Migrating my Tumblr one shots to Ao3, hoping to build up some momentum to finish/post some of my longer works.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski
Additional Tags: One Shot, Crossdressing Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Derek Hale, Always wash your makeup off at night, I know it took forever but it is seriously bad for your skin, Wigs are fine to sleep in though, You should probably wear a bonnet but I'm not the wig police so do what you want
Summary:
Cross-dressing is fun!
So was writing this snippet. No plans for a longer story, I just loved this idea when it came to me. Hope you enjoy!
I'm a fic writer, and I'm so excited to write your secret santa gift. I've read your likes and dislikes and wanted to check if you had any special requests. Preferred rating? Desire for Christmas-y-ness in the fic?
-🎅🏼
Hi! And yay! For a special request, I'd say pick something that you're most excited to write about. For shorter fics I prefer G or T rating, maybe a little M if you are inspired! No preference on if christmas is in the fic. Hope you have fun!
Ok, it's been way too long since I've written something new. I need to get an idea out of my head. Basically Stiles experimenting with crossdressing and Derek not giving a fuck what gender he presents.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK!
Stiles slammed the bathroom door behind him, quickly scanning the stalls to check for any visible feet. Finding the room otherwise empty, he allowed himself to close his eyes and take a single, deep breath. This could have all been avoided if he had just washed his damn makeup off last night.
"Mia? You okay in there?"
No. Everything is NOT okay.
"Um, yeah?" Stiles cleared his throat when his voice cracked, concentrating on pitching a bit higher like he practiced. "Yeah. Yep. All good! Just...um...girl stuff."
By "good", Stiles meant that it was good Derek Hale didn't see him up close in the daylight. And by "girl stuff," Stiles meant he was panicking at seeing the hot auto mechanic that he had somehow managed to briefly make out with last night at Jungle, while fully crossdressed, spot him a good 50 feet away at Judy's Diner, while only half-crossdressed.
Last night had been months in the making. Months of YouTube tutorials on makeup, wig applications, and styling. But really, it started years ago when Stiles was watching his best friend Scott dote on his girlfriend Kira. The way he giggled as he fed her a piece of candy, or held her waist as he guided her around a puddle, or looked at her with big, fat hearts in his eyes. Stiles teased them mercilessly that day, but in the back of his mind, he thought, I wish a guy would treat me like that.
Unfortunately, all the guys Stiles ever went out with fell into one of two categories: so deeply in the closet that they would throw Stiles under the bus at the first sign of suspected gayness, or so dedicated to sleeping with as many people as possible that they couldn't be bothered to give a shit about Stiles' feelings. Crossdressing seemed to be a completely logical solution to this.
In fact, he felt his crossdressing endeavor was so successful that when he looked in the mirror the morning after and saw his makeup and wig were still mostly intact, he decided to throw on an oversized sweater and a beanie atop his PJs to go out for a quick coffee run. Clearly, this was not one of his better pre-caffeine ideas.
In retrospect, Stiles realized how stupid it was to expect a straight guy to treat him better, and began panicking even more when he thought about what Derek's reaction might be to finding out "Mia" was really Mieczyslaw, who was not a cute flight attendant. Or female. Stiles knew that men could react very, very badly to news that they kissed another guy, from throwing slurs in his face to getting violent. Stiles felt his chest tighten and his throat close up as he briefly wondered if he could fit through the 2' x 2' air vent above the second stall.
"You don't sound okay," Derek said on the other side of the door. "What do you need?"
"I need you not to see me like this," Stiles whispered, unsure of how to get Derek to leave.
He was thinking of how to respond, maybe something along the lines of "I'm gonna be in here awhile," or "No offense, but I don't want to see you again," when he heard Derek speak up.
"Are you worried about passing?"
Stiles froze, replaying the words he just heard in his head.
"Don't be. You look great," Derek continued. "Anyone who gives you shit has to answer to me."
Did he just...did Derek know this whole time? After Stiles spent forever contouring his face and stuffing his ass into padded underwear? All for nothing? The panic he was feeling mere seconds ago faded in an instant, replaced by severe annoyance. Stiles wrenched open the bathroom door and met Derek with an angry stare. The man's concerned furrow melted to amusement when he saw Stiles emerge.
"Since when have you known, huh?" Stiles asked. "Did you have a nice laugh?"
"Since I first laid eyes on you, and no, I didn't. Laughing is the furthest thing from my mind when I'm looking at you," Derek said, giving him a heated once-over to prove his point.
Stiles crossed his arms and scowled harder.
"I am not a vain person," Stiles started, "but last night I looked more girly than a box of tampons, so how the fuck did you clock me in full makeup in a dark club?"
"I have a secret weapon," Derek smirked.
"Oh really? What is this secret weapon, exactly? X-ray vision?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret." Derek fully smiled now, and his canines were just long enough to make his grin look wolfish.
"Well have fun with that," Stiles bit back, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure it will come in really useful for you when you want to knock someone down a peg."
"Mia, that's not what--"
"It's Stiles, actually."
"Stiles. Listen to me when I say this--you could have walked into that club in a potato sack and I still would have found you."
Stiles scoffed, but Derek just leaned closer, resting his forearm against the door frame.
"You looked amazing in that little red number you wore last night," Derek said softly. "But all I could think of was ripping it off you."
Stiles ducked his head and blushed furiously. He hoped it wasn't too obvious, given the layers of makeup he still had on.
"Just because I dressed like that, doesn't mean I'm, you know...I don't sleep around like that."
Derek immediately increased the distance between them, leaving Stiles plenty of room to walk away.
"Of course," Derek replied, now with a serious demeanor. "I would never assume."
A moment of silence hung between them. Stiles fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, wishing he knew what to say to lighten the mood. Derek had probably lost interest and was going to try and leave gracefully.
"May I take you to dinner tonight?" Derek asked.
Stiles shot his head up, wondering if he heard right. Derek's knowing smirk was gone. He looked worried yet hopeful, and honestly, it was pretty adorable.
"You mean...as a woman?"
"I mean as whoever the fuck you want to be, Stiles."
Stiles smiled and allowed himself to hope that this might actually work out. That Derek might actually be a good guy.
(15,899 words, 95% complete, anyone want to beta read?)
The first time Stiles felt Derek's hand around his throat, he panicked. Not the kind of panic that would normally come when you suddenly can't breathe, or see razor-sharp teeth and glowing red eyes inches from your face, or feel pinpricks of clawed hands piercing your throat. It wasn't the kind of panic where he feared for his life. Stiles knew that Derek would never actually rip his throat out. It was weird to be pinned to the wall by an angry werewolf and feel safe despite the overwhelming evidence that he was one snarky comment away from a bloody death. But Stiles knew. He just knew that Derek wouldn't hurt him.
The real reason Stiles panicked had nothing to do with threats of death and everything to do with his very unexpected physical reaction. He panicked because every inch of skin the wolf touched felt like lightning shooting through his blood and pumping straight into his groin. He panicked because he had never gotten so hard so fast in his life, and if he didn't do something about the situation in his pants, then Derek would definitely notice. But most of all, Stiles panicked because he had never even considered the possibility of being attracted to another man, yet there he was, instantly in lust with a mysterious, broody werewolf. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, as the existence of supernatural beings was far more interesting and important. Stiles chalked up the experience to Derek just being supernaturally hot and that popping a boner was a completely normal reaction for a growing boy such as himself.
The second time Stiles felt Derek's hand around his throat, he reacted in a very similar fashion. Again, Stiles dismissed it as some sort of magic power that supernatural creatures possessed in order to help them pacify prey or something.
The third and fourth time it happened made Stiles start to think a bit harder about what the hell was going on with him. The fifth time it happened, he knew that werewolves could definitely smell arousal, and he wondered how the hell Derek just acted so normal about it. After the twenty-seventh time in 4 years, Stiles stopped questioning why he was looking forward to pissing off Derek, and he began questioning why Derek kept grabbing him, knowing it was a turn-on. He didn't grab anyone else by the throat for fun. Stiles felt a little special.
Inquisitive by nature, often to his own detriment, he decided he needed to know a bit more about wolves and scents and…other sensitive topics related to that. Derek tended to sneak in through the window at least twice a week, which was kinda weird already, so Stiles just had to wait until they were alone to ask some questions. That, and actually have the guts to do it.
Okay, I finally posted something on Ao3. My first complete work, after months of no writing beause work sucked so much. Fingers crossed I get fired and have more time to write.
Anyone else completely shut down and read fanfiction or play stardew valley 72 hrs per week with abysmally limited social interaction / zero creative expression / and a laissez-faire attitude about nutritional intake any time your corporate job gets a little stressful, or did your parents teach you healthy emotional coping mechanisms?
For the thousandth time, Derek found the reasons behind his celebrity status to be absolutely absurd. If he was an actor or musician or tech genius, it would be understandable. Hell, if he were a goddamn politician, it would be understandable. But no. He was just some fuckup who happened to be born an Alpha. So he played the part of handsome devil, allowing his family to parade him around like a prized trophy every year during the nationally funded and aptly named Marriage Tour. He owed them that much after everything he had done.
The tradition was antiquated and stupidly useless, but old money families liked to maintain a facade of civility. The populace believed that Alphas and Omegas--a rare genetic anomaly in about 0.03% of the population--traveled the country every summer to find true love. They believed that somehow, people with unique traits like himself had some sort of superpowerd senses that led them to their soul mate, something that normal folk could only dream of.
Horseshit. The Marriage Tour was held to buy people like cattle. Families would lavish potential brides and grooms with gifts in hopes of convincing them to marry some well-bred idiot who wanted nothing more than a pet for a spouse. The poor fools that fell for it often wasted away from neglect, dressed like a doll and left alone surrounded by expensive trinkets. Alphas and Omegas were somehow both the most coveted and the most disposable members of society. Legally, Derek couldn't even move out of his family home unless he was bonded to someone, and he couldn't bond unless he was married, and he couldn"t marry without his parent's permission.
So here he was again, already 27 and still single, gaining noteriety by the year for his continued bachelor status. If he was born poor, no doubt he would have been married off by now. But because he had the privilege of comfort not afforded to the majority of Alphas and Omegas, he could afford to turn down anyone and everyone without worrying about his future.
Which is why it was surprising when a young, honey-eyed omega with little moles dotting the skin of his pale face, clearly beautiful enough to entice any of the wealthy elites here, walked right up to him and said:
"How would you like to never go to one of these disgusting parties ever again?"
I was just a little rebellion, that's all. Just a little escape from the ever-present weight of the Hale name. Always shaved, always neat, clothes pressed, shoes shined. Keep your back straight but always look relaxed, Derek. Make your voice deep yet never booming, Derek. Be generous but ignore the undeserving, Derek.
He stood outside a run-down strip mall, with a laundromat, nail salon, tax office, and... Red Spark Tattoos and Piercings. It stood out with an artfully designed banner of large, red letters painted in calligraphy, and the windows were plastered with a collage of stickers, posters, and what looked like doodles made with a sharpie. Derek's hands were slightly shaking as he pushed the dingey glass door open. The smell of cleaning supplies greeted him as he stepped into a small room, populated by a large reception desk, a few rolling chairs, something that looked like a massage table, and a wall of floor-to-ceiling cabinets. There was only one person there, a 20-something man with shaggy brown hair relaxing behind the desk with an open book in his hand. Derek cleared his throat to get his attention.
"Woah!" The man exclaimed, nearly falling out of his seat. "Ah, um, sorry man, lemme just--one second."
The man tossed his book somewhere behind the desk, then picked up a fountain soda with one hand while pushing away the remains of his lunch with the other. When the desk looked sufficiently tidy to his liking, he took a breath and stood up straight, looking Derek straight in the eyes and smiling wide.
"Welcome to Red Spark! How may I poke you today?"
Derek was a little taken aback, both by the man's greeting and his appearance. His eyes were a gorgeous, honey brown, highlighted by pale skin and a few tiny moles dotting his jaw. He was full of piercings; two in his left brow, one under his lip, 5 in one ear and 3 in the other. Derek saw the hint of a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and another that started on his right hand and disappeared under his cuff. Somehow, the man looked like a rock star, rather than the dilenquient that Derek expexted.
It took a moment before he regained his composure.
"I, um...piercing?"
The man's smile grew a bit wider.
"First time?"
Derek gave a curt nod.
"No problem at all. How about we talk for a few minutes in my office?"
Derek glanced toward a door in the corner of the room, thinking they would go somewhere private. But the man just stood and gestured for Derek to follow him 4 steps away while he plopped down in a rolling chair. Derek followed suit, cautiously taking another chair for himself.
"So, welcome, like I said before. My name is Stiles, and this is my little shop. I can pierce pretty much anything--" Derek didn't miss the way the man's eyes drifted down his body when he said that, "--and we have plenty of hoops and studs to go with your style. But before we get into that, how about you tell me your name?"
"...Derek."
"Derek," Stiles said warmly. "Good to meet you. Thanks for coming in today. Want to tell me a bit about what you're looking for?"
Derek sucked in a breath, preparing to recite the short speech he had practiced a dozen times on the way over. I'd like a nose piercing, right nostril. Nose piercing, right nostril. Nose piercing--
But instead, he said--
"I want to be different."
He felt his cheeks growing hot in embarrassment. Why the hell did that come out of his mouth? He expected Stiles to give him a questioning look, or roll his eyes, or pretend to think that what he just said was a great idea. Instead, the man's smile grew soft, and he nodded his head in understanding.
"Yeah, I get that. And I've got good news for you--you're already different. You've lived your life in such a fantastically specific way that no one else ever could, just because you're you. You don't need a piercing to be different; all that can do is give you a reminder of who you were when you decided to get it.
No one had ever said anything like that to him before. It felt like...somehow this man could see right through him. It put Derek on edge, for some reason.
"You're not a very good salesman."
Stiles laughed and looked down, as if Derek wasn't the first to tell him that.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But it helps me sleep at night," he replied. "You still want to take the plunge?"
"Yes...I already decided to go through with it. I don't want to back down now."
"Okay!" Stiles clapped his hands together once, slightly startling Derek. "That settles that, then. Where were you thinking of getting pierced?"
"Nose piercing. Right nostril."
"Yep, yep, solid choice. Do you have any allergies? Any alcohol or drugs consumed in the last 24 hours? Are you an avid nose-picker? Because that can mess with the healing process."
"...No, no, and I always use a tissue."
Stiles seemed a bit too amused by his answer, flashing a bright smile once again.
"Excellent. That'll be $80 and an ID for the piercing, which includes the jewelery. Cash or card?"
"Cash," Derek said, reaching for his wallet. No way was he going to let this place show up in a paper trail.
Stiles checked his ID, took the cash, and wrote out a reciept. Derek noticed that his fingers were long and graceful, and his handwriting was hurried and terribly sloppy.
"Alright, that takes care of that! Now let me grab these--" he reached toward a shelf behind him to grab a flat display box full of studs and tiny hoops. "You can take a look at what you want while I prep."
Stiles stood and walked back to the desk. Derek heard him shuffling through some papers while he examined the studs in the case. He wanted something subtle yet visible. Something his mother wouldn't notice because she barely looked at him unless he was doing something wrong, but still stood out among his clean-cut peers. He ended up choosing a small, sterling silver stud. It wasn't the boldest choice, but he was okay sticking to the classics when it came to middle-child rebellion.
When Derek looked up again, Stiles was sitting across from him fiddling with a few items placed on a small tray resting on the table beside them. There was a clipboard next to the tray, which looked like a contract that had been copied from a copy many times.
"Liability release. Read and sign, if you please." Stiles said. "And have you picked a piercing you like?"
"Yes. This one," Derek pointed to the silver stud.
Stiles nodded and put the box back on the shelf, then opened a tiny drawer in one of those big, plastic organizational cases. He pulled out a small baggy of identical studs, shook one into his hand, then set it on the tray.
Derek read the liability release while Stiles started sterilizing his equipment and readying his tools. The contract was pretty standard, though Derek could already tell there were some pretty glaring loopholes. This must have been written at least 20 years ago, based on the language. Derek was no lawyer, but having poured through hundreds of contracts while managing the Beacon Hills branch of his mother's business, he had seen his fair share of liability agreements. This guy definitely needed a new one.
He signed the contract without much fuss and turned towards Stiles. The man was waiting patiently, alcohol swab in hand.
"Ready?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
Derek nodded.
"Alright. I'm going to wipe down your nose first. Then I'll put on some gloves and open a new needle. The piercing will take less than a minute, and then I'll slip on your stud. We'll talk about care afterwards. Sound good?"
Derek nodded again, feeling his heartbeat increasing and his lungs slightly tightening.
"Alright, excuse my reach--"
Stiles rolled forward, slotting his knee between Derek's legs while he reached for his face. It was... a lot more intimate than he expected. The cool press of the alcohol swab caused him to tense, but Stiles just placed his other hand on Derek's jaw while he cleaned. It was warm and surprisingly comforting.
"Alright, step two! So tell me, what do you do, Derek?"
Derek watched as Stiles started pulling on gloves.
"I work for my parents. It's boring."
"Hmm," was all Stiles said in response. He was peeling open a paper holder, revealing a new needle inside. "Alright, ready to take the plunge?"
Derek took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "Yes," he replied.
He felt Stiles move in closer, his knee coming dangerously close to Derek's crotch, and with a gentle hand the man held Derek's chin and tilted his head to the left. Then he felt something push inside his nose, which wasn't particularly pleasant, before a moderate burning pain burst from his nostril.
"You're doing great, Derek. Almost there."
His eyes were still closed, and a moment later, he felt something slide into his new piercing. Stiles fiddled with it for a moment, then pulled away completely. Derek sort of missed the heat of their bodies touching, however brief it may have been.
"Alright! You are now the proud owner on one extra hole in your body. How do you feel?"
Derek opened his eyes and instinctively reached up to touch his new piercing, but Stiles quickly grabbed his hand to stop him.
"Don't touch," Stiles warned. "Let me put a bit of ointment on first."
His hand lingered for that extra two seconds, which made Derek start to feel hopeful. They separated, and he watched as Stiles opened a tube of... something and squeezed a bit out on a q-tip.
"Hold still one more time for me," he asked.
Derek watched the top of his head while Stiles deftly swabbed his piercing. His hair looked soft, touchable, and Derek was beginning to realize the feelings that this man was stirring in him. He blinked rapidly and tried to clear his head.
"Okay, you're gonna wanna put this on twice a day," he said, handing the tube over. "Try to twist the stud a little bit to make sure it's not healing over. If you want to change it out, come back and I'll do it for you. Otherwise, wait 6 months before removing it. Sound good?"
Stiles started cleaning up the tray of supplies, and Derek wasn't sure what to say. Was it over already? Did he really have to leave so soon? He knew why he wanted to stay.
"Is that...it?"
"Oh! Almost forgot. here--" Stiles pulled out a pamphlet from the shelf behind him. "In case you forget anything I just told you."
Derek stared at the pamphlet, reading the same list of instructions over and over again. Stiles finished cleaning up, then sat back down beside him. Derek could feel Stiles staring, and when he looked up, he was met with another one of those warm, inviting smiles.
"Want to rest here for a bit while you get used to it? you're free to lay on the table and have an existential crisis, too. Comes with the piercing package." Stiles winked.
"No, I should go. Thank you." Derek stood abruptly and walked away, cursing himself for the awkward goodbye.
"Thanks! Come back any ti--"
The door closed with a thud, cutting off the end of Stiles's sentence. Derek really didn't mean to be so rude, but if he stayed in that little shop much longer, he feared that he would make an even bigger fool of himself.
Of course, that didn't stop him from planning his next vist. Maybe he could ask Stiles to pick a new stud out for him and change it out. Derek smiled to himself, already looking forward to returning to Red Spark.
Derek Hale had mixed feelings about his summer internship at the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Station. On the one hand, it was great to have a summer job before starting college in the fall, and it gave him the chance to explore his interest in police work. On the other hand, being an intern was apparently synonymous with being a babysitter, since keeping Sheriff Stilinski's 12-year-old son out of trouble was much more important than doing the actual work that he was hired to do.
Of course, there was no mention of this particular job responsibility during the interview process, or the entire morning he was filling out paperwork and getting trained on his first day. An officer named Tara had shown him around and explained what he would be doing for the next few months. The work seemed fairly straightforward; his summer would be dedicated to organizing various reports and permit approvals that had been neglected during the year.
Three hours into his first day on the job, Derek was starting to feel more familiar with the filing system for civilian complaints. There were 400 or so that had to be organized by department and date, and his goal was to have them sorted by the end of the week before moving on to event requests. He sat in a large, dusty room with a cracked concrete floor and a stained drop ceiling in the basement of the station. A metal table had been shoved into the corner and given a desk lamp as an afterthought, and two small, high windows struggled to illuminate the space from the east wall. The rest of the room was filled with storage shelves and filing cabinets with an unknown amount of disorganized reports inside of them. Derek suspected he would be spending most of his time here.
He was just starting to think about when he should break for lunch, when a Deputy he hadn't met yet came downstairs with a sheepish grin on his face. He was fairly tall, about 6 feet, with hazel green eyes and the air of a small-town rookie.
“Hey, you must be the new intern! Derek Hale, right? So glad to have you here. Looks like you're doing a great job so far.” The man stood in the doorway, still smiling, looking a bit awkward.
“Yeah, that's me,” Derek greeted him with a neutral wave of his hand.
“Oh, where are my manners? I'm Deputy Parrish. You can just call me Jordan. It's great to have you here.” Jordan didn't move from the doorway or offer a handshake. He just kept one arm propped up on the door frame, with his other hand out of sight.
“…thanks.” Derek responded, not quite sure what the man wanted. “Do you need me to work on something else? Because Tara told me to file–”
“No, no! Nothing else, you're doing great! Hey, have you met the Sheriff's son yet?”
Derek furrowed his brow, wondering why the hell he would meet the Sheriff's son. He hadn't even met the Sheriff yet.
“No?”
“Well, this is Stiles,” Jordan said hurriedly. He pulled his hand out from where it was obscured behind him, holding onto the t-shirt collar of a young boy. The boy looked bored and a bit annoyed, but not terribly offended that the officer was pushing him into the basement with a stranger. “Stiles, say hello to our intern, Derek.”
Stiles was slouching and looking at the ground, at first. He looked young, maybe 10 or 11, with medium brown hair and pale skin. He wore a white t-shirt with the words ‘HULK SMASH’ in bold green letters on the front, and he carried a plastic bag with a spray bottle and roll of paper towels sticking out. When he looked up, likely intending to give only a cursory greeting, his eyes went wide and he straightened up immediately. There was something about Derek that set Stiles on edge, apparently.
Derek and Stiles looked at each other in silence, Derek confused by how awkward these introductions were, and Stiles seemingly too shocked to answer. Jordan pushed him forward a bit further, letting him go and giving him a light clap on the back. The physical contact seemed to have roused Stiles to answer.
“Umm, hey.” Stiles said quietly before turning his attention back to the ground. He began fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt, pulling on the hem and twisting it around his fingers. Even through the dim light of the records room, Derek could see that the kid was blushing. He must be shy or something.
“Hi Stiles, nice to meet you,” said Derek with his best customer service smile. It was fake as hell, but he learned fairly early in life that people responded well to it. If this was the Sheriff's son, then Derek should probably make a good impression. He didn't want some brat complaining to his dad about the mean teenage intern, lest he be relegated to an even more monotonous task, if that were possible.
“Well, we all just love Stiles here,” Jordan said. Derek noticed that the Deputy's smile wasn't entirely genuine, but it didn't seem outright ill-intentioned either. “He's like a little brother to us all. You might see him around the station now and then. Just know that no matter what he says, he is not allowed to go through any of the desks. They are locked for a reason. Also, try not to leave paper clips lying around.”
“Okay…” Derek responded. He was starting to get a bit suspicious of the boy's presence.
“Right, so!” Jordan continued. “Stiles is going to be helpful today by dusting the records room. Because he does not want his father worrying about misplaced case files. Right, Stiles?”
Stiles took a deep breath and lightly toed the floor with one foot.
“Yes, okay, jeez.” Stiles said with a sigh and an eye roll.
“Great!” Jordan gave him another clap on the back. “Hope you don't mind keeping an eye on him, Derek. He'll stay out of your way, quietly, because he is well behaved.”
Derek got the distinct impression that Stiles was not, in fact, well behaved. At all.
“Wait, so how long is he–” Derek didn't get to finish his question, because Jordan was already heading toward the stairs.
“Thanks man! You're doing great!” Jordan called from the hallway.
Derek sat stunned for a moment, processing what had just happened. A deputy had just dumped an unsupervised kid into his workspace. A kid who belonged to the Sheriff. The Sheriff, who could make his summer very unpleasant if he chose to. Derek was expected to ‘keep an eye on’ said kid. This was not part of the job description. Derek tolerated kids. Derek did not like kids. Especially kids that he was tasked with watching for several hours. And it wasn't even lunch yet.
Stiles was getting really fucking sick of magic. He woke up back at the tree stump, surprisingly refreshed and well rested, though still sore and scraped all over. The night had grown chilly, the moon high in the sky, and he shivered a bit before moving. When he sat up, he felt heavy chains against each ankle. Moonlight illuminated the clearing, and he noticed his chains pooled at the base of the stump before snaking toward the edge of the clearing and around the nearest tree.
He really wanted to rest some more before having to escape again, but going nearly 24 hours without food or water didn't leave much in the reserves.
Should he just give up? Wait to be eaten? If he survived this, he was never going to be curious about anything again. He would become an accountant and marry a nice, quiet construction worker. He would let himself forget all about Beacon Hills.
Or, more likely, he would recruit a rag-tag team armed to the teeth to come back and kick some witchy ass.
Stiles sighed, cursing his unshakable survival instinct. He examined the shackles around his ankles, looking for any potential exploits in the hinges or locks. Then, he started inspecting each link, looking for one with an off-center join or rusty bend. He didn't make it far down the chain before he heard a long, piercing wolf's howl.
Somehow, his body managed to produce some more adrenaline because without thinking, he shot up and started trudging toward the tree he was bound to. Wolves couldn't climb. He just had to get himself up there.
The thing about Northern California forests is that they're full of old growth redwoods. And the thing about old growth redwoods is that the nearest branch is at least 100 feet off the ground. But Stiles wasn't really thinking about that; his drive to escape was too powerful to be rational. He threw himself into the tree, scratching at the wide grooves between the bark to haul himself up. He might have made it a bit farther if the iron weren't weighing him down.
The howl came again, this time much, much closer. Did wolves usually do that? Announce to their prey that they're coming? This town and their fucking wolves.
He slipped off the tree, landing hard on his tailbone. He tried scrambling back up again when a large hand grabbed his shoulder and threw him back toward the stump.
Stiles hit the ground a good 12 feet away and slid back a few feet further. With the wind knocked out of him, he looked around in a daze. Something was crawling towards him from the darkness at the edge of the clearing. Something that was definitely not a wolf.
He scrambled backward until he hit the stump. There was nowhere to run. He had nearly escaped twice, but now he was going to be eaten by whatever fresh magical hell was stalking towards him. He tried to breathe, think, and find something that would save him. Nothing came to mind.
As the monster came closer, Stiles saw shiny, jet-black hair covering its back and arms. It was growling deep and steady, its face hidden by shadow. He noticed that its movements were stilted and jerky, as if it were forcing itself to move forward. It stayed low to the ground, looking ready to pounce at any moment. Stiles was sure that if he tried to run, he would be dead in a heartbeat.
The creature moved slowly. It must enjoy the suspense. Stiles could see that it had long, sharp claws at the fingertips of very human shaped hands. Those claws would surely rip into him soon. He was trapped. All he could do was watch as the creature got closer and closer.
When it was only a few feet away, it stopped. The growling got louder, and it dug its claws into the earth. Stiles gulped. The tree stump and the ground below him felt like they were vibrating for a moment, like a pulse that rippled through the earth. He saw the monster take a few quick breaths, then turn its head and snap into the air with a snarl.
Without warning, it stood and gave another chilling howl. Stiles closed his eyes and covered his ears; it felt like his eardrums would burst from the shrill cry.
He opened his eyes and looked up at the creature. Now fully upright, it stood at least seven feet tall, with gigantic, rippling muscles and tanned skin under soft tufts of curly chest hair. It had a very human-like body shape, and if it wasn't for the thick coat of fur along its back or claws protruding from its hands, it could easily pass for human man. A supernaturally tall, buff, hairy man. And the creature was definitely a man, since he was buck naked and sporting a third leg the size of a tallboy can.
When he lowered his head from his howl, the creature looked at him with blood red eyes. His head was…decidedly less human-passing. It was the head of a wolf, with a long black snout and large pointed ears. Somehow, he seemed…sad. Like he was in pain. Stiles was transfixed at the creature in front of him, built like an Egyptian god and absolutely breathtaking. He knew now what it was like to experience real, guttural awe. His next words escaped his lips without him even thinking.
“So beautiful,” whispered Stiles, eyes boring into the wolf.
The wolf lunged forward, trapping Stiles against the tree stump, two hairy arms on either side of the boy's head, claws digging into the dead wood. The heat from its breath tickled Stiles’ nose.
"Stiles, I swear to god, this is the last time I come to save you from being a fucking idiot!" Derek bit out over his shoulder.
The wolf was currently in the middle of fighting a rogue witch, who was allegedly responsible for the disappearance of 8 children over the last 3 weeks. Judging by the clutter of tiny shoes and school backpacks tossed aside in the small cottage, it looked like the accusations were correct. Why Stiles felt the need to confront her alone was beyond him.
"You're doing great, Derek! Oh--on your left!" Stiles replied with a smile.
Derek ducked out of the way of a large, flying vase just in time to recieve a projectile brick to to his right thigh. He heard Stiles wince in sympathy behind him. The witch was hurling heavy objects at him fast enough to slow him down, but it wouldn't stop him from ripping her throat out once he reached her. Stiles, in the meantime, sat comfortably in some sort of ritual circle, his wrists bound by chains and attached to an anchor bolted to the floor. He seemed completely at ease, content to relax and watch Derek get pummeled.
"Once we get back, we're having a long talk about safety. Again." Derek inched closer to the witch, shielding his face from harm.
"Yeah, okay dad." Stiles rolled his eyes. "I think you're overreacting."
The witch was running out of things to throw, and she knew it. Still, the look in her eyes was confident and determined. Derek hated that look--he had seen it one too many times before. That look meant that his enemy still thought they had the upper hand. This witch must be saving a trick up her sleeve, and Derek had to be extra careful to avoid whatever bullshit she had planned next.
"Almost there, you got it, dude!"
"Shut up, Stiles!"
Derek was close now, just a few more feet before the witch would be within arms' reach. She was backed against a wall, now trying fiercely to shove furniture in his way. A solid wood dresser slid across the old hardwood floor, and Derek took the chance to leap over it. He angled his landing so that he could launch himself off the dresser and shoot his entire body straight at the witch. Of course, he couldn't dodge anything while flying through the air and reaching for her throat.
A lot happened in the next 3 seconds. Time almost seemed to slow as Derek watched the witch close her eyes and reach into the right pocket of her dress. Suddenly, something in her hand began to eminate a foul black smoke, and when she opened her eyes, they were inhumanly dark. Whatever she did flooded the room with shadow, which is why Derek didn't see the large, earthen spike shoot up from the ground right below him. There was nothing he could do as he was stopped short of his goal, impaled on a gray, 8-foot rock straight through his heart.
After the initial shock of feeling his heart literally ripped apart, all he could think of was Stiles. Stiles, still chained to the floor behind him, now alone and vulnerable. Derek hoped Stiles would make it, but knew it was already over for himself. One, maybe two minutes without his heart pumping, and he wouldn't be able to recover. He closed his eyes and used his last seconds of consciousness to wish for a miracle--that Stiles would survive.
He heard shouting, his name, maybe? He felt his shoulder hit the ground, then felt his blood gushing out of him. He tried to open his eyes, struggled for even the tiniest flutter. He managed to just barely look through blurry slits to see a pair of faintly glowing converse shoes standing in front of him, and beyond that, a writhing figure on the ground, contorting into unnatural shapes. There was wind and vibration and light and so much magic in the air that Derek thought he might be dead already. He must be, because that was the only explanation for why he heard Stiles' resounding voice echo through his entire being.
Live one thousand lives, leave one thousand scars, lose one thousand loves. Set in stone and locked in land your name will end forgotton.
Some days, the curse was bearable. When there was work to do around the castle, like patching a leaking roof or chopping wood for the winter reserves or hunting for his month's supply of meat, Derek could forget how long he'd been alone. Other days... the vast eternity ahead of him was overwhelming. Over three hundred years had passed, trapped here, living each day as a shell of himself. Rooms were locked and keys forgotton, dust and cobwebs covered every unused nook, and Derek couldn't remember the last time he bothered to air out the upper floors.
Werewolves were not built to be alone. He accepted his fate long ago, using the memories of his family to anchor him to the present. The darach who had cursed him, a beautiful woman who was heartbroken at Derek's thoughtless dallience and subsequent disinterest, was long gone from these lands. His family line had ended with the death of his youngest sister, with hunters and ferel madness taking the rest. He had destroyed his family because he couldn't resist a few nights of pleasure with the wrong woman.
It wasn't as if he didn't try to change things. He dedicated decades to researching magic, trying to break the curse. His whole family did, but to no avail. Derek grew resigned to any worthwile future, and fearful of any change to his present. So he waited for death, in peace.
The completely unexpected disturbance to this peace came with a crackling sound and a flash of blue. Derek paused in preparing his meal of venison stew and carrots, scowling curiously at the fading pulse of a bright light peeking under the kitchen door. Every once and awhile, a young mage would try flexing his skills and intrude on the cursed castle. Derek would give them a little scare and send them on their way, no harm done.
He sighed and set down his knife, wiping his hands on his waisted apron and moving to the dining hall to investigate the nuisance. He dropped his fangs and prepared to roar at the trespasser, when the sight of an apparition stopped him in his tracks.
Perhaps it was a ghost, or a spirit, or something Derek couldn't identify. There was the shape of a young man, the outlines and shadows of his form a misty blue, and his body was semi-transparent. Derek could make out the unusual clothes he was wearing--breeches that looked far too tight, a thin tartan shirt that was hanging open, and shoes that would be more fitting on a jester. He was looking at the tall ceiling in awe, slowly spinning and taking in the sights of the grand room. Whoever he was, whatever magic he was using, Derek didn't want him here.
He began a low growl, hoping it would scare the strange spirit away. Instead, the young man spun to face him with a start and burst into a smile a mile wide. Derek was shocked to see that the man had handsome features, oddly enhanced by tiny moles dotting his forehead and right cheek, with another set just beside the dimple on his left one.
The phantom man looked positively excited to see him, but Derek refused to be fooled by a pretty face. This thing had to go. So he roared, loudly, right in his face. The man blinked and mimed a silent laugher, nearly doubling over, mocking Derek's attempt at intimidation. It felt very emasculating.
Next, the man started mouthing words rather quickly, gesticulating wildly with his hands while beginning to pace in front of him. It was clear he was talking, but Derek could hear nothing. The man turned and looked at him, as if waiting for a response, but Derek simply crossed his arms and scowled. He really hoped this specter would leave soon.
Stiles and Derek are in an established relationship. Stiles then overhears Derek on the phone, saying something like “I don’t know what to do about him.” Stiles assumes Derek is talking about him, and decides to surprise Derek during his lunch break and change his behavior because he assumes Derek is getting sick of him, when he sees Derek laughing with some girl.
Stiles assumes Derek has been trying to break up with him/was cheating on him, and so he leaves Beacon Hills to go to Europe for a while, leaving just a note for Derek that says something like “Be happy.”
Derek is freaking out, not understanding what is going on, (because he wasn’t cheating and wasn’t talking about Stiles on the phone)
Nobody can get in contact with Stiles, but finally someone finds out where he went and Derek goes after him.
There are a few just misses of almost running into each other. Maybe Stiles is practicing his magic or research skills with the packs he is running into or something.
Then they meet. Maybe Derek saves Stiles’ life, and its super confusing what Stiles is talking about while they are still fighting the monster, before Derek figures out what happened, somebody kills the dang monster, and then there is lots of comfort and fluff and better communication all around.
Okay so I reblogged this a few days ago and accidentially posted the unfinished version instead of saving it in my drafts, then accidentally deleted it, which is embarrasing but whatever. So here it is again. I didn't follow the prompt exactly but I was so inspired by all this angst!
Thanks @faladrast for the inspo!
"I...didn't think you'd come," Stiles whispered to the ground.
He was still tied to the iron chair that was bolted to the floor, his wrists and ankles burning from the tightly bound rope. The dead bodies of 3 hunters lay across the dimly lit cellar, and Derek stood over them with his claws unsheathed, soaked in blood. His eyes were glowing a deep Alpha red, brighter still against the contrast of the poorly lit room.
"Of course I came," the wolf spat out while striding toward Stiles. "Why the hell wouldn't I?"
He seemed...angry. Derek moved behind him and cut through his restraints.
"I'm sorry," Stiles said, voice shakey.
When Derek came back around to face him, he was still panting from the effort of ripping the captors apart. Stiles could tell he was concentrating on pulling back his shift, because he took a few breaths to close his eyes and sheathe his claws.
Once Derek opened his eyes again, they were back to the hazel green that Stiles remembered. Derek moved his hands to cup Stiles' face and rest their foreheads together.
"What the hell were you thinking? Don't ever run off on your own again. I thought--" Derek choked on his last words, choosing to gulp down the rest of his sentence rather that say it aloud.
When Stiles felt the pain in his aching muscles and raw skin start to fade, he pulled away from Derek's hands.
"I'm okay, really. You don't have to."
Derek scowled, but he stepped back to let Stiles stand on his own. He was a bit shakey at first, then managed to take a few steps with only a slight limp. What hurt more was knowing Derek came here and risked his life for someone he didn't even want to be with anymore. Stiles was glad that Derek still saw him as a friend, but he chastised himself since all he seemed to know how to do these days was be a burden on the wolf.
"Come on," Derek said, heading toward the door. "Stay close, there's probably more coming."
Stiles followed dutifully up the stairs, measuring his every breath, trying with all his willpower to just be good. He wanted to crack a stupid joke about being a damsel in distress or hug him so tight that Derek's stubble would imprint on his cheek. Honestly, he was so damn happy to see him that he almost forgot how much Derek must hate his rambling and clingy-ness.
Suddenly, Derek stopped in his tracks. He tilted his head to listen for something, then reached back and grabbed Stiles' hand to pull him along. The pair moved silently the rest of the way up the stairs, through the kitchen, out a sliding glass door, and into the dark tree line past the back yard. Derek didn't let go of his hand, and he didn't speak a word until they reached Stiles' rental sedan parked on a dirt path 20 minutes later. He noticed that his duffle was packed and tossed in the backseat. Derek must have found it at the motel, where it was left behind when Stiles was taken.
Refusing to hand over the keys, Derek sat on the driver's side and waited for Stiles to buckle himself in before speaking.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Derek asked with a frown. "Why did you just leave?"
"I just thought that it would be easier for you, if I left. I'm sorry that I...I'm sorry you had to come all the way out here."
"Why the hell would leaving make things easier for--" Derek stilled, his knuckles going white around his clenched fists.
When he turned toward Stiles, his face was blank. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something but must have thought better of it. Stiles waited, expecting more anger or annoyance or disappointment or all three. Instead, he stared at Stiles with an unreadable expression for several moments before finally speaking again.
"I see," replied Derek.
He started the car and slowly made his way down the muddy dirt path, eventually hitting a narrow, paved road a few minutes later. Stiles had no idea where they were, somewhere inland in Nova Scotia based on the lack of the salt-brine smell in the air, and they rode the entire way in silence. Derek would flex his hands and occasionally growl under his breath, but otherwise kept his eyes on the road. Stiles let quiet tears fall while he looked out the window, grateful that Derek didn't comment it.
Derek drove extra carefully, seemingly unconcerned that they would be followed, and ended up taking just over 3 and a half hours before pulling in front of a small cottage. It was going to be awkward staying here together, after everything. Stiles made a mental note to find an alarm and wake up early, so they could get out of here and to an airport as soon as possible. When they were parked, Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt but made no move to get out. Derek just sat there, staring straight ahead, frozen with a clenched jaw and rigid back.
"Just tell me what you want," said Derek.
"What?"
"Do you not feel safe with me? Do you need more space? I won't climb in your window anymore, if you want. I can also get you an apartment--something that's just yours, without me or your dad. I'll hire a coven to ward it, too. We can even install mountain ash frames if you need them." Derek turned toward him, his stern eyes transformed into ones of hope and longing.
"No, Derek, that's not--"
"Were you afraid to talk to me? Did you think I would get violent? Because I would never, Stiles. I would never hurt you, no matter how angry I got." Derek reached out to grab Stiles' hand, but withdrew before the touched. "I can go to therapy, or we could go together if that would help. I know I have a hard time talking, but I'll be better. I can learn, I can be better for you."
"Derek, you're fine. You don't have to keep trying. It's okay, really."
"Maybe it's okay for you, but it's not okay for me. Please, Stiles. Just tell me. Tell me what I have to do to get you to stay."
Stiles didn't want Derek to stay with him out of pity or obligation.
"Derek, you..." he started, unsure of how to continue without breaking down into sobs. "You deserve happiness. You don't have to stay with me because you think it's the right thing to do."
"...the right thing to do?"
"Look, I won't run off on my own again, okay? I really wasn't going after those hunters, I just needed to get away for a while and see the aurora borealis, but I guess one of them saw me at a bar and thought they could score some points with the Argents. So, if you want to be with someone else... I won't let it affect the pack. I just needed a bit of time to, you know, adjust to the idea."
"Stiles, what the hell are you talking about? I don't want to see anyone else. I want you, and not out of obligation. Because I--I love you."
They had only been together for a few months, and Derek never even said he liked him. Never said anything close to that, really. They just sort of...fell into bed together after a particularly close call with a pack of chimaras, and when Derek kept sticking around, Stiles thought they could be something more. But then the phone call, and the date, and...it made more sense that Derek would find someone better.
So, when Stiles heard those 3 little words come out of Derek's mouth, his heart felt like it was trying to leap out of his chest. He made a noise somewhere between a gasp and sob, and then the tears came. Derek dove across the bench seat and held him, pressing his face into the crook of Stiles' neck.
"I'm sorry," Derek said. "I'm sorry if that was too much, we don't have to be anything you don't want us to be. Just stay, Stiles. Please. I'll be whatever you want me to be."
"B--but," Stiles stuttered between sobs. "You s--said I was t--too much, and--and that woman, she--you looked so happy with her."
"What woman?" Derek pulled back to look Stiles in the eyes. "I never said you were too much, why would I ever say you were too much?"
Stiles wiped his eyes and looked at Derek. He seemed so vulnerable, so broken, and Stiles was only just beginning to realize that it was his fault. He was so, so wrong.
"I heard you on the phone talking about me. You said, 'He's too much, all the time, and I don't know what to do with him,' remember? Then I saw you on a date, smiling at some woman... you barely even smile at me, so it just seemed like... you were happy with her."
Derek sighed and rubbed his forehead, letting out a light chuckle.
"The thing that was 'too much' wasn't you. It was my instincts every time you left. Did you know I had to stop myself from following you home every time you walked out my door? Obviously I kept failing, because I was at your window every other night."
Derek lightly held Stiles' hands and looked straight into his eyes. Stiles listened in disbelief and tried to tamp down the constant flutter in his chest.
"And the woman? She was a party planner. I don't know how to... I wanted to do something nice for your birthday. Something you would really love. So she asked me to tell her about you. Our meeting was supposed to be 30 minutes, but I spent nearly an hour just talking about everything you like and how amazing you are."
"I'm sorry," Stiles threw himself at him, wrapping his arms around his back and clutching onto the leather jacket as tightly as he could. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry--I love you, I love you so much, and I thought you didn't want me anymore, and I didn't want to be a burden, and I was so miserable since I left, and I couldn't find a decent burger anywhere in that stupid little town, and I just thought of you the whole time and how I missed your cooking and the smell of your loft and how you liked to hold my--"
Derek stopped his rambling with a kiss so desperate that it had Stikes reeling. It wasn't gentle by any means, but it still felt like he was pouring every single ounce of love and want and need into his lips. Stiles melted under him, letting his mouth go lax as Derek held onto his jaw and guided his tongue where he pleased.
When he finally pulled away, they were both a little out of breath.
"If you ever thought I didn't want you, then that's my fault. One I will remedy immediately. And frequently," Derek said as he slid back to the driver's side and opened the door.
The slam was a bit excessive, but Stiles had no time to dwell on it because Derek actually leaped over the hood to open the door for him, then grabbed him around the waist and headed him over his shoulder.
There were many playful protests on the way into the cottage, but Derek didn't set him down until they were in the bathroom. He stripped him, somewhat rudely, and herded him into the shower. Derek removed his own clothes to join him, and he spent the next 20 minutes gently scrubbing every single inch of Stiles' skin. When Stiles made a move to turn their shower time into something much sexier, Derek pushed his hand away and continued to clean like he was on a mission, despite the very obvious growing situation between his legs.
Derek barely let him take a step the rest of the night. He got him dried and dressed, then bundled up and fed, then tucked into bed. If Stiles had any doubt about Derek's desire for him, it was squashed that night. The wolf spent hours worshipping his body with slow fingers and measured licks. He marked his pale skin with little bites and bruises covering his neck and shoulders. When they finally, finally made love, Stiles cried and begged and melted into him, and Derek whispered a never-ending stream of 'I love you' and 'you're perfect' and 'you're mine.'
They didn't leave the little cabin all week.
Fuck magic. Fuck witches, fuck warlocks, fuck non-binary magically-inclined individuals. Stiles was done with all of them. One minute he's in his room minding his own fucking business (researching this weird ring he stole from a darach) and the next, BOOM. He's fallen into the preserve. And it's suddenly daytime. And his head really fucking HURTS, because of course it does. The Preserve equals the Nemeton equals some weird magic mumbo-jumbo equals injured human Stiles.
After a few minutes laying on the ground and contemplating his poor life choices, Stiles decided to stand and try to get his bearings. However, he had no idea if it was late morning or early afternoon, so the sun wasn't much help with navigation. Moss on the trees vaguely pointed him south, so he turned east (hopefully) and started walking. Slowly. Because moving too fast made his head hurt even more.
He was thinking of the speech he would give everyone for failing to find him, forcing him to walk MILES with a HEAD INJURY, when he came to the edge of the woods. Stiles didn't even get to have a full sigh of relief, because as soon as he sucked in a breath, he realized that something was very wrong with the road in front of him. It was stone. Not pavement or asphalt, actual hand-laid old-timey cobblestone. There were no cobblestone roads bordering the preserve. There were no cobblestone roads in Beacon Hills, period. So where the fuck was he?
Behind him was definitely the preserve. It felt ominous and oppressive and he would recognize those trees anywhere. In front of him was...something else. He looked beyond the road expecting to see the gentle slope of a hill and a few high-end homes with trees peppering their backyards. Instead, it looked like farmland.
He squinted, searching for someone who might tell him where the fuck he was, and spotted a farmer hunched over about a mile away, sandwiched between neat rows of low, leafy crops. Stiles reluctantly began to trudge toward him, already exasperated at whatever bullshit he would have to deal with to get back home.
He was maybe 20 yards from his destination when the man stood, looked to the sky, and wiped sweat from his brow. Stiles recognized him immediately. What the hell was Derek Hale doing FARMING? And how did this asshole still manage to look good in a dirty t-shirt and raggedy pants? He looked at Stiles, scowled, and returned to his task. Rude!
Stiles' slow walk turned into a light jog, despite the pain still shooting through his skull. He was amped up on righteous indignation and was getting ready to jump into a whole tirade aimed at Derek for leaving him in the woods. Except...Derek wasn't farming. Not really. He was kneeling on the ground with a tight hold on a sturdy wood basket full of shimmery smokey magic-y looking stuff. The weird smoke seemed to eminate from a smooth, white cylinder, spill over the edge of the basket, and wrap around the wide leaves of the plants growing at his feet.
Stupid werewolf, he knew better than to mess with magic.
My second favorite thing about writing fanfiction is not having to do any world building if I don't feel like it (my first favorite thing is the werewolf hanky-panky, in case you were wondering). Thanks for the source material random Etsy artist that had no socials listed! Linked below.
Just 6 more hours until San Francisco, Derek reminded himself.
Derek Hale was among the first to board his flight, after military personnel and families with children, and only started to relax once he was settled in his window seat with his eyes closed and head tilted back. He listened to the people trickling into the plane with impatient steps and rolling luggage, while the flight crew repeated the same greetings over and over again. Even among the muddled scents surrounding him, he smelled one of the crew approach his seat.
“Would you like a drink before takeoff, Mr…Luna?”
Derek opened his eyes to see the crew member checking his list of first-class passengers, a business smile plastered on his face. For a moment, he had forgotten the name etched into his counterfeit ID, one Dennis Luna, but recovered from his hesitancy quickly enough to order a drink without noticeable delay.
“Beer,” Derek grunted.
The attendant nodded and moved along to the next passenger, taking drink orders while darting in and out of the aisle traffic. Derek pulled a small vial of wolfs-bane disguised as an aftershave travel bottle from the briefcase at his feet, ready to spare a few drops for his beer. He knew it would help his disgruntled state immensely, granting a light buzz and dulling his senses to a more comfortable level.
As he sat back again to close his eyes and await his drink, a voice rang out right next to his ear and caused his whole body to jump in surprise.
“Pegged you for a druid earlier, but seeing your cute little bottle of party poison makes me think you're a shifter, right? Your aura is all over the place, so I can't really tell.”
A man in a red hoodie was sitting right next to him, leaning into his personal space, seemingly having appeared out of thin air. The urge to shift into his wolf form at the shock was strong, but Derek held his control save for the briefest flash of bright blue that took over his eyes in anger.
“Let me guess, panther? Bear? Wolf?” The man continued with an excited grin. “Your aura was green earlier, but now it looks more like an electric blue, which is usually for more hybrid types, like Kanima or something. But I just get this different vibe from you. Something big and furry, right? Probably not a werepanther; cats absolutely hate flying. I knew this housecat once, loved sunbathing on the roof, but she refused to fly on my broomstick from 2 feet off the ground. Turned her nose up at bacon, too. What kind of carnivore doesn't love bacon? Caught her nibbling on a cucumber once, though. Weird, right?”
Derek stared at him in disbelief, barely registering the words coming out of his mouth, confusion written all over his face.
“...What?”
Red hoodie man laughed loudly, tilting his head back with genuine mirth. His brilliant smile caught Derek off guard yet again. Looking at his face, he appeared to be in his early twenties, with bright amber eyes and tiny black moles dotting his skin. Derek had to give himself a little shake to snap back to reality and assess the threat in front of him. No sound, no scent, beautiful face, and definitely a magic user. One that was likely trying to charm him or…something. Derek had never seen this kind of magic used before, just the occasional pack emissary druid and a witch or two that couldn't do much more than sprout flowers from some dirt or make sparkly jazz hands. He decided that this red hoodie man must be dangerous, and the ease at which he seemed to hypnotize him was terrifying. He was a menace at best and downright malicious at worst.
“Hehehe, just kidding, dude. I don't actually need a broomstick to fl–”
Derek grabbed the man by the scruff of his collar, bringing their faces close and angling himself away from the eyes of the other boarding passengers.
“Who the fuck are you, why do you have no smell, and what the fuck do you want from me?” he growled.
The red hoodie man lifted his hands in surrender, a look of surprise and horror etched on his face.
“Woah, woah big guy, not a threat, just a human. Human Stiles. That's my name. Here, smell me all you want.”
With a nonchalant wave of his hand, the man's eyes clouded white with a brief flash of pastel purple. Derek was again hit with a shock to his senses. This time, a scent like no other slammed into his nostrils. Wet earth after a heavy rain. Sweet cherries dangling from a late spring tree. A warm huff of breath from a newborn puppy. With an involuntary gasp, his head was suddenly filled with what was quite possibly the most intoxicating smell he had ever encountered. He was dizzy, eyelids heavy, and…
Not enough fics where giving gifts is Derek’s love language. that man is emotionally constipated as hell and also part animal you know once he realized he was falling for stiles he’d be thinking of him every time he sees Star Wars merch at the mall or a jacket that would sit perfectly on his lanky frame. That book of dog jokes Stiles cackles over every time he reads a joke out to Scott or Derek? Definitely not strategically placed at the top of a ‘free books’ box outside the school just before lacrosse practice let out. Definitely not.
I know this prompt is supposed to be cute and sweet, but I'm in some sort of mood so 🤷🏽♀️
Thanks @dereles for the writing inspo 🤗
Derek waited behind the tree line, watching the Beacon Hills Lacrosse team jog across the field. He took a deep breath, knowing that Stiles would be walking out, showered and smiling, in just under 17 minutes. He checked his watch and strained his ears to listen for the boy's heartbeat, still fast from the cardio of practice. He could make out the distinct cadence of his cleats against the cement of the locker room before they clattered to the ground when he began undressing. Derek shook his head and turned away, feeling a tingle of shame at his intrusive eavesdropping.
Sill, he couldn't help but perk up every time he heard Stiles' voice ring out, loud and clear against the backdrop of post-practice chatter. He talked about Lydia, and his new strategy to win her over, in quiet whispers to Scott in order to avoid Jackson's ire. Derek reminded himself that the boy was not his, couldn't be his--not yet, at least. As much as he tried to be worthy, his words always seemed to come out as angry, demanding, and full of spite. He worried every day that if Lydia realized how amazingly loyal, smart, and kind the boy was, she would steal him away. Thank god she cared so much about surface level appeal.
The minutes ticked by as Derek waited for Stiles to leave. He was desperate to see the wide smile that his well-placed gift would bring. Stiles always spared a glance at the free book bin near the school entrance whenever he passed, and Derek had left a small paperback he knew Stiles wouldn't be able to resist. 101 Dog Jokes. When Derek saw it on the discount rack at the drugstore, he immediately thought of Stiles. Flipping through the pages, the jokes were quite possibly the worst he had ever seen. But the sound of Stiles cackling with laughter at Derek's deadpan reception was too tempting to pass up.
Fifteen minutes had already passed, and Derek was getting more eager by the second. That's when he heard it--Stiles' heartbeat kick up a notch. It was Jackson, spouting something or other about staying away from Lydia. Derek heard the scuffle clear as day. The bang of bodies hitting old lockers, the slap of knuckles meeting a fleshy cheek, the rustle of equipment falling to the ground.
Derek felt his eyes shift blue and his claws extend into the bark of the tree he was gripping. He wanted to rush in and protect Stiles, put the fear of god into Jackson, and save the day. But also knew that it wasn't his place. This was something Stiles would have to work out for himself, as much as it pained the wolf to see him get hurt. The boy may not be strong enough to win a fistfight, but Derek knew he was strong enough to keep his chin up afterwards.
When the fight finally died down, Derek heard a few sniffles before the sound of Stiles' heartbeat returned to normal. The wolf tracked his movement out of the locker room, through the maze of halls in the school, and out the front entrance. He walked slower than usual, favoring his right leg ever so slightly. When he emerged through the large double doors, Derek saw that his left eye was in the early stages of bruising, and his face was set in a quiet frown. Scott was nowhere to be seen, since he probably ditched his so-called friend to spend time with the Argent girl. Derek's loyalty to Stiles was the only thing keeping him from tearing Scott a new one. If he can stay on good terms with Scott, then he can stay close to Stiles. Nothing else really mattered.
Finally, Stiles walked past the book bin. He cast a fleeting glance to the pile, but didn't seem interested in stopping to look. Derek deflated. But then Stiles stopped a few steps away, brow furrowed. He turned to give the book bin another look, as if he saw something interesting and his brain had taken a few extra seconds to process it.
When he immediately picked up the book of dog jokes, Derek's heart soared. Stiles' face softened, and a muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth in amusement. He thumbed through the book as he continued walking to his jeep, nearly falling after running into the guard rail on the stairs down. Derek finally felt his shoulders relax as he sighed in relief. He looked forward to being the victim of whatever horrible joke Stiles would surprise him with.
Later that night, Derek checked his phone and saw that he had a few new texts from Stiles.
Stiles: what do you call a wolf that meditates?
Stiles: aware wolf
Stiles: ha!
Derek couldn't hide the grin that took over his face.
Derek is the old god of the forest, forgotten and unworshiped for centuries. Towns were built around his forests and the alter where once offerings were laid has been overgrown. Derek believes himself to be lost and resigns to an endless slumber.
That is until a college kid stumbles on his alter and offers the large stone wolf a piece of his sandwich.
Now, awake and once more worshiped, the god must protect his new high priest Stiles at all cost. Which means blending into a world he knows nothing about. And going to college.
Hope it's cool if I start a little something from your prompt @renmackree. I don't really know Tumblr etiquette yet.
All it took was a few meager pieces of meat and bread, and the old god lived. The priest who roused him was a strange one. He was young and earnest in a way that could inspire both hope and a sense of protectiveness. How he stumbled upon the worn-down altar was a mystery. The once grand stone statues had been chipped away by rain and wind and ice long, long ago. The sacrificial platform was broken and buried beneath centuries of rotting leaves and forest life. It was a surprising wonder that this boy sat right in the middle of his dias and prayed.
"Please, please, please don't find me here," the boy whispered to himself. "I swear to god I will never let Scott set me up again."
The oath was made. Now all that was needed was a sacrifice to seal the bond.
The boy unhooked his knapsack from his back and rummaged through it to find a bottle of water. He took a generous swig, letting a few drops escape and slide down his chin. Wiping his mouth gracelessly, he grabbed another item from the sack and began to peel off the outer layer. In less than a minute, half the morsel was gone, and the boy took another long sip of water to wash it down. Just before he started eating the second half, a twig snapped somewhere to the east. The boy whipped his head toward the sound and froze.
"Stiles?" A voice called from the distance. "I was just kidding, okay? Stiles?"
The boy took action fast. In his haste to grab his knapsack and stand, his small meal fell to the ground--right at the foot of the old god's alter. The offering was modest but true: made with no malice or selfishness, and given freely from his own hand.
It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air--he was alive again. The True Forest Guard, the Wolf of the Wood, the Red-Eyed Demon. He had gone by many names, but he preferred the one his mother had given him: Derek.
He was slow to rise after spending so long sleeping in the space between life and death. It took 3 days to push through the veil while his body was remade from the earth. It was just as he remembered it--strong and tall and virile. He grew more alert as his priest prayed, which was surprisingly quite often, and used that time to survey his domain. Many more villages had been born, some with altars that reached impressively far into the sky. The humans had harnessed the elements to create beautiful and horrible things. But their essence hadn't changed. They still wished for love and sex and money and revenge, just like always.
When he finally set foot on solid ground, the forest was chilly but teeming with life. Excitement was not becoming of a 10,000 year-old god, but Derek couldn't help it. This new priest was feisty and warm and good, and it had been so long since Derek had actually wanted a human in his circle. He had long grown tired of the zealots and devotees committing atrocities in his name, so when the last of his followers passed away, Derek was relieved. He could start fresh. The first step was to give a blessing to his new high priest.
Derek reached out along the bond between them and tugged, instantly popping into the boy's humble dwelling. A small bed was tucked into the corner of a cramped room, with a table and a chest of drawers on the opposite wall. Nearly every available surface, including the floor, was covered in books, loose parchment, and lightly dirtied garments. The boy was sleeping in an impossibly contorted angle, his body twisted and half falling over the edge of his mattress.
"Arise," Derek commanded.
A snore and a mumble escaped the boy as he continued to sleep.
"ARISE," said Derek, this time with much more force.
The boy jerked awake and tumbled to the floor, hitting his elbow against the hard ground and wincing in pain. Derek expected the priest to be overjoyed with the sight of Derek in front of him. Instead, he screamed, covered his eyes, and recoiled as if Derek's nude form offended him.
"Dude, what the fuck? Did Scott send you in here as a prank? Because while I love the package, I'm more of a let's-get-coffee-first kind of guy, you know?"
Why was the boy not happy? Did he not realize the magnitude of his position? Derek looked down at the mess of blankets surrounding the boy and scowled. It was mid day already, and his high priest was still in bed. Perhaps he just needed some inspiration from his new god. The child may not even know of his fortune yet.
"I come as the Wolf of the Wood reborn. Your oath was heard, and our bond was sealed. You will have the protection and favor granted to the high priests of the old gods. Bow, and receive your blessing." Derek puffed out his chest and lifted his chin, eager to have his new follower at his side.
The boy faced forward and looked at Derek with a mixture of disbelief and fear. This was not the reaction he was supposed to have.
"I'm calling campus security," he replied with determination.
"You would pit your simple guards against me?" Derek was confused, but he soon realized that the boy simply needed a show of strength. "Very well, I can easily defeat them in combat. Let us spill blood at my altar. Their sacrifice will give me strength."
The boy looked upon him in horror, undoubtedly impressed with his confidence. Derek waited for him to shout orders and summon the guard, but the boy just stared at him.
"Please don't hurt anyone," he said meekly. "Just tell me what you want."
Derek couldn't figure out why this priest was acting so strangely, like he was genuinely afraid of him.
"Boy, you are my high priest. Do you have any idea what that means? Tell me, what do you need to build your faith? A miracle? Riches? Virgins?"
"I need you to leave. And also put on some clothes."
A strange request, but easily done.
"Very well. I can bestow the blessing when I return tomorrow. Try not to die before then."
It looked like the boy was about to say something, but Derek vanished before he he had a chance to hear it.
Having fun with this one! IDK if I reblogged this correctly but it was getting long so 🤷🏽. Thanks @renmackree!
Stiles sat on the floor, eyes bleary from sleep, completely dumbfounded. He distinctly remembered NOT drinking last night, but he did fall off his bed this morning, so maybe he hit his head without noticing. It seems much more likely that he dreamed and/or hallucinated the breathtakingly hot naked man waking him up and then disappearing into thin air, as opposed to actually witnessing the divine rebirth of...what did he call himself? Wolf of the Wool? Was that some sort of 'wolf in sheep's clothing' reference?
It was too ridiculous to fathom. He was either bat-shit crazy or had suddenly become very skilled at lucid dreaming. When he stood, he looked around suspiciously, as if the mystery wolf guy was hiding somewhere in the 10' by 8' dorm room. He checked his door: still locked. He checked his window: still closed, and locked, and 4 stories off the ground. Everything seemed normal, but his heart wouldn't stop threatening to beat out of his chest.
This was WAY too elaborate to be a prank. Probably. Stiles needed an outside perspective before he melted into a puddle of anxiety. It was nearly 11 on a Sunday morning, so maybe Scott was still asleep. Perfect. Without much forethought, Stiles scrambled to his door, grabbed his keys from the wall hook, and took off bare-footed wearing nothing but boxers and an old batman t-shirt. He nearly fell flat on his face trying to avoid the other students littering the residence hall, but made it down one flight of stairs and through a maze of hallways to reach Scott's room in the east sophomore dorm.
Stiles knocked on the door while simultaneously calling for Scott to answer it.
"Scott, hey Scotty, you there? Mayday, man. BIG fucking mayday. Dude, open the door, come on."
Stiles emphasized the importance of his visit by escalating to a loud, continuous banging. He vaguely heard someone cursing him from the next room.
Finally, after waiting an agonizing 13 seconds, Scott answered the door looking hungover and deeply annoyed. He left it open and then quickly turned around to shuffle-flop back on his bed before listening to anything Stiles had to say.
"Scott, we have an emergency," Stiles began, rushing in to close the door and step inside. "I think it's like...level C fucked up. I'm freaking out."
Scott sat up, instantly sober and alert. He took a moment to study Stiles, who was pacing the tiny dorm room while biting his nails. After Scott was satisfied that Stiles seemed relatively uninjured, he responded as calmly as he could.
"Do we need to go to the hospital?" Scott asked, his eyes betraying a deep concern for his friend.
"I don't know, maybe not. I mean, probably not...yet?" Stiles stopped his pacing and looked at Scott as if he held all the answers.
"Just tell me what happened," Scott sighed.
Stiles sat next to him on the bed, then stood, then sat at his desk, then stood again, and continued pacing. Scott waited patiently.
"A naked man woke me up, claimed to be a god, told me I'm the chosen one, then disappeared into thin air."
"Did you hook up with someone last night?"
"No! I stayed in my room all night like a loser so I wouldn't have to run into Matt at that stupid keg hunt thing and see his stupid face and listen to his stupid excuses for his stupid creepy jokes." Stiles flailed his arms for emphasis. "Which is your fault, by the way. I swear to god I'm--"
"Never letting me set you up again, I know dude, I know."
"There's just shit you don't say on a first date. It should be basic fucking common sense 101. When I say, 'hey man, I'm not into fooling around in the woods, I just met you and there are bugs everywhere,' the correct response is not 'well no one would find your body out here.' Who does that?"
"Douchebags." Scott rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, some of his hangover fatigue creeping back into his frame.
"Correct, Scotty. Douchebags. Douchebags do that. We're getting off track here," Stiles shook out his head and tried his very best to focus. "Scott, you need to tell me if I was hallucinating."
"So some naked guy wandered into your room? Maybe he was on drugs," Scott shrugged.
"No, a naked guy appeared in my room. The door and window were locked. This guy was weird, dude. He said he was, like, a reincarnated wolf god, and I was his priest or something, and he wanted to bless me, and then he said he would kill the security guards on an alter of blood if I called them for help."
Scott started looking less worried and more skeptical.
"And he came to you while you were sleeping?"
"He woke me up, rudely, I might add. Pay attention."
"Stiles, I think you were just dreaming."
"It felt real, Scott. Even now--" Stiles' felt his skin shiver when he conjured an image of the man in his head. "Even now, it feels like he'll pop back any minute."
"Is he like...trying to hurt you? Is he after you, Stiles?" Scott asked with genuine concern.
Stiles thought a moment, and while he was terrified at the implications that this man was very capable of violence, he didn't necessarily feel like he was a target. More like...the man was just fixated on him.
"No, I don't think so. But he could definitely beat me to a pulp."
"All right, name every Blockbuster Batman Movie in Chronological order."
"What?"
"Just do it, Stiles."
Stiles sighed and racked his brain for a moment before flawlessly belting out the entire lineup in a single breath.
"Batman, Batman Returns, Batman Forever, Batman and Robin, Batman Begins, Dark Knight, Dark Knight Rises, Batman vs. Superman, Lego Batman, Justice League, and the good one."
Scott nodded in approval.
"You're not paranoid, and your memory is fine. Hallucinations weren't one of her symptoms. This isn't that. It's not a level C."
Stiles let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. His shoulders sagged as he plopped down next to Scott on the bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and brought his head down to rest in his hands. It was terrifying thinking that the illness that took his mother might take him, too. But Scott was right, it couldn't be that.
"It felt so real. I was scared I was losing it. Losing myself."
"Hey man, you're under a lot of pressure right now. Finals are coming up, and both your upper division courses have you studying until 2am most nights. You're just tired and stressed. It happens."
Stiles nodded, and let another deep breath escape.
"Tell you what. Let's go to Judy's for lunch and order a curly fry mountain, then come back here and marathon Star Wars. You need a break. Sound good?"
Stiles looked at his best friend and smiled.
"Thanks man."
"That's what I'm here for, dude. Now fuck off for 2 hours and let me sleep some more."
Stiles chuckled and punched him in the shoulder, standing with a stretch before walking towards the door. He felt lighter already.
"Night night, Scotty," Stiles called behind him.
Scott replied with a grunt, already half asleep.
Once Stiles was back in his room again, his thoughts returned to the naked man (in a totally innocent way and not in a horney jail way). There was one thing the man said that kept nagging at him. He asked, 'What do you need to build your faith?'
It kept turning around in his head. If, for some reason, this guy existed, then what would prove he was actually a god? The man could clearly teleport, so maybe he could grab him some hot cheetos in the blink on an eye? No, too easy. He needed to find something so obscure, so far away, that holding it in his hands would be irrefutable proof that this guy was the real deal. Theoretically, of course. Because this guy was definitely, totally, not real. How could someone that attractive even exist?
Stiles kept telling himself that looking up rare orchids in the Amazon was purely an academic exercise and not a back-up plan in case his delusion made another visit. By the time Scott came to fetch him for their lunch plans, Stiles had a short list memorized of what he might ask Mr. Hot Guy to prove to him.
After stuffing himself with curly fries and starting a 4th Star Wars film, Stiles was finally starting to feel like the events of the morning were just a far-off memory. He passed out on Scott's floor by midnight atop a pile of blankets and pillows.
The next time Stiles opened his eyes, the light slipping in from the window was a muted gray. It was the kind of light that illuminates the sky just enough to announce that the sun hadn't quite risen yet. He saw a pair of polished black Oxfords in front of his face, which his brain automatically filed as Scott digging out his shoes from prom, for some reason.
"Good, you're awake." A voice said from above his head.
Stiles furrowed his brow and looked up to see the so-called Wolf of the Wool standing over him, wearing a perfectly tailored, dark slate 3-piect suit with a black button-down and deep maroon tie.
"I see you've found another follower for me. Excellent work, young priest," The man smiled down at him.
Part 3! I'm still working out how Tumblr works so I'm not sure if I have to tag @renmackree again? Or will you just see my update? God, I'm old.
The priest banged his head against the bed frame behind him in his scramble to move away. Simultaneously, the new follower sleeping in the bed jolted up and whipped his head around to stare directly at Derek before recoiling against the wall.
Derek was taken aback by the boy's hostility. Even the new follower seemed upset. Did he not do exactly as was asked? He left at the boy's command. He wore clothes befitting of his status--he had been more than accommodating. If this were 3,000 years ago, he would have easily found another to fill his role. But, as it stands, the old god needed him. And judging by the state of the accommodations in front of him, the boy needed him, too.
“Dude, do NOT wake me up like that anymore,” said the priest.
“Why are you so upset?” Asked Derek. “I did as you requested.”
The new follower was the next to respond.
“Um, what?”
Derek sighed and rolled his eyes, annoyed that these humans were so vexing.
“It's him, Scott. My hallucination,” the priest explained.
“He's wearing clothes.”
“That's all you have to say about this? He teleported into your room!” The priest flailed his arms for emphasis.
“He probably walked through the door!”
“How did he even know where I was?”
“Dude, you only go to, like, 3 places. You're not hard to find.”
“Eh-hem.” Derek cleared his throat to get their attention.
They looked like grown men, but apparently, it was acceptable for men of this era to bicker like children in front of a deity.
They both looked up at him expectantly.
“Now, today you are to receive my blessing as high priest. And you--"Derek looked at the new follower on the bed. “You may receive a boon as well since I am feeling generous. Though you will not delegate my priest to the floor again, as his station is far above yours. Understood?”
The new follower looked at him as if he had brown two heads.
“Amazon slipper orchid,” the priest declared, still seated at his feet.
“Pardon?”
“Prove to me that you're a god. Find me a living Amazon slipper orchid from the Rainforest.”
Derek crossed his arms and scowled.
“I am not an errand boy.”
“You asked what it would take to build my faith. This is it. no more tests.” The priest seemed honest, so Derek acquiesced.
“Fine. And then you will receive my blessing?”
“Sure, whatever.”
“Very well.”
Derek closed his eyes and concentrated on the beauty and lifesource of the flower. The last time he walked the earth, the people called it Lady's Moon, but its loveliness had not dwindled at all since then. When he willed himself to appear before one, the crisp forest welcomed him under a canopy of verdant leaves. Gingerly, he uprooted the flower from the remnants of a decaying tree, imbuing strength into the roots and protection through the stem.
When he stepped through the veil to return to his meager flock, he found the two men bickering. Again.
“I'm just saying, you can't trust him, Stiles! You don't know anything about him!” Cried the new follower.
“Dude, he's magic. Real, bona fide, hogwarts-level magic. How is your mind not exploding right now?”
“What if he wants to sacrifice you to his dark master or something? What if–”
“Eh-hem.”
They were both seated on the bed now, and at Derek's interruption, they both whipped their heads toward him. Their expressions were wide-eyed and weary, as if they were children caught stealing sweets before supper.
His priest was the first to speak.
“...you found it. You really found it,” he said with a chuckle.
“Did you doubt me, priest?”
“Yeah, actually. I kinda did.” The priest reached out to touch one of the delicate petals, but he thought better of it at the last moment and withdrew his hand. “And it's Stiles. My name, that is. Not priest.”
“Stiles,” Derek repeated with a smile.
“Um, excuse me, but we don't want anything to do with gods or magic, okay?” The new follower glared at him in defiance. “So you can go find some other priest and leave my friend alone.”
“That's Scott, just ignore him,” said Stiles with a wave of his hand.
“Stiles!” Scott threw his hands up in exasperation.
“Hey, could you conjure up a pot or something?”
“You said no more tests,” Derek said, eyeing him with suspicion.
“It’s not a test. I just don't want the flower to die while we wait.”
“Please, Stiles, can we just–” Scott interrupted.
“The flower is strong. It will be fine for many days,” Derek spoke over him. “You can place it upright in one of those empty tins if you like.”
Derek nodded towards the beautifully painted, deep red canisters stacked on the ground near the window.
“Alright, Dr. Pepper house it is.”
Stiles grabbed a can and shook out a few drops of liquid into his mouth, then motioned Derek to help him transfer the flower into its new home. Scott continued voicing his grievances while Derek ignored him.
“Dude, come on, you can't seriously be listening to this guy! He's dangerous!” Scott whined.
“He's hot, and he brought me flowers. Best first date I've had in a while, honestly.”
Stiles was still carefully stuffing the long roots into the can while he spoke.
“What if he hurts you?”
“I would never,” Derek growled. “He is my anchor to this world. To hurt him would be akin to cutting off my own arm.”
“Really? That's so sweet,” Stiles smiled.
Derek felt a grin come unbidden at the priest's words. Finally, Stiles was beginning to trust him.
“STILES!” Scott yelled, frustrated at his lack of influence.
“ENOUGH,” Derek boomed.
He spoke from deep within his body, letting his power bleed into the command. The window rattled, and the stack of painted cans toppled over at his voice.
“You may not command my high priest, boy. You are but a follower, not a ruler. Know your place.” Derek wouldn't tolerate the mistreatment of his own, no matter how ignorant they may be.
“I'm not your follower,” Scott said with a quiver in his voice.
He was clearly afraid to stand his ground, but he was still fiercely loyal to his friend. Derek admired his loyalty, though this misplaced tenacity was frustrating.
“Okay, let's all just take a breather here,” said Stiles.
He had finished placing the orchid and was now holding his hands up as if to separate him from Scott. “Wolf of the Wool, please don't be mean to Scott. He's my best friend, and he's just looking out for me.”
Derek glared in response but said nothing.
“And Scott, I will literally explode from curiosity if I don't hang out with this guy and get some answers. Magic is real. This is my life now.”
Scott cast his head down, defeated. The three of them sat in uneasy quiet for a brief moment before Derek broke the silence.
“It's Wolf of the Wood,” Derek said.
“What?” Asked Stiles.
“You called me Wolf of the Wool. I am the Wolf of the Wood. You should know the name of the god you summoned.”
“Oh yeah, that makes more sense. But I definitely didn't summon you, dude.”
“Don't call me dude. And you swore an oath to me, then left an offering at my altar. What was your purpose if not to revive me from my slumber?”
“Did you…summon me by accident?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
Derek cocked his head to the side in confusion.
Stiles was silent for a moment, staring at the ground and appearing to be in deep concentration. He finally looked up with a sheepish grin on his face.
“Whoops?”
Derek felt his face fall. All his excitement over coming back to earth and...he wasn't even wanted? Did Stiles believe in him at all?
"Did you ever want my blessing?" Derek said, his voice despondent.
"Um, not particularly?" Stiles must have felt pity for him, because he quickly amended his statement. "But I'm sure it's a great blessing! The best blessing! You can totally bless me, if you want. I'd be honored."
Stiles looked up at him, hopefully.
"You probably don't have anything prepared."
"Okay, what do I need to do?"
"This is stupid," Scott interjected.
"Different ages had different ceremonies, usually involving the whole tribe," Derek started, ignoring Scott's comment. "At the very least, there would be some sort of goblet or bowl of special significance that you would use to drink my blood--"
"Hard pass," Stiles said quickly.
Derek frowned.
"I mean, um, is there like another way to get the blessing? One that doesn't involve me swallowing your bodily fluids?"
"Of course. We can copulate."
"No way," Scott said.
Stiles was silent, but his face was turning a furious shade of red.
"That's, um, well...it might be worth a try," said Stiles, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck.
"Stiles, you can't be serious."
"Scott, did I get in your way when you were adamant about taking home Allison Argent even though she's definitely in a crazy murder cult? No. So don't cock block me."
"That was different, and you know it. She wasn't going to hurt me."
"She had a crossbow and handcuffs in her car. At school. At least this guy doesn't have any weapons. You don't have any weapons, do you, Mr. Wolf God?"
"I have no need of weapons."
"See Scott? It's fine. But...I'm not really, um, experienced with that stuff, so can we get to know each other first?"
Derek scoffed, as if the idea was beneath him. Honestly, this entire situation was beneath him. Since when did he have to beg to bestow a piece of his power to a lowly human? Would it be better if he just left, waited for the human to die, then went back to sleep? A part of him hated that idea. He yearned to experience this world with his new priest.
While he should be furious that humans were treating him with such insolence, he found that he couldn't fault Stiles for long. The boy was honest and pure, and Derek could tell that he had no selfish motives for power whatsoever. It was refreshing to have a high priest that didn't lust after position or status. It was...entirely new, actually. As frustrating as the boy was, Derek couldn't deny that he wanted to keep him close.
"Listen. If you won't take my blessing, at least take this."
Derek withdrew a small vial from his jacket pocket, plucked a hair from his head, and carefully closed it into the small tube.
"Having a piece of me close will connect us. You can call me, and I will come. If you are injured, swallow it to heal yourself."
"Um, thanks?" Stiles took the offered gift with some confusion.
"I was serious when I said I would not harm you. As my high priest, my blessing would protect you from aggression or disease. Without it...then it falls to me to protect you."
Stiles gave him a look that was somewhere between longing and sadness. Perhaps he was finally understanding the gravity of the situation.
"Yes. Until you choose to receive the blessing...if you choose to at all."
"So, now what? You just hang out in the woods until I call you?"
"Sounds boring."
"Yes, a bit."
Derek waited patiently while Stiles chewed his lower lip in thought, and Scott continued to scowl at them both. After a moment, Stiles seemed to muster up the courage to speak again.
"So, ummm...wanna go out for breakfast?"
That's it for now, I think! I really liked this prompt, and now I want to go back and rework a few things from the earlier parts. I’ll be adding this to my Ao3 WIP list, because I am physically incapable of writing something under 10k words, and it's getting a bit long for Tumblr. I was really happy to get some encouraging words in the tags, so thanks!
