#blue bell hill

[stargoose-photo]

Blue Bell Hill, Kent, England, June 2024.

[2493]

[venusdews]

sweet serendipity

zayne [黎深] + female reader

synopsis. you disrupt zayne's routine when you stumble into his bookstore. he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't want it to happen again.

genre. romantic meet cute, shopkeeper!zayne, actress!reader, inspired by notting hill (ofc), yearning men (zayne), short n sweet wc ; 2.1k

author's note. i saw a post saying something about librarian zayne and thought wait… let's take that further…. also i just love notting hill and imagining zayne in glasses. enjoy <3

It’s a quiet morning for Zayne.

The sun was coming in delicately through his bookstore’s windows, at the same time it always did. A pale blue mug sits at the register, the one he used everyday to make his cup of coffee. Students from the nearby university were walking briskly past the shop to their 8 AM lectures. Soft piano ballads spilled from his computer into the small space.

Everything was the same.

Some may find it monotonous, this morning routine of his. But to Zayne, he wouldn’t ask for anything else. This is exactly how he liked it.

Zayne was sitting behind the register, ready to tally today’s inventory. In the opening hours of his quaint little bookstore, there was rarely another person with him. Except for his assistant, Yvonne, who came in earlier on the weekends. Customers usually start coming in later in the afternoon, so he used this time to focus on the upkeep his books demanded. 

It was a sacred time, just for him.

He takes his blue-inked pen, just about to mark his clipboard when the bell above the door chimes.

Zayne stirs, surprised to hear the sound so early in the morning. He instinctively looks up, a ‘welcome in’ at the tip of his tongue.

But there was no one.

He watches as the door closes on its own, the only sign that he hadn’t just imagined it. His brows furrowing slightly, he stands up, scanning the bookshelves for any sign of life.

Nothing.

Was Zayne hearing things?

He sighs softly, walking around the counter. He needed to make sure he wasn’t going crazy.

He walks down the aisle furthest from the door, slowly peeking around the corner. Zayne doesn’t know why his heart is beating faster. Maybe he was slightly unsettled by the disturbance to his peaceful morning.

And then he sees you.

He stills at the sight, wondering if he’s seeing things now. 

There was no way it was you.

Clad in a black jacket, you stand at the other end of the shop. A matching beret sits atop your head and you’re wearing sunglasses, but Zayne easily recognizes your features.

You take a book from the shelf, but you’re distracted. Eyes focused on the windows intensively.

Zayne doesn’t realize he’s walking towards you until he’s only a few feet away. Still, you’re unaware of his presence. He panics, blanking on his words as it seems you’ve left him unable to form a coherent sentence. 

Wow, you smell good. 

And you’re even prettier up close. Those cameras really didn’t do your beauty justice.

His mouth opens and closes, eyes darting around for something, anything, to distract him from how intoxicating you were.

They land on the book in your hand.

When You Are Dreaming: Part One

“That’s a good choice.” The words slip out before Zayne can stop them.

You jump, whipping your head to face… his chest. Your head tilts upwards, eyes trailing up to meet his. Zayne feels his ears burning, surely turning a bright pink now. 

Confusion is clear on your face. “What?”

Your dulcet voice is like music to his ears.

Zayne adjusts the rectangle glasses on his nose, an nervous habit. He clears his throat, pointing to the book in your hands.

You look down, as if you had just become aware of the object in your hands. “Oh,” you whisper softly, more to yourself than him. “Are you a student?”

He can’t help the slight upwards tilt of his lips. “No, I read it for fun.”

“You read academic texts for fun?” It’s a genuine question despite the amused smile on your lips. 

“I do.” he answers, unabashedly.

Your smile widens and you flip the book in your hands. Skimming your fingers over the spine, you look at him intensively through your sunglasses. Zayne can’t help the way his face flushes.  “Part one, huh? Is the sequel any good?”

“The first one is always better. I think they overshot with a second one.”

You giggle, and Zayne briefly wonders what angel blessed him today.

“I’ll take it then.”

If someone had told him Linkon’s most beloved actress would be standing in front of him, taking his book suggestions, Zayne would have laughed in their face.

Yet, here you were looking at him like he was actually saying something of interest to you.

As he guides you to the register, a soft ‘oh no’ falls from your lips. He turns to you, finding a panicked expression on your face. Zayne follows your gaze, catching sight of the flurry of people holding cameras, looking around expectantly. They were just a few feet outside of the shop, any longer and they would definitely see you in here.

Ah, so that’s why you ran in here.

Your brows furrow cutely, as if you’re planning a grand escape in your head.

Zayne can’t help himself.

“You can… go through the back.”

He can see the way your eyes widen under your shades, not expecting his helping hand. Without another word, he motions you to follow him, through his office to the back door. Zayne holds the door open for you, and you don’t hesitate to step into the alley.

You turn to him, smiling brightly. “Thank you.”

He watches as you quickly walk down the alley and turn. He stands there for a bit longer than he’s like to admit. Maybe hoping to catch sight of you once again. But, a sense of disappointment washes over him as he closes the door. Walking back to his clipboard, he looks around his bookshop.

Everything was the same. As if you had never been there at all.

Zayne picks up his pen once again, only then realizing. 

You left with the unpaid book.

And maybe a little more.

                       · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Zayne is embarrassed to admit he finds himself looking for you in every person who walks into his store.

Everytime the bell rings, his head shoots up. And everytime it’s not you, his greetings become a little less enthusiastic. 

He’s also embarrassed to admit he almost fell from the gliding ladder when he caught sight of a black beret.

It was not you.

Yvonne did not try to hide her giggle.

Zayne had kept his encounter with you a secret, knowing how much of a fan she was. And maybe, he wanted to keep the memory for his own safekeeping. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Yvonne eyes Zayne suspiciously, wondering why her calm and collected boss was suddenly looking like a puppy missing its owner. 

Zayne stops his writing, looking up from his notepad to Yvonne. She had stopped stocking books, hands on her hips.

“No,” he replies, curt. “Why do you ask?”

She tilts her head, as if to say I don’t believe you.

“Maybe because you keep looking at the door as if you are.”

He looks back to his notepad, suddenly realizing he’s been caught. It was upsetting enough to admit he hadn’t stopped thinking about you since you stood in his shop a week ago. But to have someone else point it out, that was just humiliating.

Not that he had been doing a good job of hiding it.

“You still have three more boxes in the back.”

Yvonne scoffs, rolling her eyes at his blatant misdirection. She shakes her head, but goes back to refilling the shelves.

Zayne walks away, suddenly feeling too hot. As if to mock him, the door chimes once again. Feeling self-conscious, he ignores it, walking into his office.

He also misses the way Yvonne gasps.

Zayne tries to cool himself down by some water, fanning himself with his notepad. What’s gotten into him? Why was he so stuck on you?

He tells himself that maybe he imagined it, that of course he would feel so enthralled by a movie star. Yeah, that’s all it was. He was just starstruck by you. Zayne should forget about it and stop hoping you’ll—

“Zayne!”

Yvonne’s voice takes him out of his spiraling thoughts.

He turns, coming face to face with a… very red Yvonne. She’s smiling, teeth and all, something he thinks he’s never seen since he’s met her. Her eyes are wide, a nervous twinkle as she stares at him.

“Did something happ—”

“Someone is here to see you,” she cuts him off, hands coming up to cover her mouth. It looks as if she’s trying to contain an explosion from going off.

Zayne’s eyes widen slightly.

It couldn’t be…?

Could it?

He adjusts his glasses, about to push past Yvonne. But, he stops in front of the mirror next to the door, adjusting his hair and collar. Just in case. Yvonne giggles like a schoolgirl as he exits his office.

Zayne swears his heart stops for a moment, because standing in his bookshop once again…

is you. 

You, sunglasses and beret gone, gorgeous face bare for him to see. For him to see you completely. And, god, those eyes were just as mesmerizing as in the movies.

The sun seems to kiss you, cascading over you in a halo. You’re wearing the same jacket you wore before. And when you see him, you shoot him a blinding smile.

Straight to his heart.

It’s like you want him to collapse right then and there. 

“Hi,” you say once he’s standing in front of you. Your hands are holding a book. The one you (technically) stole. 

“Hi.” he says back, suddenly feeling out of breath. 

“I wanted to return this to you. I know I kind of just ran out of here last time. I promise, I fully intended on paying…” you’re rocking on your feet, eyes darting to the side. Were you… nervous?

He finds delight in that thought.

“You don’t want it anymore?”

You laugh, looking down at the book in your hands. “To be honest, I don’t think I'll have time to read it…”

“And, I just wanted to buy it because you seemed to like it.” You look back up at him, a coy smile playing on your lips.

Was he delusional or were you… flirting?

Behind him, there’s a squeal. He looks back to see Yvonne, who quickly ducks into his office to pretend like she wasn’t just eavesdropping. 

You laugh again, and Zayne thinks he could listen to it forever.

“So, anyway,” you start again, and he realizes he hasn’t said a thing. And he did want to, god he did, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words. Zayne was embarrassed to admit how many times he had played this scenario in his head. Yet, you hold the book out to him and he takes it, wordlessly, like an idiot.

“I just came by to drop it off.”

“Well, thank you.”

THANK YOU? 

That’s it?

You’re right in front of him and all he can say is thank you?

Zayne feels like the biggest idiot in all of Linkon right now. Standing still and unable to speak to the girl who hasn't left his mind for a second. The girl people would kill to have even a second to speak to.

And he feels like you’re slipping right through his fingers.

You turn, not before flashing him that breathtaking smile of yours again. The type that leaves him wanting more. And all he can do is watch as you walk out of his bookshop, out of his life completely. Leaving nothing behind but the sweet smell of jasmine and cedar.

“Oh my god,” Yvonne is beside him now, leaning over the register counter, hands covering her face. “That is the worst fumble I have ever seen.”

Zayne flushes.

“She was literally right there! Linkon’s darling, coming back for you, and all you say is thank you?!” She tries to mimic his deep voice. 

Well, when she says it like that…

“I…”

For the first time, Yvonne sees her stoic, cold boss become speechless.

Zayne stares at the book in his hands as if he is trying to bore holes into it. As if it was at fault for his failures. Sighing, he places the book on the register. What he’s been wishing for has passed him by and he has no one to blame but himself.

Maybe he just wasn’t meant to enter your world. He was just a random shopkeeper in this vast city and you, you were way above his level. What would Linkon’s beloved star actress even be doing with a humble man like himself?

Maybe you two were just ships in the night. 

Zayne thinks he hears Yvonne continue to ramble, but he starts to examine the condition of the book. Making sure it was good to put back onto its shelf, where it truly belonged. He opens it, and his eyes widen.

A slip of paper, tucked in between the cover and the first page.

Your name in cursive lettering, a heart doodled at the end of it.

And your number.

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 1: Her Broken Heart

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: series rewrite, start of season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, eventual pining, eventual NSFW, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, health problems, lightheadedness, fainting

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: Just a note that the reader will be in the dark for a while, meaning that lots of episodes/scenes will be skipped. Also, the heart conditions/problems the reader has comes solely from extensive research and isn't meant to be completely accurate - I did my best.

Part 1: Her Broken Heart {You Are Here}

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend

Part 3: Blue Handprints

Part 4: Ollie's Catnip

Part 5: Mieczyslaw

Part 6: Orange Cream and Peachy Sugar

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Part 8: The Favor

Part 9: The Weight of Decisions

You walk purposefully to your last class of the day, holding onto the straps of your backpack like your life depended on it. New school. Old town.

It was just so noisy.

The squeak of your sneakers was drowned by the bustle of the dozens of highschoolers weaving through the hallways. Side conversations rose in volume, laughter was piercing, lockers slammed metallically, and the morning bell rang with a sharp noise.

You avoid rubbing shoulders with your peers, but inevitably a lacrosse player rams into your side while chasing a ball. You put a hand protectively to your chest, a glimmer of pain dancing across your ribs.

Breathe, you remind yourself. Just breathe.

Walking into English, you eye the rapidly filling seats. You recognize most faces even if they don’t recognize yours. A few skittish steps forward and you spot the dark silhouette of Scott McCall.

The uneven beating of your heart seems to lessen at someone you could at least talk to amicably. He appears to feel the same as he finds your gaze and smiles crookedly.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he whispers encouragingly. “It’s nice to see you finally at school.”

You smile back, “Thanks, it’s good to be out and about.” You pick the desk beside him, closest to the window. “There’s a lot of people here.”

Scott laughs, “What did you expect?”

“Less than this,” you say, thumbing the syllabus in front of you. “I thought Beacon Hills was a small city.”

You hear a cough directly behind you, fingers drumming against the metal desk surface. You flit your gaze to Scott, but he merely rolls his eyes.

“(Y/N), this is Stiles. Stiles… meet (Y/N).”

You turn in your seat to see a closely shaved head, wrinkled hoodie, and widening brown eyes.

“Uh… hi,” he says.

You swallow hard, “Hello.” Your brow furrows, “You’re Scott’s best friend.”

Stiles nods, playing with his fingers, “Yeah, for years. And you are…?”

“Another friend,” Scott interjects, “Friend of the family.”

You feel warmth as Stiles leans forward in his seat, “A friend that I’ve never heard about?”

That made your stomach clench. Of course you didn’t have many close friends, more acquaintances than anything else, but it still scared you to think you’d be judged on that fact.

“We don’t talk much,” you say quietly, turning back around.

Scott had what you hoped wasn’t a pitying look in his eye when he got distracted by neighbors ruffling through papers; then to a pencil dropping; then to a charm bracelet clanking against a desk. With each new noise his head was whipping about.

You tried to read the first page of your syllabus when a gentle tap on your shoulder startles you. You contained the jump in your heart as you turned towards Stiles.

He spoke with a soft but urgent voice, “Are you new to the town?”

“No,” you answer shortly.

“Then how come I’ve never seen you at school before?”

“I was homeschooled until this year.” The anxious fist in your stomach continues to clench further. “I’ve lived here almost all my life.”

He continues to lean forward as the teacher rose to address the class. “How do you know Scott?”

“Our parents are friends.”

“How come he’s never mentioned you before?”

You give a breathy laugh, “Do you always interrogate newcomers or is this just your usual charm?”

He finally leans back in his seat, “I like a good mystery.”

Your smiling reply makes the corner of Stiles’ mouth quirk upward, just as the teacher declares:

“Stiles, are we really going to end the day with a detention?”

Stiles looks up, frowning, “No, sir – just welcoming a new face.”

“Yes, Miss. Westbrook. I’d suggest surrounding yourself with different company. We don’t want a tainted reputation now, would we?”

Scott put a hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh as Stiles lifted his arms in silent outrage. You are stunned but feel a giggle rise in your chest.

The teacher continues, “As you all know, there indeed was a body found in the woods last night.”

The laughter in your chest dies in a cough as you replay the teachers unfeeling words in your mind.

“And I am sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened. But I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody, which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus which is on your desk outlining this semester.”

There was a collective groan, but you had already started dating the semesters projects in your academic calendar. The different books you’d be reading were some of your favorite classics: The Scarlet Pimpernel, Jane Eyre, The Count of Monte Cristo, and Sense and Sensibility.

You could already see the outline for your midterm paper on the differences between loving with sense and loving with sensibility.

Then the classroom door opened, and a pretty girl walked in with someone from the office.

“Class, this is our new student Allison Argent.”

You silently thanked the heavens that you weren’t introduced like that to the entire sophomore class. But the introduction intrigued you. Perhaps you could befriend this new student as you were somewhat new yourself.

You met her quickly by her locker after class.

“Hello,” you say in your gentle voice, “I’m (Y/N). I’m new to the school too.”

“Oh, thank god,” Allison says, “Just when I thought I’d never survive the first day.”

You grin, “New kids on the block need to stick together. How are you feeling about the move?”

“I’m used to it,” she says, leaning against the wall of lockers, “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m not new to the city, just the school. I was homeschooled before this. Jumping into the school year in January isn’t preferable, but it’s better than listening to your mom lecture about the Pythagorean theorem while doing the dishes.”

Allison laughs just as another girl walks over to introduce herself and her boyfriend. This new face, Lydia Martin, was clearly a commanding personality. And you quickly quiet yourself as she speaks to Allison.

“So, this weekend, there’s a party.”

“A party?” Allison says, taking a step closer to you.

The boyfriend, Jackson, adds, “Yeah, Friday night. You should come.”

Allison clearly didn’t want to go, judging by how she closed herself off and turned towards you. She fumbles for something to say as you note how the two popular kids never acknowledged your presence.

“Actually, we’ve already made plans for Friday night,” you say quickly, the beating of your heart increasing as Lydia made eye contact with you. “I’m helping her finish setting up her room.”

“Who are you?” Lydia asks, surveying you with her wide eyes.

Allison interjects, “This is (Y/N), she’s new to the school too.”

Lydia seems satisfied in her findings, “Pretty.” She pulls on both of your sleeves, “Let’s go to lacrosse practice.”

You panic, “Oh, no – I actually need to head to the library. The first day came with a lot of homework.” You curse the lines of judgment creasing Lydia’s brow. “I’m sorry, I need to catch up.”

“You need to pick, sweetheart. Beauty or brains. You can’t have both in this school.”

You believe that to be blatantly untrue, but you apologize again as Allison gets dragged off. You sigh, steadying your heartbeats. Your mother will be coming soon to pick you up anyway.

~~~

It was another long evening shift at the hospital working in the clinic. You assisted with logging patients in, taking their medical histories, noting their blood pressure, and administering medications.

You were currently disposing of some items in the sharps container when Nurse McCall came around with a dirty gown and gloves.

“(Y/N)!” she says cheerfully, “How are you?”

You smile, washing your hands in the nearby sink, “Tired, but that’s not unusual.”

She gave you a motherly look, eyeing you like the nurse she was. “How’s your breathing? Have you gotten lightheaded tonight?”

“Nope.” That was a lie. “I’ve been doing great. I worked through the line waiting in the clinic. Now I’ve just got to clean up before heading home.”

She raises her eyebrows, impressed. “I wish your work ethic came in a bottle. I’d give a dose to my son.”

“Oh, you should give Scott more credit. He’s working hard on the lacrosse team, I hear.”

“Have you two… has he been…”

You give a soft smile, “He’s been talking to me in class, yes. He’s been very kind to me.”

“Good,” that seems to relieve her. “I know you’re not the closest of friends but starting school in the middle of the year can’t be easy.”

“No,” you say with a sigh, “But I think I’ve made a few friends. Scott and Lydia and Allison…”

“So are you going to the party tomorrow night?”

You give a weak laugh, “I don’t think I’m made for parties, Melissa.”

“I mean,” she laughs too, “Scott is taking Allison to that party – I figured if you’re all friends now then…”

“Oh,” you compose yourself, “No, I’m not going.”

“Shame,” Melissa folds her arms, “I would’ve liked a trusted pair of eyes on my son. I tell you he’s gotten all squirrely since coming back from winter break.”

You shrug your shoulders, “I’ll check up on Allison to make sure she’s alright.”

Melissa leans over and rubs your arm, “You’ve been working like a madman since the summer. We’re all very impressed with you, (Y/N). But you have a habit of doing too much and telling us too little. You have to promise me you’ll be honest about how you’re feeling.”

You brush her off, “How many times have we had this conversation?” You take a step back, “I feel fine. The summer tuned me up. I feel I can do anything now.”

“I like the confidence,” Melissa says warmly, but she still held worry in her eyes. “I’m just looking out for you. I promised your mom.”

You grimace, “Has she been bombarding you much?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

The pair of you share a laugh, “I wish she’d stop worrying.”

“We all worry,” Melissa sighs, grabbing a new box of gloves for the nurses station. “That’s what happens when you have people that care about you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you walk around her, “I gotta go before my dad waits in the urgent care drop off too long.”

“Hey, about that…” Melissa calls after your retreating form. “I was thinking about your carpool situation and maybe you and Scott could drive together. You know – so you don’t have to rely on your parents as much.”

Anything to get more independence from your parents. “I didn’t think Scott had a car.”

“No, he doesn’t. He gets rides from his friend Stiles. Maybe you could join them?” She watches your expression grow anxious, “Or you could ask your new girl friends?”

“Yeah, right,” you snort, “Lydia and Allison live on the other side of town in those big important houses with the four-car garages.”

Melissa shrugs, “Then ask the boys. Stiles is a little… odd. But he’s a good kid.”

“Thanks, Melissa,” you give her a tired smile, “I’ll see you over the weekend.” You pull out your phone as you head to clock out.

Your connected watch reports to you the steady heartbeat you’ve had during the day – just two rapid spikes. Swiping away the health report, you text Allison and wait for her replies as you head towards your father’s car.

“So you’re actually going to the party?”

“What can I say… Scott asked me.”

You smirk, “I saw that coming a million miles away.”

“Sorry about our hangout though, I was going to tell you at school tomorrow.”

“It’s alright. I’ll just get started on the chemistry homework for next week.”

“You don’t want to come with us?”

You scoff, “And be a third wheel? No thank you.”

Your dad continues a conversation about your workday as he drove out of the hospital parking lot. “Any big cases come in?”

“No, nothing particularly stressful. Maybe one guy who was nervous around needles.”

“Good,” your dad says. “I’m proud of you sweetheart. And not a single fainting in five weeks.”

You lean your head against the window, suddenly glum, “Let’s hope it continues.”

~~~

Friday comes and you’re on the couch enjoying another read of Harry Potter. You were just getting to the confession scene in the Shrieking Shack when your mother came in with a cup of herbal tea.

“You seem a little quiet today,” she says, nestling into the opposite end of the couch.

“No more than usual,” you say, sipping the honey and herb concoction. “I usually spend Friday nights reading, mom.”

She nods, stirring her tea in thought, “Yes, usually. But in the last few months you’ve been branching out. Going to public school, getting a job at the hospital, making some new friends.”

“And while that’s all terribly exciting, I still enjoy a quiet evening with my books.”

“Of course,” your mother replies, “How have you been feeling?”

“Mom,” you groan, “I feel fine!”

She sat straighter, “You have had two dizzy spells this past week. It’s not a crime to ask how you’re doing.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I started school this week, I’m bound to be a little stressed about that, aren’t I? When I started my job at the hospital there were a few dizzy spells in the beginning, remember?”

“Yes, but you don’t tell us about them anymore. I have to pull up your watch readings to find out.”

“What’s the point? I can’t control them all. Sometimes they happen out of the blue.”

“Precisely,” she says louder, “Which is why it’s important to monitor them for your doctor’s appointments.”

You open your book in a huff, “Can we not talk about this anymore? It always puts the house in a mood.”

Your phone buzzes with a text from Allison. Your mother peers over your shoulder to see if it was a notification from your health app.

“Allison is getting a ride home from the party,” you whisper, texting a reply, “I wonder what happened with Scott.”

“Weren’t they on a date?” your mother asks, relaxed now that she knew the cause of your phone lighting up.

You shrug, “I thought so. I’m going to check on her. I’m sure she’ll want to vent.” You get up with your book and find your sneakers. “Could I have a sleepover?”

Your mother battled the rebuttal of keeping you at home – to coddle you with her security. “As long as you have your medication I don’t see why not.”

“I can drop her off on my way to the firehouse,” your father says, adorning his firefighter t-shirt and cargo pants. It would appear he had another overnight shift.

Fifteen minutes later you were outside the Argent residence, Allison waiting by the front door to welcome you with her frustrations.  

The home was tall with big, open rooms full of chandelier light. It was rich with mahogany browns and beamed ceilings. Allison was guiding you up the stairs after a quick introduction to her mother in the living room.

“I just don’t understand why he left me there,” she says with an edge, “I thought he liked me.”

“I think he does like you,” you say as you enter a beautifully decorated bedroom. “We have to remember he is a high school boy.”

Allison quirks a faint smile, “But to leave me at a strangers house… he has to know I’m new to the town. I don’t know anybody well enough to get some help! And I was not about to call my parents for a ride. That would’ve been reputation suicide.”

You clear your throat, recalling every instance your parents have carted you around, refusing to let you drive yourself. “Who gave you a ride anyway?”

“Someone named Derek Hale. He said he was a friend of Scott’s.”

You feel your uneven heartbeats pick up, “Derek Hale? He’s back in town?”

“Do you know him?”

“No, it’s just…” your mind wanders to old police reports your mother talked about and past newspapers on the dinner table. “There was a fire that burned up the Hale House years ago. Most of his family died in that fire. He hasn’t been seen for years.”

Allison crosses her arms, suddenly giving herself a kind of protective hug. “You mean, he isn’t a friend of Scott’s?”

“Not that I know of, but I’m as much of a new friend here as you are.”

“But Scott said you’re a friend of the family.”

“Yes, I do work with his mom at the hospital,” you fight to keep the Hale memories at the forefront of your mind. “But that doesn’t mean that I’ve hanged out with Scott much.”

Allison nods, still gripping her arms as creases of worry etch her face. “Why would Derek lie about being friends with Scott?”

“He didn’t try anything in the car, did he?”

“No!” she says quickly, “He was really kind, even held the door open for me. He just asked about my relationship with Scott.”

You could feel the beats in your chest stutter. They were loud in your ears, “What did you tell him?”

“Just that I met him this week. I got help from him at the veterinary clinic – I accidentally hit a dog – and he asked me to this party.”

You sit on her bed, afraid that your heart rate was increasing more, “Did Derek seem interested in just Scott?”

Allison thought about it for a few seconds before sitting in her desk chair, “Yeah, it was the only thing we talked about.”

“Which would make sense if that was the only thing you guys had in common.” You put a hand to your chest, hoping to steady yourself with some pressure. “But I still don’t think him and Scott have ever been close friends.”

“That’s slightly concerning,” she says with a shaky laugh.

You return it, trying to take a deep breath without making it too noticeable. “Other than the abrupt departure and unfortunate ride home… how are you and Scott?”

A genuine smile returns to Allison’s face, “He’s so sweet. You can just tell how nervous he is and it’s so cute. After being jumped by Lydia and her friends it was nice to meet someone more sincere.”

“Lydia can be a little overbearing,” you agree, checking your watch to see your heart rate drop to a more acceptable number. “And Scott really is a sweetheart. He can be a bit of a worrier, but I find those are the ones who care the most.”

Allison likes the calming reassurance until the sound of her mother’s voice pierced the air.

“Allison! It’s for you.”

The loudness prompts the two girls to their feet. Up on the walkway towards the staircase, the pair of you had a perfect view of the door… and the boy standing out in the cold.

“Stiles?” you say confusedly.

Allison’s mother left the door open as she returned to her spot in the living room. Stiles stood awkwardly under the porch light, “Uh… yeah, hi.”

“What’s going on?” you ask, leading the way down the stairs, “Is everything okay?”

“Is Scott okay?” Allison asks quickly, following you to the doorway.

Stiles rambled, hands on his hips, “Yeah! Yeah, Scott is fine.” His eyes lingered on you as he paused. You had an instant suspicion that he was lying. “He asked that I check up on Allison since he had to run out.”

“Well, I got home all right, no thanks to him,” she replied with a huff. “But he seemed off, like he was sick all of the sudden.”

Stiles took hold of the sudden excuse, “Yes! That’s what happened. Scott just got really sick out of nowhere, like really sick – like find me a bathroom right now kind of sick.”

You wrinkled your nose at his lack of a filter, “But you said he’s fine.”

“I mean, yeah now he’s fine,” Stiles said loudly, as if that would cover up his little slip. “He met with his mom at the hospital and she gave him some… treatment.”

Your pulse was picking up again at his obvious covering up, “You know what… I told Melissa I would stop by the hospital late tonight to get my new schedule. You just reminded me,” you smile easily, putting a hand to Allison’s arm. “Raincheck on that sleepover, I don’t want to keep Melissa up all night, especially if Scott isn’t feeling well.”

“Yeah, of course,” Allison said instantly, “And would you text me if you see Scott there?”

“Sure,” you smile, “Stiles?”

He looked to you with wide eyes, “Hm?”

“Could I get a ride?”

~~~

Stiles’ jeep was old and clanky, but in an endearing sort of way. You sat with your back more against the door than the seat, arms wrapped around yourself. Your heart hadn’t stopped beating rapidly. Any faster and you were worried about another attack.

“I’m sorry the heater doesn’t work,” Stiles said with a hint of embarrassment. He smacked the dashboard, “You look cold.”

“It’s alright,” you say quietly. You try to focus on the beats of your heart, willing them to calm down before you started to get lightheaded.

“You know what…” Stiles started to flail his arms around the wheel, trying to remove his suit jacket. He banged his head against the door before straightening out, “Here.”

You look at the outstretched jacket with endearment before quietly taking it, “Thank you.” You were much more graceful putting the jacket on, smiling at how Stiles mistook your concentration on your heart rate for being cold and uncomfortable.

“Now you need to tell me where Scott really is,” you say in your gentle tone.

Stiles suddenly gripped the steering wheel, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Scott isn’t really at the hospital. And I know something is going on with Derek Hale because he lied to Allison. And I have a funny suspicion that you know more than you were telling us.”

There was a twitch in his fingers as Stiles thought about how much to reveal, “You’re right. Something’s wrong with Scott. I don’t know exactly what, but I think he ran off and got lost in the woods.”

“He didn’t give you any hint as to why he would do that?”

“He’s just been acting weird the last few days,” Stiles continued, driving slowly. “When I saw him leave tonight and Allison get picked up… I went after him. But he ran away.”

You wrap the suit jacket closely around you, giggling at how the wide shoulders stuck out on your own frame. It smelled wonderful.

“This calls for a search party.”

Stiles looked worried and frantic again, perhaps still hiding parts of the truth from you. “You don’t mind wandering the roads by the woods? I could still take you…”

“No, I want to help,” you say against your better judgement. Your heart rate still hadn’t gone down. “Let’s start on the north side closest to where the party was at.”

It was already past midnight by the time you started scouting the woods. You kept your eyes out the window, tightly bound in Stiles’ jacket. Your heart rate remained high, the lack of proper oxygen to your brain was starting to make you feel woozy.

Your mother was not going to be happy when she checked your watch monitor.

“Hey, you alright?” Stiles asked, “You need to sleep?”

You shook your head, wincing at the slow motion feeling it produced. “No, I can stay awake.”

“It’s not a problem, really. I can drop you off at home.”

“That’ll waste time when we could be searching.” You sit up straighter in an attempt to expand your lungs. “I just need to take a breath.”

Stiles kept looking towards you just as much as he was looking in the surrounding forests. “How close are you and Scott?”

“Not very,” you say, “I’ve met him a couple times with his mom. Our parents are closer than we are.”

“And you’ve lived here most of your life and yet I’ve never met you before.”

You smile, trying to anchor yourself in your surroundings. It was another attempt to control your heart rate.

The smell of Stiles’ jacket. The rough road beneath the tires. The stale, cold air of the jeep. The sound of Stiles’ investigative voice.

“I don’t get out much.”

He laughed, “Then why the sudden change?”

“I felt like it.”

“Woman of many words,” he smirked, “You said you knew Derek Hale lied to Allison. What do you know about the guy?”

You sigh, “Just a little about his past with the house fire. My mom was a part of the dispatch call that handled the case.”

“Wait, did you just say a dispatch call?” Stiles jumped in his seat, “As in, your mom is a police officer?”

“No,” you laugh at his quick movements, “She works at the front desk helping transfer calls between civilians and officers. She hasn’t been on the active force in many years.”

Stiles had a comical scrunch on his face as he thought for a few seconds, “Your mom is Angela Westbrook? Front desk Westbrook?”

You nod, a strange furrow in your brow, “And you know her because?”

“Because my dad is the town sheriff!”

“You’re a Stilinski?”

Stiles had a shock of energy zip through him, “Yes, a Stilinski! I can’t believe our parents work together.”

“Your dad has been to my house a few times,” you say, amazed at the connections. “I wonder why he never mentioned me.”

“I guess I knew Mrs. Westbrook had a daughter, I just didn’t realize we were the same age.”

The hours ticked by as the pair of you searched the woods by the road. You both thought you’d seen some flashlights and decided to avoid them. Stiles came up with the idea to search by foot away from the woods for a mile or so.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a spare flashlight in the back,” he unbuckled his seatbelt.

You sit straighter, “I mean, wasn’t there a dead body found out there earlier this week?”

“The police are handling it.” He steps out of the car to grab his flashlight.

You stay where you are, uncomfortable with the idea of standing up when your heart rate was so close to an attack. You were lightheaded enough that the rush of standing would not bode well.

Stiles came around the other side with an exaggerated expression on his face as he opened your car door. “Forgotten how to use the handle?”

“No, I’m just…” you tug on the jacket sleeves. “I’m a little lightheaded to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” his face fell into concern immediately, “Is something wrong?”

You smile shakily, “Not at all,” you lie through your teeth. “Just be prepared to catch me if I fall.”

Stiles seemed to take that with the most seriousness as he backed up and held out a hand, “I got you.”

You struggle to breathe as you clamber out of the vehicle. You hold tightly to Stiles’ outstretched hand and wait for the inevitable feeling of the blood rushing to your legs. Your head felt empty, and stars started to twinkle in front of your eyes.

Stiles held onto your hand and put an arm around your shoulders as you swayed, “Woah, you weren’t kidding. You alright?”

After a few seconds leaning into him, squeezing his fingers with light pressure, your breaths started to come easier. Your head became clearer.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” You let go of him, checking your watch to see that your heart rate decreased to an acceptable amount.

Stiles backed away quickly, rubbing his hands awkwardly down his pants. He was hesitant to look at you when he replied, “No problem. Does that happen a lot?”

“Oh, you know…” you start venturing towards the tree line, “People get head rushes when they sit too long all the time.”

“Right,” Stiles said faintly, jogging to catch up to you. He clicked on the flashlight and aimed it towards the trees. It was dark and misty and cold. The pair of you kept hearing rustlings between the tree roots and bumping into each other.

You could have sworn you heard howls and growls, but it must’ve been the wind.

“Can I ask why you weren’t at the party?”

“You can, but the answer is boring.” You cross your arms, the too long sleeves engulfing your hands. “I don’t go to parties.”

“Because?”

“Because they make me lightheaded,” you say with a smile.

Stiles tried to pick that apart, but smiled, nonetheless. “You know the more I try to get to know you, the more confusing you become.”

“I thought you liked a good mystery.”

“I do,” Stiles confirmed, shining his flashlight up through tree branches, “I don’t like not knowing things.”

“Sorry, I’m a pretty tightly sealed book,” you shrug, “I can be very evasive.”

“And I can be very persuasive,” Stiles mocked, using a silly voice.

You bump into him again, sort of on purpose and less because you tumbled on a stray twig. “You already know plenty about me.”

“Let’s check the list, shall we?” he chuckled, “You were homeschooled. Your mom works at the station. You suffer from frequent lightheadedness. You don’t get out of the house much. And you’re already a part of the pretty girls club.”

“Excuse me?” you laugh, “The pretty girls club?”

Stiles kicked at the leaves, “Yeah, you know Lydia, Allison… you.”

“Stiles Stilinski, did you just call me pretty?”

He comically puffed out his chest, “In a roundabout way, yes I did.”

You chortle, “See you know a lot about me already. We’ve only known each other three days.”

“You’ll find I can be very determined, (Y/N),” Stiles sighed, “I’ll figure you out soon enough.”

They continued their way through the woods until they came back to the car. It did not go unnoticed that Stiles went to help you open the door and climb into the tall vehicle.

The morning light was starting to peek over the horizon by the time they got back to the roads. The pair of them were starting to grow more worried by the minute. It wasn’t a friendly search party anymore.

“I hope he’s okay,” you say quietly.

Stiles looked your way before resting his hand against the stick shift between you. “We’ll find him. Or he’ll text me as soon as he gets to a phone.”

You lean towards the dashboard, “I guess we’ll find him first.”

Walking along the side of the road, pants covered in dirt and his shirt missing, was Scott. He looked ruffled.

“What happened to him?” Stiles murmured as he pulled over.

“What happened to his shirt?” you say just as quietly. Stiles shot you a look as you strip yourself of his suit jacket.

Scott came to the door and looked shocked to see you handing over the coat. “(Y/N)?”

“Scott,” you say with a smile, “Get in.”

You scoot over to be in the middle. Stiles immediately yanked his arm away as your thigh got in the way of how he was resting his hand on the stick shift. You rubbed shoulders again as Scott got comfortable.

“Long night?” you ask.

Scott rubs at his eyes, banging his head against the window, “You have no idea.” He suddenly turns to you, pressing into your side, “How is Allison?”

“She’s fine,” you say, “I’m a little more worried about you.”

“You know what actually worries me the most?” he grumbles.

Stiles licks his lips, “If you say Allison, I’m gonna punch you in the head.”

“She probably hates me now,” Scott frowns, turning to you with regretful eyes.

You take pity on him, rubbing his shoulder, “She’s upset with you, but she doesn’t hate you.”

“But you might want to come up with a pretty amazing apology,” Stiles says candidly.

Scott groans, leaning against the headrest. You sit scrunched between them, almost scared to lean into either one. “I hear you were really sick last night. Though I don’t see how that explains your lack of clothing.”

“Night sweats,” Scott mumbles, “When I couldn’t sleep through it at home I decided to take a walk through the woods.”

“That’s a long walk,” you say, “Don’t worry, I’ll put a good word in for you with Allison.”

“Would you?” Scott says, looking at you like you were the answer to all of his prayers. “Could you make sure she knows how sorry I am?”

You pull out your phone to send that update text you promised her. “As long as you apologize in person too, I don’t see why not.”

“You’re an angel, (Y/N), thank you.” He bows his shaggy head to your shoulder before pouting against the headrest again.

“Could you drop me off a few blocks from my house? My parents think I’m sleeping over at Allison’s.”

Stiles nods, “Protective parents?”

“A little,” you smile.

“I’ll add that to the list,” he smirks. “I’ll have to open a full case file on you now.”

“That’ll be a dead end.”

Scott opens his eyes to peer at the pair of you, “Sounds like you two had as long of a night as I have.”

You yawn, “Stilinski here is trying to play high school detective. He’s on a role trying to figure out my criminal past.”

“Criminal you say,” Stiles drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “That’ll mean I need a corkboard and some red thread too.”

“What have you found out so far?” Scott muses, somewhat enjoying the change of subject.

“Not much.” Then Stiles points a finger at his best friend, “But you’ve known her longer than me – fess up. What do you know?”

Scott holds back a smile, “Did you figure out her mom works at your dads station?” After a swift nod he continues, “And that her dad is a firefighter?”

“Really?” Stiles says dramatically, “Any siblings?”

“Only child,” Scott continues, rubbing the tired from his eyes, “And she loves to read. Every time I saw her, she was always reading something.”

Stiles had a look of triumph on his face, as if it were a breakthrough in the case, “What book you reading right now?”

“Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.” You point the directions to your street, “I’m at the end when Lupin turns into a werewolf.”

“A what?” Scott says, shooting forward.

The friendly banter between you and Stiles suddenly shifts into surprise, “A werewolf. Haven’t you seen the movies?”

“Right,” he swallows hard, “It’s been a while.”

Stiles licks his lips again, “It’s ironic because last night was the full moon.”

“Oh, was it?” you hum, “That’s funny.”

~~~

You sleep off most of the weekend, having a lecture from your parents about the heart rate spike on Friday. You told them a night of rom coms and silly boy stories with Allison got you excited – that it was all fun and games.

You didn’t tell them you almost fainted because of it.

The next week was more enjoyable than the last. You excelled in your classes and spent your lunch periods reading in the library – you were already halfway through Sense and Sensibility for your midterm report.

Chemistry, History, and English were your favorite, most likely because your new friends were in those classes. Scott had become infatuated with Allison, especially after she had given him a second chance. Lydia was scheming something over her boyfriend being the captain of the lacrosse team. And Stiles was quickly becoming your highlight of each day.

He’d sit beside you during class and ask a personal question. “At least one a day,” he wagered, “I can ask at least one a day and get an answer.”

“As long as I reserve rights to refuse to answer any question.”

“I’m going to add those refusals to your case file.”

You’d roll your eyes, “Whatever you say, Stilinski.”

You were proud of the fact you hadn’t had another heart rate scare since the week before, meaning your body was adapting to the new stressful environment at school. That didn’t stop Stiles from insinuating you were going to have a lightheaded moment whenever you rose from your seat.

You never noticed how he prepared himself to grab you whenever you’d been sitting too long.

Chemistry had come around later in the week, you having arrived early to prepare the days experiment. Goggles adorning your face, you lit the Bunsen burner and tightened a flask of a chemical liquid above it.

Stiles skid over, sliding on his sneakers, “Hey, partner.” He threw his bag down and took the goggles you hand to him. He snaps them onto his face with a sharp, “ow.”

“I’ve started filling out the notes,” you say, observing how the liquid was starting to bubble with heat. “Why are you late?”

“I’m not late, you’re just early.” He sits on the stool beside you, resting his crossed arms on the tabletop. “Where were you at lunch today?”

You put a thermometer in the liquid, waiting for the right temperature, “In the library.”

“Is that where you always eat lunch?”

“You can’t eat food in the library, Stilinski.”

Stiles rubs at his nose fidgetily, “Scott and I were looking for you today.”

You pause, warmth filling your chest as you pour granules into the bubbling vial. “Sorry, I was reading for my book report.”

“(Y/N), book reports aren’t due for weeks.”

“Might as well get it done so we don’t have to worry about it,” you hum, writing down observations about the chemical reaction.

Stiles slumps a little, “Well, we missed you.”

“Scott just wants to gossip about what Allison thinks of him.”

“And what’s my excuse?”

You turn off the burner and remove the vial with tongs, “You’re trying to question me to continue your investigation.”

He sighs out a smile, “You’re right, of course. I haven’t asked you my question of the day yet.”

“I suppose I have no choice but to answer one,” you sigh with a smile on your face. “What do you have for me today?”

He was playing with his fingers when he asks, “Why do you spend lunch in the library rather than in the lunchroom with everyone else?”

You think about your answer carefully as you put away your supplies and let the vial cool down. “I don’t like being around a lot of people.”

“Why?” he presses.

You grab his goggles and snap them against his face, “Because it makes me lightheaded.”

He yelps and sways on his stool, “I’m beginning to think ‘lightheaded’ is code for something else.” He yanks the goggles from his face, and you snort at the deep lines they left around his eyes.

“Hey, there’s a science project that we need partners for,” you say as a way to change the subject. “Do you want to do it together?”

“(Y/N), we don’t have to do that project until the end of the semester.” He smiles at your antics of avoiding his questioning.

You shrug, “I like getting things done.”

He takes a deep breath, “Alright, at least I know I won’t fail the class if you’re helping me with the final project.”

After class the pair of you separate for final period, you heading to a different floor and running into someone at the bottom of the staircase. Someone tall and dark with light eyes.

That someone you recognize as Derek Hale.

You freeze on the last few steps, holding onto your backpack and feeling your heart beat unevenly again.

“You’re Derek.”

His face was cool and solemn, “What do you know about Scott McCall?”

“Why should I tell you?” Your arms erupt in goosebumps.

He steps closer, “Because I’m trying to help him. He needs to get it through his skull that I am not the enemy here. I need your influence in this.”

You hold back a scoff, fear overtaking that, “What business do you have with helping Scott?”

“Do you not know?” his eyes suddenly darken, “I thought you were one of his friends.”

“I am his friend,” you reply, “And I know people are suspicious of you.” A seed of doubt creeps up your spine, “I don’t like that a shady adult is creeping around the halls of a high school looking to make connections with students.”

He growls, actually growls much to your surprise. “I need you to tell Scott that I am here to help. I am innocent in whatever he thinks I’ve done.”

“What does he think you’ve done?” you ask quickly as Derek backs off.

“I can hear your uneven heart,” he says, turning around, “You should calm yourself.”

You put a hand to your chest, mouth agape at his retreating form. How the hell can he hear your heartbeat? A thrum of fear ripples through you as you run for your last class. You check the monitor on your watch until your heart rate was controlled before entering.

You didn’t see any of your friends until the next day. You were reading in the library over lunch again, finishing Sense and Sensibility and planning your report. You keep getting distracted by the whole situation with Derek and Scott.

What had the adult meant by befriending Scott? Why were you approached? What secret does Scott have that you didn’t know about?

You squeal as someone launches themselves over the library couch and sits beside you. Your cushion bounces as your heart leapt.

“Stiles!” you cry, “Don’t startle me like that!”

He nudges your shoulder, “Sorry, we were looking for you.”

Scott came around and sat on the arm of the couch, “It’s lunch.”

“Yes,” you say, “And I’m working on stuff in the library like I do every day.”

“No,” Stiles says, closing your book and stealing your pencil, “You’re going to join us for lunch today.”

You fight to get the pencil back, “I think I’ll just finish my report here.”

“(Y/N), there aren’t that many people in the lunchroom,” Scott says quietly, “And you’ll have us there.”

You stare Stiles down, “Did you tell Scott about my thing with lots of people?”

He shrugs sheepishly, “Come on, let’s go.” He waits as you stand, picking up your backpack for you. Scott led the way, nervous by how he wrung his hands.

“Has Allison talked about me lately?”

You shove his arm, “Scott, I can’t tell you everything we say during girl talk.”

“Girl talk?” Scott says in a panic, “I didn’t know about girl talk.”

“Yes, it’s where we drop all our juiciest secrets,” you snicker, “Including our thoughts on certain cute boys.” Scott points at himself, eyebrows raised, making you laugh. “Yes, Allison has been saying good things about you.”

Stiles matches your stride, “What about me?”

You look at him with a wide smile before leaning into Scott with another laugh.

“What? I’m a cute boy,” Stiles says, flabbergasted. “Aren’t I?”

They walk into the lunchroom that was still full of students. You spot Allison and Lydia sitting at the popular lacrosse table. Stiles, your backpack still on his shoulder, nudges you to one of the front tables.

Sitting down, Scott kept peering over at the back of Allison’s head. “See it’s not so bad in here, (Y/N).”

The patter of your heart would say differently, but you sit next to Stiles, nonetheless, pulling out your book report.

“I did mean to come talk to you guys about something that happened yesterday.” The boys lean in, eager for any strange story. “Derek Hale came to talk to me.”

Stiles slips out of his chair and crashes to the ground; Scott was stunned, “Derek Hale? Where?”

“On my way to my last class yesterday. He was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.”

Stiles crawls back onto his chair, winded, “He was inside the school? What did he want?”

You shrug, twiddling your pencil, “He wanted me to convince Scott that he was a friend. He said he was innocent, whatever that means.”

The boys share a look. You start outlining your report, “And I don’t know why but I think I believe him.”

“No, (Y/N), listen…” Stiles pulls on your shoulder so you would face him. “You cannot trust that guy. Whatever you do, do not be alone with him again, got it?”

“I don’t get it, why?”

Stiles licks his lips, urgent in the way he looks at you, “You need to trust me on this. If he tries to talk to you again, call me.”

“I would if I had your number,” you laugh. The boys pull out their phones immediately to exchange numbers. You snort at their seriousness, “If you wanted my number that bad you could’ve just asked instead of coming up with this elaborate Derek Hale story.”

“We’re not making it up,” Scott says, “That guy is dangerous.”

~~~

At the end of the week you were busy with your shift at the hospital. You had just finished checking on Jackson Whittemore who had a dislocated shoulder, and you were logging notes into the computer at the nurses station.

You were just updating a patient file when a hand slams onto the counter. You jump, clutching your chest.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles!”

Stiles was shocked at seeing you there, “Do you work here?”

“Yes, and for the love of god please announce your presence like every other normal human being and stop scaring the ever living daylights out of me!” It was a good thing they were in a hospital because your heart was about to give out.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says with wide eyes. He rubs at his face, hiding a smile, “This is how you know Scott’s mom so well.”

“Yeah, add it to my case file,” you wave a hand, fixing your scrub top, “Why are you here?”

His eyes linger at something on your chest, making him stutter, “Um… Scott and I were uh… coming to check up on Jackson.”

“That’s right, you’re all on the lacrosse team. I heard it was Scott that knocked Jackson’s shoulder out of place.”

“That would be correct,” Stiles laughs nervously, scratching at the back of his head. “Is he alright?”

You smirk, nodding towards the end of the hallway, “See for yourself.”

Lydia had come to pick Jackson up, and the pair of them were currently making out in the middle of the hall. You turn away, slightly nauseous, but Stiles keeps observing like he’s never seen a kiss before.

“She’s never been subtle,” you grimace.

His mind seemingly elsewhere, Stiles fumbles for something to occupy himself with as he waits. He picks up a pamphlet on the menstrual cycle.

“Where is Scott?”

Stiles was stuck on a diagram of the uterus, “Hm?”

“Scott,” you say again, staring at the pamphlet cover, “I thought you said you were both looking for Jackson.”

“He went to find his mom first.”

You squint your eyes, “Melissa’s shift ended two hours ago.”

“Could you explain to me the function of the fallopian tubes?”

You snatch the pamphlet away from him, “What are you two hiding?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles says nervously, “Don’t you have other patients to see or something?”

“First Derek Hale is telling me that Scott is keeping a secret and then you’re here covering for Scott while he snoops…”

“Who said anything about snooping?”

You stand from your chair, leaning towards the counter and Stiles, “Listen, I’m glad we’re finally friends. I like you guys. But I won’t be lied to forever. I deserve better than that.”

Stiles feels his chest collapse a little, sinking in on himself. “I could say the same thing about you. You’re always keeping things to yourself and giving vague answers to my questions. What do you have to hide, hm?”

A pang of hurt hit your chest, “Stiles, I’ve never lied to you about anything. If I don’t want to answer a question outright because it’s too personal, I tell you so. I’ve never hid something from you deliberately by lying to you.”

Stiles bit his tongue, folding his arms defensively.

You let the hurt show on your face, “I think you and Scott have been lying to me for a long time. About the party that Scott ran out on. About why you checked up on Allison last week. About your trust issues with Derek Hale. About what you and Scott are doing in the hospital right now…”

The will to argue was gone in Stiles, he just looks defeated as he watches the hurt fill your face. “It’s been for your own protection.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you whisper angrily.

Scott suddenly appears by the counter, out of breath. “Hey…” he saw your face, “Oh, hey what’s up?”

“Find what you were looking for?” you ask sourly before returning to your keyboard.

Scott shares a look with Stiles before muttering, “Yeah, uh… Jackson’s alright.”

“He left a few minutes ago.”

Stiles turns around to see that Lydia and Jackson really had left. He tugs on Scott’s arm and gave an imploring look towards you.

“I promise we’ll explain everything eventually.”

You keep looking at your computer screen, ignoring the words. Stiles flickers his eyes to what he noticed on your chest, just along the edge of your scrubs. Scott knits his brow as he listens to what was unmistakably the uneven pounding of your rising heart rate.

Stiles led the way to the elevators, cursing himself and smashing the downward button.

“What was that about?” Scott whispers.

“(Y/N)’s mad at me,” he rubs at his eyes harshly, “Mad at us. She knows we’re hiding stuff from her.”

“For her own good.”

“Yeah, but she sees it as us lying to her. I don’t blame her for being upset. We’ve been pretty crappy friends keeping her at arm’s length.”

Scott frowns, walking into the elevator, “You forget that keeping her in the dark keeps her safe.”

“Well, not anymore with Derek roping her into it.” He leans against the wall, holding tight to the railing. “Did you notice the scar on her chest?”

“No,” Scott says, “But I did notice her heartbeat. It was all over the place. She must’ve been really upset.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, “Did you find anything in the morgue?”

~~~

The next evening you drove with your mother back to the hospital. You were still aching with the argument you had with Stiles. You knew something was going on between him and Scott, but you still didn’t know what.

Your mother sensed your mood and said in a cheery voice, “We made an arrest today about that woods murder.”

“Did you?” you say in a quiet tone.

“Yeah, Derek Hale. He’s been back in town for a couple weeks. I guess there was evidence on his burnt property.”

You close your eyes, thinking back to the warning about Hale. “Good thing you got him.”

“And then I got a strange call on dispatch today from the Sheriff’s son.”

“Stiles?” you say.

She hums, “He’s one strange kid.”

“Does he call dispatch often?”

“He’s not allowed to anymore, but he did call today about a dog sighting.”

You shake your head, “You’re right, he can be real strange.”

“Are you sure you can’t make the big game tonight?” your mother asks. “Everyone is going, even the Sheriff.”

“I can’t. I’m helping on Melissa’s floor since she took it off to see the game.”

“That’s right,” she replies, “Shame. I’m sure your friends would’ve liked to see you in the stands.”

You turn in your seat, staring your mother down, “I thought you’d object to me watching a heart racing game surrounded by loud, rowdy people, standing in the frigid cold air.”

She shrugs, “You’ve been proving yourself capable of handling your heart rate, even when it’s the spur of the moment.”

A sudden warmth creeps up your chest. Your mother was starting to trust you despite the illnesses. It was just enough of a mood shift to prompt you to text Scott and Stiles good luck at the game.

The shift was long and grueling; you were exhausted by the end of it. Another medical assistant drove you home late, no doubt long after the lacrosse game was over. You made a mental note to commend Melissa for handling such a difficult floor of the hospital.

Your mom had been called away because of a case update and your father was on an overnight shift at the firehouse again. You were quick to shower the nights worth of patient grime off your body and throw your scrubs right into the washer.

You were just applying lotion in your pajamas when something hit the glass of your window. Startled, you stood from your bed and waited for it to happen again.

A small pebble flew through the air and pings against your window.

Peering through the glass, you saw a disheveled, sweatshirt-wearing Stiles holding a handful of your garden rocks. He waves at you shyly as you struggle to slide the window open.

“What are you doing?”

Stiles holds up his hands, “Seeing if you were awake.”

“And you couldn’t think to text?” you say incredulously, “Put those rocks back.”

He threw his handful of rocks on your mothers tulips, “My phone died like an hour ago.”

You stood there, leaning on your windowsill, regarding him with a soft expression. He looks tired and scared, eyes looking up and imploring as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Then what’s up?” you ask.

He swallows hard, the cold air making his breath come out in icy clouds. “I wanted to talk… about what you said yesterday.”

“How did you know where I live? You dropped me off at the end of the street, remember?”

“Well, yeah,” he chuckles, “And I just watched you walk to this house.” He scratches the back of his head, “Or maybe I looked up your mom on my dad’s computer and found her employee records.”

You nod your head slowly, “That sounds about right.”

“Can I… Can I come up?”

You bite at your lips, hair still wet from the shower. “Sure.”

It was like letting a dog off a leash. Stiles frantically jumps to the garden trellis growing on the front of your house. He struggles past the vines and up the wooden ladder, ignoring your calls of disapproval. He was huffing and puffing by the time he made it to the roof and next to your window.

“Stiles,” you say in your gentle voice, “My parents aren’t home. You could’ve come through the front door.”

His mouth was dry from panting in the cold night air, “Right, but that wouldn’t have been as impressive.”

You watch his fumbling figure fall from the window and onto your carpeted floor, “Yeah, that was real impressive, Stilinski.”

There was only a side table lamp on, lighting the bedroom in a soft peachy glow. You went to sit cross-legged on your bed, patting the covers in front of you for Stiles to sit.

He fixes his shirt, taking your offer before looking you in the eye. “(Y/N), I wanted to say that I was sorry.”

You look towards your hands, playing with the edge of your comfy pajama shirt. You could smell the fruity scent of your lotion still on your fingers.

“I didn’t realize our covering up was so obvious to you. We just wanted to protect you, but I guess it does seem like we betrayed your trust.” He keeps his eyes on you, waiting for you to look at him again, “When I got your good luck text I thought maybe there was still a chance you weren’t super angry with me.”

“Just a little,” you say quietly, giving him a soft smile.

“I wanted to tell you some things that we’ve been hiding from you,” he holds his hands up, “As a peace offering.”

You shake your head, “How generous of you.”

“The body that was found in the woods… Scott and I found it. Us visiting the hospital? That was Scott and I trying to find evidence on the partial body. Derek Hale? He had been seen on the property where we found the other half of the body. He was also in the woods with the first half. We were suspicious of him, and he was basically stalking us because of it.”

You listen carefully, your heartbeat was loud in your ears. “And when he came to talk to me?”

“That terrified us. We thought he was a murderer, and he was talking to you… alone.”

“You thought? My mom told me he was arrested today for the murder.”

Stiles rubs at his face with a tired hand, “Not anymore. The coroner’s said the cause of death was from an animal attack. And the victim was Laura Hale – Derek’s sister.”

“Must be nice having your dad be the sheriff,” you smile. “So Derek’s innocent like he told me he was.”

“I still don’t trust him. He’s not telling us everything. And since we’ve gotten him thrown in jail, my guess is he’s not very happy with us.”

You nod, your head clearer than it was at the beginning of the week.

“Is that everything you’ve been hiding?”

Stiles licks his lips, a nervous habit you’re realizing. “Do you remember when you said you don’t lie, you’re just honest about not sharing the whole truth?” At your nod he continues, “There is one more thing, but it’s not fully my thing to tell. We want to tell you, but it’s not exactly safe at the moment.”

You take the cryptic words and stew with them for a while. “Apology accepted.”

He let out a deep breath, “Thank goodness. Scott would have never forgiven me if we lost our one connection to the pretty girls club.”

You punch his shoulder and laugh, “The one thing I’m good for… gossip from the girls.”

Stiles rubs his shoulder, “That’s not why we want you around.” He clears his throat at your sudden undivided attention, “What I mean is… you’ve been a good friend, and we like you.”

“You and Scott,” you smile.

“Yeah, me and Scott.”

“Scott and I,” you correct, brushing the wet hair from your face, “How was the game?”

Stiles sat more relaxed on your bed, “It was great, we won. And there weren’t any injuries like Jackson’s.”

“Good,” you smile, “And Scott had a pretty victorious after party, so I’ve heard.”

“Allison texted you?” Stiles questions.

You shrug, “Of course. She said you were watching like a little pervert.”

Stiles chokes on his gasp, “I am not…” 

“You were watching Lydia and Jackson too. There’s a trend I’m noticing,” you tease.

He shoves your crossed knee, relishing in your laugh, “Very funny.” He eyes the neckline of your pajama top, searching for the edge of the scar he noticed yesterday. “Can I ask you my one personal question of the day?”

“Fine,” you sigh, “Ask away.”

“Where did you get that scar?” he nods towards your chest.

You immediately clam up, covering the spot protectively. “I got it over the summer.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, egging you on, “How?”

“I had a surgery.” You watch the concern begin to etch into Stiles’ face. “I don’t like talking about it.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, blinking rapidly as he tries to compute the information, “But you’re okay now. The surgery helped you be… healthy?”

“For the most part,” you say quietly, “The surgery did help me be healthier.” You could already see the cogs turning in his mind. He was going to head home and research what surgeries would leave scars like that on the side of the chest.

His eyes wander your room for a minute before landing on your nightstand. There were three different sized prescription pill bottles resting there. He returns his gaze to you, but didn’t ask further questions, “So I was thinking… how about I give you rides to school from now on.”

You let out an anxious smile, grateful he didn’t press you about your health problems. “Honestly, that would be great.”

“Good,” he seems pleased with himself, “And in return for gas money, you come to our lacrosse games.”

You outstretch a hand, “Deal.”

Stiles takes your hand to shake and instantly blurts, “You smell really good.”

You laugh, “I did just shower.”

He awkwardly lets go of your hand, standing from the bed, “No, you always smell good.”

“Thanks Stilinski.”

[polarismirage]

A CLOCK STRIKES A BELL RINGS

OUT OF THE FOREST, BEYOND THE HILLS PAST THE CITY GATES, THROUGH THE CROWDED STREETS INTO THE CITADEL PORTCULLIS, AND ABOVE THE THRONE ITSELF THE CLOCK OF PERPETUA COUNTS DOWN ANOTHER DAY

UNTIL TOTAL OBLIVION

But below that clock, and in that city, and in those hills and those forests and beyond Life goes on

People go about their business

Destruction is inevitable But today? There are errands to run, lessons to learn, swords to swing, lovers to make eyes at, and adventures to go on

At least for the next few hundred years, until the world ends, like it always does Despite the machinations of kingdoms, and churches, and academies, and armies

Grande Sonnerie

The Elevana League

The Dragon Watchers

The Protectorate of Placidia

The Hundred Burroughs

The Empire of the Blue Hour

The Passikan Remnants

The Ennead Itself

These great powers act as if Perpetua was their grand game or their perfect story, the people below just pieces on the board or characters in their book. They do not understand that it is both. A story of eager explorers and scintillating scions. A game of experienced inventors and erstwhile wizards. A journey of the innocent, the guilty, and the redeemed. And when story and game meet, a piece may suddenly become a player, a character transformed into author, and if they are lucky, a scripted ending turned to new beginning.

[herpsandbirds]

For the blue snake query off the top of my head there's the common tree snake (Dendrelaphis punctulatus) in Queensland which has a substantial blue phase population. as well as the desert whip snake (Demansia cyanochasma) that was classified in 2023 (though i guess this one is only *half* blue haha)

Blue Snakes!

I had not seen the bllue phases of either of these snakes. This is really cool... I GUESS Demansia could be considered turquoise, thats a shade of blue(ish).

Australian or Common Tree Snake (Dendrelaphis punctulatus), family Colubridae, found in coastal regions in northern and eastern Australia

photographs: Gary Bell, Pierson Hill, & Stewart Macdonald

Desert Whip Snake (Demansia cyanochasma), family Elapidae, found in arid regions of Australia

Venomous.

Described in 2023.

photographs by Brad Marayan & Brian Bush

[adventuresofalgy]

The weather had changed, just as the forecast had predicted, and although the air rushing in from the south-east was milder, it was arriving on a very brisk wind… And by nightfall it would be raining again, or so the weather birds were saying, but for the moment at least it remained dry, and there was even some hazy sunshine at times, although at other times the sky turned entirely grey.

Algy perched among the still-bare brances of a dense clump of hazel bushes near the burn, and looked around. Although the landscape still appeared entirely drab from a distance – except where there were dazzling stands of gorse – closer inspection revealed bright new things beginning to grow, and in places there was even some fresh green on the ground, although it was not yet the green of grass.

As he rested among the hazel twigs Algy reflected:

Once more the Heavenly Power Makes all things new, And domes the red-plowed hills With loving blue; The blackbirds have their wills, The throstles too. Opens a door in Heaven; From skies of glass A Jacob's ladder falls On greening grass, And o'er the mountain-walls Young angels pass. Before them fleets the shower, And burst the buds, And shine the level lands, And flash the floods; The stars are from their hands Flung through the woods, The woods with living airs How softly fanned, Light airs from where the deep, All down the sand, Is breathing in his sleep, Heard by the land. O, follow, leaping blood, The season's lure! O heart, look down and up, Serene, secure, Warm as the crocus cup, Like snow-drops, pure! Past, Future glimpse and fade Through some slight spell, A gleam from yonder vale, Some far blue fell; And sympathies, how frail, In sound and smell! Till at thy chuckled note, Thou twinkling bird, The fairy fancies range, And, lightly stirred, Ring little bells of change From word to word. For now the Heavenly Power Makes all things new, And thaws the cold, and fills The flower with dew; The blackbirds have their wills, The poets too.

[Algy is thinking of the poem Early Spring by the 19th century English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson.]

[moonlightkitties]

Christmas/Winter Themes Prompts

These are the fics I will be writing every day up in December until Christmas! Most of them are fluff but I have a few angst ones I'm going to write. I'm so excited to write these!

First Snowfall of the Year (Sean MacGuire x Reader) - Celebrating the first snowfall of the year in your new homestead, you and Sean sleep in and spend some time with each other.

Snowball Fight (Micah Bell x Reader) - After doing all your chores and just wanting to rest, Micah ruins it by throwing a freezing cold snowball at your face.

O' Christmas Tree (John Marston x Reader) - John is struggling to put the Christmas tree up while you sort through decorations.

Snowy Horse Ride (Arthur Morgan x Reader) - After a long day of chores, you and Arthur relax by taking the horses out in a cozy snowy ride.

Snowstorm Cuddles (Charles Smith x Reader) - After getting stranded in a snow storm while on a hunting trip, you and Charles share body heat to help warm up.

Christmas Movie Marathon (Michael De Santa x Reader) - Having nothing to do, you and Michael spend the day watching every Christmas movie you find.

Gingerbread Houses (Trevor Philips x Reader) - After getting gingerbread houses for both you and Trevor, you get home and ask him to make one with you. Trevor being Trevor, makes it into a competition and gets frustrated when the icing doesn't keep the walls up.

Christmas Cookies (Wade Hebert x Reader) - You and Wade make Christmas cookies and get flour everywhere.

Peppermint Mochas (Dave Norton x Reader) - Wanting to spoil your older, exhausted husband, you surprise him by making peppermint mochas.

Christmas Lights (Steve Haines x Reader) - You force Steve to take you to go look at Christmas lights.

Pretty Kitty (Lenny Summers x Reader) - You and Lenny find a cat in the snow and take it home.

My Big Strong Man (Bill Williamson x Reader) - You watch Bill chop firewood from the porch of your home.

Mistletoe (Dutch Van der Linde x Reader) - Going to a Christmas party at the Marstons place seemed fine and dandy, until Dutch tries everything he can to get you under the mistletoe.

It's Beginning to look a lot like Christmas (Michael De Santa x Reader) - Michael hasn't been spending a lot of time with you now that he makes movies. Feeling bored, you take the Christmas decorations down from the attic and start decorating.

Northern Lights (Charles Smith x Reader) - Celebrating your first Christmas in Canada, Charles takes you to see the northern lights.

Winter Blues (Arthur Morgan x Reader) - When Mary shows up, unannounced, at your and Arthur's snow covered homestead, what should have been a happy December day, turns into an anxious one as you wonder if Arthur still loves her.

Ice Fishing (Kieran Duffy x Reader) - It's your first time ice fishing with Kieran and he makes sure he has everything before the long weekend.

Christmas Dinner (Dutch Van der Linde x Reader) - You and Dutch go to your parents for Christmas dinner and he hits it off with your father.

Ice Skating (Jack Marston x Reader) - You and Jack have been dating for a few months now, when it starts snowing and the lake has been frozen over, you convince him to ice skate.

Sledding (Kieran Duffy x Reader) - After buying a sled for the kids, you and Kieran spend the entire day pulling them around and pushing them down hills.

The Fat Man (Trevor Philips x Reader) - Ever since he was a child, Trevor Philips was scared of Santa. When you and him have children, he swore he wasn't going to introduce them to "the fat man." After pouting and begging him to let you do Santa with them, he reluctantly agreed.

Twas a night before Christmas (Lenny Summers x Reader) - Lenny reads "A night before Christmas" to your kids.

Sick on Christmas (Orville Swanson x Reader) - It's Christmas morning, and instead of opening presents like you wanted to, you're stuck in bed battling a really bad cold with Orville to help you.

Christmas Eve (Arthur Morgan x Reader) - After putting the kids to bed and putting the rest of the presents under the tree, you and Arthur slow dance in the living room.

Surprise! (Bill Williamson x Reader) - Bill has been weird all week, very giddy and anxious for Christmas day. When it comes, he brings out the one thing you have been wanting for YEARS; a blue merle border collie.

[regatoni1]

Smells Like Home

Inspired by @teletubbyinlipstick ! Let me know how y'all like it... if even one person says it's good I might make a little mini fic who knows ->

https://www.tumblr.com/teletubbyinlipstick/773874556933996544/something-something-abo-multihybridau-tf141?source=share

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, and there wasn’t supposed to be this many. 

It was supposed to be a cute situation, maybe standing on a down breeze while walking through the park and smelling them. 

I was supposed to be wearing a cute sundress and the bees were supposed to be buzzing and the butterflies flying.

Not me, hungover in my sweatpants, going to the corner store for some much needed energy drinks and catching a whiff of not one, not two, but four of the most delicious smelling alphas I had ever smelt. 

I knew, from the moment that one gust of wind hit my nose, that they were all somehow my mates. It wasn’t like they each had an individual smell, but a mix of scents that complimented each other.

They were each other, through and through. 

That’s how I found myself standing there, wide eyed, empty handed, staring at a group of the scariest four men I had ever seen. 

But they were staring at me too, looking just as bewildered as I felt. 

My heart was pounding in my chest and before I could take another breath of their sweet, amber scent, I shook my head and rushed into the shop.

I tried to collect myself. 

This. Was. Not. Happening. 

Not here, not like this. 

I spent way longer in the store than I should have, dropped the one drink I went in there to buy, and almost left it on the counter after I paid. 

They were waiting for me. 

I could feel it before I saw them, before I even left the store. 

I stood frozen, drink in hand and about six feet away from the door. 

“Is everything okay ma’am?” the cashier asked. 

It must seem like I was high, or scared. Maybe both.

I nodded, shooting him an unconvincing smile from over my shoulder. “Yeah, thanks!” 

Collecting my bravery, I walked out of the store. I couldn’t even hear the bell over the blood rushing in my ears. 

The hushed conversation between them stopped immediately. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fu-

“Hey.”

I froze. 

I was scared. 

Why was I scared?

Turning, I faced them. 

I take them each in. Different… but the same. 

Tall, muscular, so very alpha…

Three of them were standing in a little circle, one of them with his back against the wall and smoking a cigarette. 

My eyes were wide as I hesitated near them. 

Being this close was so overwhelming I couldn’t think straight. 

Their attractiveness, their aura, the smell. I was surprised my knees didn’t buckle right then and there. 

They had to be my mates, right? Maybe one of them was, and they were pack bonded? So it felt like all of them? 

Something was happening, because if these were just random people I would be running for the hills. 

They were all so scary. So intimidating. 

Every little thing about them screamed danger, and I was staring it in the eyes. 

I couldn’t see any weapons on them, but I knew they had them. These were men with enemies. They were also men who could, and probably had, killed with their bare hands. 

“Hi,” I blushed. I felt so juvenile.

One of them took a step forward. 

He looked like the oldest, maybe the leader? 

He had a beard that covered his chin, a little bucket hat that he just somehow made work, a tight shirt that strained against his chest as his burly arms crossed over it, and piercing blue eyes that I felt I could trust. 

It had to be him, right?

“You…” he trailed off, his eyes travelling down and back up my body. 

He licked his lips before he continued. “What’re you doing here?”

My mouth opened to reply, then closed. I glance at the can in my hand. He does the same. “Um… what do you mean?” 

He takes the smallest step forward, but stops himself. “My name’s Price. John Price.” 

I stared. Did he want me to respond? 

I glanced at the rest of the men standing behind him. 

They were all staring at me.

John continued to speak, a small and knowing smile on his face. “I think we all know what’s happening here, right?” 

I licked my lips nervously, a tic that did not go unnoticed. 

“I…”

I chided myself for the lack of confidence I displayed. 

Clearing my throat, I tried to continue. “Yeah. I think I might.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Then you understand that you have to come with us.”

I blinked once, then twice. My brows drew together. 

His words almost sounded like a threat, but he said them in a way that made me feel like he was just right, that there wasn’t any other way to go about it. 

Again, my mouth gapes before making noise. “What?” 

[sweetbutpsychobutsweet]

Smoke, Iron, and Thorin

Chapter 1

Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Summary: you prepare for the quest to reclaim Erebor by meeting your kin in the home of a very disgruntled hobbit. However, you don't expect to face your first obstacle before you even step foot out the door, when an unexpected ghost from your past darkens the door of the hobbit hole.

Warnings: eventual smut, no use of y/n, angst

Word count: 1833

Author's note: This is my FIRST fic! The beginnings of this story have been sitting in my computer for sooo long and for whatever reason today I just decided to jump headfirst into being a Tumblr writer! I'm still very new to this, so I welcome all kinds of constructive feedback/criticism. If there are any warnings/tags you think I missed just let me know :) Reader is AFAB! half dwarf/half human, but still grew up in the halls of Erebor. We'll get more into her background and her history with Thorin later on in the series! Enjoy!

“What do you think they’ll have?” Filli asks with giddy excitement as they pass each hobbit hole on their way through the shire.

“what do you mean?” you ask absentmindedly, scanning each door for the symbol Gandalf instructed you to look for.

“For supper of course,” Killi replies. “He said there would be lots of food, and no one can cook quite like a hobbit can.” you can’t deny the intoxicating aroma that has seeped into your nose with every inhale since the moment you arrived in the shire. Freshly baked bread, patiently cured meats, and hearty stews seem to be baking all around you as the sun finishes its descent behind the lush rolling hills of the shire.

Darkness has settled all around as the inhabitants of the hobbit holes settle in for the evening. The only remaining light comes from the lamps illuminating the doorways and the warming hearths inside every cozy little hole.

“I see it!” You shout triumphantly when you glimpse the blue mark glowing on the green door of a hobbit hole.

The two dwarves are so anxious for a hot meal that they’ve already bounded up to the door to ring the bell before you can even blink.

The front door is pulled open abruptly and a very frustrated hobbit groans at the sight of you. A reaction that is not all that uncommon while traveling with dwarves, so the three of you greet him enthusiastically regardless.

“You must be Mr. Boggins,” Kili begins.

“Nope!” the hobbit shouts, “you can’t come in, you’ve come to the wrong house!” he tries and fails to close the door on the three of you.

“What?!” you all shout in confusion. Knowing there is absolutely no way you are at the wrong door.

“Has it been canceled? No one told us.” the brothers protest. 

“No, nothing’s been canceled,” the hobbit starts to explain.

You all sigh in relief and continue to push your way further inside.

The home is filled with the overlapping chatter of dwarves and the clattering of weapons being tossed into the arms of the frazzled hobbit.

Dwalin’s booming voice greets the three of you, quickly recruiting you all to join in the organized chaos that is preparing the cramped dining room for even more dwarves to arrive. 

Food is tossed about, ale sloshed onto the floor, and poor Bilbo’s house is an absolute wreck. You can’t help but feel sorry for your host, but you also can’t bring yourself to pull away from the merriment just yet.

It had been so long since you’d last been around so many of your dwarven friends. Up until beginning your journey several weeks ago, you hadn’t even seen Kili and Fili for many years. 

But their mother, Dis had always been a very good friend of yours. Ever since growing up Erebor, you had felt as closely connected to her family as she was to yours. 

Unfortunately, due to the arrival of a dragon, and stubborn dwarvish pride you had long ago gone your separate ways. Save for the occasional letter. Much like the letter you received asking if you would be willing to accompany her two reckless sons on their latest journey.

Kili and Fili were not exactly known for their self-preservation instincts and the journey that lay before you would not be an easy one. But even if it weren’t as a favor to Dis, you would have said yes regardless. Nothing in the world would be able to prevent you from helping to finally reclaim your homeland, and defeat the great beast that took so much from you.  

Several pints of ale have loosened your inhibitions and you now find yourself laughing and singing along with the rowdy bunch, not a care in the world.

Until a heavy knock comes on the door.

Silence falls over the hobbit hole.

“He’s here,” says Gandalf.

“Who’s here?” you ask in confusion.

No answer comes, and everyone is suddenly averting their gaze from yours as Gandalf crosses the room to open the door. You have a bad feeling about what’s on the other side.

Gandalf pulls it open with a flourish and is greeted by a deep voice. A familiar voice.

No, you think to yourself. It can’t be.

But sure enough, Thorin Oakenshield is stepping through the front door. 

He says something to Gandalf but you can’t fully make out what it is.

Your ears are ringing loudly and a white, hot flame is blazing deep inside your belly.

Suddenly you’re back to the last time you saw him, years ago. Tears streaming down your cheeks in the doorway of the dusty old inn.

“He looks more like a grocer than a burglar,” Thorin laughs as he turns towards the dining room. Where his eyes immediately lock with yours. You can see the exact moment he realizes you’re there. His eyes widen in shock and your name slips past his lips in a breathless whisper. 

For what feels like the longest second of your life, he simply stands there taking you in. From the braided strands framing your face to the silhouette of your long green traveling dress. You could almost swear he looked…happy to see you. 

And that only adds more fuel to the fire inside you. 

“Thorin,” you growl and curl your fists at your side. “What are you doing here?” you hiss.

He narrows his eyes back at you. “What am I doing here? I am the leader of this company, what are you doing here? It isn’t safe for you, lass.”

You scream in frustration. The sexist pig! You have just as much of a right to be here as everyone else and he knows it. Your arm reaches up of its own accord to smack that self-righteous look right off his face. But before your hand can make contact Fili grabs your arm and pulls you away.

You whirl around and shove him away from you.

“You!” you glare between Kili and Fili redirecting your anger. “You lied to me!” they both start to protest but before they can form a single sentence you hold up a finger and they both fall silent. 

“You told me, he wouldn’t be here! You looked me right in the eyes and lied to my face,” you grind out, barely containing the urge to strike them both upside the head.

“We didn’t want to,” Fili begs.

“It was our mother’s idea, she knew that was the only way you would agree to come.” Kili finishes.

You laugh humorlessly. “And she was absolutely right, I’m leaving!” you turn on your heel and march straight towards the door. But before you can fully push past him, Thorin’s hand encircles your wrist and firmly pulls you back to look at him.

It was a mistake letting yourself stand any closer to him. As soon as you do his scent envelopes you. Smoke, iron, and Thorin. You yank stubbornly on his grip, desperate to put some distance between the two of you but he is too strong. 

“Wait,” he whispers to you, both commanding and desperate. “You cannot make the journey back alone, it is already dark, who knows what is lurking along those roads-”

You scoff and reach your free hand behind you for the dagger concealed underneath your corset. Before he can continue you have it pressed firmly against his throat. You apply just enough pressure that you know he can feel the blade stinging against his skin, but he doesn’t even blink. You lean in closer to him looking deep into his eyes.

“I can take care of myself,” you whisper. “I’ve had a lot of practice at it as of late.” And he loosens his grip just enough for you to yank yourself free. You remove the dagger from his throat and attempt to resume your departure, but this time it is Gandalf who stands in your way.

“I am sorry we misled you, my dear. But I’m afraid we cannot accomplish this task without you.” you lift the dagger up defiantly and point it at his chest, but you both know it is an empty threat.

“I don’t care,” you reply. “It’s not my problem.”

“You do, and it is,” the wizard replies. “I know how you’ve spent the last years, you are the only one who possesses the knowledge and connections we need to accomplish this feat.” 

You hear the whispers of confusion from behind you. They clearly didn’t know how you had dedicated the last several years of your life to searching, reading, and studying every resource you could get your hands on in preparation for this exact task.

“I know how badly you wish to return home,” Gandalf continues, as if he could read your mind. “A great deal was taken from you that day, and you are not the type to let that stand. So the question remains: who deserves your wrath more at this moment? Thorin or Smaug?”

You let your arm fall back to your side, tucking the dagger back away.

“Who says it can’t be both?” you challenge him.

Gandalf laughs and shakes his head.  

“Oh you are part dwarf indeed my child. Hold onto whatever anger you wish. But don’t let it get in the way of you reclaiming your homeland, defeating Smaug, and finally laying your parents to rest.”

You clench your jaw in frustration. You know he’s right, but you hate to admit it.

“We can do this without her,” Thorin grumbles from behind you. “If she wishes to leave she can, I’ll have someone escort her home safely.” 

You finally whirl around to glare at him again. He doesn’t want you here, he doesn’t think you can do it. He doesn’t think a ‘helpless girl’ can hold her own on a dangerous journey such as this one.

You smirk back at him defiantly. 

“On second thought,” you place one hand on your hip and extend the other out toward Balin. “I’ll sign that contract now,”

Thorin grumbles and glares at you in protest. 

Balin moves faster than you’ve ever seen the dwarf move, handing you the contract before you can change your mind or Thorin can argue against it. 

You scribble your name at the bottom and shove it into Thorin’s chest as you saunter past him in search of another pint of ale.

You lost count of how many more drinks you downed before passing out in one of the soft armchairs by the fire. 

You stir briefly when a familiar scent meets your nose and a thick blanket is gently draped across your sleeping form.

You could swear you feel the whisper of a touch ghost across your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

But before you can wake any further, a deep voice starts to sing:

Far over the misty mountains cold…

More voices start to join in the melody, and before you know it you are lulled deeper and deeper back into a dreamless sleep.

Next Chapter

[stargoose-photo]

Kit's Coty House (megalithic burial chamber), Blue Bell Hill, Kent, England, June 2024.

[slut4megantheestallion]

"Blue hair"

Summary: Moving to a new town sucks, not having any friends, being alone and feeling like you don't belong, until you caught the eye of a blue haired girl who made you change your mind about Arcadia Bay.

Warning: reader is shy, Chloe being chloe, fluff, fem!reader,

Pairing = Chloe price x fem!reader

A/n: idk but this song just reminds me of chloe so much for some reason lol.

The move to Arcadia Bay wasn't your idea. It was your parents' decision to move and look for 'A slower pace of life' they call it. they said it would be good for everyone without even asking you what you wanted or think without even giving you a chance. It was all bullshit, of course. You had to leave all your friends behind, nostalgic memories, your school, and everyone familiar behind to move to a rainy, sleepy town felt like a punishment.

Your new house was small but cozy, perched on a hill that overlooked the bay. It had a nice view, you had to admit, but it just doesn't feel like home to you. Nothing did. You spent the first few days unpacking boxes and trying not to think about the inevitable first day at your new school at Blackwell Academy.

Blackwell Academy wasn't exactly welcoming on your first day there. The students here seemed to have their own cliques firmly established. You were just an outsider. As you pass through the crowded hallway, clutching on to your schedule like a lifeline, you feel invisible. People barely glanced at you, their conversations flowing seamlessly around your presence.

Lunchtime was the worst. The cafeteria was loud and chaotic, full of laughter and chatter that didn't include you. You tried to interact with people, but they just looked at you weird or barely even acknowledged your existence. After grabbing a tray of food, you found an empty table in the farthest corner and sat down, keeping your head low. You ate quickly, pretending to scroll through your phone to avoid looking up and to pass time so you can go home.

By the end of the day, you were exhausted - not just from classes, but from the sheer effort of existing in a place that you didn't belong. As the final bell rang, you took your time packing up, hoping to avoid the rush of students leaving for the day.

Stepping outside, you were greeted by a light drizzle of rain, the kind that clung to your skin and made everything feel heavier. You zipped up your jacket and adjusted your bag, mentally preparing for the walk home, until you heard a voice behind you.

"Hey, new kid." The voice startled you. You turned around to see a girl with eccentric blue hair against the wall near the entrance, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. She wore ripped jeans, a leather jacket, and a smirk that seemed permanently etched onto her face.

"Uh, hi." You said hesitantly, not knowing what to say and how to act.

"You look like you're about to have a meltdown." She said, pushing off the wall and strolling towards you. "Rough first day?"

You shrugged. "I guess."

She stopped a few feet away, tilting her head as she studied you, making you a bit uncomfortable. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"Not really." You admitted, feeling self- conscious under her gaze

"Well, lucky for you, I'm a talker." She said, grinning. "I'm Chloe. Chloe Price." She held out a hand, and you shook it cautiously. Her grip was firm but not aggressive, and her confidence both intimidated and oddly comforted.

"What your name?" Chloe asked curiously, taking another drag from the cigarette.

"Uhh, my name is Y/n. Y/n L/n." You told her, and she nodded thoughtfully. "Cool, so what brings you this shithole?" Chloe asks as both took a little walk together.

"My parents wanted a change." You said, trying not to sound bitter. "They think small- town life is 'charming."

Chloe snorted at that comment. "Charming my ass, nothing about this town is charming. This place is a dump, but hey, you've got me now, so it's not all bad." Chloe said boldly, grinning at you as you looked back at confused.

You blinked at her bluntness. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm adopting you. You look like you could use a friend, and I'm bored. Win-win, right?" Despite yourself, you laughed. "I guess so." "Come on." She said, jetting her head towards the parking lot. "I'll show you around, better than just sitting alone at home, laying in bed and just staring at walls." Chloe says convincingly. You didn't want to be home right now, and it would be boring being home and just listening to your thoughts and having no one else to talk to. You're already lonely enough at school.

"Ok." You agreed as chloe smiles back at you, as you both walk to her truck that's parked in the parking lot.

Chloe's truck was as chaotic as she was. The dashboard was covered in stickers, the seats were worn out and patched, and the faint smell of cigarettes and motor oil lingered in the air. She cranked up the radio as soon as you got in, the speakers blasting a punk rock song you didn't recognize as chloe tapped her fingers to the rhythm of the music.

"So, new kid." She said as she drove. "What's your deal? Do you have any hobbies? Deep, dark secrets?"

"I'm not that interesting." You said, shrugging.

"Oh, Cmon, you have to have at least something juicy, everyones interesting." Chloe countered. "You just gotta know where to look." She spent the drive pointing out the town's landmarks: the diner where her mom works at, the run-down gas station, the beach, and the tiny movie theater that looked like it hadn't been uploaded since the 80s.

Eventually, she pulled into a junkyard on the outskirts of town. "Well, this is my spot." Chloe says, hopping out of the truck. "It's not much, but it's mine." You followed her through the maze of rusted cars and discarded appliances, marveling at how easily she navigated the chaos. She led you to a clearing where an old couch sat under a makeshift canopy.

"Welcome to my Kingdom." She said, flopping onto the couch. You laughed, sitting down beside her. "It's... unique." You said, looking around the whole place as chloe smirked at you. "Translation: weird." Chloe said, smirking. "No, I meant it's like kind of cool." You insisted.

Chloe grinned, lightening another cigarette. "See? You're already getting the hang of this place. It's a dump, but it's our dump." Chloe says as you smiled at her, you thought you wouldn't have no friends, but chloe was the only welcoming person in this town that made you feel more comfortable.

You spent the next hour talking and laughing, the awkwardness of the day fading with every joke she cracked. For the first time since you've arrived in Arcadia Bay, you felt like you could breathe.

The days that followed were easier, thanks to chloe. She had a way of making you feel like you belonged, even when the rest of the world seemed determined to ignore you, but you didn't care cause you had chloe. She'd show up at your locker between classes, tease you mercilessly during lunch, and drag you on random adventures after school.

One evening, as you sat together in the junkyard, you asked, "Why were you so nice to me on my first day of school? Usually, the kids in school would just completely ignore me or just treat me like I'm not there, but except you, why?" You asked, wanting to know the answers from chloe.

Chloe shrugged, tossing a rock into the distance. "You seem cool. Plus, I like helping the underdog." She admitted, but you looked down, feeling unconfident.

"I don't feel cool." You admitted under your breath, but chloe heard you. "Well, you are." She said, nudging your shoulder. "You just don't know it yet." Her words stayed with you long after you went home that night, the warmth of her presence lingering like the smell of rain.

Chloe didn't just show you the town; she showed you a new side of yourself that you did even know. With her, you felt braver, more alive. And as the weeks turned into months, you realized that maybe Arcadia Bay wasn't so bad after all.

[jo3ydr3w]

Stobotnik Week Day 5

Prompt 1: Affection

It started small.

A hand brushing over Stone’s hair as Robotnik passed by his workstation. Fingers ruffling through the short curls when Stone handed him his coffee just the way he liked it—two sugars, no cream, perfect temperature. A slow, rhythmic stroke to the back of his head whenever Robotnik was deep in thought and Stone just happened to be standing within arm’s reach.

At first, Stone thought it was a one-time thing. A glitch in the Doctor’s typical physical boundaries. An accident.

But it kept happening.

And Robotnik never seemed to notice.

Sometimes it was comforting, oddly grounding, like a ritual. Robotnik would stand behind him, musing over some complex calculation or circuit schematic, and his fingers would wander to Stone’s head. He’d comb them through the short waves like it was second nature, like petting a cat that had been part of the lab since day one. Sometimes he’d tap his fingers against Stone’s scalp when his ideas were accelerating, like his brain needed a metronome and Stone’s skull just happened to be the perfect surface.

Stone didn’t complain. In fact, he cherished it, as embarrassing as that felt to admit even to himself. It was the closest thing to affection Robotnik gave freely, without some biting comment attached, without performance or pretense.

It was just… pure. Subconscious.

Until the day Sonic showed up again.

They weren’t fighting, not exactly. It was more of a tense standoff. Sonic had busted into the base demanding answers about some strange new energy signature in the hills. Robotnik was mid-lecture, pacing circles around the hedgehog like a shark, throwing out technobabble and sarcasm in equal measure.

Stone, as always, was just behind him, tablet in hand, ready to provide the exact coordinates or launch the drones if ordered.

Then Robotnik stopped mid-rant, turned slightly, and—without a thought—reached over and started absently running his fingers through Stone’s hair.

Right there. In front of Sonic.

Sonic’s expression froze. Eyebrows shot up, a slow, almost cruel smirk creeping onto his face.

“Ohhhh-kay,” the hedgehog said, pointing at the scene like he’d just found a glitch in the Matrix. “What is that?”

Robotnik blinked. “What is what?”

“That!” Sonic jabbed a finger. “You’re… petting him. Like a little dog. That your thing now? Henchman headpats? Wow, and I thought I was weird.”

Robotnik looked at his own hand. Still resting on Stone’s head. Fingers curled lightly in his curls. He went very still.

Stone, for his part, did not move. He kept his eyes firmly on his tablet like it would swallow him whole if he stared hard enough.

A long, painful pause.

Then Robotnik snatched his hand back like he’d touched a live wire.

“I—That was—It’s a tactile-based stimulation method for optimizing lateral ideation in moments of deep cognitive computation,” he snapped. “Completely clinical. Has nothing to do with affection or, or bonding or—”

“You pet him,” Sonic grinned, absolutely delighted. “You’re, like, a cartoon villain with a pet human. That’s so messed up and kind of adorable, and I think I love it.”

“OUT!” Robotnik bellowed, jabbing a finger toward the exit. “OUT OF MY LAB, YOU BLUE PARASITE!”

Sonic bolted—laughing the entire way.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Silence.

Robotnik stood still, face red from a mix of fury and something else.

Stone finally looked up. “Should I start wearing a bell, sir?”

Robotnik stared at him. Then—shockingly—he gave a small huff of laughter. Just one. Barely a breath. He turned and walked away muttering, “Don’t tempt me, Agent Stone.”

Stone allowed himself a tiny smile.

He didn’t get petted again for a few days after that. But on the fourth day, when he passed Robotnik the new schematics and stood close by as the Doctor examined them…

The hand returned.

A slow, familiar stroke across the back of his head.

Robotnik didn’t say a word.

And neither did Stone.

Prompt 2: Family

The lab was filled with the soft, rhythmic clinks of tools against metal. A gentle flicker of welding sparks. The whir of small servos testing joints, calibrating movement. Metal Sonic—his chest cavity open like a steel ribcage—lay across the central table, dormant but recovering.

Robotnik’s goggles were pushed up on his forehead. Stone sat cross-legged on a rolling stool nearby, sorting through a bin of microprocessors and tiny screws, handing over the exact parts before Robotnik even asked.

“You sure his AI core’s stable?” Stone asked, passing over a graphite-coated stabilizer chip.

“More stable than your average tech-bro’s marriage,” Robotnik replied absently, tweaking a wire cluster with precision. “I’ve made adjustments. His loyalty matrix is now tethered directly to my neural pattern—well, a simulated construct of it, at least. He’ll know who built him. Who made him strong. Who he belongs to.”

Stone watched the Doctor work for a moment, then quietly reached into the box and offered up the next connector. “You’re kinda good at this parenting thing, you know.”

Robotnik froze mid-solder.

“Excuse me?”

Stone shrugged, as casual as he could manage while his heart beat faster. “I mean—just saying. You take care of him. You’re protective. You teach him stuff. Make sure he’s running right. It’s kinda like having a kid, right?”

Robotnik narrowed his eyes. “He’s an extension of my genius. A machine designed to express my intellect and wrath, not a child.”

“Sure. Still kinda kid-coded.”

Robotnik scoffed, but didn’t argue. He kept working, albeit with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Stone smiled, just a little. He glanced down at the scattered tools and blueprints. “You know, Doctor… you might not’ve had a family growing up. But we make a pretty good one, don’t we?”

The words slipped out like air from a tire. Light, but weighted.

Robotnik stilled again. This time, not from indignation.

The silence stretched just a bit too long.

“I mean,” Stone added quickly, “not like conventionally good. Obviously. You’re the most dangerous man alive. I make coffee with security protocols—”

“You’re right.”

Stone blinked. “What?”

“You’re right,” Robotnik repeated, still not looking up from the circuitry. “We are a family. Of a sort.”

Stone stared at him. For a moment, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Robotnik finally looked over. “It doesn’t have to look like a sitcom. It just has to work. Efficiently. And this—” He gestured at the workbench, the tools, the machine between them. “—works.”

Stone looked at the unfinished Metal Sonic again. At his hands holding tiny pieces of a machine someone else might call a weapon, but they were rebuilding with care.

“Yeah,” he murmured, more to himself than anything. “It really does.”

Robotnik turned back to his work.

Stone watched him for a moment longer, then smiled to himself and passed him the next screw.

Prompt 3: Pet Names

It started as mockery.

“Thanks for the coffee, darling. Remind me to promote you to Chief Beverage Retrieval Officer.”

“Could you be a dear and sweep the lab, muffin? I think I stepped on a bolt. Or a rodent. Either way, it squeaked.”

“Ah, my beloved lapdog, fetching my schematics with such loyalty. Good boy.”

Stone took it in stride. That was the game, after all—Robotnik jeering, barbed, theatrical; Stone unshakably calm, smiling through every jab. But the pet names… they stuck in his mind longer than they should’ve.

Robotnik had a flair for cruelty dressed in theatrics, and he used “sweetheart” like a knife. But Stone—ever the adaptable agent—learned how to wear that blade like a brooch.

The first shift came on a Tuesday, which somehow felt appropriate. Tuesdays were always the weirdest days in the lair.

Stone had spent the morning resetting all the mech calibration systems after a power surge. He hadn’t slept. Robotnik emerged from his overnight brainstorming haze.

Stone passed him a protein bar and a cup of coffee before the Doctor could even grumble a request.

Robotnik blinked. “You do have your uses, don’t you, honeybunch.”

No venom. Just absent-mindedness. He sipped the coffee. It was perfect. He didn’t even flinch.

Stone tried not to smile too obviously.

After that, it became a thing.

“Pass me the plasma coil, sweetheart. No, the big one.”

“Excellent idea, sugarplum, I’ll just hijack the entire defense grid with your login. Surely that won’t trigger an alert.”

Sarcasm was still there—but it had softened, like a theater mask slipping.

And then one night, something shifted.

Stone had fallen asleep on the couch in the lab, still dressed in slacks and a half-loosened tie, half-curled under a blanket with his tablet open on his chest. The air was quiet, except for the hum of machinery.

Robotnik passed by to check a readout, glanced down at him, then… paused.

His fingers hovered over the tablet, then gently closed it. His hand lingered just above Stone’s shoulder. He hesitated.

Then, soft. So soft it might’ve been for no one but himself:

“Sleep well, baby.”

Stone didn’t stir.

Robotnik stood there a moment longer, staring at the man who fetched his coffee and reset his entire lab after a meltdown, who answered every snap of his fingers without hesitation. Who laughed at his jokes. Who stayed.

The next morning, he didn’t mention it.

But when Stone brought him coffee, Robotnik took it without a word, turned toward his work… and then added, lightly:

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

No sarcasm. Just gratitude.

Stone blinked, then smiled into his cup. “Anytime, Doctor.”

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Out Of Your Comfort Zone

masterlist

note: the original ask said fantasy but i dont read fantasy at all, so i went with a silly little romance novel i loved, which i think still displays that opposite thing the anon wanted. so i hope this is okay!!

warnings: my writing while i'm high (rambling that can be disguised as descriptive writing)

word count: 1.2 k

♡ summary: During a bookstore date Y/n's taste in books gets Spencer out of his comfort zone.

♡ Spencer Reid x fem!reader

request ✓

Finally, Spencer had a weekend off, where there was no chance of a case coming in at the last minute. And it’s not like Y/n hated Spencer’s job, she knew he did a lot of good. But it was hard sometimes when they would go a few weeks without sleeping next to each other.

It was the perfect morning to their perfect day, they had just come from a local art exhibit pop-up/farmers market. It reminded Y/n of Notting Hill, of course from the movie but also from when she lived in London while studying abroad. But now the couple was off to the local bookstore, they had looked at the farmers market, but they were all travel books, the irony was not lost.

Them both loving books was what got them to the second date, their first being filled with a debate about ‘modern classics’ and what classifies them. A topic they both clearly had a lot of opinions on as it took up the whole date that they hadn’t asked all the first date questions, so they needed the second date.

Them both loving books was what got them to the second date, their first being filled with a debate about ‘modern classics’ and what classifies them. A topic they both clearly had a lot of opinions on as it took up the whole date that they hadn’t asked all the first date questions, so they needed the second date.

And though their taste in books were quite opposite, there was a small overlap that was home to Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, The Bell Jar, and many others. But that was Spencer’s main area, classics, Y/n only read the feminist classics.

So when they went to the bookshop, the two would split up until Spencer finished looking in his favourite sections, since he could read so much faster than the girl it took her about three times as long to look through the fiction section.

Spencer was making his way to her now, stopping to read the backs of a couple books that interested him, even picking one up to buy. He walked past the isles of the fiction and romance sections, finally coming to a halt at the ‘J’s where Y/n was now. She didn’t even register his presence, too wrapped up in reading the summary of the blue and yellow book in her hand.

Spencer didn’t want to startle the girl, so he walked past her, her eyes rising from the book in hand to look at who she thought was a random person just browsing the store like her, eyes lighting up when she sees it’s Spencer.

“Honey, what’d you find?” She questions, Spencer assumes it was a rhetorical question since she didn’t give him enough time before she cuts in grabbing the second book from the stack in his arms, “I was gonna suggest this one to you! A subscriber said it was really good!”

Y/n was a booktuber, when she told Spencer that he obviously had no idea what that was, but a simple explanation later and he was caught up. And after a year of dating, she finally mentioned him in a video when she was talking about ‘Normal People’ . It was one of the books they argued could be considered a modern classic on their first date. And she mentioned his taste in books and now her followers left recommendations for him in her

comments, mostly on instagram when she posted him from time to time.

“Yeah. I was really impressed with another book by this author, her description of the caste system in India and the impact it has mentally was so moving.” “I remember you reading that. I’m not good at reading those types of books, but I love when you tell me all about them.” Her soft words brought red to Spencer’s checks while he hid his hands around her waist.

Recovering from the girl’s flirting, even after a year he still reacted the same to her words, his head rose from the spot in her neck to look at the book she had been looking at when he found her.

“What did you find?” “Oh, I saw a girl say it was a good book in her review and I want to do a video on age gap books since so many people ask.” Pacing the books over to him when he signalled his hand forward for it, turning it over to read the front, ‘Part of Your Word’ by Abby Jimenez in large letters was written across the front. It wasn’t a fairly large book, it could take him maybe five minutes.

Y/n was now turned to read more titles, stopping at any that caught her eye. All the while, Spencer was stood of to the side reading. It had actually only taken the man four minutes when he checked his watch. Proud of himself, he looks up to see that his girlfriend was apparently watching him, for how long, he didn’t know.

With a smile on his face, he asks, “What?” “Spencer. Did you just read my book? Before I even bought it?” She replied with a hand going to her hip and a jokey tone. “Well, first of all, you aren’t buying it bec-” “Why was it bad?”

Y/n often spoke before thinking, causing her to cut off people, Spencer was used to it he thought it was cute and she always made it her mission to not interrupt when he was really passionate about a topic.

“Because, I’m buying.” “Hon, no you bought last time.” “I don’t mind.” “I do.”

Spencer moved on from this conversation, they both know how it will end. Spencer will in fact pay, Y/n will say he didn’t have to, Spencer would say he doesn’t mind, she’ll say she does mind, and they repeat it when they pay for lunch after the bookshop.

“But I did read it.” “Don’t spoil, but what did you think?” She had watched a couple booktok reviews on it so she knew it was a little spicy, something she knew Spencer didn’t read a lot of, if ever.

“I think it was good. I liked how they talked about family relationships and verbal abuse in relationships, I think it was done well and it brought a lot more sense of realism. And I liked the leads, I relate to Daniel more than I thought, his dedication to making things work.. I won’t spoil it for you but- um yeah. And I liked the setting.”

His words sent a loving smile to rest on the girl’s face, she loved nothing more than to hear Spencer talk. His voice was deep yet not at the same time, and his mannerisms were adorable to her. And hearing him actually read and enjoy a book from the romance section that was written in the last few decades, was a big step for him. He didn’t even know about Twilight when they met.

“I’m glad you like it.” She said, truthfully, “I’ll be sure to mention that in my video.” “You don’t have to.” “You just don’t want Penny to see the video and by extension Derek.”

Their conversation continued while they waited in line, holding each other's hand while Y/n looks up to speak. They were interrupted when it was then their turn, Spencer paying like he said he would, and again at lunch, much to the girl’s disapproval.

“You don’t have to pay.” “I don’t mind.” “I do.”

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Ring my bell, part 5

part 4

steddie, omegaverse, flagging/signaling culture, there’s plot now, in the smut, mdni 🔞

Eddie is surprised when he walks up to his dealing table and sees Chrissy Cunningham waiting in her cheer uniform. He considers turning around then and there, not wanting to risk her jock boyfriend coming to look for her and going all feral on him and bashing his face in. But he really needs to save his money, so turning down a paying customer isn’t something he can do.

He considers walking again when she startles so badly, but mostly he’s worried about her. She’s got blockers on, so he can’t scent much from her, but the tension in her shoulders tells him enough. The girl needs weed, or some xannies. All Eddie’s got on him is weed though, so it’ll have to do.

She’s still so jumpy, so Eddie hams it up, trips over himself to get her to laugh because laughter is easy. He shifts enough that the guitar pick he wears around his neck sneaks out from his collar.

Chrissy’s been fiddling with her own necklace—a padlock, just like Steve’s—and she asks, “What’s that one mean?” and then turning beet red. “Sorry, I just- You’ve always had the rings, didn’t think necklaces were your thing.”

“They’re not. But… Easy to keep a pick handy.” He pulls the chain forward, revealing the pendant it came with, the guitar pick a convenient excuse. Chrissy’s eyes go wide at the little anatomical heart, pierced with an arrow, and Eddie grins. “Gift from the prettiest omega I know.”

“Oh…” She shrinks in on herself again, and he knows he has to get her laughing.

“Second I scented him, thwp!” He clutches dramatically at his chest, mimes being shot through the heart and falls off the bench. Eddie pops back up. “It’s like he just gets me, about everything.” He tucks the necklace away, swings his legs back around the bench, and pulls out his lunchbox, offering her a discount on the already jacked up price for an ounce.

“Do you have anything… stronger?” Chrissy asks, glancing over her shoulder again, like she’s being watched.

“Not with me. Possession is 9/10s of the law or whatever, so best not to have anything too hard on me. And really, you should start with the weed.”

She nods, blue eyes so big in her face. “But, what if it isn’t enough?”

He pulls out a pen, writes down his number on her hand. “It’s spring break, so you can’t drop a note in my locker. Gimme a call, and I’ll see what I can rustle up.” He knows he’s got some Special K squirreled away, for in case Steve gets one of his bad migraines and he wants to sleep through it. “Or check the medicine cabinet—see if your mom’s got a secret Xanax script. One of those will melt your worries.”

“Okay, yeah. Thanks.” She smiles, and it looks real enough. She pushes herself up to standing.

“So do you want the weed?” Eddie joggles the baggie in front of her.

“Right, sorry! Yes, I do.” She reaches into the band of her skirt and pulls out a couple fives, trading him for the weed.

Eddie schools his face when he takes them from her. “Pleasure doing business. I hope it helps.”

“Me too.”

He watches her leave, the bills sitting close enough to her skin and sweat that they stink with her scent. Eddie thinks it’s vaguely fruity, but it’s too covered over in acrid fear that he isn’t sure at all.

💍💘🐽

Eddie sees Steve across the parking lot, the basketball game getting out the same time as Hellfire, and he has to clench his fist to keep from waving. He wants to run to him, kiss him, sweep him into his arms and deposit him safely into his van so they can drive home together.

Instead, he bids the guys goodnight and drives to Forest Hills alone. He beats Steve by more than 20 minutes, since he has to give Robin a ride home. Which means Eddie can do a modicum of cleaning, including rearranging the blankets and pillows on his bed to be a little more nest-like for Steve’s comfort.

Steve doesn’t knock, just comes straight in, and Eddie races to him. “Hey, Puppy, how’d the game go?” he asks, kissing him hello, waiting for an answer before going total horndog on him.

“Lucas scored the game-winning basket, so please have the guys congratulate him next week.” Steve has already complained about Eddie’s refusal to hold the game for Lucas, even took away his pussy privileges for a week until he’d groveled and explained how he had the entire year planned out, he couldn’t skip a week since he was finally graduating. This campaign was his baby!

And Steve liked the sound of Eddie graduating, so he was willing to forgive this one discretion.

“Of course, Stevie. And Erica held her own. You should be proud of your youngest.” He grins wide, and Steve fondly rolls his eyes.

“Please stop talking about the twerps like I birthed them.”

“But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” He sinks down to his knees, puts himself level with Steve’s crotch. “Want a pup of your own,” he murmurs, hand coming up to cradle Steve’s belly, “Right here.”

Eddie smells it when Steve slicks his pants, his sweetness sickly with his desperation for that little dream.

“Want you to shut up and fuck me already,” Steve moans, gripping Eddie by the collar and pulling him to his feet. He’s sloppy as he kisses him, and Eddie purrs.

He loves Steve and Steve loves him, and they both see their future together. He’s really getting sick of waiting for that future to start. But at least he gets to take Steve to bed right now.

🍃🍃🍃

The next morning, the basketball team wakes up in the shell of Benny’s Burgers. There’s blood and black on the ceiling, and Chrissy Cunningham’s broken body on the floor. It takes nearly an hour for the boys to stop screaming long enough to call the police.

Part 6

[lunchboxpoems]

LIFE ON EARTH

The odds are we should never have been born.

Not one of us. Not one in 400 trillion to be

exact. Only one among the 250 million

released in a flood of semen that glides

like a glassine limousine filled with tadpoles

of possible people, one of whom may

or may not be you, a being made of water

and blood, a creature with eyeballs and limbs

that end in fists, a you with all your particular

perfumes, the chords of your sinewy legs

singing as they form, your organs humming

and buzzing with new life, moonbeams

lighting up your brain’s gray coils,

the exquisite hills of your face, the human

toy your mother longs for, your father

yearns to hold, the unmistakable you

who will take your first breath, your first

step, bang a copper pot with a wooden spoon,

trace the lichen growing on a boulder you climb

to see the wild expanse of a field, the one

whose heart will yield to the yellow forsythia

named after William Forsyth—not the American

actor with piercing blue eyes, but the Scottish

botanist who discovered the buttery bells

on a highland hillside blooming

to beat the band, zigzagging down

an unknown Scottish slope. And those

are only a few of the things 

you will one day know, slowly chipping away

at your ignorance and doubt, you

who were born from ashes and will return

to ash. When you think you might be

through with this body and soul, look down

at an anthill or up at the stars, remember

your gambler chances, the bounty 

of good luck you were born for.

DORIANNE LAUX