When a powerful witch starts threatening the Hale pack, it’s on the emissary to handle it,because “what’s your plan, big guy? You’re gonna bring claws to a magic fight?”
Have a great summer, @seanchaidh7, hope you like this! 🙂
The phone call came in the middle of the night, 3:04 a.m. to be exact. Stiles had trained himself over the years to always answer his phone, especially in the middle of the night. There were only two things it could be, something happened to his dad or it was a pack emergency, either way he knew he wasn’t going back to sleep tonight.
“Hello”
“Stiles?” Suddenly Stiles felt like throwing up because there was no way this was a good phone call.
When Stiles had agreed to go with Scott to the annual Hale Valentine’s Day ball, he’d planned on getting a little drunk, making out with somebody in the royal gardens and maybe, just maybe, taking a little bit of time to sneak a peek at Derek Hale from across the room.
But dancing with Derek? Well, that was just an impossibility. That wasn’t going to happen in a million years.
“Don’t be such a wuss. You don’t want to die, do you? This is the only way to keep you safe from the Alpha pack.”
“Why not Danny? He’s actually gay, kind of adorable, and doesn’t look at me like he wants to shut me up…with his teeth.” Stiles threw his arms out in front of him, Scott shook his head for the thousandth time. “Why not?”
or
How Stiles went from hating Derek, to wanting to cuddle him, to hating him again, to kissing his boo-boo’s, to waxing poetic, then finally laying his life on the line to save him. Funny how things turn out.
“Hey,” Stiles hears from above him. “I’m Derek, and you are?”
“Not in the mood,” Stiles says. “Go away.”
“That’s not nice.”
He can practically hear the smirk in the dude’s voice, which is admittedly very nice. So Stiles looks up, intent to just tell whoever it was to just fuck off because goddammit, today is not a good day for this shit but the words get caught in his mouth when he sees the most glorious fucking pair of thick eyebrows he’s ever seen. Oh, and beautiful unicorn eyes. Space unicorn eyes because the longer he stares at them, the more he could swear he can see the answers to the universe in them.
“I’m trying to be nice and you’re not making it easy,” the guy says.
“I’m trying to ignore your very weak attempt at hitting on me and you’re not making it easy,” Stiles snipes back but the smile only gets wider. Jesus, Hot Douchenozzle has adorable bunny teeth.
“How about I get you a drink and you put your phone away and try enjoying the party?”
“How about you fuck off?”
“I like a challenge.”
“Great, I’ll add that tidbit of information with all the tidbits I don’t care about,” Stiles replies. “Now go away.”
we have a demon stiles tag here! but here are some more:
Stiles allowed himself to try and sense for any signs that something might be actually wrong as he stood on the veranda. And holy shit, his sensing might not be comparable to a werewolf’s smelling sense, but the feelings of dread, nervousness and pure angst still flooded over him in painful waves. If Stiles hadn’t been so fast to slam the door open after that, he might have stopped and noticed how off the whole situation was, starting with the utter silence the house was in despite the presence of the pack.
OR the one where Stiles was a demon all along and he seriously should have told somebody, because when Peter is the first one to find out, stuff gets ugly real quick.
Derek’s soul isn’t worth anything. Can’t be, right? Not after everything. It’s an easy decision for him, then, to offer it up in exchange for his sister’s life.
If only the demon he makes the deal with weren’t so intent on hanging around until Derek’s contract is up…
This got totally out of hand. It was supposed to be quick and short and… instead it’s 4500 words of Stiles pretending to be Derek’s mate. Or “pretending.” 😉 Teen and Up.
The meeting is going well, everyone is agreeing to the terms, but then the female Alpha decides she’s waited long enough.
“So, a handsome, single Alpha,” Stacy says and she’s appraising Derek like she wants to devour him.
They’re here to make treaties, he reminds himself. That’s why it’s him and Stiles. It’s just that he’s very bad at not reacting negatively to unwanted attention.
He needs to do something. Quickly.
He looks to Stiles and it’s way too close to the truth, but Stiles communicates silently back—which is why Derek knows this is a really bad idea, Stiles is way too perfect—and they come to an agreement.
“He’s flattered,” Stiles says, “but he’s taken.” Stiles slips his hand into Derek’s and Derek does his best to suppress his heartbeat. Elevated is fine, but for his heart to sound like it’s ready to give out at a single touch from someone he’s supposedly dating is a little too much.
“Your emissary is your mate?” Stacy looks skeptical. “He’s so…human.”
Stiles bristles. “I don’t have time to get into it, but yeah, I’m human. What of it?”
Derek squeezes Stiles’s hand. Again, the treaty. They’ve gotta pretend to be nice for just a little while longer. “I would advise you don’t come into our territory and talk badly of my mate,” Derek warns, flashing his eyes for effect.
“You’re lucky you’ve got that reputation,” the other Alpha, Minho, says, but he looks more amused than anything, eyes Stiles appreciatively. Derek lets out a low growl, glad that this one hasn’t insulted Stiles but unwilling to let Stiles be treated as an object or a prize either.
Stiles has been his fake mate for all of five minutes and already Derek is ready to fight for his honor. It might have something to do with the fact that Derek’s wolf has recognized Stiles as his mate for at least four years and he’s just been too scared to do anything about it.
Derek had been counting the days with sit-ups and miles run and ink-marks on a calendar that more than once almost became claw-marks in the door behind it when he’d realized how much longer there was to go and how little of Stiles’ scent there was left in Beacon Hills.
Derek had cracked, finally, that morning. After one hundred and one days of waking up alone, of facing the idea over and over that Stiles, changed, improved by the training and tasks he was completing as a mage-novice, would not return, Derek had barely made it past the treeline of the preserve before shifting onto four paws and barreling his way into or through everything in his path to be away from the place Stiles might never return to.
It had taken the Sheriff’s voice, apparently brought to the heart of the forest on Scott’s back, to coax Derek out of the small, dark cave he’d found to spend what he’d thought would be the last of his days in:
“He’s coming back, son. The training was ninety-nine days, but he had a day each way for travel, yeah? He’ll be home in a few hours. Don’t make him come back and find you’re not here for him.”
Derek had walked back with them, tail and ears down, shaking inside but holding on to the fact that John Stilinski’s voice had been clear and his heartbeat steady and that he had absolutely no reason to lie to the wolf he’d begrudgingly begun to treat as one of his own.
Scott left them at the Stilinski’s house; John in the kitchen getting things ready for dinner, Derek sent upstairs to wash.
The shower had all but blocked the sound of the car approaching the house, but not the footsteps along the porch or the back-slap of father and son greeting each other with hugs, or the Sheriff’s resigned, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, yes?” as he opened and then closed the front door and walked out to the street.
Then there was Derek’s heartbeat and someone climbing the stairs at speed.
Derek had landed with a thud on his back and was thankful, for so many reasons, that he was a wolf.
Not least, of course, was the fact that he was able to withstand being tackled by almost two hundred pounds of Stiles and slammed into the hardwood floor with all the enthusiasm that one hundred and one long, long days apart had mustered in his Mate.
There was also the scent of his Mate. The taste of his Mate. The thrumming power emanating from his Mate.
His Mate.
His Mate who moved faster than Derek had ever seen a human, mage or not, move.
Derek registered the flurry of clothes and the flash of a tattoo that hadn’t been there before and the silver wrist-band that marked Stiles as no longer just a novice mage.
Then there were kisses and cold feet on Derek’s calves and the heat of Stiles’ chest pressed into his and the slick wet of Stiles’ very enthusiastic need leaking from his cock. There were bites into Derek’s shoulders and licks up Derek’s neck and Stiles’ voice chanting, “Mine. Mine. Mine,” over and over into Derek’s ear.
Derek’s body didn’t take too long to catch up.
They slid together slick and fast and hot and Derek came seconds after Stiles’ orgasm shook the walls of the house, which was something they would have to talk about. But, not now.
At this moment there were slow kisses and Derek’s legs wrapped around Stiles and his own voice whispering out how much he’d missed his Mate and how right he felt now that the one hundred and one days were done.
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