#hale that son of a bitch

[andreai04]

History is a merciless judge. It lays bare our tragic blunders and foolish missteps and exposes our deepest secrets, wielding the power of hindsight like a detective who seems to know the answer to the mystery from the beginning.

[jade-bright]

Stiles and Peter at any given moment...

Talia: *sigh* then it's decided, Stiles will be joining us in meeting Satomi and if anyone unwanted shows up-

Stiles: Then we sick the attack dog on 'em

Derek: *facepalms*

Peter: *deadpan stare*

-

Laura: I'm going out for a run!

Talia: Sorry, not tonight dear, it's still raining and I don't think either of us are interested in cleaning up the mess that'll be your fur

Peter: Not to worry, I'm sure our resident little spark will be able to make the rain stop, won't you sweetheart

Stiles: *sitting in Derek's lap, the reason it's raining and can't figure out how to stop it, glaring at Peter*

-

But also...

Some anti-human in packs Alpha: And if you're sure that your, "honorary" human can create a strong enough ward then-

Peter: That's "Emissary" for you Alpha ___, and it'd be in your best interest to respect his title if you wish to continue our alliance *smiles cruelly*

Stiles: *standing to the left of Peter, face completely neutral but losing it internally at the alpha and his pack's expressions*

-

Talia: I'll be going myself and that's final, the alphas are seeking my guidance not a fight

Stiles: At least bring Peter, he's your Left hand, was raised knowing the same stuff as you, it would still establish strength, and it'd be less egotistical than you going by yourself

Peter: *lounging on a chair seeming uninterested, but warmed that Stiles sees him on an equal, if not similar, pedestal as his sister*

[rftwfic]

Thinking about notoriously stoic Derek Hale being so open and expressive (for him) with his son. Thinking about 19 year old Derek staring at the course catalog at NYU signing up for his next semester classes and putting down Intro to Child Psychology to meet his social sciences requirement because he has the same morbid curiosity we all do of wanting to know why we're fucked up the way we are. Thinking about Derek with baby Eli sitting in a high chair, engaging him and emoting at him because he knows to do otherwise would hurt his pup. Thinking about the rest of the pack being confused because they've never seen Derek like this before and it's kind of creeping them out, meanwhile Stiles, who seems to know more about the Hales than anyone besides the Hales themselves, doesn't know why everyone is so confused, because Derek grew up with a bunch of little siblings and cousins, obviously he's good with kids.

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Jump Scare

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: Jump Scare

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Stiles and Derek stay up all night together playing a scary video game, shrieking with laughter and clutching each other every time there's a jump scare.

By the time they reach the end credits, it's early morning, summer sunlight pouring through the trees outside of Stiles's bedroom window, igniting the room in a golden glow and warming Derek's back as he snuggles in under the covers and buries his face in the hair at the back of Stiles's neck. A few moments later, the bedroom door clicks open, and the sheriff pops his head in to say good morning before heading to bed after a long overnight shift.  The words have barely left his mouth when he stops short at the sight of the local ex-murder suspect turned alpha werewolf curled protectively around his son, the two of them fast asleep, looking more peaceful than he's seen either of them look in years. He glances around the room, noting the empty popcorn bowl tipped over onto its side, the discarded sleeves of cookies, the headphone wires wrapped around Stiles's left ankle as it dangles from the side of the bed, and slowly turns back around, gently closing the door behind him.

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The first thing Derek notices when he's in the neighborhood just passing by is that all the lights are off, save for a sudden flash of blinding white light that dances across Stiles's bedroom wall in a strobe effect. The second thing he notices, because he's got Stiles's signature scents memorized better than his own phone number, is the pungent spike of all-consuming terror, thick as the smoke from a brush fire as it wafts through the open window.

Without a second thought (because rational thinking is a thing that typically goes out the window — sometimes literally — when it comes to Stiles) Derek scales the side of the house and vaults through the window frame, crimson bleeding into his irises on instinct, claws and fangs at the ready to destroy whatever poor sick son of a bitch decided to fuck with his m— his Stiles. 

But instead of a threat, he's met with the vision of a pajama-clad college sophomore curled up in the center of his bed, hair sticking up at gravity-defying angles like he'd nervously run his fingers through it more than a dozen times, brandishing a playstation controller and screaming bloody murder.

"Holy fucking— Derek?" Stiles gasps, clutching at a stitch in his chest and hastening to free himself from the chokehold his headphones had become in all the panic. Clocking the fact that there's no immediate danger, Derek lets out a sigh of relief and holds up his hands in surrender, eyes returning to their usual forest green as they fall on a peculiar image lighting up Stiles's computer screen.

"What are you doing?" he asks, tone curious but eyebrows narrowed and wary, crowding behind Stiles's shoulder to get a better look at the — what is that, a dungeon? — and picking up an entirely different kind of scent, far more intoxicating than the first, delighting in the little frisson that runs down the length of Stiles's spine as Derek's breath ghosts across the back of his neck.

"I, uh—" Stiles falters, nervous swallow audible. Derek withdraws to look him in the eye, and Stiles shakes his head, coming back to himself. "I'm playing this new horror game that just came out a little while back. It's called Little Nightmares."

"All alone, in the middle of the night, in the dark?" Derek smirks.

"What can I say? I like to set the mood, create an ambience," Stiles retorts, rolling his eyes at the implication that he's too much of a chicken shit to play scary games all by himself in the dark. He's literally battled real life monsters, for fuck's sake, he can handle a little puzzle platformer. That janitor, though…

"Can I play?" Derek surprises him by asking in a voice that's so small and unsure of himself Stiles could weep, and Stiles practically flails off the bed in an attempt to make space for him, scowling at the little snort of laughter Derek huffs out while his back is turned, shucking off his boots and leather jacket and climbing onto the bed to sit cross-legged next to Stiles.

"Okay, so," Stiles prompts, dropping the little black controller into Derek's open palms and rifling through his bedside drawer for an audio splitter and an extra set of headphones. "Left joystick lets you look around the room, right joystick lets you move, and then the touchpad—"

"I know how to work a playstation controller, Stiles," Derek grumbles, watching as his character — a little girl clad in a bright yellow raincoat — begins a slow descent down a long, dark hallway. "Just tell me which button triggers jump, and—"

Derek lets out a yelp as a spindly-armed monster drops down from the ceiling and starts chasing him, controller flying halfway across the room just like his character's little silver cigarette lighter the moment she's caught by the horrifying creature. The screen fades to black, and Derek works to quell the sudden spike of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he goes to collect the controller from a nearby pile of laundry, the sound of Stiles's raucous laughter filling his ears.

"Welcome to the chicken shit club," Stiles quips as he plucks the controller from Derek's hands. "You're in charge of the t-shirt order."

"I want another go," Derek insists, gathering up Stiles's laptop and holding it hostage until Stiles relinquishes the gamepad with a soft, surprised little chuckle. Derek settles in, cracking his knuckles and wiping the sweat off the palms of his hands, before diving in for round two.

They end up spending all night together playing through the rest of the game, taking it in turns to try and figure out all the puzzles, one hunched over the laptop screen trying to concentrate while the other plays backseat gamer, shaking each other's shoulders and shouting useless commands: run, jump, hide, holy shit we're gonna die! Startled shrieks giving way to breathless laughter as the two of them clutch onto each other for dear life every time there's a jump scare, pausing only to grab reinforcements — a family sized bowl of buttered popcorn and a couple of sleeves of oreos — before jumping right back in.

By the time they reach the end credits, it's early morning, summer sunlight pouring through the trees outside of Stiles's bedroom window, igniting the room in a golden glow and warming Derek's back as he snuggles in under the covers and buries his face in the hair at the back of Stiles's neck. A few moments later, the bedroom door clicks open, and the sheriff pops his head in to say good morning before heading to bed after a long overnight shift. 

The words have barely left his mouth when he stops short at the sight of the local ex-murder suspect turned alpha werewolf curled protectively around his son, the two of them fast asleep, looking more peaceful than he's seen either of them look in years. He glances around the room, noting the empty popcorn bowl tipped over onto its side, the discarded sleeves of cookies, the headphone wires wrapped around Stiles's left ankle as it dangles from the side of the bed, and slowly turns back around, gently closing the door behind him.

"About damn time," he murmurs under his breath, smiling in spite of himself, and thinks he distinctly hears a gruff little chuckle from the other side of the door.

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS VS SAXTON HALE

cw: gore and violence

we’re going to begin this with a general statement that really, it didn’t matter how the mercs felt about saxton before he forced this idea on them. after its implementation, every single one of them hate him. with a burn in their souls so bright that when hale gets the itch, the base is silent. everyone is preparing.

scout: initially— and frankly this goes for the whole team— he was incredibly excited for the idea of getting to beat the shit out of saxton. but that was not at all what happened. scout was incredibly easy pickings. overconfident. treating it like any other fight. he really didn’t even feel it happen. he just blinked and he was in the respawn room. and as he turned to look at everyone else, they had to come to the conclusion, as a team, that they lost. but as scout learned hale, he got very good at learning exactly what his role is to take the australian down. and it’s hard, but scout can outmaneuver him, if only for a moment. the first time scout cinched a win was when he chickened out and capped the point while his team got obliterated. by the time he capped it everyone was dead. it was a long walk back to base. it hurt to tell them they actually won. as it’s gone on, he’s gotten better. faster. more flexible. but there gets to a point where it’s still not enough. the first time he got the killing blow he stood there in shock. everyone did. but the uproarious cheers from the few survivors filled him with something unspeakable. he’s gotten hale once. he can get hale again. has a playlist for fighting hale.

soldier: soldier still looks forward to fighting hale. if only for those times when he gets the final blow and gets to watch his rocket blow that man to pieces. those moments are euphoric. he laughs and kicks the body parts around, feeling the squish of a monster under his boots as he steps in the viscera. but he can’t hold his own against him. he becomes even more team oriented, he calls everyone in for a strategy session, and everyone is there. the meetings are hushed, and serious. they are never laughing matters. he spends the night before cleaning and polishing his weapons. inspecting his helmet. and rises first in the morning. he can only stomach a couple of hits. and they hurt. if he wasn’t grateful for medic on the normal battlefield, he definitely is in that arena. kisses the doctor’s boots if he survives to the end. there have been many times they have rushed hale together and barely escaped to live for the next few minutes. they have trauma bonded over this now regular event.

pyro: pyro is never ready for what’s to come in the arena. and frankly, and has only ever made it to the end once. and the one time they made it to the end, out of the sheer shock that they were there to kill him, they unloaded the clip on the corpse. torched it. left for more ammo. came back. unloaded again. left again. came back. did it a third time. and a fourth. and a fifth. the team stepped in after the tenth time. they prayed he would not get up. they don’t get why he keeps coming back. they wish he would stop. tried to boycott the fight, and was physically dragged to the arena by hale. that was the day pyro absolutely torched his remains past the point of ash. they can’t outrun him, and they have to get too close to do damage. they just don’t make the cut. so it’s always a guaranteed death and the most stressful ninety seconds of their life. always tries to push medic to heal the others because they can actually do damage, and let pyro crawl somewhere and hide, or die.

demo: get his fuckin sword right now. immediately. it is increasingly less rare that he gets to get a good hit in on the australian, and every hit fuels him to kill that son of a bitch. regardless of whether they win or lose, he’s drinking himself into a stupor. it’s not even fun to win. he gets no joy from his final blows. he gets no joy from the news when he shows back up in the respawn room. he can’t wait for the day that man dies a bloody, painful death. or loses the company. both work for him, frankly. whatever stops these godforsaken fights. he’s well aware he can’t hold his own against hale in standard conditions. he certainly doesn’t try if he doesn’t think he’s up for it. and those blows… he’s grateful when he can’t feel them. it’s the only time he’s sober on the battlefield. he needs every wit about him to be of any use to his team.

heavy: you know, the first few times he won against hale… no. he got no joy from it. he just ached, profoundly. his body, his heart, his mind. most of the wins happened with three quarters of the team dead, and those who survived mainly wished they didn’t. as he’s faced off more against the australian, he has grown to hate that man so much every hit he lands is a blessing. every bullet is a prayer answered. always aims for his nose as they fistfight. he wants to absolutely wreck that man’s face. permanently scar it. hale’s punches hurt still, but now he just doesn’t even feel it. the burn of a broken rib, teeth knocked loose, his arm snapping, all of that is nothing to the utter burn of hatred in his soul for hale. he doesn’t even consider saxton a person anymore. that is a goliath he regularly has to fight and regularly loses against. but he’s getting better. and if hale doesn’t regain some sense and end this madness heavy is going to wipe him off the face of the earth, permanently. when hale tells them to get ready, his face is stone. in the arena, his face is steel. there is no more reaction to the pain. there is no more ache. only the resolve to hit back harder.

engineer: he wants to quit. genuinely a mental breaking point for him. he knows he’s got no chance. he can’t do much without his buildings, and taking a hit is a death sentence. he’s learned that aggression is his best bet, and careful consideration of where his machines go. he never lasts very long, unless hale is having a bad day. luckily, he doesn’t piss hale off as much as sniper does. but hale makes sure to keep engie humbled. there’s been a few times he’s been able to hold his own against hale, if only for a moment, but never long. sometimes he wonders if they killed him away from the arena whether he would come back. he’s very tempted to try every time hale tells them to get ready. a firm believer in capping the point and ending the carnage as fast as possible. he’s never lived to see the man die. hale hates when he tries to cap the point and call it a day. that’s not the point of him bringing them there. engineer does not give a single good god damn. but it does get him killed more often than not. when scout capped the point the first time he thought it was the smartest thing the kid had thought to do. they’ve ended a few battles that way.

medic: fighting hale is the only time medic genuinely considers if he’s cut out for this line of work. he never wanted to learn that he could survive more than one hit. the first time he experienced that, it sent him flying. he genuinely thought he died but it still hurt so much. he hit the ground limp, and frankly everyone thought he was dead. he laid there for a while, it took demo backpedaling and tripping over his body that he even registered he was alive. as he staggered to his feet, he immediately doubled over and vomited. and he throws up every time he gets hit. he’s had to learn to swallow it back down. the only time he is genuinely terrified is going against hale. hale makes him feel like prey. as he’s fought against hale, he’s found he is not powerless against him, quite the opposite, even. it has taken many, many deaths to gain the reflexes and the nerve to survive going toe to toe. his medigun has never been more viable, and never made such a stark difference. he’s killed him a few times. it never feels good. there is no urge to inspect the carcass when it’s done. the first time he got the killing blow, he just kept stabbing. the team had to drag him off, and he kicked and screamed. something in him is permanently altered every time they are face to face. something about the fact that he doesn’t even seem to care. it doesn’t frighten him on its own; but it stuns him.

sniper: snipes gets a good feeling he knows why he pisses hale off so much. frankly he’s glad for it. he relishes every successful shot he makes. fuck that guy, really. of course, the second hale gets a whiff of him there’s not many opportunities for escape, but also: sniper doesn’t care. because it’s worth every connected bullet. relishes in using jarate on him. he hopes he hits him with it enough times he can’t get the smell of piss out of his skin. more than prepared to die as the man barrels toward him. and he shoots the entire time. sometimes, rarely, snipes can see him coming and move just fast enough to get out of the way, but hale won’t leave him alone, and he simply can’t outmaneuver the man. the first, and only time he got the killing blow he almost blew a load. he achieved enlightenment with that final shot. he saw god, and god looked down upon sniper, and gave him the biggest thumbs up, and his ego imploded in on itself, causing a big bang that created a whole new realm of reality that sniper entered, fundamentally changing the way in which he saw himself. hale has never let him have that again. he is one of the first people picked off every time unless the team is giving him a hard enough time. having to track hale has made him vicious on the battlefield. he’s not missing shots unless he’s not paying attention.

spy: spy does not let it show that he a: hates that man, and b: can not outmaneuver hale on his best day and hale’s absolute worst. when they fight hale, spy takes every page he can out of sniper’s book with his own little twists here and there. he stays as far out of the fight as he can. his aim has only gotten better as he snipes hale from a distance. he knows sniper pisses hale off, and he can tell he does too, especially once he cloaks and hides. he’s actually pretty sure that pisses him off more. the dead ringer is his best friend. hale falls for it every time, but the second hale realizes spy is not dead it’s like a target on his back, and he can’t run long. it’s the only time he gets ubered consistently, and he’s getting addicted to tanking punches from hale as he fervently stabs into him. even though it hurts, he just doesn’t care. nothing beats stabbing hale over, and over, and over. when he fights hale, he almost gets why medic acts the way he does on the battlefield. there is something exhilarating taking on an opponent you know can kill you and having the wits to at least go down fighting.

[urfavoritewriter]

Werewolf Appetite

A commission for an anonymous user over on Discord, a long read (~15,000 words) so grab some snacks.

Content: M/M Vore, Oral Vore, Digestion, Multiple Prey, Unwilling Prey, Cruel Pred, Sentient Fat, Permanent Fat, Teen Wolf, Incest, Forced Body Worship

The thick canopy of the forest cast dappled shadows on the forest floor as Tyler, a seasoned hunter with a reputation for ruthlessness, stalked through the undergrowth. His movements were calculated and deliberate, each step cautious yet purposeful. He wore dark camouflage cargo pants that were stained with dirt and grime from countless hours spent in the wilderness. His boots, heavy and sturdy, crunched softly on the fallen leaves beneath him as he moved. A black tactical vest adorned with an array of pockets and pouches hugged his muscular frame, the weight of his arsenal distributed evenly across his torso.

Tyler's face was set in a grim mask of resolution, sweat beading on his brow despite the coolness of the forest. His eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the surrounding foliage for any sign of movement. A thick layer of stubble lined his jaw, evidence of days spent in pursuit of his elusive quarry. Strapped across his back was a sleek crossbow, its polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light filtering through the trees, a common weapon of choice for werewolf hunters.

Suddenly, a rustle in the underbrush caught Tyler's attention, and he whipped around, his finger tightening on the trigger of his rifle. "I know you're out there, you son of a bitch!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the silent forest. "Show yourself, or I'm fucking shooting you where you stand!"

His heart pounded in his chest as he waited, every muscle in his body tensed and ready for action. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent testament to the deadly game of cat and mouse that was about to unfold. And then, without warning, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a speed and grace that belied its size.

It was Peter Hale, his lithe form darting between the trees with the agility of a wild animal. His clothes were simple yet elegant, a fitted henley shirt clinging to his muscular frame and a pair of well-worn jeans hugging his powerful thighs. His hair was tousled and unkempt, the sunlight catching the subtle highlights in its dark strands. And in his eyes burned a fierce intensity, a primal hunger that sent shivers down Tyler's spine.

But before Tyler could react, Peter was upon him, his movements a blur of motion as he deftly dodged the bullets Tyler fired in rapid succession. Each shot rang out like thunder in the stillness of the forest, but Peter moved with a preternatural speed and agility that seemed almost impossible to comprehend. He hoofed between the trees with the grace of a predator on the hunt, his movements fluid and effortless as he closed the distance between them.

Despite his best efforts, Tyler's shots went wide, each bullet finding nothing but empty air as Peter continued to evade his every move. Panic surged through Tyler's veins as he realized that he was no match for the supernatural creature before him. He was just a man, armed with nothing but a gun and his wits, while Peter was something else entirely—a being of raw power and primal instinct, driven by a hunger that Tyler could scarcely comprehend. And as Peter closed in for the kill, Tyler knew that he was truly and utterly fucked.

“We hunt those who hunt us,” Tyler huffed, out of breath as he grabbed his crossbow now that his gun was out of ammo. “We hunt those who hunt us,” He repeated, almost as if he was reassuring himself and reminding himself of all the hunter training he’s successfully gotten through.

As Tyler fumbled with his crossbow, his hands shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline, he felt a sudden weight slam into him from behind. With a cry of surprise, he stumbled forward, the crossbow slipping from his grasp and clattering to the forest floor. Before he could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him off balance and sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Gasping for breath, Tyler struggled against his unseen assailant, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. He could feel the hot breath of his attacker on the back of his neck, the scent of earth and pine filling his nostrils as he fought to break free. But whoever—or whatever—it was, they were strong, far stronger than Tyler had ever imagined possible.

"Get off me, you bastard!" Tyler spat, his voice laced with fear and defiance. But Peter only laughed, a low, menacing sound that sent shivers down Tyler's spine.

"You think you can stop me, little hunter?" Peter growled, his grip tightening around Tyler's throat. "Not so tough without your neat little weapons, eh?"

Tyler struggled to speak, his words choked off by Peter's vice-like grip. He clawed at the ground beneath him, desperately searching for something—anything—that he could use to defend himself. But it was no use. Peter was too strong, too fast, too...inhuman.

As Tyler's vision began to swim with black spots, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. He could feel the strength draining from his limbs, his body growing weak and sluggish as Peter's hold tightened around him.

As Tyler's struggles began to weaken, Peter's grip on him shifted. Instead of tightening further, it loosened slightly, and Tyler felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was like a wave of hunger, raw and primal, crashing over him with such intensity that it stole his breath away.

For a brief, fleeting moment, Peter considered ending Tyler's life then and there, the thought of his blood staining the forest floor sending a thrill of excitement coursing through him. But as he looked down at the helpless hunter beneath him, something else stirred within him; Although his primary goal was to end the lives of anyone involved in the Hale House fire, his predatory werewolf instincts have taken over, irresistibly so.

With a low, guttural growl, Peter leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of Tyler's neck as he inhaled the heady scent of his fear. The hunger clawed at him from the inside, demanding to be sated, and Peter found himself unable to resist its call. Without another thought, he pressed his lips to Tyler's skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty tang of sweat and adrenaline.

Tyler gasped at the sensation, his body tensing beneath Peter's touch as a shiver of adrenaline-filled pleasure through him. He could feel the heat of Peter's mouth against his skin, the rough scrape of his teeth as they grazed his flesh, and a shudder of fear.

As Peter continued to lick and bite at Tyler's neck, his hunger grew more intense, his senses sharpening with each passing moment. His eyes burned with an otherworldly light, their color shifting from deep brown to a piercing shade of blue as his werewolf instincts took hold. His sideburns lengthened, his muscles rippling with newfound strength as he hovered over his prey, his breath hot and heavy against Tyler's skin.

With a low, feral growl, Peter leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Tyler's ear as he whispered words that sent a shiver of dread down Tyler's spine.

"You taste...delicious," Peter murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "I think I'll have you for dinner."

Tyler's eyes widened in horror as he realized what Peter was about to do, but before he could utter a single word of protest, Peter's mouth descended upon him.

As Peter's mouth closed over Tyler's head, he could feel the hunter's hair brushing against his tongue, the salty tang of his sweat mingling with the metallic taste of blood as Peter's teeth grazed against his skin. With a low, guttural growl, Peter swallowed hard, the muscles of his throat contracting as Tyler's head disappeared down his gullet in a single, ravenous gulp.

"What the fuck!" Tyler's muffled voice echoed from deep within Peter's throat, his protests cut off as Peter's esophagus closed around him, sealing him inside the darkness. But despite his frantic struggles, there was no escape for Tyler now, no hope of salvation as he felt himself being pulled inexorably downward into the depths of Peter's belly.

Next came Tyler's shoulders, his clothes tearing and ripping as Peter's jaws stretched impossibly wide to accommodate his prey. With each swallow, Tyler could feel himself being compressed, the pressure mounting as he was forced further and further down into the pit of Peter's stomach. He thrashed and struggled, his fists pounding futilely against the walls of flesh that surrounded him, but it was no use—Peter's grip was too strong, his hunger too overwhelming to be denied.

As Tyler's abdomen disappeared into the darkness, he could feel the acidic burn of Peter's stomach acids beginning to seep into his wounds, the pain shooting through him like a bolt of lightning. He screamed and cursed, his words becoming increasingly muffled as he was swallowed deeper into the abyss, his body contorting and twisting as it was crushed and compressed by the sheer force of Peter's appetite.

As Tyler's thighs disappeared into the darkness of Peter's throat, he let out one final, desperate cry for help, his voice barely a whisper as it was drowned out by the roar of Peter's digestive system. And then, with one final gulp, Tyler's legs vanished from sight, consumed by the darkness within.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of Peter's satisfied burp as he settled back on his haunches, his belly swollen and distended from his recent meal. And as he rubbed his hand over his full stomach, feeling the faint movements of Tyler's struggling form within, a satisfied smile curled his lips.

"Delicious," Peter murmured to himself, his voice low and contented. "Absolutely delicious."

Under the cover of darkness, Peter sat beneath the sheltering branches of a tall oak tree, the hunter's crossbow clutched in one hand as he idly played with it. With his other hand, he rubbed his distended belly, feeling the weight of his recent meal pressing against his palm.

As he leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, Peter let out a satisfied burp, the taste of the hunter's flesh still lingering on his tongue. He smirked to himself, realizing just how delicious humans truly were, their succulent flesh providing a tantalizing feast for his insatiable hunger.

Turning his gaze towards the night sky, Peter chuckled softly to himself, his voice carrying on the cool breeze. "Looks like you failed your mission," he taunted, his tone mocking. "Guess that means lots of people are going to end up just like you—swallowed up and digested alive."

As the nights passed in Beacon Hills, California, a sense of unease settled over the small town. Men, one after another, began to disappear without a trace, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and fearful whispers among the remaining residents.

Families fretted as their loved ones failed to return home, their absence a glaring absence in the close-knit community. Rumors swirled through the streets, whispered conversations speculating about the mysterious disappearances and the dark shadows lurking in the shadows.

Some claimed it was the work of a deranged serial killer, while others whispered of supernatural forces at play. But no matter the speculation, one thing remained certain: people were vanishing into thin air, leaving no clue as to their whereabouts; Only leaving behind a tangible reminder on Peter’s growing belly as he digested more and more.

"Come on, come on... Shit!" Stiles muttered under his breath as he crouched in front of the door to Peter Hale's penthouse, the thin metal of the hex wrench feeling awkward and unfamiliar in his hand. He glanced around nervously, making sure no one was watching him attempt to pick the lock. It wasn't exactly the most legal activity, but Stiles was desperate for answers.

Lately, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Peter Hale. It wasn't just the way the man had been putting on a bit of weight around his midsection, though that certainly hadn't gone unnoticed by Stiles. It was also the sudden string of disappearances in Beacon Hills, particularly among young men. Stiles had a knack for piecing together clues, and something about Peter's behavior just didn't sit right with him.

Focusing his attention back on the lock, Stiles cursed softly as the hex wrench slipped again. He knew he was taking a risk by breaking into Peter's penthouse, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was onto something. If he could just find some evidence to connect Peter to the disappearances, maybe he could stop whatever was happening before it was too late.

“Fuck, how difficult is it to get into one old man’s house?” With a determined sigh, Stiles refocused his efforts, his fingers working deftly to maneuver the wrench into the lock. It was slow going, each movement careful and deliberate as he tried to coax the tumblers into place. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he concentrated, the tension in his muscles making his movements slightly shaky.

After what felt like an eternity, Stiles felt a satisfying click beneath his fingers. With a triumphant grin, he twisted the wrench, and to his surprise, the lock gave way with a soft snick. Stiles froze for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he listened for any signs that he had been caught.

When no alarms sounded and no footsteps approached, Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear, he pushed open the door and slipped inside Peter's penthouse, his heart racing with excitement and anticipation. He was finally going to get some answers.

As Stiles cautiously made his way into Peter Hale's penthouse, he was immediately struck by the decor. The space was adorned with sleek mid-century furniture, each piece carefully selected to create an atmosphere of sophistication and elegance. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that swirled in Stiles' mind as he took in his surroundings.

Navigating through the living room, Stiles couldn't help but notice the meticulous layout of the space. The clean lines of the furniture and the strategically placed accent pieces gave the impression of a well-organized and thoughtfully curated home. But as he moved further into the penthouse, Stiles began to notice something unsettling.

Scattered throughout the rooms were mementos, seemingly random items that appeared out of place among the carefully curated decor. A baseball cap hung on a coat rack in the foyer, a pair of sunglasses sat abandoned on a side table in the living room, and a leather wallet lay forgotten on the kitchen counter. Each item seemed innocuous enough on its own, but as Stiles pieced together the puzzle, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

These were the belongings of Peter's victims, the men who had disappeared without a trace from Beacon Hills. Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized the significance of what he was seeing. These were not just random items left behind by careless guests; they were mementos, trophies collected by a predator.

As he moved from room to room, Stiles couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over him like a heavy cloak. Each item he encountered served as a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked in the shadows of Beacon Hills. And as he paused to take in the scene before him, a sense of dread washed over him like a tidal wave.

"What the hell..." Stiles murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he surveyed the room. The realization of what he was seeing hit him like a ton of bricks, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. How could Peter be capable of something so monstrous? It was a question that lingered in the air, unanswered and ominous.

With a heavy heart, Stiles tore his gaze away from the scene before him and pressed on, his mind racing with questions and fears. He knew he had to find answers, no matter the cost. But as he ventured further into Peter's penthouse, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking straight into the jaws of the beast.

As Stiles hurriedly made his way toward the exit, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gripped him like a vice. Each step felt heavier than the last, his mind racing with questions and fears. How could he have been so blind to the danger that lurked in the shadows of Beacon Hills?

Just as he reached for the doorknob, a voice cut through the silence, freezing him in his tracks. "Leaving so soon, Stiles?" The voice was smooth and taunting, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine.

Stiles turned slowly, his eyes widening in horror as Peter Hale emerged from the shadows, his presence looming like a dark cloud. "Peter," Stiles stammered, his voice trembling with fear. "I-I was just..."

Peter's lips curled into a predatory smirk as he closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Before Stiles could react, he found himself pinned against the wall, Peter's bulging belly pressing against him with a force that left him gasping for air.

"Mind your business, Stiles," Peter purred, his voice dripping with malice. "You've done an impressive job of deducing who's behind the disappearances. But curiosity killed the cat, as they say."

Stiles swallowed hard, his anxiety reaching a fever pitch as Peter's words sent a chill down his spine. "Well, I take after my pops," Stiles retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm despite his fear. "He's in law enforcement."

Peter raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Sarcastic, even at a time like this?" he mused, his tone mocking.

Stiles shrugged anxiously, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "It's all I got, man," he replied, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "Pale skin and a little bit of sarcasm."

As the weight of Peter's gaze bore down on him, Stiles couldn't help but feel a sense of dread settle over him like a heavy cloak. Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for certain: he was in way over his head.

Peter's smirk widened into a sinister grin as he leaned in close, his eyes sufficed with malice. "You know, Stiles," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement, "I think I'll make an exception for you. I'll take my sweet time digesting you, longer than any of the others. After all, you've been such an entertaining little detective, and it’ll be rude not to give pack members special treatment."

“Y… You what?” Stiles' eyes widened in horror at the realization of what Peter was suggesting. He struggled against the grip of Peter's belly, his heart pounding in his chest. Stiles' mind raced as he frantically searched for a way out of his predicament. How could he have been so foolish to think he could outsmart Peter? The truth was staring him right in the face, and now he was paying the price for his curiosity.

Peter's smirk only widened as he saw the realization dawn in Stiles' eyes. "Ah, I see it now," he taunted, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You didn't figure out as much as you thought, did you, Stiles? But don't worry, you'll get to experience it firsthand."

"No, no, you can't!" he protested, his voice trembling with fear. "You-you can't just...swallow me whole like that!"

Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down Stiles' spine. "Oh, but I can, Stiles," he replied, his tone laced with malice. "And I will. Consider it a...reward for your persistence."

Stiles felt a cold chill run down his spine as the full weight of Peter's words settled over him. He was trapped, at the mercy of a ruthless predator who had no qualms about devouring him whole.

Peter chuckled darkly as he observed Stiles' futile struggles, his enhanced werewolf strength making it effortless to overpower the younger man. With a swift motion, he grabbed Stiles' legs and forced them upward, beginning the process of swallowing him feet-first.

Stiles thrashed and kicked, his fists flailing wildly as he shouted defiantly, "You won't fucking eat me, you hear me? I won't let you!" His voice echoed off the walls of the room, filled with a raw mixture of fear and anger.

But Peter paid little heed to Stiles' protests, his focus solely on the task at hand. With each gulp, he felt Stiles' body slide further down his throat, the sensation both exhilarating and satisfying. He ripped open Stiles' pants, revealing his underwear, and pulled them down to expose his manhood, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

Stiles continued to fight, his struggles growing weaker as he realized the futility of his efforts. "You fucking bastard!" he spat, his voice choked with emotion. "I won't let you do this to me!"

But his words fell on deaf ears as Peter continued to swallow him down, relishing in the feeling of power and control. Stiles' protests grew more muffled with each passing moment, until finally, with one last gulp, he disappeared entirely into Peter's gullet.

Peter smirked triumphantly as he rubbed his distended belly, feeling Stiles' struggles growing weaker with each passing moment. He had claimed another victim, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

Peter paused, relishing in the sensation of Stiles squirming helplessly within his belly. He could feel the young man's struggles growing weaker with each passing moment, his movements becoming more frantic as he realized the inevitability of his fate.

But instead of continuing to swallow him whole, Peter decided to have a bit of fun. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he focused his attention on Stiles' exposed manhood, stroking and teasing it with a wicked grin as his mouth navigated around his balls and hard shaft.

Stiles gasped in surprise, his eyes widening in disbelief as he felt Peter's touch. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice tinged with a mixture of embarrassment and desperation.

Peter merely chuckled darkly in response, his fingers dancing lightly over Stiles' sensitive flesh. "Just enjoying the view, Stiles," he replied casually, his tone dripping with amusement. "After all, it's not every day I get to play with a meal as tasty as you."

Stiles gritted his teeth in frustration, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he struggled against the overwhelming sensation of pleasure coursing through his body. "Stop it," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just let me go."

But Peter paid no heed to Stiles' protests, his touch paired with the licking of his tongue becoming more insistent as he continued to tease and stroke. Stiles' resistance began to crumble under the onslaught of sensation, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he felt himself growing more and more aroused.

And then, with one final, desperate cry, Stiles succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure, his body trembling as he released his load under Peter's skilled touch. He collapsed against the wall, his muscles trembling with exhaustion as he tried to catch his breath.

Peter smirked triumphantly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched Stiles' reaction. "Fucking bitch, enjoyed that didn’t you?" he remarked casually, his tone filled with amusement.

Peter's laughter echoed through the room as he continued to swallow Stiles down, his belly expanding with each gulp until it protruded out like a rounded bulge. With a satisfied smirk, he reached out and cupped Stiles' face in his hand, holding him in place as he leaned in closer, his mouth gaping wide open.

Stiles squirmed and protested, his muffled cries falling on deaf ears as Peter positioned him directly in front of the mirror. With a wicked grin, Peter met Stiles' gaze in the reflection, his eyes glinting with amusement as he slowly lowered his head into his waiting mouth.

Stiles watched in horror as his head disappeared past Peter's lips, the sensation of being swallowed whole overwhelming his senses. He struggled against the tight confines of Peter's throat, his frantic movements only serving to hasten his descent into the depths of the werewolf's belly.

With a final, satisfied gulp, Peter swallowed the last of Stiles down, his throat convulsing around the struggling figure as he disappeared from sight. He leaned back against the wall, his hand resting lightly on his distended belly as he let out a contented burp.

"Fucking delicious," Peter remarked with a smirk, his gaze lingering on his reflection in the mirror. "You're the best I've had yet, Stiles. Shame you won't be around to enjoy it."

Peter chuckled to himself as he stood before the mirror, his hands moving to his distended belly. With a playful smirk, he began to rub and knead the bulging mass, reveling in the sensation of Stiles' struggling form trapped within.

"You really outdid yourself this time, Stiles," Peter mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over his taut skin. "I'll have to remember to thank you properly for that little release."

As he continued to play with his belly, Peter's gaze drifted to the torn shreds of fabric that had once been Stiles' underwear. With a wicked grin, he plucked them up from the floor and held them up to the light, examining them with amusement.

"These will make a perfect addition to my collection," Peter remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. "A little memento of our time together, wouldn't you say?"

With a casual shrug, Peter tossed the torn underwear aside, his attention returning to his belly. He ran his fingers along the curve of his navel, teasingly tracing the outline as he thought about the other mementos he had collected over the years.

"Perhaps I'll keep them with the rest," Peter mused, his voice dripping with malice. "A reminder of all the delicious meals I've enjoyed."

Peter stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection with a smirk. The image staring back at him was that of a powerful predator, his chest bouncy and his stomach adorned with the bulging presence of Stiles, a silent testament to his latest subjugation.

"Damn," Peter muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I look good."

Peter smirked to himself as he made his way out of his penthouse, not bothering to put on a shirt despite the way his distended belly bulged out in the shape of Stiles' trapped form. He relished in the feeling of the cool air against his skin as he stepped out onto the bustling streets of Beacon Hills.

As he strolled down the sidewalk, Peter couldn't help but notice the way people's eyes lingered on his bare torso, some with curiosity, others with outright shock. But Peter paid them no mind, instead reveling in the attention as he made his way toward the local grocery store.

With each step, Peter's mind wandered to the errands he needed to run, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he thought about the groceries he planned to purchase. He imagined Stiles squirming helplessly in his belly as he loaded up his cart with food, teasing the boy about how each item would soon join him in his digestive tract.

Entering the grocery store, Peter was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling aisles, the smell of fresh produce and baked goods wafting through the air. He wasted no time in making his way through the store, his bare chest drawing stares from other shoppers as he moved with purpose.

A group of teenagers whispered amongst themselves as Peter passed by, their eyes darting nervously between him and his distended abdomen. One of them, a bold young man with a cocky smirk, couldn't resist blurting out, "Dude, what's with the gut?"

Peter paused in his tracks, fixing the teenager with a cool, calculating gaze. "What are you looking at?" he replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "Never seen a man with a healthy appetite before?"

The teenager blanched, taken aback by Peter's confident demeanor. "Uh, no, I mean... sorry, man," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze and shuffling away with his friends in tow.

Peter chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. It wasn't the first time he'd been met with such reactions, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't mind the attention; if anything, it only served to bolster his sense of power and superiority.

As he browsed the aisles, Peter couldn't resist the urge to tease Stiles, imagining the boy's muffled protests as he tossed various items into his cart.  "Looks like you'll have some company soon, Stiles," he chuckled, running a hand over his distended abdomen. "I hope you don't mind sharing your new home with a few groceries." He grabbed a bag of apples, imagining how their crisp sweetness would lessen as he chewed it up, mixed it with his saliva, and swallowed it down, and chuckled to himself as he added them to his pile of groceries.

Moving on, Peter grabbed a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, imagining the satisfying crunch they would make as they were crushed beneath his teeth. He tossed a few cans of soup and a box of cereal into his cart, relishing in the thought of the hearty meals they would provide as he digested his latest victim.

As he made his way to the checkout, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him at home. With a smirk, he paid for his groceries and made his way out of the store, his belly still bulging out proudly as he headed back to his penthouse.

As the days passed, Stiles found himself immersed in a surreal and nightmarish ordeal within the confines of Peter's digestive tract. Each day brought with it a new wave of sensations and experiences as his body slowly succumbed to the relentless onslaught of Peter's stomach acids.

On the first day, Stiles was greeted by a warm, tingling sensation as the acids began to break down his flesh. It started as a gentle caress, almost soothing in its intensity, but soon escalated into a burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as Peter's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.

"You're really putting up a fight, aren't you, Stiles?" Peter taunted, his voice reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "You do know  you will never beat a werewolf’s physique, do you? You belong to me now, body and soul."

Stiles gritted his teeth in defiance, his anger boiling over at Peter's smug demeanor. "Screw you, Peter!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You can't keep me trapped in here forever. The others will find out what you've done, and they'll make you pay for it!"

Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Stiles," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "By the time anyone realizes you're missing, you'll be nothing more than a distant memory. Just another victim of the big bad wolf."

Despite his bravado, Stiles couldn't shake the gnawing sense of fear that threatened to consume him from within. With each passing day, he felt his strength waning, his body growing weaker as the acids continued their relentless assault. But even in the face of impending doom, he refused to go down without a fight.

As the second day dawned, Stiles found himself sinking deeper into the abyss of Peter's belly, his screams of agony muffled by the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his dire predicament, but still he clung to the faint hope of survival.

"Please, Peter," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened. Just please, let me out of here!"

Peter's response was a cruel laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You’re too smart for your good."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Stiles realized that his fate was sealed. Trapped within the confines of Peter's stomach, he could do nothing but await his inevitable demise.

Day by day, Stiles felt himself being slowly consumed by the relentless tide of Peter's stomach acids. Each passing moment brought with it a new wave of pain and torment, his body wracked with agony as his flesh melted away beneath the relentless onslaught.

But even in the face of unimaginable suffering, Stiles refused to surrender to despair. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the inevitable, clinging to the faint hope of survival even as it slipped further and further from his grasp.

"Damn you, Peter!" he screamed, his voice coarse with pain. "I won't let you win! I'll find a way out of here, no matter what it takes!"

But Peter's only response was a mocking laugh, the sound reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "Keep telling yourself that, Stiles," he taunted.

Peter chuckled to himself as he stood before the mirror, his hands moving to his distended belly. With a playful smirk, he began to rub and knead the bulging mass, reveling in the sensation of Stiles' struggling form trapped within.

"You really outdid yourself this time, Stiles," Peter mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over his taut skin. "I'll have to remember to thank you properly for that little release."

As he continued to play with his belly, Peter's gaze drifted to the torn shreds of fabric that had once been Stiles' underwear. With a wicked grin, he plucked them up from the floor and held them up to the light, examining them with amusement.

"These will make a perfect addition to my collection," Peter remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. "A little memento of our time together, wouldn't you say?"

With a casual shrug, Peter tossed the torn underwear aside, his attention returning to his belly. He ran his fingers along the curve of his navel, teasingly tracing the outline as he thought about the other mementos he had collected over the years.

"Perhaps I'll keep them with the rest," Peter mused, his voice dripping with malice. "A reminder of all the delicious meals I've enjoyed."

Peter stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection with a smirk. The image staring back at him was that of a powerful predator, his chest bouncy and his stomach adorned with the bulging presence of Stiles, a silent testament to his latest subjugation.

"Damn," Peter muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I look good."

Peter smirked to himself as he made his way out of his penthouse, not bothering to put on a shirt despite the way his distended belly bulged out in the shape of Stiles' trapped form. He relished in the feeling of the cool air against his skin as he stepped out onto the bustling streets of Beacon Hills.

As he strolled down the sidewalk, Peter couldn't help but notice the way people's eyes lingered on his bare torso, some with curiosity, others with outright shock. But Peter paid them no mind, instead reveling in the attention as he made his way toward the local grocery store.

With each step, Peter's mind wandered to the errands he needed to run, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he thought about the groceries he planned to purchase. He imagined Stiles squirming helplessly in his belly as he loaded up his cart with food, teasing the boy about how each item would soon join him in his digestive tract.

Entering the grocery store, Peter was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling aisles, the smell of fresh produce and baked goods wafting through the air. He wasted no time in making his way through the store, his bare chest drawing stares from other shoppers as he moved with purpose.

A group of teenagers whispered amongst themselves as Peter passed by, their eyes darting nervously between him and his distended abdomen. One of them, a bold young man with a cocky smirk, couldn't resist blurting out, "Dude, what's with the gut?"

Peter paused in his tracks, fixing the teenager with a cool, calculating gaze. "What are you looking at?" he replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "Never seen a man with a healthy appetite before?"

The teenager blanched, taken aback by Peter's confident demeanor. "Uh, no, I mean... sorry, man," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze and shuffling away with his friends in tow.

Peter chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. It wasn't the first time he'd been met with such reactions, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't mind the attention; if anything, it only served to bolster his sense of power and superiority.

As he browsed the aisles, Peter couldn't resist the urge to tease Stiles, imagining the boy's muffled protests as he tossed various items into his cart.  "Looks like you'll have some company soon, Stiles," he chuckled, running a hand over his distended abdomen. "I hope you don't mind sharing your new home with a few groceries." He grabbed a bag of apples, imagining how their crisp sweetness would lessen as he chewed it up, mixed it with his saliva, and swallowed it down, and chuckled to himself as he added them to his pile of groceries.

Moving on, Peter grabbed a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, imagining the satisfying crunch they would make as they were crushed beneath his teeth. He tossed a few cans of soup and a box of cereal into his cart, relishing in the thought of the hearty meals they would provide as he digested his latest victim.

As he made his way to the checkout, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him at home. With a smirk, he paid for his groceries and made his way out of the store, his belly still bulging out proudly as he headed back to his penthouse.

As the days passed, Stiles found himself immersed in a surreal and nightmarish ordeal within the confines of Peter's digestive tract. Each day brought with it a new wave of sensations and experiences as his body slowly succumbed to the relentless onslaught of Peter's stomach acids.

On the first day, Stiles was greeted by a warm, tingling sensation as the acids began to break down his flesh. It started as a gentle caress, almost soothing in its intensity, but soon escalated into a burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as Peter's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.

"You're really putting up a fight, aren't you, Stiles?" Peter taunted, his voice reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "You do know  you will never beat a werewolf’s physique, do you? You belong to me now, body and soul."

Stiles gritted his teeth in defiance, his anger boiling over at Peter's smug demeanor. "Screw you, Peter!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You can't keep me trapped in here forever. The others will find out what you've done, and they'll make you pay for it!"

Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Stiles," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "By the time anyone realizes you're missing, you'll be nothing more than a distant memory. Just another victim of the big bad wolf."

Despite his bravado, Stiles couldn't shake the gnawing sense of fear that threatened to consume him from within. With each passing day, he felt his strength waning, his body growing weaker as the acids continued their relentless assault. But even in the face of impending doom, he refused to go down without a fight.

As the second day dawned, Stiles found himself sinking deeper into the abyss of Peter's belly, his screams of agony muffled by the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his dire predicament, but still he clung to the faint hope of survival.

"Please, Peter," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened. Just please, let me out of here!"

Peter's response was a cruel laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You’re too smart for your good."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Stiles realized that his fate was sealed. Trapped within the confines of Peter's stomach, he could do nothing but await his inevitable demise.

Day by day, Stiles felt himself being slowly consumed by the relentless tide of Peter's stomach acids. Each passing moment brought with it a new wave of pain and torment, his body wracked with agony as his flesh melted away beneath the relentless onslaught.

But even in the face of unimaginable suffering, Stiles refused to surrender to despair. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the inevitable, clinging to the faint hope of survival even as it slipped further and further from his grasp.

"Damn you, Peter!" he screamed, his voice coarse with pain. "I won't let you win! I'll find a way out of here, no matter what it takes!"

But Peter's only response was a mocking laugh, the sound reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "Keep telling yourself that, Stiles," he taunted. He stood in front of the mirror in his penthouse, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a satisfied smirk. He glanced over at the corner of the room where Stiles’ underwear memento lay, torn and cum-soaked from his prior release.

"Looks like they've called a meeting to find you," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Funny how you'll most likely be dead by the end of it."

Stiles groaned weakly, his eyes fluttering open as he struggled against his restraints. "You're sick, Peter," he muttered hoarsely, his words barely audible.

Peter chuckled darkly, turning back to the mirror to straighten his tie. "Perhaps. But at least I'll be entertained while I wait for your demise."

With a final smirk at Stiles, Peter left the penthouse, and headed towards the designated meeting spot– Derek Hale & Noah Stillinski had called for an emergency meeting, as one of their members had suddenly disappeared without a trace.

As Peter sat in on the pack meeting with Derek and Noah, the tension in the room was palpable. Noah's usually calm demeanor was replaced by an air of frantic worry, his brow furrowed and hands clenched into tight fists. Derek, ever protective of his pack members, especially Stiles, was visibly agitated, his posture rigid as he leaned forward in his seat.

"So, any leads on where Stiles could be?" Noah's voice was strained, betraying his desperation as he addressed the group.

Derek shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. "Nothing yet. I've been trying to pick up his scent, but it's like he's vanished without a trace."

Noah let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "This doesn't make any sense. Stiles wouldn't just disappear like this. He's not the type to run away."

Peter, leaning back in his seat with a smug grin, interjected, "Perhaps he's just off on one of his little adventures. You know how Stiles can be, always getting himself into trouble."

Derek shot Peter a glare, his eyes flashing with irritation. "This is serious, Peter. Stiles wouldn't just up and leave without telling anyone. Something's not right."

Noah nodded in agreement, his gaze hardening. "Exactly. Which is why we need to figure out what happened to him, and fast."

“What if he fell victim to the same disappearances that have been happening around Beacon Hills?” Peter said, “Maybe what got them, got him.” He added, feigning concern and intending it to be an indirect tease to the almost-fully-digested Stiles in his gut, having to hear them mutter about his fate when he’s only a few feet away from them.

“Don’t say that.” Noah said, not wanting to comprehend the possibility that he will never find his son again.

The group fell into a tense silence as they pondered their next move. Noah's mind was racing with worry for his son, while Derek's thoughts were consumed with concern and determination to find Stiles and bring him home safely.

Finally, Noah stood up from his seat, his expression grim. "I need to attend to my duties as Sheriff. Derek, I'm trusting you to lead the search for Stiles. Find my son, Derek. Bring him back to me. Please."

Derek nodded solemnly, his resolve hardening. "I will, Sheriff. I promise."

With that, Noah left the meeting, leaving Derek and Peter to plan their next steps in the search for Stiles. But as they began to discuss their strategy, Derek couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at him, a sinking suspicion that whatever had happened to Stiles was far more sinister than any of them could have imagined.

“You might be right, Peter.”

Peter watched as Derek's expression hardened, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through his stoic facade. He leaned forward, his curiosity piqued by Derek's sudden intensity.

"You think my suggestion is true, don't you?" Peter asked, his voice carefully neutral, though a glint of amusement danced in his eyes.

Derek hesitated, his gaze fixed on the table before him. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Noah, but... yes, I think you might be right," he admitted, his voice low and serious.

Peter raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And why is that?"

Derek sighed heavily, his frustration evident. "Stiles... he told me he had a hunch about who was behind all this. He wanted to investigate further, but before he could..."

His voice trailed off, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Peter leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities.

"And he disappeared," Peter finished for him, a note of understanding in his voice. "Without ever knowing if his hunch was right."

Derek nodded grimly, his jaw clenched with determination. "I'm almost certain his hunch was right," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "And now... now he's gone."

Peter studied Derek's expression carefully, sensing the guilt and remorse that lingered beneath his steely exterior. He knew Derek blamed himself for Stiles' disappearance, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud.

"Well, we'll just have to find him, won't we?" Peter said, injecting a note of false optimism into his voice. "And when we do, we'll make sure whoever's responsible pays for what they've done."

Peter's confident facade faltered as a sudden wave of nausea swept over him, his stomach churning violently. He clutched at his abdomen, grimacing as a series of guttural gags and deep burps erupted from his throat, each one more forceful than the last. Saliva dribbled down his chin, mingling with the bile rising in his throat.

Derek watched in concern as Peter doubled over, his face contorted in discomfort. "Peter, are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Peter waved him off, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to regain control of his rebellious stomach. "Fine," he managed to choke out between gags. "Just... a momentary... hiccup."

But the spasms only intensified, each one wracking his body with increasing ferocity. His vision blurred with tears as he struggled to contain the rising tide of sickness threatening to overwhelm him.

And then, with one final heave, Peter expelled a thick wad of saliva and bile, followed by a sudden burst of pressure from his throat. His eyes widened in shock as he felt something solid lodged in his esophagus, blocking his airway.

With a desperate groan, Peter reached up to his mouth, his fingers probing frantically at the obstruction. And then, with a sickening squelch, he felt it give way beneath his touch, sliding up his throat and into the open air.

Derek's eyes widened in horror as Peter withdrew a half-digested jacket from his mouth, its fabric stained and sodden with digestive juices. The sight of it made his stomach churn, bile rising in his own throat at the realization of what had just transpired.

Peter's face paled as he stared down at the jacket in his hands, a cold shiver coursing through his veins. He had never experienced anything like this before, never lost control of his own body in such a humiliating manner. But Derek didn't need an explanation. The truth was plain to see, written in the horrified expression on Peter's face and the undeniable evidence clutched in his trembling hands.

Stiles was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

"I..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the words to explain what had just happened. But he didn’t need to; 

Before Peter could utter a word, Derek was upon him, his fist connecting with brutal force against Peter's abdomen. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through Peter's body, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling backward with a pained grunt. The force of the punch was enough to warrant another, abrupt burp that erupted from Peter’s mouth–

BuuUuurRrP!

–surprisingly just as loud as his previous one. Peter hadn’t anticipated how fast it happened: Derek's transformation was swift and violent, his fangs elongating into razor-sharp points and his eyes blazing a furious shade of crimson. The air crackled with the raw power of his Alpha aura as he surged forward, his movements fluid and predatory.

The force of Derek's blow was enough to drive the breath from Peter's lungs, leaving him gasping for air as he struggled to regain his footing. He looked up at Derek with wide eyes.

"Derek, I—" he began, but Derek cut him off with a fierce growl, his lips drawn back in a snarl of rage.

"Don't you dare try to deny it," Derek spat, his voice low and menacing. "You fucking ate him, didn't you? You swallowed him whole like some goddamn monster!"

Peter's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Derek advance, his gaze filled with a primal intensity that sent a chill down his spine– But it wasn’t out of fear, it was pounding out of the intense excitement that he gets to swallow Derek, too. He could feel the weight of Derek's accusation bearing down on him, the truth of it echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat.

But even as Derek loomed over him, his fists clenched in fury, Peter had to tease. “Didn’t think Stiles had it in him to be so loud,” He said, “Guess he wanted his final words to be heard.” He had consumed Stiles, yes, and he had burped up Stiles’ last effort at wanting to be seen.

"Save it," Derek snapped, his voice dripping with scorn. "I trusted you, Peter. We all did. And this is how you repay us? By eating one of our own?"

“You should be thankful” Peter replied, lifting up his top to show Derek his churning gut. Loud, fattier, squishable, and the most prominent change: A tattoo of Stiles's face around his naval, a permanent reminder of what he had done and a power symbol to brag about. “I’m one-for-two now, Stiles is still here. Just, different.”

“You fucking…” Derek growled, “…You fucking got his face tattooed?!”

“On the contrary,” He spoke, giving the place where Stiles’ face was imprinted a squish. “He got it tattooed, must’ve liked what happened enough in there to want to stay on it.” Subtly implying that this was simply a byproduct of the digestion.

“W-Wha–?!” Derek stuttered before being cut off by the predator.

“That punch you gave me earlier? Stiles felt it as much as I did. Can still faintly hear him in there.” He taunted, rubbing in the fact that beating Peter is indirectly beating his friend-turned-fat.

With a guttural roar, Derek lashed out again, his fist striking Peter's face with bone-crushing force. Peter was in agony, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to keep from keeling over.

“Stop fucking with me!” The alpha shouted, jumping in for another punch– He wasn’t buying Peter’s shit, thinking what he said was either intended to rub it in or discourage him from beating the shit out of him.

Derek's fist sailed through the air with deadly intent, but Peter was already moving, his reflexes honed by years of survival instinct. He dodged Derek's punch with a swift sidestep, then retaliated with a powerful kick to Derek's abdomen.

The force of Peter's blow sent Derek staggering backward, his knees buckling beneath him as he struggled to remain upright. With a growl of frustration, Derek dropped to his knees, his hands clenching into fists as he glared up at Peter.

"Now now, you really want to hurt your boy this much?" Peter taunted, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Derek's anger flared, his instincts urging him to launch himself at Peter in a blind fury. But just as he was about to strike, a sudden wave of hesitation washed over him. Even if he didn’t believe Peter, what if he hurt Stiles in the process? What if it was real? The thought paralyzed him for a split second, just long enough for Peter to seize the opportunity.

With lightning speed, Peter swung his fist forward, his knuckles connecting with Derek's jaw with a sickening thud. Derek's head snapped back, pain exploding behind his eyes as he crumpled to the ground.

Before Derek could react, Peter was upon him, his weight bearing down on Derek's chest as he pinned him to the ground. Derek struggled beneath him, his muscles straining against the crushing pressure of Peter's bulk, his belly.

"You think you can stop me?" Peter taunted, his voice low and menacing. "You're nothing, Derek. Just a weak little Alpha who couldn't protect his own pack."

Derek's chest heaved with exertion as he strained against Peter's hold, but the weight pressing down on him was relentless. He could feel his strength waning, his limbs growing heavy with fatigue.

But just as he was about to succumb to the suffocating pressure, a surge of determination flooded through him. With a fierce roar, Derek summoned every ounce of his remaining strength and pushed against Peter with all his might.

For a moment, it seemed as though Peter might be overpowered, his grip faltering ever so slightly. But then, with a final burst of effort, he tightened his hold, his belly pressing down even harder on Derek's chest.

"You're going to– Uunngh… Pay for what you've done, Peter," Derek growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "I swear it."

Peter's taunts cut through the air like a knife, each word dripping with malice as he leaned in closer to Derek, his smirk widening into a cruel grin.

"You know, Stiles was still alive when you came in for that meeting," Peter sneered, relishing the anguish that flickered across Derek's face. "Who knows if he died from digestion mid-meeting as we obliviously discussed where he went during his final moments, unable to help as he died... Or if your punch was the one to finish him off?"

Derek's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw set in a tight line as he fought to hold back the wave of despair threatening to consume him. "Fuck you, Peter," he spat, his voice thick with emotion.

But Peter merely chuckled, the sound grating on Derek's nerves like sandpaper. "Oh, don't worry, Derek. You'll be joining your pack member soon enough," he taunted, his tone dripping with sinister promise. "The pack’ll reunite, as fat on my fucking belly."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, sending a shiver down Derek's spine. He knew he had to find a way out, to break free from Peter's suffocating hold before it was too late. But as he struggled against the crushing weight pinning him down, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that he might never escape from this nightmare.

With a cruel smirk, Peter leaned in closer to Derek, his eyes glinting with malicious intent as he spat on Derek's face, the spittle landing in a disgusting splatter. "You're going to make such a nice, fat addition to my belly," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.

He continued to rub his distended belly against Derek's chest, the pressure making it difficult for Derek to breathe as he forced him to hear the sickening gurgles emanating from within. "Just imagine how much fatter you'll make me once I've digested you and Stiles together," Peter teased, his tone mocking.

Derek gritted his teeth, his fists clenched in impotent rage as he struggled against Peter's overwhelming strength. He knew he was no match for the werewolf in his current state, but he refused to give up without a fight.

Peter pushed his belly further against Derek’s chest and up on his face, forcing him to listen to the gurgles of digestion and feel the remaining weight of Stiles in his beer belly.

But before he could muster a response, Peter's tone shifted, his smirk widening into a predatory grin. "But not now," he mused, almost casually. "I think I'll save the best for last. Noah Stilinski seems like he'd be a delicious appetizer, don't you think?“ He said, ”Family first, right? Poor dad must be missing his son.“

And with that, Peter delivered a swift, powerful punch to Derek's jaw, the force of it knocking him unconscious in an instant. As darkness closed in around him, Derek couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see the light of day again.

Peter's muscles rippled beneath his taut skin as he effortlessly lifted Derek's unconscious form from the ground, his strength belying his lean frame. With a grunt of exertion, he hoisted Derek's limp body over his broad shoulder, his arms securely wrapped around his waist to prevent him from slipping.

With Derek's weight settled against him, Peter began the journey back to his penthouse, his steps purposeful and steady as he navigated the dimly lit streets of Beacon Hills. The cool night air brushed against his skin, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him.

As he approached the entrance to his building, Peter's pace quickened, a surge of anticipation coursing through him at the thought of what awaited them inside. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked the door and stepped into the opulent foyer, the soft glow of the chandeliers casting eerie shadows across the marble floors.

Carefully, Peter carried Derek through the spacious penthouse, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he made his way to the makeshift holding area he had prepared in the basement. With a grunt of effort, he lowered Derek onto the sturdy metal cot, his muscles straining with the effort as he secured the restraints around Derek's wrists and ankles, ensuring that he wouldn't be able to escape.

Once Derek was securely bound, Peter stepped back, a satisfied smile curling his lips as he surveyed his handiwork. With Derek safely restrained, he could finally focus on his next target: Noah Stilinski.

"Now, off to Noah's workplace..." Peter murmured to himself, his voice low and menacing as he turned on his heel and made his way back upstairs.

The Beacon County Sheriff Station stood as a sturdy fortress against the encroaching darkness of the night. Its exterior was composed of weathered bricks, their surfaces marred by the passage of time and the elements. At the lower few meters of the building, the bricks transitioned into a different type of tile, arranged in a neat pattern that offered a subtle contrast to the rough texture of the bricks above.

A dusty, old sign adorned the top of the double-sided glass doors, its letters slightly faded from years of exposure to the elements. The white frames of the doors gleamed faintly under the dim glow of the street lamps that flanked the entrance. Two additional lamps, one on each side of the doorway, cast pools of light onto the cracked pavement below, their buzzing hum adding to the eerie ambiance of the night.

Peter approached the entrance with purposeful strides, his gaze fixed on the illuminated interior beyond the glass doors. Despite the late hour, the station was still abuzz with activity, the sound of ringing phones and hurried footsteps echoing through the empty streets. Most of the deputies had already ended their shifts and gone home for the night, leaving only a skeleton crew behind to maintain order in the quiet hours of the evening.

As Peter pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped into the station, he noted the tired expressions of the few deputies who remained already packing their things to leave, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion as they went about their duties, while most had already gone home far earlier, after their shift ended. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows on the linoleum floor, illuminating the worn desks and filing cabinets that lined the walls.

At the far end of the room, Peter spotted Sheriff Noah Stilinski, in his office, hunched over a stack of paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite the late hour, Noah seemed to be working overtime, his dedication to his duties evident in the way he tirelessly poured over the files spread out before him.

Peter's lips curled into a smirk as he made his way toward Noah's desk, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty station. Tonight, he would pay a visit to the sheriff, and nothing would stand in his way.

As Peter approached Noah's desk, the sheriff looked up from his paperwork, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at the sight of the unexpected visitor. "Peter," Noah greeted, a note of relief in his voice. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Peter offered a sheepish smile as he leaned against the edge of Noah's desk. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not here with any groundbreaking leads," he admitted, his tone apologetic. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by and see how things were going."

Noah nodded, understanding. "Well, it's always good to see a friendly face," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion. "Especially on a night like tonight."

Peter raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over Noah's fatigued expression. "You look tired, Sheriff," he observed, his tone laced with genuine concern.

Noah chuckled softly, a weary smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You could say that," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's been a long day. But sometimes, being here helps take my mind off things, if only for a little while."

Peter nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I get that," he replied, his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's nice to have a distraction, even if it's just for a moment."

Noah offered a grateful smile in return, appreciating the sentiment. "Exactly," he agreed, his eyes meeting Peter's with a hint of camaraderie. "Besides, it's all part of the job, right? Gotta keep pushing forward, even when things get tough."

Peter nodded in agreement, his gaze lingering on Noah's weary form. Despite the sheriff's outward strength, Peter couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the man who carried the weight of the town's safety on his shoulders.

The sheriff chuckled, “…It’s funny, because as much as I used to bicker with him, I miss him like crazy.” He looked thoughtful, “I say I try to get my mind off things, but truth be told, I couldn’t focus on shit today.” Performance suffered, and working overtime was not just a way to distract but a way to make up.

Peter glanced around the now-deserted sheriff's station, ensuring that they were alone before turning back to Noah with a solemn expression. "You know, I think I might have a lead that could help ease your mind for a bit," he began, his voice low and serious.

Noah's eyes widened with hope, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him at the prospect of finally getting some answers about his missing son. "You do?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward in his chair. "Where did he go? Did you find him?"

Peter hesitated for a moment before responding, his gaze flickering with a mixture of guilt and determination. "He's right here," he said quietly, reaching down and lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal the tattoo of Stiles' face etched into his skin.

Noah's brow furrowed in confusion, his initial excitement fading into frustration. "Peter, I appreciate the sentiment, but now is not the time for jokes," he replied sternly, his voice tinged with annoyance, thinking that getting a tattoo of stiles’ face now was bad timing.

But Peter's expression remained deadly serious as he lowered his shirt, his eyes locking onto Noah's with an intensity that sent a shiver down the sheriff's spine. "I'm not joking, Noah," he said quietly, his tone devoid of humor. "I swallowed him whole."

Noah's heart skipped a beat as the full weight of Peter's words sank in, his mind struggling to process the horrifying truth of what he was hearing. "What do you mean, you swallowed him whole?" he demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and horror.

Peter's lips curled into a cruel smirk as he recounted the gruesome details of Stiles' fate, his words dripping with malice as he described the agony of his son's final moments. Noah's stomach churned with revulsion as he listened, unable to comprehend the sheer brutality of Peter's actions.

"You monster," Noah spat, his voice trembling with rage as he glared at Peter with loathing. "How could you do something like that? How could you take my son away from me?"

But Peter remained unfazed by Noah's outburst, his expression cold and impassive as he shrugged indifferently. "It's nothing personal, Sheriff," he replied casually, his tone devoid of remorse. "Your son just tasted fucking delicious." He said, licking his lips and clutching his fat belly.

Noah's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought to contain his anger, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from lashing out at Peter. But deep down, he knew that there was nothing he could do to bring his son back, nothing he could do to make things right, and with his most effective werewolf weaponry far away, nothing he could to avenge.

Peter forcibly rushed, rapidly transforming to his werewolf form as his predatory instincts took over, pinning Noah against his desk with a strength that was impossible for the sheriff to resist. Noah's heart pounded in his chest as he felt the weight of Peter's massive body pressing down on him, his muscles straining against the powerful hold, and his belly pushing against his body– The same belly that relentlessly digested his son.

Despite Noah's tough exterior and years of training as a police officer, he felt utterly powerless in the face of Peter's relentless assault. His mind reeled with shock and disbelief as he realized the true extent of the danger he was in, and he was weak; Mourning his son’s death, his squirms and struggles were instinctual, but he had long given up.

With a savage growl, Peter tore away Noah's clothes, leaving him exposed and vulnerable beneath his predatory gaze. Noah's skin burned with shame as he lay helpless beneath the werewolf's relentless onslaught, his muscles tensing with every agonizing second that passed.

But as Peter's tongue traced a path of fiery heat across his exposed flesh, Noah's resistance began to crumble, his senses overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the sensations coursing through his body. Despite his best efforts to fight it, he found himself succumbing to the overpowering force of Peter's touch, his defenses crumbling beneath the weight of his own despair.

Peter licked down to Noah’s exposed member, licking it all the way down to his balls. Tears streamed down Noah's cheeks as he felt Peter's lips close around his dick, his body wracked with a mixture of pleasure and pain as the werewolf forced him to submit to his desires. He continued to suck on it, Noah’s dick growing hard in the werewolf’s mouth, his veins rubbing against the fangs.

Before Noah could find any reprieve from the unwanted pleasure, Peter abruptly withdrew his attention from his groin, leaving Noah gasping for air and shuddering with a mix of relief and lingering arousal. But his moment of respite was short-lived, as Peter's tongue trailed up Noah's body with a ferocity that sent shivers down his spine, leaving a slick trail of saliva in its wake.

With a low growl, Peter leaned in close, his hot breath washing over Noah's face as he licked and nipped at his skin with reckless abandon. Noah could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed up at the werewolf towering over him, his mind reeling with a dizzying mix of fear and desire.

As Peter's lips brushed against his own, Noah could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air like a heavy shroud. "Reuniting son and father," Peter teased, his voice dripping with malicious intent. "Isn't that what you wanted, Sheriff?"

Noah's breath caught in his throat as he struggled to find the words to respond, his mind spinning with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to lash out in anger and defiance, to fight tooth and nail against the fate that awaited him, but he had no leverage; Peter caught him at a most unfortunate time.

"Please," Noah begged, his voice barely more than a desperate whisper. "Don't–"

But before he could finish his plea, Peter's hand clamped down over his mouth, silencing him with a forceful gesture. With a savage grin, Peter shoved Noah's face into his gaping maw, his lips stretching wide to accommodate the sheriff's head as he forced him down into the darkness of his throat.

Noah's world erupted into chaos as he felt himself being swallowed whole, his body writhing and convulsing with a mix of terror and revulsion. He could feel the walls of Peter's esophagus closing in around him, squeezing him tight as he was dragged down into the depths of the werewolf's belly.

As Peter's jaws clamped shut around him, Noah felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness wash over him. He could feel himself being drawn inexorably downward, his body slipping and sliding against the slick, saliva-coated walls of Peter's throat as he was swallowed whole.

First, it was his head, squeezed tightly between the muscular walls of Peter's esophagus, the darkness closing in around him like a suffocating blanket. Then came his shoulders, his arms pinned tightly to his sides as he was pulled further and further into the depths of the werewolf's belly.

Noah's chest was next, compressed and constricted as he was forced deeper into Peter's gullet, the pressure mounting with each passing moment. He could feel the heat of Peter's stomach looming ever closer, the acidic tang of digestive juices burning at the back of his throat.

Finally, it was his legs, his feet kicking and flailing uselessly as they disappeared into the gaping maw of the beast that had consumed him. With one final, desperate gasp, Noah felt himself vanish entirely into the darkness, his entire body enveloped by the relentless grip of Peter's insatiable hunger.

A deep, rumbling burp echoed through the chamber as Peter swallowed Noah down, the sound reverberating off the walls with a sickening finality. With a satisfied grin, Peter patted his distended belly, the outline of Noah's form visible beneath his stretched skin.

"Ah, that hits the spot," Peter chuckled, his voice muffled by the layers of flesh that separated him from the outside world. "Looks like it's just you and me now, Sheriff. Hope you enjoy your stay." He said, before correcting himself teasingly. “–Er, and what little consciousness left of your son.”

Peter positioned himself on the sheriff's desk, his massive belly protruding obscenely as he straddled the wooden surface. His legs dangled over the edge, his feet grazing the floor below as he leaned forward, his hands planted firmly on either side of Noah's abandoned chair.

With a low, guttural growl, Peter began to grind his hips against his swollen belly, the pressure sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. His movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust punctuated by a low moan of satisfaction as he reveled in the sensation of his distended stomach pressing against his groin.

"Mmm, you like that, Sheriff?" Peter purred, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Feels good, doesn't it? Knowing that you're just another meal for my appetite."

He continued to hump his belly with increasing fervor, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through his veins. His moans grew louder, more urgent, as he lost himself in the ecstasy of the moment.

"God, I love the feeling of a full belly," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "And you, Sheriff, you're going to make the perfect addition to my collection. Your son and now you, all snug and cozy in my gut."

With each thrust, Peter could feel himself drawing closer and closer to the edge, his arousal building to a fever pitch. He could practically taste the sweet release that awaited him, the culmination of his twisted desires.

And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, he came, his orgasm washing over him in a tidal wave of pleasure. He collapsed onto the desk, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he basked in the afterglow of his release.

"That was... fucking hot," he panted, his chest heaving with exertion. "Seems like you’re good at three jobs, Sheriff."

Peter sprawled out on the sheriff's desk, his massive belly rising and falling with each labored breath. His skin glistened with sweat and his clothes were rumpled and disheveled, evidence of the intense pleasure he had just experienced.

With a contented sigh, Peter shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable on the hard surface beneath him. He stretched out his limbs, his muscles relaxing as he allowed himself to sink into the desk's worn surface.

"Don't mind if I nap here a little, do you?" he murmured, his voice slurred with exhaustion. He closed his eyes, the darkness behind his eyelids offering a welcome respite from the harsh fluorescent lights of the station.

As he drifted off to sleep, Peter could feel the gentle rocking of his belly as it churned and gurgled around him. It was a soothing sensation, like the ebb and flow of the tide, lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.

Peter's eyes fluttered open as the early morning light streamed through the windows of the sheriff's station. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head and yawning as he glanced around the dimly lit room.

Checking the clock on the sheriff's desk, Peter muttered to himself, "Shit, almost got caught by your underdogs. I'm one lucky wolf." He chuckled softly, a smug grin spreading across his face as he thought about how close he had come to being discovered.

With a satisfied sigh, Peter climbed to his feet and adjusted his clothing, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening his collar. He took a moment to admire the sight of Noah's empty office, the memories of their encounter still fresh in his mind.

As he made his way out of the station, Peter's belly churned and gurgled loudly, a constant reminder of the meal he had consumed the night before. He could hear Noah's faint groans of pain echoing from within his gut, the sound sending a thrill of pleasure coursing through his veins.

"Looks like your old age is catching up with you, Sheriff," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Barely lasting in there, aren't you?" He chuckled to himself, relishing in the thought of Noah's suffering as he continued on his way, eager to start his day, as his belly’s occupant barely had any air to breathe in.

Peter lazily strolled down the quiet streets of Beacon Hills, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he whistled a tuneless melody. The early morning sunlight cast long shadows across the pavement, warming his skin as he ambled along.

With a leisurely pace, Peter made his way to a nearby café, where he ordered himself a large coffee and a pastry, not bothering to hide the bulge of his distended belly as he leaned against the counter. The barista shot him a curious glance, but Peter paid it no mind, too preoccupied with the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Sipping his coffee slowly, Peter found a comfortable spot by the window and settled in, idly watching the world go by as he enjoyed his breakfast. He could feel Stiles' face tattoo stretching further across his bloated belly, the ink distorting slightly as his gut churned and gurgled in protest.

After finishing his meal, Peter decided to take a leisurely stroll through the park, enjoying the peaceful solitude as he wandered beneath the canopy of trees. He paused to admire the vibrant colors of the flowers in bloom, the sweet scent of spring filling the air.

As the morning wore on, Peter eventually made his way back to his penthouse, feeling pleasantly relaxed and content. He let out a satisfied sigh as he sank into his favorite armchair, his belly now even more swollen and round than before.

Meanwhile, deep within Peter's gut, Noah continued to be slowly digested, his body breaking down bit by bit until only a few hours later, he was nothing more than a distant memory. Peter's waistline expanded, getting much fatter, and another tattoo of Noah’s face appeared on his gut, next to Stiles. Peter gave it a big, nice squeeze.

“Did say I was going to reunite you, didn’t I?” He said, squeezing even tighter. He knew that both Stiles and Noah could feel what he felt, and he could barely hear their incomprehensible thoughts in the back of his mind, the fat on his belly sentient and permanent. “One more, and the pack’s complete.”

Peter descended the stairs to his basement, the cool air enveloping him as he reached the dimly lit chamber. There, tied-up and bruised, was Derek, his gaze fixed on Peter with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

"Ah, Derek, my dear nephew," Peter said with a smirk, stepping closer to where Derek was restrained. "It seems you've been busy trying to escape. But you know what they say – it takes a werewolf to know how to tie one."

Derek's jaw clenched, his muscles tensing as he struggled against his bonds. But Peter merely chuckled, circling around him like a predator sizing up its prey.

"You're not going anywhere, Derek," Peter continued, his voice dripping with malice. "Not until we've had a little chat. Not until I decide that it’s time for you to join the others."

Derek's eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering down to Peter's distended belly. And then he saw it – the tattoo of Noah's face stretched across Peter's skin, a grim reminder of the fate that had befallen his father.

"Why, Peter?" Derek demanded, his voice thick with emotion. "Why are you doing this?"

Peter chuckled darkly as he pressed his distended belly against Derek's face, feeling the werewolf's struggling breath against his skin.

"You know, Derek," Peter said casually, "I've discovered that eating others whole has some... benefits. It's made me stronger, more powerful than ever before."

Derek groaned, his muscles straining against his bonds as he struggled to break free. But Peter merely tightened his grip, relishing in the sensation of Derek's helplessness.

"Now, here's the deal," Peter continued, his voice low and menacing. "You can either give up your alpha status and be a beta in my pack, or..."

He paused, letting the implication hang in the air as he leaned in closer to Derek's ear.

"...you can become my next meal."

Derek's eyes widened in horror as he realized the full extent of Peter's intentions. He growled, his werewolf fangs showing as he sweared, “Fuck you, I’m doing neither.”

With a sinister grin, Peter leaned down to Derek's face, his tongue snaking out to lick a slow trail across Derek's cheek. The werewolf recoiled at the sensation, disgust etched across his features, but Peter paid no mind.

As Derek's nostrils filled with the scent of blood and decay, his stomach churned with dread. He knew that smell all too well—it was the unmistakable scent of death.

Before he could react, Peter let out a loud, guttural belch directly in Derek's face, the noxious odor overwhelming his senses. Derek gagged, his eyes watering as he struggled to keep from retching.

As the smell of decay lingered in the air, Peter began to remove the shackles that bound Derek's wrists and ankles, the metal clinking loudly in the silence of the basement. Derek tensed, his muscles straining against the bonds that held him in place, but it was no use—Peter's strength was far greater than his own.

With a predatory gleam in his eye, Peter leaned in close to Derek, his breath hot against the werewolf's ear. "Don't worry, Derek," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "You'll be reunited with Stiles soon enough. And all the others I've consumed."

Derek's eyes widened in horror at Peter's words, his mind reeling at the realization of just how many lives Peter had claimed. "How many, you sick fuck?" he demanded, his voice trembling with rage and fear.

Peter merely shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I lost count after twenty," he admitted casually, as if discussing the weather. "But who's counting, anyway?"

Peter's belly rumbled loudly, the sound echoing through the dimly lit basement. "Looks like it's dinner time," Peter chuckled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. With a predatory grin, he advanced toward Derek, who struggled against his bonds with renewed desperation.

As Peter loomed over him, Derek's eyes burned with fury. "You won't get away with this, Peter," he snarled, his voice laced with venom. "I'll find a way to stop you, no matter what it takes."

Peter merely chuckled in response, his amusement evident. "Oh, Derek, always so defiant," he taunted, his tone mocking. "But resistance is futile. You're mine now."

With that, Peter lunged forward, his jaws snapping shut around Derek's neck. The werewolf let out a muffled shout as he was dragged into Peter's gaping maw, his struggles growing more frantic with each passing moment.

Peter relished in the sensation of dominance as he swallowed Derek down, inch by inch. He could feel the werewolf squirming and writhing inside him, but he paid it no mind. All that mattered was establishing his superiority, both as the stronger werewolf and as the one who held Derek's fate in his hands.

As Derek's protests grew louder, Peter's grin widened. "That's it, Derek," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Just relax and accept your fate. You're going to make a delicious addition to my collection."

With a final gulp, Peter swallowed Derek down to the halfway point, his belly bulging obscenely with his captive's form. He let out a contented sigh, reveling in the feeling of power coursing through him.

With a final gulp, Peter swallowed Derek's legs and feet, the last parts of his struggling form disappearing into the depths of his churning belly. As Derek's muffled protests faded into silence, Peter let out a satisfied belch, the sound reverberating through the basement.

"Ah, that hits the spot," Peter remarked, rubbing his distended belly with contentment. "Another one down, another step closer to domination."

Leaving the basement behind, Peter ascended the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet house. He decided to stay awake for Derek's digestion, eager to witness the full extent of his power as the werewolf's struggles slowly subsided.

Grabbing a bag of popcorn from the kitchen, Peter settled onto the couch and flicked on the TV. He scrolled through the movie options, selecting a thriller that seemed fitting for the occasion.

As the opening credits rolled, Peter leaned back and munched on his popcorn, his gaze fixed on the screen but his mind elsewhere. He couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation at the thought of Derek's inevitable demise, another victory in his quest for dominance.

With a satisfied smirk, Peter settled in for the show, eager to savor every moment of Derek's agonizing digestion.

As the movie played on, Peter reclined comfortably on the couch, munching on popcorn and occasionally letting out a satisfied belch. Bits of chewed-up popcorn and saliva mixed together as they fell into his churning stomach, joining Derek in his acidic prison.

With each passing minute, the acids in Peter's stomach began to build up, creating an increasingly hostile environment for Derek. He could feel the burning sensation as the stomach acids lapped at his skin, searing his flesh with each movement.

Derek's struggles grew more frantic as the stomach filled with acidic fluid, his attempts to escape becoming more desperate by the second. But Peter merely chuckled at his predicament, taunting him as he watched the movie.

"Quiet down, I can't hear the movie over your ass," Peter remarked, his tone mocking as he shifted on the couch to get a better view of the screen. He took another handful of popcorn and tossed it into his mouth, relishing the taste as he savored Derek's futile attempts to break free.

Derek, contrary to Peter’s remark, squirmed more in protest; Partially because of the pain he was in, but mostly because he refused to lose to him as the alpha. He felt a weight rising up to his chest, and after thumping it, let out a tremendous burp that squeezed his stomach tightly with how much air it purged.

BuUuuuUuuurRrrrrrRrprppppPp!

After letting out a massive belch, Peter noticed that Derek had stopped moving altogether, his struggles coming to an abrupt halt as he became dead weight. With a satisfied grin, Peter began to massage and rub his distended belly, helping it along in the digestion process.

As he kneaded his bloated stomach, Peter could feel the remnants of his latest meal churning and squirming within him, slowly breaking down under the relentless assault of his stomach acids. With each passing moment, Derek's form grew softer and more pliable, his body gradually dissolving into the sludgy mess that would eventually become nothing more than nutrients for Peter, joining the other pack members as permanent fat.

Content with his meal, Peter settled back onto the couch, the weight of his distended belly pressing heavily against him. The warmth and comfort of his food-induced stupor washed over him, lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.

Before long, Peter succumbed to the inevitable pull of sleep, his eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off into a deep slumber. The movie continued to play on in the background, the sound of gunfire and explosions fading into the background as Peter's consciousness slipped away.

Wrapped in the warmth of his food coma, Peter slept soundly, his belly still churning and digesting its latest meal as he dreamed of the countless feasts that lay ahead.

As Peter awoke from his food-induced slumber, he felt a surge of energy coursing through his veins, a newfound strength that pulsed within him like a beacon of power. Rising from the couch, he made his way to the nearest mirror, eager to see the physical manifestations of his newfound status as alpha.

As he gazed into his reflection, Peter's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his irises glowing a fiery shade of red, a telltale sign of his ascension to alpha status. A grin spread across his face as he took in the changes that had occurred to his body overnight.

His once lean physique had been transformed into something more robust and muscular, his frame filled out with the remnants of his recent feasts. His belly, in particular, had grown rounder and more prominent, the tattoo of Stiles' & Noah’s faces stretched even further as it adorned the bulging expanse of his abdomen. Moreover, a third tattoo had appeared as he slept; The face of his nephew, Derek.

Feeling a surge of arousal at the sight of his altered appearance, Peter couldn't help but indulge in the newfound power that coursed through him. Stepping closer to the mirror, he positioned himself in front of it, his hands roaming over his bloated belly as he savored the sensation of his own touch.

With a low groan of pleasure, Peter leaned back against the wall, arching his back slightly as he allowed his hands to roam lower, tracing the curve of his distended abdomen with a mix of fascination and desire. His fingers danced lightly over the stretched skin, relishing in the softness and warmth that radiated from his newfound source of power.

As he continued to explore his own body, Peter's mind wandered to the possibilities that lay ahead as the new alpha of Beacon Hills. With Derek's power now coursing through his veins, he knew that he was destined for greatness, destined to rule over the town and its inhabitants with an iron fist.

His hands traced down to his erect member, fingers curling around the shaft as he began to stroke himself with increasing fervor. The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge of ecstasy.

As he pleasured himself, Peter couldn't help but feel the presence of the individuals he had consumed swirling within his belly. The fat that enveloped his abdomen seemed to pulse with a life of its own, and he could sense the consciousness of Derek, Noah, and Stiles stirring within him.

“Little fuckers, how does it feel to be part of my body?” He said, speaking them to directly as he continued to pleasure himself, pushing his dick up against the sentient fat on his belly. “You like that I’m getting off to you, don’t you?”

Their thoughts whispered through his mind, mingling with his own desires and fantasies as he surrendered himself to the euphoria of the moment. He could hear their voices, faint but distinct, as they cried out in protest, their fear and confusion adding to the heady mix of sensations that flooded his senses.

But instead of recoiling from their presence, Peter found himself drawn to it, his arousal spiking as he reveled in the power he now held over them. With each stroke of his hand, he felt their fear and desperation fueling his own pleasure, driving him ever closer to the brink of release.

His hands continued their relentless motion, fingers sliding up and down his throbbing member with practiced skill. With each stroke, he couldn't help but revel in the sensation of his own touch, the pleasure building with every pass. As he pleasured himself, his thoughts turned to the recent events—the meals he had consumed, the power he had gained, and the control he now wielded.

As he pleasured himself, Peter moaned softly, the sound mixing with his thoughts as he teased them about their fate. "You're all mine now," he whispered, his voice laced with dark amusement. "You'll be with me forever, trapped in this fat," he continued, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "No matter how hard I work out, I'll never lose you."

The thought sent shivers of pleasure down his spine, intensifying the sensation as he continued to stroke himself with increasing fervor. His mind was consumed with images of their struggles, their cries of pain and desperation echoing in his ears as he relished in his newfound power over them.

And then, with a guttural groan, Peter reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, his body convulsing with the force of his release. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him as he ejaculated load after load, his seed spilling forth in a torrent.

As he lay there, spent and sated, Peter couldn't help but smile to himself, his mind still buzzing with the euphoria of his conquest. “Fuck…” He moaned, his gut coated with his cum, particularly around the faces’ tattoos. “That felt fucking good.”

Peter grabbed his belly and squeezed it tight, “Can’t wait to eat more people, and have all of you feel every bit of it as you help digest them.”

[neurodivergent-fox-demon]

Episode 2:

💍flashback 4 years💍

Stiles groaned as Kali kicked him in the stomach. He rolled over and spit an alarming amount of blood on the concrete. “Is that all you’ve got?” He chuckled and wiped the blood from his lips as he climbed to his knees.

Kali smirked, watching him. “The duke is not happy with you, Stilinski.” She picked at her nails watching the teenager. She could not believe this weakling was the most feared mobster in Beacon Hills.

Stiles laughed, blood coating his teeth. “You know, I don’t give a damn what Deucalion thinks.” She stumbled to his feet and spit blood at Kali. “And you can tell him, if I see him in my territory again, I’ll kill him myself.”

Kali growled and wiped the blood from her face. “You son of a bitch.” She gripped him by the throat digging her claws into his neck. “I could kill you so easily. You are nothing but a human boy trying to play gangster.”

Stiles chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Then why haven’t you?”

She smirked, moving her face inches from his. “I’m just waiting for your execution notice. As soon as the Duke gives me the word, you’re mine.” She pressed a little harder, causing blood to seep and drip down his throat. “Still it’d be a shame to destroy this pretty face.”

“Can’t make the decision on your own, Kali? You’re always just Deucalion’s little puppet.” He smirked, shooting a blade from his sleeve. “Maybe I should send you back in ribbons,” He flipped his wrist and sliced open her chest.

Kali let him go and jumped back. “You think you are fucking funny?” She pulled her hand back to claw at his face when there was a loud roar coming down from the entrance of the alley. She backed up as another wolf stalked between the two buildings. “Derek? Calm down. Why do you care about a human boy?”

The wolf shifted into a young man with glowing blue eyes. He grabbed Kali’s wrist. “Put the claws away. We are better than this. I’ve already called the authorities and I suggest you move along.”

Kali yanked her arm away. “This is Duke’s territory, Hale. Doesn’t your pack live in San Francisco now?”

The young man strain in his control. “And if Deucalion has anything to say to me, he can call for me himself.” Derek’s eyes met Stiles’s. “Leave now.”

Stiles nodded, stumbling to his feet. “Thank…I…” he sighed, falling forward as the world went black.

💍present day💍

Stiles walked down to the gardens in his hotel. He hid behind a tree, watching Derek approach the awaiting wedding guests. Kate attempted to hook their arms together and Derek tossed her off him. “Don’t touch me.” He growled.

Kate smirked, shaking her head. “Oh get over yourself.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, gazing around the venue. “You don’t want to cause a scene at your own wedding, now.”

Derek chuckled. “Get it through your fucking head. There is not going to be a wedding.” He striaghtened his tux and went to stand in front of their guests.”Ladies and gentlemen. I regret to inform you there will be no wedding today. Please stay and enjoy yourselves at the reception.” He bowed his head and walked back down the isle toward the koi pond.

Stiles followed as a girl around his age ran after Derek. She gripped his shoulder as they stopped att he pond. “Der-bear… are you sure about this? What about Mom and dad’s estate, and Lura’s legacy. We can’t let it go to Peter.”

Derek sigh and patted her hand. “I’ll figure it out, Cora. There has to be some kind of loop hole for this.”

Kate stormed over and slapped him. “How dare you embarrass me like this. You will turn your ass around and marry me, or you’ll be penniless tomorrow.”

Derek growl, eyes glowing bright blue. “You can’t force me to marry a whore like you for all the money in the world.”

Cora gasped. “Derek.. that is out of line.”

“Cora, you don’t understand. Kate and Peter-“ He gasped as Kate pushed him and he went flying into the koi pond. He hit his head on a rock and his vision began to blur and he struggled to keep his head above the water.

“Shit.” Stiles cursed as he pulled his ruined shirt off and jumped into the pond to rescue Derek. He pulled the man onto the shore and began administering CPR. “Someone call for an ambulance.”

💍💍💍

Derek groaned, struggling to open his eyes. There was an irritating beeping sound next to his head. “Someone turn off that damned noise.” He squeezed at the hand holding his own.

Cora chuckled. “Welcome back to the living. Unfortunately that noise is here to stay for the moment.” She kissed his hand. “How do you feel?”

Derek glowered at her. “I’m fine. What happened?” He sat up and began ripping out his IV. He positively hated hospitals.

Cora reached out to still his hand. “You nearly drowned but this mechanic was wondering the gardens and jumped in after you.” She licked her lips, gesturing to the curtain around them. He’s just in the next bed over, sleeping.” She could not believe what hands happened today, but she was glad that her brother had at least survived. “I’ll go get the doctor and see about your release.”

Derek nodded. Had that mechanic really saved his life? He had been so rude to him inside his suite. The curtain opened as a nurse finished looking over the other man. He blinked, gazing over at Derek, and Derek sucked in a breath. “You saved me?”

Stiles shrugged, letting out a small laugh. “Yes, I am your savior.” He ran a hand through his hair and laid back in the bed. He wanted to get out of this damned hospital but the paramedics insisted on looking him over after seeing the knife wound in his side. “How are you feeling?”

Derek grunted, sitting a bit straighter. “I’ll be alright. Werewolves heal a bit quicker than others.” He looked the other man over. “Hey, how is your wound? You didn’t agrivate it, rescuing me?”

Stiles hissed, clutching his side and Derek nearly jumped from the bed, trying to help him. Stiles laughed. “I’m fucking with you.

Derek groaned and rolled his eyes. “That was uncalled for.” He smiled at the many shaking his head. “I owe you one.”

Stiles shrugged. “No, i only did as any decent person would do.” He smiled at Derek, dipping his head. “It would traumatize those poor koi to have a werewolf drown in their pond.”

Derek chuckled. “Yeah, of course. You did it for the Koi.”He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, and Kate stepped into the room. “What are you doing here?”

Kate smiled sweetly. “I just wanted to make sure my fiancée was doing alright. Peter postponed the wedding until tomorrow, so you can recover.”

”There is not going to be a wedding.” He growled and got out of bed as Peter walked in. “Both of you sicken me.”

Peter smirked. “Come now, Nephew. This really the best course of action. Marry Kate and I’ll take he off your hands. You can even keep your little boy toy… what was your name anyway?”

Stiles scowled at the other man. “None of your business. Just so you know, I’m calling the hotel and having them cancel your wedding and banning you two from the premises.”

Peter raised a brow at the young man. “You don’t have the authority to do that. We are one of the most powerful packs in California.”

Stiles chuckled. “We’ll see about that. You don’t have a stable alpha unless Derek takes his title.” He sat up in his bed. “You’d be surprised at the authority I wield.”

Derek growled. “Enough Peter.He is none of your concern, and I will never marry Kate.” He yanked the IV from his arm as his sister came back with the doctor. “We’re leaving.”

Peter gripped him, claws digging into his shoulders. “You seem to forget, you don’t have a choice. You have to marry by tomorrow or lose your family’s fortune.”

Derek shook him off, looking around the room. “And I would rather marry anyone but your whore.” His eyes met Stiles and he made a split decision. “In fact, I’d rather marry a man than marry Kate Argent.” He stormed over and took his hand. “Will you be my groom? Will you marry me?”

Stiles smirked and let out a long laugh. “I would be honored, Alpha Hale.”

To be continued (Episode 1)(Episode 3)

@be-my-incubus enjoy chapter 2

[takaraphoenix]

The Definite Final Death of Peter [redacted] Hale

Peter [legally changed and thus redacted] Hale was dying.

He’d already died once before, so he knew what it felt like. Yet somehow, this death was even worse and more cruel than the last time. And the last time, he’d been set on fire by one of the loves of his life. So one could imagine just how agonizing his current situation was.

“You’re not dying, baby.”

Despite the pain, Peter mustered a smile as he turned toward the beautiful source of that voice. “My, darling, are you finally craving and using petnames too?”

“No,” Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes. “I am calling you a literal baby. You’re not dying, you have a common cold, Peter. There are toddlers who can handle this kind of thing better than you. You’re a fifty year old man-“

“Forty-four. We agreed not to count the coma years,” Peter pouted.

Another sarcastic eye-roll from his cruel mate. Why did this boy live to torment him? There was a deep, dark chuckle in the background and then there was Peter’s other mate in all his handsome glory. Mh, how much Peter wanted to run his fingers through that silver beard, if only his limbs didn’t feel like they weighted a ton.

“Cut him some slack, sugar. He’s never been sick before, born werewolf and all.”

Stiles turned to give Chris a long-suffering glare. “I was cutting him all of the slack the first three days, but there is a limit to my kindness. In fact, I do not have kindness to spare, so that was already more than anyone should ask of me, including the two of you.”

Chris gave Stiles a look that was so warm and filled with love, before he pulled their boy close enough to kiss him and that was just unfair. Beyond the incurable condition of dying, Peter was also cruelly forbidden from kissing his mates. He made a soft whining noise.

“Baby,” Stiles muttered with another eye-roll.

“That’s it. I am kicking you both out of my home and calling Melissa. At least she has bedside manner.”

Stiles stared at him like Peter had lost his mind. “That woman once sedated me without my consent because I hadn’t slept enough. I love her to death, but her bedside manner is shit.”

“Besides, I’m still fairly sure she would use the opportunity to get rid of you,” Chris muttered.

“And end my suffering? Yes, please!”

“Why is he so dramatic?” Stiles asked, looking at Chris while motioning at Peter. “Why is he like this?”

“Dalia signed him up for theater class as soon as he could walk,” Chris shrugged. “Blame her.”

“Gonna have a séance just so I can bitch at my dead mother-in-law about her dramatic-ass son…”

“Mother-in-law,” Peter repeated with a soft, happy grin.

A gay three-way-marriage was not in the stars for them, but both of Peter’s mates recognized their sealed matebond for what it was; ‘werewolf marriage’. Peter had found the term insufferable the first year or so that Stiles had used it but after their mating ceremony, the first time he’d heard Stiles refer to him as ‘husband’, Peter grew more and more fond of it.

“C’mon, wolf,” Chris’ voice was gentle. “Up you go, I have tea and broth for you. You need fluids.”

There was a significant silence, while Peter struggled to sit up, and once he was upright, Stiles was gently brushing his hair back and looking at him with the most concerned frown.

“Okay, you are in real bad condition. There wasn’t a dirty joke at Chris offering you fluids,” Stiles whispered softly. “Eat your broth and then back to sleep with you.”

Peter obediently let Chris feed him the broth and he found himself eternally grateful for his mates. He would be in no condition to cook anything for himself right now, but here his mates were, taking care of him while he was dying a horrible death.

“You. Are. Not. Dying. Baby,” Stiles repeated once again, poking Peter in the chest after each word. “It’s your own fault, honestly. Why do you stupid oversized puppies have to run off into unmapped parts of the preserve? Flowers and fae are not to be messed with. You guys are lucky that the fae flowers’ pollen only act like a cold, it could be so much worse.”

Had Stiles learned how to read minds? Or was Peter suffering from the same ill side-effect as Stiles whenever he was sick? Where his thoughts didn’t stay in his head but fled out of his mouth without his consent…? Peter wrinkled his nose at that.

“Impossible,” Peter protested, slumping against Stiles. “The rest of the pack is dying too?”

Stiles snorted, but he wrapped a comforting arm around Peter to hold him close. “Lydia has Jackson covered, Allison is taking care of Isaac, Melissa is dealing with Scott, Erica and Boyd are being taken care of by their parents too, Kira is tending to Malia, while Chris and I are pulling triple duty dealing with all you Hales. I’d like the record to show that Cora is the bravest Hale who is handling this with the most grace.”

“Thank you, Stiles,” Cora croaked out from some other part of the Hale House.

“I’d like to amend the record that she is the bravest of you Hales, specifically,” Chris pointed out. “All the turned betas are doing just fine, they know what a cold is.”

Stiles snickered. “Nah, Jackson is being nearly as dramatic as Peter, according to Lydia.”

“That checks out,” Chris nodded solemnly. “Sometimes, it feels like they are related.”

“I did a DNA test, he’s not the father,” Stiles shrugged at the look Chris gave him. “What? You’re not the first one to think that. They are both arrogant, snarky pretty boys who tend to be too dramatic. And Jackson was adopted. So I had to make sure we’re not stepdads to any more pack-members beyond Malia.”

Chris snorted out a laugh and brought Stiles in close enough to kiss. It was so rude of them to rub their affection on Peter’s face like that while he was bound to the bed (and not in the fun way) and forbidden from kissing his mates so he couldn’t pass this death sentence on to them.

“Scoot over, Dramawolf,” Stiles sighed in defeat. “You may not get kisses, but you’ll get cuddles. Will that appease you?”

“Mh,” Peter immediately pulled Stiles close enough so he could bury his nose in Stiles’ neck. “I feel appeased.”

Chris chuckled and slipped in on Peter’s other side, wrapping his strong, comforting arms around Peter’s waist and pulling the wolf against his chest. Yes, Peter was feeling very appeased.

Peter [legally changed and thus redacted] Hale was dying. But at least he wasn’t dying alone and had his mates tend to him on his deathbed.

“You’re not dying, Dramawolf!” Stiles exclaimed in utter exasperation. “And we all know your middle name is Wermund!”

[witchygagirlwrites]

Blue Eyed Guy

Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz x Halstead Sister Reader (Nicknamed Dizzy)

It's your first night home in Chicago and you're a little bummed your brothers can't make your gig but a blue eyed guy turns your night around

Warnings: mentions of cheating, Sexual happenings

“Yo D, where you headed?” you turned around when Jessica came running up to you backstage with a grin on her face. The adrenaline high of playing to a crowded amphitheater still had both of you buzzing pretty high. You nodded towards your shared bus “I’m just grabbing a jacket babe so we can head up to join the crowd and watch the set” she fell in step with you, hooking her arm through yours “In that case let me escort you”

This tour was the biggest break any of you could have even gotten. What Izzy Hale and her brother Arejay was doing in a little bar in Chicago was beyond you but when they heard your band playing they approached you that night with an offer to be their opening act. That was ten months ago. You’d played to thousands since then. “So, this is the last leg of the tour” she started as the two of you got closer to the line of buses that were parked in a group near the back of the lot. You nodded “I know dear” she laughed “Let me finish Halstead! Damn”

You waved a hand “My apologies ma’am” she shook her head “As I was saying. Izzy has offered to keep us in mind for her next tour. We’ve made a lot of contacts as well. Could even think about an album once we get home to Chicago. We made some serious money” you nodded “I don’t know about jumping into another tour right now, at least not one this long but an album would be cool. I miss Jay and Will though. I kind of just want to stick close to home for a while” she nodded “I get that well you know you’re coming to work with me at the studio either way” you shook your head with a laugh “Yeah, I figured”

You and Jessica had been friends since high school. You’d met her just after Jay deployed and you were going through a pretty rough time. She’d been your life line. It was also during that time she’d discovered she had one helluva voice and you discovered your talent with a guitar. Add in Tyler on the drums and Callian who was your bassist and you had your band. 

Jay hadn’t been too thrilled about the tour, worrying about your safety but the amount of security guards posted around every stop was insane. Halestorm took every precaution with safety plus Izzy and her crew were truly just sweethearts. You’d met Leo, your current boyfriend about a month into the tour, he was a roadie for Halestorm and pretty good looking. Five ten, dark hair and green eyes. The current plan was for him to come home with you to Chicago at least for a little while.

When you got to your bus you froze when you realized the door was cracked and cut your eyes at her “We closed that fully before our set” she nodded “Should we get security or at least Callian?” you shook your head and stepped closer to the bus, trying to peek inside without letting whoever was in know that you were aware of their presence. That was when you spotted Leo sitting on the couch with a blonde kneeling between his legs. His hands were buried in her hair as her head bobbed up and down, his head was dropped back on the couch as a moan escaped him.

You stumbled back against her and one look at your face told her something was wrong. “D, Dizzy. What is it?” you nodded towards the crack in the door so she peeked through “That son of a bitch” she started to grab it but you shook your head and grabbed her arm “No, Just let’s go find Ty and Callian” she looked back at you “He not only cheated but used our damn bus” “I know and I’m not letting it go but I’m not ruining my damn night either”

She nodded and the two of you headed back towards the backside of the stage, in an attempt to find your boys.

___________________

You were standing just off the stage as Halestorm exited and they all greeted your band with smiles. “Drinks on our bus?” Izzy offered and Jessica threw an arm around your shoulders “That sounds amazing” you fell in step with them, all of you talking about what everyone was planning for when the tour was over.

You were almost to their bus when Leo caught up with your group. “Hey baby” he greeted and reached for you but you stepped back and let Callian put himself bodily between you and him. “What the hell?” Leo questioned and Tyler shook his head “Let it go man” “Like hell you two aren’t letting me get to my girlfriend” “Because we’re through so leave me alone for the next two stops” you told him and he spun around to face you “What, why?”

You cut your eyes around at Izzy, Arejay, Joe then Josh, feeling your face warm before admitting “I saw you with the blonde between your legs” Izzy’s eyes widened “What?” he tried to sputter out some excuse but she shook her head “Like hell we don’t do that around here. You’re fired. Turn in your badge and get the hell away from our tour and our opener” 

The moment Izzy spoke her bodyguards appeared and she nodded at Leo “Get him out of D’s sight” her guards dragged Leo away before Izzy threw her arm over your shoulder “Come on D. I’ll get you a drink” you shot her a grateful smile “You didn’t have to do that” Arejay shook his head “We aren’t putting up with that, besides if he’s cheating the ass wasn’t even doing his job”

Sorry Dizzy,I can’t make it. See you tomorrow- J

Sorry Dizzy, a surgery came up.I’ll see you tomorrow-W 

You sighed as you looked at the texts and Jessica leaned over your shoulder “What’s wrong gorgeous?” you showed her the texts “Will nor Jay can make it” she shrugged “It’ll still be awesome. We’re home and playing where we started coming off a ten month tour. Basically getting a hero's welcome!” 

You shook your head at her enthusiasm “Chill out a bit babe, save some of that for the stage” she grinned “Well all of us can’t just be the sexy guitarist. Some of us just have a microphone and our voice to amuse people with” and winked at you. “You’re insane” you laughed as she took it upon herself to plop down in your lap “And yet I am your best friend” “Says something about me, doesn’t it?”

Callian walked into the green room and raised an eyebrow “Not gonna ask. Are either of you hungry? Brit made wings” you grinned “Oh, yes” and he laughed “Want a drink too?” “Tea!” you and Jessica called in unison as he left the room to retrieve the food and drinks. You still had some time before the show. 

______________________

Mouse walked into the bar and cut his eyes at the stage, supposedly there was a decent band tonight. They were coming off a tour with Halestorm from what he’d heard.

He headed for the bar and ordered a beer as he waited for the show to start. Jay was on a date, so he was on his own tonight. A guy in his meeting at the V.A. had actually recommended this show. Couldn’t hurt to do something besides sit at home on a friday night right?

The moment the band started taking the stage he joined the crowd moving to stand near it and his eyes immediately landed on the guitarist. She was gorgeous, hair down around her shoulder and wearing a shirt that read “Dibs on the guitarist” under a denim jacket. Her eyes met his and a smile slipped onto his face as they started playing. They were fucking amazing, he had to admit. 

She winked at him when they finished their set and he decided then and there he had to try to get her.

____________________

You followed Jessica out onto the stage, taking your place to her left as the lights came up and Tyler counted you all off on the drums before you started playing. Your eyes skimmed the crowd before landing on one guy. He was standing near the stage and god he was fucking gorgeous, even this far away and in the low lights of the bar you could see the bright blue of his eyes. He smiled and the dimples made your heart flip.

When you finished the set and everyone started clapping you winked at him and Jessica saw you do it and laughed “Uh oh did Dizzy just spot a target?” and you bumped her shoulder “Oh hush” before all you started off the stage.

You spotted the guy and walked towards him. He smiled at you and held up his own beer “Can I buy you one?” Jessica leaned up over your shoulder “Yes you can. D. go with the man” and shoved you gently. He laughed when you walked towards him and shot a glare back at her “That’s our singer Jessica or Jess”

She waved “This is D” then hurried off. The guy looked back at you and grinned “D?” you shrugged “It’s a long story. It’s short for Dizzy” “Dizzy?” he asked and you grimaced “It’s a nickname my brother gave me that stuck. He nodded “I get that” you offered your hand “And your name?” he seemed to consider it before saying “Greg” you grinned “Greg” and told him your real name too but he shook his head “If you prefer Dizzy or D” you grinned “Either works good looking”

You followed him to the bar and he ordered two beers then turned to face you. “Dibs on the guitarist huh?” you cut your eyes down at your shirt and laughed “It was a gift from Izzy Hale actually” he nodded “So can I get dibs on this guitarist?” your eyes flew up to his and a grin slipped onto your face “Greg, I think you can have whatever you want if you keep looking at me like that”

He grinned and the offered beer was quickly forgotten when he leaned closer, gently pushing your hair out of your face before catching your lips with his. His hand cupped the side of your face as he deepened the kiss, tongue flicking across your bottom lip, asking for access which you gladly gave him.When he rolled his tongue into your mouth against yours a light whimper left you and he pulled away from you with a laugh “Do you want to get out of here Dizzy?” you nodded with a grin “Yeah but um I need to tell Jessica” he nodded “Here, hand me your phone, I’ll share your location with her so she can see where you’re at the entire time you’re at my place”

He hit a few buttons then Jessica popped up over your shoulder with a raised eyebrow “Guess I’m picking you up in the morning?” you cut your eyes at Greg who gave you an almost shy smile despite having his tongue down your throat moments before “Yeah, you are”

______________________

You followed Greg into his apartment and the moment the door closed behind the two of you he was pulling you to him. His lips found yours as he pushed you back against the door. “You’re so damn gorgeous” you laughed against his mouth “Have you looked in a mirror?”

He shook his head and pulled you closer “Fuck, come here” and walked backwards towards his bedroom. A trail of clothes marked your path from the front door to his bed. The moment you were to the bed he pushed you back onto it and you grinned up at him “Well Greg, what are you gonna do with me?” and he groaned “Fuck, look at you” and leaned down to catch your lips in a rough kiss, gripping your hips to move you a little further up the bed. You gasped at the sudden movement and he grinned, slipping his tongue past your lips and teasing yours. 

Your fingers found his hair, tugging the short locks and he groaned as he broke from your lips kissing across your jaw then down your neck. When he nipped at the sensitive skin a moan of his name left your lips. He continued down your body, kissing and biting every inch of flesh he could reach, letting the sounds falling from your lips be his guide.

He rolled your nipple into his mouth and you moaned, back arching into him. He used one of his hands to tease the opposite breast, pinching at the sensitive bud. “Fuck Greg” you moaned and he pulled off your breast with a wet pop “Fuck I love the way my name sounds on your lips” 

He continued his way down your body, when he got to your waist your breathing quickened and he cut his eyes up at you “You still with me? You want to stop just say so” you shook your head “No, I want you. So damn bad” he grinned “Ok sweetheart” and pulled your panties off your legs. 

He settled between your knees, using his shoulders to keep them open. Those blue eyes shining up at you as he licked into you made your eyes roll back in your head, fingers tugging at his hair. He kissed you there like he did at your mouth, enthusiastically and deeply. He used his tongue and his lips, sucking at your clit as he plunged his tongue deep inside of you hitting that spongy spot.

He added one finger then a second, curling them into you. Within minutes you found yourself rutting your hips against his face and fingers, that pressure building inside of you. When he grazed his teeth against your clit you felt that pressure burst as you came, soaking his face and the bed underneath you. He kept teasing at you with his fingers and tongue until you shoved at his shoulders “I can’t. Fuck Greg I can’t”

He rocked back on his heels and grinned up at you “You good D?” you nodded breathlessly “Fuck, you’re good at that” he shrugged “I try baby” you curled your finger at him “Want to get those jeans off?” a smile slipped onto his face, those damn dimples shining as he nodded to the side table “Grab a condom?” you nodded and turned to grab a condom out of the drawer as he stood up long enough to shove his jeans off his hips.

You didn’t mean to but a whimper escaped you when his hard cock slipped free of the confines of his jeans. He grinned slightly “What’s wrong darling?” you swallowed hard, eyes taking it his body in all its glory “You’re fucking gorgeous first of all, second of all please try not to hurt me because you’re pretty well blessed there”

He chuckled slightly “Don’t worry baby, I won’t hurt you” and took the offered condom before opening it and rolling it down his hard length. He crawled up your body, kissing and licking every inch of skin he could before getting to your mouth. You felt the head of his cock tease at your entrance and you shifted your hips down to try to meet him and he grinned “Eager Dizzy?” 

He pushed into you and a moan left you both, your head falling back against the pillows as he stretched you around him. He kissed the hollow of your throat, fingers teasing your sides while he gave you time to adjust. When you took a deep breath and lowered your head to meet his eyes he smiled “You ok?” and you nodded “You can move”

He gave a slow roll of his hips and your hands moved to grip his shoulders tightly. “Feel good?” he asked and you nodded “So damn good” he gave another deep roll of his hips and groaned “Fuck you feel amazing D” and you moaned just from the praise. “Fuck me Greg, I won’t break” you gasped and he cut his eyes up at you “Damn honey, you’re wanting me to keep you. Aren’t you”  before he hooked your left leg up around his hip. He gave a hard thrust of his hips, making your breasts bounce with the force, his eyes following them. When your response was to grip him tighter and moan out his name he caught your lips in a searing kiss before setting a pace that had you gasping his name and your nails digging into his flesh.

He slipped a hand between you, long fingers easily finding your clit. “I need to feel you cum around me” your head fell back as your orgasm slammed into you and you came, clenching hard around him. He buried his face in the bend of your neck before snapping his hips into your a few more hard times then buried himself deep into you, “Fuck D” he moaned as he came, fingers digging into your thighs.

He collapsed against you, both of you working to get your breathing back to normal. You laughed lightly when he kissed your neck “Jess isn’t coming until morning, right?” “Right?” he pulled out slowly, apologizing when you flinched. 

He stood up and walked to the bathroom to throw the condom away and came back with a warm rag, gently wiping between your legs then tossed it into the dirty clothes hamper. You watched him with a lazy smile “Damn that’s a good sight” he laughed “Well not every night I have a gorgeous woman in my bed” you scoffed “I doubt that” he shook his head “Doubt all you want, doesn’t make it any less true. Need water or anything?” you shook your head so he climbed into the bed next to you and slipped his arms around your waist.

When he pulled you back against his chest you laughed “Gorgeous, shared my location to my friend without me asking, made me cum multiple times, checked what I needed after sex and cuddling..are you real?” he kissed your bare shoulder as he tucked you against him “I hope I am” you turned to snuggle into his chest “Feel very real to me” he grinned “Get some sleep. Jess knows where you are” you smiled “You’re a real amazing guy Greg” and the smile he gave you made your heart flip “Thank you sweetheart. You’re a real amazing woman”

Your phone ringing woke you up, Jessica’s ringtone blaring as you stumbled out of Greg’s bed and grabbed your jeans off the floor to scoop your phone out of the hip pocket. “Hello” “Good morning. From the way you sound I am assuming last night went well but if you don’t get picked up soon you’re not gonna have time to shower and get to breakfast with Jay and Will” you cut your eyes at the alarm clock on Greg’s nightstand and groaned, fuck she was right.

“Are you on your way?” she laughed “Be there in five. Kiss lover boy goodbye and be waiting” then hung up. Greg was already sitting up by then and smirked “Jess?” you nodded “I’ve got to meet my brother for breakfast and I’d like to have a chance to shower and grab my car” he nodded “Can I get your number” a grin slipped onto your face “I’d love that” and he held his phone out so you added your contact then called your own phone and let it ring. When you handed him his phone back you pulled him into a kiss “Don’t be a stranger Greg. I plan to stick close to home so I’d like to see you again” he smiled “Yes ma’am. I’d like that too”

Your phone chimed with a text that read Your uber is here sexy. Get a move on!!! You laughed “I gotta go” and pressed another kiss to his lips “Hoping I hear from you soon” then headed for the door.

______________________

Mouse watched you leave and a smile slipped onto his face. Damn he was glad he went to that show. He got up to go grab a shower himself.

Just as he was getting out of the shower his phone rang and he saw Jay’s name. He grabbed it to answer “Hey man” “Hey Mouse, wanna grab coffee with the Halsteads?” Mouse raised an eyebrow “Halsteads? Hold on, your sister is finally back home?”

Jay laughed “Yeah, I want you to meet her officially. So come have coffee with me, her and Will” he had always been curious considering all he’d ever seen was high school aged photos of the youngest Halstead and she was only about five or so years younger than him and Jay. “Alright I’ll meet you there”

___________________

“Who are we waiting on?” you asked Jay with a laugh. You were hungry and couldn’t exactly admit why you had such an appetite. He shrugged “I want you to meet Mouse” “Mouse?” you asked,scrunching up your nose.

Will laughed “Well Dizzy Diva not everyone can have such dignified nicknames” you grinned “I know, right! Now Mouse as in your best friend Jay? The one who pulled you out of all the crazy shit you got in when you first got home, right?” he nodded and you grinned “Oh, ok cool” you’d wanted to meet the man for a while just to thank him. He’d been there when your brother needed someone and for that you would always be grateful.

You heard your phone go off with a text so you glanced down to see it was one from Greg When can I see you again? You were just about to reply when Jay said “Mouse, over here!” 

You looked up and felt your heart hit your feet. Standing in front of the booth was Greg. Your blue eyed guy was Mouse, Jay’s best friend. 

@desimarie12

[sterekmpreg]

Did Stiles have to hide during his pregnancy or his one of those dudes who can get pregnant?

p.s: what was toddler eli like?

I have such mixed feelings on that topic…. Like if you headcanon Stiles as Trans (FTM) then I guess he wouldn’t have too. But me personally, I’d say yes, Stiles had to hide his pregnancy from everyone outside of the supernatural world. His pregnancy only being possible really through being Derek’s mate and the strong magical power that has tied it’s self to Stiles through out the years of just being a human in a werewolf pack… but I have headcanons for both but mostly magical werewolf pregnancy that has to hidden.

Magical Pregnancy:

1.) Seeing as men getting pregnant isn’t ‘normal’, Stiles has to take a break in his college years in order to hide his pregnancy. They say it was a family health emergency to the school, his Dad was having a hard time with his heart again. And with the sheriffs history, it’s not a long shot for many to believe when they ask why Stiles wasn’t back off at college when he’d just started.

2.) Stiles has to steal some of Derek’s clothes are baggy in him around the fourth to sixth months as his tummy really begins to be way to obvious under his own clothings. Sweat pants and sweater or just over sized tees was Stiles usual look to the public in that time frame. And although, yes, Stiles is having a hard time handling his depression and anxiety with his medication dose changed and it’s effect be visibly seen on Stiles physically, when people start speculating that Stiles had dropped out of college and became a depressed pot head his dad and Derek basically went Feral. Shutting down anyone, mostly other moms, who give Stiles judgmental glares or rush their own kids away from Stiles when they’d pass them in the stores or streets, because really that was just un-fucking-fair and, “what, you’ve never seen someone struggle with their mental health? You’ve really been that privileged? Then maybe you should just mind you’re own fucking business, Bitch!”

3.) Derek is quick to get a home out in the sticks of Beacon Hills before Stiles pregnancy gets past the sixth month. He’d been working for his father-in-law at the police station anyways and had quite a lot of money between that and the money he’d had left from the Hale family funds that hadn’t been stolen or burned. The house is perfect, kinda reminds everyone of the Hale house before it’s destruction. It’s big, and spacious, but just in the right ways to make it homey and comfortable. At least all the way out here Derek could get Stiles outside later in the pregnancy for walks or to get some sun and fresh air without the judgmental eyes of the neighborhood.

4.) Deaton, Melissa, Peter, and Chris are given the task to set up a room with everything needed to delivery the baby in one of the spare rooms of the house. They go above and beyond with any and all possible out comes, it looks like a straight up medical heaven in there. Anything and everything all in the spacious room.

5.) thankfully, Stiles survives the birth of their son even though he gave everyone a great scare, and when people around town start to notice Noah and the rest of the pack members around town with a baby the cheating rumors zoom through the neighborhood. But thankfully, Cora steps up and says she was a surrogate for them, which quiets the town down enough.

7.) When they file the birth certificate, Noah simply adds adoption papers for Derek to have rights to make decisions for his own son and be legally just as much a parent as he was biologically. Derek and Stiles were so thankful for that, couldn’t imagine if something happened to Stiles and the courts tried to take their son from his father.

Eli as a toddler:

1.) Eli is a ‘wild child’ as Noah puts it. Always energetic and loud…. Just like his mom was as a toddler. He likes to run in the yard and the house even though his dad like to reminds him ‘inside feet! Inside feet!’ As he zooms from room to room squealing in delight with his father chasing behind him with wide, terrified eyes.

2.) Eli is a picky eater…. Really picky. He won’t eat any food that isn’t made by his mommy, claiming it just tastes different when it really doesn’t but his little toddler Brian tells him it does. Derek has a hard time getting him to eat while Stiles is away on work and it becomes common for takeout after the meals Stiles preps before he leaves for his trips runs out.

3.) Eli gets sick a lot a child, his werewolf abilities not active yet, and this makes Derek a panicked mess of a man. Stiles can handle his sick child with ease and typically ends up sick with him. He knows how to get Eli to take his medicine without crying, what foods Eli can keep down when his tummy hurts from the flu, and how to get the curly haired boy to fall asleep with no fuss. Derek, on the other hand, tries his best. Whenever Stiles isn’t home he usually ends up on Noah’s doorstep at midnight crying because he just doesn’t know what he could be doing to fuck this whole parenting thing up so bad. Noah sighs and helps his son-in-law take care of his grandchild and reassures Derek he isn’t hurting Eli, it just takes some practice, especially when werewolf’s don’t get sick so how could Derek even begin to know where to start.

3.) Eli likes to get dirty. Rolling around outside, playing in his finger paints, chewing on markers…. Stiles can’t even remember how many times he’d tried to let Eli use the markers and would get up to grab Eli a snack not even 3 feet from his child and turned back around only to find Eli have half a face of blue with a disgusted face as he spits the markers tip from his drooling mouth. No white shirts are used in the child’s wardrobe because Eli would just get them stained with dirt, grass, and mud after playing on his play set in the yard. Stiles has learned how much some simple dish soap and hot water could do after started drawling on the walls and smashing play dough into the carpet… he’s also learned that tears work great on stickers stuck on the rugs.

4.) When the pack of coyotes had broken into the house because Derek had left the door open, Stiles grabs Eli off the floor and rushes into the kitchen while gripping his and Derek’s child to his chest tightly. When Derek enters the kitchen where Eli is sobbing and clinging onto his mom Stiles stares at Derek with wide eyes and moves back when Derek reaches a hand out towards them. “Don’t touch him,” Stiles warned, his instincts where off the charts and he wasn’t mad at Derek, just needed to hold his son to calm him down. When Eli has calmed down enough he screams when he sees his father next to his mother and calls Derek a monster. This breaks their hearts and Stiles graves Derek’s hand before he can rush out of the kitchen. The spend hours reassuring Eli that his father wasn’t a monster and would never hurt them. Eli insists on sleeping their bed for weeks to make sure his mother wasn’t in danger and Derek can’t help but cry when it’s just him and Stiles because Eli’s at school. He never meant to traumatize his son by keeping him safe.

5.)Eli loves spending time with his mommy and typically helps Stiles make dinner by clinging onto his hip with his head resting on his mothers shoulder. This, of course, has made Stiles pretty skilled in the kitchen compared to before Eli was born.

6.) Derek and Eli spend a lot of time together when Stiles is gone and Derek kind of feels guilty that his glad Stiles isn’t home all the time, because then Eli would probably hate him. Eli magically dismissed that fear though when he was getting bullied for having two dads and he only wanted to talk to Derek because “Daddy is tough. Daddy is the strongest person alive! Daddy will know what to do, mommy! ‘Cause Daddy will ask Mommy first cause Mommy is the smartest person alive too!”

I have so many more head cannons for Eli as a preteen and such. But these are just a few of my headcanons for Stiles's pregnancy and toddler Eli. Hope you love them🙃

[eddieisashifter]

PJO FAME DR - ABOUT ME

NAME: Caspian Hale

AGE: 20

GENDER: Non-binary (he/they)

BEST FRIENDS: The Nine (Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Jason Grace (<3), Piper Mclean, Leo Valdez, Frank Zhang, Hazel Levesque & Nico di Angelo) Olivia Rodrigo, Conan Gray, Chappell Roan, and Billie Eilish

"I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch!"

Son of luxury designer, Makani Hale of Hale Designs, Caspian Hale has made his mark on the entertainment industry quickly and strongly. He won "Best New Artist" at the 2019 Grammys and his debut album "Afterglow" won Album of the Year.

He and his friendgroup, nicknamed "The Nine", are a constant source of gossip in the entertainment industry. Notable members include model and actress Piper Mclean, senator's son Jason Grace, and heiress of Olympia INC. Annabeth Chase, amongst others.

Caspian's music has pushed him into the forefront of people's minds, outside of association with his mother. The young star has also branched out into acting through a love of theatre, and has started trends with his signature style of fashion. With hit after hit, nothing seems to be able to bring Caspian Hale down.

Appearance Moodboard

PLAYLIST:

BUBBLEGUM BITCH — MARINA 7 RINGS — CASPIAN HALE VENUS FLY TRAP — CASPIAN HALE BREAKFAST — DOVE CAMERON LOOKING AT ME — SABRINA CARPENTER ARE YOU SATISFIED? — CASPIAN HALE OCEAN EYES — BILLIE EILISH BACKSTABBER — KESHA COPYCAT — BILLIE EILISH YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL — CASPIAN HALE MY KINK IS KARMA — CHAPPELL ROAN GET HIM BACK! — OLIVIA RODRIGO

"Bitch, I said what I said. I'd rather be famous instead."

[jade-bright]

Sterek x Star Wars

Derek Hale is a Mandalorian, the last of his clan. Came across Stiles Stilinski, son of a General and somehow got stuck with him. Currently, Derek has been injured badly because of a bounty...

Stiles: fuck, fuck, FUCK! I told you not to go after that bitch by yourself

Derek: (sits up, groans in pain and annoyance) yeah, well I took care of them didn't I?

Stiles: And got yourself shot! Ok, ok, whatever, I don't think we have time to get back to the Lycan so I need you to cooperate in getting your armor and helmet off

Derek: No (shaking his head a bit frantic)

Stiles: Mando! Please! I can't be blindfolded right now and you certainly can't treat yourself since I'm like 75% certain you have a concussion

Derek: (shakes his head more) I can't (coughs) goes, against (deep breath) my creed

Stiles: Okay! okay! (runs hands through his hair) what do I have to do for you to let me help you?!

Derek: (heavy breaths) ...

Derek: you'd have to swear, the marriage vows of a Mandalorian...

Stiles: (slight shocked expression) ...

Stiles: he's gonna die... we've already wasted so much time... Mandalorians don't do divorce... he'd be stuck with me... but...

Stiles: Okay

Derek: (shocked expression under his helmet, then quickly shakes himself out of his stupor) Ok. Repeat after me.

Stiles: (nods)

Derek: Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde

Stiles: Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dar'tome. Mhi me'dinui an. Mhi ba'juri verde. (breathes in sharply and looks down where he felt... warmth settle in his chest. looks back up at Derek) Did you-

Derek: (coughs again)

Stiles: Right, right, right

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[fandomnsfw]

Changes  Epilogue - Scott McCall x Reader

Paring: Scott x Reader

Prompt: Say You Won’t Let Go by James Arthur 

Warning: Labor and stuff... 

And a BIG thank you to my Beta who did this even though she wasn’t feel well! @lets-imagine-fanfics

Last Chapter! I hope youuuu enjoy!!

Pictures for this ending!

*****

It’s been months since you and Scott had complete the bond. Working out how it worked had been a task but you’d finally managed, with the help of Deaton to find out all the perks and downsides. You were currently sat in the school cafeteria with the pack.

The perks of being true mate are, you can speak to each other through thoughts, however, it does require concentration. Another perk is you can channel Scott’s True Alpha power if you need to, though you had only done it once and that was because Liam and Jackson had been fighting and bitching while everyone was trying to train and you’d had just about enough.  

Your eyes had changed colour after the bonding, which you found strange. Once you’d ask Deaton, he’d explained that an Alpha’s mate also known as a Luna, should have similar eyes to omega's except the blue is a lot darker. However, as a true mate, the most submissive wolf of the two gains the ability to channel the stronger wolfs power there for mixing the eye colours together.  

So the result was pinky-purple eyes. Personally, you found it weird but Scott always went on to say that you had unique eyes and that they were beautiful. Derek actually agreed, apparently, he thought to have eyes like yours meant you were special and being special was never a bad thing.  

Your bond with the pack had grown through the past few months. The younger teens of the group now came to you for help or advice despite the fact that you are actually the newest wolf of the group.  

“Liam, get your ass of your brother before I decide you're not too god damn old for time out!” You snapped as you sat down with your glass of orange juice.  

“Sorry, mom!” Liam answered back cheekily, knowing it pissed you off.  

Melissa strolled into the room with a coffee and her work clothes on. She and Scott had recently been talking about moving into the Hale house permanently mainly because bills were too much and Scott wanted his mom not the work so much.

She sat next to you and held out her cup for you. You took it with a grateful smile but as the scent of the coffee hit your nose full force you began gagging. Melissa and Scott frowned as she followed you to the bathroom. She held back your hair as you threw up everything from this morning.

“Honey, are you okay?” She asked softly, stroking your face as you sat up with tears in your eyes.  

“This is the second time this week…” You muttered fearfully the only thought crossing your mind is that you caught some sort of fucked up werewolf disease.

“Y/N! BABY! YOU OKAY? I CAN FEEL YOUR PAIN AND SADNESS!” Scott screamed as he skidded down the hall before backtracking to see you sat there next to the toilet.

“Again?” He asked with concern lacing his voice.  

You shot him a nod as Melissa muttered to wait here before running downstairs. Scott bent down to hold you tightly against his chest as he muttered words of comfort. Melissa ran downstairs to see Chris and Derek were the only ones in sight.  

“You two!” She yelled as she pointed at them both. They looked up in shock before nodding and the same time.

“Go to the store and get loads of pregnancy tests!” She demanded with wide eyes.  

“Melissa don’t tell me yo-”

“Christopher Argent I went through menopause two years ago. Your sperm ain’t that magical.” Melissa sassed, cocking her hip to one side.

“So who?” Derek asked with amusement in his tone.  

“Chris doesn’t have super sperm but turns out my son might! GOOOOO I WANNA KNOW IF I’M GONNA BE A GRANDMA!” She yelled impatiently. Chris and Derek’s eyes widened as they took in what you said before they started scrambling about like getting that test was now their only goal in life.  

“Why is Der spazzing out like he switched places with me?” Stiles asked as he came into the room with Peter.  

“I think Y/N's pregnant.” Melissa puttered before telling them to keep it quiet.  

“OH MY GOD! YES!” Stiles screamed before glancing at Peter. He held out his fist and unexpectedly, Peter gave him a fist bump.

Five minutes later Chris and Derek ran in sweating and panting with two carrier bags. Melissa grabbed a plastic cup from the kitchen before making her way upstairs. She hid the tests in her room before taking the cup the bathroom.

“Sweetie, can you pee in this cup, please? I know it’s gross but I need to run a few tests and this is the easiest way.” You gave her a nod before she and Scott left leaving you to do what she asked. After you’d done she took the sample and walked to her room leaving you and Scott to worry.

Melissa dipped about 20 pregnancy tests in the sample before putting the lids on the end and waiting. She turned her back not wanting to watch but all the same wanting to watch every second. After she looked at her watch for what seemed to be the millionth time she finally deemed it time. She spun around and stared down processing what she was seeing.

There laid 20 pregnancy test and every single one was positive. Melissa tried to contain her excitement as she ran to yours and Scott’s bedroom you now shared. She was panting and had a giant smile on her face as she reached the door.  

“There is nothing wrong. You’re perfectly healthy just like a werewolf should be.” She said as she took a breath to calm down.  

“So why do I keep throwing up?” You asked with a frown.

“It’s nothing bad just you might wanna start eating a little more and coming to see me for check-ups.” Melissa gave you a small smile but her response made you worry even more. If nothing was wrong why would you need to go for check-ups? That’s when it clicked.  

Nothing wrong = This is good news

Eat more = Eating for two

Check-ups = Ultrasounds

“OH. MY. GOD. SCOTT MCCALL, YOU ARE DEAD!” You screamed as you launched at him with glowing pink eyes.  

“WHAT WHY!?” He screamed as he ran out the bedroom with you running after him.

“YOU AND YOUR DICK ARE DEAD!” You screamed as he ran downstairs in the living area where Peter, Derek, Stiles and Chris were sat.  

“WHAT THE HELL DID MY DICK DO!?” He squealed as you tried to hop over the couch to get to him but missed him by a hair.

“Y/N! Be careful!” Melissa scolded causing you to stop and realise, this wasn’t just your body anymore it was a shield that was protecting another life so you had to treat it differently.  

“Why am I being chased?!” Scott panted as he looked at his mom and mate.  

“I’m pregnant, dumbass.” You muttered a blush working its way to your face. Unlike how you imagined this moment to go later in life it was different. You didn’t have time to think about the usual stuff. Would Scott leave you? Would he make you abort? Does he even want kids? because as soon as you said it Scott picked you up with a giant smile.  

“Really?!” He asked as he stared into your wide eyes.

“Y-Yes at least that’s what I figured Melissa meant.” You glanced at her with wide eyes before she gave you a nod.

“Oh my god! I’m gonna be a Dad!” Scott chuckled his face lighting up like you’d never seen.  

“I thought it was the Moms who glowed during pregnancy, not the Dads?” You snorted before glancing at Melissa.

“No actually the Dads are glowing and the Moms always look like zombies. The back pain, the boob pain, the feet swelling, the throwing up, the eating of weird shit. You name it.” Melissa shot you a sinister grin and suddenly you felt the urge to kill your baby daddy.  

After 20 seconds you had Scott on the floor standing on his chest with one foot. When the front door opened you glanced over to see the Sheriff and shot him a sarcastic smile to let him know you were pissed.  

“Why is Scott being punished?” The Sheriff snorted as he stood and glanced down at Scott who sent him a wave.  

“I dunno should I tell him Scott? He is basically my Dad after all!” You growled as you applied for pressure to Scott’s chest earning a wince from him.

“Tell me what?” The Sheriff muttered with a glare quickly making it way to his face as he glanced at Scott.

“Papa if you’d be so kind as to hand me your gun first before I tell you that would be great.” You asked sweetly but he immediately passed his gun to you.  

“I’m pregnant.” Was all you said, before stepping away from Scott, with a smile on your face.

“I’m gonna be a grandad?” You gaped at the man who you classed as your father confused to why he wasn’t killing Scott.

“OH MY GOD! AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO IS HAVING A HARD TIME ACCEPTING THIS?!” You screamed before storming up the stairs, placing your ‘Dads’ gun on the table near the front door before you went.

You stormed into Lydia’s room without knocking which resulted in a naked Aiden falling off the bed and a naked Lydia sighing. They both looked at you and kept their mouths closed before they began getting dress.  

“Honey, what happened?!” Lydia asked as she sat on the bed waving at you to come over. You glanced up at her from the door, tears streaming as you finally spoke up.

“I’m pregnant.” Aiden gasped whereas Lydia opened her arms and you ran into them.  

She held you as you cried never saying congrats or this is good news. She just held you and right now that is what you needed. Aiden moved to close the door before sitting back down and stroking your back.  

“I know its scary baby girl but listen to me when I say this.” She pulled you away and cupped your cheeks.  

“You will be a great mother.” That was the only thing you needed before you broke down completely.  

“You are not like your mother. You are kind and you’re fearless and above all else, you always protect your family. I know you’re scared and I know you want to run baby but right now I need you to think about your child. I know you’re 18 and haven’t even finished high school yet but I also know if anyone can do this…it’s you.” She whispered into your hair as you clung to the other girl. Suddenly Aiden shocked you into sitting up by speaking.

“This child will never go unloved or want for anything. We’re your family and we’re here to help you. No matter what Y/N.” You and Aiden always took the piss out of each other and teased one another but you had a bond that not many others could ever understand. He stared into your eyes, letting you know he was sincere and you gave him a small smile that screamed thank you.  

“I think you should go and talk to Scott.” Lydia stated as she looked at you with a smile. You gave her a nod before drying your eyes and making your way downstairs to find Scott.  

You found him sat in the living room with the other as his teeth worried as his bottom. He looked up before rushing over to you and hugging you so tightly. In that moment you knew you could do this because your family would never leave you and would always believe in you.  

….

“Lydia, I really don’t think we need a designer pram…” You muttered as you strolled through the shops with Derek, Lydia, Peter and Stiles.  

“Maybe, but it’s the first pack baby and if we need to we can put it in the attic for when another pack member has a baby.” Lydia argued as she glanced at Derek.  

“I hate to say it but I actually agree with Lydia.” Derek grunted as he glanced around the prams. You looked around and spotted a pure white pram that stood out to you. You strolled over to it but as you tried to check the price tag Peter grab your wrist and nodded to the Derek. Derek turned to the sales-person with a smile and handing over his card.  

“Peter! I wanna check the price first!” You snapped angrily but he just shook his head and began dragging you out the shop. The next shop was for clothes which you dread because you had yet to tell anyone but Scott, Melissa and your Dad the sex of the baby.  

“Right you’re gonna have to tell us the sex or this is gonna be difficult.” Lydia sighed as she glanced and the expensive multi-designer brand baby shop.

“Girl.” You muttered quietly but you knew she’d heard you when her and Stiles let out a scream before running off.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell her. Now she’s gonna buy so many clothes that are desi-” You looked to your side to see Derek and Peter had disappeared and were now cooing at baby Gucci dresses.

“Seriously!” You huffed before walking over to Derek.

“Do you not think it’s weird for a teen mom to have baby Gucci and baby Chloé?” You muttered as you approached Peter and Derek who was picking up a baby Chloé pink winter coat.  

“Nope, not when she has Hales as uncles.” Peter sassed earning a glare from you.

“I like this Gucci pinafore dress with this white shirt.” Stiles grinned as he approached you with a tartan pinafore dress and a white long sleeved shirt that had a lacy collar.  

“That is so cute!” You squealed as Lydia approached you with wide eyes.

“Christian Louboutin started doing baby shoes!” Lydia gasped as she pointed towards the large shoe section. She knew if there was one brand you couldn’t deny it was Louboutin’s.  

After shopping for a while long your feet started hurting so you decided to get the rest of the stuff online. Derek, Peter and Stiles carried in all the bags containing designer clothes and shoes with proud smiles on their faces.  

Peter had seen a princess hanging canopy that could go above the cot and insisted his little niece needed it even though you tried to deny it Peter bought it anyway. You sat down on the couch where Melissa and Chris were sat, letting out a loud sigh.  

“Oh my god!” Erica screamed as she held up the Gucci floral dungarees and white curved collared shirt.  

“It’s a girl!” She screamed as she fumbled through all the clothes with Melissa and Allison.  

“Welcome back. How are my Queen and Princess doing today?” Scott cooed as he walked into the living area. You chuckled as you stroke your large stomach.  

“Uncle Peter and Uncle Derek spent lots of money on you today didn’t they Princess.” You giggled softly, earning a kick from your little girl.  

“I can see…” Scott sighed as he stared at all the designer bags.

“Hey, stop it.” You scolded as he frowned.  

“I just wish I could buy her all this stuff…” Scott muttered as he looked through the bags.  

“Baby, she doesn’t need Gucci clothes or Louboutin’s from you…She needs your love.” You chuckled softly as you leant down to leave a soft loving kiss on his lips. You pulled back with wide eyes and glanced at Derek.

“How much was this sofa?” You asked Derek with a worried frown.  

“A lot.” He grumbled with a confused frown.

“You could totally afford another one, right?” You chuckled with a blush on your face.

“I mean yeah if I ne-Why?” His eyes narrowed as he scanned over you until he saw the wet patch on the sofa.  

“Did your…” Derek’s eyes widened as he glanced at you in panic.  

“What’s that smell?” Scott asked with a frown as the other wolves sniffed at the air.

“DID YOUR WATER JUST BREAK!?” Derek screamed clearly freaking out.

“MELISSA!!!!” Chris screamed as he started running around and grabbing the birthing bag you’d pack less than a week ago.  

“What!?” Melissa yelled as she ran down the stairs.

“MY WATER JUST BROKE!?” You screamed, watching as her eyes widened.

Everyone was running around calling Deaton, making sure they didn’t forget anything as Scott sat there in shock, holding your hand. You threw your head back and let out a pained filled growl as you felt Scott’s hand breaking under your hold.

Not 10 minutes later, Deaton bust through the door, medical bag in hand and eyebrows raised in urgency. He instructed Scott to carry you to the bed, as he followed quickly. You wished you could go to a hospital but as Deaton had said a few months ago. You are likely to shift if you're in pain, so you couldn’t go to a hospital.

Suddenly Liam ran into the room with his dad following him. You stared at him like he’d gone crazy before Liam’s stepdad stared at you.  

“I’m gonna have questions after this but right now we need to get this baby out safely!” Liam’s dad screamed before turning to Melissa.

“I need hot water and towels.” He ordered quickly before rolling up his sleeves.  

“Scott, I need you to take a deep breath and focus. Deaton do you have the stuff I’d need to do this?” Liam’s dad asked as he nodded to Deaton medical bag.  

“I have gloves and few bits and pieces in case we need to cut. She has supernatural healing and the wolves can take her pain that’s all you’ll need. Epidural won’t work on her.” Deaton stated as he checked your vitals.  

“Got it. Scott and Liam that’s your job.” He instructed earning a serious nod from both boys.  

Melissa ran in with towel while Derek followed in with a large bowl of hot water. Liam’s dad lifted up a pair of scissors and began cutting off your jeans knowing that right now it was urgent. Melissa threw a blanket over your bottom half to cover your dignity before bending your legs up and giving you a smile.

“Scott McCall, this is all your fault!” You screamed as you felt another contraction happening.  

“She’s 9cms already!” Liam’s dad yelled as he glanced at Deaton with wide eyes.

“Her water only broke 25 minutes ago!” Melissa screamed as she dabbed the sweat off your forehead.  

“Well apparently, this baby doesn’t care!” Liam’s dad yelled back as he looked at Scott and Liam with a nod.  

“Derek I need you to take over a minute.” Scott groaned as he collapsed to the floor in pain.  

“What’s wrong with your son, Melissa?” Liam’s dad sighed as he looked at Scott.

“Unlike most men, Doc, he’s actually feeling her pain. It’s a werewolf thing.” Melissa snorted as she let Chris take her son out the way.  

“Derek Hale, this m-might be a bad time to ask and I-I’m not religious b-but I’d be happy if you’d be the godfather.” You stuttered softly as he and Liam took your pain.  

“I’d be honoured Y/N but first let’s get you through this okay?” He muttered gently as he stroked your hair.

“Okay, I need you to push! SCOTT, GET IN HERE!” Liam’s dad yelled with urgency.  

The pain was unreal, causing you to scream but Scott held in his scream of pain and chose to peck your temple. His hand running through your hair softly.

“Come on baby, you can do it.” He whispered, his breathing as heavy as yours.  

“You know you can cut off the pain channelling. You don’t need to feel this too…” You whispered as you got a second to breathe.  

“We’re in this together baby if you have to suffer to birth our baby girl, then so will I.” Scott stated with a dopey lopsided grin.  

“I love you.” You stated before Liam’s dad told you to push again. Suddenly everything else disappeared as you heard a scream. You look up to see the Doctor holding your baby with a smile.  

“Congratulations it’s a baby girl.” He stated before he turned to Melissa and asked her to cut the cord. Everyone crowded around the room and the bed, sniffling and cheering as they all welcomed the newest pack member.  

At that moment you knew there was nothing you’d change your life for.

Part 7 <-

[fairytales-and-folklore]

In Vodka Veritas

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: In Vodka Veritas

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: It's 3AM and Stiles and Derek are drunk off their asses, arguing over who's winning at Mario Kart. What a hell of a time to blurt out I love you to your long-standing crush for the very first time. Too bad neither of them actually remember saying anything…until they wake the next morning, cuddled up in each other's arms.

"I really do, though," he mumbles softly, burying his nose in the curve of Stiles's shoulder and catching hints of cinnamon and clove underneath the thick layer of saltwater and sunscreen, his very own secret source of autumn in the middle of the summer. "Love you," he clarifies, his voice soft enough that even a werewolf would have trouble hearing him. He's met with silence, and for a moment, Derek worries he's said too much, gone too far. "Stiles?" he prompts, shifting just enough to be able to glance up at him, only to find that Stiles has fallen asleep, head lolling against the back of the couch. Derek chuckles and shakes his head, carefully repositioning them so that Stiles is resting comfortably with his head draped across Derek's chest, and settles into the couch cushions with an arm wrapped protectively around him.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

It's 3AM and the once-pristine hardwood floors and marble countertops of Lydia's beach house are covered in polaroids, pink and gold glitter, and a smattering of empty vodka bottles that had, only a few hours before, poured the midnight toast celebrating Erica's 21st with glasses full of her favorite mixed drink, Sex on the Beach.

"Incidentally, it's also my favorite activity," she'd teased around a red-lipped grin, throwing a flirtatious wink at Boyd, who'd ducked his head and smiled back sheepishly, earning them a round of cat-calls and wolf-whistles from the rest of the pack. Not long after, they'd snuck out the back to "take a walk along the beach" giving the other couples an excuse to slip back up to their respective rooms for some alone time. 

Pretty much everyone in their pack had been paired up for years now: Erica and Boyd, Lydia and Parrish, Scott and Allison, Isaac and Jackson, Kira and Malia. Everyone, that is, except for Stiles and Derek — still awake at three o'clock in the morning, drunk off their asses on vodka and schnapps, sat side by side on the living room couch deep in the throes of an all-out war over which one of them is better at Mario Kart.

Answer: it's not Stiles.

"You sneaky son of a bitch, how many fucking blue shells do you even have?" Stiles shouts as yet another barbed blue homing missile comes whizzing along the racetrack and sends Shy Guy spinning out of first place. Toadette Wins! flashes across the screen for the eleventh time in a row, celebratory music drowned out by the sound of Derek's smug laughter. 

Positive he'll get lucky this time, Stiles starts up the next race, almost immediately slips on a banana peel, and in a petty fit of rage completely by accident, shuts off the gaming console mid-race, which only serves to make Derek laugh even harder.

"Listen, the only reason I suck so badly is because I'm drunk," Stiles insists, swiping Derek's controller out of his hands and settling it back onto the charger. "Under normal circumstances, I could totally kick your ass."

"Sure you could," Derek teases with a playful roll of his eyes. "Tell you what — I'll have another drink to even the score."

"Fucking werewolf stamina," Stiles scoffs and shakes his head, immediately regretting it when the room spins violently.

Derek shrugs. "I could go for another round of Sex on the Beach," he says, though admittedly, he's already quite drunk as it is, wolfsbane-infused vodka swimming giddy laps in his veins.

"The drink or the activity?" Stiles quips, and something about the way Stiles looks at him in that moment, eyebrows arched suggestively, big goofy grin plastered across his sun-kissed face, makes Derek let out a snort of laughter, and without thinking, he blurts out, "Oh my god, I fucking love you so much."

The rational part of his brain responsible for years worth of emotional constipation stirs feebly, but ultimately ends up face-planting back onto the couch cushions, and before he can overthink his big, accidental, liquor-inspired love confession, Stiles beams at him with a beatific smile so big it turns his eyes into half-moons, and without missing a beat, enthusiastically proclaims, "I fucking love you so much!"

And Derek— tries his damnedest not to read too much into it. Stiles says that to everyone in the pack, especially when he's drunk. It shouldn't — and it doesn't — affect him. He'll blame the rush of heat that tinges the tips of his ears on the sunburn that healed hours ago, caught in the midst of an afternoon spent chasing Stiles around the beach, kicking saltwater at each other's ankles and laughing when a swarm of seagulls tried to steal their fish and chips, the skip in his racing heart on the giggling fit the two of them collapse into just now, tousled chestnut hair tickling the underside of his chin as Stiles tucks himself into Derek's side.

It's almost too easy, the way the two of them fit so perfectly in each other's space, laughter subsiding to contented sighs as the gentle ebb and flow of ocean waves lapping against the shore pulls any remaining tension from their muscles. Moonlight spills in silver tendrils through the open bay window, carrying with it a balmy summer breeze scented with saltwater and orange blossoms from a nearby grove, cool night air carding its fingers through their hair, sending pleasurable little shivers down the length of their spines.

Lulled by the maritime lullaby, Derek heaves a happy sigh and leans his head against Stiles's shoulder, heart leaping into his throat when Stiles nuzzles his chin against the top of Derek's head.

"Soft," Stiles coos sleepily, stifling a stuttered yawn. "So soft. So fluffy. The best hair. The best everything."

Derek hums fondly, basking in the gentle scrape of Stiles's stubble combing through his hair, warm breath perfumed with peach and cranberry ghosting across the bridge of his nose.

"I really do, though," he mumbles softly, burying his nose in the curve of Stiles's shoulder and catching hints of cinnamon and clove underneath the thick layer of saltwater and sunscreen, his very own secret source of autumn in the middle of the summer.

"Love you," he clarifies, his voice soft enough that even a werewolf would have trouble hearing him.

He's met with silence, and for a moment, Derek worries he's said too much, gone too far.

"Stiles?" he prompts, shifting just enough to be able to glance up at him, only to find that Stiles has fallen asleep, head lolling against the back of the couch in a position that kinks Derek's neck just looking at him.

Derek chuckles and shakes his head, carefully repositioning them so that Stiles is resting comfortably with his head draped across Derek's chest, and settles into the couch cushions with an arm wrapped protectively around him.

• • •

Derek wakes the next morning with a newfound hatred of all things sensory that burns just as bright as the blinding sunlight streaming in through the open bay window. Well…almost all things sensory. The feeling of Stiles sprawled on top of him, heavy thigh strung over his hips, pouted lips pressed against the curve of his neck, isn't exactly the worst thing to wake up to. The sight of every single one of their packmates gawking at them from the kitchen doorway like they're a zoo exhibit, on the other hand…not so much. 

Derek bolts upright, immediately regretting the way his head pounds at the sudden rush of blood, disentangles himself from a very grumpy, still very much asleep Stiles, who protests the sudden cuddle buddy deficit with an audible hmmf and a liberal amount of tongue as he mouths against Derek's neck, and follows them into the kitchen. Before he can even cross the threshold, he's ambushed by Erica and Lydia, sharp manicured nails fisting into the front of his t-shirt and hauling him bodily into a chair at the kitchen table.

He's gearing up to growl at them about boundaries and the radical concept of showing a modicum of respect for your alpha, when they set a steaming mug of coffee and the greasiest plate of crispy bacon and syrup-drowned waffles he's ever seen down in front of him — a classic hangover cure that would probably smell amazing if his stomach wasn't tangled up in knots. 

He looks up to find his captors in question leaning back against the kitchen island, arms crossed and eyebrows arched expectantly, celebratory smirks fading to looks of genuine concern as they take in his miserable expression.

"Something's not adding up here," Erica observes. "You don't look like someone who just woke up in the arms of the guy he's been crazy about for the past five years. I should know." She shoots an appreciative smile at Boyd, who bites his lower lip to hold back a grin.

"Exactly," Lydia agrees, the corners of her lips quirking up ever so slightly as her gaze flickers to Parrish, busy at the stove plating a stack of waffles for Isaac. "I want details, Derek. Now."

Derek shifts his focus between the two of them, willing all manner of evasive maneuvers, scathing retorts, and sarcastic quips to the tip of his tongue, wondering if he could even get away with it in the company of a werewolf who could hear the telltale lie in a single skip of his heartbeat and a banshee with a knack for deciphering split-second micro-expressions, and lets out a sigh that hedges on a whimper, burying his face in the palms of his hands.

"Oof, that bad, huh?" Malia asks with an attempt at sympathy, setting her own plate of waffles down at the seat across from him and devouring them with gusto.

"Okay, now even I'm curious," Jackson interjects, chugging some kind of kale-yogurt-chia seed nightmare smoothie. "What the hell happened between you and Stilinski last night?"

Derek's hands shift to the sides of his face, shielding him from the prying eyes of his packmates, eyes wide in theatrical horror as the memory of last night plays on an endless mocking loop in his mind.

"I…think I told Stiles I love him last night," he admits, wincing as the kitchen explodes in a flurry of cheers and chants of oh my god, fucking finally.

"This is the best birthday present ever," Erica exclaims, snagging a piece of Derek's bacon and flashing him a shit-eating grin when he pouts at her.

"I was wondering when you were gonna make a move," Scott says around a lopsided grin, clapping him on the back like a stamp of approval.

"You two have been head over heels stupid for each other for years," Isaac adds in muffled agreement, cheeks stuffed so full with waffles he looks like a cartoon chipmunk.

Derek lets out a strangled whine and bangs his head against the table, which only serves to aggravate his hangover.

"You guys don't understand," he groans, words muted by the hard press of his face against the polished oak. "This is bad. This is very, very bad. This is totally going to ruin the friendship we worked so hard to build."

"So? Friendship is the perfect foundation for a romantic relationship," Lydia insists. "Look at me and Jordan. Look at Kira and Malia, Isaac and Jackson. All of those relationships started out as friends, and look where they are now: years later and still going strong."

He glances away from her long enough to catch the saccharine sight of Isaac and Jackson making eyes at each other, and Kira leaning down to kiss the top of Malia's forehead as she works her way through a third helping of waffles.

"I don't see the problem here," Lydia continues before Derek can have a chance to argue. "You like him, he likes you, and now that it's out in the open, the two of you can stop pining after each other like the world's worst will-they/won't-they rom-com arc and finally just be together."

Derek rolls his eyes and levels her with a scowl sharp enough to rival her favorite pair of stilettos.

"There's just one glaring flaw in your logic," he grumbles, but there's very little bite to the words, all the venom leeching out of his tone in favor of something softer and more wistful as he thunks his forehead back down against the kitchen table. "Stiles doesn't feel the same way. Never has, never will."

"You sure about that?" Stiles's voice chimes from the doorway, and Derek's head snaps up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, the tips of his ears burning scarlet. He's leaning against the doorframe looking adorably disheveled, hair sticking up in gravity-defying cowlicks, lower lip caught between his teeth as he struggles to hold back a rapturous grin, and Derek has half a mind to wonder whether Jackson swiped a claw across the back of his neck, because all he can do is just sit there and stare at Stiles like he's been whacked across the back of the head with a lacrosse stick.

Several tension-filled seconds pass before the pack takes matters into their own hands, Erica and Jackson all but throwing Derek out of his chair, Boyd and Isaac nudging him forward until there's only a few inches left between him and Stiles.

"Really?" Derek asks him, a little breathless, a look of cautious hope in his eyes.

"Yeah, really," Stiles chuckles, goofy grin in full bloom across his face now.

"I've never been so happy to be wrong," Derek laughs, closing the distance between them and kissing Stiles, far too wrapped up in the man he's been in love with for literal years to care about the eruption of cheers, cat-calls, and wolf-whistles from their meddling packmates.

[hales-ask-blog]

[he snarled out in fury, the start of the day had been a nightmare. First the higher ups wanted him to do more work and that bloody parasite HAD NOT STOPPED ITCHING. It was horrible, mostly the parasite. He was never going to work done unless this itching stopped.]

"SON OF A BITCH."

[He roared, startling Hales who was in the room with him. He scratched his face under the mask. It would not stop itching, god his temper was growing.]

@dr-silver-is-a-monster

[Hales would startle a bit before quickly rushing over, lifting Silver's mask a bit.]

◇Hey, hey, it's okay, I got it, I got you. Don't scratch your skin off please.◇

[Hales would reach a careful hand under the mask, scritching the side with the parasite.]

◇Is it... there? Maybe a little left?◇

[queensqueercourt]

"We found this reel near the mercenary's break room. mind going through it before going through the archives?"

Intern propoganda post for @tf2shipswag's oc tournament! Intern voiced by me, interviewer voiced by @beepiesheepie, and Alwyne voiced by @gordonfreemanreal.

Transcript under the cut!

IV=INTERVIEWER IN=INTERN AW= ALWYNE

The interviewer Rustles the mic and tape recorder a bit, setting it up

IV: test test one one, ok all set up! would you mind testing your mic kid?

IN: oh uh, hello? Hi?

IV: … right, all clear on my end! This thing is a real son of a bitch to set up- oh- I'm sorry, you're just a kid I apologize-

IN: oh no no it's alright! I'm 16, you won't tarnish my mind with some swear words.

IV: Well if it's alright with you… Let's start the recording then! Let's give a bit of a pause before we start since I'm gonna cut this part out.

In: ok, just, y'know give me the word…

A moment of silence

Iv: Timestamp: August 5th, 1971, today I will be interviewing Mann Co intern, [harsh bleep] Fleming. I'm here to ask some questions about your current employment.

In: Fire away.

IV: Excellent. Now, first of all, tell me about your day to day workload, what you do every single day to keep this place running.

IN: Well… it's definitely not easy. I do a lot of organizing.

IV: Of what kind?

IN: Oh, you know, files.

IV: … Mx Fleming, could you go into further detail about this organizing that you do?

IN: Sure! I keep files in place, and, I make sure they're how Pauling likes them. I organize by date, importance, ownership, type, secrecy, and-

IV: Ownership?

IN: Yeah! Ownership! Like, uh. Who owned them before they came to me, what station they were in before, like-

IV: Station?

IN: Yeah! Like police station. The guys- mercs- do crimes a lot, and I do whatever Pauling can't, like sneaking into police stations to steal reports, or hide bodies before said police show up! Pauling is really thankful for it, when I'm in the station she's hours away at a different one, forging documents! She told me she'd teach me how to do it, but both of us have been busy.

IV: With, what?

IN: Work! What else do you think? I get the mercs coffee, even though Engie was supposed to fix the coffee maker months ago, and I run around with Bidwell to make sure every endangered animal made it to mercenary park, and I count every single kill on every strange weapon to make sure its at the right rank! Do you know how many people the mercs have to kill to get a weapon to the 'Hale's Own' rank? Eight, freaking, thousand. You know the Australium weapons too? The ones the mercs get after slaughtering down the robots trying to take over Mann Co? I'm the one that puts everything in those crates, every robot part, every fabricator and kit. I'm pretty sure those fabricators are in there to give the mercs enrichment, like they're zoo animals. That's kind of how Mr. Hale treats them anyway.

IV: I see… could you elaborate on what you do with Mr. Bidwell and Ms. Pauling?

IN: Sure. With Pauling I just do what she doesn't have time for. The Administrator puts a LOT on her plate, like a lot. Usually I do embezzling, body disposal, hiding the base from any goon that drives in the badlands, serving out contracts, getting takeout- I'm like a… mini Pauling! With Bidwell I write transcripts, approve or deny anything the mercs request, or kill company rivals-

IV: Kill company rivals?

IN: Yeah! There's a weird amount of munitions dealers and bootlegs of Mann Co out there!

IV lets out a small laugh: id imagine!

IN also lets out a small laugh as the room goes quiet as the IV is writing things down on the piece of paper for a few seconds

IN:so,,,what company do you work for?

IV: hm?

IN: the company. That you're representing. I've put together you don't know much about how Mann co works and its operation, and you're not very keen on the mercenaries as well. You've only interviewed me about this. Am i correct?

IV:,, and i thought i was the one interviewing you!-

IN: answer the question.

IV:,,,I dont see why this would be important to your interview mx. fleming, why don't we get back to the questionnaire? Film is quite expensive and id hate-

IN: Speaking of which! It's so crazy how you know my full name!I havent heard it in ages it's almost alien to hear it coming out of a stranger's mouth, who doesn't work at Mann co or is affiliated with the mercenaries.

IV:Kid, its just a name, can we please go on with the interview!-

IN:no! We cant! Because you know the name of a person who’s never even heard their name sputtered out or even known by their own boss. So you explain where you got that file. And why all your questions have been so private business oriented anyways.

The IV pauses for a second, realizing they are in danger before stammering: I- Kid, listen, this isnt about you its not “personal” its about your coworkers too! I mean what kind of interviewer wouldnt see it from all sides, itd be quite inefficient if you ask me-

IN: wow.

Iv: ,hm?

IN: You told the truth. I thought youd never stop spouting bullshit out of your mouth.

IV: you shut your god damn mouth, this is my interveiw you-

IN: Actually i think you DID taint my mind a bit after cussing at the start of this interrogation, and not only that but youre putting the pieces of the puzzle right in front of yourself and solving them without even knowing it! This IS about efficiency! Im the easiest of all the workers close to the admin and saxton to talk to. Bidwell and miss pauling are off doing some crap out and about im just the guy to tell you what those two are up to!! You and your thinly veiled espionage as some kind of “quick questionnaire for the new interns”, its take a world-class idiot to not recognize the pattern you've laid out.

The IV sits for a minute, questioning what to say next

IV:,,, you think youre so fuckin clever kid-

IN: oh i know i am. If i wasnt you wouldnt have put a gun under the table. I think this is a win for me. But thats just my opinion. So please IN taps the mic: tell me yours.

A few moments of silence pass before a screech of a metal chair is heard and IV tries to pull out the gun from under the desk but is stopped by IN, shooting them 3 times.

As the silence fades soft and faint gurgling and pained sounds are heard before IV dies with an exhale IN moves and shuffles through the files, moving papers and notes IN muttering and murmuring before saying: damn they did their homework,, i didn't think that Charles Darling needed to know about my H&M clothing receipts..??

After those moments AW enters the room looking around before saying: Christ Intern, got that fed up with their questions already? …I’m a little impressed, honestly. Thought you’d kill ‘em sooner. AW mutters to himself: Damn, I owe Brodie 20 bucks now..

IN Barks out a laugh: HA! Sucker! Ah shitshitshit theyre bleeding all over the carpet!! Al, help me carry em out before it stains beyond repair.

AW: Hold on. That thing’s still on.

IN moves around, before playing with the setup: now THIS will be interesting to show the team. I think Rep knowns how to put this stuff on a vhs! Plus a fancy new recording setup!

AW: Wait- how long has that been on?

IN: i think for the entire conversation, why?

AW: I’d get rid of it, probably blackmail material if you ask me, reeaaal easy to use in court if we ever get caught.

IN: shit, right…. Hey Al, what does this red button d-

End of transcript