Owl's Odds and Ends (Teen Wolf, mostly)

[Owlinatree]

ok! I wanted to dump some of my self indulgent allergy fic bits into one thread, so here we go! there are no guarantees that any of these will be finished, continued, or that i will have time to get to prompts, but feel free to request! if you're wondering what this thread will be like,,, uh . . . pretty much read this one and you won't be in for any surprises. comments are appreciated <3 

It’s not a super bad day, per se, but Derek can tell that it’s taking a lot out of his boyfriend. There are no desperate fits, no rapid-fire sneezes that set Stiles’ heart to racing. He isn’t complaining in the joking kind of way he usually does, where he’s actually fine but wants to fuck, and Derek isn’t letting them make out for fear of asphyxiation.

No, he’s just sprawled on the couch, legs stretched in front of him, glasses on, a box of tissues beside him and a trash can nearby. His homework lays before him, hardly started, and Derek observes the pattern taking place. Stiles stares intently at the open laptop for about a minute, attempting to pick up where he’d left off, as a deep-seated tickle works its way into the base of his nose. He doesn’t take notice at first, until the irritation leads to his sinuses filling enough that he is forced to take a liquid sniffle. It’s not enough to give him pause until the second, much sharper inhale grabs his attention. His eyebrows draw together slightly, eyes narrowing, and he brings his first two knuckles up to firmly press into his nose, wiggling with enough pressure to temporarily stymie the itch.

He can’t keep that up forever, though, and the focus is broken. He’s annoyed, now, and he begins to rub at his nose with renewed vigor, until the tickle reaches the base of his nostrils and he resigns himself. At this point, Stiles sighs and pulls a tissue from the box, tenting his hands over his face and inhaling. This isn’t a perfect solution, though. He’s left hanging, an agonizing moment where he teeters on the brink. It’s not exhilarating, just certain and steady and itchy.

He pitches forward once, twice, again, and it’s quiet, muffled tiredly into the folds of the tissue, at first followed by an annoyed little groan, later punctuated by a weary sigh, tremulous and uncertain, as more sneezes swell to the surface.

It’s not explosive, it’s inevitable.

Stiles is the vessel for this immutable cycle, unable and, at last, unwilling to influence his body’s activity. The allergy attack rolls through him and, like the longest lasting structures, he permits the traffic, directing the path of least resistance. He waits a second more, taking in an experimental breath, maybe letting loose one or two more sneezes, before he blows his nose into the tissue and removes it from a face that’s nearly painful to look at.

Stiles’ nose, eyes, and sinuses are swollen, skin pulled taut over histamine-fed tissue. His eyes are heavy lidded, puffy, drooping with exhaustion and crossed by spidery lines where blood vessels have been broken and irritated. His cheeks are flushed an angry red, splotchy and rounded near his nose, above and beside his cheekbones. His nose is pink, chapped at the base and shiny with the dampness that leaks from his upset sinuses. His lips are chapped, parted to let air in and out. He looks tired, itchy, and miserable.

Derek, too, is spending less and less time reading his book as worry creeps a hand up his spine. He watches as Stiles draws his eyebrows together, scrunching his face and grinding the heels of his hands into his forehead. He pops his glasses up and ducks his head, dragging his hands up and down his face before letting out a small whimper and hunching forward.

“Der? Could y’just,” Derek is already there, hand gently placed on his boyfriend’s forehead, inky lines of pain tracing up his arm. He grunts in surprise at the intensity.

“You should have asked earlier. You don’t need to suffer.”

“Ndo, just, I wanted t’get this fidished, did’t wad’t t’sleep yet.” Stiles slurs out, face smoothing as some of his sinus headache lessens. The pressure’s still there, congestion a permanent fixture in his head, but the edge has been taken off, replaced with the loose, floaty feeling that comes with the absence of pain. Stiles sighs in relief.

[Owlinatree]

whoops when I can edit I will add specs for the above ficlet. in the meantime, here is a blob about diplomacy negotiations with the spring seelie court.

Teen Wolf: Stiles Stilinski (allergies) // implied Sterek // Word Count: 890

 

Stiles snorts in disbelief when he looks down the hallway into the throne room. Lilies are clustered at the base of the seat, cascading from the ceiling and pooling around the floor. It’s his allergic nightmare, and he’s grateful for the magic that keeps each room truly separate, both in climate and in physicality. He hasn’t been reacting too badly to the rest of the palace, thankfully, because his allergies are most prevalent in the summer and fall, and also thanks to the (not doctor approved) double dose of prescription allergy meds that he’d taken as a precaution. Ah, well. The negotiations were too important to miss for the alpha and consort, and they would hopefully be headed home the next day. Derek has taken one of his own precious pills, so he’s safe for the next 36 hours.

They will need to be careful not to stay longer than that.

Derek squeezes his arm in warning, and Stiles zones back in to see the entire court staring at him, silent and tense.

“Did you wish to pass judgement on how we choose to adorn our throne room, Mieczysław Stilinski?” The fae proposing this question is giving clear indication which answer is appropriate.

“Hmm? Oh, no, not at all. It’s, uh, beautiful?” Lydia kicks him. “Ow! There sure are . . . lots of lilies in there.” Lydia has pressed her hand to her forehead, and the fae are whispering amongst themselves angrily.

“Do you find our lilies not to your satisfaction?” Stiles wonders why it had to be him that was required to maintain tact and manners. He’s clearly messed something up, and he’s not sure where to go from there.

“When in doubt, tell the truth.” Lydia’s crash course on proper fae etiquette has become a crash course on not accidentally getting your eyes turned into frogs. “If you have sufficient verbal skill to accurately and subtly twist the truth, go for it. But if you’re cornered and all you have is bullshit, tell the truth.”

“No, I, uh, they’re very aesthetically attractive,” this, Stiles notes to himself, is not a lie “I’m just, uh, kind of allergic to them?” He cringes slightly, knowing that he has revealed a weakness, but Lydia exhales in some relief. At least he’s not lying, if perhaps understating. The seelie seem placated somewhat. Lydia narrows her eyes. Their rapid silence was quick— too quick. She resolves to monitor their interactions with Stiles, something she’d already planned on.

“Oh, of course! We will remove them immediately! It’s good of you to let us know so that we may ensure your safe conduct while in the Spring palace.” She seems to have accepted Stiles’ explanation graciously. It’s . . . suspicious and maybe a cause for concern. Fae always lean on the melodramatic side of the scales, and they only ease up when they’re scheming. Hopefully, it will be nothing they can’t handle.

Stiles stays in line successfully for the day’s meetings, which take place in and out of the conspicuously empty throne room. He manages to keep his allergies subtle, just an extra blink here and a thoughtful nose rub there, though his head slowly develops a faint buzzing itch, deep-seated and barely there. It’s a light pressure in his sinuses, a graininess in his eyes, the way any touch to his nose is magnified. It’s not the ostentatious displays of allergic misery that his body is wont to throw, but rather the way he dangles on the precipice, courting the possibility of a sneeze, flirting with the urge to scrub off his face. His voice grows more hoarse and more congested, so he removes himself from verbal negotiations. He’s putting on the outward display of strength needed, torturing himself in the process. He grips Derek’s hand with an increasingly tight hold, until finally— finally they are finished for the day. He’s not stupid enough to think that he is not the reason why. They are led back to their rooms, where they settle in a loose circle within a privacy ward. Stiles could cry with relief.

“Lyds, safe?” She cocks her head, thinks for a moment, and nods. “Great. Ohhh—okayhhh—Itsch! hhIISHew—ISCHew! Hhiiihh . . . hhITSCHiew—ISHew! Snff! Hiiiihh— hhih-ITChiew! hhhITSH-iSH-ITShiew! Hhheh? Hhh-hICH-iiSH-ISHiew! iiISH! hh-URSHiew!” Stiles scrubs his hands up and down his face, taking in a few short breaths before launching back into his much-needed sneezing fit. His pack members are staring at him in horror and fascination as he hunches down, sneezing harshly into the crook of his elbow without seeming to slow down. If anything, the sneezes are getting larger, bending his whole torso inwards, contorting his body in the desperate need to reject the airborne irritants, one only strengthened by the suppression of the day. Derek whines and wraps an arm around his consort’s shuddering frame, while Lydia arches an eyebrow, impressed despite herself. That was some serious self-control.

“Jesus Christ, Stilinski! How the hell did you keep that in all day?” Jackson, too, is grudgingly impressed. Stiles flips him off, still sneezing. When he manages to straighten, the circle hasn’t moved at all, though Scott, Allison, and Boyd have averted their eyes with varying degrees of subtlety. Derek is practically astral projecting in concern, eyebrows knitted together and arm wound tightly around his consort’s shoulders. Lydia studies him like an experiment, while Erica studies him like a dessert.

[Tassielli]

Wow. Teen wolf is such a guilty pleasure of mine. I enjoyed this very much. 

Thank you 

[Serendipity]

Aw, these are so cute! I can't wait for more

[Owlinatree]

8 hours ago, Tassielli said:

Wow. Teen wolf is such a guilty pleasure of mine. I enjoyed this very much. 

Thank you 

 honestly, I got into it to read fanfic. I don't even like the show itself, per se, but the characters are so much fun to play with and the fandom is so vibrant that I stay. 

5 hours ago, PinkieCry said:

Aw, these are so cute! I can't wait for more

 thank you! I've got a couple left to post, but I'm really busy with studies at the moment, so no guarantees past then!

[Owlinatree]

this is probably the last fic for the near future .  I thought I had more of derek/hoechlin, but they were all either pretty complete (over in the fanfic thread) or not complete enough to post here; i.e. bullet pointed vignettes and barely mentioned snz. as it may [not] surprise you, this is a Stiles allergy fic. 812 words.

 

They have a routine, so the whole ordeal sucks as little as possible, but that really doesn’t stop Stiles from disliking fall and summer. No, it doesn’t stop him from loathing them. Yeah, he’s being dramatic, but cut him some slack. He can barely breathe over here.

 

Stiles isn’t fully awake yet, awareness dipping in and out, but he can already tell it’s a bad day. Possibly even a Bad Day. His eyes inch open, and he has barely a second to register that it’s not even light out. Why has he woken up? He feels like he hasn’t slept at all, like he’s been treading water in the Dead Sea all night. He has that moment to be confused, and only that, because realization steals his breath.

Stiles has had a realization. It’s a sneeze. Apparently not satisfied, Stiles’ body pitches forward again, rocking his head forward into a wall, one which makes a strangled kind of yelp and rolls over. Oh. Not a wall, then. Stiles thinks he’s used up his thoughts for the morning, although he clearly hasn’t used up his sneezes. He curls in on himself, gasping for air and burying his head in his arms, body shaking helplessly as the fit continues. He should probably stop sneezing before he sprains something. Stiles has forgotten where his off switch is for involuntary bodily functions. He keeps sneezing.

 

Derek is woken up when a bowling ball knocks him over, and the bowling pins around him fall in a series of whooshing noises. Except that was a head, not a bowling ball, and he’s not actually a bowling pin, he’s a werewolf, and the whooshing noises are coming from his boyfriend, who is sneezing like it’s going to go out of style. He kind of hopes it does.

 

Wait.

 

Shit.

 

Stiles is on his side, head cradled in his arms, and he seems to be losing more air than he’s inhaling. Derek sighs, knowing that it’s going to be a rough day. He leans closer to his boyfriend, and tentatively places his hand on Stiles’ arm.

“Stiles. Hey. Babe. I know it sucks, but I need you to listen to me, ok?” They have a procedure for this. Not one that they utilize often, but it’s Stiles; they have a plan. Morning Stiles, however, in the throes of his allergy attack, doesn’t seem to agree.

“Nnngh.” Stiles manages, before dissolving back into hitching breaths and sharp sneezes.

“Stiles. I’m going to leave for three minutes to get meds and a washcloth. I will be back, and I’m not leaving you alone for longer than the three minutes.” Stiles whines a small protest, but Derek has vaulted over the bed and reached the bathroom before the blanket has cooled. He fills a cup, running a washcloth under the tap as well, and pops two pills from a blister pack. He lopes back to bed, where Stiles has been granted a short reprieve: on his back, one arm over his eyes and chest heaving with the strain of his fit. He grunts a brief thanks when Derek drapes the cloth over his arm, muffles a stray sneeze into his elbow, and brings the cloth to his eyes, which are puffy, dotted with broken blood vessels and overflowing with irritated tears. He sneezes again, this time jerking his torso toward a vertical position, and Derek’s firm hands guide the rest of the way.

It takes a few tries to get Stiles to swallow the pills, and by the time they’ve succeeded, Stiles has water all over his shirt. He whimpers, shivering slightly, and Derek holds him close until they both have the chance to wake up and until Stiles’ meds kick in.

 

Stiles feels like he’s woken up inside out. Usually, by the time the sun comes up, he’s making breakfast, all witty quips and polished sarcasm. This morning, it’s still dark, but he knows there won’t be that breakfast. Just the warm comfort of his boyfriend, the whir of the air conditioner, and— hold on. He does hear a whirring noise, but it’s the sound of uninhibited air flowing through an open window. Fuck. The window’s open. Of course it is. Stiles had been riding out a wonderful, awesome, super-duper ten minute break from the whole sneezing thing, but the mere realization that pollen has unfettered, exclusive access to his whole room is enough to kick that factory right back into business.

“Der, could y’close thhhhh hold on shhhit hhhiiISH! hhIISHew!” Stiles manages to flail an arm in the direction of the window, hoping his boyfriend gets the message, before he’s overtaken yet again by the rolling crusade of his irritated immune system. Derek practically trips over himself in his haste to slam shut the window, inwardly cursing his inattentiveness for allowing such an obvious threat to take advantage of his partner.

[Elyze]

Gah, you write allergy ridden boys so well. 2nd one I read from you this morning

[queenie]

Wow!!

[Owlinatree]

On 10/16/2017 at 1:56 AM, helyzelle said:

Gah, you write allergy ridden boys so well. 2nd one I read from you this morning

 thank you! I'm still pretty new to writing, so it's really heartening to hear that you like reading my stuff

On 10/17/2017 at 11:18 PM, queenie said:

Wow!!

you've been so supportive of my writing (thank you <3) and also I love your avatar (see what I did there )

This next one could actually be described as a drabble! Go me!

| 187 words, sick(!) stiles (look at me branching out), established sterek

Stiles groaned, a deep rumble that Derek would have found enticing in any other situation, but now sending a spike of concern through the wolf instead. He could hear the crackle in his mate’s breath as he took a quick inhale, worry driving him to listen as closely as possible. He ignored his boyfriend’s motions to push him away, resting his ear on Stiles’ chest.

“Der, you-hh-gotta...y’gotta moovhh’ISHoo! h’nxtchoo!” Stiles curled to the side in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid spraying Derek with the germs that had reduced Stiles’ world to only his bed and the bathroom for the past three days. Thankfully, the worst of the bug was over, leaving Stiles just sapped of energy and battling the tickle that remained in his nose and throat. Derek had only left once, to take a trip to the nearest pharmacy, and had spent every waking hour nursing Stiles to health. Except that ‘waking hour’ meant ‘the past three days,’ as concern for his boyfriend overrode any survival instincts or bodily necessities Derek’s superhuman self still required, like sleeping or eating anything more than a granola bar.

[Serendipity]

You write Stiles and Derek so well! I can totally see this happening between the two  

[Elyze]

Curiosity got to me yesterday and I watched an episode of this series to put faces to the names

[Owlinatree]

On 10/21/2017 at 6:27 PM, PinkieCry said:

You write Stiles and Derek so well! I can totally see this happening between the two  

Thank you! Yeah, I try to keep it in character even though they are definitely aged up; different points in their lives, same people.

 

On 10/22/2017 at 4:28 AM, helyzelle said:

Curiosity got to me yesterday and I watched an episode of this series to put faces to the names

Oh goodness. I appreciate the sentiment! I honestly haven't watched the entirety of season two yet ; really, fanfiction and fandom were what made teen wolf attractive to me. I like the characters and their faces (mostly season 2 onward, when they're a bit older) but the show has some...problems with plot development and continuity. I pretty much did what you did and filled out the rest with fanon and personal headcanons. Thank you, though!

[Owlinatree]

Here's a thing I wanted to make into a full story, but which I don't have time to continue yet. I thought I'd post it anyway; maybe I will continue, maybe not.

| Word Count: 320 // Character: Derek Hale (allergies) // established Sterek

Stiles knocks his boyfriend backward onto the couch, pinning him gently as they celebrate victory over the pixies that had most recently threatened Beacon Hills. It’s . . . nice, really nice, that they can finally relax and enjoy Stiles’ break from grad school. Well, nice until Derek straightens his arms, holding Stiles out as he scents the air.

“Is there a cat.”

“Uhh, was that a question? Or just a lapse in grammar?”

“Stiles.”

“Also, how would I know if there’s a cat? It’s not like I’m some feline detecting supernatural creature, because that would be, arguably, useful. When would we even need to kn—”

“Stiles.” And Stiles stops at that, because Derek has sat up, back straight, shoulders rigid, looking warily around as he says that, voice breathy and quavering slightly. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think the werewolf was scared. Derek blinks a few times before his eyebrows snap down with comical fervor.

“Need tishhues” Derek’s voice rises in pitch, a quick vocalization interrupting his request. Stiles rolls off Derek’s lap in an instant, falling over himself in an effort to reach the box of tissues he frequents during the summer and fall.

“Of course, uh, okay, shit, sorry,” Stiles picks himself off the ground, untangling his flailing limbs. Derek shakes his head slightly, head tilting up, breath hitching and catching, small gasps punctuating his build-up.

“Hhiiih...oh godhh” Stiles reaches the tissue box, too late, just as Derek’s control breaks.

“hHRRSHoo! URShoo! hh-hRSH-USSH-iIISHoo!” The first two escape the werewolf before he has a chance to cover, but he manages to pull the collar of his henley up to catch the rapid triple that follows. Stiles has returned with the box of tissues, but Derek doesn’t seem to take notice, instead preparing for another round of sneezes. His breath hitches wildly as his watery eyes lose focus, nostrils flaring and reddening from behind hands loosely tented before his face.