#insecure reader

So buzzed that you’re already nursing your fourth beer, head propped against the wall, trying to make out some words from the conversation everyone’s having… though mostly, you’re tuning out.

I mean, it’s just guy talk, after all.

After another very successful mission, the boys and you, are getting drunk. The drunkest of all, as always, is Johnny.

He seemed to have had a one-night stand a couple days ago, and he’s drunk enough to amuse everyone with the story.

Long black hair, somewhat curvy, with a tiny waist and perky tits. Your nose wrinkles in disgust as he keeps talking about his out-of-body experience with the girl, almost eight years younger than him. You roll your eyes sometimes, annoyed, yes, but also secretly happy he’s happy.

“I cannae get over it! The lass had a wee waist, she did! Could wrap both me hands round it an’ still feel like I’ve got room tae spare.”

He keeps babbling, hands in the air for comparison, as if he’s actually holding it while he speaks. You roll your eyes for what feels like the tenth time. The guys just keep laughing and shaking their heads, not really taking him seriously.

Then… the description gets a little more lewd.

“‘Er figure was somethin’ else. Daftly perky n’ proud tits, all natural, pretty lil’ cunnie… Christ, I cudn’t look away.”

Now, it’s different when it’s only the guys, but with you listening… the tension shifts. Price’s eyes flick from you to Soap to his beer. Everyone else sighs, rubs at their temples. You try to act like you’re not listening, scrolling on your phone, staring somewhere else but more than his lewd words, your stomach drops for a different reason.

Ever since you can remember, you’ve felt insecure. Height, body, hair… everything. It felt like you were “girling” wrong your entire life, growing up chubby, still trying to get in your ideal shape. You fought to become a soldier, despite everyone saying you were too short or incompetent. It was hard, but you were trying to prove something.

Now, at 23, still a virgin because of your insecurities, you hardly ever feel bad about it. Between work and exhaustion, there’s little space in your mind for anything else. But there are rare moments like this, where someone’s words make you question if you’ll ever end up with someone at all.

Because, however annoyed the guys sound, Johnny’s description is clearly doing something. Price loosens his collar every so often. Simon swallows. Hard. Even inside his mask, Gaz is listening carefully, looking a bit spaced out. And you’ve never seen Johnny’s eyes spark like this before. And it kills you.

Not only are you still somewhat chubby, your heavy tits slightly sagged, your outie visible, asymmetrical. You can barely look at yourself, let alone let anyone else see. Words like Johnny’s are exactly why you can’t.

The thought of sex makes you melt, smile, dimples showing. Someone looking into your eyes as they fill you up. Kisses everywhere, their body warm against yours, sweet words whispered in your ear… All the things you crave but would never reach.

Johnny, as drunk as he is, turns to you.

“‘Ave y’ ever had sex, lass?”

You swallow, caught off guard. Shake your head. Take another sip of beer before putting it down and fiddling with your hands.

Johnny groans in disappointment.

“Why the hell no? Ye’re a bonnie lass, an’ it feels bleedin’ amazin’.”

You sigh.

“Jus’ haven’t had the time,”

You mutter. You know it doesn’t sound convincing.

It doesn’t.

Johnny snorts. “Ah’m no buyin’ that. C’mon, tell us.”

“Mactavish,” Simon’s voice rumbles almost immediately, silencing him.

Johnny communicates with Simon with just his eyes, it doesn’t take much skill. Right now, he’s saying two things: drop it.

Johnny nods and takes another sip, while you sit red and embarrassed in your seat.

You stay red in your seat, skinning your fingers alive and trying to make yourself small. The laughter and chatter around you continue, but it all blurs together. You feel the weight of everyone’s eyes, or maybe it’s just the way Johnny’s words linger in your head.

You take a slow sip of your beer, trying to focus on the cold liquid rather than the heat climbing your neck. You hear Johnny muttering something else, but you can’t catch it. You don’t want to.

Finally, you clear your throat, summoning as much composure as you can. “Well… it’s shit like the ones you were just saying that gets me scared,” you mutter, your voice quieter than you’d like, but firm enough. You put the empty cup down, standing before anyone can reply.

Johnny frowns, blinking at you through his drunken haze. “Scared? Wha—”

You cut him off with a small shake of your head. “I’m… I’m gonna head back to base,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. You pull your jacket closer around you and step away from the group, feeling the heat of embarrassment and a sting of frustration all at once.

The others start to murmur behind you, but you don’t wait for explanations or apologies. You just walk, boots clicking on the floor, trying not to cry or yell at yourself for feeling weak.

By the time you reach your room, the door shuts behind you with a solid click, and the noise of the world fades to nothing. You slump onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself. The anger, the embarrassment, the longing…it’s all tangled together.

You stare at the ceiling, letting your thoughts drift. Johnny was drunk. That’s all. It’s nothing personal. But even so, the words he said… the way everyone reacted… it gnaws at you. You try to push it away, tell yourself it’s just another night of drinking and talking, but your heart keeps racing, reminding you how alone and unseen you feel sometimes.

You sink into the pillows, hugging yourself tight, wishing for comfort that isn’t there. Tomorrow, it’ll be work, routines, training…but tonight, it’s just you, the embarrassment, and the quiet ache of wanting something you’re not sure you can have.

“That just means she really likes you,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders.

Bucky huffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t understand, man. It’s bad, like really bad. I can barely get any of my shit done with her begging for my attention twenty-four seven. I just need some damn space to breathe sometimes.”

You didn’t think you were that bad. Sure, you really liked to drag him away from his work for cuddles—but that was only because you thought he needed the breaks. You know that he used to run himself dry, never letting himself rest until he practically passed out from exhaustion. You didn’t want that cycle to continue. It wasn’t like you forced him to do anything. He could always say no to you. In fact, he has said no to you a few times before—when the work was too important to shove aside for later. All those times he allowed himself to be pulled away, reluctant as he was—how many of those times had he been covertly annoyed with your insistence? How many times did he wish you would just leave him alone?

Your stomach twisted, guilt looming over you. He struggled socially, ran on a limited battery when it came to social interactions—why did you think it would be any different with you? Why did you think you were special? Of course, Bucky is sick of you. When’s the last time that Bucky had some time to himself without you bombarding him with affection and small talk?

“She’s spoiled, that’s what she is,” Bucky grunts, shaking his head. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. Spoiled? Is that what he really thinks of you? How could he say such a thing? And to Sam, nonetheless. “She eats way too damn much. She’s been gaining so much weight recently; it’s honestly a problem. She ain’t gonna lose it any time soon either with how fucking lazy she is.”

Sam snorts. “Sounds like someone needs to go on a diet.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky huffs before taking a sip of coffee.

A wave of mortification crashes over you, tears gathering in your eyes. Heart pounding, you take a shaky step back, determined to run back to your room before either of them catches you eavesdropping.

You race back to your shared room, tears blurring the hallway beyond recognition. Once in the safety of your room, you sink down to the floor, back pressed heavy against the door. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you press a hand over your mouth—as if that alone could muffle the sobs wracking your body. The betrayal is sharp, sinking its claws into your chest and twisting deep inside of you. How could they say those things about you? How could Bucky say those things about you?

You weren’t that clingy, were you? You just liked being close to him, liked the warmth of his presence, the way he always made you feel safe. And sure, maybe you indulged a little too much lately, but had it really made that much of a difference? Have you clung so much that Bucky has started to resent you for it?

The words replay in your head, each repetition hitting harder, sinking deeper. He sounded so frustrated—so tired of you. Like he was already pulling away, one step from slipping through your fingers completely.

And could you even blame him?

You’ve seen the women he works alongside, the kind of people who seem like they belong in the world. Strong, confident, beautiful. Not needy. Not desperate. Not… you. Maybe he was just now realising what you had known all along—that you weren’t enough. That you never had been.

A fresh wave of tears burns your eyes, but you swallow hard, forcing them back down. You wouldn’t let this be the end.

You could fix this.

You could give him space—stop clinging, stop being so needy. You could take up less room, be less of a burden. And if you skipped a few meals, if you pushed yourself harder, maybe you could be someone he actually wanted again. Someone he’d be proud to love, instead of someone he merely put up with.

You just had to be better.

You would be better.

When you emerged from the bedroom for the second time that day, you made sure to make your arrival audible lest you walk in on them still talking about you and your shortcomings. Whilst you couldn’t stomach any breakfast, you needed your caffeine fix. Bucky greeted you with a wide, beautiful smile and a kiss on the forehead.

It almost made you sick—the way he was able to talk about you like you were the dirt underneath his shoe, only to turn around and play the role of your sweet lover. How could he act like everything was okay when he clearly held resentment against you? It almost makes you wonder how long he’d put up with you for the sake of maintaining this relationship—how long since he’d noticed your defects and realised that he deserved better. You almost feel selfish for keeping him tied to you. Now that the secret is out, there’s no point in dancing around the subject. And yet… here you are. In a kitchen you share with a man who doesn’t love you like he used to, and the man he entrusted with his troubles over you.

Just a little longer, you pleaded. You just need a chance to prove your worth. Bucky won’t have to worry about your overbearing clinginess. He won’t have to be embarrassed to be dating someone of your stature. Bucky deserves the best after everything that he’s been through; you were determined to be that for him in whatever way it took.

You startle out of your thoughts from the movement at your feet. A white ball of fluff looks up at you, meowing incessantly. You reach down to scritch between Alpine’s ears. “Hey, sweetheart,” you coo at her, abandoning your quest for coffee in lieu of holding your baby girl. At least Alpine appreciated your affliction for affection.

You don’t miss the look that passes between Bucky and Sam.

Stomach churning, you suddenly don’t feel the desire to make your coffee anymore. In fact, you don’t even want to be in this room anymore. “I’m going to go over to Nat’s,” you say, hoping that Nat isn’t too busy today.

Bucky’s brow furrows. “Weren’t we going to see that movie today?”

Shoot. You had completely forgotten about that. “We can go later, Nat wanted me to come over right away in the morning.”

“Let me make you your coffee before you go.”

“That’s okay, I’m stopping to get some for Nat and me,” you say, dismissal clear in your tone. It would have made you feel bad to act this way before—before his cruel words effectively tore your heart and spirit to shreds. You gave your baby Alpine a kiss on the top of her head, promising her that you’d be back soon before seeing her back on the ground. You grabbed your purse and sped out of the door without even saying goodbye to the two men.

You spent the majority of the day with Natasha, dread curling around your insides every time you thought about going back home, back to Bucky.

You had promised him that you’d be back to see the movie; however, so, too soon for your liking, you say goodbye to Nat and walk back to your apartment.

There’s a vase of your favourite flowers sitting on the counter when you enter. You frown at the sight, not sure why he would bother when he’s obviously upset with you.

You walk into the living space to see Alpine curled up on Bucky’s lap, his work laptop abandoned on the coffee table. Bucky greets you with a smile, setting a protesting Alpine aside to stand up and give you a welcome home kiss.

“What time were you thinking of for the movie?” He asks, arms resting around your waist.

Frustration begins to creep into your chest. If he had a problem with your clinginess, why is he initiating contact? That’s not fair. How are you supposed to leave him alone when he does stuff like this? “Doesn’t matter to me,” you shrug, not able to meet his eyes.

“There’s a showing in an hour, how does that sound? We can go get dinner afterwards.”

“Sounds great,” you replied.

The movie would have been great if you hadn’t sat there stewing in your own anxiety the entire film. Afterwards, Bucky took you to your favourite restaurant where you ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Bucky’s brows furrowed at your unusual choice, but he didn’t say anything. The dinner was stilted and awkward, both of you running out of things to talk about sooner than usual.

For the next few weeks, you successfully distanced yourself from your boyfriend. You ignored the way your heart ached every time you saw Bucky alone on the couch, wishing you could go over and snuggle up to his warmth. You learned to ignore the hunger pangs, the way your stomach felt like it was eating itself. Your head split open with the force of the headaches pounding against your skull, vision swimming every time you stood up too quickly.

It’s fine, you told yourself. Who really needed breakfast anyway? Why eat lunch when you could have a few snacks? Bucky was right, you really did eat too much. You could survive on one meal a day, snacks thrown in when your hunger got the best of you, or your hands began to shake too much. You were getting better for him, though, so it didn’t matter. You were eating less, clinging less—just like Bucky had wanted; so why wasn’t he happy yet?

The bed felt colder than usual.

You used to sleep tangled up in Bucky’s arms, leeching off of Bucky’s furnace of a body. You used to tuck your perpetually cold feet against his legs, laughing off his grumbling about how your toes felt like icicles.

Now, you curl up at the farthest edge of the mattress, not willing to accidentally touch him when he clearly wants to be left alone.

You used to look forward to getting home from work, ready to melt into your supersoldier’s arms at the end of a long, tiring day.

Now, you’re filled with dread, wondering if this time will finally be the last.

You used to love the shared dinners at the worn table you had found at a thrift store long ago. Bucky and you would take turns choosing what meal to prepare—you had been on a mission to introduce him to the world of flavour the 21st century had to offer; he always used to say the best part of the ordeal was watching your expectant face as he tried the first bite.

Now your stomach twisted at the mere thought of eating in front of him. His words echoed through your brain with each bite you took—it was enough to make you sick.

Bucky had grown short and snappy with everyone (except you) lately; Natasha had complained ad nauseum about your grumpy boyfriend the last few times you’d hung out. You couldn’t help but think that all of those weeks of your overbearing clinginess were finally catching up to him, as if talking to Sam had opened the floodgates. He has finally realised what his problem was: you.

You really were too late to fix this. No amount of distance could fix what damage had been done. Bucky had a foot out the door for a long time now, and you had been too oblivious to notice.

It was a typical Tuesday when Bucky sent you a text that shattered any hope of repairing your relationship.

>>>Hey, after work, can you come straight home?

>>>We really need to talk.

The cursor blinked steadily even as your hand shook. Tears quickly blurred the damning texts beyond recognition—not that you’d ever forget those words; the words that signified the end of the best thing to happen to you.

After crying in the bathroom for the entirety of your lunch break, you passed through the rest of the day in a haze. Your coworkers knew something was wrong, of course, they did, but you didn’t offer up any explanation.

You felt something press against your throat as you slid the key into the lock, suffocating you with every step you took towards him. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable any further. You wouldn’t continue to drag Bucky down.

The vase of flowers was still sitting on the counter—he’d been buying you a new batch every time they started to wilt. Was he cheating on you? Was that why he was getting you flowers so much more often? The thought was something you’d have previously thought inconceivable, but now you weren’t so sure.

Breaking you from your thoughts, Bucky called out your name from the living room. You forced your gaze away from the flowers and to the living room.

Bucky was sitting on the sofa, hands clasped in between his knees and head hanging low. Your stomach swirled at the sight. This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to cut his losses—cut you from his life.

You crossed your arms, tucking your hands out of sight to hide the way they trembled. You waited for him to say something, not willing to be the person to instigate the conversation.

“Could you sit down?” Bucky asks, sounding so small as he gestures to the armchair. You walk over to the chair, despite wanting to stay as close to the exit as possible—ready to run away as soon as his words cut through you like a knife.

Bucky sighs deeply, his hands running over his face. You almost reach out for him, wanting to comfort him, wanting to kiss those lines away from his forehead. Stopping yourself, you remind yourself that it’s not your place, not anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while now.

“This isn’t working anymore, doll,” Bucky says, not even able to look at you. You saw it coming a mile away, and yet it doesn’t take away the anguish those words bring you.

You know you should say something, but words seem to escape you as soon as you open your mouth. Instead, a hot ball of grief and shame lodges in your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, despite telling yourself that you would not let him see you cry over this. It’s for the best, you try to tell yourself. You were but a stepping stone to Bucky’s recovery. You should be grateful that a man like him even offered you a second glance. Despite the way things ended, you know that you’ll look back on all the memories you made together and smile. Because, for once in your life, you knew what it was like to be loved so wholly. You knew what it was like to have a man who cared so deeply, loved so openly, and gave you enough devotion to last a lifetime.

“Yeah,” you agree with him for the sake of things. You hope he won’t look too deeply into your unshed tears, the way your voice wobbled and the way your body trembled. “I… I should go.”

“Doll-”

You cut him off before he can get another word in. “No, just… let me-”

Standing up to run away from this awful conversation, you feel the world sway around you. Black fades in at the edges of your vision as you stumble forward. You think you hear Bucky calling out your name under the sharp ringing in your ears. Clenching your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the hardwood floor.

—

“Doll?”

You groan as something prods your side. Just five more minutes, you think, burying your face into the warmth surrounding you.

“Sweetheart, please!”

Is that Bucky? Why does he sound so worried?

Blinking up at your boyfriend, you find that you’re both in the living room. Bucky’s clenching onto your body like a lifeline. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”

He stares blankly at you for a few seconds. “Doll… you just passed out.”

“Oh,” you eloquently respond.

The fog covering your brain begins to lift bit by bit. You were both sitting down… Bucky was… he was breaking up with you.

Jolting, you scramble out of Bucky’s arms, pushing him away, away, away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your heated face in shame. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“Don’t be sorry, honey.” He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you say, despite knowing full well that ever since you started skipping meals, you’ve been prone to blacking out if you stand up too fast.

Bucky frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like you aren’t telling the truth right now.”

“It doesn’t matter, Bucky.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter! You just fainted. If I hadn’t been there to catch you, you’d have cut your head open on the side of the table. Tell me what’s going on!” Never before had you heard Bucky sound so worried.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Why do I–Why do I care?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief. “You did not just ask me that.”

“You’re finally breaking up with me, you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore,” you shoot back, venom lacing your words as you extricate yourself from under his arm.

“Breaking… I wasn’t going to break up with you,” Bucky says as if the idea alone was unimaginable.

“Bullshit! I know that you’ve been wanting to break up with me for weeks—months even!”

“Where the hell would you get an idea like that from?”

“I heard you talking to Sam last month. You told him that I was clingy and lazy and fat.”

Bucky looks positively bewildered at your words. “I would never say any of that crap!”

“But you did.” You cross your arms, daring him to continue lying to you.

“Why the hell would I ever say that? I sure as hell don’t think any of that-”

“Oh, give it up, Barnes. Who else would you have been talking about? Who else is such a spoiled, lazy, clingy, fat-”

“Oh my god,” Bucky interrupts you. “Are you talking about that time I was complaining about Alpine?”

Your heart stops in your chest. “What?”

“I was telling Sam about how annoying it was trying to work from home. She’d always sit on my damn laptop and yowl in my face until I payed attention to her.” Bucky shakes his head—his bemusement is quick to fade, however. “You seriously thought that I was talking about you?”

Sniffling back tears, you nodded your head.

“Oh, Jesus, doll. Why didn’t you say something?” Bucky wraps his arms around you. “Hell, if I ever said something like that, I’d expect at least a slap to the face.”

“But I was too clingy, always cuddling you and giving you kisses-”

“Is that why you haven’t so much as touched me the last few weeks?”

“I thought you wanted me to stop,”

Bucky squeezes you tighter. “Never. I’d never want you to stop. Doll, I thought you were mad at me. I kept buying you flowers and making your favourite dinners to try and get you to forgive me. But you didn’t even give them a second glance, and half the time you’d already eaten or you’d just push the food around on your plate.”

You melt into his embrace, his reassurances a balm over the lingering anxiety of being too much for him. “I was just trying to make you like me again.”

“Doll,” Bucky pulls away from you, sounding completely gutted. “You should never change yourself to make someone like you more. I love how clingy you are—I missed you so damn much.”

“What about…” No, you can’t ask that—you don’t want to hear his answer. “Never mind.”

And Bucky, damn him, doesn’t let it go. “What about what?”

“It’s nothing,” you say, pulling away from him.

“Doll, please don’t shut me out,” Bucky pleads, using those sad eyes that always make you fold.

“It’s just… You never… Do you have a problem with what I look like?”

Bucky’s frown deepens. “Of course, not. Doll, you are so damn beautiful-”

“But I could be thinner. Lots of other girls are prettier and skinnier,” you interrupt him. You freeze at the way his face hardens.

“I love you just the way you are, sweetheart. You don’t have to change a god damn thing about you. You want to know who drives me crazy? You. You want to know who I want to spend the rest of my life looking at? You. When I fell in love with you, I fell in love with all of you. It’s always going to be you. I don’t want no one else, got it?”

“I…” You stumble over your words, tears burning in your waterline. “I started skipping meals again. That’s why I passed out.”

Bucky’s face turns ashen. “You… you stopped eating because of me?”

“I didn’t completely stop eating! I had snacks and dinner most days. It’s not that big-”

“So help me god if you were about to say that it’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky interrupts you, voice sharp. “You need to eat, doll. This beautiful body cannot live without food.”

“I just thought… I thought if I started skipping meals and working out more, I’d look more like Nat or Sharon or-”

“If I wanted someone that looked like them, I’d ask them out. You wanna know why I asked you out? It’s because I thought you were hot. It’s because you’re as gorgeous on the outside as you are on the inside. I don’t want you to look like Nat, I don’t want you to look like Sharon. I want you to look like you.”

Bucky says it with such conviction, you can’t help but allow the tears to fall down your face. “You really mean that?”

“Of course, babydoll. You’re it for me. Don’t want no one else.” Bucky pulls you back into his arms, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Call off of work tomorrow.”

“What? I can’t-” You screech as he lifts you into his arms. Clinging to him like a koala as he makes his way to your bedroom, you protest every step of the way.

“Hush,” he says, laying you down on the bed. “I have been deprived of your cuddles for too damn long. We’re gonna order whatever you want, and snuggle all night long. Then tomorrow, I’m going to make you a giant breakfast and we can go on a picnic for lunch.”

“I don’t ever want my best girl doubting my love for her again, got it?” Bucky asks, leaning over you.

You huff at his antics, rolling your eyes. He pinches your side, only the hint of a grin belying his angered expression. “Got it?” Bucky asks again.

“Yes! Okay, I got it!”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know just how loved you are,” he says as a promise before leaning in and kissing your lips.

That night, as you snuggle into his warmth, you endeavour to never let a misunderstanding like this tear you apart again.

Xavier didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stood and crossed the room, dimming the lights until the space softened into shadow. When he returned, his light evol flickered to life, gentle and warm.

Your silhouette appeared on the wall.

He stepped behind you, hands resting lightly at your waist. “Look,” he murmured. “That’s how I see you.”

The outline was unmistakably yours, familiar curves, soft lines. Xavier traced the shadow with his fingers, slowly, as though he was memorizing it.

“There’s nothing unfinished here,” he said quietly. “Nothing lacking.”

You swallowed. “It doesn’t feel like enough sometimes.”

He tightened his hold slightly. “You don’t need to be more,” he said. “You already are my everything.”

Xavier pressed a kiss to your temple, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t love an idea of you,” he added softly. “I love this. Exactly as you exist.”

You leaned back into him, letting the glow surround you, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Zayne:

Zayne noticed your quiet immediately.

You sat beside him on the couch, close enough for you to feel his warmth, but far enough to feel distant, eyes unfocused. After a while, you finally spoke. “Do you ever think bodies are designed unfairly?”

He paused, tea halfway to his lips. “That depends.”

You shrugged. “I just feel wrong sometimes. Like I don’t really measure up.”

He set his cup down carefully, considering your words deeply and measuring his response. “Come here,” he said, gently.

You hesitated but shifted closer, and he adjusted instinctively, one arm settling around you.

“There’s nothing wrong with your body,” he said calmly. “Medically, functionally, or otherwise.”

You huffed. “Very comforting, doctor.”

His mouth twitched. “Smaller chests actually make exams easier. Changes are easier to detect. There’s less strain overall.”

You glanced up at him. “I think if I ever found a lump I'd have to go up a bra size.”

He blinked. “…That’s not how that works.”

You smiled faintly, but the insecurity lingered. Zayne tightened his hold around you.

“I don’t see you the way you see yourself,” he said quietly. “I see someone healthy. Balanced. Beautiful.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You don’t think I’m lacking?”

“No,” he said immediately. “I think you’re exactly as you should be.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Rafayel

You lingered beside the sculpture longer than usual.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly. “The curves. The way everything fits together.”

Rafayel glanced over, curious. “What do you like about it?”

You considered. “It doesn’t exaggerate anything. It feels…real.”

He smiled, pleased, and set his tools down. “Good.”

You frowned. “Good?”

“That means I did it right.”

You laughed. “Did what right?"

"Captured your beauty."

You shook your head in disbelief and he got up quickly.

“Stand still,” he said, already grabbing a measuring tape.

You watched skeptically as he measured, your shoulders, your waist, the sculpture beside you. Again. And again. The numbers matched.

Your breath caught. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am,” he said lightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You stared at the sculpture, realization sinking in. “You really see me like this?”

Rafayel stepped closer, voice softening. “I see you as art,” he said. “Every line. Every proportion.”

He bumped your shoulder gently. “You don’t need to be different to be worth admiring.”

You smiled, feeling comfortable in your own skin for the first time in a long time. “You’re too much, you know?”

“And you,” he replied, “are perfect.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Sylus:

You lingered in the doorway longer than necessary, the lingerie bag heavy in your hands.

“Sylus,” you said quietly. “If this is another thing that doesn’t fit...”

“Try it,” he interrupted calmly. “Then decide.”

You disappeared into the bedroom, heart racing as you changed. You expected the usual: straps that fell down, fabric that assumed more than you had. But when you looked in the mirror, you froze.

It fit. Perfectly.

No awkward pulling. No empty space. Just fabric that followed your body like it had been made for you alone. For a moment, you simply stared, unsure what to do with the unfamiliar feeling settling in your chest.

When you stepped back out, Sylus looked up, he couldn't help but stare.

“I’ve never had anything fit like this,” you admitted softly. “Usually lingerie, everything really, just reminds me of what I don’t have.”

He stood, crossing the room slowly, gaze steady and intense. “Clothing sizes are arbitrary,” he said flatly. “Designed without care. Built for averages, not people.”

You laughed faintly. “That’s one way to put it.”

He stopped in front of you, lifting your chin gently. “Your body isn’t wrong,” he said. “The standard is.”

You looked into his crimson eyes. “You really believe that?”

“I don’t deal in illusions,” he replied. “You are precise. Balanced. Exactly as you are meant to be.”

His hand settled at your waist, possessive in a way that felt protective rather than demanding. “Nothing about you is too little or improperly sized,” he added quietly.

You leaned into him, leaning into the gentle kisses he placed on your neck.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Caleb:

You didn’t mean to say it out loud. It slipped out between breaths, barely more than a thought.

“I wish I looked different.”

Caleb stopped immediately, turning toward you. “Pips,” he said gently. “What’s that about?”

You shrugged, suddenly very interested in the floor. “I just feel inadequate sometimes. Like I don’t really measure up.”

You thought he was going to tease you, making a joke about you being a pipsqueak, but he stepped closer instead, pulling you into his arms like it was instinct.

“You’ve always fit right here,” he said quietly.

You rested against his chest, familiar and steady, the sound of his heartbeat comforting you. Growing up, this had always been where you ended up, after scraped knees, after bad days, after everything.

“I don’t think about you in parts,” he continued, voice low. “Never have. You’re just…you.”

You let out a small breath. “You’re really bad at letting me spiral.”

He smiled into your hair. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta stop you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “You don’t wish I was different?”

Caleb shook his head without hesitation. “No. I just wish you could see yourself the way I do.”