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Stiles didn't know why people made such a big deal over drinking. Yeah, there's those idiots who drink and drive, but you can't lump everyone into that category. Her father was the Sheriff, the concept of not drinking and driving has been drilled into her head countless times.
Because there's those who are responsible drinkers, like her. She either gives her car keys to Scott, Lydia or Derek. She tries her hardest not to have to resort tot hat last option. He always gave her those damn—and albeit, sexy—judgmental eyebrows when ever she would throw her keys at him.
But sometimes he would do it without the look. For instance, if the Pack drank at Derek's apartment, he'd feel a whole lot better about them drinking. Since he could no longer complain about them being under age. She likes to rub it in his face sometimes. It's such a great feeling.
Stiles never knew how to feel about drinking. She didn't know if she did it because it made her feel good, and more courageous when she saw cute people at the bars.
Ah yes, that was another reason Derek decided he'd be the best choice of drinking locations. He didn't like people hitting on her.
Psht, whatever.
Even if Derek didn't think that much of her, other guys did, and definitely showed it.
So why was she standing in front of Derek's door with a bad full of alcohol when she could be at a bar, letting guys buy her drinks?
Even she surprised herself sometimes.
Well she was here now. Might as well stick to it.
Stiles lifted her hand to knock, but the door pulled open, revealing a grumpy looking Derek.
“...Stiles.”
Was that all he could say?
“Yeah, you could probably try and sound more enthusiastic, Sourwolf.”
The nickname made him scowl, but he didn't say anything. Just stood there. Staring.
After a few moments of silence, and bordering on awkward, Stiles lifted the bag.
“Thought I'd drink here. Nothing like my possessive Alpha to get me out of a crowd-y mood.”
“You're still bringing that up? I only said that once.”
Oh, he was pouting now.
“And once was enough. I thought you'd be happy that I came here instead of going to the bar like I originally planned on doing. But I can still do that if you have more important things to do than babysit the drunk pack witch.”
She moved backwards a little, to make it look like she was going to leave, but a hand in her free arm stopped her.
“Stay.”
“You have such a way with words. You know just what to say. Okay, you've convinced me to stay.”
If he had a look of pain on his face, well, she wouldn't mention it.
(-)
Once Stiles was settled in on Derek's most comfortable couch, she didn't waste any time digging in. She was also able to talk Derek into helping. Even though werewolves couldn't get drunk, that didn't stop them from drinking. And Derek liked the taste. Plus, it cut the collection down by half so Stiles didn't drink it all.
She liked it like this most of the time. Where it was just the two of them, in companionable silence.
Didn't have to worry about Scott or Isaac trying to make things awkward. Not her fault that they couldn't get drunk and that left Scott having to put up with Derek while everyone that wasn't human was sober. Whatever, she always had a blast.
“Hmmm, you're so warm,” Stiles gurgled, leaning into Derek's side, tucking in her limbs.
Remember she said it made her more brave when she drank? This was another good example.
Normally, the thought of doing this sober scared her. But she wasn't scared of Derek, she got passed that a couple years ago.
Yeah, she was definitely attracted to Derek—because who wouldn't be?—but she didn't think Derek even thought of her like that, when she sure did.
Time slowly rolled by, or flew, because really, she wasn't that coherent at the moment, but she came to some time later pulling off an octopus.
Arms and legs wrapped around Derek like her life demanded on it, and Derek... Derek was letting it happen.
Stiles let out a snorting sound, face pressed against the werewolf's bicep. She was probably drooling too. That'd be much better, wouldn't it?
“You drooled,” Derek's voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“Stop reading my mind,” she reprimanded lightly, opening her mouth wider to bite his arm.
He let out a startled sound.
“Did you just bite me?”
“Grrr.” She growled. “I'm a scary werewolf. Submit to meeee.”
Once again she bit at Derek's arm, but he was able to get his arm free without hurting her.
“Heeey, put your arm back. I'm not done dominating it,” she pouted, let her head fall back, showing off her neck.
Then she yelped when she felt something wet against her neck.
Pulling her head back quickly, Stiles looked at Derek accusingly.
“What do you think you're doing?”
Derek raised a brow, “I'm playing the part of the scary werewolf.”
“No Derek,” Stiles huffed. “You can't be the big bad wolf.”
“Why's that?”
“Because you're too adorable to be something scary.”
The admission made Derek blink for a moment.
“And you think you're scary?”
Stiles snorted and cocked her head to the side, hoping to god she remembered this in the morning.
“Bitch, I'm vicious.”