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itsswritten · 2 months

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wings

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader, IC (platonic) x reader

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: 18+, smut, P in V, lots of fluff

Summary: Who would've thought that your found family would be so captivated by your hidden wings? As they reminisce about their first glimpses of your ethereal secret, you realise just how cherished and adored you truly are.

"I distinctly remember," Mor began, her voice filled with excitement, drawing not only your attention from the comforting cocoon of Azriel's arms, but also the rooms. She sat opposite you, a slight mischief twinkling in her eyes as she leaned forward.

You were all nestled in one of the many living rooms at the House of Wind.

Under the flickering faelight, you sat beside Azriel– your mate. His large presence ever the comfort, as he enveloped you in his arms. His fingers, tracing intricate patterns through your hair, each touch sending ripples of relaxation through your body.

If it weren't for the loudness of your friends and family, their remarks not failing to echo through the room, Azriel’s touch alone could have lulled you into a blissful slumber.

"It was a surprise for sure," Feyre chimed in, a playful smirk dancing across her lips as she glanced over at your slightly confused expression. Sensing your distraction, Azriel reluctantly released his hold on you, joining the conversation with a gentle touch of his hand settling on the small of your back.

"My experience was quite a shock," Cassian added with a grin.

“Mine, I have to say is one I’d like to forget” Rhys grimaced as Feyre gave him an annoyed knowing look.

Amren, rolled her eyes at her family's theatrics. "You all make such a big deal out of everything," she remarked, her tone dry.

Your brows furrowed as you pieced together the fragments of the conversation, realisation dawning as Mor's words began to paint a vivid picture.

The topic of discussion? The first time they laid eyes on your beautiful wings.

𓇢𓆸

Mor, Feyre and Nesta.

It was one of Feyre’s first nights out since welcoming Nyx into the world; she’d been dying for a night off. Craving the simple joys of the company of her girlfriends. Sensing her desperation for a night to let loose, you, Mor, and Nesta had taken it upon yourselves to orchestrate the perfect girls night out for your High Lady.

The night quickly unfolded into a flurry of laughter and dancing. Drinks were spilled, songs were sung. Rita’s being your chosen sanctuary for the night. You all let yourselves get lost in the music and infectious energy of the bar. Drinks were flowing freely, and the hours quickly slipped away like grains of sand in an hourglass.

It wasn’t until the sun had started to rise again that you all quickly realised you needed to get home. You’re not sure how in their drunken states, but Mor and Feyre had successfully managed to winnow you all back to River House, all collapsing in a giggling heap in the foyer.

A fit of laughter overtook the group as you stumbled and pushed, trying to untangle yourselves from one another. You managed to push yourself onto unsteady feet, only to trip over Nesta’s dress and stumble back onto Mor. With your balance faltering, a shimmer of magic danced through the air as your wings burst forth, a kaleidoscope of iridescent pink hues unfurling into the air. Your wings, delicate and light, burst with specs of fairy dust that glowed around you.

The room fell silent, the trio frozen in awe at the sight before them. Then, like a spell breaking, laughter bubbled forth, filling the space with joyous echoes. Mor's eyes sparkled with delight as she pulled you into an embrace, Feyre's lips curled into a grin, and even Nesta couldn't help but crack a smile.

"You sneaky thing," Mor teased, reaching out to brush her fingers against the delicate wings "Keeping such beauty hidden away."

“I bet Azriel loves keeping this side of you to himself,” Nesta purred, her voice laced with mischief as something provocative glinted in her eyes.

You responded with a playful stick-out of your tongue at Nesta, before turning your attention to Mor and Feyre, who were now a pair of mesmerised females, giggling like children as they reached out to touch this new part of their friend they had never seen before.

They had always known you had wings, from the type of fae you were, but you had always kept them hidden and they never dared to ask for you to reveal them.

"Hands off!" you exclaimed, your voice a blend of amusement and mock outrage as you swatted and smacked at their approaching fingers, the sound of laughter echoing through the halls.

Of course, they respectfully obeyed your wishes, but there was a warmth that filled their chests as you all stumbled arms wrapped around one another through the house, enjoying a new part of their friend that had been revealed.

𓇢𓆸

Cassian.

Cassian's mischievous streak knew no bounds, especially when it came to playing pranks on you. He found something undeniably endearing about your reactions, and there was a certain satisfaction when he knew these teasing antics could also annoy Azriel too.

On this particular day, you were busy in the kitchen, practising a cake recipe that Elain had shared with you. Determined to make the perfect cake for Azriel's upcoming birthday, you meticulously measured ingredients, oblivious to the looming presence of your giant friend.

Cassian's eyes twinkled with mischief as he saw his chance to play. With careful grace, he approached, holding his breath before unleashing his voice.

"BOO!" His voice boomed across the room, his figure looming over you with a triumphant grin.

Startled, you spun around in a flurry of flour, heart racing in your chest at the sudden noise. And then, in a moment of surprise, your magic wavered, and your wings unfurled in a burst of ethereal light.

The room fell silent as Cassian's eyes widened in disbelief, laughter fading into awe at the sight before him. "What in the Cauldron," he breathed, barely a whisper, his finger pointing at the delicate appendage. "What are those?"

You fluttered your wings away, annoyance evident in your voice as you retaliated with a playful toss of flour in his direction. "Cassian!" you exclaimed.

"YOU HAVE WINGS!" Cassian's excitement was palpable, his grin spreading from ear to ear.

"Of course I have wings, I'm a fairy," you retorted, arms outstretched in exasperation.

“AZRIEL…YOUR MATE HAS WINGS” he screamed knowing his vibrating voice would find his brother.

Azriel materialised from the shadows, concern evident in his eyes as he approached, brushing away the flour that had settled on your face. His expression shifted to admiration as he took in the sight of your wings shimmering behind you.

"Stop tormenting my mate, Cass," Azriel scolded gently, his protective instincts kicking in as he pulled you into a soft embrace, his lips pressing to the top of your head.

"She has wings!" Cassian exclaimed once more, disbelief colouring his tone. There was a touch of annoyance, as he realised he may have been the only one to not know this about you.

Cassian, like a moth attracted to a light, reached his giant hand out again wanting to get close to the wings that were so unlike his own.

"No touching" Azriel growled, his tone leaving no room for argument. Cassian withdrew his hand, a hint of disappointment flickering across his features as he chewed his lip in an attempt to avoid pouting.

"So does this mean... we can go flying together?" Cassian asked as the revelation came to his mind, excitement bubbling in his voice.

Your brow quirked slightly, a playful glint dancing in your eyes as a small smirk tugged at your lips. Cassian watched you carefully, anticipation written across his features, while Azriel pulled away knowingly.

You nodded slowly, a challenge evident in your gaze. "I’ll race ya," you declared, a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

With that, you pushed past Cassian and darted out of the room, your wings fluttering gracefully as you made your way to the nearest balcony. Without hesitation, you leaped off the edge and into the open air, the wind rushing past you as you soared into the night sky.

Cassian was quick to follow, a grin spreading across his face as he embraced the exhilarating freedom of flight. And not far behind him, Azriel joined the fray, his own wings beating with a steady rhythm as he soared through the air.

Together, you three took to the skies, weaving and darting through the night sky.

𓇢𓆸

Rhys and Nyx.

“And stretch them out…That’s it my boy” Rhys spoke proudly as he watched his son in front of him stretch and extend his wings.

You had found yourself in the company of one of Rhys’ flying lessons, nestled on one of the chaise lounges on the balcony, a book in hand as you half-read, half-watched your High Lord teaching his son how to use his wings.

Nyx, though perhaps still a little too young to fly, was eager to learn. So desperate to be like his father and uncles. With Rhys' guidance, he tentatively stretched out his wings, mimicking his father's movements under the watchful gaze of the night sky.

Rhys, a picture of fatherly pride, stood by Nyx's side, his attention unwavering—until a sudden commotion from inside drew his focus for just a fleeting moment. In that brief lapse of attention, the sudden gust of wind caught Nyx and his perfectly poised wings off guard, sending him teetering towards the edge, a gasp escaping his lips.

Instinct surged through you like a bolt of lightning as your wings burst forth in a flurry of motion, carrying you across the expanse with a grace honed over centuries. With swift precision, you swooped in, catching Nyx in your embrace just as he hovered on the brink of danger.

Wide-eyed and breathless, Nyx looked up at you in awe, his innocent admiration pulling at the strings of your heart. "Pwetty," he murmured, his wonder mirrored in the glow of your own wings, illuminated by the moonlight.

You wasted no time in safely landing back onto the balcony, Rhys rushing to your side with bewilderment and shock etched on his features as a torrent of thank-yous spilled from his lips.

As Nyx pawed at your wings, you carefully fluttered them away from his reach, mindful of their delicate nature. Rhys, after the scare of what had just happened, or almost happened. Took a moment to truly appreciate the sight of your wings— beautiful and light, shimmering a pink glow that was a stark contrast to his own.

His relief was short-lived, however, as it became apparent that Feyre had witnessed the entire ordeal. With a swift scolding, she whisked Nyx from your arms, sending you a silent 'thank you' before retreating inside, cradling her son protectively.

"No flying lessons with Daddy from now on," Feyre scolded directly at her mate before she cooed at her son again. "What would we have done if Auntie Y/N hadn't been here?" she mused aloud, her words lingering in the night air.

Rhys glanced over at you, questions swirling in his head at how you had so quickly been there to rescue their son from danger.

"They may be more delicate than your wings, but I am quicker, swifter, and more agile than you big Illyrian babies will ever be," you teased lightly, your words carrying a hint of playfulness.

"Thank the Cauldron you are," Rhys breathed with a soft smile, his eyes reflecting the depths of his gratitude. You gently patted his shoulder before ushering him inside.

𓇢𓆸

Azriel.

“Gods you are beautiful” Azriel groaned, sweat beading down his temple as he looked at you. Your own eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as you continued to ride your mate.

You had both finally and officially accepted the mating bond, preparing Azriel’s favourite meal as a gesture of your acceptance. He had eagerly devoured the food, the golden thread connecting you both deeper and stronger than you ever thought possible.

You had felt his emotion rippling towards you that night. There was a sense of overwhelming gratitude, a deep-seated appreciation for finally having someone who understood him in ways no one else ever could. There was a feeling of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, knowing that he had found someone who truly accepted him for who he was.

But above all, there was a profound sense of belonging—a feeling of being chosen, not just as a lover, but as a partner, a confidant, a soulmate.

As the night progressed, things escalated quickly. Your bodies entwined in a passionate frenzy. Finally, after months of yearning and longing, you found yourselves in each other's arms.

You straddled him, your breasts flushed against his hard chest, in an unbreakable embrace as his hands tightly gripped your lower back, moving with you as you rode out a dance of pleasure. His large wings stretched behind him, twitching slightly as a sign of his impending release.

"You feel so perfect, angel," he purred against your neck, peppering it with soft kisses before pulling away to watch your face.

Your features were contorted in a mix of pleasure and desire, moans escaping from your lips as you steadily climbed towards climax. His rhythm became deeper and more intense, bringing you closer to the edge.

"Azriel..." you moaned out his name, throwing your head back and arching your body as ecstasy coursed through you.

“That’s it my love, that’s it…”

Azriel’s words got stuck in this throat as he watched you reach the peak of bliss, the air around you suddenly seemed to shimmer and a soft ethereal light enveloped your beings. Azriel's eyes widened in awe at the magnificent sight before him. Glowing iridescent wings sprouted from your back, their delicate pink hues dancing in the dim light of your chamber. They fluttered gently, casting a mesmerising glow that bathed both of you in a radiant aura of magic.

Filled with wonder and awe, he was sent over the edge, his own release filling you as he held the most ethereal being in his arms.

"So beautiful..." Azriel breathed out, almost in disbelief as he couldn't fathom how you could be any more breathtaking than you already were.

Your wings twitched and fluttered as you rode out the waves of pleasure, the intensity of the moment slowly subsiding as you rested your forehead against Azriel's, your breaths mingling in the intimate space between you. A blush crept across your cheeks as you realised what you had just revealed to him in your most vulnerable and intimate moment. The soft glow of your wings gradually settled, the dust they had created floating gently around the room like stardust.

"Azriel... I..." you began, your voice barely a whisper, emotions swirling within you like a tempest.

But before you could find the words to express the depth of your feelings, Azriel's firm yet gentle voice cut through the air, his eyes flickering with warmth and adoration as he spoke.

"Let me say it first," he insisted, his arms tightening around you in a comforting embrace. "You are my guiding light in the darkness, my entire soul's devotion...I..- I love you."

Your wings, now settled and slightly slumped with the weight of the moment, trembled at his words, the warmth in your chest swelling with each syllable he uttered. Tears welled in your eyes, reflecting the tear that had already spilled from Azriel's.

"I love you, Azriel," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I am yours forever, in this life and the next."

Your lips found one another again, bodies and souls intertwining under the soft glow of your wings.

𓇢𓆸

As your friends reminisced about the first time they saw your wings, Azriel, ever the gentleman, only vaguely danced around his recollection. He shared that it had been when you accepted the mating bond for him. The vague blush that covered your cheeks was enough to dissuade further inquiry from your friends.

"Am I the only one who didn't realise you had wings?" Cassian asked incredulously, only to be met with a pillow thrown by Mor.

"You really need to brush up on your Fae race history and anatomy if you didn’t know she had wings" she teased, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"I can’t believe it all had to be so dramatic though," Amren remarked. "I simply asked her to show me the first week we met, and she obliged."

You smiled nervously at Amren's confession, feeling the weight of your friends' stares.

"So you're saying we could have just asked all this time?" Feyre exclaimed.

You chuckled sheepishly. "I only hide them because they’re delicate... and you guys can be, well…"

"We can be what?" Mor's gaze teased as she leaned in closer.

Instinctively, you moved closer to Azriel for protection, but he seemed to find humour in the situation.

"Clumsy... not always spatially aware," you admitted with a sheepish grin.

"Is that so?" Cassian drawled, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced at Mor.

"Show us your wings then," Nesta declared bluntly, slightly frustrated that Amren had gotten one up on her by simply asking you.

"No," you replied firmly, not wanting to suddenly bend to their will.

Cassian and Mor exchanged a knowing look, a mischievous plan forming between them. Without warning, they both lunged at you, their playful attack catching you off guard.

You cried out for Azriel's help, but to your dismay, he seemed to be thoroughly entertained by the spectacle unfolding before him. Cassian's firm grip on your wrists pulled you closer to him, while Mor's embrace from behind left you feeling both trapped and ticklish.

"Not spatially aware, huh?" Mor teased, her fingers jabbing playfully at your waist, eliciting a cascade of laughter from you.

Your please for assistance only seemed to amuse Azriel further, his smirk betraying the mischief dancing in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he chuckled, his voice laced with mirth. “But the outcome of this is one you know I love seeing.”

Your friends playful assault only continued, your giggles filling the room. And in the midst of it all, your wings unfurled, revealing the delicate, pink membranes that had been the topic of conversation for the past hour.

They fluttered from your back, casting a glowing aura across the room and around you. They resembled delicate petals kissed by the soft hues of dawn, shimmering an iridescent pink that mesmerised anyone who laid eyes on them.

“There she is…” Azriel murmered under his breath. A fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He could feel the pride filling his chest as he watched you, gazing at your beautiful wings in all their ethereal glory.

But it wasn’t just your mate gazing at your with love.

No, your family found themselves grinning ear to ear, looking at you with admiration as they watched you glow.

A glow they were forever grateful for.

a/n: not really my best work, but just some loveliness for you all to read! It was an idea I came up with that I instantly dumped on @illyrianbitch (as I always do) and she thought it was a sweet enough idea to write, so here it isssss!! Enjoy my loves <3

Hopefully will resume series writing soon - Lottie x

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #feyre cursebreaker #feyre archeron #rhys acotar #cassian #nesta acosf #mor acotar #amren acotar #nyx archeron #acotar series #inner circle

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roughwighting · 1 year

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The Hourglass of Our Life

“Time will tell.” “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” “There’s always light at the end of the tunnel.” “Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.” “Your time is up.” What, exactly, will time tell? Will it tell me that my days are numbered? Personally, I’d like to think that my days are worded. My days are stories, one-by-one as a child, then a dozen, then hundreds as…

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#hourglass #how the light cracks through #light at the end of the tunnel #near death experience #sands of time #stories are our light #time will tell #Twin Desires #wasted time #winner of contest

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whatintheroleplay · 1 year

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Tag List - will be updated, as needed

#Tag List #Rachel Clarke #David and Rachel #Gavin and Rachel #Rachel and Zoe #Zoe Blake #Gavin and Zoe #Rebel Heart // Valerie Acosta #In Sickness and Health // Vik and Val #An Inconvenient Attachment // Johnny and Val #Splintered Moon // River and Val #Through the Cracks // Kerry and Val #An Elaborate Dream // The Rocker Trio #Chica Salvaje // Veronica Hernandez #Mi Madre // Mama Welles and Veronica #Mi Cielo // Pepe and Veronica #Carino // Jackie and Veronica #Corazon // Misty and Veronica #Mis Amantes // The Heywood Trio #Gunpowder Hourglass // Vixen Smith #Safe Haven // Brick and Vixen #Running Wild // Dum Dum and Vixen #Notes on Tenderness // The Maelstrom Trio #Landlocked Blues // Vesper Malone #Power and Control // Saul and Vesper #Precious Illusions // Mitch and Vesper #Old Fashioned Cowboy // Cassidy and Vesper #Whispered Secrets // Panam and Vesper #Follows Me Home // Nomads and Vesper #Perfect Fit // The Nomad Trio

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toshidou · 2 years

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lighthouse for a lost comrade . . .

Pairing // Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word count // 4.9k

Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon's perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir' kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they're hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing

AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable

AO3 link here

Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.

Until he met you.

You were a wide-eyed rookie, Laswell bringing you into the fold as a technician, a skilled hacker and mechanic who despite your innocent doe eyes, held lethal talents. He remembers so vividly, the way your head had cocked to the side as Laswell introduced you to the peculiar members of task force 141, remembers the way your eyes stopped on him. You showed not a single ounce of fear or hesitance, just pure unbridled curiosity. That same curiosity led you to asking him far too many questions, relentlessly prying to see more of the man behind the mask, to see Simon Riley, rather than ‘Ghost’. It should have pissed him off, he should have reprimanded you for your callousness towards your Lieutenant, but somehow you knew exactly which questions to ask, knew exactly when to stop and move on to other subjects.

Contrary to popular belief, Simon doesn’t hide his past, doesn’t try to use it to fuel the mysterious and mythical reputation he’s unwittingly built. It’s just that no one ever asks. Maybe it’s something about the skull mask, or the egregiously high kill count he sits so casually on top of that has people wary of ever approaching him. But you—you had no hesitation. You read him like a goddamn book every single time, and it simultaneously terrified and relieved him.

One glance and every secret he shoved behind his balaclava is left bare before you, leaving him with a vulnerable, gaping wound in the shape of a lifetime of trauma and tales that Simon knows no person should ever have to experience. And yet, your eyes hold not an ounce of pity, no awkward silences attempting to be alleviated with an awkward pat on the back and a “that sounds rough, buddy”. You see his past, his pain, his suffering, his bad habits, without him ever having to explicitly say anything. And in return, you say nothing. You don’t try and mollify him about circumstances he’s moved on from long ago, you make no effort to coddle him, to sit him down and patronisingly ask him if he’s doing well, or when the last time he slept was.

Instead, you leave him cutely packaged leftovers on his doorstep, easy meals he can throw in the microwave when he’s too tired to even comprehend making food. You buy him a multitude of jigsaws and puzzles for when sleep evades him as it so often does. You never once try to change him, never force yourself into his life just so you can claim that you’re some selfless martyr. To Simon Riley, you are nothing short of a blessing, and falling in love with you was quite frankly the easiest thing he’s ever done.

He takes off the mask for the first time when neither of you were prepared, nor expecting it. The mission had been so fucking rough, camped out in the middle of nowhere on the hunt for someone he was sure had long since gone. Weeks spent trudging through thick mud, swimming upriver, tracking footprints that led nowhere, steered them to no one. His bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up with him after being shot in the leg and falling nearly 75 metres off of a cliff, plunging into the water below. Price had insisted he go straight to the medic tent back at basecamp, but then simply sighed and shook his head, resigned, as he watched Simon limp off the chopper, and in the exact opposite direction.

To most, this would be the latest example of Simon Riley once again disregarding his health for the sake of keeping up the stoic, strong mask he never let slip. Yet this time, Simon Riley was not disregarding his health, he was, for maybe the first time, trying to preserve what little of it he had left. His leg was near numb by the time he made it to your tent, his foggy mind quickly soothed by the sound of you humming along to the radio, accompanied by the rapid clicking of keys as you worked on some coding. It takes him hissing in discomfort as he attempts to remove his military boots for you to turn around, eyes going impossibly wide as you watch an alarmingly large pool of red grow at his feet.

“Jesus Christ Ghost, are you trying to redecorate my floor?” He kept his mouth shut, using the last dregs of his energy to keep his gaze pinned on you, dark brown irises following your every move as you usher him into the chair you occupied merely seconds before, gingerly hovering your hands over the drenched material that clings to his thigh, soaked in blood and water.

“I’m going to cut the material above the wound, okay? I need to see what I’m working with here.” Your eyes connect with his unwavering gaze, translating his silence into a language that has taken you an eerily short period of time to become fluent in. He watches you nod to yourself, can pinpoint the cogs turning in your mind, can practically see you write the list of how best to deal with this situation as you unpack your first aid kit. Somehow, despite his leg stinging like a bitch, despite how utterly worn he feels, so raw and rough around the edges, he feels at peace.

Price may think he was a stupid bastard for not seeing one of their trained medics, but Simon knows without a doubt that you will always be the best thing for him, you will always be the first port of call, the lighthouse that guides him oh so safely to shore, to home. Even when your stitches are a little uneven, even when you dab a little too much alcohol disinfectant onto his wound, even when you wince every time the muscle in his leg twitches involuntarily, he watches you pour every ounce of care and tenderness into every touch, watches you take care of him in a way no one else ever could, not that he’d let them.

You’re finishing off wrapping up the wound on his thigh when Simon realises he doesn’t want this moment to be over. He selfishly craves more of your delicate, gentle care, unsure if he could ever have this again after tonight, if he deserved it.

So, he waits. He waits for you to lean back on your haunches, bending back to check your handiwork with a satisfied smile tugging at your pretty lips. He waits for your eyes to drift to his, as they so often do, and then he speaks.

“I uh, I got hurt here too,” The words grate against his throat like sandpaper, rough and unsure as he lifts his hand to prod at his cheek, “think I hit a rock in the water after falling.” You stand immediately, eyebrows furrowed together as your fingers gently brush the small rip in his mask.

“I can’t see much with this in the way, Ghost, though I think you’ll live.”

Simon couldn't pinpoint exactly what had his fingers hooking under his mask, couldn’t single it down to any particular moment or word that had him pulling the black material over his chin, and up past his nose, he just knew it felt right. All he focused on was the way your lips fell agape, how your hands lifted automatically towards his wrists, whether to stop them or encourage them further he didn’t know, but he sure as fuck clocked the slight tilt to your head, taking him immediately back to when you first laid eyes on him.

You were looking at Simon in a way he can’t say he’s ever experienced. Like a complicated mixture of guilt and awe. But he feels no fear, no regret as he throws the skull balaclava unceremoniously onto the floor, and directly into the pool of blood he’d left by the door.

“Should be a little easier to see now, don’t you think?”

All he gets in return is a small huff of a laugh, the ghost of your breath fanning across his exposed face, he swears he’s never felt anything as sweet. That is until your hand comes to cup his face, shudders erupting down his spine when the pads of your impossibly soft fingers brush just under the superficial cut on his cheek.

“I don’t know Si, I think we might have to amputate.” You murmur, an overly dramatic lilt to your voice as you pretend to further examine the ‘wound’. And Jesus fucking Christ, if he isn’t so impossibly, incredibly fond of you.

“That bad, huh doc?” He leans forward, just enough to catch the way your pupils dilate, the slight hitch to your usually even breath, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to save it? I’m particularly fond of that cheek.” He drinks in the soft hum you give in response, watches you with rapt attention as you lean further forward, and nearly passes the fuck out when you press your lips to his upper cheekbone, because what the fuck.

Before this, Simon Riley could say with absolute certainty that he’d never once blushed in his life, but now? He could feel the blood rushing to his face, knowing without a doubt that you could feel the heat radiating from where your fingers and lips remain connected to his skin. His wide eyes, blackened around the sockets from a mixture of paint and week-long exhaustion, remain firmly fixed on you, hardly hesitating before he secures your hand against his face the second he feels you pulling away.

There are no words exchanged, nothing but shallow breaths and searching eyes before Simon allows himself to be selfish just this once and pulls you onto his uninjured thigh, guiding you to sit with his other hand, fingers digging ever so slightly into the meat of your hip. And now he has you here, right where he’s always wanted you, there’s not a chance in hell he’s ever letting you go.

“Please kiss me, Simon.”

As if he could ever say no to you.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He removes his hand from your wrist, dragging his scarred knuckles as delicately as he possibly can across your cheek, fanning out his fingers around the side of your face, using the leverage to guide you impossibly closer. He allows himself one last look, tracing his gaze from your lidded eyes to your lips before he lets his eyelids fall shut, and loses himself in you. Loses every ounce of tension and exhaustion under the ministrations of your fingers as they tangle into his hair, and finally, fucking finally, he feels his once cold, dead heart thrum to life as you sigh contentedly against his lips. Kiss of life in-fucking-deed.

He's lost in every inch of you, can’t get over how soft and warm the plush of your waist is under his fingers, how responsive you are when he slides his hand ever so slightly under your oversized t-shirt. He wants more, he needs more, can’t help himself as he moves his kisses from your lips, down your jaw, until he reaches the base of your throat, sucking deep purple bruises into your supple skin.

“You taste like heaven,” He’s all too aware of how raspy his voice has become, desire only deepening his tone further as he drags his lips back up the expanse of your throat, a deep groan pulled from his throat when he feels you shift on his lap, highlighting the growing pressure of his cock straining against his pants. “Driving me fuckin’ wild already. Look what you’ve done to me, gorgeous.” His fingers come to curl under your jaw, directing your gaze down to the prominent tenting of his trousers, ensuring his eyes don’t dare drift away from your face as he watches you take in the view before you.

“Mine.”

The noise Simon makes in response is nothing short of primal, it wasn’t a sound he was even aware he could make, near guttural, but of course you would be the one to pull it out of him.

“That’s right baby, all yours, fucking hell,” he’s powerless to stop his eyes squeezing shut when he feels your fingers curl around his clothed cock, mustering every ounce of strength he has left not to cum in his pants there and then, because he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anything get in the way of giving you the pleasure you deserve.

“Come on Si, look at me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he finally opens his eyes again, instantly zeroing in on your fingers as they begin to unfasten his pants, before flicking back up to meet your gaze, “Is this okay?”, your voice tentative.

“More than okay, Jesus,” Simon wastes little time after that, hands sliding under your shirt and shifting further up your torso, muscles freezing when his hand contacts nothing but bare skin, grazing the flesh of your breasts.

“No bra? Lucky me.” You laugh, arching your back further into his touch.

“More like lucky me, those things are basically torture devices, Simon, I’d like to see you try and work with metal wire and straps digging into your boobs and back,” He grins, pinching one of your nipples between two of his calloused fingers and revelling in the way your smirk twists into a moan, hips twitching against the rough material of his cargo pants.

“I think it’s about time you took these off,” He mutters, one hand dropping to thumb under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about how pretty you’d look getting yourself off on my lap.” Apparently, Simon doesn’t need to say anymore, watching with intense eyes as you pull away from his grip, and begin undressing. Your top joins his mask on the floor, soon followed by your pants and underwear until you’re stood in all your naked glory, mere inches away from him. Simon must be the luckiest son of a bitch on this entire fucking planet.

He takes advantage of your absence by lifting his hips, cocking an eyebrow at you as he gestures towards his trousers, “Give an injured soldier a hand, would you doll?” Truthfully, Simon knows he would have no issues removing them himself, but why would he do that when he can have this instead? When he can have your body pressed in between his thighs, your deft hands undoing his buttons and sliding the material of his military pants slowly over his wrapped-up leg, when he can watch your eyes drink in every inch of new skin revealed with barely contained desire. No, he would much rather have this, especially when your dainty hands peel away his boxers, leaving him only in his top and vest plate.

“Simon…” You whine, your lips so perfectly pouted, a cute little furrow between your brows as you pull and tug at various parts of his vest, “help me take this shit off. It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” He hums, schools his face to show careful contemplation, reaching up a hand to rest on your bare upper thigh.

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”

“Please, sir.”

Well fuck. That awakened something within him.

With military precision, he unsecured the armoured vest from his body, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head, joining the now large pile of clothes left scattered across the floor of your tent. For a brief second, Simon feels so incredibly vulnerable under your intense gaze, wondering if maybe this is how people feel when he fixes his stare upon them, bare and defenceless. But then you lower yourself back into his lap, settling across both his legs with such gentle care, wrapping both your arms around the back of his head and pinning him with a look he thinks most likely reflects his own.

“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” It’s almost too much, the sincerity in your voice mixed with the way the words were uttered so softly into the air, as though they were a secret only to be shared between the two of you.

“I’m nothing compared to you.” You shake your head, smiling, leaning forward until your nose brushes his.

“Just take the compliment, Lieutenant.” He tries his best not to shiver as he feels your hand trace down his spine, instead shifts his focus onto how close your lips are to his, or the quiet noise you make in the back of your throat as his hands come to grip the meat of your thighs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Something in the air changes, as though the collective patience between the two of you could stretch no further, so taut it had no choice but to snap. His lips crash into yours, desperation surging through Simon’s veins like wildfire. Fuck, what are you doing to him?

“Can I touch you?” he mumbles against your lips, large hands aching from where they rest, yearning the feeling of your wet heat against his fingertips.

“God, yes, please.”

With newfound strength, he lifts you from his lap and twists you until your back is flush to his chest, uncaring of the twinge of pain he feels from his leg as he settles you fully on his lap. Now, Simon has full access to every inch of your perfect body, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as he litters the skin with open mouthed kisses, humming contentedly at the way you arch into his hands as he cups your breasts with both hands, fingers toying with your nipples until they’re perked and firm under his touch.

“No teasing, please,” Your pleading breaks him from a momentary stupor, bringing his head up to watch as you place one of your hands over his, guiding it further down, sweeping over your sternum, past your belly button, until his palm rests over your cunt, “I need you here, Simon.”

Fucking hell.

He couldn't find the words, couldn’t articulate them even if he had any. So, instead of speaking, he presses his hand over the curve of your cunt, groans when he feels just how hot and wet you are, all for him.

“Mine.” He repeats your words from earlier into the shell of your ear, a smirk stretching onto his lips at the full body shiver you give in response, growing near predatory when he feels your pussy twitch under his hand. God, how the fuck are you so wet? His fingers glide over your folds with ease, teasing your clit on every upwards swipe of his fingers, and when he finally dips his index finger into your cunt, he’s rewarded with the sweetest symphony. Breathy whines and whispered pleas of “more”, “deeper, Simon, please”, every request he happily indulges, now curling two fingers against your velvet walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you keening against his body. It takes a shift of his palm, the angle changing just enough to have you choking on a gasp, his other hand remains fixed to your breasts, pushing your chest down until you’re pinned against his body.

“Atta girl, feels good huh?” He slips a third digit in, cursing under his breath as he feels your pussy clamp down, twitching helplessly around his fingers as they continue to stroke relentlessly at your g-spot, “Gonna need you to cum at least once on my fingers before I give you anything else, baby.” He dares to steal a glance at your face, and is met with closed eyes, your mouth agape, and head thrown back onto his shoulder, you’re nothing short of a masterpiece. Your hands desperately grip onto his arms, nails digging sweet red crescents into Simon’s inked skin, as though the hold you have on him is the only thing keeping you grounded, and he feels positively fucking drunk on it.

You’re close, that much he can tell, and as much as he could absolutely keep you like this on his lap for another good few hours, he takes pity on your furrowed eyebrows and soft whimpers, removing his hand from your chest and placing his thumb into your open mouth. He doesn’t even need to instruct you as you close your lips around his digit and suck, your tongue eagerly lapping at the rough pad of his finger. He doesn’t have the strength to leave it there for much longer, overly aware of the way his cock desperately twitches from where it’s trapped between your bodies, instead focusing on the way you react the second his spit slicked thumb begins to rub tight circles around your clit.

“Si-, fuck, Simon ‘m close, so close, wanna cum,” There was never any other option for him than to watch you fall apart on his lap, but if he somehow needed further encouragement, “Please Sir, please make me cum.” It would be entirely impossible for him to stop the moan your words drag from his throat, to think of anything other than giving you your release. It’s obvious when your orgasm hits, having to stop toying with your now engorged clit to instead pin your hips down, worried there was a chance you might fall to the side if he didn’t keep you grounded.

“Good girl, such a good fucking girl, made such a mess of my fingers baby,” Simon hums against the side of your head, slowing his ministrations until he’s lazily fingering your still spasming pussy, drawing out the sweet sounds of post-orgasm sensitivity from your spit-shining lips. He waits until you finally regain some form of lucidity, waits until your neck straightens, no longer lolled against his collarbone to finally withdraw his fingers, soothing your whines at his absence with kisses to your jaw. But he makes sure your eyes are locked with his when he brings his fingers to his own lips, ensures you’re watching with nothing less than rapt attention as he cleans every drop of your arousal from his skin.

“Taste fuckin’ divine, princess.” Your head tips forward into your hands with a groan, and Simon couldn’t hide his pleased grin even if he tried.

“You’re not allowed to be this hot,” Your words muffled into your palm, the Ghost’s heart rate spiking when you looked at him shyly through your fingers, affection surging through his bloodstream like a shot of pure adrenaline. “Especially when I can feel your cock pressed against my ass.” As if he needed the reminder, as if that singular thought hasn’t been plaguing him for the past 10 minutes.

“And what exactly are you going to do about that, darling?”

His words were meant to make you shy, were said to watch those sweet eyes of yours widen. Except, Simon realises, he must have awoken something within you, something bold, something utterly fucking debauched, because instead of shying away, you lock your eyes with his, rising to the challenge he set. You stand up, turn yourself around, climb back onto his lap and sink down onto his cock in one fluid motion.

“Fucking-, shit, what the fuck,”

“I think that works for both of us, right, Simon?” You need to stop, or you at least need to give him some time to adjust to whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now. He can tell you’re far from unaffected, however. The slight quiver to your voice, and the way the slick walls of your pussy clench greedily around him show at least that much. And yet, you’re pinning him with a fierce gaze, your fingers forming an iron grip on loose brown hair at the base of his skull, using him as leverage to grind your hips in circular motions. “Let me take care of you, handsome.” His response cut off by a groan as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock, his eyes frantically flicking from where your cunt swallows every inch of his shaft, back up to your heavy-lidded gaze, locked onto his as you effortlessly ride his cock.

So instead of trying to take the lead, to lift his hips to meet yours, for the first time ever, Simon Riley does as he’s told. He allows you to control the pace, lets you direct his hands to your waist, but doesn’t use it as a point of control. Instead he caresses your skin with rough fingers. He lets you take care of him. And God, does it feel good.

He lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slip closed, and allows himself to just exist in this moment with you. A luxury he hasn’t been able to afford for far too long. Instead, he focuses on the sounds dissipating into the air around your joined bodies, the soft pants and moans that spill from both his mouth and yours, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin combined with the slick noise of his cock fucking into your heat, and if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can hear the rapid beating of your heart where your chest is pressed flush to his.

“C’mon Simon, baby, look at me.” It takes an embarrassing amount of energy for Simon to lift his neck up, refocusing his gaze onto you, “You’re doing so well, letting me look after you like this.” And fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, can’t remember the last time he allowed himself the comfort of crying, but he feels so unequivocally safe around you. Still, the time for tears will come later, right now, Simon wants nothing more than to feel you lose yourself on his cock. He secures his hands on your ass, and stands, ignoring your surprised cries and worried scolding, and walks as best he can towards the mattress near your desk. He doesn’t want to admit that lowering you both down onto the cheap material nearly left him breathless, and he definitely won’t admit that you were right, he didn’t have the strength to do that. But now that he has you lying on top of him, cock still buried deep inside of you, he knows the pain was more than worth it. Because in this position, he can ground his feet into the mattress and focus on fucking you like you deserve.

He ignores the sting of pain in his thigh, no doubt ruining some of the stitching you had done earlier, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when you’re mewling into his chest, nails scratching long, thin pink lines down the expanse of his chest as he fucks his hips ruthlessly up to meet yours. He knows he won’t last much longer, you feel too fucking good, and he has no strength to hold back, praying that you’re as close as he is as he snakes one hand down to toy with your clit once again. Relief washing over him when he feels your cunt clench like a vice around his length, allows himself one, two more thrusts of his hips before he finally reaches his peak, cock twitching like a heartbeat from where it’s buried within you, not moving until the last weak spurts of cum finish painting your cervix white.

“Fucking hell,” with his energy long since depleted, his body slumps into the mattress below, dragging you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around your form.

“That good, huh?” You grin up at him, eyes glinting in the low light. You look positively stunning.

“You know it, sweetheart,” Simon pauses, looks down at where you’re still sprawled against his chest, and silently thanks the motherfucker who decided to shoot him in the first place, he’s not sure if he would have ever gathered the strength to have you like this, in the way he always craved. “C’mere, I want cuddles.” He grunts, choosing to ignore the surprised laugh you give in response, says nothing at your incessant teasing and light threats to tell Soap that “oh my god, Ghost likes cuddles”.

He does none of that, instead, he holds you close, stares up at the ceiling as you bury your face into his neck, whispering sweet confessions into his skin, words he soaks up and saves for a rainy day. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never been a man to care about his own health, even now he still sees that damn hourglass, unsure of how much sand remains. But now he has a reason to change that.

Now, he has you.

#☁︎⋅writing #simon riley #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw22 #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #ghost x reader #ghost x you #dear lord #this derailed so quick #i wanted soft ghost #i got soft ghost plus nearly 2k of soft ghost smut #i ruined myself #anyway enjoy SLDFS

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hobiebrownbrowser · 11 months

Text

🔞Hobie Brown x F!Reader🔞

Y/N didn't come to the HQ today,

Of course Hobie was gonna worry.

Hobie knew something was wrong when you didn't show up for a mission they were assigned on together, nor for your favorite time on your break, Spending time with him. At first he thought nothing of it, Going against his gut and saying that you got the day off.

He'd turn to Miguel despite not wanting too, The guy being pissed off more than anything. He'd been trying to contact you for ages. Hobie found out you'd skipped more than just a few days. Taking it upon himself to try to contact his lover only for the call too go dead.

Hobie finally gave in to his senses, making a portal and walking through it. His eyes immediately scanning around for his girlfriend. Your place was quiet, too quiet for his own liking. Hobie felt shivers crawl down his spine as he was hit with a strong alluring scent, The smell tickling his senses as he makes his way towards your room.

The scent got stronger every breath he'd inhaled, Only inches away from the door. He'd softly knock, but didn't get much of a reply.

"Y/N, it's me' luv." He'd knock again, His ears catching signs of slight shuffling before the door had slowly cracked open. Hobie exhaled, The sweet smell lingering in the air right below his nostrils.

His nose felt like it had caught on fire. The aroma almost choking him, His eyes pinned on the women in front of him.

"Obie...what are you doing here?" Your words were slurred, trying to hide behind the door, Your eyes meeting one another.

"What I'm I doin' ere luv?" It felt more like a question then a answer, Your eyes narrowing, clearly confused. Hobie raised a brow as he leaned against the door frame, The fragrance roaming around your entire body.

You couldn't stop him from lazily brushing past you, The door sliding open more to reveal your naked trembling body, Sweat tickling down your neck as the room was scorching hot from the inside.

"Why didn' you contact me?" It was an embarrassing situation, Yet Hobie acted like this was normal. Setting his guitar down and beckoning for you to come closer. You comply with his request, A nervous look upon your face.

You climbed onto Hobie's lap, Your legs hardly functioning as they continue to subdue your ability to move. He started off slow, Calming you down by caressing your quivering thighs.

Your breathing became slow once he'd placed his hands on your hips, Rubbing circles along your burning skin. Your shaking body looking for any kind of friction to stop the growing heat that rised.

Your whimpers had Hobie falling apart, holding your hips firmly so you couldn't fall, Watching as you unravel above him.

He could feel your cunt aching for him, his ripped up jeans becoming drenched with your arousal. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking in your delightful scent one more time before pulling away.

He felt bad once you'd let out a pleading cry, not wanting the pleasure to end, Hushing you by placing soft kisses along your neck. You pulled on his vest, wanting him to take it off. He obliged, His clothes behind tossed aside somewhere.

Your alarming gaze setting a smirk upon Hobie's face. He loved making you flustered, his eyes made contact with your beautiful body, Your hip dips lining your figure like a hourglass.

"Such'n beauty." He caught your arms, fearing you'd cover the beauty from him, He tied your hands behind your back with his belt. A lousy whine emitting from your throat.

He chuckled, His lips grazing over your skin. You were sensitive to even a small touch, Flinching before relaxing as your senses were a complete mess.

He kissed your cleavage before cupping his hands around your soft breasts, nipping at your sensitive buds. You breath staggered as you tug on the restraints, eventually giving up.

It was already too much for you, letting out pleads for Hobie to touch you.

"Please! Stop teasing me..." He hushed you up with another small kiss. His hand wondering lower until his fingers made contact with your clit, Your body jolting forward almost headbutting the poor guy.

"Tryin' to knock me out princess?" The joke had gotten a tired giggle out of you, apologizing before politely asking if he could continue. You tensed as his finger slid between your wet folds, spreading them apart, pushing two fingers inside of you.

Making sure your stretched out enough before taking his cock. Your cries were so sweet, legs trembling the more Hobie pushed his fingers inside of you. Hips bucking to try to push them deeper.

Needing, wanting more than just his fingers. Incompatible words falling from your lips as you desperately begged for his cock.

He'd never heard you say something so lewd. Your patience growing thin. He could tell just by how you'd start bouncing on his lap, legs spreading wider just for him.

He didn't wanna tease you but couldn't resist, wanting to hear you whine his name, Making this night painfully slow. Just how Hobie liked it.

"Fuck stop teasing me please!" He was torturing you at this point. A small bit of him feeling guilty, the other bit eager to make you scream out his name.

He only hummed against your ear, Nipping your earlobe until it was left burning, Whispering filthy things into your ear. Your pussy squelching every time he thrusts his fingers in and out.

He didn't stop until you were practically repeating his name. Desperately trying to convince him to bottom his cock inside of you, Bucking your hips once he'd found your sweet spot, Your toes curling as your orgasm was getting closer.

You didn't want to cum on his fingers, Trying to pull away but failing miserably. Hobie could feel how eager you were for him, Your insides tightening around his fingers before he pulled them out.

You gasped as Hobie stood up from the bed, his grip on your thighs tightening as he placed you down on the soft comforter, Crawling on top of you with an annoying grin.

"You're an asshole..." You pout, earning nothing but a chuckle, along with a small peck on your lips. A shaky sigh escaping you as Hobie pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, A longing moan erupting from your lips as he slowly pushes inside of you.

Your cries catching in your throat once the tip of his cock hits directly onto your sweet spot, your legs wrapping around his waist once he bottomed himself inside of you.

His palms gripping onto your hips, whispering how tight you were around him. You closed your eyes, enjoying the sensation of him in you before begging him to move.

Pleasure rushed though the both of you, the room being filled with heavy panting and moans, Hobie's eyes not leaving your figure as he fucks you into oblivion. Taking your breasts into his hands and pinching your nipples between his cold fingers.

You were a moaning mess under him, Your pussy clenching every thrust he gave, Your legs being hosted over his shoulders as he breeds you, voice cracking as he'd found a way to go even deeper.

Your mouth agape as he rubs your clit with his thumb, Feeling your orgasm rising once more as he overstimulates you.

"Hobie! I can't- I can't!" He didn't want you to hold your orgasm, his movements focusing on finding your sweet spot just for you. You whined, Tears swelling in your eyes as all movement came to a halt.

The inside of your pussy being coated with his cum as he continues to abuse your clit. Your legs shaking uncontrollably as Hobie assaulted your sweet spot repeatedly, your vision becoming blurry until all you could see was pure white.

It took some time before Hobie had pulled out of you, Still out of breath, Undoing the restraints on your arms before going limp beside you. Hobie cuddling you in his arms as he pulls you in for kisses. Your head resting on his chest as you both slowly drift off to sleep in each other's arms.

"Tell me nex' time, yeah luv?" You only nodded, sleep taking over your body as your eyes had gotten heavy.

Making corrections. If u see sum change no you didn't-

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meidnightrain · 1 month

Text

HE IS LOVED❞ - aventurine

summary: he has been many things in his life, loved is one of them

warnings: reader is gn, angst, spoilers for 2.1 penacony quest

notes: maybe this counts as hurt/comfort, i'm not too sure actually. we have another one week to go before his release :)))

taglist(open): @akutasoda , @ryuryuryuyurboat , @toorurs , @yvnaology , @tragedy-of-commons , @staarri , @rainswept

“what am i to you?” the words falter even before they leave his lips, willing himself not to let his guard down even in front of you.

AVENTURINE has dreaded asking this question, lingering in his mind the first time he knew that he wanted you. your eyes twinkled under the fluorescent lights; they are stars in the lifeless abyss that is his. when the world comes to a standstill, the blaring music of the bar does not bore into the crevices of your brain any longer. everyone is frozen around you; only you two are unaffected by time.

you make him feel like he’s gambling, his heart racing faster than a car trying to beat the red light. it is not exhilaration; it is fear. it is his hand clenched under the table, shaking so violently, waiting for luck to run out eventually. the voices in his head grow, swirling like a sandstorm back on sigonia-iv.

failure discarded selfish useless pointless coward murderer gambler blessed discarded loser chosen-one mother goddess's beloved crazy murderer

it’s the same feeling he gets when he prays to the mother goddess for the dice to fall in his favor, or his heart will be the price. the sand stings his eyes; it burns him. it takes him back to a time when all his problems were simpler than they are now.

blessed failure discarded loser pointless coward murderer chosen—one selfish, blessed, discarded loser

how does AVENTURINE live, knowing that everyone is gone because of him? why would you ever like him, who has the blood of innocents on his hand? why would you ever care for him, who has brought doom to his entire family? why would you ever love him, who is not worth more than a few copper coins?

“are you okay?” your voice is soft under the howling sandstorm, and his breaths come off as ragged as he nods your concern away with a gambler’s grin. your lips move, but he cannot hear a thing. the world is too loud for him to hear, and he is suffocating. he faltered—one step, then two. he brushed it off; he stood straight, but he tripped. he is sinking; the floor is made of quicksand, but no one is there to pull him out. it’s overwhelming—the flashing lights and the booming bass—and the colours blur together in a dazzling display that makes him sick and makes him small.

and he can feel you shaking him by the shoulders in an attempt to snap him out of this daze, but he sinks deeper and deeper into this feeling that he has struggled to repress all this while. it makes you feel helpless, his mind spiralling down to where you cannot follow, watching him crumble due to your silence.

chosen-one loser discarded pointless coward murderer gambler blessed discarded useless loser chosen—one selfish mother goddess’s beloved

he does not realise that you have whisked him away to one of the private rooms of the casino. his chest is heaving with every breath he takes; it's like the hourglass he's in has tipped over and AVENTURINE is drowning in sand.

“how can you love someone who can’t even love himself?” his voice does not crack; it shatters in all the wrong places at the wrong time. he is not humiliated, nor is he embarrassed; he is exhausted. he has hidden for so long underneath rose-shaped lenses, kept his cards close to his chest, and hated himself so much that he could never imagine himself being loved. he is undeserving, he is a burden, he is unlovable, he is unlucky, and he is cursed. he is a loser.

loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser.

you are calm, and the storm quells at the touch of your hand on his shoulder. the sand clears, the grains dissolve from his eyes, and he can see you. he can see the crinkle of your smile and the way the wind plays and tousles your hair; he sees all of you, and you see all of him. "by loving you. with everything that i am, you are not unloveable."

"you may not be able to love yourself right now, but i love you enough for the both of us." your arms enveloped every part of his trembling figure, and he held onto you for dear life, unwilling to let go.

AVENTURINE will never love himself. he doesn’t need to if he has you by his side. for all the love he had, it belonged to only you and his family.

#🗞️ - honkai star rail fics #—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #hsr angst #honkai star rail angst #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine

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somnambulic-thing · 3 months

Text

Scar Tissue

Eddie Munson x afab!reader

||post-S4 post-apocalyptic, new relationship, angst, fluff, mentioning of scars on reader and Eddie, implications of severe injuries, nothing runny though||

read on ao3

“I don’t want you to go.”

A confession born a whisper at the sight of his bare back that’s turned to you. It’s the sight of nearing departure and your throat feels so tight like the neck of an hourglass and twice as fragile as the seconds trickle away and you’re still so hungry for more time.

Time with him.

Sat on the edge of your bed, busy lacing up his heavy boots, Eddie halts and sits upright. He doesn’t turn around though.

The space between you is filled with the scent of a night spent fused into one – sandalwood incense, weed and sex - but void of the promise to be bridged again.

At the end of the world, promises like that felt like lies in waiting.

The rustling of sheets and the dip of the mattress prepare him for the impact of your touch and he tilts his head to the right to make room for your lips. They press against his shoulder, warm and wet and a little rough where they are chapped at the bottom and it’s all consuming, how they move up and up while your arms wrap around him. Fingers splayed on the scarscape of his chest, holding him tight against the impossible bliss of your body.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you breathe just beneath his ear before your tongue traces along the pink mangled skin that forms a ragged ring around his neck and the sensation makes him choke on a confession of his own.

Leaving you feels like dying. Every time.

He would know. He’d been there.

“I don’t want to leave either, sweetheart.”

Feeling his resolve start to crack and crumble he holds onto your arms, finding that one thick, gnarly scar running from the palm of your hand along the soft skin of your forearm and traces it with his thumb. You had been there too.

Three months and he could read every inch of you with his fingertips, knew the story to each and every mark scattered across the battlefield that held you within.

He would die for you. But he’d rather live for you. With you.

“Then stay,” you say, tearing into him with a voice so soft he can’t but turn his head to follow the sound to the source.

You know it’s not fair, not much is anymore but it is bearable when his lips slide against yours like this; hot and sticky and eager.

“Wayne needs me down at the plant,” he mutters before he sucks your lower lip into his mouth, then twists out of your grip to push you back into the sheets. “Gotta keep the lights on.”

And the fences charged.

There’s no conviction in his voice but so much desire in his eyes as he crawls over you and you know he is right but he’s here and it’s hard to think beyond that. After years of endless night and surviving with monsters under your bed, Eddie’s presence felt like the dawn.

And then he grins at you, lopsided, motion restrained by tough scar tissue along the edge of his jaw and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world, makes your skin tingle and your breath hitch and your heart pick up the pace. His head dips down, gentle lips trace tender kisses along your sternum. You know what comes next.

His knees part yours and you welcome his weight as he slowly settles on top of you. Rough hands slide below your shoulder blades and the tips of his messy hair drag up your skin with a tickle that soon envelops you whole when his ear finds the sound of your heartbeat and rests against it.

Eddie sighs and listens.

Maybe this is the most beautiful thing in the world. Sometimes, it's hard to choose.

“Ten minutes,” he says and you don’t argue. You embrace him.

Thirty minutes later, your fingertips are wet with one or two stray tears you brushed from his cheek. With your back pressed against the door, you lick the salt of your skin.

You start to count—

one two three four

and swallow the filthy rabid rodent of anxiety that’s crawling up your throat—

nine ten eleven twelve

spilling some salt of your own—

nineteen twenty twenty-one

allowing yourself those eighty-six seconds it took Eddie to get from the third floor of what once was a hotel and is now a village to reach the exit—

fifty-five fifty-six fifty-seven

pushing yourself off the door, you put one foot in front of the other on your way to the window, plucking the rifle from its place on the wall—

sixty-eight sixty-nine seventy seventy-one

The square in front of the hotel is a maze of chainlink fences separating the streets from open space with deadly doses of electricity. The gates scattered across the world were slowly slowly slowly closing like infected wounds in a weak and drained body. Democreatures had grown less and less over the years but to let down your guard was never an option—

eighty eighty-one eighty-two eighty-three

You hear the sharp buzzer of the door, the heavy clink clink of the iron gates and you let your gaze wander across the scene, the same as several unseen guards ready and armed to the teeth with special ammunition. You wonder if Hopper is on shift today—

eighty-six

Eddie is so small from up here, shrinking more and more with each step he takes toward the parking lot and it almost breaks your mind because inside you the Eddie-shaped space just keeps expanding.

Just before he’s about to vanish around a corner he stops and turns and even from here, you can see his big bright smile. He waves and throws you one two three kisses.

And then he’s gone.

general tag list:

@bettyfrommars @dr-aculaaa @deathbecomesthem @songforeddiemunson @potthealien2423 @raccoonboywrites @eveybitch @jo-harrington @lunatictardis @skrzydlak @moonbeamsandmayhem @slutforstabbings @eddieslooneymoonie

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson fic #my fic

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japhers · 6 months

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my adopts for Mansion29! they've all found good homes...

[ID] Four chibi character designs:

Lucid Thoughts is a pink tulpa with white hair, fairy and angel wings on their head and back, as well as puffy queenlike regalia reminiscent of strawberries and cream. They wear a strawberry-shaped crown on their head, strawberry-shaped puffed sleeves adorned with pearls, sheer cream stockings and a cream colored bustle with red underlining.

Sandy Manifesto is a purple and pink alien-like office worker wearing a partially unbuttoned dark purple shirt, light peach argyle sweater, mustard yellow socks, and dark purple leather shoes. They carry a purple plastic tumbler with colorful steam coming from its spout, as well as an hourglass packaged like a messenger bag and filled with purple sand.

Doubella Donna is a pale, red-eyed, smiling woman dressed like an Edwardian Mourning Widow in a deep purple dress. Her fascinator is shaped like a pale mask, with purple roses, a golden hatpin and sheer lace veil adorning her purple hair. Her pale fingers hover delicately over the surface of a floor-length mirror, but where her visage should be reflected there is instead a cracked and hollow-eyed doll.

Unheard Prayers dons the visage of a Mother Mary Statue- a pale, cracked marble woman in a blue and gold dress, with gilded halos adorning her head, and marble angels making up her gilded skirt. Underneath the golden, cage-like petticoats, though, peeks out its true form- a large, blue demon, whose only visible features are two of its four yellow eyes, and blue arms topped with golden claws.

[End ID]

#mansion29 #adoptables #lunar menagerie #29th mansion #mansion 29 #adoptable event #artz

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runningquill-art · 2 months

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“A glowing rendition of Draco’s skull floated in the air between them. It was very handsome and shapely, with cheekbones quite as nice as the Magdalene’s.

Along the mandible, a crack glowed in red.

Granger took in a little breath.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” said Granger.

“I’ll be gentle,” said Draco.

Granger laughed, then regained control of herself and gave him a look that was deeply unimpressed.

After studying the schema from several angles, she said that she wanted to be particularly careful healing this one, to make sure it was realigned properly and didn’t affect his bite.

Good. Finally. Be careful. Be slow. Be close.

Granger cleared off one of the side tables for Draco to sit upon.

“Pretty,” she commented as she moved an ornate hourglass out of the way.

“Do you think so? It’s my great great Uncle Snodsbury.”

“I’m sorry?”

Draco flipped over the hourglass to demonstrate. “He wanted to be cremated and still be of use.”

“...Charming.”

Draco sat on the side table. Granger stood between his knees and took his face in her hands.

This was good, thought Draco as he looked up at her. Very good.” - Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love, Chapter 28: The Viking, Shameful Conduct of/Healing, Pleasures of, by @isthisselfcare

DMATMOOBIL art 28/?

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #draco malfoy and the mortifying ordeal of being in love #dramione fanfiction #dmatmoobil #illustration #my art #fanart #harry potter #dhr #digital drawing

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miserycanary · 1 month

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A LOVE GRAVE ᡣ𐭩

pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & reader, implied Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish & reader

synopsis: Ghost loves you but is it enough?

tags: light angst, soft and pining Simon <3

Ghost fights through wars and missions without any fear because he knows there’s nothing he can’t risk losing or any regrets in life, but when his eyes first gazed into yours, it was like God breathed life into his shell of a body. Right there and then, he knew he was born to love you, to live for you.

His eyes were made to take in your beauty and to appreciate and study every emotion that passes; to memorize each crease, mole, and blemish of your face. Eyes that witnessed and stared Death in his face now gazes with love into yours.

His hands were built to hold yours, to embrace you during cold nights, and to keep you close like he’d lose you. Hands that are bloodied and held corpses at the very tips now grazes your skin, sending butterflies to his stomach.

His lips were created to press into the soft flesh of yours, to worship your curves, and to pour his whole love into each kiss. Lips that barked orders that brought men to their deaths that now sings words of love and praises.

His existence is made for you. Everything about him is for you, losing purpose if you’re not there, but now his whole life is bleak. He knew the implications of loving someone while being in this line of work. Never knowing if he’d come back alive and always having to leave you behind with a goodbye and holding you like it would be the last time he’d be able to— now he realizes that dead or alive, he would never be able to have you like before.

Not when you look at him like he hung the stars for you. Not when Johnny’s name rolls off your tongue like it’s love itself. Eyes twinkling and focused solely on your boyfriend. What hurts more is he knows this is what you deserve. Someone who’d openly love you and someone who doesn’t struggle with his feelings, but is it so bad of him that he wishes you settled for less? Settled for him instead?

He knows he pushed you away, that it's his fault you were gone and far from his hold. Under the stars and moon that witnessed the petals of romance wither and fall, he broke your heart. The breeze that now carries your blood along from his piercing words to haunt him forever. The land that homes your dead love— the grave of his memories. Love is enough to keep you, but he wasn't. You deserve more than a man that tiptoes on the line between death and life.

| “I can’t. I love you, I do. I’d kill and burn the world for you. I live for you, but you deserve more. You need someone who will be there with you until your last days, but I will never be able to promise you that,” he whispers, lips so close but so far from each other. Oh, how his heart breaks from seeing those eyes dim and pull away. As he watches your back turn and further gets away from his reach, he feels the tug in his heart as you string it along. He could fight Death, Life, Fate, and Time altogether but what's done has been done.

It’s been a year since that night. In a blink, you slipped from Ghost’s fingers like sand in an hourglass. Each sunray that cracks dawn no longer shines as bright. The land under his feet seems to mock him that your footprint is no longer by his side.

Now he misses that honey-like voice of yours that now calls to a different man’s love. How he missed your feather-like touch that now caresses Johnny’s face, pressing his face close to yours. He misses you, but he knows your happiness lies with Soap. He sees it through how your smile shines when you're with him, and he treats you so well. Soap holds you like a gentle thing that's meant to be adorned and love endlessly.

Now he steps foot into the barren land of life, misery and grief everywhere. His heart heavy like the weapon slinged around his shoulder. Ghost has no space in his life for regrets because his time is never guaranteed to be long, but now sitting in his chronicle is a regret that will follow him ‘till death and his last breath. But a life with you in it but not by his side is better than not having you at all.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: trying to finish all requests! Sorry if it sounds so unnatural because I made this on a whim. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

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hyperactively-me · 9 months

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king!ghost x reader -- proposal

It’s been three days since he’s shown up at your doorstep. Three days of sparse interactions, and every single one of them you loathed. These interactions mostly consisted of sniping comments, bitter teasing, and an overall unpleasant atmosphere. Your parents were pushing you to at least try to speak with him. After all, he is the one you’ll be marrying soon.

On the fourth day, you couldn’t find your parents anywhere, and you haven't seen Ghost all day. Which could only mean one thing. Your heart feels like it's caught in your chest as you bolt to your father’s study. You already know what was happening, but you couldn’t do anything to stop it. You were powerless.

The voices grew louder as you ran down the hall, the door to your father’s study slightly cracked open. You slow to a stop, catching your breath as you peer through the crack.

King Ghost on his knees before your parents. His back was to you. Instead of his normal iron armor, he was bedecked in pitch black armor, his helmet clutched in his hands, his balaclava ripped off his face. A long cape starting at his shoulders pools onto the ground. You noticed his sandy hair was a bit messy, presumably from the mask.

A display of a monster in knight’s armor.

Your hand shakily grabs the door handle for support. The reality of the situation is settling in, deep in your stomach as you hear your father speaking.

“You do realize that this is all just…formalities…to finalize the deal?” your father stated, hands settled in front of him.

“I do.”

Ghost is quiet for a moment. He takes a breath. You can tell by the way his armor shifts ever so slightly.

“Please,” he says firmly. “I…” he trails off for a moment. “I would be good to her. Give her a prosperous future.”

Yes, the marriage was already planned, but Ghost asking for your hand was just part of the facade. To make it look like you were going willingly.

Your mother smooths her hands over the front of her dress.

“Your daughter would be safe in my hands.”

At that, your father nods once, granting him permission.

You fled down the corridor, the notion of the man you'd be marrying overwhelming you with indescribable panic, pleading to god he wouldn't find you that evening.

But he did.

When he knocked on your room door that night, you realized you couldn't hide any longer.

The hourglass had expired. This was your reality. You couldn't run any longer.

“Come in,” you called out dejectedly, watching from your desk as Ghost stepped into the room. He was still wearing the black armor, the regalia giving him an air of power. His helmet is nowhere to be seen, but he put his balaclava back on. His eyes pierce you.

He scanned your room, as if he was genuinely interested in the space. You knew what he was doing. Working up the nerve to finally ask the oh so awaited the question as if it was never the plan all along.

He reached from a pocket on his side, pulling out a small box.

You rolled your eyes, standing from your desk now.

“Your majesty—” you mutter, but he speaks over you.

“I know you abhor me. You’ve made it quite obvious the past few days. I don’t appreciate your attitude. It’s unbecoming, to be frank.” He toys with the box in his hand.

You find yourself taken aback by his candidness. His acknowledgment of your feelings catches you off guard, especially after the initial tension between you two.

“But, I digress, that is an issue we can work out…together.”

You scoff at his words.

“I—,” you start, but you’re at a loss for words. Defeat bubbles in your chest, you know what he’s about to do.

“Listen, I can see how you're feeling, I'll admit that,” he adds, his tone becoming fierce as he takes a step closer, bridging the gap you've made. “But there's something about you that has me...intrigued. It's difficult to ignore the way you stand your ground. And your...determination.”

He bends down on one knee in front of you, broad shoulders hunched as he grasps the box. His eyes are boring into you, causing you to shift under his gaze. You cross your arms in front of you, the feeling of your skin keeping you grounded. Suddenly, he bows his head, as if in reverence. He flips the lid of the box, extending an ornate silver engagement ring towards you.

“It would be my privilege to have you as my bride.”

You took one look at the ring, eyes flitting between him and the ring. His head is still bowed, eyes trained on the floor.

You let out a single laugh, but there's no humor to it. You want to yell, scream, hit him, anything. But you know there's no escaping. What, like you can say no? You can’t. You knew the true reasons behind this whole betrothal other than the fact that your parents wanted to keep your bloodline pure. King Ghost’s advisors wanted, no, needed, him to find a wife to secure their own kingdom’s royal bloodline. In exchange for protection and materials for both of your kingdoms, King Ghost was given you.

You stare at him, and he finally lifts his head up towards you.

“Fine.” You said, your voice trembling for a moment.

He pushes himself up to standing, immediately taking your hand to slide the ring on your finger. His free hand pushes up the edge of his balaclava, ever so slightly, just enough to reveal his mouth. Ghost pulls your hand up to his lips, pressing a fleeting kiss against the back of your hand.

You take a step back, yanking your hand from his, unable to meet his eyes. You cradle your hand, thumbing over the gem that rests on your ring finger now.

“We leave at dawn,” is all he says before turning and leaving your bedroom.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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kakashixhatakesxwhore · 7 days

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Love Language Headcanons

What I imagine the love languages of Iruka, Kakashi, Itachi (w bonus Hashirama and Madara) to be. GN!Reader, until Madara.

Warnings: lil bit of sexism from Madara (nothing new), fluff, lmk if this sucks

Masterlist💿

Iruka

Words of Affirmation

While he's giddy around lunchtime when he sees the note you left in his box, Iruka much prefers to hear the words of love come from your lips

After a long day, sharing his knowledge and wrangling children, the only thing on Iruka's mind is the sweet, little nothings you would soon be whispering against his ear as you two lay in embrace

Some nights, Iruka would even be known to fall asleep before dinner, in your arms, lulled and comforted by your tone and your words

There's something in the constant reminders of your love for him that keeps him spry, his adventurous spirit engaged

With every syllable of 'forever', Iruka can feel his heart thrum in his chest

Likewise, he will be the first to compliment every outfit, any touch of makeup, or even just your sleep-coated face in the early mornings - he wants you to hear his voice every time you look into a mirror, praising you and adoring you

Nothing will ever stop Iruka from telling you exactly how he feels in a given moment, no audience or situation too embarrassing

In fact, he adores telling you how devoted he is to you with an audience - he wants everyone to know you are completely and utterly his, and he goes weak in the knees when you return his words

Kakashi

Physical Touch

When you're sitting with him, his hand is lightly gripping your thigh, reminding you and everyone else who you came with

He finds he cannot walk without touching you, his arm needs to be over your shoulders or your arm locked into his - even when moving through a crowd, Kakashi will hold onto a bit of your clothing as to not lose you

Every night is spent completely tangled together, a jumbled mess of legs and arms, in and out of the sheets, with you practically on top of him

Even while asleep, if you roll away, Kakashi will lock his arms around your waist, pulling you close for a warm cuddle

He's always kissing you while you're within the sanctity of your shared home, and when he's not, he's rubbing his nose against yours, putting his forehead against yours, or nuzzling against your cheek

Will come to the bathroom with you, if you let him, just to sit on the edge of the tub and shoot the breeze while you pee

Never stops getting tingly and bashful when you touch him, especially in public, so aware of the declaration of together-ness that your touch brought

Kakashi cannot stand when someone else touches you, even your close friends - he's got quite the jealous edge, and you know his hands will be all over where the other person touched you, soon, vying to erase the memory of another from your skin

Itachi

Quality Time

He hasn't got a lot of spare time on his hands, but he feels like he might go insane if he doesn't spend every available second with you

The kind memories warm Itachi in the cold nights, so he is especially keen on making a million with you

Comfortable silence is common, which relaxes Itachi immensely

He wants to be with you fully every time you are together - reading is fun, but he prefers to do anything that distracts from you at, quite literally, any other time

Knowing his hours were numbered, Itachi curses the universe for letting the time spent with you slip away like sand in an hourglass

I suppose time flies when you're having fun, and he has never had such an abundance of fun as when he's by your side

Any activity is a good activity when done together, even ones that Itachi didn't particularly enjoy like laundry or mending clothes - he found he could watch paint dry with you and still enjoy himself thoroughly

Lingers heavily when it's time to say goodbye; he can't do it if he doesn't need to it

Itachi plans three months in the future at the crack of dawn - he can't help but try to optimize the length of the periods he spends with you, somehow being able to schedule entire days to be together

Hashirama

Gift-Giving

Knows exactly what you want, in what colour, in what shape, in what size - to the exact dot.

Hashirama can think of no better way of proving his love for you than proving he knows your material desires inside and out

Some way, some how, he never runs out of ideas of things to get you, and absolutely no price is too steep for something he knows you'll love

His favourite part of showering you in presents is the face of shock and sheepishness, telling you he would go to the Edge of the World if it had the only tree with the fruit you craved

Enjoys giving you things that can be used by both of you, like books, rare spices, hair products, but loves giving you things to wear

Who else can procure a silk dress, with yards of intricate embroidery? Who else can find jewels so large and sparkly? Only Hashirama, thusly marking you as his to anyone with working eyes

But truly, your favourite gifts aren't the adornments, or spices, or a massive house - the gifts that truly enraptured your heart were the handmade cards and drawings Hashirama spent hours perfecting for your eyes only

Madara

Acts of Service

While Madara rarely humoured you with a walk through the sunflower fields, he would consistently ensure that you could go through life without the slightest hint of discomfort

He'll make you a tea in the morning, bringing it to you with a gentle shake of the shoulder to wake you up - it's how you start every day, with a small smile and a steamy drink, reminded that Madara would strive to wake you like this even if the world were actively burning

Going both ways, Madara deeply enjoys it when you prepare dinner for him, and will pitch in with the dishes to show you that he was truly thankful

Women's duties are women's duties, but Madara would do anything you asked of him without hesitation within your home (in public, he'd be much more conscious, however helping you as much as he could while still saving face)

Dotes on you entirely - if you told him you wanted the sky to turn fuchsia, he would be taking to the God of the Skies in an instant

Half the time, you don't even need to ask Madara to do something for you, it'll already be done, and done so perfectly you would be left with no question as to who did it

Every thank you, to Madara, is like you asking for something else, and he will tear the world to shreds until it is just to your liking

#iruka umino #kakashi hatake #itachi uchiha #hashirama senju #madara uchiha #iruka x reader #kakashi x reader #itachi x reader #hashirama x reader #madara x reader #naruto fanfiction #headcanon #headcanon list #love language

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gaycavendish · 6 months

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funeral flowers | for milovember day 8, favorite character! id under cut

a digital drawing of cavendish from milo murphys law. he is shown from the elbows up, holding a bouquet of white lillies to his face. He has his eyebrows furrowed and is looking upwards in front of him. behind him is a cracked sphere of glass, inside of which is a stopped hourglass. Around the bottom of the glass sphere is a warped piano, with a few keys floating off. Around the top of the sphere is text, “A coward dies a thousand deaths.” The whole thing is colored in muted greens/yellows with accents of bright red.

#balthazar cavendish #milo murphy's law #my art #milovember #scheduled

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w1ldthoughts · 4 months

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Crooked Smile

Anon requested angst

Warnings: Mention of body image issues

The veneer craze. The ozempic epidemic. This intense and overwhelming need to have a perfect smile and be super skinny, while also having an hourglass figure and a perfectly perky yet fat ass. Thanks to the BBL. You had absolutely no problem with people getting cosmetic surgeries, your body your choice, and you weren’t going to judge anyone for wanting to make themselves feel good. But it did contribute to very unhealthy beauty standards that were becoming more impossible to follow. It really didn’t help that your boyfriend was a celebrity and every function that you went to was full of women who made you feel a little (a lot) like you didn’t belong.

After the last time at Jack’s you couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked. Every time you walked past a mirror you stopped to look at yourself for a minute. Maybe you could lose a few pounds and have less midnight snacks. Maybe some Invisalign wouldn’t hurt, you knew it would but with the way you were feeling about yourself right now, you’d take the tooth pain over this crippling bout of insecurity and self doubt. You probably hadn’t analyzed yourself this much since you were in high school. This feeling wouldn’t last forever, you knew that, but sometimes you just gotta throw yourself a pity party and recharge your batteries. You were supposed to have a date night with Jack but you lied and told him you were sick and that you’d see him another time.

You knew immediately who was knocking on your door and interrupting your This Is Us rewatch, using it to distract from your own turmoil. Like fighting fire with…more fire. Using your sleeve to wipe your eyes, you sniffled and paused the devastating show to let Jack in.

“Baby, what’s wrong? I knew I should’ve come over earlier.” He immediately placed a hand on your forehead, looking you over for any other signs of distress. “You don’t feel warm. Does your stomach hurt?”

“No Jack, I’m fine.” You took his hand off of you and wrapped your arms around yourself. “Just not really feeling like myself and going out tonight just didn’t seem like the best idea.”

Jack nods, understanding the feeling. Sometimes he didn’t feel like going out either and he wasn’t about to force you to do anything, especially not with the way your shoulders were slumped and the fact that the usual light in your eyes wasn’t there. “Well, would it be okay if I sit and watch your show with you? Haven’t seen much of you lately and to be real, I miss you a little.”

The last part made you crack a smile, a genuine one. “Fine. But don’t ask me a million questions or I’m just gonna turn it off.”

“No promises.” He laughs, plopping himself down in the middle of the couch. You originally parked your body next to him but when his hands wrapped themselves around your stomach, it made you feel weird and overly exposed. Excusing yourself to go to the bathroom, you tried to mentally snap out of it, slightly embarrassed that Jack’s friends’ comments were affecting you the way they were. You walked back to the couch, settling down on one end of it, creating some space between you and your boyfriend.

“What the hell? Why are you so far away?”

“I just want my own space for a little bit, we don’t need to be up under each other every second of the day.” You didn’t even trust your own words, opting to keep it in a hushed tone.

And he called your bluff immediately, grabbing the remote to pause the show. “Look I didn’t come here to press you or anything I just—is there something going on with us? I mean you’ve barely answered my texts, you canceled our plans today and now you can’t even stand to be near me. What’s going on?”

Now you felt guilty, on top of everything else. “It’s not you Jack,” you sigh, scooting over to grab his hand in reassurance. “I really didn’t wanna do this because I don’t want this to become a thing but—something happened at your party the other night.” You feel him tense up, a slight crack in his jaw from how hard he had just gritted his teeth. “I was walking back into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and I heard Cope and Nemo talking about me. They were basically talking about how you could do so much better and how my looks aren’t up to par and it was just really shitty. And I know they’ve been at your place all week hanging out so I really just haven’t been in the headspace to be around them.”

He narrows his eyes at you and pulls his hand away. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Because I didn’t want to cause a scene at your party, it wasn’t the time.”

“So you thought that ignoring me and isolating yourself, going on this emotional downward spiral would just what? Make it all better?”

You were taken aback by his reaction but you genuinely didn't have the energy to do this today. “Jack, my reaction or the way that I’m handling it isn’t the point. The point is that your friends were being assholes and you’re more concerned with me than with what they said about me. Why is that?”

“Because you know how they are! They get a little drunk or a little high, sometimes both and they just start spewing random shit. You can’t take them serious. And maybe you got things out of context. Did you hear the entire conversation?”

He had to be joking…right?

Taking a deep breath, you tried to compose yourself before losing your mind. All you wanted today was a nice, relaxing time to find your inner peace but instead here you were. “Let me be clear, I don’t care if I walked in at the very last second of their stupid little conversation. I heard some hurtful things and I heard my name attached to them. That should be enough.”

Jack lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head,“you’re just being sensitive right now, maybe your period is coming or something cause this really isn’t that deep. Like I said before, you know how they get, I’m sure it was just jokes.”

“Yeah everything may be a fucking joke to you, including my feelings.” You moved away from him, “but I don’t find any of this funny. Which is why I told you I needed some space. And you won’t even respect that.” Your voice cracks, feeling the tears stinging your eyes even though you thought you’d done enough crying today. “You think don’t I see the comments? Or hear the shit people say about me? That I’m not pretty enough or smart enough or that you could easily do so much better. I get that from complete strangers all the time. But to hear your friends say it? Your people? That hurts Jack.”

“I just really don’t think this is that big of a deal.” He tries to reason and diffuse the situation. “They probably don’t even mean any of that shit, you can’t take it to heart.”

The walls that you had built from your failed relationships in the past had been torn down by Jack, brick by brick. You felt safe with him, cared about and cared for. And in this moment, he was public enemy number one.“Do you think I’m the fucking ‘boy who cried wolf?’ I’ve NEVER said anything to you about this before and it isn’t the first time it’s happened but I didn’t want to make it a big deal. And here you are defending them, you’re supposed to be on my side?” You didn’t even notice you were yelling.

“Oh my god I am on your side!” He raises his voice, “I just think this is all one big misunderstanding and you shouldn’t get so worked up about it.”

“Oh my god you—you know what I’m not even gonna do this anymore. You win.” You stand up from your seat, not breaking eye contact with him. “Respectfully, I think you should get the fuck out. I really need to take care of myself right now and you’re not making it any better so you should probably just go.”

He remains stationary on your couch, still staring at you.

“Jack, are you losing your hearing or something? I said you need to leave. Now please.”

He stands up, walking towards you to try to pull you into his arms, “babe—”

You back away. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t try to cutesy pet name your way out of this. I told you that something happened and it hurt me and you refuse to listen so you can go. I’m done talking about it.”

The man finally takes your words seriously, grabbing his stuff and walking to the door. He closes it without another word, leaving you to think about how the hell you even got there. There isn’t even enough sadness in your body anymore to cry, you’re shaking with rage at the fact that your boyfriend chose to defend his boys over caring about your feelings. It was simple, he didn’t care about you and they definitely didn’t, so what was the point? It was time to move on.

Two days later, he was being completely ignored by you. He’d spent some time licking his wounds and was really starting to regret the way he reacted. His first instinct had always been to defend his people, his boys especially. They had been with him since he was working at Chick-fil-A and didn’t have anything remotely valuable to his name and they had never switched up on him, so why should he? And maybe that had been a part of the problem. He never told them “no” or that he didn’t like something because…that just wasn’t the relationship. They were grown men and Jack wasn’t about to tell another grown man how to act. But in this case, he probably should have listened to you and at least talked to Cope and Nemo about what they said, secretly hoping that it wasn’t as bad as you made it seem.

“Bro, I gotta talk to y’all about something. And I’m being forreal.”

Nemo sat next to him on the couch and Cope was across from him. “What’s up? You look like somebody kidnapped your dog.” Cope jokes and Nemo laughs a little, but Jack just clears his throat.

“Okay so…I need to ask y’all about the party last weekend. Y/n heard you talking about her and she was super pissed and we got into this big ass argument about it. So…what exactly was said?”

“Oh shit,” Nemo looks down at the ground. “Look bro we didn’t mean for her to hear all that—”

“But it was all facts.” Cope finishes for him. “All we said was that she’s kind of a bum and you can and should do a lot better than her. I mean the girls that we bring around and that’s who you picked? I don’t wanna judge but—”

Jack holds a hand up to stop him from continuing. “Imma be real, I don’t really give a fuck what y’all think. That’s my girl bro, like my fucking girlfriend who heard you talking shit about her and it made her feel bad. And I defended you because I thought that my best friends would be supportive and I don’t know…not shitty to someone I love? Guess that’s my bad for assuming.”

“I’m sorry, it definitely wasn’t our place to comment on your relationship. You know when that liq starts to hit—”

“Guess you didn’t fucking hear me. I said I defended your dumbasses. I basically chose y’all over her and now you’re sitting here like this shit is sweet?”

Cope tries to open his mouth but Jack cuts him off again, “Not even gonna lie I need you both outta my sight for the next couple days. I can’t believe this. And Cope, you really shouldn’t be commenting about anybody’s appearance when you permanently look like the Avatar. Think about when you’re 50 and how that’s gonna look.”

He knew he was lashing out but he couldn’t believe how wrong he was and how hard he had belittled your feelings. You two always talked about the unreal expectations for people, especially women and now he had contributed to the problem in the largest way. There was no concrete plan to remedy the situation but he damn sure had to try.

When you didn’t answer after the first four times he knocked, he thought about breaking the door down but that was a TMZ story waiting to happen. He just kept knocking and knocking until you opened the door.

“Can I help you?”

He didn’t realize how nervous he was until you were standing in front of him. “I’m so sorry. I know that won’t, that it’s not enough—I fucked up. I should’ve listened to you and I didn’t. Instead I got super defensive and didn’t want to acknowledge that my friends were being shitty and—”

“I forgive you.” You interrupt, facial expression remaining stead. “I’m over it.”

“You—you’re…over it?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I had some really hard mental health days and it sucked but I realized that I like who I am. I love who I am, actually. Crooked smile, stretch marks, love handles…whatever. It’s me and I don’t want that to change, for anyone.”

Jack smiles, letting out a sigh of relief. “Good because I was about to give you this big speech about how you’re perfect to me and for me and not to let anyone make you think any different. But it looks like you came to that conclusion on your own.”

You nod, a smirk forming on your lips. “Did you need anything else?”

“N—no. I uh…I wanted to just see if we were okay? Things got pretty heated the other night and I feel horrible for not taking your side. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You can’t contain the burst of laughter that comes out. “Sorry this isn’t funny, it's just…Jack I needed you. I needed you to believe me, to trust me, to defend me, to comfort me. Shit something—anything. But you tried to gaslight me into thinking I was dramatic when I know what I heard. And then you defended your idiot ass friends tooth and nail to the point where we were screaming at each other. I got myself out of this, I remembered who the fuck I am on my own. I remembered how beautiful and smart and worthy I am. On my own. So what the hell do I need you for? Let me answer that for you, I don’t. I don’t need you. I don’t need this. The belittling, the shit talking, the toxicity. I don’t need any of it..”

Looking him up and down, seeing the tears swimming in his eyes, a very different scene from days ago, and you shake your head. “You and I? Baby, we’re done. Have fun with the boys, you all deserve each other.”

#jack Harlow #jack Harlow imagine #jack Harlow x reader #jack Harlow fanfic #jack Harlow angst

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