Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Itās midday Saturday when Scott calls and begs Stiles for a favor. Ā Stiles, two days into his pre-heat, is fully prepared to deny him, but those puppy eyes are lethal, even through a phone, and he ends up agreeing to swap patrol shifts with Scott. Ā So he changes his clothes and heads out and is pleased when Peter joins him five minutes is.
Itās stupid, really, and irrational, but of all the alphas and betas in the pack, Peter is the one that gets his proverbial hackles up the least. Ā Maybe because, unlike the rest, Peter doesnāt use his dynamic as an excuse to act like an asshole ā instead relying on his own personal charm to earn the title.
Stiles thinks at some point, a tally of all the shifts heās spent with Peter running through his mind, that this might not be so bad.
Forty minutes later, theyāre running for their lives.
āFucking hunters,ā Stiles growls, slogging his way through the mud. Ā āAlways ruining everything.ā
Heās out of breath, legs and lungs protesting the flat out sprint of the last who even knows how long. Ā The adrenalineās starting to fade, the tepid beginningās of exhausting slowly rearing itās head and, to be perfectly honest, he really doesnāt think he can go much further.
Ahead of him, leading the way and dragging him along, Peter snorts. Ā āYou have awfully low standards.ā
Because focusing on Peter is better than thinking about what awaits them if they stop moving, Stiles takes offense. Ā āExcuse you,ā he says, grip tightening on Peterās hand as something ā probably a tree root (they are in the Preserve, after all) ā snags his ankle and nearly takes him down. Ā āI will have you know that my standards are reasonable. Ā Very reasonable. Ā So reasonable, in fact, that they spend their time reasoning with everyone elseās stupidly high expectations.ā
āIs that right?ā
āYes!ā
Peter just hums and Stiles silently flips him off. Ā In his head, obviously, heās way too tired to do it for real. Ā
But Peter must sense his intentions anyway ā all that werewolf-ism...ish? ā and glances over his shoulder. Ā His eyes are glowing, too-bright in the darkness, and momentarily leaves Stiles blinking away white spots in his vision, and yet he still catches the tightening of Peterās mouth, the way he seems to look past Stiles, deeper into the spaces theyāve left behind.
āCan you hear anything?ā Stiles asks, trying to ignore the way his heart starts to bleed ice through his veins, sticky and cold. Ā He doesnāt think Peter can, over the rain and the noises theyāre making, and Peter shakes his head.
āNo,ā he says. Ā
āButā¦?ā
āBut we have no idea what that thing was. Ā We canāt stop.ā
Which is true. Ā Very true. Ā Hunters were one thing, but some sort of Lovecraftian hell-spawn was another thing entirely. Ā Just those few seconds in itās presence, when it had entered the clearing where Stiles and Peter had been ambushed by a group of hunters, before it turned itās attention to them and given them the chance to run, had been terrifying. Ā Stiles couldnāt even describe it. Ā The monsters theyād faced, human and not so much, had always scared him, but it had been the sort of fear that he could push aside and largely ignore until the problem was dealt with.
This, whatever itād been? Ā Itād been fucking primal.
And he never wanted to feel that again.
So he shuts up, digs deep for the extra reserves he totally doesnāt have, and picks up the pace. Ā He doesnāt drop Peterās hand. Ā He tries not to think about how, if Peter hadnāt been so quick to grab him, and Stiles had been left alone to race through the wet gloom of the Preserve, heād most likely be dead right now.
They run for what could be another ten minutes, could be another hour. Stiles has no way of telling, phone dead and waterlogged in his pocket and heās struggling. Ā The wet clothes are weighing him down, feet slipping across the forest floor more than before, and itās only getting darker.
Heāll be damned if he says anything, though. Ā He cops enough shit from the pack as it is, being human and omega and thinking that he has what it takes to keep up with werewolves and alphas, because theyāre jerks like that and heās just stubborn enough to deny them the pleasure of being right even if it kills him.
Humans can do incredible things when their lives depend on it. Ā He saw that youtube video about that women that stopped a car from hitting her kid, yes he did, and he swears to god that if she could do it then so can he--
āJust a little further,ā Peter says.
āThank fucking Christ,ā Stiles gasps.
Forget it. Ā Heās done. Ā Absolutely done, no energy left, no sir-ee.
Another handful of minutes and then they break through the treeline, staggering out into long grass and open skies. Ā The rain falls harder here, with no trees to act as a measly cover, which is just perfect, because it means Stiles can go longer than a couple of seconds without blinking the water out of his eyes and wishing his Ā hair was still short, if only so that it didnāt stick to his face like cold seaweed. Ā
Then Peterās tugging him close, almost angling him so that Stiles is tucked into his side, and Stiles looks up, probably to ask him a flat why ā theyāre both soaked, the gesture is useless ā when he sees what else is in the clearing, and instead ends up asking, āWhat?ā
āWe should be safe here,ā Peter says, and starts forward, like heās expecting Stiles to be okay camping out in some old house that looks, even in the dark, like it shouldāve been torn down years ago for health violations.
Which, fine. Ā He wouldnāt be wrong ā Stiles has always been freakishly adaptable to most things, and running for their lives during a freak storm is definitely a Thing ā but, and Stiles is just putting this out there, really?
āSo young,ā Peter mutters, shaking his head. Ā āSo cynical.ā
āSo old,ā Stiles parrots, delighting in the way Peter tenses ā so predictably ā then relaxes. Ā āSuch an asshole.ā
Peter barks a laugh thatās drowned out by a sudden deluge. Ā
By unspoken agreement they both leg it across the remaining bit of what was likely once the front lawn and huddle underneath the overhang.
Stiles hugs his arms around himself while Peter fiddles with the lock. Kicks the toe of his shoe against the ground, bites his lip.
He must zone out, he thinks, because he jumps when the door swings open with a rusty shriek and Peter doesnāt look amused, only concerned, and doesnāt say anything smarmy before ushering Stiles inside.
āItās safe,ā Peter insists again, like he wants Stiles to believe him, and Stiles kind of wonders what his scent must be broadcasting, to get that tone in Peterās voice. Ā āI promise.ā
So Stiles looks over his shoulder at Peter strangely, a sort of āwhat gives?ā and sets off down the hallway.
The house is clearly old-fashioned. Ā All narrow and tight instead of the open and spacious. Ā Itās too dark to make out any detail, the little bit of diluted moonlight painted across the floor through the broken windows glinting dully off what Stiles assumes are bits of glass, maybe some metal fixings.
Peter is a steady presence at his back, a hand on his back. Ā The alpha is tense, strung tight like heās on high alert and thatās making Stiles stress out even more, which is not fun and he kind of wants to tell Peter to chill out, only⦠This is Beacon Hills. Ā Itās the middle of the night. Ā Some creepy monster thingy is haunting the Preserve, and theyāve just spent the evening running for their lives.
In a town like this, you relax and youāre dead. Ā
In fact, a part of Stiles is actually, stupidly, rather pleased with the attention Peterās giving him. Ā He feels like a priority, something important and itās been so long since he felt like thatā¦he just knows thatās the omega in him speaking, and firmly tells himself to knock it off.
āWhat is this place, anyway?ā Stiles asks., figuring that, having nearly a decade and a half on him, Peter probably knows. Ā He doesnāt mean to be quiet, rarely ever is, yet something about this house reminds him of the Juniper Mausoleum he had to pass every time he went to visit his momās grave.
Peter is silent for long enough that Stiles labels it as hesitation, and opens his mouth to pester, when Peter finally talks.
āItās my grandparentās house.ā
Stiles actually has to repeat the words back to himself before it sinks in.
āWait what?ā
Peter huffs a sigh. Ā āOf all the things ā yes Stiles. Ā My grandparents lived here. Ā Happy?ā
āNo. Iām wet and Iām cold ā what the hell happened to this place?ā
āā¦ā
āPeter?ā
āThey died.ā
Well, Stiles considered, wincing. Ā Didnāt that just make him feel like a dick.
āWas itā¦?ā Ā He isnāt sure what he wantās to ask. Ā Was it the fire? Hunters? Ā What?
And itās like Peter reads his mind. Ā As the man maneuvers them up a flight of waterlogged stairs and into a room that Stiles is happy to see has all itās window intact, Peter talks.
āIt wasnāt the fire,ā he begins. Ā āThough my father, Talia and I were never completely convinced that Hunterās werenāt involved. They died when I was twelve. Ā Car accident, head on collision with a truck.ā Ā He pauses, falling silent, and Stiles stands still as Peter drops his hand and moves away, heading towards what Stiles thinks might be an armchair. Ā āWhen they died⦠there are wards up around the clearing, still are. Ā When they died, this place, the house, the garden, everything, vanished. Ā Like it had never been here. Ā We spent years looking. Ā We could never find it.ā
He watches Peter run his hands over the fabric and imagines the man must be trying to finds hints of familiar scents, doubts heāll find anything after so long.
Stiles is lost for words. Ā Theyāre friends now ā inasmuch as they wind up beside each other at pack meetings, and have a joint order at an Italian place that Stiles loves but canāt afford regularly and eats whenever he joins Peter for research at his apartment Ā ā and Stiles has seen him with all manner of expressions and yet, this is maybe the most human Peter has ever been.
So he says, āIām sorry,ā and Peter waves his hand.
āIt was a long time ago,ā Peter says, voice light in a way that Stiles knows means the total opposite. Ā Peter pauses, then adds, āMy mother was with them, in the car.ā
āJesus,ā Stiles mutters before he can stop himself. Ā āYou donāt have to, like, talk about it, or anything, not if you donāt want to.ā
āDonāt you want to hear my story, Stiles?ā
Thereās an edge to his words, somethings Stiles canāt place, which makes him tip up his chin, makes him bristle like heās been insulted. āOnly if you want to tell it,ā he says.
And maybe it was the right thing to say, because Peter seems to relax, shoulders no longer hunching forward, and he letās out a quiet sound that mightāve been a laugh under different circumstances. āWhatās a little more tragedy between us, right?ā
Stiles snorts, and eases into the room, dropping his worry like yesterdayās laundry by the door. Ā Thereās still a part of him thatās tense, keyed into every sound, every creak, but heās not alone; heās got Peter and, honestly? Ā Thatās kind of reassuring.
āI wouldnāt call us tragic.ā
āThen what would you call us?ā
Stiles shrugs, and blinks and wonders at how everything is full of color, suddenly. Ā āMisplaced, I guess.ā Ā
The colors makes his eyes hurt. Ā His head starts throbbing and he misses whatever Peter says when his blood starts rushing loudly through his ears and his fingertips go numb.
It reminds him of coming down from a sugar high as a child.
āPeter,ā he says, or thinks he says, thinks he hears himself say, but heās shaking so hard now he might not have said anything at all. Ā
And then Peter is right there, filling his vision. Ā Heās so close Stiles can feel his breath against his cheek but heās blurry around the edges. Ā Sort of wobbly.
He swallows, focuses on not throwing up, whines, maybe, and lists forward. Ā āI donāt feel so good.ā
āNo,ā Peter says. Ā āI imagine you donāt. Ā Youāve never Dropped before, have you.ā
Itās not a question. Ā Stiles treats it as one, anyway. Ā āAlmost once,ā he says, and grabs onto Peterās jacket because that is the only thing not spinning right now
He thinks of a funeral and the wreak of alcohol and the smell of a furious alpha.
Thinks of cold tiles and ambulance sirens and the fuzziness of medication. Thinks of being too young to understand what was happening.
āOh god,ā he groans, doesnāt fully register Peter grabbing him and holding him when he starts to sink down, legs folding beneath him. āIs that what this? Ā This canāt be happening.ā
āItās not ideal,ā Peter agrees. Ā The world lurches, sways, making Stiles bury his face in Peterās jacket, and the next time he resurfaces, itās to find Peter has taken a seat in the armchair, and arranged Stiles so that heās curled up his lap, feet free of his shoes, cold toes tucked between Peterās thigh and the cushions, back pressed against the armrest.
āJust try and relax, sweetheart.ā
And something just⦠slumps, inside him, goes warm and soft.
āThatās easy for you to say.ā
Peter hums and Stiles kind of likes how it echoes through his own body, but then Peter is moving, jostling him around, and Stiles latches on, suddenly unbelievably terrified that heās about to be displaced.
But Peterās only awkwardly shrugging out of his jacket, which makes a certain amount of sense, being soaked through and all, and deftly flicking open the buttons of his shirt, baring his chest.
Stiles doesnāt even get the chance to appreciate the view before Peter is doing the same to him, shoving off his hoodie, sliding up his t-shirt. Ā The chill is immediate but Peter mustāve found a blanket somewhere and now covers him with it.
Stiles is certain he knows what Peterās doing, positive heās read about it, at least, and yet his brain isnāt making sense. Ā His throat is hot, bonding glands feeling swollen and puffy and his limbs basically useless.
āCāmere, sweetheart,ā Peter says into his ear and Stiles huffs a whine and falls forward into the alphaās warmth, into his strong grip.
He shoves his nose into alphaās neck and inhales rapidly. Ā Itās maple syrup and warm blankets, sun-warmed soil with the bitter undertone of expensive coffee and something Stiles canāt name but craves anyway.
He probably isnāt under for longer than an hour. Ā Time passes and his mind⦠drifts, overcome by instinct and the overwhelming need to feel safe.
It feels like falling asleep, almost, stuck in that in-between where nothing feels real.
Wakefulness returns slowly, seeping in at the edges. Ā He is conscious of Peterās hands running up his back, of his own hands curled into Peterās chest. Ā The hint purr building in his chest tickles his throat and makes him blush, knowing how intimate that sort of reaction is, how intimate their position is; an unmated omega alone with an unmated alpha. Ā
His dad would lose his mind if he ever heard of this, which he was never going to if Stiles had anything to do with it.
Aside from their position though, Stiles feels⦠good. Ā Not better, still a little unsteady, but it isnāt as bad as before.
His fingers donāt feel like little ice-blocks, for one. Ā And heās no longer shaking like some preteen that accidentally wondered into the horror showing in a cinema, which is wonderful, truly wonderful. Ā
Of course, there is the small matter ā very small, certainly not a big deal at all ā that he just Dropped for Peter.
Psycho Peter, whom the rest of the pack canāt stand and donāt trust.
Crazy Uncle Peter that pokes and needles until heās got Derek looking ready to start throwing him through walls again, and drives everybody else insane.
Peter, whoā¦
āBack with me, sweetheart?ā
Peter who does things like that. Ā Calls him sweetheart and touches him like heās something precious, something cared for, instead of a nuisance thatās too loud or too blunt or just too much.
Peter, whoās never mocked him for his dynamic, or put him down for instincts he canāt help. Ā Who always buys him his favorite coffee and orders in Italian food for him and never minds when Stiles just happens to fall asleep on his couch during a research binge because the house is empty and heās so goddamn tired of being alone.
Peter, whom Stiles is just realizing he might be a little bit in love with, while sitting in his lap.
Talk about inopportune moments.
ā⦠this is so embarrassing,ā he mutters, feeling stiff and awkward.
Movement, then Peterās fingers are tangling through his hair and tugging gently, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine.
Peter is quiet for awhile.
āIt doesnāt have to be,ā he says at last, quietly, like if he says it any louder, the meaning wonāt be the same, will transform from something that makes Stilesās heart stutter and race into something shallow and flippant.
Stiles swallows. Ā āYou ā you. Ā I, uh.ā Ā He was not equipped to handle this kind of conversation. Ā āI am not equipped to handle this kind of conversation.ā
āAnd what conversation would that be?ā
Multitudes of snark appeared on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. Ā Breaths. Tries to get his thoughts in order.
ā...you know very well what kind,ā he settles on saying.
Peter doesnāt say anything in response to that. Ā He just sighs, turns his head so his nose is in Stilesās hair, and somehow pulls Stiles closer.
Itās nice. Ā Itās so nice. Ā Itās the kind of nice that should be illegal and after the shitty night heās had, Stiles is weak for it.
An illicit thrill runs through him when he thinks of what this would be like if Peter was his mate rather than just an alpha that his omega was sweet on⦠thinks of a soft bed and pillows that smell of both of them⦠thinks of purring, something heās never done in front of anybody else before, ever.
āYou are very young,ā Peter says, sounding pained.
Stiles worries his bottom lip. Ā āIām eighteen in two weeks,ā he whispers, voice hitching. Ā He clears his throat, adds, āBesides. After everything thatās happened, am I really still that young? Are any of us?ā
āThe pack will never accept it. Ā Derek wonāt accept it.ā
āSo? Itās none of their business. Ā I can do what I want. Ā Just because they donāt personally agree with what I do, doesnāt mean their opinion suddenly matters.ā
āAnd Scott?ā
āScott,ā Stiles starts, so sure of what he was going to say only to falter, because⦠because what if Scott didnāt understand? Ā Derek and the pack were one thing. Ā Stiles felt semi-responsible for them, mostly because heād helped save all of their lives at some point, and that meant something, you know? Ā But Scott was his brother, theyād grown up together, and Scott still looked at Peter like he was never going to be anything but a spree-killing monster.
He made a helpless sound, frustrated and confused.
Peter soothed him, humming unintelligibly into his hair. Ā
āLetās not talk about this now. Ā Youāre e--ā
āIf you say Iām emotional, I swear to god I will hurt you.ā
ā-exhausted. Donāt lie to yourself, youāre running on fumes right now, and I am not a good enough man to let you regret anything else you might say tonight.ā
āFine.ā
āOkay.ā
āJust because youāre being reasonable.ā
āThank you, sweetheart. Ā Now, why donāt you try and get some sleep? Ā The wards wonāt let anything through.ā
ā...whyād it let us through, then?ā
āThey were once keyed to Hales. Ā You were with me.ā
āSo⦠what wouldāve happened if I hadnāt been with you?ā
āLikely something suitably horrible.ā
āWow, great.ā
****
They donāt ever really talk about it. Ā The next day, when the stormās passed and everything is yellow-wet and sweet, Peter steers them through the Preserve, back to town. Ā They come out two streets over from Stilesās house.
After⦠nothing really changes. Ā They spend time together, do things together. Ā Nobody notices. Ā Or, if they do, they donāt say anything. Ā The Sheriff isnāt home enough to notice how often his son is out, and when he is home, Stiles is careful to not make it so blatantly obvious that heās spending at least three nights a week in a bed that isnāt his. Itās not like heās trying to hide anything, exactly. Ā Just, he knows his dad, okay? Ā Knows exactly how much he would freak out if he knew what was going on and⦠well, sue him but he likes what he has now, and he doesnāt want to ruin it.
Outside of that, being with Peter and researching and hanging out with the pack, Stiles graduates, and seriously thinks about what he wants to do with the rest of his life, which leads to him hunting down a mage thatās willing to be his mentor in return for free labor and a research assistant and moving halfway across the country.
Peter is with him every step of the way and officially begins courting him on his twentieth birthday.
By his twenty second, theyāre mated and back in Beacon Hills and Stiles is incandescently happy with the way his life is going and Peter is leading him through the Preserve after making him promise to keep his eyes closed.
Stiles does, reluctantly.
Itās spring, the day warm and the woods seemingly come to life with bird song and the quick scamper of small animals across the ground.
Peterās hand is a familiar weight in his, fingers laced together in a way that should be awkward but isnāt and Stiles is busy cursing how no amount of training will ever make him the kind of graceful that means he isnāt always tripping over himself and--
Peter slows them to a stop, and Stiles has the sense that theyāve come to a clearing, sunlight warm on his face.
The air is filled with the subtle scent of flowers and fresh grass and thereās a sort of hush thatās fallen over the place, like even the birds have gone quiet in anticipation.
Peter steps up behind him, presses against his back, arms going around his waist. Ā Stiles relaxes against him, not bothering to hide his smile, or the way his scent goes mellow-sweet.
āOpen your eyes, sweetheart,ā Peter tells him, and Stiles does.
His breath catches. Ā
āOh my god,ā he says, staring. Ā He canāt help it. Ā Heās thought of the house often, wondered what it looked like in the daylight. Ā In the months after, heād even thought of asking Peter to take him out again, show him around, but Peter had never mentioned it, not once, and Stiles had figured that it was one of those things that had too many bad memories to outweigh the good butā¦
āPeter,ā he says. Ā āYouā¦ā
āI bought it,ā Peter responds. Ā āFixed it up.ā Ā Then, while Stiles is still staring and speechless because the house is beautiful and equal parts Peterās taste in architecture and Stilesās taste in color, Peter shifts so he can press a kiss to the bondmark on his neck and says, āConsider this my mating gift to you.ā
And Stiles breathes in, trying, and probably failing to contain his excitement, and says, āItās perfect.ā
Hello tumblr I am miraculously back with an attempt to participate in Steter week because I am somehow still in teen wolf hell ahah. Anyway here's what came out for today's visual prompt, my favorite trope: time-travel bamf!steter. ššš
It was bound to happen. Many sleepless nights researching, studying together, Stiles got to know the real Peter. And yeah, he was the psycho werewolf they all thought, but he was so much more and Stiles couldnāt help but to feel attracted to him. Peter has never hidden his interest in Stiles, there was a connection between them and Stiles couldnāt (didnāt want to) fight it anymore.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Sitting on the visitorās chair is an uncomfortable looking man, Captain's secretary, and he's holding a screaming baby at armās length away from him. It's hard to guess the age when its limbs are flailing, its face red from crying.
"Well?" Cap prompts.
Making the decision, Stiles moves forward and scoops the baby up. It wriggles and fights, Stiles takes the blanket off, throwing it on the poor man. The baby is hot from all itās - their- crying. Making shushing noises Stiles pats the child on the butt and sways on his feet. The baby calms a little with its face in Stiles' neck.
"Cap?" Stiles queries.
She nods at him once. "Congratulations Stilinski. Meet your new assignment."
*
Or the one where Stiles accidentally acquires a baby.
______________
Fanart for Cathās fic, Moonlight-Coloured - Peter and Stiles with baby Marlow in the apartment. I wanted to draw Virginia too, but it turns out itās actually pretty difficult?? Anyways, here it is, my gift to Cath and my contribution to Steter week. I hope yall like it!!
Itās almost time, so here are the final bits of housekeeping and reminders:
Here is the collection on AO3.
If youāre posting anything on tumblr, please remember to use the tags āsteterweek2020ā³ orĀ āSteter Week 2020ā³, so we can find you more easily.Ā
Weāll reblog things as we can, and eventually, everything will be featured here. If you think we missed you, please send us a reminder or tag us!
Feel free to post as soon as itās the 26th in your time zone. ^_^
Stiles Stilinski x Peter Hale || Killjoy / Danger Days AU || 931 words || Rated G
Summary: āØStiles and Peter are two Killjoys, having met out in the Zones around a year ago and theyāve been running with just the two of them since then. Their friendship had quickly blossomed into something more, but trust was something that was hard to find in this desert. They are doing pretty well, though.
Snippet:⨠āStiles grumbled lightly in his throat at the way Peter said his name. āC'mon. You know my real name, use it,ā he lazily scolded him, his face falling into a bit of a frown. Heād told Peter his name a little while ago now, and he just hardly seemed to use it. It disappointed Stiles a little, because he really trusted Peter with it and it felt like maybe it had been for no reason.ā
āāāā
This is a oneshot for @steterweek , I have used the prompts Dystopia, Pack of Two and Harlequin and mashed them together. Harlequin isnāt in the story so much as itās in the visuals I made above.
Read on AO3 or
The night earlier Stiles and Peter had found a safe spot to park their renovated jeep, off road somewhere, no other killoys in sight when they parked, only a few buildings on the horizon besides the one they parked next to. They parked so the building would provide shadow during the early morning, giving them some time to sleep in safely for once.
Stiles stretched out his arms as the rays of light finally hit his face through a hole in the blacked out side windows, it was likely already past 10 am as he awoke. The black was starting to peel off the windows, leaving some annoying ways open for light in the back of the jeep that he had converted into an almost full sized bed. He tried to blink his eyes open but the light was so bright in his waking eyes he resorted to covering them with his hand.
Peter caught his arm right before it hit him on the nose, claws out and grip tight because heād been startled awake. Somehow they were used to this kind of thing, though. It happened way too often that Stiles almost hurt Peter in his lanky movements.
Stiles snapped his head to the sharp feeling around his wrist and gave the claws a pointed look, followed by one to Peter next to him. His free hand was reached to where the light came from to shield his eyes and be able to see at the same time. "Good morning to you too, C.ā Stiles commented sarcastically, even though at the back of his mind he was reminded how waking up next to Peter would never get old.
Peter drew back his claws and guided Stilesā arm safely down, his own arm wrapping around the otherās torso on the way. His hand sneaked under the sheets to gently run it over Stilesā still sleep-warm chest, basking in the reasonably calm awakening. āMorning, Em,ā he hummed, smiling as he relaxed from the initial startled feeling just by being around Stiles and taking in the safe situation.
Stiles grumbled lightly in his throat at the way Peter said his name. āC'mon. You know my real name, use it,ā he lazily scolded him, his face falling into a bit of a frown. Heād told Peter his name a little while ago now, and he just hardly seemed to use it. It disappointed Stiles a little, because he really trusted Peter with it and it felt like maybe it had been for no reason.
āIām used to Em by now. What does it matter?ā Peter questioned, simply shrugging at the unhappy tone. When he had learned his old name recently, Peter had found it sweet, but he had always known Stiles as Electric Emissary, he didnāt know better than to call him Em and was fine with that personally. Why use an old name when you have a shiny new one?
Stiles turned in their thin sheets to face Peter properly. āMaybe I just like it when you call me my name. And itās not like anyoneās gonna hear you here. I sealed everything just last week, remember?ā Sometimes it was obvious that this car was supposed to break down years ago, it had been painted over a bunch of times, the leaks had to be fixed monthly by now, and the inside had been heavily decorated by Stiles before he even met Peter to cover for the mess it looked.
Peter sighed and shook his head. āFine then, Stiles.ā Peter let the name roll off his tongue teasingly, leaning close to kiss Stiles. He thought about Stilesā sentiment to his name during the kiss, how important he had found it when he had told Peter. He himself didnāt feel like anyone needed to know his given name, but maybe it was time. He trusted Stiles a lot, after all. He knew Stiles would find it special if he told him his old name. āBut then you have to use my name too. In private,ā he said, somewhat demanding as he pulled back from the kiss. He did not want his name to be known by anyone other than Stiles and felt the need to make that clear.
The statement left Stiles with his mouth agape, because that had to mean he was going to- āItās Peter.ā He confessed seriously. When running to the zones heād initially decided to never tell anyone his name again, Stiles knew that. Which is why Stilesā face became decorated with a gigantic smile, because this meant more to him than anything Peter had ever done or said.
āNice to meet you, Peter,ā he said his name intently, trying it out, feeling foreign as he called him anything other than āCā or Charismatic Cruelty. A small smile rested on Peterās face after hearing that name for the first time in a long time. āPeter,ā Stiles tried again, grinning through the word.
āStiles,ā Peter replied with a smirk, entertained by the pure glee Stiles seemed to get from this. Maybe this reveal was better than Peter had expected, he even felt some type of relief when he heard the name fall from Stilesā lips.
Stiles almost launched himself at Peter, pressing him onto his back as he kissed him feverishly. He climbed over the werewolf and pulled back with another giant grin. āI love you, Peter,ā he said earnestly, and Peter couldnāt help feel like maybe this time was more important than the other times Stilesā had uttered those three words. āI love you too, Stiles.ā He kissed him again.