rhianon76
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Summary
The only consolation was the wolf’s softness toward him. Alpha Hale could have taken him right on this very table in front of everyone and be in his full right to do so, but instead it was just that — his soothing palm on Stiles’ knee, his thumb stroking back and forth, his breath upon Stiles’ ear.
Would he be gentle?
Stiles glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. A scary thought had taken over his mind. Just one little word.
Perhaps.
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“You need an anchor,” Derek tells him when Stiles lies on his back, panting, naked, on the forest floor.
Stiles snorts. Pain and starvation are the only two things that have worked at all, but neither keeps him human for long. “No shit, asshole.” Not like he’s tried to find something to hold onto his humanity every time he’s managed to drag himself back into human form. Stiles sucks in a breath and braces when he feels himself slipping.
Then Derek digs his claws into his thigh. Stiles screams murder but Derek ignores him. “Pain,” he says as he hovers over Stiles while kneeling beside him, “isn’t the best anchor, but at least it is one.”Or the one where Derek turns Stiles to save his life, and they leave Beacon hills to figure it all out, but they're shit at communicating.
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Given the chance to rewrite the past, Stiles wants to fix everything, but he'll have to start at square one.
Some bonds are gone, some mistakes can’t be ignored, and some people have to die. Stiles holds everything on his shoulders. Only he knows what happens and only he can save his friends.
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Scowls and Sarcasm by dr_girlfriend
Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
06 Jun 2016
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Summary
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single alpha in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a mate.
Whether or not Derek Hale felt that way was hardly a concern to the neighborhood — the very fact of his arrival was enough that the surrounding families seemed to consider him the rightful property of one or another of their eligible sons and daughters. That was, of course, before they met the man.
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Moonlight caressed the pale skin, leaving kisses on each dot scattered over it. Wisps of crisp, winter air flickered the hair, playful like a child but cold like the fingers of a dead man.
“Come to me.”
Stiles tightened his hands on the window ledge so hard that the wood creaked. The collar of his white nightshirt flapped against his clavicles. His red eyes stared at the moon, unflinching.
“I am sick of waiting,” he grit out. “If you are mine, then come to me. Hear my call.”
The moon hung in the sky, white and silent.
Stiles’ eyes flickered once, twice, before settling into warm whiskey brown.