#avsw2022

[messy-peach-art]

For @averysterekwinter

DAY 1: Sunday Funday. The pack enjoys a little fun time outside in the snow.

[raisesomehale]

Sterek AU

↳For Day 5 of @averysterekwinter ❤️ // Magic!Stiles

Beacon Hills is gray.

Clouds blot out the winter sky, fallen, dried-up leaves riding the wind in spirals, and it’s drizzling. The sun is hidden behind the forming storm and yet there is heat in the air; Electric energy billowing around the Hale house and Derek, familiar with the omen, watches the road from the bay window in the kitchen.

And then he counts.

The winds grow stronger as the seconds tick by. At sixty seconds, Derek almost expects a tornado to materialize on the dirt path leading from the woods up the gravel driveway. And then something - someone - even more powerful materializes instead.

Stiles.

Between one moment and the next there is only woods, and then a body crumpling to the earth in a heap of black silk. He doesn’t get back up. The fabric lifts into the wind and flickers above him like lashing tentacles.

Pinprick rain is pelting Derek’s face before he even realizes he has moved.

He is sprinting across the front lawn to Stiles, gravel skirting out around his bare feet as he skids to a stop beside his collapsed form. He is so tangled in silk that Derek can’t make out his arm from his leg, let alone locate the wound responsible for this. Though he can smell it: the thick, metallic scent of blood cloying his senses.

He hauls Stiles up into his arms and runs back to the house, leaping over the steps onto the porch and blowing through the front door - still thrown open from his hasty exit. He ducks under the archway into the living room and sets the boy the couch there.

A boy. No. Not anymore.

Derek stares down at Stiles’ face, the only part of him not swimming in black fabric, and feels stunned as he takes in the features he hasn’t seen in years. The last time he had seen Stiles, the last time Stiles had come here, he’d been wide-eyed and baby-faced, freshly sixteen with a Spark’s Mark flaring to life inside him. He’d been terrified. Now, his face is all sharp angles and definition, matured and molded into a man. And even unconscious as he is, Derek has a hard time imagining anything terrifies Stiles now.

So what, then, could have possibly caused so much damage?

-

Read the rest on Ao3❤️

[one-fandom-became-all-fandoms]

@averysterekwinter Wednesday's mood board. Enjoy!

It took literal years, but Stiles managed to coax Derek into embracing the small part of himself that he thought died in the fire.

The small part of Derek that was a hopeless romantic. The part that insisted on cuddling together under mountains of blankets and pillows whenever possible. That thought candlelit dinners and spring picnics in the preserve and body massages were necessary—not just a nice bonus—for any relationship to thrive.

So, after years of reassurances and more years of stilted practicing, Stiles and Derek finally reached the point in their relationship where Derek could ask for things or do things for Stiles and not worry about Stiles laughing at him for the thought even crossing Derek's mind in the first place.

They reached the point where—when Beacon Hills had the first major power outage of the year, and in the middle of winter no less—Derek could optimistically suggest making their bedroom into a massive blanket fort, breaking out their collection of massage oils and lotions, and spending the night in with a couple glasses of wine by fake candlelight without feeling insecure.

And Stiles would preen at how far Derek has come since their lives stopped being a terrible soap opera, and praise his valued optimism, and assure Derek one more time about how much Stiles loved him. That he thinks an intimate night in while the power problem gets sorted out sounds fantastic.

And later, when the fake candles were turned off and the real ones snuffed out, laying in their blanket fort comfortable and sated and soothed, Stiles would tell Derek one more time that he loved this side of him. And Derek would tell him to shut up and go to sleep after giving Stiles the sweetest, softest kiss ever shared between them.

A/N: I do not own any picture in the above mood board, I am only responsible for putting them together and editing them. All images belong to their respective owners.

[elisela]

i am home in the wake of your skin stiles x derek, alpha/emissary, getting together for @missanniewhimsy and also @averysterekwinter "magic” read on ao3

---

The cold hurts his chest. He breathes it in anyway, pulling it deep into his lungs and holding it there, frozen. The woods are still enough for him to hear the branches of the evergreens creak with the weight of the falling snow, the faint click of the SUV’s engine where he left it in the driveway, and behind him, ever so faintly, the soft crunch of a paw against powder.

“I saw you running,” he says without looking backwards, shifting the backpack strap on his shoulder. “You’re lucky no one else is stupid enough to drive up here, they would have been in for a shock.”

“Wouldn’t have let them see me,” Derek says, coming to a stop beside him, just out of sight. “No one’s around. No one but me’s been around for a while. Are you okay getting everything in the cabin while I scout up the trail?”

“Sure, yeah,” Stiles says, tipping his head up and looking at the crystal clear sky, moon already hanging bright and heavy, stars so thick across the Milky Way it looks like a lovingly woven blanket. “Go do your thing, wolf man. I’ll set some clothes on the porch for you.”

Derek’s sigh—noisy, fondly exasperated—follows him up to the door, which opens under his hand with the barest amount of pressure. He can feel the magic built into the very walls reaching out, reacting to his presence; old, protective magic that melts into his aura, keeping him in his place at the threshold before deeming him worthy to enter. Stiles hitches the backpack further up on his shoulder and curls his fingers into a loose fist before tossing up orbs of softly glowing light that illuminate the small space—they won’t last long, not with what little power he has, but it’ll be long enough to get a fire going and that’s all he needs.

He’s not surprised to see firewood already stacked at the hearth, a neat bundle of it in place, ready to be lit. Lighting it with magic would be easiest but he’s not sure how much he should be using before the ceremony; it's still a new thing in a way, this ability he has, and Stiles is still waiting for it to disappear the moment he needs it most. So he pulls the lighter out of his front pocket and flicks his thumb until the flame appears, bending down and catching it to one of the pieces of wadded up newspaper, crouched until the slow burn crawls over the logs and ignites.

By the time Derek’s steps sound heavy on the wooden steps he’s got the car unpacked and blankets smoothed out over the double bed, backpacks stashed behind the sagging couch, cooler of food out on the porch with a set of clothes on top. There’s nothing left for him to do on his own, not in the cabin or for the ritual; he’s spilled blood at the cardinal points of the Hale land with his alpha at his side, but the remainder is Derek’s. He’s fidgeting when Derek walks in, hands clasped in front of him as he sits on the couch, feet tapping a mile a minute, too restless without anything to occupy his time. He stills, though, when Derek speaks.

“I know you have feelings for me,” Derek says, then grimaces as the cold steals Stiles’ breath from his chest, leaving him feeling hollow. “Shit. That wasn’t—I have them, too. For you. I thought you should know before we do this.”

He resumes jiggling his knee again, tapping his fingers against his knuckles. “Remind me to tell the pack what a romantic you are,” he says, and Derek’s shoulder nudges against his as he breathes out, relieved. He’d suspected—the immense amount of trust it takes for Derek to bind Stiles to him and the pack like they’re planning had been the first clue; he’s pretty sure that at this point in Derek’s life, trust and love are synonymous. The looks and soft touches—he’d hoped, but colored with the view of his own overwhelming feelings—he couldn’t trust that, couldn’t put all his faith in that to make the leap himself. For so many reasons, Derek was always going to have to be the one who took the first step.

Derek’s shoulder shifts as he laughs, a soft huff of breath. “Pretty sure that’s not a word they would have ever used to describe me.”

“Pretty sure they’re wrong, then,” Stiles says before he can rein it back in. Derek, he thinks—with the plants he has a laminated schedule for watering, the poetry books in half a dozen languages he says are only around to deepen his understanding, the family recipes he tries so hard to recreate—is likely a closet romantic and sentimental on top of it, and anyone who can’t look past the brick wall of an alpha stare and see that is a fool.

Like he is prone to do when someone comes close to complimenting him, Derek deflects. “We should get started,” he says. His hand squeezes Stiles’ thigh as he rises from the sofa, an implicit understanding that there’s more to come when they have the time but there are things that are perhaps not more important, but more pressing that they have to focus on.

—

The clearing is awash with snowglow, glittering in the light of the full moon. Stiles shivers as Derek leads him to the center, snowflakes falling all around, though he’s too cold to register them landing on his exposed skin. Derek mutters something he can’t hear over his chattering teeth when he checks his watch but then Stiles is pulled into him, wrapped in his arms, sinking into the warmth of his body despite the frigid air leeching most of it. He presses his nose into the curve of Derek’s shoulder and grins when Derek jolts, pulling his arms up and trapping them between their bodies to keep warm.

It must only be a minute; Derek, he knows, timed the walk from the cabin to the clearing carefully so they wouldn’t be exposed to the elements for long while they waited for the moon to reach its perigee, but it feels like longer as they stand there, breath settling down until they’re in sync. The lead-up to this moment is months in the making if he goes by the literal sense—the research of the ritual, the careful translations to find the exact meaning to ensure it was done correctly, the effort it took to map the exact boundary lines of the Hale land that had been lost to fire and time, the four full moons that had to pass for him to leave a part of himself at each point. But he knows it’s more like years at this point—a decade of hard-won trust in each other, of nurturing the spark within him, acceptance of the fact that Stiles belonged to the land as much as Derek ever did, a decade to come together not out of necessity but from commitment.

He takes a step back when Derek squeezes him, winter air rushing around him and goosebumps breaking out, but he controls the shivering as best he can while Derek stands before him and reaches out to trace the runes of protection on his skin. It requires no words—just intent, belief, which Stiles has always had in abundance—and when he steps back Derek reaches out for him, claws scratching lightly against his palm. Stiles watches his face closely so he doesn’t have to see the blood that wells up on his skin when Derek starts his part, scratching the triskele just over Stiles’ heart, deep enough to scar.

He’s shaking not only from cold now, fighting to stay upright through the pain as Derek’s face twists apologetically along with his fingers, tongue between sharp teeth so he doesn’t make a sound. But when Derek’s hand falls down to his forearm, poised to cut him deep enough to spill blood onto the land, Stiles pulls back slightly to get his attention before lifting his arm and offering his wrist. Derek had dismissed it out of hand during their research—too many things could go wrong, he’d said, and they were positive that it didn’t matter how he bled, just that he did. And despite Stiles’ desire to finish it quickly and feel as little additional pain as possible it just feels right to twist his arm and hold his wrist next to Derek’s mouth, and they exchange a long, weighted stare before Derek finally nods once and wraps his hand around Stiles’ wrist, thumb smoothing over his skin just before he sinks his teeth into it.

Stiles would love to say it didn’t hurt; when he recounts the experience later, he’ll forget that it did, that his heart rate spiked in his chest and the pain that ripped through him caused his stomach to heave, that Derek had to hold his arm out so the blood dripped into the ground where they’d cleared the snow because Stiles’ instincts were telling him to pull it close to his chest and stop the bleeding. Because the moment it touched the ground the bond flared to life inside him and he couldn’t think about anything else—he could feel Derek, the pack, a welcome, comforting weight in his heart. He could feel the ground calling out to him, peaceful and alive in a way that overwhelmed him to the point that his knees buckled and he would have collapsed had Derek not caught him.

“Worked,” he manages—and then closes his eyes and passes out.

—

He comes to still clutching Derek’s hand, but warm if not comfortable, sprawled on the floor with his back to the fire, head resting on Derek’s shoulder but hip digging into the hard ground. His body still doesn’t feel like his own—never will again, from what he’s read, bound by magic to the pack and the land, to the man who has always been his alpha even when his eyes glowed blue. There’s so much sensory input buzzing through him that it takes a moment to realize that Derek’s hand is moving slowly through his hair, the crackling of the fire accompanied by the low humming vibration in Derek’s chest.

The air around them is so peaceful in a way that other people probably savor, but Stiles is fond of talking and now that he’s not a bundle of nerves over their attempt to revive a ritual that hadn’t been completed in at least a century he has things he wants to say. So he plants a hand on Derek’s sternum and presses himself up—then pats the bare skin a little just because he can. “You love me,” he says, preening; he can feel it right there in his chest, the deep pull of an anchor that keeps him from drifting. “I can feel it.”

“I love sleep,” Derek grumbles, but sits up despite Stiles not saying anything about it at all and reaches for the same bucket he’d carried snow in earlier to purify them, only now warmed from the fire. Stiles allows himself to be pushed back down as Derek studies him, wiping the tacky blood from his chest with motions that seem reverent, fingertips running over raised, but healed, skin. “Does it still hurt?”

“Nah,” he says, examining it himself, then the bite mark on his wrist that Derek’s gaze keeps wandering to. “You didn’t take the pain, did you? You know the book said—”

“I translated the book,” Derek says; the unspoken dumbass tacked onto the end apparent by the roll of his eyes even as he moves to wipe at Stiles’ wrist with the same gentle touch. “I’m hoping that not taking the pain stops you from doing anything else as stupid as letting a werewolf bite you.”

“Right, just let any ol’ werewolf roll up and bite me, not like that wasn’t the way the emissary bond was sealed in all those accounts.”

“Could have gone wrong.”

“But didn’t,” he says, raising himself up onto his elbows and wagging his eyebrows, grinning. “And I feel great, if not a little hungry—what do you say you go hunt some dinner and provide for me, huh? Big strong alpha? Prove your worth a little, you know, werewolf courting—”

“I should drag a dead animal in here and make you regret that,” Derek says, and Stiles mimes gagging until Derek reaches over and drags him upright, pulling until he’s straddling his lap, rag forgotten on the floor next to them. His eyes reflect the gold from the flames and Stiles reaches up and touches his cheek, along the edges of his beard with his fingertips at first, down the edges of his jawline until he’s tracing the underside of his bottom lip with his thumb. And then Derek whispers, “I feel it too, you know,” and Stiles leans in and kisses him, sliding his arm around Derek’s shoulder and pressing in close as their bond flares bright in his chest.

[christinchen]

Let Me Protect You

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, The Pack (Teen Wolf), Cora Hale, Peter Hale, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: Protective Cora Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Spark Stiles Stilinski Language: English Series: Part 6 of the A Very Sterek Winter 2022 series Collections: A Very Sterek Winter 2022 Words: 1904

He’s screaming, yelling Derek’s name as he watches the other man go crashing to the forest floor. There are shots being fired, bullets flying through the air as Stiles runs. He doesn’t even care if he’s being hit, all he needs is to reach Derek. Derek who is lying on the ground, entirely too still, not moving, not getting up.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36714571

written for @averysterekwinter​​ Day 6: Hurt/Comfort

[yorit1]

Snowed In

@averysterekwinter​

Stiles was excited. It was snowing, and it was a Sunday. It was the perfect day to have a Sunday Funday in the snow with his family. “Derek, look, look, it’s snowing, it is snowing,” Stiles said excitedly as he jumped up and down on their bed, poking Derek awake. Derek growled. Something moved the pillow over his face and turned away from Stiles.

“Come on, Sourwolf, Oliver and Lily will love it. We can take them out, make some snowballs and play outside in the snow,” Stiles said. Oliver knocked on the door and walked into his parents’ room. The four-year-old heard his papa’s excitement and wanted to see what was happening. “Papa, what’s happened?” Oliver asked. “Look, Oliver, it’s snowing, isn’t that exciting?” Stiles asked as he picked Oliver out and took him to the window to see the snow. “Wow, pretty,” Oliver exclaimed, placing his face to the window and mesmerised by the snow. “Let’s wake up your sister, and we can go play outside in the snow,” Stiles said and carried Oliver to his daughter’s room to wake her up. “Lily wake up,” Oliver said excitedly to the two-year-old. “Papa?” Lily asked. “Lily, it’s snowing. We will play outside in the snow, and it’s the perfect Sunday to have fun. Let’s go wake up, daddy, and then we can go outside and play in the snow, okay,” Stiles asked. Lily nodded and went into her papa’s hands. Stiles carried his children to Derek’s bedroom and dropped them on his bed. Oliver and Lily jumped up and down on Derek. “Daddy wakes up, snow snow,” Oliver yelled excitedly. “Daddy, Daddy,” Lily yelled excitedly. The two continued jumping on Derek until Derek groaned, held his children in place, and glared at Stiles. ‘What’s this?” Derek asked his children and smiled at them. “Snow, daddy, snow,” Oliver said excitedly. “Okay, I’m up. Let’s get ready and go out to play in the snow,” Derek said. “Yay,” The children cheered. Derek took Lily and carried her to her bedroom to get her ready, while Stiles did the same with Oliver.

When they were all dressed in their coats, hats, gloves, and boots, they went outside to play in the snow. “Oliver, Lily, look at this. This is a fun game in the snow,” Stiles said. Stiles picked up some snow, patted it in his hands, and rolled them into a ball. “Here, look, this is a snowball now this is what you do with it,” Stiles showed them the snowball. He threw the snowball at Derek’s chest and laughed with the children looking. Of course, the children laughed as well. “Papa Papa, me me,” Oliver yelled, wanting to play as well. “Papa Papa,” Lily jumped up and down, wanting to play as well. “Okay, do like me, pick up some snow and roll it and pat it until it’s round, and now that it’s perfect, throw it,” Stiles showed the children. The children and Stiles throughout the ball in Derek’s direction, hitting Derek in the chest. Derek pretended to growl for the children causing the children to laugh. “Okay, let’s play, Oliver. You play on daddy’s team, and lily will be on my team,” Stiles said and split them up into two teams. Stiles and Lily were behind one bank of snow while Derek and Oliver were behind another. “Okay, Lily, remember how we make them, we roll them and then we through them at Oliver and daddy. So we can do this, right?” Stiles asked. Lily nodded, and the two of them made snowballs and threw them towards Derek and Oliver. Oliver and Derek made their snowballs and threw them at Stiles and Lily. The two teams played with each other and had fun throwing the snowballs. “Good job Lily. Look at how well you are doing,” Stiles said and tickled Lily. Lily laughed and continued making snowballs and throwing them. “Oliver, good job. You are good at this, and we will beat papa, right?” Derek said to Oliver. “Right, daddy,” Oliver said and continued. The family continued playing for the next hour until they were all on the floor lying in the snow, taking it all in. “Okay, children, how about we make some pancakes and hot chocolate and watch frozen?” Stiles said. “Yay,” both children cheered. Stiles picked up Lily, and Derek picked Oliver up, and the four of them went into the house to change clothes, have brunch, and watch a movie. This day was turning out to be a fun Sunday.

When the children were dressed in dry clothes, they all went downstairs. They were getting things ready for the pancakes and the hot chocolate. “Oliver, want to help me with the pancakes?” Stiles asked. Oliver nodded, and the two of them got started making the pancakes. “Lily, let’s make the hot chocolate and get the movie ready,” Derek said as he carried Lily to the counter to work on the hot chocolate. The four of them worked on making the brunch with the children, excited to help. Lily is watching her daddy stirring the chocolate. Oliver was helping his papa mix up the batter. Finally, Stiles put them on the cooker and made his pancakes in different winter-themed shapes. “Okay, the pancakes are ready to. Let’s set the fil up to drink our hot chocolate and eat our pancakes. Derek carried the tray with the hot chocolate and put them on the coffee table. Stiles put the pancakes on them. Then, they turned the film on. The children were eating their pancakes and watching the movie. When Stiles and Derek were done eating, Stiles laid down on the couch and placed his head in Derek’s lap. This was After and after watching a movie and having a good day, having a snowball fight and breakfast. And the best part was that he could snuggle into his husband’s side and enjoy the film and this quiet Sunday with their children. “I love you. Thanks for giving me these beautiful children with whom I can now have with a fun Sundays. My life would not be the same without you and the children in my life. I love you daerbear,” Stiles said and kissed Derek. Derek kissed Stiles back. The two kissed softly and then watched their children enjoying the movie. This was the life of them and their children on a quiet Sunday.

[one-fandom-became-all-fandoms]

@averysterekwinter Monday’s mood board. Enjoy!

As golden leaves littered the forest floor, Stiles Stilinski lost his humanity.

Well, some of his humanity, anyways.

Scott had to save his life, and Stiles got that, but what Stiles didn't get was how he miraculously got the amber-gold fluffy fur of a fox instead of scary wolfy features like the rest of the pack.

Derek's words from all those years ago echoed in his head. "Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person that you are."

Stiles got that, too—since he was cunning eighty percent of the time and shifty the other twenty—so he tried not to be offended when he didn't get an invite that winter to the solstice party a neighboring pack was throwing. Scott assured him it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with how wolves and foxes didn't get along.

Stiles got a grimace in return when he brought up how Kira was going.

Alas, Stiles resigned himself to staying in, watching Friends reruns and eating pizza alone instead of running with the wolves in his new fox skin.

Halfway through eating his feelings on the couch, Derek returned to the loft. When questioned why he came back early, he merely replied, "It was too quiet."

Stiles then resigned himself to listening to the golden-eyed werewolf try to teach Stiles how to control his full-shift better. It wasn't a hardship—especially when Derek rewarded his boyfriend's successes with lasting kisses that left Stiles's lips tingling for more.

A/N: I do not own any picture in the above mood board, I am only responsible for putting them together and editing them. All images belong to their respective owners.

[messy-peach-art]

For @averysterekwinter

DAY 5: Magic