@eternalstereksecretsanta / eternalstereksecretsanta.tumblr.com
Here’s the official list of gift receivers (on the left) and their gifters (on the right). So sorry about the delay, I had this queue to post on the 26th and apparently it NEVER posted. I am a failure.
*
@hd-hale (Part 2)
1) “My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up)” – Fall Out Boy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LkIWmsP3c_s
2) “Trip The Darkness” – Lacuna Coil https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTT6picaCoQ
3) “Starlight” – Muse https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pgum6OT_VH8
4) “Take Me Over” – Red https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ey3jxwMWTAk
5) “Runnin’” – Adam Lambert https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktqzdUYbpGY
6) “A Million On My Soul” – Alexiane https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6l5ezErGuw
7) “It Has Begun” – Starset https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZp3Mtn-YsI
8) “Inside of You, In Spite of You” – Thoushaltnot https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqjIMsLRz94
9) “War of Change” – Thousand Foot Krutch https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdnTSXUWd3E
10) “I Am The Fire” – Halestorm https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hkmuTvkp_s
11) “Judas” – Lady Gaga https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wagn8Wrmzuc
12) “Dance With The Devil” – Breaking Benjamin https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lMSkC2PGyTs
*Header image credited to Konrad Dobson: http://www.konraddobson.com/illustration/shadow-demon
.e C.. i. in …r ca.. .o.. G.a.. .t w…. Th. fu…e .f ..i. .a.. de….s o. i..
They first met Lancelot and Percival while they followed a strange whisper that Stiles had been hearing since they stepped from the boat that took them across the small sea. It wasn’t even loud enough for Stiles to make out whole words, but seeing how many times he heard it, they didn’t want to risk not following it.
The land was quite normal looking compared to what they were used to, though the people spoke a little funny – not that people didn’t do that everywhere. The most impressive thing yet was the magic in the land. The air was humming with energy, maybe because the land wasn’t as stretched out as the main land or maybe it had to do with the fact that a mad king slaughtered so many sorcerers.
And so Stiles and Derek followed the whispers and on their way they stumbled upon their companions. Stumbled being quite literally too as the first indication they got that they had company was Stiles’ foot caught in a sling from a travel bag that was hidden by leaves and caused Stiles to fall flat on his face.
It didn’t take long for them to hear the sounds of a fight. They slowly walked up a hill, Derek already gripping his trusty sword. He didn’t need to use it however as they saw a giant of a man and a very skilled, dark haired swordsman take care of the bandits.
Not long after the two noticed that they were being watched. The swordsman seemed relaxed to those not knowing better, but both Derek and Stiles knew that he was ready to fight.
For a few moments, none of the four dared to move.
@wiskix | AO3
Canon, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/comfort, get-together
Derek is given more than enough time after the end of S6 to think about what he really wants out of his life while Stiles and most those graduating from the pack continue their lives’ path. But what happens when he realizes just how central Stiles is to those wants?
It had been several months since Derek had last set eyes in Stiles, since they had been back in Beacon hills after helping clear Derek’s name for something he didn’t do. Since they’d helped the new junior pack members to get established since Scott was hellbent on leaving the town to study and be an actual normal teenager instead of an alpha with the world on his shoulders.
They’d shared a few laughs and caught up on the way back to their pack land but once there it seemed like Stiles’ priorities had changed to helping Scott, like always, leaving Derek tagging along when they needed him and falling back when it was clear they didn’t. But after all was said and done, the pack members that he still thought of as innocent teenagers had dispersed to their various universities and Stiles back at the FBI academy. It left Derek with no clue what to do with himself. He’d always had something to fixate on before, whether it was avenging Laura or the Hale Pack’s murders, dealing with Peter like always or doing everything with his remaining connections as the supposed Hale Alpha to help Scott, it had kept things interesting.
But now there was nothing to keep him in Beacon Hills as there had been nothing to make him stay when he’d left in the first place. Cora was happily resettled with her pack in Argentina, making all the right moves and saying all the right words to easily be the head beta when the time came. Isaac was in France with Argent trying to make connections with the local pack in Bordeaux to help him have some sense of purpose. Derek had spoken to his only remaining cub a couple of times, never even mentioning Isaac returning but it seemed clear every time that Isaac would never be able to come back to Beacon Hills. The memory of what happened to not just Allison but Erica and Boyd seeming to make him want to keep his distance.
He didn’t mention that the rest of the pack had split up or that Scott was always none too subtly hinting about asking for Isaac to join him in Washington because he knew it would make no difference. Other than Derek, Isaac had completely severed his ties with the McCall Pack and that was probably for the best.
Peter hadn’t been seen for some time either, though Derek wasn’t sure if that was because he was hunting down Kate now that Argent seemed to have left it to the Calaveras or he’d just wanted to move somewhere else. And though Malia remained it was more with a kind of reluctance to be anywhere else, like Beacon Hills was all she knew and the big wide world outside the valley was too overwhelming for her to consider exploring just yet. Though to be fair she had been roaming the preserve as a Coyote for eight years, so it was more a sense of comfort than anything else.
But there was the new mini pack to keep an eye on, something that Scott had made him promise to do before he went east. It was something Derek was reluctant to do because he hadn’t exactly been much of a help to Scott in his first few years, that had been all Stiles and Scott’s own sense of determination. It was something he mentioned to Stiles while the other had hung around a bit longer before making his way back to Virginia to pick up his studying with the FBI.
@hd-hale | AO3 | Two of the things that you asked for were ‘dark’ and ‘AU,’ and I hope that I managed to potentially deliver both? XD;; Happy Holidays! :)
Derek finds himself captured by hunters, sharing a cell with a human teenager. His fellow prisoner, however, is more than meets the eye.
*
I’m in the de-details with the devil So now the world can never get me on my level I just gotta get you off the cage I’m a young lover’s rage Gonna need a spark to ignite “My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up)” – Fall Out Boy
**
Pain was the first sensation that Derek became coherent to: the pain of broken bones, of too many cuts and lacerations that his body was struggling to heal, most likely one at a time depending on priority, of a heavy enough dose of wolfsbane that the Alpha’s mind felt cloudy and still stuffed with cotton.
He groaned quietly, head turning to the side to muffle the sound against the meat of his forearm—
“Oh, good; you’re finally awake. I was beginning to wonder if the assholes dosed you with too much wolfsbane when they nabbed you—I was starting to wonder if you wouldn’t ever wake up, wolf-boy.”
The voice was something unexpected, low enough to not trigger another headache, and Derek slowly lifted his face just enough to peek over his arm: hazel eyes zeroing in on an amused, whiskey-hued gaze in the corner of the cell that the ‘wolf currently found himself in. Odd, Derek silently commented to himself, thoughts muzzy with pain and drugs, I didn’t hear his heartbeat. But with the amount of wolfsbane that would have been needed to knock him out in the first place… well, it wasn’t surprising that the dark-haired werewolf’s senses were still out of commission.
“…who…?” Derek rasped, sandpaper-y sore and drier than Death Valley: he choked and coughed on the words as the rest of the Alpha’s question caught in his throat—words unsaid and swallowed back by a sudden desperation for water. The ‘wolf pressed his face against his arm once more, muffling the sounds as much as possible as pain spiked and dizziness surged to the foreground yet again.
There was the soft, chiming sound of chains brushing against one another, too high and bell-like to be steel, and a hand cupped over the nape of Derek’s neck to perhaps offer some sort of reassurance; the hazel-eyed man snarled, low and vicious, at the sensation and, almost immediately after, the gentle touch pulled away.
“Sorry, sorry. No touching the puppy; I got the message loud and clear. I left a water bottle by your elbow,” the other boy said, voice steady and words spoken without a trickle of fear to lace them: even in the midst of his own pain, Derek found himself… surprised. Obviously, the teen knew enough about the supernatural to be aware that the werewolf had been drugged with wolfsbane; so, too, the amber-eyed teen must have known that Derek was an Alpha from the flash of the ‘wolf’s crimson eyes. So then… why didn’t Derek smell the other’s fear? Was the wolfsbane that strong of a dose, to take away both scent and hearing…?
“And I’m Stiles, by the way. Since you asked.”
–and, with that, Derek knew that the wolfsbane had affected his hearing because Stiles. Really?
“…what the hell is a Stiles?” the Alpha croaked out in answer even as he braced his weight on one elbow to slowly push himself upright. The water bottle that Stiles had said he left behind got knocked out, water almost immediately waterfalling out of its mouth, and Derek snagged it quickly before he lost too much of the liquid. It was brought up to his mouth and Derek guzzled almost desperately at the room temperature water—uncaring at the slightly stale taste, only happy that it quenched his thirst and took a step towards clearing his head.
(A small one, true enough. But it was a difference that the forest-eyed man could feel.)
The boy—Derek’s fellow prisoner, from what the Alpha could tell in the short amount of time that he’d been awake—waited until the ‘wolf was finished with his water before sending an absolutely unintimidating scowl Derek’s way. “I’m a Stiles,” the teen answered, irritation blatant in the tone of his voice. “It’s a—nickname. No one can actually pronounce my real name, anyway.”
Derek grunted in reply, more focused on seeing if he could track down any more water—or maybe food—than acknowledging a comment that was superfluous at this point in time. Nicknames, real names: didn’t matter, just as long as he perhaps had something to call the teen. And apparently that ‘something’ was Stiles.
There was a pause and a moment of silence from the corner of their cell, and Stiles finally offered up, tone dry: “You totally just let a societal cue pass you on by, Sourwolf. Typically when someone gives you their name, it’s only polite to return with the same. Just. Y’know.”
Pausing in his quest to track down some sort of food or drink—though it was looking less and less likely that anything else had been left behind the longer that Derek shakily made his way around the cell’s perimeter—the ‘wolf shot a sharp glance Stiles’ way. His reply was equally brusque, the hazel-eyed Alpha’s name only: “Derek.”
Stiles remained silent for a moment or two longer, perhaps expecting that Derek might follow that up with a last name or some other type of standard introductory phrase, but when the ‘wolf didn’t add anything else on to his single word and instead returned to his careful perusing of the room, the teen huffed a breath and settle back against the wall he had previously been leaning against while Derek remained unconscious. Having a fair idea as to what the older man was doing, Stiles commented idly, “There’s nothing for you to find. They drop off food only once a day and you were unconscious for four. I already ate and drank everything else.”
“And you didn’t think to save anything more for me?” Derek snapped out in irritation, tossing Stiles another dark glance even as he shifted to settle against the wall opposite the teen. Hunger and thirst pinched at the Alpha’s control, making it brittle, and the man pushed back at the wolf that stirred to life, brought to the surface by fear and anger and the desire for food.
Obviously unrepentant, Stiles shrugged in answer. “I honestly didn’t know if you’d be waking up at all—so, yeah, I didn’t save anything for you.”
Derek snarled in response, and the teen flinched back and away from the Alpha ‘wolf—slamming the back of his head against the wall behind him, which prompted a foul curse in answer. As Stiles reshifted, settling and making himself as comfortable as possible once again in their small cell, the soft, cheery sound of metal striking against itself followed each of the teen’s movements; Derek tracked the bend of Stiles’ arm as he moved to rub the knot forming on his skull, and the older man’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the starlight-bright glimmer of chains linking the other’s wrists together.
The presence of the cuffs was… unusual. It didn’t make sense to bind the amber-eyed human, even as fragile as the chains looked to Derek’s too-familiar gaze, and instead allowed the werewolf to roam free. The Alpha was obviously the more dangerous of the two, and yet there were no bindings placed on him to fetter his movements.
…perhaps, then, the hunters didn’t expect the Alpha to wake up at all: a thought that made Derek’s lip curl slightly upwards in dark, predatory intent.
“Surprised they decided to actually put you in chains,” the elder commented absently, still watching Stiles prod at his new injury with a careful, leery sort of concern that spoke of too much practice inspecting himself for damage—the joys of being a human teenager, Derek supposed: always awkward, always clumsy, like a puppy still growing into its legs and more inclined to go tumbling ass over teakettle.
“That was the first thing that they did, even before tossing me in their van,” Stiles admitted with a grimace. Done with his inspection, the teen instead brought a wrist up to his free hand and rubbed at the obviously raw-looking skin bared by the sleeves of his red hoodie. The whiskey-eyed boy’s skin was red and inflamed—sores weeping clear fluid in several spots where it looked like Stiles had tried his best to wiggle out of and tugged at the gleaming cuffs.
Derek’s guilt complex reared its head at seeing the teen so obviously in pain, plush mouth twisting unhappily as he held his hands close to his chest, defensive and protective both of the vulnerability the ‘wolf had noticed. It was enough to make the green-eyed Alpha sigh quietly to himself, resigned to the fact that—even now—he couldn’t let things go. “Come here and let me see,” Derek ordered and lifted an eyebrow at Stiles’ almost immediately suspicious glance that was shot the ‘wolf’s way. “Maybe I can get them off without hurting you.”
The potentiality was enough to have Stiles perk up in interest, though his movements were still cautious as he made his way closer to Derek—almost tripping over an untied shoelace, though the human boy managed to catch himself at the very last moment before he ended up faceplanting on the concert floor in front of the ‘wolf.
“Sorry,” Stiles muttered quietly and settled, cross-legged and unusually graceful, in front of Derek.
Derek grunted in reply and captured one of the teen’s hands between his own, bringing the slim limb closer to inspect it for weaknesses, already looking for potential stress points that the Alpha could utilize to free the boy without harming him further. With the cuffs and chain brought closer, however, Derek began to notice unexpected, unusual details: the metal wasn’t steel or iron, as he had originally been anticipating: instead, it looked as if the metal was some odd mix of silver and something else, delicate and strong and highlighted with runic symbols and a script that the Alpha couldn’t read. The words blurred, shifting and rearranging themselves every time that Derek blinked.
It was… eerie and made Derek feel—unsettled. Nauseous, too, every time that the words blurred within his gaze.
“You’re—what? One hundred forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bones; a feather’d knock you over,” the ‘wolf commented in a low mutter, rude and dismissive in an attempt to dismiss his unease. “Why did they even bind you? You’re human; it’s not like you were a threat to them.”
“Habit, most likely,” Stiles shrugged, watching closely as Derek tightened his grip on two halves of one of his cuffs before jerking his fingers away with a surprised hiss of pain as the metal sparked, white-hot and biting, beneath the Alpha’s touch.
Silence fell between the two as they both stared down at the still-spitting cuff; Stiles’ shoulders sagged briefly at the obvious thought that Derek wouldn’t try again to free him, but it was that small gesture of resignation and defeat that prodded at the hazel-eyed ‘wolf’s stubborn streak: obligation, too, in the fact that there had been no guarantee that the Alpha would ever awaken considering the dosage of wolfsbane he’d been hit with, but the human boy had still saved some of his water for the Alpha in the off chance that Derek did wake up.
Derek’s pack was elsewhere—far enough away from here that the Alpha couldn’t feel any of the bonds that tied him to his Betas—and it was the empty, echoing places within him that left him currently bereft and hurting in a completely different way than the purely physical that prodded the ‘wolf to… try again. To look after this young, vulnerable human who had somehow got caught up in his mess and was currently hurting from the restrictions the hunters had placed upon him.
Protect. Defend. Ours now. Derek’s instincts whispered to him, paralleled and paired with the soft, rumbling growl that buoyed up from the darkest places within his soul, smooth as velvet and as dangerous as a knife between the ribs.
“C’me here,” Derek ordered, gruff and scowling, and snagged Stiles by the sleeve of his hoodie to draw the teen closer yet again for a second attempt to free him. Once more, Derek grasped the human’s cuff between his hands and gritted his teeth as the metal once more spat sparks at him in retaliation; it hurt, more than it should have, burning agony that slowly crawled up his arms from the very tips of his fingers: yet, despite the pain, Derek refused to let go.
The Alpha’s muscles flexed as he attempted to pry the shackle apart—the metal groaned against the pressure, stubborn as Derek was in how it refused to bend or break, and Stiles watched as Derek’s fangs dropped in a silent, furious snarl. The werewolf’s eyes flared a bloody crimson as muscles bulged and strained and pulled, refusing to relent in his effort of freeing the human teen from his bindings:
Silver suddenly screeched, high pitched and agonized as it warped beneath Derek’s touch—but it finally gave way, breaking into two pieces—one piece in each of the ‘wolf’s hands—at one last attempt to pull the cuff apart.
“Oh,” Stiles breathed out, chuckling into the silence as the world held its breath.
Power suddenly slammed down, filling the space within their cell and turning the air heavy, weighted down and thick enough that Derek choked, eyes going wide at the abrupt lack of oxygen: there was a malevolent sort of edge to the power, hungry in its need and whispering temptation and sin.
A hand covered Derek’s forest-touched eyes, regulating the Alpha to darkness, and he felt a mouth press a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek, full lips curving against Derek’s five day-old beard in a sly, knowing smile that sent a shiver of trepidation down and over the ‘wolf’s skin, raising goosebumps along its pathway.
“Whatever you do, keep your eyes closed, Derek,” Stiles murmured against the sharp edge of the older man’s cheekbone.
Fear was something real now, a trembling sort of terror—of horror of the unknown, recognized despite it—and Derek’s heart raced within his chest at the knowledge that Stiles was not human and that the Alpha had unintentionally freed something that he did not understand. Breath shuddering out, Derek slowly closed his eyes, lashes brushing against the palm of the apparent teen’s hand; Stiles didn’t pull his hand away until he felt the other’s lids lower completely.
“Remember. Keep your eyes closed until I say otherwise.”
Derek shuddered as he felt Stiles’ weight pull away from him, and the newly vacated space somehow felt even… emptier… at the lack of the amber-eyed boy’s presence. It put the Alpha on edge, senses ramped up and hyperalert before the ‘wolf jerked away in surprise at the sudden explosion that came from the direction of the cell’s door, heat then slamming into him like a fiery tsunami—hot enough to trigger long-buried memories and nightmares, parching enough to promise a maelstrom of fire and flame within its heart.
Still: Derek kept his eyes closed, afraid of what he’d see should he open them.
It wasn’t long after that that the ‘wolf began picking up the sounds of gunfire, sharp expulsions filling the air of their prison; almost immediately after the too-familiar pop-pop-pop of gunfire came the screams. They were terror-stricken, agonized and oftentimes abruptly cut off—sometimes almost immediately upon their start. Yet, even through the horror of the audible warzone happening not that far from him… Derek kept his eyes closed, terrified, as well, by the fact that through it all… the Alpha didn’t hear Stiles. At all. Not his breathing or heartbeat, the scuff of a Converse upon the flooring: nothing. Silence.
Seconds, minutes, hours, days later—Derek didn’t know and couldn’t bring himself to care, only remaining still and keeping his gaze hidden as had been asked of him, no matter and in spite of the terror that caressed its way up his spine and into his heart—a weight settled itself over the Alpha’s thighs and a claw-tipped finger traced along the edge of Derek’s jawline.
“You can look now,” Stiles said, tone bright and cheery—matched by the brilliance of his amber gaze as Derek opened his eyes and stared at the teen straddling his hips. The smothering power was gone; Stiles fingertips ended in blunt, chewed-upon nails—not the claws that had just been brushing over Derek’s beard; no blood, no injury to show as evidence for what must have happened just now: nothing. Just a boy who looked no older than seventeen and who had the most brilliant whiskey-hued eyes that Derek had ever seen.
“…what are you?” the Alpha whispered, shuddering in a breath.
“Something that Fell long before your ancestors crawled up from the ocean’s belly, shivering and afraid at the first touch of a night’s air against their skin,” the boy lightly answered, and the curve of his mouth turned absent and fond in its crookedness.
Derek swallowed, hazel eyes going wide as he continued to meet Stiles’ too old gaze, telling now that the veil had slipped away and was finally discarded. “And what do you plan on doing with me?” he asked, voice lowering: wary and afraid, though it stung something within him—something that he had promised himself to never feel, to never succumb to ever again—and refused to glance away.
If anything, the amusement sharpened and turned predatory—hungry and feral in its hunger—as Stiles’ mouth curved further. There was nothing human in that expression: an already stretched thin mask that helped the other ape humanity for as long as was needed, though something dark and eldritch in nature—unknowing and unknowable—peeked out from between the seams.
The Alpha was afraid—and yet, too, something called to him from within Stiles’ sunfire-bright gaze.
“It would be rude of me to hurt you when you had been kind enough to break my bindings,” the whiskey-eyed other commented in turn and rested his forearms over the curve of Derek’s shoulders, still watching the Alpha ‘wolf from beneath the thick cover of his lashes. “It’d be only polite enough to let you go; don’t you think?”
He paused for a moment, head tilting just-so to the side in a gesture that was almost birdlike and alien in its movement. “And, besides, letting you go would mean that you’d owe me two favors later on.”
“But I freed you from the shackles.”
“That’s true enough, Sourwolf. But I also watched over you while you were unconscious—and I just finished taking care of our wardens after you broke the bindings. Which means that the coast is clear and you’re free to go. So: two favors.”
There were two choices spread out before Derek:
He could fight the decree and hope that he somehow managed to puzzle his way out of the word traps before him.
Or he could accept the fact that fighting would be pointless at this time and agree to the fact that he would owe two favors to Stiles later on—not knowing, as well, what the amber-eyed teen would ask for as payment (and therein lay the danger).
But…
Should Derek agree, that also would mean that, at some point in the future, the Alpha would get to see Stiles at least two more times when the other came to collect on those favors—and that potentiality settled that lingering, aching, confusing draw within the Alpha, the one that pulled and pushed and zeroed in on the boy still perched in Derek’s lap: hungry, in turn, because even while Derek’s ancestors had been trembling and afraid, they were still predators and it didn’t take long before they ran, teeth gleaming white and thick with saliva, beneath that newly birthed moon that meandered across the sky.
The boy in his lap was a monster of his own caliber—and Derek wanted.
“…I agree. Two favors, Stiles,” the ‘wolf finally said, knowing that he was damning himself even as Stiles’ smile spread wide, wider still, inhuman and terrifying and beautiful, and it was Derek who leaned in first when the teen gently tilted the ‘wolf’s chin upwards for a kiss to seal the promise just made: a deal made with a devil.
It consumed him—
And Derek sparked and caught fire.
::fin::
@acollectionofsterek - Happy Christmas!
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut as the carriage faded from view, but he could not stop the tears from leaking out and flooding down his face. Another couple, taken, and their only sin was love. In the eyes of Human law, however, “love” was another word for “heretic” when the bond was between two of the same sex.
Another couple from his clan he could not save. Another couple from his kingdom as a whole who would perish because mortals were foolish. And because he was not king, he could not do a thing about it.
And the king would not listen to this voice of his only son.
Stiles would know, because he had tried relentless. Maybe that was the reason for the steep curve of his shoulders, this weight that would cause him to crumble if he had to bear it much longer. The guilt. Too many friends, too many Clanmates, too many of his People. All because his father, the king, was too scared to oppose the Human’s council, for fear that if he made a stand, the secrets of the Dragons would be released and royal family or no, a massacre might ensue not only against the royal house, but even single Dragon in the Clan. Because the humans had no idea their royal family was comprised of dragons, or even that dragons existed. Although, why the secret of Dragons should be in danger if his father took a stand, Stiles could not figure out. Maybe his father figured it would slip out during the explanation of why same-sex love was not a crime, or bad, or disgusting, or derogatory.
Because Humans could not fucking comprehend the ability to love anyone with the same genitals. Or anyone at all, with the amount of slaughtering they did. Senselessly. Shamelessly. At great cost.
Because humans could be more monstrous, destructive, deadly, than any fictional story they had ever created for themselves to read at night.
Doyle. Doyle and Finn. Both 17, a mere 4 years younger than he. Two sweet dragons, childhood Bondmates, who got Reported. Fucking traitors. Fucking cads. Fucking scoundrels!
Stiles squeezed his fists white, because as the prince that was as much anger in his stages of grief that he was allowed to show. Maybe not even pressed fists, but concessions must be made. He was losing it. Good men and woman, disappearing. For what? Because they couldn’t reproduce? Because they “harmed” people who would rather sentence lives to death than look away?
Doyle and Finn.
Trish and Anya.
Fairchild and Alazar.
Hans and Fynnegan.
Tonya and Michelle.
Tony and Michel.
Lorna and Francie.
And [i]that [/i] was the Report toll in the last fortnight for god’s sake! At this rate, no one would be left because the population was being culled faster than could be reproduced. And his father would do nothing. He would stand by and watch his People die.
This was not the greater good, no matter what his dad tried to convince him. This was pain. This was sorrow. This was an ache.
And the worst part was that Stiles was forbidden to have his Bonded, because his Bonded was also a man. 5 years, Stiles has had to watch his beloved from the shadows. At least if he wanted to openly oogle. In close quarters, he had to act unnatural. For natural would be ravishing his mate and relishing in their bond, starting the process that would give his human mate the same long life span as his dragon mate. But no. Humans and their pea sized brains restricted him from his only. Except for Derek. Derek did not have a pea sized brain. Derek was perfect. Derek was the sun, and the moon, and quite possibly his northern star. Stars were important to dragons. Derek was definitely his northern star. Fuck it, his whole damn universe.
Which is really damn tragic because he was clumsy as hell and probably made bad impressions on the love of his life daily. But the love of his life mostly looked bemused with him and not offended or horrified so it was okay.
And it’s not like it was either or their faults that Stiles’ world revolved around Derek more steadfast than his duty to his kingdom, that’s just how the bond worked; instantly and intensely. But neither the bond nor being a prince cure him of being an awkward, hyper young man.
But what can cure him of being awkward and hyper? This shit. This shit brought out his dragon, and his dragon was a lot more composed and a lot deadlier, even when Stiles managed to restrain his dragon within his human form.
Hell hath no fury like a man forced to watch his beloved remain unclaimed and watch people he cared about die.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and jerked him out of his stare down with the long-empty gravel road.
“Your highness, we must go. It is not proper for you to be seen here.” His royal guard urged.
“Right. Let us go.” Stiles looked down at the puddle he had created and crushed the moist dirt with his boot.
The dust has settled but his rage had not.
——-
Derek paused from where his mallet hit steel and wiped his arm across his brow. He was hot, his shirt was soaked through with sweat, the drops of moisture sliding from his face sizzled as they hit hot metal, but he felt the cool pinpricks of hair standing up on the back of his neck. He was being watched, the same constant feeling he had had for the last 5 years. He knew better than to look, because the feeling-his watcher-simply went away and he never gained any answers.
The only thing he knew was that he felt The Pull. Whoever was watching him was his mate, was aware they were mates for why else would they stalk him for 5 years, and would not reveal themselves to Derek. This was either because they thought Derek was human and humans did not know about shifters, or they were a man. Both options sucked.
And Derek had no clue who his mate was because The Pull was constant, but it was also unchanging, meaning he couldn’t gauge a shift in The Pull based on physical location. Lord, that would help. But, no. It was a constant, baseline hum. And he was going mad.
Daily, he’d get female admirers-they would come in, watch him work, stroke his arm to feel his “muscles”, giggle. He’d even get males who would watch him out of the corners of their eyes. But none would initiate the bonding process. So if his mate was interacting with him, they were keeping their hormones or mental control or whatever the hell kick-started a matebond, dormant. Unaccessed. Abandoned.
That’s how Derek felt, abandoned.
Not by his family. They were always there, always noisy, always loving on him, even on his grumpiest days. But his mate did not want him for whatever reason, refused to claim him, and until a werewolf was Claimed, they could not shift. Being stuck in his human form was a slap to Derek’s pride and a prison sentence to his wolf.
He had better hearing, better smell, even claws and fangs on occasion. But no wolf could fully shift until their wolf was Released by a claim. For a werewolf, it was part of their bonding ceremony. But a good number of werewolves would always be trapped in a sole-human form, because they could no longer mate without risking their lives. Derek hoped his mate wasn’t a man, because he did not want to spend a life alone, but he also did not want a woman.
He used to, but he had been taken in by the lowest of the low and put under her spell. His mate had saved him with a warning. His mate, always watchful but never forthcoming. Rejected and yet protected. Conflicted. This was why Derek had to pause with a groan of frustration, a rumble in his chest that reached up and scratched his dry throat, as he had to toss yet another mostly-finished piece of craftsmanship away. As soothing as being a blacksmith was, it also let his demons catch up to him. And, unfortunately, his demons always decided to destress instead of appreciate his hard work.
Chucking the ruined scraps of metal into the water bucket and then a growing pile in the corner, he pulled out a new sheet of metal and started again.
Stubbornly, he ignored Boyd on the other side of the furnace, shaking his head at Derek in pity.
——-
Hauling heavy things was no problem for Derek, because he was strong. Hauling his work to the castle gave him a cold sweat because Prince Stiles lived there. Prince Stiles was an annoying younger man who made Derek feel funny. Prince Stiles tied up Derek’s tongue, much to his chagrin and Stiles’ delight.
Sure enough, as he passed through the gates with his commissioned work, just in front of the castle on the stone walls around the garden, sat Stiles, leaning back on a bricked curve, chewing an apple, reading a book, and swinging his hanging leg like there was nothing better in the world he could possibly be doing.
Except maybe annoying the stuffing out of Derek.
Derek moved past Prince Stiles, ready to do his best to ignore him, but then he caught a whiff of agony. And the smallest traces of salt. The prince had been crying. Maybe not at the moment, but recently. The wolf inside Derek made him stop, grew restless.
“Prince Stiles,” Derek announced, but it came out louder than he intended and the prince startled, yelped, and promptly fell off the side of the border wall.
He came back up rubbing his flank as he rose, a hiss clacking through his teeth. It took him a few seconds to open his eyes, trying to soothe the pain before figuring out who the blazes had the audacity to cause him injury, to find his beloved. Instantly his annoyance changed to warm, fuzzy feelings, his ire forgotten, his booboos better. For how could they not be, when he got to be this close to his Bonded.
“Are you alright?” Derek asked, stepping near him.
“Oh yes, I’m okay! Thank you Mr. Hale. Quite well, actually. My bum only hurt for a moment, no big deal!” he hurried to assure him. Derek pinked up adorably.
“Oh, well that’s good! Indeed, I’m glad to hear it. But I was referring to the tear tracks on your face. Just there.” Derek reached out and gently swiped his thumb over Stiles’ cheek, compassion in his eyes. Stiles couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed (or indignant that Derek saw) that he was doing something so unmanly as cry, because he was being touched by an angel.
His eyes slid shut, and he embraced the feeling for mere moments before he abruptly stepped back. Derek must have realized the danger too, because the move was simultaneous.
“Yes, that. I’m okay, Mr. Hale.” Stiles pressed his lips together and looked at the ground, trying to keep from blubbering anew. Patient silence followed, giving Stiles the strength to speak further. “It’s just….you remember Doyle? From the bakery? And his sweet parents?” Stiles bit his lip, losing the battle, his voice squeaking, his tears releasing. Crying was to be therapeutic, but so far it wasn’t. It just wasn’t.
Derek dropped the metal he was hauling and pulled the man to him, and then for proprieties sake, dragged him, chest to chest, inside the high walls of the garden and away from the opening. Here, he could hold the man that drove him crazy but also grounded him. The man that was now breaking down and trusting Derek to see him like this. “Shhh, yes. I remember.”
His hand went up to stroke the princes head, gently, trying to soothe. Stiles’ hands came up and grasped Derek’s tunic in a death grip. “They took him!” he wailed. “He’s gone, and so is his lover. They were my friends. I don’t have many of those. And now they’re both gone and my father will do nothing.”
Derek’s heart clenched. Not only could he not ease Stiles’ pain, but those men were good men. They were part of Stiles’ clan, if Derek was not mistaken. Both red dragons. Both childhood sweethearts, having felt their bond early in life. And now they were being punished for it.
Doyle, who had eyes only for Finn, which was more than Derek could say about most married men. And Finn, who worked opposite shifts at the Blacksmith. A real stand-up guy who Derek shared his noon meal with when Finn could not provide his own. Equally devoted to his mate Doyle.
Gone.
Derek said nothing, just clung to the weeping man in his arms that much tighter, his delivery forgotten and soiled on the ground.
And Derek felt confused, because this felt a little like love.
(read the rest on AO3 soon)
@theydraggedmein | AO3
John scrubs a hand over his face, letting his breath out slowly. He faintly wonders if he was this much of a handful when he was Stiles’ age but he quickly reassures himself that he wasn’t. Losing his wife almost two years ago certainly hasn’t made things easier on either of them and now Stiles is convinced that Santa doesn’t exist and theimposter needs to be dealt with.
John just wants five minutes of peace.
He makes Stiles promise to stay with Tara at the front desk and moves on into the station to where James Hale is getting into his Santa costume and rubs nervously at the back of his neck.
“Okay, so there’s no easy way to say this but I just, I wanted to apologize upfront…”
“For?” James says, a small smile twisting at the corner of his mouth.
“My kid is uh, inquisitive by nature…gets it from his mother’s side of course,” John teases, his heart clenching painfully at the memory of his lost wife. “But he’s convinced himself that there’s no Santa and that Christmas, all of it, religious aspects and non-religious, is a hoax.”
John leans against the wall as James turns back to look himself over. “Normally, I’d probably just come clean and tell him the truth but Stiles has a tendency to umn, how do I put this…”
‘To be long-winded.”
“Yeah, let’s go with that,” John agrees, not wanting to call his kid a brat, though sometimes he fit the bill a little too well. “So you’ve met him then.”
“My daughter Cora has mentioned him a few times. I believe they’re in the same grade at school,” James says, tugging a bit at his beard to make sure it stays in place. The sheriff is looking back at him with a little fondness for his child but there’s also a distinct scent of worry rolling off him. “It’s fine, John. I’ve dealt with a few skeptics in my day.”
“You don’t know Stiles,” John says as he pats James on the shoulder and shakes his head. “Good luck out there.”
James chuckles to himself and thinks, “How bad could one eight year old really be?”
He might have underestimated the sheriff’s worry.
It’s less than twenty minutes into the BHSD Christmas party and James is too damn close to ruining Christmas in Beacon Hills for kids of all ages. Question after question is fired at him, mostly from Stiles and he answers as many as he can with logical, normal answers. But he’s had to use the ol’ Christmas Magic line a couple of times now and he can tell the more he does the more irritated Stiles becomes.
Though something warm coats his stomach at how bright and curious Stiles is, the kid just refuses to back down, reminds him a bit of himself actually.
Peter is probably cackling somewhere nearby.
“What specifically gets someone on the naughty list…”
“Well, Stiles… If your father would be disappointed, so would Santa.”
“So really you’re just saying we have to mind our parents. You don’t have any rules of your own?’ Stiles says, not even skipping a beat before coming back with, “What about stuff like, Scotty’s not allowed to play outside when it’s cold because he has asthma, but I am because I don’t. If we both snuck out to play outside when it was cold, Scott’s mom would be more upset than my dad…does that mean Scott’s on the naughty list but I’m not?”
James shakes his head. “Well would you mind answering a question for me, Stiles?”
“You can ask.”
“Do you think Scott would sneak out to play at night, on his own, if it were dangerous?”
“Ugh!”
That apparently is not well received, though James can smell just a hint of honeyed embarrassment underneath the cinnamon tang of anger. He’s unintentionally making Stiles smell like Christmas with his already overwhelmingly pine signature he inherited from the sheriff and James’ stomach growls heartily at the scent.
“Okay kids, as much as I would love to stay with you, I’m afraid I really must get going. There’s a lot of work to be done up North and if I’m lucky Mrs. Claus will be waiting on me with some warm Christmas Stew, Ho Ho Ho.”
James hugs a few children goodbye, smiling widely at some of the younger ones that try to sneak in another Christmas Wish.
Before leaving though, he turns to Stiles and bends down on one knee so that they are eye level and he says, “Never stop asking questions, Stiles. Never give that up.”
Reluctantly, Stiles hugs him as if he’s expected to do it and James doesn’t think he’s ever felt more worthy of a child’s acceptance outside of his own.
It feels like something special.
“Oh you should have seen it, Talia…”
“Go ahead, Peter…I’m glad to see you’ve found some amusement, even if it’s at my expense,” James says, shrugging off his jacket.
“I’m sorry to report that there’s no Christmas stew , dear but the kids ordered pizza and I left a plate in the microwave for you,” Talia says, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You know how they get after a full moon, everyone passed out in the upstairs Den.”
James does not miss that playful glint in her eyes that say she revels as much as Peter does in his misfortunate experience with Stiles.
It’s a good thing he loves her, otherwise he’d have to kill her.
Peter on the other hand…
James is just about to take a playful swipe at his brother’s neck when he hears Derek heading down the stairs.
“Thank your nephew, Peter. It’s because of him that you’re not off in the woods licking your wounds,” James says with a smirk before padding over to the stairs.
“Papa?” Derek asks, sleepily rubbing at his eyes.
“Hey pup, what are you doing out of bed?”
“Missed your heartbeat…”
James chuckles to himself, of all his kids of course it would be Derek who was restless without him there. He pulls his son in for a tight hug, laughing a bit when Derek sniffs at his neck suspiciously.
“Mmm, you smell like Christmas.”
“Actually that would be Stiles, pup.”
“What’s a Stiles?”
John smiles fondly at the familiar sight of James getting into his well worn Santa Costume. He thinks back on all the good that the Hale family has done for his town and he can’t help but feel a bit emotional. Still, he bites it back because Stiles needs him to stay strong and sooner rather than later he’s going to have to get back out there and calm his kid down.
“Y’know I’m rarely one to say I told you so but…” John starts, a loud chuckle erupting out of his throat when James turns to give him a now familiar eye roll.
“I certainly was not prepared for it back then, but hopefully the years have taught me better this time.”
‘Oh I wouldn’t count on it. Like most things, Stiles’ skepticism only grows better with age.”
James straightens his fuzzy hat and leans down to buckle up his big black boots. “Maybe he’ll cut me a little slack this time, I mean he’s practically my son now…” he asks, looking back at John with a hopeful grin.
“Wow, you really don’t get it do you?” John answers, shaking his head. “That only makes it worse.”
James frowns.
“What? You think he drives me up the wall because he hates me? Nah…you’re family now. You get the familytreatment. Good luck out there though.” John says, laughing loudly as he makes his way back toward the banquet hall.
James slumps down and groans, it would not look good for him to have his ass verbally handed to him by someone less than half his age. Somehow, he thinks if anyone can do it, it’s probably Stiles. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head feeling a familiar sort of fond exasperation that seems to come with any thoughts of his soon to be son-in-law.
Showtime
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of these two hearts, two lives…”
“Stiles?” Derek asks, surprised not to be greeted enthusiastically at the door as his now husband has taken to doing.
“Sorry, Der! Got my hands full. If you come here you can totally get your after work kisses though,” Stiles calls back from the kitchen.
Derek follows the sound of his voice and grins when he sees his ridiculous husband half covered in flour, hands stained with frosting and food coloring.
Stiles holds his arms out in front of him and Derek quickly shakes his head.
“Oh no you don’t,” he says, instead maneuvering himself around behind Stiles and wrapping around him that way. He inhales the spicy pine notes of Stiles’ scent, the sugary sweetness from the cookies still floating in the air. “Mmm, you smell amazing.”
“Oh? You mean like sex stuff…like I smell like you or something?”
“No, you smell like you, like Christmas…”
“Wait what? What do you mean I smell like Christmas? That doesn’t sound sexy…”
Derek rolls his eyes, “You’re an idiot.’
“Hey! No insulting the chef or you don’t get any of his sweet sweet goodies.”
“Maybe I’ll just make my own goodies.”
“We both know that your goodies aren’t nearly as good as mine.”
Derek snorts, “You’re talking about sex aren’t you?”
‘Duh.”
He chuckles despite himself, kissing at Stiles’ neck, inhaling more of the delicious scent. “It’s pine and cinnamon sugar, it’s…it’s more than just a scent, it’s a feeling. You smell like mine, like home.”
“Aww, look at you being all domestic and sweet…Laura will never believe me.”
“Ugh, shut up and let me love you Stiles.”
“Well when you put it that way…”
Derek kisses him silly, kisses him until his own oxygen feels depleted and then kisses him some more. When he finally pulls away they’re both panting a little, flushed red with the spicy flavor of their arousal filling the space.
“Hey, you stopped talking…it’s Christmas Magic”
@spainkitty | AO3 | I really hope you enjoy this lovely! Happy Holidays!
Stiles and Derek adopted a child but split up a few years later. Now their daughter just wants them to be happy together.
It was Stiles’ week with Ashley. She was eight now, Derek and him had adopted her when she was two, and had split up when she was five. It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other, they did, but they both wanted different things. They started arguing everyday, there were days where one of them would storm out of the house and go stay somewhere else for a couple of days. It had gotten to the point, where they had to split up for the sake of Ashley. So Stiles moved out, got his own house, they sat down with Lydia and Allison to get their help on what to do considering Ashley. And so they set up switching her from house to house each week, with a family dinner every Sunday, with the whole pack where the swap over would happen.
Stiles lived fifteen minutes away from Derek’s. For the sake of Ashley, because if she started wolfing out randomly, and Stiles couldn’t anchor her then he needed to get Derek there as soon as he could. It had happened before, and broke his heart every time because he couldn’t help his little girl. It made him feel useless, and wonder what he was doing wrong that he couldn’t help his daughter. Derek always managed to calm her down and get her to sleep, and then would leave straight after. They didn’t have a good relationship anymore, they kept an act up around Ashley, to protect her, but it was awkward for them to be around each other without someone else there to break the tension.
Ashley woke up on Sunday, later than usual, Stiles didn’t think anything of it. He made her the usual Sunday breakfast, waffles, fresh fruit, maple syrup and hot chocolate. Then got her ready for a bath, during which she made him stay. Told him she had a question for him.
“Dad, why don’t you and Papa live together?”
Stiles was shocked, he didn’t know what to say, he watched her and tried to figure out how to reply.
“Aunt Allison and Uncle Scott live together, and so do Aunt Lydia and Uncle Jackson. But why don’t you and Papa? Is it, is it because of me?”
Stiles rushed off his perch on the toilet seat, “Baby no, it’s not because of you, we both love you very much. But Papa and I? We weren’t getting along anymore, and it had nothing to do with you, at all.” Stiles didn’t want to lie to her. “And we didn’t love each other the same anymore.”
“Oh. So you and Papa don’t love each other?”
“I can’t speak for your Papa, but I still love him, but it’s different now, we hurt each other a lot. So I moved out, and now here we are.”
Ashley nodded her head like she understood, and she properly did simon was a smart girl. After that Stiles left the bathroom and went to his bedroom, where he grabbed his photo album. It had photos from his high school and college years, photos from the start of his and Derek’s relationship when they still loved each other so purely. He kept flipping through, to the photos from their wedding day. Where the spoke their vows, light and love shining in their eyes, smiles skin bright. Photos from their first dance, their foreheads pressed together, just looking into each other’s eyes. Stiles wanted so badly to go back to then when they were so in love and so in sync with one another. Stiles hadn’t tried dating at all since they had split, no one would ever compare to Derek for him, he would never be able to love someone like he had loved Derek, like he still loved Derek. He knew Derek had dated a few people here and there, and while it did admittedly bother him a little, it was Derek’s life and Stiles wasn’t going to tell him how to live it.
After her bath Ashley continued like it was a normal day,they spent it watching cartoons together up until they had to leave to go to Scott and Allison’s for pack dinner. They were the last to arrive, and so Stiles had to park his car on the road. Since Christmas was only a couple of weeks away Scott and Allison had completely decorated their place, lights were flashing, decorations littered the front lawn, and once going inside Stiles could see the Christmas tree completely decked out and flashing. Ashley ran off to check it out but Stiles continued to the dining room where he knew everyone would be gathered, the first one, as always, to notice him when he walked in the room was Derek, whose eyes Stiles avoided. Lydia noticed him next but only asked him where his daughter was then left to find her. Kira came up to him next and they spent most of their time talking about their students, Stiles taught English while Kira took after her father and taught history.
Ashley ran into the room with Lydia on her heels and ran straight to Derek. And oh how it broke his heart every time his week with her was over, to see how happy she was to see Derek again, she was never that happy to see him. Scott came over to distract him by telling him about the animals that had been brought into the vet the past few days.
They sat down for dinner not long after, conversations flowing up and down the table, talk of Christmas and what they were doing this year, a few of them quietly talked about what to get Ashley this year for Christmas, before Allison obviously got sick of it and called down the table to Ashley.
“What do you want for Christmas sweetie?”
Ashley thought for a bit before her face lit up, “I want Papa and Dad to live together again and love each other. That would be the best present”
The table went silent and Stiles dropped his knife and fork. Derek was looking at Ashley, at how proud and happy she looked at the idea.
“Baby…” Stiles whispered.
Derek turned his head at Stiles voice, as did Ashley, who must’ve seen the distraught on his face.
“But Dad, when we were talking earlier you looked sad, I just want you to be happy again.” Ashley’s eyes filled with tears.
Stiles couldn’t look away from her, not even to look at Derek, who he knew was watching him.
“You said it wasn’t because of me that you don’t live together, but you look upset again.” Ashley sobbed out.
Stiles stood up and went to kneel in front of her, he took her hands in his. “It wasn’t because of you baby, I promise okay?”
Ashley nodded her head, “So you’ll come move back in with Papa and I right?”
Stiles felt a tear slip free, “I’m sorry, but no.”
“But why?” Ashley yelled as she pulled her hands out of his.
Stiles just shook his head at her and watched as she ran out of the room. He knew everyone was watching him,but he didn’t care. He had upset his baby girl, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. He leaned forward until his forehead was resting against her chair. He listened as Scott ushered everyone out of the room, as Derek told Scott he was going to take Ashley home and would see him next Sunday.
“Stiles…” Scott said as he walked over to Stiles.
“I don’t want to talk about it Scott. Not today okay?”
Scott nodded, gave Stiles a tight hug and then Stiles left. All the while thinking about Ashley. And her request for Christmas. He would give the world, go to the end of the universe for her, but this was the one thing thing he couldn’t give her, because of how much it would hurt to move back in with Derek, in the house that was built for the purpose of them adopting more children together.
Thursday, while marking some essays, he was distracted by some insistent knocking on his front door. He looked at the time and saw it was almost ten o'clock at night, confused and unsure of who would visit him this late at night, he was shocked when he opened the door.
“Derek.” He breathed.
“Hey Stiles.” Derek replied, a small smile on his face.
@kaidarknight! | AO3 | A Sterek/Maze Runner/Shadowhunters AU! Kai, I hope you enjoy this!
Danny’s the first one to notice. Both Stiles’ mind and mouth are busy because he’s just spent their whole trip back a) detailing all the ways in which Matt is an asshole and b) expounding upon the best ways one might make him regret said assholery, so he’s quite happy to blame that for why it takes him such a long time to realise that a) Danny is no longer jogging next to him and b) the Glade looks kind of disturbingly… empty.
“Um,” Stiles says. He jerks to a stop, turning back to Danny, who’s still only a few steps from the Maze entrance. “Where is everyone?“
"I hope that question was rhetorical,” Danny says, striding closer, hands on hips. “You do remember the literal hours we just spent in the Maze together, right? Where I was with you the whole time, listening to you complain about how hungry you were and bugging me to come back early and eat, and then listening to you complain about Matt and bugging me about how I can like him?"
Stiles rolls his eyes, but he’s not really listening. Danny’s second-favourite thing to do in life is pretend he dislikes Stiles, and Stiles started tuning out his snark about three days into knowing him. He turns in a circle, slowly, and takes in their surroundings. It’s a quick rotation. Even though it’s just after midday, usually the busiest time of the day, there’s no one around—not in the open grassland that covers the entirety of the south of the Glade, not in the visible treeline that bisects the centre of the Glade, there isn’t even any movement around the huts to the east, which is just bizarre, because most of the Gladers should be lining up for lunch. Heather is supposed to be out watering her seedlings, but she’s nowhere to be seen, and neither is Nathan, who should be tending to the fowl. The sweet, sweet melody of Allison training Mason and the other newbies should be providing a lovely soundtrack for the whole Glade, but it’s just so quiet. Far too quiet.
"I don’t like this,” Danny mutters.
Stiles hums noncommittally, scratching absently at the Mark on his collarbone, the one kind of shaped like a number seven. “Got your knife?"
"You think we’re in danger?” Danny sounds surprisingly surprised.
“I think being prepared never did anyone any harm.” Stiles draws his own weapon, a wooden club specially carved for him by Danielle once they all learned the hard way to keep Stiles away from blades. He nods at Danny, then falls in behind him as they make their forwards, treading so softly Allison would be crying tears of pride. They slip through the copse of trees on the boundary of their sleeping quarters and weave their way through the mess of hammocks and day beds, and Stiles concentrates really hard on not tripping over anything and drawing unwanted attention. As they edge around the last hammock, they finally have a much better view of the rest of the Glade and—
Danny pulls up short, and Stiles crashes into him.
“Dude,” Stiles hisses, rubbing his nose, but Danny just blindly gropes for Stiles’ face with his free hand, finally landing on his chin and directing Stiles’ gaze to the left.
Where everyone is gathered around the Box.
“What are they…” Danny murmurs. “Something new must’ve come up.”
Stiles bats Danny’s hand away, heart racing. He’s been in the Glade for over a year. He was the third to arrive, after Allison and Danny. And during that entire time, the Box has never once deviated from a strict schedule—every week they get a delivery of tools and edibles, and every fortnight they also get a new person.
They just got a delivery of food two days ago, and Mason arrived nine days ago. If it’s here again now, then that means—
“Something’s wrong.” Stiles slings his club into the leather strap across his back and starts forward, covering the distance quickly, pushing his way through the throng in a search for Allison. He finds her at the front of the group, staring suspiciously into the Box, bow strung but held loosely between her fingers. “Hey, what’s going on?"
Allison jerks her head forward. "New delivery.”
“Of?”
“See for yourself.”
Stiles flexes his fists, itching to pull his club back out, but he knows there’s no point. Allison wouldn’t send him into immediate danger with no warning, and her reflexes are much quicker anyway. She could shoot five arrows into whoever—or whatever—it is and he’d still be trying to untangle his strap.
He creeps towards the Box slowly, craning his head the last few inches and finally managing to make out the shape of two booted feet. His gaze follows them upwards, over muscled thighs, evident even through the baggy canvas pants, across an equally-buff shirtless torso—which he tries not to linger on too much, or Allison would never shut up about it—and finally landing on the guy’s face. His eyes are closed, but he’s breathing deeply and evenly, and Stiles watches him for a few moments. He seems older than most of the other Gladers, but that could just be an effect of his thick, manly stubble. His arms and chest are also pretty hairy, and as Stiles analyses his body further, he suddenly realises something. This guy is missing something, something everyone else has, something so obvious now that Stiles has no idea how it took him this long to realise.
“No Marks,” he murmurs, squatting down to take a closer look. “How do you…” He glances up at Allison. “How does he have no Marks?"
Allison shrugs, her own neck Marks shifting with the movement. "I guess we ask him when he wakes up.”
Stiles squints at her. “…you want me to wake him up, don’t you.”
Allison’s eyes widen, but Stiles knows better than to fall for her nefarious tricks. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” she says innocently. “But if you’re volunteering… You are the closest, after all.”
“And whose doing is that?” Stiles mutters grumpily, edging closer to the guy anyway and shaking out his fingers.
He may know better when it comes to Allison, but that doesn’t mean that he’s immune.
Letting out a deep breath, Stiles reaches out a hand, edging it slowly towards the guy’s shoulder. He extends his fingers further, just barely brushing the guy’s skin—
And suddenly, the guy is awake, very much awake, so awake he’s jumping up and roaring in Stiles’ face and oh god are those fangs?
Shrieking, Stiles falls on his ass and scuttles away, back towards Allison, who is already standing over him with the tip of her arrow pressed to the guy’s jugular.
“Down, boy,” she commands. “Or you’ll be the next carcass skewered and spinning over our fire pit.”
The guy growls, eyes flashing—literally, his eyes literally flash gold, what the hell?!—but he backs down, and Danny and Danielle are immediately on him, wrenching his arms behind his back and dragging him towards the Cage. Everyone parts for them easily, giving them a wide berth, and Allison follows them with her arrow still directed between the guy’s shoulder blades.
“There’ll be a Glade meeting in two hours to discuss matters further,” she calls behind her. “In the meantime, everyone back to your duties.”
The crowd scatters almost instantly, and Stiles is left alone with the boxes of supplies that came up with the guy, and the frantic beating of his own heart.
#
@aflailureandamasterpiece | AO3 | Happy Holidays, and hope you enjoy!!
Stiles is a mailman. Derek gets an…unusual package.
Stiles had known exactly what was in the little package the moment he first laid eyes on it back at the pick-up facility.
The package itself was innocuous—by deliberate design, of course, because any sex toy company worth their salt could do discretion like nobody’s business. But Stiles was a loyal customer of that particular sex toy site—he got his absolute favorite toy there! —and had ordered from them enough times to be able to recognize that particular nondescript off-white packaging on sight. He didn’t even have to check the return address. And to Stiles, with his exhaustive knowledge of the store’s full range of goods from hours upon hours of obsessive browsing, the small size and shape of the package were pretty good tip-offs as to the particular model of the toy contained within. After all, Stiles had a rather intimate knowledge of most of the store’s wares.
“Oh, someone is about to have a very good time,” Stiles muttered to himself, reminiscing with a little frisson of pleasure at the base of his spine of his own good times with the little bullet-shaped vibrator.
It was then that the recipient’s name on the discreet little address label registered. He nearly dropped the box, fingers gone nerveless as all the blood in his body rushed southwards at the deliciously filthy mental images that his brains immediately started conjuring.
Derek Hale.
“Holy. Shit,” Stiles breathed reverently, his mind blown.
*
Derek Hale, of 424 Forest Drive, instantly became the highlight of Stiles’s delivery route the day he moved into the small house tucked away behind its screen of tall birches and oaks at the end of the drive.
The first time Stiles visited 424 Forest Drive for a delivery, there were still piles of discarded packing supplies and old furniture piled on the porch. The house—cabin, really—had sat empty and forlorn for years, huddled sadly at the back of Forest Drive, and Stiles was glad to see that the beautiful little house could be a real home again.
Stiles had been hefting the last of three large, heavy cardboard boxes (addressed to D. Hale from a T. Hale with a northern Californian postal code) up the porch steps when the front door opened and he was greeted with a vision of a man, bewilderingly attractive in a frumpy grandpa sweater and nerdy glasses with thick black frames. No, an Adonis, Stiles amended. No mere mortal could look that good while wearing basketball shorts with fucking knee socks, what the fuck. The luscious perfection of that beard and those shoulders that the lumpy oversized sweater utterly failed to disguise were almost definitely some sort of divine creation.
Stiles managed to pull himself together with inhuman effort and proceeded with his usual spiel to new potential regulars on his route. Names (“Derek.” “Stiles.” “…Really?” “My first name is classified info.” “…If you say so.”) and handshakes were exchanged, and then they’d made awkward small talk on the tiny patio while Derek signed for the packages, made more awkward by the way Stiles’s eyes and thoughts kept wandering inappropriately.
Derek politely declined Stiles’s offer to help carry the boxes inside and hefted all three up together by himself with enviable ease, shoulder and back muscles bunching and shifting under the horribly misshapen sweater. Stiles realized he was staring with his mouth hanging open and maybe drooling a little, and beat a hasty retreat, dragging his lingering gaze away from the frankly exceptional back view with difficulty.
Stiles thought he’d made a colossal fool of himself, what with the constant staring and the weird pauses and the stilted conversation, and had probably scared Derek off, but on his next delivery to 424 Forest Drive, Derek was a little less aloof and actually tried to initiate a conversation, so Stiles figured he was okay.
Eventually Stiles figured out that Derek was just very, very shy and, amazingly, even more socially inept than Stiles himself. Being a writer and editor (and a bit of a hermit), Derek worked almost exclusively from home, and relied heavily on deliveries, making him one of Stiles’s most regular customers. They’d slowly become sort-of buddies, the kind who hung out when they run into each other, with in-jokes, a good rapport, and because they were both still five-year-old little boys at heart, a ridiculously complicated secret handshake.
And they maybe, possibly, flirted a little, but Stiles refused to get ahead of himself and make a fool of himself. (Again.)
*
It was a long few minutes before Stiles managed to get a grip (not literally, much to his regret) on himself and his rampant erection. He finished loading up and checking his assignments and started on his usual route, saving 424 Forest Drive for last.
He held his breath as he waited for Derek to come to the door, the little packaged tucked safely under one arm. Derek seemed to take a lot longer than usual, and Stiles had started to fidget on his feet by the time the door creaked open a crack and Derek’s scruffy, bespectacled face squinted out at him.
After over two years of more or less weekly deliveries to 424 Forest Drive while their interactions gradually grew in length and friendliness, the sight of Derek’s perfect face still does funny things to Stiles’s insides.
“Derek! Hi! Delivery for you,” Stiles said in a singsong voice, waggling his eyebrows playfully. “Been waiting long?” He jiggled the box under his arm and threw in a lascivious wink for good measure.
The door swung open fully and Derek emerged, clad in another truly atrocious sweater, this one looking like it was possibly hand-knitted by someone very drunk, very hungover, or just very, very bad at knitting. Stiles eyeballed the dark curl of chest hair exposed by the unravelling collar and decided not to comment.
Derek was staring blankly at the parcel. His befuddlement was a bit baffling but adorable all the same. “But… I’m not expecting anything?” Derek eyed the proffered package doubtfully.
“Are you sure?” Stiles raised an eyebrow meaningfully.
“Yeah? I guess. I mean, I don’t know?” The puzzled scrunch of his eyebrows made him look slightly constipated, but Stiles still found him utterly delightful. He was rather a hopeless case, Stiles figured.
“Hmm. Well, Derek, do yourself a favor and don’t keep yourself waiting any longer,” Stiles handed the clipboard over with a shrug, and then waited with bated breath as Derek cast a final dubious look at the package before shrugging and tearing it open.
There was a brief moment of bewildered silence as Derek peered at the contents of the box. Derek poked warily through the layers of tissue paper, and then his face abruptly turned an alarming shade of red and he’d started sputtering.
“I—what—is this actually—oh my God—”
So Derek hadn’t ordered the vibrator. Huh.
@fishcommander - Merry angst-mas!? I hope some early days hurt/comfort Sterek brightens your holiday in some strange way.
So this turned into a bit of a monster… I planned on 5k and it ended up being 7k+… oh well! I may follow this up with the next part after the Keep at some point–who knows! Hopefully this hits the spot ;)
Explicit/NC-17 - graphic violence, blood, gore, nsfw
Stiles, the half-elf Thief, doesn’t quite know what to make of his new bedroll companion and party member: Derek, the human Barbarian. He especially doesn’t know what to make of his whole cuddling thing.
Between the warmth from the campfire and the hulking mass of muscle currently treating him as the little spoon, Stiles was broiling to death. If that wasn’t enough insult to injury, Allison and Scott definitely thought that everyone else was asleep and the two were canoodling just across the fire from him. Fortunately, the fire’s light blocked the majority of what the Ranger and Cleric were doing, and so Stiles just had to breathe through the sounds of tinkling giggles and the shushing from Scott. Realistically, he knew the couple had been doing this all along, and he was lucky enough that it wasn’t during his watches—perhaps they had known well enough to keep him in the dark. Lydia, who was actually on watch, was far enough away from the duo that she didn’t have to unwittingly overhear. The mage was smart enough to know it was happening, however.
Jackson rolled onto his back and snored louder, momentarily causing a disruption all around the camp: Allison and Scott froze, Stiles’ eyes popped back open just as he’d been successfully dozing off, and Derek shuffled closer to the Thief, arm snaking around his waist and pulling him in tight to the Barbarian’s naked chest. A puff of warm breath on the back of Stiles’ neck made his hair stand up on end and he cringed forward as a nuzzle followed it up.
See, it wasn’t as though Stiles was a prude: he liked revealing costumes on women, and he especially loved the dresses the mage, Lydia, wore that showed off her legs. The thing was that Derek was a burly, muscly Barbarian that swung a greatsword around and got covered with blood and guts during every single encounter they had. He was rude, spoke rarely and when he did he was gruff, seemed to think that he was the leader here even though Scott was most decisively their party leader, and he was hotter than the gods damned sun. The worst part, arguably this only stood for Stiles, was that since Allison and Scott were a couple and Lydia and Jackson had been together since the dawn of time, that left only one other bedroll for the Barbarian to share in with. That happened to be Stiles’ bedroll, thank you very much.
See, the party allowed one bedroll per two party members to cut down on the gear they had to haul around. Which made perfect sense to Stiles, but even still, he was less than enthusiastic about his current partner. At least he was human. See, Stiles had shared with a gnome before and he was not down with that. They also had interviewed a half-orc that had been much more disgusting than the Barbarian snuggling with the Thief now. So, while Stiles could appreciate the silver lining of his situation, he still was less than keen on the Barbarian he’d only met a week prior.
Stiles managed to somehow drift off into an uncomfortable nap between Jackson’s incredibly loud snore and the time when Scott shook him awake for his watch. He had volunteered for the last watch, preferring to either be up early or stay up late rather than taking the split shift watch, the way that Allison and Scott seemed able to do without having any repercussions. He did wonder how they did it. His eyes shot open and the hilt of his small blade hidden beneath his side of the pillow was in his hand, flashing up toward Scott’s throat before he had time to process what was happening. Once he had, and Scott’s understanding smile was seen hovering above him, he lowered the blade and tucked it away once more. A quiet grumble of thanks and he waved off the Cleric, allowing him to get back to bed.
It took some time to extricate himself, as the more he slipped from the Barbarian’s grasp, the more the sleeping man seemed to find ways to tighten his grip on the Thief. Finally, by peeling the man’s beefy hands from him, he was released, and Derek curled in on the empty space left in the bedroll, faceplanting into the part of the pillow Stiles had vacated. Filthy bed stealer. After that Stiles took his waterskin and his tools to give his hands something to do while he kept watch.
The morning was cool, and a fine mist rolled through the region, making the silhouettes of trees appear spookier than they actually were during the midday sun. It was still dark, and once Stiles left the cocoon of warmth and light from the fire, he found himself at a slight advantage: the half elf was able to see better in the dark than in the dim lighting of the camp. His watch was uneventful and between the early morning wake ups of Scott and Lydia, he wasn’t alone for very long. Not that they were talkative when they were going over their spells for the day, but at least they were up and moving around.
The remainder of the day left Stiles dreading the coming night where he would once again be curled up in a bedroll that was supposed to be his own, but instead he was giving over more than half of the space to the brutish Barbarian they had added to their party. So, when the day of traveling across the foothills in the direction on what they at least thought was their objective was complete, Stiles decided that volunteering for two shifts of watches was a great idea. No one commented, they just thanked him for doing that and Derek went off to snore away in Stiles’ bedroll again.
Mature (Explicit for next chapter - coming soon)
(Apologies for any mistakes ; my beta is away on an overseas holiday.)
Derek stared at Stiles’ face laying on the pillow beside him. The murky darkness felt comforting, a sort of camouflage for all the truths that were slipping between them. Stiles probably knew that that was exactly how he would feel and had engineered the situation for his comfort, Derek mused. He was once again blown away by the courage of the human who no doubt knew that while human eyes were useless in the dim room, werewolf eyes were perfectly capable. He watched the play of expression across Stiles’ open face as he rambled on about some childhood pet or other. Then before Derek even noticed Stiles has shifted the topic of conversation again and he’s even more grateful for the moonless night.
“I’ve never …I’ve never … mdhdfndhg withanyone.” Stiles mumbled, rushing through the words as if that would stop Derek from hearing them.
“What? You can’t tell you’ve never had sex; I could smell them on you.” Derek was sure of that, it had driven his wolf side crazy every time, and if he was really honest; his human side too.
“No not that. I’ve had sex. I’ve just never …” Once again Stiles trailed off and he flapped his hand around in the air as though that explained everything. Derek watched Stiles struggle to finish his sentence as a flush spread across him cheeks.He hadn’t seen him this shy in a long time. He certainly hadn’t seen him struggle to speak; Stiles was not someone who struggled with words.
“What? You’ve never what?” Derek finally prodded.
“I’ve never topped okay ?!” The sentence flew out of Stiles mouth, half question half exclamation.
Derek felt his own mouth fall open. Then a thrill went through him; here was something of Stiles’ that no ones else had gotten. A first he could still have even though he’d been too scared to try for the others. Here was something he could give Stiles that no one else had.
These thoughts were followed immediately by several questions. Why had Stiles never topped before? Had he not wanted to? Was he ashamed of only wanting to bottom? Derek flushed at that thought and then shook his head internally. No; Stiles was too open for that, but then again that openness and curiosity was what had Derek worried; if Stiles had wanted to, he would have tried to top by now.
“Come on, say something.” Stiles prompted, his voice slightly higher than normal.
Derek wanted to say; ‘that’s okay’, or ‘I don’t mind’ but what rushed out of his mouth instead was; “Why haven’t you? Don’t you want to? At least to try?”
“Of course I’ve thought about it dude, its just … No one has ever wanted me to before ya know? I look like this” Stiles says gesturing to his body proving Derek’s earlier musings about Stiles’ plans and understanding correct. “Guys that go for this want to fuck me not the other way around. The first guy I asked outright laughed at me …” He finished with a shrug and a forced laugh but Derek could see the shame and humiliation on his face, the left over self doubt. Anger warred with horror in Derek’s belly.
“I just didn’t ask again ya know? I know what people want from me and I love it. I really do love it, so its not a problem.”
Derek lets the words rush over him. At least Stiles was having sex that he liked, he supposed; he wasn’t pressured into anything and then just couldn’t get out of it. He wondered if he would like topping as much, maybe more so.
Just as Derek was allowing himself this rare hopeful thought, Stiles rushed on “I can’t wait for you to fuck me, and to hopefully be the last and only person who fucks me from now on. I’ve had my days of experimenting and sure, I didn’t get the whole list but I’ve got you and that’s so much better. I’ve let it go okay? Its not something I think about anymore.”
Derek panicked for a split second before he heard Stiles’ heart skip over his last sentence and Derek feels a smirk play across his lips. He wonders just what kinds of situations Stiles had been thinking about. A horrible thought crosses his mind that these scenarios may not have included him and that’s why Stiles was pushing so hard against this.
“Its not something you need to worry about.” Stiles finished softly.
Derek stares at Stiles’ pleading face. Ohhh he thinks as relief and love floods him. He doesn’t think I’d want that. He doesn’t want to push me.
“You shouldn’t stereotype.” Derek says.
Stiles stared into the darkness where he could only just see the hazy outline of Derek’s face.
“What?” He says as he tries to wrap his head around the shift in conversation.
“You said that people only fucked you because of the way you looked. That that’s why they wouldn’t let you fuck them? They took one look and said bottom”
Stiles nodded slowly knowing Derek would see it as he tried to understand what Derek was saying.
“What if that’s something I want? You to top? Is that something you’d want? With me? Derek asks softly, adding the last part almost hesitantly.
Stiles feels his eyes widen and his mouth gape as arousal crashes over him. He’s aware he must be a truly ridiculous sight but he really couldn’t care right now.
“Yes, fuck yes. I’d love to fuck you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.” Stiles rushes to reply as a grin breaks across his face. Derek really was perfect. “I’ve thought about is so much. Although you probably know that.” He says wry smile on his face as he considers his earlier lie.
Derek smiles “Yeah. I just didn’t know if you were thinking about me”
Stiles feels a rush of emotion run over him. He stretches his hand out and gently runs his fingers through Derek’s hair. “Oh I’ve definitely been thinking about you. I just didn’t think I’d get to have that you know? And I really wasn’t mad about that; I’ve got you and I didn’t think I’d get that either so really; I have always been happy with you.”
Derek listened to his mate’s heart as it beat steady and true. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was; he was never letting this go. He leaned across the small gap between him and Stiles and kisses Stiles gently. As Derek slips his tongue into Stiles’ mouth he feels Stiles grip and tug on his hair.
A few minutes later Stiles pulls away with a cheeky grin and a wink and asks “How about a physical demonstration of what we’ve both been thinking so much about?”
@theblueeyesofaerion - Happy Holidays, my dear! A dose of pure fluff, where everybody lives, and Stiles is in the habit of proposing to Derek.
1
Derek had barely gotten friendly with the new werewolf and his annoying, but loyal, friend. Scott and Stiles, talking about their silly high school experiences. Derek was both vaguely disgusted over their innocence and at the same time jealous of it. That was him, before the fire, before Kate, before everything. He couldn’t even blame them for thinking he had killed Laura, no matter how much it had hurt to be accused. All he wanted was a pack, and Scott was the key.
He was trying to punish himself with another grueling workout, when they burst into the burnt out shell of his childhood home. One more push up. Ten more. A hundred.
“Oh, my god, marry me,” Stiles whispered, clearly not meant for Derek’s ears. His wide open, brown eyes devoured Derek’s half dressed body, and Derek couldn’t help but let a small smile twitch on his lips. They had come so far in the last two weeks, since Stiles threatened to kill him and tried to cut of his arm.
2
Peter’s giant jaws opened above Stiles, and Derek lost control of his own wolf. His claws ripped through Peter’s thigh, blood spattering across Stiles’ pale belly. “Enough!” he roared. He grabbed Stiles in a fireman’s carry, and ran as fast as he could.
Stiles was barely conscious, and Derek brought him home to the loft and laid him out on the couch. He planted his own legs firmly under Stiles, and couldn’t stop listening to his slow, regular breaths. This had been a close call. Stiles was tough, but so fragile. Once he woke up, his tired eyes focused on Derek. “You saved me. My hero. Marry me!”
Derek pushed himself up from his seat, with just a bit of a laugh. “Well, damsel, how about you don’t get into any more cars with my unhinged werewolf uncle again?”
3
Derek remembered his mother’s gentle hands as she taught him to make their heirloom lasagna, and somehow, cooking it brought her back. The pain over Talia’s death would never subside, but Derek was in a better place now, and he could enjoy his happy memories. He could feed his friends, his pack, and he could take care of them as if they were his family.
“Heyo, what’s cooking? Oh, wait, you’re actually cooking?”
Derek rolled his eyes, at least somewhat fondly. “Yes, I am actually cooking. Do you think I live on takeout?”
“I was expecting protein bars and whey.”
Derek felt like he couldn’t answer that with anything more than a raised eyebrow, and Stiles twitched a small smile at him.
“Is it any good, though? Smells delicious. Definitely not low fat cream like I need to use at home that you’re using in that bechamel sauce.”
Derek smacked Stiles’ fingers away with the spoon. “You’ll get it when everyone else does. Shoo!”
The rest of the pack appreciated the meal, but Stiles, Stiles was obscene. He moaned and very visibly enjoyed himself. Derek felt awkward, mostly because he didn’t want to let everyone in the pack share that face.
“Derek, this is so damn good. Marry me!”
Derek’s ears burned with Erica’s laughter.
4
Pack movie nights was a good idea, Derek thought, as he settled into the pile of his friends on the floor. Stiles was on the couch, with his bare feet on each side of Derek’s back, Erica and Boyd spooned next to him, and Scott rested with his cheek on Derek’s shoulder, and his arm around his back. Werewolves were tactile, and that was one of the things Derek had missed the most about having a real pack. A pack built on trust and, if he dared to say it, even love, not fear and submission.
He enjoyed the body contact immensely, even when Isaac joked about petting the dog. It felt completely natural to grab Stiles’ feet, and start rubbing.
“Oh, my god, I hope you know what you’re doing. I have erogenous zones under my feet…”
It was too late to stop now, he thought, so he just took the plunge and started giving the best damn foot massage he’d ever given. Erica raised her eyebrow, in a gesture she totally had borrowed from him. Isaac looked like he’d swallowed a whole lemon. And Stiles, Stiles sounded like he was trying not to orgasm. Derek didn’t dare to look him in the eyes; he just kept driving his thumbs into the soft ball of Stiles’ right foot.
Between groans, Stiles did manage to whisper a single sentence. “I love you so much, marry me.”
5
It surprised exactly nobody when Stiles kissed Derek after they took out a feral omega werewolf. They had gotten closer and closer over the years, and both of them were in much better places than when they met. Stiles had grown into his genius at Stanford, and Derek had a low key job at the local coffee house. They had both been to therapy, with therapists who knew about the supernatural. They fell together, slowly, inevitably, like a collapsing binary star.
The first time they made love, it wasn’t a desperate rush after a near death experience. It was slow, loving and worth the long wait. In contrast to the porn noises Stiles used to make over things like lasagna and good fast food, his actual orgasm was nearly silent. Just a hitch in his breath, and then a deep exhalation. Derek came just a few minutes later, collapsing on top of his lover.
“Hnnngh… Love the cuddles. Love the muscles. Don’t love the dead weight of the muscles literally on top of me.”
“I love you, you weirdo,” Derek laughed, and rolled off. “Spoon me.”
“Any…time…” They dozed, and lost track of time. This had been coming since forever, and now they weren’t ever going to stop. “Derek…” Stiles said, sleepily. “I really meant it when I asked you to marry me.”
“I know,” Derek said, because he knew that Stiles couldn’t see his smile.
“We really should, though…”
“Ask me again in a few years.”
+1
The rebuilt Hale house move in party slash Christmas party slash Derek’s birthday party was a huge success. The food was delicious, everyone was happy, and the house was absolutely gorgeous. Derek might never have seen Stiles this happy before. Of course, they were moving in together, a huge step.
“Just so you know, I’m not doing this again as a surrogate,” the hugely pregnant Erica whispered to Derek.
“I’m not asking you to; that would be weird.” He sipped his eggnog, and caught his partner’s eyes across the room. Stiles winked exaggeratedly, and Derek did the same back.
As the party wound down, Derek ended up in the kitchen, taking a breather from the merriment. Stiles found him, and blew him a kiss. “This has been an amazing party. Your pack is great.”
“You’re not bad, either.”
“I like your pack. Can I keep them?”
“Only if you’ll marry me.”
“Of course.”
There was an endless pause. Derek could feel his heart beating hard, waiting for Stiles to say something else.
“Wait… Was that a proposal?!”
The only answer was Derek’s wide grin, and Erica whooping in the background.
@kinsbournescream - Merry Christmas lovely! I orginally had something else written for you but wasn’t able to complete it on time, so this was the next best thing that was able to have been completed on time.
Imagine Person A and Person B being friends but afraid to admit they like each other. Person A gets themselves into an awkward situation and texts Person B from across the room for help.
So B goes over and takes A by the arm and says “oh there you are babe, I’ve been looking for you” giving them little bits of affection as they walk away.
Stiles loves his best friend, he truly does. He knows the pack is trying to watch out for him and he appreciates that – more than they’d ever know but he’d like to have one date with a girl that didn’t result in him being lectured by someone in the pack. Which Stiles was trying really hard right now to tune out.
“And I’m trying to tell you this is a bad idea,” Scott mutters and turns his body around so he can face Stiles. “The girl is a literal witch, I’m telling you.”
“It won’t be that bad Scott, stop being so overdramatic,” sighed Stiles and moved to put his books back into his locker. “Besides, what do I have to lose? It’s just one date.”
“It’s not ‘just one date’ buddy, her entire family will be there! Hear me when I say this Stiles because that’s not normal.” Scott was walking a fine line between nervous for his friend, desperate for him to understand and annoyance because for all of Stiles’ intelligence how is he missing the flashing neon sign?
“And it’s not as if all of you are so innocent? Every girl I’ve tried to date has been scared off by someone in the pack—“
“—we’re looking out for you!”
“—while I appreciate it Scott, I’d like to have a normal relationship without all the supernatural bullshit.”
“I don’t think that’s ever going to be possible,” Scott said under his breath. It was a miracle Stiles hadn’t caught on yet – he believed the pack to be overprotective. While that was partly true, the other half had to do with Derek. Derek was the alpha of their pack and had been steadily improving his ways.
He had rebuilt the old Hale house, gave them all a room – including the humans that were still living with their parents. He was trying to go above and beyond for his new pack, wanting only the best for them.
And there was the fact that Derek had a small (big) crush on Scott’s best friend, with Derek trying to show off to Stiles: show him he’s a good choice as a boyfriend, that he can provide the proper housing, food, and anything else the pack may need.
“I’ll see you later,” Stiles’ voice cut through Scott”s thoughts. He released a sigh and tried his best to give a smile.
“Try not to do anything I wouldn’t do buddy.” And okay, he knows the joke fell flat but he’s trying but it’s hard when your two friends like one another and refuse to admit anything.
“I’ll try.” If Scott noticed it lacked his usual enthusiasm, he didn’t comment on it.
☆ ☆ ☆
There wasn’t a lot that could get under Derek Hale’s skin. He liked to see himself as someone that wasn’t effected by common petty things the humans (and sometimes supernatural creatures) found themselves caught in.
But he’ll be damned if he lets Stiles go on that date alone with that entire female’s family.
For safety reasons, of course.
That’s how the entire pack found themselves in this situation of being dressed up nicely while keeping an eye on Stiles and the date.
Usually when they did things like this, they’d try to disguise themselves. Make sure no one recognizes them. Looking around the table, Derek bit back a groan because no one bothered to pass themselves off as someone else.
And he was fairly sure Stiles knew they were anyways.
☆ ☆ ☆
It was twenty minutes into the date when Stiles truly started to feel uncomfortable. Her family kept asking questions about Stiles’ personal life which, usually, wouldn’t have been a problem.
Except they were all looking at him with barely contained disgust on their faces and sneering at him after he confirmed he didn’t have a job - which come on, would someone in his situation have the time for one?
But when he confirmed he had money saved in the bank, around $14,000 he estimated, that seemed to gain their attention. And why wouldn’t it?
He could tell from the moment he walked in that most of the females there were gold diggers - or used to living a very pampered life.
An expensive necklace hung from its place on his date”s neck, the girl’s aunt that was seated next to her was wearing a diamond ring and so on. All this family was looking for was someone to fill their money hungry desires.
He had tuned out what was going on at his table and stared wistfully where his pack was seated. They looked like they were having a good time sharing drinks, food, laughter. Love.
“—plan to do?”
And oh shit, he hadn’t heard the question that was directed at him. He looked around the table and found all sets of eyes on him and frowned when his date kicked him under the table while whispering to him the question asked.
“Oh.” He said lamely and laughed at himself in his head bitterly. He was definitely making an impression of being intelligent. (Except no he wasn’t and everything he knew would be wasted on trying to exolain to the likes of them anyway.)
“I plan to go into Law.” He said flatly and when the stares didn’t lessen up he explained. “I’m not sure whether I want to work in law enforcement or work as a lawyer.”
“Do work as a lawyer, dear,” someone from the table that Stiles couldn’t bother learning the name of spoke up. “They make more money and you’d be able to provide better for our dear, precious niece.”
Stiles grit his teeth and gave a small nod of acknowledgement. How dare she insult his father’s career. Yes it may not pay much but it was a job and his father was happy with it.
Conversation between the table started up once again and Stiles looked over at his pack and found the wolves already staring at him having heard the entire conversation.
He made a subtle signal with his hand and Derek jumped up, walking over to where he was seated at a brisk pace. Standing in front of Stiles, he leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead and touched his arm gently.
“Oh there you are babe, I’ve been looking for you.” He said with affection in his voice.
“I… “ Stiles was trying to form a sentence but he just couldn’t. His face was flushed and the blood was pounding in his ears; he could vaguely hear the table behind him erupting into chaos.
“Let’s go home now babe,” Derek continued on without a care. “I can see you’re tired.”
“I'm… okay.”
Derek took hold of his arm and dragged him out of the resturant, the pack falling behind them in a steady step.
Derek pulled him off to the side and had a small flush on his cheeks. His tongue peeked out to wet his lips and looked him in the eyes. Stiles was twitching slightly, his nerves getting the best of him and he took a breath.
“I love you.” They said at the same time and their eyes widened, a goofy smile slowly creeping its way on their faces.
“So are we… boyfriends?” Stiles asked tentatively.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, we are.”
They leaned into one another and shared a gentle, slow kiss while the pack erupted into cheers behind them. There were shouts of “about time” and they rolled their eyes, lips still connected and raised their middle fingers towards them.
Breaking apart from each other they rested their foreheads together, goofy smiles on their faces.
“Home?” Derek asked.
“Yeah,” Stiles said while trying to catch his breath. “Let’s go home.”
They entwined their hands and walked back to Derek’s car, the girl he was on a date with long gone from his mind.
For the lovely @poetry-protest-pornography, who listed one of their favorite tropes as “doing something nice for the other and getting caught.” although this didn’t quite turn out to be that, I hope you enjoy anyway ♥
It seemed like a good idea at the time. How much of Stiles’ life was shaped by those words? But this? This was probably one of the worst decisions he had ever made.
After two years of living in the dorms, Stiles was faced with a choice. Either find some people to get a shitty apartment with, or move back home. Between nightmares and training with Deaton, moving back to Beacon Hills made the most sense. The commute was only an hour and he had managed to schedule his on-campus classes to meet only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Everything else he could take online.
But he just had to go complaining about moving back in with his dad to Derek over the summer. In his defense, he never expected Derek to offer his spare room. Because Derek had a house now. A very nice house. And a job.
Honestly, the idea of living somewhere he could be independent, yet still see his dad whenever he wanted was too good to pass up. But now, standing in the fancy kitchen and staring at the yellow sticky note on the coffee maker, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d made a mistake.
DO YOUR OWN DISHES, spelled out in Derek’s blocky hand writing stared back at him. Stiles sighed, scrunching up the yellow square and setting it beside his mug. It was the fifth note he’d found in as many days. One in the bathroom (PICK UP YOUR TOWELS), one on the refrigerator (DON’T DRINK MY BEER), and several others scattered across the house.
It was infuriating. This was the reason Stiles had wanted to sit down and draw up a roommate contract, but Derek’s only stipulation was ‘pay the rent on time.’ Stiles rinsed his mug and dropped it into the dishwasher. It hadn’t even been a week and he was already worrying about making this work.
—
Stiles was stubborn. He told his dad this was for the best, so he was going to stick it out. And Derek wasn’t a bad roommate, really. He worked odd hours because he was the newest deputy on the force, but he was always quiet and neat. Sometimes Stiles didn’t even know he was home.
After the first month, Derek convinced him to take the Toyota to class. It had much better gas mileage, plus meant less wear and tear on the Jeep. So Stiles parked Roscoe in the garage with the Camaro and hung the new set of keys off of his keyring.
All in all, Stiles though they were doing well. Even if they rarely saw each other. (Which, considering the massive crush he had on Derek, was probably for the best. No need to make it weird.)
It had been two weeks without a damn sticky note, so Stiles figured he’d cleaned up his act enough to make Derek happy. Until one morning he came down to a note reading PICK UP YOUR SHIT. It was stuck to the wall above the pile of shoes and sweatshirts and textbooks that had accumulated in the living room.
Stiles sighed heavily before gathering up the mess to take to his room. “This is why we need the expectations outlined,” he grumbled, not even caring if he woke Derek up.
He dumped everything on the floor, grabbed his backpack, and shut the door a tad bit harder than necessary. KEEP YOUR DOOR CLOSED OR CLEAN YOUR ROOM had been the last message and Stiles tried hard to comply. But hell, it was exhausting trying to remember all of the rules. Maybe he should have kept the notes instead of crumpling each one and throwing it away.
—
For the first two months living together, Stiles could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually spoken to Derek. Part of it was his crazy schedule, with classes and training with Deaton and hanging out with his dad. And the rest was Derek’s apparent preference for night shifts. In fact, it wasn’t until mid-October that Derek finally confronted Stiles about his sleeping habits.
Stiles was neck deep in practice tests when the door to the garage swung open. Derek dropped his work bag on the kitchen floor and slipped into the chair across from him. There were notecards, loose leaf papers, and multiple notebooks spread across the table between them.
Derek took in the chaos and sighed. “Why are you still up?”
“Stupid exam tomorrow.” Stiles didn’t even look away from his screen. The words stopped making sense an hour ago, but there was no way he could remember this many conjugations.
“Go to bed.” Derek gently slid the laptop out of range. “You can’t learn anything when you’re this tired.”
“But…” Stiles’ protest died as Derek fixed him with a look. It clearly conveyed that he wasn’t listening to arguments. Defeated, Stiles leaned back in his chair and yawned widely. Ugh. It was almost four in the morning.
The next day was brutal. Stiles rolled out of bed at eight o’clock to an alarm that he didn’t remember setting. He stumbled down the stairs, trying not to wake Derek with his heavy footfalls. But when he went to pull the milk out of the refrigerator, the sight of a yellow sticky note on the door made him freeze.
In neat capital letters, it said: GOOD LUCK TODAY. There was even a smiley face. Was this the Twilight Zone?
Stiles stared, then blinked several times. But the words didn’t disappear.
He smiled the entire duration of his morning routine, stopping to stick the note to the inside cover of his Latin textbook before he left. Then he hopped into Derek’s Toyota and drove to school.
He aced the exam.
—
Several weeks passed and Derek was already out on his night shift when Stiles shuffled in from school. He’d had an incredibly long day, filled with lectures and labs and finishing a stupid group project. Finding a familiar yellow note hanging from the microwave didn’t fill him with dread anymore. Especially not when it said: DINNER’S IN THE FRIDGE.
Stiles heated up the leftovers, feeling exhausted and content. Derek had even made his absolute favorite because he knew today was going to suck.
It was difficult not to read into Derek’s little acts of kindness, and Stiles was crushing harder with every note. The newest one was going to hang alongside DON’T FORGET YOUR LUNCH, and SCOTT SAYS HELLO, and DON’T WORRY I’LL BUY MORE COFFEE TONIGHT, and HAVE A GOOD DAY. That last note had Stiles grinning like a lunatic, to the point where Deaton asked if everything was alright.
So all in all, life with Derek was good. Stiles just had to keep reminding himself that Derek was a friend and not his co-lead in some rom-com about a werewolf and a spark who live together and fight crime. Although that would probably be an awesome idea for a TV show.
Shaking his head at the thought, Stiles loaded his dishes into the dishwasher and headed up to bed.
—
Halfway through the semester, Stiles’ three accelerated online classes had finals. He was super excited because that meant he’d be down to only two classes. His work load was about to be so much easier, and he might even have time to catch up on Netflix
The only problem was that the exams had to be scheduled at the proctoring center on campus. And because he was an idiot, he scheduled them all back to back. How he was going to survive six hours of testing was a mystery.
But Derek stayed up with him every night for a week, flipping through notecards and quizzing him on what he knew. Plus, he promised to take the night off and have a movie marathon once Stiles got home. Because Derek’s house was ‘home’ now and Derek was one of his best friends.
Sure enough, a yellow square saying: YOU’VE GOT THIS was already in his spot on the kitchen table. Stiles grinned at the note, peeling it away so he could add it to his collection.
—
On a typical Thursday night, Derek tapped at the door and stepped into Stiles’ room. Which he had never actually been in before. It seemed kind of weird, now that Stiles thought about it. He glanced over at the mountain of three week old laundry in the corner that was offensive to even his human nose and, well maybe not.
Marking his page, he set the textbook on his desk. “Hey, what’s up?”
Derek didn’t respond. He was staring at the bed with a slightly dazed expression. Then Stiles remembered the little yellow squares affixed to the headboard in neat rows.
He flushed, not really sure what to say. “Was there something that you wanted?”
Derek tore his eyes away. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready.”
Right. This morning’s note read WE’RE HAVING DINNER WITH YOUR DAD. It was a nice reminder of the fact that Derek was taking fewer night shifts. Sometimes he was even around to hang out with.
“Give me a second.” Stiles glanced down at his ratty sweatpants and stained t-shirt. Man did he need to do laundry.
He emerged from his room in more appropriate clothes and followed Derek out to the Camaro.
They were halfway to his house when Derek broke the silence. “You kept the notes.”
“Yup.” Because, obviously.
—
Stiles rushed home from school. It was the last day of the semester and normally he’d be ecstatic to have his freedom back. But this time, he was too nervous. Honestly he had no idea what he was thinking that morning. Maybe he could still get back in time to take that idiotic note off of the counter.
He parked in the driveway and sprinted to the door, hands shaking as he unlocked it. When the door finally clicked open, he crashed into the kitchen. The shower upstairs was running. Fuck. Maybe he could call it a friend dinner? People probably made reservations at the fanciest restaurant in town for friend dinners all the time. Right?
Stiles’ panicked eyes landed on the note. His hurried scrawl: Dinner at Luka’s? 6pm was followed by Derek’s blocky print spelling out: IT’S A DATE and underlined three times.
Sagging against the counter, Stiles took a deep breath. He knew he hadn’t imagined the last few weeks. Derek was home all the time now, only taking shifts while Stiles was training or at school. Which meant they spent most of their day bickering over recipes and watching crappy television.
It was awesome and domestic and Stiles couldn’t wait to date the hell out of Derek Hale.
—
(And five years later, they visited Luca’s again. But this time, Stiles’ drink came with a sticky note asking WILL YOU MARRY ME?)
