The horse whuffled Derek’s hair affectionately as Derek patted its neck. He was hesitating, there was no other way to describe his actions. It had been four years since he’d left for the continent, four years of war with the Argents, and now he was in his old finery and reluctant to enter the ball. Back before, Derek had always looked forward to these dances- smiling and flirting because it was fun. But now Derek felt too old, too damaged to be around beautiful young men and women.
Since returning to London, and his family’s town home, he had spent most of his time on solitary walks and in the reading room, barely speaking. He knew his family worried, werewolves needed to be around pack and were tactile, but he couldn’t find the words to explain. He couldn’t bring himself to touch his nieces and nephews with his bloodstained hands. The last thing Derek wanted was to attend a ball where his senses would be overwhelmed and he would have to answer inane questions about his wartime service, but Laura had promised Derek he could retire to their family’s country home after tonight; so he would make an appearance.
He took a breath and patted his horse one last time before striding forward.
au | Stiles and Derek are hunters – yes, a human and a werewolf, thank you very much – who chase down monsters that pose as a threat to ordinary people’s lives. Who knew they’d make such a good team? (follow-up to this)
Relationship: Derek/Stiles Word Count: 2746 Rating: T Summary:
“You never know,” Lydia said. “Perhaps the Wolf Lord will ask you to dance tonight.”
Stiles scoffed. “Oh, yes, of course he will. And then he’ll transform
into a giant black wolf and whisk me away to his estate to live happily
ever after.” He rolled his eyes at the thought. “Actually, I rather
hope he does ask me to dance. I can tell him how ridiculous these
masquerades are.”
This is my fic for @sterekzine! I hope you all enjoy it!
Prompt: “Have you been bleeding this whole time!?”
Sterek-ish
Also, drew some inspiration from that poisonous vs venomous meme 🙂 cracks me up every time.
“Wait, wait.” Stiles tugs on Derek’s shirt, pulling the werewolf bodily towards him. “Have you been bleeding this whole time!?” The cloth is wet beneath his fingers.
“’m fine,” Derek’s hand comes up in an aborted attempt to brush Stiles off. Fingers clamp around Stiles’s wrist when the werewolf staggers and drops, almost dragging the human down with him.
“Derek? Hey.” Stiles’s heart pounds in his chest when the werewolf’s eyes roll back in his head. “This is not fine,” he crouches, shaking Derek roughly to try and elicit some kind of response. “Scott!” The name comes out high pitched and panicked. “Scott! A little help in here would be nice!”
The older werewolf is a dead weight as Stiles tries to shift him to get at the sluggishly bleeding wound in his side. When he finally manages to drag the flimsy material of Derek’s shirt up and out of the way, Stiles gasps at the sight.
The cut is long and deep, with black lines already meandering away from the inflamed edges.
Pounding footsteps and a harsh “shit!” and Scott is kneeling beside Stiles on the hardwood floor.
“He just- he just dropped Scott.” Stiles manages to resist the compulsion to run a bloody hand through his hair, “I didn’t even know he was injured. Stupid, stubborn werewolf. There’s probably blood all over my Jeep!”
“Stiles,” Scott turns to place a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Take a breath.”
“He didn’t even say anything! It looks awful Scott. Why didn’t he say anything?”
“Stiles-“
“It looks like wolfsbane-“
“It’s not,” Scott manages to cut in. He examines the wound again. “I’m not sure… maybe something on their teeth. Like a poison?”
“Venom,” Stiles responds automatically, not even looking up from the great ugly wound in Derek’s side.
“Huh?”
Stiles finally glances up. “If you bite it and get sick, it’s poisonous.” He explains, voice still shaky. “If it bites you and you get sick. It’s venomous.”
“What if it bites you and it gets sick?”
Stiles just stares, then draws a steadying breath.
“Then you’re poisonous. Jesus, Scott pay attention.”
Scott looks at him thoughtfully. “What if it bites itself and you get sick?”
“That’s voodoo, and you’re totally fucking with me right now, aren’t you?”
“Got you to calm down,” Scott points out with a grin.
Stiles’ mouth drops open, hanging for one second. Two seconds. He closes it. “I… I hate you. So much right now, and Derek is still bleeding out on the floor.”
Scott takes another look. “The bleeding has just about stopped. Here hold this, I’m going to give Deaton a call.”
*
Derek groans and tries to roll away from the aching pressure in his side.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The voice is obnoxiously loud. “You need to lie still and give this gunk time to work.”
The room is mostly dark when Derek cracks open an eye. There’s a lamp casting a soft glow over on his left and Stiles swims into view above him. The long shadows emphasise the dark smudges under his eyes.
“What’s that smell?” The werewolf croaks, throat dry. A glass of water is held against his lips and he takes a few greedy gulps.
“Take it easy,” Stiles pulls the glass away, setting it on the coffee table. “That smell is the mixture Deaton put together to draw the poison out of the wound you decided to hide from me.”
Though his tone is harsh, his fingers are gentle as they rearrange the blanket covering Derek’s bare chest.
“Venom.” Even in his muzzy state, Derek can smell the remnants of fear and anxiety that linger over Stiles’ natural scent. A spike of something? Anger? No, it’s not quite as bitter as anger.
“Are you kidding me right now?” Stiles rocks back from his position on the edge of the table.
“If it bites you and y’get sick, ‘s venomous.”
Derek blearily watches Stiles’ face flit through a range of expressions before settling on incredulous.
“You almost died,” he accuses. “You are not allowed to discover sass on your death bed.”
“’m sorry,” Derek mumbles. He can feel the exhaustion dragging him back down and let’s his eyes drift shut.
“I know big guy.”
Derek can feel Stiles’ warm hand on his.
“Just don’t…don’t you ever scare me like that again.”
As Derek sinks deeper into sleep he thinks he feels the soft press of lips against his forehead.
CHASING. IS THAT YOU, CHASING 😐 *throws self off cliff*
All right, Lovely. You were first, and you were so sweet… So here you are, my dear!
~~~~~~~~~
The idea was glacially slow when it began, burrowing under his skin before he knew what it really was. He made a guess, the day that Stiles brought home that little flea-ridden, mangy kitten and Derek had to sit by and watch him care for it day after day. Seeing that soft smile on Stiles’ face, the way his longer fingers waved in the air above the now vibrant, playful kitten, Derek came to recognize the feeling.
It was love and it was longing and it was pack.
It was the lazy Sunday morning haze, the stroking of Stiles’ fingers down the line of his spine. It was the love the human practically radiated, warm under Derek’s palm, and how badly Derek wanted to shape something new with him. Create something solid with him, something lasting. Something theirs.
“Stiles,” he said softly and he could hear the stir of Stiles’ heartbeat beneath his skin as he struggled closer to consciousness. Sleeping in was Stiles’ favorite indulgent luxury.
“Mm?” Stiles hummed in answer, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair and kissing the crown of his head. “Breakfast?”
“Do you ever think about kids?” Derek asked, before he lost the nerve.
“Not for breakfast,” Stiles said seriously, not even missing a beat. Derek slapped his belly, but gently, because Stiles was chuckling at him.
“I’m serious, Stiles,” he chided, rolling just enough that he could see Stiles’ face.
Stiles scoffed, because he knew it was a serious question, he just didn’t have an answer. Not one like Derek was asking for anyway. “I do,” he admitted quietly. “I mean, I think about it. What it would be like to have a little… cheeky pup running around. But you know we can’t…” He just let it trail off there, because of course Derek knew. “I mean, unless I really missed something in Werewolf Anatomy 101.”
“You didn’t,” Derek assured him. “But… we could adopt one.”
“Baby shopping,” Stiles said, like it was impressive. Derek rolled his eyes. “Okay then, boy or girl?”
Derek looked at him them, because it sounded like he was serious, like he was asking for real and Derek just hadn’t given it that much thought. “I… I don’t know,” he said honestly.
Stiles smiled softly, tilted his head in consideration. “I’d like to see you with a little girl,” he said finally. “I bet you’d have the biggest soft spot for a little girl. You’d sit at her table with her tiny little pink tea set and wear a big, pink, old-lady hat and a fluorescent boa. I will take so many pictures…”
Derek groaned, but the noise caught in his throat because Stiles had said will. “You really… you really think we could do it?” he asked hesitantly.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, more a conclusion than an answer. “Okay, like, not today, we have plans with my father, but we can look into it. Together.”
A slow smile spread across Derek’s face until he couldn’t help but lean forward, press his lips to Stiles’ in a quick kiss. Then he tucked himself back against Stiles’ side, resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder. “Together,” he agreed, closing his eyes.
“Der Soldat,” Scott announced, dread heavy in his voice.
It took a second for Stiles’ own dread and preemptive fear-logged brain to realize those words meant nothing to him, and the confusion was enough to knock it free for a second from its constant stewing in foreboding predictions of doom.
“Um, what?”
“Der Soldat,” Scott repeated, like that was supposed to mean anything, and judging by his tone, it wasn’t supposed to mean anything good. “The Dread Doctors had him. That’s where I’ve smelled this, in their lab.”
Stiles still didn’t know what that meant, but now he really didn’t want to know. Anything involving the Dread Doctors and by extension their lab was something he wanted nothing to do with.
The foreboding predictions of doom were coming back full force.
“Theo told me me about it,” Scott explained, “the Doctors had an alpha werewolf in this huge tank. They were using him to keep them alive, extracting some kind of fluid?” Stiles wrinkled his nose. “He was some German soldier from World War II, so they called him Der Soldat—The Soldier.”
Stiles’ nose dropped out of the wrinkle and he just straight up gaped, his left eye twitching involuntarily. His doom detector was going crazy—flashing red lights, screaming alarms, full immediate evac advised.
“A Ger—there’s a Nazi werewolf in Beacon Hills?” Stiles was yelling now, he couldn’t help it, because what the ever loving fuck was their lives. “A Nazi were—an alpha Nazi werewolf.”
“That’s what it sounded like, yeah.”
“And you’re just mentioning this now?” He was still shouting.
“I thought Chris handled it. He said he would clean things up.”
“Well clearly he didn’t because the alpha Nazi werewolf is on the loose, Scott. Just—take a second and let that sentence sink in. Alpha Nazi werewolf.”
Scott stared at him a moment, then his eyebrows turned concerned. “You’re freaking out.”
“Of course I’m freaking out! It’s an alpha Nazi werewolf.”
My alternate sixth season minus the memory business and plus Sterek is done. Finally. Good lord.
friendly reminder that ina garten, the host of barefoot contessa on food network, majored in economics and was in charge of writing the budget for the US’s nuclear program and drafted policy memos regarding construction of nuclear centrifuges under US presidents ford and carter
also she fund raises for planned parenthood and supports gay marriage so yeah this woman can budget, plan nuclear policy, and cook a mean meal and now u know
If you can’t make the nuclear centrifuge yourself, store bought is fine.
shealwaysreads 