#blue bell hill

[stargoose-photo]

Blue Bell Hill, Kent, England, June 2024.

[2493]

[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

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.”

[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

[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.

[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

[lowcountry-gothic]

“Old Tom Bombadil,” by Bear McCreary & Rufus Wainwright, from The Rings of Power: Season 2 Original Series Soundtrack.

Now let the song begin! Let us sing together! Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather O slender as a willow-wand! O clearer than clear water! O reed by the living pool! Fair River-daughter! O spring-time and summer-time, and spring again after! O wind on the waterfall, and the leaves' laughter! Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter! O slender as a willow-wand! O clearer than clear water! O reed by the living pool! Fair River-daughter! O spring-time and summer-time, and spring again after! O wind on the waterfall, and the leaves' laughter! O slender as a willow-wand! O clearer than clear water! O reed by the living pool! Fair River-daughter! O spring-time and summer-time, and spring again after! O wind on the waterfall, and the leaves' laughter! Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow...

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You" - EREN/READER - REVERSE ISEKAI (part 5)

reverse isekai, time travel, memory loss

post canon (ish)

reader/eren

word count: 2450

<- PART 4 | PART 6 ->

*****

When Eren was fifteen he didn’t know much about love.

He did know that he had a fierce desire to protect. To save. To help, not just his friends, but all of humanity regain the freedom taken from them by the titans.

He also knew that Mikasa’s hair was very soft.

That her eyes were pretty.

That her skin looked warm.

That her lips, often hidden under the red scarf he had wrapped around her when they were children, distracted him from conversation more times than he could count.

But there was never time. 

The more they learned about the world- and the more Eren learned about himself in turn- the more that their lack of time became obvious to him.

He told himself it was for the better than he never told her how he felt. That he never properly answered her question:

“What am I to you, Eren?” She asked him the night when they stood on the hill just outside of Liberio.  What am I? She was everything to him, is what he wanted to say; but- “you’re family,” is what he said instead.

Because he knew, Eren knew, that in that lifetime they would never have enough time to be together.

So, when he woke up in a new lifetime, his first thought was that maybe-... maybe this was his chance. 

But, when he opened his eyes,

it wasn’t Mikasa that he saw…

…when he opened his eyes,

all he saw was you.

*****

5 Years Ago

“I think I get why these men are on here.” You told your coworker, Mina, as the two of you leaned against the counter, your phone between you as you idly flipped through Hinge casting judgment on every man you saw.

“Why’s that?” Mina asked.

“Well, here’s my theory.” Tired of the mindless scrolling, you slide your phone into your back pocket and grab a marker from the lip of the register. You uncap it and begin doodling on a cup. “Men on dating apps are there because they give off such ick that they can’t meet women in person without setting off alarm bells, so apps are their only option.”

Mina shrugged. “Okay, so why are the women on there?”

“I dunno,” you replied with a snort, “why does anyone go to a zoo?”

“That’s kinda judgmental.” A customer, who appeared seemingly out of thin air, says at the counter.

“Jesus christ-” You jump and the sharpie in your hand goes flying toward him at a perfect angle to run a black streak straight across his shirt.

“Oh my god!” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth as your eyes widen. “I’m so, so, so sorry! Um- uh-” You glance around for a microfiber cloth (which normally makes your skin crawl to touch, but you can’t think about that right now). You quickly run the microfiber (ew) cloth under the sink. “Here!” You reach across the counter to press it to the front of his shirt. “Maybe it’ll um-” It does nothing. “Uh…” You try again. “O-Okay just…” That’s when you finally look up at him.

You figured you looked pretty pathetic, leaning over the counter and uselessly dabbing his shirt to get permanent marker out of polyester (spoiler alert: that doesn’t work and it never will).

So you’re pathetic.

And he’s gorgeous. 

The universe must have it out for you. Seriously have it out for you because- …holy shit. 

The first thing you notice are his eyes. A stunning composition that reminds you of the night sky on a full moon- swirling blues and greens beautifully illuminated with flecks of golden stars. 

And then his messy-on-purpose brown hair, half tied up in a bun with a few tasteful strands falling against his forehead.

His flawless skin.

His sharp cheekbones.

His adorable nose and-

And his smile.

Woah.

It’s a real “knees weak, arms spaghetti” moment for you ((made even more embarrassing by the fact that the first thing you think is “knees weak, arms spaghetti” but that’s where your mind goes and you’ll keep that secret with you until the day you die)).

“I don’t think that’s working.” He tells you as he gently grabs your wrist and guides your hand away. 

“Yeah um-” You clear your throat and drop the cloth to the counter, quickly standing back on the floor as your cheeks burn pink and you nervously look over his ruined shirt. “I really am sorry I could um- I could buy you a new one?”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “It’s old anyway.”

But it doesn’t look old.

Still, you’re too embarrassed to question him.

“Free coffee?” You offer instead.

He smiles again and you refuse to think about knees and spaghetti for the second time.

“Alright, “he laughs, “free coffee sounds good.”

Dammit.

Knees and spaghetti it is.

*****

He’s back the next day.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

You think that maybe he’s new in the area and just happens to be the type of guy who likes a consistent schedule, if anything that makes you respect him; but sometimes you wishfully hope it’s because of… something else.

“If you ruin my shirt again, will this one be free too?” He jokes on the fourth visit as you had him a semi-sweet iced coffee.

“Yeah, but you have to sneak up on me or it’s not authentic.” You tease back.

*****

You learn things about him every time he comes in.

First, it’s his name: Eren.

Eren.

And god, now that you know it you spend a stupid amount of time pausing on those ‘roll for the first letter of your soul mate’s name’ tiktoks. At least you have the decency to not post them (except for that one time you accidentally did).

You find out he’s also attending university. That he’s an English major but school is making him lose motivation to write.

You find out his favourite colour is red.

That he’s never lived anywhere but the city.

That his friends are more important to him than anything, and he’s known them for most of his life. 

And then, a month after you meet, you find out something else…

“So,” you say, five minutes to closing as you wipe down the counter and Eren finishes off a donut you’d given him for free instead of throwing out. He has a habit of showing up when you’re closing. You aren’t sure if it’s because he has a night class or if he just likes the free pastries. Or maybe there’s a completely different reason entirely.

“So…?” He asks, when you don’t finish the thought (you’d gotten distracted by the way he was licking icing off his fingers).

You clear your throat and look down at the counter. “Why was I being judgmental?”

“Oh, because not everyone that’s in a frat is just there for the parties. My friend Reiner says he-”

“No not about that,” although maybe your opinions on frat boys are based on a stereotype and that’s deserving of its own conversation entirely, “I mean about the dating app thing.”

“What dating app thing?” He asks as his eyebrows momentarily tighten together with a scowl. It’s an expression he wears a lot and it always makes you laugh.

“The first thing you said to me!” You exclaim. “Mina and I were talking about dating apps and you said I was being judgmental. Honestly, I feel like it was the worst first impression ever.”

“Nah, the bad impression part was when you were feeling me up like three seconds later.”

“I-” Your cheeks burn bright red. “I was not feeling you up!”

Eren throws his head back and laughs.

You toss your microfiber (ew) towel at him and it lands smack in the middle of his face. 

Eren’s still snickering as he leans down to pick it up from the floor. “I said you were being judgmental because you were.”

“Elaborate, please.”

“Well,” he stands back up, cloth now in hand, “there are some genuine people on dating apps just looking for connections.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, but it’s all- it’s so fake. How many times can I repeat the same: ‘Hi, how are you.’ ‘I’m good, how are you’ ‘Good. What do you do for work?’ ‘I work at this shitty café and there’s a regular that’s constantly patronizing me to try to get free food. What about you?’.” You let out a short sigh. “If people actually want to get to know each other, they should-”

Your rant comes to a quick end when Eren stops in front of you.

He’s closer than he normally stands, so you immediately notice the flecks of gold in his eyes. The last time you were this close to him, you’d been frantically rubbing sharpie out of his shirt but now-

Now you’re- you’re just standing there…

Just close.

So close that you might have forgotten how to breathe.

“Some people have to meet that way.” He says, softer than normal, but maybe it’s just because you’re close enough that he doesn’t have to speak loudly to be heard.

“...huh?”

Eren snickers. Your heart hammers. He keeps talking: “Some people,” he elaborates, “have trouble getting dates any other way.”

“Wh-” You clear your throat as it constricts, “Why’s that?”

For the first time, you see him blush.

You notice the confidence he normally wears come crashing down.

He looks away.

“Because some people are… pretty shit at asking people out.”

You jump as the cloth he’d picked up meets your hand.

And this time, it’s not even because of the gross sensation of microfiber.

*****

Eren gets over it, apparently, because 6 days later he shows up at your work right before close.

“No free muffins today, sorry.” You immediately tell him.

“It’s fine.” He replies and you can’t help but notice the way he awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to the other, completely avoiding your eyes as he does it.

“Um… Eren?”

“Yep?”

You snicker. “Are you ok-”

“Do you wanna go out?”

Your breath catches. “...what?”

“With me. Now. Or- Or in like five minutes when you’re off. Unless you have to stay late tonight because the place is a mess. I can wait around though. Or we can go another day I just-”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“I-...” Eren sighs, but he finds a way to smile through his embarrassment. “Don’t laugh you’ll-... you’ll hurt my ego.”

So you don’t laugh.

Instead, you say yes.

*****

You have a casual first date, just dinner at a local pub.

Your second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth date (although you start losing count towards the end) pass just as casually.

It’s comfortable. Relaxing. There’s no overly awkward tension between the two of you and you slip into a natural rhythm.

Your first kiss is in the park on campus.

You bring him day-old donuts any chance you get.

You meet his best friends and they quickly become your best friends too.

A year passes, you say “I love you”.

Another year passes, you both graduate.

By the third year you’re dating, you move in together.

By the fourth, you can’t imagine life without him.

And by the fifth year you’re dating, you have a feeling that it’s for life.

“Think he’ll propose?” Mikasa’s staticky voice comes through the speaker of your phone. You press said phone harder against your ear out of the embarrassment that Eren might somehow hear you from the kitchen. 

“I- I dunno. Maybe.” You answer, nervously nibbling your bottom lip as you watch your boyfriend from over the back of the couch. He’s in the kitchen making dinner. Shirtless, because he’s an idiot that doesn’t care about getting hot chicken oil on his chest.

‘Sluts can’t get third-degree burns, babe.’ He always tells you.

‘Then commit to the bit and lose the pants too.’ You always joke back.

He doesn’t, for the record. Apparently, he’s okay with hot oil on his tiddies, but his dick and balls are a different story.

“Would you say yes?” Mikasa’s voice cuts through your thoughts. 

You let out a short laugh. “Obviously.”

“Maybe he’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Pfft, that’d be tacky. Tomorrow is Niccolo’s big day, not ours.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s right.” You can hear Mikasa’s yawn through the phone.

“You sound exhausted,” you tell her, “don’t you have to get up early to catch your flight?”

“Yeah, but my hotel is lonely.”

You laugh. “Wanna talk to Eren before bed?”

“Sure. He’ll get mad if I don’t.”

You pull the phone away from your ear. “Eren!” You hold out the phone to him. “Mikasa wants to say goodnight.”

“Can you come stir?” He asks.

You pull yourself off the couch and step up to him in the kitchen, trading him your phone for the spatula. 

He kisses your cheek before pressing the phone to his ear.

“Okay, so did you see the new episode?” He asks as he walks into the living room. “NO FUCKING WAY YOU DID NOT CALL IT!!”

You roll your eyes as the two of them start their passionate back and forth about the latest episode of whatever show they’re both watching.

*****

That night, after a plate of spaghetti, a shared bottle of wine, and a decent amount of time doing R-rated activities that start in the living room but finish in the bedroom; you end up with your arms around Eren’s waist and your face buried between his bare shoulders.

He likes to be the little spoon, even though he’ll deny it to your friends.

But you don’t mind. It means you can pinch his nipples if he says something sassy before falling asleep.

You smile and nuzzle your face into his back.

He smells like Eren.

Nothing distinct about it that you can put a name to.

It’s just Eren and you love it.

You smile as you think about how perfect your life is. Your career is going well, you have an apartment with an amazing view, and you’re dating the love of your life. 

You wouldn’t change a single thing.

“I love you.” You mumble before placing a kiss on Eren’s shoulder.

“...that’s so fucking gay…” He mumbles back.

He yelps when you pinch his nipple, but afterward, he laughs.

Afterwards, he grabs your hand in his (mostly to keep his nipples safe from continued attacks) and pulls it up to his lips.

He kisses the back of your hand firmly.

Then softly.

Then firmly again.

“Love you too,” Eren tells you.

And the lights don’t need to be on for you to know that he’s smiling. 

You just know he is, because you’re smiling too. 

[stargoose-photo]

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

[hunnysnoops]

South Park Music HCs

What music I think the South Park characters would listen to.

Stan ✰ Kyle ✰ Kenny ✰ Cartman ✰ Wendy ✰ Bebe ✰ Heidi ✰ Tweek ✰ Craig ✰ Butters

With Spotify links!

Stan Marsh

Artists:

Radio Head

Siouxsie and the Banshees

Crywank

She Wants Revenge

System Of a Down

Slipknot

The Front Bottoms

Favourite Songs:

Atoma- Dark Tranquillity

Smokey Eyes- Lincoln

F.C.P.R.E.M.I.X- The Fall of Troy

Mr Grieves- Pixies

Misc:

Generally angsty

Gets embarrassed of his taste when he’s put on aux

He probably likes 90s dad rock

Whenever Stan listens to ‘System of a Down’ Cartman calls him ‘Syndrome of a Down’

Likes The Front Bottoms purely because he relates

Kyle Broflovski

Artists:

Dan Mangan

The Cure

Echo & the Bunnyman

Blur

Weezer

Billy Idol

Favourite Songs:

I Love You- Fontaines D.C.

Troubled Mind- Dan Mangan

The Killing Moon- Echo & the Bunnymen

Jumping Someone Else’s Train- The Cure

Candy- Paolo Nutini

Misc:

Cartman calls him a virgin for listening to Weezer

If he’s playing his music around you, he’ll sneak glances at you to see if you like it

Definitely has a poster for The Cure in his bedroom

Refuses to use Bluetooth headphones

Kenny McCormick

Artists:

Eminem

Outkast

Ini Kamoze

Car Seat Headrest

Cypress Hill

Limp Bizkit

Green Day

Favourite Songs:

Hits from the Bong- Cypress Hill

Sexy Drug- Falling in Reverse

Deadlines (Hostile)- Car Seat Headrest

Take A Look Around- Limp Bizkit

Misc:

Watches clips of Woodstock 99 on YouTube

Plays his music so loud that it spills through his headphones and gets weird looks for it

Listens to Taylor Swift and Sabrina Carpenter with his little sister

Eric Cartman

Kanye West

T-Pain

Lady Gaga (we all saw this coming)

Rihanna

Black Eyed Peas

Oliver Tree

Pitbull

Favourite Songs:

Church- T-Pain, Teddy Verseti

Meet Me Halfway- Black Eyed Peas

I Can’t Stop- Will Smith

Bury Me Alive- Oliver Tree

Happiness is a Butterfly- Lana Del Rey

Misc:

Strikes me as the type of guy who doesn’t really listen to music

Unironically likes Oliver Tree (His music and him as a person)

Rips on everyone for their music but won’t tell them who he listens to

Lip syncs to Wiz Khalifa while flexing in the mirror

Listens to T-Pain and Will Smith to make him feel tough

Prefers podcasts

Wendy Testaburger

Artists:

The Shins

Gwen Stefani

Hozier

Grizzly Bear

Nelly Furtado

Olivia Rodrigo

Elliot Smith

Favourite Songs:

Swan Upon Leda- Hozier

Lacy- Olivia Rodrigo

Stand By Me- Ben E.King

Vienna- Billy Joel

Pocketful of Sunshine- Natasha Bedingfield

Misc:

Thunder makes her think of stan so she skips it

Relates to Vienna and probably got a small tattoo for it after she graduated

Probably has an eclectic taste and loves 2010s pop

Lets everyone else play their music while she’s driving and never complains

Stares at her ceiling and listens to Elliot Smith when she’s sad

Gets ready listening to y2k pop songs

Bebe Stevens

Artists:

Jungle

Wild Belle

Dominic Fike

Kesha

Avril Lavigne

Justin Bieber (baby era)

MGMT

Favourite Songs:

Feet Don’t Fail Me Now- Joy Crookes

Back On 74- Jungle

Memory Box- Peter Cat Recording Co.

Keep You- Wild Belle

Beauty And A Beat- Justin Bieber, Nicki Minaj

Ur So Gay- Katy Perry

Misc:

Hates sad music, she’ll force herself to listen to USHER during a breakdown

Picky about her music, if someone plays a song she doesn’t like she’ll definitely skip it or complain until someone else does

Mentioned she liked Justin Bieber and then got in an argument with Cartman because of it

Never lets Clyde near the speaker

Screams Ur So Gay at the top of her lungs when it comes on

Heidi Turner

Artists:

Jack Johnson

Syd Matters

Daughter

Fleet Foxes

Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Noah Kahan

Of Monsters and Men

Favourite Songs:

Open Season- High Highs

To All of You- Syd Matters

Two Weeks- Grizzly Bear

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing- Jack Johnson

Sisyphus- Andrew Bird

Blue Ridge Mountains- Fleet Foxes

Misc:

Loves going for walks while she listens to music

Sends you songs that remind her of you

Listens to every song you send her and tells you what she likes about it

Hums when she has her headphones in without realising

Her and all of her friends love Noah Kahan

Tweek Tweak

Artists:

Billie Holiday

Billie Marten

Johann Sebastian Bach

Claude Debussy

Ludwig van Beethoven

Foals

Connie Francis

Favourite Songs:

Who’s Sorry Now- Connie Francis

Cello Suite No. 1 in G Minor- Johann Sebastian Bach

Méditation from Thaïs- Jules Massenet

Bad Apple- Billie Marten

The Lark Ascending- Ralph Vaughan Williams

Misc:

I actually think he would hater Hyper-Pop

Prefers slow/classical/instrumental songs

Listens to a lot of white noise, really specific ones like ‘Heavy Rain in Autumn Fairy Forest 9 hours’

Musical prodigy, plays piano and cello

Craig Tucker

Artists:

Nirvana

Hole

No Doubt

Foo Fighters

Pulp

Arcade Fire

Jeff Buckley

Favourite Songs:

Common People- Pulp

Malmo- Mook

Forget Her- Jeff Buckley

The Pretender-Foo Fighters

Dumb- Nirvana

Misc:

Made one playlist in eighth grade and never listens to anything else

Thinks Courtney Love killed Kurt Cobain

Hates TikTok music, like genuinely.

Somewhat of a gatekeeper

Butters Stotch

Artists:

She & Him

Blonde

Kate Bush

Dolly Parton

Regina Spector

The La’s

The Mama’s and the Papa’s

Favourite Songs:

You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine- Lou Rawls

In the Summertime- Mungo Jerry

Hey, Lucky Lady- Dolly Parton

The Tide is High- Blondie

Why Do You Let Me Stay Here- She & Him

Don’t Let The Good Life Pass You By- Cass Elliot

Clay Pigeons- Michael Cera

Misc:

Songs absentmindedly all the time, annoys the hell out of everyone

Quotes the songs he listens to

Developed choreography in middle school and still remembers it

Asks people if they’ve heard a super popular song that’s all over the radio and social media out of genuine curiosity

Anyways, that’s all I got for now. Re log or comment what you think they’d listen to bc I’m genuinely curious, thanks for reading!

Also it literally took hours to add all of those Spotify links so I hope you got something out of this! they wouldn’t let me add more than 100 :/

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Seven. Sacred)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter warnings: emotional distress, anxiety, recall of threat of assault/brainwashing, explicit smut A/N: My treat! Happy Halloween! Only about half this beast is edited, but I gave myself permission to break the no-fic-til-first-draft-is-finished rule if I could complete it by Halloween, soooo... ENJOY! Happy to talk inspo music/plot/scream in harmony in comments and asks.

Chapter 6: Sacred

She wasn’t wearing shoes.

She didn’t entirely realize until she left the palace. The grand castle released her easily, giving her a side door to slip through as she tried escaping herself, and she hesitated when soft dirt replaced smooth stone. The fae’s work stripped a lifetime of callouses. A week ago, she could walk across gravel barefoot. Now… She could go back, admit defeat and finish dressing properly. But she couldn’t deal with any more of Gwen’s concern, and the urge to run boiled from her stomach up the back of her throat. Maybe it would burst out as a scream. Maybe she’d just vomit on her own toes.

No going back.

Something would catch her if she turned around, and she wouldn’t stop until the sensation drained away in sweat, blood, and tears. 

Maybe she’d trip and earn herself some new scars.

She didn’t actually run, but she walked quickly, like she had any idea where she was going and had a schedule to keep.

The sunshine welcomed her, wrapping warm as her shawl around her shoulders, but she kept her eyes on the path, looking for loose stones to dodge or signs of other travelers. But she found no footprints. Heard no breaking twigs ahead or behind. No voices carried on the faint breeze. The world felt a little too perfect, as if it froze when she left her room, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass by. Too still. Like it might startle her if the clouds skidded along like normal clouds usually did. The blue overhead felt careful. Intentional.

The path led her to the edge of a river – or a lake – maybe a vast moat around the palace. She couldn’t see a way across, and she hesitated on the bank, toes curling into the grass as fingernails folded into palms. She wasn’t ready to stop. She needed to keep going. This wasn’t where she sat and cried. She had to burn out the panic, and she desperately needed a way across the water so she could escape into the green hills beyond.

Chewing on her lip, tasting blood, she squinted at the flecks of sunlight glinting on the water’s surface and tried to guess how deep it was. Impossible to guess. But it looked placid enough. Her was still wet, after all. A little more water wouldn’t hurt her.

She stepped from the bank, expecting a cold plunge, but she found sand barely an inch below the surface. Looking again, she could just make out a submerged path ready to help her ford the river, and she tried very hard not to question if it was there before she stepped on it. More than a little afraid it would disappear halfway through, she sprinted across the open water, splashing her clean clothes and making a terrible racket in the pristine stillness. Although the water wasn’t perfectly still, her steps left great ripples that carried the secret of her flight to both shores and beyond. Round whispers revealing her route, rolling off like a bell’s peel to tell the invisible something where she’d fled.

Her beautiful skin crawled, and she didn’t stop until she’d hidden herself in the green shadows beyond the far bank. Pine needles cushioned her steps, and she slowed to catch her breath, still moving forward, but only barely as the wood’s sap and moss filled her senses.

Her heart beat so fast it hummed, and the old ache stirred sharp and deep behind her ribs.

She was missing something. She needed something. She’d been hurt in ways her simple human magic couldn’t mend, but if she pulled the shawl even tighter, everything would be fine. The soft knit would hold her together like a bandage. Or a net. That shouldn’t comfort her, but it did, and she had too many battles to choose this one.

Being caught was alright so long as she was the one to trap herself.

She kept going, and her heart stewed in memories she’d hoped to leave on the floor of the bath. Things grew out of her helpless fears. Weedy jolts of terror that came back no matter how much she reasoned them away. Doubt spread like mold over every good thing. Confusion soared tall as a tree, and even the Dreaming’s determined sunlight couldn’t pierce its canopy.

She didn’t understand why Morpheus lied. And because she didn’t know that, the question her safety and future hinged on, she couldn’t banish every creeping dread that fed on its shadow. Everything she thought she knew felt fragile, and she wasn’t willing to test her assumptions’ strength. She’d thought he respected her. She’d thought her dreams could be a haven with him. She’d thought her life had changed for the better. For once.

But the fae took her for him.

Whatever she thought she knew, they clearly knew something else.

She walked on. Searching her thoughts. Wandering a strange land. Not at all ready to ask for answers.

The woods thinned into scrubby trees and thickets, fading from emerald to a yellowed olive green. Low stone walls rose and fell along the sides of the path she chose at random, bordering little fields full of pumpkins and graveyards bristling with angled headstones. Signs of structure beyond wilderness, a long-inhabited corner of a rural land, far removed from the gleaming palace with its lavender bath and magical bed.

But it was still so quiet.

Where were all the people? Dreams, nightmares, stories. The Dreaming may be vast, but it had nearly countless residents. Fin and Gwen spoke of whole villages, towns, homes full of strange, beautiful, and awful creatures crafted or invited into the Dreaming by its king. The silence rang false, and her heart snagged on a terrible idea.

The air in her lungs hardened.

She’d never left the unseelies’ court. She only walked through a vision boiled from poppy juice and desperate hopes. Maybe she still wore her wedding dress. Or maybe this was the truth of Love in Idleness. She could love her monster because she imagined he was better than he was. Her mind had broken and she found herself roving freely, left to convalesce on her own terms while in reality…

She’d come to a stone bridge fording a creek, and she practically fell back against the wall, sliding down, dropping her head to her knees.

Fucking fuck.

She’d walked so far, but the fear still had a literal chokehold.

Breathing. That mattered most. Whatever else was wrong couldn’t be fixed until she could breathe. She couldn’t even keep walking without air. Old lessons battled with her diaphragm as she tried to scold herself calm. Her old breathing exercises helped take the edge off the crushing sense of suffocation, but her nervous system hummed with tension, and she sat locked in place. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about the dress, feeling phantom spider silk clinging to her skin, watching the threads stretch and tear with so little effort. Of all the things to focus on, maybe it was easiest. The only change she could easily escape. But also a reminder of the monster the fae believed her soulmate to be. Someone who would callously, willingly…

Her stomach rolled, and she lurched onto her knees. A little stomach bile came on the second, wrenching heave, but nothing followed. Not even water.

Fuck.

How long had it been since she ate? Time was so slippery in the fae realms, and gods knew how long she slept in the Dreaming. Her head pulsed as her stomach finally agreed it was overreacting, and she fell back to sit against the wall of the bridge, panting with her eyes closed against every little pain and discomfort knocking on her thoughts. They each wanted to let her know her body had been abused, and all their good intentions just made the message play on repeat, forcing her to not only face but feel everything that happened.

Sorely used.

An archaic turn of phrase, for sure, but fuck if it didn’t fit.

Her ears rang. A sure sign there was just too much happening inside. Even if she didn’t die at the hands of the fae, a rogue nightmare, or some demon Constantine hooked her into finding, her blood pressure would send her to an early grave. For sure.

Her head hurt. Her belly hurt. Her heart hurt. Now that she wasn’t walking, her feet ached, too.

It seemed like a good time to cry, but she hurt too much to do that, either.

So she sat with the pain instead.

Crossing her arms over her knees, she buried her face and tried to block out this world, her monster’s world, and create her own. Simple and dark and safe. The borders only extended to her fingers and toes. It ended where the air touched her skin. Her goal was to drown out the ringing in her ears with the cycle of her breath, and if she forgot anything else existed, maybe that would be possible.

She buried herself so well in her arms and the chorus of her panic that she didn’t notice the little creature approach until it touched her. Tiny claws pricked her ankle. It felt like a cat, a determined kitten scaling her leg to perch on her knee, and she opened her eyes sluggishly, pulling out of the sticky morass of her own head to find a ruby-eyed gargoyle peering into her face. It chirred, potato-shaped head tilting in wordless question.

Golden with little wings that looked entirely insufficient to keep its pudgy baby body airborne, it lurked happily in the grey area where things so ugly they could only be cute flourished.

“I should probably warn you,” she murmured, “that I’m really shit company right now.”

The little creature warbled, like it understood and disagreed. Its claws pinched the fabric over her knee as its wings pumped, lifting him an inch into the air.

Well.

That would show her for making snap judgements.

The little darling really could fly.

It tugged, trilling louder, and she got the idea it wanted her to come along.

“I don’t have wings.” She felt like she ought to apologize, explain her shortcomings the way she’d reason with a small child. “And I don’t feel so good right now. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to.”

Dissatisfied with her decision, her little companion dropped back to her knee, croaking a long, demanding wail.

“Goldie!”

The voice carried through the fog, rattling over the stones, and her little friend perked and turned to call back. Following the direction of his attention, she realized two whole Tudor mansions stood on the opposite side of the bridge. If she’d stumbled any further, she would’ve run into someone’s front door.

She desperately needed to get out of her own head before she walked face-first into an immoveable object and broke her nose.

“Goldie?”

The creature flexed its claws, essentially making biscuits on her knee.

“I think someone’s calling you,” she suggested. The name and color couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in the Dreaming. Everything made a slanted kind of sense here, if it made any sense at all.

The tiny monster, Goldie apparently, settled belly-down, folding its wings and all in a show of blatant refusal. It wouldn’t give up the new friend. Toy. Guest. Whatever the hell she was to it.

“Goldie.” The voice was nearer. Footsteps crunched on loose stones, and a pleasantly round man, with a pleasantly full beard and a pleasantly wide-eyed face, came along from the direction of the two houses, looking the wrong way. “You’re still awfully small to be wandering off, even if you can fly so well. Now, where did you – ” He turned, saw Goldie sitting on Aisling’s knee, and blinked his wide eyes even wider. She stared back.

He remembered his manners first, rushing to welcome her. “Oh! Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”

He approached with a smile, but he hesitated when he realized her position. She must look at least half as horrible as she felt, after all, and she hadn’t moved from her folded spot against the wall.

“Are you alright?” He grasped for solutions, for answers. “Did Goldie scare you?”

Exhausted as she was by her own terrors, she couldn’t help snorting.

“No.” Hell. Her voice practically creaked. She swallowed, trying to get her dry, aching throat in working order, but she only made the ache worse. Coughing, she spluttered, “He didn’t scare me.”

“But you’re not alright.” Those big eyes flooded with growing concern, and she wondered if it was because he genuinely gave a damn or because of some nebulous rule about guests and hospitality and all that shit.

“I’m not,” she confessed. “But I will be. Eventually. I always am.”

“Well, how about some tea while you wait?” He extended a hand, and Goldie fluttered up to his shoulder, clearing the way for her to rise. Now that the cretin had backup, it seemed confident she’d follow.

And since she had no other plan, she did.

“I’m Abel.” His warm, worker’s callouses rasped along her palm and around her fingers as he helped her to her feet. “It’s been a while since we had a proper dreamer here, I’m afraid. Are you lost?”

Very.

“I don’t know. And I’m a dreamer, but I’m not dreaming.”

He didn’t keep hold of her hand as he led her towards one of the two houses – presumably his – but he hovered. He had a good face for that, and he kept near, like he thought she might fall, which was fair considering how he found her.

“Then how are you here?”

A mirror. Knives, and spiders, and that damned dress.

“It’s a long story.”

“Maybe over tea, then.”

“Maybe.” Probably not, though. She couldn’t stomach that tale in her head yet. She couldn’t hold it in her mouth long enough to taste.

The courtyard between the two houses boasted a half-forgotten kind of charm. It grew in moss over crumbling busts and fogged over the windows with just a little too much dust. Cozy neglect. Cottagecore with fewer fairylights and more fog.

Abel held the door for her, and she found a sitting room as wonderfully cluttered as the landscape outside. Books stacked in towers supported forgotten cups, and old table cloths, rugs, and scarves littered every surface. She sat at the little table where her host gestured and admired the collection of his personal history as he busied himself with the stove.

“I should really tell my brother we have a guest,” he fussed. “He’ll be terribly angry if doesn’t have a chance to meet you, I’m sure, Miss…” His hand flew to his mouth, and he murmured his apology through the gaps between his fingers. “’M so sorry. I never asked your name.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m – ”

“Let me get Cain. One introduction! Much easier. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out again, and Goldie fluttered to sit on the table, resting between her limp hands and blinking up like he wasn’t responsible for anything ever, at all, in the very least.

She ran a finger over his bumpy little head and sighed. “Aren’t you just proud of yourself?”

Goldie crooned confirmation, and she rubbed her nail along the loose threads in the tablecloth. A hundred tea stains bloomed over and across each other, but she didn’t see any crumbs from dinners past. The candle in the brass stick at the center of the table had dripped down to anchor the whole contraption in place, and she could only just see a faded red paisley pattern beneath it all.

If she were to read Abel’s cards, this would be the place. It had his rhythm: habit and footsteps and care. A place to plan the morning and end an evening. 

The door’s ominously friendly groan announced the brothers’ return, and she looked over her shoulder to meet much less open eyes in a much less open face, shielded by spectacles and a mouth prepared to sneer.

But he blinked like his brother as Abel rushed to attend the kettle again, and he marched in with open curiosity.

“Well, you are a puzzle.” He made a little bow. “I’m Cain. You’ve met the dunderhead and Goldie.”

Abel set a steaming pot and three cups around the table, practically shaking with excitement. They really must not get company often. “And now she’s going to introduce herself, and we’ll all have tea while she waits to feel alright.”

Cain’s eye’s narrowed, and Aisling jolted to defuse the poisonous tension.

“I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Abel clapped, and the tension fizzled away as she tried to catch up with whatever connection he’d made. “Fine Gent’s Aisling? The witch from the Waking?”

“You know Fin?” She accepted her cup of tea, hoping for more about her friend. How did they know each other? Did they know where her friend was lurking? Were they at all like him?

Cain nodded, ignoring the cup and saucer his brother set at his elbow. “Better sort of nightmare. Reliable. Sharp. And if you’re really that Aisling, then I suppose we know why you’re in the Dreaming.”

She shuddered, an involuntary reaction she only just saved her tea from disaster by plonking it back on the table. Gossip traveled quickly in all realms, apparently, and while Fin was a considerate asshole most days, the fae hadn’t been subtle in their… gifting. She could ask how much her hosts knew, but then she’d have to listen to it. And she didn’t want to. Cain’s eye pierced her with a knowing glance, but Abel stood there in wide-eyed befuddlement, so she left them to their own assumptions and tried again with her drink.

Under any other situation, the tea would be very nice. Well-steeped, but not bitter, with a nutty note that made her think of toasted barely milk tea. In the moment, it was better than anything she’d ever tasted. Her senses sprang back from the fog of despair and remembered how nice it was to quench her thirst, how the steam opened up her sinuses, and she could smell the dried rosemary over Abel’s kitchen window. One sip was not enough. Tipping her head back, she drained it in one go and immediately decided manners were for losers, desperately holding out her cup for a refill.

Holy hell was she thirsty.

Abel quickly poured more, and Cain’s side-eye grew razor sharp.

Aisling drank another cup. And then a third. But when she lifted a fourth to her lips, a familiar hand settled on her wrist.

“That’s a great way to make yourself sick again.”

Fin.

He hovered at her shoulder, calm and constant as anything, charming as ever. Just looking up at his smirk – always welcoming her into a joke whether she understood it or not – felt like setting foot on solid land after a long boat ride. It surprised her by how steady it was, and she remembered what confidence had always felt like when they went on their adventures, dragged along by his leads and her intuition.

She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Under his guidance, she settled the cup in its saucer, and she winced an apologetic smile for her hosts.

“Sorry.”

Cain scoffed. “For what? Drinking tea? Pah.” He eyed Fin with a considerably less charitable look, hoisting the teapot in a clear invitation for yet another refill when required. “You’re a guest, and a thirsty one.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fin pulled out a chair for himself, settling a wicker hamper on the table. “You sprinted from the castle like a bat out of hell, and you slept for ages before that.”

Abel gawked like her wandering was some great accomplishment. “You’ve wandered a long way from the Heart of the Dreaming. This is the border of Nightmare.”

Although she determinedly didn’t sip the tea, she kept her heads around the cup, letting the fading heat sink into her palms and remind her she was alive. And awake.

Nightmare. That made sense. She’d never entirely trusted dreams. They felt so sweet in her sleep, but they always stung when she woke up. She found nightmares more reliable. But distance was nothing in the Dreaming. Even she knew that. If the realm’s lord and master hadn’t chosen to let her have her head and run, she wouldn’t have reached the river.

Busying himself with the basket, Fin muttered, “This one never did like to keep to one place. Here.”

He pulled out a lump of cheese and a crusty roll, setting them on a plate he magically fished from the delicate chaos of Abel’s living space.

She looked at the food distrustfully, not sure if her belly rumbled in welcome or rebellion yet. But Fin was on a mission, and he fished out a dish of strawberries next, bright as gems and so ripe she could smell them. Plucking one from the top of the pile, he sliced it into three neat pieces, offering her one on the flat of his blade with an expectant expression. He’d done the work. She shouldn’t waste it.

“The tea will settle better with a bit of food,” he advised.

Cain and Abel kept their own counsel, either riddling out what they were seeing or collecting fresh fuel for the gossip engine, she couldn’t say.

She accepted the strawberry.

It tasted like summer. Ice cream in the shade, and the riot of growing things in their prime. Sunshine and sticky hands with her bare feet in a creek.

Food really wasn’t supposed to taste like that. It took her breath away, and she hesitated, balanced on the edge of Fin’s knife between enjoying the little gift and careening back into her overwhelmed panic. Everything was a step further than she expected, or a little too perfect, or grand in ways that made her feel so, so small…

Goldie, sitting by her elbow, trilled. She looked into his ruddy eyes and held out her hand in a silent demand for another bit of strawberry, even though she hadn’t finished chewing.

Fin tipped the next slice into her waiting palm, and she offered it to the baby… whatever. Goldie seized it with a delighted gurgle and crammed it in its mouth. The sliver of berry filled much more of his mouth than Aisling’s, and his cheeks ballooned with the treat.

“What do you say, Goldie?” Abel asked.

His – pet? Child? – offered a gulp, a belch, and a croak, which was enough to satisfy Abel.

Fin shoved the third slice of berry directly in her face.

And she nearly choked. Nearly laughed. It startled her, but she put her hand to her mouth and kept everything in – chewing and swallowing emotion and food. They saying went that laughter was the best medicine, and while she was a firm proponent of the wonders of antibiotics, her inner sky cleared just the tiniest bit. The cracks were still there. Her world was still more than a little broken. But the fog of war began to lift, and she could see some of what was left. What was alright. What might be alright with a little more time.

Moss would grow on the ruins, and rain would fill the holes into ponds for frogs and water lilies.

What couldn’t be repaired could be made new.

And if she ever cleared all the clouds from that inner sky, maybe she’d find another watercolor sunset waiting for her.

Fin, watching her very carefully, cut another strawberry, and she ate it all with more confidence than the first two mouthfuls. He sliced open a roll and spread soft cheese on the two halves, giving them to her one at a time. When she reached for her tea to wash the bread down, he didn’t protest.

His posture softened until he slouched in his seat, shoulders back against the wood and one ankle propped across his knee. The little wrinkles that forecast a frown smoothed back to the edge of a smirk. All his anxiety appeared in the hollow shapes left behind as it melted.

She was sorry to have worried him, but watching him relaxed helped her more than all the tea and food in the Dreaming could. He’d decided she was safe, and in this wonky wonderland, she trusted his judgement. Fin may not betray his maker for her, but he would never be ease if he wasn’t sure all was – or would be – well.

Rapid tapping interrupted the scene a few minutes after she refused more food from Fin. Sated, pleasantly full, and breathing easily, she didn’t jump at the sound, but her heart jumped when she saw the raven on the other side of Abel’s window. She’d bet anything it was…

“Matthew.” Fin nodded to the bird but didn’t move to let him in. Instead, he turned to Aisling and asked, “Feel up for a walk?”

“Back? That’s…” The best idea. The worst idea. She thought of the castle and the entity who ruled it. He needed to be stitched back into her story. She had too many frayed ends left in the wake of the latest tear, and she couldn’t begin any real work until she saw the pattern. All her questions and accusations coiled into a lump in her throat. “A long way.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Since his question hadn’t really been one at all, he stood up, put the basket on his arm, and pulled out her chair.

It was time to go.

Cain and Abel stood, too, and Goldie bobbed up to Abel’s shoulder, sighing like a tired toddler.

“Thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway and wondered what the rules were in the Dreaming. Did she owe them something? Did they expect a token, or a boon, or some specific words? Should she start planning a thank you card? Was there a ritual, or – no. She was overthinking it. “It was… You helped. A lot. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Abel beamed. Goldie warbled in agreement.

“Of course, she’s welcome,” Cain snapped, finding some unknowable annoyance in his brother’s manners. He looked back to his departing guests and nodded, slowly, almost like he was bowing. “Fine Gent. Lady.”

“Oh, I’m not-”

Fin looped his free arm through hers and tugged her off balance, moving through the door. Her confusion of thought was lost in the chaos of stumbling sideways to keep up.

“Thank you, Cain,” Fin said.

The door closed. The sounds, smells, and sensations of the outdoors crashed over her fragile senses like a wave, and she was very glad for Fin’s arm. She was… better. But still not well. The ground stayed firm under her feet, but the back of her mind whispered it would melt into quicksand at any second.

Fluttering wings and a familiar croak warned her just before Matthew came flapping in her face. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thought you were gone forever when you didn’t come back to your van, and the boss-”

“Will explain his thoughts himself,” Fin interjected. He gave the bird a look, a suggestion or a reminder. Once upon a time he threw those her way in the Waking. When she was young and overeager to test her limits. When she ought to know better.

Matthew landed in a chaos of black feathers and clattering talons, hopping alongside as Fin led the way across the bridge. Back to forests, fields, and strange moats. Back to the Heart of the Dreaming. Whatever that meant for her. There was no rush, but Fin clearly had a direction in mind, and while he was willing to go slow, ambling rather than marching, he was on a mission.

She didn’t like the heavy feeling that realization left in her gut, full of the food he’d so carefully and considerately brought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there was a new authority overshadowing their old dynamic, and she just didn’t like it.

Chastised, Matthew actually held his tongue for a few minutes. But every few steps, she caught him peeping up with sharp swings of the beak to glance at her, like he was waiting for a signal to talk again. He looked so awkward, fumbling along at their pace. And earnest.

And none of this was his fault. It wasn’t Fin’s. It wasn’t the raven’s. It… probably wasn’t their master’s, either.

She offered a wan, tired kind of smile that she hoped would ease the tension. He snapped it up.

The raven cleared his throat. “You look nice?”

And she always would. No matter how sick, or exhausted, or miserable, or – The phantom tingle of the fae’s thick salve gleaming with unicorn horn rolled down her arms, and she shuddered.

“Don’t.”

Matthew immediately dropped his head. “Sorry.”

Well shit.

“It’s fine. Just – yeah.”

And with that eloquent excuse of a non-apology, the three fell into a deeper silence.

The trees swallowed the two houses and the bridge that led to them. The path unspooled ahead, under darker boughs, and after a corner or two, the edge of the forest thinned. Too quickly. A slowly as she’d run. Impossible and sensical, because what else could it have ever been.

As the castle came into view, she fought against the dream-fall sensation demanding she wake up. She knew she couldn’t, because she was already, but that didn’t stop of her mind from spinning with the alien logic of this world. She was still looking for an escape, even if she didn’t feel the need to run for one.

A bridge – which she knew for sure wasn’t there before – connected the edge of the forest to the castle’s island. A low, discreet construction entirely unlike the arching causeway she could spy towards the front gates. The Dreaming hadn’t made it a challenge to leave, but it made returning even easier.

It invited her to come home.

Fin huffed, and she caught a smirk twisting his lips before he schooled it into a more dignified expression.

“You’re expected, it seems.”

Her hand spasmed on his arm, and he patted it almost condescendingly.

“Of course,” she murmured, demanding her stomach settle and her feet move.

Fin stayed with her across the bridge, through the garden, to the door that let her out. She felt like a stray dog being returned by a neighbor after a jaunt around the neighborhood, and it took conscious effort not to let her hackles rise. Inside, the castle was as quiet as it had been before, and she wondered again if people were being kept away from her on purpose, and if so, for whose benefit.

They stopped in the first crossroads between hallways. “This is where we leave you.”

“What?” Panic fluttered like butterflies through her gut. Fin settled (most of) them with another one of his looks – teasing, mocking her just enough to assure her this wasn’t anything like she feared. It made her feel stupid. It gave her courage. “I mean – fine. Okay. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Fin pointed to the left. “If you head that way, you’ll find yourself back in the room you woke in. Gwen and Jeff will take care of you.” He pointed to the right. “If you go that way, you’ll find him. If you’re ready to talk.”

He delicately peeled her fingers off his arm, stepped back, and performed a tidy bow. Duty performed, he left her with a wink and walked back the way they’d come in, a way that now offered many more doors and turns than she remembered.

“Good seeing you, Aisling. I’ll see you around?” Matthew didn’t wait for an answer. He launched into the air and flapped after Fin. A last caw caught and echoed through the branching halls, fading until she stood alone with her decision.

The still air pulsed with her thoughts, and her bare soles stuck to the polished floor, rooting her in a whirlpool of feelings she couldn’t face long enough to name. A crossroads. Her crossroads. Another gift from the entity she’d always feared would take away her choice. Was it respect or apology?

He’d lied to her, and even if he wasn’t responsible for… everything else, how could she trust he’d finished with masks? Kindness made for a clever veil, and he’d already surprised her with the face behind one helm.

But he hadn’t destroyed her. Hadn’t let others strip her will when it could’ve suited his purposes.

Romances between gods and mortals rarely ended well, and he was beyond a god. How could she ever hope to understand that? There was no world in which she could be his equal, where he could stoop low enough to grasp her human fears. Holding hands across a chasm like that always ended in a fall. Hadn’t she been enough of a fool already?

She remembered her first dream with him. He was more honest with her then than he’d been since, and the first thing he wanted to show her was the place where he held her the way she’d always held him. For that night at least, everything made sense. Maybe not the pain, but the agonies she’d suffered almost seemed worth it.

She didn’t know what to think. If she never faced their tangled wyrd, the potential bond she’d tasted so briefly, she’d never know how to feel, either. Maybe all this would kill her, but she couldn’t live without knowing.

So, she turned right.

Maybe it was her imagination, but the coolly lit hall seemed a little brighter as she made her way from the crossroads, looking for Morpheus.

She didn’t have to go far. The hall stretched straight ahead. No side passages to distract her. No doors to tempt her curiosity. Dream of the Endless wasn’t hiding, and as he reached out to guide her steps, he shaped the world to his intent.

The hall ended, rounding a little bend and opening into a high-ceilinged room that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A gallery. A meeting place. Something old and new and hollow. One wall bristled with shapes emerging from grey-veined marble. Windows stretched from floor to roof, bathing the sculptures of vines, trees, rolling waves, and writhing figures with soft light at odds with the relief’s high drama. There was no furniture. Only space waiting to be filled. And a lone figure. Waiting for her.

No obstacles. No games or tests.

It could all be so, so simple.

Morpheus wore his regal grace with the same ease as his long black coat. But it failed to shroud his melancholy, and his longing wafted through the room in perfumed spirals of burning incense. She breathed it in; it stung her eyes and plucked on the frayed tatters in her chest. Sympathetic pain bloomed, and she rubbed along her sternum automatically, blinking back tears so she could trade them for words.

He broke the silence first. “I welcome you to the Dreaming, Aisling Hunt.”

Without his helm, his voice sounded so different. Incredibly. Even more beautiful, like looking up into a night sky with stars that looked back, but less like a force of the cosmos, more a man who traded in the dust that made worlds. He regarded her, and her intuition thrummed, trying to answer in ways her human body physically couldn’t.

He paused, lips parted on a thought, and the formal weight evaporated, replaced with aching strain that curled his shoulders towards her, even across the room, like a plant bending towards the sun. Strange. Unsettling. She didn’t feel like something bright in his world, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind his grotesque helm again.

“I am, despite everything, glad to have you here.”

Oh.

It shocked her back into her body. Into feet just a little cold and still bare on the floor. Into flesh she was afraid to look at in case she started crying again. The hope and horror bridged, and the most urgent question grew like a weed up her throat.

Well. If he was going to bring it up, then…

“I need to know something.” She rubbed her chest, hoping to pry loose a scrap of courage. None lingered in her heart, but a few tatters could’ve gotten caught in her ribs, and even a slip would do her. “Before this – I need to ask you something. I think I already know, but I need –” She knew how quickly words and oaths could twist under desire’s pressure, and even if she’d committed to playing the fool, even clowns had their limits, and she wouldn’t dance into another lying mirror. “You said you wouldn’t steal me away to hide in shadows, but you could send others to take me, and this place is very bright.”

His shoulders drew back, and his chin lifted. He’d offered her formal welcome and she asked for formal confirmation that he hadn’t betrayed her. She wasn’t ready to burn for him as his sun. She had to know he wouldn’t snuff her out first.

“I did not ask for you to be taken. I did not ask for you to be changed against your will. I did not ask other hands to commit such sins in my name, nor will I in future.” Angling his face down again, he offered her a glimpse at the wrath hidden there. He had not forgotten her suffering. It would not go unpunished. And just as quickly as he revealed his rage, he buried it again, stowing the knives and earthquakes for the villains who’d driven her to ask for proof in the first place. He watched her absorb what he’d said, and his voice turned feather soft. “You are my most cherished guest, and though I ask that you stay until word has spread and it is safe for you to walk the Waking world, you are no prisoner.”

Blinking, she took a deep breath. It rattled all the way down to her fingers, and she shook out her hands to banish the trembling.

“Thank you.” He gave, and he gave, and he gave. Time, space, reassurance. Her gaze roved the complicated mass of imagery covering the wall, looking for a theme. A hint. Frozen sailors reached for the land, tying sails against a wind determined to keep them at sea. Trees bloomed. Flowers fell. Fruit swelled, and snakes crept through their own shed skins as seeds burst from fallen, rotting apples. Time, loss, and rebirth without aim.

“What do you want, Morpheus?”

Had she ever actually asked him? She desperately wanted the truth. The whole thing.

“You were right.” Her own truth. An olive branch. An invitation and a plea. “Others shaped my view of you. So, now’s your chance. Tell me, so I can it from your own mouth. What do you want?”

In this moment, she was judge, jury, and executioner. No one would decide who or what she loved, and she would know the entity whose name she carried before she gave him anything else.

The air turned sharp. It cut the light like a prism, glittering in her monster’s eyes, a focus so sharp it broke sunbeams into their constituent parts. For all the black he wore, he practically glowed, a king in all ways, an open heart in more. Only here. In private. For her.

His eyebrows lifted, pinched. “I want you.” His voice was a song, weaving everything that could be beautiful between them into the simplest terms. “I want to be near you. I want to comfort you.” He approached, drawing his words out with cautious steps, hands hanging stiff at his sides. He halted, just far enough for her to feel safe, even when he spoke again, letting his lust drip into his tone, scenting his song with night-blooming jasmine. “I want to love you and make love to you.”

That was… honest. Heat rushed over her face, and she dropped eye contact like it was the source of the fire.

Fuck.

It was, actually.

When she first saw him, locked away in the cage beneath Fawney Rig, she thought his beauty was a warning, a good reason to look away and avoid him. Beautiful things were almost always cruel, but now… Well, things were different, weren’t they?

“I want you to know me.” He glanced out the window, and she instinctively did the same, looking over distant mountains and glittering bridges. World beyond worlds. “The Dreaming is a part of me. Simply by walking it, I feel you’re exploring me.”

They looked at each other again, just a little closer than before, and the hope in her monster’s eyes made him almost boyish. He was older than her planet, probably. But even an Endless must be reborn sometimes, in some ways, like the snake winding through the rotting fruit.

So, she’d met him when the water splashed over her toes. She let him comfort her when she drank the tea and ate the food of the Dreaming. Even if she hadn’t held his hand or looked in his eyes, and he was reaching for her in all but body now.

Fine.

Alright then.

She wouldn’t be anxious over a project she’d already begun.

“May I touch you?”

His smile bloomed soft and sweet. “Yes.”

Having the permission she needed from his strange eyes, his lips, the face she still didn’t know, she looked at his hands. She drew the tips of her fingers along his knuckles, a whispered touch asking for an answer, and he lifted the hand for her inspection, turning it over so she could see the creases of his palms. Invitation and vulnerability. Her touch wandered the lines, trying to read the silky flesh like a book. Palmistry had never been her forte, though, and she only found her own memories in his life and love lines.

“I know these better than your face,” she admitted. They felt safer, something secure to hold when his galaxy eyes threatened to sweep her away.

She found her courage in inches, lifting her eyes to his shoulders. His neck, his skin pale and untouchable as a reflection of the moon. Would she find the same strength in the rest of him as she did in his hands? The same possessive tenderness? The same call that felt like a puzzle coming together when she stroked his fingers, demanding and comforting as a deep breath after a dive?

Gingerly, like one or both of them was made of glass, she pressed an index finger to either side of his jaw. The barest caress drew along the edge of his face, not just feeling him, but listening to the hushed drag of skin on skin, until her two hands met, fingertip to fingertip, over the point of his chin. A sigh gusted down her wrists, along her elbows, and a rebel army of goosebumps sprang to life at his summons.

Without entirely meaning to, she looked up and met his eyes, and once she found them, they snared her.

It was entirely unfair for anyone to have actual stars in their eyes, and she read her doom in them as easily as she read her cards.  

“I’d like to kiss you.”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he shifted closer, keeping his hands to his side despite the way his want curled out to close the distance like a physical force. Well. It was his world. Perhaps it was. It found her heart and tugged.

Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, waiting to read his answer. “May I?”

“Yes.” His voice rumbled so low and strong she felt it like thunder. No hesitation.

She wondered if she’d have to rise onto her toes to reach him, but he swept down to meet her, giving rather than waiting for her to cautiously claim what she’d asked for. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first caress. A soft touch expressing and savoring everything she’d allow. There was no demand, but as she pressed into the kiss, chasing the delicate friction, he answered in kind.

Little sparks carried through her blood. Through her mind. Urging something to life. Drops of sunshine calling up flowers in springtime. He tasted like traces of smoke from a campfire on a cold night. Vellum and lignin. The last breath before a jump.

When she broke away to breathe, she peered into his face, and she felt the trembling rush of standing in a high place. In the Dreaming, were the butterflies in her stomach real, too?

His hands hovered, framing her face with restrained yearning.

“May I touch you?” Gravel thickened his voice until it nearly broke, and he searched her expression with bared desperation. “May I hold you so I may feel you are well? May I love you, my little hero?”

She settled her hands over his, kissed his palm, and guided his fingers to her cheek, closing the gap he’d left for her to decide in. “You may touch me.”

He accepted her permission with open wonder, taking a full moment to rest where she’d led him, moving just enough to stroke the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. When he freed himself of the spell she’d so innocently cast, he let his touch wander – sweeping over her brow, tracing her nose, cradling her jaw. But when he came to her mouth, he lost his focus. He replaced hand with lips, jolting back after the briefest, most chaste contact when he realized he hadn’t asked permission.

She grabbed the lapels of his long coat, shaking the fear from his expression. “You can kiss me. Please. You don’t need to ask. Not tonight.”

The worried frown he’d grown melted. A smirk washed up his face, dark with promise. But he didn’t tease her. He claimed another, proper kiss instead. Free to touch her, he angled her face with careful pressure, showing her how best to deepen the pleasure of lips, and teeth, and tongues, until she was equally breathless and reluctant to breathe.

Resting forehead-to-forehead as she recovered – as she gathered air to take the plunge again – he asked, “May I hold you?”

“Yes.” Her turn to answer quickly, for an ache to strain her voice.

Long limbs twined around her, drawing her close with a hand on her back and another on his him as her monster once again set to work trying to consume her. She did finally rise onto her toes, begging for more with eager hands slipping up his shoulders to comb into his hair. He gave her too much to feel, and she couldn’t give each piece its due. His lips gliding over hers. The secure warmth of his arms. Smooth skin and soft hair. The pressure of his chest against hers.

She knew pains like this. Sensations too overwhelming and complicated to make sense of. But she’d never felt pleasure the same way, and it swept her away faster than a riptide. She’d given the sea permission to drown her, though, so it was alright. More than alright. Wonderful.

He wasn’t as cool as he’d been when she first touched him. The rosy heat didn’t blush over his skin, but it pressed out to meet her, as if he was taking inspiration from the pulse and flush of mortality. Her blood warmed her because it must. He only warmed from a desire to be near.

“And may I love you?” A kiss to her cheek. “May I?” Another just below her ear. Withdrawing to lift her gathered hands to his lips, holding her gaze, he brushed a third kiss over her knuckles. “May I?”

Almost too disoriented to answer, she nodded, running her palms over his clothed chest. “Yes. Please, Morpheus – ”

His name on her lips tore through the last of his self-control. Finally. Finally given permission. Finally near enough to touch, and taste, and take. He crushed her closer with tender, rabid affection, kisses wandering to her cheek, down her neck, and back to her lips to share her sighs.

Maybe she wasn’t the sun, but how she burned for him.

Lovely as it was, she wanted his coat off. With their lips tangled together, she struggled to ask, but she pushed at it, and he wordlessly agreed, helping her peel it away from his shoulders to drop, abandoned, somewhere behind him. Her monster’s greatest frustration with the act was the time he spent with his hands otherwise occupied, and he grabbed her back to him like they’d been separated for years, not seconds.

His hand slipped beneath the soft shirt he so thoughtfully provided when she woke, and she whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard by how good this new wave of sensation felt. Fragments of control washed away with each graze of a knuckle or press of his palm along her back, pulled away as sand in the surf.

When she released her hold on his shoulders, he left her break the kiss, his eyes somehow even darker as he watched her reach for the hem of the garment. He helped her – carefully, reverently – guiding her arms and head out of the fabric. His lips parted as he looked her over, and he reached for the bottom of his own shirt. She mirrored his performance, helping him with the simplest chore of escaping his clothes, and when he emerged from the black shirt’s depths, he reappeared with a smile. A little amused. Deeply fond.

More kisses. Cautious hands mapping new spaces. Enjoying each other slowly so the heat could grow. Shared breaths, every shudder and shift pressed into the other’s flesh. Wrapped up in each other entirely. There wasn’t room for fear or doubt; they stood much too close.

Even when Dream pulled back again, something as fiendish as it was loving in his expression, she couldn’t remember there was a room or a world beyond him.

He spread his palm wide over the center of her chest, covering the flesh between him and his mark, and he pressed down. Gravity bent to his will, an intractable urge. She fell to his desire and found herself sprawled flat on something comfortable that wasn’t a bed. But he left her no time to wonder, following her with a rain of kisses that left her dizzy. As his hands crept down, he hovered, watching for her to revoke her permission, or even the slightest hint of discomfort. But by the time he’d reached the rest of her clothes, her hands fluttered around his, trying to slip multiple layers off in one go. She wanted her pants gone as much as she’d wanted rid of his coat, and he chuckled as she kicked them off the last inch.  

Once she’d escaped the last fabric keeping her from his touch, she drew him back for a kiss, this one so soft it spoke his thanks. His care.

Although he rested between her legs, he didn’t rush. He attended her breasts, plucking yelps and giggles from hidden ticklish spots, rising back to her lips again and again as she grew hotter and more desperate under his hands. They might’ve spent a hundred years hovering on the threshold, finding each other in grazes and kneading grips.  

At last, he roved lower, and even as he brushed his lips over hers, his thumb rolled over her bud. Slowly, tortuously almost, he fluttered over the nub, refusing to explore further until she whimpered and writhed. He traced down her folds and groaned. She could feel how wet he’d made her, and the mortification would’ve swamped her if she couldn’t feel how excited it left him. The bulge pressing against her hip left no doubt.

His fingers sank inside, curling to pull something out of her. She gave him a moan, a fluttering thing, unsure on new wings, and he hovered with his mouth hanging open in awe, like he could catch it. Keep it. Cage it in his ribs to keep. Before, when he’d pleasured her in the dream, he had plenty to say, even when his mouth was on her. That was worship. This was communion. A true meeting, a joining without words.

He worked her open diligently. And all the while, he held her gaze, feasting on it.

Every nerve sang for him, and he coaxed her to the very edge before she grabbed his wrist. He froze, looking for pain in her expression, and she kissed the worried line between his eyebrows.

“I want you.”

She didn’t need to explain. With a look so vulnerable he almost looked hurt, he said, “You have me.”

When he pulled back this time, he took her with him, and she sat astride his lap as he worked a mark into her neck, giving her time to change her mind. His pants had magically disappeared. She wasn’t at all surprised, though she’d wanted to help take them off herself. Next time, maybe.

Next time? There would be a next time. And another next time. And all the next times she wanted.

Elated by her revelation, she all but yanked his face from her neck so she could kiss him properly. He laughed, and it tasted like elderflower cordial, rich and sweet enough to make her drunk with one sip. She ground down on his length, and his hands spasmed on her waist.

“I’m ready,” she assured him with an eager peck. “I want this.”

He shifted, arranging himself to brush her entrance, but he didn’t press. Even here, he waited for her. She sank to meet him, her grip on his shoulders seizing as she stretched. His hold moved to her back, her neck, cradling her near instead of exerting any kind of control. And she was glad. She needed it as her eyes all but rolled back into her skull.

As light kisses rained over her face, she fought to relax, to take him entirely. She only opened her eyes once she had him. Once he had her. And once she saw him, she wondered how she could ever turn away again.

It was the way he looked at her. Fathomless patience meeting desperation. All of it honed by time. He’d craved her company before she was born, and he’d wrestled back his yearning until it cut into his soul to keep from scaring her away.

He wanted to be seen, and held, and cared for, too.

A thousand adoring words bubbled up her throat, but it wasn’t the right time, so she peppered them soundlessly down his neck and along his collarbones instead.

And she moved.

The drag was almost too much. The pressure brought stars to her own eyes, and although she refused to close them, sometimes she thought they’d fluttered shut, because the push and pull of their lovemaking really was blinding. He stroked up to meet each roll of her hips, crooning as she kissed and petted and squeezed him.

They were the turn of stars, the draw of ancient voids too vast for names, and all the voiceless songs strung between worlds.

She forgot the pain in her chest. She forgot she’d ever done anything but burn for her monster. Her Morpheus.

If she wasn’t the sun, she must’ve swallowed one.

The inferno melted her from the inside out, and she all but fell apart, wrapped around him, and cheek-to-cheek, he groaned in her ear. She panted, open-mouthed, fighting for air and sense as he kept his slow, deliberate pace. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill yet, and he held her all the tighter as her quaking limbs refused to play.

When feeling eventually returned to her legs, she pulled them around his waist, anchoring herself and refusing to release him as adamantly as he clung to her. The otherworldly sensations lingered, but she remembered herself a little more, found the cognizance to appreciate who held her, who she’d accepted. Who stoked the flame, sheathed inside.

Even as he worked her up to another orgasm, a painfully soft part of her heart burst open, and affection flooded her system. It bled open and free, forcing tears to her eyes.

She was safe, and he was hers, and she –

She really had to tell him somehow. She couldn’t bear to say it, though.

She’d be worthy of his face. She’d break him out of a thousand cages. If only he’d keep her so close and secure and warm.

This time when she trembled to pieces, there was no putting her back together, and her monster graciously followed her release. He kissed her as he came, holding her still so they could feel every shudder of the end. And when he’d finished, as their breathing steadied, he tumbled with her back into something soft, never once letting her slip from his arms.

[spencerwayne-todd]

Keeping up with the Waynes, Christmas special, part 2

(Resolution to the slight angst last part, happy ending!)

(Christmas morning, Wayne Manor)

Damian: NO!

Tim: YES!

Damian: CLEARLY, IT SAYS "DAMIAN" ON THE TAG!

Tim: CLEARLY, IT SAYS "DRAKE"!

Alfred, taking the present: Clearly, young sirs, it says "Duke". I believe master Dick is to blame for this atrocious handwriting.

Dick: Hey! My handwriting isn't that bad!

Steph: Except that it is, and nobody knows whose gift is who's because of it.

Dick: Et tu?

Steph: Something in that sentence was wrong.

Cass, walking over to Bruce: Dad. Gift.

Bruce, taking the present: Aww, Cassie.

*Bruce opens it to find a handmade navy blue scarf with his initials sewn into the corner*

Bruce, tearing up: Did you make this for me?

Cass: *nods*

Bruce: *hugs her while crying*

*Crash*

Bruce: Dick! Be nice to Jason!

Dick: NOOOO! You can't make me!

Bruce: Alfred can.

Dick, sitting down: Touché.

Jason: It's his fault. Milk chocolate is not better than dark chocolate. It's not a hill you need to die on.

Dick: How terribly dull for you to live your life without any hills to die on.

Jason: I have plenty of hills I'd die on.

Dick, raising his voice and standing on a couch arm like a stereotypical orator: You! on your vast, flat, barren plains of compromise, acceptance, and accommodation-

Jason: WHO'S COMPROMISING??!!

Dick, even louder: BARREN PLAINS! BARREN, WHILE I REIGN SUPREME OVER THE LUSH, ROLLING HIGHLANDS OF INCREDIBLE OPINIONS I HAVE ELECTED TO STAKE MY ENTIRE IDENTITY ON!

Jason: *Starts running at Dick*

Dick, quickly, as Jason tackles him off the couch: THE HILLS ARE ALIVE WITH ALL THE FUCKS I GIVE ON SELECT TOPICS!

*More Crashes*

Bruce: Ok, let's continue with the presents!

Damian, unwrapping a present from Selina: A bell?

Selina: Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.

Damian: Oh, I am aware. I've created a robot that rings 40 bells 80 times per hour.

Duke: Oh, no.

Damian: I've been running it nonstop for three years.

Bruce: Tired Dad Sigh (TM)

Damian: Soon, all of the angels will have wings.

Tim: Oh, god.

Damian: Heaven's hierarchy is in shambles.

Duke: No

Damian: The chorus weeps

Bruce: Please stop.

Damian: God knows I'm coming for his throne.

Me: OK! That's enough. August! You haven't opened anything.

August: Oh, sorry! I was reading this news article.

Bruce, hopeful that one of his children is normal: Oh? What is it?

August: "Spiders blamed after broken siren played creepy nursery rhymes randomly at night to UK townsfolk."

*Bruce visibly loses all hope*

Steph: Could any word in that headline get any more terrifying?

Me: Probably. Multi-legged horror hamsters, anyone?

Damian: *raises hand*

Bruce: *Lowers it*

*All the gifts were opened, food had eaten, and Christmas movies put on the TV as the family gathers to watch in the living room. Jason notices Spencer's absence and goes to their bedroom, finding her sitting on the floor. He closes the door and leans on the frame*

Spencer, facing the fireplace: Jay, I- we need to talk.

Jason: I figured. You never leave Christmas movie night.

Spencer: Two months ago, I was on a mission in Rome. While on that mission, I was stabbed, as you know, and I was severely injured.

Jason: I remember.

Spencer: What I haven't told you is that I found out later that I was pregnant. The wound cost me the baby and any chance of having more. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before. I just didn't know how.

*Jason walks over to Spencer, and sits down behind her, pulling her into his arms in a back hug.*

Spencer, sighing: How long have you known?

Jason: Gideon sent me the file last night.

Spencer: You must be furious.

Jason: No. I understand. I do wish you had told me before, but I understand why you didn't.

Spencer, scoffing quietly: You do?

Jason, pulling her closer: You were scared. You knew that it would hurt, and you didn't want to imagine what might happen. You knew you could trust me, but could you trust me? Would I be comforting or would I lash out in anger and drive a wedge between us? You told yourself "That's silly! Of course he won't be angry at me!" But, what if I was? Would you be ok? Would we be ok? Emotions are so hard. Why can't everything just go back to normal?

Spencer: Every single one of those thoughts have been on replay in my head for the past two months nonstop, in that exact order.

Jason: I know. But you don't need to be scared. It hurts, but it's going to be ok. You can trust me with your whole life and all of your secrets. I promise you I will never lash out at you. I will always be here to comfort you. I'm not angry at you. You're going to be ok. We're going to be ok. Emotions are hard, but you're stronger than the hardships you face. It's ok if nothing is normal. I'm here for you. I love you.

Spencer: I love you, too. *kisses Jason* I think we'll make it in time for the second movie.

Jason: Wonderful plan, love.

(@august0bone)

[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

[darkmessiah2000]

🎶Merry dol, derry dol, ring-a-ding-dillo

Sand flies in the grass, bees around the willow

Now let the song begin, let us sing together

Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather

Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather

Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow

Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow

Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water

Old Tom Bombadil and the river daughter🎶

No Words…