aprill101



Recent works

Recent bookmarks

  1. Public Bookmark *

    Tags
    Summary

    Maybe they're a little too codependent these days, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    1,955
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Collections:
    1
    Comments:
    82
    Kudos:
    2226
    Bookmarks:
    392
    Hits:
    21092

    17 Nov 2017

    Bookmarker's Notes

    “Do you still want to leave?” Stiles enquires once Peter settles enough to sit still and allow Stiles to coax some food into him.

    Peter stares at him with haunted, tired eyes, fork in one hand, Stiles’ wrist in the other. “You said you didn’t want to.”

    Stiles shrugs, fingers absently tracing the soulmate mark engraved on Peter’s skin. “I said we wouldn't be able to get away. I didn't say we couldn't try.”

    In response, Peter drops the fork, gathers Stiles into his lap, and buries his face in the crook of the boy’s neck, a hand pressed against Stiles’ chest, directly over the mark, every thump-thump a reason to live.

    Three days later, when the Pack assembles in front of Stiles and Peter’s apartment to ask for a blood sacrifice this time, they find the place empty and deserted, with only the witch’s decapitated head on the dining table to greet them.

    None of them hear from Stiles or Peter again until years later when whispers reach Beacon Hills of a Spark and his wolf, a nomadic pair specializing in the supernatural that Codeless hunters and malicious creatures alike very swiftly learn to fear.

    You’ll never see one without the other, and they become the stuff of legends.

  2. Public Bookmark *

    Tags
    Summary

    They meet in the hospital, two broken souls with nothing left to lose.

    It's the best thing to ever happen to either of them.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    10,275
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Collections:
    1
    Comments:
    201
    Kudos:
    3753
    Bookmarks:
    1027
    Hits:
    31548

    17 Nov 2017

    Bookmarker's Notes

    They manage. They have each other, orbiting and meshing and fitting together like neither of them ever expected to. It shouldn't work. Stiles is on the brink of eighteen with enough jaded sarcasm to get himself killed and a mind that will probably never heal entirely, and Peter is thirty-six with a sociopathic streak a mile wide and an interest in Stiles that any morally righteous adult would disapprove of even if he hasn't acted on it yet.

    But they’re also equally broken and equally lonely, and when they’re together, they’re less and less of both every day.

    They aren’t conventional by any stretch of the imagination, but then again, they've never been the sort of people who wants conventional anyway.

     
    Life continues, as it’s wont to do, through triumphs and tragedies and everything in-between.

     

    They’re not perfect. They still have their bad days, when Stiles retreats into his own head, or Peter runs and runs until he collapses.

    But those occasions get fewer and farther in-between, and they have so many more good days now to enjoy.

    They're not perfect.

    They're so much more than that.

  3. Public Bookmark *

    Tags
    Summary

    It's three in the morning when Peter meets the love of his life.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    4,563
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Collections:
    1
    Comments:
    67
    Kudos:
    2056
    Bookmarks:
    328
    Hits:
    17432

    17 Nov 2017

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Peter hates his life.

    It’s not often that that happens; usually, life is his bitch, and he can coast by with his charm and intellect and manipulations.

    Not today.

    Today, he gets woken up at seven in the morning with a phone call from his sister, telling him in no uncertain terms that he was to go pick up his niece and nephew from the airport in San Francisco because Talia was too busy to do it herself, and then shepherd them back to Beacon Hills despite the fact that Peter lives in Stanford and has classes the very next day. To make matters worse, the flight that Derek and Cora were on was delayed so Peter ended up waiting for almost five hours at the airport, trying to work on his English paper with a trillion people coming and going around him, and then he had to put up with the two brats arguing over the radio station almost the entire trip home. They only shut up after he threatened to strand them on the side of the road, and then proceeded to do it when they called his bluff.

    Peter ended up being yelled at by Talia and forced to turn around to pick up her spawn again. On the bright side, Derek and Cora were much more sullenly silent after that.

    Of course, after dropping them off, Peter had to make the return trip back to Stanford, and by the time he got back to his apartment, it was ten in the evening, he was starving, and his English paper stillwasn't finished. Granted, it wasn't due until next week, but he hates leaving assignments to the last minute, which meant staying up late and slurping down instant noodles because it was the only thing he had left in his meagre food stores. He was supposed to go shopping today.

    The grand finale to this crap of a day came after he wrapped up his essay at one in the morning, stripped down to his boxers, and collapsed into bed.

    For all of two hours.

    Then the godforsaken fire alarm goes off, and here Peter stands on the sidewalk at three AM on a Monday morning in a shirt and a pair of jeans that he hastily threw on on his way out, inwardly seething and mentally plotting a nasty surprise for the asshole who set off the alarm with either some late-night experimental cooking session or an actual fire because this is college and kids are dumb.

    Each is just as likely a reason as the other. Peter’s personally witnessed both. This apartment may be off-campus, but it’s specifically rented out for university students first, professors second, and everybody else last, which means that the idiotic stunts typically found in dorm buildings is almost equally likely to be found here. The handful of professors crazy enough to live in a place where the students are the majority mostly do it because of the location – close to school but not too close, with affordable rent and comfortable furniture – and none of them actually has any authority over the students while they're here. The students tend to take shameless advantage of that, which results in stupidity like this occurring on at least a fortnightly basis.

    Oh, and did Peter mention that it’s the middle of February? He’s freezing, and his only consolation is that he isn’t the only one.

    And he has an eight-thirty class in approximately five hours and counting.

    Peter officially hates his life.

     

    “And there’s the fire truck,” The man’s wry tone of voice brings an answering smirk to Peter’s own face as they both listen to the far-off siren.

    “It’s a good thing the building isn’t really on fire,” Peter concurs in a sardonic drawl. “And nobody was stuck inside. Or we’d all be dead by now.”

    “Tragic,” The man deadpans. “People would mourn if I didn’t show up for class in the morning. Tears would be shed.”

    “My professor wouldn’t do either,” Peter smirks. “I’m apparently ‘too arrogant for my own good, and someone, somewhere, someday, will snap and strangle me out of a bout of righteous fury’. And ‘no jury in the world would hold them accountable’.”

    The guy cocks his head, expression growing thoughtful. “...Professor Martin, right?”

    Peter’s eyes widen in surprise, but before he can ask how the guy would know (Does Professor Martin complain about him to her other classes? Peter is flattered. He didn't think he drove her up the wall that badly.), the fire truck pulls up, a few students start hollering their grievances at the firemen, and for some reason, a fight breaks out almost simultaneously.

  4. Public Bookmark *

    Tags
    Summary

    ‘Not you; you're not the one I want.’ 

    Those words have been with Stiles for as long as he can remember, an unwanted brand printed over his left ribcage.

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    9,326
    Chapters:
    2/?
    Collections:
    1
    Comments:
    135
    Kudos:
    2897
    Bookmarks:
    566
    Hits:
    41486

    17 Nov 2017

  5. Public Bookmark *

    Tags
    Summary

    The first thing your soulmate says to you is printed on your skin at birth.

    --

    ‘You must be Stiles.’ is written in sharp cursive on the inside of Stiles’ right wrist.

    ‘If I tell you I'm your soulmate, are you still gonna kill me?’ is scrawled in bold lettering down Peter’s left forearm.

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    4,777
    Chapters:
    3/?
    Collections:
    1
    Comments:
    88
    Kudos:
    2871
    Bookmarks:
    524
    Hits:
    36493

    17 Nov 2017

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Peter cants his head to the side, closing the notebook as he stares unblinkingly at Stiles. “It’s written in Latin.”

     

    Stiles shrugs. “Uh-huh. So are several passages in your books. And most of Deaton’s books, which – by the way – that guy’s sneaky; he probably gave them to me thinking I wouldn't understand them. The guy’s never really liked me compared to Scott, go figure. So, you know, I learned Latin, mostly out of necessity, partly just to spite him.”

     

    Peter doesn't look surprised. In fact, his expression doesn't really shift at all. “It can’t have been more than a month since you started.”

     

    Stiles scratches at one cheek. “Well I'm not fluent at it. I can’t speak it. Yet. But I can read some of it, and I'm getting better every day.”

     

    A stilted silence falls over the room. Stiles squirms a little. He hates tension-filled silences. “...You didn't say I couldn't learn more than what you gave me,” He says somewhat defensively. “And even if you did, well, I wouldn't have listened to you anyway. You're my soulmate, and I’ll support your Alpha lordship as much as I can, but I'm not just gonna roll over and let you dictate what I do. If we disagree on whatever, we can talk about it and compromise, but no way will I ever go along with something I don’t-”

     

    An amused sound cuts him off, and Stiles blinks in bemusement as his soulmate chuckles, most likely at his expense. “Dude, there is nothing funny about this-”

     

    “Of course there is,” Peter interjects, amusement clear in his voice. He raises the notebook. “Stiles, you may learn to your heart’s delight. I would never try to stop you from seeking more knowledge. I was simply surprised because I was under the impression that you were still working on the books I gave you since you didn't come back and ask for more, nor did you ask me for translations of the Latin excerpts.” His eyes gleam under the soft glow of the multiple camping lanterns scattered about the Hale House’s sitting room. “It should've occurred to me that you’d solve that problem by learning Archaic Latin on your own.”

     

    Stiles digests this. “Oh. Well I didn't know you had translations.” He narrows his eyes accusingly. “So basically, you were withholding them to make sure I- what, came back to get them from you?”

     

    Peter just smirks enigmatically and doesn't give him a straight answer. “My books are yours,” He offers instead. “I’ve moved them to my new apartment so you may come over anytime to read them. I also know some Latin myself. I could help you if you ever get stumped.”

     

    “Both of those things sounds awesome, and now that you've offered, I'm definitely taking you up on them, but you know,” Stiles gives him the most unimpressed look he can muster. “I like spending time with you. You don’t need to bribe me to get me to stick around, Peter.”

     

    Peter goes quiet for a long moment, smirk fading abruptly and leaving behind something that would've been insecurity on anybody else. “...You’re still young-”

     

    “-and you're not exactly hitting your centennial yet, are you?” Stiles interrupts with a roll of his eyes. “What does that matter anyway? You're my soulmate; that’s all that matters to me, and anyone who says otherwise can either suck it up and deal or fuck off.” He waves an erratic hand at their general surroundings. “You think I’d plan murder, and learn magic, and stay up all night in a dilapidated house that looks ready to fall down on our heads to sketch blueprints and research obscure information about the supernatural for just anyone?”