"Are you just going to sit here and glare at her for the entire class?"
Stiles whipped his head around from where he had, admittedly, been glaring at his English teacher and gave the girl next to him an over-exaggerated blink of innocence. Who was she to judge his actions? Just because everyone else in the Beacon Hills coven thought she was some kind of prodigy didn't mean Stiles had to fawn over Lydia Martin, too.
Honestly, he had more magic in his little finger than she had in her entire plastic shell. It wasn't his fault that his somewhat spastic personality caused people to underestimate him. That was their mistake, and one he would never correct. It was, after all, much easier to fake a lower score on his annual aptitude tests if everyone was already expecting it.
But in times like these, all the lies bubbled up in him right along with his volatile magic. While there was nothing he'd like more than to correct Lydia's assumptions by blasting her out of her seat with just a twitch of a finger, he had to control himself. It wasn't the right time.
"Glaring? Me? I wasn't glaring," Stiles shook his head.
"Right," Lydia drawled, not even looking at him as she reapplied her lip gloss. It was what Stiles found to be her most annoying habit. "You know, no one would blame you for glaring. After all, if I had to measure my future potential from my ability to marry well, I'd be angry if someone else was being courted by my favoured."
Stiles held in a vicious snarl. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Lydia looked at him, eyebrow raised in disbelief. "You forget that I'm not as blind as the rest of our circle. I know you want Peter Hale. I'm actually a bit impressed at your choice, to be honest. I always thought it would be Derek you favoured."
A thick wave of nausea came over Stiles, causing his abdominal muscles to twitch frantically and his palms to sweat. Derek Hale was exactly the kind of mate Stiles wanted to avoid, werewolf or otherwise. There was nothing unique or impressive about him, except perhaps his unfortunate taste in women. In fact, Stiles had expected him to go after Jennifer Blake himself. There was, after all, enough evil lingering around her to entice him.
Unfortunately, the Alpha of the Hale pack, Talia, had requested that her brother court the witch. It was like a scene out of Stiles's most horrific nightmare.
The coven, of course, was extremely excited about the match.
"I know what you're thinking," Lydia said quietly, watching as his expressions flickered. "But did you really think the Hales would match one of their finest with you? Come on, Stiles, be real."
Stiles shook his head, bottling all his dark thoughts up and giving Lydia a bright smile. "You're right, of course. Maybe I should go for someone more in my league, right? Maybe the youngest cousin, Malia."
Nodding encouragingly, Lydia returned the smile. All of her intellect and she couldn't tell that Stiles's smile was as fake as her nails. That was the trouble with people in Beacon Hills, though. They figured one thing out and thought they knew the whole story.
A loud bell rang in the hall and students began to rush out of the room. Stiles watched as everyone, including Lydia, made their way to different classes, leaving him alone with Ms. Blake.
He ducked his head to hide the cruel smile that was spreading across his face and moved to the front of the room. He timed his steps perfectly, hitting Ms. Blake's shoulder just as he turned to leave. His magic sparked at the touch of an unfamiliar and reacted. A muffled thump let Stiles know that the reaction had been enough to knock the teacher against the wall behind her. He turned to her, his face morphed between shock and dismay.
"Ms. Blake, are you okay?" Stiles asked, his voice high and tight in distress. "I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going or I would have moved! Are you hurt?"
Stretching his hands out to help her recover her balance, Stiles bit his lip to hold in a smirk. The teacher looked at him and, for just a second, he could see the malice and hatred in her dark eyes. The second of eye contact was just long enough for his empathy to get a read on her feelings.
Like he had suspected, it was a dizzying, uncomfortable rush of angerdestroyspite before twisted magic papered over it with surprisekindnessmeek. To Stiles, it was like seeing someone cover a hole in the wall with a gaudy poster. No one else in the coven, with the exception of High Priestess Morrell, had the skill required to see such intricacies of emotion.
"Oh!" Ms. Blake gasped, catching Stiles's hands in her own and digging sharp nails into soft flesh under the guise of steadying herself. "No, I'm fine! Are you okay, Mr. Stilinski?"
Stiles smirked down at the shallow lines being cut into his skin. "Perfect."
-x-x-x-x-
In Beacon Hills, the population was a strange separation of the supernatural. The majority of the inner town was made up of a coven of witches while the preserve hosted a large werewolf pack and the outer town was led by an old coven of vampires. There were others, like the small family of kitsunes that lived down the road from the school and the horde of banshee that lived by the waterfront, but everyone lived by the agreement that the majority rules.
It was Hell for Stiles.
He was barely nine when he and his father moved down south from a small town in Oregon. His father, a well-respected leader of their community, was tired and wanted to escape the memories of his recently deceased wife. They'd given up everything to live a parody of their lives in Beacon Hills.
For someone like Stiles, who had spent his life living around and learning from various supernaturals, being thrust into a box as simply a 'witch' irritated him to an extreme.
His mother had been a beautiful forest nymph, always barefoot and covered in leaves. She had taught him how to use his magic to manipulate the earth, growing flowers out of season and causing rain showers in the sun. His father was from a long line of powerful sorcerers, but his mother had been a succubus. It caused an interesting awakening of power and sexuality within Stiles when he hit puberty.
Not only did he have a heritage like none other in Beacon Hills, but the town where the Stilinskis had lived had also been like none other.
Witches lived with vampires who lived with werewolves who lived with kitsunes who lived with banshees who lived with fairies and selkies and more. Everyone's powers were used for the community's benefit. No one shunned or judged another for powers they did or didn't have.
The segregation and prejudice of Beacon Hills left a bitter taste in Stiles's mouth. It had caused him to lose everything. His heritage, his power, his personality, even his best friend.
-x-x-x-x-
"How was school today?" John Stilinski asked his son as he heard the front door close, not looking up from the files in front of him.
Stiles watched him quietly for a minute, everything inside him boiling over. "Did Mom think I was weak?"
His dad snapped his head up, looking at him carefully. For ages they stayed like that, staring at one another in complete silence. Finally, John sighed.
"Stiles, you were the world to your mother. No one had a kid half as smart as you, or as powerful, or as special. Why would you think something like that?"
Shrugging and crossing his arms over his chest, Stiles answered quickly. Lydia Martin told me I should marry well so I can have a good future."
John shook his head, grief creasing his features. "No, Stiles. You'll have a good future if that's what you make it, even if it means leaving."
"Dad?" Stiles asked, voice strangled and high in shock.
"You put up a good front," John admitted, raising from his chair and coming over to Stiles. He put a hand on the back of his son's neck and used his grip to shake him lightly. "But I'm not the sheriff for nothing. I know you hate it here."
Stiles locked his knees as all the emotion drained out of him, leaving him weak and shaky. "It's just...why are they like this? Are the wolves really that scared that the witches might put a mind whammy on them to use them as pets? Are the old crones terrified the vamps might get a taste of their special sauce? Keeping everyone separated like this is stupid! It's stupid and this town is stupid and having to hide my power is stupid! I hate it!"
His voice strengthened and rose along with his frustration. He had been hiding and obfuscating and lying about everything ever since they stepped foot in Beacon Hills and he was so done with it all.
Apparently his magic was as well, taking the opportunity offered by his heightened emotions to lash out, causing the lights to flicker wildly and the windows to shake. He barely had time to take a quick breath before every piece of glass in the kitchen shattered.
Later that night, after sweeping up all the broken glass and making a run to the store to buy plastic for the windows, he caught his dad looking over him curiously.
"What?" Stiles asked, feeling better and less under pressure than he had in months.
"Nothing," John said quickly, looking away and back again shiftily. "Just...if you wanted to marry well, say a-a-a Morgan or a Vulpes or a Hale, I just want you to know...that's your choice and I support you."
Fire burned beneath the thin skin of Stiles's cheeks. He'd had a few moments where he wondered if his father knew about his infatuation with Peter Hale- what with Stiles constantly complaining about the werewolves, doing his runs around the perimeter of the preserve, and becoming increasingly moody ever since the courtship between Peter and Jennifer had been announced- but now he was absolutely certain that John Stilinski knew exactly what was going on.
Hell, he had probably known before Stiles.
-x-x-x-x-
Stiles would always remember the first time he had met Peter Hale.
It had been a pleasant early autumn afternoon, the air crisp and the leaves brightly colored. Stiles had been planning to hang out with Scott, carefully keeping track of all the things they still had to do before school started in a week. When he reached his friend's house, he was met with the sight of Scott and an older man talking quietly in the living room.
"Hey, Scott," Stiles greeted slowly, nerves spiking at the unfamiliar in what he considered part of his territory. He had a key! And Stiles was almost certain this man was a werewolf, theory proven when his nostrils flared and he winced at the stench of Stiles's panic. "What's going on? Who's this?"
Scott grimaced and turned to look at his friend, determination and gratitude fading from his eyes to be replaced with sorrow and regret. "Stiles, this is Peter Hale. He's here from the Hale pack as an adviser."
Offering his hand cautiously, Stiles tried to ignore the sparkling reaction from his magic as Peter's warm palm pressed against his own. It felt incredible, amazing, awful. This was Beacon Hills, after all. There was only a few reasons why a wolf would come out of the safety of the preserve to consort with witches.
"Wonderful to meet you, Peter," Stiles murmured, sincere and lying at the same time. It was wonderful to meet Peter and his magic was acting up wildly in agreement. However, he dreaded the answer to his next question. "Why did they send you an adviser?"
Scott opened his mouth, but Peter cut him off, speaking to Stiles calmly and confidently. "Since Scott was bitten, it's come to our attention that he would be better served surrounding himself with those that are more familiar with his situation. The wolf inside will have already dominated any magic he may have had before the bite."
"What?" Stiles stared at the man in front of him, frozen in incredulity. How could such a gorgeous person say such horrible things?
"I'm moving," Scott explained quietly, rubbing the back of his neck as Stiles turned his attention onto him. "Into the preserve."
"Why?!"
"I was bitten, Stiles. My life is different now," Scott said, his voice earnest and sweet. "I can't practice magic anymore, so I can't be part of the coven. I need to learn control over my wolf, and for that I need a pack."
Stiles wanted to scream. He wanted to rage and throw things and shatter the world with nothing more than the power of his mind.
"We'll still get to hang out," Scott promised. "It's not like I'm moving across the world!"
"Yeah," Stiles agreed softly, his heart breaking. Scott may think that was true, but Stiles knew the truth. Supernaturals didn't mingle in Beacon Hills unless it was important. So far, the only things Stiles had seen that counted as 'important' were alliances, whether by marriage or by summit. Other than that, everyone kept to their own pack or coven.
"I have to go, Stiles. I'll see you later."
Nodding slowly, Stiles turned to walk away. He could feel the heavy weight of Scott and Peter's stares on his back, but refused to turn around. He'd never leave if he looked back now. He'd circle Scott's house with mountain ash to keep him in his life forever and lock Peter in with them for good measure.
With ever step he took on his way home, fallen leaves crunched under his feet. Fall was all around him, colorful and loud, bright and pleasing.
It made him sick.
-x-x-x-x-
Stiles was silently celebrating the completion of the first part of his plan when he was interrupted by a series of loud thumps next to him. He looked over to see Lydia's poisonous green eyes glaring at him.
"What did you do?"
"Me?" Stiles asked, pointing at himself in disbelief. "I didn't do anything! Why? What happened?"
"Ms. Blake isn't here today," Lydia answered, taking Stiles at his word. Her mistake. "I caught my mother on the phone with Mrs. Whittemore this morning. I didn't here much but it sounded serious."
"Serious, like, sick serious? Or serious, like, calling the council serious?"
Lydia looked at him curiously for a moment and then dismissed him. "I'm not sure. It's probably nothing. I'm sure she'll be back tomorrow."
"You're probably right," Stiles conceded, turning away to hide his pleased grin. "Still, I'll keep her in my thoughts."
-x-x-x-x-
"I'll be damned if that-that evil, manipulative little bitch gets him now," Stiles seethed.
He had been cleaning up in the attic when he caught sight of an official looking box, the words 'sheriff's office' scrawled across the sides. Getting wrapped up in looking through a few of his dad's old police files from Oregon, severely bored and vaguely curious, he'd been thrown when he caught sight of a picture of Jennifer Blake.
Or, Julia Baccari, as the file read.
Flipping through the small stack of papers, Stiles read over the details of the case with a growing sense of rage. The words jumped out at him, fervent in their desire to be read.
Julia had been a disgraced emissary from a pack that lived on the outskirts of Stiles's hometown. Her various missteps in the supernatural community had made her a pariah, not fit to join any circle or coven. The horror had grown when the council had discovered that she had been doing ritual sacrifices in order to heighten her abilities.
While Stiles was of the mindset that killing had a time and place, he'd never been much for ritualistic murders of innocent people.
His eyes tracked over the paper, catching every bit of relevant information and cataloging it for future use. It seemed she had disappeared suddenly after the alpha of the pack she had been staying with threatened to drag her in front of the council himself. A sinister grin stretched across his boyish face as he pulled out his cell phone, shooting a glance at the attic door to check it was shut.
"I knew she was evil," Stiles muttered, punching in a number he had found in Julia's file.
"Hello?"
"Yes, hi. May I speak to Deucalion? I have some interesting information regarding the whereabouts of Julia Baccari."
Silence.
"Tell me everything."
Stiles felt his magic twist around him, dark and eager. "With pleasure."
-x-x-x-x-
The next day at school, the entire student body was buzzing. Their coven was relatively small and insulated, a fact Stiles usually hated but took great pleasure in today. It was easier, after all, for news to travel quickly through a small town where everybody knew everybody.
He walked from class to class, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he caught bits and pieces of the best conversations he had ever heard in the halls of Beacon Hills High.
"-I had no idea-"
"-said it was an anonymous tip-"
"-Deucalion himself came-"
"-not going to get away with this-"
"-guess that means the courtship is over-"
"-Hales are furious-"
For just a moment, Stiles was able to revel in the fruits of his labor. Everyone knew what Jennifer Blake was truly capable of, her courtship with Peter was finished, and using his magic was easier and more powerful than ever before in the aftermath of his accomplishment. Best of all, he was now owed a favor by Deucalion, the most frightening alpha on the west coast. No one tangled with him and came out on top.
No one except Stiles.
Turning into a different, emptier hallway, he caught sight of Lydia. Before he had time to even blink, she was standing in front of him with her mouth open, clearly ready to tear right through him. He braced himself.
"Is there something I can help you with, Lydia?"
Her eyes softened and she sighed, stretching up to wrap her arms around Stiles in a quick, friendly embrace.
"Congratulations," she whispered against his ear, pulling back to stare up at him with shining eyes. "I hope you're happy with him."
Stiles smiled and returned her hug. "I will be."
-x-x-x-x-
"I just came to say thank you," Peter offered, standing at Stiles's door like it was an everyday occurrence.
Stiles stared at him, blinking innocently. "For what?"
"Don't play with me, Stiles," Peter said as he rolled his eyes. He gave an over-dramatic sniff and leaned forward. "I could smell you all over Blake when she was brought in front of the council."
"I didn't know you'd be there," Stiles murmured. He swayed in place dizzily as his magic reacted to Peter's presence, just like always.
"Talia is on it, being the alpha of the largest werewolf pack in Beacon Hills," the older man offered. "She requested that I be there, seeing as I was the one wronged most. Who was I to refuse?"
Looking at the werewolf with soft eyes, Stiles gave him a smile and tilted his head questioningly. "So you came over to thank me. Why?"
"It wasn't easy for me," Peter answered, moving closer to Stiles in a smooth way that spoke of years of excellent body control. "Going through the motions of courtship with someone like Blake was excruciating. I imagine having to watch was even worse. I can't believe you would do what you did, just for me."
Stiles laughed and raised a hand, gently trailing his fingertips over Peter's smooth cheek. Inching just the tiniest bit forward, the tip of his nose followed the same careful path, ending with his lips against Peter's.
It was fire, ice, electricity. It was the first kiss, the last kiss, and every kiss inbetween. It was lips parting, tongues sliding, hearts beating.
It was perfect.
It was a kiss for the ages.
It was him and Peter.
"I'd do anything for you," Stiles whispered against Peter's lips when they pulled apart, trusting that Peter's delicate hearing would catch the words over shaky breaths and pounding hearts. He pressed their mouths together again for a brief second, fighting the urge to get lost in love, lust, magic, and tilted his face to smile at Peter. "You belong to me."
A/N: this was written for day one of steter week on tumblr! i chose to do a mixed theme of a magic au and dark!stiles, even though i wasn't sure i'd finish this on time.
please review!
~S.