#does he have self esteem issues coming out his ears? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

michelleleewise · 10 months

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Can I have a story where reader has a huge crush on loki (reader won't admit they're inlove tho) and wants to be his in every aspect? She doesn't want to confess because she knows she'll get rejected and knows she's not his type. Though reader maybe sneaky, they forget that loki can sometimes read minds. They play this cat-and-mouse game it may or may not lead to smut 👀 I kind of had this idea by listening to "I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys. Thank you so much <3

Hiiiii!!! I'm sorry this took so long to get to!!!! But thank you so much for sending it to me!! I hope you like it!!! 💚💚💚

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Thinking of You

Pairing: Avenger Loki x female reader

Warnings: swearing, mild yelling, mind reading, self esteem issues, NSFW, masturbation, mildly rough sex (nothing graphic), if I missed anything let me know!! 💚

Summary: Everytime you see Loki your thoughts run wild....unbeknownst to you, he can hear them too...

A/n- sorry this took so long!!! It's probably terrible, I'm a bit rusty......sorry!!!!! 💚💚

"No the other way." You urged into the coms, swiping between screens on the computer screen like a maniac trying to guide the team to where they needed to be. "Y/n, where is it!?" Tony yelled into his earpiece making you wince "there is no need to yell Stark" You heard Loki's smooth voice sound in your ear making you sigh "that's easy for you to say Rudolph, you aren't surrounded by agents." Tony said when you heard an explosion echo into you ear. "Do stop complaining Stark." Loki said when you heard a grunt sound through Loki's coms "you are becoming rather insufferable." He continued making you giggle "I swear laufeyson, when we get back..." Tony started when you heard Thor's booming voice join the conversation "would you two please desist with this nonsense!" Thor yelled making you jump.

"Yes, please silence yourself stark....now darling which way do we go?" Loki asked into his earpiece, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver up your spine "i...I...let me see" you said searching the map again "take your...umph...time darling, no rush." Loki purred into your ear as you heard a thud on his end. "Ok, everyone needs to get to Loki's location, that's where the serum is." You said pulling up everyone's position, "aaah, Right again I see." Loki laughed into his earpiece "shut up Loki." Thor bellowed into his coms "come now, jealousy does not suit you brother." Loki mocked making you laugh "something funny agent?" You heard Tony snark into the coms "no sir, sorry." You said looking down at your hands.

You listened as the team completed the mission, bickering the entire time. If you were honest you weren't sure how they didn't kill eachother everytime they went on a mission. "Alright, back to the jet everyone." Tony said. "I thank you for your assistance lady y/n." Loki purred into the earpiece making your cheeks heat up "y...you welcome Loki "Alright romeo let's go...shutting down coms, see you back at the tower." Tony said as the line went silent. You took a deep breath pulling your earpiece out when Nat walked over leaning on your desk "quite the sweet talker isn't he?" She asked making you giggle "well they do call him silvertongue." You said trying to not look at her "yeah, makes you wonder what else he can do with his tongue." She said as you stood up "Natasha!" You whisper yelled making her laugh "oh come on, we all know how you feel about him." She said as you grabbed a stack of files quickly turning "I don't know what your talking about." You said making your way to the filing cabinets.

"Y/n, why don't you just talk to him?" She asked following you "I do talk to him." You snapped hoping she would let it go "you know what I mean y/n." She scolded crossing her arms "because..." you sighed setting the files down "because there will never be a universe where he feels the same." You said opening the filing cabinet "you don't know that, the way he talks to you..." She started when you slammed the drawer shut "I'm not stupid nat, he's just being polite...letting his princely charm ooze out of him. I've seen I him do it at parties." You said closing your eyes "I'm not special, he doesn't like me and he never will...why would he?" You asked walking back towards your desk "um, your funny, smart, witty.." nat said continuing to follow you "plain, ordinary...boring." you huffed grabbing your bag "y/n seriously..." you cut her off lifting your hand "no, he doesn't know...he'll never know." You said walking towards the door, stopping in the doorway "I...I don't think I could handle that rejection." You said before walking out heading towards your apartment

You spent the next few days chained to your desk, stacks of mission reports to go through and file from the last mission. Looking up rubbing your eyes seeing you had worked past your lunch "I need a break." You sighed closing the file you were working on as you stood up. Grabbing your coffee mug you made your way to the break room and the espresso machine Tony had recently installed. After choosing what you wanted you leaned your head against the cabinet waiting for the machine to do its thing, praying it would hurry when what nat said the other day ran through your mind does everyone really know....am I that obvious? You thought when the loud beep pulled you from your thoughts. "Thank god." You breathed bringing the cup to your lips taking a small sip you closed your eyes feeling the caffeine touch your soul "mmmhhh." You moaned with a sigh.

"Now that is a sound I could get used to." A deep voice behind you said, your eyes shooting open as you turned seeing Loki leaning against the doorway his arms crossed, the buttons of his white shirt straining against his chest "l...loki w...what are you doing here?" You asked setting the cup down "oh, some nonsense of starks." He said pushing off the doorframe sliding his hands in the pockets of his tight black jeans "something about not completing my reports." He shrugged taking a step into the room "o..oh, um he didn't say anything to me." You said fidgeting with your fingers "well let's be honest, when have you known stark to be organized?" He asked making you laugh "so, naturally I came to you to see if there were any...discrepancies." He purred coming to stand in front of you, his cologne wafting between you making you sigh god he smells good you thought hearing loki laugh "do you like the cologne? I just purchased it." He asked smiling "oh...yeah! Your...rrr I mean it...it's good." You stuttered watching his smile widen

"well darling, if you wouldn't mind may I....come with you?" He asked, the baritone in his voice stirring something inside you I'll be coming later you thought remembering all the nights you touched yourself at the thought of his large hands roaming your body, his deep voice whispering how much he wanted you in your ear. You bit your lip seeing him raise an eyebrow at you "er...um sorry...what were you saying?" You asked wringing yours hands "Darling, i was asking if I could come and look at the reports." He said smiling again "oh! Right...yes absolutely!" You said shaking the impure thoughts from your head as you stepped around him and headed back towards your desk. You sat down, digging through the stack of files until you saw "Laufeyson" pulling it out "ah, here it is." You said freezing feeling a hand on your back "you forgot your coffee my dear." He purred setting your cup on the desk "oh, thank you Loki." You said feeling your cheeks heat up.

"Now, let's see shall we?" He asked, taking the file from you He sat it down on the desk in front of you, his one hand sliding to the back of your chair as he leaned his large lithe frame over you, feeling the heat from his chest against your arm. "Hmm..." he hummed flipping through the file page by page, his scent ingulphing you as your mind raced at his proximity to you, the way his forearms flexed with each page turn, your eyes tracing the veins running down to his... "I do not see any issue, do you darling?" He asked when you tilted your head up towards him, your nose almost touching his as he leaned closer "i...um...." your mind going blank as your eyes met his, you couldn't help stare into them. They always reminded you of a forest after a storm, the deep green and blue swirling in a maelstrom as powerful as the man they belonged to but at this closeness you could see specs of gold shining in them.

"Loki..." you whispered, your eyes shooting down to his lips they look so soft you thought when you felt him lean closer "y/n." He breathed when you looked back into his eyes "i..." you trailed off, feeling like your heart was going to beat out of your chest "tell me darling." He whispered as he hovered over you his eyes never leaving yours "i..." you tried again, your mouth going dry feeling his finger tuck your hair behind your ear "hmm?" He hummed expectantly the tip of his nose touching yours "agent y/l/n." You heard from across the room making Loki shoot straight up as you jumped "a..agent hill, morning...er afternoon." You stuttered watching Maria walk in "and what do we owe the pleasure Loki?" She asked nearing your desk "oh, I was only ensuring my report was accurate, I would hate to make miss y/n's job harder then it is." He explained, freezing feeling his finger slowly trail up your arm. "Well im sure the agent has it under control Mr. Laufeyson." Hill said coming to stand on your other side "yes, she does. So I will take my leave...perhaps I will see you later agent." He purred as you looked up at him seeing him smile "o...ok, bye Loki." You smiled back as he bowed slightly before walking to the door.

You sat staring at the file Loki had been going through when you felt Hill nudge you "oh my God, what was that about?" She asked sitting on the edge of your desk, her stern demeanor vanishing "i...I don't know." You said looking up at her "well he looked like he was about to eat you." She laughed making you laugh with her "no, he just wanted to go through his report." You said setting it back on the pile "riiight, even though he's never had an issue with them before." She said crossing her arms. "I...well maybe he...umm." you stuttered trying to think of a reason "dude, just accept the man wanted to eat you like a cream filled donut." She said making you laugh "what!? No he doesn't!" You urged hearing her laugh "well apparently you didn't see the look on his face." She said hopping off the desk. "Look, all I'm saying is maybe he likes you too." She shrugged walking to the door "no he doesn't, he's just being nice." You said grabbing your cup "uh huh...whatever you say." She winked as she walked out.

You sat back sipping your coffee trying to process what had happened when you heard your name called, looking up seeing Tony "Hey kid, I just wanted to check and see how those are coming along." He said pointing at the reports "fury is down my throat about them." He laughed as you looked up at him "oh yeah, they're almost done." You said setting your cup down "oh, and Loki came by like you asked." You said grabbing his file "i didn't ask him to come by." Tony said crossing his arms "yes you did." You said looking back at him "no....I didn't." He argued making you sigh "you sent him down saying there was an issue with his reports." You argued back tossing the file down "I hate to break it to you, but I didn't send him down here, I haven't even talked to him in days." He said making your eyebrows furrow "just have them done by tonight ok?" Tony asked as you nodded looking back down at your desk. "If Tony didn't tell him to come down here.." your thoughts trailed off as you looked up at the clock seeing it was already almost three "shit.." you sighed pushing your thoughts aside grabbing the next file getting back to work.

It had been a couple weeks since your last interaction with Loki, but you couldn't get it out of your mind, it was beginning to drive you crazy. You were sat at your desk tapping your pen on a stack of files remembering the way his eyes stared into yours, how close he was to you, frowning remembering the lie he told you "Hey y/n, I need you to have Thor fix this." Maria said setting a piece of paper on your desk, seeing it was one of his mission reports "oh? What's wrong with it?" You asked picking it up "look at the description." She laughed as you looked down at that section seeing a simple "we won" written "I've told him that's not adequate but..." She sighed shaking her head. "Could you please have him actually write what happened?" She asked as you nodded "yeah, I just gotta find him." You said standing up "I believe he's in the training room, good luck." She smiled walking out. "Of course he is." You sighed walking towards the elevators.

You took a deep breath grabbing the handle of the door you pulled it open seeing Thor sparring with Steve as you walked in "Thor!" You yelled getting his attention seeing him smile at you as he walked over "Lady y/n, what can I do for you?" He asked setting his hammer down "you didn't fill out your report from the last mission." You said holding the paper out to him "you have to write a full description." You said holding your pen out to him "I do not see why, we won that's all that is important." He said grabbing the pen "just write something to make Hill happy." You laughed crossing your arms "very well, give me one moment." He said walking to the benches sitting down.

You looked out into the training room seeing Natasha on the treadmill, Steve had gone over to the punching bags, and then your eyes landed on Loki, dressed in black gym shorts that gave you full view of his muscular thighs, accompanied by a black tank top that was so tight you were surprised he could move, biting you lip watching as he sparred with Bucky. Your eyes traveled up seeing his long hair pulled back into a low bun, sweat making a few loose strands stick to his forehead as he pivoted and swayed, avoiding all of Bucky's attacks with the grace of a dancer. "Fuck...." you breathed, crossing your foot over the other clenching your thighs together trying to hide your arousal as bucky lunged at Loki when his large hand grabbed his throat, planting his foot behind bucky he threw him to the mat on his back kneeling next to him with his hand still on his throat god he could choke me anytime you thought biting your lip when Loki's eyes suddenly met yours making you jump.

His eyes didn't leave yours as he stood up, extending his hand to bucky pulling him up you watched his bicep flex, the veins in his arms bulging as Bucky got to his feet goood...I want trace them with my tongue you thought feeling your face heat up, arousal pooling in your stomach as your eyes met his again seeing a darkness in them you never had before "Lady y/n." Thor suddenly said next to you making you jump "apologies, I didn't mean to startle you." He said as you clutched your chest "no, it's ok." You said taking a deep breath "I have finished your report." He smiled holding out the paper "oh, thank you thor." You said quickly grabbing the paper "are you ok? You look a little flushed." He said as you ripped your pen out of his hand "yes! I'm fine." You said glancing over seeing Loki still watching you "i...I gotta go, see you later." You said quickly turning and walking towards the door, one last look back seeing Loki's eyes still on you making you shiver as you walked out.

You made your way back downstairs gripping the pen and paper in your hand, walking into Maria's office you slapped it on her desk "there." You said turning around "you ok? You seem...off." She said making you turn back to her "yeah! Totally fine!" You rushed out "I'm gonna call it a day, I'll see you tomorrow." You smiled before walking to your desk shutting everything off heading back upstairs to your apartment. Walking in you closed the door behind you leaning your back against it "Dammit Loki." You sighed closing your eyes, the friction of your clothing against your core making you moan "bath...a bath sounds good." You said rushing into the bathroom you turned the water on adding the bubbles as you pulled your clothes off before easing into the hot water.

You leaned back, closing your eyes you pictured the broody God, his eyes....his smile...."loki.." you whispered sliding your hand down your stomach, you gripped the side of the tub as your fingers slowly slid over your folds, biting your lip as you slowly moved your fingers down to your entrance dipping them inside you rocked your hand back and forth, imagining they were Loki's. "God...Loki..." you moaned moving your fingers faster, feeling that familiar tightening in your stomach "mmm....haaaarder...." you breathed picturing Loki's eyes staring into yours, his hand wrapped around your throat "fuuuck..Loki." you cried out feeling orgasm wash over you, squeezing your thighs together you slowly slid your fingers out.

You took a deep breath still feeling unsatisfied "ugh, that usually works." You sighed sitting up rubbing your temples. You groaned, grabbing your body wash you cleaned yourself up before getting out of the tub, the ache still very present in your core. Looking up seeing it was almost ten "Maybe I'll make some tea." You said to yourself slipping on your sleep shorts and a bright green tank top pulling your hair back before opening your door and making your way down to the kitchen. You slowly walked in releasing a breath seeing it empty and dark "good, everyone must be busy." You said walking in grabbing the kettle filling it before setting it on the stove.

You opened the cabinet seeing all the coffee mugs on the top shelf "freaking giants" you mumbled lifting you knee onto the counter pulling yourself up freezing hearing someone clear their throat. You slowly leaned back, peeking out from behind the cabinet door seeing Loki standing next to the counter by the door, wearing the white shirt that would cause your death, his hand in his pocket as he tilted his head "h...hey Loki." You said smiling nervously "evening y/n, may I ask what it is your doing up there?" He asked when the kettle screamed. You cleared your throat watching him move it and turn the burner off. "Well, you see....I couldn't sleep so...tea." you laughed as he looked back over to you "and all the mugs are up there." You said pointing to the top of the cabinet "ah, I see." You heard him say as you reached up grabbing a cup.

You went to put your foot down on the floor when your other knee slipped causing you to drop the cup as you fell back off the counter when an arm wrapped around your middle pulling you backwards, you back hitting solid muscle looking to the side seeing Loki smiling down at you. "Your cup my lady." He said lifting his other hand you looked at it seeing your cup dangling from his finger "t..thank you." You stuttered lifting the cup from his finger. "You really must be more careful my dear." He purred when you felt his thumb sliding up and down by your rib, slowly moving up towards your breast "i...I should finish the tea." You said pulling away from him walking to the stove. Stop it y/n, he's just being nice you thought shaking your head when the cabinet door slammed making you jump, turning to see Loki's hand on it.

"Loki...are you ok?" You asked as he turned around "no y/n, I'm afraid I'm not." He said taking a step towards you. "I...I can get bruce...or thor?" You asked stepping back as he came closer "I'm afraid neither of them can assist me." He growled continuing his advance as you walked backwards through the kitchen, loki right on top of you "um..well I could.." you trailed as your back hit the table "these games have exhausted me y/n." He said coming to stand in front of you his chest inches from yours "I don't know..." you started when he leaned forward planting his palms on either side of you caging you in "do not lie to me y/n," He said sternly making you shiver "l..loki i..." you sighed looking down fidgeting with your hands when he leaned forward freezing feeling his breath on your ear.

"I love your eyes as well." He whispered making your head jerk back looking at him "i...you..." you stuttered as the realization hit you "yes dear, there are times i can read your thoughts." He said as your eyes widened "h...how much is sometimes?" You panicked seeing him smile "well, it comes and goes, but depending on how...hard your thinking they make it through." He purred as you looked down, embarrassment flooding through you "y/n look at me...please." He whispered as you took a deep breath "Loki i..." you were cut off by his lips gently touching yours before he quickly pulled back checking gauging your reaction as you stood speechless. You must have taken too long to respond as panic flashed in his eyes as he slowly stood up "i...I have over stepped, I apologize." He said taking a step back, the loss of contact kicking your brain into gear.

"Wait." You rushed out fisting the front of his shirt you pulled him back to you, rising up on your toes your lips crashed into his, your other hand sliding across his side to his back pulling him closer moaning feeling his tongue slide along your bottom lip, his hand cupping the back of your head as you parted your lips hearing him groan as his tongue slipped inside tangling with yours. God his lips are soft you thought when you felt his hands slide across your sides to your back moving down his palms cupping your ass squeezing making you moan into his mouth as he lifted you up setting you on the table. Stepping between your parted legs he pulled back slightly as he kissed along your jaw, tilting your head back feeling his lips wrap around your earlobe "l..loki..." you moaned when his hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you towards him groaning feeling his erection press against your thigh.

God, fuck me..please fuck me you thought screwing your eyes shut feeling his teeth nip at your pulse point "say it." He growled, the husky tone of his voice making you shiver "w..what." you breathed when he pulled back looking into you eyes, his hand gently gripping your chin "I want to hear you say it." He growled his jaw clenching as he watched you with an intensity that sent electricity up your spine "i..I want..." you stuttered seeing his eyes darken "yes..." he encouraged rubbing his thumb across your lips "i...want you Loki." You whispered seeing him smile as he leaned down to your ear "do you want me to fuck you y/n?" He breathed as you gripped the table screwing your eyes shut "y..yes...please." You said, opening your eyes meeting his "norns..." he whispered as he lunged forward his lips crashing onto to yours, his hand going to the back of your head as he guided you down onto your back.

Arching your back feeling the cold wood through your thin tank top "I need to feel you...now." loki growled against your lips as his other hand slid up your side to the bottom of your shirt "as much as I love seeing you in my colors..." he trailed off standing up his hand slipped out from under your head joining the other, hearing a loud rip you gasped feeling the cold air hit your bare skin, looking down seeing your shirt ripped in half "gorgeous." Loki purred placing a large hand on your stomach, his finger tips ghosting over your skin as he slowly slid it up to the valley of your breasts gently pushing you back down. "One more thing." He smiled when you heard another rip, feeling your shorts and panties pulled from you. "Norns....you truly are magnificent." He purred as he wrapped his hands around your thighs sliding you to the edge.

"Loki...." you moaned feeling his clothed cock press against your core "I know my dear, be patient for me." He groaned lifting his hand a green light swept down across him, shivering feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance "are you ready love?" He asked making you look up, his smile melting your insides as his thumbs rubbed small circles on your thighs "y..yes....please loki." You whined laying back stretching your arms above your head "mmm....we'll have to look into that." He growled as he leaned over, his large body hovering over yours as he pushed his hips forward, stretching you slowly as he entered you. "Gods your...mmm tight." He groaned, bucking his hips forward making you gasp as he bottomed out.

"Holy fuck." You cried out digging your nails into the table as he leaned further over you, his eyes meeting yours "are you ok dear? Do you wish to stop?" He asked, concern lacing his tone as you stared up at him "God no!" You rushed out wrapping your legs around his middle, a deep rumble coming from his chest as he laughed "loki?" You asked wrapping your fingers around the end of the table "move...now" you demanded shifting your hips "as you wish." He growled as he planted one large hand next to your head, the other gripping your hip as he slowly pulled out, leaving only the tip in before slowly pushing back in.

"H...holy...." you moaned as he set a steady pace, burying his cock further inside you then anyone ever had God, he's ruined me you thought when he suddenly snapped his hips hard against yours jolting you up the table "that was the idea my dear." He growled "my cock will be the only one that can satisfy you." He said gritting his teeth as he slammed into you "Loki!!" You cried out gripping the edge of the table "the only pleasure you will find is impaled upon me as I bury myself in your perfect cunt." He said, his fingers digging into your flesh as he set a brutal pace, the table shifting under his thrusts as he consumed you. "F...fuck! Loki...ahhh....i.....im...." you cried out as his tip hit that soft spot deep inside you "are you going to come my dear?" He groaned, sliding his hand under your shoulder pulling you to him as his pelvis hit yours "y...yes....God Loki!" You yelled feeling the familiar tingle in your abdomen.

"Come y/n...come on my cock." Loki gritted as he thrust hard into you as your orgasm slammed into you screaming his name as he continued his unforgiving pace "w..whose cunt is this?" He growled digging his fingers nails into your shoulder "y..yours..." you moaned feeling another building "who....n...norns...who do you belong to?" He moaned screwing his eyes shut as you squeezed your legs around him "y...you Loki...only you!" You cried out as he bottomed out, holding himself there you felt him release deep inside you triggering a second orgasm as he slumped on top of you laying his forehead on your shoulder, his warm breath fanning your skin as you let go of the table, a hand going to the back of his head running your fingers through his hair, freezing feeling him stiffen.

Why did i do that...I shouldn't have done that you thought as you pulled your hand away "y/n?" You heard Loki ask but your thoughts drowned him out i....I should go...this was probably a one time thing... "y/n look at me." Loki's voice rang out again as you tried to slip out from under him what am I going to cover up with....I need to get back to my.... "y/n!" Loki yelled making jump, your eyes shooting to his "apologies, I did not mean to yell but you were lost." He said as he grabbed your hand helping you sit up "now, let me make one thing perfectly clear." He said raising his hand again, the same green light traveling across your skin as your clothes reappeared "you...are mine now." He said leaning forward "you are not a one night stand, you never were...you deserve much more then that." He said as you looked down fidgeting with your fingers "you deserved to be treated as a queen, a goddess...my goddess." He said brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face

"so y/n, will you alow me to take you out?" He asked as you looked up at him "m...me? You want to date me?" You asked laughing but seeing Loki looking more serious then you ever had "I um...I'd like that Loki, very much." You said seeing him smile "how about we go to my chambers and you put on one of your midgaridian films and we can talk more hm?" He asked making you smile "that sounds nice." You said sliding off the table as he held his hand out, placing your hand in his He linked your fingers together as he guided you down the hallway to his room "loki, does that mean your my...boyfriend?" You asked as he smiled down at you opening his door "you may call me whatever you wish, as long as you are mine." He said as he waved you ahead of him "I'll always be yours....my king." You said walking through the doorway "mmm....now that will get you more then you bargained for." He growled following you "oh, I'm counting on it." You smiled closing the door behind him.

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 2 months

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≡;-꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍

╰┈➤ ❝ rafayel x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : softdom!rafayel, hints of switch!rafayel, reader is hesitant with intimacy, descriptions of self-esteem issues and general insecurities, mentions/implications of toxic relationships, implications of dubcon (not with rafayel), praise and reassurance, kissing and making out, heavy petting, first time sex (with each other) (no virginity loss), masturbation (f), oral (m. receiving), vaginal sex, cowgirl and missionary positions, unprotected sex, creampie, soft sex, use of pet names "cutie" "princess" "baby", references to card "fiery undercurrents", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((unedited))

wc : 7.9k (help me)

youtiful masterlist

a late birthday os for our favorite deep sea painter! ✨

You jumped at your phone, nearly gasping at the caller ID that flashed on your screen.

"Rafayel!"

Your grip on your phone was tight, held against your ear with an immediate burst of excitement.

It had been days.

You knew how it was, of course—an artist's inspiration was often sporadic and fleeting, and you'd even lost count of the number of times Rafayel had told you that. How essential it was to grab the spark of creativity before it you lose it; how paramount it was to focus on your flow before it disappeared... It was ingrained in the forefront of your mind, by now.

And even more than that, if Rafayel had always been one to speak of the elusiveness of inspiration, then Thomas had always been one to insist you leave him and his stroke of genius alone whenever he called for it.

You didn't understand much about the world of artists, so it was natural for you to take their words to heart, but it hadn't been easy.

Rafayel, being Rafayel, would always send you texts and updates, never failingly missing a single day... But it had been days since you'd last heard his voice at all—much less seen him. Now, marking a week sinve you'd been to his studio at all, you were pacing back and forth in your apartment, wondering how long you had to wait, and if maybe you should take a chance and visit him yourself—

But you didn't want to be selfish.

In fact, you quite despised being needy at all—with a quiet laugh, you thought, that was usually the role that Rafayel would play in your relationship. You wouldn't think to take it from him.

Yet, now, your phone rang, and the ever-familiar sound of his voice brought on a wave of butterflies in your stomach that had your mood lifting in seconds.

"Heeyyy there, cutie!"

In the background, you could make out the faint sounds of metal against concrete in the background, and your ears perked.

"Is... that your ladder? Have you finished your painting?"

"Yeah! It really took a while, this one... But Thomas'll be happy to know that it's finally finished! ...That is, if I could get ahold of him..."

You carefully sat on the edge of your bed, swinging your legs in sheer happiness at his little ramblings.

"...And, actually, I kind of need your help."

You blinked.

"Hm? Help? With what?"

"Well, you know how I told you it's been kind of a while since I last cleaned this place...?"

"...Yes..."

"Are you free now?"

"Rafayel, you can't mean...?"

"Yeah! Can you come over and help me clean?"

You couldn't believe his first thought with this call was to ask you for your cleaning services. You strained to hear the familiar tease in his voice, even waited for a moment for some kind of "Just kidding!" or whatever else that could tell you he wasn't being serious—

You felt your eyes narrow in disapproval when you found nothing.

"Rafayel, I'm not your maid, you know."

Not even an "I missed you", not even a " Want to hang out later?".

"Yeaaahh.... But you're my bodyguard, right?" The hopeful tone in his voice now would have made you laugh.... In other circumstances.

"What does that have to do with anything?!" There was a laugh, then, on the other side of the line, and you huffed. "Rafayel, don't joke with me—"

"Look! I told you, right? Thomas won't answer me, and, seriously! The studio's a mess. I really need some help... Please?"

He was laughing completely now, and the sound brought over that same, very familiar ripple of butterflies, despite all the odds.

You caved.

"This is labor abuse, Rafa. Of your own girlfriend, might I add!" You hmphed, but stood up from your bed, haphazardly gathering your things into a purse and walking out of your flat. "Fine. I'm on my way there."

"Oh, you really are the best girlfriend I could ever have wished for! Thanks, princess! See ya!"

Not even a "stay safe"!

You wondered if this was what Rafayel felt whenever you were late to receive his calls or to reply to hia texts, and you sighed.

Is he just trying to get back at me...?

Regardless, he made up for his actions by immediately twirling you over with a kiss the minute you knocked on his door, and you smiled.

"Nice to see you again, princess," he grinned.

You thought you could never have wanted to see his smile as much as you did now—

But you couldn't bring yourself to admit that to him.

"Would've been better if you said that when you called me, huh?" You rolled your eyes playfully, shoving him aside and scanning the space in front of you.

He hadn't been lying.

Paint had been scattered around, well past the patches of safety paper he usually had lying all over his studio. While you were used to seeing the place mostly messy, anyway, this seemed a lot less like the organized mess you were used to. What's more, the painting wasn't even in this room anymore, and god knows where he'd put it now to dry.

You turned towards him with the raise of an eyebrow.

"Geez, Rafayel... This place looks like it's been through a hell hole. What were you doing?"

"Painting."

He shrugged, ever nonchalant and casual, only as if stating the obvious—that clearly being so engrossed in your painting would result in such a mess, and that clearly—he handed over a bundle of cleaning supplies—this was a very normal way of greeting your significant other.

You sighed.

You supposed, nothing was ever truly normal with him, anyway.

By the time you had finished, the sun that peeked through his windows bathed his studio into a golden glow. You settled onto the couch beside him, silent as he rubbed soothing circles into your shoulder, your head resting contently on his shoulder.

"You're rich, Rafayel," you mumbled, a little tiredly. "Why can't you just hire a maid if you don't want to clean things yourself?"

"And where do you think I'd find one I could trust enough to let near my paintings?"

The scoff in his voice made your lips quirk into a smile, and you tilted your head up to look at him.

...Ah.

Your breath caught in your throat when your eyes met, the gentle mix of red and purple hues in his eyes once again having you transfixed. His hair was slightly unruly from the work you'd both done, but the sunset rays streaming in from the window had little specks of sunlight painting his tresses in such a way that had you utterly mesmerized.

He chuckled slightly.

"Cat got your tongue, princess?"

You could barely bring yourself to mumble a response when he leaned in, shifting your positions just enough to have you lying on your back against the couch. Half of his weight rest over you, and you could feel it; his heartbeat against yours. You could almost amazed feel at the comfort in your synchronicity.

He sighed, brushing your hair out of your face. "...Why haven't you been to the studio?" he mumbled.

His words pulled you out of your reverie, and immediately, you felt your heart sink.

"...I thought... I thought you'd be busy..." Your voice came out meek, already searching his eyes anxiously. "Thomas told me not to disturb you, a-and I thought, maybe, you didn't want to be interrupted? I know how hard it's been for you to finish that painting..."

You swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, that might be true..." Rafayel nuzzled your nose affectionately, succeeding in soothing your nerves down to a certain degree. "But what if I wanted to see you, too?"

"...You... You usually just ask..."

Your words were met with silence, and you squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.

"Rafayel—"

"But you can't expect me to be the one asking for you all the time, right?"

Something at the back of your mind told you he didn't mean it that way, but his words stung nonetheless. The disapproval in his pout made your stomach churn. The atmosphere had, to you, become a little weightier, and your chest felt heavy with guilt.

You promised you wouldn't make him wait... But didn't you, in the end? Some useless game of seeing who'd cave first?

Your gaze shifted away from him, and you played with the hem of your shirt.

"Sorry, Rafa, I didn't mean to upset you... I-I don't know much about art, and I didn't want to bother you, and—god, actually, maybe it was stupid of me to just rely on Thomas' words instead of asking you, I'm such a terrible girlfriend—"

Tears began to well up in your eyes as you spoke, but before you could proceed any further, you felt the soft sensation of lips upon yours.

You blinked your tears away rapidly, refocusing to meet his, parting your lips slightly in shock when he pulled away.

"Don't say that, princess." He shook his head, and there was a ghost of a smile on his face. "You're not a terrible girlfriend. You're perfect, actually, and... I'm partly to blame. It was wrong of me to test you like that... You're right. I should have just asked."

You drew in a breath.

Perhaps, it was because your roles had been reversed today; perhaps, it was because you'd been so anxious to see him again that even the slightest signs of any conflict had you feeling like walking on eggshells. But it was rare for you to see him take the situation at hand so maturely, and it did well for the tenseness in your shoulders to melt away.

He moved his hand back into your hair, soft, gentle strokes, if only to soothe you further away from your worries.

"...Well, actually, maybe we both are a little stupid. I... kind if made the studio messy on my own."

Your ears perked up with that, and you looked at him curiously.

Rafayel laughed.

"It wasn't that bad when I'd finished! And I wasn't lying, I had been neglecting the studio, I just..."

When his voice trailed off, you found the courage to speak again.

"Did you.... Make an excuse to bring me here?"

He smiled, bringing his lips over to the top of your head, another one on your temple, and then another one over the corner of your eye.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I missed you a lot. I guess I just got creative... A little too much, anyway."

His lips were on yours again the next second, soft pecks that made your heart soar with glee. You wrapped your arms slowly around his neck, barely registering the way he'd pulled himself over you, feeling safe under the weight of his body—you liked this. And you missed it, being close with him, having a few moments to yourselves just to revel in each other's warmth.

With half-lidded eyes, he pulled back for air, panting softly over your skin.

"...You really could have just asked me," you whispered, gazing into his eyes and allowing yourself to get lost in them once more.

He let out a soft laugh. "Hm, yeah. Buuuut, maybe I thought this would be more interesting... And maybe, then, you could stay the night, too..."

His eyes flickered closed as he ran his hands through your hair once more, bringing a lock up to his face and letting out a sigh.

"You used that shampoo again."

You faltered slightly at his words, but he pressed you against the couch, capturing your lips into a deeper kiss.

...That shampoo.

You knew exactly what he was referring to.

The last time he'd noticed this scent on you, the way he'd pressed his lips against yours had been anything but innocent—it was one of the first times the both of you had made out together, the hairdryer and towel that had started the whole ordeal then long-forgotten beside you. The mere thought of that night brought an undeniable flush to your face, an all-too-familiar tingling sensation breaking throughout your body.

And you knew what he was insinuating. Even as he continued to kiss you, and even as you felt yourself easily melting into him the way that you would.

His hand began to roam your body, slowly stroking down your sides, making their way to your thigh and inching closer, closer, to the heat of your clothed core—

Your breath hitched.

You couldn't control it.

It was like instinct, whatever this conflict of mind and body really was—

You immediately reached out to grab his wrist, and his reaction was immediate. In an instant, his lips were off of yours, and he froze in place, wide eyes searching yours.

"Shit," he whispered. "Princess, I'm sorry— Did I— Did I go something wrong—"

Though breathless and panting, your lips quivered, and your grip on his wrist tightened.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Slowly, you felt him peel himself off of you, sitting up carefully... And you took in a deep breath.

"R-Rafayel, I..."

The waver in your voice and the alarm that had found its way into your eyes weren't missed by him, and you turned your head. "I'm sorry," you swallowed thickly. "I... I don't think i can do this right now..."

You felt feeble and small as you moved to draw your knees up to your chest, almost as if with the intention of hiding yourself away. "I... M-maybe, just... Not tonight...?"

When you sneaked a glance back up at him, you could see it. That glimmer of hurt in his eyes, perhaps just barely there, but more noticeable to you than anything else. You were also made painfully aware of the sun that had set, the studio now darker into the night—a cold draft blew in through the windows and made you shiver, and now, you felt incredibly small.

Rafayel, however, gave you another soft smile, gently moving to sit with your legs over his lap, resorting to holding your hand in his gently.

"Okay," he said.

And it was so simple the way he accepted your rejection, so devoid of judgement, that it made you feel...

Guilty.

Even guiltier than you already were to begin with.

"...I'm sorry, Rafa, I—"

He shook his head, giving your hand another squeeze.

"No, that's... Well, also on me. I should have asked you about this first, too..." The regret in his voice made you want to hit something. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything today. I'll wait until you're ready, princess."

...He'll wait?

Quietly, you moved to crawl back towards him, snuggling into his chest.

This wasn't the first time he had tried to go further with you. That night, after drying your hair, had been one of such times, and it wasn't as if you didn't want to take the next step in your relationship.

In fact, you wanted it just as much as he did.

You've fantasized about it for nights on end, laying on your bed, fingers playing with your clit and imagining how well his hands would have worked you, how well his cock would have stretched you out and filled you up far better than your fingers ever could. You lost count, how many times you'd come undone, alone on your bed, having his name spill from your lips as you did.

You wanted so badly for him to ravage you.

But thinking of it was incredibly different from having the situation at hand right in front of you.

You were nervous.

There were so, so many things that could go wrong from just exposing yourself to him as you would have if you did go that far—just as so, so many things had already gone wrong the last time you had, with other people.

You buried your face into his chest, pressing against him, drowning yourself in his warmth.

"...Are you mad?" You whispered.

"Me? Why would I be, when you're cuddling me like this so tightly?" The playfulness in his voice chased enough of your worries for you to let out a little laugh. "Just so you know... I'm perfectly fine with this."

You shifted, tilting your head to look up at him.

Rafayel gently poked at your nose.

"I can't be mad at you, princess, just because you said no to me. There are other ways for us to be affectionate, and I don't need to have sex with you, you know?"

"...But you want to?" Your voice remained meek, still very obviously wanting to hide yourself back into his shirt. And you would have, if he hadn't pried you away, hands firmly over your arms, leaning down to study your gaze.

"R-Rafa—"

"I want to, princess, but only if you want to. And I need to make that super, suuper clear to you, because I won't be forcing you into anything you don't want. 'Kay?"

His words sent a flurry of comfort into your stomach.

"...But... But what if I make you wait too long? You dislike waiting... A-and it's normal, anyway, right? For couples to have sex? If we don't, then..." As you spoke, you noticed a frown frown gradually form over his face, and you faltered.

"You... You expect me to leave because of this?"

You turned your gaze away in silence.

"Princess... You... May I ask where that's coming from? Do... Do you feel unloved with me? Am I doing something wrong?"

It was like a trigger—the way his voice dropped into a soft whisper, his hands falling back down to take yours in his, lacing your fingers together.

He was so gentle with you.

You felt the unwelcome sting of tears in your eyes, and you shook your head—"N-no," you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. "You've done nothing wrong, but... But you're so—so nice to me, Rafayel..."

"...Baby? Of course I'm nice to you! Aren't you my girlfriend?!"

The nickname switch made your heart jump, and you nuzzled yourself further into his embrace.

"...I don't deserve you."

A pause.

You felt as if you could drown in the silence, even though you knew that he was just thinking of what to say.

"I'm sorry, I just made things worse—"

"...Deserve me? There's... there's nothing for you to say that—princess, that's my line, you know. You deserve everything—every little good thing out there, and so much more than me."

"But—! You—you're so good to me, and I'm—! How many times did I disappoint you? This whole week, and even just now, and—"

You felt yourself sniffling, and Rafayel once again brought you to look up at him. You chewed on your bottom lip, a flash of insecurity in your eyes that made him sigh softly.

"No, no, no... Don't cry, princess... Nothing's going to change just because of this, yeah? You know I love you. And nothing in the way that I love you is tied to... whatever ways you'll allow me to love you. I get it, you know? If you're not ready to go there yet, then that's fine. I promise. I don't make promises without reason, princess."

His gaze, now, was firm, and his words were warm. Genuine—like he always was with you. In the silence that followed, you felt yourself calm down slightly, your breath easing, the tears in your eyes blinked away in your insistence not to cry in front of him.

And more than anything, you found thr conviction in his words to be something you could... Trust.

You took in a deep breath.

"I've... I've done this a couple of times before," you spoke, slowly, quietly. "It's been a while since the last time, but— it's— it's just scary, Rafa."

Your voice trembled, and you hung your head.

"And I feel like it's so silly to be scared of it. It's always so obvious that I am, because I get too focused on trying to relax that I never really do, and then in the end I can only ever make up for it by letting them finish. So I— I don't know. Everyone says that couples always do this, like it's supposed to be a staple... Or else, what are they for, right?"

You let out a dry, sarcastic laugh, but it almost came out as if you were scolding yourself.

"Wait—hold on. You... You've never orgasmed?"

You blinked in surprise this time, looking up at him with a confused frown. "Huh? Only on my own, I guess... Never with them, no, but—"

"Oh, princess..." he began, almost like a whisper. "You've never enjoyed it, have you...? To call it a staple... Gosh. It's not something necessary to maintain a relationship, let's get that out of your pretty head first."

You watched him bring his hand over to the side of your face, a gentle caress.

"I don't know if humans really do think such fickle things, but I wouldn't leave you just because you won't go further with me. I want you to be ready before we go there. Okay? God, who have you been with?! They sound like the worst kind of humans!"

Despite yourself, you laughed at his indignation, watching him fall back against the couch with his arms crossed.

"No, seriously, baby—doesn't it sound wrong to you?! You know, I wouldn't have stopped until you came. In fact, I bet I could make you feel so much better than they ever could—" He paused, ears turning slightly red in telltale embarrassment. "...Sorry. I'll be totally patient, I really mean it. I was just, you know... saying..."

You giggled.

Rafayel was always cute when he was embarrassed, even if just a few moments ago, he'd so obviously reduced you to just a puddle through his kissses alone.

But his words, once again, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. When you looked at him, his eyes were as gentle as the waves of the ocean you'd grown to love almost as much as him, and you couldn't help but feel... safe.

You'd never really felt safe before—not with anyone else.

Any time you opened up about this, your previous partners would have scoffed in your face—would have told you there couldn't have been a basis for what you felt, and that there was nothing more irrational than all of these needless worries of yours.

It was silly.

You had always believed that.

Yet you couldn't help feeling the way that you did.

Whenever you experienced sexual intimacy with anyone else, though you had let it happen in the end, you had never... associated it with anything special. Like you'd said, it only ever felt a mandatory part of any relationship. It was like going through the motions, and then you'd find out that you'd been a terrible experience—no matter how pretty they said you were, no matter how much you'd always be told that they were looking forward to it.

You were disappointing.

That was what conclusion you'd come up with, after several times of the same result.

And you always envied your friends, too.

Whenever the topic came up, they'd speak of how magical it was—how sweet, and how loving, and how good it felt... Yet you'd felt none of that. If there was anything good you associated with sex at all, it had been you—by yourself—in your room.

You really didn't know how to reconcile all of these feelings together—

And, yet, Rafayel had been the very first one to let it slide in a way that put your feelings first.

You promised him you wouldn't make him wait...

Yet here he was, adamant on letting you do exactly that.

You looked up at him, again, listening to him guide the conversation elsewhere, talking about how his week had been, and how painful it had been to get that painting done.

"You haven't seen it yet, have you? Hmm... I'm thinking if I should show you. I guess my girlfriend can have early access to it before the exhibition, right...?" He had one hand resting on your back, the other brought up to his chin in thought. "What do you think? Do you want to see it now?"

You stared, silently, as his eyes were back on yours.

That familiar, adorable tilt of his head, the inquisitive gaze in his eyes bringing that familiar shine to it that you loved, loved, loved, so very dearly.

You watched a small smile form on his features, and he pulled you close enough to have your foreheads touch.

"Hey. What's on your mind, cutie? You're spacing out again. Everything okay?"

God. You really loved him.

Even the simplest phrase had the butterflies in your stomach fluttering around almost mercilessly, and if you hadn't known better, you thought you were very likely blushing in that moment.

"Just you," you spoke, softly, quietly, barely even registering that you'd spoken so honestly in front of him before you recognized the look of surprise on his face. "Shit—I mean—"

"Nuh-uh, no take-backs! I like it when you're honest," he cut you off with a laugh, placing a quick peck on your lips.

Though he didn't say anything more on the subject, you knew he was thinking it—even if you'd tease, endlessly, of Rafayel's own clingier habits, you knew that in the end that you could easily eat your own words.

Rafayel was so good to you.

Sometimes you'd think he was too good to you—too good for you.

But admitting it out loud was always so difficult to you; your honesty of your own overwhelming feelings for him often more than you could speak to him yourself.

He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ears.

"Maybe we should go to sleep, yeah? It's pretty late. You've worked hard!"

Slowly, you moved to straddle his lap, and then buried your face into his neck.

"...Princess..."

"...Are you really okay with this, Rafa?"

"Me? I told you, I'm perfectly fi—"

"I just—I could make you feel good, at least..."

Maybe you'd let him consume your thoughts more than you'd intended, or maybe the guilt was simply eating away at you, having never been truly placated. You didn't know which side of emotions you were acting upon, and perhaps, it seemed as if he'd sensed that.

"Baby... No. We're not going to do it tonight. I want you to set your mind straight first."

"But—"

"No buts!"

He lifted you off of his lap, another firm shake of his head. "I want to ease you into this. And that means I won't be taking any pleasure for my own just yet, because I want you to feel good."

"...Wh- What do you...?"

He smiled, before poking your forehead.

"I mean, I want you to be comfortable around me first, before you even think of trying to give me an orgasm." Rafayel gave your hand another squeeze. "I'm hoping I can at least show you that it's not supposed to be a bad experience. So we'll sleep on it first, clear our heads, take things slowly... Then we'll see how things go from there. 'Kay?"

"Rafa..."

"Baby, relax. No rush. I'm not going anywhere."

Rafayel was always so good to you.

Even through your biggest insecurities, there would be no exception.

It had been quite some time since that conversation, and, sure enough, he had been adamant on taking things slower with you. You could feel it, how he'd constantly hold himself back with you. The way he would be sure not to take it too far when he kissed you, always respectfully lifting you off of his lap whenever he felt like it would get too much if you continued...

He took things step by step, just like he said he would. From kisses, to slowly dipping his hands beneath your clothes—You had found, over the past couple of days, how warm his hands were around your breasts, cupping and kneading them like a perfect fit. It was comfortable. And it had become almost a staple to your cuddling sessions over time.

Those nights in his bed slowly, slowly became less than innocent as weeks passed by.

And then one other night, you'd finally gained the courage to let him go even further. His fingers were long, able to reach deeper inside of you than you ever could, and the stretch in your walls felt more than welcome after so long. It was just as you'd fantasized—he'd buried his fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt, slow thrusts gradually picking up the pace until you were trembling around him, his arms holding you safe as you released. Even now, when you thought back to that night, you felt tingles all over your body. It was the first time anyone had made you cum, the first time anyone had bothered to cradle you in their arms afterwards, the first time anyone had cleaned you up without you having to do it yourself—

You hadn't known that this could really feel so intimate.

So loving.

That Rafayel could ease all your worries away, so... naturally.

It had gotten to the point that you began to notice a boldness in both of your actions—you were growing more comfortable with him, like he'd intended you to, and now, you found yourself gladly on your knees, feeling the drag of his cock against the walls of your mouth.

He'd gotten you to cum from his fingers and his mouth multiple times over the past few days, and you had promised him—promised him—that you were only returning the favor because you wanted to. Because through the past weeks, Rafayel had been gentle with you, and patient—always asking for your consent, never pushing you to do anything you didn't want to, never even giving a thought to his own pleasure as long as it meant focusing on yours.

And this, you thought to yourself with a smile, was now a reward for for him just as much as it was for you.

Your eyes closed as you swirled circles over the tip of his length, taking your time with him as he often did with you. Your tongue ran up and over his cock, wetting him fully becore taking him in again, keening at the way his hips would stutter and his moans would reach your ears in a well-received melody.

"Fuck, yeah—Just like that, princess—" Rafayel's words were broken, his eyes half lidded as he watched you work him. "So good for me, baby—ngh, shit—"

You found his praises go straight to your core, eager to please him, eager to hear more. And in effect, your pace quickened, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, stroking and sucking him with a new hunger. His hands tangled in your hair, the sensation more than welcome as he guided you into a rhythm, hips bucking upwards to meet your mouth.

"So, so good— Feels so good, princess, don't stop—"

Another tug on your hair had you moaning against him, feeling him throb in your mouth at the extra stimulation.

He was close.

Determined to take in the sight, you watched, fondly, as his head fell back into the pillows, the skin of his thigh hot to the touch, your eyes drawn to the way his mouth hung open, his own eyes squeezing shut.

"Shit— M'gonna—! Gonna cum, baby, pleas—"

He arched his back, his hands fleeing from your hair to fist into the sheets beneath him. It hit in an instant, then—the sheer intensity having rendered him silent, mouthing curses, eyes still shut as streaks of cum shot out of him and onto your tongue.

You were familiar with the taste; warm in your mouth, and salty—thick. There was a certain discomfort to it, swallowing every last drop, but it couldn't compare to the thrill of it. Having Rafayel finally cum in your mouth, finally come undone for you... Your eyes locked as you released him with a wet 'pop', licking your lips and then hastily wiping your mouth with a little smile.

"Damn... That was..." He was breathless, chest heaving, barely moving to allow you to climb back up on the bed and reach for the bottle of water on his nightstand. "You're really... Really good at that, princess."

Feeling warm at another word of praise from him, you exchanged the bottle for the washcloth beside it, and crawled over to gently pat him clean.

"...Baby, I can—"

"If you won't let me do it when I finish, then I won't let you, either."

Your gaze was firm, and he laughed.

"Well played. My habits are growing on you, huh, cutie? That's good."

He pulled you up into his arms for a kiss, and you snuggled into his embrace. The heat from his skin was comforting—another thing you'd slowly gotten used to, having your activities now easily practiced without the need for any more clothes on.

"...How are you feeling? Was that okay?" He mumbled into your hair as you buried your face into his chest, lifting your leg over him as if to draw him even closer to you. You nodded quietly, and a soft sigh escaped his lips when you brushed your wetness against his still-sensitive cock. "Princess... Did sucking me off get you all wet?"

You could hear the laugh in his voice, and you whined.

"You— you made me wait to do that!" You protested, and you didn't need to look up to know he had that ever-present smirk on his face. "...I wanted to make you cum, too..."

He only replied with a chuckle, trailing his hand down your back to settle upon your waist. "I know. And thank you, by the way. Your mouth feels heavenly. Did you know that?"

You swat at his arm playfully. "Rafayel!"

"What? I'm only saying the truth! And, anyway..." You squealed when he leaned over to nip at your earlobe, completely sure of how flushed you were in that moment. "You're drenched, so which one will it be? My tongue? My fingers? My thigh?"

When you didn't reply immediately, he gently gave you squeeze. "Or do you want to sleep it off? We don't have to do anything if you—"

"N- no!"

You looked up, pouting, and found that the mirth in his gaze had melted away into one of pure adoration.

"I... I think..." You gulped, your eyes traveling downward to where you rest over him.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest.

You would have been lying if you said you hadn't been thinking about it on a constant—how he would feel inside you. And though you'd thought about it generally before, you found yourself warming up to the idea. Craving it, even, in a way you hadn't before.

You raised your head to meet his eyes again, holding your breath as you moved to straddle him, sliding your folds over his cock gently.

The moan that he let out was music to his ears, but when his hands gripped your waist tightly, you stopped.

"Fuck, wait—are you sure, princess?"

You smiled slightly at that.

Truly, Rafayel had been nothing but gentle with you; nothing but patient.

You nodded.

"I-I mean... Only if you want to? But you just came, right...? S-so, maybe not... Sorry, I don't mean to be needy, you can just—"

"Hey, hey. Deep breaths for me first, baby, yeah? Relax."

Immediately, his hands were rubbing soothingly into your sides, and you fell forward onto his chest, holding him close.

"Don't you worry about being needy with me, I don't think I'm any less needier than you, anyway," he laughed. "I want this. I really want this. But, princess... I need to know that you aren't forcing yourself into it."

You remained silent, only managing a nod.

"Look at me?"

Compliant, you raised your head once more, and Rafayel reached over to thread his fingers through your hair. He smiled.

"Verbal consent, princess. I've given you mine. Now, I need your confirmation before we do anything. Have you decided? Do you want me?"

Your heart swelled in your chest.

You didn't know how Rafayel could be so selfless with you.

None of the others you've been with would ever treat you this way, and it was... new.

It was true, what he said—it wasn't a secret to you how much he wanted you. Though he wouldn't say it, so determined not to make you feel pressured, you'd see it in the way he looked at you. The way he touched you. Even the way he spoke with you—always the more vocal one in terms of clinginess, even though you, yourself, secretly enjoyed his attention.

You'd understood from the start that he was doing his best to stay firm in his self control just for you, and it made you feel warm—Loved. Appreciated.

Even now, as you were sitting on his cock, readjusting your position only to have it poke against your back—he was patiently waiting for your answer. He was waiting for you to be sure about this.

You thought it ironic, almost.

It wasn't as if this was your first time, and yet... you'd never experienced someone be so gentle with you.

With another determined nod, you sat back up, placing your hands on your lap.

"Okay," you said, and took a deep breath. "I'm sure, Rafayel. I want you."

You swore you could feel the way his cock twitched at your words, and couldn't help the way your lips quirked into another smile.

He read your expression, and laughed. "You really drive me insane, princess."

His hands remained firm on your hips, gently lifting you off—"Do you want to stay on top? Set your pace for me?"

"...Um... Do you?"

"Baby, don't turn this back to me! Doesn't matter what I want right now, I wanna make this about you. In case you haven't noticed, I'd be more than happy to take you in any way you want me to."

You almost rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "...Okay, then... I'll try it like this. But, Rafayel, sometimes it's concerning how much you pay attention to my needs..."

"Me? Concerning? Says the one who's had some of the worst sexual experiences on the planet!" He scoffed. "Listen, princess. I say this a lot, but you understand, right? I'm not in this relationship for your body. I'm not using you for your body. I love you, because you're you, and not just so I get to fuck you some day." He paused, then, and you saw a flash of contemplation in his eyes, "...Which miiiight be today, but that's besides the point."

You laughed, this time, and perhaps in any other situation, you'd playfully hit his chest, and tell him to stop being so silly. But the lighthearted atmosphere was welcome, and you felt your shoulders slump in some sort of relief.

"I know, Rafa. I..." You bit your lip, steeling yourself, willing yourself to say it. "I... I-I love you, too."

Immediately, you watched his eyes widen, a certain shine in them that almost could have made you melt.

"...Seriously?" he whispered. "You mean it?"

You flushed at the way he sounded so much in disbelief, despite what you were about to do. But, perhaps, you understood the shock that he displayed. While he would often use the words around you—having made it clear that they were his feelings, and that you didn't have to reciprocate them immediately—you had yet to say it back.

You did love him.

Of course you did.

And you have, for a while now.

But it wasn't easy to speak these feelings out loud; wasn't easy to make yourself so affectionate and so vulnerable around him. At least, not as easy as it has been for him. It had been long established that Rafayel was the more expressive one—though he would tone things down with playful jokes and banter to match your pace of things, you knew that his feelings had been nothing but genuine for you.

And you'd always struggled to make sure that he knew you felt the same, but...

You nodded.

You could do it, this time. Give back all the love that he'd always given you.

Slowly, you reached behind you to guide his cock to your entrance, letting out a slow breath at the feeling of his tip—hot, and wet, and stiff—prodding your hole.

"I love you," you whispered, feeling confident, now, as you spoke.

His fingers dug into your skin as he gasped, finally having you slowly lower yourself down onto his cock. "Fuck," he muttered. His eyes closed—you could tell he was fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You feel so... so..."

A loud whine rattled past your lips when he finally pressed all the way inside of you, so big, and so filling, like nothing else you've ever had before.

"Shit," he continued to curse under his breath. "So—so good, baby."

His hands, shaky, massaged your hips in reassurance, eyes opening to reveal a hazy glimmer of lust that you had yet to see on his face before. The image before you made you shiver—every ounce of self control was slowly slipping away from him, and he was trembling with the little bit of patience he still had left in his body.

"M-move," he whimpered, looking up at you with pleading eyes that made you gasp. "Please, princess—please—can you do that for me?"

Your jaw clenched, and you obliged—how could you resist?

You rocked your hips slowly, at first, getting used to the feeling of him in side you. And, you found—you were enjoying this. Whatever you'd imagined could never compare; he felt good inside you. Every sensation you felt of his cock against your center was pleasurable, every moan that fell from his lips having you swirl your hips with a need to hear more.

You bit your lip when he slowly began to rut his hips up to meet your pelvis, now finding the strength to guide your hips gently up and down his length—

"Fuck, baby, don't hide from me, please," he moaned, eyes locking with yours with an air of desperation. "Haah—Let me hear you—hear how good it feels—'s it feel good, princess?"

You found yourself obedient.

As his tip knocked up against your sensitive spot, a loud moan spilled from your lips—immediately, you rest your hands on his chest as your head hung, feeling yourself bounce to his rhythm, hips moving in sync.

"F-feels good, 'fayel— Ah—!"

"Yeah? Like that, baby? That spot, huh?"

You grinded down on his cock, eyes screwing shut at the sound of your arousal slicking around him. His words guided you through your motions, whisperes of praise and reassurance that had you soaring—and you could feel it. The tightness that had gathered in your stomach, slowly, slowly building into something more—but so far away, so unobtainable, that it had you whining.

"R-Rafayel!" You cried as you leaned forward, burying your face into his chest. Even as he planted his feet on the bed and thrust up into you, picking his pace up a little and grunting into your ear, you shook your head— "M-more, please— I— I can't—"

"Oh, fuck, princess—"

He groaned when you clenched tightly around him, and with quick movements, he had you lying on your back, caged between his arms as breathless pants fell from his lips.

"I—fuck, baby... Are you okay with this? I'll—Shit— Sorry, I m-moved—"

He'd snapped his his hips back into yours the minute you wrapped your legs around his waist, but when he looked at you, your own eyes filled with a desire that dared to rival his own, he let out a slow breath.

"...Okay?" he whispered.

You nodded. "Please."

Rafayel laced his fingers through with yours, holding them against the pillow. At your consent, he resumed his pace, fucking deep into your cunt with thrusts so precisely rubbing against your spot that you closed your eyes with another loud moan.

"Ah, Rafa—Rafayel, s-so good—"

Any thoughts of holding back your sounds were lost in the pleasure raking through your body, feeling the way his cock would brush against all the right places. So thorough, and so loving—and so, so good.

Rafayel was making you feel good.

Better than you've ever felt—better than your fingers, and better than his, and you thought—

Fuck.

You wished you'd gotten to do this sooner.

"P-princess," he whimpered, hips stuttering as he pressed his forehead against yours, drowning a myriad of moans of your name with the way he kissed you. So needy with his touches, you melted into him like you always did, easily following his thrusts and receiving everything he could give you.

"Princess—are you—are you safe?" he breathed.

You could feel the way he tensed inside you, his hips slowing slightly into a pace that had you whining as he waited for your reply.

"Can I... Can I cum inside? If—If you—"

It almost seemed like he could barely form coherent words, and you smiled slightly. Your arms wrapped around his neck; "I'm safe," you mumbled. "Go ahead, Rafa."

The moan that he let out sent a shiver down your spine, and then his lips were on your neck, kissing and sucking—you didn't even mind, anymore, whether or not he'd be leaving marks on you by the time you were done. Groans spilled from his lips between his kisses, and you felt yourself moaning along with him. The pace he'd set picked up, no longer as gentle as you'd started with, but you found that it was more than welcome.

"C-Cumming," you shut your eyes, breathing out his name in endless chants into his hair. "Cumming, Rafa, I—!"

You felt it.

The throbbing of his cock as he spilled rope after rope of cum into your cunt, just in time with your own release. Your nails dug into his scalp as you clenched sporadically around him, throwing your head back with a drawn-out moan of his name, feeling yourself drown in the sheer intensity of it.

"Rafayel—!"

"Fuck—Fuck—Take it, princess— Shit—" He hissed into your neck, pumping his cum into you, moans falling back into whimpers.

A moment passed after, and you smiled contentedly as he hugged you, pulling out of you but still so determined to keep you close to him.

"...R- Rafayel?" You whispered, soothingly stroking his hair. And only then did he look at you.

Your breath caught at his expression.

Tired, undeniably, but so... tender.

"Hey..." he mumbled, slowly moving up to give you a quick kiss. "Can you say it again?"

"H-huh? Say what...?" You felt your face grow even warmer at the mere thought of all the things you'd possibly moaned in the midst of your lust.

But he only smiled. "What you said, earlier. Say that you love me."

A giggle bubbled at your throat, and you pushed him onto the space next to you—

Naturally, he only pulled you back against him, arms wrapping around you, tucking you under his chin.

"C'monnnn, baby. Please?"

It was so hard for you to say no to him like this.

You turned around to face him, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"I love you, Rafayel," you mumbled with a smile.

His expression relaxed.

"...And, thank you. For always making me feel so loved. I've never... I've never thought it could feel like this, a-and..."

"Did you like it?"

"More than liked it! I... I enjoyed it. Really. Thank you."

He grinned, then, gently setting you down on the bed and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Then, mission accomplished! So... Let's clean you up before we sleep, yeah? We can have another round in the morni—"

"Rafayel!"

"I'm kidding!"

⁺₊ / an: holy shit this took an eternity to write??!?!?!! nearly 8k words, what do u know... all this love for the birthday boy, this is an insane amount of special treatment for rafayel fr 🍰

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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faetreides · 24 days

Text

summary: situationship!rafe cameron x afab nerd!reader

cw: angst undertones w/ a hopeful ending, black cat!coded reader x whatever rafe would be, suggestive action in the shower & mentions of off screen nsfw (cum and thigh fucking but the latter is a bit more graphic lol) , class differences, rafe is pathetic and weird, implied drug use, rafe beats a man but you can decide if he killed him, reader has implied mental health issues and low self esteem, ambiguous feelings on rafe’s part (he said ily but he could be lying), dark content themes, rafe calls reader kitty in both a mean way and a pet name way, if the thing with reader’s first crush sounds too real that’s cause it is 🤫, started my period while i was formatting this (i just thought y’all should know)

wc: 1.9k+

block & move on if uncomfortable !!!

consider commissioning me 🫀

“Hey, babe, would you be a good kitty and let me in?” Is what you’re greeted with when you swing open your screen door. Rafe Cameron looks pleased as punch, all things considered, soaking wet due to the pouring rain and no doubt high as a kite.

The slurred speech doesn’t alarm you as much as the river of blood flowing from his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Rafe, what the fuck?” You try to sound harsh but the fuck is noticably softer than your other words and Rafe smiles, more blood drips down his chin.

You look over his shoulder to see his bike on its side in the dirt, it’s raining and you just know he’ll be pissed to see the mus clinging to it tomorrow. But for right now, you have an injured situationship to patch up.

He stumbles as you struggle to yank him aside, and he sways but collapses on your couch. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to lose your shit immediately. The audacity of this man to waltz in on you barely alive and expect some twisted kind of comfort, after everything.

“I was studying you know, textbooks are expensive so don’t start getting your blood on them.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, I know.”

Rafe grunts but keeps his body away from your books. That’s the least he can do, the bare minimum. You sigh and walk over him, kneeling in front of the couch. His eyes are dazed and unfocused as you brush the hair away from his forehead, but his fingers twitch.

“Why did you come here, Rafe? To me?” You whisper, tired and unamused.

You’re startled by his harsh cough, his fingers twitch in your direction again, “ ‘Was nowhere else, wanted you.”

Isn’t that good enough?

You blink dumbly at that, but you have no answer for his crazed ramblings so you slap your knees and make your way to the bathroom. You procure a wet washcloth and some measly bandages, he would just have to deal with it. Rafe’s eyes drag towards you when you kneel back in front of him and bring the cloth to his mouth.

You avoid his stare as you sop up the copious amounts of blood, praying that this wouldn’t need a visit to the hospital. In some ways, you’ve seen too much blood since Rafe Cameron decided to make a mockery of your existence. The gaggle of rich girls he used to have on each arm disappeared but he excused it by detailing his plans to lead you on in front of his friends, checking to see if you were in ear shot.

There’s nothing you did, in your mind. You stuck to yourself and somehow invited the attention of some psycho. That’s the hardest part of the situation, you can’t pinpoint a true beginning. You can only remember being in this murky middle, devoid of an ending. Rafe does have a pretty face though, unfortunately, the water from cloth making his skin glisten. You’ll throw the rag out after this, there’s no point trying to get the stain of blood out of anything.

Eventually, you’re done with the first part and have an excuse to turn away from him. You get back on your feet to reach for the bandages but a groan coming from behind stops you. You turn around and freeze when Rafe buries his nose into your lower stomach, barely brushing the top of your mound over your pajama shorts. He hisses through his teeth in pain as he pushes your shirt up with his bloodied knuckles.

“Rafe Cameron, what the hell are you-“

“ ‘Smells good as fuck, love you.”

You refuse to admit that you love him too, you can’t give him that. Okay, now shit’s really getting out of hand. He dips his head to get closer to your pussy but the second you see the tip of his tongue touch your shorts, you direct his face back to your stomach. You’ve never gone further than ‘will they-won’t they’ type touches with Rafe, but you just can’t give in no matter how much you lie awake at night thinking about it.

“All this is because of you, you know that? You fucked me up and made pummel the crap outta that guy.” The vibrations his clumsy words send through you gives you a serious case of the shivers, so you distract yourself by running your fingers through his matted hair. Because of course there’s blood on his head too. You’d usually chalk what he’s saying up to drugs and insanity, but with Rafe you just never know.

“What?”

“He said maybe I should lay off you so he could have a piece instead, and I just…. lost it. Why should some chump get a part of what’s all mine?” He says with a startling amount of clarity, voice flat and low.

You don’t designate him with a response, and truth be told he doesn’t want you too. You stretch for what in actuality is a $3 dollar package of hello kitty bandaids and rip the white coverings off a few of them. He makes god awful sounds as you apply them to his mouth, head, and hands. The mess in his hair probably isn't his but your conscience won't let you leave it alone. Something foreign to your head and your heart won’t let you leave him alone.

You decide to put the knife in your back all on your own and look up into his eyes. They’re too half lidded to get a clear reading on them but you’re afraid to rely on the emotions underneath the surface. You used to be scared that he couldn’t feel anything. Now, the idea of Rafe Cameron believing he’s in love is far more terrifying.

He’s a bit ridiculous with My Melody, Kuromi, and Keroppi all over himself, you can’t help the small smile that comes over you. You quickly flatten it before he can get too pleased with himself but the fingers curled against your tummy spasm as they spread out to caress your skin. Rafe has an unreadable look on his face as he smears blood over your womb, but you think if you step away he’ll lunge at you.

“I can help you wash the blood off in the shower.” Saying that is in no way a promise of commitment or change, but it might be the closest you ever get.

You’re used to scraps, scraps are fine.

And well, for much you pride yourself on being perfectly fine being alone, it’s achingly human to crave being loved more than anything else. You wander aimlessly because you won’t go where you’re not wanted, and for the longest you’ve been wanted nowhere. But here you are, obsessed over by someone who everyone wants.

Maybe you’re sick of trying to make all the right decisions if this is where it gets you, cold and alone. Is it so bad to not care anymore? It couldn’t be worse than when your first crush told you he loved you and then had a baby with your bully, you reason. Or when he dated one of your friends and she would “joke” about marrying you when you were alone.

The short trip to the shower is awkwardly silent, you have to lead Rafe and make sure he doesn’t trip. You stare more than any Twilight character as you help each other strip. You try to avoid the bruises on Rafe’s torso, but he chuckles about how “You should see the other guy, kitty.”

So you don’t back away when he slows the trajectory of your calloused hands and drags them up his body. Your nails are bitten unevenly, some leave scratches on his abs and some don’t. It’s exhilarating to see Rafe Caneron’s thread come undone, to watch as he tilts his head back and sighs. You rest your hands on his pecs and kiss the hollow of his throat before you can stop yourself.

You won’t mention the squeak he tries to stifle with the back of his balled up fist.

You step away from him to be vulnerable in return, his satisfaction is much more evident this time around. He rips your camisole in two and unhooks your bra too well, clearly having had practice. He cups your breasts in his hands with tenderness that you’d think is out of character for him. Rafe doesn’t even honk them in the dude bro way that you’d always assumed he would. No, he… massages the flesh in his palms between slow squeezes.

“Don’t see why you’re so insecure about these, I like them just fine.” He huffs, bending down to motorboat you before pulling you in the shower through his grunts of pain and exertion.

You notice that he doesn’t steal a glance at your pussy, almost like he’s scared of seeing it bare and puffy… and wet.

You like to feel like a boiling lobster in the shower, so you turn the dial the same direction as always. You’re worried that Rafe will hate the sting but when the water hits, he moans with an open mouth, eyes shut tight. Before your next breath, you’re pushed against the wall and now the blood’s in your mouth as you're taken into a french kiss right out the gate.

You go with it against your better judgment, until Rafe pulls away to pant against your collarbone. His next kiss is softer, shy like it’s an unknown thing to the two of you. His lips glide and mesh with yours as the water trails down in between your slick bodies. You feel like you’re going to pass out but you couldn’t care less at the moment.

You open your eyes to see the water at the base of the shower run red, and you lose yourself in the swirling motion until the pop of your honey scented shampoo bottle lid snaps you out of it.

“Turn around kitty, ‘said I'd help you scrub down.”

He’d be embarrassed if you said it, but it’s obvious he’s never done this before. He’s like a bull in a china shop gathering you up in a loose bundle and sloppily spreading the soap throughout it. You stay silent, preferring to bask in the absurdity of it all.

Washing Rafe’s hair takes less time, but like he did when you were cleaning him up earlier, he chooses to stare at you the entire time. You scratch his head to really work the shampoo in there and get the dried blood out, he latches onto your wrists and lets his eyes drift shut. He makes it inconvenient to help him when he kisses your jawline, but you allow it.

“Thanks, you’re pretty good with your hands.” Rafe whispers with a wry grin, pecking your mouth and dropping to his knees. Your pomegranate body wash in his uninjured hand. The amount he squirts onto the dollar store loofah on his other hand is a touch too generous.

You have to replace the hello kitty bandaids when the originals fall off after Rafe steps out of the shower minutes later, he insists on it. You make him lean against the bathroom counter and watch as you take a second shower to clean out the cum, he wears a petulant frown the whole time.

You’re bent over that same counter when you’re back in his orbit, teary eyes wide as he fucks your plush thighs.

The rain turns into a thunderstorm outside.

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fourmoony · 4 months

Note

Hi oh my gosh I love literally everything you write. And you're doing poly!marauders. So excited.

Would you be willing to do something like reader doesn't have a great self-esteem so she never thought she'd find someone who'd love her just the way she is but then she found them. and is just super in love and incredibly happy?

could be nsfw too if you want.

thankyou!

you are so kind, thank you so much, angel! thanks for requesting, hope you like it :) p.s. this is my first time writing poly!marauders so be gentle pls <3

poly!marauders x f!reader | 1.2k words | masterlist

cw - implied self esteem issues

You feel content in your little bubble.

The kitchen is warm and filled with love and laughter and bodies and the conversation flows freely. It's comfortable and cosy and Remus is making soup so really, your day couldn't get any better.

James is cutting vegetables under Remus' watchful gaze and Sirius is practically hanging over Remus' shoulder, as excited as you about the pot of soup on the stove. You're content to just watch them, let them just be from your place on the counter beside the stove. Remus had chastised you'd burn the side of your leg, James had made an ill timed joke about getting to kiss it better, and said burn was yet to occur. So you sit. You watch. You smile to yourself because you're happy.

It's a daily struggle to remind yourself that you're worthy of being included in this little bubble, that the boys want you here as much as you want to be here. Some days it feels impossible, some days you feel like an intruder, like a burden they're too nice to get rid of. Then Sirius does something so stupidly Sirius and Remus will lean over, kiss the shell of your ear and thank you for being the only sane person in the house. And James asks if he can sit with you while you shower. It's not about sex. Not always, at least. James just likes to listen to your day and tell you about his without the constant buzz of conversation around him, sitting on the toilet with fogged up glasses and a smile on his face. He joins you on the bad days, helps you forget. It's peaceful, and it's your ritual.

They do everything they can to remind you, every day, that they want you there, that they love you as you love them. It's a nice feeling, to be wanted, to be loved, to be understood and appreciated. It's an even lovelier feeling to be a part of someone's routine. The showers with James, pestering Remus while he cooks dinner, reading to Sirius until he falls asleep, sprawled out across the three of you on the couch, his breaths heavy and your hand in his hair. It's a nice life you have. That counts for a lot, even on the days you don't feel worthy.

Today isn't necessarily one of those days, but it's there on your face. That 'outsider looking in' type of mood you get when you think about it for too long. You've discovered you're allowed to feel both content and undeserving at the same time - or, at the very least, that it's possible. You often wonder why Remus, Sirius, and James chose you. It's not a secret, you've asked many times and received many answers, varying in seriousness to Sirius' absurd "we tossed a coin.", to which Remus chastised him relentlessly.

You'd laughed, and that was all Sirius had needed.

Now, you're watching the three of them with the same awe you always do, and Sirius seems to catch it in the split second his eyes leave the pot of soup on the stove. He's on you in a second, not a far walk considering you're sitting so close to the gas stove that you're surprised Remus' theory of your burnt thigh hasn't come true. Sirius' eyebrows furrow in that concerned sort of way they often do when he's trying to read one of the three of you, his hands gentle as they come into contact with the pudge of your hips.

"Spill," He tilts his head, lips downturned at the corners and it makes your heart ache.

They've always urged you to be open, to share your concerns and tell them what, exactly is going on in that 'big beautiful brain of yours', as James calls it. But the look of knowing, of concern, on Sirius' face hurts. You hate that after all this time you still feel this way sometimes. Even on the good days, you catch yourself asking what you did to deserve your boys.

"Hm?" You hum, hands lifting to hold the sides of your boyfriend's face in hopes of distracting him altogether.

His hair is tied back, but you curl an index finger around a strand of stark black hair thats fallen into his face and Sirius smiles, soft and lovely, "You've got that," He waves his hand in front of your face with wiggled fingers and you laugh, "look."

"What look?" You ask, leaning forwards to press a kiss to his lips.

Now Remus, if you had tried a move like that, would tsk, tell you to spill before he rewards you, and it's why you know it'll work when you try it with Sirius. He always gives you whatever you like. His lips return the favour, hands pulling you forward a little on the counter. It's a nice kiss, a sweet kiss, until James scoffs and declares Sirius is easily manipulated.

"Am not." He grumbles, shooting your two boyfriends a dirty look.

Remus rolls his eyes into the soup, sets the lid on it to simmer at the same time James drops the knife and starts putting the vegetables into a bowl.

"C'mon, Dove, what's up?" Remus asks, hip balanced against the stove, turned to face you.

He's in his comfies, the first of the four of you to arrive home from work, earlier, and he looks so soft and warm. You know he won't give in to whatever interrogation Sirius has unknowingly started so you heave a sigh and slump back against the wall cabinets.

"Sirius is being dramatic. The 'look' I had was contentedness with a little bit of 'what on earth did I do to deserve these men?'."

Remus' lips turn up at the corners and he crowds your space, pushing an annoyed Sirius to the side for the moment, "You didn't have to do a thing. We love you as is."

You hum, delighted with the appraisal, a bashful smile coming across your lips. Remus kisses it, quick and sweet, and returns to his soup. Sirius sticks his tongue out at the side of Remus' head and you laugh. James passes the vegetables off to Remus because Sirius is not to be trusted with the good kitchen knives after the Christmas Eve in A&E incident last year, and comes up behind Sirius, arms wrapped around his waist, head firmly on his chin.

You know James' back is probably breaking at the angle, but Sirius would simply be offended for the rest of the night if James used his head instead of his shoulder. He's in denial about his height, you suppose.

"It's more like what on earth we did to deserve you. I've no idea how you put up with those two." James gives you a knowing smile as he speaks.

You both wait for Sirius' outrage and Remus' offended scoff. Both come. They team up on the other side of the kitchen, Sirius hovering over Remus and likely causing more of an annoyance. James uses it as an opportunity to get you closer to him, whisk you off to the couch in the living room now his sous chef duties are complete.

You set up the usual dinner time sitcom and pause it, relaxing into your boyfriend and talking about anything and everything until Remus calls that the soup is ready.

In the kitchen as James and Sirius fight over who should get the first bowl, Sirius because he waited so patiently, or James because he actually helped, Remus slides you your own bowl with a lovely big smile reserved just for you, and you couldn't imagine yourself anywhere else in the world.

#marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders #poly!marauders fluff #james potter #james potter fic #sirius black #sirius black fic #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #marauders era #marauders fluff #marauders fic #fluff #love #fourmoonys asks

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writefightandflightclub · 10 months

Text

Blorbo thought of the day #5

Repetition: (Marc Spector x reader)

A/n: a little fluffy blurb 🥰 Starts with angst but Marc provides comfort and it’s lovely because he is lovely.

Warnings: (Reader has some abandonment / self-esteem issues, canon typical allusions to Marc’s past, implied off-camera sexy times, food mentions) Not proofed!

GIF by @anhandfulgirl18

“You a’right?” Marc asks you in his gruff morning voice as your sigh billows dolefully against the bare expanse of his chest. The room is golden hued with sunlight, bright and easy, and your mood as you wake certainly does not match it.

“Bad dream,” you explain curtly, deepening the niggle in your brow. “Just thinking.”

Marc crushes his chin to his chest in an attempt to get a better look at you. Smooths a warm, broad hand down your bare back, the gnarled patterned sheets pushed down around your middles. “What dream? What are you thinking?”

You stiffen, snapping out of your gloomy mood a little as you realise that you’ve been awake for a mere 30 seconds, and yet you have already managed to make his voice sound like that. Despondent. Taut with concern.

Your head still resting on his chest, his heartbeat thudding steadily beneath the shell of your ear, you let your fingers dance lightly over his pec, trailing in slow, repeating circles, round and round. “It’s just….” The words feel too big to come out, like there’s a traffic jam in your throat when you try to say it out loud.

It’s stupid. You know it is.

“What?” Marc encourages, whisper soft, his voice and his hands as gentle as the slip of fresh golden sun into the room.

You push yourself up. Lie on your front next to him, propping your chin on your fisting hands. Despite the tension roping through you, looking at Marc instantly makes you smile, even if the gesture itself is a subdued, somber sort of thing.

You reach up and ruffle his thick, dark strands with the rake of your fingers, fondly combing the tendrils back from his forehead, and he hums for you, low and soft.

God. This man. He always looks especially beautiful on a morning. The mussed, chaotic curls. The shadow of stubble darkening his jaw. The way he fans his long lashes, attempting to blink away the bright morning, always a complete snuggle fiend and wanting to lay in the dark with you just a little longer. The glisten of his Magen David pooled in the hollow of his throat, bobbing there as he swallows. His skin bare and warm and his natural scent not yet polluted by his morning shower.

You don’t think you could ever tire of this sight.

“It’s nothing. Not really. It’s just… Every now and again I get this… horrible gnawing feeling. Like one day you’ll… I dunno. Get bored of me?”

That wakes him up, and for the second time this morning you feel guilt writhe your belly. Marc, meanwhile, looks at you with a pure concern. Gaze flitting over you. Examining you as though you’ve been severely wounded - and he’s only now seeing it. “What do you mean?” He moves, the surprise animating him, and he shifts his elbows backwards to prop his torso up. His necklace elongates, settling into place in the valley of his shapely chest, and his mop of curls flopping once again over his forehead. “Honey. How could I ever?”

You play with a little bit of lint on the bed covers, suddenly intent on it. Retreating away from Marc’s intense, searching stare. “You know. You could. Maybe. From the repetition of it.” Your voice cracks like sun-baked earth - as though the golden morning has already dried you out. “You could get bored. Waking-up next to me every day? Hearing me talk about the same stuff all the time? Fucking me, over and over.”

At that comment, Marc’s brows knit and raise in the middle. His tongue fleets along his lower lip, his mouth turning down at the corners. God, those puppy dog eyes of his never get old.

“But you know I love fucking you over and over, shortcake.”

You shake your head softly. Self-conscious around him, and you have no idea why. “Marc.”

With the wet way you say his name, Marc turns immediately on to his side, still propped up on one elbow, his muscles popping as they bear his weight. And, his freed arm just as immediately is reaching for you. Fingers trailing down your back. You look at him and he looks pained. “Did I… Did I do something to make you think that-“

“-No.” Shit. You shouldn’t have said anything about it. Marc gets so in his head about these things. Always blames himself, as though, if you’re insecure, it means that he isn’t doing a good enough job of loving you. In fact, that could not be further from the truth. “No, Marc. I promise. It’s…” You sigh out a long breath. “It’s just how I feel sometimes. Like eventually, you’ll realise you want someone else. I mean, if I were you, I’d get tired of me too, you know? Sometimes it just feels… inevitable.” Your final word is so heavy that is weighs the tears that pool in your eyes, and yet, even through the blur, you risk a glance up at Marc again.

His palm comes to cradle your cheek. His eyes shine steadily on you. Even glint with an unexpected amusement, despite the situation, which you don’t yet comprehend.

“Baby. Do you never think about who you’re talking to, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. I love repetition. Same thing, over and over? Fucking heaven.”

Your insecurities press you to dispute his statement, and your mouth even drops open to counter him; but, actually, when you think about it…

Marc?

This guy?

The guy who eats the same thing everyday for breakfast, except on Saturdays? Who does all of his tasks in the same way, in the same order, every time? Who watches the same three movies on repeat any time he gets a chance? Who buys four of the same shirt so he rarely has to change it up?

“Yeah. Okay,” you concede. “But, why though?Because it’s… easy? Convenient?” That’s not what you want to be for him.

Marc caresses your cheek with his palm again, gaze flitting fondly over your face. He frowns, like he’s never really thought about the why before. Because it had never really occurred to him to think about it. “No. Not exactly. I guess because… It makes me feel… safe.”

“Safe?”

Safe. Is that what you are to him?

“Yeah. Safe like…”

Not like home. Not like the place that never was; safe.

Safe, like the jumper you knitted him, maybe. Safe, like repeating stitch after repeating stitch wrapped around him, keeping him warm.

Repetition as comfort. Routine as the home he never had, built for himself, block by block.

Like that, maybe? Or, like something else?

You swallow harshly. “Safe like… boring?”

“No,” Marc says calmly, still thinking. “No, baby.”

Then, he moves. Crawls on top of you until his nude body is covering yours, boxing you in all safe.

You see the effort plainly in his face. See from the weight in his brow that he’s painstakingly searching for the right words. That he’s reaching for a way to make you get it. Searching for something which he knows for certain you’ll truly understand. “Safe like…” A lightness settles over Marc’s face as he lands on the very thing. Something you can both understand. No chance of misinterpretation. “Safe like… how Steven makes you feel, you know?” Then, he cocks his head to the side, a slow drag of a smile inching, lopsided, over his plush mouth. “Except, in a less brotherly way. Obviously.”

You can’t help it. You tear up. You know what Steven means to Marc. That Steven represented the first time Marc had felt loved. Protected. That Steven made you feel that same way too. “I really make you feel like that?”

Marc’s eyes glow softly with a smile, crinkles appearing around his eyes, since he’s finally beginning to make you understand. “Yeah. Now you’re getting it. And hey. You’d never get sick of that, would you?”

You wouldn’t. “Never.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your lips. Buries his face in your neck, lips sliding tenderly down the column of your throat. Holding you tightly, his body covering you. He kisses along your collarbone, his tongue laving there. “I’ll never be bored of you.”

“Promise?”

Marc props himself up on his forearms, boxing you in either side of your head and nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours. “In a thousand lifetimes? I’d love you over and over and over and over.”

Finally, you submit a watery smile to him, releasing your sadness and your fears and your tension. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling his mouth down to yours for a deep, tender, loving kiss.

“Well,” you suspire when you break for air. “Then I suppose I like repetition too.”

“Oh yeah?”

You kiss the tip of his nose and his face crinkles with a delicious smile. “Yeah. Because I wanna wake up beside you every single day, Marc Spector.” He smiles in awe at you, eyes glistening with unadulterated adoration and you kiss along his jawline. “And sometimes Steven or Jake too,” you add as an aside. “That I’ll allow.” Marc’s face splits into a beaming smile. “Now, kisses for you all.” You grasp his face in your splayed hands and plant three kisses in turn. One on the cheek, one to the centre of his forehead, and one on his lips, which is all for him.

Marc’s eyes flutter closed as your kiss puckers against him. “Now, get off me, will you?” you tease fondly. “I’ll get us some breakfast. I’m gonna need you fuelled-up.”

“What for?”

“For all of the repetitive fucking we’re about to do.”

Marc flips obediently on to his back, folding his arms behind his head and baring himself entirely to you as you sway -naked- towards the kitchen. “Oh, is that right?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, shortcake.”

You are. You’re feeling much better thanks to Marc and the way in which he loves you - which, you’re discovering, never gets old.

“What are we having?” he asks as you begin to raid the cabinets.

“The usual.” you glance towards him, a smirk on your mouth. “I mean. If that’s okay with you.”

He smiles softly at you in return. “The usual sounds perfect.”

It’s funny.

Marc always did love a little repetition.

#marc spector x reader #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

Stitches (Part One)

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Three of Snowblind

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 6.1k Tags: Slow Burn, Heavy Angst, Trauma, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Major Character Injury, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Self Esteem Issues, Referenced Familial abuse, Hospitalization, Self Sabotage Warnings: Explicit Injury mention, Forced sedation A/N: The needed, heavy, heavy chapter for Fix. Please head the warnings and read carefully, and practice self care if you need to

The first time you need heli-evac, it's in Venezuela.

Tracking down a cartel supplier to AQ forces, Laswell tells you. International arms dealers. The mission is off the books, quiet. Clean house, harvest intel. Price and Gaz could have cleared it easily, but for some reason Laswell mandated the full task force. Something about the intel not adding up, too many loose ends. You know better than to question her, all of you do.

Unfortunately for you, Laswell's prophecy comes true.

You see the rug on the floor shift a moment too late. The trapdoor flies open out of the corner of your eyes as you spin, and there's yelling in Spanish just a split second before the bullet rips through your side. You fall backwards just in time to avoid the next hail of fire, and the motion throws off the aim of the attack long enough for you to squeeze off a round, the cartel member's figure jerking grotesquely as your aim rings true.

There's voices then, as your head falls back against the floor, cursing blindly at the pain. You'd been shot before, but this, the bullet inside you feeling for all the world like it was trying to twist inside you further, deeper, makes your voice crack hard and dry in your throat. There's iron in your lungs, breathed in with every staggered inhale, lancets of agony etched across your torso and spine. Something inside you feels wet and warm and abstractly wrong.

You press a hand to the center of the pain, and when it comes away red there's a cognizant dissonance to it, a small 'oh' that manages to filter through your thoughts as the stain blossoms scarlet against your side. It's the sight that manages to make the world begin to spin, hazy and unfocused even as there's shouts and it's Gaz's face that flickers into view, trembling like the hazy after effect of a poorly animated CGI movie.

He's talking, but with the blood rushing in your ears you barely hear him, blinking and trying to clear the strange filter that obscures the pure look of fear in his eyes.

"Stay with me, Fix. Gonna get you out of here."

You nod, and it's all you can really manage, heart pounding relentlessly, pain bubbling up your throat in a choked, pleading cry that has Gaz's face grow ashen with concern.

It's Price, then, who shoves the sergeant aside, and even in your dissociative, blank-minded state you see the tremble of his hands as he fumbles for the med pack strapped to your kit.

Oh. You think a bit groggily, blinking as you remember. I'm the medic.

That's probably bad.

There's no time to process it further, because suddenly Price is pressing down on your side and you yell, try and flail away from the pain. Gaz has to hold you down, face pinching with something that tears further at you, an emotion that feels far too concerned for what you're feeling. There's a distant part of your mind that runs through the possibilities, of the bullet lodged up against your diaphragm, through your spleen, or possibly even your lungs. You can breathe, you can kick your legs, but the dizzying rate of the spinning world around you does not bode well for your near and distant future.

"...x...h-ey...Fix! Keep your eyes on me, mate."

You try to, from behind the veil of tears that clouds your vision as the hurt coats the underside of your tongue in an open, confused whimper. Price is yelling something you can't quite make out, and there's a tone to his voice you've never heard before. It cracks and makes you blink, forces you to try and raise your head at him, only to have Kyle's gentle, gloved hand resting you back down against the floorboards.

When you try to breathe you choke, feeling your chest compress down painfully. The air in your lungs stales, and with a wheeze you grasp blindly at Kyle, feeling panic race potent and toxic through your veins. You catch his eyes then, and the worry there has now transformed into something all consuming. Terror.

He snaps at Price, and though you can't hear the words you hear the tremble in his voice, and you realize at that moment just how terrible things must be, because suddenly Price is cutting the straps of your tac vest and shoving it rudely aside, ripping your jacket and shirt and placing an ear to your chest.

He pales.

It's that bad. Something in your thoughts whispers, and then, in a sudden, macabre burst of clarity. Try to say goodbye.

When you fumble for Price, however, he only snaps at you, tells you to stay still and stay awake. You try, you do, but the world is too bright, oversaturated, spinning like the lights of the county fair rides you saw once as a child from the window of a car. Fluorescent, vibrant, dizzying and enchanting. Glittering in the distance from beneath the grey haze of incoming mid-season thunderstorms. Now it's tinted with a putrid, vile taste of metal and bile and a sudden wave of nausea washes over you, as the skies grow green in your memory. You close your eyes against it, trying to find ground on which to retreat where there is none. Price says something about a helicopter, and whether it's moments or minutes later you feel the dull whump whump whump in the distance, beating the air around you slower than your stuttering heart rate.

Who's arms hoist you up, you aren't sure, but you can smell the scent of them. Charcoal. Gun oil. Sweat. Musk. It's familiar somehow, but it isn't until you see your blood seeping red over white skeletal gloves that you understand.

It's the last thing you see before the world goes dark.

---

You wake about eighteen hours later, and the first word out of your mouth startles Soap so much beside you he barks a laugh.

"Your mother teach you to curse like that?" He asks, but mercifully dims the overhead light when you whine at him. You ignore the fact that your mother would turn you over to your father if you ever spoke like that, deciding that such a tiny detail isn't really worth the time it would take to convey it to the Scot.

When you turn to him, Soap's brow is furrowed in a way you don't recognize. He sits in a chair at your bedside, hands clasped, shoulders hunched forwards, leg bouncing and fidgety. Wound too tight. Anxious. His blue grey eyes are drawn with concern, brow furrowed. He doesn't look at you.

"Scared us stiff, hen." He murmurs low, enough that you have to strain to hear it. "Nearly kicked the bucket- Christ on a cross, Fix. There was so much blood."

You don't reply. There's not much to say, really. You messed up, forgot to check a corner like a goddamn rookie, nearly bled out a result but you're here. Alive, mostly whole...minus the hole.

You tell him as much, but when Soap laughs it's a little mirthless, his head shaking as if he's deciding between disbelief or a reprimand.

It isn't long before Price appears, leaning on the door with a weary smile that betrays his concern. You wonder if he's slept recently, or if he's subsisting only on cigars and a gluttonous dose of black coffee. Cognac, if he found it.

The captain gives you the rundown of your injury. Gunshot to the left side of your ribs, nothing short of a bloody miracle it missed your major arteries. However, it managed to puncture your lung, collapsing it and forcing you to briefly asphyxiate on the helicopter. You were unconscious by the time you were handed off to the med-evac crew, flagging by the time you got to the hospital. Had there been a chopper unavailable, and had it not been for Gaz's quick attention to your labored breathing, it very well could have been your death would have been in a sticky, spider infested cartel hideout, far, far away from home.

That fact makes you feel your heart drop down to your stomach, and Soap sends the captain a look. Yet Price's eyes remain locked on you, arms crossed, head slightly bowed, gauging your reaction. He's waiting for you to say you want out, for you to quit, to go home.

Home, wherever that may be, to the waspish gaze of your father and the sad, docile eyes of your mother. To linen sheets and pristine, white French doors, a garden where you aren't allowed to dig your hands into the soil.

You refuse. You don't speak to Price, returning his gaze with your own. Silent, unwavering, a bough not bending to the howling gale of your thoughts.

He nods to himself, then nods to the nurse hovering by the door, and promptly vanishes.

Gaz comes to visit you, and in the days that pass between him and Soap you are hardly ever lonely. They brings cards, games, sneak you snacks past the nurses. Slowly, their laughter and banter eases the unspokenness between you, the 'What if?' that hangs as a constant reminder in the shape of your bandages. Yet you see it in their eyes, the way they glance at you when wince after laughing too hard, when your eyes grow distant in the silence.

Price floats by, brings with him a thermos of hot tea. It's unlike him, and when you question him on it he merely shrugs, tells you to drink up. Yorkshire gold, you recognize. The same kind you mother liked, with her British sensibilities.

You try to ignore the bitter ache of disappointment that settles inside you when Ghost doesn't visit, acrid like over-steeped tea.

It's on Price's third visit that he tells you you're cleared to head back to base with them. After that, however, you have a mandatory six week leave to fully recover.

It sinks your stomach.

Six weeks. Six weeks they'll be deployed without you, six weeks you'll be trapped at base, not knowing the details of their missions, not knowing if it's at that very moment that they need you. All because you got caught off-guard, because you didn't check your corners and nearly bled out in from of your team.

You swallow hard at the news, but know any protest on your part is futile. Price's orders, as per the doctor's, are absolute.

The next day, you find yourself being assisted down to the tarmac, Soap present at your side and offering little jabs that mask his worry. Price deposits your pack beside his, between the three others. You blink then, see in one of them the thermos he brought you, and wonder why it isn't stored with his own things.

Ghost watches you from where he sits, locks eyes with you when you glance from the thermos to his silent, piercing stare.

Ah.

Yorkshire Gold.

You settle in one of the seats, wave off Gaz's fussing as he checks with your pain. You'd been dosed shortly before the flight, and by the time the plane is in the air you find yourself drifting off to sleep, slouching uncomfortably as drowsiness takes you.

Strangely, when you wake shortly before your landing about eight hours later, it's not your seat you find yourself in. Instead, you lay on the floor of the cargo hold, head braced by a folded jacket. You can smell the scent on it. Charcoal. Musk. Gun oil. You have just enough time to turn and bury your face into it before Soap is shaking you awake and helping you back to your seat.

No sooner have you landed are you rushed off to medical once more, checking your stitches, rebandaging the gash in your side. The doctor frowns when he examines you, pushing his glasses up his nose and commenting within ear range of your captain to not undertake any strenuous activity, that you may require eight weeks instead of the six you've been issued with.

Eight weeks. Fifty six days. Two months without your team.

Stuck alone on base, in the dim light of your room, praying that somehow they return whole, unharmed.

Price must sense your thoughts, for he lays a heavy hand on your shoulder, offers you a conciliatory smile that you feel only deepen the wound in your chest.

"It seems like a long time." He tells you genuinely, voice dipping low, rusty with cigar smoke. "It'll be over before you know it."

You don't have time to reply, because to your horror there's another soldier at the door, saluting before conveying that the captain is needed in the briefing office. When you trail behind Price, he only turns, settles both his hands on your shoulders and gruffly tells you to rest.

When you watch his back vanish down the corridor, you try not to hear the sound of creaking bones and rifle bullets, of cataclysmic destruction that leaves behind only the aching void of loneliness in its wake.

You don't even have time to say goodbye.

You watch from the windows of the barracks as the plane lifts off to an unknown destination, vanishes behind the veil of clouds, and then there's just you.

Alone. Again.

Alone with your thoughts, with the embrace of rumination that feels like the whisper of the witching hours, desolate, dark, restless. You feel it wrap around you even in sunlight, and the ghost of solicitude loops her lithe arms around your neck like a lost lover, kisses the inside of your thoughts with the taste of temptation.

They aren't coming back. They don't need you. They've seen how weak you are now, they'll never return.

"They'll be back." You whisper aloud to yourself in response, placing a trembling hand against the glass pane. "They haven't given up on me yet."

---

You wander the base aimlessly for the next few days, haunting the mess hall and rec room, trying to find yourself in the silhouettes of others. Your small collection of paperback novels is polished off quickly, tiny notes scribbled in the margins of 'Dante's Inferno' and 'Wuthering Heights'. Eventually they stack in a tiny tower at your bedside, spines creased gently and pages dog-eared.

You heal slowly. Far too slowly. The pain has become mostly manageable, but there are nights when you rise in your sleep with a wheeze, pace the dark confines of your room trying to escape the shadows there. It doesn't help that your dreams are plagued by them, your comrades, bloodied and broken, reaching out for hands that aren't there. Hands you cannot reach.

One night you wake in a cold sweat, gasping for air, the visage of a cracked, bone white skull mask haunting your innermost thoughts. The eyes blank, cold. Dead.

Laswell tells you little about the mission. You get bits and pieces, but every time you push all you receive on the other line is a disparaging sigh and "Fix, you need to rest. I'll keep you updated if anything goes wrong."

You hate it. You don't want to know when things go wrong. You want to be there when they do, to prove yourself to them, in hopes that maybe they'll keep you just a little longer.

Soon. You remind yourself by day five of the team's absence, constantly pacing the corridors, trying to find instances of them in your loneliness. Soon they'll be back. Soon they'll need me again. Soon, I'll know I can stay.

You wake on day six before dawn, gasping awake as you fall in your dream, endlessly into the chasm of failure, where the crippled bodies of your teammates reach out for you with emaciated, broken limbs.

The training grounds are still dark by the time you get to them. You run them, blasting music, circling the perimeter over and over again like you're trying to stay to the edge of a dark, endless whirlpool. Running so as to avoid the chasing, predatory self-doubt that nips at your heels with feral eyes and jagged teeth.

The sun rises, and soon it begins to bake the back of your neck, your shoulders. Eventually you stop, and the inertia of your motion threatens to drag you off your feet. Your chest aches, but you welcome the pain. It's a distraction, a reminder. An anchor against the fraught silence that plagues you more than any wound.

By the time dinner rolls around you're back again, circling the drain until well past sunset, after your playlist has looped for the third time that day. By the end of it you're bent over, breathless, shaking, and yet somehow there's triumph. Yet it tastes hollow, bitter like over-steeped tea, and you push down the part of you that offers a gentle respite, a reminder of self-preservation.

If you run, you can flee, can hide from the perilous self-doubt that threatens to haunt the shadows of your thoughts, spinning cobwebs of dismay that overtake the empty caverns you've long since carved out. Fight or flight fuels every waking moment, a spiral you mimic with your steps across the training field, running a rut in the grass so deep it resembles the abyss that haunts your dreams. Perilous failure, a chasm where the wind howls in your ears and bites across your skin. You feel like a doe in the twilight glade, heaving heavy breaths as the wolves of your ruminations bark and howl, nip at the hocks of your legs.

The entire time your mind flashes with visions of them. Of Gaz's grin, eyes hidden by his sunglasses that reflect the sibylline brightness of daytime. Of Soap's jovial laughter, the corners of his eyes scrunching and broad chest rising, a sound that feels like trumpets announcing victory. Of Price and the sulfurous mist exhaled like dragon's breath, floating up into the same sky where you silently offer wishes for his approval.

Of Ghost, of the stygian, merciless presence of him that feels less like the visitation of a reaper and more of shadows in which to shelter yourself from the dazzling brightness of all things blinding. You lean into him and wordlessly, he has you, watches you from afar and traces your steps that mimic the history of his, observes you ascend the precarious tower of expectations you've yet to dismantle inside your soul. He extends his arms, prepares to catch you if you fall.

You need them. More than they need you, and it's the realization of that which has you clawing your sheets in your dreams. You need them to keep you, here in the place where you've found a home, dangerous and fraught that it may be. There's nowhere else for you. Not with your parents, not with your former company. You need to not be alone. You need to prove to them you can stay. Even if you can just fool them, be selfish enough to trick them into keeping you, you need them to smile at you long enough for the smoke to clear in your hideous self-deprecation, to drink in the oxygen of them like it's your last breath.

If you can heal faster, can show them how resilient you are, then everything will be fine, everything will be-

Red. On your fingers.

Wet, warm, crimson as you delicately prop under your shirt, hissing at the feeling of something torn and damp against your skin. It shines rusty under the scant light of the dark training grounds, coats the pads of your fingers like scarlet ink with which to smear a forbidden oath.

You stare down at it mutely, realizing with a strange sort of distance that it's yours. Gingerly, your hand snakes under your shirt, reveals a torn gash in your side. When you press down your knees nearly buckle at the sudden wash of pain, dark and viscous and choking you. Your voice chokes in your throat and you hate the sound of it, hearing the useless whimper of agony that chases up your windpipe. How you didn't notice the tear before is beyond you, something about imbibing in the hurt, letting the ache fill the crevasses of your heart like liquid metal seeping into a fissure.

Your hand clings to the fence beside you, fingers tangling with the chain link as the distress of your injury washed over you all at once.

Fuck, it hurts.

You've done something, whatever that may be, and now your mistakes seeps over your fingers.

This is bad.

Bad not just for you, but for your recovery. Shit, the looming eight weeks ahead of you seems to stretch into infinity, into an inexhaustible leave where they leave you behind, dismiss you and curse you to roam the earth endlessly, looking for a place in which to rest.

The infirmary.

You have a key, of course, being one of the medics. It's probably empty at this hour save for the sergeant on attendance. You can probably sneak past them, grab enough supplies to see to this yourself without one of the nurses telling on you to Price or Laswell.

You stumble in the direction of the barracks to retrieve your key, shrugging on your jacket to hide the blossoming stain across your side.

You don't hear the plane land.

The barracks are quiet by the time you reach them, most of the officers and squaddies already tucked into their quarters, the commanding officers lounging in the rec room or officer's lounge. It makes your journey easier as you traverse the corridors, trying to avoid any questions lest someone see you even now, realize what a complete and utter wreck you are, dipping falsehoods onto your fingers. Your feet nearly trip over the stairs, hand clutching at the rail ad dragging yourself upwards despite the effort it takes to not think about your leaking wound.

Carnations, scarlet and blotted with vibrance, blossom where stitches meet skin, a grotesque bouquet of regrets with the scent only of iron to color your senses.

When you reach the third floor, and turn the corner, you feel a wave of nausea suddenly wash over you, green and viscous and sour. You have to brace on the wall for a moment, waiting for your stomach to settle before making your way down the hall.

Then you see him.

Tall, imposing, clad in black. He soaks up what little light there is in the dim hallway. The unshed tactical gear makes him look bigger than he is, looming like a phantom outside your door. His scarf trails behind his back, and for a moment it feels almost like the cowl of a specter, his bone white mask a flash of white before it all ends and you're sucked down into an obsidian infinitum.

His hand is raised to knock, hovering over the metal surface. You can smell the grenade smoke wafting off of him from where you stand, acrid, burnt, molten metal like the glint of his stare. You blink as you realize he must have come straight from the plane, not bothering to untack or store his gear before coming to see you.

You startle at the sight of him, and it's in the corner of his stained vision that somehow he sees you, turns with an alert gaze that's soon masked by an expression of disinterest.

"Ghost." You hoarse, and his eyes narrow at your tone, closing the last few steps between you, stopping just short of you. Not touching, not moving, not reaching for you. Contained in his own orbit that you're drawn to anyways, looking up into his eyes, where the ink of his paint has faded from his blonde lashes.

"Fix." He greets, hands loose at his sides, chin tucked to fully regard you. The strap of his helmet creaks as he does, and briefly your eyes dart up to the night-vision goggles still strapped to his head.

"Price sent me to check on you." He offers in the silence that follows, and there's enough clarity within you to note that it somehow feels rehearsed, too practiced.

"Well-" You huff an anxious laugh, try to not let your eyes dart to your door handle, mind running to your desk drawer, where you keep your clinic key stashed. "Consider me checked on."

There's a pause between you, and within it lies the heaviness of the unspoken, the unsaid. All the confessions inside of you threaten to bubble up like the last gap of air before drowning in the deep, dark ocean.

I'm glad you're safe. Where are the others? Are they hurt? Did you need me? Will you forgive me when I wasn't there?

"How's your injury?" He asks suddenly, voice flat, but beneath the feigned disinterest you see his eyes, framed by blonde lashes, dip to your side. Your heartbeat flutters -too loud- as you pray the blood has yet to seep through the fabric of your jacket.

"Fine." You answer, a little too quickly, and that dark gaze sweeps up to your face, pins you to the spot without a single touch. You feel your chest tighten now not with the constricting compression of pain, but with something more phantasmic, a byproduct of his very presence. A prickle of awareness that breathes across your neck every time he ventures close, a reminder of him where he smears his ink stained fingers on the inside of your skull.

Door. Desk. Drawer. Stairs. Five minute walk. Clinic. Back room. Supply closet. Third shelf.

Your mind runs the steps ahead of you, but you can't sidle past, not with Ghost's immense, towering form blocking the width of the hallway. His dark gaze stares down at you, scrutinizing you, and it feels somehow like you're being flayed open by his knife, skin parting from bone as he dares a glance at the hidden, duplicitous interior of you. You try to not meet his eyes, knowing that if you do he'll see it, he'll see all of you, with his gaze that feels like black holes, threatens to tear you asunder with the gravity inside them.

He says something else when your eyes again dart to your door. When you don't immediately, he tilts his head at you, eyes narrowing.

"Fix?"

"Sorry-" You supply immediately, eyes darting back to Ghost. Yet the world around you wavers then, and you frown, blink, trying once more to tether yourself firmly to gravity. Even as you focus, however, the room seems to tilt and sway under you, and you can't help but rock on your feet a little in a subtle but desperate bid to find balance. "W-what did you just say?"

Ghost stills suddenly, and his eyes narrow from behind his mask, form going rigid as he appraises you.

Don't. You think desperately, both to yourself and to him. Don't look.

The wound must be worse than you thought, because the sudden wash of dizziness makes you threaten to sway on your feet, lost in inertia. You can feel the tug of it, your feet carrying you in endless circles as you spiral down a familiar whirlpool, lost in despair.

"...You alright?" Ghost asks tentatively, as if not expecting you to give him a straight answer.

"Solid." You reply almost instantly, and even as you tilt your head up to regard his massive form the shape of him seems to shift before your eyes. Despite being pinned under his stare you try not to sway, not to buckle.

Just breathe. You remind yourself, forcing manual inhales and exhales in an attempt to remain composed. The warm wetness of your wound is already bleeding through your bandages, soaking the gauze packed against your side and dyeing it a rancid scarlet that reeks of failure. You know the longer you stay here, the longer he questions you that you run the risk of being discovered, of your ruse being revealed in horrific, dazzling color.

God, you wonder if he can smell it on you- the bitter, iron taste of blood.

"Don't lie." He states, stepping closer, and when you instinctively take a step back you nearly stumble, one arm dropping to your side in an attempt to find something to balance with. "You don't look fine."

"W-what do you mean?" You try, but your voice wavers when you speak- as unsteady as your form. A sapling in a thunderstorm. Lighting bursts across the darkened skies of your anxiety.

"Fix." Ghost states, and that sends a flash of panic through you, the way his voice evens with seriousness, eyes suddenly steely and trained completely on you. A hunter's scope, and you're caught in the snare.

"Don't." You manage, and take another step back, retreating-

The world shifts under you.

You have just enough time to blink, for your lips to part in an 'oh' of realization before the weakness in your legs finally gives. As they buckle your eyes dart to Ghost's, and you catch a single glimpse of shock that flashes plainly across his gaze before he's moving, reaching for you-

When the world stills again it's to the sensation of an arm under your back, the hand snaking around your side and pressing close to your raw, seeping wound hidden under your gear.

You choke on the pain, the sound a strangled gasp that bubbles up your throat and forces the air from your lungs.

When Ghost moves his hand you feel it, feel the crimson ooze soaking through your shirt and jacket against your side, and painting his glove in dark, glistening wetness.

"FUCKING hell." Ghost snarls when he realizes what it is, his eyes darting down to your side where red colors across the fabric of your white tee.

"G-Ghost-" You manage, even as the world spins around you, an abrupt kaleidoscope of shape and color. It's the white of his mask that grounds you, mirroring his wide, surprised gaze as it turns from his glove to your ashen, stricken expression. "LT, wait-"

"You stupid girl." Ghost snarls, and you flinch.

Before you can stop him, Ghost reaches for his radio, and when he presses down it leaves a bloody stain on the casing.

"Price." He barks, voice grating deep in his chest- the one he uses to issue orders, bring men back into line. "Fix is injured. Tore her stitches."

In a desperate bid you try to reach for him, face alight with pain and shock as you try to stop him, try to grapple the radio away. Yet Ghost merely knocks your hand aside and fixes you with a stare so harsh and cold it freezes you in place.

"How bad?" Price's voice crackles from the other end of the comm, and you swallow, try to answer.

"I-I'm okay." You supply, but Ghost snarls at you.

"She's not okay." He echoes over you. "She's fucking bleeding out."

"I'm...not-"

"Shut up." Ghost bites at you, but there's a waver in his voice you don't recognize as it harshes inside his chest, grinding and impatient and...somehow scared.

You hear Price curse on the other end of the radio.

"Where are you? I'm on my way and sending Gaz to find a medic."

"Southeast hallway. Third floor. Outside her bunk." Ghost replies sharply, and at once he's readjusting you, laying you down on your uninjured side. You curl into yourself, feeling tears threaten as he does so.

It hurts.

The pain itself, but the knowledge that with every stained drop you're exposing yourself, letting him know you failed, that you aren't fit to stand by him, that your injury is-

When Ghost's hand presses down against your wound you yell, the agony of his touch unexpected and horrific as he tries to stem the gush from your side. It blinds you, sends white shooting across your vision in brilliant white specks, blotting out the brightness of the humming fluorescent lights above you both. The aftertaste of it lingers in your mouth, like burnt pennies, thick and vile as it clogs your chest, grips your heart-

"Stay. Still." Ghost tells you on no uncertain terms even as you writhe, tears now spilling from your eyes and tracing down your cheeks in hot, furious trails.

"I'm sorry-" You try, but your voice is cracked, caught in your throat as a sob. "Ghost, I'm sorry-"

"Why did you do this?!" He hisses, as he uses one hand to press against your shoulder and anchor you. "Why didn't you say anything?!"

You swallow, but it does nothing to stop the ache in your throat, the pain that laces up your side and cross your spine, your hips, your heart.

"I-I didn't-" You hiccup, and the world is in chaos now, with your cries and your secrets exposed, with his gaze raking over your trembling, injured form. "Didn't want you to see, Ghost. I'm sorry-"

He stills.

Then, Ghost's eyes take on a light you've never seen before. Frustration, anger, disappointment, these things you've been witness to in your lieutenant. However now the color of Ghost's eyes is dark not with these things, but with fury.

"Have you gone bloody mental?!" He bellows at you, and the world feels like it's trembling with the volume of his voice alone, shaking at the foundations of the earth itself. "Do you have any idea the danger you put yourself in?!"

There's a note of his words that ring true in you, that cleave apart the shell of doubt and allow radiance to seep through. You hide from it, curl further into yourself on the cold linoleum of the hallway, a sob cracking your throat as the weight of the world comes crashing down around you.

They're going to leave you for this. You're going to be alone again, all because your life seems to be a litany of failures, an impossible grave to claw out of as dirt pours in from the top.

You're heaving now, breaths too uneven, too ragged, and when it presses down on your lung the hurt is enough to make you cry out a strangled yell, kick out your feet in an automatic reflex.

Ghost's voice sounds distant now as blood rushes in your ears, your heartbeat wild and banging against the inside of your chest like a frantic, trapped bird. His hands are on you but you hardly feel them as panic engulfs you, and the whirlpool roars as it drags you down, down, down.

"Hey! Calm down, Fix! Fuck, just breathe!"

It hurts. Everything hurts. Your chest, your side, your lungs, the pain feels like it's seeping into your bloodstream, blocking your airways, poison running through your veins.

Another set of hands. Cigar smoke, ash.

"Soldier! Fix! Look at me!"

You can't. You refuse. If you see Price's gaze now in the moment of your ruin the stitches that bind you together will come loose at the seam and you'll unspill, empty cotton falling over their fingers. Fluff where there's supposed to be iron.

"Where the fuck is the medical team?!"

"They're on their way. Keep pressure on the wound."

Hands on your face. Gloves that smell like gun smoke.

"Fix, darling. You're having a panic attack. You need to breathe, you're going to hurt yourself if you don't."

You shake your head, dislodging the captain's touch.

No. You think with a ragged heave of air. Don't look. Don't look don't look please don't look.

The ground trembles as footsteps draw closer, and there's voice you don't recognize, hands pawing at you, light in your eyes-

You flail blindly, confused, scared, and when a heavy pair of hands lands on your shoulders to pin you it only makes your voice choke out with a frantic cry.

"We need to put her under."

No, no, please don't. Not sleep, not the nightmares-

"Do it."

Price. Captain. No, please-

"It's alright, darling. We've got you. You're okay."

Don't-

A jab, a little pinch on the inside of your arm. You try to make a noise, a whimpering sound of protest. There's a sudden flash of clarity before the darkness, and you open your eyes (When did you start crying?) to Price above you, his face pinched, distraught. Ghost is holding down your legs, and as your eyes drift to him he becomes nothing more than a shimmering phantom, blurred dark at the edges, a void in contrast to the too bright world around you.

"Please-" You whisper, the word heavy on your lips, eyes blinking-

Then there's nothing.

Tag List: (Reblog this post to be added to future fics from this series! If you'd like to be removed please DM me!)

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiifierriii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #mw2 #cod mw22 #Simon ghost riley x oc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix

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love-toxin · 1 year

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I loved your fruity four x plus size!angelface, I rarely ever can find plus size reader works so I always get a little emotional when I do 😭😭 Do you think you would ever write bully!eddie or steve x plus size reader? I love your writing 🥺💛

TY!!!! I LOVE UR BRAIN <333

(cws: bully!eddie, gn!plussize!angelface, bullying, size insecurity/self-esteem issues, fluff and a little hint of spice.)

Eddie Munson is not a nice guy.

He's cruel, rude, and crude. He's filled with mockery and not-so-playful jabs, intimidation, provocation, fury, and he's so hard to get along with or even stand that you truly have no idea how he gets or keeps any of his friends. There's quite a few targets he sets his eyes on, mostly the jocks and preps and know-it-alls that throw his freak-ness in his face, but you're the one he sets his sights on the most. You don't have those big friend groups to disappear inside of, though, those alike people to back you up when you get dogpiled. Actually, you often feel like everybody's punching bag, because while nobody goes out of their way to terrorize you as much as Eddie, they don't regard you with kindness or respect--only pity and disgust, primarily for your looks. You try to be nice enough and quiet enough to not give them any other reason aside from that.

But even so, and even though Eddie's your biggest bully of all of them, there's one thing they giggle and patronize you about that Eddie never has, and that's your size.

Sure, he'll call you dumb, and he'll jeer at you for being so meek, and for never talking back. But he's never once degraded you on your weight aside from those similar comments; "Look at those big doe eyes, you're so pathetic" or "Gonna cry? Show me how miserable you look with tears running down your face" or even "You look like such a bimbo with that outfit, you think you're gonna get out of this by giving me a peek?"

And as much of an asshole as he is, it....those comments, they stir something up inside you. You've never really felt wanted, you've never felt desired or even seen yourself as a possibility for someone to be attracted to. You feel more like a fixture in every room you occupy, like an extra in a movie that only briefly passes by the screen. You're not used to being seen as a romantic object, a sexual object, and by the way Eddie teases you and gropes you you feel like that's what you are. You know there's no force on earth that would ever cause him to actually like you in that way, and he might be the only one who even shows that desire whether it's all fake or not, but even so it's really the only reason you don't make a point of avoiding him completely or getting someone involved to make him stop. It's fucking pathetic, letting your bully do whatever he wants to you just cause he's showing you the smallest hint of affection, but you just can't bring yourself to make it all go away. It isn't until you spend the holidays away from each other and come back for the second semester that you realize you're in love, and that reality is even worse and harder to contend with as you hear Eddie approaching you as you stand at your open locker. It's the first day back from winter break, and you know he's missed pushing around his favourite punching bag--which explains the rather violent slam of his fist against the locker next to your head, eliciting a shriek and a startled jump where you stand at the noise ringing in your ears.

"Missed me, crybaby?" You turn on a dime and catch his smirk, teeth glittering under the warm fluorescents and his arm still extended up to cage you between his body and your locker. It would be a wonder he didn't just shove you into it, if yours wasn't one of those half-lockers perched on the top half. Tongue bitten almost in two as you try to ignore the waft of his cologne--it must be new, it smells earthy and divine--you shake your head, and Eddie just chuckles in that low, deep, sultry tone.

"I think you did. I think you're lying to me." He murmurs, backing you up even further as he leans in, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as he shuffles forward so your whole world is blocked out by Eddie. "I missed you."

Those words did not come out the way he intended, you're sure of it--but he's still grinning, and he licks his lips, and the thing you've been sitting on for weeks wondering if you were an idiot for getting it in the first place just...comes tumbling out.

"I-I got you a gift," You babble, quietly, hoping nobody else milling about the hallway hears. Honestly you're half-hoping Eddie himself mishears it, so you don't have to deal with the aftermath of the mistake you're sure you've made. But he does, because his smile doesn't disappear, and he raises an eyebrow with curiosity clearly etched into his brown eyes. So, using the space you do have between you, you turn and fumble with the books sitting in your locker until you manage to pry out the thin, square-shaped box you'd wrapped and turn back to hold it out to him.

Eddie says nothing at first, just looks between you and the present as if it's some kind of joke. Maybe he's gonna slap it out of your hands and laugh when it goes flying down the hallway. Before much longer though, he stands back, and somewhat gingerly takes the gift from your hands and tears through the wrapping with a rough, blunt-nailed finger. You backpedal a bit with an "I'm sorry if you hate it" before he manages to pull the top off, but when he does, and his eyes widen, he looks back at you with a furrowed brow and an accusatory question.

"Why the fuck did you buy this?"

Oh, god. Damage control time--if you don't pull off this explanation, you can feel that you're gonna be in for a new brand of misery. Your words start rocketing out on top of each other at high velocity, until you're just spilling your guts out to him with a fearful tremor in your voice.

"I-I just saw it and I thought--I thought of you, of your music, and I thought you'd like it, cause you like Metallica, you know? And-"

"No, why did you buy this for me?" You're not too sure how to answer that, clamming up for a moment or two as his eyes dart back down to the tape. It's Metallica's newest album, the same one you've heard Eddie talking nonstop to his friends about at their table during lunch--you had to get it from a Sam Goody out of town, which is even more pathetic that you drove all the way there to get it, but....you couldn't find it in Hawkins, and it's the one thing you knew he wanted so badly. "This shit is expensive." He mutters, fingers grazing the plastic cover, brown eyes mesmerized by the track list on the sticker.

"Because, I....I don't know," You lie through your teeth, that familiar feeling of oncoming tears creeping up alongside the lump in your throat. You don't want to cry, don't want to make a scene in public and draw attention, but you feel like you might. "Please don't break it. I'm sorry."

"Shut up."

He scoffs, and you flinch at him slamming the top of the gift box back on so it's sealed again, like it was never open in the first place. Now you know he's gonna throw it--but you're proven wrong, as he crumples up the ball of wrapping paper and tosses it into your open locker behind you, before opening his jacket and sliding the present inside to pat it into place. So it doesn't fall out, secured by the wide inner pocket.

".....Take this." Huffing again, he reaches up to his neck and tugs off his necklace with a snap, the clasp coming apart but clicking back into place when his hands slide around your neck, and you realize he's affixing his most treasured pick necklace around your throat. When he's made sure it's secured in that incomprehensibly tender gesture, one so sweet that you expected to only see it in movies and not real life, Eddie's fingertips ghost over your skin and he pulls the pick down so it's laid out front and centre against your collarbone.

"I-Isn't this important, Eddie? I don't wanna lose it, or-"

"Then don't fucking lose it. Keep it around your neck all the time." He snarls, his hand quickly shooting up to grab your chin, and he forces you to look at him with those sensitive, pretty eyes before his cheek brushes past yours.

"Don't even take it off when you rub one out," He whispers, finally grinning while his tongue darts forth to lick at the shell of your ear, which sends shivers pulsing through your shaking body. "Keep it on when you're moaning my name. Bite down on it to keep quiet."

"Eddie-"

"Just wear it." He spits, watching with a tidy smirk as you shrink down at the strength of his command. "I wanna see teeth marks in that thing by tomorrow. I'll enjoy your tape the same way." He flicks your nose, and then he's meandering off, taking with him that heady, spice-filled scent that had overwhelmed your senses completely. The image of Eddie jerking himself off as he listened to the album you bought him will definitely be the background of your daydreams all day today, but even moreso will be the thought of what your task will be when you finally get home.

#eddie munson #eddie's angelface #eddie munson x reader #bully!eddie munson #spicy writing #st 4 #stranger things #ellie writes #leahthesith #anons #plus size!angelface

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bluemoondust · 1 year

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Hi there! Your writing is like, SUPER good, man. It’s so in-character! Anyways, could I have some general headcanons for yandere Azul Ashengrotto? Thank youuu!!

Hello there! I'm so glad you enjoy my writing and it's aksjkwkwj— just so nice to hear that things are in character since I try my best in that aspect

ヾ(´▽｀;)ゝ I hope you enjoy these headcanons! Also, ack, I'm going back to this template (?) of questions for general headcanons because I do lowkey follow them when writing these sort of headcanons.

✧General Yandere Headcanons✧ — Azul Ashengrotto

Warning(s): Obsessive/Clingy Behavior, Manipulation (Gaslighting, Guilt Tripping), Hints of Self Deprecation/Self Esteem Issues (on Azul's end), Mentions of Unhealthy Lifestyle (Lack of Sleep/Eating—on Azul's end)

What yandere type are they?

There's a bit to unpack when it comes to Azul. A lot of factors that can play into the type of yandere he is and how he proceeds as a yandere (as well as in his pursuit towards you). However, to give some types, I'd say he is a manipulative, obsessive, and clingy yandere. There was the thought of maybe him being a possessive yandere, but I see him more obsessive than such. Still, let it be known that despite that, there are possessive traits that form because of Azul's obsession towards you.

Like any other obsessive yandere, Azul craves to know ever single detail about you, no matter how miniscule. You see, not only will this serve to get closer but also will become a benefit in the future in exploitation. Knowing about your deepest secrets and insecurities is handy in order to know how to properly treat you as Azul wins your favor through such information. However, that same knowledge can be used against you since now he is aware of your weaknesses to which he can utilize to his advantage. Plus your secrets are the perfect blackmail material in case anything...gets a little out of hand or you (who should know better) tries to leave. Hell, it doesn't even matter the type of secret it is. If it was just something that you would try to brush off in front of him, then why was it a secret in the first place? Why was it something you wish to be hidden? Even with all this, Azul just really wants every piece of information on you like it was another part of his collection. Some might believe it's not worth much, but it is extremely valuable in his eyes.

Knowing the type of person Azul is, it's no surprise that he is someone who would manipulate his darling. He won't admit it at first, but some of his tactics are a form of remaining in control. Since one thing is clear about him is that he absolutely despises not having control of his life. He doesn't let things such as fate nor luck determine his life; he does. Relying on odds is foolish because the only way you can get the things you want in life is through work and dedication. And dedicated he is. Azul's go-to methods of manipulation are gaslighting and guilt tripping. He is a man of honey coated words, but boy does he know how to twist and turn the words of others. Nothing gets past his ears as he picks up on the slightest chance of a a slip up on your or anyone's part. This is why it's important to watch what you say or else Azul will use that against you in the future. Plus, he can just tug at your heart strings if you're an empathetic person. Why would you deny anyone help anyways? Aren't you a good person like he believes you are?

On the topic of how clingy Azul can be, it won't show immediately. You'd have to push him to the brink of desperation to see that side of him. Still, he is someone who craves your attention and affections tremendously due to the troubles of his youth. Being ostracized as a child really took a toll on him so of course it'd affect how he views the world and relationships. The signs of you abandoning him can send Azul in a frenzy as he tries harder to keep you around. If you're smart enough and discover this fear of his, then you can exploit it (but bare in mind that you're still against someone who has some insane dedication and resolve). Also...it won't be pretty if he realizes what you're doing.

How did they fall for their darling?

Azul is one of those characters who will fall for you first and then fall harder as time goes on. Maybe his charms caught your interest, but oh boy did your personality snare him up like a net. Unbelievable. It amuses him in the beginning as he tries to brush off this feeling he's having. You just caught his eye, that's all. Azul will just keep tabs on you until this interest passes.

The more you surprise him and keep living in his mind rent free, the more Azul can't help but want to see more of you. He just can't believe it...how did he manage to fumble like this? There must be an answer. So he tries to spend time with you, make conversation to pick up on your traits. Just to see what makes you tick. It'll come in handy for him later when he wants to turn the cogs a certain way in his image. Not too much, mind you. Just enough to ensure everything goes well. I mean, he fell for who you truly are, so why damage that beyond repair? If a clock stops ticking when it is broken, then how can either of you move forward in life?

Are they aware of their unhealthy behavior?

Yeah, he is. Azul just pretends not to see it fully. If he is okay with guilt tripping and manipulating others to get what he wants, I don't see why he would be bothered by the measures he's taking for you. Anything can be on the table if it means he'll get one step closer to what he's pursuing.

Sure, he'll be taken aback by his unhealthy obsession with you at first. Maybe even contemplate and question the reasons. However...not on what you may be thinking of. Azul is more focused on how you managed to put him in such a state like this. He wonders if you're aware of what you're doing and if this is all a ploy against him. Are you trying to get something out of him through your own charms? It's certainly affective but...he can't help but be astonished by your tactics. It's like this is all effortless to you.

When he finds out that, no, you're not actually doing what he believes you're doing, this man ponders even more. The reasons how he even figured it out is because of his time spent with you to further observe your behavior. He's alone with his thoughts when it finally hits him. It's all him. Azul needs some time to come to terms with this before he takes the whole thing in stride. No matter, now that he knows, everything can run smoothly again! He just needs to conjure up the right approaches in order to keep you by his side. In general, I don't even think Azul would really care if this was healthy or not. There is someone who actually is willing to stick by his side and get to know him outside of who he is in front of others. He is not letting this golden opportunity go to waste nor is he passing up the chance of being loved by someone like you.

How do they act around their darling? Are they subtle or obvious?

Extremely subtle unless you're extremely perceptive. You might just believe he wants something out of you whenever he hangs around you on his own time. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch/assumption to believe that, given the type of person Azul is. What you might not expect is his true reason for spending time with you. Well, yeah, it's to get information out of you but not the information you're thinking of. Personal stuff yes but it's only for him and his uses. He doesn't care about the trivial things that revolve around you such as your friends...but knowing who they are would be taken as a precaution. Or to use as pawns for any schemes he has in that head of his.

If he senses that you're distrustful of him, he quickly shuts down your worries with honey coated words. Why would he, Azul, take advantage of your trust? Is it wrong to simply wish for the time to get to know you? It's harmless curiosity, that's all. You should be quite interested knowing that you've caught Azul's eye in the first place. Usually everyone comes to him for something, not the other way around. Which is something very important in this whole thing. Despite him going above and beyond to learn about you, Azul wants you to come to him in the end. He wants you to give in and accept him fully. Tell him that you've come to a conclusion after being around him so much. If you keep playing hard to get...Azul's wits will eventually reach it's end.

Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?

Azul tells himself he isn't jealous. He seems like he's never jealous. His demeanor never shows that he is jealous. However, his heart is full of envy towards those you're close with. Azul would not allow himself to be this vulnerable with his feelings, but it pains to see them getting everything he desires. Your attention, care, and smile. Your everything. The part of him that has never left him—the insecure boy who was ignored and pushed to the side—yearns to have all that. Practically craves it.

He pushes down the jealousy whenever you're around and forces himself to feel fine. Though, it doesn't change the fact that it eats away at him every second he watches. What do they have that he doesn't? He can give you anything you'd like and they certainly do not hold a candle to his skills and intellect. Azul's insecurities will eventually crawl back to chip at his self esteem if his methods aren't getting him any closer to you. The thing he's been mastering for years and yet that is not enough? If that is the case, what else is there? Is he not enough for you?

It's those questions that run through his mind when left alone. Azul can pretend all he wants that none of this get under his skin. Act like nothing is wrong while by your side. You'd never know how deep you cut into his heart when you still refuse to accept him. Oh, but you'll know eventually. He just...needs more time. Another angle to look at this from. He can't just give up when he's come this far. You are just making this more difficult, but Azul can take the challenge.

How much of a danger are they? To darling? To others? To themselves?

In some aspects, Azul is more of a danger to others and himself than he is towards you. How much of a danger he is really depends. At his lowest (not counting the chance of an overblot because that is enough of a danger as is), he gets reckless and desperate. You would actually see the full lengths this man will take to try to win you over or just fix any problem in the equation. It is a point you don't want him to reach because that's where he'll be a threat to himself as well. Still, at a normal standpoint, he's a 4/10 in danger level. Pretty tame and uses manipulation tactics to get his way and push unwanted people to the side. Azul having the tweels involved cranks it up to a 5 or 6/10 for obvious reasons. He isn't really that intimidating in terms of physical appearance (and in some cases, prowess) but he makes up for it with his intellect. A truly terrifying weapon he can utilize without doing too much.

Towards his darling, not much of a threat again for the mentioned reasons above. Your social life and status may be in danger but that's generally it. Even if that is the only threat he poses, it still hurts when you're questioning/doubting your own choices and feeling like life is against you. All because of him. The world is against you so the only solution is to seek him out. Azul would be such the benevolent person he claims to be as he listens to your woes. The world certainly is awful, isn't it? To abandon a person such as yourself without a second glance. He knows how that feels.

In regards to himself, it's the insecurities that'll bring harm to Azul. He doesn't openly show his jealousy, as mentioned before but he certainly is still affected by everything going on. The actions he takes will show you. He pushes himself further. Azul can be a man who is determined to a terrifying degree, shocking those who witness it firsthand. One plan doesn't work. Oh well, he can think of something else. There's a goal he is after and he will not step off the path to achieve it. No matter the obstacles placed in front of him. You're no different.

He will lose sleep and skip meals. Not just to get closer to having you within his grasp, but...because of his self esteem. Azul listens and takes into account your likes and dislikes. He keeps them in mind as they repeat over and over like a broken record. The same goes with your ideal person. As much as Azul tells himself that he is fit to be your significant other, a part of him doubts that. That part is what pushes him to be better. There are some aspects that he won't change, of course, about himself. He will just fix the...undesirable aspects. Either it be his physique, eating habits, or his form, he'll make quick work of it. He already was trying to in the first place but now he has more motivation.

How far are they willing to go for their darling?

A good amount, but I will say that murdering anyways isn't something he'd do. Unless he's in his overblot form or his buttons are severely pushed. Still, theres a lot he would do in your name as written above. His lifestyle will suffer a good amount as well as his composure (which might eventually lead to a breakdown). Heck, even his mental health might suffer too.

Azul is going to monopolize your time whether it's because he guilt tripped you into it or he tricked you into owing him a favor. There will always be a reason why and he will make sure of it. Plus, as mentioned before, he will damage your social life in whatever way he can. This is why you have to be careful with what you share with him. Azul knows that he has a way with talking to people; lulling them into a false sense of security or deceiving them with his words of absoluteness. Whatever you tell him will be used to his advantage, especially in order to get rid of the obstacles that are your friends or family. Maybe you vented out your frustrations about a friend and he twisted your words...now that person refuses to speak with you. Some friend, huh?

Are they selfish or selfless?

Very selfish. Azul is torn though as one side doesn't think he deserves you but the other believes he has every right to have this one thing in life. He has struggled in life to get where he is now. Even with the love of his family in his youth, Azul still feels the absence of belonging when it comes to peers. Everyone is in it for themselves. No one is truly genuine as they, give and leave. Sometimes Azul likes to think that maybe he has made friends even if things didn't start off that way. Maybe they have decided that he is worth sticking around for. That they...value his company.

That is why he can't risk having you reject him nor take what you want and leave. If you won't stay because you care, then you can't leave due to being in debt to him. This is one of the only ways he can come up with to prevent you from discarding him like trash. So he gives into his selfish desires, because he deserves to have all this. To have you. You don't understand how much pain and work he had to go through for all this. It's all for you, so that should amount to something, right? No efforts will be left in vain.

#yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader

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bigoltrashpile · 1 year

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Hallo, can I get the skeles with an s/o that does not have a very healthy lifestyle? they don't usually leave the house, watch tv/play videogames for hours, don't have a balanced diet and are generally lazy, could be due to depression and really bad self esteem issues.... I know most of them probably wouldn't want an s/o like that but damn, I just wanna live the dream bro 😓 also.. you're pretty cool

Hey, don't put yourself down like that! There's someone for you, I promise!

Mafiatale Sans: Oh that's a mood for sure. He knows how it feels to only want to laze around because it doesn't feel like anything is worth moving. However, he also knows that it's not good for you. Though he definitely will indulge in shitty eating and lazing around, he'll drag you around on some of his errands and little adventures. Not only that, but he'll also take a leaf out of Papyrus's book and encourage you to feel better!

Mafiatale Papyrus: Papyrus has dealt with Sans's nonsense his whole life, he knows how to help! He'll gently encourage you to get up and eat a vegetable every now and then. If you don't feel like getting out of bed, never fear! He'll scoop you out of bed and carry you until you feel better!

Mafiaswap Sans (Lucky): Even if Lucky doesn't understand the feeling, he knows his brother feels the same as you most of the time. So he'll do what he does with Slim: be there for you whenever you need him! He won't try to force you to feel better, that's never going to work. But he'll definitely get you out of the house more, help you make friends and build a support system! But he can definitely be persuaded into staying in bed with you sometimes, turning a depressed morning into a wonderful cuddle session!

Mafiaswap Papyrus (Slim): Oof, that hits too close to home for him. If you tell him how much you don't like your lifestyle, he'll realize that he's maybe a bad echo chamber for you. He'll do his best to change himself for you! He'll "coincidentally" be going out for a walk (no matter how much it shocks Lucky) when you have free time, and encourage you to come with him, buy better food, and maybe even try to get you to talk to a therapist! Until you do, he's always there for you, honey.

Mafiafell Sans (Butch): Yikes, he may not be the best guy to help with this. He definitely has the same habits, but he'll want to help in any way he can. He might help you find a counselor or therapist of some kind, maybe even go to one himself. Stars knows he needs one. If you don't want to though, he'll definitely help with the self esteem. He thinks you're the cutest lil thing in the world, and he's gonna let you know it!

Mafiafell Papyrus (Noir): Though he may not be the most gentle or understanding, Noir will certainly do his best! He loves you, and a few less than healthy habits aren't going to change that! He exercises every morning, and though you may not want to, he'll certainly try to drag you out for a walk in the mornings. Exercise is good for human's health, he thinks, maybe this is a start?

Mafiaswapfell Sans (Scar): Ah, his time has come. He knows all too well what depression looks like, he saw it all the time Underground. He'll instantly see that you need help when you never go outside, laying in bed and losing track of time. If you let him, he'll help you make a schedule that gets you interacting with people more, getting you out of the house, and eating better. If you don't, though, that's okay too. He wants you to be happy more than anything, and if being a listening ear is what you need, that's what he'll be. Even if he doesn't have ears.

Mafiaswapfell Papyrus (Hound): He knows all too well what depression and low self esteem feels like. Even though he doesn't know how to help very much, all he can do is offer his love. Your love helped him, so hopefully his love can help you! He'll tell you how much he loves you, bad habits and all, and help you see the beauty of life. If he can do that, hopefully it will help you!

#my garbage #writing #sans #papyrus #depression mention #sans x reader #papyrus x reader #undertale #undertale imagines #mafiatale #mafiaswap #mafiafell #mafiaswapfell

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thewertsearch · 10 months

Text

FUTURE carcinoGeneticist [FCG] 3 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo. FCG: HEY DON'T TALK TO HER LIKE THAT YOU UNCOUTH PIECE OF SHIT. [...] CCG: IT MUST BE PERIGEES EVE, BECAUSE GET A LOAD OF THIS HUGE BEHEMOTH LEAVING THAT JUST GOT DRAGGED IN. CCG: JADE, OUR DUTY IS CLEAR. WE MUST DECK THIS TURD TO THE NINES. FCG: OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE I ACTUALLY THOUGHT THAT WAS A CLEVER THING TO SAY. WHAT A DIPSHIT. ?GG: aaauugh what the hell!!!

Honestly, at this point Jade should just close the chat and come back in an hour.

?GG: i cant take this anymore!!!!!!!! ?GG: i dont even know what im reading here but its preposterous and ive had it! ?GG: i am just so angry, i cant believe i let you push me around all those years ?GG: you are completely out of your mind, i was too nice by just blocking you and typing frowny faces and stuff ?GG: i should have let you HAVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Jade Violence has been a long time coming. Unleash it!

?GG: if you want to apologize then great i am all ears! but just mentioning it off hand and then yelling at yourself the same way you yell at me all the time as if i need a knight to come save me from yourself is so lame [...] ?GG: you treat everyone horribly, even yourself, i cant even fathom how awful it is to be you

Several other characters have self-esteem issues, but Karkat's the only one who directly attacks himself in conversation - and I'm not really sure why. You'd expect it to be the Time Player whose issues are expressed through time duplicates - although, come to think of it, Aradia's fatalism was evident in how her alt-selves considered themselves expendable.

Maybe, then, Karkat's own direct self-hatred says something about Blood. We don't know a lot about the aspect - and it's hard to derive much, when your sample size is one Player with an unknown Quest - but we can certainly speculate.

There's a lot that Blood could symbolize. Violence would work, as would pain or injury - but none of these stand out as particularly applicable to Karkat or his issues. Sure, he's been injured before - but in Sburb, who hasn't?

Family is another contender, and it'd be interesting to see how that would map to Alternian culture. Plus, it actually does apply to Karkat, since he's the one who cloned the trolls. Nanna even mentioned that a team's ectobiologist is, in a sense, the 'parent' of the other Players...

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #2852 #s80

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hajimeshoe · 2 years

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HEAR ME OUT!! Leona, Jamil, Floyd, Kalim, and Duece with an s/o who has crippling anxiety, depression, and ADD but is the therapist friend.

They don't seem like it most of the time because they're emotionally detached, but still an empath.

Everytime there's an overblot, they sip Arizona tea like "Same shit, different day." And treat it like common shit because back in their world, their whole family was mentally ill, along with the friends around them who put their lives in s/o's hands.

Often seen dealing with other people's emotions and giving advice they don't even follow themselves. It's good advice too!!

S/o listens and sleeps to loud music at high volumes very often, (almost every second of the day and night) and eats and sleeps a lot to destress.

The resting bitch face is constant. They seem so annoyed by life, and they are. They just don't tell anyone that.

Low self-esteem but they talk about themselves highly to try and get rid of or hide it. More self loathing than not though.

They have many moments where they don't wanna listen to people but they end up listening to people anyway.

S/o also sucks ass at self care, but tells everyone to self care.

Ooh, Therapist Friend MC who needs therapy themself...sounds interesting. Now, I feel for anybody who goes through this - it is not a healthy place to be at all. Try to focus on yourself at least a little!

Therapist Friend!S/O Who Needs Therapy

Deuce

Deuce is the one you're normally giving therapy to

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

Like, out of all the others, he's the most likely to open up to his S/O even before you two start dating

But the second he finally figures out the toll it's taking on your mental health?

He has Ace, Trey, and Grim on your ass to ensure you're taking care of yourself (Goodluck to you, Trey is the Original Therapist Friend and the single mom of Heartslabyul)

I feel like he also listens to music at high volumes

So he has no issue with you sleeping with it on

100% will do his best to take care of you if you won't do it yourself

He's also the type to VIOLENTLY try to bring up your self-esteem

Punches of love <3

(Does not even give a damn if you punch back because he loves you)

Leona

Emotionally detached and annoyed by life, meet your soulmate

Leona does rant about his family occasionally

Mostly after coming back from breaks where he had to deal with them

Otherwise, he's mostly chill after his overblot

Wait, you need loud music to sleep? Too damn bad, listen to it when you're asleep and I'm awake

Honestly, you two never sleep at the same time anymore - one of you will sleep while the other is awake now. It works though! You can listen to music loud enough to burst your eardrums through headphones while Leona sleeps in silence, or you can sleep with your music blaring while Leona is awake and playing with your hair

You two still get to cuddle nearly constantly!

He's still a prince, so if you need therapy then damn right he's getting it for you, even if he needs to drag you to it

Lion Strength TM activated

Also, if you show even the smallest sign of Low Self-Esteem, he is becoming the Therapist and shutting down any argument you have. You're a bitch? It's called having a personality, hun. Body issues? Nobody is perfect, everyone has insecurities and he loves you just the way you are

Now, if you do not want to listen to someone but Leona finds them talking your ear off anyway?

Hopefully you can stop a Lion in a warpath because Leona will be out for some damn blood

If you're eating a lot? No worries. "Ruggie! Bring Y/n their favourite!"

Floyd

Needs Therapy 2.0

Like, with his mood swings? You're just a live-in therapist at this point

Jade is actually the one to point out to him the toll it's taking on you

After that, he'll be a little more attentive and conscious of your emotions and tells

He'll let you sit in the Mostro lounge to eat, or he'll show up at your dorm at midnight with chicken nuggets

And god forbid you talk bad about yourself...good way to put him in a bad mood and he will verbally tear into you

Then you two don't talk until he's back in a good mood and is abducting you from your "Therapist Duties" to have some fun

Jamil

Certified Caregiver

Like, he's dealing with Kalim's bullshit and is overprotective on a good day

So yes, he uses you as a free therapy service some days

But he still adores you

If you aren't taking care of yourself? Too bad, Jamil will hypnotize you to make you commit self-care actions

No, not sewerslide that is not self-care

He is watching you like a hawk now when you're around him and Kalim

You better be eating, have showered, brushed your teeth and hair if it's long

Also, WATER!!! He will make you hydrate no matter how stubborn you try to be

Kalim

Kalim is...well, he's a dunce

He couldn't pick up on Jamil's mental health after years of living with him, he is not picking up on yours until you're nearly at the breaking point

He just thinks it's nice that you let your friends vent to you even when you aren't social

It takes Jamil sitting him down and running through a list of your issues that it get's through to Kalim that you need help

And Kalim? He's never been one to hold back

You get the best Therapist and he is hovering over you

Even if it makes you feel worse, he is coddling you because you deserve everything in his opinion

It'll honestly take a lot to get Kalim to stop trying to care for you. He absolutely adores you and wants the best for you.

#twst #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #deuce spade #deuce spade x reader #kalim al asim #kalim al asim x reader

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littlemisspascal · 2 months

Text

Rockford & Roan Pt. 8

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: The idea of it, of this outing being classified as something more than just two roommates getting breakfast, isn’t entirely unappealing to ponder. There’s actually a tiny bit of a thrill unfurling in your stomach.

Rating: T. Heed the warnings y'all!

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, crime-solving, Princess Bride reference

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair

Author Note: Thank you always for the kind support💗

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Series Masterlist

The Breakfast

Rockford slips into the kitchen the next morning while you’re preparing Banjo’s food. The little mutt barely turns his head to acknowledge the man, his hunger outweighing his love of ear scritches. Your roommate’s freshly showered, curls fluffed up and slightly damp, wearing a casual waistcoat over his white button up and a pair of dark pants. He looks like a college professor, you think, setting the pet bowl on the floor for Banjo to dig into with relish. All Rockford needs are some elbow patches and he’d fit right in amongst the Ivy League elites.

He’d left last night shortly after you’d retired to bed. Like usual he didn’t stop to tell you his midnight plans, and also like usual his absence dwindled in your thoughts right up until sleep washed over you. Where does he go? What does he do? If only you could take a magnifying glass to the entire city, look for a trail or clues to follow. Knowing Rockford though, he’s too smart to leave traces behind. No, he can be a mere shadow of a human just like his brother.

“There’s a nice breakfast spot about a five minute walk from here.”

With your head half inside the fridge staring at a near-expired carton of milk, it takes a beat for you to realize the comment was directed at you. You shut the fridge door, turning to find Rockford staring at you expectantly.

“Isn’t Inspector Dorrance coming over to pick up the suitcase?” you ask, although you have to admit, the idea of a stack of pancakes drowning in syrup sounds extremely appetizing to your empty stomach.

“Keziah may have been able to successfully substitute cigarettes with candy, but nothing on earth will ever replace his love of coffee.” Rockford sounds more amused than annoyed at the fact.“It’ll be several cups before his soonest convenience delivers him to our doorstep.”

“Well, in that case,” a grin grows on your face, “breakfast sounds wonderful.”

Stacked and Served is a bustling hive of activity when you and Rockford arrive, full of tasty smells and Fox Leap citizens eagerly tucking into their food. If dogs had been allowed, Banjo would’ve levitated off the floor due to the speed of his wagging tail. You’ll have to make it up to him when you return home with lots of belly rubs.

The interior is earthy colors, complementing shades of blues and browns, with a wooden bar lined with stools of happy customers chatting and dining. Throughout the restaurant are oversized, yet cozy-looking chairs arranged around tables, all occupied except for one marked with a reserved sign. It’s positioned next to the front window looking out at the busy city street, all walks of life beginning their days, some strolling along the sidewalks while others shout for cabs.

Before matching with Rockford, you tended to avoid crowded places like this. All these people, all their shades of emotions, would have brought down an avalanche upon your empathy, overwhelming and suffocating. With the stability of the bond to rely on, their feelings are still detectable along the edges of your mind-gift, but no longer sharp and grating. Muffled like you’ve put on headphones. Ignorable white noise unless you choose to tune in.

Rockford makes a deadline for the reserved table immediately, gesturing for you to take the window seat before he claims the lone dark blue chair for himself. You slowly sit down, eyes flicking between your match and the sign, wondering if he’s going to acknowledge it, when a man in a flour-stained apron and marked with at least a dozen tattoos in thick black lines along his forearms steps up beside the table with a warm, delighted grin.

“Rocky,” he greets, voice deep as a canyon and booming over the encompassing chatter. The two men shake hands, clearly familiar with one another, and then you’re being given a menu that had been tucked under the man’s arm. “And you must be Roanie, yeah? Keziah said you were pretty, but seriously you’re way too gorgeous for this asshole. Do me a favor and let me know if you ever catch Kez with a smoke, alright? He’s a sneaky bastard when he wants to be and usually I’d find that hot as hell, but nothing’s attractive about cancer sticks. I’ll staple ‘em to his balls if he ever touches those damn things again.”

You blink. Once. Twice. “Um.”

The man stares back at you for a moment, blue eyes taking in your awkwardness. Then he slowly turns to Rockford, lips pursing into an unimpressed line. “You didn’t tell her who I am, did you.”

There’s no inflection in his voice. Definitely no question mark at the end.

“Even if I had, it wouldn’t change the fact you have a habit of running your mouth and making terrible first impressions,” Rockford replies, but his gaze is focused outside the cafe, sweeping the streets in search of something.

He earns a well-aimed slap to the back of his head as a result. You wince in sympathy, feeling the sharp pop of pain in sync with your match who rubs at the spot tenderly.

“Lest you forget, Rocky, I’m the one who makes your food here. Don’t tempt me to spit–”

“So,” you pipe up, fumbling for a quick way to diffuse some of the brewing tension before it gives you a headache. “How long have you worked here…um.” It belatedly occurs to you that you’ve still yet to learn his name.

The tattooed-man takes mercy on you and offers a beaming smile just as warm as the one he’d initially approached with. Must’ve mastered it working in the food industry, you reckon. Or maybe warm and sunny is his natural temperament.

“Elio. And I’ve owned the place for…” he idly scratches the underside of his jaw, and there’s another flour stain there on the tendon of his neck, “oh just about three years now almost. It became mine after dear old Rocky here helped me prove to the police my old boss was skimming the cash register. Our paths should’ve split after that except then he went and introduced me to the love of my life.” His smile changes at the corners. Softens. A feeling sugary sweet and wispy flutters above your empathy, and you don’t need to bring it into focus to know it’s love.

“Introduce is a strong word,” Rockford interjects wryly. “As I recall, you saw him across the room and immediately lit up like a glow stick. I was then forced to explain to Kez you weren’t a criminal trying to escape incarceration by blinding the entire force.”

“Still ended up in handcuffs later that night.” Elio winks, but it’s the teasing, faint pulse of glowing skin that surprises you more. Reminds you of fireflies you used to see in fields back in your hometown.

“On that appetizing note,” Rockford grimaces, but there’s nothing but amusement coloring his mood, “think you could whip us up two stacks of your specialty pancakes? It’s Roan’s first time here.”

“Oh, a first timer! My favorite kind of customer!” Elio presses a hand to his chest, looking absolutely thrilled at the news. He steals the unread menu back from your hand quicker than you can process. “Leave the food to me. And I’ll see if I can find a candle or something for the table–make this date a little more romantic.”

All you can do is sputter at that, choking on your own spit as the man scurries away.

Date?

This isn’t–

You didn’t think–

No. No way. You fiddle with the silverware, thoughts spinning, unable to bring yourself to look at your match quite yet. A quick check of Rockford’s mood reveals he’s unruffled by the remark, not even the faintest blip resembling the line of exclamation marks running through your head. Does that mean you’re overreacting? Underreacting?

If this really was a date, you would like to think you’d know that with absolute, 100% certainty. Surely you’re not that oblivious, or so you tell yourself, at least. So, with that in mind, Elio was mistaken with his labeling. This is definitely not a date.

Still. The idea of it, of this outing being classified as something more than just two roommates getting breakfast, isn’t entirely unappealing to ponder. There’s actually a tiny bit of a thrill unfurling in your stomach.

Or that could just be hunger pangs.

Definitely plausible.and a lot less complicated to analyze.

You give your head a little shake, finally summoning the nerve to glance at Rockford. Except, low and behold, he’s looking out the window. Again. Not out of avoidance of your attention, no, you can tell by the roaming of his eyes taking note of every passing figure he’s keenly searching for something out there he wants to find real bad.

Your patience runs out five minutes later after another waiter has dropped off a pot of coffee and a glass bottle of water for the table.

“What are you looking for?” you ask, pouring yourself a drink and taking a sip.

“We know now our killer abducts his villains,” Rockford answers without preamble. “He drives them to secluded, private spots where they swallow the cyanide. But there’s been no reports of abductions, no witnesses of suspicious behavior, which suggests the victims go with him willingly. They don’t put up a fight.”

“Maybe he’s got a weapon?” you suggest, resting your chin on your knuckles. “Tells them if they scream he’ll shoot?”

“Perhaps,” is his preoccupied mumble, still looking outside, lost in his head.

Outside, the street is still full of commotion. A gray-headed businessman carries his briefcase in one hand and the morning paper in the other. Farther down the way, a pair of women point at something in one of the antique shop windows. Everybody’s got places to be, things to do. Oblivious to the dangerous predator skulking about.

Goosebumps rise up along your arms, like ice has found a way under your skin, imagining the killer out there right now. Hidden in plain sight, watching the goings-on. Hunting their next victim.

The pot of coffee goes cold. Untouched.

The Reason

Elio’s whistling when he brings the pancake stacks to the table. They’re golden, fluffy, and fucking huge, almost as round as the whole plate with a fat square of butter on top. He brings a candle with him too, which you studiously ignore, focusing instead on cutting off a small bite with your fork and dipping it in a cup of syrup.

“Ohmygod,” you utter around your mouthful, manners forgotten in the wake of tasting pure deliciousness. Elio looks very pleased with him, puffing out his chest as you all but inhale another bite. “It’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” Elio says, eyes crinkling. “Wanna know the secret ingredient? Self-confidence in oneself.”

“More like an extra helping of cinnamon sprinkled in,” Rockford says, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Oh hush!” Elio swats at his arm without heat, clearly holding back a chuckle. “Enjoy the food guys. On the house.”

You spare a moment to swallow and thank him properly before he leaves. These pancakes really just might be the best thing you’ve ever eaten in your whole life, your mother’s famous triple chocolate cake officially bumped to second place.

Your fork scrapes against the plate as you cut off another bite-sized piece to soak in the syrup. Tastes like rich maple on your tongue, a faint hint of vanilla when you lick your lips. You glance at Rockford, wondering if he’s going to ignore the food the same as he did the coffee, but you watch as the man rolls up one of the pancakes like one would a poster or a rug, delicate and precise. Three bites, that’s all it takes. Three bites to devour the entire fucking thing without even a single drop of syrup.

“Something on your mind, Roan?” he wonders, wiping at his mouth with a napkin.

Blinking out of your mildly horrified daze, you start to shake your head no, but stop yourself. Truth is there is something on your mind. And it’s not the efficient way he consumes pancakes or where in the city the killer will strike next.

“You don’t sleep at home.” It feels a little strange (and a little scary), to voice the concern that’s been a thorn ingrained in your thoughts since the first week you moved to 445D Albatross Lane. Hard to say if it was the change of scenery or good food that gave you the needed boost of confidence to finally bring it up. Perhaps it was both.

Rockford frowns, initial surprise shifting into a narrow-eyed wariness. There’s a change in his posture too, a subtle straightening of his spine you only notice because you’re watching him intently. “You noticed that, huh?”

“It’s kind of hard not to,” you admit with a small shrug. “I feel the absence of your emotions when you leave at night. You also don’t ever nap around the apartment either.”

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while.” It’s an observation, not a question.

“Yes,” you answer slowly, uncomfortably aware of the sudden sensation of walking on thin-ice. “I’ve been worried. Thought maybe…” You bite the inside of your cheek, warring with yourself over how much to reveal, but you’ve already come this far might as well take it to the finish line, “I thought maybe you didn’t trust me enough to fall asleep when I’m nearby.”

God, it sounds so stupid said out loud, doesn’t it?

Sure enough, Rockford is as blunt as ever when he confirms, “That’s total bullshit. We share a home, Roan. Of course I trust you.”

“Then where do you go at night?” You look at him, trying to understand if it’s not about trust then what is it about? “Do you have a secret girlfriend I don’t know about?”

That earns you a sharp bark of laughter, head thrown back and dimples out in full force. “A girlfriend? No. Not really my area.”

Oh.

A short pause follows, reassembling your thoughts.

“Okay,” you say, chewing your bottom lip. “So, do you have a secret boyfriend then?”

Rockford arches an eyebrow, and it’s deliberate, you can tell it is, the way he nudges your empathy. Judgy and bemused all at once.

“It’s totally fine if you do.” You hold up your hands, fork aimed at the ceiling, a defensive gesture that has Rockford’s other eyebrow rising to join the other, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“I know it’s fine.”

“So you do have a boyfriend then?”

“No, Roan.” He shakes his head, a low grumble. “I don’t have anybody. Not looking for anybody either. Relationships like that, they’re a distraction to my work.”

That settles it then, you realize with a faint sinking feeling. Definitely not a date.

“But what about when the work’s over?” you ask softly.

“The work’s never over.”

You frown, something awfully painful pinching in the center of your chest when his emotions don’t waver. He honestly believes that notion, as true a fact as water is wet. “Alright,” you murmur, reluctantly deciding not to push the subject further. “Explain it to me, please. Why don’t you sleep at home?”

“Because I can’t,” is Rockford’s succinct response doing absolutely nothing to clear up your confusion. “My gift won’t let me.”

Your fork slips from your fingers with a clatter, tongue tripping over words, “Wh-what? How does that even–? People die if they don’t sleep.”

He wags a finger in the air. “That’s actually incredibly rare–”

“Rockford.”

“My brain is in a constant state of perception, absorbing information from my senses and my environment,” your match tries to explain, his eyes settling on the coffee pot with a disgruntled glare like it’s personally offensive. “I can’t fall asleep like a regular person. Getting the rest I need requires locking myself in a sensory deprivation tank. There’s a health center with one not far from our apartment. I've been going there for years.”

“That’s where you go every night?” you ask, eyes widening in surprise.

Rockford toys with his napkin, avoiding your gaze. “No. Not always,” he admits, sheepishness creeping into his voice, clouding his aura. “I really do have chronic insomnia, that wasn’t a lie. Sometimes I go to the police station, point out the flaws in their filing system. Or during exam period, I spend the night at Rosasharn’s when she’s up to her eyeballs grading papers to keep her company. Usually though I set myself up at one of the dozens of twenty-four hour cafes in the city with my laptop or a good book and hang out until sunrise.”

“You…” You blink at him, completely thrown for a loop. “Seriously, you'd rather spend the night at a twenty-four hour cafe than your own home? Good lord, Rockford, why?”

“You deserve to sleep peacefully, Roan. And you can't do that with my emotions keeping you awake,” he answers. His voice is soft, yet the words slice through you all the same, boring straight into your heart.

The reason for his leaving is the same reason Rockford had separated himself from you at the crime scene. Your empathy is deeply attuned to the ebbs and flows of his emotions, the bond growing stronger with each day he allows you full, unhindered access to his mind. Dozing for a half hour on the couch in his presence is one thing, when the afternoon sunlight’s bathing the living room in streaks of gold and your empathy keeps watch. Operating on its own battery. A side effect of spending too much time behind enemy lines.

Nights are different. The battery must recharge, weary from the day’s strain of processing, filtering, blocking on loop, or else risk incurring migraines. But in the darkness, the thin line between dream and reality becomes blurred, sometimes indistinguishably so. In the service, surrounded by fellow soldiers witnessing the same horror and traumas, nightmares were commonplace. Creeping out of their mindscapes into your own, twisted horror scenes absorbed by your psyche as if it were a sponge soaking up water.

Worse were the nights your nightmares unintentionally became theirs.

You had tried to contain your empathy on nights where there was blood in your hair, under your nails, hell, you could taste it on your teeth. Chain your mind-gift up in a corner same as a mad dog. Dr. Odair hadn’t been pleased when you told her, dropping her perfect mask of poise and professionalism to level you with a look. She told you tactics like that caused unseen damage, a tipped over domino in the chain reaction leading to the necessity of matching to prevent your own self-destruction.

Shutting off your empathy isn’t a healthy solution, and neither is Rockford blocking you from feeling his emotions. Yesterday’s misunderstanding proved how much you both rely on the bond’s stability. To cut it off night after night…it feels dangerous even contemplating it, heart lodged in your throat.

Doesn’t come close to the guilt pressing down on your rib cage though, threatening to crush you from the inside out. Rockford’s been putting your needs first, uncaring that doing so means being driven out of his own home. And he’s been doing it every night all because of your specific mind-gift.

“It’s ok,” Rockford says, a steadiness to his voice you’re envious of, and he reaches out his hand across the table towards your own. You don’t know if it’s his perception that tells him you’ll shatter under his gentle touch or if you’re subconsciously broadcasting your tumult, but either way something makes him stop before he makes contact. “I don’t mind. Honestly.”

There’s something magnetic about the mere centimeters of space separating your fingertips from his, unable to tear away your stare. “You should,” your voice miraculously doesn’t tremble like a leaf, “it isn’t fair.”

All Rockford has to reply to that is, “Life isn’t fair, Roan. It’s just fairer than death, that’s all.”

For a second time you feel his unwavering belief in his own words. And you could leave it be, let the moment pass. Nothing changes if nothing changes, your mother used to always say.

Rockford starts to pull back his hand, only for you to latch onto his wrist. Your grip isn’t tight, you both know he can easily slip free if he wants to.

You both know he doesn’t.

“I’ll find a way.”

He blinks, the slightest tilt of his head.

“I’ll find a way so you can stay,” you vow. "Everything will work out one way or another."

And Rockford smiles, lopsided and dimpled, warmth pressing against your empathy expressing more gratitude than speaking out loud could ever manage.

“Better finish your breakfast,” he says, returning to the art of pancake rolling, ignoring the disturbed wrinkling of your nose at him. “You’ll break Elio’s heart if you don’t clean your plate.”

#tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x ofc #tim rockford fanfiction #my fic #pedrostories

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 2 years

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Angst 3, 10, 19, 22, 28 & 34 Famous H starts getting distant, cold and mean and everyone around them notices... while y/n is being attacked by the media and fans and he doesn't give af, she feels like everything is her fault and that kind of life ain't for her. Ps: Please make me cryyy, I need it, tysm

Hello friend! I'm not taking requests ATM so I'm not sure which prompt list you were looking at! But I hope it's this one I've just found through my old blurbs! But I truly hope you are feeling better soon! Sending you all the love and comfort <3 I hope this one shot hits the spot!

WC: 3.5k

Y/N just knew that there was more going with Harry than just stress from being busy, as he would tell her lately. Yes, he had a rather eventful year with tour and films and promos, but he was being absolutely frigid with her. Y/N had been with pretty awful partners in her past and they had wrecked her self-esteem and sense of worth. Harry had been someone who had started to make her feel worthy and strong and worth the effort and it was easy to fall in love with him and trust him, so seeing the way he was acting towards her now made her self-doubt and loathing far worse than before. The most painful part of it all was that even if the problem was on his end of things, which she knew it was, she felt completely culpable for it all.

It made sense though. She was always the common denominator when it came the issues. She could never seem to get it right and after seeing things slowly start to go to shit with Harry no one couldn’t convince Y/N that the one who was at fault was her. She was damaged goods, she was broken, she was unworthy of someone so full of light. Maybe she deserved the way he was icing her out and the way that everyone seemed to be turning away from her. She felt her stomach twisting with hurt and a lump forming in her throat as she looked through the comment section on her Instagram.

Harry looks so miserable with Y/N! I hope he dumps her.

H looks so happy and free when she isn’t at his shows! Like he’s having way more fun and interacting with the fans.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again… Y/N is Harry’s ugliest girlfriend LOL Sorry not sorry!

You’re such a try-hard! You literally copy everything H does for attention. Get a fucking life.

Obviously Y/N & Harry are a PR stunt! He would never get with someone that ugly LMAO

She looks like a stuck up bitch. So much for TPWK

Nobody likes you Y/N! Maybe you should just kill yourself…

Her eyes were welling up as she read the cruel words. People could be so horrible for no apparent reason. She hadn’t been OK for a while now, her mental health was suffering as people just tore her apart. The fans and the media. She wasn’t sure at what point she became the focus of people’s attention in that capacity but she wanted it all to stop. It had gotten to the point where even Jeff had pulled her aside to see if she was OK and she had mustered up the coolest smile she could and confirmed that she was fine. He didn’t seem to buy it, but he also didn’t seem to push it either and after that he didn’t ask again. She heard some foot steps approaching the hotel room and she wiped at her eyes quickly and locked her phone before switching on the TV. Soon enough the door was opening and in stepped Harry, all sweaty from his work out as he removed his ear phones.

“How was it?” She asked genuinely.

“Fine. Kinda dingy, lots of the equipment was missing.” He mumbled as he turned away from her to strip off his shirt while toeing off his sneakers.

“Oh, bummer.”

“Yeah.” He responded, “Are you gonna come to the stadium with me today?” He asked and she bit her lip for a second. The words from the comments lighting up in her head and she felt unsure.

“Do you want me to come?” She asked another question in response to his question and he sighed audibly.

“That’s not…” he paused, “Just do what you want.” He said, clearly frustrated at her response and she felt a lump in her throat.

“Sorry for upsetting you. I just don’t want to get in the way or be handful or something.” She elaborated and he turned towards her and sighed.

“Then why did you come?” He asked her and that question was like a kick to her stomach. The hurt radiated from the depths of her chest to her fingertips.

“I-”

“You’re the one who asked if you were able to come on tour with me and for what? You don’t even come to the shows! You just sit here all day watching TV on your own!” He defended his statement and she frowned, “It costs money, you know?” He said and that made her heart lurch even more, “Every date you’re here for we pay for extra food for you and I get a bigger room and shit. You don’t have to come to tours if you’re just gonna make it a miserable time for yourself and everyone else.” He said and she felt a tear slip down her cheek as he said that and she glanced down at her hands folder in her lap. That’s all she was… wasted money? Wow. It’s not that she didn’t want to be there, she definitely wanted to but the horrible things people would post about her were breaking her down from the inside out and as much as she wanted to be there to support him physically she felt it was unfair to her, she had done absolutely nothing to deserve the treatment she received. Harry saw as a few more tears slipped down her cheeks silently and sighed before approaching her.

“Hey.” He said softly as he grabbed her hand, “Look at me.” He beckoned and she glanced up at him, “Sorry, that came out wrong.” He said and she sniffled and shook her head.

“S’fine.” She offered a half smile and that seemed to appease him enough. However, it wasn’t fine, not in the slightest.

“I do want you to come tonight, by the way.” He said to her.

“OK, I’ll start getting ready.” She promised and he smiled before hurrying off to the shower.

Everyone in the band seemed to be happy she had come along and greeted her with so much warmth and kindness. Harry had just disappeared from her, as she expected. And honestly, she was doing what she would’ve done at the hotel while they sound checked - just sat there for several hours watching TV in a general area wearing a big, fat frown. Harry was in his dressing room getting fitted, he didn’t bother inviting her over or anything. She was there for a while and then got this strange feeling that someone was watching her and when she turned around she saw one of the venue’s staff member’s sneaking a video of her and then turned quickly to pretend to be busy stocking up a fridge. She really wanted to let it go, but she could already see the headlines of how she was unsupportive and didn’t want to be there anyway. She bit her lip nervously before standing.

“Ummm, excuse me?” She said to the young woman who then turned, looking at her with this feigned innocent expression.

“Yes?”

“I don’t… mean to be…” she fumbled on her words, “I ummm, I saw you taking a video of me and I would really appreciate it if you could delete it. Backstage is supposed to be camera free apart from the tour photographer and videographer. You crossed a line and on top of that, I didn’t consent to be filmed by you.” She said nervously and the girl looked offended with her.

“I wasn’t filming you.” She said with a straight face and Y/N nibbled on her lip nervously.

“OK, sorry.” She nodded and shrugged, “Maybe I just saw wrong. But it looked like you were filming and if it were someone else who saw this you could get in a lot of trouble. So just be a little more mindful so that you don’t get in any kind of problems.” She warned with a polite smile. The girl was obviously lying and she didn’t plan on telling Jeff or anything, maybe Harry after the show, but she didn’t want to get the girl’s phone confiscated or anything.

“Sure.” She said curtly before offering a fake smile and walking off. Y/N sighed and headed back to the couch.

She sat there for a couple hours until it was time for dinner and everyone was heading back to eat. She chatted with the girls and Mitch while Harry floated around. When it came time for Sarah to eat she grabbed the baby and played with him to allow her and Mitch the chance to settle down for a bit. She seemed very engrossed in that and trying to avoid Harry, it gave Sarah an odd feeling and she sat beside Y/N.

“It’s really nice to have you back.” Sarah said with a smile.

“Thanks, it’s nice to be here.” Y/N said and Sarah saw that her smile hardly even reached her eyes.

“Have you been doing OK?” She asked and Y/N nodded.

“Yeah, traveling really gets to me though.” She explained. It was odd for Sarah that Y/N was being so vague with her. They had a pretty good relationship, she just seemed so unlike herself and it was worrisome.

“You can tell me to bugger off if I’m being too nosy, but how are you and H doing?” She asked and Y/N focused her attention on the baby.

“S’alright… I mean he’s busy and tired from the touring and the traveling, and well you know how he sleeps for ages…” she said with a smile and Sarah giggled and nodded.

“It just… seems like you lot aren’t really seeing eye to eye.” She elaborated.

“Oh, definitely not today.” She huffed, “We had a bit of a tiff before heading out.” She explained and then proceeded to share with Sarah what had happened.

“Proper prick, he was.” Sarah scoffed and Y/N sighed, “I mean, yeah, but I have been a bit of a downer and just… yeah.” She accepted.

“Ummm, no. If anything that warrants him treating you far nicer than that.” Sarah expressed and she sighed, trying not to cry as Sarah validated everything she had felt deep inside, “Honestly, how’ve you been doing? I know that this can’t always be easy.” She expressed and Y/N sighed shakily.

“Honestly… it’s been rough.” She confessed, “I don’t know why, but all of a sudden the fans and the media just turned on me from one day to the next. They’re just being so cruel and making up rumors and telling me to die and I know that I should ignore it, but it just gets so loud sometimes.” She whispered painfully, tearing her attention from the baby to Sarah who was looking at her with soft eyes.

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“People can be really cruel and it’s just been getting to me, I need to grow some thick skin or something…but lately I just… I can’t stop crying.” She disclosed sadly, “I don’t want to come around to the shows and bring gloom and doom, you know.” She sniffled.

“Oh, Y/N.” Sarah cooed and Y/N cleared her throat and blinked away the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, “Have you shared that with H?”

“Nah… we had that conversation at the start of things. He seems to get a bit frustrated when I willingly wade into it all so if you don’t mind, let's just keep that between us.” She said softly and Sarah nodded, but it made her feel uneasy to hear that. “Earlier today, when you guys were sound checking one of the venue staff was recording me back here… I asked her to delete it and she swore she wasn’t recording me, but I mean…”

“Yeah, we’re kind of trained to know these things.” Sarah said.

“Right. And I didn’t want to get her un trouble, so I apologized in case I had imagined it, but let her know to be cautious of bringing out her phone backstage because she could get I trouble. And now, I don’t doubt there’ll be some rumors about me being rude to fans or something in a few days…” she huffed in irritation.

“God…you should really tell Harry.”

“I don’t want to make waves and to get her in trouble. It’ll make things worse.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Sarah said, “But if you ever feel unsafe or threatened like that again please say something. It’s not allowed for a reason. OK?” Y/N nodded.

As always, Harry had done a marvelous job at his show and Y/N couldn’t have been more proud of him. Despite how hurt she felt by him from earlier in the day she couldn’t help but smile and kiss his sweaty forehead as he scooched into the car waiting to zip them away from the venue right after he ran offstage.

“You did so good, baby!”

“Don’t regret coming out, do you?” He chuckled and she shook her head and he grinned. They were pretty silent on the ride back after that little exchange and she pulled out her phone to kill a little time.

But the first thing that greeted her were shared posts from some of her friends. She felt her stomach drop, she knew what this would be about. She looked at the screen shots of the story recounting how rude she had been to the staff member back stage. There was a picture of her looking miserable on her own on the couch with a caption of how everyone was hanging out in another room and no one wanted to interact with her. Then there was a bit about her threatening to get the girl fired for allegedly filming her and other completely made up things that made Y/N want to scream. She felt her eyes start to well up as the vehicle came to a stop in front of the hotel, there were already fans lined up at the entrance and Y/N took a deep breath, she didn’t want to cry in front of them. Harry slipped out first, resulting in a cheer erupting from the fans and screams of his name. He extended his hand to help her out and she grabbed it to plant her feet on the ground and he let go and hurried off, thinking she was right on his heels, but he was a few steps ahead of her. However, as soon as she was within the fans’ line of sight she heard a few boos. That started to encourage some heckles of names and other insults. And then she felt something hard hit her arm and she looked down to see a cracker of sorts and she frowned.

“Ignore them.” He said to her, barely audible over the commotion.

“You’re a bitch!” Someone shouted and she felt her eyes start to well up.

“Harry deserves better!” Someone else heckled and she started to hurry towards him. She felt a few more things bouncing off of her and then suddenly she gasped as a far heavier object was making impact with the side of her head and the she just felt soaked. She glanced down to see a Starbucks drink all over her top and she felt it also dripping down the side of her face.

“Harry!” She shrieked and he turned back and gasped from the shock. She immediately started to cry upon the absolute humiliation of this. She expected him to at least say something, but he didn’t address it at all.

“Fuck, come on.” He mumbled to her and reached for her hand and pulled her inside swiftly. She only cried as they rode up to their hotel room and he squeezed her hand in reassurance. She felt worthless and stupid and she was completely speechless that he didn’t say anything to the fans out there about their abusive behavior. She was so disappointed in him and it seemed to complete break her as they stood there in silence. She moved her hand out of his as soon as the elevator opened and she rushed down the hall to their room.

“Y/N!” She didn’t respond as she keyed her way into the room, not bothering to hold the door open for him, causing him to rush in before it closed on him, “Hey, baby.” He said as she grabbed her toiletry bag from her suitcase and she didn’t respond, “Y/N!” He practically shouted at her only to be met with silence as hot tears continued to stream down her cheeks and then she hurried into the bathroom and slammed the door loudly. Harry hurried over to the door, about to knock on it when he heard the shower come on and then he heard the shower door shut after a few moments and then he just heard her start to sob. It made his insides twist up horribly as he heard her cries.

He knew she’d been having a rough time, but so had he. He didn’t feel like he needed to defend his relationship or justify it to people who really had no idea what he was truly like. He felt that if he talked about what had been happening he would just be fueling the fire and that was the last thing he wanted to do. And so he waited, but once her shower hit the 30 minute mark he was dozing off. Harry woke up to Y/N pulling on a crewneck over her wet hair. He squinted in the light of the room and groaned groggily before stretching a bit.

“Baby.” He mumbled and when she didn’t answer he sat up and he felt his insides sink uncomfortably when he saw that she was fully dressed and packed up, “Baby, where are you going?” He shot up and she sniffled and shook her head.

“I can’t do this anymore, Harry.” She whispered painfully.

“Tour?” He asked and she whimpered through her tears and shook her head.

“Us. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Baby, don’t say that! It’s just some stupid fans!”

“It’s not though! They all fucking hate me and it seems like you do too! You didn’t even defend me after they fucking hurt me!” She accused, “You just sit there and let it happen! I can’t believe you did this to me!” She cried and he pouted.

“What do you want me to say? What could I have even done to fix that after it had been done already?!” He questioned defensively.

“Your lack of involvement led up to this moment, Harry. You’ve been icing me out for months and I don’t buy the stressed and tired excuse anymore! We’re all stressed and we’re all tired! Especially me! For months now I have been cyber-bullied and threatened and harassed and told to kill myself! I am falling apart and you don’t even seem to give a shit and it fucking hurts! It hurts when the person you love couldn’t even be arsed with defending you!”

“It just makes it worse if I say something, Y/N!”

“Maybe, but it reassures me that you care about me and my feelings! You know what I’ve been through and you know that I like to feel reassured! This, whatever the fuck we are, I never wanted this.” She hiccuped through her tears, “It’s over.” She wept and Harry frowned.

“Y/N-”

“I can’t anymore, H. I can’t.” She gasped through her tears, “I hate how I feel when I’m with you. I hate it so much!” She admitted and that just about tore him apart. He felt absolutely gutted as the words replayed over and over in his mind.

“You’re ending this over some stupid fans?” He asked incredulously and completely overcome with hurt.

“Yes, so please get out of my way, I want to go.” She persisted and his face morphed from one of disappointment and disbelief to one of anger.

“You’re fucking someone else, aren’t you?” He questioned.

“No, what the fuck?”

“Oh please, why else would you just dump me this way? You’re incredible, didn’t take you long to move on from me, huh?” He asked and she scoffed.

“Harry, no! This isn’t about any other man! It’s about you and the fans and their attitude towards me.”

“Sure fucking thing, Y/N… sure fucking thing.” He countered and she shook her head through her tears.

“You are absolutely unbelievable and I can’t believe I ever fell for you.” She cried as she pushed past him to the hotel room door. He rushed after her as she wheeled her suitcase down the corridor and to the elevator and pressing the down arrow.

“Y/N, you can’t seriously be ending our relationship over this fucking prank! Please.” He begged, grabbing her hand and she frowned.

“Please let me go, Harry.” She whispered shakily.

“Baby, no.” he whimpered and she sighed.

“Let me the fuck out of your hold or I will scream.” She warned and he sniffled as he reluctantly let her go.

“You’re coming back, right?”

“No, save yourself some fucking money without me here anyway.” She threw back what he had said to her earlier.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I wasn’t-”

“Stay the fuck away from me, Harry. I mean it.” She warned as the doors slid open.

“Y/N, baby, please-” he whimpered and she sighed sadly.

“Goodbye, Harry.”

Read Part 2 here!

#0nlythrowharrybeaux #harry styles angst #harry styles #writing #harry styles fan fic #angst

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