Mysna
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Summary
Stiles could not be in love with him. It was just lust, wasn’t it? Stupid, teenage—
Derek growled, clenching his eyes shut.
Lust wouldn’t survive years. Not even with someone as stubborn and hyperfixated as Stiles. So what if he was in love? The very thought of it sparked elation inside Derek’s chest. He stifled it in an instant. His throat closed up, his chest burned.
Even if Stiles was in love… he would never need Derek the way Derek needed him.
Derek’s love was a scary, monstrous thing. It loomed over him, a beast of its own mind, heavy and thick. He couldn’t let it hit Stiles. It would flatten that human into nothing.
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Summary
"Hey, Derek. I, uh, thought you might be—you know. Gone," he says, the words quietly mumbling around his gross gnawing of an already too-short thumbnail as he risks everything because he can never just accept when anything good happens to him and can never, ever manage to keep his big fucking mouth shut.
Derek must know, right?
He has got to know. Has to know that Stiles is punching way above his point weight here. Like, Beauty and the Beast proportions, hell. So yeah, 'course he knows, Stiles assures himself. Dude has a pretty big brain in that beautiful thick werewolf skull of his, so he has to be thinking this was just some one-time roll in the hay kind of thing.
Right?
For once in his pathetically sad little life, Stiles really doesn't want to be right.
OR
The one where Stiles thinks them hooking up was probably just a booty call for a horny Derek, and Derek is—well, just kind of Derek about the whole thing (but maybe not in the way you might expect).
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Summary
“They are wolves, Derek, wolves!”
“I know.”
“They—” Stiles choked and focused his gaze on the alpha. “W-what?”
Amidst the rubble, the groaning building, the wailing, and the scent of burning metal, Derek looked calm. The alpha ascended one step, closer to Stiles. “My love, listen to me—”
“What is going on?” Stiles’ throat dried.
“I said, listen.”
The omega’s mouth clamped shut, his lips trembling. The muscles in Derek’s jaw bulged as if he struggled to stay still.
“I am taking you hostage.”
Stiles’ chest stilled. His lips parted. He went completely stiff, watching Derek’s lips move, but the words made no sense.
“Derek…” he murmured hoarsely, shaking his head. “What…”
“I am not going to hurt you.” Derek’s voice went hard as steel. He spread his arms as if showing the lack of armor. “But you are coming with me. It is an order. Do you understand me?”
Stiles shifted his gaze from his mouth to his eyes and flinched back.
They were red. Burgundy, like the blood splatters marring his face.
And just like that, everything became clear.
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Summary
The nymph was the best prey Derek had ever had — evading him at every turn, yet teasing within reach. Here, in the middle of the lake, between crumbling ruins of the naiad’s temple, with Stiles pressed against him, Derek could taste the life again. He was as close to peace as it got. If only he could satisfy the heat in his lower parts, to turn his head and seal his lips against Stiles’ smile, to sink into him and make love, long and sweet, all night ‘till morning… If he could wake each day to Stiles lying next to him, maybe, then his soul would settle.
But now, even while breathing the same air, Derek did not have him at all.
Still, he kept coming. Fixing things, bringing things, pulling Stiles close until he stopped resisting. All creatures yearned for warmth, and Stiles, with his transparent clothes clinging to his slender, wet body was not an exception.
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Summary
When it’s his turn, Stiles groans and tries to think of something remotely interesting to ask.
“Would you kill someone if I asked?”
“Without a doubt.”
Or Stiles is tired of Derek always running away.