#sterecficnetwork

[seokjindeluxe]

Send me your angstiest sterek fics!!

I need some for a friend and I tend to stay away from that particular genre, so I only know of a handful.

[seokjindeluxe]

Who knows a lot about fairy tales/fables/folk tales and other stories like that and is willing to help me out for a sec?

[stilesinwonderland]

*whispers* 9 away from my next hundred

[halekingsourwolf]

LUST (Love & Unresolved Sexual Tension)

Derek/Stiles

incubus

magic made them (almost) do it

Love Confessions

Misunderstandings

Minor Angst

[M] [8171 wds]

Summary: “Derek… Incubus, remember? This isn’t… we aren’t…”

Derek cuts off his words with his mouth (it’s fucking effective, why hasn’t be been doing this since the day they’d met?) and breaks away again long enough to growl “I’ll send it a fruit basket later.”

--

The pack has to deal with an incubus. This was going to be a PWP but I'm a giant mushball so ended up being about feelings.

AO3 LINK

[stilesinwonderland]

Halfway to my next hundred followers

[derekdeservesbetter]

It's best we get some distance. (The lyric prompt)

"It’s best we get some distance." 

As soon as Stiles said the words he saw the moment Derek’s mask dropped. The hurt and rejection shown clearly on his face and it broke Stiles’ heart. Those eyes, those eyes that are a multitude of colours never looked so dull. Stiles couldn’t face him anymore. He turned away.

He couldn’t watch Derek’s heart break. He couldn’t. 

They said he had to do this, to save Derek. They didn’t say anything about watching. 

When Stiles turned back to look at Derek, he was gone and Stiles facade broke just as quick as Derek’s did when he uttered those six words.

It was for the best. 

[derekdeservesbetter]

Lost In You (a derek/sterek story)

CHAPTER ONE

It has been a long time since Derek has had to patrol the territory the wolves of Beacon Hills have claimed. Ever since he became a beta again, and Scott had become alpha, Scott was the one who did a quick sweep over every night. Derek had offered to do the run many times but Scott always said he could manage. Derek only offered because Scott had school in the morning when Derek had nothing. How Scott manages a pack and his school work is beyond Derek.

Derek couldn’t cope when he was an alpha, and he didn’t have school to contend with. However Derek stole another alpha’s power to become an alpha. Scott grew into his with sheer determination. Scott is definitely the better alpha. Derek knew he was always better suited as a beta.

Derek had honestly never expected to become a part of the McCall pack. For starters no one liked him. Stiles always wanted him dead. Isaac and Erica just put up with him because he was their alpha at the time. Scott always complained that Derek ruined his life. Jackson just wanted to be stronger. Allison hated his guts completely until she realised why Derek did what he did. Thinking back, it seemed like Boyd was the only one who liked him. Looked up to him.

Yet here he is, one year later and he’s a welcomed member of the pack. Jackson asks for control advice seeing as their anchor is the same. Stiles comes over to loft every weekend so Derek can help him with the bestiary, though most the time they end up watching films and TV shows on Stiles’ Netflix account, Derek is obsessed with Game of Thrones. Scott comes over every day to check up on his beta, make sure everything is okay and Boyd hangs out with him on the school’s lacrosse pitch as they throw the ball back and forth.

Even Cora was a welcome part of the pack. Derek repairing their relationship slowly whilst Cora goes back to school and is now close friends with Lydia and Allison.

So, here Derek is, a pack member of Scott’s and he’s running the McCall pack territory line for Scott whilst Scott and the rest of the pack are on a college road trip. They have been gone a month and every night Derek runs, coming into contact with no threat. Until tonight.

The strong smell of magic, which to Derek smells like Lavender, comes to Derek as he runs through the preserve. Derek follows the scent of magic and comes to a clearing where two women stand, holding hands, with their heads tipped back, eyes closed.  

Both are dressed in white gowns that touch the floor. Their pale skin covered in red marks and runes. They stand, the moon above them, casting them in a silver glow, as they chant, the flames around them getting brighter with each chant of the same sentence. “Fiat de tenebris lucem surgere.”

Derek stays hidden behind a tree nearby, making sure the witches are completely unaware of his presence. Derek can tell they’re speaking Latin and he wishes Cora was here right now because she will know exactly what they are saying seeing as she’s learning it in school.

Derek has never wished for the pack to be with him, but now he does. Scott will know what to do. He will find a way to get rid of them that doesn’t involve death. But Derek is alone. He’s alone and he needs to make a decision. He needs to rid them, they are trespassing into another’s territory, which can be punishable by death.

As the flames make a dome around the two witches, Derek curses internally, he has no idea what they are chanting. They could be cursing the land, wanting to kill off the werewolves. They must know that the territory is weak without the whole pack being here. They are here to kill off the pack.

Their chanting stops and the flames wisp and fly off into the night. As soon as Derek sees an opening he runs, his face shifting, ears lengthening and fangs extending from his mouth. He goes for the witch that has her back to him. The second witch notices him too late, warning the witch with her back towards Derek. By the time she turns around, Derek’s hand is already extending, claws piercing through soft thin flesh. He swiped his hand across and the witches eyes widen. Her gown soon stains red, the blood from her throat pouring down her neck, wiping the runes away as she gasps for breath.

The sister witch is stood still, frozen to the spot as the witch drops to her knees and then falls face first into the dirt.

Derek makes an attempt at the second witch, which seems to break her from her frozen spot and with a blast of smoke she is gone, her words echoing into the night of the forest.

“For making me lose someone I can’t live without, you will have to lose something you can’t live without.”

The smoke engulfs Derek, who swipes at it, tries to waft it away. When he realises that his attempts are useless he inhales and drops to his knees, eyes closing as he waits for the smoke to disperse. When the stench of Lavender leaves his nose, his eyes open. He stands and notices that both witches are gone, the only remnants of their stay are the scorch marks on the ground where the fire of the spell was and the taste of metal in Derek’s mouth.

Derek takes off after waiting for a few minutes, making sure they have gone, before he takes off, patrolling the rest of the territory line.

When he gets back to his loft, after two sweeps of the territory line, Derek takes a shower. His skin smells like smoke, which he washes off straight away. He brushes his teeth in hopes of the metallic taste in his mouth disappearing. However after five minutes of brushing his teeth, the taste still lingers in the back of his throat.

He gives up, and makes his way to the bed located in the middle of his loft. His phone rings as he climbs into bed. Derek reaches for his phone and answers, Scott’s voice coming through the speaker.

“Hey Derek, how was the patrol?”

Derek gets this phone call every night and tonight he has to tell Scott that witches invaded.

“It was okay. Two witches were in the preserve but they have both been dealt with.”

Derek hears a bang from the other end of the line and Stiles voice, breathless and full of excitement. “Wait, witches exist?”

“Yes Stiles.” Derek answers, knowing he’s on speaker. “Witches exist.”

“So cool!”

“Wait, witches were in the preserve and you dealt with it?” Scott asks before sighing. “Don’t tell me you killed them Derek!”

Derek rolls his eyes. “They were here and now they are not. Scott everything is fine. Now I would like to go to sleep.”

“Fine.” Scott sighs. “Thank you for dealing with it, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Derek hangs up after hearing Jackson call out.

“Why the hell does Hale get away with speaking to you like that!?”

Derek puts his phone on his bedside table, a weight off his shoulders now he knows that Scott, his alpha, is coming back into Beacon Hills. He falls to sleep easily, happy that he doesn’t have to defend the territory on his own anymore, and with the taste of metal in his mouth still.

The first thing Derek notices when he wakes up is that his mouth is dry. The taste of metal gone. He looks at the alarm clock and realises he slept in. Since when does he ever sleep in? The birds always wake him up around six. It’s almost ten.

Derek climbs out of bed, stumbling slightly. He frowns, feeling weird, like the world had shifted in his sleep. He slowly walks to the stairs and when he hip checks the desk and the pain flares and doesn’t disappear does he realise, the last words of the witch coming back to his mind. For making me lose someone I can’t live without, you will have to lose something you can’t live without.

“No, this can’t be happening.”

(Can also be found on A03)

[halekingsourwolf]

Memories - Fifteen

from the Parrish Stlinski-Hale headcanon

At fifteen years old, Parrish Stilinski-Hale – young, overly proud of his newly emerged spark, and too much in love with a pretty girl – spent over a month researching tricks and spells that would allow him to spend more time with her. His papa was overprotective (let’s capital, bold, underline, and try that again: Overprotective) about the idea of him dating in a way Parrish couldn’t really begin to understand, and even his dad couldn’t pull him out of the compulsive “when hell freezes over” scowl he’d gotten as soon as Parrish had mentioned the senior girl from the lacrosse team who’d asked him to the homecoming dance last fall. At fifteen. As a sophomore. The whole thing had pretty much been the talk of the school.

But then Parrish had come home and his papa had clenched his jaw, tensing up in a way he usually only did when the pack was being threatened, and shut the whole thing down before it started.

“Come on, Derek,” His dad had said, before Parrish stalked out of hearing range. “You know how young I was when I fell for you.”

“And you know how young I was when I fell for Kate.”

Which had fallen from his papa’s lips like a dropped grenade and seemed to wound each of them in equal measure, setting off a week-long cold war of overly polite comments and secretly pining glances that Parrish never wanted to witness again. His dads fought, alright, they didn’t do polite.

Dating was a taboo subject in the house, apparently.

He’d tried little things at first – like the muffling charm to keep papa and the girls from hearing if he talked to or about her on the phone or met her in the woods behind the yard – before he’d stumbled across the spell for the golem and that had been glorious. For an entire week, Parrish had a ready-made duplicate, a clay-and-magic molded stand in to hang around the house when he wanted to sneak out and spend some time with Theresa. He even started taking a pottery class at school to explain the earthy scent that clung to it.

Of course, it had been a bit of a rush job, and Parrish missed some key elements. He hadn’t put all that much thought, for example, into the fact that the duplicate couldn’t mimic his memories. He’d thought that teaching it enough basic facts to make its way around the house would be enough to skate by on for a little while. His family’s names, where important things in the house were. It would only be for a few hours at a time anyway; how much trouble could it cause?

More than he’d realized.

It had taken five days for him to notice his dad’s face going pale and drawn when he looked at him, and he figured he was probably skating on thin ice. Then his papa had started nuzzling more often, like he was trying to scent something foreign on him, and Parrish figured he was caught. What else would his father be sniffing for, after all? Finally, after his papa had pulled him into a compulsive scenting after dinner on the seventh day, he’d had enough.

“Yes,” he’d snapped, pushing himself out of his papa’s clinging grip. “Yes, ok, I have a girlfriend. I know I’m fifteen and you think I’m too young but I’ve been dating her for a month and a half and it’s been great.”

His dad had stared at him, brown eyes glassy with something Parrish couldn’t read, but it definitely didn’t seem like his usual “you’re grounded” look. His papa had just gone back a step, braced a hand on his dad’s hip, and echoed, “girlfriend?” in a tone that suggested pretty clearly that Parrish had blown that secret for no reason. They hadn’t had a clue.

There were tears in his dad’s eyes, then, his breaths coming out too fast. His papa had shifted to stand halfway behind him, arm looping his shoulders and massaging his chest the way he usually did when the pack had narrowly avoided becoming the victim of whatever supernatural threat was intent on invading Beacon Hills that month.

But his dad didn’t usually look this shaken.

Parrish had been stunned right out of his defiant posturing, swallowing thickly and offering: “Yeah, my girlfriend. Theresa? She’s in my chem class, she’s really…” He trailed off though, because neither of his parents really looked up for absorbing more than the barest details right now. His papa leaned forward, scanning Parrish’s face critically, rubbing his stubbled cheek against his husband’s own and murmuring “Could that explain it? Just being girl-stupid?”

His dad had squeezed his eyes shut, lifting a hand to clutch at the one massaging his chest, and shook his head. Then he’d opened his eyes, and said evenly: “Parrish Stilinski-Hale, tell me exactly what you’ve been doing this past week or I swear to god I’ll…” and then he’d faltered, which had worried Parrish almost more than anything. His papa wasn’t really one for creative threats, generally letting an even glare scare whatever guilty confession was on this children’s conscience out of them, but his dad... his dad excelled at wordplay. He had a lightning-fast list of one-liners and creative punishments that had never, in Parrish’s memory, gone on repeat. But now his voice was coming out thin and reedy, his creative faculties failing him, and Parrish had felt so sick with guilt and nerves that he’d found himself ducking his head and explaining all about, Theresa, their secret rendezvouses, and the golem.

And his dad had squeezed his papa’s hand tight enough to fracture something in a human, breathed out a ragged “oh, thank god,” and then gone forward to wrap Parrish in a fierce hug.

And that’s how Parrish had learned the details of his grandmother’s death: her illness, and his dad’s deep-seated fear of contracting it or passing it on. His papa had come to his room that night and explained it, stilted and with few details – that the golem hadn’t been answering questions properly, that it had seemed lost and confused in its own home more than once, that his dad had spent the last several nights praying Parrish was on drugs or possessed (a bitter smirk had touched his papa’s lips at that) because the alternative was too terrible to think about.

And nine years later, and twenty years back, he saw that same drawn expression on his grandfather’s face when he explained how his son had been admitted to the hospital.