#late night proofread mistakes are not my fault

[jordiemeow]

You wouldn't make love with him. You'd make art.

11.8k words long read warning. poet!patrick literature student au?

Patrick doesn’t know how to do any of this—he, an eloquent speaker, master of rhetoric, a man who knows almost all the dead and living languages of the world. He has always guarded his secrets as carefully as Odysseus hides his true name from the Cyclops.

Pathetic, is it not?

For a man such as him to be so utterly smitten by you. Enraptured by every little thing about you, from the way you toy with his fingers while he recites Virgil to you, or the way your stockings are always full of holes. The smudge of lipstick always present on the edge of your mouth from your lips planting against his own, or the way you pocket each of the poems he writes for you despite your outwards protests.

He’s a paradox. A contradiction. A romantic, but a cynic. A writer, but a misanthrope. And worst of all, a modernist who secretly longs for bohemians and decadence. A paradox of sophistication and nihilism. A vision of cashmere, draped in apathy.

It’s like he doesn’t know who he is anymore, when he's with you. Like you’re taking all the broken, ugly, shameful parts of him, and making it beautiful. It’s horrifying, but he wants more. Please.

And now he has to laugh, at how absurd it was that this girl who probably hated the world preferred to be around him, of all people. He knows all of this sounds terribly trite and unoriginal, but he couldn't help it anymore than he could stop the sun from setting. None of this makes any sense, and yet he has never seen something with more clarity in his life.

He loves you.

But, as usual, the words stick in his throat, and he exhales as through trying to exhale his nerves and uncertainty along with the oxygen into the stale air of his bedroom. He’ll scribble poems and declarations of adoration into a worn notebook his grandma bought him, but when it comes to uttering such confessions aloud? God, he’s a coward. So, all that comes out is a teasing:

“You know I like it when you’re rough, darling, but you really ought to ease up on the make him bleed thing a little—“

That earns him a bit of pressure added to his back, and a hiss of his own making. Patrick is quick to offer a half-grimace half-smile over his shoulder as an apology, bracing his hands against the sheets while you continue with your ministrations. Dabbing at carmine incisions along his bare back that look oddly reminiscent of a werewolf’s claws. He supposes you are quite the beast in bed together. The thought makes him stifle a snort, which quickly becomes a hiss of pain when you wipe over the nail scratches raking up his skin.

“Ow, fuck, be careful—"

“Don’t pout, Pat,” you chide, your voice low as you cut off his whine of a protest. There’s a teasing lilt in there somewhere, a hint of your dry humour creeping into the words. “It’s unbecoming of you.”

“I do not pout,” he scoffs, his eyes flicking over to meet yours, narrowed slightly. “At what point have I ever pouted?”

Patrick knows that he should not push his luck without you—not when he’s perched naked by the end of the bed and entirely at your mercy as you wield an alcohol-soaked handkerchief. Although the air between you is not quite the icy chill he expects it to be. On the contrary, it’s almost playful.

“Besides,” he continues defiantly, resolutely ignoring the stinging down his back, “I do not appreciate being attacked during… well, you get the idea.” A lazy smile flutters on his lips and he angles his body around, his hands finding the curve of your waist to tug you closer. "You are awfully passionate, you know."

He has a very peculiar way of apologising, one that is often too self-absorbed to be even considered an apology. And Patrick Zweig has never been particularly good at those, though his mother always insisted he should learn a thing or two about proper manners. Not that she was ever very present, mind you—boarding school will do that to you, he supposes.

Your fingers are sure and practiced as you tidy him up methodically, the pad of your thumb gently skimming over a small patch of inflamed skin. “Attacked? Oh, how you exaggerate so,” you scoff, a hint of mild amusement in the depths of your eyes that you hide between narrowed eyes as you focus on your meticulous task.

“I do not exaggerate,” Patrick insists through gritted teeth, his other hand grasping the sheets in a fist. The pain is not the issue here, though he does flinch upon feeling the gentle caress of your fingers over one of the indentations. “See, that’s the difference between us,” he continues, his voice now laced with an exasperated air. “You take no prisoners. Absolutely ruthless."

It’s hard, as always, to determine whether his irritation is genuine or just an act to mask his discomfort at your lack of tenderness. He hates the feeling of being so vulnerable when you’re so… put together, like you take no pleasure or interest in the moment you just shared. Not even when the evidence is stained crimson along his back.

He shifts around, pulling you closer without preamble, his free hand wrapping around your wrist to still your motions. Something in his eyes has changed, the pools of blue once glinting with playfulness giving way into a more serious look. His lips pull into a tight line as he speaks again, his voice carefully measured.

“I don’t appreciate your coldness. You act like a bloody automaton at times,” he mutters, his jaw clenching imperceptibly. But he knows you can pick up on any of his discreet little ticks at this point. He's grown to be utterly transparent to you, and he hates it, because it is the exact opposite of what you're becoming to him. More and more of a mystery with each interaction. He loves you, but you are so bloody difficult sometimes.

“I’m not being cold. I’m patching you up, darling,” comes your light reply. Your free hand reaches up, thumb brushing over a smudge of rouge lipstick still present on his kiss-bitten mouth.

It’s the use of the pet name that gets to him the most, the way your sweet voice wraps around that single word. His frown deepens slightly. “Patching me up,” he echoes under his breath, his grip on your wrist loosening in favour of capturing your palm against the bed.

“Stop treating me like a fragile thing that might shatter with one wrong word. I am not made of glass.”

There’s something in the petulant way he says the words, the mixture of anger, frustration, and something else that is a little more difficult to define—at least for Patrick, who isn’t exactly known for his emotional intelligence when it comes to his own psyche. Said in a manner only a young man who has had the entire world served to him upon a silver platter could possibly manage.

Patrick Zweig has always been a self-absorbed, conceited ass, but he’s never been good with those who treat him with such apparent detachment. He’s the one who’s supposed to be casually flippant, indifferent. He is the one who’s supposed to be in control.

But you do not seem to care. Not even a little bit.

He doesn't quite recognise the desperation that colours his voice. He’s used to your indifference, the way you can just switch off whenever you want, but it stings. The more he tries to deny it, the more his own walls threaten to crack.

“At least look like you care instead of pretending that the last thirty minutes never happened,” Patrick snaps, his fingers tracing the delicate vein on your inner wrist absently, as if seeking comfort amidst the darkening atmosphere.

And you do soften somewhat. You settle upon the bed next to him, now dressed in only his half-buttoned shirt and your underwear, legs drawn up beneath you as your gaze drops towards your hand, and the way his fingers skim across your veins. It's almost uncomfortable, the tender touch in such a vulnerable place. You’re half-tempted to wince and withdraw your hand.

But it's Patrick. So, you do not. You allow it, even it makes you feel like you’re ready to claw your way out of your own skin. You allow it, because you love him, even if he is insufferable at the best of times.

Like now, for example.

"Sorry," you murmur, and it's not clear whether the apology is for the injuries along his back or the fact he's upset with your demeanour. Either way, you place a chaste, remorseful kiss to his shoulder.

Perhaps it’s your soft voice, or the light touch of your lips against his shoulder—but the tension in Patrick’s body is replaced by something lighter, something that could almost be mistaken for… relief. Something so unlike him. There is something about your words, your tone, the fact that you have given him any response that matters.

His grip on your wrist slackens, fingers sliding down the smooth curve of your palm before lacing through yours. “I don’t understand you sometimes,” he says quietly, his gaze fixed on your hands now intertwined against the sheets.

It’s his way of saying he forgives you, that the brief argument has been put behind you. For now, at least. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand in an almost absent-minded gesture; in truth, it’s more to soothe himself than anything else. The anger that was bubbling underneath the surface seconds ago is gone without a trace.

“And stop being so detached,” he adds in a soft whisper, his eyes finally lifting up to meet yours.

Patrick knows that it’s not easy to get a reaction out of you, that you’re guarded, that you’re reserved. He's used to your stoicism, to your tendency of shutting him out at the first hint of his vulnerability. He’s used to your coldness, but it never fails to annoy him, especially when he’s hurting and wants to just feel you.

His hand, still clasped around yours, pulls you closer, his free arm sliding around your waist. “You could at least act like it meant something.”

"It does. You do," you murmur insistently. Your own arms loop around his middle, chin hooking over his shoulder, although you’re careful to avoid the lingering passion-induced wounds.

His expression softens slightly, a mixture of relief (from hearing those words) and affection (from your chin against his shoulder) washing over his features. He takes a moment, savouring the feel of your body against his, the warmth of your breath on his cheek. The way your knee presses against his thigh.

He knows you have a hard time with expressing feelings, and words of affection from you are always hard-earned. They are not freely given, and Patrick knows that he treasures them even more because of it. His chest expands in a deep sigh, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Don't shut me out."

He's long since accustomed to the fact that you will never open up fully, that your relationship will always be one-sided in a way, with him baring his soul while you withhold yours. But it's the distance that he can't stand, the way you can retreat into yourself without warning.

His fingers tighten around your hand while his other hand rests on the small of your back, keeping you close to him. He's not letting you run from this conversation; one of you has to be brave for once. "It's almost like you're ashamed to be with me."

"No, that's not it at all," you reply, your voice quiet. It's an uncharacteristic softness, the way you speak when he gets in his head like this. A rarity. Or in the tender embraces you share after sex, reserved just for him. "You're the only good thing in my life sometimes, Pat."

Patrick almost wishes you could be less reserved for him, less protective and guarded. But he knows that it's wishful thinking. He's resigned to the fact that your detachment is part of you, your armour, your defence.

He's used to it, but it doesn't mean he likes it.

"Yes, but—" He begins, his thoughts cut short by the gentle touch of your fingers against his knuckles. You always do this. It's a habit you've picked up from him. Always toying with each other's hands when you're together. Something about the touch makes his chest tighten, and he almost forgets what he wanted to say.

He lets out a shaky, uneven breath, his forehead dropping against the curve of your shoulder exposed by the half-buttoned shirt. Part of him wants to tell you everything, how much he cherishes moments like these, how much your words mean to him—how much you mean to him.

But he's never been as eloquent as you are, even with a litany of poems under his belt. There's a difference between speaking them out loud and confessing them onto a page. So the words die on his lips. Something about the comfort of your touch silences any protest he has, even when it's only in his head. His fingers tighten around yours, and he places a brief kiss to your collarbone.

"Stay the night?"

"Mhm, okay," you hum in confirmation. You place your own kiss to the side of his head, directly into the dark chocolate strands of hair. The smell of sweat and sex still lingers between you, a welcome reprieve from the subtle tension a few moments before.

He allows himself to take some comfort in it, the knowledge that you will stay, that you will remain here with him. Patrick knows that it's not so simple, that you may yet disappear again, return to being that detached girl who could not care less about him—but for now, you are here. Warm and soft against his body.

One of his hands trails up to tangle in your soft hair, guiding your chin up to meet his eyes. And then he leans closer, his lips finding yours in a slow, unhurried kiss. His mouth moves over yours gently; he can still taste a hint of your lipstick underneath his tongue, a faded berry stain that smears between you.

And he takes a moment to just relish in it, the soft press of your lips together, before pulling away to speak into the scant air between you. "Sometimes I wish you'd be more demonstrative with me," he murmurs, entirely without thinking, his eyes fixed on your full, bitten-red lips. You don't even need lipstick like this, he thinks. Not when he can stain them red for you.

Patrick sighs, when his words are repeated in his mind—not that he has any intentions of taking it back. He's been craving your attention ever since you started this whole thing, ever since that night back in September, an entire season ago, but he hasn't ever been bold enough to ask for it. Not until now.

It was supposed to be a thoughtless confession, a passing remark, but the second the words leave his lips, he realises he meant them. Deeply. He wants your affection, your attention. Your love. Not this aloof, indifferent version of you that is always slightly removed and out-of-reach. He wants you to care.

"Demonstrative..?" You prompt after a moment of subdued silence. You release his hand, only to loop your arms around his neck in a loose embrace.

"Mhm."

His voice is low, the sound of it muffled by the way his mouth is pressed against your skin, his breath warm and uneven against your exposed collarbone. But there is an edge to his words—a hint of something more vulnerable than what either of you are used to.

"More affectionate," he clarifies after a moment, the words rushed. As if getting them out fast enough will lessen the inevitable blow of your scorn for being so weak. "More loving."

He feels almost like a child, begging for attention. Maybe he's searching for what his mother never gave him in you. That thought is a little too much to unpack right now, though. Especially when just your close proximity is making his head spin, his longing for you overwhelming any hesitation about voicing his thoughts. He knows that he's pushing further than usual, the words tumbling out as if he's physically compelled to say them.

But he can't help it.

The need for affection, devotion, is suffocating. He's not used to asking for more, to actually having to put his thoughts in words. Everyone else just gives him what he needs. The challenge is what drew you to him in the first place, but he is beginning to realise that he may have taken a bite of something more than he can chew.

His face is buried against the crook of your neck, lips grazing slowly over your pulse point. It isn't even fluttering, as if this doesn't have the same effect on you that it does on him. Truly maddening.

It is too much, perhaps. Too much honesty, too much neediness. But he cannot help the way his heart aches at the thought of your indifference, the way his soul cries for your love. His hands slide slowly up your back, tracing the warm skin just under the edge of your borrowed shirt. They don't stop until they reach the nape of your neck, his fingertips playing with the smooth skin and hairs there.

"Please?" He whispers against the shell of your ear. The quiet plea hangs heavily in the air, and for a moment, Patrick is tempted to just blurt it all out. To put all his cards on the table and let the pieces fall where they may. But he pushes the words down, locking them away in the depths of his heart.

"I love you," you say, tilting your head to catch his mouth in another languid, gentle kiss. A thousand words that you wouldn't dare speak aloud poured into the tender gesture, before you break free. But Patrick can't help but wonder whether it's a genuine confession or merely something to placate his aching soul. "I'm not good at this whole... romance thing, you know."

He shuts his eyes briefly at the sound of your words, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He does not trust himself to speak, his heart stuck in his throat.

I know, he wants to say. I know you're bad at this. You're bad at love and affection and vulnerability and relationships. But I need you to try. For me.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead he lets out the breath he's been holding and tugs you that little bit closer, fingers trailing slowly over the smooth curve of your spine.

"Yes, I know," he mutters. His tone is that of a sad, resigned acceptance of the fact that you have walls around your heart.

That this is it.

No tenderness, no declarations, no loving words other than those to appease him. You are fond of him, perhaps even fond of him too much, but he cannot expect you to love him in the way he does. He cannot have the love he desperately craves, and he is beginning to realise that there's absolutely nothing he can do about it.

He's not used to feeling so powerless.

A hint of bitterness creeps into his chest at the thought, and a part of him wants to pull away. He wants to put some distance between you, to distance his heart from this girl who does not love him but whom he loves with his entire being.

But it's impossible to resist the warm press of your skin, the soft brush of your fingers against his hair. He cannot push you away, and instead holds you even tighter against his chest. Some form of affection is better than nothing. Anything is better than nothing.

And that is when Patrick realises that no matter how much he loves you, no matter how much he craves more affection, he will take anything that you are willing to give him.

His mouth trails along your jawline, planting gentle kisses there; he's lost in the warm, familiar scent of your skin against his lips, the feeling of your soft body against his. There is a certain resignation in his touch, a bittersweet acceptance that this will be enough.

His mind is still spinning, his thoughts muddled, but his body responds easily where his brain cannot. The touch of his lips against your skin grows more urgent. Despite his realisation, he craves you, and if this is all he can get, he'll take full advantage of that.

His lips return to your mouth in a hungrier kiss, the desperate need for you seeping into the way his tongue presses at the seam of your lips. His hands begin to roam the length of your body, tracing against the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips. He needs this, he needs this, and his touch grows more frantic with each passing moment. He can feel the bitterness begin to wash away, replaced with something else.

Something familiar. Desire.

Despite his earlier realisation, his need for you does not subside. No, it does not subside, instead replaced by a different need. His fingers move to the buttons of the shirt, a gentle tug in a silent plea for more—for your clothes to come entirely back off, for more skin against skin.

"Tired," comes your protest against his mouth. But you don't break away from him, hands still threaded into his hair. "I mean, we've already fucked, Pat."

His breath stutters in his chest at that, because he's not sure if it's an excuse for you to stop here, end this, stop them, or if you're simply tired.

It's not that different, he can't help but think. Not that different.

His lips trail over your neck, planting a line of hot, slow kisses down the side, but there is a hint of resignation in the way he touches you now. "You sure?"

"Mhm," you mumble. Your hand cards gently through his curls, the touch almost apologetic in nature. "We can cuddle, though."

Patrick almost lets out a sigh, his lips pausing against your throat. He's trying to push down any disappointment that threatens to break past the surface.

You do not want more. You're tired, you're done with him for the night.

It's fine. It's okay.

He presses one last kiss to the place where your neck meets your shoulder, the sigh that follows almost inaudible even in the silence of his room. "Yeah. Cuddle."

His arms loosen their grip around you to give you room to pull away, although a part of him doesn't want to. A part of him wants to hold onto you, to keep you close forever. But he does not want to come off as even more pathetic than he already has tonight.

Instead he settles for slowly sitting back against the headboard, opening his arms in a silent invitation. You shift back up the bed to join him, tucking in against him, head pressed against his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you again, holding you close to his chest. A kiss is pressed to the top of your head, and he tries to find comfort in the sense of closeness.

But your words from earlier keep coming back to his mind.

I'm not good at this whole romance thing, you know.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and tries to settle against the pillow. Despite having you in his arms and the solace it should give him, he can't help the way he feels a pang of discomfort at your words. He's not asking for romance, necessarily. Not for flowers and poetry (ironically) and grand demonstrations of love.

He just wants your affection. He just wants to be wanted. He just wants to feel loved.

"Does it hurt?" Your voice cuts through the silence after a while, reaching up with a hand to trace the tender skin at the back of his shoulder. He lets out a soft, somewhat strained breath at the feeling of your fingertips over the sensitive skin there. It's not pain, exactly. More of a warm, almost aching sting around the scratches.

"it's fine," he mutters, and he's not entirely sure if the answer is referring to the physical wound or the emotional one. It's hardly much different at this point. No matter what happens, you always inflict him with something.

A beat passes, then another.

He keeps his eyes closed, listening to the silence, to the sound of your intermingled soft breaths. He can feel his own heartbeat, the steady thump against his ribs, but it's almost as if his chest is cold. As if there's something missing.

That familiar lump rises again in his throat, and when he speaks, his voice feels strained. As if it's been a week of not using it, rather than just two minutes.

"You're not falling in love with me, are you?"

"I told you I loved you five minutes ago, Pat. Sometimes it is a marvel that you are a scholar at all with that memory of yours," you say, your tone light as the hand on his shoulder trails down until your palm is flat against his heart, right next to your head.

And his heart, which had been thumping steadily against his chest, stutters at the sound of your words. He opens his eyes and looks down at the top of your head, his fingers tracing absent little circles against the skin of your forearm.

You had said the words—I love you—back in January, and now again tonight. Does that not mean you love him?

"That's not what I meant," he says, quiet and gentle, almost fragile.

"Then what did you mean?" You ask. You can feel the way his heart is picking up, the steady thump thump thump picking up into something more erratic.

Patrick swallows, his throat tight and dry, and another shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he grapples for words. "Like... emotionally. Emotionally in love."

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

"You love me, you've said that. But you're not in love with me. Not the way I'm in love with you," he goes on, his words quiet and faltering. He just wants you to need him in the same way that he needs you. Like water in a desert, or the way a body needs a heart. You are his heart, or at the very least you're in possession of his own.

"Pat, I'm your girlfriend," you say, tilting your chin to look up at him. "I wouldn't have accepted such a title if I wasn't smitten with you, you know."

He has to bite back something between a scoff and a sigh. That's the thing. That's the difference. This isn't about the title you give it, it's about what's under the title. About the true emotional depth behind the world girlfriend.

"Yeah," he says, softly and bitterly. "My girlfriend."

His fingers tighten reflexively around your arm, and he has to force himself to relax. "I see the way you look at me, you know," he continues, his words low but laced with an unmistaken hint of vulnerability. One that surprises even himself. "I know you care about me, that you like me in some way. Love me, even. But I'm not what you need. And I'm certainly not your first choice."

"Then who is my first choice?" There's almost a challenge in the way you ask it, despite the tenderness of your hand against his heart. And he almost laughs at the question. Are you really that oblivious? He shakes his head, even if you can't see it, and answers with a single word.

"Art."

You actually jerk up at that. The way you look at him is somewhat incredulous, or perhaps even disgusted that he could say such a thing out loud.

"Don't be so ridiculous," you say, your words coming out a tad bit harsher than expected. And his chest aches at the way you move with such speed, the harshness of your voice and the hardness in your eyes at his words.

"Why? Because it's a little too true?" He says, his words tight and bitter. "C'mon. You and I both know you've got a thing for him." He props himself up on his forearms, shifting to match your upright position. "I'm not trying to be ridiculous," Patrick continues, a hint of frustration injected into his flurry of words. "I'm just trying to get you to see it. To see how you really feel, about him, about us... about me."

He knows how the words sound, and that you will undoubtedly take them as some sort of criticism or rejection, as if he hadn't wanted you there. But you both know the truth, he thinks. Patrick swallows, and his heart feels lodged in his throat. "You only chose me because he turned you down."

"Oh, piss off, Patrick," you say, the words—his given name, as opposed to the Pat you've always called him—practically sneered at him. "That's not what happened at all. I don't know how you've managed to jump to that conclusion."

He scoffs, and his heart twists painfully in his chest. It's hard not to grow frustrated, the bitter hurt at both your words and the situation he's fabricated in his head bordering on anger.

"It's not that much of an exaggeration, and you know it," he shoots back, his voice increasingly tight and strained. "You were desperate that night. You only came back to me because you knew I'd get on my knees and worship the ground you walk on, no questions asked."

The words are like acid in his mouth, but he can't help but feel a sense of bitter satisfaction—of victory—seeing the way you react. And he knows it's unfair, but he's too riled up right now (a problem of his own making, naturally) to care.

“You knew I’d come running the moment you called. You wanted that, you wanted me to drop everything and come crawling to you again, begging at your feet.”

"I've never wanted Art, you delusional prick," you scowl. And then you withdraw yourself suddenly, the movement almost violent in the way you disappear from his arms so quickly it's like you were almost never there.

You sit at the edge of the bed, legs draped over the edge as you card a frustrated hand through your messy hair. And at that sudden withdrawal, Patrick almost feels like something has been wrenched out of him, his hands clenching around empty air as you move away. He sits back against the headboard, his eyes fixed on your slumped figure at the edge of the bed, the sudden distance in the room almost palpable. 

He wants to reach out and pull you back to him, to bury his face in your neck and kiss you until he can’t remember why he’s angry. But he doesn’t. Instead he swallows the words bubbling in his throat and lets the silence fall.

There’s a sense of resignation in the quiet that envelops the room. Patrick can feel the tension between you, the weight of all the things you’re refusing to say, while you stew at the edge of the bed.

He watches you, taking in the slope of your shoulders and the way your fingers are tangled in your hair (a nervous habit of yours, he's come to learn, but it seems more aggrieved than anxious at the moment), and his own heart aches with the need to bridge the distance between you. 

But he doesn’t. Not yet. There’s something he has to say first.

“You’ve never wanted Art?” His voice is quiet, and he can feel the resentment brewing at the back of his throat. “You’ve never even thought about it?” 

He’s grasping for something, anything, anything at all to convince himself that he’s wrong. 

“Answer me honestly, and don’t you dare lie.”

"I can't believe you would even say that," you say, shaking your head. Your gaze burns into the ground beneath your bare feet, your knee bouncing. You're itching for a cigarette, but you can't bring yourself to move to get one right now.

"No, Patrick. Art's a friend, at most."

He almost scoffs at the words, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, really. And it’s not that he doesn’t believe you, either. 

It’s just that he wants to. He needs to. 

“Bullshit,” he mutters. “I see the way you look at him, the way you act around him. I’m not stupid.”

God, he’s grasping, and he knows it.

“You keep coming back to me because you know it’s safe, you know there’s no risk,” He scoffs, bitter with self-pity. Or maybe self-sabotage. “You know I’ll always be here, at your beck and call, because I’m in love with you, and you know how much that hurts me. But God forbid you ever let yourself fall for me too. That might actually be a challenge. That might actually need effort from you.”

"Patrick Zweig, if you're going to sit here and accuse me of being in love with your best friend and not you, my fucking boyfriend," you snap, turning your head back towards him. "I'm going to walk out that door right now. I'm not doing this with you."

His chest tightens uncomfortably at those words, at the threat of you leaving, of you walking out the door and never looking back. But he can’t back down, not now. Not when he’s so sure of this. He needs to know. He has to know. 

He takes a breath, and ploughs on. Might as well dig his own grave at this point.

“I wish you would,” he scoffs, his eyes fixed on you in challenge. “I wish you would have walked out a long time ago.”

His heart aches as the words leave his mouth, the bitter irony not lost on him. He can see that they cut you, the way your shoulders sag and your expression clouds, and a small part of him hates himself for doing it. But there’s something else, some twisted, masochistic part of him that relishes the hurt he’s causing. Because at least you feel something. 

He laughs, a harsh, hollow sound, even to his own ears. “Maybe you should leave this time, for good.”

"Maybe I should, Patrick," you snap in reply, your words nothing short of biting. The only thing that's stopping you from getting up and storming out right now is the anchor of the regret you know you'd feel as soon as the door was shut. "Run off into the sunset with Art, shall I? And you can go off and find a girl willing to write you the little sonnets and love poems you so clearly need."

A volatile mixture of hurt and anger and resentment wells up in his chest at that. Mocking his adoration for poetry is a low blow, and you both know it. He's never asked that of you—that’s not your way of showing affection. It’s his. A way of expressing his love, and you act like it's some inconvenience?

“Oh, I’ll find one. You don’t have to worry about that,” he says. “I’ll find someone who actually wants me, instead of someone who just keeps me around because I’m convenient.”

He knows he’s treading dangerous waters now, that one wrong word might set you off like a powder keg. But he can’t seem to stop himself, the words tumbling out of his mouth like a flood he has no hopes of containing. At this point, he doesn’t even want to.

“I’ll find someone who sees me as something more than just a fallback, someone who actually cares about me, not just about what I can do for her.”

"And what can you do for me, huh? Except sit there and whine about the fact I'm supposedly in love with your dear old pal?" You fire back.

His heart aches at those words, the accusation like a knife to his chest. 

Patrick swallows, his voice tight. “I have been nothing but devoted to you. All these years, everything I ever do is for you. I would drop anything, anyone, at your command.”

He scoffs. “I would literally take a bullet for you,” he says, the words practically spat out.

“And all you’ve ever given me is your scraps of attention,” He continues. “You come and go as you please, taking whatever you want from me with no regard for my feelings, and you have the audacity to act like I’m asking for too much?”

"I have never once told you that you were asking for too much, Patrick. What I am saying, is that it's absolutely ridiculous that you could accuse me of... of what? Wanting to be unfaithful to you, with Art, no less? Am I supposed to just take that in my stride and not act as if it doesn't make me sick to my stomach to hear that?" You say, the words pouring out of you, laced with derision and perhaps just a little bit of... anguish? as you rise to your feet. Or perhaps that's just wishful thinking on his part.

He knows he’s crossed a line, that he’s gone too far this time. But he can’t stop himself from doubling down. 

“Why?” he says, his voice low. “Why does it make you sick, hmm? Because I’m wrong, or because I’m right?”

"Because you're wrong, Patrick. And it disgusts me that it could even cross your mind that I would ever do such a thing to you," you sneer in reply. "I mean, do you really think that little of me?" A dry, humourless laugh punctuates your words.

His heart aches to hear it, the disdain and indignation in your voice like a punch to the gut. He swallows down the retort that rises in his throat, the urge to hurt you back growing stronger with every moment you refuse to admit what he believes to be the truth. 

But he bites his tongue, his voice a quiet confession as he says, “Sometimes? Yes, I do.”

You scoff.

“I think you could tear my heart out, smash it to pieces, and not even bat an eye,” he continues, his voice dropping into a quiet confession. “I think you’ll ruin me without a second thought if it meant you got what you wanted in the end.”

He takes a breath, his voice strained with the weight of his admission. The same words have adorned a page a thousand times, but speaking them aloud is something else entirely. He's not sure whether it's making him feel worse or better.

God, he feels pathetic.

“And that kills me. It kills me to know that you’ve got me wrapped so tight around your finger that I’m just willing to follow you around like a lost puppy, waiting for the scraps of attention you deign to give me.”

He laughs, a dark, humourless sound. “I must look pathetic to you, yeah?”

He hates himself for it, but he continues. There’s no point in stopping now, right?

“Tell me, do you laugh about me behind my back with Art when we’re not together? Does he tell you how I’ll do practically anything you want, that I’ll bend over backwards just for the thrill of being the one who gets a scrap of your precious time? I bet he does,” he says, his voice laced with animosity at just the thought. “I bet he gets off on watching me trip all over myself just for your attention. It probably amuses him, I’m sure it’s very funny to watch me suffer. A big difference from the Patrick Zweig everyone else knows, right? How delightful.”

"Stop it," you interject, the words a harsh demand. But there's a hint of desperation in your gaze, as if you cannot stand to hear such vile accusations. "I don't do that, Pat. Nor does he."

And his chest tightens at the hurt in your eyes, at the raw emotion that’s there. But he doesn’t let up, he can’t let up. 

“Why should I believe you, hmm?” he says, his voice dripping with derision. “Why should I just take your word for it, just like that, when I know the truth?” Patrick scoffs, his eyes meeting yours in a defiant stare as he watches you tug your trousers back on. 

“Because you’re supposed to treat your boyfriend with faithfulness and respect,” he retorts, voice flat with accusation. “But I guess we’re both falling short, aren’t we?”

"I do treat you with faithfulness, you absolute tosser," you bite in reply. You cross his room to retrieve your shoes, your face contorted into a scowl. His stomach churns as he watches, at your clear intention to leave. 

“Where are you going?" he demands, his voice rising as panic floods through him. "You can't just walk out every time we argue like this, you can't—"

"I can't what? The only thing I cannot do, is sit there and listen to you accuse me of being unfaithful to you. I won't do it," you say, shaking your head vehemently as you drop down to the floor. Damn your stupid laced boots.

He lets out a frustrated huff, his mind reeling with the panic and hurt that’s swirling inside him. 

“But it’s true!" he says, the words almost involuntary as they tear themselves from his chest. He's desperate at this point. To continue or resolve this fight, he does not know. But he can't have you leave. “You are unfaithful to me—maybe not in body, but at least in heart!”

"You are so... so stupid sometimes, Patrick, I cannot even fathom it. It hurts my fucking brain that you could even... you could even conjure up such a thing in your own," you say, as you fumble with the laces. He's the most intelligent person you know, sure, but that big brain of his is rendered utterly useless when it comes to matters of the heart.

Not that you're much better, really.

He lets out a humourless laugh, the sound both rough and bitter. “Yeah, I’m stupid,” he returns, his voice harsh. “I’m just the idiot who’s completely in love with you, who can’t see that you’re completely, utterly enchanted with my best friend instead.”

Another laugh, the sound hollow in the air. “I’m the fool who’s just willing to look the other way while you sit there and make a joke out of me, while you string me along while you decide whether you want me or him.”

"I don't want him," you snap. You're all but yelling at him now, the level of volume certainly enough to raise some questions on the floor of the dorm. But given your entire conversation, propriety is not on the table right now, as you finally do up your laces and rise to your feet.

"I want you, Pat."

The words cut through him like a knife, slicing deep into his heart. His chest tightens painfully at the admission, the air leaving his lungs in a harsh exhale. Because, unlike all those other placating whispers, the vehemence in your voice now feels real to him. He’s silent for a moment, the only sound in the room his breaths. All he can feel is the rapid, heavy pounding of his heart.

Finally, he speaks hoarsely. “Then prove it, for once in your life. Show me that you mean it, and it's not just... just some bullshit to placate me."

"What do you want me to do, huh?" You say, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "Declare my undying love for you? Run off and elope with you in the night?"

He shakes his head, the motion sharp and frustrated. “No, not any of that soppy nonsense,” he says, his voice still roughened by emotion. “Just look me in the eyes and tell me, honestly, that I’m the only one you care about. That there’s nothing between you and Art Donaldson.”

"There is nothing going on between us," you tell him, crossing the distance back towards the bed. Your eyes are dark and steely as you look at him, unyielding. "Not a single thing."

His heart thumps in his chest, the palpable battle between hope and lingering doubt sending a shudder through his body. It takes a moment for your words sink in, the sound of his own harsh breathing filling the silence between them. 

Finally, his voice comes out in a raspy whisper. “You swear it on your life?”

"Do you want me to pull out a fucking Bible, too?" You snap back. And then the tension in your body seeps out a little, and you drag a hand through your hair. A moment's pause, and then your continuation is a lot softer, "I swear."

Patrick nods, swallowing hard. He's half-tempted to ask for a pinky promise, but that seems so ridiculously juvenile right now and would only lead to further embarrassment. But he needs to be sure. He has to be sure.

"Swear it on your family," he continues, his voice still choked. "On your father, your mother, your brothers. Swear it on everything you hold dear."

You let out a scoff at that; you're half-tempted to call him pathetic, to laugh at him for demanding such a thing. But you don't, tugging on the roots of your hair as you try to force the words out.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. But the moment of hesitation passes. “I swear it. On everything.”

He feels the tension drain out of him, his heart easing at that response. He lets out a long, ragged exhale, the pain in his chest slowly lessening. 

He believes you. He has to believe you. Because you are the substance he craves, and he is nothing but a lowly acolyte, ever at the mercy of his deity.

So in that moment, he just can’t bring himself to care if he looks ridiculous. He's already been enough of a twat tonight.

Without another word, he pushes himself off the bed and closes the gap between you, taking you in his arms and pulling you flush against him. He feels cold, standing up naked like this. But he’d face the harshest winds of the Arctic to feel you against him right now. A part of you wants to push him away, tell him that you want nothing to do with him right now. That you need time to process the fact that he had so little faith in you. Because fuck, that had hurt.

But the warmth of his embrace drains the fight in you. You melt into him, and you're almost tempted to cry as your arms loop around him. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar scent of you—jasmine, cigarettes and lingering sweat from your earlier endeavours. God, that feels like a lifetime ago now.

The thought of you wanting to leave had terrified him, and it’s only now, with you safe in his arms, the reassurance you had given him settling in his chest, that the full force of the fear hits him. 

His voice is a hoarse murmur when he speaks into your soft hair, the words thick with emotion. “I’m an idiot. A total knobhead.”

He laughs, the sound dry and humourless. “I’m so stupid it’s a wonder I haven’t dropped dead yet from pure idiocy.” He takes another shaky breath, holding you tighter. “I’m sorry. I was wrong, I was… I was utterly wrong, and I didn’t—“

He cuts himself off, exhaling into your hair as he searches for the words his brain provides but his mouth refutes. “I just don’t know what I would do if I lost you. I love you so much, it’s unbearable. I think I’d go fucking mad. You’re it for me." The words are whispered with a fierce desperation. “I know I act like a selfish idiot most of the time, but you have to believe me, I just… I just can’t lose you. I love you. I love you so much, and I would do anything, anything to keep you. So just… please,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. “Just please don’t ever leave me, my beloved. Please.”

“Don’t call me my beloved right now, you absolute arse. You don't deserve it,” you huff out in reply. But the words are tinged with something lighter again, even if it feels like you might burst into tears at the familiar term.

Patrick lets out a laugh, his voice rough and ragged but tinged with genuine mirth. He can practically feel the weight lifted off his shoulders at your tease.

“Bloody hell, I just bared my bleeding heart to you, woman, and you’re more concerned with my choice of endearment. I mean, where’s your romantic spirit, hmm?” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against your ear. “Here I am baring my soul to you, and you can’t even muster up a single I love you, my darling Pat?”

“I hate you too much right now to muster up such a horrible thing,” you whisper in reply, words muffled against his chest. The way you're clinging to him right now shows quite the opposite of disdain, though.

He gives another huff of laughter, the sound tinged with relief; he can see right through your facade. For once, it feels like you’re letting him in. He lifts a hand to your head and threads it through your hair, his voice softer and more affectionate now. “You don’t hate me, and you know it. You just like to act all blasé and casual, to keep me on my toes. Nothing is ever simple with you.”

“You’re such a bloody prick sometimes, Pat,” you breathe out in reply. “Honestly, I just… god.”

You shake your head against him. You aren't entirely sure whether you want to take off your boots again or just collapse into the sheets with him and hold each other, whispering nonsense to each other into the dark hours of the night. Or, the complete opposite, and allow that lingering hurt to take precedence and drive you to bid him goodnight and spend the night in your own quarters. Patrick is thinking the same, his mind torn in two. Part of him is desperate to bury his fear, his doubt, in a night of love and tenderness. To drown it in the comfort of your body, in the taste of your skin.

The other part wants to cling to you, begging forgiveness over and over and over until it sinks in that you're not leaving, not now, not ever. That you're his, that he’s yours. And he’ll never, ever doubt you again.

But he knows you, he knows you, and he knows that you're still hurt, still angry, still upset by the accusations that he’d made. And while his instincts urge him to take you in his arms, his chest tight with the need for touch, for comfort, he can’t bring himself to do it. Not when it might piss you off even more than he already has. Because sure, the basis of his argument had been solid. The need for affection, for something more than just tender touches late at night...

The accusations, though? Far too much.

So instead, he just pulls you impossibly closer against him, holding you tight to keep you both anchored together, his voice rasping against your ear. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

And you allow him.

“I was an idiot,” he continues, his voice hoarse. “A blind, selfish, stupid idiot. I let myself believe a load of bollocks when I should’ve trusted you. You’re the most faithful, the most wonderful, the most… the most goddamn perfect person—“

He cuts himself off, his voice catching in his throat. “You’re everything. You’re everything to me.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his heart thrumming in his chest. His eyes are shining with earnestness as he tells you, “I’ll never doubt you again. I promise. I swear on my dead grandmother, I’ll never doubt you again.”

“Oh, don’t bring your fucking grandmother into this,” you groan, shutting your eyes. “It’s so terribly morbid. I can’t have that on my conscience.”

Patrick lets out a shaky bark of laughter. He cups your chin, gently tilting your head up with the press of his fingers. “Can’t have my very serious and sincere promise to never doubt you again being tainted by the mention of a long-dead old woman in my family?” He shakes his head, his voice tinged with fond exasperation. “You are the strangest girl I’ve ever known, did you know that? Any other girl I’ve had a tiff with, they’d’ve swooned at the mention of my undying devotion. But you just worry about the deceased.”

“Is it so hard to believe I hold respect for the dead?” You reply, with a tiny little smile that tells him some of your anger towards him has melted away. “Besides, I’m not any other girl, you know. There’s a reason you’re so hung up on me.”

He lets out a huff of laughter, his eyes dancing with affection. “No, you’re not any other girl,” he agrees, giving your chin a playful pinch between his thumb and forefinger. “Which is why I’m so hopelessly in love with you, even when you’re being difficult and contrary and obstinate.”

He sighs, his tone affectionate rather than exasperated. “And when you’re not letting me take responsibility and properly apologize for my idiocy, which, might I add, is an absolute crime against chivalry and romance.”

“Just shut your mouth and take my boots off, after making me go through such trouble to put them back on,” you sigh. You pull free from his grasp to take a seat on the edge of the bed, watching him expectantly.

He lets out his own long-suffering sigh, though the corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smile. “My my, my stubborn girl has some demands tonight, does she?” he says, slowly lowering himself onto his knees in front of you.

“You’re very lucky I’m in a forgiving mood,” he adds as his fingers find the laces of your boot. A bold statement to make, judging by the argument he had started. But at least he's being a little more himself. “I don’t think anyone else would be so eager to give into such an entitled little princess.”

But he tugs the first boot off, gently setting it aside before moving on to the second, his hands moving with practiced ease. Despite the teasing edge in his voice, there’s undeniable care in his movements, a tenderness in the way he works. Fingers grazing over your ankles, working your shoe free and giving a teasing little tug to your frilled lace sock to watch it snap back against your skin.

“Honestly, you’re like a cat,” he teases as he tosses the second boot aside. “Spend all day lounging about and lazing in the sun, then expect me to come along and pamper you as soon as the sun goes down.”

He places a kiss to your knee, and then rises to his feet, settling back on the bed and leaning against the headboard. Patrick beckons to you, patting the space beside him. “Come here,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing; it’s not the first time he’s started an argument, and it probably won’t be the last. But he always knows how to ease the tension afterwards. “I’m not done pampering you yet.”

He gives a quiet hum of satisfaction as you settle in beside him, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders. He tugs you as close as physics will allow, right against his chest, his other hand coming up to idly toy with your hair. 

He’s quiet for a moment, simply basking in the feel of you against him, your bodies pressed together. Then, he finally breaks the silence. 

“I really am an idiot, you know.”

His voice is soft, tinged with just a hint of self-deprecation, a contrast to his normal bravado. He shakes his head, his fingers twisting in your hair unconsciously. “I mean… I honestly, honestly believed you’d cheat on me, with fucking Art of all people, just because I… because I had a terrible day. Like all the work you’ve done to prove your loyalty is rendered null and void just because I let my insecurities get the best of me. Art,” he repeats, as if the very idea is ridiculous. “I mean, come on. I know he’s handsome and all that, but he’s one of the most awkward men I know. I’m honestly not sure he even knows how to flirt, let alone have an affair with someone.”

Patrick shakes his head.

“And you,” he continues, his voice gentling once more. “You’re like the picture of loyalty. It’s one of the things I love most about you. You’re fierce and passionate, but you give that loyalty to people you care about, and once it’s given, it’s as good as cemented in stone. You don’t go back on it. You’d never betray someone you loved, not like that, even if you were offered the sun and the moon on a silver platter.”

He lets out a sigh, tightening his arm around your shoulder. “And I know that. I do. But sometimes I get so… scared that you’ll realize how much better you deserve and just… leave me. For someone else who’s better at this relationship thing, or less insecure and angry and just… better than me.”

“Pat, I literally could not care less about finding anyone other than you—“

“And for the thousandth time,” he counters, his voice tinged with feigned annoyance at your stubbornness. “I know that. But my stupid brain still tries to convince me you’re going to realize I’m just too rough around the edges for you to deal with.” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve managed to put up with me as long as you have. I’m lucky to have a girl who doesn’t care about how incapable I am at everything outside of literature, and I go and accuse her of being in love with my best friend like a wanker.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a saint, is what you are, for putting up with me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank whatever gods are watching that you put up with my idiocy on a daily basis.”

He gives one of the locks of your hair a little playful tug. “And if you ever do decide to leave me, just… make sure you have the decency to take pity on me and warn me in advance, hmm? I’d like the chance to at least grovel and beg for your forgiveness, before you walk out the door.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yes, yes. I’ll be sure to give you a few days notice.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, his tone serious in spite of the mirth dancing in his eyes. “I think that’s reasonable. A few days notice, a good bottle of gin, and a chance to make an absolute fool of myself before you walk away. I doubt I’d be able to change your mind, but I’d at least like to go through the motions before you leave me to wallow in my own self-pity and grief.”

Patrick sighs.

"Probably find a new favorite bar to wallow in, too,” he adds. “I’d have to give up every spot we’ve been to together, especially the ones you like. Can’t go there anymore, since they’d remind me too much of you.”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers idly tracing the curve of your shoulder, your collarbone, anywhere exposed by the half-buttoned linen. “I don’t think I’d ever find another bottle of gin I’d like as much, either. The one from the store down the street would be too sweet, the one from the high-end bar over on the main road would taste too tart… nothing would compare to the one we share.”

There’s a contemplative pause, where he taps his finger against you a few times.

“And I’d have to find an entirely new wardrobe,” he laments. “I could never wear these fucking argyle sweaters again. They’d remind me too much of you and how lovely you look in them when I loan them out to you.”

And oh, how beautiful he thinks you look in his clothes.

“I’d have to sell all my records, too,” he continues, his words tinged with a melodramatic amount of despair for the sake of comedy in an attempt to lighten the mood. “All of our favorites. Never listen to my Beatles records again, because every song I play would remind me of the hundred times we’ve bloody well sung along together and get all sad and pathetic about it. And don’t even get me started on all the poems I’ve written for you,” he says, shaking his head. “I’d have to throw out every single scrap of paper they’re written on. Or better yet, burn the manuscripts of my work as an offering to purge the memories. That would probably be more poetic. Much more fitting, I feel.”

He can practically feel you rolling your eyes against him, and he knows you’re moments away from telling him to shut up for the rest of the night.

“And I’d have never enjoy a cup of tea ever again,” he says, his voice dropping into a low, exaggerated whisper. “Wouldn’t even touch the stuff. And God, the movies we’ve seen together. I’d have to steer clear of every theatre for the rest of my life, at risk of remembering how you look in the dark with the film playing across your face.”

He takes a deep breath (because he’s been running his mouth for so long his lungs are in dire need of oxygen), his hand (which seems to be permanently stained with ink) coming up to cradle your cheek. “And the places we’ve gone together. The restaurant with the good pizza, the one you like, I’d never be able to eat from again. The park down the road where we like to go for a quiet walk sometimes. The museum we like with the beautiful pieces you love to stare at for hours. The bookstore where we pick out the ones with the stupid titles so we can read them aloud to each other. The coffee shop with your favourite drink, the art store you like to go to that always makes me drag you out after you spend an outrageous amount on supplies…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Everything would remind me of you. Fucking everything.”

And as playful as he’s being, he knows that part isn’t an exaggeration.

“Honestly, I don’t know how I’d even survive.” He says with a melodramatic sigh, shaking his head dejectedly, the very pinnacle of a pitiful boyfriend. “I’d probably wither and die in my own self-pity and despair, wallowing away like the pathetic and miserable creature I am until someone found me, stiff as a board and dried up like a mummified corpse.”

“Jesus, Pat, stop being so dramatic. You’re like a broken record. Giving me a headache,” you groan.

“It’s not my fault I’m so maudlin when I’m thinking about your hypothetical exit from my life,” he defends himself with an indignant huff of protest, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Not many things get me all pathetic and poetic and melodramatic, my girl, but the idea of you leaving me is absolutely one of them.”

There’s a brief pause, and you can just tell whatever he says next is going to drive you mad.

“But…” he adds, with a hint of mischievousness in his voice, “I suppose your beautiful, angelic, radiant presence just inspires me with such overwhelming despair that I have to write a tragic Shakespearean sonnet to lament your absence in my life, for my heart is heavy and my spirit broken after your cruel, heartless abandonment.”

He gives another melodramatic sigh, one hand pressed dramatically to his heart next to your head. “Oh, the agony, the pain of it all. How I shall ever survive without you, my sweet, sweet darling… I can think of no other woman, no other soul on this earth, who can inspire such passionate misery and sorrow within me. Why, without you, I’m but a mere shell of my former self. A man wandering through life’s garden, stumbling and blind without the glorious sunshine, without the warmth and brightness that you so beautifully provide. Oh, you must find it within your heart of hearts to take pity on me, and spare me the endless abyss that would be my life without your light and love.”

He goes silent as your hand presses against his mouth, his lips parting beneath your touch. He meets your gaze with an equal mixture of amusement and mock despair, his eyebrows arching in a comically dramatic display of desperation. It's a testament to his theatrics that the expression he manages to maintain is just believable enough to look genuine, with his wide, puppy-dog eyes that convey nothing less than a hopeless devotion.

What an absolute fucking idiot. Unfortunately, he’s your absolute fucking idiot.

He sighs against your palm, the sound coming out more like a low, resigned whimper (that he’ll absolutely deny outside of this interaction), his eyes pleading with you to show mercy on his poor, wretched soul. He lets his lower lip jut out in the slightest of pouts, as if that will do the trick in persuading you to remove your hand from its place against his face and spare him a kiss in its place.

You can’t help but scoff, even as you acquiesce, rolling your eyes as you withdraw your hand. "You are utterly ridiculous, you know."

“Can’t fault a man for pouring his heart out,” he counters with a dramatic sigh, his hand coming up to dramatically clutch at his chest in a gesture of mock grief. “I can’t help that you’re my muse, the source of all my inspiration. I mean, look at you,” he says, gesturing towards you as you sit up and fix him with a flat look. “You’re so beautiful, it leaves me weak and helpless to the machinations of my own mind.”

You move to cover his mouth again, but he catches your wrist.

“How can I be expected to contain myself in the presence of true, unparalleled beauty such as yourself, my love?” He adds, lowering his other hand to reach for you, gently taking hold of your chin again.

He studies your face, his eyes tracing the shape, the curve of your lips, the flare of your nose, with an intensity that borders on obsessive. The look on his face could only be described as one of utter adoration. “You’re the very definition of an Aphrodite, you know. The living embodiment of divine grace and heavenly radiance.”

Patrick ignores your scoff in pursuit of maintaining his theatrical display of affection.

“It’s enough to drive an ordinary man mad, with your flawless skin, your sparkling eyes, the beautiful curve of your mouth. I swear, the heavens themselves would weep at the sheer injustice of it all,” he continues, his thumb gently tracing the line of your lips. He gives a dramatic, shuddering sigh. “To have a goddess of beauty on the arm of a mere mortal… the gods would be furious, don’t you think?”

“You disgust me sometimes, Pat,” you say, fixing him with a pointed look. “I ought to tell Tashi about how much of a snivelling fool you become when you’re laying it on thick for forgiveness.”

"No, no, you mustn't," he returns quickly, releasing your chin to clutch desperately at your wrist with both hands. "I'd quite literally die if she knew that I'm such a snivelling, pathetic, lovesick fool around you. She'd never let me live it down, I swear it. I'd never hear the end of it."

"Then stop it with your flowery words," you huff, rolling your eyes softly. (Although, you both know you secretly love it. Except it’s much preferred in the form of the poems you can pocket, not this ridiculous display following an argument.)

"I can't help it, my darling," he groans, the perfect picture of despair and melodramatic pleading. "It's like a disease, a sickness that courses through my veins and fills me with the most desperate, pathetic, romantic nonsense. You're like my own personal muse, you know. My inspiration. My entire world wrapped up in one beautiful, flawless goddess of a woman."

“Stop it.”

"And if I didn't take every spare moment to worship the ground you walk on, the stars you shine amongst, the very sun and moon themselves that pale in comparison to your radiant brilliance," he sighs. "I might spontaneously combust. Or drop dead from the pure intensity of the love you've inspired in me."

"No more talking," you declare.

Patrick pouts as you (heartlessly) cut off his dramatic ramble, falling silent for a moment. "But I—" he starts to protest, before thinking better of it and stopping himself with a huff. "Fine. No more talking."

"Good," you say, placing a chaste little kiss to the corner of his mouth to placate him. "I cannot stand it when you become such a sap."

Despite his earlier protest, he softens at the feeling of your kiss, the subtle pout on his face softening into a fond, almost boyish smile. His hand comes up to touch his mouth, as if to capture the lingering sensation of your lips against his skin.

"Can't blame a man for his poetic tendencies, my love," he quips, his voice dropping into a soft, mock-offended tone as he lowers his hand to admire the rouge lipstick stain on his finger. "Especially in the presence of such an inspiring, radiant woman."

“No more talking,” you repeat, fixing him with a warning look.

Patrick’s smirk widens into a teasing grin, his eyes sparkling with a playful defiance. He parts his lips as if to protest once more, but a raised eyebrow from you has him pausing, his words dying on his tongue. Instead, he simply gives his thousandth sigh, his expression a perfect picture of mock-forlorn obedience. "Fine, not a word. My lips are sealed, sealed tighter than a safe from Fort Knox itself."

“You’re like a fucking thesaurus sometimes,” you sigh. “Or Shakespeare himself. It drives me insane.”

Patrick just grins. “I prefer to think of myself as a modern-day Shakespeare,” he says. “Just replace all the swords and daggers with cocktails and cigarettes, and voila! A modern bard of the highest order.”

And, just like that, the pair of you laugh, your earlier transgressions melting away in the light of the familiar banter settling between you. A warm blanket to ease the tension until only a puddle of young, imperfect, stupid love remains.

[staryuee]

HOW THEY REACT TO YOUR SILENT TREATMENT.

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread … sigh

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . you and your partner are having a “cooling down period”, a time of détente, after a recent argument. how do they deal with the lack of love from you?

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, eula, wanderer, ayato, gorou, tartaglia, lyney, wriothesley, neuvillette, arlecchino

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . as a psychology student ☝️🤓 i can safely say that the silent treatment is usually frowned upon due to its connotations with emotional abuse, therefore i tried my best to make it apparent that this sort of silence is within the boundaries of the relationship ( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ ) please communicate with your loved ones if you feel a certain way :)

you and your beloved recently had a pretty bad argument. out of respect for both of your feelings you both decided to have a period of détente to allow a gradual recovery of your emotions and logical reasonings.

there was no need to argue, and there was also no need to be hostile or petty; therefore your silent treatment wasn’t a way to maliciously gain control or make your lover come running back to you, it was a way for both of you to regain composure and come back to the topic when prepared.

that did unfortunately, lead to much less affectionate gestures from both of you. of course there was still the casual “i love you” every morning and night accompanied by a simple kiss, but it never went anything beyond that.

while your lover fully knew why this sort of peaceful coexistence was necessary, sometimes it’s sincerely difficult to not just reach out and kiss you breathless.

you’re so close yet so far, it’s unbearable.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

master diluc has been rather restless lately.

constant muttering to himself, plucking the dried up skin that stuck out from his badly bitten lips, his gloved hands constantly scratching a non existent scratch; honestly, if the fellow residents of dawn winery didn’t know any better they’d think he was possessed and required an immediate exorcist.

adelinde refuses to see her precious baby sink his eyes into ruin purely because he’s out secretly patrolling once he wakes up in the middle of the night to clear his head. you’re always there with him throughout the night: but why does it still feel so empty regardless?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST ?

diluc is no pushover or people pleaser; if you were guilty, then you’re guilty and he’ll wait all the time in the world till you eventually own up and apologise (please let that come sooner or later though otherwise he’ll give into ruin and sip alcohol for a breather). otherwise, if its his fault, or no ones and it was a mere misunderstanding, the silent treatment lasts for a day. not any longer not any less; he doesn’t allow it to.

he’s more than happy to wait forever for you but gods if he ever made a mistake that accidentally led you to elongating this supposed transient silence till the end of time, diluc would much rather swallow his pride and give his all to you. you’re worth more than pettiness, and he’ll prove that to you once you wake up and get greeted with all your favourite luxuries and a bright, relieved smile on his face.

EULA — 优菈

you’re beyond delusion if you think this woman won’t turn this into a healthy-ish competition of sorts.

you wish to avoid her for days on end? she’s already used to the world avoiding her mere gaze, she can withstand the somber feeling of having the one person who’s fully understood her as the complex person she is self-isolating from her for a little while.

never mind, no, she literally can’t. come back to her right now. we have problem right? lets talk about it, isn’t that what you taught her in the first place? what do you mean you need a break and want to clear your head for a while to not hurt her feelings? you think eula of all people cares about something like that?

she’d rather you spit at her than withstand another hour of this mindless nonsense.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

she doesn’t apologise unless she sees whatever caused this perilous argument in the first place truly hurt you and you ended up in tears; otherwise whats the use in pointless words when you can easily hug it out and call it a day?

she lets you apologise under the guise of “if you don’t, my vengeance towards you will be greater than my foes”, but in reality? eula is hardly paying any attention to the words slipping past your lips. all she’s thinking about is how she’ll be able to shake off this uneasy tension that’s somehow been created between you two.

WANDERER — 流浪者

you can’t tell which one of you needed this little breather more, after all, you’d hope scara would allow himself to soften after distancing from you after a while, and scara hoped you’d see reason within your argument and eventually, as always, forgive him.

but forgiveness is a two way straight in the way most people subconsciously ignore; does he and could he ever forgive himself? that image of your teary eyed face, the harsh puffs of breath you heaved to prevent any more molten venom to burn his plastic skin, the slight clenching of your jaw, fuck it hurt.

he couldn’t admit it at the time, but right now after being forcefully peeled away from you for about week and forcing auntie nahida to listen to his venting rambles? he wished he just gave it all up and did something: anything at all. kissed you, hugged you, consoled you, swiped your tears away with his thumbs, fluttered his eyelashes on your cheek gently as he whispered an i love you.

yet all he could do right now was wait.

wait until you hopefully came back, he couldn’t face you. if you abandoned him he’d deal with it. the petals on the floor and the hushed whispers of “they love me, they love me not” are just hallucinations from his worried caregiver, he swears.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

never would he stoop so low as to apologise.

verbally. that is. if he’s aware that he’s in the wrong (believe me that look on your face does wonders for trying to figure out whats on your mind) he’ll begrudgingly come up with some covert way of making it up to you. he doesn’t want to be stuck in this immortalised silence forever; believe me, he likes your talking more than he realises and this little test trial of abandonment was more than enough proof that your existence within his life is essential.

if you’re not there standing by his side, what even is the point in that fraudulent pacemaker of his? your laughter is in the same shape of his heartbeat; if you’re not here, he’s just back to being that dumb little puppet cuddled ashore in the slim darkness of the night.

K. AYATO — 神里绫人

bile builds up in ayato’s throat, eyes threatening to spill hazardous tears on his paperwork. he HATES being away from you. yes, you’ll be back comfortably in his arms with a kiss on your forehead soon…but time isn’t making that “soon” come any quicker and it’s killing him.

‘silence’ is only the act of not speaking, right? so he’s technically allowed to sneak in pastries onto your desk when you’ve gone to take a break — he’s also most certainly allowed to write down his frustrations about not being able to be overly affectionate with you and then pitifully sliding them under your door in hopes you’ll read them and maybe write one back.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

he desperately tries to convince himself that if he works long enough, he’ll forget the hollowing feeling in his heart that’s left in the silhouette of you. he puts down his calligraphy pen with an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples with rough motions as if to completely rid himself of any lingering thought of you.

that’ll never work, and ayato thinks you two have calmed down enough so therefore he trudged his way into your room, knocking of course, and sat down with you for a lengthy but beneficial conversation.

without a doubt, ayato will be the one to apologise first. whether it’s a conscious decision or not completely depends on how long he’s been away from you; at some point you just fall back into regular routine completely by accident.

GOROU — 五郎

he’s glad you’ve decided to take this sort of approach to your relationship instead of having a painful battle of the wits with him but right now, he’d withstand a thousand hours of scolding than the way his fellow soldiers worryingly clutter around their little general and ask about his well-being purely because those furry ears atop his bundle of bed hair decided to stay drooped down all week.

but he can’t help it! he’s utterly miserable! you didn’t even give him your complimentary “good morning, have fun at work, be safe” kiss before he left the door in the static quiet of your abode. to top this torture off? you haven’t pet him once, and while he’d normally revel in not being treated like an actual lap dog…you’re a huge exception in that rule!

unfortunately, it’s not like he can just outright demand attention from you merely because he’s feeling a bit down on his luck. you asked for peace, he’ll give it to you. he’s a war veteran but treats you like a flower thats sprouted on a ruined patch of sand.

ehem, but please come back to him soon. please?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

whatever it takes to get your pretty hand to ruffle through his brunette locks he’ll do, he doesn’t care if the apology consists of him kneeling down on pitifully shaking his head near your thigh with his lips puckered into a pout. shame doesn’t exist within your relationship right? he’s more than willing to apologise first regardless of who was to blame.

if the argument was a little more serious however, he’ll sit down you on your couch that holds so many sweet significant memories within your mind, his head resting atop your collarbone and tail sneakily swishing from side to side now that your heartbeat was so clear to him. he’ll hear you out, talk through it, but more importantly, love and appreciate you.

TARTAGLIA — 公子

nuh uh. you think you’re getting silence with someone like him around? unless one or both of you fucked up really bad, tartaglia can’t see the point in silent ignorance; if you want to ignore him to personally calm down? sure, do whatever you want honey, you’re still getting treated like the other piece of his heart that you are.

if you’re genuinely annoyed he can leave you alone…for maybe two hours thirty minutes max. he loves you so much, talk to him, he doesn’t care if you insult him out of anger, lash out at him if you must. so long as you return into his arms so he can sway you around within his tender embrace and pepper your face with kisses, he’ll be more than happy and satisfied.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

him all day — call it the big brother complex with having to always apologise first whenever he got into a slight squabble or disagreement with his siblings when he were younger, or call it pure unadulterated love for you and the refusal to continue with this pointless staring battles whenever you guys were sitting across from each other.

whatever it is, just know he takes your feelings seriously regardless of the teasing grin across his face when you try not to squirm from the way his hand traveled from across your waist to the slither of exposed stomach. he just wants to assure you that his love won’t ever fade even if it becomes so deliberately one sided. he’s yours, after all.

LYNEY — 林尼

he’s used to eerie silence that bellowed icy winds against his ears, used to the tension that forced out his fight or flight response, but currently all he could do was freeze and overthink. how come this silence seemed so much more deafening than usual?

lyney doesn’t want this worse than capital punishment torture to continue without at least the slightest bit of laughter mingled into both of your days; he tries his best to curve your lips to even the slightest twenty degree lift using whatever he could. silly little flower reappearing trick there, a sneaky kiss to the side of your neck here; just any fleeting desperate attempt for some reciprocation on your part.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

lyney’s used to apologising first given his experiences within the house of hearth and the father herself. so imagine his surprise when you both incidentally stammer over one another as you two splutter apologies helplessly. god he’s so happy your relationship is built open gushes of giggles instead of the splats of tears because if it weren’t for that cute little accident? lyney was sure the second you opened your lovely lips to speak he would’ve teared up.

he missed that voice telling him constant i love yous, the affectionate cradling of his face against your neck and the way you wouldn’t hesitate to hold his flushed face within your cooling hands to comfort him after a particularly stress inducing performance.

WRIOTHESLEY — 莱欧斯利

you left the conversation with an “i love you.” so he knows that you’ll come back to him.

however, the last time he blindly trusted the comforting words of a loved one, it ended with blood on his hands and a lengthy sentence at the fortress of meropide. luckily for his heart and your own, he knows your charms and honeyed words aren’t for show and truly mean something.

wriothesley respects your boundaries and wishes to the t, he won’t speak to you like nothing at all happened but that doesn’t mean he won’t be overly cautious when it comes to your behavioural patterns. if he notices this sentence of silence is clearly taking its toll on you, he will, with no hesitation, talk everything out with you.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

depending on the argument, he’ll apologise first. if it’s rather undeniable that you were the one in the wrong however, he’ll explain his feelings thoroughly until you apologise — the standard. he doesn’t want this silence to end till the fortress of meropide overflows with primordial water so once you see multiple guards on your case more than ever, just know he���d like to talk to you.

NEUVILLETTE — 那维莱特

fontaine has been drenched in rain for the past couple of days. every hour, every minute, every second neuvillette spends alone in his office makes him realise just how grand and solemn it is. everything is so mundane and banal…even the cheerful mutters and chatters of the sweet melusines couldn’t bring a smile to his face — much to the dismay of the little sigewinne who even so kindly brought him a cake to cheer him up…

what makes it even worse is that everything reminds him of you…and oh god the muddied clouds have once again been cursed with rain. this unquenchable thirst for your presence cannot be ignored by a mere sip from his intricate cup and being the ever so carefully mindful iudex, neuvillette sees it more than fit to call this hopeless game of silence to quits.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

regardless of who’s in the wrong, neuvillette apologises first. he’s sorry for letting this go so far, he should’ve just trusted his gut and returned to your side even if it meant having to persuade you with his clever tongue or the coiling of his draconic tail around your leg to pull you sweetly closer.

honestly, if he could, he’d make this a punishment in the fortress of meropide for every couple. you committed a petty, technically non offensive crime? well instead of doing some charity work for the city, you’re not allowed by the side of your beloved for a few weeks.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

a bunny within the jaws of a spring locked beast thinking it can persuade the tides in their favour with silence? arlecchino is amused you’d think such cheap tomfoolery would work to solve through your problems.

“darling, come here,” she taps her lap with her blood-stained nail, her eyes looking up at you greedily to soak up every single jitter of your movements as you alas fall onto your rightful throne, “my dumb bunny,” arlecchino coos at you with that devilishly low hum of her voice. “do you think the phrases ignorance is bliss, distance brings fondness, truly work within our relationship?”

arlecchino painfully grasps at your waist, that grip only loosening once you comfortably situate yourself on her thighs and lace your arms around her neck per routine. “i’d expect this behaviour from my children at the house of hearth, not you, angel.” she nibbles on your earlobe deliberately, forcing your lips to part just the way she likes. that perfect look of both surprise and desire; it’s a gorgeous display of your vulnerability.

“explain to me your problems, or else we can be at this forever.”

no such thing as the silent treatment when the very epitome of a wordless shadow has betrothed you.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[mattybsgroupie]

— late night rides 2 ★ matt sturniolo

— CONTENTS: fwb; making out; (slightly) choking; oral (f receiving); p in v; use of “y/n”; sub!matt

— NOTES: idk why you guys liked this one so much but here’s part 2 of “late night rides”! not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes but thank you so much for all the love youve been sending me and my stories, it really means a lot <3 posting earlier this week cause it’s my finals at uni! gonna be crazy busy wish me luck!! btw just wondering should i make a taglist? would anyone be interested? lol let me know! enjoy! part 1

“i told you we gotta stop doing that” i said as soon as entered matt’s car, sitting next to him.

“yeah, i heard the first time” matt giggled, never taking me seriously. “good night to you too, princess”.

“good night, matty” i responded as i buckled my seatbelt, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “what did you tell your brothers?”

“that i was going to watch a movie by myself” he said as he started the car, checking if he was good to go by the rearview mirror.

“are you?” i teased, resting my hand on his right thigh. i could see his boner from miles away and he quickly tensed the muscle on his leg as i caressed my fingers over his jeans. matt stared at me, sarcastic blue eyes answering my question. “yeah? then where are you going?”

“somewhere i can fuck you, y/n” matt raised his voice, but still kept a jokeful tone. i rolled my eyes back and didn’t bother saying anything back, turning on the radio and adjusting the sound. “you look really pretty with that dress” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“but you’re crazy to take it off aren’t you?” i giggled, but matt actually nodded his head in disapproval. “nah, gonna go underneath the skirt” he said as finally found some alley for us to park, turning the car off and removing his seatbelt. “and i won’t even have to remove your panties” matt teased me, opening his door and coming to mine.

as he opened my side of the car, i couldn’t help but laugh at him acting like a gentleman. i stood up and leaned my back on the van, matt’s hands quickly coming to my waist. he smiled before tucking my hair behind my ear, the cold wind making the strands fall over my face. matt then leaned in, softly sealing our lips.

i melted into his touch. always gentle, matt’s digits traveled through my collarbones and shoulder before stoping by my neck, wrapping his fingers around it as he deepened the kiss. my breath instantly got heavier, matt tightening his grip as i bit his lower lip. when he noticed i’d have to pull out to get some hair, he loosened it, moving his hand to the back of my head instead. matt kept placing kisses over my face, soon going over my jaw and biting my ear.

“well, i know someone who likes coming in their pants way more than i do” i had to say. he was teasing me way too much, to the point i’d let him fuck me right there - in that fucking cold weather and in public.

“i might” matt said as he looked to the tent growing on his jeans. “it’s your fault for sending me that bra pic” he confessed, getting closer to me.

“oh, so you were a naughty boy?”

“n-no” he’d always break when i called him boy. baby boy, good boy, pretty boy, naughty boy - all of these would make matt submit in seconds. “haven’t since… last time” matt hid his face from me, snuggling into the crook of my neck. i widened my eyes as i realized it had been two weeks since our last encounter.

“matt” i called, grabbing his face with both hands. his lips were pouty and his blue orbs shiny, cheeks burning red - not really sure if it was from the weather or his shyness. “you don’t have to”.

“like better with you” he cut me off with a sudden kiss, giggling as he backed off like it was no big deal. “let’s get in?” he asked, already opening the back door for me.

i lied down on the seat, much more comfortable than the front one. matt soon entered, hovering over me as he placed both of his elbows next to my shoulders. i knew he was about to burst inside his pants, so as soon as he started kissing me, i traveled my hands down his torso, grabbing his belt and playing with the cold metal.

i closed my eyes, moving one my hands to matt’s neck, tugging my fingers on his curls while the other one stood by his boner, quickly unbuttoning his jeans. i palmed him through his underwear - completely wet. wasn’t even fair trying to tease him in such a situation, aching cock begging to get some relief. as i placed my digits on his waistband, matt suddenly denied with his head. “you first” he said, completely out of breath.

“matty, you seem like you could really use some help down there, hm?” i said, slightly stroking him.

“y/n” matt called, giving a kiss on my neck “i miss you” and with each phrase, another kiss trailed down my collarbones. “your smell, your body” he stopped by my chest, looking at me with puppy eyes, “your taste”.

matt got under my skirt, exactly as he said he would. his lips brushed against my thigh, making me hold my breath and pull my dress upwards. he touched me over my underwear, playing with my clit through the cloth and moving down to my entrance. before i could even think, his teeth meet my panties and matt started to removed them with his mouth. it was painfully slow, his blue eyes staring at me as he finally took them off completely.

matt gave me a long lick, starting at my hole and stopping by my clit before circling his tongue against it, teasing me. my hands went back to his hair, grabbing the curls as i lowered my body in the back seat in order to get some more friction.

matt’s licks got sloppier, his spit mixed with the wetness of my cunt making everything messier. “matt, be a good boy” i moaned and he instantly got it. he didn’t waste time, moving his tongue to my entrance and sliding in, slowly opening my walls.

matt’s grip on my hips got tighter, trying to keep me from moving around so much. i couldn’t help but hump against his face, matt’s nose almost touching my already swollen clit. realizing how needy i was, he quickly changed positions, one of his hands getting near my pussy.

his digits were soon teasing my entrance as his tongue travelled through my lower lips before sucking my clit and making me gasp, throwing my head back for finally getting some friction. as i clenched, he slid his middle finger into my tight hole, quickening his pace at my clit.

matt started humming something i couldn’t hear properly, my mind getting fuzzy as his finger curled inside of me. the vibrations from his voice made my pussy throb and the knot in my lower belly started to get tighter. my hands where everywhere - on his hair, shoulders, my own thighs, grabbing the leather of the seat as i whined. i couldn’t cover my moans anymore, begging for release when he entered another finger in, filling me up entirely.

“i’m gonna-” i was suddenly cut by his deep thrusts meeting my spot, whining loudly as my orgasm crashed down on me without any warning. my legs trembling against matt’s head only made the grip on my hips stronger and he kept on licking my release, making me spasm from the sensitiveness of my clit against his tongue.

matt realized i was getting overstimulated and finally stopped, showing off the biggest smile, face wet and lips red from eating me out.

“did i do good?” he asked, eager blue eyes meeting mine and sealing his lips on my own. i nodded between the kiss, smiling as he gave me a taste of myself.

“i told you’re always my good boy, matt” i said, caressing his hair, matt resting his head in my chest and laying over me. “you’re actually getting too good at this”.

“see? i’m not that naughty. only doing the best for the best” he joked back, giggling. i could feel his cock twitching over my pussy as we spoke, our heats rubbing against each other before he started another lewd kiss. i moved one of my hands to matt’s neck, my thumb applying pressure next to his addam’s apple. matt gulped and unconsciously jointed his hips forward, making me whine for the sudden contact at my exposed cunt. “fuck- sorry”

i loosened the grip on his neck and wrapped my legs around matt’s waist, bringing him closer to me. “didn’t you say you wanted to fuck me last time?” his blue eyes widened and he nodded frantically, wet spot growing on his pants. “so? you don’t want anymore?”

“i do!” matt said, loudest he’d been in hours, as if i was going to change my mind at any second. “i want it so bad i just- didn’t even… bring… protection” he whispered, disappointed at himself, hiding his face from me. before i could say it was okay - it wasn’t our first time and i loved it raw - matt started speaking again.

“i’ll pull it out! i promise, i’ll be a good boy and i’ll take it off” i nodded, reassuring him. “i don’t even have to cum, i can jack off in my hand afterwards i just- just need you. need you so much, y/n”.

i cut him off by moving my hands to his jeans, getting rid of the belt that had been bothering me all this time. matt was now only in his boxers and i quickly wrapped my fingers around his lenght.

matt's cock was rock hard, leaking pre-cum all over his shaft. i pumped him a few times, matt closing his eyes and groaning in my neck before i finally removed it from his underwear. his body kept glued on mine and i could feel matt's tip rubbing against my clit, both of us moaning at the same time.

my nails went to his back, scratching him as he kept on teasing my pussy. “can i?” he asked, not waiting for the answer he knew it would be yes, fuck, for christ's sake, just fuck me and gradually burying himself inside of me. i felt matt's cock stretching me completly, his veins throbbing against my walls.

“you're s-so fucking tight” he said under his breath, biting my earlobe.

“gosh, matt” i whined, trying to get used to his size.

matt started to move his hips slowly, allowing me to feel all of him entering my cunt. matt had been hard since i got into the car, so i knew he wasn’t gonna last long. he rapidly got worked up, not being able to keep the pace of his thrusts, pounding into me mindlessly.

i could feel his dick twitching, bringing me closer to come once more. “wanna cum” he whimpered. “please, wanna cum for you”.

“you can come baby boy, come inside of- fuck, yes!” as i gave him permission, matt released his thick spurt, filling me up with his cum. this threw me off the edge, another orgasm fully hitting me, making me tremble under him as my toes curled and i arched my back. matt panted heavily and quickly got out off me, his swollen tip leaking over my thighs and skirt.

just when we were coming from our highs, matt’s cellphone started ringing. we both grunted, annoyed by the interruption. “i’m not picking it up” he said, looking at me and kissing my cheek.

“you fucked my dress” i answered, coming back to my senses and realizing he had completely ruined it, from top to bottom.

“i’ll buy you a new dress each time we have sex” he giggled, looking at the mess he made. “how does that sound?” i showed him my pinky finger, making he promise me that he could destroy any cloth he wanted if he bought another one. we interlocked our fingers and sealed or lips together once more, laughing at the cheesy act we had just done.

“y/n” he called. “i think i’m in love with you”

“oh, shut the fuck up matthew” i giggled, pulling his hair and moving him off me.

i couldn’t let him know that this caught me off guard. i couldn't say how he’d make my heart beat faster, and i could never confess it out loud, but deep down i knew.

i was in love with him too.

[lokiswifeduh]

Long Night

Pairings - Roommate!tfatws!Bucky x Fem!Roommate!Reader

Summary - You've been stood up twice in a row now. Bucky is tired of seeing you disappointed. So he takes you on a date.

Warnings - angst, being stood up, angry/annoyed bucky

Notes - I'm horrible at summaries, I know!! This happened to me a couple days ago, wishing I had a Bucky to take me on a date in Brooklyn right about now! Not proofread so lmk if there are any mistakes! Thank you for reading loves!!

WC - 1,750

masterlist

"Whatcha gettin' ready for, doll?" Bucky leaned on your bedroom doorframe, watching you straighten your hair in the mirror on top of your dresser.

"I have a date." You smiled, not noticing the slight drop in Bucky's smile.

"Oh, with anyone I know?"

You shook your head. "His name's Nash. Someone Sam set me up with," You explained. "He's supposed to pick me up in twenty minutes."

Bucky internally rolled his eyes. The guys Sam hung around with were nice, yes. However, he never got the guts to take you out on the date you deserved. A date with him.

"Are you sure you want him picking you up?" Bucky asked, making you look back in confusion. "I mean you don't know him that well... You could meet him there or uh, I'll drop you off." You let out a small laugh, "Yeah Buck, I'll just have my male roommate drop me off at a date, that'll go over well."

Bucky shrugged. He walked away from your bedroom to grab a beer from the fridge before sitting on the couch. He turned on whatever channel didn't require him to use the remote too much before slouching into the cushions.

Twenty minutes passed by when you slipped out of your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

"Wow, doll. You.." Bucky's eyes widened slightly, "You look great."

You grinned, looking down at your outfit. It was basic but it was the most comfortable yet fashionable outfit you had. Black flared leggings with a sage green sweater and some white sneakers. It was simple yet appropriate for a late-night-diner date.

And to top it all off your makeup had cooperated for once. Both eyebrows looked like twins and not sisters. Your highlight was perfect, shimmering, but not too much. And you had the perfect lipgloss that made your lips look sunkissed. Perfect.

"He should be here any minute!" You sprayed some perfume, your favorite vanilla scent, and went to sit in the armchair across from the couch.

Bucky hummed, keeping his eyes on the Tv, taking another sip of beer.

However, twenty more minutes went by and Nash hadn't texted you, hadn't called, and hadn't shown up. Bucky was starting to feel bad and you could tell by the pity looks he kept throwing your way.

"He uhm," Bucky cleared his throat, "Maybe he hit traffic. You know, with it being New York and everything." You nodded, trying to hold onto at least a small bit of hope. "Yeah, traffic." But then another forty minutes went by and he still hadn't even texted.

And then another hour.

And another hour.

By the time Bucky finally turned off the Tv it was three and a half hours since the time Nash was supposed to come pick you up.

You were still sitting in the armchair, having dozed off with a couple tears streaked down your face. Ruining your once-perfect makeup.

Bucky sighed, silently cursing Sam even though he knew it wasn't his fault.

"Alright, doll," Bucky whispered, placing his metal arm behind your back, and lifting your legs with his right. You groaned awake, holding your phone in your palm as you wiped your cheek. "What time is it?" Your eyes shoot open, "Did he show up?" Bucky placed you in your bed, handing you one of his t-shirts you had stolen a while ago. "No, doll. I'm sorry." You stripped your shirt off to change as Bucky went into your bathroom, grabbing a couple of makeup wipes.

"Here." He softly spoke, hating your distraught and disappointed expression.

You wiped your makeup off, shedding a couple more tears in the process. The tears dripped from your cheek to the grey henley Bucky had given you. "It's okay. Maybe he was just busy." Bucky wanted to roll his eyes. He wanted to tell you that any respectful man, any gentleman wouldn't have done what Nash did to you. But he kept his mouth shut, opting to hum in your favor, and threw the makeup wipes in the trash when your face was completely bare.

"Goodnight, Doll." He placed a kiss on the crown of your head as you hummed in response. "Goodnight, Buck."

---

A couple days later, you finally got a text back from Nash.

"Bucky I was right!!" You came sliding into the kitchen, your socks making it easy to ice-skate on the smooth wood floor.

Bucky chuckled at your ability to skid so gracefully without falling. He had tried it once but vowed to never do it again after he slid into the dining room table. You would never let him live it down.

"Right about what, doll?" Bucky flipped the pancake, adding some vanilla to the dough.

"About Nash! He actually was busy!" Bucky quirked an eyebrow. Wondering why he had waited this long to text you back. Six days to be exact. "Did he say with what?" Bucky turned back to making breakfast.

"He said he got busy with work, and that something at work pissed him off so he didn't wanna see me while he was upset." You explained what Nash had told you.

Bucky had never wanted to hit someone in the face so hard.

Well, actually that wasn't true. But he did want to sock Nash in the face for standing you up and giving you a half-ass excuse days later.

"I mean that explains things, yeah..." Your brows furrowed at Bucky's flat tone. "Do you not believe it?" Bucky sighed, pulling the milk and eggs from the fridge as you sat on the countertop. "It's not that I don't believe it, it's just that it kinda seems like he forgot and or didn't wanna see you so he made up an excuse a little less than a week later to not seem like a dick." You nodded, taking in the information. Bucky couldn't sense your reaction quite yet, seeing how you were just staring at the ground with your hands in your lap, swinging your legs in the air.

"I mean, I'm seeing him tonight. If everything goes well after then I'll know it really was true."

"You're seeing him again?" You nod, "But this time I'm meeting him at the fourth corner Bakery. And I'm meeting him earlier this time, around noon."

Bucky looked over at the clock, seeing it was already 10:45. "Well you better go get ready," He said almost reluctantly, "Breakfast will be done before you need to leave."

You smiled, hopping off the countertop as you gave Bucky a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Buck. You're the best!"

He smiled, but then remembered he's only making you breakfast before you go on a date with a guy who's already stood you up once. Rolling his eyes, he scrambled the eyes, listening to your music in the other room.

---

You had already left for your date three hours ago when Bucky decided to go over to see Sam. His excuse was wanting to discuss the next mission they were due to go on in a week. But he just didn't want to sit at home all day, thinking about how you were on a date with another guy.

However, before he could reach Sam's he had to pass by the bakery where you were meeting Nash.

Yet when he looked through the window, there you were, sitting all alone at a table for two, eating a piece of cheesecake. No Nash in sight.

An internal war started in Bucky's mind. Should he go in and see if you were okay? Or should he believe Nash was in the bathroom and you were just sitting by yourself for a minute or two?

But then he noticed the solemn look on your face. The way your fork poked at the half-eaten cake. And that was your favorite kind. Bucky mumbled a soft curse, opening the door to the bakery and making his way over to you.

Without words, he sat down, his gloved hand resting on the table in front of your plate. You kept your head down, not quite looking at Bucky but knowing he was there.

"He didn't show, again." You mumbled. If Bucky didn't have super soldier hearing he doubted he could've heard what you had said.

"I know, doll. I'm sorry." You finally looked up, tears in your eyes which made Bucky's heart clench. "Why me, Buck? Why am I the one who's alone?" Bucky stayed silent, knowing you needed to vent.

"Am I unlovable? Is that what it is? Why does every single one of my friends get to find the one? Get to fall in love, get married, and have kids and I'm the one without someone?!" Your outburst made some other customers look over in concern.

You groaned, resting your head on your hand and hiding your face from the rest of the bakery. "I- uh, I'm not sure, doll. But I know one thing.. you're not unlovable. You just haven't found the one who wants to take the effort to show you how effortless you are to love."

You looked up at Bucky, fresh tears gleaming in your eyes. You had never seen him look so vulnerable before. He usually grumped his way through emotions. But not with you, not anymore.

He gave you a sad smile, clearing his throat before he stood, "Y'know what, doll. Let's go." He held out his hand. You looked around, "Where are we going?" Bucky took your palm in his gloved hand, "It's a surprise." You laughed, before standing and throwing the rest of your soggy cheesecake away. "You know how I feel about surprises." "Okay, I'll give you a hint." Bucky opened the door for you, making sure to walk on the side of the road with the bustling cars and traffic. Bucky called a taxi, opening the door for you. "You're about to have the best date of your life." You stared at him in awe before laughing and climbing in the taxi. Bucky's knees barely fit as he scooted in next to you. The driver asked where to go as Bucky licked his lips, "Brooklyn, please." You smiled, "Brooklyn?"

Bucky nodded, throwing an arm around your shoulder. "I may be old but I still know some good spots to take my best girl on a date." A blush rose to your cheeks as you looked over to him. "Your best girl?" Bucky nodded, picking up your hand with his metal one before leaving a soft kiss on your knuckles. "Always and forever, doll."

---

masterlist

[goldenjupiterz]

perfection - lee felix

PAIRING ➝ lee felix x fem!9th member reader

GENRE ➝ angst (kinda??) , comfort

WORD COUNT ➝ 0.7k

WARNINGS ➝ not proofread , established relationship , felix snaps at reader , he calls her angel , reader thinks negative thoughts about herself

SONG REC ➝ she ruins everything by ellise

NOTES ➝ lowercase intended! (@w0nslvr , i hope you’re happy i got past the wally wall)

TO BE TAGGED ➝ if you want to be tagged in works like this , you can fill out my taglist form here !

YOU’D MESSED UP. AGAIN.

it wasn’t exactly your fault - the choreography you and felix had been running through together was one of the hardest parts in the song. but you could see the tension in his eyes and the slight flicker of annoyance in his face as he gave you a tight smile and walked over to the music to restart the song. “let’s try again,” he said, his voice unnaturally cold and hard. you nodded slowly, getting back into the original starting positions.

soon enough, your solo part played, and you mouthed the words and slowly walked forward as you were supposed to. your muscle memory kicked in as you moved in time to the beat, but you stumbled a little when you twirled around and accidentally knocked into felix.

“i’m sorry-” you began, only to be cut off.

“god, you can’t do anything right, can you? it’s wonders that you even debuted with us,” he snapped, lightly shoving you away from him. tears stung your eyes and his own widened a second later, pulling you in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “angel, i’m so sorry. i didn’t-”

this time, it was your turn to cut him off. “it’s okay. i know you didn’t mean it.” you mumbled, willing your voice not to shake. even if he didn’t mean what he said, it wasn’t entirely wrong. you kept messing up, bringing down the rest of stray kids down along with you. why couldn’t you be perfect like everyone else?

you shook those thoughts off as felix said, “i think we should head back to the dorms. it’s already getting late.”

“there’s something i wanted to check real quick, so i’ll see you in the morning,” felix seemed hesitant to leave you but eventually grabbed his stuff and exited the practice room, silence settling in the room. 

as soon as he left, you grabbed your phone and played the music again, deciding to run through it a couple more times. you danced to the song again and again until you were able to run through it smoothly without any mistakes. when you checked the time, it was already 5 in the morning. you quickly rushed back to the doors, took a quick shower, and crept into your room, hoping you hadn’[t woken anyone. 

***

staying up late to practice was supposed to be a one time thing, but it grew into a frequent event to the point where you would only get 2-3 hours of sleep per night. your fellow members began to notice that you were more and more tired, but eventually chalked it up to you practicing harder on the comeback.

soon enough, the new album had released, and yet the late nights didn’t stop. even on your tours you stayed up later than the rest, practicing your vocals and other mundane skills. even stay began to notice, seeing the bags under your eyes that makeup couldn’t hide, and the way you were able to ace the choreography but seemed to tired to speak at every concert.

it eventually came to an end a couple of months after the end of your tour, when felix had woken up early to get some practice in. when he saw you in there, practicing at that time, everything began to line up. he quickly rushed to your side, placing his hands on your shoulders. “how long have you been practicing in here?” 

“since everyone left,” you admitted quietly, too tired to make up a lie. 

“is that why you’ve been so tired for the last couple of months?” you nodded. “is it because of what i said?” another nod. “i’m so sorry, angel. i honestly-”

“i just wanted to be perfect,” you said, a stray tear falling down your face. “i’m sorry i keep dragging you down. i’m such a burden.”

“you’re not dragging us down.” he replied fiercely, looking into your eyes. “do you understand me? you’re not a burden.”

“but-”

“no buts. because,

you’re perfect the way you are.”

taglist: @minleeeknow @crybqbyme @wobblewobble822

networks: @/k-labels

[tojiwrd]

6: fate is fickle ; gojo satoru

pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary when satoru breaks off your engagement, you understand and accept it. but when he marries someone else, you don't understand because he didn't want to be tied down.

content warnings mentions toxic family, mentions of forced marriage, emotional infidelity, lots of crying, drama drama drama, confrontation, lots of reminiscing. also not proofread so im sorry for any mistakes !!

word count 4k

a/n sorry for late update lomls my gojo fate is fickle ver. came back into my life after three years of silence so this is chapter is coming straight from my bones guysssss . also i am so so so grateful for the support on this fic, genuinely makes me so happy i love u guys sm thank you SO much !! <3 also credit to the person of the art!! i can't find their name so if anyone knows then lmk <3

send thoughts ↞ prev next ↠ to be added to taglist

Gojo Satoru didn’t get on one knee and ask to marry you. He did it when the two of you were in the apartment he bought just a few months prior, laying on the bed as the small opening of the curtains let a thin stream of silver streams in. It wasn’t that he wasn’t prepared because when he slipped the question while the two of you were facing one another, a hint of sleep heavy on the eyes on his moon-kissed face, he backed it up with the ring he’d carefully tucked away in his sweatpants. You swore your cheeks were hinting a fresh glow for the next week.

Maybe it was dumb to think you and Satoru, only twenty-five, would’ve worked out when he proposed on a random Sunday in bed. It did seem dumb, though, while you sat across Hana who was relaying her own proposal story. You’d tuned it out, not wanting to hear her drone on about how it was the most perfect, breathtaking moment when he got on one knee at a rooftop restaurant. You didn’t want to be there, partially because you truly felt as though Hana was painting Satoru out into someone he wasn’t, and partially because you were human and humans tend to get jealous sometimes. 

It was meant to be a simple brunch with ten people, friends of friends of friends. You had Reina right next to you, Reina, whose eyes were continuously twitching as Hana would relearn a new moment from that picture-perfect night and feel the need to share it with everyone on the table. You could also see some of your own friends who were aware of yours and Satoru’s relationship look at her, then you, with furrowed brows. Hers mostly out of confusion, and at you to ask why the fuck are you quiet?

“Ugh!” One of the girls, Jia, exclaimed as Hana finally seemed to get to the end of her engagement story. “I wish I had someone like Gojo Satoru; all these men are so unromantic and act like genuine children.”

Truthfully, if Satoru wasn’t your ex-fiancee, you would be on the same boat as the girls who were unaware of your past relationship. Hana’s story, from the pieces you forced yourself to hear, was dreamlike. A small part of you wanted to tell her that her romantic and unchildlike husband had proposed to her, too, right after he’d done some other things that would end that conversation immediately. But you didn’t because it wasn’t Hana’s fault, even though your mind kept putting some blame on her, that Satoru broke it off with you.

“I hope all of you find somebody like Satoru. He truly is the best,” Hana replied dreamily. 

You clenched your fists. Reina slammed hers on the table. 

“You’re so delusional, Hana, it’s concerning.” You wanted to raise your arms and pull Reina down and ask her to shut up. To not cause a scene. But Hana looked at Reina, a confused, concerningly kind expression covering her features and you realized there lived a monster in you that wanted to see Gojo Hana crumble. “Don’t look at me all coy, high, and mighty. You don’t know shit about your husband. Why don’t you skip over these semantics and really tell them the only reason the two of you got married was because your parents forced you to?”

You delighted in the flash of anger that slid across Hana’s face as she pursed her lips, trying to find the right words. You leaned back and stared, an uncharacteristically numb look covering your features. This, a part of you realized, might be detracking you from your healing process but it was fun.

Hana looked around the table and noticed how all eyes were fixed on her figure. If there was one thing you’d learned from girls' brunches, it was that everybody loved when it blew over and left one or many people scathed. She sputtered over her words, the tangle coming out completely incomprehensible and you almost felt bad. Almost felt bad because it wasn’t expected of her to admit to a whole group of socialites that the marriage to the Gojo heir wasn’t out of love, but out of an arrangement that went in their favor. If you were in her place, you, too, would’ve waxed poetic about your marriage because if the truth would bring the palpable exciting energy down, you would feel bad.

“Perhaps it was suggested by our parents,” she started, glaring at Reina with faux sweetness. “But it was only because our parents saw how in love we seemed with each other.”

You tried to hold yourself back but it was just so simple for you to scoff at her words. When Reina looked at you, a sheen of anger coating her eyes, you pushed yourself to talk. “It’s not love if he cheated on someone with you.”

You had thought about this moment before; you’d wondered if, were you to ever meet Hana again, you would drop the ticking time bomb in her presence that might either blow up her entire marriage or just cause a small blip in the working systems of it. But saying it now, after hearing her say all Satoru had said about you was that your fathers worked together, felt completely underwhelming. Though the shoe was dropped and it was clear everybody managed to get a small tatters of it to whisper about with other people, it felt wrong. Wrong because the way Hana looked at you, eyes brimmed with tears and brows coming together in sadness, you had most likely broken a piece of her.

She gulped then cleared her throat. “Can—Can we talk outside? Alone?” she asked and, without sparing a glance at anybody on the table except for you and Reina, she walked to the sliding doors of the restaurant and into the glaring sun above. 

Reina placed her hand on your forearm and said, “Come on, let’s go.” It was surprising to see a miniscule hint of guilt on her features, and you realized you had to have the conversation. 

Hana had most likely heard the clicking of yours and Reina’s heels because she didn’t turn back to face the two of you. “I know you and Satoru had something going on.”

You froze, stunned and silent. 

“I had heard from my mother that you both were in a relationship. He never mentioned it to me, though, and I didn’t mention it, either.” She turned around, eyes wide as she looked down and shuffled her feet in anxiousness. “I don’t know how it ended or when it ended, but I thought when he—he finally acknowledged there was something between us, the two of you were over. I didn’t want to know. We did get married because our fathers told us to, but I wasn’t lying when I said he was sweet and caring.” Her stare burned you like a billion matches. There was truth in her words, you knew—

“You homewrecking bitch!” Reina’s voice cut off your train of thought as she walked towards Hana, an accusatory finger pointed in her direction. Once again, you didn’t stop her even though you probably should’ve. “If you knew he was in a relationship, how could you even think of flirting with him? They were engaged. God! I swear, both you and Gojo are two peas in the same pod. You deserve each other.” Her words were also ringing through your head and there was confusion bubbling up within the same pot as growing anger. 

“Why’d you pretend not to know when we saw you at the club?” you asked, finding your voice again, in a calm tone that surprised you, too. 

Hana shook her head. Her face had curled up into fury, and you wondered if her nice, docile, angel-sent-from-above personality was a card she held up her sleeve the entire time. “I didn’t care. I didn’t want to know because Satoru was mine—is mine. You weren’t a part of his life anymore, so I didn’t want to add any worries that were misplaced.”

You wondered if you should tell her that Satoru had tried reaching out to you at Suguru’s gallery. 

“If he had told me he was with you, I wouldn’t have tried anything with him.”

You were sure you had moved past everything. 

After more than a year of avoiding any fire from your past with Satoru, the past two weeks had been filled to the brim with situations revolving around him. It was easy to ignore what you had with Satoru when he seemed like a distant memory and then a mere ghost in your thoughts. But when he’s insistent on giving you answers you never asked for, answers you didn’t want to know, and his wife had made an appearance that caused your brain to run without stopping, it was difficult to treat him the way you had. 

No matter how much you wanted to ignore everything and reset your brain back to its default settings, you couldn’t when the world was caving in on you and reality seeped through its cracks to light a bright, pertinent light in front of your eyes. You hated Gojo Satoru with every inch of your bones, but you were never truly able to forget just Satoru himself.

Your mind had an interesting way to deal with the pile of information dropped onto your shoulders. You should’ve been reliving how Satoru made your blood boil when he got engaged with Hana, how he carelessly broke your heart because he began falling for somebody else, somebody brand new while he was taking space on your bed every night. You should’ve been, but you weren’t. 

‘A relationship broken is always a relationship that could’ve been,’ is what you’d read once graffitied onto a brick wall you were leaning against with Satoru once in the middle of the bustling city streets. You’d pointed it out, he’d agreed. He’d agreed. You wish he hadn’t because there was a fragment of you that wished he remembered those words now. The devilish part of you wished that’s what he remembered, recounted abruptly while he was sleeping next to his wife. 

You wished he’d think of the could’ve been’s instead of the measly fears he told you about at the gallery. 

You also wish you had those fears, too. You loved Satoru to a point that he was in everything you did; your clothes smelt like his detergent because you would always take your laundry to his house for the weekends. The lamp next to your bed had his bracelet wrapped around it because he thought it was too loose on his wrist and he’d lose it. You would always accidentally call him because his contact was on your home screen, causing you to press on it when you were scrolling (he always picked up and he always talked to you for hours after, making you forget why you had opened your phone in the first place). The tattoo, a small design of baby’s breaths, on your hip reminded you of how he had held your hand through the pain. 

You knew Satoru’s dreams. You knew Satoru’s biggest fears. So, why did he never tell you the fears he had for the two of you?

As soon as the thought hit your mind, it was followed by you harshly reprimanding yourself by reminding you that it was because he was getting excited over someone else’s calls, someone else’s dreams.

“Y/N, honey.” You heard your mother’s voice call from your ajar bedroom door before she hesitantly stepped in, heel-clad feet grazing over the off-white floor with footsteps following behind her. “Your friend from the gallery here to see you.”

You knew exactly who she was talking about which is why you raised slightly from your bed, a panicked look in your eyes, and only began pleading with her to tell him you weren’t here. Before you could even utter a complete, coherent sentence, Suguru had walked in with his head down and your mother simply walked out of the door, sparing you a sad smile. She didn’t know any of what had happened, but she most likely sensed it wasn’t anything worth toasting to after seeing Suguru’s mood and your reaction. 

“Please, Suguru.” Your voice wobbled, a slight hiccup in your words because this was too much. Even though Suguru was somewhere on the top of your least-favorite people list at the moment, he didn’t deserve to see you get angry at him without having control over your words. “Leave.”

“Listen, listen, Y/N. I just… I heard some stuff and I needed to check on you.” His words were hesitant, as if he’d rehearsed them but had changed the script at the last minute. He walked closer to your bed and you couldn’t find the words to ask him to leave. “Hana told me—”

You snorted, cutting him off. “Hana told you what? That I ended her perfect, dreamy image of her marriage in public? Are you here to—what? Reprimand me? Tell me I was wrong—”

“Fuck, no. Stop, just for one second.”

You did stop because Suguru seemed more tense than you knew what to do with. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Y/N.”

You stared at him, unblinking. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he quickly addressed, his body finding its way to the edge of your bed. “I want to say I’m sorry, and you don’t have to accept it. I was wrong—I realize that now but… I was scared, Y/N.”

“Scared of what? I wouldn’t have been any worse if you’d just told me what you knew, Suguru. You hid it from me when you saw how I was going insane the month after the breakup.”

“I was scared of this. How you’ve been feeling since Satoru told you the truth himself.” You couldn’t reply to that. “But I want to tell you that even though I hadn’t told you about it, I did let Satoru know really well what he did was wrong. Not that it’s any better, but I never supported what he did. I—I couldn’t stop him from marrying her because… well, because he’s Satoru. I shouldn’t have assumed you were okay, especially not after finding out about Hana after three months. But I thought you were and—I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking straight.

But I heard from Hana earlier today about what had happened at brunch. She said she was scared Satoru would find out what she said and I—I have no idea why she trusted me with that information. I’m not friends with her. I don’t know why she told me.”

You took in a deep breath processing all the information Suguru kept on dropping. “I’m not telling Satoru anything.”

“But she—”

“She nothing. I don’t want to hear it, Suguru. Whatever she did, even if she actively tried to sabotage me and Satoru, it was on him that he let her.” Your phone lit up from beside you and you glanced at the time, internally thanking whoever controlled it for the real excuse to kick him out of your house. “I have plans with Kento. You need to leave now, actually.”

You didn’t miss the way Suguru’s face flashed with a hint of disappointment at your words. 

Kento Nanami wasn’t understanding—not truly—which is why you were surprised that halfway through your date, when you told him you had to talk to Satoru, he understood. He walked you out of the restaurant, a calm, unwavering hand on your back and told you that no matter what happened, he’d be there by your side. 

And though you knew you had people by your side, you really couldn’t remember who and felt a flutter in your chest. 

By the time you reached Satoru’s (and Hana’s) apartment, the urge and confidence you felt when you came up with your plan ebbed away into pieces and left you lying there in a situation you weren’t sure you could face. You raised your hand up to press a finger against the doorbell regardless, trying to force away the thought that you would see the apartment you helped him move into and decorate. You briefly, for a second, wondered if he had changed it. You also wondered if it would hurt to see the small paintings you’d bought as a present for his new apartment not be in the spots of the wall Satoru put you on his shoulders to pin.

When the door opened, you were met with the same eyes that had haunted your dreams and nightmares. His mouth opened, wide enough for a fly to fly into, then he schooled his features into mere curiosity. You realized that you were the one that sought him out this time, you were the one who dropped in unannounced at his house, which meant you should speak. 

“I need to talk to you.” And frankly, at that moment, you didn’t care if Hana was lurking behind him and able to hear you initiate a conversation with her husband. That was what he was: her husband before your ex-fiance.

He breathed out and shook his head as if willing himself to speak, too. “Yes. Yeah. Come in, Y/N.”

And you did. You saw the walls, the paintings, the small hearts on the corner of the dining table you drew with a sharpie, the couch you picked out, and even the necklace you had forgotten that peeked from under his coat on the coat hanger. You didn’t comment on it, though. 

“Do you want water? Tea? Liquor?” 

You almost laughed at the anxiousness in his voice. “I’m good. This won’t take long.”

Satoru’s expression was what you could confidently call crestfallen, and he didn’t try to hide it this time. You forced yourself not to think about it. You merely went down to the couch in his living room that you picked out and placed yourself on the left corner because you always used to sit on the right. It helped you see the TV better. 

“She isn’t home.” You knew who he meant by ‘she.’

“Goj—Satoru, I need you to do something,” you said, unsure of how to start it off. In all fairness, you hadn’t prepared what you were going to say, it was just a messed up, jumbled backbone of stuff that you knew you had to tell him.

His reply was instant. “Anything.”

“I need you to not feel guilty or—I don’t know, keep feeling guilty but just keep it to yourself, okay?” You sounded like you were talking like a preschooler, and it wasn’t much different because Satoru looked at you with the hopeful eyes a kid has before you reject their wishes. But Satoru wasn’t a kid, Satoru was a man who made poor choices and hurt someone by doing something unexcusable, and that made it okay to tell him to stop. 

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t talk to me. If we’re in the same place, don’t talk to me. Don’t ask me not to hate you. Don’t tell me you regret what you did to me.”

It hurt to break your heart by your own words. 

“Y/N, don’t do this,” he trailed off, eyes wide and filled with fear now. “Please.”

“Stop.” Your own eyes brimmed with tears you weren’t going to shed. It was fine dealing with Satoru when he tried to talk to you, but doing it on your own terms gave you an inexplicable feeling of sadness you hadn’t expected. “You’re being selfish.”

“No. How…”

“You take when you want, Satoru. You know more than anybody else that I loved you and lost myself when I couldn’t. You were there that night in the car, holding me when I cried when you left me. You left me!” you exclaimed, pointing your index in his direction that would’ve jabbed him in the face if he wasn’t further away. “You were there even after you left me. You’re there now, making me all confused and angry, when you know you can’t give me anything. You don’t have any intention of being somebody I need in my life, so leave. Make this easier for me and leave. Let me live my life while you live yours.”

He had shifted down the couch, and though he was still not too close, it felt too close. 

“Don’t—fuck, don’t say that, love. Please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You flailed your arms in the air, his words not helping your case at all. “You can be sorry a million times over, but what’s done is done. You can’t… Fuck, Satoru. You can’t do this.”

A moment passed. Then another. He placed his head in his hands, facing ahead while you faced his shaking body. 

“I love you,” he said, and you were lost. 

“Don’t do this to your wife, Satoru. You love her. You’re supposed to love her. Don’t do this to someone else.”

“I love you,” he repeated, his eyes now looking into yours with a familiar fire of determination. “You know that, right? You know that I love you?” His words broke out into a sob that ripped directly from his scratchy throat. “Tell me you know that.”

“Then please leave. Don’t show up. Stop showing up, and stop explaining something that can’t be understood.”

And when Satoru placed a hand on your cheek, you didn’t push it away because you saw that previous fire dwindle within a second. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he scanned your warm face, your glassy eyes, and he noticed how you were shivering under his touch. You didn’t push it away because Satoru might’ve been selfish, but you were, too. And you would inhale the embers of him before they turned into ash.

“You want this?” he asked, but you could see he knew the answer. You didn’t reply. He continued, “I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. But—But I want you to know I wanted it to be you. When Hana walked down the aisle, I thought of you. I wish you’d come. I would’ve never said ‘I do.’ I swear. I’m sorry I fucked up—I fucked us up. I got carried away and…”

You smiled sadly. “Don’t do that to her. You have a chance at being happy, Satoru. Don’t ever do what you did to me again.”

“Do you?” he asked.

“Do I what?”

“Have that chance at being happy?”

You thought about the question and Kento’s name flashed in your mind. It might have been small compared to the colossal amounts of feelings you felt with Satoru back then, but it was something. Even though you didn’t shake under Kento’s touch or feel your stomach turning upside down everytime he smiled at you, you felt safe and you knew that if you could stay, Kento would stay, too. 

“I do.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, a single tear falling from his eye. “Is it wrong that I still wish it was me?”

You wanted to say no, it isn’t because a part of me wishes it was you, too. You didn’t. 

He continued, “I can’t let you go, Y/N.” 

Another tear, then another, till they continued streaming down his face. You couldn’t stop them. You couldn’t react to them. Not even when he took his hand away from your face to messily wipe them away between sobs and hiccups. 

“You said you didn’t deserve me, and you were right. Remember that.”

And even though a larger part of you didn’t want to leave, you left, afraid that you might end up entangling yourself in his arms to cry with him. To get one taste of his lips for the last time before deciding to fuck it all and make one kiss more. To hold onto him for longer, forever. You left because you weren’t sure you could tell Satoru to leave again. You thought you still loved Satoru just not in the way you used to. But when you saw him pleading for nothing because there was no good outcome for the two of you, you realized you might still love Satoru the way you used to, just less and concealed by the hurt. You would’ve chosen all the bad outcomes and then some more if you stayed a minute longer.

[mxnhoo]

late nights, in the middle of June (n. rk)

⌜ ⌝

ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.

ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; [ Heatwaves - Glass Animals ]

1:07 ——◦———— -3:58 ↠

ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

⌞ ⌟

synopsis : a friendship breakup which hurt more than your actual breakups. genre : angst w/c : 2.7k a/n : it is infact a late night in the middle of June, and i'm thinking about someone :'D and this unfortunately was something that actually happened to me with that someone and one of my ex's, had to pull up some old texts for this LMAO. not proofread, sorry if there are any mistakes

playlist : to riki, i'm sorry. here's a playlist i made for this imagine!

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

Emptiness.

Emptiness was something that filled you.

It's that feeling you get when something so special was abruptly taken away from you.

You knew it would happen, yet you didn't change anything when you had the chance to, because you assumed everything would be fine.

You knew that it was only your fault, not his.

It was your fault that the friendship had been neglected, all because you liked a stupid boy.

But now that it's too late, all you can do is reminisce about the things that happened at night.

9:13P.M.

It was June 15th. The sound of raindrops, thunder, and your music blasting were the only things you could hear

On Spotify, Heatwaves was playing.

"Sometimes all I think about is you, late nights in the middle of June"

Your apartment dim, with only the lamp across the room turned on, and your curtains covering the window

You stared at the bright computer screen in front of you. The screen was so bright it was practically burning your eyes, but you could care less with the amount of energy you have, and the feeling of your heartconstantly aching.

The screen displayed photos of you.

You and Ni-ki.

There was a selfie of you and Ni-ki in a public bus. It was the day you and him played bowling for the first time.

Another one, this time in his house. In the photo, Ni-ki was making an ugly face and you were shaking in the frame, indicating your laughter.

"Fuck.

I fucking miss him."

There was more.

One photo was a formal picture. It was taken on his birthday. His hair shorter than usual, probably because he was forced to have a haircut for the special day, and him holding onto your waist while holding up a peace sign as you smiled at him.

There was even more photos. Even in games.

In Roblox, there a screenshot of both of your characters. You remembered this night, it was when you both played Bingo and cursed at random strangers who managed to win when you were close.

In Valorant, there was a screenshot. You were playing Cypher, and he was playing Raze. You took a screenshot from Cypher's camera and in the frame was both you and him together.

One more in Call of Duty, another in PUBG.

Fuck, there was far too many photos.

There were too many for your liking.

And you hated how you remembered every single one of them. What you both were doing, how the calls were and the jokes you cracked on that day.

You even recalled those calls when all you did was talk. Talk about life, rant our feelings, and there was never a moment where you felt invalidated. That was rare for you.

You both enjoyed during karaoke calls over discord too. You both shared a playlist, and both of your favourite songs to sing together was 'Best Friend - Rex Orange County'.

Your heart dropped even more if that was even possible, and you lowered your eyelids, allowing the darkness to take over. You lean your head back, resting it on the cushion behind you, and you let out a long defeated sigh.

Regret.

You really regretted everything you did.

Why did you have to fuck up and lose someone like him?

You regret not responding faster when you gotten a notification from him.

You regret turning him down when he invites you out, or to a game.

You regret neglecting him when you liked someone.

Fucking hell, you didn't even like him romantically, why the fuck does it hurt so much?

There were so many days when people convinced the two of you were dating, and so many times when you stayed up late at night debating whether you genuinely had romantic or platonic feelings for him.

It was never romantic, only platonic.

So why the fuck does it hurt this much?

You opened another tab, and quickly typed in the link to your usual chatting app.

Scroll... And there was his name. His contact was still the inside joke you both had.

The last message was sent by him, and it was an "okay''. It was sent 2 years ago.

On your spotify, Heat Waves finished playing and Best Friend started playing. Dedicating your favourite songs to someone is the worst thing to do.

"I can't wait to be your number one, I'll be your biggest fan and you'll be mine but I still wanna break your heart and make you cry."

There were so.. so many moments when you just wanted to message him and catch up with him, but everytime you opened his chat, the fear overpowers your desire. Your desire to reconnect, the desire to catch up, the desire to fix everything.

You scroll up your chat.

"I'm sorry for-"

It was the apology message from you. One of the many apology messages you sent to him. Your stomach instantly dropped and you quickly scrolled up further before you could fully read the message and relive the past arguments you had with him.

2 December

y/n : BRO do yk what him n i did today y/n : he literally y/n : LET ME PLAY W HIS HAIR?!?? y/n : fucking hell bro y/n : HE'S SO CUTE THE FUCK?? y/n : I LOVE JAY SM nrk : lmao

"I'm on my own shit now, and let me tell you how it feels to be fucking great"

10 November

nrk : BITCH nrk : HOP ON VALO y/n : wait i'm calling him nrk : okayyyy nrk : hello? nrk : oi nrk : r u there nrk : i already started brah

nrk : bro nrk : ??? it's been an hour y/n : SHIT I'M SO SORRY y/n : him and i were talking about something important y/n : SORRYYDHUSCFH nrk : o nrk : okey

"I feel great"

14 August

y/n : fuck bro i feel like the bitch is looking at me nrk : no fucking way nrk : u better get tf up and MAKE that bih stop looking at u y/n : fuck off nrk : oh

"You need to be yourself, and love someone for loving you instead of someone really cool who makes your heart melt, who knows what you truly felt"

10 July

y/n : bro y/n : there's this dude barking in front of me?? y/n : furry core nrk : LMFAOO TF??? y/n : HAHAHAHAHAH y/n : reminds me of u nrk : TF?? NAHHHH BRO

"You're gunna wanna be my bestfriend baby, you're gunna wanna be my bestfriend"

27 May

nrk : dude chan approached me and fr asked me if we were dating y/n : LMAO TF?? y/n : i already told chan i liked jay nrk : yea bruh nrk : idk y he still asked me that nrk : 💀 y/n : LOL y/n : anyways y/n : roblox? nrk : bet, hop on disc

"I said that, you're gunna wanna be my bestfriend baby, you're gunna wanna be my bestfriend"

28 February

y/n : i think y/n : i might like someone.. nrk : BITCH WHOOO???? y/n : UM.. y/n : idk if u know him y/n : jay nrk : OMG??? nrk : BRO HE'S IN MY CLASS y/n : WAIT WTF R U FR y/n : STOPPPP nrk : YA I LITERALLY SIT NEAE HIM nrk : NEAR* y/n : imagine making a typo y/n : im calling u on discord rn PICK UP y/n : TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT HIM nrk : OKAYWHDIOSJOIFJO

There was more. One thing you noticed was how the conversations could flow better as you scroll to your older chats.

"You're gunna wanna be my bestfriend baby, you're gunna wanna be my bestfriend"

Honestly, everytime you find a new friend, you never open up. You never text first, you never have the desire to know the person more.

But Ni-ki was different.

"You're gunna wanna be my bestfriend baby, you're gunna wanna be my bestfriend"

You wanted to talk to him everyday, play games with him, go out with him, and do so many things with him.

When Ni-ki was gone, you physically could not bring yourself to do the same with other people. The loud person you once were became someone who is quiet, more reserved.

"You're gunna wanna be my bestfriend baby, you're gunna wanna be my bestfrienddd"

And you hate it.

"I say that I'm happy"

You hate how you couldn't be yourself.

"I say that I'm happy"

You wished there were more people you were comfortable with, so you could truly be yourself without worrying.

"But no no no no, no no no no"

And again, you fucked up and the only person you were truly comfortable with left.

"But I still wanna be your favourite boy, I wanna be the one that makes your day, the one you think about as you lie awake"

At this point, tears were forming in your eyes. The verse that you and him always sang your lungs out to was playing, and it only made you feel worse.

"Why am I crying?

Why am I so sensitive?

I shouldn't feel this way, it was my fault...

I.. miss him.

I ... miss Ni-ki so much...."

"I can't wait to be your number, your number one, I'll be your biggest fan and you'll be mine but I still wanna break your heart and make you cry"

Your voice cracked as you cried out to yourself, your tears rolling down your cheeks as you held onto your chest. Your breathing rate becoming rapid as you start to sob.

There was this guy that you liked back then. His name was Jay. Park Jay. At first, he was someone you rarely had any interactions with, but because you both were in the same club . Randomly, you found him somewhat attractive, you started to romantacise every single interaction you both had.

From the way your hands accidentally touched when he passed you something, to the way you both laughed when you were talking.

Jay was the perfect person for your fantasies, because you craved love, you craved attention. Eventually, your crush on Jay became real and you started to interact with him more. Actually, instead of having a crush, you were becoming attached to Jay because you were depending on him to fulfill your desires.

Lucky for you, Ni-ki was in the same class as Jay, so everytime you would wanna fangirl or rant about Jay, Ni-ki was the perfect person to do so.

At first, you and Jay dated, but it lasted a week, and he initiated the break-up. The reason? It was apparently because 'he was not ready for a relationship'. But your dumbass thought he would eventually be ready, so you continued to court him.

Constantly treating him as if he was your boyfriend, constantly messaging him, thinking about him, being worried about him. Fuck, it was driving you crazy, but Ni-ki was going insane too.

He'd be the one having to deal with your rants and crying. He was sick of it.

It was even worse when you'd choose to hang out with Jay instead of Ni-ki even after Jay would treat you like shit.

Ni-ki was sick of it. Constantly being treated like the second option.

Ni-ki was really supportive, but would nag at you when it was necessary. There was once Jay broke your heart, leaving you crying for days, just for you to give Jay a gift a few days later that costs a LOT simply because Jay's birthday was coming up. Fuck, Jay didn't even give you anything for your birthday.

Slowly, you stopped talking to Ni-ki, simply because you were talking to Jay, and you felt as if Ni-ki was getting sick of you. Your chat with Ni-ki that used to be at the top every single day was slowly making it's way to the bottom.

Then, there was one day your entire world collapsed. Initially, Jay was ghosting you and you were confused as to why, but you didn't want to ask. Then suddenly, there was news being spread throughout the entire school that he was dating another girl. Jay was dating the girl he told you not to be worried about. It fucking broke you, and you weren't in the right state of mind.

The first person you messaged was Ni-ki when you found out.

y/n : you heard the news right y/n : he's a fucking liar y/n : i fucking hat ehim y/n : i dont know whar to think anymre y/n : i'm fucking crying rn nrk : what did i say? nrk : you never listened to me when i warned you y/n : i'm sorry y/n : i just thought he'd be the one for me nrk : be so fucking for real nrk : he tells you not to worry about her, yet he still hangs out with her nrk : you get angry at him, cry to me, and then suddenly when he texts you you're suddenly not angry anymore? nrk : have you lost all self respect for yourself nrk : do you not fucking realise the way he's been treating you? nrk : wake the fuck up nrk : he doesn't like you nrk : maybe he never even liked you nrk : why would you treat him like your boyfriend when you guys aren't even together? nrk : you allow yourself to get stepped over nrk : now look where it brought you? nrk : you even neglected me? nrk : you seriously put HIM over all your other priorities nrk : you even forgot about your OWN BEST FRIEND nrk : you always go out with him even when you and i already made plans nrk : do you know how i feel? nrk : i feel like SHIT nrk : sometimes i wish you never even liked him so we could still be our usual self nrk : now i see where im placed in ur life nrk : thanks for treating me so well. nrk : thanks for shutting me out of your life! y/n : riki.. y/n : i'm so sorry. y/n : i never knew you felt that way. y/n : honestly, i started distancing myself from u because i thought u were getting annoyed at me for talking about Jay so much. y/n : you were someone that I always talked to Jay about because i trusted you and you were in the same class as him, but idk u just started to seem dry everytime i brought Jay up so i thought u were annoyed at me y/n : that's why i started to talk to you less, and i stuck to other people. i was scared you would scold me again for talking to Jay, and i also felt like if i ranted to you, i'd be trauma dumping or something y/n : please tell me how i can improve

That day when you and Ni-ki had this text conversation, you were more worried about your friendship than Jay. Your appetite was practically non-existent while waiting for Ni-ki to respond.

nrk : nothing can be done if you're scared of me, right? nrk : i don't see a point in talking anymore if you're scared of me.

"Fuck me..."

y/n : nonono y/n : i'm not scared anymore y/n : there's no reason for me to be scared anymore y/n : i mean jay is already dating someone else. y/n : i don't care about him anymore nrk : are you so sure? nrk : weren't you the one who was crying to me and then instantly running back to him? y/n : i won't anymore, no more. nrk : u fucking better, i swear on god.

y/n : so.. are we okay now? nrk : i dont know nrk : are we? y/n : u have anything else to tell me? like how u feel? nrk : nah y/n : so we're okay now? nrk : ig

After that text conversation, the mood was never the same. Everytime you initiated the conversation, he would be dry. You slowly stopped trying to fight for the friendship.

y/n : heyy y/n : gl for ur exam! nrk : okay

This was the last text conversation you had with him.

And just like that, you lost your closest friend and your situationship in one day.

You sighed, reliving the memories you so desperately wanted to forget 2 years ago. Remembering the feelings of regret, you groaned and ruffled your hair in frustration.

It was all your fault. If only you had treated him properly back then, everything would've been fine.

Still being on the tab of the chat with him, you suddenly get a spontaneous boost of energy, and you started to type something on your keyboard.

"i'm sorry" was what you typed.

Realising that you should just move on, you sighed once again. It's been 2 years, but you were still affected by the fallout between you and Ni-ki. Friendship breakups definitely hurt more than relationship breakups.

On your laptop, you went to your folders, selecting the photos that contained memories of you and Ni-ki, trashing them. Your heart drops, worried that you would regret it, but you need to move on, you decided that it was for the best. After 10 minutes of clearing your gallery, you wanted to go back to your tabs.

The first tab you returned to was the chat with Ni-ki.

"Wait, wait what the fuck?"

Oh my god, you sent the message. You sent the ''i'm sorry'' message. Oh my god.

Your eyes widen and your heart starts to beat faster at the realisation. You hastily move your mouse to delete your message, but your eyes realise that he was online.

He was typing.

Oh my god.

nrk : y/n nrk : hey.

[wondersn]

TIE.

pairing : sunoo x fem!reader

cw : smut, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, hair pulling, rough sex, slapping, a bit dirty talking. not proofread

word count : 2.6k

a/n : this is my first time writing a smut, please bare with me.

partying with friends late at night isn’t a great idea especially when you just sneak out to your peacefully sleeping boyfriend. you know you were doomed when you saw the glaring sunoo walking towards your direction as you were dancing with the girls. he got even more mad at your fit, seeing how revealing it is.

“sunoo…” you mumble and put down the glass of vodka as he held your wrist and dragged you away from your friends. “how did you kno—“ your words were cut off by a harsh “shut up” of him. eyes coldly glaring down at you as he dragged you outside the club.

“i’m sorry i did n—“ sunoo cuts your words off again, “i told you to keep your mouth shut” he snapped and opened the door of his passenger seat. you couldn’t fight back anymore and enters the passenger seat in defeat, you were at fault anyway.

the whole ride was quiet yet you can still feel the anger of him while he drives so fast, not even sparing a look at you. gulping thickly, seeing sunoo mad was terrifying, he’s cold and mean when he’s angry. he’s not the usual bubbly and soft boyfriend right now, those cute smiles and giggles were replaced by a cold glare and silent treatment. he surely barely gets mad, and when he did, it means you did a really big BIG mistake.

entering your both shared apartment, you were about to go to the kitchen but a hand tugged on your wrists, pulling you back.

“who told you to sneak out? it’s already 2am, don’t you know how dangerous it is?”

you gulped at his words, heart thumping so fast inside your chest, you’re in a great trouble. sunoo is trying not to yell or snap at you, he’s just concerned after what you experienced the last time you clubbed alone. you were drugged and was almost taken advantage of but luckily, he had a friend who saw and helped you get back home safely.

“i’m really sorry..” you whispered and looked down, unable to meet his fiery gaze. you got even more nervous when he scoffed at you, for sure he rolled his eyes on you just now.

“what are you wearing? this is risky, do you really like all that attention for wearing this? hm?” he raised his eyebrow at you as he tugged on your halter neck top that exposes your cleavage.

“n-no i just wear it since i’m with the girls..” you tries to reason out, looking up at him but you immediately regret it as he’s looking down at you in a mean way.

“do you know how easy it is to make you so expose to everyone’s eyes?” he still raised his eyebrow on you. a gasp left your mouth as he puts aside your top, exposing your left bare breast on him. “see? tsk, you’re not even wearing a bra to at least cover yourself” he said and scoffed as he gave your nipple a pinch which you yelped in tiny.

hid touch is sending fire through your veins, making your blood boil and your heart race. you can feel your core starting to ache, needing him to touch you there. you arch your back, offering him more of your skin, hoping he'll take it. but instead, he pulls away, making you whine in disappointment.

“such a whiny slut” he said, his voice laced with amusement and arousal. you couldn't help but moan at the sound of it. he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "you really think you can get away with this?" before you could respond, his lips were on your neck, sucking and nipping at the soft skin there. you arched into him, unable to contain the desperate need that coursed through your veins.

“this doesn’t mean i’m not mad at you anymore for sneaking out” he said between his breaths, his hand still roaming over your body. you gasped as he pinched your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers. your hips arched into his touch, craving more.

suddenly, he pulled you with him until you were standing on your toes. you gripped his shoulders, feeling dizzy from the sudden movement and the height. sunoo leaned down, his face inches from yours. his eyes were dark and intense, and you felt like you could drown in them. "but i can't resist you when you look like this," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

his touch was electric, making your body tingle from head to toe. he ran his hands down your sides, cupping your hips before lifting you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. you moaned into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, pushing your body flush against his. you could feel him growing harder against your core, and you ached for him to be inside you but it seems like he won’t give it to you easily.

sunoo broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked down at you. his eyes were dark and intense, holding you captive. he leaned down, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. his lips trailed downward, sucking and nipping at your breast before circling your hardened nipple with his tongue. you arched your back, crying out his name as pleasure coursed through you.

he starts walking towards your shared bedroom while carrying you in his arms . your heart pounds against your ribcage, anticipating what he's about to do. you feel his erection pressing against your core, making you moan in eagerness. he kicks the door open, revealing the bed in the center of the room, already turned down and waiting for you.

he carries you over to the bed, lowering you down gently on your back. your breath hitches as he straddles your waist, his hips perfectly aligned with your core. he leans in, his lips brushing against yours before claiming them in a fierce, demanding kiss. his hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts through your top, teasing your nipples until they stand at attention.

you arch your back, eager for more of his touch. he moans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips as he begins to unbutton his pants. once they're undone, he kicks them off, revealing his hardened length, ready for you. he positions himself between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance but not pushing forward, completely teasing you.

his lips leave your mouth to trail down your jaw and neck, sucking and nipping at your skin before moving lower. he spans your waist with one hand, holding you down against the bed as his other hand slides between your legs, rubbing circles over your sensitive folds. you moan loudly, arching into his touch.

his fingers slide lower, parting your folds, teasing your entrance before finally pushing two fingers inside you. you cry out, your body tensing at the invasion of sensation. he watches you closely, his eyes dark and intense as he slowly begins to thrust his fingers in and out.

he pulled out his fingers and leaned closer to your ear. “i won’t be gentle with you” he whispered, his breath sending shivers down your spine. you let out yelp as a harsh smack lands on your ass, followed by another and another. you arch your back, wanting more of the stinging sensation. he continues to spank you in quick succession, his fingers curling into your hips, holding you in place.

“can i tie you up, is that okay with you?” he asked still trying be soft with you, but wanting you to be his completely. you nodded, your heart pounding in anticipation. he smiled and went over to his bedside table, rummaging through the drawers until he found a silk scarf. he returned to the bed, kneeling between your spread legs. he looped the scarf around your wrists, tying it in a neat bow behind your back. you gasped as the restriction sank in, but the feeling of being so exposed and vulnerable only turned you on more.

he tugged onto your skirt’s waistband before sliding it up and over your hips, revealing your lacy black panties. he licked his lips, taking in the sight of you spread out before him, completely at his mercy. he leaned forward, kissing your inner thigh and sliding your panties aside before running his tongue up your core, teasing your sensitive flesh. you arched your back off the bed, moaning his name as he continued to lavish attention on your most intimate places.

his fingers left your hips, traveling up to pinch your nipples, rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers. he leaned in, kissing you roughly, his tongue thrusting deep into your mouth. your body tingled with desire as he teased and pleasured you. you felt his warm breath against your folds, and then the tip of his tongue, circling your entrance. you cried out, arching your back off the bed, as he began to lick and suck on you, driving you wild with need.

his free hand slid down between your legs again, this time finding your aching center. he began to stroke you in time with his tongue, his fingers curling and thrusting inside you as he took you closer and closer to the edge. you moaned and writhed beneath him, lost in the sensation of being so completely owned and worshipped.

your cheek pressed against the pillow as you couldn’t lift yourself as your hands were restrained behind your back, the scarf digging into your wrists, making them tingle and sensitive. you whimper and squirm under his touch, needing more of his attention as he teases you with his tongue and fingers. his other hand moves from your hip, over your thigh and up your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin behind your knee before moving back up, caressing your hip and finally cupping your breast through your top. he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, expertly teasing it again until it's hard and aching.

you feel his fingers begin to move inside you again, his touch growing more urgent and demanding. his tongue laps your sensitive folds as if he's trying to consume you whole. you arch your back off the bed, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure builds inside you. you're so close, so close to the edge, and with each stroke of his tongue and finger, you feel yourself getting closer and closer.

“ah so tight..” he moaned and throws back his head as his stomach clenched, feeling your muscles grip him. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he held you down, taking you roughly. His hips moved faster, his thrusts deep and powerful, each one making your body stretch and accommodate him more. He could feel the heat between you, the wetness that told him you were close, so close to letting go.

the pleasure was building inside you, tightening your muscles, making it impossible to ignore the ache in your core. he growled, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down your spine, and sped up even more, his hips slamming into yours in a brutal rhythm.

he saw how you struggle with your position, your upper body down, your hands tied behind your back while he fucks you rough from behind. your hips rise to meet each of his thrusts, your cries of pleasure filling the room. your body trembles with each impact, the bed creaking under your combined weight. he groans, his thrusts becoming even faster and more demanding as he feels you getting closer and closer to the edge. his free hand reaches down between your bodies, teasing your sensitive skin as he rubs your clit, circling and pressing against it.

“you want to be fucked like this, don’t you?” he smirked against your neck, knowing that he had you right where he wanted you. your body was his to control, to pleasure, to dominate. and as he felt your inner walls gripping him tighter and tighter, he knew that you were about to give in to the pleasure he was giving you.

his thrusts became even more forceful, his hips slamming into yours with a force that made your body jerk with each impact. his free hand moved up your stomach, over your breast, and cupped your mouth as he thrust deeper, harder. his other hand continued to tease your clit, circling and pressing against it in a rhythm that matched his own.

your moan were muffled against his hand as he fucks you roughly, his free hand teasing your sensitive skin, circling and pressing against your clit. he feels you starting to lose control, your body trembling with each thrust as you struggle to keep up with the pace he's setting. his hips slam into you harder, faster, and deeper, his cock stretching you to the limit, filling you up completely. he groans, his breath hot against your ear as he feels the tension building inside of you.

“so good” he growls softly and grabbed a fistful of your hair before pulling your back against his chest, effectively holding you still as he thrusts even harder into you. your moans fill the room, muffled against his skin as he feels your body begin to shudder underneath him. his cock throbs inside you, demanding release as his hips move faster and faster, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you.

“i’m gonna cum.. i’m gonna cum..” he moaned out, his hips bucking wildly as he felt the release building up inside him. he leaned down, biting your neck roughly as his hips continued to move, faster and harder, his cock throbbing inside you. you moaned, feeling the wave of pleasure wash over you, your body shuddering with each powerful thrust.

you whimpers as he bites onto your neck while he fucks your roughly before shooting his sticky warm seed deep inside of you. he moan loudly, his hips stuttering briefly as he empties himself into you. his weight presses down on you, his chest against your back as he pants roughly, his breath hot against your ear.

your body quivers underneath him, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through you as he slowly begins to pull out. he reaches down and carefully unties your hands, pulling them up to rest on his shoulders. your turn around in his arms, your face flushed and lips swollen from his kisses. he smiles down at you, his eyes softening.

he whispers against your lips, his thumb brushing away a tear that trails down your cheek. you close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his body, the weight of his arms around you. you breathe in the familiar scent of his skin, mixed with the slight hint of sweat and soap. it’s intoxicating.

“i would sneak out again if it will only result you to fuck me hard and unleash that side of yours” you joked and sunoo scoffed, rolling his eyes sassily. he looked at you, your face a little flushed and her lips still swollen from his kisses. he felt the warmth of your body and the weight of your arms around him. you were so beautiful and he loved you so much. he leaned in and kissed you softly on your lips. "it’s a good thing i’m your guardian then. because i plan on fucking you every night for the rest of your life, and if that means sneaking out to do it, then so be it."

he teased and smiles playfully on his lips as he pulls you closer, your hips grinding against each other. you giggles, feeling the heat building up between your legs once again. "you know, you could just ask nicely and i’d probably do it without you having to sneak around."

“oh shut up you brat” he said and slaps your ass cheeks which you both laughs on. the after care was being him all gentle and caring towards you, making sure that you were okay.

[bbrissonn]

𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 - 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ in which your relationship with quinn was never what you though it was, secrets being keep, one of those being you

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, this does NOT reflect how these boys act in real life, and it isn't how i imagine them acting

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ warnings: angst, swearing, asshole quinn, not proofread

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ pairing: quinn hughes x gn!reader (im pretty sure)

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ wc: 4.5k (including lyrics)

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ a/n: the ending is kinda shit because i really wanted to post this before the rest of the album came out sooo yeah

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ GUTS series

Hate to give the satisfaction asking how you’re doing now

How’s the castle built off people you pretend to care about?

Just what you wanted

Look at you, cool guy, you got it

I see the parties and diamonds sometimes when I close my eyes

Six months of torture you sold as some forbidden paradise

I love you truly

You gotta laugh at the stupidity

If someone would’ve asked you how to describe yourself a year ago, the words confident, independent and strong would’ve been some you used, but using them now if someone would ask you the same question wouldn't be right. You were no longer that person, the one who always had a smile on her face, one who was always kind and considerate of other’s in the room. No, that you was dead, and it was all his fault. 

When you had met Quinn almost a year ago now, he was the sweetest boy you had ever meet, his personality almost the same as yours. So it was no surprise to you that the two of you ended up hanging out as friends multiple before eventually asked you out on a date. You hesitated at first, scared to ruin your friendship, but the hockey boy was everything you dreamed of in a man, and you knew denying him would be a mistake, so you agreed. 

The two of you then started dating in January, and everything between the two of you was amazing. Sure, you guys didn’t see each other as often as you’d like, with him having practices in the morning and you working until late at night, mainly around the time his games would start. But you made it work, you saw each other at least twice a week, and when time wasn’t in your favour, facetimes were your go-to night time activities. 

But all that changed when summer started approaching, Quinn had let you know months in advance that he’s be heading home for pretty much the whole summer, excited to spend time with his family. Of course, he invited you, but you had the decline the offer, your job would never allow you to take the whole summer off. Thankfully though, you were able to switch your two weeks vacation you had taken in September, and move them to the begin of July.

When you informed your boyfriend you’d be able to join in a month after he left, a weird look creeped up on his face, making your brows furr. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked him, your head looking away from the TV and over to him. 

“Nothing. It’s just… we’re already a full house. You said you couldn’t come so Jack invited another friend. There’s no more bedroom.” 

“Oh, well, I though we’d just share, you know, I mean we already do.” You explained confused, it seemed pretty obvious to you that you’d be sleeping in the same bed. He was your boyfriend after all, why wouldn’t you sleep in the same bed?

“Right.” His answer was short and quick before his attention was back on the TV. “You’d have to meet my parents, and all my brothers and their friends. It’s a lot of people.” He said, almost as if he was trying to discourage you to go. You shrugged it off, thinking nothing too much of it. Quinn was a shy person, you told yourself he was probably just nervous for his two lives to meet together. 

“That’s okay, I’ll be fine.” You assured him. You didn’t worry much about meeting his brothers and their friends, especially considering the fact that you were the same age as Jack and his friends. You hoped that being the same age as them would make the whole meeting easier, something you had mentioned to your boyfriend everytime he’d talk about you having to meet his brothers, but each time, your statement never seemed to make him change his mind, always acting weird whenever you’d bring it up. 

When the older boy didn’t answer you, you grew anxious. Did he not want you to meet them? Was he too ashamed to bring you home with him? Doubt and self conscious thoughts being to fill your head and you couldn’t help but ask him about it. 

“Do you not want me to come?” You questioned him, your voice shaky and low as your eyes focused on your lap, while his shifted over to your figure. As seconds ticked by, regret overcame you, maybe you should’ve just dropped the subject instead of asking questions. 

“Of course I want you to come.” He lied, he couldn’t tell you the truth, you’d leave him if he did, and that was the last thing he needed. Well, it wasn’t a full lie, Quinn wanted you there, but not as his girlfriend, only had his friend. 

“Then why do you act so weirdly every time we talk about me meeting your family?” You pushed, you were desprated for an answer, you needed to know. 

“‘M not.” 

“But you are, Quinn! You always try and find reasons for me not to meet them. Are you ashamed of me?” You continued. The boy could feel the anger rising in him, he hadn’t signed up for this. An argument was not what he wanted when he walked into your apartment earlier that night, no he expected a silent movie night and sex, that’s the only reason he had even agreed to come over in the first place. 

“God, Y/N, you’re so delusion.” Quinn groaned, pushing himself off the couch, walking towards the front door of the apartment. You were quick on his trail, walking only feets behind him. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Home.” He mumbled, slipping his shoes on, only to find you standing in front of your door with your arms crossed over your chest. 

“No.” 

“Y/N, move.” 

“No. Answer my question, Quinn.” You told him, your voice stern. The boy only rolled his eyes before gently pushing you the side and leaving you all alone in your apartment. This was not how either of you planned this night to go. 

Looking back at it now, that night was the first sign that things were going sour in your newly formed relationship. You knew it at the time, but you refused to acknowledge it, your feelings for the boy overshadowing the red flags being waved in front of you. 

The second sign was not even a week later, the Canucks winning a big game in overtime, and obviously they all wanted to go celebrate with each other and their significant others. Of course, that meant you were invited, you always were. So to say you were confused when Quinn didn’t open the driver door of your car like he always did when you arrived at the bar was an understatement. 

“Get back in the car, Y/N.” He told you as he walked towards the entrance of the bar, only to stop when you yelled out his name. 

“What’s going on with you?” 

“Go home, I’ll find a ride home.” He said hrashly before walking in and joining his teammates at a booth, while you stayed in the freezing cold outside for a solid five minutes, confused as to what had just happened. 

The two of you hadn’t exactly cleared the air after your little argument at your place the previous week, so you just convinced yourself that he was probably still a little angry and just wanted a night alone. But deep down you knew that wasn’t the case, he had called you the next morning acting like nothing happened, and he had been acting that way ever since. 

You should’ve called it quits after that night, go back to his place and pack all your things before going home and packing all of his. But you didn’t, instead you waited until the next morning when he’d called you and act like it didn’t happen, that became his go-to thing after that, acting like you two had no problems. 

The third sign hit you like a truck. The season had ended a little while ago, the Canucks missing the playoffs, meaning Quinn was going to head home soon. He didn’t tell you when, you guess he’d probably stay a month, enjoy some time together before he left for the month and you’d join him in July. 

Only when it was almost one in the afternoon and you still hadn’t heard anything from him, you started getting worried. You went to his place after work, only to find his apartment empty, barely anything left in it. You called him, five times, three voicemails, not answer. Part of you started freaking out a little, deciding to call Pettey to see if he knew anything. You wished more than anything you hadn’t. 

The foreward informed you that the boy had left for New Jersey early in the morning, confused as to why you had asked him. You didn’t answer him, instead hanging up and trying to call Quinn once again, only to be met with the sound of his voicemail. 

It wasn’t until the next morning that your boyfriend answered you, telling you he was staying with his brothers to cheer them on during their playoff run and that he’d be heading to Michigan right after. You had never cried over a boy so much before, having to call in sick to work because of how unwell you felt. He left, no warning, no note, nothing, he just left. Little did you know, the next time you’d see him would end up becoming the worst day of your life. 

‘Cause I’ve made some real big mistakes

But you make the worst one look fine

I should’ve known it was strange

You only come out at night

I used to think I was smart

But you made me look so naive

The way you sold me for parts

As you sunk your teeth into me, oh

Bloodsucker, fame fucker

Bleedin’ me dry like a goddamn vampire

A wide smile was plastered on your face as your taxi pulled up in the driveway of Quinn and Jack’s shared summer house, the July sun hitting your skin as you stepped out. After getting all your bags out of the car and paying the driver, you made your way to the front door, choosing to knock on it instead of just barging in. 

The door opened a couple of seconds later, the loud noise of music playing through the house as boy who looked your age opened the door, a confused look on his face. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Is Quinn here?” Your question made a slight chuckle come from the boy, making you a little confused. An awkward smile formed on your face as you realized maybe you had the wrong house. 

“You’re not his type, sweetheart.” The boy chuckle as he leaned against the door frame, making your brows furr. Not his type? What was this guy talking about. 

“Not his type?” 

“Yeah, he’s usually more of a skinny blond guy, at least the one last night was.” The boy explained, making your heart drop. 

“Last night?” You mumbled, hoping that he wasn’t talking about Quinn sleeping with someone else, someone who wasn’t you, who didn’t even look like you. 

“Look, I don’t how you get this address and all, but please leave.” He said before trying to close the door, only you pushed it, keeping it open. 

“I am his girlfriend.” You told him, holding up your phone in his face. Your lock screen being a photo of the two of you in bed, the side of his face pressed against yours as wide smile were present on both your faces. The smirk that was once on the boy’s face dropped, before looking back into the house. 

“I’ll got get him.” He mumbled before closing the door. A minute later, the door opened again, Quinn standing in front of you as a couple of guys were standing behind him, all of them looking at you. Just as the boy from before was about to say something, Quinn stepped outside, slamming the door behind him. 

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, his tone harsh and mean as tears started to form in your eyes. 

“Did you sleep with another girl last night?” You asked him, your voice small and shaky as your eyes stared into his. 

“Go home, Y/N.” 

“Did you?” You asked again, your voice a little louder this time, frustration building up in you as he avoided your question. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” He said, his tone the same as before. 

“You invited me here, Quinn, you said you wanted me to be here!” 

“Well, I don’t anymore! I don’t want you here, Y/N, so go the fuck home!” He yelled, making your jaw drop slightly at his words. 

“You don’t want me here?” You asked after almost a minute of silence, your voice back to being small and shaky. Meanwhile, Quinn was staring at you with anger, rage almost. 

“Yeah. I don’t why in you’re right mind you’d still show up here when I’ve haven’t mentioned you coming here at all in a long fucking time.” He responded, his words slowly cutting your heart in half. He didn’t want you here, he didn’t want you. 

“Oh.” Was all you could say, you’re eyes now staring at the ground beneath you as tears slowly started falling from your eyes. 

“Go home, and leave me the fuck alone, Y//N.” He finished, his tone not changing. Before you even had time to say anything he had disappeared back inside the house, leaving you all alone again. 

You were sat on the steps of the front proch, waiting for a taxi to come pick you and bring you back to the airport. Where were you gonna go? You had no clue. All you knew was that you had the next two weeks off and you weren’t about to spend them in Vancouver. 

Suddenly, the boy who opened the door was sitting next to you, a small awkward smile on his face as you wiped as many tears away as you could. 

“I’m Alex.” The boy said softly, making you look over at him, trying your hardest to smile at him. 

“Y/N.” 

“‘M sorry, about before, what I said.” 

“You got nothing to be sorry about. But, the blond girl you were talking about…” You trailed off, the though of saying the words out loud making you go quiet. 

“He slept with her. She wasn’t the only one this summer.” He told you, making your heart break a little more the more he talked. In all honesty, you didn’t even know who the boy next to you was, Quinn had never mentioned an Alex, but then again you knew they probably had a weird nickname for him like they do for everyone else. The only thing you knew was that he was Jack’s friend, knowing none of Quinn’s friend were here yet. Yet this stranger you’ve known for a couple of minutes has been more open and honest about your boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend you weren’t sure at this point, had been during your whole relationship. 

“Save me the pain of knowing how many, would you?” You asked, more tears falling from your eyes. But they weren’t falling because of Quinn, no, tears were rolling down your cheeks because of yourself. How stupid you felt for no noticing how weird he had been acting, well more for just ignoring it, how you should’ve ran away from the moment he was avoiding the subject of you meeting his family and friends. You should’ve ran the moment a girl requested to dm you, warning you about Quinn’s playboy past when she saw the two of you at a bar. You should’ve ran and never look back multiple times, but you never did, your love for the boy too strong for your head to do what was right. You let your heart and emotions control your life, and it’s came back to bit you in the ass. 

“So, I am guessing you don’t wanna know that he never told us he had a girlfriend?” He knew he shouldn’t, your heart was already broken enough, but he needed too. You had travelled all the way from Vancouver for Quinn, only for your relationship to fall apart because of him. He needed you to know the truth. 

“Should I even be surprised at this point? He’s always avoided talking about me meeting any of you.” You scoffed, at the same moment, a taxi pulled up into the driveway. Thankfully, it wasn’t the same one as before, saving you the embarrassment of leaving the taxi the happiness women on earth, only to go back in the most heartbroken one. Alex helped you load your bag in the trunk of the car, silence sitting over the two of you. 

“Take care of yourself. Don’t beat yourself up over that idiot.” 

“I will.”

And every girl I ever talked to told me you were bad, bad news

You called them crazy, God, I hate the way I called ‘em crazy too

You’re so convincing

How do you lie without flinching?

(How do you lie? How do you lie? How do you lie?)

Oh, what mesmerizing, paralyzing, fucked up little thrill

Can’t figure out just how you do it and God knows I never will

Went for me and not her

‘Cause girls your age know better

You had decided to spend your two weeks off of work visiting your best friend in Calgary, being with her seemed like the only way Quinn wouldn’t be on your mind 24/7, and you were right. During your time there, you barely thought of the boy, your best friend being a light in your dark world, making you forget all your issues. 

Of course, that all changed the second your plane landed in Vancouver, all your memories of coming here to see Quinn after a road trip coming back to you. And it only got worst once you got to your apartment, one of Quinn’s hoodie before thing you saw when you walked in, tears immediately forming in your eyes. You couldn’t, you had already cried way too many tears over him during your relationship, you couldn’t let yourself cry some more now that he was gone. 

He made clear the state of your relationship when he sent you a simple two word text. We’re done. That was it. No sorries, or any signs that he felt bad, just we’re done. Luckily, you were already in Calgary when he texted you, meaning your best friend was there to make you feel better. But she wasn’t when he came by unannounced to pick up his things. 

It had been two months since your relationship ended, and you were doing horribly. Everything reminded you of him, and of how stupid you were for sticking around, every where you went, he was there, not physically, but in your memories. You had just came back from work when he arrived, knocking loudly on your door scaring you a little. 

When you opened the door, he just walked in, didn’t even look at you or say hi, instead heading straight for your room. He looked the same that he did in July, only his hair was a little longer now. When you joined him in your bedroom, half of his bag was already full, your drawers all opened with your clothes everywhere. 

“Are you at least gonna clean up the mess you’re making in my room?” You asked him, your voice full of anger. There was no way you were gonna let him barge in here with no warnings, then make a mess in your room, not say a single word to you, and then just leave, and if he thought so, he was dead wrong. 

“I am talking to you, Quintin!” You said louder this time, walking towards him and grabbing his bag just as he was about to put some sweatpants in it. His head flew up, giving you a death glare before finally speaking to you. 

“Give it.” 

“No.” 

“Y/N, give me my fucking bag.” He mumbled harshly, reaching out for it only for you to step back. You had the upper hand now, or at least you thought so. 

“You want your bag back? Then clean the fucking mess you made in my room, in which you came in without asking permission.” You said firmly, only making the boy scoff, his glare still present. 

“You’re fucking crazy.” 

“I could call the cops on you right now.” 

“Really? You’d call the cops on me?” 

“Yeah. Clean up, or it’s the cops you’re gonna have the deal with.” 

“You’re seriously fucking insane, Y/N.” Quinn mumbled before ripping his half packed bag out of your hands and storming out of your apartment, leaving you all alone again. Tears of anger started rolling down your face, part of you wanting to chase after him and yell, while the other wanted to just scream into your pillow and cry. You decided on neither, taking in the fact that half his belongings were still in your room. 

The next day, you quickly go into action, cleaning the mess Quinn had made the previous night, all while putting his things aside. When you were done, a pill of clothes was splattered on the floor just outside your room, and you soon joined it with a pair of scissors in your hands. One by one, you started destroying his clothes, letting out all your anger and rage on the pieces of clothing. 

He deserved it, after everything he had put you through in the last year or so, he deserved it, all of it. You showed no mercy, going crazy on the clothes you wore more often than the others, or the ones you knew held a special place in his heart, like his NTDP and Michigan hoodies. 

Next were all the gifts he had given you. It pained you, chopping off the heads of so many adorable teddy bears, but it needed to be done. Those gift were given in a way of saying ‘I love you’ but it didn’t mean anything to him. You didn’t mean anything to him. Everything single thing he had given you was destroyed, but the one that hurt the most was the ring he had gotten you for your birthday, both your initials engraved on the inside of it. Scissors weren’t enough for this, so you made your way to your kitchen, grabbing one of your big knife, doing anything and everything to bend the ring to the point where he couldn’t return it. 

Tears were falling down your cheeks as you placed the ring at the top of the box, above all the other gifts and his clothes, making sure it’d be the first he saw. It felt weird, like you were truly saying goodbye to your relationship. It was the end, after today you’d never see him again. Your boss telling you you could transfer to the compagnies office in Calgary as soon as next week, something your best friend was over the moon about. You’d never have to face the boy who completely broke and changed you, you’d never have to be in the same city as him. 

You didn’t even bother knocking on his door when you dropped off his things, instead just walking in, knowing he barely ever kept his door locked. He was sitting on his couch, a random TV show on the playing when you walked in. You heard him curse under his breath, but you didn’t pay any attention to him, instead dropping the box in the middle of his apartment. 

“I hope you rot in hell, Quintin.” You said harshly before turning around and making your way back out his home. 

“You’re a psycho you know that.” He called out, making you stop right before his door. You turned around, only to see he wasn’t on his couch anymore, now standing about five feet away from you. 

“Yeah? Then what does that make you? I hope one day you’ll feel that you’ve made me feel. That your self esteem is so low that you don’t ever want to leave your apartment. Karma’s a bitch.” You told him before opening his door and walking out. Part of you hope he’d follow you, tell you it was all a big mistake and that he still loved you, that way you’d be able to crush him, making him feel what he made you feel. But you weren’t okay with the fact that he didn’t knowing karma would eventually come back to him. 

And it did.

You said it was true love, but wouldn’t that be hard?

You can’t love anyone ‘cause that you would mean you had a heart

I tried to help you out, now I know that I can’t

‘Cause how you think’s the kind of thing I’ll never understand

A year later, you were sitting in the living room of your shared apartment with your best friend, mindlessly scrolling on your phone when an article caught your eye. Karma had done it’s thing. Barely a month after you left Vancouver, Quinn had found himself a model girlfriend, she was the complete opposite of you, but you didn’t spend any time analyzing everything difference between the two of you like you would’ve done when you first broke up. No, now you just wished nothing more than for her to break his heart. 

And she did. Barely a year into their relationship she cheated on him, publicly, meaning everyone knew about it. Quinn had grown a little famous because of his relationship, meaning almost every city he went in, people would stare at him, teenagers would giggle at him, while adults gave him looks of pity. 

You had ran into Alex during the last season, when the Kings were in town to play against Calgary, and a friendship was born. The two of you talked quite a lot, almost every single day, getting to know each other pretty quickly. The boy soon became like an older brother to you, and you became a little sister to him. 

This new friendship of yours meant if you ever wanted to, you could get updates of Quinn. Hearing that the defenseman was heartbroken over his girlfriend cheating on him brough you the most amount of join you had ever felt in the last two years. You slept amazingly that night, knowing Quinn was in his bed, his heart aching, just like yours was last summer. 

She had done to him, what he had done to you. Only, his was way worst because of the whole affair being public. To you, it felt like you had won. For months, it was him who wasn’t hurting, but now the table had turns. While you slept peacefully each night, Quinn struggled to find sleep, his mind asking himself so many questions. Did she even love him? How many other guys were there? 

One night, your words replayed in his head. Karma was a bitch.

[thevelria]

Can I hold it for you? (SFW/flirty!Gojo x fem!reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for my sweet @ladycheesington for helping me and proofreading it. I'm so grateful! <3

Warnings:mention of car crash and death

It's pure fluff otherwise. Gojo being a sweet little pie^^

Wordcount:1503

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cold wind brushed your cheeks like a sharp blade while you walked on the street. And you were more than happy when you finally spotted your favorite coffee house. It was late in the evening or we should say it was night rather than  evening anymore. 

The city looked beautiful, there was no need to lie. But what’s a pleasure to the eyes is a torment to the body. You pulled the collar of your beige coat higher up and buried your face into your fluffy scarf. Without hesitation you stepped in and felt grateful that you found a place which was open non-stop.  

“Hey!” you smiled at the girl behind the bar “I’d like a matcha latte, please.” The sudden temperature change sent shivers down your spine. 

“Sure. I’ll bring it to your table right away.” she nodded lovely. 

You chose to sit down at a table next to the window. You completely zoned out as you were watching the city through the glass. Seeing all those people rush to somewhere made you shake your head. There was a time you loved every minute of this life but now it felt more like a burden. Since your husband passed away years ago nothing felt the same. You weren’t able to smile or laugh honestly. As you bit your inner cheek your eyes wandered to your reflection. That was the moment you noticed a tall man with snow white hair standing next to your table. 

“Can I help you?” you turned to him immediately.

“Uhm…can I have a seat?” His raspy voice was a pleasure to the ears. 

“I don’t want to be rude but…” you took a tiny break “there are plenty of free tables. Why don’t you choose from one of those? I had a long, hard day. I want to enjoy my latte in silence.”

The man nodded and sat down at another table, the nearest one to yours and picked the seat which let him sit right in front of you. 

“Unbelievable…” you shook your head, smiling.

“I’m sitting at a completely free table.” he giggled. “It’s not my fault that you are right in front of me.” he opened the drink menu. 

You didn’t say a thing but turned your face back to the window and watched the city once again. From time to time your eyes wandered at the man. He was wearing a white knitted pullover with a turtleneck and black pants. His snow white hair seemed so silky and shiny. But his eyes…oh my God those eyes. Pierce, ocean blue eyes which could look right into your soul. 

“Your latte, miss.” the waitress placed your drink carefully in front of you.

“Oh, thank you very much!” you smiled and took a sip right away.

“What can I get for you?” she walked up to the handsome man.

“Uhm, I’d like to get what the lady chose.” he winked at you. 

“I’ll be right back.” she spun on her heels.

“I hope you ordered something tasty” he clicked his tongue teasingly “I don’t want to be disappointed.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” you rolled your eyes “Do you want to sit here?” you pulled an annoyed face.

“I thought you wanted to sit alone.” he raised one of his eyebrows.

“Yes, correct! I would love to but you keep talking to me across the tables which is embarrassing. So just come here and let’s get it over with.” 

“Over with what?” he took a seat at your table in an instant.

“What do you want from me?” 

“To talk.” he shrugged. “You have a pretty face and I assumed you must be a sweet person. Maybe I made a mistake.” he poked his inner cheek with his tongue.

“Excuse me?” your eyes widened immediately.

“Just kidding.” he laughed out loud. “I’m sure you’re a cute girl” he took a deep breath “but you hide it well enough.” he exhaled while chuckling. 

Even if you tried you couldn’t hold back the laughter either. He was right, you were a complete douche with him, yet he didn’t want anything but to talk. 

“I’m sorry.” you offered your hand for a shake, still laughing “I’m Y/N L/N.”

“Gojo Satoru.” He took your hand and held it just a little bit longer than necessary. As he rubbed your finger he noticed the wedding ring. “Married?” he asked.

“Used to be.” 

“I’m sorry you got divorced.” 

“I didn’t…” you fidgeted the ring “I lost him in a car crash many many years ago.” 

“Oh my…I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” you nodded slightly.

The heavy silence was broken by the cheerful waitress who danced to your table with a tray.

“Let’s see what kind of taste you have, Y/N.” he took a sip from the drink.

“Well?” you asked like you cared. But to be fair you didn’t…at all. 

“Hmm nice, very nice.” he hummed.

“Well, it’s late. It’s time for me to leave.” you grabbed your wallet and were about to call the waitress. 

“It was on me.” Gojo put his hand on yours. 

“No need to.” you pulled an awkward smile.

“I insist. Please.”

“Thank you. It’s very sweet of you.”

“I don’t do it out of selflessness.” he smirked.

“What?” you looked at him suspiciously.

“I do it because in this case you will need to meet me again. Otherwise you’d feel like you were in my debt.” he giggled.

You kept laughing as you stood up and grabbed your coat. 

“So maybe tomorrow?” Gojo bit his lower lip.

“We’ll see.” you smiled as you walked away.

***

“May I ask you to give this note to the lady who I had a drink with last night at that table?” Gojo pointed in the direction of the window.

“Sure.” the girl nodded. Even though hundreds of people walked in yesterday she remembered Gojo vividly. But who wouldn’t remember a man like him? 

“Oh and I’m gonna pay for her matcha.” he took out his credit card from his wallet. 

The poor girl blushed from head to toe as Gojo smiled smoothly. He knew exactly how charming women found him but he didn’t care. His only goal was getting close to you. You got his attention so he decided to make you his no matter what. And if Gojo Satoru wanted something he always found a way to get it. 

***

You had so many things to do that you weren’t able to show up in the coffee house the next day. To be honest you completely forgot about it. It’s been a rush day with a lot of work crises, so you were glad the day finally came to an end. 

The next morning, though, you decided to grab some of your favorite drink before heading to work. 

“Morning!” you smiled at the girl who seemed so tired. 

“Oh, good morning!” she chirped “The usual matcha, right? I’ll bring it right away. Please take a seat.”

You nodded slightly while trying to find an empty table. Searching in your bag you finally found your book and started to read until she arrived with your drink. 

“Here.” she placed it carefully at the table with a piece of paper alongside. 

“What’s this?” you frowned.

“Oh, it’s a message the tall, white haired man left you yesterday. He asked me to give it to you when you next appear. He also paid for your drink already.” 

“Satoru…” you whispered as you unfolded the tiny piece of paper.

“Now you owe me two matcha. I’ll wait for you at 7 at our table.”

Before you left you walked up to the counter. “Can I ask you a favor? Could you please reserve that table over there at 7 o’clock?” you pointed at the table by the window.

***

 Gojo was already waiting for you when you arrived.

“You were early.” you teased.

“I wasn’t sure you would show up.” he stood up and pulled the chair for you to take a seat.

“I was waiting for hours yesterday.” he clicked his tongue.

“Sorry.”

Words followed words and you didn’t even realize how much you enjoyed yourself. He made several bad jokes but you laughed anyway. The way he non stop flirted with you made you blush. Gojo didn’t hide his intention for even a second. 

After hours of talking he took a deep breath. “Wanna take a walk?”

“Sure.” you agreed without hesitation.

The cold air wasn’t a pleasant feeling on your skin but you tried to focus on the fact that the man next to you was a total cuteness. 

As you were walking in a nearby park he bit his bottom lip before shooting his perfect pick up line without even looking at you.

“Your hand looks so lonely. Can I hold it for you?”

A loud laughter bursted out of you, an honest and happy laugh that you didn’t experience for a long long time. 

“Please, do.” you kept giggling as you let him take your hand. 

[vibrantbirdy]

Hiii. Firstly, I just want to say how much I LOVE your work. I think you’re fantastic!

I was hoping to request an Obi-Wan Kenobi x Senator or Princess female reader (always a sucker for this). Maybe Clone wars or pre- ending of Revenge of the Sith. Peppered with Obi-Wan denying his feelings for the sake of the Jedi code, and then confessing true emotions in the Kenobi series era. (gotta love angst with some feels after a whole lot of yearning).

Thank you so much 💙

Thank you so much for your kind words and this wonderful request. I was so excited to write for Obi-Wan as it's been years since I have, and it's really cool to write for him in the wake of the Kenobi series. So thank you for this lovely prompt and I hope this is the sort of thing you were looking for.

(Requests for Character x Reader fics are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first.)

(Masterlist of my fics can be found here.)

Title: Relics Fandom: Star Wars: The Skywalker Saga Setting: Pre the Phantom Menace to post the Kenobi Series. Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Minor Angst Warnings: mild/moderate sexuality; mild references to Reader family losses due to old age; mild references to the Empire being baddies and doing baddie things Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Princess Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.5k Author's Note: It's late and I need to proofread this properly, sorry for any mistakes in the mean time!

Summary: You and Obi-Wan Kenobi have a connection that spans decades as your lives intersect throughout the years. Will you find each other again in the most unlikely of places?

Now

Inevitably, the Empire discovered that you have been siphoning off funds to various Rebel factions across the Galaxy for years. As Queen of Vitis, you planned to stay on your home world and face the consequences of defying the Imperial tyrants with your people.

But your Bodyguard, loyal to a fault, had other ideas. The night before an Imperial delegation was set to arrive, your Captain of the Guard, Old Paltrum, hired a bounty hunter to abduct you from your chambers in the middle of the night and drop you off somewhere "safe." This apparently meant any random, obscure world in the Outer Rim of the mercenary's choosing.

Seemingly, the desert planet of Tatooine was the farthest flung rock in the Galaxy that the brute could think of.

At night, you dream of home. Of Vitis. A beautiful planet, full of lush forests and green meadows where wildflowers gleam through the grass like little jewels.

Too often, these dreams turn to nightmares and you watch, helpless, as the rivers run red with the blood of your people and the Imperial flag flies like Death's victory banner above the royal citadel.

You fear you'll forever be known as the Vitisian Queen who abandoned her subjects in their most desperate hour of need.

Tatooine is not like home. The heat during the day is a constant, inescapable blanket of oppression. No matter what you do, the sand works its way into your eyes, between your teeth, into your clothes and tracks its way all the way through the small one room home you managed to purchase with the few credits Paltrum obviously appropriated for you from the palace treasury. And you are always so thirsty, no matter how much water you consume.

Still, you have been on the desert planet for almost three months now, and despite your belligerent determination not to, you are beginning to settle and acclimatise. Slowly.

You like Tatooine best in the evening, just as dusk falls. It's cooler and there is a rare, strange beauty to be found as the twin suns set in the sky which turns from blood red to pink to purple and finally to a deep, midnight blue.

You make your living selling the clothing you make at the stall you have acquired in the market in Mos Eisley. It is mid-afternoon when you catch sight of a man you know walking across the far side of the square. You jump up from your stool, knocking it over in your haste and sending your weaving unravelling to the floor.

Ducking and weaving and apologising to the people you bump into, you track the man making his way across the market through the obstructions of clothing and clutter and trinkets hanging from the stalls of your neighbours' and your own.

Your heart leaps. It is him. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

What is he doing here? Of all places.

You want to run to him, to call out his name but something stops you.

He looks older. Of course he does, it's been over a decade since you last saw him. But that's not it.

The Obi-Wan you remember carried himself with a charismatic air of confidence which, on other men, could easily have been perceived as arrogance. But Kenobi was always able to temper this with his good humour and dignified manner.

Now, he looks downtrodden, smaller, as if he's been on Tatooine so long that the years have started to grind him into the sand. His once well kempt hair and beard are scruffy and his dirty, torn clothes are little more than rags.

You are suddenly struck by the idea that he might not want you to see him like this. Then, you think about what happened to the Jedi Order and the rumoured purge said to have been commanded by the Emperor himself.

Obi-Wan must be in exile or in hiding. Just like you.

With this revelation, you are paralysed by indecision. By the time you come to the realisation that you can't let this chance to reunite with him slip away, he is already gone.

***************************************************

30 years ago

The Republic have sent a diplomatic envoy to Vitis to discuss with leading politicians from the surrounding worlds the increasing Separatist pressure on the system's trade routes. The delegation of two Jedi, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his young apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, arrive at the Vitisian royal citadel early in the morning.

Although you really think you should be sitting at the table with the other delegates, you've reluctantly agreed with the wishes of your parents, the King and Queen, to show Obi-Wan the palace grounds and some of the countryside beyond.

He's a young man about your age, probably eighteen or nineteen. Upon first introduction, you get the distinct impression that he feels like he should be present at the discussions too. But, following a brief period of stilted conversation as you lead him through the palace and out into the lush gardens, it quickly becomes apparent that you and Obi-Wan just click. Any interest in trade or commerce is soon forgotten by both of you.

When he speaks, his pronunciation is clipped and proper, but his voice is full of a charming vitality. He has a graceful, purposeful physicality and moves his body with a self-assuredness many young men his age don't seem to possess quite yet. And he's handsome. He has an open, honest face with well-proportioned features, adored with two impossibly bright blue eyes. He has sandy coloured hair which, apart from a small pony tail at the back of his head and a long, thin braid that runs down behind his ear and to his chest, is cropped short.

As you walk through Vitis's lush, green surroundings together, the conversations flows easily. You notice that he has a perpetual, good-natured smirk on his face, as if he constantly has an amusing quip on the tip of his tongue. Sometimes he speaks these out loud and his blue eyes twinkle with mischief.

His little barbs are never unkind. In fact, you find it refreshing, the way he makes you think on your feet in an effort to fire out your own witty retorts.

One time, you're too slow to think of anything clever to say, so all you can think to do is to pull, gently, at the strange braid affixed to the side of his head.

"What's this?"

What's what?" He asks with mock ignorance, and you shove him playfully.

"It's my Padawan braid," he explains, "It signifies that I'm not yet a Jedi. Once I've completed the trials, I'll cut it off as part of the ceremony when I become a Knight."

"Oh," you say, faltering.

It all sounds rather meaningful and symbolic.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have..."

He smiles reassuringly.

"It's ok, I have a bad habit of tugging at it myself when I'm nervous."

Hours have passed and you've wandered all the way through the grounds as far as the great lake before either of you notice the time. You take the short cut back through the woods and past the gargantuan Whispering Tree, which stands sentinel like a great, leafy guardian on the border of the royal forest.

Obi-Wan stops to admire the tree, his eyes following its massive trunk and he cranes his neck in a futile attempt to try and get a glimpse of the top as it disappears into the canopy. The tree is putting on a magnificent show today. Its peculiar white leaves are dazzling in the sunlight and the pale silver bark shines like precious metal.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice filled with awe, "I've never seen a tree like it."

"It's called the Whispering Tree because of the noise it makes in the wind. It sounds like someone speaking. It's the only one left of its kind - a white Vitisian Birch. Traditionally, first born royal daughters are charged with its care," you run a hand against the smooth bark fondly," and that happens to be me."

Obi-Wan smiles almost absent-mindedly as he presses his palm against the tree and closes his eyes.

"Are you talking to it? Using the Force?" You ask, excitedly, "What's it saying?"

"That's not how it works," he chuckles, but he stops immediately as he sees your cheeks redden and realises that you're embarrassed.

"Uh, but if it could talk," he continues, earnestly, "It would say that it feels very lucky to have someone like you to care for it."

You beam widely at him and, unable to stop yourself, you lean in and plant an impulsive kiss on his lips. At first, he stiffens, his eyes wide in surprise, but then he seems to melt into you and you feel a thrill of excitement course through you as his lips start to move against yours.

"Obi-Wan!" A stern voice makes you both jump and you leap away from each other as if you've been electrocuted.

The tall figure of Obi-Wan's mentor is striding towards where you are standing at the tree line, his Jedi robes and long silver hair billowing in the breeze together making him seem even bigger and more imposing.

"Master Qui-Gon..."

"You were supposed to escort the Princess to dinner an hour ago!"

"I know, Master, I'm sorry..."

Obi-Wan starts to explain, but Qui-Gon Jinn cuts him off abruptly.

"I don't want to hear it."

Side by side, you and Obi-Wan traipse silently back to the palace behind Master Jinn. You find yourself having to scurry to keep up with his long strides, but Obi-Wan appears to be used to it.

He looks rather crestfallen following Qui-Gon's admonishment, and you reach out to touch the back of his hand lightly with your own. At first, he doesn't look at you, instead just allowing the corners of his mouth to lift slightly as he runs his knuckles back and forth against your own.

Then, you exchange a sheepish, secret smile, behind Master Jinn's back, before breaking the touch and you both return your gaze to the ground with suitably chastised expressions.

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

It becomes apparent over dinner that Master Jinn, mercifully, has not informed your parents of your little indiscretion with Obi-Wan. You don't know what story he has concocted to explain your tardiness, but you are grateful for it.

Over the course of the evening, as you observe him, you realise that Qui-Gon Jinn is a kind man. Although he appears slightly terse with Obi-Wan to begin with, his manner softens as time goes on and to you, the relationship between the two Jedi seems almost akin to that of father and son.

Although you still feel a guilty, watching the two Jedi helps soothe your worries that Obi-Wan might face some severe reprimand on account of your actions.

Soon, it is time to see the guests off and the Jedi delegation is last to leave. You take advantage of the long conversation Master Jinn and your father apparently couldn't possibly have finished over dinner to say goodbye to Obi-Wan.

"I'm sorry, did you get in trouble?" You say quickly and quietly into his ear as you give him a formal, chaste kiss farewell on the cheek. "Yes, but it was worth it," he whispers back and a wide, boyish grin spreads across his face as he pulls away.

You can't do anything other than return it, and you look at each other for just a moment longer before he gives you a courteous nod of his head.

"Goodbye, Princess."

"Goodbye, Obi-Wan."

********************************************************

Now

You next see Obi-Wan a few weeks after your first glimpse of him at the market.

You almost approach him this time, but again, something holds you back.

He is heading towards Mos Eisley's space port and he has a more purposeful stride to his walk than when you last saw him.

Yet it's still not the walk of the composed, dignified man you once knew. In fact, his sense of urgency seems alarmingly close to panic.

Presumably, he is going off-world for some reason. He's not carrying much with him.

You hope he'll be back.

******************************************************** 12 years ago You are arriving on Coruscant, the sprawling city covered planet at the heart of the Galaxy, the seat of the Republic's power. Your father has sent you to make a representation to the Senate to officially declare an end to Vitis's neutrality.

It's not what you or your people want. But the Separatists have been pushing in on Vitisian interests on all sides in the past several months, disrupting trade routes, placing droid garrisons on nearby worlds, even muscling in on mineral mining operations on several moons within the Vitisian system. There is now really is very little choice. Vitis needs the protection of the Republic.

As you step off your ship, Obi-Wan Kenobi, now a Jedi Master, strides across the landing platform to greet you. You are so high up it gives the impression that the Coruscant sun which hangs large and low and golden in the sky behind you is about to swallow you whole. There is a strong breeze, which catches your hair and sends the flowing train of your green travelling dress snaking into the air like an emerald river.

Obi-Wan has grown into a fine looking man, tall and broad shouldered. He is clothed in traditional Jedi attire, a long brown robe draped elegantly over a cream tunic, fawn pants, and knee length, brown leather boots. His sandy hair is neatly cropped at the back and sides, with more length on the top and he had grown a distinguished golden beard since you last saw him.

"Princess," he says with a warm smile, those piercing blue eyes of his just as full of life as you remember.

"Master Kenobi," you respond, beaming, as he stoops to kiss you on both cheeks.

You'd been concerned that, in the almost two decades since you last saw him, his long years at war in service to the Jedi might have dulled that bright spark you so admired in the young man you once knew.

But you needn't have worried. As he escorts you to your chambers within the accommodation wing of the grand Senate building, you find yourself falling back into easy, cheerful conversation with him, as if no time has passed at all.

Obi-Wan's youthful spirit is still present but it has evolved into a sort of refined, contained exuberance that sits elegantly on him. He is as quick to laughter as ever and the eloquent wit he possessed even as a boy is just as sharp.

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

You are sitting in the lavish parlour of the rooms you've been assigned. It is a fine suite, decorated in bright colours with a beautiful view out across Coruscant's endless cityscape. The arching floor to ceiling windows let in as much natural light at the metropolis' towering spires will allow.

Suddenly, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss Obi-Wan again, now that he has that dashing beard.

"Princess?"

Obi-Wan is standing at the sideboard, holding a steaming teapot and a glass mug out towards you. From the amused, questioning look on his face, you get the distinct impression that he has proffered the beverage more than once.

"I apologise, Master Jedi, I was parsecs away, yes please."

"Oh really?" he asks, conversationally as he drops into the lounge chair opposite you, and hands you the glass vessel across the low, marble table, "Where were you?"

"Well, I was actually thinking about when we first met, do you remember?"

It's not quite a lie.

"How could I forget?" He laughs, "Master Qui-Gon was furious with me."

A shadow of uncharacteristic sadness suddenly passes over his face.

Remembering the rumours you have heard of the violence of Qui-Gon Jinn's death at the hands of a mysterious, fearsome warrior, you put down your tea and reach across the table to take Obi-Wan's hands in yours.

"I was so very sorry to hear about Master Jinn, Obi-Wan," you say kindly.

"Thank you, it was a long time ago now."

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He squeezes your hands gently before he stands up.

"I'll let you get settled."

Obi-Wan makes for the door and as he reaches for the handle, he turns and grins at you disarmingly.

"It really is very good to see you again, Princess."

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

You had only planned to stay on Coruscant for a week. However, politics being as they are, you have ended up staying for much longer.

One day, during a gap in the Senate proceedings, Obi-Wan takes you to visit the magnificent Jedi Temple. He wants to show you the terraced garden, knowing that you are missing the greenery of Vitis.

It is a paradise. You can't believe that at the centre of this endless cityscape is this bubble of serenity. The variety of plants that are grown here, the vibrancy of the colours, the wonderful aroma of a hundred different blossoms all intermingled - it makes you giddy.

You and Obi-Wan stay in the gardens for hours strolling and conversing and sitting together, then strolling some more.

"Strange how so many years have gone by yet I feel as if no time at all has passed between us," you say plainly as soon as the thought pops into your head.

You don't mean it to sound quite so romantic, but then you realise you really don't mind if that's how Obi-Wan choses to interpret it.

"I feel the same," he agrees and you are surprised to see a hint of bashfulness in the smile he offers.

You allow the back of your hand to graze against his. He turns his head and raises his eyebrows at you, an amused smirk of recognition on his face. He runs his knuckles along yours as he once did so many years ago.

Unlike then, Obi-Wan allows his hand to stay resting against yours this time and you walk like that, not quite hand in hand, through the vast gardens of the Temple long after the sun starts to set and the descent of the cool, evening air releases the sweet, heady scent of Coruscanti night blossoms all around you.

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

The month you have spent on Coruscant has been stressful, busy, and filled with difficult negotiations and decisions which weigh heavily upon on you. Your father is in ailing health, ever since the death of your mother, and you know that soon you will be Queen. It is not a thought you relish, but now, at least, you know that when you take the oath to serve your people for the rest of your life as sovereign, you will be able to do so knowing you can hold your own on their behalf in the Rancor's den of the Republic Senate.

Yet, aside from all the worry, this has also been one of the happiest times of your life. When you are not working, and when he is not galivanting off-world on some Jedi business or another, you have spent every moment you can spare with Obi-Wan.

When the time finally comes to leave Coruscant, Obi-Wan volunteers to escort you back to Vitis. You'd sent Paltrum home weeks ago, poor old sod. City air has never agreed with him and you just knew his wife, Ina, would be worried sick about him.

As you finally land back on your home world, it is amid thunder and lightning. It is perhaps the most violent storm you've seen on Vitis in a decade.

You almost can't believe it when you and Obi-Wan step off the ship and see Old Paltrum soaked through, standing sentry at the palace doors.

"Paltrum, get inside, for the love of the Maker!" You scold the ancient Captain as you approach.

Obi-Wan is holding his cloak over your head in a valiant effort to keep you dry, but it is making not one bit of difference and you can feel the water seeping through your travelling clothes and into your bones.

"It's always been my job to watch for you, your Highness, I'm not about to stop now," Paltrum responds indignantly and you feel a pang of guilt for your rather patronising tone.

"I know, thank you, Captain," and you have to shout over the roar of the wind and the lashing rain, "It's late. I'll see my father in the morning, don't disturb him."

"As you wish, my lady," Paltrum says with a gracious nod, and you stifle a laugh as a deluge of water floods off the peak of his cap with the motion.

The Captain turns to Obi-Wan as he opens the huge, ornate doors to let you through.

"Master Kenobi, there are guest quarters ready for you in the east wing."

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

Obi-Wan does not go to the east wing. Instead, you lead him towards your own chambers. Someone, thankfully, has lit a fire in your sitting room and you both sit cross-legged on the rug on the floor as close as is possible next to the roaring flames.

You've each taken off your sodden outerwear. If possible, Obi-Wan looks even more dashing wet through, his light undershirt clinging to his muscled torso underneath.

Neither of you have spoken since you sat down and as you both watch the flames from the fire reflect in the other's eyes, a tension-filled silence fills the room and sets your heart racing until you think it might burst.

When you can bear it no longer and you see no point in prolonging further pretence, you grab Obi-Wan by the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. It is not like your first, so many years ago. This is a deep and passionate embrace, full of desire. He responds immediately to your touch this time, his lips crashing almost roughly against yours.

The Jedi's hands are round your waist, at the nape of your neck, the small of your back, tangled up in your hair, seemingly all at once. You start to unbutton the fastenings on his shirt, tearing at them with one hand, while the other travels urgently down his chest towards his abdomen.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan leaps to his feet and turns his back to you, his broad shoulders rising and falling rapidly. As you've seen him do so often in recent weeks, he brings a hand to his face and rubs his beard. You think this new habit has probably replaced the old one of tugging on his Padawan braid.

"Have I upset you?" you ask quietly, the sting of confusion and rejection, worrying its way under your skin.

"No, Princess," his voice is an earnest whisper as he sits back down in front of you, grasping your hands in his, "Never."

"I still dream of that kiss we shared all those years ago," he admits suddenly, his voice low and full of longing.

Obi-Wan cups your face gently in his hands and looks at you, brows furrowed with emotion, his gaze penetrating right through your soul and setting it aflame.

"Now, seeing you again after all these years, I dream of what it would be like to hold you, to share your life, to....share your bed. These past weeks, I have yearned for you, you must know that."

Your foreheads are touching now, your nose presses into his face, and your fingers are suddenly entwined in his wet, golden hair. You can feel his heart raging against his chest as if it is fighting to escape, just as your own is.

"Obi-Wan..." you say, open-mouthed against his cheek, breathless with need for him.

He closes his eyes and brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn't quite allow himself to kiss you. Instead, after a moment of breathing each other in and out, he pulls away gently.

"But that's all they are," his voice has returned to it's usual refined timbre, "I'm sorry, but they are just dreams. It's all I can allow them to be."

His words are like a thousand tiny knives to your heart and you can't help feeling how cruel it was of him to give you hope and then tear it away like that. You stand up sharply and walk to the window, gazing out onto the storm raging across Vitis, a mere spring shower compared to the tumult now roiling within you.

"You must understand, I have pledged my life to the Jedi Order..."

"You were a child when you made that pledge..." you scoff and you despise the bitterness in your own voice.

He walks across the room to join you and puts his hand on your shoulder.

"All the same. It is made. And now we are at war. I have obligations, I have responsibilities to the Order and to the Republic"

You turn to him and place your hands on his broad chest. His heartbeat has slowed and you know you are losing him. It's like he's flicked some internal switch and raised a barrier between you.

"Then let us have each other, just this once," you whisper urgently, emboldened by desire and the fear that this chance to love him as you've always wanted is slipping away forever.

Obi-Wan touches your face and smiles sadly.

"If we did, I would never be able to leave you again, not for a single moment. I would be your prisoner forever."

"Then stay," you plead through tears, even though you already know his answer, "Stay with me."

"I can't."

***********************************************

Now

Obi-Wan Kenobi is sitting on a wall in Mos Eisley's market place. You are pleased to see that he looks much more like his old self. His head is held high and there is a look of calm on his handsome face. The clothes he is wearing are much neater than before, almost reminiscent of his old Jedi robes, and he has tidied up his hair and beard.

You walk towards him, but he doesn't notice you. You don't say his name. Instead, you quietly sit down next to him and let the back of your hand rest against his. You feel the strong tendons there tense.

He doesn't look at you. His head drops, and his eyes close as if he couldn't stand for it not to be you. Lightly, he moves his hand so that his knuckles rub gently against yours.

"Hello old friend," you say.

"Princess."

The use of your old title sounds natural and right on his tongue and you hope he never stops using it.

Obi-Wan finally looks up at you and his eyes, still dazzling shards of icy blue, gleam with tears. You reach out and touch his face, his stubble pleasantly rough under your hand. You take in the lines around his eyes, deeper now, and the distinguished flecks of silver in his beard and hair. The sight of him is more beautiful, more familiar to you than you can bear.

"You still look the same," you say, your voice shaking slightly.

He smiles and turns his face to gently kiss the heel of your palm that is resting against his cheek.

"And you are more radiant than ever."

He helps you take down your market stall early for the day and you take him into your home where you speak for hours in hushed tones and tell each other everything of your lives in the years since you were last together.

Then, as the twin suns of Tatooine set behind your little domed house in the sand, you lead him to your bed.

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

You are curled up on your side against Obi-Wan's solid, warm chest. For the first time in years you feel safe, entwined in his strong arms, listening to the steady, sonorous rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I have always loved you," he whispers tenderly in your ear, tucking away a stray lock of hair back from your cheek.

"And I you," you say and you mean it.

Still, you can't help but smile sadly as you think of the last time you saw him that fateful night of the storm of Vitis before everything fell apart.

"But of course, you already knew that," you add.

"I am sorry, truly."

"Obi-Wan..." you start to interrupt, worried that your words sounded resentful.

"For all the wasted years," he continues.

He needs to say this, you realise. So you let him.

"If I'd known how the Republic would fall, how the Jedi Order would fail, how the Empire... Well, I never would have denied us this."

He brings his lips to your shoulder and traces a trail of kisses down your arm. His beard tickles.

"No one could have known, Obi-Wan. You did what you thought was right at the time. We all did. And now here we are together again. We made it back to each other. Two old relics of a past age."

"Oh come now, we're not that old," he quips, and you are happy to hear that his tone has lightened again.

You grin mischievously and wriggle out of his arms to push him down onto his back and roll on top of him.

"Prove it," you whisper, as you come to rest on his abdomen and lean down to kiss him on the nose.

His eyes widen in surprise and then in boyish delight as he grasps you firmly by your hips. "Again?!" he laughs and he throws his head back in mirth at his own joke, his eyes squeezing shut so that they crinkle beautifully at the corners.

It is a joyful, youthful, transcendental sound and suddenly, you are back under the Whispering Tree in the green meadows of Vitis with a young Jedi, an unwritten future together stretching out endlessly in front of you.

[hannamoon143]

Perfect, like the moon in a dark night

Genre:Fluff,Comfort,a tiny little bit angst

pairings: Bf Felix x Fem. Reader

Warnings: none i think

summary: you and Felix drifted apart in the last weeks because you were both very busy,but maybe a night with shining stars and a mesmerizing moon could reveal your feelings and thoughts .

a/n: yes i wrote another little fanfic(sry it's very short tho),i am relly getting into writing now,i think i will write more often,and try to improve my writing.i would love to get some feedback<3 Now enjoy this little fluffy story<3

not proofread

As you came back to the apartment that you shared with your boyfriend,you didn't expect felix to be home.He never came home before 10 p.m. But it still made you a bit sad that he wasn't there.

Usually you stayed up till your boyfriend came home,so you two had at least a little bit time together.But today you were just so exhausted.You had a lot of things to do during the whole day ,and your boss snapped at you because you made a mistake in a presentation.

Tired you dragged yourself to the bathroom.You took a quick shower and then put your pajama on.You let yourself fall into the bed and scroll a little bit on your phone.You were planning to wait for felix,but you slowly drifted off to sleep

Felix went inside your shared apartment.He knew he neglected you in the past weeks.It was because of his new tight schedule.He could tell you didn't like it,and you both wished that you would spend more time together.But you never complained about anything,cause you knew how much felix's career ment to him.

Usually you were awake when felix came home.You always said you stay up late anyways,but your boyfriend knew you only wanted to wait for him.He said you didn't have to but you did it anyways.So felix couldn't blame you when he found you sleeping in your shared bed.You still held your smartphone in your left hand.

Felix kneeled down in front of you,laying his head on the edge of the bed.He noticed your exhausted gaze,and the bags under your eyes.Also with these details of exhaustion,you looked beautiful like you always did.

Suddenly guilt and something different hit felix.Also if you both had tight schedules and deadlines,he knew it was mostly his fault that you two didn't spend so much time together like you did before straykids comeback needed to be prepared.

He admired your face a little bit more,and then placed a soft kiss on your lips to wake you up.You immediately opened your eyes and looked in his soft gaze.He felt a little guilty for waking you up,when you clearly were exhausted. "You are back",you said with a sleepy smile on your face.

He gave you a warm gentle hug,that you really needed after your tiring day.You nuzzled into the crook of his neck,when you suddenly heard him say something.

"Wanna go for a walk?",felix asked with his soothing voice,returning a cute smile.Also if it was 2 a.m. you didn't hesitate for a moment as you nodded.

As you walked along the river where you always used to do picknicks together,and also where felix confessed to you,finally felix's voice broke through the silence.

"y/n...i'm very sorry that we don't spend so much time together anymore,i know i neglected you,and i didn't want to-"

"Felix" you said with a slight trembling in your voice "We are not perfect,but that is not only your fault.I also could have put more effort into our relationship.But felix...we don't need to be perfect."

After a little silence finally your boyfriend said something.But you didn't expect what he answered "Do you remember why I call you my Moon?"

"cause stays call you sunshine?",you said with a light giggle.

"No y/n not only because of that.I call you that because you call me sunshine.And because sometimes i need something of your calm,and mysthical personality,and you something of my energetic,lighthearted personality."

"And y/n...you are right,we are not perfect,but in my eyes you are perfect.You are perfect because of your mesmerizing eyes,because of your pretty smile,because of the way you laugh.Cause we are perfect for each other.And for me you are perfect like the moon in a dark night"

"Wow Felix, that was beautiful. You are beautiful."

He looked at you with so much love and admiration in his eyes that you just wanted to be with him for the rest of your life.You also must have looked like that cause with a sweet smile he asked you "why are you looking at me like that?"

As if it wasn't him who had the sweetest lovingly look on his face,you thought.

"Because you not only have the stars in your eyes,the sunshine in your lighthearted personality,and the milky way mirrored in your beautiful freckles.You have all these things also in your soul.And that's what makes you perfect for me"

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

Katsuki having his first fight with his s/o :(

We all know he just gets so unbelievably angry all the time that when something hurts it only comes out as anger instead

so he’s screaming, not necessarily at them but still screaming, and he doesn’t know how to get his point across because his chest is tight and his voice is shaky so he yells because he doesn’t know how to tell them how he feels

and they suggest leaving it off for the night because they already gave up on trying to talk and he mistakes it for them giving up on him

he knows he’s hard to love and it hurts him so fucking bad

while I search for the way to your world, leave a mark on your way.

a/n : YOU. NEED TO BURN AT THE STAKE--i mean tysm for the ask mootie !!! youre. so. sweet. but no all jokes aside i think about this like all the time are u sure ur not in my brain, i switched things up juuuust a lil bit bc i actually had a daydream about this lololol, i hope you don't mind <3 much luv !! ps yall this is @lunarfleur’s fault not mine blame them

fem reader, first bad argument, emotionally constipated desperate katsuki i love him anyways, gentle reader, hurt/comfort, kinda making up towards the end, clingy katsu, kissing, mentions of wanting to vomit !! not proofread atm but will fix later ! lmk if i missed sum else !

katsuki cannot for the life of him remember what you'd even started arguing about. all he knows is that he's pissed off. what he doesn't know is why.

katsuki hates how quickly he gets emotional. it makes him so mad, it makes his skin burn. he hates how he feels the burn of tears in the back of his eyes the moment his chest feels tighter and he knows what's coming. so he closes himself off from you. he hates how fucking shaky his voice gets when you pull yourself away from where you were cuddled up just moments ago, so he just starts speaking louder. until he's screaming and his throat is sore and burning.

he doesn't know why he's screaming at you, he doesn't want to. but he's so mad, at you and at himself and he has no other way to say so except for this. it makes his skin burn and itch and his head is throbbing and his heart hammers in his ears. all he knows is that he doesn’t want to fight with you because you’re not like him. you’re not used to just amping up the heat, to continue arguing until the other submits and you come out victorious.

instead, you sigh. you’re frustrated but you don’t scream. you’re quiet, and it makes katsuki that much more angry. he tells himself it’s because you act like he’s a child having a tantrum with the way you grip your temples, just so he can stay mad longer. but he knows you’re just tired. your head hurts and your tired of fighting, maybe even tired of him. and that scared him so much.

so he gets louder, gets in your face more. when he’s scared, katsuki gets real mean because he hopes he can scare you harder. but he knows it’s not a competition, you’re not trying to be scarier than him, you were never even trying to scare him but all he did was cut you off, scream at you and scoff at your words.

no wonder you’re tired of him, a little voice in his head nags. his limbs are on fire.

but then your shoulders slump, you sigh dejectedly and you tell him you can’t do this. and it feels like a bucket of water’s been dumped onto him.

you’re saying something, he can see it. but he’s frozen. he can’t move as he watches you wait for something, for him to say something, to act maybe ? but he doesn’t know. what did you mean just now ?

you sigh again, he hates it. he hates it so much. he hates that it comes from you. then he registers you’re putting your shoes on. and he swears he hears you sniffling as you reach past him for your keys and grab your jacket by the door.

oh. you’re leaving.

you can’t do this. you can’t stand being with him anymore and he made you leave. he should be happy, you were being annoying..but fuck he doesn’t want you to go. work had been stressful lately and he couldn’t wait to spend time with you again. so why are you leaving ?

why’d he make you leave ?

you can’t do this, that’s what you told him. katsuki feels like he’s gonna vomit.

when he feels cornered, it’s practically instinct for katsuki to bare his fangs at whatever is keeping him there. he doesn’t feel scared, that shit wasn’t for him. but he’s scared now, so scared that you’ll leave and that you won’t call him when you make it home. so scared that you’ll leave and never come back and he has to live with the fact that he’d pushed the most important person in his life away.

he’s desperate, so he does the only thing he knows. and he begs in his own way.

you can’t even twist the doorknob because the large hands that slam against the door don’t let you. you feel katsuki before you see him. can feel the warmth radiating from him on your back and you see your shadow grow bigger through your misty eyes. you feel him press himself harder against you like he’s trying to trap you between the door and him. you feel his hair tickle your nape and you feel his lips tickle your neck as he presses them there, and you feel like crying.

“katsuki..” you sigh, feeling him kiss all over your skin, your neck, behind your ear, your cheek. desperately like he’s on a mission. “katsuki..no.” you whine, craning your neck away from him and he stops then, when he has nothing to reach, when you’re unreachable. he wraps his arms around your middle to keep you to him, to keep you here.

“what..?” he asks, you scoff. looking up at the ceiling to keep from tearing up in front of him, katsuki feels his heart shatter as he looks at you desperately. do you hate him ? why won’t you just let him make it better ?

“i don’t—what are you doing..?” you whisper sadly, his heart pounds. you lean away from hims as much as you can with his arms still around you. he doesn’t tighten his hold, but he doesn’t let go. he can’t risk hurting you.

“i—i’m..” he stutters, searching around on your crumpled up face for anything. he doesn’t know what he’s looking for. his eyes drift around “i’m just—trynna make it up to you..”

“how..?” you ask, and when he keeps looking confused you rephrase “do you even know what you’re making it up to me for ?”

wordlessly, he pulls you closer to him despite you struggling a bit. he noses at your neck, hiding his eyes from you as he speaks again “‘cus i made you sad..” he admits slowly, that’s reason enough for him.

you sigh again then, and katsuki has to use all his strength not to flinch at it. “i don’t like it when you yell at me. and you don’t listen to me at all, that’s what i’m upset about.” you slump over in his arms, like you’ve given up. “i wish you’d get that..” you finish bitterly.

he gets it, he wants to say. he understands now, he’ll listen to you, he swears. but he knows it won’t be that easy. katsuki has no experience with things like this. with relationships and communication to resolve disputes. he wants to know, to learn. for you. but he fears he’s too late and he’s afraid. he hadn’t even realized he was doing the total opposite of what you wanted from him.

“okay, okay. i’ll listen just—” he grits out. he wants to give you space because he knows that’s probably what you want. you want to leave, but he can’t let you. so he shoves his head in your neck selfishly “don’t leave.”

the way he sounds is almost painful, like he’s forcing the words out despite them causing him pain just for you. you don’t want this, you hate arguing with katsuki no matter how petty it is. but it’s never been this bad. it’s not like you find it fun, but you wish he’d just bother listening to others, to you. it might sound like he’s just trying to appease you so he doesn’t have to stay alone, but when he’s like this and in general, to you katsuki is extremely easy to read. and you know he knows he’s gone too far. and you don’t want to leave, ‘cus he’s so warm. but you think maybe he’s a bit overwhelmed and needs some space. he’d been a bit antsy because of demanding hero work lately and you know he hates admitting any type of weakness, so he’d tried to push it away.

of course, it’s no excuse. and katsuki has a hard time admitting when he’s wrong, but you think he’s starting to understand it slowly.

you sigh, his hands feel warm where he’d loosely settled them above your stomach. you squirm a bit in his hold and he lets you, only because you decide to turn to look at him. you hadn’t even realized he’d been so upset, his eyes glossy and a bit red. tentatively, you place a hand on his shoulder and he softens that much more. slowly you reach your other hand up to his face and it hasn’t even made contact for him to lean into it like a magnet. it makes your heart break.

“i think..it’s better if i do..” he flinches, but you rub against his cheek and continue “because i think you need to be left alone for a bit.” he hides his face in your hand. pulling your other one off his shoulder and to his face. you can feel his lip tremble even as he bites hard into it and feel the tips of his eyebrows twitch. “i think you’re tired..right ?” you say softly. he lifts his head up to deny, but his mouth hangs open. katsuki hates having to talk about how he feels more than anything in the world, but if that’s what it takes for you to still love him, he’ll swallow his pride. and he’ll beg in his own way.

he begs you to stay with him by closing his mouth and nodding lightly, sighing harshly as he looks off to the side, grip still on your wrists. his nose nuzzles against your palms. fuck, he could fall asleep like this. maybe he is more tired than he’d realized.

“yeah..” you smile lightly, “so i think it’s better if i go for a while, leave you to think, okay ?” you’re happy he’s sucking up his pride and actually listening to you talk, not raising his voice and actually listening to you. he wordlessly nods to your every word, head bobbling as he agrees to everything, it has you holding back a giggle but not your fond little smile as he presses little kisses into your palms.

he raises his head a bit to hold eye contact “..you mad at me ?” you hesitate before responding.

“i’m still upset, you were being really mean katsuki.” you correct. it hurts, but he nods again, understanding. your heart feels just a little bit lighter.

“‘m leaving now, suki..” and he sighs heavily but he thinks he feels just a bit at ease. his heart feels just a bit lighter when you tell him “i’ll text you when i get home, kay ?”

he wants to ask you to call him instead, he wants to hear your voice but he knows he’s supposed to listen now, listen to what you want. and he nods again. you lean forward just a bit and it’s like he can smell what you want because he meets you halfway, pulling your arms around his middle and pressing his lips to yours so softly, so loving. so not like him, he thinks. but he’ll try for you, he’ll listen.

“i love you.” he whispers when you pull away, you think you could cry just from that. “i love you too.” you sniffle. it doesn’t feel like goodbye, and that makes both of you feel just a tad better.

you pull away and he doesn’t chase after you. he’s still a bit scared, but he doesn’t fight back, and let’s you go. you flash him a shy little smile when you turn to leave and he sends you one back. he stands in his door way when he hears the door clack shut and he stands there some more after you’re gone.

worry gnaws at him as he goes to make himself dinner. it gnaws at him when he’s in the shower and still when he’s going off to bed. but just before he goes to lay down and get some much needed rest, you text him. like you said you would, and katsuki feels he can sleep with a lighter heart.

he’ll rest up. and as his eyes slowly fall shut he swears he’ll make it up to you and never make you want to leave again.

[flyingjosephine-blog]

Right, so this is for the #alexbreaks100 celebration.

The amazing @cillmequick 's Lockdown Series has been my little obsession, lately, since discovering it by chance while on holiday. Alex, you deserve each and every follower you have, because your writing it's just so good!

I decided to go with: 👨🏻‍🍳 Banana Bread.

This little scenario has been playing on loop on my mind for a while and I just had to get it out. I have no idea of the result, but it was just soooo much fun writing it, whatever the outcome may be…!

Warnings: 🔞 smut, with a little bit of plot; use of sex toys; unprotected sex; mention of insomnia.

Author's note: I used to write when I was younger, but it's been a long while since then, so please bear with me. Plus, this is the first time ever I attempted to write smut, I just tried to do my best but I still feel very insecure about it (even more since there are so many incredibily good writers out there...!).

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, hope this is not completely unreadable. I proofread it at least ten times, but I'm sure there are still some grammatical and/or spelling mistakes somewhere in there...I'll find out just after I posted it, right? Because that's how these kind of things work!

❗️This is a completely fantasy work. No disrespect intended to the real Cillian or his family ❗️

Soundtrack: I have been obsessed with Coconut Skins by Damien Rice in the last period and I have been listening to it on repeat while writing this story.

Ok, enough rambling. Took me almost a week to find the gut and I am still nervous beyond words 😅, but here it comes...

Insomnia

Once again you couldn't fall asleep. Scrolling lazily through your phone, laying wide awake in bed, you were barely focusing on anything that popped up on your screen. Your eyes were watering, stinging slightly, but even though you could sense your body and mind being exhausted, still sleep wouldn't come. One of the many gifts lockdown was spoiling you with: insomnia. Huffing and restless, you changed slightly position under the duvet; your legs started hitching, your skin crawling like all the muscles in your body weren't able to stay still one more minute. You knew you had to get up, either you wanted or not, otherwise you'd be tossing and turning the very next moment, eventually waking up Cillian.

Right, Cillian. He, on the other hand, was sleeping like a baby, you noticed, feeling a sting of annoyance. The pale light of the streetlamp just across the road casted deep shadows all across his body, his bare shoulders scattered with freckles and his broad chest, evenly rising and falling. Seeing him so quiet, you felt like bitching and throwing a fit, even though you knew you were being completely unreasonable and irrational and it was none of his fault. But sleep deprivation can surely play horrible tricks on your mind and mood, you argued with yourself. You just wanted to get some rest, that was all you were asking for, honestly. To stop and feeling constantly on the edge, tensed and anxious and so fucking tired and sleepy, your mind clouded. Lockdown was a pain in the ass enough as it was, no need to add in the madness.

At least, after all Cillian and you got through in the last year, you had the chance to be with one another. And that was more than you would have hoped for.

Trying not to make too much noise, you threw your legs out of the duvet, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking out for your slippers, nowhere to be seen. Scout, you snorted internally.

“Love?” came a sleepy voice behind your back and the table lamp on Cillian's side flicked on.

Shit.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up”, you whispered, while he sat up, settling against the headboard. The complete silence you were experiencing those nights – no cars or people on the street, no teenager getting drunk below your windows or lovers laughing passing by – was unreal.

“Again?” he asked, keeping his voice low as well, though there was no real reason for it. He had been witnessing your insomnia for the past week and he was starting to get worried, seeing how bad it was affecting you, not only in the night, but during the day as well. Making you unsettled and cranky. Jesus, Cillian really must loved you to put up with you lately. You barely could stand yourself.

“Yeah. I'm sorry, babe. Really, go back to sleep. Don't worry, I'll be downstairs with a good book” you gently stroke his fingers, splayed on the sheets between you. He gripped your wrist, moving under the sheets to scoot over to where you were sat.

“Ei, don't be sorry. It's not your fault, but I think you really need to relax, love, and get some proper rest” he sighed, his eyes soft, looking at you behind those ridiculously long eyelashes of his. He kissed softly your bare shoulder. A small smile was playing at the corner of his lips and you caught a spark in his gaze, suddenly not sleepy anymore.

You tilted your head: “What are you thinking of, Cillian?”.

You wanted to sound annoyed, but actually it came out more amused than you intended for it to be. Lately, he was suggesting some quite funny shit to try and set you asleep. Some ethnic infusion he found online, that tasted like piss; a bubbly hot bath, smelling of cinnamon and vanilla, that resulted in Scout trying his best to get in the tub with you, making a mess of the bathroom; an ASMR playlist that made him nod off immediately, but, on the other hand, drove you almost crazy. How can people find some random noises relaxing? Impossible to deny, he really tried his best and you loved him for it, but still you were a bit wary to hear what was coming next.

The smile broke wide on his mouth, then, and he let go of your hand, reaching for his bedside table's drawer from where he retrieve a small white box. Although the box was completely plain, no sign or label, you immediately recognised what it was.

Oh, so that was what he had in mind. You felt yourself smiling as well.

“Well, maybe the time has come for you to try your new little toy...” he teased, raising an eyebrow, and you giggled. But the playfulness was immediately cut off by Cillian quickly gripping your arms and pulling you flat onto the bed with him again.

The main reason - almost the only one - you bought it was the feral look in Cillian’s eyes the second he saw it on your laptop screen. A friend of yours passed you the website's link, half as a joke, during an afternoon Skype Call you arranged just to kill time, and curiosity got the best of you. You hadn’t ever possessed or even used a toy, not by yourself or with any other partner. Not with Cillian either. And, truth be told, you never felt the need to. You probably would have not even thought about actually purchasing one that day, hadn’t been for the way he clenched his jaw and swallow a little too hard, asking you what you were doing, gaze fixated on the vibrator showing on the web page. And it was then and there you decided that maybe you could use a bit of a distraction during the tensed and excruciatingly slow lockdown days ahead of you.

Actually, you almost forgot about it, after it was delivered, having put the box away inside your walk-in wardrobe; and he had never suggested using it, either. But he must have been thinking about it, you now realised, seeing he had taken it and placed it in his drawer, within reach.

The vibrator was lean, not very thick, surely not as Cillian’s cock, and it had quite a peculiar shape, bulging on one side at the very tip. It was soft, silky almost, and a very bright pink in colour, with two little buttons on the white handle and a faint silicone smell. Cillian looked at it almost mesmerized and you could tell by the frown on his forehead he hadn’t ever used one too. But he seemed determined to make it good to you, so you just laid back and relaxed, slipping out of your nightgown in one swift movement, spreading your legs wide and feeling yourself getting wet at the mere thought of what was coming.

Cillian’s breath itched at the sight, spurring you on incredibly; you gripped at the headboard above you with one hand, letting the other slowly brush over your stomach. You felt so fucking powerful being on display like that and seeing what it was doing to him, his eyes darkening while he kneeled between your legs and gripped your thighs hard. Your fingers inched down.

“Don’t” he growled. This little game really was turning him on, you thought, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips, but you complied nonetheless, even though you were already aching for some sort of friction. It was always like that with him and it never ceased to amaze you: one look and you were ready to go. That craving for him never satiated, it seemed.

“Then get down to work, Murphy” you encouraged.

That was all it took. He turned on the vibrator, while hovering over you and gently nuzzling your lips, his soft hair tickling your face, before placing a soft kiss and licking your mouth slowly. He wouldn’t let you deepen the kiss, though, teasing you almost wickedly while at the same time running the small device inside your thigh.

Oh, that was fucking good. The low vibrations spreading through your skin and setting your flesh on fire, the sweet smell of him filling you senses and his warm weight engulfing you. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like feeling those vibrations, at last, on your cunt, hot and ready. But it seemed like Cillian wanted to take his time, savouring your small whimpers and gasps of anticipation, your mouth falling open under his lips and he quickly pushed his tongue inside, groaning, and devouring you with a sudden force and impatience, while all the same his hand moved still frustratingly slowly toward your centre. How he can be so focused and controlled was beyond your comprehension, as you already felt yourself coming undone, drifting towards the promised pleasure that was making your head dizzy and light.

You breathed deep through your nose, trying to slow down your racing heart, pushing your hands through his hair and kissing him back with the same unashamed need. A mess of ragged breaths, hot saliva and swollen lips. You opened your eyes to drown yourself into his blue ones, just at the same time he finally drove the vibrator on your core, sliding it between your wet folds and you could not stopped your hips from jolting suddenly and a deep moan escaping your mouth.

“Fuck”

“Feels good?”, his voice was so low, darkened by deep arousing, you heard yourself groaning again at the sheer sound of it.

“Fuck”, seemed the only word you could remember or utter in breathy whines and he smiled before tilting his head and latching his mouth to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your throat, drawing his tongue along the soft and sensitive skin there, where your pulse was running erratically.

His right hand continued to work the small tool through your folds, sliding it easily, coating it with your wetness and teasing your opening, while neglecting purposely your clit. You arched your back, bolts of pleasure exploding under your skin, running up your spine, coiling and boiling in you stomach. The new sensation so powerful you barely could get a grip of it, sparking so suddenly and so forcefully you could only try and go with the flow, not letting it drown you. Not yet, you thought.

He pinned your hips on the mattress with his other hand, his fingers digging into your soft flesh enough to leave a mark, stilling as much as possible your movements. You couldn’t push up, but you still could rotate your pelvis, grinding against Cillian's hand as much as you could, desperate for more. Your walls clenching around nothing, your swollen clit begging for some touch, some pressure, some...anything. The frustration was building fast. Was this his idea of helping you relax? Christ, he was driving you crazy.

“More, please”, you meant to sound convincing, instead it came out more like a pleading whine. You sensed his lips, kissing tenderly on your breasts, curl up a little. The little bastard. He may had not used a toy before, but he was certainly a quick learner and enjoying every bit of it. He bit down on your nipple, eliciting a small cry from you, and he stilled his hand.

“What?”, he asked in a growl.

Right, you thought, he had set his mind on killing you. So much was clear.

“Cillian”, you pleaded again. He wanted you to beg? God, you would beg. You were far past giving a fuck about decency or pride. His breath was ragged against your skin and he exhaled slowly, before returning to your mouth, kissing you hard and wet and getting back to where he had left, rubbing the vibrator's rounded head on your clit.

“Oh, Jesus”, you cried, your legs going tensed and closing around his hand, your back arching even more. There was no way you could keep this quiet, the sensation so foreign, so different and so damn intense you had to clench your teeth not to come on the spot.

He slowly, but steadily, slid the vibrator inside you, the stretch making you gasp and suddenly you realized why the unusual shape of its head. God, it was perfectly stroking your walls, hitting your g-spot on each and every thrust, drawing moans from your lips. Then he pushed one of the buttons on the handle, twice in a row quickly, and you felt the pulsations rising in intensity. Jesus, you could feel them anywhere, through your inner walls, spreading in your ass, in your stomach and your spine, all the way up to your nipples. It was so different from having a man inside you, but it was nonetheless so fucking good.

You gripped his shoulders to try and ground yourself, your head falling back and your mouth hanging open, gasping out of breath, your chest tightening.

Cillian stopped his ministrations on your neck to raise his head, casting his gaze down between your bodies where his hand was moving the device inside you, now faster and harder, the skin of your face and breast flushed, the muscles in your belly and thighs trembling. Your eyes following his, you saw his strong wrist between your legs, twirling gently, and his hard cock straining against his night pants. Even though you didn't think it was possible, the pleasure inside you grew even more. Each wave higher than the previous, stronger and deeper. It was consuming your body from the inside, like a hot fire spreading in your bowels and trying to find a way to surface.

Cillian's deep groan caught you off guard and you almost let go of your impending orgasm, rising so high in your stomach. He was drinking in every move you made, every sound you let out: the way you were lightly quivering, the way your skin was glowing in the pale amber light of the room, hot and sticky, the way your brows furrowed. He was so lost in savouring how your body reacted to the different pace he was setting, slower now, every thrust dragged out almost painfully, every soft inch of the vibrator stroking inside you, he barely realised he had shifted on his knees and was palming his throbbing cock through his cotton pants, trying to ease some of the tension. Fuck, he was out of breath himself. He could have got off simply looking at you, needy and lost in the pleasure he was giving you. You looked and felt so his, that he was enthralled.

You slid your hands from his shoulders, gripping his arms and then moving on, dragging your fingers on his chest, his ribs and lower on his stomach, scratching lightly your nails around his navel and the soft skin just below. You had to touch him. He quickly got the hint and abruptly stopped stroking himself, grabbing your wrists instead, forcefully. It would never cease to amaze you how his hands were big enough to take both of yours in one.

“No”, he protested, through uneven breaths “This is about you, babe”.

He flicked your clit with his thumb, his hand gone from your wrists, drawing small circles and increasing the pressure on each touch.

“Then...” you tried to say around a moan “I want to come around you”.

His eyes on yours, you saw his pupils blowing off, making them almost black and his jaw clenching. He had a hell of a self-control when it came to sex, you had to give him credit for that, but even Cillian fucking Murphy had his limitations. And you knew he was on the verge of the breaking point by the way he froze and took a deep, though shaky, breath through his open mouth.

“Please, I need you inside me. Now”, you pushed.

He, finally, succumbed to his own need, crashing his mouth on yours while sliding the vibrator out of your cunt. The sudden emptiness made you shiver, but was immediately replaced by the warm wetness of his cock's head pushing inside. Cillian's balanced himself, one hand each side of your head, before entering you completely with a swift movement of his hips. Buried entirely in you, he lowered himself even more, almost crushing you and trapping your body between his and the sheets. So fucking deep and not nearly enough. It was never enough with him, you were always craving for more: deeper, harder, faster, as you were constantly wishing one day he could just disappear inside you and you inside him.

You clenched your walls, as he waited for you to adjust, appreciating the small break himself. Fuck, he was so worked up already, he would have to take it slow if he wished to last more than a minute. You took the chance to run your fingers through his hair, longer than usual at the nape, and to pry his eyes on yours. He really was something else: flush spreading all over his chest, up his neck and on his cheeks, lips slightly open, swollen from all the kissing and nibbling, eyes dark and slightly hazed. You licked his bottom lips and he started moving, trying to go slow at first, wanting to savour the sensation.

But you had had more than your share of waiting, so you grabbed his ass, sinking your nails in his strained muscles and encouraging him to pick up his pace. He gladly obliged, while bowing his head to kiss and suck and lick your nipples.

Then it was like a fog descending on you and you weren't able to focus on anything anymore. You could barely distinguish whose hand was on your clit, or whose voice was the loud moan reverberating through the room. All you knew were the sweetness of the obscene sound your bodies made colliding and the spiral of delight running through you.

“Cill, I'm gonna...”, words strained in your throats, struggling to get out.

“Let it go, love. I got you.” he panted, sighing at the impossible tightness of you, fluttering around his throbbing cock.

He grabbed the back of your thighs, raising them and changing the angle of his thrusts, fucking you even harder, each stroke pushing him so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

That was it: you came hard and fast, waves of pleasure and shivers coursing through you, moaning loudly something you yourself wouldn't know what it was – his name, God's name, who would have known? - and eliciting a seemingly endless stream of curses from Cillian's lips. Still he kept on thrusting hard, not relenting a bit, all through you orgasm and you were just coming down from it when you felt him tense, all of his muscles straining, and come inside you. Warm, so warm.

He stayed inside you a while longer, regaining his breath and waiting till your body stopped trembling.

Then he spooned behind you, engulfing you in his arms and resting his head in the crook of your neck, placing casual little kisses there from time to time. You laced your fingers with his, stroking lazily the back of his hand with your thumb and sighing contently; your eyes were drifting close, your whole body so relaxed you had a feeling that you were melting away.

“Better?” he asked, smugly and you knew, even without looking at him, he was smiling.

“Mmmh”, you mumbled, your capacity to form words long gone now, while he slipped one of his legs between yours.

“Well, now at least we know how to fight off your insomnia” he scoffed, nuzzling the soft spot just behind your ear.

And with that your world shut down, dark descending on you, but not before one last thought had the strength to cross your mind. You were one lucky bitch to have Cillian in your life; and you knew, deep down, he was there to stay for good.

[wailly]

Step on me - The Cardigans

i love angst ❤️‍🩹 also sorry for grammar mistakes i didn’t proofread it

Bruce Yamada and Vance Hopper were not a perfect couple.

Oh, I think you’re standing on my left foot.

This is the third girl Bruce has seen Vance ‘hanging around’ with.

It’s hurting,

He needed to stop thinking about it so much. It’s the 70s, it’s not like Vance is openly gonna say he’s gay.

But that’s okay, ‘cause I’m in your way. 

He kissed her.

You break the foot that you’re standing on.

‘It’s okay, he just doesn’t wanna be openly out.’ Bruce thinks to himself. 

I’ll walk with the other one.

Sure, maybe Bruce was a little bit sick of it. He wouldn’t ever admit it but he didn’t wanna see his lover walk around kissing other people. But he knew it was just hard times for people like them. So, he’ll just suck it up.

Do what you want to, do what you want to.

Even if it meant the sobs that were heard at night.

Be what you want to, be what you want to.

He’ll learn to suck it up. 

Go on and step on me.

Eventually, he will. Just not now. It’s not his fault, he tells himself he has every right to be upset, but he doesn’t really believe it. Was he just not good enough?

You’re free to have anything you can see. 

He’ll just try harder.

All that you want from me. 

And so he did. It didn’t really work as well as he hoped, but it was still doing something. Vance started to shoot more glances at him in public when he noticed a change in Bruce. The way Bruce began to act like the very girls Vance was ‘dating for reputation’ or at least that’s what he told Bruce.

Free to be all that you want to be. 

The way Bruce immediately changed when they weren’t in public. Vance noticed it all.

Do what you want with me.

Bruce thought of Vance. Everything he did was always with Vance on his mind.

Oh, I think you’re spinning inside my head. 

It got bad, even as he lay awake at night wondering if he was trying too hard for Vance to just look at him.

I think of you all the day,

Hell, he shouldn’t even be trying this hard. Vance won’t talk to him in public either way.

‘cause you’re in my way.

The next day as he walked past the school building, he was quickly pulled to the side by Vance. “What the fuck is wrong with you lately?! You’re acting different around in public.” He was quick to snap at Bruce.

Oh, I think you're holding the heart of mine,

Bruce couldn’t respond. He was terrified. Would this be the day that Vance left him? Was he overthinking? 

squeeze it apart, that’s fine.

Maybe it’d just be better if he left Bruce. Maybe it’s not all that bad. He’ll get over it, right?

Do what you want to, do what you want to.

“Fucking answer me! God what the hell is wrong with you?!” Vance was nearly shouting at him at this point. Bruce was too terrified to respond, too many thoughts swirling around in his mind. Tears threatening to spill out as he just stared at his ‘lover’ who was having a one sided fight with him.

Be what you want to, be what you want to.

“I just,” Bruce paused, looking down so Vance wouldn’t see him on the verge of tears. “I just wanted you to at least look at me. You never talk to me when we are in public. And—And seeing you with other people like that, it just hurts.” He was sobbing, sniffling quickly. “I’m sorry.” He finished.

Go on and step on me.

“I already told you why I’m with them. Do you fucking see how gay people are treated nowadays?! How fucking selfish are you?! What do you want me to do? Make out with you in public?!” Vance snapped.

You’re free to have anything you can see.

“I just—You can’t even just talk to me, or at least pretend you're my friend in public?” Bruce was panicking.

All that you want from me.

“I feel like I’m just not good enough for you sometimes. You can have anybody you want.” Bruce continued.

You’re free to be all that you want to be.

Vance just stared. No sign of shock, no sign of sadness, no sign of anger. Nothing. 

Do what you want with me. 

“I promise I’ll stop acting different, it’s fine if you don’t want to talk to me in public, I get it.” Bruce said, calming down.

Go on and step on me.

Bruce was just about to head home until he was stopped. “Sorry, I guess.” Vance whispered, it was quiet, but Bruce heard it clearly.

Go on and step on me.

That was all it took for the cycle to continue.

Go ahead and step on me.

[thismessymasterpiece]

Very Much Not That

Summary - Reader is quite affectionate. To almost all, that is, a fact found most aggrieving by one infamous Doctor Reid.

GN!BAU!Reader (they/them pronouns used!) x Spencer Reid

Category - Fluffy Angst, Hurt/Comfort of sorts

TW - Use of term “beautiful” to describe reader but not used as any implication of gender and (hopefully!) easily ignorable if undesired, Spencer having some self-doubt (🥺), don’t worry, Reader fixes that right quick <3

Please let me know if I missed anything!

Contains - Spencer having some self-doubt, brief use of “beautiful” to describe reader, and Spence almost crying (I hate me too, it’s okay).

Author's Note - I wrote this really quickly so it may not be very good. I did thoroughly proofread (I always do), it just skips around a bit because I did not have a whole lot of time to write out a case and whatnot. That being said, I have said it before and will make it a point to always say it: please, please do not have any hesitation in making comments or providing constructive criticism. I really want to improve my writing and maybe spread some happiness to anyone who may find themselves in need. Have a fun times, lovelies <3

“Oh, thanks, Derek! I love you,” Y/N says, hugging Derek tightly before moving to sit back at their desk.

Watching from afar, the nasty, green monster roars inside me. I try so hard to restrain it, I always do but it is only getting worse.

See, here is the issue. I love Y/N. There, I said it. Now, apparently, Y/N loves everyone in this office. Maybe in the entire building, I don’t know. I really hate not knowing, too, because that does not happen to me.

As I was saying, Y/N loves everyone. They tell everyone daily. Okay, maybe that is not true.

Y/N loves everyone and wastes no time telling them. I know this to be true to one fault.

I am the only person Y/N has never told.

“Hey, Spence,” I feel a gentle pressure fall on my already tired shoulders. When I look behind me, I could not be happier to carry the extra weight.

“Y/N!” I cheer, an uncontrollable smile breaking over my face.

“Are you alright?” They ask nervously.

My inappropriate joy remains.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” They respond cautiously, “I felt you looking at me across the bullpen and when I looked back, you seemed to be… brooding.”

My eyes shift to their feet. No way am I about to tell them why I was so upset.

“It’s nothing, Y/N. I promise,” I look back in their eyes. Fatal mistake.

I am almost too lost in them in all their wondrous glory to respond when they continue to comfort me.

“If you’re sure,” They slowly say, eyebrows knitting. “I’m always here if you need me, though. You know that… right?”

My nod is too vigorous and too late. Thank goodness for serial killers and their always dependable thirst to hunt. Hotch calls us all to attention and informs us we have a case briefing in the roundtable room in ten minutes.

“I can drive you home, Spence… If you’d like, that is,” Y/N mentions, picking up their bag from the desk chair we stand beside.

“I know you hate-” The look on my face when they travel up to meet it quiets them.

“What’s up?” They ask, sweet as ever.

I begin but Emily walks up behind me to ask a question for her case file.

“Yeah, absolutely!” They graciously exclaim after answering, “Night, Em. I love you.”

The smile on their face drops almost as quickly as the coffee in my hand.

“Oh my gosh, Spence! Are you okay?” They exclaim, dropping immediately to their knees, a box of Kleenex quickly swiped from their desk in hand.

“Oh, yeah, I’m so-” I cut off in favor of taking a nervous swallow when they look up at me, eyes wide below me.

As swiftly as the moment happened, it was over. I decided it would probably be good if I got down and helped clean my own shoes, too. Well, that was until-

“Ow!” Y/N yells, having just had my front teeth collide with the back of their ascending skull.

“Oh, god! I am so, so, so sorry!” I scream, only causing more of a ruckus, hesitating against my instinct to comfortingly reach for their arms.

“Are you alright? I am so, so sorry. I feel so bad, I-” I stop after having stumbled over something of immense importance.

“What did you just say?” I ask, certain my ears are playing tricks on me.

“I said, ‘God, Spencer, I wanted you to kiss me but is that really how you’re going to go about it?” I stare at them, eyes blown wide, “Especially for the first time, that was pretty bad. I thought you would be much better at that sort of thing.”

They giggle at my continuously nonplussed expression. Grabbing my hand, they begin to lead me out of our place of work by force.

“C’mon, Spence, you need sleep.”

I love them. Really, they are perfect.

They needed no directions (having already been a guest of honor in my home numerous times… which would only make sense as they are my home), they took the keys before I could even think about it, and they had their passenger seat adjusted to accommodate my long legs, for crying out loud!

When we arrive outside my apartment complex, I take an embarrassingly short amount of time to ask them to come in. Surprisingly, they give zero sign of hesitation.

The whole walk up the stairs reminds me why I want to spend every night making the trek with them. Honestly, everything about them reminds me why I want to spend all the moments I have to give with them.

I unlock the door and let them in. They make a beeline for my old, leather couch and by the time I have rid myself of my satchel, they look like they’ve been there for hours. I would have no objection either way.

Reaching over the arm of the couch, they poach the latest book I am working on off of the coffee table.

“What’s this about, Dr. Reid?” They ask in a humorous, overly formal tone that they know I love. They are thoroughly inspecting the back cover and unconsciously making me grin. They are just too adorable for it to be okay.

“I said, exp-” They stop, matching the brightness of my grin when they spot it.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” I state simply.

They respond immediately in kind, “I could say the same about you, Spence.”

And, therein lies the problem.

“What? What did I say?” They rush in response to my sudden deflation, how I fall miserably to sit on the couch.

“Y/N, it is what you haven’t said!” I cry, mentally cursing the tears of frustration building on my lash line.

“I don’t-” They begin but I do not let them finish.

“I counted, Y/N! I counted. You have said some variation of ‘I love you’ to every single member of the team, past and present, at least 3,668 times since you joined four years ago. Every single member… but me.” I whine pathetically.

What makes it worse, however, is the giggle I hear beside me. I would never have believed it of them.

“Spence, I am so sorry. I don’t mean to laugh but… you are one of the best profilers I have ever encountered and you seriously have not figured it out?”

“No, Y/N! I haven’t! Please, enlighten me because it is the worst. I want you to- I want to believe you feel the…” I trail off in my sorrow.

“Spence,” They shift from amusement to seriousness instantaneously, “Please say it.”

“I need to know… I know it is selfish but I need to believe for my own sanity that you feel the same things I feel. The things I feel about you.” I mumble, looking pitifully down into my lap. It is this angle that allows me a perfect view of a sight I never want to forget.

Thank the heavens for eidetic memory.

Their hands reach out. Grasping mine tightly, they whisper, “Spence, when I tell the team I love them, it is entirely platonic or fraternal. What I feel for you is… very much not that. I did not want you to think it is the first time I say it to you.”

My head snaps up to see if they are telling the truth. From what I can tell, they most certainly are. I need to be sure, though.

“Really?” I plead, “You mean it?”

“Hey, you didn’t hit me again. Looks like your luck is turning up… you want to try that kiss again?”

Holy heck, did I ever.

taglist, i suppose :)

@safespacespence

dividers courtesy of the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune <3