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malecsecretsanta · 7 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @magnificentbane!

hope this gift made you feel as warm and fuzzy reading it as it did for me while I was writing it! xoxo Happy Holidays!

Read on AO3

*****

I love you wholly & I love you forever.

Alec isn't positive what prompted the first attack on his love life. All he knows is that he was re-stringing his bow in companionable, peaceful silence one second and the next Max was springing a loaded question on him with the most casual of tones, "Why haven't you proposed to Magnus yet?"

Alec pauses in the midst of tightening his string, slowly turning his head to the side to look at his little brother, who isn't quite so little these days but whose questions still possess that youthful naivety. Alec's so taken aback from the question that he finds himself blurting out the first thought that comes to mind, "I don't have a ring."

It sounds like a weak excuse even to his own ears and it's not quite that simple either. The concept of marrying Magnus is not a foreign one to him, rather quite the opposite with his dreams, both awake and sleeping, filled with warm scenes of confessing his eternal love for Magnus in front of their family and friends. But the logistics of actually proposing are definitely much less common, his brain preferring to skip over that step to the ceremony itself.

Max sees right through that flimsy excuse, "Why do you need a ring to propose? Who even cares about the engagement ring?"

Alec nods his understanding at what Max is getting at, maybe not having a ring isn't a solid enough excuse when Alec’s not even sure if they’re going to have engagement rings or just wedding rings, but it's not quite that simple either. It's not that Alec hasn't thought of proposing because he expects Magnus to (which Alec knows would never be the case), it's that nothing has felt quite right . No ring he's looked at nor moment they've shared has ever been quite right to be worthy of proclaiming one's everlasting affections to someone as smart, beautiful, loyal, and magical as Magnus. Marriage is something Magnus has never been privy to so Alec wants it to be perfect, every component of it, and he plans to only propose once, so he wants it to be something that he can look back upon fondly forever .

"Aren't you guys going on vacation next week? Isn't that a common thing to do - propose during a destination getaway?" Max's voice cuts through Alec's convoluted thoughts. He narrows his eyes in confusion at the suggestion from his eighteen year old brother. Max shrugs under the scrutiny, unabashed as he explains, "I've been watching the Bachelorette with Izzy, Simon, and Maia. It's been the contestants' favorite proposal route for many seasons."

Alec nods his head slowly to himself as he absorbs all the different tidbits of information in that response, he turns his head back to tightening his bow. "Maybe... I'll keep that in mind."

After a few moments of silence, Max speaks up again. "I know I wasn't the nicest to Magnus when you first started dating and I'm sorry for that but I now see how good you are together, better together. And I'm looking forward to having him as my brother in law."

Blindsided once again by Max, Alec pauses in his ministrations. His response is simple, compacting his appreciation and pride for his younger brother's constant growth over the past six years into two words: "Thanks Max."

While Alec and Magnus are on vacation, Max's romantic reality tv proposal worthy suggestion comes to mind one night. They are walking away from Epcot at Disney World after dinner, enjoying some quiet before their night plans at the Atlantic Dance Hall (also known as a time for Alec to watch in awe of how effortlessly and seductively Magnus moves his hips to all types of music, thoroughly putting Alec's lackluster dance moves to shame).

It’s quiet with them just enjoying each other's presence, not feeling the need to talk to fill the space between them, when a loud bang to their left catches Alec's attention. He looks back to see the source of the noise, an alley cat darting in between crates, and when he looks forward, the setting sun directly behind Magnus, cloaks him in only the finest of pinks, purples, and soft blues as the sky turns from day to night. A pastel bisexual flag in the sky, highlighting the glimmer in Magnus's eyeshadow and the golden brown tones in his cheeks, giving him an ethereal glow as if he has a bit of angel blood in his DNA too. It’s a sight so amazing that Alec's breath catches in his throat, trying to process all the beauty of a man who manages to pull off anything, even the free Mickey Mouse ears he won earlier that day.

Magnus looks up, as if sensing Alec's gaze. Magnus's lips curl into a warm smile, his eyes fond and the lines around his eyes deepening as he looks back at Alec. That's when the thought really hits him: he wants a million more of these little quiet moments with Magnus, wants them for the rest of their lives. And he thinks about proposing right then and there with no rings, so overcome with love for his boyfriend. But he holds back because it still doesn’t feel quite right to him. The idea of proposing at their first visit to a place they aren’t emotionally attached to doesn’t feel quite good enough . So Alec just smiles back, gently squeezing Magnus's hand as they keep walking. Though Alec tucks that tidbit of his personal proposal preference into the back of his mind.

Night is only just settling in and so is Alec with an important side case for the institute to tackle, papers strewn around him on his large wooden desk and a map of the Bronx up on his tablet. The papers detail coroners reports for the six people so far that have died due to a string of poisonings slowly overtaking New York City, starting in the Bronx. It’s pretty low on the radar for mundane police officials because it’s mainly happening in housing project neighborhoods but during the last Downworlder Meeting, Luke mentioned that his wolves have been talking about it and how he’s not positive it’s completely mundane -so Isabelle’s on the case.

A soft knock on the door dares to distract Alec from the papers in front of him, feeling as though there is a clue somewhere if he can just unravel it. He grants the visitor entry without lifting his eyes. It’s the sound of a lock clicking into place that causes him to look up to Maryse. And while seeing his mother walk through his office door is not a foreign sight for Alec, the fact that she locked the door behind her alerts him to the fact that she is definitely up to something. Even though this is the first case Alec has been able to work on since getting back from vacation, he puts his tablet to the side to return to later, well aware the case isn’t time sensitive because while they believe the poisonings are a result of demonic activity, they can’t proceed without Isabelle’s analysis for confirmation.

“Good Evening Alec.” Maryse greets kindly as she walks up to the side of his desk, hands behind her back and a warm smile on her face. She looks too pleased, making Alec feel like she knows something he doesn’t.

Alec narrows his eyes, “What do you want?”

The corner of Maryse’s mouth twitches in amusement at Alec’s bluntness. “Well I was talking to Max last week,” Alec has a strong inkling as to where this conversation is going. He wills it clear away from the direction of being scolded by his mom for not proposing to his Downworlder boyfriend of six years. A small part of him does reason it’s a much better route than where they were six years ago when his mother openly didn’t approve of Magnus, nevermind their love. “And he told me that you haven’t proposed to Magnus because you don’t have a ring yet.”

Alec manages to only groan internally but refuses to hold back his eye roll at the oversimplification of his issue. Maryse doesn’t notice though, her eyes focused on the corner of the wooden desk. She takes in a deep breath as she looks up again, “There is also a part of me that thinks that my original disapproving prejudice at you dating not just a man but a downworlder , may be playing a role in holding you back. That my initial lack of respect towards Magnus and support of your relationship still has residual impact on your decision to propose.”

The pain that Alec hears in his mother’s voice as she remembers those less proud years of her life makes him want to reassure her that isn’t the case here but there is a hard look in her eyes, like this is something she needs to get off her chest and that she isn’t done yet. “Max’s comment made me think about my family and our proposal stories which reminded me of a very faint memory I have from growing up: an uncle that lived with another man my whole childhood and until his death. And I suddenly realized that they were lovers that just never could marry.” She pauses for a moment, shifting her weight to her heels, rolling her shoulders back as she acknowledges a little of that weight that comes from being woefully ignorant to the struggles of LGBT+ community, even in her own life. “They never had kids so their belongings were put into our family vault. I found this yesterday and thought you might be interested in it.”

Alec’s breath is already caught in his throat from hearing about a great uncle that grew up in an even more closeted time but still had the strength to love who he loved regardless before Maryse even reveals what she found. At the sight of two polished simple black rings resting in his mother's outstretched hand, Alec’s eyes well up. He takes them gingerly from her, running his fingers over their smooth cool edges as she continues.

“I know your sister has my family ring and Jace has your father’s family wedding pins but I wanted to give you something from me, from my family, to share my blessing, not that you’ve ever needed it but to show you, with more than just my words and actions... to materialize my support of you and Magnus, of how happy I am for you that you have found love in such an amazing man, that pushes you to always be your very best. There isn’t a day that goes by where my love and pride in you does not grow.”

Alec focuses his energy on the weight of the rings in his hands to keep from shedding tears as his mother’s words wash over him. He’s about to thank her for the blessing when tilting the rings reveals an inscription inside each one, making it clear that they were intended as wedding bands, ‘i love you wholly’ and ‘ i love you forever’.

Maryse must notice that Alec saw the engraving for she adds, “They’re made from black onyx, for the wearer’s protection, and tungsten, for durability so that they will last until the end of time.” Her voice is as choked up as he feels, hinting at her awareness that he’s researching immortality routes and her quiet way of showing support. A tear falls from his eye; the rings are perfect.

Alec’s mother’s parting advice about her own proposal at a romantic, upscale restaurant in Barcelona echoes in his mind as he leafs through the menu at Magnus’s favorite sushi restaurant in Tokyo. Though they order the same thing every time they go, special plates created by the head sushi chef of the best fish caught that day, because this chef is one of Magnus’s ultimate favorites from the past seventy five years, Alec needs the distraction the menu provides to sort his nerves, the rings weighing heavy in his pocket.

Maryse’s voice was just so soft and her eyes far away, back on that special moment, when she recanted the story, like the memory is so perfect for her that even Robert’s cheating and their divorce managed to not completely taint it. A memory that stands the test of time, the highs and lows, that’s what Alec wants for his proposal.

“Changing your mind Alexander?” Magnus’s voice draws Alec away from his conversation with his mother and to the present moment. Alec places the menu down on the table, smiling in response to Magnus’s playful expression, “I just wanted to make sure my dessert is still an option.”

“We haven’t even ordered dinner yet and you’re already thinking ahead?” The gentle ribbing tone alluding to the last time they were here when Alec ate so much at dinner that he had a stomach ache for the rest of the night that he whined incessantly about while refusing to take any of Magnus’s remedies. Well Alec learned his lesson, albeit the hard way and he knows now to stop the chef way before ten dishes.

Alec leans in closer over the table, “I’m always thinking ahead.”

Magnus eyes Alec for a moment, mouth slightly parted, the honest weight of that sentence not going amiss. Their waiter returns to take their order before Magnus can respond. After they leave, Magnus and Alec just sit in comfortable silence with matching small smiles on their faces, the candle on their table making Magnus’s beautiful dark brown eyes sparkle with the flicker of its flame, and the chatter of the restaurant around them falling away to a white noise. Alec’s heart swells with love for just how lucky he is and how happy he is, an emotion that he never thought he would fully get to experience before meeting Magnus. Alec extends his hand across the table, resting it palm up and Magnus reaches for it, placing his hand in Alec’s and squeezing gently. And Alec knows that this would be the moment to propose, that no moment at dinner is going to be better than this one, but it still isn’t right , doesn’t feel quite like them.

Suddenly there is a crash of glass shattering from a table near them that causes both Alec and Magnus to turn their heads in its direction. They see a man on one knee next the table, holding a small black jewelry box open to the woman sitting in the chair, the source of the noise, a broken flute glass, on the floor by their feet as if the proposal had taken the woman by so much surprise they dropped their glass. The woman looks to be in shock at the man at their feet, the moment is suspended before they break into a huge smile as they exclaim, “ はい! (Hai!)”

The couple embraces tightly and tables around them burst into applause, Magnus and Alec included. The noise dies down, everyone returning to their food and previous conversations. Alec turns his attention back to Magnus as he asks, “I wonder if the answer would have been yes if they weren’t in such a public setting.”

“Public proposals always make me uneasy to watch for that reason: too much societal pressure.” Magnus says as he takes a sip from his martini glass, his eyes watching the woman slip the ring onto their finger, a shocked expression still lingering in their wide eyes.

The comment reassures Alec on his gut instinct, that something a little more quiet and intimate is more their speed for a proposal. The rings no longer feel like a heavy burden in his pocket, allowing him to enjoy all the courses of his meal and dessert in the moment with Magnus.

“So mom told me she gave you the perfect wedding rings to finally propose to Magnus and that both of you cried.” Jace says as he waltzes into Alec’s office apropos of any sort of greeting.

“Why is everyone so emotionally attached to my romantic life?” Alec asks, more to himself than his brother, before looking up from Isabelle’s forensic analysis on the poisoning victims. He welcomes the break from the case he’s been reading for hours, currently unable to draw any further conclusions beyond the involvement of demons. “Am I on an episode of Real Housewives of Idris?” Jace rolls his eyes instead of responding, prompting Alec to narrow his eyes, “Do you all have bets?”

Jace sounds slightly offended, pulling his head back as he replies, “What? No! Gambling on a timeline for when you and Magnus will finally get engaged is inconsiderate and stupid…” Jace pauses for a moment before continuing, “Though if it were to happen within the next couple of months, before Christmas, I wouldn’t complain.”

The comment definitely hints at the existence of an underground betting pool about Magnus and Alec’s love life, whether or not the prize is money or simply bragging rights is unclear. “Yes I have the rings now thanks to mom but I still don't know how I’m actually going to propose.”

“Just do what I did.” Jace says, shrugging one shoulder as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.

“No. I am not asking Magnus to marry me in the middle of battle.” Alec responds with a sense of finality, like it’s a proposal that only someone like Jace could get away with.

“Nothing is more romantic than professing your love when your life is on the line.” Jace reassures with sincerity in his voice.

Alec squints one eye at Jace, his mind filling with dozens of moments that him and Magnus have shared in the past year alone that are more romantic than that moment. But Jace was also covered in sick Seelie bile so that clouds the memory for Alec. Jace’s eyes are slightly glazed over as if he’s back in the midst of that fight, similar to how Maryse looked when recounting her proposal story, and the suggestion manages to pull at Alec’s heart strings a little.

Two days after Jace’s proposal advice, they finally make a breakthrough on the obscure demonic related poisoning case. Alec and Luke notice from looking at the map as a whole that a pentagram formed across New York City when the sites were connected with a straight line, progressing from oldest events to the most recent. That realization cements Magnus’s theory: demons are planning to summon an even greater demon on Thursday for the Harvest Moon. A summoning this big could call forth any number of demons, so they have Shadowhunters and Downworlders deployed at each poisoning site while the best fighters converge on the pentagram’s center point: the expected summoning place.

It’s why not even a week later from the talk with Jace, Alec finds himself in the middle of battle with Magnus by his side, working together to take down the group responsible for the poisonings in the city. If Alec wasn’t in the life of hunting demons, he’d think Jace’s comment was a vague foreshadowing but being a shadowhunter does have certain expectations with it.

When they arrive, it’s to an odd stand off with a circle of demons protecting the one doing the summoning itself. Everyone eyes each other warily for a moment and no words are spoken, there are ten fighters and only eight demons so the odds look to be in their favor. Suddenly as Alec draws his bow, prepared to initiate the fight, one of the demons bursts into half a dozen or so smaller tar-like lizards, reminding Alec of a previous demonic encounter. Maia and Luke take off after them, their four legs helping chase after the demons giving them a run for their money. Meliorn follows after them to help ensure the destruction of the demons with their special blade, forged by the Seelie Queen herself, since werewolf teeth aren’t always as effective.

Now what remains are seven against seven and Alec knows Magnus can’t use all of his magic incase he needs to close any portion of the portal. The odds are looking a little less stacked but Alec has no doubt in their capabilities. Alec immediately turns to cover Magnus’s back, shooting at one of the smaller demons that strayed from Maia and Luke while Magnus uses his magic to ensnare the demons in their spot so Alec can shoot before they shift.

It’s a technique they’ve started to use more in battle because it takes up less of Magnus’s energy than a banishment spell and ensures a less likely return. Of course it sounds flawless in theory and occasionally it is in practice but not all of the demons are vanishing when they’re attacked with weapons, some are multiplying like the first one. Regardless, Alec and Magnus continue working their way through the demons towards the summoner. They get within a foot of the summoner but there is an invisible wall-like structure surrounding them so they can’t get any closer, prompting Magnus to mutter something of annoyance under his breathe, elbowing Alec to cover his side. Magnus turns his wrist in a full circle, flame like embers appearing around his hand as he pushes down the air in front of him to take down the protection wall.

The moment the barrier breaks, the summoning demon in the center turns on Magnus faster than a blink of the eye, grabbing Magnus’s wrist and pulling him forward. They hiss, “We’ve been expecting you Prince of Hell. Your father sends his best wi-.”

Magnus doesn’t even wait for the demon to finish their sentence, slicing across their throat with the runed sword from Alec’s holster. Immediately the ground that was sinking in front of them stops as does the fighting around them. The sword clatters on the asphalt when Magnus releases it to cradle his hand the demon grabbed, surveying the red blistered hand print they left behind, but he’s here, safe and whole, and Alec smiles. Magnus looks up from his hand and catches Alec’s eye, smiling back just as tired and relieved as Alec feels.

Even with black blood like goo all over Magnus and even a little on his face, Alec still has never seen a more beautiful person in his life. Jace’s proposal advice crosses Alec’s mind briefly but then he remembers that he confessed his love to Magnus for the first time after the soul sword incident. So he pushes the thought away because he doesn’t want all of their relationship milestones to be tied to violence for the rest of their lives. They deserve soft and warm memories, like mundanes, too.

After discussing Isabelle’s successful administration of her poison antidote to people that could still be sick at the sites, Alec thinks they’re done. He’s almost out the door of her laboratory when her voice makes him pause, “I’m glad you didn’t take Jace’s terrible advice and propose to Magnus after that fight in some dirty alleyway in Queens.” Alec nods slowly in agreeance, realizing now how suspicious it was for Isabelle to not have already given advice for how to propose. “It should be a place you want to revisit and maybe on an important day... like your anniversary. Good Luck Alec!”

Isabelle sends him off with those parting words, the conversation over just as quickly as it started, which is what Alec prefers though he knows it’s because Isabelle is in the midst of documenting everything about the attack. With his anniversary coming up in a couple of weeks, Alec stores away that not awful advice. He supposes proposing on one’s anniversary is cliche for a reason, right?

“Alec, are you alright? You look on edge.” Magnus’s asks from across the table, concern evident in both his tone and facial expression, bringing Alec back to his dinner and out of his mental spiral of the right time to ask the question. Magnus moves their anniversary bouquet of roses to the side for a less obstructed view of Alec before returning to his steak, not oblivious in the slightest of the inner turmoil Alec faces -just of its topic.

Alec’s celebrating his sixth year relationship with a truly magical man that he loves greatly, who knows him better than anyone else in his life, even better than Isabelle. And even though his stress is correlated to a surprise for Magnus, Alec wants to bring it up now to talk about because Magnus always knows how to look at things in a different light from Alec that gives him more information to consider. So he goes with the truth, “All of my family members have given me proposal advice the past couple of months and I’m starting to feel like I’m on Real Housewives of Idris. Having them hovering to tell me when and how to propose is more stressful than I expected.”

Magnus puts down his fork, corners of his lips turned down in a frown as he regards Alec. “You know I love you completely and fully, right?” Alec nods his head even though he knows the question is rhetorical. “I don’t need a ring or a shadowhunter ceremony to validate that our love is real. If you don’t want to propose, I will still be by your side for as long as we are good for eachother -ring or no ring.” Magnus maintains eye contact with Alec, trying to fully drill this concept into his mind. He nods his head again to confirm that he heard and understands. Magnus nods to himself, picking back up his utensils. “So did you actually make those chocolate covered strawberries or did you pick them up from that place on 22nd we’re always admiring from the sidewalk?”

“Both.” Alec says with a grin, making both of them laugh. “Isabelle picked up a box because I complained too much about how hard it was to decorate the chocolate.”

And just like that, the conversation gently steers to less stressful topics like teasing Alec for all the attempts to dress up their dessert and how Magnus was so distracted by their anniversary plans that he forgot his potion for too long, turning a stomach relief remedy into the opposite. The rings in Alec’s pocket and all the stress they carry to make sure the moment is just right evaporates as they spend the rest of the night laughing, talking, and celebrating six years of their amazing relationship.

“Hey Alec!” Alec stops in his tracks at the sound of his name, turning to see Simon walking down the hall towards him. Perplexed, Alec isn’t sure he wants to stick around long enough to find out where this is going. His eyes dart for all possible escape routes if the conversation heads south. “Jace told me you’re thinking of proposing but weren’t sure when. As a married friend, my advice is to pop the Question when the moment feels right because there is no perfect one.”

Yup this is exactly where Alec feared this conversation would lead. He raises a single judgemental eyebrow, “Didn’t you propose in the middle of dinner?”

“Yeah but then we redid it.” Simon says with a shrug like multiple proposals are a common occurrence.

Luke appears from around the corner of the hall, having heard their conversation and deciding to chime in as well. “He’s right but just don’t follow his lead.”

Alec nods his head in comprehension as he looks from Luke to Simon. Storing this not terrible suggestion in the back of his mind as he tries to parse out why so many people are invested in his love life; he’s starting to feel like he’s in that other reality drama: Saturday Nights at Edom .

Alec’s only been up for a couple of seconds, refusing to leave the warm comfort of the bed and the wonderful sight of the man he loves. Next to Alec, Magnus is sprawled out shirtless on his back, one arm across his eyes and the other on Alec’s forearm, as if reaching out for him even in sleep. The golden sheets pull up all the way to Magnus’s chest, bringing out the natural golden undertone in Magnus’s skin. He looks radiant, completely at ease in rest. He lets out a snort-like snore that makes Alec smile, remembering fondly how Magnus first teased Alec about his snoring before they were together. Magnus is truly beautiful, always but especially here in this moment, sleeping in their bed right now. Alec thinks to himself, ‘I want to wake up next to Magnus every day for ever and ever, no- for as long as they are good for each other .’

Magnus’s words from their anniversary dinner the other week echo in Alec’s mind, filling him with warmth. Magnus stirs slightly in his sleep, his arm falling off his face and onto his chest. The sudden movement causing him to wake up, slowly batting his eyelashes as he leaves the dream world for the land of the awake. He yawns while turning towards Alec, squeezing his forearm when Magnus sees that Alec’s awake, almost like a gentle greeting. Magnus’s eyes trail Alec’s face, taking in his fond smile and offering a warm, sleepy one in return, “What? Did I drool again?”

The question is right there, on the front of Alec’s mind but the words get jumbled in his throat and don’t make it out of his mouth. Instead he answers with a soft truth, as he shrugs one shoulder, “I love you.”

“I stand by my statement - you cheated that last game.” Magnus calls behind him as they enter the loft while Alec locks the front door. “Every tricky shot I had, you would distract me with your,” Magnus turns on his heels to face Alec, gesturing at him, “body. Therefore you didn’t win because you played dirty.”

Alec grins, quickly stepping into Magnus’s space and enjoying the way he tracks Alec’s movements. His hands slide up Magnus’s sides, “You enjoy when I play dirty - you love a challenge.”

“That is true.” Magnus concedes, his eyes drag from Alec’s lips to his eyes before kissing him deeply, teasingly biting his bottom lip before pulling away from the kiss and his arms. Magnus winks, removing his jacket for the coat rack.

Alec huffs out a laugh, reading loud and clear Magnus’s declaration: he too can play dirty. Alec walks through the entryway and out onto the balcony. They portaled home but the night’s open air calls to him, it’s chill feels wonderful after being around the hot, crowded pool tables at Hunter’s Moon. Magnus follows Alec out onto the balcony, “It’s a perfect night.”

Alec looks over at Magnus, head tilted up to the moon and few stars visible in the Brooklyn night sky as he rests his hands on the balcony bannister next to Alec’s. He couldn’t agree more but something pulls at him, his mind immediately going to the rings in his pocket that he’s been carrying around everywhere for the past couple of months and he just knows in his heart that this is the moment.

“Yeah... and the only thing that would make it even better would be knowing if you, Magnus Bane, would marry me?””

Magnus turns slowly towards Alec, who has gotten down on his knee with his hand extended, holding the black onyx and tungsten ring between his thumb and pointer finger, glinting in the moon’s light.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to propose to you Magnus, I just was waiting for the perfect moment, one that felt right , because before, the closest thing I ever felt to right in my life was when I used my bow, then I met you. Everything about you, your laugh, your smile, your wit, your pool skills, your hand in mine, your magic, you have always made me feel happy -good . And nothing would feel more right than being by your side as your husband for as long as we’re good for each other.”

The moment between them falls quiet, a soundtrack of Brooklyn’s city noises plays around them. Alec sees the tears in his own eyes reflected in Magnus’s as he gently picks up the offered ring in Alec’s hand. Magnus’s expression is in awe as he tilts the ring back in forth, eyes dancing as he follows the way the ring catches the light of the stars. He tilts the ring just so and the light in the living room must highlight the inscription on the ring, making him bring the ring closer to read, ‘I love you wholly’. The smile on Magnus’s lips deepens until his white teeth reflect the moonlight, slipping the ring onto his finger even though it’s a little too big.

“I never even considered that I could experience the sanctity of marriage before I met you. Yes, I would love to marry you Alexander for I do love you wholly and will forever. ”

Alec’s heart swells at hearing Magnus utter those words, hearing him practically say the complete inscription for the bands on instinct alone just solidifies to Alec how perfect these rings are for them. He stands, reaching in his pocket again to retrieve his matching ring with the inscription, ‘I love you forever’. Even though he knows it’s a little tight from trying on both rings before, he puts it just the same. He holds his hand elevated in the air next to Magnus’s, just to see both of their hands with their rings catching the moonlight. Alec looks back up to Magnus, who is watching him with a warm expression like the idea that Alec proposed is still being processed.

Magnus leans a little closer and Alec answers the movement immediately, leaning in the rest of the distance to soundly press his lips against Magnus’s. Slightly over excited about the kiss, Alec steadies himself with one hand resting at the juncture of shoulder and neck and the ring bearing hand on Magnus’s cheek. He tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss as his hands come up to brace Alec’s face. And Alec has felt the cool material of rings on his skin before, he has been dating Magnus Bane for six years, but at the thought that one of those rings is their wedding band makes butterflies flutter in Alec’s stomach that are as strong as the first night they met.

Alec pulls away from the kiss to take a breath, he stays close as he rests their foreheads together, both of them sporting big, happy smiles. Alec whispers back his mutual affection, “I too love you wholly and will forever, my fiance .”

It’s the perfect ending to a perfect day.

#magnificentbane #malecsanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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wefotografiarlavida · 8 years ago

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Se viste de gala de belleza y esplendor (guayacan amarillo) 💛💛💛 En los lugares donde he vivido trato de disfrutarlos lo más que pude en #sevillavalle viví un tiempo y siempre desee ver a este grupo en escena. Tiempo después me fui de aquella tierra a la que guardo en mi memoria por su gente y sus calles empinadad. Anoche @grupobandola en el cierre del #FIC17 me recordaron lo que es amar la tierra. A todos los que puedan pasesen por sevilla y disfruten del #festivalbandola este fin de semana #estoesvidamiamor #festivalbandola #festivalinternacionaldelacultura 🍃🍃🍃

#festivalinternacionaldelacultura #estoesvidamiamor #sevillavalle #festivalbandola #fic17

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fulvius · 8 years ago

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Nomes de peso da indústria criativa nacional e internacional estarão reunidos no Festival de Interatividade e Comunicação – FIC17, que ocorre nos dias 5 e 6 de outubro, no Barra Shopping Sul, em Porto Alegre. A começar pelo keynote speaker, o futurista Brian Solis, que virá pela primeira vez ao Brasil. Solis é um estudioso sobre tecnologias disruptivas e seu impacto nos negócios e na sociedade. Líder em inovação e negócios, antropologista, globalmente reconhecido e autor de sete livros, incluin

via: http://eexponews.com/festival-reunira-principais-nomes-da-industria-criativa-para-debater-a-economia-da-experiencia_4769119216336896

#tech #eexponews

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notadirtyweed · 12 years ago

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Capítulo 17

John's POV

- ããnn! Katy é o seu celular? - disse murmurando com a cara enterrada no travesseiro

- Não, o meu eu desliguei. - ela disse murmurando também

- ai quem deve ser a essa hora? - disse e quase tomei um tombo, quando levantei da cama. Esfreguei os olhos e vi que tinha uma luz no bolso de minha calça, então deveria ser o celular. Fui engatiando até a poltrona onde estava minha calça, nem vi qum era e atendi

- Alô! - disse meio abafado com uma voz de sono

- John? Filho, te acordei?

- Oi mãe! - disse e recostei-me na poltrona e cocei mais uma vez meus olhos

- Estava dormindo?

- Estava, mas tudo bem.

- Ah essa hora? Que horas o senhor foi dormir?

- Que horas são? Ah, eu não sei, muito tarde eu acho

- John, já são 12:30 pm

- O que? Já é isso tudo? - dei um 'grito' e levantei do chão e fui pro banheiro lavar meu rosto

- Sim, já vi que eu vou ter que preparar o almoço quando chegar aí

- Não mãe, não precisa. Eu vejo aqui se tem algo pra fazer rápido, se não eu peço comida do restaurante

- Então tudo bem, como está Katy?

- Ela tá bem, muito bem. - disse e fiquei parado encostado na porta, observando Katy dormir

- Está tudo bem com meu netinho?

- Sim, o bebê está ótimo também. - desencostei-me da porta e sentei-me na berada da cama ao lado de Katy, que tentava abrir os olhos

- Graças a Deus, bom meu filho eu vou desligar. Já já chegamos aí, seu pai está mandando um beijo

- Ok, mando outro pra ele

- Mandei, tchau filho

- Tchau mãe

Desliguei o celular e o joguei por cima da cama. Katy fez gesto com a mão de "vem cá" e deitei-me ao lado dela

- Bom tarde meu amor - disse e dei um beijo em sua testa

- Boa tarde? Que horas são? - ela disse, retribuiu meu beijo e levantou-se da cama indo em direção ao banheiro

- Agora são exatamente, 12:43 pm - continuei deitado e olhava ela de longe no banheiro

- Meu Deus, dormimos muito - ela disse e vi que ela ia fazer suas necessidades

- Sim, ah e meus pais estão chegando. Vou descer e ver se tem algo para o almoço. - disse, levantei-me da cama e já ia descer

- Ah ok, você estava no celular com sua mãe?

- Sim, amor eu vou descer. Vou pedir pra Anelise trazer um suco de laranja pra você, ok? - disse e estava com um pé dentro e outro fora do quarto pra sair

- Ok, obrigada vida! - ela respondeu 'gritando'

Desci e fui até a varanda, pegar o jornal. Voltei e fui até a cozinha, e pedi pra Anelise levar o suco de Katy. Vi no armário e na geladeira, mas não tinha nada de bom. Peguei a caixinha onde guardava cartões com telefones de restaurantes, sacudi um pouco a caixa e peguei a do Nacello, já tinha comido lá umas 2 vezes, até que era gostosa a comida. Liguei e pedi comida pra 5 pessoas. Já era 1:00 pm, quando ia subindo pro quarto novamente, mas ouvi a campainha tocar

- "Deve ser eles!" - pensei em voz alta e fui abrir a porta

- Mamãe! - disse e abri os braços para abraçá-la

- Oi meu filho - ela me apertou e deu um beijo na minha bochecha. Ela já foi entrando com uma das malas e comprimentei meu pai

- Pai e aí? - disse e dei dois tapas, nas costas dele

- Tudo bem meu filho e você? - disse meu pai, deu duas batidas no meu ombro e entrou com as malas

- Estou bem! - fechei a porta e o ajudei com as malas

- Onde está Katy? - minha mãe disse e passava o olho pela sala procurando-a

- Ela tá lá em cima mãe. Vai lá ver ela, eu já já subo com o papai pra colocar as coisas no quarto de vocês

Katy's POV

Estava acabando de me vestir e ouvi alguém bater na porta da quarto. Imaginei que fosse Margaret

- Pode entrar. - disse e fechei a porta do guarda-roupa

- Oi Katy! - disse Margaret e veio com um enorme sorriso no rosto e de braços abertos para me abraçar

- Oi Marg! Tudo bem? - disse e abracei-a

- Oi meu Bem, tudo sim e com você? - ela disse, e me levou até a cama para sentarmos

- Estou ótima - disse e passei a mão pela barriga. - Olhe. - estiquei minha mão direita para que ela visse o anel que John havia me dado

- Que bom, aaarrr. Espera, o John te pediu em casamento? - ela segurou minha mão e ficou admirando o anel

- Sim, ontem. Foi perfeito, você não sabe o quanto eu o amo - disse e fiz cara de boba apaixonada

- Own Katy, que ótima notícia. Hmnn, fico feliz por isso. John escolheu a mulher certa pra ela. Você é uma ótima pessoa, agradeço a Deus todos os dias por você ser minha nora. - ela disse, segurou firme em minhas mãos e olhou profundo em meus olhos

- Awn Marg! - disse emocionada e a abracei

"Tum-tum-tum" - batida na porta

- Oi Katy, minha querida! - Abri meus olhos e vi que Richard vinha entrando no quarto com John.

- Oi Richard! - Levantei-me da cama e fui abraçá-lo

- Oi minha querida, tudo bem com você? - disse, afastou nossos corpos e me olhava com um enorme sorriso

- Estou ótima e você? - disse e retribui com o mesmo sorriso

POV's OFF

Eles continuaram conversando e após alguns minutos desceram para almoçar. Katy e Margaret subiram para escolher as roupas que iriam usar na Bodas de Pratas da tia do John, já Richard e John ficaram na sala vendo reportagens sobre futebol. A festividade seria às 6 pm, Katy ligou para Todd e o pediu que fosse ajudar ela e Margaret com um belo penteado. O relógio já marcava 4:30 pm badaladas e ela já ia apressando John para que fosse se arrumar.

John's POV

- Amor, meu terno tá no closet? - disse,entrei no quarto e fiquei parado vendo Todd maquiar Katy

- Tá sim, eu o pendurei no cabideiro. - ela disse apontadando numa direção errada, pois estava com os olhos fechados

- Ok, obrigado! - disse e fui pegar meu terno. Já estava quase pronto e Katy também

45 min depois

- Mãe e Katy descem logo, mais que demora - subi uns 3 degraus da escada e gritei

- Vai se acostumando meu filho, as mulheres são assim. - disse meu pai e deu dois tapinhas' no meu ombro

- Eu não entendo porque essa demora toda!- disse bufando e fui para cozinha buscar um copo de água

- ''Ah até que enfim vocês desceram!'' - ouvi meu pai dizer e fui pra sala

- UAU! Vocês estão lindas! - disse e fiquei admirando Katy

- Obrigada meu filho! - disse minha mãe e meu pai puxou-a para um beijo

- Meu amor, você está linda! - cochichei no ouvido de Katy e logo a beijei

- Você também meu gatão! - ela cochichou no meu

- Dá uma voltinha! - disse, segurei sua mão para que rodasse. - Você é muito gata. - disse e não tirava meu olhos da bunda dela, o vestido era um pouco justo e marcava

- John! - ela disse meio envergonhada por causa de meus pais

- Bom, já podemos ir? - disse meu pai e esticou a mão até a bancada e pegou a chave do carro

- Vamos! - disse e nós saímos

A casa de Tony era longe da minha, então quanto mais cedo saíssemos melhor. O resto de minha família estaria lá, e estava animado pra ver minha tia.

Chegamos na mansão de Tony 6:10 pm, estacionei e descemos. Logo que entramos vimos minha tia

- Jooooooooooohn! - ela gritou e veio sorrindo com os braços abertos

- Tiaaaa! - gritei e corri para abraçá-la

- Como você está bonitão! - ela desgrudou nossos corpos e ficou me olhando

- E você também! - disse e sorri

- Oh meu Deus, você está mesmo namorando a Katy Perry? - ela agerralou os olhos em direção a Katy e disse supreendida

- SIm tia, estou namorando a Katy Perry! - disse rindo. - Katy, vem cá! - Chamei-a para apesentá-la a minha tia. - Katy, essa é a minha tia Charlotte

- Prazer Char... - Katy começou a dizer e foi interrompida por minha tia

- Que honra receber Katy Perry na minhas Bodas, eu sou muito sua fã, eu adoro suas músicas, eu adoro você. Minha música favorita sua é Peacock, eu fui no seu show em Vegas, você é incrível! - minha tia dizia desesperadamente se, respirar e não deixava Katy nem falar

- Oh, muito obrigada! - disse Katy, desgrudou-se dela e a olhava com um enorme sorriso

- Ai meu Deus, eu ainda não estou acreditando. Você canta peacock hoje? - disse minha tia e olhava Katy, com os olhos arregalados esperando ouvir um sonoro SIM

- Eu não acho apropriado nessa ocasião. - Katy disse tentando desconversar

- Ah não importa, eu não ligo. Você canta? - disse minha tia

- Ok, eu canto! - disse Katy se rendendo

- Ah muito obrigada Katy! - minha tia a agarrou novamente, deixando-a sufocada. - Já aproveitando, eu adoraria que você fizesse um dueto com John hoje e cantasse, uma música que marca minha história com Tony - disse minha tia e me puxou, ficando abraçada comigo e Katy

- Aaarrr... - Katy murmurou e me encarou

- Qual música tia? - disse e fingi que não estava vendo aquele olhar de Katy

- I say a little prayer for You. - disse minha tia

- Ok, eu canto - disse Katy e sorriu

POV's OFF

John apresentou Katy a Tony e a alguns de seus amigos que estavam lá. Ela estava animada, por Katy estar lá, na bodas dela. Katy adorou Charlotte, ela é uma pessoa extremamente extrovertida e faladeira, seu jeito encantou Katy, ela teve a impressão que estava falando com uma de suas fãs adolescentes. A festa ia acontecendo, enfim chegou a hora de Katy cantar peacock, ela se sentiu um pouco envergonhada, mas nã exitou, subiu ao palco e cantou. Depois voltou para mesa e logo, Charlotte chamou Katy e John para acntar I say A Little Prayer for You, essa música maracava a história dela com Tony, porque ela queria ser atriz e quando estava ensaindo um musical, com essa música Tony foi chamado para substituir seu par na dança e desde então eles estavam juntos.

A festa já chegava ao fim e era 10 pm, Katy estava um pouco cansada e então eles decidiram ir embora. Se despidiram de Tony e Charlotte e ela agradecia Katy, imensamente por ter cantado e também ficou animada ao saber que Katy estava gravida. Eles foram embora e chegaram em casa às 11:30 pm

Ai, eu tô exausta, quer dormir! - disse Katy retirando suas botas

- Eu também, vamos subir pra dormir! - disse Margaret

- Vamos subir então! - disse Katy e puxou John. Subiram as escadas e cada um se dirigia ao seu quarto

- Boa noite filho, boa noite Katy! - Margaret e Richard disseram

- Boa noite! - Katy piscou e entrou no quarto

- Amor, eu tô exausta! - disse Katy e tacou-se na cama

- Eu também meu amor! - disse John e foi para o banheiro, após 5 min ele voltou. - Katy, amanhã você tem que ir ao médico? - ele disse e estava guardando sua calça, e katy não o respondeu. - Katy? - ele sentou na berada da cama enquanto colocava seu celular pra carregar

- Amor? - ele virou o rosto de Katy para o seu lado e ele estava dormindo. - Ai Katy - ele riu abafadoe tirou o vestido que ela estava usando e colocou o pijama nela e logo deitou-se para dormir.

#fic17

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esvaecimento · 12 years ago

Text

CAPITULO 17

Acordei no meio da madrugada após um pesadelo, tinha sido horrível. Levantei-me e fui até a cozinha beber um copo d'água, voltei e me deitei, tentando dormir novamente. Não consegui. Os poucos momentos que vivi ao lado de Grace me invadiram de um jeito impossível de ser controlado. Comecei a tremer, não sabia se por frio, medo, ou o que quer que fosse... tremi muito e, em seguida, comecei a chorar. Eu soluçava, sem conseguir parar. Peguei o celular algumas vezes, pensei em ligar pra ela, dizer outra vez tudo o que sinto e tentar fazê-la voltar, porem, o orgulho foi muito maior do que minha vontade. Rolei na cama diversas vezes e a noite parecia ser infinita. Fechei meus olhos outra vez e enfim consegui dormir. Despertei com minha mãe me chamando, ela dizia algo sobre ir a escola, respondi que não estava me sentindo bem e não iria. Voltei a dormir. Acordei, outra vez, por volta das onze e meia. O dia estava nublado, com aquele clima total deprimente, ótimo! Pensei. Levantei depois de algum tempo e fui direto ao banho, não queria demonstrar meu estado para ninguém, muito menos contar a ninguém o que se passava. Botei o melhor sorriso que podia no rosto e, após almoçar disse a mamãe que precisava sair. Fui caminhando de vagar até a escola, sentei-me na padaria, onde eu havia descoberto que Grace era "meu admirador" secreto. Esperava vê-la na entrada do colégio, então lembrei que ela ainda teria que passar alguns dias em casa, sem fazer muito esforço. Pedi uma coca-cola e fui em direção a casa dela, sentei-me no balanço e ali fiquei por algum tempo esperando, talvez, algum sinal dela. Não tive nenhum. Voltei pra casa, disse que o mal-estar havia voltado e fui dormir. Aquele tinha sido "O Primeiro Dia sem Grace" e nunca, em momento algum da minha vida, eu estive pior. Os dias iam passando e, desde aquele domingo, nunca mais falei com Grace. Nem a vi. A dor, ao invés de diminuir, parecia aumentar cada dia mais. Eu sentia falta dela, dos beijos dela, dos abraços dela. Não me imaginava ao lado de mais ninguém. Me imaginava apenas ao lado dela. Parecia uma dor impossível de ser curada, e, admito, eu gostava daquela dor. Gostava da dor do amor. Gostava de estar sentindo aquela dor por ela. Idiota, eu sei. Mas eu gostava. Aquele dia, depois das aulas, fui a biblioteca afim de encontrar algum livro que me interessasse. Passei quase uma hora l�� dentro e quando estava saindo percebi que já era a hora do pessoal da tarde entrar, fiquei na esperança de encontrá-la, então sentei-me em um dos bancos no pátio e aguardei. Cinco minutos depois lá estava ela, ainda mais linda que antes, os cabelo soltos caíam em seus ombros, nada de maquiagem, e trazia um sorriso um tanto sincero no rosto. Quis ir falar com ela, tentar ter ela de volta pra mim, mas, quando ia me levantar algo me fez parar. E eu que achava que não podia existir dor maior do que a que eu estava sentindo. Ah, como eu estava enganada. Meu coração, agora sim, estava em pedaços.

#fic17 #tão ruim #af]#):

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for-midnight · 12 years ago

Text

fanfic jaty cap17

John’s POV

Acordei 9h50 da manhã, talvez eu esteja ansioso, bom, apesar de hoje eu pedir Katy em casamento era dia dos namorados, levantei cuidadoso da cama pra não acordar Katy e desci até a cozinha preparei o café, Ricky ao perceber que eu estava na cozinha nem tocou a campainha, apenas bateu na porta e acenou pra mim

-Bom dia cara – falei apertando a mão dele

-Bom dia John – ele deu um sorriso – Katy está dormindo?

-Sim, daqui a pouco ela deve está acordando é melhor não demorarmos

-Aqui está – ele me deu a caixinha preta aveludada e eu ao abrir e ver aquele anel, todas os momentos que tive com Katy naqueles 7 meses me vieram na cabeça

-É o que eu queria, obrigado Ricky

-Nada John – ele me deu um abraço e bateu a porta

-2 horas depois-

Katy’s POV

Acordei, e ao perceber que John já havia levantado, estranhei porque tão cedo. Coloquei meus chinelos, e desci até a cozinha, um cheiro de pão na chapa e café me enlouqueciam por causa da minha fome, até que avistei ele de costas mexendo em alguma coisa.

-John – falei com uma voz rouca, ele se mexeu rápido e virou pra falar comigo

-Katy, bom dia

-O que você tem aí?

-Nada – ele falou nervoso – seu café, não vai comer?

-Vou - falei fazendo um coque

-Katy quero te levar pra jantar hoje – ele disse colocando a mão encima da minha

-OK, e posso saber em que restaurante nós vamos? – falei mexendo a colher na caneca

-No restaurante Katsuya, falam que a comida lá é muito boa

-Hum, entendi – por um momento tinha passado pela minha cabeça que ele tinha esquecido que dia era amanha

John’s POV

Passei a tarde toda pensativo, pensando como eu iria pedir ela em casamento e fiquei nervoso também com o fato dela não aceitar. Já eram 6h30 e a gente estava saindo de casa, como de costume, fui dirigindo. Não passava nem pela cabeça de Katy, que eu iria pedi-la em casamento e tentei disfarçar o nervosismo.

-2 horas depois-

A gente já havia jantado, e terminava de pagar a conta. Quando saímos do restaurante eram muitos paparazzis, fui com a mão nas costas dela até o carro, abri a porta pra ela e logo entrando depois. Quando ela percebeu que eu havia mudado o caminho perguntou:

-John, pra onde a gente ta indo? – ela perguntou me olhando

-Bom, lembra que eu disse que tinha uma surpresa pra você? – falei encostando o carro num parque ali perto

-John o que você vai fazer? – ela disse já saindo do carro e encostada na porta

-Vem comigo – peguei na mão dela e a gente foi andando até os balanços, ela sentou num e eu fui empurrar ela

-Não vai balançar também? – ela perguntou enquanto o cabelo dela batia na minha cara por causa do vento

-Agora não – parei de empurra-la e me sentei na areia enfrente a ela, e quando ela deu a ultima balançada segurei seus pés pra que ela parece

-Ei – ela resmungou

-Katy, nesses últimos 7 meses, eu percebi o quanto era idiota e queria que todas as mulheres gostassem de mim – ela me interrompeu

-John não precisa disso, eu amo você

-Cala boca que eu não terminei – e ela se assustou – mas com você, é diferente eu sinto como se fosse algo humano e não entre um relacionamento entre celebridades, você é maravilhosa e é a melhor mulher do mundo, sei que vou mexer com seus sentimentos mas não sei como o Russell Brand conseguiu te largar – ela encostou a cabeça na corda do balanço e envolveu os pés no meu pescoço, deixando a calcinha a mostra – eu te amo muito, e to muito certo do que quero com você – parei, respirei fundo – Katy você quer se casar comigo? – e tirei a caixinha do bolso, abrindo e revelando o anel

-John – ela falou gaguejando e se tacando da corda encima de mim – eu não sei oque falar, esse anel o jeito que vc se declarou, tudo – ela disse me beijando

-Responda apenas oque eu quero ouvir - ela ficou pensativa e me abraçou

Katy’s POV

Fiquei pensativa, na verdade o medo me tomava, não sabia se aquela atitude de John estava precipitada de mais, mas ao mesmo tempo alguma coisa me dizia que aceitar seria a melhor escolha a fazer na minha vida, nem me incomodei com o fato de me casar novamente e cometer a mesma besteira, porque com ele seria diferente. Eu apostava naquele namoro mais que tudo e me sentia melhor do que nunca ao lado dele, tinha uma conexão com ele que afastava todo o medo e essas coisas bobas que a gente sente depois da primeira decepção amorosa. Talvez agora, seria hora deu deixar meu passado pra trás, enterrado.

-Katy – John me chamou

-Sim, desculpa..

-E então? – ele me perguntou sem esconder nem um pouco o nervosismo

-Aceito – ele abriu um sorriso sincero e enorme no rosto, ficou todo bobo. Levantou e me puxou, me abraçando a gente rodopiava naquela noite com o céu maravilhoso, mas senti uma vibração no bolso de John – acho que é seu celular, é melhor vê quem é

-Não, nada é mais importante, significante que esse momento – ele me beijou e me colocou no chão – você tem noção da minha felicidade? – o celular vibrou de novo

-Te amo, eu imagino que esteja feliz – dei um riso – mas agora atende esse celular.

John’s POV

Tirei o celular do bolso, e tinha 1 chamada perdida e 1 mensagem na qual dizia: “Já que você resolveu não atender minha ligação, abre o porta malas do carro que tem uma coisa pra você dar pra Katy... e não precisa me agradecer. Xoxo Ricky”

-Katy, me espera aqui. – e fui até o carro, abri a mala e tinha uma caixa. Fiquei observando, e a peguei cuidadosamente pois não sabia oque tinha ali dentro, quando abri vi que era um colar e me veio cenas na minha cabeça “Filho, quero que de isso pra mulher da sua vida. Não uma namorada qualquer” “John, da isso pra Katy quando você a pedir em casamento, conselho de melhor amigo” “Se eu fosse a Katy ia amar, pois tem um valor essa joia. Allison disse a primeira vez que viu” Essa joia, era de família e havia pertencido a minha avó, minha mãe usou no seu casamento e tinha me dado pedindo pra que eu guardasse e só desse pra mulher da minha vida, mas como eu não era muito confiável com essas coisas deixei na casa de Ricky que sempre fora meu melhor amigo, e eu confiava muito nele. Não podia imaginar que ele se lembraria disso, peguei o celular e mandei uma mensagem “Ricky, como pude ter me esquecido dessa joia? Obrigado. Mas só vou dar pra Katy amanha, no dia dos namorados, vai meio que ser o presente pra ela. Xx John”. Guardei o colar no carro, e fui ao encontro de Katy que estava parada olhando pro nada, a segurei pelas costas que se virou imediatamente ao sentir minha presença.

-Não me decepciona, não quero passar por tudo que passei no meu outro casamento – ela disse fazendo quase um biquinho

-Vai ser diferente, vai ser real... Vou te fazer a mulher mais feliz

-Nunca imaginei nós dois juntos, de novo – ela deu um riso abafado e continuo – é... estranho

-Nosso futuro estava escrito nas estrelas, não é conhecidencia

-Será? – ela riu – mas o que você foi fazer no carro?

-Sim.. hum nada de importante – menti – vamos voltar pra casa? Já está tarde não acha?

-Vamos - entrelacei minha mãe na dela e entramos no carro, o qual dei partida

-John, a gente pode só ajeitar a cerimônia essas coisas mais pra frente? Tipo, mês que vem? Não quero que essa notícia percorra o mundo todo, sabe como é – ela falou colocando a mão na minha perna

-Claro, como você quiser – ela sorriu de canto – contando que não me abandona no altar – eu ri e ela continuo a risada

-Nunca seria capaz de fazer isso com você – tirei a mão do volante e segurei a mão dela forte. Chegamos em casa, e eu dei um jeito de fazer a Katy subir primeiro pra eu esconder o colar.

-Katy, vai subindo que eu vou beber água

-Eu te espero, John

-Não precisa, suba

-OK – coloquei a caixa numa gaveta da cozinha, que ela nunca mexeria lá e subi pro quarto

Katy’s POV

-Acho que precisamos terminar o que havíamos começado noite passada não acha? – falei mordendo o lábio e com um olhar “safado”

-Não me provoca Katy – ele falou tirando a jaqueta jeans e a camisa, ficando apenas com a calça e indo pra cama

-Ok, então a gente não termina nada – e me deitei do meu lado da cama, e virei de costas pra ele pra conseguir oque queria

-Vira pra mim, anda - me virei e fiquei admirando sua boca. Ele fez questão de botar pra trás da minha orelha uma mexa de cabelo que havia caído no meu rosto, e eu segurei sua mão e a conduzi até um dos meus seios mostrando oque queria, ele chegou pra frente e me beijou puxando-me pelo pescoço, roçou sua intimidade na minha e apertava meu cabelo. Ele desceu a mão até minha intimidade, livrando-se da minha calcinha e me penetrou com um dedo, me arquei na cama e gemi entre o beijo, ele encima de mim tirou o cinto e jogando no chão levantou meu vestido até meus seios, tirou suas calças revelando sua ereção e eu fiz questão de continuar a tirar meu vestido.

-Vai John, anda logo – e então ele me penetrou, dei um gemido alto e apertei o lençol da cama. Ainda dentro de mim subiu os beijos até meus seios, me encarou e me beijou, um beijo gostoso e com vontade. Ele se movia de uma forma, que me dava prazer tentando chegar ao seu ápice, gemidos abafados entre o beijo que nos deixava quase sem fôlego, quando John atingiu seu ápice, foi mais rápido já sem fôlego e com meus gemidos alto, quase gritando alcancei o meu também e sorri em aprovação. Ele me deu um beijo e foi tomar banho, levantei e me juntei a ele no box. Meio desajeitada pra lavar meu cabelo nas pontas pedi ajuda pra John, mesmo sabendo que ele iria se atrapalhar mais do que eu mesma – Me ajuda ? – falei o olhando

-Com o que?

-Eu sei que é meio idiota, mas to sem jeito pra passar o creme nas pontas do meu cabelo, faz isso pra mim?

-Claro, não custa tentar – apertei a embalagem e o creme caiu na mão de John – até porque um dia eu vou te que fazer isso constantemente – eu entendi oque ele queria dizer com aquilo

-Hum... será? – perguntei repousando a mão na cintura

-Sim – ele sussurrou no meu ouvido – pronto pode lavar já

-Obrigada amor – me virei e entrei debaixo d’água, enquanto ele já ia saindo do box – John – e ele me olhou parado com uma perna dentro e outra fora do box. Fiquei olhando ele durante uns minutos, e o beijei. Aquele beijo molhado, debaixo d’água e nossos corpos grudados, não tinha sensação melhor. Voltei a enxaguar o cabelo, e ele saiu enrolado na toalha. Depois de vinte minutos, já com a devida roupa pra dormir sai do banheiro e me deitei na cama abraçada á John.

-Vai dormir? – ele perguntou

-Uhum – falei baixinho

John’s POV

Katy adormeceu um tempinho depois no meu peito, e eu fiquei pensativo. Não sabia se tinha me precipitado pedindo ela em casamento, podia ter esperado pelo menos a gente completar 1 ano de namoro; Mas com o dia dos namorados no dia seguinte, o nosso PRIMEIRO dia dos namorados juntos não podíamos passar mais felizes. O sono bateu e acabei dormindo.

“Amor não é se envolver com a pessoa perfeita, aquela dos nossos sonhos. Não existem príncipes nem princesas. Encare a outra pessoa de forma sincera e real, exaltando suas qualidades, mas sabendo também de seus defeitos. O amor só é lindo, quando encontramos alguém que nos transforme no melhor que podemos ser.”

#fic17

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seeverdadeirocontinua · 12 years ago

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Capítulo 17 - The Same Mistake?

Cheguei em casa e Débora já tinha ido pra faculdade. Legal. Me arrumei o mais rápido que eu consegui e corri pra tentar alcançá-la.

– Porque você não me esperou? – me sentei num banco ao lado de Débora.

– E você queria que eu me atrasasse também?

– Larga de ser chata! Tenho uma festa pra você ir hoje...

– É mesmo? Você começou a falar a minha língua... Que festa? Onde?

– Não sei direito... Essas festinhas do Pedro.

– E você fala com esse ânimo todo? Até parece que não quer ir!

– Eu quero... e também não quero... sei lá. Você sabe que a gente ainda não assumiu o namoro, daí eu tenho que ficar fingindo, e também fica cheio de puxa saco nessas festas!

– Puxa sacos? Você já foi uma puxa saco, para de esnobar! – ela riu.

– Eu não sou puxa saco, sou fã, é bem diferente tá?

– Que seja! E não vou ir pra ficar de vela pra vocês dois não né?

– Não, você vai com o Thomas. E mesmo que fosse, não vai rolar nada, essa parada de namoro escondido é foda demais.

– Daqui a pouco já começa e primeira aula – Débora olhou pro relógio – Sua sala é pra lá né? – ela apontou na direção contrária e eu assenti – Te encontro depois da aula então!

Segui até a minha sala e dessa vez tentei prestar o máximo de atenção à aula. O assunto era super bom, e eu estava gostando muito de tudo que estava aprendendo. As aulas passaram muito rápido e eu quase não acreditei quando o sinal soou. Deu uma vontade de ficar mais um pouco, de aprender mais um pouco. Acho que a melhor parte da faculdade é isso, poder estudar alguma coisa que a gente realmente goste.

Eu e Débora chegamos em casa super cedo e enquanto Débora ficou provando milhares de roupas pra escolher uma pra vestir a noite eu fui ler algumas coisas da faculdade, eu estava ficando muito nerd e isso estava começando a me dar medo.

– Esse ou esse? – Débora jogou as roupas na minha cama.

– O vestido! Você sempre escolhe o vestido. – falei sem nem olhar direito para as roupas.

– Sem graça, acertou, vou com o vestido.

– Você sempre se anima tanto pra essas festas...

– Não é todo dia que se vai a uma festa onde só tem famosos, meu amor. Desculpa se eu não namoro com o vocalista de uma banda famosa, tá? – ela riu.

– Cala a boca! Não é tão legal quanto parece.

– Para de ser dramática, Ana. Vai namorar o tiozinho da padaria então.

– Se ele for bonitinho eu vou mesmo! – brinquei.

– Ele é mó gato – Débora deu uma piscadinha – Se eu fosse você investia.

– Ai ai, nós duas somos tão idiotas!

– Será que eu já posso começar a me arrumar?

– Vish Débora não sei... Do jeito que o Pê é atrasado... Não sei se ele vai chegar cedo aqui e ele também não falou a hora que ia pegar a gente.

– Você também nem pergunta né!

– Eu estava atrasada pra faculdade, desculpa se eu não pude ficar falando de festinhas fúteis!

– Tanto faz! Eu já vou me arrumar.

– Vai ué, sua ansiosa!

Eu chamei Débora de ansiosa mas assim que ela saiu do meu quarto também comecei a me arrumar. Tomei um banho super demorado, daqueles de lavar a alma. Só quando saí do banheiro é que lembrei que ainda não tinha escolhido nada pra vestir... Revirei todo o guarda-roupa. Depois de muito procurar, revirar e procurar decidi ir com um vestido preto que fazia um bom tempo que eu não usava. Revirei todos os meus sapatos até achar algo que combinasse com o vestido. Escolhi um scarpin preto. Amarrei meu cabelos em um rabo de cavalo alto, fazia alguns meses que eu não o cortava e ele ja estava completamente sem corte, sem chances de eu ir com ele solto. Era impressionante como meus olhos castanho-claros só ganhavam vida quando eu colocava o cabelo pra trás, as vezes eu até esquecia de como eles eram tão bonitinhos.

A campanhinha soou e eu desci (correndo, literalmente) pra atender.

– Ana, você está... – Pedro me olhou dos pés à cabeça – muito gostosa!

– Você tá parecendo o Thomas falando! – dei um beijo nele.

– Foi mal, é a convivência! Já estão prontas?

– Já... eu vou lá em cima chamar a Débora! – ele concordou.

Subi pra chamar Débora e quando cheguei no quarto ela estava acabando de se arrumar. Nós três seguimos até onde seria e suposta tão esperada festa.

– Débora, é só falar pra guria que tá na entrada que você é acompanhante do Thomas, ela vai pedir seu nome, o Thomas já deixou tudo certo. Vai na frente? Eu preciso conversar com a Ana. – olhei pra ele com cara de surpresa.

O que ele queria falar em particular comigo?

– Conversar? Sei. – Débora deu uma risada e desceu do carro.

– O que você quer? – perguntei confusa.

– É sobre o nosso namoro...

– Eu já sei Pedro – interrompi – Fingir que eu não sou sua namorada, somos só amigos e blá blá blá.

– Não, não é isso. Acho que tá na hora de deixar rolar!

– Como assim?

– É, não precisa ficar fingindo que não ta rolando nada... Ta na hora de assumir o namoro né.

– Você tá falando sério? – dei um sorriso.

– Claro que eu to! – ele me deu um beijo apaixonado – Agora vamos, a noite ainda nem começou!

O lugar era simplesmente lindo e realmente estava cheio de pessoas super “importantes”, vamos dizer assim. Haviam algumas pessoas que eu já mantinha contato, pessoas mais próximas da banda. Avistei Débora e Thomas de longe, estava indo até eles quando Pedro me puxou pelo braço.

– Vem, quero que você conheça algumas pessoas!

Antes que eu pudesse responder alguma coisa uma mulher com a maior cara de puta chegou me afastando dele para dar um beijo colado em sua bochecha.

– Oi Pepê, já estava morrendo de saudades! – ela sussurrou no ouvido dele e meu sangue começou a ferver lentamente.

– Ei... Priscila... saudades também. – ele disse tentando não parecer íntimo.

Fiquei olhando pra cara dele, como se perguntasse se ele não ia me apresentar. Ele me ignorou totalmente.

– Então Pepê, já pode me dizer quem é a sua amiguinha! –falei enquanto ela saía.

– Não é ninguém em especial... Nem lembro dela direito.

– Mas ela lembra muito bem de você né!

– Ceninha de ciúmes agora, Ana?

– Tá bom, parei. Eu preciso ver umas coisas na maquiagem... me espera aqui? – ele assentiu.

– Só não demora.

Saí procurando o toalete mais próximo, assim que entrei pude ver a tal Priscila. Minha vontade era de falar umas verdades na cara dela.

– Você é a Ana né? – ela perguntou enquanto eu retocava o rímel e eu apenas fiz que sim com a cabeça.

– Você acha que o Pedro gosta de você? Ele não é desse tipo. Ele enjoa muito rápido, meu amor.

– Não posso fazer nada se ele se “enjoou” – fiz aspas com os dedos – de você.

– Olha é sério, ele é um ótimo amigo mas não serve pra namorar...

– Sério? E desde quando eu pedi a sua opinião?

– Desculpa, só quis ajudar. – ela ironizou – Ele não é o santinho que você pensa.

Eu poderia der dado uns bons tapas na cara dela, mas mantive o sangue frio. Saí do toalete a deixando falando sozinha. Aquelas palavras ficaram ecoando na minha cabeça.

A festa em si estava ótima, mas eu não estava mais com clima. Débora estava se divertindo por ela e por mim, ela tinha ido com o Thomas mas cada hora estava acompanhada de um cara diferente, cada um mais lindo que o outro. Débora é a única piriguete que eu amo, Ai Deus! A música também estava super boa e as pessoas estavam sendo super simpáticas comigo. Acho que achei uma vantagem em ser “a namorada do Pe Lanza.”

– Pê, eu quero ir embora.

– A gente já tá indo pequena, calma... – ele me abraçou por trás – Você tá bem?

– Tô, é que eu tenho que acordar cedo amanhã... – menti.

Pedro sussurrou algo aleatório pra mim mas minha atenção foi desviada por uma voz que vinha do palco. Era a voz da tal Priscila. Nossa, como aquela voz me irritava.

– Eu quero só um minuto da atenção de todos vocês – ela falou no microfone – Tenho uma ótima notícia pra dar!

Como se eu quisesse saber de alguma notícia que viesse da boca dela, mas ok.

– Eu estou grávida! – ela disse tão alto que quase estourou meus ouvidos.

Porque diabos ela tinha que falar pra todo mundo que estava grávida? Isso tudo é só pra chamar atenção? Pelamor!

– Desde quando puta fica grávida? – Thomas sussurrou pra si mesmo do meu lado e eu não pude evitar dar uma gargalhada mega alta.

– E eu queria dar parabéns ao papai do ano, na verdade ele ainda não sabe. Eu queria que fosse surpresa – ela continuou – Parabéns pro papai Pe Lanza!

O QUE? Olhei pro Pedro e eles estava com uma expressão de surpresa maior que a minha.

<< Capítulo Anterior || Próximo Capítulo >>

#fic #fic17

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stereksecretsanta · 7 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @comedicdrama!

I hope you have a wonderful holiday, comedicdrama! <3

Rating: T Tags: cameraman!Stiles, painter!Derek, friends to lovers, fluff, so much fluff

*****

A Painting's Worth a Thousand Words

Stiles pulled up to the Hale house—the Hale mansion, really—and took a deep breath. It was just another show, exactly like they did every week at the studio.

Except this was the holiday show, and like every year, it would be just him and Derek in the Hale house basement for at least two hours, and then it would be a half hour drive over to the Beacon Hills Wildlife Sanctuary, at least an hour filming there, and a half hour drive back. Just the two of them. All day long.

Just Stiles, Derek, and Stiles's massive, unrequited crush.

They'd been working together for five years, since Derek had pitched the local public TV station on a painting program. It had been an unexpected hit—well, unexpected to Derek and most of the station management. Stiles had taken one look at him—dark hair, chiseled jaw dusted with black scruff, intense stare, broad shoulders, and a clear passion for painting—and he'd known the show would be huge. Even with people who'd never picked up a paintbrush in their lives.

Stiles had begged to be put on Derek's show. Thankfully, the station management hadn't needed too much convincing, and he and Derek had been together ever since.

Professionally. They'd been together professionally ever since.

Stiles really hadn't meant to go and fall head-over-heels for Derek. Early on, it had been easy enough to chalk it up to physical attraction and move on. But then he got to know Derek, saw how much he loved teaching people to paint, saw how much he loved his family and talking about their nonprofit work at the sanctuary, saw how earnest he was with people who enjoyed the show, and...

Well, at some point in the past five years, it had just happened. And now Stiles spent an inordinate amount of his life pining for one of his coworkers and closest friends. Really, that was just his fucking life.

He sighed, grabbed his camera and tripod, and proceeded to go begin one of the best and most excruciating days of his life.

***

Derek was wearing black-rimmed glasses and a green Christmas tree sweater that brought out the green in his multicolored eyes. He'd pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms with a dusting of dark hair across them.

Stiles bit his lips to keep from making a pained noise and hoisted his tripod in greeting. "Hey, Derek! Ready to get started?"

"Just about," Derek said. "I'm still getting everything set up."

"That's okay." Stiles set his tripod on the floor. "Just stand where you'll be painting and I'll do some lighting tests while you're setting up."

Derek grinned at him, a quick one that showed just a flash of his two front teeth, and Stiles's heart did its usual triple somersault at the sight.

The basement at the Hale house was only a "basement" in the sense that it was the lowest floor of the house and partly underground. It had east-facing floor-to-ceiling windows that let in loads of natural light and a gorgeous view of the Beacon Hills Nature Preserve, and the whole thing was bigger than Stiles's apartment and fully decked out for Christmas. Derek's studio area was just one-quarter of it, and Stiles was pretty sure that part alone was bigger than his kitchen and living room combined.

Derek had an easel and canvas set up, and was squeezing his paint out onto a palette and frowning at the canvas, like he was still trying to figure out what to paint. Or maybe figuring out how to talk about it; even after five years, Stiles still wasn't a hundred percent sure how it worked. Derek usually just...stood up and talked while he was painting and his eyes actually glowed with happiness and Stiles mostly focused on making sure that he got the shots, the audio, and didn't drool on himself.

Once he got his camera set up, he walked around the basement and adjusted the blinds and curtains, flicking lights on and off until he got a lighting setup he was happy with. He might have to get a few lights out of the Jeep after they actually did test shots, but right now, he could probably make it work with just the lights in the basement.

He went back to his bags and got out the lapel mic. "Okay, Derek, mic time."

Derek stood up and lifted the back of his shirt, giving Stiles a glimpse of the strip of skin of his lower back.

Professional, Stiles scolded himself, and hooked the transmitter on to Derek's belt before handing him the mic to thread up through his shirt.

"You sure we need this?" Derek asked with a wrinkled nose, like he did every time.

"Yes." Stiles poked him in his unfairly muscled arm. "We always need to have two audio tracks, you know that. I'd hate to miss out on the scintillating way you say 'phthalo blue' because the shotgun cut out and we didn't have a backup. Come on, let's get started and see if I need to grab any more lights out of the car."

"There should be some in the closet," Derek said, pointing.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Wait, what? You have lights?"

Derek shrugged. "We shoot out here often enough that I thought it might be good to have a few lights as backup. Just in case."

Stiles went to the closet Derek had indicated. Sure enough, a lighting case and three C-stands sat on the floor, among the myriad other things in there.

Stiles gaped at them. "Dude, I can't believe you got me lighting stands!"

"It's better than you having to drive all the way back into town because you forgot them," Derek said.

Stiles whirled on him and jabbed a finger in his direction. "That was one time."

Derek snorted. "A memorable time."

Because he always dealt with his feelings in a mature way, Stiles stuck his tongue out at him.

Derek made a face right back, then went back and picked up his palette and brush. "Ready when you are."

Stiles hit the audio recorder, turned on the camera, and counted him in.

Derek smiled brilliantly, and it made Stiles's heart flutter the way it always did. "Hey, everyone. Glad you could join us today for our annual holiday show. As usual, we have a little bit of a change of scenery," he gestured to the room, "which I've used for inspiration for our painting today, since we don't exactly get a lot of snow in northern California. So we'll run the colors across the screen for you, and we'll go ahead and get started."

"Okay, cut!" Stiles said.

Derek frowned. "Everything good?"

Stiles checked the lighting on the video and then the mic recording. "Yeah, no, looks like we're good. Let's keep going."

Filming Derek's painting on location at the Hale house tended to be more stressful than filming at the studio, where Stiles had two extra cameras and way more lighting control. But the holiday episode was always a huge one for the station, and Stiles did enjoy the time they got to spend together here.

Listening to Derek talk about painting and watching him paint was probably Stiles's favorite part of his job. Derek always looked a little flushed and happy when he did, and he got visibly excited to see a painting come together. Even after five years of watching him do this once a week, Stiles still hadn't gotten over it.

They only had to cut twice, and before Stiles knew it, Derek was finishing up the painting and giving his traditional sign off, ending with, "And wherever you are, I hope you have the happiest of holiday seasons."

"Cut!" Stiles called.

Derek set his palette aside. "So what do you think? Does it look okay?"

"Dude." Stiles stretched, staring at the landscape painting of the wildlife preserve in winter. He'd watched Derek push paint around on the canvas for an hour and he still wasn't sure how it was done. "That's fantastic. I think this going to be your most popular holiday episode yet."

Derek ducked his head, but Stiles caught the edge of his smile. "You're just saying that."

"I never just say anything," Stiles said. "Well, sometimes I do, but not about things this important. Seriously, dude, it's good."

Derek scratched the back of his head. "Then you're biased."

"I probably am, but eh." Stiles's stomach rumbled. "Hey, you want to grab lunch somewhere before we head out to the wildlife sanctuary?"

"Actually, we've got food upstairs," Derek said. "My dad made spaghetti last night, and there are tons of leftovers. We also have some apple cider, if you want?"

"That sounds amazing," Stiles said.

The tips of Derek's ears turned red. "Okay, I'll go get it ready."

Stiles grabbed his computer and the memory cards out of the camera and audio recorder. "Then I'm going to dump the files while we're eating."

Stiles followed Derek up the stairs and settled at the kitchen table to dump the files onto his computer, and Derek got out the spaghetti and apple cider to heat up.

Stiles brought the first video files up to make sure everything had recorded correctly, and let out a sigh of relief when the file was clean; you only needed to have a file get corrupted once before it made you paranoid every time.

A mug of apple cider landed on the counter beside him. "How does it look?" Derek asked.

Wow, he was standing...very close. Stiles had to resist the urge to lean back into him. "It looks great, like I told you. I can't wait to put the whole thing together."

"We still need to get the footage from the wildlife sanctuary," Derek reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Stiles said. "What do you think, head out there around one?"

Derek took a sip of his cider. "That should work. As long as you get something to eat first."

"Dude, you're literally making me lunch right now." Stiles gestured at the microwave. "You act like I don't eat anything."

"You don't, unless Allison or I make you," Derek said. "How many times have I had to drag you away from your computer to get lunch?"

"Just once," Stiles muttered. "Or twice."

Derek poked him. "A week."

Stiles tried to elbow him, but Derek had moved out of reach. "It's not that often."

"It's often enough." Derek went to get the spaghetti out of the microwave and brought it over. "Now eat, and don't get too distracted watching the videos."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but he minimized the videos and dove into his spaghetti. Holy shit, it was fantastic. "Oh my God, I'm going to marry this pasta."

Derek coughed and turned to his own bowl. "I'll let Dad know you like it."

"Does he cook like this all the time? Because seriously, I will camp out in your backyard for table scraps."

Derek rolled his eyes. "We have plenty of bedrooms, in case you hadn't noticed. I'm sure we can stick you in one of those. Mom will never notice."

Stiles grinned at him. "You're a true friend."

Derek jabbed his fork into the spaghetti. "I try."

***

They drove out to the Beacon Hills Wildlife Sanctuary as soon as they'd finished eating, a good thirty minutes across the preserve from the Hale's house. Stiles spent most of the drive trying not to get distracted by Derek's forearms or his soft smile.

"We have a lot of new animals out there right now," Derek said. "Deer, wolf cubs, squirrels...which do you think would be best to feature?"

Stiles choked at the thought of Derek playing with any of them. Derek and adorable animals was really his kryptonite. "Uh, I really don't think it matters. Any of them will be great. Which ones are you most comfortable with?"

"Any of them," Derek said. "I've been helping feed the wolf cubs when I come out to volunteer."

"That's good. Let's do that," Stiles said. "People will go crazy for adorable baby wolves."

"Cubs," Derek corrected him.

"And that's why you do the talking on camera," Stiles said with a wink.

Derek blushed and crossed his arms. "God knows you talk enough off it."

"Aw, come on, what would you do without my rambling?"

"Suffer in silence," Derek said, but he was grinning.

It made Stiles's heart flip, and he had to turn back to focus on the road.

The Hales had been running the Beacon Hills Wildlife Sanctuary as long as Stiles could remember. From what Derek had told him, the sanctuary was his parents' baby, and when they'd first started working together, it had been on the brink of shutting down. Since the painting show had started to take off and Stiles knew at least 50% of that popularity was due to the fact that Derek was hotter than the surface of the sun, he'd suggested featuring some of the animals on the show. The only thing better than watching an attractive man talk passionately about painting was watching him bottle-feed baby deer.

It had been even more popular than he'd hoped it would be, and now the wildlife sanctuary had doubled in size, added three more full-time positions, and featured a ton of cool educational programs Stiles would have killed for when he was in elementary school. It had also helped the popularity of Derek's show as well, which made station management supremely happy.

Stiles had never told anyone the only reason he'd had the idea was because Derek looked utterly gutted at the thought of the sanctuary shutting down, and Stiles would have hand-crafted a rocket out of bubble gum and paperclips to fly to the outer reaches of the solar system if it meant never seeing that look on Derek's face again.

The wildlife sanctuary wasn't terribly crowded, being that it was the middle of a work day and the schools weren't out for winter break yet, so the only person working was Laura, Derek's older sister, who waved excitedly when they walked in. "Hey! You guys are earlier than I expected."

Stiles hoisted his camera. "We got through the painting a lot faster than I thought we would because Derek's an overachiever."

Derek elbowed him. "Hey, I just paint. You're the one who makes it look good."

Laura made gagging noises. "Get a room, please."

Stiles's face heated. "Maybe we will. But make it with the baby wolves."

"Cubs. Wolf cubs. We literally just went over this," Derek said.

Laura raised her eyes to the ceiling and muttered something Stiles couldn't hear. "Okay, wolf cubs. Come on down the hall and I'll get you set up."

The baby wolves—wolf cubs—were even more adorable than Stiles had pictured, and he had a pretty good concept of what adorable looked like. Three gangly, fluffy grey wolves and one gangly, fluffy white wolf tripped all over Derek, chewing at his sweater and making squeaky howls and yips that were so cute Stiles was pretty sure he was going to get a cavity from it. They had to cut several times because Derek was laughing too hard to talk about the wolves and why they were at the sanctuary.

Stiles kind of wished someone would stab him and put him out of his misery, because this level of adorable was too much for one human being to physically handle.

On the other side of the room, Laura watched him with a terrifying smirk. Stiles was pretty sure she knew exactly what he was thinking, which helped him rein in the desire to just throw himself on Derek and pledge undying love. He sure as hell wasn't doing that in front of Derek's sister.

Despite the interruptions, they finished up the shoot in less than two hours, and Stiles had a boatload of footage with Derek and the wolf cubs to use in the holiday episode. Even better was that he had a ton of outtakes to use on the station website, which would make everybody happy.

Laura bid them farewell, staring at Stiles like she could see straight into his soul the entire time. Stiles steadfastly ignored her and really hoped she wouldn't say anything to Derek.

"Your sister's kind of scary sometimes," he said as they pulled away.

"She's harmless," Derek said. "Mostly."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Mostly harmless?"

Derek grinned. "Just like Earth."

Stiles laughed out loud. He knew Derek was a not-so-secret nerd, but he still got a kick out of it every time Derek made a reference.

"Do you have a minute?" Derek asked when they got back to the Hale house. "I have something to show you."

"Yeah, sure," Stiles said. He didn't really have anywhere else to be, and even though it was almost painful to be around Derek alone for so long, he didn't want the day to end.

He followed Derek back into the house and down to the basement, and Derek went to a stack of paintings under cloth in the back corner of the room. Stiles stayed back and watched him flip through the canvases until he apparently found the one he wanted and pulled it out.

He walked back to Stiles hesitantly, still holding the canvas backward so that Stiles couldn't see what it was.

His heart beat faster. "What you got there, big guy?"

Derek bit his lip. "I don't...paint people often. But, with this one, I wanted to try, and..." He trailed off and exhaled sharply, and then handed the painting to Stiles. "Here."

Stiles took the painting and slowly turned it around.

It was him.

He was laughing, his mouth wide open and his eyes crinkled at the corners, looking off to the left side of the canvas. The colors were so warm, it looked like he was glowing, and Stiles's heart seized in his chest.

"Where did you...how did you...?" he tried to ask, but the words wouldn't come.

"It was a picture Allison took at one of the station parties earlier this year," Derek said quietly. "I had her send me a copy. I probably threw away five pieces before I was happy with that one. It was...really hard to get right."

He felt completely winded. "Holy shit, Derek."

Derek winced and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry, I—"

"Don't you dare apologize," Stiles said. He couldn't take his eyes off the painting, because holy fuck Derek had painted him. "Don't—oh my God, dude, this is—"

He didn't have words. For once in his life, Stiles was utterly speechless.

He set the painting down, walked over to Derek, and kissed him right on the lips.

Derek blinked dazedly when Stiles pulled back. "Uh."

"I'm kind of in love with you," Stiles blurted out. "Maybe a lot in love with you. Holy shit, I can't believe you painted me. Do you want to go out for coffee sometime?"

Derek laughed softly. "I feel like we went in reverse order there."

"Dude, you painted me," Stiles said. "I'm pretty sure that's one step before engagement."

Derek flushed bright red. "I think that's moving a little too fast. But...coffee would be nice. Or maybe dinner?"

"Dinner would be fantastic," Stiles said. "And, to be perfectly honest, I would not be opposed to more kissing. Better kissing. That one was really just because I had no idea what to say because you fucking painted me."

Derek grinned and bent his head toward Stiles's. "So, I take it you liked the painting?"

Stiles linked his hands behind Derek's neck. "Yes, Derek, I liked the pain—"

Derek kissed him, and Stiles had never been happier to shut up in his life. And he was right: this was way better kissing. Derek was probably better at kissing than he was at painting, and he was awesome at painting.

"You know, uh, if you ever want me to actually sit for you to paint, I'd do it," Stiles said when they finally stopped making out long enough to breathe.

"You'd have to sit still for a few hours," Derek said. "I'm not sure you could manage it."

Stiles poked him in the shoulder. "Hey, you'd be surprised what I could do for you."

Derek's smile went soft. "Oh, yeah?"

Heat crept up the back of Stiles's neck, and he fought the urge to look away. "Well. Yeah. Obviously."

"I'll keep that in mind," Derek said, and leaned in close. "Merry Christmas, Stiles."

"Merry Christmas, Derek," Stiles whispered before Derek sealed their lips together once again.

#comedicdrama #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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malecsecretsanta · 7 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @prettywarlockk!

Magnus had always wanted children. It was why he took in wayward Downworlders like Raphael and Simon - he liked being able to care for someone, being able to be a safe place for someone who had nowhere else to go. Being a warlock, he could never have biological children of his own, but the desire had always been there.

The first time he had seriously considered children was with Camille. He’d thought that she was it for him, that they would spend an eternity together. There were plenty of abandoned warlock babies all around the world, who was to say that he and Camille couldn’t adopt one or two together, be a real family?

But then Camille had broken his heart for the last time and Magnus closed himself off. Love wasn’t worth the heartache - whether it be intentional or through his lover’s death, it didn’t matter. Heartache was heartache and Magnus had experienced enough of it to last three lifetimes.

So he closed himself off, put walls and thorns around his heart, kept the world at a comfortable distance. He could feel himself calcifying, but if that was the price he had to pay to keep his heart safe, then so be it. He would wither away to nothing before he let himself be hurt again.

And then he met Alexander Lightwood.

Alec was like no one Magnus had ever met. He was kind in the way no Shadowhunter before him had been. He was steadfastly loyal, almost to the point of crippling him. He was a natural born leader and, despite what Alec might have thought, he drew people to him whenever he entered a room.

And whenever Alec looked at him, Magnus couldn’t help but feel as though everything in his life had been leading to the moment when he met Alec Lightwood.

Magnus had always been one to fall hard and fast, but with Alec it was different. Right from the start, Magnus was all in, slowly letting down his walls and untangling the thorns, letting this beautiful man into his heart. Alec consumed Magnus in a way he had never felt before, not even with Camille, and Magnus had been sure what he’d felt for her was the epitome of love.

He wanted everything with Alec, including children, a real family.

Magnus kept putting off broaching the subject of children with Alec. He knew that Alec loved him heart and soul and knew that he was in this relationship for the long haul, just as Magnus was. But Alec was young, not even twenty-five, and Magnus wasn’t sure if children was something on his radar, if it was something he thought about or even wanted.

And Magnus wanted children so badly that if Alec said no...it might crush him.

So he waited. When Alec moved into the loft, Magnus said nothing. When Alec asked Magnus to marry him, Magnus said nothing. He said nothing, but he watched. Watched the way interacted with his brother Max, watched the gentle way he cared for Madzie whenever they looked after her for Catarina. Magnus watched, and he knew that Alec would make a great father one day.

If only he had the courage to ask Alec if that was something that he wanted.

Magnus, for once, had a day free of clients and the warlocks of Brooklyn had apparently decided to take a day off from causing mayhem, so he was trying to work on the wedding plans that he’d been neglecting when his phone rang. When he saw that it was Alec, he picked up immediately, fearing the worst - Alec rarely called from work and when he did, it was because he needed Magnus’s help.

“Alexander? Is everything okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. Well...kinda.” The line was quiet for longer than Magnus was comfortable with and he was already on his feet, ready to make a portal. “Look, I know it’s your day off, but do you think you could come down to the Institute?”

“Already on my way.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.” Magnus smiled when Alec laughed. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

----

Magnus stepped through the portal and landed in front of the Institute. He walked in like he owned the place, having learned that the Shadowhunters generally left him alone if he acted like he belonged, though whispers still followed him. And the whispers were particularly bad that day, though they were quiet enough that Magnus couldn’t hear what they were saying. Not that he cared, it was probably the same racist and homophobic trash he heard all the time - he must have just caught them on a bad day.

“Magnus, hey!” Isabelle walked up to him and gave him a hug. “I assume Alec called you.”

Now Magnus was suspicious. “Yeah, he did. What’s going on?”

Isabelle looked anywhere but at Magnus when she spoke. “I should… let Alec tell you. It’s not my place. He’s in his office, by the way, but I gotta go. Lot of, um, work to do. You know how it is.” And then she was gone, leaving Magnus dumbfounded. Isabelle was usually so calm and collected - she never stuttered or stumbled over her words.

What was going on?

He knew the only way he was going to get answers was by talking to Alec, so he walked the familiar path to his fiance’s office, knocking on the door when he arrived. “Come in!” he heard Alec call, his voice muffled by the thick wood of the door.

Magnus let himself in and was shocked to find Alec sitting behind his desk, holding what was unmistakably a baby. “Hey, Magnus,” Alec said, looking up.

“Don’t ‘hey, Magnus’ me, Alexander Lightwood. At least not until you tell me where you got a baby.”

Alec looked down at the bundle in his arms like he had forgotten it was there, and then back up at Magnus, a soft smile tinged with sadness on his face. “Someone left her on the Institute steps and no one knew what to do with her, so they gave her to me.”

“Someone left a baby on the steps of an abandoned church?” Magnus hadn’t had the greatest parents in the world, but he couldn’t imagine anyone leaving an infant outside what would have looked to them as a run down church where no one would find it.

Alec shook his head. “I think whoever left her knew this was an Institute, whether they could see it or not. She’s a warlock, Magnus.”

“How do you know?”

Alec smiled again, looking down at the baby. “Come see.”

Magnus came to stand behind Alec and looked down to see a beautiful baby girl sleeping peacefully. Her skin was dark, not unlike the glamour Catarina wore and Magnus could see a swath of black hair peeking out from underneath her blankets. But what stood out the most was the two tiny horns protruding from her forehead. They were small now, but Magnus knew that they would grow as she aged. “She’s beautiful,” was all he could think to say.

“Yeah, she is.”

“What are you going to do with her? I can call around, see if there’s any warlocks who would be willing to take her in.” Magnus knew that there were some mundane parents who loved them, warlock children were always better off being raised by other warlocks, by someone who could truly understand them. “Maybe Catarina-”

“I want to keep her.”

Whatever Magnus was going to say about Catarina died on his lips when Alec spoke. He actually had to clutch the edge of the desk to steady himself as the world around him had started to spin. Surely he had heard Alec wrong. “What did you say?”

Alec swallowed hard and Magnus could read the panic coloring his features. “I know we haven’t...talked about this, kids, yet. But I’ve always wanted to be a dad and I just...I want everything with you, Magnus. And...just forget I said anything,” he added with a small shake of his head. “We’ll figure something else out for her.” But the way he was looking at the baby told Magnus everything he needed to know.

Alec loved her and he wasn’t going to let her go.

“Alexander, look at me.” When he did, Magnus continued. “I want everything with you, too. I just wasn’t sure that this, that kids, was something you wanted.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I was scared. I’ve wanted to be a father for centuries but I never thought it was something that was in the cards for me. But, still, I wanted it. Above everything else, above getting married, I wanted to be a father. And if you didn’t want the same thing…” Magnus trailed off with a shake of his head, unable to finish.

“Magnus, I love you.” No matter how many times he heard it, those words always set Magnus’s heart beating faster. “Of course I would want a family with you. Anyone would be crazy not to.” Magnus laughed, recalling an almost identical conversation when they had broached the idea of marriage for the first time. Anyone would be crazy not to, Alec said, but Alec was the only one who had ever wanted those things with Magnus.

Seventeen thousand people and no one had ever loved him the way Alec Lightwood did.

“Can I hold her?” Alec smiled and handed the baby - their daughter - to Magnus and he looked down at her, unable to believe this was his life now. There was only one thing missing. “She needs a name.”

“Actually, I already thought of one,” Alec admitted and Magnus’s smile widened, if that was even possible. Of course he had. “I was thinking that maybe we could name her Sophia. It’s-”

“Izzy’s middle name, I know.” Magnus looked at the baby again. “Sophia,” he whispered, trying it out. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sophia Lightwood-Bane.” At that, baby Sophia opened her eyes and looked up at Magnus unblinkingly. “Well, hello, there, little lady. I’m your dad.”

“One of your dads,” Alec interjected.

“One of your dads,” Magnus repeated. “And we are both going to love you for the rest of our lives. I’m going to give you the best life, Sophia, I promise.”

Alec stood and kissed Magnus on the lips and the leaning down and kissing Sophia on the forehead. “We really lucked out with this one, baby girl.” Magnus felt a tear roll down his cheek and Alec reached out and wiped it away. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m just...really happy.”

I’ve never been this happy.

#prettywarlockk #malecsanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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wefotografiarlavida · 8 years ago

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Concierto de los @losrollingruanas en el cierre del #FIC17. En el lugar donde menos pense vivir, en este mismo lugar he consumido más música. Estamos hechos de música. #losrollingruanasrompiendo #vida #estoesvidamiamor #losquenosomosigualessobresalimos 👊👊👊

#losquenosomosigualessobresalimos #fic17 #losrollingruanasrompiendo #vida #estoesvidamiamor

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stereksecretsanta · 7 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, @thepsychicclam!

What I want for Christmas (is you).

The park was quiet and desolate, shimmering with the falling snow. Tips of Derek’s ears tickled with cold air nipping at them and he wondered for a moment if his companion was freezing to the bones, after all, humans didn’t have excessive body heat. But Stiles just bounced away from his jeep, grinning from ear to ear.

“What am I doing here again?”

“Helping me sharpen my awesome magical skills.”

Derek arched his eyebrow and Stiles’s heart skipped a bit, but that went unnoticed because Derek was staring at a little snowflake that landed right on top of boy’s eyelashes, so perfectly white and fluffy next to his liquid amber eyes. How dare it.

“For the record, I’d rather be at home reading a book.”

“You can sulk and read a book any time you want, but I have only a week left before going back to school. So why don’t you just. LET.IT.GO.”

Stiles’s smugness lasted exactly 0.36 seconds until he slipped and planted his ass onto the ground.

***

“This is your idea of training? Me pitching and you hitting baseballs with your spells?”

“’No, Derek, hitting them with my bat. Enforced by magic. No spells involved- at least no verbal ones. “

“So, you will actually be quiet for a change? Hallelujah.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Ha-ha, very funny. It will be very useful in case someone tries to kill us, again. Come on, give me all you’ve got, big guy.”

Derek spun the ball in his hand and smirked, “I’m not sure you can handle it.”

Stiles’s smirk mirrored his, “You’ll be surprised”.

***

“I knew it was a bad idea!”

“How was I supposed to know we would hit someone? Something? It’s not like I was aiming on purpose! What even is it? A drone? Superman? Aliens?” - Stiles gestured fervently as they made way through the trees, following a dark smoke trail in the sky. Derek managed to evade getting slapped in the face by Stiles’s hands flying in all directions, but in the end Stiles did get him with a tree branch right across the forehead. Suddenly, Derek’s werewolf senses tingled, and he grabbed Stiles, ignoring a surprised “umph”, and brought them to a full stop.

“What is it?”

“I smell something.”

“You smell some what? Can you be more specific, may be? Is it animals? Smoke? The scent of my general despair?”

“Reindeer.”

Stiles’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

“A reindeer?”

“Not “a”, I can hear a herd of them. I also smell chocolate. And…coal?”

Stiles scrunched his face into a confused frown, then suddenly his eyes lit up.

“Reindeer, chocolate and…Oh my god! Dude!”

Derek didn’t have time to sound a question, because he was being unceremoniously dragged forward by Stilinski tornado. He thought of using his werewolf power to slow them down but wasn’t even sure he could- Stiles’s magic (or spark, or whatever) and excitement washed over him like a warm breeze, and Derek just went with it.

***

“I never though you would be so…”

“I believe the word you are looking for is voluptuous”, Santa Claus – or a gentleman who looked suspiciously like him - smiled at the two men and proceeded to put festively wrapped presents back into his sled.

“Fat, the word I was looking for is fat.” – Stiles yelped when Derek elbowed him,

“You can’t just tell Santa he is fat!”

Santa Claus erupted with laughter, “Oh, no worries, my dear boy, I do find this concern about my health rather endearing. Now, if you are in no rush, could you please assist me with fixing the sled? I have a very tight schedule to follow, you see.”

Derek’s face burned when he saw a gaping hole in the sled’s right side. Looked like Stiles’s magic worked after all - may be a little too well.

“I have duct tape in my jeep”. Stiles shrugged and looked at Derek. Derek wanted to stay and ask a myriad of questions or just stare at the Santa Claus, because, you know, Santa freaking Claus, but instead he sighed and turned back to the parking lot, “I’ll bring a tool kit from the car”.

***

“Forgive my candor, but your friend doesn’t seem to be in much of a festive mood.”

Santa looked so concerned, so worried, with warm eyes crinkling under the bushy white eyebrows, that Stiles didn’t have a courage to deflect.

“Well, I loved Christmas when I was a child, and I bet Derek loved it too- he is a big softie inside, underneath all that brood and gloom. But after I lost my mom, it was never the same, you know? I mean, my dad tried, and he is awesome but it just is not the same. And Derek? Derek lost his whole family, he doesn’t even have anyone to celebrate with, aside from a deadbeat sister and psychopathic uncle.”

“I see.”

“Sorry to poop on your parade, man.”

A heavy hand landed on Stiles’s shoulder and he instantly calmed down,

“Not at all”.

Sound of approaching footsteps made them look up, and Stiles quickly leaned in and whispered,

“I know I shouldn’t ask, we both are definitely on a very naughty list but, is it possible Derek can catch a break? Like, just a year of no one trying to kill him? Just one year of peace, so he can read his damn books and not be on the run all the time? And may be something to make him happy? He deserves it.”

“And what about you?”

Stiles shrugged, “It’s ok, I’ll manage.”

Santa tilted his head, then winked, “I’ll see what I can do.”

***

When Derek returned to the place of the crash, following a trace of coals and Stiles’s smell, the sled, Santa and all his reindeer were gone. Felt like a kick in the gut, but then again- maybe he dreamed it all? May be Santa was never there and he simply got struck in the head with a baseball?

Stiles.

“Where are you?” Derek suddenly felt his heart rate pick up. The sled was gone, but so was Stiles and all the footprints. No mark, no trace. Nothing.

“Stiles!”

The toolkit fell on the snow, forgotten, as Derek frantically smelled the air, tried to hear something- anything, and looked into the woods searching for a familiar human shape. Suddenly there was a noise behind him and he growled, letting the wolf come to the front and express his frustration and anger, only to have Stiles burst through the bushes and yelp in surprise.

“Shit, Derek, stop scaring me, man!”

“Where were you? And where is the sled?”

“Sorry, he couldn’t wait. “

Derek huffed, grabbed the toolkit from the ground and hurried back to the car. Screw this stupid idea, screw this holiday, and screw Stiles. He didn’t know why he was so upset but he was, and it stung like hell.

“What? If you wanted to talk to him, you should’ve stayed! And may be asked for something to lighten up your mood.”

Derek gave Stiles a stinky eye,

“Or maybe I wouldn’t”.

He expected the boy to roll his eyes and move on, but instead Stiles personal space, what is that Stilinski got right up his face, eyes flaming with anger.

“Wouldn’t what? Ask for a present? Why, cause you are to good to ask? No, wait, let me guess- ‘cause you don’t deserve it because you still blame yourself for all that happened, even if that was none of your fault? Is that it? Derek-the-martyr Hale, suffering for the crimes he didn’t commit?”

“Or maybe I wouldn’t ask for anything from him because I already have all I want!”

“And what would that be, huh? An empty loft and an old car? You’ve got nothing, Derek, not even…”

“I have you!”

“What? Wait, what? “

Derek let out a deep sigh, “I already have all I want- you- here, with me. I don’t need anything else. Happy now?”

Stiles stared at him with mouth open, and Derek felt his whole face burn while Stiles’s brain gears slowly began to work.

“You have me, like. Hale, are you saying that you like me? Like, like me like me? Oh my god! How long? Derek, for how long have you…”

“Since the pool.”

“Since the p…Do you even know I’ve been in love with you for four years? Why the hell haven’t you said anything?!”

“I didn’t!”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t know? How could you not know, you are a goddamn werewolf for fucks sake, you can smell those things!”

“You were a teenager, you smelled horny all the time!”

“OK, fair enough. But what about my heartbeat?! What, you never heard me going into a cardiac arrest every time you paraded around half-naked?”

“I don’t listen to your heartbeat unless you are in distress.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Because it’s private! And by the way why haven’t you ever said anything?”

“Said what? That I am hopelessly in love with you? You are Derek perfect freaking Hale, and I am, well, me! I’d never think I had a chance!”

“Stiles…”

The boy ran his fingers though his hair and turned away, exasperated.

“So, is this our first couples fight?”

Stiles looked at Derek with a mix of incredulity and frustration, then growled, making Derek shiver, and stomped towards him. Derek expected anything- a slap, a kick, may be a fist to the stomach, but instead Stiles grabbed his face and smashed their lips together. One second passed, then two, and then the anger and frustration melted away into relief and warmth, and two men lost themselves in the kiss.

“Does this mean you aren’t angry at me?”

“Angry? No. I am furious!” - an accusational finger pocked Derek on the chest. “And this is exactly why you will spend the rest of my winter break making up for it.”

***

Ambers in the fireplace still smoldered and the tv rolled out the ending Star Wars credits when Stiles stirred awake. It was warm and kinda heavy to be tucked on the sofa with a werewolf blanket wrapped around him. He ran his fingers through the dark mess of Derek’s hair and smiled into the ceiling,

“Best Christmas present ever! Thank you, Santa!”

That wasn’t me.

“What?”

Now, this, however…

There was a knock on the door. Wait, did he really hear it? Maybe he was mistaken…

The knock repeated, more urgently this time.

Can’t be Scott, too early for him, and dad is on his shift…

The third time knock went into full-blown banging, and both men jumped awake.

“Stilinski, for crying out loud, stop humping Hale for a second and open up! We are freezing here!”

That voice…No, it can’t be!

Stiles rushed to the door and went into shock when Erica pushed him aside and stomped into the house.

“How are you…”

“Sup?” Boyd let himself in and followed Erica to the kitchen. Stiles’s shocked face was mirrored by Derek’s.

“Stiles? What is going on?” Stiles turned around and saw Allison, shivering in her summer dress amidst the snowy porch. A dress she was buried in.

“Allison? Oh my god, come in, you are freezing! How? How are you alive?”

Allison wrapped herself in a blanket timely provided by Derek and smiled, “I don’t know. I remember blood, and Scoot and dying in his arms, and then light, and someone’s voice telling me to wake up. And I suddenly was here, on your porch.”

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from bringing her in for a hug. She giggled into his shoulder, “Do you think this is permanent?”

Stiles looked at her, sparks playing in his eyes, “I’ll make sure it is.”

“Can you call my dad? Stiles?”

Stiles’s attention was drawn to two new people standing in the door.

“Stiles?”

Two dark-haired women, one young and one older, both smiling at Derek.

“That’s Laura and Talia Hale.”

And then there was a knock on the door. Stiles turned the doorknob lightheaded, his heart beating so fast it was about to jump out of his chest. He looked in the night and saw a familiar face.

“Mom?”

***

Between all the happy reunions, customary shovel talks and Laura and Erica bonding on embarrassing Derek as often as possible, this year’s Christmas was particularly crazy in the Stilinski-Hale household. But when the clock struck twelve on the New Year’s Eve, all realized they started the year in a best way possible- together, alive and happy.

And when Derek and Stiles kissed under a mistletoe that Laura threw at them, somewhere far-far away Santa scratched a wish off his list and smiled.

#thepsychicclam #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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stereksecretsanta · 7 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @potrix-the-queerschlaeger!

Rating: T Tags: drunk!Stiles, Christmas fluff, first kiss

*****

Mulled Wine and Mistletoe

Derek stood over Stiles, who was flopped out over the couch with a Santa hat half-hanging over his eyes. The rest of the pack had mostly filtered out after the Christmas party, with the exception of Cora, who was in the guest room.

While Derek was in the midst of deciding whether to wake Stiles up or let him spend the night on the couch, Stiles suddenly snorted and flailed awake. "Shit, what time is it?"

Derek hid his smile. "Relax. It's not even midnight yet."

"Not even midnight?" Stiles flopped back against the couch. "Ugh, I'm old."

"Twenty-five, you're ancient," Derek said dryly. "How much glühwein did you have?"

Stiles rubbed his head. "Just three or four...glasses."

Jeez. No wonder Stiles had been passed out. "Yeah, you're staying here tonight. I'll grab you a blanket."

"No, I'm fine!" Stiles sat up. "I'm fine...whoa, everything went really spinny."

"Yes, because you drank basically an entire bottle of wine by yourself," Derek pointed out.

"That was wine?!"

"Mulled wine, yes, what did you think it was?"

"I don't know!" Stiles hid his face in the Santa hat. "Warm spiced grape juice?"

Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed a blanket out of the basket behind the couch. "Lie back down and go to sleep. On second thought, drink a glass of water and then go back to sleep."

"I'm fine, I'm..." Stiles groaned and sank back against the couch. "Oh, God, I'm not fine and Dad will kill me if I drive."

"I will kill you if you drive," Derek said on his way into the kitchen. "Just stay on the couch, it's fine."

"Dude, you don't have to take care of my drunk ass!"

I happen to like your drunk ass, Derek thought. "Stiles, we're pack. That's what we do."

"Ugh. I can't believe I'm that guy. I've never been that guy."

Derek snorted and carried the glass of water back to the couch. "Well, there's a first time for everything. Here, drink this so you don't hate yourself in the morning."

Stiles sat back up and obediently took the glass of water. "Thanks, Derek."

Derek watched him drink. "It's no problem."

Stiles downed most of the water in two gigantic swallows, and then blinked bleary eyes at Derek. "Are you...wearing mistletoe?"

Oh. Derek had forgotten about the mistletoe crown Cora had slapped on his head halfway through the night, because she was a terrible sister. The end result had been a kiss on the cheek from everybody in the pack, with the exception of the one person he actually wanted to kiss.

He yanked the crown off and tossed it aside. "Oh. Yeah. That was Cora's fault."

"You've had that on all night and I missed it?!" Stiles sounded utterly distraught. "Oh my God, why did I drink all the glühwein?"

"I'll take that as a compliment for my glühwein-making skills," Derek said. "And if you finish that water and go to sleep, I'll put the mistletoe crown back on when I make breakfast in the morning."

Stiles's eyes went huge, and he chugged the rest of the water so fast Derek was afraid he'd choke. "I'm totally going to kiss you, dude. In the morning. When I am not drunk. Although I'm telling you now because if I'm not drunk, I'm not going to be brave enough to."

Derek bit his lips to keep from smiling. "Just so you know, I won't hold you to anything you promised while drunk. Unless you still want to do it sober."

"Aw." Stiles flapped his hand out and patted Derek's leg. "You're a good dude, Derek Hale. I'm definitely going to kiss you in the morning."

Derek took the empty cup and pulled the blanket up. "Go to sleep, Stiles."

***

In the morning, Derek reluctantly snagged the mistletoe crown from where he'd tossed it before he went into the kitchen to start making pancakes. A promise was a promise, after all.

Halfway through mixing the batter, Stiles stumbled into the kitchen, took one look at Derek, and broke into the biggest grin Derek had ever seen. "Oh my God."

Derek shrugged. "Consider this your Christmas present."

Stiles strode across the room. "Best Christmas present ever."

And then he kissed Derek right on the mouth.

Even with the mistletoe, Derek wasn't entirely expecting it. He'd thought Stiles might go for the cheek, like the rest of the pack had.

Stiles pulled back, a dull flush on his cheeks. "Uh. Sorry. I probably should've—"

"It's okay," Derek said quickly. "You can...do it again, if you want."

Stiles's eyes widened, and then he smiled. "Really?"

Derek ducked his head to hide his own smile. "Yeah, really."

They got a little distracted from making pancakes, but really, Derek couldn't complain.

He guessed he'd have to thank Cora for the mistletoe crown.

Eventually.

#potrix-the-queerschlaeger #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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stereksecretsanta · 7 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, @jadorehale!

Read on AO3

*****

Here today, gone tomorrow

Stiles wakes up sweaty, dizzy, and with a persistent throbbing behind his eyes. He lifts his head and blinks blearily, and then immediately regrets that decision when last night’s tequila decides to try and make an unwelcome reappearance. It takes a few minutes, and couple of deep, careful breaths, but he eventually manages to swallow back the wave of nausea without throwing up all over himself.

Or whoever he’s sharing a bed with, because there's a warm body spooned up against Stiles’ back, a heavy arm draped over his waist, and a mouth pressed against his shoulder, huffing out quiet, steady little breaths.

It’s not uncomfortable, actually, and since moving too much seems to be a shitty idea anyway, Stiles snuggles back against the guy—and it’s definitely a guy, hello morning wood—ready to doze off again. The guy makes a sleepy noise, tightens his grip, and pulls Stiles back against his chest, nuzzling at the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles could get used to waking up like this. Well, minus the hangover, but the rest of it is pretty sweet. He’s getting cuddled, this bed has way less pointy springs than the shitty one in his dorm, the sheets are super soft, and the scent of contented alpha hanging in the air is a nice change from the aura of weed surrounding his roomate at all times.

Now, if only the sun could move a couple of inches to the left, and stop shining right into Stiles’ face, that would be—

“Shit!” Stiles exclaims, eyes flying open.

The world tilts dangerously when he props himself up on his elbow, double vision going full force as he frantically looks around the room in search of a clock. He doesn’t find one, but spots his phone, thankfully not quite dead yet, on the bedside table, grabbing and unlocking it with shaking fingers.

8:17. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

His shift at the library starts at 9:00. If he’s still in the same neighbourhood as the bar he ended up in yesterday, then there’s no way he’ll make it back to campus, and then to work on time. Without a pit stop at the dorm, he might just make it, though.

Standing up is a Herculean task—seriously, fuck tequila—and Stiles has to brace himself with a hand against to wall for a long moment until the room stops spinning. Which puts him in prime position to get a good whiff of himself, and nope, he can’t show up to Saturday Reading Hour like this. So, plan; shower, get the taste of death out of his mouth, find his clothes and hope they’re not a completely lost cause, somehow get to work on time.

Right. Totally doable. Probably.

Once he’s relatively sure walking won’t result in falling over, Stiles moves around the bed towards the bathroom, and then stumbles for reasons entirely unrelated to alcohol. Because holy crap. Holy crap!

The sheets must’ve slid down when Stiles got up, because they’re now pooled just below Stiles’ bedmate’s ass. And what an ass it is; big enough to really grab onto, and looking deliciously firm, with two inviting dimples above it. It connects to an expanse of tan, muscled back, including a tattoo, which ends in a strong neck, and a head of tousled dark hair. With Stiles gone, the guy has shifted onto his front, face turned to the side, giving Stiles a perfect view of a cut jaw, sharp cheekbones, pouty lips, and a pair of thick, almost ridiculous eyebrows.

“Well done, me,” Stiles says, and just barely resists the urge to high five himself.

He lets the guy—Derek, Stiles is about 85% sure the guy’s called Derek—sleep, and tiptoes into the bathroom. It’s a shame he only has vague memories of last night—drinking too much because he was frustrated with his project partners, not very subtly ogling Derek across the bar, letting Derek push him up against the wall next to the bathroom, a cab ride to a hotel that felt like forever, coming hard enough to pass out before Derek had even pulled out—Stiles thinks, a little sadly, as he tries to wash off the clubbing grossness. Derek, as shallow as it sounds, looks like he knows how to show an omega a good time.

It’s 8:36 when Stiles comes back out of the bathroom, minty fresh, wrapped in a fluffy hotel bathrobe, rubbing a towel over his hair, and feeling a little more alive. His clothes are strewn all over the floor, and his underwear has mysteriously vanished, but he finds his pants, jacket, socks, and shoes, at least. There’s an open suitcase on the floor, though, and Stiles only hesitates for a second before he goes to rummage through it, pulling out a pair of briefs and a red henley. They’re both a size or two too big for him, but they’ll do for the morning.

His wallet’s still in his jacket, thankfully, and his phone has just about enough battery left to call an Uber. All in all, his drunken adventure could’ve ended much, much worse.

Derek’s still out cold when Stiles crouches down next to him, but he grunts when Stiles, unable to resist, runs his fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter, and he leans into Stiles’ touch, reaching out blindly until he catches the zipper of Stiles’ jacket. He tugs, then huffs, disgruntled, when Stiles stays where he is.

“Sorry, dude,” Stiles murmurs apologetically, scratching gently at the back of Derek’s head. “Gotta head out. Call me?”

He’d stolen Derek’s phone at one point, Stiles remembers that much, before he’d decided to screw it—both figuratively and literally—and just go back to the hotel with Derek. Stiles has never been patient. Or good at denying himself. It’s a whole thing.

“Mmh,” Derek hums, clearly still only half awake. He does tip his face up, though, and Stiles doesn’t have to be asked twice; he leans in, closing the distance between them, and presses his lips to Derek’s.

And jeez, Derek certainly knows how to kiss. Stiles gets lost in it for a few minutes—in the drag of Derek’s stubble against his cheeks, Derek’s mouth moving softly against his, Derek’s fingers toying with the hem of his stolen shirt—groaning, disappointed, when he finally manages to pull himself away.

“Call me,” he says, again, and straightens up.

He can’t resist dropping one last kiss on Derek’s forehead, before he dodges Derek’s grabby hands, and makes for the door. He’s alone in the elevator down to the lobby, which is probably a good thing, because he’s smiling all goofily, his face red with beard burn when he catches sight of himself in the mirrored walls. There’s a huge, already dark bruise on the side of his neck, and Stiles can’t help but prod at it, shuddering delightedly when the slight pain makes him feel warm all over.

Yeah. Definitely could’ve gone worse.

* * *

Derek doesn't call. It’s—it’s whatever.

Stiles is disappointed, sure, and then angry, because what kind of asshole leaves someone with a temporary claiming bite, only to go on to totally ghost them? Real dick move, that. For a hot second, Stiles thinks about going back to the bar where they met, but Derek’s from out of town, so chances that he’ll be there are pretty slim, and Stiles refuses to be the clichéd, clingy omega who makes an idiot of himself by running after a clearly disinterested alpha.

Fuck Derek. Stiles doesn’t need some hot shot alpha doting on him to feel good about himself, he knows his worth. He’s smart, cute—growing into his ears and lanky limbs had really helped in that department—hard working, and has a group of amazing friends. So, really; fuck Derek.

And, once October rolls around, and school work picks up again, Stiles doesn’t have the time to think about stupid, sexy Derek anymore, anyway. He has study sessions with Scott, Kira, Malia, and Mason at least twice a week, works at the library with Hayden on Saturdays, and spends most Sundays tutoring—read: trying to not kill out of frustration—Liam and Corey.

In between all of that, he somehow needs to find the time to eat, sleep, Skype with Lydia, and call his dad every now and again, which is more than enough to keep him busy and distracted. Not that he needs to be distracted, because he’s absolutely not still hung up on Derek, not even a little bit, nope. Zero pining is happening, here, no matter what Scott keeps saying.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Corey asks, one Sunday morning in November, watching Stiles across the table instead of focusing on his reading. “You’re kind of pale.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him, then pointedly looks at the open book in front of him. “Done with the chapter?”

“We can totally reschedule,” Liam pipes up hopefully, then lets out a huffed oomph when Corey not so subtly elbows him in the side. “If you’re sick, I mean. Maybe you should go back to bed?”

“You can sleep off your hangover after we’re done with your essay,” Stiles says, making Liam groan dramatically, and slump down further in his chair. Corey does look genuinely concerned, though, so Stiles shoots him a reassuring smile as he nudges the book closer to him. “I’m fine. Stressed, but what else is new? The glamorous life of a college student.”

There are a few minutes of blessed silence, during which Stiles resolutely ignores the worried looks Corey’s shooting him. Then, suddenly, Corey blurts, “You’ve gained weight.”

Stiles slowly lowers his pen. “Excuse you?”

Corey shifts uncomfortably, not quite meeting Stiles’ eyes. “Well, I mean. You have? And you’re always tired, and now you’re looking sick, and—”

“Did you get knocked up?” Liam cuts in, shrugging and demanding, “What?” when Corey groans, and facepalms.

“We were just wondering,” Corey continues, sheepish but determined. “You have to admit, it kind of fits.”

“What the—no!” Stiles snaps, and then, when Corey and Liam share a disbelieving look, he adds, glaring, “I’m not pregnant. And I liked you both better when you didn’t like each other.”

Liam grins, and throws an arm around Corey, who rolls his eyes, but goes with it. “You love us.”

Stiles scowls at them. “Go back to work.”

They do, researching quietly, but Stiles can’t concentrate on his own project anymore. He’s reeling, heart pounding way too fast, because what if? It’s possible, technically, even if unlikely. Stiles’ sex life hasn’t exactly been flourishing the last couple of weeks, and he is on birth control. Which isn’t always 100% effective in omegas, but he always uses condoms, to be extra safe. He doesn’t remember using a condom with Derek, but he also doesn’t remember not using one, and he always does, which means he probably did.

Right?

Right.

He’s just stressed, maybe in the beginning stages of a cold. That certainly explains the headaches and exhaustion. And so what if he’s gained a pound or two? It’s Scott’s fault, for buying all those tubs of completely unnecessary Getting Over Derek ice cream. Everyone knows Stiles is a sucker for Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie goodness.

Pregnant, pfft. Ridiculous.

Scott doesn’t think it’s ridiculous, when Stiles mentions it over dinner later. Instead of laughing it off with Stiles, he looks thoughtful. “You have been taking a lot of naps lately.”

Stiles stares at him, incredulous. “Scott. Scotty. My man. You can’t be serious right now?”

“And, no offence, but they’re kind of right about your weight—”

“It’s called the freshman fifteen, oh my god!”

“You’re a sophomore, Stiles,” Scott points out, ducking the couch cushion Stiles throws at him. “Also, you’ve been puking on and off over the last couple of weeks, and—”

“You’re the one who made me eat that questionable burrito!” Stiles screeches, a little shrilly. This definitely isn’t going the way he expected it to. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

He immediately feels guilty when Scott looks hurt at that, muttering a quiet, “Sorry.”

“I’m always on your side, you know that,” Scott says, scooting closer. Stiles puts up a token protest when Scott grabs him, flailing a little, before letting Scott pull him in to hug him into submission. “You’re my brother, and I love you. But you’re also the most stubborn person I know. I’m just trying to help, Stiles.”

Stiles sighs, and turns his face into Scott’s neck, breathing in deeply. Scott’s alpha scent is familiar, soothing, and Stiles allows himself to be calmed by it, knowing Scott would never use any of this against him. He’s not that kind of alpha. And he knows Stiles could totally kick his ass.

“The student health center does free blood tests,” Scott says, after a couple of minutes, resting his chin on top of Stiles’ head. “They were super nice and helpful when Kira and I had our scare last semester.“

Stiles doesn’t say anything, but he does lean into Scott some more.

* * *

“Hey, dad.”

“What’s wrong?”

Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear to glare at it. Having a cop for a dad is just unfair sometimes. “So, uh,” he says, because lying’s useless once his dad is in Full Sheriff Mode. Capital letters and all. “There’s something I should probably tell you.”

He glances down at the sheet of paper on his lap, chewing the inside of his cheek, not sure where or how to begin. It had taken him another week after his conversation with Scott to muster up the courage to go to the student health center, and then several more days after getting the results to psych himself up enough to call his dad.

It’s not that he thinks his dad will be angry, or unsupportive, but there’s really no good way for a child to tell a parent, “I had a drunk one-night stand with a stranger I met at a bar, got knocked up, can’t find the other dad, and have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do now.”

“Stiles,” his dad says, gentle but firm. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I had a drunk one-night stand with a stranger I met at a bar,” Stiles blurts, and once he’s started, he can’t seem to stop, much to his horror. “I got knocked up, and I can’t find the other dad, and I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do now.”

He doesn’t realise he’s breathing too quickly, close to hyperventilating, until his dad instructs, “Slowly, Stiles, in and out. Come on, in and out, Stiles. Like me, okay?”

Stiles nods, even though his dad can’t see, and tries to match his breathing to his dad’s intentionally, exaggeratedly loud one. It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually Stiles manages to croak out, “Thanks.”

His dad doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Oh, kiddo.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, hot with shame. “Dad, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“Hey, now,” his dad cuts in, “I’m not angry, Stiles—”

“Just disappointed?” Stiles finishes, with a self-deprecating little laugh, and rubs a hand over his itching eyes.

“No,” his dad says, taking Stiles aback with the vehemence behind that one word. “Stiles, no. Hell, kid, I’m not gonna lie and tell you this is what I wanted for you, because we both know it’s not. It was a dumb and dangerous thing to do, and whatever you decide to do now, things’ll change and won’t be easy, but it happened. It is what it is. And we’ll figure it out, together. Okay?”

Stiles has to swallow the lump in his throat before he can speak again, but even then, all that comes out is a sniffled, “Dad.”

His dad is smiling, Stiles can tell, when he says, “I love you, too, kid. Now, tell me the plan. You been to see a doctor already?”

Stiles flops down sideways on his bed, and makes himself comfortable, relaxing slowly but surely now that the worst of it is over and done with. “Not yet. Christmas break is in two weeks, I thought I’d go see Doctor Yukimura when I get back home? She’s known me forever, and she can probably refer me? If I’m staying, I mean. I—” he hesitates, frowning down at his carpet. “I should, right? Stay home, I mean? My scholarship should be transferable, so I could take a semester off, maybe even a year. And it’s not like I can keep a baby in my dorm, so Beacon Hills Community College makes the most sense. I could live at home, be close by, and—”

“That’s not what you want,” his dad interrupts softly. And, normally, Stiles would bristle at being told what he does and doesn’t want, but his dad is right, and they both know it, so he clicks his mouth shut. He does scowl a little, though. “Columbia has been your dream since you were ten years old, Stiles.”

“Well,” Stiles grumbles bitterly, “a baby wasn’t exactly part of that dream.”

“Dreams are adjustable. You’re not the first person to have a kid while you’re still in school, and you sure as hell won’t be the last. No one’s saying it’ll be a cakewalk, but since when are you the kind of person to give up without even trying, who’s afraid because things might get difficult?”

“It’s not—” Stiles huffs, frustrated. “What if I can’t do it, though? What if I fuck it up?”

“Don’t think that I won’t call you out on your language anymore just because you’re about to be a parent yourself,” his dad teases, making Stiles bark out a startled laugh. More seriously, he adds, “And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I know you, kid, and you’ll regret not having given it a go more than potentially failing.”

Which is true, but his dad sounds a little too smug about it for Stiles’ taste. “Yeah, yeah, old man. Hey, no,” he says, tisking, when his dad makes an outraged sound at that, “you can’t complain about that anymore. You’re going to be a grandpa soon.”

There’s a beat of silence, followed by a drawn-out groan.

Stiles grins into his pillow. “Didn’t think about that, did you?”

“Menace,” his dad says, much too fond for Stiles to take him seriously.

* * *

Stiles is torn between embarrassment, and a fierce, previously unknown sort of pride as he watches his dad practically shove the ultrasound pictures at Mrs Owens from down the street, beaming wide enough to look completely deranged. Mrs Owens—mother of six, grandmother of thirteen, great-grandmother of ten—takes his enthusiasm in stride, cooing appreciatively, and nodding along to whatever Stiles’ dad is saying.

Another shopper coughs pointedly at them—which, fair enough, they’re totally blocking the dairy aisle—which only makes Stiles’ dad thrust the picture under his nose, still smiling brightly. The guy’s eyes widen, but he obediently takes a look at Stiles’ offspring. Stiles’ dad wearing a holster with his service weapon in it probably plays a pretty big part in that.

“That’s going to take a while,” Stiles murmurs to himself, absently petting the slight swell of his stomach.

He turns the shopping cart around, heading for the meat counter. He’d been terrified, initially, of people’s reactions to the pregnancy news, even if he’s a little ashamed to admit it now, because everyone’s been great about it so far. Scott, being the big softie that he is, had cried, which, as usual, had set Kira off as well. Mason had immediately offered to babysit, Malia’d bought him a giant box of earplugs, and even Liam and Corey have been less whiny during their tutoring sessions lately. Sure, Lydia’d yelled at him over the phone, but more out of concern than anger, and only until Allison had snatched the phone away from her to squeal at Stiles. Even Danny and Jackson, after the news had gotten around, had sent congratulatory texts. A slightly insulting one, in Jackson’s case, but congratulatory nonetheless.

And Stiles isn’t naive enough to think that there aren’t people gossiping about the 19-year-old, unwed, pregnant omega behind his back, but with the Sheriff being so obviously overjoyed with the whole thing, no one’s been brave enough to say anything to Stiles’ face, at least. It’s a small victory, but Stiles will take it.

Especially considering that their search for Derek has yielded zero results so far. Stiles hadn’t expected it to, since they really didn’t have anything to go on, but he’s still disappointed. There’s no guarantee Derek would care even if he knew—hitting and quitting isn’t exactly a point in his favour—but Stiles has decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not because Derek deserves it, but because every kid should at least get the chance to meet their parents, no matter what happens after.

They’ve exhausted all their possibilities, though, from Danny’s hacking magic to Lydia bringing her social media connections to bear, and there’s been nothing. Well, apart from that freak incident when Stiles had thought he’d caught Derek’s scent near their bar, only to follow it to the Starbucks across the street, and find a curly-haired guy with a scarf fetish, and a bitchy attitude.

He’s not quite ready to give up yet, but Stiles isn’t actively holding out hope anymore, either.

Which makes it all the more surreal when Derek himself rounds a row of shelves, basket in one hand, and his other arm casually slung around none other than scarf guy’s shoulders.

Stiles freezes at the sight, instincts going absolutely haywire. Part of him wants to rush to Derek’s side, is almost excited to see him, while another wants nothing more than to turn tail and flee. He wants to hide, to never face Derek again, and he wants to confront Derek, to yell at him, to bare his teeth at scarf guy, to bury himself in a hole and never come out again, to—

“Stiles?” his dad asks, suddenly, from behind him, making Stiles jump, and only just bite back a shriek. “What’s going on? Are—”

“Shh!” Stiles hisses frantically, mind apparently made up.

He pushes at his dad, urging him back around another row of shelves, out of sight. His dad’s eyebrows are up nearly to his hairline when Stiles turns to him, hands braced on his hips, and foot tapping against the floor impatiently. “This is strange even for you, kiddo.”

Stiles shoots him a bitchy look, then inches forward again to peer at Derek. He’s standing in line at the register now, head bent towards scarf guy, talking quietly while they wait. Stiles automatically narrows his eyes at scarf guy before he realises what he’s doing, and quickly slips behind his shelf again.

“As fun as this is, I don’t actually want to—”

“Derek’s here,” Stiles whispers furtively, risking another quick glance. He huffs when his dad nearly crushes him as he leans over him, trying to get a look of his own. “The one with the leather jacket. Who wears a leather jacket in December? And how dare he look so—so hot doing it, and those jeans are definitely a size too—”

“Yes, thank you, Stiles,” his dad interrupts, grimacing a little. “Who’s the curly one? They look cosy.”

Stiles scowls, because, yes. Yes, they do.

Then he meeps, and flails back, because Derek is turning around, shit, shit! His dad catches him under the arms, more than used to Stiles’ clumsiness by now. He’s frowning, though, lips pursed, and that’s never a good sign.

“What?” Stiles demands, righting himself with as much dignity as he can muster. He waves jauntily at old Mr Henderson, who’s definitely seen the whole thing. “What’s with the face?”

The face in questions hardens. “That’s your Derek?”

“Not my Derek,” Stiles says, feeling himself flush. “But, I mean, yeah. That Derek. Why?”

His dad doesn’t answer. Instead, he straightens up to his full height, tugs at his jacket to make sure his badge is visible, and goes to step around Stiles.

“Oh, no! No, no, no!” Stiles says, grabbing two handfuls of his dad’s jacket to hold him back. “Dad, no.”

His dad lets himself be tugged back, but it’s only done reluctantly. “I could find a reason to arrest him.”

“Yes,” Stiles drawls, and rolls his eyes heavenward. “Because that’s totally how we should broach this unexpected fatherhood topic. Throw him in the back of the cruiser, take him down to the station, and oh, by the way, you knocked up a teenager, you’re going to be a dad, surprise!”

“Fine. But talking to him—”

“No, dad, I don’t—”

“Stiles—”

“I’m not ready!” Stiles says, too loud. Mr Henderson is still staring, and this time, both Stiles and his dad wave at him, before looking back at each other. “Dad, please. This is—it’s out of nowhere, okay? What would I even say? How would I even say it? I can’t—I can’t do it, dad. Not yet. Please.”

His dad’s expression softens at that. He clasps Stiles’ shoulder, then sighs, and pulls him into a proper hug. “Aw, hell, kid,” he says, squeezing Stiles carefully, mindful of Stiles’ stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Stiles mumbles into his shoulder, hugging back tightly.

After a moment, his dad asks, “What about stopping him if I see him driving around town?”

Stiles swats at him, and his dad laughs, kissing the top of Stiles’ head despite Stiles’ protests. “God, dad, come on.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Henderson,” his dad says innocently when he finally lets go of Stiles. “Nice weather today, isn’t it?”

And he wonders where Stiles gets it from.

* * *

The shirt hits Stiles in the face, nearly knocking the ice cream out of his hands. He shakes it off, clutching his bowl against his chest protectively, and glares at his dad.

His dad is not impressed. “Up and at ‘em,” he orders, leaning over the back of the couch to take away Stiles’ bowl. “Go get dressed, we’re leaving in half an hour.”

Stiles pouts up at him, and doesn’t move. “I’m perfectly comfortable right where I am, thank you very much.”

“Tough luck, kiddo,” his dad says as he moves to, presumably, dump the bowl in the sink. “Mayor Hale’s holiday party is tonight. And, as the Sheriff, I have to make an appearance.”

“Have fun,” Stiles says sweetly, intentionally missing the point.

A moment later, his dad is back, and yanks the comforter away from Stiles. “I will, because my son is going to come along to spend some quality time with his loving, understanding, very patient father.”

Stiles whines, and makes grabby hands for it, but his dad just throws it on the armchair all the way across the room. “Rude.”

“It’ll be good for you,” his dad insists, “to get out of the house for a couple of hours, talk to some people, wear actual clothes.”

He says it jokingly, but Stiles can tell there’s real worry underneath. It’s been four days since the Derek sighting, and Stiles has pretty much moved onto the couch, wearing his baggiest clothes—the stolen henley happens to be super soft, the fact that it used to be Derek’s has nothing to do with anything—and stuffing himself with junk food, wrapped burrito style in his dad’s comforter for some reassuring family scent.

“Fine,” Stiles groans, grabbing the shirt. “But no eggnog for you. That stuff’s basically just sugar and fat. Also, it’s gross.”

Which is how Stiles finds himself standing opposite Mayor Hale in the Hale mansion foyer forty-five minutes later, feeling self-conscious about the way his shirt—bought for his high school graduation over two years ago—stretches tautly across his stomach. If he pops a button, he’s going to make his dad eat tofu turkey for Christmas.

“Mayor,” his dad greets.

Mayor Hale shoots him a mock annoyed look. “How many times, John?”

“Talia,” his dad corrects with a laugh, returning the kisses Mayor Hale brushes against his cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You remember my son?”

“Mieczyslaw,” Mayor Hale says, nodding. She clucks at the hand he offers, hugging him gently instead. “Little Mischief.”

Her gaze gets stuck on Stiles’ bump when they pull apart, making Stiles blush, and shrug sheepishly. “Not so little anymore.”

“Congratulations, Mieczyslaw,” Mayor Hale says sincerely, before ushering them both along. “John, we’ll have to catch up later. Make yourselves at home, grab something to drink. Patrick and the kids are around somewhere, if you need anything.”

“Props to her for remembering my monstrosity of a name,” Stiles whispers as they make their way into the dining room, grinning up at his dad. “And not mangling it beyond recognition.”

His dad immediately zeroes in on the finger foods, of course, and Stiles trails him to the buffet tables to fill a plate of his own. Stiles gets a few more congratulations, and his dad gets drawn into handshakes and hugs all around, which gives Stiles ample opportunity to sneak some veggies onto his plate.

“Celery isn’t a Christmas food, Stiles,” his dad complains once he notices, but dutifully takes a bite anyway, only rolling his eyes a little bit.

They both turn when someone asks, “Stiles?”

The man sounds amused, almost gleeful, looking Stiles up and down critically, straying to his stomach before settling on his face. It makes Stiles’ hackles raise, even though the man’s another omega, and he moves his hands over his stomach instinctively. “Yes? And you are?”

“Hmm,” the man says, instead of answering. He’s smirking, holding up a finger as he scans the room before calling out, “Nephew dearest, a moment, if you may?”

Only then does he deign to introduce himself. “Peter Hale. And you, my boy, are exactly the entertainment I was hoping for tonight.”

Stiles gapes, and behind him, his dad’s scent is souring, but before either of them can say anything, Derek walks up to Peter, looking about as confused and shocked as Stiles feels.

“Derek,” Peter says, eyes flickering excitedly between Stiles and Derek, “I believe you know Stiles? Our beloved Sheriff’s very obviously pregnant son?”

“You’re kind of an asshole,” Stiles tells him, then rounds on his dad when he makes a reprimanding noise. “Don’t even. Hale. Nephew. You knew, didn’t you? You’ve been working with Mayor Hale for over a decade, you must have recognised Derek at the store. And you dragged me here on purpose, didn’t you?”

His dad does look guilty, but he also stands his ground. “I will drive you home right now if you want me to. But you need to talk to him sooner or later, Stiles. Probably sooner.”

“How about right now?” Peter suggests, because he is, apparently, a total shit-stirrer.

“Peter,” Derek growls warningly, and Stiles knees absolutely do not go weak at the sound, nu-uh.

His dad is still watching Stiles, smiling when Stiles gives him a minute nod. “You know,” he says to Peter, dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder, “I think I remember arresting you for public indecency a couple of years ago. Right around the time Mr Argent got divorced.”

Peter doesn’t look happy as Stiles’ dad leads him away, but he has the good sense not to complain. Stiles watches them go, worrying his bottom lip. He feels a little betrayed that his dad didn’t just tell him, but he also knows himself well enough to know that he would’ve delayed talking to Derek for as long as possible without his dad pushing him. Not that he knows what to say to Derek, now that they’re here.

So it’s Derek who breaks the tense silence with a tentative, “Stiles?”

And, suddenly, Stiles is furious. Because how dare he? How fucking dare he sound like—like he gives a shit, after vanishing for months? After ditching Stiles? After being a huge freaking dick?

“You,” Stiles snaps, whirling around, and poking a finger into Derek’s chest. “You never fucking called!”

Several heads turn in their direction, but Stiles is beyond caring. He opens his mouth to really tear into Derek, but forgets what he was about to say when Derek takes his hand. “Not here,” Derek says, tugging at their linked hands. “Come on.”

Stiles digs his heels in for a moment, to show Derek that he could resist, before following Derek out into the hall, then up the stairs. Derek guides him into an office, and barely has the door closed before Stiles says, accusing, “So, you don’t just claim and ditch, you’re also embarrassed to be seen with me.”

Derek’s voice is almost jarringly soft, especially compared to Stiles’, when he says, “That’s not true.”

“Oh?” Stiles rips his hand away, crosses his arms over his chest, and glowers at Derek.

“I wanted to call, but—”

“This better be good, buddy.”

“But,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles’ interruption as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. He thumbs at the screen for a few seconds, then turns it around, holding it out to Stiles. “But this.”

There’s Stiles name, followed by three eggplant emojis. Underneath it is Stiles’ number. Or, rather, the first four digits of it. The rest is missing.

“I would have called,” Derek says, moving closer. “I would have, Stiles, I swear. I looked for you, everywhere, but I couldn’t find you. I want you, I never meant to—hey, no, please don’t. I’m sorry.”

Stiles hasn’t cried over this entire fucked up situation once in all the weeks since waking up next to Derek, but right now, he can’t hold the tears back. He lets Derek cup his face between his hands, lets him wipe at his cheeks, and closes his eyes, breathing him in. He’s ashamed, for causing all of this in the first place, and still jittery, but also happy, and relieved, and he goes eagerly when Derek wraps his arms around him, tucking himself as closely against Derek as humanly possible.

Derek’s breath hitches tellingly when Stiles brushes his nose along his neck, arms tightening automatically. He presses his open mouth against Stiles’ temple to scent him, swaying them both gently, one hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, the other stroking up and down Stiles’ spine.

They’re both mumbling apologies, and desperately clutching at each other; it’s a total mess, but Stiles wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.

“Your henley stopped smelling like you,” is the first coherent thing Stiles manages to get out, minutes later.

It makes Derek chuckle wetly. “You can have all the sweaty, smelly shirts you want from now on.”

Stiles smiles against his neck, giddy. “Jackpot.”

One of Derek’s hands moves to Stiles’ waist, where he hesitates for a moment, before settling it on the side of Stiles’ bump. “You’re—is it—”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, taking pity on him. “They’re yours.”

Derek pulls back, shining eyes wide. “They?”

“It’s twins. Surprise?” Stiles offers, making jazz hands.

“Twins,” Derek says, faint, and plops down on the desk behind him. “I’m going to be a dad. To twins.”

Stiles pats his chest consolingly, stepping between his legs. “It takes some getting used to, trust me.”

“This is—it’s a lot,” Derek agrees, rubbing a hand over his face. When he meets Stiles’ eyes again, he looks stubbornly determined, though, promising, “I’ll be there. For you and the babies. I want to be, if you want me to be.”

Which is great news, of course, but Stiles needs to know, “What about your—the cherub guy?”

“Cherub guy?” Derek mouths to himself, and damn him, even bewildered is a good look on him. “Do you mean Isaac?”

Stiles shrugs uncomfortably, and frowns down at Derek’s knees. “Maybe? I don’t know. But I saw him in a café back in New York, and he smelled like you. And you seemed, uh, pretty friendly, at the store a couple of days ago. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I guess, because, I mean, we’re not—”

“Isaac’s my intern, and my friend,” Derek says, settling his hands on Stiles’ hips. His thumbs press in carefully, and there’s nothing in his scent to indicate that he’s lying. “We work together, that’s all. He comes to New York with me every other week because he’s thinking about transferring to NYU. I’m an architect, and he’s doing his BA in real estate. NYU offers better options than BH Community College.”

“I don’t want to transfer,” Stiles blurts, then winces at his own abruptness. “I’m at Columbia. And I really love it. And you live in California.”

“We have offices here and in Manhattan. If you want to stay in New York, I’ll put in a transfer, spend more of my time over there,” Derek says, all casual, as if he isn’t offering to move across the country. Just like that. Stiles has no idea what his face is doing, but whatever it is, it makes Derek smile, and lean in to brush a kiss over Stiles’ cheek, murmuring, “I told you, I want you. All three of you.”

Stiles groans, and thuds his head against Derek’s shoulder. “Stop being so—so perfect, ugh.”

“Sometimes I grind my teeth in my sleep?” Derek says, amused, nosing behind Stiles ear, then lower at Stiles’ neck where he left the claiming bite, which really is unfairly distracting.

“Well, apparently I fail at remembering my own phone number when I’m drunk, so I’d say we’re about even.” Stiles pulls back a little, but only enough to properly look at Derek. It’s probably for the best anyway; the Mayor’s son and the Sheriff’s kid getting caught canoodling at an official event would definitely make the front page of the BH Gazette. “Which totally is the worst of my bad habits, I’m an absolute delight otherwise, you’ll see.”

“Over dinner?” Derek asks, sly and shy all at once. “The diner’s open all night. My treat.”

“Well,” Stiles stalls, pretending to consider. “Will there be curly fries?”

“You know what,” Derek says, going for serious, his mouth only twitching a little, “I’ll even throw in a milkshake for dipping.”

Stiles beams at him. “It’s a date.”

#jadorehale #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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stereksecretsanta · 7 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, @welshwoman1988!

I was so happy when I saw your likes involved royalty AUs and I had such a good time writing this. I hope you enjoy it!

Read on AO3

*****

A Bud Beginning to Flower

Stiles wishes he didn’t have the weight of his own nonexistent marriage hanging over him when he should be enjoying the celebration of his best friend’s wedding finally coming to pass after his betrothal to Princess Allison when they were twelve. Instead, his head has been filled with all the potential matches who will be in attendance and he’s just glad his father will be staying behind to govern the country to give him some reprieve.

For the first time, he actually considers Scott’s single-mindedness a blessing as he’s absorbed by the distraction of his wedding. Not once has he asked about the pressure Stiles is receiving since he arrived a week ago, and Stiles is more than happy to keep it that way.

He’d arrived earlier than most, his friendship to Scott meaning he’ll always have a room open for him. Most other guests will be staying in the city or are already local, but he knows he won’t be the only foreign prince in attendance.

The Hales in the north have sent their crown princess, Laura, along with her husband Jordan, younger brother Derek and youngest sister Cora. They haven't arrived yet but the city is starting to simmer at the news that they're close considering it’s partially down to the Hales that this wedding almost never went ahead at all.

The rest of the blame goes to Allison’s family, specifically her aunt, Princess Katherine, and grandfather, King Gerard, who had been hatching a plot to kill the Hales once Katherine wed Prince Derek. Derek would have been the only one spared, all those in his way to the throne slaughtered, and in his grief Katherine would have governed in his stead.

When the plot was discovered, it split the Argent family down the middle and almost threw their Kingdom into civil war with the Hales eager for bloodshed on either side until Chris managed to assure them he and Allison had had no involvement.

It was all brought to an end when Derek managed to convince Katherine he shared her ambitions, then pivoted at the last moment to betray them.

At least, that’s the story that has been fed to the masses. But there are rumours abound of Derek’s involvement, that he had his own eye on the throne, that switching sides was to save his own neck when he realised he was on the losing one.

Stiles knows to believe all gossip is foolish, but he also believes you can never be too cautious, especially in his position.

With Derek’s engagement to Katherine six feet under, it’s no secret that he’s looking for a match too, a strong alliance to replace the one that was lost — something Stiles’ father has been keen to remind him of.

But even before the Argents, rumours were widespread of the Prince’s undesirable character. According to most, your eyes will want for nothing but your mind will die of thirst, a passionless bore with less personality than a plank of wood.

“You’ve never met the man, Stiles,” his father has grown fond of reminding him. Stiles is glad he isn’t here now to say it in his ear as the Hale delegation rolls up to the palace.

He’s not going to let himself be lulled into complacency by a pretty face.

And what a pretty face it is. That much he won’t deny.

With black hair against tan skin, extraordinary green eyes and a beard accentuating the devastating cut of his cheekbones, Stiles doesn't think he can be faulted for his lips going dry.

Cora shares the dark hair of her brother but Laura’s is a brilliant gold and she's just as beautiful as the stories Stiles has heard tell of. Their clothing is light compared to everyone else present, but this must feel like a heatwave compared to what they’re used to in the north.

After greeting Scott and then Allison (who receives tight hugs from Laura and Cora), the Hales turn to Stiles.

“Prince Mieczyslaw,” the Crown Princess greets, holding out a hand for Stiles to kiss the back of. She stumbles over the pronunciation, something Stiles is used to. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Princess Laura. The pleasure is mine.”

He and Jordan exchange a firm handshake and then Derek is next. Stiles is immediately struck by how warm his skin is, sure his hands could heat his bed in winter better than a warming pan.

“Prince Mieczysław,” Prince Derek greets and Stiles doesn’t blink in surprise at only the perfect pronunciation. He was expecting the man's voice to be gruff and curt (and honestly wasn't expecting to hear it at all after the rumours of his reticence) but instead it's lighter, gentle, and Stiles feels his stomach swoop like he’s missed a stair.

“Prince Derek,” Stiles returns. His surprise clogs his throat and the greeting comes out more like he's a swooning maiden. Thankfully, the Prince doesn’t seem to notice.

Little seven-year-old Cora is next in line, peering up at him from where she stands clutching at her big brother's hand.

“Where’s your crown?” she asks in that blunt manner most children seem to possess.

“Cora,” Derek chides, his voice smoothed further with fondness.

“I just want to know if he has a pretty crown!”

Stiles crouches down. “I bet it’s not as pretty as yours, Your Highness,” he says, taking her hand and kissing it.

Cora flushes with pride and beams. She tugs on her brother's hand, looking up at him as she extends her other to point at Stiles, finger an inch away from his face. “I want you to marry him.”

Stiles gapes but manages to contain his expression after a moment while Derek’s impressive eyebrows climb almost into his hair.

“Cora, that's— that's not how these things work.”

“But I like him,” she says, stubbornly.

Stiles stays silent, biting at his lip to hide a smile as he takes enjoyment in seeing Derek get so flustered.

“You know it’s not a matter of who you may or may not like but of politics and what alliances the marriage will bring.”

Stiles tries not to visibly bristle at the veiled insult.

In comparison to the Hales, the McCalls and the Argents, his country is small, not much more than an inkblot on a map. Though they have no great army of their own and would rely on their alliance with Scott for protection, they’re not without worth. His country is home to fertile land and they have the monopoly over the Ley river trade route where it runs through the centre of the capital. It might not be enough to procure a marriage of the magnitude of Scott and Allison, but it will make a handsome deal nonetheless. That a prince of Derek’s status would not think of him twice is no surprise but to have it implied in his own words has Stiles’ skin prickling.

He rises to his feet, face blank of anger but also of his earlier cheer. The absence doesn’t go unnoticed by Derek who’s eyes widen.

“I did not mean—”

“You must be tired after your journey. Scott has your quarters ready for you.” He bites his tongue as soon as the words are out. His casual address of their host just proves to Derek the only reason he’s here is because he rides on Scott’s coattails.

Derek is stunned into silence and Scott invites them inside before he has a chance to recover.

Perhaps after this story, his father won't be so quick to suggest the Hale prince.

With everything that requires Scott’s attention, it’s no surprise that Stiles doesn’t see him much in the lead up to the wedding. Disappointing, but not unexpected.

He spends his time riding outside the city walls or absolutely slaughtering anyone who dares face him at chess or staving off an alarming number of invitations to dinner and fluttered eyelashes. He supposes the stories will serve as fodder to keep his father happy but his patience will soon wear thin and Stiles will be required to choose a match from one of the many suitors.

He barely encounters Derek aside from their paths crossing at breakfast. The prince is always stiff-backed at the table, only speaking if someone else initiates a conversation first and even then his answers are clipped. By the third morning, no one bothers to engage him at all besides his sisters. Stiles hasn’t exchanged words with him since their introduction other than stony ‘Good morning’s and has no intention to change that anytime soon.

Beyond that, Stiles only ever sees him from afar, usually whenever he finds himself gazing out of a window. He often spies him taking strolls through the gardens with his sisters, swinging Cora effortlessly from one arm, taking lunch beneath the trees. If not in the gardens, he’s practicing the sword with a handful of Scott’s knights, flowing from one form to the next in a mesmerising dance. It takes a formidable effort to tear his eyes away before he’s caught staring.

Two days before the wedding, Stiles is approached by Laura and asked if he’d like to accompany her, Jordan and Derek to see a play in the city in the evening. In honour of their King’s impending nuptials, His Majesty’s Theatre has been putting on a performance of The Dove’s Nest everyday for the past week and it will apparently last out the month. A play is one of Stiles’ favourite pastimes, a passion of his ever since he was a child, and though The Dove’s Nest is a tired choice for the occasion of a wedding and he doesn’t much relish spending an evening in Derek’s vicinity, he readily agrees to attend.

Stiles rides alone in his carriage to the theatre, sliding down the window to watch the passing buildings. His thoughts are lulled by the rhythmic clop of hooves, the creak of tavern signs and their already rowdy patrons. The sun is setting, casting the bricks in an orange glow. It won’t be long until the lamps are lit.

The carriage eventually draws to a halt and Stiles waits for the footman to open the door and fold out the step. He thanks him and joins the Hales in front of the theatre, a grand pale-stoned building dwarfing those around it. His guards climb from the back of the carriage to shadow him while the footman and driver take the carriage further down the street to wait until he wishes to return to the palace.

Inside, they’re led through a blanketing haze of pipe smoke and chatter to the royal box on the second level, refreshments already waiting for them. It’s a bit of a squeeze for the four of them with the ornate chairs arranged inside but Stiles ends up in the rightmost chair, Derek to his left. He allows himself an internal groan. If beside Laura he might have a chance at some conversation but instead Derek is rigid beside him and he knows he’d have more fun watching a candle burn down than trying to engage him.

The angle of their chairs has their knees brushing and Stiles is reminded again of Derek’s warmth. He distracts himself by casting his gaze around the theatre, at the elaborate gilded friezes looking down from the ceiling, to the chandelier hanging beneath with every candle lit, to the orchestra pit in front of the stage where rich red curtains fringed with gold are drawn closed in the centre.

“I wonder which variation of the story we’ll see tonight,” Stiles comments.

“Yes,” is all Derek says in return.

Even Laura leans forward to give him a judgemental eye and a glance at Derek shows a crease between his eyebrows deepening. He makes no attempt to further the conversation though so Stiles sits back in his seat to await the start of the play.

Thankfully, he doesn’t need to wait long.

As expected, this version of the play differs slightly from renditions performed in Stiles’ home country and picking out all the similarities and differences makes it a more enjoyable viewing than he’d been expecting. Even the masks differ, the heroine’s here big-eyed and full-lipped where Stiles is used to daintier features and rosy cheeks.

“Well that was delightful,” Laura praises when the curtains have closed on the final encore and their palms are buzzing from their applause.

“It was very well done, though I would have chosen Orelius myself.”

“And insult their King? The Dove’s Nest is traditional.” Derek looks at him for the first time all evening, turning his body in his chair to face him.

Stiles turns to Derek in surprise at the display of such feeling.

“Safe,” Stiles corrects, something inside him awakening at the challenge. “Orelius has an element of nostalgia for me, I’ll admit—”

“—and in your rosy memories it needs to stay,” Derek teases, a twitch of a smile about his lips. “If we’re talking about a break in tradition, then A Star Away would be better than Orelius, even if they went with the version that ends in suicide.”

Stiles stares at Derek’s burgeoning grin and twinkling eyes, speechless at the hyperbole. It only takes a second for him to recover, fighting a smile of his own. “A Star Away was written not two years past and is already outdated. Orelius is timeless and it's not just by chance that it’s endured for so many years.”

“Endured? ” Derek repeats, incredulously, and then launches into an impassioned speech detailing every way and reason why Stiles is wrong. Hogwash, every word of it, and Stiles tells him so.

At one point, they manage to stop arguing long enough to agree By Candlelight is the biggest abomination to have graced the stage in the past ten years, and then they begin discussing their favourite plays — and arguing all over again. When Derek mentions journeying to the east and witnessing a performance by the Otokonai, Stiles nearly falls out of his chair in his eagerness to hear more despite his envy. Tales of the all-female theatre troupe are all he’s had to go on and he dreams about seeing a performance of his own. He hangs on his every word as Derek describes the way they performed without dialogue, just conveying emotion through body language and music and masks.

Derek’s story brings them to the topic of travelling theatre troupes which begins another argument over the best play for a street performance and Stiles takes great affront to his dismissal of Fair Weather.

“You have no imagination,” Stiles sniffs. “And I take offense at your assessment. Whimsical it may be, but it’s merely a polished veneer concealing commentary on the state of censorship in the South.”

“I may be biased,” Derek concedes. “It is Cora’s favourite and there was a time where I had to watch it performed every day for weeks. It’s a good thing she isn’t with us. Though I beg of you, don’t let her hear you mention it. A troupe gifted her a pair of ears after their performance and she almost got away with wearing them to Laura’s wedding instead of her crown.”

Stiles lets a laugh bubble up at Derek’s pained face. His grimace becomes a tentative smile but he ducks his head before Stiles gets a proper look, clearing his throat.

“Speaking of my sisters,” Derek says with a frown over his shoulder. “I don’t know where Laura could have gotten to.”

Stiles starts at only just realising they’re alone. Had he really been so immersed in their debate?

“The Princess and Lord Parrish have already departed, Your Highness,” a guard answers when Derek inquires after her. “They did say farewell but...” He keeps his eyes averted and shifts uncomfortably.

Stiles resolutely doesn’t look at Derek, his face heating. From the corner of his eye he can see Derek doing the same.

“I suppose we should return to the palace ourselves,” Stiles murmurs and they both get to their feet, looking anywhere but at each other.

Stiles feels a little like he’s been doused in cold water, the magic of their conversation slipping through his fingers as Derek returns to his taciturn self for a silent journey in the carriage.

At the palace, Derek is first to climb out, turning to offer Stiles his hand. It’s just as warm as the last time Stiles held it, and in the creeping chill of the night air, Stiles almost wants to hold it to his cheek.

The silence holds until they reach a fork in their paths, their quarters in separate wings of the castle. Stiles is first to break it.

“Goodnight, Prince De—”

“I want to apologise for my perceived rudeness when we met,” Derek interrupts, and Stiles stares, mouth still forming Derek’s name. “I did not mean what I said. At least, not in the way you understood it. It wasn’t your undesirability I was speaking of, but my own.” A humourless smile twists his lips. “I know the things that people say about me. About the Argents, and my character. My faults shouldn’t taint someone as honourable and well-loved as yourself.”

Stiles isn’t sure what expression his face is showing, so numb he is with shock. The one thing he is certain of though is that his mouth is still hanging open in a highly undignified manner.

“I hope you can forgive me,” Derek says, his gaze so intent that Stiles can feel how important this is to him like a weight pressing on his chest.

“Of course,” he manages to murmur, and Derek smiles, small and private and relieved. Stiles’ stomach flips when Derek takes his hand and raises it to kiss the back of it. It’s an unusual gesture between two men and it makes Stiles’ cheeks go hot.

“Goodnight, Prince Mieczysław,” Derek murmurs, again with the perfect pronunciation that has Stiles’ knees going weak.

“Stiles,” he breathes, before he can really think about the permission he’s bestowing.

Derek’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, a look of wonder and the barest hint of a smile crossing his face like Stiles has just given him a gift to treasure. No one has ever thought of him so highly before.

This is all too soon.

“Goodnight, Derek,” he chokes out, and turns to stride down the hallway to his quarters. Only when he's shut the door and is leaning heavily against it does he realise he forgot Derek’s title.

His heart begins to pound as he stands there, at the memory of having those eyes so intent on him, drinking in his every thought and opinion. Stiles had been just as eager to hear all that Derek had to say, to argue with him some more.

Even now, he thinks about how he didn’t get to finish detailing his love for Orelius and is of half a mind to stride over to Derek’s rooms and make him see sense on the subject, talk until the sun is rising.

As he lies in bed, his thoughts turn to the rumours of Derek he'd filed away over the years, of his reputation as a bore. He thinks of all the breakfasts they've shared since arriving, of that moment before the play began. But then he remembers that moment Derek turned to him, like a spark had ignited behind his eyes, a bud beginning to flower. He was animated and engaged and Stiles can tell he only scratched the surface of what is clearly a vast well of knowledge. Gone was the broody glower he directs at all but his sisters and it’s clear you just need to know how to break through that harsh exterior.

But most hurtful of all, he thinks of the rumours of Derek’s involvement in the plot to murder his own family. Just by the memory of watching him chide his little sister, Stiles could tell there was no malice in him, without needing the evidence of every encounter since.

It makes his heart ache to think of all the cruel whisperings Derek has to endure, moreso when he remembers his own inclination to believe it. Despite his insistence to make his own judgement, in the back of his own mind, he’d already assumed the worst.

That burn of shame follows him into sleep and Derek is the first thing he thinks of when he wakes and he lies there for a few long minutes carefully not examining how far behind he’s left his rationality in regards to the other prince.

Laura finds him at breakfast with an apology over her and Jordan’s departure the night before, a sparkle in her eyes.

“We did say our farewells, but you were more engrossed in my brother,” she teases, and Stiles cheeks flame despite how hard he tries to stay aloof.

“You’ll have to forgive me. I was just astounded someone could be so deluded,” he sniffs, scraping some butter onto a knife. “Someone had to educate him.” Perhaps he would have been a bit more convincing if he didn’t drop the knife with a clatter when Derek entered the dining room a moment later. Laura lifts a hand to her mouth, but it’s not enough to stifle her snort of laughter.

“Good morning, Stiles.” Derek’s voice is no more than a murmur as he takes the seat beside him, like his use of Stiles’ nickname is a secret for them alone, and Stiles nearly drops his knife for a second time. It shouldn’t be sending thrills through him the way that it is.

“Good morning… Derek.”

Derek smiles, head ducked, and Stiles can't take his eyes off him.

When the Hales invite him to explore the gardens later that morning, he eagerly agrees compared to all the requests from others that he’s turned down during his visit. The icy wall erected between them when they first met continues to thaw as they linger behind Laura and Jordan and Cora, and Stiles is only too aware that the three of them would be considered chaperones in this situation.

Still, he manages to continue their discussion of playwrights in a more relaxed manner now they’re in the open air and sunshine instead of the intensity the cramped box at the theatre had brought. But the conversation eventually shifts to other topics, to childhood memories to their shared appreciation of chess to food. A wild bubble of hope rises in his chest when Derek tells him of the fare they serve at his home and his tentative suggestion that Stiles visit some time to try it himself.

Later that evening, after an almost inseparable day they've spent together, the desire to stay up until the early hours is strong where they have their heads bent close together between two arm chairs in one of the palace’s many sitting rooms. Laura ends up being the voice of reason; they need to be up early for the wedding.

As a surprise to no one, the wedding is a beautiful ceremony, the white drapery and bouquets and beaming sunlight almost as blinding as Scott and Allison’s smiles throughout.

Stiles saw the green jacket Derek was wearing when he arrived, the perfect shade of green to bring out his eyes, and he’s glad to be sitting further down the same pew or he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off him for the entire ceremony.

Once it’s over and Scott and Allison have headed to the palace balcony to greet their people, they can finally get to the part that everyone has been anticipating: an entire day of feasting.

There’s a sense of peace in the air, like everyone knows the recent turbulence is truly over, with the Hale’s present a symbol of their blessing and friendship with the remaining Argents. With any luck, it will last for decades to come.

Stiles sits at the long table at the head of the hall in a seat of honour. The Hales sit at the opposite end of the same table and the only sight he catches of Derek is when he chances craning his neck and watches him help to spoon food onto Cora’s plate where her arms are too short to reach. It makes his heart melt all the more.

Once most people have eaten their fill — for now — music starts and Stiles is bombarded by a never-ending stream of suitors with requests to dance. While he could get away with excuses when asked to dinner or out riding, now he has no choice but to accept each one. But he can give none of his partners the attention they deserve. Instead, with every dizzying turn, he keeps an eye on Derek stubbornly seated at the table.

It seems no one has approached him with a request to dance and his furrowed brow speaks of a dark mood. When Laura squeezes his elbow he shakes her off, lips forming words Stiles can’t make out. She’s persistent though, and whatever she’s saying has Derek eventually slamming his palms to the table and rising to his feet. Stiles can't catch what he says in return, and moments later, his attention is pulled back to the woman in his arms as the dance comes to an end.

All of the partners exchange bows and curtsies and when Stiles turns to find Derek again, he nearly walks straight into him.

The guests around Stiles go quiet as Derek holds out a hand, palm up. “May I have this next dance, Prince Mieczysław?” he asks through a clenched jaw.

Stiles flushes hot and cold all over at everyone’s eyes on him, but their scandalised faces make him bristle.

“You may,” he responds after a deep breath to steady his voice, taking Derek’s hand in his.

His legs are trembling, weak like he’s just run a mile, as Derek leads him further out onto the floor. Derek’s glower is doing nothing for his confidence.

As they begin the steps of the dance, pressing their palms together, Stiles feels his nerves begin to fade, the room shrinking around them until they're the only two in it, the only two who exist.

It sends a jolt through him when they reach the part of the dance that requires them to switch partners, the world suddenly coming back into focus. He’s glad at least that Derek looks as dazed as he feels.

They step apart and Stiles finds a woman in his arms, a golden butterfly pin in her hair, who dances with grace. He feels dizzy with each rotation across the floor, trying to find Derek, and when they finally return to each other it’s a relief. Derek actually has a small smile playing about his lips and Stiles isn't surprised that he does too.

The dance begins to slow and they reluctantly return to their starting positions. Stiles is out of breath and not just from the dance. He already regrets the loss of contact and craves more of it.

The room applauds and more people stand to join the next dance. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see people still waiting for their turn with him, but Derek hasn’t let go of his hand.

“Walk with me?” There’s apprehension in Derek’s gaze and Stiles squeezes his hand tighter.

“To the gardens?” he asks and Derek nods.

He releases Stiles’ hand, leading the way from the hall, and they walk in silence, the raucous chatter and music of the party fading behind them. The air is fresh on Stiles’ face, and after the way his heart was pounding just now, it’s a relief to take deep gulps of it even if having Derek beside him means he can’t entirely calm himself.

It’s not until they’re almost halfway around one of the paths, leaving other revellers taking a breather far behind, that Derek speaks.

“I did not expect—” he begins, voice loud in the silence between them. He must be conscious of it too because he hesitates before trying again. “I did not expect I could meet someone who would make me feel as you have in such a short amount of time.”

Stiles jerks to a halt, speechless.

“I know I did not make the best first impression. I’m sure you thought I was stuck up and unpleasant.”

“You are.”

Derek’s eyes widen as if Stiles’ words had struck him across the face. His expression goes blank, closed off, and he straightens from where they were leaning close.

“You carry yourself like you’re sitting on a throne of needles and look down your nose at those you deem unworthy of your time.”

Derek’s spine gets stiffer and stiffer as Stiles talks. “We should get back to the feast,” he says, already striding away. “My sister is probably—”

“But you’re also charming,” Stiles says after him and Derek freezes. “And knowledgeable, and you dote on your little sister too much, and you have a wicked sense of humour that not enough people appreciate. Or that not enough people are privileged enough to witness because of the throne of needles,” he adds contemplatively.

Derek has turned back to face him, his mouth open and exposing his too-long front teeth, so at odds with the sharp planes of his face and his usually piercing gaze. Now, he’s staring at Stiles like he’s never seen him before, like he’s never heard such compliments, and Stiles’ heart aches in his chest at the thought. Derek is all of those things and more, and Stiles feels a fresh burst of fury at the rumours, the rumours that had coloured his view of him before they ever met.

Derek finally finds his voice. “And you’re an insufferable know-it-all.”

Stiles grins.

“Your taste in playwrights is atrocious, and your mouth— You never close it and it’s been haunting my every waking and dreaming moment since I arrived, and if I may—”

Derek has gravitated closer and closer, so close Stiles can feel his breath on his lips and their noses are almost brushing. Stiles can hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears as he takes a deep breath.

“You may.”

Derek closes the final distance between them and they meet in a kiss that feels long overdue. Derek’s beard scratches against his chin and he’s struck once more by how warm he is, how he yearns to have no layers between them to just feel that warmth against him, to bask in it.

Despite the serenity of the moment, there’s still worry on Derek’s face when he pulls back.

“I know your father will never approve of me-”

Stiles holds a finger to his lips. “My father took to reminding me of your single status every day leading up to this visit. It seems he’s never had any doubt over your character.”

“But you did.” There’s no accusation in his voice but it hurts all the same.

“Yes. Though I am ashamed to admit it.”

Derek shakes his head. “Perhaps if I had possessed a bit more of the same cynicism, my family would never have found themselves in their position.”

Stiles takes his hand. “No one suspected, Derek.”

Derek kisses the back of his hand again and this time, Stiles has no intention to flee.

Instead, he returns the gesture, and Derek laughs. It’s a bright thing, illuminating their little corner of the gardens, and Stiles reaches up to cup his cheek, feeling the rasp of his stubble and the tension of his smile.

It’s a long while before they make it back to the feast and if the looks on all the guests faces at their disheveled appearances are anything to go by, Stiles is going to find himself at the centre of more than a few scandalous rumours of his own.

As long as Derek is at his side, he’ll welcome each and every one.

#welshwoman1988 #stereksanta14 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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stereksecretsanta · 7 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, @rubyredhoodling!

For rubyredhoodling, who likes BAMF Stiles (and Derek), spark Stiles, Derek comes back, and there may be just a small hint of mafia au. Season's greetings, and I hope you like it!

Read on AO3

*****

Priorities

There were hunters in his town.

Stiles sat behind his desk, picking up the plaque reading "Sheriff Stilinski," only mildly defaced by the removal of his dad's first initial, and turning it over in his hands. There had been five people who held the office of sheriff between the two Stilinskis; the first, and only one elected to the position, had been a deputy that had ties to hunters but hadn't taken part in any activities that could lead to firing or even disciplinary charges. He'd laid low long enough for things to settle down and then used his connections to mount a successful campaign to remove John Stilinski from office - because surely all of the dramatic violence in Beacon Hills had to be due to the sheriff not doing his job.

The former deputy's hunter regime had lasted a year before he was removed from office in disgrace. Not for the harassment and humiliation of anyone even vaguely connected with the supernatural (or somewhat brown in skintone), but for having so grossly mismanaged the department's budget that the county only found out the sheriff's office had run out of money when checks bounced. The forensic accountant that was appointed as interim sheriff stayed for a month, presenting a preliminary audit and her resignation at the same time. The next sheriff had died in what was referred to as either mysterious circumstances or a hunting accident, depending on who was speaking and who was listening, followed by the fourth sheriff resigning by way of an email sent after he got into his car and kept driving after attempting to investigate said mysterious hunting accident. His family had to stop unpacking and reload the moving truck to join him.

By the time the fifth sheriff in two years had been appointed, Stiles had resigned from the FBI and come home on a mission. If his dad wouldn't leave - and he wouldn't - then Beacon Hills had to become a safe place for his dad to live, and not just within the perimeter of mountain ash and totems and runestones and every other type of protection magic that Stiles could find to place around their house. The forces of evil couldn't even see the house, but it wasn't as if his dad would agree to stay inside it forever.

If the fifth sheriff had contented herself with accepting the drop in the murder rate and number of animal attacks, she might have lasted. As it was, she had arrived one night at the high school in time to see the longest-serving deputy remaining on the force go up in flames, a number of people growing fangs and claws, another set of people shooting at everything that moved, and one Stiles Stilinski, holding a baseball bat and smiling. A few tumultuous hours later, she'd listened stonily as Scott did his best to explain things while applying pressure to the gunshot wound in her shoulder and Stiles methodically adjusted the scene to reflect the story he was dictating should be told by everyone.

One hunter had deviated from the story, theoretically supporting the fifth sheriff in her quest to find answers. Caught between what was being whispered in her ear and what she gleaned from Scott, the fifth sheriff made the mistake of finding the middle ground between them, the one thing they agreed on: blaming Derek Hale.

Within twelve hours of Derek being brought in and held for questioning, the sheriff's hunter lover was in FBI custody on multiple weapons charges, with more possible charges pending, and the fifth sheriff was implicated in facilitating the transfer of illegal weapons over state and national borders. The blood and DNA samples the fifth sheriff had forced to be taken during Derek's pre-detention medical screening were discovered to be too contaminated to use, lawsuits had been filed, and more than half of the officers on shift had called in sick.

"You fucked up," Stiles had told her when he came in, his hands empty and his clothes casual. "But you can still turn it around."

Maybe if she hadn't fallen so deeply in love with her hunter, she would have listened. If Stiles had had more time to prepare, maybe he would have been able to be more persuasive, or at least diplomatic. Definitely things would've gone better if he'd been able to get his dad to go talk to her, even if it would've meant Stiles was left talking to all the guys on the force that were spending their 'sick' day at a barbecue in the Stilinski back yard.

But, then again, the fifth sheriff thought it was a good idea to respond by threatening to arrest Stiles, so maybe not.

She had been politely asked to leave her position, and less politely invited to cooperate with the FBI into the investigation of her lover's ties to organized crime, before Stiles had finished checking his email as he sat in the police station lobby. Lingering let him give Derek a ride home when he was shortly released from custody without ever being formally arrested. The sincere, formal, and voluminous apologies delivered to Derek by the elected representatives of Beacon Hills carried more than a whiff of 'please don't sue,' and Stiles had to turn away to keep a straight face as Derek thanked them gravely for their commitment to justice.

The impression he had gotten was that they'd beg his dad to come back - they'd done it before, after all. Instead someone had the bright idea of appointing him to the job, anticipating his ten-year plan by at least eight years. Stiles had had to sit there and deal with it as his dad laughed himself sick.

And now, after six years of making damn sure his town was a safe place for all of its citizens, after everything he'd given up and everything he had lost, after a year of peace and calm, there were hunters trying to move back in.

"Sheriff?" One of the baby deputies peeked around the corner, both sets of eyelids blinking convulsively with nerves. "There's someone here to see you."

"Take five," Stiles said, putting the plaque back on his desk as he stood. "I'll speak to them."

There weren't many people in the station; Stiles was a big believer in having his officers out in the community as much as possible, and if it also kept the possibility of casualties down in case of an attack then all the better. That didn't stop all three deputies that were there, even the young naga, from making a point of having a clear line of sight to both Stiles and the visitor. "Alpha... Viel, isn't it? I hadn't been notified you were planning a visit."

"I wasn't aware I had to report my movements to the local law enforcement," the alpha said, still leaning against the wall in the waiting area and examining his fingernails. "This is America. Free country, or haven't you heard?"

"See, I was taught that good manners are important no matter where you are." Stiles swung open the pass-through, breaking the mountain ash line. "But, whatever, you're here now. Did you want to talk out here, or is my office okay?"

Extending one hand, the alpha tilted it from one side to the other, as if critiquing a manicure. "Do you get a lot of werewolves stupid enough to walk into a trap?"

Stiles shrugged and closed the station doors with a gesture. "You tell me, since you walked into someplace you can't walk out of just to have this conversation. I mean, I'm not all that interested in keeping you, but you asked."

"You think you're funny, don't you?" The alpha's claws came out and he lunged forward, laughing when Stiles flinched. "Now that, that was funny."

Waving to his deputies to get them to stand down, Stiles said, "Was there a point? Because I feel like I could probably deliver your lines from the script, and I have actual work to do."

"Does your script include the fact that I've got your pack?"

"It might surprise you to know that comes up a lot," Stiles said. "The only real question I have is whether you're working with the hunters that showed up or if they came here looking for you."

The alpha's smug smile fell and he lunged again, not feinting this time, only to be brought down before Stiles could even lift his hands defensively. His roar cut off with a crunching noise, and Stiles shuddered as something bounced off his foot. "Was that his fang? Did you break his fangs?"

"You're welcome," Derek said, still kneeling firmly on the alpha's back, one hand grinding his face against the floor. "Your dad said to tell you we're having quinoa casserole for dinner."

Stiles groaned. "You should never have told him about that spell I found to unclog his arteries. This reign of terror is endless."

"It would have taken a year off your life, if it didn't kill you," Derek said. "I regret nothing."

The alpha stopped trying to buck Derek off his back, and Stiles squatted down next to him while Derek yanked his head up. "So, you were saying something about my pack."

"They're dead," the alpha said, blood running down his chin. "You're all dead."

"Lydia's fine, she and her mom are at your house with your dad," Derek said, ignoring the alpha's muffled curses as he got pushed into the floor again. "I don't know about any of the others."

Shaking his head, Stiles said, "Bring him, he can go in the special cell while we check on everyone. And we've got hunters, by the way. Cora called in to let me know when they checked into the motel."

Derek grimaced. "I hate that place." It wasn't a new observation, but Stiles didn't feel the need to defend Cora's choice to buy and run the local no-tell establishment. Especially since it might've been partly, a little bit, due to Cora losing a bet with Stiles. Just a little bit, though.

They almost had the alpha in the cell, struggling and cursing, when the front doors blew open and distracted Derek's attention long enough to lose his grip. The alpha didn't waste any more time posturing, making a break for the closest window and ripping his claws through the deputy that happened to be in his way.

"Stop!" Scott's alpha roar did nothing to slow the retreating alpha, but it made Lewis hesitate in reaching for his radio to call for an ambulance. Derek was already kneeling next to Sams, discreetly assessing his injuries and applying his first aid training. Stiles tried to remember if there was anything supernatural about Sams that would require warning the hospital, but if there was he couldn't think of it.

Warning his people was the next priority. There were probably municipalities that did not have codes in place for supernatural shenanigans, but it hadn't made sense not to anticipate Beacon Hills being Beacon Hills. Scott was trying to demand answers, but only Lewis was paying attention to him; Stiles didn't have time to deal with it as he got a hold of Yang's shoulders, turning the naga to bring their eyes in contact. "Hey. You with us? Breathe, deep breaths, everything's fine now. You protected everyone as much as you could."

"I froze," Yang muttered, ducking his head. "Sams--"

"Will be fine," Stiles said. "And freezing was better than charging in."

The wail of the ambulance siren cut through the air and Stiles gave Yang a final nod with eye contact before moving to make sure the path was clear for the emergency crew to enter. Not for the first time, Stiles contemplated briefly whether kidnapping his dad would be a viable strategy for actually leaving Beacon Hills behind.

***

"Derek, do you think the spark is gone?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek joined Stiles where he was leaning on the hood of an anonymous dark blue Camry, significant mostly for how hard it would be to distinguish from the number of Toyotas on the street. "Stop trying to make 'Spark' happen. Deaton using a corny metaphor does not make 'Spark' a thing."

"Hey, it's a thing! It's my thing!" Stiles spread his arms and wriggled his fingers. "I didn't spend all those years in sparky magic school to be--"

"Austin Powers, really?" Derek's look of disdain would have crushed a lesser being. Luckily, Stiles was used to it.

"I need to use references old enough for you to get them, since you're practically a senior citizen." Stiles gave his best angelic smile. "Don't think I missed that you actually attended bingo last Sunday."

With a sigh, Derek said, "I go to bingo every Sunday, or did you forget that someone promised the Daughters of Thoth that we would attend to them on a regular basis?"

"Oh." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, dislodging the collar of his plaid shirt. "I kinda wondered why they hadn't said anything, but I haven't had time to get to them."

"You can't do everything yourself," Derek said. "No matter how much you keep pretending that you can."

Sputtering, Stiles waved his arms around. "Dude! Not fair! I'm here specifically waiting for you, just so that I'm not going alone to deal with these assholes."

Derek's lips twitched. "And it only took how long to convince you not to go by yourself?"

"About as long as it took to realize I wouldn't end up having to stop to protect you." Stiles pushed himself off the hood and picked up the baseball bat that he'd leaned against the side of the car. "Although I'm still waiting for you to realize how sexy I am and agree to post-fight makeouts."

The flick of Derek's finger against the back of Stiles's neck was a brief sting, and a familiar one. "Focus."

"Right." Stiles climbed into the passenger seat, keeping one hand on his bat and the other near the release for his seatbelt. After a few minutes of driving in silence, he said, "I bet you five bucks that they ambush us on the blind curve behind Old Mill Road."

Derek took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Stiles. "No bet. Except they may be smart enough to have one wait, pretend they're not working together so that they surprise us when the evil cavalry rushes in."

"Okay, one, the fact that you just said 'evil cavalry' turned me on just a little bit," Stiles said. "And you're totally right, they are absolutely that dramatic. Do you think we should stop early and, like, walk in? Do our own big show of 'ha HA, I am not alone!'"

The noise Derek made would've been called a huff by anyone who hadn't put the time in over the course of years to recognize it as a laugh. "You just don't want anyone to know you're driving to the scene of a crime in a sensible mid-size sedan."

"With an impeccable safety rating," Stiles said mournfully. "It's terrible."

"You'll live." The blind curve was coming up, and Derek slowed just enough to lock eyes with Stiles and share a brief nod before he gunned it around the corner. The spikes in the road made the car fishtail, but Derek's reflexes were good enough to keep the car on the road, pulling to a skidding stop just a few feet from the treeline.

Stiles stepped smoothly from the car, bat hanging loose in his grip. "You have no business in my town."

The hunter was just a little older than Derek, with hair that touched his collar and a brown leather jacket. Stiles had thought the man was a waste of oxygen when he'd read some of the reports from the official background check and the unofficial victim and witness statements from his hunting activities, but the fact that the man was tall and good-looking somehow made it worse.

"You're harboring fugitives," the hunter said, flashing a smile that made it clear he knew exactly how handsome he was. "Doesn't seem right, a lawman sheltering the lawless."

In a flat voice, completely free of inflection, Stiles said, "Oh, what a clever argument, I am undone."

"You think you're clever," the hunter said. "You got Brent all riled up - thanks for confirming you're a spellcaster, by the way, good to know - but you don't know as much as you think you do, and you're definitely not going to live to see morning."

"The only thing I don't know is why you're here," Stiles said, his grip on the bat tightening. "But I'm guessing you felt like destroying something beautiful."

The hunter smiled again. "Fight Club. Great movie."

"You'd be the type to think so." Stiles knocked the bat against the inside of his sneaker before bringing it up to his shoulder. "So, who goes first, do you go first?"

Raising a pistol he'd been holding in the shadows next to his leg, the hunter fired three shots directly to center mass. Stiles stood impassively as his protective spell took the impact that the kevlar didn't, preventing the shots from even bruising him. Whatever magical kryptonite the hunter thought he had, he either hadn't deployed it yet or it hadn't worked. "My turn." Stiles lifted the bat, dug a foot into the ground, and swung as if he was trying to send the hunter's jaw to the outfield.

The hunter had his own magical protection, but it wasn't enough; the crunch of teeth and bone was loud in the air as blood spattered onto the trees behind them. "I'd say you could still leave, but that's not an option," Stiles said, swinging the bat again, this time at the hunter's stomach. "You can still live long enough to go to prison, if you surrender very quickly."

More shots rang out, one coming close enough that it tore through the shoulder of the overshirt Stiles was wearing. Turning his head slowly from one side to the other, Stiles felt a coldness rise inside him, creeping over him and lifting the corners of his lips. "Evil cavalry's here. Let's see how that goes."

Five targets, closing in to surround him; his own backup lurking in the darkness and making sure no more surprises were hiding in reserve. Cover fire for the sixth and primary target to escape. Car behind him, partial shield, but also a risk if someone thought to light up the gas tank. Moving quickly, Stiles broke the main hunter's shoulder with a strong sweep of his bat before seizing his neck, holding him up long enough to block two shots before throwing him down towards the trees.

"Down," he heard, but he'd already stooped to pick up the hunter's gun and just turned his head to see Derek fly past, half shifted and running a few steps on all fours before throwing himself in the air and landing in full wolf form with his fangs buried in a hunter's bicep. He always tried to avoid tearing out throats during a fight but it might not matter; the chunk gouged out of the attacker's arm was bleeding so heavily that the man might not make it to the 'ask questions' portion of the night.

Lifting his arm, Stiles listened to his own breath whistling in and out of his chest as if traveling through a huge, empty cavern. One shot, two shots, pause and fire again, shift stance and fire again. Three targets now, with three down, and Stiles was still calm as the coldness blanketed everything except the calculations needed to get through the fight.

The alpha roared, leaping to the top of the car and flashing his eyes red as he looked down at Stiles. After a flicker of a glance, Stiles turned away from him, concentrating on the two hunters still firing in his direction. The alpha wasn't a threat worth thinking about, because Derek was already charging, a blur of black fur and blue eyes dripping a trail of blood from his flashing teeth.

"I'm still willing to let you live," Stiles said, not bothering to raise his voice. "Limited time offer, one time only."

He waited, his head tilted and a faint, pleasant smile on his face, until the crack of another gunshot rang out. He was tired enough that he brought his left hand up, palm flat out, to support with the gesture the spell to stop the bullet that had been aimed at his forehead. It fell to the ground and he shrugged, stretching his arms out before returning fire with the last of the bullets in the gun he'd held onto. "Okay, death it is."

Leisurely, Stiles moved to the closest downed hunter and stepped on the man's hand before taking his weapon and the fresh clip he'd been trying to load. With a wink, Stiles said, "Ah-ah, no trying to be sneaky. Either you're down or you're dead."

"Fuck you!" The hunter was struggling to get off the ground and Stiles allowed it, using the time to slam the clip in place and take the shot to eliminate the next closest target, peering out of the brush cover to attempt another attack and instead getting a neat hole between his eyes for his trouble.

The hunter at his feet managed to get a knife in his hand, lunging towards Stiles with one last burst of strength. Stiles just sidestepped and ended him with a shot to the back of the head, attention momentarily caught by the fight between the werewolves. The alpha had Derek pinned in a canine restraint position, and the coldness in Stiles flickered as he wondered whether the man had veterinary experience. It didn't last long; Derek shifted back to human form and threw the alpha to the ground in a crack of broken bones, and Stiles still had business to attend to.

The one hunter left standing wasn't firing, and Stiles moved to where the leader was rolling on the ground, clutching his broken arm and yelling for his men as best he could through broken teeth and a fractured jaw. Crouching next to him, Stiles pulled the man's backup piece from his ankle holster and placed it in his left hand. "There you go. Sporting chance, right? Can't just kill you if you're helpless - then I'd be just like you!"

"Except, no," Stiles said, standing up. "Because I didn't hunt you down. I didn't go to your home, I didn't set up an ambush for you, and I sure as fuck didn't decide to devote my life to the pursuit of genocide by targeting the most peaceful, helpless people I could find."

The cold and emptiness drained away as Stiles stood and lifted his gun. The hunter dropped the smaller gun Stiles had given him and started pleading, but Stiles fired before he could manage more than one word.

A howl behind him made Stiles turn around, just in time to see the alpha lunge at Derek, fangs bared. Stiles raised the gun, feeling shaky and almost too tired to lift it, but it wasn't necessary; Derek sidestepped smoothly and took hold of the alpha's hair, using it to pull his head back and expose his neck. The arterial spray shot over Derek's claws as he dug deep into the dying alpha's throat, almost as red as the glow overtaking the blue in Derek's eyes.

"There's one unaccounted for," Stiles said, because he'd trained himself so well on prioritizing threats that it was the first of the thousand thoughts in his mind that coalesced into speech.

Jerking his head to one side, Derek said, "Pissed himself back there. Hasn't moved since."

Stiles sighed. "Come out here. If I have to go find you, it won't end well."

"There's one on the ground that might make it," Derek said. "I'll need your shirt."

With a quick glance over Derek's naked, blood-spattered body, Stiles handed the overshirt over. "Yeah, it's a bit chilly out."

"Or I could make bandages." The last hunter crept out of the treeline, white-faced and shaky. Derek sighed as he headed to help the wounded hunter. "They get younger every year."

"Because we're getting old," Stiles said, although the hunter really was a kid. "Jesus, what are you, twelve?"

Shaking his head, the kid said, "Sixteen."

It was enough to make Stiles feel a rush of sympathy which drained the last of his energy and the chill of battle from his system, leaving a welter of confusion where there had been a clear emptiness. "Didn't anybody tell you to be home early on school nights?"

"Werewolves killed my mom and dad," the kid said. "These guys killed the werewolves, said I could help other people. Then we came here."

"Aw, crap." Dropping the gun, Stiles retrieved his baseball bat and ended up using it as a cane when it became apparent that something had turned his ankle into a mass of pain at some point while the adrenaline and emptiness had kept him from feeling it. The kid didn't move throughout, not even when Stiles sank down on the front bumper of the Camry and rested both hands on top of the bat to help himself stay upright. "So, hi, I'm Stiles Stilinski. I'm the sheriff around here, and I don't take kindly to people coming to town and planning to murder people."

Frowning, the kid said, "But--"

"I'm going to stop you there," Stiles said, holding a hand up and then putting it back on the bat when the kid flinched. "The next thing out of your mouth is probably going to piss me off, and I'm tired, so. First off, werewolves are people. Second, while some werewolves are murderous fu-- jerks, so are some humans." Stiles gestured to the hunters on the ground, including the one Derek was stabilizing.

"I've heard swearing before," the kid muttered, but Stiles ignored the comment in favor of continuing.

"Thirdly." Stiles had to pause for a moment before he could remember where he'd been going with that. "If I can handle things legally, I will. I offered the chance to surrender and be arrested, and I didn't kill anybody that didn't try to kill me first - but I'm not about to be stupid enough to let someone live who's just going to come back and try to kill me again."

The kid went paler, which Stiles wouldn't have bet was possible, and stood up so straight that it made Stiles ache in his lower back just to look at him. "So you're going to kill me?"

"What? No, weren't you listening? You didn't try to kill me, I don't kill you." It only relaxed the kid a little bit, but it would have to be enough. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, but death is currently off the table."

A shot rang out, making them both flinch, and they both turned to see Derek, still stark naked, holding a pale hunter in the air by the neck. The hunter was trying to break his hold with one hand, the other covered in blood dripping from the wound that Derek had bandaged with the ripped up plaid shirt. "Where's the fucking gratitude, I ask you? That was my favorite shirt!"

"It was an eyesore," Derek said, still easily holding the hunter as he tried scratching and kicking his way to freedom. "What do you want to do with this one?"

"Check him for any more weapons and then bring him here," Stiles said. "If he wants to die, he can off himself after he's answered some questions."

This earned him an epic bitchface from Derek, who threw the hunter to the ground in front of where Stiles sat. "They never answer questions."

"I hardly ever get to ask," Stiles pointed out. "There's wipes in the trunk, clean up a bit before you get your clothes back on."

"You clean up," Derek muttered, but disappeared behind the car anyway.

Stiles waited quietly while the hunter cursed and blustered, although he noted with interest that the kid flinched away from him and circled around to get Stiles and the car between himself and the injured hunter. At length, the hunter got himself to his feet and faced up to Stiles, holding his injured arm and looking around the small clearing. "You won't get away with this."

"Me?" Stiles tilted his head in confusion, looking from side to side as if he was on The Office or there would be someone there who could confirm what he just heard. "Are you serious right now?"

"You're building up this underworld empire, providing sanctuary for all sorts of vermin just to build an army - we're on to you." The hunter lifted his chin defiantly. "Jeff had a crappy plan, but he had the right idea, and there's others. We'll be back, and next time we'll kill you."

Scratching the back of his neck, Stiles thought about what the guy was saying. "So what you're saying is, your group went off half-cocked because you guys thought I was getting too powerful by, what, allowing people to live somewhere without having to be afraid for their lives 24/7?"

"Fuck you," the hunter said, even as he swayed and half staggered from the blood loss. "I am one, but I represent legions."

Stiles watched him as he fell slowly forward, eyes fluttering. "You realize that quote is about demons, right? You just pretty much used your last words to say hunters are demons."

The hunter twitched as if trying to get up again, but fell unconscious without managing it. His breath was becoming shallower as the bandage around his arm finished unraveling and blood seeped out. "So, Derek? Kid? Anyone feel like heroic measures? Because I'm tired, and he tried to kill me."

"It's too late anyway," Derek said, coming back around the car as he pulled a t-shirt down over his head. "If we'd gotten him to the hospital for a transfusion before he tried to shoot me, maybe. Since he wouldn't even let me stop the blood loss, he basically killed himself already."

Sidling along to peer around the car, the kid said, "He was a creepy fucker. Jeff was talking once about the birth rate and I asked if he meant, like, sterilizing, and Chase laughed and said direct extermination was quicker."

"And you didn't think to question that at all?"

"Did you say this guy's name was Chase?"

Derek and Stiles spoke at the same time, then exchanged a glance that had Derek raising his eyebrows and Stiles shrugging. "Kid in a cult doesn't question the cult, especially if there's guns. But, dude." With a wave to the corpse, Stiles said, "He was a hunter named Chase. It's kind of hilarious."

"There is something seriously wrong with you," Derek said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Your sense of humor isn't twisted, it's a spiral."

"Don't front, you love it." Stiles moved to stand up and then winced when pain shot up his leg. "Okay, not doing that. You're on body duty, I'm going to hop along into the car and start the paperwork."

Derek frowned and picked Stiles up, carrying him to the back seat before kneeling to inspect his ankle. "It's probably just sprained, but you'll need an x-ray."

"I just want a shower and my bed," Stiles whined. "Can't I deal with it tomorrow?"

"No, because you'll try to use magic to heal it and make yourself worse." Carefully, Derek helped him maneuver himself into the car with his ankle propped up, then tossed a package of wet wipes at his face as soon as he was settled. "Try to clean up. We'll go as soon as I get the bodies out of sight of the road."

"Love you too, boo!" Stiles chuckled as Derek gave him the finger without turning around, even if there was a slightly bitter edge to the humor. He settled down to cleaning off his hands and wiping his face, only to jump when a throat was noisily cleared from just next to him. "Holy crap, kid, you scared me!"

With a shrill laugh, the kid said, "I scared you?"

Stiles dragged a thumb over his mouth, trying to hide the laugh trying to escape. "Fighting is different. If I'm not in a fight, I don't need to be all..." He trailed off with a gesture towards his own face and the night outside the car.

"Scary as shit stone cold killer?"

"I was going more for hyper-focused, but okay." Gesturing to the front passenger seat, Stiles said, "Go ahead, sit down. You might as well ride with us to town while we figure out what to do with you."

Gingerly, the kid slid into the seat and even buckled his seatbelt. Stiles was starting to get fluffy kitten feelings about this child, which was going to be a hell of a thing to explain to his dad. "I don't really have a place to go? Jeff was my foster dad."

"And isn't that a scathing indictment of the entire foster system." Stiles sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, then grimaced and deployed a new wet wipe. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Noah. Noah Kowalski." The kid started to reach back to shake hands, but got tangled in the seatbelt and then pulled back after Stiles pulled the filthy wipe away from the half of his face he'd managed to clean. "Uh. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but..."

Nodding, Stiles said, "No, totally understandable. Stiles Stilinski, I don't remember if I said. Noah is my dad's middle name. He's still the one everybody calls Sheriff Stilinski - everybody ends up calling me Sheriff Stiles, it's kind of a thing."

The kid didn't seem to know what to do with that, just gave a small "ah" before they fell into an awkward quiet. Finally, just as Stiles could feel the river of babble reach his lips and threaten to burst forth, Noah said, "So how long have you and that guy been together?"

Stiles choked on thin air and the words that jammed up on his tongue as his brain rebooted. "You-- he-- wha?"

"Sorry!" The kid retreated into himself like a turtle. "I was just, you know, never mind, it's not my business, I'm sorry I asked!"

With a small cough, Stiles said, "No, it's whatever, we're just not - we're not like that."

Over the years, Stiles had been the target of all sorts of pointed looks, but somehow the one Noah gave him just then managed to combine the distilled platonic ideals of all them - pity, condescension, disbelief, amusement, and indulgence were all represented in this sixteen year old's judgmental stare. "You don't have to pretend, it's not like I'm homophobic or anything. You even just said you love him."

"Lots of people joke around saying things like that," Stiles said. "And, anyway, he barely puts up with me. He'd never be-- he'd never want--" Breaking off, Stiles cleared his throat. "Anyway, yeah, nothing like that."

"It could be! He's totally into you, it's obvious!" Noah's eyes were sparkling now as he turned around in his seat to look directly at Stiles for the first time. "You could just tell him how you feel, or, or, I could help you set up, like, a super romantic atmosphere and--"

"Kid! Seriously?" Stiles kind of regretted crushing Noah's enthusiasm as he hunched in on himself again, but no way was he indulging any matchmaking delusions from a child that had probably shot at him. That way lay madness, and trying to sing along to Adele while under the influence of alcohol and/or sugar. "No Parent Trap moments, okay? Derek doesn't need to deal with that."

Crossing his arms and facing forward, Noah said, "Whatever. It's not like I care about a werewolf and some hick sheriff who murders people."

"Says the kid who--" Stiles cut himself off with an internal reminder that he was supposed to be an adult. "I've got some calls to make."

He'd barely gotten his phone out when Derek slid into the driver's seat and started the car. "I already got a hold of Parrish. Your dad's going to meet us at the hospital to take temporary custody of Noah."

"Hey, how'd you know my name? And you can just drop me off at the bus station, I'll get home by myself."

Derek made some sort of answer, but Stiles couldn't hear it over the blaring alarms in his head repeating "you fucked up, you fucked up, you seriously fucked up" in ever-increasing volume. Not only was Derek a werewolf, he was an alpha again - he'd probably heard every word they'd said, especially since he would've wanted to monitor Stiles for any signs of pain or discomfort, because that was the kind of caring, considerate asshole that had made Stiles fall in love with him. There was no way things wouldn't be weird now.

Or, maybe? What exactly had he said? Stiles racked his brain to try to remember the exact phrasing he'd used, wondering if maybe there was a chance of playing it off. Had he actually, out loud, admitted that he was hopelessly in love with Derek? He couldn't remember.

They pulled to a stop, Stiles barely noticing the lack of noise from the engine, until his dad opened the door across from him and leaned his head in. "Hey, kiddo, you okay?"

"There's many kinds of love! Love doesn't just have to be romantic!"

His dad paused for barely a moment. "Okay. So, I'm going to let you talk about that with Derek while you get your leg looked at. Good to know you're doing okay."

Hitting his head against the back of the seat in front of him seemed like an excellent idea. It was unfortunately too well-padded to knock him out, and so he was fully awake and aware as Derek helped him out of the car and kept an arm around him for support as Stiles limped his way into the ER. "Okay, Mr. Cassidy, slow down. You're overdoing it."

Stiles gave him a look of blank incomprehension, and Derek's ears turned faintly pink. "Hopalong Cassidy? Your dad's childhood hero? There's a poster in his office, Stiles, you've got to have noticed it."

"I never paid attention to Dad's westerns," Stiles said. "Are we there yet? This is kind of a little excruciating."

As he should have fully expected, Derek just swept him up and carried him the rest of the way into the ER, depositing him gently into a wheelchair the triage nurse provided. He was promptly whisked off for poking, prodding, and intense questioning about the state of his health insurance despite the fact that Scott's mom had made him a "frequent customer" card for the hospital years ago. By the time they delivered him back to the waiting room with a bandage, a boot, a prescription, and a stern lecture about not putting any weight on his ankle, he half thought that Derek might have left to deal with the fallout of the rest of the night.

Only half, though, because it was still Derek, so of course he was sitting in a horrible plastic chair, pretending to be asleep while the other people waiting to be seen watched him with wariness or fascination. Stiles suppressed a sigh, because, well, same. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I'm about to turn into a pumpkin."

"Stop mixing fairy tales," Derek said, stretching as he stood. "And it was the carriage that was a pumpkin, so unless you're giving out ri-- No."

On any other day, Stiles would've had about fifteen 'jokes' in a row about giving Derek a ride. For now, though, he waved a hand and said, "Too easy. Just take me home."

Derek's lips twitched, but he didn't say anything as he left to get his car, the anonymous Camry having been driven away to be cleaned and hidden away again in the depths of the impound lot. The Camaro might not have had room for him to sit in the back and stretch his foot out, but he had both standards and pain medicine. They'd make it the five minutes it took to reach the Stilinski house.

Or even the ten minutes it took to get to Derek's apartment. "This is a lot nicer than my usual kidnappings."

"You just need a better lair to take people to," Derek said. "Having to take people you've kidnapped to your dad's house really limits your potential."

"Oh, ha ha." Stiles crossed his arms and pouted as he was swept once again into Derek's (strong, dependable, sexy) arms. "Living with family is a valid life choice and a cultural norm for most societies."

Derek smirked. "Sure, Stiles. Remind me again, who made snide comments for a solid week about the Henderson pack?"

"Okay, no, there's living with family and then there's whatever sister wives, dear leader culty bullshit was going on there." Stiles relaxed into the couch as soon as Derek set him down, letting himself sink into the perfect squishiness of it. "Seriously, I am going to steal this couch someday. It's like laying down on a cloud that can hug you."

"You can have it," Derek said, sounding unusually serious. "You can have anything you want that I can give you."

Cracking an eye open let Stiles see that Derek was sitting on the coffee table, directly in front of Stiles and looking... Stiles couldn't define how he looked, just that it made him breathless and he had to close his eyes again to try to get his own heart under control. "I don't need pity."

"Good, because I don't have any," Derek said.

Stiles hauled himself to a sitting position, facing Derek and the music. "You heard the kid talking about us being together."

"I did." Derek's face was impassive, but there was so much emotion in his eyes that Stiles couldn't bear to look at him even as he couldn't tear his eyes away. "I also heard you tell him it was because I wouldn't want it."

"Didn't I also say something about people joking--"

All of the words Stiles knew dried up and disappeared when Derek took hold of both his hands, cradling them gently. "It's okay. If you were joking, if you didn't mean it that way... I don't expect anything from you."

"Okay," was a harsh, croaking whisper, all that Stiles could manage as years of half-formed hopes were crushed and died with one simple sentence. "Okay, that's fine."

Derek's eyes swept down and Stiles started to pull his hands away, but Derek held on. "No, Stiles, you don't-- You're under no obligation, if you're just joking or you really just love me as a friend, that's enough, I won't pressure you or talk about this again. That's... Whatever you want, that's what I want."

It turned out hope wasn't dead, but it hurt. "You-- what are you saying?"

"I'm saying... I guess I'm saying that I'm in love with you." Derek let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing like shedding a weight even before tightening to brace for a blow. "And that you don't have to love me back the same way."

This time it was Stiles clinging to Derek's hands, preventing him from moving away. "What if I want to?"

Derek flinched. "I don't need pity either."

"Good," Stiles said, still not letting go. "Because we are super compatible. There is no pity here. None at all. We're kind of a little famous for it."

"So we're repeating things now? That's what we're doing?" Derek arched an eyebrow, but stopped trying to pull his hands back. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm in love with you, too," Stiles said. "Asshole. Do you know how long I've been in love with you? And you're here--"

Stiles glared over the hand that Derek put over his mouth, but Derek just smiled. "Now, I could let you keep talking, since I know you like that. I could stand to hear a little about how long you've loved me, since it might make me feel a bit better about how long I've been in love with you."

He stopped there, waiting, while Stiles practically vibrated with curiosity. Curiosity and rage. And maybe some anticipation. A lot of anticipation. "Or?"

"Or you could sit in my lap and we could make out. Just a little." Derek's smile was everything sinful and tempting. "Or, now that I know you actually mean it, a lot."

"Oh, I mean it. I mean it very hard." Stiles was scrambling to try to reach Derek, but somehow not making any headway. The problem was solved by Derek lifting him up and arranging them so that Stiles was not just comfortably situated on Derek's lap, his (mildly) fractured foot was supported by some pillows and the arm of the couch. "I never really knew I had a manhandling kink until now."

Derek's eyes flashed red, just for a moment. "I did."

That statement needed to be explored, because one of them owed the other a shitload of teasing over it and Stiles was pretty sure he could work out how to be the one dishing it out. On the other hand, Derek's alpha eyes went straight to the danger = hot kink he was already well acquainted with, and he'd been expressly invited to make sexual advances on the man of his dreams. Priorities were important.

Kissing Derek was a revelation, better than he'd ever dreamed it could be, because he'd never imagined the noises Derek made, could never have anticipated the electricity of Derek moving softly, desperately against him. Stiles was allowed to touch, allowed to run his fingers through Derek's hair, allowed to lose himself and moan and grind and laugh a little at himself and at Derek, because he'd forgotten about his stupid ankle and having Derek jump up and growl while still holding Stiles against his erection was just funny.

It was okay, because this was Derek, and Derek knew him. The mood wasn't gone just because Stiles had laughed, or because Derek had snorted and rolled his eyes, making Stiles laugh harder. Instead it was part of it, part of them, and they would be okay. "I love you. I do, I love you, because you're amazing and you, you're mine."

"I like the sound of that." Derek lifted Stiles so his legs went around Derek's waist and his back was to the wall, holding him up and kissing the hell out of him until he couldn't think. "I'm yours."

"Damn right," Stiles panted, giving a light tug to Derek's hair. "And you're going to stay mine. Right?"

They were in the bedroom before Stiles could think coherently again, and Derek was looking just smug enough that Stiles licked his lips and waited only for Derek to finish undressing before beckoning him closer, close enough that Stiles could nip his earlobe and whisper hotly, "After we fuck the wildness out of our system, we can make love nice and slow. I'll kiss you when you cry afterward. We'll deal with the rest of the world sometime tomorrow, or maybe the day after."

"Priorities," Derek murmured, dragging a claw over Stiles with just enough pressure to cut through his clothes without harming the skin underneath.

"Okay," Stiles said, unbearably turned on and fairly certain he was going to combust. "Maybe the day after that. We'll have time."

#rubyredhoodling #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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