#Insecure!reader

[arctickat2400]

Love You More ~ Henry Cavill

Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: 2470

Warnings: insecure!reader, fluff, angst, tiny bit of blood, negative self talk

A/N 1: You can picture yourself wearing whatever you want in this, but I've originally pictured myself wearing a cropped tank top and underwear cuz even though I'm insecure about my body, I love chilling around the house without pants, and in my head I know Henry loves it too lol

A/N 2: You will see in this imagine that I mention a blanket. It is a type of sensory blanket, a small square of fabric that my mom made me that contains eight tags made of ribbon around the edges. It helps me when I'm anxious (which is basically 24/7) in which I will rub the tags between my fingers to calm my mind, keep my mind and hands occupied.

Hope you enjoy!!

***

You hate what you see when you look in the mirror - your soft belly, thick thighs, wide hips, love handles, cellulite-covered skin. You loved when friends and family complimented you, but your mind never believed them. Looking at each and every detail of your body, your mind becomes overwhelmed and your emotions become too intense. A shrill scream escapes your throat as you ram your fist into the glass, shattering it to pieces. You watch in tears as the shattered glass falls from the surface before your legs give out and you collapse to the cold tile floor. 

Henry had just gotten home about an hour ago. You had seemed fine then, happy to see him as usual, jumping into his arms as he pulled you into a sweet ‘hello’ kiss. However, as he sat at the kitchen island on his laptop reading over his script waiting for you to join him again, Henry knew that that had all changed when he heard your heart wrenching scream.

Henry paid no mind to the bar stool toppling over as he stood and ran up the stairs toward the sound that scared him most, Kal right on his heels. Rushing into the bathroom to see your curled up in tears on the floor, Henry doesn’t hesitate to kneel down beside your shaking body. Taking your trembling body in his arms, Henry tries to keep his own tears at bay when he sees the blood and tiny glass shards on your knuckles. Looking up at the now non-existent mirror and the shattered glass across the floor, Henry knows exactly what’s going on in your mind, holding you tighter in his strong embrace as you cry in agony. Henry looked at Kal sitting patiently in the bathroom door, and he knew he was just as worried as his father was about his mother. 

You’ve always been insecure about your body, even though Henry never ceases to tell you how much he loves your body. He thought that after you met him, you were getting better. And you have, but still, on those not so rare days, you’ll break down in tears. He hates that nothing has been able to help you long term. But, Henry is always there to hold you and take care of you, no matter what, and he vows to always be there for you. 

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you,” Henry whispers in your ear softly as he rocks you in his lap. You hold on to his arm, squeezing his bicep in your grip despite the pain in your right hand. Henry runs his fingers through your hair, placing a kiss to the top of your head, trying to soothe your angered mind. 

Henry listens as your labored breaths begin to calm, looking down to see your eyes closed. He let out a sigh of relief, even if it was only temporary, when he realized you had fallen asleep. 

You’ve been suffering with chronic fatigue for so long and it’s taken a toll on you physically, mentally, and emotionally. It prevents you from doing certain everyday things. Henry’s been there for you through it all and you can’t imagine how hard it would be without him. You could never thank him enough for how amazing he’s been since you met. But he hates that neither of you have been able to find a way to help. Some may say that what you’re going through needs to be fixed. However, Henry doesn’t want to fix you, because he doesn’t believe there’s anything broken. You just need a bit of extra love and care, and he has vowed to spend the rest of his life giving you that and more.

Henry, still holding your sleeping form in his arms, your head lying against his chest, leans forward into the bathroom cabinet under the sink to grab the rubbing alcohol and a washcloth. He takes a pair of tweezers and begins pulling out the small, yet knowingly painful shards of glass from your skin. He was thankful you were out cold so you didn’t have to experience the pain consciously. Kal, having laid down in the doorway, cried out after having smelled the blood and watching Henry take care of his mum. 

“It’s alright, bear. Mum’s alright,” Henry assures his dog, looking over with a half smile to see Kal’s face lying on his paws, staring at the scene in front of him. 

After all the pieces were out, Henry washes over your knuckles with the alcohol, cleaning the blood from your cuts and down your hands where the blood ran. Once clean, he wraps gauze around your hand before picking you up and carrying you bridal style to your shared bed. Henry places you down carefully, covering you in the comforter before placing a sweet kiss to your forehead. He patted the bed softly for Kal to jump up and keep you company while Henry went back into the bathroom to pick up the broken glass. 

Henry couldn’t bear to leave you after what you just went through, so after cleaning, he sat in the recliner beside your bed, looking over you to make sure you were okay. Smiling sweetly at the sight of Kal’s large, fluffy head laying down on your thigh, Henry picked up his book from his bedside table to read. He always kept an eye on you, looking up every now and then when you would stir, only to turn over to get more comfortable in your sleep. 

After a while, it seems Henry had been reading the same sentences over and over, having trouble comprehending the words on the pages. His mind was plagued with thoughts of you and how all he wanted to do was help you, take care of you, love you so you wouldn’t think such horrible things about yourself anymore. 

The anxiety got the best of him, needing to get up and walk around instead. Henry stood up, placing a kiss on your forehead and, making sure you were still alright, he headed down the stairs quietly, Kal staying behind while cuddling up next to you. Henry paced around the loft - through the living room, down the hall, even going back up the stairs and into the bathroom before coming back out and passing you again on the bed. Kal raises his head each time Henry would pass before laying his head back down beside you. 

Henry finally ends up back downstairs and in the kitchen, leaning on the island, rubbing his face in slight distress. Henry hated seeing you in such pain. He hated that he couldn’t take the pain away, or at least some of it, take some of the weight off your shoulders and help you carry it. He hated that he couldn’t help you and make it all better. But he also knew that he would not stop trying, and he would continue to love you through it all.

Henry is in his own world when you decide to make your appearance, Kal following you down the steps and into the kitchen. He hadn’t noticed either of you until you came up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, laying your head between his shoulder blades. 

“Hey, darling,” He greets softly, a sweet smile coming to his lips at just the mere presence of you. He brings one hand up to smooth over your bandaged hand that’s placed across his chest, intertwining your fingers. Henry turns in your embrace, taking you into his arms and holding your head to his chest, brushing his hand through your hair, his other hand gently rubbing your side.

The longer you stand there, the easier it is for your mind to become overwhelmed again with negative thoughts. Henry feels you start to shiver, hearing your soft sniffles as tears cascade down your cheeks.

“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay, baby. Everything’s alright,” Henry tries calming you before placing his hands under your thighs and picking you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, clinging to him like a koala. He rubs your back as he carries you to the couch. Sitting down, he holds you in his lap for a little while longer, Kal jumping up on the couch and laying beside you, placing his head on your thigh, looking up at you with sad eyes. As your sniffles and cries die down, Henry, with a bit of hesitation of your own, pushes you back, holding you close enough to be able to see your beautiful, but sorrowful red eyes. 

“What’s going on, sweetheart? Tell me what’s on your mind,” Henry requests as he brushes his thumb over your red, tear stained cheeks, looking into your eyes with such worry and sadness, yet the love and adoration never ceases.

You look down at your hands, picking at the skin, before Henry takes both your hands in his while leaning forward to grab your blanket from the coffee table, handing it to you. 

“I’ve just… I’ve been so tired lately. And I’ve been eating so much that I’ve gained weight. I’ve hardly been able to control my hunger and my mind is plagued by food, and all I can think about is how much I hate myself and my body because I can’t control any of this and I’m sick of being so damn tired all the time!” You pause, your breathing becoming heavy and labored, tears rushing from your eyes, as you smooth your fingers over one of the tags on your blanket. 

“And it doesn’t help that the thought keeps coming to me that you didn’t sign up for this and I’m scared you might feel like you’re stuck with me and how could you still love me like this?” You almost scream in tears, Kal letting out a worried whine in response. Henry takes you back into his arms, a look of panic on his face as he holds your head against his chest, his other hand smoothing down over your hair.

“Hey, hey, hey, no, baby. I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. This is the only place I want to be. If I could hold you forever, that’s exactly what I’d do,” Henry holds you tight as you cry for the next several minutes, fisting his shirt in your grip as you couldn’t keep your tears at bay. 

“Can you look at me now, princess?” Henry asks you, placing his hands on either side of your face, pulling you back to look at him. You sniffle as you lock eyes with his mesmerizing cerulean blue eyes. He gives you a reassuring smile, rubbing his thumbs across your temples.

“Listen very closely, my love. I have told you so many times, and it will never cease to be the truth, darling - no matter how you look, how much you weigh, how much you eat, now matter how much of literally anything you do, I will always, always, love you, no matter what. I don’t care if you lose or you gain weight. I love you for you, and I will always love you. There is not a single thing about you that could change that.” He has to repeat some things so he knows that it will be ingrained in your mind.

“Because the truth is, baby,” Henry pauses briefly with a smile, chuckling. “I can only ever love you more. Every day, when I think I can’t possibly love you more, you will do something crazy or silly, or say something absolutely outrageous, and it just makes me love you so much more. I still don’t know how you do it, but you never cease to amaze me, my sweet baby girl. And nothing about your body will ever change that,” He says it all with a huge smile on his face, his eyes never leaving yours, and you find yourself crying not sad tears, but happy ones now as you rush into Henry’s arms.

“I love you so much,” You whisper in his ear, holding onto him tight, your fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“You, my love, are the most magnificent woman I’ve ever met, and there will never be a day where I stop loving you, because it is impossible for me not to love you,” Henry admits, his arms tightening around your torso. He kisses the side of your head before you pull back, placing your hands on either side of his head now, leaning in and pressing your lips to his in a passionate expression of pure love and devotion. 

“Now, if you are ever thinking anything negative about your body again, my beautiful girl, you make sure to come straight to me and I will do everything in my power to make those thoughts go away, promise me?” Henry demands, firmly but in sweet assurance. 

You nod your head with a small smile, “I promise.” Henry smiles as he looks down and begins rubbing across your tummy with his knuckles.

“You do know that even though I’m not with you for your body, I still believe you are absolutely, breathtakingly gorgeous? There is not a single day I don’t look at you and think, ‘Damn, how did I get so lucky to be able to hold this stunning human being in my arms everyday?’ I mean how could someone not love this adorable belly of yours?” Henry chuckles as he leans down and blows a raspberry against your tummy. A deep red blush comes to your cheeks as a laugh erupts from your lips.

“I think it’s the other way around, my love.” You giggle, calming down as Henry, still with a smile on his face, comes back up and looks up into your eyes while rubbing your soft sides, his thumbs brushing over your belly. “How did I get so lucky to meet not only the handsomest man on earth, but the most caring, loving, warmest man with the biggest heart of gold who never ceases to tell me how much he loves me?” You smile shyly, your thumb brushing across his bottom lip. 

“We’re just a match made in heaven, my darling,” Henry says as you both laugh softly together, meeting in a sweet kiss, Henry’s hands on either of your thighs, holding you to him. 

You feel something cold against your arm and you both look down to see a smiling Kal looking up at both of you. “Hi, sweet boy,” You smile at Kal, running your fingers through the thick fur on his head while you lean forward to lay your head on Henry’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around you, thanking God for this extraordinary woman he gets to call his. 

[captainpriceslilwife]

Thinking about Gaz trying to hit on insecure!reader at the bar, but he's oblivious to the fact that she's self-conscious until he starts talking to her. And for the first time in his life, he gets turned down...and he's never been more attracted to anyone in his life.

Maybe you were all on your own bc your friends abandoned you, or maybe you showed up on your own in an attempt to be flirted with. But once you got there you felt too insecure to look anyone in the eye, so you've kept your gaze locked on your drink since you arrived.

Maybe Gaz sees you - a pretty bird - all on your own and looking sad. It doesn't even cross his mind that you could be insecure, after all, you're gorgous. But you've never seen yourself that way.

So when he finally works up the courage and gets a bit of encouragement from his team, he slinks up next to you and turns on the charm, like he always does with women.

But it doesn't work out like he planned.

There's no blushing smiles and bashful giggles coming from you. Only a blank, surprised stare and tensed muscles. You even look around like you think he's talking to someone else.

I mean, he couldn't possibly be hitting on you, right? It must be some kind of joke, or prank, or...something. Someone that handsome would not be interested in someone like you. And your concerns are only confirmed when he glances over his shoulder and gets a thumbs-up and a wide, toothy grin from some idiot with a mohawk.

He thinks maybe he's just making you nervous, but when you flinch when he calls you 'beautiful', he knows he's done something wrong. He just doesn't know what.

Of course, it's not his fault. He doesn't know how many times you've been asked out as a joke...or a prank...or a dare. Nobody's ever made a genuine effort to be with you. And he's struck a chord in you hard enough to make you have to swallow against the lump forming in your throat.

"You think it's funny to go up to random girls and make fun of them?" Your trembling voice speaks up as you cling to your drink, trying to seem tough even as the tears build in your eyes.

"Make fun-?" He doesn't even get to finish voicing his confusion before you're standing up, staring down at his brown, puppy-dog eyes with the firmest glare you can muster despite your tears.

"You might be this...this handsome guy, but that doesn't mean you can be mean!" You stutter out as you gather up your purse clumsily, like you're desperate to get away from him...which you are...even if he is the hottest man who has ever talked to you.

"Love, I wasn't making fun of you-" He desperately tries to salvage the situation as he watches in horror as your tears begin to roll down your cheeks, but you quickly snap back. "Oh, save it! You...you asshole!" You seem to hesitate for a moment before you grip your drink tightly and splash it into his face, but he can tell by the immediate guilt lacing your features that you regret your choice.

Before either of you can say anything else, you gather your purse and practically sprint to the exit. But in your hurry, you don't realize you've left behind your wallet - which Gaz picks up once he's broken himself out of the shock you've left him in.

He returns to his table - slightly dazed and dripping with strawberry daquiri as he stares down at your I.D., completely lost in thought as he studies the small picture of your face smiling sweetly at the camera. It looks nothing like the gorgeous woman he saw sitting at the bar - you looked...different, on your license. Not ugly, per se, but you were certainly more awkward when that picture was taken. You just hadn't come into yourself quite yet, and he can already picture how people must've been treating you when you looked like that. And it finally clicks for him.

You genuinely thought he was just teasing you, like you've probably always been teased. But this time, you had enough confidence in yourself to at least tell him to fuck off, even if you did it with tears in your eyes.

Ghost's voice breaks through the barrier first, with a gruff "fuck was tha' about?"

"Aye, what'd ye say to tha poor lass?" Soap's concern quickly follows, his head craning to look out the window as he watches you scurry down the dark street with tears in your eyes. "Couldnae be good from tha' look on her bonnie face."

Their words barely register in Gaz's mind, especially when he's too focused on the way his heart is pounding against his ribs as he tears his eyes away from your picture. "I think I just met the love of my life."

"What?"

[part 1, part 2, part 3]

[fish145]

in sickness and in health

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader | Arranged marriage

summary: After Aemond gets sick, you, his wife, take it upon yourself to take care of him. And he doesn't want you to. Or does he?

warnings: some swearing, insecurities (him), PiV, fingering, sloppy make-outs, Aemond is a little mean, creampie (this is fiction, use protection), not really enemies to lovers but he doesnt really like you......at first

5.6K

Note: hello i am back. also i giggled writing this ngl

MDNI

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Aemond didn't love you. At least, not really. He knew his marriage had been nothing more than a political match, and he always did what was expected of him.

But he didn't love you.

It had been hard for you, at first. Especially the first few weeks. When you were younger, you had dreamt of a loving marriage with a handsome husband. And while your husband was handsome, your marriage was not loving.

It was late, and you were sitting on a chaise in your shared chambers. Outside it was pouring, every now and then a lightning flash drawing your attention. Aemond had left right after dinner, wanting to fly with Vhagar to ‘clear his mind’,

You believed it was just an excuse for him not to spend time with you. 

And now, hours later, he was still gone. You were worried for him, worried that he might get struck by lightning, or perhaps even deadly sick from the cold wind and the heavy rain.

You sighed again, standing up and looking out of the window. It was pitch dark outside. You knew your husband was smart, deadly so, but still…

You turned quickly when you heard the door creak open, revealing him. Utterly soaked to the bone.

His long white hair was curly from the rain, and the cloak he was wearing was dripping rain onto the stone floor.

“Aemond…” you said softly, stepping a bit closer to him. But he didn't reply. He didn't even look into your direction.

He walked towards the dining table, removing his cloak and hanging it over a wooden chair.

His boots were caked in mud, his tunic and breeches clearly wet as well. He walked over to the fireplace, sitting down on the divan. You fidgeted with your hands, moving to grab a soft cloth from your nightstand. 

“You’re soaked,” you said, slowly moving over to him and holding out the fabric to him, “you’ll get sick if you don't remove your wet clothes, or… or at least take a warm bath.”

He didn't accept the cloth, however, deciding the fireplace was far more interesting to look at than you. 

“I am not some weakling to fall ill from the rain,” he replied, standing back up again. He turned his back to you, his hands unclasping his sword belt and hanging it off the side of another chair. “I have ridden Vhagar countless of times in worse weather than this,” he said gruffly, and you weren't sure if he was bragging or simply stating a fact. “I will not fall ill from this.”

His tone was cold and dismissive, his eye scanning his dagger for any imperfections. “Do not worry about me, wife,” he said, and the way he said the word wife so coldly made your stomach drop. “I have no need for your… attentions.” 

He walked over to the cupboard, pouring a glass of wine only for himself. And he still didn't look at you.

You nodded stiffly, turning to sit back down onto the chaise. 

Oh… how he hurt you. You always believed you could handle an indifferent husband. A husband who barely spoke to you, barely showed you any affection. But this? The way he spoke to you, as if you were the most annoying person he’d ever met… it hurt. 

You turned your head again, seeing the way his breeches and tunic were still wet, his hair too. He would definitely get sick in the morning. And a small part of you really hoped he did. 

“You could have said thank you, at least,” you said suddenly, surprising even yourself. 

Aemond paused, his grip on his cup tightening ever so slightly. The only sound that filled the chamber for the longest moment was the sound of rain pattering against the window, the sound of wind howling outside.

Finally, he turned, his cold eye meeting yours. 

“Thank you?” he said coldly, something close to a scowl on his face. “For what? Your unwelcome concern? Your constant meddling?”

He stepped closer, his tall frame blocking the candlelight. “I have no reason to be thankful,” he said, “you are my wife, in name only. Do not forget your place.”

His warning was clear; leave him be, or face his anger. He scoffed, turning away and walking over to the window again.

You stared at his back, barely even breathing. Then, your embarrassment turned to annoyance.

You stared at your husband, seeing his wet clothing.

Oh, he would definitely be sick come morning. And you would have fun saying ‘told you so’ as he lay in bed, unable to do anything.

You stood up, walking over to your husband. You placed a warm hand on his arm, and you could feel him tense for a moment. 

“I’m going to bed,” you said softly, sweetly. “Goodnight.”

You paused for a moment, just long enough to hear him quietly mutter a ‘goodnight’ back.

You turned, walking over to your large four-poster bed where you disrobed and put on your nightgown. Aemond didn't turn to watch, simply staring outside of the window. When he had finished his wine, he decided to join you in bed. He undressed, pulling his soaked clothing off and slipping nude into bed. He lay still on his back, staring at the canopy above. And though he was quite cold, he didn't move closer to you.

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You felt awfully giddy waking up the next morning. Your husband hadn’t left for training yet, something he usually did at the crack of dawn. 

He was sick, you were sure of it. He had been coughing and shivering all night.

You got up silently, rushing to your closet and putting on your most extravagant nightgown and robe you had. You’d even done your hair and squeezed your cheeks for a lovely flush. 

Aemond coughed weakly, looking a lot more pale than usual. You slowly walked over to his side of the bed, holding the same cloth you had offered him the night before. You deftly wiped his brow, tutting softly.

“Oh, dear…” you said softly, “that doesn’t sound good…” Aemond just opened his one eye halfway, his temperature only a bit higher, but his entire body sore. 

“I am fine,” his rough voice said, clearly not even having the energy to sound as angry with you as he wanted. He looked over at you, seeing the nightgown you were wearing. He had never seen you wear the damn thing before, not even on your wedding night. 

“Do not play nursemaid, wife-” he said in a warning tone, before coughing again. “I have no need for it.”

You just hummed, your head tilting to the side a bit. “I see… shall I fetch maid Alta, then?” You watched as he clenched his jaw at the mention of the maid, the woman anything but gentle with her rough handling of things. He stayed silent.

“I didn't think so,” you hummed simply, “you’ll have to do with me.”

You stood up, grabbing another thick blanket to put on top of him. Aemond stayed silent, mad that his wife beat him. The last thing he wanted was that damned maid taking care of him with that loud voice of hers. He much preferred your gentle touch, though he’d never admit it out loud.

You moved over to the open window, closing the heavy curtains and plunging your chamber into darkness again. “My maid shall fetch the maester,” you said softly, the darkness helping his headache lessen. “In the meantime, rest.”

The heavy wool blanket felt nice around him, the warmth it gave helping the shivering lessen. He watched you move around, the extravagant nightgown billowing behind you. It looked nice, the blush on your cheeks looking lovely as you placed a cup of water on his bedside table.

He would pick you over Alta any day.

“Make sure your maid hurries,” he said with a rough voice, “so I do not need to suffer your attentions any longer.” 

He tried to sound cruel, but he ended up just sounding exhausted and uncomfortable. His body hurt, his head pounded and his throat felt like sandpaper. His one eye closed, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. He tried hard to fall asleep, wanting just a small moment where he didn’t have to feel his painful body. And when he did fall asleep, his dreams were filled with odd visions, shifting between his dragon ride on Vhagar’s back, to visions of your lovely face, smiling down at him and taking care of him with soft hands. 

Yet every single time, he would jolt back awake, being sent straight into a coughing fit that hurt his sore body further. 

The maester established that he indeed had a cold, and the man moved to make a brew for him that would hopefully lessen his sore throat and rebuild his strength. He ordered the prince a lot of hydration, rest and warmth. 

“Thank you, maester,” your soft voice said, and you moved closer to your husband. You wiped his brow again, seeing his tired eye look at you. You leaned closer, carding a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. 

“Told you so…” you whispered sweetly, before exiting the chamber along with the maester, ready to take the brew with you that he’d make.

Aemond watched you leave, feeling a flicker of irritation at your words. You had told him so, but still… he couldn’t help but smile weakly at your teasing, feeling a flutter of warmth in his chest.

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

After a moment, you reentered the chamber, holding a warm mug filled with the brew. It smelled quite bitter, but the maester had said it would be good for the prince. 

You sat down next to him on his bed, helping him sit a bit straighter. 

“Drink this,” you said softly, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, “the maester said it will help a great deal.”

He held the mug, your hand supporting it as well, and he started drinking the bitter liquid. It was awful, and he felt his head spin the slightest bit. 

But you stayed close to him, making sure he was alright and that he finished the brew.

“Just a bit more,” you whispered, “then I’ll let you sleep.”

“Stop coddling me like a child,” he said with a strained voice, his words lacking his earlier bite, "I can finish the brew by my damn self.” Even as he said this, he allowed you to help him finish the mug, the warm bitter liquid soothing his throat. He handed you the empty mug, and you placed it back on his nightstand. Then. you helped him back under the warm blankets, making sure he was comfortable. 

“Thank you,” he said after a moment, barely audible. You almost missed it, wanting to call him a child for the way he was acting, but his words made you hold your tongue. 

“Rest,” you said instead, blowing out the two candles and plunging the bedchamber into darkness. You stood up, closing the wooden door behind you. Even though the day was young, you decided to stay inside. Just in case he needed you. And to your surprise, you didn't mind that. -------------------

You decided to go back into the bedchamber in the evening, carrying a warm, watery broth. You set it down on his nightstand, lighting a few candles. Then, you softly touched his arm, looking down at his face. 

“Darling… wake up,” you said softly, seeing his one eye slowly open, "I brought you something light to eat.”

You watched him wake up slowly, groaning softly as he tried to sit up on his own. Then, you shifted to look at his eyepatch, a frown forming on your face.

“That must be giving you such a headache…” you mumbled as your hand moved towards the leather. Aemond tensed immediately, his hand coming up to grab your wrist. “Leave it,” he said, his voice still rough from his cold. “I am used to it.” 

Even though you listened to his tired words, you still persisted, gently removing the leather eyepatch. Aemond clenched his fists, staring down at his lap as he was suddenly exposed. And he hated the feeling. He hated feeling so vulnerable, so exposed, in front of his wife, no less. But still, as you were sitting next to him, not saying anything, he couldn’t push you away. Your presence felt soothing, almost nice. And he didn't wish to part from it. 

You grabbed the warm broth, bringing the spoon to his lips. To your surprise, he didn't complain this time that you were treating him like a child. He simply parted his lips, allowing you to feed him. The broth tasted nice, made exactly right so it wasn’t too heavy for his stomach. 

You quietly looked at your husband, seeing his sapphire eye and the scarred tissue for the first time since marrying him two moons ago. You had only heard stories about it, of how frightening he looked. But now, seeing him so sick and exposed, you only wanted to take care of him, to make sure he was alright.

“The maester told me you are barely using the balm he made for your eye,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence between you two. “He said it helps with redness and… and soreness.”

Aemond’s one eye flicked over to yours, annoyance overcoming him again. How dare you speak to the maester about him? About how he takes care of his own body? It was no one's business but his.

He opened his mouth, wanting to shout at you for your disobedience as a wife, but no sound came out when you gently brought another spoonful to his lips. He sighed, deciding to just eat the broth in silence instead. 

It was just… difficult. No one had cared for him in such a gentle way before, had scolded him for the way he treated his own body. And certainly no one had seen him so vulnerable. 

Suddenly, the thought of you, his wife, seeing all of his scarred ugliness, filled him with a deep, unadulterated dread. He wanted to look the other way, hide his disfigurement from you, but you gently raised another spoonful of broth.

He swallowed before speaking again. “I have been taking care of myself since I was but a young boy,” he stated, "I do not need anyone’s help.” 

You sighed quietly, shaking your head. This man--your own husband--had denied you a lot. The loving marriage you had always dreamt of, any sort of affection, attention, even conversations. He hadn’t even touched you after the consummation.

So you would deny him this. 

You helped him finish the broth, standing up to put the bowl away on the far end table. When you returned to his side, you were holding the balm. 

Aemond tensed when he saw the ointment, his single eye narrowing. “I am not a child,” he hissed lowly, a clear warning in his voice. Even though she had seen it correctly, his scar tissue a lot more red than usual and the skin feeling tight and itchy, he did not wish to be coddled. He didn't need anyone. He didn't need his wife. But even as he thought that, the thought of your gentle touch caring for him even when his visage was so incredibly flawed, was a welcome one. 

He clenched his jaw, searching your face for any revulsion, but he only saw a determined look on your face.

“Keep complaining like that and I'll treat you like a damn child," you replied, catching Aemond off guard.

His wife? Swearing? That was… unexpected.

He stayed still as you swiped some of the balm on your finger, then gently applying the soothing cream to his scars. And he couldn't help but let out a shuddering, relieved sigh. It felt heavenly on his skin, soothing the angry tissue. And your touch was so soft, so gentle, it made his chest ache with something he didn't dare name. 

He studied your face, seeing the concentrated look on your face. Your brows furrowed slightly, the candlelight dancing on your complexion. He allowed his gaze to trail over the bridge of your nose, following the gentle curve of your lips. You looked… lovely. He had never allowed himself to properly look at you, not wanting to either be distracted or perhaps even disappointed. But looking at you now, seeing the way you were so focused on gently caring for him, he felt an emotion bubbling up inside of him. Something he didn't dare name, even if he did not know what it was. 

You pulled back, closing the lid of the balm. “There we are…” you said softly, clearly content with your own work. “Go back to sleep. I’ll bring this with me, so you don’t put it on again.”

He watched as you grabbed his eyepatch, blowing the candles out again. And Aemond felt… a lot better. The warm broth had warmed him up from the inside, having stilled his aches a bit. The balm on his eye had felt heavenly, too, relaxing the angry tissue.

He felt his lone eye slowly close, exhaustion overcoming him. But this time he felt a lot lighter, a lot better. And this time, he slept well. And he dreamt of you. 

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

Two more days passed just like that. You took care of your husband, feeding him and applying his balm. You wiped his brow, helped him drink and even brought his chamber pot so he didn't need to strain himself too much by having to walk to the other room. It was nice, having your presence constantly with him. Even doing the dirty work for him, you did so without complaining.

Every single time he woke up from his slumber, you were by his side, flashing him that sweet, worried smile. He had hated your constant presence at first, but now, if he woke up and didn't see you immediately, he could feel a frown forming on his face. 

By the third day, he already felt a lot better. His body didn't feel as sore, his throat also feeling a lot better. His headache had disappeared completely. By the end of the day, he was strong enough to drink his water on his own. He sat upright, spotting you on a chair next to the bed, asleep with a book in your hand. Aemond stared at you for a moment, the setting sun making your skin glow in the loveliest of ways.

He reached his hand out, grabbing your arm and softly squeezing it. You slowly woke up, eyes heavy and a bit puffy from sleep. For a moment, you both just looked at each other. He watched as you sat straighter, stretching your back and straightening out your dress. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, "I didn't mean to fall asleep.” You set the book down, turning to face him more. “How are you feeling?”

Aemond watched as you stretched and straightened your dress, noticing you yourself also looked quite tired. He realised how selfless you had been these past days, clearly neglecting yourself in order to take care of him. He swallowed heavily, clearing his throat. 

“Better,” he said, his voice no longer rough from his fever, but only a bit rough from disuse. “I believe the worst of it has passed.” 

And he meant it. The fog in his mind had lifted, his body not as sore and feeling a lot stronger. He sat a bit straighter, wincing a bit as he used his muscles. He then looked at you again, his gaze drifting down as he saw how your chest rose and fell as you breathed, the soft swell of your breasts underneath your gown. His gaze moved further down your arm, until it rested for a moment on your ring finger, where he saw your wedding ring. 

It felt strange, having been so cared for these past days. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, looking back into your eyes, “for taking care of me.”

You just hummed, standing up from the chair. You looked at him, a surprisingly playful glint in your eyes. “It was in my vows,” you said, your lips curving up the slightest bit. 

“I shall call for my maid. She will prepare a bath for you,” you looked around for a moment, noticing the bedsheets also needed to be changed. 

“I will have a bath after you.”

Aemond was a bit caught off guard by your teasing words. It had been in your vows, he remembered the spoken words ‘in sickness and in health’ as if it were yesterday. But after the way he had treated you, he hadn't expected you to tease him.

A small smile formed on his lips, and he nodded his head. “A bath sounds wonderful,” he said, “thank you.” 

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

After the bath, he had put on simple linen nightclothes, lying back in bed. The bath had felt wonderful, and the clean sheets were nice as well. But he still felt exhausted.

He watched as your maid entered the chamber, moving ahead to refresh the bath for you. You entered later, wearing only a robe, clearly ready for your own bath. You looked at your husband, seeing some of the colour having returned to his face. “Was it nice?” you asked him, walking closer to him.

Aemond had already shifted underneath the warm blankets, nodding drowsily. “The warmth was most pleasant,” he replied, studying your face. Then, he softly patted the spot beside him, an almost pleading look in his eyes. “Join me,” he said quietly, “just for a moment.”

You hesitated for just a second, before making your way over to the other side of the bed. 

“Alright,” you whispered, “until my bath is ready.”

Aemond watched as you hesitated for a moment, but moved to settle next to him in bed regardless. And truly, he couldn't blame your hesitation. These past moons of married life, he had never once been kind to you, never tried to initiate any closeness. He had been distant, cold, sometimes even mocking.

He looked at you as you crawled onto the bed, sitting down next to him. You weren’t quite touching him, but still sat quite close. He moved his arm behind you, not quite embracing you, but still an attempt at intimacy. And for Aemond, it was a huge step.

He looked at you for a moment, noticing the way you grew less tense, the way you allowed yourself to relax in his presence, and he felt that unfamiliar warmth bloom even more intensely in his chest.

He cleared his throat, making you look at him. “These past days…” he started slowly, trying to gather his thoughts, “you have been a true wife to me. And I am… truly grateful.”

The words felt a bit forced, a bit clumsy, but they meant a lot. You felt that same flutter in your chest as he did, a warmth blooming on your cheeks.

“You do not need to thank me,” you whispered softly. You looked at him, feeling more drawn to him than you had ever felt before. But before you could act upon those feelings, your maid entered the chamber again.

“I must bathe,” you breathed out, quickly moving away and standing up. But before you slipped away into the other chamber, you shot him a playful smile over your shoulder. And to Aemond, that meant everything. 

By the time you returned from your bath, Aemond had already fallen into a deep sleep. You smiled softly, watching him for a moment. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered after a moment, exiting the chamber. 

You took care of your husband the following days, until all he had left was a soft cough and a little sniffle. Aemond’s mind was a lot more clear now, and while he should feel happy because of that, he actually felt quite annoyed. Because all he could think of was you.

You, his sweet wife that had cared for him so diligently. His wife that hadn't even flinched when you saw his full scar, but instead taken care of it. 

And you, his beautiful wife, that he had only taken once because of his own bitterness. 

He remembered the wedding night. It had been short, awkward, probably not even having felt that good for you. You had let out a few moans, most of them muffled by your own hand. But they had sounded… cute.

Aemond cleared his throat, deciding to get up and get dressed instead of remembering his consummation. He was a prince, and he definitely was not in love.

He had already put on his breeches, reaching for his tunic when you suddenly entered the chamber again.

You gasped softly when you saw him half undressed, quickly covering your flushed face with your hands. “I’m sorry!” you squeaked out, “I-I didn't know you were not dressed yet!”

Aemond didn't feel annoyed however. He felt quite pleased with your flustered reaction. He calmly slid the linen tunic over his shoulders, leaving the top open. 

“Do not worry, wife,” he said simply. “In fact, I am quite… flattered by your reaction.

You slowly lowered your hands, looking at your husband. He looked good. Great, actually. He was no longer sick, and he looked fit and normal again. 

You watched as he walked closer to you, his eye locked onto yours. “In fact, I am intrigued by it. By you.” 

You flushed a deeper red, Aemond caging you in against the wall and him. “By me?” you asked in a whisper, a small smile forming on his lips. 

“Aye… by you, my lady. By your sweetness… your innocence…” he trailed off, a hand moving up to softly touch your jaw.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “My innocence?”

He just nodded again. He leaned even closer, his lips awfully close to yours. You could feel his warm breath, smell the scent of the salts of the bath he had taken earlier. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he rumbled quietly, “for taking such great care of me this past week. I wish to… return the favor. To take care of you.”

You swallowed heavily, shaking your head. “You don't need to thank me-” you managed to whisper, your heart pounding fast in your chest.

Aemond just let out a low chuckle, moving closer. 

“I want to,” he replied in a whisper, finally attaching his lips to yours. 

He kissed you deeply, allowing all of the pent up longing and denied intimacy to finally pour out. He held your waist tightly, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours. He softly nipped your bottom lip, slipping his tongue inside when you gasped softly. 

It was needy and sloppy, and Aemond relished in it. His hands started moving up your body, groping your soft breasts through your gown. You whined into the kiss, your back arching. Aemond groaned in reply, moving his wet kisses down your throat. 

You felt his hips press into yours, a hardness pressing against your stomach. 

Oh, but he felt so good. 

His hands moved towards the back of your dress, undoing the clasps until the fabric fell away and pooled around your feet. Aemond growled softly when he felt your hands hold onto his tunic, and he easily picked you up, carrying you towards the grand bed. 

You felt so hot, and your heart was beating so fast, yet you felt so excited. You couldn't believe your husband was undressing you, making you feel all sorts of things in the morning. It felt naughty, it felt… right. 

“You are exquisite,” he breathed out, staring down at your figure splayed out underneath him. He leaned down again, kissing you deeply. You parted your lips immediately, needing him more than air. His hands slid underneath your shift, before pulling it up and off of you completely.

His hand groped your breast, pinching the nipple until it was hard and straining. He parted from the kiss, taking it into his mouth. 

You moaned out, arching your back at the feeling. “O-oh, yes-!” you gasped, egging him on. He groaned at your eagerness, his cock twitching in his breeches. You were so responsive, so soft. He had never been so turned on in his life. 

“You're mine,” he rumbled lowly, his hips grinding against your naked core. You moaned even louder, the drag of his thick, clothed cock against your aching clit making your head spin with pleasure. 

“Do you feel that?” he panted as he looked back at your face, “do you feel how hard I am for you? How hard you make your husband’s cock?” he smirked, making you gasp out at his words. “Feel it,” he whispered the order, his dark eye meeting yours, “it's yours, after all.” 

He guided your hand with his own, moving it down until it was pressed against the hard ridge of his cock in his breeches. It throbbed at your touch, and you moaned again. 

“Gods,” you moaned out, his lips attaching to your collarbone, “I need you so badly.”

Aemond smirked against your skin, licking a stripe up your throat. “Tell me what you need,” he said, groaning when he felt your hand move over his cock. 

“I need you,” you whined out, "I want you to make me feel good.” You swallowed heavily.

“Please.”

Aemond groaned again, leaning down to press his lips hard against yours. “Then have me.”

He undressed quickly, nearly stumbling, before crawling back on top of you. 

His thick cock pressed against your stomach, spreading pre-cum over your soft skin. He groaned almost as if he was in pain, and he was sure he was going to be in pain if he didn't feel your warm, wet walls clenching around his cock soon. 

His hand nearly trembled as he slid his hand down to your cunt, swiping up some of your wetness. And, fuck, you were drenched.

He groaned out, pressing his head in the crook of your neck as he slid a finger inside of your wet heat. 

“By the Gods,” he panted, sliding his digit in and out of you, “you feel so good, so warm-”

You moaned out, hips writhing under his ministrations. Your nails were digging into his shoulders, moans of his name escaping your lips.

He slid a second finger inside, stretching you out in the most delicious way. And when his thumb pressed against your clit, you weren't able to form words anymore. 

He thrust his fingers in and out of you, making you more and more wet. He wanted to make you come on his fingers, he really did, but he just couldn't wait any longer. 

He slid his fingers out, the wet noise your cunt made making you whimper.

He reached down, grabbing his hard cock and lining it up with your sopping wet core. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, my dear wife,” he groaned softly. He teased you just for a moment with the tip, just enough for him to hear those cute, needy whines again. And then, he slid inside of you, his thick member stretching you out. 

“Aemond-!” you moaned out, your head dropping back against the pillows. This was different, so different from your consummation. This was hot, and needy and it felt amazing.

“My wife,” he panted into the crook of your neck. He stayed still inside of you for a moment, allowing you to adjust. He lifted his head, pressing a needy kiss to your lips. 

“You take me so well,” he panted, sliding out until his tip remained inside of you, before filling you again. You moaned out, and his strong hands guided you to wrap your thighs around his waist. And when you finally did, he started fucking into you. His rhythm was steady, deep, aimed to pleasure you as much as himself. He groaned out, kissing you as his hips slammed against yours, the bed creaking underneath you. 

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he rambled, probably more to himself than to you. “Gonna fill this pussy up-”

You held onto him, Aemond feeling your body tighten and coil underneath his. He moved his free hand down, rubbing harshly at your clit, wanting to make you come undone so badly. 

“Come for me,” he panted against your lips, his lone eye meeting yours. “Let me fucking feel it-”

You gasped out, whining and mewling as the knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter and--

He stared deeply into your eyes, kissing you hard when you finally came--hard.

Your back arched off of the bed, your cunt clenching impossibly tight around his cock, nearly forcing him out. But he pressed himself harder against you, moaning your name as you came. 

“Fuck, fuck-” he panted, slamming himself deep into you one last time, staying deep inside as he came hard, painting your insides white with his thick cum. 

“Gods-” he panted, his voice nearly a whine as he was overcome with pleasure. Your nails digging into his shoulders only made his pleasure last longer, and after what felt like ages, the final waves of both of your climaxes finally ebbed. 

He collapsed onto the bed beside you, holding your trembling form close. For the longest moment, neither of you talked. You just curled up against your husband, breathing in his scent.

“My princess,” he panted softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That was… amazing. You are amazing. I cannot believe how… how blind I have been.”

A soft smile formed on your lips, his words making you feel lighter than you had felt in ages. You looked up at him, seeing that same smile looking back at you. He kissed you softly, covering you with warm blankets. 

“I’m just glad you see me now,” you whispered in reply. 

He held you even closer.

[overflowingteacupoflove]

"I look better in the dark" insecure!reader x reassuring!chris NNN Day 7 ! Tw: body image issues, insecurities, crying.(take caution when reading.)

You know you're not the prettiest girl. The skinniest girl. You don't have the most perfect skin or perfect teeth. You know you don't deserve Chris and you never will.

But Chris thinks you're the prettiest thing he's ever laid his eyes on. He knows you have flaws, everyone has their flaws and imperfections. He just doesn't see them as much as you do, or as much as you think he should.

You're standing in front of the mirror in only your underwear, pointing out every flaw and imperfection your eyes land on. A blemish here, a stretch mark there, some discoloration on your leg, a pimple that wasn't there yesterday. And you feel shitty. So shitty. You want to pull on the biggest clothes you own and hide yourself under the covers for the rest of your life.

You feel ugly and unwanted and disgusting. Chris isn't having any of that. He had walked in the room just seconds ago to find you in this position. "Baby?" His voice is cautious. "What's up?" You turn around, bottom lip trembling and eyes brimming with tears.

The light is on and you cant help but feel like you look better in the dark. So much better. You wouldn't be surprised if Chris thought you were ugly in the day time. That you weren't the one he wanted because you looked so much better in the dark.

The night time covered up any imperfections, swallowed them whole and didnt allow them to show unless you made the darkness go away, turned on a light, lit a match.

"Chris." You whisper and wrap your arms around yourself, covering what you can. He seems so sad. You feel so upset that you make him look so sad.

"Hi, my perfect girl." He whispers back with a sad smile. "What's wrong?" His dark eyebrows are furrowed as he walks closer, closing the door behind him, to you.

You pull back on your over-sized sweatshirt and sit down on the bed. "It's just one of those days. I'm sorry."

"You don' gotta apologize. Nothin to apologize for, sweet girl. I'm sorry you feel shitty. Can i do anything to help?" He knows that sometimes the best help he can give is to just turn on a movie for you and leave you alone to sleep it off.

"Can you just...stay with me? Please? We can watch a movie or something. Just turn off the lights and come lay down." You ask sadly, tears spilling over. Chris nods and switches off the lights before climbing in bed.

He kisses away your tears and turns on 'Juno' he knows you love the movie, and that it makes you laugh. He just wants you to be happy. "Y'know i like you a lot in the light." Chris whispers, pulling you closer and burying his face in your hair.

You smile softly and nod. He likes you in whatever lighting. Doesn't matter to him at all

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

a pr3ttyf4wn scroll !

[shockercoco]

Stuck Together

Elias 'Stack' Moore x reader

Warnings - fluff, kissing at the end ;), some swearing, confession of feelings, insecurities and self doubt, readers nickname is Pea

Word count - 8195 (my longest yet, insane)

a/n - finally here it is, the long awaited part 2 to Peas in a Pod, but this can technically be read by itself! I would like to apologize for taking so long to get this out, I really didn't mean for it to take me a month lol💀 Thank you for all the love on the previous part and I hope you enjoy, thanks for reading :)

Summary: After you and Stack confessed your feelings for one another, the two of you decide to take things slow. Everything seems to be going fine until you encounter an old friend, sparking some negative feelings within you and causing you to avoid Stack. Of course, you can't avoid him forever.

“So you’re telling me that everything I’ve seen in the papers about the untouchable SmokeStack twins is true?” you scoff in disbelief after hearing Stack go into details about his adventures with Smoke.

When you look up from the newspaper in your lap—the one that started this conversation—Stack nods, a proud yet smug smile on his face.

“You ain’t have to say ‘untouchable’ like that, though,” Stack rolls.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Like what?”

“Like you think it’s stupid folks call us untouchable.”

“Because it is,” you point out.

“Oh, c’mon, Pea. I don’t like to brag, but-,” Stack smirks, pretending to dust off his clothes, but you stop him before he can continue.

“Yes, you do. I know it, Smoke knows it, everyone knows it.”

Stack gives you a look for interrupting him, but you just innocently shrug before motioning for him to go on. 

“I was gonna say that I don’t like to brag, but this is what happens when you don’t let just anyone do stupid shit and get over on you,” Stack tells you. “Them people are just statin’ the facts.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I mean you did just almost crush a man’s hand for trying to pick up some change you accidentally dropped. Gotta keep up that untouchable facade,” you agree with a sarcastic tone. 

Stack either doesn’t notice your sarcasm or chooses to ignore it.

“Damn right,” he nods.

You quickly fold the newspaper up in your hands and swat his arm. Stack just shoots you a wink. 

The two of you are sitting on a bench outside of Mrs. Chow’s shop and keeping an eye on the store and her daughter while she takes care of some errands. And by errands you mean Mrs. Chow is tending to the man’s hand that Stack had tried to crush 30 minutes prior at her husband’s shop across the street. The location of the incident is only a few feet from where you sit.

Thankfully it wasn’t too hot out today, so you didn’t mind waiting, and plus this gives you a reason to spend more time with Stack.

You shake your head in disappointment at Stack’s response, but you can’t help but smile at him unapologetically being himself.

After the twins’ party a few nights ago and after some confessed feelings (Stack confessed first, and you’ll never let him forget it) the two of you decided to take things slow.

Well, more you than him. You don’t have much relationship experience—or life experience, if you compare it to the twins’— so the last thing you want to do is jump into anything. You’re only in your twenties, so what’s the rush? Who cares that a lot of women your age are already married or are in long term relationships? 

Okay, maybe you do, and maybe you also feel like you’re falling behind, but you’re only human. 

When you had debriefed Mary about the situation and your feelings, she had surprisingly taken your side. Usually she would says that you’re just overthinking or being your usual anxious self, but this time she said:

“You’re doing the right thing by not wanting to rush. I mean, look at me. I got married to a businessman that’s always out of town and who knows exactly what or who he’s doin’,” Mary tells you, the two of you sitting on your front porch enjoying the stars.

“Really, you think?” you ask.

“Yeah, really. You don’t have to compare yourself to all of these other women in town because I can guarantee you not all of ‘em are happy,” Mary points out.

You nod along as you begin to think of all the interactions you have seen between couples in the past; some of them happy and obviously in love, and some of them are just…there.

“And what if Stack doesn’t want to wait like I do?”

“Pea, please. How many times do I have to tell you that that man is in love with you? He’ll wait for you, and if he doesn’t then he can go ahead and take his cocky suit-wearin’ ass to hell.”

Mary’s sudden change in tone makes you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach as you bend over.

“What? I’m serious,” she admits, before joining you.

“Hello? Pea?” you hear Stack’s voice say, bringing you back to the present.

You blink a few times as you notice Stack waving a hand in front of your face. You take a deep breath as you look over at him.

“Sorry, I was just…thinking,” you speak, shaking your head to clear your thoughts.

Stack’s eyebrows are furrowed. “I can see that. What’re you thinkin’ about?”

“It’s nothing important,” you tell him while giving him a small smile.

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Didn’t look like nothing’ from how hard you were statin’ off into space.”

“It’s lady stuff, you don’t wanna know,” you joke, trying to change the subject.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” Stack smirks. You just roll your eyes and hit him again with the newspaper in your hands.

You sigh. “Really, it’s nothing,” you wave him off.

You can tell Stack doesn’t fully believe you, but he decides not to pry. Before you start feeling too awkward, you notice Mrs. Chow walking up to the two of you, dusting her hands on her apron.

“Alright, I’m all done. Thanks again for watchin’ the shop f’me,” Mrs. Chow smiles at you, but gives Stack a more firm look.

Stack just gives her a cheeky grin.

“It’s not a problem. Besides, it’s the least we could do,” you smile.

“Well, I’ll go ahead and let the two of you get on with your day. Best get him out of here before he causes anymore trouble,” she says, gently touching you on the shoulder as she walks past you and into her shop.

“Oh, come on, I ain’t that bad,” Stack scoffs at her words, but still keeps that grin on his face.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever you say,” you scoff, collecting your bag and fixing your dress as you stand up from the bench.

“What was that?” Stack teases. 

He stands up with you and places his hat on top of his head before he begins poking you in your side.

“Stop,” you laugh at the ticklish feeling, using your hands to try and swat him away. 

You let out a shriek as he digs his fingers into your side, causing some people to look over, but most just mind their business.

“People are looking, stop,” you lower your voice, but there’s a smile on your face as you shove him away.

You hate how giddy he makes you feel. 

“Nah, I heard you say somethin’ smart,” Stack smirks and stays right on your tail as you begin walking away from him. 

“I think you’re hearing things. It’s okay, though, everyone knows you’re not all there,” you snicker.

“Ohh, you think you’re funny, huh,” Stack looks at you in fake astonishment. “That hurts, Pea. You’re ‘posed to be on my side, you know we gotta stick together.”

“And I am on your side,” you playfully roll your eyes.

“Well, from what you just said, that’s not what it seems like.”

“It doesn’t matter what it seems like, all that matters is the truth. You should know this.”

“Don’t get smart. This ain’t over.”

“It is, if I say it is.”

“Alright, keep playin’,” Stack chuckles.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as the two of you slowly carry on down the road through the town. Stack had offered to drive, but you had declined and told him that a little exercise won’t kill anyone. Stack had just groaned, but he followed behind you anyways when he realized you were serious.

“Are you still coming over for dinner?” you ask after a while, your tone hopeful.

Smoke and Stack always used to have dinner at your house when you all were growing up, so much so that you eventually stopped asking them because you knew they would show up. 

“Of course, nothing could keep me from your mama’s cookin’. I thought about it a lot while I was gone,” he says, rubbing his stomach over his clothes.

“Really?” you’re taken aback for a second.

“Really,” Stack nods sincerely.

Before either of you have the chance to say anything else, a man carrying a container loses his footing in front of you along with his hold on the object, causing it to slip from his grasp. Whatever liquid is inside splashes up onto the bottom of your dress as the container hits the ground. 

You gasp as you take a step back while looking down at your clothes. Some people passing by turn to look at the cause of the commotion.

You hate nosy people. 

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to,” the man frantically apologizes, his eyes wide, “My buddy told me not to carry this by myself, but I was bein’ stubborn and look where that got me. I shoul-.”

You hold your hand up to cut him off, shaking your head with a small smile. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Stack making a move to say something, but you quickly place a hand on his arm.

“Don’t, it’s okay,” you tell him softly, giving him a look to let him know you’re serious.

Stack hesitates as he looks down at you. His body is tense and his jaw is tight, but once he sees your face, he takes a deep breath before looking away from the scene in front of him.

When you look back at the man in front of you, you see the uneasiness on his face as he notices Stack standing next to you.

“I really am sorry, ma’am. I meant no disrespect,” the man  shifts uncomfortably.

“Don’t worry about it. Like you said, it’s an accident. Besides, I’m sure this isn’t something a little elbow grease can’t fix,” you give the man a reassuring smile, and he nods.

Not wanting to stand there any longer, you give the man one last smile as you walk past him, pulling Stack with you.

“Sorry about the dress,” you say once the two of you are out of ear shot.

Stack had given you the dress a couple of days ago, saying that he felt bad for coming back after all this time without something to give you. You had insisted that you didn’t need anything and that having you and Smoke back in one piece was good enough, but had just ignored you and shoved the dress into your hands.

Stack is confused as he looks at you. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I ruined the dress you gave me.”

“You didn’t ruin it, that piece of shit back there did. You should’ve let me say something to him back there,” Stack grumbles, glancing back at the man in the distance. 

“And say what? He didn’t mean to, Stack. Sometimes, you just gotta let things go. Besides, you already hurt a man earlier, there’s no need for more violence.”

He rolls his eyes. Then, he says, “just know, I would’ve said something if you wanted me to.”

“I know you would’ve, but I didn’t need you to.”

“Okay, Miss independent. You don’t need me no more, I see,” Stack jokes, giving you a playful nudge with his shoulder.

“Oh, please. I never needed you, you just never listened and kept weaseling your way into things in the past.”

“And I was just a man tryin’ to handle business,” Stack throws his hands up dramatically and sighs.

“Man? Your voice was still squeaking when you talked,” you snort.

“Hey! That’s not funny, I was in the process of becoming a man,” Stack tells you with a serious face. The two of you share a look for a moment before bursting into laughter. “I missed spendin’ time with you, Pea.”

You feel your face get warm as you glance down at your feet with a shy smile at his admission.

And I missed you too.

Being around Stack makes you feel like everything only happened yesterday, like no time has passed and the two of you haven’t changed.

He brings a different side of you out. 

God. You sound gross, you sound in love—if this is even what love feels like.

“Well, who wouldn’t miss me?” you tease.

Stack playfully shakes his head with a smile, before grabbing your hand and twirling you around. You’re taken aback at first, but you quickly recover and let him spin you in the middle of the street.

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore is twirling you around in the street.

Before the two of you could get too lost in the moment, you hear a female voice call out.

“Well, I’ll be damned, it must be my lucky day. Is that one of the twins I see over there?” the woman’s voice is teasing.

You turn in the direction of the voice and see a gorgeous woman with a bright smile slowly walking over. There’s a hat sitting on top of her neatly styled hair, and she’s wearing a dress that matches her glove and purse. She uses one of her covered hands to shield her eyes from the sun.

You’re not sure if you’re dizzy because of all the spinning or from the way Stack gently rests his hand on your back as he stands next to you.

“It’s my lucky day, which one of the twins are you?” the woman asks, but quickly laughs and adds, “Who am I kidding? I can recognize you from a mile away, Stack.”

You’re confused at first, thinking that this was some random stranger walking up to the two of you, but as you look up at Stack, you can tell by the smile growing on his face that he recognizes the woman.

“Liza? What the hell are you doin’ in Mississippi?” Stack asks. His hand leaves your back as he leaves your side to go hug the woman—Liza. 

Your mood shifts a bit. 

“Sightseeing, although there’s not that much to see,” Liza giggles.

“Sightseein’ my ass, what are you really doin’ out here?” Stack asks as he pulls away.

“My father’s in town handlin’ some business, and I decided to tag along because why not? I remembered you mentioning’ something about you bein’ from Mississippi, but I didn’t think I’d actually run into you,” Liza grins up at Stack. Then, she finally notices you standing over to the side. “Look at you being rude, Stack. Who’s your friend?”

Friend.

Stack moves to put his arm around your shoulder, not on your back like it was a few moments ago, but around your shoulders. “This is Pea, she grew up with me and Smoke. We go way back.”

He didn’t correct her. It’s not like he’s supposed to, though, the two of you aren’t official. It still hurts.

“Pea?” Liza asks with furrowed brows.

“It’s a nickname,” you explain, to which she nods.

“It’s sweet that you guys have stayed close after all this time.” Liza holds her hand out for you to shake. “I’m Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Liza, I guess you could say that that’s my nickname. It’s nice to meet you.”

So cheer-y.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Her hands are soft, her fingernails are nicely manicured, she smells amazing, and she looks even better up close. There has to be something wrong with her, she’s too perfect.

Then Liza’s bright smile changes into a gasp as she looks down, “Oh, honey, you got a little somethin’ on your dress.”

Your heart drops. “Oh, it’s nothing. I ran into someone earlier and they spilled this on my dress,” you respond, glancing down at the spot still on your dress.

For a moment, you had forgotten all about it.

Now, you suddenly feel hyper-aware of your appearance in comparison to Liza’s. Here she is looking all elegant from head to toe, and then here you are with a stain on your dress. Stack’s dress. A dress you had felt so confident in an hour ago, but not now as you stand in front of Liza.

You shouldn’t be embarrassed, but you are.

Why couldn’t she have popped up earlier before everything happened?

“What a shame, it looks like a lovely dress despite the stain. I know someone who can remove almost anythin’ if you’re interested?”

“I think I’ll manage, but thank you, though,” you offer a kind smile.

“Of course,” she tells you, before turning her attention back to Stack. “I gotta go, but I’ll be in town for a couple of days, so we should get together before I leave. I’m sure my father would love to see you.”

Your eyebrows are raised as you look between the two. 

“I don’t think your old man would be too happy to see me after I won that game against him,” Stack chuckles.

“Oh, please, I’m sure he’s over it. Besides, I think he was more impressed than anythin’. Think about it at least?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll think about it.”

“Perfect,” Liza claps. She turns to you to say, “It was really great to meet you.”

You watch as Liza leaves, her confidence obvious in the way she walks in her heels. Why are you surprised, she’s just the type of woman Stack would go for. 

-

You’re not as excited for dinner as you should be, given the fact that it’s Stack’s first time in your house in years. You hate how much that Liza girl had affected your mood for the day. 

After washing your dress and successfully getting the stain out, you changed into a new one for dinner, although it didn’t really matter. You’re pretty sure you hung your appetite up alongside your dress on the clothesline. 

Even though you weren’t in the mood to eat, you were apparently still in the mood to laugh. You couldn’t help the noises that left you as your mother and Stack shared memories from over the years. 

Your mother went on a tangent summarizing everything that Stack had missed out on concerning the whole town. She told him about how boring the stories the women at church told in his and Smoke’s absence, but also how a lot of people in town missed them even though they would never admit it to twins’ faces.

Stack enlightened her on his adventures with his brother, but you could tell when he was leaving out some details or changing them to spare your mother.

After dinner, when Stack had asked you if you wanted to take a walk with him outside, you had declined and told him that you weren’t feeling too well—which wasn’t a complete lie.

You just needed some time to yourself to think.

-

A few days later, Stack hadn’t seen or heard from you since that night.  At first, he just thought you were still feeling under the weather from dinner, but as time passed that just didn’t seem likely. 

Stack didn’t want to admit it, but he felt like he was going crazy. He had just gotten you back and the two of you were making progress, but then poof. You’re gone. 

Was it something he had done? 

You told him wanted to take things slow, but did he somehow move too fast? Was he laying on too heavy with the flirting? Did you not like when he twirled you around in the street?

And why the hell did he twirl you in the street? Who was he? Better yet, who were you making him become? 

He was different when he was around you, but he liked that, didn’t he?

Stack asked around for you during the gatherings at the Juke Joint, and most people would say that they had spoken to you earlier in the day or they had passed by you in town. Cornbread, Slim, Sammy, Smoke, and Annie hadn’t seen you either.

Yesterday, Stack had run into Mary after she had gotten off at the train station. When he asked her about you, she was confused because she had figured you’d be spending most of your time with Stack while she was gone. She didn’t tell Stack any of that, though, and instead told him that she was sure that you’re fine.

To anyone else, Stack seemed like his usual witty and firm self, but it was obvious to Smoke and Annie that something was off about him.

Annie wanted Smoke to say something to his brother, but talking about feelings was never Smoke’s strong suit. 

So, he made Annie do it.

“Word on the street is you’ve gone soft,” Annie smirks at Stack, her voice gentle and teasing as she casually walks up to Stack.

Stack was leaning with his back against the bar with his arms folded across his chest as he watched people move around the dance floor.

“Oh, yeah? Says who?” Stack lets out a humorless laugh, keeping his eyes in front of him.

“The streets,” Annie jokes. Stack gives her an unimpressed look, but Annie keeps her smirk as she comes to stand next to him and mimics his stance. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What do you mean? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.” Stack’s face contorts.

“Boy,” Annie scoffs, “try tellin’ that to someone who doesn’t know you.”

“Well, I’m tellin’ you that nothin’ is wrong with me.”

Annie raises an eyebrow as she turns her body to face him. “Mhm. So why have you been walkin’ around here all sad and lookin’ like you got a stick up your ass?”

Stack breathes out a frustrated sigh as his jaw tenses. “What the hell do you want, Annie?”

“I want you to tell me what’s got you actin’ like this. Your brother notices it, too, but he just didn’t wanna say anythin’ so I am.”

Stack looks over at Smoke in the distance leaning against a pillar as he watches with a smile as Slim performs.

What a pussy.

“We can stand here all night gettin’ absolutely nowhere, or we can just get to it. The choice is yours. That hard-headed brother o’ yours is just as stubborn as you, so this little facade you got goin’ on doesn’t phase me one bit.”

Stack lets out a sigh and doesn’t say anything, but Annie notices the slight flicker of emotion in his face, so she keeps talking.

“Is it Pea?” Annie questions, even though she already knows the answer. 

This makes Stack whip his head towards her. Annie smirks.

“What, you don’t think I notice how upbeat you’ve been lately? I can put two and two together. Plus, I saw you in town with her the other day while I was grabbin’ some ingredients. Now here you keep askin’ around about her because she ain’t here by your side, which is why you look like a puppy dog who got kicked,” Annie continues.

Stack isn’t a fan of the puppy comparison but chooses to ignore it. “So you saw that, huh?” he asks.

“Yes. Now, what’s wrong? Did you guys get in a fight or somethin’?”

“No, we didn’t. She’s avoidin’ me for no reason.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s a reason,” Annie scoffs.

“Well, if there is, I obviously don’t know what the fuck it is! You just said you saw us in town and seen for yourself that everythin’ was fine, but apparently not, and I’m over here goin’ damn near crazy.” Stack does his best to keep his voice down but doesn’t do a very good job.

Annie, being used to the twins’ reactions, lets Stack’s outburst wash over her like nothing. If anything, this tells her how much Stack cares for you, and not just as in a bestfriend way.

“Use that big head o’ yours and think. Did she say somethin’ to you to let you know that she was upset? Was she actin’ different later that day? Did anythin’ at all happen that she seemed fine with in the moment but could upset her?”

Stack rolls his eyes, thinking to himself that there’s no way he’s going to figure this out. Then, as he goes back into his memories to recall that day with you for what seems to be the 100th time, it clicks.

-

While Stack was receiving an insightful pep talk from Annie, you were getting one from Mary. 

The two of you were sitting at your dining table drinking tea that your mother had just made, and you were planning on not telling her anything and just start rambling about whatever comes to mind, but Mary had other plans.

“So, what’s this I hear about Stack not bein’ able to find you? What the hell did I miss while I was gone?” Mary asks you.

“How do you know that?”

“I saw him yesterday at the train station, and he came up to me and asked about you. I didn’t say anything, of course, but what the hell happened while I was gone? Did things change?”

You don’t look up at her and instead fidget with the spoon inside of your cup.

“Pea, come on. Don’t make me sit here all night because I will, and you know I will,” Mary tells you, leaning back in her chair with her arms folded. 

So you tell her everything—from spending the day with Stack to meeting Liza, who is probably one of Stack’s one night stands, in a ruined dress.

“I’m sorry, that bitch said ‘honey’ to you?” Mary is taken aback. 

You quickly shush her and glance back towards the kitchen where your mother still was. Yeah, you’re a grown woman, but it just seems weird to have someone come into your house and swear around her. 

Mary just waves you off and tells you to keep going. She knows your mother loves her and mostly likely won’t say anything.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if she meant it in a snarky way or if she was just saying that because it’s something she always says,” you point out.

Mary gives you a ‘really’ look. “Trust me, if everythin’ happened like the way you just told me, then this Liza girl was bein’ exactly how you think she was. Don’t let that woman get to you, if anything, you’re the one that got to her.”

“And what makes you say that?” You scoff.

“Because she felt the need to point out that something was wrong with your dress, and I don’t care how kind or gentle her tone seemed, she didn’t mean it in a friendly way. I would never do somethin’ like that to you, ‘specially not in front of a man.”

You stare into space as you think about it for a moment. “I guess you’re right, but I still don’t understand why she would feel threatened by me. I mean, you didn’t see her. She was gorgeous and I’m just…me. It would make sense if the two of them were ever together.”

“Don’t you dare,” Mary tells you as she sits back up in her chair. “Don’t you dare start puttin’ yourself down like that. So what, I wasn’t there to see Liza. Any woman who is ugly on the inside looks just the same on the outside in my eyes.”

 “Well, I’m not putting myself down…I was just telling it how it is,” you shrug.

Mary holds her hand up to stop you. “Don’t even try me. You might not realize it, but that’s exactly what you’re doin’, Pea.”

You open your mouth to speak, and Mary quickly shuts you down with a look.

“I’ve known you your whole damn life, and I’ll be damned if I let some random woman come here and tear you down after only knowing you for five whole seconds. Don’t let me run into her because who the hell does she think she is?”

You can’t help but smile at your best friend’s choice of words. Her tone might seem aggressive or intense, but deep down you know anything that she says comes from love. 

You hear a faint “that’s right” coming from behind, which makes you turn your head only to catch your mother peeking from behind the wall.

“Ma!” you gasp. 

Your mother holds her hands up in surrender as she smiles. “Sorry I ain’t mean to eavesdrop. I won’t do it no more, I promise. Carry on,” she tells the two of you. 

She sends Mary a wink before leaving. When you turn back around to face Mary, she’s looking back at you with a smirk. You roll your eyes.

“What, your mother knows best and obviously agrees because she knows I’m tellin’ you nothin’ but the trust,” Mary laughs.

“Oh whatever. Don’t make me kick you out.”

“But, as I was sayin’, there’s absolutely nothin’ wrong with you, and the fact that Stack is still choosin’ you after travelin’ the damn planet should tell you everythin’ you need to know.”

“We’re not even official yet, so he didn’t exactly choose me,” you counter.

Mary dramatically throws her hands up. “How about you stop guessin’ about all of this and let Stack decide for himself. Just ask that man, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of.”

You let out a sigh. “I guess. I can’t exactly avoid him forever,” you suppose and Mary nods.

“Exactly. So this means you’ll talk to Stack tomorrow then, right?” Mary raised an eyebrow at you.

“Right,” you nod, giving her a small smile

-

Two days later, you still haven’t talked to Stack. 

You know that you told Mary that you would, you just…haven’t gotten around to it–and by that, you mean you’ve been tryin’ your hardest to avoid both Stack and Mary. 

It’s obvious you can’t carry on like this much longer because your mother keeps giving you this look like she wants to say something, but she never does. 

You’re starting to feel a little guilty about this whole situation, but to be honest, Mary should’ve known that you weren’t going to march right up to Stack and demand that he tell you that you’re the only woman for him.

And Mary did know this, which is why she was currently bursting through the front door of your mother’s shop, with a clear attitude on her face.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Mary asks as she crosses her arms, her purse dangling from one of her hands.

Your eyes widen as you curse under your breath. The customers that were in the shop, turned their heads at the sudden commotion. 

The woman you were currently ringing up, Mrs.Lenetta, a close friend of your mother’s, looks between you and Mary before shaking her head. She’s been around long enough to not be surprised by Mary and her ways.

Besides, Mary is only comfortable causing a ruckus like this because she knows most of the people in the area. You honestly shouldn’t even be surprised.

You quickly finish up with Mrs. Lenetta, giving her an apologetic smile, before coming from behind the register and walking up to Mary.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask her with a hushed voice. 

You grab her arm to push her outside, but she moves out of your grasp. You look behind you and see the customers no longer caring and going back to browsing.

“What do you mean ‘what the hell am I doing’? What are you doing? First, you avoid Stack, but now you’re avoidin’ me? That won’t do. This is gonna get settled once and for all right here, right now.”

“I know, and I’m sor- Wait, what do you mean?” you furrow your eyebrows.

Before Mary has a chance to answer, you hear your mother’s voice announce, “Alright, everyone, I’m sorry to do this to ya, but I’m gon’ have to close up a little early.”

You whip your head around to see your mother coming out from the backroom and standing behind the counter.

Your mother rarely closes up the shop early, so she either has to be close to dying or she won some kind of lottery to do it now.

Mr. Gibbs, an older man and frequent customer, starts grumbling to himself, but your mother comes up to him with a kind smile and reassures him that he can come back anytime as she guides him out the door.

“What’s going on?” you look from your mother to Mary, but neither of them give you an answer.

Your mother waits for the last customer to walk out the door, before she finally turns to you.

“Mary’s right, honey. This has to end.”

“Are you serious? Is this some kind of intervention?” you scoff and turn to head to the backroom, but your mother stops you.

“Not so fast”

You turn around with a confused look on your face, which doesn’t change as you watch Mary go to pull the shop door open.

Then Mary leans out to say, “Come on in.”

You feel yourself begin to sweat, before you even see him, the small smirk on Mary’s face making it obvious who's waiting right outside. 

Your mouth opens and you subconsciously hold your breath as you look at your mother, shaking your head in disbelief on how she could do something like this to her own daughter. Your mother gives you an unapologetic look as she claps her hands together in front of her.

Is it too late to make a run for it? Maybe you can quickly make it out the back door. Maybe you can hide? Or better yet, make the ground could just open up and swallow you whole to avoid all of this.

It’s when you finally see all of him as he steps through the door that your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach.

Stack Moore.

“Evenin’ ladies,” Stack greets, taking off his hat and calmly placing his empty hand into his pocket as he steps further inside. He gives your mother a nod, before his eyes land on you.

There’s no anger or disappointment behind his eyes from what you can see, just curiosity and his usual charming smile.

“We’ll give you two some time to talk,” Mary looks you in the eye as smirks and walks out.

You know hate is a strong word, but that’s just how you feel towards her right now, even if you know you’re going to eventually forgive her.

Is it hot in here or is it just you?

Your mother hums in agreement, before she leans in to whisper, “Close y’mouth, dear.”

You shoot her a glare as she backs away with a knowing grin, but you do close your mouth.

Your eyes follow her as she walks out of the shop and closes the door behind her. Even as you're left alone in silence with Stack not too far from you, you still keep your eyes on the door, not yet ready to look at him.

Stack’s eyes haven’t left you once, watching as you avoid him and shift under his stare. He notices the slight shine on your forehead from the thin layer of sweat forming and the way you fidget with your fingers, both tells of your nervousness.

Stack moves casually and begins to walk around the store, taking his time as he takes in everything. Things have changed since the last time he’s been here, and a sense of pride and respect filling him as he sees how much progress you and your mother have made over the years.

He doesn’t touch anything as he looks, keeping one hand in his pocket and the other holding his hat. The sound of his steps coming in contact with the wooden floorboards seem amplified with the silence surrounding the two of you.

You find your gaze shifting to the floor in front of you, suddenly becoming really interested in the old and worn floorboards that have needed to be fixed for a while. Maybe it’s finally time to get them fixed. 

Better yet, maybe one of the floorboards will cave in and help you get out of this situation.

“Long time no see, Pea,” you hear Stack say, still walking around. “It’s obvious why I ain’t seen you around in a while–”

It is?

“–You’ve had to help run a family business, and y’know I know a thing or two about businesses. It ain’t easy, I understand. You have to build relationships with the customers and make sure they know they can trust you so they come back–”

Where is this going?

You’re still looking everywhere but him.

“-Communication is an important tool to being successful, and it’s obvious that you and your mama already understand that part–”

Okay?

“–So I think you can understand why I’m a little confused on why you feel you can’t communicate with me.” Stack ends his stroll right in front of you as his rant comes to an end. “What’s up with that?”

There it is.

Stack looks at you with an expectant look on his face, his eyebrows raised as he waits for you to speak.

“How’d you even know I was here?” you grumble, taking a step back as you suddenly feel too close to him.

“Mary told me. She and your mama got together and said that I should meet them here because you would be working.” You huff out a laugh because of course they did. “Come on, Pea. I asked you a question.”

You honestly don’t know what to say because there’s not much that you can say, except for the truth. Your mouth opens and closes, then opens and closes again as you try to find the right words to say.

You get frustrated and finally throw your hands up in the air. “I just–I don’t know, okay. I needed some time to myself…to think.”

“To think? Think about what? It’s been days, Pea.”

Stack follows you as you move to tidy up the front of the store. You’re behind the check out counter and Stack stands in front of you on the other side. He lays his hat down and leans onto the counter.

“Everything. Life. Me. Us.”

“Us?” Stack furrows his eyebrows. He watches as you clean the counter, but his patience begins to run low, so he snatches the rag you were using out of your hand. “What’s goin’ on, Pea? Talk to me.”

You think back to what Mary had told you; about how there’s no point in stressing over all of this and how you should just come clean to Stack because he chooses you. 

So, you decide to listen to her advice, and quickly spit it out before you have a chance to chicken out.

“Do you really want to be with me?” you ask. After hearing yourself say it, though, you hate how sad your words sound. You fold your arms across your chest as a defense mechanism.

Stack is visibly taken back. “What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I wanna be with you, you think I would be goin’ through all of this trouble if I didn’t?”

Like Mary had said.

“It’s just…” you start, but you trail off.

“This is ‘cause of Liza, ain’t it?” Stack asks, already knowing the answer to it.

You raise your eyebrows as you look at him, surprised. “What makes you say that?”

“Because the day you met her was the last time I saw you. Somethin’ was off about you after we ran into her.  I didn’t notice it at the time, but after thinkin’ about it, it just made sense.”

“Well, even though she did have an effect on me, she isn’t the main reason for how I feel.”

“And what is it that you feel, Pea, you ain’t tellin’ me anything!”

Just spit it out. 

“I feel like I’m not good enough for you,” you breathe.

Stack’s mouth closes as he takes in what you just said. You can see the gears turning in his head as he looks back at you and just blinks. You look away and down at the old counter. 

The shop falls into an uncomfortable silence, only the sounds of both yours and Stack’s breathing filling the space.

When you notice that Stack isn’t going to say anything right away, you continue. “I feel like you could have any other girl in the world because you’re you, Elias ‘Stack’ Moore. You’ve travelled the world and you’ve obviously come across many beautiful women, and unfortunately, I find it hard to believe that you’re choosing me after everything and everyone  you’ve experienced. Yes, Liza is gorgeous, and yes, I felt—and still feel—that she is the better choice for you.”

Stack’s expression is unreadable as he listens to you.

“We’ve been best friends since day one, so it’s only understandable that we’ve remained close  after all this time.” You pause for a second, before continuing. “I guess what I’m saying is that I know what my feelings toward you are, but I want to know if you’re feelings are because you actually see a romantic future with me, or if you’re choosing to be with me because I’m a safe option and it’s what everyone expects.”

You take a deep breath after you finally spill what’s been plaguing your mind. Part of you feels relieved, like a huge weight has been lifted over your shoulders, and the other part of you is full of tension and anxiety as you wait for Stack’s response.

You suddenly feel hot again after revealing your feelings, making you wipe your forehead. You wish he would just hurry up and say something.

Stack stands across from you not knowing where to begin.

“Is this how you’ve always felt, like you ain’t good enough f’me?” Stack’s voice is quiet as he speaks, and you can’t remember the last time you’ve heard him like this. 

“I wouldn’t say always, but lately, yeah.”

“Pea,” Stack shakes his head, “why on earth would you think somethin’ like that? Have I done somethin’ to make you think that? Did someone say  somethin’ to you because if they did, just tell me who–.”

You put your hand up to stop him from going further. “No, no. No one said anything or did anything. This is…all me.”

Stack lowers his head to try and catch your eyes. “Then help me understand because from where I’m standin’, no one else stands a chance against you.”

And hearing those words come from his mouth in that sincere tone that he doesn’t just use on anyone, makes you hold your breath as you stare back at him. You feel something grow in your stomach and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Stack pushes himself off of the counter and walks around to where you are behind it, holding your gaze the entire time. Your heart rate picks up again and your throat goes dry as he comes closer. You naturally take a few steps back as he comes to stand in front of you, but you only end up backing yourself into the edge of the counter. 

Stack uses this to his advantage and grabs your hands to hold in his. He’s not letting you get away again without a fight.

“You say you’re a ‘safe option’ because of our history, but that’s not how I see it. Yeah, I’ve been across the world, but that don’t mean I was fuckin’ women left and right the whole time. Yeah, women came up to me, but that don’t mean I gave every single one of them the time of day. Now, I will admit that I did sleep with three women throughout those years, but that don’t mean that I felt anythin’ for ‘em. Liza was not one ‘em either; Smoke and I just used her to get close to her father, and she obviously keeps gettin’ her hopes up. Smoke and I kept each other grounded while we were gone.”

A breath leaves you after hearing Stack admit to not sleeping with Liza. You can't even blame Liza because, who wouldn’t?

“You may think that you’re not as ‘beautiful’ as any other woman you might see, but that’s not how I feel, Pea. You’re more attractive than most of the women I’ve encountered, and I ain’t just sayin’ that to make you feel better, I’m tellin’ you this because it’s how I really feel. It’s my truth. You’re intelligent, hardworking, kind, and damn near perfect.”

A smile grows on Stack’s lips as he watches you laugh at him calling you perfect. It’s a word you’ve never used to describe yourself, only others. He knows you’re going to object to the fact when he sees you open your mouth, so he jokingly tightens his grip on your hands as he continues.

“You don’t know how hard it is to come across a woman like you anywhere else, and even if she’s somewhere out there, I don’t want her ‘cause I already have you. Everythin’ that makes you you is what makes you beautiful. You’re in a league of your own, baby.”

That’s the first time Stack has called you ‘baby’, and apparently your legs know too because they feel like jello underneath you. You don’t know how you’re going to get through this.

It’s definitely hot in here, right?

Stack releases the hold he has on your hands to place them on either side of your face. You feel like your feet are stuck to the ground as Stack comes even closer into your personal space. As much as you want to pull away, everything about him is keeping you near.

“Now, I only agreed to take things slow because that’s what you wanted, and y’know I wouldn’t do anythin’ to make you uncomfortable, but, Pea, I am so serious about you. Of course, I see a future with you, I want you by my side at all times because you’ve changed me. You don’t know how crazy I was goin’ after not hearin’ from you all that time. I hate to admit it, but I damn near lost my mind, and I don’t wanna go through that again if I can help it. I love you, Pea–”

And just like that, all of your thoughts seem to leave your mind to allow you to fully focus on what Stack has just confessed. 

“–and, yeah, I always have, but this is different. I don’t know how else to convince you or what else to say except for that I love you,” he repeats. “I always have and I always will. You ain’t gotta say it now ‘cause I know how you feel about–”

You don’t think as you cut him off by surging forward and pressing your lips to his. 

Both of you are shocked by your sudden boldness; you eyes widen and you freeze when you realize what you’ve just done, and you hear a startled noise leaves Stack.

Just as you go to pull away, Stack says, “Nah, where’re you goin’? You can’t just do that and not finish it,” before closing the space between you once again.

This time, you allow yourself to melt into him as he wraps his arms around you and presses against your back, pulling you further into his chest as your lips move against his. 

Your arms make their way around his shoulders to pull him down by the neck, and you feel Stack back away slightly to laugh at this, his breath fanning against your face, before smashing his lips back into yours.

To anyone looking in on the outside, the kiss might seem rushed, but you and Stack know that this is from both of your combined feelings that have been pent up over time; from your insecurities being silenced by Stack’s confessions and admissions; from the tension that’s been growing and overflowing in Stack’s body now being released.

It’s impossible for you and him to get any closer, but that doesn’t stop you guys from trying as you both continue to grab and pull one another. 

Stack ends up pushing your back against the edge of the counter even more, and any other time the pressure would be uncomfortable, but, right now, you couldn’t care less.

When your lips finally disconnect, Stack leans his forehead against yours for a moment while the two of you catch your breath, before fully pulling away.

“I love you, too,” you shyly confess, and to this Stack grins.

“I choose you, Pea, I always will,” Stack assures, and his tone leaves no room in your mind for doubt.

His hands are on your waist, but one of them leaves to grab ahold of one of your hands again. He dips his head down to place a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, and he smirks when he sees you rolling your eyes.

You let out a fake dramatic sigh. “I guess, we’re stuck together.”

Yeah, he has gone soft, but he doesn’t care.

Like what you see? Check out my masterlist :)

taglist (for those who asked and who I thought would enjoy it)

@simplysimpingforyou @browngirldominion @childishgambinaax @thickemadame @authentic-girl03 @thecrandle @sinflowersugar @lovingayla @dxmnsaera @holdyuhmuda @thegreat-annamaria @pinkpantheris

[gibsongirl144]

simon riley, who asks insecure!reader to sit on his face—but she’s too afraid she’ll squash him.

“si, don’t wanna hurt you!” she whines, squirming atop his chest.

his large, calloused palms grab at her thighs, using the plump flesh to help calm the urge to suffocate himself in her sweet little cunt.

“s’right, lovie, just need a taste, s’all,” he murmurs, nipping at her thigh. she lets out a soft whine of surprise.

and that’s all it takes—for him to drag her up his chest and bury his face in her.

and this is how he’ll die. not on a mission, not from a gunshot wound. but by his love.

[dollyfiles]

bf!rafe is obsessed with your stretch marks

cw: fluff, sweet intimacy, insecure reader, kissing, comfort, praise

the low lights of rafe’s bedroom lamp casted a warm hue across your bare skin. the sheets were a mess around your legs, all twisted and wrinkled, forgotten in the heat of the moment. the air was thick, and every breath shared between you two grew slower, deeper, heavier.

rafe hovered just above you, his knees framing your hips. his lips were slightly parted, breath warm as it ghosted over your collarbone. one of his hands rested lazily on your waist, his fingertips tracing the curve of it like he was learning it all over again. the other moved with slow purpose, exploring the ridges of your ribs and the softness of your stomach.

his gaze was intense, slow and appreciative. burning in that way that made you usually melt under him. you’d always loved how he looked at you, but tonight, something in your chest twisted beneath that gaze. you didn’t feel beautiful. you didn’t feel wanted. you felt exposed.

you two had been together for a little while now. at least long enough to know each other’s quirks, likes, and tells. long enough to fall into moments like these with a comfortable rhythm. but in this particular moment everything felt like too much.

you knew how he liked to press kisses into your neck when he was sleepy, how he always traced circles on your lower back without even realizing. but sometimes, no matter how safe you were with someone, your own thoughts could still sneak up on you and ruin the moment.

when his hands slid over your ribs and his eyes roamed toward your chest, you moved quickly, cupping his face in both hands and gently pulling it away from your naked body, guiding his focus back to yours. rafe paused, looking confused. a small flicker of irritation crossed his face as he caught your wrists and pulled them from his jaw, holding them in place.

“let me admire you, baby,” he murmured, a little rough, as if denying him the view of you was almost offensive. but your reaction was immediate. you let your hands fall to your boobs, covering them completely. and that’s when something in rafe shifted.

the fire in his eyes softened, replaced by concern and he let go of your wrists. “hey…” his voice dropped to a smooth whisper, like he was scared of startling you. “what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you said too fast, too practiced. you turned your head slightly, eyes fixed on the ceiling, hoping he’d just move past it. but rafe never let things slide, not when it came to you. he knew you. knew that look. knew that tone. and he didn’t buy it for a second. “y/n,” he said, slower this time. “talk to me.”

your chest rose and fell, and for a moment you wanted to brush it off again, to laugh and say it was dumb, that you were just tired or something. but his voice had that edge to it. the one he used when he really saw you. the one that made it impossible to pretend.

“i just…” you swallowed hard. your voice was barely a whisper when it came out. “i don’t like how i look right now.” that got his full attention. he didn’t interrupt, didn’t move, he just watched you, waiting. you hesitated, then finally nodded downward, your hands still covering your boobs. “these stretch marks. i hate them.”

rafe blinked once, then actually let out a small, breathy laugh. not mean at all, just surprised, disbelieving. “you’re kidding, right?” he asked, eyebrows raised. but when you didn’t respond, he acted fast. “wait. you’re actually serious.” you gave him a hesitant glance and nodded again, and just like that his expression melted completely.

“oh, baby…” he said, voice thick with affection now. “c’mere.” he reached for your hands, gently coaxing them away from your chest. you resisted, instinctively, but he didn’t push. he just held them loosely, waiting until you let him.

“look at me,” he said softly. “i love your body. every part of it. and those stretch marks? i adore them. i swear to god. you have no idea how sexy i think they are.”

your eyes searched his, looking for even a bit of insincerity. but all you saw was that honest, almost boyish admiration he always had for you. “they’re like… i don’t know. proof that you’re real. womanly as hell. and they’re yours, so they’re beautiful.”

you didn’t know what to say. your throat tightened again, but this time it wasn’t shame, it was something gentler. something close to relief. and then rafe leaned in and began kissing every line you had tried to hide. each individual stripe that felt like a flaw to you.

his lips brushed them gently, slowly, one after another. “fucking gorgeous,” he whispered against your soft skin.

another kiss.

“perfect.”

and another.

“don’t ever hide from me again.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. the tension in your shoulders released as your hands slid up to rest on his back, your fingers curling against him, not to hide anymore, but to pull him closer. the vulnerability was still there, but the shame was gone, replaced by something warm.

in that quiet moment, between soft sighs and the warmth of his mouth against your skin, rafe made sure you remembered every inch of you was loved.

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @isasweetie @beausling @rafecami @rafesheaven @rafeysbrat @rafesangelita @drewsephrry @rafesbowbunny @rafessecret @littlelamy @sturn777 @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @whinyangel @et6rnalsun @luckycrys @bluemerakis @lacyydollette @nemesyaaa @bruisedfig @rafekisser @tinythebunni @rcsbabydoll @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @deansbeer

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Through My Eyes

Word count: 3700

Warnings: Reader with body insecurity, slight dressing room phobia

As requested by another lovely anon (see prompt), this is a fic based on a reader who is insecure about her figure. I tried to keep the reader's body characteristics somewhat vague to allow for a broad range of readers to try to relate. This fic specifically includes a female reader, but I'm certainly not discounting the fact that men can also have body image issues as well. I just found it easier to write from the female perspective, being a female myself.

My last fic was pretty heavy, so I tried to keep this lighthearted and sweet!

“Darling, are you planning to come out of the fitting room anytime soon?”

“Yes, I’m coming, I’m coming…” You took a deep breath as you looked at yourself one last time in the mirror. The dress had looked gorgeous on the hangar, but on you… all you could see were your least favorite parts of your body. The pudge around your hips, the pouchy spot on your belly, the bulging part of your upper arms just beyond the shoulder straps… No, this wasn’t the dress for you. You were already certain of it.

But if you didn’t come out of the fitting room in at least one of the dresses, Loki was going to wonder what had happened to you in there. So, despite everything in your mind screaming at you to hide yourself in the fitting room for eternity, you grit your teeth and stepped out to show Loki how it looked.

He practically lit up when he saw you, his eyes roving hungrily up and down your body. Rising to his feet from the sofa outside the dressing room, he took a few powerful strides to close the distance between the pair of you and wrapped you in an embrace. He ducked his head down to allow his lips to hover just by your ear.

“You look absolutely ravishing in that dress,” he growled seductively, pressing a kiss to your neck just below your ear. You shivered as his lips grazed the soft skin, giggling nervously.

“Loki! We’re in public,” you hissed, swatting his arm playfully. He nipped at your earlobe before stepping back to admire you once again.

“Honestly, love – you look incredible. Is this the dress you’ve chosen?”

“Well… I wasn’t completely sold on it…” you mumbled, eyes falling to your stomach. “I feel like it doesn’t fit very well in certain places.”

“I wholeheartedly disagree. However, if you don’t love it as much as I do, please try something else. I want you to feel as beautiful as you look when we attend the party.”

You’d been invited to an awards ball for one of the novels you’d written recently. The book had been a pet project of yours for some time while you worked through your other novels, and in all honesty you never expected it to get very far. Within weeks, it was topping the best seller lists. Even more surprising was when you’d received the call that you were to attend a black-tie formal event to receive an award for the very book that you’d anticipated would just sit on the shelves.

The problem was, you didn't own anything suitable for a black-tie gala. It had been years since you had to dress formally, and in that time your body shape had changed too much to consider wearing your old dresses. You hated clothes shopping. But you couldn't exactly wear jeans and a T-shirt to this event, so you didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

The moment you'd mentioned you needed to look for a new dress, Loki insisted he would come along. You'd been dating for a few months, and so far everything had been absolutely perfect. You'd never been in a relationship that was quite so... intense as this one. Loki was quite the wordsmith, living up to his silvertongue title, and he found the most beautiful ways to tell you he cared for you. Never had you been with someone so set on making sure you knew how he felt. It was wonderful, albeit a little overwhelming sometimes.

"I think I'm going to try a couple more before I decide," you determined.

"That's quite alright. Go, I'll be here waiting." He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and took his seat while you disappeared back into the dressing room.

It took everything you had not to just rip the dress off the moment you entered the room and shut the door. You averted your eyes from the mirror as you undid the zipper in the back and slid carefully out of the dress, selecting another from the hangar. The one you chose next was the one you'd selected as a safe backup, in case you hated everything else on you. It had longer sleeves, wasn't tightly fitted, and in all honesty had no real shape to it whatsoever. But that was fine for you. You didn't like your shape, and if this dress could hide everything you hated about yourself, then this was the perfect dress for you.

On looking in the mirror, you knew there wasn't anything spectacular about how you looked in this dress. It sort of hung off of you, the sleeves covering to just past your elbows, and overall it just looked sort of drab. But it hid that pudgy midsection of yours you hated so much, and if it could do that, then it was a contender.

You stepped out of the dressing room to show your boyfriend the dress. It was hard not to notice the deflated look on his face when he saw you. Still, he stood up and approached to get a better look.

"What do you think?" you asked timidly.

"Well... darling, you know you don't look bad in anything you wear, but there was just something about that first dress that was simply striking."

"I kind of like this one better... it's more comfortable. Not so tight." You motioned subconsciously to your midsection when you mentioned the fit. Loki gave you a long, calculating look, a frown forming on his face.

"If this is what you want, then I will support your choice as always. But I need you to understand - you are beautiful in the other dress. Please don't doubt that."

You sighed, turning to look at yourself in the mirror by the fitting room. "I think I'm gonna sleep on it. All this shopping is making me tired."

You returned to the fitting room and changed into your casual clothes, glad to be out of dresses for a while. The two of you headed home to your apartment, silent for most of the drive there. Once inside, Loki offered to start making some dinner while you rested. With a kiss and a thank you, you headed to your room to take a nap.

When you woke an hour later, you could hear the sink running in the kitchen and the clanking of dishes as Loki cleaned up after cooking. You reminded yourself to scold him for that later - you always did the dishes if he did the cooking. Groggily, you rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom to run a brush through your hair, smoothing the tangles that formed as you slept.

After leaving the bathroom and shutting the door behind you, you were affronted by the full-length mirror you had hung over the back of the door. In your casual clothes, the parts of you that you didn't like weren't so prominent, but it was as though your eyes were pulled gravitationally to look at them. You pinched critically at your midsection, wishing you could will off the extra pudge there. You hated the way your neck swelled up around your chin when you looked down, so you jutted your chin out uncomfortably to prevent it. Your thighs weren't toned and thin the way you wanted them to be, squished up in the leggings you'd thrown on to sleep in before you took a nap.

You hadn't noticed the sound of the running water had stopped in the kitchen, too busy critiquing your flaws to pay any attention. Suddenly a tall, regal figure joined you in the mirror, his arms slowly snaking around your waist to pull you close against his chest.

"Tell me what's wrong, darling." Loki buried his face in your hair, squeezing you tighter to himself.

"There's just... a lot of things I wish I could change about how I look," you explained quietly. "So many flaws, so many unperfect parts."

Loki loosened his hold on your waist to lean back a bit, his eyes skimming up and down to assess your reflection. "Where? I don't see anything."

"Of course you don't. But I see them. I see the fat around my midsection, the way my upper arms bulge if my sleeves are too tight, how I get a double chin if I turn my head the wrong way. I hate those things about myself."

Loki placed his hands on your hips, gently turning you to face him. "It pains me to hear you speak so critically of yourself. You are absolutely flawless in my eyes. I wouldn't change a thing."

You felt your face burning a little under his intense gaze. The tiniest of smiles threatened to spread across your face. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I am absolutely not just saying that. I mean every word."

"Loki..." you whined, pressing your face against his chest as it burned hotter. "How can you not see it?"

"See what?"

"All of it." You leaned back a bit, gesticulating to your midsection. "There's so much... pudge here. It's awful."

"What, here?" He gently prodded his fingers into your belly, making you giggle ticklishly. "I don't feel anything. I just feel you."

"Lohoki!"

"Where else, here?" With an impish smirk forming on his face, he began pinching up and down your sides. Your giggles grew bubblier as you grabbed his wrists, gently pushing at them, although your heart wasn't in it. "I don't know what you're talking about, darling. The only thing here is wonderful, flawless you."

"Loki! Yohou're tickling mehehe!" you whined.

"Oh, am I?" He wriggled his thumbs gently into the sides of your belly, knowing he could draw a solid laugh out of you there. You folded into yourself in a useless attempt to evade his fingers. "Ah. I suppose I am, aren't I?"

"YEHES!"

"That's unfortunate. I wasn't finished searching for this 'pudge' you speak of." He suddenly scooped you up off the floor in his arms, carrying you to your bed and carefully depositing you on top of the bedspread. Before you could clamber away, he climbed on top of the bed with you and knelt over your legs.

Loki knew you loved this playful side of him. He never tickled you when you were genuinely sad or angry, but he found that when you were in a mood like this, feeling downtrodden, he could lift your spirits by making you laugh. You knew it lifted his spirits just as much when he saw you feeling down like this, just to hear your giggling. If you fought hard, he would stop at your request, but you never truly tried to push him away.

You wrapped your arms protectively over your midsection while his eyes roamed over your body, assessing his next move. His eyes gleamed mischievously, although there was a spark of pride behind them knowing he was making you smile.

"Where else were you complaining about... ah, yes." He fluttered his fingers around your neck and underneath your chin, relishing in the airy giggles the sensation elicited from you. "I'm sorry, darling, I'm not finding any of this so-called 'pudge' that you're complaining about."

"Ihit's thehehere!" you insisted.

"Mm, nope, not feeling it. How about here then?" His hands darted to your ribs and you exploded into heavy belly laughter, wriggling underneath him as he gently scratched into the crevices between the bones.

"HEHEY!! I DIHIDN'T EVEN - AHAH - COHOMPLAIN ABOUT THAT SPOHOT!"

"I have to be thorough, love." He walked his fingers up to your upper ribs, worming his way under your arms despite your attempts to clamp them down to your sides. You let out a shriek when his fingertips finally found the softest spot under your arms, vibrating into the skin.

"LOHOHOKI!!" You grasped feebly at his forearms, growing desperate for a reprieve, although you didn't necessarily want him to stop this little game. He seemed to gather that your laughter was becoming hiccuppy, pulling his fingers out from under your arms and smiling down at you in pure adoration. "Thehere's... ahah... there's no 'pudge' under my arms, Loki!"

"Then, pray tell, where is it?"

"Oho no, I'm not going to guide you to the next tickle spot," you refused, trying your hardest at a defiant glare despite the irrevocable smile on your face.

"I'd better search here again, just to be sure, then." His fingertips clawed lightly into your belly, skittering randomly around the sensitive skin while you threw your hands out to block his tickling fingers. You threw your head back in ticklish agony as he scratched at the sides of your belly once again. "This is my favorite spot - I adore how this makes you laugh."

"Mmhmmhmm!" you whined wordlessly through your laughter, making Loki chuckle warmly. After a few moments, when he heard your heels begin pounding against the mattress in desperation, he paused once again to allow you to breathe.

"I'm sorry to tell you I've yet to find any of these 'flaws' you speak of, darling. Pure perfection is all I see."

You turned your head to avoid his blue-green eyes, face heating up once again. "Loki! You're embarrassing me!"

"Embarrassing you? By telling you how beautiful you are? Oh, love, we've got quite a bit of work to do," he teased, scooting back a bit to squeeze at your thighs above your knees. A renewed bout of desperate laughter bubbled over, but you made little effort to try to sit up and swat at his hands. "Can you just accept the fact that you are perfect in every way?"

"AHAM NOHOT!"

"You're forcing me to take drastic measures, love." He slid his hands around to slot underneath your knees, fingers poised to strike. With wide eyes, you shook your head wildly as anticipatory laughter burst out of your chest before he even started tickling you.

"NOHO! Loki, noho!! Not there!"

"Admit to me you're beautiful," he demanded, though his tone was gentle. You clamped your mouth shut, shaking your head defiantly with your arms folded over your chest. Loki sighed as though it pained him. "You leave me no choice, then."

"Wait- NAHAHAH LOHOKI!!! THAHAT TICKLES!!" His fingers swept maddeningly gently along the undersides of your knees, traveling occasionally to the back of your thighs to keep you guessing.

"I know," he replied pityingly. "It's unfortunate you can't simply tell me you're beautiful. It would be so easy."

"I'M NOHOT!!" you insisted, screeching when his fingers grazed the skin on the inside of your knees. Loki grinned mischievously as he focused his attention there, leaning against your shins to keep you from thrashing out of his hold.

When your laughter began to sound hoarse, he relented, resting his hands firmly on your hips as you caught your breath.

"Alright, love?"

"Mmhmm," you breathed. "You... you're way too good at that."

"I take pride in it," Loki beamed, squeezing your hips for emphasis. He crawled up higher to hover over your face, ducking down to capture your lips with his. You were still giggling a little into his kiss, causing a smile to spread across his lips as he continued to kiss you.

When he broke apart from your lips, he gazed down at you with a sadness in his eyes, his dark locks draped around his face.

"I wish there were some way for you to see yourself through my eyes," he lamented. You smiled weakly, reaching your arms up to loop around his neck. He lowered his weight down on top of you, rolling onto his side as he wrapped you in an embrace, your legs linked around his.

"I'll try not to be so critical of myself. If you truly think so highly of me, then maybe I can learn to at least stop searching for my flaws."

Loki smiled, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Thank you, darling."

You lay comfortably in his arms for a few minutes, simply breathing in the scent of him, reveling in the safe feeling of his embrace. A thought occurred to you, though, and you tilted your head back to look at your prince.

"Didn't you make dinner?"

He looked confused for a moment, then a sheepish grin crossed his face. "I did indeed. It's alright - nothing a little sorcery can't fix. I'll warm it up."

Reluctantly, you left the comfort of his arms to move to the dinner table. You did, indeed, scold him for doing the dishes, but he shut you up quickly with a kiss. That evening, he made it his mission to make you feel good. You both sat down to watch a movie in the living room, and he wrapped you up in his arms once again and dragged a blanket over the pair of you, tracing abstract patterns against the bare skin of your arm. Upon retiring to bed, he insisted you allow him to work the tension out of your back and shoulders, reverently gliding his hands over your back. You fell asleep under his strong, gentle touch, feeling him lower himself down beside you and draw the covers over your sleeping form as you drifted off.

The next day, you went out shopping again at a different store for a dress. You found a few that seemed to be a good compromise between not fitting too tightly and also not hanging off your body as though you were wearing a window curtain. You didn't even look in the mirror before exiting the fitting room in the first dress, an emerald green, off-the-shoulder, knee-length dress that hugged your upper body but flared out in the skirt. If you were going to have a chance at seeing yourself in Loki's eyes, you couldn't take the time to look at yourself first.

That familiar glint in his eye returned when he saw you step out of the dressing room. A huge grin spread ear-to-ear as he stood to get a better look at you, approaching so he could rest his hands on your waist.

"This... this far surpasses the dress from yesterday," he hummed, his eyes roaming reverently over your curves.

"Tell me what you like about it," you requested. He took a step back, gazing at you thoughtfully.

"I love the way the color brings out your eyes. Not to mention it's my color." You chuckled, shaking your head at his silliness. "I love that the sleeves hang so gracefully off your shoulders. That the neckline scoops to show your beautiful collarbones but not so much as to allow other men to see what is for my eyes only."

"Loki!"

"I'm serious!" He laughed at your indignant expression. "I love that it hugs your waist perfectly, that it shows off your gorgeous long legs. Shall I continue?"

Your face was on fire at this point, and so you shook your head wordlessly. "No, that's good enough, thanks."

He smirked at your blushing face, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you into him to press a kiss to your heated lips. "What do you think?"

"I haven't looked yet."

His brows lifted in surprise. Gently, he grasped your shoulders and turned you around to look in the mirror, placing his hands firmly on the curves of your waist. Your mind drew you to the parts that Loki had pointed out to you, realizing that you really did love the neckline and the sleeve, and that the bodice was actually quite flattering, especially with the hands of your Asgardian prince resting on your waist. A small smile crossed your face.

"I like it."

Loki's arms slid around your waist to embrace you from behind. "I'm glad. You're absolutely breathtaking."

"I... thanks." He released you with a quick kiss to the top of your head, and you turned to face him. "I think this is the one. Let's go buy it."

The bright smile that spread across Loki's face at seeing you happy with how you looked was radiant. "I'll be waiting here for you."

The evening of the event, you slipped back into the dress, trying to focus again on all the things Loki said he loved about you. You felt comfortable in your own skin wearing this dress, which was more than you could say in a long, long time.

When Loki entered your room after you were fully dressed and ready, his eyes grew wide and his jaw slackened a bit as he laid eyes on you for the first time. You had your hair done up in a loose bun, a light layer of makeup on your face. He took those same powerful strides to close the distance between you and wrap you up in his arms, kissing you passionately.

"I didn't think you could possibly look any more beautiful, but you've proven me wrong. You're breathtaking."

"You're pretty damn handsome yourself," you grinned, poking him teasingly in the chest. He wore a tailored black tuxedo, a white shirt underneath with a black tie. His dark locks were tamed but still hung loosely around his face. It was truly a striking look on him.

Loki took your hand in his, lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You giggled, feeling your face start to heat up at his theatrics. Offering you his arm, he asked, "Are you ready, love?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

The evening was perfect. You'd never felt the level of confidence you had in yourself in any other dress before this. From the moment you walked into the gala, to the moment you left on Loki's arm, you felt radiant.

There were certainly going to be days that you still hated your body. The toxic focus on those flaws doesn't just vanish overnight. But, if you could keep trying your hardest to see yourself through Loki's eyes, and ignore the critic inside your own mind, perhaps you could learn to love yourself too.

[hatethysinner]

I’ve been reading stories where Remmick meets the reader whose in a bad marriage with a cheating spouse. They’re good but I now want a different kind of AU, I want to see Remmick meets pregnant reader which the baby’s father dipped the moment he heard the news so basically Remmick steps in to take care of the reader and the baby. If it’s no trouble can you write it please? I don’t mind if you do or don’t add smut in the story

ɴᴏ ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ᴡᴄ: 5.1k

ᴀ/ɴ: title taken directly from this incredible song. I LOVE THIS IDEA ANON UR SO SMART! i was kind of hesitant to write this for some reason but the more i thought about it the more i was like oh my god this is gonna be so good! one thing led to another and well... is 5k words still a drabble? i'm not in love with my writing in this but i truly hope y'all enjoy it. as always, white girls you can have your fun with this too! i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post c:

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: familial abandonment, grief, light religious mentions, birth though i don't think it's that graphic but mileage may vary, excessive divider usage, amateur knowledge of maternity(!!!), domestic lonely!remmick fluff

fanart!

You hadn’t planned to be alone.

Not like this.

Not with your belly round and aching, your fingers too swollen for the ring he slipped on with shaking hands that spring. Not in this creaking old house with lace curtains and porch swings and enough room for a family that hadn’t come.

The Mississippi heat hadn’t let up in weeks. It clung to your neck like grief, heavy and humid, the cicadas too loud to ignore and the crickets too quiet to trust. You moved slower now, out of necessity, not grace. The floorboards groaned beneath your bare feet as you made your way from the bed to the kitchen as if the house missed a second set of steps too.

You still caught yourself reaching for him at night.

Still caught yourself dreaming of the way he used to hold your waist like it anchored him. The way he kissed the back of your neck in the kitchen when you were stirring something sweet. How he'd whisper that you were going to be the best mother Mississippi ever saw.

He loved you.

He loved you.

Didn’t he?

But the day you sat him down, palms damp, breath caught somewhere between hope and dread, and told him you’re gonna be a father, everything shifted. Not all at once. Not with shouting or slamming doors.

Just silence.

First, he started staying late at the shop.

Then the notes stopped showing up with the groceries.

Then you woke up and he was gone.

No suitcase. No goodbye.

Just the weight of knowing his absence wasn’t an accident.

You’d told yourself it was a mistake. That maybe he was hurt. Maybe something happened. But the bank hadn’t seen him. The rail station hadn’t, either. He left. Left you.

Left this.

The whispers in town followed you like gnats. Women with their husbands at church, nodding politely, eyes drifting down to your stomach before flicking back up with something like pity, or judgment, you couldn’t quite bear to name. No one said it outright, but you heard it anyway.

Poor girl.

What a shame.

You still sat in the same pew. Still sang the hymns, even when your throat ached. Still held your chin high. But it was getting harder. Harder to feel beautiful. Harder to feel strong.

Harder to believe there’d be anything left of you once this child came into the world.

You’d made peace with that, sort of. With being a mother, even if you couldn’t be a wife.

Until the night he showed up.

It was late. So late, the world felt folded in on itself. The moderate rain only exemplified the quiet. The porch light had burned out weeks ago, and the only glow came from the oil lamp you kept near the window. The town had gone quiet save for the occasional bullfrog croaking out near the creek, and you’d just settled into your rocking chair, fingers pressing gentle circles into the small of your back, trying to coax the ache away.

Then the knock.

Soft. Barely a sound at all.

You startled.

Knocks didn’t come this time of night. Not unless someone was dead or dying. You wrapped your robe tighter and eased yourself upright, hand on the edge of your belly, heart already ticking faster.

You stood slowly, one hand on your lower back, the other braced against the wall as you moved toward the door. You didn’t bother to make yourself look presentable. Just adjusted your chest, padded barefoot to the front of the house, and peered through the fogged glass of the window beside the frame.

There was a man on your steps.

Not your husband.

A stranger.

Tall. Lean. Barely cloaked in a threadbare coat. He stood crooked against the porch railing, eyes tilted toward the sky like the rain was speaking to him. His hair was damp and clung to his forehead. His hands were empty.

You should’ve locked the door.

Should’ve turned off the light and walked back to bed.

But something in the way he looked up when you touched the knob, like he’d sensed it, like he’d been waiting, froze you in place.

You opened the door.

He didn’t move.

“Sorry to trouble ya, miss,” he said, voice rough, worn down like old gravel.

You didn’t answer.

He cleared his throat. Rain had slicked down the collar of his coat and soaked through the fabric at his shoulders.

“I ain’t askin’ for much,” he added. “Just a night. I won’t touch nothin’. I just-” He hesitated. “It’s cold.”

You looked him over.

The way he stood didn’t scream threat. Didn’t scream drunk or high or desperate. But it didn’t scream safe either. He looked pale. Tired. Gaunt in the cheeks, but not unwell. Just… small, somehow, despite his size.

You shifted. Felt the baby stir gently beneath your ribs.

He noticed.

His eyes dropped to your belly. His whole face changed. Not pity. Not disgust. Just something sharp and unfamiliar, like recognition.

“I’ll sleep on the porch,” he said quickly. “Didn’t realize... I wouldn’t’ve knocked if I’d known. Honest.”

You didn’t know what possessed you then. Maybe it was the ache in your ribs. The absence of someone who should’ve been there to keep you company through all this. Maybe it was how needy he sounded. How soft his voice got when he said honest.

Or maybe it was the look he gave you when you gave him permission to step inside.

He didn’t smile.

Just nodded. Like you’d saved him from something you didn’t have a name for yet.

“Thank ya,” he said, voice almost hoarse now. “Thank ya kindly.”

You still didn’t ask his name.

You didn’t ask where he came from.

You just shut the door behind him, gestured toward the blanket chest by the hearth, and said, “There’s a quilt in there. Floor’s all I’ve got.”

He nodded again. Didn’t complain.

You watched from the corner of your eye as he lowered himself down, slow and careful, folding the blanket once before curling beneath it. No pillow, no cushion. Just wood and wool and whatever weight he’d carried in with him.

And when you eased yourself back into your rocker, listening to the soft tick of rain on the windowpanes, the baby shifted again, sharper this time. Like it knew something had changed.

You didn’t sleep well.

But when you woke the next morning, he was still there.

And that was the last night you ever spent alone.

It started with the dishes.

Not all at once. Just one plate, then another. A rhythm, like he'd done it a hundred times before. You’d woken from your afternoon nap to find the washtub full and your best rag already soaked, the scent of lye soap and something copper-tinged filling the air.

He hadn’t even looked up at first. Just kept scrubbing slow circles into a plate with that strange, methodical care of his. You’d stared at him for a full minute, waiting for him to stop, to say something, maybe even look guilty. But he didn’t. He just nodded toward the table, where he’d made a small spread of breakfast, only for you.

“Thought ya might be hungry,” he said.

That was all.

You didn’t ask him why he’d done it.

You didn’t need to.

He’d been quiet like that all week. Hovering without hovering, close but never quite imposing. You noticed the way he watched you when you moved around the house, hands tucked behind his back like he didn’t trust himself not to help too quickly. He'd fixed the door latch before you'd even thought to mention it, patched the hole in the roof where the rain got in, even dusted your kitchen shelves with one of your old slips of cloth tied around his wrist like a makeshift cuff.

You hadn’t asked for any of that either.

But maybe that was what made it bearable. Strange, yes, but not frightening. Not threatening. He wasn’t a loud man. Wasn’t messy, either. He stepped light, didn’t slam doors, always kept his boots by the back steps and his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows.

He didn’t touch you.

But he looked.

You caught him at it often enough. When you were washing greens, when you were folding linens. His gaze always softened around the edges, like he was watching something breakable and didn’t trust the room to keep it safe.

At first, you’d looked away.

Now you didn’t.

You weren’t sure what changed. Only that something about the way he moved, how slow and deliberate it all was, made your chest ache in a way you didn’t expect. Like you’d forgotten what it meant to be seen without being expected to perform.

He watched you differently than your husband had. That man, gone now, though not without taking a piece of your heart with him, had looked at you with something close to love. Maybe it had been love. You still didn’t know. But there had always been a shadow in it. A hesitation. Like he was trying to hold on to who you were before. Before the baby. Before the curve of your belly started showing in every dress. Before you started humming lullabies under your breath.

He didn’t do that.

He just brought you warm water for your feet in the evening and kept the fire going when the wind picked up through the walls. He hung herbs on the porch rail to dry, even though you hadn’t taught him how. Got it wrong the first time. Rosemary bundled with sassafras, but corrected himself without complaint. He had sharp eyes. Paid attention. Knew your schedule by heart now. When you took your walks. When you liked your tea. When the baby liked to kick.

And Lord, the way he fussed over that baby.

He listened for the kicks like they were gospel. Dropped to one knee anytime you winced or shifted, one hand already hovering like he could ease the weight of your belly just by being near. He’d murmur soft nothings to it sometimes, voice low and warm as molasses. Called the baby sweetheart, sugarplum, his little dove, like it already belonged to him, like he'd been waiting for it longer than even you had.

When the baby turned in the night and made your whole spine ache, he was already there with warm cloths and gentler hands. He never made a show of it. Never asked for thanks. Just laid his hand where it hurt most and waited until your breath evened out again. Sometimes you’d wake to find him asleep beside your chair, his head resting lightly against your thigh, still half-dressed from whatever he’d been doing before he heard you stir.

He carried buckets of water in the mornings without you asking, swept the porch, patched the leaks. Cleaned the chicken coop even though he hated the smell. Anything to spare you the strain. Anything to make things easier.

And he never touched your belly without permission. Not once. Always waited for a nod, for some small sign that it was alright. Then he’d press the flat of his palm against your skin like it was sacred.

He didn’t ask for much in return.

Just to be close.

Just to stay.

It was strange, all of it.

You’d said that to yourself more than once, lying awake with your belly high and heavy under the quilt, the fire crackling low in the stove and his footsteps creaking through the kitchen. It wasn’t fear that kept you up. It wasn’t discomfort either, not exactly. It was something quieter. Thicker. A feeling like you’d wandered into someone else’s story, someone else’s life.

You’d never expected company. Not after what happened. Not after the man you married, the one you’d whispered vows with in a sun-warmed church, turned pale and silent when you told him about the child growing inside you. You weren’t stupid. You’d known it would be hard. But you hadn’t expected the look he gave you, like you’d broken something between you. And then he left. Just like that. Like the baby had made you unrecognizable.

But he didn’t seem to flinch.

He hadn’t run, hadn’t stared at your stomach like it was a problem that needed solving. Hadn’t looked past you like he was trying to remember who you used to be before the swell of your belly changed the silhouette of your body.

He just stayed.

And that was strange.

So was the way he moved through the house now, your house, though it hadn’t felt like yours in a while, with a sense of purpose that made no sense. You never asked him to scrub the floorboards or polish the handles or oil the hinges, but he did. Quietly. Methodically. Like he wanted to earn the space he took up.

Strangest of all, though, was how he spoke to your belly.

He didn’t talk to you about the baby. Not directly. But he murmured to your stomach like it was a person already. Asked questions. Told it things. Ran his hand, cool and callused, gently over the curve of you like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“Evenin’, little one,” he’d say, crouching to place a soft kiss right above your navel after bringing you tea. “Ya givin’ your mama trouble again?”

And when the baby kicked, he lit up like a man who’d just heard the voice of God.

The first time it happened with him, just a nudge, a little flutter against your ribs, you’d gasped and pressed your palm to the spot. He'd rushed across the room with a towel in one hand and a pail in the other, dropping them both like they were meaningless and was at your side in an instant.

“Was that ‘em?” he whispered. “Did they move?”

You nodded. And he reached for your hand so gently it made your throat ache. Placed it over his own, right where your skin had jumped. You watched his eyes flicker red in the dim candlelight as he waited. Then brighter. Brighter still when the baby kicked again.

You didn’t mention the glow. Not then.

You’d noticed it before. Brief, flickering, like something hiding behind glass. His eyes weren’t blue the way other white men in town had them. They weren’t even just blue. They had depth. Layers. Like river water after a storm, with light trapped somewhere deep inside. The red only came when the light hit just right, and was brightened when he was emotional. Happy. Or upset.

Or something else.

His teeth, too, were strange. White, yes, but sharper at the corners. His canines lingered a little too long. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, they always showed just a little too much. He never seemed to eat, not really. Said he had odd hours. That his stomach didn’t take kindly to most food.

But he cooked for you. Always. Carefully. Like the act of preparing your plate meant more to him than eating his own.

All of it was strange.

But you didn’t stop him.

Because when he sat beside you and ran a hand over your belly, there was nothing selfish in it. Nothing claiming or hungry. Just awe. Just devotion.

That was the word that kept coming to mind lately. Devotion.

He followed your pace. Matched your rhythm. Learned your moods before you even knew them yourself. If you sighed, he brought a shawl. If you shifted, he offered his arm. If you cried, when the tears came without warning, in the middle of cooking or brushing your hair or just trying to read, he said nothing. Just held you. Let you soak his shoulder and said your name like it was a promise.

Sometimes you caught him watching you.

Not in a lurid way. Not even in the way your husband used to, back when things were good between you. He looked like he was trying to memorize you. The way your breath hitched when you laughed. The way your ankles swelled at night. The way your fingers danced over the pages of your herbal guides even when you were too tired to really read.

You didn’t ask why he stayed.

You told yourself it was pity. Gratitude. Maybe a sense of guilt.

But something about the way he looked at you, like you were the only tether he had left to something real, made you wonder.

And more than once, you found yourself leaning into him just a little longer than needed. Letting your hand rest on his when he passed you a cup. Letting the silence stretch between you when the fire burned low.

It was slow.

It was strange.

But it was real.

And maybe, just maybe, it was enough.

It had been almost a month.

Four weeks of him sleeping on the floor beside the hearth. Of you waking up to the scent of ash and chicory. Finding the kitchen swept, the kettle hot, your shoes waiting near the door like you had a man who knew where you liked to go. Four weeks of strange cohabitation, of watching each other without asking too many questions, of wordless routines built out of necessity and slow, quiet trust.

And yet, still no names.

You knew the cadence of his footsteps. The shape of his shadow in the yard. How he always tucked his hands behind his back when he thought too hard about something. You knew the way he’d squint at the firewood pile before choosing a piece. And he knew you. When your hips started to ache. When your breathing changed. When the weight of everything, not just the baby, but the world, got too heavy and you needed silence more than you needed talk.

Still, he had never asked for your name.

And you had never asked for his.

It should’ve been strange. Should’ve felt unfinished. But it didn’t. Not really. Because whatever he was, he had never felt like a stranger. Just something old. Something waiting.

That morning, the sky had opened up with thunder and mean gray light. A storm sat heavy over the treeline, wet wind slicing through the cracks in the wood. You stood barefoot at the back door, mug in hand, and watched the trees sway like dancers out of rhythm. He was already outside, boots deep in the mud, securing the herbs he’d hung on the rail.

You saw it before he did. The string snapping, the whole bundle of thyme and yarrow whipping into the wind. He reached for it too late. You nearly called out.

But then he moved.

Fast.

Not just quick, but wrong. Not human. A blur of striped clothing and sharp motion. His feet barely touched the porch before he was in the yard again, herbs in hand.

He caught them. All of them.

And when he turned back toward the door, he looked surprised to see you watching.

His smile faltered.

But he walked toward you anyway, hands full of dripping stems and his coat soaked through to the elbows.

You opened the door.

“Got ‘em,” he said, like that explained anything.

You stepped back to let him in.

He didn’t speak again until he’d shaken the rain off his shoulders and laid the herbs gently on a dry cloth near the stove. You were still watching him. Something you’d been doing more lately. Not because he made you nervous. Not exactly.

But because you didn’t understand how someone could be so careful with the smallest things and yet move like that. Unnatural. Unsettling. And beautiful, somehow. Like a storybook thing.

He noticed your eyes. Of course he did.

“What is it?” he asked, quiet.

You didn’t lie.

“Just thinkin’ how strange this is,” you said, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. “You. Me. This.”

He didn’t answer.

“You sleep in my home. You touch my things. You know how I take my tea. And I don’t even know your name.”

That made him blink.

He stood there in the center of the room, rain still clinging to his lashes, one hand trailing over the spine of a chair.

“I suppose ya don’t,” he said after a beat, almost sheepish.

You raised a brow. “What is it, then?”

He looked at you a moment longer, then stepped forward and said it in a voice like wet moss and river stones:

“Remmick.”

You let it sit between you for a second. The shape of it. Strange and clean. Like something unspoken finally made solid.

Then you nodded.

“Alright.”

He tipped his head, that small, half-hopeful smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

“Ya got one for me?”

You didn’t smile back.

But you said it, soft. Like you were reminding yourself it belonged to you still.

And maybe to him now, too.

You watched the way he turned it over in his mouth after you gave it to him. Like a word he’d chew through all winter, rolling it on his tongue like a secret, like a prayer.

He said it again.

Once.

Like a promise.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the ache in your lower back sharper now. You pressed your hand gently to the curve of your belly. He noticed. He always noticed.

Without needing to be told, he crouched in front of you and helped guide you to the rocking chair near the stove. His hands were still cold from the rain, but his touch was steady. He adjusted the cushion. Draped a shawl over your knees. Then sat beside you on the floor, arms draped loosely over his knees like always.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The rain softened. The fire popped.

He reached toward your ankle, thumb brushing where your skin met the top of your sock. Not asking for anything. Just anchoring.

“I’m glad ya let me stay,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

But you reached down and covered his hand with yours.

Because somehow, so were you.

The pain started low and slow, like a tug at the deepest part of you. You were in the kitchen, barefoot and brushing dust from the windowsill, when it hit hard enough to make your breath catch. You gripped the edge of the counter, then looked down.

Water.

A slow trickle at first, then more, pooling between your feet.

You didn’t panic. Not really. You’d read enough, listened to enough, prepared enough. Still, your heart kicked up in your chest like it was trying to warn you of something big coming down the road.

And it was.

“Remmick,” you called, steady but loud enough to shake the rafters.

He was there in an instant. Not from the garden or the porch like he usually was this time of day, but already in the hallway, already moving toward you with that eerie stillness he had when he was trying not to look like he was floating.

His eyes snapped to the floor, then to your face. "It’s time?"

You nodded once, slow.

Then the contraction hit, sharp enough to knock the air from your lungs.

He caught you before your knees buckled.

“It’s alright,” he murmured. His hand was at your back, the other already slipping under your knees. He lifted you like you weighed less than the apron still tied around your waist. “I've got you.”

You didn’t ask how he moved so quick. You didn’t ask how he got the basin already filled, or how the towels had been laid out on the bed before you even stepped inside the room. You barely remembered the lamp being lit.

But it was.

Everything was ready.

Remmick had prepared.

He moved with a purpose that didn’t belong to a man who had never done this before. There was no fumbling. No panic. He worked like someone who had learned the rhythms of birth from midwives long buried, had seen a thousand labors begin and end under candlelight and wood smoke.

He guided you through it all. Let you curse and sob and grip his arms so tight you left bruises.

"Good girl,” he whispered, again and again. “You’re doin’ so good. Keep breathin’, baby. Just like that.”

You didn’t have the energy to wonder how he knew what to do. You couldn’t ask. Not with the pain hitting like waves, not with the pressure bearing down. But somewhere in the middle of the storm, when your vision blurred and your body ached in ways you didn’t know it could, his voice was still there.

Low. Calm. Constant.

“Push now. There ya go. You’re safe. I got you.”

His hands were slick with water and blood, but steady as stone. He never looked away. Not once.

And when the final push came, sharp, terrible, blinding, he caught the baby in his hands like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.

There was a moment after. A long one.

Where everything stopped.

And then, the cry.

Thin, high, beautiful.

You fell back against the pillows, sobbing harder than you thought you would. Not from pain. Not from fear. Just the release of it all.

Remmick didn’t speak at first. Just held the baby in both hands, his face unreadable.

And then he looked at you.

“It’s a girl,” he whispered, voice cracked and full of something you couldn’t name. “She’s perfect.”

You let out a breath that rattled your whole body.

He brought her to you, wrapped in a cloth so soft it must’ve been hidden in the dresser for weeks. And there she was.

Dark skin. Curling hair already damp against her forehead. Tiny hands twitching with life.

And Remmick, pale, bloodstained, glowing faintly in the dim lamplight, looked down at her like she was something holy.

She was.

To you both.

His fingers shook as he touched her cheek. Shook like he wasn’t sure he deserved to, like the smallest movement might shatter the moment into pieces he couldn’t gather again. His knuckles were bloodstained, and his hand was far too large, too scarred, too rough to be so gentle, but it was. He moved like a man touching glass.

“I’ll take care of her,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I’ll take care of ya.”

There was no promise in his voice, no boast, no plea.

Just fact.

You looked at him then. Really looked. Not through the fog of pain or the veil of exhaustion. Not with the wary glances you’d grown used to offering him in the first weeks. But truly. Fully.

His eyes were still wet. Still glowing. Not bright, not loud, but pulsing softly. Faint and sure, like something not ready to die.

His shirt clung to him in wrinkled, clumsy lines, soaked with sweat and streaked with all the effort he'd poured into your labor. The collar was limp and stained with blood, yours and hers. His sleeves had been rolled back at some point, but they'd slipped again, damp fabric bunched at the crook of his arms.

There was blood under his nails. Streaked across his jaw. A smear dried along the side of his throat like he'd wiped his face without thinking.

And his teeth, those strange, terrible things, peeked through when he spoke. Elongated. Cuspate. Pressed just barely over the curve of his lip like he hadn't remembered to pull them back yet. Like maybe, in this moment, he didn’t care to hide anything at all.

But they didn’t scare you.

They never really had.

This strange man. This mystery with calloused hands and a voice like river stones. This creature who could build fires from the dampest wood and wash clothes better than you ever had patience to.

This father to your child.

You nodded. Slow. Steady.

“I know.”

The way his shoulders dropped then, just slightly, made your chest ache. As if he'd been holding the weight of that doubt for weeks. Maybe longer.

He held the baby again, arms curling around her like she was the most delicate thing he’d ever seen. Like she might disappear if he looked away too long. She made a soft, squeaking sound in her sleep, and Remmick’s whole body tensed around her as though the world might threaten her simply for breathing.

“She’s yours,” he whispered, voice crumbling at the edges. “And now she’s mine.”

You didn’t correct him.

Didn’t want to.

There was no logic that could define this thing between you. No words that could make it neat. But you weren’t looking for neat anymore. You weren’t looking for anything.

Except this.

This house. This moment. These people.

There was no sense to be made of it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. But the three of you, somehow, you fit.

Remmick settled beside you on the bed. Not with the hesitant edge he used to carry, not like he was afraid you might change your mind and ask him to leave. But with something close to reverence. He moved slowly, gently, as if even sitting beside you might unmake the calm if done wrong.

One arm stayed curled protectively around the baby. The other slipped behind your back and pulled you close, cradling you like he didn’t know where else to put his warmth. You let your head fall against his shoulder, heavy with everything you’d just endured. Your body still ached, hollowed out and raw, but it wasn’t empty.

It was full in every way that mattered.

The fire popped in the next room, slow and lazy now, just embers and ash. Wind rattled the windowpane above your heads. The familiar kind of wind that came in every winter, dry and loud and aching through the trees.

But everything else was still.

The hush of the house held you like a lullaby.

Remmick kissed the top of your head, his lips barely brushing your damp hair.

The kiss wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t even expectant. It was steady. It was sacred. Like sealing something between you.

“My girls,” he said, voice breaking just a little at the end. “My girls.”

His hand cupped the back of your neck. His chin rested against the top of your head. The baby shifted against his chest, small and soft and unaware that her world had just been born with her.

You closed your eyes.

Let the weight of him, the heat of her, the ache in your body, all of it,anchor you.

And for the first time since that long, lonely night on the porch when the world had changed forever, you didn’t feel afraid. Or alone.

You were home.

And Remmick would never let you forget it.

[keirareidss]

cherry pj's and confrontations - a.h

♡ summary: aaron wants to take it slow with you. you're just worried about how small your pajamas feel pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader warnings: insecurities, fluffy fluff wc: 2.0k a/n: I kind of strayed from the request but it is in there so hope you enjoy :) request here

Aaron Hotchner was the most sophisticated man you'd ever met. He was a stubborn, yet intelligent man who liked to do things his way. When he asked you out, he was so formal and gentlemanly, bringing you into his office and asking if you wanted to get dinner, you almost didn't realize he was asking you out because it felt like a business meeting. Even on the date, you asked him if this was about your performance at work, to which he assured you, it wasn't.

At the end of the date, he walked you home, ending the night with a kiss on your cheek, barely grazing the corner of your lips. From there, your relationship grew, Aaron wanting to take it slow because he felt a real connection, and you wanting nothing more than to climb him like a tree.

Three more dates and you still hadn't stayed at his place yet. You met his son once at the triathlon he participated in, an adorable kid who is just as kind as his dad. The closest you'd gotten to sleeping with him was on a case when you shared a hotel room (separate beds) and you caught the smallest glimpse of him in just a towel through a crack in the bathroom door.

Tonight, you had another date scheduled. Aaron was taking you to a nice Italian place and hopefully, getting into your pants at the end of the night.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Hotch asked, reaching across the table to take your hand.

"I am, this place is really nice."

"I'm glad. I was wondering if you wanted to stay at my place tonight?" He was clearly nervous, his voice a tad higher than usual, struggling to meet your eye.

"Yeah, that sounds nice." You said with a sweet smile but internally you were thinking: YES! FINALLY! THANK GOD!

Hotch paid for the meal, naturally, and drove you both back to his apartment. His apartment was as clean as his car. Maybe it was because he was rarely there or maybe it was because he was a stickler for cleanliness. He probably had rules like 'no eating in bed' or 'no shoes on the furniture'.

He slid the coat off of your shoulders, hanging it up for you. You were half expecting him to kneel down and take your shoes off for you.

"Is Jack here?"

"No he's at a friend's house for the night." Oh, just the two of you, then. Interesting.

"Nice place." You said, strolling into the living room, slowly going around at his things. Pictures of his son strewn about the room, little knick knacks lining the bookshelves along with aged dusty books, the scene capturing Aaron's personality pretty well. Old man vibe overall with little fun colorful aspects the more you look. Said old man headed to the kitchen to pour a few glasses of wine for the two of you.

"Do you have a preference? Red or white?" He asked and you looked away from an adorable hand made statue that you can only assume Jack made in art class to find your (boyfriend? Situationship? good friend who took you out on romantic dates?) holding up two bottles of wine, unopened (not a wine drinker evidently).

"Red please." You smiled, making your way to the wall that had the most photos. He didn't have a lot of wall art, just a few framed photos of him and his son. What a dad. "Is this Jack at a science fair?" You asked, leaning closer to one of the photos of a young Hotchner with a toothy smile, holding up a trophy with what looked like a volcano behind him. Aaron glanced over his shoulder.

"Yeah, we stayed up all night making that volcano. I got some tips from Reid about all the science of it." He says, popping the cork out of the bottle, sloshing the dark red liquid into two glasses.

"That's so cute." You hummed. You hear soft footsteps and suddenly there's a warm presence behind you. When you turn, there's a wine glass being offered to you, that you take with a grateful smile.

"Do you want to sit?" He gestures to the couch. You sink into the comfortable cushions, holding your wine carefully lest you spill on anything he owned. He had a nice area rug that you didn't think would be improved with a dark red stain on it.

"So what do you do for fun?" You asked and Aaron chuckled, ducking his head a bit. It was cute how he subconsciously hid his handsome smile.

"I don't really have the free time for... hobbies."

"Right, big boss man, always stuck at work." You teased.

"Don't make fun." He gave you a mock scolding expression but he couldn't hide the twitch of his lips. "I guess... I don't know, I like to read." He offered and you spared a glance at the bookshelf.

"Oh, I can tell." You giggled, sipping your drink. The night continued on smoothly, the two of you bantering back and forth. You both finished your wine and your feet ended up in Aaron's lap somehow.

He was one of the coziest people you met somehow, while still being a stoic, stable man. Looking at him now, flushed in the cheeks and in a sort of giggly tipsy state, all you wanted to do was cuddle up with him. His strong chest, typically clad in a crisp button up or a Kevlar vest, right now seemed like the finest pillow in the room.

Eventually, the conversation came to a gradual end and you headed to the bedroom. You had brought your go bag from work so you didn't have to stop at your apartment. What you didn't realize was that the pair of pajamas that were packed were cherry printed shorts and a short sleeve top. Sure, you talked a big game about wanting to get into Aaron's pants (perfectly ironed and fitted might I add) but now that you were in the moment, meant to be undressing in front of him, you suddenly felt a pit in your stomach.

You hesitated at the foot of the bed, holding the pajamas you'd just taken out of your go bag. Maybe there was a way you could get out of this. Fake sick or something.

"Is something wrong?" Aaron asked, pausing on his way to the closet. He gave you his concerned dad look, thick eyebrows furrowed, a small frown on his lips.

"No, no, it's nothing. Do you mind if I change in the bathroom?"

"Yeah, go ahead." His voice is wary, still concerned with your sudden mood shift. You bring your pajamas to the bathroom, sighing as you reluctantly change into them. They weren't even the skimpiest pajamas you owned yet you were still feeling a little insecure about showing so much skin around someone you hadn't even confirmed your relationship with.

You weren't really sure what you were waiting for, it's not like Aaron was the type of man to come out and ask 'can I be your boyfriend?' but you wanted to make sure.

Looking in the mirror at yourself, the matching set only felt more revealing. You tried tugging at the bottom of the shorts but that revealed more of your stomach. Grimacing, you started forming a plan. Maybe you'd leave the bathroom and go straight for the bed, just bury yourself under the covers and hope he doesn't look at you.

Or you could call to him through the door and ask him to turn the lights off. Before you could execute plan A, B, or even form plan C, Aaron (sweet sweet man) knocked on the door.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I- I'm coming out!" You called, cringing at yourself. You opened the door, stepping out and finding Aaron on the other side.

"These are cute." He grins at your pajamas.

"They were all I had, okay?" You said defensively, brushing past him to move your go bag.

"I'm serious. I like them." He trailed after you, catching you around the waist and turning you to face him. He was never hesitant about touching you, his interest in you shown through little caresses.

"Really?" His hands found your waist, toying with the bottom of the shirt.

"Yeah. If you're uncomfortable, I can find you something to wear." He offered and, though you seriously considered for a moment, wanting to cover up in front of him, you shook your head. If you wanted to be in a relationship with this saint of a man, you needed to get comfortable around him.

"No, no, I'm okay."

"You sure?" You nodded, giving him a small smile. His lips curved upwards and you had the sudden desire to surge forward and kiss him. He still hasn't kissed you on the lips, unfortunately, wanting to take it slow with you. There was that one embarrassing moment of yours when you tried to kiss him on the third date and he swerved, your lips landing along his jaw. You'd turned beet red and he had to reassure you that it was fine, albeit, through laughs.

His bed was what you'd expect, two pillows, cotton sheets and a plain, single color comforter. The bed frame was an old vintage frame that looked like he got it at a thrift store, or maybe from his grandpa. You wondered if it would creak while he pounded into you. No. Stop that. He wants to take it slow, and if you think about him like this it's only going to be harder.

You're both cozy under the sheets and aaron flicks the bedside lamp off, the warm glow dissipating immediately and leaving you both in darkness. For a moment, you're both quiet as you shuffle around, getting comfortable. You end up on your sides, facing each other, barely able to see each other in the dark.

"Can I ask you something?" You whispered. Aaron shifted slightly closer and you wanted just to brush your nose against his. Maybe give a butterfly kiss on his cheek or something.

"Of course." You took a breath, preparing yourself for a rejection.

"Are we... are we dating?" You cringed immediately. That is not how you wanted to ask that question.

"Yes, I'd like to think so, otherwise you being in my bed right now would be rather inappropriate." Aaron chuckles slightly

"I meant, like, are you... are we..."

"Are you asking about labels?"

"Yes." You sighed, glad that he said it for you.

"Well, I don't know what you want to call it, but I'd like to call you my girlfriend." It sounded a little awkward coming out of his mouth and you were sure, if the lights were on, you'd be able to see the blush coating his cheeks.

"I'd like that too." You grinned. Hotch shifted even closer to you, his nose brushing yours. "Are you finally going to kiss me?" You teased and you felt the breath of his laugh caress your face.

"Do you want me to kiss you?" Cheeky fucker.

"I've wanted that for a while. Don't you remember our third date?" He laughed at the memory, the blush on your face, the way you quit looking at him.

"Of course I remember that. It was adorable." He laughed, kissing your nose. He feels the heat of your skin when he moves his lips to your cheek. They moved to the corner of your lips before, after a moment of hesitation, his pressed his lips to yours, soft and slightly chapped, but perfect nonetheless.

His large hand cupped your jaw, pulling you closer. You practically melted into the bed, his head tilting as the kiss turned deeper. He pulled away, looking down at you.

"Was it everything you ever dreamed?" He teases you and you roll your eyes, immediately wanting his mouth back on yours.

"Definitely." He chuckled, leaning back down to kiss you again, soft pecks this time. "Just wait until you get to second base, boyfriend." You retorted, making him let out a surprising giggle, his forehead pressed against yours.

You weren't as worried about your skimpy pj's anymore, now that you were sure that Aaron hotchner, (the man, the myth, the legend) was officially your boyfriend.

Taglist: @cinnamoncunt, @dramioneforevertilltheend

[captainpriceslilwife]

pt. 2 of the well-loved gaz x insecure!reader post!! (This is kind of a bridge to pt. 3, so bear with me PLEASE! I have more ideas for the next part, but I needed to get there first lol...hopefully this is good idk im nervous abt my newfound audience)

[part 1, part 2, part 3]

The rest of his night passed in a daze. He couldn’t stop stealing glances at the tiny little picture on your license while Johnny and Simon argued with each other about what he should do to try to win you back - but he could barely hear a word they were saying as he wiped away the sticky-sweet drink that was still dripping down his face.

“Ah’d give her a second ta calm down, ya ken? Go in the mornin’ and give her a chance to find her head.” 

“Showin' up at her place unannounced after hanging onto her shit all nigh'? Yeah, that’d leave a good impression, wouldn’ it? No wonder you can’t get a bird, Johnny. Scarin’ ‘em all off.” 

“Ach, ye’d know what tha’s like, wouldn’ ye? Spooky fuckin’ bastard. Ah bet women run the second they see tha' stupid fuckin' mask-” 

"Whatever. Gaz, just give it to the bartender, yeah? Clearly she doesn't like ya'. She'll come back for it."

In the end, he ends up taking Johnny’s advice and decides to return your wallet in the morning – which maybe wasn't his smartest move. Especially since now he doesn’t have a lick of alcohol flowing through his system to calm him down as he walks along the sidewalk towards your place. He’s sure he looks crazy to everyone he passes – muttering to himself to try to coach himself through what he’ll say to you. 

“Hey! Nah, uh…hello, how are you? No, I- fuck…” He shakes his head as he looks down at your wallet, twiddling the zipper between his fingers as he mumbles under his breath. “Hi, I’m Kyle…I’m the one who, um…who made you...cry last night. Ah, shit.” 

He's never felt this way about a girl before - like a nervous, stuttering schoolboy. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest, and he can feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck when he suddenly finds himself standing in front of your door.

You've got a sweet little welcome mat - covered in sunflowers and loopy letters - and he notices all the pots filled with plants and flowers that scatter around near your door. God, he's already thinking that you're the most precious thing in the world.

He doesn't know what it is about you that's affecting him so much. Is it because you rejected him? Is it a challenge to him? Does he just feel guilty? Or maybe it's because, for the first time ever, he's gone after a girl that he actually has to figure out. Women have always thrown themselves at him the moment he flashed a smile their way. But you...all you did was throw a drink in his face.

It takes him nearly a full minute before he finally knocks on your door, and he can't seem to figure out what to do with his hands as he waits for the sound of your soft, thudding footsteps to reach the door.

You're still puffy from crying yourself to sleep last night, but you open the door with a polite smile anyway - donned in your oversized cat pajamas without an ounce of makeup on - but your smile quickly falls when you recognize the man standing on your doorstep.

The unfortunately beautiful man who had woken up every insecurity you had in less than a minute of talking to you.

Your expression seems to cycle through a million emotions as you try to comprehend how he could possibly be here, but once you notice the teal wallet clutched in his hand, realization settles on your features as the embarrassment hits you.

He stands silent for a moment as he takes in how gorgeous you are despite your slightly disheveled appearance, and he can barely form a sentence as he lifts up your wallet with a sheepish smile. "You, uh…you left this at the bar, um…last night. Got your address from your, uh...your I.D.” Christ, he's lost all sense of charisma hasn't he? He holds onto the wallet for a horrifyingly awkward amount of time as he stares blankly at you, but he finally comes to his senses when you mumble out a quiet 'oh, thanks' and reach out to take it.

“I’m Kyle, by the way.” 

He's never seen a girl look at him with such guardedness before - with your arms crossed protectively over your chest as you give him a tense smile. He can't tell if it's because of the whole incident from the night before, or if you're just freaked out that a total stranger went through all the effort to bring your wallet directly to where you live.

Probably both.

You clearly return his greeting just to be polite, murmuring your name quietly as you place your wallet off to the side.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He lets out an awkward laugh, but quickly backtracks when you shoot him a funny look. “I mean, from your license! I-It’s got your name on it. I only know it because it's...it's on the license.” He stutters out quickly as he shoves his hands into his pockets. God, he's losing it. His heart feels like it's going to explode. “I, um…it’s a gorgeous name, by the way. Suits you, you know?” 

The compliment slips out naturally, but it only makes you tense up even more, and you suck in a tight breath as you begin to shift on your feet. Your fingers are itching to reach for the door to slam it in his face - arrogant prick thinking he can keep up his act from last night even though he practically sent you into a fit - but he interrupts your spiraling thoughts with a heavy sigh as he drops his charming smile.

“Hey, I...I just really wanted to say that I'm sorry, love. I didn’t mean to upset you like that last night.” His demeanor changes so drastically that you can't help but soften a bit, melting underneath his warm, pleading eyes enough to listen to him. "I think we had a bit of a misunderstanding...I wasn't making fun of you, love. Honest."

He seems so genuine about it that you can't help but feel a bit guilty. You had tossed and turned all night thinking about how shocked he had looked after your little outburst. You tried to stave of your regret by telling yourself that he had come over to you only to make fun of you like everyone else does, so technically he deserved it - but now you weren't so sure.

“Oh, well…I’m sorry for, you know…throwing my drink in your face.” You murmur sheepishly as you look down at your welcome mat - tracing one of the flowers with your fuzzy slipper before tilting your head back up to look at him with burning cheeks. “Wasn’t very mature of me."

“No, no, no...it's fine, really! If anything, I'm sorry you had to waste your drink on me. I mean, I know how pricey that place can get.” He lets out another laugh, but it's a bit less tense this time, especially when he sees the way your lips almost quirk up into a smile. It makes him feel bold enough to try to bring back the charm, and he can't stop himself from asking you, “You know…maybe I could, um…make it up to you sometime? Could buy you another drink?” 

But once again, you pause. His persistence only makes you more suspicious of his motives, and it shows in how you tighten your arms across your chest. He can see your eyes flash with a pang of hurt, and he feels his heart clench as he fumbles over himself, growing less sure by the second. “O-Or just a coffee, maybe?” 

“...Look, Kyle…” His heart leaps in his chest at the sound of his name on your lips, but your guarded tone is enough to smother the warm, fluttery feeling that had been building in his stomach. “Thanks for bringing me my wallet, but you’re wasting your time. I don’t know what kind of bet you have going with your friends, but I’m not going to fall for it, okay? I'm not...I'm not stupid.” 

Stupid? His expression falls once more, and he gives you the most genuine look he can muster as he speaks up quietly. “I...I don't think you're stupid. There’s no bet, love. Honest.”

“A dare, then.” 

“No dare, either.” 

You let out a frustrated sigh and roll your eyes a bit before resting your hand on your hip, but your irritated demeanor doesn't hide the way your eyes are beginning to grow a bit watery and bloodshot as you murmur quietly. “Well, why are you doing this, then?” 

His eyebrows furrow as he looks down on you, and he can't help but shake his head in disbelief as he takes a small step towards you. God, you were absolutely breaking his heart. Did you really think it was that unbelievable that he could like you? “I already told you, love. I think you’re absolutely gorgeous…and I know you don’t seem to like hearing that, but it’s true. And I know you're not just a pretty face, I just...I don't know anything else about you. But I'd like to...I'd like to get to know you.” 

You don't seem moved by his words, but he can't see how your heart begins to pound wildly in your chest, grasping onto the small bit of hope that you had desperately tried to push down. You'd spent so long trying to protect yourself from feeling this way about someone, and he's already managing to sneak past those walls you had built up.

But your mind keeps replaying every moment of disappointment you felt when it came to men 'asking you out' - how people would laugh behind your back when you would get excited for a date with a guy they all knew was just messing with you, or how a boy in your class straight-up laughed in your face when you thought he was being serious about being his date to the prom. 'Shit, she actually fell for it! Damn, I didn't think she'd have the nerve to say yes! Ah, right, well...sorry love...just havin' a bit of a laugh, yeah? All in good fun.'

No, no, no...you couldn't fall for something like this again.

He can see the look in your eyes as you stay silent, and his heart pangs with guilt when he realizes how much he's probably torturing you. He decides to put you out of your misery, so before you can open your mouth to reject him again, he raises his hand to stop you. "Yeah, alright...I understand." A pathetic smile graces his features, and you can't help but feel a bit guilty at the look of disappointment on his handsome face. "Can't blame a guy for trying though, aye?"

You can't even tell if you're disappointed or relieved that he's finally given up, but you give him a grateful smile as you nod your head in understanding. Couldn't expect a guy that looks like that to put in too much effort with someone like you, right? "Right...yeah...thank for um, understanding."

"Of course..."

God, this is awkward.

The both of you stand and stare at each other for another moment longer before he turns to leave. But just as he turns to go, he stops in his tracks and thinks to himself for a second before letting out a puff of air before turning back to you. "Don't happen to have a pen, do you, love?"

You blink in surpise at the randomness of his question, but eventually nod your head and disappear for just a second before returning with one in hand.

If only you could see how nervously he tapped his fingers against the side his leg while he waited for you to come back - a habit he only ever indulged in when he couldn't contain his anxiety on missions. Something his captain always ragged on him for.

Yeah, he was absolutely hung up on you.

He tries to ignore how soft your hand is when he takes the pen from you, but he can't ignore the way your touch zaps up through his arm and straight to his heart. And from the way you tuck your arm back against your chest with hot cheeks, he can't help but wonder if you felt it, too.

He pulls a crinkled receipt from the pocket of his jacket as he gives you a nervous smile, almost like he's waiting for you to scold him for trying again. And if it isn't the most charming thing you've ever seen... “Listen…if you change your mind-“ His hand moves quickly to scribble something on the small piece of paper, and when he hands it to you, you see his number written in handwriting that is frustratingly neat for a man in a rush. “-just let me know. No pressure, of course. I’ll fuck off if you want me to, but…just thought I’d give you the option. Don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least offer to make it up to you.” 

And you take that stupid, crinkled piece of paper from his hand against your better judgement, and to your chagrin you can feel your cheeks burning brightly enough for him to see. Luckily for you, he can't see the way your heart is dancing around in your chest at the prospect of actually having a chance with him.

"Right...ok." You mumble quietly as you stare down at his number, toying at the edges of the paper with your thumb before his voice catches your attention once more.

“Well, um…I should get going. I hope you have a good day, darling.” A part of you was horrified to realize that you didn't want him to leave just yet, but you just nod your head stiffly as he backs away from your doorstep. And god he gives you that handsome, charming smile one more time before he turns on his heel and calls over his shoulder. "I hope I get to see you again."

And you wave at him so awkwardly as he walks away, like a deer caught in headlights, but it makes his heart flutter all the same. He hopes that even if he doesn't get a chance with you, someone else will realize what a catch you are. Someone who will treat you the way you deserve. Someone like him.

It's not until much later in the day - when he's stuck in a briefing and trying not to fall asleep with Price's voice droning on johnny's already drooling on the table - that his phone vibrates in his pocket. He sneaks it out underneath the table to take a quick glance to see who could be messaging him, and his heart practically leaps out of his chest when he sees an unfamiliar number.

‘ok...maybe just one coffee.’

He can't help but smile to himself as he reads it, and before he can begin to type out a response, another message pops up on his screen. And another. And another.

'i mean, only if you're still interested, of course.'

'no pressure or anything :)'

'oh, this is y/n by the way!'

Yeah, you might be the sweetest girl he's ever met.

A/N: do I like this that much??? eehhhhhhhhhh idk. but i kept going back and forth and rewriting and deleting and i finally decided to put myself out of my misery. again, i'm so so so grateful to everyone who requested a part two for this and left support on the original post so i hope this meets everyone's standards! pls feel free to leave suggestions in my inbox or in the comments if there's anything specific you want to see (or request something else entirely)! i also wouldn't mind writing any alternate parts of the story if ppl request it so pls dont hold back! pls stay with me for pt. 3!!! also sorry if you requested to be tagged and i missed you!

Tag list: @vixyyvix, @little-mini-me-world, @miyo-0oo, @milanriol, @z-wantstowrite, @nexthyperfix

[arottenlust]

cuz i’m pretty when i cry

pairing: sukuna x yandere!reader

I wept and wept. I had come to believe that if l really wanted something badly enough, the very act of my wanting it was an assurance that I would not get it.   - zami: a new spelling of my name by audre lords

synopsis: sukuna isn’t the type to speak what he feels. he shows you instead, intention threaded into every touch and gesture. it’s not something you’re used to. to you, this type of communication has always been hard to notice and basically impossible to understand. the disconnect eats away at the delicate glue holding you together. sukuna is the best thing that’s ever happened to you, so you know what comes next. you know he’ll leave you one day. you know it’ll tear you apart.

content: angst, yandere, unreliable narrator,

tags

lujuria writes: cuz im pretty when i cry | lujuria writes: sukuna

inspiration

sneak peak

[wrtzia]

I do - JJ Maybank

Insecure!reader x bsf!JJ Maybank

Summary ; In which Reader is insecure about her body and best friend!JJ comforts her.

Warning ; mention of insecurity, fluff, I think that's all !

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You never were the skinny type, but you couldn’t call yourself ‘fat’ either. Your belly was honored by a bump, bump that you always hated. For some reason, you always loved everyone’s body, thin or not, but when it was yours, you couldn’t manage to.

Perhaps it was the fact you were living on an island, where you were spending your days at the beach with everyone’s body in sight. Maybe it was the fact that all your friends were skinnier than you, the way no boys seem to have interest in you, only having eyes for Sarah Cameron. 

You were standing in the bathroom in the Chateau, your eyes not being able to leave your belly bump on the mirror. You were wearing a navy bikini since you and the Pogues planned to go surf, but your feet wouldn’t leave their current place. You were so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice the blonde who walked in. 

“Something’s on your mind ?” The voice startled you, almost making you jump out of your skin. “Don’t scare me like that.” 

You turned to him, a pout on your lips as you looked at the smirk on his. His eyes fell on your belly and his smirk vanished at the way your hands were covering it, like trying to hide it. “Does your belly hurt?”

Your eyes followed his, confused as to what he meant. Hiding your belly became a reflex those last months to the point you didn’t realize it as you hesitantly put your arms back at your side. The action didn’t go unnoticed by JJ, who was quick to react. “Hey, no need to hide that.”

You met eyes, all of a sudden turning vulnerable. You always felt safe in his presence, like you didn’t need to be someone else. Being really close to someone and trusting him with all your heart didn’t make it easier to talk about what you were feeling, always thinking you didn’t deserve to complain as you saw fatter people. Complaining about your not-fat-but-not-skinny belly made you feel like you were insulting every other belly, who were dreaming to have yours.

“Talk to me. I know I’m shitty to comfort people but I can..Hug ya?” the boy made an awkward move with his arms, as if pretending to hug the air before continuing, “Look, I can listen.” 

You giggle at his arms movement before slowly sitting on the toilet lid, “It’s just a silly girl problem.” JJ shook his head almost immediately as he settled beside you, him going on the floor. “None of that bullshit with me.”

Thoughts ran in your head, not sure how to start with them. “It’s just..Hard to explain. You're gonna laugh at me.” JJ raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a smirk back on his face, “probably” Your hand found his shoulder, slapping it, causing a giggle to come out of JJ. “Kidding.” 

You let out a sigh, your fingers starting to play with your bracelets. “I’ve just been..feeling a bit insecure, that’s nothing.” Those words caused JJ to laugh, making your head turn to look at him, dumbfounded at his reaction. “..Okay, thank you..” The blondie shook his head, “I’m laughing because how could such a pretty girl feel insecure ? What are you even insecure about ?”

You stared at him before rolling her eyes. “As if you didn’t notice. I’m fat. I mean, not fat but not skinny. ..Fatnny..?” Once again, JJ let out a laugh. It wasn’t in a mocking way, but the created word coming from you sounds ridiculous in the boy’s mind. The fact you could think of yourself as ‘fat’, ‘ugly’ or any negatif thing, seems crazy to him. 

The teenager tilted his head and stared at you, thinking of what to say. He knew what he was thinking ; you were the prettiest girl in his eyes. How to say it was different. He wanted to make you feel better about yourself. It was his job as your best friend. He let out a sigh and decided to just burst it out.

“Look, having a tiny bump, barely noticeable by the way, doesn’t make you any less than any other girl. If anything, not having the same exact body as anyone else makes you unique and hotter.” There was a small pause, thinking deeply about what to say next. “If anything, it makes more of you. More of an amazing person. More hot things. And I love hot things.”

You put your head in your hands, contemplating what he said. You couldn’t see it that way, probably never would. There was still so much uncertainty that lingered in your mind, some that words couldn’t fix. “..Boys never look at me..”

You couldn’t see him, but you could sense the shake of his head, “I do.” You look at him, eyes widened with confusion. Maybe you misheard him, that your brain created what you wanted to hear. “I’m just sayin’, you’re hot. Don’t think badly of yourself.” The words barely left JJ’s mouth that you were already shaking, feeling the tears coming. Without thinking you went in his arms and his hand found his way into your hair, holding you tight.

A few words wouldn’t make you start liking yourself, but that wouldn’t stop your brain from thinking. A little bump, barely noticeable. Your eyes closed as you relaxed, feeling better. You were young and had time for your body to change, for you to have confidence in yourself, in your body. And with JJ now knowing, that means you no longer have to keep everything to yourself. 

With JJ by your side, you didn’t have to worry about your body image. A question stayed in your mind though ; what did he mean when he said ‘I do’ ? 

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Let me know your thoughts on that one, and please mention any spelling mistakes !

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[savannahsdeath]

heyyy could u write something where like reader is about to shower but starts to get really insecure and kinda has a breakdown, BUT ellie reassures her. (pls also give reader stretch marks bc i've been so insecure abt mine lately and i have them literally everywhere. thighs, hips, even on my boobs lol) <3

ELLIE WILLIAMS X INSECURE!READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! but tbh its minors safe this time i think ??

writers note: just a reminder youre all beautiful no matter what!! beauty standards or wtv was it called are something we shouldnt base our life on but we sadly do. self love is the key to happiness and dont let other people ruin it!!🩷🩷and to our lovely anon, you dont need to worry about stretch marks. trust me, most of people dont even pay attention to them! its nothing 'special in a bad way'. i lately got some too, right before my holidays and theyre sooo visible through my summer clothes but its something you can get used to be comfortable with. please, anon, dont think less of yourself because of them nor any other insecurities. and this comes to everyone!!💞

it was already late so you were getting ready to take a shower to not waste any more time. you put your clothes on a nearby shelf. you stood in front of the mirror in your underwear only, looking for anything that could be possibly pointed out, like you didn't have enough insecurities already. feeling rather self-conscious, you were examining your reflection for any flaws or imperfections. every detail of your body was being inspected up-close, from the lines on your stomach, to the size of your thighs, to the shape of your shoulders and face. your eyes were scanning every inch of you, seeking any signs of something you could hate, even if others wouldn't notice them. you couldn't help but wonder if the things you were stressing over were even worth worrying about, or if you were just creating problems where they didn't exist.

either way, you couldn't help but hate them. and since you mostly focused on bad things and you didn't see your advantages - you hated yourself. in your eyes your whole body could change. or even should change.

the more you stared at yourself in the mirror, picking apart every little thing, the more you hated what you saw. it felt like nothing was good enough, like every little imperfection needed to be changed or worked on. you felt like you could never measure up to this impossible standard, like your entire body was inadequate. the insecurities were eating away at you, gnawing away until any confidence or self-love you might've had was gone.

that was the moment your eyes beginned to get glossy. you didn't cry though, oh, no. you hated the way you look when you cry, just like everything else, so you tried your best to hold back tears. the floodgates were beginning to open, but you held them back with everything you had. you despised the way you looked when you cried: the tears down your cheeks, your puffy eyes, all those disgusting, revolting imperfections. as much as you hated your flaws, you despised your crying face even more. you would never let anyone see you like that, never.

suddenly, your girlfriend and roommate in one, knocked on the door. "everything okay in there?"

she must notice you're taking your time instead of simply taking a shower already.

you stayed silent, knowing if you try to open your mouth you couldn't control what comes from them. you'd probably break down and the thick door won't be enough to mute your pathetic sobs.

you didn't want to answer, but then again, you knew if you stayed quiet, your girlfriend would eventually come in and check on you. you had to keep yourself together. you couldn't fall apart right in front of her like that.

you let out a shaky breath and replied, "yeah, everything's fine." you could feel your voice cracking with each word, but you were determined not to let her see you in such a sorry state.

what if she sees me the way i see myself?

your girlfriend wasn't fooled by your shaky reply. even if you denied it, she knew something was wrong. she heard the emotion in your voice and could sense the struggle to keep yourself together. without another word, she opened the door and walked in.

"what's wrong, pretty girl?" she asked when she didn't saw your glossy eyes yet.

you, on the other hand, couldn't control yourself anymore. the nickname 'pretty girl' hit you instantly, thinking you're anything but pretty.

pretty.

girl.

those two words hit you harder than a punch to the gut, evoking a strong reaction that you tried to mask. you took a deep breath to steady your voice so that you didn't break, but it was impossible to sound completely calm when you felt so much pain just from those two words.

"nothing." you muttered quietly, but your voice sounded more like a choke than a word.

she hugged you from behind, looking in the same, unlucky mirror. her hands softly touched the scretch marks on your hips as she hold onto them, gently rocking you back and forth.

you wanted nothing more than to reject this hug and flee from your own reflection in the mirror, but you were too weak to pull away.

"nothing?" she asked gently, planting little kisses from your neck to shoulders.

you felt a wave of shame and embarrassment wash over you as your girlfriend's touch revealed the marks on your hips. she immediately spotted them and caressed them with her soft hands.

it all felt too much. you were fighting so hard to hold yourself together, but when she touched you, it all came crashing down. the tears finally escaped and you began to sob, clinging onto her tightly as you broke down. "no... not nothing..."

she held you close, feeling your warmth as her arms wrapped around you and her hands comforted your pain. she rubbed your back and kissed your neck as she tried to soothe you. "shh, come here, it's okay..." she whispered gently.

she led you over to the bed and laid you down. she carefully took off her shirt, leaving on only her bra and boxers, then laid down with you, hugging you tightly. she kissed your neck, your face, brushed your hair back, caressed your body, your stretch marks, your insecurities (at least the ones she knew about), anything to try and comfort you. she whispered words of reassurance and love as she tried to fill you with the affection you felt you lacked. "i love you, my pretty girl... i love you." she repeated those words again and again, hoping you'd believe that someone could love you, and that someone was her.

ellie continued to hold you tightly as you cried into her. your tears soaked into her bra, but she didn't mind; you'd done that many times before. she rubbed your back in soothing circles as she let you let it all out, and she made small shushing noises in your ear. your sobs turned into whimpers and then into a soft murmur, and as your emotions died down, she gently wiped away the tears, replacing them with kisses.

as she noticed you calmed down she slightly pulled away to get a better look at you. "can you tell me what's wrong now?"

"i... it's just..." you started, and your voice broke as you tried to find the words. your girlfriend gave you her undivided attention, focusing on you and only you. "i- i don't feel pretty... i don't feel good enough... i don't feel... enough."

with her eyes looking deep into yours, you couldn't help but be vulnerable as you opened up to her. your insecurities and flaws, the things you tried so hard to hide, were all laid bare in front of her now.

a pang of guilt hit you in that moment.

what am i doing?

ellie was so sweet and loving, and you felt like you were just taking advantage of her kindness. like you're just an attention seeker.

but before you could say anything, she pressed a finger to your lips.

"no. shut your mouth." she said sternly, and you couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "that's not true. i don't wanna hear it, not another word." she leaned in and pressed her soft lips to yours.

you found yourself sitting on her lap, as she stroked your hair, whispering something or kissing you from time to time. you told her all about it, about what and how you feel. and she listened.

you were so lost in your emotional story you didn't even notice the way she slowly took off her rings - one by one, and placed them on a bedside shelf.

[bearw-me]

Hello, I'd like to request a Velvette x quiet g/n! reader romantic/slight angst. Where she's crushing on/pining for the reader, but reader is very insecure and shy, doesn't believe anyone (especially an overlord) could possibly want them.

ooooh my first velvette ask!

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐧𝐭 — 𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐜𝐬!

𐐒 ft : velvette x gn!reader 𐐒 cw : fluff, slight angst 𐐒 summary : despite your insecurities and hesitance towards her, velvette really wants your attention! 𐐒 note : i swear tumblr glitched and i am now rewriting everything i can remember TT-TT

despite her being. . . well VELVETTE. . . i think she'd be too stubborn to ask you on a date outright, or confess how she feels about you

she wants you to be the one fawning all over her! and she gets a little discouraged when it doesn't happen

despite that, she really sees something special in you-even without her romantic feelings clouding her vision.

she makes it her priority to help you see what she sees

Velvette has been surrounded by insecure models her whole life (she can spot that same look on your face in an instant) so she knows what you think of yourself

it secretly breaks her heart to know you feel that way about yourself,

especially when she finds out how much you admire her status as an overlord. . .but she doesn't want to seem unreachable to you!

She's sitting at the overlords meeting, tapping her fingers on the table in thought, wondering what kind of date she could ask you on to make you comfortable

(probably retains no information about the meeting itself)

Velvette always likes to be physically close to you

Holding your hand, or pulling you in for a selfie

(its an excuse to be close to your face and plant a cheeky kiss to your cheek while she snaps the picture)

The picture is now her home screen's wallpaper btw

I'd like to think (just generally) velvette would give you a friendship bracelet or a matching accessory for the two of you. Something the two of you can wear with ANY outfit

texts you a ton, even managing to do so while she's working on runway looks

she greets you all the time by 'kissing' both sides of your face

always posts you on her socials or tags you in cute videos

likes to make dirty jokes to embarrass you (dropping hints about her feelings in the process)

calls you 'love'

imagine: Velvette asked you to model for her (for just a second), holding pins between her lips as she secures the fabric to your form. When she notices you shifting away from her eyes uncomfortably, she takes both of your hands in hers and tells you "Listen up, I wouldn't have trusted anyone else to do this for me, yeah?" "You're very dear to me. . ." she tries to confess casually "So stop squirming!" she smiles.

velvette sticking out her tongue in concentration as she does your makeup

[gibsongirl144]

simon riley and insecure!reader where she constantly stands in front of the mirror, fingers plucking at the softness of her thighs, eyes lingering on every stretch mark that paints her stomach. she overanalyses everything — the curve of her belly, the dip of her hips, the chub that won’t disappear no matter how hard she tries.

simon notices. always does. ever observant, ever patient.

“wha’s wrong, sweet’eart?”

he steps closer, wrapping his big arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“y’look perfect, dove.”

and for the first time in a long time, she starts to believe it.