Prince Derek has yet to marry by his 29th birthday and tradition states he must be married to a chosen suitor by the time he turns 30. Stiles, the ultimate nobody from the ultimate nowhere, is the one chosen to marry the moody recluse.
Rated teen and up for swearing.
Everything about this is so on point! Wicked. I cried. Too manny damn feels:
Throughout his life, he’s probably encountered, give or take, a hundred or so. A mere hundred human beings in his twenty-three years walking around on earth, compared to themillions of weres he’s seen. And, even then, encountered them he might have, but met? Not even close.
He’s had his dry cleaning handed off to him by a mousy looking human girl in a shirt three sizes too big for her with huge eyes and shaking hands while a beta werewolf yelled at her in the background for being too skittish (wonder why that could possibly be), he’s walked past teenage humans cleaning windows and sweeping pebbles off of sidewalks, he’s had the door opened up for him by older humans in pristine uniforms outside of restaurants – but never, never once, has he stuck his hand out to a human and said hi, my name is…
He could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s even been made aware that a human within a hundred feet of him even had a name.
“Are we gonna place a bet on who feels more awkward?” is the first thing he manages to say.
There’s a huff from Derek that could be a laugh, and Stiles takes the water bottle Derek hands him. “Maybe we should call it even,” Derek says, turning around to face Stiles. “Then we could move past it and get to the good parts.”
“The good parts?”
“Yeah,” Derek says, smiling at Stiles. “Going out on a date, for instance.”
Due to the destruction of House Hale and the debts incurred in their survival and search for justice, the King (blah blah, make believe world) arranges a marriage between Derek and Stiles, eliminating all debts the Hales may owe. Derek is very unhappy. Stiles is pretty shocked at who he’s being matched with, but he’s certainly not unhappy. It’s pretty clear from the start Derek doesn’t share that feeling.
Stiles passes the time by hunting with his falcon, Derek broods. Until…
*Hugs this fic* *Squeezes the shit out of this fic*:
The wedding was Peter’s idea: a way to unite two packs, not to mention curry favor with another Alpha. Laura found her mate before she became the Hale Alpha, Cora is too young to be matched, and Peter obviously would never inconvenience himself in such a way. That left Derek.
The night before the wedding, Derek’s a nervous wreck. He’s alone in his hotel suite, thinking about bolting and leaving Peter and Laura to pick up the pieces, when room service knocks on his door with a very special delivery…
"Have you heard of this Alpha?” Stiles asks, shuffling up his pallet so Scott has room to sit. Scott does with a grateful little twist of his mouth. Stefan forces him into the Stilinski ceremonial armor when they travel and Stiles can see that it’s heavy and doesn’t sit well on Scott. He can’t shift encased in metal and Stefan knows it.
“I know of him, mostly stories that seem a little fantastical. Shifters exaggerate just like common people. They like their war stories.”