Cowboy Werewolf Cubs

Peter had spent years swallowing his father's fists and burying pieces of himself just to survive, but tonight he'd finally thrown both back in the old man's face. The split lip, the bruised ribs, the blood drying on his skin, it had all been worth it. Worth the look Brian gave him afterward: proud, approving, like Peter was something dangerous that deserved to be unleashed rather than hidden away.

Later, lying in Brian's room with every muscle aching, Peter didn't shy away from the pain, the comfort, or the certainty of what he wanted. He was tired of pretending. Tired of apologizing. Tired of letting other people define him. For the first time in his life, he wore every bruise, every scar, and every hard-won piece of himself like a fucking trophy.

Derek: "I punched a man for flirting with Stiles once"

Peter: "Wow... Romantic"

Derek: "Stiles laughed so hard he snorted"

Peter: "And?"

Day 439 of posting the first Ian Bohen photo that Pinterest recommends.