So, all that talk of alpha/emissary bonds the other day produced this weird little thing:
Emissary Stiles Stilinski returns to Beacon Hills to find that the Hale pack has been destroyed, except for Derek Hale.
Stiles Stilinski arrives back in Beacon
Hills the week before his sixteenth birthday.
He is late.
His father picks him up from the bus
station, and Stiles hugs him tiredly and tries not to notice how much older he
looks. It’s been five years since Stiles saw him last. Five years since the
family convinced John Stilinski that a trip to Poland was just what Stiles
needed to get over his mother’s death, and just what John needed to sort
himself out. Stiles remembers packing for a few weeks, but it’s been five
years.
His dad no longer smells like whiskey.
He no longer smells like home either.
Stiles stares out the window of his dad’s
cruiser at the familiar streets of Beacon Hills. Familiar, but somehow brand
new. Things aren’t exactly how he remembers them. Sometime in the last five
years his memories have faded, have cracked around the edges. They’re flawed. They’re
false in entirely unimportant ways that make Stiles worry that maybe none of
his memories can be trusted, and that everything he’s ever thought he knows is
build on a shifting foundation of sand.
The fire hydrant is on the other side of
the intersection than he remembers. The book store has a red awning, not a blue
one. The house at the end of the street has two stories, not one. Tiny things,
but a ball of anxiety sits heavily in his stomach. How can this be home when it
didn’t even stick in his memory right?
How can this be home when Stiles knows he
speaks with a slight accent now? When sometimes the first word he thinks is
Polish, not English. How can this be home when his dad steals glances at him
like he’s a stranger?
Stiles is a stranger, and he is set on a
stranger path than his dad could possibly know.
The house is the same as Stiles remembers,
but the dimensions have shrunk. Stiles was ten when he packed a bag and went
with his babcia.
It was only supposed to be for a few weeks.
“You remember the way to your room, right?”
his dad asks him. His voice sounds like it’s close to cracking.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Stiles lifts his suitcase
and carries up the stairs.
He passes through the ghost of a little boy
dragging his the other way, thump thump
thump all the way down.
““Anything,” Derek’s eyes are determined, boring into Stiles’.
Stiles huffs a laugh, “Careful there, big guy. Don’t want to be promising anything to every necromancer you meet. Some might ask for your soul or someth—”
“I’ll give you my soul to bring her back,” Derek says, his voice steady and strong with resolve, “if that’s what you want.”
Stiles’ mouth gapes open for a moment before his brain kicks into gear and he stutters out, “N-no, I don’t ask for that. I only ask for money.”
(Or the one in which Stiles is a necromancer who needs help stopping a rogue alpha and Derek is the solution, but at what cost?)”
This is a really gorgeous fic, full of emotion and it’s fair share of angst but it never feels overdone or hopeless. The characters are all beautifully written, and Stiles and Derek are lovely together. There are major character deaths, which is not something I would usually read, but I just think it is all handled so well that it is worth giving a shot. It has a happy, hopeful ending with resolution of the angst, and our boys driving off into the sunset cracking awful zombie related jokes. Oh. And prepare for Jackson to be your favourite character.
““It was a true love spell,” he admits quietly. “It was supposed to help me find my true love. And apparently I suck at magic as much as I suck at dating because I screwed this up too.”
~~~
In which Stiles’ Valentine’s Day love spell goes very wrong.
Or perhaps very right.”
This is so so sweet, and so so cute. You’re going to love it. Stiles casts his spell and then Derek fixes it. Derek’s perspective is so well done, and you get to see the full extent of his badass exterior giving way to the marshmallow we all know he is on the inside!
It wasn’t obvious at first—his car, his clothes, the people closest to him, they all smell enough like his old scent that it overpowers anything new. As far as emotions go, there’s the usual anxiety, stress, tension, exhaustion, guilt.
But the base notes of his scent, the primary olfactory information anyone would use to track Stiles, are… stronger now, and not in a way that relates to being unwashed. They’re sharper, more noticeable, less human and more…
Magical.”
This is such good fun, lots of moments that made me laugh, fantastic characterisations, and Derek’s perspective is just as sardonic as you think it would be. Stiles and his magic are just so…Stiles. And the way it all unfolds is lovely – the last lines will put a big smile on your face because secretly-a-dork Derek Hale is a beautiful thing.
The Spark had been cool. It had been small, manageable. He could do some funky stuff with Mountain Ash, all with the power of belief.
And now here he is, his Spark blown wide open, apparently coming down with a fatal case of magical overload, and all that stands between him and bleeding out is a grumpy owl that looks suspiciously like a feathered version of Derek Hale.
(In which Stiles learns he’s a witch, but instead of a wand and a trip to Diagon Alley, he gets blood magic, a grumpy and reluctant owl as his companion, and an accidental blood bond with Derek Hale.)”
This is a fantastic story, with an equally fantastic equal, with a darker side to Stiles having magic. It’s really well written, with funny moments as well as some more horror themed moments! You are going to love Steve. Heed the warnings my lovelies, there is blood and gore throughout. But there is also lovely friendships and Stereky goodness too!
“Shealwaysreads said the perfect summary for this series is: ‘Wherein Stiles nuts and runs, suspects any and all fairytale endings, but falls foul of sustained and earnest wooing by his alpha prince Derek Hale’”
I debated keeping this series for a soulmate fic rec, but this has badass Emissary!Stiles and is one of the most fun series I’ve read in a long time, written by my babe @inell. There’s your classic masquerade ball to kick things off, with a werewolf mating bite, but that’s where the standard trope ends. This Stiles is definitely not one for conforming to expectations, and instead of an instant happily-ever-after you get to read a beautifully real feeling relationship develop. The smut is scorching, the fluff is blush inducing, and the characters are amazing. You will love Stiles-Scott-Allison. And you will be so glad to have read this series!
“Stiles gets magic wish-granting powers, but only when he’s in danger. He begins to teleport to Derek in increasingly awkward moments.”
This fic had me quite literally wheezing with laughter in bed when I read it. It’s just got so many perfect moments – Derek’s infamous backflip, lucky charms, sneak-attacks. This will all make sense when you read it. Which you should. It’s a ball from beginning to end!
“Soon after Deaton begins training him, Stiles starts weaving talismans for the pack.”
This is melancholy and so so beautifully written. Derek’s perspective is the perfect way to see the way that Stiles’ magic is changing him. It’s a really lovely little fic.
“Derek’s just moved back to Beacon Hills with his young daughter, whose newest favorite thing is Mr. Stiles and his magic shop. Derek likes Stiles a lot too, except he’s a bit worried about how Stiles’ magic is… actually real, and the local pack and their Emissary might find that a problem.”
This whole fic is completely adorable. You get yourself a lovely bit of single dad!Derek, magic!Stiles, and a beautifully settled and successful pack in Beacon Hills. Gena and Jimmy are the cutest kids, and Derek and Stiles are just as sweet. It’s a lovely, fluffy little fic to put a smile on your face.
“"Are you going to buy anything else?“ Professional Eyebrows says and Stiles would like to buy him. A cup of coffee. On a date.
He just ends up pointing at the crate of whatever the fuck is behind Professional Eyebrows’ head and says, "Uh, a box of that stuff.”
P.E. turns, glances at the crate, and raises an eyebrow at Stiles. “You want a box of charmed rattlesnake tail?” God, magic is so fucking weird.
“Yeah.” Stiles nods because he’s making an ass out of himself. The hipster vampire browsing in the corner is not so subtly laughing at him. The sooner he leaves the better.
–
The one where Derek Hale is a Professional Werewolf Witch who owns a magic shop and Stiles fails at being smooth on a regular basis.”
The one where Stiles and Derek are both magical! This is hilarious from start to finish, and all of the accompanying cast are awesome. Scott and his love of dogs is basically who I am inside. This is fluffy and sweet with the perfect amount of snark for our two boys!
“Sighing, Stiles reaches for Derek’s big hands, cradled in his broad lap, his skin lighting up even more at Derek’s touch. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, preparing himself to look for Derek’s soulmate. Whoever you are, he thinks, you better be worth him.”
Okay, so I love everything that deleted-scenes writes – and this is no exception. Stiles’ magic in this fic is really well thought out and the way he and Derek interact is just so perfect. Stiles’ perspective is lovely, and his reaction to Derek is absolutely so on point. The whole fic just makes you happy, and the ending is too beautiful – I adore the scene of Derek protectively held by Stiles.
“Stiles has to perform some kind of protection spell/ritual to stop the latest threat to BH, but according to Deaton and his terrible, terrible magic books, it requires that he willingly take the ‘life essence’ of an alpha within him so he can power the spell. Yep, semen, because druids were giant pervs back in the day. And apparently that shit is like a magical battery.”
This is so much fun from start to finish, very much a magic made them do it scenario – but I’m sure they would have got there on their own in the end! I love the interactions between Derek and Stiles throughout, and the ending is perfect. Not to mention the amazing smut in between 😉
“There’s something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can’t quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life.
There’s something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.”
I love this fic a lot – it’s one I’ve re-read and honestly every time I read it I love it just as much. It’s beautifully written, and the whole idea of this town-wide pack is so incredibly pleasing. The sterek is slow build, but it’s perfectly done and it’s exactly how the characters would behave in this au I think. You will love all of the characters, and the world building, and oh – the Sheriff – you’re going to love him a lot. All I can say is you are in for a fantastic, long, and really satisfying read. You’ll thank me for it.
“Before Derek has the presence of mind to object, Stiles pushes the paper in his hands and makes for his jeep. “Just read it, okay?” is the last thing he says before slamming the door shut.
He starts the engine, and drives away in record time with gravel scrunching under his tires while Derek stands there dumfounded. He accelerates unusually fast, and the jeep’s back lights disappear into the night.
What. The. Fuck.”
This fic is a great imagining of what the alpha pack could have been like, and the ways that the Hale pack would have been stuck for ideas of how to save themselves. Stiles is a spark in this and enacts a ritual to protect the pack and their assorted loved ones. Derek’s perspective is lovely in this, and his view of the whole pack, and the way he takes Stiles’ advice (which works ofc) is really great to read. And the sex. Whoa boy. Awkward and tender and hot all at once.
“This is it, he thinks as he dips his fingers into the bowl. No coming back. Once you tie yourself to a pack, to an Alpha, it’s a connection that’ll always be there.”
Oh boy. Short and sweet and so sexy – magical finger-painting is my new fave.
“As you’re always so fond of pointing out, you’re the alpha. When bad shit happens to you, it affects all of us. If someone wants to use your alpha mojo or your wolf force or,” Stiles waves his hand, “whatever you want to call it for diabolical purposes? We need to be ready.”
This is great – I love the concept of the spell, and the intensity of the ritual itself. And I think with Stiles’ belief written all over him, our Derek will end up bulletproof.
“If you could only protect one person, who would it be?”
“Derek.”
“What would you do to keep him alive? What would you give up?”
“Anything. Everything.”
This is a really unusual fic, the narrative is not chronological, but it is beautifully weaved together. The Hale Pack that is imagined is a strange and dangerous one, but the future they have is beautiful. This fic might not be for everyone, but I really loved it. Try it, I think you’ll like it.
“Semantics, Derek thinks. All Derek really remembers is the press of Stiles’ lips against his, warm and wet, Stiles’ mouth tasting like blue cotton candy, and Stiles’ fingers curling into his shirt, and the clack of the roller coaster carts thundering above them. Derek hasn’t kissed all that many people in his life, but Stiles is the best kiss he’s ever had. He loves kissing Stiles, even now, two years later.
Derek’s head rolls back, and he stares up at the ceiling. “I chose Six Flags because you’d never been there,” he says, and when his neck rolls again, weakly, to face Stiles, he’s smiling at Derek.
“I know,” he says, and Derek thinks, of course you did.”
This is beautifully written, heed the tags though – our darling boy Derek doesn’t have a great time to start with. But his and Stiles’ interactions are gorgeous, and it is the sweetest of endings, I promise.
“The real question is what Stiles wants. If he’s looking forward to seeing Derek again because they’ll complete what they started a long time ago or if Stiles is nervous because he’s feeling apprehensive. There’s a real possibility that he told the pack to finally send Derek up in order to tell him thanks, but no thanks. A lot can happen in six years; people change and grow apart and it isn’t like they were allowed to talk.”
This is wonderfully done – there is so much world building and back story implied that just makes it such a rich scenario. Stiles and Derek and all of their interactions are beautiful, and the closing scene is so happy making.
“A packs connection to its territory is sacred, it’s the place that they call home, the place that they draw their strength, the place that protects them and shelters them. As long as the wolves care for the land, the land will care for the wolves.
After the fire when Derek and Laura left Beacon Hills, they left the land, and the land left them. For the past eight years the territory had been Hale’s in name alone. But that was going to change, tonight.”
This is another lovely pack fic, there’s so much emotional punch at the end you’ll adore it. It’s a really interesting spin on Stiles practicing magic, and a lovely exploration of what pack is.
“He doesn’t come to The Beacon to pick up people. It’s precisely the reason why he doesn’t go anywhere else. People in this neighborhood know him, know he’s not interested in being hit on, which allows him to have a drink in peace. Derek knows he’s good-looking, but the type of people it attracts disgust him. At least other werewolves can smell the unfriendliness on him and stay away, but that doesn’t stop everyone. He went to a gay bar with his coworker Isaac once and it was horrifying.”
You think this is going to be a snarky, sexy, hookup fic – and yes it is all of those things. BUT ALSO. Magic!Stiles, unexpected!feels, and ‘it’s-meant-to-be’ dreams. It’s all good stuff.
“By twenty-eight, Stiles has resigned himself to a quiet life of working in his magic shop, selling Jackson Whittemore fart-inducing tea, and looking after his goddaughter. It’s a good life. But the quiet goes to hell when his sister, Lydia, shows up with a crispy werewolf in her trunk and a bite mark on her shoulder, because hard on her heels comes the hottest person Stiles has ever seen, and he happens to be looking for his uncle.
You know, the dead guy Stiles helped Lydia bury last night.
(Or: the Pracitical Magic AU nobody asked for.)”
This is one of my favourite magic!Stiles fics – the world that the author has built is so believable and I adore Stiles and Lydia as siblings – their interactions are wonderful. This has everything I love – great Stiles & his friends interactions, Stiles as a parent, Scott being awesome, Lydia being awe inspiring, and Derek being his beautiful self. The last line will have you grinning all day.
“Stiles gets a call for help from his old babysitter, Laura Hale, after a slew of magical sabotage to the restaurant/gastropub she runs with her brother Derek. Mysterious magical and supernatural shenanigans are Stiles’ bread and butter, so who is he to deny what’s basically family?
Even if it does mean facing his age-old, hopeless crush on Derek again, and the fact that Derek hates him.”
This fic is an absolute joy to read – it’s got so many of my favourite things. Magic!Stiles, alive!Hales, chef!Derek, miscommunication, pining, baddie of the week. It’s got it all, and so many funny moments and sweetness and amazing character interactions. And the sterek is gorgeous – it’s the happiest of happy endings!
That’s all for this fic rec edition – I hope you love these fics as much as I do! Feel free to drop me a line with any suggestions for future fic rec editions you’d like to see!
AU:Derek comes back to Beacon Hills to protect Stiles, as an Alpha.
“When I pathetically ran out of excuses as to why I should never come back here, I realized I needed to face reality and admit to myself that this is my home. Nowhere else but here. And I also needed to come back because this is the only place where I’m meant to be the alpha I should’ve always been. And I couldn’t be a better alpha without my anchor. So, I’m back home. I’m back, to you Stiles.”
So, I wrote a thing for Sterek week! I love Shy!Derek and I love Alpha!Derek, but you know what I don’t see a lot of? Shy Alpha Derek. (Maybe there’s a reason for that, idk) Anyway, have lonely, shy, alpha Derek who stumbles across injured werefox Stiles in the forest, and is immediately smitten by him (but fails hard at social interaction). Also on AO3.
Derek hears the hunter’s SUV pull away in a peel of rubber. He stays hidden, barely dares to breathe, watching as the car’s tail-lights bounce down the dirt road away from him, tiny red pinpricks of light eventually swallowed by the darkness. He stands there, straining to hear the thrum of their engines, half-expecting, any moment, to hear the roar of their return. It’s a full five minutes before he can bring himself to move.
He picks his way back through the trees as quietly as he can, every nerve still drawn tight as a bowstring, finally he reaches a clearing. By the light of the moon, he can make out the shack he’s been holed up in for the last week.
The hunter’s scent lingers near it now, bruising the air around him. He won’t stay here tonight, he can’t risk it. He just needs to sneak in, collect his sleeping bag, blankets and the tiny camping stove he bought a little over a year ago, when he passed through Idaho. His hands shake as he crams his meagre belongings into his duffle bag. He’d hoped to stay here just a little longer, but that can’t happen now. He takes one last look around the dusty room he’s called home for the past few days, and then steps out the door and away.
Above him the moon hangs fat and round in the sky, it calls to him, makes the blood in his veins sing. He wants to howl, long and mournful, he wants to shift and run for miles, let himself get lost in that feeling the full moon always brings, wild and fierce and free.
He can’t though. Not tonight. Hunters are on the loose and he’s all alone, no pack to protect him, not any more. He slings his bag over his shoulder, and steps forward into the unrelenting darkness of the forest.
–
Derek hears him before he sees him, hears him even before he smells him. Hears a noise like velcro being ripped apart again and again in an unsteady rhythm, and for one moment he can’t work out what’s causing it. Then it hits him: This is someone’s breathing, ragged and wet and awful.
As he moves closer to the sound, the smell hits him. The iron tang of blood, the acrid scent of panic and pain and beneath that a richer, earthier scent that tells Derek this isn’t just a human, this is a were, but not a wolf. Underneath all that though, there’s something else, something more about this scent. It’s like nothing Derek’s ever smelled before, warm, spicy and inviting. It draws him in, hooks him just under his ribs and won’t let him go, it calls to him, soothes him, pulls at the blood in his veins, just like the moon.
Without conscious thought he’s moving forward, fingers twitching, nailbeds itching, burning with the desire to extend his claws.
As he gets closer a sliver of moonlight breaks through the trees and illuminates a guy, lying on his side, half buried beneath fallen leaves and dirt; he’s shivering violently, though whether from shock or cold, Derek can’t tell. His head jerks up at Derek’s approach, eyes flickering like a broken streetlight, brown to gold and back again. They stare at each other, one long moment that seems to stretch out forever; all Derek can really make out is dark hair, wide eyes, the general shape of him and his scent. His scent is doing things to Derek.
“H-Help,” the guy pleads, voice thick round his fangs. “Help me, p-please.”
It’s enough to break Derek’s stupor. He rushes forward and drops to his knees beside him. This close the air is thick with the sour stench of pain, and there’s blood, so much blood.
“Sshh,” Derek says, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
There are long gashes along the guy’s bare arms, his face is bloody, leg mangled, maybe broken, and, worst of all, an arrow, sticking out of the guy’s flank, just under his rib cage. Derek sucks in a breath, he knows from bitter experience that it needs to be removed before the healing process can begin.
“G-Get it out,” rasps the guy. “P-Please.” Derek’s hands hover uselessly over the shaft. The pain is going to be excruciating, and they both know it. He hesitates.
The guy seems to understand. He reaches one hand out and clasps Derek’s shoulder, forces him to meet his gaze. “S’okay. Promise. Jus’ do it.”
And Derek does.
–
It’s a messy job, one that leaves Derek’s hands slick and sticky with blood, and the stranger with an open wound in his side that bleeds sluggishly even as it knits itself back together. The guy loses consciousness almost as soon as Derek’s claws dig into his side, which is probably a blessing.
Once the arrowhead is out, Derek sinks down next to him, wondering what to do next. He’s supposed to be half way into the next county by now.
He opens up his duffle bag and gets out his sleeping bag, opens it up and then scoops the guy up in his arms and gently places him on it. Then he rifles through his pack for bottled water and some tissues; he spends the next hour meticulously cleaning all the guy’s wounds. It’s not really necessary, and Derek knows it, now the arrow is out the guy is already healing, but Derek’s full of the need to do something, overcome with an urge to provide, to protect. He barely knows him, but the instinct to care for this stranger is overwhelming. Finally, when he’s finished cleaning him, Derek pulls out his old army blanket and drapes it carefully over him, tucking him in snug and warm. He shudders as he gets a whiff of their scents combined, refuses to focus on how good it smells.
Satisfied he’s made him as comfortable as he can, he sits down, back against the rough bark of a tree and watches over him, waiting for him to wake.
–
Dawn is nearly on them by the time the guy finally stirs. The sky turning pale and pink as the sun rises. He kicked the blanket off in the night, and as he groans, stretching cat-like, the fabric of his t-shirt rides right up to reveal the fresh pink of newly healed skin, and the taut, flat muscles of his stomach. Derek’s breath catches in his throat.
At that the guy’s eye cracks open, he stills, staring at Derek. “Woah,” he says, eventually. “I thought I dreamed you.” He levers himself up onto one elbow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I guess not.”
Derek rubs a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly self conscious. “Are you okay?” he asks, gruffly.
The guy quirks an eyebrow, “I-uh- I think so. Don’t remember much.” He glances about himself, taking in the sleeping bag, the worn army blanket, the empty bottles of water and blood stained tissues littered about. His eye falls on the arrowhead and he winces, reaches forward with one hand and picks it up, running his fingers over it. Derek watches his hands, entranced by the pronounced veins, broad palms, the long fingers with knobbly knuckles, and nails bitten to the quick. He’s staring, he can’t help himself.
“You pulled this out of me?” the guy asks, contemplatively, jerking Derek out of his reverie.
Derek nods, the tips of his ears turning pink.
The guy sits up properly then, hugging his legs to his chest, chin resting on the knob of his knee. He seems to be waiting for Derek to continue, and Derek wants to. He wants to say something clever or witty, but he doesn’t know where to begin.
“My name’s Stiles,” the guy says, eventually. There’s an expectant pause. “And you are?” he prompts.
“Derek.”
“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles observes, ducks his head, a faint blush creeps up his cheeks. “I mean, obviously you know that. I was just- shit, nevermind. Thanks, I guess, for, y’know, rescuing me last night. Fucking hunters, man. Am I right?”
Derek shrugs. He still can’t find his words, he hasn’t been this tongue tied since he tried talking to Paige in High School. He scowls. Say something, his brain screams at him, say anything. “You’re not a wolf.” It comes out sharp like an accusation.
“No,” Stiles agrees with a nervous chuckle, “I’m a fox. Well, a werefox.” He spreads his hands, palms upwards, as if to say, ‘what can you do?’
Derek’s never met a werefox before. He knew that other weres existed in a theoretical sense, but they’re rare, rarer than wolves.
Across from Stiles stomach gurgles loudly, and he blushes again, red splotches creeping up pale, mole-speckled skin. “Sorry, healing like that always makes me hungry.” He looks sheepish.
Derek’s hand reaches automatically for his duffel bag, tugging it toward him. He rifles through it, pulls out a granola bar and throws it to Stiles who catches it easily.
“Oh my god, you are an actual life saver,” Stiles rips it open and takes a huge bite. For a minute there’s nothing but the sound of Stiles’ chewing. “So, you don’t like to talk much, huh?” he says, spraying crumbs everywhere.
Derek frowns. He isn’t talkative, that’s true, but he used to be better than this. Something about Stiles, the look of him, the way he smells, it’s robbed Derek of all coherent thought. He’s struggling to put a sentence together.
His scowl deepens and Stiles winces. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude or ungrateful or whatever-” he sighs, shoulders slumping. His long fingers pluck at the frayed hem of his tee-shirt. “It’s not you, it’s me. I talk too much, then there’s the complete lack of a filter, the-” he rambles on, listing flaw after stupid, imaginary flaw. And Derek’s hands ball into fists, claws pricking at his palms, he needs to stop him, needs to make him understand. It’s not him. It’s not his fault. He’s perfect.
“I like the way you smell,” he blurts out. As soon as the words are out he regrets them. He wants to reach out and take them back, swallow them down where they can’t do any more damage.
Stiles stares at him jaw slack. “You- You what now?”
Derek swallows hard and looks away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But-”
“Leave it.”
Stiles kneels up, shifts closer, “Derek.”
“I said leave it,” he growls, eyes flashing red, fangs dropping.
Stiles huffs out a frustrated sigh, but backs away. When Derek finally dares to look at him, he’s trying to sniff himself, covertly. He stops as soon as he catches Derek watching, blushing furiously.
Derek ducks his head and scrambles to his feet. He busies himself packing up their makeshift campsite.
“So, uh-” Stiles says, watching him. “I was thinking, maybe we could y’know-” he takes a step forward, closer to Derek, “-stick together for a bit.”
“Uh,” Derek croaks, pausing his attempt to fold his blanket. “Stick t-together?”
“Yeah,” Stiles says, shifting closer still. “I mean, it’s a dangerous world out there. Especially for two guys like us. We could help each other out,”
Yes, Derek’s brain screams at him, Yes, say yes! “How?” comes out of his mouth.
“Well you know,” Stiles offers him a shy smile. “Look out for each other. You helped me last night. I could help you, socialize you a bit, not-” he raises his hands. “Not that I’m saying you need it.” Derek doesn’t have to be a werewolf to know that’s a lie. He snorts, rolling his eyes and Stiles grins, small and genuine. It makes Derek’s heart flutter in his chest.
“I could help you,” Stiles persists, shuffling nearer. “You could help me. It could be good. You’re an alpha, but I don’t see any pack. Wolves don’t like to be alone, they’re pack animals, right? Well we could be, y’know, pack.”
“Pack?” Derek drops the blanket he’s holding and stares at Stiles, eyes wide and unblinking. His heart thumps madly in his chest.
Stiles knocks their elbows together, his scent is everywhere, eyes limned gold in the early morning light. “Trial pack,” he says. “If you don’t like it you can kick me out.”
Derek swallows, to stunned to speak. Pack. Stiles is offering him the chance to have a pack. He hasn’t had that since- well, not for a long time. Stiles seems to take his silence as rejection. His face falls.
“It was a stupid idea,” he says, “Ignore me, I’ll just get out of your hair-”
“Trial pack,” Derek says, cutting him off. “That sounds good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Derek says, “Just, try not to get shot again.”
Stiles grins, wide and genuine, and Derek can’t look away, can’t help smiling back.
_Stiles, your opinion is important, but I told you to keep your comments on other Alpha’s “douchbagness” for yourself, at least until they’re gone…
______________________________
Truthfully I just felt like some tattooed/emissary/bamf!Stiles, Boyd as Derek’s second, and Pack feels :3 It got out of hand and now it’s a (sort of) mafia!au where Stiles sings Britney’s Criminal all day long 😀
shealwaysreads 