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A week after Stiles’ seventh birthday, Peter is hit by a curse which forces him to stay in his wolf form for the better part of a year. He hangs around with Stiles all the time. They typical day includes Stiles waking Peter up with excited puppy like yips for them to go downstairs together and eat breakfast in the garden. Where Peter nearly entered his headspace with all the attention and love Stiles showered upon him. Kisses to his cold nose and tugs to his ears and full body hugs and grooming, he would lie there almost drooling as Stiles loved him.
The year went by and Peter was perfectly content.
After breakfast they’d go inside and Stiles would get ready and he and Peter would go for long walks in the park, or sometimes just sit beside Claudia while her scent soured. Sometimes Stiles would play games, and sometimes he’d trek all the way up to the Hale house and play with them all.
On the slightly worse days he and Scott would play fight and Peter would watch jealously from the side lines.
But then at dinner, Stiles would sneak him seconds, and the two would curl up in bed together.
So when the end of the year came around, some ten months later, and the curse wore off, Stiles was petrified to see Peter in his bed.
‘Where’s wolfie?’ Stiles demanded, stamping his feet and crossing his arms and Peter managed a tight smile.
‘I am Wolfie, Stiles. It’s me, Peter. Don’t you remember me? Look,’ he held out the inside of his wrist for Stiles to scent and remember but Stiles just ran downstairs, screaming for his father. The Sheriff looked surprised to see Peter after so long, and scooped Stiles up in his arms and rolled his eyes.
‘He’s just forgotten, Peter. Give him some time.’
But Peter didn’t like it. How Stiles would go into the park or the woods and call for his Wolf. ‘Stiles,’ Peter would try ‘I’m a were-wolf, I can shift into a wolf. You know me. Look at me.’
‘You’re a creep.’ Stiles yelled, running full speed into the forest. Peter could almost hear Derek’s taunting in his head. He sprinted after Stiles, shifting easily into a Wolf, and he heard Stiles’ little gasp. He looked upwards to see the little boy high up in a tree. ‘Wolfie?’ He asked ‘Peter?’ Peter shifted back
‘Stiles, be careful! How did you even get so high up?!’
Stiles looked around his perch curiously ‘I climbed?’
‘Climb down!’
Stiles rolled his eyes but carefully slid down, and took a wondering step towards Peter. He held out his wrist, and Stiles sniffed it delicately, beaming with delight as he bit down onto Peter’s wrist, leaving tiny-toothed indents. Peter scooped him up and onto his back and Stiles sighed warmly into his ear. ‘’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,’ he whispered, and Peter squeezed his ankle reassuringly
‘That’s alright. You did in the end.’
Stiles pressed his cheek against Peter’s ear. ‘You’ll still sleep with me, won’t you?’
Peter faltered at that. He hadn’t been allowed to before the permanent wolf thing happened. Though he’d snuck in every night to watch Stiles and leave at the crack of dawn. He frowned ‘I’ll have to ask your dad.’
The Sheriff was staring at papers when they walked in. From the hospital and Peter was too afraid to ask. ‘I’ll take him up to bed, John,’ he whispered instead, and the Sheriff barely looked up. Peter worried to himself. The Sheriff had been drinking more now that Claudia was bed-ridden. Peter could smell she only had a few months left now. He lay down on the bed whilst Stiles got ready, appearing barefoot and smelling of toothpaste as he climbed in. He wasn’t at all shy, and shuffled right on top of Peter, tiny legs stretched over Peter’s hips as he wriggled down and got comfortable. Peter had to stifle a groan.
He wasn’t attracted to little kids.
He wasn’t.
But Stiles was different. Stiles was his. His mate. He smelt like heaven and was perfect and Peter’s cock didn’t know social norms. He wrapped his arms around his mate, and prepared himself for the first of many long, frustrating nights.