Ficlet: He Can't, Peter/Stiles
Author: ladyoneill
Title: He Can't
Rating: PG13
Pairing/s: Peter/Stiles
Character/s: Stiles, Peter, OFC
Summary: Stiles is so afraid of losing her when she comes of age, that he can't bear to even look at her.
Warnings: nothing here
Submission Type: ficlet
Word Count: 812
Prompt: Neglect
Author's Notes: Stiles, Peter, Teen Wolf, none belong to me. No profit being made. Emma does belong to me. Set a week after Emma's birth in my Dark Side Of The Moon series, some of which have been posted here out of order. If this is confusing, I suggest you read "What It Wants" at the link above. Overall the series is forced MPREG, forced mating/bonding, Peter as Alpha. Check out the link above for a link to a timeline.
Stiles ignores the whimpering for nearly an hour, back turned, pillow wrapped around his head, teeth clenched. Every instinct tells him to go to her, soothe her, but he's been stomping those feelings into the ground for over a week.
He won't.
He can't.
He knows Peter's frustrated with him--he's frustrated with himself--but he can't let himself care.
It hurts too much.
Stiles truly believed he could do it, love her with all his heart even though he knew he'd lose her. Even the day she was born, he was anticipating holding her for the first time, pressing kisses all over her red and wrinkled face.
But...he couldn't. When Peter tried to place her in his arms, he froze, a sick bile rising in his throat, ice flooding his body.
He couldn't hold her then; he can't hold her now. He can't, can't, can't...
The whimpers turn to miserable wails and Stiles flinches and tries to bury himself deeper in his bed. Tears sting his eyes, and he wants to wail along with her, but anger pushes aside the pain.
Peter's punishing him.
He took Lily and Zoe, herded everyone out of the house into town for a movie and dinner, left Stiles alone with her. The baby he can't bear to love.
Stiles begged Peter not to leave her. He tried to explain how it hurt too much, but Peter lashed out verbally, called him a bastard for neglecting her, harshly told him to get over himself.
For the first time Stiles didn't even fight back, just curled deeper beneath the blankets of the bed Peter stopped sharing with him two nights after the birth. At first, the Alpha let his frustration, his love, his fear seep through the mate bond, but for the last day there's been only a raw emptiness. Even when he stormed out over an hour before, Stiles couldn't feel his anger.
Their relationship is suffering. Confused, the girls tiptoe around him. His father just gives him disappointed looks. Stiles hasn't left the bedroom since Peter brought him home.
Across the floor in her bassinet, the baby's cries dwindle to pathetic hiccups, until, finally, there's silence.
Slowly, Stiles lets the pillow fall away, turns onto his back, stares at the ceiling. Logically, he knows he's being the worst parent ever, that this is more than post-partum depression, that he's doing this on purpose to save himself future heartbreak, but it's so hard to try to do anything else but be miserable.
Peter's words from earlier slip into his muddled mind.
We'll fight them, Stiles. We have thirteen years. We'll figure out how to save her. Please, Stiles, please don't do this to her. Emma's innocent and she needs you. I need you.
And, then, when Stiles ignored him, he got angry and yelled, and that was much easier to deal with.
The baby starts crying again and Stiles feels his heart ache in response, but he refuses to go to her. He can let her cry. She'll give up eventually.
She'll learn that he won't love her.
As he lies there in misery, an image of his mother yelling at him, swearing he's going to hurt her, that she doesn't know him, comes to him, stealing his breath. The gut-wrenching pain he felt at that moment, that he still feels...
Oh, God, he's doing that to her...Emma...his daughter.
Fresh tears flood down his cold cheeks, burning his skin, and he struggles from the bed.
Losing her in thirteen years will destroy him, but causing her pain now is even worse.
Stiles' voice is raw as he cries out her name and stumbles across the room. A little hand clenched into a fist waves above the bassinet; her wailing subsides at his voice, the one she heard every day of his pregnancy, talking to her, promising her a future.
How did he forget that? How did he let his pain and fear crush his love for her?
Sobbing, Stiles stares down at Emma with her light brown hair and her pale blue eyes and her tear-streaked cheeks, and he scoops her up in trembling hands and sinks to the floor, cradling her against his heart.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he cries over and over until his voice breaks and he's left gasping her name.
Emma pats his cheek, and Stiles swears that she'll never remember this, that he'll make it all up to her, that he'll save her.
It's dark and cool in the bedroom when Peter finds his mate and their infant curled together asleep on the soft carpet, Emma draped over Stiles' chest, his hands secure and firm on her back, as they both snuffle, faces stiff with dried tears.
His own heart breaks and reforms and he drops to his knees to pull them into his arms.
End
Title: He Can't
Rating: PG13
Pairing/s: Peter/Stiles
Character/s: Stiles, Peter, OFC
Summary: Stiles is so afraid of losing her when she comes of age, that he can't bear to even look at her.
Warnings: nothing here
Submission Type: ficlet
Word Count: 812
Prompt: Neglect
Author's Notes: Stiles, Peter, Teen Wolf, none belong to me. No profit being made. Emma does belong to me. Set a week after Emma's birth in my Dark Side Of The Moon series, some of which have been posted here out of order. If this is confusing, I suggest you read "What It Wants" at the link above. Overall the series is forced MPREG, forced mating/bonding, Peter as Alpha. Check out the link above for a link to a timeline.
Stiles ignores the whimpering for nearly an hour, back turned, pillow wrapped around his head, teeth clenched. Every instinct tells him to go to her, soothe her, but he's been stomping those feelings into the ground for over a week.
He won't.
He can't.
He knows Peter's frustrated with him--he's frustrated with himself--but he can't let himself care.
It hurts too much.
Stiles truly believed he could do it, love her with all his heart even though he knew he'd lose her. Even the day she was born, he was anticipating holding her for the first time, pressing kisses all over her red and wrinkled face.
But...he couldn't. When Peter tried to place her in his arms, he froze, a sick bile rising in his throat, ice flooding his body.
He couldn't hold her then; he can't hold her now. He can't, can't, can't...
The whimpers turn to miserable wails and Stiles flinches and tries to bury himself deeper in his bed. Tears sting his eyes, and he wants to wail along with her, but anger pushes aside the pain.
Peter's punishing him.
He took Lily and Zoe, herded everyone out of the house into town for a movie and dinner, left Stiles alone with her. The baby he can't bear to love.
Stiles begged Peter not to leave her. He tried to explain how it hurt too much, but Peter lashed out verbally, called him a bastard for neglecting her, harshly told him to get over himself.
For the first time Stiles didn't even fight back, just curled deeper beneath the blankets of the bed Peter stopped sharing with him two nights after the birth. At first, the Alpha let his frustration, his love, his fear seep through the mate bond, but for the last day there's been only a raw emptiness. Even when he stormed out over an hour before, Stiles couldn't feel his anger.
Their relationship is suffering. Confused, the girls tiptoe around him. His father just gives him disappointed looks. Stiles hasn't left the bedroom since Peter brought him home.
Across the floor in her bassinet, the baby's cries dwindle to pathetic hiccups, until, finally, there's silence.
Slowly, Stiles lets the pillow fall away, turns onto his back, stares at the ceiling. Logically, he knows he's being the worst parent ever, that this is more than post-partum depression, that he's doing this on purpose to save himself future heartbreak, but it's so hard to try to do anything else but be miserable.
Peter's words from earlier slip into his muddled mind.
We'll fight them, Stiles. We have thirteen years. We'll figure out how to save her. Please, Stiles, please don't do this to her. Emma's innocent and she needs you. I need you.
And, then, when Stiles ignored him, he got angry and yelled, and that was much easier to deal with.
The baby starts crying again and Stiles feels his heart ache in response, but he refuses to go to her. He can let her cry. She'll give up eventually.
She'll learn that he won't love her.
As he lies there in misery, an image of his mother yelling at him, swearing he's going to hurt her, that she doesn't know him, comes to him, stealing his breath. The gut-wrenching pain he felt at that moment, that he still feels...
Oh, God, he's doing that to her...Emma...his daughter.
Fresh tears flood down his cold cheeks, burning his skin, and he struggles from the bed.
Losing her in thirteen years will destroy him, but causing her pain now is even worse.
Stiles' voice is raw as he cries out her name and stumbles across the room. A little hand clenched into a fist waves above the bassinet; her wailing subsides at his voice, the one she heard every day of his pregnancy, talking to her, promising her a future.
How did he forget that? How did he let his pain and fear crush his love for her?
Sobbing, Stiles stares down at Emma with her light brown hair and her pale blue eyes and her tear-streaked cheeks, and he scoops her up in trembling hands and sinks to the floor, cradling her against his heart.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he cries over and over until his voice breaks and he's left gasping her name.
Emma pats his cheek, and Stiles swears that she'll never remember this, that he'll make it all up to her, that he'll save her.
It's dark and cool in the bedroom when Peter finds his mate and their infant curled together asleep on the soft carpet, Emma draped over Stiles' chest, his hands secure and firm on her back, as they both snuffle, faces stiff with dried tears.
His own heart breaks and reforms and he drops to his knees to pull them into his arms.
End