This is for Steter Week 2018 Day 1 and I chose Alpha!Peter as the theme. It’s over 1.7k so watch out for the read more or read it here on AO3.
Stiles stared at the Go board. He still wasn’t sure about the rules, thought that Void had made half of the current ones up anyway, and there was no way he was going to win against it.
Void had held Stiles here ever since it had invaded his mind, only letting Stiles catch glimpses of all the horror it had wrecked in Stiles body, and it had told him that if Stiles could beat it at the game, he could go free.
But of course, it wasn’t quite as easy as that. It was a trickster spirit after all.
So here Stiles was, fretting over a game he had no understanding of, while being assaulted with images of what he did to his friends.
Void had hurt all of them at one point, everyone except Peter, and Stiles wondered about that sometimes. Why Void had so meticulously stayed out of Peter’s way, made sure to never be anywhere the other man was.
Stiles had felt like screaming when he had first realized that, because Stiles was convinced Peter would have noticed the possession at once. He knew Stiles, better than even his own dad maybe, certainly better than Scott, and Stiles had hoped that Peter would take one look at him and call Void out on its shit.
But that hadn’t happened, Void and Peter never met, and so Stiles was still helplessly trapped in his own mind.
He thought his friends were up to something; the images Void allowed him to have too vague to make sense of anything though and so Stiles wasn’t sure.
All he knew was that his head was hurting, so much more than it had ever since Void possessed him, and there were faint voices Stiles could hear. It was different than before; he could only hear voices from outside when Void allowed him to, but these were indistinct and close, like Void couldn’t keep them out, but not so close that Stiles could even begin to understand what they were saying or who they even belonged to.
He thought that at one point he had heard someone roar, maybe even scream his name, but everything was too far away. It didn’t matter anyway.
~*~*~
When Lydia’s nose had started to bleed, Peter got worried. Going into someone’s mind wasn’t an exact science, it was dangerous under the best circumstances, and Stiles possessed and by an ancient fox spirit at that were absolutely not the best circumstances.
But they had to try; Stiles needed to come back, to be in charge of his own body again, and it was the only thing Peter had been able to come up with in this short amount of time.
If only he had known earlier that Stiles was possessed; but he hadn’t seen Stiles in quite some time, and the rest of the pack hadn’t kept him in the loop.
He had been worried when Stiles had dodged his calls and attempts to meet up, but this had never crossed his mind. He had thought it was everyday teenager stuff that had Stiles worried and had planned on waiting him out instead of cornering him and forcing him to tell Peter what was wrong.
Maybe Peter should have done that. They wouldn’t be in this mess if he had just pushed a little bit.
Possession was easy enough to recognize, even if something as talented as a trickster spirit was to blame here, and Peter would have taken one look and knew that it wasn’t Stiles who was looking back at him.
But it was futile thinking about this now; he needed to keep his head in the game, guide them enough to get Stiles out of his own mind.
“Lydia,” he yelled when she started to tremble, dangerously close to dislodging the claws in her neck and it calmed her down, but Peter had no idea what was happening inside of Stiles’ mind, if Scott and Lydia were enough to get Stiles to focus, to make him want to come back.
But this was all he could try, and he had to believe that they would do their best.
Peter would have gone himself if he thought anyone would have let him, but he wasn’t here to start a fight. He was here to save Stiles.
Stiles was restlessly opening and closing his hands, drawing Peter’s gaze away from Lydia and when he looked at Stiles he thought his heart might have missed a beat for a second.
Stiles’ nose was bleeding too, and Peter was certain this wasn’t a good thing.
“No, come on, Stiles, you’re stronger than this,” he muttered and grabbed Stiles’ hands in his.
He was aware that everyone was staring at him, but it didn’t matter, they didn’t matter. The only important one in this room was Stiles, and Peter needed Stiles to come back to him.
Stiles suddenly trashed once on the couch, effectively dislodging Scott’s claws from his neck and Scott and Lydia came back to themselves with simultaneous gasps.
Peter locked eyes with Scott, hoping against hope that they had managed to get Stiles back as well, but Scott silently shook his head at him.
No. This was unacceptable.
“Stiles!” Peter roared, calling out for the only packmate he cared for, the boy who had so easily inserted himself into Peter’s life, and heart, and he put all his frustration into it.
He needed Stiles to come back to him.
Scott growled from behind the couch, but Peter was too preoccupied with Stiles who suddenly convulsed and fell forward, starting to gag.
Peter was quick to peel the duct tape off his mouth and then braced Stiles when he started hacking, bandages pouring suddenly from his mouth. Peter watched in horror as Stiles continued to throw up bandages, but he held Stiles close, unwilling to let go of him again.
When the retching stopped Stiles looked up at Peter, and Peter immediately pushed him away.
It was still Void.
Peter growled, low and menacing and he could feel the confusion around him, but he only had eyes for the imposter. It was incomprehensible how anyone could have thought this was Stiles and it only cemented his belief that Scott and his ragtag pack had no business claiming Stiles as theirs.
Everyone’s attention was thoroughly pulled towards the pile of bandages, when an arm suddenly shot out of there and even Peter had to look over, though he was unwilling to let Void out of his sight for too long.
A body clawed its’ way out of the bandages and when it stumbled towards them Peter and Scott rushed forward to restrain it.
Scott was shouting for help, for some restraints, but something made Peter pause.
“Wait,” he said to Scott and then helped the new body to get the bandages off its’ face.
He couldn’t say he was particularly shocked to see another Stiles show up under them, but he was surprised to see it was his Stiles.
“There’s two of them now?” Scott asked, and Peter would roll his eyes, if he wasn’t so fixated on Stiles.
“No, you idiot. This is Stiles. The real Stiles,” he told them, briefly checking Stiles over for injuries, but even his stomach wound had disappeared.
“Knew you would come for me, that you would know what to do,” Stiles whispered as he slumped forwards, resting his forehead against Peter’s shoulder.
“I didn’t do anything,” Peter regretfully said, and Stiles hugged him.
“I heard you. You called for me,” Stiles said and slightly shifted his head so that he was speaking into Peter’s neck, causing him to shiver. “You called me home.”
“Stiles, only an alpha can do that. Scott got you out,” Peter protested, even though it irked him.
It should have been him getting Stiles out of there.
“You are my alpha,” Stiles said and pushed away from him. “You got me out.”
Peter was about to protest again, when suddenly Scott was there too, clamping a hand on Peter’s shoulder and pulling him away from Stiles.
“What did you do?” he asked, accusation clear in his voice, even though Peter had no clue what was bugging him now.
“I did nothing,” Peter hissed, breaking Scott’s grip in his shoulder easily.
“Your eyes glowed red when you roared. What did you do?” he demanded to know, and Peter looked back at Stiles.
“True Alpha,” Stiles said from where he was still slumped against Peter and there was pride in his voice.
“That is impossible,” Scott immediately said and looked at Deaton for confirmation.
Deaton only shrugged.
“It’s a question of character, of spirit. If someone rises to alpha status like this it’s because they want to, so they can care for people, because they have others depending on them.”
“So, it’s not possible for Peter. He doesn’t have either of those.”
“I’m not so sure,” Deaton said with a pointed look at Stiles, who was still clinging to Peter.
“Stiles is in my pack,” Scott complained, and Stiles snorted.
“Haven’t been for a while, buddy,” he said, but he sounded tired and Peter was slammed with the instinct to take care of his pack.
“Come on, up, darling,” he softly said and helped Stiles stand. “You need to rest.”
“Not home,” Stiles mumbled, and Peter was more than happy to bring him to his own den. It would satisfy is instincts.
“Where’s the other one?” Melissa suddenly asked, and everyone looked around.
Lydia was gone too.
“We need to find them,” Scott decided, expectantly staring at Stiles but Peter wouldn’t allow this.
“He needs to rest, he’s been through enough,” he snapped, pulling Stiles closer to him. “He’s coming with me,” he said, flashing his eyes at Scott and now he could feel the alpha power coursing through him.
Not overwhelming him like it had when he had killed Laura, but strengthening him, and pushing the need to take care of his pack to the forefront again.
He gathered Stiles up without another word, arm slung securely around his waist, and walked out of Scott’s house, unwilling to stay there a second longer.
“’m tired,” Stiles mumbled, barely stumbling along with Peter and Peter bent down to sweep him up into a bridal carry.
Stiles didn’t even protest, just snuggled closer and it seemed like he was dozing.
“Knew you’d be my alpha eventually,” he muttered after a few minutes, startling Peter who had thought he had fallen asleep. “Wanted it.”
“I got you now, sweetheart,” Peter promised him, feeling the pack bond bright and strong in his chest.
This is for Steter Week Day 8, Free Day. Look at me, I'm a double liar. I couldn't just leave Day 8 as the only day I had nothing for, so have this soft, fluffy thing. You can read it here on AO3, or watch out for the read more, since it’s more than 1.3k.
Stiles didn’t know what he was doing, not really. He just knew that he needed to get away from Scott as fast as he could. He wasn’t paying attention to where he was driving, mostly acting on autopilot and he let out a broken laugh when he realized where he had ended up.
He and Peter were something, definitely, though neither had bothered to put a name to it yet, and they had both stayed firmly in the friendship area for now. But Stiles was still reeling from all the things Scott had said, had accused him of, as if it wasn’t Stiles’ that kept the pack safe from deadly threats. As if it wasn’t Stiles who lost sleep, to bury bodies Scott didn’t want to talk about and to nightmares about making these bodies he buried, and Stiles was just done.
He needed a place where he would be understood and his first, only, thought was Peter. Stiles knew that this would change things; he was too emotionally done to pretend that he wasn’t in love with Peter, that he didn’t want everything with him, and Stiles just hoped that Peter would understand.
Stiles made his way up to Peter’s apartment and he didn’t need to knock, hadn’t needed to knock in all the times he had come here, because Peter was always keeping an ear out for him. When Peter opened the door for Stiles he was smirking, but it dropped off his face as soon as his eyes fell on Stiles.
“What’s wrong?” Peter immediately asked and Stiles just shrugged before he stepped in close, dropping his head to Peter’s chest, tangling his hands in Peter’s shirt and just breathing him in. It made Stiles feel safe.
“What happened, darling?” Peter softly asked, putting one hand over Stiles’ neck and squeezing gently.
“Scott,” Stiles mumbled, and he knew Peter was flashing his eyes in annoyance. He didn’t even have to see, that was how well he knew Peter.
“What do you need?” Peter asked, voice still softer than Stiles could ever remember and Stiles pressed close.
“Take me to bed,” he muttered into Peter’s shirt.
Explaining that he needed comfort and not sex right now was too much for Stiles at the moment, but he trusted Peter to understand. Peter knew him like no one else and he would know what Stiles needed. He always did.
“Okay,” Peter gave back and dropped a kiss to the crown of Stiles’ head before he gently steered him towards the bedroom.
He never stopped touching Stiles, made sure that he always had a hand on him, and Stiles could feel tears prick at his eyes. Once they reached the bedroom, Peter sat him down on the bed before he smoothed a hand over his hair, squeezing Stiles’ neck again, before he hurriedly stepped away to get some sweatpants for Stiles.
Stiles quickly changed, Peter deliberately turned away from him, until he could hear Stiles slide beneath the covers. Stiles’ throat closed up when Peter just stood at the side of the bed for a long moment, but before he could make grabby hands at Peter, he was already climbing into bed with him.
Peter pulled him close, tucking Stiles neatly into the folds of his body and Stiles felt like he could relax for the first time since talking to Scott, with his face pressed into Peter’s neck and enveloped by his arms.
It didn’t take long for him to shake apart like that, sobs taking over and breath coming out stuttered, but Peter held him close, soothed him with a low purring sound and Stiles clung hard enough to him that he would have left bruises on anyone else.
Stiles fell asleep like that, face still wet with tears but safe in Peter’s arms, and he didn’t even dream this time.
When he woke up, Peter was still there. He had turned on his back, but he was still holding Stiles close, and Stiles snuggled closer into his side, rubbed his face over Peter’s chest.
“I always knew you were more of a cat than a wolf,” Peter teasingly said and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ hair.
“This wasn’t how I wanted this to go,” Stiles mumbled, eyes still closed and listening intently to Peter’s heartbeat.
“And how did you want this to go?” Peter asked, though he didn’t seem overly concerned or upset.
“I had a plan,” Stiles told him, tilting his head slightly so he could nose at Peter’s jaw.
“You always do, love,” Peter gave back and rolled them to their sides, so that he could rest their foreheads together.
“Wanted to woo you,” Stiles mumbled as he rubbed their noses together.
“Sweetheart, you gave me pack, and a safe place. You warded my home, you integrated me into your family and you trust me. Consider me wooed,” Peter whispered back, and Stiles laughed.
“You’re kind of easy,” he teased and basked in the sound of Peter’s laugh.
He had always loved it.
“Only for you, my heart,” Peter told him and pulled Stiles even closer. “You want to talk about it? Or you want me to get the laptop and some ice cream?”
“Scott disapproves,” Stiles said after a lengthy pause where Peter just patiently waited for him to make a decision.
“We knew that,” Peter carefully gave back.
“He called me a monster,” Stiles choked out and could feel tears gathering in his eyes again.
“Say the word and I can remind him what a real monster looks like,” Peter almost growled out, eyes flashing electric blue and while it was meant as a threat it only served to calm Stiles’ down.
He loved Peter’s eyes.
“No,” Stiles sighed. “You’ve been good. I don’t want to erase the number on the ‘No incidents’ board again.”
“That board is haunting my every step, just so you know,” Peter told him, and Stiles laughed.
He knew Peter hated it, especially since he had no clue what incidents Stiles was marking off there, but he left it hanging on his wall, indulging Stiles.
“I love you,” Stiles whispered, for once not afraid to say these words out loud, because he knew what the answer would be.
He had known for a while, if he was honest; Peter’s love for him was clear in every one of his actions, just like Stiles’ love was evident in his own actions.
“And I love you,” Peter immediately gave back, pulling Stiles closer again and gently brushing their lips together.
It wasn’t the passionate first kiss Stiles had imagined so often, but it was better; more fitting for the situation.
“What kind of ice cream do you have?” Stiles mumbled against Peter’s lips and Peter chuckled.
“As if I would buy anything but your favourite,” he told Stiles, adoration so clear in his whole demeanor and Stiles just had to lean in to steal another kiss.
“And Vampire Diaries?” Stiles hopefully asked while Peter groaned.
“You know I hate that show.”
“I do too. We can mock it together. You know you want to.”
“Only for you, darling,” Peter gave back, and nuzzled Stiles’ cheek before he untangled himself from Stiles to get up.
Stiles burrowed further under the blanket, impatiently waiting for Peter to come back to him and immediately pulling him back down as soon as he felt the mattress dip under Peter’s weight. Peter must have anticipated the move, because the bowls with ice cream were safely on the nightstand and the laptop secure in his hand, so Stiles didn’t even feel too bad about it.
Stiles snuggled back into Pete’s side, draping one of Peter’s arms over his shoulder so he could rest his head on his chest again and then he made grabby hands at the ice cream.
“You’re insufferable,” Peter chided when it took him a second too long to react and Stiles started to whine.
“Don’t even pretend, you love me,” Stiles confidently gave back and thoroughly enjoyed not only hearing Peter’s laugh, but also feeling it under his cheek.
“That I do,” Peter gave back and kissed his forehead before he started the episode where they last left off.
Things with Scott weren’t better, might never be better again, but Stiles couldn’t find it in him to care. Not with how loved he felt right now.
This is for Steter Week Day 5, Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor was the prompt and since I couldn't remember ever seeing Peter as the florist in this combination I simply had to do it. Read it here on AO3, or watch out for the read more here, since it’s more than 2.4k.
Peter was just finishing up the last flower arrangement for the day when the bell above the door chimed.
Peter looked up, his customer smile already in place, but he was taken aback when he saw who had entered the shop. He didn’t look like Peter’s usual customers, tattoos and piercings all over, but then again, people always said Peter wasn’t the usual type to open up a flower shop. Too grumpy and sarcastic to handle beautiful things and too rough to handle them with the care they deserved.
“Hello,” Peter greeted the man and his eyes snapped towards Peter.
“Hi,” the man said and walked up to the counter. “I heard you’re the one to come to for the supernatural inclined herbs.”
At that Peter squared his shoulders. He made it very clear that he wouldn’t be dealing with hunters, under no circumstances.
“Depends on who you are,” Peter coldly gave back, and the man blinked at him.
“I’m Stiles,” he said, confusion obvious in his voice and Peter shook his head.
“And what, exactly, are you?” Peter asked and looked Stiles over once again.
The tattoos could indicate everything from druid, over mage, to fanatic and hunter, and Peter didn’t want to play the guessing game.
“I’m a spark,” Stiles told him with a shrug and Peter narrowed his eyes at him.
“That’s rare,” he gave back, and Stiles tilted his head a bit.
“So is a werewolf owning a flower shop, but you don’t see me judging, do you?” he asked and Peter couldn’t help the smile.
“Fair enough. So, what do you need?” he asked, and Stiles put his arms on the counter, leaning forward just a little bit.
Peter’s eyes were drawn to the ink again, he had never been able to help himself with that. Tattoos were fascinating and Stiles’ especially. There didn’t seem to be a theme going on, Peter could see flowers and signs, animals and even an anchor just on his left arm, and he was sure there was more to discover all over Stiles’ body.
“So I take it you don’t have any tattoos,” Stiles said with a smirk, clearly following Peter’s gaze.
“And how would you know that?” Peter wanted to know and mentally scolded himself. He usually was better than blatant staring.
“You have that look,” Stiles gave back and gestured at his face. “Afraid of commitment?”
Peter thought back to the only commitment he had ever had. His family. There were laughably few left of the Hales, and certainly no one to stay committed to. Derek had pulled away as soon as he had revealed that Kate had used and raped him, Laura blamed Peter for only getting himself out of the house and Cora had spent so much time away from them, Peter wasn’t even sure she counted as family anymore.
His wolf certainly didn’t recognize her.
No, commitment had never been his problem. He had given everything he had for his family and now he would give anything to proudly display the Hale symbol on his skin, and not just on a pendant around his neck; to honour and remember his family that way, but he couldn’t.
The burns he had endured had been severe enough to put him into a coma for six years; he could barely light a match, let alone let anyone with a blow torch near enough to permanently burn a tattoo in his skin.
“What can I do for you?” Peter asked again, voice noticeably colder and Stiles raised an eyebrow at him, before pulling away from the counter.
“Right. Here’s what I need,” he said clearly picking up on the fact that his comment hadn’t been appreciated and slammed a list on the counter.
This, Peter could do.
~*~*~
Stiles became somewhat of a fixture in Peter’s shop afterwards. He always had something he needed, and if not, he dropped by anyway, just to let Peter know that he didn’t currently had anything to order.
Peter would be annoyed by that, having Stiles in his shop nearly every day, having his scent seep into the shop, noticeable even through the flowers, especially since their first encounter went so poorly, but Peter was too pleased to see the young man in his space, too happy to talk to him. Stiles had worn him down quickly with his wit and sarcasm.
Stiles was bright, easy to talk to, and could almost put Peter’s sarcasm to shame. Peter was looking forward to having Stiles in his space every day, and he was sure he was hiding it very badly, going by the knowing smile Stiles always had when Peter greeted him a little too enthusiastically.
Peter had discovered a few more tattoos on Stiles, could tell that they wormed their way over his shoulders, chest and back, but he only ever got glimpses and it nearly drove him mad. Peter wanted to discover all of them, learn them and trace them with his tongue, but he always pushed that want down hard.
Stiles flirted, sure, but it seemed like that was just who he was, as a person. It didn’t seem for Peter specifically and Peter didn’t want to chase his favourite customer away. So he kept on staring and desperately trying to not reach out for Stiles.
“I know you want a tattoo,” Stiles offhandedly said while lounging around in the shop, not even pretending to need something today. “What stops you? Why not just get one?” Stiles asked him, since he apparently caught Peter staring at his tattoos yet again.
It wasn’t even necessarily that Peter wanted one too at this point, though that was still true, but the fact that Stiles had them. Peter might just have a thing for that.
“You know what I am,” he said instead of voicing his thoughts and Stiles rolled his eyes.
“Werewolf,” he answered, and even though he didn’t say ‘Duh’ it was clearly audible in his voice.
“You know what happened to my family,” Peter went on, and raised an eyebrow at Stiles.
“They died in a fire,” Stiles solemnly gave back, because they had talked about that at one point. There wasn’t much he and Stiles didn’t talk about.
“There you have it then,” Peter said with a little gesture, but Stiles only frowned at him.
“I don’t understand? What does one have to do with the other?” Stiles wanted to know, and Peter rolled his eyes at him.
For all that Stiles could be so bright, he sometimes missed the most obvious connections.
“You really think after nearly dying in a fire I’m going to let anyone with a flame even close to me?” Peter spelled it out for Stiles who continued to frown at Peter.
“What does that have to do with getting a tattoo?” Stiles inquired, confusion clearly written all over his face.
“You’re a tattoo artist, you should know,” Peter said, while pushing some sheets on his counter around.
Stiles suddenly sat up straight and looked intently at Peter.
“Are you telling me that someone told you they had to burn the ink in?” he asked, and his voice was dangerously low.
“That’s how it’s done, isn’t it?” Peter asked, now frowning himself, because that was what Derek had told him.
Peter hadn’t bothered to look into it further, after that.
“Jesus Christ,” Stiles whispered with emphasis. “That’s not— Peter, that’s not how it’s done anymore, that’s barbaric” Stiles urgently said. “Why do you think I need so much wolfsbane all the time?” he asked, and Peter shrugged.
“I thought you had a potion making business at the side,” he admitted freely, because that was the only thing that made sense.
“I don’t,” Stiles told him. “I infuse my ink with wolfsbane and a little bit of magic,” he wiggled his fingers at Peter, “so that the ink stays on all kind of creatures. There is no need for fire in that process anywhere.”
“So, there’s one shop in America who doesn’t need fire,” Peter scoffed. “And you expect me to have found that one shop.”
“I sell my ink,” Stiles told him with an eyeroll. “I have a lot of customers, but not even I could use up that much ink in a week. I love coming here, but I really do need all that wolfsbane, you know. I have supplied at least half of America with the ink.”
“I didn’t really look that much into it,” Peter admitted. “My nephew told me once how he got his and after what happened, I just thought it would be another thing that’s not happening for me.”
“But you can have a tattoo, Peter. I’ll even do it for free, just for you,” Stiles told him with a wink and Peter was glad he wasn’t the type to blush.
“I—I need to think on that,” Peter lowly said because this was a huge thing all of a sudden.
It was easy to say you wanted something if you damn well knew it would never happen, and then suddenly having that option open again.
“Sure,” Stiles easily agreed and slouched back over the counter. “I’ll be here,” he said, and Peter got the distinct impression that he wasn’t just talking about today.
“I know,” he gave back and carefully touched his fingertips to the tattoo on the back of Stiles’ hand.
~*~*~
“I want one,” Peter said two weeks later, Stiles slumped over his counter again.
The regulars didn’t even bat an eyelash at Stiles being there; instead they asked where he was when they didn’t see him. Peter couldn’t say he was mad that Stiles became such a fixture in Peter’s shop.
At Peter’s words Stiles became slightly more alerted.
“Alright,” he gave back. “But?” he asked then, because he knew Peter well enough now to realize that there was something he hadn’t said yet.
“I need to see it first,” Peter admitted.
He believed Stiles, he did, but he had also believed that there would be a blowtorch for almost three years and it was hard to shake that image. He needed proof.
“I thought so,” Stiles said with a small smile. “Erica’s been waiting to get a new tattoo, but I told her to wait for you.”
“What?” Peter asked, totally taken aback by Stiles.
“I knew you would come around,” he gave back with a shrug. “She has enough tattoos that waiting for a new one for a week or two won’t hurt her.”
“And she’s a werewolf.”
“And she’s a werewolf,” Stiles confirmed. “She already agreed that you could watch, so I’ll set up an appointment with you two.”
Peter couldn’t help the smile that spread out on his face. Stiles really knew him too well by now.
“Thank you,” Peter said and pushed his fingers through Stiles’ hair, who leaned into the contact, but didn’t look away from his phone, clearly already talking to Erica.
“You’re welcome,” he mumbled, and Peter almost couldn’t stand the fond feeling that spread out in his chest.
~*~*~
“And that’s all there is to it,” Stiles said as he wrapped up Erica’s new tattoo.
It had barely taken an hour to get the flower onto her wrist and just as Stiles promised there had been no fire involved anywhere.
“And it’s going to stay and will not just vanish after she walks out of here?” Peter asked, mostly to be a little shit.
He liked the way Stiles eyes seemed to blaze golden when he got all angrily defensive.
“Are you doubting my sincerity?” Stiles asked, voice indignant. “Do you think I would lie to you?” he almost hissed and there was that golden sheen to his eyes.
“Ah,” Erica suddenly said from the side and tapped her nose. “Now that makes much more sense,” she said and smirked at Peter.
He narrowed his eyes at her, daring her to say what she just smelled, but her smile gentled suddenly.
“I think I’ll be leaving now. I’ll sent Stiles a pic in an hour, so you can be sure that it’s still there,” she told them with a wink and sauntered out of the shop.
“I can show you the pic tomorrow then, with the time stamp and everything, so you believe me,” Stiles said, and his voice sounded off.
“Stiles,” Peter softly said. “I’m not going to wait till tomorrow. I’m not even going to wait for an hour,” he told him.
“What?” Stiles asked, startled and turned wide eyes on Peter.
“Do you have time now?” Peter asked and walked closer to the chair Erica had sat in.
“I do,” Stiles said almost hesitantly.
Peter got his phone out, pulling up a picture of the triskelion he wanted and showed it to Stiles.
“Yeah, I can do that,” Stiles nodded, and got his equipment ready. “Where do you want it?”
“I want it here,” Peter said and took his shirt off without preamble, pointing at the skin right over his heart.
“Uh, shirtless on our first date,” Stiles said and winked at him. “I still got it, apparently.”
“Sweetheart, this is at least our fiftieth date. I’d say we’ve been taking it slow enough,” Peter gave back with a wink of his own and thoroughly enjoyed the blush spreading out on Stiles’ face.
Stiles quickly got everything ready, sketching the triskelion onto Peter’s skin and after one last look to make sure that Peter really wanted this, he started his gun.
It barely took forty minutes and then Stiles declared them done. There was no pain from the wolfsbane and no itch to indicate that it was healing, and Peter looked down at it, marveling at the black ink against his skin.
Stiles stepped closer, wiping up the excess ink and wrapping it up, eyes trained on his task.
“You promise you always have to come to me for this,” Stiles lowly told him, and Peter rolled his eyes, even as he pulled Stiles between his legs.
“As if there was anyone else I would trust to do this,” he whispered against Stiles’ lips right before he leaned in.
Stiles met him willingly, deepening the kiss after a few seconds and Peter couldn’t help the low growl. He had been waiting too long to do this.
When they parted Peter noticed with satisfaction that flushed was a very good look on Stiles.
~*~*~
Three years later Peter got Stiles’ name tattooed right under the Hale triskelion, whereas Stiles’ got the triskelion on his hipbone. It was the only wedding ceremony they needed.
The following story was technically written for Steter Week Day 2, magical!Stiles, but it also serves as a fill for the @badthingshappenbingo square ‘Find the Cure’. It’s over 3.3k long, so you can read it here on AO3 or just watch out for the read more.
Cure To My Heart
Peter was watching Stiles. He knew he shouldn’t, knew that Stiles would definitely not appreciate Peter’s attention on him, but he couldn’t help himself.
Stiles was mesmerizing, fascinating to watch and it wasn’t like Peter had a lot of other things to keep himself occupied with during this pack meeting.
There was a new threat in town, some kind of scorpion monsters, and Peter had tuned Derek and Scott out as soon as they had told everyone that the poison in their tail was so deadly, they didn’t even have an antidote for it. Apparently, it killed humans in seconds and wolves in hours, and the order was to stay as far away from the tails as possible.
As if anyone would be stupid enough to deliberately take a hit.
Peter had stopped paying attention after that, certain that the rest of the ‘strategizing’ would be just as pointless as that order and instead his eyes had been drawn to Stiles.
Stiles had grown into himself in the past few years; finally filling out those shoulders and getting his limbs under control. He was deadly if he wanted to be, training with Chris and himself making Stiles a worthy opponent even without considering his infinite magical talent. No one was sure yet, just what he could do with his spark, because they hadn’t found anything he couldn’t do if he really wanted to.
Stiles could utilize spells and potions, could work his magic through runes, but he could also just believe, and it worked just as well.
Peter had always been drawn to power, but pairing Stiles’ power with his wit and sarcasm, his loyalty and protectiveness, his sparkling eyes and pale skin? It was just too much.
Peter never stood a chance.
All the more regretful that he had made such a poor first impression on Stiles, which Stiles never seemed to have gotten over.
Whenever Stiles had to deal with him, he smelled of nothing but annoyance, and sometimes Peter got the distinct impression Stiles wanted to strangle him, but there were no positive scents associated with Peter.
It hurt, in the beginning more than now, but Peter knew that he couldn’t change it. He couldn’t even blame Stiles for it, with how he had behaved, mad from the alpha power.
But whenever Stiles turned from Peter to someone else and his scent suddenly bloomed with contentment, and that special scent combination that indicated friendship or even familial love, something in Peter painfully clenched up.
He knew himself well enough to know that he would be forever bitter about ruining his chance with Stiles and that he couldn’t even blame it on anyone else.
Stiles was currently in the process of applying more runes to his arms, and Peter was tracking his every stroke. It was mesmerizing to watch him work and Peter figured he could at least enjoy this. He decidedly didn’t think about the wistful note his thoughts took on more often than not.
When Scott and Derek finally declared their mission a go, Peter got up with everyone else, always a fan of taking his mind off his feelings with a good fight.
“Try to not to get killed,” Stiles told him, suddenly appearing next to Peter who couldn’t help but take a quick whiff when Stiles scent hit him.
Mild annoyance and the faint smell of ozone, which indicated that Stiles’ magic was already swirling under his skin, ready to be used.
“Shouldn’t you stay at home?” Peter asked, unable to keep his worry to himself.
If the poison could kill humans in seconds, he didn’t understand why Stiles had to join them. Whatever his part in this fight was, it couldn’t be worth the risk.
“You didn’t pay attention at all, did you?” Stiles asked with a small smile, but the annoyance only got more pronounced and Peter shrugged.
“It’s not like Scott and Derek are tactical geniuses. They are going to attack up front, and they want me to be amongst the first,” he summarized, certain that he wasn’t wrong in this.
“Okay, true,” Stiles allowed. “But I’m supposed to keep the scorpions docile. They don’t do well with wet weather, so I’m along to keep the humidity high and make it rain if necessary.”
“Ah,” Peter said, hoping that Stiles, for once, would stay to the sidelines, and not get swept up in the fight as he was so wont to do.
“See you afterwards, creeperwolf,” Stiles said, and Peter told himself, not for the first time, that the fondness and concern he heard in Stiles’ voice, were due to his own imagination.
Peter trusted his senses more than his interpretation of Stiles’ inflection, as lovely as his voice was, and there was nothing in Stiles’ scent to back up what he heard.
They decided to meet up in the preserve again, everyone responsible for getting there themselves, and Peter didn’t bother with going back to his apartment to get his car. He would be faster if he ran, and he made it there at the same time as the others who drove.
“Don’t get stung,” Scott told them all again, as if anyone could have forgotten it in the last ten minutes, and then they were off.
There were more scorpions than they had expected and soon enough it was pandemonium. The scorpions let out an inhuman screech whenever they were hurt, and the noise was hell on the sensitive ears of the wolves.
They were whip fast with their tails, and the only reason no one had been stung so far was Stiles. He had conjured rain almost as soon as the fight started, seemingly realizing that they were in deep shit, and while the rain made it hard to see, it also considerably slowed the scorpions down.
Peter had kept an eye on Stiles, too worried about him and the fact that he was too engrossed in his spell to pay attention to his surroundings, always ready to jump over and defend him, but so far none of the creatures had made their way over to him.
Peter was in the process of tearing the head off a scorpion when suddenly he heard something crash through the underbrush. The fight so far had taken place on a clearing, so Peter snapped to attention at the sound of breaking branches and his eyes immediately fell on Stiles, needing to make sure that he was safe and alright.
He seemed that way, but only because he hadn’t noticed the scorpion that was sneaking up on him. Peter would have been impressed at its’ ability to plan an attack like this, but he was too busy sprinting over to Stiles, hoping to get there before Stiles could take a hit.
He made it, barely, and tackled Stiles to the ground, just as the scorpion stroke. Peter heard his shirt tear, felt the faint pain the tail left behind, but he pushed the implications of that out of his mind. He needed to make sure that Stiles was alright, that he wouldn’t get hurt.
Stiles was cursing under him, smelling of fear and annoyance, but he was already getting up, so at least he wasn’t injured. Peter roared, ready to get his claws into the scorpion who dared to come after Stiles and soon enough he was swept back into the fight.
He could feel the poison work its’ way through him, his enhanced healing making an effort to expel it, but it was already taking its toll on Peter. He was slower, not enough to be noticed by the others yet, but Peter was sure it was only a matter of time.
He needed them to wrap this up fast.
Just as Peter was thinking it, the fight slowly died down. Derek killed the last scorpion, elegantly dancing out of the way when the tail snapped forward and then suddenly it was over, and silence settled over the clearing.
They had won and going by the exhausted but unworried expressions everyone had made it out without being hit.
Well, everyone but Peter.
His knees were already shaking, strength leaving him, and Peter was surprised at just how fast the poison was working. If it kept up with this pace, he had maybe till this evening before he would die.
Peter straightened his shoulders and allowed himself one last glance at Stiles. He was up and talking with Scott, but he was throwing glances at Peter and frowning, and Peter didn’t need his sense of smell to know that Stiles was angry with him.
It only cemented his decision to go home, without telling anyone about this. There was no cure, after all, and Peter was not keen on seeing Stiles be indifferent, or god forbid happy, towards his nearing demise.
“If that was everything, I have better things to do than stand around with you in the rain. It ruins my clothes,” Peter snappishly said, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes flitting over his body to check him over and Peter scoffed.
“Of course, I’m alright. Don’t call until the next catastrophe,” he gave back, and turned around to walk away.
The wolves should have heard his heartbeat betray him, but Peter knew that no one cared enough to pay attention to him, and when no one called him out on his lie, he was yet again proven right.
Peter was glad that he had left his car at home, hands already shaking too much to safely operate the vehicle, and he really didn’t need a car crash on top of everything else.
He made it to his apartment, just barely, knees already so weak, and he sunk down on the couch once he made it inside. Peter briefly thought about getting up to lie down on the bed, but it seemed like too much work. He could die on his couch just as well, there was no need to make anything harder on himself.
There were a lot of things Peter would have done differently in his life if he got a second chance but the only thing he truly regretted was not being to make anything up to Stiles. Peter would have liked to see Stiles smile at him and mean it, at least once.
But it was too late now.
~*~*~
“Something is wrong with him,” Stiles said, for the fifth time since they came back from the clearing and he glared daggers at Derek when he rolled his eyes.
“Peter said he was okay,” Derek told him, again, but Stiles shook his head.
“He was lying,” Stiles insisted. “Call him. Ask him again,” he demanded.
Stiles was sure that Peter had been hit by the scorpion, but no one would believe him. But they needed to get started on finding a cure, right now, because otherwise Peter would die.
“Fine,” Derek grumbled but got his phone out.
He hit a few buttons and then put the phone to his ear. His frown deepened with every second Peter didn’t pick up.
“He’s not answering,” he said, and Stiles felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin.
“Because he’s been poisoned, Derek, we have to go there right now,” he rushed out, already walking towards the door.
“I don’t know where he lives,” Derek called after him, but Stiles wasn’t deterred.
He had found out where Peter lived months ago.
When Stiles finally realized that neither Scott nor Derek were following him he was already at his jeep, and he didn’t have time to go back to argue with them. He needed to get to Peter.
Stiles was nervously tapping against his steering wheel the whole time, mentally going through horror scenarios where he found Peter but was too late or where he didn’t manage to find a cure in time and Stiles felt dangerously close to a panic attack.
He couldn’t lose Peter.
He still hadn’t managed to make Peter like him, they were barely anything, but acquaintances and Stiles had a plan, okay? A five-year plan to mellow Peter out enough to finally tell him that Stiles was in love with him and Peter not ripping his throat out immediately. He wouldn’t allow Peter to ruin his plan by dying.
Stiles jumped out of the jeep as soon as he had stopped, and he was rushing up to Peter’s apartment. He didn’t bother knocking, opening the door with his magic and running into the apartment.
Stiles wasn’t familiar with the layout, but he found the living-room easily enough and Peter was there on the couch.
“Peter,” Stiles called out, and Peter’s head lolled on the back of the couch into his direction.
“No,” Stiles whispered, “no, no, no. You’re not allowed to die, asshole,” he said and darted forward to shake Peter.
“Always so annoyed with me,” Peter mumbled with a faint smile on his face.
“Because you’re an annoying person, Peter, why didn’t you say something?” Stiles rushed out, frantically looking for the cut.
“My back,” Peter told him, eyes finally open but not moving otherwise.
He was pale, already so pale, and Stiles stomach dropped out when he realized that Peter wasn’t being difficult on purpose but that he was already too weak to really help Stiles out.
“How did that happen?” Stiles wanted to know, desperately trying to draw the poison out with his magic, but it wasn’t enough. It had already spread too far. “You were supposed to be careful!”
“Had to protect you,” Peter mumbled and frowned. “You’re always angry with me,” he continued, and he pressed his mouth together as if more words wanted to come out, but Peter kept them back.
“I’m not angry with you,” Stiles distractedly said, mind whirring to come up with a cure for this, to find a way to at lest slow the poisoning down, so that he would have more time.
“Angry now,” Peter slurred, and Stiles looked up at him.
He could see the pain in Peter’s eyes and his heart gave a painful thump.
“I’m also worried and stressed and pretty sure I’m going to die of heartbreak if you die now,” Stiles gave back, too distracted to pay much attention to what he was saying but Peter’s eyes cleared up a bit at his words.
“No need to lie, sweetheart,” Peter said, clearly announcing every word as if speaking was almost too difficult for him. “Can take the rejection,” Peter went on and then slumped against the couch, like this had taken more out of him, than he had to give at the moment.
“What rejection?” Stiles asked, and then it hit him. “Fuck.”
The scent masking spell.
He had gotten so used to it, that he didn’t even think about it half of the time. It had long ago become routine to renew it every morning and Stiles needed a second to remember what exactly it was supposed to do again and how he could reverse it.
When he finally remembered he cursed again. The spell was supposed to keep his positive feelings towards Peter out of his scent. It took him only a few mumbled words to drop the spell, and he couldn’t help but watch Peter closely.
Stiles could pinpoint the exact moment his scent hit Peter because his eyes flew open and he stared down at Stiles, who was kneeling at his feet, in wonder.
“I didn’t know,” Peter said, shakily reaching out to card his fingers through Stiles’ hair.
Stiles leaned into the contact, enjoying it for one short moment, before Peter convulsed on the couch.
“No!” Stiles almost yelled and got up, gripping Peter’s shoulders. “You don’t get to die on me when we were both stupid,” Stiles decided.
He took a deep breath and reminded himself that his spark worked on belief. Deaton had once said he could reverse time if he just believed strongly enough; Stiles sure as hell could act as an anti-dote to this poison.
He repeated it a few times in his mind, I’m the anti-dote, I can heal him, there is nothing the poison can do against me, before he reeled Peter in for a kiss.
He poured all his love, hope and belief into it, and he could feel how his magic flew into Peter. It had to work, there was simply no other way.
Peter had barely reciprocated, but Stiles didn’t think about that. It wasn’t about the kiss anyway. If it worked, they could do it again and Peter would be strong enough to either keep Stiles close or push him away.
When Stiles finally let go of Peter he fell back against the couch, still as weak and pale as before.
“Come one,” Stiles whispered, hands tangled into Peter’s shirt. “This has to work!”
“At least…good-bye kiss,” Peter panted and convulsed again, sweat breaking out on his forehead and Stiles felt like crying.
How come he could change the weather and hide his scent so thoroughly but he wasn’t able to save Peter?
He sunk down to his knees again, resting his head against Peter’s leg and he couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. Stiles sobbed freely into Peter’s pants and when Peter rested a heavy hand on his head, he cried even harder.
Stiles didn’t know how long he cried, but when he finally stopped his head hurt and he was too afraid to look up at Peter, fearing the worst. His breath started to come in short bursts, and Stiles was resigned enough to simply give in to the panic attack.
“Hush, darling,” Peter whispered from above and Stiles’ head snapped up.
Peter was looking down at him, eyes clear and colour back in his face, and smiled. Stiles laughed out loud, too relieved to do anything else and he easily went when Peter tugged him up.
“I thought it hadn’t worked,” Stiles whispered as he slumped against Peter, who hugged him hard.
“It took some time to kick in,” Peter gave back and nuzzled his face against Stiles’ hair. “The poison was already dangerously close to killing me.”
Stiles heartbeat spiked again at hearing that, but Peter was solid underneath him and warm, and he was pressing a kiss to Stiles’ forehead before he inhaled deeply.
“I never knew you smelled like this,” Peter mumbled, and Stiles felt regret sweeping through him.
“It was a spell,” he explained. “I was convinced you didn’t like me and I didn’t want to give you any ammunition against me in the beginning. I planned to woo you with my amazing ways and then I would have dropped it.”
“It might have worked too, if it didn’t leave me convinced you held nothing but derision for me,” Peter gently chided him.
“I never said I properly thought it through,” Stiles gave back and then leaned back a little bit, so he could look Peter in the eye. “I like you, and I’m sorry I made you think something else.”
“I like you too, sweetheart,” Peter gave back and this time it was him who pulled Stiles in a kiss.
Stiles liked it much better when Peter was an active participant and when they eventually parted, Stiles let out a low whine, causing Peter to dart in again for a few more kisses.
“Never do this again,” Stiles eventually mumbled against his lips and Peter frowned.
“Do what? Save your life? I’m not going to promise that,” he gave back and dragged his nose up Stiles’ cheek.
“Nearly die,” Stiles corrected him, leaning into the contact.
“I’ll try. I’d much rather be alive, anyway,” Peter gave back and pressed another sweet kiss to Stiles’ lips.
Stiles rested his hand on Peter’s chest, feeling his heartbeat under his palm and he marveled at the fact that just a few minutes ago he had thought he lost this.
“I’m here,” Peter reassured him and rested his own hand over Stiles’. “And I’m not leaving you.”
His heartbeat remained steady under Stiles’ hand and Stiles already knew that he would be forever attuned to this now.
He couldn’t say he minded, if it meant Peter stayed at his side.
This is for Steter Week Day 3 and I chose Soulmates/Mates as the theme. This was originally only a headcanon, but now it’s 3.3k of actual fic, which you can read on AO3 here, or just watch out for the read more now.
Ever since the nogitsune Stiles had thought he would never get another good night’s sleep again. He kept dreaming of all the horrific things it did, committed with his body, while Stiles was just a passenger, unable to take back control.
He had nightmares about those memories for the better part of a year.
But ever since Stiles had finally come into his magic, had embraced and mastered it, his dreams had changed. His magic enabled him to finally feel the bond he had to Peter, the bond that told him they were mates and it had changed his dreams drastically.
Stiles knew now what his future held; that as soon as Peter stopped giving him space they would be happy together and that knowledge was mirrored in his dreams.
Because now Stiles dreamt of sleepy cuddles, and soft mornings. Peter making breakfast for them and greeting Stiles with a kiss when he stumbled into the room, Stiles scratching Peter’s head where it’s laying in his lap while they watch TV, casual touches and sweet kisses.
Stiles always felt warm when he woke up from those dreams, content and loved, and he knew it would be like this eventually.
Stiles knew Peter could feel the bond, and he was certain Peter was only waiting for him to finally turn eighteen before he made his advances, and Stiles couldn’t wait for that day. It was only a few more weeks away.
Stiles was excited and happy, and finally well rested, sleep now actually something he was looking forward to.
Until he saw Peter in town, easily smiling at a beautiful red-haired woman.
Stiles froze in his steps, unable to look away, and he tried to tell himself that this was nothing. It could be one of Peter’s friends, he surely had those, even though he never talked about any. It could be nothing.
Stiles almost managed to convince himself but then the woman leaned in, closer than Stiles had ever seen Peter allow anyone, and Peter easily turned his head to kiss her lightly. The woman pulled back then, laughing at something and Peter laughed with her, totally at ease and Stiles had to blink against the sudden pain in his chest.
This was not how their lives were supposed to go. Peter was supposed to wait for Stiles; the mate bond coming to full potential between them once they were together and it promised them a happy life, always together.
But as Stiles was watching Peter tuck the woman under his arm, his whole perspective on the thing changed.
Peter had seemed appreciative of him when he was the alpha, but ever since he came back from the dead, he had kept a careful distance between Stiles and himself, never indicating that he was interested in more.
They snarked and they poked the other, using each other as a sounding board during the many crises they had faced, but in the end, it was just that. Easy comradery. Stiles might feel more for Peter, guided by the bond he could feel in his chest, but Peter had never let on that he felt it the same way that Stiles did.
And as a wolf, Peter should know that it was there.
Stiles swallowed a sob when he contemplated for the first time since he noticed the bond that Peter might not feel it. That Peter was everything Stiles wanted and needed for his future, but that the same didn’t go for Peter. That for him, Stiles was not enough, not right.
He abruptly turned away, seeing Peter laugh so freely at this woman hurting him more than he ever thought possible, and Stiles almost fled the scene.
Stiles was shaking when he arrived at home, and he immediately crawled into bed, his only wish to escape this horrible realization. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to fall asleep, and dream of a place where Peter still wanted him.
Stiles stumbled into the kitchen, blearily blinking at Peter and rubbing his eyes, walking across the room more by memory than by sight.
“Sweetheart,” Peter said and slightly turned around. “You can sleep a bit longer,” he softly told Stiles who had draped himself over Peter’s back.
“Bed too big,” Stiles mumbled and pressed a sleepy kiss to Peter’s shoulder. “No one to cuddle,” he complained then and his mouth curved into a smile when he felt Peter chuckle beneath him.
“So, you come to the kitchen for cuddles?” Peter asked, scrambling the eggs and turning the bacon, the smell mouth-watering to Stiles.
“I come to you for cuddles,” Stiles decisively said and pressed kisses all up Peter’s neck, who willingly tilted his head back. “Only ever you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” Peter gave back, turning around to finally pull Stiles into an embrace.
“You’re still half asleep,” Peter gently chided him then, and Stiles nuzzled closer to him.
“Mhhhh,” he hummed, and Peter pressed a kiss to his head.
Stiles knew that Peter was perfectly capable to make them breakfast and hold Stiles close at the same time; he had proven that time and time again after all.
Stiles woke up with a gasp and when he remembered why he was in bed in the middle of the day, when he remembered Peter and the woman he was with, he immediately burst into tears.
He cried long and hard, trying to push Peter’s soft touches, his kisses, from the dream out of his head and it hurt so much. His chest felt like it was constricting, like someone was squeezing his heart and Stiles could barely breathe.
He curled up small in his bed, hoping to ease the pain like that, but it wasn’t working, not really. Eventually he stumbled up, away from the bed where he had dreamt of Peter being so soft and familiar with him and collapsed into his chair.
Stiles had always thought the mate bond was something good, something to treasure and be happy about, but now it seemed like it would only cause him pain.
~*~*~
Stiles was intently watching the screen, caught up in the movie even though he had seen it at least five times already, but he was still softly carding his hand through Peter’s hair.
Peter had his head in Stiles’ lap, book long forgotten on his chest, and he was almost purring with contentment.
Stiles looked down at him, overcome with love for this man yet again, wondering how he ever earned this much trust.
He bent down, almost contorting himself, to press a kiss to Peter’s forehead and when he let out an ‘Uff’ afterwards, Peter laughed quietly, slowly blinking his eyes open.
“You could have had that easier,” he told Stiles who pouted down at him.
“Oh, yeah?”
“You just need to say the word,” Peter agreed with a slight nod and Stiles felt like he was drowning in the love he saw in Peter’s eyes.
“Kiss me,” Stiles whispered, and Peter lifted his head, meeting Stiles halfway.
Stiles stumbled down the stairs, barely awake and tear tracks still visible on his face. When he came into the kitchen, his dad turned towards him with a frown.
“Stiles,” he started and pushed a coffee towards him. “What’s going on?” he asked, settling down and looking expectantly at Stiles.
“I’m fine, dad,” Stiles tiredly said and pushed his hand through his hair.
“Son, I love you, but that is bullshit. You’re having nightmares again.”
Stiles thought back to the dream he had that night, just him and Peter cuddling on the couch, and he scoffed, to hide the fact that he was this close to bursting into tears again.
“I’m not having nightmares,” Stiles denied, and his dad frowned at him.
“Stiles, you wake up crying more often than not. You’re trying to not fall asleep and when you wake up during the night you stay awake. Don’t tell me you’re not having nightmares again,” his dad said, and Stiles hadn’t known he had noticed all that.
“Is it the nogitsune again?” his dad wanted to know, and Stiles couldn’t help the hysterical giggle that escaped him.
To think that the dreams he had about Peter were just as bad, or maybe even worse, than the ones he had about the nogitsune was hilarious to Stiles. He wondered how he could ever explain to his dad that dreaming about Peter in soft sweatpants, greeting him with a kiss while making breakfast for them, was as bad as dreaming about killing people, having his body used against his will.
Stiles desperately wished to know where in his life he had gone wrong to deserve this.
“It’s fine, dad, you don’t have to worry. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” Stiles said and was fiercely glad that his dad couldn’t hear his lie.
“If you need anything, if there is anything I can do,” his dad started but Stiles shook his head.
“There’s nothing you can do, but thank you,” he said and finally grabbed the coffee, hoping his dad would take the hint and drop the subject.
He was still eying Stiles concerned, when he put the cup back down, but Stiles didn’t know what to say, how to ease his dad’s worries.
Stiles had a hard enough time keeping himself together, he didn’t have the capacity to worry about anyone else on top of that.
The worst part was that Stiles wasn’t just sad and heartbroken; he was also angry. Wondering how Peter could just do this to him, when he knew damn well that it wasn’t Peter’s fault. It wasn’t his fault Stiles wasn’t what he wanted, that he couldn’t feel the bond, and he certainly wasn’t to blame for Stiles’ dreams.
Logically, Stiles knew that. But sometimes it was hard to remember when he woke up sobbing, still feeling Peter press a kiss to his head or lean into his touch, or simply smiling at Stiles, and then remembering that Peter, the real Peter would never do that.
~*~*~
Stiles had tried to avoid Peter, keep out of his way, because seeing him and having to remember that he couldn’t just walk over and drop a kiss on his lips was too painful for Stiles. So, Stiles had kept to himself, ditched pack meetings and movie nights in an attempt to stay clear of Peter.
But of course, today, of all days, he had decided to show up for a pack meeting, only to learn that it had been cancelled.
It left him alone with Derek and Peter and Stiles desperately wished he was anywhere else.
Especially when a djinn suddenly appeared in the middle of the loft.
But of course this one wasn’t your normal, wish granting djinn, oh no, that would be too easy. This one apparently showed you your worst nightmare and wasn’t that just fun. Stiles wished he had known about this sooner, but he guessed he only had himself to blame for that, with how often he had ditched pack meetings and calls, the pack’s attempts to keeping him informed and in the loop.
They were trapped inside the loft until they were shown their nightmare, the djinn had told them and then easily flung Peter and Derek to the side when they tried to attack him.
It looked like they would just have to live through this, then.
The fire, unsurprisingly, was the worst nightmare for both Derek and Peter, leaving only Stiles to have an intimate meeting with his nightmare.
When the djinn turned to Stiles, Derek and Peter already tensed in anticipation of the nogitsune, but Stiles had enough time to know that it would be a tie between the nogitsune and dream-Peter, and he quickly looked over at Peter.
He was watching Stiles intently, but he was pale, obviously still reeling from his own nightmare laid bare, and Stiles turned back to the djinn.
The djinn was standing right in front of him and he rested his hand on Stiles’ head, like he had with Peter and Derek, and suddenly another Peter was standing in the room with them.
Stiles immediately recognized him as his dream version, just a little softer around the edges somehow, but his gaze was drawn to the real Peter when he stumbled a few steps back.
“I’m sorry,” Peter frantically whispered, edging further and further away from Stiles. “I didn’t know, I’m so sorry. I never meant to…” and he trailed off there, pressing his lips together and angling himself away from Stiles, as if he wanted to seem less threatening.
Derek had turned an accusing glare on his uncle, and Stiles was still looking at Peter too. He was still edging steadily further away from them, white and shaking and Stiles made an aborted movement to reach out for him.
It seemed to startle Peter out of his shock though, because he made a wounded sound and then spun around on his heels, running out of the loft.
Stiles was still staring after him when Derek was suddenly at his side, the djinn nowhere to be seen.
“Is it because of what he did as an alpha, or did he do something else?” he asked Stiles, voice urgent but Stiles weakly shook his head.
“Stiles, I have to know, did he do something to you?” Derek snapped at him, grabbing his arm and slightly shaking him.
“He didn’t do anything,” Stiles hissed out at Derek and pushed his hand away. “It’s not his fault.”
Derek was still staring at him, clearly not believing a word Stiles said but Stiles didn’t have time for this.
He needed to tell Peter the truth, make him understand what just happened. Stiles dashed after Peter, but of course when he made it downstairs Peter was long gone.
Stiles jumped into his jeep, glad that he knew where Peter lived, and drove there in a hurry, disobeying almost all the laws. When he finally stormed into Peter’s apartment, Peter was already haphazardly throwing clothes into a suitcase.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, tracking Peter’s frantic actions.
Peter seemed to startle at his voice and he put more distance between them again, like it would help to reassure Stiles that he was no threat.
“Leaving,” Peter said like it was obvious, and Stiles shook his head in confusion.
“But why?” he wanted to know, and Peter stared at him for a second.
“I never meant to do that to you,” Peter told him, and there was a desperation to his voice that Stiles didn’t know what to do with. “I didn’t know that I was still… I would have kept my distance, you only needed to say something. Why wouldn’t you just tell me to go to hell?” he asked, and he sounded pained.
“Peter, I’m not afraid of you,” Stiles said but Peter only scoffed.
“Right, that’s why I am your worst nightmare,” he said with derision and went back to throwing things into the suitcase.
“I dream about us dating,” Stiles said, and Peter went stock-still.
“Dating,” he repeated and there was a whole new level of pain to his voice that Stiles hadn’t anticipated. “You think us dating is a nightmare,” he said and now his voice was flat, as if Peter had packed everything into a box and tightly closed it.
“No!” Stiles hurried to say, heart hurting at how Peter curled into himself, how pained his face was.
“I dream about us being happy,” Stiles went on to explain. “We share a flat, a mating bond, and you make breakfast for us and I scratch your head when we watch a movie and it’s just…” he broke off with a sob and Peter finally turned around to look at him.
“I saw you with the red-head. I know you don’t feel the bond, I know I’m not what you want and need. And that’s fine,” even Stiles could hear his heart miss a beat at the obvious lie, “but when I dream about us like that I’m happy. And then I wake up,” he said, voice strangled. “And remember that we will never be like that.”
Stiles covered his eyes with his hands, tears spilling over now.
“That’s what my nightmares are about,” he finished with a whisper, trying desperately to get himself back under control, because Peter didn’t deserve to have Stiles’ feelings thrown at him like that.
But he had needed to explain, needed to make Peter understand that Stiles wasn’t afraid of him.
Stiles startled when Peter was suddenly there, gently pulling Stiles’ hands down and he tried to avert his eyes, but Peter was insistent.
“Stiles,” he whispered, gently tilting his head up, and Stiles could barely see through his tears.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles managed to get out. “I didn’t mean to tell you.”
“I’m glad you have,” Peter said and kissed the tears on his cheeks away. “I thought you didn’t want me, that you couldn’t feel the bond. I knew from the moment you came to the hospital that you were mine.”
Stiles grabbed Peter’s wrists to keep him in place and leaned his forehead against Peter’s.
“I only noticed it when I got control over my magic,” he explained with a whisper. “And then I saw you.”
“She was a one-night stand,” Peter apologetically said. “I never started anything serious with anyone. Not if it wasn’t with you.”
“I love you,” Stiles told him, and Peter tilted his head up to kiss him.
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he gave back between kisses.
~*~*~
Stiles made his way into the kitchen, still blinking sleep from his eyes. Peter was at the stove, only wearing his sleeping pants and busy putting the bacon into the pan.
“Morning,” Stiles whispered, and Peter threw a small smile over his shoulder, face going soft when he took in Stiles.
“Morning, darling,” he gave back, offering his cheek for a kiss when Stiles walked over to him.
“You always make the best breakfast,” Stiles said as he slung his arms around Peter’s middle, pressing his face into his shoulder.
“I know,” Peter gave back.
Stiles sneaked a hand out, to grab a piece of bacon, and he knew damn well that Peter let it have him, but he still got his first bite of breakfast.
“Love you,” he mumbled while still chewing and Peter chuckled.
“Love you, too,” he gave back.
Stiles woke slowly, still warm and sleepy under the blankets, and he reached out for Peter, but his side of the bed was empty.
Stiles huffed and snuggled deeper into the bed, before the scent of bacon hit him and he decided that joining Peter in the kitchen seemed like the better option.
Stiles shuffled into the kitchen, still sleepy-warm, and he enjoyed watching Peter for a second. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just the pants he wore to bed and Stiles had to smile at the resemblance to his dream.
He quickly went over to Peter, who smiled at him and leaned into the kiss when Stiles demanded one. Stiles wrapped his arms around Peter’s middle, like he had in the dream, and for a split second he was confused about what was real.
Stiles reached out to take a piece of bacon, still vividly remembering his dream, but Peter immediately slapped his hand away.
“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Peter chided him and immediately soothed the sting with a kiss to Stiles’ hand.
“Dream-you is much nicer to me,” Stiles complained, and Peter laughed.
“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Peter confidently gave back, and Stiles peppered his shoulder with kisses.
Peter might be right about that. Stiles wouldn’t trade this for anything.
“I love you,” Stiles told Peter, who leaned sideways to press a kiss to Stiles head.
“I love you, too, darling,” he gave back. “But now get your hand off my bacon.”
Stiles laughed out loud at that, dancing away from Peter when he mock growled at him. This was even better than his dream.
I know I said I had nothing more for Steter Week, but I spent two hours driving today (which is even more productive than taking a shower, story idea wise), and there was a motherfucking spider in my car, and this idea has been sitting for a few weeks on my desktop, because Lavender and I talked about this before. I need my very own Peter to take care of these things, okay? You can read it here on AO3, or watch out for the read more, because it’s over 2k long.
Peter refused to call it lurking. That term was specifically reserved for his nephew. Peter was just looking out for Stiles, who, after all, was human and so very vulnerable, even if the pack liked to forget that. And it was a good thing that Peter was keeping watch on him, because Stiles’ heartbeat went rabbit fast all of a sudden and Peter was sure he had heard a scream as well.
Peter was up the wall and in Stiles’ bedroom a few seconds later, only to find Stiles on his bed, wringing his hands in front of his chest and noticeably shaking.
“What’s happening?” Peter asked, looking out for the threat, but he couldn’t see any intruders.
“There’s a spider,” Stiles pressed out, voice thin with obvious fear, and Peter needed a second to connect that sentence with Stiles’ extreme reaction. It wasn’t what he had expected.
“A spider,” he tonelessly repeated and Stiles rapidly nodded, pointing at the floor.
“Could you maybe do something?” Stiles asked him, and he didn’t even seem surprised that Peter was there in the first place.
“Where is it?” Peter asked, but just as he was speaking he saw the black blob on the floor, just sitting there innocently.
“Do something,” Stiles hissed, and Peter smirked.
“What do I get if I kill the spider?” he asked, keeping an eye on the arachnid, because he didn’t actually want it to flee and scare Stiles further.
“You don’t kill the spider,” Stiles told him, and not a second to late, because Peter was already in the process of stumping on it.
“You want me to catch it?” he asked incredulously, and Stiles nodded again.
“I definitely get something for that,” Peter decided and looked around for something to put over the spider.
“Oh my god, Peter, you can bargain for something later, just catch the damn thing before it vanishes,” Stiles cried out and Peter dumped an empty mug over the spider.
“If I bargain for something later, you can just tell me no,” he said, mostly to annoy Stiles, because he wouldn’t leave the spider there.
Not with how afraid Stiles clearly was.
“You can have anything,” Stiles promised, and Peter frowned.
“That’s a very dangerous offer, Stiles,” he told him, because it was.
There was a lot Peter could ask for, and a lot Stiles probably wasn’t willing to give.
“I don’t care,” Stiles desperately said. “Just please, Peter, please, get rid of it.”
Stiles hadn’t looked at Peter at all since he entered the room, eyes always fixed on the spider, even though it was now under the mug, and Peter wondered just how afraid Stiles really was of them.
“It’s okay, I have it,” Peter promised him, trying to sooth him, and went to search for a piece of paper he could slide under the mug. “Don’t worry.”
He found something on Stiles’ desk, and took care of the spider quickly, throwing it out the window he came through.
“There, it’s gone,” Peter said and showed Stiles the empty mug to prove that it was really gone, because Stiles was still too pale and his heart was still beating way too fast.
“Thank you,” Stiles breathed. “Thank you,” he repeated with emphasis when Peter simply shrugged.
“It’s no problem,” Peter gave back, suddenly uncomfortable in face of Stiles’ sincere gratitude.
Stiles climbed down from the bed, still keeping an eye on the window as if he expected the spider to crawl back in, but he sat down in his chair and Peter counted it as a win.
“So, what do you want for rescuing me?” Stiles asked, and nothing in his scent or behaviour indicated that he was dreading what Peter would answer.
There was no trace of apprehension and Peter silently cursed. He had wanted to ask for a kiss; it was the perfect opportunity after all. If Stiles laughed in his face or seemed disgusted, Peter could pretend it was all just a joke and ask for something else. But now, faced with Stiles honest gratitude, Peter couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.
Stiles had genuinely been afraid of the spider and it felt wrong to ask something of Stiles now.
“I’ll think of something,” Peter promised him, and his heart lurched in his chest when Stiles smiled at him. Peter was just glad Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat.
“I’m sure you will,” Stiles nodded and then frowned. “What were you even doing here?” he asked then and Peter shrugged.
“I was just passing by,” he said, unwilling to tell Stiles that he had been watching the house, looking out for him. He was pretty sure Stiles wouldn’t take it well.
“Thank god for that,” Stiles told him with a twinkle in his eye that told Peter he wasn’t quite buying his story, but he also didn’t press further, so Peter let it rest.
“I should be on my way,” Peter eventually said when the silence stretched between them. “That is, as long as you don’t have another spider you need me to take care of.”
“Not right now,” Stiles gave back with a small, self-deprecating smile. “Thank you for not making fun of me,” he added lowly.
“I would never,” Peter promised, and it was true. He would make fun of all kinds of things, but never about something Stiles was genuinely scared of.
“Thanks,” Stiles said again. “Let me know when you thought of something you want,” he told Peter and turned around to his desk.
Peter could think about a lot of things he wanted, especially from Stiles, but he didn’t voice any of his thoughts. He would find a moment to tell Stiles that he was helplessly gone on him, but now wasn’t the time.
“Call me when you need to be rescued again,” Peter told him right before he jumped out of the window and going by the pleased note to Stiles’ scent he knew it for the honest offer it was.
~*~*~
Peter still wasn’t lurking, really, he was not. It was just, ever since that incident with the spider he kept an even closer eye on Stiles, wondering how often a spider crawled into his room and scared him half to death. The Stilinski’s were living rather closely to the woods after all.
There hadn’t been an incident since that first time, but Peter couldn’t quite bring himself to abandon his post. He could still clearly remember the look of relief and gratitude on Stiles’ face and maybe he wanted to see it again.
Peter was only half paying attention to Stiles right now; he was long attuned to his heartbeat and that was really all he needed. Stiles was calm, probably working on something and Peter payed more attention to his book than to the house.
When he heard Stiles’ heartrate drop even further, he smiled to himself. He could clearly picture Stiles falling asleep at his desk, drooling on the papers he had probably all over the place. It was a nice picture, but it was destroyed when Stiles suddenly spoke up.
“Peter, I know you’re there. I need you to get your ass in here right now, someone just broke in,” Stiles whispered, just loud enough that Peter could still pick it up with his enhanced hearing and Peter was dashing towards the house instantly, fear licking up his spine at the thought of Stiles getting hurt.
When he climbed into the room, Stiles was backed up towards the window, bat in his hands, and tense all over.
“Something broke downstairs, but no one tried to climb up the stairs yet,” Stiles whispered, and Peter nodded, motioning for Stiles to stay behind him.
Peter silently left the room, walking out into the hallway and focusing his hearing. There was Stiles’ calm heartbeat and one more heartbeat downstairs. It seemed like the person was rummaging around in the kitchen and Peter crept down the stairs, careful not to make a noise.
When he rounded the corner and could look into the kitchen, Peter huffed. The ‘intruder’ was the Sheriff himself, sweeping up the shards of a glass he had apparently broken.
“Sheriff,” Peter said and was delighted at the way the Sheriff jumped.
“Fucking Christ, Hale, what are you doing in my house?” John asked once he had calmed down and Peter shrugged.
“Stiles thought someone was breaking in,” he gave back and then called out for Stiles. “It’s just your dad!”
Stiles trampled down the stairs, bat still in his hands and came to a stop in the doorway, glaring at his dad.
“You’re not supposed to be home,” he said accusingly. “You scared me half to death.”
“Jordan sent me home,” John replied, though he did seem apologetic. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t even think.”
“It’s fine,” Stiles huffed and eyed Peter from the side. “I have my very own guard dog, after all.”
“I resent that,” Peter indignantly gave back, but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the way Stiles laughed at that.
“If you make lunch, make enough for three,” Stiles told his dad before he dragged Peter back up the stairs.
“We really need to talk about your fear response and your survival instinct,” Peter said once they were back in Stiles’ room.
“What? Why? My instincts are fine” Stiles told him as he put his bat away.
“They are not,” Peter said decisively. “I thought you fell asleep just now, your heartbeat was slowing down so much, but when there was a spider in your room, it ratcheted up with fear, nearly sending you into a panic attack.”
“Because it was a motherfucking spider!” Stiles almost yelled and Peter rolled his eyes.
“Stiles, you thought someone was breaking in. That should scare you more than a tiny spider.”
“It wasn’t so tiny,” Stiles told him. “And intruders are fine, they have two legs and you generally know where they are. Spiders have eight legs, Peter, eight, nothing even needs that many legs, six is a perfectly reasonable amount to have, and if you take your eyes off them for even a second they are gone, just puff, and you will never find them again, but you will always wait for them to show up again at all times. It’s scary.”
Peter wanted to be angry with Stiles, he really did, but he was just too cute, rambling like that, and Peter couldn’t help the small smile that broke out on his face.
“What are you smiling at?” Stiles asked him, suspiciously narrowing his eyes at Peter.
“Nothing,” Peter was quick to give back, and then frowned. “How did you even know I was close enough to hear you?”
“Oh, please,” Stiles scoffed, but it wasn’t mean. “As if I didn’t know that you are watching me all day long.”
“I’m not,” Peter protested but Stiles silenced him with a look.
“Don’t even pretend. I’m not complaining, not after you saved me twice, but next time you can just come in and keep me company instead of just watching me.”
Hope bloomed up in Peter’s chest at that unconditional offer and he decided to just take a leap of faith now.
“I thought of something for saving you from the spider the other day,” he said, and Stiles stepped closer to him, smiling slightly.
“Oh yeah? What is it?” he wanted to know, and he smelled so deliciously of want that Peter was sure he wouldn’t be rejected.
“I’ll take a kiss for spider saving duties,” Peter told him and Stiles’ smile was almost blinding.
“Took you long enough,” he whispered and leaned in to kiss Peter.
“You know,” Stiles whispered against Peter’s lips when he put a bit of distance between them, “you don’t have to wait for another spider to kiss me.”
“Good to know,” Peter whispered back and reeled Stiles back in.
It was an offer he wouldn’t let go to waste. Peter still got a kiss whenever he saved Stiles form another spider, though. It was a system that worked for both of them.
“Good morning, kiddo,” his dad said, and the words hurt.
All Stiles wanted to do was step forward and let his dad hug him, allow his father to give him comfort. His father's hugs had always been all-encompassing, the way he would fold himself around Stiles and hold him as tightly as he could.
Stiles stepped around him, careful not to let foreign skin touch anything that was special to him.
This is for Steter Week Day 6, Bamf!Stiles. I was aiming for all eight days, but 7 and 8 are giving me trouble so this is the last story I have for Steter Week. I hope you enjoyed them! You can read this here on AO3, or simply watch out for the read more, because it’s over 2.5k.
Stiles had become frighteningly competent over the last few months and Peter was man enough to admit that Stiles could be scary.
He was pretty sure it was because of the eerie white that overshadowed his eyes when he casted his magic, and the seemingly menacing tattoos all over, but Stiles had become somewhat of a badass. It only served to attract Peter further.
He already was helplessly gone on the emissary-to-be, and seeing Stiles competently handling his wolfsbane and magic infused bat and smashing heads left and right, only made it worse. Adding in that away from the battlefield Stiles was still the same floundering, babbling knowledgeable nerd he always was, and Peter was honest to god helpless against him.
Too bad that Stiles was training to be Derek’s emissary. It was an unspoken fact that that was what Deaton was training him for and while Peter might have had some secret hope that if he could gain alpha status again Stiles would be his emissary eventually, that didn’t seem to be Stiles’ wish at all.
Peter had tried not to make any assumptions, Derek and Stiles were a bad fit in his eyes, but apparently, they thought differently. Everyone knew that Deaton was pushing Stiles towards Derek and since Stiles never protested against that, it was almost a done deal anyway.
But still, hope was a stubborn little thing, and Peter never managed to really push down that spark of ‘mine’ when it came to Stiles.
It was Stiles himself who effectively killed any lingering hope Peter still had. Stiles showed up late to one of the many mandatory pack meetings and Peter cursed every second of that. He only showed up because he knew no one wanted him there, and because it meant more time he could spend with Stiles, but without Stiles there it was only half as fun.
When Stiles finally showed up Peter very pointedly did not look over; not wanting to give the impression he had just been waiting for Stiles even though that was exactly what he had been doing.
Instead he very carefully listened to the explanation Stiles gave for being late. It wasn't much of one.
“Sorry I'm late,” was all he said, and Peter had to suppress a smile when Derek growled at him.
“Dude,” Scott suddenly piped up. “Did you get it?” he asked, jumping up from the couch and hurrying over to Stiles.
“I did,” Stiles hissed. “Now shut up.”
“Let me see,” Scott said and there was a bit of a scuffle apparently and then Stiles smacked Scott's hand away.
“I just want to make sure it's healing correctly,” Scott insisted, and Peter could almost hear Stiles’ eyeroll.
“It's not even an hour old, how much healing do you think it has done yet?” Stiles asked, and Peter finally looked over at that.
He quickly checked Stiles over, but he couldn't see any obvious injury even though now that he concentrated he noticed the faint smell of blood, mixed together with something else. Scott was reaching out for the collar of Stiles’ shirt and this time Stiles only sighed and obediently tilted his head a bit, obviously realizing that Scott wouldn't stop.
“Dude, it's a bit obvious, don't you think,” Scott whispered, and Stiles quickly glanced over to the pack.
“Not if you stop drawing attention to it,” Stiles snapped and moved out of Scott's reach.
It didn't have the intended effect though, because Scott was slow to let go of the collar and instead stretched the fabric enough to reveal the tattoo on Stiles’ shoulder.
The triskelion was still obviously fresh, stark black against Stiles’ pale skin, curving elegantly over his shoulder and one spiral edging towards his neck.
Peter resisted the urge to raise his hand and briefly touch his own triskelion right above his heart. Not many people knew that he had it, Derek the only one in the pack, and Peter liked it that way. But that also meant that Stiles got the tattoo not with Peter in mind, as much as he would wish for that, but for Derek. Matching the one he had on his back, since everyone knew about that one. Derek was running around without shirts way too often.
It was the most effective way to mark himself as Derek's future emissary.
Peter was altogether unfamiliar with the painful feeling in his chest, but he figured this must be what rejection felt like.
Because of course, of course Stiles wouldn’t want to be his. Peter recognized that he was a great source of knowledge, and it’s only natural for Stiles to want to take advantage of that, so he could be a better emissary for his future alpha. It’s only logical, no matter how much it might hurt Peter.
But it also meant that no matter if Peter became alpha again or not, Stiles wouldn’t be his, would never stand at his side, as emissary and maybe even more.
Peter had only been waiting to stumble upon an alpha to take the power from and going by the knowing looks he got from Derek and Stiles whenever he left for an extended period of time, they knew exactly what he was up to as well.
They didn’t stop him, they never asked him about it, and it almost seemed to Peter like they thought it was inevitable that he would become alpha again. The lack of protest might have furthered his hope that he had a future with Stiles in his pack, but Peter recognized that he needed to put that hope to rest now.
Stiles had made his point, had decided on his future, and it wouldn’t be with Peter.
Peter needed to learn to live with that.
~*~*~
Peter had heard about a truly despicable alpha a few hours away, and this was exactly the opportunity he had been waiting for all along.
But instead of packing his bags and going out to hunt the monster down, he was lounging on his couch, contemplating if it was even worth getting the alpha status back, if he couldn’t have Stiles at his side.
His musings were interrupted when his phone suddenly chimed with the ringtone he set for the emergency pack channel. Peter was up in a second, snatching his phone up and reading over the message.
Flock of harpies was all it said, accompanied with GPS coordinates. It was deep in the preserve and Peter wondered how Stiles even had stumbled upon them, not that it really mattered. Peter was out of his apartment in mere seconds.
When he approached the coordinates Stiles’ had sent, he could already hear the fight, so he pocketed his phone and raced towards the clearing.
As soon as it came into sight Peter slowed down, because it wasn’t like Stiles even needed his help. Most of the harpies were already down, only two still fighting back, even though their wings seemed broken and they were mostly harmless on the ground.
Stiles was alone, magic crackling around him, his eyes the milky white Peter came to associate with power and his bat twirling in his hand. It was a matter of minutes before the last two harpies were down as well and that was when Peter stepped into the clearing.
He had been ready to charge in, should it look like Stiles needed help at any second, but of course Stiles was more than capable of handling himself.
“Did you just call for backup because you’re tired of cleaning up your own messes?” Peter asked, surveying the carnage around Stiles.
Peter couldn’t deny that it was more than attractive to him, seeing Stiles covered in blood and proof of his capability lying dead on the ground.
Stiles whirled around to him and Peter tried hard not to be hurt by the confused look he got. He had been good lately, showing up to pack meetings without being prompted, and he always fought with the pack when something was going down. Stiles’ surprise was totally unwarranted.
“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked him, something reproachful in his voice and Peter frowned.
“You sent out an emergency alert,” Peter gave back, and Stiles shook his head at him.
“But you’re supposed to be in Oregon,” Stiles accusingly said, and Peter only frowned harder.
That was where the rumours of the rogue alpha were from, but Stiles couldn’t possibly know that.
“And what would I be doing there?” Peter asked, trying for nonchalance even though he tensed when Derek and the rest of the pack finally came to the clearing as well.
He avoided his eyes when Derek immediately went up to Stiles, obviously checking him over, and Peter took a few steps back. Seeing Stiles and Derek this familiar with each other still hurt, and Peter wasn’t sure it would ever stop.
Peter could hardly stand to see the triskelion on Stiles’ shoulder, so close to the spot Derek would have to bite to make him his emissary and seeing them so obviously concerned with each other was more than Peter could handle.
Maybe it was time to get that alpha power back, if just so he could safely stay away from the pack, no longer having to stay around so that he didn’t go omega on anyone. If he was alpha again, he could move away and start his own pack, get another emissary, one that didn’t mean so much to Peter.
It certainly seemed like the better option than watching Stiles and Derek being bound together.
“What are you still doing here, Peter?” Derek asked him now too and finally it clicked for Peter.
Of course they had noticed that he was not so quietly gone on Stiles. It only made sense that they wanted him to be an alpha again, so that they wouldn’t have to deal with him around anymore.
“I’m asking myself the same,” Peter shortly gave back. “Seeing as I’m not actually wanted around.”
He walked back into the preserve, without looking back or listening to Stiles calling him back. He had an alpha to kill after all.
~*~*~
Killing the alpha was easier than Peter had expected. He was already so far gone, there was no human intelligence left in him and so Peter easily overpowered him.
He alpha power coursing through him was a shock, but a good one, so different than the last time. It didn’t further Peter’s insanity, because he was quite stable these days and instead it settled into his bones like it belonged there.
The only surprising moment was when Peter noticed the one pack bond he had. He curiously poked at it, wondering who would ever feel connected enough to him to be immediately in his pack, but he shied away from it when it felt like Stiles.
He wondered what went wrong, that he couldn’t even escape Stiles as an alpha. Maybe this was the punishment he got for everything he had done to his family.
Peter drove back to his apartment, ready to pack everything up and finally move away from this cursed land, valiantly trying to shut down the one pack bond he could feel, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to completely terminate the connection.
He was in the process of packing up his books when Stiles suddenly stormed into his apartment. Peter had felt him coming, but he wasn’t ready to explain to Stiles why he had formed a pack bond with him, wasn’t ready to hear Stiles say how unwanted this connection was.
Stiles stormed into the living-room, mouth already open to say something, but he froze when he saw Peter bend over a box.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Stiles wanted to know, and Peter looked back down, packing up a few more books.
“Packing,” was all Peter said and he could smell the confusion on Stiles. “I’m sorry about the pack bond,” Peter said after a silence that went on way too long, given that it was Stiles who stood in his living-room, but it seemed to spur him into action again.
“I’m not,” Stiles decidedly said and that brought Peter up short.
He glanced up at Stiles, eyes drawn to the edge of the triskelion tattoo on his shoulder and his wolf wanted. It didn’t understand that this sign, their sign, was for another alpha.
“I don’t think Derek will be all to pleased by this,” Peter told him when Stiles just continued to stare at him, which prompted Stiles to roll his eyes.
“Alpha Hale,” he formally said, and Peter’s eyes flashed at that. “I’m here to apply for emissary position.”
Peter froze at that, his wolf howling in satisfaction in his mind, but Peter wasn’t quite ready to believe it yet. He got up, and walked over to Stiles, coming to stop just a few inches away from Stiles and gingerly pulled his collar down, exposing the triskelion.
“You’re wearing my nephew’s mark,” he rasped out and Stiles huffed, clearly amused by something.
“It’s also your mark,” he gave back, raising a hand to rest it over Peter’s heart. “You might not burst out of your shirt every other hour like Derek, but you do change in the loft after a fight,” he explained.
“So you’re saying you’re mine,” Peter said and he couldn’t quite keep the growl out of his voice.
“Only if you don’t have an emissary yet,” Stiles cheekily gave back.
“Stiles, be sure about this,” Peter got out, fangs already growing in his mouth in anticipation of claiming Stiles as his.
“I am,” Stiles earnestly said. “I’ve only always been training to be your emissary,” he went on and bared his neck for Peter.
Peter could feel his eyes flash again, right before he leaned in and sank his fangs into the place where neck met shoulder, where the triskelion had been taunting him for weeks now. Stiles gasped against him, and he brought his hands up, but not to push Peter away, but to pull him closer, fingers digging into his shoulders, Stiles was holding on so hard.
Peter’s fangs retreated, leaving only his blunt human teeth behind and he licked over the mark on Stiles’ neck. It was sluggishly bleeding but already healing, tapping into Peter’s healing power, indicating that the bond was accepted.
Stiles was his emissary now and nothing but death could destroy that bond.
“Now take me to bed,” Stiles demanded, and Peter almost suffocated in the delicious smell of Stiles’ arousal.
“Bossy,” Peter chuckled and leaned in to lick over Stiles’ neck again.
“Better get used to that, you’re not getting rid of me that easily now,” Stiles gave back and pushed Peter away.
“Plus, there’s another bite you have yet to give me,” he said and bared the other side of his neck to Peter, his left side.
The side exclusively used for mating bites.
“Stiles,” Peter started but couldn’t even finish the sentence which how much he wanted. He wasn’t even sure what he tried to say.
“I want everything, Peter,” Stiles told him, voice and heartbeat steady and eyes locked on Peter.
“And I’m going to give you exactly that,” Peter said before he leaned in to kiss the living hell out of Stiles as he dragged him towards the bedroom.
Stiles laughed against his lips, bright and happy, and Peter vowed to make him laugh like that for the rest of their lives.
