Magic

Being left to his own devices, alone, on a Friday night was not a good combination for Stiles Stilinski. He was surrounded by books, piled high on top of one another. Thick tombs creating a wall of research, as if guarding him from the perils of the world outside. Having raided the library that morning, he was high on knowledge and facts, wanting to delve further into the wonderful world of magic.

The Sheriff stopped by Stiles’ bedroom on his way out, shaking his head at all the spell books and paraphernalia. “Please, try not to set the kitchen on fire, this time,” he pleaded.

“That was one time!”

--

The early hours were dawning, the inky black of night slowly softening into the dusky pink of a new day. Having taken a double dose of Adderall, Stiles had more than enough focus to see him through his research binge, and then some. The point to all of it, the reason why he had taken home half of the mythology section, was to complete his own version of a love spell.

The object of his desires, the person who continued to keep him awake at night, was one Derek Hale. Sour wolf, extraordinaire. Brooding, man of few words that frustrated Stiles to no end. He just couldn’t figure the guy out. Whenever he thought about Derek, Katy Perry played the soundtrack to their almost romance, in his head, confusing him with his hot and cold advances.

Their physical relationship had been progressing for a little over a month, but they had been dancing around each other for years. At first, Stiles had been delighted in the development, who knew a brush with death would have that effect on Derek? Over the coming weeks, however, Stiles had found himself wanting more. Trying to make Derek Hale fall in love with him was proving more difficult than he had anticipated. Sure, he got to experience the wolf up close and personal, to admire the long planes of naked flesh, glistening with sweat in the low lighting of the loft after their deed was done.

He was grateful for what he got, and he got a lot, he did. He got to witness the sight that was Derek Hale, coming apart for him and him alone, those green eyes sparkling and full, gazing down at him. Stiles would feel like he was fit to burst with affection for the wolf, his chest tight with emotion. There was one last hurdle to overcome, though. Whenever he would try to instigate a cuddle session afterwards, Derek would brush him off with some petty excuse or another.

Stiles would admit, their relationship, friendship, acquaintanceship, whatever the hell it was, didn’t get off to the best of starts. He’d gotten Derek arrested – which he suspected, he hadn’t been completely forgiven for – had ended up being paralyzed from the neck down by a weird lizard-like creature who just so happened to be a friend of Stiles’. He used the term “friend” very loosely in Jackson’s case. There had also been that messy business with the dark spirit that had somehow managed to possess him. It had taken Stiles a long time to get over that, to stop apologising profusely any time he came into contact with someone he’d hurt. Trouble just seemed to linger around them like a bad smell.

The pining was so obvious, even Scott had noticed that look in his eyes whenever he were near Derek, often complaining about it being weird.

Scott would wrinkle his nose. “Dude, I can smell it! If I can, then Derek sure as hell can, too!”

“So why hasn’t he said anything then, Scott? Am I really that undesirable?” Stiles would try not to pout.

Scott would simply shrug. “He’s an ass.”

“Yeah, but he’s my ass. I just need to make him realise that I’m his ass, too.”

Stiles would roll his eyes at the pained look Scott would get, almost like he might throw up. “Maybe you just need to forget about him and move on, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Stiles loved him for his unwavering bro-ship, but it just wasn’t that easy. “That's the trouble, I can't forget him. He’s in my head, in my heart.”

His mother once told him about love, cradling him in her arms while she tried to get him to sleep.

“Now and then in life, love catches you unawares, illuminating the dark corners of your mind, and filling them with radiance. Once in a while, you are faced with a beauty and a joy that takes your soul, all unprepared, by assault.”

That’s what it felt like for him and if Scott laughed at his cheesiness, he would punch him. In the face. Twice. And remind him all about his ode to Allison’s hair. Derek made him feel alive, like he could conquer anything and everything, all at once, as long as he had that man by his side.

He thought they had grown closer, having faced multiple enemies and obstructions, but apparently not. Apparently, Stiles was just a kid who didn’t know his own mind, didn’t know what he wanted. He blushed at the memory of himself storming into Derek’s loft and demanding the wolf admit how he felt.

It was the wrong way to go about things, forcing Derek’s hand like that – but stiles had been so frustrated with the longing looks and near misses. Derek casting his gaze away whenever Stiles would look in his direction, completely shutting down whenever he thought Stiles was getting near. They would come so close to getting somewhere, when some other supernatural drama would rear its ugly head and force them apart again. So Stiles was taking matters into his own hands.

He was creating his own destiny, be damned.

Which was why the stacks of books were tossed aside and he was currently scouring the internet for love spells and potions. Deaton had imparted his worldly wisdom onto him since Scott was bitten, giving him tips and a helping hand to chase away the bad guys. He’d dabbled in magic before, but never this seriously. It intrigued him, and if it gave him a way to help his friends out of a sticky spot, then he was all ears - but he couldn’t go to the vet with this particular request, it was far too embarrassing.

His leg danced impatiently as he scrolled through the offering that google gave him, screwing his face up at various Yahoo questions about witches and black magic. One result even sounded like some kind of magical dating site.

“Are you drawn to a special person and need a little magical push so that this individual will become aware of you? If you’re meant to be together, the universe will shine upon you, and it will be so. If it’s not meant to be a lasting relationship, perhaps there’s a life lesson you will learn from this individual, and maybe that’s why you were drawn to them in the first place. If love is calling and your heart fluttering at the sight of someone special, but they don’t seem to know that you exist, this is the mojo bag for you.”

The light from his bedside lamp illuminated his face as he kept scrolling through the suggestions, fingers drumming against his desk, adding to the soft thump his foot made against the carpet. He came across a web link that looked promising, taking a gulp of tea to calm himself as he waited for the page to load. “Only an idiot would rely on the energy of a bean to stay awake throughout the day,” Deaton would say to him whenever Stiles rolled his eyes at the dainty cup being pushed toward him, judging him for not seeing the benefits of a good cup of tea.

Stiles skim read the page as he sipped at his Darjeeling, pupils dilating with excitement at the lists of spells and potions. “Now this is what I’m talking about!” Placing his cup on the desk before he spilt the contents – he’d done that once and spent hours drying out his keyboard, getting a faint whiff of tea leaves whenever he powered the computer up - he grabbed a scrap of paper and jotted down the ingredients he would need for the spell aptly named, The Lovers.

Reading the introduction, he grabbed at the bag the vet had given him, eyes peeled.

There is always controversy over love spells that are aimed at a particular person. Some consider this type of magic a binding; others consider it unethical on many levels in general. But I feel we should always give love a chance.

“Yeah, yeah, some of us weren’t born with good looks and oozing charm, lady.” Checking there was a full moon out, he peered into the bag and shifted little baggies of, what looked like dirt, around with his finger. “Dammit, no ginger!”

Launching himself toward the stairs, he flew down them, two at a time, scouring through the cupboards as his sock-clad feet slipped on the kitchen floor. He scrunched his nose at the little jars and tubs he kept stocked, pushing some out of the way to get to the ones at the back. “Black pepper?” He shrugged. “That should do the trick.”

Not looking where he was going – too excited to start the spell and get Derek Hale back in his bed – he tripped on the last step and flailed, the jar of pepper flying into the air. Cursing his awkward limbs, he scooped enough back into the jar – he’d hoover later – and sat heavily onto his computer chair.

Moon Phase: waxing to full moon

“Check!” Being that it was the middle of winter, the bright, full moon was still high in the sky, luminous and twinkling.

Day: Friday

“Double check!” He felt energy begin to thrum through his veins.

Planet: Venus

He was in two minds whether to phone Lydia and ask her what that actually meant, but he knew she would talk him out of it, so he carried onto the next step. “Eh, doesn’t really matter.”

Colours: Red.

Looking down at his red hoodie, he self-fived, grinning wide. “I’m on a roll, baby!”

Herbs: rose petals, cardamom, ginger, coriander, hibiscus, red geranium

Lining up the jars of various herbs, he placed the black pepper next to the tub of rose petals. Humming to himself, he gathered everything together and emptied it into a red, velvet bag that had been amongst his mother’s possessions. He liked to think she was watching over him, giving him a dose of much needed luck. Pushing the empty containers out of the way, he read further down the page. He was really going to do this. He was actually going to cast a love spell on his favourite grumpy wolf. He felt so badass.

Adding a piece of rose quartz and The Lovers tarot card into the mix – he was still baffled why Dr. Deaton would even have tarot cards - he frowned. How the hell was he supposed to obtain some personal effects from Derek? Deflating like a balloon, he sat back in his chair, wondering if he could manage to sneak into Derek’s loft and cut off a lock of his hair. Not likely. Not since the last time Stiles had snuck in and hung mistletoe everywhere. How was he to know that werewolves were allergic to the stuff?

Impatiently scrolling to the end of the page, hope bloomed in his chest.

“If you’re not able to obtain any items of this nature, at least include a name paper. A love note, or love letter, written by you to the target, telling them all those things you’d like to say to them would be an excellent item to add to this bag.”

“Yes! I can totally write Derek a love letter!”

Several balled up pieces of paper later, Stiles furiously scribbled then crossed out word after word, huffing. “Gah, this is so hard!” Again, in two minds to call Lydia, he decided against it, not wanting the rest of the pack to laugh at him. He definitely didn’t want Derek finding out before he’d even had a chance to execute his plan, either.

With renewed determination – and a bucket load of Gatorade – he forced himself to focus long enough to write Derek Hale a love letter.

To, Derek Hale
Dear, Sour wolf
Hey, Sexy wolf
Light of my life, keeper of my ass

Derek.

I love you. Like, I really freaking love you a lot. No amount of being shoved against walls and into steering wheels has deterred my heart from falling for you. And that’s really sexy, like wow. (I should really look more into the fact that I get a boner whenever you do that). The point of this letter is, I need you to know that I’m in love with you. I love the sex, don’t get me wrong, that thing you do with your tongue drives me wild, but I’d like to cuddle afterwards, and maybe wear your clothes and write poems about your crazy eyebrows.

Point is, I love you. I hope you love me back.

Yours,
Stiles. (Your forever snuggle buddy)
X

Frantically rubbing off the squirt of his dad’s expensive cologne – he totally forgot werewolves had sensitive noses – he shoved the letter into the small bag with the rest of the items and placed it under his pillow, crossing his fingers under his blanket that by the next full moon, Derek Hale would be his.

--

All was quiet, not a sound nor a sight, a blanket of white covered the, usually bustling, region. The midnight sun was not quite as high in the sky as it usually was, subdued even, as if it were sad. The trees stood still, their usual sway lacking. The overall atmosphere and excitement was nowhere to be found.

Lakes were frozen solid, woodland creatures scattering into hidden hides. Even the reindeer were absent.

Something just wasn’t quite right.

--

A soft tinkling of bells roused Stiles from his slumber. He blinked himself awake, frowning. “What the-?”

Jumping out of bed, he fell against the cool glass of his window, nose pressed tightly to it as a blur of silver and red whooshed through the sky. Jaw hanging, Stiles took a step back to evaluate his life. “I did not just see a sleigh fly past my window, no fucking way, not happening!”

He jumped as a series of booming knocks sounded through the house, eyes wide as he all but fell down the stairs. Yanking the door open, he snorted, wondering if Scott had messed with his Adderall again and slammed the door shut. “Fuck off!”

With his back to the door, he jumped again at the sound of a fist beating the wood. Slower this time, he opened up and peered out. “Seriously?” he whispered, his eyes comically wide at the figure standing in his porch. “You’re not even real!”

The figure huffed, his fluffy, white beard dancing. “I assure you I am very real, Stiles.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’m Santa Claus, it’s my job to know everyone’s names.” Santa rolled his eyes. “But that doesn’t matter, what does matter is that I desperately need your help!”

Santa had sass.

“Either I drank some trippy eggnog or I’m dreaming. Yep, I’m definitely dreaming.”

Santa held his hand up for Stiles to see. “How many fingers do I have?”

“One, two, three, four, five, holy shit! I’m not dreaming!” He ignored the “duh” expression Santa wore and ran back to his room, grabbing his phone. Frantically jabbing at the screen, he managed to get it to work and flailed back down the stairs. “Scott, buddy? I’m gonna need you to come over to my house. Right. Now.”

Stiles assumed the third knock at the door heralded his best friend’s appearance, he really couldn’t deal with the Easter bunny rocking up.

Sighing in relief, Stiles grabbed Scott by the collar and pulled him into the house, checking to see that no one else was hiding outside. Noticing the huge sleigh, complete with reindeer, he hoped his dad wouldn’t decide to come home early. “Okay, so, before we go any further, I need you to keep an open mind. Can you do that?”

Scott deadpanned. “Stiles, I’m a werewolf. How much more open can my mind get?”

“Fair point, just don’t get too excited, alright?” Giving him a look, Stiles lead Scott through to the front room, slowly.

“Is that Santa?! This is freaking awesome! Oh my god, Santa!”

Stiles rubbed at his temples. “This is gonna be a long night.”

--
After Scott had asked every question known to man, and Stiles had fed him enough cookies and milk to sink the entire continent, Santa remembered why he had made the journey in the first place.

“Wait, how did you know about Beacon Hills?” Stiles was sat opposite Santa, knees drumming, impatiently. “Is there some kind of magical newsletter, or something?”

“Dude! He’s Santa! He knows everything!”

“Yes, thank you, Scott.” Scott beamed. Stiles had no chance of topping it. Ever. “I indeed, know about everything and everyone. I knew there were a band of misfits here in Beacon Hills that would be able to help me with my elves.”

“What’s wrong with the elves?” Stiles couldn’t quite believe he had just asked about Christmas elves, making a mental note to get his head checked.

“Funny you should ask that, I’m not quite sure.” Santa gestured for them to gather round so he could tell the tale. Stiles rolled his eyes, heavily, but obliged. “I’ll start at the beginning...”

Scott’s mouth hung open. “Wait, so someone poisoned your elves? What are they, a Grinch?!”

Stiles paled as Santa continued to talk, his stomach dropping as rose petals and black pepper were mentioned. No. No, no, no, he could not have poisoned a bunch of elves with his magic. No freaking way! He was keeping that information very close to his chest. “So, where are the elves now?”

“Here. Somewhere in Beacon Hills, I tracked them.”

“And how do we go about finding them?”

“Just follow the sound of Christmas.”

--

The gang were gathered at a nearby swamp. What was left of the gang. Stiles looked to Derek for answers. “Is this it? You, me and Scott are supposed to find these elves and save Christmas?”

Derek shrugged. “Looks like it. Everyone’s away for the holidays.”

“Awesome. This is just...awesome.”

About to voice another question, Stiles stilled, holding a finger up to silence Scott, head tilted to the side. “Was that a giggle?”

The wolves pricked their ears, concentrating, eyes glowing as they tried to locate the faint sound. Scott harrumphed. “This is useless, I can’t hear a damn thing!”

Just then, that familiar sound of bells tinkling could be heard overhead, Stiles looking up to see Santa maneuvering his sleigh to a safe landing at the side of the swamp. “Derek Hale, meet Santa Claus.”

There was no time for proper introductions, however, as a hoard of over-excited elves suddenly pounced on them. Glitter and sparkles and the sound of high-pitched chatter filled the air, Stiles batting them off him while Scott just stared like he had never seen anything so amazing. Not even the muddy water he was getting splashed with could stop him. “Scotty, focus! What’re we gonna do? We can’t kill them!”

Derek’s eyes glowed bright blue, fangs elongating. “I have no problem taking them down.”

Santa was currently wrestling with what looked like the leader, face red with exertion. “We catch them! I have the antidote with me, we just need to make them take it!”

Stiles blinked, disbelievingly as Santa produced a batch of shiny candy canes from his cloak. “Your solution is to feed them candy canes?! Okay, everyone just stop! Can I talk to a freaking human, please? I need to talk to a human! Not a werewolf, or an elf.” Santa raised his hand to speak, but promptly dropped it at the death glare Stiles gave him. “Or Santa Claus, an actual human being!”

Ignoring Stiles’ meltdown, Scott piped up. “Wait, how did they get poisoned in the first place?”

Santa shrugged, the action causing his cloak to swish into the murky depths of the swamp. “I’m not really sure. One minute, we were singing and dancing, making toys with the usual cheer. The next, there was a loud bang and a flash of light, the scent of rose petals and black pepper in the air and my elves went mad.”

Stiles gulped, directing his gaze at a suddenly very interesting looking tree. Derek narrowed his eyes. “Stiles,” he spoke, slowly, “what did you do?”

“Why would I have done anything? Jesus...”

“You look sheepish, and very guilty all of a sudden. Come on, out with it.”

Clearing his throat, Stiles looked anywhere but at Derek, nervously rubbing the back of his head. “I may have, maybe, possibly, castalovespellonyou.”

“You what?” Derek’s eyebrows furrowed dangerously.

Huffing, Stiles begrudgingly explained. “I tried to cast a love spell on you, because you never want to cuddle me after sex!” He ignored Scott’s ‘dude’ and carried on his emotional vomit. “It’s so frustrating! I catch you looking at me all the time, but you never do anything about it! So I cast a love spell, but, uhh, I think I got it wrong?”

Derek looked to the sky, like he was evaluating his entire existence, while Scott stared. “Dude, you ruined Christmas!”

“Sorry to interrupt your little mothers’ meeting, but we still have a very large Elf problem to deal with.” Santa started to back off, very slowly, as three sets of eyes glared back at him, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll just be over here...doing my thing.”

As the weight of the situation began to settle into Stiles, he recalled the words from the website he had gotten the spell from.

If you’re meant to be together, the universe will shine upon you, and it will be so. If it’s not meant to be a lasting relationship, perhaps there’s a life lesson you will learn from this individual, and maybe that’s why you were drawn to them in the first place.

Maybe he and Derek weren’t meant to be together, after all. “Oh god, I ruined everything! I’m a complete fuck up!” Starting to ramble nonsense, his arms flailed, too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice the angry looking elf that was careering towards him with a mighty looking sword in his hands.

A blur of colour smashed into his chest, Stiles going down like a sack of potatoes with an ‘oomph’, spluttering as his head went under the water. The last thing he saw before everything went dark, was Derek’s face, scared eyes wide with panic.

--

Stiles came to with a pounding in his head, whimpering at his aching everything. Scrunching his nose at the acrid taste in his mouth, he frowned, feeling disorientated. He wasn’t in his own bed, or even his own room.

“I brought you back here.” He started at the sound of Derek’s voice, soft in the dimly lit room.

“What happened?” Stiles didn’t recognise the sound of his own voice, like he hadn’t used it in years. “Where’s Scott?”

Derek snorted, not even trying to hide his amusement. “You got knocked out by an elf.” Stiles groaned, motioning for Derek to continue. “Scott’s fine, I took him home after we dealt with the situation. Santa is, hopefully, back in Lapland with his very happy and jolly elves.”

Rolling onto his side so he could see Derek better, he couldn’t help but laugh at the image of two werewolves and a Santa Claus, running around a swamp after a bunch of misfit elves. “My hero.” He attempted to sit up, but fell back with a huff at the jolt of pain in his side, suppressing a smile as Derek moved closer to pull the blanket further up his chest. “Holy shit, I got beat up by an elf. I’m never going to live this down.”

“So...a love spell, huh?” Derek smirked. “You know, you could have just told me how you felt, saved us all this bother, you getting hurt!” He arched a brow at the cheeky grin Stiles gave him.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Derek huffed his exasperation. “In case you haven’t noticed, Derek, I don’t really do things in a conventional way. Besides, you totally blew me off, last time!”

His grin faltered as Derek moved away from him. “I get it.” His voice was small, quiet. “Why would someone like you, want someone like me, anyway?” Stiles bit down on his lip to stop it wobbling, suddenly finding it hard to swallow.

Chuckling softly, Derek closed the distance between them. “You’re so stupid, Stiles.”

“Wow, way to make a guy feel special.”

Derek leaned over, effectively shutting Stiles up with a kiss. “I'm yours, always have been," he mumbled against Stiles’ mouth. And he was, completely and irrevocably in love with the loud mouthed, awkward teenager. He just had a hard time showing it.

Stiles blinked, slowly, clearing his throat, his voice unsure. "You’re really mine?"

Derek smiled, a private smile reserved solely for Stiles. “Yeah.”

Stiles wanted to bottle up the moment and keep it forever, he settled for snuggling closer to Derek. With a satisfied smile on his face, he nuzzled into soft, warm skin. “I can live with that.”

--

Derek rolled onto to his side, confused at the empty space next to him. A sudden flash of panic flared up in his chest, wondering if Stiles had taken it back. He eased at the sound of Stiles’ voice coming from the living room.

“Stiles, would you come back to bed?”

“Just a second, I think I got the mixture right on this one!”

Derek muttered loosely veiled threats under his breath. “So help me God, I will take away that spell book!”

“Try it wolf boy, I’ll just take my pretty ass elsewhere.”

Derek got out of bed, stalking toward the living room, completely butt naked. Stood between Stiles and the table full of books and spells, he raised his brows so high, they were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. “Get that ass, back in my bed, now.”

Stiles looked up, about to argue his case further, but the words died on his tongue. “I, uhh, yeah, um. Wow.” Licking his lips, he grinned, Derek tracking the movement before lunging at him.

“Speechless, huh?”

And oh, did Stiles want to wipe that smug smirk off his face, but there were more important matters at hand, like Derek’s cock. “Just shut up and do me.”

“So romantic, wow I’m totally swooning here.”

It was Stiles turn to shut Derek up, rolling them over on the couch and grinding his crotch into Derek’s. “You want romance?” he asked, holding back a groan at the skin on skin contact. “I’ll give you romance.”

Stiles tried not to lose himself in Derek’s eyes. “I’ve probably been in love with you since I was seventeen years old, since you repeatedly put yourself in the face of danger for me, and my friends. You risked your life for me, again and again.” He stopped talking long enough to kiss Derek, rolling his hips. “You’re the most annoying, most frustrating person I know, but I wouldn’t want you any other way. I love us, what we are, who we are. Love you the most, though.” Stopping his ministrations, he cupped Derek’s face, softly, brushing his thumb across chiseled contours before kissing him, chastely. “I’m yours, you’re mine, that’s just how it is,” he murmured, whispering the last part.

Derek stared up at him with the most wide, innocent eyes Stiles had ever seen. He looked so vulnerable, Stiles wanted to wrap him up in his arms and never let him go. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, dazed, “I love you, too.” They sealed their fate with an uncoordinated, sloppy kiss, both smiling too much to care, though.

“Not that I don’t like drowning in love, or anything. But I’m still a man, with a very persistent boner to take care of.”

Stiles laughed, gleefully, at the look on Derek’s face. “You ruin everything.”