#equiknots

“It’s for someone else. To give to. From me,” Derek mumbled haltingly. “Whatever you need…use the pack account.”

“Sure,” he said, grinning at the flustered Alpha. “Any particular pattern or style? Type of yarn? What color?" There was a harsh exhale of frustration.

“I don’t know, a regular scarf.” Derek threw up his hands and then waved them around making snake like motions. “Kind of…deep red with like, some goldy-brown parts? A warm one.” 

“Hmm,” he murmured, going through options in his head for several moments. “I’m thinking merino wool…cable knit…intarsia.” Blank stare. “Kind of a maroon with dark amber, yeah?” A frown and a single shoulder shrug. ”Riiight,” he drawled, smirking. “You know, like a certain hyperactive human’s favorite hoodie…” He tapped his finger against his chin like he was just now figuring out a mystery. “And perhaps the color of said human’s eyes in the light?” 

Derek sputtered and shoved off from his perch with a glare, seeming as if to deny it before snapping his jaw shut with a growl instead and abruptly turning to walk towards his bedroom. Isaac laughed and called after the retreating wolf. 

“I should have it done before the end of the week. I have to go to the craft store to get that special amber yarn.” The door slammed shut and he heard muffled grumbling about “goddamn chuckling betas” and how “back in the day Alphas were shown respect.” He leaned over and laughed even harder. 

Derek

Derek walked out of his building practically buzzing and started running once he crossed the parking lot and made it past the first trees. It was a Monday night, the one before the full moon, and he was feeling antsy. Even more so than was usual. He figured another patrol of the territory would calm him down and satisfy his wolf’s extra protective instincts, not to mention get him away from his so very amused and impertinent beta. And if he happened by the Stilinski residence at some point, well it was on the way, okay? 

Derek sighed. He asked Isaac to make the scarf yesterday after he and Stiles had gone searching that afternoon for a special type of lichen that Deaton wanted for some ritual or potion or whatever. He wasn’t really listening to the druid and just tagged along when he ran into Stiles while doing errands near the vet clinic. The perpetually excitable teen had been wearing a backpack and mentioned that he’d be going into the Preserve for “herbs and shit” after meeting with their sort-of-emissary and Derek hadn’t wanted him to go alone. Things had been quiet on the Creatures Eating Faces & Causing Havoc front for a while, but you never know. 

It had taken them a few hours to collect enough of the sporadically growing, pale green vegetation to fill the container they’d been given and between the dampness of the forest and working up a sweat climbing over logs or partway up trees it had gotten pretty chilly for the human, especially once the sun started to set on the already overcast autumn day. Stiles had had his hands in his pockets and the hood of his Beacon Hills Community College sweatshirt up on the way back, but had still shivered when the wind blew through it and across the exposed skin of his neck. 

That lithe, fair column with its smattering of chocolate dots, so perfect for marking. Derek groaned at the thought of it. So yes, Stiles needed a scarf. Both to keep him warm and to hide his dangerously alluring attributes. The only one not already covered in layers of baggy denim, over sized graphic tees and corresponding flannel. 

(Well, except for his mouth, but it’s not like people went around in face masks all the time, haha. Or muzzles and the like in public. No those were for private activities, or so he’d seen on the internet. And could Stiles even function without putting pens and spoons and straws and toothpicks and pops of the lolli, freezer, and cake variety (courtesy of Lydia) between his lips on a regular basis? Or his own fingers? He even had the nerve to make eating chicken wings look good.)

But necks! He could do something about that. And then maybe he’d stop thinking about his packmate this way quite so often, at least until it warmed again. Definitely no other pervy wolves or similarly bestial shifters should catch a glimpse if it could be helped. He’s ours his wolf snarled and he couldn’t help agreeing before his all those negative thoughts and emotions kicked back in. No, he’s not. I can’t…I shouldn’t…

Derek ran through the forest until his muscles ached and then walked through the city in the wee hours, stopping for a few minutes by a particular house in the west part of town. One with a police cruiser and a beat up blue Jeep in the driveway. He could hear the steady heartbeats and slow breathing of two slumbering humans and could faintly smell the toasty man-soap-sweat scent of his a blanket-wrapped Stiles through the open left side window. He inhaled a few big lung fulls worth, making an unconscious rumbling sound, and then continued on toward home content for the moment.

A few days later he was brooding contemplating the Stiles situation again while making cheesy eggs, bacon, red skillet potatoes, and toast for a late breakfast. Isaac kept giving him these looks like there was something gross on his face (there wasn’t, he checked) before snatching up his portion of the meal, minus the toast, as soon as the platter hit the table. The younger man divided it between the two large flour tortillas he’d had waiting in front of him, added salsa verde, hot sauce, and sour cream, rolled them into burritos, and wrapped one in foil before shoving it into his messenger bag. He then grabbed a thermos of coffee, wedged it into his left elbow as he started eating the other burrito gripped in the same hand, and hurriedly went out the door, shaking his head and mumbling something that sounded like “enough“ and “idiots.”

Huh. Derek wasn’t sure what that was about, but hoped his beta got through his Thursday classes okay. Maybe Isaac had to work on that group project he’d been complaining about, the one that his least favorite professor assigned him with that girl who argued about everything and that guy that didn’t do any of the reading. Oh, college, he commiserated, glad that he’d never have to put up with that particular aggravation again.

He cleaned up and then spent a few hours wrapping up the Spanish to English history textbook translation he’d been working on for a client over the last several weeks. When he was done he got up, drank some water, and began stretching for his daily calisthenics. He was just about switch to the beginner’s tai chi he’d been learning online recently (a suggestion from the visiting weredingo therapist he saw for a while last year and still Skyped with occasionally from Australia) when his phone chimed. It was a text from Isaac. 

Apparently, some human, but in-the-know acquaintance of his near Klamath Falls, OR was freaked out about quote unquote “potentially supernatural activity” around their family’s vacation spot/rental property and wanted to know if the Beacon Hills Pack could check it out this weekend. 

<What kind of phenomena are they experiencing?> he asked, praying it wasn’t some real sketchy shit like artfully arranged piles of mutilated small animals, screaming haunted trees or arcane symbols drawn in blood and bile all over the place. If he ever had to deal with another hag, hostile non-corporeal entity or darach again it would be too soon.

<Clothing, trinkets, and plants from both inside and outside the cabin have gone missing.> Issac replied. <Strange noises day and night and several objects made of stones, mud, brambles, feathers, pine cones and owl pellets have also been found along the trail to the lake. The feeling of being watched and the reoccurring smell of electricity and honey. Sounds like some kind of fae creature to me.>

Derek concurred. Likely a troupe of pixies, though a mischievous witch or other magic-user wouldn’t be out of the question. Whatever or whoever it was seemed annoying, but pretty harmless. He had nothing better to do and it was an opportunity to keep his tracking skills sharp, so he agreed to investigate and shoo away the troublemaker. 

The pack in residence was currently just him, Isaac, Stiles, Malia, and Peter. Technically. His crafty uncle remained mostly an enigma, holed up in some no doubt fancy penthouse somewhere and scheming who knows what. He generally saw the elder Hale every 3 weeks or so when he stopped by the loft to irritate Derek, feed him takeout, and “borrow” something from his library before disappearing into the ether again. 

The others were away at college (Lydia and Jackson,) living in France (though Chris and Allison were really more pack-adjacent,) staying with relatives out of state (Erica and Boyd were in Ohio looking after the latter’s grandmother post hip replacement surgery and probably wouldn’t be back until after Christmas,) or “talking a break from all this mythical bullshit” (Scott, Co-Alpha Emeritus, snort, probably lost somewhere in Prague on his pre-vet school backpacking trip which was totally, definitely, he absolutely swore not going to take him through France. Uh-huh.) 

The cabin was only around 3 hours away, but driving there and back and having time to properly assess, find, and confront the mischievous entity could end up calling for more than a day trip. Isaac had 3 classes on Fridays and shifts at the movie theater afterward and all day Saturday so he was out. 

Derek messaged the rest of the pack in town to see if anyone else was available. Peter was surprisingly the first to answer, but it was a crying laughing emoji followed by a succinct “No.” Stiles replied between his two Thursday classes with a “You son of a bitch, I’m in” gif, multiple exclamation points, and a thumbs up. Derek rolled his eyes and grinned. 

Malia didn’t respond at all. It was equally likely that she was either coyoted-out or forgot about the existence of her phone and left it to die in her couch cushions again. So Stiles and him it was then. Perfect. The eager sophomore had only one late morning class on Fridays so they could leave by 2:00pm tomorrow after grabbing their bags. 

<Pack your shit tonight> he texted Stiles, knowing the fledgling Spark and resident researcher would want to bring all manner of reference books and magic-user supplies. If left to his own devices the impulsive, but thorough human would be running around like a chicken without a head tomorrow afternoon looking for this and that very essential item at the last minute. <Alpha order.>

<Yes sir, Alpha sir> Stiles replied with a picture of a young adult wolf wagging its tail and showing its belly. Aughruuahhgg, his brain shorted, making him first imagine Stiles as a beautiful russet wolf frolicking with him in full shift (if only) and then as his very human young adult self exposing his belly in the same way, neck bared and open mouthed… 

“Moooving onnn” he said out loud to himself, shaking his head to try to derail that train of thought.

Isaac told Derek that his grateful former classmate, a young man unfortunately named Todd, was going to prepare the cabin for them. A housekeeping service would clean everything and put out fresh linens, the fridge and pantry would be fully stocked and completely at their disposal, and he’d also make sure that any amenities were ready to use. The beta also passed along that they could stay through Monday if they wanted to as thanks for their efforts regardless of the outcome and then gave him Todd’s number in case of emergency. 

<Sounds good> he replied. He was actually looking forward to this.

The last time he’d gotten out of town was the weeklong All Pack trip to the beach after a bunch of them graduated from high school the previous summer, a good 16 or 17 months ago. The seemingly never-ending torrent of “mythical bullshit” (Scott wasn’t wrong about that,) psycho hunters, and whatnot had finally slowed to a crawl and the pack had yet to begin scattering. Everyone had been there, including Allison and Chris, Melissa and the Sheriff, Parrish, and even Danny. Before then it had been when Cora had come up for a visit that Spring with her girlfriend, Dominque, and he, Peter, and Malia had gone to Portland for a weekend with them.

Sigh. Last year they had finally gotten their shit together. He had finally gotten his shit together. He’d strengthened his bonds with Boyd & Erica, the three of them apologizing to each other and him promising to be a better Alpha. Derek showed Isaac and Jackson how much he really cared and he’d spent time ranging in full shift with Malia and teaching her to navigate human bureaucracy. He called Cora at least once a month. 

Derek screamed, cried, fought, and hugged it out with Peter one night when his uncle came over with a veritable Japanese feast — okonomiyaki, karaage, gyudon, yakisoba, and shoyu tonkotsu ramen with chashu pork and soft boiled eggs — and they both got proper drunk on the accompanying wolfsbane-infused 12 year old Yamazaki single malt whisky. They hadn’t spoken of it since, but much of the heaviness, distance, and weaponized cruelty that remained between them faded after they finally said all that they needed to say to each other, waking up the next morning with aching heads and wearing each other’s blood and tears, but with Derek held in his uncle’s arms. 

Hell, he and Scott even kind of started getting along and figuring out how to be two Alphas in the same territory with allied and somewhat overlapping packs. Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Malia, and Peter were straightforwardly his; Liam, Corey, Mason, and Kira were Scott’s (though Derek was checking in with them while the younger Alpha was away finding himself,) but Isaac, Lydia, and Stiles kind of belonged to them both, however that worked. 

I think I know exactly how Isaac wishes it worked, he snickered, wondering if his beta, the True Alpha, and the Huntress would ever resolve whatever the hell was going on there. Scott and Allison were currently on a break (again), Isaac was not-so-subtly mooning over Scott, but was known to make heart eyes at mention of them both (what’s a stabbing or 20 between crushes?) 

When Scott and Allison were last officially together at the pack hangout a month before she went to France they’d taken to giggling and blushing while stealing glances at the beta, who pretended not to notice, but ended up crocheting an exceptionally fugly oven mitt that night, which Stiles dubbed “The Cursed Hand.”  

As for the others, Kira had dated Scott briefly during one of his and Allison’s earlier off-phases, but they’d called it quits amicably. The kitsune was currently dating Jordan Parrish and Derek made sure to keep a fire extinguisher around. Liam was single after he and Hayden broke up and she moved away last year, Corey and Mason were still adorably together, and Peter was no doubt happily slutting it up across Beacon County and beyond. 

Malia wasn’t much interested in romance, but every once in a while she’d feel the urge to go hunt down some willing frat boy or open mic performance artist and drag him off to her studio for what Derek once overheard an astonished college student covered in hickeys call “the most terrifying, confusing, and hottest sex of my life.” When she answered her door he took one look at her smug, predatory face and decided he could go over how to do taxes another time.

Lydia and Jackson kept their medium-distance relationship going, her in Cambridge, MA (MIT) and him in New Haven, CT (Yale.) 

Derek missed having everyone home and hoped most, if not all of them, would be back for good within a few years. At least Erica and Boyd would return in a couple months. In the meantime they’d make it work.

<You know the drill> he messaged his Second. <Hold down the fort and let me know if anything happens. If you don’t hear from either me or Stiles twice a day, by noon (6:00pm tomorrow) and again by 10pm, call and if one of us doesn’t respond within the hour inform Peter and the Sheriff first, then the others if need be.>  

<Will do> Isaac replied. 

<And see if you can track down Malia if you have the time.> 

<Okay. By the way, the scarf is done. It’s on the couch upstairs.>

 <Thank you.> 

<You’re welcome. winky face, smirking face, 2 guys with a heart between them, eggplant, peach, halo face emoji.>

Goddamn sassy betas.

Derek managed to get them on the road heading out of Beacon Hills at exactly 1:57pm due to the sheer force of of his glare and grumpy eyebrows alone. He’d herded Stiles out of his house at 1:35 sharp, threw his crap next to his own duffel bag in the trunk of his car, and followed him to the loft. He shoved open the passenger door as soon as the Jeep was parked and locked and the teenager promptly jogged over, tripped on the door sill and half-fell into the seat. Derek silently shook his head at the clumsy human, waiting until he fastened his seat belt while pointedly ignoring him, then peeled out of there like a bat out of hell. 

They were taking the Camaro because there was absolutely no goddamn way that Derek was going to trust Roscoe for more than 5 miles at a time and even that was pushing it these days. Maybe if he got Stiles a trip to the mechanic for his next birthday he would actually accept someone else getting it fixed for him. The guy was stubborn as a mule.

Isaac had asked to borrow it while they were away for some errands involving the carrying of large objects and Stiles had reluctantly agreed. The loft was closer both to his BCCC campus and the highway, so he was planning to leave Roscoe there anyway so that he could go straight to school if they were running late on the way back. The beta and the Spark might not be the best of friends and seemed to live for getting on each others nerves, but they had an understanding about the important things and Stiles actually trusted Isaac to be careful with his baby. The extra set of keys were already inside, kept in its designated place so that Stiles would never lose both of them (again.)

They made good time, only stopping once for around 20 minutes to pee, get gas, stretch their legs, and load up on snacks and caffeine. The cottage was close to the Upper Klamath Lake, which according to Stiles was “the largest body of fresh water in Oregon.” Upon arrival they immediately checked the perimeter of the cabin and then cleared the rooms before bringing their stuff inside. Stiles had only just recently begun to learn about his birthright, but he knew enough to feel for magical residue and said that he didn’t sense anything unusual so far. 

Deaton was teaching him the basics, including how to create simple wards for warning and protection, which he quickly drew on the front door and on trees at 4 points around the property as Derek stood guard. Stiles would eventually need another mentor to truly develop and master his abilities, but he was already so proud and excited to be able to help the pack beyond whacking things with a baseball bat, being bait, and using Google-Fu. Or, in one memorable instance, annoying and confounding a trio of hobgoblins so much that they left the city. 

The cabin-style cottage had a larger bedroom with a queen sized bed, a smaller bedroom that was set up as an office, and a modern kitchen with granite counters, a gas stove/oven, and an island with stools. There was an adjustable 4-6 person table in the dining area, a couple of closets, a mud room with a stacked washer & dryer set and a chest freezer, and a bathroom boasting a 2 person clawfoot tub, a shower with two rainfall shower heads, and a toilet with a bidet attachment (oooh, fancy!) 

The living room had an oversized dark beige sectional couch, a coffee table with a few art books, a mid sized smart tv equipped with a blu-ray player and a few gaming consoles, and shelves with an assortment of novels, memoirs and biographies, board games, movies, and video games. Needless to say, they were set.

Surprisingly there were not one but two fireplaces as well. Across from the couch and below the mounted tv was a larger, remote controlled gas powered one for quick and efficient heating. The right side of the living room still had the smaller, original wood burning fireplace which would be safe for cooking and was able to provide that traditional ambience of crackling wood and campfire smells if so desired. Taking up much of the space between them was a large, tan plush rug that looked made for lying on.

Outside there was a front porch with a bench swing and around the back there were two picnic tables, a Traeger grill, and a hot tub. Derek was impressed and based on the grin plastered on the younger man’s face so was Stiles.

After settling in and seeing what was in the fridge, pantry, and chest freezer (all the things, apparently) they went out to investigate the trail towards the lake. Stiles brought a messenger bag with a few amplifying objects to help his spark with detection and protection, a couple books on fae creatures, and some binding elements such as iron, salt, mistletoe, and mountain ash. Derek made and packed 4 ham and cheese sandwiches in his backpack along with some trail mix, two insulated liter sized water bottles, a flashlight, digging tools, and…the scarf. It was a beautiful piece of work, the colors rich and complimentary and so fitting for his mate packmate. 

Derek had actually worn it to bed last night and then around the loft this morning while getting ready until it was time to get Stiles. He’d made absolutely sure that Isaac had already left for the day before leaving his room because he’d have never heard the end of it if the beta had seen him with it. He could just imagine the embarrassing pictures with even worse captions on Instagram.

Now the plan was to wait until it got cooler in the evening to give it to Stiles and then the human would be wrapped in his scent. For his safety of course. To make sure any shifters or other supernatural beings knew that he was under the protection of an Alpha wolf. Anything else, like the surely intoxicating blending of scents was just a bonus. Hurry up and go down, sun!

They began by walking together in what was more or less a widening spiral that kept the trail in the center, but circled out to either side through the trees. Derek tried to pick up any scents, sounds, or movements while Stiles reached out with his magic, occasionally focusing so much that he misstepped, tripped or nearly ran into one obstacle or another while shuffling through the fallen leaves. 

After the third time he tugged the far-eyed Spark around a log he joked that Stiles should learn to levitate, but then he’d just run into branches instead.

When they got down by the lake Stiles paused to watch the sun slide below the horizon and Derek figured it was a good a time as any. He opened the backpack and pulled out their water bottles, unable to resist honing in on the motion of the human’s throat as he swallowed in the pink-orange light. He wanted so badly to rest his fingertips there, brush them over that unmarked skin.

Right.

He took a few swigs from his own bottle and set it down, reaching back into the bag and pulling out the carefully folded scarf. 

“Oh hey, this is for you,” Derek said as if he just now remembered that he had it.

Stiles sputtered a bit as he turned in surprise, looking down to where he was being nudged with the bundle of fabric. He quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, closing and setting down the container before reaching for the scarf.

“For me?” he asked curiously, unfurling it and running his fingers over the pattern.

“Yeah.”

There were at least a half a dozen questions in Stiles’ eyes when he lifted his head again, but instead of voicing them he just made a little humming noise and looked it over again, his scent going warm and sweet with happiness.

“Thanks, man” he said softly.

Derek ducked his head. “You’re welcome.”

Stiles lowered his hood and wound the colorful wool around himself, securing it with a loose knot. Derek coughed to hide the rumble starting in his chest when his scent on the scarf was starting to blend with Stiles’, seeping into into his skin. He drank some more water and got himself together, continuing to be immensely pleased. Mission accomplished.

They stayed out for a few hours after dark thanks to a ring that gave Stiles enhanced night vision, making sure to get back into reliable cell range by 10:00pm to make contact with Issac. There were only a few dead zones or spots with just one bar of service thankfully and they’d checked every 15 minutes or so to give them an idea of how far and how long it’d take to get out of them. It was just after 11:00pm by the time they got back to the cabin, around 5 hours of looking for signs of supernatural activity with nothing out of the ordinary so far.

It’d been a long day for both of them and the yawn Stiles let out was contagious. It wasn’t time to turn in yet though, the miles of hiking burning through the sandwiches and trail mix from a few hours ago. 

Stiles had shown interest in the fireplaces earlier, so Derek figured he’d turn on the gas one for a bit to warm up the place while he got the other one going for snacks. He saw the Spark jump out of the corner of his eye when the flames suddenly foomfed to life and he grinned to himself, turning the fan on medium. Going over to the stack of wood near the traditional one, he began arranging hunks of it interspersed with kindling and then started it with a wand lighter. It wasn’t long before it spread, the wood charring and crackling, and he could feel Stiles’ eyes on his back.

When he turned the Spark was watching him with a curious and concerned expression, his head slightly tilted like a wolf. Derek cleared his throat.

“For a long time I couldn’t…but I…it’s not the same.” 

This was clean burning oak and birch, the stuff of happy outdoorsy memories, not stained wood mixed with the scent of burnt plastic and fabric, scorched metal and chemicals. He shrugged. 

“It smells different. We…we used to go camping or have bonfires at celebrations…”

A warm hand rested on his shoulder and he realized that his own were clenched into fists. He took a deep breath, inhaling the unique and comforting scent of Stiles and met his eyes. “I didn’t want that to be yet another thing ruined so I worked on it,” Derek whispered. “It’s okay now.”

Stiles squeezed where he was holding and leaned in for a quick side hug before nodding and heading into the kitchen. Derek pressed the off button on the remote. 

They cooked bratwurst and then marshmallows over the fire for s’mores, teasing each other when one of Stiles’ melted right off the roasting fork and then Derek managed to turn a poofy white confection into charcoal. They washed it down with hard apple cider and then read for a while taking over opposite sides of the sectional in companionable silence, him with an old Popular Mechanics magazine from the bookshelf and Stiles with one of his quote unquote “Spark Notes.”

It was around 1:00am when sleep crept up on them again, Derek the one to start yawning this time. He got up and stretched, talking their dishes and utensils to the sink while Stiles put out the fire. (“It’s been a while, but I’ve gone camping too,” he retorted when Derek looked at him skeptically.)

They did a last brief check outside around the cabin — finding nothing of note again — and then came back to get ready for bed. 

Oh right, bed. As in singular. 

There’d been a handful of times over the years when the two of them ended up sleeping — or more accurately, at least one of them ended up passing out — together, but it had always been unintentional and there’d usually been other people around as well. Not just…getting into bed together. He could feel himself blush at the thought, but thankfully Stiles was unaware in the bathroom. By the time he came out all minty fresh Derek was leaning casually against the doorframe. 

“You go ahead and take the bed, I’ll sleep out here,” he said, grabbing his night clothes and toiletries to take his turn bathroom. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Nope, I’ll take the couch. You drove and I can sleep anywhere as long as I have my pillow.” The Spark grabbed the aforementioned fluffy object from on top of his stuff and hugged it to himself in a way that wasn’t at all adorable, no siree. “Besides this thing is pretty comfy,” he added, nudging an arm of sectional with his knee and then launching himself to flop over it and onto the cushions like a salmon leaping upstream.

Derek snorted and shook his head, opening his mouth to argue further. “I said I—“

“Nope, too late,” the grinning human cut in. “I’ve physically claimed this epic beigeness and anyway, I’m pretty sure the Alpha is supposed to get the nicest digs and all that.”

And there went his brain short circuiting again at Stiles saying the words “physically claimed” and “Alpha” in the same sentence, especially the latter in that joking, but somewhat suggestive tone. His closed his mouth and whirled around, muttering “Fine” over his shoulder as he made a hasty retreat. The sound of laughter trailed after him.

If he took a longer shower than intended, well, he could use some relaxation, okay? And the fan was still on, so between that and the strong, heavenly spray he wasn’t too concerned about certain sounds being overheard by weak human ears.

Stiles was fast asleep by the time he finished up and Derek paused to watch him fondly, finding himself jealous of the pillow under his head and the throw cushion clutched in his arms. Sinking onto the thick mattress and pulling up the green sheet and blanket he couldn’t say if he was more relieved or disappointed that Stiles didn’t suggest sharing.

Derek woke up first, passing by the couch and having to hold back laughter so as to not wake up the oddly sprawled human. That could not possibly be comfortable and yet Stiles remained fast asleep with one leg extended up a back cushion and the other bent beneath it. He had an arm dangling off the side, hand resting on the floor, and the other forearm thrown diagonally across the right side of his head, somewhat squashing his face between it and his bicep. This was causing him to snore lightly, mouth open with a hint of drool on his cheek. 

Derek quietly heated water, removing the lid off of the kettle before it could start to make noise. He choose some loose leaf spiced orange tea to put in the infuser. It’d been quite some time since he last made tea this way, having only some bags of mint, ginger lemon, and Earl Grey at home which he usually just tossed in a mug and put in the microwave when he wasn’t making coffee. He was looking forward to trying the selection of beans too, but grinding them would be quite loud so he would wait until Stiles got up.

Mug in hand Derek slipped outside to check the warded perimeter and again found nothing out of place. There was one moment where he'd stilled when a sudden gust of cool wind sent leaves swirling wildly around him, but it was just the capricious fall weather. Back inside, he read a naturalist’s autobiography from one of the bookshelves for an hour or so and then started making breakfast.

After slicing some peaches he began preparing a pot of old fashioned oatmeal with water and a pinch of salt. While that was cooking he put bacon on to fry and it wasn’t long before he heard the telltale signs of a semi-conscious Stiles. Smiling, he added milk, brown sugar, maple syrup, and sliced almonds to the oatmeal and covered it, leaving it on warm. 

By the time the groggy Spark managed to get himself upright, stumbled to the bathroom, and then came grumbling into the kitchen a mug of French press coffee was on the counter waiting for his grabby hands. 

“Thanks,” he said after a couple sips with a blissful expression on his squinty face. 

“You’re welcome. Food is ready if you want some.”

Stiles shot him an incredulous look as if he were crazy to suggest he might not. Derek snorted and took it as a compliment. 

He’d only recently gotten back into cooking after years of mostly subsisting on noodles, sandwiches, and protein shakes. It had just seemed pointless for a while, a waste of time when he didn’t care what the source of calories were that fueled him as long as he could function. Why bother when the world was ashes in his mouth? When he felt he didn’t deserve those comforts or found it too painful to be reminded of better times, the memories that certain smells and tastes would conjure. 

But he was trying to hold onto the good that was and to make new memories. Cooking for his pack made him feel useful in a tangible way. Providing like an Alpha should. Not only training and discipline, but comfort and nourishment too. And it was something he simply enjoyed. Trying different recipes, tweaking and perfecting old ones. It calmed him. 

Derek chopped half of the bacon strips to put on top of their bowls of oatmeal, sweet and salty-savory just like his paternal grandmother used to make it. The rest he placed on a plate with peaches and set between them. 

Once the coffee kicked in Stiles was animated again, thinking up ways to entice or summon the supernatural creature, assuming it was still around. They planned to go out on another hike after taking it easy for an hour or so. Neither of them sensed any malevolent entities then, so they decided to split up a bit to cover more ground while remaining in earshot just in case. He reminded Stiles to watch where he was going when the teen headed off into the forest, Derek going down to walk parallel on the lakeshore.

When Stiles cried out in pain Derek’s heart leapt into his throat. Was there something out here after all and did it just attack his mate? He ran toward the sound as fast as he could, claws and fangs out and ready to tear into any hostile creature who dared to hurt the emissary-in-training. They hadn’t gone far from each other so less than a minute later he came skidding to a halt in front of the younger man who was currently half sitting and half sprawled on the ground, wincing and holding his right leg out straight, resting it on his left leg. 

Derek looked all around and honed in on his hearing and sense of smell for signs of another presence even as he started talking to Stiles, who was attempting to get up.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

The human groaned and cursed before settling back and sighing heavily. 

“Just me and my clumsiness. I tripped on a root and and then caught myself by stepping in a gopher hole or something. Landed wrong. I think it’s sprained, not broken, but it still hurts like a bitch.”

Derek stopped scanning for threats and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Stiles might be the worse for wear, but he was okay. Would be okay. He let his beta shift melt away and closed his still red eyes.

“Der? Hey, what’s wrong? You’re, um, shaking dude…”

What? He looked down at himself and he was indeed trembling, especially his hands. Derek swallowed.

“Don’t call me ‘dude,’” he grumped quietly for old time’s sake. He crouched down and looked Stiles over, pausing to take in the scarf around his neck and the scent of them, and wondered if he was really going to do this. 

If not now, then when? If something terrible had happened what would you regret more? Bright brown eyes watched him curiously, waiting for him to continue. He took a deep breath.

“I thought something had happened to you. That you were hurt...“ Stiles looked down at his now impressively swollen ankle and then back at him, raising an eyebrow. Derek smirked and huffed, the moment of levity releasing some of his tension. 

“That you had been attacked, he clarified.” Stiles nodded, but still appeared a bit puzzled. Here goes.

“And I…Stiles, if anything happened to you…I couldn’t bear it.”

The scents of happiness and surprise overtook the bitterness of pain and the nineteen year old smiled at him affectionately. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Don’t worry, you won’t have to learn how to navigate web forums or need to get your own subscription to JSTOR or anything—“

“No, that’s not…” Derek growled in frustration. He had been so adamant about not showing his feelings — and promising a world of hurt to any of the young wolves who figured it out should they let it spill — that Stiles truly had no idea what he thought of him. That and the human’s self-esteem issues, which he tried to hide behind sarcasm and self-deprecating laughter that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Fuck it. Derek reached out and placed a palm against Stiles’ jaw and cheek. The younger man inhaled sharply through his nose and stilled.

“If anything happened to you, specifically, I couldn’t bear it. You’re very important to me, Stiles. And I’m sorry for not making that clear.”

Stiles licked his lips nervously, eyes searching Derek’s face.

“Uh, do you mean because I’m your packmate or…?”

“Or.”

There was a soft sound that was surprise and disbelief and longing all at once. Derek wanted to hear all of Stiles’ noises. He ran his thumb across the soft skin and was rewarded with a whimper as the teen leaned into his hand. Derek then leaned toward him.

Their first kiss was was slow and sweet, reassuring and exploratory. They rested their foreheads together breathing each others air. 

“Wow,” Stiles whispered.

“Mmhmm,” he agreed.

Then the human went to adjust his position and hissed in pain. Oh right. 

“Let’s get you back,” Derek said, rising to his feet and then carefully helping Stiles up without putting weight on his injured ankle. The stubborn youth tried awkwardly hopping while braced against him, but after a couple minutes of the very slow going, obviously tiring, and all-around ridiculous movement Derek had enough and swooped a squawking Stiles up into a bridal carry.

“Hey, I could make it just fine on—!” 

He shot the Stiles a flat look and he huffed, crossing his arms and turning away with flushing cheeks. Derek’s nostrils flared as musky-sweet arousal soon overtook the sour-salt burn of embarrassment. The action wasn’t missed and those cheeks grew redder still as did the strength of both scents and he grinned, hefting him higher and more firmly against his body. 

Derek already knew that Stiles liked it when he manhandled him. He had both tried to avoid it as much as possible and did so deliberately at different points in times, which now that he thought of it was kind of an asshole thing to do. The thing was that he knew the human was attracted to him, but he hadn’t realized there were serious feelings on his end too. Derek sighed. A mess. 

A while later he could feel Stiles staring at him and he turned to look at him inquisitively.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just wondering if I actually hit my head when I fell and this is all just a trauma-induced hallucination.” Derek laughed and brought his lips to Stiles’. “Hmm, still not sure, better try that again.” A few minutes went by in silence before he continued. “But seriously, I can’t believe this is happening. I mean, you used to hate me and now—“

“I never hated you,” Derek interrupted. 

“Not even when I helped get you arrested?”

“Not even then. Frustrated and annoyed by you, definitely. Angry at, for sure. But hate you? Never. You’re my—“ he cut off when he realized what he was about to say. Despite his truly extraordinary levels of denial at the time he knew when they first met that the trespassing teenager was his mate. It was surely too early to talk about all that, though. He didn’t want to freak out the human, who was of course now observing him with a sharpened gaze.

“I’m your what?”

“My soon-to-be emissary who should really pay more attention to where he’s going in the future,” he replied with a shit-eating grin. Stiles narrowed his eyes. Derek knew better than to expect him to drop the matter, but hopefully some deflecting would buy him time. “Oh, and what was it that you called me once? ‘Issues City’?”

Stiles cringed in his arms.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, Der. I didn’t mean anything by—“

“I know,” he replied, grinning and rolling his eyes. “And, it’s not like you were wrong.”

Stiles giggled. “True. And obviously, I’m right there myself in the yurt next to yours.”

“Why would we be living in yurts? Those are for camping and stuff or, you know, actual  nomadic people. Not cities.”

“I dunno dude, cuz they're cool and it’s fun to say? Step out of your box. Use your imagination. Live a little—”

“In our imaginary city,” he deadpanned.

“Yes, Derek! My yurt...” Stiles paused, the tip of his tongue adorably poking out the side of his mouth as he thought. “Has a moat full of Baja Blast and is guarded by an army of angry quokkas.”

“Well my yurt is—“

He was suddenly holding an armful of convulsively laughing teenager and he raised his eyebrows, shaking his head when it subsided only after a whined “Oww.” A few moments later Stiles was mocking him, repeating “my yurt” with an exaggerated seriousness of voice and facial expressions, setting himself off again with the same results.

“Are you done?” Derek asked, trying to keep a straight face.

The impish youth nodded, attempting to portray the very picture of innocence.

“My…” Stiles leaned ever so slightly forward and Derek narrowed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Collapsableportablecirculardwelling is—” 

This time they both dissolved into laughter, Derek sliding his hand further down to brace the injured leg so it wouldn’t be jostled too much.

When they returned Stiles removed his shoes, hoodie, and the scarf, uncharacteristically careful with the latter by taking a moment to hang it over a chair instead of just tossing it aside. He then dug around in his bag and pulled out a bottle wrapped in a runed token with relief. 

“I should’ve brought this when we went out in case of—“

“You?” 

He chuckled as Stiles glared at him. Just because he finally made his feelings (well, some of them) known didn’t mean he was going to stop giving the younger man shit. 

The Spark swallowed a dropper full of the purple liquid and Derek couldn’t help watching the movement of his Adam’s apple on the once more uncovered throat. He forced himself to stop staring and listened to Stiles explain how it sped up the healing of at least non-severe injuries to near werewolf levels. Apparently it also used a good deal of energy because shortly after he was fast asleep on the couch and once again in an awkward position. Derek shook his head fondly and gently straightened out his neck and arranged his limbs so that he wouldn’t wake up so cricked that he’d have to take the purple stuff again. 

He busied himself going through the impressively stocked fridge, freezer, and pantry again and figured out what he wanted to make for dinner. For Stiles. Filling, nutritious, comforting and seasonal foods that also served to show what he could make, how he could provide, if he made the effort. 

Brown stewed turkey wings cooked low and slow, which he learned from his mother who was herself taught by a Jamaican friend in college. He roasted butternut squash and sweet potato, the later of which he used to make a creamy soup with caramelized red onion, garlic, sage, and an intriguing smelling curry blend he found called rogan josh, but held off on the blending for now. Then came the baking: a simple, crusty loaf of bread and ginger chocolate chip cookies. 

There were mulling spices and red wine so he heated some on the stove and lightly sweetened it with honey. For a cold beverage he put some of the delicious fresh pressed honeycrisp apple juice into a carafe with optional bourbon and cardamom bitters on the side. By the time he was preparing a spinach salad with kale, walnuts, and apple with an orange vinaigrette Sleeping Beauty was beginning to stir from his slumber. 

“Mmm, something smells amazing," Stiles mumbled sleepily before sitting up and stretching his arms above his head. Derek was instantly drawn to the strip of belly revealed when his shirt rode up and he swallowed. When he looked up Stiles was watching him, head slightly tilted and a rosiness to his cheeks. 

"Um, d-dinner's ready," he stammered, turning abruptly to start dishing things up as the scents of amusement and low grade arousal wafted over to him. 

This evening was cooler than the last so they ate snuggled up in blankets sitting in front of the remote controlled fireplace on the thick, fluffy rug. It was indeed even more comfortable than it looked. Stiles had the scarf on again and Derek couldn't help glancing over repeatedly, pleased to see his mate wearing his gift, smelling more like his, and enjoying the meal he prepared for him. 

"God Derek, you need to keep cooking like this when we get back. At least sometimes. I'm begging you," Stiles said, scraping the remaining bits together and moaning obscenely as he ate the last bite. 

Derek felt his eyes flash red and he could just make out Stiles' pupils dilating in the flickering glow of the firelight. The human took a shaky breath and scooted over to him, gaze falling to his mouth and up again. Derek turned further and wrapped his arms around him, drawing Stiles close and sinking his face against that them scented throat, inhaling deeply. 

A hand grasped the back of his head and then legs were scrambling as Stiles awkwardly climbed into his lap to straddle him, rubbing against him and whispering, “Please.”  

Derek lifted his head and caught those soft, parted lips that he’d dreamt of for so long, pressing against them and then sucking the lower before slipping his tongue inside. Stiles made a desperate, needy sound and he smiled, deepening the kiss.

He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the floor to set Stiles down below him and laid between his legs, rutting against him while continuing to his plunder his mouth.

“Off,” Stiles gasped when they came up for air, tugging at his shirt. Derek rose up to obey, pulling it off with a single motion and not above flexing when the younger man paused to stare. Smiling, he grasped a hesitant hand and brought it to his chest to assure Stiles that he was allowed to feel. The other soon joined and slender fingers roamed over him in tandem and separately in turns, up to his shoulders and upper arms and along his sides then across his twitching abdomen. 

“You’re so gorgeous, Derek,” Stiles said quietly. 

He couldn’t help blushing. Many people found him attractive, generally to his chagrin, but no one  else ever sounded like that. Like he was precious and beautiful, not just an object to be imposed on.

After another minute or so of exploring, the human started wiggling to remove his own clothes and Derek splayed a hand on his half-bared belly.

“Let me,” he said huskily. Stiles nodded and sank back against the rug, raising his arms above his head.

Derek unwrapped his mate like the gift that he was, starting with unwinding the scarf. He put it aside, his other palm running over that pale column possessively, and then came the shirt, pushed up and off to expose lean muscle. Unable to resist anymore he dove to taste and mark at last, latching onto Stiles’ throat to nibble and suck from one side to the other. 

Working his way down over Stiles’ left clavicle, Derek pressed an ear directly over his rapidly beating heart for several moments before proceeding to mouth at a raised nipple, earning a light gasp. Tweaking the other between his fingertips, he then switched to soothe it with his tongue. 

When he moved toward his belly button, scruff brushing lightly against the skin, Stiles jolted up part way and giggled. Derek joined in the laughter and seeing those ever moving hands fly up to where he was ticklish gave him an idea. Picking up the scarf and holding it taut between his upturned palms he looked down at the curious youth with a hint of red in his stare.

“Can I?”

Stiles dropped his gaze to the length of fabric, swallowing as understanding bloomed in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

He bound his mate’s wrists together with one end and then looped the middle twice around a leg of the coffee table before wrapping the other end around the first and securing it with a snug knot. The ties were loose enough to not damage the material and they could be worked out of with a bit of effort, but it would serve as a reminder and stay any errant movements.  

Slowly, he divested Stiles of his pants, his heart racing when Derek bent down to nuzzle at the bulge in his red boxer briefs and breathed in his deepening arousal before pulling those off as well. 

“Beautiful,” Derek said, leaning back to survey the enthralling sight before him. The resultant all over blush made him even more lovely. 

He nudged strong yet supple thighs further apart and made himself comfortable between them, grasping Stiles’ cock in his left hand as he reached to fondle his balls with the right and took one into his mouth. Palming the underside of his thighs, Derek then pushed up to expose his prize, lapping over his mate’s pretty hole. 

Spurred on by breathy expletives, he delved and teased until the human was a writhing, whimpering mess, easing off and squeezing at the base of his cock when Stiles got close. Derek set a knee over his shoulder and licked up and around the shaft, finally engulfing the head and sinking down down down and up again, hollowing his cheeks. He popped off momentarily to let saliva flow into Stiles’ cleft, coating his thumb and circling it over the rim as he got back to work and met dazed whisky colored eyes. 

When Stiles approached his peak again Derek pressed the thick digit through his tight entrance, groaning at the feel of him as he found and rubbed against his prostate. Moments later Stiles was crying out and coming down his throat and he was determined not to lose a single drop. Derek didn’t release him until he was sure he’d swallowed it all, pulling off the spent member and licking the tip for good measure, still continuing to finger the trembling Spark.

“Lube…my bag,” Stiles said, panting.

Derek withdrew and got up, making a stop to the bathroom and returning with some damp cloths before retrieving the bottle from the duffle and grabbing a throw cushion from the couch.

“I wasn’t being…presumptuous,” Stiles suddenly blurted, trying to emphasize with his hands before remembering he was restrained. “I use it, you know, myself when—“

“Stiles, relax. I’m very glad you brought some.” He set the stuff down on the coffee table. “Besides, apparently you would’ve been right to be.” Derek smirked as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down and stepping out of them.

“God, I knew it. Of course you go commando,” Stiles whined, eyes wide while taking him in. 

He flashed a predatory grin.

“Only sometimes, but I’ll keep your approval in mind.”

Derek took hold of his rock hard erection and stroked himself lazily, enjoying the way Stiles watched him, biting that plumped lower lip as he advanced toward him. He wanted to feel them wrapped around his cock so he set himself over the youth and got down to straddle his chest. Stiles gasped and licked his lips and Derek gently gripped his face, running a thumb over his cheek.

“Okay?” he asked.

Stiles nodded enthusiastically and croaked, “Yeah.” 

He opened his mouth and Derek leaned forward, running the tip over those cupid’s bow lips and sighing in pleasure as he finally entered that welcoming wet heat. Stiles began to bob and suck as well as he could in that position as Derek met his eyes, caressing the side of his face with the back of his right hand. 

How did he ever get so goddamn lucky? 

Truth be told, he assumed that Stiles would’ve been long gone by now and he hadn't planned to do — to say — anything to hold him back, but the stubborn young man stayed and now here they were and if he wasn't literally being blown this very instant he wouldn't have believed. Hell, it still felt like a dream. 

He blinked as he realized that encompassing warmth had pulled away, tongue flicking over him playfully instead, and he refocused to see his mate's amused expression. 

"You alright there, big guy?" 

"Yeah, sorry,” he murmured, embarrassed by his distraction and hoping Stiles didn’t think he’d been anything less than wonderful. “I just…I can't believe I get to have you. I never expect—” 

“Well, get used to it, Alpha,” the mischievous human interjected, delighting his wolf and drawing out a possessive rumble. “Now come down here and kiss me and then fuck my face.”

Derek’s jaw fell open even as Stiles flushed at his own brazen command yet refused to look away. He hurried to comply, tasting traces of himself as their mouths slotted together, soft and slow and deep. When they came up for air Derek got back into position, eyes dark with desire,  but hesitant.

“Go ahead, Der,” Stiles said, seductively licking his lips. “I want you to and I know you want to, don’t even front. Plus, it’ll give my neck a break,” he added, smirking before opening up wide.

Derek chuckled and slide a hand through Stiles’ growing hair and around to the back, holding him in place as he shifted forward and leaned on his other hand as he fed his cock to the eager Spark. His hips started jerking as soon as those lips stretched tight around him and he groaned as he began to thrust in earnest, finding a rhythm. He was wasn’t sure how experienced the younger man was so he did his best to stop shy of choking him. 

The signs of his mate’s enjoyment at being used so, the half-lidded gaze and the pleasant vibrations from his muffled moans, only served to bring Derek closer to the edge. As amazing as it would be to come in that lovely mouth though, he wanted to fuck Stiles even more, so he would save that for another time. Many many other times if he had his way.

Stiles pouted when he withdrew and moved back, but began jiggling a foot in anticipation once he reached for the lube. Derek pressed two slippery fingers inside where his tongue and thumb had been not long before, pumping and twisting and scissoring. He slipped in a third, growling at the sight of Stiles rocking onto him, his cock erect and leaking once more. 

With apologies Derek brought his hand away to slick himself up, promising his mate that he was about to give him what he needed. He settled over Stiles and between his spread legs, leaning down for a sloppy kiss before drawing back enough to push his knees up. When Derek had him bent almost in half he pressed the tip of his cock against the teen’s fluttering hole and waited for him to exhale.

There was a moment of resistance before the head popped through that tight ring and then he was plunging slow and steady into Stiles’ hot channel. Derek put a palm to his hip to drain his discomfort and he felt the younger man relax as he bottomed out. Holding still, he ignored the urge to thrust fast and hard so that his mate could get used to him. 

When Stiles indicated that he was ready Derek started off with short, gentle strokes that gradually increased in intensity, dragging over that special bundle of nerves and making the Spark close his eyes in pleasure. Capturing those parted lips, he used his tongue in time with the snap of his hips, wanting to be inside his mate in every way possible.

Derek broke the kiss and reached above them to tug open the knot and loosen the loops of the scarf so that Stiles could slip free. He’d greatly enjoyed their evening playing with it — the trust, vulnerability, and submission —  but now he needed something more, needed to feel his mate’s touch. 

As soon as the teen had stretched and shaken out his arms they were wrapped around his waist and upper back, the hand of the latter sliding up to burrow in his hair as Stiles rocked up to meet every thrust and chanted his name. Derek held him close, their movements becoming a slow, deep fully body grind as they resumed kissing like they could only breathe the other’s air. Pressed flush together until he didn’t know where he ended and Stiles began, their scents no longer just their own, but imbued with them.

Stiles’ orgasm took them both by surprise, the human crying out and digging blunt fingernails into his shoulders as liquid pulsed between them and he clenched rhythmically around Derek’s cock, taking him over the edge as well. He buried his face in the cast off blankets to muffle his roar as he filled Stiles with his essence, already longing to do it again when they separated at last and he floated euphoric between wakefulness and sleep.

“So, I’m your mate, huh?” 

Derek’s eyes flew open some indeterminate amount of time later to find Stiles watching him with a wry smile.

“C’mon dude, you can’t be surprised I figured it out. ‘I can’t hate you, you’re my dot dot dot,’” the human mimicked, giving him a pointed look. “I’m only mad I didn’t see it earlier. I chalked up all the lurking, sorry, ‘checking in’ by my house to me being a vulnerable human and stuff.” Stiles snorted at his stunned expression. 

“I have wards, duh. And I made them so that I basically get a daily proximity report for non-hostile activity around the house just in case there’s still something I should know about,” he explained, shrugging. Derek cringed and Stiles patted him on the shoulder, squeezing  before continuing. “Or maybe it was something you did with all your packmates, I never asked.” 

There was a hint of something — anxiety? insecurity? — that led him to think that the Spark hadn’t wanted to know for sure that it was the same with everyone. Or to learn that he was being treated differently, but not for reasons he wanted. So he just didn’t in order to be able to maybe imagine sometimes… 

Derek understood perfectly, his heart aching for his mate who’d apparently been doing his own dance of pining and avoidance. How very fitting and silly of them.

“But add in the scarf,” Stiles continued — reaching across him to grab it and drape it over himself, fingers tracing its patterns lovingly — “and the sniffing and looks and providing since we’ve been here and well, I finally put 2 and 2 together. I might be fairly oblivious, but you, Mr. Wolf, are not subtle.”

Derek barked a laugh and grinned, unable to be annoyed at his pushy instinctual side when this was the outcome.

“Yes, you’re my clever, ridiculous mate.” 

“Sweet.”

The subsequent reflective silence lasted approximately 37 seconds.

“Sooo…do you have a knot?” 

Derek groaned and flopped onto his back, closing his eyes. He tried not to giggle when Stiles began poking him in the shoulder, complaining that he had a right to know about things which may or may not make an appearance in his ass. Sighing, he turned back over. 

“After the mating is complete, apparently.”

“Seems pretty complete to me,” Stiles joked, wagging his eyebrows. Derek rolled his eyes. 

“I suppose it’s time to borrow those books from Peter for you. The short version is, well, there has to be certain…intentions and behaviors and then a mating bite with my wolf teeth if—if you decide you want it someday and—“

“When,”  Stiles emphasized, matter-of-factly.

“When,” he repeated with a smile, pulling his mate close and nuzzling him to revel in their combined scents. 

The conversation continued, astute inquiries and humorous asides becoming intermittent murmurs until Stiles drifted off and he soon followed, lulled by the sound of his mate’s breathing.

Unsurprisingly, Derek woke first again and laid there for a good 15-20 minutes just watching Stiles sleep. Taking in the sight of him so soft and disheveled, beautiful and all his. His mate. When the desire to touch and taste won out over his contentment to observe, he made his way under the blanket haphazardly covering the human to part his thighs just enough to suckle at his dormant cock.

He’d mentioned last night how intense his cravings for his mate would be, especially this first month, now that they’d slept together. Stiles had grinned smugly and given him permission to have his way with him unless he stated otherwise.

Derek savored the evidence of arousal growing on his tongue and began to work slowly up and down the hardening shaft, coaxing the human back into consciousness. 

“Well, hello there,” Stiles mumbled, petting his head with a smile in his voice. 

In response, Derek redoubled his efforts and those slender fingers curled, tugging at his hair, and he moaned in approval. He encouraged Stiles to thrust upward in time with his movements, playing with his balls and then pressing behind them until he was rewarded with cries of pleasure and swallowed down his warm release. 

There was still no sign of any supernatural activity later that morning, fae or otherwise, as they reported again to Isaac. Whatever mystery being (or human prankster) had been there before had seemingly moved on, but they figured they might as well enjoy one more lazy day and cozy night alone together. Stiles fired up the grill that evening and it was Derek’s turn to be provided for and impressed by his mate’s cooking. They had filet mignon kebabs with zucchini and red onion accompanied by salted foil wrapped baked potatoes served with sour cream, chives, and smoked paprika. 

After one last walk around the property and down to the lake and back Derek got the whirlpool going and they blissed out soaking in the hot, turbulent water. The noises Stiles let out as the tension in his body dissipated, sliding down in the seat until his head was thrown back against the edge and his throat on full display, had Derek promptly wedged between his legs, sucking new bruises between yesterday’s blooms and grinding against him. 

He wasn’t about to attempt penetration in the water, but had another tantalizing idea in mind. Derek hauled Stiles up and turned him around before carefully placing him down with his torso on the surrounding deck and his legs and and ass hanging over the side. All but ripping off his trunks, Derek knelt back on the seat in the hot tub and spread his cheeks, eating him out with abandon until Stiles climaxed untouched with a guttural moan that he vowed to wring from him again.

Then he got out and carried his mate inside over his shoulder, snagging the bottle of lube from the living room and heading to christen the bedroom. Derek set the loose limbed teen onto the mattress on his belly and propped his hips up with a pillow. Impatiently, he slicked himself up and tested Stiles’ still ready hole with a couple of fingers before mounting him and sheathing his cock in a single motion. 

Derek pressed against his back and pinned him down, thrusting in long, deep strokes that made the teen gasp, increasing in speed until they grew erratic. His balls drew up and he howled as he planted his seed deep inside Stiles’ pliant body, remaining there until the human began to squirm. When he finally pulled away he dropped down beside his fuck drunk mate and peppered his smiling face with kisses. 

Stiles swatted his ass playfully and then grabbed hold of a cheek as they snuggled.

“Next time you can fuck me if you want,” he whispered, laughing at the surprised and hungry look on the teen’s face. 

They got up shortly before dawn and packed the last of their things, only bothering with a cursory shower because most of the time they had to spare was spent with Stiles’ kneeling on some extra towels in the stall with Derek’s cock in his insatiable mouth. 

Miraculously, they managed to leave at a quarter to 8:00 so Stiles could get back for his noon class barring any lengthy unexpected events. They passed the time with a combination of radio roulette, talking about whatever came to mind, and comfortable silence as Stiles read or gazed out the window and Derek had his thoughts, which were actually pleasant for once. How could they not be with his mate by his side?

To think that going on this random and apparently unnecessary, but strangely amazing trip had changed so much for the both of them. It couldn’t have been more perfect if it had been planned.

He glanced over and Stiles was idly playing with the end of his scarf with his right hand and Derek took his left, their fingers interlocking seamlessly like the red and amber yarn. It felt like they’d been doing this for ages. As if they belonged there, bound together. 

They did. 

Isaac:  

Recently returned from his morning English class, Isaac was getting a jump on the reading assignment when he heard the Camaro pull up outside.

He thew down the paperback and hurried over to the window to peer outside through a gap in the curtains. Derek and Stiles — who was wearing the scarf, yes! — were talking and standing rather close. He crossed his fingers. 

Moments later Derek took both of Stiles’ hands in his own and the human laughed, leaning in for a kiss. Isaac pumped his fist.

 “Hallelujah,” he whispered, turning away and picking up his phone feeling incredibly smug.

<They’re back. It worked.> 

<Thank fuck> replied Z-ter. <If I had to listen to one more longing sigh I would’ve gone and gotten myself killed a second time.>

Isaac snickered. <Dramatic much? But now we’re probably gonna have to put up with the loft smelling like a whorehouse.> 

<Like you’ve ever been to a whorehouse. Anyway, that would still be an improvement over the stench of sadness, frustration, and failure.>

<Lmao.>

<But speaking of your taste in music…>

<Oh, fuck you.>

<Sorry, this is Peter, not Scott or Allison.>

Blushing fiercely and mouth hanging open, he tried to think of a response, but the elder beta continued on like he didn’t just casually wreck him.

<I’m glad it was successful. Not that I had much doubt, it was my plan after all.>

Isaac huffed. <*Our* plan.>

Sure their resident zombie wolf had the associate with a decked out cabin who owed him a favor, but the idea to send them off somewhere together after Derek asked for the scarf —  which he then beautifully made, thank you very much — had been his.

<Tomayto, tomahto.>

He sent a middle finger emoji.

The Jeep struggled to life out front and Derek walked in shortly after with a big, stupid grin on his face. Isaac just looked at him and shook his head though he was secretly happy for his Alpha. God knew he deserved some joy in his life, even if it was with Stiles of all people. He only hoped that he didn’t have to see or hear any activities as well. Isaac would bet anything that Stiles was a screamer. 

Later that afternoon he received a message from the loud mouth himself.

<Glad to see my baby is still one piece.>

<I know your clumsy ass isn’t talking about breaking things.>

<Lol, fair. Hey, do you think you could knit me a beanie sometime? That scarf you made is pretty awesome, btw.>

Isaac sighed heavily. Of course.

<Hmm…for a price.>

<Well that sounds ominous.>

<Grinning devil emoji. Just a small favor at some point in the future. No first borns, I promise.>

<Uhhh…okaaay…>

<Deal. Now let me guess…gray with green. Perhaps with some blue and gold accents?>

<Holy shit, how did you know?!?>

<I’m psychic.>

Isaac rolled his eyes as he set the phone back on the side table. “Idiots, the both of them,” he muttered.

Writers:

3,000 words minimum using 3 or more prompts. This can be one fic or multiple works of at least 1,000 words each.

Combo writers: If you’re doing an art post or a standalone mix too then only the single work minimum is required (1,000 words.)

Artists:

Use 3 or more prompts to create visuals (drawings, gifsets, manips, vids/edits, moodboards, etc.) Can be one work or multiple.

Combo artists: If you’re doing a standalone mix too then only 1 prompt is required for art.

Mixers:

There are 2 options for standalone fanmixes:

Use 3 or more prompts to make a 18 track playlist. Arrange them however you like: grouped together in segments, whatever flows best, randomly, etc.

Make a playlist using 1 song for every prompt in any order.

If you’re attaching a playlist to a fanfic or art post:

Do whatever you want! But you get extra cool points for using 18 tracks and either including 1 or more songs for every prompt that you use or 3 songs for at least 1 prompt. (Or both!)

Put your playlists on Spotify, YouTube or both so I can listen to them. 😉

Click here for general content and posting info.

Equiknots Ao3 collections here.

The werewolf had been out of his mind at the time, drugged by a pretty face working for a rogue Calavera with some specialized strain of wolfsbane and made to go temporarily feral. An excuse for Hunters to “justifiably” attack the powerful Pack no doubt. Without his human side in charge to temper his ambitions — he was strong enough to become a Pack Alpha himself if he’d wanted to — the Left Hand of the Hales went looking for someone to Bite. His first Beta.

For some baffling reason he’d ended up going for Scott when he came across the veterinary student, who was entirely unsuitable for “the life,” walking with a date in the park. The terrified 21 year old managed to call Stiles just before he was actually attacked and when he was found by Isaac in some bushes soon after, bloody but healing, the Boss and Enforcer both knew exactly what was happening. 

Isaac had been turned without consent himself several months before, but that Alpha had meant it as punishment for some slight, thinking either Stiles would turn on the new wolf or be killed by him. Instead he restrained Isaac with his power, threw him in a basement room, and slapped a silence rune on it. Then he made a concealment token to keep the change in status under wraps. They quietly figured it out with help from Alpha Satomi Ito, an old friend of Stiles’ mother, and once the blue-eyed wolf had learned enough control they took care of that asshole themselves.    

It didn’t escape his notice that despite all of Scott’s issues with him following in his parents footsteps that it had been Stiles that he had called when his life was on the line. So it goes. They’d started growing apart after his mother was killed and the rift between them widened as they continued going through very different experiences. No matter how many times he tried to explain the concept of a power vacuum — that even if he, or previously his father, had wanted to run away from it all that more people would actually be hurt if they did so — Scott just couldn’t understand. 

And so Stiles never even considered trying to bring him into to fold or tell him about Isaac being a wolf too. That he could find a pack here or that there were even ways to stick around without one. He called up Satomi and she had him on the way to some sleepy college town in Virginia within a handful of days. 

Honestly, the whole situation was for the best for both of them. Scott could go be uncomplicated and enjoy his new lack of asthma with a laid back pack on the other side of the country and Stiles wouldn’t have to worry about him not being part of the Family, but possibly being targeted as an associate. There’d be no more sending anyone to babysit him from afar as he ambled about sketchy parts of Beacon City blissfully unaware of not being mugged either. 

And so here he was. The Hales had contacted him apologetically once they realized what had happened and to whom and he’d let them stew for a few days before responding.

The barest smirk tugged at his lips as he observed the Alpha Heir, Laura Hale, attempt to discreetly scent his emotions, her nostrils flaring slightly as she feigned engrossment with the large painting taking up much of the wall behind his side of the table. The imagery of the Crooked Forest in Nowe Czarnowo on a misty morning was both deeply meaningful for him and an interesting conversation piece for the relatively few guests allowed within these walls. It would likely be quite some time before those gathered here returned again, if ever.

His amusement increased at the wrinkle deepening between her brows when she picked up nothing at all, huffing and turning to side-eye the short red-headed woman speaking with her younger sister, Cora, at the other end of the room. As far as those outside the Inner Circle of the Family knew (or Great Eight as Erica insisted,) Lydia Martin was the Stilinski emissary and responsible for any of their mage craft.

Dearest Lydia was indeed their emissary, his representative in matters both supernatural and mundane. She did also possess magic, though the exact nature of her abilities — that she was a banshee — was yet another closely guarded secret. But it was Stiles himself that created their magical implements, set their wards and, when need be, used his significant abilities to eliminate their threats.

The only people who’d witnessed him in action, enraged and eyes shining the rich burgundy of venous blood, were his most trusted Family and the soon to be dispatched recipients of said power. (The occasional innocent bystander didn’t count because their memories of the event would be wiped clean. He wasn’t entirely amonster.) 

Aware of how requesting attendance by the entire Hale family, lowercase f, would seem an insultingly blatant trap he had sent a blood-spelled letter witnessed and effected by a Notary Mage. He, Isaac, and Lydia — the Head, the Hand, and the Voice of the Stilinski Family — had pricked their thumbs with the small ceremonial dagger and bled beside their signatures on the thick parchment, swearing that there'd be no violence against the Hales by them or those in their service, or with their foreknowledge, on pain of death. 

For a span of 7 hours, equally before and after the meeting’s start time of noon, they could not strike. Unless the Hales attacked first, of course. They weren’t idiots.

Stiles still hadn’t been sure that they would come though, perhaps insisting on meeting in neutral territory instead. He would’ve agreed to that if he had to, but this made things so much simpler. More contained and less prone to erupt in violence or involve outside parties.

The Stilinskis and Hales weren’t formal allies, but they weren’t enemies either. Some minor altercations between underlings aside they had no quarrel with each other, even cooperating when their interests aligned from time to time or giving a heads up about some mutual rival. 

The officiated blood-spell must’ve been enough for the Hale’s own emissary, Druid Alan Deaton to proclaim them safe enough even within another organization’s stronghold. The placid Black man in a forest green suit was currently observing everything from the sidelines and also keeping tabs on Lydia in particular. If he only knew.

In addition, they were allowed to bring a dozen soldiers with then; three were currently posted inside the room, two outside the door, and the other seven were split between the front and back entrances and on standby with their vehicles. He also knew, courtesy of his tech wizard, Danny, and head of security, Boyd, that the Steiner twins (jokingly referred to as Arts & Entertainment) were waiting with a small arsenal just beyond the property line about half a mile away in case things went south. 

The heirloom oak and bronze grandfather clock chimed out the hour and the gathered werewolves turned to him expectingly, but he only looked toward the door and went back to reading the papers spread before him. With every minute after noon the tension grew and at 12:07pm Peter Hale finally broke the silence. 

“Apologies,” he said, tone making clear that he wasn’t the one who should offer them. “But if we could start…” 

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Everyone hasn’t arrived yet.” 

The four Hales looked at each other with surprise and discomfort. The druid’s gaze sharpened. 

“You mean Derek and Malia? But wh—“ Peter began.

“Was the invitation not clear?”

“Yes, but they’re not really involved in this level of business,” said Laura, looking towards her mother as the Hale Alpha merely stared at him in silence.

Oh, I’m aware he thought disapprovingly, eyes intentionally flickering to the not-yet-18 year old Cora.

“Nevertheless, this matter affects them as well,” Stiles said, wearing what he hoped was a small, pleasant smile. “So if you could have them come per our agreement—”

“We would greatly appreciate it,” added Lydia, trying to soften the sharpness of his tone and keep things from devolving already. 

The dark haired sisters shared an annoyed look as Peter sat tight-lipped in his seat. After several moments Talia broke eye contact and nodded to Laura. The Heir pulled out her phone and sent a few texts, snorting a minute later at the response. 

“They said they could get here in about 25 minutes, but only by coming straight from the gym.”

Isaac looked over to him and chuckled.

“We promise not to take offense,” Stiles said, quickly banishing the thought of a flexing, sweat drenched Derek before it could fully form. “Refreshments will be served shortly in the meantime.” 

He stood and nodded to Liam who’d been waiting near the entrance for any requests and the young soldier hurried to the kitchen. 

“Excuse me while I attend to a few things in my office. Feel free to explore the library in the drawing room,” he said, gesturing to go through the archway on the right side and across the hall.

He walked over to Isaac on his way out. “Come get me when they arrive.” 

Derek

He was at the power rack about to attempt a new single max low back squat when his and Malia’s phones chimed simultaneously. Always a good sign, Derek thought sarcastically as he let out a long sigh. What now?

His cousin, who had been racing on an elliptical nearby like an angry T1000 with John Connor in its sights, hopped off and grabbed her phone and water bottle as he continued to fume about the interruption, sure that his workout would be cut short.

Coming to the gym, like running beta shifted or blasting his music, was how he took the edge off the unmet needs and burned through the negative emotions that he lived with as a matter of course. The regular focus, control, and clearing of his mind also made it that much easier to mute the “outgoing” of his bonds and hide his interior world from the Pack’s scrutiny. Their well meaning, but frequently misapplied concern, especially his mother’s.  

“They need us at the Stilinski meeting as soon as possible,” she said after reading the message. 

Derek groaned and made a point of completing his lift, though his form was shaky in his annoyance. He’d heard of the letter “requesting” they all attend, but last night when he asked what time he should be ready to go he’d been assured that their presence wasn’t necessary. His presence, really. If she weren’t his usual bodyguard he bet they’d have taken Malia along. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to go, but he resented being summarily excluded. Again.

Growing up, Derek had never felt like a stereotypical alpha and being months past his 16th birthday he’d been worried about presenting as a beta, who tended to take longer to reveal their secondary sex than alphas did. Not because he thought there was anything was wrong with betas, but because he knew what it would mean in his family. He didn’t want to be different. Othered. 

Not once though did he imagine that he could be an omega. Between Hale genetics being what they were and the rarity of omegas in general (and male ones in particular) it was so beyond the realm of possibility that that particular fear hadn’t even crossed his mind. Then came that first humiliating heat. 

Derek had been playing video games in the den downstairs when it started, not recognizing the first symptoms. Feeling just a bit off he’d taken a nap on the couch only to wake up a few hours later confused and burning up. Simultaneously very uncomfortable and extremely horny, not to mention damp where he’d never been before. It was frightening. 

Ten year old Cora had wandered in to play with her action figures and been alarmed to see him sweaty and groaning and yelled that he looked really sick. Peter had been the first to investigate and after several moments of shock had started laughing and offered to find him a “knotty boy” in front of his now present and scandalized mother.

He’d ended up locked inside an interrogation room with an inflatable mattress and some sheets and a blanket. Laura ran out to hastily purchase some random toys for him and then put them inside with snacks and water, but no one came around to make sure he ate or drank for longer than was healthy. They hadn’t known better.  

Every wolf born in the past four generations of the main Hale family, all 30 of the 37 descendants of his great-grandfather Desmond Hale who had presented before him, had been alphas. (So had the three since.) The only non-alphas in their bloodline had been the mates of those born Hales, mostly betas and a handful of alpha-alpha pairs. There were just two omegas over that time frame: the wife of one of his second cousins and a deceased great uncle-in-law. 

His beta father, Aaron, had been “blamed” for the anomaly having had an omega grandfather as well as a baby brother and two female cousins in his family. He’d died from smoke inhalation saving a handful of strangers from a house fire several years before Derek presented and had been cut off from his family when he mated the infamous Talia Hale, so they’d had no close and trusted source of advice and firsthand information. Oh, they’d read articles and browsed web forums and asked Deaton (who was not at all well versed in the subject) about it, but his family simply hadn’t really known what to do with any omega, much less a male one. 

They’d muddled through, but not without plenty of scars to show for it, mostly on Derek’s end. All of the times when they treated him differently and shouldn’t have, especially after he was kidnapped at 17 by a gang led by a supernatural-hating fanatic.

His mother had been overprotective before then, but when they got him back — bruised and traumatized, but before the worst had happened — he could barely take a piss without someone hovering nearby. 

Derek was steered away from or outright denied any position that might put him “at special risk” as an omega, which was practicality everything of rank or actually interesting. He would not be trained to be Laura’s Second as was customary for the next born nor sent on missions or even errands. If he were more technologically inclined he could’ve worked his way up in Intelligence, but torrenting foreign tv shows and troubleshooting the wifi were about the extent of his abilities. Anything related to their less-than-legal operations were off-limits as well. Unsafe.

No, Derek’s contribution to the Pack was in “Procurement and Supply Management,” i.e. making sure that the Manor and their other private or commercial properties never ran out of pasta or printer ink or toilet paper and that the lights stayed on. He also sometimes floated around filling in for members in Document Control or Internal Mail or did grunt work for the accountants. Sterile and boring.    

Conversely, the one area where they should’ve taken his omega status into account they regularly failed to do so. Acted as if the same level of physical bonding and affection they normally engaged in would be enough for him. At least some of the pack had learned that omegas required more, knew that intellectually, but habits being as they were it generally hadn’t been the case in practice. 

After getting met with annoyed glances or told that someone would come by later and have them never show he simply stopped asking after a while. Cuddling with his sisters once or twice a week while watching movies or tv shows and the occasional touches from his mother had kept him going, but he’d been low to mid-level touch starved much of the time and occasionally worse.

Since presenting Derek always felt at least somewhat apart from the pack as whole. He’d been teased by Peter and the beta soldiers, Aidan and Ethan, who often accompanied him before Malia was of age. He’d overheard certain comments from several others and withdrew even further inside himself, becoming more and more skilled at locking himself away.

What was the point of letting on exactly how dissatisfied and disconnected he felt? Things wouldn’t actually change, there’d just be some grumbling and there-theres and attempts to fix him instead of the situation. 

Things had definitely improved when Malia arrived and had been amenable to random cuddling, but he still held himself back from doing it as often as he wanted to in fear of being a burden. 

No one had been more surprised that Peter had a child than the playboy wolf himself, an alpha coyote-wolf hybrid that had long since been abandoned by her mother. She’d been a hellion of a street kid, causing all sorts of mischief and lashing out while trying to survive, until one day she’d ended up hauled in before the crew leader in charge of protection. 

There was something about her, perhaps certain notes in her scent or something vaguely familiar in her appearance or manner, that gave Finstock pause before delivering the standard beating — non-life threatening or severely damaging — for a shifter her age. The wild-haired Bitten wolf was eccentric and prone to randomly bringing up his lost testicle, but had an uncanny sense about things and kept order in the streets, neither too soft nor overly cruel. Inquires were made, fingerprints and DNA ran, and surprise, congratulations, it was a bouncing baby snarling 16 year old Hale! 

It didn’t take long for her and the then 19 year old Derek to gravitate towards each other, coming from two very different upbringings, but both outsiders in their own way. Malia was trained up and when she turned 18 became his primary bodyguard and the rest was history. 

“C’mon, lets’s bounce,” she said, poking him in the shoulder. “ASAP means ASAP.”

“ASAP also means no shower or change of clothes,” Derek growled, lamenting that Hale Manor was in the opposite direction. He could’ve been there as presentable and on time as everyone else, but nooo. The most he could do was towel off some and slather on the deodorant he had in his bag.

“They’ll just have to deal,” she replied, shrugging. Her lack of concern for propriety was one of the many things he loved about her, but the rules were different for him. Oh well, the only wolves there would be family so perhaps he wouldn’t get that kind of shit for it. Hopefully the Stilinskis had been informed in advance and wouldn’t take their appearance as a slight.

You are skilled, you are tenacious, you are confidant. It will take quite some time to make it back to headquarters, but there will be proud looks when the report is made and proof offered. Some small trophy to be displayed with the others. 

There is a deep slash in the hillside large enough for a man — a man-sized creature — to slip through. Drops of black near the entrance. Carefully you venture in, heart pounding as you pass through winding stone until light finds your eyes once more. 

Slack-jawed, you step into the warm, amber-lit chamber and set down your bag. There is no sign of the Were or anything else, only piles of books surrounded by rich tapestries and flickering lanterns upon the walls. Thin layers of gold spread across the ground as if a puddle from a spring. You wander closer and reach to touch a bejeweled tome. 

At a scraping from above you lift your head to see a great, metallic bronze head with spiraling black horns descend from the shadows on a sinuous neck. Nostrils flare and eyes of fire narrow meeting yours, dilated. A rumbled hissing grows and its maw of knives opens wide. 

You feel a momentary chill as night fast approaches. Before you is the sun.

The Dragon

You were disturbed from your slumber by the sound of gasping and scuffing feet. The scent of fear and weariness, of blood and pain, from something born of earth and moon. A changing-wolf. One scrabbling at the fissure before staggering on. Sensing you or perhaps not willing to risk being trapped.

Interest piqued, you uncoil and rise from the bed of soft gold that soon forms wherever you rest in this shape. The only one you’ve lived in these past several years, your slender body the length of a cottage, long neck and tail with massive leathery wings of dark sienna. Yawning, you stretch and twist — popping your spine with satisfaction — and then move about your lair. 

To seek out the stranger or not? It’s been a long time since you spoke to another. What if it only led to disappointment? Trouble. Refreshed the loneliness and grief. 

But they were injured, needed help. You could try.

A different set of footsteps approaches quietly, the odor of old blood faintly clinging to stalking boots. Killing herbs. Once more there’s a pause, but no retreat. You quickly take to your hidden perch near the ceiling and wait. 

The human — the Hunter — is amazed. Curious. Careless. Did he never read of dragons in one of his peoples’s little books? Hear stories around a childhood campfire? No matter. He came to the wrong place chasing the wolf, to the child of murdered “monsters.” Up close he reeks of destruction and emptiness and you end him where he stands with molten flame. 

There’s no time to waste making your way to the larger opening on the other side of the mountain and then coming around to find the dying one. Concentrating, eyes shut and jaw clenched, you recall the trick and begin to shrink. To change. You stop at your in-between, man-shaped, but more. 

You grab the Hunter’s bag and drape more delicate gliding wings around yourself, rushing into chill wind and bright of day. 

The Wolf

For days you traversed the land weakened, grieving, and alone with death trailing after. At forest’s end you took the rightward path, which led you twisting high along the spine of the mountain. Foolishly (helplessly) you fell asleep and he caught up.

Wolfsbane bullets burning in your gut, you run until you cannot. Shifting back upright you stumble, searching for your final resting place. Somewhere you can see the sky, but the Hunter cannot reach. This is all you have left. 

Your legs give out. 

The chill spreads through your body and a young man smelling of coal and clay appears. As he approaches you can make out short dark horns and a whipping tail. His sand colored skin sparkles with tiny scales. Before kneeling his strange cloak flies backward. Wings. You only realize he isn’t a hallucination when clawed fingers dig into your belly.

You stop snarling when he removes the first bullet. After the second he breaks open more from a pouch, breathing upon the contents before slapping them over the wounds. You pass out screaming. 

Waking atop a nest of tapestries is a pleasant surprise. 

You exchange names with your stranger — a dragon — and he sets food and drink beside you. He offers you his home.

Days pass and strength returns, but you have no desire to leave. He is beautiful and clever, humorous and attentive. Post-broken and alone with fire in his eyes. You offer him yourself. 

He crawls onto you, his body running even hotter than your own. Skin against skin, you kiss and caress, frotting and fondling each other. He uses his long tongue and your thick fingers to prepare you, producing a more viscous saliva. You moan when he spreads your legs wider, coating himself and easing inside. Together you move and breathe and cry out, spilling when he floods you with warmth in a rhythmic crescendo. 

“Five demons? In this economy?” Stiles screeched as he hit the ground and rolled to avoid a blast from the warlock they found trying to sacrifice the missing mailman. So much for feeding the ducks.

He threw the bag of peas he was still holding at one of the entities that the black-scleraed man had summoned, distracting it from going after Chris, who was already struggling to keep out of reach of another. Peter had just been knocked down by one of the two he was facing and Stiles was worried. 

There wasn’t much that either of his partners could do directly to the demons so he needed to occupy the hideous things so that they could focus on the other magic-user. Stiles taunted the one that was now after him and created multiple illusions of himself running off in all directions, throwing imaginary balls of fire as he aimed real ones at the demons and warlock alike.

He’d just had the satisfaction of watching Chris shoot the man in the chest, Peter coming up from behind to finish him off, when he was struck hard from behind. As the four demons he could see disappeared so did the strange pressure in his midsection and then he fell to the ground in agony. 

Moments later a clawed hand grasped onto him leaving thin scratches before the pain dissipated. 

“Don’t you dare fucking die on me,” Peter snarled around a mouthful of fangs as Chris held his other hand. 

Coughing up blood and shaking, Stiles looked up into bright red eyes. This was it. They’d talked about it hypothetically before, but now it was happening. He couldn’t speak, but gave a jerky nod. Agony bloomed in his abdomen a second time and then was lessened again with a touch.

His bleeding slowed first and then a new aspect of himself began to unfurl, something curious and wild. It started to settle into him, but then a thousand tiny points of light flared up to drive it out. He began to cough again, but this time it was black.

“No,” choked Peter, clutching him tighter. “It was taking, I could feel it.” 

Fear and grief coursed through Stiles, eyes darting between his mates. A few seconds passed and the Alpha’s head shot up to look at Chris. 

“His spark,” Peter whispered as Stiles began to drift. He was so very tired. 

Chris rubbed his sternum to get his attention. “Stiles baby, I know it’s important to you, but you have to let it go. If you want to stay here with us, you have to let your spark go.”

He snapped back to alertness. Leave Chris and Peter? No, he didn’t want to do that. Not at all. 

Stiles joined with the animal presence to push the light out. It was a great struggle and it hurt, but finally that familiar green-gold warmth receded and then faded away. As soon as it was gone he mourned its loss and the new furry resident curled around him inside in an attempt to comfort him. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and he passed out to the sounds of shouting and thudding footsteps.

Slowly, Stiles returned to awareness smelling something delectable. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he sure was hungry. There was a loud, steady thumping and whooshing as well. Stretching, he opened his eyes to find himself in his childhood bedroom. Blinking rapidly he looked around in confusion, seeing Chris asleep in a chair beside him. What?

Then all at once memories of the evening before came rushing back. Or however long ago it had been. He had the feeling he’d been out for a quite a while. 

The bed creaked when he got up and Chris jolted awake. The next thing he knew he was being enveloped in a hug and someone was running up the stairs. Stiles felt a second set of arms around him and he sighed, grounded by his mates and their comforting scents.

Eventually they pulled away and he cleared his throat, looking at two relieved, but still concerned faces.

“So I guess I’m a wolf now, huh?” He smiled despite his jumble of emotions. The older men looked at each other and Stiles felt his stomach drop. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I wouldn’t say anything’s wrong—” Chris started.

“But well, you’re not a wolf, sweetheart,” said Peter.

Stiles sunk back on the bed in shock. “What am I then?” 

The two exchanged looks again. “We don’t know.” 

After not-so-quietly freaking out the first thing he did was go in search of food. Someone had thrown something amazing in the garbage and he shook his head at the waste. He opened the fridge and honed in on a bowl of esquites. Fuck yes, corn! Stiles began shoveling it into his mouth with a serving spoon. 

He was still hungry when it was gone and started rooting for the great-smelling thing in the trash when Peter and Chris came down and stopped him.

“Love, what are you doing?” Peter cried, knocking a container out of his hand before he could open it. 

Stiles hissed and grew very angry and then suddenly he was very small. It was difficult to see in the bright light, but he sensed the movement of giant creatures and he was afraid. Stilling he looked up to see the shocked faces of men now kneeling and bending close toward him. Large hands were petting his body, but he began to relax recognizing their scents. Mates. They were his mates. 

Chris scooped him up and sat on the couch, putting him in his lap. Peter disappeared for a minute and came back holding something reflective. A mirror. It was placed before him and he squinted, trying to make out the image. Light face, long snout, dark eyes and ears. He was a fucking opossum!

Stiles hissed again and scampered off to hide underneath the couch. 

Eventually they coaxed him out and took him home after speaking with his bewildered father. (Apparently he’d been mumbling about wanting to see him while under, which is why they’ took him there.) His dad pet his head incredulously while wondering if it could be from his own mother’s side of the family. 

“Granny and Aunt Mabel were from Virginia and seemed to have an affinity with possums,” the elder Stilinski revealed.

“It’s possible,” Peter shrugged, smirking. Stiles bit him.

He shifted back while he was asleep, waking up on top of a pillow and once more in his new bed between his mates. Stiles kissed them both on the cheek and then shut himself in the guest room to try to figure out his shifting. After a couple hours of frustrated outbursts Peter came to the door asking to help. Begrudgingly, he agreed.

He’d wanted to see how freakish he looked before having to face his mates, but so be it. 

By evening they’d discovered that he had not one or two, but three beta shifts. The first was basically like his human self, but with even better hearing and smell, eyes that could glow silver, and retractable claws and fangs. His second shift shrunk him to 5’3”, which Chris joked would be useful on airplanes. The third brought him down to 4’5”, gave him a prehensile tail, short gray and white fur, opossum ears, whiskers and a short snout.

“Perfect for breaking and entering,” Peter mused with a wicked grin. 

Stiles snorted, but felt disheartened looking at his not at all majestic form in the mirror.

“I’ve always thought opossums were cute,” Chris said, bending down to hug him from behind. “Allison would share posts from that Hourly Possum account on Twitter.”

Peter stood before him and cupped his strange, furry face. “I can’t say I gave much thought to them previously, but you are adorable, darling.” 

That night Chris and Peter blindfolded him and led him back to their bedroom, only saying that they had something special planned for “our favorite marsupial.” Stiles could smell their arousal (how cool was that?) as they placed him on the mattress and undressed him. Feeling playful he did his second shift and turned, crawling up the bed and shaking his naked ass. 

He heard Chris groan and soon he was caught by the back of the neck, another hand grabbing a round cheek and then spanking both a few times before reaching around to grasp his hardening cock. Stiles moaned and then gasped, surprised to discover something else: he was wet. 

A low growling filled the room and then a third hand was running two fingers over his leaking hole.

“Stiles,” Peter purred. 

The hand wrapped around him disappeared and he pouted until pants unzipped and a cock was pushed against his slightly parted lips. He opened wide for Chris, savoring the taste of him while Peter’s teasing fingers finally pressed inside and began to thrust, nailing his prostate. 

Stiles rocked back on them as he took Chris deeper, tonguing under his shaft. A third finger was added — pumping, expanding, and spreading his slick — and then they withdrew so something larger could take their place. He moaned around the cock in his mouth when Peter slid inside him to the hilt and immediately began to move, gripping his hips. Nothing compared to being stuffed full by the men he loved. 

His new instincts cried out for more, a desperate need to be claimed, and Stiles whined as his smaller body writhed between them in the dark. 

Chris stepped back and caressed his flushed face. “What’s wrong, baby?” Peter stilled as well.

“Need you both. Make me yours, please,” Stiles begged, unable to explain more.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Peter crooned, kissing his back and thrusting again.

Chris returned to his waiting mouth, this time holding him place and plunging in until he was coming, first down Stiles’ throat and then onto his face. 

“My good, pretty boy,” he murmured. 

Stiles licked him clean and then dropped onto his forearms, prompting Peter to climb over him and pound even more relentlessly. He felt the forming knot and bore down to welcome it. 

“Gonna breed that tight, little ass of yours. Fill you up,” the Alpha growled, wrapping a hand around his throat. The knot locked and swelled as Stiles gasped, sending him over the edge. Peter let go and soon followed suit, marking him up inside while he clenched around him. Two sets of jaws clamped down where each shoulder met his neck renewing their mating bites.

Carefully, they turned over all tangled up together and Stiles pulled off the blindfold with a smile. 

Mates. Home. 

Perfect.