Tag: steter

twothumbsandnostakeincanon:

Stiles had dolls. 

Little, perfectly cared for dolls, with specially made doll clothes, and doll shoes, and doll hair. 

Not made from porcelain, but a nice cloth. 

He generally kept the dolls out of sight, tucked away safe. Not because he was ashamed of having dolls, fuck you very much. Dolls as creative outlet or comfort item are appropriate for anyone at any age. No, these specific dolls he kept out of sight so as to avoid any… misunderstandings. 

They were voodoo dolls, you see. 

Of the pack. 

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Sweet Boy

thisdiscontentedwinter:

This is a short piece written for the @fandomcares auction. 

Thank you so much to @notvirginawoolf for bidding. She asked for manipulative Peter, and hurt Stiles. I hope this is what you were after!

Summary: Peter gets his sweet boy a present.

Warnings: Nothing graphic, but NSFW for language. Implied violence. 

The guy in the bar is
not Peter’s type. Too square-headed. Too stocky. Too blond. He’s up for it
though. Peter smells the arousal rolling off him as his gaze travels down Peter
from head to toe, and then moves slowly back up again. Peter smirks, and
gestures for the bartender. He buys the guy a drink, because that’s how the
game is played.

“Tell
me,” Peter says twenty minutes later in the parking lot, his voice a low growl
in the guy’s ear as he nips at his lobe. Faint hints of sweat and cordite. “Have
you ever had a threesome?”

The
sudden spike in the guy’s arousal tastes like copper on his tongue.

“Because
I’ve got a sweet boy in my hotel room who loves to get fucked,” Peter purrs,
pressing his erection against the guy’s thigh. “Eighteen years old, eyes like
amber, and the prettiest mouth you ever saw. He sucks dick like he was born to
do it.”

“Yeah?”
the guy rumbles.

“Tightest
ass I ever fucked,” Peter murmurs. “But I left him open and dripping with cum
before I came out tonight. Wrecked him on my cock until he couldn’t even scream
my name anymore. Want to see?”

The
guy almost stumbles in his eagerness to get to Peter’s car.

The
hotel is one of Portland’s finest. Peter could never bring himself to stay in
anything less than four stars. And this one is definitely five. The rooms are
private, spacious, and filled with luxuries. The tubs are big enough to fuck in
for hours. Peter has tested that theory multiple times over the week he’s been
here.

He
opens the door with the keycard.

The
lighting in the room is soft. There is a balcony that looks out over the city.
It’s a lovely view, but the blond’s gaze is drawn elsewhere: to the boy in
Peter’s bed.

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therapeutic-steter:

Stiles wasn’t stupid. He had ADHD which led to trouble
focusing and he might not be the most popular person, but he was far from
stupid.

He scarfed down his lunch quickly, ignoring the other teens
milling around him as he read on his phone. He’d finish his food quickly so he
could leave and go to the library, as usual.

He glanced a few tables down to nonchalantly study the new
popular table. Scott McCall was the newest edition, brought up the social
ladder by his Disney princess of a girlfriend, Allison Argent. Once upon a
time, Scott and he had been inseparable, but then middle school had happened
and they’d drifted apart. Stiles missed having a partner in crime—or someone to
eat lunch with, hang out with, text, have inside jokes with, or just to call a friend—but
he was living. Sure, he got lonely sometimes, but this too shall pass and all
of that.

He stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and
quickly cleared his table, heading for the trashcan. He meant Boyd’s eyes and
gave him a nod, from one loner to another. The other boy rolled his eyes but
nodding back all the same. Stiles smirked, social connection for the day
completed, and slipped out the cafeteria to spend the rest of his time
researching.

See, since he wasn’t stupid, he knew something was going on.
There had been a sudden increase in animal attacks lately and the most recent
one had been at a video store in the middle of town. Not exactly your typical
mountain lion hunting ground. Plus, he’d hacked into the CCTV feed from the
parking lot and whatever had been the cause of the video store’s manager’s
untimely demise was definitely not a
mountain lion.

Stiles frowned, tapping his pen on his notepad in thought.
The school’s goddess Lydia and resident douche-bag Jackson had been there, so the
rumor mill said, but both were refusing to talk. This was the third death in
the past month though and, for Beacon Hills, that was a lot. Like, an insane
amount. His dad was barely even home anymore thanks to the whole department
being mobilized to try and catch a damn mountain lion. It just didn’t add up
though.

The first death had been Laura Hale, torn clean in half on
the Preserve. Her brother, Derek, had been brought in for questioning but he’d
been cleared and released.

Next was a bus driver, attacked on his bus and then died
later in the hospital from his wounds. Messy all around. Again, not the normal
hunting grounds of a mountain lion.

And now the video store manager. It all just didn’t connect.

“We’ve got to do something; the Alpha’s getting braver.”

Stiles stiffened, ears perking as he listened to the
students milling past his spot around the corner. Here he could hear
conversations in front of the stairwell easily without being seen.

Alpha?

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supacutiepie:

righteouspumpernickel:

ianthebobo:

The one person who doesn’t underestimate Stiles and his intelligence. 

No but can we seriously talk about this. Peter has ALWAYS respected Stiles. Sure, he snarks at him, threatens him, but he doesn’t just dismiss him like everyone else does and he didn’t bite Stiles even though he could tell that Stiles probably actually did want it, despite the fact that he said no. He’s playful with Stiles- actually willingly banters with him. Whenever Stiles tries to help, even if it’s just with a baseball bat, or when he’s rapidly spitting out theories that no one pays attention to- you can tell that Peter is paying attention to him. I’m willing to be he constantly wonders why Stiles won’t take the bite- because let’s be honest, he would be fucking terrifying as a werewolf.

Well that just It. Stiles would be an alpha. By his own right and by wise own terrifying tenacity.
Stiles as a werewolf would be unstoppable honestly. He would be. A perfect wolf and he’d be a perfect alpha and he’d never be stiles again.

If Peter had bitten him-he would have ruined stiles. He would have ruined Scott true. But Scott’s not as important as stiles.

Smart. Willing. Strong Stiles. With all the mind and nowhere to put it. If he had the bite and it didn’t kill him then he’d only last so long. He would have burned out and have been out down.

But human? Stiles was never just human.
And Peter sees that.

Stiles is an Alpha. A wolf. But not a werewolf no. He doesn’t need the moon to guide his path. He was born with the direction already under his feet. Peter saw that even before he knew Stiles.

Stiles challenged him by lying to his face. (Stiles challenges Scott and Derek constantly also but we know this)
Peter respects that in the boy. And more so when he can’t bring himself to challenge back

He sizes him up. Sees the real spark in the “wimpy sidekick” and he backs down. Bows out more so.

And that. Is why I find their dynamic fascinating.

I have a smutty prompt for you: Stiles/Peter with some daddy kink. Although, I would like one twist on the concept: more often than not, the “Daddy” is the dominant one, but what would happen if they were the one being dominated? I can see them both getting off on Stiles being in charge, even as he calls Peter “Daddy” as he moans in his ear.

inell:

I have never written Peter/Stiles before, and I took this prompt into the direction the muse wanted, so I seriously hope you aren’t disappointed, Nonnie!

One of Those Days. Peter/Stiles. Adult.

Peter is having one of those days, and Stiles has about ninety minutes to make it better.

There’s classical music playing and the smell of oregano in the air. Stiles shuts the door to his apartment, sliding his bag off his shoulder and walking further inside. Peter’s in the kitchen, a pristine apron covering his blue sweater and tight black jeans. Stiles arches a brow as he watches Peter cooking.

“Don’t leave your bag on the floor. You’re not a heathen, Stiles.” Peter doesn’t even turn to look at him, but Stiles knows he’s probably smirking. Asshole.

“Why are you in my apartment?” Stiles asks, deliberately leaving the bag in the middle of the living room floor. “You have a place of your own, you know?”

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