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Archiveofourown. Chapter Text Stiles is on the ground, eyes wide in shock as he watches the curse hit Derek in the back, in the space where Stiles was moments before. Derek arches his back, eyes shut, face tight in a grimace of pain, and then he opens his eyes and looks at Stiles. "Derek? Are you okay? " Stiles asks. He doesn't quite trust himself to move, just yet with the way Derek is hovering over him, bodies close. "Of course I did, you're pack," Derek says in that familiar gruff tone. And then Derek rests his hand on Stiles face, gently, as if to make sure Stiles is okay. Derek cups Stiles' chin and pulls him gently forward for a kiss. Stiles blinks in shock once and then melts into the kiss, pulling Derek's body closer to him and kissing him back.
"Whoa there, save some for later," Derek says, and then he winks at Stiles. Since when does Derek Hale wink at people? Derek pulls Stiles' on hands, helping him to his feet and they stand up. "Scene? "You're not Derek," Stiles says in a flat, angry tone. Archiveofourown. Chapter Text Thirteen slaves stood in front of a meager, hastily constructed shed. Thirteen hours ago the last of them had been a free man, but his freedom had been lost the moment his legs gave out. The Hale pack had picked him up, soldiers tying him down and delivering him to this shed, pleased he was not an enemy, not one of the Argents. It didn’t matter that the man was from Beacon Hills, the same way it didn’t matter most of the others were from Mountain Pass. Though both were neutral zones in this war, to the Hales it mattered that neither place was not on the Hale side.
And thus when their citizens were captured, they were slaves. The man in front of them, Finstock, was speaking to them about their new lives, trying to make it seem as positive as possible. Finstock looked up at the crowd, smiling despite the blank gazes looking back at him. Stiles Stilinski could not be convinced at how lucky he was to be a slave. He didn't just lament the loss of his agency. “Lucky you, right?” Archiveofourown. The Chase - saltandbyrne. Archiveofourown. Archiveofourown. Archiveofourown. Five Times Detective Stilinski and Fire Captain Hale Had Sex In Public, and One Time They Did It In A Bed - bleep0bleep. Miles To Go. The rain is coming down heavy now, and Derek can see the last of the Survey Corps members ride into the base, their green capes dark with rainwater. Derek watches as hoods come off, the riders finding relief from the torrential rain in the stable, horses being led into stalls and getting rubbed down.
Derek nods at Boyd as he leads his horse in, and he counts off the heads of his team-- there’s Reyes, Lahey, wait a minute-- “Where’s Stilinski?” Derek growls, gripping Isaac’s shoulder. “He told me he was going to ride ahead to meet up with McCall’s squad,” Isaac says, flicking a damp curl out of his face. “Are you serious?” Isaac shrugs, staring defiantly back at Derek. Oh fuck, this is all Derek’s fault, the constant insults he’s directed towards Stiles and their pseudo-competition with Titan kill counts, they’ve driven him to this reckless act and Stiles is going to get hurt.
“It’s going to be dark soon,” Isaac remarks. “I know,” Derek grits out, and he rides out into the storm. “Derek?” Archiveofourown. Derek wakes up from his afternoon nap to find that his dick is gone. It is literally gone; there is nothing there, and he’s as flat as a Ken doll. You’ve reached the voicemail of Dr. Alan Deaton, leave a message at the tone. Derek curses and decides to drive down to the clinic, only to find a definite “Closed” sign and no signs of Deaton anywhere. He calls Scott. "Oh, Deaton went out of town, man, what’s up? Derek winces, and looks down at himself.
This probably has something to do with the fairy mound they had relocated out of the Preserve yesterday. Anyways, it’s not life threatening. Stiles gets home from a Call of Duty marathon with Scott just as his dad is leaving for the night shift. "Dr. "Emissary training," Stiles corrects. "Whatever, your magic stuff. "Come on, Dad, it’s like you don’t even know me," Stiles says with a wide grin. "I do know you, and that’s why I— " John just sighs. "Fine. Stiles sticks his hand under the covers, until his fingers meet something warm.
"Yes? " "Right.