I'm still not over Yeti Stiles. I think it is time for a size difference Sterek prompt, just imagine those hands, the muscular yeti muscles, and the looming height. Makes my heart flutter at the thought. So what if Derek had the same feelings, Stiles manhandled him, and the feeling of those hands reaching around his waist fully just gives him butterfly and jelly legs. Luckily Stiles doesn't notice the smell of lust coming off Derek, unfortunately for Derek that the Pack all have perfectly working noses.
Eyo love! Here it is. Might have also made a DaisyAfterDark production that'll be linked at the bottom ☺️🫣
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It started when Stiles came back from that mission in the Andes.
Well, technically, it started with a magical artifact and a wild idea that he could use it to track ley lines for Beacon Hills’ protection.
It ended with him turning into a fucking Yeti without being able to shift backi.
He’d gone radio silent for three days, only to reappear at the edge of the Preserve, ten feet tall, covered in silvery white fur, with golden glowing eyes, tusk like canines, and a voice like a landslide.
At first, Derek had been alarmed.
Then intrigued.
And then, utterly, dangerously, humiliatingly, smitten.
"You okay?" Stiles grumbled, voice like grinding glacier rocks, one massive paw resting gently on Derek's lower back.
Derek tried not to audibly sigh at the heat of the touch, the sheer scale of it. Stiles’s palm covered most of his torso. Most. He could feel claws grazing lightly at his waist where Stiles had effortlessly grabbed him and swung him out of danger like he weighed nothing.
Like a toy.
He didn’t want to think about how his brain short circuited when Stiles cradled him to his chest like a warm, living stuffed animal.
"I'm fine," Derek said, but it came out a little strangled.
Stiles narrowed his golden eyes. “You smell kinda funny.”
Derek coughed. "Adrenaline."
From behind them, Erica audibly snorted. Boyd sighed like he was already tired of this very specific problem.
“Sure,” Erica muttered. “Let’s call it adrenaline.”
It only got worse.
Yeti!Stiles didn’t seem to notice what his body was doing to Derek, how those huge arms and thickly muscled legs made Derek ache in ways that were deeply undignified.
Stiles could lift a car. He could uproot a tree. He could wrap Derek up in one arm like a burrito and walk off into the mountains.
Derek had dreams about that now. Shameful, desperate dreams that left him tangled in sweaty sheets and biting his pillow so the whole Pack House wouldn’t hear.
Which, joke was on him, they already knew.
Wolves.
With perfect noses.
One time, Isaac walked past him, stopped mid step, turned around slowly, sniffed the air, and just grinned.
"Should I call you Snow White, or...?"
Derek slammed the door in his face.
One afternoon, the pack was doing a training session out in the Preserve.
Stiles was walking on all fours, his massive yeti bulk moving with surprising grace, circling the perimeter like a giant polar bear guardian. He was humming under his breath, some weird upbeat pop song, and occasionally pausing to pick up trees and reposition them like legos.
Derek was trying, and failing, to concentrate on coaching Isaac through a takedown, when a loud crack of wood snapped behind him.
Derek turned, too slow, just in time to see a massive log falling toward him.
He didn't have time to move.
But Stiles was already there.
One massive, furry arm scooped around Derek’s waist. The other caught the log and tossed it twenty feet to the side like it was nothing.
Derek was plastered to a wall of fur and heat and chest.
He could feel the deep rumble of Stiles’s voice through his spine.
"You good, sweetheart?"
Derek stopped breathing.
So did the rest of the pack.
Stiles blinked down at him, gently setting him on his feet like he was precious cargo. "You okay? You smell all… fluttery."
Derek didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded.
Somewhere behind him, Eeica muttered, “He smells like a Disney princess in heat.”
It only spiraled from there.
Derek started avoiding group hang outs, and when he did show up, he sat with his arms crossed and eyes averted - refusing to look directly at Stiles in his muscular, snowy furred, walking wet dream form.
It didn’t help.
Not when Stiles kept doing things like ducking under doorways, curling up like a housecat in the backyard with his giant limbs sprawled everywhere, or squeezing through hallways just to hand Derek a drink, his entire body heating the space like a furnace.
Derek dropped the soda once. Stiles just chuckled and patted him on the head, claws so gentle against his scalp.
And Derek felt his knees actually go weak.
Like, literally.
He had to grab the counter.
Unfortunately, it happened right in front of everyone.
"You have to tell him," Lydia hissed later that night, standing between Derek and the door so he couldn't escape the pack meeting.
"No."
"The wolves say you’re leaving scent trails like a dog in heat!" she snapped. "I had to sage the couch!"
"He doesn’t even notice!"
Scott, trying to be helpful, said, “I think he might. He calls you ‘little guy’ a lot.”
Derek turned bright red. “That’s…he means it nicely!”
“That’s the problem,” Erica said sweetly. “You’re getting your spine melted by a guy who doesn’t realize he’s seducing you."
Derek covered his face. “I hate all of you.”
"You won't," Boyd said, "when he finally pins you against a tree and breathes your name like a forest god."
Derek made a noise.
Of course, things reached a breaking point.
Because of course they did.
One night, during a full moon, Derek lost control for a split second. Too much tension. Too much unresolved need. Too many nights staring at Stiles across the firepit, knowing what those hands could do.
He ran into the Preserve to cool down.
Which is exactly where Yeti!Stiles found him.
And then, Derek was pinned. Gently. But definitely pinned. With both wrists held above his head by one massive hand. The other settled low on his waist, claws warm and curiously soft.
Stiles leaned in close, golden eyes glowing.
“You smell like you want something.”
Derek swallowed hard. “I - I don't-”
Stiles leaned closer. “I want it too.”
Butterflies. Jelly legs. Fire in his veins.
The trees swayed.
Derek gave in.
••••••
DaisyAfterDark full story here! (Contains explicit content)
Sterek | General
Read the rest of the series on AO3 here!
Prompt #17 of the Sterek Bingo 2018: Yeti!Stiles
Stiles roared one last time, watching as the entire pack of werehyenas turned tail and ran. He was breathing heavy, and steam leaked from his nose. His breath was that cold. He pounded an oversized fist into the ground again, shaking the earth with its strength. Frost was beginning to spread out from where his paw was touching the ground and he grunts.
It took him a long moment to pull his shift back. He hadn’t shifted in years, and it took concentration to shrink down to human, force fur to recede back into skin. When he did, it was to find his entire pack staring at him. Their faces were a mix of shock and wonder, and none of them looked like they totally believed what they just saw.
Stiles couldn't even blame them.
“I’m dating the Abominable Snowman,” Derek said, and it startled a laugh out of Stiles.
“Technically I’m a Yeti,” Stiles told them, and Derek smiled at him, soft and private.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
As it turns out the situation is both more and less complicated than he's been anticipating. When he makes his way to the living room there is a strange boy curled up in front of his fireplace. That the boy and the yeti are one in the same is not a difficult mental leap to make: the boy is naked, pale skin flecked with moles, hair mussed and brown, but the horns and the ears are still there, as is the tail that curls over his hips preserving his modesty as he sleeps. The boy's arms from just above his elbows and his legs beginning just beneath his knees are still heavily furred and he has sharp claws instead of fingers and toes.
The yeti-boy comes awake as Derek stands there gawking. It blinks cold blue eyes at him as it smacks its lips. The teeth are still there, sharp and menacing. Derek is still staring as the yeti-boy stretches and pushes himself up to sit, and then finally comes awake enough to realize his current state of undress. "Oh my –" his voice cracks and cuts out even though his mouth seems to keep forming words. He winces, scrambling to drag a nearby throw over himself.
"Right." Derek turns around and heads back into his room.
It's obviously some sort of beta shift, he thinks as he sits on his bed with his head in his hands. Not really all that surprising, foolish not to have considered it before, actually. He pulls some clothes out of his dresser, tosses them in the direction of the yeti-boy who seems to be debating whether he should sneak out while Derek has been distracted.
"Put those on," he tells the boy and goes into the kitchen.
Stiles is profoundly suspicious of the city that sits on the barren ice sheet at the North Pole. His friend Scott doesn't seem to mind being an elf-slave, and liberating the captive reindeer was not Stiles' best idea ever, but a little recon inside the city walls is too tempting to pass up.
