The Bite of a Wolf, the Magic of a Wizard
Harry had expected the kiss to be overwhelming—expected Peter to take, to devour, to claim him the way he always seemed ready to.
But it wasn't like that.
It was slow. Purposeful. Deliberate.
Like Peter was giving Harry time. Like he was waiting.
For what, Harry didn't know.
But when Peter finally pulled back—just far enough to meet his gaze, just far enough to let the moment hang between them, heavy and undeniable—Harry realized something.
Peter had already made his claim.
Not with a bite. Not with a command.
But with patience.
With the way he let Harry choose.
Because this wasn't a chase anymore.
It wasn't a fight.
It wasn't about proving something.
It was about Harry finally accepting what had always been his.
And Merlin help him—he was done pretending otherwise.
The Pack Reacts (Again)
The next morning, Harry tried to pretend like nothing had changed.
Tried to go about his day like he hadn't spent the night with Peter's scent wrapped around him like a second skin.
Tried to walk into the loft like he wasn't utterly and completely claimed.
It didn't work.
Because the moment he stepped inside—
The pack turned.
Lydia arched a brow.
Malia smirked.
Derek rolled his eyes.
And Stiles?
Stiles grinned.
"So," Stiles said, leaning back against the couch like he'd been waiting for this. "How's it feel?"
Harry frowned. "How does what feel?"
Stiles gestured vaguely. "Being Peter's mate."
Harry froze.
Lydia smirked. "Oh, don't act surprised."
Malia nodded. "It was obvious."
Harry clenched his jaw. "It was not—"
"Harry." Stiles gave him a deadpan look. "Peter's literally been circling you like a feral wolf for months. And you let him."
Harry opened his mouth—then closed it.
Because, okay. Maybe that was fair.
Still, he scowled. "You're all insufferable."
Derek hummed. "And yet, here you are."
Harry huffed, dropping into a chair. "This was a mistake."
Malia smirked. "Yeah, but it's too late now."
Harry groaned.
Because damn it—she was right.