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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 7 years ago

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(Becasue people were excited about the FBI au that I may not get to for years, here is what I wrote last night...)

He stood out at the end of the pier, his eyes shut as he listened to the rhythmic pattern of the waves lapping at the wooden support beams. He didn’t need his to open his eyes to see the scene before him: the beautiful view he had woken to every day for the last year: the clear blue skies that were decorated by the thinnest whips of soft white clouds, the azure sheet reflected in the shimmering lake. The surface of the water was scintillating as it caught the glow of the morning sun, the golden light illuminating the greens and yellows of the surrounding trees: pines, picea sitchensis, and quaking aspen. It was like a Bob Ross painting: breathtaking.

The large lodge stood behind him, the dark wood logs of the walls blending into the surroundings. It stretched along the tree line, a small garden patch running along the balcony out the front of the house and framing the house with scattered bushes and low lying plants all frosted over and looked like crystals. It was exactly what they wanted: an escape from everything they’d been through, from Beacon Hills and everything else.

He heard footsteps thud against the wooden boards of the pier as someone walked up behind him. He felt gentle hands lay his jacket over his shoulders before coiling around his waist, enveloping him in the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

“Hey, babe,” Stiles muttered, opening his eyes and smiling as he rolled his head back and rested it against Derek’s.

Derek mumbled a soft reply, lifting his head and pressing a kiss to Stiles’ cheek. He felt Stiles’ chest rise as fall as he drew in a deep breath, the way he did when he was about to say something but decided against it. He nuzzled his face into Stiles’ shoulder, feeling the wiry hairs of Stiles’ scruffy beard tickle his face as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Do you ever feel like there’s somewhere else—something else—you should be?”

Derek felt his heart lurch. “Are you…unhappy?”

“God, no,” Stiles blurted out, quickly spinning around and coiling his arms around Derek. He looked up into Derek’s eyes, his dark brown irises glowing like golden honey in the morning light. “I want nothing more than this.”

Derek smiled down at him. “So, where is it that you feel you should be?”

“I don’t know, I graduated the Academy at the top of my class, so I should be off saving the world or something,” Stiles muttered. He looked up at Derek, searching the swirling colours of blue and green in his irises for answers as he asked, “Shouldn’t I?”

“I can’t give you that answer,” Derek replied, his voice quiet, soft and comforting. “If it’s what you feel like you should do, then do it; I will support you all the way.”

“And if it fails?”

“If it fails, then I’ll be here to catch you,” Derek whispered, craning his neck to press a tender kiss to Stiles’ lips. “I promise.”

A soft smile lifted the corners of Stiles’ lips. He opened his mouth to say something when the phone rang inside the lodge, loud enough that they could hear it at the end of the pier.

“I’ll get it,” Derek mumbled, clearly upset that he had to tear himself away from Stiles.

Stiles smiled and watched him go. He had changed over the past year: he still wore his leather jacket and kept his beard trimmed, but he was a lot more relaxed—always running his hands through his hair and staggering about, his hair was tousled and unkempt, and he had taken to wearing sweatpants and jeans that weren’t as tight, but no less snug in all the right places.

Stiles found his mind drifting, not realising his thoughts had drifted until Derek returned, the phone in his hand and held out to Stiles as he said, “It’s for you.”

Stiles lifted it to his ear. “Hello?”

He was quiet as the man on the other line spoke.

He drew in a deep breath and nodded. “I can be there in three hours.”

The office was quiet, the wide windows that ran along the wall overlooked the city scape and the street below. The sound of the world outside—the revving engines of cars, the sound of people shouting, distant sirens, and all the noises of the city—filtered in through the windows.

The man slouched against the back of his chair, rocking it as he picked up the file and flipped through the pieces of paper.

“Who is this Stilinski guy anyway?” Agent Daniels asked.

“Miezsclaw Stilinski,” his colleague—a young woman with flowing blonde hair—recited, “He graduated top of his class, expert in all areas but specialised in behavioural analysis and crime investigation, his father’s the sheriff of Beacon Hills, California—“

She cut off as she looked up at the scruffy-looking man in the doorway. He was dressed in a pair of faded dark grey jeans and a bright red hoodie. He had tousled dark brown hair long and limp and an unkempt and unruly beard. A duffle bag was swung over his shoulder, his hands buried in his pockets as he stepped forward. “Excuse me, I’m looking for S.S.A Wells.”

“He’s in his office,” Mia, the young blonde, answered, pointing the way. “Up those stairs. First office.”

The young man nodded and hurried up the stairs, ignoring the hushed voices behind him. He knocked at the door and waited for the man on the other side to call out before he entered. He stepped into the middle of the office and stood before the desk.

“So, you’re the famous Agent Stilinski,” the man said, a hint of admiration and disappointment in his voice. “Have you read the case I sent you?”

“I read it on the plane, sir,” Stiles replied.

The man behind the desk nodded. He reached into his desk and pulled out a gun and a badge. He set them on his desk and nodded from Stiles to them. “Yours.”

Stiles nodded curtly and collected them.

“I also got these for you,” Agent Wells said, reaching into his desk to produce a small plastic bag. In it, Stiles could notice a razorblade, shaving cream and face wipes. “There’s a bathroom down the hall to your left just out of the offices.”

“Thank you, sir,” Stiles said, collecting the plastic bag and leaving.

The others in the office watched through the lines of the blinds in Wells’ office, confused and curious about the young man he was talking to.

“Why is Wells talking to a lumberjack?” Daniels muttered.

“I thought you knew better than to question Wells,” Emily, the woman sitting at the desk across from his, asked.

“I’m not questioning him,” Daniels replied defensively.

They fell quiet as the young man emerged from the office, making his way down the small fleet of stairs and walking out of the office.

They remained quiet, each thinking about what had happened and trying to make sense of it all.

Minutes later, the young man returned to the office clean shaven and dressed in the suit he had carried in his duffle bag—neat black pants and matching jacket set over a sky-blue dress shirt, the top few buttons still hanging open. His long hair had been combed back to look neat and his badge and gun strapped to his belt.

He smiled as he stepped over to their side, burying his hands in his pockets.

Wells made his way downstairs, handing the young man a manila folder before turning to the others. His gruff voice was firm, his composure like a soldier’s, his words hitting them so hard their jaws nearly hit the ground.

“Everyone, this is Agent Stilinski.”

#teen wofl au #teen wolf FBI au #sterek au #sterek #sterek fbi au #sterek fanfiction #fbi!stiles #fbi stiles #fbi agent stiles #fbi agent!stiles #sterek fluff #sterek domestic fluff #domestic sterek #domestic!sterek #a bit at least #this may never be a thing #so I thought I'd share at least this much #my writing

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