Two college girls that give each other bad ideas, support each other's kinks, and then write about them. Feel free to drop requests in our ask box! Either new things or if there is a particular AU you'd like us to add to next. Krissy's blog is at propheticass.tumblr.com and you can find Ramen over at ramenli.tumblr.com
Apparently this blog is 2 today! It's been a while since I wrote anything, but if anyone has a prompt I might try to drabble some things this weekend. Just comment or send in an ask!
((Wow I can't write anymore. I had my first massage/acupressure experience over the weekend in KC, and I distracted myself from the pain by thinking about a Sterek AU. After we were done my cousin told me I should have told them less pressure...I didn't realize that was an option.))
Derek all but slapped the certificate down on the counter, lowering his eyebrows at the girl running the desk as if she would decipher what it all meant. Mainly that he was hacked off that Laura had bought him the voucher in the first place, and then had further infuriated him by forcing him to actually use it.
But he was here now, and if he could survive the next hour he could go on with his life. Plus he could rub it in her face that massages, no; reflexology and acupressure weren’t going to cure him. Because all of his problems didn’t stem from muscles tense from working out too long or too hard, and a simple little massage wouldn’t help at all.
The look the girl gave him showed just how unimpressed she was with his, well, everything, and with a toss of her red hair she finally graced him with a smile. “Mr. Hale. How nice to finally meet you. You’ll be at station three, all the way down the hall and to the left.”
It wasn’t a full room, just a curtained off area with the dark red drapery muting most of the few sounds permitted in the building. He stared at the low bed begrudgingly, toeing off his sneakers and then his socks and pushing them against the wall before kneeling down on the towel awkwardly; staring at the place he knew he would put his head. But what did he do. Was it customary to lie down before the masseuse got there? Where was he supposed to put his arms.
He was still debating when the curtain moved again, and he turned to see a man joining him in the space. It was impossible not to let his eyes drift down him, from his mussed up bed hair to his moles and beyond, lingering for a moment on his hands specifically. Those fingers. They were about to be all over him.
Realizing things would get awkward quickly if he didn’t lie down, and with the quick but jerky movements urging him to do so from the man, he flopped down, bringing his arms down to his sides somewhat awkwardly.
“A Hale, and older than Cora…you must be Derek.” His voice was so quiet that Derek could tell it wouldn’t carry outside the curtain, and he nodded awkwardly with his face pressed to the bed. “Laura will be happy to know you finally came.”
That seemed to be it as far as talk went, because the next moment there were hands on his back.
Pressing down.
Hard.
Then they moved down a few inches and the process repeated, all the way down to wear his back rounded out into his butt.
It was probably meant to pop his back, and Derek’s back was having none of it. But it certainly wasn’t because the other guy didn’t have enough force. Actually, considering how lithe he was he was rather strong.
Derek’s thoughts had distracted him from the man’s movements, so the next thing he knew there were hands pushing along the right side of his back. The pushes were strong enough that his entire body rocked from side to side as the hands moved down his back, going exactly one push farther than he would have thought. It actually hurt, and he was glad when it all stopped.
But only to give the guy time to move to his other side. Then it started again, the same rocking and pushing moment that made him feel like a batch of bread dough being kneaded into submission. And now he started talking, a low hum of noise that was sadly not enough to distract him. “She got that certificate ages ago. We don’t normally do things like that but she agreed to give my friend Scott Yoga and breathing lessons. Sweetest guy you’ll ever meet but lets just say he’s not named Grace for a reason.” Then there was some light kneading on his neck, giving him time to relax as the softly lilting voice continued speaking above him, knowing if he was tense it would just make things harder on everyone.
“By the way my name is Stiles,” the guy—Stiles—whispered as he moved back to Derek’s left. Before he even had a chance to respond there was pressure up by his shoulder blades, swirling movements that looped and slowly moved down his back. Which sounded wonderful, but in all actuality it was just on the side on painful to be enjoyable. And still his back wasn’t popping. For one frantic moment he wondered why on earth he was paying to let someone torture him like this, and then he remembered. Laura. It was always Laura. Only she would be able to pass off a free torture session as a much needed massage. Force of will alone had him consciously trying to relax and kept him from groaning or crying out, especially as the sharp little elbow reached the base of his back and dug into his ass.
Then it kept going, and suddenly Derek remembered this was a full body massage.
His whole leg tensed up as the guy moved his ever-circling elbow to the back of his upper thigh, and wasn’t that a revelation. Hello sensitivity. Finally Stiles reached his calf and then there were fingers moving along the muscle there, lulling him into a false sense of security.
The elbow traveled up the same way it had travelled down.
He almost cried when Stiles switched sides, but instead he gritted his teeth and bore with it, trying to relax and trying to ignore the pain as he listened to the ramblings of the other staff that worked there, all in the same quiet voice that occasionally flashed with passion or humor. It would feel better in the long run. It had to. It couldn’t possibly get any worse.
It did get better. There were nimble hands on his neck, moving up to the base of his head and then back down, the two hands spreading out and the slender fingers he had been admiring, had been imagining on him, were set in place for a nice shoulder massage.
Then they dug into the flesh, each point a point of pressure and therefore pain, and starting to move down his spine. He would have actually paid for Stiles’ fingers to gain some extra cushion and he would have been perfectly happy to never see the nimble torture instruments again.
Then the double handed pressure began again. Pushing him this way and that and rocking him along the entire bed, but this time from above. He could only watch as his entire body was rocked down with the force of motion, his window to look and breath through moving up until he had to keep his mouth closed if he wanted to avoid licking the face rest.
It was a relief with finally Stiles started hitting him with his fists.
He lay there and took it, and then there was a light tap on his back. He ignored it, not sure if it was just the next stage of his torture, then Stiles tapped him again. “Hey. Dude. I need you to turn over for me, okay big guy?”
Derek managed to raise himself up and turn over, sitting in a daze as Stiles propped up the bed and put a pillow behind his head, guiding him onto it. Then he moved to the base of the bed and knelt. There was an awkward moment as Stiles manhandled his feet onto a towel and Derek wasn’t quite sure what to do to help him. He could feel his pant legs being rolled up to his knees and his eyes fluttered closed, only to snap open as a wet slicking noise filled the air.
Wet warmth spread along his foot and up his calf, and Derek leaned back fully and closed his eyes again, giving in to the feeling. This. This was relaxing. He would pay for this. Sure hands rubbed along, increasing his circulation, then his foot was set back down on the towel and covered and the process repeated on the other leg.
When that was finished Stiles started to focus on his foot, fingers intent on rubbing the oil between each toe, and Derek had to concentrate on not laughing or curling his foot away from him. It helped that Stiles was explaining his movements now, apparently feeling more at east working on feet and ankles. An odd element, but nothing about the man was normal. Finally Stiles moved down, working on the arch of his foot and it didn’t tickle anymore, leaving Derek to fall into a state of bliss. The hands worked their way up his leg to work his calf muscles before moving back, pressing points along his heel meant to relieve tension or check his reflexes, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. Then it all started to repeat on his other foot, and he realized this was going to be over much too soon.
Maybe if he asked a question it would make Stiles lose his place or concentration and he would take more time. He was desperately racking his brain for a question. He had finally realized he could ask Stiles to explain the differences in acupressure and a massage (though he really felt he knew what it was by now) simply because it would probably take the most amount of time when he looked down to see Stiles pull out a warm wet rag and start wiping the massage oil off his calves and feet. So his nicely worded question about Stiles’ job came out sounding suspiciously like “you wanna go out sometime?”
Stiles’ hands froze, the first moment of stillness since the acupressure had started, and then he winked at Derek. “Yeah, I normally get that at the end of the session. Magic fingers you know.” He wiggled them to illustrate, and Derek had horrible flashbacks to a cheer movie Laura had made him watch that he was trying to forget. 14 years later.
“I will pay you to never touch my back again,” Derek told him instead before he snapped his mouth closed. Stiles’ mouth on the other hand was gaping open, and even in the dim light Derek thought he could see his skin flushing. “I mean. It was fine. You were fine. You have magic fingers or whatever.” Derek could feel mortification creeping up his own face, and without much thought he swung his legs to the side of the bed, leaning down to scoop up his shoes and fleeing before Stiles could think too much of it.
He made it past the girl at the counter and all the way outside before he remembered he was supposed to leave a tip. Well, he could leave that at the desk easily enough. Pulling out a bill from the back of his wallet he darted back into the door, holding out the bill. “This is for Stiles,” he said, wincing as his voice broke the tranquility of the room and the girl shot him a look with another toss of her hair. She had to have ridiculous neck muscles by now.
“I’d rather have your number I think,” a voice said behind him, and he whirled around. Now that he was standing next to him he realized that they were almost the same height, and those whiskey colored eyes that would probably haunt his more mortifying dreams were staring into his before darting down and widening. “But if that’s really Ben Franklin I might have to go for both.”
“Stiles,” the girl hissed. “Take it outside.”
“Sorry Lyds!” Stiles hissed, then grabbed Derek’s arm and pulled him toward the door. And wasn’t this ridiculous, Derek stumbling around without even his socks on, trying to pay the guy he just asked out.
Stiles let go of him as soon as they were out of the doors and on the sidewalk, pacing several steps away before turning back and speaking a mile a minute.
“Look, I’ve already got a regular booked and I have to get back in there. But if you’re serious why don’t you put that tip back in your wallet and meet me at the diner on 15th in an hour and a half. You can do the talking while I eat my weight in curly fries that you’re going to pay for and we’ll see where we go from there? Not that your back muscles weren’t convincing enough even through the shirt and towel, but I actually know how crazy your sisters are and I’m going to need some sort of reassurance before I get involved in the Hale brand of weird. Not that you’re weird just…diner? 15th? Deal? Deal.”
Derek was still blinking and processing by the time Stiles scrambled inside, but he found himself smiling as he pulled on his socks and shoes and made it over to the Camaro, trying to figure out what he was going to do to waste an hour and a half.
((So Krissy wanted a snippet where it was bby!Derek and Stiles snarking at the table. I'm trying to maybe get my groove back so I can at least write snippets again now that it's summer break.))
"Phonetically."
Mr. McCall raised his eyebrows, chopsticks lowering slightly, and then his phone rang. He answered it at the table, and after a moment and a few "yes ma'ams" pushed away from the table to speak in private to whoever it was on the other line.
Stiles sat back, breathing out a sigh or relief before shoving half an egg roll into his mouth. Which seemed like a prime opportunity to speak up. "Anything else about myself you'd like to share?"
The other boy glowered at him, and Derek just met his glare with rolled eyes. "I don't really get why you're being so weird. He's the alpha's dad right? Aren't you all pack?"
Stiles face twisted into a scowl, which apparently impeded his ability to eat like a normal person. He coughed, trying to swallow, and then drained half his glass before pointing a finger at him. "Nu-uh. That...that man isn't pack. Never. Nope. He's a jerk. Numbero uno on the list of people that aren't pack. He doesn't even know what pack is."
It was fascinating to watch the words spill off his tongue, a flush creeping along his cheeks. Whatever Mr. McCall had done Stiles wasn't a fan. But the other teen's reactions were too much fun to just stop now. "I'm not even sure if I should trust you. So maybe I'd be better off talking to him. I mean, at least he gave me decent food."
"I bought you Taco Bell on the way over here! You're welcome by the way."
"Exactly. Taco Bell. I don't even understand their menu anymore."
"Taco Bell is good! I mean, a taco is no curly fries and a shake but I'm pretty sure their mild sauce is served on Mount Olympus. What I wouldn't give for a fountain of that stuff."
The slightly dreamy look on Stiles' face probably should have been disturbing, but instead Derek just snorted and took another bite of fried rice. Then all of the sudden he was getting kicked under the table. "You little bastard! I bought you food on the way over! There was no way you were starving."
"You honestly thought that was enough to eat. You only got me like, 5 tacos. That's barely a snack. And who in their right mind turns down fried rice. Seems suspicious to me. I just wanted to keep a low profile."
He was smirking victoriously at Stiles' still gaping mouth when a throat cleared across the table. "A low profile?"
Both of their heads snapped up as they looked up at Mr. McCall, and Derek quickly looked down. Down at the...that was a badge on the table. "Mr. McCall, you're an FBI agent."
So, obviously I love TW fanfiction. But one of my pet peeves is when Stiles is somehow ridiculously short with no explanation (slouching, hunched over, girls wearing ridiculous heels next to him, etc) so I thought I would make a list of everyone’s heights (based on the actors) so far as I can tell with my google-fu. Let me know if you see anyone that should be added/fixed!
Tallest -> Shortest
Agent Rafe McCall - 6’4”
Vernon Milton Boyd IV – 6’3” (And please for the love of Teen Wolf realize that Boyd DOES have a last name and it is Boyd)
So I tried to update this, but I probably left someone off! If there is anyone that needs to be added/updated let me know! I’m leaving past characters on because they’re still used in fanfics/fanart and such.
So the info on this is wrong and it was commissioned by me on deviantart (ramenli), not carkiechu and it goes along with the ficlet I did forever ago here, Leashed. I just had to reblog this here in case anyone read Leashed back in the day and wanted to see the fanart I'd commed!
I choose to believe that Danny knows because he regularly Skypes with Jackson and keeps him up to date on all the pack bullshit after Jackson tells him.
"Yeah, in econ today they were literally seeing how many times they could flash their eyes at Coach and not get caught. Idiots. Half the class knows now but we're thinking about keeping it secret so we can make it part of our senior prank. Plus we don't want the Scott and Isaac disqualified in lacrosse."
((So I haven't felt up to writing lately, but I have had headcanons and stupid ideas floating around so I might as well shove them here))
I want a fic where Laura is alive and Derek goes on like, one date with Boyd and they don't work, they literally sat there for 12 minutes at one point with no one talking, but he was cool so they became friends and then Laura offered him the bite. Then Derek goes on a date with a girl named Erica and they hit it off, but more in a "hey check out that guy's ass" "yeah that's pretty fine" type of way so Derek winds up taking her back to introduce her to Laura and Boyd because even though the date wasn't that great the conversation was and then Laura offers her the bite. Then it's Isaac, same old same old, and by the time that Derek goes on a date with this kid named Stiles literally the entire pack sits around waiting for him to bring Stiles back to introduce him to them so Laura can get to know him and offer him the bite. So they hear Derek's car outside and then two people getting out and they're quietly air high-fiving and then they hear heavy breathing and sloppy kisses outside the door to the apartment and it's a mad scramble to hide because this time...this time Derek brought back his date to introduce his back to the mattress and fuck this is awkward.
((An alternate scene to 3x16, because I'm still on pain meds from my wisdom teeth and it is stupid late and I should be sleeping.))
There was a light touch at his waist, a hand ghosting around to lightly clutch onto his hip. Stiles lost himself to the beat, twisting his hips to the rhythm his partner set for a moment, lightly grinding back and just enjoying the beat music thrumming through his veins. The music began to change, a new song, and he turned to see who his partner was, eyes widening in surprise.
"Greenberg?"
"Stilinski?"
They stared at each other for a moment before Greenberg blurted out "uh...I thought you liked girls!"
Stiles shrugged and nodded "I do like girls."
The confused look stayed on Greenberg's face. "And boys?"
Stiles shrugged again. "Why not? Hey, I thought there was only one man for you?" He couldn't help the way his eyebrows waggled, and even if he could he wouldn't have tried to. It was far too amusing to watch Greenberg blush.
"I'm pretending to be mad at him for breaking the mug," he shouted out, barely audible over the crowd.
Stiles laughed and let his hands drop down to the other teen's waist. "We might as well have some fun then!"
Hey! My goal for Christmas break is to write some, so if you have any requests feel free to send them in! I can’t promise to do romantic things for every pairing you come up with, but I am willing to write relationship fluff for pairings other than Sterek, so don’t be shy about asking for other things! Vague prompts, specific prompts, every suggestion is welcome.
((idek why after so long this is what I wrote?? Oh well it's something :D ))
“You do realize how ridiculous this is, right?” Melissa pointed out with a wry twist of her lips. A dark flannel shirt was held up as she gave it a once over before sighing and rubbing the fabric over her arms and swiping it along her neck.
Melissa’s eyebrows rose at that. “And what is this?”
“The diner didn’t count,” he grumbled opening the box. “But honestly, Scott may have selective observation skills, but when it comes to you he’s going to notice if you come home smelling like a guy. We can probably make it another week or two before he starts to figure out you’re masking my scent with that shirt.”
She hummed noncommittally as she put the shirt carefully back in a giant Ziploc baggie and sealed it, setting it down on the floorboards beneath her feet. “At least my scent masking is with a clean shirt from the lost and found; whatever it is you’re doing has got to be a new one to werewolves everywhere.”
“I can’t argue with that one.” He looked down at the squashed donut in his hands and dropped it, dusting the worst of the sugary glaze back into the box before swiping his palms along his pants quickly, trying to get the process over with. Silently thanking Stiles he gingerly got out a Clorox wipe from the pack stashed in his car and got the sticky glaze off of his hands. “It makes sense though. He’s more likely to believe I’m cheating on my diet than going on a date.” There were also lessons for Stiles to learn here: misdirection and not just focusing on the easy lead. “He doesn’t seem to realize that I know he sends Derek on stupid little missions to try to sniff out secrets. Like I’m honestly going to believe he needs more ice in his ginger ale that badly.”
Melissa’s laughter filled the car as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. “How shocked he would have been to know that you ordered the salmon with steamed vegetables, no butter, and didn’t even try to sneak in a dessert.”
“I think he’s completely forgotten that I’m the main reason he even knows what a vegetable is. Claudia would barely manage to make mac and cheese without burning it, forget side dishes. If only Jeopardy had come on an hour later. And I know he never would have eaten a lima bean in his life if I didn’t make them for Thanksgiving every year.” He shrugged, “can’t even say I mind eating healthy. I really have been eating too much fast food, it was just so much easier when we were at the hospital and then when there were just the two of us. Stiles is even becoming a pretty decent cook.”
Melissa groaned. “You don’t even want to know what Scott’s cooking is like. He wanted to surprise me with dinner a couple of months ago. I had to throw away the pan he tried to cook spaghetti sauce in, and from what I gathered he completely scalded his hand with pasta water. It was still inflamed by the time I got home, and that’s with it being close to the full moon.”
The sheriff pulled up next to her car, letting the car idle for a moment. “I’m glad we’re finally doing this,” he admitted.
Melissa smiled and leaned in, catching him slightly off guard before he reacted, closing the distance to her lips. She pulled away first, the corner of her mouth twitching up into a smirk. “You’d better hurry on home if you plan on surprising Stiles and Derek by being early.”
He glanced at the clock. “The best thing about werewolf hearing is I never have to actually walk in on anything,” he admitted. “But it’s pretty funny to see them trying to pretend like they were just watching a movie the entire time. You’ll have to see it sometime, for Stiles’ 18th birthday I’m going to give Derek a bill for all the couch cushions he’s ruined trying to control his claws.”
She was still snickering as she got out of the car, and he stayed until he was sure that she was safely in her car before he pulled away, heading along the familiar streets of his city.
----------
Stiles cursed as his phone buzzed, slapping at Derek’s hands when he complained and tried to stop him. “It could be important,” he groused as he stared at the screen, Scott’s face filling the icon next to a new message.
((Sorry I haven't posted in a while! Work + this is the 100th post so I didn't want to do an EXTREMELY rushed snippet, not that this is any work of art but still, it's the principle of the thing XD
In my headcanon, Derek still has the Camaro. Viva la Camaro.))
“No, you don’t understand. What do you buy for the guy that literally can buy whatever he wants? Well, besides friends. And he’s in pretty short supply for those but still. It’s not like I can just buy him friends.”
“Why do you have that look on your face?” Scott’s voice was understandably alarmed as Stiles’ grin grew, verging on Grinch levels of terrifying smiles. “I don’t think having the Sheriff for your dad is going to get you out of human trafficking charges.”
“Oh how you underestimate me.”
----------
The first year that they had known Derek Hale they had pretty much forgotten that the alpha was also a person. As in, probably should have a job, friends, a life, (actually he had none of those things outside of the pack, and yes, they did make fun of that fact) and most importantly of all: a birthday.
This year the fact that Derek had a birthday just like everyone else had not escaped Stiles notice. With the help of his best-friend-on-the-side, Google, Stiles had pulled up an archived bit of the Beacon Hills Herald and found out the day. For entirely pure reasons. Reasons so pure even a unicorn would endorse them. The nice, story kind, not the flesh eating type that had shown up in April and tried to help Stiles loose 30 pounds in the form of his leg. Plus it had been a rather dull muddy color and closer to the size of a donkey, and if some unicorn was going to take a bite out of him it could at least have the decency to look right.
Passing a list to Scott and another to Isaac, Stiles didn’t even try to hide his look of delight. “Remember, this all has to be done by Tuesday night. Make sure to check off each person or business on the list and I’ll email them a reminder that evening so everything will be ready for Wednesday.” He pulled out his phone and his thumb hovered over the play button. “I recorded this to get us in the right mindset, I figured I shouldn’t be giving myself a pep talk.” With a shrug he pressed play, and Finstock’s voice blasted out of the phone’s speakers.
“GOOD MORNING. GOOD MORNING. IN LESS THAN AN HOUR…”
It was worth the kicked puppy looks he had to endure for the rest of the day.
----------
“Derek Hale? Why of course I know who he is, he comes in here pert near every mornin’!” Sally Mae was so painfully from Texas that it had taken their sleepy little town months to get used to her little bit of a drawl, but now without her their town would be full of caffeine starved people threatening to tear people apart for a pie that didn’t come from the frozen food section. Granted, there was Starbucks, and a disgusting little drive-through, but neither actually compared. “He always gets the same thing too. White chocolate mocha with two pumps of hazelnut syrup. It sounds like a bit much but it’s actually rather good, I just don’t know how that boy stays as fit as he does. Oh and he sometimes get’s a slice of apple pie if it’s not too busy.”
That was…not what Stiles was expecting the alpha to drink, but on the other hand it actually did sound pretty tasty. “Well, here’s the deal, I don’t know if you know it, but Wednesday is Derek’s birthday and what I was thinking was…”
He outlined the plan, and somehow before he got back in his Jeep ready to drive to the next place on his list he found himself with a white chocolate mocha with a double pump of hazelnut. It was one of the few things that was actually too sweet for him.
----------
“Good morning sweetie! I saw your call pulling in so I went ahead and got your usual ready, there’s a nice slice of pie already packed up, fresh backed this mornin’ and on the house.” Sally Mae smiled at him, and Derek looked down at the bills in his hand, confused. He always got his money out before entering the café, he had learned the hard way that when trying to pull his wallet out of his jeans he attracted more attention than he’d like from strangers, even more when he tried to force the wallet back in to the skin tight fabric.
“Thank you?” he muttered, and went ahead and just dumped his money into the tip jar before heading out. At least he didn’t have to worry about breakfast anymore.
----------
Some people liked to jog first thing in the morning then go back to shower and eat and get ready for the day. Derek didn’t have a job like everyone else, and he preferred the few jogs that he did take in town to be after 8:00, when most people were at work. The pie had been delicious as usual, washed down with his favorite drink, and even with his werewolf metabolism there was no telling when the calories he ate might be too many.
So he slipped into a wifebeater and a pair of jogging shorts, traded out his sneakers for running shoes, and left his apartment headed in the opposite direction of the preserve.
Things were just a bit…off. He couldn’t really tell what it was until he passed by Mrs. Johnson’s house. She was a notorious gossip, and personally viewed him as a blight on their pleasant little town. And she had just waved at him and called out good morning, audible over the low thump of the music pounding away in his earbuds. She hadn’t been the first. No, pretty much everyone he’d seen had said hello, good morning, and quite a few had even called him out by name. He had been waved at, offered a drink twice, and someone driving by had slowed down, rolled down their window, and mentioned seeing he had been working on his family home and how nice it looked.
People were making small talk.
It was weird enough that he cut toward the edge of town, coming back in mostly deserted roads, and went to the relative safety of his apartment.
He was just finishing his shower when there was a knock at the door. He pulled on a pair of pants and bemoaned the fact that he had not done his hair yet as he made his way to the door, pulling it open to the face of one his neighbors downstairs who had never spoken to him. Over the past several months he had picked up that she was a stay at home mom and there was a toddler on her hip, her other arm holding what could only be a casserole dish, though admittedly the scents wafting off of it were beyond tempting.
“Oh good, you are home!” Her eyes drifted lower before snapping up to his face, and he could hear how her heart rate had increased. “Oh my, um, well you see, I don’t think we ever did welcome you to the building, and I just wanted to make sure you knew who we were. My name is Cassandra Kao, you can call me Cass, and we really are happy to have you here. If you need anything you know where to find me!”
He was still standing at the door when he heard her opening her own door downstairs, and finally he could move.
As lovely as the casserole smelled he didn’t trust it. It was a shame to dump it out though, so he shoved it in the fridge in case the teenage garbage disposals dropped by.
----------
After his microwaved lunch he decided to risk heading out again, driving with the window down to enjoy the nice fall air on his way to the hardware store. There were a few things he needed for the bits he was doing himself. He had barely entered the store when the owner descended, and he staggered out to his car almost an hour later, exhausted, and with several random samples and freebies and the oddest realization that the owner’s heartbeat had been all over the place.
He was ready to just go home and not leave again until the townspeople had forgotten about him, or at least their plans to lynch him when his guard was down (what else could this be about?) when lights started flashing behind him.
A muffled curse filled his car as he pulled over, desperately trying to picture what his speedometer had read, when the Sheriff himself walked up and braced an arm against the sleek black Camaro.
“Good afternoon Mr. Hale.”
“Sir.”
The Sheriff smiled and let out a slightly exasperated sigh. “And here I thought that me knowing about your whole time of the month issue for close to a year now might have you softening up to me. Look, normally I don’t pull people over for this, but I wasn’t sure if you’d heard about the annual county fair? Well the Sheriff’s department does a couple of booths, and this year we get to do the dunk tank. I thought you might like to know that most of the pack is going to be working that booth.” He patted the Camaro and straightened up, a grin that reminded Derek all too much of Stiles on his face. “Just in case you want to financially support us a bit. If you want I can let you know when everyone’s shift is. Some nice cold water might be just the thing for Stiles.”
----------
On his way into the building there was a kitten up a tree, which he rescued for a little girl of about four, and subsequently she invited him to eat dinner with her family that weekend. He escaped her and her nanny as quickly as possible, made it upstairs, and dead bolted the door.
There were two more knocks at his door (which he ignored), five calls (also all ignored), 37 text messages (skimmed but not answered), and Derek was starting to pack his suitcase. He didn’t know what was going on with the town, but it was obviously off. He was trying to recall if the hardware store had been sold out of pitchforks or not, and if anyone still made torches, when he finally forced himself to think about things rationally.
He sent Deaton a text asking him to look into mass hypnosis or something that could possess an entire town.
The next knock on his door he tried to ignore, except whoever it was kept knocking, and then the telltale voices of Stiles, Scott, and Isaac started up. At the threats of kicking in the door Derek wrenched it open, glowering at them and motioning for them to shut up while he ushered them inside and then dead bolted the door back. They needed to know.
He didn’t have a chance to tell them before Stiles started running his mouth. “So,” he said with an all-too-knowing grin, “how was your day?”
“I think they know. You all need to go home, pack, and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“Of course they know! We told them. But don’t you think packing bags is a bit extreme?”
“What are you talking about.” His voice was flat, and he was glancing between the three of them because they were obviously all oblivious. “You told the town about werewolves?”
“What?” Stiles’ was a loud squawk, but Isaac and Scott’s voices were also joining his, three confused pairs of eyes fixed on him.
“No, we told them about your birthday! Happy birthday alpha-man!” Stiles jabbed Scott in the ribs and after a delay Scott pulled a popper out of his pocket and shot it into the air, raining confetti onto Derek’s once-clean floor.
Derek stared down at the floor before looking up. “My birthday was last week.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, Derek trying to connect everything in the day back to his pack’s apparently city-wide announcement, Scott and Isaac shooting Stiles betrayed looks, and Stiles mouth flopping open in disbelief.
“But…but Google! The newspaper!”
Derek shrugged. “The newspaper only does baby announcements once a week.” As soon as he said it he wished he hadn’t, but Stiles was shocked enough that he didn’t catch on that Derek still read an actual newspaper.
Isaac seemed to recover first, shrugging and heading for the couch. “Hey, all it means is that Derek still has to pitch in money when the pizza gets here.”
----------
Derek was busy pretending not to avidly watch Robin Hood Men in Tights when he heard Scott whispering to the other two. “You know what the weirdest part of this all is, right? Everyone I talked to actually seemed to kind of like Derek.”
“Weird.”
“I don’t get it.”
The strangest part of all was that when Stiles said that his heart skipped a beat.
((Hey guys, I'm so sorry I haven't updated much recently, and I see new followers (omg hi I don't know where you're coming from or what you like or why you're here but feel free to send in requests and such!) so I just wanted to write SOMETHING tonight and hopefully I'll write something else later in the week now that I'm getting settled into my work schedule!))
“Well I’m not going to wait on them to finish their spirit quest or touching their inner wolf or whatever.” Allison turned in time to see Stiles shrugging off his overshirt, and then his tshirt, surprised to see the teen in a scanty single layer in the form of a tight tank top. It was almost unnerving really.
She smiled at him, reaching down to grab the hem of her shirt and peeling it off as well. “You mean you actually want to swim while we’re at the beach?”
“Swim?” Stiles had an affronted look on his face as he looked over at her. “Isn’t that exercise? Hell no, I’m going to work on my tan. Well, burn really. I could always use some more freckles.”
When he pushed down his pants he already had his swimming trunks on, a sure sign he had planned on going to the beach as soon as possible since before they had left. Not that she blamed him, the strings of her bikini top had been tickling her back since before dawn. Her shorts joined her shirt quickly and she was trading out her sandals for a pair of flip-flops, pulling her hair back in a messy ponytail while Stiles began to slather down every speck of exposed skin with possibly clinical strength sunscreen. He even ran his fingers through his hair, massaging the lotion onto his scalp.
She had time to do a quick series of stretches and to actually fold and put away her clothing, as well as put sunscreen on her ears and nose where she tended to burn, by the time he was ready to go.
They were barely halfway to the beach before he began complaining.
“I actually think I might roast alive. I hope you brought some salt and pepper, maybe some garlic, because if you rub some on me you could have a nice barbeque tonight. And no, that was not an opening for you to make a Polish sausage joke, because if anyone is making that it’s going to be me.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, swaying her hip into his as she kept them moving at a steady pace. “Rethinking that swim about now?”
“Maybe. Possibly. I doubt you could actually keep me out at this point.” She glanced over and raised an eyebrow, pleased when his speech paused for just a moment. “Okay I take that back, you could definitely keep me out. But what would Scott and Isaac think when they joined us on the beach and saw you sitting on me? They might assume the worst! I’m not ready to be puppy chow Allison, I have so much to do! Places to go! Mystical creatures to study!”
“Oh I don’t know, they might see it as an opportunity and offer to let you join us.”
She managed to keep her face straight for long enough until he stumbled, barely keeping himself upright in the sand while he whipped his head around to stare at her in horror, before she was laughing again, a full-bellied sound that carried until it was swallowed up by the gentle crashing of the waves along the shoreline.
((First of all, hi new people! I'm not sure why you're here or what you like, but always feel free to send in prompts! I'm a huge fan of anything that's just Person A + Person B + 1 word. I just started a new job, which is why writing has been slower, but hopefully as things settle in I'll be able to write a bit more frequently than I have the past month or two.
So far as this ficlet goes, I just wanted some backstory on why Erica liked Stiles, and this little bit of nonsense cropped up.
Plus I just really miss season 2 cast :( My babies...))
The day had seemed normal until she had walked into the doctor’s office and someone was in her seat. Not just her seat, but also reading the single copy of Highlights that the office had. That was her magazine. The lady at the desk didn’t even mind when she wrote in it in pen. But there he was, a skinny little boy with a mess of hair coating the top of his head and huge eyes staring intently at the page while he absentmindedly chewed on a pen.
Grudgingly she took the National Geographic Kids that was in the rack and then chose a seat across from him so she could glower over her magazine while she read about Ranger Rick.
She wasn’t expecting him to talk to her.
As soon as he noticed her he haphazardly tossed the magazine on the end table. “Hi there! I’m Stiles. Well, that’s what everyone calls me at least. What’s your name?”
She quickly ducked behind her magazine. Didn’t he know you were supposed to be quiet in the doctor’s office? Apparently not, because after a moment of waiting for her to answer he just plowed ahead. “I’m waiting on my mom. She said she had to see the neur....neurologist! because she gets really bad headaches. Normally she goes to the doctor while I’m at school, but she couldn’t today and Scott’s mom had to work and she doesn’t like to leave me with Scott’s dad. If he’s home. He’s not home a lot. What are you here for?”
After another moment of awkward silence he started to fidget and the launched into all the reasons he knew that people got headaches and then any stories he had heard about headaches. He apparently had not exhausted his supply of stories when he finally left, hand wrapped in his mother’s as he chattered on and on while they made their way out the door and drove off.
----------
“Do you like cats?”
Erica looked up to see the boy standing right in front of her. It had been a while since she had seen him in the office and it startled her more than anything. “I do. But my dad’s allergic. He won’t let me get a hairless one either. I just wanted to know because I got a new comic book today. It has Catwoman in it. Catwoman is awesome. I don’t know if she’s as awesome as Batman though. He’s pretty cool. Do you at least like Catwoman?”
Considering she had barely heard of her Erica finally gave in and twitched her head no.
“Alas! Don’t worry about it thought. My mom won’t let me read the real Batman comics yet. But she will let me read the ones based on the animated series. She said if we get out on time today maybe we can go to the comic book store. You’d like Catwoman thought, she’s cool. What I really like about her is that she’s bad but sometimes she does good things or steals from bad people.”
Without warning he wandered over a few seats and started digging around in his backpack, letting out a small whoop before turning to her triumphantly. “Dude I have DC tattoos! I think there’s a Catwoman but I only have one.” He paused, seeming to think about it, then as if he were about to bestow a great honor added, “if you want a Batman one I’ll let you have one.”
She was nodding before she even knew what she was really agreeing too and he beamed at her as he pulled out both a sheet of tattoos and a pair of scissors. She shrank back as he gleefully began hacking away, letting out a sound of dismay before explaining he had just cut off Green Lantern’s leg but it was okay because it wasn’t John Stewart Green Lantern, and the next thing she knew a slightly sticky hand was pressing an action shot of Batman with a batarang into her hand. “Standard procedure here. 30 seconds with a wet cloth and you’re set!”
The doorway opened and before she could murmur a thank you he was dashing off to cram things in his backpack and switching his focus to his mother.
She held the tattoo in her hand when her mother finally put down her magazine and took her in to the doctor. Clutched at it desperately as the doctor tried to explain an MRI to her and set up her next appointment.
----------
“Good morning to you Mrs. Rudd! I got permission from Mrs. Gibson to come over here but she said you have to say its okay first. I just wanted to hand out Valentines. I brought enough to give everyone in the class one, but my mom said she would only buy candy for one class so I had to buy it with my allowance. I didn’t even get Reeses even though they’re my favorite because they have peanuts in them and some people are allergic. At least Skittles are colorful! Normally I’d just eat all the candy myself but my mom doesn’t think that’s a responsible choice and she’s really into responsible choices right now, because of this parenting magazine she gets. I read it too so I know what she’s trying pull. I make sure to dog-ear the pages that talk about positive reinforcements like extra play time and desserts and things. But is it okay if I pass things out? Please Mrs. Rudd? Please?”
Erica watched as her teacher’s face grew steadily more confused until finally Stiles had to stop for her to answer. “Stiles isn’t it? Since you brought enough for the entire class I suppose it will be alright. Just do it quickly and quietly.”
He tried. But he half tripped over the first desk and slammed into the next, skidding it across the floor before he straightened up, shot the teacher a sheepish glance, and then started doling out Valentine cards and small packs of Skittles. Until he got to Lydia Martin’s desk. Then he pulled out a heart shaped box with a small teddy bear and grinned at her as he set it on the desk. Lydia kept filing her nails.
Erica was drawing flowers on the back of her notebook when the small boy approached her desk, and while she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye she didn’t say anything to acknowledge him.
It wasn’t until after he left the room that she looked at the card, surprised to see that he had actually written on the card in tiny handwriting with letters crowded in to keep them on the card. To: the quiet doctors office girl From: Stiles - got to keep my secret identity safe!
She peeled off the sticker holding the card closed and opened it to see Catwoman pouncing toward her. “You’re purr-fect!”
----------
Erica quickly shut her locker door, clutching her notebook and textbook to her, and mentally cursed every person that had told her that high school was different. High school was better. Two weeks in and she was just as invisible as ever, and with twice the homework.
Someone jostled into her and her things flew out of her arms in a ridiculously tragic way. “Oh my god I’m so sorry I wasn’t paying atten—oh hey cool notebook!” She pulled the “Girl Power” notebook with old school Wonder Woman, Supergirl, and Batgirl out of his grasp before looking up to see him grinning at her. Then his friend Scott was tugging on his backpack. “Come on Stiles, we’re going to be late for class.”
She watched the pair move in unison through the hallway as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, startled out of her thoughts when the bell rang and signaled that she was late to class.
((Sometimes I shouldn't channel feels? IDK this is just angst))
Honestly it made him feel guilty. His own mother, and half the time he didn't even think about her. He was forgetting her. Forgetting her face, forgetting the little anecdotes that made her his mom rather than his mother.
On Memorial Day, her birthday, and the anniversary of her death he went with his dad to the grave site. He would kneel to arrange whatever fake floral arrangement that they had bought, sometimes with a personal touch, more often than not just something with yellow in it, before straightening to stand shoulder to shoulder with his dad, both of them staring silently until his dad would awkwardly clear his throat and maybe say that he missed her, and then after another moment they would turn toward the car and drive somewhere to eat, finally opening up again after the their orders were taken and he started to complain about whatever his dad had ordered.
Sometimes he drove past the hospital or graveyard and the tears started coursing down his face without him deciding that was okay. People would stop him to tell him how much his eyes looked like his mother's, or mention how much of a help she had been at the community service bake sales. Her turtle brownies always brought in a lot of money. He couldn't even remember that she used to make them.
Other times he would be driving past the cemetery and for a moment he would be flooded with rage. Anger thrumming in his veins until he had to pull over, screaming wordlessly into the silence of his Jeep. It wasn't fair. Wasn't fair that she had left him, that she had put off tell him she was sick until she was too weak to pretend any longer. That by the time he found out it was too late for him to be tested for a possible bone marrow match.
The rarest days of all were when he pulled into the cemetery in his Jeep, parked, and clambered out, walking over near her gravestone. It always unnerved him to actually stand on someones grave, and he tended to stand to one side, staring for a long moment before crouching down, a wad of kleenex clutched in his hand. Sitting too, that was weird. "I'm sorry I haven't been around," he murmur under his breath, "a lot's been going on."
Those days he would tell her all about how everyone was doing. His dad. Scott. Their neighbors and people she had once been close to. People he was close to that she had never met. When his voice was dry, tongue threatening to meld to the roof of his mouth if he didn't get water, he would tell her about himself. About the test that he had aced, about how the science project she had helped him with in 3rd grade had helped him make sense of his AP Chemistry project. The accusations were there as well, the reminder that if she had been there she would have known what to do, how she had missed out on helping him solve a problem in AP Calculus or how much it hurt that Scott was trying to be the best best friend ever and had invited Stiles and Isaac to share his mom at the mother-son brunch.
He left when his kleenex supply was exhausted, collapsing into his Jeep and taking long pulls at a water bottle, using the remainder to slap on his face, trying to cool down the aching heat in his eyes, to get the red to go down before he saw anyone. He drove extra slow, taking long routes and detours until he could paste a smile back on his face and cheerfully go about annoying anyone in his immediate vicinity.
Sometimes he realized he was forgetting the little details about her and he was okay because it didn't hurt as much anymore.
((Reasons I shouldn't go to baseball games. This was going to be smut, because you're allowed to write yourself smut on your birthday or something, but I just couldn't get the inspiration to actually write it. So instead it's random words wrapped into a ficlet))
“WHERE THE HELL IS GREENBERG?” The bellowing echoed throughout the dugout, but everyone was so used to it that they ranged from flat out ignoring it to…flat out ignoring it. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary until a strange voice chirped up, actually answering, and with that the dugout fell silent, honing in on the newcomer.
Derek almost felt sorry for the kid, having worked for Finstock long enough to know what was coming.
----------
Being a bat boy for the sucky Beacon Hills minor league team was not how Stiles had planned the start of his senior year. First of all, it was fall, and why the minor league hadn’t figured out that baseball season was in the spring was something he wasn’t going to waste time thinking about. (Okay, he knew the reason, but seriously, college graduates could wait half a year until they played, it wouldn’t kill them). One moment he was turning in Greenberg’s resignation and the next he was being shoved into a pair of tight pants and a hideous shirt without even his name, just giant BB written on the back.
And the running. He probably ran more than the damn players at this point. Running after any foul balls during the game that were caught by the net and bounced down, being tossed balls from all directions that never quite made it to him (he had an entire FOLDER of jokes about balls on his laptop now) running out to grab bats once the play had finished. When he had mistakenly shown up for practice he had had to go after EVERY stray ball, and he managed to get coerced into coming to practice surprisingly frequently.
His favorite days were away games. He didn’t go to away games. As much as he hated to admit it Greenberg had had the right idea quitting the team.
But at least this way if, no when, he grew up he would no longer be a bat boy. He would be a bat man. Score.
----------
Derek slung his bat a bit harder than necessary, knowing it would sail a bit farther, making Stilinski work just that much harder and giving him that extra second to get on base and then turn to check out Stilinski’s ass as he bent over to retrieve the bat. He didn’t have a problem.
Well, he did. Mainly it was because Stilinski had just shown up out of the blue, secured a spot on the team, and spent his time putting his fingers to use polishing balls, throwing back his head and laughing, running his hands along the shafts of the bats claiming he was checking to make sure they were in good shape, and making increasingly stupid jokes that managed to link sex and baseball. Yet apparently that was what Derek was interested in now. Stupid moles and fingers that he could imagine putting to much better use, and a juvenile sense of humor. Oh, and the fact that the kid was still, well, a kid.
So Derek refused to think about it and continued to fling his bat farther and farther away, one time even “forgetting” that he was holding his bat and carrying it almost all the way to first base. Stiles’ glower had been worth it.
----------
“Hale, stop flirting with the help. Just because he’s an adult doesn’t mean he’s not a boy, and that’s just a weird line.” Coach was in a snappy mood, moving on before Derek’s horror at having been found out fully sunk in, though he was determinedly scowling in hopes that no one had actually figured out that he was flirting. His mind was freezing over the fact that Coach had said Stilinski was an adult when he glanced over, seeing Stiles flushed a dark red before he stretched out a foot to try to hook a ball just out of his reach, limbs splaying out in all directions as he tried to balance on his chair, and Derek found it disturbingly attractive. The tiny squeak Stilinski made when he glanced up to see Derek staring even more so.
----------
Derek’s favorite thing went from torturing Stilinski with harmless nonsense to trying to make him blush. He discovered nirvana when they turned out to be one and the same. “You should use protection.” He was fixing his leg brace before going out to bat, barely even glancing at the kid. “You’ll chafe if you keep doing it like that. No glove, no love.”
He glanced up in time to see Stiles’ hands falter and drop the bat he was working on, crimson splotches along his neck, and he smirked the entire way to home plate.
----------
For once practice was being called before dusk, which made sense, but no one had ever accused the Coach of such a thing. The playoffs started the next day and no one was supposed to do something stupid like overwork their muscles. Derek slammed his locker shut and would never admit to jerking back when his eyes adjusted to Coach standing right there, staring at him.
“I have a date,” the Coach half-yelled, his ability to use an inside voice forgotten along with sending his mom a card on mother’s day. “Admittedly with a scrawny piece of ass, but it’s a date.”
“Congratulations?”
“I need you to stay here until Bilinski finishes and lock up.” Coach leaned close, narrowing his eyes, and acted like he was going to tell him a secret, despite speaking at the exact same half-screaming volume as before. “I don’t trust his kind. Something’s not naturally about the way he handles those balls.”
Within 5 minutes every single one of his traitor teammates was on their way home. Even Boyd had taken a ride from someone else. Derek tugged at his jeans to try to stop them from riding up, henley already molded to his chest, and went to go find some entertainment. “Want some help polishing your balls?”
There was more than a little bit of satisfaction as he watched Stiles fumble the balls he had apparently been trying to juggle, and Derek bent down to scoop one up that had rolled into his foot. “Oh my god Derek you can’t just do that.” Stiles was gesturing wildly, a frazzled look on his face, and Derek essentially tuned out Stiles’ rant, taking in the moles disappearing under his collar, his fingers wrapped around the balls he had in each hand.
With one impressive flourish Stiles lost control, a ball flying halfway across the field, and somewhere between it landing and rolling to a stop Derek was crowding into Stiles’ space, pressing their lips together and feeling Stiles’ part easily.
Things escalated quickly.
----------
“Hey Stiles?”
“Hmmm?”
“Remember how your Jeep is in the shop?”
“Kind of why I’m riding around in this thing with you Scott.”
“Remember how you asked me to pick you up after practice yesterday?”
“Yeah? And…oh. Oh shit.”
“You owe me enough liquor to get me drunk enough to forget everything I saw.”
“I do.”
----------
Stiles didn’t stop complaining about grass stains for 5 weeks, and then he started in on the carpet burn.
((So my friend was cosplaying Derek and slightly lisping around her fangs. Cue a conversation about newly turned wolves probably having lisps and all sorts of silly issues with their new fangs and claws. Warning: Lisps))
“Thurrender yourthelves to uth.”
The girl beside him growled and curled her hands into fists, flashing her eyes in an attempt to be intimidating. The effect was slightly lost when she yelped and fully wolfed out, staring down at the crescent marks in her palms from where she had dug her own claws into her hand with surprise before shaking her head and turning her attention back to them. “Take uth to your alpha. We’ll take kill it and claim thith territory.”
Derek coughed, and when Stiles looked over at him his shoulders were shaking, and it took him a moment to realize what was actually happening. Derek was laughing. Derek Hale was laughing. He snorted before just breaking down completely, hunched over and openly laughing until he was gasping for air.
“Actually, that’s the closest I’ve seen him to dead for a while,” Isaac mused, his words helping to jar Stiles out of his stunned silence. Stunned silence. That was weird.
“I think he’s broken,” Stiles whispered in awe, watching Derek gasping for air. No one in the pack was even paying the strangers a lick of attention anymore, missing the confused hand gestures and head shakes they were making at each other.
“Thurrender and we will thow merthy to your pack.” The strange alpha spoke again, but this time he sounded uncertain.
“Thow merthy!” Derek barked out clasping a hand over his mouth and snorting while he tried to regain control of himself. The ironic thing was that the Beacon Hills pack was so thrown they possibly could have been taken off guard, but the rival pair of wolves looked fairly mortified as they stood there, the girl reaching out to grab her alpha’s hand in support.
If it hadn’t been obvious before that they were very new (how the one was an alpha was anyone’s guess) the way that she accidentally slashed her alpha’s hand open with her claws was more than obvious. This time Stiles couldn’t help but join Derek in laughing at the weres, and Isaac was starting to grin.
In the end it was better for everyone that the pair turned and walked off, proverbial tails tucked between their legs in shame, howls of laughter echoing after them. “Thomeday we’ll come back and thow them,” the alpha muttered around his fangs, and in the distance Derek let out a fresh bark of laughter until his side ached.
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