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laniew1Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
TITLE: Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD
RATING: PG-13 (for now)
PAIRING: Gen – but Stiles/Clint (eventually)
AUTHOR: Melanie
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Marvel, MTV, etc own everything but the idea to mesh them..
FEEDBACK: Please?
Stiles Stilinski, Agent of Shield 15/?
Their third date is dinner in the cafeteria and a movie on his laptop as they lay across his bed. They could have done something better, Stiles knows that.
But he’s also smart enough to know that leaving the Helicarrier with Clint means being tailed by at least one Avenger that he can see and electronically by Tony if not Director Fury.
He has to wonder if they think he’ll lose whatever knowledge of the supernatural he has if he has sex.
He won’t, he’s had sex before and still managed to remember how to lace an arrow with wolfsbane or trap an evil spirit.
They finish the movie and are just lying there in silence, Stiles kind of propping himself up on Clint’s chest, Clint sort of nuzzling at his neck in a way that Stiles would say was wolfish if it was anybody but Clint.
It’s quiet, peaceful, so that is of course when the banging starts on his door.
“Maybe if we ignore it they’ll go away,” Stiles says.
“It’s Stark, he’ll jimmy the door,” Clint mutters, he rests his hand on the back of Stiles’ head and tugs him down, kissing him slowly.
Stiles is just getting comfortable, he’s forgotten all about the knocking with the way that Clint is hard underneath him and there’s a little hitch to his hips. Stiles hasn’t gotten off by dry humping since he was in high school and in a steady relationship with the porn on his computer and his right hand.
He could certainly do so now, he grinds down and Clint grinds up, the hand not cupping the back of his head going to press against his ass.
“I will toss cold water on you two, don’t think I won’t,” he hears and Stiles groans, one last hard kiss pressed against Clint’s lips.
“Why?!?” he whines and Tony crosses his arms and glares at him.
“I’m just looking out for your best interests,” he sniffs and manages to look affronted at the same time.
“It’s sex,” Stiles says, “We’re all consenting adults here, would you be this cock blocking if it was a prostitute or something?”
“Fourth date,” Tony says stubbornly, and pointedly doesn’t answer Stiles’ question. Which is actually more of an answer then if he’d actually answered it.
“This is for your own good, think of how well you’ll know each other,” Tony says, Stiles looks down when Clint groans.
“You’re a fucking bastard, you know that, Stark?”
“Completely legitimate,” Tony says brightly. “Mom and dad were totally married.”
******************************************************************************
“Tell me again why we had to sneak out at 0-dark-30?” Crawford asks, he’s shivering in his thin jacket, Stiles wonders why he’s not wearing his winter jacket.
“Because I didn’t want anyone to see us,” Stiles says sensibly. That means that he didn’t want anyone in anyway affiliated with the Avengers to see him going off the Helicarrier without an Avengers escort.
It’s bad enough that he’s doing this in the first place, to get the Avengers involved in what is peripherally pack business would be bad.
“You mean you didn’t want anyone that knows that you’re not supposed to come down in the city without an escort to see you leaving.”
“I have you.”
“I’m pretty sure that considering I weigh as much or possibly less than you that I would not be considered a suitable escort.”
“Well that’s just stupid because you’ve been with SHIELD longer and have most likely had more self-defense courses then I have.”
“And there’s a reason that I have a desk job, because I can’t throw a punch to save my life, or to save yours,” Crawford makes a face and Stiles throws an arm over his shoulder.
“We won’t even be gone long enough for anyone to know that we’re missing.”
Crawford just shoots him a look that says that he’s highly disappointed that he’s evidently been doing the good drugs and not sharing.
******************************************************************************
The usual place is a small, blink and you’ll miss it shop in a neighborhood that kind of scares Stiles on a bunch of different levels.
The werewolves in the city won’t touch him, but that leaves all sorts of other things both human and not to worry about.
“This place, really?” Crawford is close behind him, like he’s afraid if he’s not physically attached to Stiles he’s going to get left behind.
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Stiles says as he pushes the door open, a bell rings above it and he shivers when he feels the wards brush over his skin.
“It’s a dump,” Crawford says, he doesn’t make any outward appearance at having sensed anything about the doorway.
“Didn’t your mother ever warn you about judging a book by its cover,” a feminine voice coos softly from the dark. It’s an old trick so Stiles only rolls his eyes as Crawford jumps high enough for both of them.
“Back off,” he says voice low and calm. “Or I pull my phone out and hit speed dial 2.”
“Aw,” she comes further into the bad lighting in the shop, her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, the only thing that’s recognizable about her is her eyes and her voice. Glamour, he thinks. “Stiles Stilinski, you are an annoyance that I wish I could sweep away.”
“But you owe me your life, so you won’t,” Stiles smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because you want to keep breathing and if Derek and Boyd find out where you are you’ll be werewolf food.”
She snarls wordlessly at him, but he’s not lying so she can’t disagree.
“What do you want? Make it fast and make it interesting.”
Stiles tilts his head at her and she scowls at him as they wait, it’s the usual standoff. They’ve met like this at least once a year since Stiles came to the city.
“Fine,” she breathes, “blessed be brother,” she says sarcastically, “safe entrance granted to thee and thou guest.”
The wards shiver a bit and Stiles relaxes, he glances over at Crawford and his mouth is opening and closing.
“He looks like a fish,” she says and rolls her eyes. “Haven’t you ever seen a practicing witch before, child?”
“Child?” Crawford sputters. “I’m older than you are.”
“Oh, she’s older than she looks,” Stiles says, he wanders the shop, hand hovering over various items. Never touching anything because Janice is a vindictive enough witch that he wouldn’t put it past her to have spelled anything and everything that might have caught his interest once he called her.
He saved her life; he continues to save her life on a daily basis by not telling his pack where she is. That doesn’t mean that they like or trust each other.
“What do you want, Stiles?” she asks, she crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the front counter, Crawford stays by the door looking like he would rather flee for his life than stay where he is but also knows that the Avengers would kill him if he left Stiles here alone.
“I need a spell.”
She snorts a laugh and when he looks over at her she looks more closely like the seventeen year-old runaway that Boyd had fallen in love with.
She’s not seventeen, she’s four times past that, but a steady diet of witchcraft and werewolf blood mixed with the venom of a willing vampire has kept her young and at the age she was when she started using.
“You, need a spell, from me?” she laughs. “Write your own fucking spell.”
“I can’t do that,” Stiles says.
“Can’t or won’t? Because I was in Beacon Hills when you warded the Hale pack lands, it must have taken a lot of energy, were you sipping on werewolf blood when you managed that? You fucking hypocrite.”
Stiles frowns at her, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He’s done a little stuff, low level ash circles, protection wards on the pack house and his dad’s house and car.
She stalks closer, the illusion that she’s using fades a bit and he can see her hair flutter down around her face as it vanishes, Crawford makes a noise that sounds like a whimper.
“There were three witches in Beacon Hills when the Alpha Pack was making a nuisance of themselves, I know I didn’t cast it, I wouldn’t bother it’s a werewolf and Hunter infested rat hole, but you and your dad…” her lips curls and his eyes narrow. “Stilinski is an old Russian name, do you know that? And I did a lot of research when I made it out of that town alive.”
“Bully for you, and why did you make it out of town alive? Remind me again? Oh right, because I helped you against my own better judgment. I went against my pack so I wouldn’t have the blood of a human being on my hands,” Stiles mutters. “Is this your way of saying that if I want a spell I should look elsewhere, because I could consider our agreement null and void and send Boyd and Derek a helpful message telling them where you are.”
“This is my way of saying I don’t understand why you don’t write the fucking spell yourself considering you have five times the magical ability that I do and you don’t need to be pumped up on some god-awful cocktail of werewolf and vampire blood in order to accomplish half of what I do.”
Stiles stares at her and she stares back at him and Crawford is edging toward the door like he can make it out before the fists or spells start flying.
“Fine,” she grumbles, “what I am looking for, people, place, thing?”
“Thank you,” Stiles says, “And a thing, a magic ball to be exact.”
She rolls her eyes and he can hear the sarcasm in her voice when she says, “I sell four different sizes ranging in price from $9.99 to $50, for you I’ll even give a discount.”
“This is an actual-fax magic ball,” Stiles says, patient as always.
“Real? Like actually shows the future and shit? Because that doesn’t happen, normally it’s the caster not the implement that they’re utilizing.”
“Yeah, well, I know what I’m looking for. Magic ball that tells the future.”
She gnaws on her bottom lip, looking like the uncertain teen-ager that she most certainly is not.
“There are old stories,” she says finally. “About a ball that could tell the future regardless of who gazed upon it.”
“And where is that ball now?” Crawford asks, interest peaked enough to not look four seconds from wetting himself.
“They’re old stories for a reason, the last known story about it was about 100 years ago, back then it was in a private collection owned by Duresh Suryet. He’s dead now and his collection was mostly sold off, they called it the Verizon Sphere. The stories say that that even when no one was gazing upon it you could see storm clouds in it.”
“Stormy, gloomy sphere of doom, sounds like the one,” Stiles nods, at least they have a name to search by and a last known owner. It was more then they’d had when they walked in.
“Our deal stands, right Stiles?” she asks, she stills looks young, it’s disconcerting and he wishes that he was the type of person that could just call the pack and say here she is. She tried to kill Boyd, would have killed Boyd.
But she’s human, and Stiles can’t justify the killing of humans. He doesn’t have it in him.
“Our deal stands,” Stiles says. “You don’t hurt anyone, you don’t bleed any wolves, don’t get noticed by anything and I don’t tell anyone where you are.”
She smiles brilliantly at him and for a brief second he can see what captured Boyd’s interest.
******************************************************************************
“So at least we have a name and a location,” Crawford says, he’s got his phone out and is probably looking for the number for a cab company, he obviously hasn’t noticed the car parked on the other side of the street.
“We have a name and a location for a hundred years ago, unless you have some heretofore unknown to me time machine that’s not going to do us any good.”
“It’s more than we had when went in.”
“True, true,” Stiles says, he crosses the street. “You can put your phone away, our ride is already here.”
Crawford looks at him, eyes puzzled, and then his face sort of goes pasty white, Stiles grabs his arm lest he pass out while all the blood flees from his upper extremities.
“Knock, knock,” he says tapping on the window with his other hand.
The door opens and Stiles kind of pushes Crawford in, climbing in behind him and closing the door. Tony is sitting there sipping on what Stiles hopes is a coffee and not some steaming alcoholic beverage.
“So nice conversation with the girl that you’re hiding from your pack?” he asks brightly. Stiles scowls and Crawford blinks, managing to somehow not look directly at Tony even though he’s sitting right across from him.
“Stop bugging me, it’s creepy and invasive and I’ll tell Agent Coulson.”
“I bug because I love.”
******************************************************************************
TITLE: Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD
RATING: PG-13 (for now)
PAIRING: Gen – but Stiles/Clint (eventually)
AUTHOR: Melanie
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Marvel, MTV, etc own everything but the idea to mesh them..
FEEDBACK: Please?
Stiles Stilinski, Agent of Shield 15/?
Their third date is dinner in the cafeteria and a movie on his laptop as they lay across his bed. They could have done something better, Stiles knows that.
But he’s also smart enough to know that leaving the Helicarrier with Clint means being tailed by at least one Avenger that he can see and electronically by Tony if not Director Fury.
He has to wonder if they think he’ll lose whatever knowledge of the supernatural he has if he has sex.
He won’t, he’s had sex before and still managed to remember how to lace an arrow with wolfsbane or trap an evil spirit.
They finish the movie and are just lying there in silence, Stiles kind of propping himself up on Clint’s chest, Clint sort of nuzzling at his neck in a way that Stiles would say was wolfish if it was anybody but Clint.
It’s quiet, peaceful, so that is of course when the banging starts on his door.
“Maybe if we ignore it they’ll go away,” Stiles says.
“It’s Stark, he’ll jimmy the door,” Clint mutters, he rests his hand on the back of Stiles’ head and tugs him down, kissing him slowly.
Stiles is just getting comfortable, he’s forgotten all about the knocking with the way that Clint is hard underneath him and there’s a little hitch to his hips. Stiles hasn’t gotten off by dry humping since he was in high school and in a steady relationship with the porn on his computer and his right hand.
He could certainly do so now, he grinds down and Clint grinds up, the hand not cupping the back of his head going to press against his ass.
“I will toss cold water on you two, don’t think I won’t,” he hears and Stiles groans, one last hard kiss pressed against Clint’s lips.
“Why?!?” he whines and Tony crosses his arms and glares at him.
“I’m just looking out for your best interests,” he sniffs and manages to look affronted at the same time.
“It’s sex,” Stiles says, “We’re all consenting adults here, would you be this cock blocking if it was a prostitute or something?”
“Fourth date,” Tony says stubbornly, and pointedly doesn’t answer Stiles’ question. Which is actually more of an answer then if he’d actually answered it.
“This is for your own good, think of how well you’ll know each other,” Tony says, Stiles looks down when Clint groans.
“You’re a fucking bastard, you know that, Stark?”
“Completely legitimate,” Tony says brightly. “Mom and dad were totally married.”
“Tell me again why we had to sneak out at 0-dark-30?” Crawford asks, he’s shivering in his thin jacket, Stiles wonders why he’s not wearing his winter jacket.
“Because I didn’t want anyone to see us,” Stiles says sensibly. That means that he didn’t want anyone in anyway affiliated with the Avengers to see him going off the Helicarrier without an Avengers escort.
It’s bad enough that he’s doing this in the first place, to get the Avengers involved in what is peripherally pack business would be bad.
“You mean you didn’t want anyone that knows that you’re not supposed to come down in the city without an escort to see you leaving.”
“I have you.”
“I’m pretty sure that considering I weigh as much or possibly less than you that I would not be considered a suitable escort.”
“Well that’s just stupid because you’ve been with SHIELD longer and have most likely had more self-defense courses then I have.”
“And there’s a reason that I have a desk job, because I can’t throw a punch to save my life, or to save yours,” Crawford makes a face and Stiles throws an arm over his shoulder.
“We won’t even be gone long enough for anyone to know that we’re missing.”
Crawford just shoots him a look that says that he’s highly disappointed that he’s evidently been doing the good drugs and not sharing.
The usual place is a small, blink and you’ll miss it shop in a neighborhood that kind of scares Stiles on a bunch of different levels.
The werewolves in the city won’t touch him, but that leaves all sorts of other things both human and not to worry about.
“This place, really?” Crawford is close behind him, like he’s afraid if he’s not physically attached to Stiles he’s going to get left behind.
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Stiles says as he pushes the door open, a bell rings above it and he shivers when he feels the wards brush over his skin.
“It’s a dump,” Crawford says, he doesn’t make any outward appearance at having sensed anything about the doorway.
“Didn’t your mother ever warn you about judging a book by its cover,” a feminine voice coos softly from the dark. It’s an old trick so Stiles only rolls his eyes as Crawford jumps high enough for both of them.
“Back off,” he says voice low and calm. “Or I pull my phone out and hit speed dial 2.”
“Aw,” she comes further into the bad lighting in the shop, her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, the only thing that’s recognizable about her is her eyes and her voice. Glamour, he thinks. “Stiles Stilinski, you are an annoyance that I wish I could sweep away.”
“But you owe me your life, so you won’t,” Stiles smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because you want to keep breathing and if Derek and Boyd find out where you are you’ll be werewolf food.”
She snarls wordlessly at him, but he’s not lying so she can’t disagree.
“What do you want? Make it fast and make it interesting.”
Stiles tilts his head at her and she scowls at him as they wait, it’s the usual standoff. They’ve met like this at least once a year since Stiles came to the city.
“Fine,” she breathes, “blessed be brother,” she says sarcastically, “safe entrance granted to thee and thou guest.”
The wards shiver a bit and Stiles relaxes, he glances over at Crawford and his mouth is opening and closing.
“He looks like a fish,” she says and rolls her eyes. “Haven’t you ever seen a practicing witch before, child?”
“Child?” Crawford sputters. “I’m older than you are.”
“Oh, she’s older than she looks,” Stiles says, he wanders the shop, hand hovering over various items. Never touching anything because Janice is a vindictive enough witch that he wouldn’t put it past her to have spelled anything and everything that might have caught his interest once he called her.
He saved her life; he continues to save her life on a daily basis by not telling his pack where she is. That doesn’t mean that they like or trust each other.
“What do you want, Stiles?” she asks, she crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the front counter, Crawford stays by the door looking like he would rather flee for his life than stay where he is but also knows that the Avengers would kill him if he left Stiles here alone.
“I need a spell.”
She snorts a laugh and when he looks over at her she looks more closely like the seventeen year-old runaway that Boyd had fallen in love with.
She’s not seventeen, she’s four times past that, but a steady diet of witchcraft and werewolf blood mixed with the venom of a willing vampire has kept her young and at the age she was when she started using.
“You, need a spell, from me?” she laughs. “Write your own fucking spell.”
“I can’t do that,” Stiles says.
“Can’t or won’t? Because I was in Beacon Hills when you warded the Hale pack lands, it must have taken a lot of energy, were you sipping on werewolf blood when you managed that? You fucking hypocrite.”
Stiles frowns at her, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He’s done a little stuff, low level ash circles, protection wards on the pack house and his dad’s house and car.
She stalks closer, the illusion that she’s using fades a bit and he can see her hair flutter down around her face as it vanishes, Crawford makes a noise that sounds like a whimper.
“There were three witches in Beacon Hills when the Alpha Pack was making a nuisance of themselves, I know I didn’t cast it, I wouldn’t bother it’s a werewolf and Hunter infested rat hole, but you and your dad…” her lips curls and his eyes narrow. “Stilinski is an old Russian name, do you know that? And I did a lot of research when I made it out of that town alive.”
“Bully for you, and why did you make it out of town alive? Remind me again? Oh right, because I helped you against my own better judgment. I went against my pack so I wouldn’t have the blood of a human being on my hands,” Stiles mutters. “Is this your way of saying that if I want a spell I should look elsewhere, because I could consider our agreement null and void and send Boyd and Derek a helpful message telling them where you are.”
“This is my way of saying I don’t understand why you don’t write the fucking spell yourself considering you have five times the magical ability that I do and you don’t need to be pumped up on some god-awful cocktail of werewolf and vampire blood in order to accomplish half of what I do.”
Stiles stares at her and she stares back at him and Crawford is edging toward the door like he can make it out before the fists or spells start flying.
“Fine,” she grumbles, “what I am looking for, people, place, thing?”
“Thank you,” Stiles says, “And a thing, a magic ball to be exact.”
She rolls her eyes and he can hear the sarcasm in her voice when she says, “I sell four different sizes ranging in price from $9.99 to $50, for you I’ll even give a discount.”
“This is an actual-fax magic ball,” Stiles says, patient as always.
“Real? Like actually shows the future and shit? Because that doesn’t happen, normally it’s the caster not the implement that they’re utilizing.”
“Yeah, well, I know what I’m looking for. Magic ball that tells the future.”
She gnaws on her bottom lip, looking like the uncertain teen-ager that she most certainly is not.
“There are old stories,” she says finally. “About a ball that could tell the future regardless of who gazed upon it.”
“And where is that ball now?” Crawford asks, interest peaked enough to not look four seconds from wetting himself.
“They’re old stories for a reason, the last known story about it was about 100 years ago, back then it was in a private collection owned by Duresh Suryet. He’s dead now and his collection was mostly sold off, they called it the Verizon Sphere. The stories say that that even when no one was gazing upon it you could see storm clouds in it.”
“Stormy, gloomy sphere of doom, sounds like the one,” Stiles nods, at least they have a name to search by and a last known owner. It was more then they’d had when they walked in.
“Our deal stands, right Stiles?” she asks, she stills looks young, it’s disconcerting and he wishes that he was the type of person that could just call the pack and say here she is. She tried to kill Boyd, would have killed Boyd.
But she’s human, and Stiles can’t justify the killing of humans. He doesn’t have it in him.
“Our deal stands,” Stiles says. “You don’t hurt anyone, you don’t bleed any wolves, don’t get noticed by anything and I don’t tell anyone where you are.”
She smiles brilliantly at him and for a brief second he can see what captured Boyd’s interest.
“So at least we have a name and a location,” Crawford says, he’s got his phone out and is probably looking for the number for a cab company, he obviously hasn’t noticed the car parked on the other side of the street.
“We have a name and a location for a hundred years ago, unless you have some heretofore unknown to me time machine that’s not going to do us any good.”
“It’s more than we had when went in.”
“True, true,” Stiles says, he crosses the street. “You can put your phone away, our ride is already here.”
Crawford looks at him, eyes puzzled, and then his face sort of goes pasty white, Stiles grabs his arm lest he pass out while all the blood flees from his upper extremities.
“Knock, knock,” he says tapping on the window with his other hand.
The door opens and Stiles kind of pushes Crawford in, climbing in behind him and closing the door. Tony is sitting there sipping on what Stiles hopes is a coffee and not some steaming alcoholic beverage.
“So nice conversation with the girl that you’re hiding from your pack?” he asks brightly. Stiles scowls and Crawford blinks, managing to somehow not look directly at Tony even though he’s sitting right across from him.
“Stop bugging me, it’s creepy and invasive and I’ll tell Agent Coulson.”
“I bug because I love.”