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Ever since the nogitsune Stiles had thought he would never get another good night’s sleep again. He kept dreaming of all the horrific things it did, committed with his body, while Stiles was just a passenger, unable to take back control.
He had nightmares about those memories for the better part of a year.
But ever since Stiles had finally come into his magic, had embraced and mastered it, his dreams had changed. His magic enabled him to finally feel the bond he had to Peter, the bond that told him they were mates and it had changed his dreams drastically.
Stiles knew now what his future held; that as soon as Peter stopped giving him space they would be happy together and that knowledge was mirrored in his dreams.
Because now Stiles dreamt of sleepy cuddles, and soft mornings. Peter making breakfast for them and greeting Stiles with a kiss when he stumbled into the room, Stiles scratching Peter’s head where it’s laying in his lap while they watch TV, casual touches and sweet kisses.
Stiles always felt warm when he woke up from those dreams, content and loved, and he knew it would be like this eventually.
Stiles knew Peter could feel the bond, and he was certain Peter was only waiting for him to finally turn eighteen before he made his advances, and Stiles couldn’t wait for that day. It was only a few more weeks away.
Stiles was excited and happy, and finally well rested, sleep now actually something he was looking forward to.
Until he saw Peter in town, easily smiling at a beautiful red-haired woman.
Stiles froze in his steps, unable to look away, and he tried to tell himself that this was nothing. It could be one of Peter’s friends, he surely had those, even though he never talked about any. It could be nothing.
Stiles almost managed to convince himself but then the woman leaned in, closer than Stiles had ever seen Peter allow anyone, and Peter easily turned his head to kiss her lightly. The woman pulled back then, laughing at something and Peter laughed with her, totally at ease and Stiles had to blink against the sudden pain in his chest.
This was not how their lives were supposed to go. Peter was supposed to wait for Stiles; the mate bond coming to full potential between them once they were together and it promised them a happy life, always together.
But as Stiles was watching Peter tuck the woman under his arm, his whole perspective on the thing changed.
Peter had seemed appreciative of him when he was the alpha, but ever since he came back from the dead, he had kept a careful distance between Stiles and himself, never indicating that he was interested in more.
They snarked and they poked the other, using each other as a sounding board during the many crises they had faced, but in the end, it was just that. Easy comradery. Stiles might feel more for Peter, guided by the bond he could feel in his chest, but Peter had never let on that he felt it the same way that Stiles did.
And as a wolf, Peter should know that it was there.
Stiles swallowed a sob when he contemplated for the first time since he noticed the bond that Peter might not feel it. That Peter was everything Stiles wanted and needed for his future, but that the same didn’t go for Peter. That for him, Stiles was not enough, not right.
He abruptly turned away, seeing Peter laugh so freely at this woman hurting him more than he ever thought possible, and Stiles almost fled the scene.
Stiles was shaking when he arrived at home, and he immediately crawled into bed, his only wish to escape this horrible realization. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to fall asleep, and dream of a place where Peter still wanted him.
Stiles stumbled into the kitchen, blearily blinking at Peter and rubbing his eyes, walking across the room more by memory than by sight.
“Sweetheart,” Peter said and slightly turned around. “You can sleep a bit longer,” he softly told Stiles who had draped himself over Peter’s back.
“Bed too big,” Stiles mumbled and pressed a sleepy kiss to Peter’s shoulder. “No one to cuddle,” he complained then and his mouth curved into a smile when he felt Peter chuckle beneath him.
“So, you come to the kitchen for cuddles?” Peter asked, scrambling the eggs and turning the bacon, the smell mouth-watering to Stiles.
“I come to you for cuddles,” Stiles decisively said and pressed kisses all up Peter’s neck, who willingly tilted his head back. “Only ever you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” Peter gave back, turning around to finally pull Stiles into an embrace.
“You’re still half asleep,” Peter gently chided him then, and Stiles nuzzled closer to him.
“Mhhhh,” he hummed, and Peter pressed a kiss to his head.
Stiles knew that Peter was perfectly capable to make them breakfast and hold Stiles close at the same time; he had proven that time and time again after all.
Stiles woke up with a gasp and when he remembered why he was in bed in the middle of the day, when he remembered Peter and the woman he was with, he immediately burst into tears.
He cried long and hard, trying to push Peter’s soft touches, his kisses, from the dream out of his head and it hurt so much. His chest felt like it was constricting, like someone was squeezing his heart and Stiles could barely breathe.
He curled up small in his bed, hoping to ease the pain like that, but it wasn’t working, not really. Eventually he stumbled up, away from the bed where he had dreamt of Peter being so soft and familiar with him and collapsed into his chair.
Stiles had always thought the mate bond was something good, something to treasure and be happy about, but now it seemed like it would only cause him pain.
~*~*~
Stiles was intently watching the screen, caught up in the movie even though he had seen it at least five times already, but he was still softly carding his hand through Peter’s hair.
Peter had his head in Stiles’ lap, book long forgotten on his chest, and he was almost purring with contentment.
Stiles looked down at him, overcome with love for this man yet again, wondering how he ever earned this much trust.
He bent down, almost contorting himself, to press a kiss to Peter’s forehead and when he let out an ‘Uff’ afterwards, Peter laughed quietly, slowly blinking his eyes open.
“You could have had that easier,” he told Stiles who pouted down at him.
“Oh, yeah?”
“You just need to say the word,” Peter agreed with a slight nod and Stiles felt like he was drowning in the love he saw in Peter’s eyes.
“Kiss me,” Stiles whispered, and Peter lifted his head, meeting Stiles halfway.
Stiles stumbled down the stairs, barely awake and tear tracks still visible on his face. When he came into the kitchen, his dad turned towards him with a frown.
“Stiles,” he started and pushed a coffee towards him. “What’s going on?” he asked, settling down and looking expectantly at Stiles.
“I’m fine, dad,” Stiles tiredly said and pushed his hand through his hair.
“Son, I love you, but that is bullshit. You’re having nightmares again.”
Stiles thought back to the dream he had that night, just him and Peter cuddling on the couch, and he scoffed, to hide the fact that he was this close to bursting into tears again.
“I’m not having nightmares,” Stiles denied, and his dad frowned at him.
“Stiles, you wake up crying more often than not. You’re trying to not fall asleep and when you wake up during the night you stay awake. Don’t tell me you’re not having nightmares again,” his dad said, and Stiles hadn’t known he had noticed all that.
“Is it the nogitsune again?” his dad wanted to know, and Stiles couldn’t help the hysterical giggle that escaped him.
To think that the dreams he had about Peter were just as bad, or maybe even worse, than the ones he had about the nogitsune was hilarious to Stiles. He wondered how he could ever explain to his dad that dreaming about Peter in soft sweatpants, greeting him with a kiss while making breakfast for them, was as bad as dreaming about killing people, having his body used against his will.
Stiles desperately wished to know where in his life he had gone wrong to deserve this.
“It’s fine, dad, you don’t have to worry. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” Stiles said and was fiercely glad that his dad couldn’t hear his lie.
“If you need anything, if there is anything I can do,” his dad started but Stiles shook his head.
“There’s nothing you can do, but thank you,” he said and finally grabbed the coffee, hoping his dad would take the hint and drop the subject.
He was still eying Stiles concerned, when he put the cup back down, but Stiles didn’t know what to say, how to ease his dad’s worries.
Stiles had a hard enough time keeping himself together, he didn’t have the capacity to worry about anyone else on top of that.
The worst part was that Stiles wasn’t just sad and heartbroken; he was also angry. Wondering how Peter could just do this to him, when he knew damn well that it wasn’t Peter’s fault. It wasn’t his fault Stiles wasn’t what he wanted, that he couldn’t feel the bond, and he certainly wasn’t to blame for Stiles’ dreams.
Logically, Stiles knew that. But sometimes it was hard to remember when he woke up sobbing, still feeling Peter press a kiss to his head or lean into his touch, or simply smiling at Stiles, and then remembering that Peter, the real Peter would never do that.
~*~*~
Stiles had tried to avoid Peter, keep out of his way, because seeing him and having to remember that he couldn’t just walk over and drop a kiss on his lips was too painful for Stiles. So, Stiles had kept to himself, ditched pack meetings and movie nights in an attempt to stay clear of Peter.
But of course, today, of all days, he had decided to show up for a pack meeting, only to learn that it had been cancelled.
It left him alone with Derek and Peter and Stiles desperately wished he was anywhere else.
Especially when a djinn suddenly appeared in the middle of the loft.
But of course this one wasn’t your normal, wish granting djinn, oh no, that would be too easy. This one apparently showed you your worst nightmare and wasn’t that just fun. Stiles wished he had known about this sooner, but he guessed he only had himself to blame for that, with how often he had ditched pack meetings and calls, the pack’s attempts to keeping him informed and in the loop.
They were trapped inside the loft until they were shown their nightmare, the djinn had told them and then easily flung Peter and Derek to the side when they tried to attack him.
It looked like they would just have to live through this, then.
The fire, unsurprisingly, was the worst nightmare for both Derek and Peter, leaving only Stiles to have an intimate meeting with his nightmare.
When the djinn turned to Stiles, Derek and Peter already tensed in anticipation of the nogitsune, but Stiles had enough time to know that it would be a tie between the nogitsune and dream-Peter, and he quickly looked over at Peter.
He was watching Stiles intently, but he was pale, obviously still reeling from his own nightmare laid bare, and Stiles turned back to the djinn.
The djinn was standing right in front of him and he rested his hand on Stiles’ head, like he had with Peter and Derek, and suddenly another Peter was standing in the room with them.
Stiles immediately recognized him as his dream version, just a little softer around the edges somehow, but his gaze was drawn to the real Peter when he stumbled a few steps back.
“I’m sorry,” Peter frantically whispered, edging further and further away from Stiles. “I didn’t know, I’m so sorry. I never meant to…” and he trailed off there, pressing his lips together and angling himself away from Stiles, as if he wanted to seem less threatening.
Derek had turned an accusing glare on his uncle, and Stiles was still looking at Peter too. He was still edging steadily further away from them, white and shaking and Stiles made an aborted movement to reach out for him.
It seemed to startle Peter out of his shock though, because he made a wounded sound and then spun around on his heels, running out of the loft.
Stiles was still staring after him when Derek was suddenly at his side, the djinn nowhere to be seen.
“Is it because of what he did as an alpha, or did he do something else?” he asked Stiles, voice urgent but Stiles weakly shook his head.
“Stiles, I have to know, did he do something to you?” Derek snapped at him, grabbing his arm and slightly shaking him.
“He didn’t do anything,” Stiles hissed out at Derek and pushed his hand away. “It’s not his fault.”
Derek was still staring at him, clearly not believing a word Stiles said but Stiles didn’t have time for this.
He needed to tell Peter the truth, make him understand what just happened. Stiles dashed after Peter, but of course when he made it downstairs Peter was long gone.
Stiles jumped into his jeep, glad that he knew where Peter lived, and drove there in a hurry, disobeying almost all the laws. When he finally stormed into Peter’s apartment, Peter was already haphazardly throwing clothes into a suitcase.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, tracking Peter’s frantic actions.
Peter seemed to startle at his voice and he put more distance between them again, like it would help to reassure Stiles that he was no threat.
“Leaving,” Peter said like it was obvious, and Stiles shook his head in confusion.
“But why?” he wanted to know, and Peter stared at him for a second.
“I never meant to do that to you,” Peter told him, and there was a desperation to his voice that Stiles didn’t know what to do with. “I didn’t know that I was still… I would have kept my distance, you only needed to say something. Why wouldn’t you just tell me to go to hell?” he asked, and he sounded pained.
“Peter, I’m not afraid of you,” Stiles said but Peter only scoffed.
“Right, that’s why I am your worst nightmare,” he said with derision and went back to throwing things into the suitcase.
“I dream about us dating,” Stiles said, and Peter went stock-still.
“Dating,” he repeated and there was a whole new level of pain to his voice that Stiles hadn’t anticipated. “You think us dating is a nightmare,” he said and now his voice was flat, as if Peter had packed everything into a box and tightly closed it.
“No!” Stiles hurried to say, heart hurting at how Peter curled into himself, how pained his face was.
“I dream about us being happy,” Stiles went on to explain. “We share a flat, a mating bond, and you make breakfast for us and I scratch your head when we watch a movie and it’s just…” he broke off with a sob and Peter finally turned around to look at him.
“I saw you with the red-head. I know you don’t feel the bond, I know I’m not what you want and need. And that’s fine,” even Stiles could hear his heart miss a beat at the obvious lie, “but when I dream about us like that I’m happy. And then I wake up,” he said, voice strangled. “And remember that we will never be like that.”
Stiles covered his eyes with his hands, tears spilling over now.
“That’s what my nightmares are about,” he finished with a whisper, trying desperately to get himself back under control, because Peter didn’t deserve to have Stiles’ feelings thrown at him like that.
But he had needed to explain, needed to make Peter understand that Stiles wasn’t afraid of him.
Stiles startled when Peter was suddenly there, gently pulling Stiles’ hands down and he tried to avert his eyes, but Peter was insistent.
“Stiles,” he whispered, gently tilting his head up, and Stiles could barely see through his tears.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles managed to get out. “I didn’t mean to tell you.”
“I’m glad you have,” Peter said and kissed the tears on his cheeks away. “I thought you didn’t want me, that you couldn’t feel the bond. I knew from the moment you came to the hospital that you were mine.”
Stiles grabbed Peter’s wrists to keep him in place and leaned his forehead against Peter’s.
“I only noticed it when I got control over my magic,” he explained with a whisper. “And then I saw you.”
“She was a one-night stand,” Peter apologetically said. “I never started anything serious with anyone. Not if it wasn’t with you.”
“I love you,” Stiles told him, and Peter tilted his head up to kiss him.
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he gave back between kisses.
~*~*~
Stiles made his way into the kitchen, still blinking sleep from his eyes. Peter was at the stove, only wearing his sleeping pants and busy putting the bacon into the pan.
“Morning,” Stiles whispered, and Peter threw a small smile over his shoulder, face going soft when he took in Stiles.
“Morning, darling,” he gave back, offering his cheek for a kiss when Stiles walked over to him.
“You always make the best breakfast,” Stiles said as he slung his arms around Peter’s middle, pressing his face into his shoulder.
“I know,” Peter gave back.
Stiles sneaked a hand out, to grab a piece of bacon, and he knew damn well that Peter let it have him, but he still got his first bite of breakfast.
“Love you,” he mumbled while still chewing and Peter chuckled.
“Love you, too,” he gave back.
Stiles woke slowly, still warm and sleepy under the blankets, and he reached out for Peter, but his side of the bed was empty.
Stiles huffed and snuggled deeper into the bed, before the scent of bacon hit him and he decided that joining Peter in the kitchen seemed like the better option.
Stiles shuffled into the kitchen, still sleepy-warm, and he enjoyed watching Peter for a second. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just the pants he wore to bed and Stiles had to smile at the resemblance to his dream.
He quickly went over to Peter, who smiled at him and leaned into the kiss when Stiles demanded one. Stiles wrapped his arms around Peter’s middle, like he had in the dream, and for a split second he was confused about what was real.
Stiles reached out to take a piece of bacon, still vividly remembering his dream, but Peter immediately slapped his hand away.
“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Peter chided him and immediately soothed the sting with a kiss to Stiles’ hand.
“Dream-you is much nicer to me,” Stiles complained, and Peter laughed.
“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Peter confidently gave back, and Stiles peppered his shoulder with kisses.
Peter might be right about that. Stiles wouldn’t trade this for anything.
“I love you,” Stiles told Peter, who leaned sideways to press a kiss to Stiles head.
“I love you, too, darling,” he gave back. “But now get your hand off my bacon.”
Stiles laughed out loud at that, dancing away from Peter when he mock growled at him. This was even better than his dream.