#*fic17

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @comedicdrama!

I hope you have a wonderful holiday, comedicdrama! <3

Rating: T Tags: cameraman!Stiles, painter!Derek, friends to lovers, fluff, so much fluff

*****

A Painting's Worth a Thousand Words

Stiles pulled up to the Hale house—the Hale mansion, really—and took a deep breath. It was just another show, exactly like they did every week at the studio.

Except this was the holiday show, and like every year, it would be just him and Derek in the Hale house basement for at least two hours, and then it would be a half hour drive over to the Beacon Hills Wildlife Sanctuary, at least an hour filming there, and a half hour drive back. Just the two of them. All day long.

Just Stiles, Derek, and Stiles's massive, unrequited crush.

They'd been working together for five years, since Derek had pitched the local public TV station on a painting program. It had been an unexpected hit—well, unexpected to Derek and most of the station management. Stiles had taken one look at him—dark hair, chiseled jaw dusted with black scruff, intense stare, broad shoulders, and a clear passion for painting—and he'd known the show would be huge. Even with people who'd never picked up a paintbrush in their lives.

Stiles had begged to be put on Derek's show. Thankfully, the station management hadn't needed too much convincing, and he and Derek had been together ever since.

Professionally. They'd been together professionally ever since.

Stiles really hadn't meant to go and fall head-over-heels for Derek. Early on, it had been easy enough to chalk it up to physical attraction and move on. But then he got to know Derek, saw how much he loved teaching people to paint, saw how much he loved his family and talking about their nonprofit work at the sanctuary, saw how earnest he was with people who enjoyed the show, and...

Well, at some point in the past five years, it had just happened. And now Stiles spent an inordinate amount of his life pining for one of his coworkers and closest friends. Really, that was just his fucking life.

He sighed, grabbed his camera and tripod, and proceeded to go begin one of the best and most excruciating days of his life.

***

Derek was wearing black-rimmed glasses and a green Christmas tree sweater that brought out the green in his multicolored eyes. He'd pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms with a dusting of dark hair across them.

Stiles bit his lips to keep from making a pained noise and hoisted his tripod in greeting. "Hey, Derek! Ready to get started?"

"Just about," Derek said. "I'm still getting everything set up."

"That's okay." Stiles set his tripod on the floor. "Just stand where you'll be painting and I'll do some lighting tests while you're setting up."

Derek grinned at him, a quick one that showed just a flash of his two front teeth, and Stiles's heart did its usual triple somersault at the sight.

The basement at the Hale house was only a "basement" in the sense that it was the lowest floor of the house and partly underground. It had east-facing floor-to-ceiling windows that let in loads of natural light and a gorgeous view of the Beacon Hills Nature Preserve, and the whole thing was bigger than Stiles's apartment and fully decked out for Christmas. Derek's studio area was just one-quarter of it, and Stiles was pretty sure that part alone was bigger than his kitchen and living room combined.

Derek had an easel and canvas set up, and was squeezing his paint out onto a palette and frowning at the canvas, like he was still trying to figure out what to paint. Or maybe figuring out how to talk about it; even after five years, Stiles still wasn't a hundred percent sure how it worked.  Derek usually just...stood up and talked while he was painting and his eyes actually glowed with happiness and Stiles mostly focused on making sure that he got the shots, the audio, and didn't drool on himself.

Once he got his camera set up, he walked around the basement and adjusted the blinds and curtains, flicking lights on and off until he got a lighting setup he was happy with. He might have to get a few lights out of the Jeep after they actually did test shots, but right now, he could probably make it work with just the lights in the basement.

He went back to his bags and got out the lapel mic. "Okay, Derek, mic time."   

Derek stood up and lifted the back of his shirt, giving Stiles a glimpse of the strip of skin of his lower back.

Professional, Stiles scolded himself, and hooked the transmitter on to Derek's belt before handing him the mic to thread up through his shirt.

"You sure we need this?" Derek asked with a wrinkled nose, like he did every time.

"Yes." Stiles poked him in his unfairly muscled arm. "We always need to have two audio tracks, you know that. I'd hate to miss out on the scintillating way you say 'phthalo blue' because the shotgun cut out and we didn't have a backup. Come on, let's get started and see if I need to grab any more lights out of the car."

"There should be some in the closet," Derek said, pointing.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Wait, what? You have lights?"

Derek shrugged. "We shoot out here often enough that I thought it might be good to have a few lights as backup. Just in case."

Stiles went to the closet Derek had indicated. Sure enough, a lighting case and three C-stands sat on the floor, among the myriad other things in there.

Stiles gaped at them. "Dude, I can't believe you got me lighting stands!"

"It's better than you having to drive all the way back into town because you forgot them," Derek said.

Stiles whirled on him and jabbed a finger in his direction. "That was one time."

Derek snorted. "A memorable time."

Because he always dealt with his feelings in a mature way, Stiles stuck his tongue out at him.

Derek made a face right back, then went back and picked up his palette and brush. "Ready when you are."

Stiles hit the audio recorder, turned on the camera, and counted him in.

Derek smiled brilliantly, and it made Stiles's heart flutter the way it always did. "Hey, everyone. Glad you could join us today for our annual holiday show. As usual, we have a little bit of a change of scenery," he gestured to the room, "which I've used for inspiration for our painting today, since we don't exactly get a lot of snow in northern California. So we'll run the colors across the screen for you, and we'll go ahead and get started."

"Okay, cut!" Stiles said.

Derek frowned. "Everything good?"

Stiles checked the lighting on the video and then the mic recording. "Yeah, no, looks like we're good. Let's keep going."

Filming Derek's painting on location at the Hale house tended to be more stressful than filming at the studio, where Stiles had two extra cameras and way more lighting control. But the holiday episode was always a huge one for the station, and Stiles did enjoy the time they got to spend together here.

Listening to Derek talk about painting and watching him paint was probably Stiles's favorite part of his job. Derek always looked a little flushed and happy when he did, and he got visibly excited to see a painting come together. Even after five years of watching him do this once a week, Stiles still hadn't gotten over it.

They only had to cut twice, and before Stiles knew it, Derek was finishing up the painting and giving his traditional sign off, ending with, "And wherever you are, I hope you have the happiest of holiday seasons."

"Cut!" Stiles called.

Derek set his palette aside. "So what do you think? Does it look okay?"

"Dude." Stiles stretched, staring at the landscape painting of the wildlife preserve in winter. He'd watched Derek push paint around on the canvas for an hour and he still wasn't sure how it was done. "That's fantastic. I think this going to be your most popular holiday episode yet."

Derek ducked his head, but Stiles caught the edge of his smile. "You're just saying that."

"I never just say anything," Stiles said. "Well, sometimes I do, but not about things this important. Seriously, dude, it's good."

Derek scratched the back of his head. "Then you're biased."

"I probably am, but eh." Stiles's stomach rumbled. "Hey, you want to grab lunch somewhere before we head out to the wildlife sanctuary?"

"Actually, we've got food upstairs," Derek said. "My dad made spaghetti last night, and there are tons of leftovers. We also have some apple cider, if you want?"

"That sounds amazing," Stiles said.

The tips of Derek's ears turned red. "Okay, I'll go get it ready."

Stiles grabbed his computer and the memory cards out of the camera and audio recorder. "Then I'm going to dump the files while we're eating."

Stiles followed Derek up the stairs and settled at the kitchen table to dump the files onto his computer, and Derek got out the spaghetti and apple cider to heat up.

Stiles brought the first video files up to make sure everything had recorded correctly, and let out a sigh of relief when the file was clean; you only needed to have a file get corrupted once before it made you paranoid every time.

A mug of apple cider landed on the counter beside him. "How does it look?" Derek asked.

Wow, he was standing...very close. Stiles had to resist the urge to lean back into him. "It looks great, like I told you. I can't wait to put the whole thing together."

"We still need to get the footage from the wildlife sanctuary," Derek reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Stiles said. "What do you think, head out there around one?"

Derek took a sip of his cider. "That should work. As long as you get something to eat first."

"Dude, you're literally making me lunch right now." Stiles gestured at the microwave. "You act like I don't eat anything."

"You don't, unless Allison or I make you," Derek said. "How many times have I had to drag you away from your computer to get lunch?"

"Just once," Stiles muttered. "Or twice."

Derek poked him. "A week."

Stiles tried to elbow him, but Derek had moved out of reach. "It's not that often."

"It's often enough." Derek went to get the spaghetti out of the microwave and brought it over. "Now eat, and don't get too distracted watching the videos."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but he minimized the videos and dove into his spaghetti. Holy shit, it was fantastic. "Oh my God, I'm going to marry this pasta."

Derek coughed and turned to his own bowl. "I'll let Dad know you like it."

"Does he cook like this all the time? Because seriously, I will camp out in your backyard for table scraps."

Derek rolled his eyes. "We have plenty of bedrooms, in case you hadn't noticed. I'm sure we can stick you in one of those. Mom will never notice."

Stiles grinned at him. "You're a true friend."

Derek jabbed his fork into the spaghetti. "I try."

***

They drove out to the Beacon Hills Wildlife Sanctuary as soon as they'd finished eating, a good thirty minutes across the preserve from the Hale's house. Stiles spent most of the drive trying not to get distracted by Derek's forearms or his soft smile.

"We have a lot of new animals out there right now," Derek said. "Deer, wolf cubs, squirrels...which do you think would be best to feature?"

Stiles choked at the thought of Derek playing with any of them.  Derek and adorable animals was really his kryptonite. "Uh, I really don't think it matters. Any of them will be great. Which ones are you most comfortable with?"

"Any of them," Derek said. "I've been helping feed the wolf cubs when I come out to volunteer."

"That's good. Let's do that," Stiles said. "People will go crazy for adorable baby wolves."

"Cubs," Derek corrected him.

"And that's why you do the talking on camera," Stiles said with a wink.

Derek blushed and crossed his arms. "God knows you talk enough off it."

"Aw, come on, what would you do without my rambling?"

"Suffer in silence," Derek said, but he was grinning.

It made Stiles's heart flip, and he had to turn back to focus on the road.

The Hales had been running the Beacon Hills Wildlife Sanctuary as long as Stiles could remember. From what Derek had told him, the sanctuary was his parents' baby, and when they'd first started working together, it had been on the brink of shutting down. Since the painting show had started to take off and Stiles knew at least 50% of that popularity was due to the fact that Derek was hotter than the surface of the sun, he'd suggested featuring some of the animals on the show. The only thing better than watching an attractive man talk passionately about painting was watching him bottle-feed baby deer.

It had been even more popular than he'd hoped it would be, and now the wildlife sanctuary had doubled in size, added three more full-time positions, and featured a ton of cool educational programs Stiles would have killed for when he was in elementary school. It had also helped the popularity of Derek's show as well, which made station management supremely happy.

Stiles had never told anyone the only reason he'd had the idea was because Derek looked utterly gutted at the thought of the sanctuary shutting down, and Stiles would have hand-crafted a rocket out of bubble gum and paperclips to fly to the outer reaches of the solar system if it meant never seeing that look on Derek's face again.

The wildlife sanctuary wasn't terribly crowded, being that it was the middle of a work day and the schools weren't out for winter break yet, so the only person working was Laura, Derek's older sister, who waved excitedly when they walked in. "Hey! You guys are earlier than I expected."

Stiles hoisted his camera. "We got through the painting a lot faster than I thought we would because Derek's an overachiever."

Derek elbowed him. "Hey, I just paint. You're the one who makes it look good."

Laura made gagging noises. "Get a room, please."

Stiles's face heated. "Maybe we will. But make it with the baby wolves."

"Cubs. Wolf cubs. We literally just went over this," Derek said.

Laura raised her eyes to the ceiling and muttered something Stiles couldn't hear. "Okay, wolf cubs. Come on down the hall and I'll get you set up."

The baby wolves—wolf cubs—were even more adorable than Stiles had pictured, and he had a pretty good concept of what adorable looked like. Three gangly, fluffy grey wolves and one gangly, fluffy white wolf tripped all over Derek, chewing at his sweater and making squeaky howls and yips that were so cute Stiles was pretty sure he was going to get a cavity from it. They had to cut several times because Derek was laughing too hard to talk about the wolves and why they were at the sanctuary.

Stiles kind of wished someone would stab him and put him out of his misery, because this level of adorable was too much for one human being to physically handle.

On the other side of the room, Laura watched him with a terrifying smirk. Stiles was pretty sure she knew exactly what he was thinking, which helped him rein in the desire to just throw himself on Derek and pledge undying love. He sure as hell wasn't doing that in front of Derek's sister.

Despite the interruptions, they finished up the shoot in less than two hours, and Stiles had a boatload of footage with Derek and the wolf cubs to use in the holiday episode. Even better was that he had a ton of outtakes to use on the station website, which would make everybody happy.

Laura bid them farewell, staring at Stiles like she could see straight into his soul the entire time. Stiles steadfastly ignored her and really hoped she wouldn't say anything to Derek.

"Your sister's kind of scary sometimes," he said as they pulled away.

"She's harmless," Derek said. "Mostly."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Mostly harmless?"

Derek grinned. "Just like Earth."

Stiles laughed out loud. He knew Derek was a not-so-secret nerd, but he still got a kick out of it every time Derek made a reference.

"Do you have a minute?" Derek asked when they got back to the Hale house. "I have something to show you."

"Yeah, sure," Stiles said. He didn't really have anywhere else to be, and even though it was almost painful to be around Derek alone for so long, he didn't want the day to end.

He followed Derek back into the house and down to the basement, and Derek went to a stack of paintings under cloth in the back corner of the room. Stiles stayed back and watched him flip through the canvases until he apparently found the one he wanted and pulled it out.

He walked back to Stiles hesitantly, still holding the canvas backward so that Stiles couldn't see what it was.

His heart beat faster. "What you got there, big guy?"

Derek bit his lip. "I don't...paint people often. But, with this one, I wanted to try, and..." He trailed off and exhaled sharply, and then handed the painting to Stiles. "Here."

Stiles took the painting and slowly turned it around.

It was him.

He was laughing, his mouth wide open and his eyes crinkled at the corners, looking off to the left side of the canvas. The colors were so warm, it looked like he was glowing, and Stiles's heart seized in his chest.

"Where did you...how did you...?" he tried to ask, but the words wouldn't come.

"It was a picture Allison took at one of the station parties earlier this year," Derek said quietly. "I had her send me a copy. I probably threw away five pieces before I was happy with that one. It was...really hard to get right."

He felt completely winded. "Holy shit, Derek."

Derek winced and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry, I—"

"Don't you dare apologize," Stiles said. He couldn't take his eyes off the painting, because holy fuck Derek had painted him. "Don't—oh my God, dude, this is—"

He didn't have words. For once in his life, Stiles was utterly speechless.

He set the painting down, walked over to Derek, and kissed him right on the lips.

Derek blinked dazedly when Stiles pulled back. "Uh."

"I'm kind of in love with you," Stiles blurted out. "Maybe a lot in love with you. Holy shit, I can't believe you painted me. Do you want to go out for coffee sometime?"

Derek laughed softly. "I feel like we went in reverse order there."

"Dude, you painted me," Stiles said. "I'm pretty sure that's one step before engagement."

Derek flushed bright red. "I think that's moving a little too fast. But...coffee would be nice. Or maybe dinner?"

"Dinner would be fantastic," Stiles said. "And, to be perfectly honest, I would not be opposed to more kissing. Better kissing. That one was really just because I had no idea what to say because you fucking painted me."

Derek grinned and bent his head toward Stiles's. "So, I take it you liked the painting?"

Stiles linked his hands behind Derek's neck. "Yes, Derek, I liked the pain—"

Derek kissed him, and Stiles had never been happier to shut up in his life. And he was right: this was way better kissing. Derek was probably better at kissing than he was at painting, and he was awesome at painting.

"You know, uh, if you ever want me to actually sit for you to paint, I'd do it," Stiles said when they finally stopped making out long enough to breathe.

"You'd have to sit still for a few hours," Derek said. "I'm not sure you could manage it."

Stiles poked him in the shoulder. "Hey, you'd be surprised what I could do for you."

Derek's smile went soft. "Oh, yeah?"

Heat crept up the back of Stiles's neck, and he fought the urge to look away. "Well. Yeah. Obviously."

"I'll keep that in mind," Derek said, and leaned in close. "Merry Christmas, Stiles."

"Merry Christmas, Derek," Stiles whispered before Derek sealed their lips together once again.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @magnificentbane!

hope this gift made you feel as warm and fuzzy reading it as it did for me while I was writing it! xoxo Happy Holidays!

Read on AO3

*****

I love you wholly & I love you forever.    

Alec isn't positive what prompted the first attack on his love life. All he knows is that he was re-stringing his bow in companionable, peaceful silence one second and the next Max was springing a loaded question on him with the most casual of tones, "Why haven't you proposed to Magnus yet?"

 Alec pauses in the midst of tightening his string, slowly turning his head to the side to look at his little brother, who isn't quite so little these days but whose questions still possess that youthful naivety. Alec's so taken aback from the question that he finds himself blurting out the first thought that comes to mind, "I don't have a ring."

 It sounds like a weak excuse even to his own ears and it's not quite that      simple    either. The concept of marrying Magnus is not a foreign one to him, rather quite the opposite with his dreams, both awake and sleeping, filled with warm scenes of confessing his eternal love for Magnus in front of their family and friends. But the logistics of actually proposing are definitely much less common, his brain preferring to skip over that step to the ceremony itself.

 Max sees right through that flimsy excuse, "Why do you      need    a ring to propose? Who even cares about the engagement ring?"

 Alec nods his understanding at what Max is getting at,      maybe    not having a ring isn't a solid enough excuse when Alec’s not even sure if they’re going to have engagement rings or just wedding rings, but it's not quite that      simple    either. It's not that Alec hasn't thought of proposing because he expects Magnus to (which Alec knows would never be the case), it's that nothing has felt quite      right    . No ring he's looked at nor moment they've shared has ever been quite right to be worthy of proclaiming one's everlasting affections to someone as smart, beautiful, loyal, and magical as Magnus. Marriage is something Magnus has never been privy to so Alec wants it to be perfect, every component of it, and he plans to only propose once, so he wants it to be something that he can look back upon fondly      forever    .

 "Aren't you guys going on vacation next week? Isn't that a common thing to do - propose during a destination getaway?" Max's voice cuts through Alec's convoluted thoughts. He narrows his eyes in confusion at the suggestion from his eighteen year old brother. Max shrugs under the scrutiny, unabashed as he explains, "I've been watching the Bachelorette with Izzy, Simon, and Maia. It's been the contestants' favorite proposal route for many seasons."

 Alec nods his head slowly to himself as he absorbs all the different tidbits of information in that response, he turns his head back to tightening his bow. "Maybe... I'll keep that in mind."

 After a few moments of silence, Max speaks up again. "I know I wasn't the nicest to Magnus when you first started dating and I'm sorry for that but I now see how good you are together,      better    together. And I'm looking forward to having him as my brother in law."

 Blindsided once again by Max, Alec pauses in his ministrations. His response is simple, compacting his appreciation and pride for his younger brother's constant growth over the past six years into two words: "Thanks Max."

                 While Alec and Magnus are on vacation, Max's romantic reality tv proposal worthy suggestion comes to mind one night. They are walking away from Epcot at Disney World after dinner, enjoying some quiet before their night plans at the Atlantic Dance Hall (also known as a time for Alec to watch in awe of how effortlessly and seductively Magnus moves his hips to all types of music, thoroughly putting Alec's lackluster dance moves to shame).

 It’s quiet with them just enjoying each other's presence, not feeling the need to talk to fill the space between them, when a loud bang to their left catches Alec's attention. He looks back to see the source of the noise, an alley cat darting in between crates, and when he looks forward, the setting sun directly behind Magnus, cloaks him in only the finest of pinks, purples, and soft blues as the sky turns from day to night. A pastel bisexual flag in the sky, highlighting the glimmer in Magnus's eyeshadow and the golden brown tones in his cheeks, giving him an ethereal glow as if he has a bit of angel blood in his DNA too. It’s a sight so amazing that Alec's breath catches in his throat, trying to process all the beauty of a man who manages to pull off anything, even the free Mickey Mouse ears he won earlier that day.

 Magnus looks up, as if sensing Alec's gaze. Magnus's lips curl into a warm smile, his eyes fond and the lines around his eyes deepening as he looks back at Alec. That's when the thought really hits him: he wants a million more of these little quiet moments with Magnus, wants them for the rest of their lives. And he thinks about proposing right then and there with no rings, so overcome with love for his boyfriend. But he holds back because it still doesn’t feel quite right to him. The idea of proposing at their first visit to a place they aren’t emotionally attached to doesn’t feel quite good      enough    . So Alec just smiles back, gently squeezing Magnus's hand as they keep walking. Though Alec tucks that tidbit of his personal proposal preference into the back of his mind.

                 Night is only just settling in and so is Alec with an important side case for the institute to tackle, papers strewn around him on his large wooden desk and a map of the Bronx up on his tablet. The papers detail coroners reports for the six people so far that have died due to a string of poisonings slowly overtaking New York City, starting in the Bronx. It’s pretty low on the radar for mundane police officials because it’s mainly happening in housing project neighborhoods but during the last Downworlder Meeting, Luke mentioned that his wolves have been talking about it and how he’s not positive it’s completely mundane -so Isabelle’s on the case.

 A soft knock on the door dares to distract Alec from the papers in front of him, feeling as though there is a clue somewhere if he can just unravel it. He grants the visitor entry without lifting his eyes. It’s the sound of a lock clicking into place that causes him to look up to Maryse. And while seeing his mother walk through his office door is not a foreign sight for Alec, the fact that she locked the door behind her alerts him to the fact that she is definitely up to something. Even though this is the first case Alec has been able to work on since getting back from vacation, he puts his tablet to the side to return to later, well aware the case isn’t time sensitive because while they believe the poisonings are a result of demonic activity, they can’t proceed without Isabelle’s analysis for confirmation.

 “Good Evening Alec.” Maryse greets kindly as she walks up to the side of his desk, hands behind her back and a warm smile on her face. She looks too pleased, making Alec feel like she knows something he doesn’t.

 Alec narrows his eyes, “What do you want?”

 The corner of Maryse’s mouth twitches in amusement at Alec’s bluntness. “Well I was talking to Max last week,” Alec has a strong inkling as to where this conversation is going. He wills it clear away from the direction of being scolded by his mom for not proposing to his Downworlder boyfriend of six years. A small part of him does reason it’s a much better route than where they were six years ago when his mother openly didn’t approve of Magnus, nevermind their love. “And he told me that you haven’t proposed to Magnus because you don’t have a ring yet.”

 Alec manages to only groan internally but refuses to hold back his eye roll at the oversimplification of his issue. Maryse doesn’t notice though, her eyes focused on the corner of the wooden desk. She takes in a deep breath as she looks up again, “There is also a part of me that thinks that my original disapproving prejudice at you dating not just a man but a      downworlder    , may be playing a role in holding you back. That my initial lack of respect towards Magnus and support of your relationship still has residual impact on your decision to propose.”

 The pain that Alec hears in his mother’s voice as she remembers those less proud years of her life makes him want to reassure her that isn’t the case here but there is a hard look in her eyes, like this is something she needs to get off her chest and that she isn’t done yet. “Max’s comment made me think about my family and our proposal stories which reminded me of a very faint memory I have from growing up: an uncle that lived with another man my whole childhood and until his death. And I suddenly realized that they were lovers that just never could marry.” She pauses for a moment, shifting her weight to her heels, rolling her shoulders back as she acknowledges a little of that weight that comes from being woefully ignorant to the struggles of LGBT+ community, even in her own life. “They never had kids so their belongings were put into our family vault. I found this yesterday and thought you might be interested in it.”

 Alec’s breath is already caught in his throat from hearing about a great uncle that grew up in an even more closeted time but still had the strength to love who he loved regardless before Maryse even reveals what she found. At the sight of two polished simple black rings resting in his mother's outstretched hand, Alec’s eyes well up. He takes them gingerly from her, running his fingers over their smooth cool edges as she continues.

 “I know your sister has my family ring and Jace has your father’s family wedding pins but I wanted to give you something from me, from my family, to share my blessing, not that you’ve ever needed it but to show you, with more than just my words and actions... to materialize my support of you and Magnus, of how happy I am for you that you have found love in such an amazing man, that pushes you to always be your very best. There isn’t a day that goes by where my love and pride in you does not grow.”

 Alec focuses his energy on the weight of the rings in his hands to keep from shedding tears as his mother’s words wash over him. He’s about to thank her for the blessing when tilting the rings reveals an inscription inside each one, making it clear that they were intended as wedding bands,      ‘i love you wholly’    and ‘      i love you forever’.  

 Maryse must notice that Alec saw the engraving for she adds, “They’re made from black onyx, for the wearer’s protection, and tungsten, for durability so that they will last until the end of time.” Her voice is as choked up as he feels, hinting at her awareness that he’s researching immortality routes and her quiet way of showing support. A tear falls from his eye; the rings are perfect.

                 Alec’s mother’s parting advice about her own proposal at a romantic, upscale restaurant in Barcelona echoes in his mind as he leafs through the menu at Magnus’s favorite sushi restaurant in Tokyo. Though they order the same thing every time they go, special plates created by the head sushi chef of the best fish caught that day, because this chef is one of Magnus’s ultimate favorites from the past seventy five years, Alec needs the distraction the menu provides to sort his nerves, the rings weighing heavy in his pocket.

 Maryse’s voice was just      so     soft and her eyes far away, back on that special moment, when she recanted the story, like the memory is so perfect for her that even Robert’s cheating and their divorce managed to not completely taint it. A memory that stands the test of time, the highs and lows, that’s what Alec wants for his proposal.

 “Changing your mind Alexander?” Magnus’s voice draws Alec away from his conversation with his mother and to the present moment. Alec places the menu down on the table, smiling in response to Magnus’s playful expression, “I just wanted to make sure my dessert is still an option.”

 “We haven’t even ordered dinner yet and you’re already thinking ahead?” The gentle ribbing tone alluding to the      last     time they were here when Alec ate so much at dinner that he had a stomach ache for the rest of the night that he whined incessantly about while refusing to take any of Magnus’s remedies. Well Alec learned his lesson, albeit the hard way and he knows now to stop the chef way before ten dishes.

 Alec leans in closer over the table, “I’m always thinking ahead.”

 Magnus eyes Alec for a moment, mouth slightly parted, the honest weight of that sentence not going amiss. Their waiter returns to take their order before Magnus can respond. After they leave, Magnus and Alec just sit in comfortable silence with matching small smiles on their faces, the candle on their table making Magnus’s beautiful dark brown eyes sparkle with the flicker of its flame, and the chatter of the restaurant around them falling away to a white noise. Alec’s heart swells with love for just how lucky he is and how      happy     he is, an emotion that he never thought he would fully get to experience before meeting Magnus. Alec extends his hand across the table, resting it palm up and Magnus reaches for it, placing his hand in Alec’s and squeezing gently. And Alec knows that this would be the moment to propose, that no moment at dinner is going to be better than this one, but it still isn’t      right    , doesn’t feel quite like them.

 Suddenly there is a crash of glass shattering from a table near them that causes both Alec and Magnus to turn their heads in its direction. They see a man on one knee next the table, holding a small black jewelry box open to the woman sitting in the chair, the source of the noise, a broken flute glass, on the floor by their feet as if the proposal had taken the woman by so much surprise they dropped their glass. The woman looks to be in shock at the man at their feet, the moment is suspended before they break into a huge smile as they exclaim, “  はい! (Hai!)”

 The couple embraces tightly and tables around them burst into applause, Magnus and Alec included. The noise dies down, everyone returning to their food and previous conversations. Alec turns his attention back to Magnus as he asks, “I wonder if the answer would have been yes if they weren’t in such a public setting.”

 “Public proposals always make me uneasy to watch for that reason: too much societal pressure.” Magnus says as he takes a sip from his martini glass, his eyes watching the woman slip the ring onto their finger, a shocked expression still lingering in their wide eyes.

     The comment reassures Alec on his gut instinct, that something a little more quiet and intimate is more their speed for a proposal. The rings no longer feel like a heavy burden in his pocket, allowing him to enjoy all the courses of his meal          and        dessert in the moment with Magnus.  

                               “So mom told me she gave you the perfect wedding rings to finally propose to Magnus and that both of you cried.” Jace says as he waltzes into Alec’s office apropos of any sort of greeting.

 “Why is everyone so emotionally attached to my romantic life?” Alec asks, more to himself than his brother, before looking up from Isabelle’s forensic analysis on the poisoning victims. He welcomes the break from the case he’s been reading for hours, currently unable to draw any further conclusions beyond the involvement of demons. “Am I on an episode of Real Housewives of Idris?” Jace rolls his eyes instead of responding, prompting Alec to narrow his eyes, “Do you all have bets?”

 Jace sounds slightly offended, pulling his head back as he replies, “What? No! Gambling on a timeline for when you and Magnus will finally get engaged is inconsiderate and stupid…” Jace pauses for a moment before continuing, “Though if it were to happen within the next couple of months, before Christmas, I wouldn’t complain.”

 The comment definitely hints at the existence of an underground betting pool about Magnus and Alec’s love life, whether or not the prize is money or simply bragging rights is unclear. “Yes I have the rings now thanks to mom but I still don't know how I’m actually going to propose.”

 “Just do what I did.” Jace says, shrugging one shoulder as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.

 “No. I am not asking Magnus to marry me in the middle of battle.” Alec responds with a sense of finality, like it’s a proposal that only someone like Jace could get away with.

 “Nothing is more romantic than professing your love when your life is on the line.” Jace reassures with sincerity in his voice.

 Alec squints one eye at Jace, his mind filling with dozens of moments that him and Magnus have shared in the past year alone that are more romantic than that moment. But Jace was also covered in sick Seelie bile so that clouds the memory for Alec. Jace’s eyes are slightly glazed over as if he’s back in the midst of that fight, similar to how Maryse looked when recounting her proposal story, and the suggestion manages to pull at Alec’s heart strings a little.

                 Two days after Jace’s proposal advice, they finally make a breakthrough on the obscure demonic related poisoning case. Alec and Luke notice from looking at the map as a whole that a pentagram formed across New York City when the sites were connected with a straight line, progressing from oldest events to the most recent. That realization cements Magnus’s theory: demons are planning to summon an even greater demon on Thursday for the Harvest Moon. A summoning this big could call forth any number of demons, so they have Shadowhunters and Downworlders deployed at each poisoning site while the best fighters converge on the pentagram’s center point: the expected summoning place.

 It’s why not even a week later from the talk with Jace, Alec finds himself in the middle of battle with Magnus by his side, working together to take down the group responsible for the poisonings in the city. If Alec wasn’t in the life of hunting demons, he’d think Jace’s comment was a vague foreshadowing but being a shadowhunter does have certain expectations with it.

 When they arrive, it’s to an odd stand off with a circle of demons protecting the one doing the summoning itself. Everyone eyes each other warily for a moment and no words are spoken, there are ten fighters and only eight demons so the odds look to be in their favor. Suddenly as Alec draws his bow, prepared to initiate the fight, one of the demons bursts into half a dozen or so smaller tar-like lizards, reminding Alec of a previous demonic encounter. Maia and Luke take off after them, their four legs helping chase after the demons giving them a run for their money. Meliorn follows after them to help ensure the destruction of the demons with their special blade, forged by the Seelie Queen herself, since werewolf teeth aren’t always as effective.

 Now what remains are seven against seven and Alec knows Magnus can’t use all of his magic incase he needs to close any portion of the portal. The odds are looking a little less stacked but Alec has no doubt in their capabilities. Alec immediately turns to cover Magnus’s back, shooting at one of the smaller demons that strayed from Maia and Luke while Magnus uses his magic to ensnare the demons in their spot so Alec can shoot before they shift.

 It’s a technique they’ve started to use more in battle because it takes up less of Magnus’s energy than a banishment spell and ensures a less likely return. Of course it sounds flawless in theory and occasionally it is in practice but not all of the demons are vanishing when they’re attacked with weapons, some are multiplying like the first one. Regardless, Alec and Magnus continue working their way through the demons towards the summoner. They get within a foot of the summoner but there is an invisible wall-like structure surrounding them so they can’t get any closer, prompting Magnus to mutter something of annoyance under his breathe, elbowing Alec to cover his side. Magnus turns his wrist in a full circle, flame like embers appearing around his hand as he pushes down the air in front of him to take down the protection wall.

 The moment the barrier breaks, the summoning demon in the center turns on Magnus faster than a blink of the eye, grabbing Magnus’s wrist and pulling him forward. They hiss, “We’ve been expecting you Prince of Hell. Your father sends his best wi-.”

 Magnus doesn’t even wait for the demon to finish their sentence, slicing across their throat with the runed sword from Alec’s holster. Immediately the ground that was sinking in front of them stops as does the fighting around them. The sword clatters on the asphalt when Magnus releases it to cradle his hand the demon grabbed, surveying the red blistered hand print they left behind, but he’s here, safe and whole, and Alec smiles. Magnus looks up from his hand and catches Alec’s eye, smiling back just as tired and relieved as Alec feels.

 Even with black blood like goo all over Magnus and even a little on his face, Alec still has never seen a more beautiful person in his life. Jace’s proposal advice crosses Alec’s mind briefly but then he remembers that he confessed his love to Magnus for the first time after the soul sword incident. So he pushes the thought away because he doesn’t want all of their relationship milestones to be tied to violence for the rest of their lives. They deserve soft and warm memories, like mundanes, too.

         After discussing Isabelle’s successful administration of her poison antidote to people that could still be sick at the sites, Alec thinks they’re done. He’s almost out the door of her laboratory when her voice makes him pause, “I’m glad you didn’t take Jace’s terrible advice and propose to Magnus after that fight in some dirty alleyway in Queens.” Alec nods slowly in agreeance, realizing now how suspicious it was for Isabelle to not have already given advice for how to propose. “It should be a place you want to revisit and maybe on an important day... like your anniversary. Good Luck Alec!”

 Isabelle sends him off with those parting words, the conversation over just as quickly as it started, which is what Alec prefers though he knows it’s because Isabelle is in the midst of documenting everything about the attack. With his anniversary coming up in a couple of weeks, Alec stores away that not awful advice. He supposes proposing on one’s anniversary is cliche for a reason, right?

                 “Alec, are you alright? You look on edge.” Magnus’s asks from across the table, concern evident in both his tone and facial expression, bringing Alec back to his dinner and out of his mental spiral of the right time to ask the question. Magnus moves their anniversary bouquet of roses to the side for a less obstructed view of Alec before returning to his steak, not oblivious in the slightest of the inner turmoil Alec faces -just of its topic.

 Alec’s celebrating his sixth year relationship with a truly magical man that he loves greatly, who knows him better than anyone else in his life, even better than Isabelle. And even though his  stress is correlated to a surprise for Magnus, Alec wants to bring it up now to talk about because Magnus always knows how to look at things in a different light from Alec that gives him more information to consider. So he goes with the truth, “All of my family members have given me proposal advice the past couple of months and I’m starting to feel like I’m on Real Housewives of Idris. Having them hovering to tell me when and how to propose is more stressful than I expected.”

 Magnus puts down his fork, corners of his lips turned down in a frown as he regards Alec. “You know I love you completely and fully, right?” Alec nods his head even though he knows the question is rhetorical. “I don’t need a ring or a shadowhunter ceremony to validate that our love is real. If you don’t want to propose, I will still be by your side for as long as we are good for eachother -ring or no ring.” Magnus maintains eye contact with Alec, trying to fully drill this concept into his mind. He nods his head again to confirm that he heard and understands. Magnus nods to himself, picking back up his utensils. “So did you actually make those chocolate covered strawberries or did you pick them up from that place on 22nd we’re always admiring from the sidewalk?”

 “Both.” Alec says with a grin, making both of them laugh. “Isabelle picked up a box because I complained too much about how hard it was to decorate the chocolate.”

     And just like that, the conversation gently steers to less stressful topics like teasing Alec for all the attempts to dress up their dessert and how Magnus was so distracted by their anniversary plans that he forgot his potion for too long, turning a stomach relief remedy into the opposite. The rings in Alec’s pocket and all the stress they carry to make sure the moment is just          right         evaporates as they spend the rest of the night laughing, talking, and celebrating six years of their amazing relationship.  

                               “Hey Alec!” Alec stops in his tracks at the sound of his name, turning to see Simon walking down the hall towards him. Perplexed, Alec isn’t sure he wants to stick around long enough to find out where this is going. His eyes dart for all possible escape routes if the conversation heads south. “Jace told me you’re thinking of proposing but weren’t sure when. As a married friend, my advice is to pop the Question when the moment feels right because there is no perfect one.”

 Yup this is exactly where Alec feared this conversation would lead. He raises a single judgemental eyebrow, “Didn’t you propose in the middle of dinner?”

 “Yeah but then we redid it.” Simon says with a shrug like multiple proposals are a common occurrence.

 Luke appears from around the corner of the hall, having heard their conversation and deciding to chime in as well. “He’s right but just don’t follow his lead.”

           Alec nods his head in comprehension as he looks from Luke to Simon. Storing this not terrible suggestion in the back of his mind as he tries to parse out why so many people are invested in his love life; he’s starting to feel like he’s in that other reality drama: Saturday Nights at Edom              .            

                                                 Alec’s only been up for a couple of seconds, refusing to leave the warm comfort of the bed and the wonderful sight of the man he loves. Next to Alec, Magnus is sprawled out shirtless on his back, one arm across his eyes and the other on Alec’s forearm, as if reaching out for him even in sleep. The golden sheets pull up all the way to Magnus’s chest, bringing out the natural golden undertone in Magnus’s skin. He looks radiant, completely at ease in rest. He lets out a snort-like snore that makes Alec smile, remembering fondly how Magnus first teased      Alec    about his snoring before they were together. Magnus is truly beautiful, always but especially here in this moment, sleeping in      their    bed right now. Alec thinks to himself, ‘I want to wake up next to Magnus every day for ever and ever, no-      for as long as they are good for each other    .’

 Magnus’s words from their anniversary dinner the other week echo in Alec’s mind, filling him with warmth. Magnus stirs slightly in his sleep, his arm falling off his face and onto his chest. The sudden movement causing him to wake up, slowly batting his eyelashes as he leaves the dream world for the land of the awake. He yawns while turning towards Alec, squeezing his forearm when Magnus sees that Alec’s awake, almost like a gentle greeting. Magnus’s eyes trail Alec’s face, taking in his fond smile and offering a warm, sleepy one in return, “What? Did I drool again?”

 The question is right there, on the front of Alec’s mind but the words get jumbled in his throat and don’t make it out of his mouth. Instead he answers with a soft truth, as he shrugs one shoulder, “I love you.”

                 “I stand by my statement - you cheated that last game.” Magnus calls behind him as they enter the loft while Alec locks the front door. “Every tricky shot I had, you would distract me with your,” Magnus turns on his heels to face Alec, gesturing at him, “body. Therefore you didn’t win because you played dirty.”

 Alec grins, quickly stepping into Magnus’s space and enjoying the way he tracks Alec’s movements. His hands slide up Magnus’s sides, “You enjoy when I play dirty - you love a challenge.”

 “That is true.” Magnus concedes, his eyes drag from Alec’s lips to his eyes before kissing him deeply, teasingly biting his bottom lip before pulling away from the kiss and his arms. Magnus winks, removing his jacket for the coat rack.

 Alec huffs out a laugh, reading loud and clear Magnus’s declaration: he too can play dirty. Alec walks through the entryway and out onto the balcony. They portaled home but the night’s open air calls to him, it’s chill feels wonderful after being around the hot, crowded pool tables at Hunter’s Moon. Magnus follows Alec out onto the balcony, “It’s a perfect night.”

 Alec looks over at Magnus, head tilted up to the moon and few stars visible in the Brooklyn night sky as he rests his hands on the balcony bannister next to Alec’s. He couldn’t agree more but something pulls at him, his mind immediately going to the rings in his pocket that he’s been carrying around everywhere for the past couple of months and he just knows in his heart that this is the moment.

 “Yeah... and the only thing that would make it even better would be knowing if you, Magnus Bane, would marry me?””

 Magnus turns slowly towards Alec, who has gotten down on his knee with his hand extended, holding the black onyx and tungsten ring between his thumb and pointer finger, glinting in the moon’s light.

 “It’s not that I didn’t want to propose to you Magnus, I just was waiting for the perfect moment, one that felt      right    , because before, the closest thing I ever felt to right in my life was when I used my bow, then I met you. Everything about you, your laugh, your smile, your wit, your pool skills, your hand in mine, your magic,      you    have always made me feel happy -good      .    And nothing would feel more right than being by your side as your husband for as long as we’re      good    for each other.”

 The moment between them falls quiet, a soundtrack of Brooklyn’s city noises plays around them. Alec sees the tears in his own eyes reflected in Magnus’s as he gently picks up the offered ring in Alec’s hand. Magnus’s expression is in awe as he tilts the ring back in forth, eyes dancing as he follows the way the ring catches the light of the stars. He tilts the ring just so and the light in the living room must highlight the inscription on the ring, making him bring the ring closer to read, ‘I love you wholly’. The smile on Magnus’s lips deepens until his white teeth reflect the moonlight, slipping the ring onto his finger even though it’s a little too big.

 “I never even considered that I could experience the sanctity of marriage before I met you. Yes, I would love to marry you Alexander for I      do     love you wholly and will forever. ”

 Alec’s heart swells at hearing Magnus utter those words, hearing him practically say the complete inscription for the bands on instinct alone just solidifies to Alec how perfect these rings are for them. He stands, reaching in his pocket again to retrieve his matching ring with the inscription, ‘I love you forever’. Even though he knows it’s a little tight from trying on both rings before, he puts it just the same. He holds his hand elevated in the air next to Magnus’s, just to see both of their hands with their rings catching the moonlight. Alec looks back up to Magnus, who is watching him with a warm expression like the idea that Alec proposed is still being processed.

 Magnus leans a little closer and Alec answers the movement immediately, leaning in the rest of the distance to soundly press his lips against Magnus’s. Slightly over excited about the kiss, Alec steadies himself with one hand resting at the juncture of shoulder and neck and the ring bearing hand on Magnus’s cheek. He tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss as his hands come up to brace Alec’s face. And Alec has felt the cool material of rings on his skin before, he has been dating Magnus Bane for six years, but at the thought that one of those rings is      their wedding band    makes butterflies flutter in Alec’s stomach that are as strong as the first night they met.

 Alec pulls away from the kiss to take a breath, he stays close as he rests their foreheads together, both of them sporting big, happy smiles. Alec whispers back his mutual affection, “I too love you wholly and will forever, my      fiance    .”

 It’s the perfect ending to a perfect day.

[wefotografiarlavida]

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Se viste de gala de belleza y esplendor (guayacan amarillo) 💛💛💛 En los lugares donde he vivido trato de disfrutarlos lo más que pude en #sevillavalle viví un tiempo y siempre desee ver a este grupo en escena. Tiempo después me fui de aquella tierra a la que guardo en mi memoria por su gente y sus calles empinadad. Anoche @grupobandola en el cierre del #FIC17 me recordaron lo que es amar la tierra. A todos los que puedan pasesen por sevilla y disfruten del #festivalbandola este fin de semana #estoesvidamiamor #festivalbandola #festivalinternacionaldelacultura 🍃🍃🍃

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @thepsychicclam!

What I want for Christmas (is you).

The park was quiet and desolate, shimmering with the falling snow. Tips of Derek’s ears tickled with cold air nipping at them and he wondered for a moment if his companion was freezing to the bones, after all, humans didn’t have excessive body heat. But Stiles just bounced away from his jeep, grinning from ear to ear.

“What am I doing here again?”

“Helping me sharpen my awesome magical skills.”

Derek arched his eyebrow and Stiles’s heart skipped a bit, but that went unnoticed because Derek was staring at a little snowflake that landed right on top of boy’s eyelashes, so perfectly white and fluffy next to his liquid amber eyes. How dare it.

“For the record, I’d rather be at home reading a book.”

“You can sulk and read a book any time you want, but I have only a week left before going back to school. So why don’t you just. LET.IT.GO.”

Stiles’s smugness lasted exactly 0.36 seconds until he slipped and planted his ass onto the ground.

***

“This is your idea of training? Me pitching and you hitting baseballs with your spells?”

“’No, Derek, hitting them with my bat. Enforced by magic. No spells involved- at least no verbal ones. “

“So, you will actually be quiet for a change? Hallelujah.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Ha-ha, very funny. It will be very useful in case someone tries to kill us, again. Come on, give me all you’ve got, big guy.”

Derek spun the ball in his hand and smirked, “I’m not sure you can handle it.”

Stiles’s smirk mirrored his, “You’ll be surprised”.

***

“I knew it was a bad idea!”

“How was I supposed to know we would hit someone? Something? It’s not like I was aiming on purpose! What even is it? A drone? Superman? Aliens?” - Stiles gestured fervently as they made way through the trees, following a dark smoke trail in the sky. Derek managed to evade getting slapped in the face by Stiles’s hands flying in all directions, but in the end Stiles did get him with a tree branch right across the forehead.  Suddenly, Derek’s werewolf senses tingled, and he grabbed Stiles, ignoring a surprised “umph”, and brought them to a full stop.

“What is it?”

“I smell something.”

“You smell some what? Can you be more specific, may be? Is it animals? Smoke? The scent of my general despair?”

“Reindeer.”

Stiles’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

“A reindeer?”

“Not “a”, I can hear a herd of them. I also smell chocolate. And…coal?”

Stiles scrunched his face into a confused frown, then suddenly his eyes lit up.

“Reindeer, chocolate and…Oh my god! Dude!”

Derek didn’t have time to sound a question, because he was being unceremoniously dragged forward by Stilinski tornado. He thought of using his werewolf power to slow them down but wasn’t even sure he could- Stiles’s magic (or spark, or whatever) and excitement washed over him like a warm breeze, and Derek just went with it.

***

“I never though you would be so…”

“I believe the word you are looking for is voluptuous”, Santa Claus – or a gentleman who looked suspiciously like him - smiled at the two men and proceeded to put festively wrapped presents back into his sled.

“Fat, the word I was looking for is fat.” – Stiles yelped when Derek elbowed him,

“You can’t just tell Santa he is fat!”

Santa Claus erupted with laughter, “Oh, no worries, my dear boy, I do find this concern about my health rather endearing. Now, if you are in no rush, could you please assist me with fixing the sled? I have a very tight schedule to follow, you see.”

Derek’s face burned when he saw a gaping hole in the sled’s right side. Looked like Stiles’s magic worked after all - may be a little too well.

“I have duct tape in my jeep”.  Stiles shrugged and looked at Derek. Derek wanted to stay and ask a myriad of questions or just stare at the Santa Claus, because, you know, Santa freaking Claus, but instead he sighed and turned back to the parking lot, “I’ll bring a tool kit from the car”.

***

“Forgive my candor, but your friend doesn’t seem to be in much of a festive mood.”

Santa looked so concerned, so worried, with warm eyes crinkling under the bushy white eyebrows, that Stiles didn’t have a courage to deflect.

“Well, I loved Christmas when I was a child, and I bet Derek loved it too- he is a big softie inside, underneath all that brood and gloom. But after I lost my mom, it was never the same, you know? I mean, my dad tried, and he is awesome but it just is not the same. And Derek? Derek lost his whole family, he doesn’t even have anyone to celebrate with, aside from a deadbeat sister and psychopathic uncle.”

“I see.”

“Sorry to poop on your parade, man.”

A heavy hand landed on Stiles’s shoulder and he instantly calmed down,

“Not at all”.

Sound of approaching footsteps made them look up, and Stiles quickly leaned in and whispered,

“I know I shouldn’t ask, we both are definitely on a very naughty list but, is it possible Derek can catch a break? Like, just a year of no one trying to kill him? Just one year of peace, so he can read his damn books and not be on the run all the time? And may be something to make him happy? He deserves it.”

“And what about you?”

Stiles shrugged, “It’s ok, I’ll manage.”

Santa tilted his head, then winked, “I’ll see what I can do.”

***

When Derek returned to the place of the crash, following a trace of coals and Stiles’s smell, the sled, Santa and all his reindeer were gone. Felt like a kick in the gut, but then again- maybe he dreamed it all? May be Santa was never there and he simply got struck in the head with a baseball?

Stiles.

“Where are you?” Derek suddenly felt his heart rate pick up. The sled was gone, but so was Stiles and all the footprints. No mark, no trace. Nothing.

“Stiles!”

The toolkit fell on the snow, forgotten, as Derek frantically smelled the air, tried to hear something- anything, and looked into the woods searching for a familiar human shape. Suddenly there was a noise behind him and he growled, letting the wolf come to the front and express his frustration and anger, only to have Stiles burst through the bushes and yelp in surprise.

“Shit, Derek, stop scaring me, man!”

“Where were you? And where is the sled?”

“Sorry, he couldn’t wait. “

Derek huffed, grabbed the toolkit from the ground and hurried back to the car. Screw this stupid idea, screw this holiday, and screw Stiles. He didn’t know why he was so upset but he was, and it stung like hell.

“What? If you wanted to talk to him, you should’ve stayed! And may be asked for something to lighten up your mood.”

Derek gave Stiles a stinky eye,

“Or maybe I wouldn’t”.

He expected the boy to roll his eyes and move on, but instead Stiles personal space, what is that Stilinski got right up his face, eyes flaming with anger.

“Wouldn’t what? Ask for a present? Why, cause you are to good to ask? No, wait, let me guess- ‘cause you don’t deserve it because you still blame yourself for all that happened, even if that was none of your fault? Is that it? Derek-the-martyr Hale, suffering for the crimes he didn’t commit?”

“Or maybe I wouldn’t ask for anything from him because I already have all I want!”

“And what would that be, huh? An empty loft and an old car? You’ve got nothing, Derek, not even…”

“I have you!”

“What? Wait, what? “

Derek let out a deep sigh, “I already have all I want- you- here, with me. I don’t need anything else. Happy now?”

Stiles stared at him with mouth open, and Derek felt his whole face burn while Stiles’s brain gears slowly began to work.

“You have me, like. Hale, are you saying that you like me? Like, like me like me? Oh my god! How long? Derek, for how long have you…”

“Since the pool.”

“Since the p…Do you even know I’ve been in love with you for four years? Why the hell haven’t you said anything?!”

“I didn’t!”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t know? How could you not know, you are a goddamn werewolf for fucks sake, you can smell those things!”

“You were a teenager, you smelled horny all the time!”

“OK, fair enough. But what about my heartbeat?! What, you never heard me going into a cardiac arrest every time you paraded around half-naked?”

“I don’t listen to your heartbeat unless you are in distress.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Because it’s private! And by the way why haven’t you ever said anything?”

“Said what? That I am hopelessly in love with you? You are Derek perfect freaking Hale, and I am, well, me! I’d never think I had a chance!”

“Stiles…”

The boy ran his fingers though his hair and turned away, exasperated.

“So, is this our first couples fight?”

Stiles looked at Derek with a mix of incredulity and frustration, then growled, making Derek shiver, and stomped towards him. Derek expected anything- a slap, a kick, may be a fist to the stomach, but instead Stiles grabbed his face and smashed their lips together. One second passed, then two, and then the anger and frustration melted away into relief and warmth, and two men lost themselves in the kiss.

“Does this mean you aren’t angry at me?”

“Angry? No. I am furious!”  - an accusational finger pocked Derek on the chest. “And this is exactly why you will spend the rest of my winter break making up for it.”

***

Ambers in the fireplace still smoldered and the tv rolled out the ending Star Wars credits when Stiles stirred awake. It was warm and kinda heavy to be tucked on the sofa with a werewolf blanket wrapped around him. He ran his fingers through the dark mess of Derek’s hair and smiled into the ceiling,

“Best Christmas present ever! Thank you, Santa!”

That wasn’t me.

“What?”

Now, this, however…

There was a knock on the door. Wait, did he really hear it? Maybe he was mistaken…

The knock repeated, more urgently this time.

Can’t be Scott, too early for him, and dad is on his shift…

The third time knock went into full-blown banging, and both men jumped awake.

“Stilinski, for crying out loud, stop humping Hale for a second and open up! We are freezing here!”

That voice…No, it can’t be!

Stiles rushed to the door and went into shock when Erica pushed him aside and stomped into the house.

“How are you…”

“Sup?” Boyd let himself in and followed Erica to the kitchen. Stiles’s shocked face was mirrored by Derek’s.

“Stiles? What is going on?” Stiles turned around and saw Allison, shivering in her summer dress amidst the snowy porch. A dress she was buried in.

“Allison? Oh my god, come in, you are freezing! How? How are you alive?”

Allison wrapped herself in a blanket timely provided by Derek and smiled, “I don’t know. I remember blood, and Scoot and dying in his arms, and then light, and someone’s voice telling me to wake up. And I suddenly was here, on your porch.”

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from bringing her in for a hug. She giggled into his shoulder, “Do you think this is permanent?”

Stiles looked at her, sparks playing in his eyes, “I’ll make sure it is.”

“Can you call my dad? Stiles?”

Stiles’s attention was drawn to two new people standing in the door.

“Stiles?”

Two dark-haired women, one young and one older, both smiling at Derek.

“That’s Laura and Talia Hale.”

And then there was a knock on the door. Stiles turned the doorknob lightheaded, his heart beating so fast it was about to jump out of his chest. He looked in the night and saw a familiar face.

“Mom?”

***

Between all the happy reunions, customary shovel talks and Laura and Erica bonding on embarrassing Derek as often as possible, this year’s Christmas was particularly crazy in the Stilinski-Hale household. But when the clock struck twelve on the New Year’s Eve, all realized they started the year in a best way possible- together, alive and happy.

And when Derek and Stiles kissed under a mistletoe that Laura threw at them, somewhere far-far away Santa scratched a wish off his list and smiled.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @potrix-the-queerschlaeger!

Rating: T Tags: drunk!Stiles, Christmas fluff, first kiss

*****

Mulled Wine and Mistletoe

Derek stood over Stiles, who was flopped out over the couch with a Santa hat half-hanging over his eyes. The rest of the pack had mostly filtered out after the Christmas party, with the exception of Cora, who was in the guest room.

While Derek was in the midst of deciding whether to wake Stiles up or let him spend the night on the couch, Stiles suddenly snorted and flailed awake. "Shit, what time is it?"

Derek hid his smile. "Relax. It's not even midnight yet."

"Not even midnight?" Stiles flopped back against the couch. "Ugh, I'm old."

"Twenty-five, you're ancient," Derek said dryly. "How much glühwein did you have?"

Stiles rubbed his head. "Just three or four...glasses."

Jeez. No wonder Stiles had been passed out. "Yeah, you're staying here tonight. I'll grab you a blanket."

"No, I'm fine!" Stiles sat up. "I'm fine...whoa, everything went really spinny."

"Yes, because you drank basically an entire bottle of wine by yourself," Derek pointed out.

"That was wine?!"

"Mulled wine, yes, what did you think it was?"

"I don't know!" Stiles hid his face in the Santa hat. "Warm spiced grape juice?"

Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed a blanket out of the basket behind the couch. "Lie back down and go to sleep. On second thought, drink a glass of water and then go back to sleep."

"I'm fine, I'm..." Stiles groaned and sank back against the couch. "Oh, God, I'm not fine and Dad will kill me if I drive."

"I will kill you if you drive," Derek said on his way into the kitchen. "Just stay on the couch, it's fine."

"Dude, you don't have to take care of my drunk ass!"

I happen to like your drunk ass, Derek thought. "Stiles, we're pack. That's what we do."

"Ugh. I can't believe I'm that guy. I've never been that guy."

Derek snorted and carried the glass of water back to the couch. "Well, there's a first time for everything. Here, drink this so you don't hate yourself in the morning."

Stiles sat back up and obediently took the glass of water. "Thanks, Derek."

Derek watched him drink. "It's no problem."

Stiles downed most of the water in two gigantic swallows, and then blinked bleary eyes at Derek. "Are you...wearing mistletoe?"

Oh. Derek had forgotten about the mistletoe crown Cora had slapped on his head halfway through the night, because she was a terrible sister. The end result had been a kiss on the cheek from everybody in the pack, with the exception of the one person he actually wanted to kiss.

He yanked the crown off and tossed it aside. "Oh. Yeah. That was Cora's fault."

"You've had that on all night and I missed it?!" Stiles sounded utterly distraught. "Oh my God, why did I drink all the glühwein?"

"I'll take that as a compliment for my glühwein-making skills," Derek said. "And if you finish that water and go to sleep, I'll put the mistletoe crown back on when I make breakfast in the morning."

Stiles's eyes went huge, and he chugged the rest of the water so fast Derek was afraid he'd choke. "I'm totally going to kiss you, dude. In the morning. When I am not drunk. Although I'm telling you now because if I'm not drunk, I'm not going to be brave enough to."

Derek bit his lips to keep from smiling. "Just so you know, I won't hold you to anything you promised while drunk. Unless you still want to do it sober."

"Aw." Stiles flapped his hand out and patted Derek's leg. "You're a good dude, Derek Hale. I'm definitely going to kiss you in the morning."

Derek took the empty cup and pulled the blanket up. "Go to sleep, Stiles."

***

In the morning, Derek reluctantly snagged the mistletoe crown from where he'd tossed it before he went into the kitchen to start making pancakes. A promise was a promise, after all.

Halfway through mixing the batter, Stiles stumbled into the kitchen, took one look at Derek, and broke into the biggest grin Derek had ever seen. "Oh my God."

Derek shrugged. "Consider this your Christmas present."

Stiles strode across the room. "Best Christmas present ever."

And then he kissed Derek right on the mouth.

Even with the mistletoe, Derek wasn't entirely expecting it. He'd thought Stiles might go for the cheek, like the rest of the pack had.

Stiles pulled back, a dull flush on his cheeks. "Uh. Sorry. I probably should've—"

"It's okay," Derek said quickly. "You can...do it again, if you want."

Stiles's eyes widened, and then he smiled. "Really?"

Derek ducked his head to hide his own smile. "Yeah, really."

They got a little distracted from making pancakes, but really, Derek couldn't complain.

He guessed he'd have to thank Cora for the mistletoe crown.

Eventually.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @jadorehale!

Read on AO3

*****

Here today, gone tomorrow

Stiles wakes up sweaty, dizzy, and with a persistent throbbing behind his eyes. He lifts his head and blinks blearily, and then immediately regrets that decision when last night’s tequila decides to try and make an unwelcome reappearance. It takes a few minutes, and couple of deep, careful breaths, but he eventually manages to swallow back the wave of nausea without throwing up all over himself.

Or whoever he’s sharing a bed with, because there's a warm body spooned up against Stiles’ back, a heavy arm draped over his waist, and a mouth pressed against his shoulder, huffing out quiet, steady little breaths.

It’s not uncomfortable, actually, and since moving too much seems to be a shitty idea anyway, Stiles snuggles back against the guy—and it’s definitely a guy, hello morning wood—ready to doze off again. The guy makes a sleepy noise, tightens his grip, and pulls Stiles back against his chest, nuzzling at the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles could get used to waking up like this. Well, minus the hangover, but the rest of it is pretty sweet. He’s getting cuddled, this bed has way less pointy springs than the shitty one in his dorm, the sheets are super soft, and the scent of contented alpha hanging in the air is a nice change from the aura of weed surrounding his roomate at all times.

Now, if only the sun could move a couple of inches to the left, and stop shining right into Stiles’ face, that would be—

“Shit!” Stiles exclaims, eyes flying open.

The world tilts dangerously when he props himself up on his elbow, double vision going full force as he frantically looks around the room in search of a clock. He doesn’t find one, but spots his phone, thankfully not quite dead yet, on the bedside table, grabbing and unlocking it with shaking fingers.

8:17. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

His shift at the library starts at 9:00. If he’s still in the same neighbourhood as the bar he ended up in yesterday, then there’s no way he’ll make it back to campus, and then to work on time. Without a pit stop at the dorm, he might just make it, though.

Standing up is a Herculean task—seriously, fuck tequila—and Stiles has to brace himself with a hand against to wall for a long moment until the room stops spinning. Which puts him in prime position to get a good whiff of himself, and nope, he can’t show up to Saturday Reading Hour like this. So, plan; shower, get the taste of death out of his mouth, find his clothes and hope they’re not a completely lost cause, somehow get to work on time.

Right. Totally doable. Probably.

Once he’s relatively sure walking won’t result in falling over, Stiles moves around the bed towards the bathroom, and then stumbles for reasons entirely unrelated to alcohol. Because holy crap. Holy crap!

The sheets must’ve slid down when Stiles got up, because they’re now pooled just below Stiles’ bedmate’s ass. And what an ass it is; big enough to really grab onto, and looking deliciously firm, with two inviting dimples above it. It connects to an expanse of tan, muscled back, including a tattoo, which ends in a strong neck, and a head of tousled dark hair. With Stiles gone, the guy has shifted onto his front, face turned to the side, giving Stiles a perfect view of a cut jaw, sharp cheekbones, pouty lips, and a pair of thick, almost ridiculous eyebrows.

“Well done, me,” Stiles says, and just barely resists the urge to high five himself.

He lets the guy—Derek, Stiles is about 85% sure the guy’s called Derek—sleep, and tiptoes into the bathroom. It’s a shame he only has vague memories of last night—drinking too much because he was frustrated with his project partners, not very subtly ogling Derek across the bar, letting Derek push him up against the wall next to the bathroom, a cab ride to a hotel that felt like forever, coming hard enough to pass out before Derek had even pulled out—Stiles thinks, a little sadly, as he tries to wash off the clubbing grossness. Derek, as shallow as it sounds, looks like he knows how to show an omega a good time.

It’s 8:36 when Stiles comes back out of the bathroom, minty fresh, wrapped in a fluffy hotel bathrobe, rubbing a towel over his hair, and feeling a little more alive. His clothes are strewn all over the floor, and his underwear has mysteriously vanished, but he finds his pants, jacket, socks, and shoes, at least. There’s an open suitcase on the floor, though, and Stiles only hesitates for a second before he goes to rummage through it, pulling out a pair of briefs and a red henley. They’re both a size or two too big for him, but they’ll do for the morning.

His wallet’s still in his jacket, thankfully, and his phone has just about enough battery left to call an Uber. All in all, his drunken adventure could’ve ended much, much worse.

Derek’s still out cold when Stiles crouches down next to him, but he grunts when Stiles, unable to resist, runs his fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter, and he leans into Stiles’ touch, reaching out blindly until he catches the zipper of Stiles’ jacket. He tugs, then huffs, disgruntled, when Stiles stays where he is.

“Sorry, dude,” Stiles murmurs apologetically, scratching gently at the back of Derek’s head. “Gotta head out. Call me?”

He’d stolen Derek’s phone at one point, Stiles remembers that much, before he’d decided to screw it—both figuratively and literally—and just go back to the hotel with Derek. Stiles has never been patient. Or good at denying himself. It’s a whole thing.

“Mmh,” Derek hums, clearly still only half awake. He does tip his face up, though, and Stiles doesn’t have to be asked twice; he leans in, closing the distance between them, and presses his lips to Derek’s.

And jeez, Derek certainly knows how to kiss. Stiles gets lost in it for a few minutes—in the drag of Derek’s stubble against his cheeks, Derek’s mouth moving softly against his, Derek’s fingers toying with the hem of his stolen shirt—groaning, disappointed, when he finally manages to pull himself away.

“Call me,” he says, again, and straightens up.

He can’t resist dropping one last kiss on Derek’s forehead, before he dodges Derek’s grabby hands, and makes for the door. He’s alone in the elevator down to the lobby, which is probably a good thing, because he’s smiling all goofily, his face red with beard burn when he catches sight of himself in the mirrored walls. There’s a huge, already dark bruise on the side of his neck, and Stiles can’t help but prod at it, shuddering delightedly when the slight pain makes him feel warm all over.

Yeah. Definitely could’ve gone worse.

* * *

Derek doesn't call. It’s—it’s whatever.

Stiles is disappointed, sure, and then angry, because what kind of asshole leaves someone with a temporary claiming bite, only to go on to totally ghost them? Real dick move, that. For a hot second, Stiles thinks about going back to the bar where they met, but Derek’s from out of town, so chances that he’ll be there are pretty slim, and Stiles refuses to be the clichéd, clingy omega who makes an idiot of himself by running after a clearly disinterested alpha.

Fuck Derek. Stiles doesn’t need some hot shot alpha doting on him to feel good about himself, he knows his worth. He’s smart, cute—growing into his ears and lanky limbs had really helped in that department—hard working, and has a group of amazing friends. So, really; fuck Derek.

And, once October rolls around, and school work picks up again, Stiles doesn’t have the time to think about stupid, sexy Derek anymore, anyway. He has study sessions with Scott, Kira, Malia, and Mason at least twice a week, works at the library with Hayden on Saturdays, and spends most Sundays tutoring—read: trying to not kill out of frustration—Liam and Corey.

In between all of that, he somehow needs to find the time to eat, sleep, Skype with Lydia, and call his dad every now and again, which is more than enough to keep him busy and distracted. Not that he needs to be distracted, because he’s absolutely not still hung up on Derek, not even a little bit, nope. Zero pining is happening, here, no matter what Scott keeps saying.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Corey asks, one Sunday morning in November, watching Stiles across the table instead of focusing on his reading. “You’re kind of pale.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him, then pointedly looks at the open book in front of him. “Done with the chapter?”

“We can totally reschedule,” Liam pipes up hopefully, then lets out a huffed oomph when Corey not so subtly elbows him in the side. “If you’re sick, I mean. Maybe you should go back to bed?”

“You can sleep off your hangover after we’re done with your essay,” Stiles says, making Liam groan dramatically, and slump down further in his chair. Corey does look genuinely concerned, though, so Stiles shoots him a reassuring smile as he nudges the book closer to him. “I’m fine. Stressed, but what else is new? The glamorous life of a college student.”

There are a few minutes of blessed silence, during which Stiles resolutely ignores the worried looks Corey’s shooting him. Then, suddenly, Corey blurts, “You’ve gained weight.”

Stiles slowly lowers his pen. “Excuse you?”

Corey shifts uncomfortably, not quite meeting Stiles’ eyes. “Well, I mean. You have? And you’re always tired, and now you’re looking sick, and—”

“Did you get knocked up?” Liam cuts in, shrugging and demanding, “What?” when Corey groans, and facepalms.

“We were just wondering,” Corey continues, sheepish but determined. “You have to admit, it kind of fits.”

“What the—no!” Stiles snaps, and then, when Corey and Liam share a disbelieving look, he adds, glaring, “I’m not pregnant. And I liked you both better when you didn’t like each other.”

Liam grins, and throws an arm around Corey, who rolls his eyes, but goes with it. “You love us.”

Stiles scowls at them. “Go back to work.”

They do, researching quietly, but Stiles can’t concentrate on his own project anymore. He’s reeling, heart pounding way too fast, because what if? It’s possible, technically, even if unlikely. Stiles’ sex life hasn’t exactly been flourishing the last couple of weeks, and he is on birth control. Which isn’t always 100% effective in omegas, but he always uses condoms, to be extra safe. He doesn’t remember using a condom with Derek, but he also doesn’t remember not using one, and he always does, which means he probably did.

Right?

Right.

He’s just stressed, maybe in the beginning stages of a cold. That certainly explains the headaches and exhaustion. And so what if he’s gained a pound or two? It’s Scott’s fault, for buying all those tubs of completely unnecessary Getting Over Derek ice cream. Everyone knows Stiles is a sucker for Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie goodness.

Pregnant, pfft. Ridiculous.

Scott doesn’t think it’s ridiculous, when Stiles mentions it over dinner later. Instead of laughing it off with Stiles, he looks thoughtful. “You have been taking a lot of naps lately.”

Stiles stares at him, incredulous. “Scott. Scotty. My man. You can’t be serious right now?”

“And, no offence, but they’re kind of right about your weight—”

“It’s called the freshman fifteen, oh my god!”

“You’re a sophomore, Stiles,” Scott points out, ducking the couch cushion Stiles throws at him. “Also, you’ve been puking on and off over the last couple of weeks, and—”

“You’re the one who made me eat that questionable burrito!” Stiles screeches, a little shrilly. This definitely isn’t going the way he expected it to. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

He immediately feels guilty when Scott looks hurt at that, muttering a quiet, “Sorry.”

“I’m always on your side, you know that,” Scott says, scooting closer. Stiles puts up a token protest when Scott grabs him, flailing a little, before letting Scott pull him in to hug him into submission. “You’re my brother, and I love you. But you’re also the most stubborn person I know. I’m just trying to help, Stiles.”

Stiles sighs, and turns his face into Scott’s neck, breathing in deeply. Scott’s alpha scent is familiar, soothing, and Stiles allows himself to be calmed by it, knowing Scott would never use any of this against him. He’s not that kind of alpha. And he knows Stiles could totally kick his ass.

“The student health center does free blood tests,” Scott says, after a couple of minutes, resting his chin on top of Stiles’ head. “They were super nice and helpful when Kira and I had our scare last semester.“

Stiles doesn’t say anything, but he does lean into Scott some more.

* * *

“Hey, dad.”

“What’s wrong?”

Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear to glare at it. Having a cop for a dad is just unfair sometimes. “So, uh,” he says, because lying’s useless once his dad is in Full Sheriff Mode. Capital letters and all. “There’s something I should probably tell you.”

He glances down at the sheet of paper on his lap, chewing the inside of his cheek, not sure where or how to begin. It had taken him another week after his conversation with Scott to muster up the courage to go to the student health center, and then several more days after getting the results to psych himself up enough to call his dad.

It’s not that he thinks his dad will be angry, or unsupportive, but there’s really no good way for a child to tell a parent, “I had a drunk one-night stand with a stranger I met at a bar, got knocked up, can’t find the other dad, and have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do now.”

“Stiles,” his dad says, gentle but firm. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I had a drunk one-night stand with a stranger I met at a bar,” Stiles blurts, and once he’s started, he can’t seem to stop, much to his horror. “I got knocked up, and I can’t find the other dad, and I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do now.”

He doesn’t realise he’s breathing too quickly, close to hyperventilating, until his dad instructs, “Slowly, Stiles, in and out. Come on, in and out, Stiles. Like me, okay?”

Stiles nods, even though his dad can’t see, and tries to match his breathing to his dad’s intentionally, exaggeratedly loud one. It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually Stiles manages to croak out, “Thanks.”

His dad doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Oh, kiddo.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, hot with shame. “Dad, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“Hey, now,” his dad cuts in, “I’m not angry, Stiles—”

“Just disappointed?” Stiles finishes, with a self-deprecating little laugh, and rubs a hand over his itching eyes.

“No,” his dad says, taking Stiles aback with the vehemence behind that one word. “Stiles, no. Hell, kid, I’m not gonna lie and tell you this is what I wanted for you, because we both know it’s not. It was a dumb and dangerous thing to do, and whatever you decide to do now, things’ll change and won’t be easy, but it happened. It is what it is. And we’ll figure it out, together. Okay?”

Stiles has to swallow the lump in his throat before he can speak again, but even then, all that comes out is a sniffled, “Dad.”

His dad is smiling, Stiles can tell, when he says, “I love you, too, kid. Now, tell me the plan. You been to see a doctor already?”

Stiles flops down sideways on his bed, and makes himself comfortable, relaxing slowly but surely now that the worst of it is over and done with. “Not yet. Christmas break is in two weeks, I thought I’d go see Doctor Yukimura when I get back home? She’s known me forever, and she can probably refer me? If I’m staying, I mean. I—” he hesitates, frowning down at his carpet. “I should, right? Stay home, I mean? My scholarship should be transferable, so I could take a semester off, maybe even a year. And it’s not like I can keep a baby in my dorm, so Beacon Hills Community College makes the most sense. I could live at home, be close by, and—”

“That’s not what you want,” his dad interrupts softly. And, normally, Stiles would bristle at being told what he does and doesn’t want, but his dad is right, and they both know it, so he clicks his mouth shut. He does scowl a little, though. “Columbia has been your dream since you were ten years old, Stiles.”

“Well,” Stiles grumbles bitterly, “a baby wasn’t exactly part of that dream.”

“Dreams are adjustable. You’re not the first person to have a kid while you’re still in school, and you sure as hell won’t be the last. No one’s saying it’ll be a cakewalk, but since when are you the kind of person to give up without even trying, who’s afraid because things might get difficult?”

“It’s not—” Stiles huffs, frustrated. “What if I can’t do it, though? What if I fuck it up?”

“Don’t think that I won’t call you out on your language anymore just because you’re about to be a parent yourself,” his dad teases, making Stiles bark out a startled laugh. More seriously, he adds, “And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I know you, kid, and you’ll regret not having given it a go more than potentially failing.”

Which is true, but his dad sounds a little too smug about it for Stiles’ taste. “Yeah, yeah, old man. Hey, no,” he says, tisking, when his dad makes an outraged sound at that, “you can’t complain about that anymore. You’re going to be a grandpa soon.”

There’s a beat of silence, followed by a drawn-out groan.

Stiles grins into his pillow. “Didn’t think about that, did you?”

“Menace,” his dad says, much too fond for Stiles to take him seriously.

* * *

Stiles is torn between embarrassment, and a fierce, previously unknown sort of pride as he watches his dad practically shove the ultrasound pictures at Mrs Owens from down the street, beaming wide enough to look completely deranged. Mrs Owens—mother of six, grandmother of thirteen, great-grandmother of ten—takes his enthusiasm in stride, cooing appreciatively, and nodding along to whatever Stiles’ dad is saying.

Another shopper coughs pointedly at them—which, fair enough, they’re totally blocking the dairy aisle—which only makes Stiles’ dad thrust the picture under his nose, still smiling brightly. The guy’s eyes widen, but he obediently takes a look at Stiles’ offspring. Stiles’ dad wearing a holster with his service weapon in it probably plays a pretty big part in that.

“That’s going to take a while,” Stiles murmurs to himself, absently petting the slight swell of his stomach.

He turns the shopping cart around, heading for the meat counter. He’d been terrified, initially, of people’s reactions to the pregnancy news, even if he’s a little ashamed to admit it now, because everyone’s been great about it so far. Scott, being the big softie that he is, had cried, which, as usual, had set Kira off as well. Mason had immediately offered to babysit, Malia’d bought him a giant box of earplugs, and even Liam and Corey have been less whiny during their tutoring sessions lately. Sure, Lydia’d yelled at him over the phone, but more out of concern than anger, and only until Allison had snatched the phone away from her to squeal at Stiles. Even Danny and Jackson, after the news had gotten around, had sent congratulatory texts. A slightly insulting one, in Jackson’s case, but congratulatory nonetheless.

And Stiles isn’t naive enough to think that there aren’t people gossiping about the 19-year-old, unwed, pregnant omega behind his back, but with the Sheriff being so obviously overjoyed with the whole thing, no one’s been brave enough to say anything to Stiles’ face, at least. It’s a small victory, but Stiles will take it.

Especially considering that their search for Derek has yielded zero results so far. Stiles hadn’t expected it to, since they really didn’t have anything to go on, but he’s still disappointed. There’s no guarantee Derek would care even if he knew—hitting and quitting isn’t exactly a point in his favour—but Stiles has decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not because Derek deserves it, but because every kid should at least get the chance to meet their parents, no matter what happens after.

They’ve exhausted all their possibilities, though, from Danny’s hacking magic to Lydia bringing her social media connections to bear, and there’s been nothing. Well, apart from that freak incident when Stiles had thought he’d caught Derek’s scent near their bar, only to follow it to the Starbucks across the street, and find a curly-haired guy with a scarf fetish, and a bitchy attitude.

He’s not quite ready to give up yet, but Stiles isn’t actively holding out hope anymore, either.

Which makes it all the more surreal when Derek himself rounds a row of shelves, basket in one hand, and his other arm casually slung around none other than scarf guy’s shoulders.

Stiles freezes at the sight, instincts going absolutely haywire. Part of him wants to rush to Derek’s side, is almost excited to see him, while another wants nothing more than to turn tail and flee. He wants to hide, to never face Derek again, and he wants to confront Derek, to yell at him, to bare his teeth at scarf guy, to bury himself in a hole and never come out again, to—

“Stiles?” his dad asks, suddenly, from behind him, making Stiles jump, and only just bite back a shriek. “What’s going on? Are—”

“Shh!” Stiles hisses frantically, mind apparently made up.

He pushes at his dad, urging him back around another row of shelves, out of sight. His dad’s eyebrows are up nearly to his hairline when Stiles turns to him, hands braced on his hips, and foot tapping against the floor impatiently. “This is strange even for you, kiddo.”

Stiles shoots him a bitchy look, then inches forward again to peer at Derek. He’s standing in line at the register now, head bent towards scarf guy, talking quietly while they wait. Stiles automatically narrows his eyes at scarf guy before he realises what he’s doing, and quickly slips behind his shelf again.

“As fun as this is, I don’t actually want to—”

“Derek’s here,” Stiles whispers furtively, risking another quick glance. He huffs when his dad nearly crushes him as he leans over him, trying to get a look of his own. “The one with the leather jacket. Who wears a leather jacket in December? And how dare he look so—so hot doing it, and those jeans are definitely a size too—”

“Yes, thank you, Stiles,” his dad interrupts, grimacing a little. “Who’s the curly one? They look cosy.”

Stiles scowls, because, yes. Yes, they do.

Then he meeps, and flails back, because Derek is turning around, shit, shit! His dad catches him under the arms, more than used to Stiles’ clumsiness by now. He’s frowning, though, lips pursed, and that’s never a good sign.

“What?” Stiles demands, righting himself with as much dignity as he can muster. He waves jauntily at old Mr Henderson, who’s definitely seen the whole thing. “What’s with the face?”

The face in questions hardens. “That’s your Derek?”

“Not my Derek,” Stiles says, feeling himself flush. “But, I mean, yeah. That Derek. Why?”

His dad doesn’t answer. Instead, he straightens up to his full height, tugs at his jacket to make sure his badge is visible, and goes to step around Stiles.

“Oh, no! No, no, no!” Stiles says, grabbing two handfuls of his dad’s jacket to hold him back. “Dad, no.”

His dad lets himself be tugged back, but it’s only done reluctantly. “I could find a reason to arrest him.”

“Yes,” Stiles drawls, and rolls his eyes heavenward. “Because that’s totally how we should broach this unexpected fatherhood topic. Throw him in the back of the cruiser, take him down to the station, and oh, by the way, you knocked up a teenager, you’re going to be a dad, surprise!”

“Fine. But talking to him—”

“No, dad, I don’t—”

“Stiles—”

“I’m not ready!” Stiles says, too loud. Mr Henderson is still staring, and this time, both Stiles and his dad wave at him, before looking back at each other. “Dad, please. This is—it’s out of nowhere, okay? What would I even say? How would I even say it? I can’t—I can’t do it, dad. Not yet. Please.”

His dad’s expression softens at that. He clasps Stiles’ shoulder, then sighs, and pulls him into a proper hug. “Aw, hell, kid,” he says, squeezing Stiles carefully, mindful of Stiles’ stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Stiles mumbles into his shoulder, hugging back tightly.

After a moment, his dad asks, “What about stopping him if I see him driving around town?”

Stiles swats at him, and his dad laughs, kissing the top of Stiles’ head despite Stiles’ protests. “God, dad, come on.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Henderson,” his dad says innocently when he finally lets go of Stiles. “Nice weather today, isn’t it?”

And he wonders where Stiles gets it from.

* * *

The shirt hits Stiles in the face, nearly knocking the ice cream out of his hands. He shakes it off, clutching his bowl against his chest protectively, and glares at his dad.

His dad is not impressed. “Up and at ‘em,” he orders, leaning over the back of the couch to take away Stiles’ bowl. “Go get dressed, we’re leaving in half an hour.”

Stiles pouts up at him, and doesn’t move. “I’m perfectly comfortable right where I am, thank you very much.”

“Tough luck, kiddo,” his dad says as he moves to, presumably, dump the bowl in the sink. “Mayor Hale’s holiday party is tonight. And, as the Sheriff, I have to make an appearance.”

“Have fun,” Stiles says sweetly, intentionally missing the point.

A moment later, his dad is back, and yanks the comforter away from Stiles. “I will, because my son is going to come along to spend some quality time with his loving, understanding, very patient father.”

Stiles whines, and makes grabby hands for it, but his dad just throws it on the armchair all the way across the room. “Rude.”

“It’ll be good for you,” his dad insists, “to get out of the house for a couple of hours, talk to some people, wear actual clothes.”

He says it jokingly, but Stiles can tell there’s real worry underneath. It’s been four days since the Derek sighting, and Stiles has pretty much moved onto the couch, wearing his baggiest clothes—the stolen henley happens to be super soft, the fact that it used to be Derek’s has nothing to do with anything—and stuffing himself with junk food, wrapped burrito style in his dad’s comforter for some reassuring family scent.

“Fine,” Stiles groans, grabbing the shirt. “But no eggnog for you. That stuff’s basically just sugar and fat. Also, it’s gross.”

Which is how Stiles finds himself standing opposite Mayor Hale in the Hale mansion foyer forty-five minutes later, feeling self-conscious about the way his shirt—bought for his high school graduation over two years ago—stretches tautly across his stomach. If he pops a button, he’s going to make his dad eat tofu turkey for Christmas.

“Mayor,” his dad greets.

Mayor Hale shoots him a mock annoyed look. “How many times, John?”

“Talia,” his dad corrects with a laugh, returning the kisses Mayor Hale brushes against his cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You remember my son?”

“Mieczyslaw,” Mayor Hale says, nodding. She clucks at the hand he offers, hugging him gently instead. “Little Mischief.”

Her gaze gets stuck on Stiles’ bump when they pull apart, making Stiles blush, and shrug sheepishly. “Not so little anymore.”

“Congratulations, Mieczyslaw,” Mayor Hale says sincerely, before ushering them both along. “John, we’ll have to catch up later. Make yourselves at home, grab something to drink. Patrick and the kids are around somewhere, if you need anything.”

“Props to her for remembering my monstrosity of a name,” Stiles whispers as they make their way into the dining room, grinning up at his dad. “And not mangling it beyond recognition.”

His dad immediately zeroes in on the finger foods, of course, and Stiles trails him to the buffet tables to fill a plate of his own. Stiles gets a few more congratulations, and his dad gets drawn into handshakes and hugs all around, which gives Stiles ample opportunity to sneak some veggies onto his plate.

“Celery isn’t a Christmas food, Stiles,” his dad complains once he notices, but dutifully takes a bite anyway, only rolling his eyes a little bit.

They both turn when someone asks, “Stiles?”

The man sounds amused, almost gleeful, looking Stiles up and down critically, straying to his stomach before settling on his face. It makes Stiles’ hackles raise, even though the man’s another omega, and he moves his hands over his stomach instinctively. “Yes? And you are?”

“Hmm,” the man says, instead of answering. He’s smirking, holding up a finger as he scans the room before calling out, “Nephew dearest, a moment, if you may?”

Only then does he deign to introduce himself. “Peter Hale. And you, my boy, are exactly the entertainment I was hoping for tonight.”

Stiles gapes, and behind him, his dad’s scent is souring, but before either of them can say anything, Derek walks up to Peter, looking about as confused and shocked as Stiles feels.

“Derek,” Peter says, eyes flickering excitedly between Stiles and Derek, “I believe you know Stiles? Our beloved Sheriff’s very obviously pregnant son?”

“You’re kind of an asshole,” Stiles tells him, then rounds on his dad when he makes a reprimanding noise. “Don’t even. Hale. Nephew. You knew, didn’t you? You’ve been working with Mayor Hale for over a decade, you must have recognised Derek at the store. And you dragged me here on purpose, didn’t you?”

His dad does look guilty, but he also stands his ground. “I will drive you home right now if you want me to. But you need to talk to him sooner or later, Stiles. Probably sooner.”

“How about right now?” Peter suggests, because he is, apparently, a total shit-stirrer.

“Peter,” Derek growls warningly, and Stiles knees absolutely do not go weak at the sound, nu-uh.

His dad is still watching Stiles, smiling when Stiles gives him a minute nod. “You know,” he says to Peter, dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder, “I think I remember arresting you for public indecency a couple of years ago. Right around the time Mr Argent got divorced.”

Peter doesn’t look happy as Stiles’ dad leads him away, but he has the good sense not to complain. Stiles watches them go, worrying his bottom lip. He feels a little betrayed that his dad didn’t just tell him, but he also knows himself well enough to know that he would’ve delayed talking to Derek for as long as possible without his dad pushing him. Not that he knows what to say to Derek, now that they’re here.

So it’s Derek who breaks the tense silence with a tentative, “Stiles?”

And, suddenly, Stiles is furious. Because how dare he? How fucking dare he sound like—like he gives a shit, after vanishing for months? After ditching Stiles? After being a huge freaking dick?

“You,” Stiles snaps, whirling around, and poking a finger into Derek’s chest. “You never fucking called!”

Several heads turn in their direction, but Stiles is beyond caring. He opens his mouth to really tear into Derek, but forgets what he was about to say when Derek takes his hand. “Not here,” Derek says, tugging at their linked hands. “Come on.”

Stiles digs his heels in for a moment, to show Derek that he could resist, before following Derek out into the hall, then up the stairs. Derek guides him into an office, and barely has the door closed before Stiles says, accusing, “So, you don’t just claim and ditch, you’re also embarrassed to be seen with me.”

Derek’s voice is almost jarringly soft, especially compared to Stiles’, when he says, “That’s not true.”

“Oh?” Stiles rips his hand away, crosses his arms over his chest, and glowers at Derek.

“I wanted to call, but—”

“This better be good, buddy.”

“But,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles’ interruption as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. He thumbs at the screen for a few seconds, then turns it around, holding it out to Stiles. “But this.”

There’s Stiles name, followed by three eggplant emojis. Underneath it is Stiles’ number. Or, rather, the first four digits of it. The rest is missing.

“I would have called,” Derek says, moving closer. “I would have, Stiles, I swear. I looked for you, everywhere, but I couldn’t find you. I want you, I never meant to—hey, no, please don’t. I’m sorry.”

Stiles hasn’t cried over this entire fucked up situation once in all the weeks since waking up next to Derek, but right now, he can’t hold the tears back. He lets Derek cup his face between his hands, lets him wipe at his cheeks, and closes his eyes, breathing him in. He’s ashamed, for causing all of this in the first place, and still jittery, but also happy, and relieved, and he goes eagerly when Derek wraps his arms around him, tucking himself as closely against Derek as humanly possible.

Derek’s breath hitches tellingly when Stiles brushes his nose along his neck, arms tightening automatically. He presses his open mouth against Stiles’ temple to scent him, swaying them both gently, one hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, the other stroking up and down Stiles’ spine.

They’re both mumbling apologies, and desperately clutching at each other; it’s a total mess, but Stiles wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.

“Your henley stopped smelling like you,” is the first coherent thing Stiles manages to get out, minutes later.

It makes Derek chuckle wetly. “You can have all the sweaty, smelly shirts you want from now on.”

Stiles smiles against his neck, giddy. “Jackpot.”

One of Derek’s hands moves to Stiles’ waist, where he hesitates for a moment, before settling it on the side of Stiles’ bump. “You’re—is it—”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, taking pity on him. “They’re yours.”

Derek pulls back, shining eyes wide. “They?”

“It’s twins. Surprise?” Stiles offers, making jazz hands.

“Twins,” Derek says, faint, and plops down on the desk behind him. “I’m going to be a dad. To twins.”

Stiles pats his chest consolingly, stepping between his legs. “It takes some getting used to, trust me.”

“This is—it’s a lot,” Derek agrees, rubbing a hand over his face. When he meets Stiles’ eyes again, he looks stubbornly determined, though, promising, “I’ll be there. For you and the babies. I want to be, if you want me to be.”

Which is great news, of course, but Stiles needs to know, “What about your—the cherub guy?”

“Cherub guy?” Derek mouths to himself, and damn him, even bewildered is a good look on him. “Do you mean Isaac?”

Stiles shrugs uncomfortably, and frowns down at Derek’s knees. “Maybe? I don’t know. But I saw him in a café back in New York, and he smelled like you. And you seemed, uh, pretty friendly, at the store a couple of days ago. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I guess, because, I mean, we’re not—”

“Isaac’s my intern, and my friend,” Derek says, settling his hands on Stiles’ hips. His thumbs press in carefully, and there’s nothing in his scent to indicate that he’s lying. “We work together, that’s all. He comes to New York with me every other week because he’s thinking about transferring to NYU. I’m an architect, and he’s doing his BA in real estate. NYU offers better options than BH Community College.”

“I don’t want to transfer,” Stiles blurts, then winces at his own abruptness. “I’m at Columbia. And I really love it. And you live in California.”

“We have offices here and in Manhattan. If you want to stay in New York, I’ll put in a transfer, spend more of my time over there,” Derek says, all casual, as if he isn’t offering to move across the country. Just like that. Stiles has no idea what his face is doing, but whatever it is, it makes Derek smile, and lean in to brush a kiss over Stiles’ cheek, murmuring, “I told you, I want you. All three of you.”

Stiles groans, and thuds his head against Derek’s shoulder. “Stop being so—so perfect, ugh.”

“Sometimes I grind my teeth in my sleep?” Derek says, amused, nosing behind Stiles ear, then lower at Stiles’ neck where he left the claiming bite, which really is unfairly distracting.

“Well, apparently I fail at remembering my own phone number when I’m drunk, so I’d say we’re about even.” Stiles pulls back a little, but only enough to properly look at Derek. It’s probably for the best anyway; the Mayor’s son and the Sheriff’s kid getting caught canoodling at an official event would definitely make the front page of the BH Gazette. “Which totally is the worst of my bad habits, I’m an absolute delight otherwise, you’ll see.”

“Over dinner?” Derek asks, sly and shy all at once. “The diner’s open all night. My treat.”

“Well,” Stiles stalls, pretending to consider. “Will there be curly fries?”

“You know what,” Derek says, going for serious, his mouth only twitching a little, “I’ll even throw in a milkshake for dipping.”

Stiles beams at him. “It’s a date.”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @welshwoman1988!

I was so happy when I saw your likes involved royalty AUs and I had such a good time writing this. I hope you enjoy it!

Read on AO3

*****

A Bud Beginning to Flower

Stiles wishes he didn’t have the weight of his own nonexistent marriage hanging over him when he should be enjoying the celebration of his best friend’s wedding finally coming to pass after his betrothal to Princess Allison when they were twelve. Instead, his head has been filled with all the potential matches who will be in attendance and he’s just glad his father will be staying behind to govern the country to give him some reprieve.

For the first time, he actually considers Scott’s single-mindedness a blessing as he’s absorbed by the distraction of his wedding. Not once has he asked about the pressure Stiles is receiving since he arrived a week ago, and Stiles is more than happy to keep it that way.

He’d arrived earlier than most, his friendship to Scott meaning he’ll always have a room open for him. Most other guests will be staying in the city or are already local, but he knows he won’t be the only foreign prince in attendance.

The Hales in the north have sent their crown princess, Laura, along with her husband Jordan, younger brother Derek and youngest sister Cora. They haven't arrived yet but the city is starting to simmer at the news that they're close considering it’s partially down to the Hales that this wedding almost never went ahead at all.

The rest of the blame goes to Allison’s family, specifically her aunt, Princess Katherine, and grandfather, King Gerard, who had been hatching a plot to kill the Hales once Katherine wed Prince Derek. Derek would have been the only one spared, all those in his way to the throne slaughtered, and in his grief Katherine would have governed in his stead.

When the plot was discovered, it split the Argent family down the middle and almost threw their Kingdom into civil war with the Hales eager for bloodshed on either side until Chris managed to assure them he and Allison had had no involvement.

It was all brought to an end when Derek managed to convince Katherine he shared her ambitions, then pivoted at the last moment to betray them.

At least, that’s the story that has been fed to the masses. But there are rumours abound of Derek’s involvement, that he had his own eye on the throne, that switching sides was to save his own neck when he realised he was on the losing one.

Stiles knows to believe all gossip is foolish, but he also believes you can never be too cautious, especially in his position.

With Derek’s engagement to Katherine six feet under, it’s no secret that he’s looking for a match too, a strong alliance to replace the one that was lost — something Stiles’ father has been keen to remind him of.

But even before the Argents, rumours were widespread of the Prince’s undesirable character. According to most, your eyes will want for nothing but your mind will die of thirst, a passionless bore with less personality than a plank of wood.

“You’ve never met the man, Stiles,” his father has grown fond of reminding him. Stiles is glad he isn’t here now to say it in his ear as the Hale delegation rolls up to the palace.

He’s not going to let himself be lulled into complacency by a pretty face.

And what a pretty face it is. That much he won’t deny.

With black hair against tan skin, extraordinary green eyes and a beard accentuating the devastating cut of his cheekbones, Stiles doesn't think he can be faulted for his lips going dry.

Cora shares the dark hair of her brother but Laura’s is a brilliant gold and she's just as beautiful as the stories Stiles has heard tell of. Their clothing is light compared to everyone else present, but this must feel like a heatwave compared to what they’re used to in the north.

After greeting Scott and then Allison (who receives tight hugs from Laura and Cora), the Hales turn to Stiles.

“Prince Mieczyslaw,” the Crown Princess greets, holding out a hand for Stiles to kiss the back of. She stumbles over the pronunciation, something Stiles is used to. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Princess Laura. The pleasure is mine.”

He and Jordan exchange a firm handshake and then Derek is next. Stiles is immediately struck by how warm his skin is, sure his hands could heat his bed in winter better than a warming pan.

“Prince Mieczysław,” Prince Derek greets and Stiles doesn’t blink in surprise at only the perfect pronunciation. He was expecting the man's voice to be gruff and curt (and honestly wasn't expecting to hear it at all after the rumours of his reticence) but instead it's lighter, gentle, and Stiles feels his stomach swoop like he’s missed a stair.

“Prince Derek,” Stiles returns. His surprise clogs his throat and the greeting comes out more like he's a swooning maiden. Thankfully, the Prince doesn’t seem to notice.

Little seven-year-old Cora is next in line, peering up at him from where she stands clutching at her big brother's hand.

“Where’s your crown?” she asks in that blunt manner most children seem to possess.

“Cora,” Derek chides, his voice smoothed further with fondness.

“I just want to know if he has a pretty crown!”

Stiles crouches down. “I bet it’s not as pretty as yours, Your Highness,” he says, taking her hand and kissing it.

Cora flushes with pride and beams. She tugs on her brother's hand, looking up at him as she extends her other to point at Stiles, finger an inch away from his face. “I want you to marry him.”

Stiles gapes but manages to contain his expression after a moment while Derek’s impressive eyebrows climb almost into his hair.

“Cora, that's— that's not how these things work.”

“But I like him,” she says, stubbornly.

Stiles stays silent, biting at his lip to hide a smile as he takes enjoyment in seeing Derek get so flustered.

“You know it’s not a matter of who you may or may not like but of politics and what alliances the marriage will bring.”

Stiles tries not to visibly bristle at the veiled insult.

In comparison to the Hales, the McCalls and the Argents, his country is small, not much more than an inkblot on a map. Though they have no great army of their own and would rely on their alliance with Scott for protection, they’re not without worth. His country is home to fertile land and they have the monopoly over the Ley river trade route where it runs through the centre of the capital. It might not be enough to procure a marriage of the magnitude of Scott and Allison, but it will make a handsome deal nonetheless. That a prince of Derek’s status would not think of him twice is no surprise but to have it implied in his own words has Stiles’ skin prickling.

He rises to his feet, face blank of anger but also of his earlier cheer. The absence doesn’t go unnoticed by Derek who’s eyes widen.

“I did not mean—”

“You must be tired after your journey. Scott has your quarters ready for you.” He bites his tongue as soon as the words are out. His casual address of their host just proves to Derek the only reason he’s here is because he rides on Scott’s coattails.

Derek is stunned into silence and Scott invites them inside before he has a chance to recover.

Perhaps after this story, his father won't be so quick to suggest the Hale prince.

*

With everything that requires Scott’s attention, it’s no surprise that Stiles doesn’t see him much in the lead up to the wedding. Disappointing, but not unexpected.

He spends his time riding outside the city walls or absolutely slaughtering anyone who dares face him at chess or staving off an alarming number of invitations to dinner and fluttered eyelashes. He supposes the stories will serve as fodder to keep his father happy but his patience will soon wear thin and Stiles will be required to choose a match from one of the many suitors.

He barely encounters Derek aside from their paths crossing at breakfast. The prince is always stiff-backed at the table, only speaking if someone else initiates a conversation first and even then his answers are clipped. By the third morning, no one bothers to engage him at all besides his sisters. Stiles hasn’t exchanged words with him since their introduction other than stony ‘Good morning’s and has no intention to change that anytime soon.

Beyond that, Stiles only ever sees him from afar, usually whenever he finds himself gazing out of a window. He often spies him taking strolls through the gardens with his sisters, swinging Cora effortlessly from one arm, taking lunch beneath the trees. If not in the gardens, he’s practicing the sword with a handful of Scott’s knights, flowing from one form to the next in a mesmerising dance. It takes a formidable effort to tear his eyes away before he’s caught staring.

Two days before the wedding, Stiles is approached by Laura and asked if he’d like to accompany her, Jordan and Derek to see a play in the city in the evening. In honour of their King’s impending nuptials, His Majesty’s Theatre has been putting on a performance of The Dove’s Nest everyday for the past week and it will apparently last out the month. A play is one of Stiles’ favourite pastimes, a passion of his ever since he was a child, and though The Dove’s Nest is a tired choice for the occasion of a wedding and he doesn’t much relish spending an evening in Derek’s vicinity, he readily agrees to attend.

Stiles rides alone in his carriage to the theatre, sliding down the window to watch the passing buildings. His thoughts are lulled by the rhythmic clop of hooves, the creak of tavern signs and their already rowdy patrons. The sun is setting, casting the bricks in an orange glow. It won’t be long until the lamps are lit.

The carriage eventually draws to a halt and Stiles waits for the footman to open the door and fold out the step. He thanks him and joins the Hales in front of the theatre, a grand pale-stoned building dwarfing those around it. His guards climb from the back of the carriage to shadow him while the footman and driver take the carriage further down the street to wait until he wishes to return to the palace.

Inside, they’re led through a blanketing haze of pipe smoke and chatter to the royal box on the second level, refreshments already waiting for them. It’s a bit of a squeeze for the four of them with the ornate chairs arranged inside but Stiles ends up in the rightmost chair, Derek to his left. He allows himself an internal groan. If beside Laura he might have a chance at some conversation but instead Derek is rigid beside him and he knows he’d have more fun watching a candle burn down than trying to engage him.

The angle of their chairs has their knees brushing and Stiles is reminded again of Derek’s  warmth. He distracts himself by casting his gaze around the theatre, at the elaborate gilded friezes looking down from the ceiling, to the chandelier hanging beneath with every candle lit, to the orchestra pit in front of the stage where rich red curtains fringed with gold are drawn closed in the centre.

“I wonder which variation of the story we’ll see tonight,” Stiles comments.

“Yes,” is all Derek says in return.

Even Laura leans forward to give him a judgemental eye and a glance at Derek shows a crease between his eyebrows deepening. He makes no attempt to further the conversation though so Stiles sits back in his seat to await the start of the play.

Thankfully, he doesn’t need to wait long.

As expected, this version of the play differs slightly from renditions performed in Stiles’ home country and picking out all the similarities and differences makes it a more enjoyable viewing than he’d been expecting. Even the masks differ, the heroine’s here big-eyed and full-lipped where Stiles is used to daintier features and rosy cheeks.

“Well that was delightful,” Laura praises when the curtains have closed on the final encore and their palms are buzzing from their applause.

“It was very well done, though I would have chosen Orelius myself.”

“And insult their King? The Dove’s Nest is traditional.” Derek looks at him for the first time all evening, turning his body in his chair to face him.

Stiles turns to Derek in surprise at the display of such feeling.

“Safe,” Stiles corrects, something inside him awakening at the challenge. “Orelius has an element of nostalgia for me, I’ll admit—”

“—and in your rosy memories it needs to stay,” Derek teases, a twitch of a smile about his lips. “If we’re talking about a break in tradition, then A Star Away would be better than Orelius, even if they went with the version that ends in suicide.”

Stiles stares at Derek’s burgeoning grin and twinkling eyes, speechless at the hyperbole. It only takes a second for him to recover, fighting a smile of his own. “A Star Away was written not two years past and is already outdated. Orelius is timeless and it's not just by chance that it’s endured for so many years.”

“Endured? ” Derek repeats, incredulously, and then launches into an impassioned speech detailing every way and reason why Stiles is wrong. Hogwash, every word of it, and Stiles tells him so.

At one point, they manage to stop arguing long enough to agree By Candlelight is the biggest abomination to have graced the stage in the past ten years, and then they begin discussing their favourite plays — and arguing all over again. When Derek mentions journeying to the east and witnessing a performance by the Otokonai, Stiles nearly falls out of his chair in his eagerness to hear more despite his envy. Tales of the all-female theatre troupe are all he’s had to go on and he dreams about seeing a performance of his own. He hangs on his every word as Derek describes the way they performed without dialogue, just conveying emotion through body language and music and masks.

Derek’s story brings them to the topic of travelling theatre troupes which begins another argument over the best play for a street performance and Stiles takes great affront to his dismissal of Fair Weather.

“You have no imagination,” Stiles sniffs. “And I take offense at your assessment. Whimsical it may be, but it’s merely a polished veneer concealing commentary on the state of censorship in the South.”

“I may be biased,” Derek concedes. “It is Cora’s favourite and there was a time where I had to watch it performed every day for weeks. It’s a good thing she isn’t with us. Though I beg of you, don’t let her hear you mention it. A troupe gifted her a pair of ears after their performance and she almost got away with wearing them to Laura’s wedding instead of her crown.”

Stiles lets a laugh bubble up at Derek’s pained face. His grimace becomes a tentative smile but he ducks his head before Stiles gets a proper look, clearing his throat.

“Speaking of my sisters,” Derek says with a frown over his shoulder. “I don’t know where Laura could have gotten to.”

Stiles starts at only just realising they’re alone. Had he really been so immersed in their debate?

“The Princess and Lord Parrish have already departed, Your Highness,” a guard answers when Derek inquires after her. “They did say farewell but...” He keeps his eyes averted and shifts uncomfortably.

Stiles resolutely doesn’t look at Derek, his face heating. From the corner of his eye he can see Derek doing the same.

“I suppose we should return to the palace ourselves,” Stiles murmurs and they both get to their feet, looking anywhere but at each other.

Stiles feels a little like he’s been doused in cold water, the magic of their conversation slipping through his fingers as Derek returns to his taciturn self for a silent journey in the carriage.

At the palace, Derek is first to climb out, turning to offer Stiles his hand. It’s just as warm as the last time Stiles held it, and in the creeping chill of the night air, Stiles almost wants to hold it to his cheek.

The silence holds until they reach a fork in their paths, their quarters in separate wings of the castle. Stiles is first to break it.

“Goodnight, Prince De—”

“I want to apologise for my perceived rudeness when we met,” Derek interrupts, and Stiles stares, mouth still forming Derek’s name. “I did not mean what I said. At least, not in the way you understood it. It wasn’t your undesirability I was speaking of, but my own.” A humourless smile twists his lips. “I know the things that people say about me. About the Argents, and my character. My faults shouldn’t taint someone as honourable and well-loved as yourself.”

Stiles isn’t sure what expression his face is showing, so numb he is with shock. The one thing he is certain of though is that his mouth is still hanging open in a highly undignified manner.

“I hope you can forgive me,” Derek says, his gaze so intent that Stiles can feel how important this is to him like a weight pressing on his chest.

“Of course,” he manages to murmur, and Derek smiles, small and private and relieved. Stiles’ stomach flips when Derek takes his hand and raises it to kiss the back of it. It’s an unusual gesture between two men and it makes Stiles’ cheeks go hot.

“Goodnight, Prince Mieczysław,” Derek murmurs, again with the perfect pronunciation that has Stiles’ knees going weak.

“Stiles,” he breathes, before he can really think about the permission he’s bestowing.

Derek’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, a look of wonder and the barest hint of a smile crossing his face like Stiles has just given him a gift to treasure. No one has ever thought of him so highly before.

This is all too soon.

“Goodnight, Derek,” he chokes out, and turns to stride down the hallway to his quarters. Only when he's shut the door and is leaning heavily against it does he realise he forgot Derek’s title.

His heart begins to pound as he stands there, at the memory of having those eyes so intent on him, drinking in his every thought and opinion. Stiles had been just as eager to hear all that Derek had to say, to argue with him some more.

Even now, he thinks about how he didn’t get to finish detailing his love for Orelius and is of half a mind to stride over to Derek’s rooms and make him see sense on the subject, talk until the sun is rising.

As he lies in bed, his thoughts turn to the rumours of Derek he'd filed away over the years, of his reputation as a bore. He thinks of all the breakfasts they've shared since arriving, of that moment before the play began. But then he remembers that moment Derek turned to him, like a spark had ignited behind his eyes, a bud beginning to flower. He was animated and engaged and Stiles can tell he only scratched the surface of what is clearly a vast well of knowledge. Gone was the broody glower he directs at all but his sisters and it’s clear you just need to know how to break through that harsh exterior.

But most hurtful of all, he thinks of the rumours of Derek’s involvement in the plot to murder his own family. Just by the memory of watching him chide his little sister, Stiles could tell there was no malice in him, without needing the evidence of every encounter since.

It makes his heart ache to think of all the cruel whisperings Derek has to endure, moreso when he remembers his own inclination to believe it. Despite his insistence to make his own judgement, in the back of his own mind, he’d already assumed the worst.

That burn of shame follows him into sleep and Derek is the first thing he thinks of when he wakes and he lies there for a few long minutes carefully not examining how far behind he’s left his rationality in regards to the other prince.

Laura finds him at breakfast with an apology over her and Jordan’s departure the night before, a sparkle in her eyes.

“We did say our farewells, but you were more engrossed in my brother,” she teases, and Stiles cheeks flame despite how hard he tries to stay aloof.

“You’ll have to forgive me. I was just astounded someone could be so deluded,” he sniffs, scraping some butter onto a knife. “Someone had to educate him.” Perhaps he would have been a bit more convincing if he didn’t drop the knife with a clatter when Derek entered the dining room a moment later. Laura lifts a hand to her mouth, but it’s not enough to stifle her snort of laughter.

“Good morning, Stiles.” Derek’s voice is no more than a murmur as he takes the seat beside him, like his use of Stiles’ nickname is a secret for them alone, and Stiles nearly drops his knife for a second time. It shouldn’t be sending thrills through him the way that it is.

“Good morning… Derek.”

Derek smiles, head ducked, and Stiles can't take his eyes off him.

When the Hales invite him to explore the gardens later that morning, he eagerly agrees compared to all the requests from others that he’s turned down during his visit. The icy wall erected between them when they first met continues to thaw as they linger behind Laura and Jordan and Cora, and Stiles is only too aware that the three of them would be considered chaperones in this situation.

Still, he manages to continue their discussion of playwrights in a more relaxed manner now they’re in the open air and sunshine instead of the intensity the cramped box at the theatre had brought. But the conversation eventually shifts to other topics, to childhood memories to their shared appreciation of chess to food. A wild bubble of hope rises in his chest when Derek tells him of the fare they serve at his home and his tentative suggestion that Stiles visit some time to try it himself.

Later that evening, after an almost inseparable day they've spent together, the desire to stay up until the early hours is strong where they have their heads bent close together between two arm chairs in one of the palace’s many sitting rooms. Laura ends up being the voice of reason; they need to be up early for the wedding.

As a surprise to no one, the wedding is a beautiful ceremony, the white drapery and bouquets and beaming sunlight almost as blinding as Scott and Allison’s smiles throughout.

Stiles saw the green jacket Derek was wearing when he arrived, the perfect shade of green to bring out his eyes, and he’s glad to be sitting further down the same pew or he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off him for the entire ceremony.

Once it’s over and Scott and Allison have headed to the palace balcony to greet their people, they can finally get to the part that everyone has been anticipating: an entire day of feasting.

There’s a sense of peace in the air, like everyone knows the recent turbulence is truly over, with the Hale’s present a symbol of their blessing and friendship with the remaining Argents. With any luck, it will last for decades to come.

Stiles sits at the long table at the head of the hall in a seat of honour. The Hales sit at the opposite end of the same table and the only sight he catches of Derek is when he chances craning his neck and watches him help to spoon food onto Cora’s plate where her arms are too short to reach. It makes his heart melt all the more.

Once most people have eaten their fill — for now — music starts and Stiles is bombarded by a never-ending stream of suitors with requests to dance. While he could get away with excuses when asked to dinner or out riding, now he has no choice but to accept each one. But he can give none of his partners the attention they deserve. Instead, with every dizzying turn, he keeps an eye on Derek stubbornly seated at the table.

It seems no one has approached him with a request to dance and his furrowed brow speaks of a dark mood. When Laura squeezes his elbow he shakes her off, lips forming words Stiles can’t make out. She’s persistent though, and whatever she’s saying has Derek eventually slamming his palms to the table and rising to his feet. Stiles can't catch what he says in return, and moments later, his attention is pulled back to the woman in his arms as the dance comes to an end.

All of the partners exchange bows and curtsies and when Stiles turns to find Derek again, he nearly walks straight into him.

The guests around Stiles go quiet as Derek holds out a hand, palm up. “May I have this next dance, Prince Mieczysław?” he asks through a clenched jaw.

Stiles flushes hot and cold all over at everyone’s eyes on him, but their scandalised faces make him bristle.

“You may,” he responds after a deep breath to steady his voice, taking Derek’s hand in his.

His legs are trembling, weak like he’s just run a mile, as Derek leads him further out onto the floor. Derek’s glower is doing nothing for his confidence.

As they begin the steps of the dance, pressing their palms together, Stiles feels his nerves begin to fade, the room shrinking around them until they're the only two in it, the only two who exist.

It sends a jolt through him when they reach the part of the dance that requires them to switch partners, the world suddenly coming back into focus. He’s glad at least that Derek looks as dazed as he feels.

They step apart and Stiles finds a woman in his arms, a golden butterfly pin in her hair, who dances with grace. He feels dizzy with each rotation across the floor, trying to find Derek, and when they finally return to each other it’s a relief. Derek actually has a small smile playing about his lips and Stiles isn't surprised that he does too.

The dance begins to slow and they reluctantly return to their starting positions. Stiles is out of breath and not just from the dance. He already regrets the loss of contact and craves more of it.

The room applauds and more people stand to join the next dance. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see people still waiting for their turn with him, but Derek hasn’t let go of his hand.

“Walk with me?” There’s apprehension in Derek’s gaze and Stiles squeezes his hand tighter.

“To the gardens?” he asks and Derek nods.

He releases Stiles’ hand, leading the way from the hall, and they walk in silence, the raucous chatter and music of the party fading behind them. The air is fresh on Stiles’ face, and after the way his heart was pounding just now, it’s a relief to take deep gulps of it even if having Derek beside him means he can’t entirely calm himself.

It’s not until they’re almost halfway around one of the paths, leaving other revellers taking a breather far behind, that Derek speaks.

“I did not expect—” he begins, voice loud in the silence between them. He must be conscious of it too because he hesitates before trying again. “I did not expect I could meet someone who would make me feel as you have in such a short amount of time.”

Stiles jerks to a halt, speechless.

“I know I did not make the best first impression. I’m sure you thought I was stuck up and unpleasant.”

“You are.”

Derek’s eyes widen as if Stiles’ words had struck him across the face. His expression goes blank, closed off, and he straightens from where they were leaning close.

“You carry yourself like you’re sitting on a throne of needles and look down your nose at those you deem unworthy of your time.”

Derek’s spine gets stiffer and stiffer as Stiles talks. “We should get back to the feast,” he says, already striding away. “My sister is probably—”

“But you’re also charming,” Stiles says after him and Derek freezes. “And knowledgeable, and you dote on your little sister too much, and you have a wicked sense of humour that not enough people appreciate. Or that not enough people are privileged enough to witness because of the throne of needles,” he adds contemplatively.

Derek has turned back to face him, his mouth open and exposing his too-long front teeth, so at odds with the sharp planes of his face and his usually piercing gaze. Now, he’s staring at Stiles like he’s never seen him before, like he’s never heard such compliments, and Stiles’ heart aches in his chest at the thought. Derek is all of those things and more, and Stiles feels a fresh burst of fury at the rumours, the rumours that had coloured his view of him before they ever met.

Derek finally finds his voice. “And you’re an insufferable know-it-all.”

Stiles grins.

“Your taste in playwrights is atrocious, and your mouth— You never close it and it’s been haunting my every waking and dreaming moment since I arrived, and if I may—”

Derek has gravitated closer and closer, so close Stiles can feel his breath on his lips and their noses are almost brushing. Stiles can hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears as he takes a deep breath.

“You may.”

Derek closes the final distance between them and they meet in a kiss that feels long overdue. Derek’s beard scratches against his chin and he’s struck once more by how warm he is, how he yearns to have no layers between them to just feel that warmth against him, to bask in it.

Despite the serenity of the moment, there’s still worry on Derek’s face when he pulls back.

“I know your father will never approve of me-”

Stiles holds a finger to his lips. “My father took to reminding me of your single status every day leading up to this visit. It seems he’s never had any doubt over your character.”

“But you did.” There’s no accusation in his voice but it hurts all the same.

“Yes. Though I am ashamed to admit it.”

Derek shakes his head. “Perhaps if I had possessed a bit more of the same cynicism, my family would never have found themselves in their position.”

Stiles takes his hand. “No one suspected, Derek.”

Derek kisses the back of his hand again and this time, Stiles has no intention to flee.

Instead, he returns the gesture, and Derek laughs. It’s a bright thing, illuminating their little corner of the gardens, and Stiles reaches up to cup his cheek, feeling the rasp of his stubble and the tension of his smile.

It’s a long while before they make it back to the feast and if the looks on all the guests faces at their disheveled appearances are anything to go by, Stiles is going to find himself at the centre of more than a few scandalous rumours of his own.

As long as Derek is at his side, he’ll welcome each and every one.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @rubyredhoodling!

For rubyredhoodling, who likes BAMF Stiles (and Derek), spark Stiles, Derek comes back, and there may be just a small hint of mafia au. Season's greetings, and I hope you like it!

Read on AO3

*****

Priorities

There were hunters in his town.

Stiles sat behind his desk, picking up the plaque reading "Sheriff Stilinski," only mildly defaced by the removal of his dad's first initial, and turning it over in his hands. There had been five people who held the office of sheriff between the two Stilinskis; the first, and only one elected to the position, had been a deputy that had ties to hunters but hadn't taken part in any activities that could lead to firing or even disciplinary charges. He'd laid low long enough for things to settle down and then used his connections to mount a successful campaign to remove John Stilinski from office - because surely all of the dramatic violence in Beacon Hills had to be due to the sheriff not doing his job.

The former deputy's hunter regime had lasted a year before he was removed from office in disgrace. Not for the harassment and humiliation of anyone even vaguely connected with the supernatural (or somewhat brown in skintone), but for having so grossly mismanaged the department's budget that the county only found out the sheriff's office had run out of money when checks bounced. The forensic accountant that was appointed as interim sheriff stayed for a month, presenting a preliminary audit and her resignation at the same time. The next sheriff had died in what was referred to as either mysterious circumstances or a hunting accident, depending on who was speaking and who was listening, followed by the fourth sheriff resigning by way of an email sent after he got into his car and kept driving after attempting to investigate said mysterious hunting accident. His family had to stop unpacking and reload the moving truck to join him.

By the time the fifth sheriff in two years had been appointed, Stiles had resigned from the FBI and come home on a mission. If his dad wouldn't leave - and he wouldn't - then Beacon Hills had to become a safe place for his dad to live, and not just within the perimeter of mountain ash and totems and runestones and every other type of protection magic that Stiles could find to place around their house. The forces of evil couldn't even see the house, but it wasn't as if his dad would agree to stay inside it forever.

If the fifth sheriff had contented herself with accepting the drop in the murder rate and number of animal attacks, she might have lasted. As it was, she had arrived one night at the high school in time to see the longest-serving deputy remaining on the force go up in flames, a number of people growing fangs and claws, another set of people shooting at everything that moved, and one Stiles Stilinski, holding a baseball bat and smiling. A few tumultuous hours later, she'd listened stonily as Scott did his best to explain things while applying pressure to the gunshot wound in her shoulder and Stiles methodically adjusted the scene to reflect the story he was dictating should be told by everyone.

One hunter had deviated from the story, theoretically supporting the fifth sheriff in her quest to find answers. Caught between what was being whispered in her ear and what she gleaned from Scott, the fifth sheriff made the mistake of finding the middle ground between them, the one thing they agreed on: blaming Derek Hale.

Within twelve hours of Derek being brought in and held for questioning, the sheriff's hunter lover was in FBI custody on multiple weapons charges, with more possible charges pending, and the fifth sheriff was implicated in facilitating the transfer of illegal weapons over state and national borders. The blood and DNA samples the fifth sheriff had forced to be taken during Derek's pre-detention medical screening were discovered to be too contaminated to use, lawsuits had been filed, and more than half of the officers on shift had called in sick.

"You fucked up," Stiles had told her when he came in, his hands empty and his clothes casual. "But you can still turn it around."

Maybe if she hadn't fallen so deeply in love with her hunter, she would have listened. If Stiles had had more time to prepare, maybe he would have been able to be more persuasive, or at least diplomatic. Definitely things would've gone better if he'd been able to get his dad to go talk to her, even if it would've meant Stiles was left talking to all the guys on the force that were spending their 'sick' day at a barbecue in the Stilinski back yard.

But, then again, the fifth sheriff thought it was a good idea to respond by threatening to arrest Stiles, so maybe not.

She had been politely asked to leave her position, and less politely invited to cooperate with the FBI into the investigation of her lover's ties to organized crime, before Stiles had finished checking his email as he sat in the police station lobby. Lingering let him give Derek a ride home when he was shortly released from custody without ever being formally arrested. The sincere, formal, and voluminous apologies delivered to Derek by the elected representatives of Beacon Hills carried more than a whiff of 'please don't sue,' and Stiles had to turn away to keep a straight face as Derek thanked them gravely for their commitment to justice.

The impression he had gotten was that they'd beg his dad to come back - they'd done it before, after all. Instead someone had the bright idea of appointing him to the job, anticipating his ten-year plan by at least eight years. Stiles had had to sit there and deal with it as his dad laughed himself sick.

And now, after six years of making damn sure his town was a safe place for all of its citizens, after everything he'd given up and everything he had lost, after a year of peace and calm, there were hunters trying to move back in.

"Sheriff?" One of the baby deputies peeked around the corner, both sets of eyelids blinking convulsively with nerves. "There's someone here to see you."

"Take five," Stiles said, putting the plaque back on his desk as he stood. "I'll speak to them."

There weren't many people in the station; Stiles was a big believer in having his officers out in the community as much as possible, and if it also kept the possibility of casualties down in case of an attack then all the better. That didn't stop all three deputies that were there, even the young naga, from making a point of having a clear line of sight to both Stiles and the visitor. "Alpha... Viel, isn't it? I hadn't been notified you were planning a visit."

"I wasn't aware I had to report my movements to the local law enforcement," the alpha said, still leaning against the wall in the waiting area and examining his fingernails. "This is America. Free country, or haven't you heard?"

"See, I was taught that good manners are important no matter where you are." Stiles swung open the pass-through, breaking the mountain ash line. "But, whatever, you're here now. Did you want to talk out here, or is my office okay?"

Extending one hand, the alpha tilted it from one side to the other, as if critiquing a manicure. "Do you get a lot of werewolves stupid enough to walk into a trap?"

Stiles shrugged and closed the station doors with a gesture. "You tell me, since you walked into someplace you can't walk out of just to have this conversation. I mean, I'm not all that interested in keeping you, but you asked."

"You think you're funny, don't you?" The alpha's claws came out and he lunged forward, laughing when Stiles flinched. "Now that, that was funny."

Waving to his deputies to get them to stand down, Stiles said, "Was there a point? Because I feel like I could probably deliver your lines from the script, and I have actual work to do."

"Does your script include the fact that I've got your pack?"

"It might surprise you to know that comes up a lot," Stiles said. "The only real question I have is whether you're working with the hunters that showed up or if they came here looking for you."

The alpha's smug smile fell and he lunged again, not feinting this time, only to be brought down before Stiles could even lift his hands defensively. His roar cut off with a crunching noise, and Stiles shuddered as something bounced off his foot. "Was that his fang? Did you break his fangs?"

"You're welcome," Derek said, still kneeling firmly on the alpha's back, one hand grinding his face against the floor. "Your dad said to tell you we're having quinoa casserole for dinner."

Stiles groaned. "You should never have told him about that spell I found to unclog his arteries. This reign of terror is endless."

"It would have taken a year off your life, if it didn't kill you," Derek said. "I regret nothing."

The alpha stopped trying to buck Derek off his back, and Stiles squatted down next to him while Derek yanked his head up. "So, you were saying something about my pack."

"They're dead," the alpha said, blood running down his chin. "You're all dead."

"Lydia's fine, she and her mom are at your house with your dad," Derek said, ignoring the alpha's muffled curses as he got pushed into the floor again. "I don't know about any of the others."

Shaking his head, Stiles said, "Bring him, he can go in the special cell while we check on everyone. And we've got hunters, by the way. Cora called in to let me know when they checked into the motel."

Derek grimaced. "I hate that place." It wasn't a new observation, but Stiles didn't feel the need to defend Cora's choice to buy and run the local no-tell establishment. Especially since it might've been partly, a little bit, due to Cora losing a bet with Stiles. Just a little bit, though.

They almost had the alpha in the cell, struggling and cursing, when the front doors blew open and distracted Derek's attention long enough to lose his grip. The alpha didn't waste any more time posturing, making a break for the closest window and ripping his claws through the deputy that happened to be in his way.

"Stop!" Scott's alpha roar did nothing to slow the retreating alpha, but it made Lewis hesitate in reaching for his radio to call for an ambulance. Derek was already kneeling next to Sams, discreetly assessing his injuries and applying his first aid training. Stiles tried to remember if there was anything supernatural about Sams that would require warning the hospital, but if there was he couldn't think of it.

Warning his people was the next priority. There were probably municipalities that did not have codes in place for supernatural shenanigans, but it hadn't made sense not to anticipate Beacon Hills being Beacon Hills. Scott was trying to demand answers, but only Lewis was paying attention to him; Stiles didn't have time to deal with it as he got a hold of Yang's shoulders, turning the naga to bring their eyes in contact. "Hey. You with us? Breathe, deep breaths, everything's fine now. You protected everyone as much as you could."

"I froze," Yang muttered, ducking his head. "Sams--"

"Will be fine," Stiles said. "And freezing was better than charging in."

The wail of the ambulance siren cut through the air and Stiles gave Yang a final nod with eye contact before moving to make sure the path was clear for the emergency crew to enter. Not for the first time, Stiles contemplated briefly whether kidnapping his dad would be a viable strategy for actually leaving Beacon Hills behind.

***

"Derek, do you think the spark is gone?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek joined Stiles where he was leaning on the hood of an anonymous dark blue Camry, significant mostly for how hard it would be to distinguish from the number of Toyotas on the street. "Stop trying to make 'Spark' happen. Deaton using a corny metaphor does not make 'Spark' a thing."

"Hey, it's a thing! It's my thing!" Stiles spread his arms and wriggled his fingers. "I didn't spend all those years in sparky magic school to be--"

"Austin Powers, really?" Derek's look of disdain would have crushed a lesser being. Luckily, Stiles was used to it.

"I need to use references old enough for you to get them, since you're practically a senior citizen." Stiles gave his best angelic smile. "Don't think I missed that you actually attended bingo last Sunday."

With a sigh, Derek said, "I go to bingo every Sunday, or did you forget that someone promised the Daughters of Thoth that we would attend to them on a regular basis?"

"Oh." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, dislodging the collar of his plaid shirt. "I kinda wondered why they hadn't said anything, but I haven't had time to get to them."

"You can't do everything yourself," Derek said. "No matter how much you keep pretending that you can."

Sputtering, Stiles waved his arms around. "Dude! Not fair! I'm here specifically waiting for you, just so that I'm not going alone to deal with these assholes."

Derek's lips twitched. "And it only took how long to convince you not to go by yourself?"

"About as long as it took to realize I wouldn't end up having to stop to protect you." Stiles pushed himself off the hood and picked up the baseball bat that he'd leaned against the side of the car. "Although I'm still waiting for you to realize how sexy I am and agree to post-fight makeouts."

The flick of Derek's finger against the back of Stiles's neck was a brief sting, and a familiar one. "Focus."

"Right." Stiles climbed into the passenger seat, keeping one hand on his bat and the other near the release for his seatbelt. After a few minutes of driving in silence, he said, "I bet you five bucks that they ambush us on the blind curve behind Old Mill Road."

Derek took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Stiles. "No bet. Except they may be smart enough to have one wait, pretend they're not working together so that they surprise us when the evil cavalry rushes in."

"Okay, one, the fact that you just said 'evil cavalry' turned me on just a little bit," Stiles said. "And you're totally right, they are absolutely that dramatic. Do you think we should stop early and, like, walk in? Do our own big show of 'ha HA, I am not alone!'"

The noise Derek made would've been called a huff by anyone who hadn't put the time in over the course of years to recognize it as a laugh. "You just don't want anyone to know you're driving to the scene of a crime in a sensible mid-size sedan."

"With an impeccable safety rating," Stiles said mournfully. "It's terrible."

"You'll live." The blind curve was coming up, and Derek slowed just enough to lock eyes with Stiles and share a brief nod before he gunned it around the corner. The spikes in the road made the car fishtail, but Derek's reflexes were good enough to keep the car on the road, pulling to a skidding stop just a few feet from the treeline.

Stiles stepped smoothly from the car, bat hanging loose in his grip. "You have no business in my town."

The hunter was just a little older than Derek, with hair that touched his collar and a brown leather jacket. Stiles had thought the man was a waste of oxygen when he'd read some of the reports from the official background check and the unofficial victim and witness statements from his hunting activities, but the fact that the man was tall and good-looking somehow made it worse.

"You're harboring fugitives," the hunter said, flashing a smile that made it clear he knew exactly how handsome he was. "Doesn't seem right, a lawman sheltering the lawless."

In a flat voice, completely free of inflection, Stiles said, "Oh, what a clever argument, I am undone."

"You think you're clever," the hunter said. "You got Brent all riled up - thanks for confirming you're a spellcaster, by the way, good to know - but you don't know as much as you think you do, and you're definitely not going to live to see morning."

"The only thing I don't know is why you're here," Stiles said, his grip on the bat tightening. "But I'm guessing you felt like destroying something beautiful."

The hunter smiled again. "Fight Club. Great movie."

"You'd be the type to think so." Stiles knocked the bat against the inside of his sneaker before bringing it up to his shoulder. "So, who goes first, do you go first?"

Raising a pistol he'd been holding in the shadows next to his leg, the hunter fired three shots directly to center mass. Stiles stood impassively as his protective spell took the impact that the kevlar didn't, preventing the shots from even bruising him. Whatever magical kryptonite the hunter thought he had, he either hadn't deployed it yet or it hadn't worked. "My turn." Stiles lifted the bat, dug a foot into the ground, and swung as if he was trying to send the hunter's jaw to the outfield.

The hunter had his own magical protection, but it wasn't enough; the crunch of teeth and bone was loud in the air as blood spattered onto the trees behind them. "I'd say you could still leave, but that's not an option," Stiles said, swinging the bat again, this time at the hunter's stomach. "You can still live long enough to go to prison, if you surrender very quickly."

More shots rang out, one coming close enough that it tore through the shoulder of the overshirt Stiles was wearing. Turning his head slowly from one side to the other, Stiles felt a coldness rise inside him, creeping over him and lifting the corners of his lips. "Evil cavalry's here. Let's see how that goes."

Five targets, closing in to surround him; his own backup lurking in the darkness and making sure no more surprises were hiding in reserve. Cover fire for the sixth and primary target to escape. Car behind him, partial shield, but also a risk if someone thought to light up the gas tank. Moving quickly, Stiles broke the main hunter's shoulder with a strong sweep of his bat before seizing his neck, holding him up long enough to block two shots before throwing him down towards the trees.

"Down," he heard, but he'd already stooped to pick up the hunter's gun and just turned his head to see Derek fly past, half shifted and running a few steps on all fours before throwing himself in the air and landing in full wolf form with his fangs buried in a hunter's bicep. He always tried to avoid tearing out throats during a fight but it might not matter; the chunk gouged out of the attacker's arm was bleeding so heavily that the man might not make it to the 'ask questions' portion of the night.

Lifting his arm, Stiles listened to his own breath whistling in and out of his chest as if traveling through a huge, empty cavern. One shot, two shots, pause and fire again, shift stance and fire again. Three targets now, with three down, and Stiles was still calm as the coldness blanketed everything except the calculations needed to get through the fight.

The alpha roared, leaping to the top of the car and flashing his eyes red as he looked down at Stiles. After a flicker of a glance, Stiles turned away from him, concentrating on the two hunters still firing in his direction. The alpha wasn't a threat worth thinking about, because Derek was already charging, a blur of black fur and blue eyes dripping a trail of blood from his flashing teeth.

"I'm still willing to let you live," Stiles said, not bothering to raise his voice. "Limited time offer, one time only."

He waited, his head tilted and a faint, pleasant smile on his face, until the crack of another gunshot rang out. He was tired enough that he brought his left hand up, palm flat out, to support with the gesture the spell to stop the bullet that had been aimed at his forehead. It fell to the ground and he shrugged, stretching his arms out before returning fire with the last of the bullets in the gun he'd held onto. "Okay, death it is."

Leisurely, Stiles moved to the closest downed hunter and stepped on the man's hand before taking his weapon and the fresh clip he'd been trying to load. With a wink, Stiles said, "Ah-ah, no trying to be sneaky. Either you're down or you're dead."

"Fuck you!" The hunter was struggling to get off the ground and Stiles allowed it, using the time to slam the clip in place and take the shot to eliminate the next closest target, peering out of the brush cover to attempt another attack and instead getting a neat hole between his eyes for his trouble.

The hunter at his feet managed to get a knife in his hand, lunging towards Stiles with one last burst of strength. Stiles just sidestepped and ended him with a shot to the back of the head, attention momentarily caught by the fight between the werewolves. The alpha had Derek pinned in a canine restraint position, and the coldness in Stiles flickered as he wondered whether the man had veterinary experience. It didn't last long; Derek shifted back to human form and threw the alpha to the ground in a crack of broken bones, and Stiles still had business to attend to.

The one hunter left standing wasn't firing, and Stiles moved to where the leader was rolling on the ground, clutching his broken arm and yelling for his men as best he could through broken teeth and a fractured jaw. Crouching next to him, Stiles pulled the man's backup piece from his ankle holster and placed it in his left hand. "There you go. Sporting chance, right? Can't just kill you if you're helpless - then I'd be just like you!"

"Except, no," Stiles said, standing up. "Because I didn't hunt you down. I didn't go to your home, I didn't set up an ambush for you, and I sure as fuck didn't decide to devote my life to the pursuit of genocide by targeting the most peaceful, helpless people I could find."

The cold and emptiness drained away as Stiles stood and lifted his gun. The hunter dropped the smaller gun Stiles had given him and started pleading, but Stiles fired before he could manage more than one word.

A howl behind him made Stiles turn around, just in time to see the alpha lunge at Derek, fangs bared. Stiles raised the gun, feeling shaky and almost too tired to lift it, but it wasn't necessary; Derek sidestepped smoothly and took hold of the alpha's hair, using it to pull his head back and expose his neck. The arterial spray shot over Derek's claws as he dug deep into the dying alpha's throat, almost as red as the glow overtaking the blue in Derek's eyes.

"There's one unaccounted for," Stiles said, because he'd trained himself so well on prioritizing threats that it was the first of the thousand thoughts in his mind that coalesced into speech.

Jerking his head to one side, Derek said, "Pissed himself back there. Hasn't moved since."

Stiles sighed. "Come out here. If I have to go find you, it won't end well."

"There's one on the ground that might make it," Derek said. "I'll need your shirt."

With a quick glance over Derek's naked, blood-spattered body, Stiles handed the overshirt over. "Yeah, it's a bit chilly out."

"Or I could make bandages." The last hunter crept out of the treeline, white-faced and shaky. Derek sighed as he headed to help the wounded hunter. "They get younger every year."

"Because we're getting old," Stiles said, although the hunter really was a kid. "Jesus, what are you, twelve?"

Shaking his head, the kid said, "Sixteen."

It was enough to make Stiles feel a rush of sympathy which drained the last of his energy and the chill of battle from his system, leaving a welter of confusion where there had been a clear emptiness. "Didn't anybody tell you to be home early on school nights?"

"Werewolves killed my mom and dad," the kid said. "These guys killed the werewolves, said I could help other people. Then we came here."

"Aw, crap." Dropping the gun, Stiles retrieved his baseball bat and ended up using it as a cane when it became apparent that something had turned his ankle into a mass of pain at some point while the adrenaline and emptiness had kept him from feeling it. The kid didn't move throughout, not even when Stiles sank down on the front bumper of the Camry and rested both hands on top of the bat to help himself stay upright. "So, hi, I'm Stiles Stilinski. I'm the sheriff around here, and I don't take kindly to people coming to town and planning to murder people."

Frowning, the kid said, "But--"

"I'm going to stop you there," Stiles said, holding a hand up and then putting it back on the bat when the kid flinched. "The next thing out of your mouth is probably going to piss me off, and I'm tired, so. First off, werewolves are people. Second, while some werewolves are murderous fu-- jerks, so are some humans." Stiles gestured to the hunters on the ground, including the one Derek was stabilizing.

"I've heard swearing before," the kid muttered, but Stiles ignored the comment in favor of continuing.

"Thirdly." Stiles had to pause for a moment before he could remember where he'd been going with that. "If I can handle things legally, I will. I offered the chance to surrender and be arrested, and I didn't kill anybody that didn't try to kill me first - but I'm not about to be stupid enough to let someone live who's just going to come back and try to kill me again."

The kid went paler, which Stiles wouldn't have bet was possible, and stood up so straight that it made Stiles ache in his lower back just to look at him. "So you're going to kill me?"

"What? No, weren't you listening? You didn't try to kill me, I don't kill you." It only relaxed the kid a little bit, but it would have to be enough. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, but death is currently off the table."

A shot rang out, making them both flinch, and they both turned to see Derek, still stark naked, holding a pale hunter in the air by the neck. The hunter was trying to break his hold with one hand, the other covered in blood dripping from the wound that Derek had bandaged with the ripped up plaid shirt. "Where's the fucking gratitude, I ask you? That was my favorite shirt!"

"It was an eyesore," Derek said, still easily holding the hunter as he tried scratching and kicking his way to freedom. "What do you want to do with this one?"

"Check him for any more weapons and then bring him here," Stiles said. "If he wants to die, he can off himself after he's answered some questions."

This earned him an epic bitchface from Derek, who threw the hunter to the ground in front of where Stiles sat. "They never answer questions."

"I hardly ever get to ask," Stiles pointed out. "There's wipes in the trunk, clean up a bit before you get your clothes back on."

"You clean up," Derek muttered, but disappeared behind the car anyway.

Stiles waited quietly while the hunter cursed and blustered, although he noted with interest that the kid flinched away from him and circled around to get Stiles and the car between himself and the injured hunter. At length, the hunter got himself to his feet and faced up to Stiles, holding his injured arm and looking around the small clearing. "You won't get away with this."

"Me?" Stiles tilted his head in confusion, looking from side to side as if he was on The Office or there would be someone there who could confirm what he just heard. "Are you serious right now?"

"You're building up this underworld empire, providing sanctuary for all sorts of vermin just to build an army - we're on to you." The hunter lifted his chin defiantly. "Jeff had a crappy plan, but he had the right idea, and there's others. We'll be back, and next time we'll kill you."

Scratching the back of his neck, Stiles thought about what the guy was saying. "So what you're saying is, your group went off half-cocked because you guys thought I was getting too powerful by, what, allowing people to live somewhere without having to be afraid for their lives 24/7?"

"Fuck you," the hunter said, even as he swayed and half staggered from the blood loss. "I am one, but I represent legions."

Stiles watched him as he fell slowly forward, eyes fluttering. "You realize that quote is about demons, right? You just pretty much used your last words to say hunters are demons."

The hunter twitched as if trying to get up again, but fell unconscious without managing it. His breath was becoming shallower as the bandage around his arm finished unraveling and blood seeped out. "So, Derek? Kid? Anyone feel like heroic measures? Because I'm tired, and he tried to kill me."

"It's too late anyway," Derek said, coming back around the car as he pulled a t-shirt down over his head. "If we'd gotten him to the hospital for a transfusion before he tried to shoot me, maybe. Since he wouldn't even let me stop the blood loss, he basically killed himself already."

Sidling along to peer around the car, the kid said, "He was a creepy fucker. Jeff was talking once about the birth rate and I asked if he meant, like, sterilizing, and Chase laughed and said direct extermination was quicker."

"And you didn't think to question that at all?"

"Did you say this guy's name was Chase?"

Derek and Stiles spoke at the same time, then exchanged a glance that had Derek raising his eyebrows and Stiles shrugging. "Kid in a cult doesn't question the cult, especially if there's guns. But, dude." With a wave to the corpse, Stiles said, "He was a hunter named Chase. It's kind of hilarious."

"There is something seriously wrong with you," Derek said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Your sense of humor isn't twisted, it's a spiral."

"Don't front, you love it." Stiles moved to stand up and then winced when pain shot up his leg. "Okay, not doing that. You're on body duty, I'm going to hop along into the car and start the paperwork."

Derek frowned and picked Stiles up, carrying him to the back seat before kneeling to inspect his ankle. "It's probably just sprained, but you'll need an x-ray."

"I just want a shower and my bed," Stiles whined. "Can't I deal with it tomorrow?"

"No, because you'll try to use magic to heal it and make yourself worse." Carefully, Derek helped him maneuver himself into the car with his ankle propped up, then tossed a package of wet wipes at his face as soon as he was settled. "Try to clean up. We'll go as soon as I get the bodies out of sight of the road."

"Love you too, boo!" Stiles chuckled as Derek gave him the finger without turning around, even if there was a slightly bitter edge to the humor. He settled down to cleaning off his hands and wiping his face, only to jump when a throat was noisily cleared from just next to him. "Holy crap, kid, you scared me!"

With a shrill laugh, the kid said, "I scared you?"

Stiles dragged a thumb over his mouth, trying to hide the laugh trying to escape. "Fighting is different. If I'm not in a fight, I don't need to be all..." He trailed off with a gesture towards his own face and the night outside the car.

"Scary as shit stone cold killer?"

"I was going more for hyper-focused, but okay." Gesturing to the front passenger seat, Stiles said, "Go ahead, sit down. You might as well ride with us to town while we figure out what to do with you."

Gingerly, the kid slid into the seat and even buckled his seatbelt. Stiles was starting to get fluffy kitten feelings about this child, which was going to be a hell of a thing to explain to his dad. "I don't really have a place to go? Jeff was my foster dad."

"And isn't that a scathing indictment of the entire foster system." Stiles sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, then grimaced and deployed a new wet wipe. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Noah. Noah Kowalski." The kid started to reach back to shake hands, but got tangled in the seatbelt and then pulled back after Stiles pulled the filthy wipe away from the half of his face he'd managed to clean. "Uh. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but..."

Nodding, Stiles said, "No, totally understandable. Stiles Stilinski, I don't remember if I said. Noah is my dad's middle name. He's still the one everybody calls Sheriff Stilinski - everybody ends up calling me Sheriff Stiles, it's kind of a thing."

The kid didn't seem to know what to do with that, just gave a small "ah" before they fell into an awkward quiet. Finally, just as Stiles could feel the river of babble reach his lips and threaten to burst forth, Noah said, "So how long have you and that guy been together?"

Stiles choked on thin air and the words that jammed up on his tongue as his brain rebooted. "You-- he-- wha?"

"Sorry!" The kid retreated into himself like a turtle. "I was just, you know, never mind, it's not my business, I'm sorry I asked!"

With a small cough, Stiles said, "No, it's whatever, we're just not - we're not like that."

Over the years, Stiles had been the target of all sorts of pointed looks, but somehow the one Noah gave him just then managed to combine the distilled platonic ideals of all them - pity, condescension, disbelief, amusement, and indulgence were all represented in this sixteen year old's judgmental stare. "You don't have to pretend, it's not like I'm homophobic or anything. You even just said you love him."

"Lots of people joke around saying things like that," Stiles said. "And, anyway, he barely puts up with me. He'd never be-- he'd never want--" Breaking off, Stiles cleared his throat. "Anyway, yeah, nothing like that."

"It could be! He's totally into you, it's obvious!" Noah's eyes were sparkling now as he turned around in his seat to look directly at Stiles for the first time. "You could just tell him how you feel, or, or, I could help you set up, like, a super romantic atmosphere and--"

"Kid! Seriously?" Stiles kind of regretted crushing Noah's enthusiasm as he hunched in on himself again, but no way was he indulging any matchmaking delusions from a child that had probably shot at him. That way lay madness, and trying to sing along to Adele while under the influence of alcohol and/or sugar. "No Parent Trap moments, okay? Derek doesn't need to deal with that."

Crossing his arms and facing forward, Noah said, "Whatever. It's not like I care about a werewolf and some hick sheriff who murders people."

"Says the kid who--" Stiles cut himself off with an internal reminder that he was supposed to be an adult. "I've got some calls to make."

He'd barely gotten his phone out when Derek slid into the driver's seat and started the car. "I already got a hold of Parrish. Your dad's going to meet us at the hospital to take temporary custody of Noah."

"Hey, how'd you know my name? And you can just drop me off at the bus station, I'll get home by myself."

Derek made some sort of answer, but Stiles couldn't hear it over the blaring alarms in his head repeating "you fucked up, you fucked up, you seriously fucked up" in ever-increasing volume. Not only was Derek a werewolf, he was an alpha again - he'd probably heard every word they'd said, especially since he would've wanted to monitor Stiles for any signs of pain or discomfort, because that was the kind of caring, considerate asshole that had made Stiles fall in love with him. There was no way things wouldn't be weird now.

Or, maybe? What exactly had he said? Stiles racked his brain to try to remember the exact phrasing he'd used, wondering if maybe there was a chance of playing it off. Had he actually, out loud, admitted that he was hopelessly in love with Derek? He couldn't remember.

They pulled to a stop, Stiles barely noticing the lack of noise from the engine, until his dad opened the door across from him and leaned his head in. "Hey, kiddo, you okay?"

"There's many kinds of love! Love doesn't just have to be romantic!"

His dad paused for barely a moment. "Okay. So, I'm going to let you talk about that with Derek while you get your leg looked at. Good to know you're doing okay."

Hitting his head against the back of the seat in front of him seemed like an excellent idea. It was unfortunately too well-padded to knock him out, and so he was fully awake and aware as Derek helped him out of the car and kept an arm around him for support as Stiles limped his way into the ER. "Okay, Mr. Cassidy, slow down. You're overdoing it."

Stiles gave him a look of blank incomprehension, and Derek's ears turned faintly pink. "Hopalong Cassidy? Your dad's childhood hero? There's a poster in his office, Stiles, you've got to have noticed it."

"I never paid attention to Dad's westerns," Stiles said. "Are we there yet? This is kind of a little excruciating."

As he should have fully expected, Derek just swept him up and carried him the rest of the way into the ER, depositing him gently into a wheelchair the triage nurse provided. He was promptly whisked off for poking, prodding, and intense questioning about the state of his health insurance despite the fact that Scott's mom had made him a "frequent customer" card for the hospital years ago. By the time they delivered him back to the waiting room with a bandage, a boot, a prescription, and a stern lecture about not putting any weight on his ankle, he half thought that Derek might have left to deal with the fallout of the rest of the night.

Only half, though, because it was still Derek, so of course he was sitting in a horrible plastic chair, pretending to be asleep while the other people waiting to be seen watched him with wariness or fascination. Stiles suppressed a sigh, because, well, same. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I'm about to turn into a pumpkin."

"Stop mixing fairy tales," Derek said, stretching as he stood. "And it was the carriage that was a pumpkin, so unless you're giving out ri-- No."

On any other day, Stiles would've had about fifteen 'jokes' in a row about giving Derek a ride. For now, though, he waved a hand and said, "Too easy. Just take me home."

Derek's lips twitched, but he didn't say anything as he left to get his car, the anonymous Camry having been driven away to be cleaned and hidden away again in the depths of the impound lot. The Camaro might not have had room for him to sit in the back and stretch his foot out, but he had both standards and pain medicine. They'd make it the five minutes it took to reach the Stilinski house.

Or even the ten minutes it took to get to Derek's apartment. "This is a lot nicer than my usual kidnappings."

"You just need a better lair to take people to," Derek said. "Having to take people you've kidnapped to your dad's house really limits your potential."

"Oh, ha ha." Stiles crossed his arms and pouted as he was swept once again into Derek's (strong, dependable, sexy) arms. "Living with family is a valid life choice and a cultural norm for most societies."

Derek smirked. "Sure, Stiles. Remind me again, who made snide comments for a solid week about the Henderson pack?"

"Okay, no, there's living with family and then there's whatever sister wives, dear leader culty bullshit was going on there." Stiles relaxed into the couch as soon as Derek set him down, letting himself sink into the perfect squishiness of it. "Seriously, I am going to steal this couch someday. It's like laying down on a cloud that can hug you."

"You can have it," Derek said, sounding unusually serious. "You can have anything you want that I can give you."

Cracking an eye open let Stiles see that Derek was sitting on the coffee table, directly in front of Stiles and looking... Stiles couldn't define how he looked, just that it made him breathless and he had to close his eyes again to try to get his own heart under control. "I don't need pity."

"Good, because I don't have any," Derek said.

Stiles hauled himself to a sitting position, facing Derek and the music. "You heard the kid talking about us being together."

"I did." Derek's face was impassive, but there was so much emotion in his eyes that Stiles couldn't bear to look at him even as he couldn't tear his eyes away. "I also heard you tell him it was because I wouldn't want it."

"Didn't I also say something about people joking--"

All of the words Stiles knew dried up and disappeared when Derek took hold of both his hands, cradling them gently. "It's okay. If you were joking, if you didn't mean it that way... I don't expect anything from you."

"Okay," was a harsh, croaking whisper, all that Stiles could manage as years of half-formed hopes were crushed and died with one simple sentence. "Okay, that's fine."

Derek's eyes swept down and Stiles started to pull his hands away, but Derek held on. "No, Stiles, you don't-- You're under no obligation, if you're just joking or you really just love me as a friend, that's enough, I won't pressure you or talk about this again. That's... Whatever you want, that's what I want."

It turned out hope wasn't dead, but it hurt. "You-- what are you saying?"

"I'm saying... I guess I'm saying that I'm in love with you." Derek let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing like shedding a weight even before tightening to brace for a blow. "And that you don't have to love me back the same way."

This time it was Stiles clinging to Derek's hands, preventing him from moving away. "What if I want to?"

Derek flinched. "I don't need pity either."

"Good," Stiles said, still not letting go. "Because we are super compatible. There is no pity here. None at all. We're kind of a little famous for it."

"So we're repeating things now? That's what we're doing?" Derek arched an eyebrow, but stopped trying to pull his hands back. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm in love with you, too," Stiles said. "Asshole. Do you know how long I've been in love with you? And you're here--"

Stiles glared over the hand that Derek put over his mouth, but Derek just smiled. "Now, I could let you keep talking, since I know you like that. I could stand to hear a little about how long you've loved me, since it might make me feel a bit better about how long I've been in love with you."

He stopped there, waiting, while Stiles practically vibrated with curiosity. Curiosity and rage. And maybe some anticipation. A lot of anticipation. "Or?"

"Or you could sit in my lap and we could make out. Just a little." Derek's smile was everything sinful and tempting. "Or, now that I know you actually mean it, a lot."

"Oh, I mean it. I mean it very hard." Stiles was scrambling to try to reach Derek, but somehow not making any headway. The problem was solved by Derek lifting him up and arranging them so that Stiles was not just comfortably situated on Derek's lap, his (mildly) fractured foot was supported by some pillows and the arm of the couch. "I never really knew I had a manhandling kink until now."

Derek's eyes flashed red, just for a moment. "I did."

That statement needed to be explored, because one of them owed the other a shitload of teasing over it and Stiles was pretty sure he could work out how to be the one dishing it out. On the other hand, Derek's alpha eyes went straight to the danger = hot kink he was already well acquainted with, and he'd been expressly invited to make sexual advances on the man of his dreams. Priorities were important.

Kissing Derek was a revelation, better than he'd ever dreamed it could be, because he'd never imagined the noises Derek made, could never have anticipated the electricity of Derek moving softly, desperately against him. Stiles was allowed to touch, allowed to run his fingers through Derek's hair, allowed to lose himself and moan and grind and laugh a little at himself and at Derek, because he'd forgotten about his stupid ankle and having Derek jump up and growl while still holding Stiles against his erection was just funny.

It was okay, because this was Derek, and Derek knew him. The mood wasn't gone just because Stiles had laughed, or because Derek had snorted and rolled his eyes, making Stiles laugh harder. Instead it was part of it, part of them, and they would be okay. "I love you. I do, I love you, because you're amazing and you, you're mine."

"I like the sound of that." Derek lifted Stiles so his legs went around Derek's waist and his back was to the wall, holding him up and kissing the hell out of him until he couldn't think. "I'm yours."

"Damn right," Stiles panted, giving a light tug to Derek's hair. "And you're going to stay mine. Right?"

They were in the bedroom before Stiles could think coherently again, and Derek was looking just smug enough that Stiles licked his lips and waited only for Derek to finish undressing before beckoning him closer, close enough that Stiles could nip his earlobe and whisper hotly, "After we fuck the wildness out of our system, we can make love nice and slow. I'll kiss you when you cry afterward. We'll deal with the rest of the world sometime tomorrow, or maybe the day after."

"Priorities," Derek murmured, dragging a claw over Stiles with just enough pressure to cut through his clothes without harming the skin underneath.

"Okay," Stiles said, unbearably turned on and fairly certain he was going to combust. "Maybe the day after that. We'll have time."

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @aredblush!

I had such a blast writing this, I hope you like your gift ♥ Anyway, Merry Christmas Stereks!!! I wish next year will bring more amazing fanarts, fanfics, gifs, and everything that is beautiful in the world for us ♥ PS: I will be posting the second chapter in a few days!

Read on AO3

*****

He built a fire just to keep me warm

For the past four years. Derek had been living, if not a happy life, then a healing one.

Leaving Beacon Hills had not been easy. Even after moving to Brazil with his sister, the town stayed in his mind. He constantly woke up sweating and trembling, nightmares created from old memories and new fears mixed into a toxic combination.

He thought about everything that has happened - Kate, Jennifer, The Alpha pack - and Stiles. Especially about Stiles, his human nature, skin and bones that cracked and couldn’t heal fast enough. He thought about Stiles, and couldn’t sleep.

It was during one of those nights that they started messaging each other. Stiles and Derek texted at least once a week and then started calling and Skyping often. It helped, along with the therapy, and with the passing of time, the frozen fear that commanded his heart became muted, more manageable.

He stopped freezing when his phone ringed or creating excuses for not leaving his house. He found out about his triggers and worked to overcome them. Of course, it wasn’t easy or a perfect and convenient solution, he was probably going to live forever with some of those feelings, but he was trying to get better. It had to count for something.

At least it was what Stiles told him once. That he was trying, and that it was enough.

Surprisingly, Cora had been very supportive of him in the beginning, when he needed the most, making it possible for him to go to therapy without worrying about anything else - bills, housing, food, his sister took care of it all.

Brazil had been a growing experience. Derek liked the rain and how it petted the windows of their apartment in the afternoons, how the sun showed up seconds after the rain was gone, like some kind of weird and cliché metaphor for his life. He took it to heart anyway though. Chuva da tarde it’s how they called it. Sometimes he would go outside and stand in the rain, just feeling the drops touch his body. Derek believed it could clean the darkest soul.

He liked the people, how they would surprise him by going against the stereotypes. He kept to himself, but it didn’t stop him from people watching. Derek also didn’t integrate into the local pack but was welcomed in their residence on full moons or whenever he needed a pack.

If asked, he couldn’t point out what stopped him from settling down there, from accepting the pack completely in his heart. It was just a feeling he couldn’t shake, and after a while, he started to miss certain things.

Maybe it was the culture, he wondered. It goes beyond speaking the language - which he does, Portuguese came easy for him. It’s just that you never realize who you are unless you are speaking with someone who hasn’t watched the same TV shows growing up, who doesn’t know the same lullabies as you, who has different references in life. And it goes both ways. Most of the time it’s amazing to learn about their differences, to see the world through new eyes, and Derek desperately tries to bury the small part of him that demands that he picks up his bags and go home.

Or maybe it was something else.

Like when he makes a dry joke, nobody laughs and he thinks: Stiles would.

That’s when he decides to go back.

*

Needless to say, Cora is not happy with his decision, afraid he will let himself get emotionally vulnerable again, but Derek promises to Skype, visit on the holidays or even come back if things go downhill. The alpha of the pack, a beautiful woman called Catarina, extends their offer: if he so desires, they will be waiting for him.

It doesn’t change his mind, but it’s nice to know that he is not unwelcomed, that he has a place to stay if nothing goes right. So he leaves, his heart light for the first time in a long time.

He doesn’t know what to feel when the plane arrives and he leases a car to get him to Beacon Hills. He doesn’t know if the fluttering in his gut is coming from excitement or fear.

He thinks about calling Scott to let him know about his return but then thinks better of it.

Scott might be the alpha now, but Beacon Hills has been Hale territory for generations. Derek doesn't need permission to come home. And he is not an alpha anymore, neither is he an omega since his ties to his sister keep his wolf at bay, so he doesn't constitute a threat. Scott will just have to deal with it.

And yes, he still is kind of bitter about Scott. Probably always will be. Whatever.

By the time he arrives at the loft, his nerves are drumming with anxiety. He climbs the stairs, struggles just a moment with the keys, opens the door and steps into the apartment. He walks straight to the huge windows and stares at the town beyond the glass.

He doesn’t have the time to deal with the lonely apartment, the open space that brings bad memories instantly, because that’s when Derek hears the unmistakable sound of Stiles’ jeep in the parking lot.

By the time he has turned in the direction of the door, Stiles is already entering the apartment, stopping only when their eyes meet. After a moment of hesitancy, Stiles starts walking again, his rabbit heart matching Derek’s own. Twenty paces, ten paces, five paces until his arms are reaching for Derek and enveloping him into a warm embrace.

Derek doesn’t even think, returning the hug instantly, settling a ball of anxiety he didn’t even know he had. There’s comfort, and warmth, and acceptance in the way Stiles body leans against his own. Like something long lost, found again.

It takes him a long moment to realize that Stiles’ heart is beating the calmest beat he has ever heard.

*

Later, when Derek is seating on the couch with Stiles by his side, he asks “How did you know I would be here?”

“Humm?” Stiles breathes, eyes half-lidded as he tips his head back against the back of the sofa, sleep heavy on his features.

“You knew I was back, right? How did you know?” because he had to know. He had. Derek hadn’t been in the loft for five minutes when Stiles arrived.

“Oh”, Stiles says, and turns to Derek, suddenly more awake. “I thought it was obvious. This is Hale land”.

With a raised eyebrow, Derek silent questions and?

Stiles sits straighter and looks into Derek’s eyes.

“This is your home. The air, the leaves, each drop of water in the river, everything that’s alive calm when you are here. So, of course, I knew you were back.”

But that...that confuses the shit out of Derek. Especially because Beacon Hills belongs to the Mccall Pack now. If the air and whatever felt something, shouldn’t be for them, instead of a random wolf?

Not so random, his mind whispered, and he wants to believe. he really, really does.

“This is Hale land”, Stiles repeats solemnly, and Derek doesn’t know if he is speaking the words for Derek or for himself.

*

That night, he sleeps by himself in the loft.

He wakes up from a nightmare and stares at the place where Boyd had his last breath, tears running down his face.

In the morning, he calls the realtor.

*

He buys a house close to the preserve, away from the traffic and the noises. Stiles helps him choose it and decorate it, claiming he needs a huge bed and the newest TV and every video game available. Derek is not surprised.

*

He can’t get Stiles’ words out of his head. This is Hale land.

So he goes running, readapting to the land that his family grew up in, letting the cold air set his lungs on fire and feeling a wildness in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. It’s like his wolf is saying this here, everything in here, only here.

He doesn’t go past his old house, he doesn’t need to. This is a different kind of run, he doesn’t have a destination, letting his intuition guide him through the dark trees and small flashes of light above the green canopy.

He touches everywhere, scent marking the area, the feather-light touch of his fingertips leaving invisible traces on his path. Before he knows it he is grinning, wide, and running faster and faster, his shirt clutching at his sweaty back.

That is when he realizes that the forest is alive, full of sounds. As a predator, the other animals usually know to stay away from him, but not today. He can feel thousands of eyes on him as he races the freedom that the forest is affording him. The eyes are not malicious, just curious, so Derek let them be.

At dusk, he sits at a small clearing to catch his breath and appreciate the view. While he lays on the ground on his back and stares at the dying sun, he thinks that nothing could be better than this, nothing could make him happier than staying forever in this illusion of safety, of nothing to do, nothing to say, no accomplishments or regrets. If he stayed here, he could just be.

Hale territory, he thinks.

*

He goes home and finds Stiles there, not only wearing one of his sweaters but also making dinner.

Stiles looks at Derek as if he knows exactly what he did all day, as if he can see how tired and relaxed the wolf is and shrugs unapologetically. “I hope you don’t mind that I am wearing your clothes. I got cold”.

If Derek notices the blip in his heartbeat, he decides not to make a big deal of it.

Turns out that having Stiles at his house and drenched in his scent gives him a pretty good feeling too.

*

Stiles mixes with Derek's life as if no time had passed, at all.

The man - because he is a man now, isn't he? - is stronger than he used to be, toned muscles and broad shoulders that fit right against Derek when they cuddle while watching tv.

And that becomes a common fixture in his routine. Stiles is just there, helping him pick and assemble new furniture, buy groceries, and even driving him around town because Derek hasn't bought a car yet.  When he isn't studying at the  kitchen table, or at his classes, they are spending time together anyway, watching movies, reading, talking.

Stiles still lives with his dad, and is attending his last semester at the community college, but is counting the days until he can apply to be a deputy.

Another thing about Stiles is that he has a spark, and has been training with Deaton to become an Emissary.

When he explains it, distracted as he highlights a paragraph on his book and doesn't meet Derek's eyes, the werewolf's chest clenches with something uncomfortably close to jealousy. Because, if nothing else, Stiles must be training to be Scott's emissary, and for a hot second Derek wishes he was still an alpha, so Stiles could be his. Derek is ashamed of it, of these thoughts and feelings, but they exist and never fail to make themselves known in moments such as these.

*

Derek likes the way Stiles’ hair flashes gold in the right light, how his breathing falters slightly when Derek enters the room. He likes the way Stiles’ hand feel against his, and Stiles’ voice sounds like when the man is excited about something.

Derek likes him.

*

The first time Stiles sleeps at the house he crashes on the couch.

The second time, he joins Derek at the bed in the middle of the night, insisting he is cold, hesitatingly wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist.

After that, Stiles doesn’t even pretend anymore.

Stiles says he likes to cuddle, that Derek is the perfect little spoon and Derek - Derek cherishes it, the closeness, the sense of pack, the way Stiles’ body fit against his, the warm feeling of his breath on the back of his neck, how secure his arms make him feel.

Derek tries not to think about it though. He just enjoys it for as long as it lasts.

*

It becomes a thing, then. The sleeping and the - the flirting.

Stiles is daydreaming again about his future deputies days, and Derek snaps.

“So what, will I have to get used to you getting crazy shifts? If I wake up in the middle of the night because you are too damn loud? You will be sleeping on the couch. Forever”, Derek jokes with the best straight face he can manage, but Stiles sees right through him.

“Honey, I didn't know you cared!”, he laughs with his whole body, “I will make sure to not get home too late then”.

Derek rolls his eyes but is secretly pleased.

*

Stiles’ magic hasn’t ever been this calm. Derek remembers in the early days when the tension was high and they didn’t know how to let the walls down and trust each other, the way Stiles’ magic made his skin tingle in something scarily related to fear.

Stiles would be screaming at him and the whole street would go dark, all the lights extinguishing. Or Stiles would be distressed and the walls would tremble, the furniture in his room falling and crashing on the ground.

Now, though, Derek loves the way Stiles uses his magic, how amazing it is.

Spark, Derek, S-P-A-R-K, Stiles always complains when Derek calls it magic. But really, the word spark makes it seem like so much less.

Derek loves how Stiles can change the TV channel with just a twist of his fingers, how he reaches out and warms Derek’s coffee without being prompted. How he turns the lights on after a nightmare, his hands never leaving Derek’s body,  just the click of his fingers heard in the silent bedroom. How he makes a blanket appear out of thin air when Derek shivers on the couch.

All this great power used for the simplest things, generally Derek-related things, and it makes something in Derek’s heart twist. It makes Derek want to do nice things for Stiles in turn.

*

The idea comes after a boring day at home while reading a book about a chef and her struggle to find the perfect recipe.

Derek realizes that Stiles does most of the cooking, and when he isn’t in the mood they order takeout, and the next thing Derek knows he is in the grocery store picking up ingredients.

How hard can it be to cook dinner, right?

Turns out that very, very hard.

He cuts his fingers and burns his hands a little, and there is flour all over his face and chest in the end.

But Stiles delighted face at finding dinner ready, waiting for him? It’s more than worth it.

*

After that, it becomes tradition, and Derek gets better at cooking.

Sometimes Stiles helps, and they move in contentment around the small kitchen.

Derek sends Cora pictures, and for the first time, he feels… proud of something he did.

It makes he feel productive like almost nothing else, and it’s good to have someone to share his creations with. Someone like Stiles.

*

It surprises him how much time Stiles spends with him, though.

Before Derek realizes, half of the wardrobe is full of Stiles’ clothes. He has a toothbrush, and is almost every day at the house, eating his food, wearing his clothes, sharing space with him, leaving his scent everywhere.

He wouldn’t expect a man so full of energy like Stiles to enjoy a life so calm, but that is exactly what happens.

Derek gets the impression that Stiles feels settled here, with the werewolf. And Derek doesn’t want to dismiss the things Stiles says.

Holy shit, I couldn’t wait for that class to end. Want to catch a movie?

Der, I could die right now and I would be happy, and you know why???? Because of your cooking skills, Jesus fucking Christ.

I will never understand how you can wake up so early, really. I thank the gods for your mattress, it’s so much better than mine at Dad’s house. I love sleeping here, you know?

It feels cheap, to not believe in the things Stiles says. And the thing is, Derek doesn’t even need to listen to his heartbeat to know Stiles means every single word.

*

The sheriff is surprisingly good with it. He calls Derek one morning, inviting the wolf and Stiles for dinner. If it’s the only way I can see my son these days, I am more than happy to oblige, he says.

Dinner is good, even if Derek feels awkward at first, previous accusations of murder still hanging over his head. But the sheriff claps his shoulders and smiles at him across the table, Stiles’ tight brushing his own, and his nerves calm after some time.

The Stilinskis moan around the dessert that Derek baked, claiming that his apple pie is a godsend. Derek finds himself smiling at his plate, hoping they will have more evenings like these.

*

One day, Derek wakes up early enough to hear Stiles’ footsteps around the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks, his fingers in his eyes trying to chase the sleep away.  Stiles is nothing more than a blur, a human figure pacing the front of bedroom, enveloped in a light blue haze.

He blinks, and when his vision adjusts, he is met with Stiles' smiling face.

"Protecting us, sleepy wolf." when met with Derek's raised eyebrow, he sighs and explains as if it's a chore to say the words. "I am reinforcing the wards. Now go back to sleep."

Derek decides it’s better not to question Stiles, and surprisingly, Derek does sleep, feeling completely safe for the first time in a long time.

*

Later, though. “Wards?” Derek asks.

Stiles stares sheepishly at the coffee on his hands.

“I am - sorry”, he speaks as if the words are being tortured out of him, “that I didn’t tell you about them, but I honestly didn’t think much of it. I have put wards all around the loft years ago, it became a habit to renew them from time to time, you know? When you moved here, I just made new wards and kept renewing them.”

For some reason, Derek feels close to tears. “Years?”

“Well, yeah”, Stiles shrugs and glances up at Derek. “I didn’t know when, but I knew you would be back. And then you were here, and I thought why not strengthen the wards? It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, but I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or something.”

Derek thinks about a younger Stiles, walking around the empty apartment and using his magic to protect Derek, even if the man in question was in another continent. Never asking for anything in return.

“I just wanted to make sure it was safe. That is all,” Stiles finishes, taking a big gulp of his coffee after.

Derek reaches across the table and squeezes Stiles’ hands, words failing him. Stiles understands though if his small laugh and the way he adjusts his hands more comfortably around Derek’s is something to go by.

“I know, sourwolf,” he whispers, eyes soft in the morning light, and Derek can’t deny it anymore. He never could, really, not even when Stiles was an annoying teenager.

It is like the gate is wide open and all of his feelings are crashing down on him.

Slowly, Derek brings their hands to his mouth, giving it a featherlight kiss.

When their eyes meet, Derek realizes they don’t need words, or promises, or over the top declarations. Stiles’ lips move without a sound. I know, it says.

Derek smiles.

*

Things change, but at the same time, they remain the same.

Derek still cooks, and the still eat on the couch while watching TV series. They still have dinners with the sheriff, and Derek continues to slowly acclimate to his life in Beacon Hills.

The difference it that now Derek discovers the texture of Stiles’ lips, warm and wet against his own, and the smoothness of his body, how those hands feel tightening in the strands of his hair, wrapping around the back of his neck, gently guiding his head. The way Stiles’ fingers caress other parts of his body, exploring, preparing, worshiping him.

Derek finds out how it feels like to become one with Stiles, to belong to him in every possible way. To have teeth biting at his shoulders, the pain stinging but also leaving a mark, for however fleeting it is. But Derek will know it was there. He will remember.

Stiles leans his sweaty forehead against Derek’s, brushing soaked wet hair out of his lovers face, grasping his hands in a tight squeeze, dark eyes seeking his. In this moment, they share more than air between them, feelings bursting out of them in the powerful beating of their hearts, in the way their bodies move against each other, in the awkward moments, the flailing, the imperfection.

Derek feels complete.

*

Derek doesn’t go out of his way to seek a job. For the first time in a long time’ he can think clearly, well, clearer than before, and he enjoys the quiet, the slow motion of his new life in Beacon Hills.

He likes making grocery store, making small talk with the other customers that are warming up to him. His neighbors even nod and give him waves and smiles when he passes them on the street. Derek likes cleaning the house, having time to think and read. Loves jogging up in the preserve without being scared shitless for his life. Loves creating new recipes and showing them to Stiles and the sheriff, watching their faces contorting in pleasure at something made with his own hands.

He starts learning a new language too. He has a lot of spare time.

He continues his therapy with a new doctor, meetings once a month now, and he feels afraid of going back to a place full of pressure, drama and deadlines, triggering things that might be bad for his mental health. He doesn’t want to feel like the early days, never again.

When he shares this with Stiles, the man nods like he was expecting it, smiling and affirming that he is fine with whatever Derek chooses to do. That staying at home, doing house chores is not embarrassing or humiliating. I would rather see you happy and well than seeing you with a job and miserable, Der. If you change your mind and decide to get a job someday, yeah, that’s fine too. But for now, I am good with whatever you want.

Derek gets the feeling that he might become a househusband.

He does not hate the idea in principle, and that’s something.

*

One night, Stiles claims he is sick of his study assignments and drags Derek to the closest pizza place. Derek, who had been slowly making his way through one of Stiles’ books about magic, just raises an eyebrow and lets Stiles pull him from the sofa and push him out of the door.

While they walk, he notices that Stiles’ hand never really left his body, migrating to his waist instead. It’s not the first time it happened, and Derek doesn’t mind the contact, appreciates it even if he is being honest with himself. However,  the tender touches usually stay hidden by the walls of the house. Derek is suddenly wondering what their neighbors are going to say. Does Stiles even know what he is doing? What it looks like? Does Stiles care?

Derek looks at Stiles, who seems content and at ease, and the werewolf feels his shoulders relaxing, his body melting into Stiles’ side as they walk.

They enter the small place, the door jingling with their presence, and Derek goes straight to the counter to check the types of pizza they offer. It’s not that he doesn’t know the flavors by heart, it’s just something he does without much thought, just going with the flow.

He is so relaxed that he doesn’t even smell the other wolves in the room, just realizes that something is not entirely right when Stiles’ scent goes slight anxious. He turns to Stiles, who is giving him an apologetic smile. “I think we will have to sit with them” he barely whispers. “Is that ok with you?”

Derek is confused for a second, until he sees Scott and his pack sitting in one corner, looking surprised and - maybe expectant?

Derek hasn’t talked with Scott yet. They just coexist in Beacon Hills, and truth be told, Derek had been kind of busy putting his life together to worry about the other man. But here, now, he understands that going there and being civil is the right thing to do. After all, this is Stiles’ pack. He chooses to make the effort, and smiles a little at Stiles, letting him know that it’s ok.

Stiles’ fingers circle his wrist in a light grip, and they walk towards the table together after ordering their pizza.

They all say their hello's and how have you been’s, patting backs or giving tight hugs, and Stiles sits by his side, letting his arm rest on the back of Derek's chair all through dinner. Sometimes the pad of his fingers absently-mind touches his neck, his shoulders, his ears, his hair.

Derek notices Lydia staring at them a few times, her eyes zeroing on the places where he and Stiles meet, but she says nothing.

Derek doesn’t know the story there - if there’s any - but he thinks that the less he knows, the better. Less jealousy that way. For his part, at least.

He isn’t that selfless though, he can’t gather the energy to feel sorry for her. The fact that Stiles is by his side, touching him, making him feel cherished? Derek is into it. So into it. He is fucking glowing with it.

The meeting is not as awkward as it could be. But he is immensely glad when the night is over.

The Mccall pack invites them to go watch movies with them, apparently tonight is pack night, but Stiles glances at Derek and declines, they all saying their goodbye’s.

Derek is confused by why Stiles is picking a boring night with him instead of being with his pack, and by the easy acceptance displayed by Scott as if this is normal behavior.

Derek doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t happy when, fifteen minutes later, Stiles crashes on his sofa, already choosing a TV show that Derek just has to watch, oh my god. Derek makes popcorn, sits on the couch and leans on Stiles side, getting comfortable.

It’s pretty good.

*

Later that night, Derek’s curiosity wins over his hesitation, and he blurts out, “Why do you never spend time with your pack?”

Stiles freezes then put his cell phone back on the nightstand. “They are not my pack”, he says softly, eyeing Derek from the corner of his eyes.

For his part, Derek doesn’t believe his ears. “What do you mean they are not your pack? Scott -”

“Is not my alpha”, Stiles explains, shaking his head. He turns his body towards Derek, touching his face. “You are.”

Derek can’t help his small frown. It feels as if all of the things he believed his whole life are lies, like this is the same as saying that cows can fly, or that Santa is real. It’s not that Derek wants to defend Scott of all people, he just wants to understand. “But, he is your best friend.”

Stiles shrugs and turns his eyes back to the ceiling.

“Scott will always be important to me, but he has always known that he could never be my alpha. And he is ok with it. My magic,” he puts his hands in front of his face, studying his fingers, “has always been connected to you somehow.”

Derek doesn’t know why, but his mouth seems to have a life of its own, speaking idiotic things, like “But I am not an alpha”. For good measure, he flashes his bright blue beta eyes, the very embodiment of his mistakes, the color representing how much he wasn’t made to be an alpha.

Stiles surprises him once again, of course, he does. Without breaking eye contact, Stiles moves his palm, producing a beacon of light that shines in the same color of Derek’s wolf eyes. And startled, Derek realizes he has seen that shade of color before around Stiles, diluted in the small acts of magic he indulges in. It’s a “blink and you missed” kind of thing, but Derek knows now.

Derek looks at Stiles with awe in the blue irises, and Stiles smiles. “You don’t need to have red eyes for us to belong together, Derek. When I met you, you were a Beta, and my magic still connected to you, clinging like a fucking monkey. When you were gone,” he swallows before continuing, the light dimming in his eyes, “It was hard to keep my magic from going crazy, wanting to follow you. It was hard to give you the space I knew that you needed.”

Slowly, he closes his palm, ending the magic and turning the room dark once more.

There is a pause, and then Stiles reaches out, touching Derek’s cheek with the tip of his fingertips. “I never feel as settled in my own skin as when I am with you.” Brown eyes shine gold in the low light. “Are you freaked out?”

That is not how Derek would choose to word this, but no, Stiles could never freak him out.

Not even in his darkest moments, Derek feared the man before him.

To prove his point, he wraps himself around his boyfriend, putting his head on his shoulders, breathing in their mixed scents. “No, I am... happy.” That is the word, but it doesn’t feel like enough to describe his feelings. “I have always wanted you to choose me. I just didn’t think it would happen”, he shrugs.

“I chose you, Der. A lifetime ago.” Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, scratching his neck slightly.

Derek puts his weight on his elbow, looking down at Stiles. He kisses the man slowly, savoring it, and then grins wide at him. “I chose you right back.”

Stiles laughs, pulling his boyfriend, his lover, his fucking mate back towards him.

And life goes on.

To Be Continued....

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @hales-republic!

Hope you like this. It started out as a super angsty idea, but somehow turned to pure fluff on paper. I have no excuse. 

Read on AO3

*****

A Belated Honeymooon

“I don’t want this Derek, I can’t control it. Feels like I got a bunch of prosthetic limbs or some shit. There’s nothing that alerts me to it”

Derek stands behind him, body tense as he watches Stiles struggle, but there’s a small smile on his face despite it all.

“I know love. It’s hard to find the on/off switch. Took me years as a kid.”

Stiles turns around to face him. “Really? Here I thought you were the paragon of control.”

“Well. I’ve gotten the hang of it now, had to, with school and all. Lucky for us, you just graduated college and you don’t have anything lined up soon.”

“So what, are we turning me into you? An anti-social caveman who never goes anywhere? Somehow I doubt that will go over well.”

“No, but you did just finish a gruelling degree, we got married with no honey-moon in the middle of your dissertation week and if we disappear for a month or more, we can blame it on the newly-wed love. And my money of course.”

Stiles’ jaw drops. His husband is crazy.

“A belated long-outdrawn honeymoon. That’s your solution to my loss of control?”

Derek does blush a little, but his gaze seems set on Stiles’ partially shifted body and hissmile has only grown.

“Yeah. It’s the best way I know how. Or rather, it’s the way I learned to control it. Being somewhere where you don’t need to is the perfect thing.”

--- <3 ------

“So, you somehow made this happen, without alerting any suspicion which, I’ve got to admit, leaves me impressed. But now, teach, oh wise master.” Stiles states as soon as Derek has finished putting everything away. They were a bit low on food, what with this rouge-Alpha problem – guh, why always in their territory? – and now Derek apparently planned to stay home for quite a while.

“It’s a honeymoon Stiles. I know we never got one, but I thought you at least had some ideas on it. I hear …. “

Stiles can’t believe it. His husband is speaking in a sing-song voice, smirking and flexing. The tease. -Also, Stiles is pretty sure his shift just did something weird right around now.

“… honeymoons are the time to have marathon-sex.” And with that, Derek strips off his shirt.

Stiles kind of loses the plot. He’s suddenly all up in Derek’s space, but he’s not sure which one of the moved. All he’s sure of is there are definitely fangs getting in the way of their kiss. As he’s about to withdraw to do something else, suddenly he shifts and there are no fangs anymore. His vision is still strange as fuck and he’s got claws in Derek’s hair, but at least the fangs are gone.

“How? Why?” he gasps in between kisses. Derek just shushes him and gropes for his dick.

----  <3  -----

They’re lounging in bed afterwards, Stiles panting, but for the first time since the bite, he’s all human. Normal eyes, nails and teeth and he isn’t even hearing everything in the woods outside their window.

“How the fuck did that work?” Stiles asks.

“With the fucking. It´s quite simple really. You’re all relaxed now.”

“Oh,” Stiles groans. “I can’t believe you just made a pun about this.”

“I’ve been studying with the best. Now, just enjoy the control while it lasts.”

----- <3 ------

“Okay, so we established the how, but we can’t really do that forever. I can’t just fuck you every time I need to shift. It won’t help out there in the real world.”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind doing that.” Derek says smirking, pulling Stiles in by the waist. Nuzzling his neck, he kisses him gently at first, and then it turns deeper and Stiles moans.

“And as much as I’d like to use that, it´s still not acceptable public behaviour.”

“Who would’ve thought you’d ever be the responsible one in this relationship. We’ve got time. We just start out small.”

Stiles smiles back, relaxing, before visibly tensing and this time he feels his mouth fill with fangs, his face shift, and his vision change. He’s growling uncontrollably before Derek even smells Jackson outside.

“Damn your senses are good. Stiles, baby, please, he’s just bringing us some notes from Lydia.” Derek says, stroking Stiles’s sides. “Jackson, think you might be better off with just dropping those off on the porch. Stiles might be more inclined to attack you right now than anything else.”

Stiles isn’t sure he’d agree to that, but he’s also not quite sure what he does want to do with Jackson, so this might be a good suggestion all in all.

“Why does he smell like that? Like, it’s different than you, or Scott smelled, even the Alpha didn’t smell like that. Like, a waft of something rotting and something foreign.”

“How do you?... You really do have a good nose.” Derek says, dragging him close and over to the couch. “It’s a leftover scent from the kanima. We try not to bring it up, cause, well, it’s rude, but mostly we’re just glad he’s okay now.”

“I guess, even if he is a jackass.”

----- <3 ------

“Eventually, you’re going to have to teach me some other way to shift between.” Stiles says smirking. He can feel how instinctively pleased he is about Derek smelling so richly of him. Some days he really wants to just follow Derek’s initiative and keep fucking him. It just feels so good.

“Why try to improve something so perfect?” Derek replies. “By the way, you fucking me while you were human was amazing, but I’ve got to admit, added strength does make it possible for you to actually leave me sore. It’s quite the experience.”

Stiles smirks, pleased. “There should be something good to come from this I guess. I’m kind of glad to know this side of it too. My scent mixed with yours, so deep inside you.” He adds in a deep voice. His fingers travel down to Derek’s ass, slipping two fingers easily inside. He leans over until he’s covering Derek’s body with his and leans down to nip at his neck. “I quite like leaving my claim on you, showing the whole world that you’re mine.”

Derek looks up smiling and says, voice teasing, “It’s too bad those soccer moms at the store aren’t supernatural then, huh? You know how Bri- what’s her name keeps grabbing my arms every time she passes me? You’ll be able to smell that now. What’s going to happen then?”

Stiles growls, loudly. He can feel exactly when and what shifts and he’s careful, even as he possessively grabs Derek and manages to grit out. “No one, ever, is allowed to touch you again, except me, understood?! Mine and for no one else.”

Derek groans, his eyes roll to the back of his head and he rolls his hips up, pressing their cocks together. Then he falls back to the mattress, completely limp.

Stiles, although he’s starting to realize how crazy he’s being can also see and smell exactly how turned on Derek is by all of this.

“Do you like that Derek? Like being mine? Like me staking my claim on you?” he asks as he licks his way towards Derek’s slack mouth. “You like it when I claim you and promise not to let anyone get to what’s mine ever again?”

Derek whimpers into the kiss, limply trying to press up against Stiles. “No baby, you just lie there nice and easy and I’ll fuck you into oblivion again.”

Without further ado, Stiles grabs for his thighs, spreads them, and pushes up as he sinks into Derek yet again. “So good, just for me, so strong, but so willing to submit to me.” He says straight into Derek’s ear.

“You, yours, good for you,” Derek pants, his eyes desperately seeking Stiles out.

“Exactly,” Stiles purrs.

------ <3 ------

“So, I’ve been thinking of a way to take our bedroom activities out to the street, without causing a public uproar.”

Derek smirks and raises an eyebrow. “I thought public sex was the thing you’ve been vehemently denying me for the past month.”

“Not public sex, you dirty naughty wolf. I mean, we have wedding bands on our finger from the wedding, and I love them, love that they remind me that I’ve got you for life, but I kind of want something physical that will remind me of … well… sex and maybe I can use that to control my shift, even without you around.”

“So, you want something that doesn’t really signify our promise to stay together, but something that reminds you of how you fuck me into the mattress anytime you come near it?”

Stiles sputters. “Derek, really! And people think I’m the vulgar one in this marriage.”

“Well, you’re the one that wants to walk around with a sex trophy.”

Stiles blushes and mumbles, “I kind of got the idea from this sex toy store online.”

“Yes, and here’s why people think you’re the one that’s more vulgar. You’re the one that browses sex toys online.”

Stiles sticks out his tongue at Derek. “Like you aren’t glad I do. You didn’t complain when I prepped you with that vibrator the other week.”

“I never said I complained, just stated what other people see.” Derek slides on behind him and circles him with his arms. “I like everything you do to me.”

“Okay, so it was this thing with collars and locks, and I just thought, if we could do something like that, like, not a collar, obviously, but something like that, where I could just remind me that you were mine.”

Derek shivers. “Okay, yeah, a collar would be a bit conspicuous, but I don’t hate where you’re going with this. Maybe paired cuffs that would be locked around my wrists, like leather bands, that would circle around and connect in a lock and then you’d have a chain with the key?”

“That sounds brilliant actually.” Stiles encircles Derek’s wrists with his long fingers, and holds them even closer to his hip.

------ <3 -----

It’s the day before the first planned “outing” for Stiles. He’s not actually going to leave the house, just going to have some of the pack over, like, a first try.

Stiles has the cuffs next to the bed, but he starts by licking and scenting Derek’s wrists, directly under where the cuffs will sit.

“And you said I was a crazy possessive wolf.” Derek chuckles, but his breath is getting laboured and it’s clear he’s affected by what Stiles is doing.

Stiles just nips down on the inside of the wrist he’s marking and goes to grab the cuffs. He takes them out reverently and makes sure to rub them a bit between his hands, warming them and scent marking them. He clasps one on, and then the other. Next he picks up the key and slots it in.

“Will you, Derek, be mine, forever and always?”

“Forever and always”

With two twists, Derek is now locked in the cuffs and for a minute, they both just take in the sight. Stiles then threads the key on a chain and sets it around his neck.

He looks Derek over once more, before grabbing another chain and linking together the two cuffs, setting Derek’s hands above his head.

“And now, you’ll stay still.” He says with a smirk.

The following sex doesn’t exactly lessen the scent on the cuffs. The next day, Stiles manages to control his shift, even shifting back and forth voluntarily in front of the pack, all the while feeling the key rise and fall on his chest with each breath.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @gswritings!

Second Chance First Impressions

They haven’t been together long enough to actually have traditions, and Derek knows it bothers Stiles. That the holiday season is a mess of a succubus getting her claws into Lydia, and rushed shopping and a half decorated loft.

They curl in Stiles bed and he tells Derek about how Christmas was a month long event with his mother, days spent baking and decorating, weekends with cups of hot chocolate and movie marathons, nights crowded in the cruiser, wrapped up in blankets as they looked at the city lit up for the holiday.

“We don't do that anymore,” he says, and Derek hears the sad note in his voice, though, and holds Stiles a little tighter.

“We'll make our own traditions.”

One tradition that he doesn’t plan to discard is the Stilinski Christmas Eve.

Stiles spends the twenty third with Scott baking, giggling like little boys while Derek wraps what feels like an endless pile of presents. And early on the twenty fourth, Stiles wakes him with a kiss and a cup of coffee. Derek tucks himself behind the wheel of the truck, Scott and Stiles curled like puppies in the backseat and the Sheriff in the front, with a box of donuts.

Derek lifts an eyebrow and he grins. “It’s tradition.”

~*~

Stiles stretches, languid and sleepy and unbearably sexy in the driveway of his Babica’s house, and Derek clenches his hands in fists.

They’ve been dating for over a year, and even got married in a hasty ceremony prompted by alliance and fae sensibilities--not that Derek had any intention of ever letting Stiles back out of the ‘temporary, man, we just gotta appease the Queen’ marriage of convenience--and he still has these moments, when he glances at the younger man, and gets knocked on his ass because this is his.

For some goddamn baffling reason, Stiles picked him. And maybe that was a mistake, maybe Derek should be arguing and running to give him a chance to find something--anything--better, but he was selfish when it came to Stiles, and he held on with a stubborn refusal to lose the last best thing in his life.

“Derek!”

The shrill voice cut through the quiet, and he grinned at Elle as the little girl darted down the porch and threw herself at him.

Stiles’ large and almost ridiculously overprotective family spills out after Elle, smiling and shouting at the sight of Stiles.

Derek hangs back, Elle on his hip, as they cluster around his pale, brilliant boy and merely smiles when Stiles turns, searching for him.

Then Rebecca turns and she hugs him, quick and awkward and startlingly sincere. “Thanks,” she says, “for being here.”

And that’s when he realizes, the family that is clustered around Stiles, that is tugging him into the warm house, is also pulling Derek along, with shy smiles and quick darting hugs and nudging him forward until he’s next to Stiles, the younger man's weight a familiar press at his side.

He sees John smiling, pleased and smug, as one of the aunts snaps an order and the older cousins start carrying presents and baked goods into the house.

Babica is sitting in the living room, her long silver hair braided and tucked up like a crown around her head and Derek smiles at her as she murmurs Stiles’ name and draws him down into a fierce hug.

She does the same to Derek, a hard clenching hug that is as possessive and protective of him as if he were her blood.

“Thank you for coming back, wolf.”

He knows Stiles told Babica, that the matriarch of the Stilinski clan knows what he is even if none of the others do and it settles the anxious pacing wolf in his chest, dipping his head and letting the tiny woman touch his neck, a smile on her lips.

“I’m glad to be here,” he says, honestly.

She tucks her hand into his elbow and smiles. “Come along.”

~*~

It’s different this time.

And it feels genuine, not just a family cowed by a matriarch with too much alpha in her blood. The aunts bring him cocoa and cookies, the cousins include him in their stories and conversation. A few even ask him about himself, something that makes him flush and look helplessly to Stiles, who leans into his side and fills up the conversation.

It doesn’t take them long to understand that Derek doesn’t like talking, and is calmest when close to Stiles or John.

He thinks maybe they realized that before, because this family is brilliant and watchful, especially of Stiles.

They adore him.

He can see it, in the way the cousins clamor for his attention and the aunts send sidelong glances, checking on him as he bustles around the kitchen and teases them. He sees it in the way the uncles are gruff and patient, listening to his stories and showing him small simple things, watching with absurd pride in their eyes as Stiles does something as easy as light a fire.

“Claudia--they loved her. And he is very like her.”

He glances at Babica and she smiles. “After she left us, he would spend summers here. Weekends, sometimes. It was good for him to be with family, and we needed to be close to Claudia’s boy. But it became about him, and not just the woman we lost. They love him.”

“He is very easy to love,” Derek says, a faint smile on his face, and Babica shakes her head, a slight smile on her lips.

“He isn’t. But then, she wasn’t either. And John loves her still.”

Derek gets it. If he were to lose Stiles--fear clenches in his gut and he makes a low pained noise at the thought, and Babica rubs his wrist, her hand wrinkly and soft and comforting.

“He isn’t. But he’s worth it.” Derek says.

~*~

The children demand his attention, and he doesn’t mind, slipping away from the noise of the big family and settling on the floor near a low table, letting them clamber over him and smear frosting on his face and sweater as he coos over their creations. He helps little Gemin with his gingerbread man and nibbles playfully at Alex’s cookie while Natalie leans into his shoulder and helps him poke sprinkles on the sugar cookie he’s been coerced into decorating.

“Do you and Stiles want to adopt some?” Rebecca asks, and he glances up.

“Yes,” he says, easily. He’s wanted children for years, wants a pack to fill up a house on the holidays and during the year, to care about each other with a ferocity that excludes outsiders and perceived threats.

She smiles, and pats his shoulder. “Stiles did well with you.”

Derek doesn't correct her. Doesn’t tell her that he is the one who did well.

There’s no real point to it.

He knows, and that’s all that matters.

“I hope next year you have a little one to join us,” she says, her eyes warm.

~*~

He’s a little surprised by the presents. They’re generic, things for a house they don’t have yet, and he loves them, flushes and smiles in quiet delight at each gift.

Babica preens when he goes speechless and wide-eyed over a painting. It’s the view from Beacon Point and the moon is bright and full as it shines.

It looks so real he can almost feel the wind, almost hear his pack howling.

~*~

“Did you like it?” Stiles asks, his voice shaded with worry, and Derek squeezes his hand. Scott is asleep in the backseat and John is quiet, doing an impressive imitation of sleeping to give them their first privacy of the day.

Derek thinks about the children sleeping on him and the laughter and presents, of the piles of cookies and cake in the back of the truck, thinks about Rebecca’s quiet acceptance of him.

For the first time in years, it felt like spending the holiday with a pack, with Stiles’ pack and it makes something ache even as it soothes and settles him.

“Yes,” he says, squeezing Stiles hand. “I loved it.”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @poetry-protest-pornography!

Have a great holiday, and I hope you find many more great stories to enjoy in the coming year!

—-

Red Hoodie Playtime

Stiles has left his hoodie in the woods. It’s a lot easier than wearing it and getting all hot and holding it in his hands while jogging the trails of the Preserve. He had put it on this branch, back here off the trail where it was unlikely to be seen, let alone stolen.

And it’s gone. It’s not hanging, it’s not on the ground. If the wind were strong enough, maybe it got moved. Stiles starts walking in a spiral out from where he’d put it, hoping to find it soon.

Minutes before Stiles had come loking for his hoodie, Derek had been stalking the trail from deeper in the woods, patrolling them as part of his pledge to protect the Preserve and the people who come to it.

He’s slinking along, listening for the sounds of walkers and joggers along the trails, and notices the red shape hanging from a blunt branch. Derek sniffs it from a distance. It’s a man’s jacket, covered in the scents of school and the street he lives on. Derek looks around, sneaking carefully through the brittle underbrush, making no unnecessary noice.

He nudges it. There are well-worn pockets, still good for holding things, but not for too much longer. He sniffs again, testing his talents for teasing-out the people and places he can smell on things. Here, where each sleeve has a hole for thumbs, the threads are soft and faded from frequent use. There is a black walnut tree somewhere near where this man lives. It smells well-loved, and often worn, but not dirty. Some humans drop their things on the ground without regard to what creates might have peed there.

“Idiots.” Derek snorts at the thought, then returns to his examination of the clothing.

When Stiles is exploring in the widening pattern, he’s worrying himself with thoughts of getting hold on the way home, and improperly cooling down after a good run, and tries to think about what Coach said they should do if they find they change temperatures too fast after a workout. He considers how he’s going to tell his dad, because he left his phone in there, but after a slap to his pocket, he finds it’s still with him.

“Whew,” he sighs. “Don’t need another lecture from dad; gotta find it.” Stiles ignores the fact that he is out there alone with nobody to hear him, and he brushes the thought away like a distracting fly.

In a clearing along the young man’s search route, the wolf notices someone approaching. He hides along the tree edges, holding the hooded sweatshirt in his mouth. He’s tasting it, smelling it more closely, and noticing how this human doesn’t use many artificial scents. There’s a peppery sort of shampoo and maybe some hand lotion. He takes a moment to appreciate that the owner of this shirt is taking good care of his skin.

He drops the sweatshirt on the ground when he remembers this belongs to a teenager, so that lotion was likely not used merely as a preventive measure and skin treatment.

Derek snuffles around the shirt, sniffing the pockets. Being a lone wolf in the woods isn’t a social experience, so taking moments here and there to explore the cars and lost beanies and whatever else comes across his patrol route helps him feel connected to the people and events of the nearby town.

While Derek is poking around in the pockets, Stiles spots the wolf and the bold red of his shirt through the trees, across a small open space. He crouches to hide himself, snapping several branches, rustling some leaves, and upsetting some nearby tiny creature from it’s nap. He curses his inevitable clumsiness and hopes he’s actually been at least a little effective at hiding himself among these bare autumn branches.

Derek snorts, and pretends not to notice him. He noses the sweatshirt.

Stiles mutters, “Don’t slobber all over it, mutt…” in an undertone.

The wolf looks at him, and gets a wolfy grin before driving his forepaws and snout into the shirt. “I do what I want.” It’s the only distantly human connection he’s had in a while, so he makes sure not to damage the shirt, just to play in it, to let the kid think he’s going to tear it up.

Stiles is completely amused, which is very soonly noticed by the wolf as the complex set of scents coming from the human drift through the air toward the wolf’s supernaturally-sensitive nose.

“Dad’s never going to believe that a giant dog ate my sweatshirt.” Stiles grins at the image of confessing this to his father.

Derek is annoyed now, not getting at all the kind of fearful reaction he was hoping for. The Preserve can be dangerous for a lone human; there are plenty of normal predators and risks here, and this kid is plenty clumsy enough. Derek decides to show-off anyway. He noses his way through the neck opening in the shirt and pokes his head through the top of the hoodie. His ears pop out and up, and he glances over to the human to see if he’s still being paid attention to.

When this kid wants to focus, he can do a pretty good job. Derek’s mildly impressed, and turns to face the sun, rear on his haunches and sitting in a relaxed posture, looking like he has always belonged in this hoodie, and had dressed himself with it before heading out for the day.

Stiles giggles, and squeaks, “That’s so frickin cute!” The wolf’s tail wags twice before he catches it and forces it to still. Stiles doesn’t miss a beat and laughs when the wolf seems to glare at the treeline after having been caught enjoying himself.

“You must be a husky breed.” The wolf cocks his head, trying to figure out what the hell this guy is talking about. “You’re stubborn and smart and you know what you want, but you also look great. I’m impressed, actually.”

Derek grumbles aloud at that.

“Hey! It’s supposed to be a compliment!” Stiles calls out louder this time, then adds much more quietly, “well, most of it…”

The wolf realizes this was a stupid thing to indulge. He doesn’t need this guy’s attention. He doesn’t need anyone. He backs himself out of the hoodie, catching the neck on his ears on the way back and getting hung-up inside it for a moment before pawing it off and being freed from it. He pretends not to hear the snickers from the idiot watching him through the trees.

When he’s shucked the clothing, he catches the human reaching for his pockets, which is probably so he can get his phone and take a picture. Derek takes that as his cue to exit the stage and disappear, before evidence of his presence becomes a problem for him and the human. He takes-off at supernatural speed, leaving the human shocked at the sudden movement and immediate disappearance of the fluffy, powerful creature he’d just felt like he had a great conversation with.

Well, for as much as any large dog uses words for anything.

He tramples through the crunching twigs on the ground and grabs the hoodie from the ground. After a few shakes, and sniff in a couple places, he decides it’s good enough to wear home, and he’s looking forward to getting out of the increasing cold.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @divinexstiles!

I hope you enjoy this. I wanted to do something vaguely ABO/mating run, but since I'm not great at that trope, I did a slight variation on it. I hope you enjoy! <3 

Summary: To complete the mating ritual, Derek has to go on the mating run to find Stiles, which is a scavenger hunt around Beacon Hills. Derek just wants to find Stiles before he crawls out of his skin.

Read on AO3

*****

Hunting for Clues

Derek clenched and unclenched his fists over and over. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it until his mother reached out and touched his arm with a smile. “Relax, Derek. It’s almost time.”

Derek tried to relax as his mother ran a comforting hand down his arm. Sunset was in just a few minutes, and then there was only around half an hour after that til moon rise. Derek could feel the buzzing just beneath his skin, could already smell Stiles’ scent in the air. It made his fangs push against his gums, his claws ache to come out. He wanted to take off now, let his instincts lead him to his mate, reunite with him and claim him finally as his own. It had been so long since Derek had seen Stiles, his entire body was aching and longing, his wolf whining and uneasy from the separation.

(It had been three days.)

“Are you nervous? Excited?” his mother asked him.

“A bit of both, I guess.”

She squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long before you’re with Stiles again. It’s exciting. Things’ll never be the same after tonight. You and Stiles are starting a long life together. I’m so happy for you, and that it’s Stiles.” Derek ducked his head and smiled.

“I remember the mating run with your father like it was yesterday,” she reminisced. “I remember standing here like you, beside my own father, my entire body nearly burning with the need to find and claim your father.”

“Mo-om!” Derek groaned. He was a werewolf; sex and modesty weren’t really things that bothered him. But there are some things, like thinking about his parents claiming each other, that weren’t really the thing he wanted to think about when he was about to go claim his own mate.

His mother chuckled. “Enjoy it, Derek. The hunt, the chase, the anticipation. I know you want to get to Stiles as soon as possible, but the mating run only happens once in your life. You’ll find him soon enough, and then you’ll spend all night claiming him.” Derek blushed up to his hairline as his mother watched him with a knowing, mischievous smirk.

“Are you going to embarrass Laura and Cora this much when they do their own mating run?” Derek asked.

“Oh, definitely. It’s part of the fun.”

The minutes dragged on as Derek watched the moon rise. He could already smell Stiles’ faint scent on the air, and his eyes had a faint electric blue glow as he leaned against the hood of the Camaro.

Derek’s mother grabbed Derek’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s time.” Derek couldn’t help the growl that started deep in his chest. His mother turned to him and placed a leather cord around his neck. Two matching silver bands with a triskele engraved into the side hung on it. The mating bands.

She looked him in the eyes, her gaze a bright red, and smiled. “With the rising of the full moon on this November day, and as Alpha of the Hales and the Beacon Hills territory, I declare the start of this mating run. Derek,” she paused and kissed him on the cheek. “Go find your Stiles.”

His mother let go of his hands and Derek grinned at her before throwing his head back and howling. Finally. He got into the Camaro, rolled down the window, and started following the scent.

He drove away from the Hale house, off the property and towards town. Mating runs used to be done through the woods, the wolves chasing each other or their human mates until they ended up claiming each other in the woods. The last few generations changed things. His grandmother just waited at a restaurant for his grandfather, and his cousin chased his mate all the way to Iceland. Some of his relatives still liked to do a traditional woods run, but Stiles told him, “Dude, I’m not running through the woods when I’m not running for my life. I’d like to be well rested for our mating night, if you get my drift.” Then he’d winked suggestively and tackled Derek back to the bed.

The first place that Stiles’ scent led Derek made him laugh. He should have known, even without the scent trail. The bookstore where they’d met a few years ago, at a book club meeting Derek had gone to when he’d spent a year reading classics. The meeting was for Treasure Island, and Derek had been eager to discuss it.

But there’d been a guy there who was the most annoying person in the world. He talked constantly, mainly about how much he loved the book and how awesome pirates were. “I mean, it’s like a farce! Were we really supposed to believe those guys didn’t know that Long John Silver was the cook? It’s like, watch out for the guy with the peg leg! But here comes a dude with a peg leg who’s a cook all of a sudden, wanting to go look for the treasure! I was literally laughing out loud.”

Derek was irritated at first, but the longer the guy went on about the comical elements, the more Derek started to soften. By the end, he was even smiling and chuckling to himself.

After the meeting, the man came up to Derek and said, “Dude, did you really want to seriously discuss Treasure Island? Like, a lit class? You do realize we were in that meeting with a bunch of grannies? Awesome grannies who totally love pirates, but I don’t think they would care about, what was it? The futility of desire or the motif of solitude? Like, did you really think about that when you read? I was just like, whoa these are some fucking awesome pirates, yo.”

Derek had been miffed and a bit taken aback at his response and had turned to go, but then the guy said, “You know, we could discuss that motif of solitude or whatever other Englishy, literary, pretentious thing you want to talk about. I was thinking over coffee.”

Derek had just stared at him in surprise. People hit on him often, but it usually had something to do with his looks or sex. No one had ever offered to talk about a fucking nineteenth century book about pirates over coffee before. Then Derek really looked at the guy. Tall, thin but with surprising definition in his arms and shoulders, hair sticking up in multiple directions from having long fingers run through it too often, and bright eyes that Derek could easily see himself falling into.

“Yeah, okay. If you’re buying.”

The guy smiled. “I think I can handle that.”

Derek stared at the bookstore from a parking spot right in front of it, and couldn’t believe that a stupid book had brought them together. And now here he was, on his mating run to find him.

Inside, Derek found Boyd waiting just where he thought he’d be – in the classics section, right beside Treasure Island. Boyd grinned when Derek approached, and said, “Thought you weren’t gonna show.”

“Trying not to get arrested for speeding before I get to him,” Derek said. “Gotta keep Stiles’ father out of this. Just wait until your mating run with Erica. We’ll see if you’re as smug then.”

Boyd laughed as he handed Derek an old, worn copy of Treasure Island. Derek opened the front flap to read the inscription, written in Stiles’ hand, and then was out of the bookstore with a quick goodbye to Boyd, book still clutched in his hand.

The next stop was Laura’s coffee shop three streets over. As soon as Derek entered, he could smell Stiles’ scent even over the rich aroma of coffee.

Their first date had been at a coffee shop that no longer existed. But they’d been on so many dates to Laura’s coffee shop that Derek wasn’t a bit surprised it was part of the run. He glanced over at the corner chairs, where they spent most of their time.

He remembered the first time he ordered for Stiles, when Stiles was distracted on his computer as he finished up a paper for one of his grad classes. It was Thanksgiving break, and he’d wanted to finish it so they could “go home and fuck their way through black Friday while everyone else wasted money on a capitalistic racket.” Derek offered to buy him coffee to help him get finished faster.

Derek’s order was always simple, a hazelnut coffee with milk, but Stiles liked one of those coffees Derek thought were only a tv fabrication. He blamed Laura for enabling Stiles, really. And when he went up to the counter, a new high school kid working instead of his sister, so Derek had to remember the ridiculous order.

He set the cup beside Stiles’ elbow and sat down to read his book. Fifteen minutes later, Stiles muttered, “Well, fuck me.” Derek glanced up to find Stiles looking at him, mouth hanging open. “You know my coffee order.”

“Barely,” Derek said. “I couldn’t remember if it had almond or vanilla, and – oof!” Derek was cut off when Stiles lunged across the empty space between them and flopped on his body to kiss him. The kiss was more intense and eager than Derek was completely comfortable with in a public space, but he found himself kissing back anyway.

“I love you, too,” Stiles whispered against his mouth, then kissed him again before sitting back down in front of his computer. Derek picked his book up, ridiculous smile on his face.

When Derek approached the counter, Laura was waiting on him behind it, holding a lacrosse jersey with a number 24. “Go get ‘em, Derek.” Derek grabbed the jersey, kissed his sister on the cheek, and ran back to the car.

Stiles liked to tease Derek that lacrosse was a better sport than basketball. “You played basketball, how boring is that? God, that’s the worst sport ever. Lacrosse is far superior.” Derek let Stiles ramble about lacrosse, mainly because he didn’t care one way or another.

“Baseball is better than both,” Derek said simply after Stiles stopped talking.

“That’s a given,” Stiles replied. “How have we not talked about baseball yet? We’ve been dating for months.”

“Spring training just started. It wasn’t baseball season until now.”

“I know. I have this dream that one year, I’ll get to go see the Mets during pre-season.”

“The Mets?”

“Stop the car!” Stiles shouted. “If you hate the Mets, just stop the car right now and I’ll get out and walk home. I cannot interact with a Mets hater.”

For their second Christmas together, Derek bought him and Stiles a Mets spring training ticket bundle that included meet and greets and a breakfast with the team. He thought Stiles was going to pass out, but he cried instead and gave Derek probably the best blowjob he’d ever gotten.

When Derek opened the door of the car at the school, the air was heavy with Stiles’ scent. He didn’t know if Stiles had been here recently, had rubbed himself on posts, or had peed on something. (Knowing Stiles, he and Scott went around peeing on Beacon Hills High School just for the fun of it.)

Derek ran to the field and found Scott sitting on the bleachers with Isaac, Allison, and Lydia. They grinned as he ran towards them.

“This is so exciting!” Allison exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“You’re making good time,” Lydia said as she checked her phone. “Faster than Stiles predicted. I told him he underestimated how much you wanted to get to him.”

Derek didn’t care enough to blush because they knew where the mating run was leading. Stiles’ scent was so thick right here, like he’d rubbed himself on each of his friends, and rolled around in the grass. Which he probably did. Then Derek started thinking about Stiles rolling around in the grass, naked, and he only came back to himself when he heard the others talking.

“Earth to Derek,” Scott said.

“His eyes are much bluer than they were,” Lydia stated.

“And he’s wolfed out,” Allison added.

“I’m more concerned about the fact that he’s half hard in his pants,” Isaac said.

“It’s natural,” Lydia said. “You can’t imagine how difficult this is for him.”

“I’m surprised he’s not humping the bleachers where Stiles was sitting, honestly,” Scott said.

“Better get a hold of himself before he goes to see the sheriff,” Isaac said.

“Dude! You’re not supposed to tell him the next stop!” Scott frowned as he handed Derek a blank speeding ticket. “Here’s your clue anyway.”

Derek grabbed it and ran back to the car, the others catcalling and yelling behind him. If the next stop was to see the sheriff, that meant it was the last one before he finally got to Stiles.

The inside of his car made it difficult for Derek to concentrate or even breathe. Everything smelled so much like Stiles. The book, the jersey, the scent of Stiles outside and inside of the car. Derek felt like he was going out of his mind. He just wanted to take off running in any direction until he found him, but he knew that would take much longer than using the clues. His mother had told him to enjoy the mating run, but it was almost impossible when he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn’t find his mate soon. He glanced at his crotch, and Isaac hadn’t been lying. Derek was half hard in his pants. Dammit, he should have worn something looser.

He barely registered the ride to Stiles’ house. He parked in the driveway behind the cruiser and ran to the porch. The sheriff opened the door before he took the last step. “Derek.”

“Sir.”

The sheriff smiled and stepped aside to let Derek inside. Which was torture. Stiles’ scent was all around him, thick and heavy. He could taste Stiles on his tongue, and his fingers itched to touch.

“It’ll be all right, son,” the sheriff said, touching Derek’s shoulder. Derek hadn’t realized until then that he’d been whining. “Just a little longer, and then you’re stuck with him forever.” The sheriff gave him a smirk, but Derek knew just how happy he was for them.

“I didn’t think it’d be this difficult to be away from him.”

“Remember this when you’re both yelling and slamming doors.”

“We do that already.” Derek smiled.

“Do you have the rings?” the sheriff asked, and Derek reached beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled out the strand of leather. The sheriff nodded in approval. “I’m so happy for you both. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to take care of him.”

“I know. I love him, and I’ll always take care of him.”

“I know that.” The sheriff placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder and squeezed. “Welcome to the family.” Then, he gave Derek a piece of a paper with directions on it. “Go find him. He’s waiting for you.”

Derek took a deep breath, his nostrils filled with Stiles, and then ran back to the Camaro. The directions took him back to the Preserve, not far from where he started. He drove his car as far as he could, then got out and ran the rest of the way by instinct. His body could feel the pull of the bond, so close now, and his nose was filled with Stiles’ scent hanging in the air. When he got closer, he was able to hone immediately onto Stiles’ erratic heartbeat, beating slightly fast, but mostly calm. Waiting.

Waiting for Derek.

That thought made Derek lift his face to the sky and howl. His mate was close and waiting for him. He couldn’t be happier than this moment.

Finally, Derek broke the treeline to find a small cabin nestled between trees. It was almost hidden if you didn’t know it was there. Unmistakably, Stiles was inside. Derek could hear the creak of the bed as Stiles jiggled his leg nervously.

Derek felt like he could breathe again.

He forced himself to go slow as he walked towards the cabin, up the few steps, and across the porch. He paused, listening to Stiles on the other side of the door. Stiles knew he was there, his scent changed and emanating so strongly that it filled the forest air. Stiles smelled excited and joyous now that Derek was close.

Mine, Derek thought as he opened the door. Stiles was seated on the edge of the bed. When he saw Derek, his face broke into the most beautiful smile.

“Took you long enough,” Stiles said, standing as Derek rushed towards him and lifted him into his arms. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and kissed him deeply. “I thought you’d never find me.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Derek protested between kisses.

“Long enough.”

Derek set Stiles back onto the floor and yanked the leather from around his neck. He dropped the two rings into his hand, and watched as Stiles took one, and then he took the other. Derek lifted Stiles’ hand and slid the ring onto his finger. “With this ring, you pledge to be mine forever.”

Stiles did the same to Derek, saying, “With this ring, you pledge to be mine forever.”

“Mine,” Derek growled, his eyes burning as he shifted, the metal burning his skin like a brand. He was Stiles’ and Stiles was his. “Mine.”

“I’m yours,” Stiles breathed against him. He bared his neck and whispered, “Claim me.”

Derek growled before leaning forward and biting down.

*

Later, Stiles told Derek how he’d spent the last day preparing the small cottage for their mating. “I know we’re supposed to be here for three days, so I hope we’ll do something other than have sex. I worked really hard on fixing this cottage up for us!”

“It looks wonderful,” Derek mumbled against Stiles’ belly where he was licking and nibbling.

“You haven’t looked at it at all,” Stiles said flatly.

“I will, I promise.”

“I even lit candles!”

“You’re perfect,” Derek said before trailing a line of kisses lower.

They’d have three days to check out the cabin before the Pack came to see them as the last part of the ritual. Derek wasn’t thinking about that right now. They’d only been together for half an hour, and they had three long days to be together. Stiles had a bite on his neck and an assortment of bruises sucked into his skin, but they were just getting started. Derek had plans still.

Derek grinned against Stiles’ skin as Stiles said, “I love you,” his fingers carding through Derek’s hair.

Derek pushed up so they were eye to eye, stared at Stiles’ face, and couldn’t believe his luck, that this man was his. “I love you, too. Forever.”

“Forever,” Stiles said, then pulled Derek down for a kiss.

-fin

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @pseudoapollonian!

I loved all of your pack feels and I hope you enjoy this little fic ♥

Read on AO3

*****

Grown from ashes

Stiles’ heart raced as he slid around a corner and thundered down the stairs. His ears rang with the cackling laughter of his pursuer. Grabbing the banister, he leapt up and over, bypassing the rest of the stairs. It was good to see that his training with Argent was paying off.

The door was in sight, Stiles just had to make it outside. His magic was stronger in the open air. But then his foot caught on a loose tarp and he went flying. Using his moment of helplessness, his pursuer tackled him to the ground, pinning him.

Stiles let out a very manly shriek as something cold and slimy trailed over the back of his neck. He struggled against his captor, but was only rewarded with more laughter.

“What is going on here?”

Stiles froze, looking up to see Derek framed in the doorway. Unperturbed, Erica continued smearing yellow paint across every bit of exposed skin she could reach. The rest of the pack trickled out of the rooms they were working on, still holding their paint brushes and rollers.

Derek sighed, then walked over and hauled Erica off of her perch on Stiles’ lower back. She pouted a little, but didn’t say anything.

“You are adults!” Derek said, but he sounded resigned. “I should be able to leave you unsupervised for an hour.”

He probably would have said more, but he was interrupted by paint splattering across his cheek. Kira quickly shoved her incriminating brush at Boyd, who automatically caught it. Derek jerked around and Kira smiled innocently. That is until Boyd wiped his now paint covered hand over the bare skin of her shoulder.

That was all it took to turn the situation into a brawl. Stiles sat up slowly, scooting back to lean against the wall. He was still winded from his run-in with Erica and he knew better than to get in the middle of a werewolf/coyote/kitsune rumble. Plus he was unarmed.

“Paint fight!” Scott yelled from the upstairs bathroom. Brush in hand, he launched himself from the balcony and into the fray, taking out Isaac and Malia.

Stiles laughed at the sight. In the kitchen, Boyd chased Kira around the island, paint dripping from his head over his ears. She ducked and wove with the grace of a fox, but was helpless against the paint tray he upended over her.

Derek was trapped under Erica and Cora who were taking turns painting stripes across his shoulders and down his captive arms. Even though he was the alpha, he made no move to overpower them. Just pressed his cheek against the tarp and accepted his fate.

A piercing whistle shattered the chaos. Stiles could feel the smile drop from his face, replaced by a look of sheepishness.

“Hey Sheriff,” Isaac said, letting go of Scott.

His dad took in the mess. “Well. I guess it’s a good thing we had tarps down.”

Melissa stepped in behind him, eyes widening at the sight. “Everyone outside. Now.”

Properly cowed, the pack got up and shuffled toward the outdoor showers. They were intended for use after full moon runs. Or for washing off monster guts before going inside the house.

Stiles was the last one out, stopping in front of his dad. “Hey daddio.”

“Don’t try to tell me that you didn’t start this.” His dad had that look in his eye, like he was trying to be a good parent by staying stern and not laughing.

Stiles winced. “It wasn’t totally my fault.”

His dad rolled his eyes. “Go clean up. Mel and I brought food and Allison and Lydia should be here soon with dessert.”

With that his dad shut the door, leaving him no choice but to go rinse off. The air outside was chilly and stepping under the lukewarm spray didn’t help.

Erica turned from the showerhead next to him. “I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

Stiles immediately shook his head. “That mess was not your fault. We should’ve know better than to try and paint during full moon week.”

Plus anything was worth seeing his boyfriend laugh and smile. Stiles watched as Isaac tried to help Derek rinse away the paint he couldn’t reach. The shades of blue and yellow had mixed, staining Derek’s skin an alarming shade of green.

Erica followed his gaze and smirked. “We’ll be out of your hair soon, lover boy.” Then she tugged Boyd under the water with her, gently clearing the paint from his ears.

Stiles sighed and scrubbed at the paint caked along his hair line. There was no way he was getting it all off without soap and a washcloth, so he settled for doing a half-assed job. When his teeth started chattering, he called it quits and followed Kira into the walkout basement.

Luckily the pack room was already finished and equipped with clothes for moments like this. Kira rummaged through one of the drawers along the wall, chucking a pair of sweatpants at his head. Stiles caught them and smiled at the Beacon Hills Basketball logo. These were definitely Derek’s coaching pants.

Kira was dressed before Stiles had even finished rubbing an old towel over his hair.

“Leave some food for the rest of us,” he called after her.

Her laugh echoed down the stairs. “No promises.”

Pulling on the sweatpants, Stiles let himself fall into nostalgia. The pack had come a long way since their rocky beginnings. Back in those days, he barely believed he was going to survive high school, let alone finish college and start building a house with the love of his life.

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind. Stiles slumped back, tipping his head to the side so Derek could nose at the damp hair behind his ear.

“Allison and Lydia just parked,” Derek said, breath fanning across Stiles’ neck.

Stiles shivered, soaking up Derek’s warmth for a little longer. “I suppose we should go see them.”

They made it upstairs in time to say goodbye to his dad and Melissa, who were both on night shifts for the week. The rest of the evening passed in a flurry of pizza, Chinese takeout, and snickerdoodle cookies.

There were no chairs yet, so Stiles hopped up onto the counter with Derek leaning beside him. Scott and Kira sprawled out on the floor, stealing food from each other’s plates. In the living room, Isaac and Cora were snarking back and forth over which fictional characters would win in a duel. Malia, Boyd, Erica, and Allison sat in a circle nearby discussing Allison’s chances of making the Olympic archery team.

“It looks like you all had an enjoyable afternoon,” Lydia said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Derek’s cheek. At first their friendship had surprised Stiles, but the more Derek told him about Laura the more it made sense.

Derek smiled down at her. “Congratulations on the postdoc position. Do you think you’ll take it?”

“Yeah.” Lydia’s eyes strayed toward Allison. “Berkley is much closer than MIT. It will be good to be back home.”

Stiles dropped his head to Derek’s shoulder, letting the sound of their voices lull him into a food coma. At least until there was a crash of falling paint cans from the living room. Stiles jumped off the counter to investigate. Somehow, Erica and Isaac ended up in a wrestling match with Cora and Boyd acting as referees. Which meant it was time for the pack to go home.

“Alright. Everybody out!” Stiles yelled, herding the group toward the door.

There were a few grumbles of dissent, mainly from Scott, but there really wasn’t much to do in the house yet. They still had to get furniture and a TV at least. Then they could have proper pack nights.

Once the last stragglers were on the way to their cars, Stiles found Derek in the kitchen tackling the mountain of dishes. He dropped a kiss to Derek’s shoulder, smiling a little at the smudge of yellow along his jaw. Erica’s work, for sure.

“Let’s go get cleaned up.”

Derek sighed, leaning into him for another moment. “Okay.”

Their room was the only one in the house that was already finished. And Stiles was so grateful he no longer had to live in his father’s house. Not that he didn’t love his dad, but sometimes he needed quiet alone time with his boyfriend. Like right now.

Linking their fingers, he pulled Derek away from the sink.

“The dishes will still be there tomorrow.”

Derek went along willingly, following Stiles up the stairs and into their bedroom. With a well-placed kick, Stiles closed the door behind them and started stripping out of his clothes. The dried paint itched and pulled at his skin.

He looked up to find Derek watching him, still fully dressed. Rolling his eyes, he tugged at the hem of Derek’s shirt.

“Are you going to shower with your clothes on? Because no offense, but you still kinda look like the Hulk.” Stiles picked at a bit of green still clinging to Derek’s arm hair.

Derek huffed. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Green looks good on you.” Stiles said, then kissed him soundly and headed for the bathroom.

By the time the water reached a perfect temperature, Derek was slipping in behind him. He picked up the shampoo bottle and proceeded to work a lather through Stiles’ hair. The feeling of strong fingers massaging his scalp turned Stiles boneless.

He hummed as Derek scrubbed at the back of his neck with a cloth, getting rid of the last traces of paint. But when he reached for the soap, Derek smacked his hand away.

“Nope. You’ve done enough today. Just relax.”

Stiles wanted to argue, but he knew Derek was probably right. His boyfriend seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to him overdoing it. So he breathed in the warm steam and closed his eyes as Derek washed himself and shampooed his hair.

He must have nodded off because only seconds later, the water was gone and Derek was rubbing him down with one of their fluffy towels. Then they were stumbling to bed, Derek curling up behind him and slinging an arm over his waist. Stiles smiled sleepily and craned his neck for a kiss.

“Deaton and I put up the wards this morning,” he said into the pillow.

Derek spread his hand over Stiles’ stomach and pressed a kiss to his neck. “I knew you were more tired than usual.”

“It was worth it.” Stiles settled into the curve of Derek’s body. “I want to live here forever.”

He could feel Derek’s smile against the back of his head.

“I love you.”

Stiles folded his hand over the one on his stomach. “I love you too.”

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @prettywarlockk!

Magnus had always wanted children. It was why he took in wayward Downworlders like Raphael and Simon - he liked being able to care for someone, being able to be a safe place for someone who had nowhere else to go. Being a warlock, he could never have biological children of his own, but the desire had always been there.

The first time he had seriously considered children was with Camille. He’d thought that she was it for him, that they would spend an eternity together. There were plenty of abandoned warlock babies all around the world, who was to say that he and Camille couldn’t adopt one or two together, be a real family?

But then Camille had broken his heart for the last time and Magnus closed himself off. Love wasn’t worth the heartache - whether it be intentional or through his lover’s death, it didn’t matter. Heartache was heartache and Magnus had experienced enough of it to last three lifetimes.

So he closed himself off, put walls and thorns around his heart, kept the world at a comfortable distance. He could feel himself calcifying, but if that was the price he had to pay to keep his heart safe, then so be it. He would wither away to nothing before he let himself be hurt again.

And then he met Alexander Lightwood.

Alec was like no one Magnus had ever met. He was kind in the way no Shadowhunter before him had been. He was steadfastly loyal, almost to the point of crippling him. He was a natural born leader and, despite what Alec might have thought, he drew people to him whenever he entered a room.

And whenever Alec looked at him, Magnus couldn’t help but feel as though everything in his life had been leading to the moment when he met Alec Lightwood.

Magnus had always been one to fall hard and fast, but with Alec it was different. Right from the start, Magnus was all in, slowly letting down his walls and untangling the thorns, letting this beautiful man into his heart. Alec consumed Magnus in a way he had never felt before, not even with Camille, and Magnus had been sure what he’d felt for her was the epitome of love.

He wanted everything with Alec, including children, a real family.

Magnus kept putting off broaching the subject of children with Alec. He knew that Alec loved him heart and soul and knew that he was in this relationship for the long haul, just as Magnus was. But Alec was young, not even twenty-five, and Magnus wasn’t sure if children was something on his radar, if it was something he thought about or even wanted.

And Magnus wanted children so badly that if Alec said no...it might crush him.

So he waited. When Alec moved into the loft, Magnus said nothing. When Alec asked Magnus to marry him, Magnus said nothing. He said nothing, but he watched. Watched the way interacted with his brother Max, watched the gentle way he cared for Madzie whenever they looked after her for Catarina. Magnus watched, and he knew that Alec would make a great father one day.

If only he had the courage to ask Alec if that was something that he wanted.

Magnus, for once, had a day free of clients and the warlocks of Brooklyn had apparently decided to take a day off from causing mayhem, so he was trying to work on the wedding plans that he’d been neglecting when his phone rang. When he saw that it was Alec, he picked up immediately, fearing the worst - Alec rarely called from work and when he did, it was because he needed Magnus’s help.

“Alexander? Is everything okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. Well...kinda.” The line was quiet for longer than Magnus was comfortable with and he was already on his feet, ready to make a portal. “Look, I know it’s your day off, but do you think you could come down to the Institute?”

“Already on my way.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.” Magnus smiled when Alec laughed. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

----

Magnus stepped through the portal and landed in front of the Institute. He walked in like he owned the place, having learned that the Shadowhunters generally left him alone if he acted like he belonged, though whispers still followed him. And the whispers were particularly bad that day, though they were quiet enough that Magnus couldn’t hear what they were saying. Not that he cared, it was probably the same racist and homophobic trash he heard all the time - he must have just caught them on a bad day.

“Magnus, hey!” Isabelle walked up to him and gave him a hug. “I assume Alec called you.”

Now Magnus was suspicious. “Yeah, he did. What’s going on?”

Isabelle looked anywhere but at Magnus when she spoke. “I should… let Alec tell you. It’s not my place. He’s in his office, by the way, but I gotta go. Lot of, um, work to do. You know how it is.” And then she was gone, leaving Magnus dumbfounded. Isabelle was usually so calm and collected - she never stuttered or stumbled over her words.

What was going on?

He knew the only way he was going to get answers was by talking to Alec, so he walked the familiar path to his fiance’s office, knocking on the door when he arrived. “Come in!” he heard Alec call, his voice muffled by the thick wood of the door.

Magnus let himself in and was shocked to find Alec sitting behind his desk, holding what was unmistakably a baby. “Hey, Magnus,” Alec said, looking up.

“Don’t ‘hey, Magnus’ me, Alexander Lightwood. At least not until you tell me where you got a baby.”

Alec looked down at the bundle in his arms like he had forgotten it was there, and then back up at Magnus, a soft smile tinged with sadness on his face. “Someone left her on the Institute steps and no one knew what to do with her, so they gave her to me.”

“Someone left a baby on the steps of an abandoned church?” Magnus hadn’t had the greatest parents in the world, but he couldn’t imagine anyone leaving an infant outside what would have looked to them as a run down church where no one would find it.

Alec shook his head. “I think whoever left her knew this was an Institute, whether they could see it or not. She’s a warlock, Magnus.”

“How do you know?”

Alec smiled again, looking down at the baby. “Come see.”

Magnus came to stand behind Alec and looked down to see a beautiful baby girl sleeping peacefully. Her skin was dark, not unlike the glamour Catarina wore and Magnus could see a swath of black hair peeking out from underneath her blankets. But what stood out the most was the two tiny horns protruding from her forehead. They were small now, but Magnus knew that they would grow as she aged. “She’s beautiful,” was all he could think to say.

“Yeah, she is.”

“What are you going to do with her? I can call around, see if there’s any warlocks who would be willing to take her in.” Magnus knew that there were some mundane parents who loved them, warlock children were always better off being raised by other warlocks, by someone who could truly understand them. “Maybe Catarina-”

“I want to keep her.”

Whatever Magnus was going to say about Catarina died on his lips when Alec spoke. He actually had to clutch the edge of the desk to steady himself as the world around him had started to spin. Surely he had heard Alec wrong. “What did you say?”

Alec swallowed hard and Magnus could read the panic coloring his features. “I know we haven’t...talked about this, kids, yet. But I’ve always wanted to be a dad and I just...I want everything with you, Magnus. And...just forget I said anything,” he added with a small shake of his head. “We’ll figure something else out for her.” But the way he was looking at the baby told Magnus everything he needed to know.

Alec loved her and he wasn’t going to let her go.

“Alexander, look at me.” When he did, Magnus continued. “I want everything with you, too. I just wasn’t sure that this, that kids, was something you wanted.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I was scared. I’ve wanted to be a father for centuries but I never thought it was something that was in the cards for me. But, still, I wanted it. Above everything else, above getting married, I wanted to be a father. And if you didn’t want the same thing…” Magnus trailed off with a shake of his head, unable to finish.

“Magnus, I love you.” No matter how many times he heard it, those words always set Magnus’s heart beating faster. “Of course I would want a family with you. Anyone would be crazy not to.” Magnus laughed, recalling an almost identical conversation when they had broached the idea of marriage for the first time.  Anyone would be crazy not to, Alec said, but Alec was the only one who had ever wanted those things with Magnus.

Seventeen thousand people and no one had ever loved him the way Alec Lightwood did.

“Can I hold her?” Alec smiled and handed the baby - their daughter - to Magnus and he looked down at her, unable to believe this was his life now. There was only one thing missing. “She needs a name.”

“Actually, I already thought of one,” Alec admitted and Magnus’s smile widened, if that was even possible. Of course he had. “I was thinking that maybe we could name her Sophia. It’s-”

“Izzy’s middle name, I know.” Magnus looked at the baby again. “Sophia,” he whispered, trying it out. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sophia Lightwood-Bane.” At that, baby Sophia opened her eyes and looked up at Magnus unblinkingly. “Well, hello, there, little lady. I’m your dad.”

“One of your dads,” Alec interjected.

“One of your dads,” Magnus repeated. “And we are both going to love you for the rest of our lives. I’m going to give you the best life, Sophia, I promise.”

Alec stood and kissed Magnus on the lips and the leaning down and kissing Sophia on the forehead. “We really lucked out with this one, baby girl.” Magnus felt a tear roll down his cheek and Alec reached out and wiped it away. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m just...really happy.”

I’ve never been this happy.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @haletostilinski!

Hopefully this is happy enough. I may have taken inspiration from some of your reblogs. :)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Underage Additional Tags: BAMF Stiles, Season/Series 01, Bad Flirting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Oral Sex, First Time, Bad Pick-Up Lines, First Love, Love at First Sight, First Crush, Derek is Not a Failwolf, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Beta Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves

Summary: When Stiles’s first crush wanders back into Stiles’s life, it feels like fate. Then he finds out werewolves are real and Derek Hale’s one of them. Really, that just makes his crush on Derek so much worse.

Read on AO3

******

From Zero to Three-Sixty in Half a Second

Stiles is seriously debating whether Scott contracted lycanthropy when tall, dark, and gorgeous surprises the hell out of them.

"What are you doing here?" the guy demands.

Stiles stares. He knows that gorgeous face. The guy's older than Stiles remembers, yeah, but there's no way he'd forget Derek Hale. Derek volunteered at the library where Stiles's mom had worked and young Derek had been the beginning of Stiles's adolescent adventures in bisexuality.

"Meeting the love of my life." Both Scott and Derek stare at him, making Stiles's grin stretch wider. He hadn't intended to blurt that out, but he can roll with it. Meeting Derek again feels like fate. Derek was Stiles's very first crush. He'd lost all hope of seeing Derek again after the fire.

Scott recovers first. He's built up a resistance to the kind of things that come out of Stiles's mouth. "I lost my inhaler."

Derek stares at Stiles for a moment longer, then tosses the lost inhaler to Scott. Derek turns to leave but pauses when Stiles shouts, "Hey, Derek?" Stiles probably looks like a maniac. He can't stop smiling. He should ask Derek how he's doing or what brought him back to Beacon Hills. "Can I get your number?"

Derek's eyebrows come together in a formidable frown. "Are you hitting on me?"

Stiles shrugs. "Obviously not very well if you have to ask. But seriously, do you want to go out sometime? Catch up?" Subtlety has never been Stiles's forte. He's genuinely curious about Derek's life after Beacon Hills.

"I don't believe this," Derek mutters as he stalks off into the woods.

There's a bounce in Stiles's step as they head back to the Jeep. Derek doesn't realize it yet, but Stiles does not give up when he has a crush.

Stiles can't believe that Scott insisted on going to Lydia's party. Well, actually, he kind of can because Scott is over the moon about Allison and he thinks one day apart is going to ruin their budding relationship, but still, Scott's a werewolf. Like, an actual, real werewolf that kinda attacked Stiles and cut up his chair, and that was before adding the heady cocktail of teenage relationship drama. This is not the day for Scott to pretend to be a social butterfly.

His plan to keep an eye on Scott lasts as long as it takes for Stiles to notice Derek loitering by the pool, like some angry, brooding lifeguard. Derek stands out. For one, he's older and this is a party full of horny teenagers. He's also not participating in any of the horny teenage mating rituals like drinking or talking or smiling.

Stiles makes a beeline for Derek. Let it be known that Stiles may be an idiot sometimes, but at least he's brave. He takes a swig of his root beer to bolster his courage and pastes on a goofy smile. "Your body is sixty-five percent water and I'm thirsty."

Derek's whole face judges him. "Really?"

Stiles shrugs. "It was worth a try. So, what's a fine-looking man like you doing at a party like this? It's definitely not for the scintillating conversation."

Derek doesn't answer. He stares past Stiles. Stiles looks around. A couple of his classmates are side-eying him, probably wondering why Stiles is talking to the hot older guy when most of the cheerleading squad had been turned away. Derek watches Scott moon over Allison and it's definitely Scott that Derek's glaring at, not sugar-sweet Allison, which definitely means something other than romance is in the air.

Stiles turns back to Derek with renewed interest. There's only one reason for Derek to suddenly find Scott so fascinating, which means Derek knows what Stiles knows. That means that Derek finding them in the Preserve was no accident. Stiles is suddenly bursting with questions, but Lydia Martin's pool party is not the place to ask them. At least, not right by the pool.

Stiles takes a step closer and drops his voice to a whisper. "Is this because of the werewolf thing?"

Stiles shouts as Derek grabs him and drags him behind a hedge. Stiles's back hits something hard, but he doesn't care enough to figure out what because Derek is right up in his face and Derek is incredibly hot when he's angry.

"I will take you out," Derek growls.

Stiles has always had an inappropriate reaction to fear. He smiles when he should be quaking. "Okay! It's a date!"

Derek blinks. He takes a step back and frowns in confusion. Stiles gets that reaction a lot. "I meant that as a threat."

Stiles pats Derek's chest then pulls his hand away before he loses it. "Aww. You're threatening me? You know I'm about as vicious as an overweight corgi, right?" Stiles gestures down his body. "I clean up nice, but under this pretty face is one-hundred forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bones. Sarcasm is my only defense."

Derek turns away. The sounds he makes are animalistic. When he turns back, his face is pinched with anger. "Will you take this seriously?"

"Really?" Stiles asks. "I just figured out that werewolves exist, and you want me to be serious?"

Derek surges forward. "If you tell anyone..."

Stiles yelps because Derek's face isn't human anymore. There are fangs and claws and "...where the fuck are your eyebrows?" The glow that takes over Derek's eyes is amazing.

"That's what you focus on?"

Stiles tilts his head. He can't help staring at Derek's face. It's so strange. He wants to touch it. He should probably be at least a little freaked but all he can think is how amazingly awesome it is that there's a real werewolf right in front of him. Does that mean.... "Hey, are vampires real too? What else is out there? Chupacabras?"

Derek's face melts back to frustrated human form and Stiles gapes.

"That is so awesome."

"You're an idiot." Derek covers his face with his hand. "Do you even care that your friend is going to get himself killed?"

A chill runs through Stiles and he straightens. "Killed? What? That's a possibility? By who?"

"Hunters," Derek hisses. "They won't care that he's just a kid or that he never hurt anyone. If they find out what he is, they will kill him."

"Oh," Stiles says. "Oh. That's bad. We need to find Scott. We need to find Scott now."

They can't find Scott. Stiles sends Derek off with his spare key to the McCall house while Stiles puts on a fake smile and gives Allison a ride home, full of platitudes about how Scott totally didn't intend to ditch her. When he finally makes it to Scott's, Derek and Scott are arguing about how Scott became a werewolf.

"Knock it off!" Stiles shouts over them. "Scott, calm the fuck down." Scott drops onto his bed with a scowl. "Derek, did you turn Scott into a werewolf?"

Derek hesitates before shaking his head. "No. I can't. Only an Alpha can." That leads into Derek giving them an abbreviated version of Werewolves 101. Stiles takes notes. On his way out, he asks Derek if he still wants to take Stiles out on a date. Derek rolls his eyes and drives off in an amazing black Camaro.

Stiles counts that as progress.

The next day, Scott completely freaks out during lacrosse practice and tries to kill Stiles. Not the best day of their friendship, but Stiles considers this new werewolf Scott a work in progress. He tries to repeat some of the wisdom Derek had imparted but Scott refuses to listen. In the end, it takes a fire extinguisher to the face for Scott to snap out of it.

"Derek isn't as great as you think," Scott grouses once they're in the Jeep, heading for the McCall house.

Stiles sighs. Scott is convinced Derek is the bad guy in all of this and nothing Stiles says seems to get through to him, just because Derek is advising caution—and not doing things that will get Scott killed—instead of letting Scott do whatever he wants.

"You don't have all the facts," Stiles says.

Scott raises an eyebrow. He's got that tone that means he's really not listening to anything reasonable that comes out of Stiles's mouth. "Which are?"

There are a lot of reasons Stiles could give. Like how Derek used to help him figure out words that were above his grade-level. Or, how Derek's smile was one of the best parts of hanging around the library while his mom was working. What comes out instead is, "I love him."

Scott stares at him for a full minute of silence. "You just met him!"

"So?" That's not technically true but he doesn't expect the Derek of now to be anything like the Derek of then. Death has a way of changing people. He knows that from personal experience, but he's not about to get into that bag of worms with Scott.

"Stiles, no."

"Stiles, yes!" This is what they've devolved to. Stiles can act childish with the best of them.

Scott groans.

"Just wait, Scotty boy," Stiles says with a grin. "I'll win him over with my Stilinski charm."

Scott groans louder and sinks into his seat.

"Your friend's an idiot."

Stiles falls out of his chair with a shout. He scrambles away, panicking until he recognizes the voice as Derek. "How the hell did you get in here?"

Derek jerks his head toward the now-open window and rights Stiles's chair.

Stiles flops back onto the floor. "Doors exist for a reason."

"This was easier." Derek spins the chair so that the back is facing Stiles. "Did Scott do this?" Derek points to the slash marks that are covered by duct tape.

Stiles groans. "Yeah. He didn't believe me when I told him he was a werewolf and he needed to stay in on the full moon." They both know how that night ended.

"Tell Scott he needs to stay away from the Argents."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah. Good luck with that." He'd need a crowbar and a taser to keep Scott away from Allison.

"They're dangerous."

Stiles tilts his head to look up at Derek. He's only known Allison for a few days but he can't imagine Allison as anything close to dangerous. Unless the danger is from cavities. She's almost too sweet to be real. "How so?"

Derek's face goes through a series of sadness-reluctance-anger. Stiles sobers. There's a story here, he can tell. He doubts it's a good one. "They're hunters. They killed my family."

Stiles shoots upright. "What!? But that...." The fire had been ruled an accident. He remembers. His dad had talked about the case for weeks after. He'd thought there was something more to the fire but could never prove it. "I... I'm sorry. That's horrible."

Derek shifts on his feet. He looks immensely uncomfortable. Stiles wonders if Derek's going to disappear through the window, but instead Derek takes a seat in Stiles's desk chair. "The Argents are an old hunting family. Possibly the oldest. They're supposed to have a code. They're only supposed to go after wolves who have hurt someone." Derek hesitates. He stares at his hands, shifting between human nails and claws. It's fascinating to watch. Also, a little hot, but Stiles really shouldn't be thinking like that when Derek's baring his soul. "We thought we were safe. My family was peaceful. We never hurt anyone." His eyes glow blue as he looks up at Stiles. "They trapped my family in our house and burned them alive. Even the children."

Stiles sucks in a breath. What is he supposed to say to that? This isn't the time for any of the usual platitudes. His stomach twists and he's thrown back to the months of torment while his mom wasted away into insanity. Stiles pushes his hands through his buzzed-short hair. "That... that really sucks. I mean... I... I lost my mom and that nearly destroyed me. I can't even imagine.... I'm sorry."

Neither of them says anything after that. Derek leaves through the window. Stiles watches Derek disappear into the darkness. He shuts his window but he doesn't lock it. Just in case. He's going to have nightmares tonight. He's going to dream about his mother screaming at him, scratching his face, trying to drown him in the tub. He's going to watch her step off the hospital roof over and over again, never fast enough to stop her.

Tomorrow, he's going to have a long talk with Scott. He knows it won't change a damn thing, but maybe it'll at least make Scott think twice. That's all he can hope for.

In Stiles's defense, he's still running off the adrenaline of Derek nearly dying and almost having to perform an amputation. It starts off with an innocent question about where Derek's staying, which turns into an argument about where Derek's staying. The burnt-out wreckage of Derek's childhood home is not the best place to recover from being shot.

It takes Stiles an hour to argue Derek into using the Stilinski's guest room. He'll worry about telling his dad in the morning. He gets Derek into the house, shoves a sandwich at him, and then sends him off to shower while Stiles hunts up something resembling pajamas. He steals an old pair of his dad's sweatpants and a t-shirt from the back of his closet that's two sizes too big for Stiles. He's staring at his underwear drawer trying to decide if anything he has would fit and how creepy it would be to offer Derek his underwear.

Derek taps on Stiles's door to get his attention. Stiles turns. He blames everything that happens after that on teenage hormones. Derek's obviously recovered from being shot. His skin is flush from the shower and still a little damp. His wet hair sticks up in uneven clumps. He's only wearing a towel.

"I..." Stiles can't word. He can't string two thoughts together. All of his brain-power is being used by his dick.

Derek takes a deep breath, like he's scenting the air. Is that a thing werewolves can do? Can Derek smell Stiles's arousal? Derek's eyes flash blue, which Stiles takes to mean yes. "Stiles..."

There's a strange softness in the way Derek says his name that makes Stiles bold. Stiles stumbles forward. "Derek, I..."

"I know." The hunger in Derek's voice is unmistakable.

They barely know each other. Derek is older, and Stiles is too young. Derek just got shot a few hours ago. They absolutely should not be doing anything. His dad will be home in a few hours.

"I just..." Stiles drops to his knees in front of Derek. "Tell me. Tell me if you don't want... I want... Let me..."

Derek's eyes glow. Blunt nails scrape over Stiles's scalp, gently pulling Stiles closer. The towel falls to the floor. Stiles moans embarrassingly loud. Derek's dick is large and uncut. It feels like gravity pulling Stiles toward it. He takes Derek in his mouth and groans as Derek's dick fills his mouth. Its weight is heavy on his tongue and he closes his eyes. He's never sucked a guy off but he's fantasized about it so many times. He's watched videos. He's read tips from every source he could find. This feels better than anything he's imagined.

Stiles can't take much at first, but he tries. Derek's hand stays on the back of his head, gently guiding him into a smooth rhythm. Stiles is already hard, and they've only just started. He knows he has an oral fixation. His parents used to yell at him all the time for sticking things in his mouth and he feels bad thinking that all of that led to this moment. Derek's breath turns into short, sharp gasps. His fingers dig into Stiles's scalp at just the right side of painful. Stiles could do this forever. He was born to take Derek's dick.

It doesn't last. Derek bites back a howl as he comes into Stiles's mouth. Stiles almost chokes on it. He swallows quickly, greedily sucking down everything he can get. It tastes strange and bitter, but the sounds Derek makes as Stiles licks the last drops of come from his dick make the odd taste more than worth it.

Derek hauls Stiles up by his shirt. The door slams shut as Stiles is pressed up against it. Derek's mouth is hot and insistent, covering Stiles's and taking over. Stiles melts against the wood. His brain is gone, totally left the building. Derek's fingers unfasten Stiles's jeans and then Stiles is writhing into Derek's grip as Derek jerks him off. It's over embarrassingly fast.

When they finally part, Derek sighs and meets Stiles forehead-to-forehead. "We shouldn't have done that," Derek says. He sounds apologetic but there isn't a trace of regret.

Stiles licks his lips. He can still taste Derek's seed on his tongue. "Did you like it?"

Derek stares at him. He takes a long time to answer, but when he does, Stiles slumps with relief. "Yeah."

He's grinning like an idiot and he can't help it. "Me too."

He's afraid to touch Derek, like he hasn't earned that right yet. Surely having a dick in his mouth counts for something? His fingers tentatively brush Derek's arm where the bullet wound had been. The skin is smooth. It's warm to the touch. Stiles runs his fingers down Derek's biceps. He's never been this close to someone before, not in this way.

He could get used to this.

Derek slowly pulls away. "We can't. You're too young."

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's neck because there's no way he's letting Derek go now. Not ever. "And you're a werewolf." Stiles leans in closer. "If age is an issue for you, then let's dial it back. Forget all about this. We could do dinner and a movie? Some nice PG handholding? Chaste kisses where no one can see? I know how to keep secrets."

Derek shakes his head, but he doesn't pull away again. "You shouldn't have to lie because of me."

Stiles snorts and buries his laughter in Derek's amazing, broad chest. "Hate to tell you, but lying to my dad was a thing long before you came along. Besides, what's one more thing along with 'my best friend is a werewolf?'"

When Stiles looks up, there's a hint of a smile on Derek's face. "Maybe."

Stiles grins. "I can work with maybe."