Summary:

Peter might've had a tender moment last night but he still gets bored and he definitely resented a few of Stiles song choices. Karma is a cruel mistress after all and Peter was glad to play her hand maiden.

or where Stiles attempts to beat Peter in a war of the pranking variety.

Notes:

Hi guys. Thank you all so much for reading and the kudos. Oh I love the love! You're all diamonds.
So last chapter was touchy feely but ultimately essential for character development etc so neeeeeerrrrr! Any way this chapter is the beginning of a war of the pranking variety but Stiles will have to be one crafty sod to beat or maniacal satan in a V-Neck. Derek and Scott cameo hilariously in this chpater and start to become a little more prominent. Any who onwards to reading *comical zoomy wooshy sound*

Chapter Text

Stiles consciousness slams back into existence at the tell-tale click of a camera phone snapping a picture. He blinks his eyes blearily shutting his open mouth and smacking away the collection of drool pooling in the corner. He groans and focuses his eyes finally seeing the phone and its attached owner barely a foot from his face, by his bed, in his room. He slams an arm out but alas too slow for wolfy reflexes.

"Yeah, because that's not creepy," Stiles grumbles throwing his arm over his face and huddling further into his blankets. Peter laughs and looks at the image on his phone, priceless. While the image of Stiles mouth gaping open and a veritable lake of drool gathering on his own arm was funny in itself; it was made funnier by the well groomed, marker handlebar moustache Peter had drawn on him while he slept. Peter might've had a tender moment last night but he still gets bored and, he definitely resented a few of Stiles song choices. Karma is a cruel mistress after all and Peter was glad to play her hand maiden. He laughs loudly scrolling through his phone and selecting a few contacts before hitting send.

"Ugh, go away!" Stiles protests, the sound muffled under the blanket. Peter grins but is ready to comply until he hears a grumbled "dogs belong outside," and some unintelligible sleepy complaints. Peters eyes narrow dangerously but glint with dark humour. He sidles up to the boys bed and slides his hands under the mattress. He barks a laugh and quickly lifts one side, the boy and mattress flipping onto the floor. He was still laughing as he jumped out the window listening to the squawk of protest and violent cursing.

Stile furiously attempted to disentangle himself from his blankets underneath his mattress prison. He manages to free most of his arms and angrily thrusts the mattress onto its side until it leans precariously against his bed frame. His head pops up scanning the room for the insufferable sleep ruining creeper a look of contemptuous disdain prepared for him. He exhales violently, it figures he wouldn't still be here, Peter values his life too much. Still grumbling and muttering under his breath he gets up violently kicking any object obstructing his path to the kitchen. This mess would be bettered handled by a caffeinated and Showered Stiles.

Peter loiters outside Stiles room leaning against the side of the house. He smiles to himself as he hears the teen kick something in anger only to swear and hop ungainly for a few feet before falling over himself. Oh, this was soo worth it Peter croons happily to himself in his head. His phone buzzes against his thigh.

Nephew buzzkill:
Yeah, that's not creepy

Peter chuckles and starts tapping, he can just picture Derek's confused frown. He endeavours one day to be the cause of the inevitable merging of his nephews eyebrows into one entity.

His reply read:
Please, its already your phone background. No need to thank me.
Almost immediately he receives a reply.

Nephew buzzkill:
I hate you.

Peter laughs and texts him an xx in response. He checks another message that came through.

My favourite Banshee:
Nice strong lines, you're quite the artist.

Peter was quite proud of his handiwork too, especially as he hears the furious and surprised shriek as Stiles inevitably looked into a reflective surface. Peter pauses head tilted, a second outraged yell comes from within making Peter laugh loudly and lope off hearing what he'd been waiting for.

Stiles rubs his face having braved the obstacle course that is the stairs and inhales the deliciousness that is black coffee. He pities the heathens their creamer and sugar. With his prize safely ensconced in his palms he makes his way up to the bomb site. He flops down into his swivel chair sipping with one hand and checking his phone with the other. He has two messages.

Sourwolf:
What have I told you about letting strange men in through your window?

Stiles smirks into his cup then frowns, wait, how did he know Peter was in his room. He checks the other.

Great Scott!:
Dude nice moustache.

He puts his phone down and his frown becomes more confused. He runs a hand over his upper lip, he wasn't growing a moustache. He's pretty sure he's not even capable of growing one. His eyes widen. No, he wouldn't dare! The realisation hits him, who is he kidding Peter totally would dare. Stiles slams his cup down forcefully ejecting himself from the chair which rolls away. He skids determinedly into the bathroom and shrieks in shock.
"You sneaky asshatted mother fucker !" He yells after gaping a few seconds. There is a big brown and frankly quite impressive brown handlebar moustache imprinted on his face. He tilts his head to observe it from a different angle, his eyes fall on another mark. Its smaller in comparison but he doesn't need to get closer to read it. He lets out a roar of indignant rage and scrubs at it, it doesn't budge. Nope, 'Peter was here' was still scrawled neatly in what was apparently permanent marker across his jugular. Well he should be thankful his newly acquired facial hair wasn't as immovable, but he was too distracted by the raucous laughter that was rapidly becoming more distant.
"Yeah you better run!" Stiles mutters darkly already plotting his retaliation. He eyes himself in the mirror rubbing his chin he looks every bit the stereotypical evil genius, it looks like a visit to the argents is on the cards today.

After a day of awkward encounters questioning his winter apparel on a 90 degree day Stiles comes home, flinging the horrendous scarf on the floor and stomping on it as he rubs his neck. He viciously curses Peter and his "totally hilarious" shenanigans. Yes, even in his mind his sarcasm is scathing. He flops on his bed feeling slightly less murderous than earlier after having visited the Argents. He stretches out, pleasantly surprised to find how relaxed and loose he feels despite having being dumped unceremoniously from his bed only this morning. Usually after having nightmares- he grimaces as he remembers those from the night before- he wakes up tight and anxious; his muscles twisted and sore from trying to gain control of his body, like when he'd been riding shotgun to the Nogitsune. Void Stiles still dominated his dreams and Stiles still fought him vehemently, trying desperately to stop his limbs from their horrendous actions. He physically shakes those disturbing thoughts away grabbing the bag he'd brought in and starts preparing his payback.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! I hope you laughed as much as I did :P
As always leave me some love and a magical fairy will plant more hilarious words into my head which I shall then share with the world! Also it makes me happy haha. The next chapters will be out soon and are beyond hilarious. Not to brag or anything they just are. Don't be afraid to hit me up with a comment.

Thanks lovelies.
x.