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Oh Undine, Sing Your Love To Me

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Stiles belongs to the water. He lives in the cool embrace, amongst the algae and rocks. He has lived here all his life, it has been his sanctuary and his home. This pool deep in a forest, beneath a powerful if small waterfall. Stiles has never ventured beyond the shores of his pond, knows that the forest and what lies beyond holds no interest for him. It’s not a lack of curiosity, it’s a knowing within the marrow of his bones that he is not ready for that potential world.


Not yet.


Stiles has seen humans. They wander into his part of the woods on occasion. Sometimes Stiles lures them with the sound of his singing so he can observe them. They are cute, blundering things. Most do not enter the water, it is hard to judge it’s depth from the edge so they clearly fear wandering into unknown territory. Some attempt to swim, unafraid of the opaque quality of the water. These brave, foolish mortals do not make it back to shore.




The waterfall beats on Stiles back, water sliding over pale skin. The repeated drumming of the water against the rocks and the surface of the pool is soothing to Stiles, a way to quiet his mind. He keeps his eyes closed, face upturned into the spray.


He does not hear the approach of wolves until they splash into the water. Stiles eyes snap open, jewel bright in the late September sun. The wolves have not seen him, too concerned with their shortness of breath and apparent injuries. Stiles slinks from his rock into the water, barely making a ripple.


One wolf is dark haired with eyes green like moss. Hands keep spasming into claws. He has an arrow in his knee, blood dripping sluggishly around the wound. He does not interest Stiles.


The other has eyes like a summer sky. Like a winter frost. He is as tall as Stiles, shoulders broad, hands capable. He has a wound in his side. He scopes water to wash away the blood, wincing as he digs into the wound to remove an arrowhead. He drops the bloody metal into the pool, falling back to lie on the shore.


“Are we safe?” Green eyes asks. He spits blood onto the ground, wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. Pretty blue eyes leans over, removing the arrow in the other’s chest with swift accuracy. Green eyes growls. Blue eyes flashes a fang in return.


“We’re safe. For now.”


His voice is smooth like the surface of a lake, sweet to Stiles ears. Green eyes flops back onto the ground, breathing in and out slowly. The wolves stay until the sun has dipped below the tree line.


“Come on,” Blue eyes says, getting to his feet. “We should leave.”


Green eyes groans, rubbing an eye with the palm of his hand.


“Can’t we stay a little bit longer Peter?”


“Move Derek.”


Peter cajoles Derek out of the clearing, not looking back.


Stiles sinks beneath the water to the bottom of the pool. He swims to the shore, retrieving the bloody arrow head, rolling it between his fingers. He lift it to his lips, runs his tongue along the edge. Copper saltiness, sweat and fear. It’s delicious.


Stiles has never met a creature before that has captured his interest just from sight. Peter is beautiful, enchanting in a way Stiles can’t quite name.


Stiles wants him.




Peter’s not sure why he goes back to that pool. It’s not like it holds pleasant memories for him. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched by something preternatural. Something hiding in the water.


Finding the pool is an interesting experience. The forest appears to convex and concave, giving the illusion that it’s more dense than it appears. Wandering into the clearing is like stumbling out of a thick fog, Peter finds himself tripping on tree roots into the sunlight. The surface of the water isn’t exactly still given the waterfall but there’s still an unnatural stillness in the air. Aside from the thump of water on rocks, the clearing is silent. No animals, no birds.


The water itself is a strange optical illusion. It’s dark, almost inky black but Peter can see through it in places. Peter walks the edge of the pool, putting his hands over his eyes to look up the waterfall. The entire construction is unusual, it appears to move in and out of focus like a camera lens. Peter bends down to the edge of the water, dips his fingertips in. It’s cold which is to be expected.


He shakes the water from his fingers and knows in that moment that he’s being watched. He pauses, lets his eyes glow beta blue.


There are eyes watching him. Deep in the water, golden brown like fossilised amber. Hauntingly beautiful.


Peter blinks and the eyes are gone.




Peter goes back whenever he can to wait on the water’s edge to see the eyes again. There is something here and Peter is determined to discover it.


He researches the pool, notes how it cannot be found on any maps of Beacon Hills. He speaks to some locals who’ve found it; most say they could never find it again, a few say that the area creeped them out. A couple say they’ve lost people to the water, said that relatives or friends went hiking in the woods and never came back, despite good knowledge of the area.


Peter wonders how bloodthirsty this creature is. Wonders whether it wants to devour him too.




Stiles watches his wolf from the depths. Today, Peter has brought a picnic blanket and a book. It’s almost November, the days short but Peter comes. Stiles supposes that the cold doesn’t bother him the way it would a mortal.


Stiles has yet to speak to his wolf. He has never cared about a first impression before but now he wants to make a good one. He wants the wolf to be his completely, he needs to be charming and alluring. He supposes that he could sing but that would be cheating.


Peter closes the book, looking out across the pool.


“I won’t hurt you,” Peter declares, climbing to his feet. “I just want to meet you.”


Stiles lets a few bubbles loose to the surface. Peter narrows his eyes.


“I’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe we could speak.”


Peter leaves.


Stiles rotates the arrowhead in his hands.




Peter sits close to the water’s edge. Waiting. He’s been here since dawn. It’s almost noon. He waits.




Stiles emerges from the waterfall, positioning himself on a rock. Deliberately leaves the pool between them to avoid temptation.




The creature is beautiful. Pale as moonlight, dotted with dark moles. Lithe and tall, muscles developed from swimming. Butterscotch eyes, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Lips, plush and pink. This creature is not unlike a marble greek statue, clearly cut from some divine cloth. Completely nude, his form masculine, though he has arranged himself in such a way to hide anything untoward.


“Hello,” Peter says.


“Hello,” the creature replies, voice melodious like the strumming of a lyre.


“My name is Peter.”






“My name,” Stiles clarifies, “it’s Stiles. You are exquisite wolf, I have not found anyone so interesting on sight before.”


Peter chuckles.

“The feeling is very much mutual. Though I feel at a disadvantage given how you know what I am and I cannot place you.”


Stiles slips a foot into the water, swinging it back and forth though not hitting the surface.


“I have lived here all my life, since water first cut a path through the earth. I do not know what I am, only that I am old. Only that I have been waiting for someone like you.”


Peter process that information, dipping his head. This creature is evidently a seductress of some kind though Peter cannot begrudge its nature.


“Do you want to drown me?”


Stiles looks appalled by the very notion.


“No! I wouldn’t. I don’t want… I want…”


He pauses, stuck in finding a way to articulate his desires.


“I just want to know you. And be known by you.”


Stiles bites his lip, almost apprehensive of Peter’s thoughts on this. Peter doesn’t quite know what to think.


“I could stay over here,” Stiles suggests, pointing to the rock, “and you stay over there. And we could just… talk.”


Peter considers this, adjusting his position on his blanket.






Stiles is fascinating. Wickedly smart, able to understand concepts he has no first hand knowledge of with relative ease. Peter finds himself the eager teacher of an even more eager student. Stiles likes books, adores it when Peter reads to him, is practically insistent on at least a chapter of whatever text Peter brings with him.


Stiles has stayed deep in the water though he’s a little closer each day. Sometimes he’ll swim forward in excitement, remember in the last second and splash backwards. Peter tries and fails not to wish Stiles would swim close enough to touch.


He dreams of Stiles at night, vivid dreams that leave him hard and aching. Dreams of stripping at the water's’ edge, wading out to Stiles. He takes Stiles in his arms, kisses him deeply. He imagines Stiles lips will be cold but Peter will soon warm them up. Imagines what it would be like to sink beneath the surface and make love on the shore.


Peter is desperate to touch and fearful of what giving into that desire will do.




Stiles is very careful not to sing around Peter but sometimes he forgets.


Sun kicks the moon off the mountain. That is my cue to leave. The long tears of women are silent, so they won’t wake those who sleep.”


A twig snaps. Stiles stops, opening his eyes. Peter grimaces, irritated with himself. Stiles looks at his hands.


“Your singing voice is beautiful.”


Stiles snorts.


“It’s designed to be.”


“Is that how you lure local hikers into the water?”


Stiles slips off the rock into the water, disappearing into the dark. He doesn’t resurface until Peter has left, ignoring the heartfelt begging.




Peter hears Stiles singing in his dreams. He’s never wanted something with his entire being like he wants Stiles.




Stiles wants to leave this pool. He wants to feel the earth beneath his feet, he wants to sleep in a bed with Peter at his side, he wants to know the taste of fruit and spices and sugar, he wants to be held and to hold, fuck and make love, kiss and hold hands.


He wants to be human.




“You’ve spent a lot of time in the woods recently,” Talia comments. Peter continues dicing carrots and ignores her. He adds the carrots to the stew, reaching to grab paprika from the spice rack when Talia grabs his wrist.




“You’d tell me if something was wrong.”


“Nothing is wrong. I’ve made a new friend, someone I don’t want to share with you yet. I’m allowed some secrets.”


Talia lets go of Peter’s wrist, smirking in a way unique to older sisters who know when their younger brother’s have met someone who’s more than a friend. Peter rolls his eyes, shooing her out of the kitchen.




Stiles is at the water’s edge. Peter stops in his tracks, shocked by the boldness. And certainly pleased.


“I can become human,” Stiles says, looking up at Peter with pleading eyes.




“Marry me.”




“Marry me,” Stiles repeats, “If you marry me, I’ll have a human soul. I can leave this pool, we can be together. Please, there is nothing in this world I want as much as you.”


Peter drops his bag. He walks slowly to the water, kneeling down near Stiles. It’s the first time they’ve ever been this close. He reaches out, cupping Stiles jaw gently, sweeping his thumb over Stiles cheek. Stiles mouth parts. Peter leans in, brushing his lips against Stiles. Stiles gasps, cold chapped lips catching on Peter’s stubble.


Stiles responds eagerly after that, taking fistfuls of Peter’s shirt in his wet hands. Peter growls, letting himself pull back to rip off his shirt.


“I’ll marry you, I’ll do anything for you. But now I want to fuck you, here in the water.”


Stiles nods, scrambling at Peter’s belt and jeans. Peter is naked quickly, reels Stiles in for another kiss. It’s heated, so desperate and like nothing Peter has ever experienced before. Stiles hands grip Peter’s shoulders. Peter pulls Stiles closer, his hands drifting down Stiles back to cup that firm ass. He teases, encouraging the sweet gasps from Stiles lips and enjoying how Stiles hips stutter forward.


Stiles moves from kissing Peter’s lips, goes straight for his neck and sucks a bruise into the soft skin behind Peter’s ear. Peter moans. Stiles sits back, grinning, a little blood on his teeth. Peter has never found Stiles to be more beautiful.


“Have you ever touched yourself here?” Peter asks, voice low and husky. He strokes his fingers at the cleft of Stiles ass. Stiles nods, pushing back against Peter’s fingers, tilting his head towards Peter’s.


“Please,” Stiles murmurs against Peter’s lips. Peter lips curls at the edge. He pulls Stiles into his lap, let’s Stiles get comfortable on his thighs. Stiles eyes are framed by wet eyelashes, a few droplets slide down his face. Peter’s other hand comes up to trace the delicate skin of Stiles collarbone. It drifts lower, tugging the nipple. Stiles mouth parts, that cherry red scent Peter has come to discover is his arousal intensifies.


Peter put his mouth on Stiles nipple, cresting the line between pleasure and pain as he nips and licks. Stiles ruts against him, so hard and aroused. After a while, Peter swaps to the other nipple, rolling them so Stiles is on his back on the shore line. Peter keeps Stiles distracted with a passionate kiss while he grabs his jeans to find the lube.


The sound Stiles makes when Peter rubs the slick against his entrance is heavenly. He widens his legs, allowing Peter to slot more firmly in the gap. One finger quickly becomes two.


“Does it feel good?” Peter murmurs against Stiles ear, nipping it affectionately.


“Better than my own fingers,” Stiles replies. “I want to do this always with you.”


This next kiss is soft. Sweet like honey, it causes Stiles to clench around Peter’s fingers.


“You’re so beautiful like this, so fucking gorgeous taking my fingers.”

Soon Stiles is adequately prepped. He’s clawing at Peter’s back, leaving long deep scratches. Peter lines himself up, sinking in with slow precision. Everything becomes heat and touch; Stiles hands on his shoulders, the sweet clench of his body, Stiles’ pleased moans.


He starts gently, rocking forward and back until Stiles has time to adjust. Stiles grabs Peter’s hair, yanks him in for another heady kiss. Peter speeds up, rolling his hips until all Stiles can do is babble praise and moan. Peter takes Stiles cock in his hands, stroking in time to the thrusts.


He covers Stiles with his body, to comfort and to allow Stiles to explore with his wonderful hands but also a warning to anyone passing by. Stiles is his to touch and please and fuck and bring pleasure to. No one else gets to see him like this. His beautiful husband-to-be. (His mate.)


“Once we’re married,” Peter pants, “I’ll take you back to my apartment, spread you out on the sheets and fuck you again. This time I’ll knot you, leave a mating mark on your skin so that everyone will know you’re mine.”


“I want it, I want it now!”


“Not now, I want to take my time with you. Need a lot more prep for knotting but it’ll be worth it. You belong to me.”


“Yours, always. You’ll never leave me for another, right?”


“Never,” Peter growls.


A few more thrusts and Stiles is done, unravelling beneath Peter’s hands. Peter was wrong earlier, this is Stiles at his most beautiful. He’s finished soon after, slumping over Stiles body. They interlink fingers, breathing heavily into each other’s space.


“I love you,” Stiles whispers, “My beautiful wolf.”


“And I you.”




The ceremony is small, Stiles has no friends so it’s just Peter’s pack. Peter has the rings carved with the elemental symbol for water. Stiles is delighted with the whole thing, even if he’s not used to clothes and the tightness of suits.


They slip off after the festivities, eager to revel in each other. Stiles scent has changed, his skin is warm to the touch and though still pale, he has such a beautiful blush. Stiles smells a little like the ocean on a calm day. Peter loves it. His beautiful newly human mate.


“Will you sing for me?” Peter asks as they drive through the streetlight lit streets.


Made my steps towards the water, where Undine last was seen.”