Teen Wolf/SGA team-fic, with Lydia being awesome. “This is a terrible idea,” Stiles tells the room again. “You’ll all be sorry when Derek pushes me off a cliff.”

Things Stiles doesn’t like to deal with first thing: hot, moist dog breath on his face, a cuddly werewolf creepifying his perfectly normal morning wood with shades of bestiality, and his dad holding his service revolver against the skull of his bedmate, never mind the fact that his bedmate could possibly be a vicious unhinged rouge omega.