Gasp: new fic, who this? Veiled!fae!Stiles and werewolf!Derek; oh and a vampyr who wants Stiles
Did I mention the veil?
The stench of copper overwhelmed Stiles.
Warm, sticky blood was caked through Stiles’ veil, the material matting in a constricting way. The rapidly cooling liquid stained Stiles’ robes and hands, and he couldn’t hide what happened.
He felt like he couldn’t breathe as he started to claw at his veil. The rose gold circlet still held the veil in place despite Stiles’ attempt to free himself. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t get the blood off.
Hands grabbed at Stiles’ wrists, forcing an end to his attempts at unveiling his face.
“I can’t– I can’t breathe,” Stiles weakly admitted when he realized it was his father.
His heart was hammering, the constant thumping in his throat as his lungs struggled to draw in a breath. He was having a panic attack.
“We have to go,” John stated instead, using his strength to lift Stiles up from where he had been sprawled across the ground.
Stiles tried to push the veil from his skin. “Da–”
John’s voice was harsh, his usual instructive tone edged into a command. It was the remnant of the man he had been–the General of one of the most lethal armies in the known world.
And he lost that prestige because of Stiles.
They moved, constant nomads with no permanent residence.
Because no one could catch a glimpse of his features and be reasoned with in the aftermath.
Beauty gifted by fae bloodline was nothing but an inherited curse.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles pushed his sob down, keeping his words as even as possible as he allowed his father to rush them through the corridors.
“I should have… we stayed too long,” John tersely answered, hundreds of thoughts racing through his mind.
He didn’t tell Stiles it was okay–that it wasn’t his fault.
And Stiles didn’t blame his father for not forgiving his fault.
A regent was dead. Murdered.
Stiles murdered the man when it became abundantly clear the regent wasn’t going to take Stiles’ rejection.
Stiles blinked his tears away. It wasn’t the first time someone grabbed him inappropriately–without his consent. He hated how touch-starved he felt until those grimy hands were pawing at him without his permission.
There was never any reasoning with powerful people when they took what they wanted. And the regent had been no different.
The man’s grotesque desire was laid bare in his admittance: he had watched Stiles bathe.
[Continue reading on AO3]
