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1 -
The gargoyle’s cold stone bit into Stiles’ fingertips as his body dangled precariously over the edge of the abandoned warehouse roof. Below, the shadowy alley yawned, promising a broken body and a swift end to his frantic escape. Hunters were closing in. He’d been careless, his usual clumsy self, and now he was paying the price.
A strangled groan escaped his lips as his fingers, scraped raw, threatened to give way. His breath hitched in ragged gasps, each one a desperate plea for survival. Then, a low growl rumbled through the night, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
He looked up. Derek stood at the roof’s edge, silhouetted against the pale moonlight. He looked… different . Not the brooding, emotionally unavailable Derek but something shadowed over his features, intense, all sharp angles and predatory grace. His eyes, usually a warm hazel, glowed with a fierce, protective red light.
Stiles watched, helpless, as Derek moved with a speed that defied human capabilities. In a blur of motion, he was beside Stiles, his hand, calloused and strong, gripping Stiles' wrist with a force that both terrified and reassured him.
“Let go.” Derek commanded, his voice a low murmur that cut through the night's stillness. “I’ve got you.”
Stiles’ grip loosened, giving his full trust to the werewolf. Derek’s hand tightened, his fingers closing around Stiles’ wrist with an almost painful pressure. As he pulled Stiles free, the sheer strength of it was breath-taking. Derek hauled him upwards with effortless ease, one hand supporting Stiles' entire weight effortlessly.
Suddenly, for a heart-stopping second, they were impossibly close. Stiles, still breathless and trembling, was pressed against Derek's strong chest. He could feel the hard line of muscle and the steady, powerful beat of his heart. The scent of sandalwood and something wild, undeniably feral, filled his senses.
The air crackled with unspoken intensity. The near-death experience had stripped away the usual playful banter and replaced it with something raw and potent. It was a vulnerability Stiles hadn't seen in Derek before, and it made his knees weak in a way that had nothing to do with his near fatal fall.
Derek, red eyes still locked on Stiles’ doe brown ones, lowered him on steady ground. The contact broke, leaving Stiles with a weird emptiness. He looked up at Derek, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Thanks.” He whispered, his voice rough. The word felt inadequate, a pathetic excuse for the overwhelming rush of emotions he was battling.
Derek's expression was unreadable, a mask of controlled intensity. He simply nodded, his gaze lingering on Stiles for a moment longer. “Be careful. Go back to your jeep and stay there until we come get you.”
“But-”
“Now, Stiles.” He ordered before he turned and vanished into the night's shadows as swiftly as he'd appeared.
Stiles stood there for a beat, the adrenaline slowly fading, leaving behind a profound sense of gratitude and something else, something that felt dangerously close to desire. The memory of Derek's hand, strong and sure, the nearness of their bodies... it lingered, a burning ember in the cold night air.
“Fuck.” Stiles whispered to himself in defeat.
2 -
“No. No. Don’t do this to me, Rosco.”
The rusted groan of his Jeep, a familiar death rattle, echoed thunderously. Stiles Stilinski groaned, the familiar frustration a dull ache in his chest. Again. His Jeep had decided to expire on a lonely stretch of road miles from Beacon Hills.
He was stuck, stranded. The engine was dead and refused to start up again no matter how many times Stiles twisted the key in desperation.
Left with no other choice, he started walking, the chill of the evening air nipping at his exposed skin. The rhythmic crunch of gravel under his boots was the only sound for a while, broken only by the frantic chirping of crickets. Then suddenly, a twig snapped. Not the sound of a deer, not the usual nocturnal rustle of the woods. This was sharper, more deliberate.
He froze, heart hammering against his ribs. A figure emerged from the shadows, silhouetted against the fading light. The figure moved with a predatory grace, hands tucked deep in pockets, obscuring what he held.
Stiles' breath hitched, “Shit.”
The unknown man was a few feet away, his face still obscured with a dark hood. "Wallet. Phone. Now." The voice was low, menacing, it sent a shiver down Stiles' spine. He felt a cold sweat breaking out. He didn't have much to offer, but the thought of being robbed….
As the thief took a step closer but suddenly stopped. The criminal looked behind Stiles’ shoulder and froze with fear.
Stiles turned to see what had him so frightened and saw nothing but the familiar pair of glowing red eyes in the trees. A low growl that wasn't human joined, a sudden, sharp crack that echoed through the stillness.
“What the fuck it that!?” The thief yelped, stepping back.
Stiles smirked, turning to the man who tried to rob him, “He’s my security dog. And he doesn’t like thieves.”
Derek’s growling intensified and the unknown man let out a little cry of fright before bolting as fast as his human legs could carry. Stiles laughed, turning to Derek with pure and utter joy.
“Dude! That was amazing!”
Derek didn't speak. He just stood there, a guardian angel sculpted from shadows and raw power. The sudden silence hung heavy, broken only by Stiles' ragged breaths. Derek's presence, feral and intense, filled the space with a palpable electric tension.
Finally, Derek came from the forest and in front of Stiles, his gaze dropped to brown eyes, lingering for a moment before he spoke, his voice a low rumble. "Are you alright?"
Stiles, still reeling from the adrenaline rush, could only nod, his throat too tight to form words. They couldn’t look away from one another and Stiles was acutely aware of the proximity, the warmth of Derek's body just a few feet away.
Derek stayed for a moment longer, then lifted his hand up to Stiles.
Stiles’ chest tightened, his own hand itching to stitch their fingers together and he was about to when Derek spoke.
“Give me your keys.”
Stiles’ brain stopped working, his face twisting with half confusion, half disappointment. “Huh?”
“The keys to your jeep.” The wolf clarified. “Give them to me.”
“Uh… why?”
“I’ll fix it and bring it to your house before school tomorrow.”
Stunned, Stiles tried to reply but couldn’t. For the first time in his life, he was speechless. He silently reached into his pocket, took out his keys and placed them onto Derek’s rough palm. Derek took them, nodded then went back to disappear into the woods.
“Wait!” Stiles stopped him.
The wolf stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around.
“H-How did you know my jeep broke down?”
A pause. Then Derek gave a small huff of laughter. “I heard the engine die from across the reserve. Knew it was your jeep instantly.”
And with that, he was gone and Stiles was left alone again.
3 -
It was Scott's eighteenth birthday, and Stiles, despite his reservations about the over-the-top celebration, was having a surprisingly good time at the club. The bass vibrated through his chest in an overstimulating yet liberating way, a physical manifestation of the chaotic energy thrumming throughout the space. Confetti rained down and lights of all colours flooded the walls, ceiling and floor.
A hand landed on his lower back.
He turned, expecting to see Scott or one of their friends, but instead found himself facing a man who looked old enough to be his father. The man, whose cologne smelled suspiciously of desperation and cheap aftershave, offered a smile that made Stiles shiver - and not in the good way, not the way Derek’s smile makes his blood vibrate with desire.
"Having fun, kid?" The man asked, his voice a sickly purr.
Stiles shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, I am." He replied politely, trying to subtly disengage himself.
The man's hand tightened on his back. "You're cute. I'm Lee. What's your name, sweetheart?"
Stiles felt a prickle of unease crawl up his spine. "I'm really not interested. Sorry." He tried to pull away, but Lee's grip was surprisingly strong.
"Aw, come on, don't be shy," Lee persisted, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. He leaned closer, his breath hot on Stiles' ear. "I know a place where we can have some real fun."
Stiles' discomfort morphed into outright fear. He felt trapped, cornered, and utterly helpless.
Then, a hand clamped down on Lee's wrist, a grip so powerful it made the older man yelp. Lee's face contorted in surprise as he was yanked roughly backwards.
Derek appeared behind them, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity that chilled Stiles to the bone. His jaw was clenched, and his normally controlled demeanour was replaced by a simmering anger. He didn't speak, but the sheer force of his presence was enough to silence Lee.
The stranger, suddenly realizing he'd picked the wrong person to mess with, stammered a pathetic apology before practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape. He vanished into the crowd with a blur.
Stiles stood there, chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs. He hadn't even realized how much fear he'd been holding onto until it was released in the wake of Derek's intervention.
Derek turned to Stiles, his expression softening slightly, though a trace of his anger lingered. He didn't speak for a moment, just looked at Stiles with an intensity that sent the welcoming shiver down his spine.
“Are you alright?” Derek finally asked, his voice low and husky, a stark contrast to the club's throbbing music.
Stiles nodded, still catching his breath. He was safe now, but the lingering closeness of Derek's presence, the way their eyes met, ignited a different kind of heat. It wasn't the panic of a moment ago, but hunger for the touch of Derek Hale.
“D-Derek-”
“Yo, Stiles!” Scott’s excited voice tore them and the charged atmosphere apart, pulling Stiles towards him, “Come on, man! Erica brought glow in the dark paint!”
When Stiles looked back to where Derek once stood, he found the wolf no longer there. Stiles wished him back but he was being pulled at by his friends and was suddenly having his face painted, no time to reminisce on what had happened.
4 -
The leaves crunched under Stiles' worn sneakers, each step a hesitant beat against the drumming of his heart. He was heading to Derek's. Derek freakin' Hale's. He needed to talk to him, to finally lay all his cards on the table, even if those cards felt like a handful of jokers and useless twos. He knew it was a fool's hand. A stupid risk. Derek was all brooding intensity and sculpted muscles with a heart of pure gold underneath, while Stiles was… well, Stiles . Sarcasm and flailing limbs were his only defence. But the fluttering in his chest whenever Derek was near had become unbearable and deep deep down, Stiles knew that the wolf felt something too. Those lingering touches, strong gazes, him being all heroic and coming in to Stiles’ aid whenever he needed - it all had to add to something .
A sudden rustle in the undergrowth made him jump out of his thoughts and skin. Probably just a squirrel, he told himself, but the unsettling feeling continued to ooze through his chest.
Then, whatever it was exploded from the bushes. A blur of fur and teeth, a low growl that vibrated in Stiles' bones. It was a coyote, bigger than any he’d ever seen, wild and rabid with a hunger that burned in its yellow eyes. He stumbled back in shock. Coyote’s were normal in his part of the country but they almost never ventured so close to town due to it being werewolf territory. This one must be lost or stupid - both equally as dangerous.
He barely had time to scream before the coyote lunged. He jumped away from it as it landed where he once was, barely missing sharp claws.
A roar then ripped through the air, deeper and more guttural than the coyote's. Derek was there, a wall of muscle and fury, his eyes glowing red with fury.
He moved with a speed Stiles could barely comprehend. He grabbed the coyote by the scruff of its neck, tossing it several feet away. The coyote snarled, circling, but Derek remained a solid, unyielding presence between it and Stiles.
“Stiles, get back!” He barked, his voice raw and commanding.
Stiles scrambled back, his legs shaking. He watched in a terrified haze as Derek and the coyote engaged in a brutal dance. Derek was faster, stronger, but the coyote was relentless, its teeth snapping inches from his exposed limbs. He saw Derek get a gash across his arm, the skin ripping open, and a wave of nausea washed over him. “Derek!”
Derek bit the wild cat on the shoulder, making it yelp, before throwing the animal against a tree. The coyote’s body made a horrifying crack as its bones broke. The beast fell limp to the floor, dead.
Derek stood there, panting, his chest heaving. The air crackled with an energy that made Stiles' skin prickle. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a strange, dizzying sensation in its wake.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Derek asked Stiles, his voice rough, concern etching lines around his eyes.
Stiles just stared. He was mesmerized. Derek was covered in dirt and leaves, sweat staining his shirt and a thin line of blood trickling down his arm, but he looked… magnificent . Fierce. Protective.
“Stiles?” Derek took a step closer, his brow furrowed. He reached out, his large hand hovering near Stiles’ face. “You’re trembling.”
He gently cupped Stiles' cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. The simple touch sent a jolt of electricity through Stiles, melting away the fear and replacing it with a burning awareness.
He could feel Derek's breath on his skin, warm and ragged. His own pulse hammered in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the woods. He lifted his gaze to meet Derek's, and he saw something there, something he hadn't dared to hope for. A flicker of… desire ?
The air thrummed with a tension so thick, it felt like it could shatter. He could taste the metallic tang of blood, the perfect mix of his fear, Derek's injury and something else heady and intoxicating.
He leaned in, just a fraction, testing it. Derek leaned in too.
The world narrowed to just them, two against anything, about to cross a line they might never be able to uncross.
Just as their lips were about to meet, a voice shattered the spell.
"Derek! Stiles? What's going on?"
Scott McCall.
Stiles groaned as Derek leapt away. Scott emerged from the trees, his face a mixture of confusion and concern. He took in the scene, the blood, the dirt, the charged atmosphere and his eyebrows shot up.
Stiles just stared at the ground, his cheeks burning while Derek frowned at Scott like he personally offended him. The moment, that fragile, beautiful possibility, had been irrevocably broken. The tension had evaporated, replaced by an awkwardness so profound, it felt like a physical barrier.
Scott, bless his oblivious heart, didn't seem to notice anything amiss. But he did spot the dead coyote. “Woah! That’s a coyote! You killed it?"
“I-It attacked me.” Stiles explained, “Derek saved me.”
The two glanced at one another for a second before blushing away.
Scott looked shocked and relieved, “Thanks, Derek! You saved my best friend! And a coyote? That’s badass, dude.”
“What are you doing here, Scott?” Derek ignored the praise.
“Oh, well, I was just heading to yours actually. You coming too, Stiles?”
Derek glanced at Stiles, a silent question for his answer. Stiles just shook his head, unable to meet his gaze as all his courage evaporated out of him.
"I... I should get going." He mumbled, turning and stumbling back the way he came without a goodbye.
He didn't see Derek's gaze follow him, filled with a mixture of regret and something indefinable. He didn't see the frustrated sigh Derek released as he turned to Scott, voice filled with a subtle rage. "This better be worth it, Scott."
5 -
The air crackled with fear, adrenaline and metal like the scent of impending blood. The Hale pack scattered through the dense, tangled woods, each footfall a frantic drumbeat against the mossy earth. The hunters were relentless, their bows singing a deadly tune as arrows whizzed past, embedding themselves in bark and leaf litter. Scott roared, attempting to draw the hunter's attention, while Lydia’s banshee wails cut through the chaos, offering a morbid warning.
Stiles, human and vulnerable, was struggling to keep pace. Panic clawed at his throat, making each breath a ragged gasp. He stumbled, his ankle twisting on a hidden root, and he went down hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. He looked up, his eyes widening in terror. The hunters had him cornered. Arrows, fletched with dark feathers, rained down from the canopy, each one a promise of agonizing pain.
He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the impact, for the sharp sting and the burning paralysis. But it never came. Instead, a heavy weight slammed into him, knocking the remaining air from his chest. He opened his eyes to a dizzying kaleidoscope of hazel and a dark, familiar face hovering above him.
Derek .
Derek was plastered on top of him, shielding him from the deadly barrage. Arrows thudded into his back, feathers sprouting from his leather jacket like grotesque wings. Derek grunted and growled with each impact, his face contorted in a grimace.
“Derek!” Stiles gasped, his voice raw with fear. “No! No! Get off me! You’re- No!”
“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek managed, his voice strained. Stiles tried pushing the Alpha off him but even in his injured state, Derek was much stronger than he was and stayed put.
They were chest to chest, face to face, closer than they had ever been. Stiles saw the pain etched on Derek’s face, the lines around his eyes deepened with the effort of holding still, of protecting him. He saw something else too, something he hadn’t expected to see, vulnerability and tenderness.
His hands, trembling, reached up to cradle Derek’s face. The sharp angles of his jawline felt strangely comforting beneath his fingertips. He could feel the heat radiating from Derek’s skin, the frantic thumping of his heart mirroring his own. The world around them faded, the sounds of the hunt replaced by the deafening roar of his own pulse.
Without thinking, he leaned in. This time, their lips met. Tentative at first, then with a frantic desperation. It was a clumsy, panicked kiss, filled with fear and relief and a burgeoning realization that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. Derek responded, his grip tightening on Stiles’ shoulders, his pain momentarily forgotten.
For a brief, impossible moment, they were alone, locked in their own world, oblivious to the chaos swirling around them.
Then, darkness.
Stiles woke with a throbbing headache and the taste of blood in his mouth. He was lying on the cold forest floor, alone. Panic seized him. “Derek?” He croaked, his voice barely a whisper.
He scrambled to his feet, his ankle protesting, and looked around frantically. The hunters were gone. The rest of the pack was nowhere to be seen. Only the silent trees remained, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers.
Then he saw it. A trail of broken branches and disturbed leaves led away from where he had been lying. And on the ground, glinting in the filtered sunlight, a single, black feather.
His heart plummeted.
They had taken Derek.
The kiss, the look in Derek's eyes, replayed in his mind. He knew what he had to do. He had to find him. This time he had to be the one doing the saving. Even if it meant facing the hunters alone. The thought of Derek suffering, of his life being extinguished, ignited a fire within him, a burning determination that pushed aside his fear.
That settled it. He was going to fight and he wouldn't rest until Derek Hale was safe.
+1 -
Metal bit into Derek's wrists, the heavy chains clanking a mournful song with every tremor of his body. He woke to a symphony of pain – a throb in his back. Dried blood stuck to his flesh but all wounds healed but that didn’t stop the ache in his still healing muscles beneath.
The hunters. They had him.
He was slumped against the cold steel bars, the stench of wolfsbane and blood thick in the air.
"Look who's awake," A sneering voice cut through the air. A hulking man with a cruel smile, teeth stained yellow, stepped closer, jangling a keyring laden with the keys to his cuffs. "Thought you’d be out all night, Hale."
“W-Where’s” Derek coughed, throat dry, “W-Where’s Stiles?”
The hunter let out a harsh laugh then he spat on the ground near Derek’s feet. "Thought you were so strong, so powerful. Look at you now, caged like an animal, begging for your little boyfriend. Pathetic."
Derek growled, “Where is he?”
“Don’t worry, dog,” The hunter took out a crowbar, twirling it around in his hand like a drumstick, “We left your little boy toy in the woods. Let’s hope he knows his way home.”
Derek let out a laugh.
The hunter didn’t like that. He swung his arm and the crowbar collided with Derek’s face, forcing him down, spitting up blood. “What are you laughing at, mutt?”
“You… let him go.” He gurgled on his blood but still smiled, “That was a mistake.”
The hunter laughed then, “What's a twink like him gonna do?”
Just then, as soon as those words escaped his lips, the world exploded. Not figuratively. Literally .
A deafening roar ripped through the air, followed by a concussive blast that shook the very foundations of the dilapidated warehouse they were using as their base. The jeering hunters stumbled, their bravado instantly dissolving into panic.
"What the hell?!" one of them yelled, clutching his ears.
Before they could react, another explosion echoed, closer this time, showering the area in debris and smoke. Chaos erupted. Derek could hear screams of terror and the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground.
Then, gunshots. Precise, relentless.
The hunter with the crowbar turned back to Derek and screamed, “What’s happening?!”
Derek’s smile brightened, a familiar scent washing his nostrils, making his heart pound. “Looks like the twink has a few tricks up his sleeve.”
At that second, Stiles came through the smoke. He moved like a whirlwind of righteous fury, a ghost flickering through the carnage. A shotgun barked in his hands, each blast finding its mark with deadly accuracy. He was a predator, silent and lethal, his normally nervous posture replaced by a terrifyingly focused intensity.
Derek watched, stunned, as Stiles danced through the chaos, a primal hunter in a flannel shirt and sneakers. He saw the hunters raise their weapons, saw Stiles evade their shots with impossible agility, heard the click of an empty chamber followed by the satisfying thunk of a hunter collapsing. He was a one-man army, fuelled by a rage Derek had never witnessed before.
The explosions continued, strategically placed, turning the hunters' fortified base into a death-trap. Stiles was systematically dismantling them, one explosion, one gunshot, one life at a time.
It was brutal. It was terrifying. It was fucking beautiful .
Finally, the last shot rang out. Silence descended, broken only by the crackle of flames and the distant wail of sirens. Stiles stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his face smeared with soot and blood. The gun hung loosely in his hand, a silent testament to the destruction he had wrought.
He looked at Derek, his eyes meeting his across the space. For a heart-stopping moment, Stiles wondered if he would see fear or disgust in Derek’s gaze. But all he saw was love .
Stiles moved with a renewed urgency, his movements almost frantic as he rushed to Derek, his hands reaching out to cradle his face. "Derek," He breathed, his voice thick with emotion. He gently brushed away the blood and dirt from his cheek. "Oh, God, Derek."
Derek was still reeling, the adrenaline coursing through him. He had never seen Stiles like this, never imagined this ferocity resided within him.
"Stiles. You’re here." He croaked, his voice hoarse.
Stiles’ eyes searched Derek's, his touch so gentle it almost hurt. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against Derek's. The kiss was fierce, desperate, a testament to their shared relief. It was a promise, a connection, a desperate plea for normalcy in a world that refused to offer it. Derek clung to him, hands still in chains, drawing strength from Stiles’ unwavering presence.
When they finally broke apart, Stiles’ eyes were filled with tears. "I saved you this time." He whispered, his voice choked with emotion yet he smiled.
"Yeah... you did." Derek gave out a smile to match and looked at Stiles with everything he was feeling on display in his expression. Gratitude. Love. Awe.
As Stiles unchained his wrists then helped him to his feet, supporting his weight, Derek knew that the two of them could face anything.
He had Stiles, the brave, fierce, terrifyingly human boy who had just single-handedly waged war to bring him home. And Stiles had him. All of him.
And that was enough.
The End :3