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For Sterek

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You meet for the first time on private property – 147 pounds of pale skin, fragile bones and sarcasm, and a majestic wolf with bunny teeth in a too big leather jacket.

Derek Hale: you're the king on Stiles' chessboard, his anchor, the prettiest alpha with the flower crown and Stiles your flower queen. You're the alpha of Stiles' heart.

Stiles Stilinski: you're Derek's anchor, his second in command, the emissary in training, the most loyal member of his pack. You're Derek's mate.

Mieczysław and cousin Miguel. You meet each other in a thousand different ways, in a thousand lifetimes. You impress each other with your Polish roots and fluent Spanish skills. Together you suffer through endless family dinners and visits to Grandma's only to be interrogated about your intentions. You'll have your informal occasions, too: relaxed get togethers and movie nights and bbqs in the backyard, letting the pack and your respective families mingle. You're no strangers to loss but the tragedies of the past make you appreciate your self-made families all the more.

Perhaps you're orphans and make your own families. Or you meet as kids and become instantly inseparable. Or you meet in school but have a hard time fighting through your different social cliques to reach out and make your special brand of jock and nerd work, connecting through mutual love for pop culture or music or literature. University fraternities may try but they can't keep you apart forever.

Sometimes you meet later in life, when you already have kids, but all that friendly neighbourhood DILF will charm your pants off. Often enough you get to have your kids together, carry your own pups and join your beautiful everything (Herald being the infamous exception, of course).

You communicate via notebooks full of scribbles in sparkly pens, you text and sext and skype and type and call using few words or none. The anonymous postcards are instantly recognizable and always welcome. And when you're not using words, you know to interpret each other's eyebrows and the eyerolls. Your love translates without sound or sight, with a simple sign or touch.

You're studying for your exams, learning anatomy bone by bone while lying in bed. You connect the multitude of moles, admire all those brilliant tattoos covering each other's bodies, magical and ordinary alike. You make having gray hairs okay because getting them means growing old together.

But first you're still young and you meet in the forest, lay on a rock and share a smoke. It's a club – it's always a club – dark, loud and full of people invading your space. You leave the wolfsbane laced drink and craft beer behind and move to the dancefloor where your sweaty bodies gyrate together, following the beat of the music while you learn each others' curves and angles by heart. Later you're in no hurry, you're vegging indoors, tangled on the sheets, kissing and watching the smoke twist and curl up, up, and up in lazy patterns. Taking turns shotgunning your spirits and dreams from lips to lips. You lose your virginities together... maybe you lose it to save your life, to avoid becoming the next sacrifice, but it always, always means something. Because you're soulmates, your innermost thoughts and desires appearing on your skin, helping you to find your missing piece, connecting you two old souls time and again.

Then the wildest dreams of your high school band come true and you love and play and break up and make up while touring and conquering whole continents. You give and take dance lessons, to seduce and be seduced; you clash your classic and street style backgrounds, a strict follower of rules and the other forever bending them, creating something altogether new just for the two of you. You paint each other like one of the French girls; you do portraits, make sculpture and pottery and nude drawings, sometimes in secret and sometimes in plain sight. You participate in the theater club, and the whole audience will get to witness your first kiss.

You travel the world with your magical circus; you are firemen, enjoying their pies. You meet as police officers and delinquents, as actual superheroes or vigilantes. You're PIs or FBIs. You're cowboys on a ranch, vagabonds, florists and tattooists, doctors and patients, bakers, chefs, sportsmen, football players representing rival teams. You're hot mechanics getting down and dirty under the hoods and jeeps. You're thieves, magicians, horse trainers, students and teachers and professors. You own a bookshop, magic shop; you work in a library, you're a TA. You drive a tow truck and you have a thing for your dispatcher who is calculating the shortest distance from you to him. You're a rentboy surviving on a stranger's kindness; you're a rich sugardaddy who starts with all the material goodness and ends up giving his heart and soul. It's omegaverse and neither of you believes in the society's unyielding hierarchy, yet there you both are, reluctantly taking part in the annual heat run.

The UST between you two is legendary and it burns hotter than a thousand suns. And when you finally snap, you do it against the wall, in and on the Camaro, in every single room and on every available piece of furniture to christen your new apartment. You do it on a motorcycle in space despite the raving zombies all around. You do it in captivity, not minding Derek's beta form in the least. You do it in secluded cabins in the woods, surrounded by snow, far from the rest of the civilization. Knotting is your thing. And despite what anyone might think, your BDSM and private club performances and role plays are fifty shades of okay.

And when it comes to porn, you're naturals. Made for recording videos online, letting the camera love your angles. It really is all about Neckz'n Throats. And in a real studio, you're famous stars colliding but doing it like professionals all the same. You have a good time, many many times, several times in a row, in several different positions, and yet it's the undeniable power of human love which penetrates you the deepest.

Everyone else sees what you have before you do. The witches teach you a lesson. You have to narrate your own life or you can only talk by singing or you are forced to speak your mind or you can only speak the truth or hear each other's thoughts or you are physically bound together until you learn better. And even if magically stolen away, your love will grow back organically, like the plants in the strong earth of the garden because there is no stopping such a force of nature.

You're involved in politics: the first son and his long suffering but lifesaving bodyguard. You're celebrities, you're famous models and authors, actors and larger than life movie stars returning home and given another chance at making things right. You're bloggers and vidders. You're food critics. You own restaurants and bars and work in diners and cafes and make coffees as black as your soul with a lot of sugar and extra cream.

You're royalty throughout the ages. In modern day, you hide from paparazzi and try to reign in your desire in the face of social expectations and pressure from the media. In ancient times, you struggle with archaic laws and wars, fighting for your countries and sending your most trusted knight or assassin to turn the course of war for you, to win the war for you and it's the biggest sacrifice every time. Or you're heirs or less important sons needed to seal the alliance of your kingdoms, to be wed to maintain the peace and strengthen the union of your countries. You've only ever seen a portrait of your intended, a horrible troll of a creature, and you can't believe your eyes when your fiancé turns out to be love at first sight. Or it's regency and you hesitate with even the slightest touch; you barely dare to dream of holding hands and yet a single look across the room makes everyone else disappear, leaving just the two of you with your unparallelled chemistry.

Stiles, you're Squirrelinski, a fennec fox, you are the fox to Derek's wolf. When you're given the bite, you become the most natural beta ever, challenging Derek's alpha at every turn but matching him step by step. Derek, your seedwolf makes the most adorable minifriend Stiles has ever had. And then there are sheepgoats and bunnywolves, androids being built and mermen coming ashore. There are demon creatures summoned and adopted. There's more than enough to handle in one set of you but sometimes it's either the Stilinski twins or a Derek's doppelganger and the only available option is to groupsex it away.

You're possessed by demons and chased by hunters. Even death can't keep you apart. You make a perfect werewolf-vampire couple or haunt each other as ghosts, or go to purgatory and back to fix it, to prove everyone you're not done yet and that you never will be. You're driven together by a curse, magic or fairies make you do it. It's fate or chance or accident. But that's only the beginning. It's what happens after, when you learn from each other, show respect and understanding, trust each other, and inevitably and irrevocably fall in love. Every single time.

And even when the whole world is on fire, you serve through the World Wars to see each other again. It's the apocalypse and the zombies are roaming the earth, they have spread all over the galaxy and you're fighting for your survival, still not letting each other go. Werewolves are known, there's slavery, you're kidnapped and held in captivity. You join forces, start a revolution and fight against the oppressors. You are each other's lifeline, you pull each other through it all and end up saving your city, your nation, your world, the universe while re-discovering your humanity with your love. And when you return to civilian life the war has left its mark on you, as the veteran with PTSD, you have your scars and battle wounds but sometimes the invisible scars can only be seen without sight and you manage to mend them together.

Your love transcends time. You travel back and forth through different timelines, you cross multiple universes just to be together. You chase after hurricanes and want to start all over. You take a gap year, you go on a roadtrip to see the world but the further you drive, the closer the two of you get and all that breathtaking scenery pales in comparison with your self-discoveries and budding love.

So, just so you know, Derek, Stiles is not afraid of you and he hasn't been for a long, long time. There's no need for ripping any throats out with teeth. Though it's still Stiles' house and Stiles' rules, buddy, whenever he's harbouring your fugitive ass. And Stiles, if one of these days you get lucky, Derek will show you that big ol' fist and you can be sure it's not the only big thing the big bad wolf has in store for you. But, most importantly, you trust each other now and you still need each other to survive, still keep each other alive and won't ever let go.

You're drift compatible, you fit together in every possible universe with every version of yourselves. You're Diego and Sid, the abominable snowman and sourwolf, you're big bad wolf and not so little red with the trusted baseball bat or the lacrosse stick. You two make a pretty good pair.

You belong to fandom. You belong to no one. You belong to each other.

Stiles and Derek. Derek and Stiles. Your love is eternal.

Canon is closed. You're finally free.

Long live Sterek.