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Stiles Stilinski kicked the door of Derek’s loft open with a dramatic grunt, both arms trembling under the weight of six overstuffed grocery bags. His hoodie was rumpled, his hair stuck up in ten different directions, and the dark circles under his eyes told everyone he’d survived on maybe four hours of sleep and pure spite. Again.
“I’m home, you pack of absolute feral disasters!” he shouted, voice echoing through the open space. “If one of you overgrown puppies doesn’t come help me in the next five seconds, I swear on my Jeep I’m dropping everything, and we’re all eating off the floor like animals.”
The response was immediate.
Scott appeared first, flashing that bright golden-retriever smile as he relieved Stiles of half the bags.
“You’re a lifesaver, man. Seriously.”
Derek was right behind him, silently taking the remaining heavy ones without a word. His expression was as stoic as ever, but there was a softness in his eyes when he looked at Stiles.
Erica bounced over next, planting a quick kiss on Stiles’ cheek.
“Our favourite human's back! What would we do without you?”
Boyd gave a quiet nod of thanks as he grabbed the cases of drinks. Kira wrapped Stiles in a quick, grateful hug. Malia didn’t bother with pleasantries — she just snatched a bag of beef jerky right out of one of the sacks with a triumphant grin. Lydia arched a perfect eyebrow and immediately inspected the fancy herbal tea Stiles had picked up for her. Jackson, leaning against the wall, trying to look unaffected, still accepted the electrolyte drinks Stiles tossed his way.
Peter, of course, stayed lounging in the oversized armchair like a king on his throne, smirking at the whole scene.
Liam and Isaac hung back near the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching the entire chaotic welcome with matching frowns.
Stiles didn’t even pause. He launched straight into full pack-mum mode — stressed, sharp-tongued, bossy, and radiating that fierce, protective love that somehow held their entire dysfunctional pack together.
“Scott, sit down right now,” Stiles ordered, pointing at the couch. “That wrist still looks swollen from yesterday’s training. I told you not to go so hard. Let me see it.”
His voice softened as he gently took Scott’s arm, fingers careful.
“You idiot. You’re a big, powerful Alpha, but you can't even take care of yourself.” Stiles scolded.
Liam’s stomach twisted painfully. Of course, Scott gets the soft voice and the gentle hands first thing.
“Derek, shirt off,” Stiles continued without missing a beat. “I want to check that gash on your shoulder again. And don’t you dare give me that ‘it’s fine’ bullshit. You bleed out quietly, and it gives me actual anxiety attacks.”
Isaac’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He never checks on us that quickly. We always have to wait.
Stiles kept moving like a whirlwind. He handed Kira a container of actual snacks and scolded her gently.
“No more surviving on rice and good vibes, Kira. You need real food.”
He turned to Erica next.
“And you — stop pushing your training so hard. I saw those bruises. Sit down and ice them, or I’ll do it for you.”
Boyd got a quiet pat on the shoulder and the specific protein bars he preferred.
Jackson received another bottle of electrolytes.
“Don’t be a dick about it, Whittemore. Hydrate.”
Even Peter wasn’t spared. Stiles tossed a fancy bag of Swiss chocolates at him.
“Here, chocolates for the resident psychopath. Don’t say I never spoil you.”
Peter caught the bag easily, his smirk widening.
“Careful, Stiles. Someone might start thinking you actually like having me around.”
“Shut up and eat your fancy garbage,” Stiles shot back, but there was undeniable fondness underneath the sarcasm.
Liam muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for Isaac to hear.
“He bought Peter chocolates? We’ve been waiting here all day…”
Isaac’s eyes narrowed.
“Yeah. Meanwhile, we get treated like the annoying kids who need managing.”
By the time Stiles finally made it over to them, he looked exhausted but still managed a tired smile.
“Blue Gatorade for you, Liam. And strawberry milk plus those protein bars you pretend not to like for you, Isaac.” He reached up and gave them both quick, affectionate ruffles on the head. “Good job not burning the loft down while I was gone, at least.”
It was something. But after watching him fuss and dote over everyone else, it felt like scraps — like they were always at the end of the line.
The jealousy only festered during dinner.
Stiles had somehow thrown together a massive meal despite claiming he was running on fumes. He moved around the table like a stressed mother hen — making sure every plate was full, scolding Malia when she ate like a wild animal, “We’re not in the woods, Tate, use a fork”, helping Lydia adjust her tea to the perfect temperature, and checking on Scott’s wrist again with that same soft, worried expression.
Every gentle touch, every quiet “Are you okay?” or soft laugh at someone else’s comment felt like a fresh sting.
“He’s always got his hands on Scott,” Liam whispered bitterly while they helped clear the table later. “Always worrying about Derek first. Even Peter gets special snacks and banter.”
Isaac gripped a plate so tightly it nearly cracked.
“We just get the strict orders. The ‘do your homework,’ ‘ice your injuries,’ ‘stop being reckless’ stuff. Like we’re the problem children he has to babysit.”
Liam’s voice cracked with hurt.
“I hate it. It feels like we’re at the bottom of his list every single time.”
Isaac nodded, eyes downcast.
“Yeah… like we don’t matter as much.”
After dinner, while the rest of the pack started arguing over movie choices, Liam and Isaac finally cornered Stiles in the kitchen. He was wiping down the counter when he noticed their expressions and sighed, tossing the dish towel aside.
“Alright. You two look like two kicked puppies. Spill it.”
Liam spoke first, the words tumbling out.
“You care about everyone else more than us.”
Isaac jumped in immediately, unable to hold back any longer.
“We watch you run around fixing Scott’s injuries, worrying over Derek's well-being, making sure Erica’s okay, buying Peter stupid expensive chocolates… even laughing at his creepy jokes. But we get quick head ruffles and bossy instructions. Like we’re just obligations you have to manage.”
Liam’s eyes stung.
“It feels like we’re always last. Every single time. We wait all day for you to come back, and then you still put everyone else first.”
Stiles stared at them for a long moment. Then he stepped forward and grabbed them both firmly — one hand on the back of Liam’s neck, the other gripping Isaac’s shoulder with surprising strength.
“You two absolute, ridiculous, jealous idiots,” he said, voice low and rough with deep affection. “You really think I’m strict with you because I don’t care? I’m strict because I care so damn much that it keeps me up at night. I’m terrified every single day.”
He pulled them in closer, eyes fierce and protective.
“Liam, every time you throw yourself headfirst into a fight like you’re invincible, I feel sick to my stomach because the idea of you getting hurt or killed destroys me. Isaac, you shut down and act like you don’t need anyone, like you’re still that lonely kid, and it breaks my heart every damn time. So yeah, I’m harder on you two because you need the structure and because losing either of you would break me in ways I don’t know how to come back from.”
Stiles yanked them both into a crushing hug, arms wrapping around them tightly.
“You are not at the bottom of anything. You’re my reckless boys. My priority, just as much as Scott, Derek or anyone else. I show it differently because that’s what you need, but I love you just as fiercely. Don’t ever doubt that again, okay?”
Liam buried his face in Stiles’ shoulder, the heavy jealousy finally cracking and melting away.
“Sorry… we just missed you. It felt like we were losing you to the pack.”
Isaac let out a shaky breath, pressing closer.
“Yeah. We missed you.”
“I’m right here,” Stiles murmured, squeezing them even tighter. “I’m always right here for all of you. Especially you two.”
When they finally emerged from the kitchen, Stiles had an arm around each of them. He dragged Liam and Isaac straight to the massive sectional couch.
“Movie night,” he announced to the pack. “No arguments. No one is patrolling, training, or doing anything dangerous tonight. We’re all staying right here.”
The pack didn’t need much convincing. Slowly, they all melted into one giant puppy pile.
Scott stretched out with his head comfortably on Stiles’ lap, sighing contentedly. Derek sat on Stiles’ other side, solid and warm, one arm resting along the back of the couch so his fingers occasionally brushed Stiles’ shoulder.
Liam and Isaac glued themselves to Stiles’ sides, practically in his lap now, soaking up every bit of attention like touch-starved wolves. Erica draped herself dramatically over Boyd, who looked quietly pleased. Kira and Malia curled up together like a pair of cats, Malia’s head on Kira’s shoulder.
Lydia claimed Jackson’s lap like a queen on her throne, occasionally running her fingers through his hair. Even Peter stayed — lounging at the far end of the massive pile instead of disappearing like he usually did, looking equal parts amused and reluctantly comfortable.
Stiles had one arm wrapped securely around Liam and the other around Isaac. His fingers gently carded through their hair in slow, soothing strokes. Every so often, he’d reach out to check on someone else — squeezing Erica’s ankle under the blanket, reminding Malia to stay calm during an action scene, or making sure Lydia had her tea nearby.
The movie played across the big screen, but the real warmth came from the tangle of bodies — limbs overlapping, quiet breathing, the steady heartbeat of the pack all around them. Safe. Protected. Loved.
Stiles smiled tiredly, exhaustion evident, but his expression was soft. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Liam’s head, then Isaac’s.
“This is what I fight for,” he whispered, barely audible. “All of you. Every chaotic, pain-in-the-ass one of you.”
Liam pressed even closer, finally completely content, the earlier jealousy a distant memory. Isaac relaxed fully against Stiles’ side, letting out a soft sigh of relief.
The whole pack — loud, broken, fiercely loyal, and undeniably family — stayed tangled together in one big, warm, ridiculous puppy pile for the rest of the night. Right in the middle was Stiles, their stressed, strict, but endlessly loving pack mum, holding them all together with nothing but sheer willpower and love.