183. teen wolf fics: lydia/peter and scott/allison
Title | (whatever you do) keep it with you
Rating | pg-13
Characters| Lydia, Peter.
Summary | One night I kissed him / and / for seven-eight nights it was / the moon and / roses and romance
Notes | Written for this ficathon.
Lydia’s never had a boyfriend like that. Not like that, not like the way Allison talks about Scott, not in ways that involve breathlessness and all that wide-eyed earnestness when she talks about him.
She had Jackson, who looked perfect. And she sort of had Stiles, who thought she was perfect. It was never like that, when she opened her chest and he opened his and they held their hearts out to one another. There was peeking, sometimes. Revelations of important veins, maybe. Jackson had told her about his family once. Stiles has seen her cry, seen her scream, seen her naked in the woods. Veins, but no major arteries.
She’s never had a boyfriend like that, not like how it happens in her backyard, when he asks for a kiss and gives her a flower.
That night, her dreams aren’t so awful. They’re framed in purple and everything has soft edges.
She wakes with an unfamiliar taste in her mouth.
Lydia believes in reality. She believes in math. She believes in formulae, in theorems, in things that can be proven, outlined for the naked eye.
When she was a little girl, when they had sleepovers, she always told the best ghost stories. She’d read them and then they’d just be there, in the back of her mind, ready to spook her friends with, a flashlight held just under her chin.
She was never much for fairytales, either, but she’s always thought that maybe when a person fell in love like that, it was possible to suspend disbelief, to buy into all the magic.
A boy gives her a flower and tells her to keep it. She’ll never know if she lost it or if it was never there at all.
Lydia believes in reality until she starts to see detailed realities that aren’t there at all.
Peter wakes her in the night, blood on her bedsheets and tricks in her tired brain. He likes to touch her with hands that may or may not exist. He’s fond of her neck - there are some important veins under there, some serious arteries.
He frightens her. She thinks of beauties in castles with beasts; all it took was a little love to make everything right.
Lydia wouldn’t know. It’s not like that, after all.
She still sees him sometimes. The boy with the flower.
It might be a dream. Maybe she’s hallucinating. Either way, it makes her heart beat fast.
When she sleeps, she finds herself in empty fields. Wolfsbane falls out of her mouth, petal after petal. She can remember dirt in her mouth, after the dance, when she’d fallen to the ground. She wonders if that’s how he would have tasted, like the earth, like rot - or if he would have tasted like the boy he once was, smart and kind-eyed, fresh and hopeful and earnest, admitting what he wanted, wanting her.
She wonders if it would have been like -
It doesn’t matter. There is one world, one reality, and Peter is long dead.
Lydia deals strictly in realities, even when she wakes up with purple petals stuck to her palms.
fin.
Title | i have so many scars, but you have such a smile
Rating | pg-13
Characters| Scott, Allison.
Summary | Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
Notes | Written for this ficathon.
Scott falls in love with lots of things about Allison. Her dimples when she smiles, for example. The way her hair falls into his face, the way she holds his hand. The taste of her mouth the first time she kisses him, and the second, and the third.
And in the aftermath, he falls in love with her humanity, how beautiful and fragile and strong it is, all at once.
His body is unmarked. There’s a small scar on his knee, a relic of a fall off of a bike when he was six years old, but that’s it. There have been arrows and tasers but his body brushes off the scars as if he’d never been touched at all.
Allison’s body has a better memory. In the cocoon of the blankets on her bed, he discovers the ways her life has marked her, the places she’s been hurt and then healed. There’s a tiny dot of a scar on her nose, leftover from a nose piercing she’d begged for and then decided she didn’t want.
On her ankle, there’s an old, faded scar from an accident when she was first learning to skate. There are little marks on her hands from accidentally poking herself with arrows when she was younger. Her toes are marked with the ridges of old injuries from her gymnastics days.
Scott kisses her toes, her fingers, the side of her nose. Her smoothes his hand along her ankle, fingers circling bone. His mouth goes on to find the places where her heart beats hardest, the spot just beneath her jaw, the thinnest part of her wrist, the valley between her breasts. She giggles at the feel of his mouth on her skin and her heart pounds beneath his lips.
She has so many breakable bits, and she lets him touch them all.
Allison sees the scars the moon gives him. She sees past his surface, to the difficulties with Derek, to the way it becomes abruptly difficult to balance lying to his mother and going to school and trying to keep anyone else from getting killed.
Maybe she’s breakable but Scott is broken, bitten, not quite human anymore. Allison’s scars are the mark of her bravery, and it’s that bravery that she lets him share, encompasses him in - she is human enough, fragile and beautiful and strong enough, for them both.
She lays her heart in hands that are sometimes more like paws. She trusts him not to bruise it, not to make her bleed.
She’s survived gymnastics tumbles and archery fumbles, survived her family, survived werewolves, survived the kanima, survived high school -
Scott doesn’t want to be another scar on her body.
His lips are over her heart, softly, her skin sweet, and she giggles - he’d much rather be her balm.
fin.
Rating | pg-13
Characters| Lydia, Peter.
Summary | One night I kissed him / and / for seven-eight nights it was / the moon and / roses and romance
Notes | Written for this ficathon.
Lydia’s never had a boyfriend like that. Not like that, not like the way Allison talks about Scott, not in ways that involve breathlessness and all that wide-eyed earnestness when she talks about him.
She had Jackson, who looked perfect. And she sort of had Stiles, who thought she was perfect. It was never like that, when she opened her chest and he opened his and they held their hearts out to one another. There was peeking, sometimes. Revelations of important veins, maybe. Jackson had told her about his family once. Stiles has seen her cry, seen her scream, seen her naked in the woods. Veins, but no major arteries.
She’s never had a boyfriend like that, not like how it happens in her backyard, when he asks for a kiss and gives her a flower.
That night, her dreams aren’t so awful. They’re framed in purple and everything has soft edges.
She wakes with an unfamiliar taste in her mouth.
Lydia believes in reality. She believes in math. She believes in formulae, in theorems, in things that can be proven, outlined for the naked eye.
When she was a little girl, when they had sleepovers, she always told the best ghost stories. She’d read them and then they’d just be there, in the back of her mind, ready to spook her friends with, a flashlight held just under her chin.
She was never much for fairytales, either, but she’s always thought that maybe when a person fell in love like that, it was possible to suspend disbelief, to buy into all the magic.
A boy gives her a flower and tells her to keep it. She’ll never know if she lost it or if it was never there at all.
Lydia believes in reality until she starts to see detailed realities that aren’t there at all.
Peter wakes her in the night, blood on her bedsheets and tricks in her tired brain. He likes to touch her with hands that may or may not exist. He’s fond of her neck - there are some important veins under there, some serious arteries.
He frightens her. She thinks of beauties in castles with beasts; all it took was a little love to make everything right.
Lydia wouldn’t know. It’s not like that, after all.
She still sees him sometimes. The boy with the flower.
It might be a dream. Maybe she’s hallucinating. Either way, it makes her heart beat fast.
When she sleeps, she finds herself in empty fields. Wolfsbane falls out of her mouth, petal after petal. She can remember dirt in her mouth, after the dance, when she’d fallen to the ground. She wonders if that’s how he would have tasted, like the earth, like rot - or if he would have tasted like the boy he once was, smart and kind-eyed, fresh and hopeful and earnest, admitting what he wanted, wanting her.
She wonders if it would have been like -
It doesn’t matter. There is one world, one reality, and Peter is long dead.
Lydia deals strictly in realities, even when she wakes up with purple petals stuck to her palms.
fin.
Title | i have so many scars, but you have such a smile
Rating | pg-13
Characters| Scott, Allison.
Summary | Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
Notes | Written for this ficathon.
Scott falls in love with lots of things about Allison. Her dimples when she smiles, for example. The way her hair falls into his face, the way she holds his hand. The taste of her mouth the first time she kisses him, and the second, and the third.
And in the aftermath, he falls in love with her humanity, how beautiful and fragile and strong it is, all at once.
His body is unmarked. There’s a small scar on his knee, a relic of a fall off of a bike when he was six years old, but that’s it. There have been arrows and tasers but his body brushes off the scars as if he’d never been touched at all.
Allison’s body has a better memory. In the cocoon of the blankets on her bed, he discovers the ways her life has marked her, the places she’s been hurt and then healed. There’s a tiny dot of a scar on her nose, leftover from a nose piercing she’d begged for and then decided she didn’t want.
On her ankle, there’s an old, faded scar from an accident when she was first learning to skate. There are little marks on her hands from accidentally poking herself with arrows when she was younger. Her toes are marked with the ridges of old injuries from her gymnastics days.
Scott kisses her toes, her fingers, the side of her nose. Her smoothes his hand along her ankle, fingers circling bone. His mouth goes on to find the places where her heart beats hardest, the spot just beneath her jaw, the thinnest part of her wrist, the valley between her breasts. She giggles at the feel of his mouth on her skin and her heart pounds beneath his lips.
She has so many breakable bits, and she lets him touch them all.
Allison sees the scars the moon gives him. She sees past his surface, to the difficulties with Derek, to the way it becomes abruptly difficult to balance lying to his mother and going to school and trying to keep anyone else from getting killed.
Maybe she’s breakable but Scott is broken, bitten, not quite human anymore. Allison’s scars are the mark of her bravery, and it’s that bravery that she lets him share, encompasses him in - she is human enough, fragile and beautiful and strong enough, for them both.
She lays her heart in hands that are sometimes more like paws. She trusts him not to bruise it, not to make her bleed.
She’s survived gymnastics tumbles and archery fumbles, survived her family, survived werewolves, survived the kanima, survived high school -
Scott doesn’t want to be another scar on her body.
His lips are over her heart, softly, her skin sweet, and she giggles - he’d much rather be her balm.
fin.