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The first time Stiles heard the proverb “the heart wants what the heart wants,” he thought it was just a lousy excuse to justify loving an asshole. As a teen, he very much associated the saying with Lydia and Jackson. Stiles would watch him treat her like complete trash and yet she kept coming back to him. Even after everything with Jackson becoming a kanima and killing people for a stint. Lydia still held him and told Jackson how much she loved him.
Pretty much all throughout highschool, Stiles held that belief.
At least until he became an adult and moved in with the Hale pack. Until after every heinous crime that was committed, the moment Peter treated him with kindness or looked at him a little too fondly, Stiles understood the phrase. It took less than two weeks for him to fall for the older Hale; even though logically Stiles knows he shouldn’t. He knows that civility for the sake of being pack is all that should be there.
He knows.
And yet…
The heart wants what the heart wants.
It was the farthest thing from intentional, his massive crush on the wolf, and Stiles did try his best to ignore it. Treat it like any other problem in his life that he hasn’t wanted to deal with. Tuck it away in the corner of his brain and pretend that it doesn’t exist until it either goes away or blows up in his face. Because to Stiles’ very confused mind– he thought if there was a Hale his heart thought best to cling to that it’d be Derek or Cora– avoidance was his best course of action.
The thing is, Peter does not make it fucking easy. Stiles has his suspicions that the wolf knows about his feelings. Except that when he slips up at times, firing too flirty of a quip back at Peter, rather than pressing the issue or flirting back, the older Hale looks stunned. Shocked that Stiles would say something like that to him of all people. The most recent case being Peter huskily telling him to close his pretty mouth so that he can read in peace.
Telling Peter to ‘make me’ slipped off Stiles’ tongue before his brain even registered the thought.
Yes, Stiles is aware that his mouth is going to get him in trouble one day. It’s a fact he’s known since a fairly young age. Sarcasm will always be his best friend and defense mechanism. Surprisingly, that night, it didn’t get him in trouble. In fact, Peter barely reacted to it. His eyes flashed their beautiful blue for all of a second after he whipped his head over. Like he was unsure he heard correctly. Meanwhile, Stiles was beet red and not even breathing, more than ready to bury himself in the back yard from mortification.
But Peter said nothing! Leaving Stiles with nothing to do but scurry up to his room after the wolf returned to his book. If there was ever an open door to make a move, while an accident, that was it. But Peter didn’t take the opportunity.
Isaac, his best friend, takes absolutely no pity on Stiles. At all. He clocked the way Stiles felt about Peter almost instantly. Teases him about it and tries to get him to trip up in front of the older Hale. Which raises the question, was that because of a wolf thing or does Isaac just know him that well?
Stiles never got a solid answer.
But if it was a wolf thing…why hasn’t Peter spoken up about it? One way or the other. He could turn Stiles down because the feelings aren’t mutual. Or he could fucking do something about it because he feels the same. It just doesn’t make sense. Surely Peter can smell the attraction alongside his nervousness. Stiles needs encouragement, that’s all.
As the days go on, it’s getting harder and harder to just ignore it. His heart demanding for the wolf against his brain’s wishes. It’s as though his body will find any reason to be close to Peter. Sitting next to the older Hate at meals instead of Isaac. Blaming his usual fidgety self for their thighs bumping into one another instead of Stiles’ obsessive nature hoping the scenting will entice the wolf to speak up. Making excuses to be around Peter more often than not to maybe desensitize him to the erratic ball that is Stiles.
Chewing his thumb nail angrily, Stiles contemplates what he can do. Well, something other than outright confessing. Who wants to do that? With his anxiety? No, thank you. He’s gotta figure out how to make Peter notice without making a fool of himself.
It isn’t until Isaac pulls his finger free with a scolded, “dude,” that Stiles realizes just how deeply he’d zoned out.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, wiping his thumb on his shirt and crossing his arms. “What’d I miss?” Stiles asks, noting the clear tension in Derek, Peter, and Jackson’s shoulders.
“They–”
Their Alpha snarls, cutting Isaac off, “Peter thinks it’s a good idea to take care of the Draugr hole by himself.”
“What?” Stiles practically shouts, bolting to his feet. He sets his anger onto the older Hale, “how fucking self sacrificial can you be?” He angrily scrubs his face with both hands, “I mean, Jesus Christ, Peter, when will you get it through your thick, beautiful head that you don’t have to keep atoning? We’re a fucking pack, in case you forgot, we do this together.”
Peter softens when he meets the human’s burning gaze. The wolf sighs, “Stiles–”
“No,” Stiles waves a hand, silencing the man. “We find out that not only are Norse mythological monsters not so mythical, but a breeding den is here and your first thought is to take it on alone? No,” he huffs, not caring one bit how he sounds right now, or caring that he called Peter beautiful to his face. “That’s bullshit.”
Anyone trying to this alone is suicidal, Stiles would yell at any of them for this. But Peter has this visceral need to pay for his sins over Laura. He’s done it plenty of times over by now. It was a horrible thing he did, yes, but even Derek has forgiven him. Because deep down, everyone here knows that Peter wasn’t in his right mind when it happened. He doesn’t have to keep throwing himself into danger first just because he still feels guilty. Stiles won’t let him.
“Come on,” Peter steps closer, reaching a hand out to Stiles’ bicep before thinking better of it. To be fair, Stiles is pissed and probably looks like it too. “Be reasonable, Darling Boy,” Peter coos softly, eyes pleading.
Boyd snorts, “oh, shit,” under his breath, snickering with Isaac.
Not even the intensity of his feelings for the wolf makes him melt at the pet name slipping from Peter’s lips. Not right now. All Stiles really heard was to be reasonable. It’s like telling someone who’s only slightly angry to calm down and then being surprised when they blow up.
“I am being reasonable, jackass,” Stiles snaps, his anger coming mostly from fear for the wolf. “You’re the one over here acting like you’re fucking invincible! Newsflash, Peter? You’re not! Stiles jabs a finger at his own chest, “I would know, I’ve cleaned the blood!” All of theirs, but they’re not telling him they’re going to fight undead Norse fire monsters by themselves.
“Sweetheart,” Peter tries again, grabbing Stiles’ hands and bringing them to his chest, “I’m not saying I’m invincible. I’m merely saying that I have been almost burned alive three times.” Stiles huffs through his nose, wishing he could take those painful memories away. Even more so when he was there for two of them. “One of which, you remember, was even supernatural flames.” Peter strokes the backs of his hands with his thumbs. “If there’s anyone here who can handle that pain and still come out on top, it’s me.”
Stiles’ shoulders slump, he’s not talking Peter out of this. It’s the selfish part of him that doesn’t want to lose the wolf that’s raising such a big fuss. That and Peter’s path to self forgiveness. Mostly because he doesn’t want to lose Peter though. Stiles doesn’t know how he’d survive that and they’re not even together.
“As much as I don’t like it either,” Derek sighs, no doubt seeing the persuasion lost, “he’s right. Peter is a formidable fighter, he can handle fire without falling apart. Besides, I’m taking Jackson and Boyd to find any stragglers that made their way into town.”
Pinching his eyes closed, Stiles takes a controlled breath. He doesn’t want to keep yelling at Peter or have the last words the wolf hears from him be in anger. “Okay, but,” Stiles groans, trying his best to keep his voice calm. To remain collected about their joined hands and them being so close to the wolf’s heart. “That doesn't mean you have to do this alone. Take the others with you. They can focus on the spawns while you handle the King or Queen or whatever the hell it’s called. They spawn more at will, you know. Please,” Stiles deflates, “don’t be stupid and go alone.” I need you to come back to me burns Stiles’ tongue, cracking his teeth as the words remain unspoken.
Peter drops his hands in favor of crossing them behind his back. “And if I take them with me, who will be here to keep an eye on you?”
“I can take care of myself,” Stiles grumbles.
“I know you can, Little One,” Peter grins with his chest puffed. Stiles curses his own heart for the way it flutters in a room full of werewolves. “Last I checked though, you don’t have the supernatural ability to heal.”
“We’re wasting time with this argument,” Jackson says in annoyance.
Cora groans dramatically, “I’ll stay with him. Okay? I have homework to do anyway. Can the two of you stop flirting, it’s gross,” she mumbles almost low enough that Stiles doesn’t hear.
“Fantastic,” Isaac quips, rising from the couch alongside Erica. “We’ll go with Peter and Stiles can chill out, ‘kay? Great,” he says, not taking any rebuttal on the matter.
“Let’s go,” Derek instructs.
Peter leans in the slightest bit, “I’ll be back before you know it. Try not to wait up,” he grins with a wink, turning on his heels.
Boldness way out of character, but Stiles can’t help it, he’s incredibly worried about this mission. Draugr holes are vicious and their leader, so to speak, is incredibly violent. What if Peter comes back seriously wounded? What if he doesn’t come back at all?
“Peter, wait!”
“Stilinski,” Jackson whines.
Not a single thought or second guess crosses his mind. Not even snapping at Jackson. When Peter turns around with a raised brow, Stiles rushes to the man, crushing their mouths together. Peter stills, stunned for a moment before his hands find Stiles’ back. Rumbling softly, Peter pulls him flush to eagerly return the kiss. Something like finally bounces around in Stiles’ brain, fisting the wolf’s shirt who cups his face sweetly realizing Stiles has no intentions of not being close.
Gasping for breath and ignoring the pack’s catcalls, Stiles pants, “come back to me dammit,” poking the wolf’s chest.
“Always, my Darling Boy, always,” Peter promises, giving him one last kiss.