#derek pov

[teencopandthesourwolf]

read on ao3 HERE

.

He didn't mean to do it. He meant it, with every fucked-up fibre of his being he meant it, but he didn't mean to actually do it. 

Stiles had just—been so very fucking Stiles, in that stupid, irresponsible jump-head-first-into-the fray-on-everybody-else's-behalf kind of way that he has about him, and after the pack had neutralised the danger but everybody's veins still had more adrenaline than blood coursing though them, Derek felt—feels—so fucking livid, and so damn grateful, and so utterly, utterly muddled that he's grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and pulled the kid's body into his own, hard, crashing their torsos together like a devastating highway collision, arms enveloping Stiles's shoulders as a crushed car bonnet wraps itself around a tree. 

Now—here, at a clearing in the trees on what has been Hale land for generations going back centuries, with Stiles in his space, and his nostrils, and in his fucking head—Derek is terrified. 

There's a fairly stilted, “Whoa, okay, alright, we're doing this, huh, big guy?” but then Stiles is relaxing into the hug. He sort of melts, actually, snaking long and wiry yet surprisingly strong arms around Derek's waist; so very warm, and alive, alive, alive.

“Stiles, you shouldn't have—why do you always have to—you could've fucking died!” he admonishes, although it doesn't come out half as harshly as he means and wants it to. 

Lost, Derek shoves his nose into Stiles's neck, and breathes.

Stiles lets him, because of course he does, cocking his head to the side to accommodate Derek's needs.

“Must be a day that ends in Y, huh, Der?” he answers, ever the class clown.

Derek quietly growls his annoyance and relief in equal measure, and even though he senses the rest of the pack has now gathered around them, and hating that he has an audience for this, he squeezes Stiles into him impossibly more.

Stiles wheezes comically, then jokes more, because humour is his default in any situation. “Why don't you ease up a bit there, buddy? Kinda need this work of art that I call a body in one piece if I'm ever gonna save your wolfy-ass again, oh alpha, my alpha.”

Derek shuts him up with a slick lick to the jugular. The kid shivers beautifully, but even Derek's tongue doesn't keep him quiet for long. Only Stiles Stilinski could ramble incessantly with a werewolf at his throat. 

“Okay, shit, that—ahhhhhhh, that tickles, Fido! Do I need to get the collar and chain on y—oh my fucking god!”

Derek clamps his jaws around the most exquisite throat he's ever seen, smelled, dreamed about, and growls out a warning sound that causes the betas to back off and Stiles to go weak at the knees.

Mine, he thinks loudly.

After a few moments of Derek gnawing on Stiles's throat, once they're alone in the preserve, other than the nocturnal animals and eery sound of the wind picking up from the west, Derek releases his jaws' hold on the sheriff's boy—the boy who runs with wolves; little red riding hoodie; the best human Derek's ever known—and soothes the purpling mark with a lingering press of his lips.

“Oh!” is amazingly all Stiles has got—although Derek can satisfyingly smell Stiles's arousal, his wolf now howling inside of him at the delicious scent.

“Yeah, oh,” he answers, after trying his level best to calm the feral instinct he has to pull them both down into the undergrowth and mate the boy.

He finally pulls away from Stiles, but doesn't release him from his grip entirely. Fire-red irises find big, brown doe eyes, and a smirk that Derek wants to lick right off Stiles's face and replace with a look of pure ecstasy.

“Stop doing stupid things,” he demands.

Begs. 

“Yeah, no, probably never gonna—oomph!” 

Derek kisses Stiles, kisses him like it's the end of the fucking world because he's realised that every time Stiles puts his own life in danger, it feels like it might be.

Stiles doesn't hesitate this time, though. He kisses Derek right back like he gets it.

Now found, Derek takes, and he takes, and he takes.

Stiles kisses like nobody else in existence, Derek is sure of it; he is earth and wind, fire and water.

Fucking elemental. 

When he presumably needs to breathe, Stiles tears his lips away from Derek's—swollen and blood-red—and Derek can't help the whine that escapes his. Their foreheads bump as they both pant, attempting to settle as they shake with post-fight waning nerves and a feverish desire.

Stiles says, “How ‘bout if you keep doing that, I'll get myself a bigger bat?”

Derek both hates and loves the smile that spreads across his face like a rash, entirely of its own volition. 

“How about next time, you just wait for me?” 

“Deal,” Stiles grins and kisses Derek again, and Derek hopes it's the kind of deal that's forever.

.

for @greyhavenisback—love yew, love <3 (unedited, soz!)

.

now edited and on ao3 HERE

[patrickispinky]

Derek: are you the big spoon or the little spoon?

Emily: i'm the knife

Jj: *from across the room* she's the little spoon

[reidsc0nverse]

pov your instagram when dating spencer reid pt 4

Liked by paparossi, princesspennyg, and 193 others

(y/n) i think derek got fed up with his statistics...

View all 25 comments

spencerreid1 This was frightening to say the least.

-> emilyprenty Maybe stop giving us daily lectures on a topic we brought up one time

-> paparossi @/emilyprenty I second that

derekm This is also me after he wins EVERY card game we play

-> (y/n) did you know there's a mathematical equation to every card game that guarantees the chances of winning 🤓☝️

-> jjareau not you too y/n..

-> spencerreid1 She's actually not wrong.

AaronHotchner I hope this isn't what you guys do when I'm not on the field with everyone

-> (y/n) 🤷‍♀️

Liked by katecallahan, hotboylukealvez, and 174 others

(y/n) finally convinced him to read og fairytales and watch the movies afterward

View all 23 comments

spencerreid1 ❤️

derekm Reid definitely seems like a rapunzel guy

-> (y/n) his favorite was actually belle

-> emilyprenty @/(y/n) shocker

jjareau Now you've just gotta show him Twilight

-> (y/n) that's next 🤭

princesspennyg This is so cute!!!!!

-> (y/n) until right after the movie he started telling me all the inaccuracies were in it compared to the story

-> paparossi Dont sound too surprised

Liked by derekm, AaronHotchner and 232 others

(y/n) i might've gotten a little carried away

View all 31 comments

emilyprenty that should've been me

-> (y/n) come over.

-> derekm @/spencerreid1 you're just gonna let this happen??

-> spencerreid1 I've come to realize there's nothing I can do.

jjareau And to think we thought he'd never get any action

Liked by alexblake, princesspennyg, and 184 others

(y/n) found this gem going through my pictures, it was too good not to post

View all 29 comments

emilprenty JUMPSCARE WARNING

-> (y/n) ⚠️

-> paparossi After the 30 something years I've worked in the FBI, this is probably the scariest thing I've seen

-> spencerreid1 :(

spencerreid1 Why does Derek look like he's going to kick you down like one of his doors?

-> (y/n) HAHAHAHAHAHAH DID YOU JUST MAKE A JOKE SPENCER REID???

-> derekm at least i don't look like sixth grader at his graduation of middle school

-> (y/n) @/derekm yeah and you look like his bully that steals his lunch money

what other things do you guys wanna see? there's a bunch of stuff i can do similar to this just lmk!!!

[bebybest]

he looks like this emoji: 👽

[hedwig221b]

Thinking about my Untouchable...

Thinking about little meow-meow omega Stiles who is so smart he's considered weird... but has his alpha wrapped around his finger... other's go: "yeah he's fucking hot and I'd fuck him once but he's crazy" and therefore Stiles has issues and tries to be normal when Derek starts dating him but he doesn't know Derek considers him fucking genius and loves him because he's so weird

Thinking about alpha Derek who is so obsessed with Stiles he's shaking... Stiles is the only thing he thinks about... he'll drop anything and come to his omega even if it's something small

Thinking about how other alphas laugh at Derek and say: "He has you under his heel, man", and Derek looks at them calmly and says: "Do you know what it is like - to have him? I'd bring him your head if he asked"...

Thinking...

[teencopandthesourwolf]

He freezes. Doesn't know what the hell else to do. 

He can't picture it: Derek can't remember the last time somebody put their arms around him. 

Was it Laura?

Of course it was Laura. How could he forget that? Derek has gotten pretty good at blocking things out—a little too good, it seems.

She didn't tell him anything before leaving New York. Didn't say a fucking word, just up and vanished. Derek had woken up one morning and she was gone, because she'd known without a shadow of a doubt that Derek would've only followed her if she'd have said a single word to him.

Nobody ever granted Derek’s wishes, no matter who he prayed to. Those desperate pleas where he asked to go back and get a chance to fix things, they all went unheard.

Laura left to go back to the place they both wished still existed just as it had; a place they were wanted alive, not dead. It wasn't fair that it was the very same place they would be hunted down if they did return, like the rabid animals the Argent's presumed they were.

Leaving the way they did meant they hadn't gotten the chance to see if anything was left at the house. They couldn't even mark graves, and grieve properly. 

That same place also happened to be the place they'd been born, the place they'd grown up and called home.

Derek had never wanted Laura to face all of that alone.

The burnt down house. The nothing where there was once everything.

The thought still haunts him. One of so many. 

Beacon Hills is home—but it's the home Derek had helped raze to the ground with his selfishness and stupidity. Everything he and Laura had ever known, everyone they'd ever loved, it was all gone, now. Derek had taken those things away from his sister and hadn't even had the guts to tell her. Tell Laura they were all gone because of him, tell her that everything that had happened to their family, to them, was all his fault.

In the aftermath of the fire Laura hugged Derek, and had kept hugging him, over and over in those weeks and months and years that followed. She would pull him into her arms hold him tight, whenever she could sense it was all getting to be too much for him again.

Alpha.

Big sister.

But Laura only knew about some of the reasons why it sometimes felt like too much effort for Derek to keep on breathing.

He never told her about Kate.

And Derek, the fucking coward, he'd allowed Laura to hold him, feeling the flames of shame on his cheeks every time, hot as those that took the lives of his parents. His family. His pack. 

Now, he remembers that last time. 

“I'm going out.” 

Laura stood up, walked around the two mismatched armchairs and stopped him by throwing both her arms around his neck, pulling him into her and hugging him, scenting him. 

It always took him a moment to respond these days, but Derek hugged her back. 

“What's this for?”

“You. Because I know whomever's bed you end up in tonight, you won't be asking for one of these.”

Oh, fuck no. Derek couldn't handle that. Did she think he was out sleeping with people? Never again, not after…

He pushed his sister off him, gently; a stark contrast to the harsh words that followed. 

“Don't fucking coddle me. And fuck you, Laura—I don't sleep in anybody's bed but my own.” A single mattress on the floor of the lounge of their shitty one bedroom apartment. Derek had so many shameful memories, and crawling into his sister's bed every night for the first year after the fire was one of them. “Just—leave me alone.”

Laura was the one—the only—person Derek had left in the entire world, yet his guilt was constantly pushing her away. 

“Where do you go to, little brother? You might not be clinging to me anymore, night after night, nightmare after nightmare, but you're rarely in your own bed most mornings.”

She hadn't meant it as a dig. Derek knew that. She was his sister, and she loved him.

Maybe she thought he was making progress? Seeing people. Moving on.

Derek spent his nights waiting outside of dive bars, and hanging around in back alleys and dark places, desperate to find scumbags to taunt who were big enough and hard enough to at least attempt to kick the living shit out of him.

Derek hated being a werewolf, now. He wanted to get hurt and stay hurt.

“Just—out.”

Then Derek turned his back on Laura, leaving her to stand there and watch him walk away as he left her to go out looking for a fight, without looking back. 

That was the last time somebody put their arms around Derek—and the last time he saw his sister alive.

It was two years ago. Derek doesn’t think he has taken a full breath, since. 

Now here he is—standing in his stupid big loft that he bought for his betas, yet another pack he managed to destroy—having given away more than he should, with skinny yet strong arms wrapping as far around his shoulders as they'll reach. 

Stiles.

“You don't have to hug back. But you can, if you want to. I won't tell,” the kid jokes. It's his way to connect, his connection to the world. A coping mechanism, Derek thinks.

He knows all about those.

“I…” he doesn't have the first fucking clue of how to handle this. Or how to admit he needs it—to himself, let alone somebody else. He doesn't know how to admit that he wants it. 

But this is Stiles. The one person in Derek's life who seems, for some unfathomable reason, to give a fuck about Derek. To care about him.

Slowly, very slowly, Derek lifts an arm and awkwardly rests a hand on Stiles's upper back, feels the muscles jump slightly under the kid's baggy clothes as he tentatively spreads his fingers and finds the back of Stiles's neck. 

Stiles's voice hitches just a touch as he says, “These can be on tap, you know. If you want them. Stilinski hugs are the best hugs, dude. Believe.”

And Derek finds he does believe. For the first time in forever, Derek believes there could be something good in his life again.

More confidently, now, he brings his other arm up to wrap around Stiles's waist and hugs Stiles tighter, properly, and allows himself to be hugged back.

Derek wonders how he has gone so long without this kind of closeness. Lived without this kindness.

He decides to let the 'dude' pass. Because maybe—maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, to be somebody's dude? 

Stiles's dude.

It's a fucking ridiculous moniker and yet Derek suddenly couldn't care less. 

“I think I'd like that,” he whispers into the forbidden place where Stiles's jaw meets long, pale neck. "Dude."

Derek can feel Stiles's smile as the kid squeezes him harder. And, ironically, Derek feels as if he can breathe again. 

.

for @greyhavenisback bc i want to hug you in person and can't <3 (unedited, forgive me!)

[patrickispinky]

Spencer: You're the love of my life, my best friend. I would do anything for you.

Y/n: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a descent sleeping schedule.

Spencer: Absolutely not.

[hedwig221b]

I finished it. I finished the fic. Why am I crying

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Do you have any recommendations for fics with Sheriff Stilinski? Like as a major character not just showing up in the background? Or ones that focus on him and Stiles' relationship?

There's not a whole lot where he's the main character. So I have some with sheriff!pov.

Ashes, Ashes by ShanaStoryteller

(1/1 I 2,699 I Teen I Sterek)

The Sheriff gets a call at work - someone's tried to burn down his home with his son inside.

"I thought of you coming here, and finding me dead, of another burnt out husk of a body, something else fire has stolen from you, of you having nothing left to grasp but ashes," John can't even call that a whimper, it's clearly a whine as Derek's hands tighten against Stile's hips, as if his boy will shudder to dust at the mere mention of the possibility unless Derek's hands can hold him into one piece, "and that thought was worse than dying."

Why deja-vu is a dangerous thing by MsCee

(1/1 I 2,887 I General I Sterek)

When something makes his new deputy seize up like only true love can, John Stilinski is prepared tease the ever-living hell out of him. He’s prepared to look up and see some pretty girl with a bit of an edge, with a loud laugh and a bright smile that could coax even his sullen deputy out of his frown.

What he’s not prepared for is to look up and see a very familiar face ambling towards his desk.

The Morning After by mikkimouse

(1/1 I 3,635 I Teen I Sterek)

After the night he'd had, John just wanted a quiet cup of coffee and some toast before his son woke up. This, he felt, was not too much to ask from the universe.

Apparently the universe disagreed, because John came downstairs at 7:30 in the goddamn morning to see a man he'd previously arrested for murder grinding coffee beans in his kitchen

Promise You'll Look After Him by DiscontentedWinter

(1/1 I 9,901 I Mature I Sterek)

Sheriff Stilinski is used to dealing with victims of violent crime. He knows how to approach kids who've been beaten and sexually assaulted.

Except this time it's his son.

It's Stiles.

Adult Wolf by KouriArashi

(56/56 I 232,475 I Teen I Peter/Sheriff)

As if Sheriff Stilinski doesn't have enough to deal with, now he's been attacked by some enormous dog in the forest, and that's normal compared to what happens next...

Re-telling of seasons 1-3B with Sheriff Stilinski being bitten instead of Scott.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

If he were to be true to himself, which he generally isn't when it comes to this shit, Derek knew he was fucked the very first time he met Stiles Stilinski—no, actually, that's not entirely accurate. It was before that. He was fucked the second he smelled the kid's unique scent hitching a ride on the damp breeze that cut through Beacon Hills preserve on that fateful day, just over two years ago, when Derek stood on his family's land and tapped a claw against the plastic casing of the inhaler he'd found. The inhaler he'd sniffed out from the undergrowth in the middle of the night. The inhaler sitting inside the pocket of his dead Dad's leather jacket that he'd recovered from the ruins of his childhood home. The inhaler he'd returned the day after he played pretend with himself that it had been him who had bitten Scott McCall.

Derek has been playing pretend ever since.

But how is he supposed to pretend now, with the rogue piece of Stiles's clothing screwed up in his fist and him finally home alone in his own apartment? Worse (or better) is the fact that it's the kid's favourite beloved hoodie, the one he wears all the goddamn time which Derek can tell hasn't seen the inside of a washing machine in a while because of the way it reeks of nothing but pure, unadulterated Stiles.

Stiles's red, red hoodie.

Derek's eyes flash blue to remind him of who he is, at the same time as his fangs drop and his short nails extend into yellowed claws. Absently, he thinks of Little Red and The Big Bad Wolf when his form shifts, his resolve shattering like mirror glass as he accepts his seven years of bad luck with grace the moment he shoves his face into the fabric, now releasing that throaty groan that turns to a low growl then into a sex-hungry, shuddering snarl.

He inhales.

Deep; deeply; deeper.

And Derek is lost to Stiles, forever.

.

(from my current sterek WIP fic—let me know in the comments if you'd like to be tagged when it's up!)

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Please.”

Stiles stands there, chewing on his pretty crimson lips, pleading.

Derek isn't fully clued in yet, but honestly, the kid is kind of vaguely breaking his heart.

“Please, Derek, I'm really sorry about this, but please just—just don't say anything, okay? And just—let me?”

Stiles had texted Derek earlier, at 3.17am, presumably just before he’d set off from his house to drive his jeep to the loft.

Derek had been lying awake in bed, unable to sleep.

His messages had read:

> dude, i rlly need to come over. that ok?

And:

> ill let myself in if thats cool?

And after a few moments, in quick succession one after the other and before Derek had a chance to respond:

> and i rlly need u to just like. not get out of bed. presuming yr already in bed

> all shall be revealed

> lol i don't know why i put that

> and obvs tell me if any of this is not ok. ok?

> as if you wouldn't lol

> #sourwolf

> and yeah i know im being a weirdo but thats why you like me

And then, a few seconds later:

> right?

Derek had stared at the flurry of messages for a minute or so, then texted back:

Okay, weirdo <

About ten minutes later, Stiles had let himself into the building. Derek listened to the kid muttering away to himself as he rode the old service elevator—except it wasn't really himself he was talking to.

“God, I hope I'm not wrong about this. Like, I think we're close enough now for it not to be weird. I mean, at least I hope we are. I'm just so fucking tired, man, and have got to get me some sleep. Anyways, just—don't get up, okay? Or, like, can you get into bed if you're not already in bed? Sorry, I know I texted you this already, I just really need you to trust me. You do know you can trust me… Right, big guy?”

Derek's trust of Stiles was implicit.

When the steel door had unlocked and slid open, Derek smelled fresh, mostly unscented shower gel over the base notes of Stiles's own cinnamon scent, mixed with the very definite chemo-signals that indicated fear, restlessness, apprehension—and also, the strongest of them all; hope.

Let me.

Here, now, Derek still doesn't know what the kid needs.

Let him what?

Derek doesn't have any more time to wonder, though, because Stiles is taking off his sneakers and pants and is slowly, very slowly—as if giving Derek the chance to protest—climbing into bed next to him.

Stiles is now in Derek's loft in the small hours, in Derek's bed, fully under Derek's covers, with Derek wearing only his grey tank and black boxer-briefs and a probably terrified look on his face.

He silently thanks the universe for the cover of night.

“Like, you should obviously say something if this is completely heinous or whatever, but otherwise just—let me do this?”

And all Derek can think is shit, he's freezing, at the same time he is going into a some sort of dumbstruck shock because Stiles is now wrapping his entire sinewy, beautiful body around the entirety of Derek's.

“This okay?” Stiles asks, the air around them spiking with the smell of his anxiety as he Big-Spoons Derek like some human-shaped octopus, skinny but strong limbs astonishingly everywhere.

And he sounds so unsure, and so small, and Derek can't bear it.

Not giving the stoic part of his brain any opportunity to talk him out of doing this, Derek takes ahold of Stiles's wrist from where the kid had draped one of his long arms around Derek's midriff, and hangs on as firmly but gently as he can, manoeuvring them both around in the bed so that Stiles is now the Little Spoon.

“This okay?” he asks gingerly, mirroring Stiles because his own words are failing him.

Stiles says, “Yeah. Even better,” and his anxiety is melting away into something much more pleasing; something like relief.

Derek breathes out the word, “Good,” and feels a little dizzy and a lot amazed, and kind of like his heart is beating wildly in his throat.

The only reason he knows it isn't, is because Stiles says, “I can feel your heart thumping away in your chest, man. But, uh, I don't have wolfy senses, so… I can't tell if it's good thumping or bad thumping.”

Then he promptly stops breathing.

Derek resists the desperate, learnt urge to run away from this. He mentally shakes himself and figures: After so many years fighting monsters together, maybe he and Stiles can fight this one together, too?

He gives himself a moment to ride out the panic, then screws his eyes shut and, praying to nobody in particular, whispers, “Good thumping,” into the shell of Stiles's ear.

Stiles shivers and breathes again, but doesn't say anything else. For once, he doesn't need to. He just needs to sleep.

As the kid settles into Derek's bed and Derek's embrace and, hopefully, Derek's life, he smells like a mix of serene and content and promise—and also, wonderfully, of Derek, now.

Derek is a strange combination of relaxed and freaking-the-fuck-out because that's just the way he's made. His brain won't stop whirring at a speed of a million miles an hour, worrying about everything and nothing, all at once, and before he can bite into his lip to stop himself, he blurts out, “Cora says I sometimes dream-talk about Cajun Gumbo recipes.”

Stiles's only sighs, then hums quietly, his breathing already evening out almost to the point of sleep.

Just when Derek thinks he's not going to get any sort of real answer, Stiles mumbles, “Okay, weirdo,” on an exhale, and then he's drifting off into unconsciousness.

Derek settles then, and smiles into the nighttime thinking that maybe, finally, he might get a good night's sleep, too.

.

for @shealynn88, the bestest of friends. i love you and miss you always... <3 (unedited btw—forgive me!)

[hotgirlstiles]

vera hotgirlstiles actually writing fic.. i think someone voodoo'd me

[mrspasser]

The things he does for his pack

Pinterest showed me a tweet from someone who fed his co-workers pot brownies because he didn't want to be the only one dirty on the random drug test. I had some thoughts about that and the result is this Sterek fanfic :-)

Read it on A03

There’s a chilly wind blowing that he can barely ward off with the upturned collar of his jacket, his ass has gone numb from the hard bench and a few rows below him there’s a man eating nachos with the most obnoxious artificial flavouring Derek has ever smelled. 

The things he does for his pack…

At least the game isn’t a total shit show. He isn’t all that fond of lacrosse - he was on the basketball team himself, but most of his pack plays. Boyd is the newest recruit and though he’s sitting on the bench next to Stiles right now, he’s scheduled to take his place in the goal for the last two quarters. Jackson, Isaac and Scott each usually play the whole game and Stiles plays a quarter here and there - as long as he doesn’t annoy the coach too much.

They’re ahead, with only a few minutes left of the second quarter. The Beacon Hills Cyclones started off strong and scored six goals already, to a meagre two of their opponents. If they keep this up, they’ll win the game by a landslide. Stiles might even get to play. 

Besides him, Erica cheers loudly as Isaac scores the seventh goal, right before the referee blows his whistle. The team gathers around their coach to hear his instructions, though a few of them are more focused on the water cooler than game tactics. They’re laughing and bumping into each other, ignoring Finstock when he calls them to order. It seems like they think the game is won already. Derek hears both Scott and Jackson berate their teammates. If they win this game, they’ll compete in the state championships, so there’s a lot riding on this game.

“Go get ‘m, babe!” Erica yells when Boyd jogs towards the goal after the break. The young werewolf looks back and lifts his stick in response and Derek gives him a supportive nod. Boyd joined the team mostly because of his pack mates and the role of goalie fits him well. He’s not flawless, he doesn’t have enough field experience for that, but his werewolf reflexes make up for a lot.

The game restarts and it only takes a few minutes to see that a good part of the team doesn’t have the same focus as before their break. “What the fuck are they doing?” asks Erica, gesturing towards the field where two players seem to be performing some kind of dance. It’s uncoordinated and barely recognizable as dancing, still, it is anything but lacrosse. Jackson yells at them until they get back in line, which they do with a lot of giggling.

Derek frowns at the spectacle below. The visiting team scores two goals in succession: the first is a clever trick shot that he really doesn’t fault Boyd for not catching and the second shot goes in because one of the Cyclones actually hinders his own goalie on purpose. To say the team isn’t happy with that is an understatement. Within minutes the whole game is in disarray and when one of the players stumbles off to the sideline to be sick, the referee calls the whole thing off. It’s a big mess. Derek’s proverbial hackles go up: this whole thing reeks. Something is wrong, but what?

Down on the field Jackson yanks his helmet off and tosses it down on the ground, swearing loudly. Both Isaac and Scott take it upon them to direct their unruly teammates back towards the locker rooms. “It’s like herding cats,” Derek hears Isaac complain when some of his teammates start up an impromptu game of tag and run back onto the field, leaving the young werewolf standing.

Coach Finstock is almost purple from all the yelling he does and all over the bleachers there’s confusion and amused chatter to be heard. Most people have left their seats and gone down to the field. Erica stands next to her boyfriend, who is gesturing angrily at some teammates who stumble past. 

Derek gets up and scans the field for his pack. He has a nagging suspicion of foul play and it bothers him that he can’t sense any danger. As far as he can tell, it’s just the humans and his own pack on the field. There’s no-one else. The werewolves all seem to be acting normal, which leads him to believe there was something that affected the humans. 

Stiles. Where is Stiles?

Now that he thinks of it, Derek kinda expects Stiles to be at the forefront of this whole mess, yet the lanky human is nowhere to be seen. That can’t be right. The nagging sense of discomfort that sat low in his belly turned into alarm.

The Alpha werewolf lets his enhanced senses work for him as he urgently searches the crowd, though it still takes him a while to spot the Cyclones’ number 24. Stiles is lying underneath the bench, curled up against some bags of sport’s gear. He took his protective gear off and cuddled with the shoulder pads in his arms like it’s a teddy bear. Derek rushes over, unsure of the condition his pack member is in. It’s only when he’s close that he can hear his slight snores over the din of the crowd. Relief swoops through his stomach.

“Stiles!” There’s no reaction, not even when Derek calls his name a second time. He crouches down to shake the boy’s shoulder. “Stiles! Wake up!” 

Stiles wakes up with a mumbled “Huh? Wazzit?” and a lolling search of his head towards the sound. His eyes blink open unevenly. One eye focuses on Derek and a lazy, contented grin appears on his face. “Der-bear.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the stupid pet name, though he can’t hide the relieved smile that breaks through. He helps Stiles roll out from under the bench, preventing him from bumping his head into it when he tries to sit up. “What are you doing on the ground?”

Another loopy grin. “I was sleepy.”

If Derek didn’t know any better, he’d say Stiles was drunk. He’s acting even more uncoordinated than usual and he has trouble focusing his vision. Thing is, he can’t smell any alcohol on the boy, just sweat and sweets. And he knows Stiles isn’t a big fan of drinking, having seen from up close what alcohol can do to a man. Derek has to hold Stiles by the arms to keep him sitting upright; he would pitch right over otherwise. “Stiles? What happened?” 

“I dunno,” Stiles answers, slightly slurring his words. He grips onto Derek’s forearms and tries to look around him at the field. “Is the game over? Did we win?” 

Derek jostles him a little to get his attention back on him. “Stiles. Focus!” 

Erica and Boyd come up to them, giving Stiles a scrutinising look. “What’s wrong with him?” Erica asks, cocking her head as she looks the boy over. 

“I don’t know,” Derek grits out and tries to get Stiles to stand up. It’s like wrestling an octopus. The boy is not cooperating at all and after a few moments Derek gives up and lets him sit down on the bench. At least that way he isn’t on the ground anymore. Stiles immediately tips over to lean against Derek’s hip, all heavy and loose limbs.

Boyd chuckles lowly. “Dude, is he stoned?”

“Stoned?!” Erica bends over to grab Stiles by the chin so she can look into his face. “He is!” she cackles in delight. “His eyes are all red!”

Stiles grabs Derek’s leg for stability, winding his arm around it, and sits up a little straighter. “I have red eyes?” He looks up at Derek and grins. “You hear that, Sourwolf? I’m the Alpha now!”

Boyd crosses his arms in front of his chest and regards them with a knowing smile. “He’s baked.”

“No, I didn’t!” Stiles flails and Derek has to grab him by the back of his jersey to prevent him from headbutting the werewolf in the crotch. The boy refuses to let go of his leg. “Greenberg did the baking. They were delicious!”

“What are you talking about?” Derek keeps him upright as much as he can, which is surprisingly hard when Stiles resembles an octopus ragdoll. 

“Pot brownies.” The voice of Jackson cuts through and all heads turn to the team’s co-captain that comes walking up to them. He’s looking cross. “Fucking Greenberg fed the whole team edibles before the game.” 

“They were very edible,” Stiles mumbles. His voice kind of gets lost under the astonished exclamations of his packmates. He snuggles a little closer to Derek’s leg.

“Why would he do that?” Derek growls. It’s clear the rest of the team didn’t know anything of this plan, which basically means the guy poisoned his team mates. 

“To fuck with the mandatory drug test they were gonna have us take after the game,” Jackson explains curtly. “A random check. We weren’t supposed to know about it, but Greenberg got into the coach's papers or something.”

Derek huffs. “That doesn’t explain why he fed the whole team drugs. Why risk getting kicked out of the competition?”

“Dude’s a stoner. He didn’t want to get caught.” 

Erica laughs. “That is kinda genius, if you think about it.” At Derek’s ornery look she explains: “Chances are they would dismiss the test if the whole team tested positive. They’d think it was a faulty test, or something.” 

“Yeah, or they would just suspend the entire team,” Boyd corrects her. “Where is that asshole now?” he asks Jackson. That is something Derek wants to know too.

Jackson points a thumb back over his shoulder. “Back at the locker room. Coach is ripping him a new one. Scott and Isaac are with them.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. His first reaction was to join coach Finstock in yelling at this Greenberg idiot, but was it really his place to do so? After all, most of his pack was unharmed and the one that did get affected was just high as a kite. And cuddly. He grips the back of Stiles’ neck to keep his head still, so he wasn’t affectionately rubbing his face on Derek’s hip. He sighs. “Let’s go home.” 

That does get Stiles��� attention. “Home?! I can’t go home!” He clumsily tries to get to his feet, using various body parts of his Alpha as a handgrip. Derek hauls him to his feet with a hand in his armpit before it can get any worse. “My dad can’t go home! I mean, I can’t go there. My dad is at home.” He pauses for a second. “Which means he can’t go home either, because he’s already there. Huh. What was I saying?” 

“Well, you can’t stay here either,” Derek answers impatiently. “You’ve got to sleep this off, or something.” 

“I don’t know, I kinda like him like this,” Erica smirks. She shows her teeth when Derek glares at her.

“I can sleep here.” Stiles tries to turn to pat the bench he’d been sleeping underneath earlier, almost falling over the thing in his attempt. Derek gets a hold of his arm and resigns himself quietly to not letting go until Stiles was safely at home, in bed.

“Guys! We’re getting a rematch next week,” Scott announces from afar, jogging over to them. Isaac follows him in his wake. “What’s the matter with Stiles?” 

“He ate three pot brownies, that’s the matter with Stiles,” Isaac deadpans after one look at his pack mate. 

“He ate three?!” Erica guffaws.

“They were really good!” Scott hurries to say. “Besides, I had two and I feel fine.” 

“That’s because you’re a werewolf, dumbass,” Jackson hisses and for once Derek is glad that Jackson said something so he didn’t have to.

“Oh. Right.” Scott has the decency to look abashed. He moves a little closer to his friend, who resorted back to leaning up against Derek for support. “Will he be okay?” he asks the older werewolf.

“Should be fine,” Derek grunts. “Just has to sleep it off.” 

“Oh, yeah, that should work,” Scott nods sagely. Then his face clears. “Shit! He can’t go home, his dad will know he’s high!” 

“Yeah, Der! Dad will know!” Stiles agrees vehemently, turning fast to slap Derek in the chest for emphasis. “Ohh, I feel sick,” he groans immediately afterward, his face turning white as a sheet. 

Recognising what is about to happen, Derek moves them a step away from the others and holds Stiles steady as he suddenly lurches forward and pukes on the grass. Behind them, the werewolves make various noises of disgust. Derek isn’t a fan of the stench of vomit either, but Stiles is trembling on his legs like a newborn foal and making pitiful noises in between heaving up the contents of his stomach, so he supports him with a hand underneath his chest and rubs comforting circles on his back with the other.

When his stomach is finally empty, Stiles leans forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Scott helps his friend drink a cup of water from the team’s water cooler. Stiles is too out of it to do much to help. “I feel like shit,” he says in a wobbly voice. 

“Yeah,” Derek agrees gently. “Let’s get you home, alright? You can stay at the loft until you feel better.” The boy will probably be alright after a good sleep.

“Thanks,” Stiles sighs and closes his eyes. He even starts tipping forward alarmingly. 

“That’s it,” Derek decides out loud and scoops Stiles up so he can carry him to the car. “We’re out of here.” He walks off in the direction of the parking lot, Stiles dozing in his arms, trusting the rest of his pack to sort things out when it comes to grabbing their stuff and finding their own way back to the loft. 

Stiles wakes up a little when Derek positions him carefully in the front seat of his car. “Der?” he asks, his head lolling back against the seat. 

“Hmm?” Derek reaches across him to fasten his seatbelt. From the corner of his eye he can see Stiles following him with his eyes, a smile on his face that’s a cross of loopy and fond.

When Derek leans back, sitting on his haunches next to his car, Stiles strains forward in his seatbelt conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Scott, but you’re my favourite werewolf,” he whispers.

Derek huffs a laugh despite himself. He shakes his head and gets up to close the car door.

“You gotta promise, Der,” Stiles urges. “You can’t tell Scott!” 

The werewolf nods indulgently. “Sure.” 

But Stiles isn’t happy with that answer. “You gotta promise!” When Derek doesn’t react to him sticking out his pink, he shakes his hand in front of his face and urges: “Pinky swear that you won’t tell!” 

“Stiles, come on, lets just get you home.” Derek is a grown ass Alpha werewolf. He isn’t gonna pinky swear with a teenager that’s still pretty baked. 

Stiles points at him with a stern finger. “Pinky swear or you’re no longer my favourite werewolf!” 

And Derek…. Well, he can’t help it. As much as Stiles can be annoying and a handful, he’s also smart, loyal and, God help Derek, funny. 

“Can’t have that, right?” Derek chuckles and hooks his pinky finger around Stiles’. He’s awarded with a bright grin when he declares solemnly not to tell Scott that Derek is Stiles’ favourite werewolf.

With Stiles satisfied, Derek can close the car door and finally get into the car himself. Stiles watches him start the car with bleary eyes. He’ll probably fall asleep soon. 

“Don’t puke on the upholstery,” he warns his young packmate, just to be sure. 

“I promise,” Stiles responds, as serious as he can while breaking into a yawn. He’s still a bit pale around the nose, though Derek suspects he can keep himself collected during the short ride to the loft.

It’s quiet for a bit as Derek navigates the school parking lot and drives out onto the main road. “Hey Der?” it sounds softly from the seat next to him after a few minutes. 

“Yes, Stiles?” Derek signals for a corner.

“Am I your favourite human?” 

The tentative way the words are spoken makes Derek look over. Stiles actually seems bashful, it’s an odd look on him. 

Derek hesitates for a second, but… Whatever. They’re alone and there’s a chance that Stiles won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow anyway. The werewolf puts his hand on the boy’s knee and squeezes. “You are, Stiles.” 

“That’s nice,” Stiles says in a whisper. He sounds pleased. And half asleep, that too. However, half asleep as he is, Stiles still holds out his hand with his pinky outstretched. “I won’t tell Scott,” he promises when Derek hooks his own pinky in after just a short moment. 

“Good,” Derek agrees with a smile. The childish secret between them makes him feel oddly giddy. 

The boy sleeps for the rest of the ride and doesn’t wake up when Derek lifts him from the car and carries him up the stairs. He gently tucks Stiles in in his bed, figuring he can stand to have his bedding smelling like his favourite human tonight. When he gets back downstairs, his betas look at him questioningly, but they don’t say anything, especially not after he gives them his credit card to order dinner. 

Stiles wakes up around nine PM, hungry like a wolf. He scarfs down the pizza the pack left for him in a remarkable show of restraint and resigns himself to their teasing easily. It looks like he indeed doesn’t remember all that much from what happened. More importantly, besides ‘feeling a bit crunchy’ - Stiles’ own words - he’s not much worse for wear from the whole thing. Perhaps Derek really doesn’t have to go after that idiot of a Greenberg. 

By eleven, Derek evicts his pack from his home. He loves them, honestly, but there’s only so much teenage bullshit he can stand. He makes Scott drive Stiles home in the Jeep, not listening to Stiles’ protests and even flashing his red eyes when the boy doesn’t give in quickly enough. Stiles wrinkles his nose at him, though he complies easily after that. 

Around midnight, when Derek is reading in bed, his phone lights up with a message: [ FYI. I changed your name in my contacts from Sourwolf to F.W. So now we match! ]

Derek texts back a question mark. It’s a common occurrence when texting with Stiles.

A moment later there’s a reply. [ Can’t have Scott find out, can we? ;-) ] 

It’s only then that Derek notices that the name on the texts doesn’t say Stiles, but Favourite Human. He has no idea how or when Stiles got a hold of his phone this evening.

He thinks about changing it for a second, but puts his phone back on the nightstand instead and shuts off the light so he can go to sleep.

The things he does for his pack.