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Stiles and Derek had been engaged for six months when he got the news. Giddy with excitement, it took everything he had not to call Derek and freak out. But he hadn’t mentioned his little side-project to the alpha for a reason. He hadn’t told anyone in the pack except Cora and Peter, and he’d only told them because he’d needed their help. No one questioned it when Stiles typed avidly away at his computer, or even bothered asking what he was working on these days. He was a few months into his second year of college, and he had tons of coursework and papers; he was expected to be a bit frenetic. It never occurred to them that he might be working on something else. On something a bit more...personal.
So he shot his Modern Lit professor a huge thank you, in the form of a rather-pricey edible arrangement, because it had been her connections that had found Stiles the perfect publisher for his little project. And he kept his mouth shut. Telling Derek had to be perfect. It had to be worth every second he’d spent working on the book; every word he’d labored over; every moment of agonizing anxiety while waiting to see if it would be rejected or accepted. It had to be worth it, because Stiles was secretly terrified that Derek wasn’t going to like it. That he’d be angry, or upset, or...or something.
Nothing terrified Stiles more than the idea of screwing up what he had with Derek.
He still had trouble believing the whole thing, sometimes. That something as simple as a miscast spell and Stiles being stuck in drag - as Little Red Riding Hood, no less - for an entire week had resulted in the single best thing that had ever happened to him. That he’d won the heart of a grumpy sourwolf alpha, somewhere along the way, and all it had taken was a red cape, and a purple candle, and some ruffled petticoats to find out about it. Okay, and a heartfelt - and heartbroken - confession on his own part, but still. Most of the credit laid with the spell, which had given Derek the push that had led to Stiles’ feelings spilling everywhere rather messily.
Stiles got the first copy of his book - several copies, actually, but he only really needed one for the Big Reveal - a few days before he was scheduled to go back to Beacon Hills for Christmas and winter break. True, he visited fairly often, because UC Irvine was only a few hours away, but going back for a weekend wasn’t the same as being back in Beacon Hills for three weeks without classes hanging over his head. And now he had the book in hand, and just in time for the holidays, and he was excited and anxious and thrilled and terrified and so full of love he thought he might explode with it.
It all added up to him feeling a bit nauseated, actually. Not that he’d ever have admitted it.
The Big Reveal was meticulously planned. Stiles made sure the entire pack was otherwise occupied - he would welcome congratulations (or possibly condolences) after the fact, but didn’t want an audience during - and had Cora keep Derek busy for a couple of hours while he got everything ready. He set up a picnic in the middle of the loft - it was winter, and the Preserve was cold, okay, so fucking sue him - complete with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth spread out on the floor. A picnic basket sat in one corner, though the food, drink, plates, cups, utensils...everything they needed, really...was set up on the blanket. The basket was innocuous enough, on its own, unless one knew that it had originally been part of Stiles’ Little Red Riding Hood costume. The one he’d gotten spell-stuck into, that had kicked off the whole thing with Derek.
Stiles knew Derek would recognize it on sight.
Even if he hadn’t, Stiles had taken things one step further. Blushing all the while - because so far the outfit had only been worn for a Halloween party, a spell-stuck week, and two sex-related moments that had been talked about and planned beforehand - Stiles had shimmied himself back into the Little Red costume. Dress, petticoats, hooded cape...though he’d forgone the fishnets and boots, because he was sitting on the floor having a picnic, not trying to seduce his fiance. Stiles was not trying to use nostalgia related directly to their relationship and super-hot sexytimes to soften Derek up, in the event he found the book upsetting. The outfit was just...related to his surprise, that was all.
That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
When the door to the loft opened, Stiles found himself frozen in place. Kneeling, skirt and petticoat ruffles covering his legs, picnic spread out in front of him and the picnic basket close to his side, Stiles tried to imagine what sort of picture he must present. A very nice one, if the way Derek’s eyes flashed red before he slammed the door shut was any indication. The alpha looked like he wanted to devour Stiles on the spot. Not that that was wholly unusual, but it was still nice. And it did help ease the crushing anxiety in Stiles’ chest.
Taking a slow breath, Stiles whispered. “I...have a surprise for you.”
“I can see that.” Derek rumbled, stripping his shoes and socks off and hanging up his leather jacket before stalking over to the edge of the picnic-area. “Fuck, Stiles, you look so...” He growled, eyes flashing again. “I do love you in that dress.”
Stiles laughed a little at that, smiling up at Derek before rolling his tawny eyes. “The dress is just a prop for my surprise, actually. I need to tell you something. Something that I’m hoping you’ll love, because I did it with the absolute best of intentions, but...but if you hate it, then I...well, I don’t know what I’ll do, actually, because I signed a contract, but I...well. I’ll figure it out. I promise.”
Derek sat down next to Stiles, frowning. “What did you do?” And Stiles was relieved that there was no fear in those words, or accusation. Just simple curiosity. Because Derek trusted him. “ I’m sure whatever it is, I’ll love it.”
“I hope so.”
Stiles took a steadying breath, then reached into the basket and pulled out a book. It was fairly slim, and a near-perfect square, somewhere around eight inches tall and nine inches wide. It was a hardcover, and the slipcover was dark brown and made to look like embossed leather. Brilliant gold lettering stood out in fancy, fairy tale script, proclaiming the name and author of the book. Fingers clenching tight around the edges, Stiles swallowed hard before extending it to his fiance.
“ I was going to wait until we’d eaten, but I...I can’t.” Stiles admitted, even as Derek took the book from fingers that suddenly felt numb. “I’ve been working on this for, like...two years. Almost since we first got together. And I just...I can’t wait another minute to tell you about it. To show you.”
Derek stared down at the cover of the book, lips parted in a small O of surprise. Stiles didn’t need to look down; knew the words scrawled there by heart. ‘Fairy Tales for Folks with Tails - A Collection of Werewolf Bedtime Stories’ followed by the name he’d chosen to publish under, in smaller script: M.S. Hale. There was also the name of the illustrator, who’d given life and form and color to Stiles’ words; who’d run every drawing by Stiles and changed what he’d wanted changed, until it looked just right. It was two years worth of love for Derek, all bound up in paper and ink, and Stiles was terrified of how it would be received.
“What is this?” Derek asked, voice hoarse as he ran his fingertips over the shiny lettering.
Stiles swallowed again, throat clicking loudly in the quiet loft. “It’s my book. I...I wrote it. It’s a children’s book, so it’s all, you know...like, short stories. And there’s pictures. I...my Modern Lit professor helped me find a publisher, and it’s going to be released soon. This is an advanced copy.”
Derek didn’t speak. He just flipped open the cover and turned pages, coming to a stop on the dedication page, which read: ‘To the Wolf who loves me: You are the alpha of my heart, and I will forever be grateful you chose me as your very own Red Mate. Thank you, for every bit of fairy tale magic you’ve brought into my life. Thank you for trusting me with every part of you. Thank you for loving me, and for letting me love you. I hope this small, resurrected piece of your childhood reminds you of just how much I do, and always will.’ Derek turned another page, letting his eyes skim over the Forward. Over the words Stiles had penned about magic, and fairy tales, and love. Over the carefully worded disclaimer that made the whole book seem like nothing more than whimsy, to anyone not in the know.
Then Derek turned the page again, eyes drifting over the table of contents. Stiles had chosen carefully, from the stories Peter and Cora had told him. The ones they’d remembered, and the ones they’d been fuzzy about the details on, and the ones they’d tracked down. Peter had introduced Stiles to the other pack in Beacon County - a pack run by a woman named Satomi Ito - and he’d greedily gathered tales from the two born wolves who were a part of that pack, too. The ones he’d chosen were deliberate - tales of love, mostly. A couple of origin stories for werewolves, like The Moon and Her Lover and The Broken Promise. Tales that painted werewolves in the best light possible; as the heroes of the story. The ones that made it clear that loving a werewolf was the highest honor a human could have; that having their love in return was a gift beyond measure. Stiles had chosen with the utmost care, because too many people had failed to take care where Derek was concerned and Stiles would not be one of them.
And, of course, there among the other stories was the very first werewolf fairy tale Stiles had ever heard. The one Derek had declared was his favorite; the one Derek had told him, as his own special way of telling Stiles that he loved him. Stiles had filled it out, obviously, and polished it up. He’d given the ending a special twist, while doing his best not to strip it of the meaning it had to Derek’s family. And he’d left the name Derek had told him, The Wolf’s Red Mate, because Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t nearly so accurate. Not for the version Stiles had used.
That, of course, was the story Derek flipped to. His eyes tracked over the words, reading through them from start to finish quicker than Stiles would have thought possible. And when he read the final words Stiles had ascribed to the tale, Stiles knew exactly what they said. He’d penned them, after all.
Red loved her wolf so much that even when the world was dangerous, and the wolves had to hide what they were from the humans, their descendants held strong to that part of themselves. And some of them could always be found, in the woods and wild places, running free with magic in their blood, beneath the light of the moon.
Derek’s fingers trailed over the words, then drifted to the image on the opposite page. To the wolf, with soot-black fur and burning red eyes. To the young woman who stood beside him, unafraid. Fair-skinned with dark curly hair and eyes as green as the forest, dressed in a red hooded cape. When he looked up at Stiles, there were tears in his eyes. And for one, horrible moment, Stiles feared the worst.
Then, Derek’s lips curved into a smile, even as a tear spilled past his long lashes and ran down his cheek. “I can’t believe you did this. I... Stiles, I... ” Derek let out a watery laugh, eyes dropping to the book again, fingers still tracing the lines of the artwork. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”
“You’re not mad?” Stiles couldn't have stopped the question if he’d tried; too much anxiety built up, with how long he’d kept the book secret. “I mean, they’re not really my stories to be telling.”
Derek considered that for a moment, then said slowly. “I think the story of The Wolf’s Red Mate belongs as much to Red as it does to the Wolf. So I think, in the interest of fairness, that any stories belonging to werewolves could rightly be said to belong to their mates as well. You’re human, but you’re still pack. Still mine. I could never have found the right words to take my mother’s stories - stories passed down from parent to child, and from pack to pack, for more generations than I could count even if I tried - and give them this kind of life.”
Derek carefully set the book aside, as though it were infinitely precious, then cupped Stiles’ face in his hands as though the same were true about him. “ I love you, and I’m so grateful you did. Because I couldn't, and because I didn’t even know I wanted to see them this way - complete and so much better for it - until I was holding your words in my hands. Because you would think to do this for me.”
“I love you, too.” Stiles laughed, and pretended the sound wasn’t damp with tears as well. He leaned in until he and Derek had their foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air, their arms looped around each other. Then he whispered. “I love you, Derek Hale, more than I could ever put into words, but I had to try.”
Derek knew that when his mother had told the story of Red and her Wolf, it was Red who was painted as the lucky one; the one who was given the wondrous gift of the Wolf’s love and a life with him and his pack. But sitting on the floor of his loft, a picnic laid out on one side and a book of children’s stories on the other, with Stiles Stilinski in his arms, Derek knew the truth. Red hadn’t been the lucky one at all. The Wolf who had found and won his mate - a mate who loved and accepted every part of him - was luckier by far.
And that was magic worthy of a fairy tale.
~ The End ~