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It was the middle of the day when Peter was outside in the front yard of his shared two story house in the woods , he was taking the dry clothes off the clothing line. And for some reason he noticed one of his most favorited V-neck long sleeves were missing. Already knowing it wasn't in the basket with the other clothes and such. So he decided to head inside and set the basket down next to the couch and make his way up the stairs to his shared room and looked through the closet to see if the missing piece of clothing was in there. Unfortunately it wasn't in there , hmm
Peter is way to smart to even think of the thief being of his pack members. No scratch that he knows exactly who took his piece of clothing. The small chittering coming from underneath his shared bed, really doesn't help his mate's case either. And the wolf just plays along for now. Peter hummed low in his throat, the sound rumbling like a wolf content in its den. He straightened the rest of the closet, though his sharp ears caught the giveaway sound he had been waiting for soft chittering, a nervous little noise only one creature in his household made. The corners of his mouth twitched upward.
"Oh dear" he said to no one in particular, voice smooth yet teasing.
"it seems my favorite shirt has gone missing. How very peculiar."
Another squeak came from under the bed. Tiny, but insistent. Peter crouched, calm and unhurried, and lifted the bed skirt. His suspicions were confirmed instantly: a wide-eyed Stiles, curled into himself, hugging the missing V-neck like it was treasure. Peter tilted his head.
"Well, well. What do we have here?"
"...Mine" Stiles mumbled, clutching the fabric tighter. His voice had the soft lisp it always carried when he was small. Peter's brow arched, though there was warmth in his gaze.
"Is that so, pup? I could have sworn it had my name on the tag."
Stiles' cheeks puffed in stubborn defiance. "But it smells like you! An'... an' it's soft. Mine now."
Before Peter could reply, there was a faint shimmer of energy and in a blink, the young man was gone, replaced by a small bat clinging to the shirt with its wings wrapped tightly around it. The bat let out an indignant squeak! as if to say, 'you can't catch me now!' Peter chuckled, amused rather than frustrated.
"Oh, pup. You think hiding under there as a bat will keep you safe from me? I've caught prey far more elusive than you."
The bat only squeaked louder. Peter sighed dramatically, as though the situation were out of his hands.
"Shame. I suppose I'll just have to eat all that macaroni and cheese by myself tonight. With extra cheese, no less. What a pity."
Silence. Then, a little rustle under the bed. A shimmer. And Stiles was back in his human shape, crawling out sheepishly, still bundled in the shirt. His hair was a wild mess, and his wide hazel eyes peeked up at Peter nervously.
"...Mac'n'cheese?" he whispered, hopeful.
Peter smiled faintly, crouching to meet his gaze. "Yes, pup. But not if you keep stealing. You could have just asked."
Stiles' lower lip wobbled. "Didn't wanna bother you..."
The wolf's heart softened instantly. He reached out, tucking a piece of hair back from Stiles' face. "Listen to me. You never bother me. Not when you're big, not when you're small, not when you're hiding under beds or hanging upside down like a bat. You're my pup. Always."
Stiles sniffled, clutching the shirt tighter.
"...Promise?"
Peter leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I promise. Now, how about this—you can borrow the shirt. But no more stealing, understood?"
Stiles nodded quickly, wrapping himself in the fabric like a blanket.
"Mhm. Thank you, papa."
Peter chuckled at the nickname. "Good boy."
He stood smoothly and scooped Stiles into his arms, carrying him with effortless strength. Stiles tucked his face into Peter's shoulder, humming happily. Downstairs, Peter set Stiles gently on the kitchen counter, keeping a protective hand on his hip as he stirred a pot of pasta. Stiles kicked his legs and swung them back and forth, still wrapped in the shirt like it was a cape.
"Careful, pup" Peter murmured, glancing at him. "No wiggling near the stove."
"em wigglin"
Stiles said with a mischievous grinned then immediately wiggled. Peter gave him a sharp look, though the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.
"You're lucky you're cute."
When the macaroni was done, Peter made sure to dish out a portion with extra cheese, cooling it just enough before setting it in front of Stiles at the table. The pup dug in eagerly, making soft happy noises with every bite. Peter sat across from him, sipping tea, watching with quiet fondness. Later, when the bowl was empty and Stiles was yawning big, batlike yawns, Peter gathered him back into his arms. Upstairs, he tucked him into bed, letting him keep the shirt wrapped tight around him.
"Safe?" Peter asked quietly, brushing a hand through Stiles' messy hair.
Stiles nodded sleepily. "Safe, papa, always safe..."
Peter kissed his temple, pulling the blankets snug. "That's right, pup. Always."
And as the night deepened around their house in the woods, Peter kept watch over his little bat, guarding him the way only a wolf could.