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Title: I Belong to You
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elirwen
Pairing: Stiles/Derek
Genre: hurt/comfort
Word Count: ~1000
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary:
Stiles is panicking, refusing to let go of his mate for a single moment, and nobody knows what exactly happened at the abandoned warehouse.
A/N: The title is from "I Belong to You" by Muse.
Read @ ao3
Stiles’ fingers are digging hard into the flesh of Derek’s back, ragged breaths leaving his lips, further dampening Derek’s already tear-soaked T-shirt. Minutes tick by as Derek murmurs into Stiles’ ear, pulling him tight to his body, his hand buried in the hair at the back of Stiles’ head, gently massaging his scalp.
Air is full of a scent of distress and with each taken breath, the urge to protect, to shield his mate from any and all dangers of the world, grows even stronger. He doesn’t know what happened here. There are no visible injuries on Stiles, no physical pain to help with. There’s only terror in Stiles’ eyes, his whole body shaking with the force of his sobs.
Hand on his shoulder pulls him from his thoughts and he glances up, meeting Lydia’s worried gaze.
“What did they do to him?” he growls at her.
“Deaton is trying to find out more, but it’s obvious they were trying some very dark magic.”
How can she be so calm in a time like this, Derek will never know.
“We should get him out of here. Let me help you with him.”
Stiles whimpers, pressing even closer to him which Derek didn’t even think possible. He whispers more reassurances, continues gentle touches.
“I’ve never felt such intense emotion through our bond.” He looks up at Lydia. “He’s never been this terrified.”
~x~
Deaton is unable to tell what the ritual was meant for and asking Stiles is out of the question. He’s still out of it, unwilling to part from Derek for even a single second. He calmed down considerably, his heartbeat returning to its normal rhythm, sobbing subsiding, but he’s still wrapped around Derek, even when his fingers relax from their death grip and he seems to be on the verge of drifting off from pure exhaustion.
He doesn’t fight Derek when he shifts him in his arms to carry him out of the dirty warehouse towards the car. When they finally arrive at their house, Stiles is asleep in Derek’s embrace.
~x~
They recite words in Latin, stuttering over syllables like a child who’s just started learning how to read. Amateurs. If only they were as unprofessional at securing their hostages. There’s no way he’s going to free his hands, no matter how hard he tries. The rope is tight around his wrists, and the loop in the ground to which it’s attached is firmly encased in the concrete.
The outer line of the pentagram they drew around him starts to glow with bright blue light and Stiles’ already elevated pulse skyrockets. This is worse than he expected.
“What the hell do you want from me?” he yells for the fifth, or maybe tenth time in the past hour. “If you’re looking for a virgin sacrifice, I swear you got the wrong guy. Not a single innocent spot on me.”
They ignore him. Again. Oh, what a surprise.
“It’s ready. You know what to do, right?” the man who just stopped butchering the Latin asks the thug who has been watching Stiles hungrily since he woke up on the cold stone floor of this yet another abandoned warehouse, and it’s highly probable he was mentally undressing him even before.
“Cut the bond and claim him. It’s no rocket science,” the thug says, smirking.
“What?” Stiles tries to shout in shock, but the tug of fear causes it to come out as a somewhat loud squeak.
The men pay him no mind, the first one handing the second a dagger glowing the same bright blue as the lines on the floor. The Latin starts again, this time more forceful, and Stiles gasps, feeling a physical tug at the bond. A thin green line leading from his chest starts to materialize. It’s only visible inside the pentagram, but he knows it goes much further, that there’s Derek on the other side, hopefully feeling his distress and searching for him.
The enchanter is repeating three words over and over, the bond shining bright in the shadowed hall, and the thug enters the pentagram, kneeling down behind Stiles, pulling him back to his chest. He tries to pull away, but the thug’s hold is too strong.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Stiles whispers frantically, his fast breathing turning into hyperventilating, a panic attack setting in.
The knife is nearing the bond, moving as if in slow motion, and there’s nothing he can do. They’re going to destroy the connection to his soulmate, rape him and claim him. He’ll go mad, maybe even die. Derek will go berserk.
“No,” he breathes out, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. “No!” he shouts, blinding white light erupting from him, spreading in circle in a blink of an eye, tossing his assailants away from him, unconscious even before they hit the ground.
He falls to the side, not feeling his landing. His eyes close as the bright blue of the pentagram fades into complete darkness.
~x~
Stiles wakes up with a start, hitting and kicking Derek in the few seconds of hazy confusion before latching onto him again, trembling all over and apologizing.
Derek still doesn’t know what happened in the warehouse, but Deaton thinks Stiles must have used his power to knock out his opponents, but probably not before they almost got what they wanted.
“You’re safe,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”
Gently coaxing Stiles out of his clothes, he once again makes sure his mate is physically unhurt. Stripping his own clothes proves to be a difficult task with Stiles unable to stay calm when not holding onto Derek, but he manages, and ushers Stiles into the bathroom.
They sit on the side of the tub in silence while the water fills it, only when they’re settled in the blissful warmth of their bath, Stiles reveals what happened mere hours ago. Derek feels slightly dizzy when he realizes how close to losing Stiles he was, tightening his hold on him, which earns him a contented sigh from his exhausted mate.
~x~
“I don’t think I’ll be able to let you leave my side anytime soon.”
Derek can smell a hint of shame in the air.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to leave your side anytime soon.”
“Good,” Stiles says and his scent clears.
Derek smiles into the curve of Stiles’ neck and closes his eyes. They’re going to be okay, eventually.
Author:
elirwenPairing: Stiles/Derek
Genre: hurt/comfort
Word Count: ~1000
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary:
Stiles is panicking, refusing to let go of his mate for a single moment, and nobody knows what exactly happened at the abandoned warehouse.
A/N: The title is from "I Belong to You" by Muse.
Read @ ao3
Stiles’ fingers are digging hard into the flesh of Derek’s back, ragged breaths leaving his lips, further dampening Derek’s already tear-soaked T-shirt. Minutes tick by as Derek murmurs into Stiles’ ear, pulling him tight to his body, his hand buried in the hair at the back of Stiles’ head, gently massaging his scalp.
Air is full of a scent of distress and with each taken breath, the urge to protect, to shield his mate from any and all dangers of the world, grows even stronger. He doesn’t know what happened here. There are no visible injuries on Stiles, no physical pain to help with. There’s only terror in Stiles’ eyes, his whole body shaking with the force of his sobs.
Hand on his shoulder pulls him from his thoughts and he glances up, meeting Lydia’s worried gaze.
“What did they do to him?” he growls at her.
“Deaton is trying to find out more, but it’s obvious they were trying some very dark magic.”
How can she be so calm in a time like this, Derek will never know.
“We should get him out of here. Let me help you with him.”
Stiles whimpers, pressing even closer to him which Derek didn’t even think possible. He whispers more reassurances, continues gentle touches.
“I’ve never felt such intense emotion through our bond.” He looks up at Lydia. “He’s never been this terrified.”
~x~
Deaton is unable to tell what the ritual was meant for and asking Stiles is out of the question. He’s still out of it, unwilling to part from Derek for even a single second. He calmed down considerably, his heartbeat returning to its normal rhythm, sobbing subsiding, but he’s still wrapped around Derek, even when his fingers relax from their death grip and he seems to be on the verge of drifting off from pure exhaustion.
He doesn’t fight Derek when he shifts him in his arms to carry him out of the dirty warehouse towards the car. When they finally arrive at their house, Stiles is asleep in Derek’s embrace.
~x~
They recite words in Latin, stuttering over syllables like a child who’s just started learning how to read. Amateurs. If only they were as unprofessional at securing their hostages. There’s no way he’s going to free his hands, no matter how hard he tries. The rope is tight around his wrists, and the loop in the ground to which it’s attached is firmly encased in the concrete.
The outer line of the pentagram they drew around him starts to glow with bright blue light and Stiles’ already elevated pulse skyrockets. This is worse than he expected.
“What the hell do you want from me?” he yells for the fifth, or maybe tenth time in the past hour. “If you’re looking for a virgin sacrifice, I swear you got the wrong guy. Not a single innocent spot on me.”
They ignore him. Again. Oh, what a surprise.
“It’s ready. You know what to do, right?” the man who just stopped butchering the Latin asks the thug who has been watching Stiles hungrily since he woke up on the cold stone floor of this yet another abandoned warehouse, and it’s highly probable he was mentally undressing him even before.
“Cut the bond and claim him. It’s no rocket science,” the thug says, smirking.
“What?” Stiles tries to shout in shock, but the tug of fear causes it to come out as a somewhat loud squeak.
The men pay him no mind, the first one handing the second a dagger glowing the same bright blue as the lines on the floor. The Latin starts again, this time more forceful, and Stiles gasps, feeling a physical tug at the bond. A thin green line leading from his chest starts to materialize. It’s only visible inside the pentagram, but he knows it goes much further, that there’s Derek on the other side, hopefully feeling his distress and searching for him.
The enchanter is repeating three words over and over, the bond shining bright in the shadowed hall, and the thug enters the pentagram, kneeling down behind Stiles, pulling him back to his chest. He tries to pull away, but the thug’s hold is too strong.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Stiles whispers frantically, his fast breathing turning into hyperventilating, a panic attack setting in.
The knife is nearing the bond, moving as if in slow motion, and there’s nothing he can do. They’re going to destroy the connection to his soulmate, rape him and claim him. He’ll go mad, maybe even die. Derek will go berserk.
“No,” he breathes out, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. “No!” he shouts, blinding white light erupting from him, spreading in circle in a blink of an eye, tossing his assailants away from him, unconscious even before they hit the ground.
He falls to the side, not feeling his landing. His eyes close as the bright blue of the pentagram fades into complete darkness.
~x~
Stiles wakes up with a start, hitting and kicking Derek in the few seconds of hazy confusion before latching onto him again, trembling all over and apologizing.
Derek still doesn’t know what happened in the warehouse, but Deaton thinks Stiles must have used his power to knock out his opponents, but probably not before they almost got what they wanted.
“You’re safe,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”
Gently coaxing Stiles out of his clothes, he once again makes sure his mate is physically unhurt. Stripping his own clothes proves to be a difficult task with Stiles unable to stay calm when not holding onto Derek, but he manages, and ushers Stiles into the bathroom.
They sit on the side of the tub in silence while the water fills it, only when they’re settled in the blissful warmth of their bath, Stiles reveals what happened mere hours ago. Derek feels slightly dizzy when he realizes how close to losing Stiles he was, tightening his hold on him, which earns him a contented sigh from his exhausted mate.
~x~
“I don’t think I’ll be able to let you leave my side anytime soon.”
Derek can smell a hint of shame in the air.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to leave your side anytime soon.”
“Good,” Stiles says and his scent clears.
Derek smiles into the curve of Stiles’ neck and closes his eyes. They’re going to be okay, eventually.
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