#steter ficlet

Stiles’s forefinger traces Peter’s skin, over his pecs and down to the hair on his belly and then back up again. He does that sort of thing a lot. Sometimes it’s after sex, sometimes they’re fully clothed. He’ll tap his fingers along Peter’s arm, or run his hand up and down his thigh, or take a curl at the base of Peter’s neck and wind it around his finger over and over, like he’s using Peter to stim. 

It had almost felt like too much at first, after Peter had gone years with limited physical contact outside of sex. He’d had to learn how to be touched like this again, without any intent behind it, just contact for contact’s sake. Now he has to hold back the rumbling purr that threatens to overtake him when Stiles does this. 

“Peter?” 

“Yes pet?” 

“I want to tell you something, but before I tell you, I just need you to know I’m only telling you because I want you to know, not because I expect you to do something about it.” 

“Okay,” Peter says. He’d be nervous, but Stiles smells content and unbothered. It’s probably nothing serious. 

“Okay,” Stiles says, sounding determined. His finger stops its path, and he rests his hand on Peter’s stomach instead, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I love you. I love you so fucking much. And not even in a romantic way. I mean, probably that too, but like, I love you. You’re smart and funny and awesome and my best friend. I could live without you, but I really don’t fucking want to ever again. Anyway, I just thought you should know.” 

The words hit Peter like a freight train. How long has it been since anyone has said they love him? How long has it been since someone has loved him at all? Derek did once, and maybe he does still, but he’s not sure. He hasn’t been sure of anything like that in a long time. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, uncharacteristically soft. He’s lifted his head to look at Peter now, his eyebrows drawn down in concern. 

And that’s when Peter realizes he’s crying, tears running down to trickle into his ears. Well, that’s embarrassing. Maybe it’s not so embarrassing with Stiles though, who is wiping Peter’s tears away with his thumb while he peppers his jaw with kisses murmuring “it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.” 

Peter sniffs, pulls himself together. “Sorry,” he says, trying to muster some dignity.

“My dad says real men cry,” Stiles says with a little smirk. “You okay?” 

“Yes.” He’s better than okay. He pulls Stiles into a real kiss, licking into his mouth to taste him, fingers clenched in his hair. 

“I love you too,” Peter says, once they come up for air. 

“I know,” Stiles says. He looks smug. “I would have known even if you never said it, but it’s nice to hear it.” 

(Bingo entry for Writer's Pride Month Bingo 2025 - Coming Out)

--------

“Are you lost, little lamb?” Peter purrs from the open doorway, one arm leaning intimidatingly against the door frame.

Stiles realizes his mistake the moment Peter’s lips curl into a sinister smirk, but he can’t back down now that he’s finally found the courage to take the elevator all the way up. It’s no surprise that Peter lives in the building’s penthouse, but Stiles is still generally awestruck by the elaborate wall sconces that light the hallway leading to Peter’s front door. “You’re the last person I’d ever think to ask this, but I don’t exactly have anyone else who’d be so…willing. I think.”

A curious brow cocks itself on Peter’s forehead. “Should I be so honored being your last resort, then? Or do you plan on turning with your tail between your legs now that you’ve arrived?” He steps aside, nodding towards the inside of his apartment, and for a second, Stiles heavily debates leaving. There’s no reason he can’t just find someone else - some random person - to help him out, but he’s already here, and Stiles figures asking wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

All Peter has to do is say no, and then he’s out of there. First, though, he has to step inside - which he does after Peter shifts in the doorway, stepping away just enough that they wouldn’t risk rubbing up against one another while passing through. Inside is just as grandiose and fancy as the hallway and lobby downstairs, but the simple furniture and casual design are very Peter.

“Beacon Hills is a small town, and there aren’t many people I could ask, but - ” He probably rambles on for too long, but Peter doesn’t seem to be in a hurry.

Only when Stiles starts to repeat himself does he interrupt. “I’d love to watch you dance in circles around the point all day, but I think it’d be more beneficial if you tell me what exactly it is you need from - ”

“K-kiss me.” The words blurt themselves out. Stiles refuses to take responsibility for them now that he’s said them. Or rather, barked them, at Peter. “I - I need, no - I was thinking - uhm - fuck, I need to f-figure some things out and I can’t ask Derek or - shit - definitely not Scott.”

The amusement on Peter’s face is slowly draining, and Stiles can see his mistake even more clearly. It was dumb, so dumb to think he could come here and ask this of Peter Hale. Why? Why did he-?

“You came all the way here to ask me to kiss you?” His eyes squint, as if he’s trying to really focus on what Stiles is saying. His scrutinizing gaze is enough to make his face flush - heat rising as rapid levels of embarrassment fill him up from toe to tip of ear.

Stiles quickly mumbles an apology and makes for the door, but he only gets two steps in before Peter grabs him by the arm and tugs him around to face him again. “Just forget about it, dude.” He wants to leave, too busy mentally kicking himself over and over to realize that Peter has stepped into his space. It’s too late to pull back now.

Peter’s mouth is already on his, lips soft and gentle as large hands reach up to envelope Stiles’ face - holding him in place. It’s not as if he thinks of going anywhere just yet. He’s still too stunned that this is even happening, but when Peter’s thumbs begin rubbing small circles against his ears, Stiles can feel himself properly melting into the heat of it all.

He reaches up to grip Peter’s arms, worried he might fall as his knees begin to shake, but it seems to set Peter off. A rumble starts in his chest, a low hum as he licks his tongue along the tight seal of Stiles’ lips. It’s his mistake again when he opens his mouth to tell Peter to wait, only to have that dangerous tongue delve inside and shut him up.

It’s not as if Stiles doesn’t know how to kiss, how to roam his hands on another person’s body - how to deepen the intimacy between him and his partner, but up until now, it’s only been with women his own age. Kissing a twenty-one-year-old is different than kissing someone in their thirties. At least, that’s the age he’s going with for Peter. The wolf has never been clear just exactly how old he is.

Peter has quite the skill over Stiles here, but Stiles isn’t complaining. Only when Peter pulls back does he make a sound in protest, a soft noise from the back of his throat as he tries to chase Peter’s lips. “You - you just did it without asking why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

Something pinches in Stiles’ chest. His heart already feels like it’s going to erupt from his body, but now it feels more like he can’t quite breathe. “And it doesn’t bother you that - ” He tries to collect himself, his mind already beginning to numb in an effort to disassociate from this awkward conversation.

Peter tilts his head a little, waiting patiently until it’s obvious that Stiles isn’t going to finish the question. “That you’re a man? No,” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter to me, as long as I can feel good whilst doing it.”

Stiles stands there in front of him, words forming in his throat - threatening to bubble up. He wants to say them, to unload this burden that’s been weighing him down for a while, but they’re just lodged inside him. Burning a hole.

“I can kiss you again, if you think that would help, Stiles.”

His name on Peter’s lips makes the pinching feel worse, because while he desperately wants to kiss Peter again, he’s not sure if it’ll hold all the answers he’s looking for. “Help me with what?”

Shrugging, Peter crowds the space before him again, budging Stiles up against the wall near the door. “With whatever it is you need help with.” Stiles’ back hits the wall, his hands pressed flat on the solid surface. He can’t keep his eyes from flitting between Peter’s gaze, trying to find the joke somewhere in that head of his. There is none. Peter’s always been an enigma to Stiles, but right now he seems like the safest place.

“I think I’m gay.”

----- @writersmonth

Stiles stumbled. 

Peter shouldn’t have noticed. The stumble wasn’t putting him in mortal danger. The fight was over. Peter hadn’t kept close track of him during it either; if there was anyone from the pack he trusted in a fight, it was Stiles. Not that he really trusted anyone.

But still- Stiles stumbled. And Peter noticed. 

READ ON AO3 

The first time he finds Peter Hale in his house with his underage son, John pulls his gun on instinct.

The wolf is leaning against the wall, hands tucked in his pockets, everything about him unassuming, unthreatening.

John didn't buy it for a heartbeat.

Stiles was arguing with Derek and didn't notice his father's entrance or the sudden appearance of his sidearm, and as he took in the scene, took in Stiles loose comfort and lack of tension, he slowly put it away. Before he left, he glanced at Peter.

Ice blue eyes stared back, assessing.

~*~

Derek Hale becomes a fixture at his house, and Peter Hale seems to follow his nephew like a particularly stubborn mosquito. He accepts it. Derek has proven himself dangerous and protective, and John thinks Stiles needs both of those things trailing in his wake, to survive the supernatural shitstorm that never seems to let up.

It doesn’t mean he likes either of the Hales.

Especially when he overhears Peter and Stiles sniping at each other, the way Peter is over the top flirting, the way he laces innuendo with every leering smirk and sarcastic comment.

Stiles always rolls his eyes and shoves Peter aside, and if it makes John’s heart drop, watching his son so carelessly at ease with this dangerous creatures, he keeps that to himself.

~*~

“Get out,” Stiles snarls, and John’s eyebrows go up.

He’s heard Stiles short tempered and irritated, sleepy and amused and fond--but he rarely hears Stiles truly angry and he is.

Right now, he is.

Erica makes a whining noise, before she’s pulled away by Derek, the alpha muttering to the wide eyed, angry wolf.

He moves toward the kitchen and hears Peter. “Stiles,” the ‘wolf murmurs.

“It--it was Mom’s,” Stiles whispers. “I don’t--I know it’s stupid--”

“It’s not, sweetheart,” Peter says, gently, and he hears his son sniffle.

Tears and rage and laughter always linger just under the surface, exposed by the lightest pressure, in his boy, but it’s never failed to make his heart break, listening to Stiles cry.

He leans around the doorframe and his heart aches because Stiles is being held by Peter, and Claudia’s favorite apron is ripped, hanging limp and wrong on it’s hook.

Stiles’ shoulders are shaking and hsi face is hidden in Peter’s chest, but the wolf’s eyes gleam blue, bright with hurt, helpless anger, and John watches him for a long time before he steps away.

He tells himself it’s a pack member caring for another.

He believes it, too.

For now, he believes it.

~*~

Peter is enigmatic, egotistical, sometimes barely sane. He's sharp and cutting and takes more time to care for the pack than anyone.

And sometimes, John catches him watching Stiles.

He’s always known that his son was unique, that it would take a special kind of person to love him. Stiles was loud and abrasive, cruel when it suited and clung with a ferocity that only someone who had experienced deep loss could cling. He was not easy to love, or to be loved by, and John had come to terms with that, early.

Had known that it would be hard for Stiles to find someone in high school who valued him for exactly what he was.

Stilinskis’ loved deep and long, and most of the flighty silly kids in his school would never accept that kind of love.

But when he watched Peter watching Stiles, he thought that maybe Peter saw the wonder and worth in his son.

There is a part of him that hates it, that wants it to be anyone but Peter fucking Hale.

But there is a part of him that is fiercely glad, that someone like Peter fucking Hale would chose Stiles.

~*~

Peter is a killer.

John knows that, knows exactly how far he will go to protect or avenge the people he considers his.

It’s one thing to know and another to see Peter carrying Stiles into his kitchen, his boy limp and unconscious, and Peter bloody, his lips pulled back in a feral snarl.

“You have to put him down,” Derek murmurs, his voice low and soothing, and John isn’t sure how Derek can remain that calm when Peter is shifted and covered in blood and snarling over Stiles’ limp body.

“You have to put him down so we can help him.”

Peter stiffens and John winces as those sharp claws tighten on his boy’s hips and ribs--but then the tension bleeds out of him, and takes the shift with it, and Peter carefully relinquishes his precious charge.

Melissa and Deaton swarm in, and Peter, the wolves, John himself, are bumped aside,

He finds himself next to Peter, watching, gaze never leaving Stiles’ pale face, as they stitch the boy back together.

~*~

It doesn't surprise him, much, anymore, seeing Peter with Stiles.

They fit. He sees other things too--sees the baffled longing in Derek that fades into quiet contentment.

Sees the way Scott watches, anger brewing in his dark eyed.

Sees the way Lydia surveys them like a judgement, quietly pleased.

He sees the way other people in town watch, sharp judgment and wagging tongues and he smiles, because Stiles is vicious when protecting what's his and Peter is.

John isn't sure when he stopped minding.

~*~

Sometimes, he sees something in Peter that scares him.

The icy rage when Stiles is hurt--it reminds him this man who has slipped so carefully into Stiles’ life is a predator who has never hesitated to kill.

He sees it when Stiles is bleeding after tussling with a pair of redcaps and after he's cursed by a witch and after a boy at the Jungle spikes his drink and John doesn't ask what happens to those people.

He doesn't want to know what happens to the idiots who hurt his son.

Especially since Peter is only doing what John would like to do himself.

Still--sometimes he sees that fury in Peter and it’s raging helpless, while Stiles stands still and shattered.

Peter would, John knows, burn the world for Stiles.

He would kill for Stiles and not lose a moment of sleep.

But he won’t do anything to hurt Stiles, and hurting Scott--that would destroy him.

John watches, as Peter chokes back the fury, watches his helpless anger when Stiles is hurt by the boy he calls brother, and he thinks that Peter is a good man.

~*~

He sees Peter when Stiles isn’t paying attention.

The way Peter is always turned toward Stiles, even when he’s doing something else. The way he reacts, instantly, sometimes before even Stiles realizes something will upset him.

The way his gaze goes soft and and helpless, adoration painted clearly on the ‘wolf’s face.

He sees the love, pure and bright and undeniable, that he never expected to see from Peter Hale for his son and when he does, he sighs and thinks--there’s nothing to be done to stop this, to stop them.

Because he sees something else.

~*~

He sees Stiles.

Watching the wolf, wary and hopeful.  

He sees Stiles, offering a hesitant hand when no one else will treat him like pack.

He sees Stiles talking to Peter on the phone, a tiny distracted smile on his lips.

He sees the cookbooks Stiles doesn't let anyone look at open while Peter peers over his shoulder.

He sees the way Stiles leans into Peter, when he's exhausted, the way he doesn't flinch away from his touch even when he's hurt. He sees the way he almost preens under that touch.

He sees the way Stiles’ eyes narrow dangerously when someone disparages him and the violent rage that took him when Peter was nearly disemboweled by a harpy.

He sees the way Stiles reaches for Peter without thinking about it, the way his gaze strays to him when he is lost in thought.

He sees a smile, small and helpless that makes his heart ache, and he closes his eyes because it's what he always wanted for Stiles.

John wanted Stiles to love someone as much as he loved Claudia and he watches Stiles smile at Peter the way Claudia smiled at him--and he knows his boy has found that kind of love.

~*~

When he sees Stiles, half asleep and leaning on Peter, a vivid bruise on his throat and his lips swollen and pink--and he sees Peter, his gaze guarded as he watches the Sheriff from Stiles bed, his hands possessive as he soothes the boy back to sleep--

John nods, and says quietly, “Take care of him.”

Whole Wheat

Stiles/Peter

Words: 1254

Summary: Stiles and Peter from the POV of an onlooker

On AO3

This was meant to be a 5 +1 type thing, but then it kind of got away from me. But ya, this is basically just fluff and crack.

*****

Claire let out a sound of frustration, looking between the three packages of pasta in their hands. One said whole grain, one said whole wheat and the other said multigrain. They just wanted a healthier option, but with there being so many options, they were so lost. Pasta was a cheap option that they could afford on their college student budget, but they didn't know the difference between all of the kinds of pasta in front of them. How were they supposed to know if what they were eating was actually healthy?

Claire grumbled again, about to just give up and buy ramen. They've survived two years on it so far, they could probably go for another two. If they kept pushing themself how they were now and graduated early like they wanted, that would be even less time their body had to keep running on ramen. Which was just another motivator to keep going.

Just as they were about to put the pasta packages down, a guy came walking down the aisle, pushing a grocery cart filled to the brim. The way he was looking around made it look like he was looking for something, and from the look on his face, he wasn't finding it.

His eyes looked a little crazy, clearly having been looking for whatever it is for a while. His short brown locks were pointing in every which way as if he had just rolled out of bed or had been pulling on it an awful lot. And he had the sleeve of his red flannel caught between his teeth, which Claire was sure would start fraying soon is he kept it up.

The guy dropped the sleeve from his mouth, starting to mumble as he did so. Claire couldn't hear about what exactly, but they picked up on a few words like "stupid wolf," and "needs a damn tracker." Finally, he stopped walking, looking resigned as he rolled his eyes and let out a sudden shout.

"Marco!"

Claire was about ready to call the looney bin, cause the guy, although extremely cute, seemed a little bonkers. But then, from somewhere in the store, the distant reply of "polo" was heard. The guy tilted his head as if assessing the direction that it came from, before his face fell into a glare. Then he turned to Claire, pointing a finger at them.

"That came from the wine aisle didn't it?"

Claire thought about it, and yes, it did sound like that was the direction it came from. They gave him a nod, not really knowing how else to respond to him. His glare hardened, moving to start walking in that direction, before he stopped again and turned back to Claire.

This was not how Stiles had planned on spending his Halloween. He’d planned on handing out candy to kids in between watching a marathon of the Scream movies and eating his own weight in candy. He’d been excited about that plan all week.

Instead he’s finally dragging his butt back to his place at nearly midnight, exhausted from hours of stumbling his way through the woods with the pack, tracking squirmy wormy creatures that he is immediately bleaching from his brain. There’s got to be a spell for that, right? If he has to have nightmares about giant earthworm-esq flesh-eating creatures now he’s going to lose his mind.

He’s getting a much-needed glass of water from the kitchen when the doorbell rings. That better not be anyone needing him. He would very much like nobody to ever need him ever again thank you very much.

He peers cautiously through the peephole of the door, and raises his eyebrows when he sees it’s Peter. He was actually out helping tonight, something he’s been doing more and more, much to Stiles’s surprise, but he took off while the rest of them were still standing around talking after they’d finished killing the last worm thingy.

“Trick or treat,” Peter says quietly when Stiles opens the door.

A little something for @steterweek Doesn’t exactly fit the prompt, but the spirit is there ;)

Stiles looks down at the book in front of him, biting his plush pink lips. His long lashes flutter against his cheeks when he blinks. The thumb and forefinger of one hand caress the corner of the page he’s reading, back and forth, back and forth. 

All these things, Peter can handle. He’s had time to adjust to how maddeningly pretty Stiles is, his big eyes and long lashes and that mouth, the way he can’t keep his hands to himself. 

As tempting as all these things are, what’s caught Peter’s attention right now is Stiles playing with the long hair by his ear, twisting a curl around his finger. Because Stiles’s hair is long enough to do that now. Stiles’s hair is curling gently around his ears and down his neck and it’s driving Peter wild. 

His boy looks even softer, even prettier this way. And there he goes again, thinking about Stiles as “his” when he really has no right to at all. God he wants that right. 

He jerks at a hand on his arm. It’s Derek, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of his seat, down the hallway to the study. 

“Would you just talk to him,” Derek says, once he’s closed the door. His arms are folded across his chest, and he has his most judgmental eyebrows in full play. “I’m sick of watching you pine after him like some lovesick teenager. Either get over it or ask him out already.” 

Peter snorts. “Fine talk coming from  you.” 

“Hey, only one of us has a partner here, and it’s not you,” Derek says smugly. 

“Yes, because she asked you,” Peter says, not willing to give up the fight. 

“Oh so you expect Stiles to ask you? Stiles, the kid who somehow still doesn’t think he’s attractive? The one who regularly jokes about being single forever? The one who still hasn’t figured out after a year that you’re basically courting him? That Stiles?” 

He won’t admit it out loud, but his nephew might have a point. God he hates when Derek’s right. “What if he says no?” Peter asks, and maybe he’s hoping that Derek knows something he doesn’t, will assure him that Stiles wants him. He doesn’t. 

“Then you can deal with it and get on with your life. Do you really want to waste another year pining over him when maybe he could be yours?”

Derek’s made two good points in a row. The universe must be out of alignment. “Fine. I’ll talk to him,” he grits out. 

“See that you do,” Derek says, sounding almost exactly like his mother. Peter’s heart aches, even in the midst of his annoyance. 

“What was that about?” Stiles asks when Peter gets back to the dining room. 

Peter holds out his hand instead of answering. “Come for a walk with me?” 

Stiles tilts his head, looking like an adorable puppy, trying to figure Peter out. Eventually, he takes the offered hand, and doesn’t let go as they walk out of the house, down the steps, and out into the forest. 

Peter lets himself soak in the moment, listening to the sounds of the trees and Stiles’s heartbeat. Stiles’s hand in his feels warm and comfortable. He wants to live this moment a thousand times in the years to come. 

“You’re not like, dying or anything, right?” Stiles asks after some time. “You’re kind of freaking me out dude.” 

Peter can’t help it, he laughs. His intentions being horribly misread is exactly how this would go with Stiles, isn’t it? They’ve been that way since the beginning. 

“No, sweetheart,” he says once his laughter has calmed, “I’m in love with you.” 

“Oh,” Stiles says. His heart speeds up, but he sounds calm when he says, “I thought you might be? But you’re really hard to read.”

Peter’s stomach drops. “You don’t feel the same?” He asks. They’re still walking, still facing forward. Stiles hasn’t let go of his hand at least, so there’s that. 

“Of course I do,” Stiles says. “I’m absolutely crazy about you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Peter asks.

“Why didn’t you? You’re the one with the super sense of smelling. I figured you knew how I felt, and if you didn’t say anything, you must not want me. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by bringing it up.” 

“Not want you?” Peter does stop then, touches Stiles’s cheek softly, reverently. “How could I not want you, you gorgeous, brilliant, amazing boy.” 

Stiles’s smile is small but delighted, his eyes dance. “Why now?”

“It’s this goddamn hair,” Peter says, reaching up to tug at a strand. It’s soft. His fingers linger. 

Stiles laughs. “This hair really does it for you, huh?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” 

“What if I told you that I’ve imagined you pulling on it while I…um…you know,” Stiles says, suddenly shy. 

“I’d probably have to kiss you.” 

“You should definitely kiss me then. Because I’ve imagined it. A lot.”

“Oh really?” Peter says, pulling Stiles up against his body. 

“So many times,’ Stiles says, nearly touching their lips together. “Other things too,” he adds, brushing his nose against Peter’s. “Filthy, filthy things. I’ve been a very naughty boy, Peter.” 

Peter kisses him then, a kiss that Stiles quickly turns wet and messy in the best way, the sweetest moans falling from his lips. 

“You’ll be mine?” Peter says, feeling a little drunk on his boy already. 

“I’ve been yours for a very long time,” Stiles says. 

Steter for 14🥰

14. "Are you sure? Once we start, I might not be able to stop."

-------

“I want more,” Stiles says. He swallows, and he swears it sounds like a gunshot in the quiet room. 

Peter raises an eyebrow. “More?” 

“I’m a feelings guy. I told you that the first time you shoved your hand down my pants, but you were so sure you could change me. You seemed to think if we never did it in a bed, if it was always rough enough, if you were enough of a dick to me when we weren’t having sex, then somehow I’d turn into a casual sex guy. Well, you were wrong.”

”So you don’t want to have sex with me anymore,” Peter says flatly. Stiles sees a flicker of disappointment in his eyes though. It makes him think suddenly and viscerally of that time in the parking garage when he said no to the bite. 

“That’s the thing though. I don’t want that with someone else, I want it with you.” He gives a short, bitter laugh. “I know, I think it’s crazy too, but I’ve been gone on you since I was sixteen, dude. It was a terrible idea then, and it’s a terrible idea now, but you know me, something being a terrible idea has never been enough to stop me.” 

Peter gives a slight smile at that, but he’s still looking at Stiles intently, as if he can read his mind if he looks hard enough. “You never said you were interested in me like that,” he says finally.

“Can you blame me? You’ve never once indicated that you wanted anything more than to get in my pants. Very “creepy uncle vibes”, not boyfriend material.” 

“So why are you bringing it up now?”