“Hey, Scott, so, I uh, there’s this amazingly hot guy and I’m uh, gonna spend the weekend with him but, you know, just to be careful, I’m sending you his picture, so if by some terrible chance my bloated corpse shows up sometime Monday, just, y’know pass this along to the authorities.” He pauses. “Uh. Kidding?” and then hangs up with a rush of air. “That is the worst voicemail in the history of voicemails,” Derek says.

Erica and Stiles are convinced that they're going to go down in history as the first-ever omegas at Beacon Hills High School to go unclaimed. But they also, deep down, have an alpha that they're hoping will come to them when they go into heat. Both of these ideas about instinctive mating are pretty much entirely wrong.

He keeps the aqun-asala powder in a jar on his dressing table. Every three months he spoons some of it into a mug and mixes it into the water with his finger. It's supposed to be tasteless, but when he swallows it down it lingers on his tongue, affects the taste of anything else he eats for the next couple days, mutes everything. He gets a kick outta eating spicy shit all lackadaisically and offering it to people, and acting surprised when it burns their mouths. (When he explains it to Sera, after she's stopped crying and threatening to stab him with one of his own horns, she thinks it's hilarious — tries to talk him into letting her have enough to prank people, actually. He knows exactly how much is left in the jar though, and he's not sure he's ever gonna get more... so she has to make do with sitting next to him and watching.) "So it keeps you from losing it, huh?" she asks, glaring down into her empty flagon like she doesn't know where the beer got off to. "No squishy pffff—" she puffs up her cheeks and sets the flagon down, curving her hands into a circle and then moving them apart, "—for the qunari pokers?"

Short fics originally posted to my Tumblr, edited and collected here.

Yuuri, under the username of Eros, is a size queen omega who most certainly does not have an obsession with fellow camboy and legendary silver-haired alpha Aria. Just like Phichit is not the most meddlesome roommate known to man.

Geralt is not making a nest. Jaskier has noticed this. Geralt is in fact drinking a rather foul-smelling potion that sours the sweetness of his scent and muffles its otherwise obvious meaning. “Does that stop heat?” Jaskier asks curiously, absentmindedly tuning his lute as he speaks. He hadn’t thought anything could, but, well . . . witchers and their potions. “No,” Geralt says darkly.

Lan Sizhui's baby has three possible fathers~!

"We did go looking for omegas," Izuna pointed out under his breath, staring down at his personal enemy. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you want Senju Tobirama for a wife," Madara replied just as quietly, a brief spark of amusement blooming at the shocked horror on his baby brother's face. -- Before he was forced to accompany a pack of rut-muddled idiots on a half-baked plan to kidnap omega brides for the good of the Uchiha clan, Madara hadn't given Hashirama's younger brother much thought. Tobirama was a Senju, and therefore the enemy; he, like Madara and Izuna, was sole survivor of his litter, and so to avoid being alone and therefore unmarriageable had ended up paired up with his older omega brother by default; he was a vicious opponent; he was a beta. He had to be a beta. Hashirama wasn't, and nobody would be brazen or stupid enough to bundle up two reproductive siblings in the same litter, right? ... Right?

Hanguang-jun, it seems that you’ve caught me.” “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmurs, the corner of his lips twitching slightly up. “You let me catch you.” * It is autumn in the mating grounds of Phoenix Mountain.

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue hire Meng Yao to have a baby for them. They want to take things slow, but Meng Yao has other ideas.

Jonny's heat comes early and unexpectedly strong. Pat is there, on the other side of the locked door, to help him through it.

Wilson and Latta and an omega in heat.

Jonny's not expecting his heat to come on so suddenly. And he's definitely not expecting to be in a broken elevator when it does.

The problem is not that Zhenya's wolf knows what she wants. The problem is who she wants. (If he can't look Sidney Crosby in the eye without blushing it's going to be a very long season.)

Landy is shaking his head next to him as he applies the scent blocker to his own upper lip. "I thought you guys were friends -- you've never smelled his heat pheromones before?" "What? I was friends with who?" Landy smacks Nate upside the head. "Crosby," he says, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. Nate looks back out at the ice, where Sid is taking a faceoff, a bead of sweat dripping down his face. "Holy shit," he mutters.

Geno is too injured to go to the 2017 All-Star Game, which would be bad enough if that wasn't also the weekend of Sidney's scheduled heat. Luckily, Alex Ovechkin is more than willing to help Sid through it.

A viral pandemic takes the world by storm, transforming the infected with new anatomy and instincts and forcing Sid and Ovi together -- even though Sid's in love with and committed to Geno. Needless to say, it gets complicated.

Jake does a pretty good job ignoring his stupid fucking thing for his rookie until one pregame he sits down in his stall to lace up and his eyes land on the whiteboard on the opposite side of the room where the month’s heats and ruts are scheduled; zero in on Joel’s name next to a scribbled 1/27 - 1/29.

“He’s traumatized from being brainwashed and imprisoned and can’t submit to an alpha with combat training without either having a panic attack or straight up trying to kill them,” Sam says bluntly. “He’s detoxing off illegal suppressants before we can put him on new ones. Dr. Cho was going to cycle off hers for him, but he burned through faster than we expected.” “So . . . he’s in heat, and there’s nobody around he doesn’t see as a threat?” Darcy summarizes, frowning. “Long story short, yes,” Sam confirms. “. . . and long story long?” Darcy asks skeptically, genuinely unable to help herself. He tells them. “Jesus Christ!”

Geralt doesn’t wear his courting jewelry—the medallion is apparently a witcher thing, not an omega one—and Jaskier supposes that makes sense. Geralt leads a very active life, and probably saves the jewelry for situations it won’t run the constant risk of getting ruined in. Certainly a nice set of earrings would be a lot more fragile than the plain studs he wears instead. A lot of omegas don’t wear their courting jewelry day to day, anyway, or at least not most of it. Geralt’s hardly unusual in that. It’s a bit of a shame, though, because Jaskier’d like to see him in it.