//ayyyyyyy y’all i forgot to post this fic i wrote for @foolishsel for the @eternalstereksecretsanta!! check it out, it’s mindless smutty fluff and I had a ton of fun writing it.//
The heatwave has hit Beacon Hills like a sledgehammer.
Harsh, unforgiving sunlight beats down onto the yards and thoroughfares, warping the air into a shimmering mirage, melting the tarmac just enough so that it sticks to the soles of people’s shoes. The air feels thick and unyielding, an unexpected stew of humidity that turns the world into a pressure cooker.
“This,” Stiles says, head-deep in Derek Hale’s freezer, “is hell.”
“Dramatic,” Derek mutters, only just audible from where he reclines on the couch, seemingly untroubled by the oppressive heat.
Stiles removes his head from the freezer for the prerequisite 0.8 seconds it takes to shoot Derek a truly filthy look. The werewolf is going through Stiles’ research with an almost zen-like expression of calm, ignoring the sweat that glistens on his brow. As Stiles watches, a single perfect bead of perspiration slips free of the graceful divot of Derek’s collarbone and slides, unencumbered, down the powerfully muscled plane of his bare chest.
Bastard, Stiles thinks despondently, and sticks his head back into the blissfully cool darkness of the freezer.
“Why doesn’t anyone have a goddamn air conditioner?” he moans. “I know we’re in northern California, but surely someone would have the presence of mind to have central air.”
“Not if you live in a town in the mountains, where it never gets hotter than 70 degrees. And anyway, you know you’re at least partially responsible for this.” Derek’s voice is muffled by the confines of the refrigeration unit, but the judgement there is hard to miss. Stiles glares at an economy-sized box of frozen waffles.
“That’s victim-blaming,” he grumbles. He can practically hear Derek rolling his eyes. “Not cool.”
“How did you manage to mortally offend a tempestarii during the two hours she happened to be passing through town, anyway?”
Stiles snorts derisively, but otherwise remains resolutely silent. There’s no use in denying it, not when Derek could hear him lying from three towns over, but he’ll be damned if he says anything more on the matter. Instead, he rests his overheated face on a bag of frozen peas, and wishes a pox upon all weather-witches.
“Hey.”
His voice is so close that Stiles startles, turning too fast and nearly braining himself on an ice cube tray. Derek steadies him with hand on his shoulder, unable to disguise his amusement even as he sighs long-sufferingly. The blessed chill of the freezer escapes into the kitchen, heat rushing to fill its place, and Stiles levels a glare at the werewolf’s stupid, handsome mug. He’s standing so close that Stiles can smell him, woodsy with a hint of perspiration. He blames the rabbiting of his heart on shock; it has nothing to do with Derek’s sudden proximity, or the way his reluctant smile softens the lines of his face.
“We need to get you a bell,” Stiles mutters, studiously avoiding Derek’s gaze. Derek raises a sardonic eyebrow, but refuses to be otherwise deterred.
“Tell me what happened,” he says, calm as still waters. He squeezes Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles knows that he means for it to be reassuring, and that makes his own despairing longing that much worse. “If we know what she was thinking at the time, we can figure out what kind of spell she used, and it’ll be a lot easier to break.”
Stiles winces, folding his arms across his chest defensively.
“Can’t we just figure it out the old-fashioned way?” he protests, jerking his head to the pile of papers and arcane tomes that he’d dumped onto Derek’s coffee table. He’s being childish and he knows it, but he can’t shake the memory of the tempestarii’s sneer, the way the hunger in her eyes had turned to mocking rage.
“Of course, we can,” Derek says, shrugging. Then he reaches out and shuts the freezer door, eliminating the vestigial traces of cool air that had been soothing Stiles' burning face. “But you can’t live in my fridge while we do it.”
“Cruel!”
“You don’t pay my power bill.”
Sullen silence reigns for the better part of a minute as Stiles glowers and Derek waits him out impassively, still standing distractingly close. It’s a losing battle, and Stiles knows it, but he’s been avoiding this conversation for so many years that the thought of having it all out in the open now makes him queasy. He grits his teeth and steps back until he can lean against the fridge, trying for casual and missing by several miles.
“She was an asshole,” he mutters, trying to focus on anything other than Derek’s questioning frown and his emphatically bare torso.
Derek is unmoved.
“And?”
Stiles makes the mistake of meeting that wonderful green gaze, and folds like a cheap suit.
What I want, you've got by brokentoy (1/1 | 5,256 | NC17)
Derek stops saying “No” the moment Stiles’ tongue slips wetly into his mouth, and he can’t be blamed for that.
Stiles is nothing if not enthusiastic in everything he does, and kissing is not the exception.
Actually, sex is not the exception.
What We Called Love by jadore_hale (5/8 | 67,232 | NC17)
He’d guessed that if Derek wasn’t paying him for the sex, then he was obviously paying him for the conversation. So Stiles made it a point to talk and never stop. Stiles rambled and Derek sometimes listened. Stiles shouted about X-Men and porn in fancy restaurants, and Derek sometimes grunted in response. Every now and then, Derek would even look up from his phone and make eye contact and blink, which Stiles would always take as a positive and real acknowledgment to his existence. And they never had sex. Not ever. No matter how badly Stiles wanted them to, and he wanted them to, oh so badly.
Stiles Stilinski has been Derek Hale’s sugar baby for the last three years, and just can’t understand why the man pays him so much damn money.
Or the one where Danny is Miley Cyrus, Dylan Sprouse, Justin Beiber, and Kanye West all in one.
A Change of Plans by sunnydalewerewolf (4/4 | 12,304 | NC17)
Stiles and Derek had been best friends since they were babies, their parents having all been friends since college. Growing up, it had seemed very apparent that Derek would be an alpha and Stiles an omega. Stiles had just kind of always assumed they would end up together, and he thought Derek had assumed the same. No one ever said anything about it, but that’s just the way things would be.
So when they both end up being omegas, things get kind of complicated.
Howl When We're Apart by Cassandra_Summers (1/1 | 3,375 | NC17)
Derek had never exactly been the social type, but since he’d finally claimed Stiles as his mate, he’d become unbearable. He was growling at anyone who stepped within a ten foot radius of Stiles, Scott included, and it was really beginning to piss Stiles off. Of course at first Stiles had found it pretty hot and they’d actually had some pretty amazing sex because of it, but now it was beginning to interfere with Stiles’ daily life.
Night shift by devilscut (1/1 | 6,790 | NC17)
It's the night shift and Deputy Derek Hale is left holding the fort at the Sheriff's Department. He and the kid that's in a holding cell are the only ones in the building and it's starting to make Derek sweat. The kid smells so good and when he watches him through the security vision and sees what the young man is getting up to in that cell.. his good intentions are put to the test particularly when the kid makes him an offer for his freedom.. one that Derek finds really, really hard to refuse.
Be Mine Because I'm Already Yours by FluffyGremlin (1/1 | 2,752 | NC17)
"Oh... my... god..." Stiles grabbed the package out of Derek's hands quickly, pulling it in and holding it close to his chest. "Is this seriously a heart shaped box of chocolates?" He looked down at the red heart and bit his lower lip. "You got me a heart shaped box of chocolates for Valentine's Day!" When he glanced back up he saw that Derek's blush has spread from his ears down his neck. "You hate Valentine's Day."
"But you don't." Derek crossed his arms, paper bag rustling in his grasp.
"You think it's a petty marketing ploy designed to get people fat off of endorphin laden food and make others miserable because they're alone." Stiles looked back down at the box, his mouth hanging open.
Derek moved forward, reaching out to force Stiles' gaze back to his. "But you don't."
