#isaac rhoades x reader

[someonelol1872]

I wanna hear your Isaac headcannons

pretty pretty please please please?

[litmot-archived]

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 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 🥰

[peppymintdreams]

Sick and Pickled

Isaac Rhoades x Pickle

Requested by @mitsukitsume

Pickle is sick but don’t worry their lovely boyfriend Isaac is here to save the day

Pickle lay bundled in bed, cocooned beneath layers of blankets, but still shivering from the fever that had knocked them off their feet. Their head throbbed like a drum, and even the simplest movements felt like climbing a mountain.

Isaac entered the dimly lit room, balancing a tray filled with a steaming bowl of soup, a glass of water, and some medication. His expression was typically stoic, but the concern in his eyes betrayed the calmness he tried to project.

“Hey, Pickle,” he said softly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?”

They groaned, turning their head slightly to meet his gaze. “Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” they mumbled, voice thick and shaky. “I can’t even think straight.”

Isaac's lips pressed into a thin line, a mixture of worry and determination crossing his features. He settled on the edge of the bed, his presence reassuring. “You need to eat something,” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm.

With careful hands, he lifted a spoonful of the warm soup, bringing it to their lips. “Just a little for me, alright?” His eyes softened as he watched them, his usual stern demeanor giving way to something more tender.

Pickle hesitated but opened their mouth, taking the sip. The warmth slid down their throat, and for a moment, it felt like a hug from the inside. Isaac smiled, his expression breaking into something softer, something loving.

“That’s it. You’re doing great,” he encouraged, continuing to feed them. He leaned closer, the proximity making Pickle’s heart flutter despite their discomfort. “I know it’s hard, but you’ll feel better soon. Just a little more.”

After a few spoonfuls, Pickle leaned back against the pillows, exhausted. Isaac set the bowl aside and reached for the glass of water. “Here, just a sip. You need to stay hydrated,” he urged, his voice a soothing balm.

Pickle obeyed, their eyes meeting his as they drank. “You don’t have to stay here the whole time, you know,” they said, trying to keep their voice light. “I’ll be fine eventually…”

Isaac shook his head, his brows furrowing in mild annoyance. “No, I’m staying. I won’t leave you alone while you’re like this.” His tone was firm, but the warmth in his gaze was unmistakable. “Besides, I’d rather be here to make sure you don’t sneak out of bed and get yourself into trouble.”

A faint laugh escaped Pickle, though it quickly morphed into a cough. Isaac instinctively rubbed soothing circles on their back, his touch gentle yet protective. “Easy there,” he murmured. “You’re safe. Just focus on resting.”

Isaac adjusted the blankets around Pickle, tucking them in closer. “I’m here,” he promised, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ll get better, and when you do, I want to hear you sing for me every day.”

Pickle’s heart swelled at his words, a warmth spreading through them that had nothing to do with the fever. “You really mean that?” they asked, their voice soft.

“Of course,” Isaac replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Your voice is…” He paused, searching for the right words. “It’s beautiful. I can’t imagine not hearing it.”

With that, Pickle’s eyelids grew heavy. They allowed themselves to sink into the comfort of his presence, feeling a sense of safety wash over them. Isaac, ever vigilant, settled into the chair beside the bed, keeping watch with a tenderness that belied his serious exterior.

As the fever began to ebb and sleep overtook Pickle, they felt a deep gratitude for Isaac’s care. He may be a stoic man on the outside, but in moments like these, he showed the depth of his affection a love that was fierce, protective, and unwavering.

Hope you enjoyed it girlie ☺️

[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!

[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❤️❤️❤️

[someonelol1872]

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆✧ ₊˚ 𝓘𝓼𝓪𝓪𝓬 𝓡𝓱𝓸𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓼 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 ₊˚

𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔪𝔢...

𝔐𝔞𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔨𝔞 𝔫𝔬 𝔡𝔬𝔞 𝔬 𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔦

𝔎𝔞𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔫𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔞

𝔄𝔫𝔬 𝔨𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔱𝔰𝔲 𝔤𝔞 𝔦𝔪𝔞 𝔪𝔢 𝔫𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔢

𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔪𝔢...

𝔎𝔲𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔬 𝔦𝔦 𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔞

𝔉𝔲𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔦 𝔫𝔬 𝔱𝔬𝔨𝔦 𝔴𝔬 𝔡𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔢

𝔐𝔞𝔡𝔞 𝔴𝔞𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔷𝔲 𝔇𝔞𝔦𝔧𝔦 𝔫𝔦 𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔦𝔱𝔞

-(Miki Matsubara) - 真夜中のドア / Stay With Me (Mayonaka no Door)

(Plot: Isaac, you, and Japanese.)

The scent of rain-kissed earth wafted through the open window of the study, mingling with the faint aroma of leather-bound books and aged whiskey. A lamp cast a warm, amber glow across the cluttered desk, illuminating the furrowed brow of the man hunched over it.

Isaac Rhoades, the half-Japanese, half-American private investigator, sat in his grandfather’s chair—a relic from a bygone era that still bore the indentation of the elder man’s form. The chair’s leather creaked as he leaned back, fingers steepled under his chin. He was contemplating the puzzle pieces scattered before him—photographs, newspaper clippings, and handwritten notes that painted a complex web of deceit and power. The silence of the house was a comforting cocoon, the only sound the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the foyer.

The door to the study creaked open, and a soft, tentative voice called out, "Isaac?" It was you, his live-in housekeeper turned confidant, assistant, and lover. Isaac's eyes didn’t leave the paper in front of him, but his posture relaxed slightly at the sound. He'd grown accustomed to your presence, the gentle intrusion into his solitude a soothing balm rather than an annoyance. "Come in," he said, his voice a low rumble.

You padded into the room with a coffee mug in your hands, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpet that had muted the tread of countless feet over the decades. You moved with a grace that belied your inexperience in the art of espionage, a contrast to the heavy tread of the gangsters and thugs that often occupied the pages of the dossier in front of Isaac. The dim light caught the glint of your eyes—the same color as the whiskey in his glass—and cast shadows across your face that hinted at the curiosity beneath. You placed the warm mug down gently on his desk.

"Isaac," you repeated, a hint of sweetness in your tone, "I've been meaning to ask, when did you learn to speak Japanese?"

Isaac looked up from his paperwork, the question pulling him out of the murky waters of his case. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he gazed into the middle distance, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "My mother," he murmured, the words wrapped with warmth. "She taught me from a very young age. She had this way of speaking, so soft, like the… rustle of silk." He lifted the coffee mug to his lips, and his gaze grew distant, lost in the shadows of memory. "Every day she'd sit under that old willow tree, and she'd recite haiku to me. It was her way of keeping our heritage alive, I suppose."

The study was silent for a moment, filled only with the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the corner and the faint whisper of the rain outside. "Do you remember any of the… haiku, Isaac?" You asked, your voice a gentle probe into his thoughts.

Isaac's gaze returned to you, the warmth in his eyes sharpening to a focus that was as precise as the edge of a freshly honed knife. He nodded, a single dip of his chin. "One of her favorites was about resilience," he said, his voice taking on the rhythm of the poem, "踏まれた草にも 花が咲く, Tread upon grass and it will still bloom, flowers never truly crushed underfoot." He paused, his eyes flicking to the garden outside, shrouded in the evening's embrace. "It's a reminder that life persists, even through the hardest of times. My mother was quite fond of that one."

The room was quiet for a moment, the candles flickering with each gust that whispered through the old house. You leaned against the heavy mahogany doorframe, your curiosity piqued by the glimpse into Isaac's past. "Could you teach me, Isaac?" You asked, your voice carrying the hopefulness of a child asking for a story before bedtime.

Isaac's smile grew, a soft warmth lighting his features. He looked up from his paperwork, his eyes gleaming with an affection that was as rare as a perfectly silent night in the city. "Teach you Japanese?" he repeated, his tone one of pure delight. It was a request that seemed to warm him to his very core. "I'd be more than happy to, my dear."

You walked through the hallway, the floorboards creaking gently underfoot.

"Here," Isaac said, leading you into the library. It was a vast space filled with the sweet scent of aged paper. He approached a corner that was shrouded in shadows, his hand reaching for the knob of a drawer that the you had, surprisingly, never noticed before. It glided open with a smoothness that suggested it had not seen the light of day in quite some time.

Inside lay a collection of children's books, their spines worn and pages yellowed with age. He selected one titled 'Japanese for Little Minds'. His eyes grew distant as he traced his mother's handwriting on the title page, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The sight of her kanji, a stark contrast to the Roman letters of the book's title, was like a gentle caress from a ghost.

"This was one of the first books she taught me from," he murmured, flipping through the pages. The illustrations were simple but charming, depicting various animals and objects alongside their Japanese names. Each word was meticulously written in both kanji and hiragana, with a neat, childlike translation scribbled in English. "It's a bit… elementary for my usual tastes," he chuckled, glancing at you. "But it's a good starting point for you, don't you think?"

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. You tiptoed closer, wrapping your arms around Isaac's waist from behind. "Before we start," you whispered, your breath warm against his neck, "I've always wondered, what does a confession of love sound like in Japanese?"

Isaac's eyes widened, and you noticed the familiar, faint redness at the tips of his ears. He cleared his throat, his gaze drifting to the window where the moon cast a silver ribbon across the polished floorboards. "In Japanese," he began, his voice a velvety rumble, "one might say, 'Tsuki ga kirei desu ne?' It translates to 'The moon is beautiful, isn't it?' It's a subtle expression, often shared between lovers when the moon is high and the night is ripe with unspoken... sentiments."

Your grip tightened around his waist, your cheek brushing against the fabric of his shirt as you leaned closer. "How romantic,"

Isaac felt his heart stutter in his chest, his hand rising to cup the back of your neck. He tilted your head up gently, your eyes locking in silent understanding. The air grew thick with unspoken yearning as he bent closer, his breath a warm whisper against your skin.

Isaac’s eyes searched yours, a silent question lingering in the space between them. The room stilled, and the crackling fireplace whispered its approval. Your eyes fluttered shut as Isaac’s hands cupped your face. His thumbs brushed against their cheekbones, as if memorizing the contours of your face. His lips met yours, a gentle pressure that grew with burgeoning passion. It was a kiss that spoke of yearning and a silent promise that he was yours. That you were his.

The kiss grew deeper, a dance of tongues that tasted of whiskey. Isaac’s arms wound around your waist, pulling you closer, as if to shield you from the shadows of the night and the horrors of his world. The fire cast a warm glow over your intertwined forms, painting you in a soft light that bathed the room in a romantic haze. His hands traveled from your face to your back, a gentle pressure that seemed to melt away the layers of armor that he had so carefully constructed.

As the kiss broke, you remained pressed against each other, your breaths mingling in the quiet. Your eyes remained closed, savoring the moment, as Isaac’s hand smoothed down the curve of your neck and rested at the small of your back. Then, he stepped back, his arms still around you, his expression a study in control as he composed himself. A faint blush colored his cheeks, a rare sight that made your heart flutter.

“All right, that’s quite enough,” Isaac murmured, his voice a deep, steady rumble, laced with a feigned sternness that barely masked the smile tugging at his lips. “If you’re truly set on learning Japanese, then we begin first thing in the morning.” He says, tapping your nose lovingly.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆✧ ₊˚ Thank you for reading! <3

(And, no, I did not forget the coffee growing cold in his study. The poor man’s coffee is but a casualty of your company—left to cool while he forgets the world.)

[litmot-archived]

Hi Vic! Can please we get a fic of Isaac comforting pickle after they got too overstimulated and used the safe word? Like a soft comforting fic?

Everyone misses Isaac so much, it's been 8 MONTHS!!!!

Too Much

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: heavily implied sexual content

“Red! Red!” you cried, gripping the sheets so tightly a distant part of your mind worried they would tear. 

Isaac stilled immediately, raising his head from between your shaking thighs to search your gaze. His grip softened, his thumbs soothingly caressing your skin. “Are you alright?” he asked, shifting to kneel beside you. He reached out a hand to brush your tears away, the other gently cupping your cheek as he looked at you. “Too much?”

You nodded weakly, still trying to catch your breath. Your body was still twitching, faintly shaking from being worked so thoroughly by Isaac. “‘M fine,” you gasped, wishing to reassure him. His forehead was creased, eyebrows drawn together in concern as he looked at you, no doubt wondering if he had overdone it. That would be a conversation for later. “Was— was good, ‘saac. Just can’t— can’t take any more.”

“Of course,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “It’s alright. I’ll run a bath. What do you need?”

“Please,” you sighed, trying to relax. A bath sounded nice, and it would certainly help the strain on your muscles. You closed your eyes, the fog in your mind gradually lifting as you took stock of your body. You were exhausted, the pull of sleep all but impossible to resist. The bed dipped.

“Can you walk?” Isaac asked, his hands already resting on your upper arm. “I’ve got you, I’ll help you. Can you sit up?” 

You groaned, weighing your exhaustion against the prospect of a warm bath. Isaac did not give you much of a choice however, already helping you sit up and making your head spin. You gripped his arm to steady yourself, groaning again. “Slow down,” you said, “I’m a bit— a bit dizzy.”

“Sorry,” he apologized, keeping an arm around you as you felt him shifting around. Tentatively you opened your eyes, pleased to find the world no longer tilting. “Here,” he said, raising a glass to your lips. “Juice, my heart. It’ll make you feel better, trust me.” 

You sipped it slowly, humming in gratitude as Isaac set the glass back on the bedside table. 

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” you said, rising unsteadily to your feet. The warmth of the water really was a balm for your aching body as you sank into the tub. With Isaac behind you, and his arms securely wrapped around you while his hands carefully worked to clean you, massaging soaps into your skin, the temptation to fall asleep was too great to resist.

It was short lived, however. Soft lips pressed against the side of your head, the arms around you tightened, squeezing you gently. “Love, the water is getting cold,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to your temple. 

Begrudgingly, you sat up, allowing Isaac to slip out of the water. He wrapped himself in a towel, retrieving a second one before holding out his hands to help you up. As soon as you were dry — only your hair still a little damp — you collapsed back into bed, waving away Isaac’s offer for food to instead pat the mattress beside you and curling into his side as soon as he laid down. 

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you again, holding you tight. “I’m sorry if I was too rough, or too eager,” he said, brushing your hair back and looking down at your tired expression. 

This was not the right time to talk, he could tell. But he needed to get the words out, they were weighing his heart with guilt — misplaced, the logical part of his brain supplied. That’s why you had a safeword, that’s why it was there, but still, he felt uneasy about the fact that you actually had to use it. 

You did not quite catch his words, eyelids drooping as you cuddled. “You’re good,” you mumbled, catching only the ‘sorry’ he had said, missing the implications, the guilt, the deeper meaning behind his words that you would have to unpack and talk about properly come tomorrow. For now, however, you simply basked in the aftercare he gave you, clinging to him in the way you both needed and muttering a soft ‘I love you’ into the silence to put his mind at ease.

[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.”

[beccixxiluv]

sigh no Isaac for another month (jk)

I should really check patreon more often

Because TEASER ANOTHER REASON TO LIVE RN

[aestheticpearl]

filthy nasty isaac smut plz :3 (originally requested by @jasminepicksflowers)

— juno [isaac rhoades x fem!reader]

tried my best to be filthy nasty 🫡

[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⋆ ˚｡⋆_____________________

[litmot-archived]

Psst, love your fics! 👉🏻 I want more of a clingy and jealous Isaac (miss my man) maybe this time because Pickle decided to adopt a pet! Or any character if you want..

Adorable <3 Glad you like my work, best wishes to both of you (and all my love to the cat)!

Holding On (To You)

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Isaac sat on the couch with a scowl, his eyes flickering from the lit-up TV screen playing some vintage horror film you had wanted to watch, to the little ball of fur curled up on your lap. It was purring melodiously. She was in his spot. 

You did not notice Isaac’s displeased glance at your new arrival, too engrossed in the plot of the movie. You did not think that he could possibly be jealous, watching your fingers thread through the pitch-black fur of the little cat you had brought home not a week ago, remembering a time they would glide through his black hair instead. 

He knew he was being petty. It was a cat, for god’s sake! But he had never had to share your love with someone before, and although he knew it was an infinite resource, he could not help the bitter taste of jealousy from ruining his mood. 

“No, no— don’t go in there,” you whispered, groaning a moment later as the naive protagonist did just that. “I hate this trope. Why can’t they make the characters smart for once?” 

“Suppose the writer wanted to make them more realistic,” Isaac noted drily, anticipating the jumpscare. The movie had failed to capture his interest, but as you seemed to like it, he had resigned himself to the tedious watch while simply enjoying the downtime he could spend with you. 

Cuddling up to you had been the plan, but just as he had wanted to pull you close, tuck you against his side so your head would rest comfortably on his shoulder and he could inhale your scent and feel your warmth, she had come into the living room. Her little paws had thumped softly against the floor and she had let out a low purr that had sounded almost like an accusation at the two of you getting comfortable without her — and in a moment she had hoped onto the couch, curled up on your lap and crumpled all his plans for having you all to himself. 

He was jealous of a cat. The thought felt as ridiculous as it sounded. 

Your hand shot out to grab his arm. Isaac had half a second to wonder why you were holding onto him before the protagonist screamed and a dramatic soundtrack came on. You jumped, startling the curled-up ball of fur that had been napping comfortably. 

The cat got up with a disgruntled meow, seemingly displeased. You expected her to retreat to the other side of the couch to continue her nap, but instead, she put a tiny black paw on Isaac’s leg looking at him as if testing if she was allowed. 

You bit your lip, following the scene with rapt attention. Isaac looked at the cat. She stared back for a moment longer before tiring of caution and settling down on his lap instead. 

“I feel like I’m going to start competing for her attention with you soon,” you chuckled, listening to her soft purrs. The scene before you made your heart swell with warmth; it was so sweetly domestic to have the person who meant the world to you and the little animal that had stolen your heart in a matter of minutes right there beside you. Your love for them both was immeasurable and seeing them like this made you feel like the luckiest person in the world. Maybe you were. 

Isaac looked down at her, hesitatingly reaching out a hand to stroke his fingers through her soft fur. “I feel like I’m competing with her for yours,” he said. You would have thought he was joking were it not for the longing you could hear in his voice. 

“You what?” you asked, unable to suppress a chuckle as you turned to face him fully. “You’re not saying you’re jealous, are you?” 

The protagonist screamed again, but the movie could no longer hold your attention as you watched Isaac’s lips twist into a playful pout. “What if I am?” he asked, side-eyeing you. 

“Isaac!” you laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Seriously?”

He sighed, unable to suppress a fond smile as he heard you laugh. “Maybe a little bit,” he admitted, stroking the underside of the cat’s chin and feeling her melt into his touch. His gaze softened. “I’m not used to sharing you, that’s all.”

You hummed, shifting so you could lean against his side and rest your head on his shoulder. Isaac tilted his, feeling your hair tickle his cheek. “When I found her on the street,” you began, gently petting her head, “I could only think— it reminded me so much of—”

“You were never a stray,” he murmured. “Down on your luck, sure. Taken advantage of, without a doubt. But you were never a helpless pet I picked up off the street. You were caught between a rock and a hard place, and I did what I could to help you — helping myself selfishly as well.”

“The similarities are there regardless,” you said. “And when I saw her, all I could think about was that I can make hersituation better now. I can pick her up and take her in and make sure she is warm and fed and— and safe. All thanks to you.”

He scoffed. “I thought we agreed to leave that part behind us.”

“I owe you my life,” you said. “That’s not something I can easily forget.”

Isaac shifted, making you raise your head to look at him. “And I owe you mine,” he reiterated, his eyes shining with an emotion you could not quite place. “So I’d say our debts are settled, Pickle.”

You narrowed your eyes, looking at him skeptically but choosing not to argue. “What I mean to say is there is no reason for you to be jealous,” you said. “You’re my favorite human, nothing will change that. And I love you all the same, if not more.”

“More?” he asked challengingly, seizing the opportunity you presented to shift the conversation to a lighter subject. “How come?”

You smirked. “Well,” you said, “what if I told you Void on your lap made you look incredibly kissable?”

“Hm,” Isaac mused, “I’d ask you to lean in and prove it.”