All Werewolves Play Lacrosse, a teen wolf fanfic | FanFiction
Apr 12, MORE: Indy boxer wants to be champ in and out of the ring Martin fight is not becoming easier for Erica, who plans to attend Thursday night. IMPD officer Pat McPherson owns IBG and trains Martin, along with co-trainer Ike Boyd. .. Danica Patrick on dating Aaron Rodgers: 'I finally found someone who. An Erica-centric fic as she goes from the shy, silent girl to the confident girl we all . "Erica, Boyd, you might not have graduated with us but you were part of the. May 31, Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Romance - [Erica R., V. Boyd] - Words: on his jeans and drops them, standing before them all in boxers and socks. .. "You talk a big game but you've been dating Boyd for like six months.
A werewolf-strength kick to the balls is good for all growing boys. I'm taking a shower. Erica and Stiles are benched for the entire first game.
But I try to look at the bright side of life. The guy smacks into the ground with a grunt and Isaac gets possession of the ball. They both leap to their feet, cheering his name, when Erica picks up on a new scent from Stiles. The entire idea is weird, honestly. She's not sure how to feel about the boy she used to like jerking off to thoughts of her. She doubts it would ever happen, but she'd go for the threesome if it did.
He smiles happily and leans over to kiss her cheek. The best werewolf ever. Scott never invited me to a threesome. Jackson offers to speak to coach about moving her to first line. This is when she likes Jackson the most: It probably says something about her and Stiles, if she's honest that violence is so attractive to her, but she doesn't mind.
Anyway, Jackson's violence has always been mental, and if he ever cared to turn it on her, she'd eviscerate him. In the meantime, they can work together. At the next game, one of the players on first line gets knocked down, sustains a head injury, and throws all the werewolves into their most bloodthirsty state.
He moves to the side to let her slip seamlessly in. And if any of you neanderthals don't pass to Reyes when she's got the best chance, I won't stop her from kicking your ass. She levels him with an unimpressed look. Just then, the whistle blows and she "accidentally" checks him, making him stumble as she watches Scott carry the ball as he darts through the field.
He tosses it to Isaac and they manage to score. A whistle blows and the players rearrange on the field. If she wasn't wearing a helmet, she'd give him her best innocent face, but as it is, she just grins at him. The whistle blows again and she darts around him to try and steal the ball from the carrier on the other team. Jackson ends up stealing it, but he tosses it to her and she shoots it to Boyd, who scores. It's the way he's looking at her, like she's nothing more than an object, like he thinks everything about her is his to see.
It's skeevy as hell and she feels threatened. She glances over at the team, realizing all the wolves are looking at them, eyes glowing. She's a werewolf, not a teen wolf. Or, you know, she is a teen wolf, but she's not completely defenseless. This creep wants to try anything resembling rape?
She could castrate him with her bare hands. That's a really satisfying image. Jackson starts the play, and this time, when she gets the ball, she takes off, plowing the douchebag down and darting around the others until she's in the clear. She lines up the shot and takes it. In the stands, Allison and Lydia scream their approval, and she can hear Stiles whooping his approval.
The buzzer sets off then, ending the game with a one point victory. Jackson is the first to reach her, getting an arm around her and lifting her a foot off the ground. Isaac grabs her next, nuzzling her neck happily before passing her to Scott and Stiles, who just hug her tightly. Boyd is the most reserved of them all, usually, but today he tugs her into a warm embrace, arms around her waist and head on her shoulder. And then get pizza. Everyone else lopes after them, but Boyd and Erica walk more leisurely.
Erica looks over at the dude, who is standing with his team, but leering at her.
Maybe I could just pile drive him in the balls. Effective, I would think. The most important thing they've all learned since becoming werewolves is just how many pizzas they can go through in one night. On a regular day, it's seven, but after a lacrosse game, the number moves up to nine.
Stiles chokes on his pizza. She rolls her eyes. He's hauled into the alley before he can duck back into the relative safety of the theatre and thrown bodily across the ground. The palm of his hand skids across the cement, and it grates that this is probably not the most painful thing that will happen to him tonight. There are two of them, red-eyed silhouettes lurking over him and grinning, teeth and claws glinting in the moonlight that's reflected back here from the street.
Stiles hears a whimper, and glances over to see Isaac huddled against the wall, cradling his arm, which is hanging at a sickeningly funny angle. His eyes have gone feral, his face completely wolfed out, and he's breathing heavily, and Stiles just knows that he's fighting for control, that the alphas have done something to him, and now there are three werewolves who might kill him tonight.
At least he's got some variety in his choice of death. He feels the beginnings of panic start to set in and tries to fight it off. His body tenses in preparation for fight-or-flight freeze, fortunately, seems to be off the table for tonightand he manages to stand, shakily, fully aware that the alphas are toying with him, taking their time and enjoying the show.
He remembers suddenly that Scott can probably hear his panicked heartbeat, and his entire body chills when he realizes that that's exactly what the alphas want, they want Scott to come running right where they can do to him whatever they did to Isaac.
Some part of Stiles still finds it in him to resent the fact that he rates at the same level on the important-to-Scott scale as Isaac-whose-fault-this-entire-night-is, and he focuses on that, using the bitterness to steady himself and avoid a full-blown panic attack.
Great place to meet underage boys on a Friday night. Not suspicious at all. Have you ever considered the benefits of a vegan diet? He gasps, all the air knocked out of him, and slumps back against the wall. The second blow is when the claws come out. They glance off his temple, leaving a shallow scratch that nonetheless has blood dripping wet and hot down his face. Stiles winces away from the sting of it but he can't run, has nowhere to go. The third blow lands on his middle, somewhere in the vicinity of his kidney—and Stiles doesn't have time to appreciate the fact that he has a spare because he's distracted by the sudden and agonizing pain that accompanies it.
They're not asking him anything, not interrogating or demanding or threatening, and Stiles recognizes this feeling, knows exactly how helpless he is, and can't help the flashback to a cold basement where Boyd and Erica watched him in another losing battle.
It's like he's drowning, and Scott's not here, there's no one coming to save him, he's going to die alone in a dingy alley, ripped into too many pieces for a proper coffin, and his dad will have to bury him in the grave that Isaac's been digging for him all along. He's starting to hyperventilate, he realizes through the pain. Another long and bloody scratch appears down his arm, and he ignores the pain, focuses on his dad.
He thinks about Scott, and Lydia, and how he really, really doesn't want to die. He starts with a kick, lashing out and managing to knee the female alpha right in the groin. She grunts, and he's relieved to note that women do not have a magical shield that makes them impervious to pain in that area. He shoves her away, and it's probably only the fact that he has surprise on his side that lets him get away with it, because she stumbles back, giving him some much-needed clearance.
His body has apparently decided that it's had enough of fight and resolves to flee. He's almost made it to the mouth of the alley when the other alpha grabs him, spins him around and pins him to the wall with an arm against his throat.
Stiles immediately ducks out of the alpha's now-slackened grip. He throws his hands up around his head in classic earthquake-safety position, and just in time, too, because going by the truly ferocious growl that rattles his bones a split second later, Derek is very much not happy. The male alpha is thrown against the wall above him with enough force to knock a few stones loose. He snarls as he lands, turning instantly to launch himself at Derek, who's knifing the female alpha's face with his claws.
She responds by grabbing his other arm and burying her teeth in it with a sickening squelch. The short alpha, meanwhile, has landed on Derek's back and begun to rip away at the flesh there, spattering blood in every direction.
Derek grunts and heaves, flipping the woman over and into her partner in a move that looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. There's a crunch of bone as the two collide and land in a tangled heap at the mouth of the alley, drops of red streaming down every inch of their skin.
Stiles reflects that he really needs to cut back on the number of sociopaths in his inner circle. The woman stands and puts the back of her now-human hand to her lip, a tiny smile playing on her face. Nice to see you've got some bite, even if it's still fairly lacking compared to your bark. The only thing we fear.
We might have to… reconsider our offer. Derek waits a moment, hands clenching and unclenching, and Stiles wonders if this is a full moon thing, or if Derek is just more pissed off than usual. Then he's turning around and staring down at Stiles, who's let himself sag against the wall, all the fight drained out of him. His eyes are still red. As is the rest of him, actually. He really is losing quite a lot of blood.
Stiles remembers that wounds inflicted by an alpha don't heal as quickly as other wounds, and realizes with a sinking feeling that Derek is just barely standing despite looking like he's lost a fight with a particularly nasty blender. He has no idea how far Derek will make it before he collapses in plain sight of normal law-abiding citizens, but decides it might be better not to risk having to explain that to his dad.
Derek doesn't say anything, which, well, that doesn't mean he's not okay. Still… "You look like you took rock-papers-scissors to its logical and bloody conclusion," he says, and Derek huffs at that, looking Stiles up and down with his eyebrows raised. He's got a point, but Stiles doesn't want to think about how he must look. Derek takes a step back, and Stiles is startled when he realizes just how close they were standing a second ago.
Just then Scott shows up, racing down the alley to Stiles's side. Derek stalks to the other side of the alley, watches Allison warily as she kneels down to check on Isaac. Scott reaches out, but then decides touching Stiles might be too risky given his current condition.
Two of them cornered us in the bathroom. Allison and I held them off, but we couldn't get to you. Are you— Did they…? Nah, just a friendly chat with some werewolves.
You know, the usual. Stiles feels a rush of relief at the touch, only to glance down and see inky black racing up Scott's veins as he leeches the pain away. Thanks," is all he can think to say. He really does feel a lot better, actually. He's only got a few cuts and scrapes, nothing too serious—he'll just tell his dad he walked into the kitchen cabinets again. There's a bruise purpling around Scott's eye, but he looks relieved as Stiles pushes out from the wall and stands under his own power.
He turns to give Stiles a worried look. Scott looks like he wants to stop her, but restrains himself. No, you can't—" "You can't drive," Derek cuts in. Stiles makes a face. You used your wolfy healing powers. Which is not something you should be driving under the influence of.
You have a lot of control, but not enough for this. Then Derek can drive me. Derek and Scott share a significant glance. There's possibly some irony there, given their last few encounters. Stiles fumbles in his pocket with his opposite hand.
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Derek's fingers curl around his own, and the grip on his arm tightens. Stiles chances a look up; Derek's skin is raw, and his bones are creaking, and he's still covered in blood, only some of which is his own, but Stiles can't look away.
He's got his hand under Stiles's elbow now, and he looks pained, not from physical hurt, but the same kind of feeling that Stiles has every time his dad goes off to work and he wonders What if today is our last goodbye? Stiles shivers, and not because of the cold. Derek rests his forehead against Stiles's. He inhales, long and slow, taking in the scent of the boy in front of him.
The fourth time is the one where Stiles kisses back, apparently, because he's too tired to worry about denying himself any longer. This kiss is slow and lingering; Derek presses himself against Stiles, pushing him back against the alley wall, and nips at his lower lip. There's a pleased rumble in the back of his throat that Stiles can feel vibrating all through him. He's being gentle, like he's afraid that any more and Stiles will break, and it's not a battle but Stiles fights him anyway, closing his eyes and parting his lips to take in more of him, letting out a tiny moan when Derek relents and opens his mouth wider.
He reaches a hand up and digs it into Derek's hair, feels Derek shudder at the contact, and Stiles suddenly wonders if that whole easing the pain thing works through the mouth, because he's feeling weak in the knees. You're not thinking straight," Derek says.
Stiles glances over to see her and Allison waiting at the mouth of the alley. Why do you ask?
Forget I said anything," she says, and turns abruptly to walk away. Allison rolls her eyes at that. He steps back, releasing his hold on Stiles's arms. It takes seven days for it to heal, and he has to sit out the next lacrosse game, which they end up losing because Stiles's weak human body is still recovering from his comparatively minor cuts and bruises.
Even Scott's too fretful to play properly, probably because after three days Allison finally admits that she's in pain and submits to a checkup from Scott's mom, who puts her in an ankle brace and tells her to please try not to fix her own dislocated shoulder the next time she feels like fighting the things that go bump in the night. Stiles's dad doesn't even blink at his tale of losing an epic battle with a vicious cupboard door, just sighs and tells him not to pick any fights he knows he can't win.
He says it with an exasperated smile, but there's a tightness around his mouth that belies his words. Stiles wonders how long he's been lying to his dad that they've both gotten used to it. And somehow, in a surprising move to make matters worse, Danny is suddenly everywhere. Stiles has no idea what Lydia's told him, but lately he always manages to be around when Stiles just wants to be alone, all full of concerned smiles and offering to set him up with any number of persons whose gender he carefully avoids specifying.
It's not that Stiles doesn't like him—seriously, who doesn't like Danny? It must be Lydia who put him up to it, and Stiles tries to console himself with the knowledge that she does care about him, even if her first response is to try to ruin his life again, even if he finds he doesn't really crave her approval the way he used to.
On top of that, Derek's lurking has taken a sharp decrease in frequency. Lately Stiles only catches a glimpse of him when one of the betas is nearby, as though he needs an excuse to stare hungrily into the distance.
Stiles blames their second humiliating lacrosse defeat in part on the rogue alpha, fuming silently that there was no way to concentrate with Derek's eyes on him the entire game, only to avert his gaze every time Stiles tried to make eye contact.
Another part of his brain is clearly still in denial about it, since it firmly seems to believe that he'd be absolutely crushed if Derek hadn't shown at all. He hates that that part of his brain is right. Danny finally gives up his attempts at matchmaking after two weeks, right after Jackson makes a surprise reappearance from wherever he went swanning off to.
Stiles is surprised to find that he's kind of grateful that Lydia is suddenly around less, too, though he thinks he'd feel a little less judged if Allison would stop drawing her mouth into a tight line every time she sees him.
He's taken to throwing Scott at her whenever she tries to approach him, which works as a distraction technique far more often than it probably should.
He doesn't really know how to react, though, when Boyd and Erica sit down on either side of him at lunch one day and stare, chins propped on their hands.
Stiles defiantly pops a French fry around her finger and into his mouth. It tastes like nail polish. And I'm generally in favor of things that upset her. Stiles glances back and forth between them, realization dawning. How long has this been going on? Stiles is practically vibrating with frustration after their latest crushing defeat when Isaac, of all people, stalks up to him in the locker room.
Stiles settles on a defensive tactic.
Is that supposed to be my fault? Isaac reels back, startled. Why would it be your fault? Stiles instantly forgives him for being a horrible, friend-stealing bastard.
What did he say? But not me or Boyd or Erica? It's gotta be a trap. That would be wrong. Scott and Stiles share a glance. Tell him no weaseling out of this just because he's been out of town for so long. We are going wolf-hunting! It stares them down, even from where they stand way back in the woods, promising endless nightmares and unimaginable horrors. Stiles closes the wide circle he's been making around the house and brushes mountain ash off his fingers.
You're our backup plan, remember? He looks down at the circle of mountain ash and frowns. They can't just go around killing people. Someone has to stop them. I'm the only one who can break the circle. They're not getting out unless they give up Derek.
And don't maim either of us. Why are you here? Argent there breaks the circle so you guys can get in and rescue us. I'm sure they'll be willing to let Derek go if you just ask nicely enough. Argent rolls his eyes and tosses Stiles a small black object. Stiles fumbles in catching it, yelps when he realizes its a freaking taser.
Scott tugs at Stiles's sleeve. Stiles takes a bold step forward. Inside, three alphas are lounging in the charred remains of Derek's childhood home. Stiles recognizes the two alphas who attacked them at the movie theatre, the tall woman and the short, skinny man, playing cards closest to the door.
The third alpha is a stocky man with a beard, leaning against the wall next to Derek—who's slumped over on the floor, eyes closed and breathing heavily, face gone full wolf. He's visibly shaking, and Stiles doesn't miss the way Scott's nose twitches—there's wolfsbane in the air.
Glad you got our invitation. Although—" She's on her feet in an instant, looming over Stiles and eyes flashing red. Stiles forces himself to breathe more slowly, tries to calm the frantic beating of his heart. The alpha with the beard chuckles. He rips his gaze away from one murderous werewolf only for it to land on another.
He looks to the floor and decides to spend the rest of the conversation staring at Derek's knees. The short alpha stands slowly and stretches. But really, what's a little mountain ash between friends? Or better yet," he bares his fangs, "Between pack? She gives him a fond smile. But he doesn't really play well with others, if you haven't noticed.
You really are an alpha of your own, aren't you? Don't think we haven't noticed.
But not for long. The bearded alpha leaps across the room to block him from going any further, and Stiles freezes, fight and flight going right out the window. She laughs and tucks a stray hair behind his ear. But we do now. But it doesn't have to be your friend. There's no one to break the circle. Stiles completely forgets that he's supposed to be frozen.
But we don't really need him now, do we? There's a sudden sickening crunch and the snap of bone. Everyone in the room turns, stunned, to see Peter standing over Stella's lifeless body.
He glances from Scott to Stiles. I was in the basement," he explains, and then seems startled to notice the corpse at his feet. Stiles thumps his fist against his captor's hand. Beardy seems surprised, like he's already forgotten about the human he's been casually choking for the last ninety seconds, and releases him. Stiles sags to his knees and coughs, sucking in lungful after lungful of precious air.
The shorter alpha sneers. Scott immediately tackles the other alpha. Beardy, meanwhile, reaches for Stiles—but Stiles is ready this time, has reached into his pocket and pulled out the taser. The alpha eyes it warily, but isn't dissuaded, merely takes his time in cornering him, boxing him in and letting fear do the rest.
Stiles lunges forward, makes it past him—and instantly drops the taser. The alpha actually looks askance at him, asking "Really? It's all Stiles can do to scuttle backward across the floor. On the opposite side of the room, Peter is acting as unwilling punching bag for the female alpha; she clearly hates him but seems in no hurry to kill him, so Stiles figures he doesn't have to worry about her turning her attention to him or Scott just yet.