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sundrop-writes · 8 months ago

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Why Am I The One?

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Reader

I’ll hold you like I used to - you know that I am home.

So darling if you love me... would you let me know?

Or go on, go on, go on - if you were thinking that the worst is yet to come.

Why am I the one always packing up my stuff?

For once, for once, for once, I get the feeling that I’m right where I belong.

Why Am I The One always packing up my stuff?

Summary:

Isaac loves you. He loves you more than anything else in the world - which is exactly why he has stayed away from you for so long.

But when Derek kicks him out onto the street in the pouring rain with absolutely no warning and no reasoning as to why, Isaac has nowhere else to go. He could claim that he sought you out because you're close by, because he knows that you won't turn him away in his time of need - but deep down, it's because he misses you. And staying away from you for so long is the hardest, stupidest thing he has ever done.

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Smut and Emotional Angst. Set during Season 3, Episode 4.

Word Count: 15,200

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

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

Warnings: this fic is equal parts smut and emotional angst/plot; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; this fic DOES use Y/N; there is no description of the reader's race but the reader is implied to be plus-sized (I can't help myself lmao); the reader is completely human (doesn't have any supernatural powers); this is based on the part in 3x04 where Derek kicks Issac out of the apartment (without telling him that it's to protect him) and leaves Isaac with no place to go - and in this version, instead of going to Scott, he goes to the reader's place (and in this case, she is his ex-girlfriend); mentions of the reader's mother being killed by 'a monster' (Peter Hale in his Alpha form); mentions of the abuse Isaac experienced from his father (non-detailed); Isaac being emotionally constipated/being unwilling to accept help/love/affection as a trauma response because of the abuse he experienced; Isaac emotionally bashing himself due to his trauma; cheating - Isaac 'cheated' on the reader with Erica and there is a depiction of that (them kissing, and later in the fic it mentions and glosses over some of their sexual experiences together) (Erica x Isaac is very much a background element); light Erica bashing from the reader - but a lot of this is written from Isaac's perspective, who is favourable to Erica, so I think it balances out (and I didn't want the narrative to pit the girls against each other because I hate that); Isaac verbally insults the reader during an argument and shoves her (not hard enough to harm or injure her, just to get her out of his personal space); Isaac wears the reader's clothes - so this implies that she is a size where she can comfortably share her pajamas and loungewear with him (I didn't mention if those clothes would be too big on him, just that he does fit into them); some Derek bashing - just because of the optics of what happened to Isaac and the reader not knowing Derek or his motives; mentions of Erica's canon death; for the smut - this is not the first time Isaac and the reader have had sex with each other (this is reunion sex for them); Isaac is more dominant and the reader is more submissive; there is lots of verbal praise (from Isaac toward the reader); slight mentions of the reader feeling insecure about her weight (but this is chased away by Isaac's verbal praise and it's not a prominent theme); protected sex (for once in one of my fics) - they use a condom; penis in vagina sex; slightly dubious consent - the reader is reminded of Isaac's cheating during sex and moves to end it, and Isaac continues (but it's very messy and emotional and the physical pleasure makes the reader want to continue and drowns out any doubts) (it is a very 'humans are not perfect, we are messy creatures' situation); lots of dirty talk - Isaac doesn't miss the opportunity to wind reader up with his dirty mouth; the reader slaps Isaac while they are having sex - not as a kink, but because she is upset at him; the sex goes from very rough to sweet love making (once they 'make up' with each other); orgasm denial (once - toward the reader); Isaac uses his strength to pin the reader down and to hold her arms down (not really strength kink, and I don't know if I would consider it bondage? idk); I think that is all.

A/N: We all know I'm in love with Isaac. His wooby pull attracted me like earth's gravitational pull, and Derek kicking him out into the rain so suddenly is literally the perfect recipe for a fic - the sadness, the emotions, and Isaac wearing a soaking wet white shirt like a whore. How could I not write a fic about this moment? Also, you guys know that I have been vibing with Exes to Lovers a lot lately - I just fucking love the concept of 'right person, wrong time' - it eats so hard. So this fic was a no brainer to me. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This fic is named after a song by Fun of the same name, and I actually found out that the song was written about the singer's experiences in foster care - having to constantly move from place to place and and feeling like he never had a true sense of 'home' because of it. And I love how well it suits Isaac's experiences - the fact that just when he started to establish a new sense of 'home' and family with Boyd and Erica, they were torn away from him. So I really wanted to use it for this fic.

...

It was a lonely night.

But unfortunately, you had been experiencing a lot of those lately.

Since the start of the school year, most of your ‘friends’ had been ghosting you. And that was putting it kindly. It seemed like everyone else was in some group, in on something else, always busy with something more important and not telling you why.

You couldn’t think of anything you had said or done to offend them. And you knew that sometimes, people did just get busy, or drift apart. But you got the distinct vibe that they had been avoiding you intentionally for one reason or another - and you hated not knowing why.

Sure, life had been weird for you since some giant prowling beast had murdered your mother, leaving your entire life in limbo. Since you had been locked in the school at night and discovered that one of your best friends from childhood, Scott, had the ability to turn into a fucking werewolf. But you were a bit more at ease when he used that ability to save your life from said giant prowling beast.

You knew Scott would never hurt you. Which was why, only a few short weeks later, you used the much more human ability of an improvised hairspray flamethrower to save his life in return.

But after you had witnessed that terrifying, burly beast lit on fire, forcing it to turn human - and then have its throat slashed by someone you later came to know as Derek Hale, Scott assured you that everything was ‘over’. Strangely enough, you trusted his words. And you actually expected your life to go back to some sense of normalcy after that night.

Scott told you that he had mastered the ability to control himself on a full moon, and though there were others in town like him (no matter how much you nagged him, he wouldn’t tell you who), you didn’t have to worry about anyone else in your family being attacked. Not as long as he was around, he had assured you.

Well, you didn’t have to worry about losing the little family that you had left.

With your mother gone and your father never in your life in the first place, you now lived with your sister in a small apartment downtown. She was attending the local college and working part time as a bartender and you were trying to finish up your education at Beacon Hills, despite the growing body count - which Scott still refused to tell you about. Claimed he didn’t know anything about, but you could sense the lies coming off him because you had known him for so long.

You had a nagging feeling that him and Stiles knew far more about the recent wave of murders than they were letting on. And it had a whole lot to do with the reason why they were dodging all of your calls, texts, and any efforts that you made to hang out with them. Even Allison and Lydia weren’t returning your messages, and it was downright bothering you.

So you were spending another Friday night at home by yourself while your sister went out on a date, as lonely as you had ever been and unable to do anything about it. But still, you were trying your hardest to make the best of it - getting ready to curl up on the couch to watch Netflix in your pajamas. All your homework was done purely out of boredom, and you had a pile of junk food ready to go, a few horror movies queued up when-

A knock on the door. Of course.

It was either the creepy guy from down the hall who had ‘forgotten’ his key again, or your sister, who had forgotten one of several potential things.

You put your bowl of chips aside, paused on the intro screen of the movie and heaved a sigh as you shrugged off your cozy throw blanket and shoved on your slippers to cross the cold floor toward the door.

“Let me guess, you forgot your phone again?” You stated this loud enough for your sister to hear you through the door as you unhooked the safety chain and opened it, expecting her to come barreling in complaining about her poor memory.

You found yourself entirely shaken with shock to discover that it wasn’t at all who you were expecting.

“Isaac.” You breathed out the name in a gentle gasp, entirely in disbelief of him standing there.

He was soaking wet from the rain, his white tee shirt sticking to his body in a way that shouldn’t have been as sinful and eye-catching as it was - his back slouched and his eyes low to the ground, indicating how truly shameful he was to be here at your doorstep, needing your help. He was shivering slightly all over, potent enough to be seen, clearly freezing from the cold water that had penetrated through his clothes and soaked him to the bone.

He had walked through the pouring rain to get here - without a coat.

And he was carrying a large duffle bag?

Come to think of it, you had no clue where he had been staying since his father had died. But he had turned eighteen shortly before it happened (which was why they had been intent to charge him with murder when they thought he was responsible) - so he wouldn’t be a ward of the state just because he was an orphan. He had to be responsible for himself. Even if he wasn’t ready for that responsibility.

He had been so damn intent on dodging your calls and ignoring you in person, so it’s not like he was letting you offer your help anyway. A large part of the reason that you were so surprised to see him here now.

“What are you doing here?” You couldn’t help but to ask, hating the bitterness that popped up in your voice, entirely against your will.

You weren’t even sure if you were happy to see him. Not with the way things ended between the two of you. With the fact that he hadn’t even made an effort to apologize.

“Look, I’m sorry, but you were the only person I could think of-” His voice was curdled and pathetic, edging on tears and shaking from how cold he was.

“Of course.” You scoffed, a nearly automated response filled with resentment tapering over from months ago.

You hated that he came to you in a time of crisis, something so natural to him, just like he used to. But he couldn’t lean on you in comfort, he couldn’t take the good with the bad. Isaac could never tolerate goodness - that was something you had learned quickly with him.

But you knew that had to come with the territory - loving someone so broken and slipping on their sharp edges. You were bound to cut yourself every now and again. Isaac left you with more cuts than you could count, and you kept on coming back for more - because you loved him more than his bitterness. You loved him more than his thorns, more than the fight he put up when you tried to love him.

Isaac frowned and shook his head, turning to leave again, and your chest seized up with fear and pain. Instinctively, you reached out for him, just like you had so many times before, and you caught him by one of his wrists, digging your fingers in. His skin was freezing and it made you realize even more that he needed you. It was cold outside and he needed you for warmth, for shelter, and so much more that he couldn’t even begin to ask for.

“Isaac-” You choked out.

The touch caused him to look up into your eyes, and it was a deadly attack of icy blue through wet lashes - wet from the rain or from his tears, you couldn’t be sure. He looked every bit a kicked puppy, and you knew that you couldn’t turn him away. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

“I’m sorry.” You pressed, trying to make sure that he truly heard it and knew that you meant it. “Please don’t go. You should come in - you need to get warmed up. Isaac, please don’t think that I don’t care about you anymore. Please don’t think that I would turn you away,”

That was how things always went with him. You begging him to take the most basic of care and kindness, you begging him to open up and receive everything you had to offer him. You begging him to let himself be loved.

‘A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.’

It was something you had read once and could never get it out of your head every single time Isaac did this - every single time he ran from you trying to be kind to him. His father had ruined him in so many deeper ways than the marks left on his skin.

“You shouldn’t.” He said - responding to your words carefully, quietly.

But ultimately, he flexed to your touch and stepped inside, letting you close the door behind him, now dripping onto the welcome mat. He placed his bag down by his feet as you puzzled at his words. The confused look on your face caused him to further explain.

“You shouldn’t care about me anymore.”

You let out a sigh, retreating to the couch to grab the blanket you had just been covered up in. With your back turned to him, you used this as a quiet moment to squeak out a vulnerability, simply because you didn’t have to see his face when you said it.

“Look, Isaac, despite what happened - I still do.”

You whispered, unsure if he would hear you. You had no idea that with his enhanced werewolf hearing, he heard every single word crystal clear, including the overly emotional crack in your voice.

“No matter what happens… I don’t think that I’ll ever stop caring about you.”

Isaac held his breath at this.

Dammit.

…

You and Isaac had dated for two years before it all happened.

Two years ignorant ‘bliss’ before a giant monster - well, two different giant monsters actually - came barreling through town and supremely fucked up both of your lives. The one that killed your mother and the one that killed his father.

Before that, the two of you were happy together. Isaac’s life with his father was not exactly blissful. Far from it. But he escaped from the horrors of it when he was with you. He was planning a life after graduation when he could get away with you, be free of his father, and the two of you could live a happy, normal life together.

You were the love of Isaac’s life. He never loved anyone else like he loved you.

He would deny it - but there was no past tense on that. You are overwhelming still the love of Isaac’s life. The two of you had your first kiss together, you lost your virginities to each other, you were the first person that he ever said the big L to. You made him so impossibly happy.

You were the only person in the world who had helped him start on the impossible journey of healing from even a small portion of what his father had put him through. In a lifetime when he had felt abandoned, unloved, useless, abused - you made him feel loved. You made him feel like he was worth something as long as he was loving you.

When Derek Hale promised him a solution to all of his problems, Isaac didn’t believe it. Derek promised him freedom, power, family - things he never even dreamed of having. The only problem? In this new family, he couldn’t have you. Having all of this new power would put you at risk. There were new dangers - hunters, people who would try to hurt you. With this new power, Isaac might even hurt you himself, even if unintentionally.

Isaac wasn’t entirely sure why he agreed to it. Maybe because Derek made it sound so appealing. Maybe because he thought it was inevitable, just a matter of time before you found out that he was a poison seed and you stopped loving him, and he thought that he needed a backup plan for when that happened. Isaac thought he needed to stand on his own two legs without you. He didn’t need something as fading and immeasurable as love - he needed power. And Derek could give that to him.

So he accepted Derek’s Bite - and he transcended into something bigger, badder, and better. Something that would never be loved by you again.

The only problem was: you didn’t know that yet.

His father was dead, he had found a new pack - there was just one last severance from his old life that needed to be made. So he did it as cleanly as he could.

He broke your heart because it was something that needed to be done.

…

‘Meet me in the boys locker room at 4:45.’

It was a note in Issac’s handwriting - it had been slipped into your locker, clearly meant for some late afternoon rendezvous. At the very least, you were filled with joy at the prospect of getting to talk to your boyfriend alone.

He had been acting so strange lately. Which was more than understandable, considering that his father had been murdered and he had been arrested for it. You hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him since you had exonerated him with your sworn testimony that he had been at your place on the night of the murder. (And of course, the cops hadn’t believed you until you had tracked down the take-out delivery guy who had also sworn that he had seen Isaac in your apartment when dropping off food that night.)

You hadn’t gotten to spend any quality time with Isaac since then, so this felt like a breath of fresh air. You knew that lacrosse practice ended at 3:30, so the locker room would be empty - you wondered if Isaac just wanted to talk, wanted to walk you home, or something else entirely…

Your stomach was bubbling with butterflies as you held the note in your hands and you rounded the corner into the locker room, excited to greet Isaac with a hug and feel his arms around you for the first time in far too long.

You were surprised when you heard the sound of kissing.

You wondered if you had walked in on someone else’s afternoon rendezvous by mistake - if the locker room was otherwise occupied and Isaac knew it too. Perhaps he had sent you a text to meet him somewhere else. Before you could pull out your phone to check, your eyes glanced up through the metal mesh and of the cubbies, and you caught a glimpse of absolutely unmistakable pale skin and dirty blond hair.

A rough, muscled back with bright red scratch marks marring his skin.

“Isaac?!” You gasped, utterly shocked.

You charged further into the room, no longer caring if you were intruding on someone’s privacy - you needed to know. If this was just a terrible case of mistaken identity, then you would be embarrassed and profusely apologize.

Your heart dropped, becoming a cold rock in your stomach when surely enough, it was your boyfriend standing there - shirtless, his pants undone, his face and chest smudged with red lipstick while Erica Reyes was pinned up against one of the lockers. She was smugly grinning at you, wearing nothing but jeans and a bra, her hair a complete mess.

“Barge in, much?” Erica said, sounding more like a gloat than an accusation of your rudeness.

You didn’t have the energy to pay her any mind.

“Isaac, what the hell?” You screamed at him, sounding too pathetic to be angry, your voice already gripped by tears.

“Can you give us a minute?” He said this to Erica, seeming far too casual. She simply shrugged, picking up her discarded shirt, jacket, and heels before she turned to leave.

You clenched a shaking fist and simply gave her a glare. You knew that she had been on some kind of chaos streak lately, and Allison had mentioned that she had threatened to ‘steal’ Scott - something that more than left a sour taste in your mouth about a girl that you previously had a better opinion of. You didn’t think that she was cruel enough to actually go through with something like this. You used to think of her as a nice girl.

But the bulk of your anger was most definitely directed at your piece of shit, cheating boyfriend.

Isaac wiped the edge of his mouth with the back of his hand, not even getting off a small portion of the lipstick that was wildly smeared around his face. Then he moved to zip up his pants. You continued to gape at him in shock, a harsh, deep pain blooming in your chest as you waited for him to say something.

“Isaac, tell me this is a joke-” You choked out, looking for some anchor to hold onto, some explanation.

“A joke?” Isaac smiled, all teeth, the expression in his eyes downright dead. You found him impossible to read in those moments. “Y/N, the only joke here has been our relationship.”

“You - you gave me a note.” You said, holding up the small slip of paper - the one that previously had you so giddy with joy at the prospect of spending time with him. “You told me to meet you here, I thought-”

‘I thought you wanted to spend time with me. I thought you loved me.’

The words died off in your throat, clenching in on itself as the harsh waves of truth overtook you.

If he wanted to break up with you, making out with Erica in front of you, putting on some show - it was one nasty way to do it.

“Did I?” He asked, his tone sounding utterly sarcastic and mean, faking dumb in the absolutely worst way as he snatched the paper from you and pretended to look it over. “I guess I must have forgotten.” He shrugged. “When Erica came in here looking for me, I forgot all about you. Having her mouth all over me-”

“Stop it.” You barked, cutting him off.

Why was he being so cruel? Was he trying to make you angry on purpose? Why was he lying about forgetting that he had invited you here?

Obviously he wanted you to see him kissing Erica - why was he lying about it now?

“Why are you doing this?” You demanded, tears freely flowing down your face.

Isaac’s eyes drifted to your cheeks, his wicked smirk flexing into a frown of his own - only for a second, a deep sadness penetrating through the mask he had carefully crafted. What the hell did he have to be upset about? He crossed his arms over his still shirtless chest, glaring at you.

“Why is it so hard for you to understand?” He said, fighting to keep his voice firm. “I’m done with you. We’re over. Okay? I-”

“If you wanted to break up with me, you could have just done it.” You told him, sadness gripping at your throat. “Why the hell are you being so mean? Do you want me to hate you or something?”

‘Yes.’ A voice chanted in his mind. ‘Yes - fucking hate me. Stay the hell away from me. Keep yourself safe.’

He shrugged, his eyes avoiding you suddenly.

When he went for too long without speaking, an obvious question popped up in your mind.

“How - how long has this been going on for?” You asked.

You wondered if that was why he had been acting so strange lately - dodging your calls, avoiding any attempt you made to see him. Had he been spending that time with Erica instead?

“What? Me and Erica?” He posed, gesturing vaguely toward the door where she had disappeared.

He grinned. You had unintentionally given him the perfect wedge - the final nail in the coffin of your relationship. Something that would make sure you steered clear of him for a long time, something that would make sure you made absolutely no attempt to be ‘amicable’ or be friends with him after this break-up.

“A few weeks.” He shrugged. “Around the time I started getting bored with you.”

You let out a sob.

“You’re lying.” You wept. You wanted it to be a lie, but in those moments - you couldn’t have picked out the truth if someone smacked you with it.

“Did you ever consider that I never loved you in the first place?” Isaac posed, sounding oddly menacing and steady in his declaration. “That you were just a placeholder for me until I found something better?”

“No, that’s not true.” You cried, your voice becoming more wet with tears by the second. “Isaac, why are you lying? Is something wrong? Please-”

“You’re what’s wrong!” He argued, raising his tone, hoping to piss you off, make you flee. “You’re just a… a dumb girl, okay? You’re not the only one who wants me, there are dozens more like you! I don’t need you now, and I never did.”

You were used to pushing back with him. Pushing to get what you wanted. With the intense emotional chaos, you weren’t sure what else to do.

“Please, just tell me-”

You kept pushing, trying to get close to him - the moment your soothing hands crept into his space, he panicked and shoved you back, nearly knocking you clean off your feet with a strength he hadn’t yet learned how to control. The rush of terror and shock on your face was all he needed to remember why he was doing this - why it was important.

“We’re done here.” He told you, entirely cold. “I never loved you, I just used you, and-” He hesitated before he said the next part, hating that it had to be done. “I hope you find someone who deserves an ugly whore like you.”

It didn’t feel like the truth - but it still cut you like a knife.

It made you more determined to figure out why he was lying. But in those moments, you had absolutely no fight left in you. You couldn’t stand there and pry, and pry, and pry in order to figure it out. So, against your better judgment, with nothing else left to do - he got his wish.

You fled, tears ripe in your eyes.

And from there on out, any attempts you made to talk to Scott, Stiles, or Lydia about the incident were successfully dodged, and when Allison’s mother died, you didn’t feel right putting the weight of your shitty break-up on top of her problems. So eventually - you just gave up on finding out about the truth. And you settled on trying to become friends with Issac - which he also dodged.

And ultimately - you found yourself so achingly alone.

…

Eventually, you had let it go.

You chalked everything - all of Isaac’s weird behavior, his avoidance of you - up to the fact that he had been cheating on you. You hated that your first love had done something like that to you. It was only made worse by the fact that you didn’t have any of your friends to lean on after you found out about it, but you moved on. You ended up throwing yourself into your school work to try and distract yourself from all the intense emotions, so now your grades were soaring and you were an A student, so at least one good thing came out of the mess.

You tried not to focus on the bad memories now that Isaac was in front of you, clearly wounded and fleeing from something. Even if it was just as a friend, he needed your help now. You were still a human being, and you couldn’t deny him of that. He didn’t have any other family - he didn’t have anywhere else to go. So you grabbed the blanket - a large, fuzzy one that you had been using, and brought it across the room toward him.

Then, as you took in the sight of his soaking wet clothes once again, his slightly purpling lips and the way he was shivering from the cold, you realized something.

“Take your clothes off.” You told him.

“What?” He gaped at you, clearly shocked by this demand.

“Come on, clothes off.” You repeated your words. “You’re never gonna get warm if you’re wearing soaking wet, freezing clothes.” He hesitated still, and you added on. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

It was true. Not only did the two of you lose your virginities to each other, but the two of you had a very active sex life during your two year long relationship. (It was one of the reasons why his cheating shocked you most. You thought that you had been more than enough for him.) You had to remind yourself not to think about that. You wouldn’t let yourself get angry at him. Not now. You had to be mature.

Isaac nodded, and then kicked off his shoes, which were wet enough for the soles to loudly squish. You weren’t sure if you should advert your eyes as he peeled off his white shirt, the wet fabric sticking to his skin in a way that seemed far too sexual for the moment. It felt too intimate, letting yourself stare at his soft glistening skin, but you almost couldn’t look away.

Sure, you had seen Isaac naked plenty of times before - but this Isaac felt entirely different than the one you were used to. He used to be more scrawny. He used to be much more on the leaner side, and now he was muscled, thick, glorious. You had no clue that taking up some god-like workout plan had been one of the things he’d done during the time since his father’s death, but fuck - he looked gorgeous.

You scorned yourself for staring while he worked open his pants, his fingers still shaking from the cold, driving home his vulnerability all the more, driving a tinge of shame into you. And oh god, the fabric of his gray boxers were wet, sticking to the distinct outline of his thick soft cock-

By the time he got his pants off and around his ankles, you didn’t wait to see if he would shed the underwear before you moved towards him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, partially for modesty and partially to start warming him up.

“Better?” You asked, rubbing his shoulders through the fabric instinctively, hoping to get some blood circulating through his extremities.

“Yeah, better.” He easily agreed, his voice coming out less shaky, his lips shivering less now. “Thank you, Y/N. Genuinely. You didn’t have to do any of this for me. I know you don’t owe me anything after-”

He abruptly cut himself off, unable to make himself say the words, and you hated the clench in your chest as you thought about it. He was right, you didn’t owe him anything. Anybody else would have slammed the door in his face. Anybody else would have laughed at his misfortune. So why the hell were you doing this?

You still loved him.

That became all the more apparent to you as you stood there, close to him, holding the broadness of his shoulders under your hands, remembering what it was like to hug him, to be held by him, to kiss him every single day. Staring at his angelic face, having those sweet blue eyes gaze back at you, something in them still so sweet and affectionate towards you.

He still looked at you the way he used to. Maybe you were delusional. But you thought it was still there. The love he claimed he never had for you, still lingering there.

It grappled at something deep in your chest and pulled, tempting you to lean in and sink home, pressing yourself against his lips.

But no - you couldn’t.

You had to shake yourself back to reality. You had to remind yourself what he had done. He had hurt you, badly. You couldn’t let yourself be pulled in again by a stupid pretty face.

“I should put your clothes in the dryer.” You said suddenly, breaking a tense silence that had otherwise only been filled by the sound of rain pouring down outside.

That’s what you needed to do - go to the laundry room downstairs, get far away from him. You needed more than a few minutes to distance yourself and clear your head.

You rushed to get away from him, leaning down and picking up his soaking wet clothes, the fabric chilly against your hands.

“Don’t.” Isaac croaked out, barely above a whisper, surprising you entirely.

You both knew that he wasn’t protesting having dry clothes - he was stopping you from leaving. He was trying to chase the tension that you were desperate to get away from.

You felt betrayed.

In your mind, you were the only one truly at risk of getting hurt by this. You had no idea how deeply he had missed you over the months, how many times he had resisted the urge to rush back into your arms. How many nights he spent plagued by nightmares with horrid visions of your dead body - how real it all was to him.

“Isaac-” You tried to form a protest, but then you saw a flourish of movement out of the corner of your eye, and a flash of pale skin.

It was enough to shock you and catch your attention, and your head whipped around to see that Isaac had dropped the blanket entirely, letting it pool around his ankles. Clearly, he knew that you had been admiring his body before and he was trying to use that to his advantage now. He knew that he was a smooth, beautiful, muscled, Adonis-like figure and he was trying to lure you in with that visual appeal.

You were determined not to let it work.

“Isaac, you must be freezing, you-”

You were going to continue on - going to tell him about how he needed dry clothes and how you should attend to getting that done, and how he should put the blanket on and cover up while you were gone. But he cut off your words when he crossed the room toward you, gently cupping both sides of your face with his freezing hands.

It was an icy shock that caused you to drop his wet clothes onto the floor once again. You reached up in an attempt to tear his touch away, but instinct took over - the second your hands were on top of his, your body flexed with gentleness. You found yourself leaning in, covering his hands with your own, unconsciously trying to warm him yet again.

Caring for him was a muscle that had been well formed in your body, exercised often. It was difficult to ignore now.

“Then warm me up.” He choked out, tears dancing in his eyes as he stared at you so steadily, unwavering. “Warm me up, please.”

He begged you, clearly seeking more than a blanket, more than dry clothes, more than a warm bed. He was seeking the warmth that you had thrust onto him so many times that he had fought off before - your kindness. Your love. The thing rattling around inside of you that you shouldn’t even feel for him anymore.

“Please,” He choked out. “I haven’t felt warm in so long.”

The desperation curling in his voice was truly what got you - the gloss of sadness in his eyes, the way he looked so kicked and alone. It was something you had seen from him dozens of times before, when he had knocked on your bedroom window at three in the morning after having a bad night with his father - bruised, broken, looking for comfort that you would have to fight with him to accept.

Everything else flew out of your mind then. It was an instinct - to hold him. It was an instinct to grab him up in your arms and make a home for him there. Your heart so easily forgot about all the pain he had made for you, because you were so used to pushing pain aside for him in the name of comfort.

“Isaac,” You said his name gently again, this time reaching up and letting yourself give into the pull - your mouth drifting toward his and finally sealing into that deadly kiss.

You couldn’t contain the moan that spilled out of you the second that you felt the smoothness of his lips against yours for the first time in so long. You hated how he still felt so good - how he still felt like home.

His arms rushed to wrap around your torso in the most utterly possessive way - not just a hug, not just seeking comfort, affection, or warmth - but holding you in a way that said he had truly missed you. Holding you as tightly as he could, pressing your whole body against his, encasing himself around you as though trying to protect you from the world with his flesh alone. Your hands went to his hair, rabid and frantic as you tightly gripped onto the curly locks - holding him in place as you melted your mouth against his, your kisses quickly turning from smooth and sweet to downright frantic.

You never thought that you would have this back again, that you would have him back, and you couldn’t help but to enjoy it now. The press of his body against yours, so thick and muscled now, quickly warming up, so different but still so Isaac. The gentle whimpers he released into your mouth, something so familiar - his sweetness coming through, as much as you tried to deny it. Within moments, it unlocked an intense need within you. It made you realize how terribly long it had been since the last time you had cum.

If he was determined for you to make him warm, then you would get something out of it too. If you were going to make a stupid mistake, then you were going to make it right. (Or make it terribly wrong - you weren’t sure which it was yet.)

You pulled away from his lips and he let out a disappointed whine, and while you panted, out of breath against his chin, you began pushing him, shuffling back toward your bedroom, hoping he would get the hint and understand. Which he didn’t, his whole body numb and dumb with lust, still tightly holding onto you, almost fighting against your movements.

“Bed.” You huffed at him. “Bed, Isaac, go-”

He let out a grunt of understanding, but then he moved a hand to the back of your head, pulling you into another kiss. You dug your nails into his shoulders, about to push him away, but you unconsciously melted into the movement, letting out another moan. Between the two of you, the path to your bedroom was stumbling and messy, and took far longer than it needed to be - heated mouths tonguing against each other, neither of you actually looking as you got lost in the kisses, frantically pawing at each other.

When his hand found the hem of your cotton sleep shirt, part of you blinked in protest, slightly hesitant. But still, you found yourself pulling away from his lips for a single moment and then the item was gone, shed and ditched on the floor. This revealed you completely to him, braless.

Of course, he had seen you naked before too. Plenty of times. But still, you felt a stitch of regret that you hadn’t used the time since the break-up to get some kind of ‘revenge body’. You hadn’t been religiously hitting the gym as apparently he had been. Instead, you had been obsessively hitting the books and spending nights alone with junk food, and-

“God, you are so much more beautiful than I remembered.” He breathed out, the words so utterly passionate and sacred on his lips.

Your stomach clenched at this. You felt yourself being involuntarily swallowed up by your affection for him again. Drowning in a love for him that you had long since locked away deep somewhere, trying to smother it out until it died. Apparently you had been unsuccessful in that.

Isaac only made it worse when he dove in for another kiss, smothering your lips with heat again as he ran his hands, now much warmer, over your body - up your stomach, gently tracing the stretch marks there as though he appreciated each one. His hands coming to cup your breasts and oh-so-lightly flicking at your nipples, teasing them as he tongued along your teeth.

You could barely handle it - the gentle treatment, the way it made your pussy flutter and leak wetness into your panties. You knew all too soon, you would be entirely weak to him. If you weren’t careful, you would let him do anything he wanted to you.

You continued to back him up, your hand going to the doorknob of your bedroom and finally, successfully pushing him inside. You pushed him back until his knees met the bed and then you brought two hands to his chest, shoving him out of the kiss and tossing him back onto the bed - this caused him to make a startled noise as he fell back onto your neatly made covers and collection of fluffy pillows.

And then, he looked up at you with an utterly cocky smirk - strangely, one that only made you want to fuck him even more.

“Come on, c’mere-” He encouraged you, full of breath, holding out his hands to you.

You felt a rush of lust-fueled bravery and you tucked your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and underwear all at once, shoving them down over your hips, pushing out any last bits of insecurity that you felt.

You waited for Isaac to follow your lead and strip out of his last remaining bit of clothing. Instead, he sat there, sprawled out on the bed, leaning on his elbows, looking at you in the low lighting (the streetlamps coming in through the window with the sound of rain still pouring, pounding against the glass) - his jaw dropped and his eyes wide, looking at you with a unique kind of awe that you hadn’t seen on his face before. Not even the first time he had seen you naked and he had given you that ‘teenage boy seeing tits for the first time’ look.

It was like he was well and truly seeing you for the first time - like the distance had made him appreciate you so much more. It made you feel so much more naked, and gave you the urge to cover yourself.

Just as you were about to, he spoke again.

“You are so utterly gorgeous.” He told you, his voice full of that epic passion that made your insides quake. “So fucking perfect. Fuck.”

“Isaac-” You squeaked out his name, entirely unsure of what else to say.

He pushed himself up, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you forward until you stumbled and tripped, landing on the bed between his thighs. You let out a breathy gasp as he began kissing down your neck - smoothly, softly, seemingly intent to appreciate you now that he had you here. It brought more of those dangerously warm feelings washing up - it made you feel soft and sappy inside, made you miss the days when you called Isaac your boyfriend. Days when the two of you used to lay on the couch together and cuddle, when you held hands in the hallways, when you would tell each other everything.

It was a dangerous feeling to have now.

One of his hands pulled on your thigh and you understood his unconscious wish - moving your legs to straddle around his waist as he began sucking a spot on the base of your neck, a tender bit of skin he knew was a weakness he could exploit. This sent warm waves of pleasure through you while he squeezed both hands across your ass, bringing you to sit down fully on his still clothed crotch. It sent a shockwave through you - feeling his hard, clothed cock pressing right up against your hot, naked pussy - it made you intensely needy, caused you to unconsciously grind down on him and let out a high, needy moan.

“Isaac, please,”

You knew that you were hovering in a dangerous place. All of this was settling you back into familiarity - if you weren’t careful, you would set yourself up for hurt all over again. You were letting him pry you open, inviting him to tear through your heart all over again, and then - what would be left for you?

No - you needed mindless sex. You needed to fuck him, for closure. And then you needed to put him out of your life completely.

You leaned over to the nightstand, unlatching him from your neck in the process. You tried your hardest to ignore the sweet kisses he peppered along your shoulder as you dug through the drawer for a condom, checking to make sure it wasn’t expired (because woefully, he had been the last person you had used this pack with) before you came back with it in hand.

When Isaac saw you bring it to your teeth with the clear intentions of ripping it open, it began to protest.

“Woah, Y/N, wait-” He rushed out the words, and you glared at him.

“‘Wait’, what? I thought this is what you wanted.”

The words came off your tongue much crueler than you intended - a result of you being harshly at odds with yourself. You were trying desperately not to stumble back into being that foolish girl who loved him too much. Trying to get over your feelings for him, to prove to yourself that you could be as emotionally detached as he was on that day.

He swallowed thickly, looking at you with those godforsaken puppy eyes. Those eyes that had drawn you in so many times before.

“I just-”

‘I wanted to kiss over every inch of your body. I wanted it to be slow. I wanted to make love to you. I wanted to prove to you how much I missed you, how huge of a mistake I made.’

“Nothing.” Isaac choked out - and then, surprisingly, he snatched the condom from you.

In one smooth move, he captured your mouth with his again, wrapping his arms around your back and flipping you so that you were underneath him. It was a strong, powerful move that had you whimpering into his mouth, feeling utterly pathetic in his shadow as your cunt leaked more needy wetness against his boxers. You hated that you unconsciously leaned into his touches, desperate for more.

When he pulled away from the kiss, you looked on breathlessly as he shoved down his underwear and kicked them off, causing his impressive cock to spring free and smack against his stomach. Something you stared at like a beacon, your pussy clenching hungrily around nothing while he tore open the condom and rolled it on.

He then took the base of his cock in hand, putting the other hand on the bed beside you to prop himself up while he teased the tip of his cock along your folds, parting your pussy as he teased inside - lightly bumping your clit in a way that drove you insane.

“Ready?” He asked, his voice breathy and full of need, something you had so dearly missed hearing from him.

“Hurry up,” You egged him on, partly due to impatience from the teasing, wound up by the nagging feeling of the thick cockhead prodding against your throbbing cunt - and partly because you were eager to get this over with. You were eager to prove to yourself that you could do this and feel nothing inside. That ultimately, you were over him.

He grinned, all teeth, almost evil, and he let out a sharp breath. Then, finally, pushed forward, shoving his cock inside of you all at once - one smooth push that had his hips shoving right up against yours, his coarse pubic hairs brushing against the sensitive, swollen lips of your pussy.

You let out a throaty moan as you felt the full stretch of his cock so abruptly - a slight sting as your inner muscles struggled to become accustomed to him after going for so long without. Sure, you had masturbated, struggling to get past the sexual frustration while being single. And you really hadn’t wanted to resort to calling on any of your random male classmates for a ‘no strings attached’ fuck because you didn’t want to deal with the social interaction or the potential rumors.

And really, your fingers were nothing compared to the stretch of Isaac’s magnificent, thick cock.

Isaac saw the shock on your face as you felt just how big he was, as your body ached to remember it and you felt so fucking full again. He felt a wave of cocky pride flow through him as you clenched down on him, truly feeling every single inch.

“You asked for it,” He told you firmly, the confidence in his voice sending waves of pleasure through you - he had never been so outright cocky before. And you were turned on even more, even wetter when he added on a quiet, sharp whisper of: “Fuck, I missed this.”

But it was a bitter, double edged sword. As much as it turned you on to hear that hushed whisper coming off his lips, it only reminded you that the two of you had been parted. That he had done something cruel to you in order for that parting to happen - that his stupid decisions were the reason that you had been forced to miss him.

“Don’t.” You said sharply, raising your hands to his shoulders and digging your nails in as a type of warning, hoping that he would simply shut up and fuck you - mindless and hard, just like you needed. That he would make you cum, and then he could sleep on the couch for the night before finding other arrangements.

He gave you a smirk - one that said he had found the perfect button to push, and rather than turning away from it, he was going to slam on it until he broke you.

“What?” He said, all breath, all need - that tone that made your pussy absolutely flutter. “You don’t want me talking about how much I missed this pussy?”

“Isaac-” You said his name in a warning tone, digging your nails into him again, but your words were cut off by him pressing his pelvis into you, angling sharply against you in a way that put pressure against your clit. Like he knew exactly what he was doing, like he had picked up the skill with someone else-

Erica. Of course. It only served to piss you off more, and you moved to shove him off you.

But he began moving his hips, then - his knees poised against the mattress, using it for leverage as he began fucking you. It was a sensation you hadn’t realized you had missed so much - the smooth, wet slide of his cock in and out of you, the slight burn from him fucking you so harshly, unstretched - the pure need pulsing through you, the feeling of being so full.

Your little gasp was quickly drowned out when he began talking again.

“I’m not allowed to tell you how much I missed this feeling, huh?”

Isaac grunted, his voice only wavering slightly from the effort as he sped up, slamming his hips into you harder, rougher - quickly filling the room with the sound of skin slapping against skin, easily making your pussy lips glow with a beautiful kind of pain that only made it feel so much better.

“You don’t wanna hear about how much I missed this tight little cunt squeezing my cock?”

He had never been like this with you before.

Every single time the two of you had been in bed together, it had always been slow, sweet. The Isaac you knew before always made love to you. He was always so shy and loving. This was a side of him that you had never seen before, and if your mind wasn’t slowly melting between your ears from the pure pleasure, then you would have had the room to be shy about how much wetter you were getting around his cock, how much sloppier the sounds were becoming as he drilled into you even harder.

“Sh-” You squeaked out, the potential words that you had wanted to be ‘shut up’ easily drowned out by a pathetic moan. He chased more noises out of you when he reached down and thumbed across your clit - just a light tease, but enough to send shocks curling across your spine, enough to have you curling against the bed and squeezing his cock in that way he loved so much.

“What was that?” He mocked you, the tone of his voice a cocky imitation of the sweet way he used to talk to you, condescending in a way you should have hated.

It was definitely not something that should have made your head float and not something that should have brought even more heat to your face. Clearly, he sensed it from a mile away, saw it written all over your face - saw another button to push, and kept on going.

This was a game to him now. And regrettably, he was winning.

“Aww, baby, you wanna hear more? You wanna hear more about how much I missed your sweet little pussy?”

You choked on your own breath trying to protest against him, hating how perfectly his words got to you. And now, even your hands were numb and limp and you couldn’t claw at him as your own kind of petty revenge. You could barely even hang on as he continued pounding into you roughly, shoving you across the bed, making the headboard shake.

All you could do was choke on your own spit and take the blurring pleasure of his thick cock slamming into you while he leaned down to purr his next filthy words into your ear.

“You know, nothing can compare to the feeling of this sweet pussy gripping my cock,” He said, putting cruel emphasis on these words, causing your heart to bitterly ache in your chest.

Was he mocking you on purpose? Was this his way of asking for forgiveness, saying that he regretted what he had done?

It was something you couldn’t discern now - not with your brain so thoroughly melted by his cock.

You let out a whimper in return, the sadness mixing strangely with the pleasure he was fucking into your throbbing pussy.

“Nothing is better than the feeling of your soft, gorgeous body underneath me.” He added on, running his hands up your hips and to your breasts for emphasis. “Nothing is better than cumming while your pretty eyes look up at me, Y/N, you-”

Something inside of you snapped.

Perhaps it was because he was saying all of the right things, drifting back into that sweet man that you had fallen in love with. Inadvertently triggering all of that affection inside of you again, but you couldn’t help yourself.

You reached up and slapped him broadly across the face.

It was a very weak hit from your pleasure-numb hand, barely enough to make him flinch, but it was certainly enough to get his attention.

In response, in a fraction of a moment, he paused his rough movements, completely still his hips from fucking you, and grabbed both of your wrists, pinning you down to the bed with the impressive strength of his newly worked muscles. He shoved his cock deep inside of you, settling it there, pressing his hips tightly against yours in an almost spiteful way.

This created the battling sensations of your orgasm curling up in your stomach, already so close, and the fiery anger you had for him, along with the love for him that you didn’t want to release caged up inside of you. It was almost too much, too overwhelming while you stared into his eyes, trying desperately to read the stiff expression he wore.

“Why are you doing this?” You demanded sharply.

You desperately wanted to know what he wanted out of this. He had begged you for warmth, for the touch of another body against his - but clearly, this was about so much more.

Did he want forgiveness? Did he genuinely want to work on the relationship because he had missed you? Did he see what he had done as a mistake?

Did he want to simply rub all of it in your face? Did he want the bragging rights of having cheated on you and the ability to come back and fuck you whenever he wanted just to lord it all over you? To know that he could screw you over and still screw you?

He leaned in closer to your face, and you were praying that he would give you a definitive answer.

“You let me in.” He told you gruffly, his eyes dark.

You both knew that this had a dangerous double meaning. You had dared to let him in the front door when he knocked. You had let him into your life when he had told you over and over again that he was simply ‘poison’, that it would end in pain for the both of you. Had he been right about that, after all? You knew that he had more trauma than you could reasonably comprehend, but you didn’t know that heinous self sabotage was his number one reason for ruined relationships.

When would fighting for him no longer be viable?

Before you could puzzle it all out, he began fucking into you harshly once again.

“Fuck you,” You squeaked out, breathless - it wasn’t clever, but it was all you could come up with.

Your mind was useless while his cock was turning your brain to mince meat once again, making your pussy delightfully sore and unfortunately, quickly bringing your orgasm to life in your belly with rapidly hotter waves of pleasure that he was forcing through your body.

“You - you can’t tell me that you didn’t miss t-this,” He grunted out.

He pressed his hips tightly to yours and grinded in deep, angling his hips in that skilled way once again that put pressure on your clit. He knew how to perfectly trap that swollen bead between your two bodies, slowly torturing you with rapid little shocks while he drove home just how full he made you feel with each stroke of his hips.

At this point, even though you were dizzy and desperate to cum, you were also sick of his self righteous attitude - still looking to deny him.

“I - I didn’t,” You choked out in reply, your body more than betraying your lie.

Your muscles seized toward him and you struggled against the hold he still had on your wrists, unconsciously fucking your hips against him. You needed more friction on your clit, needing just a bit more before you could cum.

Isaac stopped.

He completely stilled himself, making your orgasm cold and stale, ebbing off inside of you. Tears leaked thick and bold from your eyes - partially from the denial, and partially from all of the cruel emotions battling inside of you.

You had missed Isaac. You hated lying - but you hated what he had done to you so much more.

You let out a choked off wail, continuing to struggle underneath his impossible strength.

“You’re lying.” He growled in your ear, a sharp sound that sent shivers down your spine.

It was a truth that pierced through you, utterly revealing. Perhaps you were raw from the state of being, from being open on his cock and so desperate to cum, but you knew that he could absolutely see your truth.

You had no clue that he could literally smell it on you - your defiance, your lies, your arousal. The love you were holding back that he was absolutely rabid and starving for.

It was a hunger that he had felt for months - one he had tried to fill by having mindless sex with Erica, by blindly running forward on the search for her and Boyd, by running headfirst into stupid fights with the opposing pack that had nearly gotten him killed. He had tried so damn hard to dull that impossible hunger with the pain of claws and hits smashing against his skin.

But it was something that could only be satisfied by you.

So he had come crawling back to you, lapping at your door like a kicked puppy - a powerful wolf like himself begging you, a human, for something only you could give him. That love that would fill all the holes inside of him that he claimed were never there in the first place - all those empty spaces he so desperately tried to ignore.

“Isaac-” You breathed out again, further reminding him of just how hollow he felt when the sound of his name coming off your lips echoed off all that empty space inside of him.

“Tell me you didn’t miss me.” He choked out in return, tears of his own blooming in his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t miss me and I’ll stop.”

“Isaac,” You let out his name as sob, your pussy clenching tightly around him. Both of you knew that you couldn’t - you could muster this up now.

Maybe it was a trap he had perfectly set - maybe it was something Derek had accidentally taught him. Trap the vulnerable, make them depend on you, and they can never leave you. Build a home out of glass walls and you’ll be happy for a while.

“Tell me.” Isaac wept. “Or I’ll leave and I’ll never come back.”

He said, his voice shaking - it wasn’t a threat. To him it was a golden promise. He was a starving dog, and if you did this now, if you truly showed him that you had nothing left to give, then he would disappear off into the woods - he would starve to death or he would learn to get his food somewhere else from now on.

“Tell me honestly that you didn’t miss me and you’ll never see me again, Y/N, I swear.”

It was a sacred promise on his breath, barely a whisper on his lips as he tightly gripped your wrists once again, sending slight pain shooting through you, assuring you of his desperation.

In those moments, all you could summon was the truth.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about his motives - the sheer pain in his warbling voice only did what it had always done to you before. It made you want to care for him more. It made you honest in that caring as you always had been.

“I missed you.” You choked out, and took a deep shuddering breath, finding the courage to say it louder, more firmly. “I missed you, Isaac. Okay? I missed you! I missed you, I-”

Your repetition of the declaration was cut off - he couldn’t help it.

He sealed his mouth to yours in a messy, passionate kiss, his tearful cheeks clashing against your own as his hands slid up to link with yours, his fingers tangling with yours in an utterly needy way. You couldn’t help but to grip him tightly back, your fingers almost painful from how hard you did this.

Your chest exploded with everything you had been denying - the love and affection and longing you had locked away for months, those feelings that you had damned and cursed over and over again.

Instinctively, he began moving his hips again, fucking into you deeply. This felt more like making love - it was slower and so fucking deep, as though he was trying desperately to get as close to you as possible, trying to climb inside and find the essence of your very soul.

You thrashed against him in response, so overwhelmed. You wailed and wept into his mouth, entirely overcome with your horrible clash of emotions.

It was a perfect storm for one of the best orgasms of your life.

His pelvis grinding against your clit, the relief of finally having him back, finally having told him how much you missed him, feeling his tears against your cheek and knowing that he had missed you too - finally having everything you had secretly been dreaming about, yearning for.

Your body couldn’t help but to sing with joy over these realizations, fucking yourself against him and bowing into an utterly epic release as all your emotions crashed over you. It forced you away from the kiss to cry out brokenly against his mouth while you squeezed his fingers numbly as the sensations rocked your body.

“Isaac, Isaac-” You chanted his name, entirely overwhelmed.

“I know, I know,” He gurgled back, continuing to fuck you, chasing his own release now. “Fuck, Y/N. I know. Fuck, I missed you-”

His voice broke down into a whimper as he finally came, pumping his hips a few more times before he finally planted himself against you and emptied his cum into the condom. (In the back of his mind, having a passing thought about how he hated it being there, how he wished he could feel you raw).

That was when you saw it - a flash of bright yellow, a literal glow in the dimly lit room that was absolutely unmistakable. The only other time you had seen anything like it was when Scott had transformed in front of you to save your life. In a single moment, everything came to you in a crashing realization while your orgasm was still echoing through your body-

The newfound seemingly epic strength, the muscles, the way he had been acting so strange after his father’s death, his eagerness to get distance from you. He had been bitten and transformed into a fucking werewolf. He had been one this whole time. Wait, how long-?

He captured your lips once again while he continued to enjoy the feeling of your hands tangling with his own, the feeling of you warm and wet, nestled around his cock - the feeling of finally being home. After a too-short moment, you pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath, puffing wildly against his chin while your nose brushed his flushed cheek.

The realization was still crashing over you.

How long had he been lying to you? Did he lie to you to protect you? Did he think that you knew nothing? Did he think that you were in danger because your mother had been killed? Were you in danger?

You wanted so badly to bring it up, to ask him more questions, but instead, you basked in the silence - the sound of his slowing breaths, the last bit of enjoyment you could get from the fullness as his cock softened inside of you. Which reminded you-

“Isaac, you - you have to throw away the condom.” You whispered, terrified to break up the moment.

“Oh. Yeah.” He said, clearly bitter at the idea of being distanced from you, but knowing that it was just the reality of things - that the two of you would have to part eventually.

He finally released your hands, which were now slightly numb and painful from being in the same position for so long, and from being gripped so harshly by him, tingling with blood in that ugly sharp way. You couldn’t bring yourself to truly mind it.

When he pulled his cock out of you, you whined from the soreness and your own hesitation at parting, and he kissed a silent apology into the top of your breast as he took off the condom and tossed into a wastebasket that was at your bedside - your room well memorized by him and still so unchanged since he had last been in here.

In fact, he had helped you move in and had done a lot of unpacking with you when you had made the transition after your mother’s death. He felt so comfortable in this room. More than he ever had at ‘home’ with his father.

You scooted off the bed, your body already protesting with soreness, and you moved to the doorway, intending to go to the bathroom. You needed a moment to yourself to comprehend everything and also, you needed to clean up.

You paused in the doorway, feeling Isaac’s eyes heavy on your back. You picked up one of your shirts that had landed on the floor beside the laundry hamper - one you had been wearing just the night before. It was a black shirt with the Jigsaw spiral on it. In a sense, it reminded you of him - willing to take a lot of pain and suffer in silence, sacrifice a lot for the ones he loved.

You picked up the shirt and tossed it at him, causing it to land awkwardly on his head.

“Get dressed.” You told him quietly. “I don’t think my sister will be a huge fan of some naked guy sleeping in my bed when she comes home.”

It was your not-so-subtle way of telling him that he would be spending the night, and definitively staying in your bed.

“What am I now - your whore?” He joked, letting out a small nervous laugh as he peeled the fabric off his face.

This was his not-so-subtle way of asking what the relationship meant to you now - posed as a joke. Did he get the precious title of being your boyfriend again? Even after all he had done?

You shrugged.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” You told him - another insinuation. You would be back to have that grand talk. “You should get some pants. They’re in-”

“-in the bottom drawer.” Isaac finished off the sentence easily. “I remember.”

Of course.

You left the room then, and Isaac watched your back until you were gone from view. He picked up the shirt you had given him and lifted it to his nose, taking in a greedy whiff of your scent - and his heart ached as he thought about all he had put you through. But he also felt like telling you the truth wouldn’t have been much better.

…

“You’re sure that you wanna do this?” Erica posed, stepping into the locker room with Isaac.

She was going along with his plan simply because she wanted the petty thrill of stealing someone else’s boyfriend - even if it wasn’t entirely real.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Isaac told her, checking the clock again, counting down the moments until his relationship with you would be over. “I need her to hate me.”

Erica hummed in affirmation and nodded, and then kicked off her shoes and stripped off her jacket. When she went for the zipper on the front of her top, Isaac flinched and put up his hands in protest. He didn’t want to actually cheat on you - he thought he had made that part very clear when posing the plan to Erica. He didn’t want to actually have sex with her (no matter how much she suggested it).

“Woah - what’re you doing?” He gaped, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“Making it look real, dumbass.” She told him, unzipping her top and tossing it aside without care. “You don’t have to fuck me, but make it look like you were going to, at least. Make it believable.”

His insides churned with guilt… but - she had a point.

“You said you want her to hate you. So make her hate you.” Erica added on with a smirk. She was enjoying this far too much.

“Fine, fine, yeah.” Isaac agreed, and then he thought of something. “Do you have the uh-?” He motioned to her mouth, to the bright red lipstick that she was wearing. “The one that you have on?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She reached to the back pocket of her jeans, took out the lipstick tube and handed it to Isaac. He uncapped it and - much to her horror - stuck his fingers all over it to begin smearing it across his cheeks and then his chest. Staging the scene to make it look like she had been kissing him.

“Gross!” She complained, snatching it back from him. “You - ugh!”

She inspected the top of the lipstick for a moment before deciding that Isaac had ruined it entirely - so she sighed and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

She wanted to complain further about it, but instead - she got petty.

“Okay, you want real?”

Before he could predict what she meant by this, she reared her claws and dug large scratch marks into his back, wicked stinging and painful - marks that wouldn’t heal for at least a few hours due to his Beta status.

“Dammit!” He cried out in protest.

He turned and looked in the mirror then - out of context, the marks would look oddly sexual.

She grinned at him. “You’re welcome.”

“You are such a bitch.” He sighed in defeat.

“Takes one to know one, sweetie.”

Before he could come up with a clever reply, they both heard you coming down the mostly secluded hallway, able to notice you from far off due to their enhanced hearing.

You were humming brightly to yourself. You were so happy.

Isaac churned with regret already, but he knew he couldn’t turn back now.

“Showtime.” Erica grinned, and pinned him up against one of the lockers, kissing him fiercely.

…

That had easily been one of the worst days of his life. But he had felt entirely validated when he had witnessed Gerard attempt to use the Kanima to kill Allison - the impossible power of the large reptile tightening its tail around her throat, her own grandfather ruthless enough to want her dead without caring. Something that might have actually come to terrible fruition if Scott hadn’t thought steps ahead to outsmart him.

You were someone so kind. You were someone who always wanted to help people, wanted to save people - and it would have gotten you killed. You would have gotten in the way, trying to help someone who couldn’t be saved, and you would have died because of it.

Erica suggested to Isaac many times that he simply let Derek give you the Bite so that you wouldn’t be ‘weak’ anymore - so that you could fight for yourself and you could be strong alongside them. But Isaac refused to even consider it. He refused to even let Derek talk to you because he knew that you would be making the choice for the wrong reasons. You would want to be Turned to be with Isaac. You wouldn’t want it for yourself.

And - as Derek had warned all of them - there was a small chance that the Bite could kill you. And Isaac would never let that happen to you. He wouldn’t put you in that kind of danger, not for his own selfish reasons.

So Isaac stayed far away from you.

He started having sex with Erica after he broke up with you - the kind of harsh, mindless sex that took his mind off you for at least a few minutes. And thankfully, Erica didn’t mind when your name slipped from his lips as he came. She said that she thought it was ‘cute’ - how in love with you he was. It was likely more okay with her because she was seeing Boyd and Stiles on the side at the time.

Her and Isaac were never anything exclusive, never anything close to being in love. It helped him see the more human side of her. It definitely made them closer friends. And it caused it to hurt a lot more when he found out that she was dead.

Maybe it was part of the reason why he had come back to you tonight. Because Erica thought the way he loved you was sweet. She was always pushing him to go back to you because of how hung up on you he was. She thought that he should just push all of his fears aside and be with you instead of hiding from it.

Isaac let out a harsh huff and shoved the shirt over his head before getting up to find a pair of pants.

…

As you made it to the bathroom, you felt an intense chill biting at your skin from walking around the apartment naked. You couldn’t help but to find it ironic that a single shiver had started all of this. Perhaps you had given all of your warmth to Isaac.

What the hell had happened?

Isaac had cheated on you with Erica. Or so he wanted you to believe. Either way, he had set you up for the hurt of believing it, rather than just breaking up with you. Rather than just telling you the truth. That truth being that he had been transformed into a werewolf.

Isaac was a werewolf.

That was a lot to take in.

Perhaps the most shocking part - for some fucking reason, he didn’t trust you with that information.

The basis of it all being: he didn’t trust you.

It made you crash with hurt and betrayal all over again. Almost worse than you had felt on the day you had walked in and seen him and Erica all over each other.

You had to ball up some toilet paper to wipe up your tears, and you stared at yourself harshly in the mirror, wondering why.

Why didn’t he trust you enough to tell you?

Was he afraid that you would consider him some kind of monster? Did he not know that Scott had saved your life at the school that night and since then, you considered every single werewolf to be an ally of yours in some way, rather than feeling afraid of them? Did he think that you would have shunned him as dangerous and scary because of his newfound abilities?

Had he actually killed his father?

You highly doubted it, seeing as he had been with you all night on the night of the murder. Even if he had been the one - you would have congratulated him for doing so. His father was a cruel bastard and you never would have judged him for finally snapping on the man.

So why? Why?

You finally gathered yourself enough to go back to your bedroom, and you found Isaac wearing your shirt and pair of your plaid pajama pants, leaning against the pillows, clearly waiting for you. You silently gathered some clothes of your own, and then you sat on the edge of the bed with your back turned to him.

There was a tense moment before either of you spoke. The rain had come to a calm patter outside, making the gentleness of your voice cut through the room in a much harsher way.

“You didn’t cheat on me with Erica.” You spoke it as a statement, rather than a question.

You knew it to be virtually true, and you were simply waiting for him to confirm it as a fact.

You stepped into your underwear and pulled them up, and he kept his eyes carefully on your back, trying to memorize each precious inch of you in the low lighting - as though this would be the last time he ever got to see your naked skin again.

“How did you know?” He wondered quietly in return.

“It’s that self destructive thing you do.” You told him. “I got you that nice watch for your sixteenth birthday, and then you ‘broke it’ running late night lacrosse drills.”

You said, putting sarcastic emphasis on the words, not pretending to believe the lie he had told you at the time. You and Isaac both knew what had happened.

He didn’t believe that he was worthy of nice things. He had smashed it on purpose in an emotional fit, maybe not even knowing that he was desperate to see what your reaction would be. It was an instinct to sabotage the relationship with you.

He thought that you would scream, yell, fault him for being ‘stupid’. He thought that you would break up with him over a watch - over him not taking care of your nice gift well enough. Instead, you told him that it was okay - comforted him about. And a week later, you replaced it with a slightly cheaper version that he still had.

“After the first time I told you that I loved you, you got into that huge bloody fist-fight with Greenberg because you said that you saw him staring at my ass.” You recounted. “But you’re not the jealous type.”

Again - true. He wasn’t jealous, he had just been looking to get a reaction out of you. Again, it was a desire entirely unconscious to him - projecting all of that discomfort and annoyance onto Greenberg at the time. He felt like things were too good with you. You were too loving, too sweet - he was going to fuck it up sooner or later, and one day, he was going to make a mistake too big for you to forgive.

He simply thought he should make that mistake and get it over with, rather than waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You sighed and hoisted your shirt over your head, slipping your arms through the sleeves and letting the loose fabric fall down over your back before you finally turned to him.

“The one thing I couldn’t figure out, though-” You told him carefully. “Was what I had done to evoke you cheating on me.” You said, your voice choppy and tearful once again.

“Y/N-” He begged quietly, reaching across the bed toward your hand, which you quickly snatched away.

He didn’t want you to think that his vile nature was ever your fault.

“I finally get it, though.” You added on sharply. “You could have just told me, Isaac.”

His chest jumped with anxiety. How did you know? You couldn’t possibly know that-

“Your eyes were glowing yellow earlier.”

Isaac sighed in defeat and slumped back against the bed.

“How do you know?” He asked, curious about how you knew about the existence of werewolves in the first place.

“Scott.” You said simply.

“Scott.” He echoed back dully. Of course.

Isaac ground his palms into his forehead, exhausted by the fact that you had found out about something he had been trying to protect you from. That he had put you through so much unnecessary pain.

“I was trying to protect you.” He said quietly. “I didn’t want you getting hurt, I wanted you as far away from me as possible-”

“Protect me from what?” You cried out, entirely exasperated with him.

If there was truly some source of danger, you wanted him to tell you about it.

But of course, that wasn’t what he meant.

“Me.”

He finally admitted it, the thing the two of you had been dancing around for the entirety of your relationship.

“I’m not good for you, Y/N.” Isaac added on, his throat tight with tears once again. “You need to stay away from me, you-”

“So you pretended to cheat on me?” You bit back sharply.

There it was again - the stupidity of his own regret that stung him so much.

“It worked, didn’t it?” He replied, sounding bitterly regretful rather than any kind of smut.

“Yet we’re still right back here.” You sighed in return.

“Like I said - I didn’t know where else to go.”

He felt a unique guilt in running to you. But as much as he tried to deny it, you were his safe place. You were the only one he could turn to when his world was crashing down. He had done the same thing too many times when his father had been alive, so the habit was far too ingrained into him.

Rather than reminding him why you gave him that safety, driving it home, you asked a different question that had been burning at you.

“Where have you been staying since your father died?” You asked.

Isaac hesitated heavily at this. He didn’t want to delve into the stupidity of his choices; the mistakes that had led him up to this point.

You waited patiently in his silence.

You began to busy yourself - stood up and began plucking certain pillows off the bed to put them aside, causing Isaac to stand up to the side to let you pull back the covers. You didn’t ask him to leave, which was as good as wordlessly inviting him to sleep there with you. It gave him a certain comfort, knowing that you weren’t entirely paying attention to him as you fluffed the bed and then sought out cream for your hands, going about a nightly routine. Knowing that he would still get to fall asleep with you after all this.

“You know Derek Hale?” Isaac posed.

That was a complex question for you.

You knew him as the man who had ultimately killed the beast that had killed your mother. In your mind, that made him someone favorable. But Scott had warned you to stay away from him - had said that Derek was not the kind of person you should ever be mixing with, werewolf or not. And you trusted Scott with your life, and thus far, had absolutely no reason to interact with Derek Hale. So you had steered clear of him.

But you weren’t sure how to form your opinions around him.

“I know of him,” You replied. “Scott talks about him unpleasantly. Told me to stay away from him.”

Isaac was happy that Scott had done so, but that didn’t set the stage so well for what he had to say next.

“He - he kinda took me in after my father died.” Isaac explained, purposefully vague.

“Oh.” You said, your aptitude of mixed feelings for Derek flowing through the air so easily with your voice saying this simple word.

Clearly, Scott didn’t like him. He had never explained to you why, but whenever he spoke about Derek, there was always an oddly calm rage bubbling under the surface. Derek had taken Isaac in, which seemed like a kindness on the surface - but clearly, he didn’t care for Isaac. He had left him homeless in a rainstorm with nowhere else to go but to come crawling back to your doorstep in utter desperation.

Derek sounded like an asshole.

Again - you trusted Scott completely. And whatever reasons he had for not liking Derek… they seemed to be coming to light without an explanation needed from him.

You put two pillows at the head of the bed, and then you crawled to sit on your side while Isaac leaned against the bench underneath your window with his arms crossed, staring at you with his jaw clenched. He knew you well enough to know what was on your mind.

“Look, it’s not as bad as it sounds.” He told you, instinctively defensive of Derek, his pack Alpha. “He helped me out. And not just me. Boyd, and Erica-”

“Oh.” You sighed, rolling your eyes, still feeling sensitive toward the name even though the cheating hadn’t been entirely real. “He helped Erica. Big fan of Erica.” You scoffed sarcastically - the image of her red lips all over Isaac still seared into your brain.

“Please don’t be like that.” Isaac shook his head. “She was my friend.”

“Was?” You questioned, now entirely caught up on the tense.

Were they no longer friends, or-?

“Erica is dead.” Isaac choked out, barely able to say the words.

It was the first time he had spoken these words in a conscious state, out of the ice bath. It was the first time that he had truly come to terms with it. Even after Derek had brought her body back and he had helped him bury her under a circle of Wolfsbane, just as he had done to his sister Laura before (until the grave had been disturbed by two idiots not knowing what they were doing).

This came as a shock to you.

You had seen the missing posters plastered all over town - all over school, and you had heard people whispering rumors about her, none of which you believed. Things about how she ‘shacked up’ with an older man who ended up killing her and burying her body somewhere. Whispers about how she became a prostitute and probably overdosed, how she simply ran away because Beacon Hills sucked so much.

Even if you didn’t like her at the time, you had always felt bad for her, and hoped that she was truly okay. You had always felt bad for her parents because they never had answers.

You had no clue that she had been involved with Derek Hale and other werewolves.

“Boyd just got back after being missing for months,” Isaac continued, his voice still saturated with mourning. “But it’s like he’s still gone. I don’t blame him, after what happened.”

You badly wanted to ask what Isaac meant by this, but you held back. His eyes were distant, swimming with intense thought - he was off somewhere else, clearly speaking into open air things that he had been dying to get off his chest. So you were going to stay silent, giving him the space to let it all out.

“And Derek -”

He cut himself off abruptly, replaying the moment in his mind, wondering where it had all gone wrong. It made him sick - the sound of Derek’s booming voice, the glass smashing over his head. Isaac knew that somehow, it was all his fault. What had he done wrong? What had he done so wrong to make Derek react that way?

What was so poisonous, so inherently unlovable about Isaac that made people act that way around him?

“Derek kicked me out for no reason.” He mumbled quietly, continuing.

“Isaac-” Your urge to comfort him was welling up again.

And now that he had opened the dam of these feelings - unfortunately, he couldn’t turn off the flood when it came.

“I feel so alone.”

He declared sharply, his voice edging into a near-sob that made your chest bitterly ache. His eyes were wide and wet with tears, and you nearly rushed across the room just to hold him.

“I just - I feel so wrong. There is something inside of me that is so wrong, that is so damn broken. I felt like… for a moment, for a split second, things were good. I had a family, I had a purpose. But it’s me, ya know? I’m just broken. I break things. I fuck everything up. If I love something, it dies. So I can’t - I just can’t be loved.”

“That’s not true.” You rushed to say it, and before you could stop yourself, the words came tumbling from your lips. “I love you.”

It was the first time you had spoken the words since the break-up, the first time you used those words in such an anchored, present tense.

Isaac looked at you with the most broken expression you had ever seen.

Thousands of demons fighting to get out, his eyes so glassy with hurt. His lips quivered as he fought with it himself - he wanted so badly to say it back, but the moment he did, he became liable again. The moment he did, he became yours again and you became his - you became something he could lose.

It felt like a death sentence in his mouth. One that he couldn’t bring himself to curse you with.

He let out a sharp, nasal breath as the words fought hard inside of his chest. Your own pain struggled inside of you, and you knew you had to do the one thing that you did best - comfort him. Release him from his pain.

“It’s okay.” You told him gently. “It’s okay, just come to bed.”

You patted the empty side of the mattress, and all of the tension left Isaac’s body in an instant, looking as though he was about to collapse in on himself. He practically fell across the gap from the window to the bed, falling into the comfort you provided once again. You raised the covers for him to crawl in beside you, laying your head on his chest so that you could enjoy the sound of his heartbeat as you pulled the covers up over the two of you.

“You are loved, Isaac.” You told him - you had to tell him. You had to let him know. “And you aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone as long as I’m around.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He replied, the words so quiet that they barely broke free from his throat.

If you weren’t careful, you would start crying again.

“Just go to sleep now.” You told him, putting an arm around his stomach, holding him tightly while he put a hand around your back, holding you to him, anchoring you there as though you might drift away while he slept. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

For some reason, that felt believable to him when you said it.

…

Isaac slept for a few wrecked hours, maybe less.

He was woken up by a nightmare - a vision of Erica crawling toward him, desperately crying out for help before her throat was slashed by Kali. The sound of her choking on her own blood remained swollen in his ears when he jolted awake and stared at your ceiling. It was a while before he realized that calm, sweet pattern beside him was your breathing.

He laid there and listened to it for a long time before he got up. He found himself too thankful that he could hear your heartbeat now - that he could know with his own ears that you were so alive, so safe.

He watched you sleep - took in your peaceful face, the way the first golden rays of the sunrise kissed at your skin - and he knew that he could never let anything worthy of tainting his nightmares happen to you. He was a damn selfish dog, but he would never let you truly get hurt just because he wanted something as fading as sex or comfort.

So Isaac kissed you on the forehead - gentle, careful not to wake you. And he gathered his things. He crept out the door still wearing the shirt that smelled like you. He would claim that it was because he didn’t have any clean laundry - not because he was greedy for your scent.

…

When you woke up, Isaac was gone.

Your sister’s bedroom door was closed and her shoes were back by the front door, so she was home safely. Isaac was not in your bed, and his duffle bag was gone. He had even picked up the soaking wet clothes that he had strewn all over the floor.

The only evidence you found that it hadn’t all been a dream was the used condom still in the wastebasket, and a tiny note on your bedside table that said ‘I love you, too’ scribbled in his handwriting on a piece of torn notebook paper.

You were going to track him down - and when you did, you weren’t sure if you were going to kiss him or kill him.

...

Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, so there will not be a sequel or a 'Part 2'. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging it to show your appreciation, or commenting on this fic, or you can take a look at my Teen Wolf Masterlist for more of my fics from this fandom.

However, please do not comment on this fic asking for a sequel or asking for more - I generally consider that stressful and impolite. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written.

I really enjoyed writing this fic, and I do have some ideas for a potential sequel, but it's not something that I am rushing to write, and it's not something that will be on my schedule anytime soon. If you would like to, you can come into my inbox and chat about my ideas for the potential sequel - but right now they are just ideas and they will stay that way for a long time before becoming a full realised story (if they ever become one). I hope you enjoyed this fic as the capsule story oneshot that I always intended for it to be, and that you enjoy my other works if you do check them out.

Happy reading!! -Sunny <3

#sundrop writes #isaac lahey #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey smut #isaac lahey x fem!reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf smut #teen wolf fanfiction

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greatkittencloud · 24 days ago

Text

TW : Blood and Injury. PTSD. Mentions of Scars.

Black Nova

Chapter 6

Location: Safehouse

Time : 0630 Hours

Nova sat stiffly on the edge of the safehouse cot, as Ghost approached with med kit. Price stepped back, giving them space but not leaving the room.

Ghost knelt in front of her, pulling gloves on. “Lift your shirt.”

"I can do it myself you don't need to—"Nova said before she was cut-off

"LIFT. YOUR. GODDAM. SHIRT."

She clenched her jaw. She hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. Her fingers were slow as she started peeling removing her layers one by one. The wound was nasty — a clean bullet graze, but deep enough to bleed and swell. But what caught his eyes were the number of scars on her back. Some deep and rugged. Some bullet wounds. Some burn marks.

Ghost didn’t say anything. He just looked, eyes unreadable behind the mask.

She was frozen in place. Only piece of clothing on her upper body was her sports bra half covered in blood.

Her breaths were calculated.

Ghost sat on chair behind her without a word, setting the med kit down with a soft thud. She sat silently, jaw clenched, knuckles white.

“This is gonna hurt,” he said flatly, pulling out the suture kit.

She let out a breath through her nose. “I can take it.”

“I know.” He glanced up at her briefly. “That’s the problem.”

He starts cleaning the wound with antiseptic. She didn't flinch when the cotton touched her wound.

"Nova," Ghost said, a little less composed this time, his voice rougher than usual. "The cut… it goes a bit higher. I need to, uh… keep cleaning."

"Okay" she said simply.

Ghost shifted on seat. His gloved hand hovered near the strap before pulling back like he’d touched a live wire. "You’ll… probably have to unhook your bra."

Nova blinked. Then, slowly, she reached behind her and unfastened it with one hand, keeping the front covered with her arm. The strap slipped slightly down her shoulder.

Ghost turned his head away so fast it was almost comical. "Right...hang on." He yanked off his jacket and handed it to her without looking. "Here. Just....use this to cover up. I’m not...uh....I’m not looking."

For a moment, the battlefield silence crept into the room, thick and oddly charged.

Price cleared his throat. They both stared at Price. "Don’t mind me," Price added, raising a brow. "Just thought I'd check in, make sure no one's passed out yet."

"Not helping, Captain," Ghost growled, his voice strained.

"Wasn’t trying to." Price said. "Just figured with all the awkward silence, you two might forget how to breathe."

Ghost rolled his eyes , his gloved hands moved with care, cleaning the higher part of the wound and stitching it up.

He finally spoke again, low and gruff. "I'm done. Keep the jacket." Standing up he left the room.

"Get some rest. We are going to be stuck here for a while." Price said and left her alone.

Location : Undisclosed training facility

Time : Five years earlier.

The cold concrete floor bit into Nova’s palms as she struggled to push herself up. Blood dripped from her temple, her vision doubled. Her ribs ached ,probably cracked. The alarm was still screaming, red lights flashing across the corridor. Everything was red.

She was 18. Covered in bruises. Alone.

The simulation had gone wrong.

She’d completed the room’s objective: neutralize all targets, retrieve the drive, escape in under four minutes.

"Nova, status."

She gritted her teeth. “Clear.”

“Vitals unstable. You’re injured.”

“I said clear.” She stood , barely. Her knees buckled but she locked them in place.

The observation window above flickered with a faint silhouette of two men watching.

“You could have failed this. You pushed too far.”

Nova wiped the blood from her mouth. “I didn’t.”

Silence.

Then the cold voice replied, “Noted. Retest in two hours. Without painkillers.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue.

Because failure meant death.

And she wasn’t ready to die.

Location : Safehouse

Time : 1900 Hours

Nova rested for a while if you call staring at the ceiling for hours rest, then came out in the dimly lit living area.

“Alright,” Price said, tapping the paper. “We’re here. Entry’s covered. One of us keeps watch until 0500. We rotate — Ghost, you take the first shift.”

“I’ll take second,” Gaz offered.

“I’ll take third,” Nova said firmly, stepping forward.

All foue men looked up.

Price’s eyes narrowed.

“No, you won’t.”

Nova frowned. “I’m better now.”

Price’s jaw tightened. “And I said no.”

The room went still.

Price softened his tone slightly. “This is for your own good."

Nova’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hated this. Standing still while the others moved forward.

She finally gave a tight nod. “Copy that.”

“Good,” Price said. “Now get off your feet before I duct-tape you to the cot.”

That earned a small smirk from Soap.

Nova turned away, reluctant, but something in her chest had loosened. Maybe for the first time in her life, sitting down didn’t feel like failure.

It felt like trust.

Thank you for reading!

Please let me know if I missed something in the warnings.

@massivescissorsthingperson , @hyperfixiation-station , @sweetybuzz25 , @kaoyamamegami , @enfppuff , @sheepispink , @warrior-xe

#ghost cod #john price #john soap mactavish #cod fandom #cod x reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #black nova #call of duty

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or0ch1maru · 11 months ago

Note

Could you write an angst to fluff fic where mihawks wife gets injured and maybe he's like depended on her and now he has to manage while she is maybe in a comatose state with a happy ending

hiii babes :3

I would just like to start this by thanking all of who wished me a happy birthday yesterday. My day at work was great, and I gifted myself 2 pairs of hello kitty sneakers ^.^

Warnings: none

Let’s get into it🫵🏻

•

-you and Mihawk met a few years back. Running into each other after being set after the same bounty. And neither of you have looked back since.

-married life has been great, your husband being the absolute best man. Treating you with such care, love, and respect.

-both of you sharing the household duties, cleaning, cooking, laundry, etc.

-Mihawk always called you his sunshine, as no matter what, you always brought light into his heart. Which, over time, caused him to be more and more open about his past, and, his feelings

-which many would say is rare. No one living long enough to see any other type of reaction from him besides his usual stoicism

-but you, you got it all and a part of him knew he’d become dependent on your love that he’s not really sure to handle the situation he finds himself in currently

-both of you got called to handle a rather ‘difficult’ bounty as the marines put it. And things were going well until your opponent got the upper hand on you

-causing you to miss calculate your neck move and resulting in you being in a comatose state.

-Mihawk’s private doctor said you’ll come out of it, it just depends on when. He unfortunately wasn’t sure. It was a waiting game

-you had your own private room set up in the castle, being hooked up to this and that. A nurse would come by everyday to check in on you and handle a few things

-Mihawk would stand in the doorway every time like clock work. Watching as she tends to you

-it’s only at night, when it’s just you and him that he sits in the chair beside your bed and talks to you. He’s unsure if you can hear him but he doesn’t care. He speaks all his worries, about how much he misses and needs you. Scared that he won’t be able to do this much longer without you

-explaining that he’d wait as long as you need for you to come out of this. As long as he gets to hear your voice, witness your smile, be able to feel you touch and hug him back

-during the day, he keeps himself busy. Cleaning, reading, paperwork, more reading, going into town to shop, buying things for you, anything to keep his mind preoccupied

-he has good days and bad, most of them blending together

-poor guy has used dissociating to get through most of this as he truly doesn’t know how to come to terms without you

-the castle is too quiet, he misses hearing your sweet voice bouncing off the walls when you call for him, or when you come bounding down the hallway towards his office to ‘annoy’ him

-when he’s tossing and turning in your shared bed, he has one of your shirts or hoodies with him. One that has the scent of your perfume lingering on it. Which eventually gets him to sleep

-now, today has been a particularly difficult day for Mihawk. Marines constantly on his ass, giving him shit for not handling every single bounty they’ve been giving him. It annoys him as they know of his personal situation and don’t show any sort of respect towards it

-so by the time he gets back home, his mood is sour. He stands in the doorway, watching you as the nurse tends to you once again

-“any change?” He asks, and even though he already knew the answer. Watching the nurse shake her head and reply with her usual “no, I’m sorry”, is when the damn breaks

-no one has seen him cry, you witnessed a single tear roll down his cheek the day you two wed but that’s it

-he waits until the aid is gone for the night and that’s when the tears come flowing. Hard, and heavy.

-he’s sitting at his desk, his chest heaving as he tries catching his breath, and every time he thinks he’s calming down, more tears come

-Mihawk doesn’t realize it’s a panic attack, as it’s his first time experiencing one since he was a boy

-this goes on for hours, before he eventually falls asleep at his desk, his forehead resting against his forearms. A single hand resting on the photograph he keeps on his desk

-but he’s jerked awake around 3am. At first he thinks it’s a dream when he heard your voice from the room next door

-but when he hears a choked “baby?” He almost falls from his chair

-he wastes no time running into the room you’ve been treated in all this time

-and that’s when he sees you. Your eyes open, a look of confusion on your face as you take in the tubes you’ve been hooked up too

-“my love?” Are the first words that fall from his mouth and he nearly collapses when you look over at him. A small smile forming on your face when you see your husband

-as bad as he wants to run over to where you’re laying and hug you. He keeps himself composed. Approaching the bed slowly, sitting down beside you

-his large hand engulfs yours. His thumb rubbing circles against the inside of your wrist.

-after asking if you’re okay, and giving you some water, he catches you up on everything that’s happened the entire time you’ve been out

-you can see the toll this has taken on him and you feel horrible. You’re so used to your strong and composed husband, that seeing how stressed his been breaks you

-your free hand comes up, cupping his cheek. Something you’ve done during the entirety of your relationship. He instinctively nuzzles into your palm and that’s when he begins to cry

-you’re slow with your movements, being careful as you sit yourself up before having him climb onto the mattress beside you. Your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him against your side as you hold him

-listening to his broken sentences of how scared he’s been and unsure.

-he stays there for a long time before lifting his head to look at you. Pressing his lips to yours after not feeling you kiss back in what felt like forever to him

-“maybe it’s time that I retire.” You murmur against his lips before kissing him again. You’d hate to have something like this happen a second time.

-you never liked seeing your husband worried, let alone about yourself.

-“I think I might just join you.”

•

Okayyyyyy so it’s been a while since I’ve written any angst so I apologize if this isn’t great😭😭

#mihawk #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #mihawk smut #Mihawk angst #mihawk x reader #op mihawk #one piece mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk

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pixiel · 9 months ago

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Help Rem/Pixiel afford a Wheelchair!

I asked before looking for advice on getting a wheelchair - the best advice I've gotten so far is to open up my own fundraiser on GoFundMe to help me afford it! So here's my story explaining why I need the help;

I would be really thankful if you reblogged this post even if you can't donate yourself!

(explanation/story under the cut!)

Hi! My name is Rem / Pixiel. Some of you might already know me as the person who made the first Old Tumblr fix after the layout change! I haven't talked too much about myself online, so for those of you who don't know me let me talk about my health a little bit; I have Hypermobile-Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, Arrhythmia, A floppy heart valve, balance issues, Suspected POTs & MCAS - and a myriad of other smaller comorbidities to go with it. I have daily pain in my wrists, hands, knees, neck, shoulders and hips. Basically all over my body! I tire easily due to my heart problem and have to take extra care not to injure myself. I’m currently someone who uses a cane (a really fab looking one!) but while it helps me get around the house and to and from the shop a few doors down the road - going beyond that around town often results in me having a lot of pain in my hips and knees, usually leaving me unable to do anything for the next couple of weeks - struggling to move around the house and get things done due to the pain. This is something I’ve put off for a long time, but I think it’s time I got a wheelchair. Unfortunately, as I am on benefits barely covering the cost of living, this is not something I can afford on my own; especially now that the government is trying to change the rules and make it more difficult for disabled people to afford anything or put us on vouchers. I need a wheelchair that is light enough for me to move and fold, one that isn't too bulky, as my rented house is not wheelchair accessible - as well as being a powered chair, as with my wrist pain I'd unlikely be able to use a manual chair without injury. After doing my own research I really love the idea of the "Monarch Carbon Lite Powerchair" though I'm currently working with a mobility provider to find the perfect chair for me! If you can help me pay towards my new Wheelchair I will be incredibly thankful! Please share and help me be able to afford it - so I can go out and about and live my life without injury and pain holding me back!

#wheelchair #gofundme #fundraiser #disabled #Pixiel #actually disabled #cripplepunk #ehlers danlos syndrome #powerchair #go fund me #ambulatory wheelchair user #donations

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rainyorca · 9 months ago

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☾

Reader’s powers are loosely based off a wolf, think Wolfsbane from Wolverine and the X-men.

The moon shines brightly down on the Blackbird, the engine is just a quiet rumble. Most of the team is asleep, quiet snoring fills the soundscape but it's much louder in your ears.

However there was an absence among those snores, Scott. Unable to sleep, you opened your eyes, seeing his dark silhouette in the pilot seat. You unstrap the seatbelt, getting up and walking to the passenger seat. He didn't seem to notice you at first.

“Scott,” you say, his name sounding pleasant on your tongue.

He turns his head to look at you, his visors glowing softly. The moon allows some light in, as well as the glow from the controls, just enough so he could see your face, or so you could see his.

“You’re bleeding,” he states, reaching over to wipe the blood off your face. He only smears it, the blood staining the pad of his thumb when he pulls away.

“You need to rest,” you hum, watching him turn to look ahead. “I’m not tired,” he responds simply, keeping his eyes on the sky.

“You can't lie to me,” you point out quietly, “I spent most of my younger years hunting for my food, I know when my prey is tired, Scott.”

“I'm your prey?”

“That’s not the point.”

You watch his lips twitch, as if he was planning on saying something, but he stays quiet. You continue to stare at him, eyes looking over his body for any injuries, your nose searching for any sign of blood.

“You're injured, Scott,” you say when you catch a whiff of his blood, “I can smell it. How long have you been bleeding?”

“I’ll get myself fixed up when we get back,” he looks at you, you can feel the intensity in his eyes.

“Then at least let me fly.”

“Absolutely not,” he mutters, dismissing you with a hand, “go rest.”

“I am nocturnal,” you remind him, “it's a part of my mutation, I can't sleep at night for long hours like you guys can without getting restless. Let me fly, or at least watch the autopilot.”

He presses his lips into a line, like he was trying to decide. “I'm fine,” he responds after a second. You sit back crossing your arms over your chest. He's stubborn, just as much as you, but you like that about each other.

“Tell me about your past,” he breaks the silence, still looking forward, “you mentioned you lived in Alaska for some time. I’m from Alaska, you know.”

You look at him sideways, furrowing your brows while you think of what to tell him. “What do you wanna know?” you ask, trying to see if there was anything specific.

“Everything,” he returns, “you said you used to hunt for food, tell me about that.”

You explain to him your life during your younger years before joining the X-men, hoping it’ll make him tired or at least bore him to sleep. Your past wasn't all that interesting, but he proceeds to ask you questions, showing he was following along.

Eventually you guys make it back to the mansion, you go and wake everyone up, except Logan who must have woken up shortly before you arrived. Everyone either hits the showers or immediately goes to crash in their rooms. But you sought out Scott once again.

He was alone in the laboratory, sitting on one of the cold, metal tables. You watch him from the doorway, his back facing you, but you can hear the pain he's in, see it in the way his body tenses everytime he presses on the wound. There's gauze scattered around the floor below him, all drenched and stained with blood.

He hisses when he presses another to his wound, his hands shaking from the pain. You walk in quietly, placing a hand on his bare back while you move in front of him. “Didn't want to ask Hank for help?” you ask, slowly reaching down to grab his hand and pull it off his wound. He flinches at your touch but allows you to pull his hand and the gauze away.

“Didn't want to wake him,” he responds, watching you stare at the wound. “This is a pretty deep wound, Scott,” you say, brows furrowing as you take a closer look, “you wont need stitches but it’ll scar.”

“I know.”

“You need to stop treating yourself like a machine,” you sigh, moving away from him to grab a rag, wetting it with warm water and then walking back, “you keep this up you’ll end up falling apart. Hold still.”

You carefully rub the area around the wound, cleaning up the blood that has spilled onto his skin. Then you pat it dry with the dry side before tossing the rag aside and moving to dig in the drawers for more gauze and bandage.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” you continue, pressing the gauze on the wound and carefully wrapping him up with the bandage. You feel his warm hand against your face, making you look up at him. His blood gets on your skin, the deep red color leaving its mark.

You stare up at him, but keep your expression still. “You have such big, beautiful eyes,” he says quietly, barely a whisper. You reach up, resting your hand on his and nuzzling your face into his palm. You close your eyes, letting out a quiet sigh as you take in his scent.

“More a doe than a wolf,” he murmurs, you open your eyes to look at him, “I wish I could see them more clearly.”

You press your nose to his palm, inhaling his scent again. Scott’s scent is much deeper than just whatever body wash he uses or cologne. You think of it like perfume.

His top notes, what everyone else smells, fresh laundry, slightly floral. His middle notes were amber, a dash of nutmeg. His base notes, the scent you can smell. Pine and sandalwood, aquatic. He had a type of woodsy musk that you loved, reminded you of home. You can smell it through the metallic scent of his blood.

He always wonders what he smells like to you. Logan describes him to smell different than Scott expected, but with you, maybe it was different.

You could stay here for hours, face in his hand, the ambient sound of machines humming. What was strange about this, you and Scott weren't even in a relationship. You shared these moments of skin to skin contact as often as time would allow, but in secret. The team doesn't know, and in your eyes they don't have to know. People like Jean or Charles have an idea, Logan definitely knows from the way you simply talk about Scott. That man can figure out anything.

His hand moves from your face, his fingers brushing your lips as he pulls away, staining them red. “Sorry,” he mutters, noticing the large bloody mark on your cheek. You don't say anything, instead you bring your fingers to your lips before swiping your tongue over to clean up the blood.

He hops down from the table, picking up his bloodied gauze, throwing it in the trash, and then picking up his shirt. Your eyes follow him, watching him move about the room before heading to the door. He pauses before looking back at you.

“Get some rest,” he says simply, the ghost of a smile on his face before he turns off the light and disappears down the hallway.

It felt a lot colder in that room after he left.

My last little drabble with him (for now). I need to focus on finishing the two halloween fics I'm working on. Maybe I'll turn this into a long fic if anyone is interested? This is loosely inspired by this twitter post.

#⋆｡𖦹°‧ukume!#scott summers x reader #scott summers #cyclops #cyclops x reader #not beta read

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mama-qwerty · 5 months ago

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Second Chances v1

Okay, here's the start of my de-aged Knux story. I like the beginning, but am not thrilled with what happens after she finds little Knux. I don't know what's bothering me about it, but it's just not jiving with me.

But I wrote 6200 words, so I'mma post it. I might rework it once I can figure out just where the problem is.

Calling it 'version 1' in case I tweak it and post again later.

~~~~~

The fire burned down, leaving just a few soft flickers of flame against the burning embers at the bottom of the fire pit. Two figures sat around it, on opposite sides. They sat in silence, watching as the last of the flames died down, the darkness of the night around them moving in to replace the light.

“All I’m saying is you could have come to me, and I would have helped you.” Callie’s voice was soft, but edged with frustration. “You aren’t out in those arenas anymore. You’re not on your own anymore. I’m here, and I can help you.”

The echidna across from her frowned, scratching at the bandage on his arm. It was sloppily applied; he’d injured himself during one of his training sessions, and tended to it himself without her assistance.

“No need,” Knuckles said, waving a hand. “I am capable of taking care of myself.”

She sighed. “I know you are, but you don’t have to. I’m here. All you have to do is come to me.”

He let out a huff, giving his head a shake. “I do not need your help.”

Callie rolled her eyes. This was a sensitive subject, but one she had tried again and again to instill upon him in the months since he’d come to live with her. Yes, he was the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy. (Or had been, anyway.) But that life was behind him now. She was going to make sure that life was done, and he never had to feel alone and hunted again.

But he was a stubborn kid. Very, very stubborn. There’d been times when he’d come home looking as though he’d gone three rounds with a pissed off gorilla, and only offered a wave of his hand when she was, understandably, a bit freaked out by that. “I was training,” was his only explanation, which only raised further questions in her mind.

He was still acting like he was on his own, expecting an attack at every turn. She supposed it was second nature to him by now, having been on the run since he was so little, and it was unreasonable to expect that to fade. At all, let alone after only a few months.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be frustrated by it. And that she couldn’t try to show him that he didn’t have to take care of himself anymore. Not like that.

“Look,” she said, rubbing her eyes beneath her glasses before looking back at him. “I’m not saying you’re some little kid who needs his boo boos kissed. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I would hope that you trust me enough to let me know if you slice yourself open on one of your training runs.”

Knuckles clicked his tongue. “It was a minor wound. I’ve had much worse.”

“That’s not the point, and by the way, the blood all over my towels says otherwise. I thought you’d lost an arm with the mess you’d left behind.”

“You are overreacting.”

“Actually, I think I’m being quite calm and collected, all things considered,” she said, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her knees. “You’re not a child, but you’re still a kid who’s under my care, and I don’t think it’s out of line for me to want you to, you know, tell me when you nearly cut your arm off.”

He rolled his eyes and gave out a huff. “I did not—“

“Can you focus on what I mean instead of what I’m saying?”

“And can you not treat me as though I were some foolish child who needs supervised?”

“I’m not—“

“Enough!” Knuckles stood, rolling his shoulders. “I do not need tending like a puggle. I am a fierce warrior and do not need your coddling. I am grateful for your guidance and support, but your concern is misplaced.”

She sat up, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “For cripes’ sake, Knux, I don’t want to coddle you—“

“I am going to bed. Good night.”

And with that, the echidna stalked toward the house, leaving her by the dying fire.

Callie heaved a deep sigh, rubbing her temples with both hands.

“. . . I just want you to let me take care of you. At least a little.”

She heard the kitchen door slam, and gave a little groan.

That could have gone better.

~X~X~X~

Ridiculous.

Unnecessary.

Condescending.

Knuckles didn’t quite stomp, but didn’t quite not stomp up the stairs, pushing the door to his room open. He kicked it closed behind him, a soft growl in the back of his throat.

Take care of him. She wanted to ‘take care of him’? He took care of himself. He didn’t need her help for that. The only reason he was still alive after all these years was because he was strong and tough and self-reliant.

He tore open the velcro straps at the base of his gloves, giving his arms a sharp flick to send the heavy mitts flying. They bounced off the wall, landing on the floor with two solid thuds. The woman didn’t like when he did that, and would call out to remind him not to when she heard it.

Well, she wasn’t here right now, was she? He was a warrior. He didn’t need such rules.

With a grumble, he sat heavily on the mattress on the floor, shoving aside the curtain that hung over it in a tent-like covering. A few quick movements and his boots were loose enough to toe off. He used more force than necessary, sending them cartwheeling heel over toe into the door. More loud thuds as they settled on the floor, one on its side and the other upright.

He didn’t depend on others. He’d been shown time and time again that trusting others was a recipe for treachery and betrayal. Everyone he’d trusted had hurt him. Turned him in for rewards, used him for their own gain. Yet he continued to trust, continued to hope that someone would help him. Would be his friend.

His mother had praised his kind heart as a child, but now he wondered if it were more of a hindrance than advantage.

Flopping onto his back, he looked up at the ceiling, his eyes floating over the little painted dots there. Back when he first agreed to stay with her, Callie had brought Tails over to try and get as accurate a sky map as possible for those little dots. The clever fox had somehow found the positions of the constellations and stars over Knuckles’ village, and he and Callie had painstakingly painted each one to match those Knuckles had seen in his childhood.

It was a touching gesture. No one had ever gone so out of their way to make him comfortable. To give him a bit of familiarity to his home. He appreciated it.

But it made a tight knot twist behind his ribs when he looked up at them.

Because he couldn’t remember what the constellations were.

The knowledge seemed to flick at his consciousness, teasing the back of his mind, but when he tried to pull the names forward, wrap his tongue around them and throw them out, they disappeared back into his fading memories.

He was losing his connection to his people. His tribe.

The language that he’d been raised on, the words that once rolled off his tongue with ease, now took more effort to get right. Callie had encouraged him to share his mother tongue with her, which he appreciated, but sometimes when he said a word, it didn’t feel right on his lips. As though it were something he had no right to speak anymore.

He had learned a number of different languages in his travels—how many, he wasn’t sure, as there was a certain degree of overlap in a few—and sometimes it felt as though these new languages had almost pushed out his first. Smothered it.

And now, like the fire just a few moments before, there were only a few little embers left of what he remembered. His tribe. His customs. His language. His heritage.

Slowly dying.

He was the last. It was his duty to keep his culture intact. To not lose sight of who he is, what he is. To do so would dishonor the memory of his entire species.

His father.

Knuckles stared at the ceiling, at those little blobs of glowing paint, brow furrowed. He knew those stars, he knew them. He could hear his father naming them as he pointed. Could hear his voice, feel his father’s hand on his shoulder as he sat close by. Felt the soft breeze of the night as it rippled through his quills, while the others sat and chatted by the village fire.

He remembered all of this.

But the words, the syllables, refused to form.

A low growl rumbling in his chest, Knuckles rolled over to crawl into his artificial burrow. Yanking the curtain closed, he bundled himself beneath the thick blanket inside, curling into a tight ball. Shame burned in his belly, because it had taken so long to find the Master Emerald. It had taken nearly ten years to hunt it down. And in that time he had been so concerned with his own survival, he had lost his tether to the very reason he was doing it in the first place.

He missed his tribe. He missed his father. He missed feeling part of something, of being cared for. This planet was fine, one of the more comfortable ones he’d been on, but it wasn’t his home. This house wasn’t his home.

He wanted to go home. Back to when he didn’t feel so lost. So afraid.

So alone.

After a long moment, Knuckles drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a long, slow exhale. He’d been rude to Callie. She’d opened her home to him, and had never expected anything from him except courtesy in return. It was so different from what he’d experienced before—any other time he’d trusted others, they would have turned on him by now. She’d been nothing but kind to him.

Still. That seed of doubt poked at the back of his mind. Maybe it was time to stop being so trusting. To stop expecting anything other than betrayal. Despite her kindness, she could still turn on him. He had to be vigilant.

Soon after, his eyes began to close, and Knuckles the Echidna, last surviving member of his race, and guardian of the Master Emerald, fell asleep.

~X~X~X~

She should have handled that better.

Callie dumped a pitcher of water over the glowing embers in the fire pit, stirring it in with a poker to douse the last of the heat. As the wood hissed and smoked, she cursed herself for coming on too strong with Knuckles.

He was a proud kid. A fighter. A survivor. She knew that.

She really should have expected this reaction, honestly. Suggesting he needed to come to her simply because he’d injured himself? No matter how much blood she’d found in the bathroom—which had been a lot, and she may or may not have freaked out a little bit—she should have just let him come to her when he was ready.

But she didn’t. She pushed. And now she’d pushed him even farther away than he already was.

Once she was satisfied the fire had been adequately extinguished, Callie stood and pushed against the small of her back to produce that familiar crack. Massaging the area, she turned, and headed into the house.

She paused by Knuckles’ door as she headed down the hall to her own room. Leaning in, she heard a soft growl as he moved around. She supposed it was lucky he even came in instead of just wandering off into the trees surrounding her home. Sometimes he stayed out all night, and though she tried not to worry—he could take care of himself, after all—she did.

Her fingers curled into a fist, and she raised it to knock. It hovered near the wood for a moment, before lowering back to her side.

He didn’t need her checking on him. He was a big boy, capable of taking care of himself. He could take care of himself. She just had to keep reminding herself that.

Maybe it was time for her to just back off. He wasn’t like Sonic or Tails. He hadn’t been looking for a family. A home. He’d been looking for that magic rock. And now it sat in his closet, protected by a high-tech security system concocted by Tails. Knuckles sometimes sat before it, meditating. She was glad he had found the thing that had been driving him for most of his life, but saw the question in his eyes on the rare occasions he sat still.

Now what?

She wished she could tell him.

She wished she could help him.

But he didn’t want her help. Didn’t need it. Had said as much not fifteen minutes ago.

Maybe it was time she started listening to him.

With a sigh, Callie turned and headed to her bedroom, trying to convince herself she was worrying for nothing.

~X~X~X~

The night wore on. The house grew quiet.

Inside the middle bedroom, a faint green glow seeped from the closet.

~X~X~X~

Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, and Callie blinked against it.

God her head hurt. Sitting by the fire last night had dried out her sinuses something awful, and she uttered a grunt in the back of her throat as she pushed herself to sit up. She had to peel her tongue off the roof of her mouth.

What a night. After collapsing in bed, she’d tossed and turned for a while, eventually falling into a restless sleep with really, really weird dreams. Something about an egg and trees and a giant owl?

She shook her head. Weird. She didn’t normally remember her dreams.

With some effort she managed to push herself out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom to pee, splash some water on her face, and drag a brush through her hair before folding it into a loose braid. Tossing on a t-shirt and jeans, she pulled her glasses on and headed toward the stairs.

She stopped at Knuckles’ door once again, and this time quietly pushed it open to peek inside. The door thudded against something, and she looked down to see his boots lumped right behind it. She rolled her eyes. Probably got pissed and tossed them again.

Despite his differences, he was still very much a teenager.

Glancing up, she could barely make out a moving shape beneath his blanket. It was unusual for him to still be in bed (well, his artificial burrow, anyway) this late. Normally he was up with the sun to train or patrol or whatever it was he did with himself when he left the house.

Her heart gave a clench when she realized she didn’t really know what he did when he wasn’t here. “Training” was a pretty vague term, and she didn’t know if that meant exercising or running some death course he’d built himself up in the mountains. She could honestly believe either one.

With a sigh, she pulled back, leaving the door open a crack. She’d make some breakfast, and maybe the lure of a hot meal will draw him down so she could apologize for last night.

Her cats’ cries hit her once she reached the bottom of the stairs, and she rolled her eyes as she headed toward the kitchen.

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said with a sigh. She reached into a cabinet to pull out a can of cat food, popping the lid off to shlorp the stuff onto a plate. “You’re starving. Just wasting away. However did you survive on only the dry food you always have available to you since yesterday’s breakfast?”

The cats responded with excited meows as she placed the plate on the floor, before attacking the food as though they weren’t lazy housecats who did nothing but sit around all day before occasionally getting underfoot just as she decided to walk down the hall.

Another eye roll and Callie moved to start her coffeemaker. She’d forgotten to set it last night. With practiced ease of a daily ritual, she cleaned yesterday’s pot, refilled the water and grounds, and let it do its thing.

A yawn escaped her as she leaned back against the counter, massaging her temple, her eyes closed. The soft crunches of dry cat food came from the other side of the counter, as the coffeemaker hummed behind her.

She’d messed things up last night. Once she’d had her coffee, she’d make some bacon and eggs, maybe toss a few sausages in as an apology for overstepping. As he ate—if he ate—she’d tell him she would just stay out of his way, and let him come to her if he needed.

It went against everything she wanted, but this wasn’t about her. It was about Knuckles, and his comfort.

He could take care of himself.

That just needed to be her mantra for a while. Until it stuck.

Bloom and Suki argued a bit over the last bits of moist food, just like they always did every morning. She mostly ignored them. For sisters who’d been adopted at the same time, they really hadn’t bonded, or even seemed to like each other all that much.

A louder growl floated to her, and she called a quick “Knock it off” to them. It faded to softer hissing, as though they were arguing over whose fault it was they were yelled at. Callie sighed, rubbing her temple again, when a thought came to her.

She could still hear the crunch of dry cat food.

That . . . wasn’t right.

Opening her eyes, she leaned over to catch a glimpse of both cats—her only cats—still scarfing down the moist food on one side of the kitchen island.

And still, the crunching continued.

Great.

She hadn’t had her coffee yet, and there was already a problem. Some animal must have gotten into the house and was helping itself to her cats’ food. Mouse? Rat? Squirrel? Not exactly something she wanted to deal with at not quite 8 AM on a Saturday morning.

Moving slowly, Callie grabbed a dish towel, hoping to surprise the whatever-it-was and nab it before it had a chance to run or bite her. Would it work? Probably not. But she had to do something.

She moved slowly, coming around the counter making as little noise as possible. Inch by inch she rounded the island, before she could see the cat food bowl, and the creature having a free lunch. Or breakfast, as it were.

And she froze.

Sitting in front of the bowl, grabbing handfuls of dry cat food and shoving them into its mouth, crunching loudly, was a . . . little red echidna.

“What the . . .”

She spoke without realizing, and the little thing froze, whipping his head around to look at her, eyes wide. Violet eyes. Ones that looked so, so much like those of the echidna upstairs. Her eyes flicked down and took note of the white patch of fur in the shape of a crescent moon on his little chest.

Oh god.

It couldn’t be.

Was that . . . ?

They stood there, staring at each other, frozen in shock for a long moment.

Then the little echidna—what were they called? She couldn’t remember at the moment—reached forward, his eyes never leaving hers, and grabbed another handful of cat food to bring to his mouth.

That got her moving.

“NO!”

Her voice was louder and sharper than she intended, and when she reached for him, he gave a little squeak, turning to scramble away from her. He ran on all fours, a kind of loping half-crawl, half-gallop kind of gait, and he was fast. Callie hurried behind him, her socked feet threatening to slip on her laminated floors.

“No no no,” she muttered as he ran beneath the kitchen table. She slid to a stop and yanked a chair away, falling to her knees to try and grab him, just as he scooted through the other side and made a beeline for the living room. Getting to her feet once more, she followed, trying to keep him in sight. He was about as large as one of her cats—bigger than a kitten, but not a full on adult—which meant he could fit in places she couldn’t reach.

Like behind the computer desk where her laptop sat. He squeezed between it and the wall, and Callie hurled the rolling chair out of the way as she threw herself beneath the desk. The little echidna—what the hell were they called again??—skittered along the back, getting tangled in the cord for the lamp and pulling it down with a crash as he bolted from behind the desk and headed for the side table by the couch.

“Stop!”

He gave another little squeak at her order, but never slowed. Scrambling behind the side table, he latched onto the curtain, climbing deceptively fast for a little guy his size. Realizing she was still holding the hand towel, Callie threw it toward him, not necessarily thinking through what that was supposed to accomplish. But she never expected his reaction.

He launched himself off the curtain and flew across the room.

No, not flew, exactly. More like glide. Like a flying squirrel.

But still.

“Are you kidding me??”

While gliding seemed to come naturally to him, landing did not, and he bounced off the TV, tumbling down to the floor with a few grunts. She hurried over to him, and caught his leg just as he was trying to scurry beneath the TV stand.

“Gotcha!”

He did not like being caught, wiggling and twisting his body like a live wire, uttering little grunts and growls as he did so. Callie kept having to rearrange her grip on him, alternating between grabbing a limb before switching to a different one when he jack-knifed his body to try and hurl himself out of her hands.

It was like trying to hold doll filled with Jell-O, if that doll hated you and was trying to bite you and poke you with its quills.

In desperation, she tried something that usually worked when her own son was cranky and fighting all those years ago.

She tickled him.

At first she wasn’t even sure if he was ticklish. Did creatures with fur have tickle triggers, or did their fur absorb that touch before it could work? It wasn’t exactly a question she’d ever thought to ask Maddie, and certainly not something Knuckles would ever let her know about. Weaknesses and all that.

Her fingers danced over his sides, seeking out the spots that most humans found ticklish, and he continued to fight her. A little more juggling, and she ended up holding him by an ankle, the rest of him dangling. She brought her other hand up and went for the bottom of his foot.

And he giggled.

Her fingers wiggled, barely touching the pads on his foot, and now he wiggled and twisted for a different reason, laughing and giggling at the touch. A smile curled her lips and she gave a little amused hum of her own.

“There, that’s not so bad, is it?”

When his laughter went a little wheezy, she stopped her tickle attack and carefully adjusted him so she held him beneath his arms. He giggled a little more before looking up at her, his eyes big and wide. She felt his little chest heaving from the laughter, and gave him a good look over.

Same eyes. Same moon mark on his chest. She moved him so she could see the arm that was bandaged last night. There was still a tiny wound there.

“Holy . . . ohmygod . . . you’re him. Knuckles?” He didn’t respond to his name. Could he understand her at all? “You’re a . . .”

“Knock knock, MacPhersons!” a voice called as the kitchen door opened. Wade came in, carrying a bag from Dough Ray Me Bakery. “I brought breakie! Or snackie!”

“Baby,” she said, looking at the deputy over her shoulder.

“Yes, dear?” He snickered, amused by his own joke. “Ah, kidding, what are you—”

“BABY,” she said, louder and more urgent. She turned and held the little echidna out.

Wade stopped, his eyes going wide. “Did . . . did Knux have a baby?”

“Knux IS the baby,” she said, moving closer. The boy turned his head, looking between the two adults. “I woke up and he was like this.”

Silence settled for a moment, before Wade rubbed the back of his neck. “So . . . is this something space echidna do? Like a phoenix kinda thing?”

Callie opened her mouth to answer, before closing it again. She looked between echidna and man, before giving Wade a look. “I think my smoke detectors would have gone off if he’d burst into flames to revert to a . . . joey. No, that’s kangaroos. Damnit. What are baby echidna called?”

Wade shrugged. “Think the other boys are like this?”

Her eyes went wide. YES! Verifying Sonic and Tails were babies too wouldn’t exactly make this okay, but would go a long way into making her feel less . . . weird about it. Shared experiences and all that.

“I’ll check.” She thrust Knuckles toward Wade, who looked distinctly unsure about taking him. “C’mon, Wade. I have to make a phone call.”

“I dunno, I’m not really great with—“

That’s as far as he got before she practically dropped the little echidna into his hands. She rushed to the counter, grabbed her phone, and punched Maddie’s contact. It ran twice before she picked up.

“Hey, Cal!”

“Hey, Mads, uh, sorry to call so early, I just have a quick question.”

“Shoot.”

Callie glanced over at Wade, who had pulled Knuckles to cradle against his chest. Knux gazed up at the man, playing with the buttons on the hideous Hawaiian shirt he liked to wear on days off.

“Your kids wouldn’t happen to be, I dunno . . . babies?”

A slight pause.

“It depends on the situation, really.”

“RUDE!” A certain hedgehog’s voice called out in the background.

Oh. Oh no.

“That seemed an oddly specific question for this early in the morning,” Maddie continued, seemingly ignoring her hog son. “Why do you ask?”

A soft, not quite sane laugh escaped Callie, and she switched from an audio call to video. “Because, funny story . . . Today I woke up to . . .” She turned the phone to show Wade holding little Knux. “This.”

Silence. Then, “OH MY GOD! HE’S SO CUTE!”

Wade blushed. “Aw, thanks, Maddie!”

Callie rolled her eyes, and pulled the phone back around to herself. “Maddie, he’s a baby. Why is he a baby?”

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know any more than you do about his species.”

“Don’t tell me you think he’s like some space phoenix thing, too.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Callie sighed, reaching beneath her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“Hang on, lemme ask Tails.” Maddie’s voice went a little muffled as she blocked the mic, turning to call for her younger son. There was some back and forth between the two, when Tails came on screen.

“Hi, Callie!”

“Hey, Floof,” she said, dropping her hand and giving him a weak smile. “Your mom fill you in?”

“Yeah, and I’m not completely clear on echidna physiology but am pretty sure they don’t spontaneously revert to become babies overnight.”

“Wait a minute, Knux is a baby???” Sonic’s voice started faint but got louder as he pushed forward, sticking his nose in the camera. “LEMME SEE!!”

Callie sighed, and turned to show the hog. A gasp, followed by laughter, and she pulled the phone back around with a cocked eyebrow.

“Hey, see if you can remove the stick from his butt now, so he’ll be more fun when he grows up!”

“Sonic!”

A warning call from Maddie, who wrestled control of her phone from her older son.

“So,” Callie said, trying to redirect the conversation. “Any ideas how this happened, or how to change him back?”

“Tails?” Maddie asked, turning the phone slightly to get the fox in frame. He rubbed his chin slightly, before looking back up.

“The Master Emerald is said to be able to change reality, based solely on thought alone,” he said, before shrugging. “Maybe that has something to do with it.”

Callie could have slapped her forehead. Duh. She knew the Master Emerald could do that, that’s what the whole trouble with Robotnik was when Knux first came. That should have been her first thought, honestly.

She blamed the lack of caffeine.

“That’s a good call, Tails,” she said, glancing over at Wade. He’d pulled Knuckles up and was currently dancing with him, making silly faces. The boy laughed, kicking his little feet, and Callie’s heart just about melted. She looked back to Tails. “I’ll see if I can, I dunno, convince the Emerald to change him back.”

The fox looked hesitant, but nodded. “Probably your best bet. Just . . . be careful.”

“I will. Thanks, guys. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

The Wachowski’s said their goodbyes, and she hung up, putting her phone back on the counter.

“You sure you wanna use that?” Wade asked, pulling Knux back to hold against him. He still swayed back and forth, seemingly without realizing he was doing it. “Could make things weirder.”

“Not sure we have much of a choice, Wade.”

She paused, looking up the stairs toward Knuckles’ room. She tried not to think about having a magic rock capable of altering reality in her house. One that allowed Robotnik to create a giant robot out of cars and trains and who knew what else. One that apparently worked through thought alone.

Because if she thought too hard on it, it really, really, really freaked her out.

“We can call Sonic and Tails to come over,” Wade said, his voice softer. “They know a little more about it and maybe could help.”

Part of her wanted to say yes, because this was way too much to deal with. At all, much less before her morning coffee. She turned and looked back at Knuckles, who was seemingly fine hanging over Wade’s arm.

She sighed.

“No,” she said, giving her braid a little tug. “We don’t know for sure that’s what changed him. What if the other boys come over and BOOM, they get babified? Then we’ll still be on our own and Maddie will be pissed. No thanks.” She sighed again, steeling herself. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She made her way upstairs, into Knuckles’ room, and opened his closet door. The Master Emerald sat in its little glass box, its ever present soft glow illuminating the otherwise dark room. With a few calming breaths, she reached forward and pressed her thumb on the little square plate at the base. There was a soft beep, and a little recording of Tails’ voice filled the air.

“Identification code, please.”

Callie leaned forward to speak toward the mic. “Callie MacPherson, 7322-07.”

A second later there was another beep, and Tails’ voice again.

“Access granted! Hi, Callie!”

There was a click and a hiss as the top of the clear box opened, swinging back to allow access. The material the container was constructed with looked like glass, but Tails had called it some sort of polymer that was stronger than steel—a recipe he’d concocted back on his home planet when he was five, and at that point she’d stopped listening because it sounded like a lot of tech talk, and frankly she got the feeling that some of Tails’ inventions were borderline illegal no matter what planet he was on.

She reached into the box now, and carefully took hold of the Master Emerald, lifting it out slowly. She’d only touched it once before, as Tails was installing the security system.

She didn’t like touching it.

It was warm.

Not warm as in ‘a rock that had been sitting in the sun’ warm. But warm as in ‘something that was somehow generating its own heat’ warm.

It was almost a living warmth.

And beyond that, it seemed to . . . thrum in her hands.

She tried to tell herself she was simply feeling her own heartbeat through it, that somehow the gem was amplifying it back to her.

But considering how her heart was pounding in her own ears right now, the gem’s . . . well, pulse didn’t match the rhythm.

She tried not to think about it.

She tried not to think about anything, considering the powers the gem held.

Having her house turn into gingerbread because of the ones she used to make with her mother at Christmas popped into her head was the last thing she needed right now.

(damnit stop thinking about that)

Hurrying downstairs, she found Wade entertaining Knuckles by tossing him in the air before catching him. The little echidna laughed, his soft voice squeaking with his happy giggles.

Callie was only a little jealous that Wade could coax such happy sounds from the boy. She didn’t think she’d ever heard teen Knux sound that free. That happy. Sure, he’d been through hell in his quest to find the gem now in her hands, but she thought she had given him a nice safe place to stay. A home.

Maybe she’d just been fooling herself.

Focus.

“Keep doing that and he’s gonna barf on you,” she said, in what she hoped sounded like her usual snark.

Wade caught him one last time, before giving the boy a little nose nuzzle. “Ah, he’s okay. He’s a cute little guy!”

“Yeah, well, why don’t we see if we can change him back—PUGGLE!” The word came out loud and suddenly, and Wade and Knuckles both jerked. She gave them an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I’d been trying to think of that word all morning. Anyway . . .” She held up the Master Emerald. “Shall we give it a try?”

Wade nodded, turning Knuckles around so they both faced Callie. She stepped forward, holding the gem up in front of the little puggle.

Nothing happened.

She gave the Emerald a little shake. “C’mon. Change him back. Uh, please.”

Nothing.

“Think maybe it’s like a genie kinda thing?” Wade offered, and Knuckles turned his head to look at him. “Like, you gotta wish for it or something?”

“Tails said it works by thought,” Callie responded, watching as the puggle turned back and began chewing on the nearest edge of the Emerald. “But I’m not exactly sure how to do that. And kinda worried about a monkey’s paw kinda situation.”

“Oh, like you wish for something and it grants it in the most horrible, twisted way possible. Like instead of changing him back to his normal self he’s a . . . I dunno, an eclair or something.”

Callie gave him a look. “Why would he be an eclair?”

Wade shrugged. “It kinda sounds like echidna. And maybe it sounds so much like echidna that you think of eclair instead and now he’s a delicious pastry and—”

“I’m not going to think of an eclair instead of echidna,” she snapped, before pulling her lips in tight. “Well I wasn’t before you said that, now that’s all I can think of, thank you very much.”

Closing her eyes, Callie drew in a deep breath, before letting it out slowly.

Okay.

She opened her eyes, and met Wade’s gaze. “I’m gonna try picturing him like he was yesterday, and see if that works. Ready?” Wade nodded, holding Knuckles out. “Okay. Here goes.”

Callie closed her eyes again, squeezing them shut tightly as she pictured Knuckles, teenage Knuckles, and definitely not an eclair, standing before her and giving her that typical scowl, his arms crossed. She kept that image in her mind, her grip tightening on the Master Emerald.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to happen. A feeling of some sort of energy or something flowing through her as the Emerald did what she wanted. A sudden shift of the air around her. Something.

That didn’t happen.

What did happen was little Knuckles sneezing, spraying the Master Emerald—and her—with little puggle snot. She jerked, opening her eyes.

“Well, that’s just grand, that is,” she said in her best Wallace impersonation. She turned and walked to the hand towel she’d thrown at Knuckles while he was hanging off her curtain, and picked it up to wipe the spray off the most dangerous and powerful gem in the entire galaxy. Then she turned the towel to herself, wiping her face and heaving a sigh.

“At least he’s not an eclair,” Wade offered, tucking Knux into his elbow. “What now?”

Callie cocked an eyebrow at him, tucking the Emerald against her hip. Her eyes flicked behind him, and found her coffee pot nice and full. “Coffee,” she said, heading toward it.

~~~~~

And that's where I petered out because it's just not working. UGH

#sonic fanfiction #knuckles the echidna #callie macpherson #wade whipple #deaged Knuckles

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art-missy · 7 months ago

Note

Could you do another with Fade? I loved the last one so much omg

How about one where Fade comes back injured after an assignments and reader patches her up?? She needs someone to take care of her, thank uu

Glad that you loved the last one (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Let's see... Fade being taken care of by Reader after getting hurt on an assignment... Yeah I think I can whip something up.

You were the first option that came in her mind. Sage was on another mission, Skye was back in Australia for her days off and her mind was about to take off because of the pain. She had enough strength to limp to your dorm room and knock. After that, darkness welcomed her in a forced embrace.

Fade opened her eyes to the sound of someone humming. The pain in her leg went away, only leaving an annoying soreness as a notice of passage. She felt groggy and couldn't stop her body from manifesting it with a sleepy whine.

The humming stopped and when she —very slowly— turned her head to the side, her heavy-lidded eyes met your sternly concerned ones.

"I took care of your leg," you said simply as you helped her sit up. "Your ankle was badly sprained and a bullet was paying rent in your thigh. Bad fall ? Ambush ? Both ?"

"Both," she answered, her voice croaky.

Once she was sat against the headboard of the bed, you pulled thermometer out of your bedtable drawer. Fade accepted it in her mouth without complaining. She then noticed that she wasn't dressed of her drenched clothes anymore but of a comfy pajama, and a neatly wrapped bandage around her wrist.

"Icebox is definitely not a place that suits you," she heard you sighing as she looked at the ceiling.

"How long was I unconscious ?" she asked.

"It would have been two days in three hours," you replied as you took the thermometer back from her mouth. "Wonderful ! You don't have a fever !"

"Anjinim var," she grumbled.

You nodded and pointed at a tray on the bedtable.

"Figured," you hummed. "I was serving myself a cup of tea before you woke up. Your throat definitely need it more than mine. Citrus, chamomile and honey," you poured a cup and handed it to her slightly shaky hands. "Don't look at me like that. You won't have coffee before a while, young lady."

She said nothing more, letting you taking care of her. She trusted you fully, knowing that you would always treat her with the utmost care and love. Your concern was heartwarming, even though you sometimes reminded her of a loving but stern granny. Especially when you reminded her to always wear a scarf when she was assigned in an operation in Icebox or how you would scold her with long lectures about keeping one self warm if she refused.

"I'll let Sage check on you when she returns," you said as the warmth of the tea danced in her throat. "I might have healing abilities, she's the true doc around and I want to be certain your leg is alright."

Fade moved her leg under the comforter, as if testing it. Apart from a light heaviness in the thigh and a soreness in the ankle, it didn't feel like she nearly lost it almost two days ago.

"Thanks."

"Please, thank me by finishing your tea and taking a few days off."

A tired but lovely smile carved her lips. She truly felt lucky to have you. Being under your care was the best thing that could happen to her after a deathly assignment. You were home.

Anjinim var = I have a sore throat

#inbox requests #valorant x reader #valorant imagines #valorant fanfiction #valorant fade #fade x reader #valorant fade x reader #fade valorant #★nana is writing…#valorant fanfic

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edosianorchids901 · 11 months ago

Text

Minute By Minute

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "run far and fast"

Cw: head injury

After all my long years at Holmes’ side, I had learned to be wary of sudden telegrams, especially when I was at home alone. Any one might mean a new mystery for him to worry at like a dog with a new bone, yes. But it was as likely that the telegram contained news of the old hunting dog himself, good or ill, and I had seen enough ill to be concerned.

I had been halfway dressed when the knock came, and I still stood with only one arm in a sleeve as I read the telegram. It was brief, more terse than I was accustomed to, and I quickly saw it was not from Holmes.

“Come at once. Mr. Holmes struck unconscious, will not wake,” I read aloud, trying to make it feel real enough that I could force myself to move.

I had frozen in cold horror at the first glance, and had to take several deep breaths before I flung myself into action. My hands, which were ordinarily steady, trembled as I dressed and flung my necessary belongings into a bag.

I was out of the door and flinging into a cab within ten minutes, my pace sped by my walking stick and desperation. A train took me north, heading for Derbyshire. I stared vaguely out the window as the train hurtled along, although I confess I did not truly see the landscape. I was consumed by horror, by dread of what might await me. Minute by minute, the dread grew worse.

Once as close to my destination as I could get by train, I stopped at a stable and fumbled with my pocketbook. “I need a horse that can run far and fast. I understand the roads have been washed out due to heavy rain?”

“They have.” The stableboy gave the leg I was favoring a dubious look. “Can you ride?”

“When I must.”

I was soon on a fast chestnut gelding, flying down the muddy roads. I was traveling light, and had my medical bag lashed to the saddle. My leg fiercely protested the ride, but I did not care. I could think of nothing except Holmes lying unconscious.

It was very nearly dark despite the length of summer days when my horse skidded to a halt outside the farmhouse I had been directed to. Holmes had always said that the country was more perilous than the city, and as I limped into the house my senses were on high alert.

The farmer here was deeply apologetic and clearly sick with worry, and told me that Holmes had been injured facing off with ruffians who meant to burn the farm in pursuit of minerals that lay beneath it. At the moment, I had no interest in the case itself, and soon shook him off in favor of seeing Holmes.

The sight of my friend shocked me, and for a moment I could only gaze at him in horror. He was paler than ever, a dead-white, and bloody bandages wreathed his head. He looked older, and smaller, and terribly shattered.

I examined him at once. His pulse was weak but regular, his breaths the same. In addition to the severe blow he taken to the head, he had several cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, and many bruises.

After changing his bandages, I sank into a seat beside the bed and held his hand in mine. Tears stinging my eyes, I pressed my brow to the bandages on his split knuckles. I had seen Holmes injured many times, but I could not help worrying what such a long stretch of unconsciousness might mean for his brilliant mind.

The night passed without Holmes stirring, although he did moan twice. Both times I straightened up, hoping to hear his voice, to know that he was all right. But each time, there was nothing else.

It was not until dawn that I had some sign, in this instance his hand briefly tightening on mine. His skin was cold despite the blankets I had piled on him, and despite my own warmth.

He drew a shaky breath and shifted slightly, fingers flexing again. “Watson,” he mumbled, voice so weak I had to strain to hear him. “Watson.”

“I am right here, Holmes. Right beside you.” My hands trembling, I cupped his cheek and let my thumb drift gently across the clammy skin, light enough that it shouldn’t pain him. “Lie still. You have been badly hurt.”

His eyes flicked open, just for a moment, and then he closed them with another moan. “The light…”

“It is already as dim as I can make it.” I had drawn the curtains, knowing he would no doubt be sensitive to light, and blew out the candle as soon as I could see by the daylight glow. “You have taken a bad blow on the head, and been unconscious for some time. You must not move too much.”

Holmes swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable, and I held a cup to his parched lips. He sipped it, then laid back with a slightly calmer expression. “My Watson. You came to me.”

“As soon as I received the telegram.”

“I was… unsure if I asked. I wanted.” His words were uneven, as if each was a struggle. “I wanted my Watson, but all was… fog.”

More tears welling, I nodded and pressed his hand. “Your Watson has come. I am here, Holmes, and I will stay with you no matter what.”

His lips curved in a faint smile, and his breaths slowed as he drifted off to sleep. I watched over him a while longer, then laid down as well. He was not out of danger yet, and would have a long recovery ahead. But he had spoken to me again, and knew me, and I was now sure that things would be all right in the end.

#sherlock holmes #ACD Holmes #john watson

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bloody-bee-tea · 1 year ago

Text

June of (minimal) Doom 2024 Day 5 - It's not as bad as it looks

Suguru feels sick to his stomach. He knows he should help Satoru, should help him get up, should get him to Shoko somehow, but his hands shake and the rest of his body feels as if it’s frozen in ice.

“Suguru, a little help here,” Satoru says, his voice tight with pain as he holds out his hand.

Suguru is supposed to take it, to haul him up and then help him walk but he can’t do anything.

Except stare at Satoru’s leg, at the angle it’s in and the only thing he can currently hear is the awful sound it made as it snapped.

It shouldn’t have.

Satoru is supposed to be invincible; he’s supposed to be untouchable.

He’s not supposed to break his leg.

“Suguru,” Satoru snaps now, clearly more annoyed than in pain and Suguru jerks. “Help me up, goddamit,” Satoru grumbles, waving his hand around and glaring at Suguru. “I’m not going to get up by myself, so please.”

“Satoru, I—” Suguru starts, unsure how he’s going to explain that he doesn’t feel stable enough to support himself, less alone Satoru.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Satoru grumbles, leaning forward to take Suguru’s hand in his own when he doesn’t move to help him and even that movement makes him hiss in pain.

Suguru’s heart misses a beat at that and he stumbles when Satoru tries to pull himself up with the grip he has on Suguru’s hand.

“Suguru!” Satoru yells and it makes Suguru blink. “I need to get to Shoko already. She’s going to fix me right back up, okay, so would you just—” He tugs on Suguru’s arm again but the only thing that does is make Suguru fall to his knees.

“You have RCT. Heal yourself,” he says, begs almost, because he cannot continue to stare at that leg of Satoru’s but Satoru only huffs.

“Well, it turns out that pain makes it really difficult to concentrate and apparently instinct doesn’t kick in if I’m not in a life or death situation.”

Suguru almost gags at that; he still remembers the pool of blood at the top of the stairs, still hears Satoru almost gleefully describe just what gruesome injuries he survived and it’s all going to make him sick again.

“Suguru?” Satoru asks, more careful this time and clears realising that something is going on, but still, Suguru has a hard time shaking himself out of those memories.

His own injuries were almost laughable in comparison, and he isn’t as hung up about them as he is about Satoru’s injuries.

“Hey, Suguru, come on now,” Satoru says, much softer now. “Let’s just go see Shoko okay?”

“Sure,” Suguru forces himself to say because Satoru is in pain, can’t heal himself because of it, because he’s hurt and Suguru has to do something about it. “Up you go,” he says, tries to make his voice light and cheerful in hopes to distract Satoru from his behaviour, and for now it works.

Probably only because Satoru has to concentrate on getting up without putting any weight on his injured leg but Suguru is going to take it.

“Alright, onward!” Satoru yells out, as if Suguru is his noble steed that has to be steered on and even though it makes Suguru roll his eyes, he does start to walk, mindful of the way Satoru has to awkwardly hop next to him.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, you know,” Satoru says when they are maybe a quarter of the way to Shoko and Suguru presses his lips together.

It’s exactly as bad as it looks, Suguru thinks, because it looks like a broken leg and that is what it is. In the grand scheme of things it might not be much—especially compared to the injures they sustained before—but it’s an injury nonetheless.

It shouldn’t leave Suguru reeling like this, but that is a thought for another day.

“Whatever you say,” Suguru belatedly gives back and then stops when Satoru almost stumbles. “This would be faster if I could just pick you up,” he says, turning his gaze towards Satoru.

“Piggy-back? Sure, if you think you can carry me all the way,” Satoru glibly says, clearly not believing that at all and Suguru bites his tongue.

Satoru untangles his arm from Suguru, evidently expecting him to crouch down so Satoru can climb on his back, but Suguru simply bends down and picks him up in a bridal-carry.

“Suguru!” Satoru shouts out, flailing around in a way that almost makes Suguru drop him.

“Stop it,” he admonishes him as he starts to walk. “I’m going to drop you.”

“That’s why it should have been a piggy-back ride,” Satoru heatedly gives back and belatedly slings his arms around Suguru’s neck. “Don’t you dare drop me.”

“I won’t,” Suguru confidently says, because for all that Satoru is tall, he’s also lanky as hell. He’s actually not that heavy to carry.

They make it to Shoko in record time and with minimal grumbling from Satoru which Suguru takes as a win. He makes sure to keep his step light and even and to not jostle Satoru at all, so he doesn’t worsen his injury.

“What is this now?” Shoko asks when he walks into her work place and gently lowers Satoru on a chair.

“He broke his leg,” Suguru says, the sound of it now back to playing on loop in his mind and Shoko frowns.

“With Infinity?”

“Well, excuse me, but Infinity only protects me from outward forces.”

“So it’s useless against stupidity,” Shoko sums up and Satoru makes an outraged sound.

Their bickering is so painfully normal that it’s a balm to Suguru’s still shaken nerves and just like Satoru predicted Shoko has him healed up in less than a minute.

“There, all better now,” Shoko says and then taps a finger against her lips as she thinks. “You know, you really have to make healing yourself an instinct, even when your life is not in danger. That’s probably something you have to work on.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” Satoru asks and just going by the downright wicked grin on Shoko’s face Suguru knows that he’s not going to like what’s coming next.

“I could inflict some minor injuries and make you heal them over and over again,” she gleefully suggests and when Satoru doesn’t immediately protest it, Suguru has to turn away.

“I’m done, good night,” he decides, even though it’s the middle of the day still and before Shoko or Satoru can say anything he marches out on them, almost fleeing back to his room.

He’s still shaken up, more than he’d like to admit or would be able to explain, and he thinks being away from Shoko and Satoru might help in getting himself under control again.

Suguru saw that Satoru was fine after Shoko treated him, saw him stand and walk around, so there’s really no reason for him to still feel as panicked as he does.

He just needs to breathe. In and out, just like Shoko has taught him and then he’s sure things will be fine.

Eventually.

Suguru is still in the process of convincing himself of that when Satoru barges into his room.

He stands firmly on his two legs, clearly has no problems whatsoever walking around and it should put the last bit of worry in Suguru’s mind at ease but it’s not working.

It’s not working because Satoru got hurt and Suguru wasn’t able to prevent it. It’s not working because Satoru is supposed to be invincible, untouchable and yet he got hurt.

Suguru’s breath is becoming increasingly short and fast and Satoru is at his side a moment later.

“Breathe, Suguru,” he coaxes him, puts Suguru’s hands on his chest and takes exaggerated breaths himself.

It takes a long while for Suguru to calm down again and in all honesty it’s not even because of the rhythm Satoru has established. The one thing that really helps is feeling how Satoru breathes, knowing that he’s alive and safe and unharmed.

“Are you feeling better now?” Satoru asks once Suguru’s breathing has returned to normal and Suguru is beyond embarrassed that Satoru had to see him like this so he turns around.

“I’m fine. Just tired. Thanks.” He tries to make his voice as dismissive as he can but of course it has absolutely no effect on Satoru.

“Sure, I totally believe that. What’s going on? It’s not like you to be this shaken by a little injury,” he says and flops down on Suguru’s bed.

“Your leg was broken. That hardly counts as a little injury.”

“It wasn’t life-endangering, so I’d say it was,” Satoru carelessly gives back and even that little comment is almost enough to send Suguru spiralling again.

“Don’t talk like that,” he hisses out and Satoru is visibly taken aback by his vehemence.

“Suguru—”

“Don’t ever even joke about that,” Suguru goes on, not letting Satoru talk. “After Toji—after everything that happened you don’t get to talk like that!”

“I was fine after Toji,” Satoru gives back, sitting back up, clearly noticing that this is more than just a little friendly talk. “I’m fine, Suguru.”

“But you weren‘t,” Suguru presses out. “Gods, Satoru, do you even know how much blood you lost? How much blood I had to find? You were not fine. You died!

“Almost,” Satoru interjects but Suguru barely even hears him.

“And now you have RCT and permanent Infinity and you’re not supposed to get hurt, not anymore, not ever again, I can’t find that much blood ever again, I can’t,” Suguru gasps out, all his careful breathing exorcises from before for naught but Satoru is at his side again a second later.

“I’m fine, Suguru,” he whispers, taking Suguru’s hands and putting one to his chest and one to his throat so he can feel him breathe, so he can feel his pulse and then he stays quiet until Suguru breathes easier.

“But you weren’t,” Suguru repeats and Satoru presses his lips together as he nods.

“I wasn’t, that’s true. But I’m better, I’m good, I promise. Today was—unfortunate,” he says and it’s ridiculous enough to make Suguru huff out a little laugh.

“You could say that,” he mutters and drops his head to Satoru’s shoulder. “You scared me.”

“I know,” Satoru apologetically says and reaches up to undo Suguru’s bun so he can card his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Suguru gives back because he knows that much at least, no matter how irrational he is about everything else. “I just—I can’t have you hurt like that again. I can’t. I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

“Hey, you’re not losing me any time soon,” Satoru tells him and slings his arms around him. “And even if something were to try and take me away from you, I wouldn’t let it. I’m not leaving you behind, it’s you and me after all, right?”

“It is,” Suguru agrees, slinging his arms around Satoru in turn. “Satoru, I—”

He doesn’t know how to say it, how much this means to him, how much further his feelings go for Satoru, but when Satoru presses a kiss to his head he thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to know the words for it.

Maybe this is enough.

“I know, Suguru, me too,” Satoru softly says and it’s enough to almost make Suguru sob with relief. “That’s why I’m never leaving you, not ever. But the same has to go for you, you know.”

“I’m not the one who nearly died,” Suguru replies and Satoru chuckles.

“Fair,” he agrees and squeezes Suguru tight. “But I’m not going to do it again and you’re not going to leave me and things will be fine like that.”

Suguru has to admit that Satoru might be right; Satoru didn‘t die even though he should have and when Suguru was about to leave him, slaughtered village and abducted kids and all, Suguru didn’t do that either, because the thought of leaving Satoru pierced through whatever haze he had been in at that moment.

And if neither of those things could do the trick, then surely nothing can.

“Okay,” Suguru nods and brushes his lips over Satoru’s throat. “Okay.”

Satoru doesn’t verbally reply but Suguru can practically feel him beam down at him and with Satoru that close, it’s easy for him to breathe easy, to believe everything Satoru tells him.

Things will be okay. With them together, there is simply no other way after all.

#bt writes #jjk #june of doom 2024 #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #shoko ieiri #injuries #trauma response #panic attack #love confessions #hurt/comfort #getting together

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ravenclawshermione · 8 months ago

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New Chapter Up - "Totally Platonic"

He was a mess, a scorch mark on the side of his helmet, his jacket missing, the dark fabric on his left shoulder even darker with blood.

“Skata,” I cursed, setting the knife down and rushing to help him inside, “Here, the first aid kit is in the bathroom.”

He let me help him, leaning on me heavily enough that I knew it was serious, “I don’t suppose you have any- Jesus Pheebs, did you raid a hospital?”

The voice modulator made the question sound harsher than I felt it was probably meant to.

“This is Gotham, Jason. Do you really think it’s that hard to get basic medical supplies?” I said, forcing myself to stay calm as I pulled out a few things I knew right away I would need from the giant first aid kit I’d put together, “I need to get a better look at that shoulder. Is the fabric there something I can cut through?”

“Yeah, I took off the armored plating already,” he said, “But those are definitely not basic medical supplies.”

I didn’t bother answering, just got the scissors and carefully cut through his suit. The whole shoulder was coated in blood, but it was hard to tell how serious it actually was.

“This is going to sting,” I said, pouring some peroxide on a sterile cloth, “Wait, did you come here without even thinking that I’d have the stuff to patch you up?”

“I wasn’t thinking great,” he admitted, letting out a hiss of static as I got to work gingerly cleaning his wound, “Might have a concussion.”

He was badly bruised, with cuts all over his arm and a couple of gashes on his shoulder. Most of them were more shallow than I’d feared initially, but one of the shorter ones on his upper arm was deep. Too deep.

“This one needs stitches,” I said, biting my lip, “If you’re okay with amateur work, I can take care of it here. But if there’s someone else you’d like to call, I’d understand.”

“You’ve given stitches before?”

“Yes.”

“Stitch me up, doc,” he said, giving another hiss of static as he moved to sit on the counter.

I got to work properly sterilizing the wound, being as gentle as possible while still being thorough, “Any other major injuries, beyond the cracked rib and possible concussion?”

“Those are the only big ones,” he replied, “Rolled my ankle too, but that’s already feeling better.”

“Burns?”

“Nope, the helmet did its job.”

“That’s good. Shame about your jacket though,” I said, threading the needle, “This is going to hurt.”

“I’ve got a few spares,” he said, not so much as flinching as I sewed him up, “And I’ve been through worse.”

He had been. I bit back the urge to comment on that, or to wish that he’d be careful. Instead, I focused on my work. It didn’t take long, he only needed nine stitches.

“Alright, time to check out that concussion. Helmet off.”

He reached up gingerly, pressing a spot on the side of his helmet that was apparently a secret button, taking the helmet off with just his right hand. There were no bruises on his face, the helmet had done a great job there. Pulling out the small penlight from the first aid kit, I watched his pupils carefully as I passed the light in front of his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s a concussion,” I said, pouring away the light, “Which means no alcohol, and unfortunately the one thing I don’t have is pain meds.”

“S’okay, I never take them,” he said, turning to inspect his arm in the mirror, “You did a great job.”

“Thanks. Now, let’s get the rest of this shirt off so I can-”

He shrugged out of it before I could even finish my sentence, careful not to move his injured arm much, “Did you work as a nurse before getting into the librarian life?”

“Nope,” I replied, wrapping the bandage around his chest and trying not to think about the fact that even banged up, he was unbearably gorgeous, “I’m an amateur, remember? My mother was a nurse. She taught me.”

“Your mother taught you how to give stitches?” he asked, dark eyes looking at me with concern, the green flecks brighter than normal.

“Yup,” I said, looking away, “Are there any less than major injuries that need patching up?”

“No, everything else is just scrapes and bruises,” he said, standing up, his voice softening, “Thanks.”

He was so close, dangerously close, so close that I could feel the heat coming off of him, so close that I could just…

I took a step back, heart racing. It was just my brain trying to distract me, just the lack of sleep, just my hormones going wild because it had been so long since my last one night stand. That was all it was. I didn’t actually want to run my fingers across those perfect muscles, didn’t actually want to kiss a trail across every scar, didn’t actually want him to push me up against the wall and…

Keep it cool, Katsaros

“Anytime,” I said, hoping that he hadn’t noticed.

“Looks like the adrenaline of your place being broken into by a dangerous vigilante is starting to wear off,” he teased, “You should get some sleep.”

“You’re staying, right?”

There was no way he would have come here if things were good with the others, and I didn’t want him to be alone with his injuries.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

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figaroswilson · 4 months ago

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𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙚𝙙 ⇒ 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘹 𝘦𝘹𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘳!𝘰𝘧𝘤

Chapter 5

masterlist

story summary: Kira Barnes, the younger adopted sister of Bucky Barnes, is forced out of the dark underworld of espionage and into the light of the new world of superheroes when her brother abandons her with the Avengers to go on the run. She is set in her ways and determined to find her brother until she meets Pietro Maximoff, someone who challenges her black-and-white view of the world.

story warnings: violence, swearing, blood, descriptions of abuse

chapter word count: 3168

< previous chapter // next chapter >

read on wattpad

~ ✺ ~

"Why don't you trust me?" Kira asked.

Steve spun around to see her standing directly behind him, having managed to sneak up on him once again. He still wasn't used to her ability to move so silently; he had spent years being able to hear the slightest of movements. Though he shouldn't have been shocked. His line of work never was predictable.

Kira, however, was entirely unfazed. She was completely focused on the conversation she wanted to have. He knew she was asking about South Africa and had chosen the perfect moment for them to talk without the others overhearing. The two of them were alone, suiting up in the back of the Quinjet, heading to South Korea to check up on Dr Helen Cho. Nat and Clint were up in the cockpit, flying the jet. Bruce, Fury and Maria had returned to the tower, whilst Tony was on his way to the Nexus, in Norway.

They had all agreed to strictly stick to recon, to figure out Ultron's next move, and rendezvous at the Tower, but Steve knew that he and Kira had come to the same conclusion: it was about to get messy. He was proud of her for wanting to talk before that point.

He placed his helmet on the bench, and, sitting down next to it, gestured for her to do the same. Kira continued to stand though, staring at him in that slightly unnerving but entirely unintentional way of hers, waiting for a reply.

"I do trust you," Steve finally answered.

"Yeah, right," she mumbled.

"I understand you're upset, Ki, but I'm not lying," he said, earnestly. "Will you let me explain?"

She didn't say anything. He took it as a yes.

"I know you're fully capable but I was scared, Ki. Buck left you in my care; you're my responsibility," he quietly explained. "I didn't want them to know about you, because that would've made it easier to hurt you. And I wasn't completely wrong, either, was I? Two kids managed to hurt the team in a way no one has since it was created. I'd never have been able to forgive myself if I was the reason you went into that fight and left it being forced to relive your time in Department X. Look at what it did to Nat. She was entirely out of commission for a whole day— and she's been out for years! You've hardly been out for one."

At that, she sat next to him, dropping her gaze.

"But..." He paused.

She glanced up at him.

"You're not helpless either. I see that now. Whatever happened when you confronted the twins, you managed to evade them somehow. And, right now, that's good enough for me."

She searched his eyes, waiting for him to finish.

"When we meet them next, they're going to be emboldened. Ultron's going to be angry. You and I both know this mission won't end easily. I'm going to need your help," he explained. "I need you as backup in South Korea. Can you do that for me?"

Her face broke into a soft, genuine smile. She didn't give out many of those. "Do you have to ask?"

~ ✺ ~

When Steve first entered the lab, Kira thought, for a brief second, the comms had stopped working again.

Then he started to describe the destruction. Technicians were badly wounded. Notes had been torn through and strewn around. Equipment was wrecked. And a trail of blood led to the back room. That was where he found Helen, injured and on the floor, next to where the Cradle was supposed to be. She had taken a blast from Ultron to the torso but was stable for now.

She wasted no time in describing to Steve what had happened, and the others listened in from the comms. How Ultron had used Loki's sceptre on her. How he had used her technology, and the black market Vibranium from Klaue, to build himself a new body in the Cradle that he was halfway through transferring his consciousness into. "The real power is inside," she explained. "The gem, he got it from the sceptre. Its power is uncontainable. You can't just blow it up. You have to get the Cradle to Stark."

So much for the quick recon mission we promised Tony, Kira thought.

Their new mission became to distract Ultron long enough to ruin his plans. 'Distracting Ultron', however, quickly devolved into Steve fighting Ultron. On top of the moving truck he was trying to escape in. On a very busy highway. Running straight through the middle of Seoul.

Steve had been thrown onto the cab of the truck, after missing a blast to the face from one of Ultron's bots, when he yelled, "Ki! Gonna need that backup now!"

"Alright, we got a window," Clint informed them. "In ten..."

"Now, preferably!" Steve's voice came in over the comms.

"Jeez, Rogers. No one ever teach you to be patient?" Nat smirked, finding just enough time to tease him as she and Kira prepared for the drop.

"Please?"

Nat grabbed the handlebar and looked over her shoulder to Kira as she climbed onto the back of the bike. Ready? she mouthed. Kira nodded.

"Four, three..." The bay door slid open, and they dropped onto the highway. They were immediately at speed, veering in and around the other drivers.

"Hey!" Nat called, getting Kira's attention. "Look what I found." She gestured to something in the road ahead of them.

Kira craned her head. There, lying abandoned in the middle of the highway, was Steve's shield. "For God's sake," she muttered.

Nat laughed and swerved the bike into the middle lane, as Kira bent over to grab the shield before it got crushed under something. Or, more likely, before something got crushed by the shield.

"You'd think with how expensive this thing is, he'd take better care of it," she complained.

By the time they caught up with Steve, under the overpass, it was clear he wasn't doing very well on his own. Especially without his shield. Ultron had him in a chokehold, precariously close to the edge of the truck. Steve couldn't break out of it, no matter how hard he tried, and his feet were starting to slip. It was clear Ultron was furious. But his anger distracted him. It gave Kira the perfect opening.

With Nat keeping the bike steady, Kira climbed up onto the seat. Shield in hand, she jumped the 8 feet and grasped at the edge. Using the momentum, she swung herself up. Landed, spun, then smashed the shield down onto Ultron's head. He stumbled back, finally letting go of Steve. Kira caught his hand, pulling him away from the edge.

As the two of them fought Ultron, distracting him long enough for Nat and Clint to come up with a plan, Kira's danger sense started to ring again in her ears. At first, it was subtle, brushed off as tinnitus from the constant gunshots and repulser blasts. Then, it became too much to ignore. It was when Ultron had flown back and smashed into a nearby pillar, after Steve had charged at him with the shield, that she finally realised the reason.

They had come so far through the city, so quickly, that she hadn't noticed yet. But now she saw clearly. Not only had Ultron smashed into the pillar of an overpass, destroying it, but running right next to them, filled with civilians, was the metro. The longer this fight dragged on, the more dangerous it was becoming. Critical infrastructure was being damaged. Civilians were coming in the line of fire. They were closer to residential and highly populated areas. Kira could even see an open-air market nearby.

Worried, she turned to Steve and saw he was realising it too. But before she could say anything, Ultron had recovered and was flying directly at them. With the same force Steve had thrown him.

"Oh shit."

Bracing themselves, Steve and Kira acted in sync. As Ultron collided with them, they threw all their weight to the same side and turned him around, using his thrusters against him. They flew off the truck, through the air and smashed through the door, into the train, Ultron taking the brunt of the hit.

Glass cutting into the palms of her hands, Kira climbed to her feet. Swayed for a second. Huh, guess smashing through the door of a moving train is harder than it looks, she thought absentmindedly. Then Steve and Ultron were up too, and Kira shook herself out of her thoughts.

Being careful to avoid hurting anyone, Steve threw the shield at the bot's head. Ultron sent it back and aimed his repulser at him but Kira grabbed his hand and aimed it at a window, away from Steve and the passengers, sending the blast through the glass. Ultron grabbed her by the arm and threw her at Steve, knocking both of them down.

"Ow," Kira groaned.

"I'm going in." Nat's voice crackled in over the comms. "Can you two keep him occupied?"

"What do you think we've been doing?" Steve sighed, hauling himself up and tightening the strap of his shield.

Ultron flew at them, and Steve jumped to avoid him as Kira ducked and rolled out of the way. Ultron landed, swung around and fired a blast at her, missing but nearly hitting a passenger behind her.

Steve surged forward. He leapt at Ultron from the back, using the force to swing him away from her, punching him in the head. Kira immediately saw her opportunity and, in whispered Korean, started to usher the passengers through the door into the next traincar. When another blast got too close, Kira dropped and yelled for the others to do the same.

Steve aimed a kick at Ultron's knees and, as he fell back, turned to Kira. "Wait. How many languages do you know?" he asked, a confused look on his face.

"What? I never told you about Korean?" she smirked, supporting an older man, the last passenger from the rear end of the traincar, on her arm, guiding him through the door. "Must've slipped my mind—"

"Shut up!" Ultron yelled, irritated, and sent a blast straight at Kira.

"Motherf—" She just managed duck down, shielding the passenger as the blast hit just above the traincar door, raining down debris. Steve hit Ultron over the head, turning him back to the fight, as Kira quickly ushered the man through.

By the time she rushed over, Steve was on the ground, using his arms to block strike after strike from Ultron. A few strategic blows to the ribs had taken him down, and Kira knew they had to hurt like hell. She jumped at Ultron and wrenched him off Steve by the neck.

Maybe it was his growing anger or that she was finally getting tired but when Ultron pulled her off and threw her against one of the luggage racks, it took all the energy out of her. Kira tried to get up again but just collapsed back onto the floor. It felt like the air had been taken from out of her lungs, and her side burned ferociously.

Ultron stalked towards her. She scrambled away, cornered between the rack and the door. "You," he said. "You are getting on my nerves." He hadn't spoken directly to her yet, and it was incredibly unnerving. "You get in my way, you ruin my plans, and you have the audacity to joke while you do it?" This close, Kira could see the gears whirring in his face and the molten red glow of his eyes.

Ultron pulled his hand back, repulsers charging up, about to blast Kira square in the face. She only had enough time to throw her arms up, protect her head, wait for the searing pain and... nothing. It never came.

She looked through a gap between her arms. Ultron wasn't there anymore. In his place were those damn blue wisps again.

It took a second for the sound of the crash to register in her ears, but when it did, she whipped around and saw Ultron sprawled on the ground, Maximoff standing in front of him, angry and gesturing to the remaining passengers to get behind him.

Before Ultron could get any closer, two luggage racks, encapsulated in a familiar red glow, were pulled off the walls and crossed over each other to block his path. Sure enough, when Kira looked over, she saw Maximoff's sister standing in the door of the traincar, manipulating the metal with her magic.

Steve and Kira glanced over at each other, equally confused. What the fuck is happening, she thought. The longer she knew the twins, the less she understood them.

"Please. Don't do this," Ultron said, turning and almost pleading with the Maximoff girl.

Dejected, she answered, "What choice do we have?"

For a split second, a look of acceptance came over Ultron's face. Then he whirled around and sent a blast straight at her brother's head. Kira instinctively ducked, shielding herself, as he dodged it using his superspeed. He ended up near her, on the ground, a couple of feet away but not before Ultron had torn off one of the train doors and escaped.

Kira and Maximoff stared at each other for a moment, dumbfounded at what had just happened. Slowly this time, supporting her weight on a nearby seat, she rose from where she had been crouched down. A gaping hole where the driver's cab used to be and the sharp sting of rushing wind were all Ultron had left behind.

"I lost him! He's headed your way!" Steve yelled to Clint over the comms as he ran past them. She gathered herself and followed him over to the front of the train.

The metro driver lay face down on the bloodstained, destroyed control board. Kira quickly checked her over but wasn't surprised when she gave no response. Not surprised but still angry.

"Kira," Steve said.

She glanced up at him. He was staring out of the front of the train, panicked. Kira followed his gaze to watch as they smashed into the stopblock at the end of the line and continued to hurtle towards the exact open-air market she had been worried about earlier.

"Nat!" Clint yelled over the comms. "You guys see Nat?"

"What?" Clint and Nat had been talking to each other over comms this whole time but Kira had been tuning it out. This she could not.

"If you have the package, get it to Stark!" Steve instructed.

"Wait, what do you mean?" Kira asked Clint.

"Not now, Ki." Steve brushed her off. "We need to find a way to stop this train."

"Do you have eyes on Nat?" Clint insisted.

"Just go!" Steve maintained, still thinking of a solution.

"Steve!" Kira exclaimed, shoving his shoulder to get his attention. "What the fuck does he mean, 'do you see Nat'?"

"Kira, that doesn't matter right now! Can you stop this train?" he yelled, desperation written all over his face.

He was clearly referring to Kira's powers, considering all of her other abilities were the same as his, and that annoyed her even more. "No! Fuck, Steve!" she cried out, exasperated. "I know I have powers but I can only just about use them for myself. They definitely do not extend far enough to stop an out-of-control train! And what use would they be anyways? Oh, yeah, let me just make the train invisible."

Before he could answer, Maximoff spoke up behind them. "We can help."

Steve and Kira spun around to see the twins, who had followed them to the driver's cab. Hope sparking back up in his eyes, Steve pointed ahead. "Civilians in our path!"

Understanding immediately, he nodded at Steve and sped away. Kira watched as a blue light whipped back and forth in the path of the train, moving people out of its way.

Turning to the other twin, Steve asked, "Can you stop this train?"

She hesitated, glancing at the both of them. Kira knew she and Steve must've shared pleading, desperate looks on their faces.

The train jerked at that moment, knocking some of the passengers off their feet, before bashing into a car parked in its path, rocking the entire vehicle. Kira caught a passenger who had stumbled forward as Steve shielded Maximoff's sister from a shattering window. They were reeling towards an old, abandoned warehouse, and Steve threw up his shield just in time, covering those behind as they smashed through it too.

The impact threw everyone to the ground, and, as Maxmioff continued to move civilians to safety, his sister got to her feet. Her scarlet powers exploded from her hands, curled out and under the train, and, finally, they started to slow.

As the train came to a stop, Kira let out a sigh of relief and immediately rushed to help the passengers as Steve assessed them for injuries. The road was ruined, the train was entirely destroyed, and they were exhausted, but everyone was mostly okay.

Whilst he checked the subway car, to confirm everyone had gotten off, Kira instructed the nearest, unharmed passengers to contact emergency services.

As she talked to them, she caught the Maximoff girl out of the corner of her eye, distracting her for a second. Kira watched as she rushed over to her brother, who had dropped down near some bikes, out of breath, before quickly finishing what she had to say.

~ ✺ ~

"You wanna explain what the fuck just happened?" Kira called out as she stormed over to the twins.

Once she had made sure emergency services were on the way, she fully turned her attention back to them. She really hated how little she understood them and their motivations, first in South Africa and now here. One second they were hell-bent on destroying the Avengers, the next they were offering to help. It pissed Kira off.

Maximoff glared at her, clearly out of breath. "Can you give me a minute?"

"I'm very tempted not to," Steve said, a few steps behind her.

Maximoff's sister stood from where she had been crouched next to him. "The Cradle, did you get it?"

"You're just gonna ignore the fucking question then?" Kira shot back.

Steve gave Kira a look that meant not now. "Stark will take care of it," he answered reassuringly, turning back to the Maximoff and his sister.

Her face fell. "No, he won't."

"You don't know what you're talking about; Stark's not crazy."

"He will do anything to make things right," she slowly explained, emphasising her words.

That was when it clicked in Kira's head. She turned to Steve. The worry on his face confirmed her fear. She asked anyways. "He's going to make sure he's alone in that lab with Bruce and the Cradle, isn't he?"

His worry morphed into panic as he slowly looked over at her.

Her head fell into her hands. "For fuck's sake!"

He let out a sigh of frustration as he turned away from the group and switched to the main channel on comms. "Stark, come in." There was no answer. "Stark. Anyone on comms?" Nothing.

"Ultron can't tell the difference between saving the world and destroying it," Wanda Maximoff cut in, speaking to the both of them. "Where do you think he gets that?"

~ ✺ ~

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