My horrible attempt at Teen Wolf fiction...
I've read so many great Derek and Stiles fanfictions that I'm actually extremely scared to post this. I know it's not very good, but I wanted to write something for this fandom at least once before I go quietly back into the shadows. If you read it, I'd love to hear what you think, but please be gentle because I burn very easily.
Title: Dying Sun, Wolf's Moon (lame I know, couldn't think of anything)
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles- pre slash maybe
Warnings: It's unbeta'd. So mistakes are probably everywhere. Takes place after the season finale
Summary: Stiles has some questions and Derek has some struggles...
Word Count: 2380
Feedback: Please and thank you
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not by a long shot
=-0-==-0-=
Stiles shivers as he gets out of his jeep and stands in front of the burnt out house. Wind whispers through the trees at his back adding to the uneasy feeling that is settling in his stomach. He feels like ice is sitting in his veins- freezing him from the inside out. The chill in the air had little to nothing to do with the dropping temperatures and everything to do with the creepy atmosphere that seems to swirl around him like a cloud of apprehension. His body hunches in on itself, burying further into the fleece of his hoodie jacket. His brown eyes look up into a cracked window on the second floor and he catches the sight of a face. Dark and brooding, half hidden in the shadows.
Swallowing quickly (and as quietly as he could- he knows Derek can smell fear, he didn't need him to hear it as well), Stiles starts toward the broken down home with a single focus. He needs answers and he isn't leaving until he gets them. The dirt of the front lawn shifts under him, sending another feeling of unease through his body. His overactive mind plays a rousing game of anywhere but here, because at this moment- he really wants to be anywhere but there. In the presence of the new Alpha- that scared him enough as a mere frightening beta. Even Scott doesn't freak him the hell out as much as Derek did- does- maybe always will- and he's tried to kill Stiles on more than one occasion.
Pausing, Stiles licks his bottom lip, why did he hang out with werewolves again? Oh that's right because he has an insane need to be in the middle of things. Stupid impulse really. Leads to: his back meeting walls and doors, fists in his face, his best friend kissing the one girl he has always wanted, oh and the constant danger to his dad, who was no idea whats really out there... Hmm, this train of thought is a bad one, jump the track train. Damn it, jump the freaking track.
He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts that were racing through his brain, and forces cool air into his lungs slowly. Panicking before he even steps foot on the front porch of quite possibly the creepiest house in California, the US, hell the whole world, will not make talking to Derek any easier. Making his feet move again, he pushes his hands into the deep warmth of his jacket pockets, climbing the porch stairs with as much confidence as he can - while shaking like a newborn foal on the inside.
The old, burnt wood creaks under his feet and for a brief moment he wants to jump out of his skin, but instead looks up into the broken window to see if Derek is still watching him with human eyes. He really doesn't want to encounter Alpha Derek. Shit he really didn't want to encounter red-eyed-gonna-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth-and-howl-over-your-lifeless-corpse-Alpha Derek.
Squinting against the dying sun, Stiles licks at his bottom lip, taking a deep breath. He can't find Derek's shadowed form in the splintered glass anymore and he can't decide if that's a good thing or not. Shaking the last remaining amount of apprehension from his limbs, he continues up the steps to the front door. The dark wood door is left ajar, letting light creep underneath and around the charred edges. Stiles pushes against the panel, feeling the brittle surface crack and flake off against his skin. He removes his hand once the door is far enough open that he can get through, wiping the pieces of the wood on the rough material of his jeans as he enters the residence.
His brown eyes move constantly, shifting left, right, up, down, in front of and behind him. He strains his ears against the silence, wishing for something to fill it. He hates silence. It's too suffocating. It makes his skin itch. Stiles licks at his lips again and rolls his shoulders. “Derek,” he stops at the break in his voice. Stupid, completely rational fear. “Derek, you great big sour werewolf, I know you're here.”
If there is ever a time to do the palm to the face move, now's it. Antagonizing the big baddy, that might not be a big baddy, but is definitely frightening especially now with blood red eyes, probably isn't the smartest move, but fuck- go big or go home...preferably with all limbs attached and working. Closing his eyes, he waits for a claw to the chest or a set of massive teeth against his throat.
Stiles opens them swiftly when he hears a soft thump in front of him. He tries (and mostly succeeds) in stifling his entirely masculine gasp of surprise at seeing Derek standing at the bottom of the stairs. The werewolf's body seems impossibly large to him. Its like the world has sunk in comparison to the older man. Stiles especially feels small. He straightens his back attempting to gain inches in his height and mass in his body. He really didn't want to appear weak at this moment.
“So,” he licks his lips for the third time, “I have some questions.” Derek raises his eyebrow, his eyes narrowing into a glare...er...a harder glare, but those eyes were still green, so Stiles is counting that as permission to continue and as a win. “Why did you bite Jackson? You've made him an even bigger douche bag. Which, frankly, I didn't think was possible because the dude had the douche bag aisle countered from the age of ten when he pushed my face into the mud during PE,” at Derek's distinct growl, a sound that didn't sound human at all, Stiles stops with that train of thought and asks another question.
“Why didn't you let Scott kill Peter? You told him that was the only cure. And even though Allison seems to be okay with the whole 'I'm-dating-a-teenage-werewolf' thing now, I have a feeling that might change because, shit, our lives haven't been easy since that night in the woods when your uncle went all bitey on Scott. I know the angst in my life has increased ten-fold with all the near-death, slamming of bodies against hard surfaces, secrets and lies and scary wackos.”
This time he stops when he sees Derek move forward. The vein in the werewolf's neck throbbing slightly in a way Stiles doesn't feel completely comfortable with. Swallowing a large knot of fear and the urge to take a step back, he asks his last question, well the last one he is going to ask today. Heaven knows he has a lot more than one still floating around in his head. His mind works too fast for there to only be three waiting to be answered.
“Final question, or at least I mean my final question for today, not my final question ever, because I have a lot of questions to ask in my lifetime I'm sure, like why don't gay guys find me attractive and if this is my final question, that means you've killed me or ripped out my vocal cords and that wasn't a suggestion and please don't kill me.” The words escape his mouth in such a rush, Derek pauses in his advance and merely looks at him. Stiles again takes this as a victory for his side and pushes forward with his question. “Why aren't you helping Scott anymore? Since you took away his only cure- oh shit-”
Derek's eyes flash red and he closes the distance between them much quicker than humanly possible. Suddenly Stiles' back is against the cracked and blackened wood of the wall and Derek's body is pressed solidly into his front. Stiles turns his head to the side, wishing he had just stopped at two questions. A third was pushing his luck, he knows that...now.
“You know you talk too much, right,” the older man growls at him.
Stiles doesn't need to see the teeth to know that his canines have elongated. Fuck. Shit. Aw Damn. “Um,” he laughs because that's what uncomfortable and terrifying moments need- a fool laughing right before their death. “I have heard that once or maybe a hundred thousand times.”
What looks like amusement sweeps through the red eyes of the Alpha quickly- too quick to really know it that was the emotion Stiles saw or if it might have been gas- exaggerated pain? “Maybe you should learn to shut up then.”
“Tried,” Stiles says with more bravado than he feels. “I don't like it. And there has never been a good enough reason to do it.”
“And if I gave you one,” Derek snarls close to his jugular.
His nose presses into Stiles' skin, right above the vein. A shiver slides down his back, both in fear and in...arousal? Oh fuck! His eyes widen and he tries to think of anything that will cool down his overheated libido. It's funny how his brain always seems to be jumping from thought to thought normally, but the one time he is counting on that trait it fails him...miserably. All he can think about is lips ghosting over his skin, breath hot on his body, hands pressing into the wood next to his head and how he is a sixteen year old that's never had a proper kiss.
Pushing his head back so that he can create some distance between them, Stiles arches a brow and boldly goes where no sane man has gone before. He flirts- horribly- but hey everyone has to start somewhere. “What would you do?”
He can tell his attempt at being flirtatious shocks Derek, but he doesn't rip out his throat right away, so three wins in one day. The air is no long cold and creepy. It crackles with electricity. The house doesn't feel as scary- although it probably should since it will most likely be the site of his demise. Derek's presence over him still makes him uneasy but for a different reason than before, just like the silence now is different and evokes something else inside of him.
Stiles licks his lips. Counts the seconds. Waits for a response. And then he gets one.
“I'd do this,” Derek replies before his head dips down, teeth long in his mouth.
=-0-==-0-=
When he leaves Derek's creepy ass house sometime later he realizes three important things. One none of his questions were answered. Two Derek's red-eyes still freak him out, he isn't even going to lie. And three, he can't say he's never been properly kissed ever again.
One and two he needs to work on- he is nothing if not determined. Its also an excuse if Scott ever asks why he continues to come back to the burnt out shell of a house and the reclusive Alpha that resides there. Because he isn't even close to admitting the kiss happened yet. The third is more than enough of a reason to stay once he gets in the door. Who knew Derek could be such a great kisser?
Stiles climbs into his jeep and thumps his thumbs against the steering wheel for a moment looking out at the once beautiful home in front of him. His eyes stray to the broken window on the second story and he grins as he catches a glimpse of the werewolf in the shadows. His heart beats a little faster, his body heats up and he knows Derek can sense it even from a distance. The smile stays with him the entire drive home.
=-0-==-0-=
Derek watches the beat up light blue jeep disappear into the distance. His mouth still tingles with the kiss they shared and he closes his eyes against the feeling. The darkness of the sky crawls throughout the house. A home that was once filled with the sound of laughter and joy, but now only sounds like death and pain. With Stiles here he almost forgot about that, his constant words and racing heart nearly drowned out the despair.
Revenge sings throughout his veins, like a haunting melody. It's the same song his uncle heard. Its what turned him into a killer- seeking out those who destroyed their family. Derek's curls his hands into fists, claws break the skin of his palm. Backing away from the window, he looks around the dimly lit- with only the last breaths of sunlight rays- room and growls deep in his throat.
His blood runs hotter under his skin. The good part of him rages a war with the part that believes his uncle wasn't completely wrong in wanting those that hurt his family to pay. It's a battle he isn't sure the good part can win. He isn't even sure he wants to try and let it- except when Stiles was against him. Bravely holding his own while his fear permeated the air around them. The wolf inside of Derek recognized the strength of his spirit in a new way- no longer finding it irritating but instead amusing and intriguing, and it liked what it saw. Both halves of him liked the kiss they shared.
Dropping to the ratty mattress he sleeps on, when he sleeps at all, he lowers his head into his hands. The moon's silver glow floats across the floor toward his bare feet. A small sliver of light to break the dark. It illuminates a carving in the wood floor right against the wall next to him and he traces the words with his index finger. His mother's name. His father's mark. A pounding begins in his head, blocking out all rational thought. The wind rustles the trees outside, the cry of nature raising within, and the song in his head grows more prominent in his ears. His body shifts, bones breaking down and changing placement. A howl rips from his throat, signaling his pack, growl out a warning to those who wish him harm and who harmed his family.
There is no good to stop the rage in his mind. No voice to settle his heart. The wolf's moon is calling and he's ready do what needs to be done.
Title: Dying Sun, Wolf's Moon (lame I know, couldn't think of anything)
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles- pre slash maybe
Warnings: It's unbeta'd. So mistakes are probably everywhere. Takes place after the season finale
Summary: Stiles has some questions and Derek has some struggles...
Word Count: 2380
Feedback: Please and thank you
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not by a long shot
=-0-==-0-=
Stiles shivers as he gets out of his jeep and stands in front of the burnt out house. Wind whispers through the trees at his back adding to the uneasy feeling that is settling in his stomach. He feels like ice is sitting in his veins- freezing him from the inside out. The chill in the air had little to nothing to do with the dropping temperatures and everything to do with the creepy atmosphere that seems to swirl around him like a cloud of apprehension. His body hunches in on itself, burying further into the fleece of his hoodie jacket. His brown eyes look up into a cracked window on the second floor and he catches the sight of a face. Dark and brooding, half hidden in the shadows.
Swallowing quickly (and as quietly as he could- he knows Derek can smell fear, he didn't need him to hear it as well), Stiles starts toward the broken down home with a single focus. He needs answers and he isn't leaving until he gets them. The dirt of the front lawn shifts under him, sending another feeling of unease through his body. His overactive mind plays a rousing game of anywhere but here, because at this moment- he really wants to be anywhere but there. In the presence of the new Alpha- that scared him enough as a mere frightening beta. Even Scott doesn't freak him the hell out as much as Derek did- does- maybe always will- and he's tried to kill Stiles on more than one occasion.
Pausing, Stiles licks his bottom lip, why did he hang out with werewolves again? Oh that's right because he has an insane need to be in the middle of things. Stupid impulse really. Leads to: his back meeting walls and doors, fists in his face, his best friend kissing the one girl he has always wanted, oh and the constant danger to his dad, who was no idea whats really out there... Hmm, this train of thought is a bad one, jump the track train. Damn it, jump the freaking track.
He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts that were racing through his brain, and forces cool air into his lungs slowly. Panicking before he even steps foot on the front porch of quite possibly the creepiest house in California, the US, hell the whole world, will not make talking to Derek any easier. Making his feet move again, he pushes his hands into the deep warmth of his jacket pockets, climbing the porch stairs with as much confidence as he can - while shaking like a newborn foal on the inside.
The old, burnt wood creaks under his feet and for a brief moment he wants to jump out of his skin, but instead looks up into the broken window to see if Derek is still watching him with human eyes. He really doesn't want to encounter Alpha Derek. Shit he really didn't want to encounter red-eyed-gonna-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth-and-howl-over-your-lifeless-corpse-Alpha Derek.
Squinting against the dying sun, Stiles licks at his bottom lip, taking a deep breath. He can't find Derek's shadowed form in the splintered glass anymore and he can't decide if that's a good thing or not. Shaking the last remaining amount of apprehension from his limbs, he continues up the steps to the front door. The dark wood door is left ajar, letting light creep underneath and around the charred edges. Stiles pushes against the panel, feeling the brittle surface crack and flake off against his skin. He removes his hand once the door is far enough open that he can get through, wiping the pieces of the wood on the rough material of his jeans as he enters the residence.
His brown eyes move constantly, shifting left, right, up, down, in front of and behind him. He strains his ears against the silence, wishing for something to fill it. He hates silence. It's too suffocating. It makes his skin itch. Stiles licks at his lips again and rolls his shoulders. “Derek,” he stops at the break in his voice. Stupid, completely rational fear. “Derek, you great big sour werewolf, I know you're here.”
If there is ever a time to do the palm to the face move, now's it. Antagonizing the big baddy, that might not be a big baddy, but is definitely frightening especially now with blood red eyes, probably isn't the smartest move, but fuck- go big or go home...preferably with all limbs attached and working. Closing his eyes, he waits for a claw to the chest or a set of massive teeth against his throat.
Stiles opens them swiftly when he hears a soft thump in front of him. He tries (and mostly succeeds) in stifling his entirely masculine gasp of surprise at seeing Derek standing at the bottom of the stairs. The werewolf's body seems impossibly large to him. Its like the world has sunk in comparison to the older man. Stiles especially feels small. He straightens his back attempting to gain inches in his height and mass in his body. He really didn't want to appear weak at this moment.
“So,” he licks his lips for the third time, “I have some questions.” Derek raises his eyebrow, his eyes narrowing into a glare...er...a harder glare, but those eyes were still green, so Stiles is counting that as permission to continue and as a win. “Why did you bite Jackson? You've made him an even bigger douche bag. Which, frankly, I didn't think was possible because the dude had the douche bag aisle countered from the age of ten when he pushed my face into the mud during PE,” at Derek's distinct growl, a sound that didn't sound human at all, Stiles stops with that train of thought and asks another question.
“Why didn't you let Scott kill Peter? You told him that was the only cure. And even though Allison seems to be okay with the whole 'I'm-dating-a-teenage-werewolf' thing now, I have a feeling that might change because, shit, our lives haven't been easy since that night in the woods when your uncle went all bitey on Scott. I know the angst in my life has increased ten-fold with all the near-death, slamming of bodies against hard surfaces, secrets and lies and scary wackos.”
This time he stops when he sees Derek move forward. The vein in the werewolf's neck throbbing slightly in a way Stiles doesn't feel completely comfortable with. Swallowing a large knot of fear and the urge to take a step back, he asks his last question, well the last one he is going to ask today. Heaven knows he has a lot more than one still floating around in his head. His mind works too fast for there to only be three waiting to be answered.
“Final question, or at least I mean my final question for today, not my final question ever, because I have a lot of questions to ask in my lifetime I'm sure, like why don't gay guys find me attractive and if this is my final question, that means you've killed me or ripped out my vocal cords and that wasn't a suggestion and please don't kill me.” The words escape his mouth in such a rush, Derek pauses in his advance and merely looks at him. Stiles again takes this as a victory for his side and pushes forward with his question. “Why aren't you helping Scott anymore? Since you took away his only cure- oh shit-”
Derek's eyes flash red and he closes the distance between them much quicker than humanly possible. Suddenly Stiles' back is against the cracked and blackened wood of the wall and Derek's body is pressed solidly into his front. Stiles turns his head to the side, wishing he had just stopped at two questions. A third was pushing his luck, he knows that...now.
“You know you talk too much, right,” the older man growls at him.
Stiles doesn't need to see the teeth to know that his canines have elongated. Fuck. Shit. Aw Damn. “Um,” he laughs because that's what uncomfortable and terrifying moments need- a fool laughing right before their death. “I have heard that once or maybe a hundred thousand times.”
What looks like amusement sweeps through the red eyes of the Alpha quickly- too quick to really know it that was the emotion Stiles saw or if it might have been gas- exaggerated pain? “Maybe you should learn to shut up then.”
“Tried,” Stiles says with more bravado than he feels. “I don't like it. And there has never been a good enough reason to do it.”
“And if I gave you one,” Derek snarls close to his jugular.
His nose presses into Stiles' skin, right above the vein. A shiver slides down his back, both in fear and in...arousal? Oh fuck! His eyes widen and he tries to think of anything that will cool down his overheated libido. It's funny how his brain always seems to be jumping from thought to thought normally, but the one time he is counting on that trait it fails him...miserably. All he can think about is lips ghosting over his skin, breath hot on his body, hands pressing into the wood next to his head and how he is a sixteen year old that's never had a proper kiss.
Pushing his head back so that he can create some distance between them, Stiles arches a brow and boldly goes where no sane man has gone before. He flirts- horribly- but hey everyone has to start somewhere. “What would you do?”
He can tell his attempt at being flirtatious shocks Derek, but he doesn't rip out his throat right away, so three wins in one day. The air is no long cold and creepy. It crackles with electricity. The house doesn't feel as scary- although it probably should since it will most likely be the site of his demise. Derek's presence over him still makes him uneasy but for a different reason than before, just like the silence now is different and evokes something else inside of him.
Stiles licks his lips. Counts the seconds. Waits for a response. And then he gets one.
“I'd do this,” Derek replies before his head dips down, teeth long in his mouth.
=-0-==-0-=
When he leaves Derek's creepy ass house sometime later he realizes three important things. One none of his questions were answered. Two Derek's red-eyes still freak him out, he isn't even going to lie. And three, he can't say he's never been properly kissed ever again.
One and two he needs to work on- he is nothing if not determined. Its also an excuse if Scott ever asks why he continues to come back to the burnt out shell of a house and the reclusive Alpha that resides there. Because he isn't even close to admitting the kiss happened yet. The third is more than enough of a reason to stay once he gets in the door. Who knew Derek could be such a great kisser?
Stiles climbs into his jeep and thumps his thumbs against the steering wheel for a moment looking out at the once beautiful home in front of him. His eyes stray to the broken window on the second story and he grins as he catches a glimpse of the werewolf in the shadows. His heart beats a little faster, his body heats up and he knows Derek can sense it even from a distance. The smile stays with him the entire drive home.
=-0-==-0-=
Derek watches the beat up light blue jeep disappear into the distance. His mouth still tingles with the kiss they shared and he closes his eyes against the feeling. The darkness of the sky crawls throughout the house. A home that was once filled with the sound of laughter and joy, but now only sounds like death and pain. With Stiles here he almost forgot about that, his constant words and racing heart nearly drowned out the despair.
Revenge sings throughout his veins, like a haunting melody. It's the same song his uncle heard. Its what turned him into a killer- seeking out those who destroyed their family. Derek's curls his hands into fists, claws break the skin of his palm. Backing away from the window, he looks around the dimly lit- with only the last breaths of sunlight rays- room and growls deep in his throat.
His blood runs hotter under his skin. The good part of him rages a war with the part that believes his uncle wasn't completely wrong in wanting those that hurt his family to pay. It's a battle he isn't sure the good part can win. He isn't even sure he wants to try and let it- except when Stiles was against him. Bravely holding his own while his fear permeated the air around them. The wolf inside of Derek recognized the strength of his spirit in a new way- no longer finding it irritating but instead amusing and intriguing, and it liked what it saw. Both halves of him liked the kiss they shared.
Dropping to the ratty mattress he sleeps on, when he sleeps at all, he lowers his head into his hands. The moon's silver glow floats across the floor toward his bare feet. A small sliver of light to break the dark. It illuminates a carving in the wood floor right against the wall next to him and he traces the words with his index finger. His mother's name. His father's mark. A pounding begins in his head, blocking out all rational thought. The wind rustles the trees outside, the cry of nature raising within, and the song in his head grows more prominent in his ears. His body shifts, bones breaking down and changing placement. A howl rips from his throat, signaling his pack, growl out a warning to those who wish him harm and who harmed his family.
There is no good to stop the rage in his mind. No voice to settle his heart. The wolf's moon is calling and he's ready do what needs to be done.