Teen Wolf
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Derek Hale, first-string quarterback for the U.C Berkeley football team is an All-American, red-blooded male, straight as an arrow. Well, at least, that’s what everyone around him believes. What they don't know is that he’s crushing hard on the school's Quidditch Club star player. When his coach forces him to recruit said Quidditch player, Derek’s life becomes a lot more complicated.
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To use a scribe to write your letters is a sign of privilege. To be a scribe is... mildly better than a servant. When Stiles, scribe to Lady Kate Argent, is instructed to write a love letter to Lord Derek Hale in her stead, he has no idea just how far from plan things will go. He has no idea that this series of letters will begin a secret affair under the noses of his employers, will lead to him discovering the truth about his past family tragedy, and will make his head spin for both good and bad reasons. All he knows is 'Dear Derek' has some very lovely penmanship.
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Derek is invited to New York for a wedding, of corse it is customary for an Alpha to bring his entire pack to such an event, and Stiles somehow becomes his fake date. Oops!
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Stiles volunteers to be a companion for an isolated werewolf he's never met. He thought he knew way more about werewolves than it turns out he really does.
Derek didn't technically ask the Werewolf Conservation Committee for a companion human, but they insisted he have one for his mental and physical health.
Or: Derek has only had Stiles for a day, but if anything were to happen to him, he'd kill everyone in Beacon Hills and then himself.
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I found you hidden in plain sight (why'd I take so long?) by Gorgeousgreymatter
Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)
08 Jan 2021
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Stiles is pretty sure he’s hallucinating. He’s got to be. There’s no other plausible explanation, he thinks, as he sits on the sidelines of the lacrosse field and feels the cold, hard bench underneath him, the roar of the crowd at his back like the worst white noise machine in the world.
There’s no other reason why he sees it, the hulking, black figure of a wolf peering at him from the treeline behind the bleachers. Its eyes flare in the glaring glow of the stadium lights, but they’re the wrong color, he thinks: blood-moon red instead of cobalt blue, but the familiarity of it all makes his stomach roll and clench.