STANDALONE STEREK FICS
Oh my (let me look at those eyes) (rated E;6/6 ch; wc 41,359)
A few months ago, he might’ve been able to solve this with some force—a little man-handling, a snarl, a glimpse of teeth. But he looks at Stiles’s broken face, knows he’s seen too much horror and blood and evil, the whole Big Bad Wolf routine is just going to fall flat. Because Derek looks at Stiles and he doesn’t carry himself like a teenager anymore. He carries himself like a soldier.
Breathe out so I can breathe you in (rated M; 1/1; wc 9,151)
There’s barely enough dry weed to make a particularly fat blunt fit for one werewolf and one kid with ADD. Stiles looks dumbly at his rolling paper in consideration of his predicament. “Ever tried shotgunning?” Derek asks. Stiles feels his throat constrict.
I found you hidden in plain sight (why'd I take so long?) (rated E; ch 7/7; wc 25,419)
Stiles is pretty sure he’s hallucinating. He’s got to be. There’s no other plausible explanation, he thinks, as he sits on the sidelines of the lacrosse field and feels the cold, hard bench underneath him, the roar of the crowd at his back like the worst white noise machine in the world. There’s no other reason why he sees it, the hulking, black figure of a wolf peering at him from the treeline behind the bleachers. Its eyes flare in the glaring glow of the stadium lights, but they’re the wrong color, he thinks: blood-moon red instead of cobalt blue, but the familiarity of it all makes his stomach roll and clench.
Come find me now, we'll hide out (we'll speak in our secret tongues) (rated E; ch 8/8; wc 23,569)
It’s not often these days that his wolf and human instincts are at odds -- not when they’ve been living seamlessly in sync for so long now. But the wolfish part of him is looking at that boy, pale and too-thin, wearing that ridiculous red sweatshirt that, for one thing, wasn't nearly protection enough in this weather, and for another, might as well be a flashing, neon sign that says chase me, and all it appears to see is want. Or: Stiles's post-graduation road trip goes terribly wrong, and Derek has to save the idiot human from freezing to death.
Blame it all on a rush of blood to the head (rated E; ch 1/1; wc 6,819)
Stiles has recently been practicing an incredibly useful little trick kind of akin to a cloaking spell. When he uses it, not even the wolves with their annoyingly nosy super-senses can find him. So far, his experiments with it have not only been informative but also incredibly entertaining. Because it was more than a little bit satisfying to pop in out of nowhere and give the pack just a little taste of all the near-heart attacks Stiles has suffered over the years from all their dramatic werewolf spontaneous entrances and exits, disappearances and reappearances. Plus, Scott totally screams like a girl and now Stiles isn’t the only one who knows (appearing from behind the shower curtain right as Scott was about to climb in had accomplished that). The only person he could never seem to get the jump on was Derek.
Surrounded and up against a wall, I’ll shred ‘em all (and go with you) (rated M; ch 3/3; wc 8,311)
Stiles hates hospitals. He’s always hated hospitals. Well, not always (who likes them, anyway?), but since her. Since before -- and now just the thought of them makes him want to retch, gives him that crawling-out-his-skin feeling that makes him want to peel it all off with his fingernails. Which he should really stop biting, he muses, wincing as he tears a hangnail off with a rabid flash of teeth. Although, technically this wasn’t exactly a hospital. Not for humans anyway. But whatever, Stiles thinks, veterinary hospitals still counted. At least as long as Derek was in that back room screaming like he’s dying, because maybe he is.
