Fiction Recs

Derek/Stiles
434,625 words

“I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.”

That was a bad word. Not found.

Have.

Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment.

One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

Derek/Stiles
28,959 words

Stiles is ten when he saves the Hales from their burning home and Derek from a wolfsbane bullet, and this establishes a pattern that seem to continue indefinitely.

"Then he's facing a burning home, and he wraps the hood of his sweatshirt around his mouth before he pushes the door open and steps inside. There's Mr. Hale asleep - he hopes asleep - on the couch, next to - Stiles thinks that's his brother but there are so many Hales, who can keep track. He rushes over and starts shaking him, can see the rise and fall of the man's chest so he knows he's alive, but he's not waking up.

He shoves away his hood so he can shout, "Mr. Hale! You have to get up, there's a fire! Mr. Hale, get up!" Nothing, he's not even twitching, both of them taking in deep even breaths like they're having the most peaceful of rests, and Stiles is going to cry. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

There's a moment, where all Stiles can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and not the roar of the flames or the creak of wood, then with a violent, silent pop it's all back and both of the men are gasping awake, eyes open and jumping to their feet. "

Peter/Stiles, Chris/Stiles, Deucalion/Stiles
31665+ words

Stiles Stilinski was making his dreams come true. It didn't matter that he was years behind the curve, that he found his calling too late for proper apprenticeship, or that his skills were inconsistent at best; he was a full fledged Druid, officially approved and everything. He even had an assignment, direct from the Council themselves, straight out of the gate!
If that meant shacking up with three of the most gorgeous and damaged werewolves currently alive, well... he could think of worse things. At least here he was doing some good, and the fringe benefits weren't too bad either.

Derek/Stiles
163,779 words

“Holy—shit,” Stiles breathed, Bacon stopping in what he was doing, still staring at him intently, as if begging him to understand, for someone to finally understand. Stiles felt like he’d been electrocuted and he leapt out of his chair, kneeling in front of Bacon and grabbing at his furry face. “Holy shit! Oh my God, are you—wait, holy—you’re not fucking with me, right?!”

Bacon let out two quick barks, which Stiles chose to interpret as ‘no.’

“Oh my God, are you a real person in there?!” Stiles shouted in the wolf’s face, staring him right in the eye. He was still holding the wolf’s head with both hands, but Bacon dipped his muzzle in confirmation and Stiles officially lost his mind.

“Oh my God!” he shouted again, releasing Bacon to clutch at his own hair. “Oh my God! Dude, for real?! You’re—holy shit! Holy shit!” He didn’t know how to react to this news. He had no fucking idea how to react. This was a person?! But how?! How was this a person?! People didn’t just turn into wolves!

Derek/Stiles
58,286 words

“Derek,” Stiles thunders. “Were you ever going to tell me your house is trying to hook us up?”

Derek's head snaps up, eyes wide and scenting the evident crackle of magic in the air.

Or the one where spark!Stiles moves into an enchanted apartment block owned by a grumpy alpha and is completely oblivious to the building's efforts to matchmake them.

Chris/Peter/Stiles
7,065 words

When Stiles followed the pull in his gut to track down his soulmate, it wasn't meant to end up with him breaking down in a storm, rolling down a slope in the preserve, and spraining his ankle. Still, at least his rescuer and his werewolf mate are nice to look at. More than nice.
Nigh irresistible in fact.
Stiles might have a slight problem here.
Fuck.

Derek/Stiles
43,593 words

Casting spells, chasing monsters, wooing your coworkers and fucking them in their offices - it's all in a day's work for Stiles Stilinski.

Derek/Stiles
19,132 words

One hundred days, ten scarves, one Christmas, and Stiles' dormant magic has to ruin everything.

Peter/Stiles
17,893 words

Peters neighbor is afraid of needles, and Peter thinks he's just cute enough to terrorize. It sounds darker than it is.

“What is that boy doing?” Peter looked up from his art and glanced at the window. His pretty, pale, neighbor was attempting to cross the street. He wasn't having much luck with his hands covering his eyes. He'd gotten himself stuck in the middle of the road, with cars passing by on either side. Still, he refused to drop his hands.

Derek/Stiles
285,568 words

“Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more.

“You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?”

“It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.”

Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes.

“I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

Derek/Stiles
28,181 words

By twenty-eight, Stiles has resigned himself to a quiet life of working in his magic shop, selling Jackson Whittemore fart-inducing tea, and looking after his goddaughter. It's a good life. But the quiet goes to hell when his sister, Lydia, shows up with a crispy werewolf in her trunk and a bite mark on her shoulder, because hard on her heels comes the hottest person Stiles has ever seen, and he happens to be looking for his uncle.

You know, the dead guy Stiles helped Lydia bury last night.

(Or: the Pracitical Magic AU nobody asked for.)