#I won't shove this trauma down

[leaveherwildliketheflowers]

Cons of a cesarean section:

1. Incision pain is no joke folks. Last night it felt like someone was trying to rip me open from the inside out every time I moved. It was worse than some of the contraction pain.

2. It's definitely going to take longer for me to get back into my pre-pregnanacy exercise regime.

3. I made it 9 months without stretch marks to get an incision scar across my entire lower abdomen 🙃

4. I am now 2 for 2 having birth/labor complications. I'm a little concerned about what this means for future pregnancies. I was told that I should be able to have a VBAC in the future but that doesn't bring a lot of comfort if I'm being honest.

Pros of a cesarean section:

1. We got my baby out safely when things were getting dire. She is healthy and that's all that matters.

2. The first postpartum poop is all relief and no pain (at least for me).

3. I get 2 extra weeks of leave off work taking my total to 18 weeks.

4. My vagina doesn't hurt at all. All of the damage was to my belly. I'm hoping that makes postpartum sex less triggering.

5. I get a battle scar as a permanent reminder of how brave I was for my daughter.

6. Longer hospital stay means longer lactation support.

The point of this exercise is to remind myself that despite my pain and anxiety around future pregnancies, the pros easily outweigh the cons here.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

real talk having the 2nd worst new years eve yet 🤢🤢🤢 (throat infection, twisted neck, banged-about-foot, ego AND the rest o' me all bruised like misjuggled peaches 🍑🍑🍑)

im bent outa shape and suspectin the universe owes me 8 buck if anyone wannsa chip in

[thethingything]

also shoutout to the hospital for sending us a bunch of PDFs with information about preparing for surgery and what to expect, except the information was all generic stuff where most of it does't actually apply to wisdom tooth removal, so I had a huge panic attack where I nearly threw up because a bunch of the stuff mentioned in there is extremely triggering for us, only to then find out that stuff literally doesn't apply anyway, but now I feel like I have even less of an idea of what to actually expect because it's so hard to figure out which information does apply

[yeyinde]

You want a baby. Simon can't get over his hangups to give you one. The solution to both problems? Johnny.

18+ SMUT. breeding. mildly dubious consent. Johnny feasts on your pussy and then does his best to knock you up while Simon watches. slight body worship. bastardization of religious imagery. Mean!Dom Simon. rough, messy sex.

He's not the type to saw off his own hand to feed you, but would rather find a third man to satiate you both. The only one who can care for you, he said. Can't do that when he's dead, can he?

Maybe that's why he calls for Johnny.

down boy. eager mutt. lil' pyedogs got himself all twisted up in a rutt. help him, won't you, pet?

Johnny's softer than Simon but only just. This margin of distance, however, could be the gaping maw of a canyon for how wide it really is when scaled down to fit. Boxed inside a narrow bed—on your belly, cheek on Simon's knee; ass up, legs spread. Johnny behind you—colluvium to Simon's mountainside, but still so broad, so thick, your hips twinge with the effort of keeping your knees so wide apart.

You feel it whistling through the chasm when he licks his lips behind you—a loud, lascivious smack, a wet suckle—and feel the burn of his stare riveted on the split of your flesh. This bare seam Simon swears he found nirvana tucked deep inside of. A buried ravine. Aquifer he quenches himself on.

A pilgrimage Johnny has been aching to take.

And that's what this is, isn't it? Yatra to the hidden piscina. A procession to pollute the tarn—something Simon can't bring himself to do.

Bad genes. Trauma—sticky, noxious tar that oozes from the rotting filaments; festering deep inside. Cancerous: a mass you long to cleave from bone but know it's not cosmetic. Not just the ball joints, or the studs, but the foundation itself. If you start tearing up pieces now you'll have nothing but an empty plot and a pile of damaged debris.

So:

Enter the third man.

A tool. Vassel. Pays fealty by fucking a baby into your womb.

It's what you wanted, isn't it?

(yes, but—)

It happens faster than you can keep up with. Hands on your hips. Coarse hair tickling the back of your thigh. Warm breath against sticky, wet flesh. A broad nose parting your folds. Inhale. Exhale on a deep, reedy groan.

"fuck, ye smell heavenly, doe."

Simon hums before you can peel your tongue from the roof of your mouth, answering for you with a brassy invitation: tastes even better, Johnny.

It's all the permission he needs before he pushes his head closer to your bare cunt, groaning as his tongue cleaves a silky, thick line between your folds. Gorging himself without much preamble. Hands curled around your hips like expensive silverware, pulling you back into the wanting, eager suck of his mouth.

All at once, it's too much. Your hips shift, squirming away from his tongue, the too-sharp press of his teeth against soft, sensitive flesh. Mewling, whimpering into the rain-wet fabric of Simon's jeans.

His hand falls on your head. A gentle tap. Behave, it says, but you can't.

Johnny tramples over that thin line between pleasure and ecstasy, blurring them both until it becomes pain. Overwhelming. Shoving you towards the edge before you've readied yourself for the fall.

"Can't, Simon, can't—"

The words elide, slurring into a high-pitched whine as Johnny feasts on your cunt. Devours you from the inside out—all teeth and tongue, sucking your clit until your thighs cramp from how tight your muscles tense, bleeding lactic acid over sore flesh. The scrape of his stubble over your folds, chafing them until they are raw. Swollen. Drenched hole fucked with the spear of his tongue, digging so deep you begin to fear that he's trying to crawl inside of you. Salt your womb with his own two hands—

"Can take it, birdie," is all Simon says before his hand slides down your arched, trembling spine. Fingers digging into the meat of your cheek, spreading you wider for Johnny to eat. "Look how eager he is. Can't get enough of that sweet cunt."

"It's—it's too much—"

You don't feel him move. Can't see much from the blurry tears in your eyes. But his other hand whips out, cracking over your untouched cheek in a firm, burning smack. One that makes Johnny moan when it lands. Cruel. Open palm. Hard enough to leave a welt in the shape of his hand—something that makes him groan when he sees it.

"fuckin' hell—" his fingers dig into the aching flesh, grip bruising.

Johnny peels his wet, open mouth away long enough to pant into the slick spread of your cunt, resting his cheek on the swell of your ass. "Bit rough wit' 'er, Lt."

Simon considers it. Body shaking the bed when he shrugs, leaning back to trail his hand back up your spine, curling over the arch of your nape. Keeping you still as you sob into his knee. "She likes it."

"know she does. Fuck, Lt. Can feel 'er little pussy twitching. Tryin' tae suck me in."

Another hum. The grip on your asscheek eases as his hand peels away, sliding over swell before notching a finger between your cleft. Dry. Rough. It drags down your seam until it brushes over your fluttering hole, calloused tip digging in.

"soft, too, ain't it?" He asks, words mockingly cruel in their conversational tone. Nonchalant. But Johnny's hands tighten on your waist, palms slick with sweat. Glueing to your flesh. You can tell he likes that. Likes the way Simon talks about you. Demeaning and brutish. Butcher selling a piece of meat. "Bit of a tight fit at first—" he curls his finger inside of you, stretching your sore walls with the width of his knuckle. Sinking in deep. Another follows before you can remember how to breathe around the sting. "But swallows you up like a goddamn dream, Johnny."

His breaths grow ragged. "Fuck, Lt. Look at th'."

It makes you clench up around Simon's fingers, embarrassment scorching through your chest. "Please—"

Neither of them acknowledge you. Simon's fingers split, spreading wide apart as Johnny shuffles forward for a closer look, and nearly choking on his next inhale when he does.

"such a pretty fuckin' pussy—" he says it like a curse. Spitting the words out on a snarl. Angry, now, for reasons you can't discern slobbering over Simon's leg. "God, Lt. ah cannae—"

Johnny shifts back. You hear the clink of a belt. The rip of a zipper. Choked groans barely swallowed down as Simon buries his fingers inside of your weeping cunt over and over again, blunt tips cruelly skating over a spot inside, just behind your navel, that makes you feel liquid and loose between your hips. Debris floating down a whiteriver.

Pleasure peaks with each brutal thrust until you're howling into his leg, unable to move with their hands on your body, holding you down. Making you take it. Making you come undone as Johnny watches.

"fuck, fuck, Lt—she's gonna cum, ain't she?"

"Wanna feel it, Johnny?"

Simon's name falls out of his mouth on a whispered prayer. Drenched in thick reverence. Arched in need.

"aye, sir—" there's something about the hush of his voice, the way it slurs into putty. Enshrining his need in a halo of gold. It sends shivers down your spine. Heats you up fast like a fever. Sends you screaming over the edge—

"gonna miss it, Johnny. She's squeezin' me so fuckin' tight—"

Whatever else they say is swallowed by the keen clawing at the hollow of your throat when you feel the blunt, fat press of his cock knocking against your swollen, stuffed rim.

It's a burning thing—a sharp, heavy ache. Knock, knock. Simon spreads his fingers again, forcing you open. Pulling your hole wide apart for Johnny's engorged head to push up against.

It feels like being split down the middle. Ripped apart. Simon's fingers flex around your nape, thumb brushing soothingly against the knob of your spine.

Can take it, he mutters, brassy and low. A rumble just for you. Gotta take it, birdie.

You forget why. Why you need Johnny's too big, too fat cock inside of your cunt until the head bullies through, scissoring Simon's fingers apart until they're pressed tight on either side of the flared glands. Squeezed between your taut rim and Johnny's cock.

Johnny makes a noise like you've gutted him. A gutwrenching sob. "Oh, shite, Lt. M'—m'nae gonnae last—"

"gonna cum inside 'er, Johnny? Knock my pretty birdie up?"

Right. Right. A baby.

There's a heavy push. Your flesh wrenched apart to fit the fat, throbbing length of his cock—

(the cock that's gonna knock you up—)

Simon's fingers slip out of you as Johnny bucks forward, burying himself deep inside with a long, throaty groan. It's a horrible sensation—a bellyache. Without the splint of Simon's fingers forcing you open wide to near numbness, you're forced to feel the thick girth of his cock. Rim fluttering, spasming over the flared base. Too much, and somehow, not enough.

You sob through it. Each one ripples through your chest until it feels like it will collapse. Every inch of your body burns, throbbing. You don't think you'll survive this ache—

Johnny sets a brutal pace. Likes pistoning into you in quick succession until you're nearly howling into Simon's thigh before slowing to a crawl. Force-feeding you every inch. Making you feel every single one. Long strokes that batter the plug of your womb, bullying against the aching seal of your cervix until the flashes of pain, the savagery of this pleasure, makes you feel sick.

Getting fucked by Johnny like this is both a punishment and a reward. Baptism in hellfire.

Be careful what you wish for—

"gonnae fuck ye 'til it takes, doe. Knock ye up. Want th', don't ye? Aye. Can feel it. Feel this little cunt beggin' fer ma cum. Dinnae worry. Ahm gonnae give it tae ye. A' o' it, doe. Every—fuckin'—drop—"

Each awful word lands like acid on your spine. Chewing through flesh, tissue, until it melts bone below. Liquified. Helpless.

And with Johnny's hands on your hips, anchoring you in place as he hammers into your sore, abused pussy, possessed with the need to carve a space inside of your flesh where only he fits, rots, and Simon's hand on the scruff of your neck, holding you down, there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to escape the ragged breaths that spill from Johnny's slick mouth, the desperate way he pumps into you—thrusts growing sloppy as he stretches towards the precipice they dangle you off of, kicking and screaming as the scent of iron fills your nose, as his flared cockhead scrapes over that place you thought only Simon would ever know. Bluntly battering into the altar that sits, nestled behind your navel, like he's allowed.

Holy offering in a handful of seeds he'll sow over fecund land until something grows.

"Look at you take it," Simon coos, sticky, damp fingers petting over your tear-stained cheeks. It smells of loam. Salt. Iron and ozone. "So pretty when you're gettin' bred, ain't you, birdie?"

It rips a mournful keen from your chest, a feverish moan following on its heels when the lewd squelch, the echoing slapslapslap of Johnny driving into your cunt fills your ears. So wet, so messy, you can feel the slick drying, tacky and thick, on the inner crease of your bent knee.

"He's gonna put our baby in you, ain't he, birdie? Like a good mutt—"

The hands holding you over the precipice let go. Johnny's answering moan spears into your head, fluttering around the pulsing heartbeat of liquid bliss frothing in the pit of your belly. Overflowing over the rim.

Too much, you think, but that's not quite right because you can't feel anything at all except the length of his thick cock lodged deep inside you. Throbbing in tandem with your second pulse.

"gonnae cum, Lt. Gonnae—oh, fuck, Lt—"

His voice is a warm river washing over your spine. Pooling ecstacy. Something heavenly. Divine—

Molten gold blooms in the pit of your belly. Cockhead spitting against the seal of your womb as he cums, filling you to the brim. Fucking it into you even as his cock softens, unable to pull out he says.

Feels like fuckin' heaven, Lt.

"ain't she just?" Simon volleys back, sounding oddly dissonant. Off-key. "Pretty little birdie got what she wanted, huh?"

The drawl of his tone—acid-scorched, electric—forces you to blink through the tears, lifting your aching, wet eyes upwards at him. Searching.

He has the eyes of a predator. Leonine. The gaze of a beast after it's devoured something whole. His touch is as gentle as he can be—a rough, cracked scratch over your blistered cheeks—and when he meets your divining stare, he coos.

"Maybe I'll 'ave a go next time."

In the pounding, soporific slurry of your mind, you can't wrap your head around the words. Can't make sense of them. Struggling to keep your burning eyes open, even.

Not that it matters.

Johnny huffs a scorching breath of laughter over your sweat-slicked spine before wedging his forearm under your belly. Keeping your hips tipped up as he falls into you, resting his broad chest against your back and smothering you into the damp mattress.

"Yer cruel, Lt," he rasps, chin nuzzling over the arch of your shoulder, cock giving a feeble twitch inside of you at something you can't seem to piece together.

"m'jus' givin' my pretty bird exactly what she asked for." Huh? He prods, fingers tapping over your cheek when your swollen eyes slide shut. "Forgettin' y'manners, ain't you? Say thank you, pet."

With Johnny's half-formed chuckle echoing in your head, you mumble the words out on an exhausted sigh.

"an' say thank you to this mutt f'knockin' you up."

It comes out slower this time. Sluggish. His cock gives another twitch as he buries his face between your shoulder blades, smothering a groan.

"Sweetest thing, Lt. Christ—"

"more where that came from, Johnny. Jus' you wait an' see." Another tap. You mewl in response, feeling war-torn and achy. Unable to open your eyes for a second time, all you can do is whimper, burying yourself into his thigh. Pleading, silently, for clemency. Later, you think. Later—

But Simon has other plans.

"Fallin' asleep on me, birdie? Ain't even gonna give me a chance to put my baby in you? Greedy little thing, ain't she?"

Buried under the weight of Johnny as he peppers sucking, open mouth kisses over the width of your shoulder, cum leaking out around the softening plug of his cock, all you can do is snuff out the sob on the arch of his knee, resisting the urge to bite instead.

"Maybe next time then, eh, birdie?" Since you've been so good for this mutt, huh? Maybe I'll give you a reward.

Just be careful what you wish for, huh, birdie.

[sundrop-writes]

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

[rafeandonlyrafe]

safe

words: 1.1k

warnings: home break in (not really described though), drug dealer!rafe and reader, pregnant!reader, husband!rafe

“r-rafe.” your voice is timid and shaky, so unlike what rafe is normally used to hearing. he instantly knows something is off, wrong.

“baby, what is it?” rafe asks into the phone, wishing he could see your face right now, could read the emotion in your expression.

“something uh-something happened. the police are here.”

“shit, are you alright?” rafe is suddenly moving away from the party, needing the noise of music from the live band and people talking and laughing to stop drowning out your words. “is the baby alright? did barry get caught?”

“yeah, we are both fine.” you press your hand against your stomach, the spot your baby always kicks, glad when you feel her stomp against your skin, reminding you she's okay, even if you don't currently feel like you are. “its not the business. there were some um… robbers.”

“what?” rafe shouts, knowing he probably just made you jump over the phone, but he can't help the loud reaction, needing more information, and needing it now.

“yeah they came into the house. i hid in the closet, but they found me. they didn't do anything, just shoved me a bit. they did take a lot of the jewelry you got me, i don't know what else, you'll have to talk to the police and give them a full invento-”

“shit, y/n!” rafe interrupts you. “i don't care about our stuff! i only care about you and the baby. im coming home right now.”

“okay.” you whisper over the phone. “im sitting on the front porch.”

“and police are watching you?” rafe asks, hurrying to his car, not bothering to explain to anyone his sudden leaving as he tears out of the parking lot.

“yeah, they're here. don't worry, im safe. i don't think they even had weapons, at least none that i saw.” rafe can hear you take a shuddering breath, his heart breaking that he wasn't there with you, foot pressing down even harder on the pedal to get him there faster. “the police think they broke in and expected no one to be home because of midsummers.”

you look down, rubbing your hand over your belly. “guess they didn't expect me to be home because none of my heels fit anymore and even the maternity dresses make me look like a whale.” you mean it as a joke, but it has tears flowing down your eyes, wishing you would have just sucked up your insecurities and gone with rafe. you still would have got robbed, but without the trauma of being there during the break in.

“im two minutes, baby. two minutes and you'll be safe in my arms.” rafe tries to keep his voice calm for you, but it's a struggle.

“i… i just wanna be safe.” you mutter the last words of the call, voice breaking as you begin to sob. rafe hears an officer try to calm you, but he knows it won't work, knows the only thing you need is him.

he parks haphazardly behind the police cars, fully blocking the street without a care in the world, not even taking the car keys out as he runs across the yard, sprinting until he reaches you.

“im here.” his arms are finally around your shoulders. “im here.”

you continue to sob, only lessened by pressing your face into rafes chest as he cradles you, even managing to pull you onto his lap despite your protruding baby bump.

“ive got you, princess.” rafe kisses the top of your head, continuing his reassuring words, the police officers giving you some space, but not retreating any farther than the steps leading onto the porch.

“oh my god, i was so scared.” you whine out, managing to blink back your tears enough to look at rafe.

“im so sorry baby.” rafe sighs. “i should have been here.”

“no.” you shake your head. “you had to go to midsummers. it's okay.”

“as soon as you said you weren't coming, i should have canceled it. should have never left my pregnant wife at home alone. im the worst fucking husband.” rafe knows his words aren't comforting, but he needs to make sure you know that he is the one to blame for what happened.

“what?” you press your fingers against rafes cheeks. “you couldn't have known, baby.”

“i still should have been here.” rafe leans in, taking your mouth in a strong kiss. “i love you, baby.”

“oh my god, you're not gonna leave my side for the next year, are you?” you let out a tiny laugh, the noise relieving rafe, loosening some of the tension in his chest.

“definitely not, my love.” rafe pulls you closer.

“thank you for coming so quickly.” you whisper, letting your head rest against rafes chest. “i really am okay. just freaked out.”

“don't worry, baby.” rafes voice suddenly changes tone. “the second they try to sell any of your jewelry, ill find them. they won't make it far at all. ill make sure they can never hurt you or anyone else ever again.”

you know you should tell rafe to let the police handle it, to not get personally involved in clearly dangerous men, but any man who lays their hands on a pregnant woman doesn't deserve to breathe, let alone only be punished to a few months in jail like what would no doubtabley happen if you went the legal way.

“im surprised you haven't called barry already.” you laugh softly, knowing he will be just as pissed as rafe. you came into their life and helped expand the business, turning them from lowly dealers to something bigger, better. still dealing, of course, but offering protection and other services as well.

“figure id let the police leave first.” rafe rubs your back, glad that you're slowly getting back to your jokey and sharp witted self. “before he insisted on being your personal armed guard until those guys are put in the ground.”

“yeah, once baby girl pops, im going to have to ask him to teach me to shoot. just in case anything like this happens again.” you feel bad that you relied so heavily on rafes protection, that you let yourself slack to the point where an emergency arose and you hid in the closet instead of grabbing a glock.

“hey, what about me?” rafe whines, knowing he'd never let another man teach you how to shoot, not even your joint business partner barry.

“fine.” you joke, sighing and sliding off rafes lap. “you better go talk to the police about what else might be missing. i wouldn't let them snoop around.”

you don't keep anything illicit in your house, but just in case you weren't about to give the law open access to your home.

“in a minute.” rafe keeps his arms around you, not willing to let you move too far from his hold. “need to just keep my wife in my arms for a few minutes longer.”

you look out onto the sky, the stars glimmering in the darkness of light, allowing yourself to take a full, deep breath, at peace held in your husband's arms.

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid

[donutz]

Not much but a romantic Sebastian and a burnt out gn reader who enters his shop to get some well deserved rest?

Burnt out! reader with Sebastian

A little rest won't hurt...

— I verbally went "ooo" at this request, also apologies for taking so long(This applies to future requests)

Warnings: Possibly touch starved Reader and Sebastian; Reader acts alcohol drunk(Sorry I don't mean to bring up trauma😓) but is actually sleep drunk; Accidently flirty Reader; Very vivid descriptions, I just think it makes it kinda 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 so that's why I'm warning you; 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 mentions but nothing 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 happens; Flustered Sebastian ooo

Door, after door, after door, after door, you’re tired of this unending loop. The only good thing about this is that incredible shop and its owner.

God, what was his name again?

Sabers?

No that’s not it.

Uhhh.

Dang.

You can’t even think right! When’s the last time you forgot a name?

… You can’t remember that either, okay.

You’re limping through the halls, senses on point, well minus your sight. Your tired eyelids keep on dropping down or hanging.

You want to take a rest soooo baddd.

But you can’t. Not with Urbanshade watching you.

Not with Pinkie or Pandemonium.

Hate it.

Hate this place.

YOU hate this place.

Well accept for Sebastian since this place is the only reason he’s down here.

Just make it to Sebastian and you’ll be fine. Shove through the doors that won’t open or groan whenever you need a keycard.

Fight through the pain!

Well that’s pretty hard mentally.

And your mental state isn’t doing very well.

Ughhhh JUST GO THROUGH THE DOORS.

Sorry I didn’t mean to yell.

I’m just second personing your thoughts.

Actually my thoughts on what your thoughts are. Because I don’t actually know your thoughts. So yeah.

Oh god finally, door 48. You speed walk over to the next door, apparently not noticing Chainsmoker behind you.

.

.

.

“Woowww, you reallyyy saw that one. Y’know I–” He stops talking when he looks at your state. 

You’re looking down with your spine stretching till it pops out of your body. Your extremely tired eyes are barely even focusing, just waiting for that document to pop up.

Your body creates low and shallow breaths.

You look like you’re going to pass out.

“Oh uhhm… You alright?” Sebastian asks, with concern rolling around on his face.

Upon hearing his voice, you look up with excitement and expectation. Only being able to see two of his pastel blue eyes.

You try to speak but can’t, you’re dead remember?

Sebastian sees your attempt and sighs.

“Look, I know it’s hard out there but–” He pulls out his claw in front of you.

Seeing that as a, “Take my hand friend” Gesture, you take it. You seem touch starved with the way you quickly grasped onto his claw.

Using your two hands to grab his claw, breathing hard.

You wish you could feel his fingers.

In your hand of course.

Freakanator 3000.

But after a few seconds of silence and hand holding, you’re suddenly brought down to go see the document.

You didn’t even do that!

Did Sebastian do that?!

Could that have happened this whole time?

Then why did it happen now?!

Groaning in your head, you were motivated to see Sebastian and just maybe rest.

You were contemplating on whether you should keep going so you can find that dumb crystal and get out of here or for Sebastian. Meanwhile, he sat, surprised at the touch.

Maybe wanting some more?

From you specifically?

Just maybe?

You rushed through doors after ‘respawning’, even skipping some doors after hearing the entities behind you.

You perfectly nailed down the ways to survive the monsters, getting more and more excited as you get closer to Sebastian’s shop.

The adrenaline rushed through your body as you nearly broke down a few doors.

I thought those were bulletproof?

Slowing down your running, you nearly tripped upon seeing the room that Sebastian would be located in. Letting out big breaths that were loud enough to hear through your head gear.

Sometimes you let out a few guhs and coughs.

It was that bad.

You could drink your own sweat and that’ll help.

Your hands were on your knees, your legs shaking and sweat drops dripping onto your visor while you were looking down.

“Oh man, I can hear you from here. Take a break, yeah?” Sebastian commented, trying to not give you clues that he’s worried about you.

Saliva recollects in your mouth as you look back up at the vent. Your legs carry you over even if it hurts.

Getting out of the vent, you saw Sebastian and tried to smile.

“Ooo… You alright?” His question seemed genuinely curious.

You nod, crawling over to a spot and shutting your eyes.

Sebastian stays silent as he thinks that you fell asleep.

Your body collects its strength, your organs pumping correctly, the only thing that your brain needs now is sleep.

Yeah, the ONE thing that’s hard to get. Currently.

Your swaying right foot indicates that you’re awake, so Sebastian questions you on it.

“Oh you’re awake? I thought you passed out-”

“Offf course I’m awakee..!! How could I– Fall asleepp with a gooddd looking fella like youuu”??

Now that got him to pay full attention to you(Not like he wasn’t before).

“Are.. Are you drunk”?

‘Didn’t know prisoners could drink down here.’ He thought.

“Drunk on your lookss? Yeahhh. Youu look.. Soooooo HOT”!

Sebastian looks away to his left, mouth scrunched making it look like he’s disgusted. But he’s not! Because in this fanfic he actually likes you back.

He’d be flushing with red if he was warm blooded. 

You could tell with the way his fingers are fidgeting with each other. He attempts to pin back his side bang only for it to fall again.

He lets out a groan.

Changing your resting position, you stand up, walking over to Sebastian.

“I could pin your hair back for you. Hic up, baby. Ooo I’m so sleepy I’m hiccuping”.

“HAUH”?!?

“Oh sorry did I make you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to I’m- hic up sorry”.

“It’s uhm. No. You didn’t make me uncomfortable, it's just that you’re so”..

“Bold? Yeah. I get like this when I’m sleep drunk”.

Oh so you’re aware you act like this?

“Y- Yea.. Bold”.

You stumble over to Sebastian, eyeing his tail. Looking back up at him, you point at his scales.

“Can I touch”?

“Yeah sure”.

Dropping down onto your knees you feel along his hard yet smooth scutes.

“I wish I could.. Actually feel your uhh, scales”.

“Hm”.

“But I can’t :(”

“Awh what a bummer.” He playfully teases.

After feeling up his tail some more, you ask him—

“What does it feel like”?

“My tail”?

“Yeah dum dum.” You chuckle at the slightly insulting nickname.

“Oh well now I won’t tell you because of your insult”.

“Nooooo, breathy chuckle, I was chokinggg… Wait no.. I was jokinggg”.

Sebastian stifles a laugh with his hand, his torso lightly shaking.

“Alright alright. My tail is pretty cold, it’s like smooth in a more slimy way. Yet there’s no slime. It’s kinda weird but I’m used to it”.

“Ooo, slimy tail. So if I take my hands off your tail I’ll get slime on my glove”?

“No, I just said that it’s smooth in a slimy sense yet there’s no slime”.

“... Sebastian, that makes no sense.” You said sternly.

“... Shut up”.

Eventually, you end up falling asleep on his tail. Drooling in your head gear, making a pool of it at the bottom.

Seeing you unconscious yet alive brings comfort to Sebastian. You’re still here, just not awake. Alive.

He’s never really thought about wanting a human alive before.

I don't mean to make Sebastian seem like this shy 'baby', I just think he'd get all blushy and nervous at bold romantic actions.

[acid-ixx]

I truly LOVE THIS SERIES!!! I also read the reader as female too. I really like how you delve into damiens mind on this one. He is the one I was curious about the direction you will take him in with dealing with reader. I especially can't wait for Jason's too. Will any of the batfam be romantic toward reader in future chapters?

directory !

a/n: tysm for liking it so far !! for me i prefer it if the reader is gn/male (since im also a trans guy and it's hard to find content of my preference. it's funny how a lot of ppl in my inbox call me a girl bec i am not 😭). also none of them are going to turn romantic later on. i prefer strictly writing them as platonic in the series since it's often stated that they see you purely as their sibling who differs entirely from them. although i might make another series where it is romantic yandere, but for the a&a series, they're all platonic.

yeah, damian so far is a really complicated case. both him and the reader share a trait for contradicting feelings and that really ties with them being the only ones having blood ties in the family. which drives damian's obsession even further because in my opinion he's the most perceptive (and one of the least delusional alongside jason) of your emotions, knowing the right words to tick you off or make your vulnerable.

damian is also pretty touch-starved for a sense of normalcy that he couldn't achieve with his siblings who are raised to be crimefighters (so the way he sees his relationship towards his siblings would be more of a vigilante partner than family), but once he's matured enough, he'll soon realize just how much he craves for affection. having someone like you, who's the one trying to just live, and sharing blood with him (because despite trying to distance himself away from his assassin past, he'll always have this toxic mindset of "blood is thicker than water" and you're proof of that), damian pretty much demands attentions left and right.

when i mean he demands your attention, that means he also needs affection, both physical and emotional. that means he wants you to coddle him the same way dick coddles you. he wants to bond with you through quality time so that means you'll always find your schedule packed with activities you'll spend with damian, to both make up for lost time and as a quiet apology towards you that, no, he's not gonna threaten you with a sword anymore— he even makes a show of keeping his weapons somewhere far away from you, that your baby brother is vulnerable towards you and he means no harm.

his methods of gaining your spotlight are really inconvenient, but don't point it out because all he'll do is pout towards you whilst he'd grab your hand, preferably to take you somewhere away from all your other siblings who are trying their damn best also trying to take your attention.

meanwhile jason is more protective and would rather not let you go through the same path as he did; being impulsive and letting yourself get in danger. unfortunately, the reader in the series is already pretty much in their worst state and that makes jason's need to protect you from harm's way (just like bruce), especially right after meeting him in the series would make him realize that you weren't a replacement to him and that you both pretty much share the same trauma when it comes to seeing your mother being taken away from you.

just like dick, he pretty much sees you as a kid. but unlike dick, the more you show your impulsive actions and display breakdowns, the more he acknowledges that yes, you do have flaws and you need space so he won't shove his affection down your throat but he will make sure his angel is properly taking care of themself right after, he'll make drink water right after a crying session, make you eat something if you haven't, and if you're scared of criminals trying to target you in the streets, then don't worry because the red hood will guarantee to associate you with fear.

fear that if they even dare to lay their eyes on you, their eyeballs would be ripped out of their sockets. only god knows what would happen if jason were to find one of them having filthy intentions towards his angel.

unfortunately for you, if you don't like it when an intimidating, brooding man who considers himself your brother is standing by your door, then you're out of luck because he won't even budge unless you invite him over. his obsession with you is very subtle but unlike bruce with a no-kill code, jason won't hesitate putting a buller through someone's head once his angel is in danger.

though if you don't want to see jason snap, then it'd be better if you wouldn't put yourself in danger on purpose because he will get violent towards anyone who even tries to lay their hands on you and although his grip on your body is soft, as if making sure that he wouldn't be harming you; you would further increase the chances of being locked up in your own safe haven if you try to purposely get yourself killed because that gives him all the signs that you're incapable of taking care of yourself and he wouldn't want a repeat of what happened to him with you when it comes to any other criminals.

[bananayuyu]

all tied up {part 2}

Pairing: Yunho x f reader

Genre: angst, eventual smut

Word count: 11.9k

Summary: You never thought you'd have such an awful rivalry with a coworker. How is he so mean, so petty, so under your skin...?

Warnings: smut, MDNI, mentions of reader wanting to die and past traumas, dub con/non con, reader is physically bound against her will, mean yunho, nipple play, fingering, unprotected penetration, after care of sorts

A/n: I hope you all enjoy the depravity! (and again please read the warnings and don't read this if you aren't in the right headspace <3)

Read part 1 here

Read it on ao3

That toe box.  That stupid fucking toe box… 

"YUNHO, LET ME GO!!" you scream, punching a hand into his side and making him sag ever so slightly.

"Fucking hell, give me a second," he replies, finally slinging you back over his shoulder to your feet.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!" you scream, shoving him as hard as you can, and he rocks back onto his other foot, destabilized only for a second.

"Calm down, Jesus Christ," he snaps, and you move to dart around him, towards the front door you were just dragged through. He's too quick though and grabs you by the arm, your shoulder crashing into the wall as he awkwardly halts your movements. "Y/n, seriously, calm the fuck down." His tone is harsh, low and demanding, and the turn of events has so shocked you, you feel like you might puke.

"You just kidnapped me, and you're telling me to calm down??" you spit, your shoulder stinging from the impact of the wall.

"I saved you from that horrible weather, actually. Not safe for a girl like you to be out there right now," he replies, a chilling smirk on his lips.

"Oh fuck off, you fucking creep," you mutter, desperately trying to free your arm from his grasp.

"Listen I know it's a bit extreme, but you kept ignoring me, and I want to talk. So I did what I had to do, to make that happen," he replies, his voice uncomfortably smooth.

"Yunji is right, you're a fucking sociopath," you respond, eyeing him sharply.

"Yunji?" he asks, his eyebrows cocked.

"Yunji, my best friend, my roommate, who will be very concerned if I don't return home soon. So you'd better fucking let me go, if you don't want the police called," you say, words fiery and sharp as they exit your mouth.

"Why don't you text her and let her know you got caught in the storm, and a kind neighbor let you into their place for protection," he smiles, shaking his head at you like you're dumb.

"Fuck you, fuck offf," you mutter as you knee him hard in the side, managing to pull your arm free for a moment and stumbling towards his front door once again. But again somehow he's faster than you, despite the wind being slightly knocked out of him, and he puts himself between you and the door with a loud slam, your body smashing into his, hard. His right hand moves behind him to slide closed the deadbolt, his broad frame guarding the door, creating a barrier you certainly won't be able to break through.

"You're making this very difficult, y/n," he scolds, shaking his head again.

"ME?? I'M MAKING THIS DIFFICULT??" you scream, falling to the floor in desperation, your mind running out of ideas. The only one that's left is his backdoor, which you know is likely to be locked; but you realize it's truly your last hope, your only remaining option. With a sharp inhale you steady yourself, launching down a hallway you see that leads in that general direction, turning the corner abruptly when you hit a wall, seeing another hallway branching off with more doors leading to other rooms. You continue down this hallway too, even though it's running towards the side of the house, because you really don't have another choice and have no idea where any of these doors might lead you. You're running hard, as hard as you can, bumping into walls and nearly stumbling over a slight blip in the old hardwood floor, catching yourself in time to keep running. You round another corner into what looks like a den, and then you spot it, sliding glass doors that lead to his backyard. You're almost there, your legs only propelled by your adrenaline, and you know he's hot on your trail, his hard footsteps echoing ominously behind you. Sliding the door will open will be awkward, you know that, but you have to try-

You're grabbed again, this time tackled to the ground, a hand coming around your ankle and holding it tight as you flail your other leg, making contact with some part of Yunho's body. Your huge winter coat is making it hard to move around on the floor, your body limited by the layers of clothing and the crumpled position you're currently pinned in.

"Yunho, please, just fucking let me go," you beg, your throat hoarse from your screaming earlier, your lungs lacking capacity from your running. "I promise, I'll talk to you tomorrow, I promise, just please, let me go, please, please." You sound so pathetic, so scared, because you are. You've never felt like this, scared for your life and unsure you'll make it through the rest of the day alive.

"Don't make promises you can't fucking keep," Yunho grumbles, moving on top of you to pin you even tighter, both of your legs awkwardly bent under his and your upper body held down by his arms. His face is only inches from yours now, closer than it's ever been, and you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see what you know is a horrifying look in his eyes.

"No I'm serious, I will talk to you, I promise, I-"

"No you won't. I know you fucking won't," he spits, adjusting his grip on your arms as if he's trying to remind you how trapped you are. "You'd make your mind up, hadn't you? You'd decided you'd much rather we both lose our jobs than you having to speak to me again. You were gonna give up. You weren't going to talk to me tomorrow, or the next day, or ever. If I let you go now, that wouldn't fucking change. Don't lie to me, y/n. I'm not stupid."

Your snarky reply gets lost in your throat, because the way he's read you so easily is utterly disturbing.

"What, are you shocked that I'm right? You're not that hard to read, doll," he continues, chuckling deeply.  But I am, to everyone else, you think. You've always been able to hide your intentions easily. Your side is starting to throb, his elbow digging into your ribs, and his words have lit another fire in you, one that comes from the visceral fear that's consuming you.

You snap your head up and bite hard on his shoulder, the only part of him other than his face that you can reach. You're more forceful than even you expect, immediately tasting blood, and it makes you bite even harder, Yunho letting out a sudden cry of pain.

"Fuck, you fucking bi-"

You cut him off with a knee to the groin, the pain from your bite having loosened his nerve enough for you to do so. It weakens him even more, and you're able to move your hips out from under him, painfully wrenching yourself free from his grasp and doing anything you can to inflict pain on his perfect body. You can feel it now that he's on top of you, the curves and lines and hints of lean muscle, and it pisses you off all over again. You're clawing at him, scratching and biting and kicking every which way. His breath is knocked out of him so you both are just breathing heavily, his body grunting with every painful blow, your own voice erupting in a growl when you finally free yourself from him and manage to miraculously make it to your feet.

You're running back the way you came now, back towards the front door which you know how to unlock, a cramp forming sharp in your side from the exertion. You hear his footsteps behind you again, and you know it's a last-ditch effort, but you try with all your might to run as fast as you possibly can. Suddenly you feel your left arm tugged back, your body jolting awkwardly as he makes contact with you, but he's only able to get a good hold on the sleeve of your coat, which now is painfully snaking down your arm and falling off your shoulder. You wrench your arm free from it, spinning to free your other arm too, feeling unburdened now without your coat and able to sprint fast again. As you round the corner you see the front door, the dark stained wood ominous, a warning against entering. Or leaving, you suppose. The whole house is dark, little light coming in from the windows because of the now raging storm, and for the first moment since you've entered Yunho's house you notice a bright flash that must be lightning, followed by a loud rumble of thunder. You know it should be louder, it sounded mere moments after the flash meaning the strike was somewhere nearby, but the snow is just that thick right now, even the deafening sound got lost in it. You wonder if you'll even be able to open the door against the winds and what must be harsh rain, and tears start coming fast down your cheeks as your fears reach new heights. Even if you make it out of here you've got the elements to deal with, and suddenly storming out that door doesn't sound so good. For a brief moment it's almost like you're begging for it, begging for him to grab you again so you don't have to face the reality outside.

Even if it'd only been a passing thought, Yunho answers your sadistic prayer, finally making contact with you again when you're only five feet from the door, his hand crushing as it grips down on your upper arm. You shriek, your shoulder screaming so severely in pain you're worried he's dislocated it. You both awkwardly crash towards the ground again, Yunho coming to his knees as he tries to prevent the fall, your legs sweeping out from under you as you lose your balance. You're still fighting fiercely, and you feel ridiculous for wishing for this now. You'd give anything to be in that fierce, terrifying storm right now, instead of being dragged by your arm and your hair down his hallway, making dents in the walls with your feet as you struggle against his firm grip.

"You're making this really fucking difficult, y/n," he growls, breathing hard from carrying the weight of an entire human down his short hallway. "I don't think you realize how true that is." You're still screaming in pain, tears streaming down your face in waves now as the follicles of your hair are nearly ripped out. "We could have done this another way, but you just had to fucking fight me, as always. I should have known you'd pull some shit like this," he spits, his voice low. You have no idea where you're going, your vision clouded with your tears. Eventually you year a door knob turned, Yunho yanking you hard and turning you around, your legs catching painfully underneath you.

"Ah!" you scream in pain, using your free hand to wipe the tears and snot from your face and finally try to get a good look around you.

"Shut up, this is your fault," he responds, his tone cold in that way that it so often is. It feels so weird to be with him outside of work, the feeling hitting you suddenly as you're finally able to get a glimpse of him; turning your head you see a desk, a dresser, a closet door...

You can only see a glimpse of his bed when you turn to the side, but it's enough to confirm you're in his bedroom. It adds to the fear in you, that you're both in the place he feels most comfortable, that he's confident enough to show you his place of rest. Is he going to kill you? You really wouldn't have pegged him as the type, even if he was an asshole at work; your jokes with Yunji about him being sociopathic were hyperbole, at the time, at least.

"Are you going to kill me?" you ask, finding a strength within yourself that surprises you. 

"No," he grunts, his body pinning you down as he reaches under his bed, the position twisting his torso and making his breathing uneven.

"Then what the hell are you doing?" you ask, trying to even out your breathing yourself. Your lungs feel exhausted from screaming, but at least now he isn't dragging you by your hair, so your scalp is getting a break from the severe pain. He doesn't answer you, shoving his arm further under, and then in a flash you see what he's pulled out, in moments feeling it against the skin of your left wrist.

The black rope is even and soft, clearly made for use in the bedroom. It would make you laugh, cause you to poke fun at him, normally, but in this instance your blood runs cold as you feel him forcefully anchor the wrist in place, tying it to something behind you in a way that makes it totally immovable. You struggle against him as he reaches for your other arm, but with the way he has you pinned there's only one outcome to this, and soon your other wrist is being tied down too, right next to your first one. You're well and truly trapped now, not able to move your arms at all, and with them tied behind your back it's hard to move the rest of your upper body.

With another grunt Yunho finishes securing his knots, your arms tied to one of his bed posts, your legs awkwardly folded under you. You look so pathetic and vulnerable in this state, and it makes him feel things he knows he shouldn’t, something that makes his pants feel tighter than they should. Your whole face is a mess from crying, your hair disheveled and tangly; he's never seen you in such a state, so messed up and powerless and ragged.

"Well, here we are," he says, standing up and walking back to the entrance of his room, putting several feet between you as he stares you down, arms crossed.

"What do you want?" you snap, frustrated and disgusted that you can't wipe the small trail of snot that's currently leaving your nose.

"I just want to talk, y/n. I'm not planning on killing you, I'm not that kind of person. I can't believe you'd even ask that," he responds, looking at you sternly.

"YOU FUCKING TIED ME UP, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO THINK?!!" you scream, your body lurching forward with the force of your words. The binding on your wrists squeezes painfully when you do so, and your face scrunches up in agony for a moment, as you set yourself back in place in a slightly more comfortable position.

"May I remind you again, this is all your own fault. You wouldn't talk to me, and like I said, I'm not giving up on this job easily. So tell me, why do you hate me so much?" he asks you, narrowing his eyes and crossing one foot in front of the other in a casual, confident stance.

"Cause you're an asshole??" you say, narrowing your eyes back at him, cocking your head to the side.

"And you're not?" he asks, smirking.

"You know I'm not," you growl, eyebrows furrowed together deeply. "You fucking know I'm not, I'm a fucking angel, actually, and everyone in that damn office loves me, and I never start shit with anyone. You know damn well that you started this, you did, you like messing with me and seeing me suffer, it must be entertaining to you cause your life is so fucking stuffy and perfect and boring. I mean those fucking suits you wear, to our simple little government-funded office. Where do you get off dressing like that??"

"I could ask you the same thing," he quips, raising his eyebrows momentarily. You eye him sharply, the question in your gaze obvious. "Your clothes, y/n, I can't believe Mr. Kangsoo lets you wear skirts that short in the office. Or tight shirts with no bra."

"He's probably never even thought about it, because he's never sexualized me like a fucking creep," you respond, face flushed from the idea that Yunho was looking at you like that for all of these months. It's mortifying, horrifying, and makes you feel suddenly so sick in your body, like you wish you could jump out of it. But you also can't deny that you've looked at him that way too, that the suits do it for you in a way that's almost embarrassing.

"I'm not a creep, I've just never had a boss who allows that," he says, sighing. "I can't deny that it's distracting." The words shutter through you, adding to the sick feeling growing in your low gut. It makes tears form in your eyes again too, from how humiliated you feel by his admission, that every day in the office when he was tormenting you, he was also gawking over your body in this way.

"You're so fucking gross," you mutter, looking at the ground in front of you, adjusting yourself again as your legs begin to ache from the position you're sitting in.

"What else do you think of me?" he prompts, loving to watch you squirm around in clear discomfort on the floor.

"I'm- this is so fucking disturbing Yunho, you're- I'm gonna-" you stop yourself from saying 'report this to the police,' because that visceral fear that he might kill you is still there. Even if he isn't planning on doing it, you don't want to say or do anything that might motivate him to, so you let the words die on your tongue, awkwardly huffing out the breath you'd just taken. Your gaze jumps around, but finds his face again fast, your mind working hard to try to understand what the hell is happening. Does he really just want to talk? Everything he's done seems too severe to be justified by just that, but you've found him hard to read since you met him. As you gaze at his face you see a smile on his lips, a smile that's revealed a small dimple on his left cheek and almost looks sweet. "Why the hell are you smiling?" you snap, your look severe and threatening.

"I'm just glad we're finally talking," he sighs, crossing his feet in the opposite direction. You just fix with him with a look of disgust, not wanting to speak anymore if that's truly what's bringing him joy in this moment. He knows saying that will shut you up for a bit, but he's okay with that, having things of his own that he needs to get off his chest. Now that the two of you are finally alone, away from the office, he can say the things that he's wondered for months.

"Y/n, can I ask you a question?" he starts, but he doesn't wait for an answer before barreling on. "Did you get into our field because you yourself deal with mental health issues, or have some big trauma from your past? I only ask, because, well, everyone at my last office fit that description, and I'm pretty sure everyone at our's does too, even Jongho. Everyone had to go to therapy as a kid, or in college cause of severe anxiety, and that's what led them to wanting to work in this field. Am I right, that that's true for you too?"

Your eyes remain fixed on him but you don't move your head for a second, not nodding or shaking it in an answer. The glassiness that forms in your eyes, though, is impossible to cover up, and Yunho can see from the tears starting to form that he's entirely, absolutely correct.

"You're very neurotic, do you know that?" he continues, and his question almost sounds genuine. "I mean, me hiding your favorite mug has you angry enough to slam the dishwasher closed? That mug isn't even yours, it's a part of the set that Dr. Acharya got the office two years ago as a Christmas present, meaning it belongs to everyone at the office. At least, that's what you told me my first day.  Sure, everyone has their favorite mugs, but no one is as obsessively possessive about it as you are. The littlest things set you off, stuff that shouldn't even affect you. What does it matter that I hid the mug? Who the fuck cares what mug you use? You dropped Jongho's favorite mug two months ago and it smashed everywhere, and he didn't freak out about it. He just started using a different one. Did you even know that was his favorite one? No, because he didn't insist on using it every day. Do you realize how ridiculous all of your little routines and patterns are? It's like if everything doesn't go exactly how you want it to, you'll die."

"No, that's you," you sob, his words pulling emotions out of you that you can't even describe.  He's the rich spoiled boy, he's the one who's never been told no in his life. He's the one who can't take disturbance to his needs, not you, not you, not me...

Your gut roils at his insult, and you realize in an instant that he's absolutely right, and that probably everyone at the office has thought that about you for years, but tolerated it anyway. Tears flow down your cheeks fast, and god you wish you could somehow wriggle your arms free, and punch that pretty face of his to make him shut up. 

"That's not me, actually. I do just fine dealing with whatever comes up at the office each day. I can even handle our arguments just fine, and don’t walk around with a scowl on my face all day. You know everyone is fucking scared to talk to you when you do that, right?"

"Shut up, shut up!!" you scream, the pain in your head growing the more you think about all your failings, all the ways you've fucked up in the last six months. That awful feeling of shame you were so scared to face earlier is hitting you now, and just like you thought, the pain is so bad that you don't think you're going to come out the other side of it alive.

"Don't tell me to shut up just cause I'm right, y/n. Fucking listen and take accountability for once," he snaps, his face more like anger now that you're yelling at him again, instead of just talking. "I don't think you understand how easy it's been for me to read you, since the moment I started at that job. Am I wrong for liking it when something I do pisses you off? Maybe, I can't help that it's fun. I could see this whole conflict unfolding from the first day you turned cold with me, and I knew that there wasn't a fucking thing I could do to stop that. So I thought I'd just let it happen, and try my best to enjoy the ride. I can't change the fact that you're so caught up in your own head that you ca-"

"AAHHHHHHHH!!!!" you scream, just to drown out the noise, just to make the pain in your head stop. The scream is guttural, loud and painful as it exits your throat, but you keep screaming until your lungs are empty because the relief it's providing you is at least something. When you run out of air you take another ragged breath in and then you scream again, this time the sound harsher, your throat struggling to handle it. Tears are forming and streaming down your face faster than they ever have, and your body jerks against the ropes on your wrists, as you try to muster all your strength and somehow finally break free. Unable to do so, you scream again, eyes closed as you heave from the pain, your skin no doubt damaged from rope burn.

"Y/n, y/n, calm down," you hear, Yunho's voice soft and close to you. A hand comes to brush the tears from your cheek, but you jerk away violently, your wrists snagging painfully on the rope at a different angle this time.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" you cry, but it comes out softer than intended because your throat is already so worn, and you cough hard on your next inhale.

"Y/n, seriously, take a deep breath, stop," Yunho says, backing up slightly and not touching you again, but still sitting himself close enough to you that you can feel his presence, feel the warmth radiating off his body. The shock of it makes you realize just how cold you are, only a thin long sleeve shirt on now that your coat has been discarded somewhere in the hall.

"SHUT UP, GET THE FUCK AWAY!!" you cry again, wincing hard from the pain in our throat, your breaths ragged as you try to recover from the pain and ready yourself to scream again.

"Y/n..." he warns, but you just scream again, so entirely afraid of the feelings inside that you can't think to do anything else. "I SAID, STOP!" he finally yells, and the force of it is so strong that it nearly knocks you back, all the breath in your lungs leaving immediately.

You stare at him wide eyed, seeing now that he's crouched down on the floor, about five feet from you. The fear is evident in your gaze, and so is the fact that you're holding your breath and you have absolutely no idea.

"You should breathe, you know," he says, his voice suddenly back to the neutral tone of earlier. You snap back into your body for a moment, shakily taking in the breath your lungs were crying for, and you notice you're shaking, aches and pains searing through almost every part of you. "You don't know what's good for you, do you?" he continues, coming to sit cross legged in front of you, his arms resting on his legs and his hands clasped together. You wriggle in front of him, wincing as you try to move your aching leg to a more comfortable position. You struggle to find it, getting stuck in a spot that's even worse, and you sigh in frustration. "Just sit cross-legged, it'll be more comfortable," he sighs, moving forward towards you, with his hands outstretched. You lurch away from his touch again, and he sits back down, sighing harder. "I was going to help you change your sitting position, cause I know it's hard to do with your arms bound," he says, and you don't have time to wonder why he knows that. You stare back with a hardened gaze, eyes piercing daggers into him. "Will you let me help you?" he asks, and it's the first time all conversation that his tone has changed in that way; it's softer, warmer, and for a moment makes your chest flutter. You don't answer him again, you just stare and stare and try to make sense of his words, but somehow he can tell you won't fight him now, and he moves forward to help you, holding your body up just enough so you can swing your legs under you in this different way.

Once you're sitting you do feel relief, your knees thanking you now that they aren't bearing the majority of your weight, your ankles thankful that they're resting at a much more natural angle.

"You need to stop fighting me, and fighting those ropes, or you're just gonna keep hurting yourself," he says, voice calm.

"I didn't fucking agree to this!" you snap, your changing feelings giving you whiplash. "You've tied me up against my will, Yunho, or did you somehow forget? This isn't some cute little scene I agreed to, you forced this on me!" you yell, trying hard to be forceful without hurting your throat again.

"And it's going to be good for you in the long run, if you'd just relax and stop fighting me. Have you considered that maybe I know what's best?" He quirks a brow, eyeing you now from only two feet away, that heat still radiating off of him. Noticing it again you begin to shiver, your body shaking involuntarily. Your muscles feel tight and painful from the restriction, and the cold isn't helping one bit.

"How the fuck is tying me up against my will good for me?" you spit, leaning forward every so slightly now that you can.

"I know you don't want to lose that job," he says, eyeing you intensely, his gaze boring into you. "I know that job means everything to you. And I know that if I didn't intervene, you would have lost it. You were too scared to come talk to me. You were never going to admit to your part in our arguments, to your fault. You clearly have too much pride to admit any wrongdoing, almost ever."

It really is sick how right he is about everything, and you begin to wonder if he somehow can read minds.

"Listen, I will let you go later, you have my word. I'm not gonna kill you. But I'm pretty sure this is the only way I could ever get you to apologize to me, and without doing that, we would never be able to resolve this." His eyes still haven't left yours, and this close you can see the details of his iris, the stubble on his cheeks and chin, and the small birth mark on the side of his jaw. It makes you sick, he makes you sick, every little perfect thing about him.

"Look, I'll start. I'm sorry for hiding your mug, I'm sorry for leaving you little notes, which were really just jokes but I know you took them offensively, I'm sorry for being hard on you in the admin meetings. I'm sorry for pissing you off and finding it funny. None of that was cool."

"That wasn't a very good apology," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"Still better than no apology at all," he replies, and you can't help but roll them again. "Did you hear what I said earlier, when you were screaming?" he asks, and you shake your head. "I was saying, I think you were so caught up in your head and convinced that I was out to get you, that you didn't realize in all those little notes I was trying to let you know that I like you."

"You have a funny way of showing it," you say, huffing in anger.

"Was it not obvious?" he asks.

"Was what not obvious?"

"That I like you."

"You insulted me in every single one!"

"I called you pretty in every single one."

"Yeah, in an insulting, 'you're pretty and stupid and don't know shit' kind of way."

"I never meant it like that. That was your interpr-"

"Sure." You roll your eyes hard again, sighing in exasperation.

"Don't interrupt me," he retorts, eyes hard.

"I'll do what I fucking want," you reply, exhausted by the conversation now, losing control of yourself.

"I think you're forgetting how vulnerable you are right now," he responds, scooting forward enough so that he can reach behind you and tug on the ropes, both checking that they're still secured and reminding you just how trapped you are.

I don't care anymore, you think, dropping your head, and it almost feels like your body has given in now. It's not that the fight is gone, but something about the change in position has your body relaxed, now that no part of you is actively getting hurt by your sitting position.

"What was that?" Yunho asks, his voice soft.

"Huh?" you snap your head up, eye him with confusion.

"Did you just say you don't care anymore?" Your eyes go slightly wide, realizing you'd said that aloud and not just in your head to yourself. You nod in response, eyes stuck on him, on the black hair that's fallen in his face, on the way his hand frantically pushes it away. "What do you mean?"

"I don't care, hurt me, do whatever, I don't care," you say, body relaxing in defeat.

"No, no we're not doing that," he says, and you squint at him in frustration. "You always just give up when things are hard, or when you think you'll fail. It's fucking pathetic."

Tears are back in your eyes, and you look at the floor in front of you, the small expanse of wood separating the two of you.

"I know, I FUCKING KNOW I'M PATHETIC, IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT ME TO SAY?!" you scream, frustration boiling up again.

"Yes, it is," he says with a satisfied smile.

"You want me to just tear myself down in front of you, is that it??"

"Finally you're understanding," he sighs, looking you over with what almost could be pride.

"Fuck you," you mutter, trying to bring yourself down from yet another surge in adrenaline.

"Fucking apologize. Tell me what you did wrong. I'm tired of waiting," he snaps, and the words feel like they lance through you. It makes you notice your body again, notice the way you're shaking hard from the cold.

"I'm fucking freezing Yunho," you say, tone begging him to take mercy on you.

"I know, I can see you shivering. Apologize to me and I'll get you a blanket," he spits.

"No," you whine, your body pleading with you, desperately wanting relief from the cold.

"Your nipples are so hard I can see them through your shirt." He's smirking, staring unabashedly at your chest, and it makes you scream again, writhing around with that unbridled anger, making your body hurt again. 

"Y/n, y/n, fucking hell," Yunho lurches forward to grab onto you, physically forcing you to stop moving, stop hurting yourself even more. His arms are wrapped around you, your head pulled into his chest, and you can smell him now, the faint musk coming from under his arms, the slight sour edge making your head feel funny.

"You lied to boss," you rasp out, voice muffled against his chest.

"What?" he asks, settling down to now hold you in place.

"You said you weren't attracted to me.  In the meeting." He just grunts in response, so ambiguously that you can't tell if he's agreeing or not. "Is that not what you meant by, 'I like you'?

"It is," he replies, sighing.

"Then why did you lie?" you ask, surprised he would do that in front of your boss, even given the nature of the question.

"Cause you did first," he responds, matter of factly.

"I didn't lie," you mutter, holding your eyes closed, your head still feeling funny as you try to shake free whatever feelings are enveloping you.

"You either lied to him, or to yourself," he says, finally pulling back, seeming to trust that you won't flail around again. But the slightest muscle twitch of your arm has his grip back on you in seconds, and you just sit there staring up at him, his hands gripping your arms tight to keep you from pulling on the ropes. "Which was it?"

"Stop," you whisper, harshly, your spit spraying in his face. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, eyeing you harshly, something clicking into place behind his eyes.

"You're really gonna make me fucking do this, aren't you," he grumbles, almost like it's just to himself. He shakes his head, sighing sharply, and you eye him with worry. He looks half disappointed, but half amused, and once he picks his hand up and flicks your already-hard nipple, the look becomes pure amusement just from your reaction.

"Ahh," you involuntarily moan, mortified at the sounds that just left your lips.

"You're sensitive," he chuckles, pinching the other harshly, making your whole body jolt in reaction.

"Yunho, stop, please, please," you beg, the pathetic, pleading look in your eye making his whole body react.

"If you'd just do what I ask, you could avoid these things," he chuckles, roughly pinching both of them now. Your back arches, and you fight to keep your breathing steady and not make any more embarrassing noises. But the pain and pleasure he's causing you is making it hard, and small gasps and whines leave your throat. "I think some part of you wanted this, though," he chuckles.

When he pulls back he's eyeing your arms, and the look of resolve and certainty in his eyes has you panicking, your brain struggling to make sense of it in any way.

"Please Yunho, please no," you whine again.

"Doll, you've left me no choice," he responds, sighing deeply as if he's thinking hard, not bothering to look you in the eye. Suddenly he's down to the side of you, and you feel his hands working fast behind you, the ropes pushed and pulled in various directions, making the sore skin of your wrists ache with every change of pressure. You're out of words now, utterly confused and helpless, and you lack the ability to fight him anymore, your body succumbing to exhaustion and not wanting to be bruised any further.

Suddenly you feel one of your wrists is free, the muscles in your shoulder relieved at finally being able to move, your body shuttering as it tries to work out the knots that have formed. You're partially free now, you realize for a moment, but just as fast you feel a final tug that loosens your other wrist from the bedpost, and then Yunho is yanking your wrists around to tie them in front of you instead. In a flash he's lifted you up, setting you down on the side of his bed, on your side. You're facing him, where he's now sat on the floor, as he grabs your legs and bends them up towards your arms, beginning to secure all of your limbs together in multiple knots. You lay in an almost catatonic state, staring at the wall of his room, the closet door partially cracked. You can see some of the suits and a few other random jackets you don't think you've ever seen before. You're so zoned out on the wall, so out of your body and out of your mind, that you don't even notice your pants and panties being pulled down to your thighs. It isn't until you feel the skin to skin contact, Yunho's hand gripping your thigh where it meets your hips, that you notice.

"What the fuck!" you squeal, head snapping back to him again, and the look on his face is cocky and self-satisfied, like he's proud of the reaction he's just pulled out of you.

"Yunho, please, no no no, please," you start babbling, repeating the words over and over until they feel almost meaningless. You can tell exactly where his hands are headed, where this whole thing is headed, but you don't have the physical strength in you to fight anymore. Or, more accurately, fighting with your body seems like the worst thing you can do right now, something that will only hurt you more and probably rile him up, too. He can see the gears turning in your head, and he's pressing, waiting for you to break, because it didn't take him long today to realize that he has a better read on you than you've ever had on yourself. You continue to babble your displeasure as he moves his hand up higher, higher, just brushing past your core and making you wince, but he doesn't reply to your words with words of his own, because he knows now that there's no point. He moves his hand up to your ass slowly, a trail of your wetness following his fingers, and even he's shocked by how much was there between your legs. He's sure you have no idea, that you're totally oblivious to the way your body has reacted to his words, his actions, to being bound and unable to move. 

He's sure that for months now you had no idea that so much of the frustration you felt while being around him was the frustration of being teased, your body wanting certain touches that he was never giving you. He was certain you weren't taking care of it enough yourself, because he saw your thighs clench all the time when you stared at him, and sometimes he could even swear he smelled the arousal pooling in your panties, your short skirts leaving too little of a barrier.

Now, finally he was touching you, and it didn't surprise him that that soft wet part between your legs had reacted so quickly. It also wasn't a shock that your brain still hadn't caught up, that you still didn't see what was so obvious to him. He knew it would take more than a gentle brush of your clit for you to finally realize it, so moving his hand back down towards your center, he quickly found your entrance, firmly brushing the pad of his middle finger up your slit until he rubbed right over your sensitive bud again.

"Fuck! Okay, fuck, stop it, I'll apologize," you cry, the soft pad of his finger sending sparks through you as soon as it made contact with your clit. The feeling made your body shake again, but suddenly a warmth was filling your lower gut and you couldn't be more shocked by the feeling, and by how inviting, even comforting, it felt. It was another moment where you were ricocheted back into your body, into the present moment, and the strange nature of everything that was happening was too much to make sense of. All you knew is you needed your confusion to stop, because now more than any other feeling it was your inner conflict that scared you, the fact that you had earlier wished for him to grab you, the fact that now your body seemed so content to just stay in these ropes forever, as long as your position was comfortable enough.

All you could think to do now was to give him what he wanted, and what that was exactly you couldn't remember, other than that he wanted you to say something.

"I'm-I'm sorry, okay, I'm really sorry, I don't know how everything got as fucked up as- as it got, oh god, I'm sorry- I- I promise you I mean it," you babble, eyes closed as you try to control your breathing enough to speak.

"What are you sorry for?" he asks you, his face close enough that you feel his hot breath, his voice gentle but steady.

"I'm- I- I don't know, I- I-" You're distracted by his hand, but the way it's steadily making small circles over your clit and sending more of that heat into you, your mind less and less able to focus on your attempt at an apology.

"You don't know?" he asks, and it's patronizing, you both know it, but it doesn't even hurt you now. You just nod, sniffling as you whisper 'I'm sorry,' your eyes getting wet and heavy with how overwhelmed you feel. "You can't think straight now, can you?" he asks you, his finger working you steadily, his nose picking up on that scent he's become so familiar with. You shake your head, your breathing picking up gently from the pleasure enveloping you like a warm blanket. "Good, you think too much anyway," he chuckles, watching your face intently, his pride surging at the way he's picking you apart so perfectly.

"I think I know why you're sorry," he says, making you whine in response, nervous for what he's about to say. "I'm gonna guess, I think I'm right," he smiles, but you don't even see it with your eyes glued shut. He's happy though, seeing you like that, because he knows that finally you're in your body completely, and you're accepting what he's known you need. "You're sorry cause you know you fucked up, don't you? You know you took things too personally, you overreacted, you couldn't let my jokes or my pranks just be that, you had to make it more. And once you reacted that way once, you felt entitled to react that way every time, didn't you? You're sorry that you didn't stop that snowball in its tracks, before it became this huge thing, right?"

You groan in response to him, pissed as can be, but you can't tell him he's wrong because you're physically incapable now of lying. Something in the way he's making you feel, the way he's touching you, has melted a layer of your mental shield away, and you see now every word he's said is reflected inside you. The thoughts had been there for months, but you'd managed to avoid them almost completely, the occasional blip causing guilt and worry to cloud you for a day or two. But this was the first time you saw it truly for all that it was, how deep the guilt cut into you, how you spoke about him so nastily to other people because you really wanted to say those things to yourself.

"You'd never be able to forgive yourself if you admitted those things, huh?" he continues, making your breath hitch. "You don't want to admit them because you're scared you'll never feel the same about yourself ever again, right? Cause you're this perfect little angel, and you've been that for so many years, the perfect baby of the office, the perfect student in school, I'm sure, and admitting to yourself that you can be cruel, that would ruin the entire image you've created for yourself, wouldn't it?" Tears are streaming down your face now as you involuntarily nod, your whole body somehow enveloped in the warmth his touch is providing, despite how cold it is. Now that you're in your body, really truly in your body, you can notice the little things about your environment; you even notice the wind howling outside, not the loudest you could imagine, but enough that you know the storm is still blustering on. You try to blink open your eyes to look at him, but everything is blurred with your tears, and you vigorously shake your head back and forth, trying in vain to clear your vision. As if he can read your mind, Yunho's free hand comes up to wipe them away, and for some reason now it doesn't feel so bad, his hand touching your face gently, even if it still feels so new and strange. Once he's wiped away the tears you can get a good look at him, your faces only a few inches apart now.

"Am I right?" he asks, genuine, you know it's genuine, and you can't fucking believe it looking at him. He feels like one massive contradiction right now, and all you can do is whisper 'yeah' in response. Your answer clearly pleases him, and you suddenly feel his hand's movement slow, falter, and then he's moving his fingers down towards your entrance, pressing into you gently, only one finger at first.

"Yunho," you groan while shutting your eyes again, the feel of it so foreign, because if you were honest with yourself you hadn't had someone touch you in this way in years, and you weren't really one to put things inside of yourself if it was just you taking care of your needs. 

"I know you need this," he responds, gently starting to pump in and out, the muscles of your cunt getting used to the feelings of pressure and release that they'd missed for so long. 

"You have to forgive yourself," he starts up again, as he gradually starts upping his pace, working slowly and methodically. "You have to let yourself go of being that perfect angel. It's not realistic. You're a human, you're going to fuck up sometimes. And sometimes you have such a big crush on your handsome coworker that, well, you start acting out. And even you don't realize what you're doing, cause you're so caught up in your own head." You groan and roll your eyes when he calls himself handsome, and you still don't think you fully believe the rest of what he's said, but the first part, the part about forgiving yourself and freeing yourself of that perfect image, is calling to a part of you. "You're very sensitive, and I know you don't want to be, but you are. You can't ignore that, or it's gonna catch up with you time and time again."

He adds another finger, curling them up inside you in a perfect way, and you almost stop listening to what he's saying because at this point the pleasure is taking over your senses completely. He adds his thumb to your clit now, the feelings increasing exponentially, your clit feeling hot and fiery under his touch. It all still feels so foreign, so new, and something within you, particularly within the place he's touching you, still feels the need to hold back, to worry, to be tense. He can feel it too, and he guessed himself that you hadn't been touched in a while, from everything he'd observed about you. He figured you were someone who might have written off relationships and sex entirely, someone too focused on what their duty to the world was, to maintaining the image of good morals, that you weren't partaking in those things people consider selfish, or self-indulgent. He even wondered for a bit if you'd never been touched, but that seemed unlikely from some of the random comments he'd overheard in your conversations with Tally.

"You know, you can't come if you're so tense down there," he says, and again it's kind of patronizing, but you don't really care. "You have to let go."

"I- I've never come from, inside, st- stimulation," you stutter, looking at him directly, hoping to convey that despite your state you're being completely sincere.

"Really?" 

"I- I can't," you say, shaking your head, thinking of all of your sexual exploits, the list of which can fit on one hand.

"I'm gonna try," he chuckles, his focus zeroing in on your body's reactions to his movements. "I really do need you to relax those muscles for me, relax your hips too. They're too tense, do you even feel that?" he asks, tapping the side of your thigh where the muscle is taught. You shake your head, frowning and burying your face into the duvet cover you're laying on. "No, don't shy away from me. Don't go back into your head. I know that's why you haven't come in the past, cause you were too in your head. You can't do that. Come on, just focus on my touch, think about how it feels, nothing else."

You try with all you have to follow his instructions, keeping your eyes on his face as you watch him furrow his brow in concentration, the muscles in his jaw flexing for a moment when he changes the angle of his hand ever so slightly. The new spot he was hitting inside felt so perfect, so shockingly deep, and finally your body started to cave into the feelings, your breathy moans coming out as you lost yourself in it, not thinking anymore about where you were or why you were there.

"You know you're not perfect, deep down you know that, and you need to accept that. You're not a robot, you're like all the rest of us, fucked up in so many ways, wanting selfishly for life to always go your way, wanting everyone to like you, praise you, cherish you. And that's okay, it doesn't make you some horrible person. You're neurotic, sensitive, intense, so what? You'll never not be those things, and that's okay. Just fucking let yourself be a human, so you don't get so fucking hung up on every little thing wrong with me." He punctuates the last word, reminding you why you're here. His hand is working you perfectly, and mixed with all that he's saying it's all encompassing, the overwhelming intensity you're feeling. Suddenly you feel something building deep within you, a coil about to snap, and you feel your legs begin to shake before it's even washing over you. The most intense orgasm of your life erupts within you, snaking out from your core down to your feet and back up again, surging to your head and making everything go gray and fuzzy, your mind blinded with a pleasure you've never known. You hear distant, warbled words coming from Yunho's mouth still, but you can't make them out as your orgasm builds in waves, lasting longer than you expect and completely knocking the wind from your lungs. As you come down you’re breathing ragged, so ragged, and you don't even realize that you've clamped down so hard on Yunho's hand that he can't move it anymore. You stare up at him, pupils blown and your face flushed, and in a moment he leans down to place a soft peck on your cheek, taking you by surprise.

"Why are you kissing me?" you ask, eyeing him with confusion and contempt, the action seeming absurd in the current circumstances.

"I'm proud of you. You finally gave into me, you're finally doing what I wanted you to," he replies. It's fucked, you know the sentiment is creepy and strange and so genuinely absurd, but you can't help feeling flattered by it. A small smile sneaks onto your lips, and Yunho sees how you're feeling too. "God you're a sucker for praise," he laughs, slowly removing his hand now that you've relaxed enough. "All you want to hear is that you're good, you're perfect. Can't bear anything else, can you?" You shake your head, as he stands up from where he's been sitting, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, pulling his cock out swiftly, eyeing you up and down. Your face is one of shock, mostly at seeing the size of him; you're not sure where this is headed exactly, but you just hope he'll be gentle with you, whatever he does.

"What, you thought I wasn't going to do this?" he asks, starting to move onto the bed beside you.

"No, it's just..." you sigh, shaking your head, not even sure what to fucking say, still in the haze of your orgasm.

"Oh, you didn't think I'd be this big," he laughs.

"You're so fucking full of yourself," you mutter, rolling your eyes. "Just make it quick, please," you say, almost under your breath, regretting it the moment it's left your lips.

"I'll take as much time as I fucking want with you," he responds, lining himself up with your still soaking entrance, rubbing the head around to gather up some of your wetness. He's fucking into you sideways, his body over yours as you remain on your side, bound and unable to move at all. He enters you slowly, feeling the stretch himself, seeing your eyebrows furrow in what must be pain.

"How long has it been?" he asks, leaning over you as he finally bottoms out, staying put as he lets your body adjust to the size of him. You look confused, so he clarifies, "since you've been fucked?"

You groan, the majority of your brainpower taken up in dealing with the strange mix of pain and pleasure happening between your legs. You don't have it in you to fight with him now, and you don't really want to; you're almost enjoying it now, just letting him talk and belittle and say whatever he pleases.

Once he feels your body relax just that little bit he needs, he moves his hips back, gently pushing himself back in again, but quickly setting a pace that feels good for him. He's holding one arm around your back and anchoring that hand on the back of your neck; the other arm is bent at the elbow, supporting him and holding onto your bound legs and arms, anchoring him to you. The thrusts feel intense, sharp, and biting at first, but soon all you can feel is the way he's repeatedly hitting your cervix, his cock so deep inside you that you feel like you might explode. You can't help the pathetic mewls you're making, eyes closed as you hear his steady grunts and heavy breathing so close to your ear.

"I know you've rejected tons of men, if it's been as long as I think," he says, and you feel his breath brushing across your cheek and neck, making you shiver. "Not just men, I should say. You're so fucking oblivious to everything. Do you even realize that Tally has a huge crush on you? I'm sure she'd love to fuck your brains out," he chuckles, making you groan in annoyance again, not believing him for a second. "I'm sorry, I know, forgive me. I can't help myself, I just love telling you all the things I know you don't realize." His pace hasn't let up, if anything it's increased, and his grip on you is tightening, his torso now flush with yours and his face only inches from your own. "Fuck, I'm not gonna last much longer, shit you're tight," he sighs, a groan rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. He knows his pace will leave you sore tomorrow, but it feels too good for him to stop, and it seems just the right thing to finally get your mind off all of the superfluous, stressful stuff you usually obsessively think about. It's not just that either; he can feel your body slowly coming undone again, and though it's built differently than the last time, the tell tale signs are there in the way your hips start moving against him, your breathing changing just like it did before. You come hard again, the feeling erupting from even higher inside your core this time, and it feels even more intense the second time around, your whole body shaking intensely this time.

"See, your body needed this," he whispers in your ear, his hard thrusts continuing through your aftershocks, soon becoming painful and hard to bear. Your face has turned sour as he chases his own climax, and even as bad as it feels, part of you is so content to just sit here and take it. The feeling of having no other option, of being held here and used for another's pleasure, it makes some of your internal confusion go away. You liked this part at least; maybe everything that came before was not to your liking, but this part definitely was.

He finishes with a final hard thrust, groaning out a 'fuck', before pressing his hips flush with yours and keeping them there. You feel his warm cum filling you, his warm body wrapping around you, and finally you do truly feel warm, from the inside out. This was a feeling you could get used to, your head fuzzy and soft and lacking the usual worries you have, your body relaxed, spent, and warm.

It isn't long that you're in that position, Yunho pulling out of you quickly, walking over to his bathroom to grab a towel and start wiping you and his comforter clean of the mess he'd made. The absence of him left you feeling cold again, your body stiffening up faster than you thought it would, and your shivers returning as soon as he took the damp towel to your most sensitive area. Eyes closed you're still holding onto the remnants of that blissful feeling, especially the way your brain feels so wonderfully empty. You're surprised when you feel Yunho messing with your ropes, assuming he'd just leave you there for a little while, or maybe for a long while, it was hard to say. But quickly he's undone the entirety of the knots, and he tosses the rope onto the floor, manually moving your limbs to help your body stretch out and begin returning blood flow to the places that lost it.

It hurts when he does this, though it feels good too, but you whine and complain the whole time, even as he assures you it's best and it's needed. He then slowly takes off your clothes entirely, leaving you naked and exposed, and the cold is almost overbearing now, making your body ache all the way into your bones.

"It's fucking cold, you asshole," you groan, tucking yourself back up into that fetal position you were just in for so long, despite the fact that the ropes are gone now.

"Just give me a minute, I know," he sighs, somewhere behind you, over in the direction of his bathroom. You hear what must be the bathtub faucet turn on, the strong current of water sounding clearly through the quiet house. Then he's coming over to you, wrapping you up in his arms and carrying you that way, setting you gently into his huge tub before it's even finished filling. The hot water feels like it's sizzling your skin upon first contact, but soon your body relaxes in the warmth, especially your back once the water reaches all the way up to your neck. His tub is nice; there are spots designed specifically to rest your arms on, the slope of the side a comfortable angle for relaxing down onto.

"Give me your arms," he says, and you look up at him begrudgingly, holding your arms out of the water like it's the hardest thing in the world.

"Little brat," he mutters, taking the first into his hands and slowly applying some lotion to your rope burns, wrapping it loosely in a thin bandage. He does the same to the other, setting them both on the sides of the tub, out of the water. "Keep them there, I'm going to get some ice. We need to ice those burns so they don't bruise too badly," he says, and you just stare through him, not nodding or saying anything. He doesn't need that kind of confirmation though, he knows you'll follow his commands. He returns a few minutes later, two ice packs and more bandages in hand, and somehow balanced between it all, your phone.

"It looks like you have some missed calls," he says, showing you your phone screen. You see three missed calls from Yunji, and a slew of texts, and your heart jumps back up in speed momentarily, even in your relaxed and numb state.

"I gotta call her now," you say, your words rushed, reaching out your bandaged wrist to grab at your phone. Yunho holds it just out of reach though, and then sets it down on the counter by the sink, turning back to you with a knowing look.

"I need to ice your wrists first. Then we'll call her," he says.

"Yunho, seriously, she's gonna call the fucking police, I know her," you respond, eyeing him sharply with disapproval.

"And you, seriously, need to wait a moment," he snaps, and you really don't like this control now, because it's affecting someone else, not just you.

"I fucking hate you," you mutter, pushing yourself up despite your weak and painful muscles, moving yourself out of his bathtub without a care in the world for all of the water you're spilling everywhere.

"Okay, okay, fine," he concedes, holding onto your shoulders while your one foot is still in the tub, not letting you move any further. "I'm putting it on speaker on the side of the tub, so that I can ice your wrists." Your faces are inches apart, the look in his eye is intense, almost like he's compelling you to agree with him.

"Fine," you sigh, sitting yourself back down, your body basking in being back in the water. Then, as he said, he's set your phone on the side of the tub, somehow guessing your passcode and opening it with ease, calling Yunji immediately. As the call begins to ring he sets to work on your wrists again, gently wrapping the ice packs around the smaller bandages already on your sensitive skin.

"Girl, oh my god, where are you??" Yunji answers, her panic obvious.

"I'm- I'm at Yunho's, I'm fine though, I swear-" you start, knowing she'll be horrified by just his name alone.

"Oh my god what???" she cuts you off, gasping. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Yes I'm okay, Yun, I promise. I just- I ran into him on my way back from the store, and well, I got sort of, tied up, talking with him, and then the storm came so- so now I'm stuck here." Yunho's face breaks into a smirk, knowing just how literal two of the words you just said are.

"Oh god, you poor thing, are you sure you're okay? That man is insane," she sighs. Yunho eyes you, a playful look on his face, almost like he's trying to avoid laughing.

"Seriously, I'm okay, I promise. It was actually really good, I guess, talking about things. We were more, uh, honest I guess? I- I don't know, there's a lot to process. It was weird. But I'm okay, I- I swear," you sigh, wishing you weren't stuttering so much over your words.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks again.

"I know I sound like a mess, I'm sorry. The storm is kind of freaking me out," you reply.

"It's okay hun, don't apologize. I can't believe you're stuck there with him. God, I don't think you'll be able to come home tonight. Is there somewhere you can sleep there?" Yunho nods at her question, eyeing you as he does.

"Uh, yeah, he has a guest room here. He said I could stay in there. At least it's separate, my own space," you answer her.

"God, I'm so sorry you're there. I shouldn't have let you go to the store, I should have stopped you..." she trials off, and you can bet her hand is slapped over her face in frustration.

"No, don't apologize Yun, I think it was good that this happened. I mean, I don't know, at least something has changed between me and him. And you had no idea that the storm would return so quickly like it did. It was my own stupidity, if anything, I just-" you cut yourself off, shaking your head side to side against the hard porcelain of the tub. "Thank you for checking up on me, I'm sorry I missed your calls. I was just talking with him, I got distracted. I hate that I worried you so much." It feels a little weird lying to her, but above all you want her to know you appreciate how much she looks out for you.

"It's okay, I'm just glad you're safe and okay. And hopefully tomorrow it'll clear up enough that you can come back here where you belong."

Her last word brings tears to your eyes, thinking of your perfect little apartment and just how much of a home you two have made of it.

"I love you so much," you sigh, looking over at your phone, wishing you were seeing her face instead.

"I love you too, I wish you were here," she replies.

"I know, me too," you say.

"We can keep talking if you want."

"I- I should probably go, I'm starving so I guess I need to go ask Yunho about dinner. But I'll call later, if that's okay? I'm sure I'll be bored as shit," you chuckle, and she does too, the tension finally breaking.

"Sounds good, call me whenever. I hope he has something decent for you to eat. I doubt he can cook or anything, if he's such a spoiled rich boy." You both laugh in sync, Yunho rolling his eyes as he places the final bandage on your second wrist, securing the ice packs in place.

"Okay, talk to you soon," you say, smirking up at him.

"Bye bye," she replies, hanging up the call.

"You two are so mean," he sighs, shaking his head and walking out of the room, and you relax into the silence of the room, your wrists starting to feel the cold of the ice packs, the relief palpable. Your body is wrecked, you can feel it intensely, but the warm bath relaxing your muscles and ice on your wrists is making it bearable, your body already on the path towards healing. Yunho returns about ten minutes later, when you've almost nodded off, and takes a small washcloth into the warm water, using it to wipe the snot and tears that have stained your cheeks. Then he's feeding you a warm cup of tea, holding it as your arms lay unusable at your sides; he does the same with the small bowl of stew he's heated for you, the tastes rich and fresh in a way that make it obvious it's homemade. The attentiveness doesn't feel overly sweet, but the calm that's settled in the air between you isn't something you've experienced with him at all, the entire time you've known one another. You're both silent, comfortable, and the warm stew is just so delicious, the meat tender and soft and perfectly seasoned. Your senses are overwhelmed in solace, your breaths deep and stable. Your nerves have returned to you, so you're no longer numb. But instead of the high strung alertness that usually accompanies you, your body is present but calm.

When you finally finish the stew and tea, thirty minutes have passed in total silence, Yunho taking his time with feeding you, letting your body relax in the hot water. He places the empty bowl and mug on the counter, moving back to start unwrapping the ice packs, and then beckoning you to stand, bringing a huge fluffy towel to wrap around your shoulders. The towel dwarfs you, keeping the cold away, and you gently step out of the tub, following Yunho wherever he leads you.

"Can you walk?" he asks, and you nod your head, following him over towards the counter. He pulls out a brush from one of the drawers, gently taking it to the knots that had formed in your hair, the ends damp from the tub. After he finishes he leads you out of his room, down the hall two doors down, and you enter to another room with a large bed, a TV on the opposite wall, the whole room immaculately decorated. He leads you to the bed, placing your phone on the bedside table and grabbing a charger out of the drawer. He also grabs the remote inside, placing it next to your phone, and a bottle of water, holding it out to you.

"I'll be in my room, if you need anything else," he says, standing up to make his way out.

"I'm sorry I kept ignoring your texts, and calls," you say, your voice quiet, the words escaping you without much thought.

He just eyes you for a minute, turning to face you, his face unreadably neutral. "I'm not," he finally says, smiling, that cocky grin back on his perfect face. You roll your eyes at him, settling into the bed, pulling the comforter up and over you.

He makes to leave the room again, but stops himself at the door, turning back to face you one final time

"We're going back to the office Monday, right?" he asks.

You don't respond, you don't say a word. But he doesn't need you to. He knows the answer, just like he knows you, with a certainty maybe he shouldn't have.

taglist: @lalalasexyguyshehehehe @hoe4rkpop @rienzz @bloomyroses

thank you sm for reading my loves <3333

[thatnonameuser]

You said something about Azul's darling having children healing his childhood trauma. ANGST WARNING!! AND BULLYING!

This gave me an idea, he was bullied for being slow and different from other kids from the original plot. In this yandere au, that can be twisted into how he's such a loser, he'll probably never be good enough for a darling to accept him. He's so fat, not even a kind and pitiful darling, would want him. How the other mers think he's so stupid that he'd fumble trying to catch his darling and that they'll just be claimed by another, cooler, yandere. Laughing at him all the while so and flexing how their wonderful talents and skills would be enough to steal away a darling's heart, unlike him.

I can imagine how much this'll break his self esteem and brand him as a "weak yandere" to the other fishies. Azul would strive to be the opposite of all this, he would plan to take away their special abilities to "win a darling over" and make it his own, as his unique magic forms through sheer spite. He's so jaded and the thoughts of not being good enough to have a darling still ingrained in him. He probably won't fall in love with MC until after his overblot. Having the internal belief that, no darling would want a loser like him.. He probably won't care that MC is a darling at first and is just planning to use her as leverage against the other yanderes. Hence, taking over her only place to live. It benefits him as well since he'll be able to open another branch of the Mostro lounge and attract the other yanderes.

But then something changes. MC does something while they are inside the blot space. He realizes that.. she sees more in him than anyone ever had. Even if MC says so only in passing cause she's reasonably pissed- He can't help but focus on those specific words, ignoring the rest of her rant. Suddenly, he feels whole, and he knows she doesn't want to share this feeling with anyone. Suddenly...

He's already drafting a contract after their visit in the coral sea museum, giggling to himself as he marks that day their first date....

I hope you find this idea as interesting as I did!! I love Azul 😁

I really love asks for the yandereverse, because there are so many ways that the charas’ backstories can change. Azul’s bullying making him insecure when it comes to his darling is perfect, and it kind of works with how the Coral Sea sees yanderes and darlings. I also love Azul, I love me an evil mafia man.

The Coral Sea is an anti-darling rights area, so yanderes have more freedom to do what they want in order to take their darlings for themselves. And yanderes are supposed to be strong and tough, how else do they keep their darlings safe and with them? The kids of the Coral Sea know that well. 

And Azul wasn’t that. He was slow, and weak and a scaredy-catfish crybaby who hid inside a pot. HE was supposed to be a yandere? That was genuinely surprising to nearly all his former classmates. And they made sure he knew that. Their teasing was relentless….

‘Are you sure they weren’t wrong? You’re not supposed to be slow and stupid if you’re like us.’

‘He’ll probably lose his darling.’

‘I’d hate to be them, he’s so fat and icky.’

….And at the same time they rub salt into the wound. After all, they’re fast and strong and smart and talented and good looking. They’ll get their darlings no problem, while he will be left alone and broken hearted watching his darling being with someone else. All the bullying broke him down over a while, he started to think it was right. 

But despite all the bullying, Azul still tries his hardest to stop being the weak yandere his peers deemed him as. And in a form of vengeance, he’ll take away the special abilities they shoved in his face to remind him how inferior he was, After all, the yanderes that bullied him have their own insecurities that they want to hide from their darlings, so he’ll take their very best away to make himself better for his future darling. He’ll make himself better so that whoever he falls for won’t have to be disgusted by him. (While making his bullies as disgusting to their darlings as they said he’d be .)

But… He just can’t forget the years of bullying ingrained into him. What darling would want him? What darling would love him when he’s just a dim-witted octopus? That denial blinds him up till when he finally meets you. 

Once he’s aware of you being a darling he sees the opportunity, not love. (Because he doesn’t deserve you, so why bother?). After all, what would all your yanderes do or pay to have you for themselves? No price is too high when it comes to a darling, and so, getting you under his thumb is his first priority. Getting you out of Ramshackle and under his control/ownership will make this so much easier. But there’s one big problem. 

You won’t sign his contracts. You told him you’d rather never go home than sign one. I imagine after that point, he starts trying to find loopholes to get you to sign. And your friends are his best bet. So he tricks Ace, Deuce and Grim into being indebted to him, so that you’ll feel obligated to help them. But that didn’t work, because (to be honest, you’re grateful for the alone time) you just let them be stuck in a contract with him. Fortunately, Crowley got involved and you had to go into a contract with him. 

But unfortunately, instead of accepting his offer to stay at Octavinelle till the time limit was up, you proceeded to stay over in Savanaclaw. He’d never been more angry before in his life. The idea of you sleeping with and doing seven-only-knows with those beasts never made him more jealous. The smell of Leona Kingscholar on your skin made him want to add onto the debt the prince owed in vengeance. 

But not wanting to spoil anything more, in the blot space your attempts to pull him out of his self-loathing, change him. He sees that you care about him, that you don’t think he’s a not a stupid, ugly octopus and that instead you see him as something more. Someone who’s hardworking, intelligent, and even cute. And that moment, he truly realizes his love for you. You’re not like the others, you see something in him that no one ever had before. He doesn’t get that you’re saying it only for the sake of your, and maybe a little of his, life. Those words echo in his head. You love him, all his bullies were wrong, his darling isn’t disgusted by him. He feels whole….

…..And he doesn’t want to share this feeling. This complete joy.

He needs you to be his. He’ll draft another contract, one intended to make sure no one else will ever be able to steal you from him and ensure you’ll be by his side, on the land and in the sea. The museum will be like a date to him, hearing your kind words about his childhood appearance makes that younger self cry with joy.

You, quite literally, became the center of his world. And he intends to hold that same place as he becomes a part of your world. Whether you like it or not.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

There's an anger in me (I think I learned it from you)

hope here needs a humble hand - series masterlist here

pairing: platonic bruce wayne x reader, platonic dick grayson x reader

length: 1.9k

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

warnings: reader and dick get into a fight and dick is so mean. reader definitely has trauma and issues but Good Dad Bruce Wayne is here so it's fine and also Big Brother Dick in the end

a/n: I'm not a dick grayson hater but I do think he'd be the biggest bitch and say the meanest shit in a fight. anyway life is kicking my ass so bad rn so idk if this is even any GOOD but you can have it <3

Alfred sighs to himself, a disapproving sort of frown finding its way onto his face as he listens to your raised voice, you and Dick butting heads again. It's not uncommon for you to find reason to argue with the others, but it is tiresome - frustrating to him that you can't seem to lay down this constant fight of yours that you live with.

And Dick? Well, as he spits an insult back and you and you shove at his chest, Alfred idly thinks that maybe he's your worst target so far. Dick Grayson may be kind under typical circumstances, but anger like this brings out the worst in him.

"At least Bruce wanted me," he snaps at you. "You just shoved your way in."

That doesn't just stop you, it stops everyone in their tracks. It especially stops Bruce, who had come into the Cave when he'd gotten word from Alfred about another fight. And there's just… silence at first. You, staring up at Dick with wide, hurt eyes while his anger slowly melts, regret replacing it.

"Hey, I didn't mean -" but you don't stay to listen, fleeing past Bruce and out of the Cave, despite his calls of your name. You don't stick around to hear the way Bruce rips into Dick about it, berating him for even suggesting such a thing, before he follows you up to the Manor. 

Alone in your room, with the walls closing in on you and your lungs squeezing painfully, your breath catches as you hear footsteps approaching. Bruce's knocks on your door are as gentle as the way he calls your name, asking you to please open the door.

You don't.

How can you? He's right, he's right, he's right - Bruce didn't want you. How much trouble have you caused since you got here? - too much, your brain supplies. And Dick is right, Bruce didn't want you… he couldn't have. You, with your headstrong determination, pushing your way into anything and everything that you'd ever wanted. You, with your heels always dug in and your arms always crossed and your shoulders always squared. How could he possibly want that?

You pace behind your locked door, pulling on your hair as your breath quickens, words you've heard a million times running through your head.

Spoiled, selfish, stubborn -

Bruce's voice on the other side of the door isn't enough to drown it out, his promises of, "I love you, we all love you. Dick didn't mean that, and he'll apologize to you when you're ready. Please come out, sweetheart… I love you, and you have always been wanted by me. You've always been wanted by this family."

You stare at the door as if glaring hard enough would make it soundproof, your breath still coming out in short little gasps as you clench your fists, nails digging into the skin of your palms. You watch through blurred vision as Bruce's shadow shifts and darkens under the door - you watch as he settles on the other side of the wood, determined not to leave you to do this alone.

"You come out whenever you're ready, sweetheart," he says gently. "I'll be here."

You scoff, turning abruptly away from the door - away from him. He won't stay - he won't, he won't, he won't -

"I won't leave you." Bruce's voice is heard again and you squeeze your eyes shut. It's like he knows, and you can't figure out how, can't fathom the idea that he really has been paying attention all this time, that he knows you and your ticks and your traumas. You curl up on top of your bed, determined to just shut down until it's all over - until he gives up and leaves you be. Maybe then you can leave, too - leave for real. Maybe it would all be better if you slipped out quietly, off into the city, into someone else life and away from this one. Maybe there really wasn't room for you in this family.

When you wake later, the first thing you're forced to notice is the throbbing behind your eyes and the light that streams in through the window, the sun beginning to set and bathing you in a halo-like glow. Sitting up, you notice a shadow still stationed on the other side of your door, having stayed, unmoving, for as long as you'd been hiding. 

Getting up slowly, you make your way to it, sitting down with your back against the door and letting your head thump rather loudly against the wood of it. It's only then that Bruce moves, shifting on the other side. You clench your fists on your lap as words get caught on their way out. I'm sorry, I love you, thank you for staying.

"Why are you still there?" Is all that ends up coming out, the words harsh as they cut through the air. You flinch at hearing them, your own voice hatefully foreign to you.

"Because I love you," Bruce says simply, like it's such an easy thing. "And I promised I wouldn't leave you." You sit still after that, turning what he's said over in your mind again and again and again before standing abruptly and wrenching your door open, relying on Bruce's reflexes to get himself up and standing by the time you do.

Fortunately, he's always been a little faster than you, always a little better. By the time you're looking at him, he's standing in your doorway, his shoulders slumped as he slouches down to look you in the eye. He's making himself smaller, you realize, something that feels like regret eating away at you. He's making himself small and it's your fault. 

But Bruce isn't looking at you like he blames you, and the way he ever so gently puts his hands on your shoulders and presses a kiss to the crown of your head speaks only of love. Only of forgiveness. You stand straighter when he does, a silent urge for him to do this same - for him to be tall for you. Maybe then, you wouldn't have to be.

"It's true, though, isn't it? You ask, something pained in your voice that you can't quite hide. 

"It's not." There's a way he says it, like it's written in some holy text somewhere and he's promising it now because faith demands it. "You are always wanted here. And you always will be."

"What if I never believe that?"

"Then we'll keep telling you." You shoot Bruce a look at his assuredness, one that just makes him smile down at you.

"Even Dick?" You ask, uneasiness finding its home in you despite your clenched fists and set jaw.

"Especially Dick, he answers easily. "I'm sure he'll spend a very long time trying to make up for this. He never means it, you know - there's this anger in him that he can't quite shake sometimes." Your shoulders slump at his words and you drop your chin, eyes trained on the floor.

"Yea," your voice is bitter. "That, I understand."

You find, later that night, that you wish Dick didn't care quite so much. Your mask covers your face, the hard set of your jaw and the annoyance that pulls down your brows, but in the faint moonlight of the docks, you're sure Dick can see the taught pull of your shoulders.

Thank god it's a slow night, you find yourself thinking as you perch on the edge of a rooftop, kicking your legs over the edge. You know he's around, watching and waiting and trying to find a moment to approach you. You think you'll have to find the moment for him when Nightwing finally sits next to you, his movements silent and slow. He looks at you long and hard, his own eyes hidden behind his mask as you stare out at the water, waiting for him to decide how this will all go.

"I don't always say the right thing," is what he ends up confessing. "And it wasn't fair for you to be on the receiving end of that. I'm… sorry."

"I started it," you say simply. "You shouldn't apologize for biting back."

"No," Dick says carefully, tapping his finger on his thigh. "But I should apologize for how I did it." You look at him, then, eyes searching his face and cursing the masks you both wear, layers of protection against anyone who would try to know you.

"Did you mean it?" You finally ask. "Is it true? Because if it is… if it is, then you should only apologize for lying to me up till now."

"It's not," Dick answers, and there's something in the clear ring of his voice that reminds you of Bruce. Your lips twitch into a smile as you think of how unhappy he'd be to find that out. "Things with Bruce and I… well, I'm sure you know they weren't always good." 

"I don't actually know everything," you huff back. "Even my eavesdropping has limitations - especially with all of you. You're a lot harder to hide from than everyone else." Dick grins at that, a self-satisfied sort of thing that makes you regret speaking.

"Well, it's lucky, I guess," he goes on. "The Bruce you know now - he's a lot better than he was in the beginning."

"Don't you think we all are?" You ask before you can stop yourself, eyes snapping back out to the water as you desperately try to close yourself off from him, heart hammering at the response you're sure to get. There is no part of you that's getting better. There is no part of you that can be good. But Dick just readjusts how he's sitting, sliding closer so that your shoulders bump and he can tap your hands with his own, a silent chide for the way you twist your fingers nervously.

"You're right," he says plainly, and suddenly you're glad for the masks. You're not sure what would happen if you looked over and saw that big brother, sick-with-pride look he's so fond of. "When Jason came along, it felt a bit too much like being replaced. I know it was a long time ago, but… maybe I still feel it a bit more than I should - whenever anyone new comes along. It's not your fault… it's not your fault and I'm glad you're here."

You sigh at his words, tipping back until you're laying on the rooftop, your legs still kicking over the edge as you pretend to look up at the stars, blinking tears away rapidly behind your mask. You're sure he knows, but you're also sure he's too kind to say anything, laying back with you and interlocking his hands behind his head to lean on.

There's a lot you think you should say right now. I'm sorry, I love you, thank you for coming back for me. Thank you for not leaving me behind. Thank you for not giving up on me. 

"What are you hanging around here tonight for, anyway?" Is what comes out instead, but you find you aren't so bothered by it this time.

"Want me to stick around? Finish your patrol with you?" Is his only answer. You huff.

"I don't need help taking care of the docks. I've been doing that longer than I've been involved with you idiots." Dick laughs, loud enough that you groan and roll away from him, standing up and crossing your arms. 

"Well, you never know, then," he responds easily as he swings himself to his feet. "Maybe we could learn something from each other."

"Fine," you snipe back, but you can't help the way you bounce on the balls of your feet, a weight you hadn't realized you'd been carrying starting to lift. "Maybe we can."

[yandereunsolved]

Breath of a Yandere - ,, Yandere Wild headcanons

tw(s): yandere themes, (Wild) multiple mentions of suicidal ideations/suicide & self depreciation

ꨄ︎ Yandere Wild who met you after waking up in the Shrine of Resurrection. You were a lone traveler from Lurelin Village. You traveled countless months, with many others accompanying you at various points on your journey. You had to know the truth. You had to know if it was true. The rumors about the legendary hero fueled your adventures. You feared the worst, but you found him. He didn't awake at first. You spent weeks traveling out of the Shrine only for necessities.

ꨄ︎ He heard a strange voice coming from the darkness and then saw you. You spoke to him with such a reverence that he wasn't accustomed to. He was incredibly cautious and wouldn't allow you near him. That all changed when you offered him some glazed meat. He shoved it down his throat and suddenly you were his closest companion.

ꨄ︎ Words never leave his mouth. You thought at first it was just the surprise of awakening after a hundred years, but no. He just never spoke to you. He spoke with his hands and through his body language. He taught you most of the Hylian sign language that you know. It is probably better that he doesn't speak. You would be disturbed and greatly flattered about the things he thinks about you.

ꨄ︎ He never leaves your side unless you are both put in a life ending situation. He's like a silent but loyal dog. He is always watching your movements and standing guard over you. You have to cuddle with him before he finally allows himself to succumb to sleep.

ꨄ︎ Guardians? You are staying behind. Shrines? You may stand at the entrance as long as there are no monsters around. If there are then he will kill them and then make you wait. The Divine Beasts? Okay, fine— he allows you in all the Divine Beasts except for Vah Naboris. He allows you to ride with Riju but only because she has the Thunder Helm. However, the Ganonblights? On Hylia's name, no. You go back to the entrance and wait there.

ꨄ︎ Ganon himself? You wait. After your entire journey together, he only speaks one word to you. "Wait." He presses himself against you and makes you hide behind one of the castle pillars. There are tears in his eyes and he is shaking. You are his God(dess). He has killed and sacrificed so much. You saved him. You did. He signs to you. "I face Ganon alone. I can't lose you." His hands get shaky. "I love you."

ꨄ︎ That's the first time he ever says he loves you and his yandere tendencies only get worse from there. More possessive. More obsessive. More puppy-like. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. He always has an eye on you and doesn't allow you out of his sight. He would never hurt you, but he'll hurt others for you.

ꨄ︎ After the battle you two embrace each other and he sobs quietly into your chest. He allows you to patch his wounds. It's difficult because he's hanging off of you. Zelda is sitting near you both around the campfire. It's a little a lot awkward because she's seen his entire journey. She has seen his feelings for you blossom. A part of her hurts because she won't have her Link back, but was he ever hers? It was just his duty.

ꨄ︎ His memories may have come back but he only has one person in his heart. That person is you. Zelda wants him to come back as a knight. He signs no. He has to stay near you. He will die without you.

ꨄ︎ He thinks the sweetest and most depraved things in his mind. He is constantly praising you within his mind. He wishes he could speak those words but he can't. So he signs them. He shows them through acts of service. His mind is just a constant track about you. Partially this is because of his knight training. He was trained to protect and serve. He was trained to help the princess. His mind still sometimes slips back into that. It's just you, you, you, danger?, you, you, you.

ꨄ︎ On that note, his trauma is constantly fueling his tendencies and how he sees you as his god(dess). He was a child knight, blames himself for failing to protect everyone before Calamity Ganon gave over, and woke up with zero memories and a mission to save all of Hyrule. You were the first person he met. You were and still are his guide to this world. Sure, you aren't fated to be with him. Sure, it could have been just a mistake— but you are the first person that ever got him. You didn't push him to speak. You took your time in learning how to communicate with him. You respected him not just as the hero but a person.

ꨄ︎ He takes interest in whatever you are interested in. He will go so far as trying to replicate what you are doing. He isn't great at art but he'll do his best to draw what you are doing. He shows it you like an excited little kid. He does little poems as well. They are all about his adoration to you and how much he wants to spend time with you. Sometimes they have some blood splatters on them. Don't think about it too hard.

ꨄ︎ He his naturally cautious when all of these goods things become interrupted with the introduction of The Chain. He is like a frightened animal with his hackles up. He has his mastersword pointed to the strange group. They introduce themselves and he relaxes a little. He stays by your side the entire time and makes sure everyone knows that you are taken by him.

ꨄ︎ It's really, really, really hard for him when you say you want to travel with The Chain. His thought process is like this: heartbreak. My God(dess) wants to be around other Links? Why do they want to put themselves in danger? Why? Why? I have to protect them. I have to. I need them near me. Why do they want to travel? Will they still cook for me and me only...? Or will I have to share? You want to travel to different Hyrules and fight monsters with them? You want to see their Hyrules? What if my Hyrule isn't good enough for you?

ꨄ︎ As much as he hates it— he'd do anything for you. He sets some ground rules though. No letting the others get too close. Stay by his side. Tell him everything. And do not, ever, put yourself in harms way. That has been his number one rule since day one. No getting yourself hurt. That scares him the most. He could live without you, but you are alive. He'd barely be alive but he could live. If you died? He'd kill himself and die right next to you. So when you get a scratch he wants, needs, aches to kill the thing that gave you that scratch.

ꨄ︎ You both begin traveling with The Chain and it goes better then expected. Wild is still the same Wild. He may even be getting a little better. The Chain is a bunch of hims. Wild is doing better in a way. He's gotten close to everyone and now knows some of their secrets. He's quiet and he listens. They are unassuming of him. Even the more cautious ones such as Hyrule, Legend, and Time bring their guard down a little. He rarely communicates with them but you know he is acutely listening. He only really signs to you.

ꨄ︎ So, it's perfect. There are a bunch of hims that stay away from you and protect you. He is getting them to trust him. You are safer than you have ever been. Safe. So safe. And if he needs to kill them for you? He's already got the information on them.

ꨄ︎ Wild always buys you things from the villages you all go to. He runs up to you and shoves them into your hands happily. It's one of the few times you see a smile on his usually stoic face. He absolutely adores buying you matching fits. He's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He loves matching with you. He even gets you a sword that mimics the mastersword in style. He teaches you how to wield it and everything.

ꨄ︎ He sabotages the others in The Chain if they try to spend time with you. He'll tell you things about them, dark things that he's learned. He'll write them out to you and slip them into your back pocket, your satchel, your bed roll. He'll make them look stupid in front of you. He might accidentally trip them or outbest them in sparring. He makes sure you see the worst of them and the best of him. He doesn't need words to steal your heart all for himself.

ꨄ︎ He always wakes up early and watches you sleep. He tries to resist your warmth to not fall asleep but it's too much. So he wakes up in the morning before you. He watches silently, unblinkingly. He thinks you look so adorable, so pretty, so handsome. You are even more angelic when you are awake. Your smile could even make Ganon fall to his knees.

ꨄ︎ He either makes breakfast for you or with you. He sits guard while you bathe in the river. He wants to take a peek but he doesn't! He's a loyal man. He's tempted. Very tempted though. He loves watching you do your skincare and getting ready though. His eyes rarely leave you while in eyesight.

ꨄ︎ His habits reach their most overbearing after Sage joins The Chain. His life was going so perfect with you. You got protection and he got you all to himself. Now, there's this new version of him. He is acting so... clingy towards you. He just seems so attached to you. Wild begins to get shooed away when Sage is near. You are all about being near Sage. Saving Sage.

ꨄ︎ He refuses to leave your side, even for a moment. He distances himself from the rest of The Chain. He begins to not eat. He begins to not sleep. He gets very nervous and becomes a wreck. He thinks if he does this to himself you'll love him. You loved him when he was like this before. Is this what you want? Do you want someone that needs you? He needs you more than anyone else. He doesn't see any reason to live anymore without you.

ꨄ︎ Like always, you save him. You save him from that dark place and refuse to leave his side. He cuddles into you and refuses to let you go. You feel guilty and you are worried sick about him. Wild almost died and he refuses to tell you why. You were sparring with Sage and suddenly you heard a sword slash in the woods. Wild stabbed himself in the heart with a sword... If it wasn't for Hyrule he'd be dead.

ꨄ︎ You sobbed for hours over his body and you refused to leave. You still do. You are beginning to succumb to his neediness and overprotective ways. Just like Wild wanted. He just needs to be wanted by you. He just needs your love. He just needs one person who will love him above all else.

ꨄ︎ Wild has you, but at Sage's expense. He's extremely irritated that this little boyfriend of yours is taking you away from him. A few of the other Links have mixed, upset, and possessive feelings as well. However, we'll discuss that another time.

tag list; lmk if you want to be tagged: @screaming-until-god-hears-me

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 5 part 5

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

jen just shakes her head, bitter and not in the least surprised at what agatha did

meanwhile agatha is... she's just devastated

billy is the only person in the room who has never experienced and still doesn't comprehend the finality of death

agatha runs, she can't do anything else. rio is the only one that cares.

she looks so pathetic in that getup. her behaving like a little girl is not so funny anymore, is it?

as always, rio watches her. she has a lot to think about after this trial.

but alice needs her undivided attention now. lady death has to clock in.

I'm glad that we keep focusing on agatha's reaction. she used to be able to kill people and shake it off (or at least pretend to). she cannot shake alice off

and it was all for a tiny spark of magic. that is all that's left of alice on the mortal plane

when billy confronts her she visibly recoils and shrinks in on herself, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar

one hand on her own heart, one on billy's heart. like she's begging and willing him to understand

it's not: you lied. it's you lied to me. it's personal. it's the trust he had in a mentor and mother figure, irrevocably broken

agatha never lies to billy. she's shitty with him in many other ways, but she doesn't lie

billy, honey. you set out on a road trip with a literal serial killer.

agatha had this mad fantasy of billy and her becoming a family, a coven two. and of course she went and ruined it. she always does

jen has all her walls firmly up, she won't allow herself to grieve for alice. she's still on the verge of walking a dark path, and agatha is the one pushing and pushing her toward it

lilia, who has lost and grieved so many, is just numb with pain. Death is unstoppable. hey guys, remember the first three episodes? when everything seemed so fun and carefree?

to billy witches were spellbooks and broomsticks and hot topic eyeliner. how do you explain to a kid the ugliness and violence and trauma that will inevitably fester in a marginalized, repressed community?

from the mouth of a child. she might have killed alice by accident. she has been deliberately and systematically killing many more to serve her own agenda.

and what agatha does, when confronted with ugly truths? she runs, and if she can't run, she goes all in with the spectacle and the cruelty

she could have picked any moment to talk about wanda. she could have broken the news gently, eased billy into understanding what he's been doing. now she's just lashing out in anger and fear and pain. billy did just put her through hell, but she's still the only adult of the two, no matter how immature she wishes to act

when push comes to shove, when it all becomes too much, agatha will latch to her self-preservation instincts and choose to protect herself over anyone else, even the people she loves. She's doing it with billy, she's doing it with rio. I'd argue that she did it with nicky, too.

hey, hey agatha, remember what happened the last time you poked a chaos witch with a stick? you dumb idiot.

fucking around meets finding out etc etc etc etc

boy is she SCREAMING. this bitch will never go down quietly, she'll snivel and cry like the sad pathetic creature she is

and the parallels and the irony of billy hurting jen and lilia in his grief.

do you guys laugh too when bille ellish pops in?? I love how agatha later says that billy is dramatic because he's a maximoff. honey, wanda was only ever coming up with cute sitcom scenarios. this is all your doing, you and your dramatic ass. this is your son. drama queen and drama queen in training.

go to episode 6 part 1

[elmaxlys]

i love everyone that took the time to vote on this. smoochies.

[butterbabyflapjack]

✧˖° Brian Moser x serial killer fem!reader

✧˖° summary:

The Ice Truck Killer’s back in town, and somehow he's stuck babysitting you; Miami's newest would-be killer.

Helping you out wasn't at all his original intention–he'd rather see you dead, you know far too much–but he supposes he could spare an evening to undomesticate that hungry beast inside you. Show you how to really live your life.

In which Brian helps you kill someone who utterly deserves it, and the kill room turns into a horny sex-fueled bloodbath.

✧˖° wordcount (chapter 2): 17k

✧˖° chapters: one, two, three

✧˖° ao3

✧˖° taglist: @Impala1967 @fan-goddess @ireallydontknowohcrabs

✧˖° warnings: serial killer fem!reader, reader insert, explicit sexual content, rough sex, passionate sex, fucking in a kill room, dark romance, dark comedy, canon typical depictions of blood and gore, enthusiastic consent, mutual pining, impact play, playing with your food, serial killers in love, banter, dirty talk, voice kink, trauma bonding, babysitting a serial killer, implied sexual abuse of a child (you're killing this mf don’t worry), torture (you’re torturing this mf don’t worry), Brian is his own warning, enemies to lovers, biting, daddy issues?, blood play, a bit of angst a dash of bloodlust & a heavy splash of spice, Brian loves to fluster you and he won't shut the hell up going about it, Brian survives season 1 in this house

✧˖° author's note:

im having too much fun with this, but also editing chapters this long inflicts psychic damage so please forgive the inevitable rough spots. i’m sure there are some but i’m so over editing. i tried making it shorter but every time i tried it just got longer its 17k 😭😭

anyway hope you’re ready for your date with a wanted serial killer💕

(there’s a few nods to the books throughout, including Brian’s little red car)

✧˖° chapter 2

You still can’t believe you’re actually doing this.

Accepting Dexter’s brother’s help–the Ice Truck fucking Killer, which you can still hardly believe. Begging for it, even; for him to help you kill someone.

The Ice Truck fucking Killer…

Even now, you have a hard time wrapping your head around it.

You’d dedicated so much time and energy into catching that serial fiend, and now he was practically your mentor. So unlike his brother, yet so strikingly the same. Dexter was hungry to know everything about a person before killing them; performing weeks, even months of diligent research on every facet of their beings. 

But Brian…

He hadn’t asked a single question about who he’d help you kill. It could be your own mother, for all he seemed to care. A wolf with a scent for blood. He gets a whiff, he doesn’t hesitate, he comes running.

He’d agreed to help you so much more willingly than Dexter had, and for that, at least, you’re grateful. It remains to be seen if you’ll be grateful for anything else.

It doesn’t matter that this man that you’ll kill’s not a killer. He still has this coming. Has it coming from you, and doubtlessly deserves so much more, so much worse, and–

The whirlwind of thoughts inside your addled head will not settle, will not calm; battering the walls of your mind into harsh, jagged edges of unease and doubts and questions upon questions and–

Struggling to swallow, you once more do your best to ignore that storm inside you. Sucking down a deep breath. Forcing yourself to.

You can do this.

The cards of it are already falling out of place, all around you, and you can’t pick them up again, can’t shove them back into their previous shape.

You don’t want to.

This is happening.

You’re killing this prick tonight.

It’s too late now, not to, and you don’t want to turn back–

You can do this.

You can do this.

You…

You’re at the precinct…

On a Saturday…

Today is already going so wrong.

You just needed to submit a slew of paperwork for a court case early on Monday. Just in and out; it wasn’t supposed to take long. Yet now it’s nearly noon, and your partner–a thick man with a thicker mustache named Pérez–well he’s here, too. The pair of you without lives, always working. And he’s droning on and on about something–probably where the two of you should stop for lunch, as if you’ll be here that long (you already are), but you can’t hear him. Anxious eyes flitting from him and Masuka, who’s joined in on whatever this conversation, in checking the time on your phone.

Your anxious eyes grow wider.

Shit–!

You were supposed to meet Brian at the hardware store twenty minutes ago…!

Ignoring Masuka’s lame attempt at a joke, you focus fully on your computer. Sending off a few last emails, finger nearly breaking through your mouse with every click, before you’re grabbing whatever papers you were working on and even some you weren’t, scraping the mess of them off your desk, shoving them into your bag and you’re sure they’re all crumpled but fuck it, this can’t wait, Brian can’t wait, you should have left already–

“Hey!” Pérez calls as you abruptly stand, his deep voice following after how you speed-walk through the glass-enclosed walls of the precinct. “I was talkin’ to you!”

“Gotta go,” you shoot back bluntly. “Talk to Masuka.” 

“Bullshit,” he calls as you continue speeding off. “You don’t got nowhere to be!”

And you don’t know why you say it. You’re panicked, maybe–haven’t thought out a decent alibi like you really already should have. But either way, you blurt back on harried instinct, “I’m going on a date–you know, trying my hand at a social life? You should try it sometime.”

The surprise of that must shut him up–as it should, you don’t date–because he doesn’t yammer after you any longer as you push out of the room’s heavy glass doors. Impatiently stabbing the silver elevator button before you so you can fully escape, all while inwardly smacking yourself because now Pérez is definitely going to grill you about a date that never happened first thing on Monday–about a date with a serial murderer both he and you chased after personally, along with everyone else on your team–about a date where you’re going to fucking kill someone and fuck–fuck–!

You’re bad at this. You’re so bad at this. You’re a homicide detective, you should know better, know what you’re doing, know what to look out for to not get caught, but instead you’re leaving threads that anyone could stop in and pull at–

You need to calm down.

Why are you so nervous– you weren’t this tense before last night.

This is Brian’s fault, somehow, you just can’t place exactly why. Doesn’t stop you from blaming him, though.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Slipping into your cheap, little car.

Driving out of the precinct’s lot.

In.

Out.

You’re meeting the Ice Truck Killer for a date where you’re picking out murder weapons. 

It’s not that big a deal.

Breathe.

In…

Honestly, you don’t even know why you’re doing this. The shopping part, at least; not the murder part. You have all the reason in the world to murder that vile excuse for a human being, but a shopping spree? 

Dexter’d left you a few of his knives. Not all of them, mind; just a select few, which was hard enough for him to do, you could tell as he left them. Those knives, what they do, what they have done… They’re an extension of himself. And you were grateful to him for having lent them. But when you’d received a call from an unknown number after leaving his apartment last night, you’d heard Brian’s deep, smoothly serrated voice on the other end.

“I’m surprised you pick up calls from unknown numbers,” he’d immediately teased, and just as suddenly you’d wanted to hang up on his smarmy, cocky ass. Only resisting because you do really need his help.

He’d said to pick a hardware store of your choice. To meet him there tomorrow, at twelve PM sharp.

“Why?” you’d asked, helplessly suspicious of him. Maybe because you knew what he was. Maybe because of something else you couldn’t quite name, just out of reach, its murky outline barely untouched.

“You want my help, don’t you?” he’d returned instead of answering, and you hated what his voice did to you. What it still does to you. Its silken roughness instilling fear and something else so very warm, unraveled and cloying and copper-sweet in the back of your turbulent mind. 

Luckily, your stifled lack of response must’ve been enough of an answer for him.

“You only get to kill a man once,” he’d purred in your ear, and you were glad he couldn’t see you worrying your lower lip. “You may as well do it right. Twelve PM. Don’t forget, my lovely protégé.”

But you did forget. Till twenty minutes past. And now you’re here, at Miami Lumber and Hardware, at 12:37 PM on the dot.

He’s going to kill you.

You’re halted a stuttered step whilst rushing through the parking lot as you think it, since it was only a figure of speech–but this is Brian Moser. He might actually kill you. It’s certainly not an improbability.

Once again reminding yourself to breathe, it still takes concerted effort to actually drag the air into your lungs.

You can’t help it.

Brian makes you nervous. This is just an unfortunate fact.

The man, is…

Cold. Calculated. Ineffable.

And yet, the way he’d held his brother last night, when Dexter had greeted him home…

Once you’d learned that Brian was Dexter’s brother, you couldn’t fully blame Dex for letting him escape Miami, not even after everything with Deb. It was fucked, but they were brothers; they were blood. But their closeness in that moment last night made you see, very clearly, that even monsters can have something resembling a heart.

And yet that heart is nowhere present when Brian looks at you. You can see that, too. The darkness of that viscid void which crafts him, reflecting light as a mirage, as a distraction; a light which from his dark cannot exist.

It certainly doesn’t make you any less wary around him. Not to mention how he might have some unpleasant feelings toward you for being part of the task force that ran him out of town, that even now would apprehend him. But it’s not like Dexter wasn’t part of that task force, too, so… 

Maybe he’d forgiven you.

You weren’t about to ask.

In any case. He’d agreed to help you. So maybe you should just be grateful for that and stop questioning everything ; just focus on the arduous task at hand instead of spiraling once again into doubt.

As you quickly approach the hardware store, you catch sight of a looming shadow standing just outside its wide, automatic front doors. A shadow you soon realize is Brian. Black buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up his lithely muscled forearms. Hands in the pockets of dark slacks. Onyx, browline sunglasses shielding his likewise onyx gaze, like he’s just too cool to give a damn, though really you suppose it’s just part of his disguise.

He looks good, just standing there. Effortless, modelesque. And the longish mess of curls that tease his jawline, along with the dark scruff of beard definitely suit him.

It somehow makes all of this so much worse that he’s attractive, and for a second you wish you were blind, just sightlessly bumbling into him.

His dark eyes must flit toward your slowing, cautious approach from behind his shades, because a cheeky half-smirk takes hold of one corner of his lips. Especially as his focus feels to drape over you.  Dropping languidly to the motion of your hands, unthinkingly clenching at your sides, which you immediately force to stop upon his notice.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he observes as you finally reach him, low and smooth as ambrosia on an unpolished blade, its edges always rough. “Thought you might’ve stood me up. And on our first date, too.” His brows are tugged in a light crease of woe above his handsome shades. “I was this close to having my heart broken.”

It’s ironic that his ‘cover story’ for whatever the hell this is the two of you are doing is that it’s some sort of ‘date’, too. 

Does that make it official?

God, you hope not. You can’t break your dating dry spell with someone you’ve tried apprehending.

“Pretty sure that’d require something inside your ribs to actually break,” you return; his smirk rubbing you the wrong way. Like he’s endlessly amused by the tragically Shakespearean comedy that is you. “Unlike whatever cobwebs are probably hanging there.” And, brushing past how he idles there watchfully, you’re already halfway through the automatic doors beside him when calling, “You coming or what?”

You barely hear his little chuff; half amused, half something darker, as the tower of him turns to swim within your wake. So much like a shark stalking after you that you’re tempted to drop the ‘too cool to turn around’ act and instead keep your vigilant eyes on him.

You’re still debating whether to turn or not when instead you’re physically jolted by him suddenly appearing right beside you; his smooth and lengthy steps easily outpacing the rigidity of your own. 

“So, little killer…” he slowly muses down at you, with a glint to his side-long smirk. Slipping his shades from off the bridge of his nose, before folding and tucking them in his breast pocket. All while you do your best not to look at him since every time you do you seem to lose your train of thought like some kind of idiot. “Where shall we start?”

Steps slowing to a halt, you peer about the overwhelming vastness of the giant store around you.

You have no idea where to start–wasn’t this whole thing his idea?

“You’re the one who wanted us to come here,” you mutter. Biting the inside of your cheek to somehow steady yourself before meeting the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t know what we’re looking for.”

He seems to assess you a moment, before he’s sliding one hand gently around your waist, which straightens board-stiff at his brazen touch. 

His smile grows as he eyes you, though by all appearance he’s just cordially guiding you by the small of your hesitant back toward the slew of bright red shopping carts bunched up near the front of the store. And though you’d like to think you’d smack his unwanted hand off of you, seeing as how you don’t need his help to grab a goddamn cart, you don’t really know what to think anymore. Somewhere, just… secretly glad? That he’s taking your reins of uncertainty? Leading them through whatever daytime fever-dream this ‘date’ is turning out to be.

Whatever makes this nightmare end more swiftly.

“Your teacher to the rescue, then,” he says, oh-so-helpful. Ushering you toward a cart, which you’re too mired by worry and doubt not to grab hold of obediently. Following where he steers you further into the massive store, and he’s won you over that easily, you guess. He’s your shepherd; you’re his sheep. But what are you supposed to do? Deny the help he’s giving? At this point there’s nowhere to go but down whatever darkened hole he leads you. 

Still. You won’t follow him down undefended. Stealing a glance, as innocuously as you can, at the Glock openly holstered at your right hip as he leads you deeper into the store, past the rows of registers. Its weight resting on your jeans a boon against that ongoing storm howling within you.

Brian seems to like the whole ‘obedient sheep to his shepherd’ thing, much to your chagrin. He smiles, anyway–a dusky crudeness to its soft shape–as his hand at last leaves your back, and instead he strolls alongside your cart casually.

You imagine the two of you probably look quite cute to someone who doesn’t know what the fuck is happening behind the scenes.

“Dexter told me he lent you some knives,” Brian says, conversationally. And he does make it sound so normal–like you’d borrowed them to fillet a fish, not a person.

This is the most fucked up small talk on a ‘date’ you’ve ever heard or hoped to be a part of.

He tsks his tongue in your silence, leading your way past a few aisles after glancing at their header’s above. And you don’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s your shepherd–you’re forced to trust him in wherever he’d guide you.

“Not exactly inspiring,” he muses. “He does get more creative, from time to time.” A shade of amusement hints his lips. “Very creative, really.” Though at length, he hums as if the state of Dexter’s a shame. “But he doesn’t play nearly enough with his food.”

“Is that why we’re here?” you finally find your voice. “Because you want me playing with my food tonight?”

He spares you a glance from how he otherwise scans all the inventory you pass. 

“It matters, how you kill a person,” he says. “At least, as I surmise, it does tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks away, like he doesn’t actually care about this conversation.

“This person,” he says at last, as he leads where you’ll follow. “That you’re taking care of. He deserves this. Right?”

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation.

At that, he smiles his low, warm smile down at you. Allows its shallow warmth to burn through that storm you feel.

“Well… I don’t know the details–don’t need the details–but I’d venture further this is punishment…” The idea seems somehow amusing. “Am I wrong?”

No. He’s definitely right. Though you refuse to think about exactly why you’ll punish that bastard tonight. It always makes you see red, steals away everything else, and you’re already hopelessly distracted in Brian’s presence. So perhaps it’s lucky he doesn’t care, doesn’t ask, so that at least you’re left undistracted by that.

You’ll worry about making that fucker pay for what he’s done when you face him tonight.

How you strive to steady yourself is disjointed as Brian takes a loose hold of the front of the cart; escorting you down an aisle of hammers and other blunt-edged tools. 

“So shouldn’t however you kill this person be a punishment,” he offers mildly, “in and of itself?”

You don’t realize you aren’t responding; haven’t spoken in a while. Have stopped your cart from rolling for who knows how long while your knuckles begin to go numb with how tightly they cling to its bright, shiny handle–not until Brian’s shadow is suddenly so close to your side. And, blinking rapidly, you twist up just in time to see him lean down to your ear. Murmuring hushed words, just for you.

“Fuck Dexter’s knives,” he breathes, the heat of it sparking each hair on your nape to attention. “Whoever this bastard is, he surely deserves the worst end you can give him. A quick death is far too nice. Don’t you agree?”

He’s the devil on your shoulder, but you’re in no position to disagree.

A flash of that man you’ll kill, Gary, flashes through your mind before you can stop it. Shoved away with such nauseating hatred that you push forth your cart with enough newfound purpose you’ve left Brian behind. Vindictively eyeing each item as you pass, before settling on a box on one row. Judging its label with a tense jaw before tossing it into your cart.

Brian’s caught up in no time, though he strolls in no decided hurry. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he seemingly eyes the box of the belt sander you threw in.

“Well, that’s certainly creative…” he approves with a side-long grin.

“I’m not sure I’ll use it,” you admit, keeping your momentum forward. Focusing as best you can before his mere presence distracts you again. “I’m keeping my options open.”

And though you try desperately not to look at him, hindrance that he unwittingly is, you hear his smooth smile as he says, “A woman after my own heart. Maybe you’re not such a horrible student after all.”

Your cart wheels stop just long enough to glower up at him; annoyed by how his height always towers over you. “Since when was I horrible? I’m doing everything you ask.”

“After showing up here late,” he says, maintaining the affable bedside manner of the prosthetist he used to parade as. “And asking far too many questions.” 

Reaching for the small of your back again, his fingers steal away your objections as they curl so slightly into the curve of your waist, speeding your heart with their gentle pressure.

He leads you toward a row of rubber-ended sledge hammers. Leaving your side to take one off the rack. Testing its massive weight between his surgeon’s hands. Speculative, before breezily tossing it into the cart, which rattles beneath the bulk of it.

“So…” he drawls, too politely; changing the topic to something else. “Were you on the task force to bring me in…?”

The answer lodges somewhere in your throat. Caught there more and more the longer he passively watches you. And okay. Maybe he didn’t forgive and forget the whole ‘you trying to apprehend him’ thing after all.

“So was your brother,” you point out in lieu of answering, which in truth is answer enough, just the version with you too chicken-shit to answer directly.

You focus on moving forward; gripping your cart like a shield that doesn’t help at all against how you feel his little smile crawling over you. Focusing on your feet–on his feet, striding alongside yours. Staring at those burnished leather Elkans he wears, nearly black, clipping mute vinyl floors, and though you have no idea how a man on the run from the feds has the means to pay for shoes that nice you make a point of not asking.

“True enough,” he says. “Doesn’t make either one of you less of a hypocrite.”

Disgruntled, your gaze turns sharply up to him. “Would you rather I just cuff your ass right now and take you into the station?”

He seems to find the idea of that funny; suppressing a hum that’s not quite a laugh. 

“If you think you can drag me in.”

Idly, he unhooks from its post in the rows and rows of tools a pair of small, yet sharp needle-nose pliers. Eyes alight with something as he regards you; thumb roaming the instrument’s blunt, metallic edge.

“What do you think, detective?” he asks. “Could I have these jammed in your trachea before you pulled your gun on me?” 

The weight of your Glock feels to burn against your hip, itching for you to grab it, though you stiffly don’t move. 

“Maybe,” you admit. Not daring to pull your gun right now to even the odds of a hypothetical–or at least you hope it’s hypothetical. “But it wouldn’t kill me right away.” Your voice is hard. “I’d still shoot you in the back as you ran away in those fancy shoes.”

He does laugh at that. Strong and warm, as he steals a glance at his leather Elkans.

“Don’t you like them?” he wonders with a sly little smirk.

And of course you do, they’re handsomely crafted, but he doesn’t need to know that. So instead of answering, you just push off down the aisle with the cart.

“Can we just focus on the task at hand?” you ask as you hear his footsteps closing through the distance after you. Turning out of one aisle and into the next, with no destination in mind other than creating more distance between you. “I don’t exactly want to be caught in public with you.”

“Yes, that might ruin your reputation down at the station, wouldn't it?”

“Just a bit.” You toss a few items into the cart whilst assuring yourself that you’re making this rich bastard pay for everything. Tossing in a few more pricey-looking tools you probably won’t even use at the thought. “Especially when I told my partner that I was on a date right now.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth that you vehemently regret their utterance, cause why did you just admit that? And just like you worried, like you expected from Brian at this point, he smells the chum of possibly humiliating you on the water and slips forward for a bite.

“You’re already telling your friends about us?” he asks, a cunning fox, and maybe you will go for your gun. “How cute… It’s a little soon for me to be telling people about our relationship, personally, but… I’m glad you’re so enthused.”

Your ears burn for reasons unrelated to severe embarrassment, you’re sure. “He asked where I was rushing off to and I panicked, okay?”

You hear his little sigh. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

The cart rattles as you toss in a few more tools at random. “I’m new at this.”

“Yes,” comes Brian’s musing. “You’ve made that painfully clear.”

Desperate to ignore the awkward heat crawling up your face, you slow past a row of different saws. The wheels of your cart dragged to a sudden halt before a vast array of chainsaws, which admittedly seem a little heavy for you to wield, seem a little much and are surely overkill, but...

Still. You’re oddly drawn to them. One hand already reaching to test the sharpness of a bright, hornet-yellow one’s row of exposed teeth.

Time feels to slow as you study it. With you so distracted that you don’t even notice how Brian’s stopped his ever-incessant, clever commentary behind you; merely enjoying the merciful silence.

“What do you think?” you ask at last, unturning, as you mull the idea of you with a chainsaw inside your head. And it’s not a terrible image… “Too messy? Or…”

Silence, from your ever-yapping, homicidal mentor. And at last you glance back at where he stands, just behind you. His dark eyes, shadowed by dark lashes, trained to the blade-teeth you touch, yet as though he’s staring right through them.

As your expression grows inquisitive, he blinks, dragged from the seeming depths that leave him lost inside his own head.

“Hm?” he absently hums, like he hasn’t heard you.

Your interest curiously traces what little his expression ever betrays to you. “What?” you ask of his uncharacteristic silence, though he just impassively eyes you.

“What?” he returns; innocuous, mirroring you.

Your brows furrow up at that leaden mask he wears.

“Don’t what me,” you counter. “I saw you thinking about something. And if you don’t tell me what that is, you’ll swiftly learn how annoyingly persistent I can be when my bloodhound brain grabs scent of something.”

He regards you down the length of his strong nose. Seeming taller than he actually is, which is already imposing. Eventually carding back his hair; dark curls tangled in his fingers with his incensed glance away. “You really are a headache, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely I am. Now tell me.”

With mild exasperation, his dusky eyes return to you. Their grievance soon to fade in place of muted speculation. “I was just lost in memories. Private ones, I might add. Ones I’m guessing Dexter never told you.”

You’ve never seen him so… tentative. Not even in this miniscule amount. And your confusion, just like your interest, slowly rises. “What are you talking about?”

He eyes you a moment more. Unreadable. “I’m talking about our mother, Detective Nosey,” he says. Gaze assessing yours, as if searching for something there, weighing if he should tell you. And you’re not sure what he looks for, if he finds it, though eventually he continues.

“She was butchered with a chainsaw,” he says at last, far too casually. Reaching past you to drag one lengthy finger along that chainsaw’s serrated edge in the absence of your touch. His eyes gaining that faraway look again. “Right in front of us, when Dex was three and I was four. Dismembered limb by limb, as that engine echoed off the walls, along with her begging us not to look, to close our little eyes, and we were left in the mess of it. The blood of three addicts and our mother–two inches thick by the time that engine finally stopped.” 

His finger slowly drags down the jagged length of the blade, while you listen on in growing horror. 

“They didn’t find us huddled in that blood-damp, hellish dark for two days, and by then the only reason I cared was in protecting my brother.” He exhales a little laugh with zero humor to it. “Apparently that’s all anyone cared about. ‘Cause he was adopted by the first cop on scene, and I–decidedly–was not.”

His dark gaze turns to you, and you cannot comprehend what lie beyond its blackish surface.

“So, to answer your question,” he says, so nonchalant in your speechless shock from responding, “It’s not a bad choice. Though certainly messy.”

You can’t seem to think. The story he’s spun sinking a weight in you, dragging your stomach right through the floor. Left with not knowing what to say, blown away as you are by the cruelty held within such an offhand confession.

“Brian, I'm…”

Your tone is raw. Quiet. And he smiles at you unhappily; hand falling loosely to his side, away from the blade that dismembered his mother.

“Don’t,” he cuts you off bluntly. “What’s done is done. Pitied apologies never help.”

“I know they don't,” you counter, voice stricken, and you swallow with the effort to make it more firm. “But that's… That's fucked, Brian. And… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

For a moment, he merely eyes you. Every line of his handsome face meticulously sculpted in place, held perfectly still.

“Are you expecting me to thank you for that?” he wonders at last.

You hate how vulnerable you feel, when he’s the one confessing something so traumatic that it surely formed him. His and Dex’s extracurricular pastimes sure make a lot more sense now.

“No,” you say, feeling stupid, feeling childish, that you’re so unwound by such a ruthless tale while he clearly is not. And maybe you should just let it go, should just stop talking, but you can’t. “I just had to say it.” You meet his watchful gaze, your jawline hardening. “And if I could kill the fucks who did that to your mother, I would. I’d hunt each one of them down. And I know I’m not the one who should make them pay whatever price for what was done, but I’d still make them pay it.”

Some part of you’s already planning how you might, how you could–if they’re even still alive, or if indeed there was more than one person involved–it doesn’t matter, you’d kill them all, assuming Brian hasn’t already. Almost tempted to ask if he has, all while Brian just observes you in a silence which draws on. Something beyond the indecipherable veil of him fixed on you, keen at your edges, as if gauging your scent; toying the curious touch of his attention across your unseen depths.

Eventually, he subtly smiles, and you cannot comprehend that smallest stir half-buried within his gaze.

“C’mon,” he says, taking your waist again; hand warm and smooth across your lower back and he steers you further down the aisle. “We’ll save the chainsaw for next time. I’ve something more easily controlled in mind for a first-timer like yourself. And if you don’t like that, you’ll at least appreciate what we’re grabbing at our next stop.”

And surely you’d halt if he wasn’t more-or-less forcibly guiding you forward.

Next stop…? 

This nightmare date isn’t over yet?

Your arguments that there won’t be a ‘next time’ where you’ll be swinging around a chainsaw are effectively snuffed by the way his knuckles idly trace up the length of your spine as you walk together. The contact light, yet utterly fatal in regards to your ability to think in anything more than jumbled sounds that resemble language. And as he gauges a few items as you pass, he lightly ‘ ah ’s’ whilst nabbing a box one-handed; tossing it carelessly into the cart atop your already mountainous treasure trove of murderous hardware.

You glance from that box to him, already questioning, “A reciprocating saw?”

“A Moser favorite,” he says, roguish. “Electric. No outlet required. Perfect for when working remotely.” And yeah, it’s pretty obvious he’s done just that before.

He guides you toward the checkout counter up front before releasing you from the seeming hypnotism of his touch. Smiling at the college-aged girl ringing up your vast array of items, and let me tell you, your stomach shrinks upon seeing all that gear laid out in front of you, like a line-up of your potential crimes laid bare. Your insides cinching tighter with every item slowly rolling down that sluggish conveyer belt as he lays them all blasély upon it, like it moves that slow just to mock you, to shame you.

Pliers, hammers, a hacksaw. The sledge hammer you saw him throw in. Some sort of hose, a nail gun, a hatchet, a multitude of various saws and drills. Tarps, of course, and some kind of large metal clamp (what is that for?), a dremel, bolt cutters, the belt sander (you regret picking that out now), a motherfucking chain? A chain? What, are you beating this guy to death with a chain now?

It’s like a loony toon assortment of bullshit, only missing an anvil, that you’re sure will get flagged if the body is ever found hacked into a million pieces by every piece of hardware known to man. ‘Cause, oh, how convenient–someone purchased a million kill tools the night before the mysterious thousand-tool killer took someone out, and that person’s definitely been recorded on the store’s many security cameras.

You should’ve worn a disguise. You’re such an idiot.

By maybe the tenth item, the cashier seems to think this purchase is becoming somewhat odd. Go figure. And she eyes each item that she scans whilst stealing more and more weirded out glances at Brian and you. Which probably isn't a good thing.

You try to squeeze yourself out of existence behind Brian’s towering form. Let him take the fall for this.

Meanwhile, Brian flashes her his most charming grin. 

“We’re taking up woodworking,” he says, without a care in the world. “Gotta make sure we have all the right tools of the trade.” His dark gaze lowly glimmers. “What do you think? Did we get them all?”

It’s the lamest excuse, and yet the girl’s cheeks visibly warm and she giggles at whatever look he must be giving her.

The following conversation is perhaps the most shameless and painful thing you’ve ever had to stand there and witness; a form of torture in itself, when it’s supposedly you who was to do the torturing.

“Y-yeah,” says the girl, scanning a bit more absently. It takes her five swipes to get a claw hammer with a giant and completely obvious barcode to register, what with how her eyes are glued on the ‘date’ you’re hiding behind. “What kind of woodworking do you do?”

“Mostly construction, but I dabble in the arts. Walnut and pine sculptures, that sort of thing.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“That sounds hard…”

“You just have to know what you’re doing~”

“You must be good with your hands, then.”

“Oh, I’m good with lots of things.”

“O-oh, like… like what? For, um, example?”

“I could offer a demonstration… You’d have to come out from behind that counter, first, though...”

She titters again and you think a vein on your brow might be close to bursting, though admittedly you’re not exactly sure why–her laugh must be annoying. Luckily that’s when he swipes his card for the outrageous bill–the front of which you note bears a name that’s not his, so as far as covering your tracks goes there’s at least that.

You lug what feels a million heavy bags into the cart whilst patiently smiling (grimacing) at your flirtatious construction partner.

“C’mon, David ,” you read the name on his card, already pushing the filled-up cart to go. But not before seeing him toss the flustered cashier a little wink before following after you.

Ugh. 

Gross. 

You’re storming out of the store, out into the parking lot as the cart wheels rattle before your way. Barreling forth in no particular direction and for no particular reason other than what you just witnessed inexplicably making you sick, when Brian’s hand suddenly latches around your wrist, arresting you solidly in place, jerking you gruffly to a halt right before the speeding blur of a giant, blue truck flies past the front of your cart by maybe an inch; the speed of it whipping wind against your startled face.

Frazzled, you merely stand there while your racing heart tries to escape your chest. Blinking far too quickly, before twisting your gaze back to Brian. Undoubtedly relieved by how he just saved you from slamming into a car–seriously, he just saved you? Yet even then, you force annoyance to your tone; perhaps to hide your embarrassment at just how irredeemably unfocused you really are right now.

“What?” you ask him sharply.

His eyes trace your face. Seem to note how your molars are grinding. And as you glower, he slowly starts to smirk.

Gods, you hate him.

“You’re walking in the wrong direction,” he says.

Which maybe you were, though you find you’re not fond of him correcting you right now. “Where am I supposed to be walking?”

He nods toward a little red car parked off in the distance through the lot. Pristinely polished. Expensive looking. “That one’s mine.”

“Of course it is,” you nearly roll your eyes at him. Twisting your wrist from his grasp in heaving the heavy cart forward again–after glancing both ways in ensuring you aren’t about to be flattened by a truck, this time. 

“You know,” you grouse as he walks right beside you, “you didn’t have to make sure that cashier’s still daydreaming about you tonight, considering the actual boat-load of homicidal gear we’re carrying.” And seriously, he didn’t have to lay it on so thick. “There’s no way she won’t remember you after that performance.” 

He keeps up with you so easily despite how desperate you are to outpace him, until eventually you just give up and push the cart at a normal pace. 

“As distracting as you awkwardly standing there was, I thought I’d better step in,” he says. “I was worried you might blurt out some sort of confession for a crime you haven’t yet committed under the scrutiny of her tiny-minded gaze.”

You feel yourself scowling. “I’m not an idiot.”

His soft lips purse like he somehow doubts that. Though all he says is, “Would you rather I have just let her keep forming ideas about everything she was ringing up amidst your incriminating, nerve-bitten silence?”

You bite your lip. Finally reaching his expensive car. “I guess not,” you admit.

He smiles down at you as you do your best to ignore him. “Good. Then stop being jealous.”

Your brows cinch hard at that, with you tearing your gaze directly toward him. Scoffing immediately, “Jealous of what? ”

With the way he scarcely seems to register your overt revulsion at the prospect, you wouldn't be surprised if nothing in life ever bothered him.

“Of me flirting with our cashier,” he says. Fetching from his pants pocket the keys to his flashy car, which chirps before you as its doors are unlocked, its small trunk automatically popped open.  

You take the opportunity to distract yourself by cramming bags into the trunk as though doing so were a timed olympic sport.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you say over the sound of shifting plastic bags, the thud of metal on car-trunk floor. “I barely even know you. If anything I was trying not to cringe out of existence hearing how shameless you are.”

You’re unprepared entirely for how he takes your waist from behind in both his hands; spins you around without warning. Nudging the backs of your wavering knees against the bumper of the car while he smoothly steps in, cornering you there, with little room left between your body and his.

He smirks at whatever your floored expression, trapped beneath the looming of his. Leaning down to your ear, pouring wicked words inside it.

“So what if I’m shameless?” he asks, amusement curled through his inflection.

When his lips just barely graze your ear, purely accidental, it's like a basilisk's spiked you with venom. Turning all of you to stone, your lungs helplessly forgetting to function.

“Don't be jealous,” he murmurs. “As delightful as that is, I’ll spare you the torment. You need to be focused, my woefully inept student. And besides…” he sounds to smile, “she’s not my type.”

He leaves you there just as suddenly as he’d pinned you. So effortlessly snatching away your ability to speak, as he turns instead to filling up the trunk you’re still teetering weak-kneed against. Left with the realization that his dark, graveled voice is as much a weapon as any in his arsenal of toys.

You’re still reeling as he pauses loading to instead open the passenger-side door for you; the sound of it drawing your flustered attention. Looking at you expectantly as you just stand there, trying to dislodge your heart from where it’s leapt into your throat.

“I’ll load the rest,” he says, careless as ever. “Get in.”

But you still won’t move. By choice, this time, not due to his unwanted effect on you. Warily glancing from opened door, to him; the leashless animal offering it for you. 

“I have my own car.”

“I told you, we’re not done shopping,” he lightly puts forth. “And it’s easier if we drive together.”

But you can’t shake how that seems like a really bad idea. Being alone with him. But what are you supposed to do? If he finds you too difficult to deal with, he might rescind his help from off the table, and you are partners in crime for the foreseeable future… 

Perhaps most convincing of all, in the end–what has you finally ungluing your apprehensive feet from off the asphalt–is the comforting weight of your gun, still strapped at one hip.

He can pry that from your cold dead fingers should he ever mean to take it from you.

Masking your hesitance, you drag yourself from where he’d pinned you against his fancy red car toward the seat he now offers. Cautiously watching that little smirk of his that spells trouble in half a million ways as he graciously closes the door after you, with you running one hand across the cool steel of your firearm the second the car door blocks it from his vision.

Gods, what are you doing? Getting in a car with the Ice Truck Killer?

You shake yourself–no– no –you can’t keep questioning everything. He’s Dexter’s brother–you’re fine. You’re doing what needs to be done–what you have to.

You tell yourself this, yet still nearly jump out of your skin as the driver’s side door is eventually opened, with Brian sliding right in.

“Hope you don’t mind a little breaking and entering,” he says whilst revving the car, shifting it into gear. 

Perhaps you’re too distracted to outright ask what that fucking means. “I think as far as potential crimes go, I’m a bit past a misdemeanor.”

“Wonderful,” he returns, with all the charm of a murderous Disney prince. And it’s clear Brian Moser’s a bad influence on anyone and everything trapped within the incessant pull of his orbit. 

No wonder Dexter drove him away. He’s too much of a risk.

And now he’s back, helping you –Christ, maybe this whole thing really is a terrible idea. And again, a war’s waged within you; one that results like it always does, in you reminding yourself for the hundredth time not to bite the dangerous hand that offers to help you. 

The song Brian flips on the radio is about as cheerfully opposite a song can be from someone who bleeds their victims like cattle. And as he pulls out of the hardware store’s lot, you glance back toward the trunk of the car; envisioning the cartoonish haul of bloodshed tucked away inside it.

“Are you sure we need to grab anything else?” you ask, with a glance at him. Which you immediately regret, because his rugged profile is…

Goddammit, why does he have to be hot? 

You tuck your traitorous gaze toward the window, staring at the world rushing by outside it. Spared for a moment from whatever this offensively attractive man does to you by merely existing.

“I could likely make due with what we have,” he says to the road; thankfully otherwise ignorant of you. “But I’m not going to. Our current haul’s for you, my impromptu protégé. This next trip’s for me, though you’re welcome to play with what we’ll grab there. I need tools to dispose of the body, à la Dexter’s requested style.” He tosses you a look, one brow quirked as if to dare you. “Unless you’d like to fetch me my old ones out of wherever you stashed them away in evidence for me…?”

Which– no– you would not. There’s too much risk involved in digging through the many boxes of the Ice Truck Killer’s things, even when you don’t know what else he has planned instead, where he’ll otherwise take you. 

“Would the barbies we confiscated be part of the required hardware you’d need me to steal?” you taunt instead of answering.

He simply exhales a small hum of amusement at that. Eyes on the road as a faint smile toys his lips. And in the end you suppose that playing with dolls isn’t really the strangest thing about him.

“Can’t we just see what Dexter has at his apartment?” you ask, assuming that’s not where he’s already headed. “I’m sure he has the right tools laying around somewhere.”

And it seems, in the maze of his mind, something’s chewed before being left unsaid.

“This’ll be a whole lot simpler if you just learn to stop questioning me right now, instead of making me steamroll your objections over and over again like you have been,” he says. Glancing away from the road; challenging you with a look. “I know what I’m doing. Unlike all others present.”

And though you fold your arms against him, you don’t otherwise protest. He’s not wrong, after all.

It isn’t until the pair of you near a mountainous scatter of buildings, erected high with white stone and sea-hued windows, that you realize the next destination of your homicidal ‘date’ is Miami’s Jackson Memorial Hospital–how romantic. Which you don’t really have an opinion on, until shortly remembering, like a kick to the gut, that he intends to steal god only knows from its highly secured, extensively monitored halls.

Your limbs are all stiffened with nerves as you turn to him while he breezes in through the hospital’s lot, one hand on the wheel whilst carelessly searching for a vacant place to park.

“We’re breaking into a hospital?!”

“We’re walking into a hospital,” he returns, smooth as sin. Though his merriment’s short-lived as he looks at you; dark eyebrows squinching up at whatever your expression. “Stop looking so paranoid.”

“I am paranoid,” you shoot right back at him; like it’s impossible that he doesn’t feel the same. “There’s a lot of security here, way more than some random hardware store. And although your little–” somewhat erratically, you gesture at his entire person, sitting there with one brow raised in watching you, “– disguise –is okay, it’s not that okay when there’s an ongoing manhunt for you by the fucking FBI–! ”

After weaving his car effortlessly into a spot, he watches you for a moment. Though when he should be slowly nodding in agreement, instead his lax expression falls unenthusiastically dull.

“You’re overthinking this.”

“You’re under thinking it!”

“Just follow my lead,” he more or less commands his ‘protégé’. Already stepping out of the car. Standing just outside it, for dragging moments; door remaining ajar, with only his long legs and dexterous hands in view. Before eventually he dips his height in glancing in at you as you stare across the middle console staunchly, refusing to get out.

“The longer you sit there pouting, the longer this will take,” he patiently says.

“I’m not pouting,” you argue, though you’re already riled enough into stepping gruffly out of the car. Unbuckling your belt as you do; stripping your holster off its length, before hiding your gun on your person; tucked away at the small of your back. All before making your way to the front of the car alongside where Brian waits for you. “I’m trying to make sure we don’t get caught.”

“Let me worry about that part,” he says; smiling as you unwillingly fall in step with him as he leads you toward that high-reaching tower in the distance, its glass shimmering like azure gems in the afternoon light. “Just focus on playing your part. We’re headed to an appointment. You, my timid, bumbling girlfriend, and I your dauntless, dashing prince.”

“I think you’re closer to a homicidal imp on my shoulder.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

The closer the two of you draw to the hospital’s broad and bustling entrance, the more cameras you begin to spot at the corners of your vision. Hidden lenses high on light beams, tucked near the corners of what seems like every wall. This place doesn’t take its security as a joke, and more and more it feels your panic forms a fist within your stomach, its fingers slowly tightening.

“Look…” you hear yourself saying, as offhanded as you can muster in that moment. Trying not to sound like you’re panicking, which you are, more and more with each step ventured forward. “I appreciate you helping me in whatever morally questionable way this is, but…”

Uncomfortably distracted, your words cut short as you spot through the crowd an overweight security guard, meandering just outside the hospital’s doors. A guard who glances at you and Brian, pausing just a moment, before idling slowly on.

You don’t know when you stopped walking, but by the time you tear your eyes away from the potential threat of him, Brian’s no longer beside you. It’s like you’ve only blinked, and he’s gone.

For some reason that’s even worse than having him near you.

“Brian…?”

Shit– should you even say his name out loud…? It’s a common enough name, and you two didn’t discuss using aliases, but–

What if someone puts two and two together upon spotting you and him? Hearing you say his name? Internally prying the longer hair and dark scruff off him, leaving only Brian fucking Moser behind?

Airway feeling tight, you scan the loose crowd of people before you until catching sight of Brian’s dark, wavy curls looming over everyone else's heads, and for once you’re glad he’s so freakishly tall. But as you spring forth to catch him, your steps start to drag once more, as the closer you draw toward those impending hospital doors the more it feels the world shifts out beneath you, and…

You can’t really think… You can’t breathe, you…

Are you having a panic attack…?

Are you seriously having a panic attack right now…?!

“...Bri… David…?!” 

You say it like you may otherwise drown, like he’s your lifeline, but there’s no way he hears you from his place so far ahead, even in such a thin crowd. And you need to just breathe, you’re overreacting–need to rein in your tenuous gaze from how it darts from lens to lens of every security camera, as if they’re all watching you, piecing together the company you keep.

“This isn’t… This isn’t a good…”

You’ve started backing up, now. Still staring at those hospital doors that loom before you, all while your heart slams into your ribs.

“–Brian–?!”

All at once, a large hand wraps around yours, leaving you no time to react as you’re brusquely swept aside before you can call after him a second time. And you choke out a little noise of surprise upon seeing Brian there, expressionless, dragging you toward a less crowded side of the hospital’s entrance.

He hauls you toward a small, manicured cluster of flowers and small palms, before steadying you within what seems a disapproving gaze, which certainly doesn’t make you feel any less like a panicking idiot.

“You’re entirely hopeless at this.”

You bite your lip to keep from biting something out more spiteful at him; still struggling to breathe. “You think I don’t know that?!”

At your heightened tone, he steals a glance at the foot traffic beside you before ushering you a little further away, further into the quiet. His hand grasping yours sliding slowly up the length of your arm, finding purchase near the crook of your neck.

It’s an oddly comforting motion, and you find yourself helpless but to peer up into the stillness of his eyes.

“Calm down,” he says, slowly, like he doesn’t fully comprehend why you’re so anxious. Like he’s never felt the dragging claws of nerves in his life. And though you’d normally expect him to mock you for falling apart like a moron, as you undeniably are right now, he at least seems genuine in talking you down. That, or you really are just that desperate to believe it. 

“Take a breath.” His thumb draws a single line just below your clavicle, whilst you struggle to do as he says. 

And, oh, lovely; here comes that mocking part you were so worried about, accompanied by him hiking a none-too-subtle brow at you:

“Not to make a tense situation worse, but if you’re this much of a mess just strolling into a hospital, exactly how are you expecting to follow through with your plans tonight?” But that’s not all. “And how do you work in homicide, for that matter? Aren't detectives used to working under pressure? Or did you blackmail your way into getting what you want there, too…?”

You’re not sure if you're wincing, bracing for the impact of his words.

…Is that it…?

…

That’s it.

For now, at least.

And you find yourself scowling. Hurt, which is of course ridiculous; you don't care what this bastard thinks. Though as you try to upsetly twist away, he only tightens his grip in response, keeping you captive before him.

Your scowl deepens before you’ve given up. He’s a lot stronger than you, and the last thing you need right now is to cause any more of a scene by punching him in the throat.

“I… Look, this… This is just… A lot,” you weakly defend. Warbling. You hate yourself. Feeling even more small than you already do with the way he’s always towering over you, and so you look away, pretending he isn’t currently holding you hostage. “Everything. Tonight. You, especially, I…” Struggling, you shake yourself. Frowning at the ground. At the sturdiness of his lithely muscled chest. “All of it. All Dexter’s and my week’s of planning. It’s all coming to a head so much quicker than I realized it would, and there’s already so many loose ends, nothing is as foolproof as I wanted it to be, and…” 

Breathe.

Again, you struggle to shake yourself. To keep your voice lowered and calm.

“I can’t… I can’t fuck this up,” you allege at last. Willing yourself to sound firm in this. “I feel like I fuck up so much, but I can’t mess up right now–not with this. There’s too much on the line, and not just for me. I can’t… My sister, I can’t…”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, not any longer. Fail even to realize you’ve stopped talking at all, until Brian’s thumb smooths along the skin exposed just above your neckline.

Your eyes, as if with minds of their own, are suddenly trapped in the hanging darkness of his. And you cannot for the life of you read his watchful expression.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asks you quietly. 

After moments more of wavering beneath him, you slowly grit your jaw.

“I told you we had a deal, didn’t I?”

His hushed gaze passes across yours. “You did…”

“And what was your end of it?” you ask him–quiet enough to escape other’s attention, yet honed with accusation. “That if I changed my mind, you’d sit there and laugh at whatever that rotten bastard twice my size wants to do to me?”

He doesn’t respond. Merely watches, without denying, and doesn’t stop you as you finally succeed in shoving his hand away from you.

“I’m fine,” you allege; willing it with all your mustered strength to be true. “Sorry to disappoint you.” And with that, you’re already walking out from under the looming shadow of him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The hospital’s lobby is a bright, massive dome poured through with natural light, filled by the bustle of so many people. Patients, doctors, nurses, social workers… Security guards…

You catch sight of the portly guard you spotted outside, now lazily surveying the trailing crowd of people who surround you in the lobby. Your footsteps halting upon once again spotting him, hands wringing helplessly at your sides, until you nearly chirp out some sort of half-choked shriek to have Brian abruptly swoop in, scooping your hand in his. Entwining his long fingers with yours like a lover in leading you forth before you can nervously dawdle there a second longer, deeper into the sunlit bowels of this place.

“Relax,” he says; guiding you toward a little gift shop. To a small, vacant table just outside the sandwich café that’s attached at its side. And as he pulls from it one of its metal chairs, ushering for you to sit, you obey only out of confusion whilst your mouth peters open to object.

“What are we doing?”

“Stay here,” he says, as gradually you bristle against how he watches you.

“You dragged me in here just to ditch me?”

He looks away. Barely paying you any mind as instead his interest travels across your surroundings. Seeming to take note of everyone and everything that passes through his vision.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m trying to protect you?” he asks at last, with barely a glance.

You stare up at him as he continues to ignore you. Not knowing what to say to that. Not sure if you believe him.

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether he’s genuine or not.

“I don’t need protecting,” you mutter at length. 

He’s studious as his gaze returns to yours beneath him. Weighing something unsaid behind the veil that leaves him such a mystery, before eventually offering you his graceful hand.

One corner of his lips hints up at how surprised you apparently look to have so easily convinced him.

“As the lady insists,” he says, quite simply. His hand remaining offered. “Off to our appointment, then, my love.” 

Even then, when he’s agreeing with you, you find you hesitate before actually accepting his help. Something just feels off about him, always – in some way hidden, with almost everything he does or says. But you have a part to play in whatever his plan in this hospital. The part of his girlfriend, so you take his hand like a girlfriend would and allow him to whisk you to your feet, his pianist’s fingers intertwining again with yours as he leads you through the lobby. Toward a broad, offshooting sunlit hall.

Down one hall, and then another, with your grip squeezing more and more tightly with every step he leads you toward some unknown end; one that might see you both arrested.

“Are you trying to make my fingers go numb?” he finally asks you, and you belatedly realize just how dry your mouth is, how tight you’re squeezing. Struggling to swallow just so you can speak.

“Where are we going?”

He slows a step in glancing at a directory on the wall, before ushering you down another hallway, and at this point if you were asked to escape this maze on your own you’d be too lost to succeed. 

“You’ll see.”

“Or you could just tell me.”

“That’d spoil the surprise. Besides, what did I tell you about constantly questioning me?”

Something changes in his gait, just a hitch, but it’s enough for you to follow his pensive eyes toward a man at the end of the hall; a man who is swiftly approaching. Wearing teal scrubs and surgical booties, and it’s clear he’s in some sort of hurry.

“Speaking of not questioning me…” Brian muses, eyes on the man and his brisk approach. “I promise I’ll make this up to you–”

“Make what up to me?” you already question beneath how he hasn’t stopped talking–

“–but in the meantime just try and trust me with this next part, won’t you darling?–”

And you definitely don’t trust him, that’s maybe the last thing that comes to mind when you think of him, but you don’t have a chance to say that before Brian abruptly pivots the both of you toward the bend of an offshooting hall; effectively slamming the two of you into the man rushing toward you.

The man grunts out in startlement as you choke back a cry of surprise–the brunt of impact tearing your hand from Brian’s, sending you careening to the floor. But before the tile floor can harshly catch you, Brian’s snaked his lengthy arm around your waist; scooping you up against his side again, like a small, baby bird beneath his wing. Coddling you there as though you’re hurt, as though you’re fragile; turning your harried face up to his with a gentle hand steering your cheek while he asks, with such a visage of worry, “Babe, are you alright?”

You blink up at him stupidly. So surprised to see such a convincing show of emotion you still somehow find hard to believe.

Brian searches your expression as though for wounds he might mend, before tossing a vindictive gaze at the frazzled man before you. “What the fuck was that?!”

He’s pissed. You’ve never seen him so irate. And the man in scrubs blinks just as stupidly as you do. His confusion transformed to concern, then shortly shifting till he’s tight and defensive. 

He doesn’t say a thing. Biting back, you soon guess, on arguing with a supposed patient.

“You need to watch where you’re going,” Brian again berates him, and the man at last succeeds in swallowing what seems his objections. 

“‘m… Sorry,” he puts forth gruffly. Like he’s too impatient to mean it; raring to hurry off again. 

Brian’s harsh expression eases just a touch whilst his hand around your waist gives your side a little squeeze, and you can’t deny you don’t exactly mind being this close to him…

“You know what,” he extends at length, exhaling a tautened breath. “...This place is pure chaos. I think we might’ve turned right into you–I’m sorry, man. It’s been a hell of a day.”

The man’s expression loosens somewhat in relief as Brian turns in gently assessing you. “You’re not hurt, are you babe?”

Gods, you hate whatever ingratiating, carebear-tone he’s using. But you roughly swallow down distaste before forcing out flatly, “I’m fine.” Very much hating whatever this supposed plan of his is.

There’s a glisten in his gaze, just for you; lost before he looks to the scrubbed-up man before you again. “You good man?”

The man nods, “Yeah,” clearly in a hurry to see this awkward situation end. And Brian, ever courteous, sweetly sends him on his way.

“Well…” he says, with a smile a touch too clever, his tone a touch too cloy. “Off you go, then~” 

The man’s jaw stiffens, though he doesn’t argue what sarcasm bleeds through Brian’s otherwise kind dismissal. Just biting it all back before bustling off again, weaving his way past the both of you, hurrying once again down the hall.

You glance back over your shoulder, watching and waiting for him to turn out of sight, before raising a glare up at your supposed prince charming. “What the hell, Brian? That hurt. ”

The curve on his lips is devilish. As, with the theatrical flair of a seedy magician, he presents to you a keycard with the scrubbed man’s picture on it.

“Borrowed this from our friend,” he says mischievously.

You kind of want to laugh at how proud he seems about that, but you stuff that down along with how you might be somewhat impressed with how quickly he was able to nab that while also catching you before you hit the ground.

“After throwing me into him,” you grouse instead of applauding him. “Like a human smoke grenade.”

He smiles at your pouting, not even denying it. Cooing in that fake boyfriend voice, “Baby, I said I’d make it up to you.” Regarding you with all the playful craft of the devil himself as you wriggle and twist out from how his arm’s snaked warmly around your middle, creating some much needed distance between yourself and him. 

“You’re the worst boyfriend I’ve ever had,” you sourly comment, to which he charmingly grins. Taking your hand again before you can stop him, steering you closer once more; your naval beneath his own, such is the height of him.

“Oh… Baby…” he croons, like he feels so bad for you. Smiling so dark and sticky and sweet down at whatever your flustered face is doing beneath his. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Our date’s barely begun, and I’m only going to get so much worse.”

Releasing you from the near-fatal enchantment of his grip, he wanders further down the hall without you. Tossing back a little look across one broad shoulder as you just stupidly stand there, too frazzled to move. Hiking a brow expectantly.

“Better hurry up,” he spurs you. “Wouldn’t want our scrubbed-up friend to find you here after realizing his keycard’s walked off all by itself, now would you?”

It’s enough to prompt your reluctance into moving. As, no, you certainly don’t want a stolen keycard being found in either of your possessions.

The further Brian leads you through the hospital’s inner catacombs, the less natural light there is, until there’s no light at all beyond the buzz of fluorescence overhead, washing out everything until your world is stale and lifeless. And as more and more employees brush by, all wearing surgical scrubs, the more querying glances you receive as you’re passing by. Yet still, no one stops you. No one questions beyond a glance. Something about Brian’s confidence stopping them. So it would seem you’re still allowed here.

That is, until you reach a set of heavy, double doors hewn of metal, slotted with miniscule square windows. A dead end, at which Brian flashes his stolen keycard without a moment’s hesitance; completely second nature to breaking in. Holding it flat against the little black box of the doorway’s electronic lock, which beeps and flashes green before those heavy doors drag silently, automatically open.

Stepping through them after Brian, who steals carelessly in, your nerves are met with a wave of cold air as you wrap your arms around yourself to keep from shivering. Trying not to look as apprehensive as you feel, to be inconspicuous. All while Brian skates down these sterile halls like a lizard on ice. Like to pretend is a familiar second skin, perhaps even more familiar than donning the suit of himself. 

He nods you toward a drinking fountain near a pair of wooden doors; one on either side of it. Pausing in ushering you near.

“Now, listen, my lovely pupil,” he says; a flute-playing charmer to his spiteful, sharp-fanged snake. “I doubt our friend has access to the women’s dressing room.” His voice falls to a low, gentle murmur as some type of surgeon walks by, though it doesn’t stop him from continuing. “And loathe as I am to leave you fidgeting in the hallway by yourself, potential mishap that you are, I need to fetch us our costumes.”

Your gaze darts nervously about. “Is all this really necessary?”

There’s no way this is necessary.

His eyes are on the passing surgeon’s back as he gently takes your upper arm, guiding you into that little crook within the wall which houses the doors and fountain, before he steals a glance about yourselves ensuring you’re alone.

“All these questions,” he lours, his deliberation back on you. “Sit. Stay. I’ll be right back–try not to miss me too much.”

You’re left to insipidly grumble, “Wouldn’t dream of it,” as he leaves to scan his keycard at the door for the men’s dressing room. Though he twists a clever grin across one shoulder before he departs.

“Oh, I think you might.”

You don’t have time to bite back with something witty before he’s gone, and he’s gone for much longer than you expected or are at all comfortable with, preferring to’ve never been dragged in and ditched here at all. Left with pretending to get a drink every time someone busily passes so they can’t see how out of place you probably look. Unable to come up with any clever reason for why you should be here, in what you guess is the OR. If anyone asked what you’re doing, if you work here, you’d have no way to prove whatever lie you’d spin that you do.

You’re about halfway convinced to just ditch this handsome fuck to whatever devilry he’s up to while you instead hide in the car, when the door he passed through is suddenly opened, and with a sharp glance at the sound of it beside you, you almost don’t recognize him.

He’s wearing cerulean surgical scrubs, which billow yet somehow accentuate his tall, leanly muscled frame. Sky-hued booties are tugged over his overly expensive shoes. A laptop-sized black bag beneath one arm, which you assume was thefted from some poor someone in the dressing room, the bulk of it stowed with something. And you can’t help but stare as he ties on the blue surgical cap around his messy web of curls, the jawline-lengths of which stick out at mussied angles. Because it's kinda dorky, but also kinda…

Cute. 

Okay? 

He’s fucking adorable right now. 

And you stuff away your thoughts on this disastrous fact as you can’t help but gobble down an unhealthy eyeful of him, before staring at the wall as though its blank canvas is the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.

He seems to take a moment to remember you’re even there. Though eventually he’s raised a brow at whatever your face is doing. 

Luckily, he doesn't further question whatever your discomfited expression.

“C’mon,” he says, leading your way down the hall. “Need to find you a place to get dressed.”

A small frown tightens your lips before you’re hurrying after him. “Why can’t I get dressed in the bathroom?”

“They’re attached to the dressing rooms,” he explains as you bustle to reach him. “I’m afraid we’ll have to get a bit more creative than that.”

Great.

Wandering through those chilled, barren halls, you try not to steal too many glances through the tiny windows of each operating room you pass, not wanting to look any more like a tourist. Morbid curiosity having you catch a few glimpse of surgical teams surrounding unconscious patients; short tapestries of teal and white and red.

Brian tries his keycard at a door opposite the rows of operating rooms, which flashes red, before he’s fluidly moved on to the next, which lightly beeps as he’s allowed entrance.

He sidles in just a step; gazing up, glancing down. And as you shift forth alongside him, you see a poorly lit stairway that seems a constructional afterthought. Quiet, empty, cavernous.

With a satisfied hum, Brian gives a small nod in motioning you follow him in. Leading your way down the stairs to a small, center platform. Both your footsteps echoing for many flights up and down this towering room, and the door feels to slam behind you with how hushed it is in here. And though you’re not exactly enthused at the idea of getting undressed in here, you suppose it's better than nothing, and does seem relatively unused.

Brian’s already shuffling through his leather bag as you meet him on the center platform, and he’s shortly offering you a pile of pilfered clothes the same color as his.

“Scrub up, doctor,” he says, with a playful lilt. “We’re expected in surgery.”

Though as you take the costume he presents, waiting for him to look away so you can do just that, you find he doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn from how you slowly, cynically eye him by even an inch. Appearing more expectant with every second, perhaps just as expectant as you, though clearly you’re expecting different things.

“Are you going to turn around?” you finally ask him.

His smirk’s so slight you barely notice it teased upon the softness of his lips. 

“What,” he says, like he’s harmless. “I’m surveying the scene. Making sure no one stumbles across you with your pants down. You’d probably tangle them ‘round your ankles and fall right on your face if that happened.” His handsome face dons a mockery of concern. “I’m protecting you.”

Heat rises up your cheeks. “Go survey the scene somewhere else!”

You’re both at once distracted by the sound of a door opening high above you, both your gazes jerking up as it sounds to creak open, then heavily shut. Echoing about these vacant halls without anyone actually sounding to step in. And after moments of you both still and silent, tautly listening in ensuring you’re still alone, Brian finally looks back down at you.

“Relax, will you?” he states. Grabbing the loopholes of your jeans; tugging you just a step closer as your eyes grow all wavery and big. 

Words are honey on his tongue as he asks, “If I turn around will you stop being such a baby about this?”

You bite your lip, hard, before grousing up at him, “Let go of me before I pull my gun.”

It might’ve been a joke, if you didn’t sound so serious. And though you’re not sure how a gunshot going off at Jackson Memorial is the best way to continue laying low, you could scrounge together some story of how you followed someone you suspected might be the Ice Truck Killer into this very stairwell, if you had to. Of how you had to kill that certain someone in defending yourself.

His expression doesn’t change as he seems to weigh your words, the possibility within them. The merest glint, like sun on black ice, reflected from the recesses of his ebony gaze.

“So touchy,” he slowly remarks, before eventually releasing you. Finally turning away; broad shoulders and slender waist facing the wall opposite you. “Hurry up.” And you take full advantage of the absence of his dangerous gaze to change your clothes as quickly as you can–shedding your pants down hasty legs, wriggling into the lower half of your scrubs and tying them round your waist. 

It isn’t ‘till you have your top pulled up over your head, bra fully in view, that Brian speaks again.

“You need to learn to loosen up, detective,” he says to the empty space before him. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

“Don’t quote James Howell at me,” you say, tossing your discarded shirt on the dirty floor before slipping the teal one over your head. 

He sighs. “Can I do anything without you being a bitch about it?”

When he glances back at you, it’s lucky for him you’re fully dressed, seeing as otherwise you would have slapped him. And you despise how your cheeks start to burn as his dark eyes trace over you, slowly down your form, stirring unwanted heat in their wake. As slowly, slowly, they fall to the bulk of your gun, tucked awkwardly beneath the waistband of your pants.

Eventually, his eyes return to yours. Somewhat playful as he asks, “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“The gun one,” you return without pause. “I’m not happy. Not to see you. Any more questions?”

He merely raises his brows like one might to an ill-behaved child. “You can’t bring that; it’s completely obvious you’re carrying. Someone will notice.” He offers his hand, nodding toward the clothes on the floor. “Give me your clothes,” he says softly. “And the gun.” He says it like an afterthought, but his eyes are intently on yours. “I’ll hold onto them for the time being.”

Yeah fucking right.

There’s no way you’re letting this wolf in sheep’s clothing disarm you.

“Not happening.”

His handsome smile transforms to something else. Something with less warmth reflected on it, though still genteel enough. “You're going to get us thrown into hospital prison,” he mildly jests, before adding more carefully, “Don’t make me take it from you…”

You're not even sure it’s a threat. It could just as easily be him joking. It’s impossible to tell with him, or with any beast who doesn’t bare its teeth before lunging.

You thumb up the hem of your shirt in snaking your fingers round your Glock’s grip. 

“How about I hold onto the gun,” you plainly suggest, “and you lead us the fuck on so we can get what we need and get out of here, hm?”

His gaze is a shadow. Something lurking in ice-carved trees, a prowling aura you cannot see through darkness. But eventually, that snow settles with the seeming warmth of his smile. The corners of his eyes gently creased.

“Can’t wait to see you on stage tonight,” he says. Giving you a courteous amount of distance as he’s smooth to brush right past how you warily watch him. Heading back up those steps toward the door you came in, taking them easily two at a time. “At this rate, you’re bound to give quite the performance.”

He lazily scans the keycard at the electronic lock pad near the door, which gains you access once more to the OR.

“After you, little killer,” he says; hands slipped nonchalantly in the pockets of his surgical pants as he leans back on the opened door in holding it open, carefully regarding you as you remain for a moment down the steps. 

His eyes never leave yours as you dip down to grab your clothes off the floor in stiff, wary hands. As you make your way slowly up after him, impatiently tucking away your hair within the sheer, blue hairnet he’d previously bequeathed you.

One lithesome hand is offered at your approach, to which you hand over your clothes, and you assume he stuffs them away inside his bag before following after you as you hurry out into the hall, anxious to have him too close at heel.

His prowling, lengthy steps easily catch up to you, and it’s clear you could never outrun him.

“This way,” he says, before leading you further down the hall. Mildly checking what lie past the windows of a few doors, while a surgeon and anesthesiologist pass making small talk. He pays them no mind, while you avert your gaze nervously, until at last he’s humming out a little, “Ah… Here we are.” Flashing his stolen card at a door which obediently chirps and pops open at his request, and he holds its way open for you.

“Ladies first,” he says, with the watchfulness of a wolf.

You wish you could grab your gun as you pass him, but you’ve made it this far without being caught, so you just swallow your never-ending nerves and hurry past him. Hearing his low, throated chuckle right behind you as he follows you in.

Even that drags its claws down your nape, leaving trickling trails of gooseflesh down your skin that tingle and tease until you haphazardly paw them off you.

You wander into some sort of sterile supply room; one with several operating rooms attached to it, divided off by heavy doors. Rows and rows of metal, rolling carts with shelving are laid out before you, along with white cabinets lining each wall.

Brian wanders in past how you stand there uncertainly like he owns the place. Like he’s been here before, though he hasn’t. Or, at least you don’t think he has. It’s impossible to tell with him; he's a night-drenched enigma.

He tugs open one metal drawer, which rolls fluidly forth, before he’s swiftly closing and opening another.

“Tell me if you see any hardware,” he says as his eyes take quick inventory of everything he sees. “Saws, drills–that sort of thing.” Pausing just a blip to regard how you’re just standing there instead of obeying your murderous shepherd, instead wavering in place, not knowing what to do. “Go on,” he spurs, the patient teacher. “Get looking.”

You glance around the cold, fluorescent quiet, before questioning in a whisper, “What if someone comes in here?”

“What if someone comes in here?” he returns, rather dull. Already focused once more on the hunt. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you look like a surgical tech. That was kind of the whole point. Just tell them you’re looking for saline flushes or a bag of dextrose or something.”

Saline flushes or dextrose?

…How many times has he done this before?

Cautiously, you get to searching, seeing no quicker way of seeing this perilous mission through. Unable to stop how you furtively glance around the too-bright silence at every little noise that isn’t Brian searching through drawers several shelves before you.

“Are you so familiar with this because you’ve worked in a hospital before?” you ask to distract from your nerves. “Or because you’ve made a habit of breaking into surgical units?”

You hear him slide closed a drawer and stride toward another. Completely heedless to the fully scrubbed male nurse who suddenly pushes into the room from one of the attached operating rooms.

The nurse glances at you both, before fetching a vial with a red lid from a cabinet right beside Brian. Walking back out again while you watch after him in anxious paranoia, and Brian seems not to notice him at all.

“Do I have to choose?” he muses, nonchalant, before exhaling a low and exclamative, “Ah- hah~ ”

You suppose he’s hit the jackpot, thank god–and, closing the cabinet you were sifting edgily through, you make your way over to see what he’s so happy about. Spotting him spare a short glance about before stuffing some sort of… is that a saw? –inside his opened bag.

He smiles at your questioning look.

“Oscillating orthopedic bone saw,” he explains, as though answering what you’ve failed to ask. As if that will suddenly make sense to you, when you still have no idea what an oscillating orthopedic bone saw is other than it’ll obviously make quick work of dicing marrow.

Why he couldn’t just use a regular saw for that, you fail to grasp. Then again, there’s apparently far more types of saws in this world than you’d ever realized before your adventures today. 

You see him grab a few scalpels. Some forceps of various size, along with some different metallic contraptions. One of which especially appears like some kind of torture device, and you expressely don’t question what it’s all for.

But he’s not done yet; by all accounts not having stealthed all this way just for nothing. He bags another sort of saw, like a thick wand with a small, circular blade at its fore, and something else you barely see beyond the tail of its electrical plug, before buckling closed his bag at last.

“I think we’re all done here,” he says. Motioning with his dark-scruffed, angular jaw back toward the door you came in. As if this endeavor was all so damn casual and not potentially life altering. “C’mon.” 

Your heart’s a skipping drum; your path from the hospital a restless dream. Neither one of you really talking as you follow him making his way so apathetically out of the hospital’s surgical unit. 

It isn’t until you’re out of the OR that he makes what you assume is the allusion of small talk whilst the both of you retrace your steps through this sprawling maze, which you do your best to keep up with as though not anxious at all about the slew of stolen medical gear you’ve got currently stashed away. And about halfway back to the gift shop (you think, such is your lack of direction), he nods you off to a patient bathroom to change, while he saunters off to do likewise.

You throw your scrubs in the trash, not knowing what else to do with them. Adopting once more your role of twitterpated girlfriend as he holds your hand and guides you, while you ignore how much comfort you draw from his touch. And by the time you’ve both finally breached the hospital’s doors, are tucked safely within the confines of his candy-red car once more, you’re so relieved you’re nearly giddy.

“Fuck I never want to do that again,” you exhale, while he gives you that little look you suspect is once more questioning why you’re such a headache about everything, which you promptly ignore. “Alright, drop me back off at my car.”

“Not yet,” he returns. Smirking at your incredulous glance. “We've still got some time to kill, amongst other things…” Gods, he thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he? “And this isn’t a proper date if I don’t take you out to dinner before our show.”

Your stomach clenches at the mere mention of food, whilst he starts up the car beside you. “I’m not hungry, and this isn’t a date.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, lighthearted. “You can’t work on an empty stomach.”

“That’s precisely how I’d like to work tonight, thanks.”

“Why?” he asks, far too coy. “Afraid you might lose your dinner?”

Yes.

“No.”

A smile slowly spreads across his face as he shifts the car out of park; eyes on the road. “I know just the place. Reclusive. Romantic. ”

You feel yourself sinking lower in your seat as you stare desperately out the window.

Just what you need….

More time alone with this annoyingly good-looking freak.

“Fine,” you say flatly, but he lowers his lashes like that’s the most romantic thing.

“Are you always this in love with me?”

“I told you I’m not hungry.”

“Then you can watch me eat,” he returns, promptly ignoring your complaints. “I’m starving .”

The sun’s just beginning to set, molten hues burned against palm tree skyline, as Brian pulls into an alley lot beside some warmly lit restaurant and bar you’ve never heard of. The car wheels rumbling across old, cracking asphalt, before he weaves into a spot. Shifting his expensive car into park before getting out, and you sit there–tensely, silently debating in that war within yourself–deciding if you should just refuse to follow him on inside, only to jump as your door is abruptly opened for you.

How does he keep sneaking up on you like that?!

Lofting from on high, Brian offers you his hand, and he’s really going in hard on the date angle, isn’t he?

“Madam?”

Yeah. He really is. And he looks so cheeky about it, too.

But you just unbuckle your seatbelt and take his offered hand; adopting his beguiled tone as he helps you to your feet. “Thank you, darling.”

There’s the smallest blip before his smile spreads wider, showing teeth. 

It’s so disarming when he smiles like that. Like he actually means it.

“C’mon,” he says, good-natured. Ushering you on his arm through the dim-lit alley, out to where the front of the small establishment is radiating warmth and low, Cuban music. Its walkway strung rafters-to-lamp posts with strands of fairy lights that dazzle against the oncoming night. Muted laughs and clinking glasses gliding out into the night from inside.

It’s homey, this place. Like a hole in the wall where everyone’s a regular, and you just know the food is worthy of licking your plate. But it’s hard to enjoy the comfortable, intimate ambiance when it’s the Ice Truck Killer leading you toward the elderly hostess who pleasantly greets you both; who leads you toward a secluded corner of the room, to a booth procured for you at Brian’s request.

He doesn’t glance at the menu as he slides in opposite you, one arm spread along the ruby-pillow backrest of the seat you share, curved as it is around the darkwood table. “Ready to order when you are.”

You pick up the menu as if it might contaminate you, the idea of food so presently revolting. “I take it you eat here a lot?”

“You’d be hard pressed to find better Cuban food,” he says. “The pollo sofrito’s good if you’re in the mood for chicken.”

You never thought a wanted serial killer would be so casually recommending you meals like it were the daily special. And you don’t want to order a thing. But when the waiter arrives and Brian orders two pork cubano’s (guess he really is starving), you just read the first thing off the menu you see, not really registering what it even is.

It takes a long moment to notice the way Brian’s cleverly smiling at you across the table.

“What?” you ask, but he only shrugs. Arm still comfortably outstretched along the curving seat’s backrest.

“Nothing.”

Yeah fucking right he’s thinking nothing. You’re starting to suspect this man is always scheming. But instead of calling him out on it, you find you’d rather pick his labyrinthine brain about something else. Something you’re surprised you’re so curious about, the more it presses upon your mind, though you don’t know fully why. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow…

You’re just curious.

“Can I ask you something?” you wonder across the table, and he quirks a raven brow in your direction.

“Seems to me you already are.”

It’s enough of an invitation.

Still, you uncomfortably rub your arm. Tuck away a strand of hair to steady yourself, before pressing onward. All while he watches you with what seems a gentle, mounting interest.

“I barely knew who you were,” you say, “before… Well…” 

Before you were branded as the ‘Ice Truck Killer’.

You glance around, as if someone might be listening, might be privy to even your thoughts. Brian, meanwhile, doesn’t shift an inch from how his focus lies on you. And when at last your eyes return to his, it feels his own have never left you.

“I was at the hospital when Tony Tucci was fitted with the prosthetic you made him,” you say, in a slightly more hushed tone. Just in case someone might hear you, though you must admit Brian chose this table advantageously for a pair of would-be executioners like yourselves. “The grand reveal party, or whatever that was.”

His interest is visibly piqued; the curve of his rounded lips twitched in thought. “You were…? Huh… I don’t often forget a face.”

“I was only there for a few minutes,” you say, “and we never spoke.” Watching him closely as you add, “I saw you flirting up Deb, though.”

You pause, not sure if you’re waiting for him to respond to this, but he doesn't say a thing. And for a while, neither do you. The two of you merely observing one another from across the silent table. Attempting to peer inside one another, it would seem; to glean what secrets one’s words would keep out of reach.

“You guys seemed so cute together,” you murmur at length. 

His expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t deny, doesn’t agree with you. 

So you continue; left with no other recourse than to do so. 

“Was any of that real?”

Far-off dinnerware clatters lightly outside your mutual intensity. The soft chatter of restaurant patrons mingled with the low hum of Cuban music, drifting slowly past your ears. And it’s all you can hear for a while, as the man before you remains in watchful silence.

Eventually, he scarcely inclines his head.

“Not even remotely,” he says, with such bare conviction you find it hard to doubt his words are true. “She was a means to an end. Nothing more.”

Still, some part of you doesn’t believe that. Doesn’t want to believe that. You saw how much Deb loved him. What his betrayal put her through. Hell, she was engaged to the murderous bastard–was never the same after meeting him. 

He didn’t care at all for her? Not even in the slightest, most incomprehensible way?

“Why?” you ask, instead of denying what he’s told you. 

He barely moves. Scarcely appears to even breathe in how he watches you. “Why what?” 

Worrying the inside of your lower lip, you try again. Aren’t sure why this is even hard for you to word. “Why… How… How could you not care about her…? With how much she cared about you? She was completely in love with you.”

As you wait for him to respond, his expression slowly tilts into a frown. 

“She didn’t care about me,” he lowly says. “She cared about Rudy. A man who doesn’t exist. She cared for a ghost, whilst despising the animal hidden inside myself. The only thing she loved was my leash; the bars of my cage, and I don’t like hiding inside it.” His umber eyes trace across your expression. Calm. Unreadable. “I don’t want Dexter to hide, either. Nor you. Why lie to ourselves about what we are? It goes against the laws of nature.”

Some shade of discomfort, something sinister and tight, creeps up along your nape upon him placing you in the same league as he and Dexter.

“I’m not like you,” you faintly protest, and he smiles; a cruel, bare curve.

“Sure you’re not.”

You don’t know why that ties so many strings inside you, wrenching them all into knots. And as the food arrives, with you and Brian accepting your plates in polar opposite displays of enthusiasm, you’re still hopelessly unsettled. Toying with the pasta you apparently ordered, far from anything resembling hungry, while Brian picks up one pork cubano and eats in giant, animalistic bites like a man half starved, and if there was ever any reason to doubt he was a relative of Dexter, seeing him eat was all the proof you needed–better than a DNA test.

“You know,” he muses between wolfish bites, undisturbed by your previous conversation. “You keep saying you have to kill this guy.”

“I do,” you mull at the table, stirring your directionless fork across your plate, before glancing up at him. Seeing his dark brows lightly pinch for a moment.

“Why?”

For a moment, you can’t even register the question; confused, and surprised as you are that he’s asking. He’s always professed he didn’t care.

But now that he is asking, you’re hesitant to explain. Not wanting to relive what makes you see that vicious, unforgiving red; that makes you hollow and hateful and nothing else. 

You don’t want to talk about it. But words are already falling from your lips.

“My nephew is the cutest kid,” you say, sounding very far away to yourself. Still stirring noodles you no longer seem to see. “She’s six. Ava. Quirky in this dorky, fun-loving way.” Your little smile at the thought of her fades. “Honest. Trusting.”

Too trusting; you push the thought away. Try to focus past that red which already bleeds along the edges of your vision, poisons your every heartbeat until you can hardly think.

“Her mom, my sister,she… She’s a single mom. Always working. And I can’t babysit as much as I’d like.”

Your fork stops stirring; words ashen in your mouth. And you can’t seem to go on. Lost in a void of yourself.

In your silence, Brian’s nothing if not perceptive.

“What’d the babysitter do?” he quietly asks.

Your eyes flit up to him. Hand numb around your fork. 

You don’t want to think about it. Not until tonight.

“Does it matter?”

“Seems to matter to you,” he calmly returns; dark eyes never leaving you.

There’s a stone in your chest where your heart once lived. A foreign, ugly thing that doesn’t belong there.

“I found out he was… redefining the meaning of ‘story time’,” you hear yourself say, unwilling to go into detail. Such vile disgust raising its hands round your throat, smothering you, that feels like they could at any moment consume you. “Turned it into a game she didn’t like. One where he took all her clothes off...”

You’ve already said too much you don’t want to think about; you won’t continue. And Brian, ever watchful, doesn’t press for more. Though, after moments of dragging silence…

“You’re a cop,” he says. Hushed, yet quite bluntly. “And you and Dexter have been planning tonight for... what? Two weeks?” His expression is carefully unmoved. “Why didn’t you just arrest him?”

It’s like he already knows the answer. Just wants to hear you say it out loud. And though you’re loath to give him what he wants…

“Because I broke into his house, instead,” you find yourself admitting. 

Brian’s eyes are hawk-like. Perceptive to your every shift in expression. “Were you armed?”

You don't immediately answer. Or really answer him at all.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say. “He wasn’t home. But I found a bunch of hard drives under one of his floorboards while I waited for him.” You’re surprised your lip doesn’t bleed with how harshly you bite the inside of it. “One had my nephew’s name on it.”

You don’t know when you dropped your fork, only that you’re no longer holding it, and as you glare at the table it feels your jaw might snap.

“Turning him in is too good for him,” you murmur, so lowly you almost can’t hear how every word’s afflicted by hate. “I want that bastard dead. I want to feel the life stripped from his pathetic body, piece by excruciating piece. Want to hear as he chokes and sobs and gags and begs for mercy he never gave, and make him feel all those terrible things he made all of those little girls feel, and then I want to personally ship what’s left of him to hell.”

You stare at the table for a long time. So long you forget where you are, who you’re here with. And when again you look at Brian, it feels his study never left. Remaining ever-watchful as he takes another giant bite of sandwich.

It’s almost funny how he can eat at a time like this. There’s no way, in this moment, you could register what hunger even is.

“The belt sander’s starting to make a lot more sense now,” he remarks between hungry bites. 

He’s so calm…

You should stay calm, too. Like he is. You’ll have to be in order to get through what you’re going to do tonight. But even knowing this, it still takes substantial effort to somehow shake yourself from this ugly beast that’s crawled inside you. To shed its cruelly comforting skin and continue being human, instead of whatever vicious creature it would see you transformed to.

He seems to notice you struggling, or perhaps he’s just bored of your strangled silence. Either way, he swallows his next famished bite before you feel him reach beneath the table. His fingers just barely brushed across one of your knees, soft across the fabric of your jeans.

It makes you jump, not expecting his sudden touch; your eyes darting sharply up to his.

He smiles slightly to receive such rapt attention.

“Don’t worry,” he says. And you find the stillness of him, the firmness, oddly soothing. Infecting your nerves and rewiring them into something more at ease. “He may not know it yet, but his road to hell is coming.” Slowly, he smiles as he watches you. “So long as you don’t chicken out on me, that is.”

For a moment, you can only stare. But gradually, his taunting scratches through that stifling weight which feels to press on your every surface, until you don’t know whether to cry or laugh, to scream or scoff or slap him, it’s all so overwhelming. But in the end, you’re somehow smiling, just like him. Its barest curve a mirror of his own.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you venture softly. “Seeing me fail. Watching what happens.”

You’re surprised when he doesn’t immediately agree. And you can’t deny in him a sort of avid curiosity. A sort of hunger. A primal thirst, as he eyes you quietly from across the table.

“Not as much as I’d enjoy watching you work,” he says at last.

There’s only you and him. This room, it’s noise, it’s chaos–all of it sinks away, far and deep into a void, until there’s nothing left. And all you see is Brian, watching you like that from across the table. And all he seems to see–right now, and since first sitting–is you.

[mschoiyuki]

Silence

Trafalgar Law x f!reader

tw : angst. angst. angst. just angst. SFW

wc : 5.1k

a/n : Law is a foolish man. Interaction with the Straw Hat Pirates. I'm not good at writing summary, sorry ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀) And I'm sorry for the grammar error. Actually I've been thinking so hard, should I make it a happy ending or not. But... Oh well...

It's best to read this while listening to :

❆ Taylor Swift - You're Losing Me (From The Vault)

❆ Bruno Mars - It Will Rain

❆ Paloma Faith - Only Love Can Hurt Like This

Enjoy ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Law used to smile to you like that.

Law used to gave lingering touch to you like that.

Law used to sits next to you like that.

Your heart used to beats faster when you were with him.

But one day, everything suddenly change. You want to ask him why, but sadly you're just his crewmate. Law is your captain. Nothing special between you.

Even though he is your captain, you will give your life for him in a heartbeat. Maybe for Law it's just a natural things to do. Yes, another crewmates will also give their life to protect their captain. What's so special with you giving your life for him too? Nothing.

One day on midnight, it's your turn to on watch. You bump to Law on the hallway. There's some sweet perfume wafts from his body. You clench your fist, greeting him with a smile, "Captain." And off you goes, not wanting to hear any responses from him.

The next week when Polar Tang docked at an island for supplies. You bump at Law again at dawn. You can see a red mark on his neck. You just smile and greets him, "Morning, Captain." And you walk away.

You walk fast to bathroom, letting out whatever it is in your stomach. Slouching on the sink, gripping your arms tightly, you cry in silent. You don't want anybody to finds out.

From that day onwards, you made up your mind. Shoving that feelings deep down, sealing it on your pandora box, throw away the key far far away.

You act like a true crewmate, no feelings attached. Every mornings you wake up, you will perfecting your smile in front of the mirror. You train the muscle really hard, you must to make it as natural as possible. So no one knows it's fake. It has to be perfect.

No eye contact. You will answer Law question short and sharp. Giving your best smile without meeting his eyes.

No lingering touches. You will keep your distance an arm length from Law. As natural as possible. Even you try to eat first or later to not sit at his side.

Week turns to month.

Until one day, you witness it with your own eyes. When you leave the bar and want to go back to Polar Tang, you see him. Your beloved captain, Trafalgar Law, walks to a motel with a woman. His hand on the woman waist.

Your body trembling. Your head dizzy. You want to let out the beers you drank out from your throat, tears are threatening to falls. You clench your fist until it's turning white.

Sachi, Penguin and Bepo walks out from the bar, want to follows you back to the sub. But they halt their steps. Following the direction of your gaze.

They knew. Knew Law been to the bar. They knew there's always a girl at his side. They've confront him about this, but he told them to shut up, Law told them to not meddle his personal life.

You take a deep breath and blinks away the tears. And you start walking back to sub.

The man that you loved for years, breaks your heart to pieces. You even haven't confess to Law. Yet you already has the answer.

Then what's the point to stay at here? Why you have to torture yourself more than this? The answer is clear. You chuckle to yourself. Why are you so foolish. You're just a crewmate. Even if you're gone they won't make a fuss.

"Let's just wait for another chance." You thought to yourself.

That night, your heart losing it beats. It's not beating faster when you think about Law anymore. When you wake up with tears stain on your pillow, you lost your voice.

Strangely you're not panicking. Because you remember you read it on a book at Chopper's library, it can due to trauma or it can be from shock that your brain or heart produce.

The others panics. The trio runs to Law, telling him about you lost your voice. Law's face darkened hearing the news. Law immediately rushing to you.

"What happened?" Law try to reach your arm, but you take a step back. Avoiding his touch.

Don't touch me with those filthy hands. Those hands that touched other women.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, you smile and shrug. You write on the sketchbook "No need to panic." And you walks away from him resuming your duty.

Law just stand there, stunned. He remember this scenes long ago. Just like Cora-san when they first met. But are you really lost your voice? It can be you just faking it like Cora-san.

The trio know what Law's been thinking, Sachi breaks the silence "No, Captain. It's real."

Penguin chime in, "We already check on her, we try to prove it. It's real."

Bepo just start to panic and want to cry.

Law's minds been busy, thinking the way out to get your voice back.

But Law doesn't know about your plan.

You know Law's sleeping schedule, mostly Law will be at his office until morning. He rarely sleeps on his bed. Before dawn you slip something under his bedroom door.

While the other are busy getting ready to submerge, you walk out slowly without making any sounds to avoid bumping to other crews. Off to the fresh dawn air. Then you see a merchant ship docked at the harbor not that far, they starts to pulling their anchor.

You start to run faster to the merchant ship, after you reach them you write to them that you need a lift to another island to find your "husband". They agree to help you and they start to sail.

You look back again to the direction where the yellow sub docked behind a hill, the place that been home for you for years. The place full of happy and sad times. The place where your loved one is. The place where your heart used to beats full in love there.

You left your home. You left your family. You left the man you loved. You left your heart there.

When Law enter his bedroom, he step on something. He picks up a piece of paper and open it. His eyes widened and he start to search for you in every corner. Even your room is empty though your belongings still there. Law can't find you anywhere.

"Hakugan! How long have we been submerged?" Law slams the control room door, out of breath.

"Around six hours, Captain." Hakugan clench his heart, shock with the sudden burst and scared if he makes any mistake.

"Fuck! Turn back! Turn back to the island! NOW!" Law is furious now. How can he oversleep until this late? If only he didn’t stayed up late last night.

Sachi runs and stumbling at the door, "The letter... Captain.." Sachi tries to catch his breaths because he runs as fast as he can.

Penguin arrive behind Sachi, holding out the letter, "We found this."

Law snatch the letter and read it. It contains a simple words,

Thank you for the memories ꨄ︎

There's no doubt in it. This is your handwriting. The handwriting that Law always brush lovingly and memorize. The same handwriting on your letter that you left for him.

I loved you.

Law yell the order to Hakugan again, "Turn back to the island!" He walks back to his room, Sachi and Penguin follow behind him. When Law open his door, he rush in and slam the door right in front of Sachi and Penguin face. He doesn't need any lectures now.

He slides down from the door, sitting and read your letters again. The letter for him, I loved you. Loved. That means you don't love him anymore? Did he made a mistake? All of this is his fault? He stare hard on your letter, LOVED.

And suddenly a droplet of water stain the letter. Law choke on his own tears. He want to scream, he want to rips his hair off. But he can't. He punch the door in frustration, there a small yelp behind the door that goes unnoticed by him.

Six hours. Law prays that you're still at the island. He will take you back no matter what. If you ask him the reasons, he will tell you. He will tell you everything you want to knows. As long as it can takes you back to him. He will tell you his true feelings, his feelings toward you. He will do everything, anything. For you. He will make it right this time.

When Law arrive at the island he waste no time to cast his power. He use all of his energy to cast a big "ROOM" that envelopes the whole island. He close his eyes, he wish, he hope, he prays that you will appear in front of him. And he cast the "Shambles".

None.

Nothing.

You don't appear in front of him.

He tries, tries, and tries again.

Penguin grabs Law shoulder, "She's gone, Law. She's left. Let's go back inside."

That moment, Law feels like his heart being torn apart to pieces. It's all his fault he lose you. How could he be so foolish?

Why would he think being with another women will keep you safe? Why he didn't realize your pain? Why he didn't realize your changed attitude towards him? Your smile, your distance, no more lingering gazes and touches. Why he just realize it now?

It's too late now. He hurts you, he lose you too.

Penguin and Sachi follows Law to his bedroom. Law just sit at his bed with his hands in his face. Penguin and Sachi look at each other. Seeing their friend like this broke them too.

"Do you realize all the women you pick resembles her, Law?" Penguin break the silence.

Law still hide his face. "Their height, features, hair colors and lengths it's all resembles to her, you know." Sachi take a step forward.

"I didn't slept with all those women. I couldn't bring myself to slept with them. It never feels right, those women is not her. They can’t give me what I want likes her" Law shoulder is shaking.

Penguin kneel in front of Law, "Then why did you that, Law?"

"I just want her to be safe. You know I've got a lot of enemies. I'm so scared that I can't protect her. What if I lose her?" Law mutter, his voice is cracking.

Sachi sit next to Law, gripping his shoulder "You already lose her, Law."

Law can feel a sting in his heart, the pain almost unbearable. Being so broken Law poured all his heart out to his best friends.

"I shouldn't have let those women get close to me, let their stinky perfumes on my clothes. Gave me mark on my neck. She must've seen it. She must've knew."

"She saw you took a woman to motel, Law." Penguin sighs.

Law freeze and lift his face in horror, "What? When?"

"Night before she lost her voice." Sachi fills in.

"What? Then it's my fault she lost her voice?" Law whisper, his voice thick with sadness. Law can feel the anguish slowly engulf his heart and mind.

Sachi and Penguin wants to comfort him, saying it's not his fault. But the words just won't come out from their mouth. So they just stay there with him, watching Law stare blankly at his hand and crumble.

He will take you back, no matter what. He will travel around the New World again to find you. All he want is just for you to be safe. He prays to all the Gods for your safety, and to gives him your forgiveness.

For four months, Law lost his direction. He will only comes out from his office to give orders and then shut himself at his office. Sachi, Penguin and Bepo try their best to help Law. They will bring foods for him, dragging him to take a bath. If he force himself to sleep at his bed, he will just curls up clutching tightly on your letter praying that he will meet you on his dreams, smiling and holds him tight. He will gives you all his love for you. Hell, he even will says the three words to you. Even if it's just on his dreams. He drifts off to the dreamland with tears to meet you there.

Every times they reach an island, Law will cast the "ROOM", if there's no result he will order them to move to the next island immediately. Sachi and Penguin even beg to Law to stay for a couple days at the island to get some supplies and rest before resuming their journey. They understand Law impatience, but they still try to persuade him.

They think Law is just like a ghost now, losing half of his soul. The only thing that can cure him is you. They also prays every times they reach an island, hoping you are there. To end Law misery. They really want to tell him to give up, but they got tongue tied every times they see his face.

The first month after you left Law, you stay at the island for awhile to collect some berries for your next journey. Sometimes you will help the local doctor, or working at the diner as cook.

When the berries is more than enough, you will move to another island. Maybe you runs away from him, if you stay at the island longer you afraid you will meet him. Heh. There's no way he will looks for you. Who the hell are you? You're not that important to him. You're just a crewmate. Stop thinking so high and mighty about yourself, Y/N. You chuckles and shake your head in disbelief.

The second months, you meet the Sun God. The person you least expected to meet.

Luffy is so happy to meet you again after years. He wraps his arm around you, "Does this mean Torao also here with you? I want to meet him! I miss him!" Luffy chirps.

You just give him a sheepish smile, and you write, "No, I'm alone. I'm no longer Heart Pirates crew."

Luffy just stare and tilt his head, confuse why are you using that sketch book, and you explain to him that you lost your voice. Luffy then drags you to Sunny, "Chopper can help you! Let's go!"

You try to let out your voice, to tell him no but the voice is not coming out. You just let him take you to Sunny.

The other crews are so happy to meet you again. Nami, Robin and Chopper embrace you so tightly. They rush you to the infirmary to check your health. They are so shocks hearing Luffy's information that you lost your voice and no longer Law's crew. As you try to calm them down, "It's okay, it's not a big deal. I'm still strong even without my voice." You give them weak smile while show them the sketch book.

Nami and Robin knows there's more into it. They exchange glances and hugs you, Nami gives you pat on your head while Robin stroke your back. As if they know your real reason. As if they know your pain, your heartbreak. Chopper just hugging you too without knowing why.

For the first time after two months, you cry your heart out. Sobbing in their embrace. You want to let out all of your screams that you've been hold back for months. But you can't. There's no voice coming out. You cry until your throat is hoarse and dry, and fall asleep on their embrace.

The next morning you wake up with swollen eyes. Sanji rushing to get ice packs for you, "A beautiful lady like you mustn't cry, Y/N-chan. Tell me if there's something you crave, I will cook it for you in no time." And he kiss the back of your hand. Nami warned to the other crews to not mention Law's name. It's a forbidden word at Sunny, whoever utter that word must pay a huge amount of berries to her.

"Eeh. Whyyy?? Why can't I say Torao name? I want to ask her about how he's been doing." Luffy whine to Nami. Nami grab Luffy's collar and threaten him, "If you says his name one more time, you won't get allowance for a month. I dare you." Luffy zips his mouth tightly.

"Just stay with us, we won't say anything to him." Luffy sincerely say it while all of them gathering waiting for lunch. You can feels the tears are forming at the corner of your eyes, you mouthed "Thank you." and try to blinks away the tears.

Even though you're not sad anymore, the crews know you changed. You're not the same person as they met back ago when the alliance with Law's formed. Your smile is not the same, you're not the cheerful person like back then. What had happened between you and the Heart Pirates Captain?

One day when you, Nami and Robin enjoying Sanji's dessert at the deck, she can't help her curiosity so she cautiously ask you, "Did both of you broke up?" You put your spoon on your lips and write "We're not together. We're just crewmate and captain." Nami and Robin stunned with your words. Nami try to pushed again but Robin pinch her with her extra hand. They just don't understand why both of you are not together. They saw how Law gazed at you. How Law always following close behind you every where you goes, like a lost cat. But they didn't push further, maybe you're not ready to tell them yet.

Days by days pass peacefully, some part of you think maybe it's not that bad you get on board with Luffy. It's almost makes you forget about your pain. You can saves more berries, maybe someday you can settle down at some island and enjoying the domestics life.

Some days, you help Sanji with preparing foods or wash the dishes. Other times you watch Luffy antics. There's no days pass without fun on Sunny.

Until one day, Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Brook and Franky make a fuss with the sea king monster. In such a chaotic mess, Nami hit their head until two lumps appear at each heads. And she yell at them, they just lowered their head until a soft breeze blows and Luffy raises his head to hold his precious straw hat, "Oh! Y/N is laughing!" The others snaps their head to you, seeing you laugh for the first time. The real and genuine laugh.

Nami and Robin jumps at you and hug you. The others also laugh, Sanji's heart eyes appear at the sight, and there's a slight tinted blush at Zoro face, and he smile. Even though they can't hear your sweet voice, at least you're laughing now. They just hope you will turns to the old you.

They never thought of you as a guest at Sunny, they treat you like their nakama. When you're down, they will try to cheer you up. Zoro sometimes offer you to clean your katana, or even training together. The girls watching Zoro's behavior and it's so strange for him to interact with someone on his accord.

Nami pulls him and threaten him, "What're you doing? What's your intention, Zoro?"

He deadpanned on Nami, "Nothing, just offer her some companion?".

Nami point her finger, "If your intention is not clear, or you just need someone to warm your bed you better back off."

Zoro takes a step closer and gives Nami a stern look, "I'm. Not." Zoro growls. Maybe he just pitied you, or maybe he just want to take care of you, or maybe he just want to protect you. He doesn't know himself why.

As months goes by, you're getting a little bit cheerful like the old days. And you even gets closer to the crews.

When Luffy see an island holding a festival he decide to dock. Before Luffy and Chopper can scurry off to the town, Nami hold them and tell Luffy to bring one or two crews with him. To watch over him to not cause any ruckus.

Zoro voluntary says he will go with Luffy making the others screech. Nami turns to you "Y/N, can you please go with them? Me and Robin will go later and catch up with you guys." You nods and go to change your outfit. Wearing white shirt with a short and sandals. You run off to Luffy and the others whose been excited to enjoy the festival, “Let’s go!!” Nami shouts from the back, “Zoro!! Please don’t get lost! I’m counting on you, Y/N! Have fun!!” Zoro just rolls his eye at Nami and you giggle while wrapping your hand to his arm. Zoro jolt at your sudden touch and eyeing you, you mouthed “So you don’t get lost.” You grin and lead the way. Zoro just huff and shake his head, hiding the subtle smile.

Tagging along with Luffy that want to eats all of the foods on every stalls, and Chopper want to try all the attractions makes your heart full. “Look! That roller coaster is so cool! Let’s try it!” Chopper shouts and excitedly point at it. “I’m gonna pass on this one. To tired. I will wait for you guys down here.” Zoro already sits on the bench and cross his arms.

You feel bad leaving him behind and want to stay too, but Zoro just shoo you to go with them, “Just go, it’s okay. It won’t take that long.”

Then you go with Luffy and Chopper to enjoy the roller coaster. But when you guys come back down, all of you are drenched. You guys just laugh while Zoro dumbfounded looking at you guys. Zoro put his cloak on your shoulders, “Your shirt become a see-through.” As he looks away from your body. Your face flushed and mouthed “Thanks.”

As you guys walking back to Sunny with hands full with foods, there’s two people looking at you from afar with their jaws dropping. They can’t believe their own eyes. They exchange glances to make sure it is really you.

“Should we call Captain?” Sachi already takes out the mini den den mushi.

“Ugh.. Wait! But look at her! She’s laughing! She’s happy, Sachi!” Penguin grab Sachi hand.

“Guys! It’s-!” Bepo suddenly appears and shout but Sachi and Penguin quickly shuts his mouth.

“Sshh!!!” They gesture in unison.

“Should we call Captain??” Sachi press again.

Penguin is still in agony. “Peng! Captain needs her!” Sachi getting impatient now because he almost lost you on the crowds.

"Fine!! Fine! Call him." Penguin surrender, still unsure if this is the right things or not. Because he also knows you are suffering from Law.

When the news reach Law, he immediately teleport to the shore. He use his power to teleports here and there, to find the Sunny.

And he sees you, draped in Zoro's cloak, your hand grabs on his arm. And you laugh. You laugh with them. The smiles that he missed so much, the smiles that you used to gave to him. You looks... Beautiful. You looks... Happy... Are you with Zoro now? He can feels his heart clench. He will finds out himself.

This time, he will make it right.

Suddenly you see a blue orbs envelopes all of you. You freeze, gripping Zoro's arm. You know damn well this blue orbs. And he appears in front of you. The man that you loved with all of your heart. He looks like a mess. His eye bags getting more darker.

Law so relieve when he see you this close. Finally... He can take you back with him, he moves his hand to reach you but Zoro take a step in front of you and stand between you and Law.

"Move, Zoro-ya." Law stand tall against Zoro.

But Zoro doesn't move an inch, and you still clutching on Zoro hiding behind him. When Luffy and Chopper see Law, they excitedly shouts, "OOH! TORAOO!!" But Zoro prevent them to get close to Law.

"What do you want, Torao?" Zoro still in his defensive stance.

"I don't have any business with you. I'm here for Y/N." Law still looking at you. "Let's talk, Y/N. Please." He's pleading now, you never hear his voice this soft. You still consider should you talk to him? Part of you don't want to talk to him, you don't want to see his face. But maybe this is the time...

You come out from behind Zoro and you nod. You point to a big stone under the shade and you gesture to him to follow you there. You write to Luffy, "I'll be back."

You and Law walk to the shade, you lean on the stone and write, "What do you want?" You shove it to him, but you didn't look at him at all.

Law furrow his eyebrows. It hurts. "How you've been, Y/N?" He reach for your face but you avoid it. It hurts so bad. He clench his fist and take it back to his side. "Please, look at me, Y/N." His voice cracking.

You freeze and slowly turn your head to meet his gaze. There they are, the grey eyes that you used to loved is filled with tears now. But it makes you furious and without you realizing it you hit his chest with your both fist. Law lets you hit him, if it can makes you feel better then it doesn't matter. If it can makes you back to his side, then it's fine. He will take it all, your furious, your hits. Everything.

Your head hung low while you still hitting him for God knows for how long. But Law realize you've been crying. He grabs your wrists, "Look at me, Y/N. Please." You lift your head, still sobbing. Law's eyes quiver with the sight, he pulls you right to his chest. He hug your trembling body tightly, he will not let you go.

"Please come back, Y/N" Law whisper beside your ear.

You snap your eyes open realize this is not right. You shove Law then you wipe your tears with your sleeves and write in a quick pace, "I'm not coming back. You should go back."

"Y/N, don't do this. Please come back to me." Law reach out his hand for you to take it, he looks so sorrowful. You shakes your head furiously. Law take a step toward you still reaching out his hand, "Why are you doing this, Y/N? If you love me then just come back to me." He slowly walking to you.

"I'm not! I don't love you anymore!" You write then tear the sheet and you throw it to Law. Then you write another one and throw it again. He picks it up and read it “I hate you.” Law’s eyes widened and he clutch the sheet, “Lies. You’re lying.” He stands in front of you.

“I’m not lying.” You look straight into his eyes.

“I don’t love you. And I’m not going back. Leave. Go back, Captain. I’m just one of your crew-mate, you don’t have to waste your times for me.” You starts to walk away from him.

Law grabs your wrist and turns you to face him, “I love you. I love you, Y/N. Please come back to me.” He’s crying. Trafalgar Law is crying in front of you.

You try so hard to hold back your tears. You tell yourself, don’t cry, not now. You shakes your head and yank your wrist, “It’s too late. Goodbye, Law. Take care.” You leave Law standing there in silence.

You walks back to Sunny without looking back at the man you loved. You thought you’ll be strong to leave him again for the second times, but why these tears just won’t stop? As you reach Sunny you quickly wipe your tears.

“Can we sail out now, Luffy? Please?” You write to Luffy. Luffy just nods and tells Nami to set off.

You storms to your shared bedroom and lock the door. You throw yourself to your bed and cry your heart out, screaming to the pillow. The crews freeze when they heard your wailing. When they wish they can hear your voice again, they don’t mean it like this. Not your voice when you’re in pain. They just stand at the deck looking at each other, they can feel your pain. But they can't do anything to erase your pain.

Law walks back to Polar Tang in tears with your sketch sheets in his hand, it feels like he reminisces the old days. The days he cried when Cora-san died. You left him too. If only he could be more honest with you. If only he didn’t act like a jerk. If only he didn’t hurt you. None of these will happen. If only…

When the crews see Law coming back alone they don’t utters a single words to him. He just walks to his bedroom in silence, only the trio follows Law. Law slumps to his bed, covering his eyes with his arm, the other hand still holding on your sketch sheets tightly at his chest. Penguin being the brave one to break the silence, “Is she?” Law answers short, “No.”

Sachi continue, “Do you tell her everything?”

“It’s too late. She hates me. She doesn’t love me anymore. She left me.” Law curls up holding your sheets tightly.

Law can't get you return to his side again. He can't have your heart forever. He can't see you anymore. He can't hear your sweet voice anymore. At least he want to hear your voice before you go.

Law doesn't know you get your voice back again.

Law summon "ROOM", the blue orb surrounds him and he cast "SILENCE".

For the first time Sachi, Penguin and Bepo see their Captain crying in despair. They just hope their captain can get on his feet again.

It's too late now...

Is it too late now?

This is the end...

Is this the end?

Part 2

dividers by : @saradika-graphics