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Summary
Fuck Derek Hale. That’s all Stiles thought as he got out of his jeep and made his way towards the school. Fuck his smug attitude, and his sparkling green eyes, and his god-like muscles that have the ability to lift Stiles up and slam him against every surface of the loft many many times in many different positions. That was exactly how Stiles landed in his little predicament in the first place: his inability to take one step without the ghost of last night shooting pain up his ass with every step.
(or the one where Derek is packing, and he makes sure Stiles knows it throughout his school day)