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Derek knew something was wrong the second he heard Stiles’ Jeep pull up.
The engine cut off too fast. No slam of the driver’s door. No loud, rambling phone call as Stiles wandered inside. Just silence. Suspicious silence.
Then the door creaked open.
“Hey, Der-Bear,” Stiles called sweetly, too sweetly. “Don’t freak out, okay?”
That was absolutely the kind of thing people said right before you found out your boyfriend crashed your car or brought home another ancient grimoire that reeked of brimstone and black magic.
Derek stood up from the couch, arms crossed. “Stiles.”
And then Stiles walked in.
With a cat.
Correction: with an entire lion disguised as a house pet. The creature draped lazily over his arms, fluffy orange tail flicking in mild disinterest. It was massive. Its head was the size of a melon. Its paws looked like they could smother a man in his sleep. It had an expression of regal contempt, as if it had deemed them both unworthy before it even stepped into the loft.
“This is Mr. Meowgi,” Stiles announced proudly. “Isn’t he magnificent?”
“No.”
Stiles blinked. “What?”
“No,” Derek repeated, pointing. “Absolutely not.”
“C’mon, look at his face.” Stiles held the cat up like Simba in The Lion King. Mr. Meowgi yawned, unbothered, flashing a set of fangs that belonged on a jungle predator.
“He’s… huge.”
“He’s a Maine Coon! They get big.”
“That’s not big. That’s unholy. That's a wild fucking animal. No, that’s a cryptid, Stiles.”
Stiles snorted. “You’re one to talk. You turn into a wolf. This is just a very large, very handsome cat.”
“I have never brought home a wolf and said ‘surprise, here’s our new roommate,’” Derek muttered.
Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Okay, first of all, bold of you to assume I wouldn't welcome an actual wolf in my home.”
“This is my loft.”
“Details, details.”
Derek sighed. Mr. Meowgi leapt from Stiles’ arms with surprising grace, landed with a heavy thump, and promptly strutted around the room like he owned it.
Which, based on the immediate way he jumped on Derek’s favorite chair and settled in, he clearly thought he did.
“I swear to God, if that thing sheds on the couch…”
“He’s hypoallergenic!”
“Literally, no he's not.”
“And he needed a home!” Stiles said earnestly, stepping closer. “His owner passed away and no one wanted him because he’s ‘too big’ and ‘too intimidating’ and I just-” He faltered. “I couldn’t leave him there, Der. He was sitting in the back of the cage like he’d already given up.”
Derek looked at the giant beast currently licking its paws on his chair.
Then he looked at Stiles, whose stupid golden eyes were too wide, too hopeful.
“Fine,” Derek muttered.
“YES!” Stiles fist pumped. “I knew you had a soft spot under all that brooding muscle!”
Mr. Meowgi meowed once. Loud. Judgemental.
Derek narrowed his eyes. “He just judged me.”
“He’s very intuitive,” Stiles said smugly. “He knows who the grump is in this relationship.”
Mr. Meowgi blinked slowly at Derek.
Derek glared back.
The cat stretched out, yawned again, and knocked one of Derek’s books off the side table with an extended paw.
Stiles covered his mouth to hide a laugh. “Oh yeah. You two are gonna get along great.”
Derek didn’t answer. He was too busy mentally reminding himself to Google “can cats sense when you’re plotting their downfall.”
Cats were instinctively wary of Derek. Always had been.
It wasn’t something he liked to admit out loud, but the truth was: animals knew.
Dogs got twitchy. Birds went quiet.
Cats? Cats ran the hell away.
His inner wolf threw off something primal - predator, apex, do not approach - and most creatures took the hint.
But not Mr. Meowgi.
Oh, no. Mr. Meowgi looked right into Derek’s glowing red eyes, blinked slowly, and proceeded to make himself at home like he paid rent.
He wasn’t scared.
He wasn’t even slightly nervous.
If anything, he looked… bored.
Which, to be clear, was offensive.
Derek’s power could make ‘stronger’ alphas submit. Hunters trembled. Even Peter hesitated sometimes when Derek’s voice dropped and his eyes bled red.
But this twenty five pound mountain lion in a fur coat?
He stretched across Derek’s bed like a Roman emperor.
Dug his claws into Derek’s favorite leather jacket.
Purred obnoxiously loud when Stiles scratched his head and said, “You’re daddy’s special boy, aren’t you?”
“Don’t say that,” Derek groaned from the doorway. “He’s not your kid.”
“Who said I was talking to him?” Stiles smirked, clearly delighted with himself.
Mr. Meowgi blinked again. That same slow, judgmental blink that seemed to say, You’re here because I allow it.
Derek considered his life choices.
~~~~
Derek thought maybe it was just an adjustment period. That maybe Mr. Meowgi would eventually sense the supernatural alpha energy radiating off him and chill the hell out.
Nope.
Instead, Mr. Meowgi had escalated the war.
He sat on Derek’s laptop until it overheated.
He yowled at 3 a.m. every morning like some kind of tiny demon.
He leapt onto the counter and knocked exactly one coffee mug onto the floor every time Derek was in the kitchen. Always Derek’s mugs. Never Stiles’.
And the final insult?
Derek came out of the shower one night and found the cat curled in the middle of his pillow.
HIS. PILLOW.
The audacity.
“Get. Off,” Derek said firmly, voice laced with alpha growl.
Mr. Meowgi did not move.
He stared at Derek. Blinked once. Then laid his head down and started purring like a damn freight train.
“That’s my fucking pillow!”
Stiles looked up from the other side of the mattress with zero sympathy. “He likes the scent. You should be honored.”
“I will sleep on the couch.”
“You will not,” Stiles said, catching Derek’s wrist. “You’re not letting a cat win.”
“I already lost.”
“You literally fought a kanima with your bare hands. You are not being bested by a house cat.”
“That is not a house cat,” Derek growled.
Mr. Meowgi yawned in response. Then stretched long, like he was showing off all his murder mittens.
Stiles cooed, “Look at his little toe beans.”
“They’re claws, Stiles. That’s a threat display.”
Stiles yawned. “You’re just mad he doesn’t fear you.”
“He should.”
“But ala, he doesn’t.”
They both looked over at the cat, who had now nestled his face deeper into Derek’s pillow, tail flicking smugly.
“Unbelievable,” Derek muttered, climbing into bed.
Mr. Meowgi didn’t even flinch when Derek laid down beside him. He just shifted slightly and flopped a fat paw on Derek’s shoulder like he was claiming him.
Stiles bit his lip to hold in a laugh.
~~~~
By the end of the week, Derek had stopped pretending he was going to win.
He still growled under his breath every time he found orange fur on the couch.
He still gave Mr. Meowgi narrow, distrustful glances like the cat was plotting to steal his mate.
But he also got caught once - just once - scratching behind the cat’s ears when he thought no one was watching.
Stiles had photographic evidence. Derek tried to delete it. Stiles made it his phone background.
Mr. Meowgi?
He still knocked over Derek’s coffee mug every morning.
Still hogged the bed.
Still refused to acknowledge Derek’s authority as alpha.
But sometimes, only sometimes, he’d curl up on Derek’s chest while he was napping.
And Derek would grumble about it.
But he wouldn’t move.
~~~~
Peter Hale was not a man easily rattled.
He'd survived the fire. The coma. The trauma of watching Derek’s life choices spiral steadily into chaos.
He’d faced hunters, alphas, demons, and teenagers with disturbing internet access.
But apparently, even Peter had a line.
And that line had fur.
Orange fur.
With a floofy tail.
And an attitude that could curdle milk.
Mr. Meowgi sat curled on the windowsill like a gargoyle, his amber eyes fixed on Peter the moment he stepped into the loft.
Peter paused mid step.
“Why,” he said, tone razor sharp, “is there a cat in your den?”
Derek looked up from where he was chopping vegetables. “He lives here.”
Peter blinked. Once. Twice.
“With you?” he clarified, slowly, like Derek might have hit his head.
“With us,” Stiles called from the couch, where he was making kissy faces at the cat. “Say hi, Meowgi!”
Mr. Meowgi did not say hi.
Mr. Meowgi hissed.
At Peter.
Peter recoiled a fraction. “That thing just challenged me.”
“Good instincts,” Stiles said cheerfully. “He’s a great judge of character.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “Derek. Be honest with me. Is this some kind of spell? Are you cursed? Did Stiles hex you into adopting that overgrown dust mop?”
Derek didn’t flinch. He just kept chopping carrots. “No spell. He’s just part of the family now.”
Peter looked genuinely pained. “You can’t be serious.”
“He hasn’t tried to kill anyone,” Derek shrugged. “That already puts him ahead of you.”
Stiles snorted.
Peter ignored him. “Derek, this is unacceptable. Your den - your home - smells like a damn litter box. That thing sheds like a yeti, and it’s making direct eye contact with me like I owe it money.”
“He doesn’t like you,” Stiles said. “Honestly, kind of a red flag if he did.”
Peter turned his glare on Stiles. “Why is he even here?”
“Because I saved him, and he loves me,” Stiles said, reaching down to scratch Mr. Meowgi under the chin. The cat purred like a chainsaw. “Unlike some emotionally constipated Hales I know.”
Peter looked ready to explode. “Derek. Get. Rid. Of. It.”
The air in the loft shifted.
Derek turned, slow and deliberate, eyes flashing red. “No.”
Peter blinked.
Stiles blinked.
Even Mr. Meowgi paused mid purr, one ear twitching.
“What?” Peter asked carefully.
Derek set the knife down. “I said no. He’s not going anywhere.”
“You’re defending the cat?”
“Yes.”
Peter let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“He’s Stiles’ cat,” Derek said, voice firm, calm, final. “Which means he’s part of the pack. You don’t like him? Don’t come over.”
Peter turned to the cat, pointing. “I will throw you into traffic.”
Mr. Meowgi slowly rose. Walked to the edge of the windowsill. Stared Peter down.
Then, never breaking eye contact, he knocked a potted plant onto the floor.
It shattered.
Peter looked horrified. “That was my plant!”
“Yeah,” Stiles said brightly, “he does that when he doesn’t like someone’s vibe.”
Derek looked back at Peter. “You should leave now.”
Peter opened his mouth, closed it again, and stared like Derek had just grown a second head.
Finally, with a huff of indignation and a swirl of his coat, he turned on his heel and stormed out.
The door slammed behind him.
A long beat passed.
Then Mr. Meowgi let out a low, smug meow.
Derek walked over, crouched down beside him, and scratched behind one giant, fluffy ear.
“You did good.”
Mr. Meowgi purred.
Stiles grinned. “I knew you loved him.”
“I don’t.”
“You totally do.”
Derek sighed. “He’s tolerable.”
Mr. Meowgi rubbed his face against Derek’s arm.
“Okay,” Derek muttered. “Maybe a little more than tolerable.”
The cat sneezed on Derek’s sleeve.
Derek didn’t even flinch.