fullmoon ficlet: Night Lights
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Készült a fullmoon_ficlet 193. kulcsszavára: Insomnia > klikk ide<
Tartalom: Peter rengeteg dolgot hiányol - Taliát, a családját, az otthonát, az ifjúságát, egy átaludt éjszakát (bár ebben korántsem olyan biztos). Mégis mindezek felett Stilesra vágyik, és ironikus módon ez tűnik legelérhetetlenebb kívánságának. Vagyis ő ezt hiszi.
AU a 3. évad idején Alfa-falka és Jennifer Blake nélkül, Boyd és Erica életben vannak, Jackson nem ment el.
Szomorú, érzelmes, hosszabb lélegzetvételű mű lesz, úgynevezett "slow-burn", úgyhogy ne számítsatok arra, hogy Stiles és Peter egyből egymás karjaiba ugranak. :)
It didn't come as a surprise - the unease he felt in the evenings when ordinary people climbed into their beds for a good night's sleep. After the hospital he just wanted to... move. He couldn't stand the sight of beds and he was suffocating whenever his memory decided to torture his nostrils with the foul smell of chemicals. Medicines, cleaning supplies, cheap food. Even soap stirred up the uncomfortable feeling of being useless. Paralyzed.
He tried to shake it off as nothing. Being this weak and abandoned was a new experience. It was different from the hospital where grief and madness gripped his mind and pulled him down into a raving abyss. At least then he couldn't get up, he had a reason to be like that. But after beating death? It was sadly ridiculous.
Actually he used to be quite insufferable when it came to power - always going on and on about acquiring strength in every possible way no matter the costs. Intelligence, money, physical strength, connections... Talia often compared him to Machiavelli which usually led to a heated debate about politics, morals and what Machiavelli may have stated originally. They shouted, growled and flashed their eyes - in other words they had wonderful times together. He missed those more or less carefree years. He missed Talia even if her idealistic wisdom aided the blasted hunters in their quest of mindless destruction. He missed his family.
Derek's angst-y little betas just didn't feel right. The trust between him and his favorite nephew was broken probably forever. Scott's self-righteousness was simply insufferable. The three former loners stuck together like glue and saw him as some ancient evil from a badly-written fantasy novel. The one with the curly hair literally whined pathetically when he became restless the other day and snapped at Scott in his impatience. Jackson was all talk and feared him even more since he taught the idiot a lesson about the importance of pack. How could he dare think that after gaining the bite he would be free to go as the most impressive creature of the universe? A hunter or another wolf would've killed him in the first five minutes he spent alone so Peter challenged his „almighty power” and beat the shit out of the egoistical jock without breaking a sweat. Yeah, maybe that wasn't the best - or most sophisticated - strategy all around but Lydia already hated him so it wasn't like he had anything to lose on that front. Besides, Derek let it happen and he was in charge of this wonderfully dysfunctional group, not the narcissistic high school queen.
He still put up with them. Beacon Hills was his home no matter what, his territory even if currently he was a beta and not that there wasn't anyone who was worth staying for. Because there was Stiles. Fascinating, witty, sarcastic Stiles with his gorgeous hazel eyes and constantly moving body and his amazing, spicy scent that reminded him of the cookies his mother used to bake for Christmas.
When his thoughts about Stiles started to wander south (in all the best ways and absolutely regularly) he always made a hasty retreat before his nephew could get a whiff of it. His penthouse got a nice view of the preserve and a huge balcony too where he could clean his lungs from that intoxicating smell and cool down his arousal. It really wasn't his fault that the kid was everything he ever wanted in a partner. But it was definitely his luck. Sharp mind, undying loyalty, wry black humor, a healthy dose of self-preservation, good taste in culture and a deliciously realistic opinion about „good and bad”. Being the forbidden fruit was an understatement - Stiles was head over heels for Lydia, he set him on fire with a Molotov-cocktail and possibly hated his guts at first sight. No trust from the clever guy either, that much was obvious. Not that he gave much reason but it still hurt. That animalistic side of him already claimed Stiles as his and the distance was painful - his heart ached when it recognized the bloody wound of a freshly missing pack-bond even before they could form a proper one.
Abandoned. Indeed.
Taking all those things into account driving up to the kid's house (after making sure that the sheriff was at the station and neck-deep in supernaturally hard work that would only drive him up the wall) at three in the morning was a decidedly bad idea. But he already run in the preserve, rolled around in the dirt, finished three books that came out at the time he was catatonic, strolled through the news, ordered a smart watch on Amazon and cooked a meal enough for a famished basketball team. Nothing worked and nothing mattered. Sleep didn't come and he wasn't sure he wanted it at all. He just wanted out. Out of his flat, out of the city, far away from the jumble of synthetic scents and sounds and all the stupid people.
He knocked on the door.
He waited thirty seconds and quietly mocked himself for his fastening heartbeat.
"Oh, God, how many times do you want me to repeat that I am fine- You're not Scott."
"Hello, Stiles."
To be continued...
Készült a fullmoon_ficlet 193. kulcsszavára: Insomnia > klikk ide<
Tartalom: Peter rengeteg dolgot hiányol - Taliát, a családját, az otthonát, az ifjúságát, egy átaludt éjszakát (bár ebben korántsem olyan biztos). Mégis mindezek felett Stilesra vágyik, és ironikus módon ez tűnik legelérhetetlenebb kívánságának. Vagyis ő ezt hiszi.
AU a 3. évad idején Alfa-falka és Jennifer Blake nélkül, Boyd és Erica életben vannak, Jackson nem ment el.
Szomorú, érzelmes, hosszabb lélegzetvételű mű lesz, úgynevezett "slow-burn", úgyhogy ne számítsatok arra, hogy Stiles és Peter egyből egymás karjaiba ugranak. :)
It didn't come as a surprise - the unease he felt in the evenings when ordinary people climbed into their beds for a good night's sleep. After the hospital he just wanted to... move. He couldn't stand the sight of beds and he was suffocating whenever his memory decided to torture his nostrils with the foul smell of chemicals. Medicines, cleaning supplies, cheap food. Even soap stirred up the uncomfortable feeling of being useless. Paralyzed.
He tried to shake it off as nothing. Being this weak and abandoned was a new experience. It was different from the hospital where grief and madness gripped his mind and pulled him down into a raving abyss. At least then he couldn't get up, he had a reason to be like that. But after beating death? It was sadly ridiculous.
Actually he used to be quite insufferable when it came to power - always going on and on about acquiring strength in every possible way no matter the costs. Intelligence, money, physical strength, connections... Talia often compared him to Machiavelli which usually led to a heated debate about politics, morals and what Machiavelli may have stated originally. They shouted, growled and flashed their eyes - in other words they had wonderful times together. He missed those more or less carefree years. He missed Talia even if her idealistic wisdom aided the blasted hunters in their quest of mindless destruction. He missed his family.
Derek's angst-y little betas just didn't feel right. The trust between him and his favorite nephew was broken probably forever. Scott's self-righteousness was simply insufferable. The three former loners stuck together like glue and saw him as some ancient evil from a badly-written fantasy novel. The one with the curly hair literally whined pathetically when he became restless the other day and snapped at Scott in his impatience. Jackson was all talk and feared him even more since he taught the idiot a lesson about the importance of pack. How could he dare think that after gaining the bite he would be free to go as the most impressive creature of the universe? A hunter or another wolf would've killed him in the first five minutes he spent alone so Peter challenged his „almighty power” and beat the shit out of the egoistical jock without breaking a sweat. Yeah, maybe that wasn't the best - or most sophisticated - strategy all around but Lydia already hated him so it wasn't like he had anything to lose on that front. Besides, Derek let it happen and he was in charge of this wonderfully dysfunctional group, not the narcissistic high school queen.
He still put up with them. Beacon Hills was his home no matter what, his territory even if currently he was a beta and not that there wasn't anyone who was worth staying for. Because there was Stiles. Fascinating, witty, sarcastic Stiles with his gorgeous hazel eyes and constantly moving body and his amazing, spicy scent that reminded him of the cookies his mother used to bake for Christmas.
When his thoughts about Stiles started to wander south (in all the best ways and absolutely regularly) he always made a hasty retreat before his nephew could get a whiff of it. His penthouse got a nice view of the preserve and a huge balcony too where he could clean his lungs from that intoxicating smell and cool down his arousal. It really wasn't his fault that the kid was everything he ever wanted in a partner. But it was definitely his luck. Sharp mind, undying loyalty, wry black humor, a healthy dose of self-preservation, good taste in culture and a deliciously realistic opinion about „good and bad”. Being the forbidden fruit was an understatement - Stiles was head over heels for Lydia, he set him on fire with a Molotov-cocktail and possibly hated his guts at first sight. No trust from the clever guy either, that much was obvious. Not that he gave much reason but it still hurt. That animalistic side of him already claimed Stiles as his and the distance was painful - his heart ached when it recognized the bloody wound of a freshly missing pack-bond even before they could form a proper one.
Abandoned. Indeed.
Taking all those things into account driving up to the kid's house (after making sure that the sheriff was at the station and neck-deep in supernaturally hard work that would only drive him up the wall) at three in the morning was a decidedly bad idea. But he already run in the preserve, rolled around in the dirt, finished three books that came out at the time he was catatonic, strolled through the news, ordered a smart watch on Amazon and cooked a meal enough for a famished basketball team. Nothing worked and nothing mattered. Sleep didn't come and he wasn't sure he wanted it at all. He just wanted out. Out of his flat, out of the city, far away from the jumble of synthetic scents and sounds and all the stupid people.
He knocked on the door.
He waited thirty seconds and quietly mocked himself for his fastening heartbeat.
"Oh, God, how many times do you want me to repeat that I am fine- You're not Scott."
"Hello, Stiles."
To be continued...