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One of my fandom stocking fills.
Breaking Good
Rating: G
Fandom/Pairing: TeenWolf ; Derek/Stiles
Fill: tattooed, bamf magic Stiles
AO3
Derek still hasn't gotten used to the way Stiles looks now. He appreciates the reason for the whorls and swirls of color and pattern, anything that keeps them safe, that keeps Stiles safe is a-okay with him. It's just a little hard to think of the fragile, sarcastic sixteen year old Stiles he once knew and reconcile it with this harder, more powerful version.
"Relax, I know what I'm doing," Stiles says, sliding Derek an exasperated look that reminds Derek so strongly of the Stiles of old that he almost physically aches with it. He can't help blaming himself for the way Stiles has had to change, had to grow and harden.
"I know," Derek says, trying to communicate in just those two words how much he trusts Stiles, that Stiles can hold his life in the palm of his hand and he's going to be certain that he'll come out unscathed on the other side. Gone is the Stiles that was reckless, that would land them in trouble as soon as pry them out of it.
Stiles brings his palms together and the gold and black lettering on his arms and hands starts to glow faintly. Derek has to look away because the lines shift on his skin and it makes his eyes hurt, his breath shallow out. There's a palpable sensation of power that pulses from Stiles now, banked usually but roaring when he works.
Stiles turns to him, offers another slightly crooked grin and then waves his hands, indicating that Derek should turn around. Derek does, showing his vulnerable back, the scars that break the triskelion tattoo, his last gift from Laura. Deaton had been unable to heal the scars inflicted by the forest witch, who knew just where to hit him, where it would hurt the worst.
Stiles' hands land on his shoulders and Derek tenses, trying not to flinch. There's a feeling of warmth, of shifting, like sand disappearing beneath his feet. Stiles' breath is on the nape of his neck, making the wolf curl and ready itself to spring, barely able to resist the urge to fight when so vulnerable but Derek stamps it down with effort.
"Okay, done," Stiles says. His voice sounds wrecked and his hands don't so much lift off as slide away and then Derek is turning quickly enough to catch him when Stiles slumps, weakly laughing and shaky. "Woo, that hasn't happened in a while."
"Is it-?" Derek asks, but he doesn't really need to confirm if what Stiles did worked when he sees the way Stiles is grinning despite the pallor of his skin. Stiles kind of flails in the direction of the couch and Derek drops him carefully onto it.
"Bathroom... mirror... you can see," Stiles offers, dropping an arm over his eyes and shifting a little so he sinks deeper into the couch. "Oof!" he protests when Derek lands on him, curling around his body.
"I don't need to see. I know you fixed it," Derek says, likes the way Stles' eyes light up because he doesn't need to check for himself.
Breaking Good
Rating: G
Fandom/Pairing: TeenWolf ; Derek/Stiles
Fill: tattooed, bamf magic Stiles
AO3
Derek still hasn't gotten used to the way Stiles looks now. He appreciates the reason for the whorls and swirls of color and pattern, anything that keeps them safe, that keeps Stiles safe is a-okay with him. It's just a little hard to think of the fragile, sarcastic sixteen year old Stiles he once knew and reconcile it with this harder, more powerful version.
"Relax, I know what I'm doing," Stiles says, sliding Derek an exasperated look that reminds Derek so strongly of the Stiles of old that he almost physically aches with it. He can't help blaming himself for the way Stiles has had to change, had to grow and harden.
"I know," Derek says, trying to communicate in just those two words how much he trusts Stiles, that Stiles can hold his life in the palm of his hand and he's going to be certain that he'll come out unscathed on the other side. Gone is the Stiles that was reckless, that would land them in trouble as soon as pry them out of it.
Stiles brings his palms together and the gold and black lettering on his arms and hands starts to glow faintly. Derek has to look away because the lines shift on his skin and it makes his eyes hurt, his breath shallow out. There's a palpable sensation of power that pulses from Stiles now, banked usually but roaring when he works.
Stiles turns to him, offers another slightly crooked grin and then waves his hands, indicating that Derek should turn around. Derek does, showing his vulnerable back, the scars that break the triskelion tattoo, his last gift from Laura. Deaton had been unable to heal the scars inflicted by the forest witch, who knew just where to hit him, where it would hurt the worst.
Stiles' hands land on his shoulders and Derek tenses, trying not to flinch. There's a feeling of warmth, of shifting, like sand disappearing beneath his feet. Stiles' breath is on the nape of his neck, making the wolf curl and ready itself to spring, barely able to resist the urge to fight when so vulnerable but Derek stamps it down with effort.
"Okay, done," Stiles says. His voice sounds wrecked and his hands don't so much lift off as slide away and then Derek is turning quickly enough to catch him when Stiles slumps, weakly laughing and shaky. "Woo, that hasn't happened in a while."
"Is it-?" Derek asks, but he doesn't really need to confirm if what Stiles did worked when he sees the way Stiles is grinning despite the pallor of his skin. Stiles kind of flails in the direction of the couch and Derek drops him carefully onto it.
"Bathroom... mirror... you can see," Stiles offers, dropping an arm over his eyes and shifting a little so he sinks deeper into the couch. "Oof!" he protests when Derek lands on him, curling around his body.
"I don't need to see. I know you fixed it," Derek says, likes the way Stles' eyes light up because he doesn't need to check for himself.