Work Header

It's Peter

Work Text:

"Well hello, there." A silky voice from behind Stiles breathe's on his neck. Emphasis on the 'breathe's on neck' part, for reals.

Stiles jumps, no, leaps into the air, nearly taking down the flowery curtain with him. "Whoa–Jes–Who the hell are you? No, better question. Who the hell are you and why are you creeping on me?" Comes tumbling out of his mouth before his feat even touch the plush carpeted floor.

The Creeper, raises a single eyebrow. "I should ask you the same question. Considering you're the one sneaking you're way, quite pitifully by the way, you might want to work on that, throughout my families house."

Of course, he's a Hale. Stiles should of known. Dark hair, weirdly hypnotizing eyes, brooding–like nature, and the uncanny ability to sneak up on people. Oh, and no sense of personal pace. Like, none.

"I was invited." Stiles says, slightly offended. "You know, for the wedding. I thought by now you Hales would be used to people roaming around your house."

Creeper hums. "Naturally. But, I must say none of them have been brave enough to sneak into my room."

And, shit.

This is Creeper dudes room. Stiles can not handle this. Lydia will literally kill him for this, majorly. No mercy type, like Lydia was the mercy giving type anyways. This is it, Stiles thinks. I've finally hung myself, just like Dad told me I'd do if I didn't 'settle down'. But in all fairness, what the hell does 'settle down' mean? Get married? Cause that's definitely not happening anytime soon. Stiles can't keep a girlfriend, or a boyfriend.

Stiles comes back to reality with an exploding epiphany. He smirks.

"You have a really girly bedroom." He says, seriously no filter, Stiles, brain conscious Lydia nags.

Shut up.

Creeper is smirking, but not in the way that he's seen most of the Hales smirk: predatory, I'm going to eat you way (well, maybe, Stiles can still see a hint of it) but in a pure delight sort of way.

Stiles is confused.

And a little terrified.

"Really?" Is the only remark Creeper says, but it's enough to set Stiles loose, because it was taunting. Taunting in a way that it rivaled Jackson taunting, and that was patented.

"Yes, most definitely. And if this is seriously your bedroom than you're more creepy than I pegged you for."

Creeper stepped closer, sufficiently trapping Stiles between him and the window. Stiles thought about signing S.O.S, but decided against it. Lydia would still kill him.

"And if it is?"

"Then you're either a molester or seriously have an odd fetish. I know a doctor, if you need help."

"What's your name?"

The question came out of fucking nowhere and Stiles was so shocked that the answer came out without him actually giving consent. At least, from the way Creeper looked slightly confused but not overly, Stiles knew he hadn't given him his real name.

Thank God for that.

Stiles sighed in relief, then quickly inhaled as Creeper drew even closer, which Stiles didn't think was possible. "What–what are you doing?"

Stiles pressed farther against the glass as Creeper continued to press closer, hands on either side of Stiles, attached to the glass, he dipped his head down coming face-to-neck.

Oh my God, I was right. He is a molester. I'm gonna die–

"I like you, Stiles."

And. . . Just-what? Who does that?

Apparently, Creeper does.

"I have a feeling we're going to be great friends." Creeper continues.

Stiles looks down at where Creeper is blatantly smelling him–which–no, Stiles was not going there. "Yeah, I'm not getting that feeling its more along the lines of Bad Touch or, coming doom, maybe but it sure as hell isn't–"

Creeper is laughing.

Creeper is even creepier when laughing.

He needs to stop laughing.

Like, now. Stiles can not handle this.


"Oh my God, I'm dead." Stiles groans.

"You're not dead Stiles." Creeper lifts his head so he's eye-to-eye with Stiles. Stiles is thankful, but he's still invading his private space. Bubble smashed. "I would never kill you, unless you asked, of course. But, only if you were in inimaginable pain and that was the only way to fix it. Only then."

"How reassuring." Stiles deadpans.

Creeper smirk turns into a grin. A maniacal grin. "Trust me (yeah, right), it should be."

"Can you like, move so I can actually breathe?" Stiles squirms, being this close to an admittedly hot, Creeper was not doing any good on his hormones. They were so confused at this point.

"Why? Are you scared? I don't bit, Stiles. Unless, of course–"

"–I want you too. Do you even realize how cheesy that is? C'mon Creeper I thought you were better than that."

Shit, Stiles! Shut up!

"I-I mean. . . Look, if you're going to kill me, just do it already. Just when it's all over and done, tell Lydia the honest truth, don't sugarcoat it. She hates being sugarcoated." Stiles closed his eyes. He was ready for death.

Stiles fists curled in the curtains as he felt warm breath on the side of his face and then a warm, oddly gentle, hand push his head to the side.

Stiles nearly screamed when he felt a kiss being placed on the side of his neck.

Holy sh–Oh!

Not good, not good. He was being molested, and it felt so goo–No stop it! Creeper is sucking your neck without your consent. Stop this madness, stop it now!

Stiles did try, but by the time his hands reached Creeper (oh my God, I still don't know his name!) their destination switched from Creepers shoulders (to push him off, he swears) to Creepers hair.


Apparently Creepers lips switched destinations too, because they were now on his lips. No, not on, devouring, consuming. Yeah, that's more like it.

Creepers tongue snuck its way into Stiles' mouth and he really didn't care, if the slight moan that came from him when their tongues first touched was any indication, Creepers hands tightened around his hips.
Stiles' though of 'When did those get there?' was pushed out when his hips were guided (more like pushed) forward to meet Creepers.


"Uuhh," Oh dear, God! Stiles was dying. Creeper was killing him. Just not the way Stiles thought he would.

Creepers own moan of pleasure brought Stiles back to his senses. Pushing Creeper away Stiles spluttered. "What was that?" He was breathing hard, and he just knew he was blushing.

Creeper, also breathing hard, just smiled. "I told you I wouldn't kill you, unless there were dire situations, which there was none. So I chose I different route."

"Oh my Go–. . ." Stiles groaned.

Creeper smirked.

Stiles smirked. "You do bite tho."

Creepers eyes dilated and zeroed in on where Stiles guesses a hickey he's now sporting on his neck.

"But I don't mind that." Stiles says somewhat hesitantly.

"Good," Creeper's eyes glint reaching up to look him in the eyes. "because I like to bite."

Creeper smiles and Stiles doesnt find it as terrifying as he previously did.

Creeper steps away, letting go of Stiles' hips. Stiles had never realized how cold the world was until that very moment. Stiles wanted to curl up close to–Crap!

Stiles is about ask what Creepers name is but he's once again swept in to a mind numbing kiss, that leaves both participants breathless and wanting. "I really do like you Stiles." Creeper presses his forehead to stiles'.

"Full–heartedly ditto."

Creeper chuckles, presses a light kiss to Stiles' forehead, then turns and leaves.


"What's your name?" Stiles calls, but he doesn't get an answer. Only the chattering of mingling people fill the room from where Creeper left the door open.

Stiles sighs dejectedly, he should of known it was to good to be true.




The rest of the day Stiles keeps his eyes out for the Phantom Creeper, but doesn't once see him again. His pity party is so loud Scott notices, which leads to Lydia pulling him out of the wedding and declaring: This better be good Stilinski cause I'm missing one of our best friends get married.

She doesn't even mention that Stiles is missing it also.

"It's nothing Lyd's. can we just go back in and watch Isaac marry the love of his life, and then go on pretending like its not going to go south."

"You met someone." Lydia states.

Stiles nods, sheepishly. Creeper has made him bitter. Isaac and Cora are totally gonna be together for-freaking-ever.

"And they crushed you like a bug."

Another nod.

"Sweetie what have I told you about hooking up with random strangers? It always ends with being laid out flat on the floor." Lydia comforts him in a way Lydia only can. Reminding him it's his fault and then–

"At least he didn't run away to London after six years."

Reminding him it's not as bad as Jackson. "But Jackson came back."

"And if whoever this is really likes you (nice word choice, Lydia, really) he'll come back too, and then you'll stomp on him like the bug he made you feel like and if he's really in to you, he'll stay anyways."

Stiles smiles. He will always remember those three months of Lydia either completely ignoring Jackson or full on raging at him until it was out of her system. He also remembers Jackson never once giving up, he guesses that's why they have a kid now.

"Now c'mon I'll choke you if we've missed the vows." Lydia turns on her hills and strides her way back to the ceremony.

After a minute Stiles follows suit.




It's later on that day, nearly the next day if Stiles' clock is right, when Stiles has finally cleaned his house made breakfast for Allison and Scott (cause they come over ever Monday morning, while he's still asleep to drop a few things off or visit when he wakes up) and put on his pajamas' and is basically over what happened earlier that day (only ever thinking about when he took a shower and a certain part of his neck was supremely sore) when his phone dings.

Half asleep, he wobbles back down the stairs to the kitchen where he accidentally left it.

His frown at not knowing the number that is somehow in his contacts quickly dissolves into a goofy grin when he reads the text.


It's Peter.

It takes a second for Stiles to think of a reply, screw Lydia's rules.

Still going in as Creeper in my contacts.


Stiles nearly dies when he reads his reply.


I think I like that, too.