#isaac rhoades x reader

[literary-motif]

desperately need one of pickle coming home injured after going outside and isaac treats their injuries and stuff, preferably also nsfw

Thorns

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: talk of blood, Reader has scratches on their forearms

You let the front door fall shut behind you, not bothering to stay quiet as you walked straight to the bathroom on the ground floor. As you passed the office — the door always ajar now — Isaac raised his head. “You’re done early,” he began, but you didn’t stop, instead continuing your walk to the bathroom with buried steps. 

“Sorry, just— I don’t want to get blood on the ground,” you said. 

Before you could think too much about your words, there came the sound of a chair dragging across the ground, panicked footsteps all but running towards you. “Blood?” Isaac asked incredulously, his eyes wide as he followed you with bated breath. “What do you mean, blood? Where? Are you hurt? What happened? Talk to me, are you alright? Do you need— what do you need?”

“I’m fine, it’s nothing,” you said, putting your forearms under the running water in the sink. “It’s the rose bushes. Nothing serious, really. My gloves were a little short and when I cut them, the thorns were more stubborn than I anticipated. It’s not deep at all, look. It won’t even scar.”

Isaac hovered beside you, looking down at your arm. You were right, it was a scratch, really. A few droplets of blood had filled the cut, but it was hardly bleeding anymore. You wouldn’t even need bandages. But as he looked at your skin a sudden feeling of utter helplessness overcame him. His knees buckled, and he had to grip the edge of the sink tightly as a wave of dizziness hit him. 

His aversion to blood was a hindrance to his work on the rare occasions he had to deal with it — somehow the sight of it was enough to unsteady him — but seeing it on you, seeing you hurt, even as trivially as you were now, was nearly too much for him. 

“You should,” he began, swallowing audibly as his eyes remained on the traces the thorns had left, “you should clean this with disinfectant. Let me— let me get it.” He took a step forward, freezing in the doorway while he clung to the wood. For a moment he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to push away the lightheadedness that had overwhelmed him. 

“Isaac? Are you alright?” you asked in concern. The water of the tab stopped running, and he heard shuffling for a moment before you stepped up to him, your hands on his shoulders. “You know the disinfectant is under the sink, yes?”

He did know that, but it was somehow hard to think with the sight of your blood still in his mind. “I’ll get it,” he said, voice oddly strangled, but as he turned towards the sink again you stepped into his way. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he said, slipping around you to kneel before the sink. “And I’m fine. There’s no need to be worried about me when you’re the one who’s bleeding.”

“I’m not badly hurt, Isaac. Relax,” you said, placing your hands on his shoulders. “I’m fine, promise. I mean sure, I’m a little offended that the rose bushes were that aggressive considering I only wanted to help, but my wounded pride aside, this really is nothing to worry about.” 

He sighed, shaking his head slightly to fight off the sudden lightheadedness that rushed back to him as he stood, looking at your arms again. “Stick to tulips next time,” he said, “or basil.”

You rolled your eyes, hissing as Isaac began wiping down your arms. “Right, but you like roses,” you said. “And I like them too, and the garden always smells amazing because of them and when we open the bedroom window their scent rushes in and it's my favorite thing in the morning. This is a small price to pay for this slice of bliss.”

Isaac hummed, unconvinced. As soon as he was done, he gathered your hands in his, placing a kiss on either of them. “An even smaller price to pay would be longer gloves,” he said. “And I will pay that immediately.”

[wildflowerblurbs]

A Painful Step Towards Healing | Isaac Rhoades

Isaac Rhoades x GN! Reader

CW: mentions of past abuse/unhealthy relationships, trauma caused by abuse/unhealthy relationships, yelling, arguments, hurt/comfort

-

Trauma isn’t a simple thing, no matter how much you wished it was.

You’re in a committed relationship with the man who gave you a second chance at life. You wake up in his arms without the fear of having your belongings thrown out by the landlord before kicking you out for not paying rent on time. You eat your meals with him without uncertainty of when your next meal will be or needing to ration out your food to last weeks at a time. You live your life knowing that you have a future with him. You not only have a family with him, but a family that loves you.

You’ve escaped the hell that you were living, so why? 

Why are you currently hyperventilating on your shared bathroom floor? 

Why can’t you stop the tears that are blurring your vision and staining the carpet below you?

Why couldn’t you keep your composure when the man that you love so much lost his temper and raised his voice at you?

Isaac is not my father. He’d never hurt me. Isaac is not my father. He’d never hurt me. 

You replayed these phrases in your head like a mantra, scolding yourself for even needing to make that clarification to yourself. Isaac had been having a stressful day. People snap sometimes and it’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok. 

It was your fault anyway. You’d insisted on having dinner with him when he’d told you that he’d skip dinner to continue working on a particularly hard case he’d gotten recently. You kept pushing when you shouldn’t have. It was your selfishness that got you into this situation. It was your fault. 

Perhaps that’s why you retreated into the bathroom after promptly apologizing for everything yet nothing at all. You weren’t even sure of what you’d said to him. As soon as you felt the panic spike through your body, you’d excused yourself as quickly as you possibly could. 

It took everything within you to stay quiet as the fears and feelings you often experienced as a child rushed back to you. Issac knew that your childhood wasn’t the happiest but you rarely discussed the details. You didn’t want him to feel like he needed to be careful around you. He always looked so fond when he talked about his mother’s traditions or his father’s teachings and you didn’t want to take that away from him. Truthfully, you weren’t even triggered by his experiences. His parent’s love for him had nothing to do with the unhealthy love your parents had given you. There was no reason why it’d bother you. There’s no reason why anything Isaac did would incite these feelings within you. Or at least you thought. 

This wasn’t even the first time he’d raised his voice at you. He’d been pretty agitated when you insisted on pursuing a relationship with him despite the dangers. He’d been harsh to you before when talking about his past was still considered to be none of your business. There was no reason as to why his anger was affecting you so much now and you hated yourself for reacting this way. 

Here you were, spiraling with thoughts of self-hatred and fear. 

Will he leave me if I’m too annoying? 

I should’ve left him alone, now he hates me.

He hates me. He hates me. He hates—

A sudden urgent succession of knocks on the door interrupts your thoughts. The door opens before you’re able to compose yourself or tell him to give you a moment. Telling by the worried look of his face and the speed at which the door opens, you figure that he’d been knocking for longer than you had realized. 

Time seemed to stop the moment your tear-filled eyes locked with his. You wanted to crawl into a hole from how mortified and embarrassed you felt at being caught for overreacting to such a small thing. 

You quickly get up from the floor, wiping the tears from your eyes with shaky hands. 

“I apologize for barging in. You weren’t responding and I… I was worried something had happened to you. It seemed like you were struggling to breathe; I didn’t know what to do.”

Before he has the chance to take your shaky hands into his and inspect your current state, you move away.

“Y-you don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry for causing such a—“ 

“No, I am the one who needs to apologize. I shouldn’t have taken out my frustration on you when you were only trying to care for me. I should’ve thought about how my words would affect you. Please don’t ignore your own feelings. You more than have the right to feel upset right now. It’s only natural that you would be.” 

Shock was the only explanation for your sudden collapse. The shock of hearing the words you’d always wanted to hear from those that had hurt you from the one person who had only given you love destroyed the last bit of composure you had. 

Isaac joins you on the floor, bringing you close to his chest and holding you in the warmest embrace you’ve ever experienced. His hand rests in your hair, stroking it gently as you cry in his arms. His case didn’t matter right now, nor did anything else that could possibly require him to leave your side in this moment. He’d needed you so many times in the past. It was his turn to return the favor. 

“I- I was so scared,” you managed to speak in between sobs. Your hands found themselves holding onto his shirt, finding security in the firmness of your grip of him. 

Your actions only made Isaac pull you closer, “It’s ok, everything is going to be ok.” He lifts your chin, his eyes meeting yours, “I will do everything in my power to make sure of it.” 

This wasn’t the first time you’ve heard such words and promises from someone, but for the first time in your life, they don’t ring hollow. He wasn’t just trying to placate you. He meant every single word. 

You hold his gaze for a moment, deciding that you’ve hidden yourself away for far too long. He was Isaac Rhoades, the man you decided to spend the rest of your life with. The man who you trust with your life, who gave you a second chance at life. If there was anyone in the world who you could trust to handle your own demons, it was certainly him.

“…Isaac…have you ever wondered why I left home?” 

[beccixxiluv]

they could never make me hate you earis 🥰

[lil-binuu]

𝑫𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔

~ 𝐼𝓈𝒶𝒶𝒸 𝒻𝒾𝒸

Isaac saves you from a creepy client

requested by: @mitsukitsume and @someonelol1872

560 words

sorry for the long wait mls! i hope you enjoy! <3

“Just go through to that room and I’ll bring the documents.”

You could hear Isaac in the hall say to the new client who had come through the door. You were in the kitchen and preparing Isaac his usual whiskey when he came in.

Since he was a new client, Isaac wanted to handle meetings himself for your own safety. While you would help with cases, Isaac felt a lot more comfortable if clients didn’t know about you. This way, you wouldn’t be targeted if anyone wanted to get to Isaac and he was always wary around new people.

“Ah, good afternoon. You must be Isaac’s housekeeper?” He asked.

You nodded, “What can I make you to drink?”

“I see Isaac likes his whiskey, I’ll have the same.”

You turned around to pour the same drink into another glass, but stopped when you realised it was chipped. Can’t serve a client that…you thought.

“You must’ve been working here a while, right? If so, you must be looking for somewhere else to take your services.”

You ignored the man’s attempt at conversation, choosing to focus on the drink instead.

"Isaac is lucky. You seem well trained, I could do with someone of your expertise."

You kept your back to him, hoping that he'll stop his comments if he doesn't get a response. You opened the overhead cupboard where the glasses were. You reached up to take a glass and felt another arm behind you.

“Please, allow me.”

You turned around to see the man taking the glass for you.

Surprised, you tried to step away only to stumble over your own feet.

“Woah, careful.” The man laughed, taking your arm to stabilise you. It would have been a nice gesture if this stranger wasn’t so close to you, practically breathing in the scent of your hair.

You smiled awkwardly, uncomfortable and wanting to get out of the corner he had pushed you into. Taking the glass he picked up and trying to move out of his grip, he stopped you abruptly, placing his arm as a barrier in front of you.

“Don’t be in such a rush.” He teased. “I want to get to know you.”

A sudden wave of sickness washed over you. The heavy feeling in your gut making you want to throw up. Your heart hammering with dread as he leaned down closer to your eye level, disappointed to see your eyes fixed on the floor.

“Didn’t anybody tell you it’s rude to break eye contact when someone is talking to you?”

He lifted a hand to correct your gaze, only to be stopped. Isaac’s iron grip and his eyes that flared so furiously, making the man freeze.

Isaac placed himself in front of you, pushing the man backwards to shield you while maintaining his tightening grip.

“Didn’t anybody tell you it’s rude to touch somebody else’s things?” Isaac growled back at him.

It’s safe to say Isaac dropped the client immediately, only, of course, after sending him to hospital with a black eye. You pretend you don’t know that Isaac digs up shit about him, and puts so carefully in his blackmail file to use whenever he pleases as a quiet act of karma. (I think it’s become his new hobby) I mean, keeping you safe is his priority, so what do you expect?

sorry it was so short!! originally i made this but was gonna make some changes to make it much more angsty but i struggled to write that stuff into the scene as it went too off the plot so i just decided to stick with this! i hope you enjoyed reading, please feel free to request me anything (but just know i only really write for elias x) and don’t worry i’m going to be working on my next fic soon!

[peppymintdreams]

Bugging Isaac

Isaac Rhoades x Pickle

The faint glow of Isaac’s desk lamp illuminated the room, casting shadows over stacks of papers and legal documents. He was deep in thought, brows furrowed as his pen moved swiftly across the page. Every so often, he adjusted his glasses, completely absorbed in his work.

You, however, were not interested in his case files or meticulous notes. No, tonight, you had a mission—to get his attention.

"Isaac," you called softly from the couch, hoping for a glance. Nothing.

You tried again, a little louder. "Isaac, are you busy?"

He hummed in response, barely lifting his eyes from the paper. "Very."

Not one to be deterred, you got up and wandered over to him, resting your hands on the back of his chair. "You’ve been working for hours. Don’t you think you deserve a break?"

"I’ll take one soon," he murmured, still focused.

You leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "But I miss you."

That did it. His pen paused, fingers tightening around it. He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You’re relentless, aren’t you?"

You grinned. "Maybe. But only because you’re ignoring me."

Isaac leaned back in his chair, letting out a soft sigh as he looked up at you. "I’m not ignoring you. I’m just... busy."

"Too busy for me?" You pouted, crossing your arms.

His gaze softened, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"Impossible to resist," you countered, tugging gently on his sleeve. "Come on. Just five minutes. I promise I’ll stop bugging you after that."

Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Five minutes?"

"Okay, maybe ten. But only if you ask nicely."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "You’re lucky I find you charming." Pushing the chair back, he stood and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "Five minutes, but you’d better make it worth my while."

You smiled up at him, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. "Oh, I intend to."

And just like that, you had his full attention.

[someonelol1872]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆''𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞?'' ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔪𝔢 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔰𝔱, 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔱, 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔏𝔞 𝔙𝔦𝔢 𝔈𝔫 ℜ𝔬𝔰𝔢… -Édith Piaf, La Vie En Rose

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Isaac had always effortlessly embraced new concepts across a spectrum of subjects. However, when it came to French, an unexpected challenge loomed before him.

Seated together at the kitchen table, textbooks and notes sprawled like a patchwork quilt, Isaac's expression was one of unwavering concentration, his brow knit with determination. Despite his best efforts, his tongue would stumble over even the simplest of phrases. 

"Je m’appelle Isaac," you enunciated patiently, 

Isaac's frown deepened as he endeavored to replicate your pronunciation. "Je m… appelle… Is-sack."

A soft giggle escaped your lips, eyes alight with gentle amusement. "Non, non. In French, ‘Isaac’ is pronounced more like ‘Ee-zahk’. Let's try again."

"Je m’appelle Ee-zahk," he repeated, his delivery still awkward yet showing glimmers of improvement.

Your smile widened with encouragement. "Much better! Now, let’s tackle ‘Comment ça va?’"

"Commo sa va?" Isaac attempted, his accent betraying his efforts.

"Almost there," you reassured, placing a tender hand atop his. "It’s ‘coh-mah sa vah’. You’re making progress."

With a sigh, Isaac rubbed his temple, frustration palpable. "I’m dreadful at this. How do you make it seem so effortless?"

"Because French has been woven into the fabric of my life since childhood," you replied warmly. "And you're not dreadful. Learning a new language is akin to unraveling a tapestry, each thread revealing its own intricate pattern."

Drawing nearer, your gaze met his, with nothing but warmth and love in the depths of your eyes. "Besides, I find your efforts endearing."

His frustration momentarily assuaged by your words, Isaac met your gaze, finding refuge in your encouragement and affection. "You truly believe that?"

You nodded earnestly, a tender smile gracing your lips. "Absolutely. Moreover, teaching you brings me joy. It feels like we're nurturing something special together."

A gentle breeze of ease swept over Isaac as he returned your smile. "Okay, let’s give it another shot. ‘Comment ça va?’"

"Coh-mah sa vah," you reiterated,

"Coh-mah sa vah," he echoed, his pronunciation notably improved.

"Bravo!" you exclaimed, applause ringing like bells through the room. "See? You're already blossoming."

Isaac chuckled, relief and pride dancing in his eyes. "Thank you... Pickle, for... being so patient with me."

"Always," you affirmed softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss upon his cheek. "We'll have you speaking French fluently before you know it. And until then, I'll cherish every charming mispronunciation."

_____________________ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆_____________________

[c-t-r-l14]

YA’LL I PROMISE I’M WORKING ON NEW FANFICS

TO THE PEOPLE WHO SENT ME REQUESTS I SEE YOU‼️

THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT WITH ME, COLLEGE AND LIFE ARE BEATING MY ASS, AND THEY HAVE HANDS!!

DONTIS ANS ISAAC ARE UP NEXT, YA’LL‼️

I GOT YA’LL I SWEAR!

ILY❤️❤️❤️

[peppymintdreams]

I gotchu girlie

Soft interruptions

Isaac Rhoades x Pickle

Isaac is absorbed in his work until Pickle, concerned for his well-being, persuades him to take a break by sitting in his lap, softening his usual stoic demeanor

Isaac’s office was cloaked in quiet, the kind of silence that only settled late into the evening when the city had wound down. His desk was a controlled chaos—papers neatly stacked but seemingly endless. He hunched over, scanning reports with a furrowed brow and the occasional jot of his pen. The dim light of the desk lamp illuminated his sharp features, casting shadows that accentuated the serious set of his mouth.

It had been hours since he started working on this case, a tangled web of missing persons and back-alley deals. His focus was unrelenting, eyes trained on every detail, his mind circling the case like a predator closing in on prey.

The soft sound of footsteps approaching didn’t pull him from his work at first. It wasn’t until the door to his office cracked open that Isaac allowed his eyes to shift from the pages in front of him.

Pickle stepped in, holding a tray. The faint smell of gyoza and tamagoyaki drifted through the room, cutting through the sterile scent of paperwork and ink. “I made dinner,” they said softly, their tone warm but careful, like they were testing the waters of his mood.

Isaac’s eyes flicked back to the report in his hand, his posture rigid. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice low and composed, though his eyes remained on the documents. “I’ll have some later.”

Pickle walked closer, placing the tray on a small side table near him, the smell of freshly made food now undeniable. “You said that last time, and you haven’t moved from this spot in hours.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed slightly at that, the only outward sign of his inner struggle to keep working. He paused, fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the paper, but his focus was still split.

Pickle stepped closer, concern softening their voice. “Isaac, you need to eat. Just a few minutes. Then you can come back to your case.”

Isaac sighed quietly, the sound almost inaudible, but he didn’t look up. “This case won’t solve itself,” he replied, his tone cool, though not unkind. “There’s too much at stake for me to—”

He didn’t get to finish the thought before Pickle gently settled into his lap, making themselves comfortable against him without a word. Isaac tensed for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion as he instinctively leaned back in his chair to accommodate them. It was a rare moment of contact, and despite his initial surprise, he allowed it.

“Pickle…” Isaac’s voice was calm but carried a quiet reprimand, though not as firm as it could have been. His hands remained by his sides, unsure of where to place them.

Pickle didn’t say anything for a few seconds, simply resting against his chest, their presence a grounding force against the intensity of his work. Eventually, they spoke, their voice gentle. “You’re no good to anyone if you burn yourself out.”

Isaac’s eyes finally left the papers, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his expression as he gazed down at them. His stoicism remained, but there was a flicker of softness in his gaze, something unspoken that only Pickle seemed to draw out of him.

“I know the case is important,” they continued, looking up at him. “But so is taking care of yourself. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.”

Isaac’s jaw tightened slightly, the weight of responsibility still pressing heavily on him. He let out a slow breath, his gaze lowering to the papers once more as if considering his next move. For a moment, it seemed like he might brush off their words, push them away with that same distant logic he used to navigate the chaos of his cases.

But instead, after a long silence, he slowly raised one hand, resting it gently on their back. The gesture was subtle, a compromise between his need to stay in control and his recognition of their concern.

“I’ll take a break,” Isaac said, voice still quiet but carrying a note of finality. “For a few minutes.”

Pickle’s lips curved into a small smile, their victory quiet but satisfying. “Thank you,” they whispered, their head resting back against his shoulder.

Isaac didn’t respond with words, but his hand remained on them, a silent acknowledgment of their presence. He leaned forward just enough to close the file on his desk, setting it aside with deliberate slowness, as if reluctant to fully let go of the case just yet.

“Gyoza and tamagoyaki, hm?” he asked softly, his stoic tone almost teasing, though the softness was barely detectable unless you were close enough to notice.

Pickle chuckled softly, nodding. “Your favorite.”

Isaac’s lips twitched, just the barest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, though his expression remained mostly impassive. “You know me too well,” he murmured.

They sat in silence for a moment, Isaac’s hand resting on Pickle’s back, their warmth melting some of the tension that had been knotted in his shoulders. The case would still be there when he returned to it, but for now, in this quiet moment, he allowed himself to let go just enough to be with them.

He tightened his grip on them slightly, almost absentmindedly. It was his way of holding onto the small softness he rarely let himself show, but that Pickle always seemed to bring out in him.

“Let’s eat,” Isaac said finally, his voice still firm, but now tinged with something softer, more human.

And for once, the case could wait.

Sitting on Isaac's lap would heal something in me.

[literary-motif]

hiiii sorry I hope this is not too much of a bother and that you’re doing okay hopefully! I was just really curious if you may please write about Isaac and Pickle playing twister together out of boredom on a rainy day? (Pickle probably had to beg him to play) Just them being all silly and lovey dovey like they are, please and thank you it’s just a thought I had! ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

Fun fact: Twister was invented in 1966.

I tried. It’s possibly less lovey-dovey than you wanted (and I apologize profusely for staining the fluff with specks of angst). The story just — ha — twisted away from the course I set it on. 

Twist My Heart

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

You sat curled on the couch with Isaac’s favorite dark blue blanket draped over your shoulders. It was not particularly cold, but you liked feeling cozy. The fireplace was lit, and the atmosphere of warmth caused by the occasional cracking of the wood contrasted greatly with the howling wind outside, rattling the leaves of the trees nearby and making a phantom chill creep up your spine at the sound. 

There was something special about storms in the evening. They made the inside of the house feel all the more cozy. It would only be a matter of time before the sound of rain would join the orchestra of sounds around you — and, frankly, you looked forward to cuddling up with Isaac and relaxing by the roaring fireplace. 

That had been the plan, and you got as far as allowing your eyes to slip shut, the light conversation with the love of your life naturally drifting off before Isaac uttered the fateful words, replying to the fond memory you had spoken of before: “What’s twister?”

Your eyes shot open, and you raised your head from where it had rested comfortably on his shoulder to look at him in shock. “You’re joking,” you said incredulously. 

He chuckled at your expression, moving his hand to brush some wayward strands of hair out of your face. “I assure you, I’m not,” he said, smiling fondly. “What is it? What do you twist? Is it a card game?”

“Isaac!” you exclaimed in disbelief. “You can’t tell me you don’t know what twister is. Come on now.” 

He hummed, giving you a gentle half-smile. “I’m,” he hesitated, “nearly serious. I think I’ve heard of it or seen it in a commercial years ago, but I’ve never played it. It is the game with the different colors you need to touch without falling over, yes?”

You sat up fully, staring at him for a moment before slipping out from under the blanket — immediately missing the comforting warmth it brought — and slipped out of the room. Isaac gave a surprised noise as he saw you leave, no doubt furrowing his eyebrows in confusion and mild suspicion. 

For being a PI, he was surprisingly unaware of all the items stored in his house. Granted, the mansion was large, with enough secret corners and shut drawers that had not been opened in years, and you would not have known either if you had not stumbled across the box that had seemingly never been opened, that Isaac had a game of Twister in the far left corner of the closet in the hallway. It had been neatly tucked away, sitting untouched since whoever had placed it there — his mother maybe, you guessed, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought that she had bought a game for her son and never gotten the chance to play it with him. 

(It was not his mother who had bought the game, but his grandfather. Mr. Rhoades had stumbled across it in one of his cases (it had been the inspiration for a cat-and-mouse chase he had been subjected to, as one of his acquaintances had pointed out. He had looked at them in mild confusion before they explained the gist of it and he had exclaimed, rather unprofessionally, “Ah, yes. I still knew it as Pretzel!”). He had wanted to play it with Isaac, but then his knee had acted up again and he had discarded the idea, leaving the box out of sight.)

Until now. Until you had rediscovered it, and with the forgotten game some secret part of what could have been Isaac’s childhood, in a different life. 

You returned to the living room, presenting the box to Isaac, who still sat comfortably laid back on the couch, as if it were some grand prize. “We can’t have that,” you said. “You’re going to play Twister with me right now.”

Isaac chuckled, a little deterred. “Where did you get that?” His confusion was overshadowed by something else, something soft in his voice. “Did you get this? Was this your plan all along?”

“I—” Oh what to say. “I found it in a closet, actually. Is that alright?”

It was alright, because Isaac slowly rose from the couch and kissed you so fiercely that for a moment he stole your breath, leaving you dizzy from the intensity of the adoration he poured into the act. “Thank you,” he murmured, gently prying the box from your hands and opening it with something akin to reverence.

The moment faded, replaced with a stark competitiveness as you tried reaching your right hand over Isaac’s broad chest to get to blue. He was not making it easy. 

“You do realize that if you don’t arch your back a little, I’ll fall on you and then you’ll fall. And since technically you’re the one on the floor first, that means I’ll win,” you said, twisting your head unnaturally to give him a warning look.

“That’s sabotage, Pickle,” he replied without missing a beat. The warm glow of the fireplace was reflected in his pitch-black hair, strands falling into his face that he could not brush back by vice of his position. “Didn’t think you’d be a cheater, but that’s the only way you can win against me it seems.”

“Bet?”

“You’re on.”

Suffice it to say, Isaac won. But only because you were distracted by the sparkle in his eyes and the gentle upturn of his lips, and shooting you a disarming smile so charming that it made you lose your balance was technically cheating.

[wildflowerblurbs]

A Light for the Knight of Shadows | Isaac Rhoades

Isaac Rhoades x GN! Mythic! Reader

CW: mentions of past trauma/mistreatment, reader feeling anxious, minor injuries

A/N: wrote this ages ago and recently found it in my drafts; please disregard any mistakes.

-

“I’ve been lying to you.”

Isaac freezes in his chair before quickly relaxing and placing the documents he’d been reading on the desk. He slowly turns towards you, motioning for you to come closer. 

“You certainly know how to get my attention,” Isaac replies nervously. You could tell he was wary despite his playful words. “What have you been lying about, exactly?”

You fidget in front of him, not quite able to look at him while you contemplate just how you’d broach the subject of who you were—or rather what you were.

Thanks to the stupid rules of your kind, you couldn’t outright tell him what you were. Something about “ignorance being bliss” or however that human saying goes. It was a safety issue. Hunters can’t hunt what they don’t know.

Truthfully, if someone had told you that you’d be in this position six months ago—telling a human of your true identity—you would’ve laughed in their face and reported them to the elders for even suggesting a thing. Well, to be fair, you would’ve done anything to get in the elder’s good graces six months ago, but that’s not the point. Details don’t really matter. What matters is the forbiddenness of what you’re doing. 

It’s a bad idea, really. Humans are fickle creatures and there’s no guarantee Isaac’s love will last. You’d waited until he finally opened up enough to begin a relationship with you, but—disregarding the fact that your kind isn’t even supposed to fall in love with humans—that doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. He’s human. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The guilt of keeping this from him was easier when he held you at arm’s length, when the possibility of him throwing you out was high. But things changed. He opened up, slowly but surely, and even revealed his biggest secret. A secret that killed his family and destroyed his innocence. A secret that wasn’t a secret to you.

When he showed you the video of the werewolf, you’d tried to respond in a way that didn’t alert him to your own extended knowledge on the topic, of a life that most humans don’t know about. You’d questioned the validity of the video, both because you weren’t sure if it was created by some human to create chaos and because, if it truly was real, you wanted to gauge his opinion on the matter. You wanted to know if he believed it was real. 

Despite his suspicious nature, he did end up believing the validity of the video. Was it perhaps because he wanted to believe the thing that killed his parents wasn’t some sort of practical joke? Maybe, but that doesn’t really matter either. 

He knew creatures like you were out there, which makes it easier to approach telling him the truth of your existence but also a lot harder at the same time. The shock won’t be from your existence, but rather that you kept it from him. 

Moreover, when it comes to the logistics of your exact conversation, there are a few major issues. 

There is no name for what you are. Names and identifying information are forbidden. Any utterance of information on your kind is immediately quelled before it leaves your mouth. Your throat closes up and you’re left a sputtering mess. Writing anything down is out of the question as well, your hands only producing incoherent scratches and marks if you tried. It’s a curse, you suppose—and an inconvenient one at that—but also an effective way to hide. And an effective way to lose the man you love if you don’t hurry up and say something already. 

You must’ve been quiet for too long because Isaac had long since abandoned his chair and walked over to you when you heard his voice again.

“You… don’t need to force yourself to tell me if it’s difficult. I’m well aware that some secrets are best kept hidden. It’s my job to pry, but you’re not a case to be opened. You more than have the agency to tell me what you wish.” 

At his words, you finally look up at him. His face is a mixture of concern and the same wariness as before. 

“It doesn’t feel fair. You’ve told me things you’ve tried to keep hidden for years and yet here I am struggling to tell you something so important.”

At this, you feel Isaac’s hand gently lift your chin. 

“Have you been spying on me this entire time?”

The shock must’ve been evident on you face at his question.

“No, of course not!”

“Were you sent by an enemy organization?”

“Isaac, you know that’s not the case.”

“You’re right. I do know that’s not the case.”

“Then why are you—?”

“I’ve long since accepted you for who you are, for everything you are. You don’t need to hide from me. Whatever it is you’ve been lying about, I know it was never to hurt me.” You could feel Isaac move closer, closing the gap between you two. “And even if you did try to hurt me, my heart is yours to hurt. Call it unhealthy, but I wasn’t lying when I said that you were now my motivation to live. Do whatever you need to soothe your aching heart. I’ll be here to bear it all.” 

You weren’t sure which one of you moved first, but before you knew it his lips were on yours. It wasn’t like one of the kisses you’d share to greet each other or show affection, this kiss was full of something else. It conveyed the love he professed to you moments before, but it was also vulnerable. Isaac’s heartbeat was more honest about his feelings than he was. You could feel his heart pounding. He was anxious despite his comforting words. 

After you pull away, you decide you’d let the suspense go on for far too long. His words had finally let you find your resolve. 

“Follow me,” you ordered as you pulled Isaac outside of his office. While he normally would’ve teased you for sudden boldness, Isaac knew to keep quiet and let you lead, something you quite appreciated. 

He didn’t question you as you lead him into your shared bedroom. Originally quite bare and minimalist, you’d added your own charm to the bookshelves and wooden furniture that furnished the room. Isaac welcomed your changes, even if he still pauses upon seeing your stuffed animals or displayed collection of fairy tale figurines. It’s not a bad pause by any means, but rather one of disbelief. His room had never been this lively before you. It now had evidence of your shared existence. 

“Ok, I need you to bear with me. This isn’t something I can outright tell you,” you warn as you finally let go of his hand and shut the door. 

He simply nods and waits for whatever you’re planning to do. It’s not until you start to take off your cardigan and shirt that he shows any kind of reaction besides his existing nervousness. 

“What are you—?” Isaac starts but is immediately cut off by a large flash a light and sudden blast of wind that would’ve knocked him down if not for the door behind him. 

Suddenly, the fact that you are shirtless in front of him is the last thing on his mind. He has bigger issues to discuss, namely the wings that were now sprouting out of your back. 

He is speechless as he takes in your new form. Your wings are birdlike—white like a dove’s but don’t look nearly as soft. Rather, the feathers look sharp enough to cut him if he were to touch them, a risk he’s debating taking as he continues to look at you, enthralled by what he’s seeing. 

You stand in silence for a few moments, waiting for him to finally say something. You look for any signs of fear or anger, but only see pure amusement. 

“…An angel…,” he manages to breathe out. 

You don’t even try to speak. Confirming or denying his claim is just as forbidden as outright telling him what you are yourself. Instead, you walk over to him, taking note of how he steps back—an impulse even he can’t shake—and immediately freezing in your spot. 

You lower your wings, not wanting to intimidate him. They weren’t as big as the others of your kind—a reason why you were cast out—but they’d seem big to anyone who’d never seen them before. Hell, the wings themselves are intimidating. 

At seeing your attempt to make yourself smaller, Isaac walks towards you. 

It wasn’t just the wings that were different about you. Your skin was glowing, radiating a soft light that was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Your eyes were sharper, not quite glowing but still brilliant enough to notice. It was like your entire being was made up of light. It was all so inhuman. 

Despite this—or maybe because of it—Isaac doesn’t hesitate in gently placing his hands on your both sides of your face, caressing the soft skin. 

“I’m not who I said I was, Isaac,” you say finally, almost too quiet to hear. 

“Strange, I don’t ever recall you ever claiming to be human,” was his response. 

You look up at him in disbelief. His tone was playful, but his eyes showed something different. You’d figured he was delirious from the shock, but he was quite serious. 

“I don’t understand. You’re…ok with this? That I kept this from you?”

Isaac pauses for a second to think before be responds. 

“After my grandfather showed me the video, I spent months trying to find as much information on the supernatural as possible. I didn’t follow any threads that would put on their radar, but not knowing anything about these creatures that I was suddenly now aware of was difficult. I needed to do something to ease the uncertainty I was facing.” 

He had moved his hands from your face, opting to hold yours instead, squeezing them in comfort. 

“The research I did was quite extensive and I managed to find quite a lot of information once I weeded out the websites and blogs that were obviously written by humans who had no idea what they were talking about. There were hundreds of entries, both by creatures writing about themselves and by those who hunt them.”

His face hardens. 

“The hunting records were endless. Reports of entire clans being massacred, the best ways to torture every kind of creature you could think of, their strengths and weaknesses, the trafficking of supernatural creatures for purposes of protection or… other unsavory reasons. All of these records claiming that the supernatural are dangerous, yet only showing the cruelty towards them at the same time. I thought that the video of the werewolf being tortured was bad, but it was nothing compared to what I found afterwards.”

His expression becomes intense as he brings you close to him, minding the wings as best as he can.

“You know my stance when it comes to human nature. We are weak compared to the supernatural, but we aren’t innocent by any means. Humans are cruel and seek out any and all kinds of power for the sake of their own advancement... You were protecting yourself. I can’t blame you for that.” 

You weren’t sure when it started, but his final words made you realize that you’d started crying. Once coming to this realization, you bury yourself further into his chest, feeling his arms hold you tighter to him as well, now letting your wings cut him as much as they want.

“You’re you. It doesn’t matter if you’re not human. Everything you’ve shown me in the time we’ve known each other has only proven that you’re better than any other human could be—even without having so-called ‘humanity.’ I love you. That hasn’t changed, nor would it have changed over something like this to begin with.” 

You pull back slightly and he wipes the tears from your eyes as you finally speak up again.

“You really mean it? This doesn’t bother you?”

At this, Isaac looks offended that you’d even ask those questions.

“My feelings for you aren’t so fickle that they’d disappear over something like this,” he asserts with a tinge of a tease in his voice, hoping to lighten the mood. “It doesn’t matter what you are, you are mine—” 

He pauses and lifts your chin once again.

“—and I am yours,” he finally finishes. 

When he leans over to kiss you, you let him take over, trusting his words fully as he shows you his determination. Your mind is a blur of all kinds of emotions as you melt into his soft yet somehow still firm hold. When you finally pull away, you’re breathless from the sheer intensity of it all. 

It’s also once you pull away that you realize you’ve been shirtless for the entirety of this conversation. Suddenly embarrassed, you shift back into your wingless form—much to Isaac’s disappointment—and rush to pick up the shirt you were wearing to put it back on. 

As you quickly—and shyly—put on your shirt, you take notice of Isaac’s own appearance, or rather the cuts covering his arms where he’d made contact with your wings. Your eyes widen as you rush over, apologetic over having hurt him unintentionally. 

Before you can say anything or apologize, Isaac cuts you off: “Don’t. I did this to myself. Besides, they’re more like scratches than anything. It’s nothing to worry about.” 

He sighs as he sees your guilty expression. An expression he reasons is due to his injuries, but is rather something much deeper.

“…The first aid-kit is in the bathroom. You can patch me up if you’d like.” 

You perk up at his offer, quickly rushing to the bathroom to grab the first-aid kit as he’d requested. It’s not hard to find by any means—meant to be easily accessible for emergencies—but you’re delayed by your own thoughts. 

You should’ve been defeated by the fact that you couldn’t heal him in the same way others of your kind easily could’ve in your position. You should’ve wished to be as strong as them, to be worthy of calling yourself [redacted], but for once in your life you weren’t. 

Here you were, living a life with a man who loves and accepts you for who you are. Even if it’s just the two of you, you finally have a home and family. You have a purpose, whether it be being Isaac’s life partner or a private investigator. You were actually glad to have been cast out, to have been abandoned and left to fend for yourself. All of the pain and suffering—

“Having trouble finding it? I’ll try looking for it downstairs. I may have left it down there.”

You smiled to yourself. Right, you had a job to do. This reflection can come later. 

“Nope, it’s right here! I’ll be there in a bit!”

The day would come when you’d finally grow strong enough to protect the two of you, to tell Isaac of your upbringing and the reason why you were cast out—or at least as much as you were allowed to—but that would come in due time. Right now, you’d help in the way you knew how, and that was more than enough. 

[beccixxiluv]

Realizing that Isaac spent all his birthdays alone and thinking that it had no impact or significance at all, and now that he has pickle he now has a reason to celebrate it and find some type of significance in it 🥹.

[peppymintdreams]

pickle gets hit on by a client and isaac gets jealous..

Hmm this was something interesting

Lines Crossed

Isaac Rhoades x Pickle

A client who crosses personal boundaries with Isaac’s assistant and partner test the limits and finds out

The mid-morning light filtered into Isaac's home office, casting a pale glow over the stacks of documents scattered across his desk. Isaac sat rigid in his chair, face impassive, as Mr. Devereux, a slick businessman rattled on about his case. Isaac’s eyes flicked over the details, his focus sharp, betraying no hint of the inner calculations he made as Devereux spoke.

Pickle stood quietly by Isaac’s side, a constant, grounding presence, though they could feel the tension subtly rising. Isaac’s hand occasionally brushed theirs, a rare, almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgment. His seriousness never wavered, however; his stoic nature often made moments like this feel like they were witnessing a storm brewing beneath calm waters.

“I’m telling you, Rhoades, I’ve been framed. The evidence is circumstantial,” Devereux insisted, leaning forward with too much confidence for someone in his position.

Isaac gave a slow, measured nod. “That’s what I’m here to determine, Mr. Devereux. But I need full transparency from you. No omissions. Every detail counts.”

Devereux smiled, his gaze sliding toward Pickle, lingering a little too long. “Of course. Full cooperation.” His eyes traced over Pickle with something far from professional, but Isaac said nothing, though his fingers tapped once against the desk, a tiny, controlled gesture only Pickle would catch.

Standing from his chair, Isaac grabbed a folder from his desk. “I need to retrieve additional files from the lobby. It will only take a moment.” His voice remained calm, but his gaze, as he looked at Pickle, softened slightly a fleeting moment of quiet reassurance only they would recognize.

Pickle gave him a small nod, their own silent way of saying they were fine. Isaac's hand squeezed their shoulder before he turned, stepping from the office with that same collected air that made him both intimidating and compelling.

Once the door closed, the air seemed to change. Devereux’s relaxed posture shifted into something more predatory. He leaned back in his chair, a smirk pulling at his lips as he turned his attention fully on Pickle.

“You’ve got a good thing going here,” he said, his tone casual, but there was an undertone that made Pickle stiffen. “I imagine it’s not just work that keeps you close to Isaac.”

Pickle raised their eyebrows but kept their expression professional. “We work well together,” they replied simply, turning their focus back to the tablet. They wanted to avoid where this conversation was heading.

Devereux, though, wasn’t finished. He leaned forward, his voice dropping into something more suggestive. “You’re sharp. Attentive. I could use someone like you. I’d be willing to make it worth your while, in more ways than one.”

Pickle’s grip tightened on the tablet, their posture stiffening. “I’m not interested,” they said evenly, but there was a firmness beneath the words.

Devereux chuckled, leaning back with that same smug smile. “You’re loyal. I admire that. But come on, no need to be so formal. Rhoades doesn’t have to know everything, does he?”

Before Pickle could respond, the door creaked open, and Isaac stepped back into the room. His eyes scanned the scene quickly, his calm demeanor dropping into something colder. The files in his hand were forgotten as his gaze zeroed in on Devereux.

Isaac's jaw tightened. He didn’t speak right away, but the air around him seemed to thicken with tension. When he did, his voice was measured but held a chilling edge. “Mr. Devereux, I trust the conversation remained professional in my absence.”

Devereux leaned back, unfazed. “Of course. Just a bit of friendly conversation. No harm done.”

Isaac’s eyes darkened, and his presence seemed to fill the room as he stepped around his desk, subtly placing himself between Pickle and Devereux. His tone dropped, each word deliberate. “Pickle isn’t interested in any offers from you, personal or professional.”

The tension in Isaac’s posture was palpable now, though his face remained a controlled mask. His hands, however, were balled into fists, resting calmly but ominously at his sides.

Devereux raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Relax, Rhoades. Just talking. No lines crossed.”

Isaac’s gaze was hard, unwavering. “If you want to keep working with me, you’ll make sure that remains the case.” His voice was quiet but loaded with unspoken warning. “This conversation ends here. Now.”

Pickle placed a calming hand on Isaac’s arm, grounding him before the situation could escalate further. “It’s fine,” they said, their voice gentle but firm as they looked directly at Devereux. “This won’t happen again.”

Devereux’s smirk faltered, his bravado slipping at the realization that Pickle wasn’t playing along. He stood, shrugging nonchalantly. “Fair enough. I’ll be in touch, Rhoades.” He sauntered out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The tension finally broke, but Isaac’s rigid posture remained, his eyes fixed on where Devereux had just stood. He turned to Pickle, his voice dropping into something softer but still carrying the weight of his protectiveness. “Are you alright?”

Pickle smiled gently, stepping closer. “I’m fine. You handled it.”

Isaac sighed, some of the tension easing from his frame as he wrapped his arms around them. His tone softened even more, a rare moment of vulnerability showing beneath his usual stoicism. “No one crosses that line with you again. Not while I’m here.”

Pickle rested their head against his chest, letting the warmth of his embrace melt the last of the tension away. “I know. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

[someonelol1872]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 "𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞''⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝕱𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌, 𝕷𝖊𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊, 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝕴 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖔𝖗. 𝕬𝖑𝖑 𝕴 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖗𝖊. 𝕴𝖓 𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘, 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖇𝖊 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖊, 𝕴𝖓 𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘, 𝕴 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 -Frank Sinatra, Fly Me To The Moon ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Isaac wandered into the living room, drawn by the intoxicating scent of fresh paint mingling with the soft, familiar notes of your favorite music playing in the background. He paused in the doorway, his breath catching at the sight of you. There you were, lost in your artistic world, clad in an old, oversized shirt splattered with a rainbow of colors. Your hair was a wild, beautiful mess.

You didn't notice him at first, your attention wholly absorbed by the canvas before you. The brush in your hand moved with fluid, graceful precision. Isaac felt a surge of affection, mingled with an intense desire to hold you close, to become part of this beautiful moment.

He stepped closer, his footsteps nearly silent on the polished wooden floor. It wasn't until he was almost right behind you that you sensed his presence. Turning, a radiant smile lit up your face when you saw him. "Hey..." you said softly, "What do you think?"

Isaac's eyes flickered to the painting for a brief moment, but they quickly returned to you, drinking you in. "It's beautiful," he said in his calm, measured tone, his gaze on you unwavering.

A soft blush spread across your cheeks as you turned back to your work. "You're not even looking at it properly," you teased gently, dipping your brush into a fresh, vibrant color.

Isaac moved closer, his presence a warm, comforting cocoon around you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. "I am looking at something beautiful," he murmured, his voice a tender whisper against your ear.

You tried to turn your head to scold him, but he had a firm grip on you, gentle yet unyielding. "Isaac, you're going to make me mess up," you protested lightly, though your tone held no real annoyance, only affection.

He tightened his hold just a bit, "I can't help it," he said quietly, his voice filled with nothing but adoration. "You're simply too adorable."

You laughed softly, your body shaking slightly in his arms, "You're crazy," you said, though your tone was filled with tender affection and amusement.

Isaac turned you around gently, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "Crazy about you," he admitted, his expression serious, his eyes soft.

You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with the same emotion. Leaning in, you kissed him softly, your lips warm and tender against his. Isaac felt his heart swell with overwhelming emotion, and he deepened the kiss, pulling you even closer, wanting to meld with you in this perfect moment.

When you finally broke apart, you rested your forehead against his chest, a contented sigh escaping your lips. "I love you," you murmured, the words a simple yet profound truth.

Isaac's lips curved into a rare, faint smile. "I love you more, Pickle," he whispered, his voice a gentle promise. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

[beccixxiluv]

sigh no Isaac for another month (jk)

I should really check patreon more often

Because TEASER ANOTHER REASON TO LIVE RN

[yoursinisforgiven]

HEAVENLY ──

pairing: isaac x reader (pickel) 

cw: smut, afab reader, pet and asriel appearance, references to this fic (envy), reader wears a dress (stops at about the mid thigh), public–ish sex, dry humping, isaac cums alot, pickel falls for peer pressure, nonconsensual use of drugs (aphrodisiacs), likely takes place after episode 12 of isaac’s series, vaginal fingering, cum eating, use of condoms (but also not, you’ll see), breeding without the intentions of pregnancy, spanking, unintentional humiliation, choking.

you are responsible for your own media consumption

"Too flashy?"  

You mumble under your breath, the question more for yourself than for Isaac, though you catch his reflection in the mirror behind you. The soft lamplight pools across the room, casting a warm glow that accentuates the dress’s intricate details. You turn slightly, letting the fabric shimmer as it clings and flows, elegant yet undeniably eye-catching.  

Your brows knit together as doubt creeps in, knotting your thoughts. You know you’re being indecisive—again. A small huff escapes your lips, frustration mingling with the nervous flutter in your chest. If this were just another night, you wouldn’t care so much about what you wore. But this wasn’t just any night. This was important. The kind of evening where first impressions were everything, where the way you carried yourself could shape conversations and leave marks that would linger long after.  

"Do you think it’s too much?" you ask, this time louder, your voice breaking the quiet tension of the room. You glance at Isaac briefly before your gaze darts back to the mirror, searching for reassurance in your own reflection.  

Isaac looks up from where he’s perched on the edge of the bed, his head tilting slightly as his eyes settle on you. For a moment, you’re unsure whether he’s assessing the gown or the way you’re fidgeting with its hem, smoothing invisible wrinkles in an effort to steady your nerves.  

“It’s perfect—” His voice is calm, grounding, but it carries the faintest edge of something deeper. You feel his eyes on you even before you see him move, his presence growing closer with each step. Goosebumps ripple along your neck as the sound of his footsteps nears.  

You meet his gaze in the mirror just as his hands find your waist, large and warm, their weight a comfort against the uncertainty stirring inside you. He leans in, his breath brushing your skin, and begins to press soft kisses along the curve of your neck, each one deliberate and unhurried.  

“—You’re perfect,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice low, carrying a sincerity that settles like a balm over your doubts.  

For a moment, the weight of the evening lifts, replaced by the steady rhythm of his touch and the warmth of his presence. You let out a small laugh, part relief, part affection, and lean into him slightly, your hands coming to rest over his.  

The tension in your chest loosens as his hands glide from your waist to your hips, pulling you closer. You let your head tilt back slightly, your smile softening as his lips brush just below your ear, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“Isaac,” you murmur, half warning, half surrender, but the way his fingers curl against you makes it clear he’s already decided where this moment is heading.

“What?” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk you can feel against your skin. “Just making sure you’re feeling confident. Can’t have you second-guessing all night.”

His teasing tone melts into something darker as his lips return to your neck, a deliberate press that sends warmth cascading down your spine. You catch his gaze in the mirror, and the way his eyes darken makes your breath hitch.

“Careful,” you warn again, though it’s less convincing now, your voice catching as his hands trace slow, deliberate patterns over the smooth fabric of your gown.

Your protest dissolves as he turns you gently away from the mirror, his hands firm but careful, as though savoring the moment. The gown you’d been so worried about now feels like little more than an afterthought, forgotten in the heat of his touch and the promise in his eyes.

The evening’s worries blur into the background as his lips find yours, hungry and insistent, and the world outside your shared bedroom fades entirely.

──

A wave of nausea rolled through you, nerves twisting your stomach and surging like static through your veins. Your hands smoothed over the fabric of your gown, its soft shimmer catching the light. Despite the uncertainty that had gripped you last night, you’d grown to love it—partly because of its undeniable beauty, but mostly because of Isaac’s reaction. His touch, his gaze, his... reminders had left little room for doubt about how he saw you in it.

A faint smile played on your lips as your mind wandered. Perhaps your wedding dress would take a similar shape—sleek yet elegant. What would Isaac think of it? You could almost see him at the end of the aisle, waiting for you, his expression unreadable save for the soft warmth in his eyes. And what would he wear? Something sharp, no doubt. A black suit, tailored to perfection, his tie knotted just so.

The thought sent a flutter through you, but you shook your head, willing yourself to focus. This wasn’t the time to get lost in fantasies.

The heat of Isaac’s hand on your thigh brought you back to the present. Warm and steady, his fingers rested there with casual confidence, as if they belonged. You glanced toward him, taking in the sight that never failed to stir something inside you. One hand on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead, his other hand resting possessively on your thigh. It was a simple gesture, yet it sent warmth pooling low in your stomach, a reminder of how effortlessly he commanded your attention.

Your gaze flicked to his wrist, where the sleek lines of his watch caught the light. The engraving, Vacheron Constantin, glinted like a quiet boast of his refined taste. Everything about him seemed deliberate, controlled—except, perhaps, the way his fingers lightly squeezed your leg, drawing your focus back to him.

Your eyes trace the sharp lines of his jaw, his expression relaxed yet focused. Sinful. That’s what came to mind. How shameful it was that a simple gesture—a hand resting so casually on your leg—could stir such warmth in you.

“You okay?” His voice broke through your thoughts, deep and calm, yet threaded with a faint curiosity.

You nodded, though your voice betrayed you with its softness. “Yeah… just thinking.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat rising despite your best efforts to keep it at bay. You turned your head toward the window—it was nighttime. The blur of passing scenery is a feeble distraction from the warmth of his touch.

──

You knew you had arrived when the grand manor loomed into view, its towering stone facade shadowed by the dim evening light. Rows of expensive cars lined the roads like trophies on display, their gleaming exteriors a reflection of the kind of crowd you were about to face. Your hands grew clammy as Isaac pulled the car into a spot, the soft purr of the engine fading into silence. He wasted no time, stepping out and coming around to your side to open the door.  

“Always a gentleman,” you teased softly, though your voice wavered under the weight of your nerves.  

He offered you his arm with a slight smirk. You didn’t hesitate, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow, holding on tightly—possessively, even. The warmth of his presence steadied you as the heavy oak doors swung open before you, two suited men pulling them aside with ease. One gave Isaac a slight nod, a silent acknowledgment of something you weren’t privy to.  

The air inside the manor was cool, the kind of chill that seeped into your skin. The stone walls, thick and oppressive, seemed to absorb the faint hum of life within. The corridors stretched endlessly, their grandeur undeniable but suffocating. The marble beneath your heels gleamed, reflecting the flicker of distant candlelight from ornate chandeliers above. Shadows danced along the walls, their movements like whispered secrets.  

Your heels clicked softly against the marble as you walked, the sound a sharp contrast to the muted classical music and faint laughter echoing from deeper within. The melodies mingled with the distant murmur of voices, weaving an ambiance of luxury tinged with unease.  

“Are we late?” you asked, your voice a near whisper, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile balance of the atmosphere.  

Isaac glanced at his watch, the familiar glint of his timepiece catching your eye. “Seventeen minutes,” he replied, his tone as casual as if he were remarking on the weather.  

You brought a hand to your mouth, a soft gasp escaping. His smirk deepened as he led you up the grand staircase, its elegant curves spiraling upward like a work of art. From the balcony above, the vast entryway sprawled below, its polished floors gleaming in the dim light.  

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Maybe we wouldn’t have been late if you’d gotten out of bed when I told you.”  

You gasped, scandalized, and lightly swatted his arm. “Maybe I could have if you hadn’t stolen all sensation from my legs,” you shot back, a playful grin tugging at your lips.  

Isaac’s laugh was rich, low, and infectious. You couldn’t help but join him, the tension from moments before melting away in the shared humor. But the moment was short-lived.  

“Isaac?”  

The voice was soft, hesitant, as if unsure of its place in the room. It cut through the air like a subtle warning, halting your laughter in an instant.

At the base of the stairs stood a figure, their posture uncertain, their expression torn between indecision and something deeper. Something raw. Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed the ache in their eyes, a silent pleading that tugged at your chest despite yourself.

They were undoubtedly beautiful. No, more than beautiful—angelic. Their features were impossibly perfect, almost otherworldly, like something sculpted by the hands of a master artist. But there was something unsettling about their beauty, something too perfect, too intense.

You furrowed your brows, your pulse quickening. Something about them felt... unreal. You couldn’t quite place it, but their presence stirred something uneasy within you.

Isaac’s demeanor shifted instantly. His laughter faded, his body tensing as he regarded the person below. He said nothing, his silence heavy, measured.  

You opened your mouth, instinctively wanting to ask if they were all right, but the words caught in your throat. Before you could find them, the person mumbled an apology and turned abruptly, disappearing through the heavy doors at the bottom of the staircase.  

You stood frozen for a moment, the weight of the exchange settling over you like a chill. “Who was that?” you finally asked, your voice softer now, uncertain.  

Isaac didn’t answer right away, his gaze lingering on the door they’d just passed through. Then, with a shake of his head, “No one important,” he said. You fur your brows slightly at his dismissive tone.

He placed a hand on your lower back, guiding you further into the manor. But as you ascended the remaining steps, you couldn’t shake the image of the figure’s troubled face—or the lingering feeling that they had left something unsaid. 

 ──

As you entered the ballroom, the grandeur of the room nearly took your breath away. A sea of glittering chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the elegantly dressed guests who mingled in soft murmurs and laughter. The air was rich with the scent of expensive perfume and freshly poured champagne. Velvet curtains framed the tall, arched windows, allowing the faintest touch of moonlight to spill in. A string quartet played in the corner, their delicate notes weaving through the crowd like a distant lullaby, adding to the atmosphere of quiet opulence.

Isaac’s grip on your back was reassuring as he guided you further into the space. His posture was confident, almost regal, a man at ease in such settings. But as you walked with him, you couldn't help but feel the weight of all the eyes in the room drifting toward you. It was as if the room had paused, just for a second, in anticipation of something—a moment of collective awareness, where the air itself seemed to hum with unspoken expectations.

He steered you toward a group of men gathered near the far side of the room. Their voices were deep and authoritative, cutting through the ambient hum of the ballroom, filled with discussions of business deals, mutual acquaintances, and the kind of power that came with wealth and influence. As you walked closer, you could tell by the way they nodded to Isaac that he was a familiar presence here—expected, perhaps even revered. Their glances flickered between you and Isaac, curious and calculating, but you did your best to appear composed, to match Isaac’s unshakable confidence, even as an uncomfortable flutter stirred deep inside you.

Before you could fully immerse yourself in the conversation, a sharp movement across the room caught your eye. You froze, heart quickening, your gaze locking on a man and a woman standing near one of the marble columns. A scene unfolded between them that felt strangely out of place amidst the polished elegance of the ballroom.

The man was somewhat tall, his features sharp, his presence commanding. He held the woman’s wrist in a tight grip, pulling it forcefully away from his chest. The look on his face was one of pure distaste, as if her touch had somehow offended him. The woman, delicate and startled, tried to pull her hand back, confusion written all over her face, but he wouldn’t let her. His gaze shifted, scanning the room quickly—looking for someone, or perhaps something. 

A chill ran through you. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a brief moment, you thought his cold, penetrating gaze was aimed at you. But then you realized with a sudden shift in his attention that he wasn’t looking at you at all. His eyes were fixed on Isaac, who was gliding through the group with effortless confidence, completely unaware of the tension that had sparked between the two figures.

The woman, abandoned and disoriented, hesitated for a moment. She glanced at the man, her lips moving as if she wanted to say something, but no words came. With a dismissive flick of his hand, the man turned his back on her, leaving her standing there, frozen, a mix of confusion and frustration evident on her face. She glanced after him, a flicker of something in her eyes—perhaps longing, perhaps anger—but she didn’t follow him. Instead, she allowed herself to be swallowed by the crowd, her steps faltering as she hesitated, unsure whether to pursue or retreat.

Your gaze lingered on the woman for a moment longer, noting the sharpness in her eyes and the way she held herself with a mixture of dignity and something else—a sense of quiet desperation. It was a brief interaction, one that seemed to go unnoticed by the rest of the room, as the guests continued their conversations, unaware of the subtle drama that had just unfolded.

Isaac’s voice cut through your thoughts as the men he had been speaking to began to make their exit. They mentioned something about heading home, offering polite farewells before walking away, their conversations already fading into the distance. Just as the last of them disappeared from view, a new figure approached. You stiffened slightly as you recognized him—the man you had seen earlier.

He walked with a purposeful stride, his eyes never leaving Isaac as he approached. “Isaac,” he greeted smoothly, his voice tinged with amusement, as if he were smirking even though his lips never fully moved. 

Isaac’s response was flat, unamused. “Asriel.”

You couldn’t help it—a stifled giggle escaped your lips, the contrast between Isaac’s cool demeanor and Asriel’s calculated smugness making the moment oddly amusing. Asriel’s eyes flickered toward you for a split second, but his attention quickly returned to Isaac, as though you were an afterthought. “Here with your pet?” he asked, the words laced with condescension.

Isaac’s reply was instantaneous, but there was no warmth in it. “They aren’t my pet,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for interpretation.

Asriel didn’t seem phased by the sharp correction. “Speaking of which,” he continued, brushing a hand through his hair dismissively, “Have you seen my own? I’m afraid they had a little... tantrum and stormed off.” His eyes glinted with an almost sadistic amusement, like the whole situation was a private joke he was enjoying alone.

“I saw them on our way inside,” Isaac replied, his voice cool, almost bored. “They called after me—Keep it on a tighter leash, it’s dangerous.”

You froze, the harshness of Isaac’s words striking you. ‘It.’ The way he referred to a person with such impersonal detachment—it unsettled you, the cruel dismissal hanging in the air. It was a stark contrast to the warmth he had shown you moments before. You furrowed your brows at Isaac, unsure of how to process the casual cruelty of his tone, or if the words themselves carried a deeper meaning.

Asriel, however, seemed delighted by the exchange. His laugh was low, mocking, as he glanced from Isaac to you. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, assessing, before shifting back to Isaac. He was toying with both of you, and you could see it—he was enjoying it entirely too much.

Isaac didn’t seem to notice or care, his gaze flickering over the room as though searching for something—or someone—else to divert his attention. His eyes landed on a group of women clustered together near the far side of the ballroom. They were elegantly dressed, no doubt the wives of some of the men in attendance, their laughter soft and insincere, like the rest of the evening’s delicate façade. Isaac turned back to you, his posture still immaculate, but there was something unreadable in his eyes.

He leaned down toward you, his voice low, almost casual. “Why don’t you join them?” he suggested, his words almost too casual, as though the decision were yours to make, but there was an unmistakable edge to his tone. You weren’t sure if he was offering you a choice, or subtly pushing you away. Either way, you felt the weight of his suggestion, a quiet command wrapped in the guise of an invitation.

Your brow furrowed as you glanced in the direction Isaac was looking, at the group of women, their laughter light and the soft clink of their glasses mingling in the air. A part of you wanted to refuse, to stay by Isaac’s side, but the other part of you felt an unsettling pull—something about the way Asriel and Isaac spoke, the tension that still lingered between them, made you feel like an outsider in a world you hadn’t quite understood yet.

Despite the unease gnawing at you, you found yourself walking toward the group of women. It felt almost absurd, as if you were back in primary school, hesitating at the edge of a playground, wondering whether or not you’d be accepted. The weight of their gaze, though polite, felt like a quiet judgment you couldn’t shake. You couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in a world that was already perfectly in place.

The women were gathered in a tight circle, their laughter light, their conversations flowing effortlessly. As you approached, they turned their heads, their eyes briefly assessing you before their expressions softened into warm, inviting smiles. They looked like they belonged here, each of them effortlessly at ease in the opulence of the ballroom, dressed in gowns that shimmered with wealth and grace.

"Well, well," a woman with dark hair and a knowing smile said, tilting her head as she looked you up and down. "Isaac's latest, I assume?" Her voice was smooth, like velvet.

You smiled nervously. "Yes, that's right. I'm just... trying to get to know everyone."

One of the other women, a petite brunette, grinned. "You’ve certainly come to the right place, darling. But don’t worry, we’ll help you fit right in."

You felt an unfamiliar pressure mounting in your chest, as if they were already measuring you up, assessing where you stood. The woman who spoke before raised an eyebrow, studying you with curiosity. “So, how did you meet Isaac?” she asked, her tone polite, but there was a subtle edge to her words. 

You shifted your weight awkwardly. “We’ve known each other for a while,” you said carefully. “Just… recently started spending more time together.” Lies. a mask you wore to shield yourself from the questions you weren’t sure you wanted to answer.

“That sounds interesting,” the raven-haired woman chimed in, glancing between you and the others, clearly interested in what you’d say next. “What is it about Isaac that’s so... irresistible?”

Before you could answer, the woman with dark hair spoke again, her voice light but with a sharp undertone, “I’d be careful. Men like him don’t usually settle down.” She let out a soft laugh, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not that you should expect that, of course.”

The words hung in the air like a subtle warning. You felt your heart skip a beat, but you pushed the thought aside, trying to mask your discomfort. “I’m not expecting anything,” you said, your voice steady, though you were unsure of your own feelings.

Another woman, a blonde with a sharp chin, tilted her head, sizing you up. “No expectations. That’s a good approach,” she said with a smirk, her voice casual but calculating. “Just enjoy the ride, darling. Life’s too short to overthink it.”

You nodded, trying to smile, but the words felt hollow. As the conversation shifted to something lighter, you felt the attention shift from you, but the undercurrent of subtle judgment remained. For a moment, you wondered if you truly belonged here.

Then, as if on cue, one of the women— the raven-haired beauty—held out a delicate glass of champagne to you, her expression almost playful. “Here, try this. You’ll feel much better.”

You hesitated, looking at the glass. There was something almost predatory in the way she was offering it, but her smile was warm, and the others were watching expectantly. The pressure mounted, the subtle challenge in the air. You couldn’t back out now, not without feeling like you’d just failed some unspoken test.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Come on, it’s just one drink. It’s harmless.” She pushed the glass toward you again, her voice sweet but firm, as though it were an unspoken rule you couldn’t break.

You took it, and drank it.

The group of women exchanged pleased glances, and for the briefest moment, you felt a sense of belonging. You’d crossed an invisible line, done something small to cement your place in their world. But as the liquid settled in your stomach, you couldn’t help but feel a creeping sense of regret. Had you made a mistake? Had you just given in to something that felt wrong? You glanced back at Isaac across the room, his figure easily spotted among the crowd, but he was talking to someone else, his attention elsewhere. For now, you were alone in this strange, glittering world, caught between the allure of its opulence and the nagging sense that you weren’t truly meant to be here.

The women continued to chat, the conversation flowing around you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being pulled further into a game whose rules you didn’t fully understand.

"See?" the blonde woman said, smiling at you with a knowing glint in her eyes. "Wasn’t so bad, was it?"

You couldn��t tell if it was the alcohol or the atmosphere, but you felt a sense of ease flood over you, a dulling of the sharp edges of your self-doubt. For a brief moment, you felt like part of the group, like you’d passed some invisible threshold. 

But just as quickly as it had come, the feeling was replaced with something else—a deepening unease that you couldn’t quite place. You looked around, catching glimpses of the other guests as they mingled in the ballroom, their conversations a blur of names and deals and laughter. 

As the night wore on, the conversation turned to idle gossip, and you found yourself talking more freely, offering your opinions in an attempt to fit in. The words came easily, the alcohol loosening your tongue, but somewhere in the back of your mind, the feeling that you didn’t truly belong here grew louder.

One of the women leaned closer to you, her voice low, “You know, you’re really starting to fit in. Just keep playing the game.”

You nodded, unsure of what else to say. The evening felt like a game you hadn’t agreed to play—yet here you were, caught in it, taking another sip of the drink in your hand, and wondering how far you were willing to go to keep up the charade. 

The conversation turned to more casual topics, and soon you found yourself swept into the rhythm of the group. They spoke of the latest social events, the fashion, and the discreet gossip that swirled in the upper circles of society. You listened, offering the occasional comment, feeling the pressure to fit in, to be part of the group, as though your every word and gesture were being scrutinized.

──

The night wore on, the laughter and chatter of the ballroom slowly blending into a dull murmur around you. You sat next to the blonde woman who had offered you the drink, her presence still warm and welcoming, though something about the evening felt off. She had taken a particular interest in you, leaning in every now and then to share intimate details about her life. Her husband, she explained, treated her poorly, often leaving her feeling neglected and alone. You could hear the vulnerability in her voice, and you wanted to listen, to offer some comfort. But something else was tugging at your focus—something you couldn’t shake.

As she spoke, you could feel the growing heat within you, the sudden warmth spreading across your skin. Your mouth was dry, and you swallowed nervously, a strange pressure building in your chest. Your heart beat faster, and you realized, with growing discomfort, that it wasn’t just the warmth of the ballroom that was affecting you. No, there was something in that drink.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, arousal had pooled underneath you. your fingers tightening around the glass as the sensation inside you intensified. You looked down at the champagne in your hand, your thoughts racing. The heat coursing through your body made you feel dizzy, lightheaded. It was like a fire building inside, a quiet but insistent force you couldn’t ignore.

You blinked, trying to focus, but the room around you seemed to blur at the edges. Your gaze instinctively flicked to Isaac, who was still conversing with a group of men across the room, his figure confident and composed. But even from across the room, you felt the pull, the strange sensation tugging at you, a magnetic force that seemed to center on him.

You could feel your body reacting, growing warmer under his presence, even from afar. But this...this wasn’t right. You quickly turned back to the blonde woman beside you, your voice barely a whisper. 

“W...what was in that drink?” you managed to ask, your words slurring slightly, though you tried to steady yourself. “It’s really—good...”

The blonde woman’s smile widened, and she leaned in closer, her voice low and almost soothing. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s just champagne,” she replied, her tone casual, almost too casual. “But there is something else in there... just a little popper.”

You blinked in confusion, your mind struggling to catch up. “Poppers?”

She chuckled, her eyes glimmering with something almost too knowing. “Aphrodisiac, honey.” she clarified with a wink, as if the answer were as simple as breathing.

A cold wave of realization washed over you, and your heart skipped a beat. Your pulse quickened, and the room seemed to close in on you. “Aphrodisiac?” you repeated, your voice hoarse.

She nodded, her gaze steady as she studied your reaction. “Just a little something to help you relax, darling,” she said, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a common thing here, especially for... special guests. Men only want one thing, might as well make it somewhat enjoyable for us ladies too right?”

You could feel your stomach churn with a mix of anger and confusion. The heat inside you seemed to grow, and you suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed. You tried to keep your composure, but it was difficult. Your mind swirled as the reality of what was happening settled into your chest, tightening like a vice.

Your eyes instinctively sought Isaac once more, but he was still deep in conversation, unaware of the turmoil you were now drowning in. You felt a mixture of betrayal and helplessness—how could this have happened? Why hadn’t you noticed sooner? The blonde woman’s presence seemed to amplify your discomfort, but you couldn’t pull away. You couldn’t leave, not yet.

As the heat continued to build, your thoughts started to blur, and you felt a sudden pull in your chest. The woman’s words echoed in your mind, and you realized that you weren’t just fighting the growing warmth inside you—you were fighting to keep control, to keep yourself from slipping into whatever game they had planned for you.

You had to find a way out of this.

The warmth inside you continued to grow, and despite every attempt to focus, it became harder to keep control. The room seemed to spin ever so slightly, the lights growing too bright, the air too thick. The woman beside you continued talking, her words blending into a soft hum in the background as your focus wavered. Every inch of your body seemed to ache, a kind of restlessness pushing at the edges of your mind.

You needed to focus, but the desire to be near Isaac, to feel his presence, had intensified. It was like a magnetic pull you couldn’t resist, drawing you toward him even though you knew you shouldn’t be feeling this way. The heat that burned in your chest now seemed to consume your every thought.

Without thinking, you stood up abruptly, excusing yourself from the blonde woman’s conversation, her voice following you with a soft chuckle that only fueled your unease. You stumbled slightly as you moved through the crowd, your legs unsteady, but you couldn’t stop. Isaac’s figure loomed ahead, still surrounded by his conversation, his back to you as you approached him.

As you neared, you realized how out of place you must have seemed. There was something desperate in your movements, something needy, and you couldn't stop it. The moment you reached Isaac, you placed a hand on his arm, feeling a surge of heat course through your fingers at the touch.

Isaac turned, a slight flicker of surprise in his eyes as he met your gaze. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice cool but with an edge of concern.

Your voice came out softer than you intended, almost breathless. “I—I need you,” you said, your words feeling foreign even to yourself. “Please.”

His brow furrowed as he assessed you, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. But before he could respond, the man he had been speaking to earlier interrupted, stepping forward with a slight smirk. “Everything alright, Isaac?”

You barely registered the man's presence, your focus still on Isaac as you felt a deep, gnawing need take over you. It was like something was clawing at you from the inside, demanding attention, pulling you towards him.

Isaac’s gaze shifted between you and the man, his expression unreadable, before he gave a quiet, almost dismissive nod to the other man. “I’ll be fine,” he said curtly, his voice returning to its usual calm composure. 

Then, turning to you, his tone softened, but only just. “Come with me,” he said, his hand sliding onto the small of your back. 

You nodded eagerly, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You couldn’t think straight anymore, and you didn’t want to. The heat inside you was all-consuming, and all you wanted was for Isaac to take you somewhere quiet, away from the eyes of everyone else.

As you moved together, you caught a glimpse of the blonde woman’s eyes, watching you from across the room. Her smile was wide, knowing, and it made your stomach twist even more.

But Isaac's hand on your back was grounding, and you allowed yourself to follow him. You needed to escape the sensations that were overwhelming you, but deep down, you were starting to wonder if there was any way out at all.

──

Isaac’s hand was firm on your back as he guided you through the maze of the ballroom, his pace quickening now that you were away from the prying eyes of the crowd. The tension in your body only increased with each step you took. You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, and the heat that had been building inside you all evening was becoming unbearable. The hallway ahead was dimly lit, leading to a small restroom tucked away from the main gathering.

Isaac’s jaw was tight, his expression unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in his energy, as though something had clicked into place. You could feel his presence next to you, his body close, and yet it was as if there was an invisible wall between the two of you, one that only seemed to grow the further you moved away from the noise of the ballroom.

When you reached the restroom, Isaac opened the door with a firm push and ushered you inside, his movements swift but not harsh. The room was cool, the polished marble floors and gold accents adding a sense of luxury, but the air between you both was heavy, charged with something else.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click, and then he turned to face you, his eyes narrowing as they took in your pale face and the discomfort that seemed to radiate from you. “What happened?” he asked, his voice low, tight with an edge of concern that you hadn’t heard before.

You swallowed hard, the words feeling thick in your throat. Your body was still trembling with the effects of the drink, and your mind was a haze, but you forced yourself to meet Isaac’s gaze. There was no use hiding it from him now. “The drink,” you said, your voice shaky. “The woman gave me something in it... something to make me... feel different. I—I didn’t know what it was at first. But now… I feel like I can’t think straight, Isaac. There’s something wrong. I didn’t know what was happening.”

Isaac’s expression hardened as he listened to your words, his features sharpening with a visible flash of anger. His eyes darkened, and for the first time, you saw a crack in his usually composed exterior. His jaw clenched tightly, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“What the hell did she give you?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, each word dripping with fury.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice faltering. “She said it was a... aphrodisiac. She told me it would help me relax, that it was something they do here for... special guests.”

Isaac’s face twisted with disgust, and his hands clenched tighter. “I should’ve been there,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his tone venomous. “I should’ve been watching. You’re not supposed to be left alone with people like that.” His eyes turned back to you, a look of regret clouding his usual control. “I never should’ve let her near you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, the weight of his words sinking deep within you. You had never seen Isaac like this—his anger was palpable, filling the room, and yet it was not directed at you. It felt as though he was angry at himself, as though he was blaming himself for letting this happen to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, his voice softening, though it still carried the edge of his previous fury. He stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to rest gently on your shoulder, his touch almost apologetic. “I should’ve been more careful. I never should’ve let anyone get close to you. This is on me.”

You felt a swell of emotion inside you, the combination of his apology and his anger, but also the overwhelming pressure of what you were feeling. The heat inside you had not abated; if anything, it had only grown stronger. You could feel the intensity in your body—something between desire and panic—and you had no idea how to fight it. You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come out right.

Isaac studied you for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before he exhaled sharply.

“It’s not your fault, Isaac. You didn’t do this. I—this wasn’t your fault.”

Isaac’s brows furrowed, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for something in your gaze. “But I wasn’t there. I should’ve been more careful. You—” He stopped, his words trailing off, and the anger shifted into frustration. He took a step toward you, his voice low but urgent. “I should’ve never let anyone near you like that. I should’ve protected you.”

You felt a wave of something soft, a quiet understanding stirring within you, even as your heart raced with the aftermath of everything. The heat, the dizziness, the overwhelming feeling of loss of control—it was all there, but so was the fact that Isaac was trying to make it right.

“No,” you repeated, but this time, you stepped forward, closing the space between you. “You don’t need to protect me from this. I’m not a child, Isaac.” You reached out, gently brushing your fingers against his chest, feeling the hard beat of his heart under the fabric of his shirt. “I know you care, but this wasn’t your fault. You can’t always be everywhere at once.”

Isaac stood still, taking in your words, his expression still etched with guilt. “I should’ve been watching out for you,” he muttered, almost to himself, before looking down at you, his gaze softening as you continued to reassure him.

“You were there for me, Isaac,” you said, your voice steady now, even though the heat still simmered inside you. “You’re here now, and that’s enough. Please… don’t blame yourself.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, you reached up, cupping his jaw gently with your hand. His breath hitched at the touch, and you could see his internal struggle playing out across his face. “Please, Isaac,” you whispered, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “Stay with me.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just stood there, his eyes locked onto yours, the flickering candlelight from the restroom’s sconces casting shadows across his face. You could feel the heat between you growing, not just from the drug still working its way through your veins, but from something else—a tension, an electricity in the air that felt impossible to ignore.

Then, as if something finally gave way, Isaac leaned in slowly, closing the distance between you. His lips brushed against yours with a careful hesitance, like he was waiting for you to pull back, to stop him. But you didn’t. Instead, you deepened the kiss, your hands threading into his hair as his grip on your waist tightened.

The kiss grew more urgent, more desperate, as though you both needed to reassure each other that this moment was real, that you weren’t just victims of a situation that you couldn’t control. Isaac’s hands slid to your back, pulling you closer, your bodies pressed together, the heat of his touch mixing with the warmth still rising in you.

For a brief second, the room seemed to disappear. The distant hum of the ballroom, the lingering discomfort of the drug, the world outside—it all faded as the kiss consumed you both.

Isaac pulled away just slightly, his breath ragged against your lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Not now, not ever.”

You didn’t answer him with words—there was nothing left to say. Instead, you kissed him again, this time with everything you had, as if the kiss itself would somehow erase the fear and confusion that had clouded your mind.

And in that moment, for a fleeting second, nothing else mattered.

Isaac's hands roamed your curves, desperation fueling his touch as he gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him. Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden contact, feeling the hard length of him through the fabric of his tailored trousers. The heat pooling in your core intensified, the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins demanding more.

"Isaac," you gasped, your fingers fisting in his dark hair as he trailed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat. His lips found your pulse point, and he lingered there, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin as he felt your heart racing beneath his touch.

With a low groan, Isaac's hands slid down to grip the hem of your dress, his fingers slipping beneath the silky fabric to caress the bare skin of your thighs. He gripped your legs, his thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles on the sensitive flesh as he slowly inched the dress up, exposing more of your skin to his hungry gaze.

You arched into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as his fingers brushed against the lace edge of your panties. The damp fabric clung to your heated flesh, the evidence of your arousal unmistakable. Isaac's eyes darkened with lust as he felt the dampness, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he growled, his voice rough with desire. 

His fingers pushed the lace aside, and he stroked your slick folds, his touch maddeningly slow and teasing. You bucked against his hand, desperate for more friction, more pressure, anything to ease the ache building inside you.

Isaac chuckled darkly at your reaction, his fingers delving deeper, two digits sinking into your tight, clinging heat. "Greedy" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "So hungry for my touch."

You could only whimper in response, your hips rolling against his hand as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, circling motions. The pleasure was intense, the drug amplifying every sensation until you could hardly think straight.

Isaac's other hand slid up your body, pushing the top of your dress down to expose your breasts to the cool air of the restroom. Your nipples pebble, Isaac leaned in, capturing one of your hardened nipples between his teeth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as he sucked hard. His fingers never ceased their relentless assault on your dripping sex, plunging in and out, curling to stroke that spot deep inside that made your toes curl in your heels.

Your head fell back, a sharp cry of ecstasy tearing from your throat as the dual assault on your breast and sex pushed you closer to the edge. Isaac seemed determined to make you come undone, to prove that he could give you the pleasure you craved, that he could wipe away the lingering traces of the drug-induced haze and replace it with the clarity of your shared desire.

He released your nipple with a wet pop, his lips trailing kisses up the swell of your breast, over your collarbone, until he reached your mouth once more. He kissed you hard, his tongue delving inside to claim you, to make you his.

"Come for me," Isaac demanded against your lips, his voice a low, urgent growl. "Let me feel you come apart in my arms."

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his fingers and the press of his hard, clothed cock against your thigh, proved too much. With a silent scream of his name, you shattered, your sex clenching and fluttering around his fingers as wave after wave of intense, mind-numbing bliss crashed over you. Isaac’s free hand moved to your neck, his fingers wrapping gently but firmly around it, applying just enough pressure to send a shiver down your spine. His eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in his gaze unwavering.

“Quiet,” he murmured, his voice low, commanding, though there was no malice in it—only a subtle warning. The air between you thickened with a mixture of heat and tension as he held you there, his grip almost protective, as if daring anything or anyone to threaten this fragile moment.

Isaac worked you through your climax, his fingers never stopping their movements until the last aftershock had left your body trembling. As you slowly drifted down from the high, he pulled his fingers from your still-spasming sex, bringing them to his mouth to suck your essence from the digits.

"Delicious," he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours, dark with satisfaction and lingering desire.

Before you could respond, he captured your mouth in another searing kiss, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, the flavor of your shared passion igniting the embers of your arousal once more.

As the kiss deepened, Isaac's hands slid down to grip your ass, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he turned to press you against the cool marble wall of the restroom, the chill a stark contrast to the heat of your skin.

Isaac's hips rolled forward, grinding his clothed arousal against your sensitive, dripping sex. The rough fabric of his trousers created a delicious friction, stoking the embers of your desire back into a raging inferno. You gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, needing to anchor yourself amidst the overwhelming sensations.

Isaac's hands slid under your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as he held you aloft with an almost bruising force. He tore his mouth from yours, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. You tilted your head to give him better access, a breathy moan escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

"Fuck, I need to be inside you," Isaac growled, his voice strained with barely restrained desire. His words, crude and vulgar, sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You could feel the thick outline of his erection straining against his trousers, the heat of him scorching your core even through the fabric barrier. The ache between your legs intensified, your body yearning to be filled, to be claimed by this dominant, demanding man.

Isaac's fingers found the hem of your dress again, pushing the material up and over your hips to pool around your waist. His hands slid around to cup your ass, kneading the globes roughly as he ground his clothed cock harder against your lace-covered sex. The damp fabric of your panties clung to your swollen folds, the evidence of your arousal coating the delicate lace.

"You're mine," Isaac rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Say it."

He punctuated his demand with a sharp thrust of his hips, the head of his cock catching on your clit through the fabric, sending a jolt of pleasure radiating through you. Your back arched, pressing your breasts against his chest, the hard points of your nipples straining against the confines of your dress.

"I'm yours," you gasped out, your voice ragged with need. "Only yours, Isaac."

Isaac's eyes flashed with a dark, primal hunger as he tore your panties away, the flimsy lace offering no resistance to his brute strength. He tossed the ruined garment aside, his large hands gripping your bare ass, fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. The cool air of the restroom hit your exposed, dripping sex, making you shiver and clench around nothing, aching to be filled.

“Look at you” He coo’s, words punctuated by grinding the thick ridge of his erection against your naked, swollen folds, the rough fabric of his trousers creating a delicious friction that made stars explode behind your eyelids. You could feel every rigid inch of him, feel the heat of his flesh even through the barrier of clothing, and it made your core clench and flutter wildly, a fresh gush of arousal flooding your core.

With a low groan, Isaac reached into the back pocket of his tailored trousers and withdrew his wallet. He flipped it open, his fingers deftly plucking out a small, square packet. Tearing it open with his teeth, he pulled out the condom, tossing the empty wrapper carelessly aside.

He undid his belt with quick, efficient movements. The leather slipped through the buckle, the sound of it hitting the marble floor loud in the charged silence of the restroom, he popped the button of his trousers, lowering the zipper with a soft hiss.

Your breath caught in your throat as he tugged his trousers and boxers down, just enough to free his throbbing erection. It sprang forth, long, thick and hard, the swollen head an angry pink and already glistening with precum. Your mouth watered at the sight, your core clenching with anticipation.

"Do you really want me to take you here?" Isaac taunted, his voice a low, rough rasp as he tore open the condom packet with his teeth.

He rolled the condom over his impressive length with practiced ease, the latex stretching taut over his thick flesh. Once sheathed, he gripped your thighs harder, his fingers digging into the soft skin hard enough to leave imprints. With a sharp spank to your ass the stinging slap of his palm against your skin making your sex clench and flutter wildly around his pistoning cock. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines of passion in their wake as you clung to him, meeting his fierce thrusts with the roll of your hips. “Answer me.”

“Here—please Isaac” You beg, your voice hoarse.

Isaac's eyes darkened with lust and a hint of something wilder, more primal, as he lined himself up with your entrance. The thick head of his cock nudged against your slick folds, parting them easily, teasingly. He could feel the heat radiating from your core, could sense how desperately your body ached to be filled by him.

"Breathe, my love." Isaac murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. 

As if on cue, he thrust forward, sheathing himself inside you with one powerful, decisive stroke. A guttural groan tore from his throat as your tight, wet heat engulfed him, your walls clenching and fluttering wildly around his thick girth.

"God" Isaac groaned, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he began to move, his hips snapping forward and pulling back in a relentless, driving rhythm.

He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful thrusts that had your entire body jolting with the force. The obscene slap of skin against skin echoed through the restroom, mingling with your wanton moans and Isaac's harsh, ragged breathing.

Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines of passion in their wake as you clung to him, meeting his fierce thrusts with the roll of your hips. Isaac's hand slid up your body, cupping one of your breasts, his thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your nipple between them. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth grazing your racing pulse before he suckled hard, marking you as his.

Lost in the throes of passion, neither of you noticed the condom stretching taut around Isaac's pistoning shaft, the latex straining with each deep, driving thrust. It was only when a sharp, snapping sound cut through the fog of lust that you both froze, your eyes widening in realization.

"Please, don't stop," you begged, your voice high and breathy, tinged with a note of desperation.

Something primal and possessive flashed in Isaac's eyes at your wanton plea. With a low, animalistic growl, he captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim you utterly. At the same time, he began to move again, his hips surging forward in hard, deep thrusts that struck that secret, hidden spot inside you with every plunge of his shaft. He began grinding his pelvis against your aching clit, the rough friction sending you hurtling over the edge. Your body convulsed beneath him, your sex clamping down on his length like a vice as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

You could feel the hot, heavy spurts of his seed flooding your core, painting your insides with his essence. It was a deeply intimate, primal moment, the two of you locked together in the throes of mutual climax, joined as closely as two people could be.

Isaac collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the wall as he struggled to catch his breath. He peppered your face with soft kisses, his touch almost reverent as he traced the contours of your cheekbones, your jaw, your lips.

As the waves of your shared climax subsided, Isaac slowly pulled back, his softening length slipping from your tender, well-used sex with a gush of combined fluids. You both winced slightly at the sensation, the intimate act leaving you feeling deliciously satisfied yet oddly empty.

Isaac carefully set you back on your feet, his hands on your waist to steady you until you found your balance. Your legs felt like jelly, trembling slightly as they took your weight once more. He kept you pressed against him for a moment longer, his chin resting atop your head as he held you close.

"Be careful, love," he murmured, his voice a low, concerned rumble. "I don't want you collapsing on me now."

He reluctantly let you go, taking a step back to survey the disheveled state of your clothing. With deft fingers, he smoothed your dress back down over your curves, his touch lingering on the swell of your hips, the dip of your waist. He retrieved your ruined panties, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he held them up, assisting you by putting them back on.

"Looks like these won't be needed any more tonight," Isaac quipped, tossing them carelessly into a nearby wastebasket. He tucked his own shirt back into his trousers, doing up the button and zipper with quick, dusting off his blazer with his hand all in efficient motions.

Isaac then took your hand in his, interlacing your fingers with his own. He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. Offering you his arm once more as he leads you out the restroom. “You're exhausted” He says, “Let’s go back home.”

As you and Isaac descended the grand staircase, the weight of the night seemed to press down on you more than ever. The echo of your footsteps reverberated in the cool, marble corridors. The doors opened ahead by the same two men from earlier before. The chill of the night sent a shiver through you, and without hesitation, Isaac slipped his blazer from his shoulders and draped it over yours, pulling it tight against your frame. The warmth of the fabric immediately wrapped around you, but there was still a heaviness in the air, a subtle tension that clung to you both as you made your way into the night. His hand brushed against your back, his touch firm and reassuring.

Standing near the doors, leaning casually against the wall, was the figure you had seen earlier—the one you had recognized as “Asriel’s pet.” They were impossible to ignore, even now. Their beauty was ethereal, as if sculpted by the hands of some unseen artist—too perfect, too captivating. The moonlight danced off their features, accentuating every sharp contour and the way their eyes seemed to glow with an unsettling intensity.

You looked up at Isaac, instinctively waiting for his reaction. As you both drew nearer, the figure’s eyes flicked to you, a slow and deliberate gaze that seemed to take in every detail of your exposed legs. The way they looked at you sent a chill down your spine, a feeling that almost bordered on possessive. A smirk stretched across their lips, and you could feel the weight of their gaze before they spoke.

“Must’ve been a fun night,” they said, their voice dripping with mockery, sharp and pointed. There was a cruelty in their tone, but beneath that, something darker, more dangerous—almost predatory.

Confused, you furrowed your brows, not quite understanding the insinuation. But then, your eyes dropped to your legs, and the sickening realization hit you like a wave—Isaac’s essence, the remnants of your intimate moment, was trickling down your leg. A hot flush of embarrassment burned through your chest, but before you could react, Isaac’s grip on your hand tightened, his body stiffening as his jaw clenched in barely contained fury.

“Stay close,” he muttered under his breath, his words low but firm. His gaze locked onto the figure, filled with an icy, silent threat. Then his attention turned back to you, his eyes softening momentarily as his hand moved to steady you, the concern for you outweighing the rage that simmered beneath the surface. “Don’t pay attention to them.”

The figure, still leaning casually against the wall, continued to smirk, their eyes flickering over you with an unsettling amusement. They didn’t push further, but their silence spoke volumes—mocking, daring, almost as if they were watching you both, waiting for something to break.

Isaac, sensing your unease, led you away, his body moving closer to yours. He guided you with a firmness that conveyed both his protectiveness and his anger, the night air colder as it bit at your skin. As you walked past the figure, you couldn't help but glance over at them once more, and in that moment, the figure’s eyes locked onto yours.

They mouthed something, their lips curling into a smile as they spoke the words that sent a shiver down your spine. "See you soon." The smirk on their face deepened as they gave a small, deliberate wave, the motion almost mocking as you walked away.

Your pulse quickened at the thought of their cryptic words, the warning behind them making your skin prickle. You looked up at Isaac, who kept his focus ahead, his anger still apparent in every step he took, but he offered no explanation.

By the time you reached the car, you could feel the cold still clinging to you, the remnants of the uncomfortable encounter sticking in your mind. Isaac opened the door for you, the tension in his body still evident as he held your gaze for a moment longer than usual.

“Sleep,” he said, his voice softer now, though there was still a firmness in it. “I’ll cook for you tonight.” There was something comforting in the simplicity of his words, and as you climbed into the car, you allowed yourself to relax just a little, despite the lingering unease. Isaac started the engine, the soft hum of the car providing a strange sense of normalcy after everything that had just happened.As the car rolled out of the manor's driveway and into the night, your mind continued to whirl with the figure’s haunting presence and those words—“See you soon.”

──

author's note: dedicated to the anon who referred to me as dear, if it matters to anyone at all i imagined isaac wearing this watch.

[belladonnadawn]

Where You Belong

When Isaac's need landed you on his lap. Isaac Rhoades x Reader Content Warning: sexual themes.

You were certain that the blush in your cheek would be permanent the more you spent time with him.

To describe being his was ineffable. He felt like the perfect balance of everything: protective and caring, sweet and stern, tough and gentle. All of it made you admire him more each day.

Every time spent with him was precious. Both of you could bathe in each other's presence without speaking and still feel as comfortable as before.

Just like every other day, you find yourself sitting on the sofa in his study, reading a book as he reviews the information he has on his client. It was a good way to kill time and spend the day with him. The soft sound of the pages turning, the clicks from the keyboard while he's typing, and the birds singing outside the window became your music.

"My love?"

You glanced at him with a small smile, ready to answer his requests.

"Can you come here?" He beckons you to his lap, tapping his thigh as if it's the place reserved for you and you only.

Without hesitation, you obeyed.

You settled on his lap, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest. "Are you tired?" A hand moved towards the back of his head to play with his hair, a gesture that he found soothing

Isaac sighed, a hint of relaxation now evident in his eyes, "Not as tired as I was before."

A smile showed on your face as you caressed the side of his neck with your thumb, "I'm glad I'm your stress reliever."

He let out a hearty chuckle, followed by a grin, "You're not just a stress reliever."

Deciding to focus on you, Isaac leaned towards you to shut his computer down, his hands snaking on your lower back to support you. As he moved, a faint smell hit your nose for a moment and you almost sighed on how pleasant his smell was. God, he's intoxicating.

He sat back on his chair, turning all his attention to you. You can still feel his hand placed on your back, the simple touch made your heart flutter a bit. Moving a strand away from your face, he observes you like an artist wanting to etch you in his mind forever.

"I missed you," He spoke softly.

"But we're together the whole day."

"Not in a way that I wanted," Isaac huffed in a petulant manner, pulling you closer to him. You got another whiff of his perfume and you felt yourself crumble a little.

"How did you want it then?" Words spilled quickly from your mouth. Before you knew it, Isaac was already wearing a boyish grin. A grin that you know too well.

"You know how I want it," His voice was low and sultry, giving your neck a quick kiss before pulling away to look at you again.

A familiar heat spreads on your cheeks once more. You cleared your throat, turning away from him. "What do you want for dinner?" You raised the question, wanting to divert the topic.

Isaac slowly shook his head, clicking the roof of his tongue. "Dinner already? Can't I seize this moment with you? Besides," He leaned, planting small kisses on your shoulder, "I have a craving that you can satisfy."

You sighed, hand massaging his scalp as you caved into his kisses. Soft sighs and whimpers escape your mouth before you can stop them. Isaac reveled in that.

He finally pulled away, tilting his head, "You're red. I wonder why." A smirk formed on his lips as he teased you further. He adjusted himself, making sure you were feeling him.

"You always wonder." You swallowed, finally feeling his arousal building up. Memories of your nights and days with him flashed in your mind at the simple touch of him.

Isaac only smirked, his hand caressing your cheek, "You always make me."

Without hesitation, he slammed his lips to yours. His arms pull you closer and closer, his hunger for you evident in his movements. Isaac groaned between your lips, his kisses deep and sloppy— filled with need.

You did not hesitate to reciprocate his hunger. Your hands unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his belt, earning a soft moan from him. Wanting to push him further, your hand caressed his chest, touching him where he wanted to be touched.

Your back hits the side of the table as he pushes deeper. His tongue slid on your bottom lip only to meet yours once again. The euphoria that you felt from his kisses and touches was enough to make you feel lightheaded.

Feeling a little braver, you decided to straddle him, hips moving in need as you continued to crave for him. Isaac groans, wrapping his arms around you and guiding your movements.

He pulled away from the kiss, breathless from what happened, "Yes, just like that. Don't stop," His eyes darkened, looking right into yours as he hardened.

You closed your eyes, feeling the familiar heat build in your stomach. Everything felt hot and heavy as you continued to grind on him. He leaned closer once more, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck, making sure to leave a mark.

You'd tell yourself that he's as insatiable as you, but you'll have trouble believing that when his hands wander around your body. Everything screamed passion and lust as the room filled with the sounds of your moans and heavy breaths combined. But it's not enough— it never was once both of you crave for more.

All of a sudden, his hand stopped you. You opened your eyes at his abrupt movement, "Isaac?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed you by your rear, lifting you with little to no effort. Your arms immediately held him. The closeness gives him an opportunity to kiss your neck once more.

Isaac carried you to the sofa, realizing that there were still documents on the table. He sat down, making sure that you were still straddling him.

"Comfortable?"

You nodded, giving him a small smile. This time, you initiated the kiss. Compared to his, you were more gentle, making sure to take your time with him. It was something that he found endearing— something that made his heart flutter.

Isaac caressed your thighs, spreading them further and pulling them closer to where he needed you the most. It elicited a moan from both of you, feeling another layer of pleasure.

His hand on your chin as he gently paused the kiss. "If you're still wondering what I want for dinner," Isaac lays you down on the sofa, settling between your legs, "I'd be glad to give you my answer."

Divider: cafekitsune