Jess

This is basically just a multi fandom trash account | 19 |

[sundrop-writes]

So Much (for) Stardust

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Reader

Act I - The Fall

Chapter Two: So Much (for) Protection

This is gonna be the death of me.

Summary:

No matter how hard you try, you can't keep your mind off Isaac. And damned as he is, Isaac can't keep his mind off you.

Both trying your hardest to stay on separate paths, the two of you keep running into each other - colliding like trains on the same twisted track.

He's determined to protect you. And that means staying far away from you.

Right?

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst, Pining, Drama. Follows the plot of Season 3A.

Word Count: 13,700

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns, and is generally described as feminine (mentions of the reader wearing make-up in this chapter); there are no mention of the reader’s race, hair type, hair colour, or eye colour, and throughout the fic there is slight implications toward her being plus sized that can be easily ignored, and it’s not a main plot point of the fic; this fic DOES use the term Y/N throughout, and I would recommend using a word replacer extension on your browser to put in your actual name in order to get the full experience; mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader - though it not stated how much taller, and it’s based on the idea that Daniel Sharman is six feet tall, and he would be taller than most people; Stiles and Isaac argue a lot during this chapter - I’m sure some people would call this OOC Stiles, but this was heavily inspired by the whole ‘are you still milking that?’ scene (Stiles does get a character arc in this fic, so hold on); Stiles being generally mean and bitchy; implications of Stiles having a crush on the reader (one sided) (everyone seems to know about it but her); mentions of Scott x Allison (which will be a theme throughout the fic - they are a background ship, but pretty far in the background and not a major focus); mentions of Erica’s canon death, and mentions of Isaac’s having trauma surrounding losing Erica and how she died; descriptions of Erica’s dead body; descriptions of violence - Isaac beats up Ethan and some random side asshole (two separate incidents), which includes descriptions of blood, punching hard enough to break bones, and choking for the sake of inducing major harm, but no major injuries are inflicted (especially because one of the victims has werewolf super healing); the reader is called ‘ugly’ and ‘fat’ by some random asshole; mentions of the abuse Isaac’s father inflicted on him (which is a warning on pretty much all the chapters); Isaac having a negative internal monologue due to being abused in the past; Isaac exhibits symptoms of PTSD and symptoms of being emotionally abused by his father when interacting with other people; mentions of Scott and Stiles having different accidents and injuries over the years, including: vomitting (from high alcohol consumption - this is due to inappropriate underage drinking/binge drinking) (in context, it’s a single incident, not a pattern of binge drinking), a broken bone (with the bone sticking out of the skin), playing with a nail gun, Stiles having a rash on his penis due to poison oak; mentions of inappropriate eating habits when dealing with stress - both under eating (from Allison) and stress snacking (from the reader); mentions of Allison’s mother dying (in alignment with the canon); carried over from the prologue oneshot - mentions of the reader’s mother being dead, killed by Peter Hale/The Alpha; mentions of Isaac ‘cheating’ on the reader with Erica (again, read the prologue for context); Isaac attacks the reader during a panic attack - a flood of panic induced adrenaline causes Isaac to semi-shift and he attacks the reader with his claws (a minimal injury, small scratches, is the result); I believe that is it for this chapter. 

A/N: I am incredibly proud of this whole story, and I love this chapter. Something that has continually happened to me with this story is that when writing, I will off-handedly mention something in one sentence and then go in and further flush out the idea later because I can't stop thinking about it. And the Raven painting and the Edgar Allen Poe metaphors are a huge example of that. At first, it was an off-handed mention of how Isaac and the reader met, and then it turned into this whole entire flashback - so, I hope you like it. I had a lot of fun revisiting this chapter and reinforcing the ideas and I am really proud of getting to post it now.

...

Your second period of the day was English. 

It was a subject you excelled in - you loved reading in your spare time, and since elementary school, you had been someone who devoured books far beyond your years and sought to bury yourself in stories to avoid the troubles of the real world. You loved the library and the mental peace of a good book. 

Miss Blake was one of your less abrasive teachers, though she seemed to have some kind of quiet vendetta against you. Whenever you raised your hand to comment on the themes of the material, she would dismiss you easily rather than continuing the discussion, and she would scold you for making your essays ‘too long’, telling you that nobody would bother to read all of what you had written, even if she hadn’t set a limit on certain assignments. 

Strangely, she seemed to dislike you for being ‘too smart’. But some teachers could never be pleased. And you had no plans of dumbing yourself down to please her. 

On this day, during a reading and discussion of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart, your mind was still heavily fixated on Isaac. Because of course, even this reminded you of him. 

… 

You thought back to the final days of middle school, right before everyone had transitioned into the rocky, drama filled hell of high school. Days when you had sequestered yourself in the art room right before summer vacation. 

Your art teacher had put on a ‘contest’. She wanted everyone in the departing eighth grade class to make their best art piece - no prompts, no rules. The only outline of the contest was to make a piece of art of your own choosing - to express yourself. And the best ones would be chosen to be displayed on the front bulletin board at the beginning of the next school year as inspiration to incoming sixth graders - supposedly showing them what they could achieve during their time at this school. 

The assignment was entirely optional, and that meant that time spent on it was optional as well. The art teacher left her room open for students to use during lunch hours and after school, and you found that you were pretty much the only person there working hard on a piece. 

The only person aside from a lanky, curly-haired boy that you didn’t quite know. Someone you would come to know as Isaac Lahey. You had seen him around, and sure, you knew his name somewhere distantly in the back of your mind - but you hadn’t spoken to him before. You had never shared a class together and you had never interacted before during your three years at the school. Others would have known him as shy, or even a bully at times - if he snapped and his anger got the best of him. 

But at the time, to you - he was a nobody. 

For those first two days in the art room, you knew him as someone who came in, sat down quietly, and worked hunched over a notebook without saying a word. He was a silent presence in the otherwise empty room, and he almost always left shortly before you did, timing himself out the door as you cleaned up your supplies, never over-staying his welcome. Occasionally, he would glance over at you, and then whip his head back down if you dared to look over at him - as though being caught looking at you were some kind of crime. 

Finally, on the third day - he spoke to you. 

You were fussing over a large canvas - one you had bought with your own money, wanting to put your all into a project that had no true guidelines, no limits. You were curious when Isaac moved from his usual spot across the room toward you, gently coming up behind you, clearly with the intention to peek at your artwork where it was sitting on the easel. After a moment of silently looking over your shoulder as you painted some calm brushstrokes, he finally spoke up. 

“What - what are you working on?” He stuttered out, his voice nervous for some reason. 

“The Raven.” You told him. You backed off slightly, stepping to the side so that he could get a better look at the picture - it was a large, highly detailed portrait of the aforementioned bird, sketched out and half filled in so far. 

At first he had mistaken it for a crow, and he didn’t quite understand the difference, or the significance. 

“A raven?” He mirrored back, his voice quiet and gently curious. 

“No, The Raven.” You corrected. “It’s inspired by the Edgar Allan Poe poem.” 

Isaac was glad that somehow, this didn’t feel like scolding - just a natural sharing of knowledge. It felt like you offered him a hand up, trying to make him better by giving him a bit of your brain, instead of tearing him down because he didn’t already know. 

You turned to look at him over your shoulder, giving him an encouraging smile. 

Isaac was shorter back then - you had been to, but he had rocketed up far past you in height while you hadn’t grown much. You had changed in your looks, but he had far outgrown you. His hair had been longer at the time, hanging in his eyes as something for him to hide behind in shyness - and Coach had demanded that he cut it when he started playing First Line because he couldn’t properly see. 

“Never heard of it.” He shrugged. 

Little did you know, the next time he was in the library, he looked it up just because he had been thinking about you. He found the poem droning and slightly confusing to read. But he soon found a clip on youtube of a segment from The Simpsons which depicted the poem, and he found it easier to understand when visualized as a cartoon. He didn’t quite understand why you wanted to paint a picture of a bird that tormented someone, but your version did turn out to be beautiful. 

“It’s about a man who mourns for his lost love.” You explained. “But it could also be interpreted as someone who battles with the inherent dichotomy of darkness and light in life - the most basic contemplation of evil and hope. Or it could be someone grappling with his own morality.” You mumbled quietly, thinking aloud. “Either way, I like what The Raven represents.” 

“What does it represent?” Isaac asked, naturally wondering this. He liked listening to you speak, and he couldn’t help but to prompt more of the conversation. 

“It represents balance. The necessary darkness life needs in order for hope and light to thrive.” You told him. 

As you spoke, you began painting a few more gentle strokes of the bird’s feathers, and you were too busy concentrating to notice Isaac - to notice the way he was looking at you. Intrigue and gentle affection flowing so easily through his expression. 

He had never truly noticed you before, but now that he was speaking to you, he couldn’t help but to love every single word that came out of your mouth. You were intelligent, and so passionate. You were better than reading any book, and he had a feeling that he could listen to you talk about any subject and never be bored. 

“I also think they’re beautiful creatures.” You added on. “A lot of people see them as evil, but that’s not true. In actuality, they’re incredibly intelligent - they’re some of the most intelligent animals, even among birds, who have some of the highest trainability and best memories. Sadly, they just have a reputation as being a symbol of darkness or evil due to their dark appearance - that plays into their symbolism in literature a lot. It’s sad… too many people only know that reputation and don’t know the beautiful, gentle creature they are.” 

Isaac gave a small smile. 

“That’s really cool.” He said, nodding. 

He felt a tingling in his stomach because in the back of his mind, even if he knew it wasn’t true, it felt like you were talking about him. He liked to think that if you could see a dark evil bird as ‘beautiful’ and ‘gentle’, then maybe you could be the one person in the world who could see the good in him. Maybe you could look past his sour reputation and see something more. 

“What are you working on?” You asked, using your hand that was holding the paint brush to gesture toward the notebook he had left open on one of the desks. 

“Oh, uh -” He let out a nervous chuckle, swaying on his feet as he looked down at the ground, as though he had been caught doing something wrong. “Nothing.” He admitted, and paused, waiting for you to scold him or tell him that he was breaking some kind of rule. “Nothing - not really. I just kinda like hanging out in here. It’s quiet.” 

His instincts recoiled with shock when you let out a gentle laugh, rather than threatening to tell on him. 

“I get it.” You said, giving him what you hoped was a reassuring smile in return. “I hope I’m not the only one submitting a project. That would be so awkward. I hope other people are working on theirs at home, or something.” 

“Probably.” He nodded, wanting to give you reassurance in return. 

There was an awkward pause, and then you let out a huff. He thought that you might tell him to leave so that you could have the room to yourself and enjoy the quiet alone, and he was surprised by what happened next. 

“Well, if you’re not busy, you can help me.” You said brightly. “Pass me that container of paint, please?” You pointed to one high on a shelf, one that he would be able to reach that was just out of range for you. 

He let out a soft laugh and grabbed it for you, setting it down on the desk next to your easel. He then sat down in a nearby chair, not returning back to whatever he had been doing in his notebook. He watched you work for the rest of the afternoon, the two of you exchanging gentle conversation about a range of topics, slowly getting to know each other more over the coming days. 

Those days in the art room had been so precious to you. Isaac had smiled at you sweetly, the first rays of your crush forming - something that would turn into the devastating love you would come to have for him. But like an egg in a raven’s nest - it was small and so new back then. 

… 

“I don’t get it - it’s so stupid. If he killed the guy, how the hell is his heart still beating? That means he didn’t kill him, right?” 

You were drawn out of your lovely memories by the annoying, nagging voice of Greenberg. Without thinking, and without putting your hand up to ask permission to speak, you couldn’t help but to charge against his idiocy. 

“It’s a metaphor, you mouthbreather.” You hissed at him. “Hearing someone’s heartbeat becoming increasingly louder after you have killed them and buried them under the floorboards is a symbol of guilt, not a sign of their ongoing life. Especially because it states in the story that the police clearly can’t hear the sound of the heartbeat - because it’s not literal, it’s a hallucination that the protagonist hears because he’s experiencing intense guilt due to taking someone’s life.” 

Without stopping to take a breath, you continued.

“And nobody has one literal single blue eye - it’s likely a symbol for surveillance. The idea that an omnipresent being is constantly watching us, and the protagonist has a desire to stamp out that surveillance and be free, but he feels guilty when he does. It’s about personality morality and grappling with one’s conscience - about doubting the literal existence of God.” 

By the time you had finished your rant, everyone in the classroom was staring at you, some of them snickering quietly under their breath, some of them mouth agape. You even caught one person taking notes, as though what you had said would be on a test. 

“What the fuck?” Greenberg replied, curling a brow at you, confused. 

“You are so hopeless.” You mumbled quietly. 

“Language.” Miss Blake said, putting up a warning hand toward Greenberg. “But yes - Miss L/N is correct. It is all metaphorical. That’s why we’re studying it. Though please, next time, don’t speak out of turn.” She said this sharply toward you, scolding you for making a very intelligent point. 

You raised your hand, asking permission to speak this time, and she sighed before she nodded at you, giving you that permission. 

“Can I have the bathroom pass, please?” 

You needed to escape. Maybe it was because you hated all the eyes on you, or because you couldn’t stop thinking about how Isaac would have commended what you said, even if he didn’t fully understand it. He was the only person who always let you speak your mind freely. And you felt far too smothered - you felt lost without him. 

“Yes.” Miss Blake huffed out, clearly annoyed. 

You stood up as she handed over the pass, and you whisked out of the classroom without a second thought. 

… 

For their second period of the day, Scott, Isaac, and Stiles had PE, and of course, Coach basically just used it as an excuse to squeeze more cross-country practice in. 

As they changed in the locker room, Isaac was only subjected to more nagging chatter about how he was handling the situation with you poorly. It was bad enough that he had his own guilt brewing inside of him, but now he had to listen to Scott and Stiles go on and on. 

“You know, you can’t avoid her forever,” Scott sighed, taking off his shirt. 

“Really? Because I think it’s a splendid idea. Just stay away from her. Stay away from Y/N, because she doesn’t need a dumb dog like you nipping at her heels.” Stiles whined, giving Isaac a glare. “If she wants to adopt, I’m sure there’s a nice shelter mutt somewhere-” 

“Stiles.” Scott sighed, a scolding warning toward his best friend, along with a glare. 

Stiles sighed and kissed the inside of his teeth, whipping off his own shirt with a fierce annoyance in every single movement. 

“I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Isaac glared Stiles down intensely, his eyes flashing golden for just a moment, resisting the urge to grind his teeth as Stiles agitated him. “I’m pretty sure if I died tomorrow, you still wouldn’t have the balls to make a move on her. You had plenty of time before I came along, but you’re just a damn coward. She’s too good for you anyway, you pathetic-” 

“Okay, woah. Stop.” Scott hissed, raising a hand in Isaac’s direction as a warning. “Both of you - stop it.” 

“Why do I have to-?” Stiles whined, and was quickly cut off. 

“Stop!” Scott jabbed out. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything more. He was slightly flushed pink, clearly slightly embarrassed at having been called out so blatantly. He obviously believed that his ‘secret’ crush on you was a lot more secret, and a lot less obvious. Little did he know, pretty everyone but you had picked up on how he felt about you - how he had felt about you since sixth grade. 

“It’s not like you’re one to give advice, anyway.” Stiles huffed at Scott, picking a new target for his annoyance since he wasn’t allowed to combat Isaac anymore. “How are things going with you and Allison?” 

Isaac wanted to add on, but he remained silent as he pulled up his jogging pants and knotting them stiffly, his whole body tense. He didn’t want to be caught agreeing with Stiles - at least not out loud. 

Scott’s eyes flickered to the floor, and he shrugged as he pulled on his athletic top. 

“Allison and I are friends.” He replied, his voice full of a strange kind of guilt that solidified the fact that this was definitely not true. 

Stiles let out a snort of laughter at this. 

“Friends?” He replied, sarcasm ripe in his voice. “So that’s why when I called you the other night, she picked up?” 

Scott didn’t reply to this particularly incriminating thread of conversation, and instead continued on: 

“We are trying to be friends.” He amended. “But that’s a whole lot different than me pretending she doesn’t exist.” 

He finished by staring at Isaac, who was focusing very hard on tying up his sweats, rather than daring to look in Scott’s direction. 

“Yeah, and the last time you and Allison tried to be ‘friends’, she ended up nearly being choked to death by a giant lizard.” Isaac reminded him, pulling his own athletic top over his head. 

“Which was because of her totally insane grandfather, not because of Scott,” Stiles said, all too quick to defend Scott. 

“Yeah, and last time I checked, Y/N doesn’t have any insane relatives,” Scott said, half joking, trying his best to be light-hearted, a grin on his lips. 

Isaac frowned, tying his shoes too tightly, every muscle in his body still too tense. 

“Exactly my point.” He replied, standing up to his full height and folding his arms tightly over his chest. “I’m the only one in her life who could get her hurt. And she’ll be fine as long as I stay far away from her.” 

“Thank you.” Stiles sighed, nodding. 

Before either of them could argue, Isaac swiftly left the locker room, happy to have some mindless time to run on the trail and hopefully not be stuck thinking about all of this. He hoped that he could run hard enough to get a good sting in his legs and his lungs and finally empty his mind. 

Isaac took off hard and heavy, ignoring Coach’s voice behind him telling him to ‘wait up for everyone else’. He didn’t entirely care. He needed the ground hard underneath his feet, he needed the morning air in his lungs. He passed most of the class in a few moments, entirely uncaring that he sped past everyone. 

In the back of his mind, he could hear Erica’s voice chuckling, telling him that he looked like a try-hard asshole for running so fast. 

Erica. 

A vision flashed in his mind - her eyes wet with tears, crying out for help while she was trapped in the bank vault. Her crying out his name, reaching a hand out to him desperately, begging to be rescued. 

He hadn’t gotten there in time. 

She had been so cold when he had picked her up to hoist her into the make-shift grave that Derek had dug. Her skin grey and half-rotted. The Alpha Pack had stowed her away in a closet somewhere like she meant nothing. Tossed her next to some old files and dusty shelves like she was just some thing. They had used her up and thrown her away like she wasn’t even a person - like she didn’t belong to someone, like she didn’t have a fucking family. 

Isaac forcibly shook his head, trying to force the memories out. He had to get her out of his head. He had to forget about the way she smiled at him when she called him a dork. She had to forget about her bright laugh. He had to forget about the chunk of her blonde hair that he had found attached to his coat after the burial, fallen off her, still attached to a piece of her withered scalp - 

He tripped over a tree root and went tumbling across the ground, the air knocked from his lungs as his body collided harshly with the dirt. It didn’t hurt, not with how radically his body healed and how strong the werewolfism made him. Not much could hurt him anymore. Not his body, at least. 

When he settled, he turned to sit upright, and he found himself sagging against the dirt. There was no air in his lungs, and all his muscles - for all their supernatural strength - felt as limp as wet paper, sogging pitifully against his bones. He couldn’t get up. He was stuck. 

He wanted to blame you for ruining him. He wanted to blame you for switching something inside of him, for forcing him to feel again. You had forced that box open that he had been stowing everything away in, shoving it all down deep and locking it up. 

And now it was all spilling out - the grief he hadn’t felt for Erica, the way he had missed Boyd but felt like he couldn’t tell him, the fact that he was constantly seeking approval from Derek that he knew he wasn’t going to get. The way he yearned for Scott’s attention, for guidance but felt like he could never just ask for help. 

For a small time, he had a pack, a family. And now he was more damn alone in the world than he had ever been. 

“And you aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone as long as I’m around.”

Those words echoing through his skull again. A haunting - a curse. 

You were likely the only family he had left in the world, but he could never let himself be weak enough to go back to you again. If he did - he would only be hurting you. 

Isaac gripped the dirt under his palms, shaking furiously as he resisted the urge to cry. 

“Fuck!” He screamed, his voice echoing off the trees as he kicked out his legs, utterly frustrated, unable to do anything but throw a tantrum. 

“Aww, did the baby fall down?” 

Isaac was rocketed out of his self pity by a horribly familiar voice. 

When he looked up, the twins were circling. He didn’t know which was Ethan and which one was Aiden, and he didn’t care - all he knew was that they were grinning at him, clearly satisfied that he was visibly upset. 

“Fuck off.” Isaac huffed out, finally able to push himself up off the ground, glaring at both of them harshly. “I’m not in the fucking mood, okay?” 

He moved to take off again, wanting to literally run away from his problems - but one of them stepped directly in his path. It was a stupidly childish move to make - blocking his way. And it only served to further annoy him. 

“I don’t know if this occurred to you,” The twin standing behind him said. “But we don’t care.” 

“You’ll care when I break your fucking jaw.” Isaac snarled, his annoyance and anger overtaking him in a horrible way. 

Truthfully, he didn’t want to fight them. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to go through the rest of his day without any major conflicts. He already had enough problems in his life without adding them to the mix. 

He was tired. 

Both of the twins laughed, and Isaac’s annoyance only grew, filling his stomach like a terrible sickness that made him feel too heavy. He had been here before, and he knew that he was liable to snap if they didn’t leave him alone soon. 

“Screw this.” Isaac breathed out, going to dodge around them once again, once again flaring with rage when they blocked his path. 

They were daring him to strike first - daring him to be the one to start the fight. He wasn’t even sure why. He had no clue what the hell they wanted from him. Maybe they wanted him to tackle one of them so they could blame it on him, get him in trouble. Maybe they wanted him to appear crazy in front of everyone else. He wasn’t even sure if he cared about deciphering the reasoning behind their game, because he just wanted them to stop. 

“You know, if you don’t wanna play with us, I’m sure we could go find someone else.” One of the twins said, that terrible grin still painted on his face. 

Isaac knew that they were playing at something bigger, but he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. 

“Please do.” He grunted out, his voice barely able to escape his throat, bitterly weighed down by anger. 

When he moved again, he was finally able to get around them, surprised when they didn’t move to block his path, didn’t move to grab him or stop him in some way. But of course, he only made it a few steps away, and then - he heard the fatal words that finally drew him into their game, finally got the reaction that they had been wanting out of him. 

“We should go find Y/N.” One of them said, a light, airy chuckle in his voice. 

Isaac froze. All of his muscles tensed. Your name was too sweet, too sacred to be allowed on their cursed lips. 

“We should. She’s a pretty girl. So cute and innocent. I’m sure it would be so much fun to make her scream-” 

Isaac didn’t have time to even begin to decipher if the nature of the threat was violent, or god forbid - sexual, because he had become absolutely blinded by rage. He whipped back around and grabbed the first body he saw, tackling the twin to the ground. Without a second thought, or even a first one, he began wailing punches across the guy’s face, filled with nothing but the intent to maim. 

Of course, the other twin tried to pull him off. Now that they saw the unruly beast that they had unleashed, they weren’t pleased by it. There was an arm attempting to lock around his neck, trying to pull him in the opposite direction. But a swift, deep bite with his fangs extended, digging into the guy’s forearm caused him to yelp and recoil, ridding Isaac of that problem for now. 

And with blinders on, only seeing the target in front of him, he continued on, throwing punch after punch down toward the skull under his fist. He felt quickly healing bones crack and mash and race to shift back into place under his powerful fist as he tirelessly pounded down onto the guy’s face. 

Voices fluttered in. He knew other people from the class were catching up, but as the twin stared up at him, completely fearless, mocking him with a bloody grin, he only felt more angered. 

They had dared to threaten you. 

He wrapped both his hands around the guy’s neck and began to squeeze, fighting to press both his thumbs against that windpipe - you were too good, too good to be touched, too good to be looked at by these monsters - he saw the face turning redder and redder and he channeled more of his divine anger into that brutal hold, uncaring if he killed the guy underneath him - 

“Isaac!” 

His attention was only snapped away when Scott called his name, and very suddenly, all the energy fuelling his rage left his body, like some sort of switch had been flipped. Like Scott had pushed some sort of nerve that shifted all of his instincts. When his head snapped up and his eyes met Scott’s, he saw nothing but intense disappointment lingering there. 

Maybe he was a monster too. 

“Lahey? What the hell?!” Coach Finstock pushed his way through the crowd, led by the other twin. 

He was clutching his bleeding arm - or rather, hiding the bloody spot on his sleeve where the bite Isaac had delivered was now completely healed over. 

The boy underneath Isaac was still very red faced and sputtering for air, but if anybody looked too closely past the blood lingering on the surface, they would have noticed that his broken nose and damaged eye sockets were shifting back into place far too quickly. Luckily for him, all of them were too busy staring at Isaac with horror on their faces. 

Isaac stumbled to his feet, and he soon determined which twin was which when Danny rushed to attend to the one he had left bloody on the ground. 

“Principal’s office! Now!” Coach Finstock yelled, sounding very angry as he pointed a hand back toward the school, directing Isaac. 

Isaac remained frozen on the spot, slightly shocked with himself that he had let his rage overtake him, still hating the way that Scott (and pretty much everyone else) was looking at him - with intense horror in their eyes, like he was someone to be feared. And they were probably right about that. Coach closed the gap and crept into his personal space, lowering his voice to whisper his next words. 

“You’re lucky I don’t call the cops, Lahey.” He said, looking Isaac in the eyes very intentionally. “Now - I like you. And you’re one of my best defenders on the field. So I’m gonna assume that he had it coming, and if need be, I’m gonna ask the Principal to take it easy on you, okay?” Isaac nodded. “But if you ever get violent off the field again in my presence, I will rain down a unique kind of hell on you.” 

Isaac nodded again. His throat was so damn dry. He wasn’t going to bother trying to defend himself. He knew how it looked. 

“Now go!” Coach yelled. Isaac was finally sparked into action, and regretfully, Coach Finstock added on: “Stilinski, make sure he gets there!” 

“Ugh, why me? Okay - fine.” 

Of course, Stiles couldn’t do anything without whining. As he slowly sulked off back toward the school, Isaac felt the looming presence of a skinny idiot trailing behind him. 

“You don’t have to come with me.” Isaac huffed, not even bothering to turn his head to look at Stiles. “I am man enough to go and accept my punishment without you babysitting me.” 

“Oh, that’s what you call manly?” Stiles replied, his usual sarcastic tone coming through loud and clear. “You wanna know what I call it?” 

“No.” Isaac easily answered, knowing that it was likely a rhetorical question. Of course, unlike he hoped, Stiles did not take it as a hint to shut up. 

“Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway.” Stiles hummed dutifully in return. Isaac rolled his eyes sharply, still facing away from Stiles so that he couldn’t see. “I would call it: insanity. Being a complete and total psychopath. Grossly uncontrolled violence, among-” 

As they walked into the school, Isaac dropped the door on Stiles, and he gave a small smile when he heard him let out a small ‘ow’ as he unexpectedly ran into the metal. Stiles huffed and pushed past it, racing to catch up with Isaac’s long strides. Isaac growled in annoyance when Stiles stepped in front of him, blocking his path in the middle of the empty hallway, seeming determined to be the next person to harass him today. 

Isaac crossed his arms sharply over his chest and glared at Stiles. 

“Seriously, man, what the hell is wrong with you?” Stiles posed. Clearly another rhetorical question. 

Even if it wasn’t Isaac would have no clue how to go about answering it. Even he had no clue where to begin. His mother’s death, his brother’s death, his father’s abuse and subsequent death that he somehow mourned. Breaking off his perfectly great relationship with you, throwing away likely the only good thing in his life because he was allergic to good things after all the crap that had been piled on him. 

And that didn’t even come close to touching the werewolf stuff, and the parade of crap that had followed after he had been turned. 

“Your guess is as good as any.” Isaac said, his voice quiet, lulling his head in shame. 

“Yeah, well - I don’t want you around Y/N.” Stiles announced, his nostrils flaring with annoyance. “I don’t care what Scott says. You’re dangerous. And you’re too much of an insane psycho to be allowed around my best friend.” 

Isaac clenched his jaw. Despite knowing that Stiles likely just wanted you to be single so that he could make a move himself, or that Stiles wanted you to date anybody but Isaac because of his underlying dislike toward Isaac - the words still hurt. Something deep inside of Isaac took it and filed it away as true. His knuckles were still sore and covered in someone’s blood, and he didn’t think those tainted hands should ever get to touch you again. 

“So you’re gonna protect her when Ethan and Aiden go after her?” Isaac posed, his voice dull, his throat carrying the weight of what he was feeling that he tried his best to push down.

“Scott will. She’ll be fine.” Stiles brushed it off, even though they both knew that Scott had a lot on his plate already, and it would be hard to add worrying about protecting you too. “You can stop worrying about Y/N - just forget about her. And in the meantime - go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, okay? I’m actually starting to think that your dad kept you locked in the basement for a reason.” 

The words were entirely thoughtless. Words launched at Isaac out of anger and frustration, fear at the idea of you potentially being in danger. Stiles was worried about you, still stressing about the increasing body count piling up around them, thinking about the childhood friend that he had just lost and wondering if somehow you were next. And unintentionally, he said one of the most horrible things that he ever could have. 

“Stiles.” 

Both boys were harshly ripped from the conversation by your voice. 

Isaac whipped around and found you standing there, your eyes bright and shining with tears that were threatening to smudge make-up that you definitely hadn’t been wearing earlier that morning. (Somehow, you were so beautiful no matter what - when your hair was messy and your eyes were circled dark from lack of sleep, or when you were made-up purposefully with glossy lips and dark eyeliner and cute blush. You were just so fucking perfect. Too perfect for him.) 

“Okay, that was completely out of context. You have no clue what even happened-” Stiles began rambling, trying to explain himself, but you refused to listen. 

“Shut up.” You growled through your teeth, and Stiles shamefully looked down at the floor, already feeling guilt lapping at him harshly. 

Your eyes flickered from glaring at Stiles to Isaac, your gaze easily softening on him, giving him that same look at you always did: staring him down like he was a scared animal, liable to run at a moment’s notice. 

Isaac hated that he could feel tears forming in his eyes - such blatant weakness spelled out in front of you. And in front of Stiles, of all people. There was a huge knot in his throat, and once again, his muscles felt far too weak, almost unable to move him. 

“Isaac, baby-” 

You reached out toward him, taking a step forward to try and catch his hand, and he practically jumped away, taking a large step back. Instantly, this caused a sharp jab through your chest. You used to be the one he would come to for comfort, and now he was acting as though you were some terrible poison to him. 

You knew this look too well. The glossy eyes, the quivering jaw, the dirt on his clothing, the bloody knuckles. Something terrible had happened. You wanted nothing more than to trap him in a hug and never let him go. The way he recoiled from your touch hurt more than any smack to the face ever could have. 

“Don’t.” Isaac choked out, refusing to look at you. “I - I have to go.” 

And just like that, like the startled animal that he was, he took off at top speed, practically running down the hallway to get away from you. 

“Y/N-” 

Stiles reached out toward you, ironically, him trying to comfort you in the same way you had tried with Isaac. And you did the same to him - you whipped out of his touch, a tear running down your face now, creating a large streak through the beautiful, neat make-up that Lydia had done on you. 

“Don’t touch me.” You told him, your voice quivering and weak as sobs threatened up in your chest. “Stiles - I can’t believe you would say something like that. I can’t believe you would even think it.” 

“Look, you don’t know what happened-” 

“I don’t care.” You replied. “You have no idea what his life was like.” 

“Why the hell do you always need to defend the guy?” Stiles asked, frustrated and clearly looking for an answer. 

‘Because if I don’t, then no one else will.’ 

You refused to justify the words with breath. If Stiles didn’t get it now, then he never would. 

Instead, you simply shook your head and fled yourself, walking off in the opposite direction. Stiles considered following you, until he saw that you retreated into the girl’s bathroom. It was what you had originally left class for - though your intentions hadn’t been to end up crying loudly in one of the stalls. When the door locked behind you, you couldn’t help it. 

It was just too much - Isaac rejecting you yet again, Stiles saying something so cruel. 

You felt so pathetic as you balanced on the edge of the toilet seat, wiping your messy black eyeliner tears with some toilet paper. You knew how much Lydia would pester you later for ‘ruining her work’ - she often said that one of the biggest reasons in life not to cry was because good cosmetics were too expensive. You weren’t even too focused on that. 

No - your mind was still on Isaac. You couldn’t help but to think about the last time you had seen Isaac like that. Downtrodden, knuckles bruised. The last time you had seen him snap due to overwhelming rage and then regret it. 

… 

You thought back to a lacrosse game from over a year ago, back before you knew about the presence of anything strange in Beacon Hills. Back when Isaac’s power on the field was only driven by his personal anger, not by anything more unexplainable. When he had been driven by his father’s voice in the back of his head telling him that he wasn’t good enough, telling him that he wasn’t a ‘real man’ unless he took the other players down and made them cry. 

Of course, Beacon Hills had won the game. 

They had a reputation to uphold, and even if the players on the team only did so well due to a mountain of personal issues - Jackson leading the charge due to his overwhelming perfectionism - they got the job done. They were consistent in their perfection, leaving other teams very little room to beat them.

You had been in the stands, cheering Isaac on the entire time, and naturally, you flooded onto the field to celebrate along with everyone else. 

Luckily, Isaac’s father was nowhere to be seen. It was an early season game, and he didn’t come out for anything less than quarter-finals - he always told Isaac that he didn’t associate with losers, and Isaac better not be one. Even if the Beacon Hills lacrosse team hadn’t lost a game since its inception - he often told Isaac that he feared Isaac’s tendency to ‘fuck things up’ would scar the team’s perfect record. So far, in the dozens of games that Isaac had played, that was not true. 

You were glad that Isaac’s father wasn’t around, because it meant that you could have a nice night with Isaac - a take-out dinner in celebration of his win, spending some quality time alone with the guy you loved. It was certainly preferable over listening to his father run down every single ‘wrong’ move he had made on the field as he dragged him away. 

Isaac pulled you into a tight hug as soon as he saw you, sweaty and slightly dirty from being on the field, and you squeezed him incredibly tight, even though you weren’t a huge fan of the smell. 

“That was so amazing!” You easily praised him. “You were totally great out there! You-” 

“Oh come on, I was totally slacking during the final quarter.” He sighed, moving back over to the bench to lay down his helmet and grab his water bottle. He chugged a healthy amount of it before he continued. “I left Danny wide open and I totally let them get in that last point-” 

“Yeah, and it was twenty-two to five.” You chuckled. You hated that even without his father there, he seemed to be doing the work of dragging himself down - likely unconsciously, that negativity worked into his mind like a habit, like a tense muscle that he couldn’t ignore now. You hated that you were the only one trying to combat it. “Let those sad little babies have one point to make themselves feel better. It probably raised their self esteem a bit, I’m sure.” 

Isaac gave a subtle grin at this, and chugged more of his water. He opened his mouth to say something else, but a strange voice entered the conversation. 

“Yeah, well at least we know how to play by the fucking rules.” 

You turned your head to the source of the voice and realized that it was a player from the other team - they wore black and yellow uniforms (their team was The Hornets, you believed). It was a shorter brunet guy with a snide facial expression flanked by a couple of his lackeys. 

“Do you even care that you broke our best scorer’s wrist, or are you that much of an asshole?” He spat out, glaring at Isaac. 

You had seen Isaac make a particularly hard tackle - something that wasn’t unusual for him. And the player ended up limping off to the medical tent on the sidelines. But that wasn’t something entirely unusual for a game like this. 

Isaac’s features flashed with guilt at this - the news that he had broken someone’s bone. He could get very into the game in the moment and definitely not realize how rough he was being, but he tried not to feel too bad about it because in the end, everyone had signed up to participate. 

“That’s just how the game goes, man.” Isaac shrugged, capping his water bottle and picking his helmet back up. 

“Oh, that’s a real convenient excuse for you, isn’t it?” The guy hissed, getting even more worked up. “If we had known you guys were gonna pull that bullshit, we would have brought our wrestling team along to fuck up you ‘roided up assholes.” 

“Might’ve helped.” Isaac mumbled, sarcasm lulling in his voice, not really engaging in the passionate fight that the guy so obviously wanted. He turned his attention back to you as he stood up from the bench. He leaned down and kissed you lightly on the cheek. “Meet me out in the parking lot in fifteen? I’m gonna go shower and change, and then-” 

“Oh my god, this is your girlfriend?” The guy shouted, cutting Isaac off. He let out a sarcastic chuckle, pointing at you with a purposefully rude, harshly extended hand. “It makes sense now. You need those big dumb idiot muscles to lug around this ugly fat bitch.” 

Isaac glared at him, and from the visible grinding of his jaw, anger flowing so tensely through him - you knew that this asshole was finally getting the reaction he wanted out of Isaac. He had found the perfect button to push - messing with you. The exact wrong button that would set Isaac off every single time. 

“Isaac,” You tried getting his attention, reaching for his wrist, which he abruptly snatched away from you, his eyes still laser focused on the poor, ignorant asshole who was winding him up. 

“You guys may win a few games - by cheating your way through - but then you have to celebrate with that? Geez, I’d be angry too.” 

His lackeys laughed along with him, fake and theatrical, clearly trying to annoy Isaac more. Without another word, Isaac tossed down his helmet and whipped off his gloves. You saw it coming before anybody else did. Isaac was deadly silent, the veins in his neck popping - you had only seen it once before. 

“Do you put a bag over her head when you’re doin’ it - or do you just close your eyes?” 

“Isaac, he’s trying to piss you off-!” 

Your words were lost to the air when Isaac tackled the guy, someone who was easily a head shorter than him, and shoved him down to the muddy ground with ease. In a blink, he began wailing punch after punch into what was only a second ago, a very smug face. 

You gasped in horror as Isaac’s firm fist broke the guy’s nose - but he didn’t stop there. He cracked teeth, bruised an eye. It wasn’t long before everyone in the celebratory crowd had craned their necks to stare - some people making horrified sounds, others cheering. It was only when Coach Finstock managed to pull him off by force that it stopped. It was ironic that he had come over complaining about his friend’s broken wrist, and he ended up in the medical tent much worse off. 

Isaac got two months detention for it, and every day before and after practice, Coach made him run suicides to ‘think about what he had done’. 

Isaac thought you would hate him for it. And while you didn’t exactly like his violent side… you could understand it. The next time you saw him, you took his bruised knuckles in hand, running your fingertips gently over his hand - and you had a quiet understanding. He had done it for you. 

He had done it to protect you. And strangely - you admired that. You admired that protecting you always seemed to be his one goal. You hated that now his singular goal in life seemed to be keeping the two of you apart. 

(You didn’t know that for him - now, those two things were distinctly the same.)

… 

You were distracted all morning. You hated it, but you couldn’t focus during any of your classes because you kept thinking about Isaac. 

In between classes, you spotted Scott, and you wanted to ask him what the hell had happened - had Isaac gotten into another fight? Would he be suspended? Would he be expelled? What had caused the fight? 

“Scott!” 

You called his name, desperately weaving through students to try and get to him, and of course, the second that he realized you were headed toward him, he began walking in the other direction. He moved swiftly, clearly trying to escape you. You let out a growl of frustration - but with all your tense annoyance and general upset about the day, you weren’t going to let him get away that easily. 

“Scott! Scott, come on!” 

He continued to high-tail away from you, but eventually you caught up and got a hold of his backpack, grabbing onto it tightly and taking a stiff stance, causing him to freeze on the spot as he was unexpectedly yanked backward. You weren’t strong enough to overpower him, but you had startled him into stopping dead in his tracks. 

“Look, Scott, you can stay and talk to me, or-” 

You scrambled to come up with a good threat on the spot, not actually having much room for violence in your heart. But - you did have a lot of room for blackmail. A smirk formed across your face as you thought of the wicked idea. 

“Or I can call your mom and tell her about that time during freshman year that you got drunk off UV Blue and puked blue dye all over her brand new white rug, and I rushed to clean it up before she got home.” 

You let go of his backpack, and he rushed to face you, a look of insulted shock painted across his features. 

He barely remembered that night - it was the first time he had ever gotten truly drunk (and, according to his werewolf status, apparently one of the few times he would ever be drunk). But he remembered feeling intense shame and panic at the gross blue vomit getting all over the rug. And then feeling safe and assured that you would clean it up and cover for him so that his mom would never find out about his drunkenness. 

So that night, he went to bed and crashed, and when he woke up, his mom made a laughing comment about how Stiles had fallen asleep on the couch, and how he had parked his Jeep so awkwardly that she couldn’t fit her car into the driveway. And she had made a comment that you were ‘the only good one’ - because of course, as always, you had left the place clean and tidy. 

You always had Scott’s back. 

He knew that it was an empty threat. 

“You wouldn’t.” Scott hissed, attempting to call your bluff. 

“Oh really?” You posed, purposefully being large and over-dramatic as you reached into your back pocket and pulled out your cell phone. You didn’t unlock the screen or start dialing, but you looked Scott in the eyes as you said: “Is she still at 551-023-2024?” 

“Why do you have it memorized?” Scott asked, entirely flabbergasted that you knew his mom’s cell number off by heart. (He wasn’t even entirely confident that he knew it off the top of his head.) 

You rolled your eyes. “Do you have any idea how often I’ve had to call her?” 

Scott looked confused by this, which surprised you. 

“The time you crashed your bike in front of my house and broke your arm, and part of the bone was sticking out,” You explained, taking a breath as you began what would be an exhaustive list. Scott cringed at this memory. If it hadn’t been for your first aid skills, he probably would have been a lot worse off. “The time you and Stiles were playing Chicken with his dad’s nail gun and you nearly took his eye out,” 

Scott laughed as he remembered this, and you glared at him. 

“The time that Stiles called me panicking because he thought that he somehow got herpes even though he’s never had sex before, but he neglected to tell me that the two of you took a trip out into the woods to shoot cans with a BB gun and he took a piss and ended up wiping his junk with poison oak.” 

Scott let out an even brighter laugh as he remembered this. 

Stiles, at the time, had theorized that he had gotten an STD from the ‘sketchy looking’ urinal in the gas station bathroom that they stopped at. Which meant a far too detailed conversation about his bathroom habits when Scott jokingly asked if he had humped the urinal in order to get said STD. 

“Oh, and let’s not forget-” 

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Scott sighed. 

He knew that he couldn’t avoid helping you. With this… thing going on between you and Isaac, being a good friend meant not picking sides. Especially because, hearing all these stories only reminded him what a good friend that you had been to him over the years. And he had to pay it back now. 

“What do you need?” He asked. 

You grinned at him, glad that he had finally wised up and given in. On the surface, it might seem like he was giving in because you had threatened to tattle to his mom, and because you had so much blackmail to hold over his head. But in truth, he just needed a reminder that you had been there for him so many times before, and now, he just needed to be there for you. 

“Well - I need to talk to Isaac.” You insisted. “I-” You sighed, thinking for a moment. “Honestly, I don’t even know if I’m gonna get back together with him. I’m not gonna force a relationship on him if it’s not really what he wants.” You said, forcing yourself to face the truth. “But I’m not just gonna leave it all up in the air without even talking to him first.” 

Scott nodded, very understanding of this. It was something he had needed with Allison too - something everyone needs at the end of a relationship. 

Closure. 

“Okay.” Scott said. “I’ll talk to him. And I’ll get him to make some time for you.” 

You couldn’t help it, you stepped forward and embraced Scott in a tight hug, which he easily returned. 

“Thank you.” You said as you pulled away, glowing a relieved smile at him. 

“No problem.” He nodded. 

“You know - you’re really warm.” You noted, putting a hand on his shoulder, referencing his blaring body heat. “Is that part of the whole… werewolf thing?” 

It was also something you had noticed about Isaac that was different now. He used to have cold hands near constantly, and the last time he had been in your bed, his skin had been giving off heat like a furnace. 

Scott just raised a brow at you, unsure how to answer, and before he could stutter out some dumb reply - the bell rang. 

“Uh - I-I’m gonna go.” He said. 

You nodded, and gave him a small wave as you walked off to class. 

… 

You raced out of class as soon as the bell rang and made it to the cafeteria in time to beat the lines. You got two sandwiches, two bottles of juice, and two cookies for yourself and Allison. You figured that if she was going to do you the favour of finally talking to you, then you could do her the favour of buying lunch. Then, you walked to the library and saw her standing outside the doors, and she smiled at you when she saw you. 

“Hey,” She greeted you kindly, giving a smile. 

“Hey.” You returned. And you stuck a hand out to her, holding the sandwiches in their plastic wrap. “Turkey or tuna?”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised that you had brought food, and contemplated for a moment before grabbing one. “Tuna. Thanks.” She nodded. 

“I also have cookies. And juice. But I put them in my bag.” You told her. 

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Do you wanna go find a place to sit outside? You know how Ms. Thompson is about food in the library,” 

“Yeah.” You nodded, and followed her when she began to walk toward one of the doors. “Wait - why did you ask me to meet you at the library anyway? Were you not planning on eating lunch today?” 

Allison frowned and shrugged. “I guess not. I’ve just been so stressed out lately… I haven’t really been thinking about food.” 

“Well that’s not gonna happen on my watch.” You told her. “Honestly, I have the opposite problem. When I get stressed out, I snack. And I wanna feed people. You should come over to my place and I’ll cook you dinner.” 

Allison’s insides squeezed painfully. She hadn’t really had a good home-cooked meal since her mother had died. 

“Well, you’re gonna wanna make a whole buffet when you hear what I have to tell you.” Allison sighed. 

The two of you found a quiet, low trafficked area on the North side of the school, opposite from where the lacrosse field was. You sat under a tree and ate while you talked, and you grew increasingly shocked as she told you more and more things that you had never heard before. Things that you never could have imagined to be true. But the more she explained things… the more you knew she couldn’t be making any of it up. 

Her family - the Argents - were werewolf hunters, and they had been for generations. Though apparently, now they were ‘retired’. You didn’t fully get that part, not with the crossbow that she kept in her bag. Though you did trust that she wasn’t actively trying to kill Scott or Isaac.

She and her family had moved to Beacon Hills last year because her father had been looking to discover the identity of, and eventually kill ‘The Alpha’ - the monster that had murdered your mother. Her Aunt Kate had gotten killed in the process, apparently as revenge from Peter Hale because of the fire she had set years before. (That was one of the only things that wasn’t news to you, because the papers had called her an arsonist shortly after her death.) What painted the fire in a new light, though - Allison said that Kate had set the fire in an attempt to make the Hale family extinct, but it had been without the help of the rest of the Argents. Killing innocent children and even non-killer werewolves in such a fire went against the Argents’ Code. 

And wearing that Code proudly, Allison did assure you that she would always help Scott and Isaac when she could, rather than try to hurt them - because they weren’t killers. They would never hurt anyone, and neither would she. 

She explained that with Peter Hale out of the picture, Derek Hale was now an Alpha werewolf, leader of a pack consisting of Boyd, Isaac, and previously Erica. Apparently Jackson used to be able to turn into some giant mutant lizard called The Kanima, and he had killed several people without even knowing it, and that was the reason he had moved away - not because he was now going to a fancy private school in London, like Lydia had originally told you. (You had to guess that Lydia didn’t even know the real reason why he had moved away, and she had no clue that she had been supplying you with a lie at the time.) 

Even what you had heard at the time about Allison’s mother dying hadn’t been true. She had killed herself due to a rule in Argent family that if any of them receive the bite of a werewolf that causes lycanthropy, they must take their own life rather than turning into a werewolf that they are meant to hunt. In Allison’s mind, this meant that Derek Hale had killed her mother because he was the one who had bitten her. 

You had to wonder if in some way, the same thing had happened to Isaac. Had Derek sentenced him to death by tainting his life with all this danger? Was The Bite nothing but a curse? 

“So - did Derek bite Scott too? Does he just go around biting people? Is he trying to build up some werewolf army?” You asked, urgency stirring up in your voice. 

You were curious about Derek, wondering why Isaac seemed to like him. You never got the impression that he was a ‘good’ person - especially not when Scott and Stiles were urgently insistent that you stay away from him, and they even told you that he was a murderer. (He had been arrested at one point, even if he had been let go.) 

Maybe it was because Isaac had traded one abuser for another, and he didn’t know that Derek was too much like his father, too blind to see it. Or maybe you didn’t know enough about Derek to make the judgement call - but what you did know, you didn’t like. 

“No, Derek wasn’t an Alpha then.” Allison explained, taking a sip of her juice. “Only a bite from an Alpha can turn someone.” 

You felt vastly out of the loop, trying to catch up on all the lore, so you just nodded. 

“The one who bit Scott was Peter Hale.” She explained. 

“He’s dead, right?” You posed, wanting to be sure of this. 

It was something you distinctly remembered - chasing down Stiles at the hospital when you had gone to check on Lydia after the attack. The worried look on his face. Questioning him when Jackson let him get into the driver’s seat of the Porsche and opening one of the doors to let yourself in before they could stop you. 

The giant black beast had gone up in flames and Derek had slashed his throat. That must have been how Derek became an Alpha - by killing one. 

After that night, Scott had assured you that ‘it was all over’, and you had nothing more to worry about. Boy - had he been wrong. 

When Allison didn’t say anything, you hesitantly added on: 

“Right?” 

Allison’s expression churned with nervousness, and your insides soon matched it to a terrible degree. 

You were certain of what you had seen, but you also knew that most people didn’t believe in werewolves. So you were willing to bet on the impossible. 

“What? You’re telling me that he got up and walked away from that?” You snapped. 

Allison didn’t have the time or the patience to explain to you what had actually happened, and she certainly didn’t want you to blame Lydia for your mother’s killer still walking the earth. So instead, she went with something else. Something much easier for you to stomach. 

“Well… werewolves have a capacity to heal from a lot of things…” She mumbled out nervously. 

“Great.” You sighed and rolled your eyes, hating the lump that came in your throat as you remembered that horrible beast staring you down, growling viciously before Scott had stepped between the two of you. “Well, at least that means that Isaac is less likely to get hurt.” 

“Well…” Allison trailed off, clearly hesitating to tell you whatever was on her mind. 

“‘Well’ what?” You prodded, anxiety stirring harshly in your stomach once again. 

“Scott told me that Betas can get hurt more easily and they heal slower if they’re attacked by an Alpha.” She explained. 

“And Isaac is a Beta?” You concluded, thinking aloud. 

Allison nodded, her expression grim. 

“So, that would only be a problem if Derek attacked him, right?” You theorized, your throat clenching up terribly. 

A horrible thought flashed in your mind. It was Isaac’s father all over again. It was why he had been so shaken when he had appeared at your door the other night. But there hadn’t been any marks on him. (You did know how terribly deep mental scars could go, but you were thankful that nobody had put their hands on him.)  

“Well - there’s this Alpha pack-” 

“Alpha pack?” You gaped. “A whole pack of Alphas? A whole horde of those monsters?” 

Allison nodded hesitantly, looking at you with sadness clouding her eyes. 

“Is that who’s been killing people?” You wondered aloud - though you had heard that the recent murders had been by strangulation, and that didn’t seem like a very ‘werewolf’ method of killing someone. “Are Scott and Isaac in danger? Do-?” 

“It’s okay.” Allison said firmly, cutting you off. “You don’t have to worry about Scott and Isaac. They can take care of themselves.” 

You did trust that to be the truth, but- 

“I know. I just hate being so… uninformed.” You sighed. 

“Trust me, I know the feeling.” Allison nodded. “If anything else major happens, I’ll tell you. But you have to try not to worry so much, okay? You have to worry about the things you can control.” She said, doling out the same advice her father had given to her after her mother had died. “Like lunch and… hanging out with your friends for a little while.” 

You knew that this was covertly her way of thanking you, and you couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh. 

“Well - thank you for telling me all this,” You said. “It’s nice to not feel like I’m missing some giant piece of the puzzle.” 

“It is a very relieving feeling.” She nodded. “Oh, and by the way, Scott’s eyes do glow when he-” 

“Too much information!” 

Both of you burst into laughter, laughing so hard that your cheeks began to hurt. It was nice to spend time with one of your best friends again. 

… 

Luckily, the rest of the day flew by fairly fast for you. 

Even if thoughts of Alpha packs and the potential of Isaac getting hurt lingered in the back of your mind, you tried your best to follow Allison’s advice. You tried your hardest to push him to the back of your mind, trying to focus on what was in front of you. Which, stupidly, turned out to make you think of Isaac even more. 

Your last class of the day was art. And during the last bit of free time you were given, you found yourself sketching a pair of sad, bright blue eyes that looked all too familiar. 

You just couldn’t keep him off your mind, could you? 

… 

Three months of lunchtime and after school detentions. 

That’s what Isaac had been sentenced to for beating up Ethan. But it was a comparatively low punishment when he had originally believed that he was going to be suspended. The Principal had gone easy on him when his ranting yells about threatening to call Isaac’s father had been met with Isaac’s dull reminder that his father was dead, and so was his mother - Isaac didn’t have any parents to threaten to call. And because he was eighteen, he didn’t even have any legal guardians that the Principal could threaten to call either. 

It also helped that when the school nurse reported back about Ethan’s injuries, she didn’t seem to have anything to report. After wiping the blood off his face, he didn’t seem to have any major injuries. And Isaac had to play dumb about the whole thing while the nurse theorized that the blood had come from his nose that Isaac had ‘aggravated, but not broken’ while hitting him. 

He couldn’t break into an outburst about how the motherfucker had werewolf healing and Isaac hadn’t done any damage to him anyway. 

But still, due to the fact that Isaac had hit him, and Aiden’s whiny verbal report that Isaac had choked his brother, even though there were no marks on his neck - it still seemed bad. So Isaac now owed three months worth of detention for snapping on the guy. 

It was worth it, though, he quickly decided as he lugged a large cart of supplies up the stairs to begin restocking the janitor’s closet. Hopefully they got the message and stayed far away from you. They could mess with him all they wanted, but he had made it clear: you were fully off limits. If anybody went near you - werewolf or human - they should be prepared to meet a world of pain. 

You were on your way out of the school after art class had ended, your sketchbook in hand, physically and emotionally exhausted from the day. You were fully prepared to go home and watch Food Network alone while doing your homework in far too much detail in a continued attempt to avoid thinking too much about Isaac. And of course, you just happened to cross his path once again. You saw him carting a large trolley of stuff toward the janitor’s closet, and against your better judgement, you walked over to him. 

“Need some help?” 

You asked, trying your best to sound bright and helpful, not wanting to sound like you were upset with him. With his father’s ghost still weighing on him, the slightest change in your tone of voice could send him spiralling. It was an effort, because the smallest part of you was upset at him for trying his hardest to avoid you. 

All of his muscles visibly tensed, and you wondered if you had done something to upset him. You wondered if he regretted the sex, if the night that the two of you had spent together had been a mistake… 

“No.” He huffed, refusing to face you as he opened the door to the janitor’s closet and wheeled the trolley inside. “This is detention. My punishment. I’m not supposed to have help.” 

You were itching to ask him why he had detention in the first place. Of course, you knew that it likely had something to do with what had happened that earlier morning that you still hadn’t been told about. But knowing Isaac, even if you asked about it, he wouldn’t tell you either. He would clam up if you asked him about it. And you didn’t want him feeling guilty or thinking that you were trying to interrogate him for his ‘sins’, especially because he obviously thought that whatever he had done was worthy of ‘punishment’. 

So you took a different approach. 

You stepped into the closet with him, shouldering off your bag and dropping it into the corner, still holding your sketchbook in one hand as you came to stand beside him. 

“So - I’ll keep you company, then.” You posed gently. “We can just… talk.” 

“No.” Isaac bit back harshly, still not looking at you. 

“Look, you know we have a lot to talk about-” 

“Y/N, can you please just leave?” He spat the words like horrible venom, saying your name like it was poison on his lips. You couldn’t help the hurt that flowed through you at this. He peered over his shoulder at you, his jaw stiff as he added on: “I don’t want you here.” 

It felt so horribly forced. Once again, you were rocketed back to that terrible day in the locker room - seeing him covered in Erica’s poison red lipstick, believing a play you knew wasn’t real. And this time, rather than running away like Isaac wanted you to, you forced yourself to plant your feet. 

“Why?” 

You asked, your voice quivering, your stomach so tight, your hands shaking as you clutched onto the hardcover sketchbook. A book that was so full of Isaac, so full of your heart when you couldn’t get him out of your head, desperate for something to hold onto. You knew you couldn’t reach out and touch him, terrified of being rejected again, and still - you held him desperately close. 

Isaac forced himself to face you. And he took a sharp breath. 

‘I don’t want you getting hurt. I can’t be the reason you get hurt.’ 

The words were plump on his tongue, but never made it to the air. 

Something horrible happened. 

The door to the closet slammed shut and both of your attention was quickly directed to it. Swallowed up in suffocating darkness and now promptly aware of just how small the much larger than average closet was, Isaac rushed toward the door, yanking frantically on the handle as if trying to pull it right off. 

“It’s locked! It’s locked!” He yelled, his voice tight with panic. “We’re stuck!” 

You tossed down your book, unsure what to do - hesitant to reach out for him, knowing that he was already spiraling into a terrible panic. You knew all the details of what his father had done to him. He had told you about the freezer one day after you had invited him over to help you paint your bedroom and a mishap with a ladder falling over had caused him to get stuck in your closet, which turned him into a screaming, panicking mess. Not long after, he had been compelling to confess everything, and a lot of things about him quickly made sense in your eyes. 

“C-can you break it?” You stuttered out, hating the way his back was shaking, the way his muscles were so tense. “Can you break the door handle?” 

You began looking around the room for things that might be able to break the door down, wondering if using the trolley as a battering ram could work. But Isaac was a step ahead of you mentally, furiously shedding off his cardigan before he then began ramming his shoulder into the door. 

“There - there’s something on the other side.” He said, his voice reduced to a small, pathetic whimper. He collapsed against the door, his forehead pressed against it in a pose of pure hopelessness. 

Before you could wonder what, or who, had locked the two of you in here, Isaac’s gentle cries distracted you from further problem solving. His distress awakened something in you, and rather than continuing to formulate some plan on how to get out, that instinct of caring that you had toward him took over. He was beginning to pant harshly as he hyperventilated, panicking, and you heard him muttering ‘no, no, no, no’ as his mind was muddled with terrible emotions. 

You had to put a stop to it. You had to calm him down before anything else could be done. 

You stepped toward him, gently laying your cheek against his quivering back, tightly wrapping your arms around his waist. You squeezed as hard as you could, delivering as much pressure as you could muster, trying to regulate his nervous system. 

“You’re not there.” You said firmly, loudly, trying to ground him. “You’re not there. You’re not alone.” 

Isaac took in a shuddering breath, and you felt the chaos in his lungs right underneath your cheek. In the back of your mind, you were sure that you made his shirt wet as you released some tears of your own, your empathy for his pain nearly swallowing you whole. 

You couldn’t help but to squeeze him harder. You needed to hold him close. You needed him to feel your love. 

“I can’t - I can’t -” He heaved, still struggling to breathe. 

“You’re okay.” You said firmly. “You’re here with me. You’re not alone, Isaac. You’re okay.” 

“Please, I-” He took a sharp gulp. “Let me - let me - I need to see your face, please.” 

Hesitantly, only compelled by the pure desperation in his voice, you let go of him, and he numbly turned away from the door, leaning against it. He was covered in a layer of sweat now, and when he faced you, his lashes were glued together with tears, some streaked down his flushed cheeks. 

Instinctively, you put a hand over his heart, hating how much it was racing under your palm. He clasped his hand on top of yours, his grip almost crushingly tight. You put your other hand on the side of his flushed, sticky cheek, drawing him in so that his forehead gently pressed against yours. 

“I’m here.” You told him firmly once again. “You’re not alone. I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

There it was again - that dangerous proclamation that he wasn’t alone. The fatal idea that he wouldn’t have to be alone again. The sound of such a perfect fantasy given to him from your sweet lips, delivered to him like it was the truth. Your eyes were so warm, and you were right there. You were right in front of him like nothing had changed. Like the world wasn’t cursed by dangerous Alphas and sacrificial killers and the cruel fate that always seemed to follow him. 

He could have reached out and kissed you and he knew that you wouldn’t have pushed him away. You were looking at him with such warmth, with that perfect loving pity yet again. 

He could have kissed you, and you would not have pushed him away. You never would. 

But that was your whole problem. You didn’t know the difference between a lover and a monster. And he had to save you before you found out the hard way. 

“No.” He grunted out. 

He needed to make sure that you stayed away before it was too late. 

“Isaac?” You questioned, having no clue why he seemed so upset again just as his breathing was evening out. 

“No.” He growled. 

In an intense moment, in a fierce bid to protect you from himself, with some of that horrible panic still spiking in his system - his eyes flashed yellow and his claws sprouted against his will, and he reached up, grabbing your arm that held a hand to his imperfect heart. He only meant to push you away, but with those wicked claws, he accidentally scratched two deep gashes into your skin. It was something that he would never forgive himself for. 

“Ow!” You hissed out, more shocked than in pain. 

By instinct, you took a large step back, cradling your arm, and Isaac let out a deep growl. His own self hatred for hurting you fueled his adrenaline, and he found himself unable to shift back. You stared him down in horror as his eyes continued to glow and his teeth sprouted into sharp fangs. 

“Isaac?” You called out his name, wondering if he was in control of this, or if some greater force had taken over. 

Before you could wonder for too much longer, the door to the closet burst open, letting in a flood of light - you squinted past it, wondering who your saviour was. That saviour pulled Isaac outside by the collar of his shirt, pinning him to the floor harshly. 

“Isaac! Isaac, stop! Isaac!” 

Scott. You easily recognized his voice - and soon, Isaac’s animalistic growls dissolved into more pathetic whimpers. When you next caught a glimpse of him, his eyes were back to their usual blue colour, and his claws and fangs were nowhere to be seen. Whatever werewolf mind trick he had pulled on Isaac, it had worked. 

Cowering on the floor, Isaac noticed your sketchbook - one of you had kicked into the hallway and knocked the cover open. His eyes fixated on a picture you had drawn - a hyper-realistic wolf that had soft, baby blue eyes. You must not have known that for werewolves, blue eyes when shifted were the mark of a killer. That was likely what you thought of him as now: nothing but a horrible beast, a monster. 

He had no clue that you had drawn it because you thought it was something so soft and beautiful. Because you had been thinking about Isaac as something sweeter and more docile… like a puppy. Something loyal that would sit in your lap at the end of a long day. Which is what he had done long before he had ever received The Bite. 

Your attention was locked onto Scott as he stepped in to check on you and Isaac huddled tightly against the door, seemingly eager to get away from you once again. You knew that he was likely embarrassed and upset that he had unintentionally hurt you. 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked, his voice steady, but deeply concerned. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” You said, trying to hastily hide your arm behind your back. 

You didn’t know that due to his heightened werewolf senses, he could smell the blood. He reached over and gently grabbed your wrist, and pushed up your now ripped sleeve to reveal the large cuts you had on your arm. 

“It was an accident.” You quickly explained. “He-” 

“I know.” Scott said, nodding, his face tight with a serious thoughtfulness. 

Behind him, Isaac made haste in getting up off the floor, and without so much as another word to either of you, he took off running at top speed. That was definitely something he was good at - running away from people who cared about him. 

“Uh-” Scott looked from you to Isaac’s retreating form, clearly torn about who he should take care of first. 

“I’ll be fine.” You insisted. “Go after him. He doesn’t wanna see me right now. You might be able to help.” 

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

“Yes!” You insisted, giving him a nudge. “Go!” 

“Okay.” Scott stepped out of the closet, and took one last look at you, continuing to talk while he took hesitant steps away. “There’s a first aid kit in Coach’s office, make sure you get some bandages or something. He keeps the door unlocked in case anybody needs it.” 

You nodded and tried to wave him away. 

“I’ve got it covered.” You assured him. 

“Okay, I’ll text you later!” 

He then ran after Isaac - and you just hoped that Isaac would be more receptive toward Scott. 

You then began to gather your things, and when you found your sketchbook on the floor, open to the sketch you had made that was a distant imagining of Isaac’s werewolf form… you just hoped that he hadn’t actually had time to look at it. He was probably insulted by it, or found it to be strange. When you went to grab your bag from inside the closet, you noticed that his cardigan was still on the floor where he had torn it off in a haste. 

You knew that he wasn’t likely to come back and get it anytime soon. Selfishly, you lifted it up to your nose and inhaled. It smelled like a new body wash that you hadn’t noticed on him before. But it still distinctly smelled like him, like his natural scent. You opened your bag and stuffed it inside, telling yourself that you would give it back to him the next time you saw him - if he would let there be a ‘next time’. 

Ugh. 

… 

Scott caught up to Isaac far outside the school - he would give the guy credit, he could definitely run far and fast when he wanted to. 

“Isaac, what the hell was that?” Scott hissed, both of them slightly out of breath, and walking in stride. 

Isaac still refused to slow down much even though he was clearly starting to tire, and Scott just tried his best to keep up with him. 

“I think you know what that was.” Isaac replied sharply. “The sharp teeth, the claws, the glowing eyes - the wonderful thing that was supposed to fix my life, make me whole, heal me.” 

Maybe he was beginning to regret it. Maybe he was beginning to regret you. Which one, he wasn’t quite sure. 

“Not what I meant.” Scott rolled his eyes. “You left her, and she was terrified-” 

Scott was exaggerating. You had been fine. He didn’t know that it was the wrong card to play with Isaac - it didn’t make him feel dutiful and empathetic, it just made him further wallow in his own guilt. 

“Exactly.” Isaac hissed. “She was terrified because I’m a monster. I should be exiled out to the woods, where all the other monsters belong.” 

Isaac took off running again, and Scott was too tired - perhaps more emotionally than physically - to keep up.

“Isaac!” 

Scott just hoped that Isaac would come home on his own, that he would know that Scott still loved him, and still wanted him around. Scott hoped that he wouldn’t have to go out looking for Isaac. He didn’t need another thing to worry about.

...

I would really like to see this part get 10 Comments and 10 Reblogs before I post Chapter Three - this could include anonymous asks if you're a bit shy and you still want to comment, and I am totally okay if this could include multiple reblogs from the same enthusiastic person or people.

I think that this number is really low considering that currently the first chapter currently has 92 notes, and the point of this is to encourage some people who have only liked the chapter(s) and not reblogged them to comment and reblog in order to 'unlock' more of the story.

If I was being really overeager, I would say that I would like to see 30 comments and 30 reblogs to equal to 60 people of the people who only liked the fic, but the tricky thing about likes is that I don't know if people bookmarked it for later or if they actually read it - which is another reason why I encourage people to comment and reblog. I want to know that you actually read the story and that you haven't just liked it for it later. (I definitely understand that happens, but if you read the fic, I wanna know.)

Anyway, I will likely increase this number on the next chapter in accordance with the interaction that the fic gets, and I am very thankful to everyone who has left comments on the first chapter and reblogged. I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Sunny ☀️

[doctorslove]

Morning Cuddles with Ten

Summary: You and the Doctor have a soft, sweet morning in bed together. Kisses, cuddles, pet names, fluff. No plot, just the two of you being cute <3

Tenth Doctor x Reader

Gender not specified for the reader

Words: 647

You slowly opened your eyes as you felt a familiar nose brushing against the back of your neck. You smiled to yourself and took the Doctor’s hand that was wrapped around your middle into yours and gave it a kiss.

“Morning,” he whispered in your ear and it made your stomach feel funny just like every time.

“Good morning, baby,” you whispered back, closing your eyes again.

He started leaving little kisses to the back of your neck and behind your ear, pulling you as close to him as possible.

You should have known that the Doctor would be such an affectionate lover. Back when you were just friends he would not stop holding your hand or hugging you or kissing your forehead. And of course, ever since you got together things got a hundred times more intense. Every minute of every day he found a new way to feel you close and show you his love. Not that you complained. Quite the opposite actually, you tried to do the same thing.

As a result, you were always all over each other- which usually made every single person who would witness the kisses and little touches the two of you shared, roll their eyes.

The little kisses kept going, but you couldn’t resist turning around and hiding your face in the crook of his neck. He smelled so nice there, you didn’t know how he did it, you didn’t even know if it was natural or his cologne but you couldn’t get enough. It was your favorite scent in the world and if you could stay there and smell him all day you would.

He kissed the top of your head and held you closely, his long leg resting on both of yours.

You always enjoyed those quiet moments with him and he did as well.

Having you in his arms, kissing you, being able to openly tell you how much he loved you whenever he wanted…was something new to him. Something that felt magical. The Doctor, due to his own rule, was never allowed to get this close to someone, but he fell so deeply in love with you that he could not deny it to himself any longer; or to you. He knew the love you had for him, he could see it and feel it and from the day he admitted his love for you he promised to himself that he would make sure that for the rest of your life there wouldn’t be a single moment where you wouldn’t feel absolutely adored. And protected. You deserved it more than anyone.

And he would have the privilege to be in your life and be the one to love you and call you his.

His hand was now resting on your cheek and he softly made you look at him.

He was so handsome you thought, with hair messier than usual and that smile that screamed I love you. You had to cup his cheek too and appreciate his beauty.

There he was, a powerful Time Lord looking at you with big puppy eyes, letting you know in every way possible that you were his whole world.

“I love you,” you said and his smile got even brighter.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

He leaned in and left a loving kiss on your cheek. And then another one. And then another one on your nose, then on your eyelids and then on your forehead and then back on your cheek.

“My everything,” he breathed out and kissed your lips, lightly like a feather.

“Stop,” you giggled and he laughed against your lips.

“What?”

“Morning breath,” you protested while still laughing.

“Who cares? I’m feeling romantic,” he laughed back and kissed you again.

You ran your fingers through his hair and made him look at you.

“My love. My Doctor.”

“My Y/N...”

He kissed you again.

[storytelling-timelord]

Heeeey! If it's not too much, can I request 12, 32, and 37 for 10/reader from the list u posted? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

A/N: Yay! 😊 Request blurbs please!

12. “Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.

32. “It looks good on you.”

37. “Can I kiss you?”

---

“Last time I checked Doctor, Las Vegas didn’t have snow.” The Doctor scurries out of the TARDIS behind you, his brows pinching together when snow sticks to his shoes. You laugh lightly at the sight and step around in the crunchy white powder.

“Well, I suppose we’re somewhere close, the TARDIS couldn’t have gotten it that far off.” You nod at his words in an over comical way that has the Doctor narrowing his eyes at you. “What’s that for?”

“Nothing. I just, I don’t think we’re on Earth. That’s all.” You shrug.

“What? Of course we’re on-“ He stops himself when you point to the sky. His head turns up, looking at the two moons and a sun that’s decorating the sky. “Well, would you look at that.” He grins at you, making it hard to be annoyed when you fight a smile and roll your eyes. “We’re not on Earth.”

You didn’t dress for the cold. The long sleeved top you wore was beginning to feel like you were wearing a bikini in fall as you shiver, rubbing your hands up and down your arms. The Doctor takes notice. He pulls off his long trench coat, happy in just his suit jacket as he hands it to you. “Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”

“I dressed for Vegas Doctor, not the Antarctica of planets.” you smile at him but take the jacket nonetheless. It was warm, his body heat definitely helped raise the temperature when the coat enveloped you and you’ve never felt more comfortable wearing something that wasn’t yours.

“It looks good on you.“ the Doctor blurts out and you feel your cheeks heating up despite the frosty air surrounding them. He was looking you up and down slowly, his trench coat having found a new, perfect home around you and he very much likes it. “You should wear it more often.”

“I can’t.” You smirk at him and out your hands onto your hips. Scrunching your nose briefly at him. “You always do.”

“Yes, well it is my coat.” He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets only for a second and smiles happily at you. He comes closer to you, his hands now finding a place on each of your hips right above your own as he pulls you flush against him. “Now, can I kiss you or do you want to go exploring?”

You act first quickly pecking the doctors lips for a few seconds before pushing him and that darn grin on his face away. “Let’s go exploring, Doctor.” He takes your hand and one whole step before you stop him and nod back to the TARDIS. “But first, warmer clothes.”

.

.

.

.

[maximoff-pan]

earth, wind, & fire | tenth doctor

Pairing: 10th Doctor x Fem!Reader

Summary: You convince the doctor to take a trip to your home planet where he watches an earth sunrise for the first time

Word Count: 600+

Prompt: Watching the sunrise (flufftober day 5)

A/n: Hi loves! Welcome to the first of my flufftober2021 posts! This one is a little short, but I also think it’s better suited that way. I hope you’ll enjoy it! And I’m sorry if I made any factual errors regarding Doctor Who…oops…Anyway, I really hope you all find flufftober to be a fun little treat! Much love!

find the flufftober masterlist here

• • • • • •

The Doctor has visited many planets, seen many universes, and throughout all the times he’s been on earth, he’s never stayed long enough to watch the sunrise.

It’s an odd thing to ponder, considering just how many times he been to and how many people he’s met from earth, but it always felt right: arriving after the sun had hit its peak, or leaving in the dead of night before the light could make its reappearance.

But sitting here with you, your legs dangling off the edge of the hovering tardis, this feels even more right.

Keep reading

[storytelling-timelord]

Plenty of Chances

Request: Hey bestie. Can I request a 10/reader where the reader catches 10 checking her out. Instead of getting embarrassed of being caught, 10 gets super flirty

WC: 1.2K

A/N: I couldn’t help myself and I had to post this instead of waiting for the weekend lol I have zero self control and I might’ve strayed a little but oh well lmao

—

“I know you’re here somewhere.”

The Doctor’s brow lifts as he listens to you, your mumbling voice fumbling through the TARDIS as you enter the console room, fixing your earring with a slight limp to your step. He would’ve questioned the limp if the sight of you in a dress didn’t stop him cold. The Doctor’s never seen you in a dress before, especially not one hugging your body so… perfectly. You were looking for your shoe, the Doctor learns when you bend over and he gets a nice, clear, perfect view of your-

Keep reading

[cheerup-loki]

PLEASE THIS WAS SO GOOD😩

[sinner-as-saint]

Safe Haven

SAFE HAVEN

Bucky Barnes / The Winter Soldier x Reader headcanon

Reader and Bucky Barnes’ life post Endgame. (Definitely not requested but I needed this myself)

Themes: POST ENDGAME (SPOILER ALERT), FLUFF, language, SMUT, FEELS, slight angst.

A/N: His little side part i cannot, he’s so pretty my angelic little baby boy. Also, not advisable to read if you haven’t watched Avengers: Endgame. Literally, the first line is a MAJOR spoiler. And for those who have, I hope you like it :) 

Keep reading

[cheerup-loki]

I think about this pic more than I should

They’re so cute wtf 😭

[cheerup-loki]

Inhaler <3

[angrythingstarlight]

Had a dream last night n Bucky was there, not sure what the context of the dream was but he was there 😌

Title: Dream of you

Summary: You're the light guiding him away from the nightmares.

Gif by @unearthlydust

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word count: 400ish

Warnings: Fluff, teensy bit of angst.

A/N: I know I've written something similar but this is my favorite troupe (is Bucky dreaming about me ahem reader a troupe?)

Bucky dreams of you.

Flashes of his prior life plagued him at night, when he was alone in his apartment. Nightmares about when he was a prisoner in his own mind, a silent witness unable to stop the atrocities caused by his own hands. 

The nightmares spiraled out of control, leaving him restless, sweat laced, and shivering on his hardwood floors. He had given up hope for one night of rest, one night of peaceful slumber. He wondered if he deserved that. 

He met you by accident. Call it fate, luck or some merciful wizard had pity on him and placed you in his life.

All he knows is that having the chance to be around you is a gift. To speak to you, sit next to you, to love you is beyond anything he had dreamed of and well, he cherishes every moment. 

You’re an oasis after a lifetime of pain. 

You kissed him one night, cuddled up on his couch, the dim light from the tv flickering across the dark living room, your lips grazed his cheek and he felt it in his bones. 

He bought furniture for you, wanting you to be comfortable in his space. The first night he could sleep in his bed was with you. Bucky became restless after a few hours, still not used to all the softness, he eased out of the bed and onto the floor. You woke up and found him in the living room by the couch. 

Bucky tried to explain, but you gave him a sleepy, understanding smile, holding up a blanket, and he knew he was safe with you. He could talk and share without fear of judgment. You laid next to him on the frigid floor, using his chest as a pillow, and you stole his heart.  

He dreamed of you. 

It’s been a few years now. 

He bought you a home, a little place that was perfect for the two of you. His grandmother’s ring fit around your finger like she made it for you. The wedding was small, with a few of your friends and family, and he had Sam, Sarah, the kids, Sharon, Torres and Yori on his side. 

It was all more than he expected. 

Even after all this time.

He dreams of you. 

It’s often the little things that remind him how lucky he is, like the way your hand finds his when you’re walking through the local farmers’ market. Or how your face lights up when you’re happy. The way your nose scrunches when you’re angry. He loves the way your mind works, how you’re funny without even realizing it, kind and genuinely beautiful.

No matter how much time passes, no matter what happens in the future. 

He knows three things for certain. 

He loves you, he’s going to cherish you until the last breath leaves his body and he’s going to always dream of you. 

[grufflepuff-writes-stuff]

Held Fast (Loki/Reader Lullabies #120)

Fandom: Marvel/Avengers

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Category: Fluff. Fluff without plot.

Rating: PG, maybe, for some references to sex? Nothing explicit.

Summary: When temptation is too great you get yourself into a bit of a mess. Will Loki help you, or will he be too angry to see what you’ve done?

Warnings/Notes: Some lovely anonymous reader requested this kind of fic and now here we are! It’s not quite as cuddly as the other Lullabies have been, but I hope the change of pace is refreshing for all of you?

Held Fast

You knew it was a bad idea. You knew how Loki got about his things, especially things like that, and you knew you’d made a quiet vow to yourself to respect his space. But he knew how much you liked it. It was sleek and shiny and beautifully golden. He knew perfectly well, because you had told him plenty of times already, that sometimes you’d had certain filthy thoughts about this very helm. It was the horns, maybe. You liked the idea of running your hands along them, feeling the graceful curve and the cool metal beneath your skin. And he was the one who’d left it out. Sitting there on the little table in his sitting room, glinting in the sunlight. It was an invitation, wasn’t it?

Keep reading

[cheerup-loki]

💥💳💥💳💥💳💥

[grufflepuff-writes-stuff]

Whispered Confessions (Loki/Reader Lullabies #117)

Fandom: Marvel/Avengers

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Category: Fluff. Fluff without plot.

Rating: G.

Summary: Loki comes to a startling discovery one night as he rests beside you in your bed.

Warnings/Notes: This one was requested AGES ago by @thefallenbibliophilequote​. Sorry it took so long, but this is what I’ve got for you! :)

Whispered Confessions

Night drew in around the two of you, as it did every day, and Loki found himself once again stretched out beside you under the covers. Tonight, you’d drifted off rather quickly, and already you were curled around him, snoring sweetly into his chest. He worked his fingers through your hair as you slept. He’d been spending a lot of time in your room lately: it had started out as simple conversations, which then stretched into all-nighters any time one of you was especially stressed or angry, and then it only made sense for him to sleep in your bed rather than having to go back to his own rooms. And then he started staying here even on good nights. Logically, he knew that all of the sleeping quarters in the Tower had the same kind of bed, but something about yours felt so much more comfortable than his.

Keep reading

[witchesgarden-deactivated202206]

The Grieving Process | Part One

Summary: you and Andy deal with the blow of the phone call

Word count: 1.9k+

Warnings: character death, eventual smut, kissing, they're both in total denial, 18+ only

A/N: I am so sorry about how long it's taken to get this second chapter out, it literally took months but I hope you all enjoy it!

Shock

Andy hadn't spoken since those last words had left his lips. It had been a long, sleepless night, and no matter how many times you asked him if he was okay you couldn't seem to get a response from him. It was like you weren't even there, but you stayed by his side as he sat in silence, waiting for the moment that he would say something.

In truth, Andy didn't know where his mind was. He felt as though he was floating, stuck between this reality and the one he wished could be living. One where he hadn't just received a phone call in the middle of the night. One where you weren't by his side asking him if he was alright, telling him that it's okay to not be okay and that it's okay to need time to process what he's feeling. Mainly silence filled the space, but those few times you spoke were enough to remind Andy of the nightmare he's living.

And he couldn't wake up from this one.

This entire night had been bathed in darkness. You hadn't wanted to leave his side long enough to turn on the lamp and he didn't want to be the one to admit that this was real. He didn't want to see his room, his home with you overlooking the New York skyline. He didn't want to see the sadness and concern in your eyes. He didn't want it to be real, and he didn't want to except that it was for as long as possible. For as long as it takes for the sun to rise and take it's place in the gaps in the curtains he'll pretend. He'll deal with it then. He will.

You're the first to notice the small glimmer of light making its way into your home, but you don't say anything. This is the first day. The first day without them here, alive. You don't want to make him take notice of that before he has to. But he knows. Of course he does. He's spoted the rays peeking through the blinds but he won't look at them any more than his periphery forces him to. Maybe if he can hold on to the darkness for just a little longer then this will all be easier when the sun rises, but as the shadow of the sun kisses the spot where his feet meet the floor he shoots back onto the bed like he's just been burned.

"Make it stop." he mutters, almost inaudible, no emotion in his tone as he stares blankly ahead. You move closer to him, taking slow steps to make sure not to startle him in his almost trance-like state.

"What do you need, baby?" you ask him gently, crouching down on the bed next to him until your gaze is level with his and he's looking at you. Although the longer you stare into his eyes, the more you're convinced he's looking through you.

"The light," he whispers, finally actually looking you in the eyes as tears well in his own, "Make it go away."

You whisper a soft reassurance before parting with him and walking to the window to shut the blinds, making sure to leave no gaps for him to focus on. Once you're sure the room is as dark as you can make it you slowly return to the bed, climbing in beside him and reaching out for his hand which he intertwines with yours immediately.

Silence reclaims the space between you as you sit there together in the dark, although the light is shining bright outside your own little world in this room. You don't know what to say to him to make it better. Nothing, you think, can possibly make this better for him. He's just lost two of the people that meant most to him in this world. Even when their relationships were strained he was always there for his wife and son, and now he would never see them again. And here you were, sat by his side, with no idea how to help him.

You're not sure when you fell asleep, but when you wake again Andy is nowhere to be seen. You're out of bed in an instant, searching for him to make sure he's okay. He shouldn't be alone in a time like this. You shouldn't have left him alone with his thoughts in a time like this.

The soft sound of the tap running in the bathroom immediately gives away his location and your feet slow as you approach the door, not wanting to startle him. He's still as a statue, toothbrush in his hand as he stares at the running water. He's lost in some deep thought that takes him from his place in your home and transports him back to somewhere else. To a time before. You can tell just by the look in his eyes that he's thinking about them. But you didn't expect anything different.

"Andy?" your voice is soft, a little hoarse from just waking up from the minimal sleep you were able to get this morning.

If he hears you he doesn't show it. He's lost to this consciousness, swallowed whole by whatever memory or thought is plaguing him. You walk towards him slowly, trying to draw his attention away from his thoughts but he's preoccupied until you're standing directly in front of him.

"Baby, are you okay?" you knew it was a stupid question. You cursed yourself the second that the words left your lips, but what were you supposed to say? You had no idea how to comfort him, if comforting him was even possible.

Your voice slowly pulls him from the prison of his mind, and his eyes slowly flicker to gaze upon your own. Staring into his cerulean irises now, it’s almost like they’ve darkened two shades, the brightness completely faded from them. In all the years you’d been with him, he had never been like this. This detached, and as much as you knew he had every right to feel this way. To act this way, it scared you a little. You didn’t know the gaze that met yours, how were you possibly supposed to help him. All you wanted was to hold him, but if that was what he needed he hadn’t told you. He hadn’t said much of anything, until his voice clears the silence that stands in the gap between your bodies.

“Yeah,” his voice is shaky, and it’s clear by the rasp in his tone that he’s holding back tears, “I’m fine. Hungry, but fine.”

You knew he was lying. You could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. He knew that you saw right through him, but something in his eyes. The way his gaze pleaded with you to allow him this moment of normalcy, made you dismiss your concerns for only this moment.

“Why don’t we go to the kitchen and I’ll make us some pancakes?” you smile softly when he nods, taking his hand in yours to lead him out of the bathroom.

There is an air of comfort that takes over momentarily. A brief second where it doesn’t feel like the earth is going to crumble beneath your feet as you pull out a chair for him at the island bench and get started on making some food for you both to eat.

It’s silent, the noises of the sizzling pan the only thing you can hear as you wait for the food to be ready. There is so much that needs to be said. So much you want to say. But there are no words that could even compare to what you’re feeling, what Andy is feeling. So you stay quiet. Offer him a moment alone to his thoughts as you let your own consume you.

It still didn’t feel real. Sure, you had never even met Jacob or Laurie, but the blow came just as swiftly as it would have if you had known them. Whether you knew them, whether they held any place in your heart, they had at one point been Andy’s world. That was what hit you the hardest. Your husband’s world had just been shattered, and you don’t know how to help him pick up the pieces.

You knew that Jacob had never been fond of his dad remarrying. They hadn’t spoken much after the trial and the divorce, but what they had said had been strained, hurtful. Andy hadn’t told you about that until much later in your engagement. He hadn’t wanted you to think that you were separating him from his family. It was his choice to be with you, he had told you. You had trusted him on that. On the decision to start again, but now as you thought about that moment, your judgement felt cloudy.

Maybe it wasn’t right to take him from his wife and son. Maybe that was what you had done.

No, you couldn’t think like that. That hadn’ been the truth before and it wasn’t the truth now. Your mind was trying to make you feel guilty so you didn’t have to focus on the real, existing pain right in front of you.

Right?

“Syrup or sugar?” you ask him when the pancakes have browned, turning around to see him completely absorbed in his screen. Just like before, it’s like you’d never said anything.

He jumps a little when you approach him, as if your presence had somehow startled him even though he knew you were there. He should’ve known you were right there.

“I’m sorry darling, did you say something?” his voice is almost bland. He’s trying his hardest to act okay, but it’s apparent to both of you that the act is fooling nobody. You hear the click of his phone shutting off before he places it on the island bench, “I’m okay, baby, I’m really sorry for ignoring you, I was just thinking about some things.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” your voice is soft as you brush his hair back from his forehead, making him sigh in contemptment when you run your fingers over his scalp lightly.

“Not yet,” he sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, none of that, mister,” your hand moves from his hair to cup his cheek, softly grazing your thumb over his beard, “I’m here for you every step of the way, okay? I’m following your lead here, whatever you need, however long it takes. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Have I told you how much I fucking love you?” he manages a small smile as his arms wrap around your waist, and your heart warms knowing that you can bring him even a little moment’s reprieve from the grief he’s experiencing.

“You can always say it again,” you grin with a soft giggle as he pulls you in for a sweet kiss, “Now, do you want syrup or sugar on these cold pancakes?”

“Syrup will be great, beautiful,” the way that he can still make you blush after all these years never fails to astound you, butterflies flooding in your tummy as if it’s the first time he said hello all over again.

Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, you pull away from him reluctantly and bring over the plate of pancakes, sitting next to him at the bench as you both dig in to the food. It’s nice, a comfortable quiet that sits between you as you share flirty glances and eat your breakfast. For a moment, things feel okay. You can almost feel a sense of normalcy. Almost. And you let yourself fall into the feeling, bask in it even. Pretend that everything isn’t fucked up for as long as you can, before the plates are empty and the world outside the apartment you share comes creeping back in. No, you could live in this for just a little while longer.

You needed to.

[grufflepuff-writes-stuff]

Downpour (Loki/Reader Lullabies #111)

Fandom: Marvel/Avengers

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Category: Fluff. Fluff without plot.

Rating: G.

Summary: One rainy afternoon, you seek out Loki for the comfort that he can offer you, and he is happy to oblige.

Warnings/Notes: This is another little piece for my Loki’s Lullabies collection–plotless little fluff-bombs meant to (hopefully!) help you sleep, or at least feel alright.  If there’s a specific action or line of dialogue that you’d like to read, please don’t be afraid to message it to me!

Downpour

It was raining. The light that came in through the windows had been grey and watery all morning. You didn’t really mind all that much. It wasn’t like you were particularly interested in going outside. Loki, the poor angelic man, had been trying to drag you out for walks a little more often, and you could only assume that it was because he could tell how low your mood was sinking. And he was right to do it. Holding his hand and strolling through the city while the sun beamed down on you, it did a lot to cheer you up even on the worst days. But there would be no walk today, and, secretly, you were kind of guiltily relived. The rain meant that you both could stay inside. If you were lucky, maybe you could convince Loki to be lazy on the couch with you, and just hold each other all afternoon.

Keep reading

[cheerup-loki]

Chris Evans everyone 💥💳💥💳💥💳

[vanderlustwords]

See the World the Way You Do

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader (soulmates AU)

Please do not repost/translate anywhere. Reblogs & Comments are much welcomed ♥

Summary: You start to see colour when you meet your soulmate. Bucky thinks that soulmates are a one of a king thing—you get one and that's it. His world used to be colourful once and then he lost that. He's resigned to see black and white for the rest of his life...until flashes of colours would appear from the corner of his eye. And it seemed to happen more and more as Bucky spends time with you.

Note: I'm deeply sighing because Bucky makes me one emotional bitch. Taglist is still open for Bucky, Steve, Andy Barber, or all! :) comment or dm !

Warnings: So fucking soft and fluffy with a smidgen of angst.

Count: ~3.6k

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It was a strange phenomenon.

You often wonder how it could ever possibly exist and ruminate on the fact that no one really knows the science behind it.

The idea that soulmates exist has always made you slightly uncomfortable but also intrigued you.

Everyone's world is black and white from the moment they're born, and you know you've met your soulmate when you see colour.

The idea that your world could suddenly change when you meet your soulmate...that's terrifying. At the same time, you couldn't help but want to know what colours were like.

Your best friend had found her soulmate way back in high school. She talked about her love. The green of her eyes, the red of her hair, and the multitude of colours she wore.

You don't understand. And there was nothing your best friend could say that would make you understand colours either.

You were a little reluctant about the idea of a soulmate, the idea that someone is made for you and that you're made for someone. Mostly because you can't imagine someone loving you...like really loving you.

Nevertheless, you make a silent vow to the universe that if you ever do meet your soulmate...you'd love them with everything you had.

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There is something amazing to be said about the phenomenon of finding your soulmate. The way colour bleeds into your vision, taking over the monochrome of everything, and it feels like life has been breathed into you.

Bucky has had the pleasure of experiencing it.

But there's also something that may not be as commonly known or spoken about.

And it's the fact that if colour can be added to your life...it can also be taken away.

Bucky has had the misfortune of experiencing it.

The hard part is that Bucky doesn't even really remember it happening. Probably because he was brainwashed while it occurred.

There had been a girl in the back in the 40s. His girl. James Buchanan Barnes had met his soulmate, and he loved her the way all romantic movies were back then.

And at some point, while he was the Winter Soldier...the colour faded from his view. She was gone, and Bucky hadn't even known until he was clear-headed again and noticed the monochrome of everything.

It was strange. Bucky felt the loss, felt it deeply and immensely in his soul, but he couldn't shed a single tear.

No one really knows anything about soulmates.

All Bucky can think is that was it. He had his one happiness, and now she's gone.

For the rest of his life, his world will always be black and white because falling in love again would be simply too greedy.

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Bucky's making his way to the kitchen when he sees you staring blankly into the fridge. He leans against the door, arms crossed with a quirked eyebrow.

"You lose something in there, doll? Or..." Bucky finally says when you stand there with the fridge open too long.

You look up, surprised, and feel the heat creep up in your cheeks when you realize you've been caught.

"Oh, hey, Bucky," you smile sheepishly. "I'm pretty sure I left some ice cream in here but I can't seem to find it."

"What kind?"

"Drumsticks."

Bucky snorts. "Sorry, doll, but Steve is a menace and if you leave that lying around...well."

You sigh dramatically. "He lives to ruin my life."

Bucky lets out a laugh as he walks to the fridge to see what was in it. "Have you even eaten yet?" He asks.

"Um, ice cream for lunch," you tell him, and Bucky rolls his eyes with a smile.

"Not good enough," Bucky scolds you playfully as he begins to take things out. "I'll make some pasta for lunch that we can eat and then we can go on a walk to get some ice cream. Sound like a plan?"

You smile at him widely and nod. "You're a good person, Buck. I'll be sure to rub it into Steve's face the next time I see him."

Bucky merely laughs quietly as he begins prepping ingredients. You sit across from him on the kitchen island, watching him diligently.

You're a phenomenon to Bucky. You've come into his life like a whirlwind and somehow able to make the grey seem chaotic. It's hard not to like you. He thinks you're pretty, and Bucky is incredibly weak for pretty dames.

It's easier to pretend like he's never known colour before since you don't know what it's like either. He's tried to forget the fact how once upon a time, there was a person in his life that described the beauty of colours to him. That once, he was told that he has the most stunning cobalt eyes and dark, inky hair—not quite black but warm nonetheless.

At times when Bucky catches himself staring at you, he can't help but wonder what colour your eyes are, what colour is your hair?

You were so pretty, monochrome and all, and Bucky feels guilty that he wishes he could still see colour to see what you'd really look like.

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The first time it happens is when everyone has decided to take the day off and have a picnic in the park. People come and go to greet them but for the most part, leave the heroes alone to relax.

Technically, you're not a hero, but the number of times patched up the team makes you an honorary member. It's good because Bucky likes sitting next to you while you talk animatedly with Natasha about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. He also enjoys watching you antagonize Steve for stealing your ice cream weeks ago.

Bucky can't quite explain it, but the sky seems a little bluer today.

"Bucky?"

He hums as he looks over to you, finally done with your conversation with Natasha as you lie back on the blanket, staring up at the sky.

Bucky wonders if you yearned to see colour.

You turn your head to the side, peering up at him seriously, and he starts to feel a little sweaty and nervous.

"Do you think pineapple belongs on pizza?"

Bucky clicks his tongue at you, scowling slightly as you grin at him.

"Don't even try to start that with me."

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The second time it happens, it's when Bucky is spilling the broken parts of him out to you.

"Her name was Dorothy," Bucky says, unsure if he wants to smile or cry at the sound of her name from his own mouth. "Used to call her Dotty."

Suddenly, Bucky thinks this was a terrible idea. What was he doing, reaching into his own chest, breaking his ribs open and exposing his battered heart to you?

Somehow, recounting how he probably broke her heart when he disappeared and how his own heart would break over and over every time he was conscious enough to realize he stopped seeing colours.

"Soulmates are a funny thing, aren't they?" Bucky said as he leaned back further into the couch, eating the popcorn he made for the movie night with you. "Having someone meant for you doesn't guarantee any sort of happy ending."

You nod as you squeeze his arm comfortingly once, but not overbearingly before you let go and look at the TV.

"Think you'll meet your soulmate anytime soon?" Bucky asks after a while as the movie starts to near its end.

You shrug. "Truthfully, I'm not sold on the whole soulmates thing."

"Really?"

You nod. "There's not that much information about it, but personally I don't think soulmates mean something so grand as one person being meant for you."

Bucky stares at you curiously, not saying anything but looking at you intently to continue on, and you sigh.

"I think soulmates exist in many forms. Platonically, romantically, the pure love between a child and a parent—things like that. I don't think there's just one soulmate for you out there. You could have more than one. My mom did after my dad passed away," you turn to him with a soft smile on your face.

"Do you think it's greedy to love someone again? To see colour again when you've already had it and lost it?" Bucky asks quietly.

"No," you answer immediately. "I don't think being capable of love, especially after a loss, is greedy. It's brave, isn't it? To know the pain and tragedy of loss, and still be able to love again."

You look away then, staring at the TV as if you're trying to catch the ending.

Bucky watches as you swallow, looking relaxed.

"Besides, just because someone is your soulmate, doesn't mean you are theirs."

There's something so solemn the way you say it, and when he continues to stare at you, he thinks he sees it. Something intense in the corner of your eyes that isn't monochrome.

Bucky thinks about your words at night. Colours are such a weird concept, and he wonders if the fact that he's seen them before gives him the ability to start dreaming about pastel blues, pretty pinks, and bright yellows.

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It's harder for Bucky to deny his own greediness and selfishness, despite your words that he isn't.

He sees colour at the oddest times and more frequently.

He knows the colour of your eyes, and he swears there's nothing like it. He knows the colour of your hair and the hues of your skin, and you remind him of Autumn.

And just like everything else in Bucky's life since being in the modern world, he doesn't know what to do.

It's obvious that you don't see colours. It's in the way you ask him one afternoon when he's in your bay getting patched up.

"What was it like for you to see colours?"

Bucky feels something clench in his chest as he peers up at you and swallows at how delicately you treat him.

"Amazing," Bucky finally says, unable to really say anything else. "I don't really know how to describe it. One moment, everything suddenly became brighter and darker all at once. I think I was a little overwhelmed, if I'm being honest, it was kind of a sensory overload."

You smile as you continue to dress his wound.

"Honestly, I don't know if I'm describing it well," Bucky shrugs. "I think it's just one of those things you only understand when you experience it."

You're silent, but Bucky continues to stare at you, feeling a dull ache in his chest.

You're wearing a purple shirt today and green pants, and it totally doesn't match, but Bucky finds it all the more adorable, even if painful.

"What do you think it'll be like for you when you see colour?" Bucky can't help but ask.

You finish dressing his wound, patting his arm gently as you ponder the question and give him a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"I think I'll be a little lonely but I'll be very in love as well."

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"Bucky."

Bucky snaps his eyes open, feeling his heart race and sweat on his forehead, chest, and back.

He turns over to see you, hovering at the edge of his bed unsurely.

"What's the matter, doll?" Bucky rasps as he sits up and rubs his eyes. He takes a deep breath to calm his rapidly beating heart.

"You tell me," you mumble as you pull at your cardigan sleeve and begin to dab at his forehead, clearing away the sweat. "You were screaming and I heard you next door."

Bucky feels bad because he usually has FRIDAY soundproof his room. He must've fallen asleep before he could remember to do it.

"'m sorry," Bucky mutters. "Woke you up."

You shrug. "I was already awake, couldn't sleep so I was reading."

Bucky nods, still feeling guilty because he disturbed you nonetheless. He feels even worse that he feels better with you here.

"Are you sleepy?" You ask abruptly, and Bucky shrugs. "Want to watch a couple of episodes of our show?"

You're throwing a lifeline and being very subtle about it, and Bucky's thankful. He nods, and he's about to get up to go with you out into the common room when you climb over him and settle underneath the blanket beside him.

"Remote?" You ask, and Bucky dumbly turns to his nightstand, pulling out the drawer and passing the remote to you.

You multitask, taking off your cardigan as you pull the blanket up and turn on the TV.

"FRIDAY, soundproof the room," you ask, and the AI does so with confirmation.

Bucky's facing forward at the TV, but he's staring at you from the corner of his eyes.

You look really good, wrapped up in his navy blue blanket.

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"Which tie should I wear tonight?"

You turn over and look at Bucky with a tilt of your head. "Does it matter what I pick?"

Bucky smiles. "C'mon, doll, pick. It doesn't matter if you pick or if you don't pick, so might as well pick."

You snort as you shake your head. You exaggeratingly stare at the choices before you, which makes him laugh before you pick one.

A green tie.

It clashes horribly against his maroon suit, but Bucky smiles as he ties it around his neck.

When the two of you arrive at the gala, everyone else is already there. It's easy to tell who can see colour when they see Bucky's clashing tie and suit and he gets pitying looks.

But Bucky doesn't care because you picked the tie. He would've worn neon pink if you picked it.

Bucky wishes he could tell you that you look so fuckin' pretty in your viridian dress tonight, but he merely settles for a vague compliment instead.

"Ready for some ass kissing tonight?" You ask as you smile at some of the men who walk by the two of you.

"You know it," Bucky refrains from licking his lips. "Even wore some chapstick tonight."

You let a laugh behind your hand as you shake your head at him. You give him a warning look to behave tonight as you walk off and do some mingling.

Bucky meets up with Sam and Steve, who looks equally reluctant to be here tonight.

The night drags on, but Bucky finds himself having more fun than he thought. He gets to dance a couple of times with you and share some drinks.

The best part is when you steal a whole bottle of wine—the expensive shit—before you grab Bucky and drag him out to the farside balcony where it's just the two of you.

"I am so tired of old white men," you mutter as you sit down on the floor and pull Bucky down with you.

Bucky chuckles. "I know I may not look like it, but I am also an old white man."

You give him a mischievous grin. "Should I kiss your ass too?"

Bucky lets out a laugh as he bumps his shoulder gently against yours. "I think we've both had enough ass-kissing tonight. Maybe tomorrow," he adds playfully.

"If you make waffles tomorrow, I may be inclined."

The two of you take turns drinking out of the bottle of wine like uncultured swines, and Bucky pulls out pretzels he stuffed in his jacket pocket earlier.

"You animal," you giggle but still take some from his hand.

Bucky just grins because you're drunk. He can't get drunk anymore, but he drinks with you out of solidarity.

There's more light banter before the wine bottle is finished, and a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. You've got your knees pulled up to your chest as you rest your cheek on it, facing him.

You look so soft with your heavy lidded eyes.

"I told you, you look beautiful tonight, right?" Bucky says suddenly.

You laugh and nod. "You did. You look really dashing tonight too."

"Dashing?" Bucky teasingly repeats after you, and you roll your eyes.

"Well, as much as you can be. I did you a little dirty picking the green tie but it was the only shade you had and I wanted you to match with me just a little," you say as you close your eyes. "I think you rock it, though. Did you see what that guy from IT was wearing? Yikes."

Bucky feels a jolt in his chest, and he hardly hears you.

"What did you just say?" Bucky asks faintly.

You hum in response initially before the realization of what you just said catches up with you, and you open your eyes, sobering up.

"I—I think we should head back in," you say abruptly and stand up, wobbling slightly.

Bucky stands up too and catches your wrist.

"Don't you dare run," Bucky frowns. "You said you wanted to match. You...You can see."

You swallow and shrug. "It doesn't mean anything—"

"It means everything!" Bucky nearly explodes, refusing to let you go even as you tug gently away from him. "Why didn't you say anything? Is it...is it not me?"

That makes Bucky feel like he's drowning and his feet like lead. The possibility you can see colours, and he's not the reason. But why wouldn’t you say anything?

You don't say anything, and that makes Bucky upset—angry, even.

"So, what? You've just been lying to me this whole time? Even if it's not me, I thought we were friends."

"We are," you glare at him as you tug your wrist away hard enough to make him let go. "But whether or not I can see colour is none of your business, Bucky. I don't owe you anything."

Bucky wants to step back as if he's been slapped. You're right, you don't owe him anything like that, but it doesn't stop how hurt he feels. He tries to shove it down because he just—he needs to know.

"What's this punk's name?" Bucky asks, trying to sound as light as possible. "He treating you bad? If he is, just tell me and I'll right him up real good."

"Just drop it, Bucky," you mutter, but Bucky just can't.

"No, just tell me who it is. Is it Steve?" Bucky asks because Steve would be the next person you spend the most time with. "Bruce? Thor? Some guy in the HR department?"

"Bucky—"

"Why are you so reluctant to tell me?" Bucky pushes, and you just explode.

"Because it is you!" You frustratingly say to him, lips pressed into a thin line and tears rimming your eyes.

Bucky is silent, eyes wide and mouth open just a little in shock.

You sniffle and try your damn hardest not to let the tears fall.

Your throat feels raw suddenly. "I—saw colours. All along. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I could see it. You were just passing by me in the hall and suddenly it felt like I was both shattering and being completed."

Bucky swallows painfully.

"Why didn't you..." Bucky starts to say, but you shake your head.

"Because it was obvious when I met you that you didn't see colour for me," you say, not looking at him as you turn your face away. "I told you, Bucky. Just because someone is your soulmate doesn't mean you are theirs."

And Bucky can't help but see your sad smile the last time he asked you what you'd think it'd be like if you could see colours.

"I think I'll be a little lonely but I'll be very in love as well."

You were in love with him.

All along, you were falling in love with him, and you were getting lonelier the more you fell in love with him.

God, Bucky feels like his tie is around his neck too tight, and he just—you make his heart splinter in every single way.

He suddenly cups your face, revelling in the way your cheeks are so soft and warm—probably from the alcohol.

You look up at him so pitifully that Bucky just wants to pull you close and hold you tightly.

"I love the colour of your eyes," Bucky says softly. "They make me feel warm and remind me of the beginning and ending of fall."

Your breath hitches, and Bucky smiles.

"I love your green dress. It's like silk on your skin. I'm glad you picked that hideous green tie if we get to match a little. I promise to buy more ties to match the shades of your dresses," Bucky declares.

You feel the tears well over because it just feels like your heart is expanding into your ribcage in the best ways.

"I didn't always see colours again," he admits as he wipes your tears with his thumb. "But I did. Slowly. Because you loved me enough to let me fall slowly for you."

Bucky's leaning closer to your face, and you try to not hiccup from crying.

"Thank you," Bucky nuzzles your nose before he asks with just a hint of desperation. "Can I kiss you?"

You nod in his hands and by God.

This is what colour is about, Bucky thinks as there's an explosion behind his eyes and Christ, you taste like the wine and pretzels, and Bucky is so—in love and happy. He slants his lips against yours over and over.

You see colour because of him.

"What a wonderful phenomenon," Bucky mutters against your lips.

Because there is something wonderful to be said about having a soulmate.

And Bucky is brave and so, so lucky to be able to experience it with you.

[grufflepuff-writes-stuff]

Theft in the Night (Loki/Reader Lullabies #109)

Fandom: Marvel/Avengers

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Category: Fluff. Fluff without plot.

Rating: G.

Summary: You love sharing a bed with Loki, but when he’s asleep, a darker side of him comes out.

Warnings/Notes: This is another little piece for my Loki’s Lullabies collection–plotless little fluff-bombs meant to (hopefully!) help you sleep, or at least feel alright.  If there’s a specific action or line of dialogue that you’d like to read, please don’t be afraid to message it to me!

Theft in the Night

For all his crowing about how the cold didn’t effect him, Loki sure was a blanket hog.

Some nights could be okay. If you slept curled beside him with your head on his shoulder, he usually stayed flat on his back like that, and the two of you could share a single blanket in perfect peace. But when you slept on your side, that’s when the difficulties came in. He would start the night pressed against your back with his arm slung protectively around you. He would kiss the back of your head and draw in long, deep breaths of the smell of your hair. When he fell asleep, you would feel his breath puffing through your hair. It tickled, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. Sometimes, on those nights, he would pull away in the middle of the night, and turn over onto his other side. That was when he always stole the blanket. He’d bring it with him when he turned, and wedge it between his chin and his shoulder. The first few times he did it, you could have sworn that he was awake because he held the blanket so tightly that you couldn’t pull it away from him.

Keep reading

[miguelruizmanzano]

Inhaler para la revista Hot Press. Junio de 2021.

Inhaler for Hot Press magazine, June 2021.