Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10709217.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Additional Tags:
      All_characters_-_Freeform, particularly_mains, Love, polyamorous,
      threeway, Orgy, some_smut, but_not_a_lot, Fluff, Angst
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-24 Completed: 2017-05-05 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 1705
****** Teen Wolf Imagines ******
by 24StilinskiHale00
Summary
     ......
***** Stiles Stilinski x Peter Hale *****
|| "Imagine if Stiles changed his mind, and Peter was still an alpha when
resurrected, and so Stiles asked Peter for the bite."
Also, no beta, all mistakes are mine, feel free to comment corrections. ||
Stiles gulped as he arrived at the apartment.
He knew the the alpha would be able to smell his fear and would probably
ridicule the boy for it but he couldn't help being scared. He had every right
to be afraid, the man he was visiting was a serial killer for Gods' sakes, and
had almost killed his best friend.
Still, the son of the Sheriff of Beacon Hills double checked, no, triple
checked he was at the right apartment. He didn't realize his lip was between
his teeth until he could taste the metallic pang of blood, and shuddered, his
fist shaking when he raised it to knock on the door.
It was opened instantly, which Stiles should have expected, and yet he seemed
to have forgotten that the alpha could hear and smell him from the moment he
had appeared on the street in his jeep. Peter Hale smiled, looking slightly
creepy, and, Stiles would never admit, attractive. Okay, scratch that, not
slightly attractive. Extremely attractive, mouth-watering, some would say, but
never Stiles - nope, he would never tell.
"What do I owe this pleasure to, Stiles?" He asked, welcoming the teen into his
aparment. Stiles stayed quiet, looking around, and couldn't help but feel like
this place was definitely Peter's taste. Rich colourings on the walls,
extravagant paintings, a fucking chandelier in the hallway, two in the living
room -
"Well? Did ou need something?" Peter eventually snapped, making Stiles jump,
which was when the seventeen year old realized he had sat down on the couch. He
eyed the front door, but assumed Peter would have locked it. So he began to
stutter and ramble, in a particularly Stiles-esque way.
"Uh, I just - I wanted to, you know, ask - well, check, really, - if you would
- if you might still, you know, be up for, I mean, if you could bite me, if I
wanted it - if I asked -, if the offer was still on the table - not that you
ow-"
"Yes, it is." Peter cut the boy off. He was secretly amused at the younger
boy's ramblings, but somewhere deep down, he knew that it made him happy, and
the thought of being happy scared Peter. He wasn't used to it, after so long
alone. Stiles blinked, realizing that the alpha had approved what he was saying
and somewhere deep down he was glad. If Peter had said no, Stiles would have
probably died of embarrassment on the spot.
"Wait - woah, really? You aren't messing me about?" Stiles asked, his eyes
wide, like, Bambi wide. Peter could smell the relief and gratitude that
radiated off him, and he almost smiled when Stiles' next words fell out of his
mouth. "Will you, please, um, bite -" Peter placed a finger on Stiles' lips,
instantly quietening the seventeen year old, essentiall leaving him speechless.
"This will be very painful, then again, Scott took to it, and if he can, you
can handle it." Pete rsaid offhandedly, momentarily forgetting that Scott and
Stiles were best friends. he almost felt bad, before recalling that Scott,
also, forgot that he was Stiles' best friend, and regularly. "I would euphemise
it, but I don't want to sugarcoat it." Peter explained simply, at least, he
wouldn't sugarcoat it for his mate - wait, what? He shook the thought away as
he scrutinized Stiles, looking, listening and sniffing for any sign the boy
didn't want it. "Are you sure?" He asked and Stiles nodded vehemently.
"Yes!" Stiles snapped and Peter finally smiled. Stiles would admit this to
himself, but nobody else - EVER ON PAIN OF DEATH! - that he actually found the
creeperwolf's smile incdredibly hot. Stiles shrugged his jacket off, along with
his flannel overshirt, at Peter's nod and he allowed Peter to take a hold of
his arm. The teen closed his eyes and bit his lip as Peter drew the boy's arm
to his mouth, extending his fangs, and -
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" Stiles cried out with pain as the fangs sunk into his
flesh, and his eyes were filled with the pain as the smell of his blood reached
even his human nose. His eyes had flown open during his outburst and Peter
prayed that Stiles wasn't regretting his choice. Then again, he reeked of
happiness, so he assumed the boy was frateful. He felt a small swell of pride
for causing the happiness.
Oh hell no. Not happening.
Peter began to argue with his wolf, barely even realizing that Stiles had
dripped blood onto his white leather couch and that he'd have to get a new one
until he heard Stiles' gasp of shock and horror. He frowned at the red stain,
but there was nothing he could do about it. He smirked at the boy.
"If you need anything, don't be afraid to pop by." Peter said, quickly waving
the boy out of his door, and slamming it shut behind him, locking it quickly.
The argument started up again.
"Not now!" Peter hissed, finalizing it. "When he's older, I can see what he
needs and I'll be it!" He murmured.
A sigh escaped his lips as his eyes flashed red, his wolf trying to claw it's
way to the surface to take his mate, Stiles Stilinski.
Meanwhile, Stiles was stood outside the door, his hearing already better, and
he had heard the whole argument, before he ran to his jeep and drove the hell
away from the situation.
He needed to tell Scott.
***** Lydia Martin x Jordan Parrish *****
Chapter Summary
     ....
|| “Imagine if Lydia went missing and Jordan goes to find her. They admit their
feelings for each other – subtly.”
Yeah, it wasn’t so subtle, but oh well. It’s cute I think. ||
Lydia Martin was following a feeling. Normally, her feelings ended up with a
dead body – you know, a banshee, psychic, annoying trait. This feeling? This
feeling was worse. Why? Well, it wasn’t just leading her to a body.
It was leading her to over fifty.
A massacre.
Back in Beacon Hills, Sheriff Stilinski had asked his hellhound Deputy Jordan
Parrish to find Lydia – you know, with them both being Harbingers of Death and
all that. So the hellhound had partial control of the human so he could try and
sense her.
When he finally found the girl, she was completely nude, shaking, and
tearstained, though the tears had made dirty streaks through the mud on her
face, the same mud that coated the rest of her body.
“Lydia? What’s wrong?” It was Jordan’s voice, not the hellhounds and he was
grateful.
The reason he hadn’t asked if she was okay? He knew that was completely fucking
stupid. There was no way she would be in a state like this if she was okay.
She kept shaking, her entire body folded underneath Jordan’s, and neither of
them knew when he had put his arms around her, but they kept them there. They
were making her feel safe, and successfully warming her up, and he was being
kind and gentle and noble and gentlemanly and she liked it.
“I felt it. Fifty people, at least. All killed at once by this, this thing – I
didn’t see it but fifty at least, Jordan, fifty!” She cried out, shivering,
before he draped his jacket over her, his Deputy’s jacket, and she zipped it
up, making herself decent, covering herself before she held him again, refusing
to let him go.
She wanted to hold onto something real, and right now? He was the realest thing
in her life.
“If I’d been quicker, I could’ve saved them, I could’ve done -”
“It’s not your fault.” Jordan cut her off instantly. “No way, Lydia. There was
no way you could’ve saved them, okay? Promise me you don’t blame yourself?” She
nodded unconvincingly at his words and he frowned, forcing the girl with candy
green apple eyes to look at him. “Lydia!” He repeated, forcefully, making her
gaze snap to and lock on his own eyes. “Promise me you don’t blame yourself.”
He repeated firmly.
It took a moment, but eventually, she found words to nod and form a coherent
reply.
“I promise.” She mumbled, after the insanely long pause of her trying to
convince herself he was right.
Eventually, when he picked her up and kissed her, she knew that if it was her
fault, the Deputy would not be kissing her like that, so heavenly, and so
sinfully, so gently, and so passionately and so perfectly that she couldn’t
stop herself from melting into him.
“Let’s get you home.” He murmured, carrying her through the woods, his eyes
trained on hers, though they occasionally flitted to the surroundings so he
wouldn’t trip. When they reached his car, he set her down gently, and she
leaned against the car, shivering still. Though, partially, that was probably
the kiss.
He grabbed a bag out of the trunk of his car and handed her a change of clothes
he had brought for her. She smiled and he turned away, but shielded her from
passing cars as she changed into her normal clothes, a skirt and shirt with
heels and underwear and a bra and she wondered briefly how he got all her
sizings but pushed it aside as she felt his lips on hers again, pushing her
closer to the car before he pulled back, having draped his jacket around her
shoulders again.
She happily got into the front seat of his car, wondering where they were.
“You made it fifty miles out of town.” He explained and she stared in shock at
him.
He kept one hand on her knee as he drove, reassuring himself that she was still
there, reassuring her that he was still there and that they were safe, nothing
could or would hurt them – not even the creature that had slaughtered so many
people at once. Why?
Because, as cheesy at it sounds
They have each other.
And that’s all they need.
Even as they drive back into Beacon hills, they know that they have everything
necessary for them to be happy because they can be together.
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