sapphiremoonlighttoo

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[sapphiremoonlighttoo]

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Continuandum...

𝒔𝒊 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒔, 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒎𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒆

[silver-bee]

[thewordswewrite]

Memory Book by Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter 2 - The Song

Story Summary | “I didn’t want to have anything to do with their memorial book after the war…Before I knew it, they all came tumbling out: family, tributes, friends, comrades in arms, everybody, even my love. I finally told our story.”

Haymitch finally tells his story.

OR: A collection of vignettes of Haymitch’s life from after Sunrise on the Reaping through Mockingjay

Chapter Summary | It's the first day of school.

Chapter Warnings | grief, alcohol

W/C | 2.4k

A/N | Please enjoy!! -Saph&Smoe <333

Donations |  Link

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Katniss and Peeta hadn’t been around in about two days; it’s cold season, and the children picked up something from school. I hate to admit it, but the noise and company were something I’d gotten too used to. My bones ache as I swing my legs out of bed and head to the kitchen for breakfast. Leftover lamb and plum stew, Katniss’ favorite that she insisted Peeta make at least once a week, more often than not ended up in my icebox.

I have little to do but tend my geese, my flock I bring to roam in her meadow, grazing on clover and little yellow flowers that dot the grassy expanse. The trek out gets harder and harder, but I’d go until I couldn’t get out of bed. When I get back, I tend to let the birds wander about Victor’s Village, ignoring Katniss’ complaints of goose shit.

After I check on the flock, pretending I know one bird from another like Lenore Dove did, I walk back to my place, not in any particular hurry. It’s the same house it’s always been, but somehow it feels more lonely than it ever did when he was actually alone. I used to think the loneliness of having no one was the most painful, but the emptiness of missing someone still around was almost heavier.

I step through the doorway, and already I don’t know what to do with myself. I think to make myself useful, maybe making something to bring over for the little family, knowing they’d have their hands full with the kids, but Peeta was always the cook. Instead, I just sit at the table, nursing a drink. That’s what I do now. I sip and I nurse. 

I’m hesitant to put my glass down near Katniss and Peeta’s memorial book, left here to keep safe from prying little hands until they’re old enough to understand it. I place my glass on the kitchen counter instead and grab the book, though I tell myself it’s just something to do. 

They’d begun to collect things from the rubble a week after getting back from 13, pictures and trinkets that managed to survive the bombs in steel keepsake boxes and such. All these years, and I still have bins of things Asterid gave me over the years of the kids for safekeeping. I didn’t show Katniss until well into the creation of their book, but when I pulled out the first photo, then the next, she wouldn’t let me stop.

The newest page had a pasted-on photo of her first day of school, two braids, and a stoic face too grim for a 5-year-old. On the other side of the group stood a bright-faced, smiling Peeta, the two oblivious to each other.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

My eyes are dry and crusted in the corners, straining against the light coming through the wispy curtains. The ones in my room are blackout, never opened, or giving any hint to the time of day, and it's this fact that tells me I fell asleep downstairs again. Cracked lips and a cough get me up, looking for something to drink, as bottle after bottle scattered around me are empty. My winnings feed families for weeks on nepenthe sales alone, and I already feel my hands shake with need.

My boot laces are loose, easy to slip on and off between trips to the Hob to get my fix. I was never a liquor man before, but now it's how I pass the days with nothing to do and no one to see. An empty house full of empty bottles.

It's early September, the air has cooled off, yet days are still long, mockingjays and other birds still sing, making my headache as I leave Victor’s Village pound all that harder. The paved path beneath me turns to gravel, then dirt as I walk through town towards the Hob. I look on at the small wooden shacks, sometimes housing up to six people, and think of my own home, room after room of plush carpets and painted walls. I look down at my feet and try to focus on the birdsong flitting around me, but only hear a faint and familiar tune coming from a few buildings down; a song coming from the schoolhouse.

The children are back in school, done helping their families around the house or in the market, in favor of an education on coal mining. I didn’t much care for school, but it was better than manual labor, at least until the days that it kept me from Lenore Dove, whose education was more organic. I was never as much musically inclined as her either, but when I hear that reedy, distant tune, I choose a path that will ensure I pass the schoolhouse if only to listen and forget for a moment.

But I can’t forget. When I near the ramshackle school building, a cold flush goes through me as I listen to those words. 

“Go write a letter, send it by mail.

Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.

Capitol jail, love, to the Capitol jail.

Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.”

The words take me back, images of the warm, dim light, the smell of old wood, and what I didn’t know then but know well now–the smell of alcohol. Arm in arm with Lenore Dove, we dance around to the rhythm of the fiddle, knowing the words but not quite understanding. I remember my forehead pressed to hers, the warmth of her breath against my skin as we laughed, too out of breath to do much more.

“Roses are red, love; violets are blue.

Birds in the heavens know I love you.

Know I love you, oh, know I love you,

Birds in the heavens know I love you.”

I look out at a crowd of bored little kids, not an ounce of recognition in their eyes at the little girl’s sung words, but stop at the sight of a boy with love in his eyes. The scene is all too familiar: a blond boy in love with the song of a Covey girl, and history repeats itself before me.

I want to make it stop, though I know I have no right. They would surely lock me up if my washed-up ass started heckling the poor schoolchildren. Still, I can’t help myself. I peek in through the open window, trying to catch sight of the child who still knew those Covey words. When I see the dark hair plaited in two, and the familiar slope of her nose, my breath catches. Only once the girl finishes the final verse and her teacher pats her on the back do the birds begin to sing again.

“Now, since only Katniss knew the lyrics to the song, I think we ought to talk about why it is outlawed. Do any of you know about the rebellion of District 13 or The Dark Days?”

I watch in horror as Burdock’s girl is the only one to raise her hand. Wrenching myself away from the window, I know I need to speak to Burdock or, at least, Asterid to have her knock some sense into her husband. I know too intimately what they do to those who know too much.

I shuffle off to the Hob with more clarity now, a clearer purpose than the nepenthe, though I will be restocking all the same. Maybe he’d buy whatever game Burdock had brought in when he wasn’t at the mines to butter him up. 

I loiter around the Hob, deciding not to pick up any bottle until after I talk to Burdock. For once, my words will actually have a purpose and I want to think about them clearly. But it’s morning when I get there and the mines don’t let out for a long while. I would like to think I have restraint, but the pounding of my head is ceaseless and I know I need to at least have a glass. I buy someone’s homemade scarf to conceal the bottle I intend to drink. She thanks me greatly for the purchase and even more when I hand over well more than necessary. I don't need the money, and I’m not allowed to give it out. I tried that and learned the hard way, anyone who got more from me than the Capitol deemed appropriate would reap the consequences.

My typical seller already had my usual order ready for me by the time I got there. He knew to set aside at least three bottles every couple of days for when I showed up in the morning.

“Mornin', Mr. Abernathy got your usual right here.” I hated the title more when I was 16, fresh out of the games, than now at 29. The life of a Victor.

I only nod and hand over a small stack of money and tuck two of the bottles into my pockets; the third I open and wrap in the scarf. I find a seat nestled in the corner of the Hob and take a small sip of liquor, just enough to ease the headache, I tell myself. Another sip to stop the shaking of my hands, I reason again. Another to quench the rasp in my voice, I know would be there if I spoke.

~ ປ ~

Hours go by, more than I thought it would take for Burdock to show up; they must’ve hit a vein because it’s long since been dark, and he comes straight from the mines. I know this because he’s covered head to toe in black smears of coal, and his body sags as he orders food. I watch as he sits among the other workers, but shakes his head as two men try to sit at the empty seats next to him. I figure he’s waiting for someone, so I decide to make my move before they show up.

“Burdock,” I say, but he must not hear me because he doesn’t look up. “Burdock!”

Finally, my best friend catches my eye, and I see steely recognition settle on his face. “Haymitch.”

“I’ve gotta talk–” A hiccup catches me off guard. “Talk to you about that girl.” Burdock looks me up and down: my stringy, overgrown hair, my oversized, wrinkled clothing, my pale skin. I try to stand taller, firmer–anything that would make him take me seriously, but it’s as if I can see myself through his eyes, and I wouldn’t take me seriously.

“Haymitch, I think it’d be best if you went on home,” Burdock warns in a kinder voice than I deserve. But the hours here, drinking and ruminating, have soured me.

“Now I’ve been here waiting all day for you,” I say, my voice cracking like I’m not pushing 30. “It’s not safe what you’re doin’.”

“And what am I doin’?” He says, raising a dark eyebrow. 

“Teaching your girl allat…Covey stuff.” I whisper at the end, not knowing what sorts of listening devices Snow’s got around. Burdock looks away from me and huffs, like he’s looking for someone to come save him.

“You’re drunk.”

“It’s not safe, Burdock!” I huff, sounding more petulant than foreboding.

“There’s no one around to even recognize what ‘Covey stuff’ is anymore.” Burdock sighs and looks down at his food. “Haymitch, I know you’re still torn up about Lenore Dove, but no one knows one thing about the Covey anymore.”

“Don’t.” I point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t say her name.”

“Haymitch–”

“Snow.”

“What?”

“Snow knows about the Covey. He hates them,” I say, finally feeling like I’ve struck something to salvage this conversation. Burdock stiffens and looks around again. I raise my eyebrows, or at least try to with my face feeling a little numb, to show him I think I’ve got him.

“And how do you figure that?”

“Back from when I won. I saw something in the Capitol, a girl in a rainbow dress singin’” I tell him, recalling the tape I had seen, the one I hadn’t seen as a warning. “Singin' like your girl did today. Stoppin’ the birds.”

My old friend looks fond for a moment, probably from the thought of his little girl’s voice, but then his expression darkens. I may have fumbled my way there, but I could see in his eyes that we were finally on the same page. He had to at least know I meant well. 

Burdock looks past me suddenly, and I turn around, the sudden movement making my head spin. My eyes land on Asterid and then the baby in her arms and then the little girl with two brown braids starin’ at me, clinging to her mother’s skirt. Asterid eyes me but sits down anyway, and I get a look at the newest Everdeen.

“At least this one looks nothin’ like you.” The baby has a tuft of blonde hair in a perfect curl at its forehead and big blue eyes staring up at me.

“Her name is Primrose,” Asterid says softly, clearly trying to break the tension between her husband and me. 

“What?” That same cold flush from earlier goes through me.

“Primrose, like the flower,” the little girl, Katniss, if I recall, says to me with narrowed eyes and more than a hint of venom. Primrose, like the flower. One word, not two. For a moment, I had searched my mind for poems that I knew in another lifetime, one that could have produced the name Prim. But still, Burdock wasn’t that bold.

“Katniss, don’t be rude,” Burdock reprimands his daughter. 

I look down at Katniss, in this old place full of ghosts, and all of a sudden, it’s too much. Her hair and matter-of-fact attitude too akin to my sweetheart, my Louella. My stomach heaves, but I hold it down and move from the table, needing to leave. The family is a sight that makes me panic, too fragile and new to risk on me. Burdock needed to protect them and I would have to stay as far away as possible.

“Remember what I said,” I call back to Burdock as I stumble away from the memories, my voice trembling and chest tight. 

I’m barely out of the building when I open another bottle. The nepenthe burns as it slides down my throat, but it fights against the cool air of the night. I don’t remember how I got home, just that when I hit my bed, I think of songbirds stopping to listen.

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[thewordswewrite]

Memory Book by Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter 1 - The Snake

Story Summary | “I didn’t want to have anything to do with their memorial book after the war…Before I knew it, they all came tumbling out: family, tributes, friends, comrades in arms, everybody, even my love. I finally told our story.”

Haymitch finally tells his story.

OR: A collection of vignettes of Haymitch’s life from after Sunrise on the Reaping through Mockingjay

Chapter Summary | Haymitch gets bit.

Chapter Warnings | snakebite, suicidal ideation, grief, alcohol

W/C | 1.9k

A/N | Hey guys back at it again with another Hunger Games fic cause you know we're so diverse anyway hope you love it and you remember who we are! -Saph&Smoe <333

Donations |  Link

|Masterlist| |AO3|

I’m sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, the one that used to be gas but can’t quite shape up after the wreckage, when I feel an unannounced presence next to me. Though Katniss’s presence is always unannounced, even now. 

“Don’t you have little mutts to attend to?” I ask her, the word feeling unsavory in my mouth even now.

“Peeta’s turn,” Katniss says simply, opening up the memory book. “Besides, even little mutts don’t get up before me.” 

“When are you gonna learn how to sleep in?” I ask wryly, groaning as I sit up to get a better look at her. Lines have worn in around her face, a privilege for a victor, even more for a girl from the Seam. I look at her and see Burdock through and through, though older than I’d ever seen him. Prim always had the closer likeness to Asterid, pale eyes and hair, a stark contrast between the sisters. She sits at the dining table, cleared of bottles and food, a space for her and Peeta to work.

“Maybe when you learn to sleep without a bottle. I thought we talked about this,” She replies, wetting her brush with her homemade paste.

“You know it’s not the same as it was. Swear it.” 

I stand and move to the seat next to her. I want to see the new page she’s working on, even if I’m still not too keen on the idea of the book. Besides, I can’t help but want to make sure nothing hurts her, even if it's just a memory. She pastes a photo down onto the page, and I feel a cold flush, guilt still my first instinct when seeing their faces and the bundle they were holding.

“I remember when they were that young. When I was too,” I say, not one to reminisce but knowing she liked to fill in the blanks. “You’d just been born.”

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

My eyes wander the sky, tracing constellations I’d once pointed out to Sid, my hand guiding his as I told him the stories Tam Amber had told Lenore Dove and she had told me. The warmth of the alcohol in my gut is no longer fighting against the cooler September nights, and I shiver at the breeze gliding through the meadow and wish I’d brought a coat.

The grass beneath me is starting to turn to straw, no longer the lush green of spring and summer, but dead, dying. Dying like I felt every day without my Lenore Dove, dead like she is in the ground beneath me. They say time is supposed to heal all wounds, but mine just keeps getting bigger. It’s like whatever they did in the Capitol to put me back together was just a pretty veneer for everyone else; I know they put it back all wrong.

The games being long over, and the victory tour still a ways off, gave me a sense of uneasy peace, a purgatory between the hell of the bloodbath and Capitol frivolities. I’d lost them again this year. The boy was small and the girl smaller, both from the Seam and both starving. They were reaped through tesserae entries, no doubt after the year we’d had. I huffed and threw an arm over my eyes to block out the sky and the sick realization that I hadn’t bothered to feel hopeful for my tributes this year. It made it easier at the time; it made it easier now. It’d been years since I’ve heard from Plutarch, or Beetee, poor man. I always thought losing sight of the rebellion would push me over the edge, break my spirit and the promise I made to Lenore Dove, but somehow it was easier.

I feel it before I understand what's happening. There’s a sharp sting in the arm I don’t have strewn over my face, and I taste coins on my tongue. I fling the foreign body off on instinct, and my eye catches the glint of rainbow on black scales as it disappears into the brush. Snake bite. 

I can hear my blood rushing in my ears as I try to sit up, my stomach protesting. Bile rises in my throat as my arm starts to ache like there’s no end in sight. My eyelids are heavy, and it would be so easy just to lie here, for it to all end while I’m next to my Lenore Dove. I turn my head to her gravestone, and the etchings carve into my chest as I read them:

Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

I lift my arm to my face, the appendage screaming in protest. The swelling is intense, but I can still see those two little marks. I almost laugh, and then I do. I once had the strength, the will to hold my own guts to my body, and two little puncture holes seemed pathetic. I remember my promise, my duty, thinking about how my dove would’ve laughed too. How she wouldn’t have hesitated to suck the venom out and laugh at me for being such a baby.

But what to do? 

The victor’s village was too far, and damn them all if he would have to have a peacekeeper patch him up. There might be someone at the Hob if he could make it there, but who would know how to treat a snake bite? 

Asterid. Between her and Burdock, they’d know what to do. No, no, he couldn’t go there, the last time I’d seen them, he scarred Asterid’s pretty face, and Burdock had never forgiven him. The last kindness my best friend ever showed was the location of this exact spot. I wrack my brain for another solution, but the ache is only getting worse, and I fear that if I don’t get up now, I never will.

I use my good arm to hoist myself up with a low-hanging branch. When I make it to my feet, I nearly fall right back down, my legs feeling like lead. I don’t know how I carry one foot in front of the other, but I do. It’s the loose spot in the fence that nearly does me in, my weight pitching forward as I bend down to get under it. I nearly catch myself with my good arm, but not before it slips out from under me, and I come face to face with a fresh patch of mud. 

I can only imagine how wild I look, stumbling through the Seam towards Burdock’s place with my swollen arm held close to my chest. Dark eyes peer at me through curtains and windows, but none stop to help, and I don’t blame them; that’s not the way around here.

By the time I reach what acts as their door, I can only manage an incoherent yell before I fall inside. I hit the ground with a thud, and high-pitched wails erupt, causing my already aching head to pound. With that sound, I remember the baby, Burdock’s little girl. The way he showed her off at the Hob like a prized hunt.

Blonde hair, blue eyes and a slack jaw blur together as I look up.

“Haymitch?” I hear.

“I never…said…congratulations.”

~ ປ ~

My ears seem to wake up before the rest of me, tiny coos and gurgles fill the space as my eyes struggle to refocus. My mind immediately goes to my arm, and I look to see it bandaged and realize the majority of the pain is gone. My eyes slide around the room until they reach Asterid, sitting in a wooden rocking chair with a baby in her arms, eyes firmly on me.

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel–” I nearly hack up a lung before I can say ‘bad.’

“Drink that,” She nods to the bottles beside me, her hands full of squirming child. I grab the only one that looks like something I’d want to drink, and Asterid stands suddenly.

“Not the antiseptic! The water!” She puts the baby down in a nearby bassinet and strides over quickly.

I bark out a laugh and put the bottle down, trading it for the other. “Antiseptic is just as good.”

“Burdock is out hunting. You should leave before he gets back.”

She’s right, I should go, but I still feel that dull ache, and I can’t help but want to rest my sore eyes on an old friend a little longer. Chances are I’ll never see her again, at least not from this close. I keep an eye on things around the district; there’s not much else to do. My sight sets on the baby, her dark hair and olive skin clear as day, even with how small she is.

“What’s her name?” I ask cautiously. It’s not quite curiosity that makes me ask, but rather a masochistic tendency. Was Burdock bold enough?

“Katniss”

“Like the swamp potato?” I tease, but part of me feels relief. Katniss, just Katniss.

“It was Burdock’s idea, and I liked it,” Asterid replies. She says it with a quality in her voice that those from town get.

“And what do your folks think of it?”

“They think of it the same as they thought of me being with Burdock,” She says, narrowing her eyes at him, “Or at least I assume, I haven’t spoken to them since the wedding.”

Wedding is a loose term in the Seam. In town, they can afford to go to the courthouse, maybe wear a dress of a different color. I wasn’t invited to their wedding, but I know it didn’t look anything as official as that. I look down at the baby. 

“She looks nothing like you, you know,” I say it fondly. Asterid’s always been pretty, but Burdock’s like kin. 

“She’s all Burdock, stubborn like him, too,” Asterid says fondly too. She knows his ways. “Never cries”

“Except because of me.”

“Except because of you,” Asterid echoes with a knowing smirk. The rhythm we’re in, it reminds me of old times. I was distrustful of her, being from town and all, but I knew she was good people by the way I could tease her. Maysilee was the same.

“I’m sorry about the rock and how I treated you both,” I say, looking down. I’ve never been good at apologies. 

“Everything around me seems to die,” I add with a laugh before sobering up, “Couldn’t risk it.”

“Don’t think I didn’t know that was why,” She says, picking up the baby. Asterid holds the bundle close like someone might take the child away. “Your poor Lenore Dove… appendicitis. I don’t believe it for a second.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” I say, a little too sharply. I look at the baby in her arms, and I know she sees me do it. “It’s best I get going, can’t risk being seen here by any Peacekeepers.”

“That’s all you had to say, you know? Back then. We would’ve understood,” 

“Burdock wouldn’t have,” I call back to her from the doorway. “You know that.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Haymitch,” She says, even though we both know I will.

“Goodbye, Asterid. I’m sorry again.”

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[cryingmyeyesviolet]

Every time I hear something about Avengers Doomsday

[dailyflicks]

Mia Goth as Elizabeth Harlander Frankenstein (2025) costumes by Kate Hawley

[avengerscompound]

Robert Downey Jr as Tony Stark IRON MAN 2 | Deleted Scene

[sentrysvoid]

Frankenstein dir. Guillermo del Toro | 2025

[vhagar-balerion-meraxes]

Victor Frankenstein & Elizabeth Harlander FRANKENSTEIN (2025)

[summertimenoir]

The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad (1949) - concept art by Mary Blair & final animation

[aenslem]

Kate Siegel as Erin Greene in MIDNIGHT MASS (2021)

[sentrysvoid]

Frankenstein dir. Guillermo del Toro | 2025

[morningstar-manor]

Artist: Swangzhe

[usagirotten]

Alien earth behind the set

[goodsirs]

Alien: Earth 1.08 "The Real Monsters"

[sundrop-writes]

So Much (for) Stardust

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Reader

Act I - The Fall

Chapter One: So Much (for) Regret

Oh, how the mighty fall in love.

Summary:

When Isaac came knocking on your door in the middle of the night, looking for refuge, you hated it - but you thought for sure it would lead down the path to the two of you getting back together.

So you were more than shocked when you woke up the next morning - alone. You want to be with Isaac, and you have no clue what's going on with him that's causing him to keep his distance... but you're sure as hell going to find out.

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

Word Count: 13,800

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

IMPORTANT NOTE - This fic is a sequel and it will not make sense to read this unless you have read the original fic first.

This is a sequel to a oneshot that was posted in October of 2024 titled Why Am I The One? and if you have not read that oneshot, you are missing out on a big part of the story. That oneshot essentially functions as a prologue to this story, and this chapter immediately makes references to things that happen in that fic. So please, go read that other fic if you have not done so already.

Full warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is a very long fic, and there will be warnings on each individual chapter - I will try my best to keep the warnings vague enough that they are spoiler free, but also detailed enough that people can be informed about potential triggers or content they wish to avoid; the reader uses she/her pronouns, and is generally described as feminine, and there is mentions of the reader wearing a dress, heels, and make-up to a dance; 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; carried over from the prologue oneshot - mentions of the reader’s mother being dead, killed by Peter Hale/The Alpha; 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; alcohol consumption (technically, underage drinking) - both the reader and Isaac drink alcohol, and it’s said that the reader gets ‘drunk’, though it’s not to the point of forgetfulness or sickness, and it is in the context of having fun; descriptions of Isaac’s abuse - there is descriptions of Isaac’s injuries after being abused by his father, and implications of how he got those injuries, but the details are not specified; (but Isaac’s father dying is also still canon in this so - yay!); descriptions of Isaac’s being locked in the (unplugged) deep freezer as punishment by his father; mentions of Lydia x Jackson (very background); mentions of Peter Hale’s canon attack on Lydia; mentions of blood; semi-graphic descriptions of Lydia’s canon injuries (stomach wounds); mentions of Isaac ‘cheating’ on the reader with Erica (again, read the prologue for context); 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; mention of Isaac wearing the reader’s shirt (carried over from the prologue oneshot) - this could imply that the reader is plus sized or that the shirt is very big on 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 fire - including a house burning down; fire is a running theme through this fic, so if you have a phobia of being burned alive or descriptions of it, it’s probably a good idea to skip this fic; mentions of virginity as a social construct (because of Stiles bringing up the ‘virgin sacrifices’ that happen in the canon); some mentions of sexual content (mentions of Isaac and the reader having sex, but it’s not described in detail) (other chapters will have detailed smut, so if that’s not your thing, this is likely not the story for you); slight Erica bashing (from Lydia); I think that is it for this chapter.

A/N: I don't even know what else to say about this fic other than - I am so fucking nervous to post it, and I really hope that you guys enjoy it! AAAAAAAH

...

The Beacon Hills Winter Formal. 

Some people had been anticipating the dance since the beginning of the semester - it was the first real ‘break’ that everyone got; the first real sign of relief before exams, and then just a short jump to winter break. (Even though California didn’t really have ‘winter’, it was the ‘break’ part that everyone focused on, of course.) 

Your life had generally been in upheaval as of late, so you hadn’t been thinking much about the dance. You hadn’t even been looking forward to winter break much, because it would be your first time spending the holidays with your family so fractured. Since your mother’s death - just one of many that was rocking the town lately - you hadn’t been in the mood to be in a room full of people celebrating and having fun. 

In fact, you hadn’t been planning on going to the dance at all. 

But being the good boyfriend that he was, trying his best to cheer you up during such a hard time, Isaac had convinced you to attend. He had asked you to be his date and after a full day of nagging, he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He told you that you needed a night off to try and forget about all the horrible things that had been going on in your life. Deep down, you knew he was right - which was why you ultimately accepted his invitation and then immediately recruited Lydia to help with your hair and makeup for the occasion. 

Thankfully, he didn’t know about all the horrible things that had been going on in your life. 

Isaac hadn’t been at the school when you, Stiles, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and Scott had been locked inside that night. When you had all been locked inside with… that thing. That horrible monster. Scott had later told you it had likely been responsible for killing your mother. And it had tried to kill you too. On that night, when you had followed Scott with a fire axe in hand, determined to defend him on his way to get the janitor’s keys… only to find out that he didn’t need much saving when he sprouted claws and sharp teeth and glowing eyes and began howling himself. 

Finding out that werewolves were real was a shock to your system. 

And finding out that one of your best friends since childhood was one - even more of a shock. 

And now, you were at the dance, trying to forget about all of it - the brutal death of your mother, the fact that the giant killer beast was still out there somewhere, the fact that Scott and… maybe others were werewolves, just living among regular people. 

You were supposed to be having a nice night with your boyfriend, but, to add to your growing list of problems - he was nowhere to be found. It didn’t entirely surprise you that he was running late. Punctuality wasn’t exactly his thing. But as the songs passed and the minutes ticked on, turning into one hour and then two, and still no Isaac, you did begin to worry. 

You picked up your phone and checked the time again, and then you opened your messages, double checking to make sure that you didn’t have any texts from Isaac. But - nothing. 

You couldn’t help the sigh you let out, and naturally, even with the music blaring through the room, Lydia heard you. 

The two of you were seated at one of the many tables lining the room, though you were among the few people not dancing. And oddly enough, for both of you, it was because the guys you wanted to dance with the most weren’t around to ask for your hands. (Though you were annoyed with Lydia for being so hung up on Jackson, you weren’t going to say anything about it.) 

“Oh come on.” She said, rolling her eyes in a dramatic but beautiful fashion that only she was capable of. “The only way you could look more pathetic right now would be to have a blues band playing behind you,” 

“Pathetic?” You argued gently. “You’re the one who did my hair-” 

“And my efforts to make you look gorgeous are being wasted on a nothing, no-good loser who hasn’t even showed up.” She harped, giving you a firm glare. 

You knew that Lydia wasn’t exactly fond of Isaac. 

She had voiced her disdain for him multiple times in the past, but you had always brushed it off. It had been small comments about how he was too rough on the field and might hurt Jackson’s ‘perfect body’, or how she thought ‘the lights were on and nobody was home’ when he refused to speak to her in passing. (You knew that Isaac wasn’t stupid - he just wasn’t very sociable.) She had made jokes about setting you up with ‘better’ guys, and you had never taken her up on the offer. 

You didn’t want to be with anyone else but Isaac. 

However, this comment surprised you. Lydia had never been so harsh with her words before. 

“He’s not a loser.” You were quick to defend Isaac, your insides stinging slightly at the idea that such a good friend of yours didn’t like your boyfriend. “He’s just running late. It happens sometimes.” 

“‘Late’ is five minutes.” Lydia scolded, her eyes much harsher than her soft tone. “This is pretty colossal, babe. I’m starting to think you’ve been stoo-” 

“Don’t say it.” You said, waving a finger harshly in her direction.” 

“You should just break up with him.” Lydia smirked, her expression turning far too mischievous. “Then you could be having fun dancing with any guy here,” 

She motioned around the room, and you did feel a pang in your gut as you saw all the happy couples in each other’s arms. But the only person you wanted to be dancing with was Isaac. You just wished that he would show up and make your night better. You didn’t want to dance with some random guy. You didn’t want to spend that time with anybody else but him. 

“Yeah, because you’re clearly enjoying yourself since Jackson dumped you.” You replied, noting how mopey Lydia had been all night. “Soaking up the world of possibilities without that dead weight on your arm.” 

Lydia frowned, and rolled her eyes again. 

“I dumped him.” She huffed, still firm in this lie. “And, for the record, I am here for you. I’m not gonna go and dance when you’re sitting here all alone.” She said, trying to make up an excuse. 

“Very selfless of you,” You laughed, sarcasm edging on your voice. 

You picked up your phone again, checking, and still - nothing. Not even a text excusing his lack of presence and telling you to have a good time without him. 

“Ladies,” Stiles greeted both of you, shoving himself between both your bodies to lay down two small glasses of punch and a small paper plate filled with snacks onto the table. 

“Hi,” You greeted in return, and Lydia gave him a curt smile. 

He pulled up a chair, forcefully shoving it between you and Lydia, causing her to scoff loudly and recoil in disgust as he sat down. You gave a small laugh at his lack of sense about personal space and shook your head. He would always be the same. Lydia smoothed down her dress and picked up the punch, sipping it, and Stiles smiled at you. 

“How’s in goin?” He asked. 

“Fine.” You replied, your voice dull. 

“You should go dance with Stiles.” Lydia grinned, looking devilish at the clever idea she had come up with. 

You knew it was not-so-secretly a ploy on her part. She wanted to get Stiles off her back - to keep him occupied long enough so she could go and look for Jackson, while not feeling any guilt about owing Allison. Stiles’s face lit up at this idea, and he scrambled to get words out. 

“I - uh - yes! Yes, you should! I am available for that!” He said, grinning proudly, and stumbling to get out of his chair, offering you a hand. 

“No, thank you.” You replied, giving Lydia a stiff glare, and gently batting Stiles’s hand away. “I’m waiting for Isaac.” 

You picked up your phone again, and you weren’t surprised when Stiles let out a hiss of hot air at the mention of the name. (He wasn’t really Isaac’s biggest fan either.) 

“You know, you shouldn’t spend your time waiting around for that asshole!” He protested, likely louder than he intended, his anger mixing with his need to be heard over the music. “He’s making you so miserable, and he - he’s just not a good boyfriend! You’re gorgeous, and perfect, and you deserve better!” 

“Surprisingly, I agree with him.” Lydia added on. 

Stiles didn’t have time to comment on her use of the term ‘surprisingly’ - he was just glad to have back-up in this conversation for once. 

“You know he stood her up on her birthday too?” Stiles said, turning to Lydia this time, talking about you as though you weren’t even there. 

Your annoyance grew, but they didn’t seem to care. 

“Ugh.” Lydia frowned, entirely disgusted. “Seriously, why are you still dating him? He doesn’t treat you well at all. And he’s not even that cute. You do deserve so much better. He’s-” 

“Can both of you just shut up?!” You barked. “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” 

The looks on both their faces were nothing but pure shock at your outburst. And for a few outstretching seconds, they said nothing.  

Your stomach soured, and you couldn’t stand the suffocating atmosphere of the party anymore. 

“I’m gonna go get some air.” You sighed, standing up from your chair. 

You couldn’t force either of them to understand. You couldn’t form the words, and this certainly wasn’t the time or the place to finally lay it all out in the open. So you grabbed your phone and your small purse off the table, popping open the clutch and shoving your phone inside. You left the loud, booming, overly decorated gym, wandering through the halls toward the back door that led out onto the lacrosse field. Not even looking back for a second. 

The field was completely dark, the motion censor lights not being triggered by any activity over there as it was completely empty. There were a few stragglers from the dance in this area - people perched against the back wall making out, people talking and laughing loudly as they made their way home early. The cool night air bit against your skin that was exposed by your short, sleeveless dress, and unconsciously, you hugged your arms against yourself. Even though it was getting close to winter break, it was California, so the temperature wasn’t all too unbearable without a coat. 

Mentally, you began debating if you should take your phone back out of the small purse you were carrying and call Isaac. You didn’t think he would pick up. You wondered if you should just end the night and go home. Maybe Stiles would take pity on you and give you a ride - 

“Y/N!” 

You couldn’t help the grin that formed across your face when the familiar voice called your name. You spun around quickly, your heels on the dewy slick pavement almost making you clumsy, and you were overjoyed when you saw Isaac walking toward you. Any upset you might have had about him being late - as terribly late as he was, was quickly diminished at the sight of him. He just had that kind of power over you. 

Seeing him always made you happy. 

Especially because you immediately saw evidence that he was trying. He was dressed in a suit that was definitely a size too big for him, clearly belonging to his father, the shirt untucked and hanging limply around his waist like a wrinkled white paper bag, his tie knotted in an odd fashion, too loose around his neck. 

Clearly, he had dressed in a rush before leaving the house. 

He smiled as he walked toward you, and you closed the distance at a run, eagerly encircling your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. He kissed you sweetly in greeting, savouring your lips with a quiet hum, smiling against your mouth. 

You were so overjoyed to see him that you didn’t notice how he intentionally angled his body away from yours, still trying to keep his distance as you tried to smother him with affection - patting you gently on the back with one hand rather than embracing you tightly in a hug like he usually would have. You didn’t notice how he winced as you squeezed the back of his neck extra hard, giving him another kiss on his cheek before you pulled away. 

“Look, I’m so sorry I’m late-” Issac immediately began apologizing, his voice nurturing a sincerity that you knew too well from him. 

He felt genuinely bad for his untimely arrival. 

“It’s okay.” You pressed, cutting him off. “You’re here now.” You gave him a smile, but that guilt still tainted his face. “Should I even ask why you’re so late?” 

Your stomach stirred with something terrible, and you knew that he wouldn’t be the first one to bring it up. 

He frowned, but didn’t rush to give an explanation. 

“I really didn’t want you to think that I stood you up or anything. I would have called, but my d-” He cut himself off, sharply clearly his throat. “I lost my phone. I really am sorry.” 

“I didn’t think that.” You assured him. “It’s okay.” 

He frowned again, that horrible guilt flashing across his features once again. 

“Isaac, baby, I said it’s okay.” You said firmly, reaching out to gently hold his cheek, guiding him into another kiss, which quickly rolled into another. 

He sighed with delight and his face broke into a grin, and your stomach swelled intensely with butterflies. Hovering so close to his face, staring into those gorgeous blue eyes, finding nothing but affection staring back at you - you had never been happier. 

Isaac Lahey truly was the one for you. 

“You look so beautiful.” 

Isaac whispered, an utterly dreamy tone to his voice that made you tingle all over because you knew he deeply meant it - not just as a compliment, not trying to inflate your ego. But it was an honest thought that spilled from his lips, a truth that he couldn’t contain. 

“You are so beautiful.” 

You let out a terribly girlish giggle, the affection bubbling up inside of you forcing its way out as you shied away, looking toward the ground, nearly drowning in the loving stare he was directing at you. 

“You’re just trying to get on my good side,” You joked, unsure how to respond to the purity of his affection. 

“No, I seriously mean it.” Isaac replied, still beaming a smile at you. “Even before you were my girlfriend, I always thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. You’re too good for me.” 

You loved the sweetness behind his words, but the last part dragged it down. You always hated when he said things like that - clearly living with the belief that he was lesser in the relationship. 

“You’re good too, Isaac.” You told him gently. “You’re so good to me.” 

He shook his head, no longer entertaining the conversation. Before you could speak up again, he distracted you as he reached to the back pocket of his pants. His hand returned with a small, slightly rumpled bundle of flowers. 

“These are for you,” He said, his tone slightly nervous, clearly believing that his present wasn’t good enough. 

It was a bright orange-yellow bell shaped flower that you quickly recognized as the California Poppy. Yes, you were the kind of nerd who could recognize many different types of flowers on sight. They were slightly ragged and torn up at the roots, held loosely in his hand rather than wrapped in anything, and you had to assume that he had plucked them out of someone’s garden, technically stolen them, in order to give them to you. 

But you didn’t care. They were beautiful and it was a sweet gesture. 

You smiled brightly at him and leaned out to where he had extended the half dozen poppies to you, inhaling their scent lightly. 

“Thank you, Isaac.” You told him with a smile. 

“You - you said your dress was gonna be orange, so I figured-” He said quietly, cutting himself off. “It’s a good colour on you. You look really beautiful.” 

At first, you had felt a bit self conscious about choosing something so bold, rather than going with the subtle champagne colour that Lydia had suggested. But you had found yourself drawn to the sparkling orange dress with the satin waist and the spaghetti straps. It did feel like your colour. 

You didn’t notice when Isaac’s eyes flickered to your chest, momentarily fixating on the necklace you were wearing. It was one that Stiles had given you for your previous birthday - a sterling silver chain with a matching pendant in the shape of your first initial. You thought it was beautifully simplistic and you wore it often. 

You had no idea that Isaac felt self conscious and insecure that he could only bring you (stolen) flowers when someone like Stiles could afford to buy you something like that. Little did he know, it was no comparison in your mind. You loved spending time with Isaac more than you would have loved any gift. 

Isaac pinched off one of the flowers near the top of the stem, snapping it off, and then reached up, gently tucking it behind your ear. 

“Perfect match.” He said, giving you a smile. “I was going to try and find an orange tie so that I could match you too, but… this was all I could throw together last minute.” 

He frowned, staring down at himself, clearly feeling a twinge of embarrassment at his untidy appearance. 

“It’s fine.” You told him, reaching out and grabbing his tie, loosening it from the terrible tangle that he had put it in and beginning to tie it properly. “You just need to neaten up a little-” 

“I’m not trying to impress anyone.” Isaac laughed. He tried to bat away your hands, but you persisted, neatening up his tie in a few quick moments. “It’s okay if I look like an idiot, because I was never going to look that good beside you anyway. You always outshine everyone in the room.” 

You couldn’t help but to smile as he continued to pour on the compliments. 

You grabbed one of the flowers and folded the stem in half, tucking into the breast pocket of his jacket. 

“There. Now we match.” You told him proudly. 

You moved to tuck in his shirt and he flinched away from you, taking a large step back. You rolled your eyes, thinking this was just his hesitancy to try and look nice. His stubborn belief that he couldn’t look nice for an occasion like this. 

“Look, I didn’t even come here for the stupid dance.” 

He announced, wanting to avoid going inside and mingling with the crowd. Partially due to embarrassment over his appearance and partially because he didn’t care about anybody else but you. 

Then, he reached for his inner jacket pocket, and you weren’t entirely surprised when he pulled out a bottle of booze. It was some clear liquor that would likely knock you both on your asses. 

“I came here to hang out with you. I promised you a good time. So - what do you say we go somewhere more private?” 

The smirk he gave you was absolutely sinful. And you couldn’t help but to love it. 

“I say you’re nothing but trouble.” You joked, laughing lightly. “And I get first dibs!” 

You reached out quickly, trying to snatch the bottle from him, and he easily used his height as an advantage over you, holding it over your head as he laughed at you struggling to reach it. 

The two of you picked a private spot on the edge of the dark lacrosse field, under the bleachers. You didn’t like walking through the slightly muddy grass in your heels, but you wanted to spend time alone with Isaac. It was a fair compromise. You got to passing the bottle back and forth, kissing more, and talking. This was the night you had signed up for - something that was genuinely beginning to take your mind off all the worry and dread you had been experiencing over the past few weeks. 

“I swear, you could tell Greenberg anything and he would just believe you.” 

Isaac chuckled, telling another story about one of his team mates. 

“The other week, Greenberg asked what stops the guys from just walking into the girls locker room, Stiles told him that the water to the taps in the girls bathroom has to be filtered through separate pipes because girls and guys have different ‘PH auras’ for their skin - or some bullshit, and if a guy uses a girl’s shower, it could cause him to grow boobs. He was being a sarcastic asshole, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” You laughed brightly, nodding. “Like he always is. Stiles can’t breathe without being sarcastic.” 

You took a sip from the vodka and then passed it back to him, and he took another sip before continuing. 

“Get this, though - but then, Greenberg freaked out and asked me if the fountain in the hallway was for girls, or if it was okay for guys to drink from it too.” 

You let out a snort of laughter as he finished the story, finding the whole thing highly amusing. 

“He is such an idiot.” You commented. 

You were beautifully light, slightly drunk, but thankfully not drunk enough to feel sick. You moved to take a step and the unstable, muddy ground underneath your heeled feet caused you to stumble, and unconsciously, you moved to lean on Isaac. He was standing against one of the many metal pillars that held up the bleachers, and when you leaned your weight against his abdomen, he let out a sharp, pained wince. 

Your face immediately fell from bright happiness into a bitter kind of worry. Your insides were shocked with the terror of the realization - as if ice had been poured down your back. Isaac’s expression dropped into lingering guilt and sadness. Strangely, he felt worse about you finding out about this than he did about the physical pain. Instinctively, you reached out for the still untucked hem of his shirt, and he grunted out: 

“Don’t-” 

But you didn’t listen. By now, you knew better. 

You pulled up his shirt, your jaw dropping open with shock and terror as you were met with the sight of harsh purpling bruises. It was a pattern of horror that went further and further as you pulled up more and more of the fabric, somehow looking darker and more menacing under the minimal lighting that the streetlights off in the parking lot provided. 

His entire torso was covered in such harsh, painful looking marks that only could have been inflicted with terrible intentions. 

His father. 

You had known about the abuse for a while. 

You distinctly remembered the first time Isaac had come to you with a large cut above his eye, bleeding horribly, begging you not to call the police but needing your help. Needing someone to lean on. You had attended to his wounds and tried to convince him to turn his father in. He was worried about where he would end up - if he would have to go into foster care, if he would be forced to transfer schools, if he would be taken away from you. 

You were worried about his father eventually killing him. 

That fear snuck up on you again as more evidence sat right in front of your eyes. 

Your throat felt tight - like someone had shoved several large rocks inside your mouth and expected you to swallow. Tears clouded your eyes against your will, and you hated that Isaac instinctively reached out, gently wiping at your glittery cheeks. You hated that he was comforting you over his own pain. 

His father had beaten him so horribly - obviously trying to hide in a place that he hoped no one would see by hitting him across the torso, hoping his shirt would hide it. He knew by now that Isaac wouldn’t rush to tell anyone. He was too scared. 

“Isaac.” You choked out - your previously nice drunken buzz now utterly crashed by a flurry of negative emotions. Worry for him, upset, dark pain crowding your chest as you saw evidence of how much pain he must have been in. You could only imagine what his father had done to him in order for this to be the result. 

He forcefully pulled the hem of his shirt away from you, shoving it back down, visibly containing more groans of pain as he moved. You frowned at him, choking back sobs. 

“It’s not that big of a deal.” He said, trying to brush it off. “Y/N, I’m-” 

“Not that big of a deal?” You parroted back, your throat tight. “Isaac, he could kill you. He clearly doesn’t care about-” 

“Kill me?” Isaac repeated, his voice too heavy with pain. He shook his head dully, beaten down and weak from everything his father had done to him - not just physically, but beaten down in his soul. “No, if he wanted that, he would have done it by now. Clearly, he just wants me to suffer.” 

He raised the bottle of vodka to his lips, finishing it off bitterly before he tossed the empty bottle off underneath the bleachers, not caring. 

This sentiment crushed you. Isaac refused to look at you, and you stared at his tense, clenching jaw for a few long, silent moments. You knew that deep down, he was under the impression that death would be a relief. But you couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t lose him like that. 

“We should go to the pol-” You began to state what you believed to be a solution, but Isaac quickly cut you off. 

“Don’t.” He said, shaking his head, his voice rasping with exhaustion. “Please, don’t.” 

It was an argument that the two of you had plenty of times before. You didn’t bother playing it out in full this time. 

“Okay.” You said quietly, giving in. 

“Just - tonight was supposed to be a night off. I thought I could go without any of his bullshit for one fucking night.” Isaac choked out. “It was a stupid fight. He didn’t want me to come to the dance because I got a B on the calc test. He said I was grounded. And I didn’t want to let you down-” 

You were the one who stirred with guilt this time, hating the idea that you had been the source of an argument between Isaac and his father. Hating the idea that Isaac had fought back against his father, possibly causing more damage - because of you. 

“You could never let me down, Isaac.” You pressed, becoming tearful at the thought that Isaac’s father had done this because of you. “You’re perfect. You’re never gonna let me down.” 

He reached out, petting a gentle hand across your cheek, running his thumb under your eye to wipe away your tears, smudging some of your makeup in the process. (Not that you truly cared when you weren’t planning on going back into the dance tonight.) It did cross your mind - how awful, how truly selfish it was. His father had beaten him so terribly and you were the one who was crying - but he stamped out those thoughts when he pulled you in for a kiss. 

When you pulled away from the kiss, you added on: 

“I wish I could fix it.” You sniffed gently, eyeing his stomach with disdain, even if it was now covered by his shirt. “I wish I could just… magically heal you somehow.” 

You had already delivered many sentiments in the past about wanting to make his father disappear, which he had only agreed with half-heartedly. 

“That would be nice.” Isaac said, giving you a dull smile. 

The two of you were distracted away from this quiet, intimate moment when the lights on the lacrosse field flickered to life, creating a bright, blinding distraction far behind the two of you. 

“What the hell is that?” Isaac asked, craning his neck to look around you, not entirely concerned about what it was - simply curious. 

“They’re motion censor lights.” You told him. “Could be someone who went out there looking for a place to bone and didn’t know about that part. Now they are… frightfully exposed.” 

“Bone?” Isaac repeated the word you had chosen, an air of joking overtaking his voice. “How drunk are you?” 

You had to laugh at yourself, knowing that the word was a very odd one to choose. 

“What? You don’t like boning? You’re not down with the sickness?” You added on, laughing louder, slurring your words slightly, only further adding to his point. 

Little did you know, over in the middle of the lacrosse field - was your mother’s killer. While you laughed drunkenly with Isaac and smiled, trying to salvage your night and ignore your problems, Peter Hale had his claws pressed to Lydia Martin’s neck, threatening her while Stiles begged and bargained for her life. 

“Okay, come on, we’re gonna go get you some water.” Isaac said, grabbing your hand and starting to lead you back toward the school. “If we run into a teacher, can you at least try to act sober?” 

“Maybe.” You chuckled. “Can we get pizza?” 

“You are so drunk.” Isaac sighed, breaking into a smile. 

“Lydia!” 

The two of you froze in your tracks, once again distracted from your private conversation when you saw the door that you were walking toward slam open. Jackson Whittemore burst out of it, an utterly terrified expression on his face. 

“Lydia? Lydia!” 

He called out frantically, and he began running at top speed toward the lacrosse field, brushing right past the two of you. In a moment, a sobering type of fear once again ruined your light drunkenness. The way he called out her name wasn’t good. It wasn’t casual, or even argumentative. It was filled with fear. 

What was wrong with Lydia? Had something happened to her? 

You gripped tighter onto Isaac’s hand, craning your neck to watch Jackson, losing sight of him behind the bleachers as he went. 

“Come on,” Isaac tried pulling you away, but your insides were churning with the feeling that something was wrong, and you couldn’t pull your eyes off the lacrosse field. 

Jackson was selfish, arrogant. He was an asshole. He would never rush anywhere for anybody. 

“Wait.” You told Isaac, stilling on the spot for a few more moments as you watched, waiting to see if Jackson would emerge. 

Horrifyingly, he did. And he had Lydia in his arms - she was limp, unconscious, and covered in blood. 

“Help!” Jackson screamed. “Help! Somebody help!” 

You didn’t hesitate. You had taken first aid courses all through middle school and high school. You used to work as a babysitter and it looked good on a resume. And even if you didn’t have the knowledge or experience, you still would have rushed in headfirst. Lydia was your friend. You needed to help her. 

You shoved your purse toward Isaac. 

“Use my phone, call 9-1-1.” You told him sharply before you ran toward Jackson, nearly stumbling in your heels, not waiting to see if Isaac was following your instructions. 

“Here, here, get her down.” You told Jackson, and through his shock and terror, he was too numb to argue against you. 

He laid Lydia gently on the pavement, and you didn’t register the painful scrape of the harsh surface against your bare knees as you fell down beside her. You looked down at her, and you were met with a horror show. Multiple, deep, huge gashes across her abdomen, so much blood. Her organs showing in some places. 

Somehow, you maintained your composure. 

“Give me your coat.” You demanded, sticking out a hand toward Jackson. 

Jackson didn’t hesitate to take off his jacket, and you folded it up slightly before you pressed it tightly into the middle of her stomach, holding pressure. 

“What the hell happened?” You barked at Jackson. 

Too many people were dying. You couldn’t lose her too. 

“I - I don’t know.” He sniffled out, his voice shaking. 

He had been sprinting toward the field at top speed. You knew he was lying. But you didn’t have the time or the mind to call him out on it. Lydia needed you now. 

She quickly bled through the material, and your hands squished against her - bright red, warm. Something terrible in the back of your mind said that you could feel the life leaving her, and a smaller voice spoke up and said that her warmth meant she was alive. 

Her face was so still. 

“Lydia?” You called out desperately. “Come on, stay with me!” 

Her eyelids flickered. But it could have been a hopeful hallucination on your part. 

“Lydia!” 

You saw lights flashing, but you barely heard voices around you as the paramedics unloaded and began attending to her. Your arms were stiff, forcefully holding her together - Isaac had to pull you away. 

One of the paramedics said that you had ‘saved her life’. But as you washed her blood off your shaking hands later that night, it certainly didn’t feel like it.

You hated that saving a friend felt far too much like losing one. You hated that you still woke up some nights remembering the feeling of her blood soaking your hands. 

…

You and Isaac had been through so much since then. 

His monster of a father had been murdered, and just when he was free from the abuse - the two of you had broken up in a terrible, messy way. Isaac had led you to believe that he had cheated on you with Erica, putting you through so much terrible heartbreak… and it hadn’t even turned out to be true. Both of you had been going through some of the hardest times of your lives - parents dying, your families falling apart (even if his ‘family’ wasn’t much to begin with), and you couldn’t even be there to comfort each other when you needed it most. 

And to make it all worse, you had been pushed away by all your friends too - cut off, and you had no clue why. 

After the dance, Lydia and Stiles had ghosted you, and you hadn’t heard from Allison or Scott in far too long. You knew that Lydia had been taking the break-up with Jackson pretty hard, and she was still recovering from being in the hospital after that horrible incident that nearly killed her, on top of an unexplained fugue state that had her missing, wandering around naked in the woods for two whole days. But others’ behaviour - you could not excuse. 

It left you living in isolated loneliness for what felt like an eternity, missing human contact like a wilting plant misses the sun. Until Isaac came knocking on your door one night, soaked to the bone from the rain, begging you to ‘warm him up’ in ways that only you could. 

You should have regretted spending the night with your ex boyfriend, especially after such a brutal break-up. But it was difficult to have regrets when he was so perfect on top of you, whining about how much he missed you, looking at you with those perfect blue eyes. It was difficult to think of anything but how much you loved him when he was looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. 

Sweet blue eyes that flashed golden - causing everything to rocket into perfect clarity for you. In seconds, you realized that Isaac was a werewolf too. And you had no clue when it happened, but suddenly his avoidance of you, the break-up - everything made a lot more sense in your mind. 

And just when that clarity was becoming comforting to you… you had to wake up alone again. 

Isaac had fled from you. Again. 

… 

Luckily, the rain had ended by the time Isaac had left your place, so he didn’t get soaked a second time around. 

He felt so incredibly stupid. Derek had kicked him out, and he still didn’t fully understand why. Logically, he knew it had something to do with his general ability to fuck things up, so he guessed that he didn’t need all the details. In his terrible moment of weakness, he had gone crawling back to you. He had likely only put you in danger by letting you in on his secret. 

You were going to chase him now. You were determined in your goodness, and it was difficult to throw you off when you put your mind to something. He hated it and loved it all at the same time. 

He was supposed to stay away from you. He was supposed to keep you safe. 

And now, while brewing in that terrible guilt, thinking of all the awful things he had done, he was sitting on the steps of Scott’s house like a sad, lost dog. He had tried working up the courage to knock on the door several times, but it never came. Ultimately, he was pathetic. 

So now he was just sitting on the step with his duffle bag beside him, his knees curled into his chest. A lost boy with nowhere to go. He was quickly running out of friends - more due to death than personal circumstance. He was running out of places to go. 

The sunrise peeking over the horizon felt more taunting than it did comforting. Only reminding him of how terribly selfish he had been the night before. 

“I love you. You are loved, Isaac. And you aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone as long as I’m around.”

Your words from the night before clearly rang through his head, and his chest began to ache as he remembered the way you had looked at him - gentle terror in your eyes, clearly resisting the urge to run across the room and bury him in comforting touches. You always looked at him like he was some skittish animal that would run away at the first sign of trouble, scared off too easily. 

And he guessed that he had proven you right. 

Isaac grabbed his bag and stood up from the step. You knew him better than he knew himself. Once again scared off, he was getting ready to run again. He wasn’t sure where he would go, but he couldn’t bother Scott - 

And of course, just then, the front door popped open. Perfect fucking timing. The light, sleepy morning voices of Scott and his mom came fluttering into the air. 

“Oh, and remember to put coffee pods on the grocery list,” Mrs. McCall noted, sounding much more awake than Scott was - he was still wearing pajamas, and rubbing his eyes tiredly as he handed her a large travel mug that must have had coffee in it. “Oh, I want some of that caramel coffee creamer, that was really good last time.” 

She had her back to Isaac, and hadn’t seen him yet, but before he could make a move to run off and disappear, he was spotted. 

“Isaac.” Scott said, blinking his eyes harshly, clearly trying to adjust to see if he was mistaken. “What are you doing here?” 

Melissa whipped around harshly, and her face softened when she saw Isaac. Her eyes immediately flickered down to the bag he was carrying, and she gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“Look, I’m sorry, I-” Isaac stuttered out, trying to back away slowly. He already felt sickly guilt clutching at his stomach over the fact that he was burdening them with his presence. “I should go.” 

“Scott, take his bag.” Melissa insisted, her voice calm but firm, leaving no room for a ‘no’ to follow. 

Scott didn’t hesitate to walk out onto the porch with his bare feet, and down the steps, nearly chasing Isaac down the pathway to snatch the bag out of his hands. He then carried it back up proudly, and tossed back inside the open front door. 

Melissa nodded at Scott, and smiled at Isaac, a silent confirmation that he was not allowed to leave - even if he wanted to. She then lifted her sleeve and checked her watch, and let out a small ‘oh’, before she moved down the steps and dodged around Isaac, heading toward her car. 

“Scott, you’ll make up the bed in the guest room?” Melissa posed, not making it sound like much of an option, talking around Isaac rather than to him, knowing that her hospitality would have to be forced upon him. 

“Will do.” Scott returned with a bright smile, and then grinned at Isaac, who crossed his arms over his chest - he wasn’t sure why he was so grossly uncomfortable at being welcomed. But he was. 

Still - it was nice to have somewhere to be. Especially because it was with Scott. 

“Isaac, sweetie, Scott will show you how to work the washing machine if you need laundry done. And if there’s anything you want, the list for groceries on the fridge, okay? I have to go! I’ll see you later.” 

She gave them a small wave as she got into her car. Isaac didn’t have time to feel awkward as she drove away, because Scott grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt and hauled him up the steps, tossing him in through the front door like he had done with the duffle bag. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” Scott asked, giving a small yawn. 

Of course, he was carrying on as though Isaac showing up on his porch in the early dawn hours of the morning was a completely normal occurrence. Though Isaac supposed with half the things that went on in Scott’s life, this was about as normal as he could ask for. 

Isaac pushed down any thoughts about suggesting that he leave again. He knew that it would likely be insulting to Melissa if he didn’t accept her hospitality. 

“Coffee.” Isaac grunted. “Really need some coffee.” 

He could still smell whatever Melissa had brewed and taken with her, and he practically wanted to snort the caffeine out of the air with how tired he was. That sounded amazing. He followed Scott into the kitchen, who began brewing a large pot of coffee - likely because they both needed it. 

“Sit.” Scott told him, gesturing to one of the stools that was propped up against the kitchen island. 

Isaac let out a groan as he did so, the effects of the nearly sleepless night finally hitting him. Even though he was a werewolf, and he healed far too quickly for things like hickies and scratches to ever stick on him, especially if they were inflicted by a human, he still felt the ghost of your touch lingering on his body. He still felt your impossible warmth. And he hated it. 

He needed to focus on something else. 

“What the hell are you doing up this early on a Saturday, man?” He asked Scott, shifting his mind and his curiosity elsewhere, hoping to keep his mind off you. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Scott replied dully. 

Even with his back turned to Isaac while he attended to things at the counter, Isaac could see those gears turning in his brain, and he knew there was only one name floating around inside his mind. 

“You were thinking about Allison?” Isaac posed, a smirk easily forming on his lips. 

It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one with girl problems - more specifically, ex-girlfriend problems. ‘Ex-girlfriend that you’re still in love with’ problems. Was it a wolf thing? 

“Okay - no.” Scott sighed, his whole body tensing up. 

Isaac let out a small chuckle, immediately knowing that Scott was lying without having to focus on his heartbeat. The tone of his voice and his rush to denial gave it away too easily. 

“Oh so you weren’t thinking about Allison?” Isaac prodded, his tone mocking. “You weren’t up all night worrying-?” 

“No, I’m not gonna let you distract me by talking about Allison.” Scott said, moving to grab a box from the freezer - toaster waffles. He grabbed a few and popped them into the toaster, and shoved the handle down, staring at Isaac with a firm, interrogating gaze. Isaac frowned. “Why are you here? And why are you wearing Y/N’s shirt?” 

Isaac sealed himself into the conversation when he looked down at himself in a flicker of shock, having forgotten that he was still wearing the shirt that you had given him the night before. The black shirt with the bright red spiral on it, with the words ‘Treasure Your Life’ written boldly across the front in white, and a frame of an empty polaroid on the back that said ‘you often see more with your eyes shut’. 

Scott smirked with knowing. Isaac couldn’t play it off so easily now. 

“How… do you know that this is Y/N’s shirt?” He asked, knowing that this wasn’t even a good argument - just more bare curiosity wandering from his lips. 

“I’ve seen her wear it before.” Scott replied. “Plus - she’s the only one I know who likes those dumb movies. She dragged me and Stiles to see the one that came out in 3D a couple of years ago and Stiles called me every night for a week because he kept having nightmares about it,” 

Isaac had never watched horror movies with you. It was one of your favourite genres, but you easily understood that he didn’t like them. 

His real life was enough of a horror show, and you knew that he didn’t need to see fake gore played out on screen if he could help it. So the two of you stuck to watching cheesy romcoms together, or just put on whatever was on cable as background noise and chatted about anything and everything or made-out. (The two of you actually ended up getting sucked into a lot of cooking shows that way, and the two of you ended up yelling at the competing chefs like grown men yelling at football.) 

Truthfully, he didn’t understand why the shirt was important to you, but he knew from the way your scent was well-worked into the fabric, it was definitely one of your favourites.

“So - come on, what’s the deal?” Scott asked. The toaster waffles popped up, and he put them on a plate, and didn’t say anything as he passed them to Isaac. He put two more down for himself, and then continued: “What, you and Y/N had a big fight so you came here because you need a place to hide from her?” 

“It’s not like that.” Isaac shook his head. A fresh wave of shame rolled over him, and he was glad when Scott busied himself with the second round of toaster waffles, and syrup and utensils, and pouring up the finally brewed coffee, so he didn’t feel like he was being stared down and interrogated as he explained it. “Derek kicked me out.” 

“Oh.” Scott said - the kind of harsh ‘oh’ that clearly stated he hated even bringing it up in the first place. He paused with the coffee pot mid-air, intensely awkward for a moment before he continued. “Why?” 

“I don’t know.” Isaac said, reaching to grab the syrup, glad that he would be able to drown his feelings in fake sugar for a few minutes. He grabbed a fork and a knife and began roughly cutting apart the waffles before he continued. “He said that it wasn’t working out. That he has to be responsible and take care of Cora now, and - I got the feeling it was a lot of bullshit, and he just doesn’t want me around anymore.” 

Scott tensed with anger, and Isaac looked at the floor while he chewed. He knew that Scott and Derek were just barely back on good terms, agreeing to unite against Deucalion. Isaac would have hated to be the wedge driven between them, the thing that made Scott angry with Derek again. But of course - Isaac just had a talent for messing things up. 

“What does that have to go with Y/N?” Scott asked, still lingering with curiosity about the fact that Isaac was wearing your shirt. 

“Nothing, okay?” Isaac lied, hoping that Scott wouldn’t notice, or that he would simply drop the subject. “It’s an old shirt.” 

“Then why do you smell like her?” Scott sniffed the air pointedly before he took a sip of his coffee, and Isaac knew that he visibly deflated as he was caught in the lie. “Did the two of you have a fight? I understand if you just don’t wanna talk about it, but I am a very good listener-” 

“We didn’t have a fight.” Isaac sighed, finally giving in to Scott’s unrelenting streak of caring. “We had a really great night last night, and - I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot who’s always causing problems.” 

“How is that a problem, exactly?” Scott pressed. “You had a great night with your girlfriend-” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Isaac replied. “That’s the problem. We broke up months ago.” 

Scott looked intensely confused, and this is when it occurred to Isaac for the first time that your break-up had not been news among your group of friends. Somehow, everyone was under the impression that the two of you were still together, even if you weren’t the same ‘holding hands in the halls’, overly affectionate couple that you used to be. Or maybe Scott had just been too consumed by his own problems to notice. 

“The two of you broke up?” Scott gaped. “What? Why?” 

Isaac didn’t feel like going into the details of his grand misdeeds - faking cheating just to hurt you, pushing you so violently out of his life. 

If Scott knew what he had done to you, he likely would end up kicked out the door just as quickly as he had been shoved in. 

“I didn’t think that the whole werewolf thing would be a turn-on for her.” Isaac huffed out, bitterly sarcastic. When Scott continued to stare him down, he added on: “The same reason you broke up with Allison. I didn’t want her getting ripped apart by a giant lizard, or being killed by hunters, or having her throat ripped out by a pack of Alphas.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I asked Derek to turn me. She didn’t agree to any of this.” 

Scott was still doubtful that Isaac ever understood the consequences of receiving The Bite when Derek had given him the hard sell, but he didn’t feel like bringing up that fact right now. It was already done, and they were moving forward trying to fix problems, not dwelling on the past. 

“So you broke up with her, instead of letting her face all this?” Scott posed, thinking aloud. 

“Exactly.” Isaac nodded. “She doesn’t need to get caught up in all this.” 

In a way, Scott agreed. 

When you had been at the school and seen him facing off with Alpha Peter Hale, barely knowing what the monster even was, you had tried coming up with ways to defeat the beast - you had tried to muscle in to help Scott and Stiles. But Scott had insisted that you belonged nowhere near such danger, and he had forced Stiles to cut off contact with you so that you wouldn’t end up hurt. And it had worked. So far, you hadn’t been hurt, scratched, paralyzed, or murdered. 

So far, even if it upset Scott to keep his distance from you, he had been right. 

But in that moment, something else came to mind. 

“Don’t you think it might be easier to keep her from getting hurt if you’re there to watch over her?” Scott wondered. “If you’re keeping her close? Protecting her?” 

“What if the thing I’m trying to protect her from is me?” Isaac argued, his throat quivering, causing his voice to shake. 

Naturally, there was that small thing in the back of his head - that terrified part of him that was afraid to lose control of his werewolf abilities and hurt you. But mostly, he was afraid that there was some bigger curse following him. Something that had gotten his father killed, and then Erica. Something that meant that the people who loved him didn’t stay alive for long. So if he could stay away from you, then he could keep you alive. 

“Look, I went through the same thing with Allison-” Scott began, but Isaac cut him off when he suddenly stood up from the counter, turning his back to Scott, abruptly ending the conversation. 

“Would it be okay if I took a shower?” Isaac grunted out, not looking at Scott. 

He was doing what he did best - running away. Even if it was on a smaller scale. 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Scott said. “Are you gonna finish-?” 

Isaac grabbed his bag and bolted up the stairs before Scott could ask if he was going to finish breakfast. And Scott was left with a twinge of fear for both his friends, now worrying about you and Isaac. 

… 

You were more than upset that you had woken up alone after the night that you had spent with Isaac. You thought that the two of you were on the verge of finally fixing things. Yes, the world was weird, and dangerous, and difficult - but you thought that you and Isaac had agreed that you needed each other to get through it. 

But instead, he was running away again, trying to push you away. 

You tried calling Isaac at the phone number that you had for him, but it said that the number was disconnected. Which didn’t entirely surprise you - his father often broke his phones or disconnected his number on a whim to punish him (and then got mad at Isaac for not answering his calls). Isaac often had to buy himself a burner cell like a scummy drug dealer just to call you. 

But it left you with nothing to go off. You tried texting Lydia, Stiles, Boyd, and Allison to ask if they had heard from him, but you didn’t receive any responses at first. And then later, nearly all of them came back with something along the lines of ‘no’. 

A text you had sent to Scott finally got you an answer: 

‘Isaac is safe. You don’t have to worry. He’s staying with me.’ 

But any follow-up messages you sent to him about getting in contact with Isaac - having him call you or see you in person were all ignored. It did make sense. Scott was protective, and Isaac was in a fragile state. Scott was your friend too, and he was likely conflicted about ‘taking sides’. 

You considered going over to Scott’s place, but you knew that if Isaac caught wind of you, he would just run away again. And he needed a safe place to stay. He needed a safe spot to land, even if it wasn’t with you. 

You were glad that Scott could be there for him, even if you were upset that Isaac was shutting you out. 

‘Keep him safe.’ You sent back finally, deciding that you wouldn’t bother Isaac at Scott’s place. ‘I guess I’ll see him at school.’ 

You found yourself full of anxiety and worry for Isaac, and unsurprisingly, it even got to you while you were sleeping. 

… 

You were standing outside Isaac’s father’s house. Isaac himself never called it home, and you knew that he hadn’t lived there for months now. It was a place you had been banned from entering long ago - not by Isaac’s cruel and awful father, but because Isaac himself forbade you from stepping foot inside after a particular incident. 

The house had been vacant for some time. Almost like that of a haunted myth - standing on the street, dark and imposing. The only thing giving it life being the rumors of what had happened inside - ghostly whispers from the mouths of people who truly had no clue what Isaac’s father had done to him inside those walls. 

And now, it was on fire. 

The windows were engulfed with bright orange, deadly hot flames, the walls beginning to turn black from their once ‘pure’ white. It would have been a beautifully cleansing purge of a burning - if not for the fact that you knew Isaac was still inside. 

You stood in the driveway, frozen, terrified - waiting for him to emerge, staring up at the house in horror. And suddenly, you spotted him in one of the upstairs windows. Just a flash of a silhouette - curly hair and broad shoulders that could have only been him. 

“Isaac!” 

You shouted his name, and for some reason - he disappeared. In a blink, he seemed to be sucked in, consumed by the house. Just like he had been so many times before. Your stomach clenched in horror. 

“Isaac?!” 

Operating on pure adrenaline, you rushed toward the front door, not hesitating to shoulder it open even when you found it burning hot. You forced your way in, and soon, your eyes became watery and smothered by smoke. Immediately, you were overwhelmed by just how hot the flames were. A giant oven, ready to consume you. But still, you pressed on - because if you weren’t careful, it would consume Isaac too. 

Somehow, as the flames licked at your skin, you were unburned. You struggled to navigate through the haze of smoke, the house feeling boundless, larger than it should have been. Hope flashed through you when you saw Isaac’s figure standing in the kitchen, and you rushed toward him. 

“Isaac?” 

You called out again, your lungs struggling against the thickness of the heat and the smoke. 

The moment you reached him, he was gone again. 

Then - the basement door was open, and his footsteps thumped in retreat down the stairs. 

“Isaac - we have to get out!” 

Still, despite your own words, you followed him. It was never even an option in your mind to abandon him, even as the fire became more smothering around you and parts of the house began to crumble. 

Surprisingly, the basement was smoke free, and the heat wasn’t nearly as oppressive as you lowered yourself to the cool, in-ground poured concrete room. 

You took a deep breath, drinking in the cool air - but that breath didn’t last in your lungs for long. 

“Help! Help me! Please, please, please! Fuck, help me!” 

Isaac was crying out desperately. 

Your eyes jolted toward a box - a deep freezer in the corner with a large padlock on it. It was something Isaac had told you about before, but you had never seen it. It was shaking frantically as Isaac pounded on the lid, fighting against the padlock, trying to get out. You ran toward him, and when you tugged on the padlock - of course, it didn’t budge. 

“I’m gonna get you out!” You yelled, hoping he would hear you, having absolutely no guarantees to back up this promise. 

“Y/N?” He shouted, his voice curdled by tears. “Please, hurry! I can’t do this! I can’t - I can’t -!” 

You looked around frantically and spotted a rack of tools on the wall, and in moments, you had a small crowbar in your hands. Smoke began to flood down the stairs, and you found yourself choking on your breath, once again struggling to see. But you wouldn’t leave Isaac to die. You began swinging, your arms shaking and missing each time you tried to hit the entirely too small target of the lock. 

“Fuck, help! Get me out, Y/N! Please!” 

You grew more and more frantic as you heard Isaac’s cries from within the freezer - harsh sobs muffled by the layers of insulation, the sound of him beginning to suffocate on his own breath. Your hands shook as you finally broke the padlock with a heavy swing, but the freezer door was almost too heavy to lift open, and you were choking on more smoke - 

You woke with a wheezing breath, covered in sweat. You were panicked, confused - it took you far too long to realize that you were in your own room, in the safety of your own bed. You couldn’t get back to sleep again that night because you couldn’t call Isaac and be soothed by his voice. 

Every time you closed your eyes, you kept seeing the scratched up white box of the freezer. Kept seeing the way it shook as Isaac struggled inside of it. You wondered if your imagination was worse than the real thing. 

… 

It was horrible, but you spent the weekend riddled with worry, wondering what you had done wrong that had caused Isaac to run away yet again. You were upset that you couldn’t just talk it out with him. And when you walked into school on Monday, you were a sleepless, stressed out mess, hoping to corner him somewhere so that you could force him into talking with you. 

When you saw Stiles standing at his locker, you didn’t hesitate to swarm him, hoping that he could give you some information about what the hell was going on. (If not about Isaac, then maybe he could tell you more about the werewolf stuff.) 

“Stiles,” You visibly startled him when you appeared at his side - or perhaps he was just feeling jumpy. He dropped the book that he was holding and let out a yelp of pain when it landed on his foot. “Have you seen Isaac anywhere?” 

“I…” He trailed off, leaning down to grab the book, and then he gave you a suspicious look, as though inspecting you in his mind before he said something that you did not expect. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you.” 

“Gee, thanks.” You replied, unsure why everyone seemed determined to shut you out. “Can you just tell Isaac that I need to talk to him if you see him?” 

“Okay,” He nodded. “Weird that you need me to be a secretary between you and your boyfriend.” He mumbled, sarcasm ripe in his voice, as usual. 

You bit your lip, hesitating to speak. Of course, you didn’t want to tell him that you and Isaac had broken up. Especially if he didn’t already know. He would likely celebrate it with some dumb, cheesy dance. And you didn’t need that right now. 

“He lost his phone again.” You explained, satisfied that it was entirely a lie. “And you’ll probably see him in the locker room, so…” You trailed off. “Just let him know that I’m looking for him. Please.” 

You moved to walk away, and then he called after you, stopping you. 

“Wait, Y/N!” 

You paused on the spot, and hesitantly turned back toward him. You were rampantly annoyed that he supposedly didn’t want to talk to you but seemed determined to waste your time. But still, you turned back to him. 

He rushed to close the gap between the two of you, and lowered his voice before he asked: 

“Did you and Isaac ever-?” He cut himself off, seemingly hating the words that were coming out of his own mouth. He shocked you when he rephrased the question. “Are - are you a virgin?” 

Your hand twitched down by your side as you repressed the urge to slap him. 

Why the hell would he ask you that? 

“Ew! What? Ew!” You hissed, completely unsure how to react to the question. Against your own will, memories of your first time with Isaac came flooding back - back when your relationship had been young and sweet, and far less complicated. You weren’t sure if you were pleased or ashamed. “Stiles-! Ew!” 

You moved to walk away again, and he caught you by the arm - a tense, worried look sprouting across his features. You were more confused than ever, but your stomach twisted into a knot at how serious his eyes were, and you wondered if something was wrong. 

“Could you just answer the question, please?” He pressed, his tone oddly serious. “It - it could be like a life or death thing.” 

Strangely, you believed him. 

You heaved out a sigh, very hesitant to get into the details with him, and hoping that you wouldn’t have to speak too much about it. 

“I… I’m not a virgin.” You told him. You were surprised when he let go of your arm, and relief washed over him - the tenseness of his shoulders relaxed, and for a moment, his face flickered with calm. “What? Is someone in Beacon Hills hunting down virgins?” You joked, wondering what the hell he was so worked up about. 

Fear overtook his features once again, and you regretted your joke instantly. 

“Okay, I don’t wanna know.” You added on, finally taking a step back. You had your own problems to deal with. “Just - let me know if you find Isaac, okay?” 

Stiles nodded, and you escaped the conversation, confused and oddly thankful that in an unintentional way, Isaac had saved your life. 

You continued down the hall, and with all your tension and your mind distracted, you blindly bumped into someone. Books and papers went flying, and when you truly stopped to look, instinctively kneeling down to help pick up the mess, you were pleased to see that it was Allison that you had bumped into. 

At least it was someone who might be able to help you. 

“Allison,” You sighed with relief, giving her back the stray papers that you had picked up. “Have you seen Isaac anywhere?” 

She looked struck with panic at this question, and you feared that she might lie. She painted on a tight smile as she answered. 

“Um, no, I haven’t, actually.” She told you, her voice tense. 

You had a feeling that wasn’t exactly the truth, but you didn’t want to accuse her of lying. 

When she pulled her backpack off her shoulder, swinging it around to the front and began stuffing some of the fallen things inside, a glint of silver caught your attention. You knew that it was improper and nosy to be staring into her bag, assessing the contents inside, but when you noticed the miniature crossbow, tipped with a sharp arrow - something that definitely didn’t appear to be anything close to a toy, your curiosity easily overtook your politeness, and you couldn’t help but to reach inside. 

“Oh my god - is this for monsters?” You asked, holding up the crossbow in awe. 

The second that your finger threatened toward the trigger, Allison snatched it out of your hand and shoved it back in her bag, zipping it up and standing up with her books in hand. 

“That’s dangerous. You can’t just go playing around with it-” She huffed at you, and you stood up to her level. “Wait - did you say ‘monsters’?” 

“Yeah.” You replied. “I mean, guessing by some of the stuff that I saw on Stiles’s computer before he shut on my fingers, there’s more than just werewolves. And-” 

It had happened a few weeks ago. You had come up behind him, trying to read what he was looking at, and he had been quick to get your nose out of it. 

“How much do you know?” Allison asked, incredibly hesitant, narrowing her eyes sharply at you. 

Your breath caught in your chest. You knew that it would be terrible to let her know that Scott and Isaac were werewolves if she didn’t already know. 

“...How much do you know?” You prodded in return, hoping that she would give some kind of rundown of her knowledge first, so that you wouldn’t become a bad friend by giving them up. 

If anything, you hoped that she knew more than you did, so that she could give you some of the answers that you needed. 

“I know about Scott.” She told you. “I know about his… condition.” 

You let out a breath of relief. 

“Oh, thank god.” You said. Then, a terrible thought occurred to you - you wondered if she had found out about Scott the same way you had with Isaac. “Wait - do his eyes glow when he-?” You cut yourself off suddenly. “You know what, I don’t even wanna know.” 

Scott was your friend, and you didn’t really want to picture him and Allison in bed together. 

Allison gave you a strange look, clearly not cluing in to what you meant, and you were thankful when the bell rang overhead, signalling for the two of you to get to class, ending the conversation. She easily forgot to ask for clarification, so you didn’t have to explain yourself. 

“I have to go, but - meet me outside the library at lunch?” She posed. “We can have a real talk about… about everything.” 

“You know what? That sounds like exactly what I need right now.” You nodded, smiling at her. “Thank you.” 

She moved off, and when you turned in the opposite direction to walk to your own class, among the dispersing students, you spotted a very distinctive tall blond at the end of the hallway. No matter how many people there were - those piercing blue eyes staring you down - looking at you like you were the only person in the room - it caused your stomach to clench up. 

“Isaac,” You huffed out, more speaking to yourself, your voice quiet. 

“Isaac!” You shouted his name louder, uncaring of how many people looked at you or how insane you appeared as you shoved past people, rushing down the hallway toward him. 

By the time you got to the very end of the hallway where he had been standing, he was gone. You lingered there for a moment, breathless, wondering how he could have disappeared so quickly. And then, you sulked to class with curiosity and regret filling your system. 

… 

“Scott, Scott, Scott!” Stiles whined as she rushed into their first class, sitting down in his seat behind his best friend. 

“What? What? What?” Scott nagged in return, wondering what had gotten Stiles so worked up this time. 

“I don’t like this - in fact, I downright hate it. I hate this.” Stiles huffed, taking out his textbook and slamming it onto the desktop in front of him. 

“Hate what?” Scott pressed, still clueless about what Stiles even meant. 

“Your whole half-cocked plan to ‘keep Y/N out of this’!” Stiles announced sharply. “Look, I understand wanting to keep her out of danger - I really do get it. She’s my best friend, I really like it when she’s alive and breathing-” 

“I thought I was your best friend?” Scott argued gently, sounding slightly offended. 

“So not the point.” Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m just saying - how do we know that she isn’t just gonna end up in danger anyway?” 

Scott slumped back in his seat at this, not responding. It was something he had considered. Especially with the recent murders - random people who had never seen it coming. Scott knew that Stiles was taking Heather’s death particularly hard, and probably projecting that danger onto you in his mind. 

“Like - the next three sacrifices might not be virgins, but it might be people with dead parents, or people who are really smart and pretty, or-” Stiles began ranting, only to be cut off again. 

“Wait - how do you know that Y/N’s not a virgin?” Scott asked, hating the words as soon as they left his mouth. 

“I asked.” Stiles replied. “Because I’m a concerned friend, I’m a good, concerned friend, and I want to keep her safe. But that’s aside from the point-” 

“Are you going on about your stupid virgin theory again?” Isaac asked, coming to sit down beside Scott. 

“He’s worried about Y/N.” Scott explained. 

Isaac smirked widely, looking over his shoulder toward Stiles. Even though he was upset that he was no longer your boyfriend, he couldn’t miss an opportunity to get under Stiles’s skin. 

“Well, I took care of that whole ‘virginity’ thing for her a long time ago. So she’s gonna be just fine.” He told Stiles, putting on his best cocky smirk and even giving a wink. 

He was putting up a ‘cocky asshole’ front even though his heart ached when he thought about you. His heart clenched horribly when back to the night he had first made love to you, back before he knew about werewolves, and monsters, and all the other bullshit - it had been sweet, and utterly perfect. He still remembered your sweet moans, the way your soft skin had felt against him… 

“Shut up!” Stiles snapped. 

He didn’t hesitate to throw his pencil right at the back of Isaac’s head - Isaac barely flinched at the contact, but still, looked back to glare at Stiles. 

“I so don’t need you bragging about screwing my best friend right now.” Stiles hissed. “You are the worst-” 

“You’re just jealous.” Isaac huffed. “Everyone knows that you-” 

“No, no!” Stiles rushed to cut off his words, arguing a bit louder now. “I am genuinely concerned about saving human lives and you’re acting like a total asshole, you-” 

“Can both of you stop it?” Scott asked, trying to stop them from escalating any further. “Both of you care about Y/N, you don’t have to act like this.”

Isaac turned to face the front, not speaking any further, and Stiles continued to glare at the back of his head with intensity. 

Stiles remembered what you had said earlier, and he did consider delivering your message, telling Isaac that you needed to speak to him for some urgent reason. For the most part, he did the things you asked of him without question. But he didn’t want Isaac going anywhere near you if he was avoiding you, and especially not if acting like such an asshole. So he would say that delivering your message had conveniently ‘slipped’ his mind. 

“Settle down, people!” Coach Finstock stepped up to the front of the class, causing everyone to quiet down. Stiles let out a groan and slouched into his seat. “I know you just had a long weekend of making terrible decisions, but it’s Monday, and the party is over! So shut the hell up and pay attention!” 

… 

When you made it to class, you were delightfully relieved to see Lydia. She was distracted as you sat down beside her, very intensely working on a drawing in her notebook. When you glanced over at it, you saw that it was a beautiful, detailed drawing of a tree. 

“That’s pretty.” You told her. 

“Oh thanks.” She grinned, looking up at you. “And you are not.” You rolled your eyes at this comment. “Gosh, bestie, you look so stressed.” 

“Gee, thanks Lydia.” 

You knew that you had left the house that morning in a rush. Naturally, being so sleepless meant that you had fallen asleep an hour before your alarm and then slept through it, leaving you in a terrible rush to get ready. You had thrown on the first clean sweater and jeans that you could find along with a simple pair of boots, and your hair was a mess. You didn’t have time for make-up, so the evidence of your stress was written all over your face - tiredness, dark eye bags heavy above your dull cheeks. 

“Lucky for you, I’m a great friend. And I always come prepared for emergencies such as this.” She told you, reaching to the back of her chair and digging something out of her bag. 

You weren’t surprised when she brought out a hefty makeup bag and plopped it onto your desk. You didn’t fight her as she began taking things out of it. Smaller ziplock bags with jewelry, eyeliner, eyeshadow, and foundation and concealer - in your shade and her own (and a super light porcelain shade that seemed to be for Allison). You smiled fondly at the fact that she had literally prepared to share with you. Even if you had been feeling lonely for the past few weeks, this did make you feel intensely loved. 

“Thank you, Lydia.” You told her, much more sincerely this time. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

Probably end up looking like a mess. Which, looking nice was low on your priority list at the moment - but it was nice that someone was taking care of you. 

“Of course.” She responded. “I can’t have a best friend of mine looking anything less than fabulous.” 

The two of you had become infinitely closer since that night at the Winter Formal when you had ‘saved her life’. Even if she didn’t say it out loud, she always felt like bringing you coffee, or doing your hair and make-up wasn’t enough to pay you back for it. 

She began picking up necklaces, lifting them up to try and match them to the simple floral crew neck sweatshirt that you were wearing, and then, she naturally had to ask: 

“So… why are you looking so haggard this morning, Y/N?” 

“Haggard?” You repeated, hating her choice of words. She shoved an earring and necklace set into your hands, and as you began to put them on, she opened the concealer and began dotting it underneath your eyes, but she didn’t redact her statement, so you moved on. “Well… something happened on the weekend.” 

“Would it have anything to do with a certain tall, blond-haired idiot?” She pressed, grabbing a sponge out of the makeup bag and beginning to blend out the face make-up, and adding on some light foundation. 

You weren’t too fond of her choice of words, but of course - she had easily predicted this from you. 

“Yes.” You sighed. You didn’t bother to lie. It would be nice to talk things out with her anyway. 

“Oh, I knew it.” Lydia beamed. “I knew you were still hung up on him.” 

She was one of the only people in your friend group who had known about you and Isaac breaking up. You had called and told her about it on the day when it had happened, and she had consoled you, and told you again and again how terrible Isaac was and how he didn’t deserve you. She had taken you shopping that day to try and cheer you up, but then she had gone to Rome with her parents on the break and you hadn’t heard from her much, so you spent much of the post-break-up-haze alone, just trying to get through it. 

She picked up the eyeliner pencil, and you were glad that you were forced to stay still, focusing on letting her do your make-up so that you didn’t have to rehash the horrible emotions you had felt with Isaac. 

“What? He’s done sticking his dick in that trashbag Erica and he’s begging you to take him back now?” Lydia asked, her voice full of venom toward Isaac, riffling through the make-up bag, looking for something else now. 

By the sounds of it, she didn’t know that Erica was dead. And even if she did, knowing Lydia, she might not be entirely sympathetic toward someone that she believed had broken up her best friend’s relationship, even in death. 

“It’s so much more complicated than that.” You breathed out, unsure how to explain it. 

“Oh come on, I can do complicated.” Lydia smiled, sweeping some light blush across your cheeks, knowing that it would make you look bright and lively and hide your stressed tiredness. 

Well, if she wanted to hear it - you would dish. 

“Isaac didn’t actually cheat on me.” You said, trying your best to be prompt. “He - he pretended to cheat on me. Because he didn’t actually want to break up with me.” 

“Oh, is that what he told you?” Lydia snorted, obviously not believing this. “The excuses that some guys will-” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s true.” You sighed. “It’s this thing that Isaac does - he gets really self destructive, and he wants to push me away, but he doesn’t actually want me to get hurt. So he makes up stories. One time he destroyed a watch that I bought him, but then he said that he broke it by mistake. One time-” 

“Okay, okay, but, why would he pretend to cheat on you?” Lydia asked, clearly confused. 

You knew that the whole ‘werewolf’ thing played into it, but you knew that you couldn’t tell Lydia that part. 

“Because he wants to push me away.” You said, trying to explain it without giving her all the details. “And it worked. For a while-” 

“Oh, so you’re back together?” 

Lydia cut you off, sounding downright disgusted by this. And you couldn’t blame her. Any best friend who had to see their friend go back to a boyfriend who had hurt them would hate to see it happen again. (And this was what it looked like from the outside.) 

“Is he really bothering you so much? Why do you look so stressed? Babe, if he’s doing this to your skin, he’s just not good for you.” 

She said, and then she moved on to fixing your hair - or at the very least, trying to. 

“My problem is that we’re not back together.” You told her. “I thought we were on that route, and we… we spent the night together.” You explained, weary that others might be eavesdropping. Lydia chuckled lightly at this, and nodded. “And when I woke up, he was gone.” 

Lydia gasped. “Unacceptable! God, that is just plain rude.” 

“Thank you.” You sighed. “That’s what I thought, but apparently that didn’t even occur to him. Even if he didn’t want to get back together, he could have at least stayed until morning to tell me that instead of just - leaving.” 

“Look, I know he has that whole ‘damaged bad boy’ thing going on, and that can be really hot,” Lydia said, and you couldn’t help but to think that had been her perspective on Jackson. It almost made you laugh. “But if he’s not good enough for you, you have to ditch him.” 

She told you this, and you couldn’t help but to think that it was genuinely good advice. She gave you a serious look and squeezed one of your shoulders lightly, clearly trying to drive the point home. 

“He is good enough for me.” You replied, your tone desperate, as though you were trying to convince yourself. “I’m just worried that he doesn’t know that.” 

Lydia opened her mouth to say something, but just then, Mr. Harris walked in. 

“Ladies! Unfortunately, this is a Physics class, not a beauty salon. So - put it away before I throw it in the trash.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes sharply at this, but began putting all of her make-up products away. When she showed you the results in the mirror later, you were entirely pleased. Even if she didn’t understand your relationship with Isaac, she definitely knew her way around a make-up brush.

...

I really hope that you enjoyed this first chapter!

This is officially the longest fic I have ever written, and I am kind of anxious about releasing another multichaptered fic, but I want this to be a fun experience for everyone.

For reference, the entirety of this fic is completed in my drafts, and I will be editing each chapter as I post it (and I hope to be working on other things in between posting these chapters too). But, as I have done in the past, to encourage people to comment and reblog, I am going to be posting each chapter with a goal for a certain amount of comments and reblogs to be reached before the next chapter will be posted.

I would like this chapter to get 5 Comments and 5 Reblogs before the next chapter will be posted.

This number is extremely conservative, considering that the original prologue fic got over 1,000 likes. And the whole point of me doing this is to encourage people who only leave likes on fics to comment and reblog. I will likely increase this number based on the interaction that this chapter gets.

I do not care if this comes from one or two people spamming reblogs and comments, as long as it shows enthusiasm toward the story. I do not care if you reblog the fic and you have 0 followers - the point is not to 'promote' the fic, the point is to show support toward the story. I want to know that people are excited about the story and have read it and are enjoying it before I post more, instead of just wondering if people left a like on it in order to come back and read it later and then it got lost in a sea of other fics for them.

Also, something I want to say about longfics in general because this is the first multichap fic I have written in a long time, and this is the longest thing I have ever written -

This is my first time writing a fic that is over 100k, and it was incredibly hard.

(I also feel fanfic writers rarely say this and rarely acknowledge this after sharing their art with you. It's fucking hard.)

It is incredibly hard to write a long, multichap fic that makes sense and not get burnt out while writing it. So if you are someone who reads a lot of long fics and doesn’t write often (or even if you do write) - please go back to your favourite long fic and tell the author how much you appreciate all the hard work they have put in. This isn’t just about me. This is about the worrying shift in fan culture recently where people take, and take, and take, and don’t really give anything in return. I ask on behalf of all fanfic writers that you learn to appreciate how genuinely hard it is to write something this long (or how hard it is to write a fic of any length in general) and don’t take fanfic writers for granted.

Please - comment more often on all the fanfics that you read and appreciate them more.

Anyway - have a great day, and happy reading!

Sunny ☀️

[snowbairdd]

- You grew a heart in the districts. - No, not in the districts. In the Hunger Games. I should be thanking you.

THE HUNGER GAMES: THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS & SNAKES (2023) dir. Francis Lawrence