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takaraphoenix · 5 months ago

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Sugar for the Secretary

Part 1: The New Secretary

Tags: m/m/m, polyamory, AU/heavy canon divergence, post-Nogitsune, Bad Alpha/Friend Scott, Stiles leaves Beacon Hills, Spark Stiles, Pack Mom Stiles, Alpha Peter, magic, sugar daddies, fluff, hurt/comfort, PTSD, (explicit intercourse, anal, oral <- those will be in part 2), m/f

Main Pairing: Chris/Peter/Stiles

Side Pairings: Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Peter Hale, Chris Argent, Allison Argent, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Cora Hale

Writer's Month Prompts: sketch + plane

Summary: Stiles finally got out of Beacon Hills, together with Isaac. They move to London for a fresh start and Stiles gets a job at as a personal assistant to a lawyer, Peter Hale. He didn't expect for Peter to be an Alpha, to find a new pack and even less so, to fall in love with his new boss and his boss' husband.

This Story on FFNet | This Story on AO3

and if you want to read part 2, where the smut and sugar-daddy-ing is stored, you will have to follow this story on one of those sites ;)

Sugar for the Secretary

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

Part 1: The New Secretary

Stiles sat curled together on his seat on the plane, legs drawn up and a sketchbook on his knees. The weight against his shoulder was comforting, felt like home. Isaac next to him was snoring slightly, rubbing his nose against Stiles' shoulder, scenting him even in his sleep. A small smile stretched over Stiles' lips as he reached out to run his fingers through the oversized puppy's hair.

Turning his head, he looked out of the small plane window, watching the way the endless water finally made room for land. His heart skipped a beat. They'd done it. They had left the US – left Beacon Hills – behind. Finally. Everything would be better, wherever they'd end up. For now, that was London. It had been the first flight out of LA that led to another continent and Stiles wanted as much distance to that cursed, fucked-up town as possible. London sounded good.

"Are we there yet?" Isaac asked in a sleepy voice, nuzzling him.

"Soon, pup," Stiles whispered, his arm still around Isaac. "Soon."

Fuck Beacon Hills. Fuck Scott. Fuck Theo. Fuck it all. Stiles got out and he took his pup with him. Even without a pack, he was still Pack Mom, as long as he had his pup. A sneer formed on his face at the thought of the pack that had rejected him, of how easy it had been for Theo to twist Scott, turn him against his oldest friend. All these years, all the things Stiles had done for him, and some well-placed comments from Theo were all it took. No more. They got out, he got out.

"We're going to have a new start," Stiles muttered, to himself, to Isaac, to fate itself. "A better life."

The hand not playing with Isaac's hair was gripping his pen tight. He was doodling, silly sketches. Twirls all over, three joined together, just pointless, meaningless symbols, but they looked pretty.

/break\

"Peter Hale, I am not your personal assistant, I am your paralegal."

Peter didn't even raise his eyes off the file he was reading when Lydia stormed into his office. He loved that girl fiercely, she was ruthless, brilliant, manipulative. Plus, she was on track to becoming a lawyer and Peter knew not many years from now, his firm was going to be Hale, Martin & Associates. Best addition he ever made to his pack.

"Someone needs to do it. On the ladder, you're below me."

Lydia's face scrunched up in annoyance. "Your dry-cleaning and fancy coffees and your lunch appointments are not my job, Alpha," Lydia spoke firmly. "Get. A. Personal. Assistant."

A low growl escaped Peter. "I won't trust someone who isn't pack with my dealings."

The redhead in front of him put her hands on her hips and stared at him unimpressed. "Well, then, convince one of the other betas to actually do this job, but it isn't mine."

And then she had the audacity to snort. "I can just see Derek being delighted to organize your and Chris' date nights. Jackson trying to figure out how dry-cleaning works."

This time, Peter also had to snort. He loved his pack, as much as they annoyed him at times, but they were all not fit for this either. Lydia was the only one he trusted to keep up with him. He was an incredibly busy man who always juggled ten things at a time, was the most sought out defense lawyer in London, the Alpha of a pack of werewolves, husband and father – there was a lot that needed his attention. Lydia, she was quick and clever, she could keep up with all the tasks he gave her. She also was part of his pack, so she knew about the supernatural. What was Peter supposed to do with a human from whom he'd have to keep everything?

"This is my last warning, Peter," Lydia raised her eyebrows. "Get a personal assistant, or I'm quitting. Jackson's father is dying to have me work for his law-firm too."

She wiggled her hand, her engagement ring glinting in the light. Jackson Whittemore, whose father David was a lawyer himself. Peter and him had battled in court a couple times before. He wasn't bad, but he was no Peter Hale. So Peter knew this was an empty threat. Still, though…

"Fine," Peter heaved a sigh. "Will you put together a listing…?"

"One last time I'll do something that's not part of my job," Lydia smiled pleased.

/break\

Chris was holding his cup of coffee between both hands, looking out of the kitchen window into their backyard. His daughter Allison was outside with her bow, practicing. He had very mixed feelings about it. Though he'd taught her his own way, seeing her embrace their hunter heritage sent his thoughts swirling with memories of his family, the family he'd left behind in Beacon Hills all these years ago. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

For so many years, Chris had done everything in his power to be the perfect soldier, the perfect son. He pushed down his homosexuality, he married the strong and beautiful woman his father picked for him from an allied, influential hunter family, he had a daughter, an heir.

And then he met Peter Hale and fell madly, deeply in love, in a way he never thought he could. But it was the Hale Fire that changed everything. The death of nearly all of Peter's family, leaving Peter in a coma and his nephew and nieces all alone and lost. They were just kids. Cora was so small, Derek was only fifteen, Laura was barely legal, not in any way ready to take care of her siblings.

It was the biggest fight Chris ever had with his family and he understood it. They were werewolf hunters and he wanted to take in three orphaned wolves. And then Victoria accused him, knowing there was more to this than just charity. Knew that Chris had been sleeping with Peter.

They got divorced, it was an ugly divorce and Chris had to fight to take custody of Laura, Cora and Derek. He thought he could share custody of Allison with his now ex-wife, but then Kate came back. His baby sister, she came back and she snarled at him for taking in Hales, for caring about Hales, and he realized the truth. The ugly truth that Kate had killed Peter's family, had done it for revenge because she'd known Chris was in love with Peter. It had all been Chris' fault.

When Chris realized that these sociopaths were with whom he'd leave his daughter – there was no flinching, no condoning, when Gerard and Victoria were confronted with Kate's actions – they ran. The Hales had funds, millions of dollars from too many life insurances that had all gone to the survivors. In the middle of the night, Chris had Peter flown out with a medical helicopter, and he packed everything important and his four kids and followed.

They lived in New York, until Peter was recovered enough to speak and move again. The strength of his pack-bonds, of his mate and the cubs, helped his recovery, so did the Alpha spark that he had inherited from his sister, as the oldest living Hale.

Peter became the Alpha of the Hale Pack and as small and broken as it was, with only Chris, Peter, Laura, Derek, Cora and Allison, it was a good pack. A good family. A family Chris loved.

There was no hiding the truth from Allison anymore, she didn't understand why she had to leave her mom, why she couldn't contact their family, and living with four born wolves, she needed to know the truth, even if she was still so young. His wide-eyed little princess, she thought it was cool. Werewolves. Like in the movies and shows. She'd giggled the first time Laura showed her shift-form and flashed her eyes at Allison and it had warmed Chris' heart.

Generations of hatred and bigotry and he had gotten his daughter out before she could be victim to his family's indoctrination. She still had a chance, to be happy and have a normal life.

And yet here she was, practicing archery with silver arrows in their backyard. And it made him feel tense and nervous. He knew, he knew she would not harm the innocent. He'd raised her better than that. But seeing her use the chosen weapons of his old family just made him think of what his father would have twisted her into, would still try to twist her into if he got his hands on her.

"You worry too much, my love."

Chris tensed for only a moment, torn out of his dark thoughts, but then he relaxed when his husband wrapped his arms around Chris' waist. Taking a slow, deep breath, Chris leaned against Peter's chest. His solace, his love, his Alpha. Sure, Chris was the one who'd helped Peter heal, had helped his recovery and his physical therapy and had watched over the kids while Peter was still in a coma, but what Peter had done for him? Showing him love, showing him family and pack? It had saved Chris from a fate worse than death, he knew that, deep down.

"I can't help but worry," Chris argued. "She's still my little girl, even if she may be twenty. And the things our pack gets involved in, it's… dangerous. I worry about them all, all our betas, but the wolves at least have their supernatural healing. Allison doesn't."

"I'm more than aware of that," Peter grumbled, nuzzling Chris' neck. "I have the same worries about you too, Christopher. You don't have supernatural healing either but you throw yourself head first into every danger and fight too. She's… her father's daughter."

Peter's hands trailed up Chris' stomach, deliberately tracing scars from years of hunting. Chris huffed. He knew his husband was right, on both accounts. He heaved a deep breath.

"How's the assistant hunting going?" Chris asked, to change the topic. "Heard from Allison that Lydia finally convinced you to hire someone. Very good, because I was starting to fear she may kill you one day if you don't. She's your paralegal, not your girl for everything."

It was Peter's turn to grumble at that. "I have interviewed six failures so far."

"Peter," Chris heaved a sigh. "You gotta give one of them a chance."

"No," Peter glared, Chris could hear the glare in his voice. "My personal assistant would have to coordinate pack things, would have to understand my needs as a werewolf. All these doe-eyed humans are just not fit for the job. Besides, they can't keep up with me either. What good is an assistant when they stumble over instructions and are overwhelmed by a few tasks?"

"Well, then get one for their doe-eyes," Chris rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me?" Peter huffed out a laugh.

"You heard me, Peter," Chris offered a half shrug. "Lydia is very done with you on this matter. You need an assistant. If you don't trust them with the tasks to the point of not even giving them a chance to prove themselves, then hire one for their pretty doe-eyes. Get yourself some eye-candy into the office, and maybe they will prove themselves."

"Mister Hale," Peter purred delighted, kissing Chris' neck. "Are you trying to make me seduce a non-existent assistant here? How very naughty."

Chris gave another half-shrug. "I'm not telling you to fuck them over your desk, but if something pretty to look at is the motivation you need to hire someone, then do it."

"Mh…" Peter made an intrigued noise.

"The fucking over your desk can still come later once they proved themselves."

Peter sputtered out a laugh and Chris turned around in his arms to properly kiss him. Though Chris was mostly teasing here and making fun of his husband, the two of them had taken plenty pretty twinks home with them over the years, they'd always enjoyed sharing.

/break\

Stiles was sitting at their kitchen table, legs crossed beneath him. The newspaper was spread out on the table in front of him. He was already working two jobs, waiting tables at a cafe and bartending at a club around the corner, but it just wasn't enough. It never was. Him and Isaac were already living in a shitty, tiny rathole of an apartment and rent was still too damn high. Not to mention the amount of food a werewolf could eat – not that he'd say that one out loud, Isaac would just look so unfathomably guilty at that. And now Stiles' laptop broke. He needed a new one.

His life had fallen apart so much, he was hanging in by a threat. Him and Isaac were surviving here, but not quite living. His research, his hyperfixations on weird supernatural occurrences, that was his escape, that was his. If he couldn't do that anymore, he was going to break. It was his distraction, from all the bad fucking memories of all the bad fucking things that had happened in Beacon Hills. He'd thrown himself entirely into his research and work and taking care of Isaac to keep himself from spiraling. He needed this. So he needed more money, to get it fixed.

"What you need isn't a better job," Isaac offered. "Because neither of us has any kind of qualification for an actual better job. What you need is a sugar daddy, Stiles."

"Fuck you," Stiles sputtered, throwing a pillow at his pup.

Isaac was sprawled out on their bed – because there wasn't much more in their one room apartment, a bed, a table, two chairs squeezed in. They had the tiny bathroom too, thankfully enough, because Stiles had absolutely drawn the line at the apartments that shared bathrooms with the entire floor. Nope, no way, no sir. Stiles had some standards, regardless of how painfully broke they were.

"C'mon, you know I'm right," Isaac grinned teasingly. "You haven't gotten laid since we got here. I know. I can smell it. Which also, I wish I couldn't. But yeah. Two birds, one stone. You could go and seduce a filthy rich guy and we could live off of him."

"Ah, yes," Stiles gave Isaac a pointed look, voice completely dry. "So many rich guys are into twenty year old single moms of young, bratty werewolf pups."

Stiles threw an apple at Isaac, getting an oof from the other boy as the apple his him in the stomach. Then Isaac picked it up and took a bite out of it. It wasn't even that Isaac was wrong. Stiles was horny and absolutely desperate for physical contact from someone not Isaac. Pack cuddles with his pup were great, but he wanted something very different. But dating was made harder for Stiles on account of Isaac – he was way too prone for feelings, he couldn't risk his heart with someone who didn't know werewolves existed, couldn't drag anyone into this life. And his and Isaac's relationship was impossible to explain to someone who wasn't a wolf. Fuck, it would be a hard sell even to a werewolf, Stiles guessed. A Pack Mom without a pack.

"This looks good," Stiles spoke absentmindedly as he circled a job listing. "Personal assistant. Doesn't really sound like it requires too many qualifications. And lawyer should pay well."

"Again: Just get a sugar daddy and then you could stop working and start going to college, as you absolutely should because your brain is totally wasted waiting tables."

"Isaac, I love you, pup, but drop it," Stiles warned him with one look.

Isaac heaved a sigh but he thankfully obeyed. They both knew that Stiles could go places with his intellect, knew that he was meant to absorb more knowledge at college. But college didn't pay the bills. They had to prioritize and a roof over head was more important than education.

/break\

Peter knew his husband had manipulated him, but he wasn't mad about it. He found it quite delightful and saw it as a sign that he had rubbed off on Christopher over the years. Besides, he did like Chris' angle. Even if the assistant proved useless, it would be nice to have a bit of eye-candy around. So yes, he was going to just hire the prettiest little thing that'd walk through his door.

"Mister Hale, your next interview is here," Lydia announced. "Mister Stilinski."

She stepped into the office, followed by someone. Once she was close enough, he ran an arm down her arm, scent-marking her in passing. She tilted her head a little bit in return, silent submission to her Alpha. It was subtle enough but it pleased Peter and Lydia knew that he needed the calming effect his betas' submission had before one of these interviews. The more idiotic applicants were really testing his patience and the last thing he needed was to go all fangs and claws on someone.

"Please, sit down," Peter motioned at the chair opposite him.

Lydia grabbed a couple files off his desk before sauntering out of the office again. Only when the door closed behind her did his eyes land on Mister Stilinski. Peter froze in surprise as the largest, prettiest doe-eyes stared at him that he had ever seen. Wide, a dark honey-whiskey color with long lashes casting shadows on pale cheeks. Peter swallowed. That much for hiring a doe-eyed beauty, if nothing else, hm. A pretty face too, with a cute upturned nose, pink lips, tousled brown hair that looked like the boy had run his fingers through it in a nervous habit before coming into the office.

"Thank you for the chance, Mister Hale," Stilinski offered him a smile.

He really was pretty. That would be a treat to look at every day. Peter rested his elbow on his desk, supporting his head as he drank in the sight. Long, pale neck, begging to be marked up. Slender frame, long legs thrown over each other, thighs that would look good wrapped around Chris' waist.

"Why do you think you're the right choice for this job?" Peter asked curiously. "I'm a very demanding employer, I'm a busy man with important cases. I need someone who can keep up with me, who will not forget or mix up my appointments, who isn't above the smaller jobs either. I will demand many random errands too, I have a… large family that demands my attention."

"I'm very good at multitasking, I'm not above getting you your favorite coffee order from across town if that's what you need from me, I'll keep your calendar organized, I can run any errands you'll need me to, and I'll accommodate you for all your… other needs."

That gave Peter a tense pause and made him wonder if he had leered at the boy a little too obviously. Was he coming onto Peter? That was… very daring. Not necessarily in an appreciated manner, considering the way Peter was sitting and drawing attention to the wedding band on his hand. He liked taking a pretty thing home, with his husband, when they were very clear about their shared interest and intention. What he didn't appreciate too much was when people hit on him regardless of his wedding ring. Cheating wasn't something Peter condoned, even if that may be a hypocritical thing to say, considering how his relationship with Christopher had started. Then again, his very gay husband had been forced into an arranged, loveless marriage with a cold woman who didn't love him either, so he had never quite found it in himself to feel too guilty in that case.

His eyes were steely. "I'm unsure what you are implying there, Mister Stilinski."

"You're a werewolf," the boy said, surprising Peter even more. "I assume that will entail special accommodations to your schedule and your… needs."

A low warning growl escaped Peter. "How do you know that."

The broad, smug smirk on the boy's lips should not be as tempting as it was. "You were scent-marking Miss Martin when she approached your desk earlier and she, in return, bared her throat to you, which makes me think you're not just a werewolf, you're an Alpha. The 'large family' you spoke of, I am assuming is your pack. And your calendar looks quite full, but you have no appointments on the three days of the full moon, which stands out."

"Clever boy," Peter raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know about werewolves? I would have smelled if you were a wolf yourself, Mister Stilinski."

"I'm…" Stilinski leaned back, a calculating look on his face. "I used to be in a werewolf pack, before I moved to London. So I have a lot of experience with werewolves and… ah, werewolf needs. I know how to treat wolfsbane injuries, I know about pack dynamics, I know what to look out for in regards to potential… dangers and such."

There was more to that. The boy was something, he'd started that sentence with I'm, before redirecting. He wasn't ready to share what he was yet, but he was not human. Intriguing.

"I'm intrigued," Peter admitted amused. "Tomorrow, eight AM, do not be late. I prefer the espresso from the Silver Moon café."

These big doe-eyes blinked at him confused. "What."

Peter offered a wolfish grin and a flash of red eyes. "You're hired, Mister Stilinski."

/break\

Chris was sitting at a table in the Silver Moon, coffee and a croissant in front of him. When Peter came home yesterday, he'd been far too wired up. Apparently, he'd hired a pretty doe-eyed assistant – and even better yet, that assistant was in the know about the supernatural. Chris was curious, considering how horny Peter had been yesterday, so he wanted to see the boy for himself.

"There you go, Alpha," Erica grinned as she placed a plate of eggs in front of him.

"Thanks, kid," Chris smiled at her, gently touching her arm.

The Silver Moon was the café their betas Boyd and Erica owned and ran together. The mated pair worked well together, Boyd in the kitchen in the back, Erica up front behind the counter and, if there were not too many customers, she'd also bring the food to the table.

"Oh, hey, we are still on for shopping today afternoon, right?" Allison asked.

"Sure," Erica gave her a thumbs-up. "Meet you and Lydia at four."

She hurried back behind the counter when the bell over the door chimed. Chris' eyes fell onto the person entering the shop. A lanky kid, no older than the betas, all pale skin with moles, messy hair that looked like it was made for someone to grab and tug it, bow-shaped, pink lips. It were the big, brown eyes though that tipped Chris off. The definition of doe-eyed. Chris snorted.

"Hi," the boy grinned, bouncing on his feet. "Uhm, please one espresso, two black coffees and one vanilla frappuccino to go. Also, holy shit, that looks really good, one of those croissants, please."

"Sure thing," Erica nods. "Name?"

"Stiles," the doe-eyed twink offers.

"Take a seat, I'll call your name when your order's ready."

Stiles wandered over to sit down in the booth next to Allison and Chris, long legs stretched out into the store as he leaned back, his back cracking in a very unnatural sounding way, causing Chris to wince. Allison narrowed her eyes, having noticed her father's focus on the boy.

"You are not picking a guy for yourself and dad while we are having breakfast," she hissed.

Chris coughed surprised. Well, his and Peter's relationship wasn't a secret – there were no secrets in a pack of werewolves. Allison, thankfully enough, was very accepting of their polyamorous nature, she just asked for them to not parade around one-night-stands in their home.

"I'm not, Allison," Chris chuckled, motioning his head a little toward the kid.

But as he did so, he noticed the boy was looking at him, was now making direct eye-contact with him. It gave him enough pause not to continue speaking. Had the kid overheard her? It had been so low he had barely heard, but then Peter had said the kid may be something supernatural too.

"Did my new boss send his husband to spy on me?"

Chris raised his eyebrows, regarding the boy. "He did not. I got curious on my own. How…?"

"Wedding picture on his desk. Picture of you both and who I assume to be your daughter," Stiles motioned at Allison. "Right next to it. I'm observant."

"Mh," Chris tilted his head, unable to deny the thrill this boy was giving him. "You are going to spend a lot of time with my husband and I like to get my own impression."

Stiles got up and moved to sit down next to Allison, right opposite Chris. Allison scooted over with one raised eyebrow, looking between Chris and Stiles. The boy folded his arms in front of himself on the table, grinning at Chris and leaning forward a little. It drew attention to his neck. Oh, Chris knew exactly what kind of thoughts Peter must have had at the span of pale skin.

"Hi," the boy held out a hand. "I'm Stiles. Nice to meet you, sir."

There was another thrill at the way 'sir' sounded coming from the boy. "Christopher Hale. My daughter, Allison. I'd like to apologize in advance for any growling my husband is going to do."

"Eh," Stiles shrugged. "I've had worse. I can handle a growling Alpha."

"Order up for Stiles," Erica called out, interrupting them.

The pretty twink got up and walked back to the counter. Chris couldn't help but stare at his perky ass. Once he had his order, the bag with the croissant stuck under his arm, the carrier with the four drinks in one hand, he took one of the black coffees and, much to Chris', Allison's and even Erica's horror, downed it in one go. He put the empty cup back onto the counter.

"You terrify me," Erica noted. "I like you."

Stiles offered a grin that was all teeth. "Thanks. I am guessing you're going to see me like five times a week from now on because my boss really likes your coffee."

At Erica's confused look did Chris speak up. "He's Peter's new assistant."

"Huh?" Stiles blinked confused and took the second black coffee.

Good lord, he wasn't going to drink two black coffees within a minute, was he? Chris watched in mortification as Stiles did exactly that. This boy sure was something. Shaking his head, Chris looked around. The café was empty. Chris, Allison, Stiles and Erica were the only ones.

"Erica and her mate run the café. They're also part of our pack," Chris offered. "That's why Peter made you go all this way, since it's not exactly around the corner of the law-firm."

Stiles turned those doe-eyes on Erica, like he was taking her in again. "Interesting."

There was so much calculation in his gaze, as though he was scheming. A look Chris was all too familiar with from his husband. He found it far too charming. Smiling, he took a sip of his own drink, watching the boy step away from the counter.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow then, Erica," Stiles waved with one hand, then turned toward Chris and Allison. "And I am assuming I'll be seeing you again too, Mister Hale."

With that, he walked out of the café, leaving Chris with an uneasy feeling. The boy was too pretty, too charming, too intriguing, too clever. This was going to be a big temptation for himself and for his husband. He wondered just how long Peter would last before caving and dragging that boy from the office back to the pack-house and into their marital bed to be shared with Chris.

/break\

When Stiles sauntered into the firm, he did so with all the confidence he didn't feel. His suit was cheap, he'd gotten it from a second hand store to look presentable for the job interview yesterday, but this whole office was so large and so pompous, the art on the walls was actually real and expensive, he recognized that. Some of the outfits the lawyers walking past him were wearing probably cost more than Stiles and Isaac's apartment. Hence the fake confidence. He worked here now, he was not going to let the side-eye from the lawyers make him feel like he didn't belong.

"Hello, Miss Martin, you are looking as beautiful as yesterday," Stiles smiled brightly.

Lydia Martin looked up from her desk, utterly unimpressed and waved her hand to show off her engagement ring. "Not interested, Mister Stilinski. But congratulations on the job."

"Oh," Stiles blinked and shook his head. "No. Sorry, that's just my, uh, personality. I'm flirty in nature. Not hitting on you. Super gay. Very gay. Here, I brought you a coffee."

"I don't drink-" Lydia paused as he put the drink down. "Is that a vanilla frappuccino?"

"Yep, you were drinking one yesterday, while I was waiting for the interview," Stiles smiled brightly at her. "And since the big boss sent me to fetch him coffee, I figured I'd bring you one too. Seems you're always hard working and I thought it might be a good way to get off the right foot."

Lydia pursed her lips as she took a sip. "Lydia. You can call me Lydia."

"I'm Stiles," Stiles grinned in victory. "Looking forward to working with you, Lydia."

A small smile played on Lydia's lips as she nodded. "I do think you could be… interesting."

With that ominous sentence did Stiles head into the office of his new boss. It was exactly eight o'clock, he was expected, right? Taking a shaky breath he walked in, finding Peter Hale behind the desk. The man looked up, one eyebrow raised. Waiting. After a moment, Stiles approached and put the coffee down in front of him. Peter still looked at him kind of weirdly.

"Erica said you paid for the coffee," Peter frowned.

"Uhm. Yes? I don't… steal?" Stiles offered, confused.

Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation and then pushed a credit card over the table. "My husband was supposed to cover your bill this morning, but apparently you threw him off by… downing two black coffees in under two minutes and he only noticed when you were already gone. I wasn't expecting you to pay for my coffee out of your own pocket, Mister Stilinski."

Oh. That kind of made sense, but he had been too euphoric about the new job, he hadn't even questioned it. His eyes landed on the credit card, doubtful. Peter pushed it further toward him.

"I expect you to be on time and to bring me coffee every morning. You'll pay any and all expenses that I require with this," Peter tapped the card. "And yes, your coffee order goes on that too."

"But…" Stiles trailed off, adjusting the bag under his arm with the croissant a little.

Peter's very captivating ice-blue eyes landed on it. "Your breakfast too."

"But," Stiles tried again, unsure how to put it.

"If I sent you somewhere to fetch coffee or food for me, I expect you to get something for yourself too," Peter stated, leaning back in his chair, his eyes intense on Stiles. "Lydia!"

After a moment, Lydia stuck her head in, glaring. "Not. Your. Assistant. You have a Stiles now."

"I have a what now," Peter looked at her in puzzlement.

"Stiles," Stiles lifted a hand. "Uh, I prefer to go by Stiles. It's a nickname."

"Stiles," Peter tasted the name in his mouth. "Lydia, you're going out shopping with Erica and Allison today, right? Please take Stiles with you, he needs a new wardrobe."

"I'm good," Stiles squeaked. "I can't-"

Peter pushed the credit-card fully over the desk, very insistent. "I'm not expecting you to spend thousands on suits that I require you to wear, Stiles. The credit card is for anything I require you to buy or ask you to buy. Stop looking at me like that."

Reluctantly did Stiles pocket the credit card after another moment. Lydia heaved a sigh.

"Fi—ine. But only because my fingers are itching to dress that boy in something appropriate. This suit makes me feel sad and miserable," Lydia regarded Stiles. "No offense."

Stiles stared at her bewildered. "Unsure how I could possibly not take offense to that."

/break\

Peter was positively surprised by Mister Stilinski. Stiles. The highest of his expectations had been to get to look at these big doe-eyes and have something pretty in his office. He loved himself a pretty piece of prey and those eyes, mh, they did the trick. But then the boy had surprised him by knowing about the supernatural and he had surprised Peter even more by what a quick study he was.

That first day, Peter might have been a bit more demanding than he usually would be. It was a test. From the coffee order – to see if the boy would be able to remember the name of the store as well as the order, to see what he would do once there (and mh, the fact that the boy had recognized Chris all on his own from having glanced at the photos on Peter's desk pleased him immensely. Clever boy) – to every other task given. He basically sent the kid from one corner of the city to the next, dry-cleaning, going to pick a client up for Peter, delivering some files to the court house. He'd wanted to see if the boy was self-sufficient, knew his way around the city and was clever enough to figure out how to do things without Peter holding his hand. And he proved to be all of that and more.

"You look like the big, bad wolf who actually ate Bambi," Chris furrowed his brows as he approached his husband. "Did you eat Bambi?"

"Bambi is out getting new suits with Lydia," Peter waved a dismissive hand. "Besides, you're mixing your stories up there. The big bad wolf didn't get Bambi. The huntsman did."

Chris cocked an eyebrow and refrained from commenting further. Oh, Peter could see it in his husband's eyes, that Christopher had seen how pretty Bambi was. Smirking like the predator he was, Peter wrapped his arms around Chris' waist to pull him into a slow, deep kiss.

"The kid's going to be a problem, isn't he," Chris asked against Peter's lips.

A casual shrug. Perhaps, Peter wasn't sure yet. He hadn't been this attracted to a third party in a very long time, it might become a problem that the kid now worked for him, but that was a bridge for future Peter to cross. Current Peter got to kiss his husband and had no worries in this world.

/break\

After visiting his husband, Chris made his way to the preferred suit shop of Peter's, knowing he was most likely to find Lydia and entourage there. A small smile spread over his lips as he spotted Allison, Lydia and Erica sprawled out on the expensive leather couch, holding champagne.

"Come out, Stiles," Lydia demanded annoyed.

"I'm gay," Stiles called back without missing a beat.

Lydia simply rolled her eyes, while Chris choked on a laugh. "Not what I meant, honey."

"Hey, dad," Allison side-eyed him as she spotted her father. "What brings you here?"

"Curiosity," Chris offered after a moment.

There was no lying to his daughter, after all. Not entirely, at least. Perhaps the half-truth would suffice for now. Erica scooted over, throwing her legs over Lydia's lap and making room for Chris. An employee brought Chris a flute of champagne and bowed. Damn did Chris hate these fancy places, but that was one of the sides of being a Hale, he supposed. Peter liked it fancy.

"I look ridiculous," Stiles complained as he finally got out of the changing room.

"You look hot," Erica corrected. "Big Bruce Wayne vibes. Very Batman."

"Thanks, Catwoman," Stiles rolled his eyes. "I feel more like Dick Grayson stealing Bruce's suit for the very first time. This is... so not me."

He spread his arms and turned around once. Chris appreciated the view. The suit hugged his body in all the right places, drawing attention to his very well-formed ass and long legs. Those legs, Chris wondered what they'd feel like around his waist... or look like around Peter's head. Erica's cackling and her side-eye toward him told him that he hadn't fully masked his rising arousal. He offered his beta a sharp glare to shut her up. It only partially worked.

"Nonsense, you look good, and besides, this is who you are now," Lydia raised her chin. "You work for the most wanted defense attorney in this city, you represent the Hale name. You have to look the part, if you want to or not."

"This costs more than my car," Stiles muttered dejectedly. "Actually, more than my last two cars together. What the fuck."

"Don't look at the price-tags," Chris chided firmly. "Peter's paying for it."

"Mister Hale," Stiles startled, like he had only just noticed him. "Uhm. What... are you doing here?"

"I got curious when Peter mentioned that he had given you to Lydia as a sacrificial lamb," Chris smirked bemused. "That's always entertaining."

Lydia got up and picked three more suits for Stiles. "These ought to do for now, you will be fitted for something more personalized this Friday, do not miss the appointment."

"More personalized?" Stiles looked actually distressed at that. "This is ridiculous. I'm his secretary, not his new star attorney. I don't need a tailor-made suit."

Lydia gave him a withering glare. "Honey, everybody needs a tailor-made suit."

/break\

Stiles had actually survived his first week of working for Peter Hale. There had been a few close calls where he was pretty sure he was going to die – the suit shopping and the suit fitting were two such occasions, as well as that time he nearly got run over when rushing from the coffeeshop.

It was Monday morning and when he walked into the Silver Moon to get the usual coffee order, he was surprised to find Peter Hale there, sitting with his husband and their daughter. There were five tables, set together, creating a long sitting area. Erica herself was sitting down too, for once, between Allison and a really handsome, dark-skinned guy. There was a kind of arrogant looking blonde guy on Lydia's other side and a tall, dark and handsome guy with stubble on his chin at the end of the table, next to a brunette girl who looked a lot like him and also seemed weirdly familiar.

"Uhm..." Stiles' eyes darted around, unsure how to proceed.

"Sit down," Peter ordered, pulling out the chair between himself and Lydia.

"Uhm," Stiles repeated, wanting a bit more information.

"The pack has breakfast together every Monday, we open the store an hour later on Mondays to make time for it," the guy next to Erica supplied. "I'm Boyd, Erica's mate."

Right. So he had survived the first week and thus got to meet the entire pack then? Reluctantly, he walked over to sit down between Peter and Lydia, looking around.

"These are Cora, Derek and Jackson. The rest you already met, I believe" Peter said in lieu of introduction. "There is one more member to our pack, but she is studying abroad in Paris."

Stiles nodded slowly, offering an awkward wave. Erica started shoveling food onto the plate in front of him. It was set out a bit like a buffet, plates each staked high with pancakes, waffles, bacon, eggs, set out on the tables, everyone just taking whatever they wanted. It was… nice.

Jackson was Lydia's mate, that much became obvious quickly, by the way the two leaned into each other, whispered with each other, exchanged looks that spoke more than entire volumes. Erica kept nuzzling into her own mate too, Boyd having one hand near constantly entangled in her curls. Allison was bickering with Cora, while Derek kept adding his own two cents occasionally.

It was warm and comfortable and that only put Stiles more on edge. Something that's been bothering him for the entire past week now became an itch he needed to scratch. In an attempt to fight that impulse, he started fidgeting more, bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers.

"Stiles," Chris spoke slowly, watching him with sharp eyes. "Is something wrong? We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with this invitation. It just seemed easier, considering the rest of the pack wanted to get to know you, now that you are going to be a big part of our Alpha's life."

The way Chris reached over the table to take his husband's hand at that last bit made Stiles' heart jump. Werewolf mates would always just really get him, they fucked him up bad. That kind of intense love and devotion? One could only dream about, really.

"It's not that," Stiles shook his head, pausing. "There's just… Something's been bugging me. But I don't know if it's my place to even bring it up. Probably not."

"Well, now you have to say it," Cora huffed, giving him a look.

Stiles turned toward her when she spoke and he couldn't help but stare. Why did she look so familiar? He felt like he'd seen her before. Where had he seen her before? He had such a good memory usually, why did this escape him. Something about her was eerily familiar.

"Why doesn't this place have wards," Stiles blurted out, before his brain could latch onto the Cora mystery. "The firm too. I don't get it. They're pack-owned. Why would you not protect them."

The others slowed down in their eating, individual conversations coming to a halt as everyone regarded him and great. Yeah. This was why he hadn't meant to bring it up. He grew more nervous.

"How do you know that there aren't wards?" Peter asked dryly.

"I mean, for one, my job interview? When you reacted surprised that I knew about the supernatural," Stiles tilted his head as he turned to look at the Alpha next to himself. "If your firm had wards, bare minimum is for them to trip if another supernatural creature walks in. Should have tipped you off about my presence and you shouldn't have been surprised that I knew."

Peter narrowed his eyes at him. "You're not human. You only said you knew because you were in a pack, you didn't say that you were non-human too, Stiles."

A casual shrug, and Stiles pulled one leg up against his chest, resting his arm on it. "See, now I know you don't have wards because you seriously don't know I'm not human."

"What are you?" Lydia was giving him the same look as Peter now.

"Rude question to ask," Stiles shrugged. "You didn't disclose that you're non-human and a non-wolf either, Lydia. I don't see how I owe you my nature."

"He's right," Chris' voice was sharp and he shot both Lydia and Peter a look. "He's your employee and coworker, he has a right to share this only if he is comfortable."

Stiles beamed at Chris at that, genuinely beamed. How long had it been since someone defended him? Much less defended his right to make decisions about and for himself. Damn, that was sad.

"You don't have to answer me either," Stiles offered after a moment, looking at Peter. "It's just, your husband asked what's bothering me and… the lack of wards is bothering me. But you don't owe me a reason or explanation. It just. It's the thing that's bothering me, that's all. Your pack is a big enough size to constitute an Emissary who should be behind these things."

His eyes involuntarily landed on Chris. That had been his running theory for the past week. Either Chris or Lydia were the Emissary of the Hale Pack, because neither of them were wolves. They scent-marked but they did it in a clear way that was learned behavior, not instinct.

Peter's sneer drew his attention. "Our pack doesn't have an Emissary. Let's say… I have made bad experiences with that in the past and I'm not trusting potential incompetence with my pack."

For a moment, Stiles processed that and then it sank in and made him snort out a laugh. Because yeah. Incompetent and untrustworthy Emissaries, like Alan Deaton. He froze the moment the name crossed his mind, his eyes landing on Peter. His heart-rate picked up rapidly and his eyes widened as the pieces that had been right in front of him slotted together.

His reaction was obvious not just to the wolves and now everyone was staring intensely at him, most of them with something akin to concern, but all Stiles could do was stare at Peter.

"You're Peter Hale," Stiles whispered stunned.

"Are… Are you having a stroke, darling?"

The words could have been sarcastic, but Peter's voice was genuinely worried and okay yeah maybe Stiles must look like he was having some kind of episode there, sitting frozen and staring at him with his heart racing, stating a very obvious fact he had been aware of for a whole fucking week. His head snapped over to Derek and Cora, his mouth falling open.

"You're Derek and Cora Hale," Stiles hissed, pointing at Cora. "That's why you look so damn familiar! Fuck. Fucking elementary school. And you! I remember you, with your stupid basketball, thinking you look so cool when dropping Cora off for class, like you were all that."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek. The stupid middle-schooler with his stupid basketball and talented hands. All the girls in his class always giggled whenever he'd dropped his sister off. Stiles slowly looked around when he realized that it had gotten eerily quiet. All eyes on him.

Not that Stiles had time to focus on them – on the Hale Pack, fuck – no, Stiles was too deep in his head. This couldn't be real. They were alive. They were actually alive. Stiles clasped a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening in horror when other things started coming together. The horror was directly followed by a hollow, dark and ugly laugh as he felt like reality was slipping from him. He started pressing his thumbs hard against the pads of his fingers, one by one, counting his fingers, counting that this was real, checking that this wasn't a trick of his mind.

"I ran all the fucking way across the ocean to escape that fucking hell-hole and I end up with the last survivors of the Hale Pack," Stiles muttered to himself. "This can absolutely not be real. This isn't real. This must be in my head. There's no way. I worked too damn hard to get out, I can't-"

He couldn't breath anymore, everything was spinning, his chest felt too tight and his lungs couldn't fill and his eyes were unfocused and why wasn't there enough air in the room-?

"Stiles," Chris' voice was sharp and firm, jolting him into a semblance of focus. "I need you to slow down your breathing, you're having a panic-attack. Can you breath in deep and hold, like this?"

When had Chris gotten up and walked around the table? Why was he kneeling in front of Stiles now, holding him by the arms, talking to him? Stiles took a shuddering breath but it wasn't enough, it just wasn't enough, why did his chest feel like it couldn't take any more air in? A sob wrecked his body and he doubled over. He was losing it, again. Maybe he never had it, maybe everything had been a trick from the Nogitsune, him and Isaac getting out, getting a new start, maybe he was still stuck in Beacon Hills, had never gotten out, never gotten his mind back.

"I can't go back, I can't go back," Stiles sobbed, shaking his head. "I can't-"

"Breath," Chris instructed, a clear command. "Stop thinking and just breath with me."

It took longer, Stiles didn't know how long – didn't want to know how long – for him to regain his bearings and when he did, he blearily looked around. He was comfy and warm and felt oddly safe. Which was not exactly how the aftermath of his panic-attacks usually went. They weren't at the table anymore. They were on the ground. Chris was on the ground. Stiles was on Chris. On Chris' lap, to be exact. The older man had his arms around Stiles, was holding him close. Peter sat next to them, a grounding hand in Stiles' neck. The rest of the pack was also sitting on the ground, around them in a circle. It looked nearly protective, like something they'd do to shield a vulnerable pack-member. Stiles liked that sentiment, even though he knew it was probably about their Alphas.

"Fuck," Stiles rubbed his face. "Second week on the job and I have a panic-attack in front of my boss and somehow end up in his husband's lap. Great going, Stilinski."

"Stiles," Peter's voice was surprisingly soft. "You don't need to be ashamed of having a panic-attack and you're in Christopher's lap because you only started calming down once you were held down. The restriction seemed to make you feel grounded."

"Oh," Stiles blinked sluggishly. "Okay."

"You will have to explain yourself though," Peter raised his eyebrows at him. "How you recognized us and why… why that sent you into a panic-attack."

Stiles still rubbed at the tear-streaks on his cheeks, feeling so, so tired. Too tired to argue or fight or storm out. Even though he probably should. His instincts were in conflict. Some of them told him to run, grab Isaac and run even further, as far away as possible. But other instincts, instincts he hadn't indulged in in literal years at this point, told him that he was safe and that he should never get up from the safe comfort of Chris' lap. Sighing, Stiles rested his cheek against Chris' shoulder.

"I worked so hard to leave Beacon Hills behind, to leave your family's legacy behind and I somehow manage to run into your family, of all people," Stiles muttered frustrated. "Cora and I went to elementary school together. Pretty sure I said that before my freakout."

"Stiles," Cora tilted her head with a frown. "Oh, you were the loud kid who always was glued to the side of that quiet, shy kid that always wheezed during recess."

Stiles couldn't help but flinch at the reminder of Scott, of back when Scott had still been his best friend, his other half, when they used to be inseparable. Tears welled in his eyes again. The reminder of Scott usually didn't make him cry anymore, but he was still raw from the aftermath of his panic-attack. A gentle hand wiped his tears away and he turned to look at Peter.

"What do you mean you were running from our family's legacy," Peter wanted to know.

He sounded much more patient than he should, honestly. How had he not threatened to just rip Stiles' throat out at this point. Stiles would identify himself as a threat to his pack, if he were Peter. Bitterness overtook him as Peter's question really sank in. He curled together, making himself small on Chris' lap, absolutely not caring that he was still sitting there. As long as Chris wasn't going to push him off, Stiles was absolutely not giving up the first safe place he'd been in in years.

"I told you I was part of a pack," Stiles' voice felt hallow even to himself. "That was back in Beacon Hills. But you know what happened when there was a new pack in Beacon Hills?"

Rhetoric question, they probably didn't. Nobody spoke or interrupted him. Or pushed him to explain faster. Why were they being so patient. Nobody was patient with Stiles. Aside from Isaac.

"The people who tried to kill your entire family came back to finish the job, because surely an Alpha in Beacon Hills meant that the survivors of the Hale Pack had returned to reclaim their territory," Stiles felt oddly dead inside as he remembered those early days.

"The people…" Peter's voice wavered and he looked at Stiles, past Stiles.

"The Argents," Stiles snarled, curling tighter, pressing a hand against his shoulder. "Kate came to finish the job she'd started. Hunted us like animals for months."

Peter noticed the way Stiles' fingers clawed into his own shoulder. Curiosity got the better of the Alpha and he unbuttoned Stiles' shirt enough to push it aside and see what Stiles was holding onto.

"That's a gun-shot wound," Peter pointed out, voice dark.

"Yeah, heard the part where I said 'hunted us like animals'? I was being very literal there. She chased us through the preserver, trying to shoot us all down," Stiles turned his head away from Peter, instead burying his face in Chris' chest. "Ironically, she was only the start of our problems."

He noticed how stiff Chris had gone, completely rigid beneath Stiles. Right. All of this was his husband's trauma, Chris was probably worried about his mate. Well, as long as Chris wasn't going to push him off, Stiles was very selfishly not getting off his lap because it was his trauma too. If he wanted to comfort his mate, he'd first have to physically remove Stiles himself.

"She's in prison," Stiles noted belatedly, looking at Peter, Derek and Cora. "For mass murder and grand arson. My dad… My dad was the sheriff at the time, he put her behind bars. Well. We put her behind bars. He didn't know about the supernatural back then. And I was feeling petty. Because my Alpha didn't find murder a sufficient method of getting rid of a threat, even if that threat kept fucking shooting us with wolfsbane bullets – which, fyi, hurt like a bitch even if you're not a werewolf. Fun fact there. So I had to get more creative to get rid of her. And her… obsession with the Hales was… well, it set me on the right course. I just needed to get all the evidence and bahm."

If he'd have more energy, he would have added jazz-hands for effect there. As it stood, he just wanted to go to sleep. Chris was very comfy, even though he was still rigid as steel. He tucked his hand under his ribs, pressing against them hard, balling a fist in the expensive fabric of his shirt.

"Daddy dearest wasn't a fan of his deranged daughter going to prison for killing werewolves," Stiles continued, too tired to stop, too raw to stop. "Gerard Argent came to town a couple months later and he was hell-bent on revenge. You should have seen his fucking face when he realized a fifteen year old wise-ass brat had gotten his daughter convicted."

"You were how old," Derek's voice was a distressed growl.

A tired half-shrug. "Yeah. Childhood in Beacon Hills. Rainbows, sunshine, kittens and murderous hunters all inclusive. He was a better hunter than his daughter though. She was wild, unhinged, lashing out. He was precise, direct, effective. Captured us. Held us captive for days. Couldn't believe that a bunch of kids had outsmarted the great Argent family, was so damn sure there was a Hale somewhere pulling the strings. Tried torturing your location out of us."

His knuckles were white with how hard he was grabbing his shirt, effectively pulling it out of the confines of his pants. Peter's hand was gentle when it grabbed his, but Stiles didn't move.

"Kicked in my ribs," Stiles muttered in a detached voice. "Punctured my lungs. Nearly killed me. Makes my panic-attacks all the more fun because being unable to breath is just another trigger, so it's like a spiral from one panic into the next. Fun times for Stiles."

He just wanted to sleep. He knew he couldn't. Shouldn't. Thinking about the Nogitsune only meant he was going to have horrible nightmares and most likely another panic attack. But in all fairness, how likely was it that he ran into the Hales in fucking London? Of course did that seem unreal.

"Stiles, that's horrible," Lydia looked genuinely devastated.

Erica and Boyd were clinging onto each other, looking at him with horror and pity. Erica had grown attached to him quickly, she probably made her mate second-hand-attached to him. Poor Boyd.

"Yeah, those were the easy times," Stiles stated dryly. "Things got worse from thereon out. That's why we got out. As far away from that hell-hole. But you get it now? That your family legacy's been one of the things I ran away from? And that seeing you here is… it feels unreal."

"I… do understand that," Peter frowned at him so softly, so worried. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck," Stiles heaved a sigh. "It's not your fucking fault. That's not. I didn't mean it like that. I don't blame you for the deranged hunters who were trying to murder you! I'm just… I always thought you were dead, I thought she was just being a paranoid bitch. Honestly, this actually makes the getting tortured to give up your location bit feel a little better, because hey, you actually were alive. It was really annoying when I thought I was getting tortured for nothing, you know."

"You absolutely need to stop being so glib about this," Jackson said, sounding a little nauseous.

"Sarcasm is how I cope," Stiles drawled, giving him a deadpan expression.

There was a silent conversation happening over his head, between Chris and Peter. Stiles was too exhausted to pay closer attention to it or try to decipher it. He just closed his eyes. A nap sounded good. His eyes snapped open and he bolted up. Nope. No sleeping after a panic-attack.

"Stiles…?" Allison asked in a near small voice. "Are you… alright?"

"Yeah, no," Stiles shook his head. "Got too tired there for a moment."

"Maybe you should go and lay down," Peter suggested gently.

"No," Stiles' voice was sharp. "Can't. Can't sleep after a panic attack. There are only worse panic attacks waiting for me in that direction. What I need to do is keep my mind occupied and get it exhausted enough so I might actually maybe sleep tonight."

"That doesn't sound healthy," Derek pointed out, impressive eyebrows furrowed.

"Never claimed it was," Stiles shrugged. "But it's been working for me for years now. Also, after all the soul-bearing I just did, I'd… really like to get out of here. So, please. Just. Give me something to do, Alpha. I need something to do."

There was a flash of red eyes at Stiles' unintentional use of the title. Stiles swallowed hard. Damn, that looked hot on Peter Hale. No. Nope. Not getting attracted to his hot, married boss.

"Fine," Peter heaved a sigh. "I'll text you the next few errands I have for you."

/break\

After that day at the café, Peter felt an irrationally strong sense of protectiveness over Stiles. The boy had suffered for the Hale Pack, without even being part of it. And when he had barely been a pup – fifteen years old, being hunted by the Argents. He kept an extra eye on Stiles, made sure that when he sent the boy out on an errant, he could be sure at least one pack member would be close by to watch over Stiles. And Peter was very pleased that his pack didn't even have to be commanded to do so. No, after the way Stiles had broken down, they were all attached to him.

"Stiles," Peter smiled pleased when the boy walked into the office. "Come here. Sit."

Stiles stared at him with suspicion and confusion. "Did… I forget to book a luncheon for you, sir?"

Peter had a table set with rumpsteak, green beans and roasted potatoes, two glasses of wine. "No. Come and eat with me, I didn't feel like eating alone today and Christopher is busy."

Stiles looked wary for another moment before he shrugged and then just plopped down opposite him. "I am not saying no to a free meal. We've had ramen for the past three nights."

"Why," Peter made a disturbed face.

"...Because we don't have money?" Stiles gave him a pointed look. "I only started working for you three weeks ago, not like I got my first paycheck yet? So we're still living off the rest of my waiter paychecks. And those, you know, not that much."

"You keep saying 'we'," Peter narrowed his eyes, latching onto that.

Stiles actually froze at that, looking caught. "Yes."

"Who is we?" Peter asked more directly, rolling his eyes. "You don't talk a lot about yourself. Outside of… what you told us last week at the café."

"I… live with," Stiles paused tentatively. "Someone."

Peter tilted his head, so very intrigued. He was addicted to this boy, he needed to learn more about Stiles, wanted to learn everything there was about him. What did 'someone' mean? The way he said it, it was a loaded word. A romantic partner? His wolf growled deeply displeased by that.

"Are they… in the know?" Peter asked tentatively.

More reluctance, before Stiles nodded. "I was… I mean, it's only been three weeks. But I've noticed the way your pack's been stalking me. So I was… thinking of… I wanted to ask you if he could… meet the pack. I like your pack. It might be… good for him."

Him. Peter's wolf grew more agitated. He knew Stiles was gay. Was this a boyfriend? Did Stiles have a werewolf boyfriend? It was terrifying how attached his wolf was to the boy, how attached he was to the boy. But at this point, Peter fully considered Stiles his.

"Friday night, why don't you and that… friend… of yours come over to our den for pack dinner? He has a chance to meet everyone and the pack would love to have you over."

Stiles stuffed his face with beans and Peter's thoughts wandered somewhere else entirely at the way Stiles' cheeks bulged. He could imagine stuffing his cock between those pink lips, stuffing him, having those beautiful doe-eyes stare up at him while the boy was on his knees for Peter. Mh. What a delicious mental picture. He offered a lazy, pleased smile at the thought.

"Okay," Stiles shrugged. "I'm also noting the way you fully did not react to your betas stalking me. Just, so you know. I noticed that. Which makes me think it's Alpha sanctioned."

Peter's smile was all teeth, maybe some fangs. "I just watch out for what's mine."

Stiles choked on the beans, coughing violently, before Peter continued. "And you're my secretary."

#Fic: Sugar for the Secretary #Stetopher #Teen Wolf #Peter Hale #Stiles Stilinski #Chris Argent #Pack Mom Stiles #Isaac Lahey #Lydia Martin #Stiles Summer Stories 2024 #Phoe's Fics

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