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sundrop-writes · 1 month ago

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Why Am I The One?

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Reader

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

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

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

Why am I the one always packing up my stuff?

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

Why Am I The One always packing up my stuff?

Summary:

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

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

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

Word Count: 15,200

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

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

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

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

...

It was a lonely night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A knock on the door. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he was carrying a large duffle bag?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Isaac-” You choked out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t care about me anymore.”

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

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

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

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

Isaac held his breath at this.

Dammit.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

You were surprised when you heard the sound of kissing.

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

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

“Isaac?!” You gasped, utterly shocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged, his eyes avoiding you suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a sob.

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, just tell me-”

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

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

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

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

You fled, tears ripe in your eyes.

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

And ultimately - you found yourself so achingly alone.

…

Eventually, you had let it go.

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

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

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

“Take your clothes off.” You told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You still loved him.

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

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

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

But no - you couldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt betrayed.

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

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

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

You were determined not to let it work.

“Isaac, you must be freezing, you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just as you were about to, he spoke again.

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

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

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

It was a dangerous feeling to have now.

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

“Isaac, please,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had never been like this with you before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something inside of you snapped.

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

You reached up and slapped him broadly across the face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When would fighting for him no longer be viable?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isaac stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The realization was still crashing over you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged.

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

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

Of course.

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay, you want real?”

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

“Dammit!” He cried out in protest.

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

She grinned at him. “You’re welcome.”

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

“Takes one to know one, sweetie.”

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

So Isaac stayed far away from you.

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

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

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

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

…

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

What the hell had happened?

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

Isaac was a werewolf.

That was a lot to take in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had he actually killed his father?

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

So why? Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your eyes were glowing yellow earlier.”

Isaac sighed in defeat and slumped back against the bed.

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

“Scott.” You said simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You waited patiently in his silence.

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

“You know Derek Hale?” Isaac posed.

That was a complex question for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Derek sounded like an asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were they no longer friends, or-?

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

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

This came as a shock to you.

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

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

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

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

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

“And Derek -”

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

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

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

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

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

“I feel so alone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

Isaac slept for a few wrecked hours, maybe less.

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

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

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

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

…

When you woke up, Isaac was gone.

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

Happy reading!! -Sunny <3

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

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reidingandwriting · 1 month ago

Text

Dog Days Are Over > w.w. & l.h.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Pairing: Wade Wilson (Deadpool) x Reader x Logan Howlett (Worst!Wolverine)

Warnings/Contains: Alcohol, average language usage for Deadpool universe, suggestive reference, some referenced violence, allusions to murder, references to Logan's background, Logan's a little emotionally constipated and doesn't cope Well, nightmare, hurt/comfort, a little angst, reader gets a little sad in this one, Logan also gets sad in this one, but happy ending!

A/N: I swear this ending feels so conclusive but I Promise there will be more coming soon for the boys. Working on a NSFW chapter and I am. So So Normal (lies) about these guys so I want it to be Perfect, but I should have it up SOON.

Previous chapter / Next chapter

You’re not sure when exactly the dynamic between you, Logan, and Wade shifted. It was subtle at first and suddenly you realized. You realized just how much time you spent with the two men. Realized that you all of your free time was spent with at least one of them, and the times you weren’t with them? You missed them like crazy. You yearned to be around them.

They had recently gone on some work trip, and you could barely stand being without them. You texted the both of them frequently, even with their minimal responses due to… whatever work they were doing. You were vaguely aware of all they did when they were gone, knowing who they were, but they tried to keep you separated from their less than legal occupation.

It had been about a week since you had seen them (six days, twenty hours, and approximately thirty six minutes) and you were convinced you were going to lose your mind. And then finally, god fucking finally, when you were laying on the couch, you heard the familiar knock on your front door. You jumped up, almost tripping over the coffee table in your haste to open the door. “Shit!” You groaned, rubbing your shin before opening the door. There stood Wade and you were on him before he could say a word.

Wade picked you up, supporting you by your thighs as he held you. He was uncharacteristically quiet as he carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him. You started to tug his mask off, frowning when you saw him.

“Damn, did I get uglier out there?” Wade joked but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“You look upset.” You paused for a moment. “And you’re alone. Where’s Logan?” Wade tightened his grip on you before he sat down on your couch with a sigh.

“Drinking. It,” another sigh. “It was a hard week.” As Wade talked, he rubbed his hand up and down your back, a grounding method he often used. Needed to feel you, knew you were safe. If he was with you, he was safe. You were safe. “We almost had him. He was almost okay.” Wade dropped his head to your shoulder, and it was your turn to rub at his back, leaning your head against his. “Fuck knows I wanna be shitfaced right now, but you’ve domesticated me. Turned the stray into a pet. And no, readers, that is not foreshadowing any pet play from me in future smut. Not kink shaming, just kink asking why.”

“You sure you’re not drunk right now?” You asked and Wade pouted up at you. You brought your hand to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his lips. Wade pressed a gentle kiss to your finger and you smiled, heat blossoming across your cheeks. “We should probably go get him, shouldn’t we?” You asked and Wade gave you an apologetic look. “Let’s give him a little longer before we start the wolf hunt.”

“While we wait, I demand spooning. Having depravations, actually. I think I could die.” With a soft laugh, you fell back against the couch with Wade, welcoming the way he immediately buried his face in your hair. One of your boys was home. Time to get the other one where he belonged.

You were grateful Logan was a creature of habit, when you found him quickly after walking into the bar you worked at. You walked towards the table he sat at, his back to the wall in a quiet corner and you scuffed your foot against the ground when you got close. You knew he didn’t need the warning, knowing he likely heard you and Wade speaking the second you walked in. But he looked so out of it, you were worried. You took a seat across from him, observing him.

You wanted to talk to him solo first. Hoping seeing you would be enough to get him home, at least. You could smell the whiskey in the air around him, noticed the way his shoulders were hunched. He looked like the version of himself that walked into the bar a couple months ago. Your heart clenched in your chest when he finally looked up, there being a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. He looked… distant. Detached from himself and everything around him.

“Yes?” You flinched at the tone of his voice, the roughness of it.

“Just wanted to come check on you. Wade made it home and you weren’t there. I’ve missed you.” You kept your voice soft and Logan sighed.

“‘m fine, bub. Just needed a moment alone.” Logan set his glass down, gaze shifting towards the table. “Just a minute.”

“You ready to come home? Or do you need a little longer?” You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You could see the gears turning, knew he still wasn’t quite there with you. Physically, sure, but mentally? He was gone, and you were unsure if he was trapped from a week ago or back even further. You hadn’t seen him this stuck before and you didn’t know how to proceed. You should’ve brought Wade over. As different as the two were, they understood each other. He’d know what to do.

“Yeah.” Logan exhaled as he stood up, startling you. “Let’s go home. ‘m pretty tired. Know Wade’s gotta be, too.” And that was that. Logan held his arm out, an invitation, and you tucked yourself into his side. Together, you walked to where Wade was watching, and you shot him a worried look. Wade nodded, a barely perceived motion. He fell into sync with the two of you, and all three of you headed home.

You woke up to mumbling. You continued to lay there, eyes closed, thinking it was Wade sleep talking again. Then you heard the rustling of the covers, felt the thrashing. You opened your eyes, blinking as you adjusted to the darkness- only a faint glow from the hallway nightlight (after a few too many late night face plants after tripping on something in the hallway)- lighting up the room. The mumbling grew louder and you looked over at Logan. His brows furrowed, his chest quickly rising and falling as his sleep talking became more urgent. Panicked.

“Logan?” You whispered. You glanced over to where Wade was out cold; wanting to wake him, but hesitating. “Logan.” You reached out. Your hand barely touched his arm before he woke up, grabbing your arm. “Lo-“ You were cut off by a gasp as he flipped you over, straddling you. The sound of his claws unsheathing as his fist landed just a couple of inches from you.

A few seconds later, you watched as recognition hit Logan, awareness taking over his hazel eyes. He looked less frantic, less like a cornered feral animal. The calm lasted all of three seconds until his gaze traveled to where his fist laid- claws buried in your pillow.

“Logan,” you whispered when you finally found your voice again, but it was too late. Logan was up and out of your room before you could even sit up, and you took a few deep breaths to settle yourself. It was a nightmare. He’d never, ever hurt you. You knew him, trusted him. This thought would’ve been reassuring, until you realized. While you knew him, knew he wasn’t a threat. You also knew him. You knew how he viewed himself. Knew that he’d blame himself.

“Ev’rythin’ okay?” Wade mumbled, the commotion starting to wake him. You leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Be right back. Nightmare.” Wade seemed to wake more at that and you gave him a sad smile. “If I’m not back in a few minutes, come on out. I need, need to talk to him for a minute.” Wade nodded and squeezed your hand once before you got up. You walked to the living room and frowned at the sight in front of you. Logan sat on the couch, leather jacket on and struggling to tie his boots on. His hands trembled as he cursed under his breath, muttering something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Lo.. where are you going?”

“Not sure. I need- need to get out of here. This was a mistake, all of it.” Logan’s words were jumbled, his breathing erratic. “I’ll have Wade get all my things.”

“Get your things? Why do you-“ Realization hit you like a bucket of ice water and your mind was screaming with panic, desperation, but most of all, hurt. “You’re leaving.”

“I am.” Logan’s eyes wouldn’t meet yours as he stood. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“You, you can’t just leave. Talk to me, Logan. I can help-“

“No, you can’t! You don’t understand anything, and you never will.” Logan had never raised his voice at you, and you felt frozen in place. The room felt so much bigger, colder, and you felt small under his gaze. “How could you? How could I ever think this would be worth anything?”

“You don’t mean that. I, I know I don’t get it. I’ll never completely understand how your brain works, how Wade’s works. I’ll never understand everything you’ve been through and everything you still deal with every day. But I want to try. You’re worth it to try.”

“I can’t. I can’t do it, bub. It’s not worth it. This,” he gestured between the both of you, “isn’t worth it. I was deluded to think it was.” You couldn’t do anything but watch as he walked towards the door, opened it, and closed it with a quiet click without looking back.

“Sweetheart? I heard the door, is everything- hey, what happened?” You turned to Wade, cheeks wet with tears, and you slowly sat on the couch. “Where did Logan go?”

You didn’t respond; you couldn’t. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. A choked sob left you and you buried your head in your hands as sobs racked your body.

“Come ‘ere,” Wade said as he sat beside you, pulling you into his lap. “I gotcha, princess. I got you.”

Wade felt helpless and he fucking hated feeling helpless. You were miserable. You flipped between borderline manic- keeping yourself busy with work, picking up extra shifts, going on runs, baking like crazy- and catatonic. Wade would order in dinner, try to coax you into eating, and basically acted as your literal support system. Helping you shower, practically attached to your side as you walked.

It had been almost two weeks since Logan disappeared, the only communication he’d had with either you or Wade being a text to Wade with an address for him to drop his things off. And Wade waited. And waited. And waited for Logan to show up, katana in hand. Ready to turn the bitch into a kebab and drag him home, kicking and screaming all the way. He wanted an explanation, if nothing else.

But Logan didn’t show that night. Wade had waited hours, had almost fallen asleep waiting for the brunette to show up. Wade eventually went home and dropped by the next morning- all of Logan’s things gone. Al hadn’t seen him, he hadn’t been at your bar. The Wolverine had disappeared just as quickly as he had reappeared in this timeline, the only physical traces of him being the bottles of whiskey in your fridge and the now discarded (after Wade managed to pry it from you) pillow he had punctured. The mattress would have to be replaced later, Wade didn’t think you could handle parting with it yet.

It was the middle of the night, sometime in his third week of going MIA, when Wade caught a glimpse of him again. Logan lingered in a dark alley, ever the fucking lurker, and Wade stalked over to him.

“Hey, furry!” Wade called out. Logan barely had time to react, eyes flashing briefly with recognition before Wade’s fist collided with Logan’s nose, the crunch echoing.

“Fuck!” Logan cursed and Wade shoved him against the alley wall.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t cut your fucking head off and splatter your pretty little blood all over this wall,” Wade’s voice went rough, threatening. Wade’s mask was off in the safety of the alley, and Logan stood still as the blade of his katana pressed against his throat. His eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles under his eyes reappearing. He looked rough, and not in the hot and rugged way.

“How is she?” Logan rasped and Wade pressed the blade down further, a sliver of satisfaction hitting him when he saw the slight cut on Logan’s neck.

“How do you fucking think, dipshit? Miserable. Have to carry her to bed every night because she sits there. Staring at the front door, waiting for you to walk in the front door.” Wade dropped his weapon, kicking his boot against the wall as he tucked the katana back in its sheath. “She misses you. We miss you, peanut. Fucking furious with you. Worried about you, too. Mostly just want you home where you belong. Even if you’re in trouble with the missus.” Wade walked over and leaned back against the wall and let his head fall against Logan’s shoulder. Logan wrapped an arm around Wade’s shoulders and both men exhaled, a little shaky.

“Missed you, bub. Missed the both of you. Was at the house earlier,” Logan admitted. Wade, for once, stayed silent and let him talk. “I was just about to knock on the door, and I couldn’t. Not after how I left.”

“She may bitch slap you when you come in. Rightfully so.” Wade nudged his head against Logan’s shoulder. “But it’s not home without you. We’ve missed you so much.”

“As long as you’ll have me, I’ll be back.” Logan tilted his head to look at Wade. Wade’s gaze turned soft and he leaned up, slowly, giving time for Logan to shove him off. He didn’t press his luck, kissing the corner of Logan’s lips, letting his own lips linger.

“Come on,” Wade whispered against his cheek, and Logan shivered. “Let’s go home.”

Well, that wasn’t the welcome Wade expected. He had walked inside first, leaving Logan outside as he greeted you with a quick kiss. He told you someone was waiting to see you outside, and you felt your stomach begin to twist. It couldn’t be…

But it was. Your mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water, as you stared at the man you loved. The man who broke your heart. The man you wanted to slap the absolute shit of, but also the man you couldn’t wait to hold again and kiss the breath out of. After.

Your hand moved through the air faster than he could react, the contact echoing throughout the room. Your hand stung and you could see the red glow blossoming on his cheek. You looked between Wade and Logan once, twice, three times before you ran down the hallway and locked yourself in the bathroom. Was it a foolproof method to keep them out? In theory, no. Either one of them could bust the door down like it was nothing. In practice, however, you were a fucking genius. You sat with your back to the door, knowing they wouldn’t risk hurting you.

You had been in the bathroom for a while, your joints aching slightly at how long you’d been on the cold tile floor. You were growing tired and you wanted to lay in your bed, but doing that meant facing Wade and Logan. Fucking Logan, you thought and your head thudded back against the door. Moments later, you heard the sound of someone on the other side slide down the door.

“You don’t have to talk to me, but I hope you’ll listen,” Logan said. “I’m not the good guy who gets to have a happy ending. And god, I feel so close to having one. With you and Wade. God, that felt weird to even think about.” Logan chuckled. “So I did what I did best and I ran. Like the dangerous guy I am.” You sat in silence, listening as he spoke. “You mean… so much to me, and that terrifies me. I would do anything for you, no matter what it cost me. And then I almost killed you that night.”

“I try so hard to keep you away from that part of me. I’ve always been a weapon, it’s what I know. It’s all I knew. They saw the animal I am, and they used me. I did horrible things, unredeemable things, and then suddenly I meet you. Someone who tries to help me see that maybe, just maybe, I’m more than the violent dog I was born to be. You’re showing me a new chapter of my life that I was too afraid to want. And in my attempts to avoid fucking it up, I hurt you. I fucked up.” Logan’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. “I’m not asking for you to forgive me. Not asking to be welcomed back, or to get another chance. Just needed you to know it wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you the way I did. I’m sorry.”

A long stretch of silence passed. Logan wasn’t sure if you heard him, if you had listened. The door opened, Logan bracing himself as he started to fall back, the door having supported most of his weight. A shuffling sound followed and suddenly, you were in his lap. You wrapped your arms around him, your grip on him tight as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“You ever do that again, I’ll find a way to castrate you.” A huff of laughter left Logan and he hugged you close.

“I’d deserve it.”

“You would.” You looked up at him, hazel eyes finally meeting yours again. “Think I need one last thing before I can forgive you.” You looked down at his lips then back up at him. A silent question.

“Fuck, yes,” Logan whispered as he leaned down, lips brushing against yours. A content sigh left you the moment your lips touched and you ran your hands up to his hair, gripping slightly. Logan groaned, a low noise, as your lips moved in tandem. He deepened the kiss, relishing in the whine you made as he explored your mouth, a needy little noise.

“If you two are fucking, I think I deserve to be a participant!” Wade called from the living room and you pulled apart, giggling as you looked up at Logan.

“Missed you,” you said after a minute. Logan tightened his grip on you before he stood, carrying you back to the living room.

“I missed you, too.” Logan took a seat beside Wade, you positioning yourself so you could sit with both of them. You stayed in Logan’s lap but stretched your legs out onto Wade’s. The three of you talked for what felt like hours, eventually moving to bed.

You weren’t sure when exactly the dynamic shifted. When you, Logan, and Wade became You, Logan, and Wade. When the casual flirting became more. When the not so secret longing turned to lingering touches, kisses and breathy laughter, and officially moving in. God, you’d always remember the look on Logan’s face when you gave him a house key the next morning.

Logan stared at the key, a million different emotions hitting him at once. He could feel yours and Wade’s watchful eyes on him, until he finally look up. His eyes stung with tears that threatened to spill as he choked out a ‘Thank you’ that had your eyes watering as well. He had a home. He belonged somewhere. Belonged to two people he’d destroy the world for, one of them being an obnoxious merc who would burn the world down for fun, and the other being a human who was just as stubborn as him, determined to make him see that maybe. Just maybe. He deserved the home he was given. He deserved the love he was getting.

And for once. Maybe he started to believe it.

Taglist: @flower-majesty-anon @scarlettsoldier @asdorlia

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ayasuki · 1 year ago

Text

6th Bakugou x Reader FANFIC RECS

some are short but they're good hehe (most of these are suggestive :P)

> • 𝑹𝒆𝒄 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕

" Dream Eater " by justatypicaltrash

dream eater!bakugou x reader

warning: slight angst

bakugo is an eternal living dream eater.

" I Like You, Okay?! " by kikyo-bnha-imagines

bakugou x fem!reader

summary: katsuki struggles to confess to his crush.

" Workshopped Romance " by itsmm4hiii

pro-hero!bakugou x fem!reader

summary: working for a hero costume designer has its perks like; meeting heroes, playing with cool technologies, getting you're name out- y/n didn't really expect her own boss will try and hook her up with a customer.

" Blood Moonlit, Must be Counterfeit " by irisintheafterglow

pro-hero!bakugou x reader

warning: swearing ofc cuz it's bakugo, mentions of drinking and alcohol, halloween party, first meeting, emotionally constipated katsuki and reader is kinda oblivious lol

summary: a guy at a party has a really good dynamight costume, and you two get to talking about your favorite heroes.

WARNING | beneath the cut are slightly suggestive to full on smut fics

" no title " by moominsuki

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: ch. 359-362 spoilers kinda. a little suggestive but fluff all around

summary: katsuki hates being off the job. but what he hates more is being treated like glass, especially by you.

" as the years go by " by quitesins

pro-hero!bakugou x fem!reader

warning: suggestive, slight nsfw, friends to lovers, unrequited love ig? virgin!reader, drabble

summary: being friends with bakugou since UA, watching each other change as the years go by, but still having room to learn more, so much more.

" no title " by izvmimi

warning: palace drama au, multiple wives, fem!reader, brief explicit sex.

" One More Time " by yanderenightmare

warning: derogatory dirty talk, spanking, angsty but with a fluffy ending

" no title " by dreamland03

bakugou x reader

warning: mention of sex like once, drinking, mention of trauma, bad self image

" Come Sit " by saturnorbits

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: cock-warming

summary: after a long day, all you need is bakugo.

" Feral " by smiley-babe

wolfhybrid!bakugou x fem!reader

warnings: aged up characters, lowkey monster fucking (hybrid bakugo has wolf ears, a tail, and fangs), knotting, HUGE breeding kink, no specific dynamics, biting, small blood kink (if you squint), marking/ bonding, heat/ rut behavior, panty sniffing, kind of rough sex, oral (f receiving), and fingering

summary: taking in a wolf hybrid already didn’t seem like a good idea, but when spring hits… all hell breaks loose.

" Personal Trainer!BKG " by bakubunny

personal trainer!bakugou x plus size!fem!reader

warning: oral sex (m receiving), rough sex.

" On To Better Things " by savnofilter

prohero!dilf!bakugou x fem!reader

warning: angst, strangers to lovers

sfw | toxic & abusive relationship, toxic baby daddy, mentions postpartum, mental health, arguing, mentions of legal proceedings, counseling, drama, cultural family expectations, love bombing, manipulation, a man being a hypocrite, reader low-key needs a new circle of people around them but that's neither here nor there, reader loves their daughter to pieces </3, reader's daughter is a hand full but we stan!, reader spaces out a lot, "our kids are best friends but we never met before and so happen to be single" trope.

nsfw | fingering, cunnilingus, groping, praise kink, reader has multiple orgasms (2, hinted 4), reader is a bit shy as it's been awhile and feels nervous, vocal queen reader, clothed sex, protected sex, comforting!bakugo, non-established relationship.

" Swipe Right " by ryukatters

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: dubcon, quirkless/college! au, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, cum eating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, biting, bkg gets a little rough with you, and bkg's also a fucking simp

summary: your boyfriend decides to make a fake tinder profile for you just to see how many matches you get. he comes to a realization just how many other people want what’s already his.

" no title " by katbakubae

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: language, dom!bakugou, possessiveness, jealousy, (mild) stalking, name calling, spanking, rough oral.

summary: sick of your boyfriends lack of time with you because of his busy schedule, you decided to take some time for yourself. unfortunately, letting that happen was never an option for him.

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bruh-anator3000 · 3 months ago

Text

Another quick fix of Death and the Wolf. Honestly, I wrote this based on a headcannon* and wanting to tie in some more details to this story, but this could honestly be read separately.

Warning: Weed, chronic pain, cancer mentions, they were roomates? Omg they were roommates. Sexual suggests/comments but its all fluff, Wade trying his best and slightly ooc but thats how pain is, Logan's emotionally constipated, and can't get high. No pronouns used for reader. Written in an hour-ish

*h/c: as incredible as Deadpool is, sometimes the cancer really wears his body down. The best cure? Getting stoned.

Pairings: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Reader

~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~

It's not uncommon for you to wake up before the other two. Sleeping wasn't a strong suit of yours, and the couch bed wasn't supportive. It was weird, however, when it was just you for longer than an hour. Usually Logan would've rumbled and grumbled his way through for a morning whiskey.

It would've been something you brushed off and ignored. Let them sleep in, and possibly have the apartment to yourself, but this case didn't feel right. Setting your coffee mug aside, you quietly call for Logan and Wade as you open their bedroom door.

You peek your head in, and find an unusual scene. Logan was awake, his arm wrapped around Wade while reading some book he must've found on the floor. Wade was curled into his side, eyes squeezed shut as his chest rose and fell with huffs.

"Hey," You start softly, announcing your presence. It felt weird interrupting a moment like this, seemed very intimate, but Logan didn't shoot out of bed and start cussing, so maybe it wasn't as inappropriate as you guessed. "Everything okay?"

Logan glanced over, shaking his head. He cleared his throat, planning to explain. Wade beat him to it.

"He pegged me so hard last night," Wade chuckled, wincing slightly. He sounded out of breath. And he wasn't turning around to give you vivid detail of such a night - like he would anytime he had sex.

"His pain's flaring again." Logan rolled his eyes. His hand wrapped around his shoulders gently pats his side.

"Am not." Wade quickly covers, but you've decided Logan was the truthful one a long time ago. "I'm always in pain, I eat pain for breakfast. I don't..."

He tried to roll onto his back to prove his independence. To show off that he was stronger than whatever his body was going through. The second he pulls away from Logan to demonstrate such, he's crying out with a short but loud groan.

The guttural shout made you wince. This has happened before. Wade will never admit it, but his body is his number one enemy. He thought he could laugh this off and pretend nothing was happening, but when your body is at constant war with cancer, you're going to feel it. Invincible as he may be, not even a man like him could escape the chronic pain.

"I'm not in pain." Hoarsely, he whispered. Logan propped himself up by the elbow, holding his chin. Watching this argument crumble into dust.

"So... you don't want to get high?" Sweetening the honey pot, you carefully step into their room and start searching Wade's bedside table.

"I never said that." He slowly, stiffly turns to watch you.

"I guess I'll get stoned by myself." Finding the collector's Wolverine lighter he bought as a joke, you set it aside and keep looking for his stash.

Logan snorts, watching Wade pout. He gets out of bed next. His plain tank and sweatpants fit comfortably around his frame. He walks around the bed and joins your side.

"Check the bottom drawer, under the panel." The grump suggests as he scoots the covers off of Wade, revealing his unicorn printed sleepwear. You do as he says, pulling the bottom of the drawer up. A small mesh bag of maybe four joints sit there. You'll have to get him more soon.

"Up, up," Logan slides his arms under the poor man's stiff body. One supporting his back, the other beneath his knees. Lifting him out of bed like a pretty princess.

"Oh yes," Wade rests his head on his chest. Really mushing his face into Logan's pecs. "Hold me tighter, you big old man!"

"I will drop you." Logan threatens, with no real intention of doing such. The idea alone makes Wade whimper and shut up.

He must be in a lot of pain.

Grabbing the sack of joints, you follow the two. Thankfully, due to your fantastic sleepy skills, you didn't fold the couch back up. Any other day, Wade would've been frustrated and Logan probably would've yelled because he stubbed his toe on the damn thing. But today, it was perfect.

You help Logan situate Wade, placing all your pillows and then some behind him to assist him sitting up. Logan lights a joint, not without smirking at the novelty Wolverine lighter. 'Cheap gimmick,' he would mutter.

"Can we watch Gossip Girl?" Wade leans into your side, his scarred face looking redder than usual. He was really in for it, crazy inflammation.

"You can't get a woody, though." You warn, grabbing the remote and flicking on the TV. "You need to relax."

You search through the recently watched playlist, the scent of weed building. Logan takes the first hit. He always insisted he did. 100 something years in smoking, he knew how to 'start a joint properly.' As if that was a real concern to either of you.

Wade shifts over slightly, turning his head to Logan. Smiling while Logan sighs, shaking his head before doing Wade's favorite party trick. Taking in a lungful and a half, he blows it all out through his nose, smoke curling up and wisping at his side burns.

It made him look like a feral beast. Breathing so hot, he was huffing out smoke. Like a sexy dragon. Wade loved it. Logan only did it because Wade loved it.

"You sexy minx," He puckers his lips, waiting for his hit. "My turn!" Logan chuckles and holds the end of the blunt to Wade's lips for him. Encouraging him with a soft 'there you go,' as Wade filled his lungs as much as he could. He wanted to be so stoned, he forgot what the word 'pain' even looked like.

Finally, it's passed to you. Plucking it from Wade's lips, you take a small hit. You weren't trying to speed run the high. The apartment quickly filled up with smoke and the scent of marijuana. It didn't stop until Wade was red eyed and pretty much passed out on your shoulder. You were out a long time ago, anyways.

Logan was the only sober one left. Unfortunate. He wanted to get stoned, but his system would need at least 200 edibles for him to feel something. He kept his arm around Wade, his hand on your shoulder.

Sighing with a hint of relief. He had been worried all morning. It wasn't normal to wake up to a silent Wade Wilson. Wasn't normal to see him crying first thing in the morning. He was in pain, and Logan didn't know how to fix it. And that killed him.

He hated when either of you were hurting, emotionally or physically. He couldn't help. He could bandage any wound but he wouldn't be any calmer. There were several days where he wished to just share a part of his healing factor with you. Days like these, he wanted to somehow absorb Wade's pain. He could handle it. Nearly 200 years of living, he would put up with the pain because he thought he actually deserved it.

Wade may be a talking dick, but he didn't deserve this. He was a kid. You both were kids to Logan. Everyone was to Logan. Young, dumb, broke,

"High school kids," Wade mutters a tune, finishing Logan's thoughts somehow. Execpt he knew you two were older than college students. The high school bit seemed out of place.

"Go back to sleep, Wade." Logan rumbles, deep in his chest. Pulling him closer, and taking you with him. Gossip Girl played quietly, but he didn't care.

He had you and Wade piled onto his side. That's all he needed.

#bruh writes #wolverine x reader #deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and Wolverine #deadpool fic #wolverine fic #logan x wade x reader

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moodymisty · 4 months ago

Note

You know what I think? Since most of the primachs are emotionally constipated along with their legions except Vulkan. I headcanon that gestures ( like hugs or Emperor forbid kissing(on the cheek) that might be acceptable amongst friends. Your primach lover/husband probably won't like or think every male other primachs will try to take u away. If it's a baseline human then depending on the primarch they're getting unalived. Or Peter Turbo will most likely throwing them of a balcony. Sanguinius on the other hand I see him being more lenient... on the surface. The angel will probably be a little pissed off.

Bobby G I see him nipping it in the bud and Konrad will probably just eat them or send em to the next chew toy of the Night lords.

I think depending on the legion they'll be offended for the genefather if a human tried to flirt with their Legion Mother. Plus it aint like they're gonna get another one. Not in this lifetime at least. ex Blood Angel's and Salmanders

The night lords would deal with the homewrecker immediately to prevent Konrad from going off the deep end and repeat the flesh statue incident

Lorgar would probably see it as sacrilegious for quote 'Attempting to separate the bond of him and his love, his soul mate, and goddess. You must perish for that.'

Since most of the legion and primarchs see humans as expendable except the Salmanders. I wonder how it'll go over if reader was a human from Terra whose heart goes out for the common man. Or reader tries to save her friend by pleading for her primarch to forgive the 'transgression'

Ps. I see that afterwards reader won't have many friends at least outside of the space marines. Or any friends she does have will distant themselves to avoid triggering a jealous Primarch

Sorry this is so long. Just wanted to know your thoughts

I agree with this a lot. It's easy to see how they would misinterpret friendly gestures, or allow love to turn into possession. And as for the legion, they are vehemently programmed to protect their primarch and in their mind their primarch's beloved eventually in a way becomes part of them, and is wrapped in that vehement protection, but being a baseline it's ever worse. People just trying to talk to her and show her respect get threatened until she has no one but her primarch and his men.

also yeah... sorry i vomited some writing here real quick.

-------------------

“Please, calm down!”

The Space wolf lieutenant largely ignores your plea, standing tall and intimidating the man who sits at the left end of the table. The other astartes of your retinue are similarly on guard, both in defense of their lieutenant. You are frozen in your seat thanks to a ceramite gauntlet holding you down, the marine attempting to push his body between you and their new target.

“Our Wolf Mother is betrothed to Primarch Russ. And you, some measly baseline, attempt to steal her?”

The man glances to you briefly as you try to argue on his behalf, standing up.

“Lieutenant! He was only being polite, stop this!”

Perhaps the man’s choice in words was a bit tackless, but he had clearly meant not much by it, however the Wolves take even the slightest thing so incredibly seriously.

"You are a beautiful and smart woman," His hand reached forward to gently touch yours over top of the papers you have stacked. "If only I had gotten to you before the Space Wolves did!"

Normally your men listen to you well; If Russ issues orders your husband will quite obviously rank above you, but they still take your opinion into a surprising amount of account. But for some reason during these past few months, as they've begun to call you Wolf Mother, they have shown their teeth and threatened anyone who so much as comes within grabbing distance of you.

"This is ridiculous, quit this!"

You look to the man who has lost all blood in his face, under the glare of a massive Space Wolf with braids decorating his hair. "I am so sorry, there's been a horrible misunderstanding and I-" You choke on your words as the instigating Space Wolf turns to you.

"There has been no misunderstanding, he-" You open your mouth and quickly speak, cutting him off. "No, there has been! The man was using hyperbole, he didn't actually mean what he said!"

The wolf looks down at you, and you see anger in his face slowly simmer down. You silently thank the Emperor and breath a sigh, putting your head in your hands.

This behavior keeps getting worse; You feel like you're stuck in a vice trap. So many people fallen from your life because they fear the snap of a Space Wolf's teeth, or worse, their Primarch's. You know Russ is instigating this behavior, encouraging it, is part of it, keeping you feeling so suffocated. You're so tired, you don't understand why they're acting like this.

Your head in your hands you let out a shaky breath, pressing down on the corners of your eyes so water doesn't leak from them. This is all too much. As you lean back up, the lieutenant sees the redness in your eyes and while stoic, is still noticeably concerned that you're about to cry.

"Wolf Mother… Are you well?" You take a deep breath and clear your throat.

"I'm fine. We should go." When you go to get up again, the gauntlet on your shoulder gives way and lets you rise up. You dip your head at the man who is starting to have color return to his face, now that he no longer is being threatened.

"I am so sorry, on behalf of everything. We'll be taking our leave."

You move to walk away, and your retinue follows close behind; Like a shadow.

#reply #misty's book club #leman russ x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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whackk-kermitt · 4 months ago

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Ain't No Shame in Simping

Warnings: Simping by Derek's emotionally constipated standards. (+ stiles talks about sex stuff briefly.) Summary: Derek is just looking out for the human who insists on throwing himself into danger. That is what he tells himself. OR All the times Derek was a simp for Stiles and the time the pieces fell into place.

NOT PROOFREAD

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Derek was a prideful man, an ego he'd never admit he had tended to keep him from accepting help from anyone. However, he still knew very well that Sties had exhausted his body keeping him afloat for three hours.

He felt guilt in his gut when he watched Stiles shuffle into his jeep to drive home. Derek wanted to ignore the twist in his chest when he heard the pitiful groan that escaped Stiles as his sore muscles ached in the driver's seat. As much as the human ego in him wanted to move on and ignore the fact that Stiles had in fact saved his life, the wolf growled at the pain and fear it could smell wafting off Stiles. The wolf didn't seem to mind the scent of the human that lingered on his flesh from being held up by him, back to chest, for hours.

He turned and moved away, giving in to the wolf and letting it lead him somewhere, running through the woods and finding himself a few minutes later at the Stilinski house. He was confused as to why his wolf purred at the scent of the human as he climbed up into the window. He chalked it up to gratitude, the wolf recognizing the scent of the man who saved him and choosing to not overthink it.

Stiles was now changed into plaid pajama pants and a Batman t-shirt, he was sitting on the edge of his bed only sparing Derek and curious glance through his drowsy vision.

They said nothing to each other as Derek approached and hesitated, unsure of himself, before reaching his hand out. He placed a firm grip on Stiles's shoulder.

He took note of the confusion and concern in Stile's chemo signals and the increased heart rate in his chest. Other than those things, Stiles seemed calm, too tired to really question anything that was happening.

Derek sucked up his pride and circled his palms into Stiles's shoulder, easing the rigid muscles. His veins turned black up his arm as Stile's pains and stiffness eased off. Derek refused to admit to himself that the satisfied sigh that fell from Stile's lift warmed his chest a bit.

Somewhere in the two hours he spent in Stile's room that night, stiles had laid down on his stomach and allowed Derek to rub and massage the ache from his back and shoulders. His wolf purred at the calm and steady heart rate and the comfortable scent that assaulted his nostrils.

When he was sure Stiles had fallen asleep he placed his warm palm on the bare flesh of Stiles's nape and absorbed more of the ache until there was nothing more to take.

"Thank you." He muttered pitifully, turned, and left.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When the danger made its home in the preserve, in the form of a feral omega, Stiles made his stand against Derek.

"I can help!" The boy franticly flailed his arm at the Alpha who scowled upon his arrival at the base of the trail into the woods.

"The last thing we need is a human in the crossfire." Was all he said as he grabbed onto Stiles's bicep and dragged him back towards the jeep.

"I brought moutine ash!" Stiles protested. "Wouldn't it be safer to corner the guy, and trap him?"

Derek, sighing in frustration, eyeing the human's whisky-brown eyes.

"Unless you're just planning on killing him." Stiles blinked.

Derek ignored the snickering from Erica and Isaac Behind him, not having paid attention to them enough to know what was said between them.

"Chase him out of town, kill him if I have to. What was your plan?"

"Trap him and appeal to his humanity." The human shrugged like it was obvious. "Try to save the guy before you rip his throat out with your teeth."

Derek thought for a moment, ignoring Scott's refusal to kill the man before at least trying to help him. He chose to base his decision on Scott's refusal instead of the hopeful glint in Stile's eyes.

"You stay close, no wandering off. And stay quiet. No talking." Derek scowled. "We'll track it down and I don't your babbling distracting anyone."

Distracting him he means. He doesn't say that.

"Deal," Stiles said, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips. Derek spared them a glance before leading the pack, plus stiles, into the woods.

The plan worked, sort of. Erica got a nasty gash in her side and Stiles tripped over a root and smacked his head on a tree when the omega turned to him in the shuffle. But they managed to herd the wolf into a cave and Derek kept in back by growling and intimidating to stay back. Perks of being an alpha.

Stiles stood at the mouth of the cave drawing the line ash, stopping just before the line was complete. "Derek," He called to the alpha.

Refusing to turn his back to the rabid wolf he slowly stepped back over the line and guarded stile as he finished the line. He pushed Stiles back as the omega, sensing it was trapped, charged. He immediately noticed the limp from Stiles's twisted ankle.

"How do we help him?" Scott asked Derek who shrugged.

"Dude." Stiles groaned.

"I've never seen a feral wolf before." Was Derek's only defense.

They stayed there for a while, talking to the omega before they gave up for the evening. Deciding to take shifts guarding the wolf while they spoke to Deaton about getting him back to humanity. There had to be a way to help.

Leaving the betas to guard Derek headed back to the main road to travel out to Deaton for a quick chat. Stiles, having the only car and refusing to let anyone drive his baby, was the one to give him a ride to the clinic before it closed.

The walk back the the jeep was slow, as Stiles limping and groaning slowed them both down. Derek, without a word of acknowledgment for his actions, turned and scooped the human into his arms.

Derek ignored Stiles's demands to be put down, "I'm not a damsel, I can walk just fine." He couldn't and he knew it.

His wolf purred when Stiles's heartbeat calmed and he laid his arms around Derek's shoulder relaxing in his arms.

Derek tried not to enjoy it, but he took his time getting back to the jeep.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Derek knew for a fact that Stiles wasn't a big fan of Thai food.

Only because he had overheard Stiles mention it when Scott had offered him to go to his for dinner, telling him what his mom was picking up on the way home from work.

So when Erica complained that he dragged them out to his loft for weekly meetings and didn't feed them during the sometimes hours they were there, she demanded he start feeding them. Her Boyd and Isaac voted that he picked up some Thai, and he had little choice but to agree.

On the way back, warm food occupying the passenger seat he made the realization that Stile wouldn't eat it. He's most likely mildly complaining about the choice, saying nobody had good taste.

Now he wasn't a big fan either, but food was food.

But something in him stirred uncomfortably at Stiles going hungry until he was home later that evening. He told himself he just didn't wanna deal with a hangry Stiles complaining about not getting a vote.

So he made a pitstop at the dinner and got some takeout for Stiles. A fat burger, chocolate shake, and some curly fries.

When he entered the loft, Scott and Stiles had already arrived. They were sitting with the others around the coffee table, crowding the couch, nobody dared to sit in Derek's chair. That spot was his and they all knew it well.

He set the bags down, as soon as his hand was off them Ecria was digging the food out, sorting through to get what she wanted onto her paper plate.

Stiles eyed the bag of food but didn't move to get any as all the others did. Isaac observed the single milkshake with a curious stare.

Derek set his own food aside before digging into the other bag, taking out the box with the burger and fries, and handing it to Stiles wordlessly. Putting the milkshake in front of him before taking his seat and eating his food silently.

He did it just so he would have to hear Stile complain about being hungry.

Definitely not the accomplished feeling in his chest when Stiles smiled at the food in the box, moaning as he stuffed his face with the burger and fries from his favorite dinner.

Derek ignored the puzzled look the betas gave him as spared a gaze to Stiles. He allowed himself only a moment to marvel at the happy and comfortable scent coming from Stiles in waves. His wolf hummed at a job well done.

He made a habit of making sure Stiles was fed well when he was at the loft.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Remember when I told you that was Derek's chair.

Not anymore I suppose.

He came into the loft after a jog, taking a moment to look over the pack lounging around and discussing werewolf things. Stiles sat in his chair, leaning over his laptop on the coffee taking notes as he asked hundreds of questions the betas did their best to answer.

It amused Derek that half the things Stiles was asking about were if any of the things in Hollywood were accurate to real werewolves.

Derek went up the stairs and changed.

"Dereks gonna kill him." He heard Isaac chuckle in a whisper to someone.

Derek only thought, 'Oh lord, what did he do know'.

He made a pitstop in the kitchen for a water bottle before mentally preparing for whatever it was Stiles if guilty of now.

Swigging his water, and downing half of it, he made his way to the 'living room'. Sighing at the expecting looks from his three betas.

Derek took a seat on the couch, closest to where Stiles sat and just watched him, waiting for a confession of something stupid. Stiles finished typing out some notes about the differences between wolf and werewolf pack hierarchs.

"Der," Stiles turned to him with a giddy look in his eye. No doubt he was excited about all the info he was getting out of the discussion, always happy for anything to add to his research. Derek short-circled a bit at the new nickname but said nothing. "You're born a wolf, are there differences between born and bitten?"

"Yes." Is all he said before Stiles silently egged him on for further expiration. His figures were ready to start typing everything that Derek said as soon as he spoke. "Born wolves have naturally better control. Our inner wolves and humanity work as one, being each other equal since birth. When bitten, their humanity will almost always try to overpower the wolf, fighting it even subconsciously. Bitten wolves always, even if the bite was accepted willingly, fight for control instead of working with the wolf for balance."

Stiles hummed excitedly typing it all out with an interested gaze at the computer. Boyd had a brow raised, and Isaac and Erica stared in confusion, Derek believing they took some offense to the explanation.

"Wait so how do you 'balance' the wolf?" Stiles questioned.

"I don't really know; it just comes naturally, like breathing." It amused Derek that Stiles immediately turned to type what he was saying once more. "I guess the trick would be to listen to the wolf and its instincts to satisfy it, even if you don't act on them. You'd get pissed off if someone never listened to you. The wolf is the same. Respect it, acknowledge it, and you'll have no issue keeping human when you need to."

"So it's like a conversation between two halves of you?" Stiles had a glint in his eye that stirred the wolf in him. It likes having Stiles's attention. Derek simply nodded. "Cool. Any other obvious differences?"

Derek thought for a moment and sighed, "Anatomy."

"What does that mean?" Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh my god, do born wolves have knots?"

The wolf howled in his head, excited for some reason that Stiles was acknowledging his cock. Except he wasn't, Derek reminded himself, it was a broad question.

"What a knot?" Erica asked bewildered.

"It's a-"

"No," Derek jumped in trying to change the subjects away from knots and sex, cause his wolf was growling in delight at the scent of excitement and curiosity on Stiles's flesh. "Stop talking about knots, we don't have-" He stopped himself from repeating the word.

"It's a penis thing real wolfs have," Stiles explained anyways chuckling at the disturbed look on Isaac's face. Erica tilted her head and Stiles offered more explanation. "The base of the penis swells up when they breed so it gets stuck inside and-"

"Enough," It was Derek's turn to look disturbed. Why did Stiles know so much about this? He didn't wanna egg on the wolf in him and think about that. "Just that born Werewolfs shifted anatomy it closer to the anatomy of a wolf."

"Oh," Stiles sighed typing that down. "Boring."

After successfully dropping the subject, he answered some more of Stiles's questions before he left to meet his dad for dinner.

Derek, once he was gone grabbed his book from the counter and returned to the living room, taking his seat and settling in for a good read. He felt eyes on him and looked up to see all three betas staring him down.

"What?"

"You let him sit in your seat?" Erica grinned with a knowing look in her eye.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Derek was surprised when he came down the stairs, groggy with sleep when he suddenly realized another heartbeat in the loft that didn't belong to him. He drew deep breath and smelled coffee, chestnut, and something sweet he couldn't put into words. Stiles.

He came downstairs for some water after something had woken him from a deep sleep. After fighting off some nasty witches on the outskirts of the woods, everyone had come to the loft and cleaned up, tending to their wounds. When everyone was preparing to leave, Derek excused himself in his state of exhaustion to his room. He had assumed everyone would let themselves out when his head hit the pillow and he fell asleep immediately.

Derek rounded the corner and spied a sleeping figure on the couch. It was stiles, no doubt. His scent and the shape of his body were enough for him to recognize the boy instantly. Even without being a wolf, Derek knew him well.

Derek watched him for a moment. Stiles was curled into the back of the couch, back to him. His breathing was soft and even, calming Derek. Derek took a deeper breath, taking note of his chemo signals.

There was a lingering air of anxiety and a great deal of fear, now overshadowed by a strong sense of comfort and contentment. Derek frowned at the idea of Stiles sticking around in fear of leaving for whatever reason. Was Stiles afraid of going home and being alone for the night while his dad worked the graveyard shift? It itched under his skin that Stiles, despite their victory that evening, was still shaken up and afraid. He approached the boy moving slowly and deliberately without a second of hesitation. He turned the boy and scooped into his arm, trying his best not to wake him. Stepping slowly not to jostle Stiles, started for the stairs. When at the top stiles stored in his arms and sighed contently, face against his chest a small smile forming on his lips.

Derek took a moment to admire him, taking in how much he's grown into himself and matured over the years. Stiles was no longer as lanky, earning a decent muscle mass, and wasn't as awkward in his movements, still as clumsy, however. Derek smiled, continuing to his room.

"Hmm," Stiles moaned not opening his eyes. "Deja vu."

When had he woken up, his heart rate hadn't changed in the slightest. He was still just as calm and relaxed as he was when he was asleep.

"What?" Derek questioned softly.

"You making a habit of carrying me?" Stiles grinned, eyes this closed.

"You make a habit of needing to be carried." Derek defended. Stiles chuckled shaking his head and pressing into Derek more.

"Was fine on the couch." He mumbled feeling Derek lay him down on the bed. Dereks bed.

"Why didn't you go home?" Derek lifted the comforter over the boy as he settled into the mattress.

"Didn't want-" He yawned while continuing to speak. "-alone." Derek couldn't understand half of the sentence but figured from what he got between the yawns that he was right. Stiles was afraid to be alone.

"The witches are gone Stiles, You're safe at home."

"You're always alone though," Stiles mumbled as sleep was taking him. "Didn't want you alone."

Derek found himself smiling at the sleeping boy. A warmth in his chest at the thought of Stiles sticking around and sleeping on a nasty old couch just to stick around for his sake.

His hand was moving on its own, the wolf preening for contact. His fingers stroked through Stiles's hair as he decided against his initial plan to take the couch himself, crawling over Stiles and into bed.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

The very next morning Derek woke up with a weight on his chest, not bothering to open his eyes, he knew what it was. Who it was. And he knew Stiles was awake already, He heard it in his heart rate. The boy was still lying on his chest, either pretending to be asleep or simply basking in the comfort of him. Derek didn't know or care either way.

Derek lifted his hand and stroked Stiles's back, rubbing and massaging the muscles on his shoulder. Stiles's chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle against his side.

"You did this before once too."

Derek hummed pleasantly in response.

"I was starting to think it was all in my head."

"It's not." Derek sighed opening his eyes to look at the boy who lay with his eyes closed pressing higher against his chest with a wide smile and flushed cheeks.

"Good."

"Good." He agreed.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

#stiles x derek #sterek #teen wolf #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf derek hale #sterek fic #sterek au #sterek is eternal #derek x stiles #stiles stilinski #derek hale #derek is a simp #simp

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takaraphoenix · 3 months ago

Note

Oh and I am intrigued by the human alpha Stiles you mentioned! Let's say for 17 if that's not taken!

Tags: m/m, established relationship, Pack Mom Stiles, True Mates, Human Alpha Stiles, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Jackson Doesn't Leave, Pack Feels, fluff, m/f

Main Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Side Pairings: Scott/Allison, Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall, Allison Argent

@writersmonth Prompts: red + kitchen

Summary: It was a normal afternoon at the Hale House when Stiles first flashed his eyes Alpha red. And over something as stupid as when to salt pasta water.

This Story on FFNet | This Story on AO3

My Kitchen, My Rules

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

Stiles frowned as he walked into his kitchen. Yes, his kitchen. Two rooms in this house belonged to him and everyone else was just tolerated in them. Those were the kitchen and the library. And he earned those! The kitchen, because he had supplied all the sandwiches during the rebuilding of the Hale House, and once the house was half-way up, he had put his foot down and demanded them to do the kitchen second (after the bathroom, because peeing in the woods got old fast).

At the time, Stiles hadn't even noticed that Derek gave him full free reign on picking appliances and style, he took a total step back. He didn't think much of it, figuring that Derek just wasn't a fan of interior design. But when it came to the basement, to the living room, Derek took control. And then came the library, the library Derek put in specifically for Stiles, with all the books from the Hale vault. A ridiculously big and amazing courting gift that, again, Stiles didn't see as that at the time, because a library was something the entire pack benefited from.

The Hale Pack was growing and strengthening after taking down Gerard together, with Jackson joining them now that he was a wolf. Things were good. Stiles was happy. Until he started noticing changes, in the pack's behavior when it came to him. Listening to him, without protests – if he put force behind his words. They didn't just do anything he asked for, but if he commanded them, they obeyed. They also got much more tactile with him. And they broke into his bedroom near nightly, at least one beta would sneak into his room for comfort or advise or both.

It was when Stiles' own behavior changed that he realized what was going on though. Because he started to develop werewolf instincts. He'd growl and snarl, bare his teeth as though he had fangs, started scent-marking the betas, not out of copied behavior but out of genuine instincts.

His suspicion was confirmed by the Alpha Pack, who hadn't just come to torment a random, normal pack. No, they wanted the incredibly rare, valuable human Alpha in their pack. Granted, Stiles could have done without the latest big bad being the one to point it out. He would have preferred Derek with maybe chocolates or flowers, confessing his undying love to Stiles. But then that was unrealistic, considering all things traumatic and emotionally constipated.

So Stiles was the Alpha Mate and by being a human and the Alpha Mate, he'd started developing wolf instincts and Alpha abilities, when it came to the pack. It was rare, because usually when an Alpha found their mate in a human, they'd offer them the bite and the Alpha Mate became a wolf themselves. It was incredibly rare for the Alpha to let things run for this long without offering the bite. But then, that wouldn't change anything anyway. He didn't want to be a wolf.

Ever since they'd taken the Alpha Pack out, Stiles got to actually relish in his role – and also to enjoy the perks of new boyfriend. Beautiful, strong, sarcastic, growly boyfriend. Stiles was happy, was in a good place. Having his mate and their pack, the by now fully renovated Hale House that had quickly become a second home to him. Things were perfect.

Well. Nearly perfect, as he walked into his kitchen and found the betas make a mess. Allison was sitting on the counter, Scott between her knees and the two heatedly making out. No sex in Stiles' kitchen, that was one of the sanitary and sanity rules because if Stiles had to cook where he knew the unspeakable had happened, he'd only order take-out from hereon out. Lydia and Erica – also known as the most unqualified people to cook – were stirring something in a pot. Their respective boyfriends were fighting over the pot of water next to them. Isaac was setting the table (aka Isaac was the only one wise enough to only do allowed things in the kitchen).

Stiles brushed his hand over Isaac's neck and ruffled his curls, earning a pleased noise from the beta, as Stiles made his way over to the rest of the betas, a glare on his face.

"What do you think you're doing in my kitchen, you feral puppies?"

The pack froze and slowly turned toward him. Jackson had a salt-shaker in hand but Boyd was holding his wrist tight, holding it in place so he couldn't salt the water. They all looked like a weird still painting. Stiles' glare hardened, even as he started feeling a little queasy.

"We're making dinner, Batman," Erica perked up proudly.

"Whatever you are doing there is not edible," Stiles pointed at the pot. "There is a whole onion in there. It's not even peeled. Why would you… What compelled you… And you two! What are you doing fighting over the salt? What?"

"You salt the pasta water after boiling," Boyd frowned. "Salted water boils slower."

"That's stupid and Stiles always salts it before," Jackson growled annoyed.

The two betas started arguing loudly and shoving each other. He growled at the betas loudly.

"Shut up!" Stiles snarled. "In this kitchen, we salt before it boils, because we want the flavor in the water, besides, only large amounts of salt and much more heat would make that matter."

The betas gasped and actually whined at him, baring their throats and what. Lydia blinked at him, even as she stepped up to her own mate and took Jackson's hand, to stop him from gloating.

"Your eyes just flashed red, Stiles," Allison pointed out softly. "Alpha red."

Huh. Okay. So. That was new. Stiles blinked and swayed a little. Scott immediately rushed from Allison's side to grab him by the arm and ease him onto a chair, looking worried.

"We wanted to make dinner, since you're sick," Erica offered more softly this time.

Heaving a sigh, Stiles rubbed his face. Before he could lecture his disobedient puppies, the door opened and Derek walked in with a pile of pizzas higher than him. A small smile spread over Stiles' lips as the Alpha put the pizzas down and then immediately leaned down to try and kiss Stiles – just for Stiles to turn his face because he was sick, so Derek ended up kissing his cheek.

"I brought dinner, since you're not feeling well I figured we could have pizza."

"Yeah, you're not the only one who wanted to help with dinner," Stiles sighed.

He motioned at the betas and the stove, where whatever Erica and Lydia had made instead of a sauce was boiling over. They started cursing and took it off the stove, starting to clean up. Derek frowned as he took in the chaos, just to shake his head and grab Stiles, picking him up.

"You are sick, you need to rest, not to worry about the pups," Derek declared. "You, bed. And you lot, clean up this mess, I want the kitchen pristine before we even touch the pizzas."

At the betas' whines, Stiles sighed in defeat. "I do appreciate the sentiment. Thank you. But… never, ever touch anything in there again. My kitchen, my rules. Understood, pups?"

"Yes, mom," the betas chorused, only half in jest, making Stiles smile wryly.

~*~ The End ~*~

#Sterek #Pack Mom Stiles #Sterek Fic #Derek Hale #Stiles Stilinski #Teen Wolf #Phoe's Fics #Fanfiction #Stiles Summer Series 2024

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bunny-lily · 6 months ago

Text

Tether Me - Chapter 5: Part 1

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: Right in the middle of you savoring the beverage and scrolling aimlessly through your phone, a piece of paper was suddenly smacked down onto the wood in front of you. You paused mid-sip and looked at it blankly, then traced the source of its origin up to Satoru’s gleaming, boyish grin. When had he let himself in?

You raised a curious brow at the man, finishing your gulp. “What’s this?”

“That, sweet girl, is a wedding invitation,” he declared with all the vigor of a show host announcing the spoils the victor had attained, “and you’re gonna be my plus-one.”

Your other brow lifted to match the first. “Eh? Since when?”

The sun is warm today.

It coats the exposed stretches of skin on your arms and legs in a cozy, yellow glow. Shadows from the leaves dancing on the branches of the tree behind you cast across your face, splotches of blueish-gray that provide a hint of coolness on your relaxed posture.

The sky is your favorite shade of teal, with fluffy, white clouds spread across it far and wide, forming funny shapes and animals that only you can discern. There’s a bunny-looking one that you’ve been following for a while now, watching as it extends its legs while bounding lazily across the eonic, untold cyan. You’ve named it Marshmallow for its resemblance to those bird-shaped, sugar-coated treats.

Which doesn’t really make sense, but you don’t care all that much. It makes sense to you.

So far, the story you’ve created about Marshmallow is simplistic, but it’s giving you something to do. Marshmallow is frollicking in a massive meadow, running around between tall stalks of indigo grass and snowy flowers. She’s celebrating her freedom after escaping the maws of a vicious wolf, bouncing back and forth in joy as she claims the sky as her home, where no wolf can catch and eat her so long as the sun shines through the heavens.

There, she is safe to chirp and thump her little feet and fly as much as she desires, no longer fearing being trapped in the muzzle of a hungry beast.

In the far distance, you can see a smear of dark gray hugging the horizon. It’s not close enough for you to fathom how big it is, but you can tell by the streaks underneath it that it’s raining over there. The flowers will be happy, you think. Fresh water to help their roots spread and their petals bloom.

You like days like this, where it’s quiet and calm. Birds spring from the electricity cables spanning down the length of the street, a bug occasionally buzzes past you, and the air smells sweet.

Your legs swing back and forth lazily over the short, cement-brick wall in front of your house. The light stone is brisk under your palms, a comfort in the burn of summer. You’ve already had a crisp icy-pop earlier, but now you’re uncertain if you should have saved it, as the temperature has gone up quite high.

It’s peaceful out here, but, confessedly, incredibly boring.

Yet, you savor it all the same. Anything is better than being in there, where your heart rarely has a chance to settle, always tapping on your veins to keep them active and roaring with blood laced too heavily with poisonous adrenaline. It’s nice to have an opportunity to rest and relax, a rare moment of serenity, even if you do feel a little lonely.

Glass shatters somewhere behind you. Skin meets skin.

You wince.

The world grows a little more dim. The bunny splits in half.

Tranquility can only last for so long under the richly fragrant blooms of the Callery pear hiding you from the sight of those within the house.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, woman!?”

You stand up slowly, your fingers already growing jittery as you brush off the dirt and prickling twigs that dug imprints into the backs of your thighs. The heat no longer bothers you.

“Can’t you do anything right!? Can’t even get me a fuckin’ beer! You’re useless!”

“I’m–”

They left the kitchen window open again, the mesh serving to let air in while keeping insects out. It does nil to block sound.

“This is the one fuckin’ time I get a goddamn break from supporting this fuckin’ family, and this is how you repay me? By droppin’ my goddamn bottle of beer?”

You’re scared. You don’t know why you are, he always gets like this. He’s always yelling.

You think you’re used to it by now, you try to tell yourself that you are, but your heart still pounds uneasily in your chest. It feels like there’s ice in your veins, prickling and spreading frostbite in tiny kitten nips. It spreads to your stomach, growing heavy and sinking lower and lower, steel through honey.

You hate being scared. It makes you feel sick. You wish you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

“I’m out there, breakin’ my back every damned day for you and that stupid brat–” you flinch, “workin’ my hands to the bones, and all I want is a drink to wind down after a long day of work.” It’s midday on a Saturday. He woke up an hour ago. “I ask my lovely, darlin’, sweet little wife to get me a beer, and what does she do?”

You think you can hear a woman mumbling something, but it’s hard to make out over the man’s screams.

He bangs his fist on the laminated kitchen counter, by the sink. Metal utensils stored to dry clink against each other from the force. “Answer me, woman!”

“You…bumped…accident–”

“Speak up!”

“Y-You bumped into–”

“Oh, so, now you’re goin’ off and blamin’ me?”

A sob. “It was an accident.”

“It’s always a fuckin’ accident with ya, ain’t it? Always forgettin’ shit, always lazy, always so clumsy. All you women are incompetent. Can’t even get me a damn drink without wastin’ my hard earned money. The money that supports your livelihood, by the way.”

There’s a hiccuping sound, followed by another bang on the counter.

“Now you’re throwin’ hysterics! You ungrateful whore, fuckin’ manipulative bitch, usin’ crocodile tears. I’ve been so kind, so patient, so lenient with you,” you tried to count the bruises he left on her one time, but you lost track after thirteen. “But, you’re just so fuckin’ spoiled, yeah? Damn hag. It’s ‘cause of me you get to sit your pretty ass at home all the time and do nothin’ all damn day while I’m out there, breakin’ myself for a useless bitch of a wife.”

Your nails dig into the tree’s bark for support. A white petal twists and ebbs as it falls from a flower above, landing on your shoulder.

She’s silent beyond short gasps of air and phlegmy sniffles. A stifled choke here and there.

“Don’t ignore me, bitch,” he hisses, then groans in defeat, as if he is choosing to surrender and indulge her. “Agh, it’s pointless, you’re too fuckin’ stupid to understand. You damn women are always so fuckin’–”

He says a word that makes you cringe horribly.

The heavy stomping of boots follows his tantrum, then there’s complete stillness. You wait outside for a long time, hesitating. You want to go to the woman, to comfort her despite your young age and inherent naivety.

You startle out of your skin when you hear the screechy garage door open and hare around the bulking trunk of the tree to hide behind it. Your back presses into the rough material, breaths barely filling your lungs before they’re pushed out again. Your skin crawls at the subdued sounds of the man’s mad ramblings, too indistinct for you to make out.

His tone tells you enough. It tells you he’s angry, and that he’s saying a lot of bad words that you’re not allowed to say.

Bad words hurt people, baby.

As hidden as you can manage to be, you peer around the calleryana, grimacing at the loud, metallic thump of his car door slamming shut. You watch as the contraption, old with time and lack of maintenance – ‘It’s vintage,’ he slurs, bragging about the red machine like a proud father that treats it better than he treats his own teeth. Better than he treats you. – coughs and rattles down the short length of the driveway.

It turns along the curb, twisting ‘til its nose faces your direction. You jolt back out of sight.

You’ve always despised the sound it makes, the horrid noise passing by you and growing quieter as the car chugs down the gray asphalt. Like a dying goat. Or, cats yowling as they tear into each other in the dead of night. Jarring and uncomfortable, instilling a sense of dread in you.

You wait for a long time like this, staring blankly at the end of the street, holding your breath. You wait for the car to reappear at the turn, to come back no sooner than it had gone. You wait for him to loop the neighborhood.

If he’s in the same mood, or worse, who knows what could happen. Maybe, he’ll have the courage to pull the trigger and end it all with a swift right hook this time.

Minutes or hours later, the street remains empty, and you exhale the breath you’ve been holding, allowing yourself to cautiously hope he won’t return for a while.

Itchy imprints are left on your palms, the backs of your arms, and upper back as you peel away from the tree and sneak across the yard to the rear of the house. Even though he’s not here anymore, you still walk on your tip-toes and avoid stepping on sticks or leaves.

The backdoor is open. It leads into the living room, with the kitchen doorway on your right. From this angle, you can see the fridge and sink. The cup holding the clean utensils has been knocked over.

You walk forward and turn left, instead. You stick to the walls, where the wooden floor doesn’t creak as loudly, and make your way to the bathroom. The light flickers on, struggling for a few seconds. Its orange illumination is dim and makes you nauseous.

You pull out the stool from the cupboard under the sink and pop it flat, then climb on top to reach the mirrored cabinet above the faucet. It’s a singular, fluid action; a habit, muscle memory honed over time.

You pry open the semi-shiny, scratched panel and dig around through the mess of products inside. You push aside aftershave, old tubes of half-used creams, rusted safety razors, and bottles of miscellaneous concoctions that intrigue and scare you in equal measure.

You collect the needed items, stacking a stocky, dark bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cotton pads, knock-off antibiotic gel, and bandages into your arms. It’s not as heavy or hard as it used to be, and you don’t forget anything after so much practice.

Hopping off the stool, you shuffle your way to the kitchen.

From the doorway, you can see the woman sitting on one of the dining chairs, partially facing you. Her face is in her hands. Her shoulders tremble with mute weeping. There’s green glass and something wet spilled across the floor.

You’re careful to mind your step and veer around it.

If she’s aware of your presence, she doesn’t react, and says nothing. She doesn’t lift her head as you wriggle your gathered spoils onto the table, diligent in making sure none fall off. She doesn’t make any noise as you pull out a chair beside her and hoist yourself onto it. She’s eidolic as you sort the items around into a neat order for easy access.

She only responds when you reach a small hand forward and curl it around her wrist. Your fingers barely reach halfway.

“Mama.”

Her movements are lethargic, tired. She lowers her hands sluggishly and looks up at you, but she has that far-away glaze over her eyes. She’s staring at your face, but her mind is a million miles away, unseeing.

You learned it was useless to try and bring her back to earth when she’s drifted so far off. So, you don’t bother attempting. Not anymore.

There are a couple cuts on her face, one stretching diagonally under her left eye, and one curving from the right side of her chin to partially underneath it. A bruise is swelling along her temple, and an old ring of claw marks adorns her throat like a necklace. Dried tear tracks mar her visage, eyelids puffy and scleras red. He was forgiving this time.

She lets you guide her palms down to rest on her lap. Her muscles don’t twitch as you dampen a pad with hydrogen peroxide and delicately begin dabbing it on the wounds to clean them. The blood, no longer beading and trickling, fizzles under the influence of the solution. You take care to not get any loose fibers caught in the new injuries.

It was nice of him to leave the ones that are still healing alone. He isn’t always this kind.

You’re too focused on your work to notice when your mother comes back to herself. The fog over her irises lifts, replaced with a glassy sheen, but no tears remain to fall.

She looks a lot like you, just older, and fatigued. Faint scars linger and taint her sullen expression. Her eyes are sunken, cheeks hollow. Your eyes are the same color, as is your hair. Your upper lip follows the same curve hers does.

The only difference is your age, what you’ve been through.

Your bruises, along your limbs, weren’t caused by him.

You stopped asking questions a long time ago, too. Around the same time she stopped physically showing any sort of pain or discomfort she might experience from you taking care of her. You smear a thin layer of the gel over the cuts, capping the tube.

As you’re reaching for the bandages, she suddenly grasps your wrists, spooking you.

“Promise me, baby,” she urges you frantically, voice low. Like she’s afraid he’ll hear her, even though he isn’t home anymore. “Promise me you’ll never let a man tie you down.”

You gaze at her – at the shallow cuts on the side of her chin and under her eye, the rapidly swelling bruise on her jaw, the spot forming on her temple – and nod once. It’s not a difficult choice. Hell, you don’t have to think about it to agree.

All you’ve ever known about love is that it does nothing but hurt those who experience it.

All you’ve ever known about love was taught to you by fists and shouts.

All you’ve ever known about love was that it would break you, like it broke her, if you let yourself fall to it.

Wordlessly, you swear you’ll never end up like your mother.

Audibly, you seal the vow.

“I promise, mama.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

It’s cold outside.

The sun hid behind the wide expanse of ashen-gray clouds that painted the sky a new color, one of mottled Nile lily and argent. You could make out shallow waves and hills in the skyline, but not much else, the world washed in desaturated periwinkle.

It made for a great environment for pondering.

Months had already gone by since you made your vast move to this quaint little stead, all in the blink of an eye. It was nice; peaceful. The routine you'd built up kept where no other had before, and instead of boredom and mundanity, or the anxiety that came with getting too comfortable, you were enjoying yourself.

You were content.

In the mornings, you'd eat breakfast with Satoru and oftentimes Suguru, then continue the well-proceeding renovations on your house. In the afternoons you'd work at Granny’s shop, and your nights were free. Usually you'd either go to the park for a while, hang out with your friends, or go straight to either Suguru’s or Satoru's house.

Geto-mama and Geto-papa took a particular liking to you and enjoyed having you over. You learned very quickly where Suguru got his spice tolerance from, the pair of parents being worse than him in overusing various pepper seasonings.

His parents were also ridiculously tall, especially his mother, who stood toe-to-toe with Suguru himself. He was the spitting image of her.

You underestimated how much Geto-mama liked plants until she sat your pretty ass on the armchair in her living room, threw a blanket over your legs, and proceeded to whip out decades’ worth of knowledge on all kinds of husbandry.

Which, actually, was very entertaining and engaging, with plenty of hands-on activities. You were now the proud mother of a cardboard egg carton full of itty bitty forget-me-nots.

When she told you that she was a kindergarten teacher, it all added up.

She was a blast to listen to, every conversation with her energetic and fun. You had a great time everytime you hung out with each other, leading you to frequently exchange flower and vegetation pictures with her over text. She had some shockingly hilarious husbandry memes, and you’d never seen Suguru come close to pouting before he learned you texted with his mom more than you did him.

Sure, it was barely a downward twitch of his lips, but he looked so much like a wounded puppy that you had to fix the situation ASAP.

Which meant texting his mother in secret.

His father was vastly different from his mother. The silent type who didn’t speak much, spending most of his free time sitting on the couch, filling out crossword or sudoku puzzles featured in the weekly newspaper.

You chalked him up to be the type to emotionally close himself off, until you saw him embracing his wife while she cooked, face buried against the crook of her neck while she rambled his ear off about anything and everything.

You picked up on how he followed her around soon after that, always trailing after her around the house, lamb and shepherd.

They shared more similarities than you initially caught. He was a teacher, too – a professor of ethics at the nearby college, specifically. Though he wasn’t talkative, he made for fascinating and thought-provoking conversation when he was in the mood to chat.

Suguru was a lot like his dad, you concluded, based on careful examination of the way they interacted with others and the world around them. They were both the wordless protector types, speaking more in gentle touches, subtle expressions, and words of affirmation than with open, boisterous actions. They were observant and highly aware of the emotions of others, and acted well on them.

Which is to say, they could both read you like a book. They knew when you were thirsty or hungry before you did. You weren’t as close to Geto-papa, but despite his quiet nature, he made it clear to you that you could go to him for anything.

Unlike them, Satoru was nothing like his dad.

You met Gojo-sama once, and wanted to keep it at only once if you could help it.

He wasn’t necessarily rude or anything, quite the opposite. He was polite, courteous, and respectful.

Problem was, he scared the absolute bejeezus out of you.

He carried this constant aura of authority with him everywhere he went, stern and straightforward to a fault. Where Ijichi was a trembling mess in front of Satoru, he went ramrod straight when in Gojo Saichi’s presence. He turned himself into a statue, and you couldn’t discern if it was from fear or great reverence, because Gojo-sama was quite kind to him, all things considered.

You were still spooked by the man, though, and preferred to avoid him. Lucky for you, he more-or-less lived in a town a few hours away, far enough to need to take the train, as he was busy working.

The only person you’d seen him cower before was Granny, as she apparently also knew him since he was younger. Whatever that woman was built of, you wanted it.

One day, sometime in late summer, you broke the golden rule of avoiding the park on Thursday nights and very quickly found out why Aoi and her boyfriend fucked there. They went at it like rabid animals – hell, you thought they were animals at first. Then, you saw a bit more ass than you were bargaining for and bolted out of the park, swearing to avoid the bushes they had chosen to desecrate at all costs.

You had come to know most of the more commonly seen townsfolk by name now, but that was about it. You were still introverted, after all. Everyone outside your group was an acquaintance, generally. You knew some people better than others, whether by intention (Granny, Shoko, Utahime) while others not so much (Aoi's boyfriend’s ass), but that was fine.

You sighed softly as you watched lilliputian snowflakes drift past the window of Granny’s shop, your chin propped up on your palm. They stirred and danced, waltzing with one another, then came to rest on the ground.

It wasn’t cold enough for them to stick – winter in this part of Japan was fairly mild – but it was alluring nonetheless.

You couldn’t remember the last time you stopped everything to just…observe. You hardly had enough time to settle and let your lungs fully fill to admire the scenery anywhere else you went. A shame and a waste, you knew that. Some of the places you drifted to were revered for their natural beauty, or hypnotic architecture, or lively communities.

You’d be lying if you said you went to them with the first two in mind. Mainly, you drifted towards densely packed locations. The more people, the more sounds, the less you were able to hear your own thoughts. Clubs, dating apps, friend groups full of names you would never remember, nothing worked.

Being unable to think left you feeling like your sanity was being torn apart by ragged, filthy nails. It made you want to rip into your own skull to wrench out the obnoxious fucking buzzing. At first, you thought there wasn’t enough noise, that the rattling was a result of there being too much room in your cranium that let things clatter about.

Living above subs and stumbling your way into various parties, drinking your weight in liquor until you couldn’t think at all, making out with someone knowing that you wouldn’t be able to handle anything more than light petting, nothing sufficed.

It’s possible you moving to such an isolated valley wasn’t such a difficult thing to believe. Something, something, insanity.

The passage of time seemed nonexistent here. When you arrived, you were slipping into summer, battling the hellish heat under the AC at Suguru’s house blowing on full blast, prancing in the river with Satoru, and now it was snowing. It felt like only yesterday, or at most before yesterday, you had arrived.

The memory of your first night on a floor you couldn’t believe you actually slept on in hindsight was so distant, yet merely a few hours back on the clock of your mind.

Intrusive thoughts – the same that told you to stab your hand, jump off a cliff, fantasize about your worst fears and subsequently having panic attacks because of it – persisted. Hard habits to kick, but they were significantly quieter nowadays. Further spaced out, too.

The voice of the demon clinging to your cervical spine, the one that urged you to run like your feet were on hot coals, had all but gone mute. Sometimes you got the thought, but it was more reflex than anything else.

Maybe, just maybe, you found where you were supposed to be.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Granny’s calm voice roused you from your reverie, drawing your attention to her.

Like you, she peered at the slow-falling flakes, following the twirls and spirals they made when a mild breeze caught them. If you had to name the expression she wore, it would be reminiscence. You’d think that, after living here for as long as she did, one would be used to the sight of the year’s first snow. Impassive, even, or perhaps irked by the omen it brought, but the childlike wonder sparkling in her eyes told you otherwise.

You sensed you would never truly get used to it, either.

“Yeah,” you matched her tone, returning your fixation to beyond the window. “I’ve seen snow before, but never really…”

Granny easily picked up on what you didn’t voice. “It’s quite magical.”

You nodded faintly, unbothered by the countertop digging into your elbow.

The day was uneventful for the most part.

Geto-mama had stopped by earlier in the day to pass you a plate of mini lemon tarts, which you idly nibbled on while reading. She had taken to using you as a test subject for her experimental baked treats, and (to your massive relief, since you lived in constant fear of Satoru and Ijichi and their calamitous baking skills) she made amazing snacks, and taught you when she had the time to.

Everyone else was busy either completing preparations for the forecasted snowfall, promised to last the week, or they’re already bundled up at home, staving off the frost from within.

Which meant it was slow-going at the shop, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

It gave you time to catch up on the new manga series you’d picked up from the shelf of the store after becoming curious about it. It was an odd story, something about a boy whose body was doused in a fire that could never extinguish, but it kept your mind busy.

The tale under your hand was…difficult to stomach. Not for any massive horror or emotional reasons, no. Rather, it was so painfully cringy that you had to periodically stop and take a breath to steady yourself.

The plot was rather good, an interesting concept for a world that would make for a fantastic anime, but the author really enjoyed causing his readers physical pain from the dialogue. It made for fantastic taunting material, though, and Satoru and you enjoyed ripping into the characters.

It amazed you that this author apparently had a popular manga in both Japan and the States that was released only a couple years after this one, because wow. It was bad.

The dainty chime of the bell drew your attention away from your manga in time to see Suguru ducking under the door frame, giant that he was, a furoshiki-clad object in hand. A quick skim over the shop had his sights landing on you, locating his target. His eyes creased into slim lunes, the corners of his lips digging into the plush of his cheeks as he approached you.

You stepped out from behind the counter and oof-ed when his free arm encompassed you and tugged you into his hoodie-covered chest.

He placed the side of his face against the top of your head and rubbed it endearingly. You never chalked him up to be the type for physical affection when you first met, but here you were, practically getting scented by a territorial feline.

“Hey, you,” he lilted, withdrawing after far too much time passed for the embrace to be considered a normal greeting between friends. His palm stayed in contact with your figure, gliding across the curve of your waist as he was pulling back, seemingly reluctant to part. It raised goosebumps on your nape and along the lengths of your arms.

“Hey, Suguru,” you welcomed, your lips subconsciously tilting upwards. Your heart filled your chest with a warmth akin to the heat the hot chai he frequently made for you. “What brings you here?”

“Brought you lunch,” he explained as he set the object down on the register counter. A succulent scent wafted towards you, forcing you to restrain your stomach in a chokehold around its neck like a crazed mutt. Decorum and politeness were vital in the presence of royalty.

You crooned, grinning wider at him. “Aww, Sugu, you didn’t have to do that.”

He merely shook his head, tucking his hands into the center pocket of his hoodie. “It’s no problem. You mentioned you never tried somen or nikujaga, so I figured I’d make you some.”

His kindness and thoughtfulness had you swooning, so much so that you had faith even the biting chill of the world outside the temperate shop wouldn’t dare bother you.

“I’m serious, Suguru, you’re too nice to me,” you pouted playfully, to which he shook his head in disagreement.

“No such thing,” he replied, leaning back against the wall behind the counter. He jerked his chin towards the bento box. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Not needing to be told twice, you untied the cloth and pulled it away, further unveiling the mouthwatering scent. The container was still hot as you scooted it off the cloth that you folded neatly, then frowned minutely.

“You didn’t bring a box for yourself?” You asked, worry etched into your brow.

He smiled at you. “I ate earlier, don’t worry.”

“Such a good man, dear,” Granny reappeared, squeezing his arm affectionately. “Your parents raised you well.”

“Thanks, Granny,” he said, keeping an eye on you to make sure you ate. His concern was assuaged when you began feasting contentedly, his shoulders loosening. “How’s the shop?”

The old woman waved her hand loosely. “Just fine. Not many have come in today. Oh, but your mother did.”

He nodded. “She told me she wanted to stop by and drop something off before she went to work.”

“Tarts!” You covered your mouth with your palm to muffle your words and pointed at the plate of half-eaten snacks next to you. “Sho yummy.”

“Ah, her lemon tarts? Those are pretty good.” He approved. “Don’t let Satoru know she gave you those.”

“How is Yoriko doing?” Your sorta-grandmother asked, since the topic was brought up.

“Mom is alright,” Suguru answered. “She’s fussing over the snow, as if it doesn’t snow every year.”

She complained indignantly. “She’s just like her mother, that one. Always worried about the smallest things. Your father is a terrible enabler.”

He snorted. “You think he’s any better? They enable each other, it’s an echo chamber.”

She tutted disapprovingly. “Missing the forest for the trees,” she mumbled, then reached out and patted your head. “You can leave for the day after you finish eating.”

You furrowed your brow. “Really? But, it’s so early.”

“It’s alright, there won’t be much work to do today. You should go enjoy it.”

You were prepared to argue further, but were halted by the hard glare she gave you. “Okay, fine. Thank you, Granny.”

“Good girl,” she patted you one more time for good measure. “Eat up, now.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me,” you teased.

“I am,” she deadpanned.

You balked at her.

A laugh rumbled in Suguru’s chest, and you turned to him with wide eyes. “Can you believe this? She’s trying to get rid of me.”

He cocked his head towards you. “She’s just being kind enough to let me steal you away.”

You grumbled as you stuffed more food into your mouth. “Unbelievable. The absolute gall of you people, passing me back and forth like a football.”

He and Granny exchanged light conversation, talking about his folks’ plans for their farm in the coming spring, once the cold season passes, while you nibble away until the box is empty and you’re stuffed.

“Thank you for the food, Sugu,” you sighed in satisfaction and slid off your stool, stretching your arms above your head.

“You’re very welcome. I hope you liked it,” he spoke as he gathered the bento back into its furoshiki.

You chuffed. “You kidding? Your cooking is always amazing.”

The elder jabbed your ribs painfully with her elbow, making you wheeze. Unperturbed, she cupped a hand around her mouth to mutter to you. “He likes you.”

“Granny, please,” you rubbed the spot she impacted.

Your further objections were cut off when you found a scarf tossed over your shoulders, the fabric being looped around them a couple times to properly cover your neck and the lower half of your face. The culprit of the surprise attack stood in front of you, now sans his own scarf, as he was diligently securing it in place on you.

“Suguru,” you crinkled your nose at him as he tucked the ends of the fabric into the collar of your sweater. You didn’t fight him on it, but you did feel perhaps a teensy bit child-like with the way he cosseted you.

He merely smiled, cupping your cheek when he finished. “Indulge me.”

Granny gave you a knowing glance from your side.

You freed your chin to stick your tongue out at her before you were stuffed straight back into the scarf. It smelled like Suguru, like tea and spice and him, and you instinctively nuzzled further into the thick material.

“My place?” He moved a section of your hair away from your face so it wouldn’t bother you.

You acquiesced easily, offering to take the bento and furoshiki, to which he declined. You waved goodbye to the weird lady who kept looking between you and your friend while waggling her eyebrows as you stepped out of the shop. You had no idea who she was. What a strange person.

Cough.

The bite of winter nibbled anywhere your clothes didn’t cover as you met the outside world. Baby snowflakes began to gather and melt in your tresses, and you shuddered as a slight draft skittered past your legs.

His fingers easily slipped into the gaps between yours, palms pressed together as he tucked both of your hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

That was the thing about Suguru – he knew what you needed without having to exchange words. He was nothing if not perceptive and observant, a caretaker at heart. Likening him to a guardian angel would’ve been an understatement, in your opinion.

It unsettled you at first, the way he would do something for you, whether or not you said something. You were nervous he could read your mind, but extensive testing (consisting of you saying random gibberish in your head) proved he couldn’t. He was simply good at guessing what you were thinking, and was spectacular at planning ahead.

Your thumb rubbed idle circles into the back of his hand, grazing over the prominent knuckles and thick veins there.

You admired his hands a lot, everything about them. Their size, the roughness of the pads of his fingers, their strength. You liked that, regardless of the feats he was capable of pulling off with those hands, he was always attentive and dovish in the way he treated you.

You enjoyed watching him tear apart old cabinets the same way you enjoyed watching him leaf through a book. Those hands, the ones that dexterously tore out prickly weeds bare, were the same that affixed the fabric keeping your neck protected from the elements in place. Capable of destruction and creation in the same stroke.

The bones of his wrist were a particular draw to you, you couldn’t help but stare at them whenever the chance presented itself – you swear it’s not in a creepy way. Like a hand fetish, but not sexual. Was that a thing?

Ugh, this was just digging your grave deeper. You had to shift your thought process a hint to the left.

What else could he do with them? You’d bet easy money he’d be killer at knitting if he ever asked his dad to teach him. He had a good sense of textiles, knowing the texture of something before touching it, if he had to at all.

A flake dropped onto the round of your cheek and you flinched, rubbing at your face with your free hand. As much as you loved winter, you were looking forward to getting to Suguru’s place to get the sprouting wetness out of your hair. You adored snow, but you’d rather snuggle up under a blanket and relax with him.

You craned your head back, taking in the expanse of ash, stretched from mountaintop to mountaintop.

The crests were sugar dusted, fluffy powder so delicate, you could sink through it effortlessly. Icing glazed down in streaks, brooks and streams frosted by a thin layer atop them. If the town river had a thick sheet of ice over it, you could try to convince your friends to go ice skating with you.

Satoru would be the easiest to convince, Suguru would be the hardest, and Shoko and Utahime would be somewhere in the middle.

Never having experienced nature to this degree, as you hadn’t given yourself the chance to in years past, you pined for a taste of all of it. Hiking in autumn, swimming in summer, sunbathing in spring…you doubted the snow would be dense enough to ski on, and the mountains were too short and steep, but ice skating was well within the realm of possibility.

Whatever season it was, you were determined to be part of it, and to take it with you.

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours, hm?” Suguru eased you from your daydreaming.

You angled your head so you could see him and still fantasize about flying above the frigid clouds. “Suguru, are you any good at painting?”

His head tilted to the side, woefully reminiscent of a curious puppy. “Painting? I never gave it much thought. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking of turning one of the walls in my house into a simple mural.”

“What kind?”

You ran your tongue over your back teeth in consideration. “I haven’t decided yet. Nature-esque would be nice, vines and stuff. Nothing complicated.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he replied, squeezing your hand. “We can look at some inspiration together later, if you’d like.”

You grinned brightly. “Absolutely!”

He reciprocated the smile and reached for his door, making you realize you’d arrived. He hiked the furoshiki up to his forearm and curled his fingers around the knob, twisting it and pushing inwards. In seconds, you went from the crisp sting of wintertide to the protection of his home, shielded from the snow and chill.

The scent of the food he made earlier permeated the residence, undertoned by a layer of sandalwood and agarwood incense.

While you were wriggling off your shoes, Suguru was undoing your scarf, pulling it off with smooth movements to hang it over the coat rack. His hands took your face into them, large thumbs rubbing over the swaths of plushness under your eyes to thaw them out.

“I’ll make you some chai,” he said, sharp, russet irises darting across your features. “Wanna sit in the kitchen while I do that?”

You nodded, fleetingly nuzzling into his hold to warm the tip of your nose. He obliged you, only releasing you when you were satisfied with the pleasant buzz tingling over your skin. He motioned for you to go ahead while he pulled off his hoodie and put his shoes away.

The walls of his home had become calming to you over time, the path to his kitchen now one you could follow automatically. You’d even gotten your own designated spot at the breakfast table in his kitchen. Sure, it was a two-seater, so it wasn’t saying much, but it gave you that happy, fluffy feeling anyway.

You slid into your seat as he came in, his hands busy with coiling his long, obsidian locks up into a messy bun that he pinned into place with a claw clip. He was always careful with his hair, taking measures to ensure its condition remained pristine and luscious. You admired and spited him for it; the former for his dedication, and the latter for inflicting you with the constant desire to play with the silk strands like a honeymoon lover.

Suguru was structured and organized in everything he did, preparing chai not excluded. Your jaw rested on the curve of your palm, your focus placed on him as he moved around the room with practiced dexterity.

If you were honest, this was one of your favorite things to do.

Sitting in silence while observing Suguru do his thing lured you into a drowsy sort of state. Not sleepy, but definitely cushy and snug, an invisible blanket laid over your back, weighted and heated.

He taught you how to make it – rather simple, once you know – but his tasted better than anything you could ever make. You could’ve been biased, but you wholeheartedly believed he made the absolute best chai.

A mug was slid over the tabletop to you, mouthwatering steam rising from it. You peered down at the milky-brown liquid with hearts in your eyes, hands grasping the ceramic without hesitation. Suguru enjoyed drawing cute things on the surface of the drinks he made, and used a shallow bowl of milk foam and a toothpick to painstakingly doodle a pudgy bear for you to gulp down.

“Thank you, Suguwu,” you crowed happily, almost feeling too bad for the bear to drink him.

Almost.

“You’re very welcome,” his hand settled on your nape as you lifted the edge of the mug to your lips, gently blowing on the tea, then taking a sip. “How is it?”

You purred. “So good,” you praised him. “Your chai is incredible.”

He chuckled and positioned his index and thumb an inch or so above your hairline. He pressed down, and you stiffened as a sharp spike of pain went through your temple – then you were melting with a satisfied sigh, sliding back into the chair. You had no idea how he knew where to poke and prod to have you turning into putty, but it left you feeling squishy and content, thus you had no complaints.

“Very good, I’m glad,” he said, accepting your compliments, both spoken and silent. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Put the mug in the dishwasher when you’re done, please.”

You nodded and murmured in acknowledgement, relaxing with a dopey smile as you sipped at your chai.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you’d gained a sort of philosophical appreciation for things like this. Stopping to smell the roses, feeling the snow on your lashes, tasting vanilla and black tea and cinnamon under your tongue, the things you hadn’t bothered to treasure, you now made sure to.

After a few minutes of slouching and drinking lazily, you sat back up and pulled out your phone, unlocking it to occupy your mind.

Right in the middle of you savoring the beverage and scrolling aimlessly through some social media app, a piece of paper was suddenly smacked down onto the wood in front of you. You paused mid-sip and looked at it blankly, then traced the source of its origin up to Satoru’s gleaming, boyish grin. When had he let himself in?

You raised a curious brow at the man, finishing your gulp. “What’s this?”

“That, sweet girl, is a wedding invitation,” he declared with all the vigor of a show host announcing the spoils the victor had attained, “and you’re gonna be my plus-one.”

Your other brow lifted to match the first. “Eh? Since when?”

“Since now,” he sidled up to you, slipping into your space. “I need a wedding date, after all, and I’ve chosen you to be the lucky lady to accompany me.”

Unamused would be a good way to describe your mood. You weren’t very fond of weddings; they were loud, busy, and grossly romantic. Sure, the idea was nice on paper, but spending half a day (or, more often, far more) watching two people slobber over each other in a socially acceptable version of PDA always made you feel gross and invasive, like seeing something you weren’t meant to.

And envious, to some extent, but you preferred to not dwell on that.

“Take Suguru,” you suggested.

Satoru’s nose wrinkled like you waved something expired under his nostrils. “That old hag? No way, he’d kill all my game.”

You scoffed. “And I wouldn’t?”

“Not at all,” he tipped further toward you. “You are the game.”

“Very flattering,” you returned to your phone and tea. “Today I learned that I’m a game.”

He made an affronted noise and curled over you to stare into your eyes, making sure you had no choice but to stare back. “I didn’t mean it like that! Come on, bunny, it’ll be fun!”

You set your cheekbone against your knuckles. “What’s in it for me?”

The Gojo heir puffed up his chest, going full peacock. “A date with me, of course.”

A tempting offer on its own, but not enough. “And…?”

“And,” he continued, “I’ll treat you to anything you like, just name it.”

You deliberated on what sort of ridiculous thing you could ask for that could get him to back off, partially because you really didn’t want to go to a wedding, and partially because you were curious about what the great Gojo Satoru could and couldn’t achieve.

What could you ask of him? You knew money was of no concern for him, in terms of anything your brain could come up with. You weren’t about to ask him to buy you a whole ass estate, no, you were thinking more in the realm of something purposelessly expensive but practical.

You weren’t a big fan of jewelry, hardly wearing the stuff. You’d had enough of world travel as it stood, so a flight to Spain or France or whatever was out of the question.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips unbidden. Plush, pink, parted with anticipation.

A kiss.

You caught the cringe that bubbled up the column of your spine by a hair. What ugly hell did that intrusive thought crawl up from?

Mentally picturing slapping yourself with a sad, wet newspaper and calling yourself a bad pooch, you jumped on the next thing you could come up with.

“Make soap with me,” you said.

Ah, finally, a good idea. You could use some decent soap to scrub your brain wrinkles free of filth.

He frowned. “Soap?”

“Yeah, like one of those soap-making kits. I’ve wanted to try one of those since I was a kid,” you clarified.

“Done,” he agreed with a serious bob of the head. “What else?”

You blinked. What else?

As greedy as you could be at times, you already felt bad asking for the soap kit. You didn’t like people spending money on you, even if it was on Satoru’s tab. You knew his wallet ran deep, you were afraid to know how deep, but your point remained.

You gnawed the inside of your cheek.

You really didn’t want to go to the wedding, but you did kind of get his hopes up with that soap kit ask…

It’d be a good idea to know who you were up against.

“Whose wedding is it?” You queried

His reply brought you a vast amount of satisfaction. “Aoi’s and her fiancé’s.”

Ohohoho, this you had to see. The bush-sex-freaks getting married?

Alright, worth it. “Fine, I’ll go–”

“As my date,” he insisted, not letting you finish.

You half-groaned, the sound ribbing more than anything else. “I’ll go to the wedding as your date. Happy, now?”

He cheered as if he’d won the lottery and pressed a giant kiss to your cheek, rubbing his nose vigorously against it for good measure. “Yippee! I knew you’d agree!”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the up-quirk at the corners of your lips. “I swear to God, if you’re just using me to get numbers from girls–”

“I’m not,” he sneered, following you as you got up, gulped down the rest of your chai, and set the mug away into the dishwasher. “I wouldn’t dare do that, not when I already have the number of the girl I like.”

Something under your ribs twinged. The girl he…likes?

Whatever the odd pinch of discomfort was, you shoved it aside, refusing to address it. “Trying to get her attention by making her jealous of me, then?”

Duckling to mama, he continued to trail after you out of the kitchen and towards the living room. “Nope.”

You made a ‘hrm’ noise. “So, you’re the one who’s jealous and you’re trying to get back at her?”

“Nada.”

You gave up rather easily. “I got nothin’,” you declared, stepping into the living room.

“Don’t you get it? You’re– oh, hey, Suguru,” Satoru cut himself off to greet Suguru, who was reclined in the armchair, freshly showered and casually reading a book. “Didn’t know you were here.”

The nox-haired man halted mid-paragraph and slowly dragged his gaze upwards. A pair of glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, further adding to that skeptical mom look he had going on. “You didn’t know I’d be in my own house? Yet you figured she would be?” He spoke incredulously and gestured towards you.

Satoru shrugged and dropped himself onto the floor in front of the T.V., tugging open the doors of the cabinet it stood on to withdraw a game controller. “Was lookin’ for her. She wasn’t at my place, since I just left it, and wasn’t at the shop. Next logical place: here.”

“What about the park?”

“In the fuck ass middle of winter?” He jeered. “I’m a himbo, but I’m not stupid.”

“Wow, he’s self-aware,” you commented dryly, climbing onto the couch and nestling into the corner closest to Suguru, tugging at the blanket on the back of it to drape it across your lap. “He did find me here.”

“Touché,” he conceded. “What’d he want from you?”

You used the armrest as a support for your back and tapped open your phone, searching for something to read. “Oh, just an invita–”

“Suguru!” Satoru’s commanding tone clipped through your words. “Play Smash with me!”

“No.”

The cotton ball sulked. “Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty pleeeease?”

“Still no.”

“Pretty please with sugar on top?”

Suguru let out a long-suffering sigh. “Satoru, we played Smash just this morning for, like, two hours.”

Gojo’s lour deepened. “Not even if I added ghost peppers on top of the sugar?”

Geto’s upper lip curled. “Gross.”

You set one foot on the floor, keeping your other leg positioned on the couch, and used the coffee table to lean as far forward as you could to pat the absurdly fluffy mop of white Gojo called hair. “I’ll play it with you later, how’s that?”

If fireworks were a person, they’d be Satoru. Dark one moment, then lighting up the sky the next. “Okay! Wanna watch me play GTA, then?”

“Sure,” you assented, entertained by how his giddiness reminded you of a child opening presents on Christmas.

He got into the zone, navigating through the menus with a grace that told you he’d done this countless times. Watching another person play a game could be tranquilizing in its own right; you could turn your brain off and peep the horrors of him crashing a helicopter head first into a street in the middle of Los Santos.

His manic tittering as he created the most heinous looking vehicle further added to the domestic atmosphere of Geto’s home.

You retrieved your phone at some point to scroll through it, then stopped when you saw a post of a girl showing off her fairy braid. You chewed on your lip, thinking, then dropped your device once you made your choice.

“Suguwu.”

“Mm?”

“Lemme braid your hair,” you demanded, making grabby hands at him.

You couldn’t make a fairy braid as pretty as that, but you could sure as hell make a stellar normal braid.

He took one glance up from his book to you, then he was standing up from his arm chair to sit in front of you at the foot of the couch, already engaged with the words beneath his fingers again.

Satoru gaped, distracted from his game.

“Wh– you never let anyone touch your hair! Not even me!”

The noiret flipped the page as you carefully undid his bun, clasping the clip to the neck of your shirt. “That’s because you’d do unspeakable damage to my hair if I ever let you. Besides, nobody else knows how to treat hair well.”

A blue eye twitched. “Oh, yeah? And she does?”

Suguru opened his mouth to quip back, only to let out the most scandalous groan you’d ever heard when your nails scraped lightly across his scalp.

Sweet disciples of Jesus H. Christ, what was that sound?

He reclined into your touch, book promptly forgotten on his lap as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

“How long did it take you to find a routine?” You asked him, hoping to distract yourself before your imagination took off with the noise now permanently ingrained on your brain. “Your hair is so soft.”

“Trial and error,” he said with a rasp. “My mom has the same hair as me, so I learned from her. You?”

You combed your fingers through his silken locks with a delicate touch, moving slowly so as to not catch and tear any potential knots. Whenever you found one, you carefully untangled it before proceeding. “Trial and error for me, too. My life changed when I discovered leave-in.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Suguru mumbled.

You burst into giggles, your laughter fueled by Satoru’s baffled expression. In two seconds flat, he had dropped the controller and was directly in your face, brows set with determination.

“Braid my hair, too!”

You snorted horrendously and angled your face away out of embarrassment, Suguru’s chuckle making you laugh harder. “S-Satoru,” you heaved. “Your hair is too short to braid.”

“Don’t care!” He grasped your hand and planted it firmly atop his head, his demands made clear. “Do it anyway!”

“Okay– okay!” You panted, willing the rest of your chortling away. “Let me do Suguru’s hair first, then yours.”

Subdued, he sat on his knees on the couch cushion next to yours, and though he didn’t prod, he very much continued to reside in your personal space. His wide eyes were fixated on your hands as they worked sedulously to curve and twist Suguru’s hair into an elegant braid, intrigued with every shift and swoop.

You were no professional, but you were beaming with pride at the end. Using the claw you’d removed earlier, you folded the braid into itself, then pinned it into place, satisfied.

“There, all done,” you announced.

Geto peeled his droopy eyes open, but made no move to stand and go back to his seat, fully content to stay where he was. “Thank you, pretty girl.”

Satoru threw himself over your lap, face down as he shoved one arm under and the other over the thigh pillowing his head and hugged it in a hold bordering on a death grip. “My turn!”

His poor parents.

Dealing with an adult Satoru was already hassle enough, considering his impatience and penchant for pestering the living hell out of you to get what he wanted. Kid-sized Satoru was probably eons worse, if the anecdotes from others were anything to go on.

You spoiled him, anyway.

Your fingers carded through his hair, eliciting a loud purr. Given the significantly shorter length of his hair, you elected to transform isolated sections into micro braids. They held themselves together nicely, the rhythmic and repetitive motions lulling both you and Satoru into amicable quiet, disturbed only by the occasional scratch of pages sliding against each other as Suguru returned to his book.

It took you some time to figure out that Satoru had fallen asleep, his breaths deep and even, cheek squished against the plush of your thigh. He was turned towards you, allowing you to inspect his features closely.

He really was beautiful.

In gaps of time like this, where he wasn’t bouncing off the walls with energy, you could pick apart the details that made him who he was.

His brows and lashes were the same shade of gardenia as his locks. Thick petals protected those whirlpools residing beneath, hiding the blue of a moonstone’s shine. His lips formed a natural pout, a tad glossy in the middle, dark magenta lining the inside.

He had freckles, you discovered. They were faint, virtually invisible unless you were this near to him, but they were there. They dusted across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, giving him an extra boost to that boyish charm of his you had become partial to.

He really was handsome, blessed by the heavens, made in their image.

Your susutake-eyed friend gained your attention with low-toned words, pulling you away from your veneration. “I’m guessing it was about the wedding?”

You took a few seconds to recall what he was talking about, the reason Satoru was looking for you. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wanna be my plus-one?” Suguru inquisitioned.

You exhaled, drawn out and defeated as you laced your digits through the mane of the boy napping on your lap. “Satoru already coerced me into being his plus-one.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be my plus-one, too.”

Your brow knitted. “How so?”

Topaz locked onto you. “Simply by being my plus-one. We’ll all go together.”

Satoru stirred as you mulled over it, your motions pausing in fear that you woke him. But, he merely repositioned, his lanky arms moving to encase your waist so he could press his face against your stomach, then he sank back down into deep sleep.

Your heart fluttered, fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes.

A bird, downy and young, burrowed into the nest behind the defensive embrace of your ribs, and chirped shyly. A fragile thing, one that cautiously set foot into a desolate and hollow place, hoping to fill it with feathers and, perhaps, an emotion akin to devotion.

It’d need compassionate hands to hold it, to nurture it, let it rise and spread its wings wide until they could sprout from your shoulder blades to return what was once lost.

You had to allow it to do so, though. You had to be the one cradling it to where you were most vulnerable, let it seep strength from your pounding heart, but you recognized that your warmth alone wouldn’t be sufficient. You had to let others in, let their hands clasp around yours, let them share the fires of their souls with you.

In the past, such an idea was inconceivable. The nest had been empty for endless years for a reason, unsuitable for any kind of life, especially a docile and infant type.

You weren’t in the past anymore.

You were terrified to give anyone entry to the darkness that painted the walls of your ribcage, sapping all light that deigned to creep in, but…

How you longed to feel the sun on your skin, to feel the moon crowning you.

It didn’t have to be everybody, no. It could be just them, the celestial bodies you cowered from yet coveted.

Just Satoru and Suguru.

“Sure,” you decreed. “Why not?”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

You twisted side-to-side in front of the mirror, examining yourself, dissecting every part of you.

You were standing on the rug in your room – your actual room, the one in your house, rather than Satoru’s. After months upon months of hard work, you were finally able to say you’d accomplished your goal of fixing it up to be properly habitable.

And, yes, you’d stolen the rug from ‘your’ room back at his place to bring here.

One thing you didn’t consider about living alone after having so long to get used to living with Satoru was how lonely it could be, so the fluffy piece watered that feeling down.

After you’d made the move here, he insisted the room in his home was permanently yours, and that you’d always be welcome there. Well, more accurately, he begged you to stay. While you were too enticed by the idea of having your own house and being able to live in it, you frequently slept at his anyway. It was hard to beat the repose that came with the familiarity of his estate, and knowing he was close by.

But, the benefit of having a solo-abode was that he couldn’t pester the living hell out of you while you got ready for Aoi’s wedding.

Your makeup was flawless, as it should have been, given how long you’d been slaving away on it. You didn’t do your makeup often, so you were plenty chuffed with how it turned out. It only took two-and-a-half hours, too!

…You were smart to start early.

The thin chain around your throat complemented the neckline of the dress Suguru and Satoru gifted you beautifully, glimmering like the sparkling dots decorating the profile of the fabric.

Breathable fabric followed the shape of your body, powdered with microscopic, iridescent glitters that fluctuated with every movement you made, catching the light zealously. Satoru had snuck it in with the soap kit, shutting down each of your attempts to reject the gift.

Suguru had chosen the style, while Satoru selected the color. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t suit you.

It was perfectly tailored to you, flattering and enhancing in all the best ways.

You wouldn’t admit to anyone that you spent ten minutes running your hands over your tits, waist, and hips after putting it on. You looked good. Like, good good, the kind of pop and spunk and beauty that you’d swoon over in a hit music video.

You had a pair of sandals that were miraculously a match, which meant you could not only turn down Satoru’s offer to get you a new pair, but you didn’t have to worry about wearing beaten up sneakers, either. There was no way in hell you were letting that man buy another thing for you. He wouldn’t tell you how much the dress cost him, no matter how many times you banged on his chest and demanded answers, so anything more was out of the question.

He relented after bickering back and forth, giving you the relief to dress up without guilt.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

As you finished fawning over yourself, there was a knock at your front door. Your heart rate spiked and you giggled, giving yourself a second to cool off, lest you looked too eager. No man liked that, you’d been told.

You skipped across your house, pausing to admire the accent wall in the living room. Suguru had painted a fairly simple nature scene on it of tree silhouettes encasing a mountain background, and it’d become your absolute favorite thing. You knew he was good with his hands, and you were elated with the results.

Giddy, you popped open the door, where you found the men of the hour awaiting you.

Oh, hell.

They looked like kings in those tuxedos of theirs, fit for royalty. They were already striking, you wholeheartedly believed they couldn’t possibly clean up any better. Boy, were you wrong.

Suguru’s gorgeous mane was interwoven into a plait that rested over his shoulder, dotted with baby’s breath flowers in resemblance to constellations, courtesy of Geto-mama. Satoru’s tresses were swept back, looking minimally less disheveled. You really couldn’t ask much from his hair, it did what it liked, when it liked.

“Oh, my god,” you said. “I wanna see you in suits.”

Suguru laughed, deep and rumbling, orbs glinting with mischief. “Next wedding, princess.”

“Look at you!” Satoru whistled, checking you out blatantly. “Damn, you look hot as fuck. That dress is perfect on you. Who picked it out for you?” He teased, sapphires glimmering. “I wanna get a drink with him sometime.”

Suguru snorted. “You don’t even drink, Satoru.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t get a drink with the handsome fella who dressed our girl up so pretty.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics. “You look fantastic, too, Satoru. Both of you! Seriously, you’re killing it! You’re gonna steal all the attention from the groom.”

“So long as your attention is on me, I don’t care,” he winked, taking your hand to ghost a kiss over your knuckles. Heat rushed through your being, adding to the blush you applied earlier.

Suguru bent over, pressing his own to the spot right in front of your ear. “You look beautiful, angel,” he murmured. Pulling away, the two of them presented corsages – one in blue and white, the other in lilac and black.

You placed a hand to your chest, taken aback and flattered. You picked up on how their corsages matched the flowers they had respectively pinned to their breast pockets.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you snickered and offered out both arms for them to take and adorn.

They were coordinated as always, neither wrist bare for longer than the other.

“They’re gorgeous,” you doted. “Thank you.”

Suguru’s palm slid up your forearm, digits pressing so tenderly into your skin, spawning chills under his touch. “Only right for someone as ravishing as yourself.”

You blushed, relishing in the praise. It was alright to indulge sometimes, you considered it a treat for finishing your home renovation. The opportunity was there to let loose and wash away all your worries, you’d be a fool not to take it.

“Coming from you,” you blew him a jesting kiss, which he pretended to catch. “Cheesy.”

“Let’s go already!” Satoru butted in, hooking his arm with yours.

Suguru extended his for you to take, continuing to be the polite and proper of the two. “Shall we?”

“We shall!” You declared. For once, you were excited to attend a wedding.

So long as it was with them, you’d go anywhere.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

taglist: @kimi01985

#Tether Me #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #jjk x reader #satosugu x reader #chimera writes

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