All I See Is Colors

The Vengeful Deceiver - Teen Wolf Fanfiction

Scarlett Black, she has been a vampire for 8 years and now forced to go back to school, forced to control herself in front of so much food. All for a puppy.

MASTERLIST

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CHAPTER 8

"So you killed her?" Stiles asked as they entered the school.

"I don't know," Scott answewd, "I've just woke up."

The puppy remembered what had happened the night before. More or less. But he remembered as if it had been a dream and, of course, that he had attacked Allison. As if he couldn't become more predictable...

Anyway, Scarlett feared that he would have remembered her, but she could not go away now; it would have been too strange.

"I was sweating like crazy; I couldn't breathe. I never had a dream where I woke up like that before," Scott said, turning to them.

"Really?" Stiles asked from next to Scarlett, "I have. Usually ends a little differently." A smirk appeared on her lips as she looked at him. Stiles spun his head towards her with wide eyes.

"I... I mean..." she could feel how flustered he was. That was so strange. She could not only see it, she felt it. And she had to fight her fangs to come out.

"It's alright," she said, smirking up at him. "We all have wet dreams."

"Oh my god..." but she ignored him, wanting to know more about the puppy and what he remembered. So she could come up with a quick response if needed.

"Yeah, but A, I never had a dream that felt so real," Scott said, glaring at his friend, "And B, never give me that many details of you in bed."

Stiles nodded his head, looking at Scarlett for a brief moment, "Noted," then he took a deep breath, "Let me take a guess here though-"

"No, I know," Scott interrupted him, "You think it has something to do with me going out with Allison tomorrow like I'm gonna lose control and rip her throat out."

Scarlett did her best not to roll her eyes. The puppy really had only one thought in his head. But that was not exactly a bad thing. If it made him remember everything as if it were a dream, the better. Well, no, maybe not, since the body of the Driever was still in the parking lot.

"No, of course not," Stiles was saying, but when Scott turned to him with a glare, he spoke again, "Yeah, that's probably it."

Scarlett shook her head, "In the dream there was blood?"

Scott looked at her before sadly nodding his head.

"Alright," she said, "And nothing of yours was covered in blood? Or have her scent?"

Scott seemed to think about it. She was sure there was no trace of blood on him since he did absolutely nothing if not put himself in between. But she needed to look nice and understanding, so when he told her that he did not see blood or remember her scent, Scarlett smiled.

"I think you're probably fine, then," Scarlett said, "It must have been just a dream."

"Scarlett is right," Stiles said, looking at his friend. "Come on, it's gonna be fine, all right?" but Scott didn't answer, "Personally, I think you're handling this pretty freakin' amazingly. You know, it's not like there's a lycanthropy for beginners class you can take," then he turned to Scarlett, "Right?" the girl frowned.

"No, listen, don't look here," she said, "He'd need another werewolf."

"Like a teacher?" Scott asked, but in the way he said it, it seemed like he had already thought about that.

Scarlett nodded her head, "Everybody needs to learn somehow," she said, "Your body changes, your needs change. And soon, if you don't control it, it's going to control you," She still remembered what Talia had always said to her. From the moment they had found her, Talia and Peter had been the ones helping her with the beginning of her change. Even if, after everything that happened, Scarlett didn't keep her promise to stay as human as she could. She killed for rage at the beginning, but then it became fun. She knew that Talia didn't want that for her, but there was nothing else to do, if not killing every single Argent.

Stiles turned to his friend with wide eyes, "Who Derek?" he asked, and when Scott didn't answer, he slapped him behind the head, "You forgetting the part where we got him tossed in jail?"

What did she have to do? Say something? Say anything? Say that she knew Derek Hale? Or maybe not?

Maybe telling everything would have been more suspicious. Maybe she could find other times to tell it to them.

She had to be very careful. Derek was an unexpected change of events and not very pleasant. He was not like her or Peter.

"Yeah, I know," Scott answered. "But chasing her, dragging her to the back of the bus, it felt so real." Scarlett frowned. That was so strange; he remembered, but at the same time, he didn't. Something similar had happened the night before, but it was the driver.

"How real?" Stiles asked.

"Like it actually happened," Scott said, and Scarlett did her best not to draw any attention to herself. She was glad that her heart didn't beat anymore, or it would have been very difficult to explain.

They had arrived at the parking lot entrance, and Scarlett stooped behind the boys as they opened the door. What they saw made them gasp; the back door of the bus was torn open, and blood was everywhere. Scarlett's eyes moved to the puppy as Stiles spoke, "I think it did."

Scott immediately took his phone and went back into the school. Stiles and Scarlett shared a look before they both followed him.

"She is probably fine," Stiles said, trying to calm his friend. Scarlett observed the puppy, if he lost control would have been a mess. But he wasn't the only one who was feeling worry and fear. Her eyes went to Stiles, who was walking in front of her. She knew that those emotions weren't hers; they were his.

This bond thing was actually starting to freak her out. She had never thought that she would have felt like that. She absolutely had to talk to Peter and understand how to keep it under control.

"She's not answering my texts, Stiles!" Scott exclaimed, panicking.

"You know, it could just be a coincidence," Stiles said before looking down, "A seriously amazing coincidence."

"You're not helping," Scarlett said to him.

"Just help me find her, okay?" Scott begged, and Scarlett started to look around, trying to seem as worried as she could, even if she knew perfectly well that the girl was fine. For now, at least.

Scott was completely panicked right now. He would have turned if he had kept going on like this. Scarlett put a hand on Stiles' chest, holding him behind her as Scott turned the corner.

"He's gonna turn?" Stiles asked.

"If he keeps it like this, for sure," Scarlett answered, hearing a loud noise like the one given by a punch on metal. Scott had just destroyed a locker. Then she looked up at Stiles. His brown eyes were wide as he observed his friend, unsure of what to do. Maybe she should have acted a little more worried. Allison was supposed to be her friend.

"Isn’t your dad the sheriff?" Scarlett asked Stiles as they kept following Scott.

"What? Yeah..." he answered from behind her.

"Any emergencies?” she asked, and she observed him think as his fingers tapped the straps of his bag frenatically. "If she had disappeared yesterday night, her parents would have called the police, wouldn't they?" Scarlett said. The Argents would have never slept well without knowing where their daughter was. If he could just stop for a moment and think, maybe he wouldn't have revealed to the entire school who he was.

And in fact, here she was, at the entrance, getting a jump scare from the puppy.

"Ah, thank God," Stiles said, from next to Scarlett.

"Yeah..." she muttered, looking at the two.

He did not remember a thing from the night before. Scarlett knew that werewolves could be weak; they could lose control if they felt too strong emotions, especially if they were puppies. But Scarlett could not believe that he could even forget what he had been doing the night before.

"You've got Harris too?" Stiles' question made her turn to meet his eyes. The color of his eyes was of a strange color, in a good way. But it was the smell of his blood that caught her off guard. She already knew it, but it felt different.

"Yes," she said, taking a step back. "We... we better go."

The two of them decided to leave Scott to talk with Allison, and they made their way to Harris's classroom. Stiles did most of the talking, and Scarlett could not say that she was listening to him. Her eyes would keep lingering on his face, and so would the softness of his skin. She could almost hear his blood in his veins, and she would have gladly bit him, but not for hunger.

What the hell is happening?

"Don't you think?" Stiles' question made her turn to him with a frown. The smile on his face slowly got replaced by an embarrassed one. "I've bored you, haven't I?"

"No," she was quick to answer, "Not at all, I was just... thinking what would have happened if Scott had turned inside the school."

"Yeah," he answered, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. "Glad it didn't happen." It would have been difficult to explain to the entire school. The puppy was lovesick for sure, and Scarlett was not sure he would be of any use against the Argent.

"Are you okay?" She looked up at him when he asked that question. He was not inquisitive, only asking. Almost concerned. She was not used to that kind of gaze.

"Yeah," she said, looking away with a smile, "Yeah, just a tough morning that will only get tougher with Harris."

Stiles chuckled. "Oh, I know," he said, nodding his head. Nobody hates him like me. " Then he seemed to think about it. "And... nobody hates me like he does." That made her laugh, and as she did, Stiles looked at her with a cute, goofy expression, proud of himself for having her giggling.

"Well," she said as her eyes met his, "His loss."

As they entered the classroom, some students, including Harris, were already there. Scarlett frowned in observing the man; he was young, pleasant to look at, but he seemed already pissed at nine A.M. That was not attractive on a man.

There were not three seats at the same table, so Scarlett gave a glance to Stiles. "I guess I'll talk to you later."

He nodded his head quickly, "Yeah, yeah, for sure." Then he started to look around. "I'm gonna sit there," he pointed at a table not far from them. But as he was about to move, he turned to her with wide eyes, "Only if you don't want to sit there! It's not like that is my seat or something, just a seat. And it is in the back. But if you want it."

"Stiles," she stopped him, "You're ranting." Suddenly, a blush appeared on his face. The rush of his blood to his face, the beating of his heart, and the shyness that she was feeling from him had another strange effect on her.

"I'm sitting there," she said, trying to move away from him as quickly as possible. That was not normal. Why was Stiles getting her so distracted?

I have to speak to Peter, she told herself.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked to a girl with long black hair and pale skin. She looked up to her when she heard Scarlett's voice, and she blinked her dark eyes.

"No, you can sit," she said in a faint voice before returning to the sketch she was making in her notebook. That was a strange girl, for sure. Scarlett had already seen her; her name was Irene Woods, and she was considered strange by many people. Lydia always said that she freaked her out. Irene was always alone; she had no friends, and she usually talked to herself and whispered when she talked to others.

The lesson had started, and Scott had made it in time so as to not get detention. But if he wasn't late for class, he surely wasn't keeping a low profile. Not him or Stiles.

"Mr. Stilinski," Harris said in a loud voice, "If that's your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while." Scarlett turned to look at the boys; they had been whispering since when Scott had first taken a seat. "I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?"

"No," Stiles said with wide eyes. But his big eyes did not work on Harris because he made him move and sit anyway. Her eyes followed him like she was feeling drawn to his figure. She was starting to regret her idea, but Peter seemed to love it, so she probably just needed to get used to sharing a bond with Stiles and understand what that meant and how to control it. Sure, she had always found him cute, and she would have gladly eaten him, but this felt different, and it was pissing her off.

"Hey, I think they found something." A girl's sudden voice made them all turn to the windows before some of them rushed to see what was happening outside. Scarlett got up so that she could seem worried like everyone else, even if she knew very well that the cops must have found the body.

"What if he is not dead?" Irene's voice made Scarlett turn her gaze to the girl; she was still sketching and not moving from her position.

"What did you say?" Scarlett asked just before everyone gasped. She decided to leave the girl where she was and made her way to Stiles and Scott.

"This is good. This is good," Stiles said. He got up; he was not dead. Dead guys don't do that." Scarlett had to do all she could to not let her shock appear on her face. What did he mean that the driver was not dead? He should have been. Dead and forgotten.

"Stiles," Scott whispered, "I did that."

********

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WOAH WTF I WAS NOT READY

me trying to be social

opening the door triggers the boss fight

tony: i’m a piece of trash.

steve: as someone who cares about the environment, i am obligated to pick you up. is 7 ok?

tony: you smooth motherfu- yeah 7 is fine.

Thank you @qualidyke

my first time requesting im sorry if it sounds really bad or cringe ehehsbbejrr

how do you think Simon would react to someone who has a seashell collection they are v e r y overprotective of and they give him one of the seashells because they trust him???

selling seashells by the seashore? nope!

synopsis: what the ask said! + a bit more because i started to really get into it

warnings: fluff, sfw, gn! reader, established relationship, marriage, a glimpse into simon's private life, soap being soap

a/n: i’m literally on an island rn and i’m pretty sure this seagull is screaming at me so i thought this would be very fitting 😝

Simon definitely has his pockets filled, only with Moroccan sand and shells and rocks and…possibly a starfish? It’s not much, but truly it’s honest work when it comes to him picking up and inspecting every shell or sea cookie there is out here on this damn beach. Soap hollers at him from a few yards away, hand beckoning for him to come over.

“Ain’t this one a big ol' Lad?” Johnny says with his hand on his hip and the other pointing down at a huge mollusk, it’s opal and rainbowed color shone in the blazing sun.

The taller one smiled behind his mask and grunted as his knees popped, reaching down to pick it up. With a knife, he poked and prodded into whatever was in it, which was now just a dead, sandy mess at his feet. “Pretty, then again, anything prettier than your face, Johnny.”

Soap glared at him, “Yeah, at least I have a face.”

Simon missed you terribly. Miles and miles away, he just thinks about how his lovely spouse is on their daily walk down the beach, trading and finding pretty shells to show him once he gets back. You two do this every time he comes home. After a few days of resting (with mostly Simon either shutting off in his own room or hiding his face in the crook of your neck in your shared room), you sit him down on the kitchen table and pull out your beach bag to debrief about the new shells. Each one with a different story attached to it and each one you wanted to share and love.

“I got this one from a fisherman that caught it in his net when he went fishing in the Bahamas!” You showed him a huge, pink and white conch shell that was larger than both your hands combined.

Simon smiled at you and took your prized possession from your hands and inspected the shiny finishing of it. “You weren’t at the Bahamas, Lovie, what did you do to get it?”

“Oh I traded a hermit crab shell for his nephew’s crab.” You said fondly, petting the shell that looked normal sized in his own hands.

Simon pockets the large nautilus shell into his bag somewhere and feels his breast pocket for the small, spiral shell that you’ve gifted him. It was his birthday, the day you saw his toothy grin for the first time.

You had found a beautiful, black, spiral shell the size of a blade. Taking it home, you filed the tip into it was sharp enough to cut through…something, you thought. You don’t know what he exactly would cut, but it’ll come in handy right?

He cried that day when you sheepishly offered him this small gift box, a silver bow resting on the top of it. After you calmed him down and held onto his arm, he opened it and a goofy smile replaced his tears.

“I sharpened it, it’s like a…like uhm a shank?” You said, rather confused actually.

Your husband snorts at your reasoning and picks up the lustrous black shell into his hands. He examines it closely, spinning and turning it in his fingers to make it shine in different angles. With the hard padding of his index finger he grazed the tip of the shell, and sure enough, it was sharp. Simon huffs a laugh to himself thinking about how he could potentially use this as his next melee weapon.

“Do you…like it?” You ask him hesitantly, sitting across from him on the couch. Your own hand fidgeted with each other as you pull and push on your knuckles, making them pop gently.

The large man in front of you looks up at you, eyes a bit wide in confusion. A small gasp is heard from the parting of his lips and he softens his gaze, looking at you fully. He didn’t laugh at you, he laughed at himself. “It’s silly…to be killed with a seashell, hmm?”

Large hands found yours as he abandoned the shell temporarily on the safe coffee table. He kisses your forehead. “Of course I love it, my sea star…best gift ever.”

Simon knew that it wasn’t just a gift from his spouse that day. No that’d be too simple, and his life is anything but. That was a piece of you, your love for him manifesting in such a small, delicate object. To break it, was to break a piece of you…and you would raise hell if he did.

His face settled on a slightly less disgruntled face under his mask as he looked off into the coast. With a pat on the breast pocket of his vest, he pondered to himself, ‘This time, it’ll be different.’ This time he has his own collection to present to you. This time he knows you’ll be even more excited than that time you found a perfectly round sand dollar when he shows you these little treasures. Maybe this time you’ll even scream when he shows you this dried starfish.

But one thing’s for sure, he’ll come home to you after all this. And one day, there’ll be no more war, no more bloodshed, just two old spouses sitting on the beach, the sun rising steadily, and a wall of shells from coasts all around the world.

being in a public restroom and hearing someone shitting really loud

white flag ✹ epilogue

note: im kinda sad to say, but this will be the final part of this series! im so so grateful for all the love and support for it, this was honestly so fun to write! i hope everyone enjoys and have a wonderful day/night!!!!<3<3<3

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

no use of y/n

reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: your night in date with simon :)

warnings: domesticity, so much fluff, soap and gaz are wingmen again, tiny bit of light angst

ao3

【prev】

of all the things in this world that could be considered intimidating, flowers were the last thing simon would put on that list; but the brightly coloured flora seemed to have a paralysing effect on him as he stands in the tiny flower shop.

with a quiet, defeated groan to himself, he dials johnny's number and presses his phone to his ear.

"what flowers am i supposed to buy?" he blurts no sooner than soap picks up, not even bothering to greet him in his haste.

"hello to you too?" johnny mumbles, his confusion evident. a moment passes before he registers what simon asked, "oh! wait," he laughs, his voice getting further away as he lowers his phone to call out, "gaz, get out here! lt.'s buyin' sting flowers!"

simon considers hanging up then and there, but he's severely out of his depth and unfortunately, soap and gaz are his only hope.

"oh i see, he needs an expert opinion, does he?" kyle's teasing gets louder as he approaches soap, and he can hear the smile in both the sergeants' voices.

really, simon should've known they wouldn't let him off easy.

"christ alive…" he keeps his voice as low as possible, pinching the bridge of his nose in the corner of the small shop. "just help me, you pillock." the cashier has been staring at him since he walked in, and honestly, he doesn't blame them; a giant man in a mask isn't exactly the regular clientele for a florist.

"uh, probably their favourite?" soap suggests, the sound of gaz's muffled chuckling just about audible in the background.

"they don't have 'em." simon replies, his eyes darting over the vibrant display one last time in the hopes that the answer would somehow appear.

"nah, you want roses, mate." gaz interjects, and he hears soap make an agreeing noise.

simon hums. "aren't they too… cliché?" he asks, stepping over to the large display of rose bouquets. it's the classic choice, he's aware of that much, but whether or not you'd prefer something more unique was weighing on his mind. this was something he never expected to have to worry about.

"no! they're romantic," gaz insists, his amusement still very evident in his voice, "trust me mate, sting'll love them."

simon contemplates his point for a moment, staring at the deep red petals and trying to imagine the look on your face if he gave them to you. you'd been happy with a handful of squashed flowers he'd stolen from the flowerbeds on base, so he doubted you'd turn your nose up at them. it doesn't take him long to make a decision.

"alright, cheers." he mutters, grabbing a lively looking bouquet of a dozen from the display and making his way over to the cashier – who was quickly trying to pretend they hadn't been staring.

"you'll need to give us a debrief–" soap begins, but he's cut off by simon hanging up and shoving his phone back in his pocket. he gets the feeling he won't be hearing the end of this for quite some time.

✹✹✹

it's only when he's standing outside the door to your room that the nerves finally start to set in. he can't help but feel like an idiot, fidgeting on the spot about to knock on your door like a lovestruck teenager, almost crushing the stems of the roses with his iron grip.

he knocks twice, before he has the chance to change his mind and back out. not even a second later, you're pulling the door open and regarding him with that warm look that has his palms sweating.

you're wearing casual clothes, and so is he, as per the agreement you made to keep this 'date' simple. it doesn't matter what you're wearing though; he's seen you covered head to toe in blood, sweat, mud, and whatever else, and you still manage to be utterly breathtaking in every way.

with a nervous cough, simon holds out the rose bouquet to you, hoping you don't notice the way his hands are shaking.

"wha…" you blink in surprise at the flowers, taking them from him and admiring them with a tiny smile. "you bought these, right? didn't just rip 'em out of someone's garden?" you raise a teasing eyebrow at him, your smile turning more playful.

"yes, i bought them." he grumbles lightheartedly, a smile of his own forming under his balaclava. the way you effortlessly diffuse the tension has his anxieties melting away.

"thank you." you breathe, softly caressing the vermillion petals. "they're lovely, i love them."

simon let's out a quiet sigh of relief at your affirmation. "good; cost me a tenner, they did."

the laugh you let out is like music to his ears. "well, i'm sorry to bankrupt you." you grin, turning back into your room and carefully putting the bouquet in the vase on the mantle. after making sure the arrangement looks nice, you come to stand in front of him again.

simon's not sure how to continue, the nerves from earlier resurfacing as the conversation fades. the way you're watching him expectantly, he feels the urge to take you by the hand – and as if you read his his mind, you hold it out for him. he places his hand in yours, squeezing gently and leading you the short distance to the kitchen.

he'd set the table earlier, having found an only slightly discoloured tablecloth buried in the back of the cupboards. it's a little sad, but it was the best he could come up with.

"wow," you tease, the same playful smile as before on your lips as you meet his eyes, "so fancy."

he snorts, ushering you over to your chair and pulling out for you. "only the best for your majesty." he preens at your happiness when you laugh again, glad for the mask covering what he's sure is an obvious blush.

he occupies himself by grabbing the two plates he'd finished preparing a minute ago, just before he'd met you at your door.

"i made spag bol." simon mutters as he sets them down on the table. he keeps an eye on your expression as he takes his seat opposite you, anticipation of whatever response you may have.

"fine by me," you say, an easy smile lifting your features. "it's almost the perfect candlelit dinner, all we're missing is the candle."

simon blinks. "you don't like candles." he replies, a hint of confusion in his gaze when he meets your eye.

"no," you smile fondly, looking down at your plate. "i don't."

a comfortable silence falls over the room as you both start to eat. the warmth and normality of it all makes simon’s heart swell with affection. he's happy, content, being here with you, even doing something as monotonous as eating dinner. you make it worth enjoying.

"how is it?" he asks once you've both finished, once again waiting apprehensively for your reaction.

"it's great," you give him a lopsided smile, resting your chin on your hand as you look at him. "thanks for cooking."

simon quirks an eyebrow at you. "you don't have to lie." he mutters, feeling the tips of his ears burn under your intense gaze.

"okay, well, don't quit your day job." you chuckle, standing up and making your way over to the sink with your plate in your hands.

he huffs a small laugh, and joins you at the sink with his own plate. "you're crushin' my dreams here."

"sorry, chef." you grin and gesture to the washing up in the sink. "you wash, i'll dry?"

"if your majesty insists."

you turn on the radio for some quiet background noise, and the two of you start cleaning up in tandem. it's nice, how you can work together so seamlessly with no need for words. he's struck again by the thought that if he were alone this would be a chore, but with you beside him, he finds such a tedious job surprisingly pleasant.

simon hands the last dish to you, and as you take it your fingers brush against his hand. the way he flinches away from your touch is unconscious, and when he looks over to you he expects you to pity him, or be offended by his action – but your face holds neither of those things.

you're just drying the dish he handed you, the same content expression on your face that had been there all night, as if you didn't even notice.

"sorry." he mumbles, his gaze falling from your face to your hands as you work.

simon loves you. he shouldn't be afraid of your touch. he wants to touch you, and for you to touch him. he doesn't know why he reacted like that.

"don't be." you utter, soft and compassionate, and his heart feels like it's about to burst out of his chest. for the third time that night, he's hit full force with how wonderful you are.

there's no judgement, no probing questions, nothing. you understood him, even though you had no idea why he acts this way.

you turn away, your back to him as you store the dishes in the cabinets. you hadn't been looking at him before, but now he was sure you couldn't see him, he feels his throat constrict with the overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

simon takes your free hand and you pause, still facing away as you wait for his next move.

he takes a small step closer, minimising the space between you, and rests his forehead against the back of your head. with his eyes screwed shut, he takes a deep breath and inhales the familiar scent of you. his grip on your hand tightens slightly.

you lean back into him, a quiet sigh escaping you as you squeeze his hand in return. neither of you say a word, but you don't have to. he feels how you love him in the way you never expect more from him than he can give.

it's the most peace he's felt in years.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @sunshiinegaz , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness ,

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