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What started as a good night for Stiles is quickly tail spinning. She’s sitting against her headboard, sweaty and panting with her covers draped haphazardly over her as she tries and mostly fails not to panic.
She shifts on the bed and groans, her head dropping back heavily against her headboard with a thud as she squeezes her thighs together tighter.
This is bad. So bad. Like epically bad. Like, like werewolves biting her best bro bad. Okay maybe she’s overreacting a little bit but she can’t help it. Because Stiles is so out of options besides getting her ass out of bed and making the drive of shame to the emergency room, which she so does not want to do because one of two things will happen. One, she’ll almost definitely run into Melissa McCall because of course she’d be there, and two Melissa would most definitely call her dad since she’s not only her emergency contact still, but because Melissa and her dad are close or some shit like that.
Stiles cringes, because she doesn’t really want to know how close they two of them are. Not while she’s in the current situation she’s in.
She cringes again when she glances at her nightstand and looks at her phone. There’s nothing ominous about her cell phone mind you, but what makes it scary is the fact that she’ll most likely have to pick it up and call someone to come to her rescue. And seeing how every single one of her friends slash packmates have significant others to bone until the sun comes up she knows who she has to call.
The only other person in the pack besides herself that isn’t dating someone.
Her face burns when she taps in the number shakily, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest and not only because of her predicament.
For a second she thinks that her call will go to voicemail and that has Stiles panicking even more but then it startles her when a rough disgruntled voice barks into her ear, “What?”
She’s quiet for a millisecond before letting out a shaky breath and saying, “Derek, I need your help.”
===
Derek briefly remembers to grab a shirt when he grabs his key and races out the door of his loft. He’s a nervous wreck because Stiles sounded like a total wreck on the phone. He’s nervous and worried and confused at why if she was in trouble she would call him first, because him being an alpha hasn’t mattered to that girl ever he’s pretty sure. But yet there she was, asking for his help and then hanging up on him as soon as he said he was on his way.
He may or may not make several traffic violations on the way to the Stilinski house but that’s really the least of his concerns when he takes a shark turn going 60mph. It’s instances like this that really make him miss the Camaro. It was faster than the Toyota and didn’t make him feel like a Soccer Dad, not matter how much Stiles insists it makes him look like a “sexy” soccer dad.
Derek barely has the key from the ignition before he’s toppling out of the car and sprinting up the front porch to the Stilinski residence. The police cruiser isn’t in the driveway next to Stiles jeep and nearly all the lights are off inside. He just resists breaking the front door down because he really would rather not have to pay to have it fixed and hurriedly finds the spare key, taped just inside the mail flap on the front door.
He takes the stairs three at a time, his hair racing a mile a minute when he rounds the stair rail and flings himself at Stiles door, wolfed out and snarling, eyes blazing red.
When he gets a better hold of himself he realizes that there’s no immediate danger facing him. Really there seems to be nothing amiss at all, until he hears Stiles breathy whimper and lets his eyes actually adjust to the nonexistent light in the room.
What he sees nearly has all the air punched from his lungs in an instant. Derek actually shakes his head to see if that’ll change things but it doesn’t.
Stiles is on her bed, skin shiny and damp, her hair plastered to the sides of her face and neck where it reaches, and is panting. Not only that but he can tell that beneath the thin sheet, that’s not doing a good job covering her up, she’s completely nude. And with a quick, accidently, sniff to the air, Stiles is aroused.
“What the hell Stiles,” Derek asks though his voice sounds rough, like he’s been swallowing sandpaper for a week.
Stiles opens her mouth to speak only to make the most wanton noise he’s ever heard outside of a pornography come tumbling from her mouth when she shifts on the bed. From where he stands in the doorway he can see her thighs are trembling from how tightly she has them clamped together.
The image Stiles paints before him, mixed with her scent that seeps into all of his senses, makes him want to take and own. The though alone making his nether regions twitch with interest. He chastises himself mentally and tries to focus on Stiles.
This time when Stiles opens her mouth she manages to form actual words. “Please, Derek, oh fuck please I need you…” She trails off again to whimper and bite her lower lip, her eyes and nose scrunched up in what he can’t tell is pleasure or pain.
But Derek is pretty sure his eye bug out of their sockets and the tips of his eyes go hot. His dick more definitely starting to take a great interest in what Stiles is saying.
Stiles finally opens her eyes again and looks like she’s on the verge of embarrassed tears. It instantly kills his boner.
“What’s wrong?” He asks and takes a hesitating step closer. Stiles swallows hard and Derek watcher her throat work but then brings his eyes back up and keeps them there, on her face. Her face which has beads of sweat slipping down her chin and the curve of her jaw. Derek suddenly knows what it feels like to know that he’s going to hell.
Taking a shuddering breath Stiles slowly sit up on the bed and draws her knees up to her chest while keeping the sheet firmly around her and motions for Derek to sit. His ass can’t his the edge of the bed fast enough.
“Okay so I was enjoying my happy alone Stiles time with a new toy of sorts that I obtained from the marvelous world wide web,” She starts off, her hands clutching her hands together tight enough for the circulation to falter. Derek nods in what he hopes is an encouraging way and tries not to focus too much on the fact that Stiles was masturbating with toys, lord have mercy his dick wants to weep already.
Stiles clears her throat in a way that make Derek wonder if he just zoned out or something. But she continues. “Anyway so I was going that and well, I was having a really good time until I realized they were… well… stuck.” She stops at that and even in the dark Derek can see how her face darkens with embarrassed color.
Then his mind backtracks, “Wait, what got stuck?”
Stiles lets out a frustrated breath of air through her noise. She looks like she’s trying very hard not to punch Derek in the throat. “My Ben Wa Balls got stuck… in my vag. I can’t get them out.”
Derek’s brain short circuit for a minute. Stiles has Ben Wa Balls. Derek really hopes Stiles doesn’t start to notice the way his dick is starting to fill up. “Okay I’ve heard of those, why don’t you let gravity help you out or whatever?”
Stiles doesn’t question how he knows about the items in question but she does however look downright murderous. She throws her arms up in the air in frustration and puts them down just in time to catch her sheet from slipping all the way down.
“Gee why didn’t I think of that,” She says deadpan to him before she rolls her eyes and starts counting off. “I’ve tried Derek! I’ve tried jumping up and down which fucking sucks to do when you’re naked and have boobs. I’ve tried squatting and baring down and “pushing”,” she says with actual air quotes with the sheet tucked tightly under her armpits, “like Google suggested. I’ve tried relaxing my inner muscles, I’ve even tried sweeping them out myself like the article suggests but my fingers are too short and only just touch them.”
Stiles face by now is a deep dark red and Derek feels sorry for her and kind of hates himself for how aroused she’s making him despite her distress. He licks his lips and takes a breath.
“So why did you call me instead of seeking medical help?” Derek feels like it’s the reasonable thing to ask. She shoots him a “you have got to be fucking kidding me you are such a dumbas”s look and he can only shrug in apology.
“I was thinking maybe you could help me,” Stiles says again but quieter this time and keeps her eyes trained intensely on the top of her knees.
“How could I help?” Derek feels dumb for asking and Stiles does look at him then like she thinks he’s dumb for asking too.
She raises one of her shoulders and slowly licks her lips before answering. “Your fingers are longer than mine.”
Derek nods but his brows furrow. “Okay, they are, but how is that_”
His jaw snaps shut when she looks up at him then and he knows exactly what she’s asking.
“Stiles,” Derek chokes out feeling like all the moisture has fled from his mouth. She flings her hands up and honest to God shushes him.
She takes another breath and shifts a bit on the mattress and Derek can see the shudder wrack through her. “Look, just hear me out,” Stiles starts out, looking at him with big pleading brown eyes and flushed face and full parted lips and her hair is starting to curl from the dampness of sweat that clings to the locks. She looks so fuckable and she doesn’t even know it. “I promise I won’t make this weird afterwards. Because pack comes first and I don’t want to make things awkward or anything, I just need help and you’re really the only other person I can trust with this that won’t embarrass the hell out of me… well, okay this is embarrassing as hell but at least you’re not a doctor or Melissa, the woman is like my surrogate mother for fuck’s sake Derek! And no mother needs to get a good ole gander up her daughter’s lady bits!”
Derek has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Stiles is near hysterical and he really shouldn’t find it amusing or endearing but he does, he really really does.
Instead of answering he carefully reaches out and wraps his fingers around the closest part of her, which happens to be her ankle, and rubs small circles against the bone there and tries to give her a soft smile. Though with him it’s monumentally hard to be anything remotely soft or tender. But Derek decides he must be doing something right if they way Stiles relaxes just a little is any indication.
“I want to help,” his voice is almost foreign to his own voice as his fingers and palm slide up the smooth skin of Stiles ankle up to her calf, stopping at her covered knee.
Stiles gapes at him then narrows her eyes and tugs the sheet closer around her body. “Are you fucking with me, Hale?”
He does laugh at that, a slow smile creeping over his face and he tightens his grip on her knee. Stiles eyes are nearly closed with how hard she’s glaring at him. “That’s not helping me decipher if you’re fucking with me or not. Just seriously Derek.”
“I want to help,” Derek repeats and lets his hand drop away from her. Stiles eyes follow the movement then slowly ascend back up to his face where they commence a staring contest.
Stiles looks down and away, the first one to break eye contact, and nods her consent, carefully shifting down on the bed, the sheet sliding up to reveal more skin to Derek.
He drinks in the site of her long slender legs, how with their paleness they seem to faintly glow, but he knows to never tell her that. Knowing Stiles she would take it as an insult and berate herself even more with a carefully worded joke.
His eyes travel up her legs, bypassing the curve of her knee upwards to where her soft pale thighs are still clamped tightly together.
Slowly Derek’s hand slides up from its resting spot on Stiles knee, shoving the thin sheet up further to reveal more of her thighs and hips to him. Underneath his palm Stiles shivers and he can feel the way the muscles in her legs quiver.
At the top of her thigh he lingers, his thumb sweeping over her heated sweat dampened skin to try and calm her. She looks up at him then and he gives her a smile, barely there, just really an upturn to the corner of his mouth.
“Relax,” he says quietly and surprisingly she does just that and sinks down against her mountain of pillows, her body going lax. The only thing that remains relatively tense and closed off to him is her legs which part a fraction at her knees.
It’s enough and Derek maneuvers to kneel up onto the bed, one knee firmly planted on the mattress while his other foot is firmly on the floor. His right hand carefully slides to her inner thigh and upwards, his left hand coming up onto the bed to brace himself next to her head. His body is hovering above hers, close but not touching.
Stiles tenses again and Derek’s hand stills until after a few moments her thighs part a bit more than before, giving him just enough access to let his fingertips to ghost over the wispy curls of hair at her sex.
A whimper falls from her lips and her head tilts back, Derek can see the flush crawling up her the uncovered part of her chest and further up to her neck. He grins to himself and urges her legs apart just a bit more and leans in to kiss the top of Stiles kneecap and slides his hand inwards, his fingers seeking the inner heat of Stiles, letting them caress the soft slickness they find.
Stiles makes a startled noise, her legs instinctually slamming shut and trapping Derek’s hand between them, her sudden movement almost giving him a knee to the nose.
“I’m sorry,” Derek breathes, making no move to try and wriggle his hand away from her. Instead choosing to wait for Stiles consent to move at all.
She shakes her head and throws an arm over her face with a groan, her legs shifting and rubbing against his hand. “You don’t have to try and make this anything more than it is Derek.”
He chuckles, leaning in and rubbing his scruff chin against Stiles knee and the top of her nearest thigh. It makes Stiles gasp and her legs quiver. “Just let me take care of you. I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.”
Stiles doesn’t remove her arm from where it rests atop her face but she does let her legs inch apart, allowing Derek ample room to move. Even though her face is hidden from him and she can’t see where he’s looking he keeps his eyes out from under the sheet, at least giving the girl the illusion of modesty as his finger slide along her crease, her body’s natural slick easing the friction. Stiles leg twitch but don’t close this time.
“As much as I’m digging the suspense of foreplay,” Stiles stammers, her hips shifting on the bed, canting upwards in an open invitation to Derek’s hand, “I really need your fingers inside of me Derek.”
He bites back a groan. Stiles is driving him crazy, setting his wolf on edge, and she doesn’t even know it. So he does only what he can do and obliges her and lets his index finger slip inside of her.
Stiles back bows with a startled cry from just one finger alone that Derek almost completely misses, all his senses concentrating on the point of Stiles inner walls squeezing around his finger.
He kneels back and pushes the sheet up with his free hand, laying everything bare before his eyes, from her pale thighs to the expanse of her hips and belly that make his fangs twinge with want, and then lays it low on her belly rubbing slow soothing circles against her pelvic bone.
Stiles twists her head into the pillow to muffle her noises and curses, her hands fisting tightly into the sheets. If she were a wolf those sheets would have been a shredded mess by now.
“I’ve got you,” Derek murmurs, his eyes glancing up to Stiles face before shamelessly back down to where his finger slips easily in and out of her welcoming heat. She makes an unintelligible noise but her hips buck despite the weight of his palm holding her down against the mattress, encouraging him for more, which he willingly gives and slips his middle finger alongside his index.
It’s a much tighter fit and Stiles instantly tenses up with a whine of discomfort, her face twisting up in a way that devastates Derek in the worst of ways. His hand on her belly rubs carefully and he leans in to press an open mouthed kiss just under her navel in silent apology. The noise that tumbles from Stiles mouth is apology enough.
“Derek,” Stiles whines, high and keening as she lets her arm drop down heavily onto the bed and he snaps his eyes up to look at her. She looks thoroughly fucked despite him barely even touching her.
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly, his lips dragging across her skin leisurely as he plunges his fingers in deeper, with intent rather than just feeling. Stiles jerks and lets loose a moan, her eyes screwed up tight and mouth hanging agape as she sucks in deep gasping lungful’s of breath.
Derek’s fingers press in deeper into the slick warmth, gritting his teeth against his own groan when he’s in as far as he can go, his brows furrow in confusion when they nudge against something smooth and hard. Above him Stiles makes a broken noise and her legs attempt to close but Derek settles more firmly between them to keep them parted.
He looks up at her and asks, “Am I hurting you?”
She shakes her head frantically, making a bead of sweat break free from her hairline and Derek watches it hungrily as it slides down until it pools into the hollow of her clavicle. Derek want to lick and bite and suck at the spot until it’s red and colored with his mark and his scent but quickly tamps down the though when Stiles hips move beneath him, urging him on.
His fingers nudge again and Stiles whimpers, making him freeze. She groans, a sound of pure frustration. “I can feel them moving inside me each time you touch one. It feels so damn good, too good really,” Stiles babbles lethargically, her head tilted back and the long column of her throat exposed to him.
Derek huffs and tears his gaze away from her face, turning his total focus back to the task at hand. His free hand moves from the spot on the bed where he braces himself, opting to splay his large palm over Stiles belly, pressing down gently to keep her grounded.
“I can’t get much of a purchase on them,” Derek mutters more to himself but Stiles nonetheless huff and scrunches up her face with frustration. “Maybe, maybe you could try that pushing thing again?”
His face burns with the suggestion and Stiles raises her head up from the pillow, hair one tangled sweaty mess, and a bashful grin hanging from her lips. “You sound like you’re a birth coach,” she breathes with a tiny chuffed laugh.
The idea of Derek helping coach Stiles birth anything should not send warmth through him, something primal and demanding, but it does and he has to breathe hard through his nose for a second before he completely loses his mind.
“Just do it.”
He can practically feel her roll her eyes at him as her head thuds back down onto the pillow but she at least doesn’t argue with him.
“Okay,” she finally agrees and shifts her legs apart more. A moment later he can feel her inner muscles clench tighter before she lets out a deep calming breath and then the muscles surrounding his fingers loosen. The difference is like night and day. He presses firmly inside and after a minute feels the shift in the Ben Wa Balls. His fingers finally catch on them and he doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath as he retracts his fingers until they’re free and with them come the two body warmed silver spheres.
With a relieved breath he holds them in his palm, their weight more than he’d expected, and them holds them up to Stiles to see, a smug victorious smirk on his face.
She lifts her head up from the pillow only to drop it back down with a shout of, “Thank fucking God!”
Derek snorts and places the balls onto the bed and replies with, “I prefer to be called Derek.”
The pillow to the face is completely worth it.
With the task done they fall into a silence, which isn’t exactly uncomfortable, just heavy. Eventually Stiles sits up, the sheet still wrapped around her, and gives Derek a bashful smile while tucking a short tangled lock of hair behind her ear. It makes Derek want to know what it’s like to wake up next to her and see her in the soft dawn light.
“So,” Stiles starts out awkwardly, looking anywhere but at him. “Thanks for helping me get a foreign object out of my vag and saving me a slightly more mortifying trip to them emergency room.”
Derek ignores that she’s trying to play it off as more than a joke. “I was more than happy to help you, Stiles.”
She looks up at him and her smile falls a bit. “You’re not going to be weird about this are you?”
He frowns at her and moves back to his previous spot of sitting at the foot of her bed. “Of course not.”
Stiles nods at that and they fall into an awkward silence, until Derek reaches out and once more circles her ankle with his fingers. She looks at him hesitantly. “Believe it or not, I didn’t find having my anatomy inside of you unpleasant.”
A fresh blush blooms across Stiles cheeks and Derek’s stomach does a somersault.
“So you’re saying next time I get something stuck up inside my lady bits that I can count on you to rescue me?” Stiles asks hopefully and Derek grins at her, feeling bolder as he slinks up the bed, making her eyes go wide as saucers and her blush deepen.
“Maybe we can find something else for you that will have less of a chance of getting stuck?” He emphasizes his meaning by letting his lower body slot against her, his hardness very apparent if how Stiles mouth goes lax and her hands come up to grip at his shoulders.
“That sounds fair,” She mutters, her eyes zeroing in on his mouth and he takes the hint and leans in, only for a moment later for her hand to shove his face away from hers, her eyes wide and almost alarming. For half a second he thinks that he’s read everything wrong and has royally fucked up. “Wait, hold on, so you’re telling me werewolves don’t knot? There is no knotting to be had?”
Derek groans before hastily, and none too smoothly, crashes his lips to hers. It’s sloppy and rough and leaves him harder than ever, but it gives him enough distraction that Stiles completely forgets her previous question.