This is a @fandomcares piece written for the wonderful @gwendoland. You can also find it here on AO3.
It’s a sequel to The Light in the Woods, so it mayn’t make much sense if you haven’t read that one first!
Summary: Stiles is everything that Derek ever wanted… almost.
Sometimes Derek forgets that Stiles is a creature of magic. Sometimes he forgets there’s unknowable power behind the spark in his eyes, the quirk in his smile, and the sound of his laughter. Sometimes Derek forgets that perhaps there is a part of him that should be terrified of Stiles, because Stiles is the Nemeton. Stiles is the Light in the Woods. Stiles once called up a storm to force an entire army into the dark woods, and let the trees swallow them.
And yet …
Stiles is Stiles.
He stays up too late at night reading, and falls asleep at breakfast. He makes daisy chains in the spring. He curls into Derek’s side when he sleeps, his ear pressed against Derek’s chest and a faint smile turning the shape of his mouth into a gentle curve.
There was a time when Derek thought Stiles was an insult.
Now he knows he was a gift.
Stile is long limbs and languid sighs. He is kiss-bitten lips. He is breathlessness and desperation and cries that pierce the darkness. He is the things that Derek wanted, and never had the words to articulate. He is the answer to a prayer that Derek didn’t know his soul was whispering. He is everything.
Almost.
There is a kind of knowing sorrow in Laura’s eyes when Derek hands her baby back to her. A niece. A future leader who will wear her mother’s crown when she is old enough. For now she is a pinched little mouth and wrinkled fingers, and she is beautiful.
Laura is tired, wrung out. Her hair hangs in sweaty tendrils. The shadows under her eyes are as dark as bruises. She is somehow still radiant though. It’s her smile, Derek thinks. Her smile as she looks down at the tiny daughter cradled in her arms.
“Where is Uncle Peter?” she asks. “He hasn’t been to see me. I ought to command him. He wouldn’t refuse an order from his queen.”
“He might,” Derek says mildly.
They had a cousin once. A little girl. Derek thinks that she might be the reason Peter has not yet come to see the baby. There are some things even Peter Hale can’t easily face.
A shadow passes over Laura’s face.
Laura’s husband steps forward, and kneels beside Laura’s chair. His name is Jordan Parrish. He is the second son of a second son of a duke. He has a name, but no fortune. He is a nobody, which is why Peter chose him to marry Laura. He cannot threaten her power. She is Queen of Triskelion, but he will never be king. He is her consort, not her master.
In public, he walks a pace behind her.
In private, Derek has seen them laughing together. They seem happy.
Today Jordan looks worshipful as he gazes at his wife and daughter. His smile is as radiant as Laura’s.
Derek doesn’t think they even notice when he leaves.
29. “how much money would you give me to flip this table, right here, right now, in the middle of class?”
“How much money,” Derek rolls his eyes, “would you give me to flip this table, right here, right now, in the middle of class?” Stiles was leaning his chin on the palm of his hand, eyes lit up but the morning light filtering through the windows along the wall. He was gorgeous and didn’t seem to have a clue how it affected him.
“At least half my inheritance because the seat you sitting on is attached to the desk,” Derek tells him in a bored voice. Rolling his eyes and ignoring the tug in his cheek urging him to smile when Stiles looks down at the bar connecting the chair to the desk, the one he had been leaning his elbow on just seconds ago.
“How about a date?” Stiles’ grin grows when Derek jumps at the words. He’s looking at him so intently, all bright eyes and disheveled hair.
“W-what?” Derek stumbles over it, trying to recollect the calm demeanor he had mastered for interacting with the boy as not to give away his heart melting affections. Laura’s words, not his.
“If I flip this table right here in class with Finstock droning on and on right up there, you go on a date with me on Thursday.”
“Why not tomorrow?” Derek ask, eyes trained on the notes he had given up on ages ago when Stiles had started biting his pen and being the distracting menace he was.
“Because I’m totally about the get detention for today, dude.” Derek squints his eyes at the boy, smile practically splitting his cheeks as he waited.
“Sure, I’ll go on a date with you.”
“Cool, now if you’ll excuse me.” Stiles stands and dips a quick bow to Derek making him blush and wanting to smack himself for being so easy. He watches in confusion as Stiles stands and waits until at least half the class is watching him.
“Stilinski-”
“Sorry, Coach, gotta get me a date. And this is the fourth day we’ve talked about scarcity and I’m kinda done.” Without further ado the boy grips the edge of the desk and heaves it up and over. The sound is horrendous in the mostly quiet room, the wood and metal clattering against the floor.
“Detention and an entire practice of suicides, now sit down Stilinski.” Coach then returns to his lecture leaving Derek to gape at Stiles like he was some foreign creature.
“I hope I get a goodnight kiss, ‘cause suicides suck.”
Blinking rapidly as Stiles rights the desk and slides into his seat, only tripping over his own ankles for a couple seconds before landing safely. Stiles turns to look at him, confusion in his eyes, mouth opening to ask who even knows what but Derek doesn’t let him get any further.
He grabs a handful of Stiles’ plaid flannel and leans in to kiss him. He presses his dry lips against Stiles’ chapped ones, sliding them delicately and slotting them together until he can suck on his lower lip and hear this little sigh that makes his chest melt.
“Hale!” Derek pulls back, letting go of Stiles’ plaid and only getting to bask in the wet lips and hazy gaze for less than a second before Finstock shouts again, “Detention!”
have you ever wondered who rules these grounds? the wolves and trees of course oh no my dear then who? the one who the wolves follow and the trees bend for and he my dear is magic
theproblemwithstardust 