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hatethysinner · 20 days ago

Note

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.

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.

#remmick x reader #remmick #black!fem!reader #black!reader #remmick x black!reader #remmick x black!fem!reader #remmick sinners #remmick x you #sinners #sinners 2025 #inboxxx #remmick fluff #request #for some reason i feel so insecure abt this one sorry if its bad yall 😭😭😭#here she comes world please be kind to her

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snowballseal · 10 months ago

Text

How they react to you feeling insecure (LaDS)

Summary: How the Love and Deepspace boys react to you feeling insecure about various things. Includes Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier. Lots of fluff.

Word Count: they're all around 1000 roughly

Note: Warnings of different kinds of insecurity, ranging from physical to mental. I'm not sure of how well the Xavier one turned out, he's harder for me to write, but I couldn't leave him out!!! Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Rafayel

His ended up being a lot longer, so it's posted separately.

here

Sylus

Being partners with Sylus is a…daunting position to be in.

You always considered yourself a fairly average person, more focused on who you are than what you look like. It’s not that you don’t like the way you look - you do - and you don’t like comparing yourself to anyone, but you don’t plan on being a model anytime soon. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Then you met Sylus, a man who looks like he was carved from the marble of ancient architecture. He could stand in a room of masterpieces and people would still look at him instead of the art. And since you’re by his side now, that means they’re also looking at you.

Being stared down by wanderers in one thing. Being stared down by the most powerful and prevalent members of the N109 Zone? You hate to admit that it gets to you. In fact, it gets so under your skin, that even when you’re dressed in the most extravagant dresses and decadent jewelry, you can’t help but feel…insecure.

Twisting in front of the mirror, you eye every detail of the dress Sylus bought you. It’s perfect, of course. The man has an annoying knack for getting you the most beautiful things and knowing exactly what fits you. The color compliments your hair and it’s comfortable to boot.

Still. You can’t help but feel like a kid trying to fit in at the adults table, wearing your mother’s heels even though they don’t fit. A bit ridiculous.

“Do you not like it?” Sylus appears behind you, dressed in a matching, lavish suit.

You jump a little, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. His eyes burn into you, reading the hesitation on your face as you curl your arms around your stomach. There’s no fiery retort or witty comment like usual. You just look back at your dress, the tips of your ears tinging pink.

A frown pulls at Sylus’ lips, his voice softening, “What’s wrong?”

“...Do you really think people believe us? That we’re together?” You ask quietly, shuffling your weight back and forth. “That I’m a good match for you?”

You’re keenly aware that you’ve never had a conversation like this with Sylus. For the most part your relationship has been filled with teasing and playful bickering. It’s always light. Or about work. This is new, and while you trust him more than anything, you hate not knowing how he will react.

Sylus hums, low and thoughtful, as he curls his arms around you, “Does it matter to you what others think?”

You let out a sigh, leaning back into his touch thankfully. You want to say no. You want to keep up the air of confidence, but that quiet voice of doubt keeps worming its way through your thoughts.

“I just…I feel like I’m not what people expect. And…” you try to explain, hesitating. Sylus presses a kiss to your shoulder, offering a hum of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you add, “It bothers me. It feels like I’m being forced into the spotlight but I’m not meant to be there. Like I don’t fit.”

“Hmm, so you feel like an odd duckling.” You give him a small jab, and Sylus chuckles. “My apologies. I think you misunderstand the attention though.” He pulls you closer. You shiver as his lips trace along the crook of your shoulder, pressing delicate kisses up the side of your neck, until he can murmur lowly into your ear, “You’re too humble, kitten. When you walk into a room, all eyes turn to you, not out of judgment, but out of jealousy. Afterall, you’ve tamed the leader of Onychinus. Even if you walked in with your uniform, they’d look at you the same. And I get the pleasure of walking around with the most powerful-” He presses his lips to your jaw. “-beautiful-” His lips trace against your cheek. “-woman of Linkon City. Don’t let the attention of those lesser than you make you doubt, otherwise I might have to find another way to show them just how well we fit together.”

Sylus’ eyes catch yours in the mirror again. They’re dark, like coals surrounded by flickering cinders. So intense you can almost feel the flames licking along your skin. There’s not a doubt in your mind that he’s being genuine. And that sets your heart racing. Along with the way he holds you so close, equal parts possessive and reverent. Like worship.

“Your devotion might scare some people, Sylus,” you whisper, glancing sideways at him.

He flashes a dangerous smile, “Does it scare you?”

You cast one final glance at your reflections before turning around in his hold and curling your arms around his neck. Sylus raises a challenging brow.

“I’m not. I like how you stand up for me, even when it’s against my own insecurities.” You draw him down, pressing a kiss to that carnal smile. Sylus softens immediately, cupping your jaw to draw you into a deeper kiss. The warmth that simmers in each and every touch leaves you a little breathless when you pull away. Pressing against his chest before he can drag you in again, you make sure to say one last thing, “Thank you, Sylus. I’ll make sure to remember all of that…especially the part about you being wrapped around my finger.”

“Hmm, such a cruel mistress, indeed.”

“And you love me.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, “Yes, I do. So, will you accompany me to this auction now?”

---

Zayne

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m going?” You ask, voice wavering with nerves as you straighten Zayne’s tie for him.

“Isn’t it natural to bring one’s partner to these kinds of events?” He tilts his head, brow perked ever so slightly.

You nod, but can’t seem to erase the frown on your lips.

A week ago, Zayne had asked if you would accompany him to his medical school’s class reunion banquet. He had been asked to give a special word, given the reputation he had developed in his time at Akso Hospital, not to mention winning the Starcatcher Award for his work.

At first, you were ecstatic to have an opportunity to learn more about his old life. He has such a thing about living in the present, you hardly get to hear any stories about his time in med school, or when he was doing rotations at the hospital. You were eager to meet the people who he used to spend time with and hopefully catch a few stories you could tease him with later.

But as the night drew closer, you started actually thinking about all the people you would be around, all of whom graduated from the same medical program Zayne did. You can only imagine how smart they all are. And how you’ll get lost the moment any medical jargon comes up.

The more you think about it, the more nerves you feel buzzing under your skin. You know you’re not the smartest, not compared to Zayne at least. He’s a genius, after all, and could probably outsmart most anyone. You’ve always been better at the physical stuff. That’s what makes you such a good pair.

It’s not like you can impress everyone by whipping your gun out and fighting, though. All you’ll have are your words, and you’re not particularly good with those…

You blink when a large hand suddenly circles your wrist. Glancing up, you find Zayne looking down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“While I appreciate your attention to detail, I believe you’ve been straightening my tie for five minutes now.” Heat creeps up your neck. You hadn’t even realized you had been lost in thought. Zayne’s eyes narrow inquisitively. “What are you thinking about that has your mind so preoccupied?”

His thumb brushes casually along the inside of your wrist, not so subtly checking your pulse. A strangely endearing habit of his when he’s worried about you. You let out a long sigh and hide your face against his chest, feeling the heat bleed across your cheeks.

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re insecure about how smart all his friends must be?

Zayne doesn’t push right away. He knows you’ll explain when you want to, and if you don’t, then he knows you’re not ready to. It was an unspoken rule between you, something you started with him because you noticed he likes to think his words out. It felt natural to offer you the same when you struggle to express yourself. Like now.

Ultimately, you figure it’s better to just be straightforward. That’s how he would do it, and it’s better than dancing around the subject.

“I guess I’m nervous because I feel like I’m going to be the dumbest person in the room tonight,” you mutter against his coat. Your fingers tap out an anxious beat against his abdomen. “It’s silly and I know it shouldn’t matter, but I just don’t want to make you look bad.”

Zayne remains quiet for a long minute. Your fingers move a little quicker, matching the stuttering rhythm of your heart. His hand slides up, gently trapping them against his body.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Physical tics are a common result of anxiety,” he hums dismissively, thumb smoothing over your knuckles. “As is your rapid heart rate. This truly bothers you.”

“Of course it does,” you sigh, a bit exasperated, ”You’ve worked hard to get where you are, Zayne. I love you so much, and I respect your work more than anything. I don’t, I don’t want to say something stupid and have it reflect on you badly.”

The doctor clicks his tongue, “First, I would prefer if you stop using that language to describe yourself.”

Your heart falters when his cool fingers touch your cheek, drawing your face up to his. He looks upset, but not exactly at you, the sharp line of his jaw contrasting with the softness of his eyes. Like it pains him that you think this way. Which it does.

“Those words don’t suit you. I wouldn’t allow another to call you them, so why would I allow you to?” He asserts, the corner of his lips twitching with distaste. “I don’t want to hear them again, do you understand?”

“Okay.” A thread of warmth curls around your heart when Zayne nods approvingly. His protectiveness really knows no bounds.

“Second, I do not agree with your diagnosis.”

Your brow furrows a little. What? What does he mean, he disagrees? He’s literally surrounded by geniuses, you can’t match up to any of them if they’re anything like him.

Seeing you start to overthink, Zayne shakes his head and gently pinches your cheek. You jolt back a little. The corners of his eyes crinkle, making you pout.

“Meanie,” you grumble, “Fine, explain your reasoning, Doctor Zayne.”

“It’s simple. Intelligence is made up of more than just academic knowledge, which, I assume, is what you are thinking of when you make such comments.” You nod. He’s not wrong about that, you guess. “Intelligence also includes the knowledge of how to use one’s strengths to achieve the best outcome. It is true that for some, this means using academic reasoning. However, it also includes those who develop the skills and discipline to maintain their bodies and fight for those who can’t, like…”

He pauses and gives you an expectant look.

“...me,” you finish slowly.

“Yes,” he hums, stroking the redness of your cheek, “I believe, under these standards, you are far more intelligent than most of the people you will meet tonight, darling. Though there is no comparison in the first place.”

His words sink in slowly but surely, filling in the cracks of your doubt. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he probably has some kind of healing magic, because you can already feel the burden of your insecurities melting away.

Leave it to Zayne to know exactly what to say, but in the most complex sounding way.

“You always know how to make me feel better, huh?” You ask, finally cracking that smile he loves.

“I am simply telling you the truth.” Zayne leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “There is not a lifetime in which my reputation will be more important than you. I would gladly throw it all away if it meant reminding you of that.”

You snort, “Don’t do that, please. I can only imagine the fit Doctor Greyson would throw. He’d be so mad at me.”

“I can handle Doctor Greyson, in the same way I can handle everyone tonight.” He slips his fingers between yours, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. You wiggle your fingers happily and Zayne can’t help but grin to himself. “If at any point you find yourself uncomfortable, just stay by my side and I will act as your distraction. Though, I’m sure they will all love you, just as I do.”

“...Thank you, Zayne.”

“Of course, my jasmine.”

---

Xavier

Working with Xavier is a blessing, as much as it is a curse. You couldn’t ask for a better partner. Someone who you know will always have your back, who can handle himself completely, who is probably the most talented hunter you’ve ever met in your entire life. He’s undeniably amazing.

On the flip side of that, though, you often fall into the trap of thinking about how he deserves better. Wondering if, maybe, the only reason he chose to stay with you was because of the aether core in your heart. If that’s also the reason you’re in a relationship now…

And some days, these thoughts win out over the rest. Like today.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink, eyes flickering up from the bowl of ramen in front of you. Early on, you had started a tradition of eating a meal together after a successful mission, to just enjoy the peace of your home and each other. But today, you weren’t feeling that hungry, just…tired.

Xavier tilts his head, concern furrowing his brow - he noticed your mood start to shift days before, but didn’t want to push since you didn’t seem to notice it yourself. Now, though, it’s too obvious for him to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you sigh, flicking your chopsticks back and forth to watch the noodles swirl around in the broth, a small frown capturing your lips. It’s a horribly obvious lie.

“Is it something I did?” His voice isn’t accusatory or upset. It’s just a rational question to help him figure out what’s wrong. Still, you feel guilt tug at your chest, and you set the chopsticks down with another sigh.

You don’t want him to think that. You’d never blame Xavier for something like this. That would be like asking him to be a worse person, which is stupid. It’s just you. Your problem. Dragging him into it will only make you feel worse.

“No, Xavier, you didn’t do anything, promise. I’m not upset…with you.”

“But you are upset.”

Chancing a glance up at him proves a bad idea, making it all that more difficult to keep your thoughts quiet. Behind his normal sleepy expression, worry gleams in the deep blue of his eyes, unyielding and undeniably calm, like waves lapping gently at the beach.

The sight makes your heart ache and the words are tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Do you think I’m actually a suitable partner for you?”

Surprise flickers across the hunter’s face. Of all the things he was expecting you to say, that wasn’t even on the list. He doesn’t laugh though, or take your question lightly.

“Do you mean, as a hunting partner? Or as a romantic partner?”

You shift uncomfortably, eyes falling back to your ramen, “I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

He hums softly. You try to ignore the nerves fluttering in your chest as Xavier gets up, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he circles the table to stand next to you. The hunter drips his head, catching your gaze.

“May I see your hand?”

A small frown pulls at your lips, not exactly sure where he’s going with this, but you offer him your hand anyways. Xavier takes your wrist, touch featherlight, and moves it so your hand is held up flat, facing him. Your brow furrows.

“Xav-”

“Look.”

Pursing your lips, you let out a little huff. He really hates giving direct answers, doesn’t he? Still, you’re in no place to really judge him, or expect anything for that matter. He’s always been a bit of a mystery to you.

You watch as Xavier places his hand against yours. His palm is warm and you can feel the calluses from who knows how many years of hunting. Your hand looks tiny in comparison, his pale, delicate fingers long enough to curl over your own a little. The sight makes your heart squeeze, fondness competing with the feeling of being so…small.

“They’re pretty different,” Xavier hums, voice still calm, his own eyes fixed on your hands. “Your fingers are always cold, and your hands are small. You have a scar here.” His free hand grazes the side of your palm, along your pinky. “And here” He traces another along your knuckle. Your breath falters at the tenderness behind his touch, like you’re delicate porcelain. “Mine are in different places. Yours are skilled at weaving silk balls and mine can…open jars.”

You snort. Xavier’s eyes dart up to yours, sparkling with humor, a brow raised. You try to smother your laughter, rather ineffectively, and motion for him to continue.

“They’re different, but-” His fingers spread apart, and you mimic him instinctually, only for his fingers to slot between yours in one fluid motion. You inhale softly, laughter dying in your throat. It’s like two puzzle pieces fitting together, a perfect embrace that washes over you with a comforting warmth.

Xavier watches you, keenly aware of the way you squeeze his hand tightly, desperately, like you’re worried it might disappear. He gives yours a tender squeeze in return, thumb brushing over your knuckle.

“I think they’re a suitable match. Don’t you?”

God, how could you go without this man? The worries that have been pricking at the back of your mind all week seem to melt away. It leaves you with that warmth, the kind that only comes from Xavier, that he offers you over and over again.

You give his hand another squeeze, finally smiling, “Yah. I do…Thanks, Xavier.”

The hunter leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. You can feel his lips brush against your skin as he murmurs, “Let me know if you ever feel this way again, angel. I’ll be more than glad to remind you.”

“I will.”

---

This was really fun to write!!! I really hope you guys like it! There are so many freaking tags on this puppy.

3K notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 8 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTOO MUCH * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Matt and Nick say some hurtful things to Chris during a fight, bringing his insecurities to life and causing him to turn to his anchor, Y/N.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　insecurities, fighting, crying, anxiety attack.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The noise in the living room had escalated from playful teasing in front of the camera to sharp, biting words. Chris stood behind the kitchen table, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared at Matt and Nick, who were both looking at him from the other side of the table with expressions caught between frustration and exasperation.

"Do you ever think before you act, Chris?" Matt's voice was, surprisingly, raised, an edge of impatience in his tone. "We can’t get through one day without you doing something childish and making a scene, or worse, making our videos look like shit because of it!"

Chris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately, his eyes darting between his brothers, trying to make sense of how things had gotten so out of hand.

"I wasn’t trying to do anything." He muttered finally, his voice barely above a whisper laced with hurt. "I was just... being myself."

"Yeah, exactly." Nick jumped in, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "And that’s the problem. You’re always yelling and doing the most, Chris. It’s just... exhausting, okay?"

Chris clenched his fists, jaw tight as he glared at Nick, feeling himself crumbling a bit because sure, he’s too much. Sure, he speaks too loud and had opinions about everything and wasn’t afraid to share them, even if they were about the silliest things. Sure, he feels cornered and childish and immature and annoying, and most of what they're saying is probably true, but hearing his own brothers say it out loud... it pains his heart.

"You know, that’s actually rich coming from you." He shot back, his voice carrying a frustration he couldn’t hold back, trying to disguise his pain with anger. "You’re always the first to say that people watch us because we’re different, because even though we look the same, we're still different. But all you ever do is complain that I’m not just like you or Matt!”

Nick’s expression shifted, taken aback by Chris’s words. But Nick wasn’t one to back down, his voice snapping back almost before Chris had finished speaking.

"That’s not what I’m saying at all!" He fired, eyes narrowing. "Is it so insane to want you to stop yelling and acting like a literal child in every video? We’re trying to be professional, Chris! People like us, yeah, but they won’t if you keep acting like-"

Chris dragged a hand over his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead, trying to shut out Nick’s words, trying to drown out the overwhelming feeling of being misunderstood.

"... and we can’t keep dealing with it, Chris. Grow the fuck up."

The youngest felt his chest tighten even more. His greatest insecurity - one that clawed at his chest every night when he couldn’t sleep, when the silence around him became deafening - was now on full display, brutally brought to life by the people he trusted most.

The internet was relentless in labeling him as "the weird one", the "annoying triplet", just because he was loud and talked too much, just because he was unapologetically himself. He’d laugh it off, of course, joke about it even because it was easier to pretend it didn’t bother him. But deep down, those words haunted him, scraping at the edges of his self-worth, making him wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t enough.

And now, hearing Matt and Nick throw those same words at him... he felt hollow. Like all the air had been knocked from his lungs. They knew. They knew how those comments got to him, how hard he tried to ignore it, to rise above the criticism.

"Fine." He said bitterly, hating how his voice trembled slightly as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "I’ll get out of your way, then."

He pushed his weight off of the table, preparing himself to get out of there, but as Chris stormed away, Nick's frustration boiled over, and he turned to Matt, his voice sharp and incredulous.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He hissed, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

But Chris kept walking, his shoulders tense as he made his way to the stairs, refusing to let himself look back. His brothers’ voices felt like static at this point, blending into the background as he forced himself to keep going.

Behind him, Matt muttered under his breath, an edge of impatience creeping in.

"Why is he being so dramatic?" He called, exasperation evident in his tone. "Chris, just come back, man! Let’s finish this video."

But Chris didn’t even slow down. Each word felt like salt in a wound he was struggling to ignore, a constant reminder that he wasn’t on the same level as them, that they were all looking at him like he was the problem.

Maybe he was.

As he went down the stairs, his mind was racing, every emotion simmering just below the surface.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached his bedroom door, a mix of anger, shame, and sadness twisting in his chest, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep it together. He wanted to scream, to push all the hurt away.

Finally, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Y/N - curled up on his bed with notebooks spread around her and laptop balanced on her knees - looked up instantly, a huge smile spreading across her face as she noticed him, her expression so genuinely happy to see him that it made his heart ache even more.

"Hi, honey! How was filming?" She greeted brightly, unaware of the turmoil written across his face.

But her smile faltered quickly as she took in his red-rimmed eyes, the way his face seemed almost haunted, his body tense and trembling as he stood frozen in the doorway. She blinked, worry flashing across her features.

"Chris? Hey, what happened?" The girl whispered, and her words were like a lifeline, breaking the dam he’d tried so hard to keep in place.

She was quick in put her work together, placing her notebooks and laptop gently onto the floor beside her, leaving it all opened for her to come back to it later, her arms instinctively opening up to him.

"Come here, baby."

Without another thought, Chris crossed the room and collapsed into her open arms, sinking onto the bed as if the weight of the world had become too much for him to bear alone.

His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his face burrowing into her shoulder as if he could somehow hide from everything that had been clawing at him. His legs slid between her thighs, his body curling into hers, every part of him drawn in close, seeking refuge in the only place that felt safe.

Y/N didn’t say anything at first. She could feel the way his shoulders shook, the silent sobs racking through him as he tried to hold back, his breath catching painfully against her neck. She held him even tighter, her hands slipping up to cradle the back of his head, her fingers threading gently through his fluff hair as she pressed soft, reassuring kisses to his forehead, his temple, anywhere she could reach.

"Shh... It’s okay, sweetheart." She murmured softly, pressing her lips to his line of hair. "I'm here. You're safe. Just breathe, Chris. Just breathe, baby."

But Chris felt anything but safe in his own skin. Shame and hurt twisted inside him, tightening like a vice around his chest. He tried to fold himself even smaller, curling tighter into her, trying to somehow look smaller for a 5'8 grown man, pressing his body as close to hers as he could.

He wanted to disappear, to melt into her embrace, and let the world live freely without his presence. The words Matt and Nick had thrown at him - the very same words he read online, the labels he was used to brushing off - felt so true, so much a part of him that he couldn’t deny them.

Childish. Annoying. Immature.

He hated himself in that moment, hated how much he cared, hated how the words dug under his skin, making him feel unworthy, unloved.

"Am I... am I really that annoying?" He whispered, his voice cracking and sounding more horse than it should. "Do you... Do you think I’m too much, too?"

Y/N’s heart twisted painfully as she heard his words, the broken way he spoke them. She frowned deeply, pulling back just enough to look down at him, her hand cupping his wet cheek as she met his gaze, her thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down his face.

"Oh, sweetheart..." She shook her head gently, her voice laced with disbelief and fierce love. "No. No, Chris, of course not. You’re not annoying. You’re not too much. You’re everything I could ever want. You’re perfect exactly the way you are."

He clenched his fists, gripping onto Y/N’s hoodie - or better, his own blue hoodie -, his knuckles white with the force of it as he tried to agree with her, but her words didn’t seem to reach him. His brow furrowed, his eyes filling with fresh tears as he choked out.

"They said... They said I’m always yelling, being loud, making a scene... like I’m always... embarrassing them." His voice caught on the last words, his breath hitching as he fought to keep from breaking down completely.

Y/N held him tighter, her hand moving to the bottom of his white shirt, traveling inside of it only to rub soothing circles along his naked back as she spoke in a soft, steady tone, hoping her words would anchor him.

"Chris, they love you. They’re just... they don’t understand how much their words hurt sometimes. But that doesn’t mean you’re a burden or that you’re too much. You bring so much joy and energy to everything. That’s part of who you are, and it’s one of the things I love most about you."

He shook his head slightly, his breathing coming faster as anxiety started to build again, overtaking him.

"I... I just don’t get it. One minute, they’re saying people watch us because we’re different... and then they tell me I should be more like them. I don’t... I don’t know how to be that. I tried so hard to be like them, you have to believe me, but I don’t know how to change who I am-"

Y/N felt the depth of his frustration in the desperate way that he begged, wanting - no, needing - her to believe him. She cupped his face gently, urging him to look at her.

"You don’t have to change, Chris. Not for anyone. You’re enough just as you are, baby. And you’re not a burden. Not to me, not to anyone who really sees you and loves you for who you are."

He nodded slowly, finally trying to take a deep breath, only to feel like his nose was closed and his throat was being chocked by invisible hands. He closed his eyes forcefully, biting his bottom lip in concentration as he tried to breathe in a gulp of air that never seemed to be enough. Chris could feel his heart tightening, his chest struggling in the quick movements of going up and down too many times in a second.

"Can't- I... Please-" He tried, tightening his hands around her hoodie, panicking with the anxiety attack that seemed to come so suddenly.

"Hey, hey, Chris. Sweetheart, you’re okay." Y/N whispered softly, her voice a calming presence against the storm inside him. She shifted slightly, one hand now resting on his chest with a firm press as she guided him through deep breaths, her own voice slow and steady. "Come on, just breathe with me, okay? In... and out... Nice and slow. I’m right here with you."

Following her lead, Chris pressed his eyes tighter in a way that made him see stars behind his eyelids, focusing on the rhythm of her voice, the rise and fall of her own breathing against his fists. With each exhale, he felt a bit of the tension release, his chest loosening as he tried to match her calming breaths.

Gradually, his racing heart began to slow, the adrenaline draining from his body, leaving him feeling heavy, exhausted.

Y/N smiled softly, brushing her fingers through his hair as she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"There you go. That’s it... Well done, my strong boy. Now, just relax. I’ve got you."

As his breathing evened out, Chris opened his eyes slowly, his blurred gaze meeting hers with a vulnerability that tore at her heart.

"You don’t have to carry all of this alone, Chris. I’m always here for you, no matter what. You’re safe with me, okay? I love you... so much." She leaned down, pressing another kiss to his forehead as she held him close, her voice soft.

The gentle reassurance, the quiet love in her words wrapped around him like a blanket, pulling him further into her warmth. His eyelids grew heavier, the tiredness finally catching up with him as he let himself surrender to the comfort of her arms, a quiet whine escaping his throat.

"I know, honey. Sleep." Y/N whispered, a tender smile on her lips as she cradled him closer, holding him like a mother would hold her kid, her hands tracing soothing patterns along his back. "You can rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up."

As she continued to whisper soft reassurances, her fingers running gently through his hair, Chris’s breathing finally evened out, his body relaxing completely in her arms. His head rested on the curve of her neck, his arms still wrapped around her waist as he drifted off, his pain and worries slipping away in the safety of her embrace.

Y/N leaned down, pressing one last, lingering kiss to his hair before laying her cheek against his head, her arms wrapped securely around his body as she watched over him.

"I love you, sweet boy."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A couple of hours had passed, the sunsetting casting a soft, warm light over Chris’s room, where he and Y/N lay wrapped together on the bed. Chris’s face was nestled against her shoulder, his breathing steady and calm now, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers.

Outside the room, Matt and Nick exchanged a glance. They’d been standing in the hallway for nearly five minutes, trying to muster the courage to knock. Their earlier argument with Chris had weighed heavily on both of them, guilt twisting in their stomachs as they replayed every hurtful word that had left their mouths.

Finally, Matt raised his fist and knocked softly on Chris’s door, the faint sound echoing in the silence. When there was no answer, he hesitated, glancing at Nick before slowly pushing the door open.

They both froze at the sight before them. Chris and Y/N were curled up together on the bed, Chris’s face still damp from tears as he lay against her, completely relaxed in her arms. Y/N had one arm around his shoulders, her fingers resting in his hair, while her other hand was hiding inside his shirt, holding his back, cradling him protectively. They looked peaceful.

Matt’s heart clenched at the sight, guilt intensifying as he took in Chris’s tear-streaked face. He glanced over at Nick, who was staring down at his feet, clearly feeling the same crushing remorse.

"Let's go. We can come back later." Matt muttered, pulling Nick towards himself before starting to back out of the room, thinking it might be best to give Chris a bit more time.

But just as they were about to close the door, Chris stirred, shifting slightly in Y/N’s arms. He nuzzled his head on her shoulder, his face just inches from the gentle slope of her neck where he could still catch the faint, familiar scent of her perfume mingling with the natural warmth of her skin.

He moved slightly, careful not to wake her, though his movement caused her to pull him in closer, her fingers instinctively brushing over his back. The feeling of her hand tracing small, soothing circles over his shoulder as if it was a muscle memory grounded him further, coaxing a soft sigh from him as he nuzzled deeper into her embrace, pressing a gentle, barely-there kiss to her neck.

When his sleepy eyes finally traveled around the room while gently stretching his legs between hers, he finally caught Matt and Nick's figures standing in the doorway.

His face fell the instant he realized they were there, his peaceful expression replaced by a guarded, distant look. Carefully, he eased himself up, making sure not to wake Y/N as he pulled himself away from her arms.

"Came for round two?" He looked at Matt and Nick, his sleepy voice laced with bitterness as he asked.

Nick swallowed, words catching in his throat as he struggled to find the right thing to say. What an irony. He opened his mouth but only managed to mumble, stumbling over his words as he tried to get them out.

Finally, Nick took a small step closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Chris, I... we came to say... We just..." His pearly teeth caged his bottom lip momentarily, taking a deep breath. "We love that you’re different."

Chris stared at him, incredulous, eyebrows raised as he scoffed softly.

"Different? That’s what you’re leading with?" His eyes narrowed, hurt simmering just beneath the surface. "So now I’m the ‘different’ one? Funny, ‘cause that didn’t seem to be a good thing a few hours ago."

Nick faltered, his face flushing as he realized his words weren’t coming out the way he intended. He tried again, tripping over his explanation.

"No, no, I... I didn’t mean it like that. I just-"

Chris took a deep, shaky breath, his gaze lowered as he avoided Nick and Matt's eyes, interrupting Nick.

"Look, I want to apologize, alright?" He started, his voice barely more than a murmur, thick with emotion. "I know it was all my fault and that I’m a lot to handle. I get it. I can be too loud, too... everything, really. And I know I’m not like you guys. I’ve tried so hard to be, but it’s just... not me." His words hung heavy in the room, his fingers twisting anxiously in his lap. "I feel like sometimes I just ruin things because I don’t know how to turn it off. You two seem to have this balance, you know when to joke and when to be serious, and I’m over here just... always pushing things too far."

He exhaled deeply, finally lifting his eyes to meet his brothers', the weight of insecurity and years of self-doubt written all over his face.

"I’m sorry if it feels like you have to put up with me. I’ve tried to be more like you, but it’s never enough. And sometimes... it just feels like who I am isn’t what anyone wants." His voice cracked at the last words, his vulnerability laid bare, and he quickly looked away, bracing himself for whatever they would say.

Nick and Matt shared a look, each seeing the guilt mirrored in the other’s eyes as Chris’s words sank in, cutting through them like a blade.

Matt felt his chest tighten, a pang of regret settling heavily in his stomach, making it hard to breathe. How could he have let Chris - his little brother, the boy who was always loving him no matter what - believe, even for a second, that he wasn’t wanted exactly as he was?

His legs moved on instinct, carrying him back into the room before he even registered it, straight to Chris, who looked so small and hurt, slumped at the edge of the bed. Kneeling down, Matt reached out, placing a steadying hand on Chris’s knee, his fingers gently pressing into his brother’s skin as if trying to ground him.

"Chris, you’re our little brother. I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re too much for us." He swallowed, his voice wavering as he continued, willing Chris to see and feel every word. "I love you, man. We love you for who you are. You don’t need to change a thing. It’s your energy, your spark that makes everything better. You have this way of bringing life into everything, and that’s something I wouldn’t change for anything." He looked into Chris’s eyes, his own gaze filled with a raw honesty. "We need you to be you, Chris. No one else."

Nick’s heart clenched as he watched, his own guilt building with every second. Gaining control over the hurt and regret flooding him, he crossed the room in long strides, dropping down beside Matt. He looked up at Chris, his throat tight with emotion, the sight of his little brother so closed-off, so wounded, cutting deep. He was supposed to protect him, not hurt him.

"Yeah... you being another person? That’s not what we want at all. We’ve never wanted you to be anyone else. You’re perfect the way you are, Chris." Nick’s voice shook, filled with a determination to make Chris understand the truth, to undo every careless word he and Matt had thrown his way earlier. "I'm so, so sorry that we said all of those things and made you think so bad about yourself."

Chris’s defenses wavered, his resolve crumbling as he glanced between his brothers. Their sincerity seeped through, but doubt still clouded his gaze. He let out a heavy sigh, loosening his grip on his hoodie just a bit.

"You promise?" His voice was barely a whisper, fragile and laced with uncertainty, his fingers twisting anxiously into the fabric of his sleeve.

Without hesitation, Nick reached forward, taking Chris’s hands in his own, intertwining their fingers and squeezing firmly.

"We promise. We love how wild you are, how you’re always the one bringing the energy. You’re louder, sure, but that’s not something bad, it's exactly what makes you, you. You’re the happiest out of the three of us, Chris, and we wouldn’t change that for anything." He gave Chris’s hand another reassuring squeeze, feeling the smallest hint of relief when he saw the younger brother begin to relax, if only slightly.

Matt nodded, adding gently.

"And hey, I don’t think we need to be professional or act in a type of way for our videos to be good. The viewers love us for who we are... the mix of chaos and calm. That’s what makes us, us. It’s why they stick around."

Chris took a shaky breath, letting their words settle over him, feeling the weight of them begin to ease some of the pain. Slowly, he nodded, his fingers curling back around Nick’s reassuring grip.

"Okay."

Matt leaned forward, placing a hand on Chris’s shoulder.

"We’ll do better, alright? We’re brothers. We’re gonna mess up, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have each other’s backs. Always."

Chris exhaled deeply, finally letting the tension melt away as he leaned into their touch, the comfort of his brothers grounding him in a way only they could. Straightening himself, he managed a small, tired smile, his heart feeling a bit lighter.

"Yeah... always."

"Well, I’m really glad you guys are okay again." Y/N’s soft voice broke the silence, bringing all three heads up in surprise.

She moved with a quiet strength as she sat up and brushed her hand tenderly through Chris’s hair, watching his face light up as he realized she’d been awake all along.

"But just so we’re clear... if either of you hurt my baby like that again, you’re going to have to answer to me." She turned her gaze to Nick and Matt, a playful but fierce glint in her eyes.

"Y/N..." Chris dragged the last letter of her name in a whining tone, feeling flustered with how she called him 'her baby' in front of his brothers - even though they were more than accustomed with it.

Nick’s eyes widened jokingly with her threat, a chuckle escaping him. He lifted his hands in mock surrender, glancing at Matt as if to say, 'Well, we better watch out'. Matt nodded, eyes a bit sheepish, scratching the back of his neck.

"Alright, alright, no more ganging up on Chris. You have our word, Y/N."

Content with their promises, Y/N turned her attention back to Chris, opening her arms and pulling him into her embrace once more. He let out a soft sigh, sinking into her warmth, his head nestled against her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him protectively, fingers tracing soothing circles along his back as she whispered.

"I told you they didn't mean it." He closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him, the last bits of hurt melting away.

Nick and Matt watched the two of them, a fondness softening their expressions.

"You know." She murmured, pulling Chris's head away from her chest and looking at him with a mischievous grin. "You’re pretty lucky to have all of us wrapped around your finger."

Chris laughed, a real laugh this time, the sound full of relief and love.

"Yeah, I know. I just... I guess I forget sometimes."

"Well." Nick started, squeezing Chris’s shoulder with a grin. "We’re not going anywhere. So next time, just remind us if we’re being idiots, alright?"

Chris nodded, glancing gratefully at each of them, feeling more grounded and cherished than he had in a long time.

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veggiesxxx · 6 months ago

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POV: You spend time with a guy "behind their back." (Part 2/4)

(reader is NOT cheating!!)

ft. Jealousy, fluff,

Sylus

Your phone buzzed, interrupting your conversation with your friend.

"And then, it started charging up it's attack-"

"Ugh, sorry. Somebody's spamming me." you mumbled, rolling your eyes, reaching to turn your phone over on the table, screen face down so you wouldn't have to look at the relentless messages.

"As I was saying-"

You tried to continue, only to hear your notifications blow up even faster, the buzzing incessant. You were convinced that if you didn't reply, your phone would combust in the middle of the café.

"Sorry. I've got to check this," you sighed, picking up your phone, lazily going to see who was the contact spamming you relentlessly.

"Sweetie who is that." "Is he bothering you?" "sweetie?" "Are you hurt? is he threatening you." "Y/N." "If u dont reply im coming over" "Why did you turn ur phone around." "Kitten who is he?"

Scrolling through the barrage of texts, your brows furrowed, immediately becoming suspicious. Sylus? How did...

You looked up, gazing intently at any pipes on the ceiling or dark corners a certain mechanical spy could be hiding. Knowing Sylus, and what to look for, it made finding the problematic Mephisto a lot easier. Your frown deepened, as the bird noticed you glaring at it. As if sensing your glare, the robot flapped its wings, cawing loudly. A customer walked into the café at that moment, and the bird cawed a final time, making it's presence known, returning your glare before taking the chance to fly out the open door before the owner chased it out. Poor man who walked in had to duck the diving 'bird' as it soared into whatever shadows outside.

After witnessing that 'spectacle', you turned your attention back to the phone in your hands, immediately tapping your thumbs on the screen, sending a reply to the spammer.

"Sylus? Why are you suddenly spying on me- in Linkon??" "I saw Mephisto. How long have you been watching me?" "No! Don't come!! I'm fine!"

You started to panic, heart sinking, frantically texting back so Sylus didn't appear and do something drastic-

"It's a bit too late for that, kitten. look up."

'What-?" You didn't get to snap out of the baffled daze before you felt a hand on your shoulder, and a rather threatening, unmistakable presence towering over you. You froze up, embarrassed that he was having this fit in front of your friend.

You glanced up at the Onychinus's big boss, your gaze following his— which was locked dangerously onto the man sitting opposite you.

"Sweetie, let's go." He snapped his eyes back onto you, his voice laced with not-so-subtle possessiveness and suppressed irritation, not leaving much room for argument. Sylus was obviously in one of his 'fits'.

Sighing, you shook your head in exasperation, getting up. You quickly apologised to your friend, shooting him a "sorry about him" glance. Sylus didn't wait for your pleasantries to be exchanged. In his eyes, getting you away from the other man was something to be done immediately.

Once outside the café, pulled by the hand, you confronted Sylus for his abrupt interruption of your peaceful lunch. "Seriously? You couldn't have waited for my answer? I replied in less than 5 minutes..."

"You turned the phone over." He asserted, like it was some important evidence. He crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow, not a hint of any teasing smirk on his face. This was serious, you noted mentally. In your head, it wasn't a big deal– he'd seen you flip the phone over multiple times when notifications became too annoying– but if he actually felt that this situation was significant...

"I did. Still, you know it's nothing- I do it all the time."

"Not to me. You always answer."

That.. was true. You never did ignore his messages.

"But you turned me away. For him." He continued, and you could swear you've never seen him so serious. Never.. not since your first meeting. "I thought something happened." his voice was low, however, it couldn't hide the trace of vulnerability. Like he was trying to pretend he was this concerned because he thought you were unsafe with an unarmed man, rather than just afraid of losing you.

"Nothing happened, I'm fine, Sylus." you murmured, putting your hand over his, uncrossing his arms for him. You gently squeezed his hand, not really wanting to let him off the hook yet. "He's my friend. Just a friend,"

"Friend or not. He can't have what's mine.'

Your cheeks flushed, not expecting him to express or even acknowledge his own feelings so openly. You didn't look up at him, and he was glad for that- so he could hide his red ears.

"Overprotective, much?"

His solemn eyes raised, missing their usual glimmer of mirth, meeting yours, tilting his head, and a piece of his hair bobbed against his forehead.

“Call it what you want, sweetie. I'll always be here to watch over you.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile. As infuriating as Sylus could be, his unwavering devotion had a way of making you feel safe—even when he went overboard.

“Fine, fine,” you gave in with a sigh. “But next time, just call me instead of sending your creepy bird, or yourself.”

Sylus’ smirk came back faintly, more like a relieved smile. “No promises.”

"I'm proud of you, though, kitten. You spotted Mephisto faster than I thought you would. How'd you learn that?"

"Yeah.. because all pipes have glowing red eyes.." you said, sarcasm slipping out.

"...Wait. Did you say next time?" His gaze grew more intense, eyeing you down.

"No next time. I'll snap his neck." He hissed, gripping your hand tighter in his.

"You keep those sharp eyes on me, sweetie. Where they belong."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧༶

Hope you enjoyed!! Pls leave a note if u liked yay

╰┈➤ Zayne/Xavier (Part 3/4) -voted below-

Previously :

╰┈➤ Rafayel (Part 1/4)

A/N: I don't know if this is too long lmao

Tags: @cordidy @liz9898 @crystalfay

#lads #love and deepspace #x reader #female reader #sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #jealousy #fluff #fanfic #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #i believe in insecure sylus #you spend time with a guy behind their back #jealous sylus

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shouyuus · 7 months ago

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VI FROM ARCANE WITH PILLOWPRINCESS READER?!?! PLEASEEE ILL TAKE ANYTHING DUDEEE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

send me vi thirsts and i'll give u my hand in marriage

yes bc i feel like she'd love this lowkey midkey AND highkey bc vi's love language is def like 50/50 acts of service and physical touch and she'd love the fact that you trust her so much w/ ur pleasure, the fact that she gets to have this control, and you're always so obedient for her, always asks for permission -- the first time she'd gotten you to the edge and you'd sunk your fingers into her hair, thrashing beneath her, but still forcing yourself to look up at her with your big, watery eyes, asking --

"p-please v-vi -- can -- can i?"

she knew that she was done for like done for, the way she knew if she said no, you'd listen. the thought had made her head feel woozy, so much so that her fingers had almost paused inside you, and you'd keened, thighs squeezing around her wrist bc you were so, so close.

"holy shit -- yeah, sweetness -- fuck, yeah, come for me --"

and it's not like she doesn't know how much you like it when she manhandles you a bit; she likes it too, she likes it alot actually, how she can jerk you down the length of the bed, press your knees up all the way to your shoulders, wrap her fingers around your neck, or just hold you down and kiss you till you're shaking apart beneath her.

she likes too that all she has to do is say the word, and you'd drop to your knees for her, pliant and willing, your lips falling open for her fingers or her cunt, how you'd make these happy little mewling noises when buried between her legs, so long as she got a hand on your head, a thumb rubbing your cheek.

"do you... do you ever wish i'd do more... stuff?" you ask one day, crinkling your nose, frowning absently down at vi's hair as you braid the longer bits into a single plait, only to tug it loose and do it all over again.

vi glances over her shoulder, "more... stuff?"

"yeah like... be more active when we're, y'know --"

vi laughs, tugging you into her lap, "if you're asking if i'm happy with our sex life, sweetness, the answer is yes, very."

you sigh, nodding even as you tuck your nose into her curve of her neck.

"okay. just asking."

she runs her thumbs against your skin, drawing circles into your waist.

"why? are you happy with it?"

you nod so hard that you almost topple out of her arms, but she catches you, grinning. "yeah! of course i am!"

"then, what's the problem, princess?"

"nothing! just..."

"c'mon pretty, spit it out," she takes your chin between a thumb and forefinger, giving your face a tiny shake. your breath hitches; satisfaction unfurls in vi's chest.

"i saw something online about -- how being too passive isn't a good thing and --"

"ooookay, i'm gonna cut you off right there --" she hoists you up, twisting you around so you're straddling her lap, your face now parallel to hers. she loves the way you're so easy to read, loves that you don't hide your attraction to her, how all she has to do is twitch her lips and you're already gasping.

"open your mouth for me, pretty girl," she says, and you do, your mouth dropping open as she swipes a thumb along your bottom lip before pushing it forward till it's resting on your tongue. you whine softly, hips shifting, but you hold still till she nods her head, "go on, suck."

you close your lips immediately, your tongue laving at the pad of her thumb. she lets out a clipped groan, watching. a few seconds later, she pulls it out with a light pop, grinning as she tracks the slick finger down your chin, tracing up the line of your jaw till she's got her hand cupping the back of your neck.

"that feel very passive to you?"

your lashes flutter, confusion gathering in your eyes before you lick your lips, blush, and give your head a tiny shake. she smiles.

"good answer. so? are we good now, princess?"

"yeah. we are."

"good!" she gives you a quick kiss, patting your hip, "what'dyou want for dinner? i'm thinkin'... it's been a while since we've been to jericho's."

you pout, "what about that other place we've been talking about?"

"what on the wharfside docks?"

"yeah...?"

vi rolls her eyes, even as she sits up and motions for you to get up. you jump up with a bright smile. she sighs, folding her arms.

"go get dressed. ugh, passive -- dunno what you were thinkin' when you asked me that princess."

#⛈ monsoon season #♨ steamy #i think the epitome of any kind of love for vi would be surrender -- you to her and vice versa her to you #vi x reader #arcane x reader #vi smut #arcane smut #vi x you #arcane x you #vi x reader smut #arcane x reader smut #arcane #lesbian #not me secretly working out my own insecurities in this fucking fic HAHA. goodbye.#for those of u who HAVENT read the entire arcane/lol wiki (at least the pages pertaining to piltover and zaun) like an insane person #the wharfside docks r a location in piltover close to the sungates lol #AGAIN. tell me why this was way more fluff than smut LOL

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fumiliar · 8 months ago

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jealousy was not a familiar feeling that kento experienced. he had been secure with almost everything in his life, and this had included you.

as his eyes scanned over the aisles in the supermarket, he tried to find you in the midst of all the cardboard and shelves. and finally, his eyes landed on your figure, with another. you were talking to a man he did not recognise, well more like the man had started a conversation with you.

"you're beautiful...wanna go out on a date?"

"no, i have a-" before you could swiftly reject the man, kento had interrupted you. "hi love," he dropped the items that he was carrying in his hands to the trolley, watching as the man from before run away as if he was being chased by a serial killer.

"were you jealous kenn?" you looked at him, as he calmly shook his head.

"why would i be....in fact, i feel proud," kento looked up from the trolley, flashing a smile. "i mean, who can say that their partner gets constantly hit on due to their beauty? not alot of people are this fortunate...."

#get u a man who isnt insecure #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #kento nanami #fumiliardrabbles #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #kento x reader #nanami fluff #nanami x y/n #jjk headcanons #jjk kento #nanami x you #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami headcanons #kento x y/n

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wolvierama-new · 16 days ago

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Boyfriend!Satoru, who loves you very much. He’s never been in an actual, committed relationship before, so he’s having to figure things out. You like his piles of gifts, but he doesn’t feel it’s enough. He gives everyone gifts, but you deserve more than his usual love bombing. He hesitates to admit that he isn’t sure how to treat you, but eventually he does. Of course, you’re so sweet about it, and you don’t seem surprised. He pouts as you hug him, muttering, “Has it really been that obvious I have no clue what I’m doing?”

Boyfriend!Satoru, who puts a mind boggling amount of effort into you. He spends hours at stores, wanting to get you a genuine, thoughtful, single gift. He learns how to do the dishes, which he’s never done before. He does his best not to smother you in kisses publicly, knowing it makes you slightly uncomfortable. He takes time away from work, which infuriates the higher ups of Jujitsu Society. He devotes himself to you.

Boyfriend!Satoru, who….is insecure. He worries about how you perceive him, working so hard to make sure he isn’t acting too spoiled, too arrogant, or too clingy. He does his best to not act like a player, going out of his way to avoid other people, especially when he’s with you. When you notice and say something, his mask cracks. He’s so grateful when you comfort and reassure him. He quickly eases back into his usual self, happy and comfortable again, though occasionally he needs just a little bit of reassurance.

Boyfriend!Satoru, who does everything he can to protect you even when he’s away. The house you share is practically covered in residual traces of his cursed energy, keeping any curses away and being a clear threat to other sorcerers the higher ups might have sent to investigate the person keeping him away from missions. He does his best to keep his work from you, doesn’t even let Nanami know why he keeps disappearing (though the blond, no-funny-business sorcerer has already guessed).

Boyfriend!Satoru, who does what he calls ‘regular people stuff’ with you. Watching movies at the movie theater. Going to festivals. Riding on the subway after a night out drinking. Posting on Instagram. (If any members of the Gojo clan found out he made an Instagram page, they’d lose their crap. He thinks about bragging about it sometimes.) Eating at restaurants without renting the place out. Watching fireworks while cuddled up on a grimy, metal park bench.

Boyfriend!Satoru, who proposes to you every time he’s drunk. He gets really pouty when you say no, and will mope around for a while, slurring and whining about how perfect you are. How he needs you and wants you. When he’s drunk, he doesn’t understand why you say no. Once he sobers up, however, he wraps you up in your arms, pressing adoring kisses to your cheeks and squeezing you in a tight hug, “Sorry, princess. Got caught up in everything again. Ugh, I love you so much!” And you forgive him, because of course you do. When you finally accept, he may or may not have debated shouting in victory to the heavens.

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #headcanon #Gojo is secretly insecure

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shockercoco · 14 days ago

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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.

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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

#michael b jordan #michael b jordan x reader #michael b jordan imagine #michael b jordan x black reader #smoke and stack #stack x reader #elias stack moore #elias moore #stack x black reader #sinners #sinners imagine #sinners x reader #sinners x you #pea oc #fluff #insecure!reader

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