lady in leopard dress


Happy Birthday @mysenia - I hope you have an amazing day <3 I wrote you a little fic to celebrate this awesome occasion. 

“GUESS WHO’S TWENTY ONE?” Stiles yells as he skids into Derek’s loft, a party hat at a lopsided angle on his head. Scott comes in after, wearing sparkly pink sunglasses with flamingos on them. Because he’s awesome.  Derek follows them, not wearing a party hat because he’s sucks. Stiles will wrangle one on him by the end of the evening, by thunder.

“I guess Stiles,” Peter says lazily, returning his attention to his book.

“You guess right,” Stiles, replies, pointing finger guns at Peter and making soft gunshot noises.

“I assume you’re here to collect the betas for an evening of drunken revelry,” Peter comments, still not looking up from his book.

“Correction,” Stiles says, putting a finger the top of Peter’s book and pushing it down. “The pack is going out for an evening of drunken revelry. And by pack I also mean you.”

“Yippee,” Peter deadpans, gently removing Stiles finger. Stiles feels that Peter is not very excited about the prospect of body shots and irresponsibility. It’s a travesty and a sham and Peter is coming whether he likes it or not. Pack bonding over alcohol and the celebration of Stiles entering this world. Because face it, the pack would be lost without him.

“Stilinski,” Erica yells from the top of the staircase. Boyd, who as usual looks passive and Isaac, who for once is not wearing his douchebag hipster scarf, stand either side of her. They look like a terrifying rock band. It’s simultaneously hot as fuck and mildly concerning. “ARE YOU READY?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Let’s get this party started,” Erica says gleefully. Stiles is pretty sure if she should be rubbing her hands together given the manic glint in her eye.

Tonight is gonna be awesome.


Stiles wakes up in a bed and he’s wearing clothes. Which is better than say, naked in a bathtub or the neighbor’s pool. It is however not his own bed. Stiles tries to get up but that’s when his headache makes itself known and Jesus wept. It’s like a gang of dwarves are plundering his skull for precious metal. Badly.

Stiles moans loudly and contemplates dying right now.

“The birthday boy wakes.”

Stiles knows that voice. That smarmy, velvety, smug, sinful voice.

“If you don’t have water and like a bazillion aspirin, you can fuck right off.”

Peter chuckles and God, why does he have to be so loud.

“Hush your face,” Stiles mumbles, accepting the aspirin and water. Peter pushes Stiles over easily, settling down next to him on the bed.

“Do you remember much of last night?” Peter asks. It hurts to think but memories flit about and oh dear lord.

“Holy shit, last night was like the irresponsible Olympics for us.”


“If you beat Boyd at chugging these beers,” Erica yells over the thump of the music, “I will let you do body shots off me.”


“Alright stoic and handsome,” Stiles says, giving Boyd a hard stare and jabbing two fingers at his own eyes then pointing them at Boyd’s.


“Ten bucks on Stiles,” Scott says, slamming his shot glass on the table they’re crowded on. Jackson waggles his index finger at Scott, already slightly tipsy. Stiles may or may not have put a little more wolfsbane tincture in Jackson’s glass than everyone else’s. It’s not like they can prove it.


“Boyd is gonna kick his ass,” Isaac says. Derek is shaking his head somewhere in Stiles periphery, clearly disapproving. He’s wearing a luminous green party hat though.





“I did body shots off Erica’s stomach,” Stiles says, “I drank Sourz out of her belly button.”

“That you did,” Peter replies. God he’s such a smug dick.

Another memory surfaces, like a hideous creature from the black lagoon.


“Cause I may be bad, but I’m perfectly good at it,” Derek croons into the microphone. He’s swaying his hips and a raucous bride-to-be is screaming whilst throwing one dollar bills in Derek’s vicinity.  


“Boyd, you gotta save Derek from the bride,” Scott slurs, clapping Boyd on the shoulder. Boyd is the only one still sober. Stiles thinks it’s because he’s wise to the wolfsbane. Crafty bastard. “She’s getting married, she can’t take our alpha home. She has a husband.”


“He’s our alpha,” Isaac pipes up. He’s nodding along to Derek’s singing, one arm around Stiles shoulders and the other around Erica, who’s filming the entire event.



“Oh my god, Derek sang S&M by Rihanna,” Stiles says. His entire world view has just changed.

“Yes, that potential bride was quite taken with him,” Peter comments.  Stiles snorts.

“Scott tried to fight her for Derek’s honor,” Stiles says, still reeling from the experience of Derek shaking his moneymaker. “Until Allison dragged him away.”


“But Allison,” Scott whimpers, “Derek is special, he’s had a hard love life.”


“I know sweetie,” Allison replies, stroking Scott’s hair. Derek is currently letting Erica put a crown of dandelions on his head.


“If you were a flower, you’d be a DAMN-de-lion,” Erica says sagely, patting Derek’s cheek as he beams.


“She’s aware a dandelion is a weed right,” Peter mutters to Stiles.



“I don’t think I remember what happened after that,” Stiles says, furiously rubbing his temples to makes his headache just stop. Peter takes pity on him, pulling Stiles to him. Stiles ends up lying on Peter’s thigh, Peter gently massaging his head.

“Well, we roamed the city in an abandoned shopping cart…”


“You’re gonna get yours Stilinski,” Allison shrieks as Stiles speeds past her. Stiles chose Scott before her and he’s the fastest wolf in all of Beacon Hills. Allison chose Jackson, who’s like the slowest ever.


“Don’t bet on it Argent,” Stiles shouts at they whip round a corner and into the Denny’s parking lot.



“Then we found your delightful drag queen friends,” Peter continues.


Stiles really, really loves Marci. She’s like amazing.


“You have such pretty eyes honey,” Marci says, holding his chin gently, “These eyelashes just need a little mascara.”


Stiles sits there obediently whilst Marci and Lydia discuss lipsticks. They decide to just leave his ‘quote blowjob lips unquote’ as is. Stiles thinks he has glitter in his hair.



“Did I get makeup on your pillows?”

“You think I didn’t wipe it off your face before putting you into bed,” Peter says, “I was not getting mascara on these sheets.”


“Stiles you cannot sleep here,” Peter says, bending down to haul Stiles to his feet. Stiles wobbles.


“I don’t think I can walk home in these,” Stiles says pointing unsteadily to his feet.


“I lose sight of you for a minute,” Peter mutters. Then he asks, “How?”


“I lost a bet to the nice lady in the leopard print dress,” Stiles says, “But I make these high heels work.”


He tries to vogue in the crimson stilettos but ends up crashing into Peter. Peter looks at him with exasperated fondness.


Stiles must blackout for a couple of seconds because he doesn’t know how he ended up on Peter’s back. Peter is warm and smells like expensive cologne. It’s nice. Peter’s nice when he wants to be. He lets Stiles look at his rare books and cooks him dinner and sometime buys him mint chocolate ice cream even though Peter doesn’t like it.


“Peter,” Stiles says mournfully, “I lost my party hat.”


“I’m sure it’s a tragic loss,” Peter replies.


They wander on in silence for a bit. Then Stiles breaks it.


“I’m glad you came out tonight.”

“Is that so?”


“Yeah,” Stiles murmurs, “Cause sometimes I think that you think you’re not pack but you are. And yeah, you can be a dick and sometimes I think you miss your family and it makes you lash out. But sometimes you’re really nice. Like when you punched that Griffon in the face cause it tried to eat Lydia. And you’re always nice to me, which I like very much. I like you very much.”


Stiles kisses Peter on the cheek. It’s a little sloppy and Stiles probably smells like alcohol but it feels right.



“I kissed you,” Stiles says slowly. Peter hums.

“You did. It was a little wet but I get the sentiment. I expect better next time.”

“Next time?” Stiles says turning so he can look up at Peter. Peter is smiling, genuinely smiling, not the cruel smirk he usually does. It’s nice. Stiles leans up and they’re kissing. It’s soft and warm and gentle.

It’s perfect.