#don’t tell me these dramatic bitches wouldn’t quote Jane Eyre at each other

[beaconfeels]

“All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.” —Jane Eyre

**

Stiles has a buzzcut, ten bucks to his name, and a ten year plan to woo Lydia Martin when he meets Derek’s uncle.

“You must be Stiles,” Peter Hale says, stretching out a hand.

Neck, Stiles’s brain unhelpfully supplies. Thankfully his body reacts on autopilot and he shakes Peter’s hand. It’s warm and strong. It makes Stiles’s mouth dry.

Fully out of his control, Stiles’s eyes trace the line of muscle down the side of Peter’s neck to the hint of collarbone visible through the v in the neck of Peter’s white button-down shirt.

The sleeves of the shirt are rolled up, revealing strong forearms with a dusting of hair.

Hnnng, Stiles’s brain says.

“Stiles. Yes. That’s me,” Stiles blurts out. It’s loud. It would be loud in a room full of humans, and this is not that. This is a room full of werewolves.

Stiles wipes his sweaty hands on his pants.

Peter smiles. His teeth are pointed.

All the better to eat you with, my dear, Stiles’s brain quotes. This should frighten him.

It doesn’t.

**

It has been one year, two months, and eleven days since Stiles met Peter Hale.

It has been ten seconds since an angry werewolf took a swipe at Stiles, and found himself on the ground, with an angry Peter on top of him.

“Peter, stand down,” Talia says calmly. “He wasn’t going to actually hurt him, were you Felix?”

”No,” Felix says, “Get this psychopath off me. Unless you want to destroy the accord our packs have shared for generations.”

Talia raises an eyebrow, like she might be considering it. “No, but your mother will be hearing about this,” she says.

Felix groans, and Peter gets off him, dusting the dirt off his pants and smoothing his hair back into place.

He tilts his head, his eyes roving over Stiles for a moment before he strides off toward the house.

Stiles shivers in delight.

**

Stiles’s hair is long enough to curl down around his neck, he has a new tattoo on his shoulder, and sparks coming from the tips of his fingers.

“Focus,” Peter says. His arms circle around Stiles’s waist, pulling him in against the warm wall of his body.

Stiles breathes deep and thinks about his love for Peter, how it pulls at him pleasantly, tethering him to the here and now. He thinks about Peter’s blue, blue eyes, and the way that even though he can’t see them, he knows they’re focused on him, that he has Peter’s full and undivided attention.

“Good,” Peter says, and Stiles comes back to earth, to the flattened trees and the dead bodies.

His knees shake.

“You did good,” Peter says. His lips brush against the back of Stiles’s neck. “You protected your pack. We are grateful. Come back to us now.”

Stiles turns around shakily in Peter’s arms, and holds on tight, his face pressed into Peter’s neck.

There’s still a supernova building inside him, but this time the light is warm and golden. He lets it engulf him.

**

The moon shines through the tall window in the Hale family library. Her face looks benevolently down on Stiles as he kneels at Peter’s feet, his head resting on Peter’s thigh.

There are fingers running soothingly through his hair, and the voice he loves so much is reading:

Once upon a time there was a very brave boy…

Stiles drifts.

The moon smiles.

**

“Mine,” Peter says.

“Yours,” Stiles agrees.

His mate pulls him into a passionate kiss, his warm hands hold Stiles’s face, stroke down his neck, pull him in ever closer.

Husband, Stiles’s brain croons.

The gold band on Stiles’s finger glows and warms.

“Again with the rings?” Peter asks, but he’s smiling too.

#Steter #Steter ficlet #my writing #don’t tell me these dramatic bitches wouldn’t quote Jane Eyre at each other #anyway just felt like posting something easy and sappy