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“I can’t believe that instead of enjoying the fair, we’re witch hunting,” Stiles grumbles, leaning against Roscoe and folding his arms. Scott nods in agreement, moving out of the way so that Isaac can clamber out of the back of the jeep.


“Well,” Isaac points out, “all the evidence did lead here.”


Stiles snorts.


“What does Derek believe that the fortune teller is actually legit? Are all the carnies using magic as opposed to cheating to make sure we never win the huge teddy bears?”


“I think they’re using human beings as spell components.”


Stiles jumps, Derek’s voice practically in his ear.


“Jesus Christ! What have I told you about sneaking up on me?”


“You should be more aware of your surroundings,” Derek replies. Erica, Boyd and Peter are all snickering. Stiles flips them off.

The entrance to the Beacon Hills Fair is a lot more impressive than last year. Instead of a terrible comic sans banner with clashing colours, it’s a full blown lightbulb sign. The air hums with electricity, thick with the scent of cotton candy and corndogs.


“Do you think Allison would like it if I won her a teddy bear?" Scott ponders aloud as they enter. He’s looking over at the game booths to the left of them. Stiles frowns when he looks at the prizes available; most of them seem to be weird mixes of indeterminate species. He’s pretty sure half of them are actually cryptids. He kind of wants to win a Jersey Devil.


“I think you’ll be winning her a hideous spliced creature,” Stiles says, “but I wouldn’t let that stop you. Nothing says romance like a tiger-duck. Diger? Tuck? Duger?”

“No-one is winning anyone anything,” Derek growls. Stiles has realised that when Derek is trying very hard to impress his leadership skills and authority upon them then his sentences tend to end in angry rumble. “We are here to find the witches, split into pairs, find the witches, call us and then we will take them out.”


“And afterwards we can win things?” Isaac asks.


“Please,” Erica says, fluttering her eyelashes. Even Boyd, who has a face of stone, is looking at little longingly at the Ferris Wheel. Stiles tries to smother his grin as Derek’s face is going through several emotions. Stiles knows that if Scott adds his puppy eyes to mix, then Derek will crumble because he is loathe to deny his pack anything despite his gruff exterior. He would probably buy everyone cotton candy if asked, complaining the whole time but doing that secret smile he does when his pack is all happy and bonding.


“Fine, if and only if, you find the witch then you can enjoy the fair,” Derek concedes.


“Yes,” Erica says, high-fiving Isaac.


“First person to find the witch,” Derek continues, “I will pay for the ride of their choice.”


“Bribery Derek, really?” Peter says.


“Shut up old man,” Stiles says, elbowing Peter in the ribs. It doesn’t really do anything, Peter doesn’t even give him the curtesy of pretending to be affected.


“Boyd and I are gonna win,” Erica announces, grabbing Boyd by the hand and dragging him in the direction of the Ferris Wheel. “Later losers!”


“Not if Scott and I don’t find her first,” Isaac yells after her, taking Scott’s arm and pulling him towards the game booths. The image, whilst slightly depressing Stiles, is hilarious because Scott is sort of fluttering behind Isaac like a kite.


“So,” Stiles says, spinning on his heel to face Derek and Peter. “I’m going to be honest, this is not my fantasy threesome.”


Peter snorts. Derek looks disgusted, as he often does when Stiles speaks.


“You’re working with Peter,” Derek says.


“Oh come on! Really?”


“No arguments,” Derek snaps. He ends said argument by leaving, which annoys Stiles because it it an excellent way to win an argument. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be partnered with Peter, it’s just that he does not want to be partnered with Peter. Peter is far too observant for his own good and no matter how much Stiles has been mentally kicking his crush into a box and locking it, it keeps leaking out all over the place. Fucking emotions. He made Peter coffee yesterday before he made his own. Urgh. 


“Do you even want to find the witch?” Stiles asks. Peter shrugs.


“I don’t care either way. Let Derek’s puppies battle it out, I have my own money, I don’t need Derek to pay for my rides.”


“Buy me a corndog,” Stiles demands. Peter rolls his eyes, walking away. “Hey, you’re my partner, buy me a corndog!”


//


Stiles doesn’t get a corndog. Stiles gets mystery meat on a stick, which turns out to be infinitely more delicious.


“Hey,” Stiles says, “want a bite of my meat stick?”


Peter looks at the offered stick. He smiles, a little creepily then deep throats the entire thing and swallows it whole. Stiles mouth drops open. He’s torn between being furious that Peter devoured the rest of his mystery meat and kind of wanting to be devoured by Peter himself. He throws the stick in the bin.


“I said bite,” Stiles grumbles.


“I could bite something else if you want,” Peter replies.


Stiles rolls his eyes, shoving at Peter’s shoulder. He is not addressing this. He’s going to win a stuffed jackalope and channel his frustration into trying to knock over cans.


Lacrosse has given Stiles some semblance of aim and strength so this shouldn’t be too hard even if the game is rigged. He knocks over a fair amount of cans but not enough to win a stuffed cryptid. 


“Dammit.”


Peter sighs, handing over money.


“You don’t have to do this,” Stiles says.


“Who says I’m doing this for you? Maybe I want a stuffed rabbit with antlers or a weird moth-man hybrid.”


“It’s a jackalope and mothman, don’t even pretend you don’t know these legends. Also where are you even going to put that? It doesn’t exactly go with your sophisticated, I’m an adult so everything is monochrome and fancy apartment aesthetic.”


“Be quiet, Stiles,” Peter says, putting one finger to Stiles lips, “I’m concentrating.”


Peter throws the ball, knocks over every can and tears a small hole in the fabric of the booth. The carny’s eyebrows draw together in a serious furrow but he hands over the jackalope without protest. Peter squeezes it once before offering it to Stiles.
Stiles raises an eyebrow.


“If you don’t want it,” Peter begins but Stiles snatches it away before he can finish.


“Fuck no, this is my jackalope.”

Peter grins but it’s soft. Stiles tucks the jackalope under his arm and grabs Peter’s hand.


“Come on, we’re making out on the top of the Ferris Wheel like a fucking cliche and it’s going to be great.”


“It most certainly will,” Peter says and Stiles doesn’t even roll his eyes at the salacious tone.


//


Making out on the Ferris Wheel is great. Peter does this thing with his tongue that has Stiles ready to shed all of his clothes immediately. Peter chuckles against Stiles neck, places a sweet, biting kiss to the soft skin behind his ear.


“As much fun as public indecency with you would be, I don’t want to be arrested by your father.”


“Fair,” Stiles says, as the Ferris Wheel floats slowly down. “Let’s go to your apartment then.”


They have another couple of rotations to go on the Wheel, so Stiles snuggles up under Peter’s arm. The sun set a few minutes ago, the sky a bright orange fading into baby pink. It’s nice to look out over Beacon Hills, at the city lights gradually flickering to life. Listen to the rustle of the wind through the trees and the excited shrieks of fair patrons. Peter rubs his thumb on the hinge of Stiles jaw, a gentle comforting motion.


They stumble through the fair back to the parking lot. They keep stopping because Peter cannot keep his hands to himself and Stiles likes kissing.


“I want to fuck you,” Stiles snaps when Peter pushes him against the wooden fence surrounding the petting zoo. “We cannot do that here.”


“True,” Peter says, ducking in for another kiss. “But unlike you I have patience.”


“You’re a fucking cocktease.”

“That too.”


Eventually they make it back to the parking lot, only to be confronted with the pack covered in what looks like rotting mystery meat and looking pissed about it.


“Holy shit what happened to you?” Stiles asks.


“Witches,” Isaac mutters, flicking meat off of his t-shirt.


“Where the hell were you?” Derek growls. He’s missing half an eyebrow. Erica’s expression implies that nobody has pointed this out yet.


“Busy, dear nephew,” Peter says. “We will also be leaving now.”


“Sorry guys,” Stiles says, letting Peter lead him away, “You’ll need to get another ride home. Partly because I’m not letting you get into Roscoe like that and partly because I’m going to go have sex.”


“You suck Stilinski!” Isaac shouts. Scott and Derek’s mouthes are wide open in shock, Derek’s is funnier due to the lack of complete eyebrows.


“GET THAT DICK!” Erica yells, giving Stiles a thumbs up.


“Aren’t you glad we have that endorsement?” Stiles asks.


“Stiles get in the car so we can go home and fuck.”


“Ok then!”