There are a lot of things Stiles has forgotten. Some of them by choice, because some memories are too painful and that’s what you do to survive; some of them because they were taken from him.
What would be ideal, really, is a bait service for people fighting supernatural creatures. Some sort of temp agency, with people who are willing to risk life and limb to help the defenders of good and right. It would be a pretty sweet job, all things told. All the bait-person would have to do is look like a delicious source of life energy. The bad guy comes over, says hi, goes in for the drain, and then bam! Dead monster, wreaths of glory, and a paycheck. Also mortal terror, okay, Stiles understands that no one is a fan of that, but he's pretty sure people would get a kick out of being so useful in the war against the fucking night. Stiles would apply for that job. Hell, he’d take the job at hand, even if it meant dressing up like a girl.
Which-- actually. That's not the worst idea, is it?
Or: Stiles dates a sex demon. Derek doesn't approve. It all goes about as well as expected.
It’s a popular joke among Alphas: fuck an Omega, get heartbreak on your hands. Omegas are fragile little emotional things, needy and whiny. Stiles refuses to become that, or to believe that he’s anything like that.
Stiles and Derek have been fuckbuddies for a while when Derek loses his memories of the past three years - and them - in an accident. (Also - everyone's a werewolf, and everyone's alive.)
Derek is so tired of everything being his fault, so tired of always losing. He's also tired of not admitting that he wants to own Stiles in ways he can barely describe.
Or
Derek is far from perfect but maybe that's okay. Maybe in the right company perfect isn't necessary.
Derek and Stiles stuck in a room together while Derek is under the influence of a magical spell that makes him really, really horny. Basically I just felt like writing smut today.
