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The humid mid-August heat hangs heavy in the hallway of Beacon Hills High School, a stifling weight that matches the suffocating tension of beginning junior year. The locker doors slam with a rhythmic, metallic echo, but the noise does nothing to drown out the frantic, fast-paced cadence of Stiles Stilinski’s voice. His fingers twitch as he shoves a heavily worn textbook into his backpack, his mind racing far ahead of his ability to process the horror of their current reality. Three bodies. Three precise, chilling ritual murders. The pattern is undeniable now, a gruesome geometric puzzle that leaves a sickening knot in the pit of his stomach. They are virgin sacrifices.
"I'm a virgin, okay?" Stiles blurts out, throwing his hands in the air, completely abandoning any semblance of volume control despite the students milling around them. He turns a desperate, wide-eyed gaze toward the lockers, pacing the short distance of the linoleum floor. "And you know what that means? It means my lack of sexual experience is now literally a threat to my life, okay? I need to have sex, like, right now. Someone needs to have sex with me, like, today! Like, someone needs to sex me right now!"
Danny Mahealani, pausing mid-stride as he shuts his own locker, looks over at Stiles with an incredibly calm, unbothered expression. He adjusts the strap of his backpack, a slow smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he takes in Stiles’s absolute meltdown.
"Alright, I'll do it," Danny says evenly.
Stiles freezes mid-gesture, his breath catching in his throat. "Ah!" He blinks, the silence stretching for a full beat as his brain misfires. "What?"
"Be at my place at nine," Danny replies, his tone entirely matter-of-fact, without a hint of hesitation. "Plan to stay the night. I like to cuddle."
Stiles stares at him, his mouth slightly open as his panic momentarily derails into pure, bewildered sentimentality. "Oh." He lets out a soft breath, his shoulders dropping. "That was so sweet. Wait, are you kidding?"
Danny doesn't even hesitate, offering a brilliant, effortless smile as he begins to back away down the hall. "Yes, I'm kidding."
"You shouldn't toy with a guy's emotions like that, Danny, it's not attractive!" Stiles yells after him, pointing an accusatory finger as Danny disappears into the crowd of students rushing to their next period.
Stiles lets out a heavy groan, leaning his forehead against the cool metal of his locker. The adrenaline is still humming beneath his skin, the reality of the threat looming over him like a dark cloud. But as the crowd thins out, a shadow falls over him, blocking the harsh fluorescent light. Stiles tilts his head up, his grip tightening on his backpack strap as he catches sight of the leather jacket and the intensely brooding expression he knows all too well.
As Danny leaves, Derek arrives, stepping out from the recess of the hallway as if he’s been listening the entire time. "A virgin, huh?" Derek asks, his voice low, rough around the edges, carrying that familiar, grounded weight that always seems to pull Stiles back to earth, even when it infuriates him.
Stiles rolls his eyes dramatically, letting his head thud back against the locker. "Rub it in, why don't you?"
Derek steps closer, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze narrows, scanning Stiles from head to toe with an intensity that makes the humid air feel suddenly much warmer. There is no mockery in his eyes, only a genuine, sharp confusion that catches Stiles completely off guard. "No, seriously. Look at you. How the fuck are you still a virgin?"
Stiles throws his hands up again, exasperated, his voice rising an octave. "Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve kinda had my hands full trying to stay alive in a town that’s constantly finding ways to try and kill me and my friends!" He gestures wildly toward the ceiling, as if listing the entire supernatural history of Beacon Hills. "Pardon me for not prioritizing my love life between rogue alphas and ancient lizard monsters!"
A rare, genuine sound breaks through Derek's usual stoic facade. Derek, laughing, shakes his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You're cute."
Stiles lets out a dry, humorless laugh, slouching against the lockers. "Ha-ha. Danny already joked about fucking me. I don't need this from you. I'll become the next virgin sacrifice and never graduate."
He slumps further, the hyperbole masking a very real, terrifying vulnerability. The thought of ending up on an altar, just another nameless casualty in Beacon Hills' supernatural body count, sends a genuine shiver down his spine. The amusement instantly fades from Derek’s face. The shift is palpable; the casual atmosphere evaporates, replaced by the heavy, fiercely protective gravity that defines the werewolf. He steps directly into Stiles’s personal space, forcing Stiles to look up and meet his gaze. There is no sugarcoating left in his demeanor, no room for deflection or Stiles’s defense mechanisms.
"No, seriously, Mieczysław," Derek says, using Stiles’s real name with a quiet, deliberate reverence that makes Stiles's breath hitch. "Come back to my loft with me, and I'll sex you now. I don't want you to die."
Stiles stares at him, the entire world narrowing down to the sharp green of Derek's eyes. The hallway noises seem to fade into absolute static. His heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that he knows Derek can hear perfectly clear.
"Seriously?" he whispers, his voice stripped of all its usual sarcasm, leaving him completely exposed.
Derek doesn't blink. His expression is dead serious, filled with an unyielding determination that leaves no room for doubt. He reaches out, his large, warm hand gripping Stiles’s shoulder, anchoring him. "We'll stop by the corner store to pick up some condoms that'll fit you," Derek says softly, his voice a steady, grounding force amidst Stiles's internal chaos. "And I need some more lube. It doesn't matter who penetrates who, alright?" He steps even closer, his thumb brushing against the fabric of Stiles's shirt, his voice dropping to a fierce, undeniable whisper. "If this thing is out there killing virgins, I will sex you. I care about you, okay?"
The words hang in the space between them, heavy and weighted with a raw, unspoken truth that transcends the immediate danger. Stiles can only nod, the terror of the sacrifice fading into the background, replaced by the overwhelming reality of the man standing right in front of him.