Hi! Sorry if this is completely insane, I can’t remember much from this fic, but basicallly there’s a ‘demon?’ Who inhabited stiles, and once he’s expelled he takes on stiles’ form anyway, stiles is a bamf feared around the world, this demon thing saves stiles and the pack after they were kidnapped, im sure the demon is given a stupid name like Ian or something, it could be something similar to Howl, from good wolves doing bad things as that’s what I was reading (the lux scene) when it sparked a memory! I can’t remember anything else from the fic other than the demon thing was so grateful to be given a name and that he kind of keeps in touch with stiles maybe shapeshifts into a dragon to scare some hunters or something? I could be mixing fics at this point idk but if you find it I’ll seriously die with gratitude! Thanks
Hi @britishobrien! @tublrusernamenottakenand @comfyb and anon and @stellarluna35 says it's this one.
Making Connections by KouriArashi
(18/18 I 96,168 I Teen I Sterek)
Every ten years, the hunter community hosts a gathering of all the hunters in the area, to share information and discuss tactics and strategy. This time, Chris Argent is the host, and a hundred hunters or more are coming to Beacon Hills.
AND
@exhaustedpigeon suggested this one!
There's Monsters at Home by calrissian18
(6/6 I 83,000 I Explicit I sterek)
“How did you get past the wards?” Derek had put them up, with Peter’s grudging assistance, after the Alpha pack had made themselves at home a few times too many.
The guy pulled a face. “You mean the wards a five-year-old girl with the mental ability of a goldfish could deconstruct?” He blinked wide eyes at Derek. “Gee, I don’t know. It’s bound to go down as one of life’s great mysteries.”
I've been brainstorming on my WIP, a Teen Wolf Fanfic. I'm thinking, Stiles MieczysławStilinski, Special Agent of the FBI Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch coming down to Beacon Hills to uncover what exactly keeps luring in crime syndicates to this little town.
When Peter is kidnapped, Stiles is left to come to the rescue.
Peter ends up hard.
Stiles had always smelt like water. His scent was fresh, salty when it sat on Peter’s tongue. The boy, his boy, was rainwater, morning dew soft in his contentment, a rushing ocean in his excitement - salt and sand and seaweed mixing together. His anxiety was rancid, the stink of algae, stale dead grass and sun dried foliage. His fear turned bitter, and it crawled up Peter’s spine whenever he smelt it. However, it was his boys anger that Peter had always preferred. When he was mad he raged like a storm, his scent turning sharp with the promise of lightning, electricity snapping through it. He became storm clouds, heavy and dark - promised violence.
He had never been more glad to smell ozone than he was now.
The witches had been in their territory for three days before the pack - his pack was Stiles and Malia and Cora. His pack was his mate and his daughter and his niece, his family. It was not the others - had decided to confront them. Of course they had played nice, promised their innocence and Scott had believed their pretty words. As it so often happened, the boy's naivety got someone hurt, though this time it was Peter. The wolf was furious about this, furious for being so easily captured. A few mumbled words and the bitter scent of wolfsbane and he was out, his body heavy as it hit the concrete.
Then he was waking up, his mind slow and foggy. All he could smell was smoke, his eyes sluggish as they tried to see through the heavy haze. He was tied up, ropes wrapped tight around his chest, forearms, wrists. The tree he was hanging from had bark digging into his bare back - and he spent just a moment's thought wondering why he was naked. He could hear shallow chanting, the quiet murmurs of spell work echoing around him. Everything was fuzzy, as though he were looking through a heavy fog.
Until he smelt ozone and storm clouds. He vision cleared up with his mind, whatever spell they had cast over him being shoved away as rain began to beat down on the clearing. It hurt, the drops of water were fat, heavy as they assaulted the clearing. It felt nice as the water cleared away the remaining heaviness of his mind and he was able to focus. The witches were chanting louder, the smell of mistletoe slowly leaving the air as the smoke in the clearing was whisked away.
“Who are you!” One of the witches screeched, her voice shrill in the still air. The rain had finally stopped as figure in red stepped forward.
The red was a hooded leather jacket, tight black jeans adorning his boys legs. He looked good, Peter thought absently and couldn’t find himself to be embarrassed at the hardening of his cock when Stiles finally raised his head. His skin was pale, glowing a soft white as his eyes burned brightly, his iris replaced by the glow of his magic. His boy laughed then, lightning striking close, so close behind him as the smell of burnt foliage flooded his senses.
“Beacon Hills is my land, the Hales are my wolves, and I don’t like when people take my things!” Stiles said, his voice booming around the clearing though Peter was sure he was hardly talking above a whisper.
Peter watched in fascination as one of the witches cast some sort of spell, her voice screaming in a different language. Stiles said something in Polish - his native tongue - and without even a wave of his arm the witch was withering on the floor, screaming and begging as Stiles watched for a long moment. Finally he flicked his wrist and the woman’s head snapped to the side, neck breaking from the force. Silence fell over the clearing at that, the four other women slowly moving together, further away from the boy.
Stiles came over to Peter then, turning his back on the witches though the man knew they weren’t far from his attention. His body was held tight and when two of the woman shouted in unison he didn’t even look back, just raised an arm above his head and a soft glow erupted from his body. He looked like the moon, Peter thought, as his magic poured from his body and into the clearing. He did turn then - Peter never wasting an opportunity to ogle his boy's ass looked his fill - and directed his glare at the coven, his lips pulling back in a wolfish sneer.
He muttered a few words, too low and too fast for Peter to make sense of before three of the four witches screamed in outrage, their bodies seizing before lighting began to strike them down. The clearing was light bright, fire exploding along the forest's floor, only to be put out when it began to pour. The rain washed away the ashes - all that was left of the three bodies - before Stiles turned to the last one. Peter could see how Stiles’ magic was glowing softer, fading back into his skin as the boy smiled.
“Spread the word that Spark Stilinski is claiming Hale Land as his own.” And with that he turned his back to her, finally looking at Peter.
He could hear the boys heart beat stutter as it looked over his body, speeding up considerably when he glanced over Peter’s cock - still hard and standing at attention, so what if he had a very clear power kink - even as he remained outwardly calm. He stepped closer, flicking a finger and the ropes dropped away, Peter falling to the floor only to be caught in thin arms.
“I didn’t want to do that,” Stiles pouted down at Peter, then the man was burying his face into Stiles’ neck to breath. The sharpness was fading, his scent turning salty and fresh as he calmed.
“I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t plan on being kidnapped,” Peter muttered into the boy's neck, arms looping around the thing waist, hands settling gently atop the swell of the boys ass, “If you come home with me I can make it up to you?”
Stiles laugh - light and bright and so, so beautiful - echoed throughout the clearing as he pulled Peter along.
Summary: It's been years since they all decided to be okay with being pack and everything's been okay so far, until all of a sudden, it's not. Because there's a new kind of supernatural in town, and the whole pack – more like, Derek – is taken by surprise by how oblivious they've been about Stiles, and how much change this trial will bring.
A/N: Okay, so I wish I had asked for an AO3 invite earlier so I could post this there as well, but I guess FFNet will have to do for now. I mentioned in the A/N that I was slightly nervous about this fic as it’s my first epic sterek ever and I am soooo rusty it’s almost shameful. But I was craving more BAMF!/Magic!Stiles and couldn’t seem to read my fill, so the next step was just to write it all out, lol. And now I’m sharing, hehe.
Summary: Stiles left on a Tuesday. Nobody noticed.
My notes: DON'T TOUCH ME. Oh my god, this, this, fic. It's hurtful. Angst and ignored!Stiles and just N O P E. You will have serious feels from this shit. But it's amazing too. Such good writing, and magic!Stiles and stupid Derek and just. Ugh. Read.
“He’ll be angry, not happy,” he replies, pushing himself to sit up again, pulling his knees up to his chest. He lets the werewolf push closer, practically invites him in. His eyes meet the Alpha’s unflinchingly. “He likes me just the way I am. He likes me loud. And disobedient. He likes that my mouth won’t stop running, and that he has to tell me to butt out of his personal life,” he growls, letting his hand travel down his drawn up knee to find the cuff of his jeans. “He likes that I’m unflinchingly loyal, and smart, and brave,” he whispers. His hand finds the hilt of the knife, and he slowly pulls it free. “He likes that I stand up to him. And he knows that I would never be anyone’s bitch. Not even his,” he grips the knife tightly. “But especially not yours,” he growls, and then he throws himself forward, the Alpha reeling backward from the unexpected impact. Stiles jabs as fast and as hard as he can, the blade of the knife sliding through the Alpha’s ribcage. The sharpened point cuts right through his left lung, and deep into the Alpha’s heart.
