#employee!stiles

[noyzinerd]

Sterek Rival Lawyers AU

It's A (Court) Date

Imagine, high-class, Ivy League, hot-shot, attorney Derek comes back from New York to the family firm to take over as partners with his sister after his parents decide to step down. He may not be on the level of his mother yet, but he's cut his teeth against Wall Street wolves and ruthless white-collar sharks. Derek's more than proved himself, so he just can't fathom these small criminal court cases his family is making him take "before he's truly ready" to be a part of the family business.

Enter in his first case. Right out the gate, the state assigned defense is, not only late to court, but also arrives in a flurry of limbs and papers, tripping all over himself, and profusely apologizing to the room as a whole. "Sorry! Sorry! Car trouble!"

The guy is out of breath, tie crooked and hair a mess. It makes Derek wrinkle his nose at the unprofessionalism and the blatant disrespect to everyone's valuable time.

The presiding judge, the Honorable Ms. Lydia Martin, only sighs a heavy sigh, as if this sight is nothing new, and says "Mr. Stilinski, I suggest you don't let it happen again."

Derek is honestly getting annoyed by how easy this is going to be. He could've been doing literally anything else right about now rather than being here going against a common rent-a-lawyer with some Podunk community-college degree. The opening statement for the defense is laughably inept. Full of nervous stuttering, backtracking, running tangents, and babbling. He's still apologizing, trying to assure the jury that he's just having an off-day today.

It's embarrassing to watch.

Nonetheless, Derek goes through the motions, practiced and poised. Examines all the evidence, presenting times and dates, prior arrest records, the works.

During this time, Mr. Stilinski is frantically (and VERY LOUDLY) flitting through a cartoonishly large stack of papers and whispering to his client. Derek has to fight to grit his teeth through his presentation.

Finally, it's time for Mr. Stilinski to cross-examine Derek's client and, unbeknownst to him, the beginning of Derek's long, long spiral of madness for the rest of his career.

"Judge Martin, I would like to move to have this case thrown out."

"Oh?" asks Judge Martin. For some reason, there's an amused smirk, almost fond, tugging at her lips "On what grounds?"

A giddy, almost manic, grin takes over the defense attorney's face just then. "On the grounds that the prosecution's client is full of bullshit."

The judge rolls her eyes and an exasperated "Stiles," slips from her lips, seemingly against her will. (Derek's not really surprised by the familiarity between the two of them. With how often state-assigned lawyers are called to the courtroom on small cases, it wouldn't be too big of a leap to suggest they might be chummy.)

"Respectfully, of course." Mr. Stilinski--er Stiles?--winks back at her.

"Objection. Your honor, this is ridiculous."

"Overruled. Make your point, Stilinski."

"Mr. Davis says he saw my client at 12:30 P.M., on August 4th, attempting to take his back-right hubcap outside his apartment. Mr. Davis' apartment complex at that time, on that particular day, would have cast a huge shadow over the back lot as evidenced by the gaudy sundial-art-installation outside the courthouse. Meanwhile, my client's picture, when taken in for questioning, has a sunburn on the entire right side of his face. This would corroborate Mr. Lyle's story of walking home alone, down the upper, unshaded side of Elmore Street, during one of the hottest days of the year, for an hour straight. Also, the fact that Mr. Davis has no realistic idea how long it would actually take a person to steal a hubcap should be evidence enough."

"Uh-huh. And this wouldn't happen to be something you've ever had any expertise in, would it, counsel?"

"I plead the 5th."

And just like that, Derek's case is thrown out so quick, he's still reeling about it all the way home.

For the next two years, this becomes Derek's life. This man, this Stiles Stilinski, keeps showing up like a whirlwind and absolutely puts him in his paces.

Stiles, as he insists Derek call him, is a powerhouse. Relentless and unstoppable. That mouth can filibuster for literal hours (which, for those unfamiliar, is when someone legally cannot be forced to give up their time on the floor as long as they can keep talking), that brain quick as a whip, with a hunger for research, a mastery of the English language svelte enough to trip up even the most well-rehearsed lie, and an attention to detail like nothing Derek has ever witnessed before. It's like he knows every law inside and out. Lives it. Breathes it. It's like he had been raised on the law his whole life. Not only that, it's like Stiles enjoys it. Every case is a new game to get excited about.

All of it makes Derek's blood boil.

However, it's not always about losing to Stiles all the time, because, honestly, that might be less humiliating.

In truth, when faced against Stiles, Derek's bound to win about 60% of the time. Out of that 60%, only 5% of those wins actually feel earned. As for the other 55%?

He knows Stiles is letting him win.

Derek can't prove it, but he knows the asshole is holding back on purpose nearly half the time. Knowing that Stiles could have beaten him if he wanted to, but didn't, is somehow more frustrating than just losing.

He hates Stiles.

He hates that the guy is so chipper and playful all the damn time. He hates that Stiles could probably work at any firm he wanted, could make enough money to get a decent car that doesn't shit out all the time, could buy a proper-fitting suit, but instead CHOOSES to stay here "watching out for the little guy", as he so put it.

He hates that facing Stiles in court is the most challenged, the most motivated he's ever felt in his entire life. He hates that Stiles brings out in him the spark of passion and drive Derek had long thought had died. He hates that Stiles always tries to banter with him during recess or whenever they have to exchange evidence.

He hates finding out that Stiles only loses cases on purpose when his endless amounts of research points to the defendant actually being guilty of horrendous crimes, because Stiles is a good fucking person.

He hates Stiles' constant teasing and he hates that Stiles is somehow able to bring Derek down to his childish level to tease back. He hates how much he looks forward to court-dates with Stiles now. He hates being invited out by Stiles over and over to grab a bite together after a long day, as if Stiles hasn't been wiping the floor with him on this case for the last month. He hates it even more that he always accepts and that now they have their own designated booth at the diner across the street. Derek's so unbelievably frustrated, it makes him want to bite Stiles at the neck just to hear that smartass mouth squeal.

"Hey, I ever tell you I was thinking of quitting before you arrived?" Stiles asks one night as they're walking to their cars.

Derek's head immediately snaps to him at that. "What?"

Stiles smiles distantly at the thought. "Oh, yeah. Things had started feeling like being trapped in a cubicle, y'know? There wasn't any challenge in it anymore."

"What made you stay?"

"Well...you did. You were the first, serious competition I'd faced in a while. It wasn't a matter of winning just to win, anymore. Going against you always reminded me of the reason why it was important for me to win. It gave me stakes, because now there was an actual chance I could lose and an innocent person could go to jail. You, I don't know, kinda reignited my passion for fighting the good fight, I guess."

Derek can feel his heart thumping hard in his chest. He wants to say 'You did the same for me!' He wants to tell Stiles that he didn't think his life could ever be this fun or happy or messy or chaotic or exhilarating or challenging or fulfilling before coming to Beacon Hills.

But just as Derek goes to open his mouth to sing Stiles' praises, he instead finds himself roughly shoving him up against the Camaro and biting hungrily at that mouth and tongue that's been the bane of his existence. There's a surprised little squeak that Derek quickly swallows up, but it isn't long before they're both tearing at each others' clothes and fucking each other dirty in the backseat of Derek's car.

What's crazy is, after they get together, nothing in their careers really changes. The only difference is now they get to fuck each others' brains out after an intense battle in court (and the sound Stiles makes when Derek bites him is exactly what he always imagined it would sound like). They still face against each other on opposite sides in court. They still give it everything they got, no conceding even if they are dating now. Not to mention, Derek wouldn't dream of tempting Stiles over to his firm. Not when he knows Stiles is at his best staying where he's at.

The day Derek's family finally decides it's time for him to take over the firm with Laura is the best day of his and Stiles' lives.

Not only does Derek tell them he's declining, he hires Stiles as his attorney to negotiate terms against his entire family of well-seasoned lawyers.

The entire month-long negotiation results in Derek, not saying a single word, but absolutely beaming as he watches his boyfriend run circles around his mother, his father, his uncle, and both of his sisters on contracts. It's so unbelievably hot, they're banging on whatever flat surface they can get their hands on every time they leave the boardroom. There's even one very memorable blowjob in the empty hall outside the boardroom when Stiles somehow manages to get Peter to agree to a (most likely illegal) clause dictating the firm will pay Stiles a finder's fee for any pro-bono case Stiles takes on outside of Beacon Hills that strikes his fancy.

And, no one says it, but they all know Derek definitely, 100%, dragged his own firm through this negotiation just to show off how incredible Stiles is to his family and preen about it.

--

Fast-forward, Derek is going to be in the audience for the first time for one of Stiles' cases.

While waiting in the hall, Derek sees a familiar face from his New York days. The prosecution has hired the eighth best lawyer money can get, Jackson Whittemore. He's sporting a Rolex, sunglasses indoors, and the face of someone who thinks he's above literally every other person in town.

Well, at least until he sees Derek.

For some reason, Jackson seems to think Derek is all the way out in the middle of nowhere to 'watch a master at work' (which...well...is technically true...).

As Derek goes to sit in the audience, Jackson tells him in passing, "This'll be over so fast, probably won't even get a chance to learn the other guy's name."

Derek chuckles and says back, "Ooh, buddy, you have no idea."

Before Jackson can think more on that, a whirlwind of limbs and papers suddenly hurls through the doors.

Derek sits back, gets comfy, and waits eagerly for the show to begin.

My first moodboard. Hope you enjoy. AU based on a discussion with @casually-eat-my-soul (I suggest checking out their version). This was kind of like a divergence from that (the brain juices just started flowing).

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

hi!! im really hoping you can help me find this fic. I've gone through my ao3 history at least 3 times and im so worried it's been deleted bc I can't find it and I didn't save it the first time I read it which is such a bonehead thing to do. anyways. it was a sterek fic, completed, the pack all worked at a movie theatre. Laura is definitely alive and is the manager. and I think the hale's own it? I think they're wolves? and if they are im pretty certain the sheriff knows about them [possibly??]. derek is prickly to start and stiles is crushing on him. I remember one scene there was a karen and I think Derek came to stiles' rescue? im so sorry I know this sounds all jumbled but its the best I can remember. thank yooooouuuuuuuuu!!!!!

Hi anon! @magv1 says it's this one.

Be the Life of the Party by Mimiminaj

(1/1 I 21,651 I Explicit I Sterek)

His father’s face suddenly turned serious again.

“He is twenty four though, son. I don’t care if his smile shits rainbows and his laugh births puppies. You are his employee. It would be bad to cross those lines during your first job. Or ever.”

Stiles’ face hit the table.

“I hate my life,” he moaned.

Scott laughed cheerfully. “Don’t worry sheriff! It sounds to me like the entire cinema staff feels the same. Stiles doesn’t stand a chance with Derek!”

“Scratch that,” Stiles mumbled into the wood. “I hate you two more.”

Or – Stiles starts working at the movie theater. His boss is Derek.

[bastardsunlight]

It's not uncommon for Sixteen to wear the evidence of a fight home. In this case, as usual, it is minor -- a mostly-healed abrasion on one temple, an equally knitted cut on a forearm, a fresh scratch across the black field mask which, unlike most of the rest of his armor, remains in place so as to maintain his image for any eyes other than Management's who might have witnessed his return. The damage was hardly enough to deter him. A clear plastic bag containing an ID with the barest smear of dried blood and a small black external hard drive is deposited into Wesker's hand in silent confirmation of a job done.

Even so, the Apex seems not to have quite come down off the rush of it. He favors the submarine bays for their easy entrance and exit from the facility, for their darkness and coolness and relative solitude. Despite the dimness of the 2 AM lights, not augmented for human eyes as they might be when the area is staffed, his pupils darken his frigid blue eyes a little too much and there is a subtle stiffness about his movements that might suggest aches whose immediate causes the long-sleeved tactical shirt hides. Is it easier to believe he was simply not at his best than that he has seen something he does not wish to talk about? He hopes so, and stares over the railing into the dark water. Irrelevant to the results. You don't care.

"He had protection," the Left Hand debriefs simply. Protection is a better word than interference and is mostly true.

She lived. She fucking lived and she was there, I don't know how, my work was done for me when I got there--

He'd been fortunate it had been only a glimpse, indeterminate, on the fringes of his camera's view. She'd worked the shadows beyond where she could see its infrared light, like she knew. And he knew, too.

Nothing human moved like that.

"Nine dead."

The details of his mission are already being uploaded to the base’s encrypted system and routed to Management’s office computer so that he might view them at his leisure—and he always does. It is not as if he does not trust Sixteen. The man’s results are inarguable, always. The should be, anyway, as he has been trained—even raised, which is the worst part of it—by the Tyrant himself.

“Good,” Wesker responds simply, fingers closing about the bag. He barely inspects its contents and will soon hand them off to some of his people for scrubbing and proper analysis—the drive, anyway; the ID and bodycam footage will combine to speak for themselves regarding the rest of it.

He turns then, without further acknowledgment, but he has also detected some strangeness about the Apex, something he has not seen before, or at least not at this level. Sixteen has some injuries, but they aren’t severe enough to warrant a visit to the infirmary, which is so much the better. Sixteen clearly wants to be alone and Leblanc is about to be very busy. For the time being, Management chooses to leave everything as is and walks away.

“Take the day,” he says over his shoulder. This always means extra rations, and live ones for his entertainment as well as nourishment. Never let it be said that his employees do not reap the benefits of their labors.

[evanesdust]

"Did you seriously just quote Monty Python while you're lying here bleeding?"

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Alan Deaton Additional Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Mates, Hurt/Comfort, Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Injured Stiles Stilinski, Monster of the Week, Blood and Injury, POV Stiles Stilinski, Canon-Typical Violence, Fandom Trumps Hate 2024

Summary:

[excerpt] The sudden shift sent a prickle of unease running down Stiles's spine as he followed Derek's gaze, scanning the parking lot. The peaceful atmosphere had shifted. They were no longer alone. "What do you—" See, he wanted to ask, but Derek cut him off with a warning growl, pushing Stiles back. Stiles rolled his eyes. While he loved Derek's protectiveness, he also hated when Derek got all overprotective. It reminded him of the pool incident when they faced the Kanima, and Derek shoved him back, trying to keep him out of harm's way. But he could handle himself, dammit! He'd more than proved that over the years; however, before he could argue, a figure emerged from the shadows, stalking toward them, revealing an eerie mirror image of Derek. What the actual fuck? Stiles's mind reeled in disbelief at the sight of the doppelganger, struggling to comprehend what was happening. "Uh…please tell me you have a secret twin I didn't know about."

The sky was dark when they left the diner, the moon blocked by heavy clouds. A chill hung in the air, and Stiles smiled when a hand pressed on the small of his back, guiding him toward the parking lot. Even though they'd been together for ten years now, it was something he always did—like Derek needed that connection, no matter how small. The warmth of Derek's palm sent a tingle through Stiles's body, goosebumps rising on his skin.

"Did you want to head straight home?" Derek asked, his hand leaving Stiles's back to intertwine their fingers.

Stiles gave Derek's hand a gentle squeeze, savoring the familiar touch. "Yeah. I'm ready to crash after today."

It'd been a long day at the Sheriff's Department. A typical day included patrolling and responding to calls, but today had been busier than usual with four bank robberies. Four! What made it worse was that Stiles knew something supernatural was at play. Each bank claimed the person robbing them was an employee, but every suspect had an airtight alibi, including one who had been in the hospital for a planned surgery.

Stiles sighed, ready to go home and curl up on the couch with Derek. Unwind. He'd get a good night's sleep and start fresh tomorrow, researching to try and figure out what was happening. Derek would help, of course. He always did, no matter how strange or difficult the supernatural problem they faced. It was the life they chose when they decided to stay in Beacon Hills, with a Nemeton drawing in whatever monster of the week that caused mayhem and chaos in their little town.

But Stiles wouldn't trade it for anything. This was his home, and Derek (and the pack) was his family. Together, they would face whatever came their way, just as they always had.

With a content sigh, he leaned into Derek's side. The soft glow of the streetlamps cast a warm light over the path, and the gentle rustling of leaves was soothing.

So, naturally, that was when everything went to shit.

Derek tensed beside him, squeezing his hand as he pulled Stiles to a stop. His nostrils flared, as if he scented something in the air, and his eyes burned alpha red.

The sudden shift sent a prickle of unease running down Stiles's spine as he followed Derek's gaze, scanning the parking lot. The peaceful atmosphere had shifted. They were no longer alone.

"What do you—"

See, he wanted to ask, but Derek cut him off with a warning growl, pushing Stiles back.

Stiles rolled his eyes. While he loved Derek's protectiveness, he also hated when Derek got all overprotective. It reminded him of the pool incident when they faced the Kanima, and Derek shoved him back, trying to keep him out of harm's way. But he could handle himself, dammit! He'd more than proved that over the years; however, before he could argue, a figure emerged from the shadows, stalking toward them, revealing an eerie mirror image of Derek.

What the actual fuck? Stiles's mind reeled in disbelief at the sight of the doppelganger, struggling to comprehend what was happening.

"Uh…please tell me you have a secret twin I didn't know about." Honestly, it wouldn't surprise Stiles if that were the case. Hell, he didn't know about Cora until she'd shown up in Beacon Hills, so Stiles wouldn't put it past Derek to have a secret twin. But the feral growl rumbling from Derek's chest told him this was no long-lost sibling. This was a threat, and Derek was ready to protect him at all costs.

The figure stalked closer, its movements predatory and unnatural. Stiles's heart raced as he recognized the same intense alpha glow in the doppelganger's eyes. He could only hope that was where their similarities ended—that whatever this shapeshifting creature was, it didn't somehow possess the same strength, speed, and abilities as Derek.

Stiles swallowed hard, his mind racing for a way to help Derek. But before he could voice his plan, the doppelganger lunged forward, claws outstretched. Derek roared, shifting into his beta form as he met the creature's attack head-on—fangs bared, claws extended, eyes blazing with rage. The sound of their clashing filled the empty parking lot, and Stiles was determined to find a way to help Derek before one of them was seriously injured.

He sprinted toward Derek's Camaro, hand outstretched to open the trunk, where his trusty bat was stashed. But before he could reach it, a sharp pain shot through his side as the doppelganger's claws raked across his flesh. Stiles cried out, his urgency mounting as he stumbled and clutched the wound.

"Fuck!" Blood streamed through Stiles's fingers as he fell to his knees.

Derek's fury was palpable as he shifted into his full alpha form, fur rippling across his body, his clothes falling to tatters on the ground. He lunged at the doppelganger, now a hulking black wolf, and sank his teeth into its shoulder. It was like a scene straight out of a horror movie as the creature howled in pain, thrashing and clawing at Derek, but his grip was unyielding.

Of course, it was. The minute it had attacked Stiles, there was no way Derek would hold back—unleashing the full force of his alpha power. The creature didn't stand a chance.

Stiles watched in awe as Derek tore into the doppelganger until the creature's struggles grew weakerweakerweaker. Its bones cracked and popped, the sound sharp, until it finally went limp in Derek's hands. Its body morphed, claws falling away, hair receding from its face as it shifted back to what Stiles could only assume was its original form—a pale, sinewy alien-like creature with limbs just a bit too long, spindly fingers, sunken eyes, and sharp fangs.

Derek released it, chest heaving as he shifted back to his human form and rushed to Stiles, kneeling beside him. He gently examined Stiles's wound, his brow furrowed in worry, despite his own face and torso being streaked with blood. "Shit, this looks bad."

He pressed his hands against the deep gash on Stiles's side, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Tis but a scratch," Stiles said, the grimace on his face betraying the bravado in his voice. No one would blame him, considering the sharp and throbbing pain in his side. It distracted him enough that he couldn't even admire all the tan skin and muscles on display as he checked Derek over for injuries. But, naturally, all his wounds were already healing thanks to his supernatural abilities.

"Did you seriously just quote Monty Python while you're lying here bleeding?" Derek's eyes narrowed, his expression both concerned and exasperated, clearly not amused by Stiles's attempt at humor. "We need to get you to Deaton, now."

He scooped Stiles into his arms as if he weighed nothing—something that both irked and turned Stiles on. It reminded Stiles of the FBI raid from so long ago when he'd been injured and Derek had carried him to safety. It had been the catalyst for their relationship.

Usually, Stiles would put up a mild protest, which was more fond than anything, but not this time. Not when the movement jostled his side, making him wince. The adrenaline from the encounter was wearing off, leaving him drained. Or maybe that was the blood loss.

Either way, he leaned into Derek's embrace.

"Home. I wanna go home," Stiles murmured. All he wanted was their bed. To be surrounded by the comforts of home.

"But—" Derek started, but Stiles cut him off.

"Please, Derek. I just want to go home." Stiles's voice was soft, laced with exhaustion. He knew Deaton needed to check his wound, but the idea of their bed and the safety of their home was all he could focus on.

Derek hesitated for a moment, then sighed. As much as Stiles wanted to make a quip about having Derek wrapped around his little finger, it probably wasn't the best time, so he stayed silent.

"Fine," Derek said, shifting Stiles in his arms and hurrying toward the Camaro, "but I'm calling Deaton to meet us there."

Stiles sighed in relief, resting his head against Derek's chest until they reached the car. Derek gently placed him in the passenger seat, ensuring he was secure before rushing around the hood to the driver's side. The engine roared to life as Derek called Deaton, and he sped toward the preserve—toward home—his grip on the steering wheel tight with worry.

"I'm alright, big guy," Stiles promised. This wasn't the first time he'd been injured, and considering their lives, it definitely wouldn't be the last. But he knew that didn't make it any easier, not for Derek.

When they pulled into the driveway, Deaton wasn't there yet. Derek carefully helped Stiles out of the car and carried him to the house. Once inside, he left the front door unlocked and took Stiles to the living room, lying him down on the couch without a care in the world for the mess they would leave behind.

Derek carefully ripped Stiles' shirt off with his claws. His brows were pulled down in a frown as he examined Stiles's wound, his touch feather-light. Stiles winced slightly but knew Derek was doing his best to be gentle.

"We need to call my dad and the pack." That…thing…was still out there, and they couldn't just leave it for some unsuspecting person to find, dead or not. The people in town weren't stupid; they knew Beacon Hills was special, that there were things that went bump in the night. But as the saying went, ignorance was bliss.

"I'll let them know," Derek said, phone already in his hand.

His voice was a low murmur, and his eyes never left Stiles's face as he spoke with the Sheriff, filling him in on what had happened and assuring him that Stiles was okay.

Stiles reached up, taking Derek's hand and gently squeezing it in reassurance. He hated seeing him so distressed. His life had already been hard enough—a veritable shit show of trauma and loss. Stiles knew Derek blamed himself for every injury Stiles or the pack sustained, even when it wasn't his fault. He wished he could take away Derek's guilt—ease the burden on his mate's shoulders.

"Yeah, here he is." Derek handed Stiles the phone and mouthed, 'I'll be right back,' before heading into the kitchen.

Stiles managed to suppress a groan as he put the phone on speaker, already anticipating his father's worried lecture.

"I'm okay," he said before his father could launch into a tirade.

A familiar sigh came through the line, one that spoke of years of worry and frustration, and Stiles could picture his dad pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "You're always 'okay,' kid. But Derek said you were injured. Bleeding. That doesn't sound so 'okay.'"

"He's exaggerating, Dad. You know how Derek is. I get a papercut and he freaks out," Stiles said, trying to downplay the severity of his injury. "It's just a scratch, really. I'm fine. Derek's just being overprotective, as usual."

Stiles winced as he shifted on the couch, the pain in his side flaring up. "Okay, maybe it's a little more than a scratch, but Deaton'll get me all patched up and I'll be good as new."

"Stop moving," Derek chided, stepping out of the kitchen with a washcloth and a large bowl filled with water. He kneeled beside the couch and began gently cleaning Stiles's wound. It was a gnarly-looking gash, but Derek's touch was gentle and soothing. Black tendrils snaked up Derek's arm as he took Stiles's pain, leaving Stiles a little woozy.

He leaned into Derek's touch, relishing the comfort it provided. His father's worried voice continued on the line, but Stiles barely heard it, focused instead on Derek's gentle ministrations.

"Hey, Sheriff?" Derek interrupted. "Deaton just pulled up. I'll call you later, okay?"

Derek ended the call and turned his attention back to Stiles.

"Wait," Stiles's voice came out sluggish, a side effect of Derek's werewolf mojo. "First, you should put some pants on." Because Derek was still naked, and Stiles could be a possessive bastard. He didn't want anyone but him to see his mate's bare skin. "Also, I forgot to tell Dad that the thing, whatever it was—" he took a deep breath, then let it out in a gust "—was the thing. The…thing…the banks."

Because that made total sense. God, Derek taking his pain was better than any painkiller Stiles had ever taken—a magic morphine that fogged his brain.

"You think the shapeshifter was behind the bank robberies," Derek stated. Either because he knew Stiles well enough to follow his line of thinking or because Derek had a bad habit of avoiding inflection when asking questions.

"Yeah, that." Stiles made an appreciative sound as Derek walked over to the laundry basket sitting in the corner and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top.

"I'll let your dad know. Right now, I just want to make sure you're taken care of." Derek kissed his forehead as Deaton walked in the front door.

"How's my favorite patient?" Deaton asked, setting his bag on the coffee table.

"Don't lie. Your favorite patients are puppies and kittens," Stiles replied, wincing slightly as Deaton examined his wound. "Derek's taking good care of me."

Deaton chuckled, his skilled fingers probing the injury. "I bet he is, Mr. Stilinski. This looks like it needs a few stitches, but it's not too deep. You're a lucky one."

Derek hovered anxiously, watching Deaton's every move. "What do you know about other kinds of shapeshifters?"

"Was that what did this?" Deaton asked, a brow raised.

Stiles nodded. Despite his best efforts, a sharp hiss of air escaped his lips when Deaton began stitching the wound. "Yeah, but not like one I've ever seen or heard of before."

Stiles hissed again, then sighed as Derek's hand found his, the pain easing. "It looked alien, but it could shift into people. It looked like Derek. And I'm pretty sure it's been impersonating people all over town."

Deaton nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. "I've heard of such creatures, though they are quite rare. And dangerous, considering they can mimic any person they encounter. As you discovered."

"Will he turn?" Derek asked, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip.

That wasn't something Stiles had even considered, but now all he could think about were the different ways someone could be turned into a werewolf. One of which was being scratched. Not that Stiles had anything against being a werewolf, but he'd prefer it to be on his own terms.

Thankfully, Deaton shook his head. "No. For one, it's not deep enough. But even if it were, while the creature could transform and take a werewolf's beta form with claws and fangs, it's not an actual werewolf. The injury it inflicted will heal normally and without any supernatural effects."

Derek visibly relaxed at Deaton's reassurance.

Deaton finished stitching up the wound and applied a bandage. "There, all done. No showers or baths for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I'd suggest a careful sponge bath if needed. Just take it easy for the next few days and let that heal."

"I'll make sure he rests," Derek said, his hand gently squeezing Stiles's. He turned to Deaton, his expression serious. "The Sheriff will be bringing the body to your clinic so you can examine it."

"Excellent. I'll take a look as soon as it arrives," Deaton replied, gathering his supplies. Once he was packed, he headed for the door. "Call me if you have any other concerns."

With a final nod, he left the house, leaving Derek and Stiles alone once more.

Derek turned his attention back to Stiles, his gaze filled with concern.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Stiles's forehead.

Stiles leaned into the touch, closing his eyes as he savored the comfort it provided. "Better. I told you I was okay, though."

"Yeah, well, your version of okay is different than mine."

"Your version would have me wrapped in bubble wrap and kept in a padded room," Stiles teased, cracking one eye open to look at Derek. "But I appreciate your concern. I know you worry, especially after everything that's happened. Anyway, are you okay?"

Tonight wasn't the first time Derek had killed someone, but Stiles knew that taking a life, even in self-defense, weighed heavily on Derek.

"I'm alright. And I'm not that bad." Derek trailed his fingertips across Stiles's brow, down his nose, and over his cupid's bow. The delicate touch sent tingles down Stiles's spine. "I love you, Stiles. You mean everything to me, and I just want to keep you safe."

And what could Stiles say to that except, "I love you, too."

Derek cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks tenderly, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Stiles's lips, conveying the depth of his affection. "Don't fall asleep yet. Let's get you changed and into bed first."

"Think we can get the blood out?" Stiles asked, glancing at the couch as Derek helped him stand.

They probably could, but Stiles didn't really want to think about all that right now. He'd rather curl up beside Derek and sleep.

"I'll take care of it," Derek assured him, sweeping Stiles into his arms.

Now, Derek's strong arms cradled him as he carried Stiles to their bedroom and then into the ensuite bathroom, where he carefully undressed Stiles and cleaned him of any traces of blood with a washcloth. All Stiles had to do was stand there as Derek helped him into a soft T-shirt and sweatpants before guiding him to their bed.

"I'm going to clean myself up real quick," Derek whispered against his temple, taking a moment to inhale deeply, like he was breathing in Stiles's scent—something he always did. "Be right back."

Stiles sighed contentedly as Derek pulled the covers over him.

Derek was always so attentive and caring, definitely a change from the gruff and hardened exterior he used to project. A man who had once been a loner, now surrounded by a pack and a mate who loved him unconditionally.

Stiles snuggled deeper into the covers, the sheets soft and cool because Derek bought ridiculously expensive one hundred percent mulberry silk sheets with a momme weight of nineteen. He still wasn't sure what that meant.

His eyes drifted shut. "M'kay. I'll stay right here."

"You do that," Derek said with a chuckle, the sound fading as he walked into their ensuite bathroom. In the distance, the shower sputtered to life, and the soothing sound lulled Stiles into a light doze. But he woke when Derek returned, sliding into bed behind him and carefully pulling Stiles into his arms.

Stiles melted against Derek's warm, solid frame, feeling safe and content. He made a pleased sound and snuggled closer when Derek gently kissed the back of his head before breathing him in. "I love you."

The pain from his injury faded as Derek's warmth enveloped him, and Stiles smiled.

"And I love you," he breathed, letting the steady rhythm of Derek's heartbeat lull him into a peaceful sleep.

[justanothersterekficgirl]

Welcome to Rosie's Diner can I interest you in an eye-opener? by crossroadswrite

Teen | 1k | 1/1

When the unfairly attractive couple walks in, at their usual hour, Kat starts humming the wedding march.

Jason elbows her sharply in the ribs, trying to hide his snicker even as he waves nicely at them.

“Fuck they’re so pretty,” he sighs mournfully, “why did they have to be a couple, that’s just unfair.”

“I know,” she commiserates.

(Or: The one where Stiles and Derek are regulars at Rosie's diner and exactly zero of the employees believe they're not actually a couple, I mean come on look at them.)

[sterekbros]

Like this Forever | 97K | E | A/B/O | Mpreg

written by winchesterek (@sterekbros) and @evanesdust as part of our @sterekeverlasting fanzine first edition. you can check out the magazine here.

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Derek Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, True Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Boss/Employee Relationship, Getting Together, Mpreg, Top Derek/Bottom Stiles

Stiles is Derek's personal assistant at Hale Incorporated, and they fall in love.

Read on AO3.

[elisela]

you’re my only hope sterek, 1k, thanksgiving fluff

--

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“Derek!” Stiles says, looking frantically around the kitchen, phone shoved between his ear and shoulder. “I know that usually you’re supposed to thaw the turkey for days but last night I was nominated as the place to go for everyone who didn’t have a place to go and all the store had was a fifteen pound frozen solid turkey and I’ve left it out since I bought it but the damn thing is still frozen solid and I’m supposed to serve it in four hours. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

The wooden spoon he’d been looking for is balanced on the open refrigerator door. He snatches it up and spins to stir the gravy, the only thing he could think to make ahead of time that Lydia won’t kill him for nuking in the microwave right before dinner.

“You can cook it from frozen. It’ll take longer, about five hours, but serve some drinks and your friends will be fine waiting.”

Stiles looks at the compound butter he’d gotten—he can read recipes, thank you, he’s just in a panic—and frowns. “What am I supposed to do about, you know, seasoning?”

“Pull it after two hours and season it then. You’ll have to baste it, but you’ll be okay.”

“Great,” Stiles says, then curses when he realizes he’d laid his dish towel too close to the burner and it’s smoking. “Thanks!”

-----

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“This isn’t a turkey question, is that okay?”

The voice that comes through the line sounds almost amused. “We’re here to answer all of your Thanksgiving dinner related questions.”

Stiles taps the pie pan on the counter. He’s unsure if it’s necessary, but he’s seen people do it to regular cakes on YouTube, so why not? “Dangerous,” he says, “because I have a lot of questions. Like—why? How is this the thing you want to spend your time doing on your holiday? What are your qualifications, anyway? Because for all I know you could be making shit up, but I have to admit the turkey is no longer frozen solid under your possibly-sound advice. Which leads me to: can I bake a cheesecake at the same time as a turkey? The oven’s at 375 if that makes a difference.”

“If that—you shouldn’t be cooking your turkey at 375!”

Derek sounds affronted, and Stiles would find that cute—at least he finds his semi-outraged voice cute because for God’s sake, it’s a turkey—but he doesn’t have the time. “The cheesecake, Derek. Can I do the cheesecake at the same time?”

“Not unless you’re good with soggy turkey skin. The steam from the water bath will affect it too much.”

Stiles frowns. “Yeah, the … water bath,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound like he has no idea what he’s doing. “What if I don’t mind soggy turkey skin?”

“You mind soggy turkey skin,” Derek says firmly, and Stiles laughs.

----

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“Seriously, you’ve been at this for three hours,” Stiles says, because he had fully expected to get someone else on the line. Unless Derek is the sole employee—volunteer? He has no clue—he should have gotten someone else by now.

“Try eight,” Derek says. “Please tell me you turned the turkey down.”

“I’d feel bad lying to you,” Stiles says, grinning. “So it turns out I forgot the rolls, and I have a box of pancake mix but it says I need eggs, which I don’t have because I used them all in the cheesecake. Help me, Obi Wan, you’re my only hope.”

There’s a pause, and Stiles has a moment to hope he hasn’t broken Derek’s brain before he finally replied. “Oh, you’re thinking about making biscuits.”

“That’s what I said,” Stiles says, poking at the cheese sauce for his hopefully tolerable mac and cheese.

“You did not, but you don’t need eggs. Or pancake mix. Google a recipe for drop biscuits and so help me do not bake them at the same time as the turkey.”

“Aww, you know me so well, boo,” Stiles coos, and flips off the burner. “Why do you do this, anyway?”

“So people like you don’t give your friends and family food poisoning,” Derek says. “You’re safe, by the way, if you keep roasting the turkey at 375. It’ll be charred.”

“Drama queen,” Stiles mutters, and then puts his foot in his mouth by asking, “you’re not too busy cooking your own dinner?”

“My family’s across the country,” Derek says after just a moment. “My sister usually made dinner for us and her friends, but she just got married so she’s with his family.”

“Sucks, dude,” Stiles says, cursing when the doorbell rings. “Gotta go. Hopefully Scotty brought the alcohol or I’m gonna have a riot when they learn the food’s not ready. Thanks again.”

He hangs up, pauses, and calls right back.

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“Derek,” Stiles says, “you should come over here. We’ve got plenty of food. Some of it even edible, thanks to you.” He gives him his address before he loses his nerve, adds in a few key landmarks he’s near just in case, and hangs up before Derek can respond.

---

Lydia looks at him suspiciously when the bell rings, glancing around the room like she’s mentally counting the people in it and wondering who the hell else Stiles knows that’s not currently in the room, which, rude, but he’ll deal with that later.

Or not. He probably won’t bring it up at all, because she would have been right if he hadn’t been calling the turkey helpline all day, and he doesn’t want to get into it.

For now he sidesteps Scott, who had been helpfully on his way to the door, straightens his shirt, and flings it open.

Holy good Jesus.

He probably gapes—not his most attractive look, but he can’t be blamed when the man standing on his front porch is the literal definition of perfection. “Hi,” he manages to say, “Derek?”

It’s probably not Derek. It’s probably Jackson’s new boyfriend checking up on him, or a neighbor ready to yell at him for taking up so many parking spaces with his guest’s cars, or—

“I never caught your name,” the man says, and it’s Derek’s voice, it’s Derek, and Stiles is still standing like an idiot half-hanging out the door.

“Stiles,” he says, and waves a hand automatically to brush off the inevitable question. “I’m glad you came. Come in, come in.”

Derek’s shrugging out of his leather jacket, and if Stiles wasn’t already formulating ideas to make Derek fall in love with him, he certainly is the moment it comes off and reveals a soft looking maroon sweater underneath it. “Well, you said I was your only hope. Come on, Skywalker, show me your kitchen.”

[catmomjudy]

Picky Gripes About TV Shows and Their Weak Hold On Reality

You know, I looked up “SEAL Civilian Challenge” one time and found squat. It doesn’t exist as far as I can tell, at least not currently or recently (not did I thought it did.).

SEALs are Navy Sailors with additional training. But they are Sailors first. The pipeline used to be boot camp; then to regular (probably shipboard) duty for about two years; get through at least one annual evaluation cycle; apply and get recommendations from your command.

There is a SEAL Challenge Contract now, but guess what? You still go to boot camp. If you meet mental acuity (ASVAB) and physical training requirements (which are well above boot camp standards), you go what they call “Seaman to SEAL.” IOW you go very quickly to BUDS (SEAL training) after boot camp rather than having to wait like they used to do.

Guess what happens if you “ring out” like Buck did? Well, dearie, have fun on the high seas because you STILL signed a Navy enlistment contract. You get reassigned and fulfill that enlistment.

Yes, I was in the Navy, but it’s been 25 years. So I looked it up. It wasn’t too hard to find once I realized what I was really looking for. I’m sure screenwriters know how to Google.

(P.S. And no, you can’t go into the FBI right out of high school. I see Teen Wolf fanfics that have Stiles doing that 🙄. 23 years old and a bachelors degree as minimum requirements, unless you’re a high performer who applies to a special program, and then that means you go straight after COLLEGE graduation without having to work elsewhere first. They do have a college intern program during the summers for current college students, I.e. between college years, not before you ever go. And the FBI Academy is not like the Naval Academy. It’s a campus that hosts job training programs for FBI employees, not a college.)

(P.P.S. It takes 2hrs 56 min according to Google maps to get from Washington Navy Yard to Norfolk Naval Station at 10 pm at night. I would have guessed 3 hours, so I guess I was close. In the morning, in rush hour traffic around DC? 🤣🤣🤣 Even Gibbs couldn’t get there before the day was half over. Oh and there’s a HUGE NCIS office in Norfolk with its own forensics lab. I’ve been there when I went to Navy Legal Officer school. So, they wouldn’t call in people from out of town anyway unless they needed a really specialized team of some sort, and Gibbs’s team is simply major crimes. That’s not really all that specialized.)

[sterekchub]

Derek gets into craft beer brewing to make werewolf friendly beers. Along the way he develops a beer belly…which only blossoms further the more into it he gets. Eventually he has a werewolf brewing company where his employees all refer to him as “the tank” based on his size.

Derek with a beer belly is...my EVERYTHING. He has to eventually open his own company because Stiles makes a few too many jokes about Derek and how he's becoming a personal beer keg and forgot a beer warehouse- Derek's gut is getting big enough to be a storage tank! Derek in tight jeans and a company T-shirt, love handles poking out the top, belly peeking out of the bottom of his shirt, and jeans so tightly stretched across his ass they're starting to look transparent. He's usually too busy at work to eat so he does a lot of "liquid lunches" but when he does go to company BBQs or has a taco truck come to the brewery (or when he finally goes on a date with Stiles)- it's obvious all that beer drinking has stretched out his stomach capacity and given him a BIG appetite. Most of the time- Derek is casually sipping the wolfsbane free beers to do quality and flavor control to avoid getting drunk. But on more than one occasion Stiles has run into a slightly tipsy Derek, hiccupping and burping and a little less aware of personal space. There's been a few times Stiles has been wedged against a doorway by Derek's bulk, or watched as Derek leans too heavily against a table and lets out a surprised belch as his belly spreads out against the surface. Derek who is a little grumpy and socially awkward so he empties at least a keg or two at the company Christmas party before he can get the courage to ask out Stiles... Ends up so filled with beer, Stiles swears he can hear it sloshing in Derek's stretched gut, his belly wobbling and slightly swaying back and forth with each unsteady step. AND on the subject of Derek "The tank" - the specific stages of Derek swelling with beer. 1. The "I'm not going to drink too much." He tells Stiles not to be ridiculous, he is having a beer or two because it's his job. Nothing more, they don't need a repeat of last week. 2. "Bloated and tipsy" is next. Derek hasn't been skinny enough to actually look bloated, but he reaches a point of "full" and his stomach is gurgling and stretching more with bubbles and the sloshing, carb- heavy weight building and building. It's really the stage MOST coworkers find him in, the middle of his day, happily chugging beer while he's sitting at his computer, one hand occasionally stifling burps as he barks out orders. 3. "Overloaded" comes next, when Derek is relaxed enough to not feel on edge around his coworkers, when he's laughing and joking like he's friends and not just the boss. He gets physical and affectionate with Stiles, will jokingly use his bulk to pin him against the wall (or occasionally go through with his threats to sit on him, which resulted in at least 2 broken chairs). Starts getting the lumbering waddle to his walk, like he's got a water-filled balloon attached to his middle, ready to burst. 4. The final stage is the "Team effort to fill the tank" when Derek is so full - he can't even find the energy to speak in full sentences. Mostly belches out "hic one buaaaaaarp more!" or "I got uaaaarp room for another bwarrrrp one!" It's become a workplace competition to bet how many more beers they can pour down Derek's throat. How wide Derek's gut will have swollen by the end of it.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi! i’m looking for an established sterek fic where derek is either the chief of police or fire department and they’re at a party or gala of some sort and derek’s employees (the pack) are unknowingly talking (badly?) about derek to stiles, not knowing he’s his husband

Hi @iliketomovwit! @nerdherderette says it's this one.

show me something beautiful by starcanopus

[stereklyrics]

Okay but CEO Derek just married his long-term boyfriend, Stiles, but like no one but family and close friends even knew he was in a relationship, 'cause he's private like that. When Derek shows up at his office with a ring on his finger, the employees were all like "What the fuck?!" and then some rumors started that since like everyone flirted with Derek, he decided to take extreme measures and started using a wedding ring just to avoid at least some of this flirting. Erica, who works for Derek and is one of Derek's and Stiles' close friends, tells Derek the rumors and he's just like "Well, I suppose it's time to introduce Stiles to my employees?" Erica laughs and says "I don't think it's a good idea, Der. We both know Stiles would drag these people on the ground just because they dared to say you would do something like that." Derek stays silent for a bit and then says "You're right. Maybe you can do something? I mean, everyone knows that you're my friend...So if someone asks you, just tell them the truth. Show the wedding photos and videos I know that you have."

[homemadesterekpie]

I’ve become a Below Deck marathon victim and now need a Sterek fanfic involving yachting. Maybe Derek and fam are chartering and I can see Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Jackson, Lydia, etc all working on the ship. Of course, Stiles works on the ship, but not sure in what capacity. Chef? Bosun? Stew? It’s a no-no to have relations with guests, so the heat between Sterek would be fire.

omg YES!!! 👀👀👀

maybe Stiles isn’t even a regular employee or something but the crew needed to fill in for someone so they ask Stiles to do it!

Derek meets him and he’s like “i’ve never seen you before? who are you? 🤨” because usually its always the same crew on board.

i would totally read a fic of this.

[renmackree]

based on my Tumblr post

Rating: Explicit for Sexual Content and Minor Depiction of Violence.

Word Count: 22,817

Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known || Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf) || CEO Derek Hale || Camboy Stiles Stilinski || Boss/Employee Relationship || Public Masturbation || Dirty Talk || Knotting || Knotting Dildos || Biting || Intercrural Sex || Anal Fingering || Anal Plug || Anal Sex || Scenting || Scent Marking || Dubious Consent - Not Sterek || Blackmail - Not Sterek || Alpha Derek Hale || Good Alpha Derek Hale || POV Derek Hale || Nipple Play || Nipple Piercings || Cock Rings || Frotting || Rimming || Blow Jobs || Light Bondage || Butt Plugs || Prostate Milking || Prostate Massage || Spanking || Full Shift Werewolves || Drinking || Minor Violence For: @sterekyrround May prompts: CEO Derek Hale & Drunk Confessions

Summary: CEO Derek Hale has a secret. He likes to watch a cam boy called Riding Good almost every night. Riding Good is lewd, slutty, and ticks all of Derek's boxes. Just a good distraction from his busy work schedule. Stiles Stilinski, on the other hand, has been Derek's in-office crush for the last six months and drives him wild daily. So when he finds out that Stiles and Riding are the same people, what's a CEO to do?

READ IT ON AO3!

requested tags below the cut

@tweezer-like-weezer; @nenehyuuchiha; @okdeannawrites

[thatchickwithtoomanyhobbies]

Limits (Stiles)

***Stiles finally hits his limits and just wants to go home. Decided to rewrite this one as I was running on an hour of sleep, a red bull, and some Reese’s cups when I did the first one and it shows. Note: implications of Stiles having a panic attack. So maybe don’t read this if that’s upsetting.***

If you’d told him when he was younger that one day he’d be in the middle of Europe with a gun in his hands fighting again the German army he’d never have believed you. And yet here he was, doing exactly that. He never wanted to go to Europe. Hell, he never even wanted to be a soldier. But when the military calls, you answer. Unless you want to go to jail that is, which he certainly didn’t want. He was even less of a prisoner than he was a soldier.

He remembered the day he was shipped off to basic, a copy of ‘The Hobbit’ in his hand to read on the long train ride from Chicago to Boston. He never imagined he’d say goodbye to his mom and siblings under such pretenses. The day before he’d visited his father and brothers’ graves, terrified that perhaps soon he’d be buried along side them, his poor mother having lost yet another family member. This one not in a car crash, but in the fields of war.

“I’m gonna miss you so much, Andy,” his sister had told him, shoving a small container of snickerdoodles (which were his favorite) into his duffel bag. Andrew Stiles cringed internally at the childhood nickname, he much preferred to go by Drew now. But the sentiment was the same no matter what name she called him by.

“You behave yourself, big guy,” his older brother, Timothy had told him with a chuckle. “Or else I’m gonna have to come over there and whip you into shape myself!” He was joking of course. Tim had suffered from polio as a young child and no longer had the use of his legs and got around using a wheelchair. It didn’t limit his life in any way however, seeing as he was the owner and sole employee of the local book store.

The train whistle sounded. It was time for him to be shipped off to his fate, no matter what that may be.

“I’ll miss you so much, honey,” his mother told him, pulling him down to her level. It was hard to hug your mother when she was nearly a foot shorter than you. “Please come home, baby. Promise me you’ll come home,” she said through her tears, rubbing the back of his head the way she had when he was a newborn cradled in her arms.

“I will, Ma,” he replied, trying not to cry himself. “I’ll come home, Ma. I promise.” He knew there was no way of knowing if that were true, but he needed to hear it as much as his mother did. He gave both of his siblings the last hugs. Either for now or for the last time he didn’t know.

The train whistle sounded again, this time for the call. He turned and ran before it could leave without him- something that seemed to be a recurring thing in his life when it came to trains.

“I love you!” He yelled over his shoulder to his family still on the train platform, his mother with tears in her eyes. He couldn’t leave her like this. He ran back, hoping he still had enough time to board.

“I’ll come home, Momma. I promise. I’ll come home and I’ll clean out the attic like you’ve been wanting me to. I’ll paint the living room. Whatever your want me to do, I promise, Momma,” he blubbered into the crook of her neck, the resolve he had finally breaking. He was close to his mom, especially since she had been his only parent since the age of eight. He didn’t want her to have to bury another child. “I promise,” he thought. He’d make it home. He had to.

“Somebody stop that train!” he yelled pulling out of his mother’s embrace and breaking into a run. As typically happened to him, the train was beginning to leave without him. Thankfully the train was still moving very slow, and he managed to jump on.

“I love you!” He yelled back to his family, memorizing their faces in case this was the last time he saw them.

“I love you too, son” his mother whispered to herself. “Please be safe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Basic training was anything but basic. He could think of several words to describe it, but none were basic.

Physical Fitness was a nightmare. He had lost his grip on the pull-up bat that morning, and had busted his chin. He’d never been particularly athletic, preferring instead to curl up in a corner with a book and a snack. His body felt like one giant bruise when he crawled into bed at night.

Weapons training was another disaster. He always jumped out of his skin whenever something was shot off, launched, or otherwise exploded around him. He had never been particularly fond of loud sounds but this just made it more obvious.

Tactical, Drill and Ceremony, and Teamwork weren’t so bad. He rather liked tactical since he had a mind for that sort of thing anyway. Teamwork would’ve been fine had they not teamed him up with the most arrogant man he’d ever met- Frank Aiello. He’d been involved in the war effort for a year already but had been sent back to brush up on his skills, which seemed to make him think he was the boss around the camp.

If this was anything like what war would be like, count him out. His aching body had hit its limit weeks ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If he thought basic had been bad, Operation Overlord was worse. The bullets and shells rained down on the small boats as some sort of demented storm. “The beaches were supposed to be flattened,” he thought to himself. Apparently they weren’t, considering the constant barrage of enemy fire they were enduring. Some of the men in his boat were already dead, not even having been given a chance to get off.

“Remember your training!” He heard his lieutenant yell somewhere behind him. They were at the shore now. No turning back.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Finally it was over. He had a unlit cigarette in his mouth. He wasn’t a smoker, he just needed something to distract from everything that had just happened. Even Aiello (who he now was able to be somewhat civil with) had said he’d never seen anything like it.

Men- men just like him, some older, some younger- dying all around him. The sounds of the shells making his ears ring. It couldn’t have been real. But it was. He kept trying to wake himself up from the nightmare, but he couldn’t. This was real. His brain felt like it was breaking.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to cry but the sergeant would definitely rip into him then. “Breathe, you moron. Breathe,” he thought. “And act normal.”

What were the limits of the human brain he wondered? No matter what, he was sure he was beyond them now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Stacking the bodies of his fallen comrades never got easier. Even so, he was becoming desensitized to it, although not as much as he would’ve liked. He wondered if soon he’d be one of the stacked bodies and his family would have to grieve and bury yet another member. Somewhere in the distance he could hear his superiors arguing. They seemed to do a lot of that lately.

He could hear Aiello teasing Daniels somewhere too.

“What kind of chump doesn’t open a sugar report?”

“Ok Stiles, act like you’re fine.” He thought. He didn’t need his friends knowing he was burning out. “The kind who thinks it’s a Dear-John,” he said, playing off of Aiello. “See the address, she wrote ‘Daniels’ not ‘Red.’ Only one reason to be so formal. Hate to say it, I think she’s cutting you loose.”

He wouldn’t be the first one in their platoon to get a letter like that. Aiello had gotten one a week prior. He didn’t tell anyone and carried on like everything was fine. But Stiles could hear his quiet crying at night in his bunk when he thought everyone was asleep.

“Or maybe it’s like Schrödinger’s letter,” he continued. “You know, you don’t open it, she’s still your girl.” Next thing he knew he felt a hard thump on the back of his head.

“Maybe it’s like Schrödinger’s letter,” Aiello said, anger in his voice. “What is wrong with you?”

“Probably several things,” Stiles thought.

Suddenly they heard Lieutenant Turner yelling at them, something he never did.

“Quit screwing around!” the man yelled. “We hit the state theater at 07:30 tomorrow.” Zussman let out out a low whistle as Turner walked away.

“Everyone’s got their limits,” he said, looking at the other men. “Everybody.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pierson was drinking himself silly in his tent. Aiello had been shot in the leg so he was getting getting patched up in the medic tent. Daniels had wanted to be alone. Zussman was who-knows-where. And Turner was dead.

“Turner is dead.” He said to himself. “Turner is dead.” No matter how many times he said it aloud he couldn’t believe it. “Turner is dead.”

The man had become like a father to him- to all of them- but especially to him. Losing his father at such a young age had left him with a void. To an extent, Turner had filled that role in his life. Now he was gone. He’d given his life for them to escape. Tears came to his eyes once again at the thought.

One more person he cared about had been taken from him. His father and twin brothers, Michael and David, had been killed in a car crash when he was 8. First them, now Turner.

It was a good thing he had the tent to himself tonight. Right now he just wanted to cry. As he sat down on his bunk he pulled out his father’s watch. He never wore the thing for fear of it getting broken, but he always kept it nearby. For some reason it made him feel closer to him. He could barely remember his father, in a way that made Turner’s death all the more acute.

He was crying now. Not only for Turner, but for his father and brothers he barely got the chance to know. His heart was pounding out of his chest. He couldn’t seem to breathe again. That had been happening way too often lately.

“Please God,” He’d never been a particularly religious man, but if there were ever a time to be so, now would be it. “Please God, I just want to go home. I just want to go home. I don’t care how, so long as I’m alive. I just want to go home.”

He took of his glasses and laid back on his bunk, coving his face with his hand. He couldn’t seem to stop crying. All he wanted was to go home. As Zussman had said, everyone has their limits and he had finally hit his.

Note: So I hope you like this revised non-energy drink fueled version of this story. If y’all have anything you want to read feel free to suggest!

[ao3feed-peterstiles]

Hale and Associate

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/60188728 by deliciousblizzardshark Sick of his crappy magic-shop job, Stiles agrees to work for Peter Hale's PI agency despite Peter's nefarious reputation and the fact that it was a terrible idea to be attracted to your boss. Words: 19454, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale, Lydia Martin, Original Characters Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Magical Stiles Stilinski, Good Peter Hale, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Boss/Employee Relationship, Case Fic Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/60188728

[sterekbros]

Like This Forever | E | Fluff | Mates | 97K

co-written with @evanesdust as part of our @sterekeverlasting fanzine first edition. you can check out the magazine here.

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Derek Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, True Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Boss/Employee Relationship, Getting Together, Mpreg, Top Derek/Bottom Stiles

Stiles was in his bedroom with the door open, sitting on the edge of his bed, a pair of sweats and a few shirts laid out on top of them. “Hey,” he said quietly when he looked up and saw Derek. His eyes roved over Derek’s body before they dropped and he averted his gaze. “I pulled a few shirts out for you to try on.” “Is it okay if I change in here or should I go back to the bathroom?” While Derek didn’t have any issue being naked in front of Stiles, their relationship was still new. He didn’t think Stiles was a prude or anything, but he didn’t want to chance making him uncomfortable. Stiles looked up at Derek again where he was still standing in the doorway. His eyes drifted along Derek’s chest and arms and down his abdomen before resting on Derek’s hips. He let out a shaky breath and rubbed his hands together as if he were trying to ease his nerves. “You can come in…” Stiles licked his lips, his eyes trailing back up to meet Derek’s gaze. “Do you want me to go? I can give you some privacy.” “No, it’s okay. I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Derek smiled at Stiles as he walked over, stopping in front of him. Normally, he hated when people blatantly stared at him or checked him out, but with Stiles, it felt like an electric jolt throughout his body. It made him want to puff out his chest and flex. He leaned into Stiles’ space as he reached for the sweats. “I don’t make you uncomfortable, do I?” Stiles didn't move back. If anything, he moved more into Derek’s space. “No, you don't.” Before Derek could take the sweats, Stiles’ hand moved to run along Derek’s arm, fingers trailing against damp skin. “You don't have to get dressed…”

Or the one where Stiles is Derek's personal assistant at Hale Incorporated, and they fall in love.

Read on AO3.