#I simply HAD to write a Mates Steter fic after realizing that. and let STILES realize that. and use it

[takaraphoenix]

The Clever One

(this is a sneak peek for the Steter fic I'm currently working on, where Stiles realizes in season 1 that Peter's canon behavior toward him is strange, how he never hurts Stiles, never tries to kill him, offers Stiles a choice. He comes to the conclusion that he's Peter's mate. So he sets conditions for Peter, leading to a season 2 rewrite with Alpha Peter. and Alpha Mate Stiles, rebuilding the Hale Pack together.)

--

Stiles walked into the broken, burned out husk of the Hale House like he owned the place. Just to be stopped by a hand on his chest and blue eyes flashing at him from Derek’s annoyed face.

“What are you doing here, Stiles,” Derek growled.

“I’m here to talk to your glorious Alpha,” Stiles tilted his head with an uncaring air.

He was not going to let Derek threaten him. Sure, in the past his heart would jump and he would be afraid, even if he still helped Derek out. Right now, Stiles was fully confident in his own safety. Derek narrowed his eyes in irritation, smelling or hearing that Stiles wasn’t intimidated.

“You fought him, in the hospital. You fought him to protect me,” Stiles argued with a frown. “He killed your sister, Derek. Why did you join him?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Derek was close to snarling.

“Try me,” Stiles threw up his hands. “I understand a lot more than you think.”

This time, Derek did snarl. Just to receive a warning growl from upstairs. A cocky grin spread over Stiles’ lips. He’d known the Alpha was here too. He’d known that as long as Peter was close by, Derek wouldn’t get to do any threatening or bodily harm. The beta ground his teeth and stepped back. Hah. Oh, Stiles was absolutely going to revel in the fact that he now outranked Derek. Alpha Mate beat out the Alpha’s right-hand. His grin turned a note of shit-eating.

“He was in a coma for six years. Slowly healing. Aware of everything around him. You couldn’t understand what that is like for a wolf, especially…” Derek swallowed hard, looking away. “Everyone was dead, me and Laura were gone. He was alone with it all.”

“He went insane,” Stiles nodded. “I feel like we established the insanity part in the hospital. You fought him in the hospital. I want to know what changed since then.”

“He’s still healing,” Derek’s voice dropped even more. “He wasn’t fully healed when he killed Laura, he was… feral. Acting on instincts. Seeking to get better. Becoming Alpha… did that.”

Stiles could hear it. He could hear the despair in Derek’s voice. Stiles closed his eyes and heaved a soft sigh. Asking Derek was useless, Derek desperately wanted to believe this. Because what was the other option? That his only living family had willingly, or even joyfully, murdered Derek’s sister? No. Of course did Derek cling onto the hope that things could get better now.

“Okay,” Stiles sighed. “You can go now, Derek.”

The beta stared at him incredulously. “You don’t tell me what to do, Stiles. Werewolf, human. We established this. Why do you think you can tell me what to do, in my own home.”

With all the confidence he could muster did Stiles raise his head, not cowering, holding Derek’s gaze with a calm pulse. “Because Alpha Mate outranks right-hand.”

And oh this felt good. Stiles smirked cockily. Even as a not werewolf, he could feel the tension in the air. The shocked look on Derek’s face – genuine shock, meaning Derek hadn’t put it together yet and Peter hadn’t told him, oh damn, Derek hadn’t even known. A laugh barked out from upstairs.

“I knew you would figure it out on your own. I didn’t think so soon though,” Peter sounded both amused and nearly fond. “Leave us, Derek.”

Grounding his teeth together, Derek shot his uncle one last look before he headed out. Peter only walked into view at the top of the stairs after they could hear the Camaro roar to life and drive off.

“Tell me that he’s right,” Stiles ordered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me that you are still healing. Getting better. Because, you know, the bit where you mauled one of my best friends-”

“She was all over you,” Peter growled, his eyes flashing red. “You were all over her.”

Stiles swallowed, the cockiness cracking some. Not because the growling and red eyes intimidated him, but because of how much they turned him on. No one had ever been possessive over him. Heck, no one had ever been interested in him. Sure, Lydia had gone to Homecoming with him in the end, but that had been more coercion from Allison and pity than Lydia actually wanting him. Lydia still wanted Jackson. Still loved Jackson. Might always love Jackson.

Peter cleared his throat, all calm and professional again. “I am still healing. The outside heals the fastest, it’s… the inside that needs more time, even with wolf-healing. A large part of me is still very… feral and reduced to base instincts. I attacked her because my inner wolf felt threatened by her, threatened by the way she was making advances on my mate.”

Stiles’ heart jumped a little at that. So he had figured it out, but actually hearing himself referred to as Peter’s mate was something else entirely than figuring it out on his own, for himself. Stiles bit down on his cheek, his arms tightly crossed in front of his chest. Part of him was grateful Peter was still at the top of the stairs. Physical distance between them. This whole conversation was a lot. Though Stiles had come to the realization that he was Peter’s mate, he had not fully come to terms with that fact. He didn’t know what to do with it, or what it could or should or would mean.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” Peter’s voice was soft, which might be the weirdest part of this entire conversation. “Or with you. Not yet. You’re more child than man, Stiles. But I can already tell why my wolf chose you as my mate. You are clever. Brilliant. Tricky. Manipulative. Cunning. Quick-witted. All the qualities I cherish the most.”

Stiles couldn’t help but flush at that. “Yeah, well, don’t make it sound like that’s your grand gesture there, I am not exactly tripping over myself trying to get into your pants either. You turned my best friend into a werewolf, without his consent – even though you proved that you are capable of asking for it when you asked me if I wanted the bite – and you mauled Lydia. I’m not considering you Prince Charming. And from what my research showed, a werewolf mate-bond is something that strengthens and grows over time. So, I guess, you still have time to prove yourself.”

Peter quirked his lips, looking absolutely amused by him. “Prove myself, mh?”

“Again. Maiming and mauling of people I love,” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You say you don’t want anything romantic or sexual with me yet, but this mate-bond thing is a life-long bond. At one point, you will. Because you’re the wolf here. You can feel it. So, if you want me to be on the same page by then, you better prove yourself to me.”

The grin on Peter’s lips looked near amazed or excited and Stiles didn’t know what to do with that. It was like the Alpha enjoyed being challenged, enjoyed that Stiles wasn’t just swooning at the prospect of having a soulmate, but gave Peter conditions to earn it. Weird.

“You’ve seen what I’m capable of,” and it was clearly implied here that Peter didn’t just speak of his werewolf abilities but morally, the depth of the things he was willing to do. “So tell me then, what do you think you can demand of me?”

“What I think I can demand of you? Pretty much anything, as long as it’s about me,” Stiles huffed amused, cocking his head. “You can’t hurt me. I mean, physically can’t. And I think that… even emotionally, you couldn’t, not intentionally. Heck, part of me thinks that you turning Scotty was for me, in a twisted, weird way, because your wolf could smell me all over him, thought it would appeal to me if you had my best friend in your pack. And Lydia. You attacked her irrationally, feral and threatened, but when I asked you to let someone come and help her, you agreed. Because you saw how much her condition was getting to me. I think I can ask pretty much anything of you.”

“Manipulative,” Peter pointed out, and he sounded proud and impressed and pleased. “Well, then.”

“You will never lay a hand on anyone I love again,” Stiles eyes were hard and his voice was cold, his body-language conveying how serious he was. “Not my dad, not Scott, not Scott’s mom, not Lydia. Reign your possessive wolf instincts in. She’s not interested in me anyway. If you ever hurt any of them again, I will put a wolfsbane bullet in you myself.”

“Threatening,” Peter smirked. “Cute.”

“I’m not joking,” Stiles frowned annoyed. “I’m the sheriff’s son. I know how to use a gun. And I know where to get wolfsbane bullets from.”

The playfulness left Peter when he realized that Stiles needed to be taken seriously here. “Okay. Noted down. I don’t plan on hurting my pack anyway. Of which Scott is a part of now, whether he likes it or not. And Lydia, well, the cuts were deep so who knows if she will end up joining my pack too. Your father is safe, I promise you that.”

There was still quip and snark in his voice, but that last sentence was spoken with sincerity and Stiles nodded pleased. “No more turning anyone without their consent. Scott hates this, hates being a werewolf, if he’d had a choice he would have said no. I get that a pack of three isn’t going to do you much good, I know you’re going to turn more people, strengthen the pack. But everyone you bite will first be informed of both the good and the bad, they will be given a choice, and that choice is going to be respected by you. The way you gave me a choice, and respected it.”

“I have no problem with that condition,” Peter waved a dismissive hand. “Scott is more trouble than he is gain to me, as is. A beta who doesn’t want to be a werewolf is not an asset to the pack. Betas who are loyal to their Alpha, who will be willing to listen to their inner wolves, will be assets. I only turned him out of instinct, the need to strengthen my pack while not being… mentally there enough to actually think things through. Believe me, I will plan out my pack in the future.”

“Our,” Stiles corrected unflinchingly. “Alpha Mate. Makes this my pack too, doesn’t it?”

The look on Peter’s face was nearly smug with delight. “Our pack.”

[lacrossepapi]

oooh what about steter 10+16

Sorry this took so long! But fun fact: I was hit by four seperated devasting personal blows right after I received this prompt and then went into a huge depression spiral that involved dropping out of school and attempting suicide again so this is a Very Dark fic. And I don't mean the events just like the tone of the writing is dark and I'm so sorry for that. I'm feeling better now and I'm hoping the last half of this shows that.

So some content warning: mentions of Eichen house and torture and heavy angst

De-Aged + Mutual Pining

Ao3: Link

Stiles watched Peter from across the room. The older man walked as if there was an ache in his shoulders that would not let him stand tall. Stiles hated it. Peter had been a diminished version of himself since Stiles and Lydia had dragged him out of Eichen and told Scott to buzz off. Peter was pack, but just barely and it showed. Being an outcast wasn't new, the others didn't treat him nearly as badly as they had before sending him to Eichen, but something had changed in that hell hole. 

Peter never looked weak or wounded, even when he was bleeding out in the Preserve after saving their asses once again. Peter wouldn't allow anyone to see him look vulnerable, but nevertheless Stiles saw. Peter's mental state was worse than it'd been since the fire and the only ones who noticed couldn't do anything to truly help. Except the spark, who had watched the man he'd been harboring a crush on for years be sent to his own personal nightmare and come out the other side worse for wear. 

Stiles missed Peter's smirks. The fragile lift of the werewolf's lips these days was a pale imitation at the best of times. Stiles missed Peter's huffs of laughter. He hadn't been graced with the sound since the night before he'd been imprisoned. Most of, Stiles missed Peter's wit. He hadn't had the energy or want to verbally spar in the months since the rescue and Stiles missed their banter as if it'd been a physical part of him. 

Learning ancient Sumarian would be easier if there was anyone who could teach it to him outside of the internet. He was honestly lucky to even find the spell that'd send him back through time for three days. This time around Stiles wouldn't let them go through with it. No matter what, Peter wasn't going to go through whatever torture he'd endured in that place. And when Stiles returned to the present he would return to the man he'd fallen in love with. 

-

Peter sighed, a weariness in him he couldn't seem to shake. What would today bring? More quiet observation of the handsome human boy, that'd somehow became a man, and a spark, without anyone noticing? More rueful debates with himself on whether it was smarter to stay with the spark and banshee that'd rescued him or flee from the pack that had imprisoned him? Perhaps today would bring a spark of life Peter hadn't felt in months. 

Speaking of Sparks, his was watching him again. Observing him the same way Peter had been watching the man. 

"How are you today?" The soft way Lydia spoke to Peter made his teeth grind and his hackles rise. 

He was not a wounded animal. He just didn't have anything to say these days, and even if he did there wouldn't be a point. No one listened. No one cared. So why should Peter waste his energy helping the people that imprisoned him to be tortured by that man for months? He shouldn't. Lydia had mostly tolerated him before he was sent to That Place, but now she practically treated him like a broken doll. He wasn't broken. It would take more than that to break him. That more than was currently watching their exchange with a frown, which alerted Peter that he'd been silent too long. 

"I'm peachy keen, darling. And why are you gracing me with your presence this evening?" Even though he said the normal words his tone seemed to fall flat. 

Lydia looked at him for a moment, her eyes scanning his face before she sighed, "When was the last time you ran under the full moon?" 

The question struck him like a slap to the face. The past four full moons he'd been unable to get out of bed. It hadn't seemed worth making an effort to sit up, get out of bed, put on clothes, brush his teeth, put shoes on, and leave his apartment. Not to mention all the things he'd have to do to get him shifted and into the deep part of the preserve. Even so, he can't believe he had gone four months without running under the full moon, four months without feeling her rays on his skin. And those were just the ones he'd missed since escaping that place. Peter had never gone more than one moon without running with the other wolves, expect the six long years he was in a coma. 

In a lot of ways Peter felt like he was back in that hospital bed. Alone. Abandoned. Unable to move on. Stuck in his head with his traumas. 

He realized too much time had passed once again when she placed a petite hand on his. 

"Seven months." The voice that left him didn't sound like his own as it rasped over two words. 

Lydia nodded solemnly. 

"This month we're coming over." Stiles' voice startled him out of the quiet moment. 

Peter looked up into Stiles' determined face and found all his complaints dying on his tongue. He nodded, unable to tell the spark 'No'. 

The full moon was only three days away, maybe he'd feel up to running by then.

Lydia nodded as if they'd settled a business contract and stood up from the step below him, dusting off her skirt. With her departure Peter was left alone with Stiles, their eyes burning into each other's. Stiles looked as if he had something to say, yet said nothing as he scent marked Peter and left. 

-

Stiles left Peter on the stairs, a heaviness settling in his chest as he heading out the giant metal door of the loft and down to his Jeep. He'd do it tonight. He was going to go back in time and save him. 

Except, when Stiles finished chanting, animal blood covering his body and floor, nothing happened. He snatched his phone off the floor outside of the ash circle, uncaring of the blood he was smearing the screen with, and promptly threw it back down when he saw the same date as when he'd put it down. 

It hadn't worked. 

Somehow, somewhere Stiles had screwed it up. Or perhaps the spell itself was a dud. He had no way of knowing because he certainly wasn't going to try it again. He'd put all of his intent into the spell, chanting words he was sure were correct. He had had to sacrifice a chicken and coat himself in it's blood, while sitting in the middle of an intricately designed ash circle. The most important part was that he had to focus on why he wanted his body to go back seven months. And that was Peter. A frankly, easy subject to focus his mind on. And maybe he'd gotten a little distracted thinking about kissing Peter, but oh well. No harm, no foul, right? Nothing had happened which wasn't ideal, but it wasn't the end of the world. 

Stiles was still going to help the older man. No matter what. 

-

Peter woke the next morning feeling oddly relaxed for the first time in, well, months. He felt energized in a way he couldn't quite place. That is, until he sat up and tried to step out of bed. His feet didn't land on the ground, causing him to fall out of bed instead of simply stepping out. 

As he lay on the ground, irritated and confused, he looked at the small chubby hand in front of his face for a moment before jerking back and looking wildly around. 

How had a child gotten into his room without him noticing? And why did it trip him? 

And where had it gone now? 

Questions were flying through Peter's head rapid fire, until they all came to a screeching halt as he realized that there was no one else in his home, that he in fact, was the child. 

"What the fuck?" The words came out soft and much higher pitched than he thought they would, startling him again. 

Peter only knew of two magic users in town, and this had the very distinct buffoonery of one of Stiles' magical accidents. He growled, the sound much less menacing with his prepubescent vocal chords, before ripping his phone off the charger and dialing Stiles. 

It took three calls for the infuriating young man to answer, Peter's chubby little foot tapping a furious rhythm all the while. 

"Peter? What the fuck, man? It's like six in the morning." Stiles' voice was deeper and rougher than usual, the sound alluring in a way his current body couldn't fully process. 

"I'm aware of the time Stiles, but are you aware that I don't care if you were sleeping? It seems I have been caught up in a magical issue and it stinks of your kind of ridiculousness."

Stiles sounded more alert when he replied, "you sound so girly right now, even if you are being an asshole. Whatever happened couldn't have been me. My spell last night definitely didn't work." 

Peter rolled his eyes, wishing he could growl at the man but not wanting to embarrass himself further. 

"And what, pray tell, did you try to do last night?" 

"Shit."

"With me now, dear boy? I don't know what the intended purpose of the spell was, but it seems my body has been reverted back to its adolescent self." 

"Fuck, Peter. I'm so sorry. I'm coming over right now."

And with that Stiles hung up on Peter, presumably to quickly get dressed and come fix his mistake. 

Though the situation was highly irritating, Peter had to admit there was a certain release that came with his altered state. His mind was no longer weighed down by the images of the torture done to his body every time he looked at himself. His body no longer slowly by the years it had endured, six of which he hadn't actually been living during. 

By the time his doorbell rang he had made himself and Stiles coffee just how they both liked it and was reading a book. He hopped out of the chair and opened his door to the sight of his frantic pack mate. 

For a moment neither said anything, Stiles just stared open mouthed down at Peter, his body going uncharacteristically still. 

"You're a fucking kid!"

Peter slammed the door in his face and walked back to his hair. He was not going to be some freak show exhibit for Stiles to stare at, the man could figure out how to fix it on his own for all Peter cared. 

The door opened and Stiles poked his head in looking sheepish, "I'm sorry. It was just a shock. I won't stare at you like that again. Can I come in?"

Peter sighed, closed his book, and waved the idiot in. 

"So I think there was an issue with my translating or maybe my pronunciation because I was supposed to go back in time seven months ago, but it looks like your body reverted back to being seven years old." Stiles fiddled with the edged of his sleeve, eyes locked onto the floor as he spoke the last part, "The bad news I can't fix it, but the good news is, it'll only last three days." 

Peter stared at him for a long moment, the man growing increasingly more uncomfortable as the silence stretched. He loved this person. God how his heart swelled, childish nerves alight inside him. And yet, he was also seething. 

"Time travel, Stiles? Are you kidding me? How many times have I or Alan told you that even if you get every aspect perfect time travel spells have a tendency to go haywire? Give me the spell and tell me what you were trying to do, you foolish boy." Peter stuck his hand out angrily, his chubby palm a sour reminder. 

Stiles only nodded and handed Peter a piece of paper where he had translated out the spell, and already Peter saw issues. 

"The spell says it will time alter the focus of intent at will. What did you think it said?" 

"It will alter time at will with a focus of intent." Stiles was frowning at the floor now. 

"And the part you've written down here says seven years not months. And the verb use makes it seem less of "years ago" more of "years." Full-stop." 

"I didn't know." Stiles mumbled. 

Peter reached out and pulled the young man down into the large armchair, that would usually be too small for both of them. 

"Stiles, look at me. Why didn't you come to me with this? You know I can read Ancient Sumarian. What were you trying to do?" Peter's voice was too childish to be soothing like he had wanted, but Stiles still relaxed. 

"I was going to go back and stop them from sending you to that horrible place." 

The words hung in the air between them, echoing in Peter's mind. Stiles had fought for him then and was going to go back and make sure he would never be sent there. 

"Oh my sweet boy." Peter wrapped his small arms around Stiles as tears welled up in his eyes. 

He would perhaps never be the man he was before his traumas, but with people like Stiles, and Lydia too, beside him he could heal better than he had ever though possible.