#nezstorm

[wynnefic]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

date with the deputy by nezstorm 

Teen Wolf, Peter/Stiles, 1k, G, complete, future fic, charity auctions, deputy Stiles, fluff

The police station is having a fundraiser and somehow Stiles ends up not only donating baked goods for sale, but also himself. He's more than a little surprised when a bidding war starts over him.

[cywscross]

Or Nurse Me and steter? :D

Forged By Fire

General Warnings:AU, Canon Divergence, Post Season 1, Preslash, Sick Peter, Burns, Alpha Peter

Summary: When Allison fired that arrow, Stiles doubts she rememberedthat fire tends to spread when itcomes into contact with flammable material, and as Peter screams and staggersand thrashes like he’s trying to physically buck off the flames eating away athis body for the second time in his life, one of his arms glances off a tree, andbefore they know it, three trees and the surrounding grass have all been setablaze, and in the ensuing smoke-filled inferno, Peter manages to escape.

A week later, Stiles almost keels over from a heart attackwhen he comes home from school and finds Peter on the floor of his bedroom, skincharred red and black, clothes a tattered mess, and his life undoubtedly parked at death’sdoorstep.

Author’s Notes: Shorter this time, thank god, although it’s still longerthan the 2000 word max gdi. But I am running on fumes.

Drabble prompts from this meme. Not taking anymore atm.

AO3 Link

“Jesus fucking H.Christ,” Stiles wheezes out, stumbling back and all but flattening himselfagainst the far wall, eyes glued on the body on his bedroom floor.

For a long, frozen minute, Stiles is sure, absolutely onehundred percent sure, that Peter is dead, and for some reason, the psychodecided to do it in Stiles’ room.  Didn’teven have the courtesy to go die out in the woods and save Stiles the troubleof explaining the dead body to a Sheriffdad, and his mind promptly races off, already pulling together a dozendifferent threads for a dozen different plans on how to deal with a corpsewithout getting himself into trouble, without getting Scott into trouble, withoutgetting his dad into trouble, and preferably without anyone ever knowing whathappened.

But then his panic begins to ebb, heart rate coming backdown bit by bit, and – slowly, carefully – Stiles peels himself off the walland shuffles a cautious step forward.

Peter doesn’t move. At all.  Which would make sensefor a corpse, but – upon closer observation – Stiles realizes that the werewolf’s chest is still moving.  Very slightly, very sluggishly,but definitely still breathing.

He should call the police, Stiles thinks dimly even as hetakes another step towards the prone figure lying on the ground.  For once, he should just call the goddamnpolice and let the professionals handle this.

But the police are hardly that, the Sheriff still doesn’tknow a thing about the supernatural, so basically the only professionals onwerewolves that Stiles knows all just want to torture and/or kill them, andStiles… Stiles can be heartless but apparently not that heartless.  Besides, heowes Chris Argent nothing, and the last time Stiles checked, Allison went andshot her boyfriend.  Sure, she wasprobably more than a little out of her depth after finding out about thesupernatural world, but Stiles didn’tgo shooting up his best friend after he discovered it.  So he’s certainly not about to go out of hisway to make the Argents’ lives even remotely easier, and he really doesn’t want his dad involved.  The Sheriff’s suspicious enough, disappointed enough, in Stiles withoutStiles adding more crazy to the plate.  

With a sigh and another five steps, Stiles finally crouchesdown beside Peter, almost gagging when the stench of burnt flesh invades hisnostrils, with the images to match, all cracked blackened skin still oozingblood.

There’s just so muchdamage.  Stiles is looking at the manand he still can’t quite believe that Peter actually survived.

Again.

The guy’s a werewolf though, and an Alpha, so maybe thathelped a little.

What Stiles doesn’t get is why the hell Peter came to him. What can Stiles do?  The last timethey saw each other, he helped the others set Peter on fire!  And now… Does Peter expect Stiles to savehim?  Take care of him?  Even if Stiles decides to do that, he hasn’tthe first clue how to go about it.

He’s never seen someone so injured.  He doesn’t even know where to put his handswithout hurting the werewolf even more.

He hesitates for a moment longer, inwardly debating the prosand cons of just putting the bastard out of his misery.  Seriously, if their positions were switched, Stiles would probably prefer death to… tothis.

He groans quietly and rubs a hand over his face.  This shouldn’t be such a difficult decision.  Peter bit Scott and went on a killing spree; practicallyanyone else in Stiles’ place would’ve already hauled them off to either the nearesthunter or the nearest grave.

And yet.

And yet, Peter came tohim.  Stiles has no idea why but…

He heaves a sigh, squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again, makesup his damn mind, and gets down to business.

First, he scrambles up again and heads to the bathroom towash his hands before raiding the medicine cabinet.  He goes downstairs and digs out the portablekettle before bringing it back upstairs to fill it and get started on boiling alot of water.  He grabs his laptop andlooks up every possible way to treat fourth-degree burns that doesn’t involve take the burn victim to the hospital duh.

He doesn’t touch Peter until he’s changed his bedsheets and snappedon some disposable gloves.  Infection shouldn’tbe quite as big a concern for awerewolf as it is for a human but Stiles wants to be as careful as he can beanyway.

Which isn’t much, considering the sheer surreality of the situation,but if he’s doing this, as insane as it sounds, then he might as well do itproperly.

Two hundred pounds of burnt werewolf is no picnic to liftbut Stiles manages, half-dragging, half-heaving Peter onto his bed beforestripping him down to his birthday suit, grimacing at the trail of blood and flakydead skin that’s left behind.  Come tothink of it – Stiles checks his window and- yeah, two bloody handprints andother red smears around the windowsill, along with more dead skin and even afew tufts of fur.

Wonderful.

He takes a deep breath. Swallows hard.  Gets to work.

First and foremost, Stiles is really banking on werewolfhealing.  Under normal circumstances,there’s no way he would be able to do anythingwith the contents of a titchy little medical kit and some painkillers, but thenagain, under normal circumstances, Stiles wouldn’t have to deal with this sortof situation at all.  Normality left indefinitelyfor parts unknown the moment Beacon Hills became the next Sunnydale though, soStiles does have to deal with this,and hopefully, he can do that until his impromptu patient is – relatively – wellenough again for his healing factor to really kick in.

Peter’s skin is clammy, but there’s also a sickly heatsimmering under his burns that worries Stiles. Still, he focuses on cleaning the burns first, wiping away dirt and deadskin, sweat and blood and pus, over and over and over again with gentle hands.

The stink of death never quite fades though.

It takes hours.  Hoursof Stiles slaving over the wreck of a body that is Peter.  It’s gross, and Stiles has to admit temporarydefeat and take a break more than once or risk throwing up before diving backin again.  He can actually see bone in some areas, and he has toclean them too.

Peter barely twitches throughout the entire ordeal.  His breathing is shallow and laboured, rattlingin his chest, and after Stiles covers his the – thankfully not as serious – burnson his forehead with gauze, he also has to lay an icepack over it because ontop of every-fucking-thing else, the werewolf also has a fever.

If Stiles were religious, he’d say God was giving him amessage, and it wouldn’t be save him.

It’s dawn by the time Stiles is finished.  Sort of. He collapses into his desk chair, peeling off his fifth pair of gloves andtossing them into the trash bag at his feet before letting his head lollback.  Then lolls forward again despite hisexhaustion, raking a critical eye over his amateur handiwork.

Peter looks more mummy than man at this point, front andback and almost head to toe covered in fresh gauze, but at least his burns havestopped dribbling blood and other bodily fluids, his breathing doesn’t soundquite as harsh in his lungs, and his temperature has fallen a few degrees.  Still feverish but no longer as bad.  Stiles damn near cheered when – just a meretwo hours ago – he spotted one of Peter’s more minor burns begin to knit itselfback together.  He almost missed itbecause the healing rate was so gradual, but he forced himself not to look forthirty minutes, and when he checked back again, the flesh was definitely more darkpink than dark red and was no longer as inflamed as before.

Peter even woke – very briefly – an hour ago, eyelidsfluttering open to reveal febrile blue eyes that couldn’t quite focus even ashis body jerked like he wanted to sit up.  Stiles managed to keep him lying down andmostly calm, even coaxing some water down his throat before the werewolf wasout like a light again.

Stiles leans forward, elbows on his thighs, and releases along, drawn-out breath.  He still needs tomop up the blood from his windowsill and possibly the lawn and the side of the house.  Thenthere’s the trash to take out, bedsheets to change again so that Peter isn’tlying in his own filth, and then waking the werewolf to at least get some morewater into him because Peter needs to stay hydrated.

Thank fuck his dad is out of town, and Stiles never thoughthe’d think that.  He certainly has newappreciation for Melissa’s job.

He rubs the back of his neck, shrugging to try and alleviatesome of the built-up stress there.  A futileeffort apparently.

He gets to his feet.  Backto work.  It’s a good thing it’s Saturday,although at this rate, he’ll inevitably be skipping school anyway.

Peter wakes on and off over the course of the next four daysas the very worst of his burns begin to heal at agonizingly slow speeds, but they heal.

And on Tuesday night, shortly after Stiles finishes giving thewerewolf a sponge bath and even filling a basin with warm water to wash hishair, Peter opens his eyes, and for the first time since the werewolfunceremoniously invaded Stiles’ bedroom, he looksat Stiles, bleary but aware.

“…S’iles?”  Petercroaks out muzzily, lacking the energy for even wariness to take root.

“Hey,” Stiles peers down at him.  “You have no idea how happy I am that you’refinally with me again, and I bet neither of us ever thought I’d say that, huh?”

Peter doesn’t seem to have understood most of that.  Instead, he just mumbles again, “S’iles.”

Stiles squints at him, hand automatically going to Peter’sforehead – the pink of new skin – to check his temperature.  It’s almost habit by now to then comb backthe surprisingly wild damp curls of Peter’s hair with absent fingers.

“Well your fever’s almost gone,” Stiles muses.  “But the burns must still hurt a lot Iguess.  I don’t think you’re deliriousthough.”

Peter blinks at him.  Thenhis right hand jolts to life, muscles straining as his arm trembles its way upuntil weak fingers slip around Stiles’ wrist.

A kitten could give Peter a run for his money in thestrength department right now.  Stiles canpull away at any time.

He doesn’t, and he very firmly refuses to look any deeperinto why not.

Peter doesn’t speak again. Neither does Stiles.  When thewerewolf drifts off into a somewhat more peaceful slumber, Stiles stays, Peter’shand a warm reminder around his wrist.

Chicken noodle soup is a cure for everything; Stiles’ nanaalways swore by it, which is why Stiles serves it and watches like a hawk tomake sure Peter spoons up every last mouthful.

Peter – two days later and finally sitting up with threecushions and two pillows at his back – has the gall to look amused, althoughthe expression pulls at his face in a way that makes his features look a bitlopsided since a particularly nasty burn lingers from brow to jaw on the leftside of his face.

“Stop smirking or I’m not helping you hobble to the bathroomfor that bath you want,” Stiles scowls.  “You’llhave to crawl.”

“I crawled here,” Peter idly reveals out of the blue, voicestill a hoarse rasp like his vocal chords have been sandpapered.

Stiles stiffens, fingers twitching in his lap.  He stuffs them under his thighs.  “…Yeah, about that – what is it withwerewolves and windows?  Do you not knowhow to use the front door?  And aremanners a thing of the past these days? You’re supposed to give a heads-up beforeyou go and collapse on other people’s floors.”

Peter… watches him, not quite smiling, not even smirking,but there’s a softness in the intent way he regards Stiles, and it makes Stileswant to squirm.

“I’ll be sure to call ahead next time,” Peter volleys backlightly.  He cocks his head.  “But you didn’t kick me out.  Or put a bullet in me.  Or even call an Argent to do it.”

Stiles’ lips thin, and he involuntarily bristles.  “If I ever need to kill someone, I won’t needan Argent to do my dirty work.”

This time, Peter does smile, just for a moment, faint andquick before the pain spikes too much.  “Yes,I can believe that.”

Stiles scoffs.  “Canyou?  ’Cause you came to me.  You came here,after I set you on fire-”

“My memory is perfectly intact, Stiles,” Peter cuts him offwith a dry twist to his voice.  “So Iremember quite clearly who set me on fire, and it wasn’t you.”  He tips his head in consideration, somethingbitter and terrible and dripping with a dark sort of amusement flickeringacross his face.  “It was anotherArgent.  Life does enjoy its littlejokes, doesn’t it?”

Stiles… doesn’t really know what to say to that.  It’s not like anything he could say would make a difference.  Would make things better.

“…I threw the Molotov cocktail,” He says instead, and thewords come out in almost petulant tones. Even he isn’t certain which of the two of them he’s aiming that at.

“Darling boy, there is no such thing as a self-ignitingMolotov cocktail, as I’m sure you knew already,” Peter says dismissively.  “I assume you treated the bottle somehow sothat it would explode if it touched the contents?  But nothing would’ve happened if the Argentgirl didn’t shoot it, and I think…” His head cants again, the look in his eyes fartoo knowing.  “I think out of all thepeople there, you were the very last person who expected Scott McCall to throwthat bow.”

Stiles sits very, very still and doesn’t say a word for avery still moment.  Peter just smilesagain, not pity, not even smugness.  A verycalm, very resigned sort of commiseration instead, perhaps.

“I still don’t know why you came here of all places though,”Stiles mutters at last, scrubbing a weary hand through his hair.  “I don’t even know why I let you stay.  I should’ve just dumped your ass right back outthe window.”

“Well that would certainly be a tale to tell at the neighbour’snext family barbeque,” Peter murmurs, and Stiles can’t quite hold back thesnort of laughter that splutters out of him. Peter meets his gaze evenly.  “Youlet me stay.  And that’s why I came.  Because anyone else, Stiles, they would’veeither killed me on sight or called the authorities, and by authorities, I verymuch mean hunters.”

I thought about doing both those things too!”  Stiles huffs defensively.

“But you didn’t go through with either,” Peter shrugs, andthen winces.  He finishes off the last ofhis soup.  Stiles takes the empty bowland sets it on the nightstand.  When helooks back, he almost startles at the feel of Peter’s hand sliding over hisown.

“You understand,” The werewolf says in tones almost too softfor Stiles to hear, eyes an unblinking blue as they drill into Stiles’ own.  “You understand why I did it, why I killedthose people, killed Kate.  You evenunderstand why I killed Laura.  And that’swhy you helped me.”

Stiles opens his mouth. Then he shuts it again when nothing comes out.  The thump of his heart feels loud in his ears.

Peter pats his hand but then doesn’t actually pull away.  Instead, he leans back against the cushions witha sigh and closes his eyes.

He falls asleep like that, easily, with far more trust thanStiles ever though Peter would give.

He stares down at their hands.

He thinks he made a choice that afternoon, the moment hedecided to keep Peter here, to save him rather than kill him.

The thought doesn’t make him happy.  But, ominously enough, it doesn’t upset himeither.

Well.  Shit.

[cywscross]

Tell me with steter, please? <3

The Secret in His Eyes

General Warnings:AU, Canon Divergence, Post Season 3A, Werewolf Stiles, Alpha Stiles, Preslash

Summary: In the chaoticmess with the Alpha Pack, nobody realizes Stiles was bitten.  Even if they did, Stiles doubts anythingwould have changed.

That’s alright.  AfterScott lets Deucalion go, Stiles simply lies in wait for the so-called DemonWolf at the edge of town, and in the dark of night, a wolfsbane bullet puts thewerewolf down, and as Deucalion draws his last breath, Stiles’ eyes flare abright blood red.

Author’s Notes: Damn, it got longer than I wanted it to be. Ah well.

Drabble prompts from this meme. Not taking anymore atm.

AO3 Link

Stiles skips school for a week, busying himself with findingan anchor and then holing himself in Beacon Hills’ forests over the weekend inorder to figure out what he can do now aside from howling at the moon and chowingdown on fluffy bunnies.

As it turns out, he can do a lot.  First thing’s first, he has a sit down and achat with his wolf.  The creature – still Stiles – is a curious thing, waryof the world but inquisitive, like a newborn but not.  The wolf is Stiles stripped down to bare essentials,to instinct and emotion and a wild, ferocious sort of beauty.  When Stiles pokes at it, in their shared mindspace, it pokes back, and they circle each other suspiciously until Stiles thehuman throws up his hands in exasperation and takes a step towards it, andStiles the wolf snorts and also presses forward, confident in its strength,even more confident in its welcome.

And Stiles does welcome it. For better or for worse, he’s a werewolf now, and he’d much rather it befor the better.  His wolf agrees becauseit knows as well as Stiles does that they will always be more powerful workingtogether than apart, than against, and whenit comes down to it, Stiles the human and Stiles the wolf aren’t so different –survival is key in a town that most days seems like it’s out to get all ofthem; then find something to protect, to defend, with their life if need be,with their heart and body and soul because that is how Stiles has always lived,and likewise, that is the core essence of what an Alpha should stand for.  Both of them understand this instinctively,they understand what makes each other tick, what motivates each other, what strengthensthem, what can weaken them, what frightens them, and because they understand,there is no rift to divide them.  Thewolf has all of Stiles’ memories, and Stiles has all of the wolf’s intuition;the wolf knows what not to do (we are Alpha, but we are also our own; don’tbe Peter, don’t be Derek, don’t be Scott, be us), and Stiles knows what todo, when he opens his eyes and breathes in the woods, listening to the croon ofthe wind, the heartbeats of prey, the steadfast pull of the moon, even in broaddaylight.

And maybe that’s why Stiles finds it so easy to just… shift, a fluid transition from two legsto four, from bare skin to thick fur, from man to wolf.

He runs for hours.  Hethinks he could lose himself in this, in the pounding of his own blood as heraces through the trees, in the sweet gushing hot liquid of his first hunt aftertracking and bringing down a deer, in every rustle of leaves and scamper ofpaws and whisper of wildlife around him.

But he doesn’t because he isn’t only wolf.  He is human too,still, just more now, two sides ofthe same coin, and so Stiles does not forget. He is beast now, with all the predatory, red in tooth and claw instinctsthat come with it, but he is also man, with all the complexities of humanity.

He returns to the makeshift den at the hollowed out base ofa tree where he first left his clothes, and the moon and stars and swayingbranches right outside are perfect for slowly lulling him to sleep.

His ears and nose tell him there is no danger nearby.  His brain mulls their situation over.

They should tell the Sheriff.  They are not only werewolf now, but Alpha, and while Stiles is unwilling tochallenge Scott for the territory, Wolf insists on having their own space, toclaim, to guard, to run, to mate, to flourish. Perhaps not right now, because Stiles is still a pup, Wolf is still apup, but in a few years, depending on how well the local pack is holding BeaconHills, they should either challenge or leave and make their own way.

Stiles worries a little about that, about how pragmaticallydecisive his wolf is about weighing the pros and cons of either assumingcommand of the town’s other supernatural residents or chasing them out, but atthe same time, he understands.

He understands because when he looks inward, searching, and then searching again, he can’t find a single pack bond waiting for him.

Wolves and wolf-adjacents are either Pack or not-Pack, andnot-Pack are either allies or enemies, and neither of those are people withwhom they should share territory with. In Wolf’s vocabulary, there is no friend.  Friends are flimsy things; Pack is forever.

Or, it should be.  (Don’t be Laura either.  Don’t even be Talia if that is what she instilledin her daughter-successor.)

But either way, before Stiles builds a pack, perhaps even beforethey tell the Sheriff, they need to be capable.  If they can’t even protect themselves,protecting others isn’t possible.

He curls up and drapes his tail over his nose.  He can think more about it tomorrow.  For now, he, they, wolf, man, sleeps.

Stiles spends another day in the woods, adjusting to hisnewly heightened senses, to his claws and fangs and penchant for gettingdistracted whenever he hears a mouse in the underbrush or a thrush in thebranches above.  He takes a dip in alake, relieved when he finds out he can still swim, then spends the next hourfinding out how far.

He goes hunting again – he does have to eat – and this time it’s rabbit.  He tried duck first but – embarrassinglyenough – it escaped.  His wolf sulksuntil they stumble on a couple of fat brown rabbits to snack on.

Night falls and they leave the forest.  The wolf falls back, the human comes forward,and Stiles walks home in somewhat rumpled clothing.

The house is dark and empty when he lets himself in.  His dad is at the station again, catching upon work.  He’s hungry again so he ordersa pizza.  He munches on that while sittingon his bathroom counter, practicing switching his eye colour back and forth inthe mirror.

He doesn’t stop until he has total control over it.

Stiles has considered the possibility; heck, he’s expectingit when he walks into English on Monday morning, Scott, Allison, and Lydiaalready there.

It still throws him a little though, how strong the urge is,because the moment he lays eyes on Scott, his mind snarls Alpha, and he has to focus on even, shallow breaths as he takes hisseat, because he can smell the stench of weakness in the air, he can sense howout of sync Scott is with his wolf, and he even has the memories of how much ofan Alpha Scott is not, True orotherwise, and it’s all Stiles can do to keep his claws sheathed, his eyesbrown, his lips dammed over the fangs fighting to make an appearance.

Stiles would win, if he challenged Scott, right here and now.  The fact that Scott has been a werewolf formonths while Stiles has only been one for a week wouldn’t matter.   He knows it down to his very bones.

He takes another breath and very firmly tells his wolf tosettle down.  Scott is friend, brother.

(Scott is not-Pack,his wolf scoffs.)

If nothing else, Scott is harmless.

(With lives thatdepend on him, he cannot be harmless, hiswolf snaps.  A harmless Alpha is a useless Alpha.)

They calm down, just enough. It helps that Allison is here, smelling of wolfsbane and gun oil andthreat.  Scott may have forgiven her forfollowing in her grandpa’s footsteps, but Stiles remembers pain and fists andbruises and blood, remembers helplessness,remembers Gerard in the basement and Allison and Chris upstairs; he will notforget.

He supposes it also helps that his seat is a row away fromtheirs, and that Scott and Allison are lost in their own little world again andnever even noticed Stiles walking in. Lydia tips a distracted smile at him when he catches her eye, and Stileswonders if maybe she could be Pack. Scott has Allison and Isaac, although whether he has them to the pointof a pack bond with each of them, Stiles doesn’t know.  He might also have Derek if he ever comesback, although Stiles is certain there’s no pack bond there since Scott once servedDerek up on a silver platter to Gerard.

But Stiles doesn’t think Lydia has thrown in her lot withScott yet, and Scott hasn’t made any real effort to forge a pack bond with thebanshee.

It bears thinking about.

The bell rings, much to Stiles’ relief.  Concentrating on class helps him focus, foronce.  Or at least it helps him not focus on Scott.

His wolf grumbles about it but soon loses interest when itbecomes clear Stiles won’t be slashing Scott’s throat out anytime soon.

Friend could mean ally,it eventually decides grudgingly.  Although he doesn’t make a very good ally.

Stiles just sighs. It’s almost like having a split personality in his head.  A very opinionated personality.

He manages to get through the whole day without flashing hiseyes even once, which he counts as a smashing success.  He’s been tense all day despite his wolf’s impatientreassurances that it won’t do anything to draw unwanted attention to them.

After school, on his way to his jeep, a few bullies roughlyknock shoulders with him.  Usually, thiswould tumble Stiles into the nearest lockers. Today, Stiles watches with raised eyebrows as both idiots staggerback and fall on their asses like they’ve hit a wall.

Huh.  Handy.

Stiles steps past them, mind already on other things.  His wolf doesn’t kick up a fuss either.  Even before Stiles became a werewolf, bullieswere more or less non-entities for him. Most knew not to mess with him and by extension Scott.  Only Jackson and his cronies needed to be putin their places every few months when they escalated all because Stiles neverreally reacted to their jeers and shoves.

Now, as an apex supernatural predator, the Alpha in Stilesconsiders them so far beneath him on the food chain that they aren’t even onhis radar anymore.  Annoying, butultimately not remotely dangerous in the greater scheme of things.

He drives home.  Walksaround barefoot, flexing his claws, just because he can.  Does his homework, then drives out to thewoods to hunt and train again, improving his reflexes, his senses, his control.

Home, school, woods, back home again.  It becomes routine.

“Hello, Stiles.”

Peter appears at his elbow like a silent jack-in-the-box,and if Stiles didn’t already hear and smell him coming, he would’ve jumped outof his skin and possibly clawed up the other werewolf’s face a bit too for goodmeasure.

The man would deserve it.

“What.”  Stiles asksflatly, head propped in one hand, mind all but glazed over with utter boredomas he watches Scott and Chris discuss – and that’s putting it politelyconsidering the increasingly heated argument brewing between them – whatthey’re going to do about the latest threat in Beacon Hills.  Allison, Isaac, Lydia, and their newestnumber Kira are hovering around them, exchanging looks that range from anxious (Kira)to irritated (Lydia).

It’s been three months since Stiles was bitten.  Winter break is coming up next week, andthere’s a chill in the air that tickles his nose every time he goes out.  On the bright side, he barely needs a thinsweater over a shirt before trekking outside, perfectly comfortable in the coldweather.

Scott’s voice rises.  Sodoes Chris’.  The latter wants to goafter those witches Scott told to leave. The former retorts that said witches have promised not to sacrificeanymore people,and it wouldn’t be fair if they go and kill the witches anyway after Scottpromised them safe passage out of town.

Stiles idly wonders what Scott would say if he realizesStiles has already killed all three of them, cut them in half, burnt theirbodies, and scattered the ashes in separate graves.  They’ve had their chances.  Eight people are dead because of them, andthat’s just in Beacon Hills.  If they’dmanaged nine like they were planning, the town wouldn’t even existanymore.  But Stiles and the othersmanaged to corner them, and as per usual, Scott let them go.  Then they had the gall to try and sneak backin in the middle of the night.

They weren’t expecting to bump into another Alpha at theborder.  It was the last mistake they ever made.

Chris of course isn’t happy with Scott’s decision.  He wasn’t around for the final showdownagainst the witches or he probably would’ve spoken up then.  So now they argue.  What a waste of an afternoon.

Stiles should’ve taken a miss but Lydia preempted him bypractically skewering him with a glare, apparently well-versed in Stiles’tendency to ditch pack meetings and therefore ditch her with the plebeians, but at least she goes because of Allison.  Lydia knows as well as he does that Stilesdoesn’t actually need to be there unless Scott needs research done.

So now he’s stuck here, debating walking out anyway nomatter how much Lydia will glower at him for it later.  In the next moment however, he senses more than feelssomething approaching the back of his neck, and his free hand is up and brambledaround Peter’s wrist a second before the werewolf’s fingers can graze his skin.

He turns his head, staring straight into a far too intentexpression.

Peter’s been… strange. Stranger than usual.  Creepierthan usual.  He keeps popping up whereverStiles happens to be at the time, whether that’s in the coffee shop or thegrocery store or even during his usual stroll through the woods, which isannoying because it means that Stiles always has to keep an ear out for Peter,shifting back and scrambling into his clothes if hears the man coming.  The last has only been occurring over thepast month or so but Peter is… persistent. He pretty much invites himself to Stiles’ Sunday mornings, whichhe typically occupies with several hours’ worth of reading in his favourite coffee shop.  It’s gotten so bad that Stiles actually looks for the guy if Peter is late, andwhoever arrives first automatically buys the drinks.  And if the man stumbles on Stiles at thesupermarket, Peter seems to take it as explicit permission to buy their groceries together.

And more and more often these days, Peter no longer has tobe cajoled and nagged and borderline ordered by Scott to do research withStiles.  Admittedly, they work welltogether, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still a bit weird.

Especially becauseStiles is pretty sure he’s getting usedto it.  At the very least, his wolf sideno longer regards Peter as an enemy, and by this point, the man’s scent – earthand autumn and some kind of tea – is soothingly comforting in its familiarity.  Which in Stiles’ opinion isn’t very wise, butit’s surprisingly hard to keep up the hate for a guy who crochets during theirweekly coffee shop rendezvous.  Thebastard even made Stiles a hat and a pair of gloves.  And it’s a nice hat and pair of gloves.

This though.  This isnew.

Stiles studies the limb in his grasp.  It would be easy to break it, to bleedit.  He looks back at Peter, who watcheshim with a faint smirk on his lips and bright blue eyes.

It’s times like this that he wonders if Peter knows.  If anyone has both the intimate knowledge ofa werewolf’s posture and physical mannerisms, as well as the observation skillsto pick out all the micro-movements that Stiles is undoubtedly unable to hide,it would be Peter Hale.

Hell, it wouldn’t even be that hard.  If people actually paid any sort of genuineattention to him, they’d notice the fact that Stiles no longer trips or flails,and Coach is probably trying to find some blackmail on him to force him back onthe team ever since Stiles quit but his gym grade – in contrast – has never been better.

Of course, he still throws in the occasional clumsyass-over-teakettle fall, and he’s as sarcastic as ever, so maybe that’s whynobody’s caught on.

Nobody, with the probable exception of a certain formerserial killer.

Stiles slowly relinquishes his grip.  Peter retrieves his arm but doesn’t moveotherwise.  Too late, Stiles realizes hismistake – the werewolf isn’t bruised but there was a show of strength in theresomewhere, one that a mere human could never have displayed.

“Peter,” Stiles says, and it’s low with warning.

Peter just smiles beatifically, all false innocence soakedin sin.

“Stiles,” He purrs back, and his expression is triumphgilded with hunger.

They stare at each other some more.

“When did you find out?” Stiles relents at last.

Peter’s smile sharpens. “At the first little-” He flicks a scornfully dismissive hand at theroom at large.  “-pack meeting we hadafter the Alpha Pack mess.  You prowl these days, sweetheart.  Might want to work on that.”  He shrugs elegantly.  “It’s easy enough to spot if you know what tolook for, and I grew up surrounded by werewolves.”

His gaze goes all honed and sharp on Stiles’ faceagain.  “But your control is excellent.  Almost no obvious slips at all, even at thebeginning.  A fang here, a few clawsthere when you were frustrated, but not a single flash of the eyes that I ever saw.”  Amusement mixed with an uncomfortable amountof admiration flits across his features. “I knew you would make a magnificent werewolf, Stiles.”

Stiles snorts, casting an absent eye back at theothers.  None of them have noticed hisand Peter’s exchange, too absorbed in their conflicting issues.

“A pity Scott let Deucalion and those twins go,” Peter murmursslyly, finally moving so that he’s sitting beside Stiles on the couch.  “I presume one of them bit you?  Was it Deucalion?  Ennis died quite a while before, Kali seemedthe sort to simply kill you, and I honestly cannot see the twins overpoweringyou even back when you were still human. Deucalion seems the most likely candidate.”  His mouth twists a little.  “But I rather doubt Scotty would’ve let youkill him, even for a chance at becoming human again.  He can be quite the hypocrite that way, can’the?”

“…You and I both know that’s just a myth,” Stiles says,side-eyeing Peter.  “The whole kill theAlpha that bit you and become human again. It’s a dumb myth too.”

“Easily disproven, a long time ago,” Peter agrees,smirking.  “But Scott wouldn’t have known that, would he?”

He lounges back, shoulderbrushing Stiles’ and making no move to pull away, mingled scent and closeproximity both.

(Pack?  Is this Pack?)

Stiles doesn’t move away either, because he… doesn’t want to,but also because… well.

Looks like Peter hasn’t noticed everything after all.

In the end, it comes out anyway, a few weeks later in theearly days of the new year.  They wereshopping again, and now they’re loading their respective bags into Peter’s carbecause apparently, it’s come to this – sharing vehicles out of conveniencesince they buy vegetables and eggs together anyway.

It’s dark, and she must have blocked her scent and heartbeatsomehow, so they don’t notice her coming until she’s practically on top of them.

Peter spots movement that shouldn’t be there, and he’sspinning around in a second, tackling Stiles in the next as a witch plunges aknife at the spot where Stiles was a moment ago.

They hit the ground together just as the witch whirls toface them with a furious screech, hair a wild tangle on her head, eyes crazedas she lunges for Stiles again.

“You killed them!” She shrieks.

Peter rolls to the left, Stiles rolls to the right.  Peter lashes out at the nearest part of thewitch, only to swear when whatever her clothing is made of almost makes himchip a claw, and he receives nothing except a nasty grin from the woman.

She attacks him this time, deflecting his claws with aclothed forearm and darting forward with more speed than Peter anticipates.  He throws himself back as far as he can butbraces for the swipe of a blade anyway. With any luck, it’ll be shallow-

And then the deep, unmistakeable, shattering tones of anAlpha’s enraged roar splinters the nighttime silence into a million pieces and makes thevery ground tremble.  The witch lurches,a flicker of alarm crossing her features even as she turns to confront thebigger threat, but it’s too late.

Even Peter only catches a glimpse of crimson red eyes beforea gorgeous, red-brown, hulking mass of fully shifted wolf barrels into thewitch and slams her into the ground.  Aglint of white teeth is followed by the beginning wail of a scream, only for itto be cut short with a wet gurgle as those jaws snap shut, a windpipe meeting itsend between them with a distinctive crunch.

For a long minute, Peter’s fairly certain he’s forgotten how tobreathe.  He stays motionless as the hugerusset-coloured wolf lifts its head from its kill, muzzle splattered withblood, and proceeds to meander over to Peter.

It whuffs in Peter’s face, an enquiring noise that Peterunderstands to be concern.

An incredulous laugh trips out of his mouth, surprised anddelighted at the same time.  He gazes with wonder into vividly crimson eyes, Alphaeyes, and apparently, even after all that time spent observing Stiles and –alright – stalking him and worming into his good graces, Peter still managed tomiss the most significant change about him.

Gradually, fur recedes and bones shift, and the wolf meltsback to boy, naked and pale under the moonlight.  Beautiful. He’s entirely human like this, save the eyes.  Those remain tinged with red.

Stiles holds out a hand. “You’re clearly fine.  Give me your hanky; I have blood in mymouth.”

Peter rolls his eyes but obligingly fishes out his handkerchief and passes it over.

“You’re an Alpha,” Peter says, and he knows he’s stating theobvious, but it’s worth saying.  “Youalready killed Deucalion.  Probably thevery same night Scott let him go.”

“Yup,” Stiles wipes away the last of the blood, and when helowers the handkerchief, a dark edge remains in the curve of his lips.  “The fucking bastard bit me.  I can hold a grudge.”

That, I know,Peter thinks, sardonic and appreciative in equal measure.

He looks at Stiles again, really looks, and wonders how hecould’ve missed this.

This, the very thing he’s been considering, turning over and over inthe privacy of his mind, perhaps even hoping for.

There is still red in Stiles’ eyes.  Alpha,says the steady calm in them, a gaze that commands both attention and respectwithout a single word ever spoken.

He recalls what the witch shouted earlier.  No wonder Stiles’ scent is all over theborders of Beacon Hills.  The boy – Alpha – has been walking them for monthsnow, patrolling, defending, protecting. No wonder the overall death rate’s gone down because it certainly isn’tbecause of Scott.

“Peter?”  Stiles’eyebrows rise in question.

Peter breathes in, then out, then in again.  And then, carefully, deliberately,desperation and hope a knotted ball in his gut, he tilts his head and bares thestretch of his throat.

Stiles’ breath hitches but that’s the only sound hereleases.  Both their hearts are hammering away in their chests.

For a long moment, neither of them moves.  Peter has to stomp down the overwhelming urgeto run, to flee, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle rejection.

(Again.  Always. No matter what he does.)

But then, there’s a hand at his neck, at his throat, curlingaround the side of it, warm and firm and possessive in a way that makessomething in Peter’s chest ache.  Stilesreels him in, and Peter goes willingly, burying his face in his Alpha’s neckeven as Stiles does the same, with teeth that close right over the tendons, andPeter goes limp even as a hoarse, rusty choke of a purr catches in his throat.

Stiles doesn’t break skin, but the pressure there is stillreassuring, dominance and claim and a fierce sense of mine all rolled into one.

They’re in an almost empty parking lot with a dead body afew feet away and groceries in the car.  Butalso too, there’s an arm slung warm around Peter’s back, and Stiles’ scent –winds after a rainstorm, coffee and youth – is a heady blend all around him.

He’s happy staying like this, even just for a little whilelonger, and if the smile Stiles presses against his neck is anything to go by,his Alpha doesn’t mind either.

[ascending-royal]

For baby pictures by nezstorm.

Summary:  Uncle Ennis does the unforgivable and pulls out the baby pictures.

=~ =~ =~ =~ =~ =~ =~ =~ =~ =~=

I read this fic and I had to make something for it.  I"m sorry if this isn't the best but it's my first attempt at anything. I hope you like it and definitely go read nezstorm's series “Stealth Mode Ottering” .  It's great.

Absolutely adorable.

(The images I got from google search.)

[stetervault]

friendly hello hi

by nezstorm

When Peter is finally well enough to leave the hospital on his own two feet, he has no real place to go.

Words:733, Chapters:1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, M/M

Characters: Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski

Additional Tags: Peter-Centric, Pre-Slash, Post Hale Fire, Hinted: - Freeform, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski - Freeform, Peter Hale/Sheriff Stilinski - Freeform

Read it on AO3

[cute-as-hale]

Day three of Steter Writers Appreciation Week is celebrated by sitting at the library writing acient-greece stetopher porn and cursing the sudden heat (wait, what?). As promised, I have three new authors for you, and I have included my Top 5 Favorite Steter fic’s from their ao3. I guess there’s nothing more to note, is there? Shall we get started?

Nezstorm captured my heart with their amazing writing style, and continues to hold me captive (don’t send help, I enjoy it here) me to this day. With the incredible number of 190 Steter fic’s posted on their ao3, I found myself spending days and days reading through their work, and I don’t think I’ve ever had as hard a time to name ONLY five fics. 

The Kiss

Rating: G | Word Count: 111 | Chapters: 1/1 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: None

the first kiss feels like he’s at the top of the world.

To Cat Or Not To Cat

Rating: G | Word Count: 767 | Chapters: 1/1 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: None

The cat is a slender, brown tabby. It sits at his doorstep, looking up at him calmly like it’s waiting to be invited in. It’s a bit unnerving, or it would be, if not for the very familiar amber eyes.

And For You I’ll Fight It All

Rating: T | Word Count: 1,998 | Chapters: 1/1 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: None

Stiles has had it with werewolves, their need for posturing and solving their problems with claws. And the sniffing, don’t even get him started on the sniffing. He feels like there’s a nose stuck to his ass every step he takes, which isn’t even an exaggeration seeing as he’s currently stuck at a Werewolf Convention with thousands of werewolves milling around.

--

The one where Peter is so gone on Stiles that he wants to fight everyone.

Make Your Own (Buns In The Oven)

Rating: T | Word Count: 11,248 | Chapters: 1/1 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: M-preg, Pregnant Stiles, Attempted Abortion, Mildly Dubious Consent.

Stiles opens his mouth a few times, but no words come out as he feels tears welling up again. He takes a deep, shaky breath, exhales slowly to calm himself enough to do this.

Peter waits, brows furrowed in worry as he watches Stiles.

“I think I’m pregnant,” he finally says, “And I don’t know what to do.”

--

Or the one where Stiles is a human incubator and Peter is not the baby daddy (until he is).

Sideways Rocking Stars

Rating: Explicit | Word Count: 10,582 | Chapters: 4/4 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: Manipulative Peter.

“Please get your uncle out of here before I mangle the pretty face he earns his living with. And keep him away from me because next time I won’t be this generous.” The guy said, a saccharine sweet smile plastered on his face, and then he just walked away, leaving a slack-jawed Peter to be pulled and prodded out of the club and into the street.

He whirled on his nephew the moment they were safe and alone in his apartment.

“Who the hell was that?!”

Derek regarded him for a moment, eyebrow arched in disbelief. “You really don’t know?”

“I wouldn’t be fucking asking if I did.” Peter seethed.

“That,” Derek stalled collecting his keys and jacket, “was Stiles.”

And with that he left.

---

Or the one with Peter as a rockstar and Stiles refusing to fall for his manipulative ways.

SushiOwl stole my heart with the first true BDSM-Steter fic I ever read, and refused to let it go when they continued to shower us readers in amazing work containing tattoos, fluff and amazing smut. Seriously, how am I supposed to find a normal real life relationship when there’s authors like them out there who continue to steal my heart? 

Teeth

Rating: Explicit | Word Count: 82,275 | Chapters: 14/14 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: BDSM-AU (use caution and read the warnings), Dom Peter, Sub Stiles.

Stiles is new to the BDSM scene and is a little lost, but thankfully he finds a dom to show him the way.

Baby Boy

Rating: Explicit | Word Count: 74,554 | Chapters: 10/10 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: Daddy kink, Online relationship, BDSM(?), Full shift werewolves.

What the heck is FetLife?

Stiles is too curious for his own good, and he can't help himself, so he joins a website advertising to be a good place for "kinksters." He just wants to be nosy and see what total strangers are up to. Then he meets Peter, who wants to be called Daddy.

Could Stiles be his baby boy?

Magic Needle

Rating: Explicit | Word Count: 27,907 | Chapters: 4/4 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: Tattoos and body modification, Sex, Fluff(!!!), Part of a series (Highly addictive!), Might Cause Diabetes.

“One--” He stabbed the needle right through skin and cartilage, pulling a loud squawk out of Stiles.

Stiles sucked in a few quick breaths then started to laugh. “You son of a bitch,” he snorted. “You said on three.”

“I lied,” Peter replied, smiling down at him.

I Go In All Directions

Rating: Explicit | Word Count: 24,349 | Chapters: 3/3 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: Homophobia, Church camp AU.

Stiles's friends and family are concerned that he might be gay. Despite his protests, they send him to a "homosexual rehab" camp called True Directions. There he meets Peter, and yeah, Stiles is feeling a bit gay now.

The Holidays Are Happy With You

Rating: G | Word Count: 3,378 | Chapters: 1/1 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: None

Stiles brings Peter some food over the holidays, and Peter wants to make the best of it.

Ladypigswagon, oh be still my heart. To be honest I’m fairly easy to please, write me a fic containing a pairing I like and I’m yours. This author did that (not knowingly, of course) and took it to the next level. They have made my heart bleed, my eyes water and my mouth bark out laughs that I’m pretty sure has traumatized my cat. 

Classic - A Book Which People Praise And Don’t Read

Rating: T | Word Count: 11,749 | Chapters: 1/1 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: Abuse of Jane Austen.

The one in which Peter is a disgruntled Bookshop Owner who doesn't actually want to sell any books, Stiles is mythology professor running solely on caffeine, Derek is trying to write the next bestseller and Erica bakes cookies with a sideline in meddling.

Your Boldness Stands Alone Among The Wreck

Rating: T | Word Count: 6,851 | Chapters: 1/1 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: Serial killer Peter Hale, FBI-Agent Stiles, Blood and gore, Open ending.

“You know,” Isaac says, whilst loading the mutilated body onto the ME’s gurney, “I’m starting to think Hale is just doing this to ask you out now.”

Stiles glowers at Isaac, who to his credit doesn’t cower away from Stiles’ hardened gaze. He just zips up the body bag and wheels it out of the room, his last statement hanging over Stiles head like a hangman’s noose. Stiles tries to mentally shake off the feeling but it’s difficult. Peter Hale’s last three murders have been gruesome odes to Stiles and this one is no different. The boy’s eyes, a pale imitation of Stiles own amber ones, had been removed and were residing on the kitchen counter. Hale had left an incredibly detailed sonnet about them in what Stiles suspects is the victims’ blood.

Unable Are The Loved To Die, For Love Is Immortality

Rating: G | Word Count: 6,522 | Chapter 1/1 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: None.

Stiles takes a long drag on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the open window. It’s raining. A few droplets manage to find their way inside, hitting the peeling white windowsill or dripping down the leaves of the assortment of plants that would usually be basking in the Californian sun. Stiles takes another drag, ignoring the glare that Lydia is giving him whilst she sprinkles essence of wormwood into the cauldron bubbling away on the stove.

“You’d think after 4000 years, you’d have stopped picking up bad habits,” Lydia says primly; dicing the spleen of a pig into neat, equal sized chunks. Stiles ignores her. He takes another drag before stubbing the cigarette out in the crystal ashtray they’d stolen from Buckingham Palace. Well they is a loose term. Stiles stole it, an extra payment from her Majesty. Stiles almost lost a finger to those pixies.

Too Many War Wounds, But Not Enough Wars

Rating: Explicit | Word Count: 26,077 | Chapters: 1/1 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: Blood and gore, Human sacrifice, Temporary character death.

The Nematon is dying. The once bountiful tree is withering, a husk of it’s former glory. It’s skeletal, shrunken and wilted and no one knows how to fix it. It’s supposed to be the height of summer but you wouldn’t know it. The Nematon isn’t the only tree that’s falling apart. Peter folds his arms. His eyes narrow as Jennifer, the emissary from Kali’s pack, tries to communicate with the sentient tree. She’s waving her arms around and chanting but so far all she’s managed to do is look like a complete imbecile. She’s the sixth emissary in as many months and still the tree decays.

I Called Your Name, Till The Fever Broke

Rating: T | Word Count: 4,446 | Chapters: 1/1 | Complete: Yes | Warnings: Fae!Peter, Open ending.

Stiles father and his mother, before she succumbed to the illness that stole the light from her eyes and the hair from her head, always told Stiles not to stray into the woods on the edge of town. It was something everyone knew, a fact of life here; you do not go into the woods. The woods are dangerous, full of things that hunt and hurt little boys and girls. That’s why you shouldn’t go into the woods.

[ao3feed-destiel]

Birthday Party Snippets

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/1hQbL7h

by nezstorm

A collection of short prompt fics I did for my birthday.

Words: 2079, Chapters: 10/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV), Supernatural

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Peter Hale, Danny Mahealani, Jackson Whittemore, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Chris Argent, Isaac Lahey, Scott McCall

Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski/Jackson Whittemore, Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Additional Tags: Mpreg, Mates, Puppy Piles, Full Moon, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Dancing, Implied Sexual Content, Established Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Birthday Spanking, but of the playful kind, Picnics, Fluff, Walking In On Someone, Jealousy, Alpha Peter Hale

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/1hQbL7h