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January Prompts 10
Jan. 10th, 2019 08:47 pm
Talia takes one look at her son trudging up her garden path — face downturned, legs looking like they’re made of lead, hands clenching in and out of fists to stop claws popping — and decides that this is going to be a hot-chocolate kind of conversation.
The scent that hits her when her son finally opens the door and walks into the kitchen is… confusing. Given his countenance, no one would blame her for bracing her nose for what she thought was going to be a barrage of pain-and-suffering-stink.
But, he smells, well, he almost smells excited. There’s a good deal of apprehension in there too, however.
She keeps her mouth closed as he sits in front of her, draping his jacket across the back of the chair and tugging at the sleeves so they’re pulled out straight at the sides. He’s fussing about his appearance, on the way home from his shift no less; he’s worried that he’s not good enough for something.
Talia pours the chocolate and waits until her Derek has had his first sip and put in back on the counter before she asks.
“What do you need, sweetheart?”
“Advice?” Derek looks up from staring at the way his fingertips go white when he presses them hard against the mug. “I think? I might just need to you wake me up from the very lifelike dream I’m apparently having.” He lifts the drink again and takes another tiny taste, then leaves it up in the air in front of him, elbows on the kitchen counter. “Is Bobby Finstock a Fae?”
Talia blinks.
“He’s never confirmed or denied it. Did he do something?”
“Yes? Possibly?” Derek screws up his nose and opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. He finally settles on, “I just gave Sheriff Stilinski’s son a courting token that I didn’t know existed. He’s handsome and seems kind and he smells amazing and he accepted the coin and now I have his phone number and I have no idea what to do next.”
It is so very, very hard not to grin; Talia wouldn’t have bet that her son would be the one to end up in Coach’s sights. She settles on a small smile and starts with the good thing.
“Congratulations. I assume we’re talking about the young omega your sisters were keen on telling me about the other day?” Derek shrugs his shoulders, then nods and has a little more of the chocolate. “Stiles Stilinski is a very intelligent young man, he’s apparently studying a double-degree. From what I know of his family and the little else I know about the man in question, I am more than happy to put my stamp of Alpha-approval on your choice.”
Derek lifts his eyebrow at her. “Your approval?”
“Well, as you’ve initiated a proper courting, I thought you might be interested in some of the other old customs.” That earns her an eyeroll. “You have my permission as the Primary Hale Alpha to court your chosen omega.” A thousand nights forced to watch period dramas creep into her memory and she adds, in a slightly hoity-toity accent, “May your pursuit be as sweet as it is swift.”
Derek pushes his empty chocolate mug out in front of him, drops his shoulders and lets his forehead hit the counter, then turns a little so his face isn’t smooshed.
“I don’t…” He flicks claws out on the hand he can see and runs them lightly against the skin of his thumb. “I have no idea how what just happened just happened.” He pulls his claws in and himself back up. “I’m absurdly happy that I now know the guy’s name and his phone number, but I got both of those after I delivered him a cake that somehow manifested a courting token with the Hale insignia on it.”
Talia reaches out and takes each of his hands in each of hers.
“Do you want to actually court him? If you do, we can figure out of the dos-and-don’ts involved. You could always try something a little over-the-top, old-fashioned-fancy for your first date and see how he reacts? If he likes it, go with it. I don’t think anyone is going to expect you to stand a foot apart at all times, be chaperoned, or produce three pigs as a bride price.”
Derek manages a smile at that.
“He smells too good to only be worth three pigs.”
“I’m sure.”
Derek lets out a sigh and pulls his hands back to run one of them through his hair. “I still have no idea how it happened. The coin looked just like the one you have. Only shinier.”
She shouldn’t tell him this, they were all sworn to secrecy, but.
“Do you know that Coach Finstock didn’t really choose to leave teaching of his own accord? He’d been there a good fifteen years before he left.” She can practically see Derek’s ears prick up. “Beacon Hills always had a pretty normal rate of early-bondings, but ten or more years ago they started to pick up and eventually they went through the roof. There were young people getting married and bonded all over the place.” She swallowed the last of her own hot-chocolate and picked up both mugs. “A couple of the other teachers realized that all the kids had one thing in common — they all took Economics with their eventual bond-mates.”
She let that sink in as she turned to put the mugs in the dishwasher.
“Coach…”
“Coach did nothing that anyone could prove. He eventually got sick of people trying to prove something though, and that’s when he left to open the coffee shop.”
“I knew he was up to something—”
“But now you have something more important to think about. You have a courting-worthy date to plan.”
should (v): used to indicate obligation, duty, or correctness
January Prompts 09
Jan. 9th, 2019 02:36 pm
John manages to shut the drawer in his desk just as Stiles opens the door to his office. The NPWS (Nosey Progeny Warning System) initiated by his staff the week before Stiles came home from Minnesota might just be working.
Hopefully the sound of the snack packet crinkling down into the confined space didn’t travel out into the hall. When John ran tests his Wolf deputies had been able to hear it from across the other side of the bullpit, but, well. Stiles is human, and will be for at least a little while.
John has been trying to ignore the rumors flying around town about a certain one of his alpha deputies and his son’s fumbling fraternization at Grind Goal. He’s only just got his baby-boy home; John doesn’t need to think about the fact that omegas tend to bond early, some long before their nineteenth birthday, which is the one Stiles is heading towards now.
John puts the idea out of his head and looks the kid over as he sits. The slightly pinched expression on his face might be because he caught the shoving of the contraband candy into the drawer, but it’s just as likely because he’s just come from Deaton’s. The kid hates those appointments. Everyone hates those appointments, but John’s pretty sure the ones for omegas are infinitely worse than those for betas or alphas.
“Dad,” Stiles offers as greeting as he sits his butt on the chair in front of John’s desk. There’s a lilt to his voice that sounds just like his mother’s.
And now that John’s thinking of it, the glint in Stiles’ eye and the pink in his cheeks is the spitting image of Claudia, too. There is so, so much going on in that brain, and John can’t help but feel a little awed and proud and just a touch worried ‘cause all that focus is currently on him.
“Son.”
Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, and all that.
“When were you going to tell me?”
And… an open-ended question. Damn.
Stiles’ brilliance might have come from his mother, but the interrogation methods that gather information for Stiles’ big brain? They’re all John’s fault. He’d started using the techniques to extract information about water-balloon fiascos and ant-farm explosions when Stiles and Scott were creating havoc together in elementary school. Scott had spilled the beans every time, but Stiles had quickly learned not only how to answer without providing any actual information, but also how to copy the questioning style to a T. He’s now had more than a decade’s practice.
“Well, old man? This isn’t the kind of thing you should be trying to keep from me. And I emphasize the word try. You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, did you?”
John weighs his options quickly. He can answer the question he thinks he’s being asked — about the bag of gummy worms in his drawer, or he can try to hedge in case Stiles is talking about something else. A lot changed in town in the years Stiles was away — he only ever came back for Thanksgiving and Christmas and ninety-percent of that was spent at home, and thus most of it Stiles is only discovering now. There’s a whole bunch of stuff that the indignation on his kid’s face could be about.
But, Stiles isn’t the only clever one in the room. John might not have the same book-smarts as Claudia gave their son, but he’s got a decade or two on Stiles when it comes to solving mysteries. The glint in Stiles’ eyes is warm, and that touch of color in his cheeks is telling. There are a couple of information pamphlets that John will bet are from Deaton’s sticking out Stiles’ coat pocket, which hangs undone because it’s a size or so small. In fact it’s small enough that the sleeves are too short to cover the lyca-band that Stiles has been trying not to worry at in the three minutes since he got here. While Stiles’ face is blank, the sharp sound of concern he gets when he’s thinking of John’s health isn’t evident in his voice.
And, really? John knows that Stiles heard the damn candy packet crinkling into the desk drawer. The fact that he’s ignoring it means there is something more interesting right now. Something positive enough to cancel the negative of bad diet equals bad health equals need to protect Dad.
Time to take a stab at it, then. Either way John will likely end up eating tofu-scramble for the rest of the week.
“What, and spoil your fun? He’s a damn fine alpha.”
Stiles’ eyes don’t quite widen at the pronouncement, but John can tell he’s impressed by his old man’s deductive skills, nevertheless.
“Damn fine, indeed! And I would have known that he was available weeks ago if my dear father had only seen fit to inform me that he works with the said same Wolf every day of the week.” Stiles stands and picks up his knapsack. "Don't think I'll forget that you were hiding the finest alpha in the county from me, Dad. But," he looks over his shoulder as he opens the office door again, "I’ll allow that one packet of gummy worms as long as it lasts the rest of the month. We’re having roast cauliflower curry for dinner tonight, so don’t be late.”
John groans on the inside, but lets himself be happy that it isn’t actually tofu-anything. “Excellent.”
bright (adj) : favorable or auspicious, quick-witted or intelligent
January Prompts 08
Jan. 8th, 2019 01:47 pm
Stiles just manages to extract himself gracefully from the entirely surprising, yet completely welcome, weirdness that was Alpha Derek Hale introducing himself by invoking an age-old courting tradition that went out of style with the horse and cart.
He’s not really sure how Coach is involved, but Derek seemed to be just as shocked at the proceedings as Stiles, and Coach was actually eating popcorn while it all happened. Everyone thinks that the little popping-machine behind the counter is because Finstock likes to catch the daily Lifetime Matinee, but Stiles is, after several weeks with his ass planted in the corner of Grind Goal, beginning to conclude that Coach likes watching more than just made for TV movies.
He and Derek are apparently starring in Coach’s most recent favorite feature, and Stiles is finding that he doesn’t actually mind.
After the whole coin-in-a-cake thing they’d introduced themselves, gotten over the fact that Derek was a deputy and therefore Stiles’ dad was his boss, and despite the antiquated courting gesture managed to move their acquaintanceship into the current century by swapping phone numbers. Then Stiles’ calendar reminder had beeped and he’d made his excuses.
Derek, who Stiles now recognizes had been coming to the coffee shop on his way home from the swing-shift, looked grateful to have actually spoken to each other and swapped details, but also to be able to go home to what was likely a well deserved rest.
Stiles is trying, as he walks to his appointment with Deaton, to not think about the fact that Derek Hale — the most attractive Alpha Stiles has ever met in real life — is going home to go to bed with the scent of a not-long out of heat omega in his lungs.
The smell of medicines in Deaton’s office is enough to cut any dirty thoughts off in an instant, though, and it fills Stiles’ nose in a rush as he opens the door.
There are only a few moments between the bell jingling and Deaton appearing from behind his not-actually-magic curtain.
“Welcome, Mx Stilinski.” He gestures Stiles over to the stools in front of the counter, and waves a lazy hand at the front door. The sign flips from open to occupied.
“Thank you, Mx Deaton.” The stools are hard and cold, and Stiles always wonders if they’re that way in places like this to discourage lingering. Morell’s were the same.
“I trust your heat was without issue? Is there anything you need to discuss? Mx. Morell sent me your updated records. The time you spent with your aunt seemed to treat you well physically, at least.” Deaton leaves the last comment with a raised eyebrow instead of a raised word. It’s still a question, but not quite as intrusive.
Stiles takes a breath deeper than he thought he would and feels relieved when he exhales. He knew that Deaton had recommended time with an omega relative back when he’d properly presented, and that his dad hadn’t wanted to send him. Stiles now understands that the young Sheriff really didn’t have a choice if he wanted what was best for everyone. Young male omega’s heats and cycles are much more complicated than young female’s ones, and far, far less predictable. Stiles had hated leaving at first, he’d cried and cursed and sworn that he’d never come back and, well. It hadn’t taken long for him to get why his dad wouldn’t have really coped.
He takes another deep, but far less tense, breath in.
“Aunt Noa was wonderful. Fourteen year old me wasn’t happy, but I’m glad she was able to step in to help.” He shifts in his seat and finally puts his knapsack on the stool next to him. “As for this past heat, it was okay. Mostly normal.”
The eyebrow lift is back in lieu of an actual question. Stiles isn’t going to let Deaton get away with it, however. If he wants an answer, he is going to have to ask.
Deaton quirks a smile before saying, in a tone that says he’s got connections and sources that will never be revealed, “I’m sure you know perfectly well what, or who, increased the intensity of your heat-dreams and their associated manifestations, of course.”
He glances at Stiles’ wrist. Stiles follows his gaze and realizes that he’s been rubbing at his lyca-band. He grips it a little harder and puts both hands into his lap, but doesn’t really try to hide them.
“I’ve just been given a courting token.” Stiles thinks about showing Deaton, but decides that his dad should see it first.
This time both eyebrows go up, but are then hastily pulled back down. “By a wolf.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then.” Deaton reaches under the counter and pulls out a large, leather-bound book with Records embossed on the front in curlicue font. “Just as I trust you understand your own cycle and the ups and downs associated with outside influences, I’m certain you know what your options are regarding suppressants and the like.” He finds the page he is looking for, and Stiles sees his own name written across the top. “However, a quick refresher is never a bad thing.”
Stiles doesn’t disagree.
“Yep.”
Deaton blinks at that, then picks up a pencil and begins bringing it to a point with a little metal sharpener. “Morrel’s prescription for you should be done in another three weeks. You have until exactly nine days before that ends to let me know your decision, as compounding some things takes that long, and skipping even one day would not be advisable if you’re dating or courting.”
Stiles wants to pick up his bag and put it on his lap, but instead he just keeps rubbing at his bracelet. He hums and says, “I can keep going with what I’m on, the straight suppressant, or I can move to a suppressant-cum-contraceptive, or just a contraceptive, or stop with the meds altogether, yes?”
“Yes.” Deaton writes the date in pencil in his book. “Ceasing all medication completely is unwise if you’re not bonded. A contraceptive for humans is simple, but one that will also prevent insemination by a Wolf is far more delicate. You know, also, that the lyca-strength one makes unbonded-omegas smell quite unpleasant, yes?”
Stiles snorts. “Everyone knows, don’t they? Two omega girls at the high school I went to were from one of those anti-Wolf cults. They got put on the suppressant and lyca-strength pill days into their first heat, apparently. Every week all the unbonded omegas from their group would get walked, separately, past some poor, unsuspecting Wolf — just to make sure the Alphas’ noses would still wrinkle up in disgust.”
Deaton nods. “It’s a horrendous practice. We very are lucky to not have any such believers in Beacon Hills anymore.” The Argents had been run out of town with the equivalent of pitchforks when Stiles was a still a baby. “Do you have any questions about your choices?”
Stiles thinks for a moment, and really, there’s only one thing he’s never really been able to get a straight answer to. Thankfully the same magics that let Deaton compound and concoct Wolf strength contraceptives also provide a seal of confidentiality to their discussions. No one will ever know he asked, so...
“Is it true that the first, um, coupling between an alpha Wolf and a newly-bitten omega Mate can’t produce a pregnancy?”
Most people might snigger, but Deaton simply answers the question.
“It’s generally so, yes. When a human is bitten into a Pack, there is generally time for their body to transform in all the ways it will before any kind of sexual congress takes place. However, when an alpha Wolf bites their chosen Mate into their Pack — omega or beta — it’s usually done as part of sexual congress, so the lycan-transformation isn’t always complete when conception takes place. Any possible pregnancy from that coupling is treated by the human body as an invasion, and thus ‘healed away’ in the same way arthritis or asthma or food-poisoning is during the change. Pregnancy at Mate-Bite is possible, but very, very improbable.”
Stiles takes a moment to digest what he’s just been told. It jives with most of what he’s been able to find, and it’s consistent with what he understands medically. Taking just suppressants lessens the chance of baby making, but only by about fifty percent if he has sex with a human and about twenty-five percent if does it with a Wolf. Of course, there’s also the fact that Wolf sperm eat condoms for breakfast. And, while he can get knocked up by a Wolf, such a pregnancy won’t usually last more than a few weeks. His human body will treat it like an invading virus and he’ll get horrendously sick and apparently smell like woe and pain while it’s happening: he can’t have a Wolf baby with his human womb, but he can get physically and emotionally screwed over by accidentally getting in the wolfy-family way.
It makes sense, then, if his human body treats it like an infection, that the Bite process would for all intents and purposes purge a newly formed zygote from his body.
“So, if I want to date a Wolf and have them not gag every time we’re in the same room, then taking suppressants and keeping everyone’s pants on is the best way to make sure there are no pre-bonding impregnations.”
Deaton scrawls something entirely less legible than the date he’d written before into the book. It’s upside down, and looks like runes, and Stiles really, really wishes he could cultivate an the air of enigma with what basically amounts to a few hand-wavy magic things and bad penmanship.
“Alpha Hale will be very pleased with your decision, I’m sure.”
Well, that and the slight mind-reading thing that Deaton has going, of course. Though Stiles suspects that’s more to do with him buying a daily afternoon coffee and cake from Coach.
apothecary (n): one that prepares and sells drugs and other medicines
January Prompts 07
Jan. 7th, 2019 07:43 am
“It’s time to step up your game, and I have just the thing.”
Derek looked at Coach, then at the dish on the counter and hoped he didn’t appear too absurd in his reaction; he likely looked like some kind of demented cartoon-owl, blinking at the very ordinary looking chocolate cake-thing on the plate in front of him.
“Step up my…”
It didn’t look like a step-up, and if it was anyone else making the statement he’d feel the need to correct their use of the word ‘game’. It was Coach, however, so. Yeah.
Every morning for the past week on his way home — the change to night-shift had been an unexpected boon — Derek had been delivering the Coach’s (very attractive omega) “IT guy” a plate of something tasty and a decaf-coffee. Coach had insisted on Derek’s assistance last Monday, loudly, and Derek had decided that not taking advantage of the very obviously manufactured situation would be absurd. Especially if Coach was actually fae and took some kind of offense to have a gift of sorts refused.
Derek breathed in and looked at the plain, round, brown cake and wondered just how it was going to advance his situation in any way whatsoever. It wasn’t ask if he’d been doing much with the chance on his own. Despite being offered a daily chance to interact with the intriguing omega, Derek had yet to even learn the guy’s name.
On Tuesday the omega smiled at him for the first time and Derek had almost dropped the coffee he was delivering. On Thursday Derek had managed to tell the guy to have a great day without tripping over his tongue. Yesterday, when presented with an apparently new addition to the curried-pumpkin-pastry offerings Grind Goal now specialized in, the omega’s eyes had gone wide and his long fingers had wrapped around the pie-thing and he’d moaned as he chewed his first bite.
Derek had stood stock-still, trying not to breathe in the scent of the young man’s overwhelming contentment and fighting the feeling of fangs beginning to poke through his gums — the omega already had an underlying spice of fecundity and slick surrounding him, and a slight roundness to his face that belied the common belief that suppressants quelled every heat behavior. It was all that Derek could do to stop himself from howling in pride: he was providing heat-favors to an accepting and obviously fertile omega, and the primitive alpha Wolf in him wanted everyone to know.
The sensible modern deputy in him, out of uniform or not, had managed to push down the need.
Just.
Today, faced with what looked like the most bland cake on the planet, the peacock-half of Derek’s brain was, well, disappointed. It didn’t look like a step in the impressive direction.
When he looked at the cake again and then up at Coach and opened his mouth to ask...
“This is it, Hale. You’re gonna wow his little omega-socks off!”
Derek hadn’t yet spoken to his Alpha mother on the topic of Coach’s blood heritage, but as he picked up the boring-cake and coffee and felt his eyes shine red and his chest puff out, all apparently without him making the decision to show of his designation or physical prowess, he decided he’d make it the first question out of his mouth the next time he saw her.
The omega looked up and smiled at Derek’s approach, and sat up a little straighter when he saw the day’s offering. He pushed a button on his laptop then closed it, pushing it away to leave space for the plate and mug.
His voice was as rich as his scent.
“It’s a bit early in the day for something sweet, but I’ve got a bit of a craving this morning, and besides— ” he reached out and lifted the cake with both hands moments after Derek put it on the table, “— I would never say no to one of Coach’s surprise-bombs.”
Then he broke the cake in half and blinked gasped at the same time as Derek at what dropped onto the plate beneath it.
The courting-coin was embellished with the Hale mark, and shockingly shiny considering it had been baked inside a fudgy looking chocolate cake, especially if you considered the metal's probable age. It looked remarkably like the coin Derek knew his great, great, great grand-alpha had presented to her beau back when such things were still commonly done.
That disc was in his mother’s safe at home though, as far as he knew.
He wanted to turn it over and see if it had the familiar message on the back — When this you see, pray think of me — but even he knew that it wasn’t his place to pick it up.
Derek looked up and realized he should be saying something, and tried to remember the lines from every period-drama Cora and their father had made him suffer through as a teen.
“Would you do me the honor of,” he swallowed and hoped that the tiny curl in the omega’s lip was the start of a smile, not a reprimand, “accepting this as a, um.” Coach coughed behind him and it sounded remarkably like token . “As a token of my intention to court you?”
The omega squinted over Derek’s shoulder at Coach, and apparently decided to leave that conversation for another time. He shifted a little in the seat and put the pieces of cake back on the plate, but stopped short of actually picking up the disc.
His hand hovered as he spoke. “Would you do me the honor of your name before I accept?”
The curve to his lips was definitely a smile, and Derek let out a sharp breath.
“Alpha Derek Hale, though I’m most often called Deputy Hale these days. And you—”
“Deputy?”
“Yes?” There was a change in the omega's scent. It was sharper, more forceful, but it wasn't unpleasant.
Long fingers twitched and then slipped the token off the plate and held on tight as he stood. “My given name is a monstrosity that your tongue with thank me for not sharing. I get called Stiles, which comes from my father’s surname.” He reached out with the other hand and said, “Omega Stiles Stilinski.”
Derek shook the man’s hand, torn between the feeling of their skin against each other for the first time and considering that he was eventually going to have to admit to his sisters that he’d been pining after his boss’ son.
January Prompts 06
Jan. 6th, 2019 12:15 pm
Waking in a sweet sweat four days into the probable five of his pseudo-heat isn’t, in any way, an unusual thing for Stiles. It isn’t an unusual thing for any unmated or unattached modern omega. Suppressants are far, far superior now to anything that his forebears had to make deal with — no cramping, no aching, no diarrhea or constipation, no bright-red skin to make sure even broken-nosed-alphas in the vicinity know what’s happening in the walking womb in their midst — and the really good pharmaceuticals even dampen down the heat-scent so far that even most alpha Wolves can’t tell.
Stiles can only really afford a middle-of-the-line brand, but he’s never worried that it might not do what he needs it to. Scott says Stiles smells more amenable during his heat, but that he doesn’t give off whiffs of the come-breed-me-now stench he would off the meds.
The only worrying thing about Scott’s assurances is that’s he’s a bitten beta Wolf who until recently actively tried to avoid his more lupine traits; he’s not exactly prime-sniffer material.
Stiles wonders if a full-shift, born, alpha Wolf has a stronger nose. It’s not the kind of thing that you just walk up to someone and ask, really.
Especially when the only full-shift, born, alpha Wolf you’re likely to run into anytime soon is the one that’s been hanging out at Grind Goal and apparently using his absurdly wide shoulders and suckable fingers and pert-ass butt to help out out Coach with delivering curried-pumpkin pastries and spinach and feta muffins and perfectly made decaf-coffees to the omega who sits in the corner.
It’s neither unexpected nor shocking that that said same alpha Wolf has been taking the leading role in the increasingly graphic and incredibly thigh-wetting dreams that Stiles’ even dampened heat-brain has been feeding him over the last few days.
The dream that Stiles just woke up from involved a hammock, lemon-flavored tequila, and alpha Wolf fingers doing far more than being sucked on.
Stiles came hard he’d woken himself up. His dream-alpha Wolf, dark hair and thick thighs and determined eyes had come so hard that…
Stiles should stop thinking about it. He’s wet and sticky enough right now. And, no matter how understanding his father is about the realities of unmated-heat, Stiles is feeling more and more guilty and embarrassed walking out of the laundry room every day with sheets to be folded and put away. He hasn’t had to deal with this since his body-chemistry settled enough to let the suppressants work properly.
He cricks his back and swings his legs out of the bed and bundles up the bedclothes in his arms and is glad that his dad’s shifts are currently getting him home in the mid-afternoon. Stiles slips his boxers down his legs to add to the pile of washing, and decides to take his shower before going downstairs to the washing machine. Not long after he’s washed, dry, dressed, and ready to face the day.
It’s not until almost an hour later as he’s setting himself up at his regular spot in Grind Goal that he realizes what he’s been presenting to the real-life version of the protagonist in his recent heat dreams. No matter how good his suppressants are at suppressing the heat smell, any Wolf worth their fangs can smell sex, and Stiles has picked up his slick-sodden sheets and cradled them to his body as he walked down stairs every morning this week.
Stiles tries to tell himself the chuckle he hears from behind the counter isn’t Coach reading his mind.
star (v): a prominent actor, singer, or the like, especially one who plays the leading role in a performance.
January Prompts 05
Jan. 5th, 2019 10:31 pm
He hadn’t meant to let it get to him, but Derek is finally prepared to admit that Ronnie’s words had really hit home. Five-year-olds aren’t supposed to be so aware as far as he is concerned. But, Derek has watched with glee as both her and her older brother have called out their mom on several occasions.
Derek supposes it’s only fair that Laura get to tease him on this one now.
And, oh, she’ll tease the hell out of him if she finds out he’s been hanging around Grind Goal for most of the day, that is an absolute certainty. She’ll tease him, then she’ll call Cora to inform her, and announce it to everyone else at their mom’s next Pack dinner.
That would make for a great Solstice celebration.
Not.
And, Derek wouldn’t be able to deny any of it. He really, really wants to run into the omega guy his niece so observantly pointed out he was attracted to. Derek isn’t sure why any alpha, or any beta or omega for that matter, wouldn’t be attracted to the guy. He has wide eyes and a smile that almost knocked Derek over the first time he was privileged enough to see it. The man’s shoulders are sexy, his nose adorable, and — Derek hopes that he hadn’t noticed it in front of his niece as there are some things a child just shouldn’t smell — the guy’s neck looks absolutely lickable.
Derek’s fangs are itching to drop at the moment and he should stop thinking about what he’s thinking about before one of the other wolves in the coffee shop notices.
The omega is so easy to think about, though. Derek’s torn between being glad that he’s never seen the guy standing-up, and feeling lucky that he’s never seen just how long the omega’s legs are. If his arms and fingers are anything to go by, well.
Derek is a leg and ass man. Always has been.
Again, things his niece should never smell.
But Ronnie isn’t with him today, and neither is her big brother Rhys, and the fourth time Derek walked in front of the big windows of the café, Coach stepped out and told him in no uncertain terms that if he was going to come in he should do it, and dammit, Hale, pining isn’t attractive in a grown man of any designation.
It’s not the first time Derek wonders if Coach doesn't have some fae or similar in his blood. The man is far, far to intuitive for it to just be observation.
Derek sits where he’s told and just nods when the Coach tells him not to move and makes a concerted effort to not turn around and look at the booth where the attractive omega usually sits.
He doesn’t let himself even shift in his seat until there’s a mocha latte and absurdly large salted-chocolate muffin being put in front of him. He blinks, reaches for his wallet, and shocks himself by not growling when Coach smacks his hand. Definitely fae blood. No one hits an alpha, even playfully, without earning a growl: fae blood. There’s doubt in Derek’s mind.
“Well done, Hale. You’ve come looking for your favorite omega on just about the only day he isn’t sitting in my corner.”
Derek blinks again, opens his mouth, and shuts it slowly. He doesn’t really want to speak. He wants to sink his fangs into the melon-sized cake in front of him.
“Go on, Hale. Nothing worse than an pining alpha. The only thing I know will take your mind off him is sweet and salt together. Eat.”
Derek lifts the muffin only to find it’s been cut into four pieces. He stuffs a whole quarter of it into his mouth and chews.
Coach nods. “Excellent. Now, my IT guy, as I like to call him — I pay him in two regular coffees a day, plus a couple of decafs, and a savory muffin or tart or two and he makes sure I don’t miss any play-offs or the daily Lifetime matinee — he’s off performing very important omega business today. Hales aren’t exactly an omega rich bloodline, right?”
Derek nods as much as he can while he’s sipping his not-coffee. He puts the mug down and takes another muffin quarter.
“But you know that they go get tested for Bite-compatibility when they’re thirteen, yes?” Derek nods again. “Good. That’s what he’s doing today. A family friend’s twins are having their tests today and he’s taking them. He’ll buy them lunch some place far more kid friendly than here, sit with the poor little sods while they get stabbed by the doc, and if they test amenable, he’ll take them off to get bands like the one he wears.”
Derek almost splutters out the muffin all over the table. The attractive omega favors long sleeves, and Derek hasn’t been close enough to the guy to look at his wrist. He’d just assumed, really, considering how good the young man smells, even at a distance in a coffee house. Coach confirming that the guy is Bite-amenable is, well.
Derek swallows and feels his shoulders, and everything else in his body, relax.
“Now, tomorrow. I’m going to lay your game plan for you, so listen carefully. Stilinski likes the usual spinach and feta, but anything with curried-pumpkin in it he will absolutely die for. Good thing I do a range of pastries and flans that he helped me design now, isn’t it?” Coach watches Derek shove the last of the muffin into his mouth and looks more satisfied than anyone should be about someone eating baked goods. He turns and starts back to the counter, yelling over his shoulder, “He’s freaking omega though and through, Hale. The way to that young man’s heart is through his stomach. And I’ve just given you the golden ticket.”
haunt (v): to visit habitually or frequently
haunt (v): to recur persistently to the consciousness of; remain with
January Prompts 04
Jan. 4th, 2019 08:39 pm
Stiles adds a third piece of bread to the toaster and then turns to grab another cheese slice. His dad raises an eyebrow at the amount of food his son is about to consume, blinks a few times, then apparently decides to ignore it. He may have avoided dealing with most of Stiles’ puberty and its associated issues, but he grew up with an omega sister and had an omega wife, so John knows exactly what that extra little up of calories is for.
“And you won’t be home till late today, kiddo?”
Stiles decides that he’ll go for an old standard this morning; high in taste and lots of energy — lots of cheese and tomato with some of that ham his dad doesn’t know he’s bought — it should get him through to a late lunch, as well as help get him ready for his heat in a week or two.
“It shouldn’t be much past five or six. The Kahn twins turned thirteen a few days ago, and they can’t really put it off any more. It’s a pity their omega mom is still with her parents in Maryland.”
His dad nods and pushes his own plate away. “Does Jenette know when Greta will be back?”
“I’m not sure. But she definitely won’t be here today. I tried to tell Jene that it was fine for the twins to go for their tests with their alpha parent, but she was adamant.”
Stiles hears the noise his father makes at that and turns, probably too quickly, to see what it means. His dad looks embarrassed, and maybe a little upset.
“It wasn’t...” he rubs a hand over the back of his head. It’s cut the same way as it was ten or eleven years ago, but it’s now flecked with gray. “It wasn’t what I wanted for you, Stiles. I knew you were close to presenting when you did. I could have called your aunt to be here for you then, and then when it was time for your lyca-tests. I should have.”
Stiles jumps when the toaster beeps and pops. He takes a deep breath and makes himself say it what he hasn’t been able to for the longest time.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to go with me, Dad. I know why you tried to do it all yourself. And for what it’s worth, the other omegas I’ve spoken to since seemed to have done exactly what I did that day. You took me for lunch at my favorite place before going to the doc. I had the tests, you bought me ice cream, and then we went and you all but let me pick my lyca-band out on my own.” Stiles ran his fingers over the bracelet. It sits around his wrist these days instead of being pushed halfway up his arm. The weight of it is comforting. “I now realize that you’d given the jeweller your price range beforehand, but while it was happening that was the farthest thing from my mind, I swear.”
“And the fact that it was me, not your mom?”
Stiles smiles wide. “That it was my beta parent instead of my omega one didn’t seem strange to me. It didn’t dawn on me until the other omegas at school went for theirs that it could be anyone but you. I remember mostly wondering why it was so important, really, for me to know if I could take the Bite or not, ‘cause I wasn’t interested in having a boyfriend or a girlfriend yet, and definitely not worried about whether or not I could safely make werewolf babies.”
“You started seriously making eyes at Lydia Martin a month or two later, Stiles.”
“I don’t doubt the timing now, Dad. At all.” He’d had his semi-heat almost exactly a month after he’d gotten his yes-I-can-be-a-wolf bracelet, and moved to Aunt Helena’s place not long after that. His dad might have been able to deal with the doc and blood tests, but his thirteen-year-old omega son having heats was a completely different matter for a new Sheriff who couldn’t control his work schedule.
His dad tilts his head a little, and his lip curls that tiny bit in the way that says he’s thinking about Stiles’ mom.
“You look so much like her, you know. That’s all I could think of when I set out to take you for your tests and things. I couldn’t have her eyes judging me for not taking you for her. I asked every omega I could find what I needed to do for you that day.”
Stiles can’t help it, his toast can wait, but hugging can’t. It’s only three or four steps to the table, and then his arms are around his father, and even from the odd angle it feels right.
“You did it all perfectly Dad, and hopefully I can live up to your example so the twins look back on today the way I look back on my turn.”
ritual (n): any practice or pattern of behavior regularly performed in a set manner
January Prompts 03
Jan. 3rd, 2019 07:55 pm
Derek looked at the denim jacket. It was all he’d be able to afford until his mom let him get a job after school, and he wasn’t allowed to do that until he was a junior at least.
Thrift shopping wasn’t something that wolves generally did, and he now understood why. He hadn’t realized just how strong the scent of that many stale second-hand items was going to be all in one place. He’d suffered through and found a jacket like the ones everyone was wearing at school, though. He was pretty proud of the buy, to be honest. He’d come in under budget, and with a brand name he recognized.
When he’d gotten home his first impulse had been to lay it out over the end of his bed, but it smelled of cigarettes and what he thought was probably beer. He’d figured the stink wouldn’t leech into the back of his wooden chair as much as it would his bedspread. He’d need to wash it before—
“Derek, what on earth is that smell?”
Before his Alpha mother got wind of it.
Damn.
She stuck her head around the corner of his room and Derek wanted to laugh at just how much she was wrinkling her nose, but he was probably doing it, too.
She looked at him, sniffed, looked at the jacket, sniffed, sneezed, and then — and Derek was a little shocked that he understood his mother’s thought processes this well — turned her face back to him as the meaning behind it dawned behind her eyes. She must have seen more of what happened after last week’s game than he’d reckoned.
“Oh, Derek. You don’t have to be like them, you know that, don’t you?
The seniors on the team had caught him making eyes at one of the omega-girls in the band. She was delicate and pale, and far, far too pretty to ever be interested in a whelp like him, and the older guys had made sure to make him understand that. They’d stood tall and puffed out their chests and showed him just what a real alpha should look like.
“I…” He wanted to tell her that he knew that he didn’t have to be like them, but he didn’t, not really. They were popular and handsome and all had gorgeous omegas or betas and being a bit like them couldn’t hurt, could it?
His mom stepped inside the door and sat next to him on his bed. “You are you, Der. You’re not them, and you don’t need to be them. You’re a Hale Wolf. In a year or two you’ll be stronger than most of them will ever hope to be. You’ll have more than your share of admirers, and they’ll be the ones wishing they were you.” She looked at the jacket again. “I presume you actually like it, or you wouldn’t be suffering through that odor.”
“It’s pretty cool.” He’d prefer a leather one, really, like his dad’s, or uncle Peter’s. But everyone liked denim, so… “Can I keep it?”
“As long as you wash thoroughly before you put it on again. You left a stink trail all through the house. For my sake, and the sake of everyone else, how about you go have a shower and I’ll put it and what you’re wearing in the machine right now?”
mirror (v): to mimic or imitate (something) accurately.
January Prompts 02
Jan. 2nd, 2019 07:45 pm
“So are you going to give me the goss on him, Scotty, or am I going to have to talk to Danny, who’ll talk to Kira, who’ll withhold sexual favors until you give me the goss on him?”
It’s not Stiles’ fault he got shipped off to live with his aunt when he got his first heat. He missed so much while he was gone, and he damn well expects that his best friend is going to share all the deets he needs to know.
Scott scowls and leans forward again, reaching into the cage with a fresh bowl of food. Stiles snorts at the face the cat makes in what is apparently very much not thanks. It’s almost as sour as the one Scott had made when Stiles first asked him about Derek Hale.
The look Scott has on his face when he turns back around is less this topic stinks and more serious business is serious.
“What I’m going to give you is advice. You should find a different place to study. You’ve got to be spending, what? Fifty bucks a week on coffee at Grind Goal? You can always do it here if you don’t want to be at home alone. I’ll clear off the extra desk across from Deaton’s. What’s the use of working to help your dad if all you spend your pay on is Finstock’s cakes?”
Stiles is going to have to be a little bit more tenacious with this line of inquiry if he’s going to actually get anywhere. Derek Hale was a hot teenager as far as Stiles can remember of the year or two they both went to public school in Beacon Hills. The wolf is damn fine now, that’s for sure. Scott knows just about as much as a non-Hale is going to about the alpha, and he’s going to just have to wolf-up and share with Stiles, no matter how distasteful he finds it.
“Firstly, Scott, I haven’t paid for a thing at the cafe since I fixed Coach’s WiFi. Apparently he can’t go without access to his sports-pack and or movie-pack even during the working day.”
Scott rolls his eyes and opens the next cage. This cat looks not quite as pissed-off to see him. Almost.
“That much caffeine can’t be healthy, either way, man. You need to look after, your —” he flaps a hand in the direction of Stiles’ stomach, but apparently can’t actually say womb, “— you know what.”
“My you know what and I thank you for your concern, and would like you to know that I’ve already had a very detailed and slightly distressing lecture from Coach on the matter, and get served not more than two caffeinated drinks a day there, okay?” Stiles presses off the wall he’s leaning against and follows Scott the few steps into the next room. The dogs look friendlier, mostly. “Secondly, if you’re so damn concerned for my reproductive future then the best thing you can do for me is tell me about the fine alpha-ness that is Derek Hale. You won’t even tell me what it is about him that pisses you off so much.”
Scott stops, dead, then turns and looks at Stiles. His eyes flash beta-yellow as he says, “He’s a Hale.”
Stiles blinks. Really?
“Dude. It is so not his fault that his wild-child uncle went on an aconite-tainted bad trip and bit a bunch of kids because of it. It’s not even really his uncle’s fault, you know that. He was exonerated. After it all the Hale Pack taught you, and the others, how to be good wolves. They’ve done nothing but try to help you since.”
“Fine. But the guy’s so grumpy.”
“He’s always smiling when he’s with his niece.”
“He smells bad.”
“To your beta-nose, maybe.”
“He’s only ever dated women.”
“His Stalkbook profile says he’s an be-ome oriented bisexual.”
That had made Stiles squeal when he’d seen it. He’d thought the same as Scott — that the guy was a be-ome or maybe even tri-oriented heterosexual — but Stiles had suffered through another, far more welcome, lecture from Coach Finstock about the fact that one of these days he’d like to see Derek mated to a nice young man or woman, ‘cause the kid really deserved it and had thighs that were wasted on life as a single alpha. The Stalkbook profile just backed that up, honestly.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Now, I need the goss, Scott. He’s hot. He’s adorable with his niece. He smells fucking amazing. He’s single. This is all I know. I need to know more.”
Scott’s shoulders slump a little, and Stiles knows he’s won.
slant (v): to have or be influenced by a subjective point of view, bias, personal feeling or inclination, etc.
January Prompts 01
Jan. 1st, 2019 06:41 pm
Derek scraped off the little bit of remaining spaghetti sauce, then added his plate to the pile on the side of the sink. He shut off the water so he could start washing.
“You could Bite the man at the coffee shop we go to on the weekend, Uncle Der.”
The look on Ronnie’s face when she turned to look at him was serious in only the way a five-year-old’s could be: her forehead was scrunched with how hard she was concentrating, and there was a streak of caramel sauce up one of her cheeks swirling off towards her ear, as if she’d been trying to hear her dessert instead of eating it.
Laura reached over to wipe her daughter’s skin as she asked, “Why do you think your uncle would want to Bite him, Ronnie?”
Derek wasn’t sure he wanted to know why his niece thought he should give the Bite to Finstock, of all people. No one had seen the man’s second career coming, but Derek could admit that Coach apparently had as much love for lattes as he did lacrosse. He made a damn fine brew, but Derek wasn’t about to expand his Pack just for caffeinated benefits.
“You said Uncle Derek wants someone special in his Pack, Mom. And I heard the man at the shop say Uncle Derek is a fine specimen of a Wolf. A softie but hard in all the right places.” She blinked a few times. “He meant it like Goldilocks, I think. Juuuust right.”
Derek almost dropped the plate he was holding. He could see that his sister was gripping the inside of one cheek with her teeth to stop herself from laughing. It wasn’t working very well. He turned slowly to look at his niece.
He had no idea how to answer that statement.
Rhonda knew that while she was an alpha, that her mom was her capital-A Alpha, and that her big brother and soon to be little brother and their dad were all part of Laura’s Pack. She knew that a lot of Packs were the same — basically all family members — but that some were different. She’d been a little confused when she’d first met Derek’s betas Erica and Isaac, and then very, very confused when she’d met Boyd. That had led to a conversation not only about Pack structure and building, but also why skin came in so many different colors, and why Wolves didn’t always have the same colored fur as their skin or hair when they shifted.
Derek did not recall, however, any of that conversation having to do with the birds and the bees, and hoped therefore that she had no idea what she’d actually just said.
He swallowed that idea and decided to just go with, “I don’t think Coach wants to be a Wolf, sweetie.”
“Of course Coach doesn’t! That’s just ridiculous.”
Laura made a kind of honking noise as she stifled her laughter. Her daughter gave her a dirty look, and in a beat or three it was pretty obvious from Ronnie’s scent that she was taking this far more seriously than either of the adults she was currently dealing with.
Derek put the sponge on the edge of the sink and wiped the bubbles off his hands so he could turn and face his niece properly.
She stuck out her chin a little. She was not fooling around, then.
“I didn’t really think you could mean Coach, really. I can’t think of another man from the coffee shop, though.”
There were plenty of staff, but most were high-school aged or thereabouts, and Ronnie would probably call them boys and girls, not men and women.
“The omega-man with the computer who sits in the corner and stares at you when we’re waiting for our drinks. The one you say hello to and smile at and always try to sniff when we walk past his table. He has pretty eyes.”
make (v): to bring into existence by shaping or changing material, combining parts, etc.
December January Prompts List/Series: AO3, Pillowfort, Dreamwidth
January Prompts List
Jan. 1st, 2019 06:11 pm
I'm currently in the middle of shifting these around. Eventually they'll all be on AO3, here, and Dreamwidth.
Wish me luck!
(Hopefully I'll get back into the swing of writing again once this are updated across the platforms -- then I'll come back and tweak this post so it's just links to the fic.)
make (G): AO3, Pillowfort, Dreamwidth
slant (T): AO3, Pillowfort, Dreamwidth
mirror (G): AO3, Pillowfort, Dreamwidth
ritual (G): AO3, Pillowfort, Dreamwidth
haunt (T): AO3, Pillowfort, Dreamwidth
And Pink Shoelaces
Nov. 8th, 2018 09:25 pm
Mature • 16671 words • Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
It was Derek’s turn. It had to be. He looked at the comm-disc in his hand. Even if he had to debase himself with going to this damned matchmaking service, he was determined to find his mate.
There was an unspoken agreement to not turn the patches over to look at the numbers. Each sample made its way around to each Omega several times over, but in no apparent order. No one was outright screwing up their nose — Mate at First Scent wouldn’t be handing over refunds to anyone in this group, at least — but there were obviously squares that each of the Omegas were handling more than others.
Like Roses and Clover
Oct. 31st, 2018 09:34 pm
Teen and Up • 5599 words • Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
A Halloween fic I wrote in the middle of the year.
A Halloween fic I wrote in the middle of the year.
Derek bit at his lip and extended a fang to stop himself from thinking about it again. There were others in the villages around that he might like far better, but, ever since the first morning he’d woken up with the mate-mark on his arm, he’d promised himself that he’d not think about what kind of Mate he would favor, what kind of person he might enjoy spending the rest of his life with.
Another Day Older And
Oct. 10th, 2018 09:50 pm
Teen & Up • 12372 words • Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
They’ve freed Wolf Packs before, but this one is more important than most.
In which Stiles is a card-sharp, and Derek actually wants to shave.
Stiles heard Jackson take a step forward so that he was next to Scott. The two of them were currently fashioned as pampered pets; shirtless and oiled with sweet scents, wearing thick, leather collars inlaid with silver filigree and seemingly branded with an ornate mark on the skin over their hearts.
There was not a Beta or Alpha in the room who wasn’t currently comparing themselves bodily to the pretty little Omegas’ beasts.
Teen & Up • 16671 words • Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
It was Derek’s turn to blink. He nodded and Stiles stepped closer. He opened his arms and Derek slumped into Stiles’ embrace. He pressed his face into Stiles’ neck and even more tension ran out of him. His words were muffled, but Stiles could understand. “I didn’t know. I remember hearing stories as a kid, but I thought they were just stories. I’m sorry.”
That's Where It Is
Apr. 19th, 2018 10:27 pm
Mature • 22816 Words • Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
This is another one of my A/B/O “Bubblegum” series of oneshots. It’s the longest of them, and I think the second longest piece of Sterek I’ve done (thought it isn’t even a quarter of the length of the longest!) It falls hard inside the lines of faux!historical fic. I do love a good courting/mating ritual story, and that’s what I was going for here. It also served to mark a trope/idea off my to-fic-list — bundling.
At twenty-two, the age of a Master-Builder according to the Number Law the Elder Council used, Derek was at the perfect age to break away from his family’s over extended pack and construct his own. As with all Alphas ready to take that step, he needed a Mate: no pack could be led by only one mind.
Teen & Up • 1435 • Gen/pre Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
This is the first piece I produced during an attempt at a fic-a-day month one Camp NaNoWriMo. I failed for the month, but produced a few things I really, really like, and really, really wish I could figure out how to turn into something more. I love what I’ve set up here, but hate that I used Braeden as badly as canon did.
Stiles tipped his head back and drained the last of the water he had. The others should be back soon, so even in the heat of the afternoon he’d live. They’d bought a dozen giant bottles of the stuff with them and the last two were on the other side of the room. They were untouched and would stay that way until Derek woke up.
If Derek woke up.
Teen & Up • 1774 words • pre Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
From a prompt by rubyredhoodling: Stiles is used to his friend living in the apartment below him. He’s still a little tipsy and forgets that death eyebrows Derek moved in downstairs, and breaks into Derek’s place so he can make a greasy carb-loaded breakfast to share.
Stiles was being very quiet. Very, very quiet—as if he was hunting waaaaabits. He stifled a snort and felt his magic tingle out into his nose and fingers and feet to help muffle the sounds he was making.
They Turned Down the Lights
Apr. 7th, 2018 10:11 pm
Teen and Up • 3534 words • Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski • A/B/O
This is one of my “Bubblegum” series of oneshots. Each has a main focus on the Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski pairing and takes place in an A/B/O gendered universe. They’re each based on a song that may or may not fit the technical definition of Bubblegum Pop. This one is based on the song that started the whole idea in my head.
Stiles nodded to himself, satisfied with his decision, and when he looked up to see if he could get a server’s attention jumped in his seat a little, ‘cause damn, there was a guy at the end of the table. A hot guy. A hot guy in an apron, wearing a dicky, fake, nineteen-fifties cook’s hat thing, and holding a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other.
