I have spent so so many hours painting all 14 (plus the Extinction) entities. I have never tried to do art this detailed. Hell I've never painted something from my brain like this before. It's not super great but I gave it my all!
Here’s 5.6k of empath!stiles, adopted!saac, abusive!sheriff, and sweet loving angst!
Warnings for Gerard Argent and Parent Abuse.
Ao3: Link
It was easier on Stiles when he was a kid surrounded by other kids. Children are loud, wild little creatures, but they are also generally happy, excited, or at the very least usually content. Stiles tried to avoid physical contact with everyone except his calm but happy friend Scott for those reasons. It was hard enough to contain his own racing thoughts and emotions, but when bounced around the other children, all bursting at the seams with energy and undiluted emotions, it became almost impossible to control his thoughts, words, or actions.
Some would think ADHD came with being an empath, but no. It was all just brain chemistry and Stiles’ horrible luck that gifted him with the ability to feel others emotions, but not the ability to sort and keep track of his own thoughts and emotions. Scott was a calm balm to that chaos in his mind, a happy anchor to ground himself when the excitement in the classroom grew so much Stiles could taste it despite not touching anyone.
But things change, kids grow up, and learn new emotions. Some unfortunately learn dark emotions before everyone else. Isaac discovered fear at an age that everyone else around him only experienced spooked or startled. Nine year olds weren’t supposed to know that type of terror. Stiles had audibly gasped the day he’d smacked into Isaac on the playground, the visceral horror lingering in Isaac was a tidal wave. The only thing that kept Stiles from releasing the scream that had bubbled up in his throat was Scott’s joy, humor, excitement that had enveloped him as the other boy crashed into the two of them. He’d yelled that Stiles was now It, but Stiles only had eyes for the blonde boy now looking at them with a guarded expression and paranoia, wearines, suspicion, hope warring in his emotions.
Scott and Stiles became Scott, Stiles, and Isaac after that. Isaac became a Stilinski a year later. Stiles soon had four buffers against the emotions of the world, Isaac giving him a soft type of content that he usually only felt on rainy days surrounded by his parents. The problem with relying on buffers was that one day they’d all eventually change so much that they no longer offered the haven they once had and Stiles would be left bereft in a chaotic world of other peoples’ emotions.
The first to change was his mom. He started to feel emotions from her that didn’t make sense, but the most common one was confusion. His mom would suddenly stop in the middle of doing something and a burst of it would engulf the room so strongly he’d scrunch his face up in a mirror image of hers. Stiles was scared to tell his dad something was wrong, until Isaac had ran up from behind him and hugged him tightly trepidation, worry, fear fill Stiles’ senses instead of the warm love that usually enveloped him when Isaac hugged him. He turned to ask the boy what was wrong, but a wave of confusion hit him as he locked eyes with his mother. She smiled and rubbed a hand down his arm, pleasant surprise this time filling him as she asked who the boy behind him was. She told Stiles he needed permission before bringing a new friend over, despite the fact that Isaac had been living with them for six months at that point. After that things had progressed too quickly. His mother was a less powerful empath than him, but at the height of her illness Stiles couldn’t be in the hospital wing she stayed in due to the emotions she couldn’t control, only project at full volume. Nurses quit or requested a different patient every few weeks, not understanding why they were so upset all the time, but knowing it had something to do with the screaming woman in 203.
It was on one of those days that his mother’s unending terror had been too much, that Stiles had stumbled into a room and immediately screamed a feral, angry thing as pain, hatred, loss, wrath slammed into him without warning. Isaac and Scott hadn’t been far behind him as he ran away from his mother’s screams and pain, but at the sound of his anguished scream they’d burst through the door and did the only thing they knew would calm their friend. They hugged him with every ounce of strength they shared in their small bodies, unaware that the love, fondness, sympathy surrounding him was what actually calmed him down. It also helped that the wall of emotion had receded at the sound of his scream, and even muted itself. Curiosity, hope, and wariness flowed between the dark emotions as Stiles took in the bleak room around him. A man was laying on the hospital bed in the corner of the room, his body eerily still for the emotions Stiles could still feel coming off him. He wanted to ask if the man was okay, but that was a stupid question. Better questions flooded his mind, but his friends were feeling more and more worry by the minute in that dark, barren room. He blanketed the room in calm and peace, the boys on either side of him relaxed instantly, and the emotions filling the room eased instead of the muted feeling they had been after his scream. He asked Scott and Isaac to get him an apple juice, the boys reluctant to leave Stiles in a room alone with a comatose stranger, but ultimately giving in to his puppy eyes.
Stiles approached the man in the bed, noting the burn scars traveling up his neck and face.
“Something horrible happened to you. I’m sorry for the pain you have felt. The screams that fill this wing are my mom’s. She doesn’t remember me anymore and it hurts, it hurts like you hurt. I’m not ready to lose my momma, but neither is daddy. I’ve got to look out for Scott and Isaac so I can’t let them see me cry. I’m gonna cry now. I’m sorry.” Stiles apologized.
He truly was deeply sorry in his very being that anyone had to go through something that made them feel the way this man did. He was sorry that the man didn’t ask for three grieving boys to stumble into his room and couldn’t even tell them to leave. He was sorry that the man had to hear his mother’s screams. He was sorry that the man had to feel his mother’s fear when she had an episode and couldn’t stop herself from projecting. But mostly he was sorry all he could do for the man was fill the room with peace and cry at his bedside. He let himself cry for just a moment before grabbing the man’s hand and covering him head to toe in calm, content, peace. He hoped it lingered on the man for as long as possible. Scott and Isaac returned with his apple juice and more hugs as they left the room with the comatose man.
In the wake of his mother’s death Stiles also lost his father. Not in the literal sense, but something was broken inside the man. He didn’t see the boys anymore. Didn’t greet them with smiles and hugs like he once had. Didn’t smile or hug at all. Isaac backed away, fear rising in him each day the newly appointed sheriff got closer and closer to the man he’d once saved Isaac from. His grip harshed on the back of Stiles’ neck, no longer the warm comfort it’d once been. Now a means to bodily move his son or reprimand him. It was in those moments that Stiles was struck still and silent by the overwhelming grief, pain, loss, hopelessness, devastation that was consuming his father. His father’s pain was not an excuse to treat his sons like the were ghosts in his home, one of whom looked too much like the woman he loved to stomach even looking at. He hurt Stiles sometimes on accident, but he didn’t even acknowledge Isaac’s presence in their home. The boys formed a bond in those months that would never break.
Stiles spent his days sneaking out of the house while Isaac and Scott played video games and Melissa slept. He would sneak down to the police station and project love, hope, forgiveness, peace in alternating patterns and at varying degrees. In the end he wasn’t sure if his projecting helped his father or if the breaking point had finally changed things. The breaking point had been Isaac flinching away from Stiles’ father when the man had tried to ruffle his curls like the past few months he hadn’t been leaving bruises on his other son’s neck. Isaac had flinched, a whimper escaping him and fear bursting out of him so strong Stiles had pushed his father away from his brother and snarled at him. Melissa had come running down the stairs, sleep mussed hair and bleary eyed, Scott peeking out from behind her legs. She’d shouted his father’s name just as the man had wrenched Stiles away from Isaac by the neck. She gathered the three boys behind her and released a torrent of angry, scornful words that had hit his father like a train. Stiles had focused on his father’s emotions, reading them as they came to him in a flurry: anger, indignation, shock, pain, grief, fear, self-loathing, regret, remorse, devastation, guilt.
“I know you’re in pain. I know you miss momma. I miss her too, but I don’t like you right now dad. And you scare Isaac, and that makes me mad. You’re not allowed to scare him anymore, okay?” Stiles stared at his father, the secret of how adeptly Stiles actually did know his father’s pain bare and raw between them.
“And you can’t be mean to Stiles anymore!” Isaac demanded, though it came out much weaker than he had probably intended.
“Yeah! No more hurting him!” Scott yelled, his twelve year old fists clenched by his sides.
Stiles’ father dropped to his knees and sobbed. The sound earth shattering in Stiles’ ears when accompanied by the tidal wave of sorrow, grief, guilt, regret.
“I’m going to keep the boys at my house until you get sober and get counseling.” Melissa said, her resolve strong in the face of his tears.
While they stayed with the McCalls Stiles still sneaked out to project positive feelings to his father.
The boys moved back in with their father after his three month stint in rehab with a grief counselor. Isaac was more wary than Stiles to return, but Stiles could feel the cleanse his father’s emotional state went through. They had bunk beds, but Isaac slept with Stiles most nights when they first returned. Stiles would wake up every time the other boy had a nightmare and he would project safe emotions to his brother until he settled. He would check in on his father’s emotions through the night too. Melissa called every night before bed for the first month to make sure the boys were truly settled back home and safe. Stiles was happy to be home and happy to see his father healing and healthy again, he would never be the safe haven he’d once been. Stiles still thought that one day, maybe even one day soon, they’d be a family again.
Three years later, Stiles had his family whole again, but lost his last two buffers, Scott and Isaac. Together. All at once Stiles was alone in the ocean of emotions around him. The problem with both of your adopted brothers being werewolves when you’re an empath is that they get more tactile when you can no longer handle the emotions whirling through their minds at any given time. Supernatural creatures were louder than humans. Stiles had grown stronger over the years, but there was nothing he could do to stop the events of their sophomore year. Well perhaps he could’ve stopped the events if he hadn’t been the one to drag his sweet loyal brothers out of their beds in the middle of the night to go find the source of the overwhelming emotions coming from the preserve. They’d been heading towards the area Stiles had felt the spike of sorrow so sharp it’d brought tears to his eyes when he’d picked up on more emotions.
Pain, hatred, loss, wrath, grief was approaching fast. Too fast to even warn his brothers to run before a massive angry alpha werewolf had tackled Scott, biting his side immediately. Stiles vomited as Scott’s pain and fear throbbed through him at the same time Isaac’s horror slammed into him from behind, all mixed with the creatures emotions. It was too much. He couldn’t shut out Isaac and Scott’s emotions like he could strangers’ emotions, they were as apart of him as his own. He couldn’t fight against the strength of the alpha’s emotions either.
Stiles tried to breathe, tried to shake off everyone else’s emotions so he could focus. But the alpha reared back and snatched Isaac off the ground, its teeth sinking into his ribs. Isaac screamed. Scott cried out, too weak to scream. The alpha howled. And Stiles gathered every ounce of terror filling his brothers and himself and ROARED.
The alpha dropped Isaac, his body bounced once on the ground before laying too still for Stiles’ heart, and passed out. Stiles took a moment to breathe and gather his strength again. He blanketed his brothers in safe, love, calm, peace before calling his father.
“Stiles? Why are you calling me? We’re both home?” His father listened to his panicked, exhausted breaths for a moment before finishing, “Unless we’re not. Okay. Where are you? Why aren’t Isaac and Scott there to calm you? I’m putting on pants and coming to you kiddo, but I need you to find a way to tell me what happened and where I’m going.”
“Alpha. Bit. Boys. Preserve. Hale House close?” Stiles was hyperventilating, the adrenaline morphing into panic as he realized the ramifications of the night.
Stiles heard his father stop shuffling and gasp and was glad he couldn’t feel his father’s emotions from this far unless he tuned into them on purpose.
“Okay. Okay kiddo. We’ll deal with it. I’m coming. I need you to put pressure on the wounds and tell me if you see any black goo seeping out of them. You don’t have to speak other than that so try to focus on your breathing and on stopping the bleeding.” His father was much better in a crisis than he ever would be.
Stiles forced his wooden legs to carry him to his brothers. Isaac had rolled relatively close to Scott, which made checking them both over much easier. He dropped to his knees between their limp bodies and, putting his father on speaker first, shined his phone’s flashlight onto Isaac’s unconscious body.
“Oh god dad. His body bounced. It fucking bounced off the ground like a ball. What if he’s bleeding internally? How do I fix that? How do I save him?” He shined the light onto Scott and almost vomited again.
He whimpered his oldest and closest friend’s name as he took in the sight of his torn side.
“It bit them so violently dad. There’s more wound area than I have hand area. I can’t do anything. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t protect them. I can’t save them. Daddy please hurry. I can’t do this alone and I can’t lose them. I can’t.” Stiles muted his end of the phone and let out a sob so violent his entire body shook.
He had long ago stopped letting anyone see him cry for fear that he’d project it and make someone else sad. He couldn’t stop the torrent of tears spilling out of him. He threw his head back and screamed through his grief and sorrow. He’d always felt better after being able to release the emotions inside him that way, even if it was a rather violent coping mechanism.
He could hear his father saying his name and asking him to turn off the mute, and mechanically did so, the last of his scream still echoing around them. Then he heard a sound, a whimper he hadn’t expected to hear. His head whipped to the limp bodies of his brothers but neither stirred, and it was then that Stiles remembered he had turned his back on an unconscious alpha werewolf. The same alpha that had just violently attacked his family unprovoked. He stood as he spun around to face the creature, but there was nothing in the spot it had collapsed in. The alpha got away.
-
High school was hell after that night. His brothers didn’t understand why he flinched when nothing was happening, why he would dodge their touch when he used to run headlong into it, why he no longer wanted to share a room with Isaac. Stiles could’ve told them about being an empath, but things were so complicated and he didn’t want them looking guilty every time they had a strong emotion. It wasn’t their fault supernatural creatures were loud, and it wasn’t their fault Kate Argent lured Laura Hale into the preserve that night and killed her. Peter Hale had been comatose until the moment the alpha spark slammed into him full force. He followed the scent of blood to the sight of his nieces’ murder and attacked the first foreign thing he came across. It was Peter’s grief Stiles had felt so sharply he’d bolted out of bed and raced to Scott’s house, Isaac in tow, so that they could go hiking through the woods to find the source.
Scott and Isaac were the least to blame for their new found werewolf status, and the only thing Stiles felt as they had to deal with Peter Hale’s rampage and Derek Hale trying to force them under his rule was guilt.
Peter had asked him if he wanted the bite that night in the garage, but Stiles had been too busy being relaxed by his muted emotions to be properly scared of his threats. Stiles could feel the fondness, intrigue, humor rolling off the man when they interacted, but every time he saw anger flash in those sapphire eyes he didn’t feel it as strongly as he suspected. Something about Peter seemed familiar and despite everything Stiles found himself fond of the man as well. Then he tried to attack Scott, Isaac, and Allison and Stiles had to stop him. No matter how much Stiles found the man curious and charismatic he had to pay for what he did to Scott and Isaac, and Stiles would not let him lay a single claw on an innocent again. He would overwhelm the man with whatever emotion it would take to stop him. As Jackson threw the molotov cocktail Stiles felt a blast of terror so strong he stumbled, but knew it had come from the man that had already burned once. Stiles granted him the only mercy he could in that moment. Numb. Sleep. Peace. Each emotion as strong as he could project them, and Peter’s eyes snapped to his just before the cocktail exploded and Peter’s eyes closed as he passed out. Peter would not live through this sleep, but he would not have to be aware of burning alive again.
After Peter’s death, Derek became alpha and bit Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd. Gerard Argent became principal and made sure he threatened the fledgeling pack at every opportunity. Jackson somehow became a kanima just from Derek’s nail stuck in his neck, which: ew. The whole time Scott and Isaac were caught up in running and fighting, Stiles was distancing himself so that he could learn to mute their emotions. He could mute human emotions unless they were touching him, but supernatural emotions were more projected and harder to mute.
Stiles found himself going on runs through the preserve more than was probably safe, but it was the only place in Beacon Hills that there was rarely people. And he’d sense a supernatural creature before it got close enough to attack, he’d grown in power since the night Peter had bitten his brothers. He had never thought he’d have to use his empathy as a weapon, but here he was with a blunt sword he had to sharpen as fast and as safely as possible. Out in the preserve he could practise putting animals to sleep or easing their fear of him enough to pet them without worrying about anyone seeing.
He’d went for a run after Scott and Isaac’s lacrosse game, which was probably a bad idea since Jackson may or may not have died that night. There’d been so much fear and worry in the stands that Stiles had to escape to the peace of the preserve. Which is how he found himself surrounded by fifteen grown men armed to the teeth.
“Woah! What do you need all those for? Mr.Jones killed the mountain lion a while back now, so there’s nothing out here nearly dangerous enough for you to need all that for!”
They only stepped closer, silent in their menacing, and Stiles could feel the violence in their emotions.
“Right? Cause if you guys think there is something dangerous out here I need to get the hell out of here!” Stiles was trying to keep his panic at bay.
They were here for him, but none of them had the right combination of emotions to make him feel like they were going to kill him here. They were going to take him. Probably to Gerard.
Why would Gerard want him? He was just a human as far as anyone knew. It didn’t matter at that moment, what did matter was soothing the itch for violence in these men.
Stiles started projecting little tendrils of friendly at each man as they closed in on him. He was knocked unconscious, not by a pistol whip to the top of his head, but a punch to his temple. The last thing he thought was ‘At least my empathy softened the blow somewhat.’
Stiles didn’t stay unconscious long, the amount of hands on him as they carried him into a house and down the stairs into a basement torture chamber was enough to jolt him awake the moment they lifted him. They threw him down in a way that sent his body skidding across the harsh concrete ground and landing under two sets of bare feet. Stiles groaned as he felt not only his pain, but also the two above him’s pain and fear.
He lifted his gaze away from the men assembled in front of him and to the teenagers hanging from the ceiling above him. Erica cried out when she saw him, Boyd thrashed against his restraints in an attempt to free himself. Stiles had to mute their emotions as best he could, though it was incredibly hard when those emotions were about him. Their fear was for him. He had felt the resignation on them when he’d been thrown at them. They were ready to die, but wanted to fight for Stiles to live. Stiles hadn’t even truly considered them friends until that revelation. He’d be damned if they were going to die on his watch.
Gerard finally made his appearance, spouting racist bullshit and throwing surprisingly strong punches. Stiles could take it, would take it. He had to if he was going to get the ‘wolves behind him out of here. There was too many people and he didn’t even know where they were, but Stiles would figure it out. As Gerard picked him up by the collar of his track jersey and punched him back down onto the ground Stiles sent tendrils of wariness into the men behind Gerard. As the geriatric bastard stomped on Stiles’ ribs, Stiles sent a wave of guilt into the men. He noticed one slip out the back while Gerard was distracted by Stiles hacking up blood.
Moments later Chris Argent came striding in and Stiles felt guilt, regret, worry as he looked at the brutalized teenagers. Good. Stiles couldn’t hear what son said to father, but Gerard spit on Stiles and followed his son upstairs. Stiles had leaned so heavily into Erica and Boyd’s emotions so as to avoid feeling even an ounce of Gerard’s that he gasped when he could pull his senses off of them. Stiles sent tired at the men watching them wearily and all but one left. Stiles simply projected sleep at the three other people in the basement and waited for them to sag. Once he knew everyone in his vicinity was sleeping he cast his awareness through the house, relieved to feel nothing. They’d trusted one man to watch a beat up human and two restrained werewolves, but they didn’t know who Stiles was.
Getting Erica and Boyd down and into the car was the most physically painful hour of his life. When they woke Stiles told them the hunter left to guard them told him to take the other two and get out before he changed his mind. It was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that. What they needed at that moment was somewhere safe and somewhere comforting. Stiles could do that for them. He blanketed the car in safe, calm, peace, contentment, love and soon he could hear Erica singing along to the radio quietly from the back seat. Sometimes he really wished he could project onto himself.
After that Stiles had more people’s touch to dodge. Erica and Boyd claimed Stiles with the brand of fierce loyalty he’d claimed them. With every dodge Stiles sent love back to make sure they didn’t feel rejected, his four puppies always smiled back at him like it was a game. Perhaps it was a game, one that Stiles wouldn’t handle losing very well.
A plan was hatched to dispose of Gerard Argent, Stiles knew what Scott was like when he was planning something. After a little bit of snooping Stiles decided he needed to step in and help Scott with Not Doing That.
“But I think it’s clever.” Scott defended, his brows furrowed.
“It is clever. I’m honestly shocked you thought of something this devious, I’m usually the devious one.” Stiles laughed, his hand casually coming up to rest on Scott’s arm despite the overwhelming flow of his emotions.
Sometimes he really missed touching and being touched. Scott was his first buffer against the outside world, maybe Stiles could just take an aspirin after they touched and it’d be okay. Even if he did want to smile like an idiot and scrunch up his face in confusion, offended and cry from heartbreak and fight something.
Werewolves were a tsunami of emotions and Stiles only had a raft made of touch starvation and devotion.
Scott had to repeat his question twice before Stiles could focus on it, “So why cant I do it?”
“Well buddy the thing is you don’t know a lot about werewolf culture yet, right?”
Scott nodded.
“And you know I’ve been researching the hell out of it at lightning speed? Well something I learned was that an alpha’s bite is precious and a gift. You and Isaac are different because Peter was drowning in lost pack bonds and need new ones immediately. But think about Erica and Boyd.”
“Derek scouted them.”
“Okay meat head. I would’ve said looked for them, but sure.”
“Shut up, man. I’m telling you I understand.”
“Fuck yeah! Okay so now that we’re on the same page of ‘Operation: Force Derek to Bite Gerard to Kill Him’ being not good, let’s brainstorm what to do next.” Stiles fist bumped Scott and they fell back onto his bed together.
Isaac joined them soon after offering his own insights. Stiles called Erica and Boyd when the three of them came to another impasse about what to do.
Soon Stiles’ bedroom was full of teenage werewolves, and he was starting to freak out. He opened the window for fresh air, but Derek launched himself onto his roof at the exact moment it opened.
“Sweet Baby Yoda, you scared the hell out of me!” Stiles gasped, clutching his chest while Erica snickered.
Derek frowned at him, “Why are you having a pack meeting without me?”
“We aren’t voting you off the island, alpha mine!” Erica chirped.
“Yet.” Boyd followed gravely.
“Well that’s reassuring.” Derek deadpanned back as he approached his four betas. He scent marked each of them before reaching out and placing his hand on Stiles’ head.
Grief, self-loathing, guilt, worry, fear, pain
It slammed threw him so hard Stiles could only stumble backwards as tears welled up in his eyes. Derek’s emotions were always muted unless they were strong, but this was the first time they’d touched when Stiles was too sensitive by everyone else to dilute what he took in.
He hit the ground and dropped his head, Derek following suit to check on him.
“Stiles? What just-”
“Stiles darling, come now. Up you get.” He didn’t know where Peter came from or how he was able to lift him by his shoulders without sending a single emotion to Stiles, but Stiles didn’t care.
He let Peter guide him out of the room. He hadn’t felt anything from Peter except content, humor, interest, curiosity since the man had returned to the world of the living, but now he truly felt nothing from the man. He tried to slump back into Peter’s chest, but the man stopped him.
“Not yet, pet. I haven’t perfected the full body charms yet.”
Stiles hummed an inquisitive sound as Peter sat him on the couch.
Peter sat beside him, close but not touching more than the hand on his leg.
“It took me longer than I would’ve liked, but yes I did indeed say charm. I’m going to make full body mute charms and you’re going to gift them to the pack and your father, so that they will actually wear them. You don’t have to tell them what you are, love, but if you keep up like this you’re going to burn yourself out. I am not quite ready to say goodbye to the little boy that screamed when I could not.” Peter caressed Stiles’ cheek as he spoke, his thumb wiping away dried tears.
“You know? How? They make mute charms? Will you show me how to make them?” Stiles’ mind was starting to whirl with the possibilities, “If there are mute charms, could I make singular emotion charms? So does that mean you only have a hand mute charm on? Is it the ring? That’s new right? I don’t want to tell them what I am. They’ll feel guilty for every emotion they have if they know it impacts me. Can the charm be any material or does it have to be silver? That is silver right? I wouldn’t burn myself out. I totally got this. But the charms are so cool!” Stiles took a big breath as his rapid fire inquires petered out.
He smiled sheepishly at Peter’s calm, but amused expression.
“Sorry they got excited and I was already excited, so a feedback loop kicked up. Add in the ADHD and it’s rough. You said I screamed when you couldn’t? When?”
Peter brought his hand around and placed it on the back of Stiles’ neck, a warm comforting weight, before answering, “We’ll unpack all your charm questions later, okay? As for how I know and when you were able to express my emotions when I couldn’t, the answers are the same but slightly different.”
Stiles nodded, leaning back into Peter’s palm.
“You stumbled into my hospital room and screamed the minute the door was shut, I didn’t understand why this eleven year old was in my room or why his scream sounded like he felt every single thing I was feeling. I wasn’t very aware at that point, but the visceral emotion in that scream sounded like my own. And then you filled my room with such nice feelings I thought for a long time it was a dream.”
Stiles’ eyes are wet again as the memory of that day finally floods back in.
“And then I felt Laura die and the spark pass to me. I was blind in my fury and grief. I found her body and howled with every ounce of grief within my tattered soul. I was searching the area to figure out who did it when you three stumbled into my path. I felt your sorrow for your brothers as if it were my own and I ran.”
Stiles remembers the whimper and squeezes the hand on his thigh with his own.
“And then, my sweet sweet boy, I died. I was burned alive for the second time, but you saved me the trauma of experiencing it. I don’t know how I knew it was you who granted me the numbness that took over my body, but when I looked at you trying not to show anyone the emotion I saw in your eyes, I knew. I knew you were the little boy. I knew that once again you were here to save me from pain.”
Stiles wiped his watery eyes viciously, mad at himself for tearing up in front of Peter.
“I vowed that if I could make it back I’d repay you. And these charms are how I plan to do that, pet.” Peter moved Stiles hand away from his eyes before slowly moving in and kissing each sensitive eyelid.
“Where do we go from here, Peter?” Stiles whispered, his throat too full of emotion, for once it was his own.
This is for @rebakitt3n who was mourning the death of fall due to holiday enthusiasts like myself so I decided to take a moment and think about why I love autumn!
Ao3: Link
"I don't care!"
Peter sighed, his lover's tantrum bringing forth a burst of fondness more than annoyance.
"Peter, can you believe it? Everyone's acting like Halloween was some kind of spooky religion, and now that it's over they're all 'Christmas time is finally here!' and 'Don't skip Thanksgiving!' what happened to enjoying fall?!" Stiles huffed, his hands dramatically waving about.
"Truly a tragedy, darling." Peter humored him quietly, his eyes glancing about to make sure Stiles didn't rile up some holiday fanatic nearby.
"Fall is the best time of the year. It's cold enough to leave the air conditioning, but not so cold you have to seek out the heater. There's early nights and beautiful leaves." Stiles' speech went from angry to romantic as he thought about all the ways Autumn made him feel at peace.
"And it truly is the best time for fashion." Peter agreed.
"Yes! Scarves are back, but in a fashionable way instead of the functional way they're worn in winter. And apples! I love apples! And cinnamon brown sugar candles! And bonfires!" Stiles gripped Peter forearm with an earnest expression as they exited the park.
"I'm more of a pumpkin man myself." Peter opened Stiles' door for him, the younger man pausing his tirade long enough for Peter to walk around and get in the car.
"You prefer pumpkin because you're a culinary heathen. I just get so frustrated by how fast everyone moves through fall as if this whole season doesn't make them want to just slow down and cuddle by the fire." Stiles sighed out, slumping in his seat.
"We can't certainly do that any time you wish, pet." Peter gripped his husband's hand, giving it a squeeze to let him know he understood.
They drove back from their date in companionable silence, occasionally singing along to the songs on the radio. Stiles still smelled of frustration, but it was old and disappearing more and more by the minute.
"Thank you for today." The younger man smiled at Peter as he stepped out of the car and into Peter's arms.
"Anything for you, my love." Peter hummed, pulling Stiles in closer for a moment before turning to unlock the door.
Instead of returning to his study to finish up his work for the day, Peter took a detour to the spare bedroom and grabbed the old comforter he'd bought when they'd first moved in. He slid his hand into his husband's and pulled the man with him back into the living room. Stiles sat on the couch patiently with a pleased smile as Peter pulled the pillows off the couches and made a little nest in front of the fireplace.
"I could put a movie on the TV, but we'd have to crane our necks to see it properly. Do you mind watching it on a laptop with me?" Peter offered, pulling Stiles down into the floor beside him.
"I don't mind anything if it's with you." Stiles replied with a kiss.
-
Stiles had forgotten about his tangent on holidays stealing the best time of the year away from people by the morning Peter woke him up with soft kisses and a gentle command to wake up and pack a bag.
"Wwwaa??" Was all Stiles could say for a long time as Peter fluttered around the room, packing both of them a bag.
"Darling come now, you need to shower and get ready or we'll be late." Peter kissed his forehead before pulling him to his feet and guiding him into the bathroom.
"Late?" His question fell on deaf ears as Peter shut the door, trapping him in the bathroom to get ready.
After a wonderful shower Stiles opened the bathroom door to see clothes laid out on the bed for him already. He smiled as he pulled on the warm sweater and left his bedroom. Following the sounds of Peter cooking breakfast, Stiles was greeted by the sight of his beautiful husband making his favorite breakfast.
"I don't deserve you sometimes."
Peter looked at him with a soft smile before replying, "You deserve the world and everything in it, darling."
"And you deserve more." Stiles assured him, the exchange routine and still full of love.
"I packed your bag and after we eat we'll hit the road." Peter set his plate down in front of him and kissed his head once before seating himself.
"Where are we going?"
"The cabin. I've never gotten the chance to take you there around this time of the year, but I think you'll like it much more than you do in the summer." Peter smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
Stiles gasped thinking of the sights he was about to see, "Oh Peter! It's going to be gorgeous out there in the woods. Nothing but beautiful Autumn leaves!"
"And the evergreens contrast it quite nicely."
-
The cabin was amazing as always, but there was something magical about the way the wind rustles the trees. Leaves were falling all around them as they enjoyed their picnic in the crisp air. Stiles found himself relaxing even further onto Peter’s shoulder, the werewolf gladly accepting his weight.
“Can we stay here forever?”
“Darling, if we stay here forever all the good apples will be picked.”
Stiles jolted upright, his eyes widening and his heart racing.
“We’re going to an orchard?”
Peter nodded, a smile pulling at his lips.
Stiles lunged at him, throwing his entire body onto his husband, “I’ve never been apple picking!”
Peter fake groaned before letting out a faux-strained, “I know.”
Stiles wiggled until he was comfortably sitting in Peter’s lap.
“You’re so good to me.”
“Only the best for my sweet husband, don’t you agree?” Peter’s eyes were shining in the afternoon sun as he gently ran his fingers up and down Stiles’ back.
“Whole heartedly, my love.” Stiles grinned, fierce and full of devotion, into the face of the man he would never stop loving.
This is set to Lana del Rey’s Happiness is a Butterfly
Words: 2428 Ao3: Link
This was insane. Stiles felt his heart racing as he thought over the last few weeks. He’d returned to Beacon Hills and discovered that it was possible to live a relatively quiet life now that the Nemeton was appeased. That had been a shock on its own, but the larger shock that hit Stiles on his first day home was that the Nemeton was appeased because Peter Hale bound himself to it. Peter, who had always said he only stuck around for Derek and Cora, was now the only pack member to reside there full time. Stiles’ return meant that there was now two pack members in Beacon Hills year round.
He had rushed to the rebuilt Hale House and discovered Peter sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, a soft gray cardigan around his shoulders and a steaming cup in his hands. Stiles had stumbled at the sight. Peter had always been hot, sexy, fierce, and Stiles had been attracted to that. This Peter on the other hand? Soft, warm, cozy Peter sent a pulse of want down Stiles’ spine too, in a different way but no less strong.
He had taunted the human for stumbling before welcoming him home with a hug, cheek rubbing affectionately against Stiles’, and a soft ‘I always did like you best Stiles.’ Something in the man had fundamentally changed in the years Stiles had been away, yet Peter was still Peter and Stiles still felt so drawn to him that he couldn’t stop the invitation to dinner from slipping out of his mouth.
The odd thing was, Peter declined the offer. Peter continued to decline his offers, even though every time Stiles visited the werewolf his actions spoke of a yearning to see and touch Stiles. Muttered things like ‘It is always a pleasure, Stiles.’ and bold statements made with heated eye contact like, ‘I don’t know why you gift me with your presence but I’m grateful.” left Stiles feeling like a ship out to sea. He was being rocked this way and that by Peter’s behavior and knew Peter well enough by now that he knew what the man was doing.
Stiles checked the time one more time before sending Peter his location, entering the bar, and praying to a god he didn’t believe in. Maybe he’ll be able to save the werewolf from himself.
Do you want me or do you not?
I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another
Dropped a pin to my parking spot
The bar was hot, it's 2 am, it feels like summer
Stiles nursed his vodka cranberry and pointedly did not look at his phone. If he couldn’t get Peter out of the house then Stiles would content himself to a life indoors. He’d been in love with Peter since he was seventeen. Stilinski’s fall in love fast and they stay there. They had both endured lives so dark, and Stiles had found a light, soothing solace in Peter long before the man had even looked at him twice. Peter did not deny himself simple pleasures, but he did deny himself the pleasures necessary to be healthy. Stiles had noticed it quickly, seeing past all the pompousness and sarcasm.
Stiles followed the thought process of ‘If I’m miserable all the time, why would I deny myself any happiness I found?” and lived his life accordingly. When he discovered he was falling in love with an older man, who had enough baggage and psychological land mines to bury them both, he didn’t hesitate for a moment. Contentment was so rare in Beacon Hills already and Stiles feel peaceful next to Peter. That’s all that mattered to him in the end. In those moments of peace with Peter, Stiles was able to learn more about the man’s life than he ever thought Peter would give up willingly.
Peter was a Scorpio, his favorite ice cream flavor was mint moose tracks, and he used to spend his days watching the pack’s children. He was the only teenager in a pack full of adults and babies, and looking at him in the light of Derek’s desk lamp Stiles could see the young man he’d been. Peter had loved taking care of his nephews, nieces, and cousins. He spoke fondly of his aunt Ruby who’d teach him about magic and the world around them while the younger kids slept. Peter had smiled then, the memory still brought butterflies to Stiles’ stomach six years later.
He was starting to get drunk on his nostalgia of a man he thought would love him back one day, and the alcohol burning his throat.
Happiness is a butterfly
Try to catch it like every night
It escapes from my hands into moonlight
Every day is a lullaby
I hum it on the phone like every night
And sing it for my babies on the tour life
Ah ah
His phone chimed, and Stiles couldn’t resist checking it.
Not very smart to send a murderer your location, Bambi.
Peter made jokes about being a villain, but he was no longer the half-mad man he once was. He’d more than paid for his crimes by now.
What could you possibly do to me that hasn’t already been done? Come drink with me.
Stiles sent the message off before he could rethink it. If Peter was the villain of this story, then Stiles would gladly get caught in his traps. Stiles has had his heart, mind, and body broken and come out the other side stronger. There’s nothing left for Peter to break, not that the werewolf would even try.
Peter had been alone for at least two years now, wrestling with his guilt and shame on his own. The man that Stiles found waiting at the Hale House was not the same man he’d left there four years ago. His trips back had been so brief the first two years, always full of fighting and fear. He hadn’t even questioned why they called him back less and less the last two years of his degree. Now, he knows though, knows that Peter sacrificed any chance at having a life outside the horrors and traumas he endured here to bring peace to his home land. Now, he knows that he isn’t going anywhere either. Stiles will stay with Peter no matter what.
The door chime made Stiles glance up, already telling himself there was no way it was Peter, and directly into a pair of sad blue eyes that spoke of grief and fear.
Peter had actually come to the bar.
For a moment they stared at each other, both surprised the werewolf was there, before Stiles smiled at Peter and patted the seat beside him.
If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst
That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?
I'm already hurt
If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed
Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt
He's already hurt
The bar around them was once loud, now a quiet buzz as all of Stiles’ focus zoomed in on Peter and the wary look he had in that moment. Stiles doesn’t know what to do with the melancholy that clings to Peter, so he does the only thing he knows will work: distracting. Stiles is able to needle Peter until he relaxes and they converse as easily as they would’ve before Peter had been left in solitude with only his inner thoughts as company. Stiles talks of his dad, and Peter informs him that Derek is currently helping an associate of Deaton’s that recently took down a puppy mill.
They share a smile over a picture of Derek covered in fur and smiling with a freshly shaved poodle in his hands. They share a laugh over a picture of Cora hanging out the window of a jeep, her tongue out and her hair whipping wildly around head, in a jungle somewhere without consistent service. They share a kiss over a vodka cranberry.
Stiles hadn’t meant to do it, but Peter looked so handsome in the colored fluorescents he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned fully into the kiss, his arm going up onto the bar to support his weight.
He didn’t understand why Peter had jumped back so fast, breaking their kiss abruptly, until he looked down at his now sticky arm. Of course a complete klutz like Stiles would ruin his first kiss with Peter by spilling his drink. At least it didn’t get on either of their clothes.
When Stiles’ eyes found Peter’s again, the older man wasn’t making eye contact and seemed to be disappointed. Stiles hurriedly apologized for being an idiot and knocking over his drink, but Peter just admonished him for calling himself an idiot.
The werewolf decided it was time to go, no word of their kiss. Stiles was four vodka cranberries in and more than a little drunk, which meant a tantrum when they got outside.
Peter really started it by wrapping Stiles in his cardigan before ushering him into a taxi. He refused to let the other man shut the door and part ways. He demanded to know why he couldn’t ride home with Peter. When Peter pointed out that he drove his motorcycle, which Stiles hadn’t even known the man owned, Stiles protested that he wasn’t too drunk to ride on the back.
“What’s the real problem, Stiles? You’re not like this, even when you are drunk.” Peter’s worry was clear in his breathtaking eyes.
“I’m not that drunk.” He muttered petulantly, getting out of the taxi.
When Peter only stared at him, he sighed, “I just wanted to spend more time with you. We could go dancing if you won’t let me ride your motorcycle?”
Peter smiled sadly at him and shook his head before motioning for Stiles to follow him to Stiles’ Jeep.
I said, "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi"
Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat
Ooh
I just wanna dance with you
Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley
I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue
I just wanna dance with you
I just wanna dance with you
Baby, I just wanna dance (dance)
With you (dance)
Baby, I just wanna dance (dance)
With you
Peter took them to downtown and parked across from Jungle, apprehension noticeable in his movements. A war was being fought in Peter’s mind, and Stiles could only hope things would come out in his favor. They entered the club hand in hand and made their way to the bar, one more shot before show time. Stiles nodded to himself before slipping his fingers between Peter’s and gently pulling the man onto the dance floor. Something in Peter had changed the minute he realized he wasn’t going to back out of this night with Stiles and the events unfolding between them. Gone was the soft, melancholy of a man twice abandoned and left to live with ghost, and in his place was the predator Stiles had first fallen in love with.
Peter smirked at him before he spun Stiles around and roughly pulled him against the werewolf’s chest.
“Dance for me, Stiles.”
The words went straight to Stiles groin, but also to the part of his brain that reveled in Peter’s aggressive behavior. The part of his brain that held tightly onto the memories of Peter’s aggression saving his life more than once.
The two of them danced until last call and lights up, shuffling out with the other stragglers, the embarrassed grins of new lovers on their faces.
They drove down the boulevard with their windows down and their hands intertwined.
Left the canyon, drove to the club
I was one thing, now I'm being another
Go down to Sunset in the truck
I'll pick you up if you're in town on the corner
Ah ah
They made it back to the Hale House and Stiles could see the doubt creeping back into Peter’s eyes. He left the werewolf to over think alone in the Jeep and made his way inside the restored pack house. When Peter finally came inside it seemed like he was about to apologize or something equally unwarranted, so Stiles rushed to inform him that he was indeed allowed to be happy.
Peter’s shoulders sagged as a breath whooshed out of him in defeat. He made his way over to the couch and sat heavily down next to Stiles. The older man tried to say that Stiles didn’t understand, but the human was more than equipped to understand and handle Peter’s grief.
“Peter look at me.” Stiles had to repeat himself twice before Peter finally made eye contact.
“You deserve to be happy. You have paid for your crimes tenfold. Do you honestly believe your family would want you to punish yourself this way?”
Peter could only choke out his niece’s name before sinking to his knees at Stiles’ feet. The human ran his finger slowly through the werewolf’s hair as he spoke with absolute certainty, “You made a mistake. You regret that night, and you weren’t in control. No, it doesn’t bring her back and it won’t take away your guilt. But Peter that doesn’t mean you should live with the ghosts of your mistakes. Laura wouldn’t want that.”
Peter’s breathing hitched as Stiles spoke.
He let the other man grieve in silence for a while before grasping his hand and standing.
“I think that’s enough for tonight. The Peter Hale I love would never kneel at anyone’s feet.” Peter’s head whipped up to face him, his eyes flashing supernaturally blue, “One last dance before we go to bed, zombiewolf.”
Stiles smiled at him before pulling out his phone and putting on the first classic slow song he saw.
He hummed along with Patsy Cline as he placed his hands on Peter’s shoulders and swayed them around the room gently.
Happiness is a butterfly
We should catch it while dancing
I lose myself in the music, baby
Every day is a lullaby
Try to catch it like lightning
I sing it into my music, I'm crazy
Things aren’t better in one day, but they’re starting the journey to ‘better’ together. And in the end that’s what matters right?
If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst
That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?
I'm already hurt
If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed
The skeleton of this fic is Movement by Hozier so here’s the link
Words: 1871 Ao3 Link
Peter wasn’t sure why he did this. Perhaps he was more masochistic than he thought, since he continued to find himself at Jungle drunk and enraptured by Stiles. The boy was edgy most of the time, movements jerky and rigid, but somehow he came alive with a little bit of booze and the anonymity that comes with dancing in a big crowd. His movements became slow and flowing from one to the next instead of the anxiety and fear filled motions he usually made. Peter was enchanted by the peace he found there. Both the peace within Stiles dancing and within himself watching Stiles be unburdened. He had never thought he’d feel the sort of happiness that comes from others happiness again. Derek no longer radiated pleased contentment, and Cora no longer grinned so fiercely her cheek ached. The Hale’s were broken and damaged, and Peter blamed himself for their hardships. He chased any momentary peace he could get safely, which is how he found himself going out with the pack one weekend after their weekly pack meeting. He discovered the beauty of Stiles’ body in a way he’d never noticed before. Stiles was alive in a way Peter never remembered being. Even standing still, the boy was constantly buzzing with activity. It was in his darting eyes, twitching nose, and bitten lips. Everything about Stiles was filled with more life, energy, and even more love than Peter thought he would ever have the capacity to have himself. Peter had been attracted to the man for some time, but it was that night that Peter thought that maybe he loved Stiles.
I still watch you when you're groovin'
As if through water from the bottom of a pool
You're movin' without movin'
And when you move, I'm moved
“Let go of him!” Stiles’ scream of fury and rage echoed in the clearing, forcing its way passed the sounds of battle all around him, as he charged the giant holding Isaac by the ankle.
The giant stopped swinging Isaac around as if he was a fly swatter and his pack flies at the sound of that rage. Peter was moving before he even registered that Stiles had moved passed him, his body automatically racing to catch up and protect the human.
“Interesting. You’re only human.” The giant laughed after a sniff.
“And you’re an asshole!” Stiles shouted in response, but his eyes weren’t on the giant, they were on Peter.
Peter would give him hell about this later, he always did, but right now he knew exactly what Stiles wanted and he was helpless to deny him. He planted his feet and readied himself just in time for Stile turn and approach him at a dead run. His foot landed squarely in Peter’s waiting palms and Peter threw his fragile human with every ounce of strength he had. Stiles shot him a smile before twisting in the air, his body long, lean, and beautiful in the light of the moon, and flying directly at the face of the giant. As he rushed quickly towards certain death he smoothly slid his bat in the strap on his back and pulled his gun from its holster. Three shots later and the giant fell, with Stiles holding on by its hair as they both crashed to the ground.
Later when they were safe and healing Peter pulled Stiles aside and looked him over further, the human always tried to hide his wounds from the pack. This time he was laughing at the ‘wolf’s protectiveness.
“If you really hate when we do that then tell me ‘no’ next time.” Were his parting words as he ran his hand down Peter’s arm and smiled at him.
Peter was never a religious man, but in that smile he found divinity and a warmth he’d never felt before. He would never tell Stiles ‘No’.
You are a call to motion
There, all of you a verb in perfect view
Like Jonah on the ocean
When you move, I'm moved
“You guys!” Stiles’ whine brought Peter’s attention away from the discussion he had been having with his nephew.
Stiles was trying to make dinner and the pups were buzzing around him, eating anything they could snatch while he was distracted. It reminded Peter so achingly strong of his little sister.
Cherri had been a light in Peter’s life since the moment she was born. He had once heard that little siblings were born to be the person their older sibling needed, and he believed that sometimes when he watched his life. Peter did anything and everything for Talia, but it was Cherri would would seek him out to spend time with not Talia. Soon he realized that the reality is that younger siblings just want to be around their older siblings as much as possible.
He supposed this was true with the pups and Stiles too. Stiles, though younger than most of them, was the first one of the bitten ‘wolves and other supernaturals to know about their world. He was the one that taught Scott control, and he still taught most of them something new every day. In many ways Stiles was the first beta, and it seemed the others viewed him as an older brother they could push around because he loved them too much to punish them.
It reminded him so much of the boy he once was, who yearned to be a man. A man who others needed, who others loved, who others wanted. Stiles was a testament to what Peter could’ve become, what he still can become.
Peter watched on with a twist of nostalgia, regret, and hope in his stomach as Stiles interacted with the pack. A long fingered hand gently pushing a beta away even as he cursed them, a smile pulling at his lips as he hip checked another beta into the refrigerator, an eyebrow raised at the beta watching him from across the room.
When you move
I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be
When you move
I could never define all that you are to me
So move me, baby
Shake like the bough of a willow tree
You do it naturally
Move me, baby
It should be a sin the way Stiles captivated Peter every moment of every day. Peter felt like he was observing a long forgotten god not meant to be seen by the likes of him. He wasn’t worthy. Sitles was light and love and Peter was so full of darkness and hatred, he would only taint him.
“You’re gloomy today.” Peter blinked, his head slowly rising from the feet of the man walking in front of him to his face.
“What makes you say that?”
Stiles shrugged, his thumb coming up to his lips so he could chew his nail, “Normally you’re more talkative. We’ve barely spoken in the half hour we’ve been on patrol.”
“I will taint you.” Peter breathed out in a moment of vulnerability he’d never admit to later.
His eyes snapped back up to Stiles’ face as the human laughed, his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking. Even when he’s laughing at Peter he is beautiful. Stiles was created to be in motion, he radiated an erratic aura that usually unsettled people, but Peter was drawn to every twitch and fidget. He was drawn to everything about Stiles and now that he’d shown some of his feelings Stiles could only laugh at him.
“I am a serial killer and an insane one if you remember correctly, Little Red. I could gobble you up right here and no one would know.” Peter threatened with a leer, the only way he saw out of this embarrassment was to turn the tables.
Stiles blushed and stopped laughing after that.
“You haven’t been insane in a long time, Peter, and frankly I would’ve killed them too.” Stiles shrugged again before turning back to the path they were on.
“So don’t be so gloomy and get up here. I’m lonely.” Was all Stiles had to say to summon Peter to his side.
They chatted about various things like movies and songs, until Stiles tripped on an exposed root. Peter caught his arm and had him back on his feet before anything dire could happen, but it still pulled a chuckle out of him.
“You go dancing every weekend, you glide through the air to kill monsters, and you maneuver through the pack with a tray full of hot food, but you can’t watch where you step.” The words seemed like a criticizement, but the crow’s feet that crinkled at the corners of Peter’s eyes as he laughed showed something softer underneath them.
“Oh hush. I normally pay attention to everything, but with you here I know it’s okay to lower my guard. The root snuck up on me is all.” Stiles huffed indignantly.
With Peter there Stiles could lower his guard. What a wondrous piece of information. Peter had always known Stiles carried too much by himself when it came to both the pack and his father. He always tried to fix everything by himself. He hid his wounds, and cared for everyone else. Stiles never lowered his guard.
Except apparently with Peter.
You are the rite of movement
Its reasonin' made lucid and cool
I know it's no improvement
When you move, I move
You're less Polunin leapin'
Or Fred Astaire in sequins
Honey, you, you're Atlas in his sleepin'
And when you move, I'm moved
Peter wasn’t sure how he got here. There were hands on his chest, long elegant fingers pushing against him. His hips swayed to the music and the rest of his body followed suit, all of him focused on worshipping the lithe body in front of him. Stiles had dragged him out to the dance floor and Peter was drunk on the feeling of Stiles moving against him alone.
They danced until Stiles was panting and covered in sweat. Peter thought once again of the boy he’d been, the life he’d had.
“My mother would’ve loved you.” Peter whispered the words like a prayer.
Stiles heard that prayer, ever proving to Peter worthy of his worship and devotion, and smiled at him so sweetly he thought he might cry.
“Mamo would’ve said you were divine.” Stiles gifted him with those words.
The next song was an old punk pop hit that had Stiles flashing a grin so bright Peter felt something in him snap back into place.
Once again Peter found himself observing the destructive, all consuming power of Stiles dancing. It was erratic and uncontrolled, often leaving him apologizing to nearby dancers, but Peter and never seen something so enchanting.
That night they crashed together in a collision of limbs and teeth. Hands roaming skin and tongues darting out to taste what their hands felt. Eyes burning into the night as they created a crescendo of movement and devotion between them.
When you move
I can recall somethin' that's gone from me
When you move
Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free
Summary: What if the Hales weren't werewolves burned by a hunter but instead the victims of a vampire who liked the taste of their old blood? What if the Argents were never hunters but acrobats and dancers?
Allison Argent became the Slayer on her eighteenth birthday and also discovered her best friend Stiles was a Watcher. A year and a half later and they're a finely tuned duo ready to face the Hellmouth that was Beacon Hills.
@steterweek day five: Neck ‘n’ Throats and Soulmates
Ao3 Link| words: 808
Supernaturals have soulmarks, everyone knew that, but it was ignorant to think that supernaturals only fell in love with supernaturals. It wasn’t necessarily rare for humans to have marks, but not common either. Supernatural kids all anxiously await the full moon after their fifth birthday, but human kids let the full moon pass without much anticipation.
Stiles’ mother had made him stay up that night in his underwear as she searched him with a flashlight, intent to see if he was supernatural like his father. The inherent problem here was that Stiles was then and always will be covered head to toe in moles, freckles, and birthmarks.
It was like finding a needle in a pile of needles. If soulmarks were anything like the stories, usually glowing or bright red, then maybe she would’ve found something. How was she supposed to separate one blob from the others?
Stiles always liked putting little images to the blobs on his skin like kids do with clouds. He had one that looked like an umbrella, two that looked like clouds. That was probably just lazy thinking if he was honest. His favorite was a small blob on his left pectoral that looked like a little flame.
One massive benefit of Stiles’ complexion was the modeling career he now had. Maybe he wasn’t a supernatural like his father, but he was supernatural bait. Anyone could imagine their matching mark on his skin, and while it made things awkward and scary in his personal life it made his career boom. He usually did solo shots, but his best friend Derek Hale had approached him on behalf of his uncle’s magazine company with an offer too good to pass up.
A special edition shoot with none other than Peter Hale.
Stiles swooned at the thought. Peter Hale was the proverbial womanizer, but no one actually cared when he was hot as hell and a gentleman. The werewolf was known throughout the industry for sleeping with his models and leaving them all more than happy. No scandals around him and no scorned lovers, he was perfect for a night of wonderful passion with no strings attached. Stiles was almost as excited for the night after the shoot as he was for the large check he’d receive once the issue went out.
“Mr.Stilinski?” Derek’s quiet, mousy assistant Denise spooked Stiles out of his thoughts.
“Yes, Denise, it is I. The dashing prince you dream of every night!” Stiles cheered, gently caressing her cheek.
“Stiles. Just because I’m small and quiet doesn’t mean I won’t break your fingers.” She glared.
Stiles’s head dropped back with the weight of his full bodied laughter.
“If you’re done pissing around I have a spread to shoot.” An angry photographer sniffed as she passed.
“That’s my cue, darling!”
On his way to the strategically lit room Stiles was grabbed by a makeup artist, who immediately started looking at Stiles’ left pec.
Stiles was just about to ask when he was going to make with the magic and artificially add a soulmark when the makeup artist nodded and pushed him out the door with a big smile.
His freckles and birthmarks must have been ambiguous enough for the shoot.
Stiles took one look at Peter Hale and his chest immediately felt hot.. The man was gorgeous, more so in person than in any picture or video Stiles had seen. His hair artfully styled, his back muscles defined in a way that sent heat to Stiles’ cheeks, and with an ass perky enough to give a stronger man a heart attack.
The next moment felt like it moved in slow motion. Peter turned to face him, turning on his left foot, the muscles tensing and releasing making a wave up his body. Stiles was struck momentarily dumb by the sight of Peter’s cock, momentarily dumb enough to miss the fact that the man’s chest was glowing and his eyes were red.
When he did look up at the man’s face he was greeted with a sharp smile full fangs and delight.
“You must be Stiles.” Peter practically purred as he strode forward to meet him.
“You’re Peter Hale. Why is your soulmark glowing?” Stiles asked, his chest unbearably hot and his brain foggy with a sudden rush of something he couldn’t place.
“I just found my soulmate.” Peter was smiling at him softer now.
“Oh damn. I was hoping to hook up after this.” The word vomit fell from his lips before Stiles could stop it.
Peter’s laugh was musical and somehow made Stiles smile too.
Peter touched his glowing soul mark and then slowly reached forward and touched Stiles’ chest.
The moment his fingers touched Stiles’ skin a lighting bolt of heat and emotion and a multitude of other sensations Stiles had never felt before.
The first thing stiles hears outside of his own mind is a deep velvet voice saying, "Here take this."
He didn't know what "this" was but he attempted to reach out with an open hand to take whatever it was. He tried to open his eyes but every time he did pain shot through his entire body.
"I don't think" a pause to catch his breath and wet his lips, "I can stand."
The words had come out coarse and stuttering, but Stiles had fought to get them out and he would be damned if after all these years his words failed him too.
"Here."
The voice was the same that offered him the soft cloth in his hands. He had rubbed the cloth between his fingers enough to piece together that it was a large shirt. The collar of which was in a large V shape. Adding that knowledge to hearing that deep velvet again was all Stiles needed.
"Peter?"
"Yes, pet, I'm here. So are Scott, Lydia, Derek, and Melissa. We're all here with you." Peter spoke with a softness Stiles had not heard from him in a long time.
Those words with that tone made Stiles want to curl up and whine while someone scratched his ears.
"What the fuck?" The words slipped quietly through his cracked lips.
He slowly reached up and touched his head. He felt nothing but sweat drenched hair until his fingers touched something soft and furry which also made his ears twitch.
He had ears, soft furry animal ears. What happened to his body when the nogitsune left? Was this a dream? What if the nogitsune was still in his mind messing with him? What if none of this was real? Oh God how could he still be stuck in his own mind after the pain and torture of kicking that demon from his body? Was that all a lie? A trick?
Suddenly someone had him by the back of his neck and was rocking them as they let out a low soothing rumble. He sniffed and was surprised to smell Peter again and not one of the others.
"Breathe Stiles. Count your fingers on my arms if you need to. You're here, darling. Awake and alive." Peter's words were soft soothing whispers as he rocked them side to side.
Stiles found himself slumping against Peter the best he could with his eyes still screwed shut.
"What happened to me when it left? Peter what am I?" Stiles cracked his eyes open just enough to look at the werewolf holding him.
"Beautiful." Peter's whisper was drowned out by Scott declaring that he didn't care what Stiles was now he was still his best friend.
Stiles had heard Peter though thanks to his new hearing capabilities.
"Come here sweet boy and let me look you over." Melissa's voice called out to him and he nodded.
He tried to take a step in the direction he heard her voice coming from but stumbled the moment Peter let go of him. Luckily Peter caught him with a hand on his arm at the same time Scott grabbed his other arm. Scott guided Stiles back over to the couch and sat him down gently so Melissa could look over him.
"Why does it hurt so bad to open my eyes? Everything is too bright it hurts." Stiles let out a high pitch whine he didn't realize was humanly possible.
He wasn't a human anymore so it probably wasn't humanly possible.
"You haven't adjusted to your new senses." Derek's voice was just as even and assertive as usual but there was a note to it that made Stiles uneasy.
"Give me a second to see what other senses I do have." Stiles demanded more than asked.
He sniffed the air but other than each of their scents he couldn't smell anything else that he couldn't before. He couldn't smell their emotions or smell what one of them had eaten recently like he had heard the other shifters complain about.
Smelling their scents was new and an odd sensation. Derek smelled like the Preserve on a rainy day, chocolate ice cream, and mint. Melissa was harder to figure because of the perfume she was wearing, but Stiles could smell lavender, and vanilla but also a strong hit of lemon. Scott was all oatmeal raisin cookies, brown sugar, and underneath those sweet smells was a metallic tang.
Those were the three closest to him, though he could still smell Lydia's clean linen and rotting flowers. That one really caught him off guard, though it must be because she's a banshee. Peter's was harder to articulate, the warmth of a soft blanket added with cinnamon, the way everything smelled the day after a storm, and something else Stiles couldn't place at all. That something else was like a drug, he found himself subconsciously leaning towards Peter to smell it more clearly until he realized how weird that must look.
So instead of asking Peter why he smelled like that Stiles canted his head to the left, his right ear twitching as he let in all the sound around him. Six heart beats, six puffs of breath, countless birds in the Preserve out back, and the noises of people moving in the houses all around them. Stiles had struggled with ADHD his whole life, and shutting out outside noises was almost easy by now, so he simply focused on the sounds in his immediate proximity and calmed his heart rate as best he could.
"I'm going to open my eyes now. Can you guys make sure the lights are off?"
"They've been off the whole time darling but we will try to block the light from the windows as best we can." Peter assured him.
Stiles was getting anxious again with the knowledge that the lights haven't been on and everything was still so bright it hurt, but he had to try.
"Okay. I'm going to open them now."
He slowly cracked them open with his head facing the floor. Nothing was bright down there so far. He could see his feet and the feet of the other five people surrounding him so he slowly lifted his head higher. The room was almost pitch black but Stiles could see everyone clearly. Finally he reached eye level with everyone and went to give a cheer when bright dazzling colors erupted from all around each person.
Stiles whine again and closed his eyes tight.
"Stiles your eyes are different. They're bright yellow." Scott breathed.
"Like a beta?"
"No. Like Kira's but more yellow than orangeish red." Derek elaborated Scott's revelation.
"Guys am I a kitsune? Did it make me into another nogitsune?" Stiles tried to keep himself from panicking but what was he going to do if he turned out to be as evil as a nogitsune?
Again Peter gripped the back of his neck somehow comforting him despite the roughness of the move.
"You're not a nogitsune. You are something new. Something different. Why did it only hurt you to keep your eyes open when you looked at our faces?"
Something new? Something different? Stiles didn't want to be new or different he wanted to go back to the way things were before Scott had been bitten. He wanted his dad.
"Has anyone called my dad?"
"Yes honey. He's on his way." Melissa informed him.
"Okay. Okay that's good. And uh Peter? I'm not sure what happened but when I looked at your faces colors exploded all around each of you. Different colors of all shades and images too. Like there was a scale balance by Derek and a mans hand with a wedding band on his finger next to Melissa." Stiles took a steadying breath, "what does that mean?"
"Everyone step behind Stiles please."
"What? Why would we do that?" Scott asked petulantly.
"Because he can't open his eyes when six people's auras are right in his face. Step behind him so you aren't in his line of sight." Peter sounded like he was grinding his teeth as he explained.
"He sounds like he knows what's going on. Just listen to him Scotty." Stiles breathed, exhausted and ready to get this over with.
"They're all behind you now, pet. Look at me and describe what you see." Peter's voice was so soothing Stiles couldn't help but do as he asked.
The moment Stiles' eyes locked onto Peter's his aura opened up around him.
"There are colors in certain spots but all around you is a swirl of dark red, bright red, and orange red. There's a black arch over your head that feels like pain. Right in the middle of your stomach is a burst of bright yellow. There's a light blue spot on your throat. Over your heart is a yellow green burst with dark green swirls. What about the images?" Stiles kept his eyes open despite the brightness of Peter's aura, he couldn't walk around with his eyes closed forever.
"Good job darling. Don't worry about the images for right now. They stop when the auras go away so ignore them. We're gonna add another. Are you ready?" Peter sounded so proud Stiles didn't even have to think before he was nodding.
"Melissa please come join me."
Slowly Melissa made her way into Stiles vision.
"Before you look at her I want you to picture a radio. Look at my aura and picture yourself turning the volume knob down. Keep picturing it until my aura dims." Peter spoke with calm assurance and Stiles was compelled once again to follow his words.
He pictured a radio and focused on it and Peter's aura as he pictured the knob turning the volume down.
"It's working." Stiles gasped, sweat beading up on his brow.
"Good boy. You're doing great. Now look at Melissa's. Hers shouldn't be as bright as mine was because she's not a supernatural being. She should be easier to look at." Peter sounded so pleased Stiles grinned at him before turning his attention to Melissa.
"Hi honey. You're doing great but if it's too much just close your eyes okay?" She'd always been a second mother to him and she always would be, but Stiles had to do this and he had to do this now.
Melissa's aura was slower to spread out and not as vibrant or pulsing as Peter's. She was rainbow colored all over. Every single spot had a beautiful array of colors. But her hands and heart were bright rainbow bursts.
"She's a rainbow." Stiles breathed out amazed at the difference and beauty of Melissa's aura.
"I had figured as much. She's a healer all the way to her soul. Are her hands brighter rainbows than everywhere else?" Peter inquired.
"Yes. But her heart is also as bright."
"Ah. That means she's got a pure healers heart. But we already knew that didn't we?" Peter asked, mirth clear in his voice.
Stiles smiled at her and at Peter, "I've known that my whole life."
Melissa started tearing up and it was making the burst around her heart brighter and pulsing stronger. So Stiles pictured the radio and turned her down.
"Okay guys I think I'm ready for everyone at once."
Derek, Lydia, and Scott came around and entered his sight with bursts of their own auras. They were so bright standing together that Stiles almost closed his eyes again. But he caught Peter's pleased scent and pictured a radio, this time not for a specific aura but for his own abilities and dialed it down until he could only see a faint glow around them and nothing from Melissa.
"I think I've got a handle on it!" Stiles declared with a bright grin despite his aches and over all weariness.
"Got a handle on what?" The sheriff asked as he made his way into the living room.
Before anyone could speak he gasped, "Son. What is going on? What happened to you?"
-
Stiles found himself in front of an apartment door in a building he'd never been to before in a part of town he couldn't afford to shop or eat in with no idea how he'd gotten there. The last thing he remembers is telling his dad goodnight and that he loved him. He went to bed and woke up here, wherever here was.
"Stiles?" Something about the scent and the roughness of a usually smooth velvet voice cause a shiver of arousal to take over Stiles' body.
"Peter why am I here?"
Peter looked at him a moment before opening the door wider. Stiles took a moment to not only check out Peter's apartment but also the man in the doorway. Peter was standing with his hands in his soft gray pajama bottoms pockets. His chest was freckled and hairy, his hair messy and soft looking. And Stiles was getting an erection just from looking at him.
"I had noticed the bond back at the house but I did not think it would affect you like this." Peter sighed.
"Bond? Is that why I know you're pleased but wary?" Stiles asked, placing a hand on the warm spot in his chest that hummed for Peter.
"You were always my favorite. And you're quick wit is definitely one reason why, pet." Peter breathed, a smirk replacing the slight frown he had been wearing.
Stiles shivered again at the name, "Peter what's happening? Why do I want to jump you more than usual?"
Peter had looked guilty at first then delightfully pleased, "More than usual, huh? Good to know. What's happening dear boy is we have accidentally initiated a mating bond."
Stiles had to take calming breaths to not jump him right then and there, but what Peter was saying was important and he needed to focus.
"A mating bond? But doesn't that take an exchanging of gifts and bending of wills?"
"I do so love that brain of yours. Yes it does and yes we did do those things. You're wearing my shirt right now darling. And you followed my directions to the letter all day. Add to that the attraction we already shared and the mating bond snaps into place." Peter grinned at him like the cat that caught the mouse, or the wolf that caught his mate.
"Well it smells good. And I thought the bond doesn't snap into place until you have sex?" Stiles forced himself to say it strongly, to not give into his desire to eat Peter up right then and there.
"Very true. But I imagine that's why you walked here in your sleep and why you're about to burst out of those adorable boxers." Peter purred as he backed Stiles against the closest wall.
Stiles looked at his erection almost poking through the hole in his Batman boxers. That obviously was why his body brought him here, but was his mind and heart ready to mate with Peter Hale too?
"I need a minute to catch up to my body." Stiles spoke with the assurance that Peter would step back, and smiled at the man when he did.
Did he love Peter? Maybe not. But he'd been the only one to help Stiles today. The only one to help Stiles through so much he hadn't even noticed. The only one to pay attention and listen to him no matter the circumstance. It was why he had been harboring a crush on the werewolf for months. The mating bond wouldn't have solidified if they weren't well matched and their feelings not reciprocated.
