, it was a long day at work. Double shift and on my feet all day, barely had time for a lunch break. My back aches, my knees are cracking, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm probably just going to go straight to bed when I walk in the door, so hopefully Stiles isn't in one of his super hyper-active moods.

I pull into the drive way, lock the doors to the police cruiser, and limp up the worn steps of our porch before cracking open the front door.

“Hey kiddo, I'm home–” I grunt out as I open the door, stopping suddenly as I see Stiles holding a finger up to his lips while quietly shushing me. Looking down, I see a fully-shifted Derek Hale fast asleep in his lap.

“He had a panic attack earlier so he's resting before we talk about it. Think he needed to shift to feel a bit more comfortable,” Stiles stage-whispers in my direction. Derek's ears twitch a little while his eyes stay closed, making me aware that he's definitely listening but pretending he's still asleep.

“No problem. I had a long day at work so I am just heading up to bed for the night. Let me know if either of you need anything, and tell Derek he has me in his corner” I whisper back, approaching the couch to give Derek's head a little pet. “Night Mischief, love you.”

“Night” he responds, as Derek exhales loudly in his own way of responding. God, I love these boys to death.

Chapter Text

Dad gets home from work and goes to bed about halfway through the movie. I let Derek sleep through the rest of the movie because I know he needs it; a breakdown always leaves me EXHAUSTED so I understand the benefits of a good nap following one. I know he gets insecure about being around people in his wolf form, but I love that he has a healthy way to regulate his big emotions (plus his coat is REALLY soft). It almost feels like sometimes he doubles as my emotional support wolf because nothing brings me more peace than petting his head as he lays in my lap.

When the credits of the movie start to roll, I lay a kiss to Derek's head.

“Hey sleepy-wolf, the movies over,” I whisper into his ears to wake him up. His eyes blink open as he releases a large yawn showing off his impressive set of teeth. He stretches out across the whole couch before gently licking at my hand a couple times. I really don't want to disturb this peace that we've achieved, but there is definitely a talk to be had about what triggered him earlier.

“I know you're sleepy and comfortable right now… but I think we need to have a conversation about earlier. You don't have to talk if you're not feeling up to it, but I just want to say some things if you're willing to listen,” I explain as I pet down his back, him sitting closer to my chest as he recognizes the chemosignals of looming anxiety that makes itself known when I bring up the topic. He licks my arm in response before perking his ears up. I clear my throat and sniffle a little bit, preparing myself for a heavy speech.

“I assume you think that most couples our age are having sex and that you think I expect sex from you because I have the libido of a teenage boy going through puberty, but that's all a load of bullshit. Sure a lot of couples have sex, but there are tons of non-sexual, exclusively romantic or platonic types of relationships that are super common. And sure, I would enjoy if we had sex but I love you so much that I would completely give it up for the rest of my life if it meant I get to be with you for the rest of my life. But seriously, I would be absolutely content masturbating on my own when I need if sex doesn't make you comfortable, if that's okay with you,” I ramble out, leaning my head on top of his. He licks my hand again to show he heard me and agrees with it.

“Derek… do you know about asexuality?” I ask, picking up my head to make eye contact with him. He shakes his head a little to show he hasn't.

“Asexuality is a sexuality that some people with little to no sexual desire or interest in sex identify with. It’s a spectrum though, so some asexuals are completely sex repulsed and never have sex while others have sex all the time and just have less sexual desire than the average allosexual person. And these people are COMPLETELY NORMAL and there are TONS of them! I'm not saying you are or aren't asexual, but I think it would be really beneficial for you to look into to help reinforce that there is definitely nothing wrong with you and that you're not alone in how you're feeling Derek,” I explain, landing a kiss on his head. He exhales deeply before I feel him moving over to the seat next to me so that he can shift back into his human form. He pulls a blanket over him and starts snuggling his head into my shoulder to get comfortable, making eye contact with my chest while he fiddles with his hands under the blanket.

“Can we read about it together?” He whispers, gravely and low from not speaking for multiple hours. I card one of my hands through his hair to help him get comfortable.

“Of course love,” I respond, using a gentle pet-name unlike our usual teasing just to ease any spiraling thoughts lingering from the earlier breakdown. I dig into my back pocket to pull out my phone, search up asexuality, and hand it over to Derek to take the reigns.

Chapter Text

I really am curious what Derek has planned for me tonight. He texted in the middle of my shift that he needs to tell me something privately (without Stiles, which is odd) and that he would love to have me over for dinner tonight to talk about it. God knows what the boy has to tell me, but I swear if it's an engagement proposal I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Either way, he's a good kid and I promised him that I'd be there for him anytime that he needs me so I guess I am stopping for a bite on the way home at the rebuilt Hale house.

I stop at the grocery store after my shift to grab a bottle of wine (forgetting that alcohol has no effect on Derek's system, but the thought is there) and make my way towards the preserve.

As I pull into the makeshift driveway in the woods, I admire what Derek has done with the place. I've been to the rebuilt Hale house many times since the construction has been completed, but I appreciate the impressive work done by Derek and the rest of the pack each and every time I come here. Derek is opening the front door before I even put my car in park, having heard the cruiser a mile away. I get out of the car as Derek waves me into the house.

“Hi Sheriff, thanks for coming,” he welcomes me in his natural serious tone. It always makes me chuckle that he insists on calling me Sheriff when I've told him dozens of times that Noah is fine, but whatever makes the kid comfortable is fine by me.

“Thanks for having me kid, I brought this,” I respond, handing over the wine. “Sorry, I realized on the drive here that alcohol is kind of useless to you,” causing Derek to break a small smirk.

“No no, don't worry about it. I appreciate it and I like the taste of wine despite its effects so this is perfect. Come inside, dinner is almost done. I made grilled chicken with asparagus and mashed potatoes; hopefully a meal that you will actually enjoy that follows the strict nutritional guide Stiles gave me,” he chuckles through that final sentence which causes me to roll my eyes. Stiles, would it really kill me if Derek just made burgers and curly fries?

“Sounds great,” I answer, following him through the large front door that I close behind us. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No, no. It's basically all done, just need to plate up everything. Just get comfortable, and pour yourself a glass of that wine if you like,” he answers, grabbing me two wine glasses. I sit at one of the two table settings put out on the comically large dining table that is used for pack meetings (and more importantly, pack meals). He grabs the food from the stove and starts plating it before sitting down at his own table setting. I take my first bite of chicken.

“Wow Derek, this is good! Who taught you to cook?”

“Both of my parents were avid cooks. I spent a lot of my time as a kid attached to their hips, watching them make these large meals for our family. One thing that survived the fire is our family recipes because they were in a flame proof box, so I reference those recipes all the time,” he says bittersweetly, looking off into the distance to think about what once was and what could have been with the Hale family.

“Well, you're very talented. It's delicious,” I respond, mouth half full of food.

We eat in silence for a couple of beats before the curiosity starts burning into me.

“I hate to break the comfort of this wonderful meal, but Derek, why did you invite me here without Stiles tonight? What did you want to talk about?” I look at him, as he looks up shyly while swallowing his current bite of food.

“Oh yeah, about that. Sorry that I couldn't tell you this in a more casual setting, but this is what made the most sense to me,” he begins nervously picking at the skin on his thumb. “I… um… didn't invite Stiles because he already knows and I'd rather just talk to you one-on-one,” he struggles to stutter through the sentence trying to find the correct words.

“Kid, its okay. You don't have to be nervous around me,” I explain, pulling his hands away from each other so he doesn't break skin. I know he would just heal, but its a habit I've formed from doing the same with an anxious Stiles.

“Yeah, sorry. I just– um… okay let me start over,” he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “I never got to come out to any of my family before they died. Maybe they suspected that I was bisexual just from context clues, but it kills me everyday that I'll never be able to proudly tell them about my boyfriend and hopefully get their approval or support. But you… you've accepted me into your home and invited me to family dinners and given me a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on when needed and I greatly appreciate it all. I know you're obviously not actually related to me, but you're part of the pack and we all sort of see you as the pack dad so I just wanted to have a talk with you,” I start to understand where he's going with this.

“I know that you were told a bit about my panic attack last week. I don't want to be TMI at all since he's your son, but Stiles and I were doing some things in the bedroom when it got a bit too intense for me and I freaked out. We talked through what triggered me and a bit about my insecurities involving sexual desire, and Stiles introduced me to asexuality. It's this thing where some people have less sexual desire than others–” I cut him off.

“Yeah, I know what asexuality is. Stiles had a hyper-fixation on sexualities, gender identities, and the queer community in general when he was first figuring out his identity so I heard all about this kind of stuff. So…” I don't want to step on Derek's plan by saying it for him, so I lead him into it.

“Yeah… well… we read into it together and I am definitely asexual. I have very little sexual desire and the thought of sex is kind of scary and gross to me. Plus I have some sexual trauma which definitely adds something to the equation. But since I am dating your son and you're like a stand-in parental figure for me, I wanted you to know. I know it is a bit silly since I'm telling you this as a grown man and why does it matter to you what I do in the privacy of my own bedroom, but I don't care because I need this closure of coming out to my family. Which you are, I guess; my family.”

“Oh kiddo,” I get out of my seat and open my arms for him to join me in a hug; one I think he definitely needs. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that, and I am honored to be a part of your family. I'm real proud of you son,” I hug him tight, his giant biceps wrapped around my core as we squeeze each other. I can feel him start to shake slightly as a small sob escapes his throat.

“Sorry– sorry… I– I never thought I'd be able to have a conversation like this. And I appreciate you listening and supporting me,” he sniffles after every few words.

“It's okay. You've always got me for support. Plus it's good to know that you have good intentions with my son when his door is closed,” I joke, allowing him to release a small chuckle through his tears.

“Thank you, seriously,” he steps away from the hug and wipes at his eyes. “I think we should finish our dinner so you can go home and relax; I'm sure your shift wasn't easy.”

“I'll stick around as long as you need me here Derek,” I respond, giving him a small smile and a nod because I would stay here all night just to know that my son's boyfriend (no… my other son because god knows they'll be married in no time) feels safe, supported, and comfortable in the silly make-shift family we have built together.