Summary: As a fey queen you are by now used to it that fey come into your woods seeking refugee or a place to hide. Things get complicated however when your knights have not just brought a fey boy but also the red paladins’ fiercest warrior into your city.
Story Summary: The Huntsman, that is what they called your brother. A name he had earned by hunting down the fey for coin. Coin that is given by Father Carden for his services. You refuse to stand aside and watch how your brother hunts down those who are fey. When you start to warn the fey camps your brother wishes to attack, you find yourself behind enemy lines. But when the Weeping Monk becomes suspicious of you, you realise you are playing with fire.
Story notes: Enemies to lovers (kinda?), pining, mutual pining, fluff and humor, lots of sarcasm. Slow burn.
Important: For the people who don’t like smut, 39 is the last chapter !
Warnings: Violence, physical abuse, rape threat, slut-shaming, trauma, death, childhood trauma, death threats, torture threats, lots of angst, !!!! SMUT in chapters 40, 42 & 43!!!!
Story Summary: As the first in line to the throne of Riviel, your Father King Cador requests that you go to Uther’s Castle to convince Uther to support the church’s mission to extinguish the fey. You do not share the same views as your father when it comes to the fey, but still you do what he asks of you.On your journey to Uther’s castle you were asked to go and visit Father Carden to see for yourself how the mission is going. As you and your company prepare to continue your journey to the castle, Father Carden insists on sending some of his men along to ensure you arrive at the castle safely.What you did not expect was that he not only send some of his Red Paladins, but also his Weeping Monk along.
Extra notes: Enemies to lovers-ish, Slow burn?, angst, voilence, deaths, Percival being a smartass, pining, the whole batch okay.
Story Summary: Father Carden begins to notice how his Weeping Monk starts to question all he was raised to believe in. In an effort to distract him, he has his Red Brothers bring him a ‘gift.’ The Monk is skeptical when he hears of this, Father never just gave him gifts. But when the Monk enters his tent in the evening he understood what Father had meant by 'gift’. You, a fey girl, were the gift.
Notes: Please do read the warnings ! I hope I got them all.
Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Stockholm syndrome (?), lima syndrom (?). Rape threats, sexual assault, murder and violence. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment.
Other warnings: ! Smut ! . Jealousy. Enemies to lovers (?). Romance. Pining. Thigh grinding.
Story Summary: After fire claimed the lives of your family, the monastery of your Uncle Carden becomes your new home. As the niece of a priest you are expected to behave prim and proper, but not even the watchful eyes of the Weeping Monk can see all. An ancient magic returns to life when love and duty begin to blur.
Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Murder. Violence. Death. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Threat of Sexual assault. PTSD. Misogyny, Self-flagellation. Gore.
Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Pining. Smut. Little Slow-burn.
Summary: When Father Carden and his Red Paladins arrive at the convent with their wounded brother, Aveline is tasked with serving them something to drink. What she did not expect was that she would catch the attention of the notorious Weeping Monk.
Warnings: Strong Language. Smut. Dom(?) Lancelot.
Word count: 4k+
Pray For The Wicked
The Last Flames Burn Together 1&2:
Summary: You were one of the many Feys trying to seek refugee from the cleansings across the lands. When you finally find the carriages that smuggle Feys to Gramaire, safety seems closer than ever.
Warnings: Violence, death, strong language. Spicy (?). No descriptive smut but spoken off.
Word Count: 7K
The Last Flames Burn Together + Sequel
Cloaked Beauty:
Summary: The struggles with your body image begin to affect your happiness. Your two recently acquired companions, Lancelot and Percival, notice the changes.
Notes: Insecure plus size y/n. Fluff. Stuff I wrote when I was feeling down.
Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?
Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. !!!Spicy and smut parts!!!!. Slight redemption arc.
Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…
Summary: You’re a production assistant on the set of Cursed. The night before your first day at work, you opened your laptop to shockingly realise you’d be working with Daniel Sharman (and a plethora of other amazing actors), someone you’d been watching on screen since you were a teenager. You kept your expectations low, the PAs rarely got to interact with the talent…what was your chance?
You better throw the first punch - make it a good one.
And if you wanna make it through the night,
You better say my name like:
The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty.
Sub!Isaac Lahey x Dom!Fem!Reader
Summary:
What you and Isaac had going on wasn't exactly public - and whatever it was didn't have a title. Sexual, friendship, two souls entwined and bound to each other in an utterly complicated way.
Whatever. It didn't have a label. The two of you didn't need one.
But Isaac definitely didn't expect to see you showing up to a lacrosse game wearing Scott's number with the name McCall boldly across your chest. All he knew from the moment he saw that stupid shirt on your chest was that the night was going to end with it shredded to pieces.
(He had no clue that was precisely your plan from the start, because you knew how to guide him exactly where you wanted him - every. Single. Time.)
Sub!Isaac Lahey x Dom!Fem!Reader. Best Friends with Benefits (Secret Relationship) to Lovers. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 3.
Word Count: 7,200
Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link
Full list of warnings and author's notes below.
Warnings: this is primarily a smut fic - there is some slight plot; this does take place in a high school setting, but just for the sake of clarity/for the sake of argument, the characters are eighteen or older; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina and breasts (but as with all my fics, the primary pronouns used are you/yours); mention of the reader wearing a skirt;there is some descriptions of the reader being curvy/plus sized (as with many of my fics - and I always just picture Isaac with a plus sized girl) (absolutely no bias there), and there is mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader, but that is based on the assumption that at 6.1, he would be taller than most people; there is also mentions of Isaac lifting the reader due to his supernatural strength, but her back is also supported by a wall so it’s not wholly unrealistic; mentions of background Scott x reader (mostly the reader using Scott to make Isaac jealous and Scott having feelings for the reader that she does not return), and this would have been when Scott and Allison were broken up because I would not do my girl wrong like that (you can even interpret this as Scott using the reader to help ‘get over’ Allison if you want); some non-detailed mentions of the abuse Isaac received from his father (which is pretty difficult not to mention in an Isaac fic); there is some dom/sub themes - Isaac is submissive and the reader is more dominant; Isaac is jealous and possessive - very slight angst because it discusses Isaac’s jealousy coming from a place of being hurt; this is not the first time that Isaac and the reader have had sex with each other; Isaac and the reader have been best friends since before his father’s death (and his werewolfism) and they recently started having sex, and they have a murky situationship; the reader clearly knows that Isaac is a werewolf; mention of Isaac ‘pinning the reader down’ and fucking her (in a memory) (and she loved it); Isaac calls the reader a ‘slut’ and a ‘whore’ - not in a kinky way, but over the fact that he is deeply offended that she was flirting with Scott and pretending to like him; in turn, the reader calls Isaac a slut in a kinky way; the reader also calls Isaac ‘puppy’ and ‘good boy’; hair pulling - Isaac receiving; something like subspace is described (regarding what Isaac is feeling) but the word ‘subspace’ is never used during the fic; the characters do not discuss having a safe word in place, but they trust each other due to their history and know how to nonverbally balance each other’s needs; Isaac using his claws to shred a shirt that the reader wears with Scott’s numbers on it, and in the process he accidentally scratches her chest slightly (but she likes she slight pain); very slight blood kink - Isaac licks up the blood from these small cuts; I feel like there should be a warning for the endless amounts of dog imagery because I cannot stop comparing Isaac to a kicked dog because it works to well; lacrosse pads being used for slut activities; oral sex - reader receiving; Isaac has an extreme scent kink (he loves the way the reader smells); praise kink - Isaac loves being praised by the reader; penis in vagina sex; unprotected sex; (surprisingly, there’s no breeding kink in this); I think that’s actually it for this - one stray joke about the reader getting Isaac a dog dollar.
A/N: I had so much fun writing this. As soon as the request hit my inbox, I knew I was going to write it at some point. Part of me kind of feels bad that I didn't write the expected jealousy = dominance - you may notice when you read the fic, I started out writing Isaac as dominant, but I cannot help writing him as submissive, and it turned into this interesting painting of 'his dominance is a performed act, and submissiveness is his true self' and 'his jealousy is possessiveness, not dominance' and possessiveness is a very submissive trait. (I could go more into depth about this in another post, and I probably will.) People often associate possessiveness with Doms, but I see Isaac as the most possessive Sub ever because he's a wolf. Anyway - I am really happy with how this turned out, and even if it's not what the original requester intended, I think the point of a request is that the author gets to interpret it and write it in their own style. And this is definitely how I would write it most true to my style. Also this has references to Season 3 - like Lydia dating Aiden and Isaac fighting the Alpha pack, but this is set after a lacrosse game, and in S3, they were in the off season of lacrosse. and I can guarantee you my autistic ass is the only one who cares about that and you didn't even notice until I pointed it out. So please - carry on.
...
The lacrosse field of Beacon Hills High School was absolutely buzzing.
The night air was filled with cheers as the team and many fans were celebrating another win, while the opposing team sulked in disappointment as they packed onto their bus with their heads hung low, their coach screaming at them for the loss. Chatter and celebration filled the air - but you didn’t get a single moment to be a part of it as Isaac Lahey pulled you far away to somewhere secluded. Somewhere only he could get to have you.
He currently had you pinned up against one of the lockers in the girls’ locker room. It was a place that nobody would think to look for the two of you - a place that wouldn’t be entered for the rest of the night, unlike the boys’, which would soon be filled with sweaty assholes shedding their kits and getting a shower before they went off to some party to celebrate their victory. Isaac had locked the door to make sure that the two of you would be left alone, and left the lights off so that nobody would be suspicious of any light coming from the crack beneath the door.
But right now, none of those details mattered.
All that mattered was that stupid number in the middle of your chest. That stupid block lettering sitting across your perfect round breasts.
11. McCall.
You could claim that you had worn it as a joke. But as Isaac locked his jaw stiffly, staring you down - you didn’t think that you would be getting away with that claim.
“Take it off.” Isaac growled at you, his eyes flashing that glowing golden yellow, a visual that made your breath tight in your chest and made your cunt quiver.
You remembered the first time you had seen that glow coming from his eyes - the first night he had found you after he received The Bite, when he was still high on adrenaline and warned by Derek not to do anything ‘stupid’. And the stupid thing he had done was climb up the side of your house, claw in through your bedroom window with the clumsy hands he barely knew how to use, and pin you down to your bed and fuck you senseless, feeling like an overeager dog with intensely swollen balls, feeling like he was too strong and going through puberty all over again.
It had been one of the best nights of your life.
“What?” You said, your voice even, calm, not even close to mocking dubious. “Take what off?”
You were faking confusion - faking it poorly, easily signaling to him that you knew exactly what he was talking about.
It was a dare. You were egging him on purposefully. The two of you always had the best sex when you did. That’s what the whole night was about, after all.
Lydia had gotten the shirts made - she had gotten one for herself with Aiden’s name and lacrosse number on it, and she had told you that it was cheaper to ‘order multiple at a time’, and then she had pulled out one in your size. Your gut had shriveled up when you saw that it was one with Scott’s name and lacrosse number on it.
A plain white tee shirt in a feminine, tight fit with burgundy vinyl lettering to match the school’s colours. Lydia had ordered them in white because she said it would be easier to make into an outfit, and she didn’t want to ‘wear that god awful colour’ with her nice coats.
You had gone on one single date with Scott. He asked you out, you said yes. It had been a pleasant, average evening that ended with a bit of kissing. It was nice - Scott was a great guy. But it definitely hadn’t been anything special. It had only driven home in your mind that you definitely didn’t have those feelings for Scott. And you felt guilty for every single time you had flirted with him in Isaac’s presence just to make Isaac jealous, if it meant that you had been misleading him or leading him on.
A while ago, Lydia had been talking about guys, and she said something about ‘you and Scott’ and not even fully paying attention, you agreed with her. And then she cheered, and you realized that she had been talking about romantic couplings among your friend group. She thought that your flirting with Scott and the one single date meant that the two of you were dating - so she took this as a greenlight to order you the shirt. She was excited that the two of you would look ‘coordinated’ cheering for your ‘boyfriends’ in the stands.
But more than anything, you felt awkward correcting her because you couldn’t exactly tell her about the thing that you and Isaac had going on.
Mostly because you had no clue what to call it.
The two of you had been best friends for years, and you had been his rock and his confidant before anybody else knew what was going on with his father. And then, shortly after he had made the grand transformation from abused introvert to powerful (hot) werewolf, the two of you had started… this.
Some might call it ‘friends with benefits’, some might call it a weird spiritual sexual codependency that had truly begun with you patching up his wounds from the beatings his father had given him. Either way, the slight flirting of your normal friendship ramped up tenfold, and now, every single time the two of you were behind closed doors together, the intense sexual tension in the air built until you were both partially unclothed and moaning.
And in the outside world, the two of you were constantly at war. You were constantly in the throes of a game that nobody else knew was going on. You both refused to name each other as a romantic partner, but you were constantly in some kind of effort to get the other’s attention or make the other person jealous. He flirted with Allison and Erica, and… that stupid game was the only reason you had gone on a date with Scott. It had been a relatively nice date, but you hadn’t felt a single sense of the spark with Scott that you did with Isaac.
And it was the only reason that you were wearing the stupid shirt that Lydia had given to you. It was the only reason you had sat in the stands beside Lydia with your jacket unzipped and even taken off all night in the cold, showing off that shirt, loudly cheering for Scott, putting on a show.
All of it was to make Isaac jealous - to get some kind of a rise out of him.
And it had worked so damn well. Seeing his clenched jaw, his flared nostrils… seeing the way his sharp fangs extended out over his lips as if he couldn’t control them while he looked at you with hellish lust in his eyes… you were almost terrified by how well you had succeeded. Almost.
“Take. It. Off.” He growled, grinding on each word, his chest now heaving with the effort.
“Make me.” You mumbled in reply, entirely confident, hoping that further teasing would only wind him up more. Hoping that it would only beautifully play into your game.
He stepped closer to you and when you instinctively took a step back, your body hit the cold metal of the lockers, and you swallowed harshly as your body pumped with more lust. It was oddly thrilling to be so trapped - only because it was Isaac. And because you knew there was only one way this could end.
Because your body was preparing for the sensations you knew came next - the ghost of his touch already lingering on you, your mind replaying those past events like grooves in a record. It caused you to become wetter and wetter just thinking about the feeling of his teeth digging into your neck, the feeling of his hands possessively gripping your hips, the feeling of his cock splitting you open.
His breath ghosted over your forehead, his height towering over you somehow not intimidating at all as he pressed his hard body (disappointingly still clad in lacrosse pads, keeping you from feeling the true ridges of his muscles) up against you, truly ensuring that you could not escape. Not that you would want to escape from him.
He took a thick sniff into the air, his nostrils flaring widely, and you knew he could smell it on you - the lust, the pure attraction you felt toward him, the adrenaline. Or maybe it was just the pure smell of your pussy pathetically leaking into your underwear that he was picking up on. Either way, he let out a whine, the first small indicator of his facade cracking, and you felt his hips jolt toward you, instinctively seeking friction.
“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?”
Isaac growled, still trying to sound tough, the words bordering on a pained howl. There was a unique agony in his voice as he stared down the length of your body and continued to fixate on those numbers on your chest, true haunting dancing in his pretty baby blues.
Your gut twisted horribly as you realized it. This wasn’t just something he could brush off in the name of sex. You had really hurt him this time. Perhaps you had gone too far this time. Something that had started out as a well-meaning game of cat and mouse had turned into truly taunting a wolf - and unintentionally, you had wounded that wolf.
That wolf that, even if it was never spoken, was supposed to be yours. Was supposed to be treasured as yours.
You had gotten so caught up in playing the stupid game that you had made a terrible mistake.
But you needed to see it through now.
You reached up and grabbed both sides of his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes.
“Make me.” You repeated the words, and Isaac let out another huff. “Make me take it off, Isaac.” He replied to this with a growl from deep in his chest, a sound that vibrated through your hands on his delicate, angelic face. “Make me yours.”
He reached up with one hand in the middle of your chest and gently pushed you back, making sure your body was stiff and firm against the metal of the lockers, propping you there like hanging art on a wall. And then he took a small step to distance himself, his eyes flickering up and down your body sharply, drinking you in even though he had seen you thousands of times before.
It had been torture - pure torture all night. From the moment he had seen you unzip your jacket, revealing that fucking shirt with Scott’s name on it (and the fact that you had paired it with a tiny little skirt and a pair of sheer tights… knowing that those tights emphasized your thick thighs, his favourite part of your body… just to torture him…) - he had been tempted to ditch off the field completely and run up into the stands just to tear it off you. Just to prove a fucking point.
But that hadn’t even been the worst part of it. No. One of the words parts had been the fact that he was forced to stay on the field all night listening. Over-hearing you chatting it up with Lydia and Allison about your ‘date’ with Scott, talking about kissing him, theorizing about what having sex with him might be like. You had known he was listening the whole time. You knew his hearing was enhanced enough, and you knew that he had a special knack for picking up on your voice in a crowd. You had been doing it on purpose.
And every time he glanced over between goals and saw Scott’s name stretched across your perfect tits… it killed him a little more inside.
While thinking about all this, while thinking about the fact that he had been waiting to do this all night -
Isaac raised up his hand, very intentionally flaring his claws, bold enough for you to see what his next move would be so that you could anticipate it and wouldn’t be afraid. And his cock began to throb almost painfully between his legs when he saw you push your chest out, arching your back against the lockers as you licked your lips, silently begging for it.
Clearly, you didn’t wear Scott’s name proudly. You were aching him to tear the shirt off you, downright lustful at the thought - biting your lip, batting your eyelashes at him, the scent of your lust even more potent in the air down.
Such a beautiful fucking tease.
With delicate precision, he slashed his claws across your chest, shredding the fabric to pieces and feeling a cathartic vindication as the name and number of another guy fell apart and began to fall off you.
A twinge of guilt nearly ruined the moment as he saw the slightest bit of blood glinting across your perfect skin, gathering in your cleavage along your gorgeous stretch marks, but you didn’t seem to care, and you didn’t seem to be in the slightest bit of pain. In fact, you let out a purely lustful moan and arched your back even more, pushing your chest toward him more - making you look like a perfect porno in your shredded clothing with your red lace bra now revealed underneath.
Though in a moment, you reached up, pulling the scraps of the fabric away and shucking off the useless remains of the shirt, throwing it to the ground like the garbage that it now was. In the back of your mind, you guessed that now you would have to put on your jacket - which you had been carrying in your hand and tossed off to the side earlier, and zip it up completely to cover yourself in order to leave. But that didn’t matter now. You didn’t care if you would have to leave here in just your bra if you meant you got to have what would likely come next.
Isaac indulged in the sound of your pretty panting, the way you licked your lips, and the perfect, accelerated thumping of your heartbeat in his ears.
“Better.” He sighed in relief, much preferring the sight of your chest heaving, nearly bare in front of him than the visual of Scott’s fucking name plastered across you like he owned you. He never did, he never would -
You let out another hot moan in response, and Isaac found himself licking his lips.
While he stood there, frozen with his lust, too busy visually admiring you, you were driven forward by your maddening need. You grabbed the front of his jersey and yanked him forward into a heated kiss. It was a mouth that you knew well from experience by now, and it was only a second before the two of you were exchanging moans and a clash of tongues.
He craned down, his hands possessively grappled for your thighs, those claws making quick work of your tights, putting runs and even huge holes in the sheer material, quickly exposing your skin to the cool air of the room. It was something you would have been angrier about if not for the very pretty boy currently sucking on your face.
One of his hands moved to claw at the seam of your tights, but you quickly clamped your legs shut, trapping his wrist from moving any further, much to his whiny disappointment. You used your hold on the front of his jersey to push him away, and you were met with the most sweetly crestfallen expression - wide, glossy, sad eyes staring you down while he curled his lip, clearly wondering what he had done wrong. Wondering what he had done to be denied.
“Not so fast.” You scolded him gently. “You have to ‘take it off’ too.” You told him, running your fingers down the front of his chest, more than offended by all the padding he was wearing in addition to the clothing. Far too much coverage.
“I’m not the one who was acting like a whore.” Isaac huffed, clearly still wounded from the fact that you had worn Scott’s numbers. The word sounded strangely good on his lips, but still, you rolled your eyes. From him, it wasn’t dominance or power. It was slowly turning into bratty defiance in your little game. “I wasn’t out there shaking my ass in front of the crowd while wearing some other guy’s fucking number, acting like a dumb slut-”
“Oh, please.” You let out a dark laugh, and Isaac swallowed thickly, knowing that you had truly arrived. After all the winding up - the main event had finally started. “You act like a dumb slut all the time.”
Isaac let out a sharp breath at your words, loving how easily you tossed the words back at him. Something inside of him was absolutely purring at the harsh title that was now freshly branded into his skin. This was the moment that his brain began to melt between his ears, and any sense of the ‘tough guy’ act that he put on for the rest of the world was completely gone.
From this point on, he was dissolving into the sweet puppy that only you were allowed to know.
“Like now, for example.” You continued on, more venom lacing through your lips. You put on your most threatening voice, hating to get firm with him, but knowing it was necessary. “So you can strip down, and fucking behave yourself, or I can get dressed and go find Scott and see what fucking him would be like instead.”
Isaac glared at you, and you saw that horrible quiver come across his lip again. Before you could worry that you had gone too far, he reached up and began pulling off his gear, and you heard a few muffled complaints as his pads hit the floor.
“You don’t have to be so mean,” He told you, nothing more than a petulant whine at this point.
He was ready to be compliant with you - ready to do whatever you said because he needed it just as much as you did.
When he was shirtless, you didn’t wait for him to ditch his bottoms before you leaped into action once again. You reached out and tucked your fingers into the waistband of his shorts, hauling him toward you - and much like a loyal dog tight on a leash, he let himself be so easily pulled, even though he was much stronger than you and he could have overpowered you if he wanted to.
But that was the glory of it. He was a statue of might, standing over six feet tall, shredded with muscles that were enhanced with supernatural strength, and yet - he wouldn’t hurt a fly without your permission. He wouldn’t take a step in any direction if it wasn’t to stand in your shadow.
He didn’t worship anywhere if it wasn’t at your altar.
He had sought out guidance anywhere and everywhere since his father had died - Derek, Scott, Deaton, even Erica. But he had only found sanity and solace at the palace of your lips.
Which was why he moaned into your mouth as you kissed him again, quickly shoving your tongue past his teeth to remind him of why he was here. He belonged to you, and he shouldn’t do anything without your sacred permission.
You got a firm grip on his hair and caused a sting across his scalp with how possessively you were holding onto him, causing pleasant tingles through his whole body as he was reminded of that lovely feeling of being held by you, being owned by you. You used the hold to force him tighter into your mouth, angling his head just the way you needed to kiss him firmer, deeper, controlling every single aspect of it - causing a sweet whimper out of him as he was guided like a puppet on a string.
He had been the one to drag you here with a demanding, tight grip on your wrist - he had been the one to practically throw you up against the lockers in anger. He thought this whole thing had been his idea.
But this had never been his game.
Any tough moves he made out on the lacrosse field, any intimidation he managed with people like Stiles or the Alphas he had battled during the summer - it was all a farce. You were the only person that knew deep down, he was a puppy, just looking for guidance. At the end of the day, after everything he had been through in life - he was just looking for somewhere soft to lay his pretty head.
Isaac let out a whine as you pulled away from the kiss to take a breath. He instantly wanted to protest, instantly began chasing your mouth. He didn’t care if he drowned in your mouth, if he died due to lack of oxygen.
But of course, he didn’t settle for a lack of contact.
While you combed your fingers through his hair and used the other hand to start untying the knot of his shorts, he immediately dipped his head down, seeking more of your precious skin. His neck almost became pained from the awkward angle, having to lean so far down due to his height - but he didn’t care. He dipped his head between your breasts and immediately began laving his tongue over the small cuts he had unintentionally left there. From him, it was a wordless apology, hanging his head in shame at the fact that he could ever hurt you, no matter how small, no matter how meaningless the tiny scratches were to you.
In your mind, it didn’t matter. Owning a pet meant that sometimes you came off with a few tiny wounds. You would end up loving the scars. You let out small hiss at the sting of saliva, and then began moaning, and he was quickly driven mad by the twang of your blood on his tongue.
“Isaac-” You moaned out hotly.
He believed that he was a beast being fed by you, bound to devour you disastrously sooner or later - but you knew not to be afraid. He could do you no real harm. You could never truly be afraid of someone with such delicate sadness in his eyes.
Especially not when he humped your hip like a lost puppy and whined against your skin like he had been kicked in the gut. His cock throbbed painfully inside his athletic cup, far too fucking restricted, crying out for your touch. He was grateful when you pushed down his shorts and his thin athletic pants underneath, and then took care to strip off his underwear and cup without hurting his sensitive, now very hard cock.
“Aww, puppy.” You cooed - it was a playful pet name that you had used with him many times before, but for some reason, it practically punched him in the gut, easily forcing the air out of his lungs when he heard it.
His responsive moan crescendoed into a harsh growl between his teeth when you reached out and grabbed his cock with a cool hand - it was an immediate contrast, his skin boiling hot with blood thumping so hard underneath, making his cock so rigid that it practically vibrated under your touch. The tip of his dick leaked furiously into your hand as you began casually pumping him, no distinct rhythm or precision in your movements, purposefully teasing him.
“You need this, don’t you?” You purred, voice purposefully honey-sweet as you lapped up his reactions. “You need me.”
“I need you.” Isaac panted in return without hesitation. “I need you, please.”
You ran your thumb over the leaking slit of his cock, indulging in just how wet he was, loving how it showed his desperation, plain and clear. You also couldn’t help but to love the beautiful little whimper he let out from the back of his throat, the way his breath puffed across the exposed skin of your breasts, cooling the salvia he had left there. Your skin becoming more exposed as he reached a hand up and yanked down your bra, putting strain on the straps where they sat on your shoulders.
“You gonna earn it?” You posed, feeling the devil on your shoulder, unable to resist. Isaac only whined in response. “Get on your knees for me like a good dog.”
Isaac’s breath caught in his throat.
When he had first become a werewolf and you had found out about it, you had made a good many ‘dog’ jokes about him. And he used to hate them. But over time, he had come to love the comparison because he loved being your dog. (It’s why the nickname ‘puppy’ put a warm fondness in his gut rather than making him feel humiliated.)
He knew, at the end of the day, that it was true. He needed to be owned by you, he needed a damn leash. He was intensely loyal, despite himself. And no matter what, at the end of the day, he would always return to you, head down, looking for praise, looking to be fed - whether that was a feeding of the soul, or stupidly literal, who knows.
Any other time, the words would have been embarrassing - it would have been something he argued against. But this time - he practically let out a bark to demonstrate his pure loyalty to you, and he rushed to follow the simple order. Even though he hated your touch leaving his cock as he dropped to his knees on the cold tiled floor (thankful that he was still wearing his knee pads where his clothing was caught in a tangle just above them), he was more than eager to serve you. He used a careful, precise claw to reach up and shred a hole in the crotch of your tights, quick to destroy your underwear as well when he found them in his way.
“Good boy.” You easily praised him, and he found his brain once again delightfully fuzzy at the simple words.
Your fingers were in his hair again, but he didn’t even need your touch driving him forward. He was drawn to your exposed cunt like a madman, more than eager to shove his face into the folds of your perfect pussy. He used a hand to lift your perfect plump thigh and pull it up over his shoulder, inviting you to sit some of your weight on him so that he could be closer to you, ever closer, closer. He shoved his tongue deep into your hot, wet hole and shoved his nose between your folds, unintentionally bumping against your clit, just hungry to taste and smell as much of you as he possibly could.
“Isaac!” You moaned out, using your hold on his hair to try and keep him in place while you humped against his face, causing him to moan enthusiastically into your pussy. “Oh fuck, puppy! You’re so good.”
The combination of the praise and the nickname was absolutely dizzying, and along with your wetness on his tongue, your smell so potent and perfect surrounding him - he felt as though he didn’t deserve something this good. But he didn’t care. He quickly became obsessed with drowning himself in you - with one hand possessively gripping your thigh beside his head and the other gripping the edge of your skirt, moaning frantically into you while he fucked his tongue in and out of you, lapping up as much of your taste as he could.
“Oh fuck - such a sweet puppy, so good for me.”
There was no skill to it.
He was growing dumb between the ears, becoming more and more of the dog that you accused him of being - nothing but animal instincts and the loyal need to please you. He humped his hips into the air and his cock began leaking openly onto the floor, leaving a pathetic puddle of precum there that neither of you would notice, something that would have the janitor questioning later.
Currently, all Isaac cared about was the taste of your pussy on his tongue, the wonderful essence of you that reminded him he was home. All he cared about was being good for you while getting a reward that he barely deserved; all he cared about was the wonderful heat of your pulsing cunt under his lips with your vibrating little button bouncing on his nose, getting to smother himself in your perfect scent.
“Yes baby, so fucking good-”
All of his moaning and insistent tongue-fucking meant that you were drawing close to your orgasm very quickly.
Your thighs began to shake, your muscles jolting beside his head and he continued to lap it right up. He moaned even harder, angling his head to drive his tongue deeper into you as you became wetter, and he only basked as there was more for him to consume. You panted in harsh gasps as beautiful jolts of pleasure rang through your cunt while his tongue pierced you again, and again, and again, fucking you in the most perfectly thoughtless way.
Your fingers dug into his scalp and he didn’t even care that you used the touch to drive him further to smothering while you rubbed your pussy across his face, smearing your wetness all over his cheeks and his chin, coating him so perfectly in your smell. He could only enjoy it as you came all over him and tipped your head back against the lockers behind you, your moans echoing against the walls like a perfect concert while the boys in the locker room across the hall were none the wiser. (The chatter of their conversations and the sound of their showers completely muting out the sound of your moans from reaching their ears.)
“Fuck, Isaac! Oh, puppy! Such a good boy!”
Isaac moaned at your words and his cock was downright throbbing now.
But even though, in the back of his mind, his dick was cold in the air of the room and he wanted nothing more than to sink into your perfect pussy, he still felt a deep pang of disappointment when you used your grip on his hair to pull him away from your perfect, wet cunt. He let out a whine showing that disappointment, and fought to keep your leg on his shoulder as you moved to pull away. But still, he ultimately conceded to you when you patted his hand off your thigh and scolded him with a glare and a quiet warning of:
“Behave.”
“I wasn’t done.” He complained, his voice small.
But still, he settled for licking your taste off his lips, looking up at you through his lashes from down on his knees. You combed your finger through his hair again, unable to stop yourself from admiring him, even if he was being a bit of a selfish brat.
He was just so damn pretty.
Porcelain skin stretched over perfect muscles, big pretty blue eyes staring up at you, his cock out and still leaking, bright red now due to being neglected by you. You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect sight. You couldn’t help but to reach down and drag your thumb through some of the lingering wetness on his chin and feed it to him - and of course, he ate it right up, sucking the digit eagerly into his mouth and moaning around it.
“Oh? So you don’t want to fuck me then?” You posed, playing off his words with a teasing statement that easily drove him mad.
These words quickly sparked him to action.
He jumped up off his knees, rising to his tall height once again, somehow so unintimidating. Such a sweet little wolf.
With your back pinned up against the lockers for support, he grabbed your legs and pulled you up off the ground, his beyond human strength helping him to easily lift you so that you could wrap your legs around his waist - and just a moment later, as his cock perfectly lined up with your soaked entrance, you easily fell onto that perfect, stiff shaft.
He didn’t hesitate to fuck up into you. He knew you didn’t need soft and you definitely weren’t expecting it, and any sense of patience he might have had was long gone. There was no sweetness, no slowness - all that was left was his pure possessive need to be close to you and your guiding hand driving him on, encouraging him as you dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving marks that would never last with his werewolf healing.
“Good boy.” You told him, your breath slipping away for a moment as you were reminded of just how perfectly his cock could split you open. “Fuck, Isaac.”
He kept one hand tight on your hip and the other went above your head, hanging onto the top of the lockers, desperate to hold on to something as he felt your perfect, hot wetness gripping his cock. Following his instincts, he fucked forward, slamming his hips into you, needing to feel more, needing to be closer to your warmth - needing more of you.
“Need you.” He panted, his head falling to press his forehead close to yours, something that felt sweetly intimate for the situation, his eyes squinted tightly as he became overwhelmed by the sensations. “Fuck - need you, need you so much.”
“Come on, puppy.” You encouraged him. “Come on, take what you need.”
You tightened your legs around his waist, his movements nearly threatening to buck you off as he moved his hips so wildly - sheer need absolutely tight in every muscle as thick whines poured from his lips. You were eager to soothe him, your hands running up and down his sweaty back - some of it lingering from the hard work he had done during the game and some of new from how hard he was fucking you now, lighting up all the nerve endings inside your pussy, making you feel so perfect.
“Such a good boy.” You moaned, your breath brushing against his lips - his mouth open as he struggled for air and continued to whimper sweetly for you. “Such a sweet little puppy. Good fucking dog.”
Isaac let out a growl, fucking into you harder, his brain pure static at this point.
Yes - he was a good dog. He was your good dog.
He couldn’t help it when the pleasure surged through him, the pure energy, and his grip on the lockers above your head tightened so much that the metal started to crumble beneath his fist as if it was nothing more than a piece of paper. You heard the terrible shrieking groan of the metal, but you didn’t even bother to look up - you couldn’t have taken your eyes off Isaac in those moments. You were far too enraptured by your puppy in front of you, by the nearly pained look on his face, by the feeling of his perfect cock splitting you open as he faithfully fucked up into your pussy, not stopping for even a moment.
You brought a hand to his face, grasping his jaw between your thumb and forefinger, digging the touch in - just a twinge of pain to get his attention, a firm grip to remind him that he was yours.
“Look at me.” You demanded, your breath hot, your voice shaking slightly as the pleasure shook your body. “Come on, puppy - look at me.”
He forced his eyes open, eager to be good for you, eager to do as you said. He gulped air in as he continued to grip onto your hip, the locker crumbling even more into a mess as the tension in his muscles was wrought into it, forced there rather than ever be taken out on you - even unconsciously, he could never use too much force on you.
The silken blue that looked at you was a sight so beautiful that you couldn’t bear to look away, a mess of lust and ravenous madness, a prayer of devotion to you that was far too complex for words. You gave him a small, sweet kiss on the lips that he moaned so deeply at, his hips stuttering terribly as his balls downright ached -
“Cum for me.” You demanded, the words a firm smack against his mouth, a punch to his gut that made him cry out. “Cum for me, puppy, be a good boy, come on-”
He let out a strangled moan that dissolved into a downright filthy whimper from the back of his throat as his hips sped up, his skin practically blurring as he was now given precious permission from you. Your cunt became utterly sore with the speed and pressure his pelvis kept hitting you with, continually pounding into you with that impossible strength, the sound resonating harshly through the room, nearly threatening to break you.
But it was only a few breathless moments later that a moan punched through his gut and you heard something that resembled your name choked through his throat - and then he fucked into you one last time, his hips then becoming glued to yours, almost entirely still in contrast to moments before. He ground against you sharply, overstimulating your swollen clit with the stiffness of his pelvis as he seemingly tried to merge with you through persistent will alone as he pumped his cum inside of you in warm spurts.
“Good puppy,” You hummed, continuing to run your hands up and down his back and through his hair. You kissed down his cheek and his neck and along his shoulder, praising him, soothing him, worshipping him just like he deserved while his cock throbbed inside of you. “Good boy. So fucking good for me.”
He moaned in return, words lost to the stupidly thick tongue inside of his mouth - one that was only capable of licking up and down your neck while he humped his cock inside of you for a few more moments, enjoying your soothing words and the warmth of your pussy around him as his orgasm ebbed away.
Unfortunately, it couldn’t last forever like that.
You pulled him in for one last kiss - one that the two of you savoured with a moan and a dip of tongues into each other’s mouths as he pulled his cock out of you.
(Distantly, you had a thought about how you would have to walk out of here with no underwear - because you definitely weren’t going to keep on the scraps that he had left you, gaping with remnants of his cum inside of you. And you did feel a strange sense of satisfaction in that. Especially knowing that he would be able to smell that cum on you for hours with his werewolf nose, even if you went home and changed your clothes before Lydia’s mandatory ‘Lacrosse Team Win’ celebration party - and that was enough of a reason not to take a shower and scrub the scent off.)
He let you down and you were unsteady on your legs, much like a baby deer, still having to lean on the lockers for support while he moved to grab some toilet paper from one of the stalls to help clean you both up.
A heavy silence fell over the two of you, unlike any other time that you had sex with Isaac.
While you righted your clothes (prying what was left of your underwear out from underneath your tights and throwing them away, along with the scraps of the shirt that had started this all, fixing your skirt, and putting your jacket on over your bra for some coverage) - and Isaac got dressed, you wondered what would happen next. Your eyes landed on the huge dent that was now in the top of the row of lockers, and you genuinely weren’t sure if you should ask him to try and fix it, or if it would just be better to leave it like that and let people wonder.
“Please…”
Isaac mumbled out, his voice so quiet, raspy around the edges due to the moaning he had just done. When you whipped your head toward him, he worked up the courage to finish the sentence.
“Please… don’t talk about Scott anymore.”
You stared at him, puzzled, as he put on his jersey (his pads still left on the floor, seeing as he didn’t need them anymore). Clearly, his mind had been on a completely different track. He was staring you down with those sad, glassy eyes once again, and you felt a terrible twinge of guilt tighten in your gut.
You knew that he was the jealous type. That was why you had done all this. But you couldn’t go on being his secret fling, his secret fuck. His perfect confidant with no public title.
So you prodded that wound one last time.
“Why not?” You asked, risking it all.
You would either leave this losing your best friend, the best sex of your life, and the person you loved most in the whole world - or you would leave this as a whole, better person.
Isaac swallowed, and bowed his head, unable to look you in the eyes. Somehow, at six-foot-one, he looked so terribly small. He might not be able to do this. He might be too broken to live up to it. But you hoped, you prayed that he would -
“Because I-” He shuddered, verging on tears. And somehow, he was able to get the words out. “Because I’m in love with you.”
Everything inside of you lit up. More perfect than any orgasm, better than the feeling of his cock inside of you - this was what you had been missing the whole time.
“And look, I understand that you might have just been playing around,” He continued, his words having a terrible meaning - acknowledging your game in wearing Scott’s numbers, and voicing his insecurities in your relationship, believing that you had been unserious with him because you had never loved him at all. “But it kills me to see you with other guys. I can’t-”
You stepped forward, using a hand on the side of his jaw to pull him into another kiss. In a moment, he understood the passion, the warmth - something that went far beyond sexual needs. The way you guided him because you knew exactly what he needed. The unspoken connection the two of you always had that now needed those words.
“Isaac, you should know I love you too.” You told him. “That I’ve been in love with you - since forever.”
He let out a tense breath of relief.
“I won’t talk about anyone else like that, or flirt with anyone, or anything along those lines, if that’s what you want.” You assured him. “You are mine, and I’m yours. Okay, pup?”
He flushed at the nickname, and nodded, and you smiled brightly.
“I’ll even get you a dog collar with my name on it so that everyone can know you’re mine.” You said - your tone was distinctly joking, but you didn’t miss the way he bit his lip, and the lustful light that grew in his eyes.
“Shut up.” He laughed, shaking his head.
(He definitely wouldn’t end up masturbating to thoughts of that later. Definitely not.)
...
Please keep in mind, there will not be a continuation or a 'part 2'. This is a oneshot, meaning that it is a complete story on its own and I do not feel the need to continue it. If you comment asking for a Part 2 or asking for a continuation after I have written this ending message, I consider that to be extremely rude and unkind.
If you are going to comment, please comment about the content of the fic that has been written. I love discussing the characters that I write about with other people in the comments and connecting with fellow fans. I work very hard on my fics and I always appreciate comments, but I do not appreciate when people only comment asking for more rather than wanting to discuss what I have already worked hard on.
Even if you don't comment, I hope you enjoyed, and if you want more from me because you enjoyed this fanfic a lot, you should definitely check out my Teen Wolf Masterlist, which has a lot of similar fics!
You better drop to your knees and bark like you want it.
aka The Isaac Rut Fic
Summary:
You have noticed some changes in Isaac since his father died, but you chalked it up to the dark shroud of his father's personality no longer clouding his life. You couldn't quite put your finger on the rest of his - the new stride of his confidence, his newly acquired muscles, the brighter spark in his eye - until the two of you were locked in the janitor's closet unexpectedly and it all clicked.
That spark in his eye turned golden yellow, and his voice turned into a puppy-like whine, and he started humping your leg... a lot like a dog.
(Or - Isaac gets trapped in a closet with you and being trapped with your scent sends him into a rut.)
Isaac Lahey x Fem!Thick!Reader. Acquaintances to Lovers. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 3, Episode 4.
Word Count: 12,900
Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link
Full list of warnings and author's notes below.
Warnings: the reader is described as a girl/woman and has a vagina and breasts, and as with most of my fics, the primary pronouns used for the reader are you/yours - at one point, the reader is referred to by a teacher as ‘Miss’; the only aspect of the reader’s looks that is described is her body type - she is described as fat/plus sized, and this is something that Isaac finds heavily desirable (even if other side characters and other people in this universe do not); mention of the reader being called rude names due to her body type by an outside random character; one mention of Isaac lifting the reader - but it’s not unrealistic, credited to his supernatural strength; the reader’s clothing is somewhat described - she is described as wearing a dress and heels (and being generally feminine); other aspects of the reader’s looks are not described - the reader’s hair type, hair colour, eye colour, and skin colour/race are not described in anyway; the term Y/N is used (in this case, the term L/N, as in Last Name, is also used) (and as with all my fics, I highly recommend getting a word replacer extension to make the experience more immersive and fun); mentions of Erica x Boyd as a background ship; mentions of Scott x Allison as a background ship (and technically, mentions of them having rough consensual sex when Scott experienced a similar rut); hints at Erica x Isaac as a background ship, mostly mentions of them having casual sex; mentions of Isaac’s past trauma (his mother and brother dying, his father’s abuse - glossed over, not discussed in detail); mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader - this is based on the fact that he is over six feet tall and would be taller than most people; this is mostly smut with very little plot; this could possibly be seen as dubious consent with it being a rut fic, but I have made it clear that the characters very much want this, so not really; Isaac experiences a ‘rut’ - he experiences a rush of hormones due to the adrenaline of having a panic while being in close proximity with a potential ‘mate’; scent kink - mentions of how Isaac loves your scent and how werewolves identify a potential ‘mate’ by scent; mentions of Isaac’s claustrophobia; descriptions of panic attack symptoms (Isaac has a claustrophobic panic attack); there are no specifically defined roles, but Isaac is more submissive and the reader is more dominant (Isaac is very subby, because I am such a sucker for Sub Top Isaac); the reader calls Isaac ‘puppy’ and ‘good boy’ (would it really be one of my Isaac fics if that didn’t happen?); hair pulling (towards Isaac); praise kink/verbal praise - both ways, but a lot towards Isaac; oral sex - reader receiving; unprotected sex - penis in vagina sex; breeding kink (generally undertones of it throughout because it’s a rut fic); reader gets scratched by Isaac’s claws - a small, minor injury; I think that’s it, but please let me know if I missed anything.
A/N: I love this one SO MUCH. I love dumb puppy Isaac, and I don't think I could write him as a dom if I tried (maybe unless it's him and reader aggressively topping Stiles together) - but yeah, this is my favourite form of Isaac fic to write, and I hope to write 10,000 more.
...
Isaac craved a normal day.
Of course, his life had been anything but normal since he had received the bite of an Alpha and became a freaking werewolf, but hey – a guy could hope. (Of course, when he truly thought about it, his life hadn't really been normal since his mother had died and his brother had gone off to Iraq, eager to die at the hands of the military than at the hands of their grieving father. But – he didn't have time to unpack all that.)
He just tried to move through life simply, taking it one day at a time. And of course, his hopes for a single normal day were flushed down the drain when he saw you. Beautiful, perfect, amazing you standing in the foyer of the school, handing out flyers for… something.
Of course, you were charismatic and confident enough to go up and approach people at random, and ask them about whatever you had to say. You were so bright, so brilliant, your smile lit up a room so well. And Isaac had to avoid you at all costs.
He tried to sneak past you, but of course - you saw him first.
“Isaac!” You called out his name and ran around the table you had set up, bringing a bright green flyer toward him with an outstretched hand. “I'm working with a group that's building a community garden this weekend - it's a place where they can teach kids how to grow their own food, and the excess produce goes to a food pantry.”
Of course, you, with your big heart… you were always working on some kind of charity project. You were such a good person, and it only made Isaac infinitely more attracted to you.
“I understand if you're busy,” You looked at him through your lashes, probably more an affect of his height than you intentionally trying to be demure, pure shining hope in your eyes that pulled right at his gut. “You – you probably have some busy, blooming social life.”
You let out a nervous chuckle, and Isaac truly had no clue what to say. Currently, his social life consisted of trying not to die at the hands of blood-thirsty Alphas and hanging out on the couch with Scott, playing video games and eating junk food. Did you assume that he was popular for some reason?
When he didn't speak, and only stood there staring at you awkwardly with his jaw clamped shut, you continued on:
“But you know, if you have some time to spare, we could really use the help of a big, strong guy like you.”
You reached out and gently squeezed his arm, as if to emphasize your point by proving just how strong his bicep was underneath the bulk of unseasonably thick cardigan sweater, and a wave of heat rushed through his body at your touch. You pulled back too quickly for his liking, letting out another nervous laugh, taking the widening of his eyes and the way he bit his lip to mean that he hadn't received the touch well.
Wait – were you flirting with him?
You had a distinct look in your eyes, and he thought he was delusional for mistaking it as affectionate.
“Yeah, I-” He laughed nervously, reaching out and grabbing the flyer, not truly looking at the paper as it became wrinkled in his nervous grip. “I – I'll see.”
“Thanks.” You grinned at him, your smile so sweet. Fuck – how were you so perfect? “And, I dunno, maybe we could go out afterwards? And maybe… we could go get coffee or something? You know – just the two of us?”
Isaac wanted to scream. He wanted to say 'yes' so badly, but he knew that it was such a terrible idea. Scott had warned him about being alone with a girl he liked too much...
And on top of that, he knew that he might not even have the time. How much of an asshole would he look like if he made plans with you and then he had to stand you up because Scott needed his help or because Alphas were attacking again?
He knew that realistically, he would probably get wrangled into some plan by Scott, or just end up spending his weekend alone. But it was nice to imagine spending his weekend with you, out in the sun, watching you sweat as you knelt down in the dirt…
He swore he could smell you in the air now, your skin so close…
“Isaac?”
Blood began to thump harder inside his veins, and he felt his cock dangerously swelling to life... he swore, if he lapped at the air hard enough, he could practically taste your skin.
“Isaac? Are you okay?”
The deep rooted concern in your voice only made his blood hotter.
“I have to go.” He grunted out rudely, turning sharply on his heel and marching in a direction that he definitely had not intended to go, eager to get away from you as quickly as possible.
“Okay.” You sighed quietly to yourself, disappointment ripe in your voice. “I'll see you later, I guess.”
…
Isaac liked to believe that he hadn't changed much in the grand scheme of things. He liked to believe that truly, he hadn't changed much since Derek had turned him. Sure, an Alpha's bite was the definition of change - giving an ordinary human the ability to transform into a powerful werewolf, causing them to sprout razor sharp claws and large canine teeth, giving them speed-healing and impossible new heightened senses. But Isaac liked to believe that beyond all that, he hadn't truly changed that much as a person.
But deep down, he knew that wasn't true.
Even though he hadn't been the one to kill his father, he had still cowered in the man's shadow before his father was met with a violent, but seemingly karmic death. Before Isaac had ever known about the existence of werewolves or Kanimas or Alphas in Beacon Hills, he had been a very different person. He had been quiet, shy, reserved, someone seemingly terrified of his own shadow. He had been someone terrified to set a single toe out of line, fearful of the consequences that his father would reap down on him if he did.
And now, Isaac was someone entirely different.
He knew that he had been a bit wild with the freedom when he had first tasted it. Threatening Lydia Martin so openly when the preteen heartbreak she had doled out onto him wasn’t even something he was still all too upset about, mostly seeking out a justification to hurt her because Derek had ordered it and he didn't want to believe that he was following the man too blindly. Brazenly raking his claws against lockers because it made him feel powerful, dry-humping Erica on the crowded dance floor of a rave when he wasn't even that romantically interesting in her just because it made him feel alive.
He loved that feeling of being powerful, feeling like he could do anything. Before, being trapped in his father's house had made him feel so damn helpless, and it was addictive, finally being released from that, and getting to drink in the most anti-helpless feeling in the world.
It was something he had only previously tasted on the lacrosse field, only because his father had encouraged him to try out. His 'winning is everything' overly violent attitude caused him to only cheer for Isaac at games when he smashed into other players and nearly broke their bones with excessive force. Isaac knew that his father had the wrong ideas about what made someone a man, and he never truly got into the sport because he wanted some claim to brotherhood. Isaac himself just liked to run, liked to let it all out on the field. The only place his emotions were truly allowed to be free. And over time, he had come to like the pain of colliding with another person and feeling them crumble underneath him.
And somewhere in between, he did find balance. Under the guidance of Scott, who had been raised a lot better than he was – he learned that between freedom and power, there was a way to do right. He had learned something he never thought was possible – that he was capable of good. He made friends, even though he felt like he kept losing them at an impossible rate to dangers popping up all around him.
And now, Isaac wasn't someone who cowered at every shadow or feared going home to his father's fist. He wasn't someone who feared being locked in a freezer for the smallest perceived wrong.
He was someone who could confidently ride a motorcycle through the halls of Beacon Hills High and do a back-flip off the front of it, only thinking of revenge and spite, not even considering what punishment or consequences would come his way.
However, that mindset did lead down another troubling path – because when he was met with the consequences of his own stupid actions, he didn't consider just how awful they would be.
“Lahey, you're with Miss L/N - restocking the janitor's closet.”
This immediately presented two big problems for Isaac: the closet and you.
See, that was another big thing that had changed for him since The Bite – how he felt around you. Derek and even Scott had tried to warn him that dating would be very different, and how he would act around people he was attracted to would become entirely different because he would start to feel different.
Derek had given him a very blunt talk about how not to maul someone to death during sex, giving him straight forward and crude reminders about his claws and teeth. A topic that had come up after Isaac had helped him pull Boyd and Erica apart during a full moon where it looked like they were trying to maliciously tear each other to pieces, but Derek insisted that it was natural. He said that was how wolves 'mate'.
Scott had been a lot more tentative, treading around the subject, asking Isaac what his relationship status with Erica was like he was fishing for gossip, and telling him that things would 'feel' different now that he had heightened senses and the wolf in him would be triggered by a sudden rush of adrenaline. He had warned Isaac to be 'gentle' with any future partners, and told him that he should rush off and back away if he ever felt himself getting 'too out of control'.
Isaac had never really known what either of them meant, not to feel it for himself – not until he had been around you again. You were someone that Isaac had been crushing on for a long time. He had admired you for a distance long before the Bite had changed his life. In his opinion, you were the most gorgeous girl at Beacon Hills, far above Lydia or Erica or Allison – between your sparkling smile, your airy, excited giggle, your curvy figure, and the cute way you dressed, you were someone who had invaded his most private thoughts for a very long time.
But between his father turning his life into a battle to survive and the newly discovered battle for survival that Derek had introduced him to, with the monsters and the new strange dangers around every other corner, there wasn't really time for him to date. Isaac wasn't ready to ask you out, not even with his newfound confidence.
He had spoken to you from time to time. The two of you were acquaintances – mild friends, at best. You had worked on a couple of class projects together, you had spoken to him in congratulations a few times after lacrosse games, and he had poorly flirted with you when he came into your work (a local hardware store downtown) by chance sometimes. But the two of you had never specifically 'hung out' outside of school before. Isaac liked to think it was because you had better things to do with your time, not because up until a few months ago, he had basically been on house arrest because his father demanded it.
And with his father's presence being lifted from his life, he found it harder and harder to avoid spending time with you. Because he knew that according to Derek and Scott's warnings, he had to avoid getting to close to you.
Recently, Isaac found being around you increasingly more difficult. The few times a week that he was forced to be around you, in classes that you shared together or by chance outside of a class when you tracked him down to say hello: it was slowly driving him insane.
Whenever he caught a whiff of your scent - not just the lovely strawberry watermelon body mist that you always wore, or the vanilla lip gloss that you had swiped on, but something deeper, something that was so truly you. Your scent. Something so much more natural that he didn't want to believe was the raw scent to your pussy weeping between your thighs, somehow wandering up to his supernaturally strengthened nose. He couldn't stand to think on it for too long, because fuck – if he knew for certain that he was actually smelling your pussy through your clothes, then he might just lose it.
Whenever that scent hit him, his blood would pound hard through his body, and he would start to go feral. His claws would sprout against his will, the world would go blurry around the edges, and even though he couldn't see himself, he knew that his eyes were glowing. And at times, if he stuck around you too long, he would lose the capability of words, and he would start to pant like a fucking dog.
He knew that you likely saw him as colder and more rude, because every time he was around you, he kept cutting off perfectly polite, calm conversations with a caveman grunt in order to storm off, eager to get away from you. He was afraid of what he would do if he had to stand there much longer, inhaling your scent, becoming more devolved from it by the second. He knew you wouldn't understand, but ultimately, it was more polite for him to cut you off and run away.
There was just something about you that was actively driving him insane.
At one point, Derek had called it a rut. He said it was what werewolves called it when they were driven to their most basic instincts to mate and breed. Another animal instinct that they needed to fulfill that humans weren't as susceptible to.
(That word along had nagged at the back of Isaac's brain, delivering pictures of him pinning you down and shoving his cock deep inside of you, fucking you so full of his cum while you moaned for him, your body so hot around his cock – and he had spent more than an hour jacking himself raw, thinking about it.)
Derek said that it was most often triggered by two things – being around a compatible mate, aka being around someone who's body chemistry 'aligned with your own'. That, and being in a situation where one's adrenaline was forcefully spiked – a situation of fear, panic, or anger. And a combination of those two things was lethal, likely to trigger a rut that couldn't be stopped, even by the most masterful and experienced Alpha. Most likely because werewolves evolved to fight for their mates, so there was an underlying sexual impulse to fuck a compatible mate after you had just fought for them and won.
At the time, Isaac didn't fully understand it. His brain had faded out a few times during the conversation, admittedly, not fully paying attention.
But now, he definitely understood more and more as he was gaining the real life experience, feeling the true effects of what Derek had been saying. And he knew for certain that he couldn't be near you for extended periods of time, because he likely wouldn't be able to control himself.
Which meant he especially couldn't be with you in the janitor's closet – a tight space that would likely trigger his claustrophobia and cause him to panic. If what Derek had told him was true, then he wouldn't be able to use the calm, level-headed control that Scott had taught him to keep himself sane in the face of your maddening scent. And he would never forgive himself for mauling you, for doing something so harsh to you against your will. Even if it wasn't technically his fault in the end. How the hell would he be able to explain that to you? You would end up thinking of him as a monster. And he would never recover from that.
As much as Isaac desperately wanted you, wanted so badly to push deep into your soaking wet cunt between those thick, plush thighs and pound into you with reckless abandon until you were stuffed full of his cum - he never wanted to hurt you. He would never do anything to you without your permission. He could never do that to you. So he needed to protect you from himself. At least, he needed to protect you from the hungry wolf inside of himself that wanted so badly to devour you.
“Mr. Clark, can you send me somewhere else?” Isaac asked quietly, shuffling out of his seat to crowd closer to the scrawny teacher to be heard. He didn't want to make this inquiry too loud or too obvious. Naturally, he didn't want to embarrass you by making it seem like he didn't want to work with you.
“No.” Mr. Clark said bluntly. “If you didn't want to be punished, you shouldn't have been fighting. Make better choices next time, Mr. Lahey.”
Isaac let out a sigh of frustration, wondering how the hell he could get out of this aside from simply tucking tail and running out of the classroom, which would inevitably only get him into more trouble later on. But then, you might not be there next time.
“Fighting?”
You disrupted his thoughts with a chuckle, coming up behind him, having risen from your seat at the back of the room. Your scent quickly came to engulf him like a deadly cloud as you brushed past him to grab the keys from Mr. Clark's extended hand - a small key ring with a couple of keys on it, one for the basement storage room with the cleaning supplies, and others for the janitorial closets around the school. Isaac found it strange that students were trusted with these, but he guessed that the free labour being brushed off onto them was worth the risk.
“I wanna hear that story.” You grinned at him. “Come on, big boy.”
You put a hand on his shoulder and ushered him out of the room, throwing the nickname out there so casually, obviously having no clue that it practically buckled his knees. Despite everything he had been convincing himself of, he rushed to follow you down the hallway like a good, loyal dog, completely forgetting that the goal was to keep his distance from you. It was too late now. He was entranced by your presence, already feeling himself losing his better sense because of that scent. Feeling himself getting lost in his stupid wolfish instinct because of you, because of the sway of your wide hips directly in his sight, because of the jiggle of your thighs peeking out from under your skirt.
He had to do something. He had to control himself.
He had to try and distract himself.
“So - what are you in for?” Isaac asked, having to swallow thickly around the drool pooling in his mouth in order to form words.
Conversation would be a good idea. He needed to focus on something else.
He never thought you would be someone fit for detention anyway. You always seemed like such a good girl. Naturally, it caused him to wonder what you had done to land yourself in detention alongside him.
“Guess,” You told him, looking over your shoulder at him, tossing him a sweet grin with a mischievous glint lighting up your eyes.
Isaac found it far too adorable. The sight made him light headed with his affection for you, and he tripped down one of the stairs as the two of you descended down to the larger supply closet in the basement. You let out a cute giggle at this, and before you could pose concern over his clumsiness, Isaac spoke up again.
“What? Did you turn in your homework too early?” He posed jokingly. He really couldn't imagine you doing anything worthy of punishment. Perhaps one of your teachers just had a vendetta against you. That would be the more logical reasoning for you to be here in his mind.
“No.” You chuckled softly in return, shaking your head as you used the keys to unlock the basement supply cage – a place that would have been intensely creepy if not for your shining presence there. “Come on, Isaac. I'm not such a goody-two-shoes. I can be bad sometimes, ya know.”
These words instantly put a picture in his mind of you down on your knees with his cock in your mouth, desperately trying to prove just how 'bad' you could be. He was instantly thankful for the relative darkness in the room and the fact that you were distracted with loading up supplies onto a cart, too busy to notice him adjusting the harshness of his zipper across his cock. You didn't see, and you couldn't make any comments about how terribly perverted he was for touching himself in that area. You couldn't stop and consider what kind of thoughts he might be having.
Isaac forced himself to think about the awful smell of the boys locker room, dead bodies, anything to will his cock back down before he moved in to help you gather the supplies. He took a sharp breath, and finally mustered a reply.
“Seriously-” He said, his voice far too rough for his own liking, that stupid sex-addled, wolf-y adrenaline taking over his body again. Control yourself. He forced himself to have an aura of control. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Seriously, what did you do?”
“You know Jason?” You posed.
“Greenberg?” Isaac replied, mostly only knowing the annoying, obnoxious guy by his last name – often because Coach screamed it so much to yell at him in complaint.
“Yeah.” You nodded. “Well, during class, he made a stupid 'joke' about how he couldn't see the board past my 'giant ass'.”
You put both of these things furiously in air quotes, obviously not thinking that Greenberg's words had been anything comparable to funny, and only quoting his insensitive words to communicate just how much of an idiot he had been.
Isaac flared with anger. He knew that your beautiful body type – for some stupid reason – wasn't what most people considered attractive. It was something that was intensely difficult for him to comprehend. You were the most gorgeous creature he could conceive of – you were so much more, so round, so curvy, so perfect. If you ever blessed his presence by wearing something even slightly form fitting, he was distracted by even the slightest glance of you, loving every single roll and curve of your body, loving each dimple and ripple of your skin that he was able to catch a glimpse of.
Why didn't every single guy imagine fucking a bigger girl and feeling that thickness bouncing on their cock? Why didn't every guy dream of snuggling up to that soft warmth?
Isaac didn't like to spend long contemplating the stupidity of others, especially not people like Greenberg. Although sometimes, it gave him a flare of pride because he knew that he saw your beauty where others couldn't. Part of him was glad that there wasn't an entire mob of guys chasing you, especially not a bunch of idiots from the lacrosse team that would have spoken filth about you in the locker room. He knew that his rampantly jealous side wouldn't be able to handle it if half the guys on the team wanted to fuck you as badly as he did – he probably would have ended up benched for the rest of the season if he ended up carrying out that jealousy. So reasonably, part of him basked in their stupidity, enjoying the fact that he was one of the only ones who looked at your wide hips, your rolling curves, the slope of your stomach and saw gorgeous handles to grab onto while he fucked you into an oblivion (again, not that he was ever actually going to let himself do that).
But he was glad that he got you all to himself, even if it was only in his daydreams.
Still – he would have to remind himself to check Greenberg extra hard on the field during their neck practice.
“It wasn't even clever.” You laughed, a harsh bite in your voice that said those idiotic words, no matter how thoughtless and stupid, had still hurt you in some way. Isaac resisted the urge to reach out and pull you into a hug. “Anyway – I was just getting so tired of him. His voice constantly whining behind me, so – I smacked him with my textbook. And – apparently I broke his nose, or something.”
You grinned at Isaac as you said this, and he couldn't help the sharp laugh that escaped him.
“Oh my god.” He grinned back. “That's fucking amazing.”
Another beautiful thing about you? Your confidence.
The two of you then made your way back upstairs, via the freight elevator, which you directed Isaac to because you knew how to use it. Apparently you had been down in the basement and used it to get extra chairs up to the gym during a drama night that the school held to raise money for charity – because of course, you spent your free time doing things like that.
In the small lulling silence, you turned your attention back to the reason that he had been put in detention.
“So - you're also in detention because you hit someone?” You posed. “Mr. Clark said you got into a fight?”
Isaac felt a wave of guilt rush over him, and hated that he couldn't explain the details to you. 'Oh yeah, the Alpha twins went psychotic on me because I realized that they've been killing people.' He just hoped that you didn't think of him as someone dangerous, or some kind of monster.
“Uh… yeah.” Isaac replied.
Technically, he hadn’t been in the fight that he had been blamed for, even if he had wanted to beat up the twins, very, very badly. And taking simply credit for that fight was much easier than trying to explain all the strenuous drama to you – especially when he didn't want you knowing about the existence of werewolves in Beacon Hills. He didn't want you getting involved with any of it.
So instead, he just took the wrap of being someone who got into a fistfight on school grounds in the middle of the day. Which wasn't even entirely unlikely for him. He hated what you might think of him. He really didn't want you being afraid of him.
Instead, you looked pensive as the two of you continued to walk to the janitor's closet together.
“What was it about?” You asked, giving him a chance to explain, not immediately perceiving him as dangerous or guilty. Naturally, you saw the best in Isaac.
“It's… complicated.” He sighed. “Just - you know those twins? The new guys?”
You nodded.
“You should stay away from them. They're really not good guys, and I… I don't want you getting hurt.” Isaac hesitated with the last part, not wanting to sound too affectionate or too sincere, and his stomach tightened at the way your eyes practically sparkled in reaction to his words.
Little did he know, you were glowing inside – absolutely alight with your own bubbling affection at him being so warm towards you. For a while now, you thought that Isaac disliked you for some reason or found you annoying, even though it seemed like he actively sought you out. But it was a lot of mixed signals, with the way he had been cutting off your casual conversations, seemingly looking for an excuse to escape you when the two of you had only been interacting for a few minutes. And you hated being left confused when he ran off, even if he had been the one to first say 'hello', or if he spent entire class periods staring you down like you were the most interesting subject in the world.
You were left with that horrible emotional whiplash once again when he he snatched the keys from you in order to unlock the janitor’s closet, turning his back on you completely, not saying another word as he began to unload the supplies into the shelves.
You sighed heavily, frustration knotting into your gut.
“Okay, did I do something?” You asked, picking up a bottle of cleaner and entering the spacious closet with him, caring much more about the conversation than the task you had been given.
You shouldered off your purse and dropped it carelessly in the corner, focused much more on Isaac – watching his whole body tense as he continued to work. He bent down to poke at some things on a lower shelf, keeping himself mindlessly busy, very intent not to look at you. He didn't say anything, continuing to ignore you.
“Isaac?” You pressed, slightly more stressed that he wouldn't even answer you. “Hello? Did I do something to piss you off? Because if I did, I would rather you just tell me-”
“Look, it's not you.” Isaac said, standing abruptly and turning to face you. You were now entirely aware of his towering height, especially because of how you had to crane your neck slightly to look up at him.
“Well, what is it then?” You pressed, trying not to let your words falter – hating now your attraction flared up at being this close to him.
“It's complicated.” He answered, his voice small, muting off with intense thought.
“Isaac, if you're upset about something, you can talk to me.” You told him, reaching out to gently grab his forearm, something that only made him more tense. You reacted quickly, pulling away sharply, not wanting to force your touch onto him if he didn't want it. “I know you and I aren't very close, but I'm a pretty good listener, and I won't judge-”
Just then, your words were cut off by a harsh bang – the sound of the closet door slamming shut, shrouding the two of you in complete darkness. You heard a distinct 'click' as it was locked from the outside, and then, harsh scraping. The sound of something intensely heavy being shoved across the floor and propped against the door to prevent the two of you from being able to get out.
Panic flooded Isaac as the closet door slammed shut from the outside.
No.
“Oh no. No, no, no, no!”
He couldn't be trapped in here.
He couldn't be trapped in here with you.
Isaac pounded fruitlessly on the door, and reached for the handle, twisting it, becoming more horribly panicked as he felt it not budge an inch. Then he began to shake the doorknob so hard that the entire door shook in its frame – but he still couldn't move it. Not when something so large and heavy was blocking it from the outside.
He shoved his shoulder against the door, harshly, a few times, trying to bust it down, trying to shove that heavy thing out of his way. He was feeling his lungs swell more inside his chest each time, feeling his chest muscles becoming concrete, fighting him, his breaths becoming more intense and rapid each time – his panicked gasps sounding more and more like crying with each passing second.
“No, no!” He cried out. “It's blocked from the outside.”
He finally paused, pressing his forehead against the door in defeat. Suddenly, he felt all too hot, all too trapped inside of his own skin.
He rushed to peel off his heavy cardigan, desperately needing some cool air, needing some way to breathe. You felt a pang of guilt as your eyes were drawn to the curve of his back muscles, the heavy slope of his shoulders as he panted, the sinful way his tight white shirt clung to his skin, especially now that sweat was gathering there.
You felt terrible, looking at him with lust when he was clearly so upset, so panicked.
“Isaac, it's okay, it's gonna be fine-” You reached out, trying to comfort him, but the second your fingers grazed across his shoulder, he let out a near feral growl.
The sound startled you, and you let you a quiet squeal from the back of your throat.
“Get away from me.” He barked at you, his head still pressed tightly to the door, not looking at you.
You drew back sharply, brewing with even more intense guilt. Okay – so he didn't like to be touched when he was upset. That was fine.
Isaac shook the door handle harshly again – he couldn't be trapped in here with you. He couldn't be this close to you, he couldn't risk getting caught up in your soft touch...
Every single panicked breath he took caused him to draw in more of the confined air, caused him to take in more heady lungfuls of your scent. And with each passing second that he was trapped inside this tight space with you, gulping down your scent, knowing that you were so damn close, he was losing it. The intensity of the blood thumping, claustrophobic panic was rapidly turning into a maddening, mind-melting lust.
He had to get out.
He had to escape.
If he didn't get out soon, then he wasn't going to have any sense left. And he was going to do something that he wouldn't be able to turn back from. Something that he might not even regret. A tiny part of him hoped that you wouldn't regret it either. A tiny little shred of hope lived inside of him that you might even want it, that you might want him -
He let out another feral growl, forcing himself to shake off that thought. No, you would never want him.
You spiked with fear as Isaac pounded on the door harshly, letting out a sharp, angry scream.
“Let me out!”
“Isaac! Isaac, stop!” You yelled, trying your best to scream over him. “That's not helping!”
He took a breath, pausing for a moment. His body craved more oxygen, and more of your gorgeous scent planted itself deep in his nose, so heavy on his tongue.
He was so fucked.
“Look, you need to calm down.” You said quietly, fearful that he would hurt himself if he kept this up. “Then we can figure out how to get the door open.”
Painfully, he knew that you were right. But he didn't know how the hell he was going to calm down. Not with you so close by.
He collapsed onto the floor, squeezing himself back into the corner that was farthest away from you, putting a hand flatly over his mouth and nose, trying to douse down as much of your scent as he could. Your beautiful, raw, sweet scent – but of course, he was still bathed in it, absolutely undeniable. He was trying his hardest to even out his breathing while his muscles shook furiously.
Your mouth became dry as you took in how truly pitiful he looked – his eyes wide and glassy, his forehead licked with sweat. Your stomach curled with a unique ache of sympathy, and you wanted nothing more than to help him.
“I read somewhere that eating sour candy can help with panic attacks, I think I have some in here-” You were eager to help, rushing to get the words out as you thought of the solution.
You moved to grab your purse where you had dropped it earlier, bending at the waist to grab it off the floor, and that was when Isaac was truly done for.
The way you bent perfectly revealed your underwear to him – your dress riding up just enough to reveal your panties, unintentionally revealing a little peek of your cloth-covered pussy to his eyes. And more importantly, exposing it to his nose.
The movement caused the scent to spike just enough in the open air to have his brain truly melt between his ears; his cock alive and throbbing inside his jeans, his claws sprouting out against his will, his eyes glowing a gentle yellow in the dark of the space. Mindlessly, his jaw lulled open in order for his tongue to spill out and lap at the air mindlessly, causing him to look more like a dog by the second, his body needing to drink more of that delicious fucking scent.
Isaac, now panting much more like a bitch in heat than like someone having a panic attack, began to crawl mindlessly across the floor toward you, desperately seeking out more of your scent.
He startled you harshly when you felt something bump up against your panty-covered pussy lips from behind – in that moment, not knowing that it was the tip of his nose. You let out a yelp and jumped away from the sensation, accidentally dropping your open purse in the process, spilling the easily forgotten contents all over the floor as you tried to orient yourself and figure out what had just touched you. You shoved your body right up against the shelves that held the cleaning supplies, looking around through the darkness (that your eyes had well adjusted to by now), looking for what had touched you...
And you were met with an entirely strange picture – something right out of one of your fantasies.
Isaac was on his knees in front of you – a very clear outline of his cock pushing up against his jeans, his white shirt sticking to him with sweat, making each of his beautiful muscles even more defined. His chest was heaving as he panted, open-mouthed, his eyes closed as he clearly tried to collect himself.
“Sorry,” He panted quietly, a whiny edge on his voice that made him even more pathetic and even more sweet at the same time. “Sorry, I-”
And then he crawled closer to you again, closing the gap, pinning you right up against the shelves, his body a hot, deadly force against your own. Even on his knees, as tall as he was, his head easily came right up to your waist, and he slouched, sloping his neck to rest his head against the soft plush of your stomach. You couldn't mistake the sound when he hummed contently, pushing his cheek into you, seemingly soothed by being closer to you.
Okay, so he did want to be physically comforted.
“It's okay.” You told him, trying your best to use a soothing, soft voice. You reached a hand up on instinct and ran your touch through his hair – it was slightly damp from sweat, a burning heat coming off his skin. “It's okay. You're alright.”
He let out a warbling moan, a sound that cut right through you, humming against your core like a tuning fork, reminding you just how badly you had always wanted him.
In an instant, you knew that claustrophobia was no longer the major issue at hand for him. Not when he was making sounds like that. It was almost like he was feral. Like he was some kind of animal. As though he was so turned on that he could no longer control himself.
You had no clue what to do, especially not when his large, hot hands came up to grip your hips, and his knees tightly bracketed your ankles, effectively keeping you from running away. Not that you ever would have wanted to. But it made it much harder to think when all you could feel was the thickness of his cock pressed against your calf, and his big, warm hands holding onto you like you were something so damn precious.
You felt an odd sharpness poking into your side, and when you glanced down, you saw that his nails had somehow sprouted into thick, brown claws. When he opened his eyes and looked up at you, instead of that sweet baby blues you had come to know, you were looking down at a unique, nearly shocking yellow.
And then, somehow, it all came careening into perfect clarity.
You should have been terrified. But an incident with Allison about a month earlier meant that you knew exactly what was going on here. You went to her place early to pick her up for a nail appointment that the two of you had scheduled, only to find her room a chaotic mess, and to see her covered in bruises, with her shoulder bloody and clawed. You grabbed your phone, rushing to call the police, or at the very least, her father. And you had only panicked more when she knocked the device out of your hand and begged you not to. It led to her sitting you down and telling you about Scott. She told you all about his 'special abilities', and how her tempting him and teasing him on a full moon had led to the best sex of her life.
You had no clue when the next full moon was, but it had to be soon for Isaac to be acting like this.
An excited, lustful ripple went through you, and a distant murmur in the back of your mind told you that it was a terrible idea to have sex in a school supply closet. You really wanted to hush that voice.
“I - I thought you were having a panic attack.” You gasped, coming to the conclusion aloud for it to truly be real.
“I was.” Isaac admitted in return, his voice oddly small, as though feeling guilty that he had somehow deceived you.
Isaac let out another whine, pressing his forehead tighter into your stomach as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, desperately trying to hold himself back. He couldn't let this happen. No, no, no. You smelled so good – but no. His hands gripped your hips harder, his claws digging into you slightly. You were so close, but he wasn't allowed to touch you.
Allison saying the words 'best sex ever' kept ringing through your skull. You had imagined being with Isaac for so long, and now he was on his knees in front of you, so visibly desperate. Your pussy began to get wet as the thoughts truly hit you and the smell reached Isaac's nose within seconds.
“Sorry, I'm sorry,” He whimpered, unsure what he was apologizing for – the thoughts he was having about you, or the fact that he might actually act on them with the rapid way that his self control was crumbling. “Sorry.”
He nosed down to the edge of your dress, his actions entirely contrasting his words. He felt the need to apologize, but he ultimately, deep down, he knew that he couldn't stop what was about to happen. He couldn't help himself as he tightly shoved his face right up against the front of your underwear under your dress, causing your muscles to tense up in shock at the sensation, your thighs almost clamping around his face.
But still - you didn't find yourself hating it, not one bit. You just weren't used to guys being so brazen and direct with what they wanted from you. If anything, this was more of a turn-on.
You continued to pet soothingly through his hair as nosed tightly against your mound, the tip of his nose tracing a pattern on the front of your underwear that quickly sent dizzying tingles through you. He was panting even harder now, his breath fanning out over your thighs – seeing him so needy and wanting making you wetter and wetter by the second.
“Don't be sorry,” You said, finally gathering more words past the horrible dryness of your mouth. “Don't be sorry. It's okay, puppy.”
The nickname slipped so naturally from your lips – because how else could you think of him? On his knees for you, panting like a dog, looking at you with his big, sweet puppy eyes. He was a sweet, loyal little dog, and you wanted to keep him at your side forever. You wanted him to be your puppy.
Isaac let out a sharp whimper when he heard it, only further adding to your theory. You had wired into his animal nature, the way he looked so perfect on his knees for you, the way he was so desperate and mindless, looking for a command, silently begging to hump. He was your puppy now.
You used your other hand to pet across the broadness of his shoulders, hating the intense tension that you felt there. You had no clue that he was ripe with stress from him holding himself back, forcing himself not to rip your clothes to shreds just so he could get at your pussy. Instead, for now, he settled for letting his tongue out – licking wetly at the cotton fabric of your panties, making your whole body jolt and making you cry out, bucking towards his face when he accidentally skimmed across your clit through your underwear.
He let out another whiny moan.
The taste was so much better.
Unconsciously, a part of him hated sucking on the fabric, but another part of him said that he wasn't allowed to touch, wasn't allowed to move the stupid fabric out of the way, so this was definitely the next best thing. Part of him knew that he was lucky to be on his knees like this for you, that he was lucky to drink your scent like this. He was lucky to even be in the presence of a goddess like you.
His brain continued to melt away and be barely noticed when he began to hump against your leg like an animal, unconsciously grinding his cock against the firmness of your calf, seeking any friction that he could get against his aching, angry hard dick.
“Isaac, puppy,” You breathed out, giving a gentle tug on his hair, trying to force him to look up at you – when he did, he was so damn beautiful.
His eyes had calmed back down to that beautiful blue – somehow, soothed by having you under his tongue. Soothed by finally letting himself drink in your scent, rather than denying it. And though his eyes were still tearful and watery, there was something so utterly beautiful in how pathetic he looked – a proper fucking dog, on his knees for you, panting hard with his tongue out, wordlessly begging to serve his master.
“Come on, it's okay,” You said, further trying to soothe him, an instinct inside of you nagging, telling you that you needed to take care of him in this vulnerable state. “Tell me what you need. Whatever you need, puppy - I'll give it to you.”
Your whole body was vibrating – you had never been so turned on in your life, and if he asked you to runway with him at that point, you likely wouldn't have thought twice before packing a bag.
Isaac let out a sob, absolutely incoherent, and shut his eyes again, seemingly distraught as he pressed his head against your stomach. He was once again enjoying the softness, soothing himself there. He took in a few more greedy lungfuls of your scent before he spoke.
“No.” He whined out. “I can't.”
“What? Why not?” You asked, disappointment ripe in your voice.
“I – I like you too much. I can't – I like you too much.” He declared between gasping breaths, his cock nagging even harder against his zipper, reminding him what he was denying himself of. But no – he would never let himself hurt you. “That's my problem.”
For a moment, you thought that he was opposed to having sex with you under the idea that it might be 'no strings attached' sex. You thought this was him confessing that he had feelings for you, and he didn't want to get emotionally attached to you to you through sex if you didn't want him in return.
Fuck, he was so damn sweet.
“That's not a problem, Isaac.” You told him. “I like you too.”
The warm fondness in your voice only made things harder for him, only made more tension ripple through his shoulders. He held back another sob.
“That's the problem.” He pressed, his voice ripe with bitter urgency, trying to force you to understand, his whole body shaking now.
You couldn't help but to rub another soothing hand over him, your heart aching as he let out more sharp tears.
“Why, puppy? What's wrong?” You asked, truly and utterly confused.
Isaac's eyes snapped up toward you again, and what he said shook you to your very core.
“Because – I'm gonna fuck you.” He declared, his voice warbling with hurt, his words so entirely certain, as though it would happen no matter what, as pure as gravity or the passage of time – somehow filthy, even tainted with the sadness ripe in his voice.
“Isaac-” You gasped in return, and he easily cut you off.
“I'm gonna fuck you, and I’m not gonna stop.”
He nearly choked on his own words, so passionate, the beast inside of him desperately trying to rise up again. He choked it back down, taking in another harsh breath. He closed his eyes once again, petting his hands softly across your curves, desperately trying to remind himself that your body was tender and gentle and he had no business unleashing himself upon it.
“Y/N, please – you have no idea of the things I wanna do to you…”
His voice had a unique kind of pleading, as though begging the universe to rid his mind of the filth you wanted nothing more than to know through a close-up demonstration.
You let out a whimper this time, and Isaac snarled when he smelled more wetness flooding out of you, this time truly soaking through the fabric of your panties, making it so much more potent in the air. He was losing that last little grip he had on his self control.
“I'm gonna ruin you.”
He rasped out, his voice so tired and wrecked, even though the two of you were still fully clothed, even though technically, nothing had happened. At least not yet.
“I'm gonna fucking ruin you… I'm gonna ruin this pussy, Y/N-” He spoke these words with scorn, as if it wasn’t the hottest thing you had ever heard, as if it didn’t make your very legs shake. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry-”
“Please, Isaac.” You said, tugging on his hair again, forcing his face up to look at you once again.
He was so tearful, so beautiful, so pathetic – his pretty blue eyes were wide with shock, unsure that he had heard you correctly.
Were you actually asking him to-?
“I want you to ruin me.”
“Y/N – you, you don't know what you're asking for.”
“I do. I do, Isaac.” Truthfully, you didn't care. You had a good enough idea of what you were asking for, and you were becoming just as needy as he was. Your cunt was throbbing and you had a feeling that you needed it as badly as he did. “Make me yours. Please, Isaac.”
“I wanna be good.” He whimpered, the last shred of reservation still tattering around inside his brain.
He didn't want to hurt you. He would never hurt you.
But it would be hurting you if you asked for it, if you wanted it -
“You are good, you're so good,” You replied, your voice full of breath, the lust finally beginning to become maddening for you too. Finally, you grabbed one of his hands, guiding it to slot into the waistband of your underwear, practically begging him to pull them off you. “You're so good for me – you're such a good boy. Such a good puppy for me.”
The words caused something to light up inside of Isaac. Nobody had ever said anything like this to him. Not ever.
He stuck his tongue out again, greedily licking against the fabric of your panties. And then he outright sucked the fabric into his mouth like someone licking a wrapper clean before devouring their favourite treat, as though he was sucking all the goodness off the packaging before he got to what he knew would be the best part. It was something that caused you to gasp, causing another sharp jolt of pleasure through your body.
“Take them off, puppy, please-”
Isaac was good, he was being good. He was being a good puppy, he assured himself as he hooked his fingers into the fabric and pulled down, partially ripping right through it with the sharpness of his claws, neither of you truly caring about that right now. He made quick work of having your underwear in a useless pile around your ankles and baring your cunt completely to him now.
What a perfect prize.
It was all mindless from there. He dove forward with an intense hunger and you couldn't help but to open up your legs to him, having to detangle yourself from the tenseness of his thighs bracketed around your ankles and the scraps of your underwear in order to do so. Of course, he was too far gone to care about the clumsy exchange of limbs, or the way you used a demanding grip on his hair to shove him further into your pussy. You slung a leg over his shoulder, drawing him in even deeper, and he hummed in enjoyment, glad to be closer to you.
He was in heaven. If catching passing glimpses of your scent was maddening before, then this was being driven off into insanity and fully enjoying it. He was coated in your scent now, your wetness smeared across his face as he shoved his tongue deep inside of you, desperate to have more. He was desperate to drink right from the source, happily bouncing his nose against your clit to further bury himself in that perfect scent. He would do anything to have more of you – more, more, more.
With the plushness of your thighs resting against either side of his face, every single fantasy he had ever dreamt up about you was quickly coming to life. He was completely lost in you, so perfectly smothered against your beautiful, fat mound, loving the feeling of your round body so soft against him. The rest of the world shut out and forgotten – for once, he was enjoying a tightness and closeness, being wrapped in the warmth of another person, rather than being abandoned and alone in a tight, cold, forgotten place. With you, he wasn't forgotten, he wasn't alone. With you, he belonged. With you – he was good.
“Fuck, Isaac!”
There was a certain discomfort in being pinned against a row of plastic shelves while having the life sucked out of your cunt, but you couldn't bring yourself to truly care, and you absolutely did not want it to stop. Not when it was Isaac, shoving his tongue deeper inside of you, moaning madly against you as though he was getting more pleasure out of this than you were.
It was so fucking good.
He was so good, so messy, practically fucking you with his nose like he knew every little move that he made would drive you closer to the edge. He was seemingly determined to shove his face as far inside of you as possible and not caring how wet and messy it made him. He wasn't eating your pussy in some dainty, hesitant way – he wasn't performing this pleasure as some mandatory step on his way to get his dick inside of you. No, instead, he was truly devouring you because it was what he wanted, what he needed, and that knowledge alone was making your legs shake.
You easily felt the warmth of an orgasm curling in your gut, something that was as firm as the fact that Isaac was going to fuck you. It truly struck you when Isaac let out another needy moan into your cunt, vibrating you to your core, continuing to lick and suck at your wetness as though it was the most divine thing he had ever consumed. Your pussy pulsed harshly and your thighs quaked, and he grabbed onto your hips harshly, holding you closer to keep you from squirming away as your body shook harshly with the orgasm.
“Isaac! Isaac!” You cried out, becoming increasingly breathless, your body becoming much more slack and urging to lean against the shelves, which did not feel like they were going to support you, your legs shaking more and more. “Isaac, I'm gonna fall-!”
You gasped out the words, and the simple phrase set off alarm bells in Isaac's lust-foggy head. He would never let you fall. Only a second later, Isaac had firm hands under your lower back, sweeping you off your feet – quite literally – as he lifted you in a smooth move to lay on the floor. You didn't have too much time to think about how perfect and easy that had been for him, how impossibly strong he must have been.
He hesitantly moved his face away from your cunt, his new favourite place to be, inhaling one last greedy breath from between your legs before he moved his head up your body, checking to see that you were okay. (Of course, that would always be his priority – knowing that you were okay.)
The feeling of his nose taking a sharp breath against your bare, raw cunt caused another pang to ring through your body, like a sharp note being played on a piano, and you let out a last harsh whimper as his face came to meet yours.
“Y/N?” He rushed out, his voice so soft, so impossibly full of concern, making you swell even more with affection for him.
“Isaac.” You answered back, unsure what else the answer could possibly be.
All there was in that moment was him.
You felt awash with intense affection at the sight of him – his white shirt slightly stuck to him with sweat, his face downright filthy with your wetness, his cheeks tinged pink, his eyes once again back to that seemingly innocent, pale blue and glassed over with lust.
You couldn't help but to pull him into a kiss, needing to be closer to him, needing to feel those now slick lips on your own. You moaned against his mouth, feeling pure heat coming off his swollen lips, loving the taste of your own tang on his mouth, and he let out another needy moan in return. He shoved his deep tongue into your mouth, feeling so lucky to be able to kiss you. Finally, finally – he was able to kiss you. It was something he had been dreaming about for so many months, something he had wanted for so long.
His cock gave another demanding throb against the zipper of his jeans, and even though he was soothed by being surrounded by your scent, practically bathing in you, his balls ached with sheer need and he felt his claws threatening to burst out again. He wouldn't let himself hurt you. He knew that he had enough of a taste to control himself, so he either had to find a way out, or he had to -
“Please.” He moaned against your mouth, pulling back from the kiss just enough to breathe, his voice broken and gravelly and so truly desperate. “Please, please, please, Y/N. I need to be inside you, I need to touch you, I need you, you're so perfect, your pussy is so perfect, you're so good, you're so warm, please-”
“Yes.” You choked out in return, unable to find the backbone to tell him that horrible word 'no', not when he was still glistening with your wetness, not when his tone was so desperate, not when he was looking at you with those deadly sweet eyes.
Of course, you knew how utterly insane it was to have sex in the middle of a school day inside the janitor's closet – even if the door was blocked off, someone could come across the two of you at any moment. But there was a bit of a thrill behind it too, the possibility of getting caught. You twisted your head to the spilled contents of your purse, wondering if you had another condom or if you had given away your last one to a friend at a party the other weekend. Part of you wondering if you would even truly care if he used one or not, because this was Isaac Lahey, the hottest guy at Beacon Hills, the pretty faced, tall boy that you had been pining after for months, openly begging to fuck you.
“Yes, come on, I want your cock, be good for me – be a good puppy-”
Those words were a soothing relief to Isaac.
“Thank you.” He moaned out, becoming breathless at the idea that you had even given him such sacred permission. “Oh, thank you.”
And taking another good look at you, seeing you so beautiful below him, looking up at him with a pleased smile and lustful eyes, that was when he truly noticed that your head was pressed against the hard floor, and something harsh panged inside of him. Something beyond every single part of him screaming with lust, his nerve endings torn up by adrenaline, ravaged by your scent, something deeper inside of him was screaming:
Take care of your Mate.
So he took a quick glance around and he grabbed up his forgotten sweater, folding it nicely into a little pillow, and as he moved to put it behind your head, you quickly realized what he was doing and lifted your neck to make this easier for him. A tingle ran through you at the sweetness of the act as you laid your head back down, finding that it was much nicer cushioning to lay on. Isaac gently brushed your hair away from your face, nosing along your hairline – a deep, low, pleased growl coming from inside him, something bordering on a purr. He was deeply contented, filled with the pleasure of knowing you were comfortable, knowing he had taken care of you, and smelling that you were now surrounded by his scent, that possessive streak in him soothed and eased.
“Isaac-”
You spoke his name again, so beautifully, so softly – fuck, you were so perfect.
He cut you off with another deep kiss, reaching for his belt buckle as he properly situated himself between your thighs, becoming so clumsy with need once again that he struggled to get the belt open. As you parted your knees for him to get closer, a fresh wave of your scent wafted through the air, catching on his nose and making him even more desperate, another harsh throb going through his cock.
He parted from the kiss and inhaled deeply, his mouth falling open once again and his tongue lulling out to taste the air, drinking up every essence of you that he could get. He felt downright drunk on it, his new favourite sensation in the world. His head fell into the crease of your neck as the lustful dizziness overtook him, and he began to lick up the bits of sweat that had gathered there, once again mindlessly chasing his instincts, only caring about what was right in front of him, even while his cock was angry and painful with need.
You took pity on him and knocked his clumsy hand away from his belt and undid it for him, instantly thrilled by the large bulge under your touch – eager to explore the large, thick cock throbbing against his jeans, begging to get out.
“You really are a big boy, huh?” You purred against his hair, your hands beginning to shake slightly, unable to contain your excitement as you reached for his zipper. “So good, such a good puppy. Such a good boy for me.”
“Thank you.” He hummed into your neck once again. “Thank you, thank you – oh god.”
His words tumbled into a moan when you got your hand around his cock, pushing his underwear down just enough to free it. You got him warmly in your grip, getting a good feel for the hard, thick nine inches now under your hand, throbbing and flushed pink, standing tall from a nest of soft blond pubic hair that wrapped around his heavy, aching balls. You were only able to pump across him a few timed before he finally jumped into action.
He didn't wait, he couldn't wait.
He reached over and knocked your hand out of the way, just barely taking a moment to push his pants down more to free himself, his ass now bared to the room as the fabric slid partway down his thighs – but it was only a blink of a moment before he finally pushed his cock into you. It was a nearly clumsy slide against your abundance of wetness, his thickness fitting into you so perfectly, sinking home in a swift, needy, demanding movement. A single firm shove of his hips causing him to sink all the way inside of you – deep, so, so, deep.
“Oh my - Isaac.”
“Holy fuck.”
There was no shyness about it.
No hesitation, no more asking or begging – Isaac's body had taken over, his instincts now driven by need. It was that thing Derek had talked about: the need to find his mate, and breed.
Feeling you so close, so warm, he needed you now more than ever – he needed his cock so deep inside of you. And he was rewarded with the tight, hot clench of your pussy fully surrounding his cock now, a perfect home that he never wanted to leave. The softness of your belly and your breasts pressed up against him, the plush of your thighs fluttering beside his hips, surrounding him.
The part of his brain that was truly feral was angered by the fact that you were still wearing some clothes, that he couldn't truly feel every inch of your round softness pressed right up against him, that he couldn't feel every naked detail of your body so perfectly. And though he ached to tear your clothes off, he couldn't even focus enough to do so. He was too distracted by the perfect feeling of your wetness surrounding him, your heat.
(He would remember this next time, and he would rip your clothes off without hesitation.)
“Isaac, Isaac, fuck, oh my god.” You gripped onto him tightly, your hands moving up his back, underneath his shirt, your fingertips a cool spark against his overly heated skin as your thighs gripped tightly onto his hips. “Come on, puppy, you gotta move.”
There was a unique pleading in your voice, something anchoring him against his feral mindlessness. The part of him that was convinced he had finally found a home, one that was warm and safe and so different from the world he had known, a place he wanted to live forever. But yet, his cock panged with need and his balls were still aching in protest and all his muscles were so tight and you were fluttering around him, gripping into the thickness of his cock like a silent signal, and -
Yes, that was it.
He needed to move. He needed to fuck you.
A wounded sound warbled out of the back of his throat, a clash as his whole world came colliding into perfect harmony. And finally, he steadied himself on his knees, and he began a sloppy rhythm.
Usually he would have tried to woo you, would have tried to impress you with some kind of purposeful skill – he would have intended to have you cumming on his cock and begging for more. (If he wasn't completely mindless, he might have remembered some of the things that Erica had tried to teach him.)
But his mind was completely wiped blank, and any essence of intention or skill had completely left his body in favour of need, lust, want, the instinct to be deeper inside of you, to feel more of your wetness and heat against his cock. He let out a whimper against your neck as he fucked harder and faster into you, creating a downright sloppy sound inside the small, closed off space as you began to pant and moan, his body becoming overwhelmed by the pleasure of you against him.
“So - so good.” You moaned out, your breath dissolving into his sweaty hair where his head was collapsed against your breast. “So good for me.”
Good?
It was a word that had been quarantined away from Isaac all his life, and hearing it on your lips became damn near addicting in an instant. He was stripped away of everything, acting on his most naked instincts – and you called him good. This was the most bare version of Isaac in the world, the most unprotected he had ever been... and you thought he was good. He let out another needy moan, determined to hear it again – he was going to be good for you, he was going to be good for you – yes, yes, yes.
Bouncing between the spark of that word in his head and the hot tingle of your pussy clenching around his cock, he knew he needed more. He reached for the edge of your dress, tearing it upward, needing to feel more of you, needing to see more of you, inadvertently driving his hips forward harder, making a harsher slap of skin on skin as he devoured more of you.
With his conscious sense all but gone, he had no clue when his claws had sprouted again but he didn't have the slightest bit of will to retract them now, and he did feel a pang of guilt when he heard fabric ripping and saw an angry red streak up the gorgeous fat mound of your stomach. He had been so desperate to move that fabric out of the way that he was now wrecking things in his wake, but fuck – now more of you was exposed. That gorgeous, round fat that was bouncing with every movement of his cock, so hot and perfect and soft for him – fuck, he really couldn't stop himself now if he tried, far too hypnotized by the sight of you leaking around his cock, the feeling of your heat consuming him.
“Sorry.” He whimpered, trying to apologize for that weeping red scratch he had unintentionally left on you, a sting of pain that only made you wetter around his thick cock. “Sorry, sorry-”
“Hey, shh.” You grabbed him by the hair, tilting his head up, forcing him to look you in the eyes before you kissed him on the forehead. “D-don't be s-sorry, pup.” You struggled to get words out, your body quaking around his cock as your orgasm drew near once again. “Fuck - ah! Fuck! You're so good!”
So good.
The words rang through his head again, bouncing off his cock like a scared song, and it drove his instincts into overdrive. He grabbed both your hands, weaving your fingers forcefully with his own – some deeper part of him knowing that this would be the best way not to let his hands wander, not to have his sharp claws pierce anymore of your perfect, tender flesh. And he pinned your hands above your head, now stretching his body over yours completely flat, pinning you to the ground with the full, overwhelming weight and heat of his body in an intensely intimate position that forced his cock deeper inside of you.
You throttled out a moan as you felt it, felt his thickness pushing so deep inside of you. And he continued to fuck into you in deep, harsh thrusts, his hips bruising your own with each movement, rattling the fat of your inner thighs in a way that was sure to leave satisfying marks later on.
“Mine.” He growled out, his words slightly muffled past fangs that were bullying their way into his mouth – something that should have scared you, but instead, caused another telling flood of wetness around his cock. “Mine.”
Yours. Your Mate. Fill her up. Scent her. Cum in her. Make her so full of you.
“All yours.” You let out in a breathy whine. “All yours, pup. Come on, cum for me-”
Fill her up. Fuck her good. Breed her so good. Fill her, make her yours -
With a bright, snarling growl that sounded more like a whine, Isaac fucked his cock in deep, pressing his cock all the way inside of you and finally cumming, letting out bits of frantic bits of drool across your cheek as his eyes glowed that fantastic yellow once again.
“Such a good boy, such a good boy for me-”
You gasped out, breathless, quickly following him over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a brick as you were overwhelmed by the parade of sensations. The topper was feeling those thick spurts of cum flowing inside of you, feeling the overwhelming heat of his cock pulsing as he continued to fuck you through it, his hips stuttering in the most messy, sweetly selfish way.
He shoved his head down into your neck, reducing to tiny whimpers and whines as he became overstimulated by the feeling of your pussy gripping and fluttering around his cock, but of course, he couldn't bring himself to pull out of the warm, perfect home he had made there. Especially not when one of your hands came to pet at his hair and you kissed along the side of his face, making him feel so loved in a way that he never had been before. You drew him even deeper into that wave as you wrapped a knee around his lower back, embracing him, keeping him there, further swallowing up both of your bodies in that filthy mixture that the two of you had created.
“Such a good boy. Such a sweet puppy for me.”
That deeper part of him was now entirely pleased by the way your two combined scents were filling the small space, and he realized that this was what he had been seeking all along – not just more of your scent, but the contentedness that came from the two of you together, the two of you ultimately close, the scent and feeling of you covered in him, the satisfaction his baser instincts felt of having you filled with him.
He let out a deeply content sigh and it was only then that he realized, laying happily on your breast, his cock softening inside of you, that his claws had withdrawn on their own, and his fangs had as well, and his heartbeat and adrenaline had entirely calmed. (He took the opportunity of his claws now being gone to reach a greedy hand down, groping across your thighs and your stomach and down to your ass, enjoying the fat and the smoothness that he had stared at for so long but never gotten to touch.) He was trapped in a closet, in a tightly confined space, for the first time in his life, not panicked by it. Being perfectly soothed by you, having you close.
You were the cure to any horrors he had experienced in life.
“Are you okay, Isaac?”
You asked, your voice small.
Better than ever.
“Yeah.” He replied, his voice having a sex-worn rasp to it now. “Look, I am sorry if I-”
Of course, he had to be interrupted yet again.
His stomach curled nervously when he heard the sound of scraping – something being moved harshly across the floor. And a moment later, someone harshly ripped open the door that had been snapped shut, originally trapping the two of you into the closet in the first place. Isaac blinked his eyes against the harsh burst of light and instinctively moved to shield you with his body for modesty, not caring that his pants were halfway down his thighs and his bare ass was sticking out.
It wasn't until the person spoke that he recognized them.
“Isaac? Y/N? I – oh my god! I thought you were in trouble!”
Scott. Of course.
“Shut the door!” Isaac barked in return.
“Are you sure?”
“Shut it!”
Scott did as asked, and Isaac was relieved when you burst out laughing.
“I'm glad you found that funny.” He griped sarcastically, moving to hide his face in your chest once again, his face absolutely bleeding with embarrassment now.
“Well – the whole… bizarre-ness of the situation just really hit me.” You told him, your voice light. “And – at least the door's open now.”
Isaac let out a laugh too.
...
A/N: Please note, this fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2', and I find it rude when people rush to the comments to ask for one. If you would like to comment, please discuss the content of what has been written. I love talking about my fics and my favourite characters with fellow fans, so you are definitely not bothering me by commenting love for the fic or just the fandom in general. If you're feeling shy, feel free to come into my inbox and comment on anon.
I really, really appreciate comments and reblogs, and I highly appreciate when people trend against the culture of only leaving a like on a fic. I put a lot of hard work into my fics and something as simple as a short comment or a reblog makes my day.
If you want to read more for this character or this fandom, please feel free to check out my Teen Wolf Masterlist, or check out My Main Masterlist, which has everything I have written for all the fandoms I enjoy.
I hope you have a great day, and thanks for reading!
The Ottos were dead. It had been three months since the fall of PADRE and the death of Troy and Serena Otto. Madison Clark had left them bleeding out on the shores of the godforsaken PADRE had been after gutting the pair of them in front of their child. Although in the end, the Ottos seemed to have had the last word, for after their deaths, the last of their group fulfilled their wishes, and led a horde to PADRE, decimating whatever remained there before either scattering or being slaughtered by Madison's group.
In the end, after reuniting with one another, Alicia and Madison Clark took Tracy, the last Otto, back to California, where it all began, in hopes of starting another settlement and raising the child themselves. With them came Victor Strand and his family, Frank and Klaus, hoping to find someplace permanent and safe to live.
With the threat of the Ottos vanquished, Madison had taken to raising Tracy herself, seeing that as a much better option than leaving the 8-year-old where she was alone and orphaned. She sees something in the child that had fallen into her lap, her own child, her son, that she never got to save in the end, and she would not fail again. Desperate to give her family a new place to live, nothing will get in her way from securing this new community. In the end, they had chosen to settle in their old neighborhood, or what was left of it. It seemed over the years, people had tried to settle here and failed; this would be different. Madison would ensure it. Three months since their arrival, the small group had gotten the gates secured and fixed, the neighborhood cleared, and had begun gardens and repairs on the houses that were not in too much disrepair. The Clarks were in their old house, along with Tracy, while Strand had taken up residence in the house next door with his own family, and so far, things had been going well. Or...as well as things could go when housing an Otto.
"Tracy?" Madison asks, knocking gently on the child's door in the morning, "Breakfast is almost ready." She says softly, going silent, waiting for a moment. She knew that had been a difficult transition for the child. Everything she had ever known had been ripped from her, but eventually Madison was sure Tracy would see she was better off. This was better for everyone. Troy never should have been a parent, not with Madison knowing of him. He was dangerous and unpredictable and would have only dragged his child into trouble.
Not hearing anything, Madison knocks on the door again, "Tracy?" She grabs the handle and turns, peaking into the room. Empty. "Shit," A curse leaves the blonde woman's lips as she pushes further into the room, looking around, "not again..." Turning on her heel, Madison leaves the room and dashes through the living room and to the front door, leaving Alicia in the kitchen. Only slowing as she approaches the front door to Strand's house, she takes a breath before knocking on the door.
~*~
"Go slow, okay?" Serena asks softly, her arm wrapped around Troy's middle, carefully as he leans on her, carefully and slowly making his way over to the couch. Serena watches him, ensures he's taking it slow; the last thing they need is for him to strain himself, to hurt himself further. To push himself too fast, too quickly, and put a stop to his healing and progress. Not when he was finally up on his feet. Serena ignores the strain in her own shoulder as she helps Troy to the couch and gets him set down; he had gotten the worst of Madison's ire. She had asked for peace one minute before plunging Alicia's arm into Troy's torso. Serena still remembers the pained gurgles Troy made as he fell to his knees. They haunted her dreams most nights, and Tracy's cry. Serena had tried to intervene, to save Troy, to get Madison off of him. Madison was ready, though, and put two bullets in her. One through her shoulder, the other through her side, just barely missing her liver. All in all, they were through and through...it could have been worse.
In the end, Serena had woken, covered in her own blood and alone save for an unconscious Troy. Not knowing where her child was, Serena had gathered whatever strength she had and dragged Troy away from the scene back to the hotel, and struggled to stop the bleeding. Her mind was a blur of her husband's blood everywhere, on her clothes, her arms, and the rattled sound of his breathing. She had stopped Madison from digging the ragged piece of metal into Troy's torso too far, but just barely. When she had finally stopped the bleeding, Serena herself had passed out from her wounds and woken up hours later, dazed and confused. Immediately noting the lack of their daughter, Serena had secured Troy in a small room and dragged herself back out in the swamp looking for Tracy, but there was no trace of her. Her child and PADRE were gone.
After looking for hours, nearly passing out several times in the process, defeated and her face red with tears, Serena had dragged herself back to the hotel and tended to her own wounds and Troy's. So for the last few months, they had stayed put in the abandoned hotel without their daughter or their people, alone and recovering.
The pop-up carnival screeches with machinery as you try to talk to a small shop owner. Her mini store sells odd trinkets and vintage jewelry, ones that you specifically look for--- well, aside from cheap used books you're hoping to bring home.
You stay with your aunt. The one that shouts at 7 in the morning for school as she makes you a plate for breakfast. You remembered, you have to thank her for taking you in after your mom asked. This is your second week in the American continent. Your university papers and visa were your main problem, but hey, now it's whether you'll pick the ruby or plain gold ring.
"Oh dear, I find the gold one prettier on you--- especially with your skin tone."
Was that racist?
You had to think. You weren't used to the place. Just heard that Southern California, especially around the countryside, had questionable... tendencies. But the lady in front of you seems to mean well.
"Ma'am, do you think I can get that... pearly hair thing...? Along with the gold ring?" You try to do what your aunt does at flea markets.
"Why, of course! I love your hair, sweetheart." She turns around to take the hairpin. "I never thought Asians could have really curly hair. You mixed?"
You shake your head sheepishly. "Just... Southeast."
"Ah, see, kids call 'em jungle Asians." She laughs a little. "How old you said you were?"
"I didn't..."
She must have sensed your discomfort, and so the dirty blonde woman places your ring and hairpin in a bag.
"That'll be 15, sweetie."
You falter a little. Hell, that's so much more than you expected, but you felt too embarrassed to say anything else. Just pay and go. You go through the last 20 in your wallet. Just like that.
You hurriedly walk away from the store, mentally cursing yourself. Until a man--- tall, dirty blond, blue eyes that stare slightly too long on your face... speaks from a bench. His knees are apart, back slacking against the rest, one of his arms resting on it. He had a drink on his hand. You would think it was whiskey. Or some other drink you saw on TV that Americans drink. But the smell carries. It was juice.
"Damn darlin', ya got ripped off." He chuckles as he says it, gazing down at you. "Could've gotten those for 3 bucks."
You flinch a little, pink timberlands stopping abruptly on sand.
"You always act like a bunny?"
"I... no?"
"Well, you don't speak up, you freeze when you think you're in danger... dangerous things to be in this part o' town."
You mutter a little sorry, mustering up a small smile, just to get out of the whole thing. God. You HAVE to get home. It's getting too weird in here.
You hear him look. The sticky feeling that rings your ears. He probably stares at your pink boots as you walk away. Probably takes another sip of the apple juice in his white translucent cup.
At least, now, all you have to do is go home. Ride a bus? A cab? Shit. They don't have jeepneys here. Or tricycles.
And so hours pass like that. Your legs tremble a little as you go on a road you have NEVER been on before. Or maybe you have. The trees look the same. And, hey! That's the same dead tree you always pass by--- NOT! You are lost.
The sun burns your cheeks. Even when it doesn't compare to the sun back home. Hopefully, it doesn't scorch your arms hiding under the wool jacket you mistakenly took with you. Maybe it wasn't much of a mistake, after all.
The ground moves a little as a truck slows down beside you.
"Ain't you the little bunny back at the fair?"
The same grind-y voice startles you. You abruptly stop again. So does his truck.
"Yeah, it's you, alright. Listen, you know your home or nah?"
A pause.
"I... I do!" Liar.
He laughs. "Get on, sweetheart."
You shake your head, hurriedly walking again. You refuse to die here. Especially not to an American man. What would your dad back at home say?
He catches up almost instantly, his truck still matching your pace.
"I don't bite, princess."
You shake your head, almost crying. God fucking damn it. When will this day end?!
"Hey, c'mon, I know I look like a killer, but I promise I don't let people die. Especially pretty ones like you."
He grins as if he knows he just made it ten times scarier to be with him. And it would amuse him if you still went with him.
But he probably spots the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Probably.
"Look, don't be too hard on yourself, alright? I saw you on my way home, and I almost am. That means you've been walking 'round here for hours."
You stop. He stops too.
"This side of town ain't safe. Especially for you. You should thank your lucky stars no one else's around."
You've heard about this on the internet. Something about suns and towns. And how your curly hair and tanned skin aren't exactly welcome.
"Look, I can drive you home, darlin', just tell me where. Would suck to leave you drying out here."
The sun did glare at you. Sure, not like back home, but still mean enough that you don't even sweat. Not anymore. You feel sand in your throat when you gulp. Your feet pinpoint where blisters are starting to form.
You nod and open the passenger door.
You mention an address. The one your aunt hammered you to memorize last week.
"You were going waaays off." He laughs.
You blush a little, though you aren't sure if it just came off as sunburned cheeks.
"Name's Troy. You?"
"Y/N" You almost whisper.
"Got a bottle at the back. Think it'd do you good to take a sip."
You check. There's a set of unopened water bottles.
"Dad stocking up. Y'all should too. End's comin'"
You glance at him, confused. He looks back at you. Just now do you notice how blue his eyes are. It's dark, like a deep ocean's. It isn't like the ones you saw in movies, ones that looked like ice. But even then, Troy's freezes you all the same.
Bu the moment stops there. A distracted driver is never a good thing. The tires screech as Troy stomps on the brake. A woman, bloody and in neon sportswear, lies dead just a few meters away.
You gasp, opening the door, ready to help.
"Close the damn thing, bunny." He doesn't shout, but his voice fills the truck anyway.
You do close the door.
Troy stares, as if waiting for something. His finger taps on the steering wheel. His other hand rests on his door, ready to open it, for whatever moment he's waiting for.
The woman gurgles blood, you see droplets dance above her mouth. Her twisted head emerges in your vision, her chest facing you. Her ponytail is also neon. Before she could kneel back up, Troy reverses the truck, away from the woman.
"Y/N, listen to me. Call whoever's in your house. Tell 'em to lock y'all's doors." You nod, dialing your aunt's number.
Story Summary: The day of Festa and Moreii, by many referred to as the 'Lovers Feast', passes once every two years in spring. For the first time you are determined to not be without a companion or flower at the feast. In the time leading up to the anticipated celebration you, one of the healers in the fort of Gramaire, try to live through the events happening before it.
Your friend Lancelot, the former Weeping Monk turned knight of the Fey and the man whom you have growing feelings for, does not approve of the man you have chosen to celebrate the feast with.
A woman who would rather see you trampled by horses, a man whose intentions are unclear and a love that is unrequited. Can the Lovers Feast bring clarity to it all?
Notes: Had this idea a while ago, was finally able to write it fully.
Warnings: Hurt. Pining. Fluff. Soft and sweet. Menstruation CW. Insecurity. Jealousy. Friends to lovers. Violence. Strong Language. Bullying. Romance.
Life for you after escaping more than one of the Red Paladins’ cleansings, was finally bettering. It was the Green Knight who had found you wandering the forest alone a few months ago and he had taken you with him to Gramaire where you met his acquaintances and friends. And among these friends there were certain people who stood out among the rest. A young Fey child who happened to be a knight, the Red Spear, and the Weeping Monk. Needless to say, it took quite some time before you trusted this Monk as Gawain did.
Upon arriving in Gramaire, Gawain had questioned you, trying to determine whether or not you possessed a useful skill. The only thing you had acquired was the knowledge for healing and so you became a healer along with Pym, a girl who was also a friend of Gawain. Together you saw all sorts of injuries, especially Red’s crew had some bizarre things happening to them. Then there were the regular common complaints, a cold, the flu… All were welcome to seek your aid. Even the former Weeping Monk, who you learned was named ‘Lancelot’.
You were a quiet person in the beginning, your soul was still healing from all that had been seen and experienced. Rarely you spoke, with Pym in the infirmary this was no problem but alone…
The first time Lancelot walked into the infirmary, with a bleeding gash on the left side of his chest, he said not a word to you. Not one. Not for the entire two hours I took to treat the wound. And neither did you, oddly enough it did not feel uncomfortable. Apart from your hands having shaken a bit, you kept calm in his presence.
The shaking hands lessened the more he sought treatment. It was always the same pattern, he went out to help Gawain and his friends and in the evening he sat on the cot in the infirmary to let you treat his wounds. All of them obtained because he was careless with his own health, throwing himself into danger to help the Green Knight and the others, that was what you had been told by Pym.
“I’ve never had to help him,” Pym had once said, “I’m glad. I don’t really want to.”
It was quite strange that Lancelot never went to Pym for healing, he’d often wait until evening when you were cleaning things up in the infirmary, you reckoned it was because he might prefer the silence over Pym’s babbling.
So there you were again, in the evening, dabbing away the blood from his upper arm to find where it was even coming from. In all this time, and in all the evenings before it, he had never said a word to you. All communication had been quite straightforward, he showed the injuries and you would treat them. Just as you went to grab a fresh rag to use he leaned forward more on the cot. He kept an arm around his abdomen and was growing paler by the minute.
You ignored the rag and went back over to him to feel his forehead. He was sweating, a fever was taking hold. “You should not go out tomorrow. Remain in the fort. I worry you may be growing an infection. I can give you a vial of-”
He was not one to listen to advice on his health. “Just suture my arm.”
With a sigh, you wiped more blood away from the cut and began to suture the stubborn fool’s arm.
His eyes remained fixed on the floor. “Thank you.”
It was not hard to treat him. He usually sat still as a statue when you helped him and as always he was out the door again mere moments after you were done. You watched the door fall shut behind him, wondering how long he would pretend he was alright this time.
Hours later, in the midst of the night, you were awoken by the Green Knight who nearly knocked your door out of it’s hinges. He informed you of how Lancelot had just collapsed on his way to the infirmary, they had to carry him the rest of the way once they found him. Right away you knew it did not look good for the Ash Man. He was not conscious and laying unresponsive on the cot when you arrived in the infirmary. Days and nights filled of trying to lower his fever followed, you made concoction after concoction in the hope that it would fight away the infection one of his wounds must have caused. No, it had not looked good for him at all.
By the third morning, he had regained consciousness but was too weak to sit up. You spoon fed him soup in the time that followed until he got more of his strength back. What followed was… strange. Due to his previous dire condition you had to stay near as much as you could until it was certain that he was indeed out of the dangerous claws of the infection. This meant helping the former Weeping Monk wash, treat all cuts with salve, and ensure he took the medicine you continued to make for him. You washed his torso daily the first days and left him to do the rest, the first times he was easily out of breath from the remaining fever, but as the days passed he got better. He did not make eye-contact on the moments when you had to freshen him up, it was hard to read his response to it. Only when you had touched the damp rag to his neck did he shut his eyes and tilted his head to the side, no wonder with how warm he must have felt from the fever.
Nights you had slept on the other cot in the infirmary to ensure he would be well. On the sixth day you had woken up to him being up on his feet and putting his weapon belts and cloak on. At first you thought you were imagining it, but no, the Ash Man had recovered from the fever. His skin had returned to a healthy color again, the paleness was gone. You were up on your feet in seconds, sleep still held your legs in it’s hold and threatened to send your body to the ground. The pain of a fall never came, his quick reaction to grab hold of your waist had prevented it.
“Careful.” A flash of worry went through his eyes. “It would be unfortunate if our healer broke her neck.”
You were rattled. “You shouldn’t be up…”
A smile crept on his face. “Was that not the whole point of me being in your care? For me to be up on my feet again.”
That smile made you lose the knowledge of words. Never before had you seen him, the former Weeping Monk, smile at you. Blinking, you cast your eyes away from him. All of a sudden he knelt down before you, tilting his head down in submission, a sign of respect he must have learned through his upbringing.
“Thank you.” He lifted his head to look at your face. “For your aid. I would not have survived this without you here to help me.”
Nervously you fidgeted with your sleeve. “There is no need to thank me. I am glad you feel better.”
He stared for a moment, then gave a slow nod. After a strange silence fell between you, he gingerly took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips to brush them to your knuckles very lightly. He stood right after, appearing as nervous as you were. After another nod your way he headed out the door. There you stood, staring flabbergasted at the door of the infirmary he had just walked out of. Wondering if a fever had taken hold of you and made you delirious as well. Had the former Weeping Monk really just kissed the hand of a Fey?
~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~
An odd dynamic had formed between you over the next two weeks. It started out with little things. A simple ‘Good morning’ from him. Him holding the door open for you when the opportunity presented itself. Just small things that weren’t so small to you, because this was the former Weeping Monk being oddly kind to you. And still… you remained your quiet self while he didn’t seem to mind the comfortable silence shared.
Pym was very quick to notice these little things.
~“Does he fancy you or something? Can that even happen, with him being… having been a monk and all that?”~
She had said. You had shrugged your shoulders, it was impossible to know what was going through his head. But surely the Ash Man had better options than a woman who could be the only person in a room and still be overlooked or ignored. Because that was you, you kept to the shadows and left others to be in the light. And there was a pretty woman, Gyda, who was vying for his attention for weeks now. She had thrown her arms around him not long after he had stepped out of the infirmary after his close call with death, claiming she had been truly worried. You said not a word of it, knowing full well that she had not visited him even once in the infirmary when he was there. Instead she had spend her time aiming her attention on the Green Knight who had been truly worried for his friend’s health and had no attention to give her. Of course all her effort focused back on the Ash Man the moment it was clear he was better. Her father and mother were spurring her on to marry a good match and what better match was there than a knight?
Two strange weeks had passed, two weeks of growing conversations between you and Lancelot. Two weeks of glares from Gyda whenever she saw him say a word to you. It was confusing to see how he sought out your presence. Did he feel indebted to you for healing him? Was that why he was making an effort to make you participate in more social situations?
It took a while to get used to sitting at a table along with the others, fortunately they made you feel welcome. Two whole weeks of Lancelot trying to help you be more at ease around him and those he considered friends. But there you were, sitting at one of the larger tables in the dining room. Pym sat not far away, Gawain sat opposite of you and Lancelot had sat down at your side the second he had walked in and saw you sitting alone. He was conversing with Gawain about places where flour could still possibly be found. And as they planned their journey to these mills, you often felt Gawain’s eyes dart between you and Lancelot. Why? You didn’t know. Lancelot hadn’t even looked at you since sitting down, he was focused on the conversation, not on you.
You reached out to take a piece of bread from the bowl a little to the side in the midst of the table. The Ash Man reacted ridiculously fast, without stopping the conversation with Gawain he had taken a piece of bread from the bowl and handed it to you. You stared at the bread in your hand, it were those small things that continued to rattle you.
“What?” Lancelot said to Gawain, after he saw the knight stare at him.
Gawain gave him an incredulous look, then gestured to you and him, “I have not seen you so attentive before to anyone else here.”
From the corner of your eyes, you could see the Ash Man go rigid.
It was Arthur who interrupted the growing strange atmosphere at the table, the Manblood put a tankard of water down right beside you. “Good morning, y/n. I noticed you didn’t have any water yet. Here you go.”
The tankard was shoved right under your nose, with a nod and a smile you showed your appreciation.
Arthur sat down next to Gawain. “Well then, what are the plans for today?”
The Manblood was smiling, full of enthusiasm, even as the Ash Man tried to hide how he rolled his eyes.
“We are going to retrieve the flour of the mill in the west,” Gawain answered.
“Good. As long as someone doesn’t get the urge to set the place on fire whilst we’re in it,” Arthur chuckled.
You quietly chewed the bread, eyes darting between the three of them. It was no secret that Lancelot may have once set a mill on fire and almost killed them on purpose, Arthur tended to remind him of it often.
“Do not tempt me,” Lancelot voice was monotone.
You nearly choked on the bread at hearing him say it and started coughing.
His eyes snapped away from Arthur immediately, he almost touched your arm but stopped himself. “Are you alright?”
Arthur stood up and held the tankard of water up for you. “Here. Drink some water.”
It sounded as good advice and after drinking some sips the coughing stopped.
Gawain scolded them over their bickering, “This is what happens when the two of you can’t sit at a table for one meal without acting like ill-mannered children.”
Both men cleared their throat, unable to meet the stern eyes of the Green Knight.
“Ignore what they say, y/n,” Gawain said. “They behave like this until we face the enemy, then they are friendly all of a sudden.”
“Friendly…” Lancelot huffed.
Gawain pointed at him with his spoon. “Don’t start again. Eat your breakfast.” The spoon pointed to Arthur next. “The same goes for you.”
Arthur protested quietly, “I wasn’t saying anything.”
Gawain shook his head, mumbled something under his breath. You chewed the bread a bit more carefully. It was quiet between them for a while, until Gawain spoke to you.
“Looking forward to the feast of Festa and Moreii soon?” he asked.
This feast only occurred once every two years. The last time, after your attendance, you had cried yourself to sleep. It was a feast for all, but among the Fey it was often used as the day when women were gifted flowers from lovers, family and even friends. But in the past few decades it was mostly used as an excuse for interested parties to seek the attention of those they were interested in. Therefore, by many it was called the ‘Lovers Feast’.
You shrugged your shoulders a little, quietly answering, “I don’t know…”
“Surely, you will be there?” Gawain asked.
Lancelot spoke up, looking as confused as Arthur was, “What is this feast?”
Gawain put down his spoon, having finished his soup. “Ah yes, that’s right. You two don’t know about these Fey events, or do you?”
Arthur and Lancelot both shook their heads a little. The Green Knight sighed and proceeded to tell them the story of Festa And Moreii and what this feast was for.
~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~
A week had passed.
Somewhere between the rare smiles and the time he spend in the infirmary with you, it had happened. It was something you had feared would happen. That unpredictable feeling that had caused so much heartbreak in the world already. Love. You were enamored with the former monk turned knight and it was not a feeling you welcomed. It was unrequited, secret and fueling a hope you shouldn’t have had. But it was there and no matter how hard you tried to ignore the feeling it only grew stronger. It did not help that he still sought out your aid in the evenings in the infirmary instead of one of the other healers. Beside you and Pym, two more healers manned the infirmary during the day. The nights were yours to work and Lancelot knew it very well.
After one night a week ago, when he had even helped you fill vials of medicine, you had started to carve a small wooden horse figurine out of a piece of a thick branch. Even painted the figurine black to match his stallion that he spoke of so fondly. It took a whole week to make and you hadn’t told anyone of your secret hobby, the figurine was kept hidden under your bed along with some others you had made. But today you wanted to gift it to him.
With nervous steps you searched the fort for him, the figurine was neatly wrapped into a piece of cloth to let it be a true surprise. And then you spotted him in the courtyard, speaking to Gyda who had put her hand on his upper arm as she laughed melodically over something he must have told her. You did not want to stare but could not look away. For Gyda conversation seemed so effortless and natural, she knew just what to say to keep the conversation going.
After a moment, you turned away and headed back to your room. Unwrapping and putting the figurine on your night table instead. Such foolish hope, a quiet mouse could not compete with a bold feline. A heavy feeling set into your abdomen and you sat on the bed for a while to let it settle down. You hated being in love, your stomach was acting up and you were constantly questioning everything. It was cruel how your own mind could be your worst enemy, how it could whisper all your insecurities into your thoughts over and over again. It felt horrible.
After the feeling in your abdomen got better, you headed out again, this time to the infirmary to drown your thoughts with tasks instead. The sound of laughing children reached your ears, a mere second later a door swung open right into your path. It hit against your temple as you tried to avoid the collision at the last second. The children had no idea the door they had swung open had struck someone, they were quick to run down the hallway and out of sight again. You huffed through the pain, cursing quietly until only a dull pain remained and a mark to your temple that would be there for a while.
You continued your way to the infirmary, greeting Gawain on your way there as you passed him by. Your feet had not a chance to pass the threshold of the infirmary before a hand wrapped itself around your arm. Startled, you smacked the hand away then gasped when realizing who was to blame.
“Who did that?” Intensity burned in Lancelot’s eyes.
He stood so close, so very close. Such handsome features, those small freckles on his neck. Such deep concern his eyes held.
“What?” You blinked.
Briefly the knuckles of his fingers gingerly touched your temple. “This bruise. Who did this to you?”
“A door.”
“A door?”
You felt a bit embarrassed, it must have made you sound like a klutz. “I was walking through the hallway, a door swung open and hit me.”
He did not seem to think you were being truthful. “But you are wounded someplace else.”
“I am not.”
Doubt washed over his face. “I can tell that you are bleeding.”
“What? But I-”
Realization hit you cruelly strong, the pain in your abdomen had not been due to the distress you had felt. This could not get any worse. He could smell it? How humiliating, if you had known you wouldn’t have left your room. It was bound to happen with his heightened senses and with how much more time he spend near. It had only been evenings in the infirmary together until this month.
You took a couple of big steps away, fearing the blood had already stained your clothes for all to see. “I need to go.”
“Wait-”
He tried to stop you but you bolted away to your room to prevent further damage to your self-esteem, leaving him behind in confusion.
Lancelot snapped out of his thoughts a moment later and decided to go after you. He ran into the Green Knight only two hallways further, who stopped him in his path.
“Ah, Lancelot. I was wondering -”
“Have you seen y/n?”
“Every time…” Gawain mumbled under his breath.
The knight was no fool, he had noticed that ever since you had arrived there the Ash Man had went to the infirmary for the smallest cut and always during the times of day when you just happened to be the healer that was present.
Lancelot wisely ignored that remark. “I believe something is wrong. She had a bruise. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary today?”
The knight hummed pensively. “I have not. Have you tried to speak to her?”
“I fear I may have been too forward.”
“You? No…” Gawain’s sarcasm shined through. “Go on. Find our healer. See to it that she is well.”
He walked away, intending to do exactly that, hoping that his nose was wrong.
Blood and a forming bruise… had someone attacked you? How you had run off when he had questioned you about it with concern… he feared to worst.
~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~
You had changed clothes the second you walked into your chamber and were trying to rinse the small blood stain out from your other pair of trousers hoping no one had noticed it. Out of all the people that could have noticed your monthly blood, it had to be him. The handsome Ash Man who you had grown to feel more than just friendship for. It was mortifying. You held your breath when a knock sounded at your door and heard Lancelot call out your name. Oh, no no no…
The last thing you wanted was for him to realize what sort of blood he had noticed on you. You put the trousers back into the bucket of water in a small corner of the room next to the wardrobe.
He knocked again, sounding concerned as he spoke through the door, “Are you alright?”
Think… think… think… there was no time to think. His knocking grew more urgent and you feared he’d break open the door if you did not respond soon. You opened the door, hoping to just keep it open a few inches. He quickly took hold of the edge of the door and made his way inside the room, you stumbled back a little and frowned at his urgency.
His eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. “You changed your clothes.”
When he took a step further into the room, you took one back. His expression changed instantly, he almost looked hurt to see you step back.
“You do not have to fear me,” he said quietly and removed his hand from where he often let it rest on the pommel of his sword, hoping to ease your mind.
“I don’t.” It was the truth.
He was quiet for a moment and stood motionless, showing no intent to leave the room.
It felt uncomfortable because you just knew he was going to ask about the blood scent. “I’m alright. You can leave.”
His brow arched. “Not before you tell me where and how serious your injury is.”
It shouldn’t have come as such a shock that he could be persistent. “It is nothing.”
He shook his head. “I do not believe you.”
You sighed, the on-setting cramps were causing you to be short with him. “Please, leave.”
He was terribly stubborn and stern. “I will. Once you either tell me the truth or let me walk you to the infirmary to see a healer.”
It was getting on your nerves quickly. Not everyone in the castle needed to hear about your monthly blood. You did not need a healer. “It’s none of your concern, Lancelot! I don’t want to talk about this!”
Multiple scenarios rushed through his head. Was someone hurting you? Did you submit yourself to the scourge as he had once done?
You saw his nostrils flare ever so little, so easily missed if one would not pay attention to it. When he took a step in the direction of the place where you had hidden the bucket from sight, you stepped into his path. More suspicion filled his eyes. He moved faster, passing you and ignoring your protests, finding the bucket where your trousers were soaking in the cold water.
The scent of blood was diluted by the water but it was there. It left him highly alarmed. He noticed your other clothes on the bed and went over to them, inspecting them.
You felt so embarrassed. “What are you doing?!?”
There were no tears in your clothes. No visible evidence that someone had tried to damage them.
He approached you fast, taking hold of your arm. You froze entirely when he leaned in and inhaled audibly, your face started to burn.
“What are you doing?” you blurted out again, shocked by the behavior.
There were no other Fey scents over you that could point to a Fey possibly having attacked you.
His eyes darted over your form, still searching, “Has someone hurt you?”
That concern in his eyes almost instantly made you forgive him for being invasive. “No.”
He still seemed to doubt whether or not that was the truth, “I want you to come with me to the infirmary.”
You protested when he took hold of your arm but he still dragged you out of the room. You finally managed to break free when he got you a few steps away from your room. He cursed under his breath and tried to grab hold of your arm again but you swatted his hand away.
“Enough! Leave me be, Lancelot!” you snapped.
He countered, “You need to see a healer!”
You stood your ground. “I don’t! I bleed like this monthly!
It still took him a moment to understand what on earth you were trying to tell him, his past in the clergy was at blame. “Why-”
You saw it click into his mind, realizing just how far he had to think to come to the conclusion.
This was not a matter that was discussed within the clergy. He barely knew anything about it, certainly not the details.
You hugged yourself. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about this. It’s worse enough already that I bled through my trousers and you were the one who noticed that I am bleeding. Gods… you can smell it…”
He could not bring a word out and by the time he finally managed to try and speak an apology you had already returned to your room and locked the door.
~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~
It had been hours. Hours filled with laying in bed and suffering from the foolish humiliation and annoying cramps. You couldn’t stop thinking about how he was just able to smell the blood, it must not have been noticeable to him before or he had noticed because he had become more attentive towards you lately after you helped him when he was ill. Still, you wished he had not noticed this. Once he had told that he often just did not focus on the scents around him because they would become too much, but he must have been alert when it came to you unfortunately. And then he had barged into your room and found the trousers…
No. You did not feel like leaving your room for the rest of the day. Pym would be fine in the infirmary with the other healers for a day while you recovered from the situation. Besides, you doubted you would be much help with the cramps in your abdomen.
Someone knocked on the door of your room and you prayed to the Hidden it wouldn’t be him. Anyone but him. But after a short pause in-between knocks, you heard Lancelot call out your name. When you didn’t hear him walk away from the door after ignoring him, you grumbled and got out of bed to drag your feet to the door. You held the door closed more, still his fingers slithered around the edge of it as he send a pleading look. Sighing, you opened the door for him and just went and climbed right back into bed, feeling too miserable physically to stand for much longer.
He was carrying a small basket in his hands and approached the bed with it, looking rather unsure of himself. “Forgive me for how I reacted earlier.”
“It’s not your fault. I just feel humiliated.”
“Why?”
“Because you could smell the blood.”
“I have caught the scent of blood hundreds of times.” He tried to ease your mind. “The only difference with you is that I paid attention to it only because I was worried. I feared someone had harmed you.”
It was quite nice to hear that he had been genuinely concerned. “I truly did just walk into a door. Some children were playing and pushed a door open haphazardly, it hit me in the head. We can’t all be as graceful as you.”
He blinked slowly, eyes aimed at the floor, a careful smile grew on his lips. “Graceful…” he quietly uttered, as if it was a word no one had ever used to describe him.
It dawned on you that he had considered it a compliment. And it was, for you found him so graceful that it often left you in awe when you stared at him in secret during the times he sparred with his comrades.
He looked at the wall and cleared his throat. “I have asked Pym about this… bleeding.”
Were you imagining things or did he truly just say it?? “You asked Pym?”
He came closer, taking seat on the edge of the bed, the basket on his lap. “She did her best to give me some advice.”
Poor, poor Pym. One of the first true conversations she must have had with him and it was about this matter. She must have felt very strange.
He placed the basked on the night table. “A vial for the pain and some fruit I know-… I hope you like.”
You stared at the basket in disbelief. He had gone through this much effort? A quick glance in the basket told you that he had put more than your favorite fruit in there, there were some sweet baked goods and berries. The whole basket smelled so good. “Thank you. You didn’t have to go through so much trouble for me.”
He ignored that comment, his attention fell on the small wooden horse figurine that still stood on the night table as well. Too tempted not to, he picked it up to look at it better. “Did you make this?”
“Yes. It’s silly, I know-”
“Impressive.” He turned it over, intrigued by the small details.
“What?” You glanced up at him.
“How long did it take you to make this?” he wondered out loud.
Nights it took you. “Some hours.”
You saw him keep turning it between his fingers to look at it from all angles, seemingly enamored by the small wooden figurine. “You can have it, if you want it.”
His eyes widened slightly by the offer. “I could not possibly-”
It slipped out, “I made it for you after you helped me fill those vials in the infirmary.”
His gaze fell on you, studying your eyes as if he could not believe you had truly made it for him. You thought it was rather endearing and smiled, letting your eyes fix on the sheet under your hand instead.
He stared a little longer, cleared his throat. “Horses are such loyal creatures.”
“They are.”
Once more he cleared his throat, scratching his chin. He didn’t put the figurine back down, but didn’t say he wanted it either, you wished he would say it. A cramp welled up and it felt like someone was standing on your lower back. You groaned in pain, turning over to face the wall and curling up to fight it. He instantly reached out and touched your arm.
“It hurts.”
“Your abdomen?”
“My back.”
You didn’t expect him to reach down and touch your back and froze in response. He rubbed over your back gingerly, hoping it would bring some comfort.
“Here?”
“It’s lower.”
His hand took it as an instruction, he touched just where the pain was radiating to and oddly you felt your body relax because of it. The tension that you had felt was starting to lessen and it helped make the cramps less painful. His warm hands were soothing the pain. Silently you wondered if he was one of the feys who the Hidden granted a healing ability to.
“Could you-” you stopped yourself, realizing what you were about to ask the man who had been a monk for most of his life until he joined the Fey.
But he had heard. “What do you need of me?”
You shook your head. “I cannot ask it of you.”
He hushed that concern, “You heal me when I am wounded or ailing, allow me to do the same for you. Ask.”
It came out very quietly, “Could you keep doing what you’re doing?”
He fell silent for a few seconds, his hand had stopped tending to your back. Had you crossed the line and made a fool of yourself?
Slowly, he started again. “Does it help?”
You nodded in relief.
“Tell me when to stop.” He rubbed your back gently.
Minutes went and passed, but you did not tell him to stop and he quietly rubbed your back, soothing the pain. As time passed he seemed to grow less reserved towards the task. He gave you the vial to drink and you drank half of it, keeping the other half for later if it was needed.
He brought the sheets over your body, still gently rubbing over your back. His hand had gotten warmer from the friction and it was stilling the pain before the vial could even work. But the vial’s effect took not long to begin, your eyelids grew heavy and closed under his encouragement. You were sound asleep soon after.
~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~
That night, a week ago, not only had he taken the figurine with him to keep. When you had woken up you had found your stained trousers washed and dried on top of your dresser. It had left you speechless, for him to do such personal things…
When you had felt awkward about the matter, he had simply said he was used to washing blood out of clothes. To him, being in contact with blood was as normal as breathing. But not a word had been said between you about how he had rubbed your back to sooth your pain, neither of you had dared to breach the topic. It was a delicate matter, surely an infringement on the vow he had upheld for so long. You thought of apologizing for it, hoping it had not caused him to feel remorse, but you were too timid to even mention anything of the vow to him. Perhaps it was for the better that you pretended that that night had not occurred, it would be better to stop hoping that your feelings could be reciprocated. Sparing yourself the heartbreak was a merciful choice.
He still often walked into the infirmary in the evenings, having grown somewhat more careful with injuries he sustained after barely having survived that infection. This night was no different, he walked in with a cut near his wrist that was the result of him training young Percival with a sword. Some stitches. Some salve. Some medicine for the pain he would often refuse to take. It was a standard evening.
“The boy is getting quicker.” You gave a sympathetic smile.
He stared for a blink, then looked down at the work you had done for his wrist. “Indeed. This is the second time he was too fast for me to evade.”
“He learns well. Must be because of his talented tutor.”
You were done with bandaging the cut and noticed him looking up at you, eyes filled with a certain intrigue. With his other hand he was gripping the edge of the cot he was sitting on, something he often did when he was nervous.
The Ash Man was not the only one seeking aid it seemed. A man, Burk, walked into the infirmary and the air filled itself with the scent of ale. Burk was known for his drunken shenanigans.
“You wouldn’t have one of those little vials that dulls a headache, would ya?” The man slurred, gesturing to the shelves of medicine on the other side of the room. He didn’t even appear to notice Lancelot in the room at all.
You quietly sighed, already guessing that he needed the vial for the coming morning. But medicine was hard to come by in these times, the Green Knight had ordered for it to not be given without there be a true need for it. And bottleache was not a good reason to use up one of the vials of medicine.
Your voice was quite as a mouse, “I’m sorry.” You went to stand in front of the shelves. “I cannot give them for bottleache. Ordered by the Green Knight.”
Burk wasn’t happy to hear it at all. “To hell with the Green Knight!” He hiccuped a few times. “Out of the way!”
He gave you a rough shove to the side, your balance was lost. You yelped when landing on your hands and knees, your palm took most of the fall and you felt the pain shoot up your wrist. Your mind was still busy processing what had happened when chaos erupted in the room. It felt like you had barely turned to look and in that time the Ash Man had drawn his sword and pinned the drunkard against the wall. The tip of the sword rested against the man’s chest.
“Are you alright?” Lancelot spoke to you.
It was humiliating and you felt yourself withdraw in your shell. A nod was all you could manage as your eyes refused to lift from the floor.
He put some pressure on the sword. “Apologize to her!”
Burk looked absolutely terrified. The tip of the sword was making a hole in his jacket. “I’m sorry!”
Lancelot looked back at you, at how your gaze stayed on the floor, he moved the sword away from the man.
“Do not come near her again!” he barked the warning before letting go of Burk. The man scrambled away from him and ran out of the room.
The instant silence that fell was suffocating. You never felt so inclined to speak before, but when the Ash Man turned to you, the words hooked themselves in your throat. Even he appeared indecisive on what to do. He stepped closer, you went rigid. Lancelot followed your gaze and realized you were looking at the sword in his hand, he quickly sheathed it and reached a hand out for you to take. With wide eyes you glanced up at him, tentatively placing your hand in his as if you were reaching into fire. It was as warm as that night and far more gentle than one would expect of someone who was raised to fight.
His eyes scanned your form. “Are you hurt?”
You shook your head, he stood so close that you could feel his breath on your face and it was scrambling your thoughts. It was too hard to make eye-contact, his closeness was causing your heart to quicken and you hoped he would not notice.
Your voice was but a whisper, “I’m alright.”
He was holding on to your elbow. “I will ensure that he does not bother you again.”
“You’re not going to…” you let the rest fade out.
He guessed the question. “No, I will not kill him. But I shall speak of this to him when he is sober.”
When he let go of your elbow and brushed his hand along your arm a few times it was hard to hide your flustered state. He withdrew it and folded both hands behind his back as if to scold and restrain himself for it.
The door of the infirmary swung open again, Gyda stepped inside, her eyes darting between you and Lancelot who took a step back upon noticing her.
“Oh? Lancelot.” She stepped close, wasting no time to put a hand on his upper arm to form a physical connection. “I heard you were in the infirmary again tonight. Nothing bad I hope?”
He had kept his hands behind his back until she asked this, then he showed her his bandaged wrist. “Only a cut.”
She gasped rather dramatically and took hold of his wrist with both her hands. “Gods, my dear Lancelot, it must hurt.”
He seemed frozen in place. “The salve our healer applied helps numb the pain.”
She feigned a smile at you. “Our healer is very kind to tend to your wounds so late in the evening.”
You were starting to dislike her attitude, there were insinuations hidden under her words and they were laced with venom. “I tend to everyone who needs help, no matter the time.”
Lancelot awkwardly cleared his throat, you wondered what he was thinking and if he could feel that Gyda was ingenuine towards you.
“Forgive me, Lancelot.” She feigned a small pout. “May I speak to the healer alone for a moment? I came to discuss some womanly matters with her.”
He pulled his hand back when she let it go and gave an inclination of the head. “Of course. It is late indeed, I shall retreat to my quarters. Goodnight, Gyda.”
She gave him her sweetest smile and wished him a good night as well. That smile fell when he had his back turned to her to wish you a goodnight too. It was no surprise that the second he was out of the infirmary and had closed the door behind him she dropped the facade.
Her complaint fell instantly, “He comes here almost every evening.”
You pretended to clean some bowls up. “He obtains new injuries daily when out protecting our people.”
She strolled around the place, picking up a bowl of herbs to sniff it and scrunch her nose at the smell.
The silence felt filled with uncomfortable tension. “You came here to see me. What is troubling you?”
“You are.”
You swiftly turned to face her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I know what game you are playing, healer.” Gyda got closer. “And it won’t work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Acting innocent now?” She scoffed arrogantly. “Last week you pretended to be in pain just to steal his time away. I heard about your little act, using your monthly blood to get his attention. Disgusting.”
It was appalling how she spoke now. Was she so thirsting for his attention that she’d resort to this behavior? She had set her sights on him and stole his attention away every moment that he did not spend taking care of his duties as a knight, but even that did not seem enough for her.
You got defensive. “It was no act-”
There was no convincing her otherwise. “You played the wounded little bird because you know Lancelot would never spend his time with you otherwise. He only feels like he owes you for saving him when he was ill.”
It hit harder than you were prepared for. Stubbornly you kept quiet.
She folded her arms in front of her chest. “He is merely being polite. Soon he will see that he does not owe you a thing and he will forget all about you.”
You kept your chin up, refusing to let her see that she was voicing your fears out loud. “Is that all you came here for?”
She disliked the lack of a stronger reaction, her tone got cold, an icy warning. “Careful, healer. You do not want me as an enemy.”
“And one will certainly not want someone such as you as a friend either.”
She huffed and on her way to the door she knocked over a bowl of herbs on purpose, sending the contents all over the floor, then slammed the door shut behind her.
You breathed out, feeling sick to your stomach from the distress she had caused. Whilst cleaning up the spilled herbs that had mixed flower petals between them, you thought of the nearing feast. The last thing you wanted was to feel the way you did two years ago. Lonely, on a night when love was celebrated and chased. And you would certainly feel worse when seeing Gyda with Lancelot at the feast this year. It was time to seek someone that would accompany you to the feast, this would not be as it went two years ago.
~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~
The next morning, Gawain asked you to come with him to the stables. He worried Gringolet may have been ill, but it did not take you long to figure out that all the horse wanted was a carrot before he’d eat something else, knowing very well his rider would spoil him to death if he appeared ill. Gawain quietly scolded Gringolet, that didn’t last long, everyone knew how much he adored and spoiled his horse.
“Found yourself a partner for the feast, yet?” he suddenly asked you.
“Not yet.”
The knight saw the pout on your lips. “I am certain you will. You never know what the day will bring, you may already have someone’s attention.”
You did not share the optimism. “I doubt that, Gawain.”
Marcus, the stablehand who was restocking hay nearby, suddenly piped up, “You should come with me to the feast.”
“I could not possibly…” you muttered awkwardly.
His smile stayed bright. “Why not?”
Indeed. Why not? The perfect chance was presenting itself and Marcus seemed nice.
Marcus was very persuasive. “Give me a ‘yes’ and I’ll search the most beautiful flower to give you at the feast.”
You looked at Gawain, who shifted his weight on his feet, his hands on his hips.
“For now…” Marcus held up his hand, urging for you to stand and wait. Marcus hurried out of the stable and returned with a dandelion, he gave it to you. “This is what I can already offer.”
The effort he showed was rather sweet, and you couldn’t even recall the last time someone gave a flower to you.
“A dandelion?” Gawain’s brow arched.
You dared to swat his elbow for his rudeness. “I think it is sweet.”
The knight wanted to say more but held his tongue, Marcus ignored the look he was giving him.
“Will you go to the feast with me?” Marcus asked very politely.
Gawain quickly turned to you. “Perhaps you should wait a bit longer, someone else may still-”
“Who?” you confronted in a whisper. “I see no one else lining up for me.”
Gawain fell silent, looking like he wanted to say something else but refused to.
The prospect of being able to enjoy the feast was too tempting to decline the offer. “I would love to, Marcus.”
Marcus was happy that his offer was accepted. You were glad that this time you wouldn’t be alone at the feast. Gawain stood silent, his thoughts on the matter remained a mystery. You spoke for quite a while with Marcus, learning that he liked to play the lute and he even offered to play some for you some time.
Gawain had been in the stables, spending his time tending to Gringolet. He interrupted your conversation with Marcus. “Who is manning the infirmary now?”
You answered him, “I am-… oh…”
Gawain gave you a look. You quickly said goodbye to Marcus and hoped not to find a dead person in the infirmary after you had been gone for over an hour without someone else there to help those who needed aid.
You hurried to the infirmary and found Lancelot waiting inside. It was not his usual time to visit the infirmary and of course it was cause for concern. “I’m sorry you had to wait. I was in the stables to help Gringolet.”
“I do not mind waiting.” His gaze fell on the flower in your hand. “Is the dandelion for one of the salves you are skilled in making?”
Was that a compliment? It sure felt that way. “No. I uh… it’s a gift I received.”
You went and put the dandelion in an empty flask and put it on one of shelves.
A frown creased his forehead, he was silent for a moment, then asked, “Who gave you a flower?”
“Marcus did.”
There was a twitch in his jaw. “Marcus? The stablehand?”
You picked up on the condescending tone. “Yes. The ‘stablehand’”.
He began to walk around the infirmary, looking at every bowl and vial on the shelves, looking everywhere but at you.
“Did you need my help?” you asked. Something felt different between you, he felt distant.
He stopped at a shelf, picked a vial up and looked at it disinterested before putting it back. “Did you help Marcus?”
What an odd question. “No. I have not seen him in the infirmary yet.” You got closer to him. “I am certain you did not come here to speak of Marcus. So tell me what ails you.”
His answer was delayed. “Would you have something for a pained head?”
You scanned his head for visible injuries. “It depends on what is at blame for the pain.”
He gave half a smile. “Only my thoughts.”
The vial for that was on the shelf behind him, you stepped forward closely passed him. When he turned and followed your movement to look, his arm brushed against yours. His close proximity made you nervous quickly, you wished it did not.
Quickly you handed him the vial. “This should help. Drink half of it now and the rest of it when you go to sleep.”
He turned the vial over between his fingers. “Thank you. You always know precisely what I need.”
“Not always.” You forced your eyes to the floor. “It is not simple to read you.”
He opened the vial. “And yet you make the effort to try.”
As he lifted the vial to his lips, you made the foolish mistake to lift your gaze to his face and were entranced by how his lips touched the vial. He drank half of it, then closed the vial again and let his eyes drop on your staring ones. For a second you could have been fooled into believing he noticed the truth in them.
You left his side rather hastily. “Forgive me. I have a lot of work I must finish. These salves must be ready.”
He knew when he was being politely dismissed. “Do you wish for my help?”
The answer came quick, “No, thank you.”
As he walked to the door he halted to look at the dandelion. “Do you like this kind of flower?”
That had sounded rather curious. You turned to face him again, seeing a look in his eyes you could not place. “I do. Many animals like to eat them, rabbits, bears… They are good for salves and medicine. We can even cook them or use them in tea. Did you know the whole flower is edible? Even raw, just wash it and you can eat it.”
A smile broke out on his face at the rambling over the flower you fired at him.
You realized he might have been asking if you liked the appearance of the flower rather than it’s many uses. “Oh… did you mean to ask if I find them pretty?”
He looked at the floor, still smiling and blurted out, “You are charming.”
Nervously you fidgeted with your sleeve, unable to meet his eyes after how warm his voice had sounded. A silence fell into the room, it carried a certain tension that made your heart leap in your chest.
“I should go…” He walked to the door, opening it. “Thank you for your help. I do truly appreciate the effort and the sacrifices you make to aid me.”
You clicked your tongue. “It’s the duty of a healer.”
He tilted his head, eyes locking on yours. “I believe it is the heart of a good soul.”
Your chest warmed at his words, at the warm timbre he used. The whole room felt smaller, he felt closer than he was, you took in a deep breath.
“Perhaps I shall see you later.” He took a step out the door.
“Planning on getting injured again?” you quipped.
A chuckled escaped him. “I do not have to plan it. Misfortune has a way of finding me.”
Your smile fell a little at that, it had carried an undertone that scratched away at the layer of stoicism he tried to keep on himself. He was out the door before you could think of what to reply to that statement. You knew he hid behind his bravery often, but the statement now and the way he had tried to feign a small smile had twisted like a knife in your stomach. Hopefully he would feel comfortable enough to come to you when the world’s hardships became too much for him to bear.
You noticed something on the floor, a small flower petal belonging to a flower you did not use in the infirmary. Had it fallen from your clothes, or perhaps his? You picked it up, the scent of it was rather nice and made you wonder what a whole flower of it would smell like. Maybe you could ask him about it later, with his heightened sense of smell he surely would know what flower it belonged to or at least find another of it’s kind.
~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~
Two days had passed and every single day Marcus had made an effort to spend time with you. He was flirtatious from the start, countless compliments and countless light touches. It was no surprise that he entered the infirmary again to seek your company. As you worked to mix salves and medicine, he stood by your side and talked about his life. According to himself, his skill for playing the lute was known, you were yet to hear it for yourself.
“I forgot my lute in the stables.” He rubbed your upper arm a few times, then left his hand there. “I have been working on a song just for you.”
Your eyes snapped to him. “For me?”
Suddenly he reached out and caressed your cheek. “My lute can never sound as good as your voice does, but I hope the song will please you.”
Your feet were rooted to the spot, your thoughts too slow to realize what was about to happen. He kissed you, cupping your neck and he was not shy about it at all.
Was this what you wanted too? So quickly? He pulled you closer by the waist and you broke your mouth away by tilting your head to the side.
“Marcus… uhm…”
He was kissing your cheek and jaw, mumbling some sweet nothings in your ear. The sound of footsteps and a very loud knock on the already open door was why he stopped. You took some steps back when seeing who had walked in on this.
Lancelot had stepped into the infirmary, not bothering to wait seeing that the door was open. A strange tension build itself into the room instantly, you risked one look at Lancelot’s face and it made your eyes fix on the floor. His whole stance was different, stern and distant.
“Marcus.” His voice was sharp and heavy as he spoke the name, he then seemed to control it more, “The Green Knight is expecting you.”
Marcus frowned, protesting, “But-”
“Now. Marcus,” his tone grew sharper. “He has summoned you.”
Marcus knew that going against a knight of the Fey was unwise, even though this knight’s attitude was angering him. “Fine.”
Your eyes darted between him and Lancelot, sensing the dislike they seemed to have for each other. Marcus was quick to lean in and steal a kiss from your cheek, leaving you flustered by the boldness and this right in front of Lancelot. Lancelot set not a foot aside as Marcus approached him to head for the door, Marcus begrudgingly had to slip through the small space between the Ash Man and the wall. Lancelot shut the door the second Marcus was out of the infirmary, his whole body tense as if he was heading into a battle. He walked into the infirmary, his stern expression turned to downcast. He was quieter, even quieter than normal for him.
You feared he was sicker than he would admit to, slowly you crossed the distance towards him. “Lancelot?”
He looked at you from the corner of his eyes but was avoiding eye-contact. When you touched his forehead to feel for a fever he stilled completely, he had not expected the action. There was no fever to be felt, his skin was warm but not out of the normal range, you pulled your hand back and he looked at you with an emotion you could not identify.
“I am not ill.” His voice was quiet, soft and lacked the strength it usually had, “Would you come with me to see to Goliath for a moment?”
Your stomach sank at the sound of him, he felt more and more distant. “Of course. What do you fear is bothering him?”
His answer was delayed, “There is a mark on his flank.”
You went to the shelves stocked with medicines. “I will inspect it. Let me grab some salve just in case. I have some with yarrow and marigold here somewhere…”
He came closer as well, then leaned past you, brushing with his chest against the back of your arm as he took one of the bowls from the shelf and showed it to you. “This one has yarrow in it, I can tell by the pungent scent it has.”
You could still feel him stand against you a little, feel the warmth radiating of off him. “It’s that one.”
He took a few steps back, perhaps aware of how close he had been standing. “I will carry it. Are you ready to see to him or do you need something else?”
You remembered the flower petal you had found, but decided against asking him about it now. “I-… no.”
His gaze was alert right away. “What is it? I can see there is something you wished to say.”
“It’s silly and it can wait. This is more important-”
“Please.”
You went to the bowl on the shelf where you had put the petal in and handed him the bowl to look. “I found this petal in the infirmary. It has such a lovely color and I was wondering if you knew what sort of flower it came from.”
He swallowed audibly, staring at the small petal presented to him. “I do not recognize it.”
“Not even by scent?”
He shook his head, put the bowl back where you had taken it from the shelf and headed for the door. “Coming?”
Stranger and stranger he behaved, distant while close. Were you losing his friendship? Had Gyda pulled him far enough in her web? Quietly you decided to follow him to the stables, holding hope that this was just temporary.
In the stables, you were cooing to Goliath lovingly and ignoring how the Ash Man seemed to stare. The mark on Goliath’s flank was nothing more than a very old scar that had long since healed. But Lancelot was not the only Fey knight who was overly worried over their horse and you found it quite endearing. To put his mind at ease, you did apply some salve to the scar. He came to stand beside you, arm and back of his hand brushing against your side from the close proximity. You felt your heart in your throat and tried to focus on Goliath, hating how you still held the hope that Lancelot would share the same feelings that you had for him.
He held the bowl of salve. “Thank you for taking a moment of your time to examine him.”
Your voice was very quiet, “He seems fine to me. And this old scar will not go away, but it is no reason to worry.”
“Perhaps I am too fixated on his health.”
“I suppose it is normal to be worried about
someone you are attached to.”
A pause. “Yes.”
A few silent seconds passed, then you took a step away and turned to leave. Lancelot had moved as well and you accidentally collided into his chest. He was quick to support you by the elbow to ensure you stayed on your feet.
You got the feeling that he had moved with the intent of stepping in your path to keep you there longer. “I’m sorry. Uhm… was there anything else you needed?”
He blinked twice and appeared to be thinking, then his gaze lowered to the ground and he let go of your elbow. A strange tension filled the space between you, you forced yourself to keep breathing normally and not overthink it. When you tried to step away again, he finally spoke.
“I don’t like to see you with that man.”
“What?”
“With Marcus.”
“Why?”
“He has only just arrived here. We do not know him well.”
“We can learn to know him. Once, I did not know you either.”
He looked off to the side for a moment. An uncomfortable feeling hanged in the air.
“He seems nice,” you told him.
His eyes stole a glance, but there was a slight upward tilt to his head, a straightening of his back that told he wasn’t pleased to hear it.
“Is there something bad that he did that I should know of?” you asked.
He thought for a moment. “No. There have been no complaints.”
“Good.”
He stood very still for a while, feeling the judgment in Goliath’s eyes. He would reward him for this small inconvenience. Or the stallion might consider walking over his foot by ‘accident’ again.
“He has asked me to go with him to the feast tomorrow evening,” you told him.
He tensed. “And will you?”
The cold breeze in the stables went through your clothes. You hugged yourself to stay warm. “I said I would. I do not want to be without a companion at this feast again. I’m sick of the pitying looks.”
His gaze fixed on Goliath as he began go pet the horse, seeming distracted.
You couldn’t help but ask, “And you… I assume Gyda has asked you already?”
“She has.”
Of course she had, she must have asked him days ago.
He sighed quietly. “But I do not know if I will attend. These celebrations are not what I am used to. I do not understand these Fey customs.”
You frowned. “How so?”
“Living among the Fey… everything is the opposite of what I was taught. And this feast is one I would have never been allowed to take part of.”
“I think…” You started but fell silent, maybe he would not like to hear your opinion on the matter.
He was clearly waiting for you to continue.
It felt like such a risky thing to say. “I think it would be good for you to take part of this feast. It’s your heritage too…”
He stepped away, this was still a delicate topic with him but you got the feeling that he was giving thought to your opinion. You wiped your hands on the rag you had carried along, getting rid of the salve on them. The day was colder than you had expected it to be, your teeth threatened to chatter.
He saw you shiver. “The horse figurine you made for me, is it meant to resemble Goliath?”
“Yes. I know how much you adore him.”
He was quiet for a moment, then stepped forward and took off his cloak to drape it over your shoulders. “Come. I shall walk you back to the fort.”
The cloak was warm and smelled like him, the sense of comfort it brought was otherworldly. This cloak was as close to his embrace you would possibly get. He walked you to the entrance of the fort. You were still a few feet away when halting and turning towards him to reluctantly hand him the cloak back.
You would miss it’s warmth and the sense of his presence it gave. “Thank you.”
He fidgeted with it for a second, then put it back on. With a respectful tilt of the head he acknowledged the expression of gratitude and watched as you headed into the warmth of the fort again.
Marcus was outside as well, having seen who’s cloak was over your shoulders and realized why the Green Knight had no idea why he thought he had summoned him.
He marched over to Lancelot and got his attention by stopping only a few steps away and confronting him. “Ser Lancelot!”
Lancelot had already caught the Sky Folk scent that irritated him and sighed at the sound of Marcus’s voice. “What is it, Marcus?”
Marcus seethed at him, “Who do you think you are? Does your title make you think you can just get away with this?”
He turned, severely disliking the tone aimed at him. “Pardon?”
Marcus pointed at him accusingly. “I know the Green Knight did not summon me! You were lying, you deceiving rat!”
He turned away, not willing to converse or argue with this man. He wanted nothing to do with him.
But Marcus was foolish enough to voice his thoughts out loud. “If it weren’t for you, I would have wetted my cock with her already!”
Lancelot had halted, Marcus was unable to see the storm in the Ash Man’s eyes that was about to descend upon his head.
He had never felt such white hot fury in him so sudden. By the time his mind caught up with him again, he had struck Marcus.
There was nothing graceful in the fight of fists that ensued between them. It drew the attention of others who were all too apprehensive to interfere in a fight that involved the former Weeping Monk. Not once a sword was drawn, fists flew to each other, trying to place the blow that would send the opponent to the ground.
It was Arthur who got between them, practically dragging Lancelot away as he had gotten the upper hand. Blood dripped from the Ash Man’s nose, the hood of his cloak hanged haphazardly over his head. Marcus had a bruised eye and jaw, bloodied nose and busted lip.
“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Arthur demanded to know, giving Lancelot a light push with his hand to signal that he needed to stay away from Marcus.
“The Asher is a madman!” Marcus spoke accusingly. “He just attacked me!”
“You’re an impudent swine!” Lancelot spat back.
Arthur knew the atmosphere between them was too heated, too dangerous to linger in to search for the truth. “Alright. Let’s go, Lancelot.”
He was fuming, Arthur patted him on the arm to urge him to walk along.
“A war for a heart cannot be fought by fists,” Arthur told him quietly.
He did not dare look at the Manblood. “I do not know what you speak of.”
Arthur pushed the matter, “Did you put your cloak on her so she would be warm, or so she would smell like you instead of Marcus?”
He reacted cold. “I am not an animal trying to mark territory.”
“Then stop behaving like it,” Arthur boldly told him.
The Ash Man gave a glare and walked away from him. Too angry to continue this sort of discussion with the nosy Arthur.
~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~
It was past noon when Gawain entered the infirmary with Percival. He was holding on to the boy’s jacket, preventing him from running off if he’d be tempted to. It was no secret that Percival did not like a visit to a healer, he was fearful towards needles even though he would never admit it. You let him sit on one of the cots, he had fallen and scuffed his knee. Gawain had noticed it because the young knight’s trouser leg had a blood stain on it and brought Percival to the infirmary to get the dirt and gravel cleaned out of his knee before it got infected.
“The feast is tomorrow.” Percival tried to distract himself as you cleaned his knee. “And there will be ale.”
Gawain crossed his arms over his chest. “There will be ale indeed. But not for you, boy.”
Percival was appalled at the news. “What? Why not?!”
That started a minute long argument between them that Gawain barely won by standing by his choice on the matter. Percival grumbled quietly through his teeth.
The boy put his attention back on you. “Are you going to the feast?”
“I am.”
There was an audible excitement in his voice now, “With Lancelot?”
You shook your head. “No. I am going with someone else.”
“Why don’t you go to the feast with Lancelot?”
“He would not want to.”
“That’s not true,” Percival said as if it was a blatant lie you had told him.
Gawain walked over and swatted the boy’s shoulder lightly. “Boy. Stop distracting our healer before she sews your nose to your foot.”
It made Percival think of something else. “Has Lancelot been here for his nose yet?”
You frowned a little, eyes still fixed on the task. “What is wrong with his nose?”
Gawain tried, “Perciv-”
“He fought with Marcus the stablehand.”
Your eyes widened. Had he really just said that? The look on Gawain’s face told you it was true. “What happened?!?”
The knight gave a disapproving look at Percival who sheepishly smiled. “From what I heard Marcus said something that Lancelot did not like to hear.”
You feared the worst. “Gods… is Marcus alright?”
Gawain put your mind at ease. “Pym saw to him. He’s alive, but his nose is broken.”
The timing could not have been more unfortunate for Lancelot to knock and quickly walk into the infirmary. He was looking at Percival with concern and only then noticed the discreet telling look Gawain was trying to give him to warn him that you knew what had transpired. Lancelot could already guess by the fierce glare he was getting from you and swallowed hard.
You smeared some salve on Percival’s knee and waited for a moment as it dried before rolling Percival’s trouser leg back down. “There you go. Better?”
Percival felt the soothing coolness of the salve numb the pain. “Lots.”
Lancelot went to stand closely beside Gawain, as if to seek some form of protection against the glares you send his way. That plan failed miserably when Percival got up from the cot and Gawain steered Percival out of the infirmary while giving Lancelot a sympathetic look.
You waited until they were out of the infirmary and closed the door behind them, then marched right over to him. “You have some nerve to show your face here after what you did!”
He, the former notorious Weeping Monk, took some steps back when seeing the fury burn into your eyes. “I…”
“Is it true you attacked Marcus?”
His expression turned near stoic. “He lacks manners.”
Was that his reasoning?!? “And you don’t?!”
He looked like he was about to cower, tilting his head down but keeping his eyes on yours.
You shook your head, disappointed in his behavior. “Do not come to the infirmary to receive my help with the injuries you sustained from attacking my suitor!”
His eyes fell away. “Your suitor…”
“Yes. The only one I had! And this will have scared him off! Marcus knows you are my friend and he will not want anything to do with me after this.” You tried not to let the tears show but it was no use, your lip quivered. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be the one without a flower on the Lovers Feast? I had a chance this time to experience what the others have and now that’s gone.”
He appeared genuinely remorseful, even shocked at the sight of your tears. “I am sorry.”
You hugged yourself. “What lead to this, Lancelot?”
“Something he said.” He had to admit to what caused him to lose control over his composure.
“Did he deserve to have his nose broken for ‘something he said’?”
“Yes.” He was firm on that answer. “He deserved it for how he spoke. I apologize for how this upsets you, but not for giving Marcus what he deserved.”
The conviction he showed alarmed you. “What exactly did he say?”
Lancelot looked away, showing high reluctance to speak of it. It only alarmed you even more.
“Lancelot! What did he say?” your voice rose, demanding to learn the truth.
He paced around for a moment, frustrated. “It will only upset you.”
“I still want to know. I want to know why you thought that breaking his nose was a proper response!”
The silence that fell lasted a while, the frustration in his eyes was gone as they fixed on the floor. His expression downcast in a way you had not seen before.
“What he said… I cannot speak it,” he quietly admitted. The heaviness in his words told he was truthful. “He spoke of you as nothing more than a subject to use for his carnal urges.”
A pit formed in your stomach. “What did he say?…”
He shook his head. “I cannot…”
You believed him. If he could not repeat what Marcus had said, then it must have been anything but proper. And Marcus had said it to him, where others could have easily overheard. You thought he was a proper person, a sweet person, but his true intentions had come to light and it was hard not to feel humiliated and betrayed. The Lovers Feast would become a dreaded event again this year.
You took a seat, managed to stay composed for a few seconds but broke down into quiet tears after-all. He stood motionless, silently shocked by seeing you weep. Then approached and knelt down beside you, not knowing what to say or do to help.
You wiped some tears away, voice trembling, “I want to be left alone.”
He spoke your name so gently and tried to take hold of your hand. “I wish I did not have to bring you this news. He is not worth the tears shed for him.”
The stablehand had a reputation, chasing all women he caught in his sight. He had hoped Marcus’ intentions were good, but the man had ruined that hope.
A drop of blood was running down his nose, your sorrow turned to concern for him. Quickly you wiped your tears away then got up and grabbed a clean piece of cloth, getting it damp in one of the washbasins. He seemed unaware of the blood, confused as to why you were suddenly darting around the place in such hurry. He was still kneeling and staring when you stopped in front of him and put your fingers under his chin to make him look up at you. Carefully you wiped the blood away and inspected his nose to see if it had been broken or cracked as well. Slowly his fingers curled around your lower arm, taking a light hold. He tilted his head back, letting the hold slide to your wrist. The marks beneath his eyes heightened their beauty to a greater level, he was truly born to bear them.
You could barely think, your voice was no higher than a whisper, “I don’t think your nose is broken.”
A small smile bravely curved his lips. “You are helping me, even after I fought your suitor?”
“Don’t make a habit of it.” You gave a warning look. “I’ll have to forgive you for it this time considering you did it because he was speaking vulgar about me.”
“How could I not defend the honour of the woman who saved my life?”
“You do not owe me for that.”
The fear that he only spend time around you because he felt obligated was still present. Perhaps he even felt pity for how withdrawn you could be.
“I disagree.” he stated and rose from the ground.
You stumbled back clumsily a little or risked him bumping into you from how close he was. Whenever he was in close proximity, your heart began to race and your palms sweated. It was fortunate he did not have a heightened sense of hearing as well or you would have been in trouble.
“I must go. There are still tasks I must handle before tonight.” He was looking at you, undoubtedly seeing how you struggled to find something to look at instead of him.
Breathing normal was the hardest to do. “Of course.”
He went to pass you, but stopped at your side and took hold of your upper arm for a moment to pull you close. “Remember, he is not worth a single one of your tears.”
You could only nod.
There was a deepening in his voice, “Thank you for helping Percival. He does not enjoy a visit to a healer, but you always make him feel at ease.”
Your heart went faster and faster, until he let go of your arm and walked out of the infirmary. At this rate it would be hard to get him out of your thoughts.
~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~
When evening neared, you headed to your room to get ready for the feast. You had not spoken to Marcus since that morning and were left to wonder whether or not he would still show up as your companion for the evening. A strong part of you hoped that Lancelot had struck him hard enough to forget about that agreement, but you doubted you’d be that lucky.
That feeling of dread was forgotten when you entered your room and the most appealing scent hit your nose. Purple flowers were on your bed and the night table, petals of the same flower were placed here and there. The very same kind of petal that you had found in the infirmary. Stunned, you walked into the room, loving how it smelled now. The flowers were beautiful.
There were only two people who could have done this and you doubted it was Marcus. No, only one had known that you were curious about what flower that petal had belonged to. Had Lancelot truly done this? Was it to cheer you up? It certainly had succeeded in that endeavour. You picked up a flower to smell, feeling your heart flutter with a hope you tried to suppress. The former Weeping Monk, leaving flowers in your room because he had seen how upset you were. It made you determined to go to the feast and enjoy yourself, dance at the music and eat the baked goods. Lancelot was right, Marcus was not worth the tears.
You did your hair and put on the dress you had picked out at a market weeks ago to wear. Even if Lancelot would attend with Gyda, you would not give Gyda what she wanted, you deserved to celebrate as much as everyone else. After an hour, you were ready. The music was already traveling into the castle, but it was the knock on your door that forced your heart to quicken. Was it him?
That hope was gone when you opened the door to a face you had hoped not to see. “Marcus…”
Marcus had multiple bruises on his face and a speck of dried blood still under his now crooked nose. “Whoa… you look stunning.”
“I do.” You stood up straight. “But I will not be going to the feast with you at my side.”
“What-” Realization set into his eyes. “I don’t know what the Ash Man told you, but he is lying.”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t believe he is.”
Marcus was clearly irritated to be called out on it, showing that he had hoped you would side with him. But you knew Lancelot, knew he would not lie about such a thing and certainly not react the way he had if it weren’t true.
You were so disappointed in Marcus’ behavior. “You only wanted to take me to the feast because you hoped to bed me.”
He was shockingly blunt about the truth now, “It is the Lovers Feast. It’s only fitting.”
You slapped him, the flat of your hand loudly collided with his cheek, shocking even yourself with the reaction given to him for it.
Marcus touched his cheek, having stumbled a step back from the force of the hit. He responded with words of venom, like an angry threatened snake wanting to strike. “No wonder you find yourself alone on this feast. Even your knight cannot bring himself to make the sacrifice to accompany you. Gyda’s been telling everyone he is her companion for the evening. Whilst you are alone.”
Your rejection brought forth who he truly was, a cruel bastard. It was perhaps fortunate that you learned this before you’d grow more closer to him.
Marcus saw the shock in your eyes, the hurt he wished to cause visible in them. “He pities you, you know? That’s what others say when they see him give his time to you. You healed him, saved his life, he knows he owes you for that. It’s nothing more than a knight looking upon you with sympathy, too cowardly to show the true pity he feels. He wouldn’t have looked your way if he hadn’t been forced to in the infirmary whilst burning with fever.”
You took a step back, feeling the fury blend with pain. “Get out.”
“You-”
Your voice drowned out his words, furious like the lash of a whip, “Get out of my room!”
Marcus furiously left your room, slamming the door shut behind him so hard it caused it to open again from the force. Only a few seconds you were able to keep your composure, then a sob fell. He had thrown your biggest fear in your face again. Were others truly thinking it too? There had to be some truth to it if so. Lancelot felt indebted to you for the help you had given him and once that debt was settled he would have no reason to be a friend.
You were still wiping your tears away when Gawain walked past your door, stopped and walked into the room upon seeing what state you were in.
“Dare I ask why our dearest healer is weeping?”
You tried to at least give half a smile, it did not work. “I spoke to Marcus.”
Gawain sighed, giving a sympathetic look whilst he approached you. “You’re not letting that fool keep you from enjoying this night. Come.” He made you hook your arm around his, determined to get you to the feast. “Away with those tears. Even without a companion, you can enjoy the ale and sweet baked goods. And I doubt you will be the only one lacking a partner, find yourself someone who believes they are alone as well and ask them to dance. You’re a brave one, keep your head up and remember that nearly everyone at this feast will love to see the one who healed them when they were ailing.”
Hearing him be so encouraging helped, you let him walk you out of the room. “Thank you, Gawain. I needed to hear that. Marcus had spoken cruelly to me and it made me lose the will to go to the feast.”
He strolled with you down the hallways towards the courtyard where the feast was held. “Forget him. He’s not worth the headache he would have given you.”
“And who, if I may ask, will be your companion for the evening?” you wondered out loud.
“I asked Pym.”
“Truly?”
“She was Nimue’s closest friend and therefor I want to ensure that whoever takes her to this feast has nothing but the best intentions for her.”
Sorrow filled his eyes for a hallway after talking of his dear friend Nimue. You tried to cheer him up before the two of you stepped into the courtyard. The atmosphere alone was enough to help him feel better. Lanterns were hanged up and smaller ones were placed all around. Flowers decorated the place and music filled the air. There was a crowd already, some dancing, some enjoying the ale.
You released his arm and steered him to Pym who was snacking on the small treats that were provided. “Go on, Green Knight. And good luck.”
He chuckled a little and gave a respectful bow. “Come to us if you seek company. Alright?”
The whole courtyard was so beautifully decorated that you grew quiet. “Thank you for getting me out of my room.”
Gawain was clearly pleased that you were there to celebrate with the rest. He gave another bow and then went over to Pym. You noticed Gyda at the table behind you where ale was being served. She noticed you too and instantly glared. Trying not to roll your eyes, you looked away and to the dancing crowd. Perhaps Gawain was right and there were others without someone to accompany them. As your eyes trailed over the crowd, they landed on only one person. Lancelot. He stood speaking to Red Spear and Arthur and looked more handsome than you had ever seen him, not one stain of blood was on his attire, fresh new attire that complimented him so well.
You were at the table with the ale within seconds, tempted to drink some of it to silence your racing heartbeats. Unfortunately Gyda was only a few steps away and closed in when she saw you.
She looked in Lancelot’s direction, a growing pout on her lips that vanished when she looked and glared at you. “You’re selfish.”
Your eyes snapped to her. “I beg your pardon?”
It set her off. “You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. Instead of letting Lancelot choose for his own happiness, you allow him to keep feeling indebted to you! All you did was feed him medicine when he was sick, you only did your duty as a healer. So tell him he owes you nothing!”
Wide wide eyes you stared at her. It only infuriated her more that you were too speechless to react to her rant.
Her voice was laced with venom, every word sharp as a blade, “I tried to convince him that he does not owe you, but he’s far too considerate to believe it. You’re so selfish that the only way you could get a companion for this feast was because of the obligation they feel.”
You hated the accusations, first Marcus and now her again. “I have no companion-”
She put her tankard of ale loudly down on the table right next to you and filled up another for herself. As she walked away, she glared again.
The stress this evening had caused weight on your stomach. Something inside had broken, no matter how hard you tried misfortune kept ruthlessly ruining it. You wanted a moment away from the feast, or risked bursting into tears in the midst of it.
You turned to leave the table and saw Lancelot head your direction, one look behind you told that Gyda was looking his way with anticipation, she was waiting for him and you were in his path. He had a flower in his hand and was nervously turning it between his fingertips. She had to be happy, she had vied for his attention for weeks now and this flower exchange was just what she had wanted. And it was the worst thing for your heart to have to witness, so your gaze fixed itself on the ground hoping to spare your heart the suffering. He was close and you would not stand in the way of his happiness as Gyda accused you of.
“Sorry,” you uttered quietly and stepped aside, making room for him to pass.
But he did not pass, no, his brow furrowed as his body turned to follow your movement. Your gaze snapped up to his face when feeling him take hold of your hand. For a moment he said nothing, his gaze falling on the dress you wore and slowly traveling back up to your eyes. You felt the stares aimed your way and the glares Gyda was sending, it was all becoming too much.
Lancelot said not a word as he knelt down before you, holding your hand in his own and presenting you the flower in his other. The very same kind of flower like the petal, like the ones in your room. Had he… wanted to give you one of these that day? Is that why that petal… no… it was just another foolish hope.
Lancelot gazed up at you, the nearby lanterns casting a warm light upon his face. “Will you celebrate this night with me?”
You froze. All that had been said by Marcus and Gyda rushed back into your mind. This was pity for the tears you had shed… an obligation he felt to you for saving his life. This was not what he truly wanted. No wonder Gyda was furious. The stares of the crowd became too much to bear, your heart was going too fast, it felt hard to breath. Did they all pity you?
When nausea twisted your stomach, you pulled your hand free from his and stumbled away. Uttering what should have been an apology, but you fell over your words whilst hurrying away.
~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~
You rushed to the infirmary, hoping to still have some of that vial that would help calm your panic down and ease the heaviness in your stomach. In your haste, a bowl was knocked over but you did find the vial and took some sips from it right away. Dizzy, you sat down on one of the cots to wait for the vial to do it’s work. Peace was not granted to you, Gyda stepped into the infirmary and must have followed you there.
She did not sound fully sober. “Because of you I face this humiliation. You filthy trollop.”
This wasn’t helping you calm down at all. “I did nothing to you, Gyda.”
She stepped closer, again showing her true nature by picking up one of the bowls from the shelves and letting it fall from her hand on purpose. Right after, she took a small sip of ale and looked pleased with herself.
You rolled your eyes and stood up from the cot, tired of her idiocy. “I had no idea that he was going to approach me this evening. I thought he was there with you.”
It infuriated her further. “He would have been if you weren’t such a selfish wench! I told you he felt obligated! You should have never shown your face tonight!”
You had enough of her. This night was already ruined. “You keep throwing yourself at him and yet he is not at your side tonight. Perhaps I am not to blame, maybe he sees you for who you really are and not to facade you deceive others with.”
She retorted by throwing the contents of her tankard of ale onto your dress, ruining it. As quick as she had done it, just as quick did you lash out and punch her. She let out a scream whilst stumbling back and touching her face.
The ruckus had drawn the attention of others outside, Gawain stepped into the room and stopped Gyda before she could attack you. Lancelot followed in his footsteps and of course she hoped to use this to her advantage.
“The healer hit me!” She shouted, quickly moving towards Lancelot to grab hold of his jerkin.
He plucked her hands from him, his eyes scanning the room and falling on your dress ruined by ale. “She defended herself.”
Gyda looked at him appalled. “What? She is a madwoman!”
His eyes grew cold when staring down to her face. “We heard you.”
The broken bowl on the floor, the ruined dress, the accusations and insults. He had heard it all transpire outside the door with Gawain.
Lancelot took hold of her elbow and steered her to Gawain. “Go. You do not seek healing, you seek to harm.”
“But Lancelot…” She tried to resist when Gawain took her by the arm and led her to the door. “You do not have to do all this for her, I told you before, you do not owe her anything!”
“And I told you that it has nothing to do with it!” he snarled in anger. “I despise those who find joy in tormenting others.”
With a nod towards Gawain, he signaled to the knight to take Gyda out of the infirmary. Gawain did and closed the door behind them, determined to bring peace back to the evening.
You looked at Lancelot, seeing how he tried not to show how bothered he felt by the situation. “I am sorry.”
“What for? You were defending yourself.” He looked down at the broken bowl near the door again. “Did she do this on purpose?”
“She did.”
He came closer to you, suddenly taking hold of your hand to inspect your knuckles to see if there was damage to them, there was some broken skin on two knuckles. You winced when he accidentally touched them with his thumb.
He headed for the shelves. “Where is the salve you often use on me?”
“It’s fine. You don’t have to-”
With a scolding look he asked again, “Where?”
“Second shelf. On the left.”
After finding the salve he returned with it, taking your hand in his to carefully apply some of it to your knuckles. “You blackened her eye.”
“She ruined my dress.”
Stunned by the response, he tried to bite back a smile. “Is that a fair exchange?”
“It is to me.”
He clicked his tongue. “Well… it was a beautiful dress. “I must admit, I am impressed with the strength in your strikes. First Marcus, now Gyda.”
You frowned at him. “How do you know I slapped Marcus?”
“I did not add that red mark to his cheek that I saw. That one was fresh from this evening.” Interest gleamed in his eyes. “Our sweet healer bares her teeth to defend herself.”
He grew more and more intrigued. Your secret talent for crafting figurines, this fierceness, the fearless attitude towards him. Yes, he was intrigued indeed.
You watched how gentle he was when touching your hands, so light and careful as if he was handling something he feared to break. The last time he had held your hand, you had left him on his knees in front of everyone and now he was here helping. “I am sorry for leaving the way I did. I didn’t even thank you for the flowers you left in my room.”
He glanced up into your eyes.
Quietly you spoke, “I know you were the one who left them there…”
“Do you like them?” He wrapped a bandage around your hand to cover the salve and let it do it’s work.
“I do.” You could sense him grow quieter, the reaction to him earlier must have hurt him after-all. “It was very sweet of you to do, to cheer me up after the whole Marcus-situation.”
Quietly he put a knot into the bandage to secure it. The small smile he had worn was gone, the distance in his eyes grew more visible. “Will you go back to the feast?”
You looked down at the stained dress. “My dress is ruined.”
“You could change,” he suggested.
Was it your imagination or did he sound hopeful? “I thought you were going to give her that flower.”
“What?” He blinked. “Why?”
The reason was obvious. “Because she has been vying for your attention for weeks.”
His reply was rather firm, “I have not vied for hers.”
That was… true. You had never actually seen him approach her first. Just them together and always her going over to him.
He sought the truth in all this. “Do you truly believe what she said? That I act out of an obligation I feel towards you?”
You withdrew your hand and took a step back. “I do not want to be selfish, I don’t want you to feel as if you must repay me for healing you. I just did my duty.”
He moved his cloak a little aside and there sat the flower he had offered you safely behind the sheath of his sword, he took it between his fingers and placed it down on the cot right next to you. “I thought…”
You saw an emotion in his eyes that twisted a knife in your chest. “Lancelot?”
His gaze did not lift from the floor. “Everything I did for you was because I chose to do it. I wanted to see you happy. Obligation was never part of that.”
“But then…” Shaking your head, you stepped away from him and created some distance. “I just do not understand why someone like you would ask me to celebrate the feast together.”
A frown creased his forehead. “‘Someone like me’… did you refuse me because I once was a monk?”
He sounded as if he was misunderstanding, searching fault in himself. You couldn’t believe it.
“What? No! Of course not.”
“Then why did you reject me tonight?”
“Why did you ask?”
It greatly confused him. “Why should I not?”
Tension weighed down in your stomach. “It just doesn’t make sense to me that you would ask me…”
“Why?” he demanded to know.
“Because you’re perfect!” your thoughts spilled free. Quieter you told him again, “You’re perfect…”
You wanted nothing more than to leave, feeling the loaded atmosphere rise in the room. He was staring and you felt more vulnerable than ever before. Your eyes couldn’t lie anymore, today had taken it’s toll.
“How could you ever want me?” You shook your head and felt your eyes go watery. “If the gods somehow were on my side and you would be mine one day, I would to spend the rest of my life wondering if I am actually truly worthy of you.” Tears that escaped blurred your vision. “Because you’re everything I’ve always wanted… and nothing frightens me more than to be rejected by the one who can truly break my heart.”
Intense silence came from his side, shock plastered on his face along with what you feared to be pity. You did not want him to pity you, this was embarrassing enough.
“I’m going to go now…” your voice was much quieter, all it’s power had been used up on voicing out loud what you now regretted.
Humiliation was overtaking your courage and you did not want him to witness the change. As you were about to pass him to reach the door, he stepped into your path and blocked it. You took a step back, not expecting his action.
“How can you treat yourself so cruelly?” he sounded in disbelief.
“What?” you breathed.
“‘Worthy’? " he appeared upset, shocked by the mere notion. “You have saved more lives than one can count and you believe yourself to be unworthy of someone such as I who for years has done nothing but murder our kind?”
“Lancelot-”
He shook his head, tone firm, “It is I who is unworthy. The only matter that has stopped me from pursuing you is my past, I would taint your reputation. You are grace and kindness, everything I believed did not exist in this world until I met you. There is no one as noble as you.”
Your eyes widened. Had he truly been thinking of pursuing you? “What…?”
He closed the distance, intensity burned in his eyes. “I have loved you since the evenings you spend sitting next to my cot when I was on the verge of death. You promised me you would not leave my side, you sat by me and watched over me. I remember it, I never told you that I did, but I do.”
He had been so consumed by the fever. You didn’t think he remembered that you had sat at his side for so long, the soothing words you had spoken…
“You remember that?” you whispered, then realized what he had just confessed to. “You love me?!?”
Slowly he nodded, swallowing hard. Never before had you seen him so worried for your reaction to him.
“Romantically?” you whispered in disbelief.
He was wise enough not to speak of love around a woman if what he meant was just appreciation and friendship.
Gingerly he fished for your hand and took hold of it. “Yes.”
The door flying open caused both of you to part away. In walked Pym and Gawain supporting a drunk Arthur with a bloody knee.
Lancelot turned to Arthur with concern. “What happened?”
Pym sighed. “He fell over someone’s foot while trying to dance.”
“We’ll handle it.” Gawain said. He must have seen how close the two of you had been standing before the abrupt interruption.
You worried. “Are you sure-”
“They are.” Lancelot wrapped his hand around yours and steered you with him out of the infirmary, giving Gawain a discreet nod of acknowledgment.
He stopped walking and turned to you after shutting the door behind him. Before he could speak, Arthur was cursing inside the infirmary from the pain he must have felt.
“Manbloods…” he sighed annoyed and took you further away from the door.
He remembered too late that he had left behind the flower in the infirmary, a blunder he truly regretted.
He picked his words carefully, “I know how much this feast means to you. If you allow it, I will accompany you.”
You touched your ruined dress. “I would need to stop by my room first.”
It was as if he had completely forgotten the state your dress was in, his gaze dropped down to it. He cleared his throat. “Oh.”
“Want to come along and help me choose a dress to wear?”
It had slipped out of your mouth and your mind caught up only a second later. Your eyes widened at him. Why on earth had you just asked him that?
He stared for a moment. “Of course.”
Of course? A former monk felt comfortable to do this? The interest in his eyes said it all.
Timidly you walked next to him, to your room. That whole walk you were fidgeting with your sleeves. He often walked so close his arm bumped into you.
Once inside the room, you searched your wardrobe for another dress to wear. You fished three out and put them down on the bed to search for more. One had caught his interest, he lifted another one off of it to pick it up.
“This one?” he looked towards you.
“Not proper for the occasion I think.”
“Why?”
Hearing him so curious made you smile. “It’s quite open for an evening at the side of a former monk.”
He frowned a little until he saw you place your hand on your chest to explain where it was quite open. Then he cleared his throat, still holding on to the dress as he looked to the floor. He held the dress out for you to take. “Perhaps… let a former monk see it for himself and share his opinion on the matter?”
You gasped at the daring request he had made and playfully smacked his upper arm. “My goodness, Lancelot!”
The playful tap had not deterred him, the brief physical contact lured him in. He carelessly tossed the dress on top of the others and grabbed hold of your elbow to get you closer. “I believe I need to seek your aid tonight.”
Your voice was wavering under his gaze, the playfulness in his own was like music to your ears, “What ails you?”
“A yearning heart.”
“And you believe I can help with that?”
“I know you hold the cure.”
Gingerly he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over it slowly. “My healer...”
Your gazes were intertwined until his fell on your lips and he touched his thumb to the corner of it. There was hesitation in him, a visible fear of blundering or crossing a line you were not ready to cross yet.
“Please, Lancelot, if you think of kissing me…” You gave him your most inviting look. “Do it.”
There was an instant change in his eyes. His lips descended on yours, kissing you with every fiery bit of passion he possessed within him. Pulling you close and tight, hand on your hair to keep you close and trapped to his lips. As if he wanted to erase the memory of another on your lips. Stilling all thoughts and feeding your mind thrilling ones instead. A startled sound trying to flee your lips was silenced effortlessly by him. There was no question about it anymore, everything he had done for you was not out of obligation, it was because he loved you.
The idea to head back to the courtyard was quickly forgotten and replaced by the desire to spend the Lovers Feast as it was always intended to be.
Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?
Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. !!!Spicy and smut parts!!!!. Slight redemption arc.
Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…
~~~~!!!More Chapters will be added as the story progresses!!!~~~~
Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.
Please send me recommendations fics about ISAAC LAHEY OR TROY OTTO OR LORENZO DE MEDICI x READER!!! I need it rn why is it hard to find some good one @ me please A03 or Tumblr or Wattpad anything PLEASE 🙏
